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#that she’s taking on a persona like she does in Blank Space

m0e-ru · 1 year

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why did you give izanami nullity? is that even an actual arcana?

oh shit I never explained this at all here ever have i 🤯

short answer: no it’s not a real tarot, however it's somewhat derivative of The Fool and the reverse of The World (you get where this is going).

long answer sponsored by moel oil gas corp

It was all the way back when I started thinking of this au making it the first few things I ever thought about in the lens of gameplay and lore wise. I figured I’d follow how they implemented Adachi’s SL and mimic that-ish.

In the way that Social Links and Arcana are affected by the Velvet Room’s guest’s perception of their bond, the nature of the relationship itself etc etc. It’s what gives them strength and in P4’s context, helps bancho find the truth.

By definition “nullity” could mean “nothingness” “insignificance” “nonentity” “a thing of no importance or worth” where I just hoped it would be the opposite to “anybody” or “everything”

that being said if this social link was ever implemented into the game players would fucking hate it for how stupid volatile it is <- thought about gameplay

while it’s incredibly easy to garner points since whatever the fuck you say to their face wouldn’t really matter, the schedule is so intertwined with the story itself if you missed the dates to rank up one rank the whole social link would just be gone from your SL menu and it would’ve been like there was never an attendant to begin with

you keep the attendant part time job just . without the attendant. they even stop showing up when it rains they’re just fucking out of there they’re done with you

not only is there a strict schedule but also dumb prerequisites to each rank like initiating Justice or getting Jester to rank 3 not only do you have to worry about the day but if you’ve gotten those ready or not <- dumbass hypothetical game mechanics <- is the one that thought of the game mechanics

BUT if you do it all right and get it to rank 9 you’re technically fine and Yomotsu-Hirasaka becomes Yomotsu-Hirafuckedup and is worse than the Hollow Forest itself gamefaqs worst jrpg dungeon of the decade. If you choose the right dialogue options maybe you’ll a good bad ending where someone theoretically dies but it continues like the game’s True ending or maybe you get Nullity to rank 10 and it becomes the Universe and you get a special key to unlock episode izanami on persona four arena ultimax for free and the whole story completely diverges from there

moving the hypothetical gameplay aside, i make mim go through their own’s fool’s journey if you know a thing or two about the actual tarot. that makes three clowns and a judge at the gas station it’s a circus at that point (gave Namatame Adjustment tarot, Thoth equivalent of Justice)

while i also understand the weight of the World and Universe arcana in the Persona-verse itself i like to mess around and give mim the universe hehe (i am pulled off stage probably) i think it’d be cool to see another fool complete their journey and receive the world

i probably mentioned this 10000 times or never times on this gas station i don’t know but my plans for mim at least is that. well. they’re quite literally nothing

sure they’re a god sure they have a duty they have a face they have a name they have the power to manipulate the manifested world of a collective unconscious—but it’s anyone else’s bond with the attendant, it's the gas station attendant social link. nothing more than a role they play to put their plan into action. like acting as a manager for a bunch of amateur teenage show hosts or puppeteering Teddie’s poor Shadow or governing an entire reality

something meant to be disposable and forgettable—something empty. like a weirdly crocheted pouch you think you wouldn’t use and probably end up unraveling to reuse the yarn but you used it so much, put things in it, decorated it even, that there’s sentimental value to it now and you can just toss it out or unravel it anymore <- has been crocheting

that’s no longer nothingness that’s no longer nullity there’s essence and something and ego that yes maybe this bond will change dramatically from both parties’ view

#assk #anon #p4 #persona 4 spoilers #gsa sl au #⛽️🌫#sulululat #// wow theres so much info under wraps what thinking for two years does to a mf #// if you think about the grimoire being the bestiary like how the anime shows margaret documenting it yeah it'd be covered in fog #// marie isnt there at the time and margaret has to be careful not to open to that page when shes around #// even soujis memories are literally foggy since he cant exactly grasp who the hell the attendant is #// until much later mim themself gets to form their identity and souji can see and percieve that much better that theyre documented properl #// once they take away his memories the pages are blank. but theyre not gone. there was something there .it just disappeared #// theres a space in his memories where something used to be thats not something mim can take away #// there may be no more fog in the grimoire but the highway is so misty they had to stop entirely #// im going to bed i haveto go out tomorrow have a nice day anon

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peachesancreams · 20 days

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Angelic Wives

Vox, Alastor, and Husk

There is a spoiler for helluva boss is Voxs part, just a heads up

Summary: just a stream of thought on their wives, who they are and how they’d act in life and heaven

Vox

I see him running a TV program like a new up coming producer

he produced one of those musical/comedy jubilees, so people preformed or did comedy acts

meet his wife as she sang some cover of an older song, she had wanted to do her own original song but the studio vetoed it

he loved her voice and natural elegance, she thought his secretly pathetic nature was adorable

Old Hollywood IT couple vibes, but like any photos of them he’s blank or stoic looking

he just liked the contrast of his radiantly glowing wife to his darkness

she had no illusions about how terrible he was. She drank and smoked sure but she knew she had nothing on him morally

my headcanon is he got his head repeatedly smashed into a TV by someone he definitely stole the position from

I’ll say this once: She’s Only Heaven because of Him

Like she was a good person but if you’ve seen Helluva Boss you know you can like buy you’re way into heaven(donate it to good causes and the like)

Idk if they were a thing but i can see Vox taking out a life insurance policy on both him and his wife, either way when he passed she ended up loaded

didn’t want it, actually was SUPER depressed due to him passing so she kept enough to sustain herself but donated everything else

only went on TV on his death date, sang songs he loved or would’ve liked

did make only 1 album but it was very sad and it wasn’t popular when she was alive

was also murdered!! But in a mugging, her favorite pearl necklace got destroyed but she got to keep her ring(she wanted those damn pearls)

my first idea for her in heaven was to have a spotlight head akfbwjnxjdndkskd

honestly tho I think she’d be a Sand Cat, very rare but definitely not a house pet

people have mixed feelings about her being in heaven

it was cause she had a more ‘sexy starlet’ persona cause many people unconfirmed rumors

Now it’s mainly due to how she’s publicly admits to still loving her demon husband

knows they technically aren’t married “death do you part” and all, but she kept the ring dammit that’s her man

would be thrilled to know he had found a partner!!(partners of polyvees)

not the jealous type has a more “I can share as long as you have space for me in your heart” thought process

For Just Valentino

• “oh wow he found someone with the a similar moral compass! That is to say: none! Good for him.”

• think he’s very beautiful tbh

• “why are they both so damn tall…” jealous only of their height

For PolyVees

“I love the Evil Power Couple vibe….what? I can like it and know they are not good people! Logic people, come on.”

Craves velvettes designs, like heavens fashion has Christian Dior but she likes Velvettes fresh styles

would be curious about the relationship dynamics tbh like is her husband a hinge or what

Back to my HeadCannons!!

actually started her own jubilee program in heaven! Still takes a segment on Vs death day to sing him a song

It’s popular cause new souls who remember miss old MTV(I know I do) and older souls miss the performance aspect I bet

Heaven does have to check over what she’s putting on the program, it has to be clean and by heavens many rules after all

does a hosting segment on the weekends, she apparently got really popular after her death!!

People in heaven were gagged to see her being a TV host(Hell too if the Cherub commercial is anything to go by)

Alastor

met when they were young adults at Mimzys club, it was a slow romance like spring thawing out winter

A slow realization but quick to accept their love for the other, got married so quick people actually started to gossip

that was a theme in their life together, being gossiped about but no one confronting them

he was a famous radio host after all! And she was his lovely housewife, even if she was a yankee

(he doesn’t remember her but they meet when they were younger but only she remembered, didn’t say much cause she knows it wasn’t a happy time for him)

loved to forage and garden, paired with his hunting they always ate very fresh food. (He misses it not that he’d actually say to anyone)

I can see him living outside of New Orleans, not in the bayou but close to the swamps

she didn’t know about his murder hunts, and as he became a cannibal after death she never ate a victim

so while he was shot in the head, my personal headcanon was that people thought the hunter was the mass murderer and a mob got to him before police

I will write about this somewhere else because I have A Lot of thoughts on police work back then, plus the forensics that aid in this

she was of course devastated, she barely ate and when the police told her what happened the first time she fainted

they had to repeat themselves 3 times till it registered that her husband was dead

so many assumed she offed herself, but she just fell asleep in the bath after a breakdown

having drowned and gone to heaven, she finally got to meet the other most important person to Alastor!!

Abigail is also a deer, and was thrilled to meet she lil Al’s lady! Always lowkey knew what kinda person her boy was so is not surprised he isn’t in heaven

his wife is Upset and Confused, he should be here? Why isn’t he in paradise!

I t’s not a-typical but Sera had a meeting with her and basically was like “listen you didn’t know this so you were safe but…”

tells his wife everything, doesn’t hold anything back. Sera knows Abigail has an idea, but not the full picture

now she is Upset and Confused but for very different reasons.

She’s upset for many reasons; he lied to her, many times and in so many ways. She felt like a fool

Confused at herself because she still…misses him. And loves him. He was her Al, sweet with terrible jokes and his mamas recipes.

She shouldn’t. Right? He’s evil and where he belongs.

Opened a coffee shop because she needed something to do, and with no forests to forage she turned to Abigail who turned her to cooking/baking

her menu has his favorite snack foods, and a handful of sweet items that she rotates out

expanded to matcha and espresso in the modern years, but kept her coffee shop in a vintage design

think a tea room design but for a coffee shop

Husk

Ok so Husk always gave me ex-solider vibes, like the drinking and gambling? Coping mechanisms

Husk was probably a very hard man to love and did a lot of learning down in Hell

I can see him leaving his family, but only cause he saw it as the debt leaving with him

(It did and ended up being the reason he died, owing money to the wrong people)

His wife, the reason he can not love, was tough as nails at least on the outside

Would and did roll up her sleeves and did the “man’s work” around the house; fixed up the car, plumbing, made a table out of a tree that fell in the yard

If she could learn how to do it, she put her all into it

When he left took up neighborhood odd jobs, many actually used her for childcare and it inspired her to open her home to kids in need.

They didn’t get to have any kids before he left, they tried but…well she always ended up saying her kids came to her later in life

Caring for and loving those kids are why she’s in heaven, she thankfully passed while not fostering any young ones

Spontaneous heart attack, wasn’t surprised liked her meat and potatoes

Mainly white Calico, long haired to Husks medium(fluffycatsfluffycatsfluffycats)

Not surprised Husk isn’t in heaven, he was a soldier he killed people. Is a lil surprised she’s there

She was a kind woman, a hard life made her have a hard exterior

She did what she could for the children she could, but never saw it as enough

If Hell has children then Heaven probably does too

Opened a few orphanages, got permission from the Seraphim’s and everything

Isn’t a director but does do monthly check ins to make sure everything is to her standards. Wants the best for these kids.

Thinks about Husk in a bittersweet way, knows he’s probably enjoying all the gambling dens and ladies

He was faithful in life and that’s more then most women got, she doesn’t mind him seeking others

It doesn’t matter that she hasn’t tried looking for another, she always preferred her own company anyway

She had been annoyed and angry at him in life for leaving but in the afterlife…..in small quiet moments she thinks about him

all dividers are credited to @saradika-graphics

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin vox #hazbin husk #x reader #vox x reader #alastor x reader #husk x reader #they do have names and all that junk #but I’ll do it later #it’s in my drafts I PROMISE #I’m just #lazy soencjejfjfkz

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golden28s · 7 months

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Let's talk about why Blank Space by Taylor Swift is an Ian Gallagher song.

The ironic tone of the song is so important and key for this, Taylor presents herself as this serial dater that makes men fall in love with her by being exactly what they want, makes that relationship a living hell because it seems, according to the narrative that the media spreads, that she's the problem and then they leave her. She's embracing the character that the media built for her and she's doing it with irony and sarcasm, like "oh, yeah I'm so crazy I even have a list of all the men I've dated".

So keeping this in mind, let's see the connections to Ian. In my mind this song encapsulates his character from s4 to s10 but specially in s6 and s7. What do we see him doing in those two seasons? Dating men that aren't Mickey. And he tries, he tries really hard to be what they want, what they need. He even, specially in Caleb's case, tries to separate them from his family so they don't know he's not this well put together persona he's trying to be. But that's his nature, a nature that he also embraces with irony and sarcasm every time he talks about his bipolar. He keeps that tone every time he thinks or insinuates that any of those relationships could end because of that, because it seems like he's the problem, like he's the one being what everyone needs until the worst comes. Until this nature he can't stop manifests itself and the relationship ends.

He views himself as a mess, as a problem, as this fucked up thing no one can't fix because there's nothing to fix. He thinks he’s this thing that can lie and pretend to be okay, to be fine until it's not, until it breaks and it hurts you leaving you with a nasty scar. Obviously this comes from the idea that he could end up being like his mum, being destructive. He feels that being in a relationship with him is just waiting for the fatal final mess that at some point will come, you could even say he thinks he's a nightmare dressed like a daydream. He can be what you want, you can fall in love with him but the end is right there waiting. The destructive nature he thinks he has in him it's patiently waiting.

It feels like he started those relationships knowing they would end, that they would be a name on that list the song mentions and maybe the rumor would spread and "they'll tell you I'm insane". Though that line could also be a reference to the reputation that having the same mental illness as his mum builts for him.

But then, Trevor. He lets Trevor know some stuff about his family and this time it's not only him the destructive element, it's his family at least in s7. And he lets him know probably because he has seen other complicated lives because of his job, so he could understand and not judge unlike Caleb who had a very stable and normal life. So he tries, he tries to be everything Trevor needs, he listens, he nods and smiles and understands. He tries to be better and know better and tries, he tries so hard to fit in Trevor's world, in Trevor's life. But it happens again, he's just dressed as a daydream because he wants to be loved so bad that he would be anything for that, he would be that boy for a month. But once again, never forgetting the irony and sarcasm of it all, the worst is yet to come. And of course, everything ends but Trevor couldn't say he didn't warn him. Ian told him about his mum, about his bipolar so he should've seen it coming, right?

Turns out boys don’t want love if it’s torture even if that's what he has seen in his parents, even if he has seen destruction being part of love. But he will take those relationships way too far, because he's young and reckless and will watch them end knowing it was gonna happen, knowing everyone knew it would because this is what he does, this is what that nature he understands as his, does.

This is why Blank Space is an Ian Gallagher song, because in an ironical and sarcastic way, he embraces the idea of him being the problem, the reason why his relationships don't work.

#it makes sense TO ME #gallavich #shameless #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #gallavich headcanon #gallavich meta #i guess idk

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kaasknot · 2 years

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hot take: Bertie the Lamb is autistic

buster keaton's first role in a feature film—his breakout role, which earned him critical acclaim—was playing the titular saphead, Bertie Van Alstyne, in the 1920 movie The Saphead. bertie is endearingly clueless throughout, hence the title; and for the most part, it's played for laughs and gentle sympathy: bertie is an idiot, but a well-meaning one. however, another interpretation could be made: that bertie van alstyne is not stupid—merely autistic.

the word "autism" was coined in the 1910s, and the diagnostic criteria weren't laid down until the 1930s. i feel confident that neither the writer nor keaton had any intention of portraying bertie as being on the spectrum. nevertheless, by turning a modern eye to the character, and by reading on the watsonian rather than doylist level, there is sufficient evidence for at least a headcanon.

bertie has a flat affect. in lay terms, he has a blank expression, showing emotion very rarely, if at all. of course, this is buster keaton's signature: he was famous for his blank pan. but in The Saphead he takes it to an unusual degree, especially after his open emotionality working alongside roscoe arbuckle, where he frequently smiled or laughed on camera. even in his later films, where he came into his own as a filmmaker and as "the great stoneface," he was more emotive than his reputation suggested. but as bertie, he reins in his expressions so tightly they almost disappear altogether.

i s2g brent spiner took pointers from him when playing data.

2. on the flip side, there's one notable scene where he empathizes with another person's pain very deeply—his fiancée's, when she's reconciling with her foster father. her foster father is also bertie's blood father, so the reconciliation is both immediate to bertie's understanding and probably something he wants for himself, too. the barrier for comprehending the other person's mental/emotional space is lowered in this scene, and in true autist fashion, bertie overexperiences the stimulus. (it's also notable for being the only scene like it for bertie in the movie. he doesn't empathize with others easily.)

can bertie get a hug, too?

3. bertie has a stiff, robotic walk. he moves with precise, careful turns and very little arm movement, and frequently slips, trips, and falls. while not a diagnostic criterion per se, it's still clinically significant for autistic people to have motor difficulty. in addition, it's not uncommon for a flat affect to extend to pain reactions—and sure enough, bertie barely reacts to his pratfalls. again, this is a feature of keaton's overall style: he uses similar mannerisms for the character of rollo treadway in 1924's The Navigator, typifying them as his "rich twit" persona. they're played for laughs, not pathos. taking away comedy, however, and taken in aggregate with the rest of bertie's traits, keaton's performance strongly suggests bertie is on the spectrum. (interestingly, rollo treadway does not read as autistic to me, walk and stoneface aside).

he stumbles/falls on his ass so. many. times. it's not even supposed to be a comedy!!

4. bertie is extremely literal. when he's presented with a metaphor or abstraction, he bypasses subtext in favor of the direct, explicit meaning. if a poker chip is worth $2k, then it must be made from a valuable material. if he paid for a seat on the stock exchange, then it must be one of the actual chairs lining the trading floor.

wait till you learn about fiat currency, bud.

this is saved from absurdity by the innocence with which keaton imbues the character. bertie is sheltered; he hasn't learned all the ways neurotypicals confound language, yet. he learns quickly, however, and does his best to adapt—which leads into my next point:

5. bertie masks. "masking" is the conscious effort to observe and mimic "correct" behaviors. the entire premise of bertie's story hinges on his well-intentioned but misinformed attempt to court his sweetheart by turning himself into a rake. he found a handbook explaining how, and he carefully follows the rules it lays down to the letter, even going so far as to buy a picture of a famous dancer because rakes keep company with scandalous women. in other scenes, he follows the rules of polite society with a wooden, studied air, or looks to see what other people do with their hands so he can copy them. and of course, the climactic scene in the stock exchange: unscrupulous stockbrokers see an easy mark in bertie and proceed to bully him; bertie, desperate to fit in, comes to the conclusion that knocking off each other's hats is simply the way wall street operates.

"i am going to get such a good grade in being normal,"

6. bertie can't read subtext. this relates back to #4, but it deserves its own point because of how much it impacts the plot. in the third act, bertie's brother-in-law frames bertie for his own crimes. it's a fabulously dramatic scene, with the reveal of a scandalous secret that could ruin the family reputation—and it's scripted almost entirely in subtext. another actor might have played bertie as taking the fall to save the family honor, but in keaton's hands, he comes off as profoundly baffled. he has no idea of the undercurrents or implications swirling around him, because no one actually explains what's happening; it's all conveyed through trailing sentences and meaningful glances. bertie's just trying to do his best with the piecemeal information he's able to cobble together. unfortunately for him, it results in him getting used as a patsy and disowned.

spoiler: they're not bertie's letters.

7. bertie gets extremely focused on certain actions or thought processes and it's difficult for him to switch gears. when his childhood sweetheart comes into town, bertie goes (to the wrong station) to pick her up. and even though the 6:30 train arrives without her on it, he stays through three more arrivals, just in case. in fact, he didn't seem to have any intention of leaving at all—until a group of friends happens by and they invite him along. it's as though bertie is unable to come up with an alternate course of action in the wake of his sweetheart's no-show, so he carries on with his original plan, even though it's no longer useful. in another scene, he's determined to be arrested (it makes sense in context). the police, however, refuse to oblige him. despite their rebuffing him multiple times, bertie keeps trying to enter the paddywagon until it finally drives away, leaving him behind.

Area Man Resistant To Sudden Changes In Plans

8. finally, bertie has a meltdown. he's had an incredibly trying (day? week?): he got unjustly disowned; his fiancée called off the wedding; the rules of the stock exchange are completely upside down from those of the rest of the world, as far as he can tell; and now, everyone is yelling the name of the woman who caused all his woe. his clothes are torn; people are touching him without his permission; it's probably ungodly loud on the trading floor. the minute he sees a familiar face, he implodes, and his emotions fall out.

complete with neurotypicals (even trusted ones) laughing at him.

9. stimming is least supported by the text, so i'm putting it last. there isn't really a clear and distinct "stimming behavior" that we see bertie do, except that when he's excited he occasionally rocks from side to side. in comparison, when he's nervous or alarmed, he goes very still. that could be a compensation he learned to hide a nervous stim. his father was nicknamed "the old nick of wall street," and he's depicted as something of a hardass, so i bet young bertie learned quickly not to show his autistic side too much.

alternately, he could have a vocal stim. it's a silent movie, after all.

and there we go, all of the reasons that i headcanon bertie van alstyne is autistic. it was all done by accident, but hey, if oblivious straight writers can give me tender homoerotic love stories, then oblivious neurotypical actors can give me top-tier autistic rep. death of the author, etc.

(descriptions in ALT)

#autism #buster keaton #the saphead #meta #my posts

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scarletwritesshit · 11 months

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persona [all games] fanfic masterlist

Yosuke Hanamura x F!Reader ❀ Town of Blossoms

Souji Seta x Yosuke Hanamura ☂ A River Through a Foggy Land

Souji and Yosuke have always been rather close friends, spending time with each other and talking up a storm whenever possible. With a very vague phone call received from Yosuke one morning, paired with his sudden silence throughout the school day, Souji couldn't help but wonder if something other than the murder cases has been bothering him as of late.

Alternate title: The Yosuke Romance Route that Atlus was too Cowardly to Give Us

☂Cross Posted on AO3☂

☂Afterword☂

Yosuke Hanamura x Naoto Shirogane ⊟ Reminiscent of the Days Gone By

⊟Cross posted on AO3⊟

Of course Naoto got dragged into more detective work. And it just so happened to be on Valentine's Day, too. With daunting police documents holding none of her interest, she gets lost in her thoughts of the time that has passed ever since she first met Yosuke Hanamura. It was a terrible way to spend the holiday, though Yosuke wasn't one for leaving those close to him forgotten.

Makoto Niijima x Goro Akechi ☪ They Hate to see a Girlboss Winning

⋆☪ Cross posted on AO3! ☪⋆

Makoto has always felt quite inferior to her older sister. She would constantly put in extra effort to at least try and gain her approval, which has all been for nothing considering how she's never home. The new mission to outsmart Akechi's plan has proven to be the perfect opportunity for Makoto to prove her worth. She was going to watch every single one of his TV appearances, from his own shows to special interview appearances. She was constantly going to keep tabs on Akechi's whereabouts to make sure he does not end up taking down a few targets behind the scenes. Makoto will even go as far as to have direct conversations with the man himself. Surely, she will finally be able to at least compare to Sae. But why do all of her plans involve Akechi?

Goro Akechi x Sumire Yoshizawa 〆Who am I, if Not a Shell of my Former Self?

〆Cross posted on AO3〆

identity i·den·ti·ty noun 1. the fact of being who or what a person or thing is.

Goro Akechi x Ren Amamiya ⌛ Takuto Maruki's Shuake Fanfiction

⌛Cross posted on AO3⌛

What good is a blank notebook if you don't use it to write your own story? This new reality of Maruki's was just that, and he was going to make sure to fill in every little space on its pages with as much control as he could reach. Directing the relationship of Ren and Akechi was no exception. In fact, it felt as if there were too many ideas for him to expand upon…

Kotone Shiomi x Shinjiro Aragaki 🍣 The Dreadful Secret of Shinjiro Aragaki

🍣Cross posted on AO3🍣

The members of S.E.E.S. all have their own secrets, with some being of greater degree than others. Shinjiro was no exception, especially as he wasn't exactly known for talking about himself. What's the worst he could be hiding? A secret about his Persona? Unforgivable sins from the past? Or a secret love for fluffy little creatures?

Kotone Shiomi x Akihiko Sanada 🌸March 6th, 2010

🌸Cross posted on AO3🌸

That blindingly brilliant moment when we were all together Those precious times I didn't realize I should cherish Now all I can do is remember, I will embrace the feeling

Kotone Shiomi x Theodore 🧋 Bubbled Tea

🧋Cross posted on AO3🧋

Boba is a rather simple concept to normal inhabitants of this world, like Kotone, for example. Theo, however, could not piece together the logic of this treat for the life of his. Was it comprised of bubbles? Tea? Tea bubbles? He couldn't wrap his head around the concept, so Kotone resorted to giving into his request and taking him to the cafe to try the mysterious beverage for himself.

Kotone Shiomi x Shinjiro Aragaki🍲Soup for All, in the Name of One

🍲Cross posted on AO3🍲

A good pot of soup can fix just about anything. For some, it's a cure for hunger. For others, it soothes a lonely heart.

Kotone Shiomi x Jin Shirato🔫Death Won't Answer Every Call

🔫Cross posted on AO3🔫

You are only given one chance at life, and you must make the best of it regardless of the hand that you are dealt. Kotone wanted to forfeit, yet Jin wanted his opponent to see things through until the very end, for he wasn't quite lucky himself.

Kotone Shiomi x Shinjiro Aragaki 💭 Snitch of the S.E.E.S. Table

💭Cross posted on AO3💭

Koromaru's a dog. Aigis speaks dog. One would think that would make Koromaru a rather poor keeper of secrets, especially when he bears no punishment for the words he spills.

#persona 4 #p4 #persona 5 #p5 #fanfic #fanfiction

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pugs-cats-bb-8 · 1 year

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Persona Thoughts Part. 3

P3-FES-

I watched a Very supercut ver. I don't have a PSVita or old PlayStation and my computer can't handle an emulator. The only max links I saw were Aigis, Yukari, Pharos and SEES. I will buy Portable sometime in the future.

I've seen a bit of 3 (S links {Girls}, Makoto). I don't like his personality, but we'll see if he gets better.

I've also seen the first bit of 3P and I have to say I don't care that P doesn't have cut scenes.

I love his old MP3 Player.

God, I fucking hate Pharos! Are you supposed to like him? Because he's just a fucking creep. Also signing rando contracts/pieces of paper without reading and or consulting a lawyer. I know it's to put your name in but; it feels like if it wasn't a game thing. You might get bad end if you signed.

I know some of the story (more the big picture, less details).

Does Yukari think she can summon her Persona right in the dorms? Wait, would that work? Also, she was going to pull a gun (albeit a non-shooty one) on a random guy? Jumpy much. Why were the lights off? I guess Yukari's this games "scared of ghosts" person.

Gotta be cool to ride a monorail to school. What's with the teacher's 80s hair and outfit? She looks more at home in 1/2 than 3.

So, Dumbledore is your principal? How much of a part does he play?

Also going from 5 where people think you're going to stab them to "oh, look at the new kid. They look cool"! Is very jarring.

Did a dude who doesn't even know you ask if Yukari had a boyfriend? How about he grow some balls and ask her himself?

