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ackerfics · 3 years

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can i please request for late night road trips with not-yet-boyfriend levi ackerman? they're pining for one another and wanted to know each other on a deeper level. so, they went on an impromptu road trip at night and they had deep talks <3 tysm aaaa

ready to love — levi ackerman

— levi ackerman x female reader (modern au)

— warnings: none, just fluff <3

— summary: levi is one of your best friends but before he became one, he admitted to having feelings for you. and now with an impromptu hang-out, you started to realize that he's more than just a friend all these years.

— word count: 6.6k

— author’s notes: i'm so sorry for replying to this request late aaaaa i hope this poorly edited fic will compensate for your wait njwebj i can't help but put the new song of seventeen as the title because i'm obsessed with it since their mini album released. btw, i think i didn't comprehend your request that well so i apologize in advance if it's starting to drift away from the main theme of your request dnwbje happy reading and thank you for requesting !! <333

i can't help but imagine a much taller levi every time i write something set in the modern world lmao and i actually tried a different writing style for his point of view so i hope it works out ksksks

reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

You don’t know where you can place your relationship with Levi Ackerman.

He confessed to you out of the blue while walking you back to your dorm after working on a group project together. To say you were surprised was an understatement because that man has never talked to you outside of your academic requirements. Hell, the first sentence he said to you was about splitting the workload and he looked ready to bury you more than six feet under the ground with his indifferent eyes. When he confessed to you, an unhurried ‘Please hear me out, I have feelings for you for some time now’, you actually didn’t know what to say. You racked your brain for your interactions with him that might give away his supposed feelings for you but it came into a blank. In the end, he managed to continue with a flushed face that he will wait for your answer no matter how long it takes. You had no choice but to nod in understanding. Your voice didn’t come until you went inside your room, with your roommate, Hange, asking what made you look like you saw a ghost.

Can you blame yourself though? You never had someone confess to you before. You always do those things, never the other party. It was mainly the reason why you avoided relationships since you last confessed to a person you liked during high school. That was a nasty experience — them saying you’re not their type hit you closer at home than you anticipated. In short, confessing to someone is a savage thing to do if you don’t want to get hurt while letting go of your feelings.

Levi confessing to you, however, happened in your second year in college.

Oh, how you wanted to go back to those times because being a college senior wasn’t for you at all. You groaned when you noticed that you forgot to buy your daily coffee from the university café. You’re running late for a lecture so you had no choice but to jog a little to avoid being in the spotlight. The fucking door to the lecture hall is in the front of the seats and you don’t want to experience being the center of attention just because you’re late for a couple of minutes. Plus, the professor you have for this class isn’t compassionate and understanding at all.

Thankfully, you arrived seconds before your professor entered the lecture hall. You didn’t even drink your version of a serotonin boost, much less eat a balanced breakfast, so you were already drifting every fifteen minutes of the class. You promised yourself that you’ll be serious for your senior year, not that you weren’t taking your previous years in college seriously, but you needed to focus since it’s your final year before graduate school. More like a New Year’s resolution but make it a resolution for a new academic year that you always narrate in your mind but you failed to always make it happen. But it was starting to be draining listening to your professor drone the theories and applications when you have an empty stomach and zero social battery. The whole time you were sitting in the middle of the seats was spent staring mindlessly at the projected slide and your iPad. Your notes weren’t even that legible anymore.

With a final reminder of your college thesis (you had a small internal meltdown at this), your professor dismissed you after three hours of lecture.

“Hey, [Name],” came a familiar voice behind you.

You turned around and flashed a small smile at the person. Even though you always have a drained social battery when it comes to interacting with your classmates, there are still some exceptions to your little solitary moment, and the person calling for your name is one of them. “Hey, Nanaba,” you greeted the tall blonde and waited for her to reach you so that you can walk together out of the building.

“I saw that you didn’t take down that many notes this class so I wanted to tell you that I’ll be sending my notes in your school mail later,” she told you while hiking her bag on her shoulder. “You look out of it.” Nanaba rose a hand to feel your forehead. “Are you feeling alright, love? Did you stay up late because of your readings again?” She has this habit of calling her friends terms of endearment and it didn’t fail to make your heart warm. “I think you should go back to your apartment to give this day a rest. Self-care is always important and should be put first, you know?”

You chuckled, taking her hand and patting it gently. “I know. But I still have another lecture in about,” you looked at your phone, smiling at the photo of you and Levi after turning it on, “twenty minutes and it’s in the Science Department. I might have a free afternoon so I’ll use that time for sleeping.” You sighed, smiling at Nanaba who was looking at you with a knowing smirk. You rose an eyebrow at her in confusion. “What?”

“For a person who says they’re just friends, you still have that picture as your lock screen,” Nanaba teased, pointing at your phone.

You felt your cheeks go warm, looking away from your friend and fixing your attention on a group of students doing a round of review for an exam in the courtyard. One of them recognized you and rose a hand in a slight wave. Armin Arlert, the first-year who asked you for directions and advice knowing that you two belong in the same department. You returned his wave with a smile before glancing at Nanaba, who was still smiling smugly. “It’s cute,” you murmured under your breath with a jut of your bottom lip. “Plus, he’ll think there’s something wrong if I change it. And for your information, it was Hange who told me that it’s alright to put it as my wallpaper. We’re really just friends.”

“Hmm, now why is that?”

“It’s not what you think! I mean, he’s one of my best friends and I sort of appreciate him by putting this picture as my lock screen.”

Nanaba continued humming with a half-smile. You were so cute when you were flustered and the tall blonde couldn’t help but tease you some more. It was true that Levi’s one of your best friends despite having confessed to you when you were sophomores (Nanaba doesn’t know this fact) but the blonde could tell that something was underlying in your friendship. Friends don’t just casually kiss each other on the corner of the lips whenever they meet after a long day in university. Maybe Nanaba was looking too much into this because today, you can be platonically in love with your friends but the way Levi looked at you every time beholds something more than friendship. If Nanaba could place it in words, Levi is madly in love with you. Well, she doesn’t hang out with your friend group but she can tell when Levi picks you up sometimes.

It’s quite fun being a bystander to all of this so Nanaba patted you on the head as a way to stop her teasing. She will have to gossip about this to Hange later.

“Trust me, you won’t be friends any longer.” The blonde looked up and nearly cackled at a familiar man waiting for you at the nearby bench. “Well, speaking of your little devil, he’s here, [Name].”

“What?” You asked, looking up from your phone. Hange texted you about getting some groceries because they forgot to buy them yesterday. It was quite amusing rooming with Hange for your entire college experience, from the dormitories to renting out a decent apartment. Rather than getting mad at them for their antics, you found them endearing. You looked around with furrowed eyebrows. “Where?”

Nanaba gently guided your head to look at somewhere to the right. “There.”

True enough, Levi was casually sitting on one of the benches, scrolling through something on his phone. It was as if he felt you staring at him so he looked up directly in your direction, pocketing his phone and slinging his backpack over his shoulder right after. There was a familiar large cup in his other hand and it made you crave your coffee again. He never took his eyes off of you as he made his way over, glancing at Nanaba and nodding at her once he reached the two of you.

“Hey, Nanaba,” Levi greeted, tugging on a piece of your hair to get you out of your daze.

Nanaba’s smile made you narrow your eyes. (Levi tugged on your hair again to catch your attention.) “Hello, Levi.” She then perked up, not liking the way Nanaba wiggled her eyebrows at you. “I’m meeting up with Nifa for some late breakfast so I hope to see you guys later. And, [Name],” Nanaba pointedly looked at you, “think about what I said earlier. Rest and do things that can make you feel relaxed. Play your games or read a book, just don’t grind for academics for one second. Levi, keep an eye on her. Bye!” The tall blonde turned around and bounded off to the opposite direction of where Nifa’s department building is.

You didn’t notice Levi squinting at how you stared incredulously at a retreating Nanaba. The whole time he made his presence known, you didn’t give him the greeting you always exchange together. You heard a faint, “Hey,” near your ear. It made you turn to Levi, only for your voice to disappear when he leaned in to give you the usual kiss on the corner of your lips. The contact lingered for a couple of seconds so you returned it as soft as you can. However, Levi slightly turned his head to meet your pretty eyes, with your kiss landed at the center of his lips instead. The two of you stare wide-eyed at each other, not comprehending what transpired at the moment. As much as it ensued both of your heartbeats to pound in a song, Levi made sure to capture you with his stare. Your face started to become warm when you saw his face being painted with rouge as you pulled away.

Levi lightly licked his bottom lip. “You taste like watermelon.”

If the world stopped when you accidentally brushed your lips against his, his words just made an uncontrollable torpedo of butterflies flutter the insides of your stomach and chest. You hitched your backpack on your shoulders and walked away from him with fast footsteps. Nanaba was right, you two weren’t ‘just friends’ at all. There was something behind every gesture that made your body tingle with emotions that weren’t supposed felt for a close friend. You tried so hard to bottle everything up, resorting to thinking about Levi deep into the night whenever you have some backlogs to finish. After his confession during your sophomore year, you saw him in a completely different light. This man who was just a passing face in your day became one of the many people you look forward to talking to. Once he started being your friend, Levi made you feel loved and special through his little actions that sometimes, you wish it didn’t give you butterflies every damn time. You even wonder if Levi forgot about his feelings for you as the years go by.

What they said was true — that you’ll slowly notice the person who expressed their feelings for you.

You heard footsteps following close by but you didn’t have any strength to stop and turn around, fearing that looking at Levi right now could make your brain malfunction. A gentle hold on your wrist held you back, slightly turning you around, and yet you could only fix your stare on the pavement.

“Don’t be sorry, okay? It’s my fault. A-And it’s not like I don’t like it.”

You looked at him through your eyelashes, feeling his thumb rub the inside of your wrist. He was wistfully looking down where his hand was wrapping around your wrist before meeting your eyes, the eye contact spanning more than eternity. Once again, your face felt warm. “I don’t mind it either,” you whispered.

“G-Good to know.” He let go of your wrist to scratch his undercut. “Uhm, here’s my drink. I have an inkling that you didn’t get to order your coffee earlier so here you go.” Levi handed you his tall cup of hot tea, slightly raising his eyebrow when you only stared at it. “What? You don’t want it? There’s still caffeine in here, you know?”

“Are you sure?” You slowly asked him because you know how Levi cherishes his daily tea from the university café. One time, Hange reached out for a sip and Levi smacked their hand so hard that you had to apply ice on her hand. Levi apologized for that only because you made him feel guilty about it. After that incident, you, Hange, and Erwin always made sure to buy your own drinks when you have your hang-outs. “I don’t want to have a repeat of what you did to Hange.”

His shoulders shake in a silent laugh. “No, I will never hurt you. Four-eyes had it coming anyway because they didn’t ask for my permission but I’m genuinely offering this to you so it’s kind of different.” Levi fiddled with a lock of your hair and you felt your cheeks becoming warm again. “Are you just going to stare at me like I’m your worst nightmare or are you going to take it?”

You shook your head. “No, you’re not my worst nightmare and I’ll be accepting this because you so graciously offered it to me.” With a soft smile, you took the cup of tea from his hand and took a sip. At the taste of the sweet drink, you hummed in contentment. Nothing beats a good, sweet, and warm drink to fill up your serotonin levels every morning. You detect a slight scent of strawberries and a small amount of milk in the tea, wondering when Levi started asking for add-ons in his drinks. You always remembered his favored drink since you were sometimes tasked with telling the counter your orders and it was always black tea with nothing at all. You narrowed your eyes at him from over the rim of the cup, detecting the delighted shine in his gray eyes. “You don’t put anything in your tea. Especially sweeteners and milk.”

Levi shrugged with a small smile, ruffling your hair before wrapping his arm around your shoulders to steer you to your next class. “I wanted to have something for a change.” He glanced at you from the side of his eyes. “From the way you’re drinking it, I think it’s a good idea to change my order for the day. You need it more than me anyway. I can manage a day without some tea from the uni’s café. I make better tea than them, to be honest.”

You laughed at his last statement, slightly leaning on him. You felt his hand transfer from your shoulder to your waist.

“Is this alright?” Levi whispered in your ear.

“Yeah,” you hummed, praying that Levi wouldn’t hear your heart racing in your chest.

You seriously don’t know when you started falling in love with him but the present is all that matters.

Levi knew exactly when he started falling in love with her.

It was a coincidence that his schedule matched up with her but it wasn’t a coincidence that she caught his attention while walking out of a class with Erwin during freshman year. His tall friend was telling him about a new book that was coming out. All Levi could remember from his gushing was how the book had unknown creatures in them that made the blonde excited enough to buy it. Something was occupying Levi’s mind that muddled his memory of what Erwin was talking about. Actually, it wasn’t something. A girl walked out of the building they were walking along by and Levi felt his curiosity piqued, Erwin’s words becoming static as his gray stare never left her. She wasn’t even wearing flashy clothes but the moment she turned her head in their direction as if she was looking for something, Levi’s heart stuttered in his chest.

She’s so fucking beautiful to him — like the shooting star he found mesmerizing while he was stargazing with his mother when he was twelve. The whole minute was spent just looking at her, seeing how she shifted her attention to the other side of the courtyard before bringing her pretty eyes to him again. He saw how her eyebrows slightly furrowed at his gawking, irises glinting with suspicion. Levi didn’t realize he stopped walking when Erwin jogged back to him, checking to see what made his friend stop. Levi didn’t even register that Erwin was beside him once again as he watched her wave at a tall brown-haired person.

“Hey, Erwin, who is that?”

Erwin followed his gaze to the pair walking away, looking back at Levi who was still looking at the girl. He chuckled before patting his friend on the shoulder. “That’s [Name] if I can recall correctly. She’s also in my Statistics class. She’s pretty much a quiet person most of the time but when you try to approach her kindly, she’ll warm up eventually. The person with them is Hange, her roommate, I think. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing.”

It was not nothing, of course, because Levi found himself looking all over the campus for just a glimpse of the girl. She was very much like a passing wisp every time Levi walked down the hallways of the different buildings of their university. For a huge campus, there was no chance of seeing the girl again and Levi was left with the remnants of her in his memory. No matter how much he convinced himself that it was an attraction that he felt when he first saw her, Levi would always crane his head over the crowds, wishing that he could float on a cloud to overlook everyone else. All to search her. And finding her was like a stroke of luck because Erwin showed him an Instagram account with pictures of her. Levi followed the account without any second thought. That only added to his never-ending curiosity and interest for the girl named [Name], making his chest blossom with red carnations and yellow tulips.

Levi was perfectly content with admiring her from afar. Their paths sometimes intertwined with each other whenever there were events around the campus. She was always with that tall, talkative brown-haired person that Levi was starting to think that maybe she already gave her heart to another. But that didn’t stop him from glancing at her if they were in the same vicinity. Levi couldn’t fathom how a person could be that pretty without even trying – mesmerized at every action she did no matter how small it is. Everything paled in comparison whenever she’s around.

He always knew that he was the kind of person who never delved deeper into strange connections with others, relying on interactions to further deepen the bond they already established. This is the case with every person Levi encountered in his life. His hometown friends, Isabel and Farlan, and even Erwin were prime examples. Nobody could ever break down his well-crafted walls with just a single word. It wasn’t that [Name] was an exception (she still didn’t earn his permission to enter his life simply because they never talked once) but Levi will readily shed his guard little by little upon knowing what kind of person she is. Too bad Levi was too shy to approach her. The rest of his first year in university was spent complying with the requirements of his courses and thinking so hard on his newly-accumulated feelings for a girl he doesn’t know anything about (except for the little posts her roommate writes on Twitter, tagging her in some of them). He decided that if everything was unrequited, he will do himself the favor to confess to her and let the feelings go because it wouldn’t benefit him in the end.

Everything came into place when he was in sophomore year.

Every shred of his plan of burying his feelings for the girl vanished like a wisp he saw on the night sky.

“Please hear me out, I have feelings for you for some time now.”

Levi knew that was a wrong move. If this was a chess game, he was already risking his king of being placed in checkmate. He had no control over his mouth when it came to her and he hated himself for that. It might be the comfortable atmosphere they established or it could be that Levi found her beautiful under the stars, but he knew that his feelings were overflowing to the point that he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her shocked face was piercing, hurting him in the best way possible because she still looked pretty. The disbelief painted on her face was enough for Levi to realize how stupid he was at blurting out his feelings.

But fate thought it would be funny to make them closer as friends after that incident.

The late-night musings immediately stopped when the next song played in Levi’s earphones. He was doing revisions in one of his courses, his desk piled up with readings and highlighters that were still aligned beside the papers. He ran his hand through his hair, making it flop on his forehead. The weight of being a senior was getting to him as he let himself fall back on his desk chair. The little glow-in-the-dark star stickers [Name] placed on his ceiling greeted his vision. She was cute while reaching up on the small ladder Levi placed in the middle of the room. Levi remembered how she slipped and how she snuggly fit in his arms in a desperate attempt to catch her. He shook his head to quell his fast heartbeat, every single thought revolving around the young woman rendering him breathless. The moment his stomach growled, Levi straightened himself in his seat and took a deep breath.

His phone was then in his hands, his fingers typing out a message without second thoughts.

Hey, I’ll be picking you up in ten.

With a pounding heartbeat, Levi put on one of his jackets before taking his car keys. Locking his apartment, he went out and drove to her shared apartment with Hange. The moment he parked his car, he went out and leaned himself on the door to the passenger seat. Levi was preoccupied with reading some of the tweets in his timeline when he heard the sliding doors to the apartment complex open to a very concerned [Name]. She ran towards him and patted his tense figure before turning his head from one side to another as if searching for any injuries. Her sigh of relief followed as she placed her hands on his chest.

“I thought something went wrong.” Her dazzling eyes looked up at him, narrowed yet captivating at the same time. “You rarely text something that cryptic, Levi.”

Levi said nothing, his silver eyes roaming on her figure. With a hum, he cupped her face with a gentle hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his front. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on the corner of her lips, hearing her breath hitch. His heart accelerated once again at the thought of kissing her fully on the mouth. If he could just tilt his head a little bit more to the right, he would’ve done that. He couldn’t forget the taste of her watermelon chapstick earlier, how intoxicating it was that it distracted him from all of his lectures. Not to mention that the hoodie she was wearing was one of his. The physical contact lingered for a few moments until they stared at each other, Levi’s thumb rubbing on the apple of her cheek. The warmth on their faces could be picked up at their proximity. Levi wished he could stop time right here but he remembered how hungry he was.

Pulling his face away from her mesmerized one, Levi caressed the small of her back. “I’m hungry.”

[Name]’s love-struck face turned into a reprimanding one. “You didn’t eat dinner again, did you?”

He shrugged. “Sue me.”

The woman in his arms sighed before turning around to gesture him to follow her. “Come in the apartment. I know Hange won’t mind if I cook for you at this hour. They’ll probably even rejoice you’ll grace them with your presence at this late evening.” She felt his grip around her tighten. “Levi?”

“Let’s drive around town.” Levi prayed that she wouldn’t see how his cheeks became red. “I want to spend this night with you. Alone.”

It looked like [Name] wasn’t breathing as she stared at her close friend. “Oh.” The locks of her hair fluttered from the wind as she looked at the side to hide her warming face. This man will be the death of her someday. It wasn’t fair that he was constantly running his mouth to say things that can make her heart stutter in her chest. “Uhm, sure, but I’m actually dressed for bed right now. I hope that’s okay with you?”

“You’re perfect either way.” Levi tugged at the hem of the hoodie [Name] was wearing with a half-smile. “I’d rather stare at how you look good with my clothes on.” When he continued tugging, he caught a glimpse of a very familiar shirt below the thick material of the hoodie. “And is this my old jersey from the volleyball team? You still kept it? It’s so worn out, you know.”

“It’s comfortable,” she smiled, fiddling with the ends of his hoodie. A laugh laced with playful disbelief bubbled in her chest. “I still couldn’t imagine you playing volleyball during freshman year,” she stated as Levi pulled her to the vehicle. Once the two of them settled in the warm confines of Levi’s car, [Name] turned to him with a grin. “I swear, I didn’t even know that fact until last year when Erwin randomly said it.”

“It’s not that important, to be honest. I was roped in because somebody practically shoved the application form in my hands while Erwin and I were walking around the welcoming booths at the start of freshman year. It was a chaotic mess and I couldn’t return it because the person got swallowed by the crowd. I didn’t know what came over me to join. All I know is that I can’t juggle academics and sports at the same time so I quit in sophomore year. I couldn’t get used to it, I guess.” Levi steered the car to the nearest McDonald’s, his hand comfortably placed on [Name]’s bare thigh (she was wearing shorts, a fact that always distracted Levi), rubbing on her skin until he felt warm in his side of the car. “What about you, any secret clubs you forgot to mention to me?”

[Name] hummed before Levi felt her fingers tracing the back of his hand. He mindlessly turned his hand palm up for their fingers to entwine, gaze focused on the road. “I once joined the softball team.”

“What?” Levi glanced at her for a second. “Really? When was that?”

“Same as you. At the start of freshman year. I quit before that academic year ended because I thought being on a sports team would take too much of my time. Hange was probably the one who convinced me to join the university team. They said that I should also focus on my physical fitness because I was acting like a slug most of the time in our dorm.” She chuckled at the memory, wistfully staring at the blinking cityscape as they passed by some of the establishments in their side of the town. “They even pinpointed my many mannerisms just to rile me up and eventually I joined.” Levi glanced at her once again, the sight of her measuring their hands together making him smile a little. “I had no idea how the sport works. The senior in the team was kind enough to teach me the basics but it wasn’t for me at all.”

“I understand,” Levi replied, turning the car to the right until they saw the sign of the fast-food restaurant ahead of them. “Peer pressure sucks. Especially if that friend is Four-eyes. I hate it when they put me in the hot seat sometimes.”

[Name] laughed. “That’s Hange for you. They mean well though.”

“For you, I guess. For me, I’m starting to think they’re trying to embarrass me.” He squeezed her hand to catch her attention. “Hey, should we order in the drive-thru?”

“Works for me.”

Levi nodded and drove towards the drive-thru of the building. Once their order was packed in paper bags, he handed them to [Name], who happily gasped when she saw that he ordered the strawberry shake she always bought. When everything is in place, Levi focused on the road again until he felt something poke his lips. He looked down on a piece of French fry being handed to him by a bright-eyed [Name]. He lowly laughed before opened his mouth to let her feed him the fries. His hunger made the food even more delectable, making him hum in satisfaction, with his last meal being lunch which was hours ago. “Where do you want to stop, beautiful?” The terms of endearment flew out of his mouth without him controlling it, never noticing how [Name] froze in the passenger seat with warm cheeks. “It’s going to be hard eating all of this in the car.”

“Anywhere you like, ‘Vi,” she murmured, trying so hard to brush away the nickname.

“Mm-hmm. How about going to that hill overlooking the university? We can stargaze as well.” Levi sheepishly gazed at her. “That is if you think it’s not too far.”

“Never.” She shook her head, an endearing smile painted on her face. “We have the night to ourselves, might as well go for it.”

Levi fell in love with her all over again.

The stars were brighter than usual as you gazed up at the canopy of constellations, the midnight hue of the sky is reflected in your eyes. The weather was in your side, with the night breeze occasionally ruffling your hair, with you wondering who was thinking of you at the moment for the wind to gently thread its fingers through your hair. Levi retracted the roof of his convertible to let the moment play out, the low tune on the radio filling in the background as you two munched on your food (for Levi, his dinner, while for you, a late-night snack). At times, you didn’t notice how his silver eyes flickered at your side profile. For him, the night sky and you are the perfect combinations for a distraction in the dreaded senior year of university. Everything you do is spell-binding for him, even if you were taking a bite of your chicken sandwich and slurping it down with your strawberry shake. As if sensing the stare, you looked back at him, raising your eyebrows cutely to wordlessly ask what was wrong.

Levi shook his head, his hand pinching your cheek. “Nothing.” He continued staring at you with the softest gaze, his smile reaching the corners of his eyes. “You just look so pretty, that’s all.”

“Don’t make my ego inflate even more, Levi,” you joked. “I look like a hobo. You look, well,” you shifted your attention on the windshield to avoid his inquiring eyes, “you look amazing for someone who is studying for more than three hours. Good for you.”

“I try.” The onyx-haired man shrugged lightheartedly. “But you’re the pretty one in this relationship, and that’s a fact.” He punctuated his statement with a bite of his burger, careful enough to not let the lettuce slide down his hand. “Hey, can I take a picture? I know I’m not good at taking pictures but I need a new post. Hange was pestering me to keep my account alive.”

“They’re right,” you nodded, popping a fry in your mouth. “Your last post was three months ago.” Wiping your hand on the napkin found in the paper bag, you shifted in the passenger seat so that your back was facing the door. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Just sit still and look pretty.”

You laughed. “How do I do that?”

“I don’t know, you always do it. You’re just unaware.”

The heat on your cheeks was traveling towards your ears now, the butterflies continued fluttering inside your stomach and chest. You thought of how Levi continued to be your friend after spilling out his feelings to you and how he always made you laugh at the most random times of the day with his dry humor — the loving smile directed at the person behind the camera appearing instantly on your face. You didn’t know how many pictures Levi took but at that shot, he slowly lowered his phone with a star-struck expression stuck on his face. You also didn’t know what made him look like that but you couldn’t help but be captured in his gaze as well. The two of you looked at each other until Levi cleared his throat before opening his phone to tweak the filter of the pictures. However, the spell wasn’t broken because you sat near him, placing your chin on his shoulder as you watched him make the shots even more aesthetic. After a few moments, your phone dinged with the tag from him and you straightened on your seat, already missing Levi’s warmth.

“There,” Levi murmured with red cheeks. “Hange and Erwin should be happy by tomorrow when they see this.”

You smile at the comfortable silence, letting the radio play a random song. It was then that a thought came into your mind that you couldn’t stay quiet.

“Levi, when did you fall in love with me?”

You always ached to ask that question because you couldn’t draw something from your freshman year until sophomore year. You couldn’t believe how such an amazing person managed to stumble in your life. It was true that you don’t remember meeting his eyes while you just got out of your classes in search of Hange but you remembered how he always stared at you whenever you talked. He always made sure you were heard. But the times before that, you were beyond confused that he would randomly tell you that he liked you for a while. You wanted to ask him that question ever since his confession became reality two years ago and you wanted to know if he still feels the same way. You have to make sure because what you’re feeling for him at the moment wasn’t meant for friends. How could you even tell him that, to begin with?

“Which time are you asking?” Levi softly asked, never looking away from the beauty that is you.

“What?” Your confusion is apparent in the air but Levi only answered with a chuckle. “Hey, I’m serious. You know, I never had someone confess to me until you. It was always me who was doing the confessing. I stopped doing that in the last year of high school because I sounded dumb with my reasoning. Even though I know I don’t have a chance with him and that I wasn’t his type at all, I still said it. We were sort of mutual friends and I kind of ruined it. I was thankful when I found out he was going to another university.” You laughed humorlessly. “Every single time, it was always unrequited and I was sick of it to the point that I told myself to never engage in those feelings when college starts.”

