#Thorne accuses her of cheating at cards

[first-mate-cinder]

Imagine Cinder being sponsored by surf shark VPN in a social media au

[repulsiveliquidation]

Thorn in My Side || Jessie Fleming

warnings : mentions of injury and surgeries. insinuations of cheating and false accusations. angst. happy ending and smut will be in part two.

summary : you get injured, its Jessie's fault. or so you thought.

a/n : as i type this, i think i've figured out how to incorporate the smut! i'll get to writing as soon as this is posted! i'm not sure if it makes much sense, here's to hoping. enjoy.

“for your UCLA Bruins, number 21, Jessie Fleming!”

Jessie steps forward and smiles, waving to the flood of Bruins fans in the stands cheering them on. You clap with a scowl on your face, watching as the girls in the stands ogle and fawn over her. You’re admittedly jealous of her for reasons unbeknownst to you, but seeing the 5’5’ Canadian made your blood boil.

She was good on the football pitch and was smart to go along with it. Jessie had it all. Being called up for most of her time in school and playing for her national team made her well-known in the soccer world from the moment she was here in America.

She was ferocious on the grass, a fearless midfielder who put everything out there.

The game was a close one, tied at the half 2-2. There were lots of contact, tackles, and battles that made it clear to anyone watching that there was tension between you and Jessie. One always found the other; if one had the ball, the other wanted it.

You had possession, running towards goal. There was a flash of blue and you were on the ground yelling in pain, hands clutching at your ankle. There was a loud pop and your ankle began to swell. The trainers came over and were hauling you off on a stretcher almost immediately, the ref showing Jessie a yellow for the unsafe tackle. It wasn’t a red card because really you fell a little weird and her studs were nowhere near your ankle.

She looked genuinely sorry, taking your hand in hers as you were stretchered off. You were in too much pain to care, shoving her hand out of yours and your teammates pulling her away from you.

A broken ankle was what they said. It was a clean break but you needed surgery and that meant no more soccer for the season.

Just great.

They put you in a wheelchair before you head to the hospital, your parents are already at the stadium to take you. You hear the final whistle blow and your teammate rolls you in, the girls all feeling sad when you tell them the news. There’s a little Bruins blue in the sea of Trojans in front of you and there’s a Canadian standing there digging her cleat into the grass, wanting to apologize.

Megan and Kasey stand beside you just in case things get a little heated. Jessie steps forward and looks more sorry for you when she sees the bandages and you in a wheelchair.

“Is it broken?” she asks genuinely, looking at your leg and then at you.

“No thanks to you,” you snide, rolling your eyes at her. “What do you want now, Fleming?”

“I wanted to apologize, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she says sincerely but you’re too bitter to hear her take ownership of her actions.

“You knew what you were doing, Fleming. You’ve always been out to get me our entire college career and now in our final year you finally get what you want!”

You don’t know the tears were starting until they did, pouring down your face hot and fast. She looked a little mortified and pale, backing away and saying she was sorry over and over before a sea of Bruins pulled her away to celebrate their win.

The whole car ride to the hospital you spent weeping, thinking about how you’re not going to be able to play your senior year out like you had hoped. But more so of the look of pure horror on Jessie’s face when you accused her of hating you so much that she would purposely hurt you.

She looked on the verge of tears. Like hurting you scared her.  

You scared her.

||

“The break is clean, but rehab will take a while if you’re not careful,” said Dr. Jeff, the attending podiatrist.

“How long?”

“You’re looking at 14 to 16 weeks, kiddo. Two years if you’re stubborn like most of my patients are.”

“16 weeks sounds great.”

“Smart kid you got here,” the doctor tells your parents with a smile, “I’ll schedule you in for surgery today, you should be out of here by the end of the week.”

The doctor leaves and your mother begins to fuss, propping up pillows and getting your nurse to bring you more jello. Your father, on the other hand, has a look of all-knowing on his face.

“I’m sorry Dad,” you begin, head hanging low the moment your mother leaves the room.

“Don’t be sorry, peanut. These things happen. Better now than when you’re on a professional team, yeah?”

