#but like the last thing I want to do is draw my eyeliner downward and pull my face down even more

[minsyal]

The Fugitive (Finding Home), Pt. 1

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

Backpacking through Eastern Europe was not a top priority on your “to do” list. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being one to preplan everything, you were completely caught off guard when your roommate sprung the idea of the trip out of the blue. You roommate, Jezebel Haine, was your first and only roommate from college onward. All legs, she was one of the stars of the track team but was most certainly not one of the brightest shining ones. She was considerably dim-witted, fanatical, and had a booming over-the-top personality that scared every potential boyfriend who had the disservice of meeting her. There were times, though, that she was rather endearing. Her childlike sense of self and emotional drivers consistently put her at a crossroads between what everyone else was doing and what she should be doing; she was, and always will be, a follower.

After four years of becoming “the bestest of friends,” you had a hard time imagining such a hard shift either into another roommate or living alone. Plus, her parents funded most everything she did and, in turn, funded the apartment the two of you shared.

“It’s an amazing opportunity!” She insisted, waving her hands in a simple manner as she rose from the condensed cushion of the leather-clad couch. “Think about it.” Gathering your hands in hers like a 20’s actress who had just met the man of her dreams, she pulled the bundle to her chest. “We frolic through the European countryside, it’s golden hour. My skin looks absolutely gorgeous… yours too, of course. The sun is just about to set, but alas!” She let out a dramatic gasp, removing one of her hands to cover her mouth. “It’s growing dark out!”

“That’s what happens when the sun sets.” You noted, causing her to drop the act for a moment only to immediately go back into character.

“We hear the crunching of leaves and twigs all around us as if something…” she drew close and lowered her voice to a whisper, “sinister is coming. Out of no where we’re ambushed! By what, I’m not sure. Then,” her eyes became glassy as she lay a delicate hand to her forehead, “two absolute studs… and I’m talking big bulging muscles, gorgeous trendy hair, captivating eyes… really everything a simple girl could ask for… seemingly drop from the sky! We’re saved!” She throws your hands into the air as if they’d fall like confetti. Drawing both her arms in, she sways back and forth in a waltz of one. “We’d be married by the next day! Hell, maybe we’d even end up as princesses.”

Oh, how utterly wrong she was.

“I told you this was a stupid idea.” You groaned, haughtily holding your chin up while feeling your spirits low. A few miles back, on an asphalt road that quickly turned to dirt, sat the dingy red rental truck with a blown out engine and a deflating tire. With no cell service and the last town being over 100 miles back, your only choice was to walk.

“Don’t blame me!” Jezebel stopped walking, feet falling flat to the ground as she stomped her foot in a childish manner. “I,” her lip quivered as all the anger held in her body dissipated, “I just wanted to have a fun time with you.” Big tears flowed from her eyes quickly after finishing her proclamation, leaving smearing black lines down her face from the eyeliner she insisted was necessary in the Romanian countryside. God, if her parents weren’t funding this trip, you’d throw a fit for your money back.

“Jess, just,” reaching backward, you fished a rag from your backpack, “don’t cry. That’s not going to make this better.” Sniffling, she accepted the rag and wiped her eyes, further smearing black all over her face. You couldn’t help but feel a shred of sympathy for her. “Let’s just keep going. No use in wasting daylight. I really don’t want to get caught out here in the dark.”

“Where are we supposed to go, then?”

“I’m sure the next town will have some sort of inn or hotel. At the very least, they’ll have directions to the nearest city.”

After another five miles of walking, the sun was beginning to set and no gorgeous studs were waiting to save you. The blazing yellow ball inched slowly beyond the horizon. Its warming rays that had kept the snow from freezing the two of you in the day crept down below the snow peaked mountains that were nestled in the distance. Shadows began dancing between the trees, sending the forest into a theater of silent performers. The dirt road that was once large enough for two cars was now only a walking path so slim that Jezebel had to follow on your heels. Every now and again you were reeled back by the piece of rope that she had attached to your backpack that was firmly gripped in her hand. She claimed it made her feel safer.

“You think those two hunks are going to come save us now?” You joked, attempting to make light of this dark situation.

“I wish.” She huffed, frustration evading her voice as exhaustion took center stage.

Flickering light caught your eye. Hues of yellow and red mingled together in the distance, the outlines of rooftops and smoke-filled chimneys littered the ground below. “I think that’s a village.”

Another mile of downhill travel was all it took to reach the place where the once distant flickering of torches and lanterns grew into the quiet streets of a cluttered settlement. There was no clear indication of movement once you stepped foot in the village; the only evidence of any life came in the form of fresh boot prints, livestock, and the ever-blazing lanterns. Jezebel was all to happy to release your makeshift leash from her fingers, trotting mindlessly by to examine the street corners and homes. Your eyes continued wandering up the rooftops, finally landing upon the eerie looming castle situated on the mountainside above.

From around the bend, you heard Jezebel screech.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You threw caution to the wind, quickly rounding the corner to scold her like a parent would to a misbehaving child. “You don’t know if these people are violent or not. We can’t just go parading ourselves into the town center.”

“I think they’re violent.” She mustered the shaky words. Her hands covered her eyes and the majority of her face as she backed away from whatever had caused her distress.

“What?” The unpleasant squelch of snow beneath your feet caused your attention to draw downward. Dark snow surrounded your boot, an unnatural red hue stained the pure white. Gaze moving upward, your chest restricted feeling as if it had crushed inward on itself. The putrid smell finally fell upon your nostrils as you backed away from the scene. Severed animal heads hung lazily above you, their tongues flopping from their opened mouths.

“I want to go home.” Jezebel sobbed, rasping her cries into her cupped hand. Shaking her head as if to knock this moment from her brain, her short-lived façade of curiosity gave way to her immediate feeling of impending dread.

“That’s what I’m trying to do right now, Jess. Just, calm down.”

A low grumble had you standing further on edge, if that was possible at this point. The sound was clear as day and was anything but human. You weren’t even sure a human could get to an octave so low without the help of technology. Eyes darting upward once more, a chill ran from your shoulders to your toes.

Hauntingly yellowed eyes lingered upon the two of you. The beast-like figure was silhouetted by the moonlight, outlined like a ghost. It looked to be a man, but also anything but a man in the same sense. Its mouth was parted, baring old rotted teeth that looked to have dried blood caked between its gums. Its hands were bloodied as well, small cuts were painted across its forearms only hidden by the rags that clung to its chest.

Before you could process the situation, Jezebel let out another yelp. In an instant, the beast lunged down from its perch, landing with a ground shaking thud nearly five feet before you. “No!” Jezebel’s open palm collided with the space between your shoulder blades as she pushed you toward the monster. The last thing you saw was her backpack falling to the ground as she began running toward one of the homes. You landed face-first in the snow, groaning as all the air in your lungs were forced out. The beast snarled, once again showing its teeth as it hunched down to your level. This was, most certainly, not the way you envisioned dying. Things like this weren’t supposed to exist; this is myth, this isn’t real. It all felt like bad dream gone worse that you couldn’t wake from.

“Pesky creatures, aren’t they?” A new voice called out as the horrendous sound of metal crushing bone and muscle slithered through your ears. The disgusting feeling of gore instantly trickled down your hands. “Please,” the voice continued, “feel free to thank me anytime.”

A moment later, the stranger let out a scoff with the squishy suction of whatever he had used to quiet the monster. The tap of a boot on your elbow finally prompted you to uncover your eyes. “Or don’t.”

“I,” you started, opening and closing your mouth multiple times unable to find the right words, “thank you.”

“Oh.” He tiled the stiff rim of his frayed hat back, exposing a pair of circular sunglasses perched upon his nose. “Foreigners, eh?”

“Yeah, um.” You gathered yourself, finally pushing up to stand on your feet. “We got lost.”

“And ended up here, no doubt.” A stifled chuckle left his lips as he tilted his hat back in place and swung whatever he used to kill the beast over his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here.”

Without another word, the stranger sauntered off with a backward wave of his hand. “Oh, and have someone clean this mess up.”

“Y/n!” Jezebel’s shrill voice called as she returned with a rather confused villager. He held a shotgun with both of his hands, Jezebel shone a flashlight in your eyes.

“Are you okay?” The villager moved forward with extreme caution after peering around you dumbfoundedly seeing the crumpled body.

“I’m fine, no thanks to her.” You spat, anger swelling in your throat causing a particular acidity to your words.

“All of you! Inside this instant.” A matronly holler came from behind Jezebel and the villager. “You know Miranda’s protection only runs so far as we grow closer to this time.”

Who is Miranda and, more importantly, who was the man who saved you?

The home you were ushered into was on the outskirts of town. It was one of the larger estates given the fact that some people seemed to live in one-room shacks. Upon entering, you were greeted with the warm glow of yellow light trickling in from what looked to be a formal living room. The sweet aromas of honeyed tea wafted through the air, drawing further in as the woman led the three of you deeper into the home. What was worse? You pondered. Being killed by that beast or potentially being murdered by the inhabitants of this home? You couldn’t decide. Thus far, the two gave no indication of malice.

“Please, sit.” The woman pulled out two of the chairs at her table, the wood scratching against the floor. “I’ll fetch the tea.”

Jezebel was so brainless. She smiled at you as if she hadn’t just offered you up as a midnight snack. Surely there was no hamster running on that squeaky track that powered her.

“What was that thing?” You turned to the man who was now seated to your right. “The monster.”

The man ignored your question, instead grabbing a piece of rounded bread from the plate at the center of table. Slathering butter on it, he looked to you. “How’d you kill it?”

“I didn’t.” You frowned, recalling the mysterious man who saved your life without even dropping his name. The villager raised his brows and kicked his foot up on the table. He was waiting for more information. “Some man came out of nowhere. He had some hammer-like weapon.”

As soon as he processed the words, his foot fell from the table and he leaned forward, uncomfortably close. You could smell the distinguishable bite of alcohol percolate from his lips. “Did he wear glasses? A hat?”

“He did.” The words slowly drifted from your mouth. “Hair to about here.” You motioned to the halfway point of your neck.

“Adelina,” the man called, presumably to the woman who guided you inside. He got up quickly, rushing to the other room leaving you and Jezebel alone.

“What the hell is going on here?” You whispered in a harsh tone, leaning forward to get closer to her. “Is this not weird at all to you?”

“I think they’re nice people.” Jezebel responded at full volume without a second of thought.

“That’s coming from someone who tried to feed their supposed best friend to a monster.”

“I was buying us time to get help.”

“Help? I almost died!”

“But you didn’t.”

“When we get back to the U.S. I never want to speak to you again.” You seethed. How could she be this bad? You knew there were a few… a considerable amount of screws missing from Jezebel, but how in God’s green earth does she justify her actions at this point? The thought of it accompanied by her dazed and empty stare only fueled the fire of anger more.

“Dear,” the woman, who you now knew was Adelina, reentered the room accompanied by the man with a tray of cups and a kettle in her hands. She set a delicate china glass in front of you, softly filling it with a reddish colored liquid that she assured you was Celestial Seasonings, a tea imported from Africa. “I hear that you’ve met Lord Heisenberg.” Placing a hand over her heart, she gave a warm smile that only sent another wave of dread through your body. There was something so alluring about this woman, yet so sinister.

“Lord, who?”

Adelina stiffened, craning her neck to the side as she plastered a forced smile upon her lips once more. You had upset her, that much was obvious. “One of the four Lords that rule here alongside our dear Mother Miranda.” She explained, pushing the cup of tea closer to your body. Jezebel had already finished her first glass. Warily, you lifted the cup in your hand and allowed the warm water to heat your frozen body. An elongated finger pointed to the framed painting that hung to the wall. “Mother Miranda protects us here.”

Mother Miranda. You could only focus on the image of the woman silhouetted by six black wings and a halo outlining her head. Her eyes were indistinguishable behind the raven-like mask that clung to her face. Adorned in a black garb, she looked to be a holy figure in this town. But like Adelina, something just wasn’t right with Miranda.

The unsettling reverb of crickets and cicadas chirping grew louder and louder with each passing hour. You counted the seconds between waves of mass chorus; so far, it was roughly thirty seconds between each bleating scream of their nightly tune. You couldn’t sleep. Despite the somewhat comforting, but entirely unsettling welcome given by Adelina and Marion, you couldn’t help but feel like a caged animal in the tiny cupboard room they had given you. A curious thought tickled the back of your mind, willing you to remain as alert as possible after an exhausting day of hiking; where had they put Jezebel? Not that you particularly cared at this point. After the attack she had done a 180, dropping all suspicion of malice in this village. She simply flushed the pictures of hanging heads and wild beasts from her memory. You sometimes envied her lackadaisical memory accompanied by a fanatical view of the world. Living blissfully ignorant, especially in a situation like this, seemed to serve her best.

After a small dinner of fish that smelled of ammonia, of which you politely picked at, Adelina insisted the two of you stay the night. “The beasts will return!” She exclaimed, holding a firm hand over the intricately carved wood of the doorframe. “Early tomorrow we can arrange for a car to pick you up from the next town over.” Hushed murmurs climbing up from the cracked floors pulled you from your thought. The voices spoke in an incomprehensible argument.

“I’d quite like to keep...” the words faded in and out.

“No, no, no. Don’t be ridiculous...”

“What if....”

The floor spoke a soft squeak from beneath your feet as you shifted to get closer to the voices. Their conversation stopped, and you waited with bated breath for it to continue.

“We have to offer someone up tomorrow.” It was Adelina.

“I know, I know.” Marion sounded frustrated. “But you know Mother Miranda prefers only the purest. How are we supposed to know if either of them are-”?

The words faded once more as the two moved from room to room. Walking on the sides of your feet, you followed. Peeking around the corner, your eyes landed on Adelina and Marion illuminated by a flickering fire. They stood close to one another, keeping their tones low.

“Clearly, we offer the frumpy one. Take a look at her. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s unexperienced.” Adelina snickered, taking a seat on the worn couch with her back to you. “She wouldn’t fit in here anyway.”

“The dumb one would get along nicely with our son.”

“I agree.”

A knock at the front door sent a shiver of adrenaline down your spine. Quickly scrambling to hide, you took in a deep breath as Marion passed by with his shotgun in hand. From the parted door, you could see the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Had it really been that long already?

“Are you sure she’s pure?” The new man stood in the doorway rushed past Marion, looking in the direction of the room they had put you in.

“I suppose we could check.” Adelina called, rising to join the others. “The both of them had that tea. They shouldn’t wake until the ceremony later today.”

“Is she in there?”

“Yes, the other one is upstairs.”

“Let’s check this one first.”

With heavy footsteps falling upon the rotting floorboards of the somewhat dilapidated home, you slunk further into the shadows of the room behind you. The glint of something metal caught your attention; a small handgun sat perfectly on a dresser as if set there intentionally for you to find. Holding your breath, you crept forward to it. You’d never shot a gun in your life, but you knew the basics... both hands, check for ammo, rack the slide, pull the trigger. At least, that’s what the movies told you.

“Out of bed so soon, are we?” The soft voice turned malevolent as Adelina appeared in the doorway of the room. “I wouldn’t use that if I were you.” She motioned to the gun that was aimed rather unskillfully for her chest.

“What the fuck is going on in this village?” You spoke with purpose now, tone wavering slightly as Marion stepped behind his wife.

“You don’t understand things around here, girl.” Adelina spat, moving aside as Marion began charging into the room. The loud blast of the gun echoed from the walls of the home followed by a harsh curse and the sound of a body crumpling to the floor. You had shot Marion in the leg; he’d live.

“No,” you started, re-racking the slide as Adelina’s other friend approached wielding a similar gun to your own. Adrenaline washed over your nervous system, your hands shook violently, but you attempted to remain composed. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. This isn’t normal! Tell me what’s going on now or,” your eyes trailed down to Marion who was attempting to control the flow of blood from his wound.

“You wouldn’t.” She laughed bitterly.

