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shirakumos-sandwich-shop · 3 years

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❄️Arranged Marriage ❄️

SCARAMOCHE X FEM READER X TARTAGLIA

Part 1.

You caressed the delicate petals of the newly bloomed silk flower. It was much too cold in snezhnaya for such a plant to exist but with the gentle coaks of your dendro vision all the buds on the exquisite bush unfurled their petals. The warm sweet scent from the flowers contrasted dramatically with the flurries of snow you could see outside of the humid greenhouse. This is where you were happiest, in the small glass building behind your parents’ mansion. Here you could be alone to study your beloved plants as much as you wished. You collected the seeds from the silk flower for replanting. The door behind you creaked open letting in a burst of cold.

“For goodness sake close the door, it will damage the plants!” You spun around to confront the maid that had entered. The girl jumped to close the door behind her.

“I’m sorry for yelling, just please be careful. I’m working on a new specimen.”

“It’s alright Miss Y/n, I’ll be more careful next time.” She stepped forward. “Miss, your parents wish to speak with you about an important matter. They said for you to come right away.”

“Whatever it is, they can wait till I’ve finished collecting these seeds.” You returned to your meticulous work.

“They said right away Miss y/n.” The maid said urgently.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” You tucked the last of the seeds safely away in a drawer and pulled on your warm fur lined coat. You followed your maid out and carefully closed the greenhouse door behind you. Trudging through the snow to the large house.

You found your parents quietly discussing some important matter in your father’s study. As you entered the room they stopped talking and looked at you.

“Y/n, I told you to come quickly, yet here we are waiting around for you.” Your mother said forcefully.

“It’s alright y/n,” your father interrupted. “Have a seat.”

“What’s this about?” You asked while sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair.

“Should you begin or should I?” Your father asked your mother.

“You tell her, she listens to you, not me.” Your mother said grumpily.

“Well, your mother,”

“And your father.” Your mother interrupted.

“Yes, and I.” Your father spoke patiently. “We have decided it’s time for you to get married.”

Silence deadened the room as you stared at them in shock.

“….what?” Is all you could say. You had expected something like this to happen at some point but it was still a surprise.

“Yes y/n, it’s time for you to finally do something for this family. I will not allow you to fritter away your days like you have been.” Your mother chided.

“I’ve been studying! Not frittering away anything!” You raised your voice.

“Don’t speak to me like that! It’s all planned, we have a suitable young man already chosen.”

“I don’t even get to decide who it is?” You sputtered, standing up out of the chair.

“Y/n,” your father broke in tiredly. “Sit down.” You did as he asked. “I do think this is the best thing for you. I wouldn’t let it happen if I didn’t think so.”

Hot tears were threatening to burn your eyes now.

“If it makes you feel better he has not completely given his answer yet. He has his own conditions.”

“What are they? You're supposed to give him loads of money or something?”

“No,” your father chuckled. “Nothing like that. He wants to meet you, but anonymously. Tomorrow there is a celebration being held in honor of the Tsaritsa. He asked for you to come so he can meet you.”

“I won’t know who he is? Is that it?” You asked.

“Exactly.”

“How cliche…” you sighed.

“After he has met you, he will give us his final answer.”

“You better be on your best behavior tomorrow.” Your mother scolded you like you had already set the table clothes at the celebration on fire.

There was no escaping it, once your mother had her mind made up she wouldn’t stop until you gave in.

“Fine…” you got up and left the room.

———

Your mother had micromanaged your whole day leading up to the celebration. Your hair had been arranged, taken down, and rearranged so many times your head was aching. Yet she was never satisfied. You utterly rejected the frilly pink monstrosity that was the dress she had prepared. Once you threatened to vomit on the dress you finally had your way. You chose from your extensive closet a long gray dress with embroidered lavender flowers. Your dendro vision hung on your back. Night was beginning to fall and your mother was rushing you out the door.

The party reminded you of a ball out of a fairytale. You would have enjoyed the visual splendor if not for the anxiety growing in your gut. Your parents made their way through the crowds chatting and greeting random equantances. You headed off by yourself to find an empty table to sit at.

“Y/n!” A cheery voice said behind you. You turned to see your childhood friend Childe running up to you. “Fancy meeting you here?” He flirted.

“Oh shut up Tartaglia.” You nudged his side and he chuckled. He held out his hand to you.

“Well?” He said.

“What?”

“Aren’t we dancing?” He questioned.

“Ugh fine.” You rolled your eyes. As soon as you took his offered hand he whisked you onto the dance floor into an energetic waltz. Is the waltz supposed to be energetic?

He occupied your time with friendly chatting. You slowly became more comfortable with the whole situation, he always had that effect on you.

Could he be the one my parents were talking about?

Doubtful, why would he have needed to meet me first then. But… maybe, it could be. You dared to hope it was. The thought of marrying him was oddly comforting.

“Whatcha thinking about?” He asked curiously.

“Oh uh… nothing.” Your cheeks blushed at the thoughts you were just having.

“You were thinking about me huh?” He pinched your cheek teasingly.

“No! Shut up!” You huffed. “Just a lot on my mind is all.”

Should I tell him about the marriage?

You decided against it. It wasn’t even official yet.

“Can I sit down? I’m pretty tired out now.” You told him.

“Sure, y/n.” He led you to an empty seat next to the dance floor. Immediately someone who looked vaguely important started talking to him. He was a harbinger after all, many things occupied his time now.

“Y/n,” Tartaglia caught your attention. “I need to take care of something. I’ll be back okay?”

“Okay, see you soon.” You gave him a smile and you noticed a dusting of pink appeared on his cheeks. He spun around and left you alone once more.

Time passed slowly. You watched the people dancing and sipped on a cup of Monstat’s dandelion wine. Several men came up to you in this time and asked for a dance. You declined them all. If one of them was your potential fiancé you hoped he had been turned off for good. The touch of a hand lifting your vision from your back startled you and you wiped around. A man with dark purple hair and startling violet eyes raised an eyebrow at you.

“A dendro vision.” He said simply, running his finger over the green glassy surface of your vision. “Very unusual.”

“Yes? what about it?” You snapped. “Would you give it back please.” You held out your hand, you were almost surprised when he placed it into your palm.

“Not many people have those. I’ve only seen one, maybe two.” The unknown male said.

“So what?” You glared at him.

He smirked at your hostility. You found him oddly familiar, you knew you had seen him before but couldn’t place him. He walked over and sat next to you.

“Who are you?” He questioned.

“Why do you want to know?” You folded your arms.

“Because I’m interested.”

“In what? Me or my vision?”

“Both.” He said decidedly. He leaned back in his chair and unbuttoned his suit jacket. His questioning stare bore into you.

“Well?” He said.

“Y/n L/n.” You looked away quickly. In doing so you missed the sudden surprised expression on his face.

“I’m Scaramoche.” He said.

The realization of who you were sitting next to dawned on you.

“6th of the Fatui Harbingers?” You finished for him.

“You know who I am then?”

“Only by reputation.” You stated.

He got up from his chair and stood in front of you. You tried to avoid his piercing gaze but to no avail. He held out his hand to you.

“Coming?” He said.

“What?”

“To dance? I’m not asking twice.”

~ IDK IF I WILL POST THE OTHER PARTS TO THIS OR NOT, IF YOU LIKE IT AND WANT MORE LET ME KNOW~

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact imagines #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #scaramoche #scaramoche x reader #arranged marriage fic #angst #genshin angst #genshin fanfic #what am I doing??#genshin oneshots #childe

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writingwithcolor · 3 years

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Arab Character Joining Corrupt Superheroes, Police Parallels

Anonymous asked:

I’m writing a story with a Arabian diaspora main character. The story is about corrupt superheroes, and how they affect an oppressed superpowered minority. The main character is one of these superheroes, naively joining them in his teens believing he’s going to help people. Doesn’t help that his parents are having money trouble. Eventually he ends up fighting a superpowered crook, and gets a bystander killed.

1)I know portraying an Arabian character committing violence is a pretty touchy subject, even if accidental. Is there any way I can write this that makes it clear to the reader that the action itself is messed up without the unfortunate implication that Arabs are violent?

2)A large part of the story is the MC’s parents reaction. They are loving parents, however after this incident happens, they are confused and ashamed. While they still love him, they temporarily cut ties with him. Eventually they reconcile and start to be a family again. In my research (they are diaspora Saudi Arabians), Family is very important and tight-nit. Shame towards the family is to be avoided at all costs. However I’ve also read that disowning a family member rarely ever happens. Is there a way to write this kind of narrative with respect to this aspect of Arabian culture?

Let us begin with some terminology.

- If a person is from Saudi Arabia, they are Saudi Arabian, or more commonly, Saudi. This is their nationality.

- They may or may not be Arab. Arab is an ethnicity. Not all Saudis are Arab. Not all Arabs are Saudi.

- Arabic is a language. Lots of people across the world who are neither Saudi nor Arab speak Arabic.

- Arabian on its own is a word used to refer to a specific breed of horses.

If you are referring to humans, you want to either say "Saudi Arabian" (both words) or “Saudi” to indicate nationality, or "Arab" to indicate ethnicity. If you’re looking to describe your character’s culture, you probably want to call it Saudi culture. (While grammatically correct, talking about “Arab culture” doesn’t make much sense because Arabs are an incredibly diverse ethnic group and there is no such thing as a single monolithic Arab culture).

Now for the first question. In my mind, the issue is less about the character committing violence, and more about the premise of the story and how it mirrors real-life oppressive structures. You have an organized group of superheroes who think they are doing good by fighting “crooks” but in reality are enacting systemic oppression upon a marginalized group. This immediately brings to mind police violence, racial profiling, and the way that policing in North America is used as a tool of white supremacy while glorified in propaganda as a force for good. Essentially, you are telling a story about a character who joins an oppressive policing force, enacts violence upon a marginalized group as a result, and (I’m assuming) eventually realizes that they are not, in fact, the good guys. This is very close to being a “bigoted character learns not to be bigoted” story. I recommend re-examining your premise in light of the real-life parallels and asking yourself whether this is the story you want to tell.

The issue is compounded by the fact that your character is an Arab teen, who in real life is more likely to be the one facing racial profiling from the police. Taking this character and making him the oppressor in your story makes the already flawed premise even more problematic, especially if the characters in the oppressed group are white.

As for your second question, it seems believable to me that a teen’s parents might reject him if they learned that he committed a crime. However, when the family in question is Arab, you are suddenly feeding into harmful tropes about oppressive and violent Arab parents. You are asking if there is a way to write this respectfully. I believe that there is, but it requires a great deal of care, nuance, and cultural awareness. While it is possible to write a Saudi Arab character grappling with the consequences of violence and familial estrangement in a compelling way, the way your ask is phrased leads me to believe you are not equipped to do it justice.

- Mod Niki

Think about why Arab people committing violence is a touchy subject, and then think about the general propaganda narrative that came about from the act that made things so touchy.

It’s going to sound one hell of a lot like what you have here.

Military and police use buckets and buckets of propaganda to continue hooking in young, impressionable teens to commit state-sanctioned colonialism and oppression. That propaganda looks suspiciously like “we have health insurance, we will pay for your education, you just have to do what we tell you even if that means hurting or killing others, but it’s okay because you get to be the hero in the situation.”

Now, propaganda is a very powerful tool. I was taught, in my media classes, that controlling the message means shaping reality. The media is built as a propaganda machine, and when you start to see who owns what media properties you start to see some really disturbing patterns (Rubert Murdoch owns a lot of right-wing sources across America, the UK, and Australia, and he’s too rich to investigate his culpability in spinning terrible narratives found in right-wing publications. He owns the big names).

As Niki said, this situation mirrors police violence and police-sanctioned terrorism. And the very, very unfortunate implications of making the target of police violence be in that wheel. But I want you to look at the media situation that has made the plot happen.

Because even if you swapped out ethnicities, you’d still have a reckoning to do with the American culture that their primary social safety nets involve killing people.

I am not kidding.

Some of the most well-funded unions in the country are police unions. These people have pensions. They have health insurance. It’s damn near impossible to fire them. They get overtime very well mandated, and it’s a known thing among defence lawyers that arrests happen right before a cop’s shift will end so they get the overtime of filing the paperwork. They absolutely go into poor neighbourhoods and recruit based off people needing an escape, and them having the money to provide it.

A similar sentiment is true for the military, except they push for college education a bit more and don’t really have overtime, but they do have deployment bonuses. So the way to get extra pay for yourself is to go out and do colonialism outside the borders. The military doesn’t necessarily like it when the economy is doing well, and don’t like the idea of college being affordable, because they rely so heavily on poverty and fear of college debt to recruit.

The story you’re telling here goes so far beyond an individual’s actions and instead taps into America’s single biggest cultural investment: that oppressing others makes you a hero.

The Pentagon funds most military media out there as a propaganda tool, including most superhero movies and a large number of video games. This is in their budget. They will also go so far as to literally commission the games to exist. Part of getting that funding is you cannot critique America’s military, basically at all (the only exception I’ve seen is Ms Marvel, but that’s set in the 90s). This turns any sort of military-using media into a potential propaganda tool.

