#also on the word gal: american ass take | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arty-shadow-morningstar · 4 years ago

Text

A Failed Betrothal (6)

Here is a new chapter for you guys. I am terrible at writing feelings and this is my best shot.😅 Tell me what you think.

[Masterlist]

(PART 1)(PART 5)

-------

(Words in bold is French)

“Tch, Drake is going to be busy trying to find Hawkmoth. He can’t go around Paris, being Dupain-Cheng’s boyfriend. Besides, he can’t be a proper boyfriend even in his most lucid moments. I will be her boyfriend instead.”

Tim was glad he didn’t take a sip of his coffee when Damian volunteered to be Marinette’s boyfriend. But he still choked on air. Jason with his limited knowledge of french was confused. Damian didn’t do what he heard, right?

“No, you can’t. Chloe already told them about Tim. If I come in with a different boyfriend, they would get suspicious. We can work on Hawkmoth while we go on those dates. Besides, I thought you don’t like me. That’s not going to sell the image of a loving couple.” Marinette pointed out. (She also doesn’t want to do this fake-date thing. Not because she likes Damian and she had always been a goner for green eyes and totally would be date him if it weren’t for some stupid curse dictating her feelings for him and fake-dating him might get her catch feelings for him and she would get her heart broken when this is all over and she would stay single forever and be a lonely old lady with hamsters and cats for company.)

“Actually, Mari-bug, I only told the class how romantic your boyfriend is. I never told them what he looked like. Just in case, Timothy couldn’t make it. I have back-up favors to cash in.” Chloe explained.

Marinette didn’t even know why she was surprised at that, this was Chloe after all.

“You have more than one American boy around our age in your debt who you intend to be my boyfriend? Sounds like you, Queenie. So that also means that Damian doesn’t have to do it if he doesn’t want to.”

“My offer still stands. I will be your ‘boyfriend’ before I have to go back. I will be more understanding than those other American boys when you have to rush out for an attack. That is to assume that they can come here or agree. In our initial meeting, I didn’t like that weak girl act you put up. Recent events have made me realize that you are a much stronger person. (Careful Damian, that sounds like a compliment.) You are a decent partner to date.(Shit. Shit. Shit. That wasn’t a compliment, right?)”

Damian couldn’t see why Dupain-Cheng would refuse such a good deal. He supposed her feelings might be still hurt from his first impression of her. He would give her an apology when they are alone and away from his brothers who would make a big deal of it.

“Fine. At least, the curse will at least make this fake couple thing more believable.” grumbled Marinette. The light pink blush on her face is not because he said she was someone he would date.

Oh right, the curse. He swore internally, it had possessed him to be Dupain-Cheng’s boyfriend. He now would have to endure the hand-holding, kissing and staring into each other’s eyes, and try to resist the curse which will be much harder now. Somehow, he didn’t regret it a little bit. It sounds more bearable with him doing those things with her than her with Drake. This was just a mutual agreement to ward off her suitors and prove to her classmates that she was off the market.

Chloe clapped her hands,“If we have everything sorted out, you can start being a good boyfriend by walking Marinette to school today. We want to be on time now.”

The others started packing up their stuff or finished what they were eating. Marinette was dragged out of the bakery by an impatient Damian. Chloe and Alix picked up what Marinette left behind and followed out. The rest soon left right after, leaving the two boys in the bakery.

“Hey, Replacement, tell me if I am wrong but did Demon Spawn willingly ask a girl out?” Jason asked, stealing a croissant from Tim.

“Try making himself the perfect candidate to be her fake boyfriend out of many choices, including me, and get her to agree to it. Now he has to go on a few romantic dates with Marinette in order to ward off this really pushy guy in her class. Demon Spawn also has a crush on her and he’s in denial of it. We are not hallucinating either. I’ve checked.” Tim replied, sipping his coffee.

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

“Damian. Let go. Hey, Wayne, are you listening to me? Let me go. This is not how you treat your significant other. And you are not even going in the right direction.” Marinette all but yelled at him.

He released his grip on her. “My apologies for manhandling you but I wanted to tell you this away from everybody else.”

“What?” She asked, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

I- This is a little difficult to say for me,” Damian started. (Why were his palms sweaty? It’s just an apology. He had done it before although it was mostly because Grayson told him what he did wrong and made him do it.) “But I am sorry for calling you weak, pathetic and every other bad thing I have said about you when you have shown that you are anything but those. I was mad at myself for being caught and took it out on you.”

Her glare softened.

“Apologies accepted. The school is this way.” She said with a smile and went towards the school. Damian walked by her side, his hands in his pockets.

Marinette looked at where his hands were, “If we are going to do this fake dating thing, I suggest we hold hands.”

Damian grabbed her hand and continued walking in silence. Her hands were so small and fitted perfectly in his. Oh God, it’s the curse again. Turning him into a sap. Do not think about her hands. And the fact that she took down a man twice her size with them which was an amazing sight to watch.

“Why are you so stiff? Loosen up a little. You are with the love of your life. Smile a little.”

Damian plastered on a fake smile, “Happy?”

“It looks fake. Being a model he will be able to tell.” Marinette remarked, “Are you sure you want to do this? We can still go get Tim to be my boyfriend.”

“I can do this. Drake wouldn’t be a better choice. It doesn’t help that you are relentlessly nit-picking me. Or are you that bad of a girlfriend?” Damian couldn’t help but sniped back. “Maybe that’s why Chat Noir left you.”

He found himself back against the world and her elbow at his neck. (He would forever deny that he liked it.)

“Look here, Wayne. You know nothing about me and you shouldn’t assume that you do. Chat Noir was revoked of his status as a hero for his behaviour. If you don’t act the part properly, I am going to have my former partner, who has absolutely no sense of boundaries, harassing me in my civilian life and I have already dealt enough of his advances to last a lifetime. I have given you so many chances to get out of this which you refused and yet, you are half-assing it. So are you in this 100 percent or not? Because I am at the end of my patience right now.”

“The boy who is obsessed with you is the former Chat Noir?”

“Yes, I will explain about that later but what’s your answer?”

“I will give it my best shot but I have never pretended to be in love.”

“Were you not taught in the League?”

“There were seduction tactics shown to members when they were old enough and I left them when I was 10 but I am not sure if those skills can be applied here.”(Slamming your opponent against the wall wasn’t one of them but she was doing a great job of it so far. No. No. No. He is not his father. This is different from whatever he has with Kyle.)

She released her hold on him and grabbed his hand, leading him towards her school.

“Well then, here are the basics. Everytime you look at me, just think of your favourite things to make your smile a little more genuine. Maybe call me by a pet name if you want. Keep your touch on me like you can’t keep your hands off of me and act really reluctant when you have to let go. You will only keep them my shoulders, arms, hands and waist or I will break your hand. I will do the same. If you are going to have to kiss me, give me a warning.” He looked into her blue eyes and nodded.

“Alright.”

“Oh. I almost forgot. In case they try to question our relationship. My favourite colour is red. My favourite song is ‘Fearless’ by Jagged Stone.(I love Taylor. Sue me) And we met online a few months ago. You came all the way to Paris to see me a month ago and asked me out. We will talk more that later. Oh, I also love designing and have dreams of being a famous fashion designer.-”

Marinette rambled on which Damian found a little endearing. He looked forward to knowing more about her. He added a few comments here or there about himself (because it was only fair.) and ways to improve their cover story about their relationship.

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

“We are nearly at school. Let’s start the act, Romeo.” Marinette whispered at him and looked at him with a bright smile that brought a tiny smile to his face. Okay, maybe he liked Marinette a little bit but that doesn’t mean he’s in love with her.

He moved her hand holding his to the crook of his elbow.

“Is this acceptable, my lady?”

She wrinkled her nose, (Adorable. No. Don’t go there) “This is fine. But can you not call me that? And princess too? I may have erased his memories as Chat Noir but it could be a trigger to bring them back.”

“Understandable. What about Malak?”

She blushed. Marinette had learned Arabic a while back and was very fluent in the language.

“It’s okay.” She said in a soft voice. She put her other hand on his bicep and leaned on his shoulder.

“You don’t look like a touchy-feely person so is this fine?”

“Yes.”

“Cool, let me tell you more about the atrocious lies that had passed her mouth.”

They walked into the school courtyard, arm-in-arm, for the entire school, especially Marinette’s class, to see. The perfect picture of a loving couple. Marinette’s blush from earlier was evident on her face, leaving no room for doubt about her new relationship status. (Many guys, gals and pals were upset over it.) As they both walked up the stairs, whispering and laughing about who knows what (gulliable and idiotic classmates they have to suffer learning with), two pairs of green eyes followed them.

In this case, the saying ‘green-eyed monsters’ was true. One was envious of the boy who held the girl he wanted in his arms and the other was envious of the attention the couple was receiving.

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

Damian escorted Marinette to her class. He gave her a kiss on her cheek and said, loud enough for the class to hear, “Bye, Malak. I will pick you up after school for our date.”

“B-bye, Damian.”

He took her hand, gave a kiss to the back of it and departed, leaving a very red-faced Marinette behind. The rest of the class parted the way as Damian walked past.

She rushed into her seat where Chloe sat beside it, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

“Sooooo, Mari-bug, how was your date? You two rushed out of there so quickly and left your stuff behind. So eager to spend time with your boyfriend, eh? You enjoyed it very much by the looks of it.”

“Sorry about that, Chloe. Did you bring my bag and the cheese danishes?” Marinette tried to change the topic. And she also wanted to make sure a god of destruction doesn’t go hungry and angsty during school. “Yep, here you go,” Chloe said, handing Marinette her bag and a box of cheese-flavoured snacks for Plagg, “Your mom packed some for you.”

“Marinette. Where have you been the last two days? And you came back with a boy. I am honestly worried about your behaviour.” Lila played the concerned classmate wonderfully.

“Yeah, Marinette. This is a new low, even for you.” Alya added.

Marinette readied herself to tell the cover story Damian and her worked out on the way here.

“Lila, I appreciate your ‘concern’. But the last four days have been a little hard on me so excuse me if I am a little snappy today. You see, Damian disappeared and didn’t return home after school on Friday. So when he didn’t pick up for our weekly video call, I panicked and called his family and they told me what happened. They sent me a plane to get out of Paris so I can’t get akumatized.”

“Was that why you were gone on Saturday?” Chloe asked, playing along although she already knew why Marinette wasn’t in Paris the last four days.

“Yeah. Sorry for not telling you guys. It was sorta last minute. Thankfully, he wasn’t kidnapped actually. His biological mother picked him up but never told his father that she was taking him. I just came back last night. Dami followed me to make sure I am okay.”

“What a bunch of bullcrap.” Alya said, “I don’t believe you.”

Oh. The irony... “Alya, I don’t care if you do. My life is my own business. So keep your nosy nose out of it. Your opinions don’t matter to me anymore, stranger.” Marinette internally was tired of this silly routine and wanted this to end already.

Alya wanted to pick a fight with her over the smallest things she did for the past months. She wondered why her former best friend hated her this much.

“Lila told me that you were skipping school and you paid an actor to be your pretend boyfriend.”

Pretending to not hear what Alya said, Marinette turned towards Chloe, “Hey, you never told me about how you met Tim. I can’t believe that you two are friends.”

“We met at one of those charity galas-”

“Hey, we were talking to you.” Alya cut her off. To which Chloe glared at the ombre-haired girl.

“I thought our conversation was done. What else am I supposed to say?”

Marinette was frustrated and hid that fact well, showing any reaction would give the game away. If she had reacted, it would further fuel the fire of Alya’s self-righteousness, making her believe that Marinette was somehow guilty of what Lila told her about. Lila managed to turn nearly the entire class against her by appealing to their ‘hero’ side and outbursts from Marinette and the others made them more sure of themselves of being in the right. It was so deep-rooted that nothing would sway them to logical reasoning. Maybe except Phase 2. Phase 1 was made a little easier when Talia kidnapped her and made her miss a few days of school.

Phase 2 was to not acknowledge the lies or just appear uninterested. It would illustrate the point that people don’t have to listen to them if they don’t want to. If possible, sow little seeds of doubt to the ones Lila had a looser grip on. The more people they can slowly get on their side, the better.

Alya was confused, usually Marinette would throw a ‘temper tantrum’ about how she didn’t do that and Lila lied.“I-, you should-, You should apologize to Lila.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow, “For what this time?”

“For saying that she was lying.”

“Pray tell, when did in any of our conversations so far did I do that? I mean I don’t like the fact that she just accused me with little evidence of paying my someone to be my boyfriend but I am not going to fight with anyone over it. Maybe I did do that, Maybe I didn’t. Maybe there is a good reason I did those things. The thing is Lila should keep to her own business and I will keep to mine. And as should you. I know you are a reporter at heart but you should at the very least respect my privacy.”

Alya stayed silent, fuming. Everyone was looking at them now. She realized that the designer was right and if she pushed further, she would be the bad guy.

“I thought so. Now, go away. I have nothing else to say to you. Let Chloe finish her story of how she met Tim which you so rudely interrupted.”

“Who’s Tim?” Lila asked, wanting to know more about Marinette’s boyfriend to work on an angle to get him away from the ravenette.

“Mari-Bug’s boyfriend’s older brother. Now, shoo peasants, we are talking. Anyways, Mommy took me to when I was younger so I could mingle with all the other rich kids and get connections. Timothy was there and back then, he was still with the Drakes...”

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

Lila and Alya returned to their seats, both were visibly upset although Lila was seething inside. When Marinette was not at school for the last two days, the Italian thought that it was the last she had seen of her. Today, she showed up with a handsome boy on her arm and by the looks of his clothes, rich too. If she manages to get ‘Damian’ to break up with that pest and date her instead, then she would have a rich, handsome boyfriend devoted to her and that brat would be so heart-broken that an akuma so powerful would be made that even Ladybug won’t be able to defeat. A two for one deal. Lila started planning (scheming) to take her boyfriend away.

------

(Part 7)

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

Edit: I am so sorry. I forget to add the taglist.

Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe. @tonicxworld, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @frieddonutsweets, @local-witch-of-mn, @lady-bee-fechin, @iglowinggemma28, @indecisive-mess-named-me, @k-tea-and-coffee, @jayjayspixiepop, @all-mights-asscheeks, @idk-j-go-with-it , @loysydark, @thenillabean, @lolieg, @zalladane, @silvergold-swirl, @henie04, @blueblossombliss, @khneltea, @mochegato, @itsmeevie01, @roguishredaxion, @alyssadeliv, @steph-hearthlight, @adrestar, @eliza-bich, @abrx2002, @hikari55ttva, @doglover82, @daminette5074, @moon5608,@justafanwarrior, @allis-sun, @animegirlweeb, @aespades, @corporeal-terrestrial, @mildlydeadly, @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl,

#damian x marinette #maribat #ml x dc #daminette #mlb x dc #a failed betrothal #betrothal au: take 2

373 notes · View notes

angrypedestrian · 3 years ago

Text

THE TIME IDIOTS EPISODE 704 TITLED “Cirque du Stupid” MY THOUGHTS:

Not gonna lie I originally wrote that out as episode 503, just to show you where my brain is at currently

Anyways rip isn’t here jax isn’t here stein isn’t here snart isn’t here what’s the GODDAMN point

welcome back to dc’s legends of tomorrow during the last episode these bullet blondes were having an orgy

obvs the tarazis take turns with a strict schedule and sensory deprivation technology

KILL THE RACIST MAN ZARI

KILL HIM WITH YOUR WIND POWERS LIKE ZARI 1.0 DID BY TAKING THE AIR OUT OF THEIR LUNGS

an aside, behrad looking great in that hat

i realize i have not given out a Neal McDonough Memorial Can Get It Award yet this season!! A grave error and travesty on my part

Yeah it just goes to Shayan

also, these wigs? for legends standards? not as bad as they normally are!

well done costume department

these idiots are truly the dumbest people alive

speaking of idiots, the astra/spooner/gideon triangle rises again!!

i’m pretty sure this lady on the train is adam’s girlfriend? if i’m right, good for him!! she seems great and he seems like a very supportive partner and their dog is real cute

lol where is nic bishop did he get another job and can’t play every guest character this season?

i do not like this credit sequence any better than the last two year’s, it’s just a different kind of bad

the gang makes bath tub gin and kills all of Chicago

is jared padalecki singlehandedly funding walker? that can be the only way it has gotten a second season

gideon i love you

gideon learning that her knowledge just makes her come across as gay

which....yep all tracks

aw i’m glad behrad gets to have a good time jamming

zari i know you are grieving, but please fuck this man, i think everyone would be into it

once again, why does olivia need to do an american accent. there is literally no reason

haHA PHIL SPECTOR IS ROTTING IN HELL AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT

this money cgi....peak of technology....effervescent

actually i take it back, the Memorial Award goes to Shayan’s hair

...and also eddie and zari’s sexual chemistry

eddie no!!!!!

one of you blonde ladies be fucking useful!!!

ONE OF YOU BLONDE LADIES BE FUCKING USEFUL

what do you mean BUT HOW sara FIGURE IT OUT YOU FUCKED IT UP

KILL THEM ZARI

mushroom john from the afterlife being like do NOT fuck this man IN MY HOUSE

zari: i do what i want you’re dead mushroom man and we were never exclusive

john: yeah fair...can i watch

zari:...maybe

we’re putting on a show everyone!!!! everyone loves a show!!!

yeah that’s right ladies zari is going to make you be USEFUL

this man’s underbite is how you know he is a Bad Man

KILL HIM ASTRA

EVERYONE KILL THE MEN

astra take that jaunty beret and shove it down that man’s throat

zari does not need your affirmation gary

i am uncomfortable with nate and gary openly discussing being bottoms like this

this time i mean it i am fucking suing for emotional damages

warner brothers rearming those snipers as we speak

but also drag his ass gary

adam’s girlfriend already quarantined and is living in Vancouver bring her on the ship and make her a regular! the more the merrier!!

GALS and PALS

what’s better than this just gals being pals

hell yeah get every penny’s worth of the million dollars you’re paying amy an episode

you are paying her a million dollars an episode right?

RIGHT????

yeah of course she knows the fucking words spooner she knows everything she’s a fucking AI supercomputer from the FUTURE

she knows the whole timeline!!!!! that was like....a whole thing very recently for you all

zari you look great girl!! eddie doesn’t care!! he still wants to bang you!!

i do like that they’re really making jes and caity earn their salaries this year lol

where’s p!nk i know y’all could’ve gotten her if you tried

KILL HIM GIDEON

question did this man already have this stupid haircut or did phil make him get it. they seem equally likely

gar bear being here to talk means he is also a willing hole, and that’s beautiful

MY GIRL

It’s zari!!!!!!!!!!

YAYYYYYYYYY

Next week: ZARI FUCKING TOMAZ also yay we finally get to see matt again!

#legends of tomorrow #legends of tomorrow spoilers #the time idiots #my thoughts as i have them

7 notes · View notes

trashbinbackyard · 4 years ago

Note

pre and general with gilly and lori + love with docs + domestic with ace n radu

yeeyee

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

Gilly was an investigator intern that followed her mentor around, and Lori was probably a relatively new recruit for the hunters, just say hi on the passing and introduce themselves and then get back to what they were working on

What was their first impression of each other?

Gilly without speaking to Mallory first though she was quite intimidating, being that hench and in a combat uniform. After talking she realized she’s actually pretty sweet and fun. Mallory probably thought the same sweet and fun after talking

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

I think the whole office knew it was coming sooner or later. Their families probably had limited knowledge of whats happening and find out after they’ve begun dating

Who felt romantic feelings first?

Hard to tell, they’re both soft gals. Just to break the pattern of my character getting the crush first I’m gonna say Mallory lmao

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Not really, just shy about them

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

They wouldn’t believe in soulmates but hey, neat

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Mallory when she asked Gilly on a date-date after many trips to coffee

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

A botanical garden would fit them perfectly, both love outdoors and wildlife. Pretty shy but still having a constant conversation and maybe sneak a lil hand hold in there too

What was their first kiss like?

After a couple of dates when they’re parting to get to their homes, a quick kiss goodbye, Gilly has butterflies all the way home

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

I doubt, they’ve both had previous relationships

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Gilly is a head shorter, age difference is a max 2 years, they’re both pretty young

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Mallory gets instantly accepted into the clan and is gifted a super sunlotion to protect her pale Irish ass from the Nigerian sun. Lori’s fam also accepts Gilly pretty fast, she’s also very enchanted by the farm

Who takes the lead in social situations?

They both can but when they’re together Mallory’s often the one talking

Who gets jealous easier?

Gilly, she gets self-conscious about her body from time to time and sometimes doesn’t feel worthy

LOVE for the horny docs

Who said “I love you” first?

Juno, in a casual way during an office party of something, or maybe it wasn’t as casual *eyes emoji*

What are their primary love languages?

Touch and words, those two can’t keep their hands to themselves

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

Cuddling a lot when off hours, PDA in a tasteful manner, cheek kisses when at work and passing each other, when out on dinner then hand holding and kisses, nothing too raunchy where they can be seen

What are their favorite things to do together?

Read, have dinner, watch tv, go on jogs

Who’s better at comforting the other?

Juno probably, though Enrique aint that bad himself

Who’s more protective?

Enrique, however, without tiptoeing into the career criminal ways he had, when out with Juno. Juno herself gets pretty protective too when Enrique’s illness starts acting up

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

They like both, although they lean more towards that physical affection

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

You’ve pointed out Besame Mucho, I... have nothing

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

The basic pet names, babe, cara

DOMESTIC LIFE for boyes

If they get married, who proposes?

Radu had to for his nerves’ sake. Aaron was two days away from proposing himself

What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

It’s chill, still fancier than Cameron’s and Jules’ lol. Theri entire friend group is there as well as their families

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

They have one boy, Isaac. He’s a good and mellow boy, perfect for not riling up Radu’s stress and very curious of music for Aaron’s joy

Do they have any pets?

Nah

Who’s the stricter parent?

Radu, just because he’s more protective and just wants to make sure his baby wont get hurt or into trouble

Who kills the bugs in the house?

Either

How do they celebrate holidays?

Aaron brings lavish American holidays with him so it might get more extra than their friend circle’s

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Radu, though Aaron’s got pretty flexible hours but he will make them coffee and then get back to bed for few minutes

Who’s the better cook?

Radu, get that boxed mac and cheese shit out of the way of some peak slavic culinary

#enrique likes to think he's suave but he also says shit like 'happy anniversary. lemme eat that ass'#asdfgffasfaf #space shitstorm #is-that-what-i-think-it-is

4 notes · View notes

suffering-and-happy-about-it · 5 years ago

Text

Mount Everest Ain’t Got Shit On Us (Fezco x fem!reader, Part 14.)

Description: You were always told that your life will be as you wish it to be if you’ll study enough. That it will pay off if you work hard. And some people were given you like a scary example of what will happen when you don’t obey. But sometimes it feels good to disobey.

A/N: This is the last proper chapter before we move on to the ending, which should be separated into three to five chapters.

Warnings: Illegal actions, drug smuggling.

Word count: 3.7 K

Read the rest here, babe: PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8 PART 9 PART 10 PART 11 PART 12 PART 13

Masterlist and declaration: H E R E

Tagging: @charmed-asylum, @jeyramarie, @pantherxrogers, @analia-analia-analia

Since you are a small kid, they tell you that you will have to find work when you will grow up. You are prepared for that ’work’ since you’re a little kid. What had you thought? That they are making you visit the kindergarten because they want you to have fun? Only to find some friends that you can have all-life-lasting memories and friendships with? For you to have cute photos in costumes on your fridge?

If you did, then think again - the system prepares you to go to that work since you’re a small kid. Then, there’s an elementary school, high school, and college. Just to make you prepared. Just to make you work for the system.

Maybe you want to be a lawyer? No, you have to be smart for that - you’ll be a cashier for that. You want to be a police officer? Dear, you’re too fat for that - you can work as a cook, maybe? Yeah. That’s the fucked up society and system we are all a part of.

That’s how it works.

But soon, you learn that there are one or two ways how to fuck the system up, so you could bring some chaos to it. Black marketing, for example. White meat trafficking and prostitution. And, of course, the one we all know really well about - drug dealing.

And since your boyfriend and his small best friend were the biggest distributors for your small American suburb, you naturally came across that. You started to notice how it usually goes - they come on a party or onto the gas station and the hand each other the things so fast, that you don't even have the time to notice if you’re not paying attention.

Usually, it looks like a handshake between two people who haven’t seen each other in a long time - but one had the small package of, most likely, weed, coke or something like LSD and the second person has cash rolled in their hands. They shake hands - dealer handles the drug, takes the cash. Not a big deal.

Sometimes you even see small iron boxes around the city - Fezco took the money and left the material there. And to be honest, there was a shit load of them. Or just leave it on places which would never appeal to anyone as suspicious while the money was waiting for Fezco out there - dull books in a full bookshelf, an empty tube of pills, under a specified stone... These tactics were previously agreed by both sides and usually performed at parties when the two couldn’t meet from eyes to eyes.