“Like hell, I wouldn’t.” You exclaimed, training the gun onto her. “Now tell me, what’s happening here.”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” Adelina’s friend’s words were the last thing you heard before your ears rang and the sting of a bullet burnt white hot in your shoulder. You weren’t sure if your gun ever went off again.

Despite being tied, bathed, dressed, and currently sitting on a freezing alter-of-sorts, you still hadn’t the slightest clue as to what was going on. A crowd of villagers surrounded from the south, all carrying on with a rumble of conversation. Adelina shot daggers at you, Marion as well, from a small, inclined hill at the edge of the crowd. The clothes you wore were your own, she had fished through your backpack claiming that it was of no use to waste a nice dress on “someone like her.” Jezebel was likely still fast asleep at their house.

A woman with the likeness of the framed photo you had seen appeared out of nowhere. So, this was the famous Mother Miranda that everyone regarded so deeply. She stood before you as the crowd’s voices hushed and their eyes became hazed with looks of admiration and devoted appreciation. Surely, she was a human, deities and gods didn’t exist in a physical form, you assured yourself.

Without a word, Miranda moved gracefully as if flowing across the ground to stand before Adelina. Taking her face between her hands, she whispered what you assumed to be praise as Adelina’s lips moved rapidly thanking Miranda. She then moved to Marion and grazed her hand against the wound on his thigh, speaking of how his steadfast devotion would quickly heal any injuries of cruelty spread by evil. When her attention finally fell back to you, she frowned. Stalking around you in circles, Miranda’s imposing figure made you want to shrivel to nothingness.

“Thank you.” She turned to the villagers as if to dismiss them. “When the time comes, I will return for another.”

The black wings you had seen in the photo sprouted from her back, shielding your sight of the villagers as they retreated to their homes. Hopeful cries and shouted blessings to Miranda echoed from the crowd as the village gate slammed. The only evidence of them once populating this empty square were flowers and offerings of fruit and grain left for the supposed goddess.

The world swiftly darkened once more.

Part 2 - Paths Meet

I promise there's more Heisenberg in the next part..

Feedback is always appreciated

#karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil village #resident evil heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #heisenberg imagine #lord heisenberg

[mypersonmyg]

The Misery Chick | MYG

thank you to my favorite @kimtaehyunq for the wonderful banner, ily you talented cutie <3

pairing: Yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, a lil tiny bit of angst, college au

wc: 5.2k (issa short one)

warnings: language

summary: maybe yoongi has a fat crush on you OR he notices, that’s all

a/n: happy birthday to the one and only min yoongi! i am so so fond of him and i couldn’t not write something for him, so I hope you enjoy :D and as always feel free to send in drabble requests for the fic and blah blah blah...

honorary tag: @gukssunshine​

masterlist

To wonder about the quickened stride of the beating appendage in Yoongi’s chest, would be to question the routine catch of gaze to the lone figure at the far end of the classroom, dwarfed by cuddled fabric, consumed with the rapid turn of the lengthy page. His arm rests atop the desk’s surface, supporting the chin that minutely dips with your every flicker of expression, the parting of your lips in gasp mimed by his own. His eyes are glazed under bright light, lids threatening to blink, the passage of time too fast, but oh so slow. 

Yoongi’s knowledge is second hand, rumblings of your demeanor spread through the vine of dialogue that floats coincidentally through his ears to connect with the edges of his brain, chewed and regurgitated without second thought. He holds his refusal to high regard, refusal to believe that you’re nothing more than a student, disgruntled by circumstance. It’s not simple attraction that guides his mind to the eye of logic, the region of reason, though it was the peak of initial interest.

He notices, and that’s all. 

He notices the round of your puffed cheeks that follows a particularly surprising piece of narrative. He notices the seat left empty between you and the wall, open but not a forced invitation, and he notices the way your posture straightens when someone grazes a hair too close. He notices the deflation of your shoulders when you’re left without pair during lessons framed with the inopportunity of interaction forced to simulate the false reality of reality itself. He notices the things others are blind to in their half squint, though the picture is still blurred like the edges of a polaroid. 

The numbness of his wrist, angled by the rest of his chin, draws him from captivation despite motivation to outlast the congregation huddle before you, their fronts focused toward him, his view obscured by obligation of association. His lips form the curvature of amiability necessary for pleasantry, neck craning to the defense of blue jeans offending his locked gaze.

“Can you stop staring so hard? She’s gonna eat you alive,” Hoseok’s finger nudges at the round of Yoongi’s jaw, urging his attention completely away from his person of interest. 

“Fuck off, you don’t even know her.” 

“Neither do you, despite your dedication to staring holes into her side every chance you get. They don’t call her ‘the misery chick’ for nothing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.” The jab rubs the wrong direction, Yoongi’s hand landing with a thud to the thick of Hoseok’s skull. “Come on, it’s a joke.”

“Maybe to you, and to everyone else, but she is a person. You guys just don’t look beyond what you wanna see because then she’s more than just a good laugh.” Every utterance of the moniker draws is lips to a downward twitch, fists balling in the pocket of his hoodie or scraping at the fabric of stressed jeans. It’s knowing that if he’s heard it you have ten fold, the thought harboring the wish that he could fold you inward, close to the beat of his chest to shield from the displeasure of words half baked with stupidity and the ignorance of hilarity. 

“Well not everyone wants to see her between the sheets.”

Interruption of the education saves Hoseok from the verbal spar pending within the fire engulfing Yoongi’s pupils. A place of love harbors the words of war, he knows this, knows that Hoseok’s plan is to rile to the point of action, but he’s driven to the brink of insanity by twisted words of encouragement. The kindest person on the planet playing into the stereo of broken records hurled toward the edges of your delicate framing, . 

Yoongi’s hands curl around his pen, ballpoint and already dancing the page, jotting words flown from one canal to the other and back to the atmospheric toxins of brains shorting caffeine. His sleeves are suddenly burning, neck itching with the heat of nerves crawling outward from within the confines of his collar. He glances toward Hoseok staring absently at Yoongi’s decorative scrawl, raising a brow to colliding gazes.

“Is it hot?” Yoongi puckers in mumble, swiping at the skin kissing the fringe sweeping his eyeline. Hoseok’s head careens in the negative, averting gaze to the front of the room, professor droning about the coming assignment, a project that Yoongi barely catches wind of. 

The plague responsible for his discomfort of familiarity is comfort enough to stop the distant tremble of shoulders keen to the stare that meets his eyes from the room’s opposing side. He jolts, or rather the calm of his heart picks back to pace, when his eyes meet irises reflective of his own.  They’re gone as soon as he finds them, but he’s confident that the cool of his neck is confirmation that sanity isn’t all lost. 

“Dude, could you take your notes? I’m gonna need those later,” Hoseok nudges at his forearm, limp from distraction. Yoongi hurries to scribble missed lecture, patient for a lull in speech to make room for declaration. 

“She was looking at me.” 

“What?” 

“Y/n, she was looking at me. I saw her...I felt her.” 

“Maybe she was just staring off into space because this class is a snooze-fest.” Hoseok speaks through the timing of yawn, perfectly punctuating his point. “She probably doesn’t even know you exist. Though, I guess everyone knows you exist, so maybe she just doesn’t care.” 

The words aren’t false, Yoongi’s following his beyond the definition of quaint, his celebrity following him from the rush of the court to the thrill of the keys. He’s hard pressed for a moment of peace, but he often finds it here, lost in you. 

“I’m serious.”

Yoongi sighs an audible defeat, Hoseok’s dropped lids and the rest of his chin atop folded arms a clear sign that his mind is beyond the classroom and beyond Yoongi’s own romantic woes. The end of the lecture appears miles from the start, the wave of dismissal a spell releasing its hold on the shackles chaining the  ghoulish appearance of sleepless students. 

Yoongi has worked himself to the brink of decision by the end of the lecture, sure enough that his stride to your desk will prove a build in the shy tint of his cheeks when he musters a faint ‘hello’. The pan of his half thought out plan doesn’t sort as well as he hoped, the rush of legs scurrying for the door tripping him up in his rush to the chair where you patiently filed notebook to bag. 

His vision is blurred by the passage of sweaters and hoodies, emblems emblazoned on sleeves and beanies sagging from the tips of bedhead. Hoseok follows after his stride in a confused wake from the desk that housed his sleepy head for the last seventy minutes, stumbling along with the drag of feet on tile. 

When destination is met, your chair is neatly housed, your figure nowhere to be found, Yoongi paces back, his sizable sneaker just scuffing the metal recline of an adjacent chair. 

“What are you doing?” Hoseok clutches the muscled fabric of Yoongi’s shoulder, stopping near disaster following the weighted displacement of the two. 

“Nothing, let's get lunch.”

The passage of days are a haze in the midst of the craze of midterms and Yoongi’s attempt to find reason to believe your glance was more than a passing innocence. The press of his back to his mattress, sheets freshly laundered, linens, scented of the artificial makings of fresh lilac courtesy of Jeongguk, are used to his mid-day collapse for a pre-study snooze. He’s swallowed whole beneath the dense of his comforter, fingers curling into the soft material, lips emitting a sigh of satisfaction. 

The buds in his ears are a dull hum, white noise to saturate the crevices of his brain still vibrating from the surge of knowledge consumed at the twice rapid pace of the semester’s schedule. His lids are aflutter, pupils rolling to the dark precipice, the unconscious already tugging at the bits of his subconscious manifested to snooze.  

The muscles of his pillowy cheeks fight upward against the smush to the firm cushioning of his mattress, arms cuddled around the decorative cushion of deep blue. A pitched giggle echoes in the receptors of his brain, bouncing against the walls, a comforting sound. It’s foreign though, the melodic stutter, yet it engulfs his chest with the warmth of affection, his stomach turning with nerves of the giddy sort. 

He teeters on the edge of more, features dancing between streams, a waterfall blur. Yoongi aches for the reach, his physical and metaphorical being extending from the depths of his full size bed, yearning for the exploration of the four walls and beyond. He can swear his fingers graze the soft of skin, the trace of lip curved in sensuality just visible through sleepy haze. The giggles grow in volume, almost as if guided toward his hasty reach. 

“Jeongguk, shut up!” Yoongi falls forward, just catching onto the ledge of his dresser, quick reflexes doing wonders for his physical well being, but the skip in his mental and the stop of his heart are undeniable. 

He's heard the voice a handful of times, an arm eagerly shooting to respond to a professor’s quarry, the hidden mumblings that he swears he’s the only one to pick up on, his smirk almost never enough to stop impending chuckle.

It’s you. 

He knows, but can’t quite grasp that just beyond the barrier of belief, past the door sealed to keep from disturbance you’re somewhere laughing with Jeongguk. He listens for a moment, unmoving, to attempt a deciphering of your intentions, but laughter has turned to the inaudible mumblings from the room across the hall.  He’s silent in his trek to the door, pulling it on rusted hinges, cringing with every scrape of copper and wood. 

He slips down the hall on tiptoe, unsure if you’re attune to the other members of the house, but not ready to face you if Jeongguk’s door swings back to reveal the occupants of the small cubical. Yoongi makes way to the kitchen, surprised to find the rest of his roommates crowded into the sizable space, each occupied with their own endeavor of strewn textbooks and half frozen toaster strudel. 

“Well well look who’s awake,” Jimin sneers playfully in Yoongi’s direction, drawing attention from the rest of the room. 

“Bet I can guess why,” Taehyung snickers, glances exchanged with a conspiratorial air, the shift of Yoongi’s feet not unnoticed by his personal tormentors. “We told Jeongguk he might wanna keep it down, we know how you like your rest.” 

“Jeongguk didn’t wake me,” Not the correct turn of phrase, realized just moments late, the flicker of pupils raising with the feigned ah ha! Yoongi side steps them all, settling on the sphere of orange grabbing his interest from the bowl on the table, plopping into the nearest chair. 

“Oh he didn’t? Well what other reason could you possibly have to forgo your pre-study nap, hmmm?” Jin pokes at the slightly greened peel of Yoongi’s fruit, hand smacked away with haste. He withdraws to card through his hair, lengthening by the day, framing his face with more beauty than should be allowed by the ethereal senior. 

“I was hungry, s’all.” He tosses scraps with each peel of fruitful flesh, eagerly sliding bits of tangerine past his puckered lips. Anything to keep his mind from the fresh dose of giggles eating at his brain like a love bitten parasite. “Who—umm, who does Jeongguk have over.” 

“Oh, Kookie has a friend over? We had no idea,” Namjoon hums, glasses perched to the bridge of his nose, arms eaten by the sleeves of his hoodie. 

“Maybe you recognize their voice? I mean, you’re the only one close enough to hear it.” Hoseok’s grin is shit eating, half hidden behind the length of his hand, fingers curling in position at the tip of his chin. 

“Oh, oh! I think I recall him saying something about a...Y/—hmmm was it…” Taehyung fakes stumbles over the name, tips of his fingers tracing the glass of his crumbed plate. 

“Y/n.” Yoongi speaks through teeth clenched, his cheeks rosy from snatched sleep and the scrutiny he’s placed himself under, the heat of a lamp concentrated in the five pairs of eyes trained on his every movement for their amusement. 

“So you do know her, why don’t you go say hi?” Jin pats him with vigour, the sound of an echoed frame permeating the air of what Yoongi has affectionately titled, friendly toxicity. Those same muffled voices grow with the trek down the stairs, threatening to give way with each step. Yoongi lifts his eyes from his half eaten fruit for the first time since he sat down, daring them to say a word out of turn with a single look. 

“It’s pretty quiet considering seven guys live here,” Your voice is audible from the front door, Yoongi’s grip tightening, juice spilling down the crevices of his hand, soiling his shirt sleeve, palms already sticky from the stress. “I have one roommate and, as you’ve seen, she can be loud enough for the both of us.” 

“I’m just as surprised as you are actually. I know Yoongi is probably asleep,” Yoongi sinks into his chair, knowing glances threatening to drop him straight through the wooden surface. “The rest are probably out.” 

“Yoongi?” Your voice strays a bit, Yoongi’s lip twitching, unsure what to think of the sudden strain in pitch. 

“Yeah, do you know him?” 

“Oh, um...kinda? Not really, we share a class together, but we’ve never talked. I’m pretty sure he’d think he’s too cool for me anyways. You know, ‘misery chick’ and all.” Yoongi levels a stare at Hoseok whose arms lift in readied defense, though his own face conjures frown at your words. Your attention clearly never spotting the longing with which he’s leveled you for the past few months. 

“You’re not the ‘misery chick’,” Jeongguk’s voice holds firm reassurance, something Yoongi wishes he could give you, but he’s glued, too curious for the thought of impromptu interruption. “People are just jerks. Besides, Yoongi-hyung isn’t like that at all. He likes to pretend he doesn’t know how cool people think he is.” 

“Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Koo.” 

The door closes, Jeongguk just as soon rounding into the kitchen, tracks dead when there are six pairs of eyes trained on his figure. “Wha—have you all been here the whole time?” 

He only takes pause momentarily, his stride leading to the fridge, a juice box of all things pulled from metal confines. The naked eye would never guess the soft interior of Jeongguk, his features contrasting with the boots swallowing his feet and the tattoos eating his arm, tracing his digits. But he’s the walking embodiment of the careful youth painting each man posted in the room, a piece of him nursed by a piece of them with each day passing. 

“Yeah, we’re just hangin’ around, Jeonggukie.” Hoseok shrugs, ruffling the base of Jeongguk’s wild curls. 

“Well you’re doing it pretty quietly, Y/n thought it was weird.” 

“Are you guys dating?” Jimin’s question is thrown with abandon, eyes trained on Jeongguk with absolute focus, Yoongi sending a glare toward the silver haired fiend. 