Also, how did the teacher know who was talking? Does he have all the names of every class memorized? *rolls eyes* He should mind his own business, Dumbledore ain't saying nothing anyone needs to know.

Oh my God, what is with the facial cut ins?

Also, Junpei looks like the local pervert.

Yukari isn't as bad as I thought.

What is that mad/confident portrait of Akihiko?

I don't trust Ikutsuki. (I also hate spelling his name). He just seems untrustworthy. He's also old Igor. Why does Ikutsuki look like Katsuya?

Major privacy violation I hope Japan is not that lassiez faire about spying on children. What was he going to do if you turned into a coffin?

Does this game have a dictionary, or do they like highlight keywords for no reason?

Can someone make a mod that takes every Pharos scene and replaces him with Elizabeth and also edits out the voice lines? I'd rather see her.

It feels like you had a strange dream... Fuck it, school time.

The highlighted words cause weird spacing issues.

Do you get sleep when you get dragged into the Velvet Room? My HC is that you get no sleep. Does he sleep in his uniform?

Hardcore shadow crawling up the side of the building while holding 6! Knives. No wonder Yukari had trouble summoning her Persona. I would too if I shot myself point blank in the head.

Ikutsuki was ready to serve your ass up on a silver platter. Cool entrance, go coffin boy. I love how Orpheus bashes shadows with his harp.

Ah, the velvet elevator. Or, as I call it, motion sickness. Why does Igor say Orpheus was the one who headed your call? The text makes it sound like there is a random pool and you got whatever was picked

Yeah coma!

A cat!

Is that monk smoking a cigar?

Ikutsuki telling you everything right after you wake up from a coma

The creep is in your room Why?

I wish we could've seen Junpei's awakening.

Yeah, you get to break into your school. I think we're 3 games too early for breaking and entering.

I think your whole team should be able to come into the velvet room. It keeps your teammates from looking at you weird.

Is that blood on the floor?

You portal back?

I don't like the old S Link rank up thing.

For some I want to fast forward through the dialoge, even through I haven't seen this game.

Buying weapons from the police feels wrong. Like I hope I'm not buying evidence.

A. That is one big bed you have and B. You need creep be gone so Pharos can't get in.

Elizebeth gives the fountain 1 mil yen?

I like your coat. It's a mix of the shape of Akechi's coat and the dark colour of Shujin's uniform.

I love how there's blood stains everything.

Man, you're short.

Just what I need time limits *rolls eyes*.

Nice suggestive pose.

How the fuck do you know how to stop a train.

I think Ikutsuki's jokes make more sense in Japanese.

5 has it easy, only 3 days of selecting answers, 2-3 questions and 4 days of tests.

I like Yukari's flared sleeves.

I love how the creep hasn't told you his name, yet he stills breaks into your room.

Yukari could be a leader if she needed.

Did he just headbutt him? What is with that group of people?

So, we're breaking into the school? I hope the school doesn't have a morgue.

I like Fuuka.

Mitsuru learns about teenage boys.

So, we have pale moon hippie man, man who belongs in the first soul hackers and victorian lady, going around killing people?

That is a giant vat of soup. You took Elizabeth back to the Velvet room and went to puke.

That carpet is ugly.

Why does Ikutsuki speak so slow?

Nice eyepatch.

Is Yukari wearing jean shorts?

Doesn't Mitsuru own normal shoes?

I don't think it's easy to walk on the sand in those nice shoes.

Is it ever explained why Aigis wants your ass?

I hope Aigis is waterproof.

The Fool ranks us fast.

My man just walked in a circle.

Aigis is a cat.

Aigis looks like she has hooves.

Oh, I see soul hacker dude and hippie are nobodys and need something to make them feel special.

Summer classes that's only if you fail school.

Elizabeth's going bankrupt the Velvet room.

What the fuck is that jungle gym? It looks more like a torture device.

No wonder Igor's bald, he has to deal with Elizabeth.

Akihiko's saying that a dog has more balls than Shinjiro does 🤣🤣. I love him.

Mitsuru could just text instead of coming to your door.

Ken's going to get us killed.

Koromaru wants to go to school.

Yukari's the jealous girlfriend in this game.

The teacher does not get paid enough to deal with this.

Shinjiro is going to get us killed too.

Is that blood in that fountain?

They're making the students clean up?

Are you even needed, since everybody evloves their Personas on their own?

That thing looks like something out of Silent Hill.

Does the 5 enemies per battle rule apply?

You can't target up? What do Personas only target straight?

I glad Mitusru's rich.

Ikutsuki's better in Japanese. Is he dead?

Is Chidori 3's Akechi?

Why is everyone's voice acting kinda flat? Except for Akihiko, Junpei, Aigis, creepy cult dude and Ryoji.

I like how Ryoji hits on anything that moves.

I like Ryoji, then again maybe I just have a thing for guys in suspenders.

I feel bad for Soul Hackers dude.

Akihiko sounds like he's asking for directions.

Nyx is creepy. After seeing Nyx, I'll never complain about Maruki again. I take 2 shit phases, 1 normal phase, 1 scripted phase and fist-fighting your therapist over 20! Phases.

Movie 4- So, is that bridge gone now?

Hot takes-

Junpei kinda sucks. Like hate Yosuke and Ryuji all you want. I'd rather have both of them. I do like him and Chidori.

Yukari's kinda a bitch at times.

Makoto is better in Japanese and the movies.

Ikusuki's a fucking creep and I hope he's dead.

Koromaru is best boy.

Shinji is boring. Like you don't get enough time to get attached to him. Yeah, it's sad he dies but past that *shrugs*. Honestly, Akihiko's reaction to his death was way sadder.

As the story goes on it gets boring. (Towards the end).

Outside of the movies and when you sacrifice yourself it doesn't seem like anybody really cares about you. (Minus Yukari).

I hate those armbands. They just make you stick out, which is not good if you're trying to keep your "club" a secret.

Cult leader was a creep.

I like how you shoot yourself in the head. It's very metal/badass.

Fav charcters- Akihiko, Aigis, Koromaru (Not surpringly two are my fav paths in Arena).

I liked the movies better than the game.

I've never seen a group of people care less about each other. They're like work colleagues, not friends.

JunpeixChidori

MakotoxRyoji

MakotoxAigis

#Persona 3 #Persona #tag game #long post

0 notes

mrsbrookegillespie · 3 years

Text

-Chapter One- Teacher!Charlie Gillespie x Single!Mom!Reader

(Not My Gif)

This Story Was INSPIRED By @boyfriendskywalker Who Deactivated Their Account While Writing The Charlie Gillespie Kindergarten Teacher Story. I Have Taken It Upon Myself To Write My Own Version With Some Of The Storyline They Used. So, ALL Credit For Part Of The Storyline Goes To Them. This Will Be A Series, And I Will Finish It.

Description: Just Read It While I Try To Come Up With One--GOT IT! Okay, so Y/N L/N is a single mother of her daughter Y/D/N. Having it been four years since the father walked away. Y/N taught herself to never trust a man, but when Y/D/N’s teacher uses his charm to worm his way into her life, will she finally be able to open herself up to love again?

Warnings: Language, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of mental abuse, and as the story goes on I’ll think of more. But, be prepared for some angst.

-Chapter One-

“One, two, three, four--”

“Mama?” Y/N looks down at the doe-eyed 5 year old. “Why are you counting?”

With a head shake, she presses her fingers onto her temples, gently massaging them. “Mama’s just tired, baby,” she explains, calmly. “And has a migraine.” Now flashing her daughter, Y/D/N, a fake smile, she starts the car. “Are you ready for school? Not gonna cause trouble again… Are you?”

“I don’t cause trouble!” Y/D/N argues, lightly kicking the back of the passenger seat. “My classmates also cause trouble, I just resolve it differently than others.” She crosses her arms with a huff.

Y/N furrows her eyebrows at her daughter's words. “Are you sure you’re five?”

“I like to say I’m six,” she says, casually.

The seriousness of the young girl’s demeanor was enough to make Y/N fall into a fit of laughter. “Well alrighty then. Six it is.” She pulls into a parking space. “We are here,” she announces, unbuckling her seat belt.

“Finally!” Y/D/N wrestles to get out of her car seat. “Could you help me out?”

Y/N gets out of the car, rushing to grab her majesty from the backseat. “Do you have everything?” she asks, setting Y/D/N down on the pavement.

Y/D/N shrugs, but resorts to saying, “Yes.”

“Good.” Y/N takes Y/D/N’s hand, guiding her into the colorful building they both grew to love and hate.

“Ms. L/N,” a female teacher says, only giving a stiff nod towards the women.

“Mrs. Winchester,” she replies mimicking the gesture. Both her and Y/D/N shiver when she passes by. “She scares me.”

Y/D/N nods dramatically, agreeing. “I think she’s a ghost,” she stage-whispers.

“Definitely.” Though Y/N’s tone might’ve been teasing, she wouldn’t be surprised if she actually was.

“Hello Y/D/N!” Another young female teacher waves before meeting Y/N’s eyes. “Ugh…” She continues to walk without giving Y/N a proper greeting.

“Good morning to you too,” she mumbles under her breath.

Only a couple more awkward encounters were experienced until she heard the loud shrill of-- “Mr. Gillespie!” Y/D/N lets go of Y/N’s hand, sprinting towards the man that she called her teacher.

“Good morning Miss Y/D/N!” he greets verbally, along with a big hug. “And look who’s with you.” He moves from his crouched position to stand as tall as he could next to Y/N. “Good morning, Y/N.”

“Good morning, Mr. Gillespie,” she responds. “Nice to feel welcomed.” Her tone turned a little colder than what it was. “I swear it was either just someone saying my name, or a judgement glare.”

“You’ll warm up to them,” he assures.

“Like I warmed up to you?” she questions. “Don’t put me under the impression that you actually like me, please, it’ll just blow my ego right out of proportion.” She uses her hands to demonstrate.

He doesn’t respond, only showing her a bright smile.

The bell rings, signaling both of them to go their separate directions. “Mr. Gillespie the bell rang,” a student calls out.

Y/N snaps out of her little daze. “And I guess Y/D/N already went to her seat. See? I knew she wasn’t that much of a troublemaker, but you know--” she cuts herself off seeing his amused expression. “You have to teach,” she blurts. “Right! Sorry, I’ll let you get to that. Bye Y/D/N!” she shouts into the filled room, Y/D/N’s face going into a look of horror. “Love you, stay safe and…” She salutes Charlie. “Good luck.” With a turn on her heel she goes to leave the building, mentally face palming herself on the way.

When in the safe space of her car, she allows her head to fall forward, which only led to her accidentally setting the horn off. It wasn’t like she’s not used to people. With being a hostess at a restaurant, all she did was talk, see, and meet a variety of different personalities and personas. But, after having to raise a daughter on her own you can say her cool way of talking, and the ability to form well rounded sentences went downhill. Baby talk does that.

“So, what you’re trying to tell me is that you like your daughter’s hot teacher?” her friend, Madison, asks. Madison was a little bit younger than Y/N was, Madison being seventeen and Y/N being twenty-four, she couldn’t help but bond with the girl.

“That’s not what I said,” Y/N remarks, wiping down a table.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“Because you’re embarrassing me!” Y/N whines.

“And I’m the teenager,” Madison snickers.

Y/N blows some of her hair out of her face. “I won’t deny that he’s… Decent looking, but the problem is in the question. ‘Daughter’s teacher’,” she repeats the words Madison said earlier.

“You told me that Y/D/N can’t get enough of what you only call ‘Mr. Gillespie’, I don’t even know his first name.” She scrunches up the right side of her face.

“Because it’s informal.”

“He calls you by your first name,” Madison replies back, bluntly. “But, back to the point. If Y/D/N really likes him then what’s the problem?”

Y/N stops her movements, giving Madison a blank stare. She opens her mouth to answer, but closes it. “I just can’t, okay? Can we please drop it?”

Madison’s eyes soften when seeing Y/N’s pleading ones. “Yeah, sure.” She leans against one of the tables.

“Hello!” someone calls out from a few feet away. “We’ve been standing here for like ten minutes, can we be seated?” The annoyance on the man's face was evident.

Y/N sends Madison a cheeky smirk. “You’re on, Mads.”

She stomps her foot, discreetly, going to the group of people who are most likely ‘hangry’. Y/N glances at her watch, seeing how it was about time she headed out for her break and got Y/D/N from school, only to have the last minute babysitter she found that morning watch her for the rest of the day, so Y/N can finish her shift. It wasn’t the most ideal schedule, but it worked. It paid the bills, it put food on the table--could it be the reason Y/D/N throws fits, and tantrums in classrooms, and seeks attention? Maybe.

“We need to set up a meeting.”

Y/N gapes at Mr. Gillespie who for the first time she’s seen with a stern look on his face. “Wh-why?” she stutters.

“I know you aren’t blind to see that Y/D/N is…” His voice fades off. “The Principal wants to set up a conference with you, me, Y/D/N, and the counselor after school one of these days.”

Y/N’s frown gets wider, glancing over towards Y/D/N in the seat next to her. The girl only kept her eyes glued to her shoes. “The only days I’m off of work are Saturdays, Sunday’ and Wednesdays.” She pulls out her phone, scrolling through the calendar. “Yeah, only those days, I don’t know if any of those days would work but…”

“You work all those other days?” He raises an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah,” she answers, not thinking too much about it. She gasps loudly, when it hits her. “Work!” She looks at her watch. “I’m gonna be late going back.” She stands up. “I’ll send you an email tonight on what time works best for me, and then you as a faculty can talk amongst yourselves if it works for you. I’m gonna take my kid now, and go, so I don’t have to keep being stared at with that look you and all the other teachers give me.” She takes Y/D/N’s hand, the slight pull of it noticeable enough to have Y/N make a mental note.. “Have a nice rest of your day, Mr. Gillespie.

“Bye, bye,” Y/D/N finally whispers towards him. With a weak wave they both leave the room, once out of sight running for the door. “Why were we running?” she asks, when Y/N starts to speed to their house.

“Because Mama’s gonna be late to work, and is now stressed because we have to talk to adults who don’t like her very much,” she pauses. “You and I need to have a very, very, serious conversation when I get back home on where your behavior is coming from.”

“But, I don’t wanna,” Y/D/N cries.

“I know you don’t want to, I don’t want to, but it’s one of the cons of being a parent, I have to be strict at times when you don’t follow the rules.”

“But--”

“Don’t make me yell at you,” Y/N warns. “You and I both hate yelling when you’re in trouble, so I think we’d both appreciate it if you promise to be good until I’m back, no arguing.”

Y/D/N slowly feels the tears come to her eyes. “Mr. Gillespie never yells at me.”

The name made Y/N freeze a little. Was he a part of the reason?

Taglist

@yagorlemmalyn @justxfolio @charliegillespiewife

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bybdolan · 2 years

Note

Amy I love every take you have on reputation and your reimagined playlist and edits are so good. But I wondered if you’d ever done a track by track review of it? Would love to hear your thoughts on each song / what you’d change about it cause I feel like it has a lot of potential but with so many of the songs something let’s it down

PREFACE: I feel like this is going to be very surprising for the both of us given that I think my qualms with reputation lie with the album as a whole (its execution both musically and aesthetically, as well as the fandom’s perception of it) more than with the songs themselves. And one could argue that, by being a hater, I am denying myself enjoyment of the album etc. etc. and it isn’t Taylor’s fault that the album is not what I, personally, want it to be, so this is all very subjective. That being said: Let’s go!

…Ready For It? – This does kind of go off, there is no doubt about that, however, I find it kind of… cringe? Even though I don’t like using that word. There are some great lyrics in here (“Burton to this Taylor” helloooo), I really enjoy the “Baby let the games begin” chants, especially the “aahhs” near the end, and I do think it is a sick opener, however, I don’t think Taylor really sells the song? She delivers it in a way that leans into how “new” and “dark” this album is for her, but the song isn’t experimental enough for it to work imo, which is an issue I have with the whole album + its marketing and reception: It is a new sound and vibe for Taylor, but the album as a work of art isn’t all that out there (Trap beats? In 2017? Wow) and while yes, context and an artist’s journey are important when judging a record, the “I am doing something crazy and shocking!” vibes on an album that, musically, isn’t all that interesting, don’t work for me. It also is a ripoff of “Lang lebe der Tod” by Casper, which is not only a better song, but also a better critique of fame.

End Game – Biiig reputation, biiiig reputation! The song isn’t anything remarkable apart from that. I think it’s very basic and boring and that’s it.

I Did Something Bad – The tour version is so so much better, I would have loved these heavy chant-y industrial vibes for the whole album. I think IDSB works in how Taylor really leans into the persona here, it feels almost like a sister to Blank Space in that regard, although more honest and a lot sadder. It is interesting how Taylor, despite leaning into the “bad version” of herself, tries defending herself during the bridge (“They are burning all the witches even if you aren’t one” – implying that she isn’t one herself), which is emblematic of reputation’s struggle of being an album that is about learning to stop caring, while still… caring very much (understandable, given Taylor’s state at the time, but I am a bit bummed she still played it safe sonically on the album). I hate that the word “receipts” is used, but the song is a standout track for sure.

Don’t Blame Me – I hate the drug metaphors in this one <3 Idk, I am a bit concerned about the amount of drinking mentions in this album and this song is so... mhhh in that context. It is nice and epic to listen to but Hozier did it first I guess. It's not really giving what it's supposed to be giving.

Delicate – I really like this song. It is soft, gentle pop perfection. The placement of the tracklist is super weird, but I will look past it for now. Delicate is definitely one of Taylor’s best pop songs, I love the effect on her voice and the “pulse” the song has. (I am kind of blergh on her using “chill” simply because of personal preference, but the song as a whole is so rooted in its time – not in a bad way! – that it works. It feels like a very distinctly social media era love song, but not in a way where it will age badly, but in a way that really captures the energy of a time.)

LWYMMD – ok I have to say: I love this song. I know it’s weird on a musical level whatever whatever but I love how cooky and crazy and campy it is. I kind of wish Taylor would have made a whole album that was this level of “character” and intentionally over-the-top. I think this works perfectly. Which is exactly why I am bummed out she played it so safe. I think she should have made an intentionally bad and camp-y album.

So It Goes… - I have. No thoughts on this. It’s absolutely not doing it for me whatsoever.

Gorgeous – I spontaneously forgot this song exists bless. It is so basic and plain, it’s almost shocking. None of this works. It’s so clunky and lyrically boring, I remember being a lil worried when this single was released, because at the time Taylor was my favorite songwriter ever and I was shocked Miss “Dear John” also wrote this. Which is honestly true for a lot of thsi album, I consider it her weakest work lyrically.

Getaway Car – she is a queen! Probably the best song on the album, it has a very distinct vibe and energy, and the storytelling is immaculate. I love the slight 90s vibes and the drive the chorus has. Another one of Taylor’s best pop songs.

King Of My Heart – I don’t care for this. The production feels a bit clunky and off to me. I did love the video of her writing it on the electric guitar though!

Dancing With Our Hands Tied – One of the better songs on the album but I have fallen out of love with it recently. Something about the way her voice is edited/mixed feels strange, and even though I appreciate a good 90s beat, this ultimately isn’t for me. Lyrically it outsells a good 70% of this album.

Dress – Ahhh I like this! The secrecy, the yearning… *chef’s kiss*! It manages to feel vulnerable while still being very very sultry. This is honestly what it feels like to be horny for somebody who you also deeply care for as a person.

TIWWCHNT – another song that is arguably pretty awful but I LOVE. It’s so bonkers, but it just does it for me. I feel like I really love this album when it doesn’t take itself too seriously. Ironically, Taylor also sounds the angriest on this track.

CIWYW – aww… this is cute and I am happy for her. I am a defender of “trust him like a brother” because I feel like your partner making you feel as secure as your immediate family does (if you have a good relationship to them) is a good thing? The whole song is wholesome but ultimately nothing very special to me. Looove that you can hear her smile though, and the SNL performance is exquisite. EDIT: ok I just listened to this while typing and when it picks up in the 2ndverse… it do be getting to me!

New Year’s Day – Yea <3 this is so soft n sweet and aaaahh. I am not a fan of the repetition of “hold on to the memories…” and “Please don’t ever become a stranger…” but who cares when the rest of the song is this heartwarming. One of her best love songs imo, and, after having listened to the album as a whole again, an excellent closer. I have to admit the pacing of the album is very, very good, and I do appreciate the storytelling, however, it still feels underwhelming to me, both musically and lyrically. It doesn't really cut deep a lot of the time. It's just a lil... Boring?

#i am sorry for being a hater #ask #anonymous

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stutterfly · 4 years

Text

Failure to Communicate

This was a joint collab fic that @gukslut and I worked on, commissioned by @cypherft-v as part of our fundraising for Black Lives Matter. Thank you for contributing! Banner & moodboard by me :)

{Pairing} Park Jimin/ Reader

{Genre} Enemies to Lovers/ College AU/ comedy/ smut

{Rating} Mature - Explicit

{Word Count} 21K

{Warnings} oral, kissing, fingering, protected sex, biting, marking, other filthy shit

{Summary} You've always had a crush on Park Jimin, but the truth is that you're just one of many. He just so happens to be the TA for one of your classes, and you're determined to make your feelings known. Whether or not he takes you seriously remains to be seen.

{Prompt} Could either of you write an enemies to lover story about jimin and y/n set in college where he was her TA and got her kicked out of her major bc he didnt give her the grade she needed and was generally unhelpful? Posted on tumblr on August 17, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to any platform, including YouTube.

Ten more minutes. You can barely see the clock from your seat against the wall. The lecture hall isn't crowded by any means; to the contrary, this Tuesday/Thursday psych class is usually pretty empty. You could have just as easily sat in the middle, but it doesn't afford you the same view. Well, it does. But not the one you prefer. It's just that positioned front and center, your staring would look more obvious. At least that's what you're telling yourself. If you stare from the corner it's less conspicuous, which is important because you do a lot of staring in this class. Park Jimin is the TA.

The man in question sits off to the side at a table of his own, typing away on his laptop. This reminds you that you haven’t been doing much other than quietly ogling from a distance. The only notes you're taking are lackluster doodles of his appearance and the occasional squiggle of your pen at the quiet sighs he lets out when he stretches his back after sitting hunched over his laptop for too long.

Jimin is absolutely breathtaking — even in an ugly plaid three-piece suit and perfectly round spectacles that would look horrid on any normal person. You're definitely not the only one who has noticed. His beautiful features and fantastic bone structure forge a man who is borderline ethereal. With soft eyes, big pouty lips, a flawless complexion, and a flirtatious demeanor he has enraptured many over the years. He's popular... like, really popular.

You begrudgingly count yourself among those love-smitten numbers. You know it’s hopeless and illogical. He could have any person he so desired at any point in time. Why would he ever choose someone like you? If you’d been paying any sort of attention to the subject matter of this class you might know that things like feelings and life’s rhetorical questions often don’t make sense.

But you’re shit at psychology. You’re more of a blunt poet at heart, and that heart is often hidden behind twisted brambles of anxiety and sharp thorns of insecurity.

You are but a speck of dirt upon his round glasses. It’s been a hopeless, silent crush for some time, but now that he’s assisting the professor in this core requirement for your academic studies, he has to acknowledge your presence. You’re a speck he has to look at before swiping you out of sight with a wave of his hand.

He's the object of just about everyone's affections, and rightfully so. He's not just gorgeous, he's charismatic, charming, and such a smooth talker. The word on campus says those pretty lips of his can do a lot of other really wonderful things too. You've been watching him chew on them for the past five minutes straight, wondering how many times his deliciously pink tongue can sweep over them before he makes them chapped.

Maybe they're chapped already. Maybe you should offer him your chapstick? Or maybe you should never talk to him at all, because you don't stand a chance. Park Jimin would chew you up and leave you bleeding out with a broken heart, and you know it. That doesn't stop you from imagining all the ways he could take you in his mouth first. You could watch those pretty lips all day long, but you’ll settle for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Looking up as if he's been paying attention all along, Jimin attempts to figure out where the professor is in the lesson. It’s obvious that he wasn't listening at all and was instead answering messages. It would be nice if he could say they were messages for class, but that's not true and Jimin is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar. He's been talking to Chungha, his current flavor of the week.

He turns toward the students as the professor dismisses the class and there you are, eager and awestruck. It takes every ounce of self control Jimin has not to roll his eyes. Another fan, he presumes. You can't handle him, but he can tell by the embarrassed way you tear your eyes from him to look anywhere else that it hasn't stopped you from thinking about it.

Trying to seem nonchalant now is a lost cause. Jimin has no shame and although you busied yourself by packing up your neglected textbooks and darting your gaze to various points in the room for a straight minute, Jimin is still staring at you when you look back at him. He smirks when your eyes meet. It's not a flirty kind of smirk, you sadly note. It's condescending in your eyes, which further solidifies your theory: Jimin is too much for you no matter how badly you want a taste of him.

"Did you take notes?" he asks, nodding toward your backpack where you've just tucked your computer and sketched up notebook.

"I- uhh..." You panic.

"You know that was all about the exam next week. You're gonna need those notes if you want to have any hope of passing it," he tells you, shoving his own computer into his bag.

"I was just.. um, I was--" you attempt to explain.

"Busy staring at me?" He smiles and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s teasing oh gyou.

You balk at the blatant accusation and force a half-laugh, half-scoff from your throat. “No.”

"Yes," he corrects with a light and mellifluous laugh. "Is there pen on my face or were you hoping you could be?"

"What?" you choke, eyes watering at the idea.

Jimin shakes his head, laughing softly to himself as he remembers his surroundings. With a small clear of his throat and the subtle adjusting of his tie, he provides a suggestion for you. “Get them from Taehyung.”

"Get what?" you ask, drawing a blank on what this conversation was even about. It's the first time you've ever actually talked to him outside of your dreams and it’s proving to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

"The notes, Y/N. Get the notes from Taehyung, you know, the ones that you didn't take today because you were daydreaming about my mouth," he tells you, heading for the door.

Taehyung, who is the only other person left in the room wiggles his fingers at you in a wave. When you turn back, Jimin is gone.

"Need the notes?" Taehyung asks, voice free of judgement.

"Please," you sigh, relieved that he'd waited.

He spins his laptop toward you, where an email is already open with the notes attachment added. "Drop your address in there," he says standing up.

"Thank you so much," you say, frantically typing your student email into the space.

"Hey, y/n?" Taehyung asks, the bristles of curiosity or concern painting his tone with a soft comfort.

"Yeah?"

"Jimin is a fool," he tells you.

"What?"

"If you were looking at me like that, I'd at least ask for your number." Tae offers a combination of large hopeful eyes and a giant goofy grin as he holds his phone out for you.

Giggling, you take it from his hand and add your number to his contacts list. He purses his lips to hide his excitement as he takes his phone back. He slides it into his pocket before hastily packing the rest of his things into his leather messenger bag.

"Thanks, Taehyung," you say, waving on your way out the door.