But to be honest, the funniest for you was the pocket change, as Ash called it. It sounded less suspicious then. That was when the dealer and the other party met, but tried to be less suspicious - like on a street or something. The dealer came next to the buyer, shoved his hand up the buyer’s pants into one of the pockets which are previously specified to be ’the ONE’ and leaves the drug there while taking the money out.

Let’s just say that you were able to learn a lot of Fezco’s tactics. As time passed and you saw them more and more times, you were pretty sure that you could perform at least one of them on your own. And that how Ashtray thought as well.

"Hey, baby girl." - He grinned when you enter the shop and put his Snickers bar away to perform a handshake ended up with a fistbump with you. You just ended at school and immediately went to the shop to show Fezco an exam you totally nailed. He was excited for you because he never was as good in exams as you were and he was fucking proud of his baby girl. You were definitely a genius in your boyfriend's eyes.

"Baby girl? That's a new level for us, little kid." - You jumped onto the counter, so you sat there and wiggled your legs from side to side while chewing on gum.

"Heard it from his bedroom while ya weren't here. Bet his hands were occupied at that moment." - Ashtray grinned and snored while talking of that and this thought made you cringe like hell. Jerking off while thinking about you? Definitely hot and cute. Making Ash aware? Pure idiocy.

"How you even are? I haven't talked to you in days." - You looked at him as he sipped some Gatorade or what.

"Ya know da drill, the business somehow rolls, we survivin'." - He nodded, but his face got more serious than before. - "Havin' a problem with a package lately. Kinda thought ya might be willin' to help us?"

"How could I help you with package delivery? Ashtray, that's dumb even for you." - You bickered back, but your smile faded away as none showed up on his serious face.

"Simply. Snuggling into the school's toilettes." - He shook his head as if you were completely dumb. You. You smuggling drugs. You smuggling drugs into school. Holy shit, that boy went officially crazy.

"Ash." - Fez's voice could be heard before you he entered the shop with the back entrance. He was looking tired as hell... Your poor baby boy. Such a cuddly kitten he was when he was tired like that. - "I told ya dat we ain't discussin' dat shit. Hi, babe." - Fezco came in to hug you and kiss your cheek. He stayed like that for a fairly long time before kissing your neck.

"And I told ya that Mouse will kick ma motherfuckin' ass if that package doesn't disappear. It a load and it's fuckin' huge. Expansive. It costs at least 200, maybe 300. It depends on how I'll be feelin'." - Ashtray answered seriously.

"Slow down. Both of you. First off, who the fuck is Mouse?" - You asked and made Fezco back up a bit. He would make you less concentrated with his nuzzling and neck kisses. Ashtray got up and took three different packs of gum.

There was a menthol flavor on the top, melon under it and the bubblegum flavor on the bottom. You looked at him with raised eyebrows and Ash just held a hand in front of him to tell you that you have to wait a bit until he'll tell you the conclusion.

"Look at it like dat, honey." - He told nonchalantly and you nodded, still keeping Fezco one feet away from you. - "The menthol ones are da best, so they on the top. Then there are the melon ones because of their good but not da best. And she bubblegum are just not dat good. Ya with me?" - Ashtray looked at you and you nodded.

"So. Mouse is da menthol flavor because he keeps deliverin' da shit to deal. We da melon ones. We sell to people. Which are da bubblegum flavor? This is sort of an analogy." - You leaned into the counter and smiled at you. You exhaled loudly as you finally understood.

"So, when I put into normal language." - You rose your finger while you looked at his gum analogy and hierarchy. - "Mouse is producing your material, whoever it is. You buy if from him and you sell it to other people. Am I right?"

"Honey lemme tell ya that ya a smart gal." - Ashtray smile got even wider and he went to put the gums back.

"And you two have a package which is huge and expansive and you need only a delivery service, right?" - You rose your eyebrows and Fezco broke the distance for the first time and held your hand firmly.

"Babe, I don't want to get ya involved into dis shit." - Fezco whispered into your ear and gave you a look from his fucking long lashes. His baby blue eyes were worried.

"Dat's right. Fez and I only need a delivery service. Ya up? We'll give you a little somethin' for takin' the risk." - Ashtray smiled at you. Something was tempting you to do it.

It was wrong, definitely. But it had to be adrenaline. It would be risky and you would go to rehab or straight to jail if somebody would catch you. It was on the borderline of crazy. You were putting your dignity and your sane mind into the stakes.

But also, your boyfriend and his little friend were in trouble. And it sounded like serious trouble if someone would ask you. Some guy, probably a gangster, would kick their asses if they didn't sell it.

"I can ask Rue if ya can't do it." - Ashtray smiled and smoothed your hand gently. - "I would get it."

"Don't be stupid, Ash. Rue is having her backpack searched through and they keep an eye on her since her OD. Jules is watched as well." - You exhaled loudly and you could feel Fezco's look directly on you. He didn't agree with your forming decision. You could feel the tension between the two of you. There will be an argument afterward between you, you were one hundred percent sure of it.

"Yeah. I told myself da same thing." - Ashtray nodded.

"How... How would that go?" - You turned more to look into Ashtray's face. - "I mean... No fucking way that they wouldn't notice drugs in my fucking backpack."

"Oh, I see, gal." - Astray went away for a minute.

"Y/N... I tell ya that I don't want ya to even come close to ma or Ashe's business. Back off." - Fezco begged for quietly and you took his face into yours, so you kissed him.

"You can't tell me what should I do and what shouldn't I do. I can decide on my own because I have a brain. Don't be afraid, okay?" - You smiled at Fezco.

Oh, how did he loved that you're your own girl? That you have your own brain and that you never let him dictate you anything - but sometimes, it was the serious pain in his arse.

Than Ash came back with a big package. It wasn't like... Extremely huge, but it was slightly bigger than your own palm. It was impossible for you to just snuggle it into school without someone noticing it.

"I see ya scared face. But lemme explain how it works." - Ash put the package in front of you. It was pretty full and heavy - someone needed a fucking load. You looked at Ash while Fezco was still looking at you with his disapproving look. - "I'll be waitin' under a window in da bio lab. You'll go through da checkpoint. They will believe ya dat yo backpack is clean. Ya will take it from me. After dat, ya will snuggle it onto da toilettes. The last one with broken top and with 'Maddy Perez bites cocks'. Ya leave it there. Take da money. Dat all."

"And I will bring you the money after school?" - You rose your eyebrows. It sounded pretty simple to you. It could be fast in and out.

"Exactly." - Ashtray looked at Fezco. - "Ya ladybug is not only pretty but smart too."

"And she won't be doin' dis shit. Leave her fuckin' out." - Fezco almost broke his teeth from gripping it together as hard as he did.

"I can help you, baby. This sounds easy." - You smiled at both of them.

So were in and opened for business. You joined their little gang, you were part of the drug cartel. And it felt badass.

When you rode into the school that morning, you were as paranoid as ever. Almost like the first day at school. You felt like everyone was watching you, talking about you. That morning's check out for guns or drugs in your bag felt itchy. Almost funny. They knew you're one of the good kids, so they just quickly checked your bag and gave it back, wishing you a good day.

Rue was watching her with a furrow. She knew that you're about to do something. But you didn't want to tell her what. She had a feeling that it is something almost extremely stupid, but you just didn't talk to her.

Ashtray was on the spot on time which was determined the very morning before when Fezco was taking you to school because Fran had to leave early. you only opened up the window and shoved the things inside your bag. But then your stomach almost made you throw up because the classroom opened up. Your hand was still in the bag, holding the package and you almost shit yourself on the spot.

You needed to calm down as soon as you could to think of some good reason why you were in an empty class before school even started.

"Oh, miss Y/L/N." - Mrs. Garner walked into the class with her folder pressed to her boobs in her typical black jeans. She was a bio teacher and she was a great one. She was sensitive, nice to her students, positive and just overall nice. Every time a problem, you could come to her and tell her. - "Nice to see you here. Looking out of the window, watching photosynthesis? Nice."

Mrs. Garner liked you and she wasn't suspecting a single shitty thing about you in an empty classroom next to an opened window. You were a good student, you always answered in her classes. You were smart as well, giving her some good questions. She liked you.

But you thought that you're fucked. You closed your eyes and tried to calm yourself down, but you couldn't. Your cheeks reddened and you almost threw up her new Nike sneakers. Did she see anything? Did she see the drugs? Had she seen Ash running away from the window? Holy fuck. God may help you.

"I had just... Forgave something here. Sorry for not telling you, miss. Also, the air was kinda stuck in here, so I thought I will let in some fresh air in here before your first class." - You closed up your backpack and shoved your fists into your hoodie so she couldn't see how you nervously played with your fingers and how sweaty your palms were. You tried to smile at her, but it felt fake.

Miss Garner didn't seem to notice as she smiled at you and slowly smoothed your shoulder.

"I swear to God that you're one of the best students I ever had." - She looked at her watch before smiling at you again. - "You should go before the class starts."

And how gladly did you run off all sweaty? You were about to faint when you reached your English class. Rue was furrowing her look at you, asking you what's up silently. You weren't looking good at all. You waved her off and sat on your seat. There you rapping your feet at a fast pace.

What now? What's the next move? What should you do? You sat through half of the class as a body without a soul. But then it hit you. Toilettes. You throwing up. Pretend to be sick.

"Sir!" - You yelled through the whole class and stood up. You looked like a mess with a really bad fl, sweaty and pale as the classroom’s wall. - "I think I'm gonna puke." - And with that, he basically let you run out of class without a question; your throat made a similar sound to when you were puking and your teacher did not really want to be puked on. That was easy. So now, you had to find the fucking toilette, leave it there, take the money and leave.

Finding a cab which had 'Maddy Perez bites cocks' all over it, sprayed in green color, wasn't that hard - everyone knew that toilette. But you couldn't get in whatever the fuck was with it. You tried everything; your own hands, power, kicking it off, nothing helped. You almost cried. You didn't want to be caught with a shit ton of drugs in your backpack.

But at the moment, you didn't know what else outside a breakdown you should do.

"Hey, shithead." - Rue's voice echoed through the empty toilettes. She was walking slowly and her footsteps were louder and louder. You tried to stop crying, but you were too fucked up to even take the mucus off with a Cleanex. - "Hey. What's up?" - Rue asked, opening the cab door slowly and walking into the cab to kneel beside you.

She wanted to ask you if you're ok, but she only smoothed your shoulder and then she stopped herself. Oh, so that was why you were so weird since the very morning. Then she looked at the toilette, at you and almost slapped herself on the spot.

Of course, Rue knew what is happening in the very cab. She started with that cache when she was in the freshman year and she couldn't meet with Fez face to face. A lot of people in the eleventh grade took it as a good opportunity to get some cash.

"Fuckin' Ash. Keeps forget to tell ’em about the lock on the back of da tank." - She rolled her eyes and leaned behind the toilette, opening the tank up with skilled hands. She giggled and showed you her slim palm. You just watched it with a frightened face.

"Gimme da package." - She ordered and so you did. She laughed when she saw how many materials were in there and how much it weighed in her hand. Then she gave you the money in a waterproof sack, stuffed the drugs inside and closed the toilette again, locking it on the other side.

She sat there on the other side of the cab, there was barely space for that, your legs were entwined and you just quickly and silently shoved the bag with money into the depths of your backpack.

“Yo first time doin’ dat?” - Rue smiled a bit at you and she looked pretty relaxed. She wasn't even a bit upset about you smuggling drugs or your cab breakdown - she was just happy. - “Mine secret cache. A lot of da older kids know about it, but I had started it here when times were bad.” - She smiled and smoothed your leg.

“My first time doing this and certainly the last doing it. I could have been fucked if not for you.” - You finally calmed down a bit, since you had only money in your bag now, cleaning up your face with a tissue.

“Yeah. But da better thin’?” - Rue stood up and offered you her hand. - “Ya look so terribly that Mr. Smith told me to take ya home when I find you. He doesn't want a student with flu in his class, he's too afraid that he might catch it too.”

“So I can give Ash the money ASAP and finally take a deep breath in.” - You stood up and she hugged you, smoothing your hair quietly.

“Tell me ya won’t fall into da trap me and Fez are in.” - She took your face into her palms. Oh dear lord, she was about to cry, her lips curling down. - “Promise me that yo gonna stay the fuck out, baby.”

“Yeah. I can fucking you promise that.” - You mumbled and shoved your face into her neck as you both stood there and cried. You were holding her tightly; even if nothing happened basically, your nerves were on the top of stress. This... Everything was biting your ass and all you wanted was to really go home, lay in bed and forget about all that day.

Rue and you decided to really go out of the school. You didn't want to be there because you knew that nothing that would the professors say would catch your attention. So you visited your friend in the reception room who wrote you and Rue the permits to leave school and then, you rode down on her bike, you sitting on the spot for the bags.

For a small moment, you felt free. Completely free and careless. You were glad for this experience - at least, you were able to determine that you'll never do any of it again. It was just not worth it for a person like you.

Since the day you've been born, everyone saw as the good girl. As the nice one who helps people, who are there to listen when they got a problem, to help them with their ailments. Stuff like this, stuff in which was Fezco and Ash lived in was not a world for you to live in.

You weren't as strong as they were. Your nerves could barely handle the stress of being caught. You almost fucked up two times - even if you only had to deliver the package in a radius of thirty meters.

You gave Ash the money, firmly put it onto the wood and gazed on him with a dead look in your eyes.

"Don't you ever dare to make me do it one more time. I almost puked, I almost shitted myself and no amount of money is worth to end up in jail. No, thank you." - You shook your head and Ash smiled quietly at you as Rue put her bottle next to the counter.

"Got it. I know dat dis isn't da work for everyone, but you saved my and Fezzy's ass." - He gave you fifty dollars from the package payment. - "For risking yo ass. And you can get somethin' for free today." - He left the shop and Rue made her puppy eyes on you.

She wanted the cherry soda you took there on your first visit to the shop. So you nodded and left. You wanted to be as far from Ash as you could.

#rue bennett #rue euphoria #fezco euphoria #fezco #fez euphoria #fezco x reader #fezco hno #fezco imagine #euphoria hbo #euphoria #fez #mount everest ain't got shit on us

104 notes · View notes

msbluebell · 5 years ago

Note

Thanks to my overactive brain, I present this AU: post timeskip where a spell gone wrong sends Byleth to the MCU universe. Dimitri is not far behind because he's an overprotective puppy, and so we have two out-of-place people in a world of superheroes and now the two of them have to find a way back. Dimitri is a large and intimidating man wielding an equally large Areadbhar, so imagine how Tony, Peter and the other Avengers react to seeing these two

Oh my god, Alternate Dimensions shenanigans.

I’m not usually one for crossovers, but since this is an ask and it has the potential to go hilariously wrong, let’s go!

MCU Crossover

It’s magic that sends Byleth and Dimitri through the veil between worlds. The ritual wasn’t specific about the where, it was just supposed to send the target “away”. Byleth was it, and Dimitri grabbed onto them, and the next thing they know the both of them are landing through a window.

Now, Fodlan is roughly shaped like a dragon head and has art and traditions that vaguely seem Celt, so I’m saying that landed in Ireland somewhere. Now, this is the MCU, so people are fairly used to superheros falling out of the sky by now. That said, it hasn’t really happened to Dublin yet, so when a strange portal opens up and throws out a large scary lookin fella in full on armor and a lady with green hair, their’s a collective feeling of “Ohhhhhh shit, here we go. It’s good ole’ O’reland’s turn now. Better call me ma’ and tell ‘er to update the insurance, because we got us some heros and that means shenanigans are afoot.”

Then the scary man gets up, looking very confused, he’s still got the gal in one arm, and he gets off of the ground, wonders into traffic, and before the car can swerve or hit him he’s stopping the damn thing with one hand and smashing the whole front end.

“Oh shite, we’ve got another Thor running around.” Is the collective thought of the Irish population as they’re filming all this and uploading it to YouTube.

Dimitri, meanwhile, is trying to politely ask someone where he and Byleth are, but there are a few problems. One, he’s a tall, broad, intimidating as fuck man and scares the shit out of people even though he’s trying to be polite. Two, he’s wearing full armor and carrying around a giant weapon made of bone. Three, he’s speaking a language no one can understand that sounds like if an angry Scot and an angry Russian got together and had a baby, and that baby spoke really fast because it had a temper. Four, his voice in that language just makes him sound like he’s threatening you.

So, yeah, other people are alerted pretty fast. It takes the people in charge about five minutes to see that there’s an issue going on in Dublin.

Oh, and then a monster shows up.

It’s a big, black, wriggling thing that shows up out of another portal just like theirs. It falls out of that thing, and immediately starts roaring and trying to eat people. So the Avengers are alerted, and they’re on the go.

And Dimitri just critical hits the thing with Areadbhar with one hit, casually leaves the concrete beneath it shattered, turns around, and goes back to trying to ask for directions back to Fodlan.

Yes, this is all on YouTube.

No, Byleth hasn’t even woken up yet.

Byleth does wake up before the Avengers get there, though, because that’s at least a ten minute jet drive away for Tony Stark. So Dimitri set’s her down, and she’s walking around in basically a corset and leggings with leather booty shorts, and the guy is saying something in that weird ass language, and she’s also speaking that weird ass language.

Then she tries asking, because she’s tinnier, but alas, it is useless, no one speaks multidimensional whatever the hell she’s speaking.

Ireland is starting to feel pretty ripped off. They finally get their own superheros, and as cool as they are (scary blonde might be Thor levels for all they know! He’s definitely got the look!) they can’t understand a word they’re saying.

The Avengers show up, way late to the party, look at the disaster around them, and realize petty quickly what’s going on. Tony Stark, as the charismatic, decides he’s going to talk to them first and strolls right past a protesting everyone to get a long of them.

The first thing he says to Byleth is that they look like they walked out of Lady GaGa’s closet.

Byleth doesn’t understand a word he’s just said and tells him so.

Dimitri walks up, and everyone has to do a double take, because holy shit, he’s taller than Thor. How? Thor is basically a giant. But this guy is, like 6′8 or something. And he’s broad as Thor too.

He also broke concrete.

Tony is totally going to have to call Thor somehow and test out which of them is stronger. He has to. For science.

Also, GaGa junior has green eyebrows, so either she’s dedicated as hell to the look, or there’s more mumbo jumbo going on. Now, just to convince them to get on his ship and get them out of here.

It’s pretty hard with the language barrier, and trying to lure them on is definitely a now because the moment that was tried tall, blonde, and scary bent the door to his jet and ripped the thing right off.

Tony Stark is very interested in seeing if the guys could been stronger metals.

Cap, gosh darn him, is trying to be diplomatic and pointing at himself, repeating his own name a lot. GaGa seems to get it, because she repeats her own name.

“Byleth.” She says, pointing at herself, “Byleth.”

That’s something. Oh, and scary is also “Dimitri Alexandre Something Unpronounceable to his Too-American Tongue”.

Great. Awesome.

Now what?

#fe3h #fe16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #byleth eisner #tony stark #MCU Crossover #asks

190 notes · View notes

jksangelic · 6 years ago

Text

peaches & piercings (m)

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole

↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin

↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, sub/dom themes, casual sex, be t r ay a l, alcohol (and weed? idk) consumption, oral sex (male receiving), squirting, thigh-fucking, kind of exhibitionism?, jimin is pierced (that’s all i’ll say), just expect the worst from me tbh

↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type”. you call bullshit.

↳ note: i reallyreallyreally hated this fic. loved the idea, hated how i wrote it. i’ve had this bad boy sitting in my archives for months and months and months and couldn’t gather the courage to post it until NOW! partially because this is an apology fic for my inactivity and more so because i just think i’ve read it too many times that at this point, i’m just being nit-picky and need to move on.

a special thanks to the lovely @14statelier whomst unwillingly received dong pics for the sake of this fic. i’m so glad i found someone as sweet as you to beta for me + become an even better galpal! love u always xx

also thanks to my gal @jungshookz, i’m pretty sure (78% positive) i sent her my idea via snapchat and was probably inspired by her in some way, per usual.

OKAY i’m done you can read now hehehe

↳ words: 11.6k

↳ parts: one | two (complete)

“Jungkook, if you’re not going to throw it then get your grabby hands off my waist,” you warn, eyeing him as he stands behind you and delays in one-manning you into an extension or ogling your ass in your skirt.

“You’re just so wobbly today, I’m waiting for you to chill out a bit,” he lies with a smirk. You smack his hand but exhale deeply as you firmly grasp his wrists and count.

“1, 2!” With mutual timing, Jungkook dips down with you before heaving your body above, squatting to catch your heels mid-air, and pumping back up into an extended position. He’s right, you wobble a bit, calling out, “Bail!” and feeling his hands disappear beneath to re-catch your thighs and bring you down safely on your toes. You curse silently under your breath but pat Jungkook’s shoulder as a symbolic “thank you”.

“It’s too fucking early for this, I’m tired,” you say, only making excuses for yourself.

“Well, liven up. The doors are going to open soon and no freshmen want to join a failure of a cheer team.”

“Hey, stop bickering,” the captain, Suzy, orders, “Y/N, you’re fine to just handle the flyers, I’ll stunt with Jungkook.” You squish her into an exhausted hug.

“This is why you’re captain,” you coo.

With that, some of the staff open the gym doors, welcoming an intimidatingly large group of people in with smiles. You fake one yourself, ready to get this over with as soon as possible so you can go back to your dorm and sleep. Within ten minutes, you had a group of girls and a handful of brawny guys already watching Suzy and Jungkook’s exhibition, a mixture of oohs and ahs being rewarded. You handed each of them a thin, poorly-made flyer with pixelated clipart of a girl doing a toe-touch before they scrambled.

After a while, most of the initial commotion dies down and you people-watch each clueless face, thinking how adorable they are, so young and so lost, as if it weren’t you only a few months ago. You’re only a sophomore, but in your head that gives you enough authority to judge the freshmen.

You snap out of your daze upon boots clicking in the distance, soon revealing a man seemingly darting through the crowds to exit across the other side. You would’ve ignored him if it wasn’t for his peachy-tinted hair, long and slicked back atop and close-shaven near his neck, his thin but fit stature dressed in all-black, and the glint of metal, that you soon realized was a septum piercing, in his nose. He has a dark sleeve consuming his right arm and you wonder what eighteen or nineteen year old has a fully-developed sleeve.

Although his eyes were covered with chunky black sunglasses (in the gym, at that), the rest of his appearance sent your pierced-and-tatted-hot-boy alarm berserk. Suddenly awake, you wait for him to head closer to your booth before hopping next to him.

“Hi there, freshie. Care to take a tryout flyer for this year’s cheer team?” you ask with a pitch that’s much higher than your own, kindly handing him one of the shitty-looking papers. He mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch but speaks before you can ask him to clarify.

“Not a freshman. Do I look like someone who cheers? I’m just looking for the counseling center to turn in my transfer papers.

“Also, can you, like, give me some personal space?” he continues in a mock valley-girl tone.

You jump back, completely caught off guard with his sudden hostility and attempting to regain your composure by clearing your throat. Someone must’ve shoved a stick up his ass this morning.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Once you leave the gym, you head right, pass two sets of restrooms, head left, and it’s behind the big statue where the foyer is.” Your voice sounds much better.

His eyebrows rocket upwards over his glasses, completely frazzled by the number of directions you gave him, “Shit, okay. That’s a lot.”

“Here, I’ll just walk you,” you say, not giving him any time for him to probably decline. You don’t even question if he’s following you or not, the obvious clunkclunkclunk of his boots giving it away.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t try to talk to you on the way to the counseling center. At most, he walks side-by-side, at least three meters between you for good measure. And even though it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk, you ring him out a little more anyway.

“So, you’re not a freshman. Underclassman or upperclassman? And you’re a transfer? From where?”

Pass two sets of restrooms and head left.

“Senior. From Busan.” He doesn’t even show a hint of feeling. Emotion. Does this guy even breathe?

Straight until the statue in the foyer.

“Great. Well, it was nice to meet you, senior from Busan. I’m Y/N. If you ever need help or anything, feel free to ask me,” you deadpan, swiveling on your feet to salute him.

He leans on one hip, taking a hand with an incredible amount of rings on it and pushing his sunglasses over his hair like a headband. You certainly weren’t expecting a reveal of the kindest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He almost looks permanently sleepy—eyes drooping flat on the lid. Your trance distracted you from his brief once-over, unpredictably impressed by your looks, if he had to admit it.

“It’s Jimin. Jimin, senior from Busan. See you around, cheerleader,” he says with a sly tilt of his lips before swinging the door open and slithering into the office. Past all the glitter and bright colors that poured out of that hideous uniform of yours, Jimin found you really cute.

Jimin waits patiently for the front desk to call him up, lounging in one of the hard, black plastic chairs that never failed to give his ass cramps. Though he didn’t seem like it to new faces around the campus, he was ecstatic to be starting college again in a whole new atmosphere. He even got to room with another male originally from Korea, Min Yoongi, in a small condo not too far a walk from the area.

He could even prospect cuties like you during his year, undoubtedly positive he could busy himself judging by the attention he’s attracted so far. All it would take is a hungry stare, a lick of his lips, an all-knowing smirk. It was easier here than it was back home, if not child’s play. He could have you in three hours flat. But then he thinks of you choosing the obnoxious cliché of college cheerleader and cringes at the idea of associating himself with such… American-ness. He could at least go for some sort of indifferent, grunge hipster that might actually have some thought to her. Yeah, more his style.