“No.” Jeongguk pays little mind to the question, too busy squeezing every last drop from the box clutched in his fist, doe eyes glistening with concentration. “We met last semester in lit and she’s really cool so we started hanging out. You guys should meet her sometime, she doesn’t have a lot of friends because of this dumb rumor that she’s ‘the misery chick’ which is ridiculous because she’s one of the nicest people I’ve met here.” 

“Yeah, you can bring her over any time.” Namjoon encourages, book lowered to the table, face scrunching in mental agony when he realizes the corner of his novel is soaked with the spill of orange juice. 

“She said she knows you from class Yoongi, but she doesn’t think you’d like her. I think you would though! Maybe you should try to talk to her next class.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi readily agrees, new found vigor in his speech. “Maybe…” 

Over the next several weeks, Yoongi is sure that coincidence isn’t what found his stare locked to yours, Jeongguk’s overheard conversation clearly leaving your interest peaked about Yoongi who was forced to make his own gazes less frequent for fear of being caught. His first sighting after he floated the walls of his home like a ghost in haunt was next lecture. 

The nerves that ate at his skin the first instance of your curious scan was turned bearable by the itching of excitement to his every nerve, skin alight with the tango of possibility traversing his very being. His attention was wayward, standing at the head of the class, scooping the pages required for lecture from the overflowing desk, a minute ‘excuse me’ cutting through the thick of his cogged brain. 

“Yes?” Was his response, regurgitated dumbly despite the forming line waiting for him to budge to his waiting seat. 

“Uh...could I get by...papers.” He smiles, unintentional, but the effect is the duck of your head, refusal to meet his eyes under such a heated gaze. He’s left to stare a moment longer before the snag of his sleeve, Hoseok forcing him away, calming the mob of students too impatient to momentarily still for the fruition of his romantic interest. 

Lately, your exit from class seems somehow quicker than usual, the practiced haste too much for him to master, another obstacle to his formal introduction. Though it seems your professor can read the tension that hovers the expanse of the classroom, a thread itching to be linked by two lovers, one unknowing of the delicate pull she has on her soul suitor. 

“Okay!” The professor stands at the front of the room, barely holding the attention of the class, barely holding Yoongi’s attention until he speaks once more. “Instead of a formal midterm, I want you all to complete a joint essay, yes you heard me correctly! I want you to pair up and write an essay on the topic of your choosing—as long as that topic is related to the course.” 

Yoongi perks up, ignoring the telltale that Hoseok hopes to grab him as soon as the class is dismissed because Yoongi has a plan of his own. 

“Of course I won’t force you to choose a partner, I know some of you prefer to work alone. But no more than two people to a group. Now I can see that you’re all on the edge of your seats, but I’m feeling generous today, so you’re dismissed, but your pages are due on my desk beginning of class Monday!” The final words of the professor send the class into frenzy, those who were paying attention quick to grab hold of their half and those who weren’t suddenly catching up and scrambling for someone who’ll make do.

“Hey, we’re partners, right?” Hoseok looks at Yoongi hopeful, but Yoongi already has his sights set on you, watching everyone link up, resigned to working solo. 

“Nah, I’ve got another partner in mind if that’s okay with you.” Hoseok catches the drift rather quickly, wide smile forgoing slight disappointment at his loss of the sure A on his midterm. 

“Go for it,” Hoseok gives a light shove forward, much appreciated by Yoongi whose heart threatens to burst from his chest, sure that the nerves are painted on his face like a slice of Van Gogh. He’s just in time, your hands shoved into your pockets, ready to leave the suffocation of a space smothered in unwelcome. 

“Hey.” Yoongi can see the uncertainty, your eyes glancing to either side to ensure that he is certainly addressing you. 

“Hey…” 

“So, this midterm thing is kinda weird, right?” He can already see the snicker on Hoseok’s face, though his friend is posted at the door opposite him. Your own lips quirk, his only thought of coherency aimed at how cute the action is. You rock on your heels, he notes your style isn’t far off from the bones of Jeongguk, hoodie black and heavy boots ready to stomp through endless waves of the nauseating sea of university. 

“Yeah...I guess it’s a little unconventional. But great for people who get test anxiety,” You humor him, hands withdrawing from jeaned confines to gesture wildly to the room void of anyone but the three remaining vessels, two of which are engaged in unlikely exchange. ���Did you need something?” 

“Huh?” 

“Sorry! I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a class to get to and I have a thing about being late. I figure there’s a reason you’re talking to me seeing as we’ve never actually talked before…” You catch yourself in ramble, tripping over phrases whilst Yoongi watches without missing a beat. 

He’s incredibly taken with the way the words flow without pretense, a nice change to the closed off demeanor people falsely associate with you. He would listen for a lifetime to the things you have to say, hopefully with the clasp of finger and longing glances. Your intent is nonsense, nerves eating away at the buds of your tongue. To him it’s a poetry specially curated, a tickle to his throat bringing forth the soft laughter that halts your speech. 

“I’m sorry, you go ahead I’m just...nervous.” 

“No no, don’t apologize, I like listening to you,” He coos when you smile, quick to recover before your eyes, wide and attentive find his own once more, now notably softer, safer. “I love your smile too…” 

“You’re not so bad yourself…” Soft spoken and not altogether sure is the way you speak, your class long forgotten, a blip in rear view shadowed by the shining beacon before you. “So…?”

“Right, right...I was just wondering if you’d maybe wanna work together?” Despite compliments and hinted flirtation you’re taken aback by the offer, your eyes skirting Yoongi completely, raising question to the figure station by the exit. Hoseok offers you a smile you can’t help but return his thumbs raising in the affirmative. 

“He’s all yours,” Hoseok assures, taking his leave prematurely, Yoongi still waiting for confirmation. 

“No pressure, just thought I’d ask. I think we’d work well together,” And I wanna know you, he withholds for fear of frightening you more so than the sudden acknowledgement already has.

“Well I don’t know about that, but yeah I’d love to if you’re sure.” 

“I’m positive. Wanna meet at my place after school?” 

“Sounds good.” You pull your phone swiping at the screen before passing it over. “Just text me when you’re free.” 

“I’ll text the address,” He knows it’s unnecessary, just taking precautions to shield from the admission of his eavesdrop the last time you occupied the residence. You wait until you’re once again clutching the spherical confines of your devices, checking and double checking that all digits are present, not unfamiliar with the harsh reality of falsehood buried beneath genuine interest.

“Oh, I actually know where you live. My friend Jeongguk is one of your roommates, so I know my way.” 

“Well I’m sorry we’ve missed each other, that it took me so long to say hello.” Yoongi’s legs lead him half a step closer, an accidentally purposeful close of the gap between, your eyes avoid the bottom half of his face, focusing instead on the bill of his cap and the dark hair tickling the edges. 

“Guess you’ll just have to make up for it somehow.” 

“Guess I will.” 

Your visits to Yoongi are routine over the next week, the laughter filling the hectic halls caused by him rather than his roommates. He’s seen more of you in a week than he could’ve hoped in a lifetime, even more confused about the way you’ve been outcast by a majority of your major. He’s awed by your lack of reaction to the judgement of peers, often citing it as a joke, sarcasm lacing the words. 

It’s the day before assignment is due, you’re perched at Yoongi’s desk, he’s laying on his bed, tossing his basketball in mock free throw simultaneously with his toss of ideas while your fingers type vigorously in final draft. 

This particular evening leaves you alone with Yoongi, the other members of the house trying and failing to convince you to join for their weekly outing to the nearest bar where they would no doubt drink their weight to poorly prepare for the week to come. Yoongi was swift to opt out, much preferring your company to the stench of stale beer and jokes poorly executed by Jin after he downs his fifth shot. 

You were insistent that he let you handle the rest of the paper, just pages standing between you and your final product, but he’s too fond of the way your post-its decorate the shelf over his desk, different colored notes for every paragraph, the ink of your pens highlighting each point in magenta saturation. He’s obsessed with the way you hunch to close to the pages of your textbook while scolding him for getting too close to the screen of his laptop in the next breath. 

He can’t help the thought of what could be, close calls and a hair’s breadth stepping between you all week. It’s the price of seven roommates and a lock loosened with the jiggle of a handle. The hesitancy that still fills your pupils despite the easy way his words lace with genuine interest. 

Yoongi remembered what it was like to notice, deciding that it’s much better to experience you. The moment is delicate, your soft suggestions and argumentative replies tossed with a hint of tease lacing the bite of your tone. He doesn’t try to hide the smile that breaks the mold of his face, lips dampened by the press of gums prominent from healthy reach. 

“Can I ask you a question?” He raises, your fingers slowing against the keyboard, chair swiveling to offer full attention. “Does it bother you...the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?” 

He’s not sure what possesses it, but he is sure that knowing will make things easier, break a barrier that to him doesn’t exist. He knows your breath is baited, knows you’ve been waiting for the pull of the rug, so he offers a tug, a comforting teasing sort of thing to ease your mind and close the gap of misunderstanding that he could never blame you for. 

“Can I ask you a question? Do you believe the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?” You counter, scooting along hardwood until your knees are pressed to his mattress, sinking into the cushioned flesh as far as it allows. Your stare is careful, not expectant of the negative or offended by the positive. “It’s okay if you do, just don’t lie about it.” 

There's a sadness in your delivery and Yoongi notes it immediately. Your attempt to hide the twitch of your lip and the anxious fold of your hands in your lap don’t escape him. Your tone is even, your eyes much the same and he wonders how anyone could ever believe it, he’s grateful that he never did. 

“Not for a second.” He responds almost immediately, waiting for any lingering doubt on your end. It never comes.

“Good.” Is your reply, just as even as the question itself. Your shoulders relax, posture not as stiff as before. “It does bother me, not as much as it used to, but it does. It bothers me that they don’t like that I’m not like them. I don’t mean that in the whole ‘I’m not like other girls’ way, but I’m just not Cathy college, you know? I don’t get excited about parties and drinking, I don’t need to go out all the time to have fun, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you if you do, but I don’t and because I’m not like everyone else I have to be ‘the misery chick’.

He’s sure you don’t realize it, but Yoongi see’s the build of tears in your eyes, unshed but there and it breaks him. Breaks him that something so trivial could be the defining factor of someone’s experience, that you can hide it so well at the cost of your own happiness.

“I mean, it’s college, you’d think that people have better things to do than come up with reasons to ridicule someone, but I guess I have too much faith.” You finish, glancing up to find Yoongi all ears, lips etched in frown. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for all of that.” 

“People suck.” Is all he says, hand extending toward you, inviting you to join him on his island, silent but sure. You crawl the length of the mattress, your back pressing the headboard, fingers laced with his own, warm and sweaty from nerves, yours or his neither of you are sure. 

“People do suck.” 

“I know what’ll make you feel better.” He offers, thumb running along the jagged edges of your knuckle, skin kissing skin. You lift your head, half leaning on his shoulder so your eyes meet, a reflection of picture perfect, a record in perfect sync. 

“Yeah?” 

“You should go out with me.” Yoongi doesn’t expect a snort, but the response is exactly what he receives your head averting to conceal your laughter, hands shielding your face from the expanse of an ego deflated by the graze of your accidental needle. “Why are you laughing?” 

“No I’m not—I just—you’ve been looking at me like I’m completely insane all semester! I didn’t think you liked me, I thought you were looking right through me...I kinda thought you were just coming to class high every day.” 

“I don’t even smoke, those were not the eyes of a stoner, they were the eyes of a man who’s very fond of you.” Yoongi defends his position, his usually dormant stare now bugged to exaggeration, unavailable for serious consideration. 

“My mistake, though I don’t know whether to be weirded out or completely flattered.” 

“You better be so flattered that I can see hearts in your eyes because you were pretty quick to agree to be my partner for this project!” Yoongi keeps the charade, glad to lighten the tension and draw from the heaviness of the previous conversation. It’s not a chapter that’s closed, but the beginning is the build and he’s planning an entire novel with you, so he figures his time isn’t limited by the tick of a clock nearing the midnight hour. 

“I heard I’ve got a sure ‘A’  and I’d be an idiot to pass that up.” 

“You could get a passing grade in your sleep, you can’t fool me. But you can go on a date with me.”

“So you, cool guy Min Yoongi, want to go on a date with me, ‘the misery chick’?” You gasp, hand clutched to your chest, Yoongi’s hand catching hold and bringing it to his own, to the beat of his heart, the bass begging for a melody that only you can satisfy. 

“More than anything.” 

“Well when you put it that way I have no choice but to say yes, but to be clear, I’ve definitely seen you looking at Hoseok with that same look in your eyes so you might wanna sort some stuff out first—”

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #suganetwork #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #yoongi x reader #myg x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #bts fluff #bts fanfic #yoongi oneshot #bts oneshot #houseofddaeng

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 34

Yoongi finds your phone– and so does someone else...

Pairing: Yoongi x (female) Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Genre: fluff, angst

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You force a laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t lie to me, y/n,” Yoongi says softly, his voice a knife in your back. “These– Jesus.” He exhales sharply as your phone buzzes again, again, again. You would’ve turned your notifications off months ago, but you need Twitter for your jobs. “How long has it been like this?”

@satanhasaholdoffrance: hey @yourname make like a tree and die

@queenynuwu: I hope y/n knows we love her!! <3 @yourname

@gummyyoongi: has anyone found @yourname‘s address yet?

“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply stubbornly. You don’t want your weight on Yoongi’s shoulders, not when you know he’ll blame himself.

“Bullshit. You said this wasn’t happening! You told me that my fans weren’t coming after you.”

“And you never checked,” you reply, your throat tight. “You know what I am. I’m a liar. And you trusted me– that’s your mistake.”

Yoongi flinches. “I know you don’t mean that.”

You begin trembling, your hands and arms and shoulders tensing against your will. “You shouldn’t trust me, Yoongi.” I’ve kept too many secrets from you.

“Well, I do trust you. I know you too well, y/n, and you don’t mean that. But this?” He taps your phone. “This is messed up.”

You take a step back, shrinking into yourself. “I-I’m sorry.”

“What? No. Why are you apologizing?” Yoongi gets up and walks towards you, his eyes intense. “My fans– the stuff they’re saying– that’s what’s messed up. And y/n, I’m so, so sorry this happened. You don’t deserve it.”

“I, uh...” you mumble, confused. Why isn’t he angry at you? You lied to him, again and again and again. “Sorry...”

Yoongi sighs, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “What are you even apologizing for?”

“I don’t know!” You cry. “I thought you’d be mad at me!”

“I’m not mad at you, y/n-ie.” Yoongi raises his arm and brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face. “I’m just worried. The comments you’re getting, the haters... they’re too much for anyone.”

Your mind drifts to the nightmares, the thoughts that your hate comments have inspired within you.

Yoongi’s gaze darkens, but he’s not looking at you– he’s staring far off, at something beyond. “I’ve seen idols, trainees– friends– that internalized those things, and they didn’t see an escape... no one is equipped to deal with this shit alone, no one.” Yoongi swallows, and his voice wavers. “So don’t try, y/n. You’re not alone, and I can’t lose you.”

You blink hard before drawing back and punching Yoongi in the arm.

“Ow!” Yoongi yelps, rubbing his arm. “What the hell?”

“That’s for being dramatic,” you say, using all your willpower to keep your voice light. “And this–” you poke him in the ribs– “is for being selfish. I don’t wanna lose me either, nerd. It’s not all about you.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Yoongi laughs. “My bad, I almost forgot that you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

“Just don’t let it happen again,” you sniff haughtily.

“I won’t, promise. Hey, do you need a lift to your next job?”

“Nah, I’ll take the bus. I’m not famous like you,” you reply. Besides, you want to be alone with your thoughts.

“Suit yourself. I have to go to the studio anyways.”

“Another BTS comeback already?” You muse, and Yoongi winks.