"Wait!" he shouts after you, half of the contents of his bag threatening to spill onto the floor as he scrambles away from the table. He adjusts his belongings and clears his throat, instantly adopting a smooth persona. "Where are you going? I'll walk you."

"My car?"

"Wanna come eat with me?" he wonders. He's confident, but it's not the same kind of arrogant confidence that Jimin oozes. He's softer. He feels more real, more attainable. He obviously knows he's a catch and he’s definitely expressed the same about you. What could be the harm in letting an attractive man stroke your ego a little bit? If you’re being honest with yourself, you can use the boost after such a pathetic display towards your crush.

"Oh, uh... yeah. I guess so," you agree, letting him lead the way out the door.

"Cool." Tae takes his glasses off and hooks them in his shirt. Pulling a snapback from his bag, he pushes his hair back and puts it on before he swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Damn. Why did that raise his hotness like ten whole levels?

"You like hamburgers?"

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Taehyung slips into the seat next to you on Thursday, brushing against you very deliberately as he passes.

"Hello, sugar," he says, licking his lips as he spares a fleeting glance down at your chest.

"Hey, Tae," you greet him while your eyes are still locked on Jimin.

"Still on Jimin, huh?" he asks. He doesn't sound particularly disappointed, or surprised for that matter. He's just stating a fact. You're relieved he's not offended. Letting him eat you out in his backseat after dinner was probably not your best decision, although it seems like it meant about as much to him as it did to you.

"I don't know," you say with a shrug.

"It's okay. I can't blame you. I could put in a good word for you if you want. We're close," he informs you, sitting back and spreading his legs wide under the desk.

Sighing, you rest your cheek in your palm. "I've got a plan," you confess.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckles. He playfully knocks his knee against yours as if to signal for you to spill. "Do tell."

"I think I need a little extra help with this material," you tell Taehyung.

"Good luck, Y/n. I hope he can squeeze you into his busy schedule, but hey, if he can't, I'm totally down to squeeze into yours anytime."

Looking at Tae out of the corner of your eye, you smile at the grin he wears and start to laugh at the way he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you joke.

"Please do."

The minutes drag on as you wait for this class to end. Doing your best to seem a little less obsessive this time, you make a point to take notes and look at the teacher more than the TA. Jimin still catches you staring at least three times. It's embarrassing, but not enough to stop you from approaching him as the room empties out.

"Hi, y/n," Jimin sings, giving you a knowing smile.

"Hi." You tuck your hair behind your ear, and smile back.

"Do you need something?" he wonders, purposefully combing his fingers through his silver hair.

Damn, do you ever.

"I was wondering if you had time to help me. I'm struggling with this material and I could really use some one-on-one guidance." Leaning over his desk you make sure he has a good view right down your shirt, not that his eyes wander from yours. While he shows restraint in his gaze you swear he briefly drags his bottom lip through his teeth before he catches himself.

"One-on-one, huh?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking amused. "I bet Taehyung would give you some one-on-one guidance."

You're sure that's true, but it's not Taehyung you're after. Taehyung isn’t the TA. Taehyung isn’t getting paid to help teach a course. Of course you want to say that and in your head you rehearse the words but you can’t seem to find a way to phrase them eloquently enough. Why do you always get stupid brain around him? Your plan is quickly falling apart.

Jimin waits for your response with his eyebrows raised. You know he's two seconds away from leaving you gaping at him and walking out the door, so you do something incredibly rash and stupid.

"I like you," you blurt out.

Jimin smiles. He knows that, obviously. He also knows damn well that you're perfectly capable of looking back at your notes by yourself. You're definitely smart and dedicated enough to study on your own. He can't help teasing you anyway.

"Everyone likes me," he casually informs you as he plants his palms on the desk and leans on them.

He peeks over the edge of his glasses as he looks up at you, like some kind of otherworldly sexy librarian. If deities ever needed a librarian, Jimin wouldn’t even need a resume. His charm and seduction are so strong that you almost miss his rejection. Almost. You're stunned into silence when it hits you. Just as you're about to tuck and run, he smiles again.

"But,” he pauses to click his tongue thoughtfully, “I think I have some time on Saturday. I'll give you my number.” He rips a corner of paper out of his notebook. "Is it okay if I come to your place? Do you have a dorm or…”

"Oh. My apartment’s fine!" you flounder, trying to remember how to speak coherent sentences. Jimin. In your room. How many dreams have you had about this moment? "I mean, yeah, sure. You'll come to mine, yeah."

Jimin giggles and it sounds like pealing bells. You're lost in the beautiful sound of it until you realize that he's laughing at you. "You okay with that? We could meet somewhere else instead."

"I wouldn't mind you in my room," you sigh. Open mouth; insert foot.

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a chance to backtrack, but you're both well aware you meant every word of that.

"Okay, y/n. See you Saturday then. Call me."

"I’ll call you," you repeat, resisting the urge to slap your palm over your face. You sound like an idiot. Stupid brain strikes again.

Jimin barely notices, all too used to girls falling over themselves to get his attention. You’re no different to him, just another pretty face in a sea of women entranced by the way he walks, talks, and breathes. It’s not his fault he’s so damn pretty. He does note that you’re brave, however. Not many people come on to him so brazenly, and that’s something worth rewarding. Besides, he feels a sort of obligation to help you out. He is getting paid to help out the professor, after all.

He winks at you as he leaves, taking your breath and your sanity with him. You have Park Jimin’s phone number. Park Jimin is going to be in your apartment in two days. Maybe you didn’t bomb that as hard as you thought.

A slow clap beckons you to look back for the source and you find Taehyung looking back at you with his boxy grin. When he’s sure he’s got your attention he raises his two thumbs up in approval.

Jimin is not surprised when Chungha disappears into the clusterfuck of bodies as soon as they step into the party. They may have come here together, but their fling is on its last leg and they both know it. She wants him off her couch, doesn't appreciate the feeling of tied-down-ness that comes with your friend with benefits staying over all the time. She's ready to move on, that means he has to as well.

Jimin isn't even sure whose house this is, but he’s happy to tag along for free booze and maybe a new face to go home with. Luckily, his friends are never far, and he finds them easily. Getting absolutely hammered in the backyard makes them hard to miss. Jungkook is the only one looking particularly bored as a very drunk Taehyung hangs all over him talking about the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

"Why so glum?" Jimin asks, nudging Jungkook's shoulder with his own.

"I'm the designated driver tonight," Jungkook sighs, pushing Taehyung off of him.

Taehyung slumps to the ground, immediately entranced by the stars above him. Jungkook kicks at him gently.

"Where's your girlfriend? I haven't seen you without your tongue down her throat all week," Jungkook wonders, looking behind Jimin for the woman in question.

"Girlfriend," Jimin repeats with a snort. "Hilarious. That's not a thing. She's probably looking for her next kill."

Jungkook regards Jimin thoughtfully, his eyebrows scrunching toward each other. "If you take over DD you can have the futon."

Jungkook loves his futon. It's one of his most prized possessions. He keeps it very clean and being allowed to get anywhere near it is a privilege. Jimin is pretty sure he goes over it with a lint roller as part of his nighttime routine. It's also incredibly comfortable.

Jimin releases a breath in a tortured groan as he thinks over his options. He could get black out drunk and wake up god knows where with a terrible hangover, or he could hang out and watch his friends get black out drunk and then wake up on a futon that feels more like a cloud than a mattress, a little slice of heaven in Jungkook and Taehyung's little apartment.

"Okay," Jimin relents. "Give me the keys. I’ll stick to water for the rest of the night."

"Ah, I love you man," Jungkook praises, tossing his keys in Jimin's general direction before grabbing the newly opened can of beer out of Taehyung's hand below him. Taehyung, still staring up at the sky with a glazed smile, doesn't react. It takes Jungkook all of five seconds to pour the contents of the can straight down his throat. He follows this by smashing the can in a bicep curl with a giggle and a bashful smile.

"Do it again," an unfamiliar girly voice pleads from across the table. She tosses him another can and he repeats the action, turning away when he's finished so that he doesn't have to see her reaction. Jimin knows what's going to happen once his friend gets a few more beers in him. Jungkook is going to go apeshit. There will be no trace of this shy hunk of muscle who blushes and coils away from pretty girls. He'll be chest thumping shirtless and picking up everyone who gets close enough to touch. Half of them will probably end up thrown in the pool, if history is anything to go by, and he'll most likely have the hottest girl at the party slobbering all over him in the backseat when Jimin drives him home tonight.

Jimin's suspicions prove true an hour later when Jungkook throws Tae in the pool. Jimin runs to the edge of it in a panic. Tae was very drunk so he needs to make sure he's not just sinking like a stone. That was his first mistake, although he'd make it again to keep Taehyung safe. His second mistake was wearing these ridiculously tight ass jeans.

Any other pair and he might have been able to pry his cell phone from his pocket the second he felt JK's hands on his back. Had he worn any other pair of pants he might have been able to throw it to safety in the grass before he hit the surface of the pool. As it stands, his skin tight jeans are soaked through, Tae is slightly more sober than he was when Jimin arrived and is swimming just fine, and Jimin's phone is totally destroyed.

You should be sleeping. It's three in the morning. You should definitely not be awake right now. Lifting your phone up for the three hundredth time tonight, you're not surprised to have no new notifications. That text you sent to Jimin hours ago has gone unanswered.

You typed and erased it at least ten times, agonized over what to say, and how to say it. By the time you pressed send, the message was nothing like how it began and you noticed a second too late that you didn't even tell him who you were. Adding a second text saying 'it's y/n btw' seemed so desperate. You've been waiting for him to ask who you are for so long that you've convinced yourself he already knows and he's avoiding you on purpose. Who else would have said "i'm excited to see you tomorrow" in a text about meeting up to study? He knows it's you. He has to. The alternative possibility that he plans to see other people tomorrow too is too bothersome to accept. You really need to let this go and try to sleep.

Keys in the door stop you from dragging yourself off the couch. Your roommate will see you and accuse you of trying to run away from him to avoid something. He’s right, of course. You’ve attempted to flee from your problems in the past, against his advice. Now you know better than to try. It's much better to face things with Yoongi head on. At the very least, maybe he's got something helpful to say.

"Why're you up? You look sad." His words slur just the tiniest bit and he leans against the wall for stability as he takes off his shoes just inside the door. You see right through his attempts at nonchalance. He's tipsy.

"A boy I like isn't texting me back," you admit with a scowl. "You didn't drive, did you?"

"No, friend dropped me off. Is it Taehyung?" Yoongi asks, not pausing for an answer. "I wouldn't worry too much. He talked about you a lot tonight. He was really drunk though. You should go to bed. He'll probably text you in the morning."

You don't bother to correct Yoongi. Admitting you're harboring a huge fucking crush on the campus it-boy is the most foolish thing you could possibly do. It's embarrassing and naive and Yoongi would pity you for falling for someone so far out of your league. Maybe you should just date Taehyung and forget about Jimin. He sure seems to have forgotten about you.

When the morning comes and your only notifications are an email from Target and a text from your mom, you muster up every bit of courage you could possibly find in your body and call him. You’d rather know if he’s deliberately ignoring you now than agonize over other possibilities all day.

It doesn't even ring. His phone goes straight to voicemail. You try again, and a third time. Voicemail, voicemail. Could it be you rushed putting his number in and did it incorrectly? You dig through your backpack for the slip of paper he gave you to double check, and sure enough, it’s his number. He's ignoring you. He turned off his phone to solidify that fact in your brain.

Last night, laying awake waiting for his name to light up your phone, you felt pretty damn bad. In the daylight, with rest and a clear head, you're absolutely crushed. He was supposed to come over. You had plans. It was stupid of you to think you could earn space in his mind or time in his schedule. He played you, and it hurts.

Studying on your own proves more difficult than you imagined. With only Tae's notes to go by, you feel like you're quizzing yourself on things you already know. Turning to the textbook doesn't give you the specialized knowledge you need for the exam. You could never hope to memorize enough of it that you'd retain something pertinent.

On top of that, your heart hurts. You were so close to spending time together you could practically smell the subtle scent of his cologne. He pulled the rug right out from under you so fast, your ass is sore from falling on it so hard.

Sunday and Monday pass miserably in their slowness as you continue to nurse your tender rejected heart. You spend two days mulling over how you're going to face Jimin on Tuesday, let alone how you’re going to pass this exam when you're so disgustingly focused on figuring out why he stood you up and ignored you all weekend.

Tuesday comes too soon and you find yourself lingering outside the lecture hall for way longer than any sane person should.

That's what bothers you the most about this whole thing with Jimin. He's stolen your sense. How on earth did you let a stupid crush, on a boy you hardly know, get between you and your grades? You tell yourself no more as you suck in a deep breath and steel yourself to march right through the door. You're not going to let Park Jimin and his cruelty stand between you and your credits.

With your resolve solid and your head held high, you push yourself forward. You don't even spare a glance in his general direction as you pass, although it would be a lie to say you didn't clock him in your peripheral. Tae sits down next to you a moment later and you thank your lucky stars you have a friend here to make you look busy.

"Ready to make this exam your bitch?" he asks, making finger guns at you and clicking his tongue.

"That remains to be seen," you say, turning toward him in your seat so that Jimin is behind you. "I couldn't get anything done this weekend," you confess. "I thought I was more prepared than I am so it really just depends on what's on the exam."

"Aw fuck, you could have called me," he says, passing you his note cards. "We could have studied together."

"Oh, Tae," you sigh, pushing his hand back and refusing his offer of notes. "You should use this time for yourself. It wouldn't be fair of me to take it from you."

"We've got ten minutes." He points to the clock at the front of the lecture hall. "Quiz me. It will help us both."

Ten minutes fly by as you do your absolute best to retain any of the information in Taehyung's carefully written cards. You take one last glance at it before someone slips it from your hand and replaces it with a test. You know it's Jimin.

Only when you look up and level him with a glare does it seem to register on his face that you're angry. Realization dawns on him as you snatch the test and lean over it on your desk.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry," he quietly whispers, but he's moving on already. The exam is about to begin. He doesn't have time to explain himself right now. He knows what it looks like. He led you on and stood you up without so much as a text message. He should have asked Tae to tell you what happened, but the truth is that he forgot about you entirely and he knows that is the cruelest thing he could possibly confess.

Nearly an hour later you set your pencil down and run your fingers through your hair. Did any of those answers make sense? Your only possible saving grace is bullshitting your way through the open responses. Maybe you’ll earn some partial credit at the very least.

You swallow the petty words threatening to spill from your tongue as you gather your things and approach Jimin’s desk with your test in hand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the anxious glances he threw your way. You swore every time you looked up he was looking at you, so you’d squint like you were checking the time, like you had somewhere more important to be than taking an exam for a core requirement course.

As you slap the packet of your evident failure down on his desk, you don your best apathetic expression. You look down at him and allow a sliver of eye contact, just enough to send the message that you don’t care anymore. You try to look bored. He doesn’t deserve to see how he’s hurt you or angered you. He’s nothing to you. You’re nothing to him, but you’re not beneath him. He’s beneath you. You don’t just look at him; you look through him.

He blinks a few times and a chill runs down his spine. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t form.

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you whisper with a roll of your eyes.

You make sure to straighten your shoulders and keep your chin up as you turn on your heel and leave. You bombed that exam and you know it, thanks to your stupid feelings, but at the very least you achieved the victory of shaking Park Jimin to his core. So why do you feel like you’re about to sob in the bathroom down the hall?

Oh. Because you are. You spend at least five minutes composing yourself and washing your face before your phone buzzes with a much needed distraction.

[NEW MESSAGE] Tae: hungry?

Jimin’s leg bounces uncontrollably under his desk while he waits for the remaining students to finish their exams so he can go after you. He wracks his brain for ways to clear the nervous tension dwelling within but it’s no use. Confrontation makes him so uncomfortable. Still, he can’t have you thinking he’s a total douche. He should text you. Fuck, he should call you. And he would, if he had a working phone. The second the last student drops their exam on his desk he’s going to find you and apologize.

He knows his reputation precedes him. He knows exactly what this looks like. You probably think he blew you off to get some or just led you on entirely, but he really did mean to meet up with you. He needs to clear the air. Maybe he’s a little loose with his morals at times, but he’s never an asshole on purpose. He prides himself on being a beacon of positivity and an example on how to make people feel good even if it’s only to make them feel good. He barely knows you, but it bothers him to think that you’re out there thinking he’s a heartless jerk and that he hurt your feelings on purpose.

It’s a big campus and Jimin spends the better half of an hour searching it before he finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung. You look awfully close, and he almost feels bad interrupting you, but he owes you an explanation. It’s a mystery to him why on earth you would seek out his company when Taehyung seems all too willing to be what you need.

Taehyung notices him before you do. He shakes his head at Jimin disapprovingly. “Cold, man. So cold.”

Jimin nods, hanging his head. He’s well aware. You haven’t turned around yet and don’t intend to. If Jimin can ignore you then you can ignore him too. Besides, if you turn to face him, he might notice your watery, puffy eyes. How incredibly foolish that would be to admit that you’ve been crying about being stood up by someone you’ve barely even spoken to.

“Y/n?” Jimin’s soft voice calls to you, melodic and soothing as ever. “Can I have a minute?”

Taehyung looks between the two of you while he moves a french fry into his mouth at a snail’s pace and slowly chews as if this is free entertainment.

“No,” you answer.

“I’m sorry about Saturday,” he tells you, progressing despite your refusal to listen. He plants his hands on the table beside you and leans in to try to steal a glance at your profile, but you turn your head away.

“Jungkook pushed me in the pool right after this asshole,” he says, pointing at Taehyung. “My phone was in my pocket. It’s ruined.”

“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, his mouth open in protest and full of half-chewed fries. “Don’t pin this on me. You could have asked any one of us to let her know what happened. You never even mentioned it. Why don’t you just admit that you forgot?” Taehyung suggests, jamming another french fry into his little paper cup of ketchup before cramming it into his mouth.

Jimin fumes for a moment, glaring at Tae before he pulls out the chair next to you and spins it around. He straddles it and rests his chin on the backrest. “Y/n, I’m sorry. I forgot. I swear I never would have done something like that to you on purpose. My phone getting ruined messed up a lot of things, but if you give me another chance, I’d love to prove that I’m not the horrible person you think I am.”

Silence. You glance over at Taehyung, willing him to speak up and either back Jimin up or get you out of this. You’re ready to forgive Jimin already and leave with him right now and it’s not lost on you how bad that looks. It’s so easy for Jimin to have you wrapped around his fingers. You wish he was ugly. You wish you never signed up for this stupid class. You wish you could feel for Tae the way you feel for Jimin so that you could just leave with him instead. You’re about ready to anyway when he finally opens his mouth again.

“I think you should take her out to eat. Eating out is the perfect way to apologize, don’t you think?” Tae’s grin is so wide it makes his eyes crinkle.

You huff out a humorless laugh. If that’s what you wanted you’d stick with the original plan and be in the backseat of Taehyung’s car again in the next twenty minutes. Against your better judgement, you turn to look at Jimin, puffy eyes and runny nose no longer hidden. He’s a little taken back by your expression. He smiles at you softly and reaches out to brush his knuckles against your cheek. You practically melt into his touch.

“Mmm, I would like something sweet.” Jimin licks his lips. “How about ice cream?”

“When?” you ask, embarrassed by the way your voice cracks and by how easily you’re giving in.

“Now?”

“Well, look at the time,” Tae says, standing with his tray and messenger bag. “I’ve got to go wash my hair but you two have fun on your date. Use protection!” he calls behind him on his way toward the exit.

You’d be irritated by his blunt suggestion if his statement didn’t swirl a storm of butterflies deep in your gut. You’re so distracted by them that you don’t realize that you’re still gaping at Jimin in disbelief.

“So?” Jimin wonders, holding out his hand.

“I don’t forgive you,” you insist while taking it into yours. Although it’s probably a lie, he doesn’t call you on it. He simply smiles and gives your hand a tiny comforting squeeze.

“My car is on the other side of campus,” you tell him once you’ve stepped outside. “Where are you parked?”

“Oh, um,” he stalls. “I thought it might be nice to walk, give us more time to talk. Is that okay?”

“Isn’t it kind of far?” you ask, assuming he's taking you to that chain ice cream shoppe a few miles off campus.

"No, this place is close. It's a secret. Not many people know about it," he says with a wink.

"You say that to everyone don't you?" You narrow your eyes at him, moving out of reach when he tries to put his arm around you.

"No," he laughs. "I've been here with other people, though. I was here with Jin last week." He smiles, leading the way toward a small alley between buildings.

You follow him easily, questioning again why you have so little self preservation when it comes to him. At the other end of the alley you can see what looks like a park. Green trees line the sidewalk up ahead, creating a canopy against the brilliant sun. The walk to this mysterious ice cream place is shaded and chilly. Jimin slips his jacket off and slings it over your shoulders when he notices you rubbing at your arms.

"Almost there," he promises. In the distance, framed by two towering oaks, is a tiny little ice cream place. It looks like a mirage, something out of a board game or a fairy tale. The closer you get, the more real it becomes. The siding is faded, the roof looks like it's in dire need of repairs, and the hand-painted sign reading The Cheery Cherry has seen better days. It's clean though, sparkling in all the places that matter.

There is a stout old man behind the window with a shining silver ice cream scoop ready and waiting in his hand. Jimin greets him by name and asks for a simple vanilla cone. You're tempted to judge him, he doesn't strike you as the vanilla type, but there must be a reason. Maybe this is the best vanilla ice cream on earth. You order the same just in case, taking your first taste as Jimin pulls a few bills from his wallet and hands them over with a shaky hand.

To your dismay the ice cream is not extraordinary; it's just plain vanilla. You could probably get the same exact type from any grocery store. You should have gone with something else. You should have at least gotten the cheery cherry cone. That might have been a flavor worth tasting. Why was he so bent on coming here for such a bland ice cream?

You suppose you should be thankful for the gesture but you still feel uneasy, like he’s playing you somehow. It almost feels like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than desire. Is he doing the bare minimum because he doesn’t feel like you’re worth more than this? Your company must be the equivalent to a plain vanilla cone. Mediocre. Unremarkable. Ordinary.

Forgettable.

Jimin turns back to you with his ice cream in one hand and change filling the other. "Is it good?"

"It's vanilla." You shrug.

"Do you want something different?" he asks, counting the money in his hand.

"No, I like vanilla."

"Figures," he teases.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap back at him.

"Nothing, sweetheart. I just think you're soft, sweet. Vanilla suits you."

"I am not vanilla. I do all kinds of freaky shit," you argue, realizing too late that you've over shared in your annoyance.

Jimin looks you over with a smirk, bringing his ice cream to his lips and dragging his tongue around the edge of the cone where it's dripping. "Noted," he says.

"I didn't mean-- I wasn't -- UGH," you huff, embarrassed that he's still making a fool of you from the doghouse. You need to change the subject fast. "What'syourmajor?" You rush the question past your lips and he laughs at your flustered state, waiting for you to slow down and ask him in words he can understand.

"Your major?" you repeat, slower this time.

"Oh, uh. Urban studies."

"Interesting."

"You don't know what that means, huh?" He nudges you with his elbow, falling in stride beside you. Unfortunately, you had just brought your ice cream up to your mouth and his nudging caused you to smear it across your cheek.

You look at him angrily. First he stood you up, forgot about you, then he had the nerve to show up to class today looking like a fucking angel, takes you for ice cream to make it up to you, and now he's teasing you and making you look every bit the fool you feel like you are. Tears well in your eyes when he laughs at the mess he caused.

"I'm sorry," he says through his giggling. He reaches out to gently wipe your cheek with his thumb which he promptly pops in his mouth and sucks clean after. "What's wrong?"

You swipe at your eyes, ridding them of the tears that were about to spill out as your shame bubbles over. "You make me feel stupid," you confess. "You're wasting my time."

Shoving his jacket back at him, you take off in the direction you came, throwing your stupid vanilla cone in the closest trash can and kicking yourself for not leaving with Taehyung instead. Jimin winces at the action, looking like you’ve discarded a precious keepsake rather than a plain, boring vanilla cone.

"Y/n, wait!" he calls, catching up to you with ease. He takes you by the wrist and spins you back to face him. "I don't think you're stupid at all. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.” He sighs, softening his hold on you. “I didn’t know what to think about you when you approached me at first, you know? Girls throw themselves at me all the time.”

You grimace at his words and roll your eyes, snatching your wrist back with a scowl. Of course he thinks you were throwing yourself at him, but you’re sure that you weren’t. You were just being direct about your feelings. Do you really come across as such a desperate person? Maybe you should ask Yoongi for his opinion later.

“But I definitely didn’t mean to stand you up and I don’t mean to make you feel stupid at all. I think you're pretty smart, you’re cute and you’re actually bolder than I initially thought. I'd love to get to know you better. I know I'm not doing so great so far, but I can be better. Please, sit with me?" he asks, walking to a nearby park bench.

Reluctantly, you follow, although you make a point to drag your feet the whole way there. When you sit down beside him, he loops an arm around your waist and draws you closer, offering his ice cream up to you once your legs brush against his. You reach for it but he pulls it away.

"Hey," he jokes. "Just lick it. I didn't make you throw yours away."

You shake your head and lean forward to drag your tongue over what's left of his vanilla cone.

"Forgive me?" he asks. His toothy smile catches the sunlight and it genuinely hurts your eyes to keep looking.

"Okay. One more chance," you agree. "So, urban studies?"

He relaxes back against the bench, taking another lick before he offers the cone to you again. "Yeah, it's like community development and stuff. What about you, princess? What are you studying?"

You flush at the nickname, heat rising in your face and other places you'd rather not acknowledge. You're oblivious to the fact that you're having a similar effect on Jimin. The way you're licking his ice cream is making his pants feel a little tight.

"Teaching," you tell him, picking at the peeling paint on the bench.

"Little kids?"

"Yeah." You take another lick of his ice cream while he holds it, looking up halfway through.

Jimin's expression is unreadable, stunned almost. He shifts a little, crosses his legs, clears his throat.

"Kids are fun. I have a younger brother," he tells you.

"A lot younger?"

"No," he laughs. "But he's a total baby so it's basically the same.”

“Oh, does he get that from you?” you tease with a giggle.

His mouth drops open in surprise. “Hey,” he pouts. “That’s not nice.”

“I never said I was nice,” you tell him, taking another slow lick of his ice cream.

“Clearly,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He drags his lip through his teeth to try to hide the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

You manage to cram so much conversation into the next twenty minutes on this park bench, learning more about the mysterious campus celebrity than you ever thought you’d know. You hope his interest wasn't feigned, because it felt so fucking good to have his attention, to have him really listen to you and ask you about your life and your family and your hopes for the future. If you're not mistaken, you might think this was real progress.

Jimin watches you walk back toward campus with a soft smile and an unfamiliar feeling brewing inside him. You've surprised him. You're not the naive infatuated little girl he took you for. If he had a phone he'd be texting you already. He'd call you tonight, and maybe tomorrow. It's alarming to him how badly he wants another ten minutes with you. He hates that you declined his offer to walk you to your next class, but damn does he ever appreciate the view.