The woman at the front finally calls for him, so he arranges his papers and shoos away any daydream of hooking up with the girl in a tight skirt and ankle socks.

Taking the long route back to the gym, your imagination sputters through all the possible reasons why you should hate that guy, bad-guy radar ringing and shrieking and threatening to punch you square in the eye if you even think about it. Eventually, it comes to the conclusion that he was just new, he was probably having a rough moving-in, and you shouldn’t judge a transfer by their hair. Book by its binding? You don’t really remember how the saying goes in this situation.

“Hey, good job on snaking yourself out of flyer duty. What, did you bang Asian Hot Topic on your way?” Jungkook snickers.

“And did Cait break up with you because you can’t dom for shit? Hand me my jacket.”

He guffaws, practically throwing the clothing at your face, “We didn’t break up, asswipe. How am I supposed to act when she suddenly calls me ‘daddy’ without previous warning? I’m not ready to be a father.”

“Kook, you’re dumb as shit. Maybe I should bang Asian Hot Topic and give you pointers of how a real dom works their magic.”

Jungkook crosses his arms in denial, “Pfft, you don’t even know him. He could be a receiver for all you know.”

One, two, three seconds. You both chortle at the impracticality.

You take one final look in the body mirror, adjusting the slinky grey dress and hanging an oversized burnt-orange corduroy jacket over your shoulders for that final touch of unnecessary, but fashionably-adept, garnish to your outfit cupcake. Not having enough time to do your hair, you sweep it over to one side and leave it as is.

“You look fine and you’re ten minutes late so get out already,” your roommate, Sara, whines. She practically pushes you out, slamming and locking the door for emphasis.

Waving off your discombobulated roommate, you start your trek to the humanities building (which is so far away) with a skip in your step. A new school year meant new people, new classes, more lunchtimes with subpar food and occasional parties that could potentially lead to you getting arrested. Who knows!

A new school year, however, didn’t mean that you would know your way to your new class apparently. Bummer.

It’s only by your fourth circle and a glance at your phone that you panic, fifteen minutes somehow passing in the midst of your scrambling. Pace quickening, you pull out your paper with sloppily written notes of what class room number was at which time, simultaneously half-jogging past classrooms and—

“Oof!”

You land straight on your ass.

“Ow, watch where you’re going stu—oh, it’s you.”

You look up groggily, pain stinging through your legs from the brunt of your fall and lazily making eye contact with a pair of puppy dog eyes. Jimin stands above you, rubbing his chin where, you suppose, your forehead made rough contact with and indiscreetly staring at your bright blue panties where your dress failed to cover.

Hopping up and dusting yourself off, you pick up your fallen bag and paper before glaring at him, “Sorry, I got lost and wasn’t paying attention.”

He scoffs, “Aren’t you the cheerleader? You’re supposed to be, like, the girl scout of the school, right? You shouldn’t be lost.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, well. I am,” you mutter to yourself, “I don’t even think there’s a 207 in this building…”

“Oh, 207? Intro to psych, right? That’s where I’m going too,” he admits, eyes blown wide. Welp, certainly not the highlight of your morning.

“Great. By the looks of the current time, we’re both lost and,” you wave around the empty corridor, “there’s no one who’s going to help us.”

“I’m not lost. I just woke up late,” he answers nonchalantly, a warm glow to his face like he couldn’t give two damns about his class.

“W-What? Then let’s go! Where is it?”

Jimin twirls and walks a different direction, mumbling, “I’m not your escort, rich girl.”

You prattle at his comment but follow him anyway. When you find the correct lecture hall, you groan at the fact that you already passed it several times. He opens the door quietly, not even bothering to hold it for you as you scramble to catch it. A couple of the back rows look back at you two, annoyed by the minor inconvenience.

“Well. Welcome to my 10AM psychology class at,” the professor booms through the hall and peeks at his wristwatch, “10:36. Go ahead and take these two free seats.”

Jimin shrugs and walks towards the front of the room, a quiet and embarrassed you tiptoeing behind him. Being this late and having to sit next to this ass wasn’t how you wanted your first day to go at all.

For the remainder of the 24 minutes until the first break, you skim over the contents that you missed in the syllabus and want to ram your head into the closest wall. Participation and attendance by themselves are 30% of your grade, homework and assignments (thank god) being a measly 20%, and the final plus tests and quizzes a hunking remainder of 50%. What even was this system?

During your ten minute break, you silently scroll through your phone notifications, setting it down irritatingly when the hall refused to grant you enough service to respond to any of them.

“Don’t have LTE, princess? Might as well watch paint dry without your phone to entertain you,” Jimin snickers beside you. You scowl menacingly at him and he giggles more.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but back off, Jimin. Sorry I don’t, like, play the electric guitar in my free time or whatever.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, still smiling and blowing bubbles with his gum, popping them quite obnoxiously, and quite intentionally.

“What, do you think I play the electric guitar? Are you stereotyping me as some sort of garage band drop-out punk?” he jesters.

“And do you take me for some sort of pink fuzzy consumerist? You don’t know me. Buzz off.”

Jimin had definitely tucked you into his mental folder of “tough gals”; his aloof tactic of flirting not seeming to penetrate that pretty skull of yours. He could just take the path of least resistance and approach you normally, but where was the fun in that? You were too interesting a specimen to just use-and-discard.

Jimin suddenly thinks you look attractive with furrowed brows and pouted lips. It was most definitely working for you, so he lets it slide for now. When class ends, you all but bolt before Jimin can even look your way, sure he’d find another surface flaw to pick at.

You suddenly think of what all of the adults in your life have said during your upbringing: people that went out of their way to bully you were either jealous or had an embarrassingly crushing “thing” for you. Jimin, on the other hand, was just annoying.

Of course, to your dismay, class isn’t the only time you ever saw him. You weren’t totally stupid. The campus didn’t stretch for miles and you were bound to see him sometime and have to deal with the efforts of avoiding the man at all costs but fuck were you praying to whoever controls your Sim above that they would grant you some mercy.

“Just tell him to fuck off if he’s so far up your ass,” Jungkook argues, crushing his juice box in one gulp and biting his massive cafeteria burrito.

“You don’t get it, Kook. I have. So many times, in so many different instances. Did I tell you about the time I thought he was helping me get a textbook from a tall shelf but he ended up taking that last one for himself?” You angrily rip a bite from your limp sandwich. You really did hate Turkey Thursdays.

“Eh, first come, first serve. Maybe he didn’t know you were trying to grab that one.”

“My ass, Jungkook. He claimed that if I really wanted it, I would ‘do something in fair exchange’ for it. I’m not looking to going into prostitution anytime soon.”

“Respect sex workers,” Jungkook criticizes.

“Oh, no, totally. Sex work just isn’t my forte.” Kook shrugs.

“Okay,” you continue, “how about the time I went to IKEA to buy that ceiling lamp and was obviously struggling to one-trip everything from my car? The dumbfuck passed by and asked if I needed help, so I was like, ‘Yeah! Sure, it would definitely make up for the time you asked for sex in lieu of my psych book,’ but instead of helping me carry anything he took my coffee, drank some, and left.” Jungkook starts a rebuttal but you cut him off short, “Then he showed up to my work the other day, god knows how he even saw me in there, and started taking a video of me when I wasn’t paying attention!”

“What the hell,” your friend sports a face of disgust, “like, he’s stalking you?”

You scratch the back of your neck, “Well, not exactly? I think he was just maybe—see, A$AP Rocky may or may have not been playing on the speakers, and I didn’t know anyone was in the shop! So. I don’t know. I started—”

“Started rapping with a rolled up poster as your microphone,” he deadpans. Finishing your horrid sandwich, you crumple the saran wrap and chuck it at his eye, satisfied when we wails exaggeratingly.

“Maybe that’s just his way of flirting with you, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“I think he just hates my guts and thinks of me as an equal to the gum under his thick, goth boots,” you mumble.

“Does it matter? So what if Danny Phantom doesn’t like you?”

“He’s causing a problem though. Besides, everyone cares if someone doesn’t like them. It’s bullshit if they tell you otherwise; bullshit or a lack of sympathy.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Because I’m totally your friend and all but I don’t necessarily want to hear about your boy problems all the time.” You harrumph at his negligence and slump back into your seat.

There really wasn’t anything you could do about it; it wasn’t bad enough to the point of distressing tyranny. You simply couldn’t befriend the guy, it was obvious he didn’t want that. You would just have to pray to all things good that he would eventually lose interest, stop harassing you out of kindness, or have a change of heart and treat you like the saint you were.

If only it were that easy.

Sylly-week kicked ass, to say the least. Even two days prior the hectic week from hell, your body aches from partying while your wallet cries from all the textbooks and supplies you paid for.

Sara slept beside you, forehead stuck to the desk with her laptop stuck on some sort of half-assed document and you couldn’t fathom a better picture to represent college.

Although it was already around 11, you hop out of bed and throw on your windbreaker from cheer and some spandex, shuffling into a pair of your sneakers and bolting out of your room with your bag. The amount of sodium and sugar you consumed from Cup-O-Noodles and off-brand cookie dough bites made you feel disgusting, and you know running a quick mile at the gym would get your blood pumping enough to make you: 1) feel better about yourself and 2) put your ass to sleep.

The walk is short, the air still a little heavy with heat but cool enough for you to be comfortable in a long-sleeve. Some tired students exit the library, really the only other people you see at this hour. You would’ve thought it creepy if the campus wasn’t so well-lit and played background music through the announcement speakers. If you died or got kidnapped, at least it was to some groovy jazz.

You swipe your card across the sensor beside the athletic building door, waiting for that subtle beep before the gears clank and allow you to heave the door open. Immediately, the smell of sweat poorly masked with air freshener fill your nostrils and your adrenaline builds. You’re no body builder, but a run certainly sounded nice right about now.

You practically skip through the halls, rounding a corner to enter the weight room before you stop in your tracks to see someone in the room across. You squint suspiciously, peachy hair striking a very strong familiarity to…

“Jimin?” you whisper to yourself. You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s at the gym, but you are because he isn’t. He’s in the dance studio. Before you bolt, your eyes glue to his sensual movements, legs gliding across the floor and body free-flowing alongside the bass-filled music. No previous bias could deny that he looks like an angel in his room, dancing smooth as meringue and practically skating across the floor despite those clunky black boots of his; and powerful, hitting every note and beat with intention and vigor. You’ve never seen anyone dance like this.

After a few seconds, you render that you’re spying on him and continue walking, nervously scuffing your sneakers down the linoleum and immediately, and unfortunately, catching his attention.

He first sees you in the mirror. Ignores you. Then realizes it’s you and turns into the most ungraceful bag-of-bones as he scurries to pause the music and chases you down the hall.

“Hey!” he yells, grabbing your elbow.

“Don’t touch me,” you strike back, jerking your elbow out of his grasp and staring him down.

He looks apologetic, genuinely worried for a second before he breathes deep and tries again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. Um, why are you here?”

“Um, because I can be? I was going to go to the gym, dickwad.”

It takes all of his patience not to insult you, “Okay. You’re right. Were you… were you watching me?”

You give him a sickeningly-sweet smile, “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just passing by.”

He nods solemnly, straightening his tank as if it wasn’t already wrinkled and damp with sweat, “Okay. Okay, cool.” He starts to turn before he keeps going in a 360.

“Can you keep this between me and you? That I was here? That I was here and I was—”

“Dancing?” you ask quizzically, “Why does it matter?”

His eyebrows stitch together in frustration, “Y/N, do I look like I’m a dancer?” He gestures to his piercings and his sleeve, waving his hands about in so many different places that your lewd curiosity wonders what he looks like naked—for the sake of knowing how many piercings and tattoos he has though, obviously.

“I think you look like a dancer. Just not a contemporary dancer. Did you take ballet?” you half-tease, crossing your arms and beaming slyly at him.

Jimin huffs, impatient, “Will you just keep it locked somewhere in that airhead of yours?”

“What’s in it for me, Jiminie,” you pout, “what do I get as reward for keeping your secret?”

He falters a moment, licking his plump lips and walking dangerously close, “You want a reward? I don’t take you as that kind of girl, Y/N.”

He must be delirious, eyeing him so and shoving him away, “Ew, no. I just meant, like, be nice to me from now on. And help me with psychology. That class is nothing but a memory test.”

He blinks dumbly from your rejection; who ever rejected him? He waves it off.

“Okay. I can be compliant. I won’t treat you like the rich bitch you are, and I tutor you on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Deal?”

“I’m not a rich bitch. I have student loans like the rest of the student population, thank you very much. Deal.”

You smile at each other devilishly, ready to part ways before bursting out with an instant, “Wait!”

Jimin looks over his shoulder curiously. Damn, you could really see how toned his shoulders were in that shirt.

“There’re dance majors here, is that what you transferred for?”

He turns all the way, leaning sideways against the wall and sighing, “Honestly, yes. But my family thinks I’m transferring to finish my business degree and that I would have better opportunities here. I really did it because there’s some great studios in the area but—” he catches himself rambling, “I don’t know how they would feel about my grand decision.”

You shrug, “You’re a great dancer, Jimin. Honestly, you could open your own studio here if you wanted to. You do have great opportunities.”

His sleepy eyes stare you down, a half-smile drawing itself out before he can take it back. “Give me your phone,” he orders.

You don’t know why but you do.

He dials into it with his overly-accessorized fingers, giving you a moment to get a closer look at his septum and the abundance of ear-piercings he sports before he hands it back. You’re pretty sure one of them is Gucci and you bite back a chuckle. Rich bitch.

“That’s my number. Text me when you’re free on study days.”

And with that, he re-enters his room and resumes the music.

The first time Park Jimin meets with you at a Starbucks on a Tuesday, like he instructed, you thought you somehow managed to get yourself stuck in the Twilight Zone.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. My last class ends at 3 on both days and there’s already a quiz this Friday. Help.”

You sent the text without emojis. He didn’t deserve any.

You had barely got to Instagram before he texted you back. With multiple messages.

“u text like a gramma”

“but ok”

“starbucks at 330? i’ll buy”

You giggled to yourself at his joke, sending a single “(:” and putting your phone to sleep.

To your disbelief, he really did buy you a cheese danish and a tall, iced, caramel macchiato. You sip it gingerly while he pulls his things out of his bag: a couple mechanical pencils (the industrial, expensive ones), a 1-inch binder organized by subject with dividers, and notecards. You grab them and hold them up like it’s evidence from a leading murder case.

“Notecards? You are way too organized and functional.”

He snags your pastry before you can grab it and takes a huge bite, “Yeah, but ih’s gonna het you a bedder ghrade.”

Whining, you get it back after his second bite, somehow only half remaining.

“Okay. Let’s get started. It should only be a vocab check because that’s really all he’s asked us to study so far. We’ll start with my wonderful notecards,” he waves them in the air for effect, “and see which ones you do and don’t know.”

You nod, waiting for the chaos to begin. Who were you to tell him that you haven’t actually studied any of the vocab yet? He holds the first one up. Abductive reasoning.

“Uhh… is that like, something detectives use on kidnapping cases?”

“Wh-What? No. Well—are you thinking of ‘abductions’? Abductive reasoning is being able to use the two states of induction and deduction alongside your intuition to reach a conclusion,” he pauses and tilts his head a little, “ I guess the best analogy is giving out a verdict on a criminal case. Without being 100% sure, they use the evidence to tie together as many different points as they can to come to a conclusion. So, I mean, you got it wrong, but you can easily remember the definition with that.”

You’ll take what you get (majority of his reasoning went through one ear and out the other, anyway), wiggling your eyebrows in justified approval. Jimin laughs at you, eyes squinting to slits and shaking his head. He takes notice that you aren’t wearing much makeup today, your cheeks and the bridge of your nose a tad red with irritation and a bit dry where the sun burnt and eyes daintier without so much eyeliner on them. You threw on a tank and some workout shorts and look like the epitome of… comfortable, in your head. Jimin thinks you look effortless.

“Park?” you wave your hand in front of him.

He catches himself staring and jumps out of his seat, chair screeching across the tile.

“Sorry,” he coughs, “I’m going to take a whiz.” Stupid. He practically trips over himself to get to the restroom.

You watch him hurry to the back. He probably had much better things to do than help you study in the middle of the afternoon. A couple of younger girls watch him as he passes, giggling like a pack of fangirls and combing their hair out of their faces. If they only knew.

Did he even have a girlfriend? Most likely not, right? He only just transferred here and despite his well-endowed looks, he was still intimidating. Like a giant “don’t touch, I bite” sign constantly hung around his neck.

He comes back shortly, and before you can deduct that you would rather save the embarrassment than to quench your curiosity, you ask, “Are you dating anyone?”

“Because you get a lot of followers,” you reason, shamelessly pointing out the girls who ogle his tattooed biceps. They giggle again when he looks their way. God, so many giggles.

He rubs the back of his neck nervously and that intrigues you, “No, I’m not dating anyone. I think if it weren’t for my… accessories? And the fact that I’m foreign, girls wouldn’t like me as much.” You find tiny comfort that he’s single but squish the thought away.

“How ‘bout you? Dating that guy on your team?” he retorts.

“Who, Jungkook?” you snort, “No. He has a girlfriend and he’s all brawn over brain. I’m not dating anyone, actually. I don’t like guys that are so competitive to win females strictly for the points, and there’s a lot of that here. S’gross; we’re not animals.”

“We kinda are,” he argues, but smiles understandingly.

“Okay, but not in the way where your possible significant other has to perform an instinctual mating dance?”

He juts up an eyebrow, “Really? Because I could easily arrange that.”

For the first time, you both laugh. At the same thing. Who knew that Jimin could dance of all things? And pay for your food? And actually be a nice guy who’s really smart? Thinking about it, today has gone so polar-opposite of what you expected that you contemplate if this is Jimin’s identical twin that just happens to have the same piercings and ink that bully-Jimin has.

Twilight Zone.

“Okay, let’s continue,” he says, resuming the queue of notecards.

“Define abulia.”

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Jimin waved a hand in your face.

“Hm? Sorry, say it again.”

Jimin packed up his supplies, then grabs yours and tucks them into your bag, “I said, ‘Are we going to your place right now?’ You said you picked up Black Panther on DVD so I want to watch it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Cats and shit.”

You both stand up and stretch, the rest of the students in the lecture hall slowly filing out. Midterms were already approaching, which meant that you and Jimin had known each other for quite some time now. His tutoring was ditched weeks ago after you were finally comfortable with the material and able to comprehend what the professor was saying without Jimin to interpret. At first, meeting up stopped completely. You two would talk occasionally during class break and that’s all, and after a while, you just figured your deal was completed and Jimin finished his case and you both separated onto your different ways.

But then Jimin had asked if you wanted coffee at the same Starbucks you had first studied at, but for no specific reason. Just to hang out. So, you did.

Hanging out once or twice for coffee turned into twice getting lunch turned into four or five times lazing about your dorm, and now, you were just completely, wholesomely, friends. It was hard not to be on edge at the contrast of current Jimin to hell-on-earth Jimin, but you took what you could get.

“Is something on your mind? You’ve been spacing out for a long time,” he prods, taking your bag himself and throwing it over the same shoulder his own bag was on. The

walk to your dorm building was short but you could feel your feet dragging from sudden exhaustion.

“I think I’m just tired? I’m fine. Ready to Black Panther it up and all that jazz,” you chuckle. He takes the hint and resorts to quietly humming to your room rather than talking. That’s one thing you liked about him, he always knew when your mind just needed simple white noise.

Unlocking the door and jostling it out of its stickiness, you make a running jump to faceplant onto your bed. The mattress dips next to you when Jimin sits.

“I know you like cheer and all, but I think you need to take a break,” he says.

“Easier said than done. And I have mandatory captain conditioning in 3 hours,” you groan, propping your head on the palm of your hand to watch Jimin as he eats a stale bag of chips that he found on your nightstand. His face contorts in repulsion and throws the bag away.

“Okay, well, you’re not going. Tell them you’re sick. Let’s watch some DC movies and eat popcorn and have, like, a girl sleepover but I’m not a girl and I don’t want to spend the night,” he says, counting each point on his fingers.

“First of all, you lunatic, it’s Marvel not DC. Second, I don’t have popcorn. I can’t just skip conditioning because if I gain one pound Jungkook will sense it with his nose or something and attack me.”

“What,” he says in disbelief, grabbing your waist with one hand and squeezing a little, “you’re fine. You’re not going today and that’s final.” It’s not very often he touches you and as much as you try not to show it, you feel your face heat and mouth gape open and closed, ready to combust. You don’t particularly know why; guys touch you all the time (not in that way, thank you very much) but when it was Jimin, it was like you had been raised feral and failed to receive any means of human interaction.

He notices, taking his hand away as quick as he placed it and looking at the floor. Despite your lack of proper reaction, you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little twinge of disappointment. God, you’re so confusing to yourself.

“How about you? Your vampire ass won’t dance in sunlight so you must be tired too. How long do you normally dance for when you’re in the studio?”

“Well,” he lays flat on his back and stares at your popcorn ceiling (your dorm building was extremely outdated), “I try to workout at the actual gym in the morning before I get ready for class, and then I dance from 11 to whenever I feel is enough during the weeknights. That is, if no one’s there.”

“Why do you even follow this whole path of disliking mainstream trends and ‘rebelling against the world’? Isn’t that tiring? Aside from dance, do you, like, make your own skateboards and go to secret underground bars or something?” you tease. He rolls his head towards you in annoyance and mouths a “ha ha”.

“No, I just. I don’t know. I don’t like people telling me what to do or where to go or how to look,” he showcases his tatted arm. “This is all mine. I don’t want to be another puppet controlled my whole life to consume and work off a never-ending debt just so I can only live comfortably when I’m old but too old to actually live.”

“Wow, bro. That’s deep,” you pretend to smoke a pretzel stick. He continues anyway.

“Recently I made some friends that are in one of my labs. They’re from Korea too. If I’m not studying or working or hanging out with you, I’m probably with them. Partying or something,” he says, stealing away your “cigarette” and crunching on it loudly.

“Woah, you work? How do you find the time to do that?”

“Kinda. Nothing official, I just tutor people sometimes. Charge them by the hour and make some decent pocket change for food or whatever.”

You contemplate. How come he’s never charged you for your tutoring before? You ask him, studying his side profile and admiring his jawline when he talks. Flexing then easing; taut then relaxed.

“Because we had a deal. We agreed that I would help you in psych as long as you kept my secret, in which you did, so I figured that was good enough. Besides, you’re too cute to charge. I look like a bad boy but I’m not evil.” You giggle, resembling a middle-school fangirl and exaggerating a flattered stature.

Jimin laughs again, light and refreshing staccato notes that you could honestly listen to all day. It was therapeutic in its own crackhead way.

You’ve been unintentionally staring at him more and more often, Jimin finally taking notice within the last few minutes. He knew how to read a girl; how revealing they make themselves to impress him or how their eyes dim in any sort of suggestion that his hands should somehow find place on their body. But with you, he has no idea what that stare means. For the most part, you carry yourself so independently to the point of being standoffish and Jimin just can’t figure you out. He sought the day you would give in and beg for a night with him just like most of the other girls in his classes did, and when you didn’t, he wanted to know why. Not out of inflated ego or need to get into your pants—okay maybe because of that initially—but even more so that he just needed to dissect you. Know how to get you going, what kind of person you really are, which was completely different from what he originally imagined.

You were talking amidst his thoughts, not paying attention to the strings of sentences that fell out of your lips and before he knew it, he held himself directly above you, hands on each side of your head and staring right down into your disordered doe eyes.

“What makes you so different?” he asks aloud, more to himself than you. Puzzled and not under the impression that it was a rhetorical question, you shake your head.

“I don’t u-understand. What are you doing, Ji—”

He tucks a loose strand of yours out of your face, causing you to hiccup. “I feel like when I think I know you, I’m actually far from it.”

You don’t particularly know what you’re supposed to say to that.

“You didn’t ever need to get to know me. You just needed to make sure I kept your secret,” you play along. Knowing it wasn’t really the whole case, your own statement stings a little. If it weren’t to save his own ass, would he even be here right now?

Like he read your mind, he answers, “Why would I be here? I haven’t needed to help you in weeks. I’m with you all the time because I want to be. Because I—”

“Because you…?” you trail on, heart beating so hard you swear he can hear it. You wanted him to say it, maybe that’s what was keeping you from confirming your feelings. You needed validation; that this wasn’t just you or that this was some one-sided longing because you doubted someone like him could ever like someone like you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks instead, so hesitant and delicate and worrisome all in one question and you ponder if this is the same boy you first met at orientation.

“Please.”

He dips down slowly, eyes half-closed in anticipation of what your face looks like so close, pausing an inch away when you shut your own. You feel his warmth near your mouth, waiting for that first touch, any contact, until it seems like it’s been far too long. When you peek, you see nothing but his perfect… cheekbone? He stares, jaw stuck open and eyes fluttering, at the intruder in the door before swinging himself off the bed and coughing awkwardly.