“That guy’s an asshole,” Levi snorted. “When I started crushing on you, I was perfectly fine with being a distant admirer. Have you seen yourself?”

You looked anywhere except for the man beside you. “No?”

He softly flicked your forehead. “Idiot. What I’m trying to say is, those people you’ve been confessing to, they don’t know how lucky they are to hear you say those words. I’m not saying that I should be hearing those words from you right now but to have someone this amazing and talented and beautiful falling in love with them, they pretty much have the entire world the moment you said you liked them. I might be looking at everything in rose-colored glasses but everything you do, [Name], is absolutely mesmerizing to me.” He placed the large cup of soda in the cupholder before holding your face in his hands. “They don’t appreciate that a piece of art was doing the admiring when you should be the one being admired. I would give the world to hear you say you love me back, beautiful, but I’m willing to wait years for you to feel the same way as me.”

Your vision became misty, throat clogging with emotions, and bottom lip being bitten to prevent a small sob. “So when?” You asked again with a shaky voice.

“I fall in love with you so many times, [Name]. Every time we’re in the same frame for a picture. Every time you smiled at me, God your smile is just perfect. Every fucking time you call my name, no matter what kind of shit you’re pulling.” Your laugh rang through the night, making Levi smile. “I fall in love with you every time you’re near me, when you touch me with your soft fingertips, when I feel your hugs give me the comfort I needed. The power you have over me is something that I have no control over because you are just perfect to me.” He squished your cheeks softly when he saw you open your mouth to retaliate. “And before you tell me that you’re not perfect, screw that thought because you are in my eyes. Plus, your heart is so fucking big for welcoming me as your friend despite having feelings for you.

“Fuck, I still do.”

The butterflies once again came to life with his words, your breath heavy and years clinging on your eyelashes. “When’s the most recent time you fell in love with me then?”

Levi neared his face to yours, your foreheads pressed against each other. His lips were just centimeters away when he murmured, “Right now.”

“Me, too,” you whispered, your lips brushing on his. “I fell in love with you again at this moment, Levi, and I’m ready for you to make me breathless every single day.”

Levi’s eyes widened at your words. He was so drunk in you that he didn’t know he was making a face many people wouldn’t associate with him. “When?” He threw your question right back at you because he couldn’t believe what he was hearing right now.

“Ever since you started telling me to stop drinking too much coffee or when you started making me some of your tea recipes. Like you, it just started a loop with every little thing you do for me. I just accepted it when Nanaba talked to me earlier this day. I’m sorry I took so long to give you an answer, Levi.”

“No, it’s perfect. My wait is worth it.”

The stars swooned when your lips finally met his. Because when a person was ready to love someone, nothing can come between them. They will feel as if they reached the highest point in their lives as if they were blessed by the gods for finding their other half. Nothing can stop them, not even the cosmos shining down at the birth of the blissful lovers.

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satoru-is-the-way · 2 years

Text

Severus Snape x Reader

Welcome To Wonderland : Chapter 1

. .. . . . Genre

Romance, Angst, Fantasy, Drama, and more.

. . . . . . Pairing:

Severus Snape x Y/N,

. . . . . . Characters/pairing:

Severus Snape, Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Fred and George Wesley, and more.

. . . . . . Plot:

Professor (Y/n) is starting her second year at Hogwarts officially. She formerly attended here as a student and made top grades in her class. Now after taking the proper courses she was instated as a professor. (Y/n) and Severus never really spoke at all. It wasn't until recently given the Tournaments have they had been closer together. Their silent nature and slightly cool personality are much the same. As is their sense of humor, however, the two previous Slytherins find their paths crossing. So comes the Yule Ball and Dumbledore has requested (Y/n) to instruct the dance classes. As well as each professor attend one session. Severus begins to find (Y/n) more irresistible, perhaps feelings are developing?

. . . . . . Warnings:

N/A

. . . . . . Author's note:

So I decided to write this. In the story, they do have a 4 year age difference, so if google was right she will be around 28 and he is 32. In addition, this fanfic is heavily inspired by the 'Welcome To Wonderland.' Song. That I am madly in love with! This will be my first Harry Potter fiction piece!! Ahhh!!! I also posted it on my amino.

❝ She was born into

a world where family

was merely blood. ❞↷ˊ-

᭙ꫀꪶᥴꪮꪑꫀ 𝓽ꪮ ᭙ꪮꪀᦔꫀ𝘳ꪶꪖꪀᦔ

Hogwarts students and staff huddled in the Great Hall as a critical meeting was requested by Dumbledore. The second-year professor assumed it must hold tremendous importance to cancel end-of-the-day classes. She did not seem pleased about his judgment. Earlier in her second block History class, Fred and George Weasley circulate gossip of a ball. The infamous Yule Ball is traditionally held by the academy which hosts the tournaments. If so this announcement clearly could wait, her students are already declining academically as the wizard games took up their free time and distracted their thoughts all day. (Y/n) did not take away the significance of such games, rather attempted to facilitate her pupils to remain vigilant about their grades.

(Y/n)'s heels clicked against the tiled floor entering a rambunctious crowd of youngsters. Their hush whispers combined echoed off the great walls. She takes her residence by the head of Slytherin, Professor Severus Snape. Reminiscing her Hogwarts days and recollected when their paths crossed an abundance of times. Primarily in her 2nd year and Severus' 7th. A bright student (Y/n) may be, yet in some advanced potion classes she bit off more than she could chew. Severus Snape never came off as the friendliest of students, cold, reluctant, and strict tutor from her experience. The Professor owed him for the passing grades. Presently they both thrived into vicious forces of nature.

"Do you possess any idea of why we are here?" (Y/n) asked a reasonable question. However, Severus in his natural introverted self appeared irritated by having to engage in such unnecessary fraternizing.

"Not in the slightest." He grumbled.

...

A few moments passed, Dumbledore eventually stood and gradually shuffled toward his podium. With a hefty inhale he declared openly, "QUIET!" Not even a cricket could be heard. "Good afternoon Hogwarts students and staff. I apologize for inducing an in-convent conference during this period of the day. As a respectable host for the Triwizard tournament, we are obligated by tradition to hold the Yule Ball. An extreme honor passed down since the original creation. I arranged terms and obligations I anticipate out of every Hogwarts student. We shall not make a fool of this ball. Anyone who takes this lightly may undergo severe consequences depending on the violation."

A few murmurs are heard as Dumbledore seized a calculated pause, it enabled the children to comprehend how significant the Yule ball is for their reputation. "One, each student will attend the ball with a partner, two you must dress in your formal material, memos may be mailed home requesting formal attire, three, students will attend a dance class and facility members are 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 to attend one session, instructor by Professor McGonagall and (Y/l/n), four…" (Y/n) no longer concentrates on Dumbledore's rules. Could the great wizard retain mutual decency to inquire the witch if she wishes to instruct such a class? (Y/n) is fairly open about her distaste of 'traditional' ceremonies.

She glanced around helplessly unsure if there is possible miscommunication between them, an unexpected name slip, why her? (Y/n) swore she witnessed Severus Snape's lips twitch up in amusement of her anguish. "I suppose we must suffer together, Ms. (Y/l/n)." He contoured complexion neutral, but she traced a subtle hint of teasing.

"If we must. Might as well accompany the ball together." She enunciates out of playfulness then notices Severus' tense response. Perhaps one joke too far. "Forgive my boldness. Just a modest play of words." The witch rectifies skillfully, conceded by a nod from Severus. (Y/n) later would inquire Dumbledore why he selected her as one of the instructions in the dance class.

After dismissal (Y/n) prepared her way through the corridor leading to Dumbledore's office. Before her feminine hand strikes the door it opened, of course, he knew. Obviously, she would not be delighted about such a circumstance resting upon her shoulder. Not just the disliking but the significance. McGonagall inevitably had enough knowledge to oversee a class of this magnitude.

...

"Ah, (Y/n) (Y/l/n) I expected your arrival, perhaps a bit sooner than now." He perked up from his existing task, setting his quill in its appropriate location," Please take a seat. Candy?" He politely extended his hand to a pitcher of assorted delights, and she selected a chocolate frog. An irresistible temptation on her part.

"Professor Dumbledore, I imply no disrespect observing your decision. I can not drape my mind around why you selected me to advise a dance class. Professor McGonagall or Flitwick are extensively qualified for that position. Not merely am I inexperienced, my stance on tedious ceremonies are parallel to none." (Y/n) prevails strongly in her opinion, nibbling on the chocolate frog as a comfort treat. Dumbledore scraped his aged beard taking in every word she announced. He hummed, pondering.

"No, forgive me if I made you feel I was pushing a boundary. Dear (Y/n) our children idolize you. You managed to alter one of the most boring subjects, history, into a fun exhilarating lesson that students look forward to. I could go on for days about your art class. Your pupils flourish above established academics inspired by your engaging curriculum. I need everyone to take an important event seriously. Not only do you retain their appreciation but fear of punishment."

(Y/n) crossed her arms. "Besides I believed you would appreciate the Professors being required to attend with a partner. You and Severus are only...3 or 4 years apart, correct?" Dumbledore infers he knows her emotions for Severus. How could he? It is only a 'schoolgirl' crush, nothing more!... They are in a professional setting for goodness sake! She nods hesitantly.

"Fine, I will teach the classes. What are the guidelines?"

"We include one introductory song of your choice, elegant, slow, and meaningful. A second for the competitors with their partners. After easy movements, and of course as periods transform the kids are geared to modern muggle music." He hands the manuscript over for suggestions and key starters.

(Y/n) takes the paper and exits Dumbledore's room. "I will not disappoint Professor Dumbledore." She called before his door closed.

(Y/n) paused momentarily in front of the dungeon pondering if she dared bother Severus at an untimely hour. The last moment she ascended down the stairs was before last year's Holiday Break. She miscalculated the order of planets when the winter month hit colder than anticipated; (Y/n) searched for Severus asking for a simple potion that could rectify her dying plants. Thankfully, given the holiday season, Severus felt kind enough to fix an easy concoction. Now would be a very distinct reason to converse with him. Maybe regrettably (Y/n) opened the door walking down the flight of stairs that seemed infinite. Once midway the odor of rusty chains and murky water consumed the atmosphere. Injecting her lungs. How could someone teach in such an environment?

...

Severus' back is turned cleaning a few empty beakers "I know you are there, Ms (Y/l/n), is there anything you need?" He hasn't moved to see who entered…'How did he know?' She pondered.

"I came about an inquiry of the dance class," The witch declared and stood beside him, seizing a beaker for herself to dry. Severus commonly can be irritable, however, he appeared to be in a docile state. "I spoke with Dumbledore over why I was selected, he buttered me up and gave me a chocolate frog so I said I can lend my services." (Y/n) believed she heard a small snort from Severus Snape. "The frog was good if you must know. Now, he said teachers must have a partner and attend one lesson if I recall?"

Severus peeked down at the smaller lady figure. "Yes...he encouraged. In Dumbledore terms, it specifies a must." His voice spurs irritation. "How may this implicate me, Ms.(Y/n)?"

"Is there a possibility you may appear for my first lesson tomorrow? While I appreciate Professor McGonagall's seniority, and not propelling stereotypical criteria, a male demonstrator will stimulate the youth in contributing. As a bonus, you ensure their senses with fear." She sat the dry beaker down.

Professor Severus Snape thought, " I must confess intimidating unruly brats should be regarded as a hobby. Fine. I can endure a dance oration. Easily to get that out of my way." He conceded. "Anything additional you care to discuss, Ms.(Y/n)?" Her 'joke' about attending the ball never left Severus' mind. Everything about (Y/n) caused him to lose focus. Some even claim he never is harsh and cold-hearted, badly, toward her. The witch caused Severus Snape to experience feelings he figured no one but...Lily Potter could. After years of mourning, his heart moved on to someone new.

Could (Y/n) seize this opportunity and ask Severus to the dance, or admit her feelings? No! Severus could not waste his time on such childish things! "No- I simply just dropped by to ask- make sure to be on time, Professor Snape."

A sting of disappointment appeared but soon left. "Please call me Severus, no need for formalities."

(Y/n) later bid him a good night. Anxious about what tomorrow holds. Dumbledore must have a secret up his sleeve.

...

Today is their first rehearsal. A few appointed classes are here for the morning session. Every day is a different bunch of children. (Y/n) stops parallel to Professor McGonagall and Snape. She authorized the students to settle before clearing her throat and striding towards the middle. "Thank you all for joining me today. I have assembled a few introductory slides and chose a song for our initial dance. We shall assume each stanza of the ballad in slow incremental steps." (Y/n) spun pulling up the first slide. "First is a partner. You may ask anyone you wish. It doesn't matter their gender or house! If you have a crush, take a shot. Who cares right? It's a modest one-night dance." Moving the next paper on top, "Second, Posture. A key detail is a proper form. No slouching! Our important dance will be traditional and expected to have the highest quality of effort. Three, correct hand positions. I will quickly demonstrate, Professor Snape."

Severus took a deep breath. Following instructions by taking her soft hand, his free second-hand rests gently on her waist, (Y/n)'s resting on the seam of his sleeve. "Fourth stance, one of you should step slightly to the right," She moved right, "you don't want to trip over each other. In this form, your legs will move between one another. Another important note to add is your distance should be...appropriate." (Y/n) announced. Many ideas rushed through her mind. Severus being so close to her caused an uneasy amount of butterflies in her system.

"Now comes the tricky part. Keeping up with the music. Pay attention to our rhythm. Including the footsteps of the leaders and followers. Who shall lead?" (Y/n) whispered to Snape, currently unable to look up at the potion maker.

"You may." He answers quickly.

She nods, " Our first dance you will start walking in a circle facing your partner. Once the second to last chord hit before the lyrics begin you will get into our first formation. Watch the choreography we demonstrate. Alright, then Professor Flitwick if you will!" The music instructor nods, turning to his two students. One is their piano playing and the other is a singer. He hit the first cord as the soft rhythm started. (Y/n) felt an overwhelming emotion grow inside. She is about to dance with Professor Snape. A man she had an emotional attachment to for years. Cheeks burn a vibrant red of embarrassment. They walked in a close net circle inches from each other. Instantly move into positions once the second to last not strikes and their dance begins.

Welcome to Wonderland,

we've got it all

Potions and pastries

that make you grow tall

Forests and cottages,

castles and cards

that can talk

She had stepped forward with her left foot while Snape took one back. (Y/n) right foot slides up, for a second, meets the left, before moving right at a decent standing position. Left foot then moves to meet her right, Snape follows her movement and continues the box routine, her right foot steps back with left not far behind, brushed every so scarcely against before meeting its original starting position.

Their practice continued as scheduled. Ending with the two facing each other. "Not so bad, Professor Snape." (Y/n) comments.

He gave a tiny smile only noticeable if you squint, "Likewise." Replied the potion maker. Their class continued having the students practice next. Once their season is over each parted in their respective ways. However, neither professor could stop thinking of one another. Perhaps Severus should give in and ask (Y/n) to the dance.

#snape x you #snape community #severus snape #Harry Potter #Severus x Reader #severus snape x y/n #professor dumbledore #fanfiction

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ricksroaches · 3 years

Text

Jungkook - Dysphoria ch. 1

pairing: Yoongi x Reader, OT7 x Reader (platonic)

summary: Jungkook, a burnt out gifted student, comes home from summer camp not ready to start his sophomore year of highschool, but his friends are there to help him feel better. Although not in the best of ways.

notes: This is a Euphoria-ish au but mostly it's just heavily inspired by the show (I use a few quotes), and each chapter is based on a character. There's a few parts where I cue a song title that's because I made a soundtrack to listen to while reading but I deleted it a while ago so :( if you feel like it listen to the ones I did write down. I'm apologizing now bc my writing can be a bit choppy/rushed its just cuz i have a more drabble-like style and don't know how to write between big scenes. THIS IS A DARK FIC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Hope you enjoy and sorry for this big ass paragraph.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: ass-load of angst, mental illness (depression, anxiety, bipolar, OCD, and probably more), drugs (all of them. just all of them), underage drinking, cursing, mentions of self-harm

Next chapter

[Slideshow - Labrinth]

When Jungkook was 5, he wanted to be an astronaut. He wanted to fly into the sky and zip around space exploring things never before seen. His little mind was so strong, wanting to learn anything and everything. When he first learned how to read, he would read every sign he passed in the car and play games with the letters he’d find. It wasn’t long before he was placed in advanced classes with kids he'd never seen before and for the first time in his academic career, he was challenged.

When Jungkook was 10, he wanted to be a doctor. He wanted to wear a white coat and glasses and race around a hospital busy saving lives everyday. He wanted people to look to him for advice and treat him with respect. He wanted to feel needed.

When Jungkook was 14, he wanted to be a paramedic. He didn’t think he’d be smart enough to become a doctor so an EMT would have to do. His classes had begun to pile up in work to the point where he didn’t have the time to think about anything but school. He ate, slept, and breathed homework, projects, and term papers.

When Jungkook was 16, all he wanted to do was graduate. He no longer had any desire to pursue his childhood dreams. When he was asked what he wanted to do when he was older, his mind was a void. He couldn’t see any future for himself past high school. He went day to day not bothering to care about what might happen the next day. He coasted through all of his classes and dropped out of the advanced programs that his parents put him in.

His potential was like a flame. It was small at first, but still had loads of potential, so more kindling was thrown on top. The flame received it well, quickly spreading over the new material. But they kept stacking kindling. Stacking and stacking and stacking putting more and more pressure until finally….the flame died. All because he liked to read.

[Forever - Labrinth]

The clouds inched across the sky and rows of crops and fencing whipped by the car window. A stark contrast between the two. Jungkook rested his head against the glass and watched as the car began to pass more and more houses. The familiar area told him he was almost home. He should’ve been glad, elated even. He would finally get to see his friends again, but after three weeks of summer school to catch up on the class he skipped last year he’d lost the ability to smile or show any form of positivity. To say he felt like a zombie would be an insulting understatement.

The car pulled into the ever so familiar driveway and the rest of his family piled out of the car. He didn’t move. He heaved a long, anguished sigh before snatching his duffel bag from the other seat and throwing open the door.

He was out the front door again before his mom could even ask him where he was going. Speeding his bike down the empty road that he’d ridden countless times before. He could make this route with his eyes closed. The house in question came into view and Jungkook pedaled harder to close the distance. He swung one leg to the opposite pedal and straddled it until he swerved to a stop in the driveway. The house was old, hadn’t been lived in for years, wasn’t on the market, yet wasn’t scheduled to be torn down. It was the perfect place for a group of teenagers to tear apart and put back together. Without knocking, he stepped inside and was hit with the welcoming scent of booze, pizza, and weed with notes of cigarettes and coffee. Music blasting from a distant room in the house led him to the living room where he counted one, two, three, four, five people sprawled about the room. Upon noticing him standing in the doorway, they jumped up and raced to pull him into the room.

“Kook! How you been man? How’d surviving summer school go?” Taehyung was Jungkook’s best friend and unsolicited wingman. He was always trying to set him up with girls so he could get his v card punched. Taehyung was ever the ladies man. Never had trouble finding a date or a hookup. No one could blame him though. If they had that flawless, arrogant face they’d use it too. Despite his fuckboy nature, he was the best friend Jungkook ever had. They’d gone to the same school since they were 7 and Taehyung’s untamable charisma sniffed out Jungkook’s shyness rather quickly. They were inseparable and the rest is history.

“Fine I guess.”

“Kookie, come sit down! I’ve been saving your spot on the couch for you!” Jimin pulled Jungkook to the left corner of the C shaped couch. Jimin was like Taehyung in the sense that he also had no issues with finding partners. He wasn’t near as promiscuous as Taehyung, but he made up for it with his bisexuality. He had an entire other gender to choose from. Jimin was probably the nicest of the group. He always gave the best hugs and was their personal therapist. His aura seemed to coax you into opening up to him even if you hadn’t originally planned on it. He had a way of saying all the right words to make you feel better, even if it was just for a moment. On the other side of him, he was the biggest party animal the group had ever seen. Anywhere else, he was the purest angel that everyone believed could do no wrong. But at a party? Park Jimin was a demon. Seductively dancing in a stylish jacket, pants low enough to show his v-line, sweaty hair flipped back pounding shot after shot until he was the last man standing. That guy could party from sun down to sun up like it was a baby shower.

“Did you at least learn anything you missed last year?” Namjoon. Ever the parent. He was surprisingly humble given his father’s status and money. He easily had the best grades among the friends. School always came easy to him, no matter what it was. However, if you saw him outside of school, you’d never be able to guess he was one of the school’s top students. He carried an energy with him that dared anyone to mess with him or his friends. Although you didn’t see it often, he could make himself scary if he wanted to. All in all, he’s just a gentle giant that made sure everyone turned in their work.

“Absolutely nothing. I don’t know why they keep wasting their time on me.” Jungkook sighed. Hoseok threw a pillow from across the couch, smacking him in the face.

“Yah! Don’t talk about yourself like that!” Hoseok was the human charger. It didn’t matter if someone’s mama died if Hoseok was in the room there would be shenanigans. He was always the one to make some crazy dare that would end up getting them in trouble but they wouldn’t be mad because it was totally worth it. He also had great music taste and almost always was on aux. Hoseok’s vice was coke. Often the driving force behind his hyper nature, it started out as just a thing he did at parties, but slowly creeped into his everyday habits. It hadn’t become a problem yet, he vowed that as soon as he started getting nosebleeds he’d stop, although Jungkook was wary of how difficult that was going to be.

“Where’s Y/N and Yoongi?” Jungkook asked after noticing their usual spots empty.

“They left to get food. They should be coming back soon.” Jin assured him, giving him a comical slap on the thigh. Jin was the eldest, but rarely acted like it. Whenever he wasn’t making stupid dad jokes or eating he spent his time at the classical theater where he worked and sometimes acted. He planned on pursuing acting given his “world wide handsome face.” “It just has to be seen! People around the world need to swoon at my beauty” as he would put it.

No one heard the front door open and shut or noticed Y/N and Yoongi standing in the doorway of the living room.

“Food’s here.” Yoongi finally croaked. Hoseok and Jin yelped and sprung up.

“JESUS! Ever heard of announcing yourselves?! I swear you guys are the exact same person!” Y/N just gave a shrug and plopped onto the large bean bag that she’d claimed.

“Hey, Kooker.” She dragged out.

“Hi Y/N..” His unusual bland reply didn’t go unnoticed by her, but she brushed it off.

“You ready to get shit faced?” A playful grin plastered her otherwise tranquil face. A small smile poked at Jungkooks pursed lips. There was something about her character that always put him in a better mood. She was the one who invited him and Tae into the friend group in the first place, and because of that, he couldn’t be more grateful.

Yoongi tossed him a beer can and his car keys. “Start us off Jungkook.” Yoongi was by far the most terrifying one. It took some time to get to know his true person but there were still times when he still scared the shit out of him. Jungkook remembered when he first met Yoongi. He looked like he’d served time with the seasoned look in his eye that said he’d seen some shit in his day. He hadn’t spoken the entire time the group was talking and Jungkook was beginning to worry that he didn’t like him. It wasn’t til he finally spoke that Jungkook could release the breath he was holding. For someone so stoic and cold looking, he never expected him to have such a low, soft voice. He realized, Yoongi wasn’t scary, he was just quiet like him.

Jungkook took the keys and poked a hole in the bottom of the can. He pressed his lips to it and pulled the tab, sending the amber liquor shooting down his throat. He finished it with ease and crushed the can in his palm while the room cheered and chanted.

The loud music, laughing, and drugs drowned out everything in the outside world. It felt like the world ended and they were the last people left on Earth. Nothing mattered but what was right in front of them. The hours flew by until it came time for everyone to crash. Most of them were still raging drunk or high which only made them fall asleep faster. Jungkook didn’t drink much and he barely smoked. He just couldn’t get in the right headspace to enjoy any of it. So there he was, laying awake among a pile of snoring boys at some ungodly hour of the night. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out to read the text in his notifications.

[We All Knew - Labrinth]

Y/N💜: come to my office

He shimmied out from under Taehyung and Jimin and tiptoed out of the room. He followed the smell of weed through the house because where there was weed, there was Y/N. He stepped into the backyard and found her leaning against the wall, blunt between her fingers. The tip of the dark stick swelled into a bright orange when she took a drag. Smoke rolling out of her nose, she held it out for him. He hesitated.

“You're upset. Take it.” Which was a dead-on observation for Y/N, who’s not normally revolving in the same direction as planet Earth. He hesitantly took a puff from it before handing it back. She spread her arms lazily and looked at him with a beckoning stare. He sighed and walked right into her arms that wrapped around his back. She was only older than him by a year, but her old soul and almost motherly demeanor made him look up to her like she was his idol. Sometimes, he forgot he was a whole head taller than her. “Welcome home, Kookie.”

Hers was the only welcome he got that day that brought a genuine smile to his face. She had a way of making him feel welcome and wanted even if she was in a bad mood. She broke the embrace and without a word headed to the old couch by the empty swimming pool. He eventually followed her and flopped down next to her. Another gush of smoke entered the chilly air and it was handed back to him. Feeling better, he took a healthy drag and sighed out the smoke as he sunk further into the couch.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Was what obvious?”

“Me being upset.”

“Not really.” She flicked the ash off the tip of the brown stick, her gaze not breaking from its spacey stare.

“Then how’d you know?”

“Pain recognizes pain.” Y/N wasn’t one for her genius epiphanies, given that nine times out of ten on any given day she was stoned out of her mind. She wasn’t dumb, god no. He wouldn’t doubt that she was smarter than him, but she rarely exercised her ability. As great of a gift that her mind was, it was an even worse curse. An inescapable tomb of her worst fears, thoughts, and intentions, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. So naturally, she tried anything and everything to silence her mind; alcohol, weed, acid, coke, molly, you name it, she’s done it.

Jungkook wasn’t angry or disappointed by the lengths she went. He knew she was just trying to feel better, and to him, that’s all that mattered. He’d take high Y/N over no Y/N at all.

“Y/N?”

“Yep.” There was a silence while he worked up the nerve to speak.

“How…uh….how long have you felt…the way you feel?” She chuckled and let her head fall back against the couch.

“Well I smoked a blunt with Yoongi in the car this morning and then-”

“No, I mean like…w-without drugs.” Her lazy smile didn’t change, but her eyes unfocused and she grew quiet as if lost in a flashback.

“How long do you think I’ve felt this way?” He didn’t anticipate this question.

“Uh…I don’t know…you hide it really well.”