Thursday comes quickly. After your initial ice cream date, Jimin has found himself curiously seeking your attention rather than the other way around. With his phone out of commission he was hanging around the cafeteria all day yesterday in hopes of catching you. While it’s clear you don’t trust him and you haven’t forgiven him, you seem to have softened up a bit. You spent your meals together and allowed him to walk you to your classes, all while exchanging playful jabs at each other. You might forgive him for bailing if yesterday stood alone. Today is a whole different story.

Now Jimin is staring down a stack of graded exams the professor has dropped on the table at the front of the room. Students haven’t begun to trickle in yet so when the professor takes the opportunity to excuse himself, Jimin wastes no time in flipping through the pile to get a sense of the overall success of the class. When he gets to a test marked in thick red marker with an ‘F’ his stomach drops. He knows it’s yours before he even reads the name. He was hoping maybe you’d been lying about not paying attention.

He shuffles the exam back into place and straightens the pile just as the earliest student walks in. Jimin offers her a wan smile and a tiny bow of his head as a greeting. Although his stomach is still sinking and churning, he’s already thinking about ways he might be able to make it up to you.

Jimin finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung again, where he has you distracted from your misery by folding and unfolding a cootie catcher in front of your face like you're in third grade and not your third year of college.

"Pick a color now, y/n," Tae urges, opening and closing the folded paper four times after you've indicated the triangle marked 'pink.' "Hmm," he ponders. "It says you need to relax."

"What is this, a fortune cookie? I thought these things were like truth or dare, or like... who I was gonna marry," you complain, flicking the craft from his hands.

Jimin picks the paper up off the floor and hands it back to Taehyung. "Do me," he says.

After a moment of pointing and folding, Tae announces, "It says you need to apologize. Again."

Jimin looks at you while Tae packs up his stuff. After dropping a kiss on the top of your head he leaves for his next class. The action makes Jimin furrow his brows and frown. A feeling too uncomfortably close to jealousy blooms in his chest. Why did that bother him so much? He's not ready to acknowledge the answer to that. Instead, he contradicts it by reminding himself that Tae is one of his closest friends and it's cool that the two of you are getting close too.

"Princess?" Jimin's song-like voice drifts to your ears once Tae has disappeared. You've pressed your face into your folded arms on the table and it's taking everything you have not to start crying about your failed exam again. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, laying his hand against the small of your back and beginning to rub soft circles there. "I'm sorry I didn't help you."

"I wish you were ugly," you mumble into your arms.

"What?" he laughs, leaning his face down next to yours.

You lift your head to meet his eyes. "If you were ugly this never would have happened," you insist, sitting up and shaking his hand off your back with a twist of your spine. "Just be ugly! FUCK."

Jimin smiles before screwing his face up into the most unrecognizable grimace he can manage. He holds it until you start to smile then switches to another terrible expression, with his chin tucked into his neck so that it morphs into several chins and crosses his eyes for extra emphasis on its ridiculousness. When you start to laugh he sticks out his tongue to make it worse.

Once you’re clutching your stomach and doubled over with pealing laughter, he gives you the beautiful smile you're so used to again. "Let's do something fun together," he offers. "And then after that, we'll get studying and make this right. Please let me make it up to you."

"Okay," you agree, leaning into his open arms. It only took a couple days of spending time together to remove the awkwardness you felt when he touched you. He's even held your hand a few times while you walked together after your other classes. Now, his embrace feels welcome and comforting. You still can’t tell if he’s just trying to be nice or if he actually likes doing it but you don’t mind at all.

"There's a party on Saturday, will you come with me?"

"Where?" you ask, as if you have any hope of refusing him at all. You'd go anywhere with him and you know it but you want to try to play it cool. Your tone seems more tepid than you anticipate but he doesn’t seem to call you out on it.

"Jin's," he tells you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together.

He rubs his thumb against the back of your hand while he waits for you to pretend to decide. You relish in the motion. The tingle of butterflies erupt in your belly again like a cannon aimed at your heart, ready to sink it in an instant. Instead of falling, your heart seems to fly up to your brain and a light giggle escapes your lips.

"Okay. I'll come," you say in a euphoric brain fog, looking down at your joined hands. It's scary how good it feels to have his attention like this, but you hope it doesn’t stop.

"Why are you home?" Yoongi asks, finding you on the couch when he emerges from his bedroom. His late afternoon nap went longer than expected, leaving you believing he was out for the night. You settled in with Netflix and snacks of your own. He flops down next to you, causing you to swing your feet off the couch before they get squashed beneath his butt. He yawns and lets his head dip forward as he pulls out his phone and begins flipping through it.

"It's Friday night,” he reminds you, his tone scratchy. It makes you giggle.

"I didn't wanna go out alone and I thought you were gone. You're gonna be up all night now, you know."

"I would have stayed asleep but I've got a friend in need," he mumbles, rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes.

"Aww, you're so good to me." You beam, snuggling up to him and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

"Not you," he huffs with a disgusted grimace. “Ugh, that’s enough touching.”

You immediately pull back and scoff. “Wow. You’re lucky I know you know you love me.”

He rolls his eyes. "That’s debatable.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mock him in a tone of disbelief. You pop a chip into your mouth. “So why are you really up— if not to support your wonderful, beautiful, perfectly sculpted local couch potato?”

He smiles and steals the next chip from your hand before you can shove it into your mouth. “If you're good with it, my friend is gonna crash on our couch for a few days. His parents cut him off and he’s got nowhere to go. He’s almost got enough saved up to get his own place, but he could use some help in the meantime. Figured we’re doing alright and we have a couch. You cool with that?"

"Sure," you agree, trusting Yoongi's judgment. He's not gonna let some crazy person stay on your couch. "When?"

"I was just waiting for your approval but I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you before I passed out. I'll go pick him up now, if that's good with you," he says slipping his feet into a pair of sandals and looking for his keys.

"What, he doesn't have a car?"

"Sold it to pay for his books this semester. He's got nothing. He's keeping all his clothes in another friend's closet. It's kinda sad."

"That's rough," you agree, blowing out a heavy exhale and turning your attention back to the TV.

"I'll be back in a few. Maybe take it to your room so he can have the couch?" Yoongi suggests.

"Sure, sure," you say, already sucked back into your show and forgetting entirely about Yoongi and his friend for now.

When Yoongi returns an hour later, you haven't moved. In fact, you’ve crashed… hard. Yoongi and his mystery guest enter to a chorus of your snores and the Friends theme song.

“Hey, get up,” Yoongi urges, nudging your shoulder lightly.

When you peel your eyes open to look at him, you’re utterly mystified to see the object of your affections a few feet behind him, standing awkwardly in your kitchen with a duffle slung over his shoulder.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you blink a few times to clear your vision. You want to be sure it's him before you open your mouth. He's there, in black sweats with a grey hoodie pulled up over his white baseball cap. “Jimin?”

“Oh good you know him," Yoongi says with relief coating his tone. "I’m gonna get him some blankets. Think you can take your Netflix marathon to your room?”

"Yeah, I can do that," you mumble, gathering up your mess and disappearing into your room without another word.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••��•』

Alone in your room, you conjure up a hundred reasons in your anxious mind that could explain why Jimin thought he had to keep this huge secret from you. He’s got nothing? Maybe he was afraid you'd tell people. Suddenly, it makes so much sense why he's always walking everywhere.

You think back to Tuesday at the Cheery Cherry. His usually steady hands were so shaky handing over those bills he pulled from his wallet. You think of how tightly he clutched his change and even counted it out afterward. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with your own thoughts of inadequacy, you might have been able to put it together on your own. Your stomach drops when you recall the insulting way you threw your vanilla cone in the trash. The scene replays over and over again until you’re crying into your pillow.

Guilt keeps you awake until well past midnight as you turn these unsavory ideas over and over in your head, looking at them from every possible angle and over analyzing every detail of the time you've spent together thus far. Your eyes are now wide and dry, fixed on a black spot on your ceiling that you're hoping is just a speck and not a spider. The quilt in your hands is frayed, giving your nervous hands something to pick at while you let the silence drive you mad.

The soft knock on your door at half past one is a relief. Yoongi does his best cooking at odd hours, usually bringing you a plate if you're awake. It's a surprise to find Jimin outside your door instead. He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot until he finds your eyes in the dim glow of your table lamp.

"Did I wake you?" he whispers, head leaning against your door frame.

You shake your head, looking down at your skimpy sleep shorts and the university hoodie you pulled on to open the door. “I was up.”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you answer, stepping aside so he can come in. Your eyes scan the room nervously, checking for underwear on the floor and counting the half empty glasses of water on your nightstand. If you knew Jimin was going to be in your bedroom tonight, you would have cleaned up. At least you didn’t leave your vibrator out in the open. You don’t think you’d recover from the embarrassment of that.

Jimin follows you to your bed, perching on the edge once you’ve settled back against your pillows.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t,” you respond immediately. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Then why did you run away?” he asks, pulling at his hoodie strings.

“I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You didn’t tell me what you were going through and I didn’t want to…” you trail off, unsure how to articulate just why you ran away.

“You didn’t want to embarrass me? Hurt my pride?” he asks, sarcasm evident.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We aren’t that close.”

“That’s the problem,” he whispers. “I want to explain. I want to be that close to you.” He leans towards you, resting on his hands. He looks confident despite his current situation and it worries you a little. How can he be so sure of himself when he’s crashing on your couch and apologizing to you again for the fourth time in less than a week?

The Jimin you’ve gotten to know recently seems to disappear, leaving on the smooth talking playboy in his wake. He seems too calculated to be genuine. The words he whispers don’t seem like words meant for you. He is him, after all, and money or not he’s still the greatest catch on campus. And you, much to your dismay, are still just you. Unassuming, uninteresting, unexciting you. You’re the plain vanilla cone he’d never ask for if he had the means to get the banana split.

“Why?” you skeptically ask, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Jimin bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth while he thinks. “You’re special,” he says. “You’re cute and funny and I like spending time with you. You make me feel like I can be myself with you.”

“But you don’t trust me?” you ask, obviously referring to the elephant in the room. He didn’t tell you he was essentially homeless. How much of himself can he truly be if he was keeping that from you?

“I didn’t want to scare you away, and most girls I… see, don’t get close enough to find out,” he confesses. “I can’t afford to take anyone out right now. I haven’t been able to for a while. But I’m so close to getting enough for an apartment. That’s why I took the TA job; at the end of the semester I should be ready.”

“Jimin,” you start, unsure what to say. You’re still thinking about that goddamned three dollar ice cream cone you threw away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you, standing up. “I just wanted to be real with you, and thank you for agreeing to let me have the couch for a few days. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Wait!”

As you scramble over yourself to reach out, you find yourself on your knees awkwardly clutching your hand towards your chest. You’re still worried about seeming desperate but you can’t let that stop you now. Jimin turns toward you, but you’re unsure of what you wanted to say. You only know that you want to be closer to him too, that you’re not ready for him to go, that if he leaves now you’ll lie awake for the rest of the night reliving this short conversation.

“Stay,” you plead, nervously twirling the string of your hoodie around your fingers as you sit back against the pillows. “Talk to me?”

“Aren’t you tired?” he wonders.

You hold out your hand and he crosses the room to take it, standing next to your bed. You pat the space next to you and tug him toward it. “Wide awake.”

Your yawn says otherwise.

Jimin smiles, climbing over you to lay by your side on top of your blankets. He looks at you expectantly once he’s settled but it’s too much pressure for you to lead the conversation. You only know that you want to keep hearing his soothing voice. You have no idea what you wanted to say.

“You look cute,” he says, breaking the silence and touching your nose with the tip of his finger. “Sleepy and soft.”

“You look sexy,” you complain, waving his hand away. “I kinda wanna punch you for it.”

He throws his head back in laughter. “So feisty.”

“I can be boring instead,” you jokingly offer, rolling on your side to face him.

He does his best to keep his eyes trained on your face, despite the fact that all he wants to do is let them wander down. “I just want you to be you.”

That sounds fake. Again, you battle against the idea that this is all a farce, some sneaky way to get into your pants once and leave you wanting for the rest of your life. He hasn’t bared himself to you enough for you to trust him, so you pry.

“Why’d your parents cut you off, Jimin?” you ask.

He looks at you for a second, stunned at your boldness. That’s definitely not where he thought this conversation was going. He takes a moment to prepare his response and sighs.

“They have this restaurant. It’s a small place right off the coast: Jeongsik. My great grandparents started it from nothing and now my parents manage it. They want me to take over since I’m the eldest, but I want to move to the city and have my own life. I don’t want to work in their restaurant forever and my brother loves it and is perfectly capable. They love me. I know they’re just trying to teach me a lesson,” he tells you. He sounds unsure of that last bit. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he’s got nowhere to live and he’s penny pinching for meals and they’re shunning him.

“And what is that lesson, Jimin?” you ask, trying to dig deeper before he slips back into playboy mode.

“That being a part of Jeongsik is my only option if I want to be successful. That I can’t make it without them.”

“Can you?” The question is quiet and unassuming. You only want to know how bad it really is.

He takes a deep breath and taps his fingers anxiously against the fabric of the pillow. “I can. It won’t be the same, it won’t be easy, but I can.”

After giving Jimin a moment to say more, which he doesn’t take, you push him further. With your heart on the line and this miracle of an opportunity with him in your room, you're determined to learn as much as you can. You need to get under his skin. You need to know him, so you can know if you should run.

"What's your plan then?" you question, shifting closer so you're face to face against the pillows.

Jimin smirks at your line of questioning. It seems to break him from his thoughts. “Well,” he begins. “The Village has some one bedrooms opening up at the end of the semester, and by then I’ll be ready to make a deposit and lease one. After that I’ve got one semester left until I graduate. Then I’ll move to the city and live my life how I want.”

“Won’t you miss your family?”

“They still talk to me. They’re just not paying for school. Or my car. Or my food.” His heavy sigh at the end contradicts the lightness with which he revealed all of this to you.

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” You reach for his hand, familiarity in the way it fits with yours.

“It’s okay. I have good friends, and I have…” he trails off, catching himself and looking away with an awkward huff of a laugh.

“What?” you wonder, heart fluttering at the possibility that he was about to say ‘you.’ “What else do you have?”

Jimin looks up at you, rising up on his elbow. His eyes search your face for any hint of rejection. When he finds only hope, his hand moves to cup your cheek. It’s warm, adorned with rings that contrast the temperature of his skin.

“You,” he breathes, moving closer. You watch his gaze dart down to your lips before your own eyelids flutter closed. “I was going to say you,” he confesses before he closes the space between you and lays a soft kiss against your waiting lips.

He pulls away way too fast, leaving you to panic in the aftermath. You thought you had feelings for him before, but now that he’s let you in, now that he has shown you his heart, there is nothing more to deny. You’ve fallen, hard. The realization makes you feel trapped, like a frantic dying bird in a cage. But your captor is kind and beautiful and the flavor he left on your lips is the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Then say it,” you prompt him, urging him to accept the affection you’ve been so desperate to give him.

He kisses you again in lieu of words, longer, deeper, until his tongue is dragging over yours. You fist the material of his hoodie in your hands, pulling him towards you while you turn on your back. He’s hesitant to get on top of you, afraid he might be taking it too far, but you’re insistent. You pull and he caves willingly, slotting a leg between yours and letting his hand drift from your cheek to the back of your neck.

“I like you,” he pants when he breaks away. It feels like your heart flies up out of your chest and does a lap around the room, flapping its hummingbird wings like the wild thing it is before it crashes back into its place.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you plead. “You don’t have to pretend just because you’re here now. I’m a big girl. We can just have tonight.”

You say the words but you know if he leaves tomorrow, you’ll cry all day and probably the day after that too. The truth is, you can talk all you want about how you can do this no strings attached, but you know you can’t. Your strings are so attached to him at this point you might as well be metaphorical shibari.

“I mean it,” he whispers, full, wet lips brushing the side of your neck.

You freeze. You were expecting him to drop the charade and just fuck you or something, but in this moment he exudes tenderness and consideration.

“And because I like you, I think I should go back to the couch before we do something we aren’t ready to do.”

“Stay,” you plead. “We don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.”

He slowly nods and reaches over you to turn off the lamp, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he settles back into place. You wiggle your form down into the covers and he smoothes the hair from your face before tracing his fingers down your arm. You lean in close enough to smell the subtle clean scent of his cologne. Is it cologne? You doubt it knowing what you know now, unless he’s borrowing it from someone else. You still find yourself enjoying it nonetheless. It’s comforting. Sleep begins to claim you just as he slips his fingers into yours and gives you a tiny squeeze.

“Goodnight y/n.”

You think you respond but you’re in that purgatory state between sleeping and being awake, so you can’t be sure. At least you’re eighty percent sure you gave him a squeeze in return.

That’s how Yoongi finds you in the morning: you tucked neatly into your comforter and Jimin laying on top of it beside you, your hands clasped together in the middle.

“UM!” Yoongi shouts from the doorway, loud enough to wake you both.

Startled, you sit up in bed and look around for the source of the shout. “Fuck! Yoon. You didn’t need to scream.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to keep this from Taehyung,” Yoongi chides, looking from you to Jimin and back. “That would be quite the moral conundrum.”

“For fuck’s sake. It was never Tae. I am not seeing Tae. We are JUST FRIENDS!” You yell the last two words and chuck your pillow at him for emphasis.

“Okay cool, then Jimin can explain to him whatever this is to him. Jimin, he wants you to call him. My phone’s on the table. I’m taking a shower.”

Yoongi disappears from the doorway and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. In the light of day, you feel nervous and uncertain. Jimin does nothing to ease your anxiety. He just lays there quietly, unsure what to say.

“Do you want breakfast?” You try to smile and sound as chipper as possible.

He sits up finally and turns his back to you. “I should go see Taehyung.”

He moves toward the door and you feel your chest tighten. “Jimin?”

He turns to you from the hallway, and taking in your confused expression, offers you a smile. “We’re good, princess. I’ll be back tonight, then me and you: party time.” He winks before moving out of sight.

Alone once again, you start to question things. Everything. Are you imagining things or did Jimin seem cold when he left? He kissed you last night, didn’t he? Was everything you talked about too much? Does he regret kissing you? Does he regret staying the night with you without getting anything out of it? You can feel your thoughts spiraling out of control, but you can’t stop yourself from putting up the walls you so desperately wanted to keep down forever last night. It obviously didn’t mean anything to him, despite his claim that he likes you. He probably just meant that he’d like to fool around with you. Like he does with everyone else. You can’t let one night beside him make you think you’re special to him, no matter how badly you want to be.

Knowing you won’t make it through the day without driving yourself completely mad with questions and doubts, you dig your old phone and charger out of a drawer and go after Jimin. He’s leaning over the kitchen counter staring down at Yoongi’s phone when you steal his attention.

“Please take this,” you plead, thrusting the phone and charger towards him.

He looks from the device to you and blinks a few times in surprise. “What?”

“It’s a little old, but if your sim card didn’t get damaged I’m sure it will work in this. I kept putting off bringing it to be recycled.” You laugh nervously as you try to place it in his hand. “But now I’m glad I didn’t. Take it.”

“I can’t accept this, princess. It’s too much,” Jimin says, staring down at the object in your hands.

“Take it for me. If I have to go another day without being able to send you memes I’ll die.”

“Memes?” he repeats, sounding baffled.

“Memes, nudes, the weather forecast. Who cares? I wanna text you. Please take it.”

He licks his lips and smirks at your joke. Was it a joke? It’s hard to tell. He accepts it anyway. “Thank you. I’ll call you later?”

“You’d better,” you tease, offering the grandest smile you can manage before retreating with a slow saunter back to your room.

There’s that view again. He could watch your ass sway in those teeny shorts all day. It takes every last ounce of self control he possesses to pick up Yoongi’s phone and dial Tae rather than sprint back into your room and pin you to the bed. It doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about it though, even as his friend answers.

“What are we doing?” Jimin stands in the sprawling living room of Taehyung and Jungkook’s shared apartment. Both are from wealthy families that are all too ready to give their sons everything that matches the silver spoons in their mouths. They’ve been blessed with a bachelor pad that looks more like a college movie set than anything normal one would find around campus.

“Pick up a controller,” Tae tells Jimin, completely absorbed in the race on their oversized flat screen TV.

Jungkook hasn’t even acknowledged Jimin’s presence yet. Focused doesn’t even begin to describe the way his eyes bore into the television. He doesn’t break from his trance until he wins. Only then does he sit back with a smug grin, dropping the controller in his lap and just barely resisting the urge to gloat.

Taehyung drops his controller too, turning to give Jungkook a congratulatory fist bump. “Take his place,” he says to Jimin.

Jungkook has already vacated his place on the hallowed futon and moved to the row of cup noodles sitting on the counter. The first cup is half empty before Jimin even sits down.

“I suck at these games, Tae,” Jimin grumbles.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good. It’s a ploy to get you relaxed enough to talk about y/n.” Taehyung smiles, knowing Jimin can’t refuse now that he’s cornered.

“What about her?” He feigns nonchalance, as if he didn’t just spend last night catching feelings along with your lips between his own.

Taehyung scoffs, half bewildered, half disgusted. “Come on, Jimin. She’s amazing. You like her.”

“I barely know her,” Jimin replies. It’s a lie he can taste like copper on his tongue. He knows your favorite food, where you grew up, what you study, and he’s already programmed your birthday into his borrowed phone so he won’t forget.

Taehyung clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Okay then. If you don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna shoot my shot. She’s funny, and nice, and her pussy is so bomb it makes me wanna get married, so if you’re not gonna do something about that then I will.”

Jungkook cackles from the kitchen. “Did you fuck Jimin’s girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” Jimin grumbles, staring daggers at Jungkook, just as Taehyung says that he did not.

Jungkook takes his armload of cup noodles into his bedroom.

“I know you like her,” Tae prods. “She’s not some materialistic bitch who’s gonna leave you if you can’t afford lavish dates every other day. She’s a good, genuine person. She just wants your time and your attention. Maybe your heart. She doesn’t care about the other stuff.”

“Yeah? So I can bring her back to this futon after I buy her dinner from the dollar menu?” Jimin’s nose starts to tingle, months worth of frustrations finally reaching a breaking point. “I can’t get in a relationship right now and you know she’s not a fuckbuddy kind of girl.

“Right, because I didn’t eat her out in my car for fun last week.” He’d date you in a heartbeat if you wanted him. But he knows it’s Jimin you want and he’s more than happy to push the two of you together to see you both happy. He values friendship above all things.

“If that’s all you want from her, fine. But I think you and I both know it’s not and she’s too good for you to string along. If you’re just gonna break her heart, do it now before she falls any harder for you.”

“Why, so you can swoop in and be the good guy again? So you can get her off in your backseat?” The words are venom dripping from his mouth.

“Bro.”

Jimin softens. Tae is his dearest friend. He knows he only has his best interests at heart.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses and sighs. “We talked about Jeongsik last night. She knows my parents cut me off.”

Taehyung grimaces. “How’d that go?”

“Now she knows I’m not good enough but it didn’t seem to deter her at all.”

“‘Cause you are good enough and now she can see your true worth as a person, which is a thousand times better than the fake worth of money.”

Jimin seems to consider this for a moment but then expresses the concern gnawing at his insides. “What if she really is just another person who wants to idolize me? I’m really into her, but I need it to be more than that.”

“Jimin—”

“What if she’s after the meaningless title of being Park Jimin’s girl... like every other girl that has pursued me lately?” The words make him cringe. He’s humble and kind, not one to throw bouquets at himself, but those thoughts are intrusive and hard to ignore.

“Tch. Do you know her at all? Do you really think that matters to her?”

“No,” Jimin sighs. “But what if?”

“She admires you. You like her. Stop making it so complicated and let go of those ifs. You’ll never know if you don’t try and I want to see you try because you deserve to be happy,” Tae insists, starting a new game. “Now pick up that controller. I wanna kick your ass.”

You’ve spent the better part of your Saturday afternoon picking out your outfit for tonight. Yoongi only teased you twice before helping you select something a little bit more slutty than you’d normally pull out for a date. You’re going to a party after all, not some Sunday brunch with your friends.

When it’s almost time for you to meet up with Jimin you find yourself growing increasingly nervous. You run your hand over your thigh and down your calf, testing for any stubble you might have missed in your meticulous hour-long shaving session. On your way back up you tug on your skirt, eyeing it as though your gaze can simply increase its length. When was the last time you wore this dress?

You adjust and fuss over the way your tits fit inside the garment and puff air out of your cheeks. Yoongi squints at you from across the room. Your door is wide open after all.

“Stop worrying so much.” He sighs and clicks his tongue, crossing the room until he can see you in perfect clarity. “You look great.”

“I feel stupid. I should change. Jimin’s gonna think I’m weird if I wear this.” You try to turn and run back to your closet.

Yoongi plants his hands on your shoulders and spins you back to face the full-length mirror hanging over your door. “Look at yourself. Jimin’s gonna think you’re the hottest one at the party. Look at that makeup game.” He gestures to your face. “Wooo! So strong! Wow!”

Your lips twitch into a smile. Yoongi can be so sweet when he’s not busy pretending like he isn’t the softest man on earth.

“What if he doesn’t actually want me?” you ask, strings of doubt still plucking at your insecurity.

“He does,” he says with all the comfort you need in this moment. “I can tell with these kinds of things, you know.”

“That your like, weird sage sense you’re always telling me about? Reading the horoscopes doesn’t make you a fortune teller.”

He laughs. “Don’t be jealous of my power. Have I been wrong before?”

He hasn’t been, at least not with the advice he’s given you.

You exhale a huge breath and cock your head to inspect your appearance one more time. “What if you’re wrong?”

He hums a soft sound before planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Then he’s an idiot.”

A knock saves him from the overbearing hug you’re about to give him. He practically sprints towards the door. “That must be him! Pull your skirt up a little, would you? You’re not a nun and it’s gonna ride up anyway.” He pauses with his hand on the deadbolt and drops his tone to a rather loud, strained whisper. “Wait. What underwear are you wearing?”

Your eyes widen and your brows furrow as you angrily march over to your strappy heels and begin to put them on. “Why does it matter?” you whisper back.

“Are they the beige ones?”

“No!” Your hushed tone threatens to break into a shriek. “You know those are my period panties.”

“Please tell me they’re not the green ones.”

“Yoongi!” You get frustrated and lift your skirt just enough to show off a bit of the black lace adorning your buttcheeks as you lift your foot onto the nearby stool to finish setting the strap in place. “Satisfied?”

He breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Good. Those are good.”

He opens the door faster than you can register the action. Jimin catches the flash of lace and more skin than he’s meant to see as you swing your leg down off the stool and adjust your dress. Heat flushes your face as you meet Jimin’s gaze. His eyes are wide and he licks his lips before nervously clearing his throat. He nonchalantly drops his hands and holds them together in front of his pelvis.

“You-You look good,” he stammers, completely stunned by your appearance.