“Oh, Sara. I didn’t know you were coming home so early today,” you squeak out. You sit up yourself, brushing off nonexistent dust from the bed and watching Jimin gather his things in a rush and squeezing past a concerned Sara in the doorway. He doesn’t even turn back, ears stinging red and peeping a quick, havetogotextyoulater. Great, the asshole left you to face your roommate alone.

“Was that Jimin? Park Jimin? The fucking transfer student?”

“Oh my god, Sara, what’re you freaking out about?”

Dropping her stuff in the middle of the room, she shrieks annoyingly and grabs your shoulders, “Are you seriously fucking with the Park Jimin? Y/N. Nuh-uh. No way. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Chill out! We’re just friends. He tutors me sometimes.” Not quite a lie.

She eyes you and deadpans, “Yeah, I didn’t know tutoring also included a one-on-one session of how to have sexual intercourse.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you remove her hands, which were digging crescents into your skin, and pretend to arrange your bed, “we haven’t even kissed. You just walked in at an inconvenient time.”

Sara sighs, rubbing her temples and sitting on your bed, “Look, babe. Just be careful. I’ve been to parties with him and have heard some awful things. Shit you expect from a movie where the girl gets fucked over because the guy doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants. I just want the best for you, okay? He’s not as sweet as you might think he is.”

He isn’t sweet at all, you said internally. But still, your heart clenches at her words. Sure, he acts like a dick, and you shouldn’t be surprised if he really does get around as much as Sara suspects; but there was just some sort of denial that lingered. If he really was such a player, why would he have stuck around with you for as long as he has, as platonic as it has been until now?

“I… I didn’t know that. I’ll be careful,” you assure her.

All it took was a squinty-eyed smile and a tiny caress to the small of your back on the way into the lecture hall for you to completely melt into his hands. You were simply putty, magically molding into some gross, odd-smelling ball of love just because of the almost-incident yesterday. You can practically feel the radiating disappointment from Sara if she knew how easily you gave yourself up for him.

His face reoccurs in your daydreams for days, all the way up until the weekend comes up from behind and smacks you on the ass.

“Focus,” Jungkook taps you through you skirt again. Oh, or maybe it was Jungkook.

The stadium speakers blared with announcements and you’re brought back to the world of clashing helmets, captain’s orders and Jungkook’s strong hands residing on your waist for partner stunts.

You didn’t need to be reminded, you were much more stable than you were weeks ago. He throws you in the air during the signaling note of the band and catches your right foot with ease above him, keeping you stable as you pull a heel stretch and present a pretty smile. The crowd roars along, inspiring the team and singing along with the cheers.

By the end of the game, you’re exhausted, tearing down paper signs from the concrete walls and shuffling your poms into your bag in a hurry.

“Hey, are you going to the feed after? Everyone’s going, I could give you a ride,” Jungkook offers, but you shake your head.

“I’m pretty beat. I’ll go next time.” He shrugs, finding more interest in catching up to someone who is interested than trying to convince you otherwise. By the time your clean-up is done, most of the fans are gone, the stadium a comparable difference of quiet than how it was only twenty minutes ago.

“You’re sure taking forever,” a sudden voice pipes up. Outside the gate stands Jimin, all-black tank and jeans, per usual. “You looked great out there.”

You smile, suddenly awake and jogging towards him, “What’re you doing here? I thought you didn’t like football.” During all your rushing do you realize that you relax around Park, time always seeming to slow down in his presence and you dissolve into his effect.

“I don’t. Such an American moneymaker. They’re all cons.” He takes your bag like he always does, leaning against the gate and looking excited, “Mind if we stop by my place? I have something to show you. It’s not far, probably only a 5 minute walk from here.”

You nod before he even mentions how long it takes to get there, heart palpitating at the thought that he’s inviting you over. You’re sure you smelled from cheer and you probably looked like the opposing team warmed up suicide runs over your sweaty body, but you nod.

“Were you here the whole time? Or just towards the end?” you ask, slightly insecure towards the fact that he could’ve been watching you cheer.

“Was here since halftime. Got Yoongs to watch with me at the gate where I was before for the most part. He left halfway through fourth quarter though, said he got tired from seeing others exert themselves so much,” he chuckles at the thought, eyes squinting and crooked tooth visible from the side. Your heart swooned, you were even starting to notice the little things. How he acted. His habits. What he did and didn’t like.

You were in fucking deep.

“I did get to see you cheer though,” he answers your unspoken inquiry, “you looked pretty, Y/N. It’s like watching a whole ‘nother person compared to how you act outside of uniform.” You’re still stuck on the word “pretty” and nod along like you’re listening.

“You should see how people look at you,” he draws on, “like they’re entranced. Even when you were just relaxing on the sideline, not doing anything, you stand out.”

“Oh my god, Jimin, where is this even coming from? One more compliment and the world might explode from the paradox you’re creating.”

He shoves your shoulder lightly, laughing at your tomato-red face, “What do you mean? I can’t compliment you?”

“No that’s not—I just mean. You know. You used to hate me and now you shower me with praise like I’m the best person in the world. It’s just crazy how much our relationship has changed. And… And yesterday—”

“Yo, can’t believe you really stayed for the rest of the game,” a raspy voice outbursts. You just realize that Jimin stopped you in front of a house, presumably his house, as a mint-haired ball sits on the porch. He inhales from his cigarette and exhales through his nose before throwing it underneath his boot.

“Hey, Yoongs. This is Y/N. Y/N, Min Yoongi, my roommate. Has a bad smoking habit and have only recently gotten him to smoke outside.” Jimin snickers, offering a hand to lift Yoongi off the step and welcome him into some bro-hug.

“You smoke too, bastard. Just did it ‘cause I knew you were bringing someone home tonight,” Yoongi retaliates, eyeing your figure. Shivers run down your spine at the comment.

Jimin coughs unexpectedly, then anxiously laughs as he pulls your arm behind him and into the house, “We’ll be in the living room. Go sleep or something.” Yoongi only clicks his tongue in response.

“Sorry,” he says once your inside, “he can be a little too personal sometimes. He’s really nice once you get to know him.” You shake your head, giving him a comforting smile that eases the tension in his shoulders.

He settles you on the couch, host-like politeness apparent when he asks if you want anything to drink, tells you where the bathroom is, and hands you the tv remote before disappearing to find his laptop. His home was cozy, minimalist furniture often in gray, black, and an occasional blue spread throughout the rooms. You weren’t sure if the boys were attempting to be modern or if college tuition only allowed them this sort of set-up, but nonetheless, it was way nicer than you expected.

“Back,” Jimin plops onto the couch right next to you, Apple laptop unlocked to a default background. He looks to you briefly before setting up some page on Google, “Have you signed up for your classes for next quarter yet?”

He looks different, your eyes scanning over his face to figure out just what it is, “Basically, just gotta confirm and pay and whatnot. Have you, Jimin?”

It’s his septum, you discover, that he’s taken out. He looks handsome either way. Propping the laptop suddenly on your lap, he beams, “Yeah, go ahead and take a look.”

You scroll through the page, humming to yourself, “Mhm… Mhm… Accounting, business 101, contemporary repertory… God, you’re going to hate sociology with Doyard, she’s a complete psycho!” You trail, giggling at his misfortune. Once you’re done, you meet his discontent face.

It takes a few takes from his face to the screen, back to his face, until oh shit!

“Wait does ‘contemporary repertory’ mean something important?” you squeal in rushed excitement. “Is that a dance thing? Are you taking a dance class here?” Before he can even explain, you shut the laptop and safely place it on the coffee table before tackling the man, withdrawing an oof from his lips.

“Easy, girl. Please don’t break me before I even get to show up on the first day.”

“Jimin, this is amazing. You’re finally doing something you want to do, during regular hours, at that!” You nuzzle into his warm chest, “I’m so happy for you, Jimin. I hope you have fun.” His heart clenches at that; how could you be so fucking caring about him? He knew you’d be surprised, but not genuinely happy for him. His hand glides over the skin between your midriff and skirt, an inkling of a gasp floating out of your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand higher and locking eyes with yours. Time is always slow with him but now, it’s like it was screaming at you to take the opportunity. Unwinding one of your arms from around his neck, you smooth his hair up so you can see those prepossessing eyes.

“You can touch me,” you confirm just as softly. His features harden and you hope you didn’t read the situation wrong.

“I… I never got to kiss you that night.”

“Then you can kiss me now, if you’d like,” you say, pleading in your voice and it’s all he needs to hear before he burns his lips into yours. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted this,” he pants between suckles to your bottom lip. He kisses like he dances: powerful and in perfect control with his body, molding it to yours and massaging the skin he just apologized for touching only seconds ago.

You cup his face and look down at him with sultry prowess, “I want you, Jimin. I’ve always thought about this, hoping you would just make a move, idiot.” You dive back into him, his moans prominent when you lick and nip at his lip. He lowers his grip to your ass, squeezing and pushing his hips into your own.

“Well, I’ve always thought about fucking you in this cursed uniform,” he growls, forcing a giggle out of you. Grinding down into him for effect, your mouth travels to his ear so you can state a small confirmation.

“I’m flexible, babe. I’m all yours.”

He hums his praise, latching his mouth onto your neck, laving and peppering blues into your skin before he carries you off the couch. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, “Where are you taking me?”

Heading into a hallway and taking a sharp left, he kicks his door open, “I don’t know about you, hot stuff, but Yoongs doesn’t need to see you getting dicked down in our living room,” he jests. When he lays you back onto the foot of his bed, you briefly scan his room and find it hard to believe that it’s relatively clean, the posters on his walls the only thing that seemed cluttered. This guy was your high school self’s wet dream. Scanning him promiscuously, you chuckle.

“I can be into it,” you drawl playfully.

Earning an unimpressed scoff, he fingers the hem of his shirt, “You’re mine,” he sheds it in a swift pull and throws it to the side cockily. Marveling at each detailed divot and curve of muscle, you can’t help but bite your lip in frustrated anticipation. “Unless, you don’t want me,” he finishes with a tilt of his head. He knew what he was doing, simulating innocence to draw you out of your transfixed stupor to hear those three words string from your mouth. You reach out to touch his abs, tracing over linework of ink and watching him shiver from your touch. Knowing exactly what he wants to hear, you gaze into oblique eyes and mouth the words, “I do want you”.

Goading him on, you lay back and extend your legs above you, shuffling your spandex tantalizingly slow over your skin. Jimin whistles at your show, staring at the white g-string you sported under your skirt and wandering his hands over the supple skin you expose.

“Jesus, you fucking tease. Leave the skirt.” Tittering at his request, you dig your heels into his back to propel him down towards you, his ringed hands keeping himself afloat and a winning smile winking down at you. Bless your heart you didn’t faint right then and there.

He kisses you like a man starved, lips burning hot with desire and aching to be bit—so you give him that. Sinking your teeth gently into the flesh, he punishes such action with a slap to the underneath of your thigh, then holding it close to the side of his abdomen and rolling over with you on top. Practically suffocating from lack of air, you dislodge yourself, quite reluctantly, from his mouth and soothe his complaints with brief kisses to his thick neck.

“Why didn’t we do this—ah, before?” he pants. Sucking a particularly tender spot of his jugular, he moans out and bucks into your hips. You continue your way down, leaving no inch of skin untouched until you reach where his skin ends and the nuisance of clothing began.

“You don’t make things very easy for me. Can I suck you off?”

“Fuck, don’t ask. Just do it. Turn around, though, I’ll finger you at the same time,” he offers, propping himself up on his elbows as you readjust yourself with your head towards his bulge and your ass facing him, knees keeping you up on one side of his torso. “Perfect,” he commends.

Unbuckling his ridiculously tight jeans, you hook your thumbs under the denim and whisper a quick, “Up,” to pull them off when his hips lift off the mattress. Your pride inflates at the sight of his bulge resting in the crook of his thigh, adorned by simple black boxers that hugged him in all the right spots. All but drooling at the member, you place a loving kiss where you know his head resides, mouthing at it gingerly and soaking the material with your saliva.

He ruts into your face as he watches such indecency, “You know, I should probably tell you something,” he says rather seriously, shuffling your skirt up above your ass and mischievously prodding at your sex with his thumb.

“Hmm,” you mumble, sliding his boxers down enough to suck at the pink tip that oozed of precum and spreading the liquid around with your tongue. The bitterness that came with it was all welcomed, slightly sweeter than others you’ve ever tasted and you appreciated it much more when a man this good-looking was laid out before you.

He groans, “Ever heard of a Jacob’s Ladder? Fuck, right there, underneath a bit…” You suck and nip at the skin of his frenulum, knowing he was bound to like small dosages of pain mixed with his pleasure—a guess all too correct when he cries out in ecstasy and gives your ass a light spank.

“A Jacob’s what?”

“Just—just look at it. If you don’t like it then I can just take them out,” he sighs, all too impatient to give you a rundown of whatever a Jacob’s hoo-ha entailed. You perk a brow at his vocabulary, halting your mouth and sliding his boxers the rest of the way down.

If you weren’t riled up before, you were hot, ready, and willing to beg on your knees to be stuffed with Jimin and his… accessories. You understand the term “ladder” now, three rungs of metal pierced on the underside of his shaft and glinting up at you with intimidation. You hope Jimin can’t see the now overflowing amount of arousal oozing out of your pussy, squeezing thighs together in a useless attempt of hiding yourself.

“Fuck, didn’t that hurt?” you question, hovering fingers over the balls of silver that protruded on each side in complete awe.

“Of course it did, honey. It’s all worth it, though. It’ll make you feel good too. Need me to take them out?” You shake your head a little too vigorously, earning a chuckle and his middle finger to slide in between your folds unexpectedly. Yiping at the sudden entrance, you cast a glare over his shoulder with his only response being the curve of his digit.

“C-Can I lick it? Can it get infected if you don’t use a condom?” you bombard him with questions, entirely unfamiliar with the subject and entirely enamored by it.

“It’s all healed up, baby. You can do whatever your little heart desires with it. And I would oh so much prefer going bare,” he confirms, and your heart flips at his pet name for you. That, and the thought of his thick, pierced cock penetrating you condom-less.

You wrap your lips around him once more, unafraid to take more and more of his length until you feel the cold metal—your stopping point. Call it your lack of experience, but you prefer not to catch your teeth on those piercings today. You make up for it by sliding a hand back under his scrunched boxers, fondling his balls as you bob diligently. He curses and struggles to keep his body still, digging another digit between your legs to slow your own ministrations. When it works and you moan around his cock, Jimin can’t help but want to play a little game.

“Should I give you a challenge, babe? It’s super simple. Whoever makes the other cum first gets to request something. Anything. Deal?”

“Deahl,” you muffle, swirling your tongue lavishly around his crown. Everything with Jimin was much more… intriguing. Even your first time having sex was turned into some lusty escapade of unexpected metallic embellishments and cheeky gambles. It made you feel something in your veins, wanting more and more of whatever poison Jimin was.

Taking a breath, you lick broadly over his entire shaft and scarcely taste the titanium—more than anything, it was just cold. Jimin shudders at the feeling, punishing you with a third and final finger and pushing downdowndown into a spot all too sensitive for you to focus.

Try as you might, your now pathetic attempts of sucking him off is all forgotten in your own haze of chasing your orgasm. Instead, you rest your head on his hip and writhe against his hand, fucking back onto it while he simultaneously prods your g-spot over and over again until you see stars.

“Giving up already? You were doing so well for a while, you could’ve won,” he lilts.

“Jimin, please make me cum. Oh god,” you wail, legs straining for just that final push…

“Is this what you want?” He slides his thumb across, swiping whatever he could collect and using it to knead at your neglected clit. It’s all you need, pleasure washing over you in tandem of near oversensitivity, a near scream tearing through your lungs that only comes out in ragged whines against his leg.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re ruining my sheets over here,” he criticizes, removing his hand with an obscene squelch and moving around in the bed.

The torpor you caught yourself in didn’t render what he was saying, just letting him move you about so your head rests on his pillows while he places himself between your legs.

“Jiminie,” you babble, “fuck me.” He strokes your hair away from your face and smiles, that cute puppy smile that turns his eyes into crescents. The rest of him, though, is purely sinful. Hair sweaty and pieced to perfection as his body taunted you with toned muscles.

“I don’t think you’re ready, honey,” he answers, “even though you’re dripping in your own cum.” He leans back and stares at your pussy without embarrassment, pulling your knees together and watching the juices flow even more. “I should put it to use.”

You peer up at him, curious as to whatever the hell he’s dreaming of over there and inexplicably stunned when you see his dick between your legs. “J-Jimin, what are you doing?”

“Shh, just keep them closed tight,” he orders, fucking himself between the lips of your heat and the warm skin of your thighs. You can’t help but ravish the sight of him as he slicks himself up, eyeing you down as his hips roll into you agonizingly slow. His piercings graze against your nub occasionally, warmth once again growing in your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re so soft and so wet. Who did this to you, hm?” You moan maniacally, angling your hips as to catch him and push inside, but he only laughs degradingly and intentionally misses.

“You think I’m going to fuck you if you can’t even answer this simple question?” he sneers. “Answer like a good girl, then I’ll fuck you into oblivion.”

You scramble for words, initially incoherent and struggling. “Jimin! Shit, Jimin. You made me this way. Ah, you m-make me so wet, so please put it in, put it in and—ha, aah!”

He shoves his length in like it’s all he knew what to do, your ankles to his shoulders so he can drink up your moans with his reddened lips. He was right—the piercings didn’t feel like any dick you’ve received before, it was so much better. This was pornographic, it was so good. He all but pistols into you, his cock grazing places previously untouched. Indulging in his heaven sent strokes, you cry and groan at each relentless thrust.

“Hush, baby, Yoongi’s going to hear your pretty self,” he warns, but you don’t give a shit. If anything, you moan louder with a know-all glint in your eye, testing Jimin’s patience. “Brat,” he spits.

He pounds into you repeatedly, completely removing himself before filling you up again and again and again. Between the pressure to your g-spot and the added stimulation from his Jacob’s Ladder—your stomach heaves, an unfamiliar feeling washing over your abdomen contrary to anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh, Jimin, wait!” you sob, halting his hips from another brutal shove a little too late. The second he pulls out, your second orgasm (and first ever untouched orgasm) of the night reigns over, briefly showering his lower stomach in your own wet arousal.

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot. Did you just… squirt on me?” he growls, not taking the time to hear your answer as he lifts you into his lap, legs wrapped around his muscular back and arms gripping around his shoulders for dear life.

He sinks back into you deliciously, filling you to the brim with your added weight and rutting up into you to chase his own release. Everything is soaked and sticky, Jimin’s ragged breathing and groans so close to your ear that you’re sure it’ll be engrained into your memory forever, his thrusts so deep inside you wail once more.

Consequently, the banging on the wall next to you comes as no surprise, Yoongi’s angry, “Shut the fuck up!” clear as day. Jimin waves it off.

“Don’t listen baby. Moan louder for me. Tell me where you want my cum.”

The slaps of skin become louder; it wouldn’t be long before Jimin came. “Inside, Jiminie, please. Cum inside me, pump me full,” you squeal, lust sparking inside you knowing that his roommate could hear you getting fucked senseless.

One, two, three more aching pounds before he spills into you, his pretty moans music to your ears. You flop back as soon as he takes himself out, suddenly aching all over from how much he stretched your legs and groaning at the pain.

You slap his eager hand away when he fingers his cum back into your abused lips, “That hurts, idiot.” He smiles and sucks your intermingled cum off his fingers with a pop.

“We taste good together,” he husks. Fuck. “By the way. You came first. Stay the night?”

You oblige with or without the pressure of the bet, dog-tired from your beating and not even fathoming the trek back to your own room. Jimin takes charge in your state of haziness, washing you off in his shower, replacing your uniform with a t-shirt of his own and laying you beside him on his mattress (sheets replaced and refreshed).

“You have piercings in your dick,” you state in the middle of the quiet.

Jimin snorts at the outburst, looping an arm around your side and melding his body to yours, “Yeah, is it weird?”

“… Robot dick,” you whisper, words cracking at the face of your laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“So, when you’re going through metal detectors at airports and whatever, do you have to tell them that the metal’s in your penis? Do they have to check?” Titters are awarded with light jabs to your side, which are then led to screams and kicks to his legs.

Yoongi bursts through Jimin’s door, brows stitched together in heated anger parallel to the flames of hell, “I swear to fucking god, if you two don’t quiet down I’ll mount your heads on my wall, it’ll make a great decoration.”

“What the hell, what if we were naked? Don’t just go busting through—”

“Yeah because you obviously care if I know you two are fucking. ‘Don’t listen, baby! Tell me where you want my cum, baby!’” Yoongi mocks. Pillows are flying and insults are thrown as you watch them bicker sleepily, all fading into white noise as you begin to drift off.

Sleep itself feels like a blink, so exhausted that you don’t dream. Waking in the same position that you were last conscious in, the only difference in picture is the fact that: A) the sun is shining through Jimin’s skylight and B) Jimin is no longer in bed with you.

But before you can even question where he’s run off to, his sly self sneaks back into the bedroom, shirtless and face clean from washing up just now. You don’t even hide the fact that you look down to check out his tight briefs, metal detector in your brain trying to scope it out.

“You’re awake. Sorry if I was loud,” he smiles, crawling on top of you as you stretch out like a mangled cat. You shake your head, combing his hair back with your nails as he dips down into your chest. “I like when you wear my shirts.”

“That’s pretty stereotypical,” you whisper out, voice low and raspy from your slumber. This isn’t fair, you think, he got to brush his teeth already.

He sits up and gives you A Look, making you giggle and giving you the leverage to feel up his abs as he flexes haughtily.

“I can get used to this,” you purr.

“I bet you could,” he mumbles into your neck, nipping at the places he already marked last night. He doesn’t push, just relishes in your warmth and fondles you carefully as you continue to wake up and it makes you shiver.

“I wish you would’ve done this a long time ago,” you sigh.

“You hated me.”

“You didn’t make it easy for me to like you,” you retort, gasping when he bites your collarbone, “Now—Now I like you.”

He stops abruptly and pulls away, landing on his side with an elbow and tilting his head towards you, “Well, I hope you don’t start liking me too much.”

You squint, “W-Why? Don’t tell me this was just a one night stand or anything.”

“No! I mean, not just one night or whatever. I just—this is just casual, right?”

You all but bite your tongue to keep from lashing out, “What do you mean ‘casual’? You didn’t say anything about ‘casual’.”

“Oh, Y/N, c’mon. Did you really think we should date? Look at us, baby. We’re just not… each other’s types, you know?”

It’s about time you get up, shoving aside his warm blankets and grabbing your soiled uniform from the floor, “No, Jimin. I don’t know. I thought you were being genuine with me.”

“Hey, no, don’t leave,” he grabs your arm before you leave his bedroom, “Okay, there was some miscommunication. I’m not trying to be mean. Can I just… I don’t know, think about it? I’m just not used to this.”

Looking into his eyes for some sort of confirmation, your tensions subside. “I’m not a toy. If you don’t want to be with me, just say it.” The hurt he feels in your tone breaks his heart, for once. Would he really be willing to try something he knows won’t work?

For you, maybe.

“I do like you, Y/N. Just give me some time.” He pulls your arm once more, hoping you’ll stay. But you draw the line and pry his hand off politely.

“Of course I’ll give you time. I’ll see you later, okay?” He nods understandingly. He can’t feel butthurt when he’s the one putting you on ice, he knows that. So Jimin watches you leave in his shirt, mind clouded more so than when you arrived.

a/n: yay! you made it through the first part! if you liked it, feel free to let me know or ask any questions to the characters! xx, selene

3K notes · View notes

crvmsdecorum · 5 years ago

Photo

"ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ sᴘᴇᴡ ᴘʀᴏғᴀɴɪᴛɪᴇs. ɪ ᴇɴᴜɴᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀʟʏ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ғᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇᴍᴀɴ."

( COLIN O’DONOGHUE, 38, MALE, HE/HIM ) Was that CALHOUN O'FARRELL? I heard a rumor they work for the O'SHEA family, but who knows for sure ? They can be a bit TEMPERAMENTAL & CALLOUS, but I also heard they can be METICULOUS & STRAIGHTFORWARD. You’ll usually find them at CHICAGO THEATER in their spare time, when they’re not being an AFFILIATE. You may want to keep an eye on that one !

trigger warnings: death, murder, blood, beatings.

Meet Lorcan Calhoun O’Farrell the second ; call him Cal or Calhoun for sort, he doesn’t like going by Lorcan.

He is a true born Irish having being born to Lorcan O’Farrell and his wife, Niamh. Calhoun is their first born son and became BLESSED being never after his father. Though later in life Cal would argue he was cursed with the name instead.

Despite being raised in Dublin, Calhoun frequently from a young age visited Chicago with his father. Lorcan Sr believed he should teach his son at a young age of the ‘family business’ aka serving the O’Shea family. His old man was a dear old friend of Mason O’Shea -- Calhoun’s godfather.

From the constant trips to America Calhoun became acquaintances with each and every child Mason O’Shea fathered and despite having siblings of his own back home, Cal considered them his siblings too -- well, almost all of them. He still doesn’t know why and asks himself at times this, but Cal ended up getting a crush on Amelia. Cal honestly believes it’s because he would like to marry a woman like the oldest O’Shea. An honest cold hearted kind of gal, maybe minus the cold heart part.