“I couldn’t tell you when it started. I don’t remember much before 7. I’m told I was a happy kid, but it didn’t feel like it at all. All my life I’ve looked around and seen that everyone was so much happier than me, and I’d ask myself, ‘Why can’t I feel like that?’ It wasn’t until I was older that I learned…I was born to suffer. That’s just my place in the world.”

“When did you finally tell anyone?”

“I didn’t. My parents found my razors.” Jungkook always thought he saw scars on her arms and legs, but her milky skin made it hard to tell. It hurt his heart to know that it was true, and that every one of those once caused her pain. The image of her forearms and thighs slick with her blood brewed tears in his eyes.

“They determined they didn’t have the knowledge to help me, so they asked me to take a tour of this mental hospital and think about their suggestion….” She paused to keep her voice from cracking. “I didn’t make it home that day. Never really forgave them after that.”

There was a long silence after that. Jungkook didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. Besides, he knew she hated condolences. “What made you start using drugs?” She took a drag of the blunt and thought about it.

“I was 13.” Really? “I found my brothers stash of weed in one of his shoes. I already knew what weed was and what it was used for, so I took about a gram and a rolling paper and taught myself how to roll a joint on my bathroom floor. I was shaking like a dog shitting peach seeds but when that joint hit, I thought…” She tilted her head to peak at him with an epiphanic smile, “This is it…This is the feeling that I’ve been waiting to feel my entire life. I thought I was sure to get caught and sent to juvie, but I wasn’t. The world went on, and I found a way to live. Now could my lifestyle kill me? Will it kill me? Yeah probably I don’t know, but at least I could’ve had a few years where I wasn’t begging the universe to put me out of my misery.” She paused to take another hit. “People often ask me, ‘Y/N why don’t you try therapy? Drugs aren’t the answer.’ Yeah well, drugs work. Therapy’s a guessing game; you never know if it’s gonna actually help or not and end up wasting your time and money. But when I take that hit, that line, that tab, the world starts to slow…and everything goes quiet…and I feel safe. In my own head. And I can see the world in color again.”

Jungkook watched her blissful face while she was lost in thought. She must’ve been pretty high because this is the most personal she’d ever gotten with him or possibly anyone that wasn’t Yoongi. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“W-what if I don’t feel what everyone else feels either..?” He pinched the skin between his fingers to keep his tears at bay, a nervous habit he’d picked up from her. She reached over and took his hand in hers, the webbing between her fingers had white and pink stripes from years of fingernails digging into the flesh.

“Jungkook,” she didn’t use his nickname, “I know how hard it was for you to say that. I want you to know how much I appreciate you telling me, because if anyone knows how you feel, it’s me. You can talk to me whenever, wherever. Even when you think it’s a bad time it’s not, because nothing in that moment is more important to me than you. I don’t want you to go through the same thing I did, so please, even if you don’t want to talk, maybe I can at least keep you company.”

For the rest of the night, Jungkook told her everything. About the pressure, the stress, the desire to collapse and let the world go on without him, his inability to see a future where he was fulfilled. The words often caught in his throat, having never said them out loud before. Y/N didn’t say much, she just wrapped them in a blanket and stroked his hair while she just let him talk. Sometimes, he’d have to stop to cry and she’d hold him a little tighter, wipe his tears away with her thumbs, and wait til he was ready again.

Eventually, he had nothing else to say, his tears dried, and his body stilled.

Babies didn’t sleep that good.

Y/N nodded off a little later but was woken up by a raccoon tipping a trash can. She rested her cheek on his head and tried to go back to sleep, but it never came. She just continued to rest her eyes while playing with Jungkook’s hair and tracing lines along his features.

She didn’t know how long she laid there but soon the birds began their routine morning songs and she was sure she wouldn’t get back to sleep now. The faint tap of shoes on the concrete perked her ears, but she kept her eyes closed. The footsteps stopped behind the couch where she sat. It was quiet before the person chuckled quietly. A warm hand smoothed back the hair in her face and a little kiss was planted on her forehead. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

“Yoongi, I’m awake you creep.” She cracked her eyes open to see her boyfriend laid over the back of the couch hovering above her, his dark hair tickling her nose. He smirked.

“Well in that case,” he grabbed her chin and tilted her head up before capturing her lips in a playful kiss. When they parted, he glanced down at Jungkooks still sleeping figure. “You guys stay out here all night?”

“Yeah,” she looked down at him and smoothed his hair back, “he just had a few things to get off his chest.” Yoongi almost asked what it was about but her face gave him an idea.

“It’s cold, you want me to take him inside?”

“It won’t wake him up will it?”

“If he’s as out as as he looks, he won’t.” She nodded and Yoongi circled around and slipped his hands under the sleeping boy’s body. Much to Y/N’s pleasant surprise, he lifted him bridal style with ease and she followed him into the house where he placed him next to the other slumbering boys.

When he straightened back up he saw her in the sliding glass door, gazing at the now dusty blue sky. She could feel his body heat on her back against the nippy outside air.

“I always loved the time just before dawn.”

“Why is that?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his cheek to hers.

“It’s so calm and peaceful. And incredibly quiet besides the birds. It’s the only time I feel truly left alone.”

“You want me to show you my favorite time of day?” She turned to him with a curious look. “Follow me.” Not long after, the two were perched on the flat portion of the roof with Yoongi’s bong sitting between them. His angular fingers effortlessly packed the bowl and held it out to her. “All yours.” She took it with a smile.

“What a gentleman~”

Soon, the sky went from a pale blue to pastel shades of orange and pink. He looked over to see her fiddling with a thread on his hoodie she was wearing. “This,” he took her jaw and guided her eyes up for her to see the sunrise, “is my favorite time of day.”

“Why?”

“It gives me hope. Kinda like you.” He was glad she didn’t say anything. She was lost in the color palette of the scene before her, the weed making everything so much more vibrant and striking. He could see the sky reflected in her eyes, making the view ten times better. More time went by and she rested her head on his broad shoulder while they watched the rest of the sunrise.

Back on the ground, Yoongi cleared the bowl and poured out the bong water before setting it on a table by the couch. Y/N was on her back in the center of the empty pool, slowly tearing a leaf above her face and analyzing how it separated cell by cell. He stood on the edge above and watched her do this another four times much to his amusement. “You wanna get breakfast?”

She was out of the pool and in his face before he could finish his sentence. “Like you have to ask.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes before turning and walking to his car. “Hey, Yoongi.”

He turned back.

“Carry me to the car like Jungkook.” He broke into a smirk and walked back to her.

“Yes ma’am.” She let out a yelp when he scooped her off her feet and marched the two of them to his car waiting on the street.

Cover photo: @BIGHITTED on Twitter

#bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #fanfic #yoongi #yoongi x reader #ot7 x reader #bts fic #yoongi fic #bts angst

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kitaychan · 2 years

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What story/headcanons do you feel the proudest of?

I answered this question here buuut I'm going to take this as an opportunity to ramble about why I love White flame so much, I apologize in advance because I have no self control D:

On one hand the story is filled with references (that I'm thinking of adding as a footnote or smth) we have the gray wolf and the firebird Ivan Tzarevich who? father frost (taken from the little crumbs of fairy tales my russian professor threw on her classes) the whole winter theme and how it ends up connecting with an obvious character such as General winter but taken out of the context of Hetalia and the song, I took some of the lyrics to inspire certain parts of the story.

There's a slow burn going on but it is so slow that the little moments where there's a romantic undertone I put my whole heart into making it platonic and soft. Yet that's not the center of the story, because White flame is unashamedly about politics and war (plus a little bit of trauma)

I spent quite some time figuring the "geopolitics" that would play on the story and how the kingdoms status could add into their leaders (Alfred, Ivan and Gilbert) wishes.

In the middle of writing, I grew attached to characters like Natalya, Chun Yan, Madeline and Yekaterina, because in a context where the females are outshined by their very stupid male counterparts it seemed unfair to have them as passive characters. I also wrote Kiku way to relatable to my academic experience lol

Tolys and Feliks are the characters that reminded me not to give so much credit to Ivan, to pull him out of that pedestal and drag him into the mud with the rest, even though at the end of everything, it is them Ivan, Tolys, Gilbert, Alfred and Feliks the ones to blame for what happens (plus the faceless ancestors for their hubris lol)

I think I'm really proud of that story not only for how much it helped me get better at writing (world building and fantasy settings are a pain to figure out) but also because it's the story where I strongly feel I'm writing for myself. There's no haste, no details that I had to take out or anything too self indulgent because the length of that work is not that usual for a fanfic, so I don't worry to much for the statistics there

All in all, that story is probably the closest to my heart, it still has a lot of things to work on and I won't ever shut up about it 💖💖💖💖

#fic ask game #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia

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bilbao-song · 3 years

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okie dokie hows about.. some songs that remind you of things COMPLETELY unrelated to the lyrics/ theme of the song?

this is so hard and yet it's one of the best questions i've ever received

i feel like most of these will just boil down to "_____ reminds me of ______ personal experience" but we'll see skldhgksdhg apologies in advance if that's all that happens. also i'm sleep deprived and drinking blackberry brandy so this might not be coherent

ruins by cat stevens is the first one that comes to mind. i feel like that's one of those songs that i bring up too frequently but i'm a little obsessed with it and it makes me think about two things that are really absurdly removed from the actual subject matter:

my entire academic experience

a few years ago my favorite, most beloved kroger location relocated and i'm still a little pissed about it. this was around the time that i first listened to catch bull at four and i was like, wandering around the sad little shell of a kroger with my parents and that song was at the forefront of my thoughts lmao. idk i'm weird and get overly attached to places

my little town by simon and garfunkel makes me think about this one specific person who i absolutely cannot stand. i don't like to be Hateful but like, possibly my least favorite person on the planet out of everyone i've ever personally interacted with. the song itself has basically nothing to do with that kind of sentiment but whatever. i also have a tiny, very specific simon and garfunkel playlist that i listen to pretty much exclusively when working on like......a personal research project lmao

glass house by the bee gees makes me think about a haunted house bc the first few times i heard it i misheard the lyrics and thought it said "glass house that walks at night" 😭 it also just kind of has a creepy vibe so i choose to embrace it

UM i could probably come up with like 30 more but i'll stop here klhsdlkhgdsg

#THANK U omg #every time you send me an ask it's like. the ideal kind of ask to be receiving #eddie rifff

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monotonous-minutia · 4 years

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thanks @shimyereh for the tag--took me long enough to get to it :p

(also computer still not allowing me to do accents so apologies in advance for getting some words/names wrong)

favorite color/s: green.

last song: For once, not the Trio des yeux; rather a number from another great opera--"Ah! Qui pourrait me resister?" from Benvenuto Cellini

last show: Once Upon a Time, my guilty pleasure show

last movie: I think the 2017 Beauty and the Beast (mostly--well, let’s face it, entirely--for Josh Gad)

sweet, salty, or savory: Savory but if I’m in a dessert mood, which is unfortunately often, sweet.

bubble water, tea, or coffee: none of the above? I really only drink water or fruit juice, maybe hot chocolate if I’m feeling adventurous (and cold)

three ships: right now it’d be Celllini & Teresa since I just listened to that (and however Fieramosca fits into that) as well as Adele & Isolier (& Ory if he’s being nice) bc yes I still have that on my mind however many days later, and also Emma & Regina from aforementioned TV show because dammit ABC, you’ve been pretty cool with giving us LGBT content in your shows, why did you not make the most obvious couple in the whole darn show actually canon

currently reading: a billion textbooks and academic articles for school, most notably Education & Experience by John Dewey which is kinda outdated, sexist, and contains an annoying amount of typos, but he did do a lot for education, so. For leisure mostly fanfiction (I’m a child; for real though a lot of work out there is super legit)

tagging: everybodyyyy (sorry I just have such a hard time keeping track of who has and hasn’t done these yet so if you haven’t and want to please do bc I love hearing about y’all)

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juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years

Text

Confessions of a Coffee-Eater | 02

Genre: Smut, College/University AU

Pairing: Student!/Poet!Namjoon x Student!/Poet!

Warnings: sub!Namjoon gets a handjob in the classroom during a lecture, allusion to smoking

Summary: It is in hard times beautiful things can occur and the addiction of primal instincts be suppressed in their proximity. However, when two souls from different social worlds meet in a poetry class, any former urges gain a new direction.

Some of which are sensual in emotion.

And may not be reciprocated.

Masterlist

Previous part / Next part

There is a lyric which dictates that “sorry” seems to be the hardest word and last night while pondering a way to offer sincere apologies for the unintentional harassment the true meaning came forth as the song played on the radio. Replayed itself again and again as a pen twisted between fingers free from the engraving ink on skin, waiting for any potential customers. The last of the twilight cigarette smoke dissipated before settling into the corner of the back office to catch a few hours of sleep since the last hours of the night shift are dead in business.

The sole idea is offering a cup of anything but fantastic coffee from one of the machines spread around the building and hope a listening ear will be given to a remorseful poor man from Ilsan. A concept that becomes more and more terrifying with each step advancing towards the university building outside the city centre that both students and professors complain about, especially with having to attend and give morning lectures.

The cafeteria is bland like the rest of the dated interior which makes one think more of a high school than a proper academic environment, the only attempt at enlivening the area being the crisp white picnic tables standing in a neat row against an ugly brick wall between the stairs and the guard’s booth. Across from the still empty benches sits the wronged woman, engrossed in noting something down and thus not paying any attention to the anxious onyx beanie passing by towards the tiny coffee corner.

Ignorant to the split second of stopping to simply gaze for a little bit at how flowing hair falls over the shoulder clad in nighttime fabric, the outfit of the day not out of place in an office as the blouse on top of monotone pants and made more interesting with golden accents in the form of a belt and watch radiate a chic mood.

She’s way out of my league. But still, I have to apologize.

Bearing the thought in mind, begotten in that instance of allowing romantic fascination without perverse intent to overtake body and soul, the debit card with little money on it is used to pay for two cappuccinos. Fortunately, last night’s tips make up for the expense so some groceries, later on, will have to be paid for in cash.

The coffees in hand, slowly the table at which Y/N is still working on something is approached while trying to keep breathing under control and composure steady. Notwithstanding, it crumbles to reveal a hint of panic when the busily scribbling pen is put down and eyes look from the page to the steaming cup of caffeine to a well-meaning man in a denim jacket beneath a grey vest with a brown collar.

A slim finger points at one of the bright yellow cups on the table. ‘Is that for me?’

‘Y- Yeah.’ A hand automatically rises to rub the back of the neck, gaze slightly averted to hide cheeks burning as the temperature inside seems to rise. ‘I want to say sorry. For yesterday, because what I- I shouldn’t have done what I did bu- but I couldn’t-’

‘Namjoon. That’s your name, right?’ The inquiry halts the apologetic stammering waterfall likely leading nowhere, a brief nod confirming the assumption. ‘It’s fine.’

‘But I looked at-’

‘Really, it’s okay.’ A welcoming hand gestures casually at the chair of which the back has been unconsciously gripped tightly, knuckles turning white. Strangely, though it could have been due to still being half-asleep, the same motioning fingers appear to want to reach out but can barely withhold themselves. A silly idea, judging by the even voice continuing to speak. ‘Have a seat. We still got a bit of time before we need to go. If you want to, of course.’

Without a second thought, any outerwear is draped over the offered seat before rapidly plopping down. Apparently doing so with much eagerness for a stunned breathless laugh escapes the girl about to take a sip of the peace offering. ‘Thank you, Miss.’

��Miss?’ An inquisitive eyebrow raises, the unconsciously made mistake only realized too late.

Lips part in panic, wanting to protest yet all words fail to string themselves into a proper excuse. ‘I- I mean- I didn’t mean to- Y- Y/N, I swear I-’

‘Namjoon,’ kind digits wrap around the nautical map covering tensed muscles bared from beneath denim, ‘take a deep breath. Like that. There you go. Good b- Good.’

The slip of the tongue is laughed off, locks shaking slightly in unjust embarrassment fueling a heart truly wanting to shrink before vanishing from the earth entirely.

Or so it did want to, the warmth in the chest now spreading its rosy glow throughout while repeating the error over and over mentally.

I’m pleasing her. She wanted to say I’m her good boy. I can be. I am. I am your good boy, Y/N.

‘Uhm, are you alright?’ The digits that retracted in a fashion wrongly perceived as trembling reach out again, slightly shaking the feather resting eternally on skin. The warmth of the palm perfectly enveloping it is comforting, a steady beacon guiding consciousness back to reality.

Away from the perverse thought of that same hand pinning an absent-minded poor soul to the mattress in the same manner. Henceforth, albeit with a suppressed jolt of surprise as if waking from a dream, sight gradually focuses on the beautiful woman wearing a concerned expression. ‘Huh, what?’

‘You were spacing out.’ A whimper can barely be silenced before being made audible at feeling the light squeeze asking for attention, fast-beating heart skipping beats. Once again distracted by the contact and the lips that want to be experienced from up close instead of far away.

Yet sharply sane enough to muster a half-hearted excuse blaming the morning for the ridiculous behaviour. ‘Oh, ehm, yeah. I’m fine. It’s early.’

What am I doing? She doesn’t know me and I don’t really know her. I need to get a grip on myself.

‘Fortunately, there’s coffee to wake us up.’ The worry melts away into gentle kindness, leaving digits creating a cold wake as they wrap around the bright yellow cardboard cup bearing the university’s logo. But not chilling the honest man turned into a lovesick puppy mimicking the normalcy of drinking coffee while ignoring the pooling heat below.

We still have some time and I can’t move until I’ve calmed down. She shouldn’t know what she does to me, not yet. Not... ever.

‘Can I ask you something?’ To keep the conversation flowing, an innocent desire appears to form the lead to follow. Awkwardly shuffling to hide the strain in jeans, voice is kept as steadily as possible regardless of shyness overtaking demeanour slowly.

‘Sure. Fire away.’

‘What were you penning down earlier? I- I saw you... uhm, just now- I saw you write something in your notebook.’

Why did I stutter? Why is she looking like that? Oh God, what do I do?

‘And you don’t suppose it actually has to do with the course?’ The sarcastic chuckle on the rim of the cup has a strangely flattered undertone, almost to be called endeared.

Withholding innermost personal emotions.

That circulate beneath the indecipherable surface of breathtaking affectionate irises locking gazes with genuine curiosity. ‘Why would it at this hour? It’s just a random thought more than a poem but then again, so is all my poetry. If it can be even called that.’ However, all playfulness fades into under-the-breath muttering as melancholia takes over and Y/N’s focus moves away to finish the cheap warm drink. ‘Just an amalgamation of thoughts.’

A loathsome sight to a boy with love for a woman whom he barely knows yet wants to ensure the happiness of.

Without being aware of it, a hand glides over the thigh clad in obsidian as speech becomes urgent. ‘Hey, don’t talk like that. I’m sure it’s good.’

And moves away as if burned by fire when the intimacy is noticed thanks to a tilt of the head, enchanting eyes leaning to the side in rather odd fascination. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. Still, may- No, what am I saying? Y/N, I didn’t-’

‘Namjoon, it’s alright.’ Softly smiling fingers brush over shivering honey skin, gliding over it and drawing intricate calming patterns over inked stories to still the panic. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Y- You don’t?’

‘No, I don’t. Please, say what you wanted to say.’

The bottom lip is briefly worried between teeth, a sigh rolling off the tongue when deciding to speak up at last in spite of wanting to disappear, be swallowed whole by the onyx beanie hiding earthly brown locks in dire need of a cut. ‘May I read it?’

‘Promise you won’t judge? You seem to know a great deal more than I about the genre.’ Mayhaps unaware of it, the palm resting on the place formerly deemed forbidden is enveloped as much as possible by a smaller one as a tiny thumb caresses the back of it.

Thus for a few seconds stretching into moments we sit, newly met strangers already of a bond with one another that does not touch grounds with that of lovers nor mere friends. It is of a different indescribable nature, testing the waters of uncharted territory.

But it feels safe.

Trusted.

Like a safe haven the map on the arm leads to.

She is my anchor.

Which is shown by flipping the tables enough that Y/N’s hand rests between those of a poor sod from Ilsan on foreign soil. And it takes all inner strength to not put it on the cheek, to bask in the kindness. ‘Tell you what, I’ll let you read mine if you let me read yours. ‘Fair?’

The last sip of coffee is quickly gulped down before answering with the same confidence that shines bright in illuminated irises. ‘Fair.’

That dim when noticing the time. ‘We have to go.’

For nine o’clock on a September Tuesday will always be too early to analyze poetry.

But never too soon to see her.

‘Let’s go.’

Nine o’clock on a September Tuesday will always be too early to analyze poetry.

But never too soon to see him.

To lean against the deep-voiced mixture of nicotine and cologne wearing glasses with a thick black frame that others shun, ignorantly afraid of the person they deem a delinquent. However, they cannot see the gentle soul beneath a prejudiced exterior, not feel the fast stiffening of muscles that melt away at a pleased hum.

‘Are you still awake?’ A low giggle resonates in the baritone inquiry, having a chance to talk in a short ten-minute break after processing a ton of poetical and theoretical analysis.

Judging by the sloth-like sensation spreading throughout, the information might not be committed to memory until notes made on the automatic pilot are read through. ‘Barely.’

‘Want to get another coffee?’

‘Mhm, I’d rather sit here.’ A pleased smile naturally carves itself into lips. An odd thing to happen, but there is something in the subdued scent of soap beneath the heavier aromas of musk and tobacco or perhaps the combination of the three that creates a small piece of happiness. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ Regardless of not being able to see Namjoon’s face, lashes fluttering shut, the quizzical look can vividly be imagined behind closed eyes. And it enhances the sense of kind joy, glad to be in the company of a good friend.

Or more. No, less. What are we? What do we mean? Hm, doesn’t matter now. Gods, should have drunk another espresso before heading out the door.

‘For letting me lean against you like this.’ As a sign of honest appreciation and to be more comfortable, the warm tribal jungle of aquatic blue and emerald green is further snuggled up against. ‘I like it.’

‘Don’t fall asleep, though. We’re halfway there.’ For a split second, there is the curious wish or, rather, expectation for the statement to be sealed with a chaste kiss on the top of the head. Withal, to unjust disappointment, it does not come for. It would have been absurd if it had, of course.

And yet the desire keeps gnawing on the inside.

‘If I do, please wake me up before the professor sees.’ Fortunately, inner sensations can be suppressed by taking on a playful tone barely shy of badly lying. Nevertheless, a sudden memory of a promise erases the thought of being like this outside of the university, huddled together on a couch.

Or between the sheets.

The timid giant spent in the arms of a girl turned weirdly mischievous as of late.

Eyes languidly open, brought back from the equally as sudden and vibrant recalling of the awkward shuffling to apparently hide the endearing hardened shape in jeans. Voice remains even, luckily, when reminding the buff sweetheart of what is due to him as well. ‘Oh, right. I promised I’d let you read my new poem. Hold on, let me grab my notebook.’

Perhaps thanks to the fear of being caught red-handed with furiously blushing cheeks, locks immediately duck under the table to rummage around the backpack that is hardly filled with anything. Notwithstanding, the opposite is acted out until the rampant thoughts of a racing heart have calmed down.

Only to almost start anew when bumping into Joon’s hand upon rising from beneath the piece of furniture.

‘I- I didn’t- Just making sure you wouldn’t get hurt.’ Swiftly, composure crumbles appealingly into haphazard helplessness as the shield against injury is retracted while actively trying not to stutter.

‘Much appreciated. Truly.’ To quiet the doubt in the fellow poet’s behaviour, an assuring tone naturally slips into soft-spoken smiling speech. And works effectively as a rapidly breathing chest falls slower.

Once more, comfort is sought by leaning against the jungle-shaded arm, leafing to the correct page before closing eyes again with the risk of falling asleep. ‘Here you go.’

Without waiting for another cue, Namjoon starts reading the poem in the only manner one should read poetry.

As much shame as it may cause.

It has to be done out loud.

‘Youth shouldn’t think

About Death yet it

Contemplates its very

Existence and the relation

Between them.

Why fear something distant?

Distant.

But incredibly close.

Lurking in effervescent ever-

Present shadows.

Waiting patiently.

For Age.

For Chance.

For Fate.

For Opportunity.

For Time.

For Me.’

A breathless laugh attracts the tall man’s attention. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ In spite of partially meaning to mock oneself for the quality of the writing, the sudden outburst is mostly due to the surprising effect a voice, Namjoon’s voice has on the piece of writing. A hand unconsciously comes to rest on a muscled thigh, basking in the warmth and the slight movement leaning into the touch by pressing it against the one secretly wanting more. ‘I just like the way you read poetry. You have a good voice for it. It’s nice to listen to.’

‘Y/N,’ breath hitches in a beautiful whimper when the palm moves slightly upward, ‘people are looking.’

A shrug dismisses the worry, not bothered whatsoever by the ones who have silently cast a peer out on grounds of appearance. None would admit this outright, of course, but it is obvious in behaviour during seminars and lectures. ‘Don’t care.’

‘What if they think we are... you know... together?’

‘We’re all adults here, grownups with a sense of what a relationship entails. Besides, does it matter? Let them think whatever, Namjoon.’ As languidly as a cat, eyes open again to blink a few times before looking up at a flustered tanned face. Mayhaps a misperception, but it seems closer than before.

He looks adorable. No, what am I doing? Focus! He read your poem, so this is not the time for fantasy.

Moving away a little bit from the intoxication caused by the combination of musk and tobacco, enhanced by the sensation of a big palm enveloping the one wandered more towards the inside of denim, speech is endeavoured to be made steady. Nevertheless, the attempt only succeeds in part as careful guidance testing the waters beneath the table leads to an intenser heat. ‘But what did you think of it?’

And ends in boldly being spread out across clothed hardened skin of which the ego rapidly grows breathless. Especially more so when willingly applying pressure, thoroughly enjoying the parting of plush lips risking being heard and expression contorting into laboured concentration. ‘Come on, don’t be shy.’

‘I- Is this what you, ah, ehm, think about in the morning?’ Hips slowly rock against the offender, seeking the desperately needed friction as skin begins to pass the state of glowing and grows dewy.

‘“I was a woman who thought of dead things. All the time. I couldn’t help it.”’ Enough mental stability can be gathered to manage a blank stare signifying ignorance as to where the applicable quote stems from. Forcefully, the ability to pay attention is compelled to be enhanced as the waist is suppressed with a smirk into sitting quietly on the chair. ‘Ah, ah, ah. Sit still before someone catches you. Lidia Yuknavitch said this in The Chronology of Water: A Memoir. And I’ll be honest, I got that quote from Tumblr.’

‘D- Don’t stop.’ All attention is returned to the movements below that have not stopped in the meanwhile, teeth biting down on the lower lip succeeding in nullifying the groan that wants to become audible.

‘Break time is almost over.’ Time for contact is running out, the chatty professor pacing back towards the lecturer with a steaming cup of cheap coffee. Every second ticks away faster, but the steps in the race towards craved oblivion are too little. On the other hand, it would be a just punishment for the public brashness.