“Thanks,” you reply with a shy smile. Park Jimin gets flustered? Who’d have thought?

He thought you were beautiful before but he’s never seen you like this. You’re completely decked out and drop dead gorgeous. He’s almost worried he’ll feel inadequate standing next to you tonight but it doesn’t stop him from wanting you by his side, hanging on his arm. He wants everyone to know that he’s there with you.

The pair of you stand there looking at one another and Yoongi slowly turns from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.

“Have everything?” Yoongi prods, trying to get you to move so he can get on with his evening of relaxation and lazing about.

That seems to break you from your stupor and you nod and walk forward to hook your arm around Jimin’s. Before you get too far Yoongi calls to you and tests your reflexes by tossing your keys. You’ll need those if Yoongi is dead to the world asleep by the time you get home, which is quite possible. You’re not the most dextrous person but Jimin catches them and smiles at you. When you try to take them from his fingertip he moves his hand away and you swipe at the air. He offers to keep them in his pocket and you gratefully oblige. You pull your phone from its confines against your breast and check on the status of your uber with one hand while slipping your other into Jimin’s.

Jin’s party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. It looks like something out of a movie. There are glowsticks, red solo cups, a buffet table of snacks, and loud music by the large inground pool. People inside and outside of this big ass frat house are grinding up on each other, dancing, and spilling their drinks on one another. It’s a little overwhelming honestly. You’ve never been much of a party person and this is a monster-sized one.

Jimin takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring smile. “You want a drink, princess?”

“Yeah.” You grin and breathe a sigh of relief, feeling your insides melt at the sound of his voice. You know whatever happens tonight you’ll be okay with him by your side.

Jimin keeps you close all night, drinking and dancing and stealing the occasional quick kiss. It's pretty clear to everyone who's paying attention that there's something going on between you. You came with Jimin, you're there with Jimin, you're leaving with Jimin. Either Jungkook wasn't paying attention, or he just plain doesn't care. The moment Jimin leaves you alone to run to the bathroom, Jungkook steps up behind you in the chair you’re sitting on.

"Hey, y/n!" He smiles, all teeth and sleepy eyes. You can smell the whiskey on his breath when you turn to face him. "You look so pretty tonight."

"Thanks, Kook." You know he's one of Jimin and Tae’s closest friends. If you just hang with him until Jimin gets back, you'll be able to avoid the advances of all the weird guys here you aren't familiar with. "I like your boots," you tell him, looking down.

He follows your gaze to his feet. "Me too, I hope no one barfs on them tonight," he laughs, lifting his face back up to yours. The words are slightly slurred but you’re still able to decipher them.

His eyes definitely linger on your cleavage on their way back up. By the looks of it, he's on the short list of people who might end up barfing on those shoes. He holds his liquor well, but if you had to guess you'd say he's had more than he should have at this point in the night.

"So, I was talking to Taehyung recently," he starts with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The rest of his sentence seems to get lost in translation on the way to his mouth.

"And?" You smile at him and realize he’s probably too drunk to have anything of worth to say but you wait anyway.

"He told me something." Jungkook smiles so big his nose crinkles and he giggles like it’s the biggest secret in the universe.

You puzzle for a moment over what could have him so giddy before remembering that Taehyung is intimately familiar with your o-face. You'd gotten so close with him over the last two weeks that the details of your first time hanging out had completely slipped your mind. Jungkook is definitely about to say something crass.

"What did he tell you?" you ask, fearing you already know the answer.

Jungkook leans in closer so he can whisper in your ear. An amused giggle spills from his lips like he can’t contain the punchline to a joke only he knows. Somehow he gets his tone under control and finally speaks. "He told me your pussy tastes like heaven and what a coincidence," he pauses, "I haven't had dessert."

Jimin finds his way back to you just as you've moved to elbow Jungkook off your chair. Unfortunately, the alcohol in your system has your brain a little fuzzy and you misjudge the distance and location. You end up elbowing Jungkook right in the dick. Hard.

A circle clears around you as Jungkook doubles over in pain. Jimin steps up next to you, looking down at his friend and trying to piece together what might have led to you inflicting bodily harm.

Jungkook goes from bending over, to squatting, to laying on his side on the floor. He rolls onto his back still clutching the jewels despite the audience of people who have stopped to observe.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he squeaks out.

“Watch the boots,” you remind him as Jimin leans down to help him up and leads him towards something he can barf in. Through the crowd of people, you can see him just barely make it to a trash can in the kitchen. Gross.

Jimin gives Jungkook a pat on the back as he retches and reaches over him to grab a handful of jello shots off the counter. He returns with the rainbow of little cups clutched in each hand. The crowd seems to go back to their business of dancing and talking amongst one another, the random altercation just a fleeting moment in the night.

"What'd he do?" Jimin asks, holding his hand out to you so that you can make your selection.

"He came on to me." You shrug, picking a blue cup and popping the lid off.

"That's it? You elbowed him in the balls for hitting on you?" Jimin raises his eyebrows in shock and laughs.

"Well, it was kind of an accident. But," you pause to bring the plastic shot glass up to your lips, "he insinuated that he wanted to go down on me." You dip your tongue into the Jello and swirl it around the perimeter of its plastic casing.

Jimin watches you gather all the Jello up onto your tongue with rapt attention. He's growing so hard watching your tongue work like that. It’s driving him insane. He wants to feel it on him instead. He’s also now acutely aware of how badly he wants to swirl his tongue around your cunt, just like that.

"That makes two of us," he confesses with an enamored sigh. His hands are still full of Jello shots but that doesn’t stop him from holding your face between them.

He fiercely smashes his mouth to yours and you cave to the welcome intrusion of his tongue. It presses against yours, curling around it as he sucks the blue raspberry flavor from your mouth. You drop the empty cup to the floor and reach for his belt instead, pulling him against you until you can feel him pressed up against your stomach, hard and needy. He grinds his pelvis against you to be sure you can feel him.

“You feel that baby?” he asks, his tone low and sultry.

You grind back with a muffled hum. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re practically dry-humping each other next to the crowd of other sweaty, writhing couples. While Jimin likes how this feels, he’d like to regain the use of his hands. Jello shots be damned.

He pulls away for a second and looks around, depositing all but one of the unopened cups into the hands of the next person that walks by before he squeezes the chosen red one out on his tongue. He leans back in and presses his mouth to yours again. You can still taste artificial strawberry on his tongue. You're not even sure he swallowed before you started trying to lick his tonsils but you don't care. You want him now. You need him.

His thoughts are much the same as his free hand wanders down your back, dipping lower for just a second to feel the curve of your ass and squeeze. When you gasp he takes a step back and looks at you through hazy lust-drunk eyes. His lips are red from the gelatinous treat. You’d love to try and suck the color right out of them.

"Princess," he pants, his hands grabbing at your hips.

"Jimin," you breathe back, pulling him closer again. "Come home with me." It's not really an invitation. He'd be coming back with you anyway since he's currently living on your couch, but this has a different meaning and you both know it. It’s a plea for him to take you to bed.

You make out on the front lawn while you wait for the uber. You make out in the back of the uber on your way home. You make out on the way up the stairs and you leave a heart shaped love bite on his neck while he uses your keys to open the door. You make out pressed against the kitchen counter, and in the hallway.

Yoongi watches the pair of you act like he’s invisible as you stumble your way around the apartment. He has a spoonful of Fruit Loops half-lifted to his gaping mouth and finally takes his bite when you’ve made it to your room. Thank god you closed the door.

Jimin isn't as shy this time about laying his weight over you once you’ve dropped down onto your bed. You’re warm and he seeks the heat of your body as your hands explore the taught muscles of his chest. They dance around his belt, slipping up over the curve of his perfectly round ass so you can squeeze and pull him against you, inviting him to grind his solid cock into you. Your movements get slower and more focused when you unbutton his shirt. He tugs it off his shoulders and throws it to the floor before helping you pull that tiny excuse of a dress over your head.

You're thanking your lucky stars you had the foresight to put on a matching set, despite how foolishly hopeful it felt at the time. The way Jimin is drinking you in wrapped in nothing but a little bit of black lace is making your head spin, or maybe that's the alcohol.

He sits back on his heels beside you, trailing his fingertips from your throat to the valley between your breasts. He skims over your belly button then side sweeps over your hip and down your thigh, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

"Wanna take those heels off, princess?" he asks, scooting toward them on his knees.

"I can do it," you insist, planning on making a show of dropping what's left of your modesty. You aren't counting on the way the room turns when you stand up too fast. Luckily, Jimin's reflexes are quick and his hands on your hips steady you before you can actually fall. Standing up is also doing something terrible to your stomach. It rolls and clenches and your anxiety skyrockets.

Parties aren't really your thing, and while Jimin might be drunk he is damn good at controlling it. On the contrary, it's becoming increasingly apparent that you are completely hammered.

"You okay?" Jimin asks, concern dripping from his tone. He stands up and turns you both so you can sit on the edge of your bed.

"I think... I'm drunk," you confess, unable to explain why you suddenly feel like crying.

"I think you're right, baby," he agrees, squatting down to unbuckle the ankle straps on your heels. "Let's get you some water."

Your stomach flips again and time slows as you feel the contents of the evening rise in the back of your throat. Panicking, you look to Jimin with wide eyes and a hand flying up to your mouth. He spins around looking for anything to catch what's surely coming and upends your little trash can. Candy wrappers and old class notes fall to the floor. He thrusts the can under your face just as a rainbow of Jello shots and reappears.

"I'm so sorry," you cry between heaves, tears streaking your make-up down your face.

"Shhh," Jimin soothes, gathering your hair away from your face. When he's sure you've finished, he disappears from the bedroom with the offending trash can and you're left with your horrible, alcohol twisted thoughts.

He's going to think you're pathetic and disgusting. Why on earth did you think you could drink that much?

Jimin returns with a glass of water before you can get much further into your self-deprecation.

"You're never gonna fuck me now," you blabber, your filter lost. Your thoughts are a jumble of sadness and muddled lust.

Jimin laughs. "Well, I'm definitely not gonna fuck you like this. I didn't realize you were this drunk," he softly says. It's a caring statement, not even a little bit condescending.

You should be grateful that he wants you sober for sex, but it only makes you cry harder because you really just want him so badly and you're absolutely certain you've ruined your chances beyond repair. So, you do the only thing that makes sense right now and cry harder.

Jimin wraps his arms around you and leans close to your ear. "I want to, you know. I want to lay you down and touch you all over." He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. "I want to taste you, feel you. I want to be inside you so badly, but not like this."

"Please," you whine.

"Sober up first, okay?" he coaxes. "Can I help you get some pajamas? Brush your teeth?"

"Okay," you sniffle.

Jimin smooths his hand up your back, tracing the black lace band of your bra with the tip of his finger. “Do you want to take this off?”

You nod, reaching behind you to unfasten the clasp while Jimin reaches down to the floor for the button down shirt he discarded. He averts his eyes while you shed your bra, then holds his shirt open for you. You slip into it but don’t bother to button it up before walking to your door. He helps you get to the bathroom but you insist on doing it yourself so you can clean up and assess just how fucked up you really look right now.

When you close the door behind you, he makes sure to quietly apologize to Yoongi, who is still scrubbing the trash bin Jimin brought out earlier. Yoongi reaches into the cabinet for the bottle of Advil and gestures to a glass of water already on the counter.

Jimin waits for you to open the door and when you finally do he's relieved that you haven't fallen asleep. You've washed the makeup from your tear-streaked face and brushed your teeth. You've even pulled your hair back so it's no longer in the way. You look at him through a hazy apologetic lens as he offers you Advil and water. The last thing you want to do is ingest anything but if it will help you in the morning, you'll try it for his sake.

The journey from the bathroom back into your room is a blur. All you can think about is crawling back into bed and sleeping this awful feeling away. You struggle with the covers for a moment until Jimin helps you slide underneath them.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you plead in a weak voice.

"Why are you sorry? I don't hate you," he assures you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He's shirtless. He could have been naked pounding your pussy stupid if you didn't overdo it on the drinks. You hate yourself a little bit for botching this chance, but if he could just put his arms around you again maybe you’d feel okay, like you didn’t blow it.

"Will you hold me?" you ask.

“Of course,” he replies softly.

The light in the room disappears and the mattress sinks behind you. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and his fingers twine with yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers when you squeeze his hand.

The heat of his breath brushes against your neck but you don’t close your eyes. You’re too dizzy. Instead you focus on the soothing rhythm of his breathing until the weight of your eyelids wins out against the nausea and sleep finally claims you.

Your ringtone wakes you late, when the sun in your room is far too bright to be any time before ten. The sound is grating and irritating and you pull your pillow over your head to block it out. Jimin reaches for the phone, you can feel his weight shift and the heat of his skin when he hovers over you.

"Hello?" His voice is gruff and coarse with sleep.

Peeking out from beneath the pillow, you look over to him. His eyes are still closed and your phone is laying on his bare chest, speaker on and screen lit up.

"Gimme your bae," Jungkook's voice calls through the phone.

"She's sleeping," Jimin tells him. Looking in your direction, he meets your eyes and smiles.

You vaguely remember him making you drink more water last night, giving you Advil, and tucking you in. It's a very pleasant surprise to find that you aren’t horribly hungover.

"Wake her up," Jungkook whines. "Bro. She hit me so hard."

Jimin laughs. "You deserved it."

"I know," Jungkook agrees. "That's why I'm calling. Can I talk to her please?"

"You're on speaker."

"Hi, y/n. I got your number from Tae."

"Hi Kook," you croak.

"I'm sorry I was a douche last night. I get stupid when I drink whiskey."

"I accept your apology. Don’t do it again. How's your dick?" you ask, scooting closer to Jimin and laying your cheek on his chest. He wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. The gesture makes you feel warm all over. He likes you.

"It hurts but I'll live. Sorry. For real. Do you guys wanna go eat later?" he asks you both.

Jimin answers this time. "Maybe. We have stuff to do first. I'll text you." He hangs up before Jungkook can say more.

“What stuff are we doing, hmm?” you question with a giggle, trying to play coy.

“Depends how you’re feeling, princess,” Jimin replies, leaning over you again to deposit your phone on your nightstand. He lingers above you, prompting the cautious exploration of your fingers on his chest.

Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the awful taste in your mouth. In fact, you feel gross all over. Not exactly the way you want to experience sex with Jimin for the first time.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you tell him, wiggling out from under his body. “You must think I am the worst, most unattractive human.”

“No,” Jimin says with a giggle. “I think you’re sexy and sweet. I really like you y/n.”

“Nobody likes me.” You scoff at him in disbelief.

“It’s rude to call people nobodies, don’t you think? Especially when they’ve just confessed their feelings,” Jimin teases, sitting up beside you.

“Well, let me at least brush my teeth,” you tell him, holding his shirt closed around you while you rise from the bed. You step around the clean trash can that’s been placed at the side of your bed thanks to Yoongi, noting that there is also a neat row of condoms on your nightstand and a note that reads ‘be done by 5 i wanna watch Dragonball Z after work.’

You laugh and quickly take care of your morning bathroom routine in record time so you can make use of Yoongi’s gift.

When you come back to your room, Jimin is watching you. His lips are drawn down in a pout, his eyes are half closed, and his chest, still bare, rises and falls heavily with each breath he takes as he rakes his eyes over your bare legs and up. His shirt hangs open on your body, leaving a strip of skin visible from your throat to your panties. He licks his lips when your fingers drag a slow line up that strip.

Parting the soft fabric further, you let it fall from your shoulders and pool around your feet. Jimin sits up for a better view and you wait for embarrassment to strike. It never happens. Instead, his gaze emboldens you. He looks wrecked already and he hasn't even touched you yet.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

His assurance pulls you forward, one foot in front of the other until you’re close enough to touch and his hands are on your hips as you climb over him. He leans back under you as you push forward, connecting your lips with a force that borders on overeager. You can feel him smile against your lips and self-consciously, you will yourself to calm down. You have all day, there’s no need to rush.

When your kisses become soft and patient Jimin decides to take the initiative. He has to have you. He wants to be inside you. He sits up and sinks his hands into the flesh of your ass and begins to pull you down so he can grind up against your clothed cunt. When you moan his eyes roll back for a second and he buries his face into your neck to muffle the sound of his own. His tongue works in circles against you, giving you a taste of what’s to come before sucking a spot that has you burying your hand in his hair and grinding yourself down on him with need. He licks a hot stripe to your ear so he can whisper in it. In an instant he’s flipping you around on your back and grinding his pelvis against yours, allowing the dark desire to consume him.

“You like that, princess? You like feeling my cock on that sweet pussy of yours?”

“Yeah,” you whine, circling your legs around his hips. You can’t manage much more than that breathy reply, he is intoxicating and already you are drunk on his fumes.

“I hear it’s the sweetest. Made me so fucking jealous to hear Tae talk about you like that. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

“God did Tae just go around telling everyone?” you pause when the friction rubs against your clit just right. “Oh fuck,” you moan, imaging the pillowy soft press of his lips on your more intimate areas.

He chuckles in response. “No,” he assures you. “Just Jungkook and me. Don’t worry,” he says, persuading you with a careful roll of his hips that has his shaft parting your folds despite the layers of clothing between you. “He won’t talk about it anymore, and you’ll forget all about it by the time we’re done here. I’m gonna eat your sweet little cunt until mine are the only lips you remember.”

“Please,” you whimper, drawing him into a needy kiss.

His fingers dip into the band of your panties and he teases and tugs at them until you’re squirming and begging him to take them off. His lips trail wet kisses down to your breasts and he pauses to take your nipple into his mouth as he carefully works your last remaining piece of clothing down your legs.

Nudging your legs apart again, he settles between them, ghosting the pads of his fingers up the inside of your thigh as he drags your nipple gently with his teeth. He switches to repeat the action on the other side and cautiously slips a finger between your folds, parting them and testing your wetness. Much to his delight, he already finds you soaked.

“Jimin,” you breathe out. “Please.”

“Be patient for me, princess. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He sits back on his knees between your thighs and uses his thumbs to smear your arousal over your lips. He groans something deep and tortured when he spreads them open.

“Y/n, holy fuck,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his praise. It feels like some kind of worship the way he looks down at your cunt, watching his fingers disappear inside you. His satisfied hum is like a hymn to the divine way your hot, slick walls squeeze him, a prayer to the mere idea of having that wet heat wrapped around his needy cock.

“Tae didn’t tell me you were so tight,” Jimin admits, looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“He only used his mouth,” you tell him, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I’ll never forget his lips if you keep talking about him.”

That seems to spark a fire in Jimin. His eyes grow dark and wild. He wants to ruin you. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh and begins sucking marks into the soft flesh while his fingers continue to pump inside of you. He slowly works his way down, making sure the red spots he leaves behind are sufficient enough to last for days. He makes sure you’ll have the reminder of his face between your legs every time you look down.

“Jimin don’t tease,” you beg, bucking your hips up to seek the warmth of his breath.

“I’m not teasing,” he chides. “I am savoring.” He curls his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit, making your legs jolt. “Trust the process.”

“Jimin--,” you start again, but you’re cut off by the first touch of his lips. It’s barely there, just the ghost of a kiss on your mound. It’s immediately followed by the flat of his tongue, pressing down as he moves it lower, slipping his fingers out as he descends. His tongue parts your folds instead, circling your dripping hole and then dipping inside it.

“Mmmmm,” he hums. “Fuck, you’re sweet.” He spreads you with his thumbs again and goes back for more, lapping at your wet cunt, swirling around your clit, sucking your folds into his lips. But it’s not just the action, it’s the drive behind it. He’s insatiable, moaning at the taste, bucking his hips into the mattress when you whine for him.

Your fingers tangle through his silver hair, twisting and pulling as he devotes himself to your undoing. He moves with you when you grind up against his jaw, stealing a glance up at your face. Jimin feels his cock twitch at the sight of you; breasts heaving, mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut. He’s leaking so much precum he can feel it soaking through his boxer-briefs. He’s almost afraid he’s going to lose it and cum in his pants.

“You gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks, lifting his face to push his fingers back inside. He pumps them hard, curling and searching for that elusive spot while he presses soft kisses to your clit. He alternates between flicking his tongue and rubbing against it with his lips, pausing every few seconds to whisper encouragements with warm breath puffed over your swollen bud.

“Come on, baby. Do it for me. Cum for me, princess. Let me taste it.”

“Please Jimin. Pleeeeease. I need you to suck it. Suck it harder,” you beg. “Right there. There! Don’t stop! Please! I’m so close.”

Jimin keeps steady for you despite your trembling thighs. He pounds your g-spot while he sucks as hard as you can take. Your mind goes totally blank, consumed by an orgasm so powerful you can see fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. Heat spreads from your core down your legs, up your spine.

“I’m cu— cumming— Jimiiiiin!” you cry, legs trapping his head like a vice. Your fingers leave his hair in favor of squeezing at your breasts as you ride out your orgasm. You buck your hips when he doesn’t let up after you’ve come down from your high.

“Take your pants off,” you pant, shoving at his head.

He finally pops off with a grin, his chin and lips covered in your slick.

“What if I’m not finished down here?” he teases, dipping his head back down to lick a stripe up your slit. Your whole body jumps when he touches your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Oh?” he feigns shock. “Sensitive?” he smugly asks, going back for one more taste.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you tell him, lazily pulling your legs up and turning your body away from him. You keep your eyes on him as you turn just enough to hang your head off the edge of the bed.

“Are you for real right now?” he asks, standing slowly. The tent in his pants is obscene.

“Please, Jimin. Just a little bit?”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he sighs, tugging the zipper down on his jeans and letting them and his underwear fall to his ankles. He kicks them off and steps in front of you, smiling down at your upside down face, a little dumbfounded to have you wanting and willing to have him like this.

Your mouth waters at the sight of the swollen mauve tip standing at attention. He’s rock hard and so thick you’re not sure you can take him in your mouth, or your cunt for that matter. You’re glad he warmed you up with his fingers because you’re already clenching tight at the thought of that thick cock splitting you in two.

He reaches for the row of condoms as you take him in your hand and give him a few pumps. Just as he rips off one of the packets, you guide him towards the entrance of your mouth. You swirl your tongue against the tip and he drops everything, focusing on the way you tease him instead.

He inhales sharply. “Fuck. Who’s the tease now?”

You run your tongue along his shaft and smile when you get to the tip, giving it a quick kiss. “I’m savoring. What happened to trusting the process?”

He drags his lip through his teeth and clenches his jaw as you put his patience to the test but lucky for him you’re kind. He doesn’t have to wait long. You close your lips around him a moment later, reaching around his hips to guide him deeper, controlling the depth of his thrusts until he learns your limits and leans over you. With his hands on your breasts he rolls his hips. He can feel the tip of his cock bumping the back of your throat. He moans when you gag around him.

“That’s it, princess. Suck it. Just like that,” he praises.

Jimin is careful with his pace, and tender with his touch when he twists your nipples. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can take this just fine, despite the fact that your mouth feels fucking incredible. It’s when he watches you part your thighs and slip your hand between them to finger yourself while he fucks your mouth that he realizes he’s got none of the control he was so certain of. His balls tighten and he pulls out quickly and squeezes them, pinching at the tip of his cock and leaving you gasping for the breath you couldn’t catch with him in your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need a second,” he huffs, eyes closed, standing perfectly still. He breathes slowly and deeply. If you could peek into his brain you’re sure you’d see any number of boring things trying to distract him from the image of you fucking yourself with your fingers while you sucked his cock. It’s futile. He’s certain he’ll see it in his dreams.

“Did I do something wrong?” you wonder, shuffling around so that you’re laying back on your pillows.

Jimin ignores your question. He knows you’re well aware he almost came in your mouth. “I need to be inside you like, now,” he says, picking up the condom again.

You watch him tear it open and roll it on with his one knee pressed into the mattress and his other foot on the floor.

"Come on then," you coax, opening your legs for him to crawl between.

He pushes two fingers inside you on his way up, dragging them out slowly and smearing your wetness around your pussy before he lines his cock up and sinks in to the hilt in one smooth press.

You gasp as he fills you, feeling the stretch of his girth, and he hushes your whimpering and brushes his nose against yours. "I'm sorry baby," he soothes. "I'll go slow." He seals the promise with a kiss before hiking your legs up high around his waist and wrapping his arms around you.

He lies still like this, waiting for the green light while he kisses you breathless. He moves to your neck when you break away to inhale, sucking more little bruises in the skin there. "Tell me when."

"Move," you moan. "Move. Fuck me."

Jimin pulls out slowly, leaving just the tip inside. He pushes back in just as slow, repeating the action several times until it looks like you're about to cry.

You need it so badly. It feels cruel to have him rocking so gently inside you when all you want is to be ruined by him. "Harder," you plead.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me beg," you whine.

"What if I want you to beg?" he jokes, dropping his hips against you. It's almost hard enough to satisfy you.

"Then I'll beg."

Jimin groans, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He pounds into you, forcing the air from your lungs with his powerful thrusts, rolling his hips like his life depends on it. "You're so fucking good for me, princess. So tight. Feels so fucking good."

"Go faster," you tell him, grabbing a handful of his ass.

Shifting higher on his knees, he picks up the pace. Sweat beads on his forehead and over his lip. It beads in the dip of his cupid's bow and you lick it away before raking his bottom lip through your teeth.

“You feel my fat cock baby?" he asks. You moan in response pulling your legs higher so he can fuck you even deeper. "You like the way I fill you, don't you? Want me to fuck you full of my cum? Take it," he grunts. "You take it so fucking well. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

Jimin pulls out when you start to clench, not quite edging you but stealing the pleasure you were high on nonetheless. You whine at the loss of him, walls fluttering wildly around nothing.

"Can we try something?" he asks, lifting your legs and putting them to the side.

"What did you have in mind?" you wonder. You reach for his cock but he's already moving, nudging at your hips until you turn.

"Up on your knees for me, princess," he instructs. He kneels behind you once you're in position and smooths his hand up your spine, guiding you gently down onto your elbows. “Is this okay?”

“It’s good,” you assure him, wiggling your hips a little to get him moving again.

He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, dragging it through your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Finally, he pushes back inside you, coaxing a fresh wave of arousal with the stretch of his girth. It’s deeper like this and impossibly you feel even more full than you did before.

“Oh, Jimin,” you sigh, dropping your face into your folded arms. “Jimin.”

“Good?” He folds himself over you, pressing his chest to your back and sliding his hands from your hips to your breasts.

You thrust yourself back into him as you answer. “Perfect. You?”

It takes him by surprise but he follows your lead. He drives himself into your cunt while massaging your breasts and kissing your back. “Fuck, y/n…” he moans, letting his teeth drag over your shoulder before he bites down.

You hiss at the sting and he soothes it with his tongue and puckered lips.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous taking my cock like this. Feel how deep I am. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Jimin? Jimin, I need—,” you gasp out between thrusts.

“What, princess? What do you need?” he questions, releasing a breast to play with your clit instead. “Want me to pull your hair? Want me to fill you with my cum?”