Even though he was trained from an early age with Lorcan Sr having hopes of Calhoun taking his spot when he was ready, the two never honestly got along with each other. Sure they would act as if they got along in front of Mason, but when not around him? Oh it was a bloody war. Nimah at one point told her first born it is because he is like Lorcan in so many ways.

To the world Calhoun appeared as a rebellious boy who wanted to prove his worth to the Irish family, but behind closed doors? He took the beatings of his wrathful father. Calhoun even took the beatings for both his mother and siblings. There were many times he dreamed about just snapping the old man’s neck, but something always stopped him and he never knew what it was exactly.

Straight out of high school Calhoun went to work full time for the O’Sheas and Lorcan couldn’t be anymore happier in his son. It was as if the man was born to be a part of something like this, he never cared to get his hands bloody just like his old man before him.

That brute personality of his and the way he knocked down his enemies went unnoticed. Calhoun rose through the ranks reaper, bone breaker and finally became a General at the age of twenty nine. This tickled Lorcan to death, but it was short lived when he realized that his own son had a higher position than him.

Despite his position it never stopped Calhoun from going home for a week or two to see his family and check in on the O’Shea sector there. After all his sister was well respected there.

Just like his line of work, Calhoun’s love and sex life were fast paced as well. He hardly ever slept with the same person twice and became to be known as a Casanova. Through this though is how he learned of his father’s unfaithfulness to his mother. Oh what a sick way he learned too. Cal ended up sleeping with the woman that caused Lorcan to no longer be faithful to his marriage and this ENRAGED the eldest O’Farrell.

It was obvious Calhoun and Lorcan never got along with each other and never saw eye to eye, but this? This stirred the pot to the point to collapsed. With this information he came forth to his mother and watch their marriage come to an end. Nimah might’ve been a kind hearted soul, but she was also the kind of woman to not tolerate someone’s bullshit either.

And so there was Calhoun on the night the papers were signed. He decided to help his mother pack up the remainder of her things and move somewhere else on O’Shea property (she was loyal to the irish fam). Though it seemed fate had another idea instead.

Lorcan ended up busting through the front door, clearly drunk out of his mind and full of rage. His blood boiling and his words completely slurred he attacked Calhoun. As he wailed in on his first born the words of everything he thought of Cal came spewing out. Unlike his siblings, Cal was always the rebellious one to his father and Lorcan believed Calhoun was sent to show how weak Lorcan was to the O’Shea family -- to Mason. Before Calhoun could react to this is when Nimah stepped in to which Lorcan reacted by putting his hands on her. From that moment is when the first born saw RED and found himself slipping into a blackout.

When Cal came out of this dark episode he stood over his father’s lifeless body and met the face of his mother who was pale as a ghost. Nimah informed her son of what he had done: he murdered Lorcan O’Farrell. His face was unrecognizable and his blood tainted the clothes they both wore.

Afraid of what would happened to Calhoun, Nimah hatched the plan of getting rid of Lorcan’s body deep in the country side. To the family and the clan they made it look as if Lorcan abandoned them all together.

When returning back to the States, Mason had asked him how he felt of Lorcan’s sudden departure. Calhoun’s response? The bastard’s dead to me for what he’s done, sir.

Calhoun didn’t know if it was known to Mason of Lorcan’s violent side or not, but at times it did feel as if he knew about it for he never did question anything more on it. Not long after that word broke out that Lorcan was the one seeding himself a little money from the organization and with this information made many people believe even more he left high and dry. Still, no one questioned Cal for they all knew of how he felt about Lorcan.

Fast forward to last year, to the day Mason O’Shea died and Calhoun felt as if it was his fault. He felt like a failure in not being able to protect the leader. After his funeral is when Calhoun was called into the leader’s office and the new leader wanted a word with him. Amelia O’Shea asked Calhoun if he would be interested in a HIGHER position within the Clan. Feeling unworthy of such a thing with the guilt of feeling as if he were a failure, Calhoun respectfully declined. ‘I am flattered, Amelia, really but I don’t believe I’m the lad for the job, besides I believe Ireland is callin’ me home so with your permission I’d like to return back there.’ His words exact and by the time night fell Calhoun was already on a plane to Dublin.

Over the last few months Calhoun had changed with Mason’s death hitting him worse than Lorcan’s. He began to almost become your typically drunk Irish though that never did anything to his shot. Cal always had been gifted in guns and became a well known sharpshooter for the O’Shea family.

His darkness though from that guilt only recently has gotten worse with his mother’s sudden death. It was very tragic. One moment Calhoun was having a breakfast with Nimah and his siblings, the next thing he knew was her falling to the ground in front of them. A brain aneurysm is what took her.

Him brooding in his dark hole became short lived when Cal gained a call from the O’Sheas newest leader, Richard and let me tell you, he was shocked as hell with him sitting in the big man’s seat. He didn’t question it and knew Richie boy could handle it. The new leader ended up calling him to ask where his allegiance lies with Amelia leaving -- ah, the rumors were true. It pained the man to hear that and understood in why he asked such a thing. When Amelia came to Ireland, Calhoun escorted her from the airport to the base and spent a lot of time with the oldest O’Shea.

After ending his conversation with Richard, it left Calhoun puzzled but also with this need to help them out in America. Cursing at himself the sharpshooting Irish found himself on the fist plane to Chicago.

Personality;; He may appear to be an asshole which he is completely, more so a smart ass while he claims his little brother is the dumb ass, but Calhoun can be a goofy guy with a dark sense of humor. He is a loyal man and has showed multiple times he would die for the O’Shea family. Cal is also known to be a bit of a gambler and is still a Casanova though he seems to be more into booze now then men or women.

Fun Facts;; He loves american western films, McLintock with John Wayne is one of his all time favorites. Cal has a younger twin sister who he calls the Devil incarnate, but like him is devoted to the O’Shea family. He completely loathes being called Lorcan.

Wanted Connections;; former fwb, enemies, friends, those he’s sponsored, ties from the Ireland sector, anything tbh! If you think he fits it then hmu for it.

#crimson.intro #about calhoun #//i feel like this is shiiit

6 notes · View notes

frankics · 5 years ago

Text

hello all you lovely lovely people ! thanks again for applying to this rp, you have NO idea how excited i am to get this going. i’m lily, i’m newly 20, in the est timezone and my pronouns are she/her. i love trash tv, my puppies, and the collected works of the greatest band in history (one direction). this is my trash daughter frankie, she truly belongs in the garbage but i love her so much. below the cut is my long ass intro for her, i forgive you if you don’t read it all because looking at it now i wouldn’t want to either ! anyway, if you’re interested in plotting with me and frankie, hmu on discord and you can check this blog for some connections i would love to see !

( alisha boe, cisfemale, she/her, MUSE E ) — oh my god, i totally just saw FRANCESCA ARCHER walking through greenwich village! you know, she plays SKYLAR ELLIS on that new netflix show, the village? i can’t believe they’re already famous at TWENTY-ONE. i’ve watched all of their interviews, and they totally come off as IMPERTINENT and RECKLESS, but they can also be ROMANTIC and WITTY. based on their social media, i’d describe FRANKIE like ( worn out black high-tops, mischievous smiles, nails painted different colors, peach vodka, swimming in an ocean during a storm ) — totally makes sense that people call them THE SPITFIRE.

important links: bio. statistics. filmography. muse posts. social media.

warning: death tw on the 5th bullet point!!

the frankie archer story begins in 1996, when her mother yasmiin moves from her home of somalia to brooklyn to pursue an art career. she moved into a tiny apartment halfway across the world, knowing nothing and no one, looking for inspiration. she found it in the form of lorenzo archer, her next door neighbor. they dated for two years, but neither family approved of the other as a match: yasmiin’s family wanted her to return to somalia, and lorenzo’s roman catholic family were not pleased about their son selecting a non-catholic woman. but lorenzo and yasmiin didn’t care, and got married at new york city hall with the court appointed witness. two weeks later, yasmiin was pregnant with frankie.

francesca simone archer was born on june 9, 1999. she is a gemini sun, a scorpio moon, and an aries rising. she was named francesca for her grandmother on the paternal side, and simone after nina simone, the singer that was playing on lorenzo’s record player when they first met. her two siblings, nala archer and zahi archer, were born in 2001 and 2003 respectively.

her childhood is generally quite happy. lorenzo and yasmiin were born to be parents and they love frankie, nala, and zahi endlessly, the type of supportive love that makes children thrive. frankie possesses a natural wit and excels academically, nala is the star athlete, and zahi is a wizard with watercolor. frankie loves the movies and decides she wants to be an actress when she grows up, so lorenzo and yasmiin enroll her in acting classes and improv camps. things chug along in the archer family beautifully.

that is, until frankie gets a high school scholarship to packer collegiate institute, located in the affluent neighborhood of brooklyn heights. she takes it, of course, with her parents’ full support. but she is nothing like anyone else who attends packer, and for a 14 year old who wants to blend in, that is the worst possible thing. she is suddenly, painfully aware of her worn-out clothes, her used books, her strange mother with paint stains on her bleached out jeans. frankie lashes out, screaming and storming off and slamming doors. she and her mother are hurricanes and the rest of the family simply battens down the hatches. one day when frankie is 15, she tells her mother that this family is her worst nightmare. it is the last words she will ever speak to her mother.

a few hours after, the archers get a call that yasmiin has been in an accident. it was a hit and run: a drunk driver t-boned her, and they’re rushing her to the hospital. when the family arrives, the doctors break the news that yasmiin is comatose and that things aren’t looking good. lorenzo refuses to take her off life support, insisting she’ll recover. she is in a coma for nearly a year and a half before he is convinced to pull the plug.

and now, the part of the frankie archer story that everyone knows, the serendipitous hollywood beginning. she’s just a charming, talented, grieving, all-american girl from brooklyn, heading off to juilliard in the fall. on her 18th birthday, the first one spent without her mother, she attends an open call for a role in an indie film called thursday mourning. she thinks it’ll be a fun way to spend the day, or at least distracting enough. and then she gets the fucking part.

long story short, the film blows up. it’s shown at venice, winning the golden lion and a prize for frankie as the most promising young actor in the festival. it’s nominated for four oscars, including a best supporting actress nom for frankie. she doesn’t win, but it’s created a path for her to do whatever she wants, acting-wise. she does three more films in the next two years, gaining a reputation as an indie darling before realizing that indie films don’t make all that much money.

and she needs money, because her father is drowning in hospital bills from yasmiin’s death that he can’t pay. that’s when the offer comes through from her agent: a starring role in an ensemble cast netflix show called the village. she’s planning on throwing the script away. she’s not interested in any television show, much less a teen drama. she’s a serious actress and she certainly doesn’t want to be the next veronica lodge, made fun of on the internet by strangers with discerning taste. but with a little coaxing from her agent, she reads the script, and the role is good, the writing strong. so she takes the village, even though she wants to do movies more, even though she might get memed into oblivion. one episode will halve her father’s debt.

frankie was tapped for the village because while she’s definitely not as famous as some of her other castmates, nor does she have the hollywood background, she has consistently received acclaim for her performances. the producers think it will bring them some clout with the critics, and she has a sterling reputation as a hard worker on set.

so that’s the basic bio of frankie! now onto her personality >:-)

first of all, and most importantly, if you call her francesca you are DEAD.

frankie’s described by the media as a spitfire, and she definitely lives up to that description. she’s not particularly patient with interviews or paparazzi, she has a nasty mouth and an acerbic sense of humor, and to the general public she probably comes across as quite guarded and private about her life. she got into this business to be an actress, not a celebrity.

nevertheless, if she wanted to be a celebrity, she could probably be a pretty beloved one. frankie has a very charismatic, charming way about her, that probably lets her get away with more in the public eye than she should. there’s just something about that hollywood story that makes people relate to her and root for her.

the number one defining characteristic of frankie is her passion. she throws herself intensely into everything she does, feels emotions too vividly, fights for what she wants. she cares so much about everything. acting is her main passion, her forever love. it’s why she’s so good at what she does: she’s not the most talented, she doesn’t have the most training, but she feels so intensely. it also makes her very emotional (classic cancer!) if you’re close with her

also because of this passion, she’s probably the most competitive person you’ll ever meet in your entire life. she’s like, slightly insane about it? she wants to win everything, but she hates losing even more than she likes winning. she’s the type to throw a tiny tantrum if she loses a game of uno.

frankie’s always been bold, likes to live life on the edge, but it became something much uglier after her mother’s death. she’s reckless to the nth degree: doing her own stunts, drinking and partying the night away. she’s not suicidal, but in some ways, it’s like she doesn’t have a huge regard for her own life.

in her private life, frankie is pretty different. it’s not so much that her negative qualities disappear -- she still swears like a sailor and is less than patient. but rather, the flaws become less apparent when you get to know her. she’s sort of a goofy little marshmallow wearing a giant suit of spiky armor.

one of the most loyal people you will ever meet, because she throws herself headlong into friendships and relationships. she’s sort of an all or nothing type gal, so if you befriend frankie expect it to be a very close relationship whether you like it or not.

she is kind of the crazy friend? she’s baby? like she’s absolutely the person who’s encouraging everyone else to do dumb shit, and she’s always coming up with ridiculous ideas and pranks. side note give frankie a prank buddy on set!

she’s really quite witty. she absolutely loves twitter, which is basically the only glimpse the general public would get as to who frankie is in private. her twitter filled with her dumb jokes and random thoughts. in another life, she might have been a twitter comic.

she is a hopeless romantic, which she will never admit to anyone in the world unless it’s layered under 100 miles of sarcasm. the only relationship she’s really ever known is her parents’ relationship, and they were madly in love til the bitter end. she desperately wants something like that, but hasn’t quite found it. she’s been in exactly one pr relationship, but nothing particularly real or long-lasting.

she loves fashion. her mother taught her to sew and she sketches and makes some of her own clothes. her absolute dream is to collab with a designer on a fashion line: some of her favorite labels are marc jacobs, jean paul-gaultier, sies marjan, and moschino! she’s also had a lot of positive press for her red carpet looks.

she has a dog, who she loves more than anything! his name is duke, he’s a staffie rescue, and she brings him on set frequently. she’s lobbying to get him cast as someone’s dog.

she’s playing skylar ellis on the village, and because this is literally so long you can find some info about skylar at these links: statistics, muse posts, social media. i haven’t finished writing her entire bio yet but here’s the rundown: skylar appears to everyone like the pretty princess who has everything she could ever want. her parents are rich, she’s beautiful and smart, and she has a perfect relationship with phillip. but on the inside, she’s drowning. her dad wants her to take over the family company but she wants to be a writer, and the worst part is that she’s good at writing and horrible at business! she’s always been content to go with the flow (aka, what her parents want) because things are good in her life, but after her encounter with james over the summer, she’s realizing that she is completely trapped in a life she doesn’t want in the least. now she’s a conflicted mess of emotion trying to figure out what to do.

#click on her name for a fun lil surprise ;)#this is SO LONG i'm sorry

6 notes · View notes

bewitchingwitch · 5 years ago

Text

Great Gatsby Au Pt. 3

At last I have updated The Great Gatsby au! I’ve been working on this one for a while so I hope you guys like it :) If you want to be tagged just let me know it the comments and thank you guys for your support that helped me stay motivated to finish it!

Word count: 2,856

"I take it you're not from around here?” Gatsby led you away from the rail making sure to keep his hand on your waist and you could feel it inching its way southward.

“You could say that.” You had your arm looped through his. You looked over your shoulder trying to catch one last glance at Theseus, but he was no where to be seen.

“You seem distracted.” Gatsby grabbed your chin lightly turning it to face his gaze. His blue eyes seemed to shimmer in the low lighting making them seem like two deep blue oceans in which one you stepped in you could never escape the tide.

You found yourself leaning closer and he did as well, his eye lashes coming to rest on his cheeks. You had to stop yourself from leaning in and moved to the side close to his ear to whisper. “I just want to make sure we aren’t being followed.” A shiver ran down his frame. “I want us to be alone Mr. Gatsby.”

You pulled back to see him full on again. Red dusted the entire face of Gatsby all the way down to his Adam’s apple. “I love it when women take the lead.” He wet his lips and pulled you closer to him to where your arms were looped together again. He leaned in and in his raspy voice whispered, “call me Jay.”

He continued to lead you out of the way from onlookers and into a darker wing of his mansion. As you walked he made small talk and you kept it going asking the occasional question. He answered every one with enthusiasm and watching him made you giddy, seeing how much passion he had for the things he loved. You even lost yourself a bit in the role, finding yourself wanting to know more and more about this so called criminal. But you kept your questions to yourself, and directed the conversation back to his bootlegging business.

“I mentioned earlier that my boyfriend and I were interested in becoming part of your business.” You pulled away slightly and rested

your hand on his forearm.

“Hmm. Did you I don’t recall that.” Gatsby pursed his lips in thought.

“Really? I asked your right before-“

“Oh that’s right. I remember I just got distracted by your beauty.” He winked.

You snorted, sniffling a laugh.

Jay looked hurt at your reaction. “What I thought that was pretty good.”

“No it was so bad.” You laughed out. “So cheesy! You Americans have such poor flirting skills.” You kept giggling as Gatsby tried to remain frowning but he gave up a smile despite himself.

“I’m not that bad.”

“Oh yes you are.”

“Well fine then. If you’re the expert on flirting why don’t you show me how it’s done.”

“What no way.” Your laughing seized. But a smile was still on your face.

“Yes show me how it’s done.” Gatsby moved closer to you, you stepped back and felt your back hit the wall. He trapped you between his arm leaning his weight on it. He slipped the other one in his pocket.

“I don’t think you need any help.” You felt your face heat up at his actions. “I take it back.”

“Oh really.” He brushed your hair from your face and ran his hand down the side, tracing the curve of your face. “I don’t think anyone is better to teach me than someone as charming and as beautiful as you Ms. (y/l/n).”

“Now that was smooth.” You smirked, your face continuing to heat up.

Jay let out a laugh but still kept you trapped by his arm. You noticed how when he smirked or laughed his dimples showed. Theseus has dimples. Theseus. You shook your thoughts of him from your head. You needed to focus on getting Gatsby to trust you so you could capture him.

“So about your business?” You batted your lashes at him and grabbed his hand that had caressed your face. Playing with his fingers. He stared down at your intwined hands.

He looked at you through his eyelashes for a moment before looking back down. A smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “What’s a gal like you trying to get mixed up in a business like that?”

“I like a little trouble.” You lowered your voice and he leaned in, his attention on every word.

“I can tell but you don’t wanna get involved with that honey.” He moves his hand away from yours and placed in on your waist running it up and down as he spoke, in a low and raspy voice. “You don’t want to get involved with people like that.”

“Oh.” You looked up at him a pouty expression on your face. “What are these bad people like?”

He wet his lips. “Like me.”

“Well.” You reach out and grab him by his tie pulling him even closer to you to where his nose was inches away from yours. “I want to get involved with you Mr.Gatsby.”

He let out a little growl hearing you call him that. He moved his hand to your chin and titled it up. “Believe me baby, you don’t wanna get mixed up with me.”

“Oh I think I do.”

Jay surprised you as he surged forward and crushed his lips onto yours. His rough lips took yours and he hungrily devoured your lips, after a moment you responded your hands holding onto his neck and moving up to grip his geled hair, tugging it out of place. He moved his body into you and practically picked you up the floor grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist. He pulled away for a moment, to catch his breath before he moved to suck on your neck. In broken breaths you spoke.

“I want to be involved in your business baby. I want to be involved with you.” You huffed out.

“Hmm.” He hummed against your neck, he moved further downward to leave even more bruises. “I don’t know if we have an opening.”

“None at all.” You cooed as you pulled on his hair, he let out a moan.

“Not a single one.” You felt him smirk against your skin. His hand moving behind you to move the zipper from your dress down.

“You can’t make an exception.” He zipped down your dress and it fell off your shoulders your back bra exposing itself to him. He took you all in with a lustful gaze.

“An exception?” Gatsby asked as he kissed his way from your neck downward and sucked on the spot right on your collarbone.

“For me.” You cooed. His eyes looked up at you and your ran your fingers through his hair.

“Well that depends.” He pulled himself back up . His tie was crooked and your red lip stick was smeared all across his face. His blue eyes were have lidded, his chest heaving up and down just as yours was.

“On what?” You bit your lip and you felt him pull your dress even lower, the beginnings of your stomach starting to show.

“Are you mine?”

“What?” He moved closer and kissed the spot behind your ear making your whole body tingle.

“Leave your boyfriend baby and be mine. And then you’ll never have to worry again.” Jay didn’t even give you a chance to answer he kissed you again undoing your hair from it’s extravagant updo. Your hair fell down around your face in messy waves, he pushed it back. “I like you better with your hair down.”

You looked at his ungeled messy hair. “You look nice with your hair down too.” He chucked .

“So. I need an answer. Are you gonna be my girl?”

Just as you were you were about to answer you heard someone clear their voice from around the corner. Theseus came from around the corner and leaned against the wall looking at you and Gatsby. Your dress sliding down your body. You made a grab to hoist it back up. “Oh there you are dear. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Theseus said through clenched teeth. He took the whole scene in your smeared lipstick and Gatsby’s crumpled suit.

“Well hello old sport.” Jay spoke up causally like talking to an old friend. Gatsby’s voice was collected even though he had just made out with you as he spoke to Theseus, “your boyfriend.” He also kept an arm around protectively, there was someone of a crazy gleam in his eyes. “What are you doing over here the party’s back there.”

Theseus remained a good distance away his stance still leaned against the wall. “That might be so but my girlfriends over here.” He gestured towards you and you felt our face heat up. You were embarrassed that Theseus had found you in this state.

“Oh so you’re the ex-boyfriend.” Gatsby’s tone was amused.

“No I’m her boyfriend.” Theseus had an angry expression as he pushed himself off the wall and moved to square up to Gatsby.

“Try were old sport. Ms. (Y/l/n) was just about to swear her loyalty to me and dump your ass.” He smiled showing off his brilliantly white teeth. “Isn’t That right.” Jay turned to you and kissed you in a quick yet passionate kiss. He then turned back to Theseus, his arm around you. “So if I were you I’d scam. Didn’t anyone ever tell you three’s a crowd.”

Theseus just laughed and took a step closer to him. “You’re right.” Theseus pulled back and sucker punched Gatsby, his tall frame falling back. “Three is a crowd Mr.Gatsby.” You looked down at Jay who was out cold on the tile before turning back to Theseus.

He winced and shook his hand examining its broken state. He paced back and forth not paying you attention. “Yep, yep it’s broken.” He cradled his hands and looked down at Gatsby. “Merlin that man has a jaw of steel.”

Theseus regained his composure and turned to you. “I see you’ve been busy.” He looked you up and down, your dress still sliding down as you struggled to pull it back up. Your lipstick was smeared and hickeys decorated your soft skin. Your chest heaving up and down and your hair a wild mess. He felt his heart hurt looking at you in this state. He glanced down at Gatsby and noticed your lipstick on him and the bruises you had left of your own. He sighed. Grabbing the handkerchief from Gatsby’s pocket he wrapped his hand up in a makeshift bandage.

“I was trying to get him to trust me,” You responded as you shrugged your dress back up reaching for the zipper.

“By making out with him?” Theseus walked over to help you zip up your dress.

“Thanks. And no I didn’t expect him to kiss me. It just sort of happened.” You blushed as your gaze refused to meet Theseus.

“Are you made I cheated on our fake relationship.” You teased as you tried to comb out your hair.

Theseus bit back a hurtful comment and bent down to search Gatsby. All he had on him was a golden pocket watch, an money clip engraved with JG in fancy lettering with a couple hundreds in it. But he had no wallet. After a couple more moments of searching Theseus pulled out a wand. “Aha. I knew his wand had to be on him somewhere.” It was white wood with extravagant designs carved into it. A gold handle at its base that also had his initials carved into it. Theseus pocked it and through the other possessions towards you. “Hold these for me will you darling.” You caught the items and blushed at his pet name.

He began to shrug the unconscious Gatsby up and he leaned his weight on him. Theseus struggled to stand up, Gatsby wasn’t exactly a small man. “Can I get a little help?” You hurried over and grabbed Jay’s other arm bringing it around your shoulder.

You walked together doing your best to keep Gatsby upright and told onlookers that he was passed out drunk to avoid any awkward questions. The party was filing out, it must have been early in the morning no one ever left Gatsby’s parties at reasonable hours. Just a couple drunks mingled around and show girls were asleep on furniture, unfamiliar men draped next to them.

As you made your way down the stairs you felt your grip on Gatsby slip and his body tumbled down the stairs, he came to a crash at the bottom, but still he was out cold. Theseus snorted and burst out laughing.

Your hurried down the stairs after Jay. “Oh my god I cannot believe you let him fall down the stairs.”

“I- I didn’t.” Theseus chocked out in between laughs. “At least not on purpose I felt your grip loosen too.” Gatsby had landed on his face his rear up in the air, his nose smashed against the tile.