And the thing is? Even if you fall for that propaganda and were part of the military or the police, you still have to reckon with the fact you put whatever your own desires were above a huge track record of those groups being terrible. You still have to reckon with the fact you didn’t realize they were wrong, and were complicit in a lot of crimes.

This goes very far beyond “the action is terrible” and goes into “the system is rotten to its core, and you chose not to believe it, or to believe you could change what was built with blood.”

“Good” police officers get fired. If you try to question anything, if you try to say this action is wrong, you will absolutely get destroyed. Military’s much the same. You need some degree of buy-in to the concept of white supremacy to sign up for the military or the police, because you need to see their actions as not deal breakers instead of actions that violate multiple international laws.

In short: you need to see the people being oppressed as deserving of being oppressed to some degree in order to participate with police and the military.

Marginalized people can hold this belief, it happens. But that is a very sticky situation that outsiders shouldn’t touch.

It’s possible but difficult for you to write a white person having this sort of arc, but it would be extremely challenging to have it not come across as a white guilt story. To not have a socially aware audience roll their eyes at how long it took. You’d definitely not be writing a story with a diverse audience in mind, because you’d mostly appeal to those who saw the propaganda as just fine and not that bad.

This isn’t even getting into the oft-cited adage that boys who bully others become cops, while girls who bully become nurses. And the more police atrocities become mainstream news, the less and less people can convince themselves that becoming a police officer is a good thing.

Which brings me to the point of: how well-documented is this oppression? Is this character walking around in an oppressive situation like, say, pre-social-media where there was no direct access to the oppressed groups and you could close your eyes and look away even if it made national news? Or is this in a media connected world where these oppressed populations have a voice in the narrative?

The former has an angle of the character slowly realizing the horror and it’s slightly more forgivable for their early ignorance. But in any sort of world where there’s access to the people getting hurt? Things get more and more “ignorance is indistinguishable from maliciousness.” And keep in mind, these stories are read in the real world, where police brutality and war crimes go viral, and a lack of knowledge is getting harder and harder to defend as a position.

Media plays a huge role in shaping our perception of what’s happening. Cameras on a situation makes different activism tactics work, as we can see with how activism changed in the 60s and 70s as tv reached the masses. Social media has made it possible for you to look up firsthand accounts of discrimination within seconds.

This is a factor you are absolutely going to have to consider, when you want to look at how nice your hero is seen by marginalized or otherwise socially-aware people. If there is a way to find out how bad this superhero organization is before you sign a contract with them? Then that doesn’t look particularly good on the “hero”. You’d really have to establish them as super idealistic, super sheltered, super desperate, and/or just swallow the knowledge that they really don’t see anything that happens “over there to those people” as that bad.

All of the above is more than possible. And they’d still be seen as complicit no matter what justification you gave, because they are.

Does this mean all corrupt organization stories are off limits? No. The reason these stories have such deep cultural resonance right now is because of the propaganda I outlined above.

But you as the author are going to have to examine your own engagement with the propaganda narrative and do your own private reckoning so your own sense of guilt and compliance doesn’t bleed through the narrative too strongly, so you can tell a good story instead of an overt message story that’s you working out your own feelings.

By all means, write a story where police and the military are taken down, where propaganda is weaponized and the media is controlled (because that’s sure as hell the modern world).

But know that stories where the hero discovers the corruption already have a ticking clock because we, in the real world, are slowly being faced with a mountain of apathy instead of ignorance. The knowledge of oppression is out there so much that marginalized people are tired of the ignorance defence.

As the saying goes, “privilege is the ability to ignore the oppression of others.”

Propaganda, centralized media, and strategic cultural investment made it possible for police and the military to have a chokehold on their public perception. But that’s changing. The chokehold is starting to fade, people are starting to question their beliefs.

The past year has shown that knowledge isn’t the issue; it’s white supremacy. People don’t want to believe that any of this is that bad. People want to believe that oppression is justified, that if people just followed the law they’d be fine. They don’t want to question themselves. And marginalized people are tired of these narratives where, suddenly, people snap out of it. Because there was so much evidence to show it was bad, but it was only when you do one of the worst crimes imaginable that you realize this is bad? It’s only when it becomes personal that things are worth looking at critically?

No. And you need to examine where you are in processing your own complicity before writing a story where you’ve swapped around the ethnicities to try and distance yourself from the problem, where in the end you made the target the oppressor.

~Mod Lesya

#police brutality #oppression #arab #saudi arabia #military #superhero #superheroes #asks #violence #propaganda

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tropes-and-tales · 3 years

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Usually, Not Always

Day 5: Anonymous sex (Benny “Borracho” Magalon x F!Reader)

(For the 2021 Kinktober event offered by @beeschaos and @withlove-sid. The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

AN: There is a sequel here.

CW: Mention of drugs; anonymous sex; smut (PiV; protected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 3379

You usually play everything so safe. Your personal life, your professional life. Straight-and-narrow, former hall monitor, rule-follower extraordinaire. You get your flu shot every year, take a multivitamin, wear your seatbelt. You take no chances if you can help it.

It’s what makes you such a good cop. A good detective. Detective-work isn’t like on TV or in the movies, where quippy maladjusted assholes crack a case from their mind palace or whatever. Detective-work is a grind, the careful elimination of leads, and you excel at it.

Which is why you accepted a highly-sought promotion earlier that week. In a month, you’d transition to your dream job.

You gather your girlfriends to celebrate; you head north to the casino in Lincoln, just north of Sacramento.

You usually play everything so safe. Usually – not always.

The first time you see him is the first night, Friday. You are checking in with your friends, and a group of rowdy men are checking in too. They are loud, obnoxious – nothing you aren’t used to, really. Overgrown toddlers making crude comments, but the one that draws your eye is generally quiet. He only chuckles now and then, or shakes his head in mock disappointment at his buddies.

He’s not especially tall, but he’s broad through the chest and shoulders, his well-formed arms peeking out of his half-rolled up sleeves. He’s dark-haired, dark-eyed, has neatly trimmed facial hair. A tattoo on his neck that you can’t make out.

You realize too late that you are casing him like a potential suspect, and maybe he feels eyes on him, because he turns and sees you staring. His eyes rake along your form, from your feet to the top of your head, and then they settle on your face. He gifts you a slight smile, a nod of the head that you return.

Then your friend is passing out room keys, and his group is doing the same, and you part ways with the dark stranger, assuming you won’t cross paths again.

But you see him again that night.

He looks the same. You are more done up, that damned double standard that lets a man roll through the world in jeans and a flannel shirt while you are required to wear heels and a dress that your tits want to spill out of. You and your friends are walking the casino floor, and you see him sitting at a poker table.

He glances up – all of the men at the table do, at the sight of a pack of women strolling through – but his eyes settle on you. Stay on you. He tracks your movement across the casino floor, and there’s something heavy in his gaze. Something carnal. You feel, in that moment, that you can read his mind exactly, that you can see his thoughts.

He wants to fuck you.

You usually play everything so safe. Usually – not always.

In that moment, if he could read your mind, if he could see your thoughts, he’d realize: you want him to fuck you.

You lose some money at blackjack. You win it back and then some, because casinos rarely believe that a pretty woman all dolled up would be smart enough to count cards. You drink, you dance a little at the bar with your friends. You go back to your hotel room alone, but you’re too keyed up to sleep right away.

You let your hand trail down your body until it lands just where you want it, and you think of the dark-haired man as you touch yourself. The force of your orgasm – usually a weak affair when masturbating – surprises you.

-----

The next day is spent in the spa – a massage and mud wrap that leave you so relaxed that you feel boneless, soft, pliable. You drink lots of water, get a slight headache from the massage, take a nap.

You wake up in time to get ready for dinner.

At dinner, you see him again.

He and his friends roll in just as your steaks are being set in front of you, and this time, the roles are reversed: you watch him stroll across the dining room. You openly telegraph your own patent desire, the filthy things you would consider doing with him, and it makes him cock his head and arch an eyebrow at you as he sits down.

When you pay and stand to leave, you gift him a backwards glance. He returns it with that slight smile and nod.

-----

Your father was in and out of your life so often growing up, you usually just called him by his first name. Dad wasn’t a title he ever earned, and his only legacy – besides a deep distrust of relationships with men – was that he taught you how to count cards in blackjack.

You refined the system over time, and now here you are: steadily adding to your bankroll, losing just enough here and there to keep the casino off your scent. You furrow your brow, bite your lip, fuss around enough that casino employees assume you’re just a ditzy girl on a hot streak.

You’re up when someone settles into the seat beside you. He sits too close, and you realize it’s him a beat before your eyes confirm.

Having him this close does nothing to cool your ardor for him. He smells delicious, a spicy scent that makes you honest-to-god salivate a little, makes you imagine pressing the tip of your tongue to that neck tattoo and tracing the dark ink.

Then he leans in, whispers in your ear, and it’s the first time you hear him speak – a low rumble that pulses through your body, straight to your core. His breath is hot against your ear.

“They’re too dumb to know what you’re doing, aren’t they?” He glances at the dealer who is swapping out the current deck of cards for a fresh deck.

“Just a lucky streak,” you say. “I don’t completely understand the game.”

He laughs soundlessly against you, his breath tickling against you again. “Bullshit.”

He sits back and watches you for a few hands. You lose two of them on purpose, win the third. It’s difficult to concentrate, so you gather your chips and stand.

He follows.

“It’s impressive,” he tells you, falling into step as you make your way to the cashier. “I bet you get away with it all the time. You look like too much of a sweetheart to be a card-shark.”

You snort. “I look like a sweetheart?”

He does that top-of-the-head, bottom-of-the-feet scan of you, his eyes darkening as they take in your form in your dress. “Look like one to me.” A beat. “Unless looks are deceiving?”

It’s almost too corny, too close to a line that he’s giving you. But there’s something magnetic about his dark looks, the confident way he falls in with you and follows you back across the casino floor.

“Aren’t your friends missing you?” you ask.

“Aren’t yours?”

“Nope. Last I saw, they were posted at the slots.”

He hums at that, lays a hand on the small of your back to steer you around a cluster of women celebrating a bachelorette party. Once clear of them, he doesn’t remove his hand, and you can feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of your dress.

“My friends are having a private party,” he tells you. “But I’m not really into that scene.”

There’s an implication that his friends have drugs, or maybe hired sex workers – or maybe that’s just the cop in you, reading between the lines. “Yeah?” you ask. “Why not?”

“More interested in taking a gamble down here.”

You laugh. He’s definitely bumping right against the fine line between flirting and giving you a line, but you don’t care. You can feel the wide span on his hand on your back, and it makes a bolt of desire go straight to your core, a sharp ache of desire.

“There’s a bar out by the pool,” he tells you, and he’s already leading you in that direction. “Unless there’s somewhere else…”

You could take him to your room. You could key into the room, shove him onto the bed, let him shove you onto the bed. But it would be too real, then. Not an anonymous fuck. He would know your room number, could find out your name. You could look through his wallet and learn his name and address. You might be tempted, and all you want is an anonymous fuck with this darkly appealing guy before you go home the next day.

The pool and bar are sparsely populated; the dry, hot Diablo wind keeping most people inside where it is cool. But the man pauses, drops his hand from you, and there’s a question in his eyes. An unexpectedly gentle look, searching your face for any reluctance.

He finds none.

The wind is in a lull. The pool is surrounded by chaise lounges, but set back a little are curtained cabanas, hidden away in the darkness.

Perfect.

You take his hand in yours, pull him in the direction of the furthest cabana, the one deepest in the shadows. No one seems to notice you – not that you care at this point. There’s such a strong current of lust running through you, sparking at his hand in yours, coursing through your body and setting every nerve alight.

The cabana has a low, wide seat – a lot like a bed without a headboard. You turn and face him, and it’s so dark in the cabana – no light giving you away – that you can only make out the edge of his face.

But you can feel him. He’s not even touching you beyond his hand in yours, but you can feel him. His heavy gaze, the heat from his body, the electrical charge he seems to carry. The scent of him – that spicy scent, a woodsy whiskey scent. He has a presence, and it makes you feel vulnerable in a way you don’t usually embrace.

You usually play everything so safe. Usually – not always.

You want this man to tear you apart.

*****

Benny Magalon has never hooked up with a random woman before. Certainly never a woman whose name he didn’t know. He’s had casual relationships, but they were just that – relationships.

He never partakes in the sexual part of the guys’ blow-out, off-the-books parties. He drinks, sometimes he does the tamer drugs, but he never has sex with the women Big Nick brings in. It never sits right with him, never feels very real.

It’s strange how this feels real. He doesn’t know your name, doesn’t know a thing about you except the barest facts he’s been able to glean. You seem to be single – or at least unmarried – because there’s no ring on your finger and no noticeable mark from long-term wear. You are slick enough to count cards, sly enough to avoid detection.

Bold enough to take his hand in yours and lead him to a dark corner in a cabana.

You tilt your head up to him, and he can make out the slight smile in the faint light as he bends to kiss you. It takes his breath away how natural it feels, the way you tilt your head to deepen it, the desperate way your tongue seeks out his own. You taste like something fruity, tropical – the drink you’d been nursing at the blackjack table. Pineapple and coconut and some sort of alcohol.