“I wanna ride you.”

“Oh, fuck.” Jimin pulls back immediately.

He lays down beside you and grabs at your waist, guiding you over his cock and holding on tight as you drop your weight and take him completely. Swiveling your hips, you set a pace slow and steady. Jimin’s thumbs rubs soft circles into your skin as you move.

“Go faster,” he urges, unable to keep his hips from rising to meet yours.

You shake your head ‘no’ and continue with your slow rolling pace.

“Please, y/n. Ride it like you wanna cum with me.”

Smirking devilishly, you slow down even more and lean over him with your hands on either side of his head.

He looks down, watching your breasts sway and the way his cock disappears over and over.

“Fuck, y/n. PLEASE,” he whines, roughly grabbing your hips and pounding up into you.

Your startled laugh quickly turns into desperate cries of his name. His cock hits your g-spot directly. It feels so good you don’t even think you need him to touch your clit to make you cum. But he does. He pinches your bud between his fingers while he slams into you, growling and moaning and begging you to cum with him.

“I’m close,” he grunts, licking his fingers and rubbing furiously at your clit.

“Me too,” you whine. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t have time to finish the thought as he takes you over the edge with him. He slams his head back against the pillows as he pumps his hips and cums to the wild pulsing of your orgasm. Your cunt milks every last drop from him and you cry his name, clutching his wrists and letting your head fall back so you can wail your pleasure at the ceiling.

Jimin gasps, picking up his head to look down at how your pussy spreads open around him. Your slick cum coats the condom and his mouth waters, remembering the sweet tang of your taste. You’ve barely stopped grinding on him when he sits up to push you down on your back.

Pulling out, he kneels beside the bed and pulls you to the edge by your legs so he can gently lick you clean. He exhales a hot and heavy breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up to peel the loaded condom off his softening cock.

“That was… wow,” you pant, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as you try to regain your breath.

He’s already back at your side, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you towards his chest.

“Yeah,” he agrees while softly combing his fingers through your hair. He’s tired.

You smile against his sweaty chest and plant a soft salty kiss against him. Through the corner of your eye you see the row of untouched condoms on your nightstand. “We’ve got a lot left. Wanna go again?”

He hums a deep throaty sound and laughs when your hand falls to his limp cock. “I want to, but I need a bit to recharge. I can make you cum again while we wait. Do you want that, baby?”

“I always want that. But you don’t have to.”

The groan in his throat sounds croaky as he leans in to kiss your forehead. “I want to.”

He reaches down to wedge his fingers between your thighs and your whole body jumps at the sensitive sensation. How dare your body betray you in this moment?

“Seems like you might need time to recharge too,” he teases while nuzzling against the top of your head and squeezing you in a warm embrace against him. “I’m okay with just laying here and holding you.”

“Yeah?” You smile and cross your leg over his to get more comfortable. “Mmm. You can always help me study for the next test while you’re here.”

Laughter bubbles from his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me for answers to the exam? You know I don’t grade them, right.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, barely containing your giggles as you look up at him. “I don’t think I need to seduce anyone for answers. My head feels a little clearer now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” he prods while playfully ghosting his fingers down your side.

“Because I know I can be distracted outside of class now instead. I mean, if you wanna keep doing this,” you explain while nervously drumming your fingertips on his chest. “I know I’m not anything special, but—”

Jimin lifts your chin and pulls you into a deep kiss. “You are,” he whispers when he pulls away.

You lick your lips and blink a few times. “I was gonna say you make me feel like I am the most special vanilla ice cream cone on the planet.”

His shy, warm smile fills your stomach with butterflies even as he makes his joke. “Want me to lick you up?”

“And so much more.”

It’s a weighted confession. You sit up to look at him so he knows this. He purses his lips and casts his away. He was avoiding this conversation.

“I don’t know how much more I can give you. I want to be what you deserve, but things are so hard right now. I don’t know that I can be someone who’s good enough for you. You deserve to be showered in gifts and taken on dates. You deserve to be given flowers every day. I don’t even have a car to take you somewhere for a vacation. I’m not sure I can be what you want.”

“Just be yourself,” you state plainly, cupping your hand around his jaw. “That’s what I want. So far I like the person I see. I like you, the real you.”

“I like you too,” he blurts, eyes snapping back to meet yours. “But I can’t afford—”

You press a finger to his lips. “I don’t need expensive dates or fancy gifts. I don’t need you to take care of me— well, last night was the exception and you didn’t need money for that. I just want you to be with me. Talk with me. Spend time with me. Maybe have lots of sex? I don’t know, we can figure out the rest later.” You laugh, embarrassed by your own boldness.

“You see everything that I am and you still want me.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing. Now I know for sure you’re too good for me. But,” he pauses and slips his hands into yours, “I want to keep seeing you. I like talking to you and the more time I spend with you, the more certain I feel about the choices I’ve made. No one’s ever made me feel so free. I want to hold onto that feeling. I want to hold onto you.”

You tell yourself not to cry as you straddle his waist and hover above his lips. “I’m yours then. Are you mine?”

He catches your lips between his and buries his hands in your hair. “I’m yours.”

#smutcentralnet #jimin fic #jimin fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #jimin smut #bts fanfic #jimin x reader

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runwithwolvcs · 3 years

Text

You Know I’m No Good - o n e

Summary: Tallulah Forester isn’t a bad person, she’s just made one too many bad decisions. Which is why she has now found herself four hours away from her home in Seattle, to her estranged fathers little home in La Push, with her stepmom and two half sisters, whom she has only been with a couple of times in the past 15 years. Her mother and father had agreed, shockingly, that the small town lifestyle would be beneficial to their wild child, but bad habits die hard, especially when it comes to being in control.

Timeline: Takes place a few years after the events of Breaking Dawn

Pairing: Paul Lahote x OC (Tallulah is 18)

Warnings (future chapters): Drugs/Alcohol, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Jealousy, Mental Health, (Mentions of SA, but no details)

There are losses that rearrange the world. Deaths that change the way you see everything, grief that tears everything down. Pain that transports you to an entirely different universe, even while everyone else thinks nothing has really changed.

Tallulah stared out the window in the back seat with her knees tucked up to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly as her father drawled on, switching from topic to topic, your sisters and Kira are so excited your coming to we’ve already enrolled you at the school to do you remember this person or that person? Anything to fill the silence from creating a suffocating atmosphere in the car. It all sounded like white noise to her, she barely remembered La Push.

She moved to Seattle with her mother when she was six and the two of them never looked back, whenever she would see her father or half-sisters, they would meet halfway in Port Angeles and then head their separate ways. It was easier that way for everyone involved.

Josette and Lenna, her half-sisters, were ten the last time she spent any actual memory inducing time with them. Although they are only two years younger than her, they were so different. So in tune with the tribe, whereas she barely knew anything about the histories. She doubted anything would have changed in that respect.

Tallulah's headaches from her hangover, or maybe lack of sleep, she thought, and as she laid her head against the window she listened to the sound of passing cars and her dad's voice as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

--------

Tallulah awoke to the sound of the car door shutting and a nearby dog barking, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, grateful her headache was gone, but now in its place was a lump in her throat, as she looked around her surroundings outside of the car. The little blue house she vaguely remembers. The tire swings in the old oak tree. A woman's laugh caught her attention, as she looked to see her dad and stepmom, chatting away, happier than ever. Tallulah felt so out of place. Like she was an intruder coming in to ruin her fathers happy, little family with her black cloud of disappointment.

Tallulah groaned to herself as she unbuckled herself, might as well get this over with, she thought to herself while opening the car door and slowly stepping out, stretching as she did. She could feel the two adults eyes on her as she shut the door gently, looking towards them, Kiras big smile, that if she didn’t know better would look insincere, but she did know. Her stepmom was a tryhard, doing anything and everything to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother and stepmother, no matter how hard Tallulah pushed against her kind persona. She was the reason her family was in pieces. Kira and her father were no doubt in love, even when her parents were still together, they never looked at each other the way she sees her father looks at Kira and vice versa, like they are each other's reasons for being. She moves, he moves. Tallulah nearly physically cringes. It's not something she ever wants for herself, that fairy tale love.

She walks toward them slowly, Kira meeting her halfway, wrapping her arms in a bear crushing hug that she doesn’t reciprocate, looking past her at her father who has that ‘be nice’ look on his face, and clearly, she was in no place to fight that. She couldn’t help but think, if this doesn't work out the way her parents think it will, where is the next place she would be shipped off to?

Kiras' soft, sweet voice shakes her from her thoughts, “it's so nice to see you again. Your hair has gotten so long.” Tallulah raises an eyebrow before stating, “I've cut it a few times since I saw you last.” Kira laughs off the dig, before walking towards her father and saying, “the twins are out, we’d figured you'd be better off getting settled without a full house.” Tallulah nodded in response as her father spoke up for the first time since arriving, “besides, we have some things to discuss. Expectations and what not,”

Tallulah eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Rules? I’m eighteen. I don’t need to have any rules.” Her arms crossed over chest, as if she were a child.

“If you think that you will be continuing your..extracurricular activities that you have picked up in Seattle, you are wrongly mistaken” he says in what she assumes is his fatherly tone that works on the twins, but not her, he gave up that right fifteen years ago. “Your mother has filled us in on everything, Tally” She rolls her eyes at this, as if she knows everything, she thought to herself.

Kira stood up on the porch, just inside the doorway, “Joseph, let her settle in, we can have this conversation tomorrow, after the bonfire.” she said in ‘dont fight me in this tone’, to which Tallulah appreciated, yet was confused, “Bonfire?” she asked, as she made her way up the steps of the house leaving her dad to bring in her few bags, “The tribe bonfire party happens once a month, the girls love it, plus you can meet some of your classmates before you start school.” Kira spoke as if this was something she should look forward to, but in all honesty, large gatherings were not Tallys scene, despite what her mother thinks. But, she would attend, save face and hope with good behaviour she would be back in Seattle with her friends in no time. This thought reminded her to shoot them a text quickly explaining her situation, hoping they would see it as an SOS, before shoving her phone back in her pocket and following Kira around the house like a little kid, listening to where things were kept, which rooms were which and then finally a stop at the room in which she would call hers. The walls were a blank, cream color, with light blue bedding and a wooden desk shoved in the corner, along with what looks like textbooks sitting on top.She nods politely as Kira mentions they will be leaving within the hour but try to settle in and suggests she may want to change out of her cotton shorts, as it “gets quite cold compared to Seattle” as she put it.

-----

7:14 read the time on Tallulah's phone as they walked up to the beach, the sun had just begun to set and the temperature had, in fact, dropped quite a bit, thankful for Kiras advice, Tallulah had changed into a pair of loose, blue jeans and had tucked her hands into the pockets of her oversized, black hoodie, fingers curled under the long sleeves to keep them warm.

She walked slightly behind Kira and her father, standing off to the side as they were greeted by people, before they had reached whom she suspected to be the twins. They looked so different from what she remember, her father lowly spoke to her, as Kira caught their attention, pointing out the smaller of the two as Josette and the taller, as Lenna. Josie dawned a baggie pair of dark pair of overalls, with a striped sweater underneath, her hair in two space buns, which was quite different from her sister, in her plaid mini skirt and form-fitting long sleeve shirt, her pin straight, dark hair fanned out behind her back. Tallulah could already tell they wouldn’t get along.

She watched as Lenna stalked away from her mother to a group of people who looked around their age, before snapping her eyes back at the sound of her name being called, to see Kira and Josette waving her over, before she could even move her feet willingly, her dad was nudging her in their direction, as if she would turn and walk the other way.

Josette moved over so she could sit directly beside, a friendly smile that resembled Kiras on her face, “ Hi Tally” she spoke her childhood nickname softly, “it’s been awhile, you look so much older, not in a bad way, like mature, adultish, but obviously your only two years older than me so not technically an adult..” she rambled off, “Hey Josette” and before Tallulah could say anything else, she was interrupted by the younger girl, “Its Josie or Jo, whichever fine, just not Josette” she spoke quickly, a pale blush crossing her olive toned skin, to which Tallulah just nodded and asked, “How long do these things last?”

“That depends,” Josie spoke, “Typically the adults leave once the stories and tribal matter finishes, so maybe an hour or two. But we usually stay later, or at least Lenna does.” she said, looking in the direction of her twin, who was now surrounded by a group of other rambunctious teenagers. “Sam Uley's crew is here tonight, so who knows if that will even happen, especially after last time.” Tallulah didn’t question the younger girl, mainly because she just didn’t care to. She looked away from Lenna and her friends, her eyes gazing on all the unfamiliar faces sitting on logs or picnic tables surrounding the growing fire.

Her eyes stopped on what seemed to be a couple, the girl was beautiful, her long black hair was tied up into a neat ponytail, she was talking to a man in a wheelchair beside her, who looked like he could be her dad, her eyes shifted to the man sitting next her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, he was in shorts and a shirt and looked perfectly comfortable in the frigid air, he was joking around with the boys next to him, as if the beautiful girl next to him was really there, despite his arm around her, “Thats Paul Lahote.” Josie said from next to her, causing her to flush from her obvious staring, he looked in their direction, as if he had heard Josie say his name, they locked eyes for a split second before Tallulah looked away embarrassed she had been caught. “Don’t worry, Lenna stares at him too,” Josie laughed jokingly, “I wasn’t staring” Tallulah spoke defensively, Josie raised her hands in surrender before leaning in close, “looks like he's the one staring now” Josie grinned, watching as Tallulah looked back at the older boy, noticing that he was staring at her, almost like a deer in headlights. He looked so familiar, though she doubts that they have ever met before. He smiles at her slightly, his arm retracting from the girl beside him despite her protest to his movement, and now the beautiful women is also looking at her, causing Tallulah to look down at her sleeve covered hands that lay in her lap, only looking up again when her father sits in the spot next to her, asking if she's alright, to which she absentmindedly nods her head. Is she alright after her entire life has been altered in the last 12 hours? What kind of question is that?

Her eyes are drawn back to the spot Paul Lahote was sitting in, or had been sitting in, the seat was now vacant, the man nowhere in her line of sight, and she can't help but feel a little disappointed.

#paul lahote imagine #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x oc #paul lahote #twilight wolves #twilight wolf pack #embry call #leah clearwater #you know im no good #chapter 1

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literateleah · 3 years

Text

the paradox of emily prentiss’ audience perception and character design

some of y’all about to be real mad at me, but it must be said:

emily prentiss’ character design makes no sense: my personal opinion + an objective analysis

i think it can be challenging to separate the versions of characters we have in our little brains from actual canon content, but doing so is important for understanding what those characters are truly like, especially within the context of their environment and in contrast to others around them. plus developing a deeper understanding of the media we consume is super fun and interesting! with that being said: emily prentiss should not work for the fbi and here’s why (in three parts regarding who’s responsible: cbs, paget, and fans) (sit down and grab a snack i promise this is over 3k words)

quick disclaimer: i don’t dislike emily at all! that’s my girl, i just looked closer and realized some funky things the writers did and felt the need to analyze her of course: so let’s get into it

part one: what cbs did

cbs set the stage for emily’s introduction on the heels of the departure of lola glaudini as elle greenaway! lola has clarified that she decided to leave the show because filming in los angeles was not the best environment for her personally, and after one successful season on a major network (but not much established long term plot or drama beyond elle’s departure as a character) a consistent ensemble cast was required- particularly because the bau had been criticized for being predominantly male in the first few episodes of the show and not much development was given to penelope or jj yet. enter emily prentiss.

for the duration of seasons 2-3ish, emily was framed as a chip off the block that was elle greenaway, just slightly…richer? in her first few episodes emily was hesitantly polite but ambitious, clean cut, intellectually concise and held her own within the team. she seemed equal parts intimidated and frustrated by her male superiors (gideon, hotch) but certainly proves herself among other profilers. her childhood was explored only within reference to her strained relationship with her mother (which was only ever referenced once more after the fact) and we received a short overview of her educational and career history in her first few episodes. emily fit right into the hole elle had left, and didn’t have many major storylines yet.

seasons 4-6 brought a bit more development and depth to emily’s character! she begins dropping more snarky remarks, one liners, and socially deepening her relationships with the other team members. this seems more within the lines of elle’s design, but emily arguably took more time to grow into her place within the team. during the foyet arc she was vulnerable and supportive, and the doyle arc gave her some independence and agency she didn’t have previously. this era also solidified her appearance and persona as more edgy, which falls in line with general fanon perception of her character (especially when compared to jj or penelope). i can’t address this era or season 7 without mentioning that cbs was actively trying to remove paget from the cast, similar to how they did to aj cook as well. paget has spoken about this instance before, and i believe it slightly affected her portrayal of her character, and “lauren” was somewhat of a goodbye for both paget and emily (thus why she wished for mgg to direct since they were best friends).

season 7: in my opinion, one of the best seasons for emily. she was wisened and deeply wounded by her experiences with doyle, which was understandable of course. she returned to the team she loved and learned to appreciate life in a different way, remaining mature during this time period as well! though her departure was a bit less than graceful and sudden at the end of this season, it made sense compared to some other exits the team had seen.

now *sigh* all the rest.

paget as emily appears in two separate guest appearances (once in s9 and once in s11, and she is referenced offscreen as well) before permanently reprising her role as unit chief of the bau. these appearances were most likely to boost ratings and get the team back together (i.e. 200) or just to pepper in international cases (tribute). emily’s personality remains pretty consistent here, just more mature and comfortable in leadership positions (seeing as she is running an entire branch of an international law enforcement organization). then season 12 hit.

upon the departure of thomas gibson as hotch, cbs reached out to paget to see if she would be interested in fulfilling her role as emily within a longer term unit chief position. i’ll get into why this is wack in a few paragraphs, but the remainder of her time on the show is spent on a mature portrayal that seems very distant from her previous versions. emily is more authoritative, gives orders with ease, and has no qualms about leading a team of agents or even receiving promotion offers as director of the entire bureau.

thus concludes a general summary of the canon content cbs gave us as viewers. now let's talk about what they didn’t give us, regrettably

the primary aspect of emily’s design that comes to mind for many is her queer coding. though not much was to be expected from cbs, a prime time cable tv network, each of her relationships on the show (all with men) seemed oddly forced, and without much chemistry as compared to the SOs of other main characters. rumors of scrapped plotlines have floated around about what may have been, but the ultimate lack of acknowledgement of any queer characters in the main ensemble still leaves a feeling of disappointment to audiences, and leaves more to be desired as for how emily navigates social bonds.

part two (sidebar): what paget did

i think it could be agreed within audiences that paget brewster’s portrayal of emily made the role what it was! her dry witty delivery and emotional prowess combined with sitcom acting experience made her performance a mainstay for years. i think she did the best she could with a confusing and at times flat characterization, and brought the role to life.

paget also heavily contributes to fanon indirectly with her comments outside of the show (press, cameos, twitter etc). her general continued interest and fondness for the role post production affects fan perception, particularly in what she chooses to elevate and comment on. she and aj have both spoken about viewing jemily content, and paget and thomas have both also commented on hotchniss. most cast members feel free to comment on their characters in the appropriate timing, and seem open to discussing fanon ships and theories outside of canon!

part three: what fanon did

as we can tell from this fan space as well as the presence on insta, tik tok and twitter, fans LATCHED onto emily super quickly. she’s remained a favorite over the years, and this fan persistence is what brought her back so many times after leaving (so many times). in my opinion, queer coding and a bolder female trope (in contrast to her female counterparts) are the main pulls because they resonated with so many fans- new and old. with that being said, newer fans of the show in the past year in particular have been heavily influential in fanon, solely because of the large influx of fan content and popularity of it.

fan content began to take coding and bite size moments and snippets from the show as canon, and cemented it into much of the content and discourse they created. these small pieces of emily’s character are significant, but have become magnified by how easily they are to share and edit. for example, a collection of catchy one liners from emily over the seasons makes for a great video edit intro, or gifset! there’s absolutely no problem with this content, it just all combines to create a certain fanon perception no character escapes (this isn’t a phenomenon limited to emily or the cm fandom!)

these droves of content also solidified emily’s personality as much more defined, but at the same time, simplified it in a way that’s slightly harder to explain.

fanon: more emo/goth than canon basis

fanon: more introverted/anti social than canon basis

fanon: more violent/chaotic when canon emily is relatively well mannered and doesn’t start many conflicts (particularly in the workspace)

fanon: much less maternal when canon emily displays desire on multiple occasions (even crossing professional borders) for children, particularly teenage girls (possibly projection)

(again, nothing wrong with this interpretation at all and it still varies! This is just a generalization based on most of the popular content i have seen)

part 4: why it doesn’t work

let me start with this: emily prentiss does not like her job.

we don’t receive much in depth information about emily’s internal feelings and thoughts towards her mother beyond resentment. this stems from wanting to make it on her own, as a professional and as an individual (cough cough college deposits). this makes emily’s insistence on proving herself to authority figures in her earlier seasons is interesting to watch in different circumstances. she cites her experience and denies help from her mother when justifying her placement in the bau to hotch, she is extra vigilant about being helpful on her first case with gideon, etc. nevertheless, emily forges her own path outside of diplomacy and becomes a successful profiler and agent, with the help of her privilege, wealth and name whether she likes it or not. but if we read between the lines and fill in the blanks cbs neglected, these ambitions may subconsciously be oriented towards pleasing her mother.

example one: emily’s authority issues go further than just “rebellion” or “anarchy”, she frequently questions the ethics and sustainability of the work that the bau does. every team member does this, but emily much more so than anybody else.

in “amplification”, emily almost breaks federal protocol to inform civilians of anthrax threats. she butts heads with both hotch and rossi on this front, and ends the episode with having a conversation with rossi about the ethics of lying in their line of work. emily resigns to a solemn “it be like that” and moves along, accepting this reality.

on multiple different occasions emily laments to derek about the darkness she sees on the job, and it’s shown that this gets to her quickly on particularly bad cases. this is another contradiction of the design that she can supposedly “compartmentalize” better than others on the team, when she cannot unless the lives of others are at risk (doyle arc, s7 finale).

emily also responds in this way to many cases involving children, a similarity to jj many don’t notice upon first watching the series. “seven seconds” and “children of the dark” come to mind, during the latter in which emily is prepared to cross multiple professional lines to adopt a teenage girl left orphaned by the case, until hotch stops her and establishes that her emotions can’t rule her judgement on the job. regardless of hotch’s thoughts about her attempted caretaking abilities, these actions and impulses deeply contradict the typical bureaucratic pathways of the work the bau does.

the looming reputation of her mother’s diplomatic history hangs over emily, and after going to law school and working for the cia, she most likely did want to forge her own path as far away from being a socialite: being a spy. her inner nature doesn’t always reflect this profession, and leads me to believe that with her knowledge of psychology, law procedure and care for children: emily prentiss might be more inclined to working in social work, placing suffering children and teenagers in homes they deserve.

and finally, the hill i will die on: emily prentiss was an bad unit chief

this wonderful post touches on my general sentiment, but there were many reasons as to why emily prentiss’ career arc makes little to no sense (plot holes included).

first: her background. emily attended chesapeake bay university as well as yale and achieved a ba in criminal justice. keep in mind that though timelines evidently don’t exist in the cm universe, emily prentiss is ONE YEAR older than aaron hotchner (for context). in her first episode, she professes that she has worked for the bureau for a little under ten years in midwestern offices- something the audience laters knows to not be true. emily worked with the cia and interpol as a part of a profiling team and undercover agent up until roughly TWO YEARS before her canon introduction. plot holes and time gaps aside, this makes me wonder, why didn’t she just say the cia was a backstop without revealing the highly confidential nature of her work with doyle (similar to jj’s state department backstop and cover story)? penelope or hotch could have easily accessed her file and seen that she did not in fact have experience with the bureau in midwestern offices recently, and given the fact that erin strauss set up her bau placement, i’m presuming these formalities or references were overlooked.

second: her experience within the team. emily worked as a part of the bau with the bureau for roughly 6 or 7 years. after this, she is invited to run the entire london branch of interpol, one of the most renowned international law enforcement organizations. i’m surely not the most knowledgeable on requirements or standard timelines for such matters, but with the fact that emily had never led a team in her life (not in the bau or interpol previously) and had roughly 10 years of field experience, i don’t believe she would have ever realistically been considered eligible to run the whole london department.

third: her return to the bureau. fanon depiction of their relationship aside, if you believe aaron hotchner’s last wish before going into witsec was to entrust his team to emily prentiss, you’re dead mistaken. bringing emily back was clearly a pull for ratings after the loss of two main characters (hotch and derek), but logistically a bad decision. let’s suppose emily has had 4 or 5 years of experience in london now, this established authority position would be unlikely to change at the drop of a hat, even for old teammates or friends. also considering how close they were after a decade of working closely in bureaucratic and field contexts, i firmly believe hotch would have referred jj for the job of unit chief but that’s another discussion for another time.

emily’s reign as unit chief is odd, because of the many chaotic storylines crammed into it. but amidst bad writing and viewings plummeting, emily’s character is completely flattened. completely. emily is unrecognizable, both in appearance (that god awful wig) and personality. at times she acts as a complete wise authority, giving orders and delegating local authorities as hotch did. but at other times she makes multiple illegal, emotional, and incorrect judgement calls based on personal circumstances that lead to further chaos (deleting the recording of her and reid’s mexico conversation and reprimanding luke in “luke” for the exact same thing she did in season 6 even though she enabled her to do so come to mind).

i’m not sure if this is due to paget trying to find her footing in the role again, or the writer’s bad decisions towards the end of the show wrecking any previous design for their ensemble. then, there’s the infamous “wheels up” scene in s13e1. notoriously cringey, this seems like a vague caricature of something rossi would say many years in the past (the same goes for her pep talk in “red light” in the hunt for diana reid). these moments are meant to mature emily in the audience’s eye, but instead completely removed her from who we understood her to be, and made her an unreliable leader.

part five: and why it does

in theory, emily was a bolder foil to jj, similar to elle who she arguably replaced at first. she came into her own, and stands as a more uniquely developed character than almost any other in the main ensemble. she isn’t as maternal or domestically inspiring as canon jj, less bright and sunny than penelope, not quite as stoic or intimidating as derek or hotch. And yet at the same time, she’s a fairly blank slate. stripping fanon content away entirely, canon emily has few defining traits (all of which are constantly changing), and that may be the key to why we love her so much.

#long post #emily prentiss #ITS HERE #and its a doozy #read if you'd like #leah writes #if there's typos i apologize #this was a fever dream

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nightshadeshadow123 · 3 years

Text

Jealousy (A.M-R)-(C.G)

You are a witch and dating Ally, Cordelia comes to visit you for awhile and some jealousy ensue and Cordelia's old crush on you appears again. Hmm, I dunno where I want to go with this or maybe make it a multi part fic series or a part book but this idea just randomly popped up in my messy head space.

You let out a frustrated groan, (e/c) snapping open when the black candles blew our for no reason, glaring down at the circle of the black candles, scrunching up your face as the last wisp of their smoke vaporised into nothingness.