“Nope.”

~~~

Once Yoongi leaves, you wriggle into another sweater and shrug your coat on over it. You can’t help but feel chilly lately, and you can’t afford to get a cold.

You leave your apartment building and quickly walk towards the bus stop. Your afternoon will be spent on a photoshoot for a new makeup line, and Lisa said you’d be able to keep some of the merchandise.

You adjust your face mask and pop in your earphones, your mind a whirling dervish of thoughts. You imagined Yoongi would be furious– after all, you’d promised no more secrets. You couldn’t help but keep your Twitter mess to yourself, because you didn’t want your friend to stress about it.

Friend... the word seems strange to you, almost wrong.

Well, we’re ‘dating’ now, you think, so I guess he’s my fake-boyfriend instead.

It’s weird; for years you were completely in love with Yoongi, besotted with his face and voice and laugh and lyrics. His shy, goofy nature. His irresistible charm. You remember when you and Lisa would scream together at every new music video, each concept photo, any hint or clue or theory. It seems so long ago now.

Speaking of Lisa... your phone begins buzzing with a call from your manager/friend.

“Y/n, darling, how are you doing? How’s the leg?”

“All healed up now,” you reply, flexing and unflexing your left leg. You lost a lot of blood, but your injury missed all the arteries and important stuff.

“Great. Hey, I lined up a job, it’s yours for the taking if you’re interested. They need an extra in a cologne commercial, it should only be a two-day shoot and we can plan around Moon Over The Sea. What do you think?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you murmur absentmindedly. “How much does it pay?”

“Pretty well, your cut would be only a little less than you’re making on the makeup shoot today.”

“Alright, sign me up.”

“Great. And... how’s it going with Yoongi?”

You jolt. “What?”

“C’mon, y/n, you can’t expect me not to ask. You’re dating your idol!”

“I-I’m not, really...”

“Oh, shush. It’s official, isn’t it? BigHit confirmed it last week. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were together!”

You grit your teeth– you have to tell her the truth. “Lisa, seriously, it’s not real.”

“I know, I bet it totally feels like a fairy tale, huh? I’m so jealous.” Lisa’s voice gets quieter, pouty. “We have to hang out soon, it’s been ages since we’ve had a proper gossip sesh!”

“But...”

“No buts! I’m ordering you as your manager to hang out with your best friend... who is also your manager... who is also me.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Yes ma’am, just pencil me in.”

“Will do! See you soon.”

“See ya.

Humming to yourself, you continue your bus ride, arriving at the studio a few minutes early. A fashionable young man strides up to you bearing shorts and a shirt.

“Ah, you’re here. L/n y/n, right? Perfect, perfect, put these on and we’ll get you straight into hair and makeup.”

“Uhh...” you examine the outfit he gave you. “Are you sure this is for me?”

“Of course I am, what are you talking about?”

“It’s black, these shorts are made of leather, and...” you trail off, gulping. “It’s all very tight.” That’s right, clothes like these will only hug the curves you don’t have. You’re not a sex icon like some of the female idols you’ve seen Yoongi with on TV. You know as someone in the entertainment industry, you’re supposed to be fashionable– but you’re too much a fan of oversized sweaters and soft pants to let them go. “I don’t know if this outfit suits me.”

“Nonsense, you’re beautiful– you just need the confidence! Besides, you’re gonna have to get used to this type of stuff if you want to get anywhere in your career,” the man chuckles. ��Changing room is over there. When you’re ready, head to hair and makeup.”

“R-right,” you mumble, taking the clothes. They look so cold, you shiver just thinking about putting them on.

Ten minutes later, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Staring back at you seems to be a child, a little girl who doesn’t belong, who can barely fill out the tight crop top or shorts. And you’re supposed to be dating Yoongi? You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. Yoongi deserves better, someone prettier, smarter, who looks like they belong at his side. In your mind’s eye, you can see Yoongi next to you in the mirror– black-haired, a brow raised, his mouth quirking upwards in a lazy smirk. He looks like a prince, a god, and you look like you’re playing dress-up next to him. No wonder so many people are upset; you’re doing Yoongi no favors by being with him.

You sigh and shake your head. You’re cold, so cold, and you hate it. You turn away from the mirror to get your hair and makeup done.

“Okay, can you give me a little lip bite? Something cheeky? Oh, perfect! Yes, hold like that!” The camera flashes while you sit frozen in place. “Cross your legs now, hold the lipstick closer to your face... can you give me bedroom eyes?”

Face flushed, you lower your lashes and pout your lips like you’ve seen real models do, and the camera flashes again and again. The lipstick you’ve got on is a brighter red than you’ve ever dared to wear, and combined with the outfit and your bold eyeliner, you look a little edgy.

“Great, y/n, you’re doing wonderfully. We need one more photo for the spread...” the photographer looks around the photo studio, which is a rather minimalist set. “Can someone get me that chair? Y/n, sit on it backwards and try for a smirk– like an ‘I’m-better-than-you’ face.”

But I’m not. Still you try, channeling your inner Seokjin as you fix the camera with your best downward stare, and then half smiling as though you’ve got a secret– which you do, too many to count. Half a dozen shots later, you’re dismissed with the promise that the money will be wired to your account by Friday.

The next morning, you wake up to the familiar buzzing of your notifications, again and again and again. You haven’t overslept, have you? No, your clock informs you that it’s not even six AM. You groan and flip your phone over to read your new mentions.

@beautyoftheseoul: Check out our new line of matte lipsticks, modeled by #MoonOverTheSea’s @yourname!

@chimyoongles: Omg @2460sunshine did you see that @yourname liked a yoongi thirst tweet? Lmaooo I’m dying she’s rly all of us

@scarletwitchisjunghoseok: I think I love @yourname now that she’s exposed herself as an army lololol

@captainkookie21: why are ppl stanning @yourname for her fuckup lol it just goes to show what a liar and a slut she is.

You blink sleepily. You liked a tweet about Yoongi? You’ve been careful about doing that ever since you became a public figure, in case Yoongi noticed. You tap through your likes and gasp:

@slutfordionysus: rt if you want Suga to crush you between his thighs, like if you want him to use his tongue technology on you ;)

Oh, fuck. You never liked that. You’ve never even seen that tweet. Which means... you’ve been hacked?

#bts #bangtan #suga #yoongi #min yoongi #min suga #bts fluff #bts angst #bts drabble #bts au #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi drabble #yoongi au #suga fluff #suga angst #suga drabble #suga au #bts series #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts x reader #bts fic #yoongi fic #suga fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #yoongi x you #suga x you

[gcdgirl-blog]

hello, guys! i’m sora (but you can also call me s), 22 yrs old, goes by she/her pronouns, and living in the est timezone. some of my interests include doggos, anime, disney movies, and overwatch. and honestly, i can't wait to plot & interact with everyone!

✧･ﾟ(   ares + kim chungha + female   ) 𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒂 !!  have you seen (   mia nam  ) around ? (   she  ) has been in kaos for (   two years  ). the (   twenty-five year old   ) is a (   bartender  ) from (   las vegas, usa   ). people say they can be (   fiery   ) but maybe that’s not too bad ‘cause they can also be (   valiant   ). whenever i think of them, i can’t help but think of (   bloody and bruised knuckles, the sound of a motorcycle engine, worn out black leather jackets   ).  ･ﾟ✧

i. about

mia nam’s destiny felt like it was all written for her the moment she was born. for starters, she wasn’t planned. her parents were fooling around in their mid-20s and a baby came into their life when they were too drunk to remember about protection due to the heat of the moment. in the end, they decided to keep her, thinking it would work in the long run. they got married the moment mia’s moment found out she was pregnant. 9 months later, baby mia was born in las vegas, nevada.

both mom and dad ended up depending on their parents for a while because neither of them were well-off and as time ticked by, the two got an everyday job to make a living as much as they can for all three of them. the days felt long and nights became quiet as mom and dad were getting stressed out. soon, their silence became arguments in the master bedroom as they blamed each other for having to spend the rest of their lives this way and it lead to a slap on mom’s face. while mia was in her room, crying that she couldn’t do anything for to stop them from fighting. it soon grew to a norm.

to take the attention off of each other, the young nam eventually took it upon herself to get in between them. when middle school started, she started with coming home late and realized her parents would get worried and think about their daughter instead of each other. it was also a way to grab her parents’ attention.

however, it didn’t stop there. mia was going through a downward spiral during her middle school and high school years. it started with yelling and arguing with other kids, which landed her in detention multiple times and summer classes. the results weren’t exactly what she expected though. her father was furious for her actions and ended up hitting her, causing mia to run away from home for a few days.

years passed, mia graduated middle school and moved onto high school. not much changed, except her parents got a divorce and it was agreed that mia would switch between parents; staying with mom during weekdays and dad during weekends, which she dreaded.

her attitude didn’t get any better, unfortunately. she became a bitch and a bully to others, hung out with a wrong crowd, and

it was college that became a change for her. after discussing with multiple advisers, she was soon convinced that she needed a change in her lifestyle. she was just a young girl who had a deep anger inside of her, but soon she was taking anger management classes and boxing lessons to improve herself and to tone down her irritation. plus, she decided to get a college degree. she wanted to make a name for herself and wanted to believe she could do something better with her life than her parents.

she became more well-behaved and calmed down compared to her past rebellious and aggressive self. unfortunately, it didn’t stay that way for long. the brunette became friends with new people and lead them into her world, which was rare considering she never truly talked to most about her past, secrets, or emotions. before she knew it, the ones she called best friends betrayed her. they ditched her more than once, spread rumors and lies, and the last straw was telling everyone her stories. just when she thought she was having a new family of friends, the image of ever having a loving family was ruined for the girl. it made her realize that hardly anyone was going to be there, so she has to be there for herself instead and take no shit from anyone.

in the end of her college life, she got a bachelor’s degree in art, but felt she isn’t good enough yet. after taking different jobs for a few years, mia finally decided she wanted a new scenery.

that’s when kaos came into her story. she saved up money from her full-time everyday jobs as well as commissions to afford a cheap, one-way ticket before packing her bags and moving in when she was twenty-three. there, she took a job as a bartender and so far, she’s been enjoying the work. on her free time, mia continues to improve her art skills, however.

it’s been two years already and there have been times where mia considered living elsewhere, because of how she wasn’t used to staying in one place for so long, but kaos just felt too nice to pass up. for once, she felt she deserved to be here.

tl;dr she grew up in las vegas, nv, had an abusive dad, and became rebellious, then eventually decided to do better during the end of her high school year and college years. however, as she made new friends that she considered family, they betrayed her in the end. now she’s at kaos and knows there’s hardly anyone she can rely on, but herself.

ii. details

PINTEREST

traits

+

audacious, showing a willingness to take surprisingly bold risks: she’s fearless, always enjoys a challenge, and doesn’t mind trying new things.

faithful, loyal, constant, and steadfast: if mia makes an acquaintance and they prove to be a true friend, then mia’s a friend for life. she may not show it, but she’ll be in a person’s corner no matter what.

valiant, possessing or showing courage or determination: mia isn’t one to back down easily. if she wants something, it’ll take a long while before she calls it quits. she’s also quite brave, such as standing up for what she believes in and facing her fears.

-

fiery, having a passionate, quick-tempered nature: she’s quick to make an arguments with just about anyone and anything. her anger also tends to get the best of her sometimes.

indelicate, having or showing a lack of sensitive understanding or tact: mia has an i don’t care attitude when it comes to most people, so she’ll tell it like it is and not apologize for any rude comments.

promiscuous, having or characterized by many transient sexual relationships: she loves sex and isn’t ashamed to show it.

aesthetic

black bralettes, a tiger growling, dark clothes all over the bedroom floor, hands gripping bedsheets, a messy hole in the wall, a sharp and clean knife, lipstick stain on a white mug after drinking black coffee, a yearbook filled with x’s, ripped up family photos the warmth of having someone by your side at night then feeling the cold loneliness in the morning, a ticking time bomb.

style

90% of the time, she’ll be wearing black, the other 10% is filled with dark red. inside her closet, you’d see lace clothing items, tops that show off cleavage, leather jackets, ripped denim. if i had to pick a character to base her fashion sense off of, i’d say it would be gigi from sex&drugs&rock&roll.

she’s mostly seen with long, black hair down with the length past her shoulders and usually past her breasts too, but sometimes it’ll be in-between her shoulders and breasts.

she’s also usually seen wearing dark, red lipstick and with a cat winged eyeliner.

hobbies

during her free time, she can be seen either riding her motorcycle or sketching. after a long day and when she feels stressed or overly-irritated, she’ll go for a long drive (and passing over the speed limit) during the night. or she’ll be in her bed with a blanket over her as the AC is on high while she sketches on paper or draws on her tablet.

tattoos

she has this one to her right side.

this back tattoo.

then there’s this one on the back of her left arm.

she’s considering getting three more, but only has one idea of getting a kiss mark on her butt cheek.

sexuality

she’s bisexual. she realized this in middle school when she was crushing on a girl and would pull her hair constantly, but she was one of the very few that mia hardly harmed because of her interest in the other.

misc

she’s not fond of smoking because of how terrible the smell reminds her of casinos since her parents would frequent hotels at the strip in las vegas.

she mostly drinks socially or if she’s having a truly horrible day. other than that, she prefers to not drink because she feels she can already have fun without the alcohol and has a slight fear that she’ll be addicted.

#kaos:intro #━━━ ✖ › details ❪ 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒾'𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉. ❫

[forever-more-never-again]

Love and Jealousy (A Natasha Request)

Requested: Anonymous

GET READY FOR THE ANGST! But with a fluffy ending cause I’m nice :) haha

Pairing: Natasha X Reader

Word Count:4217

Warnings: Mentions and themes of panic attacks. Cheating. Swearing. Slight abuse

Italics are memory

Request: Can I request a Natasha x fem!reader fic where they’re out at a party Tony has thrown, dressed up beautifully. But Nat gets jealous when she notices R talking to someone else and then drags R home. They get into a massive fight and Nat gets really nasty while R just sits and cries while Nat screams at her. Nat then stomps upstairs to bed and R waits a while before leaving and running to Stark tower. Nat can’t find her for days afterwards and has to beg Tony to let her see R. Fluffy ending! :)

Masterlist

Another one of Tony Stark’s parties. Another night of playing nice to high government power players and keeping a smile on for the cameras.

The only thing making the whole night worth dressing up for was your wife, Natasha Romanoff. You shot her a quick smile from the other side of the room. Noticing it, she blew a kiss back at you.

Laughing, you turned back to your conversation, Steve speaking, “And then she runs in there, guns blazing! It was the single most stupid stunt I have ever seen.”

You injected at that moment, interrupting his story, “But she did it to save me, don’t tell me that Steven Grant Rogers would not do the same thing for Bucky if it came down to it.” You winked at the blushing super soldier as he glanced to his boyfriend who was showing some scientist his arm.

You punched Steve’s arm. The rest of the night went on smoothly. You were not an official part of the Avengers, but you were married to one, so you had grown close to all of them, seeing them as an extended part of your family. You had officially married Natasha about six months ago. But had been dating for a year before.

As the night wore on, Natasha’s energy never left, she twirled around in her black dress, red hair up, as she dazzled the endless party goers.

You on the other hand, were exhausted. Your [H/c] hair was now out of its styling and your [e/c] eyes were circled in black eyeliner that made you feel like a raccoon.

“Hey [Y/n], rough night?” Wanda asked, sitting next to you on the couch. You smiled softly at the mind reader. Wanda was like a sister to you and thankfully she never read you mind, respecting your privacy.

“It’s been a long one, that’s one thing. But look how happy she is.” You sighed, as your’s and Wanda’s gazes went to Natasha dancing with Tony. Laughing at something he said.

“It’s a nice thing to have when you no longer have to hide in the shadows.” The masculine voice that interrupted drew Wanda to her feet.

“Hey there Bruce. I’m going to get some champagne, you want some?” She asked, drawing away. Bruce simply shook his head, before sitting where Wanda had been next to you.

Bruce was someone you didn’t spend much time with since he spent most of his days holed up in his lab.

Tentatively, as if he was scared of you, he wrapped an arm around you. You didn’t flinch or destroy his confidence, glad that he was actually here at the party.

He looked over at Natasha, “I would give anything to be able to come out of the shadows that my past has me locked in.”

You looked up at his face, the bags under his eyes and the shallow pallor of his face lending power to the raw pain in his voice. You reached up and cupped his cheek so that he would look down at you as you moved in closer to his side.

“Bruce, You can step out of the shadows.”

He scoffed, “As if the other guy would let me take charge of my own life. He owns me, he owns my fear.”

You kept a firm hold on his face, so that he couldn’t look away from the fierce look in your eyes, “Bruce, the Hulk is a part of you, it’s true, but you can either keep living like this, slowly killing yourself….or you can accept him and move on. You are an amazing guy, a scientist, and he is a protector. You need to come to terms with him, let him in, and you can come out of the shadows.”

His eyes never strayed from yours during your heated speech. This was the longest you had ever spent with Bruce and you wanted to make it count. You knew how it hurt the team to see him so afraid of his alter ego. And how he was slowly killing himself.

“You are a very smart woman, do you know that [Y/n]?” He whispered as your hand came off his face and settled in your lap as you snuggled deeper into him, your fatigue catching up.

You smiled softly, “I get told that a lot actually.”

“Your wife is very lucky to have you, and speaking of your wife, here she comes.”

You shot up at that, excited at the prospect of finally having some time with Natasha.

But your happiness slowly faded at the look in your wife’s eyes. She came to a stop in front of you and Bruce and crossed her arms, her lips still downward in a frown. Bruce slowly retracted his arm and stood up, “I’ll leave you two alone.” He muttered, slinking over to Tony’s side near the bar.

You waved at him as he walked away before standing up in front of you wife, “Nat? What’s wrong?” You asked, placing a hand on her arm. Her green eyes were alight with a fire you had never seen before.

She grabbed your wrist and began walking towards the elevator. You were shocked for a moment and almost pulled off your feet but you managed to stay upright. You shot a smile at Steve as he raised an eyebrow at you and Natasha.

Finally you were in the elevator. Natasha still hadn't said anything.

“Nat? You’re hurting me.” Her vise grip on your wrist was starting to become painful and you tugged a little on it to let her know what you were talking about.

She didn’t release her grip until you both climbed into the backseat of a cab. She released your wrist, and you brought it close to your chest, rubbing the bruise that was slowly forming.

“Natasha, baby?” You whispered. You were starting to get scared. She had not said anything and she was staring out the cab windows. She looked like she did when she was about to go on a mission. She wasn’t your wife at the moment, but the Black Widow.

As the silence stretched as the car drove to your shared apartment with Natasha in the heart of New York, you thought back over the night and tried to find what might have triggered this behaviour from her.

Walking out of the cab and thanking him for the drive, she still didn’t say anything and you still had no idea what was going on. Finally, you entered the small but homey apartment you shared with your wife.

“Natasha, please, talk to me.” You all but begged, your mind going into overdrive.

Natasha turned on the heel of her black shoes and glared at you, “You didn’t think I would see!?”

You took a small step backwards at the venom in her voice, “See what? Natasha, what are you talking about?” You were so confused.

“The way you got so ‘cozy’ with Bruce. You honestly didn’t think I would see that!?”

You mind replayed what she was talking about, but you didn’t see anything that would warrant this kind of reaction. “What do you mean? I was just being a friend.”

Natasha scoffed, throwing off her shoes and walking over to the fridge, pulling out a beer, she popped the cap off and took a swig, “Yeah, a friend….that’s not what I saw from where I stood. What kind of friend looks at another friend that way? Huh? Are you cheating on me with Bruce [Y/n]!? Is that why I never see you two hanging out together?”

You gasped, tears springing to your eyes at your wife’s raised tone and accusation. “How dare you Natasha! I would never cheat on you! Bruce is just a friend! We had a little chat tonight, that was all.”

Natasha threw her beer bottle at you, making you flinch as it shattered against the wall. The leftover beer in the bottle spraying the room. You had never seen your wife like this and it terrified you. Sobs wracked your body as you realized that your wife, the woman you loved, had just thrown something at you.

“That was not a simple chat [Y/n]. I saw the way you held his face, I saw the looks you two were sharing! I am an assassin, I am a skilled KGB operative. I know the signs. Your cheating on me! You fucking whore!”

“Natasha!” You couldn’t say anything else. The tears too strong and choking you up. It was all too much. You knew Natasha was probably drunk, and that would contribute to some of her behaviour. But you couldn’t brush off the fact that she thought you were cheating, had thrown something at you and had just called you a whore.

Natasha stalked past you on the way to the bedroom, “I can’t even look at you  right now, you can sleep on the couch tonight.” Were her last words as she shot you a disgusted look before disappearing into your bedroom.

Your body slowly slid to the floor, your arms wrapped tightly around your stomach as you cried. Your mind was a mess of thoughts. Your heart felt like it had just been shot out from your chest.

You knew one thing though, you couldn’t stay in this house with your wife like this. So you picked yourself up and ran outside. Still in your party outfit and high heels. You wiped your face, probably smearing your makeup even more.

You hailed a taxi and told him the Avengers tower. The man, an older gentlemen with kind eyes, peered at you in the rearview mirror, “Ma’am. Are you okay?”

You sniffled, wiping away more loose tears, “I’m not sure.”

And then you were at the tower. You stood outside the doors in the cold night for a while, wondering if this was the best option.

Finally, you were shaking from the chill and walked in. The receptionist luckily, recognized you and called down Tony at your request.

You nervously rubbed your arms as you waited for him to come down the elevator. When he did, he was still impecibly dressed and was holding a glass of champagne.

“What is it? [Y/n]?” He saw you standing there awkwardly, looking like a wreck.

He immediately set the glass down on the receptionist desk and rushed over to you, pulling you in for a hug.

Fresh tears burst forth at his display of affection. “Hush, there, now. Let’s go to my floor, okay?” He slowly led you into the elevator and punched in the number to his private suite floor. You let go of him, weakly saying, “I’ll ruin your suit.”

“Honey, I can buy a new one. Don’t worry. What’s important right now is why you are back here when Steve said he saw you leave with Natasha not a half hour ago.”

The elevator doors opened and you stepped into Tony’s lavish suite, sitting on his couch, he brought you a glass of water.

“Thank you. I did leave with Natasha. But….” Fresh tears pooled in your [e/c] eyes as you thought back to just moments before. You didn’t know if it had been a good idea to come to Natasha’s friend, but it was too late now. Plus Tony had always held a soft spot for you since you started dating Nat.

Tony rubbed comforting circles on your back, letting you take the time you need.

“She...she accused me of cheating...with Bruce.” You head Tony’s intake of breath, but continued, “She called me….she called me a whore,” Tears streamed down your face, this was the most you had ever cried in one night, “And...and...threw a beer bottle at me….I couldn’t stay at home with that...not with her...acting like that.”

Tony growled, his hand stopping the calming rotations on your back, “She thought you were cheating on her with Bruce? The guy who can barely hold a civil conversation without it including science? Who does she think you are?”

You placed a hand on Tony’s knee, “Tony, please. Calm down. I just want to go to sleep and forget that it ever happened.”

Tony shook away his rage over your situation and gave you a soft smile, “Of course, I’ll show you to my quest room. And you are welcome to stay for as long as you need. Natasha needs to realize the treasure that she has in having you as a wife.”

You sighed heavily as you walked to the bedroom, looking over at Tony, “I’m afraid of what happens if she decides I’m too dull and dingy to be considered treasure.”