The kissing doesn’t last long. He has wanted you the moment he saw you at check-in, when you were dressed so casually like the girl next door – jeans torn at the knees, canvas trainers, a faded Dodgers t-shirt. You looked so comfortable, so self-assured.

Not an ounce of embarrassment when he caught you openly ogling him. In fact, there had been a challenge in your eye, and Benny was all too happy to rise to meet it. Eye-fucking you across the dining room, across the casino floor until here he is.

You’re just as ravenous for him. Or for a quick fuck. The former makes him feel a warm flush, despite the circumstances – Benny is a closet romantic. The latter will make him feel sad in the morning, probably.

Right now, he can’t care. You are utterly perfect, gorgeous. So sure of what you want. Your hands trace over his shoulders, down his arms, down his back. His own cup at any part of you he can reach – the curves of your hips and ass, the soft swell of your tits, half-pushed out of your tiny little dress. If he had more time, he’d bury his face in them, kiss every inch of them.

He has no time. He’s just as keyed up as you seem to be, just as eager. He feels like he’s never been so hard, so quickly. He’s straining against his jeans, and when your hand reaches out to cup him, his hips judder forward into your touch.

“I have a condom in my wallet,” he growls out, his voice rough-edged with lust. “How – “ he starts to ask, and you answer by climbing into the low, wide seat. On all fours, the perfect heart-shape of your ass pushed up and right in front of him.

It takes an eternity to fumble his wallet out of his jeans. He fucking drops the condom, has to kneel and grope around on the ground in the darkness for it. Finds it, fumbles the wrapper. Is shaky with need, struggles to roll the condom onto himself like a teenaged boy approaching his first time….

He finally gets situated. Shuffles forward, reaches out to lay his big hands on your hips. He pushes your skirt up, bunches it around your waist. He swipes a thumb along the thin fabric of your panties and finds them soaked.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Look how wet you are.”

You only answer by pressing backwards, rocking on your hands and knees as if to seek him out. He stills you with his hands, pushes your panties to the side. Then he lines himself up, notches his tip against your entrance – and stands still. Benny never moves: instead, he pulls you backwards, pulls you onto himself.

Makes you impale yourself on his cock.

It makes both of you moan at the same time, his a low growl, yours higher pitched. He stills, looks out around the privacy curtain at the pool and bar area. The few people there haven’t noticed, so he presses forward just a little more. Just enough to push that last fraction of himself into your vice-like grip, molten even through the condom.

He is never going to last, and you don’t seem to want him to. You seem to want a quick, hard ride, so he obliges. One hand on your hip, the other wrapped around your throat. He doesn’t choke you – he’s not into that shit at all – but he spreads his hand wide and presses his thumb along the side of your jaw. Each time you moan, he can feel it tearing out of your throat, pulsing against his hand.

He sets a vigorous pace. Punishing, by some standards. Each thrust jolts you forward, and he’d worry that he is hurting you – but you push back against him. You learn his rhythm and fuck yourself back against him, panting bits of praise tumbling from your lips as he buries himself in you over and over.

“Wanted you,” you pant. “Moment I saw you. Knew….fuck, knew you’d be good.”

He only growls at that. There’s something feral, something purely carnal in the moment – the way you arch your back like a fucking cat against him, the animal keening you make as you get closer to coming.

The force of your orgasm takes his breath away. Your pussy clamps down on him, ripples along his length and seems to pull him deeper into you, holding him there. He can feel how you want to wail out, scream even – and you turn your head at the last minute, stifle your mouth against the inside of your arm.

Benny’s only able to last another moment. Your pussy grips him too hard, and his thrusting gets sloppy. None of this should be so hot, it should shame him, taking such a lovely creature in public. Not even knowing her name. Her not knowing his own name.

But there’s a draw to this moment, a delicious bit of giving over from his own stoic nature – Benny the good guy, Benny the reliable. Right now, he’s tapped into some primal part of himself, and when his own orgasm finally overtakes him, he has to silence his own shout. He reaches down, hauls you up off of your hands, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his mouth latching down onto the soft flesh between your neck and your shoulder as he spills himself into the condom.

After that, it ends all too quickly – the parting, the separate staggering back to your own rooms. Never a name exchanged, or a phone number, or even another word beyond a murmured thank you from you, and his own low no, thank you.

-----

Benny shouldn’t think of you as much as he does. He returns to Los Angeles. Returns to work. Returns to his lonely life in his shitty apartment.

He thinks about you in his idle moments, and he recognizes how stupid it is. He knows nothing about you. There was something about you, and a more sane person would point out that it was just sex – just an out-of-character hook-up for him. But he feels like it was something more, and if that’s crazy, so be it. He’ll never see you again.

He knows he could find you if he wanted. He’s a detective; he could wrangle intel in that grey area of unethical but not necessarily illegal. He could call the hotel at the casino with the dates you were there, get the names of people in your party. Find you that way.

But he’s a good guy, and he’d never break the anonymity you had wanted.

A week passes, then another. Benny tries to put you out of his mind, his one-time dream girl. And he almost succeeds.

It’s been about a month since that weekend up north, and Big Nick circles the guys up in the bullpen. Explains that the open detective position has finally been filled by the brass, and Benny only half-listens as his boss explains that the new person is a woman, that they’ll have to play nice until she’s acclimated, that she’s on her way over now, a former U.S. Marshall who took the position with Major Crimes…

And then you walk through the goddamned door.

It’s you. He’d recognize you anywhere, in any clothing. In torn jeans and sneakers, or in a tiny little dress, or now – in dark wash jeans and a blazer, a neatly professional outfit that speaks to comfort but also the bit of authority afforded to a detective.

It’s interesting how his body responds to seeing you again. The way his stomach dips pleasantly, the warm flush that spreads through his body. The smile that ghosts across his face before he schools it.

You don’t react outwardly when you see him. He didn’t think you would – you have a hell of a poker face, after all. Benny watches as you shake hands with Henderson. With Zapata. When you turn to him, there’s a glimmer of something indescribable across your face, but it goes too fast for Benny to place it.

You shake his hand, and your palm is warm in his. Just like he remembered. You introduce yourself.

“Benny Magalon,” he replies. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” You release his hand, but then you give him a smile – just like the one when you tilted your face to him, right before you kissed him that night a month ago.

Benny Magalon is usually straight as an arrow, by the book. That night a month ago had felt like an anomaly, a failure of character despite how much he had enjoyed it.

He usually played everything so safe. Usually, not always. And now he thinks, maybe that’s a good thing.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas @rachelxwayne @stardust-fray @massivecolorspygiant @imspillingcoffee @amneris21 @paintballkid711 @mad-girl-without-a-box @bestattempt @rosiefridayrogersunday @strawberrydragon @hoeforthefictional @greeneyedblondie44 @leannawithacapitala

#benny magalon #benny magalon imagine #benny magalon x reader #borracho magalon #borracho magalon imagine #borracho magalon x reader #den of thieves #kinktober2021

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 3 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Andy Cavenaugh

(My shitty gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Living in the middle of the desert was an interesting experience. You’d lived in the same home since you were born and yet there were still occupants of your town that you’d never seen or met; even though there was only a meager population of under 50.

- It was the sheer size of your state that did it. Everyone lived miles away from each other and any shop that was considered to be “nearby” was still at least a thirty minute drive so you only ever went into town a couple times a month. Which is how you met Andy.

- You’d driven into town with a list of supplies you’d needed and a wallet full of that months savings, ready to get your stuff and go as quickly as you could; hoping to get home before the sun rose all the way and baked you alive.

- Coincidentally, Andy was in town at the same time, loitering around the store you were attempting to shop at. You paid him no mind and went about your business until you were ready to check out.

- Once the shopkeep had rung you up, you found that you didn’t have enough money for all the things on your list and reluctantly told the man to keep something as he helped you pack up what you could afford.

- Andy watched the entire interaction from somewhere behind you as he pocketed whatever he felt like. Once you headed towards the doors of the building, he picked some cheap thing off the shelf and went to the checkout, watching you as you packed up your car.

- While the store clerk was preoccupied with the cash register, the boy snuck whatever you’d left behind into his jacket and waited another few moments for the man to hand him his actual purchase before he made his way outside.

- You were just about to get into your car when he came up to you, greeting you casually before he held out his hand and offered you the thing that you’d left behind. You looked at him in surprise before you thanked him and took it, shifting it to your other hand so that you could offer him yours in a handshake.

- The two of you introduced yourselves and he asked if you’d be interested in going out sometime. Since all you knew about him was that he was attractive and sweet enough to “buy” you the thing you couldn’t afford, you agreed and wrote down your number for him, telling him that it was nice meeting him and saying goodbye before you drove off.

- He calls you a couple days later while out with his friends, a little liquid courage in his system and a bit of peer pressure from his buddies leading to his wonderful decision making.

- You’re clueless and he thinks his friends will stick to their word of “heading out before you show”, which obviously doesn’t happen. You arrive and they’re still there, almost immediately inviting themselves to what was supposed to be your first date and making the night rather uncomfortable at times.

- You can tell that your date is just as uncomfortable as you, but that doesn’t exactly make things any better. By the time the night ends, you’ve already decided that you’re probably just gonna count your losses and find a potential boyfriend elsewhere.

- But fate seems to be on Andy’s side because the two of you find yourselves face to face a few days later. He gives you an apology, explaining everything before telling you that he’d like to see you again.

- It takes you a minute to decide but you finally agree and tell him that you’ll give it another shot, bringing up your own idea for a date in hopes that you won’t be bothered by his buddies again. He gives you a wide smile, asking when he should pick you up and thanking you genuinely just before he leaves.

- So, for your second date; though you like to consider it your first, the two of you go to whichever place you chose and wind up having a really nice time. He seems to be on his best behavior but his real personality shines through as well; and it’s one that you really enjoy.

- You probably give him a kiss on the cheek as a goodnight but the two of you share your first real kiss on your next date. You’d spent pretty much the entire night together and wound up parking off on the side of the road to stargaze for a while.

- You were leaning against the hood of his car with him, looking up at the sky before your gaze shifted to the man beside you. He was preoccupied with watching the stars, leaving you to let your mind wander.

“I’m glad we gave this another shot.” You said and watched as his focus shifted to you instead.

- He gave you a smile and told you that he was too before he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

- Congratulations, you caught yourself a firebird in the middle of the desert.

- Andy really doesn’t give a shit about how other people feel like 80% of the time, and he’s just a fan of affection in general, so there’s going to be a lot of Pda in your relationship; if you’ll allow it.

- Handholding. He likes keeping you close to him and making sure that you aren’t getting into any dangerous trouble; especially if you’re around his friends. Although he does wear his gloves a lot so; even though he gives you the occasional reassuring squeeze or strokes his thumb across your knuckles, you’ll most likely be feeling leather more than his skin.

- If someone’s kissing a face, it’s you. His lips are for your lips only, he doesn’t bother touching them to anything else; though he does enjoy when you kiss him on the cheek or jaw.

- Deep, slow kisses.

- He calls you honey or baby more than he calls you by your name. And as tough as he likes to pretend he is, he’d love to have you call him by pet names too.

- Cuddling is one of his favorite pastimes; he absolutely loves it. Most of the time, he’ll pull you in, pressing his cheek/jaw to your head and letting you lay right up against him, your head resting against his shoulder or in the crook of his neck.

- A lot of the time, he prefers to be loving in a more reserved way. He tends to show that he cares through his actions and by doing little things to make your life easier. Things like waking up early to put gas in your car or picking up things that you need from the store whenever he’s in town so that you don’t have to go.

- Sometimes, he’ll set up a sentence like he’s about to say something really sweet or you’ll ask him something expecting a cute response and he’ll just say something crude or lewd instead.

“How do I look.” He turns and looks at you, a smile gracing his face.

“Your tits look great.” He replies, barely holding in his laughter.

- He indulges you more than he cares to admit. He might occasionally act like he’s too cool but he’s too in love with you to say no and potentially make you sad.

- Tv dates. There ain’t shit else to do.

- Cruising around in his firebird; and sometimes parking somewhere to makeout.

- Going on road trips or long outings. There isn’t a whole lot to do in your town so you’ll occasionally take the long ride over to the next town in hopes of finding something fun.

- He’ll never tell you that he does but he always dodges potholes and bumpy areas during these trips so that he doesn’t wake you up while he’s driving.

- Driving out to the middle of the desert with a bundle of blankets to watch the sunrise; or stopping on the side of the road during one of your trips.

- Sitting with him while he works on his car.

- Going out into the desert to shoot or smash random junk. Vases, porcelain, tin cans; stuff like that.

- Playing pinball and other convenience store arcade games.

- Every now and again, he’ll get some money from his pops and take you out to a nice dinner; especially if it’s after the two of you are pushed into doing something you dont like and he can see that you’re upset. It’s usually because of Sam but he still feels the need to try and make it up to you and make sure that you aren’t gonna ghost him.

“Hey, why don’t we go and get some dinner,” he’ll say, a hint of nervous desperation in his voice as you walk out to his car. “You can get whatever you want. Dessert too.”