"What's wrong?" Ally asked curiously, tearing her brown eyes away from the book she was reading to look at you sitting on the floor a few feet away from the comfy black sofa she's laying on.

You rubbed at your forehead before looking to your girlfriend.

"I'm not sure...Just feeling a little shifting in my powers and I can seem to focus. That only-." You suddenly cut yourself off as you perked up at feeling a familiar warm yet distant presence lurking about.

"What is it?" Ally asks, sitting up completely after she noticed your sudden perking up for no reason.

"No way, that can't be." You tried to reason with yourself but you couldn't for long as the familiar feeling suddenly grew stronger.

"Delia!" You smiled and jumped up, not caring when you knocked over the dead candles and making a run for the front door, a startled Ally left sitting on the couch as she watch you run from the living room.

"What the actual fuck?" Ally asked to herself, dropping her book on the sofa and bolting up as you slammed the door open with a bang.

Your excitement grew when you see that feeling of a familiar powerful yet warm presence infact came from who you thought it would be.

"Delia!?" You exclaimed happily and ran towards the blonde Supreme that is smiling brightly, arms held open in waiting.

"Yes, my little witch. It's me." Cordelia said softly, arms wrapping around you tightly yet comfortably as you finally crashed into her, her excitement to finally see and feel you clear.

You tightened your hold on her waist and buried your hands into her blonde locks as she held you, not wanting to let you go ever again.

"Not that I'm not super glad to see you again but what are you doing here?" You pulled your head from her shoulder to look her in the eyes.

The blonde Supreme shot you a sharing smile as she made eye contact with you, rubbing a hand up your spine, amusement filling her when she felt you shiver against her, a slight pink dusting your cheecks.

"I came to visit you for awhile. I haven't seen you in ages and I've mi-" suddenly the blonde was cut of by a voice.

"(Y/N)? Who is this?" Ally asked tentatively, trying not to focus on the way the blonde is holding you.

You pulled away completely from the blonde and turned to face your girlfriend, one hand flying up to rub at your neck nervously as pink dusted your cheecks more.

"O-Oh, this is Cordelia, my Supreme." You explained.

Ally raised a dark eyebrow at this. "Your Supreme? What is a Supreme excatly?" She questioned, moving towards your side and gripping your arm with her, her free hand interlocking with yours as she glared at blonde witch in front of you, taking notice of the way the witch glared at her too.

"Well, a Supreme is a coven leader. She's my coven leader." You explained, rubbing circles on Ally's soft hand in yours, not taking notice of the way the two are glaring at each other.

Cordelia smiled at you when you looked back at her, her hands crossing over the other, not liking the jealous feeling crawling up on her when Ally have arrived.

"And Cordelia, this is Ally my girlfriend and Ally this is Cordelia." You introduced the two to each other happily.

"Pleasure to meet you." Cordelia forced a smile, hand moving to shake Ally's.

"Hmm, I can say the same. She talks about you a lot and I've once seen you on TV. " Ally spoke, not bothering to shake hands with the witch, her grip on you tightening.

You choose to ignore this before you decide to spoke up. "Wanna come inside for some coffee?"

Cordelia let her hand fall back to her side and gave you another warm smile.

"I would love to darling." She said adoringly, adding the pet name to work on Ally's nerves, a smirk tugging on her lips as pink rise to your cheecks once again.

You pulled away from Ally and made your way back inside with the older two women following close behind you.

As you entered the living room once again you gestured Cordelia to sit down on one of the comfortable back sofas, please the one you've been leaning back against when you were practicing your spells and magic.

Cordelia smiled when she saw the knocked down candles on the floor along with, jewels and some plants.

"I see you're still practicing your magic." She commented, a fond smile tugging at her lips as she looked up at you after sitting down on the sofa.

"Yeah. I would hate it if my powers would flake out when I stop and maybe land in a situation where I'd have to use them and I can't have my powers weak then...not like last time." You muttered the last part mostly to yourself but both the older women heard you and Cordelia gave you a sympathetic smile.

"I'm gonna go make some coffee. I'll be right back." You excused yourself and speedily walked out of the room, willing yourself not to look weak in front of them.

They both watched you leave before Ally turned back to Cordelia.

"What does she mean by that?" The brunette questioned curiously.

Cordelia only raised an eyebrow at the woman. "I'm probably shouldn't tell you that. I feel like she must tell you that herself."

Ally leaned back against the sofa she's sat on and rolled her eyes at the blonde. "Fine, if you say so. Not that she talk too much of her life back at that academy and before that. I'm still curious but she push me away when I try to ask her of her past and how it have changed her."

Cordelia gave her a tight lipped smile, unsure of what to say. She knew all too well what have happened and what you've been through over the past years, including the few years before she found you and Mila and brought you to the academy.

"She'll talk when she feels she wants to, she hates talking of bad things that have happened, and yeah she does push people away when they pressure her too much, and she have changed indeed but she's still herself in a way." The blonde,please woman played with the ruffles in her black skirt before bending forward and pick up one of your black candles.

Ally only watched the witch from the corner of her eye, feeling jealous and somewhat sad that the older blonde seem to know almost everything about you while she only knows a bit. She was even more curious than before, desperate even to find out what you hide behind that hot-cold facade but she also fear to push too much and receive the more cold side than the warm side of your persona.

Cordelia smiled fondly when as she swirled the familiar black candle with silver engraves between her slender fingers, remembering the time she gave them to you as a gift after a particular hard time and you've been obsessed over them and not using them too much.

"How long were she at the academy after you've found her?" Ally questioned.

Cordelia looked back up at the woman, a blank look once again on her face. "Six and a half years. She's was one of the youngest I've taken in at the time back then."

Ally turned her attention to the blonde completely. "Can't you tell me just a little bit more about her past? You seem to know everything about her."

Cordelia could clearly hear the jealousy the other woman is trying to hide, but she could also not deny being a little jealous of your girlfriend, she could almost kich herself for not making a move on you earlier before you left the academy after everything.

"All I'm going to say is she was quite broken and lost and became quite a troubled teen and got into a...whole lot of trouble with Madison most times but I've managed to mostly pull her away from that path." The Supreme gave very little detail and she could tell it irked the brunette but she was not one to spill out your past and secrets without your consent.

Just as Ally went to ask more questions you entered the living room with the coffee, choosing to sit down next to Cordelia as the blonde thanked you warmly as she take the coffee, tingles dancing up your spine as her soft skin brush up against your hand.

Ally frowned at this, the nasty feeling of jealously rearing it's ugly head as she gripped her coffee mug, ignoring the searing burn it caused to her soft skin. She just didn't like the witch all that much near you and she could clearly see the way the blonde is adoringly looking at you and they way her hand had linger a few seconds to long for her comfort on your hand when she took her coffee from you.

"Thank you darling." Cordelia cooed, a smile on her lips as she too a sip of her coffee. "You remembered just the way I like my coffee.

A hint of a blush dusted your cheeks once again at her praise.

"Yeah, how can I ever forget simple things such as that?"

Ally smile a bit when she hear you say that, she knows it's quite true that you always take notice of small details of how people like things a certain way and memorize them as if it's the most natural thing to do.

Cordelia smirked to herself after noticing the faint blush on your cheeks, leaning closer to you and take in a breath of that all too familiar comforting scent of your peaches and cream body wash you loved to use.

You could feel your heartbeat pick up it's rate when she did that, knowing she used to do that back at the academy after you've taken a shower or a bath, claiming that the soft scent brought her some comfort and calm.

Ally glared at the blonde coldly, having taken notice of her not so subtle gesture.

"What spell have you been practicing." The blonde suddenly asked you, gesturing towards the black candles with one had that isn't holding her cup.

You shrugged. "Just a small black magic spell, nothing too big but...my senses and powers completely flaked when I sensed your presence nearby."

Cordelia looked at you curiously. "What do you mean by that? You powers were mostly fine back at the academy even with me around you."

You rubbed at your neck nervously again before looking up at her again, picking up the candle your candle that she have putted on the sofa.

"I'm not sure. Sometimes they've gone a bit weaker and sometimes a bit stronger with you near." You swirled the candle around in your hand, looking down at it.

Cordelia hummed, a look of confusion and curiosity crossing her face.

"Interesting. Why haven't you mentioned that back at the academy?" She questioned, one of her hands moving to lay against your jean cladded leg.

Ally glared at the blondes hand, her knuckles turning white from the grip on her mug, almost certain the mug may crack under the pressure, trying to focus in the conversation you and Cordelia are having and resisting the urge to just tear you away from the other woman.

"I don't know. I just thought it wasn't something serious and ignored it." You explained, eyes back on the radiant blonde next to you.

Cordelia hummed once again.

"Did that only happen when I was near or around others too?" She questioned and you could only wonder why she seems so curious about that.

"No, just when you are near. It's kinda like a magnetic push and pull type of way it felt like." You explained, goosebumps appearing on your skin as she squeezed your leg softly.

"I'll have to ask Myrtle about that, maybe she'll know a thing or two about that. You should come visit the academy and find out what it is. And to also see the others again, they miss you and I miss having you around there to make the days more bearable." Cordelia watched your emotions carefully, knowing how to read you like a open book after mastering it over the years getting to know you.

You looked down for a moment before making eye contact with her again, ignoring the twinkle in her eyes and shrugging it off as the light playing tricks.

"I'll think about. It would be nice to see the others again too and I do miss them a lot too...and you." Yous said the last part so softly Cordelia could barely hear it.

Cordelia felt a spark running through her, almost wanting to engulf you in a hug and never let go again as the two of you shared intense eye contact for a moment until Ally cleared her throat, drawing both your attention to her.

"Sorry." You said sheepishly before getting up from the sofa and walking over to Ally, sitting next to her.

Your girlfriend waste no time in pulling you into her and planting a wet heated kiss against your lips that have you letting out a low moan.

Cordelia could only watch in jealousy, a sense of longing hitting her hard, wishing she was the one kissing you and be able to tear moans from you in this way and also in a whole other dirty way.

After pulling away from the kiss, Ally looked at her smugly as you leaned into the brunette weakly, a whine leaving your mouth, wanting more of her lips but opting to peck a few wet kisses against her soft neck until you remember that Cordelia is here, seeing the whole show and that have you pulling away from your girlfriend with a blush but Ally only held you to her side tightly, kissing the top of your head while making eye contact with the Supreme, the blonde only narrowing her eyes at the woman.

"I must really get going. I just wanted to check up on you." Cordelia said as she got up.

You got up too along with Ally and you walked over to Cordelia and pulled her into a hug.

"Remember to come and visit us and to hear what Myrtle have to say." The blonde said in your ear, a shiver running down your spine as her breath hit your skin.

"I certainly will do so." You said and pulled away from the hug.

Ally took your hand and walked out of this house with you behind Cordelia, watching as you waved bye to the Supreme with your free hand just before she disappeared into thin air.

"Let's go and have some fun baby. I'm so wet for your touch." Ally whispered in your ear, nipping at your neck making you let out a moan.

You eagerly nod your head and pulled her inside of the house.

Once inside Ally slammed the door shut and pushed you up against the wall and proceed to immediately kiss at your neck, one of her legs forcing itself between yours and rubbing against your center, a moan falling from you as bucked your hips forward, trying to get more pressure on your center.

Ally smirked against your neck before sinking her teeth into your soft flesh, immediately drawing a strangled yelp mixed with a moan as she soothed the skin with her tongue.

"Shit Ally." You hissed out, your hands moving to grip her hips after slipping it underneath her grey jumper and digging your nails into her soft skin.

The older woman only chuckled against your skin, a spark of excitment running down her body all the way to her already heated core at the way you are gripping her hips as she left a few more hickeys on your neck before slamming her mouth against yours in a bruising way.

You knew you were in for a wild time at the way she's claiming your lips, her tongue buried in your mouth and battling with yours heatedly, her grip on the back of your neck and hip firm as she rubbed her leg up your clothed center.

End-

I'm not sure why the hell I came up with that idea and I know it's shitty but whatever, spend too much time writing it and I don't want to delete it. And not sure where I want to go with this or if I should continue this part into more parts. I know this part is a whole lot shorter but yeah I write smuty parts longer than non smut. Let me know what you guys think and if I should continue this messy and shitty fic into more.

#cordelia goode x reader #sarah paulson x reader #ally mayfair richards x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #ahs imagine

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fascination-street-writing · 4 years

Text

To Discard and Discover | Trish Una x F!Reader

She smells of roses and lemongrass - of a home you have not yet found. The scent of her perfume penetrates your mind; at once, you have been found in a flower field during the Giugno blooms.

100 Follower Giveaway 1st Place Piece

Content Warnings: P-TSD & Math Class

“Have you ever thought about going back? You know, to finish your degree?”

Fugo lifts the saucer of tea to his lips, careful to blow on the scalding steam before taking a sip. He raises an eyebrow as he looks to Trish, who sits across from him at the dining table, awaiting his response. Sighing, he speaks: “Maybe. Maybe not. I doubt any reputable university would take me in after what I did.”

Trish murmurs to herself. She chases a sliced cherry tomato with her fork. Il Pranzo has become a shared pastime between her and the strawberry-blonde boy. “I’m sure Giorno could pull some strings,” she insists. “You could probably go anywhere you wanted.”

“It’s not honest that way. Besides, I don’t have a reason to go back. There’s no degree requirement to work for the Don of Passione . . . But, what about you?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

He sets his tea down. “The new schoolyear starts in a month. Haven’t you thought about returning?”

Trish stiffens. “Do you think I should?” she asks.

“That’s not for me to say,” Fugo tells her. “Bruno will encourage you to, and the schools near where you live are good. Well, as good as any school in Napoli can be. Above all else, it might be a decent distraction – a chance to gain back a little normalcy in your life.”

It is a difficult subject, and one that weighs on her like a vice. She has struggled to acclimate to the new normal after everything that transpired in the early spring of this year. Returning to school had simply not been a possibility for her, though not for a lack of trying.

She has found trauma to be a tantalizing friend indeed – and one that never quite seems to leave her side.

The sound of your laced shoes slapping against the waxed floors is lost to the rush of bodies that swarm the corridor. The faces of your peers are unnamed to you, because in your sixteen years of life, you never cared to commit them to memory. Your first session of the day is classe di matematica. It is a grueling subject to most, but you find it easy enough.

An unfamiliar pink-haired girl stands before your teacher at his desk. You cannot help but to notice her rigid posture; she stands as though she has been frozen in place by the scrutiny of his eyes as he takes in her appearance. It is obvious that she is a transfer student, and a nervous one at that. To you, she is nothing more than another face with a name, and you will not care to remember it.

Filing past clusters of your fellow classmates, you make your way to the back of the room and secure your territory. While the table creaks under the weight of your bookbag and leud pencil carvings mar its surface, you find solace in its position beneath the window overlooking the courtyard.

Students continue to file through the door. You look to the clock: class will not begin for another five minutes. Impatient, you sigh and turn your attention to a flock of pigeons gathering on the cobblestone pathway of the courtyard. Watching the scuffle of five birds, all for a discarded heel of bread, is far more enticing than pretending not to eavesdrop on any of the conversations filling the space of the room.

The clocktower chimes and the pigeons scatter, no doubt startled by the deep vibrato of the prerecorded bell-sound echoing throughout campus. You open your notebook and click your used pen. Your classmates take their seats, all the while avoiding the second chair at your table. You do not mind it, for you know it is not repulsion that keeps your peers at bay. The truth is much simpler: every student has at least one friend within the class whom they would much rather sit with than yourself.

Head hung low, you wait for the selection process to end whilst avoiding wandering gazes. When you hear the tapping of a pencil against the table, you are shocked to see the pink-haired girl standing before you.

“Can I sit here?”

Your mouth turns dry, as if you have swallowed the very same stale bread the pigeons quarreled for. You do not mean to, but your eyes trace the delicate lines of her face, from her piercing green eyes framed by thick lashes to the soft pout of her pink, glossy lips. You wring your hands together. She’s pretty, you think to yourself. She’s unfairly pretty.

“Hello?”

You clear your throat. “O-Oh, uh . . .” You stumble over your words, suddenly conscious of the light red hue dusting across her cheekbones. “Yeah, go ahead.”

You wait for her to laugh, to wallow in your self-inflicted humiliation. Instead, she smiles, revealing two rows of straight, white teeth, and sits beside you. She smells of roses and lemongrass – of a home you have not yet found. The scent of her perfume penetrates your mind; at once, you have been found in a flower field during the Giugno blooms.

“I like your hair, by the way.” Unconsciously, you bring a finger to your hair and touch it, as if in disbelief that she would compliment your appearance, let alone your hair. “Sorry, that probably came across as creepy, didn’t it?”

“N-No, it’s okay,” you insist. Heat rushes to your face. Her flattery burns you, and yet, you gladly kneel before its flames. “Uh . . . Thank you.”

She hums and turns to face your chattering teacher. You clutch your pen. It hovers over the blank page of your notebook. The hour flies by; class draws to an end, and you have retained nothing. How could you, when the smell of her perfume alone has bequeathed to you the insatiable desire to be wherever it is that roses and lemongrass might coexist – perhaps in the garden of a cottage overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea.

You notice how she has begun backing her bag. It is your cue to gather your own belongings. The bell rings. You hurry to stand, eager to be away from the girl who garners your attention.

“I’m Trish, by the way,” she tells you. You are still. “Thanks for letting me sit here. It was nice meeting you.”

Trish. Just like the model from America; it suits her, plenty. The corners of your mouth turn upwards into a grin. Her kindness is infectious, and it leaves you longing, gasping for more. As you watch her leave, her form engulfed by the sea of taller students, you are left with nothing more than a contemplation: perhaps there is one name you will remember.

“I don’t understand – what does any of this have to do with math?” Trish sighs, dropping her pencil in frustration. A manicured finger hooks into a pink curl and twirls it with such vigor; you fear she will tear out her own hair. “None of this makes sense.”

“Well, it has more to do with logic than math,” you try to explain. You offer your workbook to her. “It’s actually quite fun, once you get the hang of it.”

She rolls her brilliant green eyes. “Maybe for someone like you. Not everyone can be as smart as you, you know.”

“I-I’m really not that smart,” you deflect. You tap the unfished equation scribbled in her notes. “Let’s just go back to the beginning . . . Un cavaliere always tells the truth, so they can never lie. But un fante always lies, so they can never tell the truth. You meet Persona A and Persona B . . .”

You guide her through the problem. The sound of shuffling papers signifies that everyone else in the class has finished their work; your teacher waits for Trish, and Trish alone, who grips her pencil tightly. You know she feels it – the unspoken ridicule from your peers. To them, she is the incompetent new student from Calabria who cannot comprehend un cavalieri e furfanti puzzle.

“Dannazione, sono un idiota,” she hisses. “Nothing makes sense.”

You frown. “You’re not an idiot just because a silly math problem stumped you.” The insistence falls from your lips. Her silence sends a frigid chill down your spine. “Please, don’t say that about yourself. Let me help you work through it. We assume Persona A is un fante.”

Your teacher clears his throat. He peers over the rim of his half-moon glasses, observing the way you coax Trish to complete the problem. He sets aside the book that had been clasped in his hand, and he stands to approach her, to offer his aid at the behest of a struggling student with such unique circumstances. At the sight of the pencil falling from her fingers and the smile upon her face, he stops.

“I’ve got it. Persona B is un cavaliere, which means both Persona A and Persona B are.” She pauses for a moment to contemplate her words. “That’s a contradiction! Our assumption was wrong, so if Persona A is un cavaliere, he’s telling the truth, so Persona B must be un fante.”

Your confirmation is something sacred to her, not unlike the Rosary given to her on the day of her mother’s funeral. Even when shakily spoken Hail Marys fall from her lips and her fingers tremble over the amber counting beads, there is little room in Trish’s mind for meditation when her thoughts, as of late, are always of you.

She blushes as you meet her gaze. “I meant what I said,” she begins. “You are smart.”

You bite your lip and look away, though her eyes follow. “That’s not true,” you say. “You don’t have to butter me up so much.”

She clasps your hand gently beneath the table. Her palm is soft, and you want to turn your wrist to enlace your fingers with hers. You stop yourself. “If I’m not allowed to call myself an idiot, then you’re not allowed to say you’re not intelligent.” You open your mouth to rebuke her words, but she cuts you off. “Despite what I said, I know I’m smart; just not at all things, like math.”

Her thumb brushes against the back of your knuckles as she pulls away. An incidental touch, you ponder. She turns her attention to your teacher, who stands before the chalkboard writing out the correct steps of the puzzle. You feel hot – unbearably so. A sudden bulge in your throat makes it hard to breathe. You ask to be excused to the bathroom. You did not need to hear the rest of the lesson, anyways.

It has been nearly two months since that day in classe di matematica. Indeed, the air outside has turned crisp and rain showers frequent the weather patterns: the season nears wintertime. Trish’s acclimation to life in Napoli has been far easier than her guardian Bruno had anticipated – dinnertime conversations about daydreams and schooldays have made him grateful for your involvement in the pink-haired girl’s life. Weekends spent with you, consisting of coffees, shopping trips, and stops at gelato parlors, remind her that she is safe.

Because of you, she can be a teenager again.

As you enter the classroom, you find her seat empty. Class carries on, but you cannot focus, for you are reminded of the loneliness that came before meeting Trish. You decide a sip of cool water might help to clear the haze unsettling you so.

You bring the uncapped water bottle to your lips, only to cry out in shock as the metal flask contorts in your grip like puddy. Its contents billow over the mouth of the bottle and saturate your skirt. The bottle does not make a sound as it fumbles to the vinyl floor; you are too bothered by the sloshing of your clothes to notice the way in which the metal frame slowly bends back into its shape – or the laughter of your fellow classmates.

Your teacher ushers you to the bathroom. Your wet loafers squeal as you hurry down the hallway. Prayer cards and posters promoting abstinence adorn the walls. The door latches behind you. Hiccups and choked sobs echo throughout the tight chamber of the communal space. It smells of roses and lemongrass – it smells of her.

You reach for the paper towel dispenser and blot at your skirt. It does little good to salvage the pleated fabric and it leaves an incriminating stain. Though you hesitate, you rapt your hand against the closed stall door and call out to her: “Trish? Are you okay?”

Her wails diminish. Her shadow peaks out from the crack between the floor and the bottom edge of the door. She sniffles before revealing herself. The hue upon her cheeks is unlike the bashful blush of infatuation that frequents her skin. Her distress pains you.

"I missed you in class,” you say, unsure of what to do for the girl you have come to endear. You chide yourself immediately, wanting nothing more than to cast yourself out of her presence for your insensitive comment. Spoken words are never quite simple.

Her bottom lip quivers and her eyes well with tears again. You fear you have upset her. And yet, her arms extend towards your body. Suddenly, you are embracing; she holds you in a grip akin to a vice. Your fingers trace shapes against her clothed back. It is something you might have done to soothe a weeping infant. In the privacy of the bathroom, you pretend she is your lover – that every sojourn for velveteen dresses and freshly churned gelato on Sabato pomeriggio meant something more to her.

But she is not your lover – and you are not hers.

Reluctantly, you pull away. Her breath fans your face, and it is only now that you notice the dainty freckles of her cheeks for the first time. You step backwards until your thighs hit the sink. For a moment, you think she had frowned upon your separation. It is another of many illusions that your mind has weaved as of late, no doubt.

“Thank you,” Trish says, rubbing the back of her hand against her eyes. Smudges of black mascara coat her skin.

You fiddle with the hem of your damp skirt. You realize, as you glance over the girl’s uniform, that her skirt is wet as well – from her own tears or the second-hand spillage from your water bottle, you know not. “I didn’t really do anything,” you insist.

"You’re here. That means everything to me.”

Paying no heed to the nagging sensation within you that wants to pry into the cause of her anguish, you offer her a clean paper towel. She accepts it with a faint smile. You settle for ignorance, because you know she will confess to you someday – beyond her passing comments of a deceased mother and a toxic, absent father.

Prepared to return to class, she laces her arm with yours and takes a deep breath. You decide that you will wait as long as she needs.

The brown paper-bag filled with paint bottles feels heavy in your grasp. It weighs on your shoulder, slipping down with every step taken towards the direction of your home. The figurines of your mother’s nativity set have begun to peel and crack, and you have promised to aid her in restoring the heirlooms. It is only right; religious preferences aside, the ivory statuettes will one day be your inheritance. And it will make a fond memory for you of your mother.

Shielded by the umbrella of a patio table, Trish sits before that which you recognize as a café you have frequented several times together: Caffè Anami. You long to be one of the glossed pages of the magazine she thumbs through – to feel her touch and to be adored the same way you adore her. Outside of her usual school uniform, she wears a floral-patterned dress. You do not question its monetary value; she comes from strange wealth, and her choice in civilian attire is only one of many indicators.

You begin to approach her, a practiced greeting wrought of cordiality ready on your tongue. But kindness turns to bitterness as the front door to the café opens and a boy with messily-styled black hair and wild violet eyes pushes past new customers and struggles to balance two to-go cups of coffee and a bag of pastries.

"They didn’t even offer me a cupholder,” you hear him grumble aloud. You stop. “How am I supposed to carry all this? Does it look like a have a third arm?”

Trish rises and reaches for the bag of pastries. “There,” she tells the boy. “Crisis averted.”

Free of burden, they both take their seats at the table. As Trish divides the baked goods amongst two napkins, the boy watches her careful movements with what you describe as pure reverence, for she is the personification of grace and beauty, and he knows this. They converse with each other, and you cannot help but to observe how Trish has made a habit of touching the boy’s arm nearly every time she speaks to him.

Your stomach churns at the unpleasantry before you. In all your time pining after the pink-haired girl, you had never considered that she may have had a partner of her own. But you see it now: how could you have been so blind? She had not mentioned the scraggily haired boy before. Talks of saccharine kisses, gentle touches, and of course a boyfriend never came from her rosy-colored lips. She hid this from you. Perhaps, this whole time, she truly knew of your affections. At the risk of losing a friend (for you assume you were nothing more to her), she forbade herself to speak of the boy, lest she drive you away – there could be no other explanation.

It hurts, so much in fact that a knife to your heart would be preferable to the pain swallowing you whole. Gauging his appearance, you decide he does not deserve someone as elegant as she . . . Though, considering your tattered jeans and hand-me-down blouse, neither do you. You swipe at the tears threatening to spill and you choke down the lump in your throat. Readjusting the shopping bag over the perch of your shoulder, you leave, broken and unwell.

Behind you, Trish’s melodious laughter – a wicked song indeed – resonates. You could not block out her sweet chorus even if, deep down, you truly wanted to.

Your knees sink into the plush mass of the faux-fur rug beneath you. Your saucer of hot tea rests atop the coffee table, untouched; the steam rises and coils into the air. Trish’s guardian – Bruno, she called him – sets a tray filled with biscotti before you. You might have found him intimidating if not for the warmth laced within his sapphire-blue eyes. He closes the double-doors to the study, leaving you and the pink-haired girl alone.