~~~~

Natasha woke up the next morning with a raging headache and foggy memories of the night before. “[y/n], dear, can you grab me a glass of water?” She asked.

When no sound of movement came, Natasha reached across the bed, hands frantic as she didn’t feel you sleeping next to her.

Her eyes opening in pain from the sunlight streaming in through the window, she looked and saw what her hands already confirmed. You weren’t in bed. It was almost noon by the sun’s location, why wouldn’t you be in bed? Thinking back over foggy memories, she recalled something about the couch.

Stretching, she winced at the pain inside her skull. She really should not have snuck some of Thor’s asgardian liquor at Tony’s party.

Socks softly padding her feet, she walked out of the bedroom. “What in the..?” She stooped down to pick up the pieces of what appeared to be a shattered beer bottle. The smell of beer was on the floor and carpet. “What happened?” She muttered to herself. She threw the pieces of glass in the garbage and then walked around the couch, “Morning [Y/n]!”

Her smile evaporated when she saw that the couch did not hold a sleeping [Y/n] and looked immaculate.

Now panic was starting to set in, “Think Natasha, what happened last night, come on.” She paced the floors of the small apartment, fighting the headache as she tried to think about the last thing she remembered and work from there to figure out where you might be.

She recalled dancing with Tony, that was right after she did a couple shots of Asgardian alcohol. Then it got fuzzy. She thinks she remembers seeing Bruce, but she’s not sure.

“Okay, no need to freak out over your missing wife yet, let’s call Tony and see if he can help.” Talking to herself to help with the frazzled nerves, Natasha picked up her cell phone and dialed Tony’s number.

Her foot began to tap impatiently as it continued to ring. True, Tony was never good about answering his phone, but at Noon he should be in his lab and FRIDAY would have told him about Natasha’s incoming call.

When she got sent to voicemail, she dialed your number, teh consuming fear slowly cascading over her as she tried to remember anything about last night. She was an assassin, she should be able to figure out what happened.

Your phone went straight to voicemail, so your phone was off. Natasha felt frustration tears starting to pool. She clenched her fists. “Ugh!” She turned and punched the wall over the garbage bin. The light glinted off the glass in it from the beer bottle she had picked up and as it did, a memory washed through Natasha’s mind.

*Natasha scoffed, throwing off her shoes and walking over to the fridge, pulling out a beer, she popped the cap off and took a swig, “Yeah, a friend….that’s not what I saw from where I stood. What kind of friend looks at another friend that way? Huh? Are you cheating on me with Bruce [Y/n]!? Is that why I never see you two hanging out together?”

You had gasped, tears springing to your eyes at her raised tone and accusation. “How dare you Natasha! I would never cheat on you! Bruce is just a friend! We had a little chat tonight, that was all.”

Natasha had thrown her beer bottle at you, making you flinch as it shattered against the wall. The leftover beer in the bottle spraying the room.*

Natasha covered her mouth as she recalled that part of the night, “Oh my god. What did I do, [Y/n]?”

For the rest of the day, she kept switching between calling Tony’s phone and yours, as the headache went away, more and more memories of the night before emerged.

“Tony, please, I just want to talk to my wife. Please. Please call me back when you get this message.” Natasha sighed, ending the voicemail.

Natasha collapsed onto the bed she normally shared with you, turning to stare at the framed picture she had on her side table of your wedding day.

Staring into you sparkling [e/c] eyes, so filled with love and joy, Natasha felt tears slide down her cheeks, “Oh [Y/n]. Please, please come back to me.”

Natasha fell asleep that night, curled up in herself, worn out from the sobs that tore up her heart.

Two days later, Natasha decided that enough was enough, she was going to get her wife back. She didn’t bother to change out of the grungy shirt and sweats that she had been living in for the past days. Walking outside, she hailed a cab.