- It isn’t clear exactly how rich Andy actually is but it seems like he’s sort of embarrassed to have wealth in such a poor town. Because of this, I feel like he probably wouldn’t mention it and would try to dodge questions that would lead to him exposing the truth, maybe acting like he’s less wealthy than he is until Sam “outs” him and causes an awkward situation.

- Him stealing things for you. You’d much prefer if he just bought them but at least he doesn’t tell you whether or not he’s stolen it most of the time.

- Likes to fool around a lot; he’s rarely ever fully serious and he’s always trying to make you laugh.

- Can quote just about any western film you can name and does impressions of all the characters. He grew up on those sorts of things so he’s practically an expert by now.

- He likes messing with your stuff: putting on your clothes, using your mirror for random stuff, picking things up off your dresser and toying around with them, etc.

- My god, the change of character he has when he’s with his friends and you, compared to when he’s with his parents gives you whiplash. It’s hilarious seeing him lie and act like an angel during family dinners.

- His dad probably lectures him about manners whenever you’re with them: things like putting his elbows on the table, saying grace, how he treats you, etc. Its pretty amusing to see.

- He seems like a good guy who got mixed in with the wrong people. Sure, he enjoys a little chaos and trouble making like the rest of them but he doesn't like hurting people and you can tell from the way he acts afterward that he isn't proud; especially when you give him a look in the middle of the situation and sober him up.

- You’re dragged along with him and the boys a lot; or he’s forced to ditch you to hang out with them whenever Sam calls.

- Sam flirting with you. You know damn well that he’d make you compliment him or get you to agree with his praise of himself; and Andy would be miffed but unable to do anything besides listen to him while his knuckles whiten on his steering wheel.

- There aren’t a lot of people in your town for him to get jealous of but whenever there is, he does. Most of the time, it’s Sam or some flirtatious traveler but other times it’s your celebrity crushes or old boyfriends. He usually just bites his tongue or makes some kind of sarcastic, passive aggressive comment; it depends on who it is and how you’re reacting to them.

- He’s always looking over at you and making sure you’re alright whenever he can; especially when you’re out with his friends. He knows that getting into the trouble that they do can be dangerous and he doesn’t want anything happening to you just because Sam doesn’t know when to stop.

- The two of you get into a lot of arguments but they’re rarely ever serious. You mostly just bicker before the two of you give up and decide that it’s a pointless fight.

- Whenever you do have an argument, one that he causes and upsets you with, he always feels guilty and finds himself unable to stay mad at you. He might not verbally apologize but he will try to make it up to you in some way and tell you that he’s sorry.

- He’s not big on saying he loves you but he does say it on occasion; and definitely shows it more than he says it.

- The two of you probably get engaged on a whim a bit too early into your relationship but he’s promising to take you out of that desert city and along with him to Hollywood so the ring is a nice symbol of that oath.

#andy cavenaugh imagine #andy cavenaugh headcanons #andy cavenaugh headcanon #andy cavenaugh imagines #creepshow 2 imagine #creepshow 2 headcanon #creepshow 2 headcanons #creepshow 2 imagines #80s movie imagines #80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 3 years

Text

Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 15 - AO3

If asked, Felix would deny it.

No one did, of course. His classmates rarely spoke to him, and the day after the spray pain incident, Marinette was still giving him the silent treatment. It did put a damper on his plans, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to silence.

So really, he didn’t need her at all.

Cesaire was the last one in before the morning bell rang, much to everyone’s surprise. The class gossips—not that he wanted to listen—had claimed that the girl was suspended for sure. She hesitated before sitting down, staring up at the back of the class over her shoulder with an expression of longing. But the final bell rang and Cesaire sat, sitting next to her boyfriend.

In full view of those above them, Rossi placed a hand on Cesaire’s shoulder, a calculated consolation, only for Cesaire to move before they could touch. Whatever Rossi said clearly set Cesaire off, the recent akuma snapping at the girl, though they were quiet enough that Felix couldn’t hear them.

At least, they were quiet until Rossi immitted a siren-like wail.

“Alya!” Rossi sobbed, drawing out Alya’s name into an irritatingly high pitch. Her face was dry. “How could you say that!?”

The Class’s attention was immediately drawn to the confrontation as they jumped to Rossi’s defence. Although, not everyone. The redheaded boy kept his head down, and the short blonde looked away.

“Alya, what did you do!?”

“Are you bullying Lila?”

“You should apologize!”

Cesaire’s eyes flickered around the room as the class berated her. They landed on the ack and Cesaire straightened. She spoke loud enough for the class to hear her. “I was willing to keep this between us, but since you want this to be public, Lila, that’s fine. The fact that you got out of your detentions by saying that you were volunteering after school all week is extremely manipulative and exactly like Chloe.”

There were gasps all around, some horrified that Rossi would do such a thing, others shocked that Cesaire would ever say anything bad about their precious Lila.

Rossi’s voice hitched. “H-How—” her voice warbled—“How could you say that, Alya? I had already made those plans before you stole Felix’s project!”

“Don’t act like I worked alone,” Alya said. “I may have been the one to steal the project—which I plan to apologize for doing—but you were the one to say it was made from your notes. Not only did you know I was going to steal it—”

“I didn’t know!” Rossi tried to protest.

“—But you encouraged me!”

I didn’t!” Rossi whined, her voice hitting a pitch only known to dogs. “B-Besides, after yesterday, everyone knows who’s really to blame. Since you painted Marinette’s locker.” Marinette froze beside him.

“Then why am I not suspended?” Alya shot back. “It wouldn’t be the first time this school gave me a hasty suspension, so why am I free?” Her eyes narrowed. “I had evidence that I wasn’t the culprit, so they couldn’t touch me. Where’s your evidence?”

Marinette looked startled, like the idea of asking for evidence was foreign to her. Or perhaps, it was the fact that Cesaire was the one asking for evidence. Together, they watched the back and forth until Mme. Bustier finally entered the room and broke the argument up. Pity, it was just starting to be amusing.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Bustier said. “Alya, since I clearly can’t trust you to be mature, I’m going to move you to the back of the class today. Hopefully you can behave tomorrow and earn your seat back.”

Felix cocked an eyebrow. Cesaire looked utterly betrayed by the teacher, but obeyed, moving to the bench next to his and Marinette’s with little fuss. Shockingly little, all things considered.

It became clear when Cesaire whispered in the middle of the first lecture of the day, “I’m sorry.” Felix could barely hear her from the other side of Marinette.

“What?” Marinette turned to her.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad friend, girl.” Cesaire looked truly ashamed. “I… I should have seen that Lila was lying. I should have at least investigated when you told me something was up, but I just… didn’t. I was so invested in her lies and having an interview with ‘Ladybug’s best friend’ on my blog that I… I lost my integrity. And even worse, I dismissed you and how you felt because I thought I knew better. I’m sorry, Marinette.”

Marinette swallowed, her fists clenched. “Thank you, Alya. This really means a lot to me.” Cesaire perked up. “But… I don’t think I can forgive you right away. I believe you when you say you didn’t destroy my locker—” She glanced at Felix—“But that doesn’t mean you haven’t done things similarly horrible.”

Cesaire nodded, disappointed but understanding. “I know. And I’ll work hard to regain your trust in me. Which is why I’m going to expose Lila as the liar she is.”

Felix was surprised; he didn’t necessarily expect Cesaire to take Adrien’s ‘high road’ approach, but no hesitancy… And Marinette… nodded. “Yeah. Do you want to work on a plan after school today?”

“Y-Yeah. I’d really like that, Mari.”

Felix stifled a smile as the two friends—because they were on the track to recovering their friendship now, just try to stop them, Rossi—made up. He felt pretty good about himself until the lunch bell rang and Marinette dragged him out the door and out of school, a hard expression on her face.

They were at the side of the school, where there were no students. Felix tried not to let his nervousness show. “How rough, Dupain-Cheng. Whatever are you trying to do to me, away from prying eyes—"

“Shut up.” Felix shut up. “Felix, you… Did you keep Alya from getting in trouble?”

“What do you mean?”

“It was pretty much a given that Alya was going to get suspended because of your frame job. Yet she’s here, sending you glances all throughout class.”

“Perhaps she’s attracted to me? I’ve heard I have the face of a model.” He was not confessing this, no way. He had a reputation to keep.

“And what would Alya say? If I asked her next time we were in class.”

“She…” Damn her, she had him cornered. If she asked during class, at least some of the others would overhear, and then people would have expectations. “She would mention that there was an anonymous phone call from a potential donor for the school that reminded the principal that the locker room doesn’t have working cameras and that students have framed each other for crimes in the past. Wouldn’t it be so disappointing that the school board found out that the money that went to security cameras wasn’t used at this school?”

“The principal is embezzling funds?”

“I suspect he’s embezzling funds. But given that he immediately agreed with me and rescinded Cesaire’s suspension, my suspicion is right on the money.”

“That almost makes too much sense… No,” she shook her head. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about. Felix, have you ever had friends before?”

“Excuse me!?” What was she accusing him of!?

“Because you act like I’m the first person you’ve ever made friends with.”

“H-How dare you!? Accusing me of being some sort of�� some sort of friendless wretch!” He huffed. “I might not be my cousin, but I’ve certainly had a friend before!”

“Adrien doesn’t count, Felix. He’s family, not a friend.”

“Well, I—” The nerve of this girl! “What does it matter anyway?”

“Well, I just figured… you wouldn’t have done that if you had more experience with friendships. Or experience with people your own age. Because what you did was not okay. However, you understand that now, right?”

“…I do.”

“And you tried to make up for it, right?”

“…I did.”

“Then it wouldn’t be too much to ask if you followed my plan for rehabilitation?”

Rehabilitation? What did she think he was, a dog? “And why,” he sneered, “Would I do that?”

She looked disappointed and his heart twinged. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But Felix… I can’t be friends with someone who does cruel things for their own benefit. The world doesn’t need more than one Chloe.”

Had he… been acting like Bourgeois? Surely not, she’d never do her own dirty work. But… vandalizing a locker did seem like something she’d order, even if it wasn’t for the benevolent reasons Felix had. And… he really didn’t want to lose Marinette.

“Very well,” he said snidely in an effort to distract from his lightly flushed skin. “I’ll play along. Let’s be friends.”

Taglist: @graduatedmelon @novicevoice @dur55 @kris-pines04 @18-fandoms-unite-08 @moonlightstar64 @bee-a-garbage-shipper @sol-o-shade @kittyotakunoir666 @tinyterror333 @allieoftheenemy @marichat00 @xgxmxtx @two-faced-biatch @feliciakainzofspades @evil-cricket @emilytopaz @spicybelladonna @chocolateherringtacofan @user00000003 @wannajointhecrabcult @happymonster-pants @duquesapincarrasca @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @sxltinette @kittydemon9000 @thetrashypanda423

#hey little songbird #felinette #felix graham de vanily #marinette dupain cheng #alya sugar #alya cesaire #ml salt #lila salt #miraculous ladybug #mlb

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stevenbasic · 3 years

Text

So far AJ’s day, his first at this new job, had been predictably miserable. He figured that was sort of normal, kinda expected. He’d been his own boss, owner of his own little construction firm for years, so going back to being a manual labor grunt for someone else again was sure to feel like ten steps in the wrong direction. But working on a demo team for a bunch of girls? The women, the company that had put him out of business? That was turning out to be particularly soul-sucking and demeaning work. But, hey, a buck’s a buck and he needed as many of those as he could muster these days. His saving grace was, with a little effort keeping his head down, that he could remain faceless and anonymous and just do his work. The morning had been spent taking down some walls in the area of the building that was to be the new wing. He’d sat by himself for his meager lunch outside - his buddies, guys that used to work for him, were on another team entirely, at another site - and he had now this afternoon been asked to step into the doctor's office area to look at some venting. Privately, he leapt at the chance: maybe he’d be able to see Angie. Or, for that matter, catch a glimpse of - or even meet - that statuesque, brunette boss of hers, her friend Melissa...

He was in luck.

“Oh! H-hey, hun,” AJ said, acting surprised to bump into his girlfriend, Angie, as he turned the corner in the back hallway. He’d already checked out what he’d needed to see, looked at the thermostats, and had been sort of aimlessly drifting around, avoiding others, waiting for just this moment. He managed what he hoped was a casual smile. “Funny meeting you here haha,” he joked, wiping plaster dust from his forehead, “H-how’s the first day?”

At first, Angie looked surprised to see him, too - eyes widening. But she didn’t even give him a word of greeting before her eyes flashed, her smile grew into a grin, and she bit her lower lip. Looking behind herself, down the hall, checking if they’d be seen, she then suddenly grabbed him by the collar of his green, grime-covered t-shirt and pulled him aside. “Here, let’s go in here-“ she said, opening the door to a supply closet and yanking him into it. She shut the door behind them and flipped on a switch.

“Hey wow..!” AJ exclaimed, eyes immediately going wide in pleasant surprise, “Nice to see you too!”