“She didn’t really make me break my ankle did she?” you ask, looking up at your dad who was rubbing your back as the tears filled your eyes again.

“It was the perfect tackle, kiddo. You just fell a little funny is all.”

“She looked so horrified when I said she did it on purpose,” you sob, leaning into your father’s stomach. He held you tight and cradled your head, your heart hurting more than your broken ankle, the face Jessie made when the words left your mouth etched behind your eyelids.

||

There are plenty of flowers in your room the moment you wake from surgery. Lots of cards and get well soon balloons hung from the ceiling. You were still groggy when your teammates visited, Megan was sure to bring lots of Sharpies to sign your cast with, all the girls leaving a nice note for you on it.

There was an hour left for visitations and your parents just left to wash up at home. You were mindlessly scrolling through the terrible TV channel selections while finishing your 5th Jello cup when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” you yell, thinking it was a nurse coming to check your vitals again. What you didn’t expect was to see a brunette Canadian poking her head through the door.

“Hi,” she said sheepishly, standing by the door unsure if you really would want her to come in.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as kindly as possible, eyes flickering towards the clock above the door, “it’s late, why aren’t you back at school?”

“Spring Break, my parents are down from Canada so I asked to see you before we drove back,” she says quietly, stepping in a little more. “Can I come in?”

You nod, unsure if your mouth would be polite enough. Anger still seethed in your bones but the look of sheer horror on her face was still fresh in your mind.

“How bad was it?” she begins, still standing near the now-closed door.

“Clean break, should take 16 weeks if I’m careful.”

“That’s good. The doctors here are great.”

“They are quite convincing, they know how to get a patient to stay on their medical plan.”

“Did you get Dr. Jeff?”

“He accused me of being stubborn.”

Jessie laughs and you smile, a light blush creeping up your cheeks. It’s an adorable sound and her face of laughter replaces the one of fear you had burned into your mind.

“I’m really sorry for all this,” she begins but you cut her off.

“It wasn’t your fault, my dad said it was a clean tackle. I just fell funny.”

You looked up at her and saw the relief on her face and she stepped forward, taking your hand in hers. You took a deep breath and reciprocated her ownership of her mistakes, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders the moment you looked her in the eyes.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said the other day Jessie, that was not fair to you.”

“Heat of the moment love, don’t worry about it.”

Your heart clenches hard when the pet name slips out of her lips and you smile, hoping she didn’t see your eyes dilate and feel your skin warm up. She nods and bids goodbye just as her phone rings which tells you her parents are waiting outside.

You sit there giddy and a little starstruck as she disappears out of view. Your hand is warm from her touch and you can still feel her hand holding yours. You thump your head back and curse loudly, before grabbing your leg in pain temporarily forgetting that you were actually hurt.

You giggle and bite your lip, shaking your head when your phone dings.

Maybe: Jessie Fleming.

“You look cute when you’re flustered.”

You clap a hand to your mouth and smile, face heating up with a dark blush.

“You did this, you better fix it.”

“I think we can make that happen, love.”

You don’t think you slept much that night, texting till the sun came up. Your parents came in to check on you in the morning and found you with your phone still on call with Jessie but you two were asleep. You woke up to your doctors talking to your parents and discussing your rehab plan. There was another text from Jessie, making your heart skip a beat.

“You’re also very cute when you’re sleeping.”

Over the next few weeks, you two talked constantly. Jessie kept you company when you were bored at rehab and you kept her company while she was training on her own. You called her every night before bed, giggling and laughing well into the night most nights.

“How is rehab coming along?” Jessie asked as you were lying back on the examination table to relax your ankle. She was in her bed, looking as stunning as you had been denying yourself the chance to admit.

“Good, looks like I can put pressure on it by next week if Tiff lets me,” you say, side-eyeing your trainer Tiffany who was doing cupping on another teammate’s back.  

“Girl, I will hold your papers hostage, don’t test me,” Tiffany jokes, waving the lit fire stick at you.