She knew you, and she knew you would go to where you felt surrounded by family, and so, she was on her way to the Avengers tower.

~~~~

You had taken Tony up on his offer to stay as long as you needed. Sleeping in his guest room for the past three nights.

You had kept your phone off the entire time, not willing to risk your wife calling because you knew you would break down and forgive her.

Spending most of your time either crying yourself to sleep in the guest room or sitting down in the lab with Tony and Bruce.

On the third day of your self imposed exile, you decided maybe it was time to talk to your wife. You couldn’t avoid her forever.

“Are you sure about this [Y/n]? Cause you know you always have a place here and we can get the best divorce lawyers.”

You let out a sad chuckle, “Thanks Tony, but I really don’t want a divorce at the moment.”

Since Wanda had taken you shopping the morning after you had arrived at the tower because you didn’t want to go home to get clothes, you had a lot of outfits that needed to be packed. Once the last suitcase was zipped shut, you piled them in the living area.

“Miss. Natasha Romanoff is requesting entry, Tony has set me to deny her unless otherwise authorized by himself or you.” FRIDAYS calm voice rang through the suite. Your heart began to beat furiously inside your chest.

Natasha was here? Why? “Let her up FRIDAY, thanks.” You were shocked at how calm your voice sounded replying to the AI.

You sat next to your suitcases, on the couch, nervously fiddling with your fingers in your lap as you listened for the ringing of the elevator signaling your wife had arrived.

“[Y/n]?” You cringed as you heard her smooth voice. The sound doing things to your emotions that you tried so hard to conceal.

You kept your head down at your hands as you heard her walk in towards you.

“[Y/n], sweetie, look at me, please.” Her voice was so broken, so full of pain, that you couldn’t stop yourself from doing what she asked.

A gasp escaped as you caught sight of Natasha. She looked like she had been in hell. Her red hair was dull and tangled, and her green eyes were empty. She was wearing a shirt and sweatpants that were covered in food stains and were rumpled.

One hand instinctively reached out towards her, but you caught yourself and brought your hand back down to your lap.

“Hello.” That was so lame, why did you just say hello? You mentally kicked yourself.

Natasha’s eyes softened, “Hi.”

“So, uh. What are you doing here?” You glanced away, hoping that Tony would stay in the lab with Bruce and not come into the room at this moment.

Natasha sat down next to you on the couch, leaving space between the two of you, “I should ask you that, but I can probably guess the answer. [Y/n], I’m so sorry.”

She noticed the suitcases then and her hands clenched into fists at her side before releasing in defeat, “Where are you going?” Her voice small as she asked.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you closed them. Your heart was being torn into two, one half wanting to forgive your wife right then and there and the other wanting her to suffer as she made you suffer.

“Nat…”

She interrupted you, and you could tell she was getting frantic as her tone grew worried, “No, let me apologize. Please, don’t leave me. I know that this is not an excuse, but I drank some asgardian liquor that night at Tony’s party.”

Your eyes shot wide at that, turning your head you stared at Natasha, she looked abashed. You knew about asgardian alcohol. For a mortal to drink it and still be alive, was astounding.

“I woke up the next morning and nearly dissolved into a panic attack when I couldn’t find you, I didn’t remember anything about the night before. It was all a blur, a fog. But I slowly got my memories back, and oh my gosh [Y/n], I am so sorry.”

Tears slide down that face that you loved so much, you reached out and wiped away a tear, watching a watery smile graced her lips as she looked at you.

“I know you would never cheat on me. And I can’t express how angry I am at myself at my behaviour that night when we got home. I swear on my soul that I will never ever throw something at you, or get angry with you, or call you names, ever again, or I will rot in hell. I love you so much baby. Please, come home with me.”

You knew you were going to forgive her, but you needed her to understand that she had hurt you, “Natasha. I love you too. But what you did, what you said. It really hurt me. It tore me apart in ways I never thought possible. You put your hands on me and you pierced my skin with your words.”

Natasha saw you as you rubbed your wrist which sported an ugly green and purple bruise, fading, from where she had grabbed it.

You saw her swallow hard, more tears flowing down her face. She reached out, and you let her gently grasp your wrist in her hand. She raised it up to her face and peppered the bruise with feather light kisses, barely touching the skin.

“Please, [Y/n]. I promise to make it up to you. Every day for the rest of our lives together. I promise to show you how much you mean to me,” She kissed her way up your arm, speaking between kisses, “I promise to shower you with affection in bed and out of it,” Her kisses reached your shoulders, kissing the fabric of your shirt. You shivered at the sensation and the love flowing through you, “I want us to laugh, and love each other, I want our kids to have a loving family. I want to show you that you are amazing and wonderful and perfect.”

She reached the side of your face and stopped. Peering into your eyes hopefully.

You broke, you reached out and pulled her roughly to you, smashing your lips against hers in a fervor.

You melted into her lips, the vanilla cherry scent that you had come to connect to home surrounding you and pulling you in deeper.

Her moans were an aphrodisiac as her mouth opened and teased your lips to open as well. Her tongue dancing with yours to the song of millions of decades of love and passion.

“So you crazy kids back together then?”

You and Natasha jolted apart at the intrusion. You blushed as you looked over to where Tony and Bruce stood. Tony stood smiling like a proud father while Bruce, was his usual reserved self, hung in the back.

Natasha stood up and walked over to Bruce and gave him a hug.

You suppressed a giggle at the shock on Bruce’s face at the sudden show of affection.

“Thanks for looking after [Y/n] Tony, but I think I am going to take my wife home now.” Natasha said, traces of her tears all but gone from her face, back to being the confident woman you had fallen in love with.

“Did she accept your apology?” Tony asked, looking over at you, you could see the hint of worry in his gaze.

You stood up and laced your fingers with Natasha’s, your grin big as you spoke to both Tony and your wife, “Yes. I did. Let’s go home.”

FOREVER Taglist:

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Natasha Taglist:

@ludwigvonbaethoven @hanjiscience-slut @kitten-q-p @morbid-gaymer @honeybadgerwhodoesntcare @sunnyandtwisty @zoeyknight

Avengers Taglist: 

@jadepc

#Avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x you #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #Black Widow #avengers tower #avengers fanfiction #imagine #avengers imagine #imagines request #reader insert #tony stark #bruce banner #angst #fluff #tag list #please give credit #please give feedback #rose writes #enjoy

[yeshawrites]

4.

AGENCY, CHAPTER 4. You can find all other works of mine here. NOTES: This story is not always friendly. It contains some graphic content, brief mentions of non-sexual nudity, murder, death, and plenty of language. Please be advised before you read it. Some upsetting content is in this chapter.

Dahlia sat perched on the edge of her bathroom counter, teasing her bubblegum pink, short hair just so. Peering intently into the mirror, she dragged a finger slowly downward under her eye, poking at the skin. Bags? Oh no. That would simply not do. She turned to the left, unlatching a multi-tiered box and sliding the trays out one by one. Pots and pump bottles and lotions of all sorts sat in the bottom, eyeshadows stacked neatly on the second row and more lipsticks, mascaras, and eyeliners than were necessary piled together in the third. Teasing her favorite face cream out, she pumped a dollop onto her finger and set to massaging it in. Exactly two minutes, she reminded herself, then let sit for two minutes. That was what the sales rep said. Makeup had come so far.

Technology as a whole, she mused absently, had come even farther. How long ago was it that they were using telegrams? Now you took a picture on your phone and it was global in mere seconds. It excited her something terribly, but even her exuberance at the newness was tempered with caution. Better technology meant better cameras and heat sensors and traps and communication. She supposed even Jason Voorhees might have been stymied by kids who thought to SnapChat him. But that was where knowledge came in. As quickly as technology had sprung up, her knowledge was still a vast pool, a shark in the water. Cameras were fallible, and heat sensors could be tricked. People made mistakes. Traps sprang without their prey. It was just a matter of patience, caution, and knowledge. Dahlia inspected her skin tone and spread a light color correcting creme over her face, applying a layer of foundation after. Touching up with a hint of blush, she combed her wayward brows and plucked them to perfection. Out came her eyeliner. Oh how she loved eyeliner; back in the day she used so much that these modern sticks would never have lasted her. Now she preferred to keep it simple. She coated her eyelashes with a layer of mascara and applied her lipstick: bright, vibrant pink. Too much pink? She asked herself. No. Never too much pink. She hopped from the counter and pranced through her sunny pink-and-white bedroom, candy cane stripes on her wall and plush pillows on her bed and billowy, pink curtains drawn over long windows. Delving into her closet, Dahlia pried out a pair of jeans and a white top, throwing on a pink necklace to match her sparkly pink nails. She appraised herself in the mirror and blew herself a kiss. How she had ever thought to go out in public before makeup was a continual source of wonder and embarrassment for her. “I’m lovely.” She smiled broadly at herself and did an experimental twirl. Now for shoes. Reaching under her bed, Dahlia pulled out a steamer trunk overflowing with them. She positively, absolutely adored the things. Heels, flats, boots, platforms, wedges--anything was good by Dahlia so long as they were cute. She’d once picked a fight with a Seraph after he broke one of her favorite heels. It had not gone well for her--but it had not gone well for him either, the smug, suit-wearing bastard. Rifling through the packed case, she pulled out a pair of three inch, strappy bubblegum heels with a large stone set on the front of them. How perfect--a perfect outfit for a perfect day. She pulled on her purse and hopped down the stairs two at a time, never afraid of falling. Jangling her keys about in a hand, Dahlia stepped into her living room (also decorated mainly in pink, grey the compliment this time) and peered through the French doors into her dining room. “I’ll be back!” Wiggling her fingers in a wave, she gave a sad smile to the man duct taped to her dining room chair. His eyes were huge with horror, sweat rolling in beads down his forehead. “Now now, don’t sweat all over that chair. It’s an antique, I’ll have you know, straight from Russia. You stay put right there until I get back.” The man had no choice. He tried to say something, but it came through the tape as only a muffled mmmmmmph. “What was that? Oh, I’m sure you can tell me all about it once I come home and deal with you. Toodles!” Popping her pastel pink earbuds into her ears, she turned up her music and bounced out the door, locking it securely behind her. --- Click click click click click click click click click-- Tiffany rested her head against the window, staring directly at Jeremy, wondering when he would turn the damn blinker off. It had been on for the better part of two miles and no sign of stopping yet. Midlothian Turnpike was hell enough without the infernal noise. Click click click click click click click--He hummed something absently and she wondered if he even knew it was on. “Blinker’s on,” she announced finally. He gasped as if shot and smacked it down. “Well that’s embarrassing. I’m becoming an old man.” “You’re twenty-two.” “I’m aaaaancient.” She rocked her head back against the window and stared outside at the yellow street lights flickering by. The sky was an inky black bleeding into blue, the headlights carving a path through the deserted streets. Night shifts sucked, especially in the Midlothian area. At least there was something to look at in Richmond; up in the suburbs, there was nothing but fast food and grocery stores and banks and dentists. They passed a 7-11 converted into a pizza place and Tiffany wondered why it was that the convenience store did so poorly around here. She assumed it had something to do with all the rich people. “You aren’t mad at me or something, are you, girl?” Jeremy asked anxiously. “Huh? No. No, why?” He heaved relief. “Oh, good. You were just quiet is all. I was worried you were annoyed with me or something.” “Over the blinker? Sure,” she joked. “But no. We’re solid. I’m just tired.” “Yeah.” Nodding sympathetically, he took a turn past the gym. “You work hard, lady. You should take a break from that restaurant every once in a while.” “Nah, ‘cause then my parents will really think I’m not doing anything.” “Oh God. Are they still hounding you about college?” “Yep,” she sighed. “I tried to tell them I wanted a year off before I committed.” “Didn’t listen?” “Nope.” “Aw. I’m sure they’ll come around. They love you no matter what.” Tiffany side-eyed Jeremy and wondered what he meant by that. His parents no longer spoke to him. Apparently accepting their daughter as a son was not possible.

“Do you want to play some music?” He offered. “Oh, come on. We never agree on music.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. That’s right. I mean, maybe you’ll like The--” “--If you say ‘Decemberists’, I’ll kindly remind you we listened to that the last six times you were trying to come up with a compromise.” “Two times.” “Two times,” she admitted. “You get what I’m saying.” “Well,” he started slowly. There was a cop ahead of them. Even though their plates would come up with special privileges, Jeremy slowed on instinct. “We could just pop on the radio. It gets dull if no one is talking.” Tiffany thought about it and mentally agreed. They needed something going. Once midnight hit it would be twenty hours awake for her, and she was ready for bed. She punched the radio on and ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears filled the cab. Her laughter intersected with Jeremy’s squeal of delight. “Oh come ON. You, the hipster king, like Britney Spears?” “I don’t think you understand.” He held up a finger while taking the u-turn near the YMCA, heading right back the way they came. “This was my middle school-slash-high school jam.” “Jer, could you get more stereotypically gay right now?” “I’m pretty sure ‘Toxic’ is a baby gay rite of passage,” He joked. “Anyone who says they didn’t like ‘Toxic’ but still like it up the butt is lying to you.” “Jeremy David--!” The sensor box mounted on the dash glowed fiercely blue, warped into purple, tried to force its way back to green and began squealing. Jeremy stomped on the brakes, the Lincoln screeching to a halt the same time that the sensor outright exploded, bits of wire and plastic casing spraying them. Tiffany screamed and shielded her face, drawing her knees up protectively as Jeremy dove for cover. A moment of silence as the pieces rattled to the floor like hail, and they both surfaced tentatively to inspect the damage. “What the hell was that?” She asked shakily. “No fuckin’ clue,” Jeremy managed. Together they stared out the windows at their surroundings, nearly forgotten in their conversation. To the left, a lake on the edge of an apartment complex lapped silently at walking trails. As one, their gaze shifted slowly to the right and to the mass of trees, a parking lot to a series of pathways leading into pitch blackness under the boughs. “Not the Coal Mines?” Tiffany moaned softly. “Might be.” He reached unsteadily for the radio mounted on the dash. “I’m calling this in.”

#Writeblr #Agency #4. #My writing #original fiction #Jeremy #Tiffany #Dahlia #monster of the week story

[simpleyetsassy]

My Makeup Diary

A sophisticated yet sassy make-up look not just makes you look beautiful but also boosts your confidence ,it surely helps to make a good impression on others. And if you are a person like me who hate’s to step out without any make-up on ; these tips might work for you. 

Today I’ll share my getting-ready photo diary and I’ll talk you through my typical make-up routine.I’ll also share some tips to get a ‘No make-up’ make-up look easily within a few minutes. 

The products that you will need are mentioned below, you can use any brand that suits you the best. All you need is :  

A moisturizer or serum

Sunscreen

BB /CC cream (I prefer cc cream more because I personally feel BB creams tends to get more oily throughout the day)

Primer

Concealer

Foundation

Powder

Bronzer

Blush

Highlighter

Brow pencil/ powder/gel

Mascara

Eye shadow ( preferably neutral shades )

Eye pencil (nude/white)

Eyelash curler

Lipstick

Setting spray

Brushes and a beauty sponge.  

I’m pretty basic when it comes to an everyday make-up look.For me, it’s all about the skin looking radiant and flawless. 

So, I start off with a clean ,dry face.I apply tea tree oil every time, after washing my face. Then put a moisturizer and a little sunscreen before applying primer.Primers help to smooth out the skin and make the pore appear less. But I don’t use primer on a daily basis because I don’t want clogged pores. So I jump to cc cream.Here’s the thing, if you have a clear skin then you don’t have to apply foundation but, as I have blemishes on my face , I go with a layer of foundation as well.

I apply the foundation using a brush with downwards motion this helps to make it look more natural. You should keep in mind that with make-up it’s always better to start with less product and then build it accordingly. If the blemishes still peek through, I apply a little bit of concealer just on the blemishes. I like to go over with a damp beauty sponge and blend it all well with dabbing motion.

I use a little concealer underneath the eyes in a ‘V’ shape, to cover the dark circle or any other discoloration.It also helps to brighten the face .To avoid creasing under the eye,I apply powder, right after applying the concealer. If you have oily skin like me then just use powder to set the whole face.

I like to finish my face before I move to eyes or lips , for an every day make-up look.

Now , it’s time to bring back some color on my face as I look dead,LOL!

As I have a round face, I like using powder contour to give my face more dimension. I apply bronzer using an angled brush, underneath my cheekbones, across my hair line and on my nose and chin. I think it makes my face look a lot slimmer.

Moving on to blush and highlight. I usually use a coral color for blush and go with a very light hand while applying. But , when it comes to highlighter I go crazy! I love blinding people with my highlight. Although for an everyday make-up look ,I apply soft highlight on top of my cheekbone, down the bridge of my nose and on the cupid’s bow.

Next the Eyes. Before I start on my eyes, I like to fill in my eye brows with a brow pencil and set it with a brow gel. I keep my brows as natural as possible.

Mostly,for an everyday make-up I don’t do much with my eyes. I just define them using my bronzer powder on the crease. Then I use a slight darker color on the outer corner of my eyes. With the help of a fluffy brush I blend them in.One step that makes a big difference is to add a little highlight on the inner corner and on the brow bone. Then apply an eye pencil which is nude in color, to the waterlines.This makes my eyes look bigger and more awake.