The silence in the room is cut by the scratching of pencils to paper and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, tucked between a lounger and a houseplant. You scan over your completed portion of the study guide. Earlier that day, your insegnante di matematica had formally announced an exam slotted to be proctored at the end of the week. After he distributed the studyguides, Trish turned to you with an unassuming smile and asked if you would like to come to her house and study together. If not for the existence of her boyfriend, you would have looked for a deeper implication. Instead, you agreed with a curt nod, and accompanied her home at the end of the day.

“[Y/N]?” You look up from your work to meet Trish’s gaze. “Are you upset at me about something? You’ve been acting like you want nothing to do with me lately.”

You hesitate to respond. It would be better to lie, to hide your feelings and come up with an excuse: it’s not you, I’m just stressed about school, that’s all. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” you ask instead, blunter than you probably should have been. Her brows furrow, as if she misunderstood you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Doesn’t that mean we should be honest with each other?”

“Boyfriend? Who told you I had a boyfriend?”

“No one. I saw you two together. I-I wasn’t stalking you, honest – I was walking home from the store the other day and I saw you at Caffè Anami with him . . . I can’t understand why you’d hide something like that from me. You know you can trust me, don’t you?”

The corners of her lips turn into a grin and she shakes her head. “His name’s Narancia,” she tells you. “And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s practically a brother to me.”

You are not sure whether to feel relief or mortification – relief, for your chances with the girl have not been thwarted; mortification, for your accusation has backfired, leaving you utterly and completely embarrassed. “I-I’m sorry,” you spit out. “I just – I didn’t think – I –”

She places her hand over yours, just like the day when you had helped her through the cavalieri e furfanti puzzle. “It’s all good. Besides, he’s not exactly my type.”

She takes her hand away and scribbles something down in her study guide. Her top row of teeth juts out to graze her bottom lip, and it is only then you notice something different about her appearance: she is wearing a darker shade of lipstick. Trish catches you staring.

“What’re you looking at?” She is luring you, and you have already fallen into her snare.

“Uh, I like your lipstick,” you confess. “That’s all.”

“Oh, thank you.”

You set your pencil aside. You feel as though you might burst, that it might kill you if you do not tell her how you feel. But words do not come to mind – nothing more than silly quips or dull compliments; and so, you settle for the former.

“Can I try it?”

Trish pauses. You fear you have overstepped unspoken boundaries. After all, only moments ago, you had accused her of keeping secrets. Yet, you too have kept one secret to yourself: that you love her, as much as one sixteen-year-old girl might love another. To your delight, she nods and smiles, casting her schoolwork aside to meet you halfway over the coffee table separating your bodies.

She tastes of the biscotti – almond, you think – and earl grey tea. She blossoms at your touch, as if you are the sun and she a posy in a garden somewhere. You forget the ticking of the grandfather clock, for the shared beating of your hearts is deafening. You think to pull away, but she chases your lips and captures them again. She cups your face, caging you in place – not that you mind.

You separate only when you have both grown desperate for air. The sight of her flushed face leaves you in awe. Your belly flutters. She raises a finger to her smudged lips and beams. You long to ask her if she too dreams of roses and lemongrass, of a cottage overlooking the sea in the countryside far away from the bustle of Napoli. But you know better than to overwhelm yourselves with adolescent thoughts of the future – her, especially.

As for Trish, she reminds herself to thank Fugo for convincing her to return to school. Though her past haunts her still, she is indebted to her new life. For, without suffering first, she never would have the girl from classe di matematica who stole her heart on the very first day.

She turns to her schoolwork. “We should get back to it,” she insists. You cock your eyebrow and giggle, bashful and appeased.

“You’re right: we should.”

| 3964 Words |

* Please note that the woman in the photograph is meant to resemble Trish - this is not an assumption of the reader’s appearance.

#trish una x reader #trish una #trish x reader #jjba x reader #jjba reader insert

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dakotacrisis · 4 years

Text

Hanging in the Stars

Soooo...I’m back at the Felinette again cause as we’ve established before I have no self control. Also @emzurl‘s art sparks a need to expand with fanfiction because I have fallen down the Felinette rabbit hole and I ain’t coming out!

Based off of this and this and this. I already wrote one based on one of these but I’m bringing it all together now!

War has broken out between Felix and Marinette. The only way to peace is through invasion of personal space.

---

It was Romeo and Juliet. Those that didn’t even read the play knew the Shakespearean tragedy.

Miss Bustier’s class had finished reading it and she opened the discussion for what her students thought an accurate interpretation of the play was. Little did anyone know the storm this question would unleash.

Marinette had raised her hand and gave her piece about how she thought it was a beautiful tragedy about a poisonous hatred conquered by love. Most of the class nodded along.

Then from the back of the classroom was a deep groan. Marinette went ramrod straight as she turned around to glare at the opposed.

“Felix, you have a different interpretation?” Miss Bustier asked.

“Yes.” He met Marinette’s glare, “To brand this tale a beautiful tragedy is to scrape the mere surface. When in actuality it is better suited as a cautionary tale about the stupidity of youth and trappings of shallow lust.”

“Thank you, Felix.” Miss Bustier nodded, “That was an interesting interpretation. Did anyone else have any ideas?”

“How can you say it is about the stupidity of youth?” Marinette countered, “The shallow lust you claim was actually real love. It only seemed rushed because it had to be introduced quickly to fit the run time of the play.”

“I am not surprised a hopeless romantic such as yourself would choose to believe in the delusion of love at first sight.” Felix rolled his eyes, “What Romeo and Juliet are experiencing is physical attraction that was further exacerbated by a juvenile sense of teenage rebellion brought on by their ancestor’s feud.”

“And I am not in the least surprised that a cynic such as yourself would take such a stance.” Marinette shot back, “Yes their feelings come on quickly but in the context of this story love at first sight does exist. It was a destiny written in the stars that they should love and their love should end in tragedy. Throughout the entire play there are references to the theme of the universe. They know the force that brought them together will inevitably drive them apart but still they beg the cosmos to let them be.”

“Or is it that destiny does not exist. There is no grand plan or greater meaning to the lives of others. We simply float through life experiencing hardships and pleasures. These two idiots were as made for each other as a fast food commercial saying that burgers and fries are a perfect pairing.” Felix stood out of his seat.

“I refuse to believe that everything is left to chance. There are some things in this world that are meant to be and Shakespeare understood that.” Marinette was out of her chair as well. “A feud started long ago that is buried with love. What better metaphor is there for destiny and tragedy and the delicate nature of life and love?”

“I can think of one.” Alya said with a knowing smile.

“Okay kids!” Miss Bustier called out. “I think that is enough for today. We will pick up on this tomorrow.”

The class cooled down from the debate. Marinette was seething but turned away to gather her things. Why was she getting so worked up about Felix’s opinion on a play anyway? That wasn’t like her. But to hear such a pessimistic outlook on one of the greatest love stories ever written had triggered her in a way. Should she have really thought more from the pessimist himself?

“Girl,” Alya slid closer to Marinette, “Things got a tad heated there. Any particular reason?”

“Felix just rubs me the wrong way. The pompous, cold hearted, little cynic that he is.” Marinette swung her bag onto her shoulders.

“Pompous? Yes. Cold hearted? Also yes.” Felix strode past their desk, “But I am a realist, Dupain-Cheng. Not a cynic. Get your facts right.”

“You arrogant son of a--”

“Whoa girl. Calm down.” Alya held her back. “Don’t let him get to you.”

---

Felix couldn’t deny that he didn’t enjoy some good conflict. He lived for debates. And debating with Dupain-Cheng had been interesting to say the least. She had already proved herself a spigot of emotion and thus her views and arguments were strongly driven by her own conviction.

As much as she tried to remain good natured and level headed there was an unquenchable fire within her. And Felix relished nothing more than fanning the flames when given the chance. Maybe it was the fact that she was one of the few genuinely intelligent people in his class. Maybe it was the fact that she was conniving under her fluffy persona. But Dupain-Cheng had a grace and composure that burned bright and made her tower high with confidence. It was...fascinating.

Not that he would ever admit such a thing. He knew exactly how she would respond if she ever found out Felix had been riling her up to glimpse the unwavering girl he quietly admired. Was his avoidance at her reaction born from shame or fear? Perhaps both.

The days went by and the debates he held with Dupain-Cheng grew. His pleasure hidden by an impassive mask he crafted over many years.

It wasn’t until she started ignoring him altogether did his behavior seem to catch up to him. In his head their debates and jabs had all been in good fun. A game of teasing or whatnot. But now she wouldn’t respond. The fire he loved to see had smouldered. She looked tired. Even when he targeted her directly she wouldn’t so much as meet his gaze. The most he could get out of her was a sharp word or a harsh glance.

Had he gone too far?

“Dupain-Cheng.” He walked up to her before class. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t feel like getting into another argument with you, Felix.” She continued to rifle through her locker. Her back to turned to him as she spoke.

“I’m not here to argue with you.”

“That’d be a first.” She muttered.

He reached past her and closed the locker. He kept his arm against the locker effectively pinning her in place so she couldn’t easily run off. “I mean it. There is something I need to tell you.”

She turned slowly so that she was facing him and it was at this point he realized exactly how close he had gotten. Her face was barely a breath away staring up at him. A mad blush rising hot up her neck as she clung tightly to her books.

“What do you want?” She asked.

“I...” Felix couldn’t remember. The speech he had carefully prepared and worded had erased itself from his memory. What is it he had wanted to say!

“Marinette, can I copy your homework? I completely forgot to finish that worksheet from chemistry last night.” Alya came around the corner and saw her best friend pinned against her locker by Felix. “Or should I give you two a minute to sort this out?”

“Alya!” Marinette slid out from Felix and joined her friend. “Good morning! What was this about your homework?”

Felix was still frozen in place by the lockers. What was that! He’s better than this! He’s more composed than this! A pair of bluebell eyes will not unhinge him again.

Not to worry. They had a free period today. Marinette had a habit of using that period to study by herself so he would get to her then. He just needed to keep a level head and not get distracted like he did this morning.

Free period came and everyone trickled out of the classroom. Marinette stayed seated. Now was his chance.

“Dupain-Cheng,” He stopped at the desk next to her. “Got a minute?”

“No.” She pulled out her textbook. “Can you leave? I’m trying to study.”

“And I will leave you to it in a moment. I need a quick word with you. That’s all.”

“No offense, Felix, but I really don’t care about what it is you have to say to me.” She stood up, “And since you won’t leave I guess I’ll have to.”

“Dupain-Cheng, wait.” He called out to her.

She stopped and turned back to look at him. “What?”

“Come here.” he gestured.

“Why should I?” she raised her chin defiantly.

“Fine then.” He crossed over to her. “I’ll just come to you.”

“Okay, you’re here. Now what?” She muttered. Her eyes still met his own but it was a struggle to do so. The warm glow on her cheeks didn’t escape his notice either.

His face was blank but his heart beat painfully loud in his chest. Say something. Say anything! You got her here and you probed this close into her personal space already you need to say something!

“Now I’m going to...” He pushed even closer. The subtle pink of her face exploding into a hot red as he inclined nearer.

Where was he going with this? This wasn’t the plan! Swerve, Felix! Swerve!

“Remove this from your hair.” He pulled a leaf that had been caught in her hair.

He turned towards the garbage can to throw it away. “You really must be more attentive miss Dupain-Cheng. Appearance is everything.”

She made a loud angry growling sort of noise before stomping out the door. Felix stared at the leaf in his hand with a growing sense of dread. What was wrong with him? Two times he lost his sense of direction trying to talk to her. Why was he getting so close to her in the first place? Before he was trying to keep her in place so she had to listen to him. But here she was already listening.

Whatever. This was stupid. Dupain-Cheng would be back to her usual spitfire self in no time. It wasn’t his fault.

He left to go clear his head in the library. There was a secluded spot away from the usual noise he loved to sit and study in. On his way he passed by Dupain-Cheng who glared at him. Her face still bright red from their earlier encounter.

He couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto his face as he walked past her. He settled down in his corner and pulled out the travel copy of Romeo and Juliet he had been reading. He had an essay to write and needed to find which quotes he wanted to include.

Romeo: Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.

Mercutio: If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.--

“HEY!”

The shout pulled Felix from his work. He gazed up just in time to see Dupain-Cheng descend upon him in a fury. Slamming her hand against the wall next to him trapping him in place much like he had done her this morning.

She was so small though. It would be only too easy to move her and escape to somewhere more secluded but her unwavering gaze kept him in place.

“Do you like it when I invade your personal space uninvited?” She snarled at him, “Huh, smart guy?”

“I do.” The words leapt past his lips without thought.

His eyes grew wide as he searched for something else to say. What was wrong with him? Before he couldn’t get out two words to her and now the two words he chose were damning to his unforeseen intentions. Why was he acting like this?

She backed away from him. Her face a mask of embarrassment and regret. Felix’s own visage was no better. His indifference peeled away to reveal his own embarrassment and excitement from the event.

“I’m--I’m sorry,” she stammered. Her mortification hidden behind her hands. “I don’t know what came over me. I just wanted to make you as uncomfortable as you made me.”

“I uh,” Felix cleared his throat, “I see.”

He took a deep breath to compose himself and set his book down. He inched a step closer towards her. He wouldn’t get up close again. His mind would surely short circuit once more.

“It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable. I only wished you to listen and I feared any other way you may have walked away.” He told her.

“What is it you have to say that I need to listen to?” she kept her eyes locked on the ground. “I already said once I don’t want to argue with you anymore, Felix.”

“I like it when you argue with me.” He answered truthfully. “Debating with you is some of the most and only fun I have in this school.”

“Why though? Why me?”

“Do you really believe that anyone else can hold such intelligent passion?” He asked. She met his eyes once again and he sighed. “You are clever and you have conviction. It is a rare treat to see you bring both to the surface in such an entertaining way. I suppose that it was greedy of me to probe you for my own amusement. You were such an optimist I didn’t think your well of patience and drive could run dry.”

“You constantly got into arguments with me because you wanted to see me get mad?” Her eyebrows knit together.

“The situation is more nuanced than that but to be black and white about it, yes. I guess I was making you angry for my pleasure.”

“That is rather selfish.” her gaze hardened, “Did you not once think of how it made me feel? Having to constantly battle your arrogant opinions? It was all rather exhausting.”

“You left me rather winded after a row as well.” Felix smirked. He crept another step closer. She watched him wearily but didn’t make a move to distance herself. “As firm as I believe it was hard to not get sucked into your point of view. You speak so passionately to stand against you is a chore in and of itself. One I both loathe and look forward to.”

“You are a real piece of work. You know that?”

“A masterpiece?” he quipped with a teasing smile.

She made a small snorting sound that struck Felix to the bone. She was laughing. Genuinely laughing because of him.

“If you say so.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

“From now on I’ll leave our debates strictly in the classroom. Agreed?” He held out a hand to her.

“Agreed.” She took his hand firmly and shook.

A bit of daring flooded his system and he pulled her forward bringing her hand up to his face and left a chaste kiss upon it. Her face was flushed that mad red again. “I look forward to our next bout, Dupain-Cheng.”

#it got long #this is what happens when i decide to use shakespeare #i can't be controlled.#it is the east and marinette is the sun #and felix can't keep up with that #insert ben wyatt saying it feels like i'm arguing with the sun #miraculous ladybug #felinette #felix graham de vanily #felix agreste #marinette dupain cheng #writing

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whentheynameyoujoy · 3 years

Text

Women in SPN—Seasons 2 and 3

Previously on Joy Obsesses over a Show That Creatively Expired in 2010

Tessa

Introduced back when the Winchesters dodging the coffin actually qualified as an episode, she follows in Meg’s tracks by continuing to make monsters seem more approachable and less a malevolent force of nature. Starts off with a completely flat affect but gets annoyed with the Winchester bullshit real quick—a sure-fire sign of an SPN character with a brain. A powerful being capable of returning one’s memories by a smooch which is… convenient. As is the fact that bad guys keep using her for their ebul plans. Serves the typical secondary-character function of a springboard for a main guy’s development. Plants hints of the “natural order”, “destiny”, and “inevitability” which will become major themes down the road and be explored by characters with deeper writing.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor, remembered primarily because she keeps popping up.

On her own: A nice addition to the lore.

Jo Harvelle

Originally Dean’s love interest until she got written out for the crime of having tits around the fandom’s husband. Driven by a wish to honor her dead father and become a hunter, she’s held back by the unfortunate fact of not being all that good at it. Cheerful, temperamental, and a pretty skilled hustler, she’s mortally wounded when charging in to protect Dean. Ends up sacrificing herself so that others can escape and attempt to end the Apocalypse.

Status: Dead as of s5, dragged back and disappeared again in s7

Importance: Major

On her own: A soldier going out in a blaze of glory. I bawl every time.

Ellen Harvelle

Unlike her daughter, very good at what she does. No-nonsense authority figure, she’s one of the few in the show to pull off a combination of a hand-wringing mama bear and a pro-active badass with a life outside her family. Not perceived as a threat because fans don’t know the meaning of MILF yet, and so is allowed to stick around for the season 2 finale. Dies to make Jo’s plan to obliterate Meg’s hellhounds work, though it’s strongly implied she mostly refuses to survive her kid.

Status: Dead

Importance: Major

On her own: SPN’s Molly Weasley, sullied by the implications of her death

Lenore

A head-strong leader of a nest of vegetarian vampires, she’s deliberately contrasted with Gordon’s Terminator schtick and to a lesser degree with Dean’s black-and-white monsters vs. humans kill-everything grief-cope in order to further cement SPN’s ongoing crusade of challenging who in fact is the monster around here. Has a crowning moment of awesome when she refuses to feed while covered in Sam’s blood. The entire point of her is her determination not to give up her humanity even when no longer human. Would be shame if the show decided to later abandon this essential part of her character and twist it for cheap drama…

Status: Alive as of s5, annihilated in every way in s6

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and the boys’ development

On her own: An effective mirror to Dean’s stroll down the slippery slope

Diana Ballard

TheGoodCop manipulated by her professional and romantic partner, she has a surprisingly functional tension with Sam. Luckily for Linda Blair it goes unnoticed because the fandom doesn’t view older women as competition. Noteworthy mostly because she actively participates in uncovering the episode’s mystery which automatically elevates her above the standard clueless civilian, man or woman, who needs the duo to save them. Despite fewer appearances arguably more memorable than Henriksen, precisely because of her active involvement.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor overall, a major player in the episode

On her own: Interesting take on the usual boilerplate cop

Ava Wilson

To present a very, very generous interpretation, she foreshadows Sam’s eventual turn to the dark side. Spirited, a little bit airheaded, and freaked about her Azazel-given powers, she gives enough of a damn to prevent her visions of people dying from coming true, though she clings to her intention to lead a normal civilian life. Does a complete switcheroo off-screen to become a villain because… power is awesome? Ends up the most advanced special child in season 2’s battle royale, the very concept of which is just… eh? Still gets dispatched no problem because… why not?

Status: Dead

Importance: Minor

On her own: A prime example of why the special children subplot is just…wot?

Molly McNamara

Memorable primarily because of the experimental (for SPN) narration which frames her as the duo’s partner when in fact she’s one of the things being hunted. For plot reasons spends her episode switching between being terrified, worried for her missing husband, and heartbroken. Can be somewhat tortuously argued to fit the theme of (not) overcoming grief and letting go, one of the few detectable threads in the directionless slog that’s season 2.

Status: Dead

Importance: Minor overall, major because she’s arguably the main character of her episode

On her own: Torture porny. Very torture porny.

Madison

Intelligent, educated, and with an endearing love of soaps, she’s responsible for one of the three watchable sex scenes in the entire show. Has a nice theme of personal growth and healing from trauma going on, although it’s cut short and undermined when she’s revealed as a werewolf and euthanized by none other than Sam himself. Her death is filmed as a narrative-changing tragedy before it goes on to become a joke in season 4.

Status: Dead

Importance: Major

On her own: No matter how you look at it, she’s a diseased dog that needs to be put down for her own good while the menz wallow in their manly manpain. A rare example of a storyline I don’t think can be tweaked to be even marginally less awful.

I believe maestro may have wanted to portray sadness here.

Tamara

Told to be an excellent hunter, she’s shown as needing to be saved in order not to end up like her husband who’s literally forced to gargle bleach. Introduces the notion of growing hostility against the Winchesters in the hunting community. Full of wrath to fit the episode’s one-off seven deadly sins schtick, she’s emphasized as emotional and not in control of herself to such a degree that it overshadows how she’s in fact fairly competent in the second half of the episode.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: Wouldn’t stand out this much if she weren’t one of the few POCs in the blinding whiteness that’s SPN’s Americana.

Ruby

Doesn’t have the most organic introduction (A cool intriguing sexy French fries loving not like other gurls sassy badass, with a superdooper special knife? How 2000s cringe can you get?) but quickly becomes one of the show’s most distinctive villains allies. She’s an ally. Totally. Don’t worry about it. A sarcastic smartass jerk who breathes lies and manipulation, she’s resourceful, thinks on her feet, and throws herself into the thick of action without hesitation—a trait that gets especially interesting in retrospect as it suggests a fanatic devotion to her real goal. Sadly, her motivation doesn’t get fleshed out beyond “she really likes Satan, I guess” (which, hey) as the writers prioritize the surprise of the revelation over her further character development. Has the second watchable sex scene in the entire show; the fandom weeps itself to sleep. Gets killed by her own weapon when the writers decide that a character who’s smarter than both protagonists combined could well do with a bit of the good ol’ lobotomizing.

Status: Dead

Importance: Supermegadoublemajor

On her own: The stupid nature of her demise and occasional wooden acting do their best but never overshadow the awesome that’s Ruby.

Lisa Braeden

Dean’s past fling who becomes a living symbol of his desire for the white-picket fence. Is implied to possess mad financial skills as she owns property on a yoga teacher’s salary while a single mom below the age of 30. A blank slate the likes of Cassie, she’s salvaged by better acting. Frequent frowning suggests the presence of an inner life though it doesn’t tend to manifest itself on screen or affect the plot. Her single established trait—blow-out assertiveness the moment things get too far—is exercised mostly in service to her son. Exists solely to give Dean something to pine for.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Major

On her own: A tertiary character who so-so sustains her own episode.

Bela Talbot

The best expansion of the show’s lore after the host of heaven, she’s unequivocally a bad person who nevertheless evokes huge amounts of sympathy. A cynical self-serving dealer in supernatural objects who mirrors Dean’s cracking tough guy persona, due to her abuse and the resulting trauma she refuses to open up and rely on anyone out of principle, or be indebted to them. Her pride makes her clinically unable to ask for help until it’s too late, and even forego mentioning personal history when it’d actively benefit her by softening the horrible impression others have of her. Switching between being an antagonist and the duo’s reluctant ally, she manages to outwit them roughly 90% of time. The fact that she has sexual tension with Dean while Sam lusts after her to the point of literal drooling sends fans apoplectic.

Status: Dead

Importance: Major

On her own: A complex character brought down by her own flaws.

Casey

A demon, she’s torn between wanting to enact the Apocalypse and just chilling with her soulmate. Definitely a fanfic reader because her idea of dealing with danger is to shut herself with her enemy in a room and have a lengthy theological debate. Very outspoken about humanity’s propensity for evil. Outcomplexes Lilith and to a lesser extent Ruby as she’s allowed to openly address her life philosophy. While the dialogue format of her scenes is designed to give Dean space to talk about his feelings regarding his impending demise, it’s more or less an equal push-pull exchange. She’s smart, captivating, capable, and in love, i.e. things SPN just isn’t interested in keeping around.

Status: Dead

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Dean’s development

On her own: Could have been so good if allowed to stick around

Gertrude Case

A rich elderly creep whose gropy ways are played for laughs because she’s a woman I guess. Either can’t read social cues or doesn’t give a fuck about people’s obvious discomfort. But don’t worry, it’s hilarious. She’s a woman, you see. What harm have those ever done.

Status: I’m going to assume dead by now, otherwise alive as of s5

Importance: A major figure in Sam’s life since she sexually assaulted him. Otherwise minor.

On her own: Sexual harassment is fun, kids

Lucy

Take Molly McNamara, strip her of any pretence at thematic relevance, minimize her importance while playing up her suffering, and then remove her like a broken Christmas decoration while making sassy remarks—voilà, you’ve ended up with the exact simplistic image that pops into one’s head when the words Supernatural and women are mentioned in a sentence.

Status: Dead

Importance: Non-existent

On her own: Just… why

Astaroth

Approaches awesomehood as her demonic business operation is built around preying on bored suburban hausfraus and taking their souls in exchange for magical powers, which they then use to secure benign materialistic keeping-up-with-the-joneses crap and devour one another like a bunch of assholes whose death you can’t help but eagerly anticipate. Srsly, eff those ladies. Stands out as the only (implied) lesbian in the Kripke arc.

Status: Dead

Importance: Minor, not even the real monster of the week when compared to the coven

On her own: There’s probably another discussion about Doylist sexism hidden around somewhere that I’m not really interested in having. Go Astaroth.

Nancy Fitzgerald

Sugar and spice and every other cliché about kindness combined in a pretty sweet package. Plot demands her to be a virgin for some reason, even though this aspect of her character doesn’t amount to anything in the story and only serves to contrast Nancy’s… purity with Ruby who we’re being constantly told is a “slut” and a “whore” and I have no idea how that’s supposed to work. Then again, Nancy’s virginity is framed as a valid personal choice in a rather empowering moment so that’s good. Has standards because even after deciding to let go of her chastity vow, she won’t settle for just any loser who happens to stand around converting oxygen into CO2. Her “cause manpain out of nowhere”-type death is one of the few of this category in the show which actually work because the cruel pointless nature of it is precisely the point (and at least she’s not the only one who doesn’t survive, please ignore how the episode literally says her demise is the most tragic because she never got laid, barfs).

Status: Dead

Importance: Minor

On their own: A textbook definition of a cinnamon

Lilith

An overarching menace that doesn’t spend too much time on screen, she’s a prop rather than her own person. This gets highlighted the moment the show stops casting her as a clichéd creepy child who likes to larp as that Twilight Zone kid, and turns her into the standard hawt chick in a will-they-won’t-they episode. No interiority as she goes along with a plan which requires her obliteration, without at least allowing her to explore her religious motivation. Ruby does all the heavy lifting in this partnership.

Status: Dead

Importance: Major

On her own: For the life of me I can’t make sense of her actions in s4. But the clichéd creepy kid is adorbs so points for memorability.

Maggie Zeddmore

The straight man to the Ghostfacers’ utterly delightful douchefacery. Manages to keep up with Harry and Ed in terms of hilarity because not only is she exactly as out of place as them, she decides to role-play her childhood-friends-to-lovers fanfic in the middle of a haunted house as the best sister that she is.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: Love at first geek

Next, season 4 and 5 before I try to figure out what this all adds up to.

#spn #spn critical #supernatural #supernatural critical #sexist writing #tessa #jo harvelle #ellen harvelle #madison #ruby #bela talbot #lisa braeden #nancy fitzgerald #lilith

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