‘Could we- Can we g-get lunch? Together?’

‘Is that what you want? What you think about?’ The absurdity evokes an amused low chuckle, truly finding joy in seeing the tough yet submissive poet struggle. ‘We just met, Joon.’

‘Y- Yet you let m- me do this, Miss.’ Digits free from tribal ink wrap around the wrist, willing it to remain out of sight beneath the table without stopping.

What are we doing? We’re basically strangers. But... he held my hand and now we’re doing this. We both want this. This is ridiculous and yet, with the way he calls me that, the power is intoxicating.

And held onto a tad longer, mischief triumphing long enough to find pleasure in the whine at being left hanging high and dry after the squeeze that could have invoked embarrassing euphoria. ‘Not for long, bad boy.’

‘Alright, so! Where were we? Ah, right, why rhyme pleases.’ The professor has returned from the momentous coffee break fully, yellow cup empty and the little caffeine forming enough fuel to make it through the last three quarters filled with poetic analysis.

Forty-five minutes of swatting away secretive undecorated hands trying to find release, as shameful as it is, by themselves.

To, perhaps, play the part of the devil to the end.

And maybe, just maybe admit to something.

To desire bordering on young love.

To a tribal jungle and nautical map on muscled buff arms.

To him who is clearly struggling.

To Namjoon.

#hyunglinenetwork #thekimlinenet #ksmutclub #BTS #BTS smut #BTS x Reader #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Confessions of a Coffee-Eater

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omuse · 4 years

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𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 … lyle song was known as the adventurous & independent historian with a reputation for being a lee dongwook doppelganger . but now , under the stress of the war on the horizon , the natural born unaffiliated siren has become widely known for being rather demanding & difficult . let’s see how long the oriana native will last during this war . after all they’re only thirty eight years old . + he / him & cis male , original character.

hi everyone ! it’s me again, kay, 20, who resides in the gmt +3 timezone and goes by she / her pronouns, i’m over the moon to be finally bringing lyle, a siren, and i apologize in advance for any typos bc its 4 am !! a quick summary, he is a historian who is currently in a bind w a dark witch and is doing everything he can do get out of it, so resides in oriana w him ! as always, i would love to establish plots and connections for him, so please don’t hesitate to hit me up or give this a heart and i’ll come to you instead <3

BIOGRAPHY

one.

it begins with a baby being left to the orphanage, by a young mother, too young to take care of him by herself. so, with teary eyes and a last kiss to his cheeks, he is left only with an embroidered handkerchief and a name. nothing else.

the first eight years of his life isn't easy — he is too full of energy, labeled as a handful by most of the workers there. his attempts to escape are seldom fruitful, he can't get too far away before he is caught, reprimanded yet again, being told that no one will want him like this — that he will be here until he's an adult if he keeps it up. while young lyle utters that so be it, his heart stings, and he quietens down each time.

two.

there is another attempt of adoption when he is eight, but after it doesn't go well - lyle is there for another three years before the song family adopts him. he is apprehensive at first, after bad experiences and never being wanted drilled into his mind, all he has is to lash out, but this time, he tries to behave, too tired of friends leaving, of reprimands, of never being enough.

and luckily to him, songs don't expect much. a couple who can't conceive naturally, too rich and busy for their own good- decide to adopt, make a family for themselves without ever being around their kid. there are times lyle wishes they were here around, the first few months where he proudly shows the sketches he made, the grades he got from his private lessons. it's mostly received with a 'i'm busy, later-" and on the very few occasions he is complimented, something is off.

this family, the way he is supposed to belong, lyle finds underwhelming, as if something is fundamentally missing. but soon enough, he falls into rhythm, enjoying the private tutors, and that whenever he shows interest, he can learn about other subjects. history fascinates him endlessly, and it's all he wants from them, books and books, more lessons — and pleased with a picture-perfect son, they let him buy whatever his heart wishes.

three.

soon enough, he falls into a routine, of reading and studying whatever he wishes, managing to have some time off to himself to visit the surrounding areas as well. it's then that there is a new addition to his family, enough to throw him off rhythm, surprised to see them introducing a new brother to him.

micah song, a small boy with wide eyes, lyle is at a loss for words. while a part of him is unsure, unpleased with such sudden change — the other part of him wants to be better than that. doesn't want the boy to be disappointed by the lack of love surrounding the song family, the cold walls that surround them no matter how well decorated it is. so, he promises himself to be the best big brother he can be, and gives him a warm hug, tells him to call him hyung.

and maybe, just as he's trying so hard to give this boy a family, he'll find one too.

four.

it becomes less lonely with micah around, and although it takes some time getting used to, lyle finds himself smiling more often, sharing what he knows, laughter echoing off of the walls of their too big rooms. and while they become a handful sometimes, trying recipes and messing the kitchen — those are one of the best times of lyle's life.

five.

then things begin shifting, micah seems to hide things, now that he has grown up more, there is a distance between them lyle doesn't know how to deal with. he himself is an adult now, but a part of himself wants to cling on to his little brother, to times where they were closer. so, when, suddenly, the boy disappears, lyle knows he has run away. imagines remembering him hunched over papers, writing letters to someone — a lover, a friend, one thing or another. a better family.

it stings, that he wasn't enough for him, that as he grew older, micah didn't trust him anymore. lyle knows too well himself that the song family was far from perfect, but he had hoped they were family, in one way or another. and with micah gone, he feels bitter, and buries himself into his work instead, into books and history, academics, yearning for more and more knowledge.

six.

years go by faster for lyle once he begins studying, he gets his degrees, bachelor, masters, doctorate. he takes gap years in between where he travels under the sea, visiting new places, learning more people. acquainted with his kind, he yearns to know more. sometimes the surface kingdoms as well, though not as often as he likes exploring the ocean.

then- there are the surface people, often sailors. it's intriguing, the way humans are so affected by their songs, foolish to turn into lovesick fools. it's enchanting, and though lyle's life lies with books and travels, he meets sirens who do it often, sings with them, watches the way life leaves humans' eyes. witches hunt his kind like pets, torture mermaids and sirens for their scales every day, and for that reason, he feels no remorse singing them to their demise, for they deserve the worst of fates.

then.

life goes similarly for a while — until during one of his travels near the surface, lyle is caught, tangled in a net of spells. next moment, he is fighting with all he knows, spells leaving his mouth one after another. and somehow- their lives are tangled at the same time, in a net they don't know how to unbind. lyle is furious at the incapable wizard, the way he is forced to be near him- cursed to be in his presence.

there is only one thing he can do, and although he hates it with everything he has, he follows the wizard to his manor in oriana, hoping to help him unbind the curse, so he doesn't have to spend a second longer with him.

PLOT IDEAS

people he knew from the orphanage

family friends / relatives of the songs

first foster fam ?

other ppl who study history

sirens !

witches he hates

enemies / friends

other creatures he doesnt know of ( mainly surface )

that’s all for now and im sorry its so late so i hope this makes sense !!! like i said above, pls hit me up for plots or like this and i will come to you <3

#FINALLYY UWU #「 m╰ lyle. 」#「 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽╰ musings. 」#tales.intro #intro

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barnestruck · 5 years

Text

her name

(gif creds to owner)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader (high school!au)

summary: in which bucky admits his feelings for you...to his mom.

word count: 1.9k, yep just a wee bit longer than the last one :)

warnings: fluff once again bc i was crying a lot earlier while reading angsty fics and i wanna feel happy again! Also haha snuck some aladdin lines in there too ;)

a/n: i really didn’t intend to make this like a “her ___” thing but i’m down for it. i’m writing this to pass the time bc i’m waiting for my friend who lives in korea to be free so we can talk. also, wow! “her laugh” was really well received! thanks friends :) feel free to leave any feedback you may have for me! [oh, i mention some things about how the anglican church began in a funny way, i’m not trying to offend anyone’s religion so plz don’t take it that way]

History was hands down your favorite subject. Something about analyzing past civilizations was so fascinating to you. To think that the things you read about in textbooks actually happened was mind-boggling but also really amusing. There was a guy, a king for that matter, that wanted a divorce so badly that he created an entirely new church in the process of separating from his wife, who he also proceeded to decapitate (okay, maybe that part wasn’t so funny).

You looked forward to your history class every day because of your love for its engaging and rigorous curriculum...for the most part. A small part of you also excitedly anticipated the conversations you would have with the cute guy who sat behind you. Bucky Barnes. The quarterback of your school’s football team but also president of the Science Olympiad club. Could he get any more perfect? Apparently, yes. Not only was he a skilled athlete and an intelligent student, but he was simply a good guy. Surprisingly, that was hard to come by at your school. Guys would either brag about their perfect SAT scores or about all the sweet girls they cut off. Bucky wasn’t like that. He was so far from that. Whenever he caught you in the halls, he’d shoot you a smile or a wave and sometimes he’d even offer to walk you to your next class despite your protests that he would be tardy.

A poke on your shoulder snapped you out of your daydream. You turned around to meet the glorious blue eyes of the person that was the focus of said daydream.

“Hey, sorry (Y/N), but that pretty little head of yours is blocking the board,” he whispered, afraid of getting called out by your teacher. His compliment brought an intense blush to your face that you would not let him see. You muttered a quick “sorry” before scooting over and turning your head back around to prevent him from noticing the redness of your face. You tried your best to suppress your thoughts about your little crush and focused your attention on your teacher.

“Alright class, now that we’re beginning our study of the 20th century, I’m rolling out a project in which you and your choice of a partner will do research on the most important political, economic and social aspects of a decade that I’ll be assigned to you.”

Great, you thought. You weren’t really close with anyone in your history class except for Bucky. All your other friends were in the class period after you. You knew Bucky was gonna pair up with Dot, the head cheerleader who had been pining over him since she found out he was the quarterback. She was nice, you just knew you couldn’t compete with her for Bucky’s affections. Not that you really forced yourself to. You didn’t need a boyfriend, especially not now. You prioritized your studies so you could get into your dream school, not getting a man. But...that didn’t mean you were against one. A significant other wasn’t necessary for you but...you saw it as a welcome addition to your life.

Your teacher announced that students were allowed to move out of their seats to find partners. You stood up and anxiously surveyed your options. Bucky was out of the picture. Maybe his friend Steve? No, you knew he was gonna pair up with his girl Peggy. Scott Lang? No, he’d be a fun partner but you knew it would be really hard to get him to avoid procrastinating. Wanda? That could work. You didn’t know her that well but who knows? Maybe you’d gain a new friend after this project. But as you were approaching her, the president of Academic League, Viz had beat you to it. Fuck, now what?

Just as all hope seemed to be lost, you felt a familiar poke on your shoulder. You turned again to meet the same eyes you had looked into just minutes before.

Bucky sent you a friendly smile as he asked, “Got a partner, yet?” with his hands scrunching in his pockets, almost nervously?

Words almost failed you but you managed to let out a little, “Nope”. He smiled at that. Nodding, he replied, “Cool”. Huh, maybe he wasn’t out of the picture.

You and Bucky had been assigned to study the 1940’s and the both of you were currently on your way to his house to get a head start on the project.

“You can have control of the AUX cord if you want, it’s gonna take a while to get to my place,” Bucky offered as you got into his car.

“Oh, I don’t know, you might judge me for my music taste,” you said shyly.

He let out a playful scoff. “No way, you’ll be fine...as long as you don’t play like Jake Paul or some shit.” You giggled at that. “Oh, I’d never do that to you.” You ended up playing some 80’s songs that you were currently into. Bucky seemed to enjoy it, even opting to quietly sing along.

He pulled into his driveway, stopped the car and quickly got out to open your door for you. You smiled at him for the chivalrous gesture. Before he unlocked the front door, he turned to you instead, “I didn’t mention this earlier but I’d just like to apologize for my mom and sister in advance. They can be a lot sometimes.” You softly shook your head. “Oh that’s fine, I’m sure they’re fine.”

With that, he let you in first before yelling, “Ma! Becks! I’m home!” You heard, “Ok honey, in the kitchen! Have a snack before starting homework!” in reply. You followed Bucky into the kitchen; you leaned against the wall as he walked towards a middle-aged woman, his mom, standing in front of the sink with her back facing you. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and said, “Hey ma, I’m gonna be working on a project with (Y/N) for a bit, I’m gonna get some snacks for her too.”

“Who?” his mother asked. She looked around the room to find the person in question, aka you. When her eyes settled upon you, she jumped a bit and remarked, “Oh, I’m sorry dear, James didn’t mention that he’d have someone over.” As she got a better look at you, she—not so subtely—whispered to Bucky, “Ooh, she’s really pretty Jamie.” Shock overtook his features, prompting him to softly nudge his mothers. He coughed to mask his embarrassment. “What my beautiful mother means is,” he began, “she’ll have snacks ready for us soon so we should just start working.”

He quickly lead to you to the study, away from the kitchen where his smirking mother stood preparing cookies for the both of you. A younger girl was already seated in the study when you approached it.

“Becca, can you study in your room upstairs, I need to work on a project,” said Bucky.

The little girl, Becca, looked up from her notebook with a sassy look and retorted, “Why don’t you work on your project in your room? I got here first.”

Bucky let out an exasperated sigh. “Because, (Y/N) and I need a lot of space to work on this.”

Becca cocked an eyebrow towards her brother’s direction. “You mean you need a lot of space so you can make out with your girlfriend?”

You wished with everything else in your being that you could’ve turned invisible. You tried to sound confident to defend yourself but your words came out as stutters. “Oh! W-we’re not d-dating. We’re just p-partners.” Becca turned to you with a suspicious look on her face. She started you down for a few second before shrugging.

“Ok, whatever you say. Just call me over when you’re done so I can use this room after.”

Bucky graciously looked to his sister. “Will do, thanks Becks.”

After she retreated to her room, Bucky turned to you. “Like I said, they can be a lot.” With that, you began working on your project.

You and Bucky worked for about 3 hours with short small talk breaks in between before calling it a night.

“Alright, thanks for offering to use your place today. We could work at mine next time, or maybe the library so it isn’t that much trouble to you?” You suggested.

“No it’s alright,” he said. “I like having you here.” His remark brought a similar blush that graced your features earlier that day. You bashfully looked away from him and let out a soft laugh.

“Okay...I’ll see you at school tomorrow. Tell your mom I’m really grateful for her hospitality.” He nodded. With that goodbye, you began your journey home. Turns out, you only lived down the street from Bucky. He had offered to walk you home, but you resisted saying that he had already done so much for you that day.

He made his way back into his house and the kitchen, where he sat on in a seat by the island and buried his face in his hands.

“She seems like a nice girl, James,” his mom said. He removed his hands from his face and moved them to hold his chin.

“Yeah...she really is,” he responded with a blissful smile and gentle look in his eyes. His mother grinned at his obvious infatuation with the girl.

“Do you like her?” his mother teased.

Bucky’s brows furrowed as he replied, “No mom, (Y/N) and I are just friends, we aren’t together.”

His mom sent him a sly smirk, “I never mentioned her name, Jamie.”

He looked confused at first but then he realized his mistake. “Shit.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Hey, don’t you use that language around me young man.”

Bucky simply groaned and buried his face in his hands once again. “It’s okay Jamie, you can tell me. You can tell me anything, you know that.”

He let out a lovestruck sigh. “I don’t know what it is about her ma. She’s smart, a-and fun.”

“You think she’s pretty?” she asked.

“Beautiful!” he answered almost instantaneously. “She’s got these eyes...a-and this hair! Oh, and her smile?” he let out a helpless sigh. “I could go on and on about her smile.”

Bucky’s mom was really happy seeing her son like this. He’d been through a lot at a young age, losing his father and having to take on the father/big brother role for Becca was tough for him. He never prioritized himself, he put his mom and sister first. They were the ones he cared about most and he did everything in his power to make sure they were happy. That meant he had to sacrifice his own desires to ensure that his family got theirs. But it was Bucky’s turn to be happy now.

“If that’s the case, then you go on and tell her that,” his mother said.

“But—” Bucky began to protest but changed his mind. His look of concern was replaced with one of determination. “You know, I will do that. Tomorrow, I’ll tell her. Maybe I should buy her flowers to make it really sweet? Or no, maybe that actually might be too much...Or I could just be really casual with it and just approach her at her locker? No, I don’t want to make it look like I don’t really care...Or maybe…” Bucky mumbled off thoughts to himself as he left the kitchen to his room.

Bucky’s mother looked after him as he walked away thinking about how grateful she was that you had made your way into Bucky’s heart.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #marvel #sebastian stan #high school! au #high school!bucky #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction

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chocoholicannanymous · 5 years

Text

If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) pt VIII

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, part VI. and pt VII.

Readjusting to life at Dalton is a lot easier than Kurt had feared. It helps that he isn't scared witless this time, of course. It also helps that Blaine isn't there to monopolize his time – which, in hindsight, had been the root of a lot of Kurt's isolation. Now he's got the Warblers for real, and Sebastian. He's also got a much better understanding of what it'll take to keep on top of academics, and how much he can allow himself to relax. He hadn't known that last time.

(There's a nagging thought that Blaine must have known, yet said nothing, that refuses to leave his brain. It's not a pleasant one.)

Another difference is that this time Kurt's not looking to return to McKinley. Last time he'd wasted valuable time and energy trying to come up with a way to return, and daydreaming about being back. This time's different. He chose Dalton this time, and he's staying no matter what.

Also, things being what they are he's not spending large chunks of his time with Mercedes and Rachel. From what Finn reports Rachel is furious – that Kurt's left, that he's not getting punished for the election and that he's left them another person down for Sectionals. Kurt's okay with that, seeing as she hadn't exactly been a great friend before he left. As for her rantings, well. If she spreads the cheating rumors too far Kurt'll deal with it – or his dad will – and the rest is easy to ignore.

He does miss Mercedes, but at the same time he's not willing to bend enough to fix things between them. Not this time.

She didn't believe in him.

It's that simple. He was on the verge of suspension, and Mercedes didn't believe in him. She wasn't even enough of a friend to pretend she did in public. Adding her behavior over Blaine's disappearance and West Side Story.... It's up to her to make the first move, and there's nothing guaranteeing their friendship can be salvaged in the end.

So instead of spending time and energy on the mess that is the New Directions – because even with the split that's who they are – Kurt throws himself into making the most of his time at Dalton.

“I'm sorry we can't give you a solo.”

Kurt stares at Sebastian. A solo? Where did that come from? Because honestly, Kurt hadn't expect one, nor had he entirely decided if he should audition for one or not.

“We talked about it and we all know you could use it, and none of us is applying to performing arts' schools. It's simply too close to Sectionals for us to rework our setlist. Not if we want to go on to Regionals. If we do though, then we've agreed that you get a solo.”

There's a hint of pink on Sebastian's cheeks, but Kurt doesn't have the energy to try and analyze that now. It's probably Sebastian's way of apologizing or something.

“Auditions?”

“Right. I guess that this is when I tell you that the Warblers have changed how things are run. Used to be someone auditioned, and then the council decided. Only everyone knew that auditions pretty much were a sham. David and Thad admitted as much themselves, once the others started pushing. After all, it is kind of hard to pretend auditions matter when the person ending up with all the solos never even participated in the auditions in the first place.”

Which... True. Kurt just never thought the Warblers would become aware enough to see that. Maybe it's a side-effect of Wes being gone. Him and his cursed gavel...

“So now the council is gone, and everyone gets a vote on solos. And this time everyone agreed that if we make it to Regionals it was only fair to offer you a spot.”

And well, that changes things. Hopefully.

“Well, it's much appreciated either way. It's a little too late to add a Regionals solo on my NYADA application but I should be able to add it to some of the others.”

Because he is applying to other schools, regardless of what he and Rachel agreed to. Only applying to one school? Insanity. Especially a school like NYADA, which accept only 60 students per year, and only 20 of them for the concentration Kurt (and Rachel) had applied for. What if they doesn't accept him, then what? Was he supposed to stay in Lima and reapply? Spend a year or several working at the garage or in some store while his meager CV became more and more dust-covered by the minute?

No. He's applying to every school in New York that'll suit him – and a few that won't – plus another couple elsewhere. He's even considering throwing in an application to Ohio State, since the campus in Columbus offers a couple of options when it comes to theater and music. Not that he wants to stay in Ohio, not really, but he'll go just about anywhere as long as it's not Lima.

“Well, dreaming about Regionals is all very nice, but we're not there yet. Also, there are other things to consider as well, like passing all my classes. You wouldn't be willing to lend me your notes for French for a night or two, would you? Oh, and I'm not sure I interpreted the third question for our advanced reading homework correctly, so do you think we could sit down and talk it over?”

It's easier to focus on schoolwork, on grammar and linguistics, than on the strangeness of Sebastian's actions. Much easier.

Sectionals comes and goes – and leaves a trophy behind. The Warblers celebrate, and Kurt with them. If his joy is also about the possibility of a solo... Well. Who can blame him?

That is, of course, if what Sebastian said still goes. There's no reason to think it shouldn't, not really, but Kurt remembers being burnt too well to not be cautious.

Regardless, they won't be competing against the New Directions at Regionals. The Troubletones had wiped the floor with their former teammates, and Kurt can't say he's surprised. Finn isn't either, even if it's obvious that he's unhappy about it. Oh, he tries to hide it, but. He's used to winning, loves it, and was already thinking about how to do better at Nationals than last years.

And now that's not going to happen.

“They deserved it, I don't care what anyone” read Rachel “thinks. I know how much they've been rehearsing.”

And the New Directions, true to form, hadn't. Or so Kurt supposes. After all, they hadn't had a setlist when he left, and Finn hasn't complained about suddenly ending up with a ton of extra rehearsals.

“Finn? I know they are good, but I also know you guys are. And it's okay if you're not happy about losing, even to them. It sucks to lose something you really want and losing to your friends doesn't make it easier. Not at first at least.”

“Experience talking, huh?”

“Mmmmmmm.”

Kurt still remembers how it'd hurt to lose to his friends, and not even going back to them had made it feel better. He'd gone to Nationals feeling that he didn't deserve it, and knowing that Mr Schue thought the same.

“You know what really sucks about all of this? We had a suggestion for a setlist that would have given us the win. Michael Jackson songs, solos for everyone... I think it would have been awesome.”

“Let me guess, Rachel flipped.”

It's not even a question, because obviously she would have. Allowing everyone solos? No matter how small, that would have meant less time in the spotlight for her. Just as it wouldn't have mattered how great the suggested songs were, because Michael Jackson isn't something Rachel would be able to do well.

And of course Mr Schue would have folded faster than wet cardboard once she started complaining, neither of them caring that by catering to Rachel's demands they weakened the group.

“Oh yeah. And now she's on a 'woe is me because NYADA' tear, and it's driving me insane. Well, everyone. I'm pretty sure Tina's on the verge of punching her. Plus, she... Anyway, Glee sucks now.”

“She's blaming me, isn't she? For leaving, and for supposedly making Blaine leave.”

It makes sense, in a totally-not-unless-you're-Rachel-Berry way, and it's nothing less than Kurt's been expecting if he's honest. Because there's no way Rachel would ever lose gracefully, just as there's no way she'd accept the rightful blame for having messed up.

“You guessed that, huh? Yeah, sorry. I don't know what's gotten into her, I swear.”

“She's being the worst version of herself. I knew I made myself a target by leaving, I just didn't care. Then again I already was one, so I guess that's 'bigger' target. And I can't imagine she took it any better knowing that the Warblers won our Sectionals.”

Kurt can practically hear Finn wince over the phone, which is never an encouraging thing – and yet, much too frequent with Rachel Berry in the picture.

“I...might have told her that I wouldn't talk to her about it, and walked out the door when she did it anyway?”

Kurt removes the phone from his ear, stares at it, shakes it to see if anything is broken inside, stares at it again and then replaces it.

“I'm sorry, you what? Are you telling me you finally located your balls when it comes to a girl?”

And then it's Kurt's time to audibly wince, because while true that's also extremely rude – and crude – and Finn doesn't deserve it. Not even though it's true.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”

“Nah, it's nothing I don't deserve. I just, I've had it okay? I love Rachel, I do, but sometimes I'm not so sure I like her. And the past few weeks have been worse than usual. When we got back together it was supposed to be for this year, since she's going to New York after graduation. Which I figured I could get around, you know? Part of me wants to ask her to marry me and commit to going to New York with her. Another part figured it'll never work since she can't respect anything or anyone outside of herself and her dreams.

“She only changed her mind about sex because Artie told her she wasn't credible onstage otherwise, and she didn't even tell me at first. Then she's been an absolute bitch about everything with you. So let's say I change her mind and we get married. What else will she do?

“I'm not sure about being with her at all anymore, and it's not breaking my heart like it should.”

Hearing that? Kind of breaks Kurt's heart though. Once upon a time he'd have been ecstatic to hear something like this from Finn. Now he's grown beyond that, and all he wants for Finn is happiness. (That he's not sure Rachel can provide that isn't really the point. Up until now Finn has believed it, and that's the only thing that matters.)

“I'm sorry. Do you... I'll be home Friday evening. Want me to bring some cookies and watch a movie, or do you have plans?”

“Peanut butter chocolate chips? Plus, Captain America comes out on DVD this week, and I know you like Chris Evans.”

“I really really do.”

They both laugh, and if Finn's is a bit strained neither of them are going to admit it. What's important here is that regardless of everything they've got each other.

#chocoholic fics #kurt fic #kurt hummel #a wild sebastian appears #in 2019 we finish our wips #if the spit hits the fan #scraps and snippets #brotherly furt

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minteagalaxea · 5 years

Text

the devil’s angel | song mingi

mingi and raehyun

genre: fluff, sporadic steamy bits

word count: 4.1k

inspiration: mingi during the damn say my name photoshoot, a compilation of things at high school. i was just the person that heard it, and “hell’s kitchen angel” by max schneider.

note: i’m back, if anyone actually wanted to know.

If there was a universal truth in the world of KQ High School, it was that Song Mingi loathed cheerleaders as if his life depended on it; nobody understood its origins or the reasoning, simultaneously never interrogating him over it, either, given his notorious reputation. He personified danger, with his lip piercing, sleek motorcycle, baritone voice, and a myriad of ever-constantly-changing colors of hair. While it earned him a group of admirers, he appraised his attention on a girl that defied the principle he lived by—Park Raehyun.

She wasn't loud like her fellow counterparts, opting to remain independent from their antics, more thoughtful in regards to her actions, placing her academic record above her extracurriculars as an object of adoration for the athletes. The girl carried herself with silent fortitude, confident in her ability to remain relatively unknown amongst those in her circuit, yet immediately noticeable with her ombre purple hair, styled to perfection. Whereas he could hear whatever Top Forty song the other girls played, Raehyun settled on classic R&B and underrated albums, her movements to the music rhythmic in comparison to the attention-seeking gimmicks of flips and tumbles.