The switch she had hit had turned on an overhead fluorescent, which was just flickering to life. “Shush,” she said, locking the door, “The last thing I need is someone to see us together.” She’d just gotten out of lunch, where all the office girls had assembled, crowded into the too-small breakroom for a welcome meeting. She’d had a few great little chats and was just really beginning to grasp what was going on here, what she was now part of. It was thrilling and her blood was still on fire from the excitement, the potential. Yes yes yes...female empowerment, sisters united, blah blah blah. But there was opportunity here for her.

She’d just been headed to her new temporary, makeshift desk in accounting when she ran into her, well, boyfriend. Though AJ was here doing some work for the construction company hired to renovate the building, she really didn’t want to be seen with him. Things were too big here, there was too much at stake for her to risk getting muddled down by, well, him. “I can’t be the girl dating the hired help,” she said, not smiling, but her heart still thumping.

“Hey, that hurt..!” AJ remarked, taken a bit aback by her bluntness but trying to laugh. Angie looked so good in her short, floral dress, boobs big and on display. “How’s the first day?” he repeated.

Angie faced AJ, mind still swimming with the excitement from the meeting and an electric, estrogen-fueled energy. “Eh, sort of chaotic, with all these new girls, there’s not enough space for us all until the new wing is ready,” she answered, looking him up and down. She’d seen him in his construction gear countless times before, but here - on the job, dirty, as a low-level grunt - he just looked so plebeian. And too tall. “I got to meet the doctor, this morning,” she said, feeling her eyes sparkle and the enthusiasm in her voice, “he’s sooo vulni…”

He’d heard that term before, and he knew how girls were all starting to like that: small, weak, vulnerable men. It had been why she’d had him stop going to the gym, eat less, get skinnier. He thought she liked it, though it never seemed as if it was quite enough for her; he was still tall and lanky, and he felt she’d actually like it if he was somehow smaller than her, shorter than her, weighed less than her. That was the fad, these days, and Angie was into it. But he’d never heard that weird tone in her voice when talking about another guy, not in all the months they’d been together. Here in the supply closet he felt the first pangs of jealousy, starting in his stomach, and it was envy for Angie’s new boss. Not because he was successful, a doctor, and was her superior here (though Ang probably loved that too), but because he was so “vulni” . As he watched her face, seeing how she talked about this guy, the sensation grew heavier, and worked its way up to his throat.

“He was hiding, totally hiding, in his office. But I went in and met him,” she said, “he looked like a kid sitting at a big-boy desk. He was afraid to stand up in front of me, but I bet I’d be taller than him in my heels…”

There it is, AJ thought.

“Your friend Melissa probably has him by more than a foot, then,” AJ blurted, smiling but speaking before thinking and immediately regretting it as Angie’s eyes narrowed, analyzing him. His grin disappeared as her expression changed.

“Yeaaaaah...have you noticed?” she continued, still watching his face, “a lot of the girls here are tall. They’re all hot…”

Smart enough at least for this moment, AJ held his tongue. Saying too much would just dig him deeper into the hole that he was apparently already in.

Angie still looked at her boyfriend of these many months, her smile crooked, and considered him. He’d always felt like she could read his mind, and seemed to be doing it now. She knew what he wanted. “Take off your shirt,” she instructed, hands on her wide hips.

Without as much as a thought, AJ was peeling himself out of his dusty work tee, revealing his trim, lean torso, his ink. Angie’s eyes immediately drifted from his still-defined abs, up his chest and went to the new tattoo on his throat, her name: “Angie Wade”. She reached out and gently caressed it.

“Yeah, he’s surrounded by women here, pretty women,” she continued, once again talking about this dude that AJ was starting to like less and less, “Lots of them are taller than him, walking around in their pumps, their high wedge sandals.” Her hand drifted up to cup the right side of his face, tenderly, watching how her words affected him. “They’re all ditzes, but they adore him,” she said, her expression still hard for him to read, “Imagine that? Imagine being surrounded by huge, brainless bimbos that all love and adore you and just want to get into your pants? I’ll bet he loves it. God that’s so hot.”

AJ, still knowing he shouldn’t say a word, just watched her as she looked at him. Despite his rising jealousy - what kind of girlfriend talks about another guy like this? - he was starting to feel himself hardening between his legs. He had no idea what she was thinking, what she was doing (or why she’d had him take off his shirt) but there were gears turning in her head, for sure.

“And,” she pressed on, “his office is smaller - a lot smaller - than hers. The way she was talking today, you’d have trouble knowing exactly who was in charge, here...” Angie’s left hand had settled behind AJ’s shaved head, holding it, and her right was now resting lightly on his chest. The feel of her soft palm on his shaved skin was exciting him. “...But I’m going to find out. There’s something going on under the surface here, something big. Here. Sit-“

At that, Angie pushed his chest, forcing him to half-sit back on the low shelving unit behind him. He knocked over a couple reams of paper towels, but was left with his eyes at just about boob-level.

She stepped in close.

“Lunch, with all the girls,” Angie continued, smiling again as his eyes settled right into her cleavage, “There was so much estrogen in the air, what with all the laughing and rah-rah cheering for this new place. Most of the girls here are morons, but damn if they aren’t hooked up to the right train, as things are going to be changing.”

She was talking almost to herself, he thought, while he knew he was being so passively quiet. He struggled to think of something to say. “Wow, Ang,” AJ finally spoke, “your tits look really big today.”

Angie chuckled, took a casually deep breath for him.”He’s a boob-guy, just like you,” she mused, reveling in the gift of her naturally big, full bosom, with its perfect, milky skin, “so, yeah, I wanted show them off…think he’ll like me?”

The jealousy continued to sit with him, inside his throat, tightening.

“Well, uh, y-yeah, of course,” he managed, figuring he should be supportive rather than risking her ire by sounding indignant. “Wh-what are they going to have you doing?”

“I’m going to be working with Kathy, this lady reassigned from some pharmaceutical company, to help run the practice’s accounting,” Angie continued, “Technically she’s my immediate boss, for the time being. But it’s okay, for now. She actually sounds like she has half a brain.” Her hand went up onto the side of his head, stroked his scalp leisurely, kept his gaze focused where she wanted it. “If I play my cards right, I’ll get hooked up doing financials for this study, with all the money coming in from the grants,” she said, her tone aggressively self-assured, “I’m going to be on it, totally in the right place, when things go down. Meet the right people, rise up the ranks, make more and more money…”

This was...yikes, wow...really turning him on. Secretly he loved hearing Angie embellish her own ego like this. Her boastful narcissism - she was constantly convinced that she was the smartest person in the room - was just always so hot to him. And he wasn’t nearly sure what she was talking about, but he loved how excited she sounded and how, in the face of his recent career troubles, how powerful she wanted to become. When had he gotten this way? When had he gotten to be such a junkie for the, well, submissive thrill he felt hearing a woman talk about being smart, successful...superior?

“Yeah, well, t-they’ve given me some responsibility too…” he found himself saying, maybe out of a reflexive knee-jerk reaction, some male pride bubbling weakly to the surface, “They’re having us tear out the old HVAC systems, and have me inspecting the venting, some of the thermostats...” Angie was letting him talk, possessively stroking his head, so he just continued. “Supposedly they’re putting in a new central one that’ll handle the whole building,” he explained, “be able to put some sort of aromatherapy into it. Weird, huh?”

“Aromatherapy, huh?” Angie asked, her interest piqued - and betrayed by a new purr, “In the air-conditioning?” She continued to pet his head, and drew in a little closer to him as she thought to herself. “Can you find out...any more about that for me?“

“Oh, uh, yeah...sure…” he agreed, though not really sure what he could do. Lots of this project seemed so under-wraps, at least from the guys. He hadn’t laid eyes on much in the way of blueprints or tech sheets or whatever.

“Good boy…” she praised, speaking plainly, “pull down your pants.”

Suddenly, AJ’s heart leapt. Was he about to get some?? Here in a storage closet?? Ha he’d take anything he could get these days, he thought to himself as he clumsily unzipped his thick, loose-fit utility pants, started to pull them down.

“B-boxers too?” he asked.

“Sure,” Angie allowed, and in a moment they were down at his knees, too. His erection already stood proud; of that he was glad. He wanted her to know how much she turned him on. But, then he thought - how had they gotten here? Didn’t she used to be the swooning drama nerd in high school, who’d barely been on his radar? The one who used to have the crush on him??

“A-Angie…?” he began.

“Shush, quiet,” she said, “grab your cock.”

“Wh-what?” he stammered, knowing exactly what she wanted him to do, “n-no I’m not going to, like, j-jerk off here in a cl-“

“Yes you will,” she stated, her confidence only making him harder, as she physically took his hand and planted it on his erection, balling it into a fist around his turgid shaft, “because you're submissive, just like him, and you’ll do exactly what I say...just like he will, some day.”

”I-I’m n-not,,,’submissive’..!” he bristled, male ego once again raising its battered head in the face of insult and jealousy. Like, what did she mean, ‘just like he will’??

“Okay sure, you’re not submissive,” she chuckled, laughing unpleasantly at his little snit, “prove it.”

With that, Angie took AJ’s full head between her hands, palms on his face and manicured fingers stretching back behind his head, and faced him solidly into her plumply bulging cleavage.

“Now stroke,” she directed, and to his own aghast he couldn’t help but obey. He’d been conditioned, over these past months, helpless when confronted by her, powerless to defy her will...especially when she used her tits. What was wrong with him??? In his hand, with his eyes plastered on the pale, soft flesh of her big breasts, his cock suddenly became even more needy, ached immediately for release. He groaned, both in spleen at himself and this crippling arousal.

She laughed again. “Not submissive, hm?” she purred, “Look at you. You're totally dominated by women. You’re working for women now, you do everything women tell you to do. At the job here, in bed with me…”

”hey..!” he began to protest, eyes rising for the moment, looking for hers, “I thought you liked-”

“Oh, I do, we all do,” she capitulated, shaking her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head, redirecting his gaze back to her chest, “we love when the roles start reversing like this. Like you, getting to be my little bitch.”

“h-h-heyyyy…” he began to protest, but his voice faded, most of his fight lost between her E-cups.

“Aww, don’t feel badly,” she said, “I’ve been reading up on this. I really think men in general are getting more submissive, turning more beta, just watching as women take charge more. The doctor here included. Look what he’s done - or let happen. This whole place is run by girls.”

“H-h-huh…” AJ stammered dumbly, not even realizing he’d fallen into a rhythm, stroking himself, staring at Angie’s breasts.

“This is my chance, to get in, to take my piece,” she pronounced, ego swelling her bosom like a deep breath, “I’m so fucking alpha, I could run this place.”

”oh, uh, y-yeah..?” he spoke, bewitched and befuddled by every ripple and jiggle under her skin.

“You men like me to be in charge, don’t you? The thought of a woman boss?” she pressed, “You’d all never admit it but it gets you excited, how the women here - everywhere - are really the ones running the show, that any male authority is really just a thin facade, ready to be, like, cracked.”

“Oh my god Angie,” AJ moaned, now in the full grip of arousal, starting to pump himself with more abandon as Angie’s words struck chords with him neither he nor she had yet heard. Angie was experimenting, learning.

“Women have always been the ones to take up responsibilities, accept them and take them on, when men fail. We’ve been getting more able, more and more competent, while you all just, like, get lazy and dumb and shrink away,” she said, watching how his eyes were glazing over, his face going slack. Still he stared at her tits. “And you know the best part? It fucking turns you all on. You like getting weaker, losing responsibility and authority, your lives getting smaller as ours get bigger…”

“J-j-jesus Angie yes,” he stammered, mouth fully gaping now, his whole body shaking as he jacked off to her, to this vision of women.

She pulled his face closer. “Look at my tits. Look how big they are, look how deep and dark my cleavage is,” she commanded, “I’ll bet you wish you could shrink down and sink in there. Just become a little man and live between your girlfriend’s tits.”

“A-Angie n-n-n-...” he began, trying to deny but unable to come up with a sentence, in the face of the shame.

“Shhh, I know. I know what kind of porn guys have been into these days. I know what kind you’ve been into,” she said, “the shrinking, the bodybuilders, the giantesses…”

“unnh...unnnh…” he grunted, vision starting to close in, laser focused between her tits.

“And our breasts,” she continued, but knowing she had him close, “When did you become so obsessed with breasts? Even when you sleep, they’re there, aren’t they? Vision of my breasts swim in your head all night long.”

It was true. Her boobs were all he dreamed about. He moaned in forbearance and began to shudder.

“It’s true,” she said, her words echoing his thoughts, right as his climax began to crest, “It totally is. It’s why you wake up in the middle of the night sucking your own thumb. You want to be our fucking babies…”.

That was it, that was the final blow, and AJ could take no more. He groaned, finally closed his eyes, and came. His body lurched, shook, and cum shot up out of his cock.

Angie backed off, an inch, his head still in her hands. “There you go,” she said, plainly, “don’t get it on my dress.”

AJ, for himself, opened his eyes again, now jerking himself through it while staring into her tits again. He didn’t want to get it on her dress, so he pointed it back at himself, soiling his hand, his belly, his thigh.