“Yes ma’am I’ll be super-duper extra careful!” you answer with a salute, making Jessie laugh so loud it rings through the room. Most of your teammates know the thing you’ve got going with her and think it’s cute.

All but one.  

Megan.

She stood at the door listening to you ramble on about Jessie this and Jessie that, her blood boiling at the thought of you being buddy-buddy with the girl she believed to be the one who hurt you.

Megan was a freshman who was from Florida. She was a great pick from her high school team, and the best defender on the East Coast. She made the team here at USC and to say the least, she fit right in.

There was homogeny that wasn’t there before she joined and the linkup between you and her helped you take her under your wing. She looked up to you and was so ecstatic to play with you after watching you on TV.

She felt that Jessie took away her only chance to play with you before you graduated.

Jessie needed to pay.

“Hey, weird question,” Jessie starts, one night while you two were tucked in bed and on the phone with each other.

“Yeah?” you ask, turning over onto your side. Jessie looked a little concerned but you shrugged it off, the girl was known to constantly look worried.

“Someone sent me this photo but it’s from an unknown number, I thought it was weird.”

Sent.

You looked at it in shock.

It was you. Kissing a girl on the basketball team.

“Jess this isn’t me.”

“I’m not blind you know, that’s you.”

“Jessie, I swear this was doctored! I’ve never talked to this girl, let alone fucking kissed her!”

“Then why did the fucking photo come with a text that said, “She’s not who you think she is,”?”

“I don’t know! No one else but the girls know about you and me! I promise Jessie please!”

“I need some time to think. Leave me alone.”

She hangs up.

The tears fill your eyes as you stare at this photo. You don’t even think you’ve crossed paths with this girl, having not been the biggest fan of basketball. But your face was clearly there and hers was too. Her lips were on yours and you looked like you were enjoying yourself.

You think and you think hard. You didn’t go to any parties lately with your leg and you haven’t been to any games of theirs. You stared at the photo for hours, wracking your brain for some kind of explanation.

An explanation as to why Jessie looked so hurt at the thought of you with someone else.

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with ODIN BELLO, who is THIRTY-FOUR years old. He is often called OTHELLO by the CAPULETS and works as their CAPTAIN. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

TW: ABUSE

He believed that cruelty was bred in his BONES. No one could fault him for such a belief – the evidence was there, before his very eyes. It was there when he awoke to his mother’s weary gaze, new bruises blooming across her skin. It was there when he went to sleep, his father’s lecherous sneer branding the back of his neck as he reached for another bottle. But he believed that kindness was there too, quieter than the cruelty, yet it was all the more consistent. It was in his mother’s gentle hands, softly brushing his hair back as she rocked him to sleep. It was there, in his own hands, as they bled from fending off street rats from beating a stray dog. So there it was in his very making, a juxtaposition of CRUELTY and KINDNESS woven into the sinews of his skin and bone. He has his mother’s smile, and his father’s eyes, they whisper as he passes his peers in the streets. Which do you think he’ll turn out to be?they murmur, eyes darting between his mother’s purpled wrists and his father’s hard stare.Which will I turn out to be?, he wonders. His God above refused to tell him. His demons below refused to let him hear the end of it. And so he went in search of the answer himself.

He graduated his class with high honors and enlisted himself in the army. Cruelty and kindness were practiced in balance, meant to evoke a subsequent HARMONY – a perfect place for a boy like him to utilize what was bred into him in equal measure. But then he began to grow reckless, the structure of such a place suddenly feeling constricting, the order that it demanded became rather suffocating. But he refused to quit, believing that this was the only place where he could ever find harmony. Such a far-fetched idea for a CURSED one, such as he. The army that he had bled for honorably discharged him, his superior officers assuring him that it was for his own good. So he returned home with his head bowed, frustration with God’s plans for him ever-more apparent on his features. The smile ghosted across his face less easily, the laughter that once charmed so many now flew from his lips sharp and edged. He had the answer to his question in his very grasp, but, of course, it was STOLEN away.