You let out a small laugh, which only spurred on Theseus to laugh even more. “Stop laughing it’s not funny you could have hurt him.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s fine that man has a thick skull.” Theseus continued to double over in laughter as you kneeled next to Gatsby, inspecting him for any injuries.

“Stop laughing and come help me stand him up again.”

“Alright.” You’re watched Theseus walk down the steps, the morning light highlighting his cheekbones and making his dark brown hair seem auburn. His freckles stood out, he had taken off his suit jacket and swung it over his shoulder. He caught you staring and gave you a quizzical look. “What?”

You looked away feeling your face heat up. “Nothing.” You muttered. Theseus shrugged it off and helped Gatsby back up. You made your way to the door and Theseus “accidentally” rammed Jay’s head into the door frame, in which you scolded him and he just fought back a smile.

You were now sitting in Theseus car. After trying to figure out how to shove Gatsby into a car that was built for two. There was little to no backseat so a lot of rearranging was done so all three of you could sit together. Theseus was behind the wheel Gatsby was smooshed between you and him. His hands were tied behind his back with a spell.

“So.” Theseus started. You leaned forward to look at him. He sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck. “Look I’m sorry (y/n) I didn’t mean to snap like that. It’s just I can’t stand to see you chasing after someone like Gatsby, you’re too good for him. And I know you were just trying to get the mission done and I let my feelings get in the way. I can’t stay mad at you I need you in my life so please don’t be too mad at me.“

You felt guilt seap into your heart. Your intentions weren’t so pure with Gatsby. You did find yourself drawn to him despite yourself. “Theseus I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have spoke to you like that you were just looking out for me. You always have and I’m so grateful to have someone like you in my life that does that. It’s rare to find that.” Theseus gave you a sad smile.

And you studied his face and the way it was filled with so much emotion. It made you believe that in his eyes you could do no wrong. You began to put the pieces together. You continued speaking hoping that Theseus would either confirm or deny your theory. “And at times I think you’re just too nice that I don’t deserve you and at times I wonder if there’s more to you than just a good friend.” Theseus felt a lump forming in his throat.

“What do you mean?” He spoke in a low voice.

“You and I are always together, you buy me food on Friday nights and let me mess with your hair and when I fall asleep on your lap you don’t even move me you just let me rest no matter how tired you are. A friend doesn’t do this.” You looked at him through your lashes, a red hue dusting your cheeks as you played with the ends of your hair.

This was it the moment he had been hoping for the past decade. You were coming to realize that he had loved you since the beginning. That you were meant to be with him. “And when you do these things at times I wonder if you are in lo-“

Your sentence was cut off as Gatsby came back into consciousness. He opened his eyes they were red rimmed. “I have one hell of a headache.” Jay strained his arms only to find them tied behind his back, with half lidded eyes he took in his surroundings. He groaned and slumped against you. “Um babe can you tell me where I am and why I’m tied up.”

And in that moment Theseus just about thought he could kill Gatsby.

Tag list: @hearteyesmotherclucker @theroyalbrownbarbie @hoodedbirdie @annyinlovewithkpop @c8n10n4o2-geek @martarosado @nanjaeminie @moisoverennyi-thestarlessone @profangirllex @gaenahelleborus @melodramaticmelon2118 @michellekstr @nctyong-xo @preppy-by-the-c @sweetlyshinylady @emo-plaidin @dreacantsleep @theetherealbloom m @lily2089 @mywckdmind @barbarachern @imbiandiwanttocry @ollyoxenfrees @newtslatte e @pettylady @februarycalum @justanotherenglisheducationmajor @feelthefeelingsinsideyou @ombriescent @ztinge @liloefuru u @babywizardoll @heckin-kat @thewitchmadness @bunnie-kookie @the-fandom-life-forever @missanonyma @frozen-blue-eyes @newletas @sassycassyhoneybee @spookysunflowr @justawriterwithdreams @spreaded-butter @dreacantsleep @constantdisgrace @madamnouiselle @pureawesomeness001 @hp-forever-generation @princeofsassgard @hereiamhereigo @coniumalces @hannah-mic

#theseus scamander #great gatsby au #theseus x you #theseus x reader #fantastic beats and where to find them #crimes of grindleward #theseus and newt #theseus fanfiction #fan fic writing #fan fic stuff #i love theseus #great gatsby #fan fiction #newt scamander #newt and reader #newt scamander x reader #x reader #x y/n

61 notes · View notes

xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years ago

Text

Melbourne, An Interlude

Summary: Merriell “Snafu” Shelton is on leave in Australia and meets a girl who, in quite a twist for Merriell, ends up charming the pants off of him. I was inspired by @rami-hoe and their story, The Soldier and the Nurse, because it was written in Snaf’s first person POV.

I am experimenting with this whole first person POV thing, so I keep Snaf’s thoughts in a slight version of his accent—this might be annoying af and not work at all :/ Feedback welcome! This is also my first piece on here with an OFC instead of a reader insert. I still tried to keep her vague-ish, but I wanted to do something different : )

This story will be two parts because I no longer seem to be able to write a one-shot to save my life.

Permanent Taglist: @rami-malek-trash @sherlollydramoine

Warnings: language, racial slur against the Japanese in accordance with the time period, and lots of sex stuff, so no under 18s, please!

If Guadalcanal was anythin’ to indicate what else was comin,’ I was gonna make the most of my time here in Melbourne. I was one of the lucky ones without malaria, but I was skinnier than I’d eva been and it was provin’ to be difficult to keep food in me long enough to actually fix my malnourishment.

What I can tell ya was takin’ a shower without a gun within arm’s length, without the fear of havin’ a shell dropped on ya naked ass, was next to feelin’ like god himself was wrappin’ ya up in a hug made out of warm rainwater.

It took a few days of eatin’ a little here and there and a whole lotta sleep for my nerves to relax. After a few meals dat finally settled well and sleepin’ for damn near 36 hours, I was ready to go out and find a drink, and I more than hoped not to spend anotha night alone on a fuckin’ cot in dat stadium.

First night out, I drank five glasses of whiskey and ended up stumblin’ around, gettin’ lost—I used to be able to drink a hell of a lot more than dat. I ended up runnin’ smack inta a gaggle of girls, gigglin’ and chatterin’ as dey were headin’ into the bar I just left.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t care which one said yes—so I took my shot, hopin’ I’d come across as charmin’ to at least one of em. I smiled a lot because I knew girls liked it when I did, and I ran a hand through my hair, short because it had just been cut, tryin’ to look just a little innocent and tryin’ to not sound as drunk as I was.

Her name was somethin’ like Stella or Bella, and I’m pretty sure she was a decent lookin’ girl. She took me back to the place she shared with her sister, and while she was shy at first, she opened up once the lights were out. I tried my best to get her to leave a little light on because I spent enough time in the black of night, not able to even see my own dick in my hand when takin’ a piss. But she was too shy for dat.

I took my time, drunk as I was, and made sure she was ready for me. I wasn’t ‘bout to do somethin’ stupid to start off my leave and maybe she’d be the only girl I’d end up gettin’. I wanted her to remember a good enough time.

The sex was . . . sex. She was a little quiet, a little soft. She kept her hands at her sides, clutchin’ at the sheets on occasion as she laid under me. I eventually gave up on askin’ her what she liked, how she wanted to be touched, because she just giggled and shook her head. I liked it betta when a girl let loose, when she let me know it felt good, too.

I came, pullin’ out even though I was wearin’ a rubber. Unlike a lot of my buddies, I paid damn close attention to those fuckin’ VD movies dey showed us. Right before we shipped out, a kid I knew from trainin’ camp got the clap. Sometimes, when I think ‘bout just slippin’ in to a woman, I remember what his fuckin’ dick looked like and I spend the thirty seconds lubin’ and wrappin’ up with one of the rubber kits the officers give out like candy. I wasn’t gonna spend half my leave vistin’ a Pro Station, or worse, laid up in the hospital with my cock on fire.

Once somethin’-ella was asleep, I tried to leave, quiet as possible. The damn MPs were still up everyone’s assholes, and I didn’t wanna be put in a cage. But on my way out, I ran into her sister and her name sounded somethin’ like Stella or Bella, too. She wasn’t quite as good lookin’ as her sister, but at least she wasn’t shy.

Honestly, I was just engagin’ in small talk, tryin’ to leave, but before I knew it, I found myself, naked and sprawled out on Stella/Bella #2’s bed with her bouncin’ on my cock like she’d been born to do it. Unlike her sis, she really didn’t need my help to come, and I actually was a little taken aback when ‘bout two minutes in she started screamin’ like a banshee, shakin’ and comin’ undone on top of me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feeling of her warmth, the sweet smell of sex mixin’ with whateva clean soap she had used, until I found myself comin’ for her, just like I did for her sister.

This one was more difficult to get away from, her limbs all tangled with mine and I wasn’t ready for dat—for feelin’ like I couldn’t move. It was way too much like sittin’ in a foxhole up to ya asshole in mud, tangled with ya weapon and ya gear and leanin’ against a buddy.

I relied on instinct and stayed real still, laborin’ my breathin’ like I was asleep and sure enough, she drifted off, snorin’ her head off.

I detangled myself and got outta there. I’d come enough to be a little more sober, so I snuck a glass of water before headin’ out, hopin’ I’d be able to find my way back to base unnoticed.

* * * * *

The next few weeks proceeded in much the same fashion. Drinkin’, smokin’, a little gamblin’, and closin’ out the night by finding some sweet thing to bed down. I was the happiest I’d been in a long time and even though the threat of drills and trainin’ was kept loomin’ ova our heads, I didn’t mind. Nothin’ here would eva be as bad as what was ova there.

Like I said, I was content with my days and nights and believed it would be how’d I’d spend my time in Melbourne until I saw her.

I was playin’ a game of cards with a few of my buddies, a cigarette danglin’ from my lips, the smoke waftin’ up in a thick stream when I glanced up at a loud guffaw of laughter comin’ from a few tables ova. I reached up to lower my cigarette, and when I found the source of the laughter, I saw the sexiest woman I had eva laid my damn eyes on.

She was surrounded by a group of marines I didn’t know, probably from the 7th Division. Her laughter had them captivated, and her glass of beer was—goddamn, she was drinkin’ beer like she’d been doin’ it her whole life. Her lips fit sensuously ova the thick rim of the mug, and the way she licked the little bit of liquid from her upper lip after a long draught, not just a sip, but a real drink, made me shift in my chair.

I had to know her—fuck sleepin’ with her; I just needed to be near her.

I bowed out of the game, the guys givin’ me major shit as I walked toward her table, all of them turnin’ to see if I’d make an asshole of myself.

When I stopped in front of the table, the conversation barely paused, even though she noticed me immediately and shot me a smirk, her pink lips glistenin’.

“Hi ya,” I said loud enough to turn all their attention. “Name’s Merriell Shelton, 1st Marines Division, and I’d love to buy ya a drink.”

The woman raised her eyebrow, her smirk still planted on her lips. The marines around her laughed and told me to fuck off, albeit with more polite words since dey were in front of the lady.

“As you can see Merriell Shelton, I don’t have a shortage of marines to buy me a drink. What makes your offer so special?”

American. I wasn’t expectin’ dat. Her response made it clear she was bein’ coquettish. Her tone was teasin’ and her eyes were shinin’ with a wickedness I had never seen in a woman’s eye before. It only made her more appealin’ and only made me more determined to shut the other guys up who had started laughin’ at her response, tellin’ me to keep movin.’

“Well, my offer is different, Miss, because dat’s all I want,” I said.

The marines shifted in their seats, clearly annoyed, until one of em I hadn’t seen earlier, guffawed. It was a guy in my company named James Haneson, but everyone called him Hollywood because he had movie-star good looks and wore sunglasses every chance he got. In fact, even though it was night, he had ‘em on now.

“Sure, Snafu. You’ve been with a different girl every night since we got here. Remember those sisters? Or were you just full of shit?” Hollywood said, his white teeth glitterin’ as he laughed while the othas joined in. Because I knew him, I caught the edge in his tone. He was sendin’ a clear signal, but I wasn’t ‘bout to let him win without a fight.

Still wearin’ a grin I considered to be charmin, I retorted, “I neva’ said I been a saint. All I want is to buy a drink for the most beautiful woman I eva seen who also happens to be able to drink betta than about half the men in my company.”

The woman laughed at dat, a throaty, deep laugh I felt run straight through body, like I got a good jolt from a bad wire.

“Well, gents,” she said lookin’ all ‘round her circle of admirers and fixin’ em with a sad little downturn of her mouth, which was surely negated by the wicked look in her eyes. “How can a gal refuse such a reasonable request?”

The guys all protested, Hollywood even reached out to take hold of her elbow, but she slid out of her chair and her linked her arm in mine.

“I’ll see you boys soon,” she said as she reached across the table to drink down the last of her beer.

“Wait, Kathryn! Are you gonna come back to this bar or will you be at the one ‘cross the street?”

“Or the club down on Main?”

“Or—”

Kathryn cut them off with a wink, statin’, “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see!”

Then, she turned to me and whispered, “Let’s get out of here before they stop being so amiable.”

“Kathryn! Where ya goin’? You promised to have a drink with me tonight,” an Aussie marine who was at least three times my size and looked to be more mountain than man said as we whirred by him, Kathryn callin’ out her response ova her shoulder.

“Now, I know that isn’t true because I never make promises to soldiers, Roger! Catch ya around!”

As we exited the bar, Kathryn leaned into me to make way for a group of people headin’ in and she whispered right in my ear, “I took him home night before last and he came on my thighs before he even got my panties off.”

I laughed, goddamn did I laugh! She was sexy and had a mouth on her dat woulda made most men blush.

She continued to lean into me, and when I turned to look at her, her eyes were on my face and she was grinnin’.

“That was a good reaction. You see, I was testing you, Mr. Shelton, and you passed. Shall we have that drink now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said returnin’ her dazzlin’ smile.

“I know a place that isn’t quite so inundated with, well, your lot.”

I let her lead me through the streets, happy she kept her arm linked with mine. She smelled like perfume, a familiar scent dat reminded me of the little purple sweet violets my granmama grew. Perfume was a luxury now, so I figured with the way she spoke and dressed she was from money. Girls with the kinda confidence Kathryn had were used to havin’ things at their disposal.

As we walked, she pointed out various places and named them, tellin’ me whether dey was worth vistin’ or if dey’d charge ya double.

“How do ya know so much if ya American?” I asked, no longer able to keep my curiosity from climbin’ out the bag.

“Well, my father is Australian. He met my mother while he was at University in the States. We always spend Christmas here with my grandparents, but since the war, I haven’t felt much like going back to my studies. I work in the shipyard now as a welder.”

I actually stopped in my tracks. I was expectin’ maybe a Red Cross volunteer or a nurse, but a welder, huh.

Kathryn let go of my arm and pulled off her glove, holdin’ up her hand and tellin’ me to feel it.

I reached out and ran my own calloused fingers ova her’s and across her calloused palm.

“You really are somethin’, ma’am,” I said, not botherin’ to hide the awe in my voice.

“I guess we haven’t been properly introduced—I’m Kathryn Taylor,” she said as she held out her ungloved hand to me.

“Merriell Shelton. Pleasure to officially meet ya,” I said as I enveloped her hand in mine, admirin’ the strength in her grip.

“Come on, Merriell. We’re almost to Smithy’s.”

We turned a corner and after walkin’ a few more feet, Kathryn took my hand in her once-more gloved hand and lead me down what seemed like a never-endin’, near pitch-black alley. She made a sharp turn left and then a right before we were brought to a buildin’ dat looked just like any otha bar in Melbourne, except the accents from the patrons out on the patio were all Aussie.

“Kathryn! Good to see you, luv,” the man at the door said. “And who’s this?”

“My friend, Merriell Shelton. He passed my test, Joe,” Kathryn said with a wink.

The man called Joe chuckled and clapped me on the back, however, his next words were anythin’ but friendly.

“Start any shit in there, mate, and your MPs will be the least of your concern, clear?”

“Clear,” I said with an affirmative nod.

I followed Kathryn in and got a fair share of stares, but no one seemed to pay us much mind once we slid into a little booth in the very back.

“Drinks are on me,” Kathryn said as she fished around in her little bag.

“Oh, no ma’am. I invited you—”

“Merriell. You fought. You lived. You’ll be off to fight again. I’m not the one risking my life on those godforsaken islands. The absolute least I can do is buy you a drink,” Kathryn said with finality as she slid from the booth and strode away—at least before stopping on her heel and doing a rather impressive about-face.

“I forgot to ask what you wanted,” she said with a quizzical look on her face as she stood in front of me.

I had to laugh. I didn’t think I’d eva met a woman who made me laugh as much as I had in such a short while.

“I like whiskey,” I said.

“You’ll get the finest in the house,” she said, smiling again before she turned and took off for the crowded bar.

I took a lot of pleasure in watchin’ her walk away. Her blue dress clung to her backside like it was made for the sole purpose of drivin’ a man wild.

When Kathryn returned, she had two large glasses of beer and two glasses of whiskey.

“Figured it’d be awhile before they’d make room for me at the bar again,” she said as she scooted a beer and a whiskey to my side of the table.

I thanked her and took a sip of the whiskey. It was damn smooth, so smooth I was sure I’d never tasted anythin’ like it before.

Kathryn also took a sip and thought for a moment before sayin’, “I think it has a nutty taste. Definitely not floral, not woody.”

I shrugged my shoulders at her, not sure what else to say.

“It’s my dad’s and my granddad’s favorite. I’ve been sneaking sips since I was a little girl,” Kathryn said as she slid her glass toward me. “However, I really don’t like it at all.”

I laughed again, a quiet chuckle of surprise because I wasn’t eva sure what was gonna come out of her mouth next.

“Where are you from, Merriell? Your accent is . . . sexy,” she said, pausin’ to either add emphasis or because she might’ve finally felt a little shy.

“I’m from New Orleans, Louisiana.”

“New—Naw Orlens. No. New Or-lins. How’d I do?”

“Not too bad,” I said with a chuckle. “Just don’t eva go full yank on me and say New Orleeens,” I said, draggin’ my e’s out to create dat sound I absolutely hated.

Kathryn giggled and said, “Point taken. I never want to hear you make that terrible noise again.”

We both smiled at each other, and even though the night was still young, I wished it would neva end.

Talkin’ to Kathryn was the easiest thing I’d eva done. She didn’t ask about the war, so I got to enjoy not talkin’ about it. After a few more hours and several more drinks, I learned about her childhood, her schoolin’, and her life here with her grandparents. In turn, I opened up to her about home, growin’ up and not always havin’ money but how my granmama made sure us kids neva went hungry.

I could tell I was feelin’ the effects of the whiskey and Kathryn could, too. Like everyone who wasn’t Cajun, she said my accent was takin’ up ‘more space in my mouth’ as she put it.

“But it’s still so sexy,” she said, this time bold as brass.

“I’m convinced dat nut’in on dis earth is sexy as you, darlin’,” I said, shooting her what I hoped was one of my best grins.

“You know, I’ve never met anyone with eyes more beautiful than yours. They can’t lie, Merriell. Did you know that? I’ve been testing you all night,” Kathryn said with seriousness, except I couldn’t help grinnin’ at her slurred speech.

I was a little taken aback at the compliment, though, and told her so.

“Nobody’s eva told me dat ‘bout ma eyes. Usually, dey just call me . . . unnervin’ or some shit,” I said with a nervous laugh. I had never confessed dat it bothered me to anyone.

Kathryn narrowed her eyes, takin’ her time to formulate her response.

“Prolly because you can see right the fuck through people—just like you did with, oh, what’s his name back at the bar . . . Hollywood! People want to feel like they’re special, like they’re some kinda enigma that can’t be solved. But you, Mer, you just cut right through their bullshit.”

“I’ve neva wanted ta kiss someone more dan I wanna kiss ya right now,” I said, leanin’ on the table, my fingers dancin’ ‘round the glass dat was between em.

Kathryn sat straight up and looked like I’d dumped a gallon of ice-water ova her head. I was confused enough to start to apologize for bein’ forward, but she cut me off.

She locked her eyes on mine and said, “No. When we kiss, it’ll be something that you remember for the rest of your life, not a stolen press of the lips or dart of the tongue in a back-alley bar. You deserve something more than that, Merriell.”

No woman like Kathryn had eva said anythin’ like dat to me. In fact, no woman had eva said anythin’ like dat to me. I was a lotta things, a whole lotta things, but this girl seemed to deem me worthy of far more than I eva imagined for myself.

We were both disappointed when the bartender announced last call. It was near 3 am, but I neva felt more awake; it felt like the fuckin’ Japs were a million miles away on their own stinkhole of an island, mindin’ their own goddamn business and dey had decided to keep it dat way.

“Guess I outta let you get back before they send the MPs after you,” Kathryn said, her eyes a little glassy as she smiled at me.

“Nah—da officers quit checkin’ up dat closely on us. All it takes is a few favors and ya safe from dem assholes.”

Like I was discoverin’ she was prone to do, Kathryn grew serious and changed the topic on me.

“I’m looking for something, Mer. I’m just not sure what it is yet, but I do know that I’ve never found it.”

I smiled at her, puzziln’ a little ova what she said.

“I dunno if I’ve got anythin’ dat interstin’ for ya, but I would sure would like to see ya again.”

“Done,” she said, pullin’ a little notepad and a pen from her purse. She scribbled an address on it and reached ova to tuck it snug into my shirt pocket.

She had put her gloves back on and reached up to cup the side of my face. I leaned inta her touch and closed my eyes, savorin’ her gentleness. She slid her gloved thumb ova my lips, pressin’ just a little on the bottom one. I opened my eyes and we just stood there for what felt like a lifetime, lookin’ at each other.

She shook her head, and pulled away, sayin’, “I’ll make sure you get on the right tram. Come on.”

Kathryn took off down the dark alley, and I followed her, thinkin’ there was a good chance I’d follow her anywhere.

#snafu #Snafu Shelton #snafu imagine #snafu fanfic #snafu x ofc #rami malek #rami malek character #the pacific #Merriell Shelton #merriell shelton imagine #merriell shelton x ofc #female reader

59 notes · View notes

thelamppoststation · 5 years ago

Text

Future’s Past by TheLampPost

In 2008, a year after James managed to get off that godforsaken rock, he receives a visit from a young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair. She hands him a locket and a letter, then demands answers to questions that he didn't even know existed. Post season 6 (Suliet) - This story is also partly set during the DHARMA days.

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

Chapter 1: Wonder

DHARMA Initiative: Motor Pool, July 1975

"I'm pretty sure it's the engine. It's been giving me trouble for the past week and a half. There's this odd ticking sound," Phil jerked his index-finger back and forth, "that just won't let up."

"Uhu."

"I'm pretty sure I saw some smoke in my rear-view the other day as well."

"Uhu."

"And the backlight is busted."

"Uhu."

"Look, I would have brought it in sooner, but you know how LaFleur gets."

Danny snorted.

"I do, do I?"

"He's been up my ass all week about clocking in late. I told him, 'listen, I can't help it, sleep paralysis is a real thing, you know?' But he's just not been in a very sympathetic mood, lately."

"Uhu."

Danny stepped around back and unlocked the latch on the blue VW T2. He groaned, scratched the back of his head, reaching for a non-existing itch that was easier to define than the inside of this particular engine. That was a lie. He understood perfectly well. Trouble was, he didn't care to understand. Good American vans were easy to come by nowadays. In fact, just the other day he heard Mitchell talk about the latest Chevrolets, how they're taking the market by storm, and yet folks here imported German vans. German. Vans. It was irritating, not up to par, and he should have objected to this detail when they first assigned it to him. After all, his skill lay in engineering, not fixing Nazi cars.

He closed the latch and sighed; Phil was still babbling away in his left ear, something about sleep apnoea and narcolepsy. Where did the Initiative find this guy, anyway?

"I'll have Juliet take a look at it."

"Juliet?"

Phil's thick brows shot up, not quite disappearing beneath his thinning hairline.

"She's s'posed to start her shift at one."

"Juliet Carlson?"

"Uhu."

"You hiring women these days?"

Danny shrugged.

"Many of them emancipated ones want to grease up, try out some real jobs; I ain't complaining, the view's been much improved since she started tinkering away," he winked and motioned for Phil to step closer. "Nimble fingers, that one's got," Phil's eyes widened and Danny playfully punched him in the arm.

"You and her?"

"Ha! I wish. Pretty sure she's got a thing for your boss."

"LaFleur?!" Phil frowned. "How'd you figure that?"

"He comes 'round here lookin' for them blonde locks more often than Linus beats up his kid in a drunken frenzy."

"Danny!" Phil exclaimed, then dropped his voice to a low whisper. "We don't talk about that."

"We ain't talkin' 'bout lotsa things that's goin' on 'round here. Don't mean it don't happen, Phil."

"It's none of our business."

"Yeah? You gone say that to his kid if ever he come knockin' on ya door for help? 'Ain't none of my business, kid. Scram?' Or what about them recruits we buried last week? I ain't seen a single letter went out to them families. We also just gone pretend that ain't our business?"