Perhaps, Mingi decided, her style of dress outside of her traditional cheerleader uniform was why he remained so enamored with her—described by her adoptive elder brother, Seonghwa, as, quote-unquote, preppy baddie (consisting of plaid skirts, cropped turtlenecks, boots, and ever-so-constant fishnet stockings) Park Raehyun's sense of style starkly paralleled the pastel miniskirts and blazers of her teammates.

Raehyun observed his predatory eyes preying on her, a seductive wink in his agenda, her skintight uniform and ponytailed hair providing an incentive to defy all concepts of public decency—her instinctive reaction was to cower away from the scrutinizing attention, yet she resolved to deliver him a sarcastic roll of her eyes trademark to her taciturn persona. As she averted her attention away from the boy with the freshly-dyed brown hair and lip piercing, Raehyun detected the message he wished to convey to her—good luck tonight—her onyx eyes relaying one of her own, departing with her teammates—thank you, I love you.

Advanced Astrology proved a bustling affair as students mingled with each other to analyze one another's natal charts while simultaneously speaking of whatever romantic drivel was occurring during the school week. Silence her ally, Raehyun deftly transmitted a text message to Mingi, bewildering him as he received questions regarding his birth, of which he attempted to answer to the best of his ability, intrigued and excited at the prospect of having a proper natal chart. A classroom on the opposing end of campus, Mingi's only solace in his class of boisterous students was recalling his first encounter with Park Raehyun, an incident that remained ingrained in his cognizance due to the ironic humor.

Raehyun once sold brownies in her freshman year to fund the junior varsity team for their preliminary competition travel; however, on a particular occasion in their shared chemistry class, a swarm of teenagers barricaded her, demanding for something along the lines of weed-laced brownies, startling the cheerleader. A moment of contemplation later, and she realized the culprit behind her newfound semi-notoriety: Kim Hongjoong had made a sarcastic comment to Lee Minho regarding her brownies—"these brownies taste reminiscent to one with marijuana"—and Minho, a publicly known recreational user of the drug, released the word out to his fellow student body.

A pair of long fingers assisted her in the silent distribution, handing out the pastries as Raehyun managed the monetary portion of her temporary business, a sigh breathing past her violet mauve lips as she held the final bag of her supposedly weed-laced treats, her fingers briefly grasping his as the cheerleader inserted the gift into his hands. She evaded any form of eye contact with the taller male, Mingi's leather coat, threaded blue hair, and lip piercing intimidated her, regardless of how well she associated with him, or his like.

"Apologies," he started, baritone voice startling her in kind, positioning himself in the seat next to Raehyun's as the girl proceeded to review the test information, "Hongjoong's deadpanned comment led to this, I presume."

"Regardless, I sold all of my brownies, even if it required your friend to state that it contained tetrahydrocannabinol in them," her voice responded, a gentle timbre as her eyes maintained its attention on the assignment directly in front of her, "Tetrahydrocannabinol is the predominant active ingredient in marijuana," she supplied, eliciting a brief chortle likened to billowing windchimes.

"Song Mingi," the taller boy introduced, enough for the petite young lady to peer up at him, appearing less imposing as his eyes softened and lips parted into a gummy smile, fortunate their classmates failed to observe it, preoccupied with the addicting brownies.

"Legally, it's Park Raehyun; however, it was previously Lexington Marie Park," she mused, shaming herself due to her delayed knowledge that he knew who she was, considering her relationship with her elder brother, one of Mingi's closest and most loyal friends.

Despite her shying away from him in partial embarrassment, the warm, baritone chuckle directly in her ear as he mused, "Raehyun is stunning," sufficient for the brunette's cheeks to bloom a rosy fuschia.

Long strides alongside a devilish smirk greeted Raehyun's peripheral vision as her teacher returned her designed natal chart to the student, praises overflowing from his lips at her diligence, the cheerleader only bidding farewell after a gentle "thank you" of kindness, traipsing outside to have the imposing young man snake his arm around her waist.

"According to your natal chart, your Ascendant Scorpio sign indicates that the presentation of your character is intimidating, bordering on malicious, yet your Cancer Moon details that you're simultaneously an emotional wreck that holds grudges," Raehyun explained. "Your Venus-Mars combination states that you carry a subtle allure, which naturally coincides with the knowledge that you embody an unusually romantic sexual energy," she mused, attempting to stifle a bout of amusement, "From my personal experience, I would agree with that sentiment—perhaps it describes you overly so."

Seonghwa had once entrusted Raehyun to manage their apartment while he accompanied his friends as the designated driver in their outing to a football afterparty his junior and her sophomore year, as their parents had business affairs to attend to, and the younger sister held an aversion to large social gatherings that involved alcohol and drugs.

Her voice reverberated throughout the pristine white walls of her apartment bedroom, an ability she suppressed from the general populace to spare her from garnering mass attention from unwanted others. Raehyun's singing reached a note that bewildered a young man as he ascended the terrain of fire escapes, body aching when he reached his desired destination; "Raehyun?" he called, gentle undertones painting his tone as said girl's expression contorted from confusion to fretful, exerting her entire might into heaving the taller boy past the narrow window. Rushing out of the haven of her bedroom to retrieve a first aid kit stowed away in the depths of the adopted siblings' shared bathroom (a futile attempt to cover the knowledge that their adopted daughter was consistently tending to an unruly group of high school students that may or may include their son).

The purple-haired girl silently, deftly, treated the wounds of the boy with the now caramel brown hair, disregarding his winces and hisses haplessly as the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball made way to his cheek. "Relax," Raehyun informed, resonance atypically harsher than her usual gentle mannerisms, "You were willing to sustain the injuries when you hurled yourself into this situation; I suppose you can endure some rubbing alcohol and antiseptic." Obedient to her instructions, Mingi maintained silence despite his desire to press his lips onto her with an intense fervor, never overlooking the sight of pink hue on Raehyun's complexion, especially following her statement of, "Remove your shirt."

"Pardon?" he replied instantaneously, incredulously even, at the abrupt request; in his astonished daze, the exasperated cheerleader shrugged off the inky black coat, followed promptly by his turtleneck, exposing a mismatched array of bruises that hadn't healed properly, and fresh scars from whatever incident Mingi stumbled himself into that he refused to explain to Raehyun. Her sharp fingernails grazed against the boy's waist, cheeks dyed a rosy tint upon the sight of a shirtless young man, contrary to her upbringing as a Barbadian, applying pressure to the myriad of wounds against the surface of his skin with a fresh cotton ball.

"Would you mind providing me an explanation as to how you managed to acquire these bruises?" Raehyun surmised, Mingi immediately detecting a delicately quirked eyebrow directed at his countenance, attempting to shroud the growing desire to scream in agony with the athletic tape replacing the sting of the antiseptic when her clawlike nails swept against his abdomen.

"A student thought it would be amusing to try his hand at making some...sexual comments intended for you, which pissed me off enough to get into a fight after school," Mingi recanted in brief, her warm eyes freezing into a glare as biting as puncturing icicles, and the boy refrained from recoiling in surprise.

"Mingi, I'm from the Carribean"—Raehyun tore the athletic tape to seal her wrappings—"It would be scandalous had someone not make such a comment at least once; you shouldn't have lost your temper from such jargon."

The boy shook his head vehemently, vexation overcoming him as he growled, "The words were vile, Lex, Yunho had to restrain Seonghwa from attacking him; I protected your reputation, considering you could lose everything."

"Don't preach to me about upholding whatever reputation I have"—the violet-haired girl propelled herself off of the comfort of her bed, inching precariously close to the recently-dyed brunette with an uncharacteristic fire burning in her eyes—"Whatever statements and accusations they choose to say about me is none of your concern." The warmth of the candlelight allowed Mingi to see her features with more clarity, from her sharp cheekbones and almond eyes (the only similarity between her and her adoptive brother) to the birthmark located next to her left eye and her heart-shaped lips, currently parted as Raehyun elicited a huff of frustration directed at the taller male.

She gasped as he abruptly tugged her into him via her waist, her arms latching onto his biceps as she peered up at him, whatever hostility previously prevent evaporating as the young boy in front of her caressed her waist with a gentle, uncharacteristically so, fervor. "It becomes my motherfucking concern when they speak about my girl with that type of vulgar language," Mingi growled, roughly slamming his lips onto hers with an assertive ardor that it nearly paralyzed Raehyun into a state of nonreaction.

Parting away from the kiss, Raehyun slammed his figure towards her bedroom door, the prospect of its integrity falling apart at the corner of her mind as she retorted, "Who said that I was your girl, Song Mingi?"

Recuperating from the surprising amount of force Raehyun exerted against him, he towered above her sitting posture, her eyes narrowed into serpent-like slits, unwavering as he leaned down with his hands propped against either side of her frame, her legs and arms crossed once more—"Me, Park Raehyun."

"Liar," Raehyun seethed, a chill overcoming her as a devilish smirk etched itself onto his countenance, subconsciously grateful her stockings were removed a while earlier; pressing featherlight kisses on the crook of her neck, progressing into obscure nips and bites around her ear, knowing full well that her turtleneck sweater irritated the young man in front of her.

"With pleasure, babygirl," he whispered in kind, returning to paint a nebula of purple across her flesh, Raehyun's eyes fluttering shut as her head tilted upwards, a hitched whimper easing its way past her vocal cords, a sound that Mingi discovered was his absolute favorite sound, determined to derive the mellifluous tune out of her throughout the evening.

The violet-haired cheerleader twirled her pen between the grip of her fingers, organizing her system of ideas as she articulated them into her exam paper, ignoring the look her fellow teammate bored into her skull during the silent testing session and not privy of the glare directed at the other cheerleader from her boyfriend. Raehyun applied her attention to concluding her paper, strutting forward to the front of the classroom, the final student to finish her exam paper with meticulous consideration, submitting her essay to her teacher, a furtive nod approving her entry, her classmates heaving sighs of relief upon the notion they could finally speak to each other.

"Why do you like him so much?" the girl, Kwon Jisoo, interrogated Raehyun, shuddering fear as her fretful eyes widened at having Mingi pierce his unyielding gaze at her; from his peripheral line of vision, said boy detected Raehyun's biting stare.

"Pardon?" Raehyun wondered, her center of attention now a technological conversation with the boy with the lip piercing and swept blue hair, exchanging a relay of flirtatious, bordering suggestive, messages that previously would leave the cheerleading captain flustered, yet now relatively desensitized in reaction, progressively mustering more courage to counter his darker thoughts with feisty rebuttals of her own.

"Song Mingi isn't like us," Jisoo interjected, "His reputation is starkly different from ours, especially yours—you have absolute stellar grades, a prestigious spot on the KQ social hierarchy, and virtually every boy on campus at your beck and call—why would you settle for less than your worth and risk your entire reputation for a troublemaker like him?"

"I never realized the term 'us' existed until now," Raehyun responded coolly, swerving her figure to face her teammate with an unreadable expression, "I also had the realization that my romantic life is none of yours to be privy about." Receiving the note of excuse from a member of the ASB crew, Raehyun exited the premises with a wry grin on her face, Mingi sending Jisoo an assertive, bordering cocky, grin in her vicinity, the other cheerleader eliciting a groan in vexation from her captain's frustrating companion.

The pep rally permeated with people, almost compact as the lights dimmed and the notary introduction of "Partition" by Beyoncé indicated the opening performance of the rally, displaying the intricate movements and stunts that Raehyun had spent weeks choreographing, teaching, and reviewing with her teammates. Seonghwa and Yunho, both athletes for the football team, identified the former's sister with ease, her golden complexion her most distinguishing attribute amidst the clique of pallor. Her movements reflected her natural demeanor, highlighting the acquired combination of aggressive precision, sultry gazes, and poised winks that the cheer captain knew would anger Mingi into oblivion, and Seonghwa could only watch as his younger sister and best friends, San and Wooyoung, incorporated a series of seductive steps in time with the French in the song.

Following their ending poses, the student body president began their rhetoric in thanking the students for attending the rally, placing acknowledgment on Raehyun for her bombastic choreography as she bashfully bowed in thanks as the cheers roared before fleeing the scene, immediately meandering over to the tall-limbed bad boy. Mingi pulled her in close to him, Raehyun standing in between his legs as he sat on the concrete benches sequestered away from their fellow peers; as her two male cheerleader friends arrived, the captain couldn't resist the urge to stick her tongue out at their impishness, a perfunctory smirk on the girl's lips.

"Your comment surprised me earlier, babygirl," Mingi commented, noting her perplexed expression, "Whatever you said to Jisoo in history class before leaving for the rally—did she always think that way?"

"Don't mind her, Mingi," Raehyun concluded, tilting his chin upward to have her large brown eyes inspect into his own, the scent of his cologne (Allure by Chanel: the girl spent months saving up money to procure him the gift), "Her high school ideology differs from ours, especially when you consider her family's legacy attending this high school." Following her statement, she leaned down to peck his lips briefly, only for it to deepen as he tugged the small of her back towards his tight embrace, the lack of discretion much to her personal entertainment and his satisfaction.

The stadium lights illuminated the cheerleaders' beaming grins and upbeat as they led chants for their audience to follow, ranging from spoken cheers to rhythmical feet-thumping that felt like an earworm more than an actual song. Seonghwa, on the field, preparing to catch Yunho's throw, jolted slightly at the sight of his younger sister and her pompoms enthusiastically providing him support, voice carrying louder than intended, the quarterback amused at her antics.

"I have never heard her cheer as passionately as she does," Seonghwa remarked following their touchdown, admiring his younger sister as her teammates held the girl steady as the touchdown song resonated from the marching band, exciting their audience with the opening lead, "Perhaps if Mingi played football, Raehyun would cheer even louder."

Said boy caught the whiff of her trademark perfume during the halftime, her hair matted with sweat as she performed her routine, displaying her most well-rounded stunts and tricks with an enthused swagger that made her movements seem effortless—at that moment, he supposed, he became her own cheerleader, with resounding cries of support for her. It naturally was a far parallel from the traditional narrowed slit for eyes and aggressive frown, but the cheerleading captain appreciated the gesture nonetheless, briefly delivering him a smile before continuing her routine, and Raehyun properly kissed him following their victory, anticipating the impish growls from their friends, particularly their youngest and second-eldest in their circle, Jongho and Hongjoong.

"Care accompanying me to the afterparty tonight, my devil?" she mused against his lips, the sultry smirk intentionally provoking the leather-clad boy to a less-than innocuous reaction, and the girl understood his hidden, impure intentions. Mingi returned the gesture with a sensual grin of his own, parting with her to allow photography, either of the two of them, Raehyun's cheer team, her brother (who thought it amusing to lift her in midair), and her immediate friend circle, childlike expressions and antics that reminded her of her first encounter with them:

Seonghwa, the more lively Park sibling, invited her to a group outing with his group of friends, the only people of which she had a personal rapport with being Wooyoung and San, the male freshmen cheerleaders that she captained in their junior varsity division, and even with their relationship as teammates, Raehyun never engaged in anything aside from professional matters. Thus, it felt more like a surprise to her that her two male teammates were consuming alcohol until obscurity, yet, she was unable to complain, as the girl herself was holding a glass of pinot noir, the stem between her middle and ring finger as she spectated the festivities in front of her vision with a detached observance.

Her two teammates and Yunho, the energetic quarterback, were dancing to some voracious song playing on the vinyl player, Wooyoung already experiencing whiplash from bobbing his head back and forth too intensely, the other two not too far behind.

Yeosang, a classmate in her Introduction to Comparative Literature class, revealed himself to be a quite clingy drunk, expressing his love to his company to the point of near-suffocation, in Raehyun's perspective, noting several instances in which he engaged in displays of affection that she visibly stiffened at.

Jongho, a middle schooler that was supposedly related to San in some shape or form, proved to be unusually combative, nearly punching Yeosang under the duress of his bourbon-induced stupor, while Hongjoong from her chemistry class spouted expletives that made her wonder how exactly did he manage to maintain his creative brain, despite his fifth bottle of Dos Equis Amber.

Yet, the real question of the evening was how exactly did Seonghwa, the reliable, mature, calm, and more level-headed sibling between the Park duo, decide at the moment to perform a strip-tease performance, mortifying his younger sister as she aggressively flung the articles of clothing back to her brother, unsuccessfully shielding her eyes from the display of skin.

Raehyun's only solace happened to be the only other relatively sober person—the tall, lanky-limbed boy with acne on his cheekbones spectated the affairs with an air of indifference, taking a sip of his Bohemia before slamming it down onto the glass table, inverse to the wisp-like motions of the girl resting her wine glass against the glass surface.

"Should I offer an apology to you now for their idiocy, or should I abstain until they have warring hangovers tomorrow?" Mingi proposed, a scoff escaping the cheerleader's lips in amusement.

"Don't offer me one, then," she acknowledged airily, "They were the ones that suggested this outing; therefore, they should handle the repercussions of their actions without our assistance." Concluding her statement, Raehyun maneuvered her figure so that her left arm clung onto the head of the chair, her legs crossed right over left on the chair's arm, flaunting her form-fitting romper and stockings to the boy in interest, the mesh fabric exposing the navel piercing from years prior; "Is there something you like, Mr. Song?" she inquired.

"Something I like quite much," he responded, intentionally neutral—it dawned upon Mingi that the seductive smirk was an expression Raehyun trained to perfection, perhaps during her period in Barbados, during a time where her unchecked behavior allowed her to reap benefits far too mature for her legal age.

Desire was a local hotspot heavily driven by their teenage audience, as established by the purple-haired cheerleader when she witnessed a litany of her fellow classmates inhabit the club; yet, she heeded them no mind as she resided on Mingi's lap, allowing him to nuzzle his nose into the crook of her neck. The traditional, casual wear of her cropped sweater, plaid skirt, fishnets, and stiletto boots presented the illusion that she was a gangster's girl (which she indeed partially was), not privy to her squeaky-clean facade as the head of KQ's Varsity Cheerleading. Raehyun basked in the sensation of Mingi kissing and suckling on the spot behind her ear that he knew would make her elicit his favorite whimper, a product of becoming highly attuned to her, with all their restless nights at his apartment and her own when her parents and brother left her to her independent activities in the nighttime.

Yet, the girl felt her evening of intentional peace ruined, as an angry Jisoo stormed over towards the small clique of friends, Mingi halting his actions temporarily to deliver a preemptive glare at his girlfriend's fellow cheerleader. "You seriously think that you're able to get away with everything because your boyfriend happens to be the most notorious person on campus?" Jisoo spat, her captain resting her empty on Mingi's thigh, placating him temporarily as she rose from her seating arrangement, her posture upright with an air of sophisticated and refined confidence (much like her image, of which she was forced to cultivate), starkly differing from her teammate's brazen recklessness, hair disheveled and sweat permeating her features.

"Isn't there something more entertaining than attempting to poke a peaceful bear, Jisoo?" Raehyun questioned dryly, the boredom in her voice noticeable to her close friends, all of whom stifled a chuckle at her straightlaced humor.

"That bear is not peaceful, Raehyun—he's already manipulated you into becoming somebody you aren't," Jisoo reasoned, "You began attending nightclubs the more you interacted with him, wearing revealing outfits because of him, and I caught you smoking an electronic cigarette the other evening with him."

"How bold of you to make the assumption that I didn't perform this exact shit before I even moved to South Korea, Kwon Jisoo," she deadpanned icily, Wooyoung cackling at the barbed humor that earned himself a warning glance from Mingi, "Besides, you are not my parents, and you certainly do not carry my interests in mind."

A frustrated whine escaped Jisoo's lips, storming off angrily while Raehyun breathed a sigh of relief, retreating to the soothing embrace of her boyfriend, who allowed her to return his initial favor, raking both sets of her fingers through his fluffy, currently silver-turquoise hair, pressing featherlike kisses against the side of his angular jawline, maneuvering downwards towards his neck.

Mingi hissed as she bit firmly on the tender spot marking the bridge between his ear and carotid artery, eyeing him with an innocuous gaze; he established that in their position, she genuinely appeared reminiscent of a gangster's girl, but Mingi didn't mind—he never did, to begin with.

"Who would have ever thought that the angelic beauty would have a devilish side to her," he remarked, fingers skating from the nape of her neck to the bottom of her spine, Raehyun initially shuddering from the coolness of his fingers.

"Well," the girl mused, "It appears to me that every devil needs to have a guardian angel, and every angel needs to have a guardian devil to watch over each other." Pressing her lips to his, they allowed the dark, red, hazy glow to bask over them lightly, Mingi making a mental note to remember the current song that was playing over the loudspeakers.

Hell's Kitchen Angel—red, hot, and dangerous You broke the devil's poor heart with the way that you're loving me. I said, "Hell's Kitchen Angel—red, hot, and dangerous." You're a little too much for most, but you're just right for me.

#ateez mingi #song mingi #mingi #song mingi ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez blurbs #original character #mingi imagines #mingi scenarios #song mingi scenarios #oc #valentines #probably really late

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faveficarchive · 5 years

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The High Road to Low Expectations

Number 666 of the White Trash Series

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: In the final installment of the White Trash series, Cyrene fucks up the weed, Gabrielle is on a mad search for the right kind of weed, and not-so-surprising new facts arise when Eli starts a film project and chooses Dahak’s.

CW: There’s some off-screen sexual assault in this one. Two lines, but it’s there.

You wonder why we're only half-ashamed

Because enough is too much

And look around…

Can you blame us? Can you blame us?

—Morrisey, "Interesting Drug"

1. The Mother of Peace

In 1967, just before she dropped out of the honors program at Berkeley in order to join Strawberry Alarm Clock on tour, Cyrene had participated in a student takeover of the president’s office on campus.

It was her finest moment: She was the Revolution incarnate. Wearing a beret, armed with a bullhorn, she lectured, cajoled, exhorted her fellow students to leave the past behind, to join with the Students Against Totalitarianism and Nostalgia (SATAN) in rebuilding the university for the future. The past was dead, she proclaimed. "Marx was wrong!" she spat into her bullhorn. "Religion isn’t the opiate of the people, it’s nostalgia!"

She was quoted for weeks, photographed for all the local newspapers and her FBI file, and propositioned by the grooviest guys on campus.

Thirty-three years later, the present was now the past, but it still looked pretty damn good. Especially when one lived in a day and age when Ché Guervara’s image was used to sell computers and a chain of stores selling bad coffee had taken over the planet. Now, Cyrene realized, she was beginning to understand nostalgia. She wanted to go back in a time capsule and apologize to nostalgia for all the mean things she said about it. Because now she was an old woman—albeit a relatively content old woman—reduced to selling pot to ungrateful young people who would just use it while watching cartoons and not as a break from fighting for the proletariat, or world peace, or the environment, or for an endangered species.

And then there was Gabrielle—who now stood before Cyrene, irritable and clad in her trusty old Carhart jacket. Once upon a time she thought her daughter’s main squeeze had enormous potential to do something—precisely what, the old hippie hadn’t the faintest idea. But ever since the trés sensitive poet had secured an academic career (with stripping on the side—some career choices were best left unexamined, thought the terminally unemployed Cyrene), she had become terribly dour and authoritarian. Gabrielle was now part of the problem, as they used to say.

"Got my dope, Cyrene?" A tad impatient, Gabrielle was shifting her weight from leg to leg.

The aging hippie sighed. "Of course, man." Cyrene pulled out her briefcase. While it was not a briefcase in the traditional leathery sense, she thought that the old Kung Fu lunchbox (which Zina had used for 3rd and 4th grade before advancing to the practice of bullying other children for food, money, and homework) served her purposes well.

"Here ya go, honey." She flipped a Ziploc bag of pot to Gabrielle, who examined it with the exaggerated self-importance of a nascent connoisseur.

Little golden eyebrows furrowed, like caterpillars plotting a coup. "Is this the Rhine Gold?"

"Absolutely!"

"It doesn't look like the Rhine Gold."

"Since when are you an expert?"

"Since you became my dealer—I've been smoking it for the past five years."

Cyrene squinted at the bag. And grew less convinced herself. She thought she had saved the last of the current crop for Gabrielle…unless she accidentally gave it to Eli. Which would explain why he was so fuckin’ happy at the food co-op last night! "Well, I'm pretty sure it's the Rhine Gold."

"'Pretty sure' doesn't cut it."

"Do you use that snotty tone with your students, man?"

Actually, yes, I do, Gabrielle thought, wincing. "Sorry, Cyrene. It's just a stressful time of year. The semester is over, I have finals to grade, not to mention the term papers. It's—"

"—it's coming on Christmas, they're cuttin' down trees, they're puttin' up reindeer and singin' songs of joy and peace—"

"Cyrene."

"Honey?"

"Christmas is over."

The old hippie smiled in the glorious, reassuring fashion that made her a darling of the counterculture for 15 minutes, that is, with a freewheeling, easy, bullshit charm that totally suckered the always-guileless Gabrielle. Cyrene patted the young woman’s arm. "Just give it a try for me, honey, okay?"

* * *

Zina discarded a sooty jacket and a well-worn helmet in a pile beside the door. Another hellish shift. How many kitty cats could get stuck up in a tree in one frigging day? And then there was another case of blatant fireplace abuse—it happened frequently during and after Christmas, the most festive and mindless time of the year. Somehow people failed to understand that the chestnuts should merely roast over an open fire, and not turn into splitting, hissing flameballs that freak you out and make you inexplicably throw toward the window so that the curtains light up as well.

She yawned, stretched, and ambled into the living room. Gabrielle was standing in the middle of the room, dressed in her standard lazy-ass Sunday gear: green flannel pajama bottoms and an Olympus County Community College t-shirt. "Hey bitch, where's my chicken pot pie?" the firefighter trotted out her standard greeting.

Instead of a playful giggle or a semi-sarcastic retort, the poet met this with stony silence and a baleful glare.

"Just kidding," the firefighter added lamely.

"Your mother dicked me over again."

Zina smirked suggestively. "Come again?"

"She gave me inferior weed, Zina. I'm not high. I'm not getting a good high." The poet blew out a frustrated breath. "This is not Rhine Gold."

"You sure?" The firefighter walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Rolling Rock out of the fridge. "I though Mom woulda learned her lesson the last time she didn't give you Rhine." In response to the last time she did not get Rhine Gold as requested, the vengeful Gabrielle—perhaps over-inspired by Titus Andronicus—cooked a tofu casserole in chicken broth and fed it to the unsuspecting hippie. However, the only salient result of the incident was Gabrielle's overwhelming guilt and Cyrene's endless tirades on fucked-up karma.

"Obviously not. In fact, I'll prove it to you." The poet dropped her gaze. "Say it."

"I'm tired," Zina whined, as if four syllables would push her into physical collapse.

"Come on."

"Okay, okay." The firefighter took a breath, then wiggled her eyebrows for good measure. "Machu Picchu."

Half a minute lapsed into eternity. Gabrielle remained staring at her blankly. "Try again," the poet-pothead requested.