“That’s right, get it all out,” she employed, patience now starting to wear thin, a new edge sharpening her voice. Though his climax still had him, she released his head, backing off another step. Her hands went to her top, pulling her neckline now more fully up over her breasts. “Finish up…”

AJ groaned in distress, his orgasm waning but ruined in its final moments. He just wanted those tits to bury himself into, and she was stepping away...

“Mommy’s got to go,” she said, finally, looking down at herself, shimmying herself back into some semblance of modesty, “Now, Aaron. This is it for us. I’m through.”

“w-w-wait whut?” AJ sputtered, confused, as his cock - just starting to deflate - leaked its final jisms onto his hand.

“I said I’m, like, done,” Angie said, straightly, looking down at him again, “You’ve been the perfect toy to practice on, and I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been fun. But I’m moving on, to bigger and better things.”

“Wait, no…” AJ managed, sobering quickly in shock but still struggling to grasp what was happening, “...are you...b-breaking up with me?”

“Yep,” she said, no hint of empathy softening her words as she watched the guy she’d lived with, the man she’d broken, start to shake. He was flailing, looking down at himself, at his mess, unsure what to do.

She reached out, grabbed a team of paper towels, and tossed it at him. “Here, clean up.”

“Angie, wait,” he tried, pulling several sheets out and starting to wipe himself down. She can’t do this, not now..! he thought, What will I do? Where will I live?? He had to stop her. “Let’s-“

“No, I’m done waiting,” she stopped him, turning away, hand already reaching for the door, grabbing the handle. An image of Melissa, her last Instagram post, flashed into her mind, made Angie seethe. “I’ve got things to do.”

And then he was alone.

=============================

sorry for the poor image quality, ‘twas the best I could do.

more stuff, newer posts at my Patreon

#growing into the job

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strawberrysoup · 4 years

Text

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 1

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.3k chapters: 1/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. Open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Cleaning rich people’s vacation homes hadn’t been your dream job growing up. You had such high hopes when you were a kid, well into your teens, of becoming a zoologist. It had started off like most kid’s dreams—in kindergarten you wanted to be a veterinarian. That grew into wanting to become a herpetologist, but then you wondered, why limit yourself? As a zoologist you could be around tons and tons of animals, studying their behaviors and ecological impacts. It was about half way past your fourteenth birthday that you realized none of your dreams mattered.

You woke in the middle of the night to a crippling pain in your stomach, an unbearable heat boiling under your flesh. You must’ve been screaming, because your parents burst in frantically—only to stop dead upon stepping past the threshold. At the time you had no idea why, but it had been shock. Omegas were rare nowadays, more and more betas were being born while the number of omegas dropped. It was a point on contention; betas could breed with alphas, rendering the omega almost obsolete but alphas, especially ones with packs, wanted omegas.

Personally, you figured that evolution had decided to take things into its’ own hands. Everything about omegas spat in the face of adaption; they were small and delicate, hardwired to obey alpha commands even to their own detriment, experienced a full weeks’ worth of being completely and utterly incapable of survival on their own—

Well, unless one acquired (through whatever means necessary) methods to prevent it that one. Heats, a homegrown threat guaranteed to commit acts of violence at least twice a year. By the time your first had worn off, your parents had already jumped into action. They had three different packs bidding on you. Your mother had been bubbling with glee, talking about how wonderful it was that she had produced an omega when she herself was a beta. Your very existence was about to rocket them into both fame and fortune. So, you ran away. That same night.

It had been shockingly easy to locate illegal suppressants. They taught all about them in school, how they were horrible and taxing on an omega’s physiology. Suppressants masked an omega’s scent, prevented their heats, and (in your opinion) were the best invention of the twenty first century. You couldn’t have given a flying fuck about what negative impacts they might’ve had on your body—death would be a reprieve. Unfortunately you’d yet to have any of the widely touted negative effects (effects that you were pretty sure were made up to keep omegas afraid and compliant) and so you found yourself cleaning rich people’s vacation homes just over the Canadian border.

You’d been living out of your car since you first bought it at sixteen, for five hundred dollars. You gave a creepy beta a blowjob to get your license forged. It was the best investment you’d ever made (not that you had the opportunity to make many) and the clunker was still getting you from point A to point B and that’s all you needed. You had to move constantly, staying in one place too long meant people started to notice you, especially in the small towns you frequented in Ontario. But there was so much forest surrounding you that every once in a while you could just drop off the face of the earth, camping so deep in the woods no one would stumble across you. It made staying anonymous so much easier.

That was actually the current plan, after you finished cleaning this last massive cabin; to abscond into the woods for a while, until you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You won’t return to this town for at least a year. You’ll spark recognition when you return, but not enough for anyone to consider you more than an outsider in their close-knit community. The kind woman who lets you work for her cleaning company so sporadically will remember you when you ring her, the only person particularly thrilled to hear you’re back for a few months.

You do an excellent job and you do it fast— you can thoroughly and perfectly clean a 6 bedroom mansion by yourself in less than 10 hours and you were paid under the table so you didn’t require overtime, which Mrs. Hunt loved (there was no tax to be taken from an unreported cash payment though, so it was a fair trade in your opinion). You would work yourself to the bone, 10 hours a day everyday there was work available for at least three months and then dip without any expectations until the next time you returned, when she was gushing over the amazing reviews your work had gotten the last time you were around.

It was symbiotic existence—you were paid well for your efforts, more than enough to sustain living out of your car for months at a time, and your performance drove her online reviews into the 4.9 stars range and made it feasible for her to raise her prices. Mrs. Hunt didn’t ask any questions either, even when you requested to only work alone and couldn’t provide any identification beyond a driver’s license.

You were finishing up the kitchen in what was definitely one of the nicest places you’d ever cleaned when your phone went off in your back pocket. It made your skin prickle. Very few people had your number and you couldn’t think of a single reason they’d ring you instead of texting unless something was wrong. You propped the mop against your shoulder and dug out the phone, frowning at Mrs. Hunt’s name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so glad I got a hold of you! How are you doing?”

“I’m well, Mrs. Hunt,” you answered, your voice coming out semi-robotically as you strained not to sound panicked while continuing the conversation like a normal fucking person, “I’m just about done here, I was finishing the dry mop in the kitchen when you called and then all I need to do is pack up.”

“Oh perfect! I was calling because the owner just rang me, apparently some of his packmates will be arriving a bit earlier than anticipated—potentially within the next hour. Something about someone getting caught up at work, I’ll spare you the details. But if you’re almost done then you’ll probably be gone by the time they arrive.”

“Certainly Mrs. Hunt,” you’d immediately started frantically dry mopping the moment the words ‘within the next hour’ escaped the woman’s mouth, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder. “I’ll be gone in the next few minutes.”

“Now even if you aren’t its okay,” the concern in her voice meant that your own had betrayed you, waivered when you responded without your knowledge. “I always warn the owners that if they arrive before the scheduled time that there’s a possibility the house won’t be done and/or there might be people actively working in the house. You won’t get in any trouble, okay?”

“R-Right, thank you ma’am,” you swallowed heavily, finishing the last swipe across the tile in the kitchen and hustling back into the foyer. “I really won’t be but a minute though. I always keep all of my equipment put away and together if I’m not using it, so I really just need to pack up the mop.”

Which you’d already shoved into the rolling cart you picked up each morning that held all of your cleaning supplies provided by the company.

“Don’t forget your bucket too!” Mrs. Hunt sounded smiley again, “I’ll leave the key under the mat so you can stow your cart tonight. Have a good one swee—.”

“You too!” You might’ve hung up a touch too soon to be considered polite, shoving the phone back into your pocket and running into the kitchen. There was no time to dwell on manners.

The mop bucket was sitting on the counter, already washed and dried and waiting to be put away. You’d started keeping your things completely put away at all times the same day you’d been accosted by a homeowner who arrived home earlier than expected while you were still trying to pack up. You’d tried to put your notice in that night, a couple of years ago now, but Mrs. Hunt begged you not to—promised it would never happen again. This must’ve been her best attempt at preventing it. At least you had already planned to leave town tonight anyway.

You nearly sprinted back to the cart, haphazardly tossing the stupid bucket on top and wheeling it towards the huge front doors. You’d just stopped to reach around and grab the handle when the knob turned and the left door was pushed open, nearly hitting your cart.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he was a beta, curly haired and dark eyed with pale skin, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Did I knock anything over?”

“N-No, sir,” you pulled the cart back a few steps, nearly trembling with the effort it took not to blast right past him, especially when you noticed him carefully scenting the air. "The house is all clean, I was j-just leaving.”

“Thank you, for getting everything clean for us. We don’t get to come out here as often as we like, I’m sure the place collected a lot of dust in our absence,” he smiled, looking both parts shy and calculating to your well trained eye— and you had no time for such consideration.

“Not too much, h-have a nice night!” You could feel your pulse racing and that was bad. Even the good suppressants, the ones that most of your money went to, had difficulty completely masking the scent of panicking omega.

“Did you use bleach?” The question caught you off guard and you almost jumped when he put a hand on your cart, glancing through the array of chemicals.

“Y-Yes, in the bathrooms. I wasn’t informed of any sensitivities—”

“Nothing a little fresh air won’t take care of,” you wanted him to stop looking at you like that, like there was some pale flash of recognition behind his eyes. “Would you go open the windows in the bathrooms upstairs? I’m afraid my nose is pretty sensitive, several of my packmates are similar.”

You did not like that his nose was especially sensitive and you hated that his packmates were similarly afflicted. It felt like getting punched in the face with a fight or flight instinct, your brain immediately demanded that you leave the cart and run past him—fuck the cart, fuck the job, you could find something else.

“Oh, and do you have the key to the front doors? I might as well get them from you now instead of us having to go down to the office tomorrow.” Your hand immediately dove into your pocket, yanking out the single key and dropping it in his palm. “Thanks— and the windows? Sorry, I just can’t go up there until it’s aired out.”

He wasn’t a huge man but the way he filled the doorway made you second guess trying to run past him, even if he was greying at the temples and looking a little rumpled. It was strange, you wouldn’t usually have such an intense reaction to a beta, but something about him was vaguely unsettling. So instead of trying to make a run for it, you turned on your heel and forced yourself to calmly walk up the stairs. There were four massive bedrooms in the cabin, each with its own bathroom and you’d need to go through and open the windows for the three bathrooms that had them. It meant darting into huge bedrooms, dodging expensive furniture and knickknacks and trying not to dirty the freshly mopped and swept hardwood floors in the process.

It took about five minutes but you felt like you’d run a marathon, your heart was pounding and there was sweat at the nape of your neck. All you wanted was out of the stupid fucking house, immediately. You dashed down the stairs and turned the corner, seeing your cart right where you left it. The door was still open too, but the beta was no where to be seen. You immediately darted forward, grabbing the cart tightly and beginning to push it past the threshold—

You were stopped in your tracks at the sight of two unnecessarily broad alphas. Both were tall, the white man standing just an inch or so taller, with a full beard and blond hair. The black alpha had facial hair too, a cleanly edged goatee to match a faded cut. Both were incredibly attractive and putting off waves of pheromones, to the point that your head floated for a moment. Your lips clamped shut on a whine, instinct trying to push through and alert the two powerful alphas of your presence. Instead you ducked your head and continued out the door.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” Your gaze snapped up, immediately locking with a pair of dark brown eyes. “You the housekeeper?”

“Yes sir,” you answered quietly, stopping short in front of them when neither moved out of your way. “Sorry to have been here so late. Have a good evening.”

Both were still smiling, still pointedly not moving.

“My name’s Steve, that’s Sam,” the blond’s nose twitched, just slightly, and you realized he was very discretely scenting the air. “Nice to meet you. Do you live in town?”

“N-No, please excuse me,” you nudged the cart forward just an inch but they still didn’t budge and panic began coursing through your blood with renewed vigor, “excuse m—”

“Your scent is… confusing,” Steve’s head tilted to the side, “I don’t mean to be crass, of course, but I couldn’t help but notice.”

“It’s always been this way,” the response was automatic and your brain began shutting down all unnecessary functions; you were about to have to run and hope your omega physiology would make you faster than them.

“You smell almost like an omega,” he continued, both hands coming to rest on his hips, emphasizing the width of his shoulders. “But not quite?”

“I’m a beta.”

“Are you sweetheart?” Sam’s voice was a rumble, his head tilted to the side while his dark eyes burned holes into your skin.

The tone an alpha used with naughty omegas was deliberate and tightly controlled, the same as a command or a purr or a growl. It was on purpose, an attempt to nicely draw out the correct response. He wanted you to admit you were an omega, to tell them the truth of your own volition. The fact that your hindbrain desperately wanted to comply was a completely different issue—one you didn’t have time to address right now.

“Positive,” you breathed, clenching your fists tightly around the handles of the cart for just a second before deciding to leave it behind; you’d never be coming back here, there was no reason to worry about preserving your job.

Your eyes were quick and indefinitely perceptive. Being an omega was one step up from being a prey species, it came with inherent instincts that made you especially good at predicting behaviors. After all, an omega was only as good as their ability to please and soothe packmates. One of the single upsides to being an omega was that you were fast though—fast enough to outrun most alphas. And you only needed to go about a hundred and fifty feet, once you were in your car you could certainly get away. So the second you realized the pair was about to shift, moving to face each other more than you, you darted around the cart and dodged to the left.