So, he tried to steal it back by establishing a life in Verona. It seemed that, in a city laden with WEALTH and BLOOD, he would find himself at peace. There were those who said that the city turned its back on strangers, its barbed thorns meant to ward off those who dared to step onto its hollowed streets. But the name he had established for himself preceeded him, the Veronans welcoming him into their embrace as if he had been a bambino running in the streets with all the other children. A noble man, they cheered, a hero. And so he donned the uniform of an officer of the law and became their protector, their knight in shining armor. They saw the kindness that hung at the edge of his eyes, the fairness that was at the source of his every action. And so he made a home for himself in Verona, found himself warming to the likes of the Capulets and – eventually – being accepted as one of them. Then, he fell in love. He was swept by Eros’ heady perfume when he met her, the woman that ENSNARED his heart.

There were whispers that his wife was cheating on him, small hints here and there – mostly those egged on by his confidante, Ivan. But then he began to see past the VEIL that he had cast over his own eyes – he was a man of cruelty, was he not? How had he forgotten the roots that had steeped themselves into the sinews of his being? So, amidst the accusations that tore from his lips – and those of others – he left what he called his heart and his home, isolating himself with contacts in Spain before any could see the DESCENT of the man that all of Verona had called a hero. Alas, one can only resist the harkening cry of the city before being pulled back into its mantle, and he was no exception. He returned not as an officer of justice, but as a soldier, or perhaps as cannon fodder. There is war permeating the air, and in war all must become soldiers and be ready to entrench themselves in blood. All must learn a little bit of cruelty in a time where there is no room for kindness. All must learn to be a little kind in a time where the world only knows to be cruel. 

DELILAH BELLO: Ex-wife. He had loved her – and, though he denies it, he still does. But his head was insinuating one thing, his heart contesting with another, and before he knew it there was a disarray that caused unforgivable doubts and grievances to pour from his mouth. He knew of the affect that it would have on her status and reputation, but there was a poison that had beset him and he was helpless to think clearly. But he has made his peace with it, for she was far too gentle and far too kind to Odin, who knew such virtues only in moderation. There will be the day when he will atone for the sins that he had committed against her. Until that day comes, however, he will try to take the lessons he has learned from her. He will try to be kind. 

PANDORA PHAN: Target. If there was anyone who could possibly be his equal in intellect and strategy, it would be Pandora. She matches him wit for wit, but he matches her blow by blow. Though she is an emissary, and he a soldier, he longs to tear her down so as to make her demise his crowning achievement. He will corrupt the incorruptible, tear down the pedestal of the infallible. Cosimo Capulet put his faith in the stranger of Verona for a reason, and all Odin has to do one simple thing, do as he does best: dust his hands with dirt, dip them into blood.

BELLAMY SANTO-DOMINGO: Partner/Confessor. When he became a professional bodyguard upon his return to Verona, he had hoped that his partner would be understanding. He had also hoped that such a person would be a Capulet. Unfortunately, only one of his two wishes was properly fulfilled. Although he and Bellamy got along well enough, Odin is careful to play his cards just right so as to get this Montague to flip. He plays the part of a broken-hearted man, a hero who has fallen but is trying to make amends. A couple of well placed words here, pathetic moments of bonding there – and soon enough, the Montagues heart will be tied to his fingers and he will be able to play him like a docile, thick-headed puppet.

IVAN RAHAL: Poison. He has been a fixture in his life. They both grew up in the same hometown, both enlisted at the same time and went on the same tours together. Ivan has been a faithful friend and Odin could never fault him for the transgressions that have occurred between them. But, as of late, he wonders if his beloved friend truly does have his best interests at heart. It was he who told him of Delilah’s faithlessness, of the offenses she has whispered against him. He isn’t sure if he’s capable of making such accusations, for this man was practically his brother, but Abel was betrayed by Cain. So is it really so far-fetched as to believe that this man intends to draw blood from him too?

Odin is portrayed by YAHYA ABDUL MATEEN II and was written by ROSEY. He is currently OPEN.