"Machu Picchu." This time Zina drawled it out a bit, sounding like a Pokeman on Quaaludes.

The silence continued. Zina frowned. Normally—meaning under the proper influence of Rhine Gold—upon hearing the name of the ancient Inca city, Gabrielle would dissolve into giggles that eventually escalated into hysterics and threatened the stability of her bladder.

Zina’s sooty brow furrowed with an almost genuine concern. This was indeed serious. She opened the refrigerator again to continue her reconnaissance mission for leftovers.

2. Somehow, Pacino’s Career Survived

Within the confines of Dahak's, Chad waved at an unusual sight: Eli, clutching a small, old film camera, was leaning nervously against the bar. He was intrigued enough to go over and speak with Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy.

"Welcome to the dark side," Chad purred mischievously.

"Hey man, how ya doing? Look, I'm not here because I'm gay."

"Sure, you’re not. I mean, where else can a straight guy indulge his love of 20-year-old dance songs?"

"No, really." Eli held up the camera. "This is for my semester project in Film 404. We have to do a short piece that remakes a Hollywood film about minorities. I chose Cruising."

"I see." Chad's eyes narrowed.

"No, you don't—I'm going to do it better, trust me."

"Good luck," Chad muttered.

"What?" Eli shouted. The sound of Dee-Lite's "Groove is in the Heart" now pounded over them, rendering embarrassed mumbling impossible.

"Never mind!" Chad yelled back. "But you better be careful."

"Why?"

"It’s contagious!" Chad laughed and pointed at a burly man on the dance floor, dressed in black Levis and a leather vest. "I mean, I never thought I'd see him here, but there he is! And I even got his number!" he crowed.

Eli watched as the magic man spun around. It was Artie.

"This is so going into the movie." He held up his super 8.

* * *

Zina had settled in on the couch to watch the latest offering from Fox: When Overeducated White Women Attack. The show was finally displaying some promise: After ten tedious minutes of observing a comparative literature professor balancing her checkbook—resulting in tears and a torn register—Zina now watched as a woman with a Ph.D. in art history from Yale contemplated sticking a butter knife into a still-plugged toaster.

"Do it, you dumb bitch!" the firefighter hissed at the TV, just as Gabrielle came in the house.

"Zina," the poet began breathlessly.

The butter knife hesitated about the toaster slot.

"Are you listening to me?"

The firefighter nibbled her lips with anticipation.

"Damn it, Zina!" Gabrielle latched onto a dark and brooding—yet terribly sensitive—earlobe, giving it a violent twist.

"Ow!" the firefighter roared. It was the first part of Gabrielle's fabled one-two punch: First the earlobe, then cranial battering with the world's ugliest throw pillow—a brightly colored, quasi-Pennsylvania Dutch mess of hexagons that resembled nothing so much as an Amish pap smear. Having the discordant colors so close to her face was worse than the actual physical pain.

Zina ducked a blow from the pillow and rolled off the couch to avoid further abuse. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she shouted. "Ever since you stopped smoking dope you've been out of your fucking gourd!"

"Bullshit!" snapped Gabrielle.

The firefighter rubbed her delicate, doughy earlobe. "Oh yeah? What about all those American Gladiators you were so hot to beat up, the other night when we went out for pizza?"

Gabrielle held up a menacing finger—and snarled. "I just didn't like they way they were lookin' at you."

Zina blinked. Shouldn't that be my line? Is this what it's like to live with me? Mommy, I'm confused.

"We got a problem, Zina. Artie beat up Eli, outside of Dahak's."

"What was Artie doin' hanging around—oh."

"Uh-huh. And it's Gay Night too. This adds to my theory that he's a big fat fucking closet case."

"Or it could support my theory that he's just horny as hell." So very proud of actually having a theory on anything, Zina folded her arms with a minor sense of triumph.

Gabrielle was pacing now. "Fuck the theories. All I know is that I'm gonna kick his ass. Are you in or not?"

Zina now slumped, defeated. In reality, she wanted nothing more than to drink beer in front of the TV until she fell asleep. And maybe mess around a little with her girlfriend on the couch. Add some pretzels to that pleasure equation, and thus an evening was made, nay, would achieve an unrivaled, unparalleled perfection. She recycled the only line she could think of that might get her out of this potential mess. "Violence is not the way, grasshopper."

"Don't you dare quote Lao Ma to me!" barked Gabrielle. She stopped pacing. "I want vengeance!"

A sharp buzzing noise and canned laughter from the TV indicated that the Yalie had just fried herself.

The firefighter sighed. What else could she do? "Will we be home in time for Smackdown?"

"Count on it." Gabrielle sailed out the door, expecting her backup to follow.

* * *

Artie swaggered down a quiet, peaceful main street while fragments of "Stayin’ Alive" provided a rather dated personal soundtrack within his mind. He felt good. Fifteen minutes of sin in a bathroom, easily absolved by lots of prayer and repentant tears, made him feel like a new man. He sniffed at his arm, drinking in the powerful yet sublime scent of cologne that was not his—a heady (oh yeah, baby! he thought), Proustian remnant of his earlier toilet-side encounter.

A lone car passed. Then it executed an abrupt u-turn and came toward him. Immediately he recognized the battered, ugly economy vehicle as Gabrielle’s. When it pulled to a halt near the curb in front of him and both women emerged simultaneously from the Escort—even slamming their respective doors in unison—he giggled. "Hey! Cagney and Lacey! Arrest me and molest me!"

In response Zina leaped over the hood of the car with magnificent, MacGyver-like grace. Somehow he couldn’t picture Sharon Gless doing that. Nonetheless, as usual, her beauty broke his heart, almost literally in this instance as she head-butted him in the chest. He stumbled backward, and she slammed him into a wall. "Zina!" he cried. "What gives?"

"You know what gives, you little shit. You beat up Eli."

Fist curled, Zina leaned in closer to Artie. She sniffed at him. He flinched. Then he noticed that her eyes had that old, familiar look, that look he thought he would never see again, in his wildest, wettest dreams: Desire. "What's that you're wearing?" she growled sensually.

"Um, I think it's called Aroma Mist—"

"You mean Aramis?" The height-challenged Gabrielle was trying to interject herself between them; if doing so physically wouldn’t work, she would settle for verbally. Aramis was dangerous stuff—this she knew from Chad. The demon scent could arouse anyone, her worldly friend had told her. And while a conflation of appetites was an unfortunate aspect of the firefighter’s character—the smell of fresh meatloaf could have Zina naked and ready to pounce within seconds—Gabrielle was quite certain that she did not want to know to what ends Aramis would compel her lover.

The firefighter’s nostrils flared again. Artie almost came on the spot.

"It's nice. Real nice," Zina murmured. Her pupils were obscenely dilated, as if giving birth to a new lust.

"Zina—" Gabrielle ground out the "you-are-on-the-verge-of-infidelity" warning between her teeth.

"Thanks!" Artie gushed. He grinned. "Say, ah, my place ain't that far away. How about we have a little drink, get caught up on old times?"

Zina grunted thoughtfully, like a sensitive orangutan making her TV debut on Nova.

It was the last thing she remembered clearly. For the intoxicating scent carried her away, she flew on the wings of night, her heart swelled and thundered like a storm. To paraphrase John Denver, it filled up her senses.

And then, the scent of the fabled cologne faded—or rather, was taken hostage and pummeled to death by the joint, brute force of stale TV dinners and ancient laundry that happily coexisted in Artie’s trailer. Now, sitting on a couch more wretched and stinky than her own, Zina blinked in confusion, wondering how in the hell she had gotten there.

Artie was smiling at her in his smarmy way from the entrance of his eat-in kitchen. "I’m makin’ ya a Long Island Iced Tea, baby," he crooned. Which meant that he was frantically throwing every kind of liquor he had into a blender.

That goddamn cologne. Geez, it's no wonder straight women fall in love with gay men all the time! Gabrielle is gonna kill me.

"An’ you just sit back and enjoy that cee-gar," he was saying.

Zina looked at her hands. A cigar was cradled between the first two fingers of her left hand. Not just any cigar, she realized, but a good one, straight from the Ghurkhan plantation in Cuba! Now that brought back memories, she thought. She cut off the tip with her switchblade, then lit up, making sure that he could hear the soft, sensual sound of her lips going puh as she puffed away. Might as well torture him while I’m here.

Artie cast a nervous look into the living room. Seeing her here once again, within his home, made him realize that he wanted her to be there, always. This AM radio sentiment prompted a decisive action. He wiped his sweaty palms on his black jeans, darted into the living room, and knelt in front of her. "Zina, I—"

"Where's my drink?"

"I'll get to it in a minute. I—" He made the mistake of looking into her cold, uncompromising eyes. Suppressing a sigh, he stood up and went back to the kitchen. After five minutes, some cursing, and a whirring blender, he was back with a frothy concoction that he hoped would lower whatever teeny inhibitions—like, say, incest or a certain blonde pussywhipper—that now prevented her from sleeping with him.

Gleefully she gulped down half the drink, her lip smacking and groans of pleasure a delightful torture to him.

"Zina, I got to talk to you about something. I've been doing a lot of thinking about you and me."

She burped.

"I can't deny how I feel about you any longer. I reckon my feelings for you never changed in the first place. No matter how much I fought 'em. So I got to ask you this." He lowered his head, sent a quick prayer to the Lord, then looked once again into her eyes. "Would you marry me, Zina?"

"Ain't that illegal, marryin' your kin?"

His face turned red. "They can't prove that, and you know it!"

Zina paused thoughtfully and tortured him some more as she fellated the cigar. "I dunno, Artie. What's in it for me?"

"A devoted, loving husband."

"Not the answer I want, and you know it."

It had been The Issue in their relationship; Artie had prayed that she would not remember. But, alas and alack, she did. "What you ask of me is unnatural," he mumbled, which had been his Standard Retort in the matter—and it was true, because the Bible never said a damn thing about It.

"My ass," she grunted. "I bet if I asked Gabrielle to eat me out every night, she'd do it." She neglected to add that this would most certainly be true only if chocolate and/or margaritas were involved in said oral activity.

His expression curdled. What you won't do, do for love. Then he scowled. Damn that song! "All right!" he spat. "You got it."

The firefighter blinked in surprise; she was impressed. "Okay. What about the housework?"

"Zina," he began patiently, "I am a working man. And the Lord dictates that the home is the woman's realm."

"I work too, asshole. So I would have to do all the cooking and the cleaning?"

His nostrils flared. He would not back down on this one. Never. Absolutely not. "We split it, fifty-fifty! And I'm not doing the laundry."

It was an admirable gamble, and a good offer, she thought. And she knew that Artie could never boss her around like Gabrielle did—he wouldn’t force her to eat vegetables, especially with some lowdown, dirty trick like hiding mushrooms under slices of pepperoni on a pizza! Still, her mind was made up; it always had been. She grinned and drained her drink. "Shit, Artie, Gabrielle already does all that cleaning stuff anyway." She stretched, patted his cheek, and stood up. "Thanks for the drink and the smoke."

As Zina left Artie's trailer, all the while marveling at how easy it was to block out the sound of his sobbing (which possessed a quality similar to the primal wailing of rhinoceroses in mourning), she realized that she had made a mistake. Even though nothing had happened, she had left Gabrielle high and dry, no doubt thinking that something was going on with her and Artie. Well, it wasn't her fault, really, that Artie had smelled so good. Still, Zina knew that one thing—and one thing only—mattered. Only one thing would rectify this mistake: One way or another, she would get Gabrielle the Rhine Gold.

3. Like a Bridge Over Troubled Kung Pao

On his first day out of the hospital, Eli agreed to lunch with Gabrielle at the Green Dragon. This, in spite of the fact that he felt embarrassed about how he looked: His shaven head was completely bandaged, and he resembled a partially bearded blue-eyed egg. But despite his tender condition, Eli was more concerned about his friend; he had detected a serious mood change in Gabrielle since she no longer had access to Rhine Gold. She was moody, irritable, and prone to violence. And maybe just plain weird: She was now arranging the peanuts of her Kung Pao Chicken into an impressive fortress around a particularly large floret of broccoli. She was about to send a lump of chicken careening into the peanuts when Eli announced his intention to speak by clearing his throat.

"So Zina's out of town?" He frowned as Gabrielle got the snow peas in on the action, creating a little drawbridge across the peanuts and into the broccoli.

"Yeah," the poet finally mumbled.

It was like trying to coax conversation out of an autistic child. "Where is she?"

Gabrielle sighed dramatically. Acting as deus ex machina in the culinary warfare, she stabbed the chicken battering ram with a chopstick. "Visiting an old boyfriend. Supposedly to get me some Rhine Gold." She devoured the meat.

Eli shuddered at this carnivorous act. "You don't trust her?"

"I dunno, Eli. I'm not sure anymore—not after the way she was sniffing around Artie."

"Well, geez—that was just Artie. This doesn't mean—"

"Why would she have to go all the way to New York to get the stuff?" Gabrielle burst out with exasperation.

The hippie cinemaphile attempted an explanation. "Gab, this stuff is actually pretty rare. It's powerful shit, and you should just count yourself lucky that Cyrene had a crop going for as long as she did. I'm not surprised Zina would have to go to a big city to score some."

This appeared to assuage Gabrielle somewhat. "I guess, but still…I don't know if I should trust this guy."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Marcus. I actually meant to tell you sooner, 'cause I knew you'd be interested in this—Zina says he's in the movies, like he works for a studio or something."

Eli's jaw dropped. "Holy shit!"

The poet furrowed her brows. "What?"

"Zina knows Marcus Pebble? Oh my GOD."

"Who is he?"

Eli shook his head in disbelief. Of course, he wasn't really surprised that she didn't know who Marcus was—most moviegoers today were so vastly ignorant of their cinematic heritage. He quoted directly from his own lonely, neglected unfinished dissertation: "In the early 1980s, Marcus almost revived the blaxploitation genre and almost returned it to its glory days in the 1970s with one amazing film: White Chocolate Comes to Harlem."

"'Almost?'" Gabrielle interjected skeptically.

"Okay, it bombed. But it's a great film, man. It provides a valuable and much-needed transition between classics like Shaft and Foxy Brown to the new genre of gangsta films which began with New Jack City."

"Is he still directing?"

Eli sighed sadly. "Unfortunately, no. He's leading a living death as a low-level Miramax exec."

Lao Ma stopped by the table to refill their water glasses. "You speak of Marcus Pebble," she announced.

"Ooooh, eavesdropping, how mystical!" Whereas Gabrielle was concerned, Lao never failed in stirring the sarcasm pot.

Nonetheless, Zina's ex ignored the temperamental poet and addressed her remarks to Eli. "I did feng shui for Marcus's townhouse."

Eli gazed at her, amazed, worshipful, and tempted to kiss her feet, even though her filthy New Balance sneakers were encrusted with old "Happy Royal Family of Prawns" sauce.

The proprietress of the Green Dragon merely shrugged. "It's a living."

4. The Face on the Cutting Room Floor

[A scene from White Chocolate Comes to Harlem. Zina, lying on a bed, is wearing a leopard-skin spaghetti string top and mauve hotpants. She has a typical Medusa-like early 80s perm, as perfected by the various members of the Bangles. She is pretending to be high or actually is; to this day no one is really sure. ]

[Marcus enters. His is a more restrained version of the classic pimp suit—black with a hot pink shirt and matching headband around his flying-saucer like hat.]

Marcus: Bitch, what did I tell you? Get your lazy ass on that street now! [He grabs Zina by the wrist and hauls her out of the bed. She stands before him, wavering slightly, glassy-eyed. Due to her three-inch stiletto heels, she towers over him.]

Zina: Huh?

Marcus: You heard me! [He slaps Zina—lightly—across the face. This snaps her out of whatever stupor—and pretense at characterization—she inhabits. Her eyes narrow with rage, she snarls, and knocks Marcus across the set with a vicious backhand. Off camera, a thud and a shriek of pain is heard. The camera follows the sound and twirls toward Marcus, now sprawled on the floor, clutching a bloody nose.]

Zina (off camera): Aw, baby, I'm sorry—I didn't mean to— [She totters over to him, kneels down and tries to help him sit up. Bleeding profusely, he tries, feebly, to crawl away from her.]

Marcus: GodDAMN, Zina! Remember that little discussion—ACTING? GodDAMNit. [To camera.] Floyd, turn off the camera!

Floyd (off camera): Huh?

Marcus: Fuck, are you all idiots? TURN OFF THE CAMERA.

Floyd: Sorry, man, I thought it was part of the scene. [Camera remains on.]

Zina: I'm sorry, honey, I really am. [Marcus is still crawling away from her, leaving a trail of blood. She is now crawling as well, right behind him.] You know how I get, I'm, like, more of a Method actor…I react, not act!

Marcus: I gave up a chance working with Pam Grier for this. [Still crawling, still bleeding. She watches helplessly, tries to approach him again. He is now off camera.] Do you hear me? PAM GRIER.

A Mercedes-Benz mired in traffic at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 76th, 6:42 PM EST.

Marcus drummed his fingers on the armrest, his cell phone glued to his head like the tumor it was probably already causing within his brain. "Right, Harvey. Right." He stared at the driver's thick pink neck and suppressed a sigh. "I'll take care of it as soon as I'm back in the office."

As Harvey droned on about the Gilligan's Island remake, Marcus gazed longingly toward Central Park, at the treetops that peeked over a long stone wall separating the green splendor from the sidewalk. His eyes widened when he saw a white hand appear at the top of the wall. A head, crowned with black flowing hair, followed this. A woman was pulling herself over the wall. Oh dear God. It can't be. Yet the pure grace of that body’s motion indicated it could only be one person, and one person only.

Marcus gasped; he couldn't find his voice. And even if he could have, the driver wouldn't have locked the doors in time anyway.

Gracefully, Zina zigzagged through the traffic, found the dark Mercedes, opened the door, and piled into the back seat. She grabbed Marcus's cell. "Hiya, Harvey. Yeah, I found him. Thanks a lot. Now promise me you'll think about that Billy Jack remake? 'Cause I tell ya, Harvey, that film is like my Bible, and I could be Billy Jack in my sleep, ya know?" A pause. "That Angelina Jolie weirdo as the hippie teacher, of course. Think about it. Okay, babe. Thanks again. Bye." Zina stared at the phone, couldn't figure out how to turn it off, and tossed it into Marcus's lap. "He'll never do it," she muttered to herself. "Damn shame." She sighed regretfully, but then, as she turned her attention on her ex-lover, the wattage on her smile increased exponentially. "Hiya, Marcus!"

Marcus, now plastered against the car door, wondered if he could possibly outrun her. Even if he could, the attention he might draw to himself would be questionable, at least to the easily confused members of New York's Finest. A black man running from a Mercedes? I don't think so. "Zina, what the hell are you doing here?" he barked.

She tried pouting. "Miss me, baby?"

"Like I would miss the plague."

"That ain't nice, Marcus."

"What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want somethin'?" Her eyes—those beautiful, beautiful eyes—went wide. "Couldn't I just stop by to say hi?"

Marcus held up a hand. "Girl, don't even. You always want somethin', Zina. There's always an angle. So just tell me what it is."

She attempted mixing in wounded, sullen pride with the pouting—which sometimes worked with Gabrielle, but only if you were already on your knees—yet he continued glaring at her until she finally broke down. "Okay, baby, you got me. I want some Rhine Gold."

"Rhine Gold!" he exclaimed. "What makes you think I still dabble in shit like that?"

Zina frowned. "Yeah, I guess you're right. You're playing with power suits now. It's all coke."

"Zina!" Marcus shouted. "I do not do coke! Don't oppress me with your assumptions."

"What?"

Remember that this is Zina, he told himself. "Don't be an asshole."

"Oh." Silence fell over them. He folded his arms and remained crushed against the car door, wondering just how the hell he was going to get rid of her. And how in hell was he going to talk Harvey out of a Billy Jack remake. For despite what Zina thought, when it all came down to it, Harvey was just a massive, balding spittoon for bad ideas involving recycled B movies.

"Marcus, you at least gotta know where I can get some," she remarked, disgruntled, for he was wasting her very valuable time.

"Well…" He pursed his lips in thought. Granted, it was dangerous, but it would get her off his back, and far, far away. But can she handle it? he wondered. Marcus looked at her again, into eyes so blue they’d make Joanne Woodward dump Paul Newman in a nanosecond, and so crazy that Robert DeNiro would cry with envy. "I know where you can get some, but it is dangerous, and you gotta go south. Way south." His gaze flicked to his driver. "I’ve give you the details when we hit my office."

"Oh yeah? Okay, I can deal with that." Now that this most difficult phase of her mission was complete complete, Zina stretched with both relief and an air of self-satisfaction. They rode for a while in contented silence. "Hey, Marcus?"

"Now what?"

"Can I drive the car?"

5. Our Dyke in Havana

The retinue surrounding Castro was as thick as flies over a garbage can. The group of heavily armed men surrounding the leader of the small nation pushed through the crowd toward the baseball field.

Castro paused for a moment to shake hands with his people—the workers, the children, the huddled masses longing for decent TV stations. And also because he wanted a better look at the tall, pale senorita in the tight, sheath-like black dress and sunglasses, who grinned at him like a beacon.

With his guards watching warily, the mystery woman inched closer to Castro. Suddenly she flung her arms around the Cuban leader, crushing him in an affectionate hug. Several guards already had their hands on their weapons, but Castro was laughing and patting the woman's back.

Then, just as quickly, she disentangled herself from his embrace, still smiling. The pressure of the crowd urged Castro on, and reluctantly he moved away from her, with a final, longing glance backwards. Only a minute later he was patting his secret pocket for his stash and realized it was gone. He stopped and turned around. In the distance he could see her kicking off her heels, tearing her skirt for better mobility, and running. "Consigala!" he shouted.

Zina was tempted to take a moment to taunt them by shouting "Viva La Rhine Gold!" but as the adrenaline pumped through her and her legs kicked up increasing speed, she became more invested in keeping her sorry ass alive. Shit, I hope this swimming-to-Miami thing is as easy as Marcus says it is, she thought.

6. Husker Don't

Vendela Van Hoek nursed a damp, cold Heineken while a stripper's boobs shook in her face. Unimpressed, the Swedish musician simply leaned back, the gesture dismissing the dancer, who—untalented yet nonetheless working hard for the money, so hard for it, honey—took her mammaries elsewhere.

She had left Sven and Benny at the garage, thoroughly disgusted with her cousins' inane arguments with the idiot mechanic who could not fix their Saab motorbus. Of course it would take a week for a new exhaust pipe to arrive in this American backwater, and all the screaming and Laplander obscenities in the world would not change that. She placed the blame squarely on the domineering Sven. If he hadn't insisted on touring more rural areas, they wouldn't be here, she thought angrily. Her thumbnail slashed into the soggy beer label.

"I knew I would find you here." Benny's voice floated from above.

Vendela glanced up. Her bandmate, a truly gifted guitarist, was cradling a Heineken himself. He sat down.

"Don't say anything, Benny."

He shrugged and said nothing. Yet Benny's flaccid lips were quivering as much as the dancer's hips. Vendela knew it was only a matter of seconds.

"He didn't mean anything by it," the guitarist blurted.

"Like hell he didn't," she snapped.

"Vendela, we are all under a great deal of stress right now."

"That is no excuse!"

"It was just because you were off beat—" Benny winced at her icy glare.

"Oh, so now you are taking his side."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are, you fat fuck! Go on, tell me—say it! You think I am a 'second-rate Geddy Lee' too—you think that, just like Sven does!"

"I didn't say that!" he shouted. Mortified, he noticed that some of the people in strip club were staring at them. He lowered his voice. "You are Keith Moon, Vendela. Purely Moon."

"Liar!"

"Keep your voice down! You're embarrassing me!"

"Fuck you and your embarrassment!"

Just when Benny thought it could get no worse, the opening strains of the Divinyls' "I Touch Myself," began over the sound system, hypnotic layers of guitar that, nonetheless, he detested and thought so clichéd, so ridiculous for a strip club. Could they ever think of anything new? Who, he thought, is this pathetic bimbo who dares to use such an old, gimmicky song?

However, his heart clenched inside his chest when confronted with precisely the kind of bimbo who would use such a song: a delicious, voluptuous woman of perfection, with short blonde hair and in a white fringe bikini, slithering seductively around the pole on stage. He could not tear his eyes away from her. She moved with such leonine self-possession and controlled grace that his imagination begged to see her unleashed in the throes of passion.

May the heavens forgive me for slighting you, o nameless American goddess!

The goddess was now in front of him, gyrating slowly, her eyes glowing with faint disdain as she stared down upon him, awaiting her tribute. By the time that he had the presence of mind to dig for money in his pocket, the impatient goddess had moved on to Vendela. And now, watching his cousin brush a bill along those perfectly sculpted abs, Benny saw that Vendela was just as enraptured.

* * *

Sid Moskowitz narrowed his eyes at the sight of the two out-of-towners loitering in front of the dressing room. He knew they had to be from out of town since they were wearing leather pants and were stupid enough to believe they had a chance in hell with Gabrielle. The fact that they were shouting at each other in Swedish was also a big tip-off.

"Can I help you?" he murmured suspiciously at them. His eyes traveled freely over the statuesque blonde woman, who did not seem pleased at his attentions.

The stocky fellow in the chain-mail shirt, who looked like a scruffy Jon Lovitz, decided to answer for her. Before he spoke, his chest puffed out dramatically, as if he were indeed Master Thespian. "We come to offer frottage to a fellow artist! It is a certainty that She is the most talented dancer in your valley, and it is common for all far and wide to pay tribute to the genius who is She with White Undergarments Resembling Spaghetti!"

Sid had to hand it to this one; usually the potential stalkers lacked any kind of chutzpah and freely admitted that they simply wanted another gander at Gabrielle's tits. Nonetheless, Sid's paternal, protective instincts outweighed his admiration of the creative freak. "Sorry, sweetcakes, but Gabrielle does not receive visitors after she performs, okay? Now run along and abuse the English language elsewhere."

"Who are you?" the blonde beauty growled at Sid.

"I own this place, dumpling."

"And why should we believe that?" she retorted loudly, placing her hands on her hips.

Sid was caught among arousal, indignation, and abject fear—for him, a common state of existence. "Because I do, honeylamb. Now listen, I was just beginning to like you and I was even gonna offer you a tryout—"

Suddenly the dressing room's door flung open. Gabrielle's Olympus County Community College t-shirt and her cutoff jeans undermined her diva turn. "What the hell is all the racket about?" she snapped. However, the underachieving poet's erect nipples held them in thrall.

The proprietor of the Shimmy Shack, however, was accustomed to this glorious sight and he found his voice first. "These foreigners have come to stare at you, sugar pop." He sniffed disdainfully at Benny and Vendela. "What are you guys? French? You're fucking rude enough for it."