The Eyeliner application depends on the time and mood. If I have enough time and not feeling lazy to struggle for a perfect wing, only then I apply my eyeliner. But , if I’m running late or feeling lazy , I leave it as it is. It is never a must have thing for me. One thing that I never skip during getting ready is, applying mascara. I always apply two coat of my favorite mascara and curl my lashes beforehand with an eyelash curler,so that my lashes look bigger and it also gives volume to my lashes. In that way I don’t need to put fake lashes on. ‘ The Golden Rose Cat Walk ’, is the best mascara I’ve ever used, hands down. It does every thing that a good mascara is suppose to do and it’s budget friendly as well.

Last but not the least, lipstick. I don’t know why but nude lipsticks always draws my attention.I have a bunch of nude lipsticks and they are my go-to lipsticks of all time. I apply any nude lipstick from my collection, preferably matte. To finish it off, I set my face with a good amount of setting spray and I’m good to go.

Hope you like this everyday ‘No make-up’ make-up look and give it a try.

#no_make-up_make-up_look everyday_make-up be+beautiful

[identybeautynet]

60 s' Eye Makeup Looks Are Trending — Here's How To Go Mod

60 s' Eye Makeup Looks Are Trending — Here's How To Go Mod 60 s' Eye Makeup Looks Are Trending: The 1960s was an era of change. The decade threw prior notions of female posterity and modesty to the wind, which gave us trends like mini skirts and beautiful eye makeup. Neutral tones and delicate cat eyes were traded for pastel colors and bold eyeliner. Although the era’s influence has long lingered in modern-day trends, ‘60s eye makeup looks have recently been coming back in full force. I first took stock of the ‘60s eye makeup revival while scrolling TikTok (#modmakeup currently has over 1.9 million views). All of a sudden, my feed became an endless array of floating eyeliner and Jean Shrimpton makeup tutorials. Then I started noticing the beauty style on celebrities like Bella Hadid, Lily Collins, and Lucy Boynton. And, TBH, it makes sense — the curtain bangs of the the 1960s bombshells have been all the rave this year, so makeup was sure to follow suit. It’s a trend makeup artists are noticing, too. “I see the convergence of a couple of factors driving this renewed interest in the ‘60s aesthetic,” says Fatima Thomas, senior national artist at M.A.C. Cosmetics. One reason? The pandemic. “The ‘60s featured a strong emphasis on eye makeup, making it the perfect inspiration for mask-ready beauty,” she tells Bustle. The second factor has to do with the reemergence of society, she explains, and people wanting to embrace the newfound freedom outside of quarantine. Before you hop into your cosmetic time machine, make sure you’re stocked with Q-tips, small liner brushes, and micellar water to delicately fix mistakes, says Jamie Dorman, celebrity makeup artist. Then you can have fun recreating four of the most iconic ‘60s eye makeup looks, below. We only include products that have been independently selected by Bustle's editorial team. However, we may receive a portion of sales if you purchase a product through a link in this article. 1. Dramatic Bottom Lashes (aka ‘The Twiggy’) The makeup look that’s most synonymous with the ‘60s is the dramatic bottom lashes made famous by women like Twiggy and Diana Ross. The doll-like glamour effect was achieved by painting on eyelashes underneath the eye. When creating this at home, you’ll need a light eyeshadow color, dark eyeliner, mascara, and, depending on personal preference, individual false lashes. Dorman says the process begins by applying a light eye color all over the eyelid. Then, using a dark or bold eyeliner, draw a half-circle that goes around the eye socket. If the floating liner feels too dramatic, you can replace the socket outline with a more demure smear along the lash line. The pièce de résistance of this look, however, is the lashes. Take your eyeliner of choice and “draw on the lower lashes towards the outer edge of the eye,” says Dorman. You can choose to draw them on uniformly or in descending size from outside the eye to the inner corner. The last part of the equation is mascara: “You want to use a lot of mascara for this look, preferably a volumizing formula,” she says. Once you’ve coated the top and the bottom lashes, you’re good to go. 2. Bedroom Eyes (aka ‘The Edie Sedgewick’ Another eye makeup revival from the ‘60s is Edie Sedgewick-style bedroom eyes, according to Dorman. The look is a subtler take on the Twiggy-esque bold lower lashes: The clean lines with precise shapes are replaced with softness and blending. Begin by painting your lids in a light color shadow, says Dorman. Then, arm yourself with a dark eyeshadow and a thin eye brush. “Draw a line through the crease that peaks on the inner side of the socket and descends downward as it approaches the outer edge of the socket,” she explains. Since it’s done with shadow rather than pencils, it’ll be easier to blend. With the same eyeshadow brush, finish by drawing a line under the bottom lashes and then smudging it for a perfectly undone je ne sais quoi. 3. The Sharon Tate The late Sharon Tate epitomized a beauty look that combined the previous two makeup styles. “This look has the same shape as ‘the Twiggy’ through the crease along with the same smudgy-ness of the ‘Sedgwick,’” says Dorman. The defining feature is the crease line, which ends on the outer edge of the top lid. The rest, however, is dealer’s choice: Add individual false bottom lashes, a pastel base shadow color, or whatever eye makeup look you’d like. Because the finished eye makeup can sometimes wind up looking costume-y, Dorman suggests pairing it with a glossy lip to keep things modern. 4. 1960s Smoky Eye (AKA ‘The Brigitte Bardot’) The final 1960s makeup look making the rounds is “a smoky, deep-toned, winged out, and smudgy eye inspired by Brigitte Bardot,” says Dorman. Because it’s meant to be imprecise, it’s the easiest one to master. All you really need are two eyeshadow colors, says Dorman: “A deep tone for the socket and under the eye, and a very slightly lighter shade for the lid,” she tells Bustle. The depth and darkness of the look are completely up to you — go with a light touch or build on the pigment for depth and contrast. Besides the two shadows, Dorman says an easy way to bring this look into the modern-day is by adding glossy glitter to the lid. beauty tips: 60s' Eye Makeup Looks Are Trending — Here's How To Go Mod, beauty tips: 60s' Eye Makeup Looks Are Trending — Here's How To Go Mod, beauty tips: 60s' Eye Makeup Looks Are Trending — Here's How To Go Mod Read the full article

[betweensceneswriter]

Jimjeran-Chapter 30 : Date Night

They’ve been married a while…it’s definitely time they went on a date!

Click Here to Hop to the Table of Contents

The Entire Work on Archive of Our Own

Previously on Jimjeran- Chapter 29 : Love Notes Claire & Jamie write letters to people they love.

     “You seem happy today,” I remarked, as Jamie squashed me in a big hug on Wednesday morning.  He did indeed seem to be especially buoyant.  He had cheerfully made breakfast, packed us lunches, swept the kitchen floor, and even watered my garden for me. 

      “I am,” he said.  “Today is the day, and I have plans.” 

      “You do?” I said.  I knew exactly what he meant.  I don’t think I’d ever been so glad to have my period end.  Already, I felt a sense of anticipation of freely making love with no worries.

      “Aye, ye better prepare yourself to be romanced, Ripālle.”  Somehow his words made me feel all shivery inside, and he chuckled at the way I squirmed. 

      “What in the world do you mean?” I asked.

      “Well, I realized I’ve never taken ye on a date,” Jamie said.  “That didna seem right to me.  So, as I said, I have plans.” He grinned, appearing extremely proud of himself.

      “A date?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at him.  “How shall I dress for this date?”

      “I think…” Jamie pretended to be contemplating, “I think, um, dressy island wear might be appropriate.”

      “And when should I be ready for this date?” I asked.

      “Let’s say, 6 o’clock?  Half hour before sunset?” 

      “Do I need to stay out of the apartment today, or at least this afternoon?” I asked him.

      “What kind of man do ye think I am?” Jamie said, indignantly.  “I take ye on a date to our kitchen?”

      “It wouldn’t be horrible,” I said.  “It’s not like there are any restaurants or theatres to go to.”

      “Nah,” he said.  “I have better plans than that.”  He was giddy, and it was adorable.

     Just then there was a knock on the door.  Jamie answered it, and we saw a small boy with long black hair flopping in his eyes, shyly looking downward.  Jamie squatted down to his level so he wouldn’t look so terrifying.  The little boy spoke so quietly that I couldn’t hear him at all. 

      “Koṃṃool, Abner,” Jamie said.

      “Kon jouj,” the little boy said.  ‘Con zhush’ meant ‘you’re welcome’, if I recalled correctly.

     Jamie turned back to me.  “Looks like you may have to use sign language or the Marshallese-English dictionary today.  Sharbella has morning sickness, and Abner says she’s not going to make it for clinic today.”

      “That’s okay,” I said.  My heart had sunk momentarily, but I realized it was probably good for me. “You and Sharbella keep on teaching me words, and I made out my cheat sheet for medical terminology, anyway.  It’ll be good practice for me.”  Jamie cocked his head and smiled at me admiringly. 

     Right before he headed out the door for school, Jamie turned back to me, a playful gleam in his eye. “Just so you know, though, with all the work I’m putting into this, I’m probably going to expect you to put out tonight.”

      “Put out?  What decade were you born in again?  That is not gentlemanly at all,” I retorted indignantly, but then added with a suggestive smile.  “But, just so you know, I probably will be very… very…very… grateful.”  It made me laugh when my words appeared to make him shudder as well.  “And I imagine I will want to demonstrate my gratitude.”

     He stopped, and narrowed his eyes at me.  “Now that is not fair, Claire.  How am I supposed to make it through the school day wondering what my wife means when she says she’s going to show me her gratitude?”

      “The same way I’m supposed to make it through the day wondering what you have planned for us,” I smiled.

     Jamie had been gone about ten minutes when I looked on the kitchen counter and realized he had left his sandwiches behind.

     I had been struggling through my patient interviews for about an hour when there was a light tap on the clinic door.  It was Riti Botla, Jamie’s bright little student.

      “Riti!” I said.  “Are you okay?  E metak?”

      “No, Miss Peachay,” she smiled.  “Meester Shamie ask me to come help you a little.  He say translating for you will be good practice for my English.”

     I would have hugged her or at least patted her on the head in gratitude, but Jamie had recently told me (after I’d already made the mistake) that pointing at or touching people on the head is offensive in the Marshallese culture.

     Things went much more quickly with Riti’s help.  I still tried to pay attention to her questions and their answers, but it wasn’t nearly as stressful or time consuming.  A few times, an embarrassed adult would ask her to leave and we’d struggle through the words and definitions for their more grown-up issues, but in general, it was so much easier with a young translator.

     I was finishing up with my last patient when a chuckled murmur passed through the little crowd of ladies gathered under the tree in front of the clinic. 

      “Why are they laughing?”  I asked, trying to remember the Majel words.  “Kōn ta ettōñ? (et tong).  Is that right?”

      “Good, Miss Peachay!” Riti exclaimed encouragingly.  “You ask why they are laughing.  They say Meester Shamie an lukkuun ṃōkaj neōṃ ,”

      “Muh gus?” I asked.  I knew ‘loo-koon’ meant very.

      “Ṃōkaj is fast,” smiled Riti.

      “And ‘nem’?” I asked.

      “Legs,” Riti said.

      “So, they’re saying Mister Jamie has very fast legs? That he runs very fast?”

      “Ayet,” Riti answered.  “And the mamas say Meester Shamie kōṇaan ipādwaj.  He wants to be with you,” Riti was blushing, even through her tan, so I assumed there may have been some double entendres in their statement.  “Joñan wōt e maroñ…As much as he can.” I couldn’t help but smile.  We might speak different languages, but they had a good grasp on my husband’s intent.  I began to wonder whether he’d left his lunch at home on purpose.

      “Iọkwe,” the ladies started to say, getting up from their places.  “Koṃṃool tata, Miss Peachay.”

“Kon jouj,” I said, waving to them, then locking the clinic door.

     I felt hyper alert as I went into our cabin.  With my last glance down the road, Jamie was nearly to the clinic, loping along on his ‘muh gus nem’ towards me.  I had a feeling sandwiches might not be the first thing on the agenda; in fact, I really hoped they weren’t.  I tossed my panties into the hamper just as I heard the door knob turn.

      “Well,” Jamie said, shutting the door, looking at me with a question in his eyes.

      “Well,” I said, turning to him with an inviting smile and a nod. 

      “I’m trying to make up my mind whether to do it really slowly and savor every second, or follow my instinct, which is to eat my sandwiches right here in the kitchen.”  He grinned as his joke slowly sunk in, the look on my face registering confusion as I realized what he’d said.

      “Sandwiches?” I asked dryly.  Jamie laughed, but then smiled sweetly.

      “Oh, I misspoke,” Jamie said huskily, stepping closer to me.  “To slowly savor every second of making love to my wife, or to ravish her right here in the kitchen.” 

      “How about a compromise?” I suggested, boosting myself up onto the counter behind me.  “Itok, Jamie.  Come here.”

     Jamie stepped between my knees, pushing my skirt up as he did, his hands traveling up my thighs.

      “Yer skin is so soft, Claire,” he murmured into my lips, his fingers stroking circles toward the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.

     I gasped unintentionally as he brushed his fingers against my abdomen, and Jamie drew away, eyes wide. “Ye arna wearing any panties,” he grinned, then kissed me more hungrily as he explored my wet warmth.

      “Wait,” I whispered. “Too much.  Too soon.  Make me wait.  Make me beg for it.”

      “Aye?”  He drew his hand away, circling underneath my skirt to clasp my buttocks, but stepping closer, so I could feel his hip bones pressing against my thighs.  I pulled his shirt off over his head and put my hands on his chest, warm and soft with curling hair. 

     His lips were on my neck, and I squeaked a little as he nibbled on me.

      “I think I might have you for lunch instead,” he said, chuckling with a deep rumble as I shivered at his words, meeting my lips with his and pressing himself to me as he dug his fingers into the hair at the back of my neck.  I started feeling lightheaded.

      “Jamie, oh hell, it’s time.  I can’t wait any longer,” I said, reaching down to undo his shorts.

     He stepped away from me, breathing heavily.  “Sorry,” he said, with a glint in his eye.  “We’re saving it for tonight.”

      “Really?” I said skeptically, drawing my dress off over my head. I wasn’t wearing a bra, either.

      “Oh, Christ,” Jamie said, looking at me in stunned appreciation.  “You’re right.  I dinna have that much self-control.”  He unbuttoned his shorts and dropped them to the floor.

     I hadn’t put makeup on since coming to the island.  Sweat and humidity made makeup uncomfortable and impermanent, and the fact that no one else wore it made it completely unnecessary. The fresh-faced look made me look younger, but the thought of a date had me bringing out the makeup bag.  It was almost shocking to see myself with mascara and eyeliner after a month without.  After that I looked through my clothes, feeling surprisingly jittery as I tried to decide what to wear, despite the fact that I was going on a date with my husband.  There was one slinky wrap sundress that crossed at the bust with a plunging v-neck , and I decided to skip the bra. Even though we’d already had a lunchtime quickie, I had a feeling we weren’t finished for the day.

     The hair.  That was the last, challenging, frustrating thing.  Humidity made it curl up more than ever, so I’d take to twisting it into a bun most days.  I rarely had time to fuss with it, but today, I felt like it was worth it to take the time.  I got my hair wet and pulled out my DevaCurl  from Sephora, expensive stuff that it was, and worked it through my hair.  It had a way of binding the curls together into ringlets instead of crazy frizz, giving them enough weight so they drooped down instead of standing out wildly all over the place.

     As I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt only a faint sense of recognition of the girl I saw, but I was quite confident that Jamie would appreciate my efforts.

     Six o’clock brought a knock at the door.  I hadn’t realized Jamie had taken clothes with him to school, but he was dressed in khakis and a nice shirt.  His eyes widened at the sight of me, and he smiled.  I did notice his eyes drift downward, and his face flushed slightly.

      “Itok, Ripalle,” he said, holding out his hand to me and helping me descend the steps, like we were heading down the stairway into some grand ballroom instead of our coral rock side yard.  He led me down the road to the fishing dock on the ocean side.  At the end of the dock stood a small table and two chairs, lit by hurricane lanterns set on wooden crates.  Jamie pulled out my chair for me, and shortly after we were seated, Maria came grinning down the dock carrying two plates, which she set before us with a flourish and then left. 

     On the plates were barbecued chicken, a rice and squash dish, and roasted breadfruit.  I felt shy all of a sudden, and I was grateful to have something to do with my hands, and a place to look other than Jamie’s intense gaze.

      “Tell me about yourself, Claire,” said Jamie, as if this were a first date. “What brought you out to serve in the Peace Corps? And particularly, how did you decide on the Marshall Islands?”

      “Well,” I said, after finishing the bite of food I’d just taken, also like a first awkward date. “I am a nurse practitioner. From an early age, I always thought I would serve in the Corps.  And after feeling like I was in a funk for six months, I decided that now was the time.”

      “And how did ye choose Arno?”

      “I browsed through the options, and honestly, I chose the most primitive, most remote location that happened to also be in the islands.”

      “Pardon my asking, but why would a young lady such as yourself want primitive conditions?” Jamie asked. “You look mighty fancy tonight.”

      “Did I dress up too much?” If we had been in character before this, now I was definitely breaking character.  “Should I have skipped the makeup?”

      “Oh, Christ, no,” said Jamie, taking me in with his eyes.  “You look lovely, gorgeous.  I guess I just feel overwhelmed by ye, and for the first time, I realize how far up I married.”

     I scoffed.  “As long as I had crazy hair and didn’t wear makeup, you felt like we were in the same league?”

      “I wasna trying to be insulting,” he chuckled.  “It’s just, ye are a woman.  A grown person.  And next to ye, I must seem a wee child.”

      “Don’t say that,” I said.  “There are times I feel like an irresponsible baby next to you too.  No need to feel unequal.”

      “Aye, but ye look so classy!”

     I laughed.  “Come now.  You’ve met my parents.  We’re very down-to-earth people.”

      “I guess I’m not making my question clear,” Jamie said, wrinkling his forehead.  “I’m just surprised that ye ended up here.  That you chose the primitive surroundings.  There are a lot of cushier Peace Corps locations.  I only ended up here because I’d gotten in trouble wi’ the law.  It’s been good for me, but I dinna ken whether I would have chosen it.”