[ellie-bee242]

My Heart Bleeds For You-Part 3

“Three chapters in three days?” Yes. Simply because I have ideas. I just wanna warn you though it probably won’t always be like this.

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Chapter 3: Going to Hell

Song rec: Going to Hell by The Pretty Reckless

Word count: 1,623

Warnings: Swearing, violence (beating up a poor innocent punching bag, throwing glass to the floor)

“Jesus Christ, I said I don’t care what you do. This needs to get done now.” Hurley’s voice snapped over the line.

“I’m trying, it’s not like becoming integrated in someone’s life is an instant process.” Mitch huffed into his phone.

“Well not if you’re gonna be her friend it’s not.” Hurley sassed.

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think I get what you’re trying to imply.” He prayed the older man wasn’t saying what he thought he was saying.

“I’m saying date the chick. It’ll get you access faster.”

“You told me to never let it get personal-”

“And you don’t have to make it personal. Just date her until she introduces you to her parents. It can’t be that hard, like five dates.”

“Sir, I don’t think-”

“Yeah you don’t. Do it, Rapp. We need to take this guy down, his next ‘auction’ is scheduled two months from now. There’s a time limit and you can’t take it all up braiding her damn hair as she gradually tells you her secrets.”

CLICK.

Mitch squeezed his phone tightly in his hand and his sigh came out as more of a snarl before he locked the screen and shoved it in his pocket. He pushed away from his car and looked at the front of the gym, now dreading going inside.

He knew Hurley had made a good point. Becoming (Y/N)’s friend would be a much longer process than if he just dated her, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. He wasn’t a fan of using innocent people. And (Y/N) definitely fit under that category. The chick was practically saint-like with how sweet she acted, and how she taught a completely free self-defense class--simply out of the goodness of her heart.

He cursed and rolled his head on his shoulders before heading inside. He made it half way to the locker room where he was going to change and prepare for his first personal training client when the door to (Y/N)’s office flew open and banged against the interior wall. She came out carrying an overflowing vase of roses and looking like a goddess of pure fury.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” Mitch asked but she just marched right by him, leaving the air practically sizzling with rage in her wake as she headed for the front door. Mitch followed after her, as did Elle and both of them watched as she stomp kicked the door open before hurling the vase of flowers onto the sidewalk with an enraged scream.

“I know you’re watching! So you can take your roses and whatever else and shove them up your ass, thorns and all!” She called into the parking lot before turning around and marching right back inside.

Elle made sure to step out of her way and then watched as (Y/N) stormed into her office and slammed the door. She put her arm in Mitch’s way to block him when he made to go after her and shook her head.

“It’s best to let her cool off for at least ten minutes after this happens.” She instructed him.

“She hurls vases of flowers a lot then?” He asked.

“Only when they’re from a particular person.” Elle shrugged. “And before you ask, no one knows. She rips the cards to shreds before we can read them. My guess is an ex who cheated.” She sighed.

“How often does this person send flowers?” Mitch wondered.

“Every month or so. It’s been going on for as long as I’ve worked here.” She frowned.

“And how long have you worked here?”

“Three years.” She nodded at his widened eyes. “Yeah.”

“And how long have you been in love with (Y/N)?” He asked next. Elle spluttered and stared at him, mortified.

“What- how-”

“I’m pretty sure the only person who hasn’t noticed is her.” He muttered. Elle flushed.

“Three years.” She said reluctantly. “She’s very clearly not interested in me.” She sighed.

“Sorry. Any pointers on getting on her good side?” He asked. She gave him a look.

“You wanna date her?”

“Yeah, why?” He frowned at the way she was looking at him.

“You just.... You look like the type who doesn’t wanna date anyone. Ever. A perma-scowl, and a terse attitude.” She shrugged. “But hey, who knows. She likes when people are genuine. No dorky pick-up lines, at least not seriously. She does like flowers, despite that whole display you saw. And don’t do over the top stuff. She’s not the flashy kind.” She listed.

“Alright then.” He nodded. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, good luck.” Elle said genuinely. The door to (Y/N)’s office opened again before he could reply and (Y/N) stepped out into the main space, taking in all the people who stared at her, wondering if she was gonna go off again.