The tall blonde woman ignored him. She took Gabrielle's hand. "I am Vendela Van Hoek, drummer for Gravid Havarti. My cousin and I have come to praise you. You have given us three minutes and forty-five seconds of pleasure despite our hatred of the Divinyls. I, in particular, wish very much to prove my great admiration for you." Her full lips brushed the dancer's knuckles.

Gabrielle was only momentarily impressed at the smooth move. "I'm not giving back the twenty dollar bill. Sorry."

"Twenty?" Benny blurted.

Vendela silenced him with a hiss worthy of the most commanding cobra.

Benny fumed. His English was not as precise and mellifluous as his cousin's. Nonetheless, he knew one phrase, and one phrase only, that might get him into Gabrielle's good graces, or maybe even her tight jeans. His barrel chest puffed out once again. "And I have killer weed!" he proclaimed.

He smirked as Gabrielle's green eyes flitted to him. "Wait—wait a minute." She pulled her hand away from Vendela. "Just what kind of weed is this?"

7. Love Songs, Nothing But Love Songs

Carrying a bucket of ice, Vendela tried creeping by Room 604 of the Red Roof Inn as quietly as possible. She, Benny, and Gabrielle had managed to elude Sven when they first came up to the room that she and Benny shared, but somehow the drummer knew she would not be so fortunate in avoiding the overbearing band leader a second time.

And she wasn't. The door of Sven's room swung open and the skinny lead singer, clad in his black silk silver-studded bathrobe and his hairnet, violently hissed her name. "Vendela! What do you think you're doing!"

Sven was the ultimate killjoy. Nothing sucked the life and desire out of her like the sight of his tight, disapproving face. It was like being caught masturbating by a maiden aunt. "Nothing!" she retorted defensively. "Leave us alone! We are adults, you know."

"You're horny idiots, both of you. I know who is in that room with you."

Vendela glared at him defiantly.

"Her name is Gabrielle and her girlfriend is a violent, sociopathic ex-convict." He smirked with triumph at the surprised look on her face. "Obviously, you weren't paying attention to the mechanic at the garage. He knows this Gabrielle—he used to be in love with her. She's off limits, Vendela. Get rid of her before you get us all in trouble."

"Go to hell!" she growled. He slammed the door shut as she stomped over to Room 606. She fumbled with the card, then, exasperated, pounded on the door. "It's me, open up!"

Benny opened the door. Vendela was relieved to see that he was still dressed, as was Gabrielle, who was sprawled on one of the two beds in the room. The poet wore a simple outfit of jeans and a hooded green pullover sweatshirt. Such clothing is an affront to the perfections of that body! Vendela wanted to shout. Most of their vodka had served as a chaser to the big, fat, primo Rhine Gold joint that the stripper had polished off earlier. She was now thoroughly trashed.

And still muttering about Zina. Always with this Zina person, Vendela thought with disgust. As far as she could figure out, Zina was a whore of epic proportions who watched bad TV and made a pretense out of atoning for a half-assed criminal record. I would treat you far better, my queen! Even Benny would, for God's sake.

Her bandmate was now noodling around on his guitar, plucking a simple repetitive chord and singing softly: "Gab-ri-elle/My heart will swell...."

"Don't quit your day job," muttered the poet in a rare—albeit stoned—moment of insensitivity. "Oh, wait...this is your day job." She burst into giggles.

Vendela felt a pang of pity for her sensitive cousin. "Benny, perhaps you should turn on the radio," she suggested. The guitarist nodded, and fumbled at the knobs on the nightstand's dusty, fake wood-paneled clock radio. "Gabrielle," she continued, "I have brought you ice, as you requested."

Like a reanimated corpse in a horror film, Gabrielle sat up all herky-jerky. "Excellent. Gimme." The Swedish drummer handed her the bucket of ice. Over the course of the next few minutes the musicians watched as Gabrielle—ice bucket balanced precariously on her lap—fumbled to remove her sports watch, a much-loved acquisition courtesy of 50 Cap’n Crunch box-tops. Finally she liberated it from her wrist and noisily buried it within the ice.

She handed the bucket back to Vendela, who exchanged a look with her cousin. Do you want to ask her? Vendela's look said. No. She's freaking me out now, Benny's retorted. The drummer took a breath. "Why," she slowly asked, "did you do that?"

Gabrielle's verdant, unfocused eyes locked with hers. "I'm trying to stop time."

She flopped back onto the bed and grabbed an empty bong near her head. She cradled it, humming, as if it were an infant.

Does she have any brain cells left? Vendela wondered. The drummer returned the ice bucket to the dresser. Emboldened by a tiny sliver of bare tummy visible from where Gabrielle's sweatshirt had ridden up, Vendela sat on the bed next to the poet. She was about to lie down next to that delectable body when, in sudden woozy distress, Gabrielle sat up. At the sound of sniffling, Vendela leaned forward and Benny knelt anxiously in front of his goddess. A large, glittering teardrop splashed against the bong that she held.

"Gabrielle, what is it? What's wrong?" Vendela cried.

More shiny, silvery tears fell from the poet's eyes. "This is…our song."

Radiohead's "Creep" was on the station.

The Swedish musicians gaped at one another. This was inconceivable. A love song? A love song was "Chiquitita." A love song was "Babe." A love song was "My Heart Will Go On." A love song was "You Light Up My Life." It was not this.

But Gabrielle could only remember the magic of that night at the Horn, when Zina—after seven Rolling Rocks—finally convinced Effie to let her sing the song while backed up by the Amazons, to Gabrielle and the tattered, late-night remnants of the crowd. Initially, the bar's patrons had actually grooved on the laid-back melody and Zina's soft, angelic alto. Then the drunken, menacing, six-foot tall lead singer snarled the beginning of the chorus at them: I wish I were special/You're so fucking special and Sally punctuated the mood's turn with that sinister, slashing guitar chord. By the end of the song, Gabrielle truly felt that Zina was only singing to her, only to her, and no one else. And she was: Everyone else had left, even Ray Bob, the bouncer.

The spirit of song, nonetheless, now infected the discourse at Room 606 of the Red Roof Inn:

"But she's a creep!" Vendela spat.

"She's a weirdo," added Benny.

Gabrielle jumped up. "What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here." The poet wavered. "I don't belong here," she repeated. The sudden lack of blood to the brain—and the pot and the booze—conspired like the three witches in Macbeth to send her toppling back onto the bed, utterly unconscious.

The salacious Swedes gazed upon the obtuse object of their desire, now snoring softly.

"Now what?" grumbled Benny.

Reluctantly, Vendela opted to do the right thing. "We take her back home. Sven wanted us to get rid of her anyway," she sighed.

"In this condition?" the guitarist asked nervously.

Vendela groaned in exasperation. "What other choice do we have?" She lifted one of the poet's deadweight arms by its wrist. "Look at her!" She dropped the arm, which fell on Gabrielle's stomach and caused an inadvertent squeak from the unconscious woman that startled them both. "Time to eat the doughnuts," Gabrielle murmured in a soft, dreamy singsong.

Benny's eyes lit up. "Krispy Kreme!"

His bandmate smiled in approval. "Excellent idea." Once more she gave the stoner poet a longing, wistful glance. "Benny?"

"Yes?"

"You don't suppose—I mean, how wrong could it be—?" The drummer's hand wavered above a tantalizing breast. "—just to touch them? Once?"

The guitarist's jaw dropped. "Vendela!" he hissed, appalled.

Vendela was not fooled by his outrage. She raised an eyebrow as temptation and sneaky lust danced across his face, his moral compass now crushed under their weight.

8. This is Not My Beautiful House. This is Not My Beautiful Wife.

In half-sleep, Zina sighed and squirmed. The bed felt good—too good. And the sheets were so soft. Must be that new fabric softener Gabrielle is using, she thought. Because they feel like silk. Just like when I used to sleep at Julie's…

Her eyes opened. The room was startlingly pristine, a crisp cream white. And it was not covered with faded blue wallpaper. And the dartboard was gone! And the sheets, which matched the walls, were truly spun from silk. Fuck. I am at Julie's! And I'm naked too! Gabrielle is gonna freak! She leaped out of the bed. Fuck! How did I get here? Fuck! I was just sitting at home—I didn't drink that much! Fuck!

The soft wall-to-wall carpet soothed her somewhat, and she took a deep breath. Don't panic. Find your clothes. Zina looked around the tidy room and its minimalist decor. Not a stitch of clothing was in sight. Not on the floor, or draped over the chair, or—she looked under the bed. Or under the bed. Frantically she opened one of the drawers of the teak dresser in the room. And found row upon row of neatly folded, clean t-shirts and jerseys. What the hell? Julie wouldn't be caught dead in stuff like this. She pulled out a large, Green Bay Packer jersey and slipped it on. Unless it's…The firefighter opened a second drawer, and saw many variations upon the standard, faded Levi's 501s that she always wore. Mine. This is my stuff.

And suddenly, like Saul on the road to Damascus, like Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life, like Connie Selleca in Lifetime's But My Adopted Chinese Baby Has AIDS, she got it. She was doing the Alternate Universe Thingy, as introduced in the original Star Trek and expounded upon brilliantly in South Park. And she had no idea what to expect, except that Artie would not have a goatee and would be really nice and that Gabrielle would have a goatee and would be really evil. Right? The thought of Evil Goatee Gabrielle, she confessed to herself, was strangely, thrillingly scintillating.

She was now eager to see her brave new world. Zina padded through Julie's luxurious house—our luxurious house! She walked past a state-of-the-art weight room—in the blinding light of the chrome, she gasped with joy. Mine! Mine! Mine! She chanted this capitalist mantra as she dashed down the spiral staircase, past the big screen TV, the Mitchell Gold leather sofa, and into the kitchen. A middle-aged Latina woman in a sleek maid's uniform was cooking an omelet and ignoring her with the practiced coolness of hired help. Zina opened the refrigerator, and gasped once again at the most beautiful, most wondrous sight of all: Fields of shining, vivid green! Rolling Rock as far as the eye could see!

"Oh," she burbled, helpless with joy. Tears clogged her eyes.

Julie's stormtrooper staccato preceded her into the kitchen. Even so, Zina was not prepared for the affectionate nip upon her neck from the Culinary Fascist. "Good morning, darling. Sleep well?"

Zina said nothing, but remained staring into the nirvana of the open fridge.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart. You seem to be running a bit low. I'll put a call in to Latrobe right away."

The firefighter tried to say "thanks," but could only manage a childlike squeak of happiness.

Julie turned her attention to the maid. "Macarena, you did remember to cook Zina's omelet directly in the bacon fat this time, did you not?"

"Si, Signora Caesar," the woman replied serenely, while quietly entertaining thoughts of murdering them all.

At the mention of "bacon fat" Zina slammed shut the refrigerator door and spun around. "Excellent!" she growled, following Julie into the dining room.

Julie sipped coffee as Zina sprawled in a chair, lazily awaiting her food. "Darling, I'm afraid I won't be able to breakfast with you this morning," she began, as Macarena entered and placed the steaming omelet in front of Zina, who tucked into it without hesitation. "But I'll leave the Porsche for you, since the Mustang is still being repaired."

Zina's baby blues bulged. Porsche? Mustang? Dear God in heaven, it's all perfect!

"Perhaps we could meet up later for lunch."

Zina, always a mere step away from turning into a happily mindless Sybarite anyway, nodded vigorously.

Julie leaned down for a quick kiss. "'Bye, darling. Oh, and one last thing…"

Zina, gobbling furiously, looked up.

"The pool cleaner is here." Julie patted her puffed-out cheek. "Pay her with the money I left in the dresser, would you? And don't get too flirty, dear. I know you like blondes, but really!" Julie's forced laughter ricocheted off the chandelier and the crystal ware, then splattered quite appropriately against the original Julian Schnabel lithograph on the wall.

And then Zina's feeling of euphoria tucked itself into Julie's Coach handbag and left with her. Damn. The unease filled her. She tried to ignore it as she decimated the omelet, but it lingered, like Julie's Chanel No. 5. She got up, stalked through the kitchen and past Macarena—who deigned to raise a questioning eyebrow—and slid open the door to the patio.

There, in front of the glistening pool, was pure pulchritude: A blonde woman—nay, the blonde woman to end all blonde women—in a tight sports bra and lycra shorts. She sprayed her sweaty face with a garden hose. Zina thought for a moment that Macarena had put hallucinogens in her omelet, for the pool girl flung her head back in a Flashdance-like slow mo and drops of water fell from her skin like rare, translucent, glowing pearls.

You would have to show up this soon and fuck up everything, wouldn’t ya?

The pool girl smiled at Zina.

And one hour later, the pool girl was coming in Zina's face. Her orgasmic bellows for God, Jesus, and country were laced with tasty bits of profanity as she dug her chlorine'd fingertips into Zina's scalp.

When she finally relinquished her hold on the dark hair, Zina came up for air, pillowing her head on a firm, sweet thigh. Absently, she wiped her face with the back of her hand as the girl's breath caught up with her.

"Wow, that was incredible!" the pool girl cried.

"Why is it that, even in the parallel universe, I'm still dumb as a doornail?" Zina muttered aloud. Everything is perfect, I have money, sex, freedom, even a Porsche, and all the beer I can drink…and I have to fuck it up somehow.

This time the girl's touch was gentle, as she raked her fingers through the black strands. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"No. Nothing."

She was still breathing heavily. Then she giggled. "I didn't get a chance to tell you my name—well, you didn't give me much of a chance, actually. I'm Gabrielle."

"I know," Zina retorted glumly.

"Oh. I guess Miss Caesar told you." There was a pause, and Gabrielle drew a deep satisfied breath, and Zina knew well that postcoital rambling would follow. "Hey. Um…"

"Zina."

"Zina? That's a pretty name." The comely pool girl—gee, you really went far in this existence, Gabrielle—was propped up on her elbows. "Zina, um, would you…like to go out sometime? Like just for a drink, even? I mean, I know it's really weird...we hardly know each other. Except carnally—you know, sexually. Um, I know—well, I assume you've got something going on with Miss Caesar, but I kinda like you. It's—well, you just seem like a nice person. And even if you just wanted to be friends that would be cool. But really, I gotta tell you, that mouth of yours...." She shook her head in pure admiration.

Oh, hell. Go on and do it, look at her and say yes. You know you want to, you frigging wuss. And so Zina looked up at Gabrielle, whose eyes were not as clear and dazzling as a Rolling Rock bottle, but something there—perhaps her innate kindness—made the firefighter feel weak. "Okay," she said softly.

Predictably, the door flung open. It was the Evil Parallel Universe Lieutenant Sulu and three red shirts. Actually, it was merely Julie and Macarena, the latter cradling an impressive-looking Glock handgun.

"Zina," Julie sighed. "I thought you would at least wait until you got to drive your new Harley."

A Harley? Zina's mind screamed. She glared at the naked, satiated Gabrielle. Who shrugged apologetically.

"I'm sure Crassus would like some company in his unmarked grave."

"Hey!" Gabrielle yelled. "How did you know—"

Julie waved a dismissive hand. "Macarena, if you will…"

Zina was leaping forward, covering Gabrielle's body with her own, when the shots rang out…

…and she woke with a violent, gasping shudder, her body spasming at the memory of each bullet. And with each twitch of her legs, the channels on the TV were changing. What the fuck? It was then that she realized the remote was lodged between her legs. She pressed her thighs together. WWF Smackdown flicked onto the screen. Hey. Cool.

The phone rang. She growled in frustration, jumped off the couch, and grabbed the receiver. "Yeah?"

"Hi! Uhhhh...is this Zina?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Well, um, I'm the manager of the Krispy Kreme—"

"Hey, I paid off our account there." The account was her euphemism for the time when Gabrielle—needing sugar and short of cash—ran out of the shop without paying for a dozen.

"—oh, I know. So you are Zina?"

Zina chose for once to ignore the paranoid little voices in her head—some of which sounded suspiciously like her mother—that told her this chirpy woman was a CIA agent. "Yeah."

"Well, um..." The woman trailed off and giggled self-consciously. "I'm your cousin. My name's Eve."

"Who?"

"Eve."

"Never heard of ya."

"Artie never mentioned me?" The young woman sounded hurt.

"Nope. But listen here, if he ever says he's sterile, or that he never had the clap, he's lyin', okay? Save yourself some trouble."

There was a long silence. "Oh."

"So why the hell are you callin' me, Evie?"

"Well, um, it's your girlfriend...she's passed out in the parking lot."

"What?" Zina shouted.

"Some weird foreigners left her here."

Zina's eyes bugged with anger. Earlier in the day, upon arriving home from her Rhine Gold expedition, she'd stopped at Sid's place, deciding to spread the wealth of her newly stolen stash. Sid had mentioned the members of the strange Scandinavian speed metal band who had taken a collective fancy to Gabrielle, and who had offered her some dope.

"She was sitting inside for a while. Then she walked out the exit and conked out, like, the minute she got outside. But, um, the people she was with put some pylons around her, so she should be okay." Eve's bright, chipper tone slashed through Zina's thoughts, both convincing herself and the brooding firefighter that nothing less than patently bizarre could be expected when a pothead slacker lesbian and a mediocre rock band collide.

* * *

And thus, Zina sailed to the rescue on her Harley.

She found Gabrielle just as Eve said—lying within a parking space surrounded by four bright orange pylons. It reminded her of when Lao Ma was going through her Yoko Ono phase and started doing weird art installment things at a gallery in New Mexico ("Lao at Taos," it was called). Lao had placed a half-eaten chocolate brownie on the gallery floor, in between two pylons. The viewer had to lie on the floor to read the message in 7-point type: Will the pylons of your soul protect you from your desires? (Zina, responsible for eating part of the brownie, was billed as a collaborator on the piece.)

Frowning with concern, Zina knelt beside Gabrielle. Her companion looked unharmed and was obviously just sleeping it off. Upon closer inspection the firefighter saw that Gabrielle's breasts appeared strangely rumpled. She tugged at the sweatshirt and quickly discerned that the poet's bra had been unhooked.

Zina felt a psychotic flash of red rage. I'm going to kill those fucking foreigners! She knew that her lover—no matter how furious or hurt she had been with Zina—would never permit tacky strangers to feel her up. Or worse. If only because she knew that Gabrielle detested metal music and thought anyone in such a band was "grody." She shivered away the anger, shaking her head violently. Relax. Later. She bit her lip in worry. Then, as if to dispel all her fears, she leaned in and quickly kissed Gabrielle on the mouth.

Just like in the fairy tale, the poet's eyelids fluttered open and a series of expressions passed over her face: fear, confusion, bliss. "Zina."

Zina's face burst into a grin at hearing her name spoken so softly, so reverently. "Hey."

"Why do I smell motor oil?"

"You're in the Krispy Kreme parking lot. Your, uh, little friends dropped you off here, then you passed out. The manager called me to come get you."

Gabrielle's fuzzy brain had no choice but to accept this strange tale. "Oh." Slowly, she sat up.

"Let me help you up. You ready to stand?"

"I think so." The poet latched onto her girlfriend's strong arms, and stood up. She stretched, then took a few moments to get her bearings. Something felt odd—something limp hung from her chest. "Hey, my bra!" She shot a look at Zina, who was trying to blink herself into an innocent state. "Oh, honey," Gabrielle cooed, "you just couldn't wait till we got home, could you?"

Could Zina bear to tell Gabrielle that horny Eurotrash had molested her? The firefighter smiled sheepishly. "Nope. I couldn't, baby."

"So we got our groove back, then?" The poet's expression was timidly hopeful.

"Yeah." Zina watched her own feet shuffle nervously. "Hell, I don't think we ever really lost it, ya know?"

Once again Zina's lawyer, parole officer, and the judge of her court case were proven wrong—a little white lie could be an enormously rewarding endeavor: The lovely poet jumped into the firefighter's embrace, wrapping her legs tightly around Zina's waist, and from there they proceeded to make out as if the world were ending.

And, in a strange way, it was. As Zina playfully tried to barricade Gabrielle's tongue from entering her mouth, she heard the distant, repetitive sound of a police siren. Despite the serious turn-on of publicly groping her girlfriend in a Krispy Kreme parking lot, the firefighter resolutely decided that she did not want to be anywhere near law enforcement officials of any kind. With the limpet-like Gabrielle firmly attached to her, Zina began to maneuver them in the general direction of the Harley. But instead of backing up against the worn leather and warm chrome of her hog, she literally delivered her ass into the welcoming grasp of Officer Minya.

Zina's lips did a cease-and-desist with her beloved's. A wary blue eyeball found Minya grinning slyly at them.

"Hey guys," the amiable trooper drawled.

"Minya?" Gabrielle was breathless. "What's up?" The poet disengaged herself from Zina, which gave Minya the opportunity to do what she was, nonetheless, very reluctant to do: She snared Zina's wrists—somewhat surprised at the lack of resistance—and clapped a pair of handcuffs on the firefighter.

"What the fuck is going on?" Gabrielle demanded. She looked at her lover. "Zina?"

"Er, Miss Amphisyphilis is under arrest for arson—"

Zina dipped her head, silently acknowledging the truth of the charge. She had known that someday this particular crime would catch up with her.

"Arson?" Gabrielle echoed. She threw up her hands in dismay. "What is it with you and fire?" she shouted.

"—and one count sexual relations with a minor. Do I have to do the Miranda thing with you?" Minya asked Zina. "Seems to me you should have it memorized by now."

But the outraged firefighter was too distracted by the second charge. "Minor? Minor? That fucking bitch told me she was 21!"

Of course—another ex-girlfriend, thought Gabrielle. Zina was being dragged with little effort from Minya—the cop was surprisingly strong. Yet she was placed into the back seat of the police car with care, Minya's hand on Zina's dark head gently shoving her in, like a midwife returning the baby to its well-deserved womb. The cop slammed the door shut and ambled over to the driver's side.

Desperately, Gabrielle lunged at the door and spoke to Zina through the open window. "Explain," she snarled.

"It happened 10 years ago."

"Why did everything happened 10 years ago?"

"Harmonic Convergence?" Zina hazarded a guess.

More like Unharmonic Psychosis, Gabrielle thought. "Never mind. Just tell me what happened."

"I was just showing Kimmy my little firebreathing trick…"

"Kimmy?" Gabrielle couldn't help it—her voice oozed with sarcastic cuteness. You never showed me the firebreathing trick!

"Kimmy."

"God, with a stupid name like that, I hope she was good."

"Nah." Zina shook her head. "Phony virgin," she mumbled. It was the truth, and they both knew it. For Zina could never keep her mouth shut about former lovers: Lao Ma made her multiorgasmic, Boris couldn't be tantric to save his life, Hank would sometimes yell "touchdown!" after coming, spanking with spatulas proved to be Julie's favorite foreplay...the list went on with excruciating detail. There were times when Gabrielle feared that she might be just another bit of minutiae in Zina's Sexual Trivial Pursuit, that someday the firefighter would be telling a new lover about her old flame Gabrielle, who used her firefighting helmet in a multitude of wanton ways, who had a toe fetish, who would sing "Now I’m a Cowgirl" while riding Zina….

Gabrielle shuddered at the list of sexual depravities that Zina could use against her. This was one reason for keeping the ex-con around. That and the love thing. God, I’m an idiot. "Don’t tell me—for the firebreathing, you used…"

"…tequila." Zina confirmed sadly.

It was the most flammable of drinks. "Fuck, Zina."

9. When Obligatory Flashbacks Attack: Ten Years Ago in Yokohama, Japan

Boris returned from losing a match with the local chessmaster—a seven-year-old who had him in check within two minutes—to find that his lover was not alone in their bedroom. He had every intention of being cool about it—he had learned his lesson with Lao Ma, or so he thought—until he heard himself screaming and stomping out of the bedroom with a dramatic slam of the door.

He paced and seethed. A few minutes later, Zina stumbled out of the bedroom, dressed, yet with wild, seriously tangled bed hair.

"Shouldn’t you comb your hair?" Boris suggested with his usual yet unique passive-aggressive flair.

"Go fuck yourself."

"I suppose I will have to, Zeeena. Since I noticed that someone else is in our bed."

She guzzled her morning beer. "Oh—her. Boris, I know it looks bad."

"It smells bad, too. You could at least wash your face."

"Hey—" She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. He winced as eau de muff diving slapped him in the face, and her voice dropped to a menacing whisper: "This is a big opportunity for us. The girl's father is Yodoshi Hirohito, one of the biggest 'Hello Kitty' distributors in North America!"

"Hel-lo Kit-tee?" he echoed.

* * *

"Hello Kitty?" Gabrielle interrupted the flashback in an accent considerably less charming than Boris's. "You mean like that stupid t-shirt Ming Tien is always wearing?"

Zina nodded. "It just got out of hand. The warehouse caught on fire." She paused, and her voice dropped to a cracked, anguished whisper. "Forty thousand 'Hello Kitty' purses, gone."

There was a moment of silence for the dearly departed merchandise.

"Well good fucking riddance!" Gabrielle yelled.

"That's my cue to peel out, right?" Minya asked hopefully, from behind the wheel.

"No!" cried the poet. Her vision swam with tears, yet Gabrielle's resolve—her faithful, steadfast love—did not waver. She clutched the car door, white knuckled. And while original words of inspiration and solace failed to come to her, something did float through to the forefront of her troubled mind, and thus she intoned the following: "I will find you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you." No sooner were the sentences out of her mouth than she realized she was being Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans.

Zina, however, was ill informed of her role in the make-believe and winced with both irritation and confusion. "Gabrielle, I'm just goin' to jail."

Minya hit the gas and the police cruiser pulled out of the parking lot.

10. Girlfriend in a Stupor

There were times when I could have murdered her

But you know I would hate anything to happen to her

—the Smiths, "Girlfriend in a Coma"

With a majesty possessed by those who are vastly ignorant of their own innate dignity, Gabrielle sat atop the Saab motorbus with a 7-11 Big Gulp. She felt bad about taking the Saab from Bob's Garage (Purdy, of course, had been quite compliant in allowing her to abscond with the now-functioning vehicle owned by the Swedes who had insulted him), but she comforted herself—rather, justified the theft—by recalling Vendela's touching words of devotion: What I have is yours, my love. For fate would have it, the motorbus's registration was in the drummer's name.

So far being a fugitive from justice was fun: She was an accomplice to a known felon, in a stolen vehicle no less, and with a large stash of dope and several peyote tablets in the glove department. Well, she thought with sanctimonious irritation, it was all Minya’s fault. If the sheriff hadn’t been so innately, irresistibly corruptible, and thus hadn’t succumbed to the temptation of a lap dance in exchange for Zina’s freedom, Gabrielle would still be a law-abiding citizen. Although Zina would be still rotting in jail.She hoped that Minya would be successful in at least convincing the Hirohitos to drop the charges; perhaps Eli’s offer of unlimited anime rentals would help soften their hard hearts.