The truth of the matter was, Danny wasn't wrong, he knew he wasn't; too many things were happening on the island that consistently and conveniently escaped members' attention. Just the other day, after he'd caught Linus beating the shit out of his sad puppy of a kid again, it occurred to him that he just couldn't be the only one who'd ever been witness to such a plain show of domestic abuse. How could he be? What a farce! The D.I. endlessly prattled on about life and death, war and peace, love and hate; they talked about everything that went above and beyond mere mortal comprehension; yet, when it really came down to it – whenever, Roger would turn up drunk for his shift again, or Ben showed up to class with a black eye and busted glasses – well, if anyone'd ask him, he'd say the DHARMA folk just didn't want to see. 'Them things that truly need fixin', them things that matter in the here and now; them such things don't matter to the DHARMA fuckin' Initiative.'

"It ain't! - I mean, it isn't!" Phil nervously pulled at his sleeves.

"Uhu," Danny sniffed. "Guess it ain't, then."

"Hi boys!"

Phil jumped, unprepared for the sudden intrusion. Danny jerked around, a genuine 100-watt smile gracing his face. At least the island provided him with some distractions; them nice blue eyes surely gave him palpitations from time to time.

"Well, well, if it ain't Jules. You early, doll. Your shift don't start 'til one."

"Hi Phil."

"Juliet," Phil gave her a curt nod, his eyes darting off to the side.

"I left early yesterday, figured I'd make up for the time today."

"Well, you're in luck. Phil here says his van needs some lovin'; told him you're just the gal he's lookin' for."

She grinned and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Suppose she's not your type, eh?"

"Nah, you know how I like 'em, big and busty. None of that angular, wide eyed crap" he winked.

Juliet shook her head, unable to hide the amusement that tugged at the corners of her lips.

She should be more outraged by such sexual innuendos, but this was Danny, and Danny was about as threatening as a baby hippopotamus. Ever since she'd signed up for the motor pool detail she'd expected backlash, ridicule, jokes about her inability to hold a screwdriver the right way up. But instead of huffing and puffing about her true place being in the kitchen, Danny had surprised her. His open-mindedness about her abilities made her feel welcome, and as a result she embraced his testing and teasing with a smile rather than a grimace. Also, she was capable of making some pretty sharp remarks of her own keeping Danny on his toes plenty.

"What seems to be the problem?"

She stepped closer to the van, and turned her attention back to Phil. He gave her an odd look and a quick once over before spewing forth an incomprehensible string off words.

"I – uh," a twitch tugged at his eye.

"I – eh," he scraped his throat.

"The engine is ticking and – uh– I."

He pulled at his collar.

"Uh, backlight –."

Danny sniggered, and put an arm around Phil's shoulder.

"The engine is givin' 'im some hiccups, and you're gonna wanna replace the backlight," he said.

"Right," Phil nodded. "That."

"Okay, no problem. I'll see what I can do," she moved towards the work station and slipped her gloves on. "Check back in at the end of the afternoon."

Phil gave her another curt nod.

"Anything else?"

"No," he said, his eyes sliding up and down her jumpsuit once more, then he turned to Danny, pursed his lips and said:

"See you later, Dan."

"later, Phil."

Juliet tilted her head to the side as she watched Phil stalk off in the direction of the barracks.

"What's with Phil?"

"What ain't with Phil?" he snorted.

She laughed.

" 'S got his panties all tied up in a knot when he heard his boss and you are sweet on each other."

She froze; the look in Danny's eyes imparting far more than she was willing to acknowledge. How in the hell did that rumor spread about?

"Where'd you hear that?" she asked, leaping back into movement. She opened the van's front latch, and propped the hood up.

"You ain't foolin' anyone, doll. He's up here more often than he's out 'n 'bout checkin' perimeters. Always somethin' "broke" on his VW. Uhu," he winked.

"It's not like that, Danny. You know that."

"I'm just tellin' 'em how I see 'em, doll. And I sure seen lotsa ogling happenin' 'round these parts lately."

"I'm telling you, you're seeing it wrong."

"I am, am I?"

He tapped his nose, then shrugged and slammed his hand against the side of the van.

"Don't forget to freshen the oil, doll," He turned away. "I'll be in my office. Say hi to LaFleur when he stops by."

He walked away.

"Shit," she whispered under her breath.

He wasn't wrong, James had been stopping by a lot, lately. In fact, his van would randomly break down at least twice a week, and whenever he wasn't able to make it to the motor pool he'd find some way to lure her out into the jungle. Not Mitchell, not Tom, not Danny; he always requested her. Stolen moments between noon and night time, where the undergrowth, vines and muddy soil created noisy friction and impossibly to wash out stains. To think that they were getting away with it, she snorted. So much for keeping the "un" out of the "complicated".

"Shit, shit, shit," she pulled off her gloves, and threw them back onto the work station.

"What ya cursin' at the world for, Blondie?"

And there he was, just like Danny said he would be; a dimpled smirk plastered onto the side of his face. She felt a flutter pull at her insides as he leaned against Phil's van and crossed his arms in front of his chest. There was a slight spark in his eyes today, burning holes into carefully constructed resolutions; just by looking at him she was already breaking promises that she'd only just made.

Fuck.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"Thought you might wa–… you in some kind of trouble, or somethin'?"

She huffed.

"Danny thinks he's got us all figured out," she motioned between them.

"Oh…"

"Yeah, oh."

She shook her head and turned away from the station, but before she could brush by him he caught her arm in mid-stride. Another wave of flutters raced through her body, tripling her heartbeat; a thousand tiny wings flapping in the darkness, tying her to the present. This was crazy. What they'd been doing was crazy. There was a time, not too long ago, that these exact same eyes had looked at her with disgust. When he'd banded together with Sayid, had watched her from the corners of narrowed eyes. Nothing would have pleased him more than to have put a bullet through her head when she'd walked away with Claire's medicine, having revealed more about his life than she should have been able to know. But now? His hand pulled her back searing dark marks of desire into her skin. Now, he wanted her.

"It don't have to matter," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"We don't have to keep hidin'. Maybe, we should just try the whole out-in-the-open thing."

"The out-in-the-open thing?" she rolled her eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't actually. What do you mean, James?"

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with unleashed mischief; a second later he'd turned her to him and pushed her back against the side of the van, knocking the wind clean out of her.

She gasped, within seconds he had two, three, four buttons undone on her jumpsuit.

"You startin' to comprehend, doctor Burke?" he whispered into her ear as one of his hands disappeared down her jumpsuit. A shiver ran across her spine, and his lips curved against her throat; his slight kisses travelling upward, only momentarily halting to nip at her skin here, then there. This wasn't exactly the answer she'd been looking for, but as his lips found hers, his intentions read loud and clear. She responded without protest, not even wanting to resist, caught up in the lure of their game, she almost didn't hear…

"Ehum, ehum."

Her eyes flew open; the unmistakable cough of an accidental voyeur.

"James," she pushed at his shoulders, his grip tightened.

"James," she repeated.

He let out a low grunt but pulled back.

She coaxed her head in the direction of the sound; James half-turned, then a sly smile spread across his face and she mentally rolled her eyes. Of course, he would be excited about getting caught red-handed, he practically lived for the thrill of forbidden moments like these; out in the open, yet, far enough away from prying eyes.

"Goodmornin' Doctor Long," he said, his hands leisurely sliding out of her jumpsuit.

"Mr. LaFleur. Miss Carlson."

Juliet's cheeks flushed a brighter shade of red, but Long hardly seemed to notice. If anything, he looked rather blas�� about the matter, as though he'd just taken a sip of a particularly bitter cup of coffee and had decided that nothing could possibly ruin his day more.

"What brings ya to this neck of the woods?"

"I was hoping to have a word with miss Carlson, here" Long said, studying the undone buttons on her jumpsuit with a raised eyebrow.

James inclined his head.

"Don't let me stop ya."

"In private," he added.

Juliet looked up in surprise; what could possibly be so important that it demanded her immediate attention? He could hardly be here about a van. Long did everything on foot; good for the lungs, he said. Suppose he didn't consider chain smoking his way through DHARMA meetings a tad more hazardous to his health than a sedentary lifestyle. Not for the first time since they'd arrived she'd marvelled at the general attitude of the 70s; 'the era of the wilfully ignorant and the blissfully blind', Miles had said at some point. He might be onto something there.

"You OK?" James asked, pulling her attention back to the present.

"Yeah," she nodded, finishing buttoning up her jumpsuit. "I'll finish up here; I'll see you tonight."

"OK, then," he shrugged, the subtle shift in his demeanour conveying that he was anything but OK with the abrupt brush off, but he would let it go for now.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Don't forget to bring the tacos."

"As long as you bring the game."

He laughed and winked.

"Count on it, Blondie."

With a knot in her stomach she watched him go. He'd soon realize that the stars in his eyes weren't truly meant for her. He longed for green emeralds, and lush brown curls. She knew; her name had slipped from his lips in his sleep on more than one occasion. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But neither time travel nor distance could make him want her. He had to come to that conclusion on his own. He might never, and that was OK too. It wasn't supposed to mean anything anyway.

She shook the thoughts from her head.

"What can I do for you, Doctor?"

"I'd rather we talk some place private. I do not usually discuss topics of a delicate nature out in the open like this."

"Delicate?"

Didn't he just clear her last week?

"Should I be worried?"

The way he stood there, chin up in full on doctor mode; it gave her pause. It was familiar. Too familiar. She used to approach women in the clinic in a similar manner. When their hopes of seeing two pink lines would be dashed by that disappointing singular one. 'I'm sorry; maybe, next time,' she'd say.

But Long wasn't a fertility doctor, and he certainty wouldn't be alluding to a next time of any sort, not after all he'd just been privy to.

"Let's go to my office, shall we?" his expression remained void of emotion and it did nothing to reassure her. She could almost hear James whisper in her ear: 'He'd make for a great Other. Stoic. Empty eyes. Soulless. Kinda like you in the beinning.'

She followed him across the square to the infirmary; inside Alice and Debra were seated behind long white desks. Fragments of excited conversation fluttered about the room, the air filled with an ease that she'd never quite associated with the infirmary before. She greeted them, and they responded in kind.

"Juliet," Long began, after he'd closed his office door behind her.

"Please, sit."

She almost laughed out loud; the irony of the situation crept through thick layers of unwritten pieces of paper and sticky post-it notes on yellow bare walls, this used to be her office. Or rather, it would be, 26 years from now. In her time, it looked more desolate, discolored paint peeling off the ceiling and walls, pieces of brown tape desperately trying to hold onto corners of hastily torn off leaflets. Here, right now, it looked freshly painted; no marks of wear or the inevitable sense of dread that would soon inhibit the place; it even smelled better.

"We found something in your blood that I think we should discuss."

"Oh?"

"How have you been feeling, lately?"

She shrugged.

"Just some headaches, but nothing so bad it'd be worth mentioning. Why?"

"You and LaFleur have you been seeing each other long?"

She narrowed her eyes at him; that was an odd question. What did that have to do with anything? And besides –

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Well, it becomes our business when you decide to procreate."

"Excuse me?"

"Procreate, it means –"

"I know what it means; I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"The DHARMA Initiative has rules about pregnancies, Juliet. You have to submit the proper documents, and apply for absence of leave so that you can be thoroughly examined on the mainland before try outs start," he paused. "Unless you've decided to leave the island, of course. Obvously, you'd be free to do whatever you want, then."

"Try outs? What are you–?"

"There's no need to deny it; according to the data you provided last year you're not in the habit of regulating your menses, you've not been prescribed any type of birth control, and the Initiative has been denied requests to import male contraceptives. That only leaves us with one possible scenario. You planned for this to happen," he hesitated. "I'm a little surprised, though. Did you really think you could hide it from us? Surely, you must have known there'd come a time we'd find out."

She stared, her eyes all but rolling out of her skull.

"You're saying, I'm…?"

She shook her head. No, no, no.

"You're wrong,"

Something must have gone wrong with her blood test; a mix up, maybe. A false positive, surely. She grabbed the file from his desk and started flipping through it. The RFLP and SNP aligned perfectly with what she remembered from her med-school results. Her brows knit together. These were hers, but…

"It has to be a false positive."

"We're quite sure."

"I can't be pregnant."

"According to our–"

"You're not listening to me; I can't get pregnant."

Long frowned.

"You mean; you haven't been able to conceive until now?"

"No," was she really going to have to spell it out? Was he that dim?" I'm infertile."

It hurt to say; she'd never actually said it out loud before.

Long appeared confounded.

"You're infertile?"

"Yes, I – I– "

How could she ever explain that the adult version of the boy who currently lived three barracks down the road from her had been the cause of her infertility? How could she begin to explain that in 26 years' time he was going to lure her to the island, and lay claim to her as though she was his slave to keep: 'After everything I've done to get you here! After everything I've done to keep you here! How could you possibly not understand…that you're mine?!'

Ben had forced her hand, and after all this time the memories of that day continued to fester like big open wounds, growing more and more repulsive each day.

"There's this drug called Chlorhydelone. It's a trial drug," she began. "I took it a little over a year ago."

"Why?"

Why?

She watched little Benjamin Linus sometimes, from the window inside her barrack; the sight of him always ignited confusion. She hated him, but she also pitied him; a dichotomy of indecision forevermore debating with unrelenting thoughts, wracking havoc with her original proclamations.

He'd glanced up once, as though he'd sensed her eyes on him, and they'd stared at each other; this broken boy with his busted Harry Potter glasses complete with duck tape, minus scar, and the object of his future obsession, staring. She'd hastily stepped away, and pulled the shutters down with a force that vibrated through the entire house.

"I was told that it was safe," she lied. "But eventually, I learned that the effects of the drug had done irreparable damage to my reproductive organs."

Long shook his head.

"What was the trial for? Why didn't you mention this during your first medical exam?"

"I didn't think it worth mentioning."

"You didn't think infertility would be worth mentioning?" Long pinched the bridge of his nose, and leaned forward on his desk. "Juliet, don't get me wrong, this truly is quite a remarkable story. But you have to understand that from where I'm sitting, I'm having some trouble piecing together certain facts; why would you be involved in this? How did you get involved? Were there more people who were being tested on like you?"

"Evan," she put her arms on the desk, mirroring him. "I can't talk about the experiments, or who performed them," she lied. "And I didn't mention it, because–" she looked away, the painful reminder of what had happened in the weeks following her actions bubbled to the surface. It surprised her how much of that faded pain still felt so fresh.

"Because I couldn't."

Long regarded her with calculated suspicion over the rim of his aviator glasses. Then he sighed and pushed himself up from his chair.

"You should have been more forthcoming, Juliet. We could have run our own tests. This island–" he stopped.

"This island, what?" she repeated, knowing full well where he'd intended to go with that line of thought.

"Forget it," he waved the thought away with his hand. "The truth of the matter is that the tests we conduct here are very accurate. If what you're saying is true, then there's only one way to confirm it."

She nodded.

"I understand."

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

DHARMA Initiative: Infirmary, July 1975

"This is going to be a little cold."

Debra applied the thick blue gel to her belly, squirting it out over her skin with flowery adolescent strokes. She shivered, her bellybutton's repurposed design looking oddly disturbing in all of its crooked glory. Debra laughed.

"First time?"

Juliet nodded, not quite sure how else to respond. She'd been through the motions countless times before: apply the gel, clearly express what the patient can expect, apply the proper amount of pressure to the probe, move it in the longitudinal plane across the belly–

"Longitudinal."

"Sorry?"

"You're holding it wrong."

Debra frowned.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," she placed her fingers on top of the young nurse's hand. "Let me show you."

Debra started to protest, but Juliet was already moving the transducer down to her pubic bone. She applied a little more pressure, and slowly maneuvered the device upward.

"See?"

Almost instantly an image popped up on the monitor.

Debra turned her head, her frown deepened as she scratched her head with her other hand.

"How did you know?"

"Just simple logi–" She trailed; her eyes arrested by the image on the monitor, an unmistakable flutter catching her attention. It appeared at the bottom of the screen, a steady rhythm, corroborated by the rapid thumping that emanated from the monitor's speakers. A heartbeat.

Her hands flew to her mouth.

"Omph! Careful," Debra said.

It was small. So small. She'd almost missed it; the size of a raspberry, and because she knew where to look did she see the tiniest of hands shift ever so slightly into view, showing signs of life that could not possibly be thriving inside her body.

"Oh my–" she whispered.

Up until that moment she'd been so sure. There'd been no morning sickness; no sign or indication of any sort that her body was preparing itself for radical changes. For all intense and purposes the Chlorhydelone should have completely destroyed both of her fallopian tubes and uterus. She hadn't had her period in months, and yet here she was bearing witness to the impossible.

She moved closer to the screen; Debra shifted the probe into a different position to accommodate her better.

"It looks to be about–"

"63 days," Juliet whispered. "9 weeks."

"How–?"

"I just do," she swallowed hard; her breath catching in her throat.

"Well," Debra shrugged, and turned her attention back to the monitor. "It looks healthy. Strong."

"It does," she smiled, betrayed by the tremor in her hand as she reached for the screen. Still captivated by the image, the tightness in her chest continued to expand further and further, until soft drops of relief and sadness carved red roads of opportunity down her cheeks. "It really does."

There was so much that she wished she could say to the young nurse, yet there was so very little she could actually reveal. The DHARMA Initiative would never understand the true power of the island. How it healed the irreparable, cure the terminal, restore fertility. But also, how it could take all of that away in the blink of an eye. Over the years she'd learned how the island acted as some type of enabler, pulling strings on puppets through time and space per Jacob's request. And now, she appeared to be in the eye of its hurricane.

She abruptly pulled her shirt down; the image on the screen cut off.

"Wha–?!" Debra started.

"I have to go."

"We're not done, yet!"

"I can't stay."

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

A/N: I am sooo excited to be sharing parts of this story with you guys already! If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to drop a line. It's going to be quite a ride. I don't even know how long this story is going to be, but it took me about a month to work out all of the details. I know how it ends! Just don't know how long it will take for me to get there! It will definitely be a Suliet story, but MANY of the other characters will also appear in this story, along with some original characters, like Danny! For every subsequent chapter and section I'll insert a place and time, because if I don't do that it will turn into a mess very quickly. So, I recommend that before you start reading each section you take note of where all of the characters in the story are and at what time!

Other than that, I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter! And if you got this far, thank you so much for reading!

#Suliet #Juliet Burke #Juliet Carlson #James Ford #Sawyer #LaFleur #1975 #Daniel Faraday #Jin-soo kwon #Lost #Dharma Initiative #Fanfiction #Multichapter #Future's Past #Miles Straume

24 notes · View notes

beblebumm · 5 years ago

Text

lesbian mom

My sister told me I dress like a lesbian mom. With no offense meant towards lesbian mothers because as Chloe put it- if I was a lesbian mom, my style would be closer to cool. But because up to this point in life I have been straight and childless, I’m just an appropriator. Which I definitely don’t want to be by the way, but I'm an American and blind appropriation is the American way. Working on it. I’m in the kitchen in Cedar Falls finding all my last sporadic, traveled with items to shove in my XL backpack* by the time Chloe brings her new opinion up to her roommates, my family. “Cathy, don’t you think Maddie looks like a lesbian mom?” “a what? A lesbian? I didn’t hear you” ...and dad’s reaction: “oh.. did you get a surrogate then?” * (United and Frontier front like they will be strict about charging you based on the sizes of your luggage, but they won't be. Apparently my size of backpack does not count as a personal item (free) but instead a carry-on (not free). It's a glutinous excuse for a backpack. However, they don’t say shit to you when you show up on the day of your flight. In the words of my friend Grace: If it's on your back and not on wheels, you're fine. I have had to repack a backpack once, throwing on a sweatshirt and carrying socks in my hand to make it through. But you know what that was? Free.And Fyi- U.S. airlines alone made 5.1 billion bucks in extra baggage fees in 2018. Don't contribute to that mess.) * But anyways, to come to the defense of lesbian moms, I think I dress with the best intention. I don’t think I have bad taste, but I can have bad execution. It's not entirely my fault though, as I feel bigger boobs make a lot of outfits merge towards mother. Tops are always an issue because you have the possibility of looking tenty, and opposite that- the issue of looking too tucked in. It can make the attempted effortlessness come off as starchy. I also straddle this line of wannabe skater and NOT wannabe school teacher, meaning I would love to come across as someone who deserves to wear Vans and less like someone who is reading to your child over snack time. That one is harder to explain, but has a lot to do with stripes. I don't bother running all of this past her, but I told Chloe that if I was flat-chested she wouldn’t be saying this. She didn’t argue but offered to help pay for my reduction. My dad and I get in the car after I make an everything bagel with some onion flavored cream cheese. A Thomas brand bagel, of course. Because it’s the cushiest and you can find them everywhere. We love a processed carb. He drives me to the airport in his new-but-used Toyota Highlander, which doesn’t reek of cigs like his previous whip. He only likes this new car because it has a cassette player, but the low mileage is a plus. I just want to say that the Cedar Rapids airport is low entertainment. It’s a trade-off because you are through security in seconds, but you have to do things like chase after people to hand them their ID’s they left on the counter to help the employees out because we’re Iowa nice and when in the homeland you have to act right. And people wear really ugly printed leggings and foul footwear. Lots of camo and lots of Hawkeye logos, which I do not identify with despite it being my alma mater. I was caught in a very vulnerable spot with my thick and tall Doc Marten's, (not a good airport shoe but a good everyday shoe so what can you do) hunched over the ‘Get Your Shit Back Together Very Quickly Bench’ that comes after security, when I see this rushed looking, young nerd man in a long black trench coat. He LOUDLY and SO abruptly asks this similarly aged gal he was coming up behind whether her hair was red or blonde. She had long red hair with dyed blonde ends. She said “red?” and he says nothing but “HUMPH” without breaking speed at all. Why did he need to know that and also why could he not see that her hair was both colors? And if he cared so much to know, then why did he not respond? Did he think this was considered to be hitting on her?? Because practically yelling at her to inquire about her appearance is not cutting it. I wish for his sake I could at least call him a boomer but he didn't meet the age requirement. Whatever. She looked around for confirmation that what had just happened to her was so weird, which of course I gave to her by saying: “That was so weird.” The sole restaurant by the gates has Blue Moon so that’s redeeming. But it’s in a tin can which is not so good. I used to prefer a draft pour with an orange slice but I am partial to a cold bottle now, plain- no orange. It’s more consistent this way, as some places don’t clean their draft lines regularly and it shows. I met an icon on my flight today. I, of course, was assigned my usual middle seat as I am certain I paid the littlest amount of airfare out of everyone on the plane. Deals only. But as I step up to my row and make that apologetic eye contact with the dude who is about to have to move and let me assume my usual middle spot, the guy asks me if I want to switch spots with his son- WHO HAS AN AISLE SEAT. YEAH SIR, I DO. And this is how I was seated next to the only stranger I’ve had an extended conversation with on an airplane, ever. At least to the point where I was sure I wanted to be buddies with her. She was not stoked on the middle seat, but it’s the one she had in our row. The icon is named Erin and she said: “I’ve been ignoring people on planes for 20 years but you seem like an absolute riot.” I realized I also tend to spend a lot of time ignoring people on airplanes. I actually spend more time trying not to bother the people around me, aka holding urine in until I am nearly bursting because the awkward fumbling out of my usual middle seat is too much. I did, however, have slight banter with a guy sitting next to me on the way into Iowa from Denver on this same trip. All he wanted to say to me was that he had just been skiing in Vail or something. People love being able to say sentences like this, by the way. "Skiing in Vail". It's supposed to impress whoever they tell. Ok. But later on, he and I would exchange terrified eyes as we watched this awful moment unfold after an older fellow in the row across from us ignored all social rules and played his voicemails on full blast, speaker volume, for about 10 minutes. A young gentleman near us let him know that “We can all hear that!” which I would have never said but was also thinking. Obviously. The Voicemail Blarer says “Oh sorry” calmly but is very caught off guard. I thought- wow. That went well. But the Voicemail Blarer takes all of 30 seconds to stew before erupting. He belly yells that he is a “WAR VETERAN AND THAT IS WHY I CANNOT HEAR OUT OF THIS EAR WHICH IS WHY MY PHONE IS ON SPEAKER AND BY THE WAY IM ON THIS FLIGHT BECAUSE MY MOM JUST DIED AND I AM FLYING BACK TO IOWA FOR THE FUNERAL. PEOPLE LIKE YOU ARE AHHHHHHHHH KDFKSJDFLKJDFLJSDF”... I feel like the percentage of people flying to Iowa for funerals is probably a decent chunk. Either you're visiting your family or someone died. Just speculating. ANyways. The Mourning Vet Voicemail Blarer said some pretty harsh remarks towards the Complainer that I can’t remember because I was so nervous as a witness to this that my adrenaline was working overtime to suppress. I remember being proud of The Complainer as he kept very level and only said a couple words to defend himself followed by: “I’m sorry you’re going through that man but we don’t all need to hear your voicemails.” I see both sides of this interaction. On the younger Complainer dude’s side, it’s not socially courteous for the vet to be playing his voicemails out loud. Especially for ten minutes. I mean Larry David would have lost it. On the other hand, no one was insulting his status as a vet or poking fun at his late mother, but he has obviously been through more life and more challenges than I and plus he’s grieving. I don’t know. I didn’t mind the voicemails THAT much. Back to today- Erin is the second stranger I’ve met who inspired me this month. Technically this year, and technically this decade, too. Happy 2020. From what I saw, she’s a kick-ass, take no shit, lay it all on the table kind of individual. She had a natural openness about her and radiated warmness but is the type to probably gaurd herself just enough. The kind of person who you would hate to see sad. Born in cedar rapids, went to Iowa for Journalism, got her masters at Syracuse. Has lived all over- New York, London, LA (I think she said). Will not donate to her old sorority, Chi O, because she can’t affiliate with that anymore because it’s lame. But she’s loyal enough to one of her sorority besties to fly to Denver and sit with her while she undergoes a chemo treatment. She asks me about work and I say I have enough side hustles to equate to having a real job. She tells me I need a podcast and says I must have been told this before. I haven’t. But If I had one, I would have her guest star immedieately. She oozes content. Apparently, there’s such a thing as coaching people on how to talk on camera because this is her job. It can be split up into different categories based on the size of the screen. Phone, computer, TV, etc. She kept saying things about “inches”. I thought this was wildly specific, exactly the sort of job you wouldn’t think about until you thought about it. Niche. Hopefully future me is doing something niche right now. But only if I'm enjoying it. She also mentioned some clients she has that I should speak to so I can learn how to travel the world for free. I could have clung to her and never let go after she said this, as that would make my life and her encouragement inspired me. Before this though, we agree I need a credit card that rewards with airline miles instead of cashback. It’s third up on my “to-do now” list- which is different than my “to-do” list becasue that one is for things like making dentist appointments. For the things that should not be put off but can and will be. Until they can't. She asks what my sign is, which is Sagittarius. She said of course. She’s a Virgo. I have no clue what this means. People ask me this sort of thing a lot now though so I need to read up. This guy I met recently who works at Wax Trax Records told me not only extensively about my sign but about my rising moon and one other part of it that I can’t remember. Or is it your rising sign and moon sign as separates? Idk. He told me that every girl he knows has an ex-boyfriend who is a Pisces. True. Erin also told me she’s on some board in Iowa City that is currently discussing the ped mall. I had a lot to say about THAT, as I feel the ped mall has turned into wasted space other than maybe one and a half shops. She agrees. It’s not being utilized like it should be, we think. Too many frat bars. Apparently, her family owns the Bluebird cafes or used to, and I said "ooooooooh!" but that I could never get a seat in the Iowa City location because every hungover kid within a ten mile radius is trying to eat there every Saturday and Sunday morning. I also thought of the time they burned my friend Madison Wood’s toast and she sent it back. I didn’t tell her this though. I like Bluebird. And I hate when people at my table complain about the food. She tells me I'm too good to write for random freelances, which I have dipped my toes into doing. Pays like shit. I agree and listen to her tell me about someone she met when she was just one year sober (she is now ten years along) who pushed her to take charge of her own point of view. It sounded to me like she was inspired to trust and invest in herself. I liked that. As if I needed another excuse to stay out of corporate America. Right before she fell into meditation and soon to be sleep, Erin comments on my middle part and my “nice natural eyebrows” which is funny because I helped the brows out right before going through security. (By helped out, I mean makeup-ed. In the airport bathroom, too far away from the mirror, two different pencils- one chubby for careless shading and one skinnier to help the endpoints of my brow that is otherwise dead.) On the topic of my appearance, I tell her that my sister had just told me that I dress like a lesbian mother. She said she loves my sister.