It wasn’t your fault, honestly. There was no way you could’ve known you weren’t dealing with normal alphas. The blond was so fast that he almost moved between blinks—one moment he was still, the next he’d wrapped his arms around you and tugged you back into his chest. His arms were like steel, one wrapped around your torso to keep your arms pinned to your sides while the other carefully held your chin. Your hindbrain was screaming now, submit, submit, make alpha happy and you bit down on your tongue to hold in the whimpers, the omega sounds your throat was trying to produce.

“Shhh, shh, calm down,” it was half a tone away from being a purr and you continued to squirm while you still could—an alpha command was coming, you could feel it in your bones.

“Let Steve smell you,” Sam was rumbling instead of talking again, a similar half purr to how Steve had started speaking. "Everything’s okay, omega.”

You felt a nose nudge down your neck, towards your scent gland and you bared your teeth at the man in front of you. “I’m not an omega!”

“You smell like omega,” Steve’s breath ghosted over your skin and you fought a shiver. "Sort of. It’s buried, under… beta… sour beta?”

“What sort of suppressants are you on, sweetie?” You startled as the beta from earlier emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a dish towel absently. "Are you cutting them with anything? Heroin, or coke? It’s okay, you just need to tell me.”

“Tell Bruce sweetheart,” Sam coaxed, automatically moving to roll up the sleeves of your shirt, evidently looking for track marks. "Where do you get them?”

“I’m not on suppressants!” Your voice was almost a shriek at this point, desperately imitating the behavior of an angry beta rather than a terrified omega. “I’m a beta! Get off of me!”

“Okay, okay, here then,” Steve’s arm around your torso tightened, the one on your chin beginning to work its way down towards your jeans. "There’s only way one to tell for sure.”

Shock and fear and humiliation; an array of emotions swarmed through your body as his hand popped the button but those were the three you could identify and you immediately started thrashing your legs—he was going to check if you had an omega ridge and then everything would be over. It was a defining physical characteristic that couldn’t be passed off as anything other than what it was: a boney protrusion meant to catch on an alpha’s knot so they could be locked in place. In females it was found in the vagina, prominently featured directly before the g-spot so a knot would cause persisting pleasure. For males it was similarly positioned next to the prostate.

“Calm down, calm down!” Sam crooned, hands coming up to cup your face as while Steve’s slithered down the front of your jeans and into your panties. "It’s okay sweetheart, no matter what. Whatever Steve finds, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll keep you safe.”

The thrashing was doing nothing but tiring you out, you’d already been intensively cleaning for the past 9 hours without a break and it certainly wasn’t dissuading the hand slithering between your folds. You bit down on your tongue harder, until you drew blood to prevent the whimpers—you couldn’t make that stupid sound, you’d never make that stupid, pathetic, whiney noise, you couldn’t. Not even when a long, thick finger penetrated and sunk knuckle deep. Not even when the pad of said finger brushed your g-spot before hooking onto the ridge, tugging gently in a way that would’ve caused blinding pleasure had you not grounded yourself with the pain of biting your tongue.

“There it is,” Steve’s voice was soft, finger carefully running the length of the ridge. "A nice deep one too.”

“How long have you been taking suppressants?” Bruce prodded quietly, coming to stand next to Sam. “I need to know what sort of damage we’re looking at.”

When you didn’t respond Sam sighed, fingers brushing gently over your chin as he directed you to face him. "Please don’t make us use an alpha command, sweetheart. We just wanna take care of you. Tell Bruce how long you’ve been on suppressants, please.”

You regarded the handsome alpha for several short moments before spitting a mouthful of blood directly into his face.

content warnings: assault, noncon vaginal fingering

edited 7/9/21 - still on hiatus

#avengers x reader #steve rogers x reader #thor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #tony stark x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #clint barton x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!thor #dark!bucky barnes #dark!tony stark #dark!natasha romanoff #wow i give up its too many #posies chapter 1 #will reblog w tags in just a sec

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mostlycompetentwriter · 3 years

Text

Start Line (Part One of Two)

M/F Pairing: Fem!Reader x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 7.2K

Genre: Boys over Flowers AU! Strangers to enemies to potential lovers!

Summary: Starting a new school is never easy, but the four rich and popular boys who pretend like they’re above the rest of the student population? Well, that makes everything even worse.

A/N: You don’t need to watch the show to understand, but it might be fun! AKA this is a Kdrama recommendation.

Also, I’m super sorry to the anonymous user who asked for this and probably impatiently waited for me to get a grip!!!

Tagging @skzwriternet

For my entire life, I’ve had to work harder than everyone else to secure the things that I wanted the most.

Which is why nothing could enrage me more than the sight of the four boys sitting on the bleachers together in my new school’s gymnasium.

I had just recently transferred into the school on a swimming scholarship, and a young student assistant offered to give me a tour of the facilities before my first day of scheduled classes. Her name was Suzy, and she had enough intel on the school’s population that even the CIA would be jealous.

I wasn’t normally one for drama, but Suzy’s warning about the school’s infamously named “F4″ was enough to leave me feeling cautious: “You see those guys over there?” she had asked when we sat down together on the bleachers. “It’s fair to say that they run the school, so most people try to avoid pissing them off.”

The boys in question were all starters for the school’s accolade-heavy basketball team. Apparently, that meant a lot in this affluent and well-endowed community, and I could tell that they considered themselves with the highest regard. Especially the oldest, a handsome blonde whose killer accent was surely the ruin of any one of those poor girls who flocked around them like they were desperate for attention.

“Bang Chan,” Suzy informed me. “He’s the leader, and his family owns an entire line of luxury hotel chains.”

“I guess that means something special?” I remarked, and Suzy gave me a curious look.

“His family owns the school, but if we’re talking worth, then his parents pretty much own this whole town.”

“So, he takes advantage of that,” I noted, and Suzy nodded her head before indicating to the other three boys.

“They’ve all been friends since they were kids, but everyone knows that Chan and Changbin are super close.”

“Changbin?” I questioned, and Suzy pointed to the introspective and sullen-looking student who was ignoring all of the other girls with narrowed dark eyes.

“His parents died when he was young,” she explained. “He lives with his grandfather.”

“Oh?” I wondered, and I looked at Changbin again with a fresh perspective - as someone who had experienced trauma that would follow him for the rest of his life.

“Felix and Minho are the real fuckboys,” Suzy continued. “They’re notorious for the weekend rule.”

“The weekend rule?”

“Find a college party, hook-up with a nameless girl, and then leave her before she’s too attached.”

“Fuck boys,” I grumbled in agreement, and Suzy sighed as if she had personal experience...but I seriously doubted that someone of her caliber would stoop so low knowing full well what kind of reputation she was dealing with.

“The entire school is at their beck and call,” she said. “They do whatever they want, and nobody ever questions them.”

“Well, I’m here to graduate and find a good college for swimming,” I said, meeting Chan’s gaze from a distance. “I don’t have time for games.”

The ominous faction leader smirked as he held my stare, eyeing me up and down with a flicker of interest that I chose to ignore when Suzy asked if I wanted to finish the rest of our tour.

Day One

On my first day of classes, Suzy was kind enough to stick close to my side, although I was beginning to see that she wasn’t very popular, and we were mostly ignored by the rest of the populace. Which was just fine with me.

“Check it out!” she exclaimed. “Our schedules are almost identical.”

“I’m glad,” I said, ducking my head to avoid a couple of rough-housing football players who were “playfully” knocking each other into the lockers. “I’m pretty sure you could get lost in here.”

“Well, ideally, most students start here in Elementary school, and they stay all the way through High School,” Suzy said.

“A pretentious education at its finest,” I remarked, wondering how much money was literally walking by me with every Luis Vuitton bag and Gucci-made uniform that passed in opposing directions.

“Do you start swimming after school?” Suzy asked, making easy conversation as we entered our first classroom - advanced biology.

“Yeah,” I said, following Suzy to the back of the room. “There’s a tournament this weekend.”

“Already?” Suzy gasped, and she plopped down into one of the desks next to me. “Will you have enough time to practice?”

“I’ll be fine,” I reassured her, reaching for a spare notebook as the teacher walked in to begin one of the most intense lectures that I had ever attended.

But the school’s Academic reputation was no joke, and I imagined that they hired the finest teachers that the school’s infinite endowment could afford - a budget that would eclipse the remainder of the public schools in the district. Yet, no one seemed to blink an eye at how obviously unfair that was, as if these well-off students deserved a high-class education simply because their parents made more money than they could spend.

My new socio-economic environment was becoming more and more apparent, and I was suddenly feeling every part of the outcast who wandered into the wrong part of town with good intentions. But a moralistic attitude would get you nowhere in life if everyone else refused to acknowledge the fact.

I learned quickly that the students at this school were only looking after themselves, but the lesson was hard to accept. Which might explain my uncharacteristic heroism when it came to defending Suzy later on that afternoon when she agreed to give me a ride home after swim practice.

I was outside, sending a message to my mom, when I noticed a black SUV careening backwards at a speed that was far too fast. Meanwhile, Suzy had settled down inside the car to start the ignition, messing with the dials on the radio, when a powerful jolt sent her jerking forward. “What the hell?” Suzy shrieked, turning around in her seat only to startle with that “deer in the headlights” look of absolute horror.

“Shit!!” she cursed, and I watched her get out of the car before taking a deep breath and joining her on the opposite side of her smashed trunk where a huge crowd of students had started to gather around us.

They were talking rapidly amongst themselves, and I figured out why they were so interested the minute Bang Chan and one of his friend - Felix, perhaps? - walked up to Suzy with a bored expression. “You do this often?” were the first words I ever heard from Chan. “I can’t believe you got in my way.”

Suzy immediately bowed her head - submitting to the older Senior. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but I couldn’t stand to watch her expose her most vulnerable position.

“Hey!” I shouted, walking around Suzy’s crumbled form to stand toe-to-toe with the infamous Bang Chan.

“You must be the new girl,” Chan remarked, eyeing me up and down with vague interest. “I kinda expected something more when I saw you the other day...”

I seethed when his gaze fell lower, as if pointing out something that only hormonal teenage boys would care about. “I’m not here to impress you,” I replied, and he arched one brow.

“I don’t need to be impressed,” Chan said. “But your little friend disrespected me, and I think she should apologize.”

“You’re the one who wasn’t looking!” I snapped. “Anyone with eyes could see that you were too busy on your phone to pay attention!”

There was a collective conversation from the crowd, and Chan studied the growing conglomeration of students surrounding our confrontation. “Do you have proof of that? Or, is it your word against mine?”

“Someone with any sense of dignity wouldn’t act this way,” I countered, and Chan immediately started laughing.

“Oh? Isn’t that cute,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You have a lot to learn around here.”

“The only thing I’ve learned is to stay away from you,” I said, and Chan rolled his eyes like it was the dumbest thing he had ever heard.

And the torment only continued.

“Hey!” I snapped when he knocked his shoulder against mine, coming to stand in front of Suzy again with disdain.

“Pay for the damages,” he ordered. “And then apologize to me.”

“Chan-” Suzy started, but I grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn around.

“I wasn’t finished,” I said, and our noses almost brushed from the minimal distance I allowed between us.

“I don’t want to hear anything else about your idea of honor or whatever,” Chan sneered, but he paused when I held up my phone, pressing the play button on the video which provided convincing evidence of the incident.

“What about this?” I asked him, and I could practically see him come undone.

“Give that to me!” he demanded, but I took several steps away from him, returning my cellphone to my pocket.

“But I’m sure the police would be interested in seeing it.”

Chan’s eyes perceptibly widened, and I felt a surge of triumph in knowing that I had the upper hand. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” I taunted him, briefly glancing over my shoulder at his friend who had started snickering - like he was enjoying our fight.

“Fine,” Chan huffed. “What do you want?”

“You’ll pay for the damages to my friend’s car,” I said. “And...”

“And?” Chan snapped, clearly impatient.

“You can apologize to her instead,” I finished, and there were several consecutive gasps from the student population.

“Is he gonna do it?”

“There’s no way Chan will give in!!”

“Someone film this!”

My smile continued to widen at the jeers of my classmates, and Chan was finally at his wits end, spinning around on his heels to growl an imperceptible attempt at an apology to Suzy who could only look at him in awe. “We’re done here,” Chan said, and I shrugged nonchalantly, watching him storm away with his friend in tow behind him.

I sighed once they were both gone, feeling a sense of profound justice after proving that even the great Bang Chan could be defeated, but then Suzy appeared in front of me with a grave look in her eyes that told me this whole ordeal was far from over. “Y/N,” she whispered. “What have you done?”

Day Three

The next morning, I walked to my locker feeling every gaze turned in my direction. I frowned at each of them, wondering if this was the aftermath from the incident with Chan and his stupid friends. Yet, when I finally paused in front of my locker, an uncomfortable sensation of dread sent me into a cold sweat when I saw what was taped to the front of the door.