Putting aside these tumultuous thoughts, Gabrielle reclined on the bus, eyes closed, drinking in the sun. Cyrene was right, there was nothing quite like sunbathing on top of a motor vehicle. She could feel the light and the heat sink deep into her bones, dissolving them. She was liquid, expanding, flowing free from the constraints of her body and from time. She was seeing and experiencing alternate time lines, the past, the future, and a new present.

In this vision of the present, Zina was still in jail and about to be executed for her crimes. All of her crimes, even sleeping with the 16-year-old girl scout. She was strapped into an electric chair, with a really bad, fucked-up Siousxie-and-the-Banshees kind of short hairdo. The switch was thrown and a gazillion bolts of electricity fried her lover into a pile of ashes.

"Zina," she whimpered aloud.

"Gabrielle."

The poet opened her eyes, attempting to blink away the effects of phosphene, even though multicolored dots and blobs and dashes remained floating in her sight. She was curled fetally, still on top of the motorbus, face to face with the Big Gulp. The voice came from the benevolent font of bubbling Sprite within the red container. "Zina?" she repeated.

"Gabrielle, what the fuck are you doing?" the Big Gulp demanded.

"Zina? Why are you there? Come back to me!" Lovingly she stroked the sweaty container.

The large red cup sighed. "Oh, for Christ's sake."

The world thundered, and the poet sat up with a gasp, knocking over the Big Gulp, spilling its sticky clear fluid all over the bonnet of the Saab.

Zina had jumped up onto the roof of the motorbus. Crouched like a panther, she grinned, pleased with herself. Then she shot a mock-scowl at the poet. "You ate a peyote tablet, didn't you?"

"I—" Gabrielle's eyes shifted guiltily.

"Eli told you to wait until we got into the Mojave."

"Aren't we?"

"Toto, we're still in fuckin’ Kansas."

"Oh."

"You probably got sunstroke now too."

The poet covered her eyes. "Do not."

Zina sighed and sat down next to her, yet as far away from the Sprite spill as possible. She pulled an old Oakland Raiders cap out of her back pocket and gently placed it on Gabrielle's head, shielding her eyes from the sun.

The poet basked in the musty, sweaty scent emanating from the cap. "Wow, you're letting me wear your Raiders cap. We must be in love or something."

"I reckon so." The firefighter sighed again, this time happily. They were quiet for a minute. "How long do you think before they drop the charges?"

"I dunno, baby. I figure it won't be too long. They'll soon get bored hanging around the county."

"Ya think? Hell, we never got bored hanging around the county."

"We’re idiots. They’re city types. They need neon lights and people driving badly."

Zina hummed skeptically. "So after we go to the desert, then what?"

"Oh, I don't know. We can go anywhere you want."

"We could go to Mexico!" Zina's blue eyes brightened.

"Don't you need a passport for that? I don't have one."

"I dunno—but we can get you one, easy. I know this fella in El Paso, he can put together a passport for you just like that." Zina snapped her fingers and pulled her own passport out of a back pocket. "He did one for me."

Gabrielle took the small document and opened its cover. The photo was Zina, sure enough, although the name read "Ellie Mae Ghurkhan." At the poet's look of puzzlement, Zina said, "Well, it always helps to have an alias, and Ghurkhan was my married name…" In a hapless attempt to take back the words, she bit the inside of her mouth. Oh fuck.

"You were married?"

"Just for a teeny bit..."

"Who's Ghurkhan?"

"It don't matter now, he's dead."

"How did he die?"

"Can we not talk about this now?" Zina tried furiously to work up some crocodile tears. "Let's just say I was the happiest woman in Denmark." When he died, that is.

Gabrielle scowled.

Zina patted the poet’s thigh. "Don't fret, baby, I just married him for his cigar plantation."

"Like that should make me feel better." Gabrielle put her arms behind her head. "So why do you want to go to Mexico?"

"I got an idea."

"That's what I was afraid of."

Zina ignored this and pulled out a picture of Harley—their niece, not Zina's beloved hog. "What we do is this: We get to some little town—a nice town—an' show this picture to all the locals, see, an' they'll think I'm in league with the Chupacabra, an' they'll, like, start payin' me tribute to protect them from the beast!" She grinned with maniacal pleasure.

"And then maybe if things go real well, we could buy our own boat. And we could sail around everywhere do a little, ah, tradin' here and there—or maybe not," she added quickly, at Gabrielle's disapproving look. "But there's quite a business in white slavery, ya know." Zina's eyes darkened, recalling the time that Boris knocked her unconscious with a bottle of Jack Daniels and tried to sell her to Lao Ma's uncle. She shook the thought from her mind. "Or," she continued, "we could just open a casino on board..."

Gabrielle stared at her. Was she serious? Was she joking? Was she crazy? The poet burst out laughing. Because it didn't matter. "God, you are so fucked up."

"But you still love me, right?" Zina dipped her head expectantly. She hesitated a second, perhaps wondering—and fearing—what Gabrielle's response would really be. Could you still love me, even though I put you through so much crap? Even though I ruined your original copy of On the Road, even though I dragged you across the lawn when your shoelace got caught in the weed-whacker, even though I knocked you unconscious while playing Frisbee with the lid of a crock pot? I still love you, but is that enough?

Gabrielle just smiled and lifted her head. Her answer was in the kiss.

The End

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #femslash #fanfiction #author: vivian darkbloom #mature

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missionlameturtle · 5 years

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@starfieldcanvas, here are some of my dS bookmarks! All F/K unless otherwise indicated. I tried to make sure I didn’t duplicate anything that was recc’ed yesterday on the discord server, but I apologize in advance if anything slipped through!

The Train Goes Slow, atrata. Ray is patience fucking personified, and he hasn't wanted to punch Fraser in days.

Why I Lied To You, Garonne. It's 1930, and Ray Kowalski is undercover. Contains bootleggers, Al Capone, adventures on the frozen river Detroit... and a rather unusual Canadian Customs Officer.

The Reaching Out One, Alex51324. Every year they take their vacation time together and look for the hand of Franklin, the reaching out one, and when they run out of time they put a pin in the map and the next year they pick up where they left off. It all falls apart when Diefenbaker dies.

True North, Crysothemis. Maggie Mackenzie unwittingly reveals Fraser’s deepest secret.

that’s where all of the gangsters live, minveracat. Ray loves Stella like he loves breathing, loves Fraser like he loves his tattoo, loves Chicago like he loves everything permanent in his life. Can be read as gen.

More Things In Heaven And Earth, Berty. The kidnapping of a young girl leaves Fraser and Vecchio struggling against time to find her until help arrives in the shape of Ray Kowalski, a man with a talent, a heart and a past he'd rather forget.

O’Leary’s Hotel, J Hardin. This fic doesn’t have an official summary that I’m aware of, so here’s what I wrote for my crackvan rec: This fic takes the magical realism of due South and runs with it, carefully twisting it into actual fantasy without ever abandoning the Chicago that due South is set in. It fits in wonderfully with the mythology of the show, dialing the fairytale elements of due South up to eleven and yet still somehow staying very true to the characters as they are.

The Sea Wolf, Kadru. 100 years in the future, an archaeologist uncovers Constable Fraser's journals, and as she pieces together the details of their lives, she discovers something she never expected.

horseshoes and handgrenades, omphale23. A midcentury AU, in which there are photographs, parachute troops, invasions, exploding trees, foxholes, misunderstandings, bullets, letters from home, smokejumpers, roommates, and more exploding trees.

True Colors, Kellie Matthews. Sometimes eavesdroppers learn things that change their lives.

Can’t Even Focus On A Cup Of Coffee, helens78. life goes on in Chicago. Ray's new partner keeps an eye on him as he tries to find a new sun to orbit.

Sweet Confessions Under His Tongue, thehoyden. It was like a car wreck, really. You just couldn't look away. And Fraser looked up at Ray, with his expression like the cold fury of God.

Chasing Smoke, hazelwho. Benton Fraser is a Canadian smokejumper who finds himself in Arizona cross-training with a wildland fire crew led by Ray Kowalski, a veteran structural firefighter from Chicago who headed west after his divorce.

Ajax Fassbender’s Amateur Guide To Zombie Wrangling, brigantine. After Ray Vecchio disappears undercover into the wilds of Las Vegas, Fraser decides it’s high time to quit moping, and get on with life. Diefenbaker puts in his two cents, which is pretty much where the trouble starts.

Katabasis, aria. "I talked to your dad, I went through this place called the Borderland, I had a boat ride, I fed a wolf a doughnut, and I told stories for your soul," Ray interrupted. "This does not mean you are not insane."

Deke, rhi_marzano. Also known as “the other hockey AU”.

Calm & The Black-Stained Sky, sageness. Two years post-COTW, Fraser is promoted to corporal & RayK becomes a volunteer firefighter in a small town in Yukon Territory—a small town with a spot of arson on its hands.

Parental Guidance, Kass, Alanna, & Starfish. Ray’s parents think he & Fraser are dating.

The Love Song Of S. Raymond Kowalski, aria. Ray dared to smush his experimental hair down in hats in Canada, dared to eat everything Fraser gave him including the freaky bark tea, dared... dared to let Fraser turn his world inside out and meet his eyes afterward.

Academic Punk, thehoyden. The academia AU you never knew you needed.

Family Portrait, Journey. AU in which RayK is a widower with kids.

Find Me A Find, green_grrl. Ray Vecchio runs a matchmaking agency.

Like A House On Fire, Kellie Matthews & Beth H. "In the immortal words of Yogi Berra, 'It's deja vu all over again.'"

Playing Wolf, Kellie Matthews. Fraser's past comes full circle.

Real Boys, salieri. He came to the city on the trail of the killers of his father, and for reasons that will be elucidated, he didn't remain. Also, that there's a dog, okay?

Birds Of A Feather, julia_here. Gen, SGA crossover.

I would feel remiss if I didn’t also rec Busted & its sequel Tapestry, which are fandom classics.

Lastly but DEFINITELY not least, this isn’t really F/K centric but please PLEASE read Arch To The Sky by sl-walker & kalijean, a Turnbull-focused epic that is one of my favorite fic series of all time.

#long post #starfieldcanvas #rec list #don't ask me how i organized this list it's some arcane combination of #how much i like it #how much it fits in with what you're looking for #and when i bookmarked it #aside from the last 3 which i put at the end because they're significantly different from everything else #look it makes sense to me okay #fic recs #f/k recs

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even-strangerthings · 6 years

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Safe Haven. Billy Hargrove. Chapter 2.

(gif is NOT mine. Credit to the owner.)

Warning: Cursing, that’s all ??? (I don’t know. I’m not good at this. If there is a warning let me know so I can put it in here.)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x OFC character, Dominique Villegas.

Word count: 3,712

A/n: Thank you to anyone who read the first chapter last week. I’m glad that people liked it!! I’ll be posting a new chapter every Friday morning. Thank you in advance for reading the new chapter 😊

CHAPTER 1

“Morning dad.”

Dominique greets her dad who is sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, a stack of pancakes in front of him. He looks up from the newspaper and smiles.

“Morning honey.”

“How was work?”

She asks, sitting at the table with him, taking a few pancakes from the plate in front of her.

“Good. Glad I have tonight off I’m exhausted. Never asked you, how was that party you went to on Saturday?”

“Umm, it was fun. Typical teenage party.”

She lied, knowing that he would flip out if she told him about Skylar leaving her alone, the creep in the street, and Billy.

“Are you starting to get used to it here?”

He asks, putting the newspaper down and turning his full attention to her. Dominique shrugs her shoulders, slowly chewing the remainder of her food to stall answering the question.

“I mean, I guess? As used to it as I’m going to get. I miss my friends and everything but I know I get to go back for college so.”

“You haven’t thought about going to college out here? You know, staying close to home?”

This is the millionth time they’ve had this conversation this month, and it was getting old fast. Dominique sighs, trying to pick her words out carefully.

“This isn’t home, dad. Home is 2,000 miles away, home is where I grew up for 17 years of my life. This is just a safe haven until I graduate.”

Her dad sighs and rubs his temple, just as tired of hearing how set she was on getting the hell out of Hawkins and as far away from the town as possible.

“I can’t help you if you’re 2,000 miles away from me. But you’re right. I’m going to shower. I’ll be out before you go to school.”

He says, getting up from the table and walking out of the room and into his. Before they moved it was always Dominique’s plan to go to The University of Nevada and her dad had no problem with it because she was still in the same state as him. But now that they moved he didn’t like the idea of her being so far away from him. It was really because he didn’t want to lose the only other person he loved more than anything, and she understood that, and she felt bad because they were all that each other had basically, but Hawkins wasn’t her home… It never would be.

Dominique checks herself out in the mirror as she brushes her teeth, tousling her curls to make them look a little messy. She does one last look over her makeup and outfit and grabs her bag from the floor and walks out of her room, her dad sleeping on the couch. She tries her best to stay quiet while walking over to the coat rack but she ends up kicking something on the floor and his eyes open, looking over at her.

“Sorry. I’m headed out. I’ll see you after school.”

Dominique says, looking at the open spot on the coat rack that she always hung her black jacket on.

“Dad, have you seen my jacket? Was it in the car?”

“No, I had cleaned it out yesterday before I left for work. Did you maybe leave it at school on Friday?”

She thought about it, she definitely had it the night of the party, at the diner, then it hits her. She knew exactly where it was, and honestly he could keep it because she didn’t want to ask Billy for anything.

“Oh, yeah uh, it’s in my locker at school. I’ll see you later. Love you.”

She says, leaning down to give her dad a kiss before walking out the door. She runs to the car parked on the street to avoid getting wet from the slight drizzle outside. She unlocks the car and tosses her bag in the backseat, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car cranking the heat all the way up. Cold weather was something that rarely happened in Nevada even during winter it only got to 50.

The drive to school was nothing out of the ordinary, Dominique singing at the top of her lungs to the songs that were on the radio. As she pulled into the school parking lot she drove straight into her usual parking spot. There was still at least 15 minutes until she had home room, so she stayed in the car for a while looking over some notes for chemistry, knowing they would be having a quiz sometime this week. Once the first bell rang she got out of her car and started walking to the building, the rain finally stopping. Just as she walked inside she could faintly hear someone yelling out her name. She turned around looking around for them and then she notices it’s Skylar. She glares at her until she gets closer.

“I’m going to fucking beat the shit out of you.”

Dominique threatens, not giving Skylar a chance to say anything.

“I’m sorry! We all thought you were in the car already and then when Jason got to my house to drop us off we noticed you weren’t there.”

“You didn’t notice until after he dropped you off, or until after you two had sex? You didn’t even call yesterday to see if I made it home.”

She angrily says, walking away from Skylar and toward her class.

“Okay, I’m an ass hole… but Jason is just so cute and you know I like him.”

Dominique rolls her eyes and continues walking down the hall not making eye contact.

“Well since you asked, I had to walk home, but then some perv harassed me on the street and almost kidnapped me. But someone ended up pulling over and helping me out.”

“Shit, Dom, I am so sorry. I really, really am.”

Dominique shrugs her shoulders, completely over the conversation, and part of her knowing that Skylar was only apologizing because she felt like she had to.

“We’ll talk later. I got class.”

Finally it was the end of the day, Dominique couldn’t wait to go home and take a nap. As she walks toward her car, she notices Billy leaning against the hood of her car, cigarette hanging from his mouth. He spots her from across the parking lot, throwing the cigarette to the ground and stepping on it to put it out. Dominique sighs and takes the keys out from her bag, ignoring Billy as she passes in front of him.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart.”

He says sarcastically. Dominique opens the driver side door and places her stuff in the backseat, turning to look at Billy, glaring at him.

“What do you want?”

She questions, beyond irritated with his presence. Billy tosses her jacket toward her, Dominique catching it in her hands.

“You left this in my car on Saturday. Figured you might want it back.”

“Thanks. If you could get your ass off my car so I can go home that would be great thanks.”

She scowls, leaning in to get in her car.

“Wait, I have a question.”

She dramatically sighs, raising her eyebrow at him. Billy walks to her side of the car, standing in front of the open door, his forearms resting against the frame of the window.

“Do you think you could help me study for the chemistry test?”

His question catches her off guard. Billy was rarely in class, and he never carried around any books or anything. So for him to be asking her about anything academic was strange.

“Since when do you care about tests? You don’t show up for class half the time.”

Dominique states. Billy shrugs his shoulders.

“I need to get a good grade okay? And you’re kinda the smartest girl I know… So I was just wondering if you would help me.”

She sighs, contemplating on whether or not it was worth having to spend her free time tutoring Billy. After staring at him for a few minutes, she caves. She leans into her car to get a pen and her notebook.

“Alright. Write down your address and I’ll be over tonight by 7:30.”

“Actually can we do it at your house? My house is… uh, loud. And I already know where you live.”

He suggests. She nods her head in agreement.

“Okay. 7:30. I’ll see you later I guess.”

She mumbles. Billy smirks and walks away from her, getting into his blue Camaro and turning the stereo all the way up. She gets in her car and turns the heat up, not yet pulling out of the parking spot until the car warms up. She looks up as she notices someone get into Billy’s car. A redhaired girl with a skateboard slides into the passenger side and slams the door shut. Dominique didn’t know her name, but she knew it was Billy’s sister. She had seen the girl get out of the car in the morning before school and she had seen them around town a few times together. And each time she saw her around Billy she always had a scowl on her face. Dominique couldn’t blame her, Billy is less than easy to get along with and she couldn’t imagine what it was like to have to live with him being a dick all the time.

“Finally getting around to cleaning your room?”

Dominique’s dad laughs, startling her at first. She turns toward the door and tosses some laundry in the hamper.

“Yeah, I’m helping a frie- person from school put because we have a test coming up this week.”

It’s not until Dominique looks at her dad that she realizes that he was dressed in his work uniform but she had no idea why.

“I thought you had today off?”

“I did. One of the guys got hurt pretty bad and they asked if I could cover him tonight and tomorrow night.”

He sighs. Her dad works at a factory in town making and installing countertops for kitchens. It wasn’t an exciting job, but it got the bills paid and it was pretty good paying.

“So you’re going to work all week without a day off? You’re going to be exhausted.”

“Hey, over time means extra money. I’m going to head out. I’ll see you tomorrow, have fun studying.”

He comes into her room, giving her a hug and a kiss on her forehead.

“Love you.”

She says, hearing the front door lock behind him.

8:30 rolls around and Billy still hadn’t made it to her house and she was falling asleep on the couch waiting for him. She didn’t get the nap she wanted when she got home since she had to clean up the house a little bit. She gets off the couch and goes into the bathroom, taking her hair out of its usual ponytail she wears around the house, letting it fall down her back. The doorbell rings continuity, Dominique automatically knowing who it was. She sighs and walks out to the front of the house to answer the door. She opens it and glares at Billy. He has a shit eating grin on his face and laughs.

“I heard it the first 20 times. You didn’t need to do it another 20 times.”

She says, opening the door more and letting him in the house. He steps in and right away takes a seat on the couch.

“Cute outfit.”

He says, the same stupid smile still on his face. She had a oversized white sweatshirt on, the shoulders stretched out and hanging off her shoulder, and a pair of sweatpants on. She rolls her eyes and sits on the floor in front of the coffee table, opening her notebook and her chemistry book. She looks up at him and sees him looking back at her.

“Where’s your chemistry book?”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

He says, taking his jacket off and placing it on the back of the couch.

“You didn’t really want me to tutor you, did you?”

Billy sighs and takes a paper out of his jacket pocket, handing it to Dominique.

“What, you’re too good to speak?”

“Read the paper, Villegas.”

Dominique unfolds the paper, revealing the last chemistry test they had taken in class. Right at the top of the paper was “50/60” written in red pen. She looks up at him in fake awe.

“Wow, you did really well. Who did you copy off of?”

“No dickhead, I did that on my own. Believe it or not I actually have a brain up here.”

He responds. Dominique flips through the test, seeing that all the work he did was actually right.

“Dude, you’re smart. Why don’t you participate in class and actually show up?”

Billy takes the paper from her and looks at it, shrugging his shoulders and folding it back up.

“I dunno. I have a reputation around school and it’s not being a brainy smart guy. I’ve always been pretty smart I guess. I just don’t apply myself.”

“Why? Do you like people thinking you’re just another dumb, aggressive, confrontational, womanizer type guy? Because that’s what everyone thinks of you at school.”

Dominique replies. Billy rolls his eyes at her, his eyes looking down at the coffee table, not making eye contact.

“What are you, a shrink?”

“No. I just want to know why you’re letting your potential go to waste.”

He rolls his head back on the headrest of the couch, over the conversation.

“I don’t know, doc. Why don’t you tell me.” Dominique sighs and shuts her text book, annoyed that she actually gave him the time of day.

“Billy, why are you wasting both of our times? I’m sure the ‘new king of Hawkins’ has better things to do then to hang out with me.”

He picks his head up, finally looking at Dominique.

“Maybe I wanted to apologize for Saturday night. For assuming you were going to have sex with me.”

She looks at him surprised. Not expecting him to ever apologize for anything.

“Really? Hmm, I didn’t take you for the type to actually know when you’re wrong. I accept your apology, but you set up this fake study date just to apologize to me?”

“Maybe I also wanted to take you on a real date?”

Her eyes grow wide, taken off guard at his statement.

“Are you being serious? Why?”

“Why what? Why do I want to take you on a real date?”

She nods her head, interested to hear what he has to say.

“You seem cool, and I don’t know... I know you think I’m a dick and I want to prove to you that I’m not a dick... all the time.”

“And you’re being serious? You aren’t doing this on a dare, nobody is paying you to try and sleep with me?”

She asks not being able to fully trust him.

“No. I’m being serious. Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Dominique can’t help but let out a laugh. Not to be a bitch, but just because it was the most random thing. The guy that all the girls at school wanted was interested in her.

“Alright. I’ll give you a chance. But, I’m not going to play games with you. Don’t waste my time.”

He puts his hands up in surrender and nods his head.

“I brought a movie to watch if you want.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a VHS. Poltergeist, written on the tape.

“You know Halloween is over right?”

“Oh are you scared? It’s alright I’ll hold you if you get scared.”

He smirks, draping his arms across the back of the couch. Dominique laughs and grabs the tape off the table and putting it in the VCR.

“Do you want something to eat or drink? I can get you a beer, my dad won’t notice if a few are gone.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

She turns toward the kitchen, butterflies in her stomach and the biggest smile painted across her face. Just the other day Dominique couldn’t stand the sight of Billy Hargrove, and here he was in her house on a date. He actually made her get all giddy with just a stupid pet name.

“Hey, wake up.”

Billy whispers, lightly shaking Dominique’s shoulder. She stretches her back and looks up at Billy. Her head resting against his thigh and a blanket covering her body.

“We fell asleep, the movie is over.”

He says rubbing his eyes and yawning. She sits up and looks at the time on the VCR, the green numbers saying 1:37am. She shuts the tv off and stands up, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.

“Do you want to stay the night? It’s late and I don’t think you should drive if you’re tired.”

Dominique says, making up an excuse for him to stay the night with her. She was scared sometimes to stay by herself when her dad was at work, she kept a baseball bat by her bed in case anything were to ever happen but in a scary situation she knew she wouldn’t be able to actually defend herself against any type of real danger. A small smirk forms on Billy’s face, licking his lips to hide it. He gets up off the couch and follows Dominique toward the back of the house where her room is. She turns the light on in her room and lets Billy in, shutting the door and locking it just in case her dad came home early.

“Don’t get any ideas, this is how I sleep.”

Dominique says, lifting her sweatshirt over her head, leaving a crop top and the sweatpants on. Billy looks her body over and raises his eyebrows.

“So I can get comfortable?”

“You’re not getting naked if that’s what you’re trying to ask, Hargrove.”

She says crawling into bed and underneath the sheets. She watches Billy unbutton the few buttons on his shirt that were actually done and toss it on the floor. He unbuckles his belt, throwing it to the ground as well. Dominique holds back a nervous giggle as Billy pulls his jeans down his legs, stepping out of them and rolling into bed next to her. He puts one of his arms behind his head and stares up at the ceiling.

“Are you going to stay all the way over there, or are you going to come over here next to me?”

He bluntly asks. Dominique scoots herself closer to him, curling up next to him and resting her head on his chest. He smelled of slight cigarette smoke and strong cologne, but the smell was nice, the cologne complementing the cigarette smoke. She knew when they woke up into the morning her sheets would smell like him, and she actually didn’t mind. She smiles to herself, feeling warm and safe with Billy next to her.

“Got you in bed the first date.”

Billy laughs. Dominique smacks his shoulder, trying not to let the laugh she was trying to contain out.

“Keep it up and I’ll kick your ass out of my bed and onto the floor. Anyways, you never told me your story. Why did you move out here?”

Dominique asks. Billy sighs, his chest rising and his heartbeat going a little faster than it was. His other hand reaches over and takes hers, playing with her hand.

“My father married this lady, Susan, that used to work at the bank in the town I lived in back in California. They started dating and got married, few months later we moved out here… and the rest is history.”

“That’s it? They just decided that you guys were going to pack up and move here?”

Billy sighs again, clearing his throat.

“Some… stuff happened and my father had to find a job out here. I don’t know it’s a long story that I don’t feel like getting into right now.”

“Oh, okay. So the red headed girl that I see getting into your car at school is your sister?”

She asks trying to change the subject.

“Step sister. Her name is Max. She’s kind of a bitch.”

“Billy! I’m sure she’s not that bad. I’ll just leave the questions about your family alone. Can I ask you something else?”

He laughs and holds her hand, resting it on his stomach.

“I already know you’re going to ask regardless if I say yes or no.”

“What made you want to ask me out? Like out of all the girls at the school who throw themselves at you, why me? Someone who never gave you a second glance in the hallway.”

The room is silent for a few minutes before Billy answers.

“I’ve seen you around school since I started. I thought you were a total geek since I saw you hanging out with Wheeler. And I would see you in class sometimes and you were always in your book and getting good grades and shit, I thought you were annoying, not going to lie. But then when I saw you outside of school, you know, the party, and I saw a different side of you. You’re different than the other girls I’ve been with in California and here. Maybe I need a change.”

His fingertips lightly run up and down Dominique’s shoulder, goosebumps spreading across her body. Her eyelids start to get heavier each time she blinks, Billy’s touch making it even harder to stay awake.

After a few minutes Billy notices that Dominique’s breathing had slowed to a rhythm and that she was knocked out. He smiles down at her and starts to play with the ends of her hair in her ponytail. While they were watching the movie earlier in the night Billy got to see Dominique in a different light than he saw her at school. She was caring, and actually paid attention when Billy was talking as opposed to the other girls he had gone on “dates” with at school who just wanted to fuck him. He knew that there was something special about Dominique, and he would be able to open up to her sometime down the road.

Tag list: @coolyoungbouquetdestinylove

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove headcanons #dacre Montgomery #dacre montgomery fanfic #dacre montgomery imagine #dacre montgomery headcanons #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagines #stranger things headcanons #safe haven fan fic

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