1 note · View note

616marvel · 6 years ago

Text

SOULMATE PROMPT for @blackberrywidow‘s writing challenge! Word count: 4.9k (im so sorry this got so fucking long) Pairing: Civilian!Bucky x Natasha (Black Widow) Summary: Bucky doesn’t believe in soulmates, so you could imagine his surprise to learn that his soulmate not only exists, but is also part of the Avengers.

Soul mates was such an odd concept to grasp, not that it’s anything fairly new, but the idea of soul mates tend to limit ones options and if there’s one thing that can describe James Buchanan Barnes is that he, much like most Americans, like their options. This sounds pompous, but he’s great with socializing, even more so when a pretty gal is involved. It’s to no wonder that he thinks that this whole notion of ‘she’ll light up the room once you see her’ was a total buzz kill. He’d only been serious with one girl, her name was Gretchen and he swore that she was going to be the one. It turns out, unreciprocated feelings were not fun and soul mates has a bond that ‘simply cannot be broken, I’m sorry James.’ What a load of crap that was.

Truthfully it was youth’s predisposition of naivety that got him, he really shouldn’t have bought that ring at the age of 24. Call him jaded, but what was so good about soul mates anyway? At age 32, he has yet to find his so called soul mate. Of course not finding his soul mate meant he was free to explore, and explore he did. Naturally he’s single yet again, dating was a game for him that only lasted a good month or two. Anymore will have consequences, like actually caring for them. ‘That’s the point of dating, Buck,’ he can hear his best friend’s voice echoing at the back of his head like some voice of conscience. They’re the complete opposite of one another and yet through thick and thin, they’ve managed to stay as friends.

That punk’s probably out with his wife and yet he still manages to remember the guy’s lectures. A soft chuckle escapes James’ lips at the thought; bring forth his beer before taking a swig. If he’d been any younger, he would’ve hit the club for company, but he’s 32 and it’s a Wednesday night. The last thing he needs is any excitement when he has an early shift tomorrow morning. Dive bars were god sent for a quick drink and swanky music and this place was close to his apartment, what more could he ask for?

Breaking news: Another alien attack in New York! The Avengers are seen to be fighting –

Right, the Avengers. The mighty heroes that has saved the world multiple times. James had always found their tenacity impressive, but he’s gotta wonder, who the hell pays for all of those damage? “Probably my tax money,” he mumbles absentmindedly as he shifts his attention from the TV to the jukebox. Really, he doesn’t mind giving his tax money to fix New York, but the constant threat was getting tiring. It’s like Earth was the only planet that’s worth to invade or something, couldn’t they invade Mars? If it wasn’t the president asking to build a wall, it’s aliens invading. ‘It’s always something,’ the thought lingers while he scans the 1980’s song selection on the jukebox.

On his fifth page, a chitauri bursts through the east wing of the bar, destroying half of the joint and startling all of the patrons. The chaos happened too fast, but the fear that crept on his chest was gradual, his initial instinct of assessing the situation and noting if anyone was hurt kicked in. Thankfully, no one was close to the wall when it happened and from the looks of it, everyone seemed okay. “Is everyone alright?” an authoritative voice coupled by the sparking wires reverberates from the direction where the chaos had entered. Muted blues were swift to glance at the direction, taking note of the infamous red hair and black cat suit. It’s one of the Avengers! It’s Black Widow!

James would’ve been excited at meeting one of the Avengers face to face if not for the fact that the moment he laid eyes on her, the whole room lit up.

It was at that moment that he knew he was screwed.

“Wait, so you’re telling me,” Sam’s face looked amused despite of the disbelief, “that you believe that your soul mate is Black Widow. As in, The Black Widow. The Avenger.”

James knew he shouldn’t have told Sam.

“Look, when we locked eyes – the room lit up and I could’ve swore she knew it too,” which was true, he saw the way black widow’s eyes widened at the realization.

“Nah man, I’m sure you were just awestruck! I’d be awestruck too if I were in your shoes,” ever quick to disregard Barnes’ statement, really, why were they friends?

For a man that was so against the notion of soul mates, he was never more sure that Black Widow of The Avengers was his soul mate. Which wasn’t exactly a bad thing because he’s pretty sure he’s had a crush on her since – well, the first time she came on the news. Look, he can acknowledge the fact that she’s way beyond his league, but the fact that she might actually be his soul mate made him feel all sorts of things. First, how the hell does that happen? Second, how in the world is he gonna ask her on a date, she’s a superhero for Pete’s sake and he’s – well, he’s a senior engineer for Stark Industries. It’s a nice gig, but he doesn’t see superheroes there, let alone Black Widow, aka the woman that’s apparently his soul mate. And third, wasn’t he against the idea of soul mates?

“Lets say that she is your soul mate,” Sam’s voice interrupts his train of thought, the man looking ever so relaxed as he takes a gulp of his beer, “how are you even going to contact her? She’s a super hero and you’re…well – a man who sleeps with 22 year olds.”

“It was one time and she said she was 29! How was I supposed to know that she meant senior in undergrad and not a graduate student-“ One of the things that Sam will never ever let go was that mistake. Also one of the reasons why he no longer goes to clubs (he hung that towel after that incident, though in retrospect, he should’ve hung that towel the moment he turned 31).

“Look Buck, all I’m saying is, she might be your soul mate but I think you’re hopeless in this situation. She what, came in the bar, checked if everyone was alright, then went back to kicking ass? What did you do during that whole transgression?”

As much as he’d love to argue with Sam, he knows that the guy was right. After seeing her at the bar, he couldn’t do much of anything and stopping her to say hi (because saying hi in the middle of a battle was definitely practical) was out of the question. It was his first and only time that he could’ve done something and he blew it. See? Soul mates be damned.

Except fate was a jester and he’s simply a pawn in the game. It doesn’t take a week and a half before he sees her again, fighting crime and being a hero while he watches from the sideline, yet again. He saw her take a swift glance at him before noticing the incoming punch from the goon. “Watch out - !”

Of course she wasn’t Black Widow for nothing, even if he hadn’t said anything, she was quick the side step before turning it into a roundhouse. What was he even doing there? Why was this even happening at a Target parking lot? Much like what Sam had said, he was hopeless and she was way beyond his league. Instead of getting in the way, he joins the other civilians and finds shelter while the heroes – his soul mate – handles the situation.

There was a saying that once you meet your soul mate, you tend to bump into them often; James didn’t believe it at first until he sees yet another commotion, this time in his gym. “Oh come on!” it was his favorite gym, it was close to his house and the people minded their own business. To see it in rubbles was such a shame and it was then that he realized, having a superhero as a soul mate was an occupational hazard. Once more, he’s left with nothing but a prompt glance followed by him running with the civilians.

It takes a month and four battle run-ins before it happens – before he sees her at work in casual clothes, hair still ablaze and green eyes sharp as a cat. She was asking the front desk for information but at the turn of her head, muted blues and scrutinizing emeralds meet, making him gulp at the spot.

“Geez louise-“

You ever seen a woman so pretty you actually say geez louise out loud? Because he’s never done that before but then again Black Widow is no normal woman. She embodies grace, beauty, and death; which is a weird thing to note considering she’s there, lighting up the room and walking up to him like he’s her new target. “James Barnes,” her voice catches his attention (as if her presence hasn’t already).

“Uh…ma’am,”

Ma’am? Are you serious –

“I think you and I need to have a little chat,” nonchalance threaded her tone; his only response was a nod as she walks through the hallway as if she knew the outline of the building. It wouldn’t be surprising if she did know the outline, given her background, intelligence, and connection to Tony Stark. It takes a few left and right turns before arriving to one of the meeting rooms; James doesn’t even have to ask what she’s doing prior to following her in and getting locked in the soundproof and fogged windowed room.

And then there were two.

“You know why I’m here, don’t you?” despite the lack of threat, he knows that she wasn’t up for games so he nods in affirmation, “good, since we both acknowledge that we’re each other’s soul mate, why don’t we get to the point, shall we?”

Wait, she acknowledges him as her soul mate?

Why was he proud of that? Jesus Christ-

“All the research point that we will keep bumping into each other unless we bond and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to keep the collateral damage under control,” meaning to say she doesn’t want him to die just because fate’s a massive dick. James’ isn’t sure whether he should be grateful that she thinks about his safety or offended that she thinks he can’t take care of himself. And what does the bond even really mean? He should’ve researched this but considering that he didn’t expect to see her at work or at all, he didn’t deem it necessary.

“Uhh…bond?” he sounds like a child asking that, like she was years before him. Though looking at the situation, she probably was, both in experience and knowledge.

“Bond. Intimacy. Look, I’m not one for this soul mate deal and I was taught to believe that I didn’t have one, but I can’t have another life on my hands just because fate decided that we’re destined to be together,” it was her guilt that had brought her here. The red in her ledger that made her sought him out.

Somehow he knew that she wouldn’t be the type to believe in this fairytale sales pitch; she’s as jaded as him but more so taking her background into account. Exactly what did she want to happen then? “Given our rare circumstance, it’s best if you allow SHIELD to monitor you-“

“Whoa, whoa, I’m going to be monitored? Absolutely not!” his mouth ran off before he could think about whom he was talking to. The idea of being monitored was out of the question.

“Well we can’t just leave you vulnerable – whether you like it or not, we’ll keep bumping into each other while I’m probably in mid-battle,” Black widow replied like this was a business deal, like he should just accept it as is.

“Well I ain’t going to accept being monitored by the government, if anything why can’t you just monitor me if you’re the one that's worried about my wellbeing.”

what-

What did he just say?

Jesus Christ, Barnes, think before talking!

Cerulean hues lands on the rather silent operative, unable to read her face and wondering if this was how people felt under her scrutiny. Her reply came after a few seconds but it felt like years to the brunette. “Okay, that can be arranged.”

Wait –

“Your apartment has a lot of blind spots and isn’t as well equipped as mine, nor is it as well hidden, so I’ll have your belongings transferred to my apartment by the end of the week,” again with her business-like timbre, as if living with another human being was nothing but another mission.

James opened his mouth to retaliate, but finds himself unable to find any comeback. He’s the one who suggested this idea, but he didn’t think she’d actually agree to it! Before he could even really think of a reply, she gets a call and bolts out the door without a goodbye, leaving him there with a dumbfounded expression written all over his face.

What the fuck just happened?

A part of him didn’t want to believe it, really. He slept that week trying to forget the whole thing, but at the end of the week, a pair of familiar sharp eyes greeted him at his apartment. It’s at that moment that he realizes that this wasn’t a joke and the Black Widow really did take his suggestion into consideration. What was he supposed to say in this situation? That he was joking? That he didn’t think she’d take it seriously? Rather than arguing, he follows for now, albeit begrudgingly as they finally arrive to her well-secured apartment near the Avengers facility.

Feeling intimidated was an understatement given that his neighbors were the freaking avengers and he’s living with the Black Widow all of a sudden. “The guest bedroom’s been prepared for you, you’re also in FRIDAY’s system so you have clearance levels to some rooms. I’ve talked to Tony about relocating your work here instead, so you’ll be working with some of the agents.”

This was all too much for him – they changed his job? Not that he’s complaining because this means a promotion right? Wait, that wasn’t the case right now –

“Wait, you can’t just trap me in here like I’m some kind of a liability,” that was the big picture; they were treating him like he didn’t know any better. Like he didn’t experience the world before this whole soul mate thing happened.

“Whether you accept it or not, you are a liability if it means that I’ll keep bumping into you during missions. In my job, a lot of people tend to get hurt, or worse, die. Unless we’re certain that this occurrence ceases, this is the safest method we have.”

Right, the bond. That part was still confusing to him, how the hell was he supposed to bond with Black Widow when she talks to him like he’s a responsibility? Would sex change anything? Would that create the bond? All those articles that he’s read over the week did nothing but make him question this whole thing more.

“If you don’t have anymore questions, I’ll head to bed,” and that’s how he’s left at her living room with a million questions and one running through his head.

Fan-fuckin-tastic.

James just had to work on the bond thing before he could go back to his life, right? If that’s the case, all he had to do was be charming and see where it goes. That sounded simple enough in his head but after living there for two weeks, the most he’s got from her was a good morning and goodnight. Half of the time she doesn’t give his compliments the time of day. The only thing that changed was the fact that he actually calls her name now rather than her alias.

“Look pal, she may seem hard to approach but trust me, she likes a pretty face and I’m almost certain that she’s at least attracted to you,” Clint, one of the few Avengers that he has gotten close with, consoles him as they have a couple of beers at the lounge. Out of the whole group, the archer tends to hang around the facilities’ kitchen a lot, making it easy for James to make small talk that eventually became full conversations that mostly entailed a certain redhead.

“That’s good to know, but every time I compliment her, she gives me this look like I’m a gremlin,” he rubs his face as he leans back on the couch, a sigh escaping his lips in exasperation.

“Try a different method, why not join her at the gym instead?” now that was an idea.

James would like to think that it was a doable feat. He practically lived at the gym before this whole ordeal happened and he knows how to punch – he’s sure that he can keep up with her. The brunette takes the archer’s advice, waking up at 5 in the morning just to meet her at the gym. She looks like she’s been there for a while, the sweat trickling down her skin as the obvious evidence of that as he makes himself known. The last thing he needs is her feeling threatened by him. “Fancy meeting you here, Natasha,” he offers a small greeting, she reciprocated with a nod.

Barnes spots a free punching bag and begins to work on it, endeavoring to find a perfect opportunity to ask if she’d want to spar. It takes a few minutes before he finally found the courage to ask, “Hey, did you want to spar?”

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind but beneath the scrutiny was – amusement? That was a first. She’d never looked like she was genuinely interested in what he had to say until now. There was a smirk on her lips and he could’ve sworn he saw his life end right then and there.

“Are you sure you’re game for that, Barnes?” in spite of the playfulness in her voice, he can note the almost feral and threatening tone beneath it. James gulps but powers through it.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

Says the dumbass that sparred with Natasha Romanoff only to get his ass handed to him. He knew she was good and that he could never throw a punch at her even if he tried, but he thought that he could at least match a quarter of her stamina. It turns out it takes only 15 minutes before she has him face down and asking for a break because he’s pretty sure she dislocated his shoulder.

“Please tell me you weren’t going easy on me, I don’t think Sam would let me live if he finds out that I got a handicap when I sparred with Black Widow only to get my ass handed to me-“

And then she laughs, it’s really more like a chuckle, but he’ll take it!

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” and that tone was something he’d never gotten before. Wait, was she- was she flirting with him?

Before he could digest it all, she’s already packing her stuff while he nurses his shoulder. He doesn’t notice her jump out of the mat, nor does he notice her reach the door but she does acknowledge him, “Not bad Barnes, same time tomorrow?”

And that was enough for him to suddenly ignore all the aching bones in his body because no way in hell was he gonna let that opportunity slip by.

The next day at 5am on the dot, he finds himself at the gym ready to get his head stifled between her thighs all over again. There were bruises all over his back and rather than complaining, he wore it like a medal. How many people could say that they’ve fought the Black Widow and lived? Again he gets his ass handed to him. 15 minutes, like that's all his body could take. Maybe training with her could change his endurance. He used to think that he was pretty athletic but compared to her; no amount of six packs could match what she could do. Anyone else would’ve thought that this feat was suicide, but not her – Natasha almost seemed…entertained, proud even. Like the previous day, she smirks at him and gives him a remark that could either be taken as a flirtatious compliment or a threat. He doesn’t know which one turns him on more.

All James knows is that he suddenly doesn’t mind waking up at 5am in the morning and even if he’s sporting a new bruise everyday, it all felt worth it. Not only was he physically getting challenged but the way she reciprocated to his advances challenged him in a way that he’s never been played before.

It takes him another two weeks before he could pass the 15-minute mark, finally being able to keep on par with her for at least 20 minutes. It was small, but the road to that achievement was not an easy feat; Natasha acknowledged this and actually gave him pointers, something she hadn’t done before. “Try to block my hand this way if I’m coming to you this way,” she lunches forward and he follows her instruction, blocking her punch just fast enough to minimize the damage.

“Good, shift your feet faster so you don’t get hit. Try to move less but hit harder. The less movement you make, the more stamina you’ll save,” it made sense, her steps was always so light compared to his. His was full strength, using his whole body like a tank. He wasn’t like Captain America and he sure as hell wasn’t Hulk.

“Thanks, I’ll…see you tomorrow morning then?” because god knows how little they interact elsewhere. As much as he loves sparring with her in the wee hours of the morning, he’d like to at least be able to talk to her like a normal human being outside of the gym.

Except the strangest thing happened that day, James actually sees her at the kitchen after he finished showering and changing into comfy clothes (thank god for his day off, he really needed to tend to the new bruises). In fact, she’d actually greeted him upon entering the room like he actually existed. “Anymore creamer?” she looked at him with those sharp green eyes coupled by an amicableness that he had never seen before and all he could muster up was a nod.

“Thanks, see you later Barnes,” and she was gone right after she’d made her coffee, his eyes never leaving her trail even as she left the room.

“Did she just…greet me first?” he was at disbelief, but trust Clint to give him that pinch of reality.

“Yep. And you know, she didn’t even take the creamer,” James doesn’t need to look at the blonde to know that the archer was grinning, “guessing you impressed her at the gym, not bad, pal.”

That statement made his stomach do summersaults and he knew he was absolutely screwed.

“Geez Louise-“

After that incident, sparring with her almost felt like a date. It was so odd, flirting through fighting without the damn words. Instead of charming his way to her bed, she has somehow challenged him to flirt with her by trying to find a way to beat her. Which was honest to god, impossible. He never gives her the upper hand, never underestimates her skill, but the way she moves and fights was just on a different level and he could only hope to learn even a quarter of what she teaches him. Through absolute tenacity, he powers through every bruise, every cut on the lip, and every mixed signal that she gives him. Needless to say, he’s had a lot of cold showers since the incident.

He wonders if he asks her on a date now, would she object? Was that still out of the table despite feeling her press her breast against his back? He’s pretty sure that was intentional. She never does anything unless it’s intentional. Unless it has a purpose. She’s going to kill him through sheer blue balls alone.

James finds himself learning through mimicking her steps, keeping the movements light, but putting enough force for every punch and every block. Every session, she seems more impressed. It’s another two weeks before he finally manages to land a hit, it was on her shoulders but it was a hit nonetheless. For a quick second he was going to ask if she was okay, but the look on her face was priceless and challenging and it takes 20 seconds before his face meets the mat, his arm pinned on his back and her breast pressed on his scapula. This woman knows what she’s doing to him and he doesn’t even care, the cold showers always welcomed him with open arms anyway.

After a few seconds, he feels her move off of him, releasing him from her grasp while he prays that he doesn’t have a very obvious excitement between his legs. Joggers could only hide so much, alright?

Thankfully, a higher power was on his side and he manages to stand up without embarrassing whatever dignity he has left. James expected her to leave after beating him yet again, but surprisingly, she stays. She doesn’t make it obvious that she’s waiting for him, but her movements were relaxed, as if she was making it last. The brunette takes the opportunity and asks, “Why…why did you say yes when I asked to spar?”

It was clear that she wasn’t expecting that question considering the way she looked at him. Should he have just asked if she wanted to go on a date? Did he miss the opportunity?

Natasha hums in contemplation as she puts her water in her bag, “Because I wanted you to learn how to defend yourself.”

What?

He must’ve looked confused because Natasha continued on with her explanation, “When you said I was treating you like a liability, I agreed because other than going to the gym, you knew nothing about fighting. If you’d been faced by a Hydra agent because you were in the same location as me, I’d have no choice but to fight for you.”

It was suddenly starting to make sense. The redhead pauses, taking the towel and wiping down the sweat on her neck as she stood up straight to look at him, “I accepted to spar with you in the hopes that you’d learn how to fight and you’ve impressed me the first time we fought, so I kept teaching you.”

So that’s what it was.

She acknowledged him as an equal after he took initiative. In her eyes, he’s no longer a liability, but rather someone that can stand on their own. The fact that she could express that she was proud of him and saw him like an ally without outright saying it made his face burn and his stomach summersault. He’s so screwed.

“Go out with me,” it was a word vomit, but it was now or never, “on a date – it doesn’t have to be outside of the Avengers facility if you don’t want it to – just…just go on a date with me”

Dial it down, Barnes.

“…Please?”

Three seconds felt like a lifetime, but the smile she gave him was worth every heart palpitation that he might’ve had. It took her two steps before closing their distance and suddenly he’s very aware of the trace of gold at the rim of emerald hues. Her finger traces his lower lip and Jesus H. Christ, he could’ve swore he forgot how to breathe.

“Alright. Tonight at 7, don’t be late James.”

He likes the way his name wraps around her lips.

“Yes ma’am.”

She finally withdraws, the same smile still on her lips before turning to grab her duffle bag and heading the other way. He watched as she walked out, certain that there was a sway at her hips that was only for him to see. She’s going to be the death of him.

Thank god the cold showers were effective.

+ Bonus

“When I asked you out, I didn’t imagine our first date being interrupted by goons,” he takes a step back before pivoting to pull an uppercut, the knuckles of his fist meeting the guy’s chin.

“Really? Because this is exactly how I imagined our first date,” she was being cheeky, but there was truth underneath her witty response.

“I don't know how your dates usually go, but it usually doesn’t include AIM agents. More kissing, less punching,” for a guy trying to dodge a knife lunging towards him, he’s fairly calm – maybe because he learned how to fight from the best of the best? Probably.

“Well, now that just seems boring,” she responds and James swore he could picture her smirking, “and it’s not like I don’t have plans on kissing you at the end of the date, James –“ he hears a crack followed by a groan, “try not to get stabbed tonight and you might get more than just a kiss.”

James laughs, “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#buckynat #winterwidow #bbwidow’s500wc #writing

30 notes · View notes