“I’d like to apologize for what you all witnessed.” She said formally. “Now, I’m going to go and handle my aggression in a safe manner. If anyone needs me I’ll be by the punching bags.” She ducked into her office quickly and came back out with hand wraps and MMA gloves clutched in her hands before she strode over to the punching bags that lined the wall she dropped the gloves and wrapped up her hands.

“I’d go now if I were you. Help hold the bag and ask her out after she gets a couple good hits in.” Elle urged Mitch.

“I can’t. I’m supposed to have a client coming in soon.” He frowned.

“He canceled. (Y/N) was gonna tell you when you came in but then the flowers got delivered. The guy got a stomach bug or something. You’re free today. Now go.” She made a shooing motion. “I’ve got glass to clean off a sidewalk. If I come back from storage and you haven’t moved over to her I’m going to shout out that you have a huge gigantic crush on the boss after only two days.” She threatened.

“You’re evil.” He accused.

“I know. It’s what makes me so fun.” She smirked before skipping towards the storage room. Mitch sighed, looked at the girl who was furiously punching at the bag when it wasn’t swinging around on her, and groaned before making his way over to her.

“Need some help with that?” He asked when she stopped her assault to steady the bag again.

“Sure, if you want to. Thanks.” She muttered and waited for him to get behind the bag and hold it for her. He gave her the green light and she went back to attacking the object with a flurry of different punch combinations. She even threw in a couple occasional kicks when she felt her hands needed a rest.

“Any face in particular that you’re imagining is on the receiving end of these jabs?” He asked after she paused to catch her breath.

“It’s not your face.” She assured him before straightening and sending her fists flying again.

“That’s comforting. Makes my question easier to ask.” She stopped punching when he said that.

“What question?” She demanded.

“Do you wanna, maybe, go out sometime?” He asked, coming around the side of the punching bag to see her face.

“You’re asking me out?”

“Not if you’re gonna start punching me.” He joked and she realized her hands were still in position. She lowered them immediately.

“I’m not.” She promised. “I just...... You wanna go on a date with me?” She asked, confused.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well.... You don’t look like you date...” She explained.

“Why do people keep saying that?” He huffed. “I date.” Well not anymore really. He admitted to himself.

“Okay.... But you look.... Surly. Like you couldn’t be bothered.” She shrugged.

“Is that a no then?” He wondered.

“No. No! I mean-” She smacked her hand to her forehead. “I’ll go on a date with you. When?” She asked, lowering her hand and looking up at him expectantly.

“Tomorrow night?” He offered.

“What will we do?” She asked next.

“Well, what do you like to do?” He shot back.

“I know a good bowling alley?” She suggested.

“Sounds good to me.” He smiled and she blinked at him.

“Okay... You know how I said you shouldn’t smile when we first met?” She asked.

“Yeah?” He asked, confused on the turn the conversation had taken.

“I totally take it back. If you smile like that... It’s a good look.” She complimented.

“Okay then.” He said awkwardly. “Anyways, if you want to keep beating up this poor innocent bag, I’ll hold it for you.” He said just to change the subject away from him smiling.

“Oh, no... I’m good now... My aggression... Is pretty much gone.” She smiled and backed up right into another punching bag. “Oh sorr-sorry...” She flushed when she realized she’d just apologized to an inanimate object. Mitch couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Fine.” She eeked out.

“I was talking to the bag.” He joked.

“Tsk, jerk.” She pouted. He smirked in response and watched as her cheeks went pink. “Okay, I’m gonna go.... Paperwork to work-... on.” She cleared her throat and turned around abruptly before walking purposefully to her office.

“Hey, (Y/N).” He called, causing her to almost trip she turned so fast to answer. “Try not to run over anything else.” He taunted. She gave him a special finger salute before turning and walking into her office, closing the door behind her. He grinned for a second at her response before he remembered why he’d asked her out in the first place. “I’m going to hell.” He muttered to himself with a sigh before heading over to the locker room to change so he could lift some weights.