      “I wanted the year to count, if that doesn’t sound too strange,” I explained.  “It wasn’t likely that I’d be able to serve again.  If I was in a place that was just like a different city, a different America, with accents…that just wouldn’t have been enough.  Though I have to admit, if there had been a posting in Scotland, I might have actually considered it.”

     We were finishing with our food, and I heard a faint sound.  Turning toward the island from my seat facing the ocean, I saw a little procession of school children.  Several were playing ukuleles and guitars, and four of the little girls wore the grassy skirts of the native dancers.  They paraded shyly out onto the dock, and then performed an adorable song and dance for us.  Then, just as quickly as they had come, they disappeared into the darkness.

     The lamps still lit the area around us, but the sky had darkened, and the stars were becoming visible.  I was actually feeling a little chilled, as the cool ocean breeze rippled the water and headed toward the land.

      “Come here, Claire,” said Jamie, reaching for my hand.  He led me to the edge of the dock, where he sat down and had me sit between his legs.  The tide was low enough that our toes barely touched the water, and I leaned back against his warm chest.  He always had some extra source of heat and it radiated from him.

      “I have a gift for you,” he said.  I heard a faint rattling, and then he gently dropped a necklace over my head, lifting my hair in the back to put the cool, smooth pearls against my neck.  He kissed my shoulder as well.  I lifted the necklace to view it in the light.

      “Scotch pearls,” he said.  “Dougal brought them out for me.  They belonged to my mother, Claire.  She was one of the most precious things in my life, and so these pearls, which are one of the few things I have left of her are equally valuable.  And so are you.”

     I could barely see the pearls any more, my eyes swimming with tears, as I said, “I love you, Jamie.”

     He wrapped his arms around me.  “I love you, Claire.”

      “Let’s go,” I said.  “I need you to make love to me.”

     He stood and helped me up, and we walked hand in hand back home.

     The door of our apartment clicked closed behind us, and we were in utter darkness.  Jamie was behind me, and with a single step forward he was close enough that I could feel his breath on my hair.  I reached toward the light switch, but Jamie stopped my hand firmly.

      “No lights.” he said. “Let’s just feel it this time.”

      “None?”  I asked. “I fixed myself up!”

      “And I can remember how lovely you look,” Jamie said.  “But I want to feel you.” As the skin on my arms pricked with goosebumps at his words, he kissed my neck, sending shivers up my spine.

      “Come on,” he said, leading me through the apartment.  Jamie had a sixth sense for his surroundings, and didn’t bump into anything, leading me safely to the side of our bed.

      “How does this dress fasten?” he asked, his hands traveling down my arms.

      “It’s a wrap dress,” I explained. “It ties in the front, and the ties wrap around.”

     Jamie’s fingers found the bow at the front, and he deftly untied it, letting the ties drop to slowly unwrap around my hips.

     It was interesting to go by feel.  Frank always wanted lights on; he needed to see me to get turned on.  I wasn’t worried about how I looked, and I was able to focus on sounds and sensations.  I found my way to the waistband of Jamie’s slacks; instead of unbuttoning them, though, I gently ran my hand down his fly.

     A sharp intake of breath told me he liked it.  I could feel how excited he was, too, which made me groan slightly.

      “Ye like that, do ye?” He asked.

      “Yes,” I whispered.  “I like knowing you want me.”

      “Oh, God, yes, I do,” he said.  I took my fingers back to the button and undid it, then unzipped his fly, taking advantage of the easier access to lightly stroke him once more.

     Jamie gently removed my hands, returning his attention to the front of my dress.  He pulled the ties loose, and with that done, gently slid the dress off my shoulders.

      “I am going to kiss every inch of your body,” Jamie murmured, laying me down on the bed.  I heard his clothing drop on the floor, and then the mattress sinking down under his weight as he knelt over me.  

     Starting at my neck, Jamie made good on his promise, kissing, licking, and nibbling my skin until I was panting and writhing  in arousal.

      “Jamie,” I begged.  “Jamie!  Please. Please.” I reached down and touched him with my  hand, which only made me gasp with anticipation.

     He lingered with his lips at my breast, slowly lowering his body onto mine, his abdomen between my legs.  Then I heard a chuckle.

      “Why are you laughing, Jamie?” I asked.  “Are you taking pleasure in torturing me?

      “No,” he  whispered huskily, “Its just, I can actually feel how much you want me.”

      “What?” I asked, slightly disturbed.

      “You are very…” he kissed my  breast, “very…” moving upward, he nuzzled my throat, “very…” he kissed me on the lips “wet.”  With that, he thrust solidly into me. 

     I cried out, and Jamie froze.  “I’m sorry, Claire,” he said. “Have I hurt ye?”

      “No,” I urged.  “Don’t stop! Please! Keep going!”

     I gripped Jamie with my thighs, shuddering with my own climax, moving with him until I had felt and heard him reach his own.

     Jamie collapsed on me, with a final gasp of amazement.  “Claire,” he groaned, “that was incredible.”

      “Darn it, Jamie,” I said in faux irritation.  “I have a policy of never sleeping with someone on a first date.”

      “Well, I am your husband,” he reasoned.

      “Guess I’ll have to forgive myself,” I chuckled, tucking myself into the comforting crook of Jamie’s arm.

Chapter Notes: I purposely chose primitive when I went as a volunteer teacher to Arno.  There were plenty of cooler, cushier places (Scotland, for example!) but I wanted to break out of my comfort zone.  No running water?  Sign me up.  No electricity?  Awesome.  And though the culture shock was extreme, and the first weeks of adjusting to our new life somewhat stressful, I was so blessed by the decluttered life I experienced.  Wish I could take my sons someplace like that—get them to unplug, just go snorkeling and play on the beach…

And you can thank @abbydebeaupreposts for the actual view inside their apartment.  I had taken the lazy route and just faded to black…  It’s a little more satisfying to peep.  ;)

On to Chapter 31 : Getting Settled Jamie and Claire settle into a routine. Of sex. Lots and lots of sex.

#Jimjeran #Outlander fanfic #Marshallislands #ScotchPearls #WeddingGift #alternate universe #canondivergence

[nathalia417-blog]

Makeup 101

 I remember I first started applying makeup when I was in 8th grade mostly because of peer pressure from by older friends. You would think that like most girls I love it, but sincerely I could say that I have a love/hate relationship with makeup. Some days I enjoy playing with all the different colors and get excited when my smoky eye turns out perfectly. But then there are those days when my liner refuses to go on straight, my bronzer makes me look like Snookie from Jersey Shore, or my lashes refuse to curl. That's when I want to toss my makeup bag out of the second story window at my apartment. I had one of those days last week, and after walking into a family gathering while wearing two very different winged tips on my eyes, my cousin suggested  I take a makeup seminar. So, even though she was not-so-subtly telling me that I suck at applying my own makeup, I decided to add that to my list of I want to achieve before the semester ends and share it here on my blog.

      I started of researching known makeup artist near my home and was surprised to find many. Each makeup artist offered different types of classes ranging from special effects courses, that teach you how to make realistic-looking zombies and vampires, to high fashion-focused programs that show you daring techniques seen on the runway and in magazine spreads. But for my purposes, the makeup 101 courses would suffice. I ended up deciding on taking the class with Bosony Casanova Peak who have me a private crash course in all things makeup for one full day. The day of the class, per Bosony’s instructions I recruited my cousin to serve as model that I could practice what I would learn. After spending all day learning about color theory and how to (properly) hold a makeup brush, I can say I'm now totally confident in my makeup artistry skills. The best part is that I picked up the best techniques to apply makeup beautifullyI without spending the thousands of dollars and crazy amount of time it takes to go to makeup school yourself. Since I believe we should all help one another I’ll share the most important lessons I received from my instructor.

      Lesson No. 1: Spend some bucks on your tools. Bosony began the lesson by introducing me to our tools. She highlighted the fact that tools and products are equally as important as the makeup skills that you have. For example, let's say you were using mediocre brushes, mediocre products, and had average skills. Just by improving the quality of your brushes and using richer pigmented products, the application would immediately be better, even without improving your technique. Once you have your tools, you need to know how to hold them. Where you hold a brush on the handle affects your control. The closer your fingers are to the barrel (the silver section beneath the brush head), the more pressure you put on the brush head and vice versa. In general, if you want to apply color evenly, place your fingers on the center of the brush handle. Another tip: You can easily turn a fluffy brush into a flat, angled brush by wrapping your hand around the bristles and flattening them.

      Lesson No. 2: Love your flaws — then conceal them. My instructor said that it is important to be able to identify someone's undertones and know how to manipulate the color wheel to get rid of unwanted color. I always wanted to learn how to cover up my zits and the bluish hues under my eyes. She said opposite colors cancel each other out, so green-pigmented concealer covers redness, and orangey concealer removes blue.  

      Lesson No. 3: Fix your face shape. My face is rounder than a Cabbage Patch Kid's and I can't stand my button nose. So when Bosony said that after the lunch break we would practice on how to properly alter your face shape and features, I was eager to learn. Here's how you can easily alter your face: If you have a round face and want to make it look more oval: Apply a bronzer a shade or two darker than your skin tone in a "3" shape alongside your face: on your temples, the hollow of your cheeks, and your chin. If you have a prominent forehead: Shade around the outer edge of your forehead along your hairline to minimize the area with bronzer. If you have a flat or wide nose: Shade alongside your bridge starting from your inner brows. Then highlight right on the center of your nose. If gravity is taking a toll and your cheeks are sagging: Apply a highlighter just above your cheekbone all the way to your temple. Use a blush directly on the cheekbone, then use a bronzer in the hollow of the cheek, underneath your bone.

      And if you really want to make your contouring stand out, use a sparkly highlighter, which will reflect the most light. Then for your bronzer, go for a matte finish, which will absorb light and create a stark contrast.

      Lesson No. 4: Stop applying eyeliner the wrong way. Finally, we got to work onto the technique that landed me in this makeup class in the first place. Eyeliner has always been hit or miss for me and now I know why. I've been doing it all wrong. I learned that you're actually not supposed to draw your liner all the way across your lashline in one motion. Instead, you're supposed to go from the inner corner to the center of your lid, then reload the brush and start from the outside corner until you meet the existing liner.

      Lesson No. 5: Getting Angelina Jolie's lips without injections. I have always been self-conscious about my small lips. Apparently, your lips are most balanced when the upper and lower lips are equal in size, or thickness, which is something I don’t possess. If you’re like me, you can use your knowledge of highlights and shadows to re-contour them. Step 1: Apply foundation to your entire lip. Not only does this help remove the natural pigments of your lips for truer lipstick colors, but it can also help you realize where your liplines actually are. Step 2: Using a white eyeliner pencil, very softly feather the pencil over the natural contour of the lip. Or use the pencil to make lips fuller or thinner by drawing it past your natural lipline or within it. Step 3: Redo the line with a lip pencil in the color of your lipstick. Step 4: Apply lipstick with a lip brush in a downward motion. So, from your cupid's bow to each outer corner, then from your outer corner to the center of your lower lip. This ensures an even application of the product. Step 5: Apply a light shade of base foundation around the new lip line, blending to a soft edge with a lip brush.       Lesson No. 6: Making fake brow hairs look real. Bosony says the biggest mistake women make with brows is choosing a color that's too dark. Dark brows can make you look older, so pick a color that's a couple shades lighter than your hair. If you're using a pencil: For a realistic look, apply more pressure at the bottom of the stroke where the root would be. Ease off on the pressure as you flick your stroke upward, using small strokes to make it most look like hair. If you're using a powder: Brush the powder starting from the outer corner of your brow and work against the direction of your hair growth. This ensures a more natural finish by allowing the brow hair to sit over the powder, so that your brows don't look drawn in.

      So, those are 7 seriously valuable lessons I learned from my time with Bosony. I’m in no way a professional or even close to being one but I seriously think I’ve gotten better at makeup because of them. Below I’ll share a few pictures of my experience including my cousins final look.

[egooksconnolly]

Lakme Kajal Review

Any makeup essentials list is incomplete without a good kajal. In fact, using a pencil liner for your eyes is probably one of the first things you did when you started wearing makeup. Wearing this basic cosmetic can enhance your look in so many ways. From drawing attention to your eyes to making your lashes look lush, a good liner does it all. In this article, I decided to go back to the basics to review one of the most popular liners before the arrival of the new Eyeconic Kajal and Maybelline’s Colossal Kajal ranges—Lakme Kajal.

Lakme Kajal Review

Description And Packaging

Lakme’s Kajal is described as an easy-to-apply pencil kajal that gives you a smooth finish and adds depth to your eye-makeup with its dark hue. The product claims to be smudge-proof and waterproof. It also claims to help your eyelashes grow longer. Like most old-school pencil liners, this one has to be sharpened once you are through with the tip. This black kajal is packaged as a jumbo eye pencil that needs to be sharpened. The product is simply wrapped in clear packaging.

Ingredients

While the Lakme Kajal does not come with an ingredients list, it is mentioned online that the product contains the goodness of camphor and castor oil which help soothe your eyes. This explains the lash-growth claims as castor oil is a renowned ingredient that helps increase eyelash length.

Features And Claims

Lengthens your eyelashes

Smudge-proof

Waterproof

Soothes your eyes

Does not feel heavy

Lasts throughout the day

Gives you an ultra-smooth finish

Expiry Time

36 months from the date of packaging.

Lakme Kajal – Complete Review And Performance

I’m not a frequent kajal wearer but was on the lookout for one when I came across Lakme’s Kajal. I decided to ask around to see what my friends and colleagues thought of it. While some swore by it, others weren’t too enthralled. Since I got mixed reviews, I decided to see for myself whether the kajal lived up to its claims. Here’s what I found-

While the product was extremely budget-friendly, it was the farthest thing from being smudge-proof (even after you give it time to set,) and it was one of the most disappointing cosmetic products I’ve used. It glides on well and has a smooth texture but takes multiple strokes to get to the desired darkness. It started to smudge onto my crease within the first hour of wear and lightened to a grey within the next couple of hours.

If you have oily skin, or sweat a lot, this is definitely not the right product for you and raccoon eyes are almost impossible to avoid. On the other hand, if you have dry skin and dig the smokey eye look, this product might just work for you. And since the kajal smudges so easily, it is super easy to remove.

As opposed to the claims made by the brand, the kajal did feel a bit heavy, and I was extremely aware of my eyes until the product smudged off. However, this could have been because I’m used to wearing liquid eyeliner.

As for the lash-growth claims, it’s hard to say as I haven’t used the liner long enough to notice any results. However, since the kajal contains camphor and castor oil, it might just improve the volume and length of your lashes.

Overall, the product did not live up to its claims but is worth the money if you want a liner that will give you a good smokey eye look.

How Long Does It Stay On?

The swatch on the left in the photo above is how the kajal looked immediately after application (with 3 strokes), and the swatch on the right is 3 hours after application. By this, it’s safe to say that it is almost impossible to keep this liner from smudging for more than three hours.

Pros

Budget-friendly

Travel-friendly

Glides on well

Doesn’t flake

Wipes off easily

Will last you for at least 4 months

Does not irritate your waterline

Perfect for a smokey eye

Cons

Smudges off quickly

Is likely to leave you with raccoon eyes

Needs to be used with primer

The tip doesn’t stay sharp enough for good precision

A lot of product goes to waste while sharpening

Settles in fine lines

How To Use/Apply 

For Your Waterline-

Gently pull down your lower lid with your index finger to expose your waterline.

Dry your waterline with a q-tip. Be careful not to poke your eye as you do this.

Run the kajal along your waterline.

Clean up any smudges with the q-tip.

As Eye Liner-

Sharpen your pencil for precise application.

Placing a finger on the outer corner of your lash line, pull gently so that your skin is taut.

Run the kajal along your lash line starting at the inner corner and working your way to the outer corner.

How To Remove

Select a makeup remover that is meant for removing eye makeup.

Saturate a cotton pad with the makeup remover.

Place the cotton pad onto your eye and hold it there for about 20 seconds.

Start wiping off the liner with gentle downward strokes.

Alternatively, you could follow the same steps using makeup remover wipes or baby wipes.

Price

Rs. 70/- for 2g

Rs. 139/- for 4g (2g x 2)

Rating

Considering that the kajal has really bad lasting power, I would rate it 2/5.

However, if you have dry skin and would like to use it to achieve a smokey eye look, you can get it here!

Do I Recommend It?

As I mentioned before, if you like a casual smokey eye look I would say go for it and buy this product. Since I prefer products that do not smudge, I am unlikely to repurchase it.

Using the Lakme Kajal reminded me of the little tubs of eyetex that were in most households when I was growing up. While it does have a nostalgic feel to it, I prefer using smudge-proof makeup, and this product just does not deliver. However, the things I do not like about this product might be things that are sought by another. Have you used Lakme Kajal? Tell me about what you like/dislike about it in the comments section below.

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