It was a red card with a black skull at the top and the infamous “F4″ written across the bottom.

“She got the card!” someone announced from off to the side, and it didn’t take long for other students to rush in my direction.

“The card?” I whispered to myself, remembering Suzy’s previous warnings concerning the exploits of the F4 boys. It wasn’t an accident that I had received this ominous warning, and I knew that I was in trouble.

Quickly, I darted through one of the exits leading outside, placing me somewhere on a small veranda where I leaned against the bannister overlooking the school’s athletic fields. “What the hell is wrong with this place!” I screeched, projecting my voice across the fields, and I didn’t expect anyone to hear me...

“Why the hell are you screaming?”

I paused at the sudden question, widening my eyes when I realized it was closer than I expected. “You come up here often?”

I staggered backward at the interjection, spinning around to locate the voice that had uttered the simple question. “Hello?”

There was a sigh, and then a familiar sweep of brown hair appeared from around the corner. “This is my spot, you know?”

“No,” I said, cringing at my tone. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

The recipient in question was none other than Changbin, one of the four members of the school’s notorious F4. His dark black hair was wind-swept across his forehead, falling in thin strands over attentive brown eyes while he leaned against the wall of the small patio sectioned off from the rest of the veranda. “Lesson learned,” Changbin continued, swaggering up the stairs to stand next to me, looking out over the playing fields. “I guess I can’t come here anymore.”

“What do you mean?” I found myself asking without really thinking about what it might look like to show that I was concerned. After all, he was a member of the same F4 that had just terrorized me with their stupid calling card.

“You’re here,” Changbin replied as if the answer might suffice. “I have a feeling this place will be too loud.”

He sighed then before starting for the exit. “W-wait!” I stuttered, unable to put together a logical sentence before Changbin was already walking back inside.

But Changbin’s unexpected appearance proved to be the least of my problems.

For the remainder of the afternoon, I faced an onslaught of humiliation courtesy of my classmates. Everything from jeers between classes, to more insulting pranks like decorating the desk on my homeroom classroom with vulgar language and pictures.

Yet, worst of all was coming face to face with Bang Chan himself who smiled some kind of sickening smirk at me before quietly asking if I had had enough of the torment. “This is nothing,” I growled at him.

“Oh? Well, it’s only gonna get worse,” Chan promised, and he left without another word, leaving me to stew over a powerful combination of anxiety and frustration.

However, Chan’s idea of worse was, indeed, inexcusable. And I nearly screamed when I went to swim that afternoon, only to discover the pool littered with trash. But there was nobody around to help, and I spent the entirety of my scheduled practice time cleaning up with water, wrinkling my nose at a few questionable banana peels.

“I guess he went through with it,” a familiar voice interrupted my trash session, beaming through the haze of disgust lingering with every brush of my fingers across sodden newspaper or moldy plates.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded of Felix and Minho - the infamous duo who were practically glued to Chan’s side.

“We just wanted to meet you,” Felix said, and I watched through narrowed eyes as they brought over chairs from the side to sit down at the poolside.

I frowned. Couldn’t they help? “Why are you interested?” I asked instead, bringing another load of trash to the edge.

“Well, it’s been awhile since anyone stood up to Chan,” Minho explained, and there was a playfulness in his gaze that left me feeling uneasy in concern to their real intentions.

“Doing what’s right shouldn’t make me a martyr,” I said.

“But it does,” Felix replied with a cheeky smile. “He’s gonna keep up the torture, you know,” he continued, waving his hand around to indicate the trash still floating on top of the chlorine-caked water.

“Forever?” I grimaced, hating that the word had slipped free without really thinking about what it would mean to admit such things to Chan’s friends.

Minho smiled, looking up at something over my shoulder. “I’m surprised to see you here, Changbin?”

I turned around as if it was instinctual, watching the same person from earlier on the veranda walk inside from the locker room. He seemed even more out of place than Minho and Felix, studying the pollution of trash swimming with me. “She’s interesting,” Changbin said, and I was surprised when my stomach did a few somersaults at his confession.

“I agree,” Felix inserted, leaning back against his elbows with his shirt sleeves rucked up high on his forearms. “It’s been a while since Chan has been this invested in something.”

“It would be nice if he could stop,” I grumbled, and I met Changbin’s sincere gaze as he knelt down next to the poolside.

“He’ll give up when he thinks you won’t back down,” Changbin finally decided, and I watched as he started gathering the trash floating in his direction.

Day Seven

In hindsight, my imagination ran wild with scenarios that were more insane with each progressive image that crossed through my head.

But what could you expect from someone who had just figured out that she was being followed by three burly men wearing suits like they were the Men in Black.

Each time I started to walk faster, they would also do the same. Until it got to the point where I was zigzagging around corners, doing my best to dodge out of their sight, only to find myself once again confronted with the strange men who had no intentions of leaving me alone.

Eventually, I paused on the sidewalk outside of the school’s entrance. I was running late that morning, which meant nobody else was around to witness this madness. But I was a strong, independent woman with a a no-nonsense attitude that compelled me to project my voice across the well-polished front lawn. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I began, holding up my hands when they grew closer. “What seems to be the problem?”

“We have orders to bring you to our boss,” they said, which only confused me even more.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know who you’re talking about?”

“Our apologies, miss,” the first man continued. “We were informed that you might try to resist.”

“Like I’m just gonna skip school and leave with a couple of strangers who have no conception of personal space,’ I glowered, but when I tried to spin around on my heel, I found myself colliding with an enormous chest, and I sighed, realizing that they had clearly been distracting me long enough for the third guard to sneak up behind me. “Fine,” I muttered, rolling my eyes when he grabbed my arm, leading me to the sleek black car running at the front of the school.

From there, my day only continued to grow even weirder, especially when I found myself walking up the steps of a gigantic mansion that looked like it could grace the cover of Vanity Fair magazine.

“Where am I?” I tried to ask, but the guards ignored my question, bringing me inside the house where I felt a twinge of misplaced guilt for treading my dirty sneakers across the pristine marble floors that practically shined with my reflection looking back at me.

“Greetings, miss,” a friendly tone greeted me, and I studied the older gentleman who dismissed the guards with a wave of his wrinkled hand. He was dressed impeccably in a suit with a long coat-tail, balding gray hair styled atop his head in a delicate swoop.

“What’s going on?” I demanded, but the butler was silent as he indicated for me to follow him. Down the crowded corridors, decorated with large, extravagant paintings, and down the granite staircase descending to the floor in a circular pattern.

Down a stretch of never-ending hallway that led to a bedroom at the end where two younger women - identically matched in uniform - greeted me by name before ushering me inside.

“Can you at least tell me where I am?” I asked the butler who followed us inside, giving out instructions as I was forced onto a stool in front of a vanity mirror, wincing when the woman immediately started to yank a brush through my long hair.

“This might take a while,” she said, and I frowned at her tone, coughing when a fresh puff of powder was streaked across my face - compliments of another girl who had a palate of make-up balanced on her hand like it was a paint tray and my skin was her canvas.

“I’d like to know something,” I insisted, but I was met with silence, crossing my arms across my chest as I resigned myself to the unexpected makeover since it was a thousand times better than my earlier scenarios where I envisioned myself dying from a James Bond-esque death.

It was only a half-hour later when the women declared themselves finished, standing back to admire their work while I had a staring contest with the girl looking back at me in the mirror. Because it was hard to believe that it was me with neat ringlets decorating my scalp, and sticky globs of mascara and foundation hiding the blemishes on my face.

I looked amazing, but it wasn’t really me. Still, I wasn’t given much time to study my new appearance, and I hesitated when the butler extended a black dress in my direction. “Our boss wants you to wear this,” he informed me, and I hesitantly accepted the expensive fabric.

“Who’s your boss?” I tried once more, but the butler simply smiled at me before waiting outside for me to get dressed, and I squeezed myself into the exquisite gown that swept the floor at my feet, hugging my curves and accentuating my figure in ways that my sweatpants and t-shirts couldn't.

When I finally walked back out, the butler smiled at me in approval before waving his hand in a grand fashion. “He’s waiting in the living room.”

I swallowed hard, following him once again through the maze of the house while wondering who I might be meeting. A rich donor? A potential Sugar Daddy?

They were all grand ideas that proved to be far better than the truth, and I could only gape in surprise when I was led into the living room, only to meet Chan’s eager gaze from across the expanse of white, designer-brand carpet.

“You!” I hissed in an accusing tone, watching the butler leave from the corner of my eye.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Chan asked, eliminating the distance between us with a few calculating steps. “They were right about the dress. You actually clean-up nice, Y/N.”

I scoffed at the backwards compliment. “Are you serious?” I nearly growled. “You kidnapped me for this?!”

Chan looked at me in disbelief, and I wondered if it was the first time that he had ever been rendered silent. “Do I not get a thank you?”

“A thank you?” I repeated. Incredulous.

“I brought you here,” Chan said, but he was clearly hesitating. “I thought you might like the attention? The clothes aren’t to your taste?”

“Shit, you’re dense,” I muttered. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“It’s obvious,” Chan said. “Talking down to me the other day, pretending like you aren’t affected by the F4 card...you just wanted my attention. And guess what, Y/N? I’m willing to give it to you.”

I blinked once, trying to understand his ridiculous train of bullshit. “What?!”

“You can be my girlfriend,” Chan said, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s a pretty big deal, but I’m sure you know that. I’ll even let you hold my hand between classes, and maybe come to your swim meets or whatever.”

“Chan...” I started, but then I broke off with a sigh because nothing I could think of seemed like an appropriate response. “I don’t think there’s even a remote chance that I would want to be your girlfriend.” I shivered, releasing a groan just saying the title. “Whatever you think is happening…it’s totally warped inside that screwed up head of yours.”

“Y/N-”

“Please,” I interrupted him, holding up one hand. “I’ve had enough, okay? I just want to go home.”

“But...” Chan tried to protested, stuttering around his words when I yanked off the expensive heels, chucking them off to the side. “How could you not want this?” he asked. “The outfit itself cost over $1,000 dollars.”

“$1,000 dollars?” I repeated, widening my eyes when I thought about how many hours my parents would need to put in at our local laundromat business to even make close to the amount he just threw away like it was nothing. “Chan, I might not live in the same world as you, but where I come from? You don’t make friends with money...you make them from the heart.”

“Impossible!” Chan protested, even as I turned my back to him. “Money can buy anything!”

“Is that why I’m leaving?” I returned, reaching down to hold my dress in place while feeling a small sense of satisfaction at having left Chan completely speechless.

Of course, in hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have tossed the shoes because the cement was hot against the soles of my feet, and I had attracted more than one curious look as I stormed down the street in search of the main road to take me back home.

“Stupid moron,” I huffed, practically jogging down the road with bare feet and my dress hiked up my legs to prevent me from tripping over the train. It was probably a sight for sore eyes when it came to the rich socialites who populated the neighborhood.

But like the sun’s rays penetrating the clouds on a rainy afternoon, I heard the sound of a motorcycle growing closer from behind me. Until the bike was right next to me, and the driver removed his helmet to expose a familiar bush of brown locks.

“Do you need a ride home?” Changbin asked, and I swallowed hard as I met his steady gaze. It was a simple question, but the fact that he didn’t even question me about why I was here? Nor could I detect any judgement in those impenetrable brown eyes that held all the allure, sending my heart knocking against my breastbone once again.

“Yeah,” I agreed, taking the extra helmet from him. “It’s been a shitty day.”

“I know how that feels,” Changbin said, and I was surprised by his easy conversation, planting myself on the seat behind him.

“Thank you for this,” I said, wrapping my arms around his waist and shivering at the thick smell of his cologne.

“It seems like you might be worth the effort,” Changbin remarked before kicking his bike into gear, and my heart did something strange that might be considered very dangerous when it involved the F4.

But I couldn’t help it, and I had never been more at ease this close to someone else.

Day Ten

Despite my adamant protests, the school insisted that I needed to take a physical education course, which meant that I was forced to pretend to enjoy dodgeball with the rest of my classmates. Hiding out at the back while most of the other girls did all the hard work. But I was only meant for one sport, and dodgeball was as far from swimming as one could get.

It helped that Suzy had gym at the same time, and we talked between games, with Suzy leading most of the conversation.as she offered introductions for most of our other classmates. “Mandy,” Suzy grumbled at one point, indicating to a tall blonde with long legs and a permanent sneer. “She thinks that she somehow has a chance to be with Chan, even though he’s kinda made it obvious that he doesn’t think anyone here is good enough.”

“Really?” I snorted, seeking Chan out from the corner of my eye, playing basketball on the courts with the rest of the F4.

“It’s a running thing here,” Suzy continued. “But most people don’t even try since they don’t want to get on Mandy’s bad side.”

“Whatever,” I replied, averting my gaze when Chan’s eyes met mine. “He’s not even worth it.”

“Most of our classmates would disagree,” Suzy said with a shrug, nudging her shoulder against mine when one of the instructors ordered us to begin the second round.

As usual, I lingered at the the sidelines away from my team, making a half-hearted attempt to play along, especially since I seemed to be a recurring target, using other bodies to protect myself from stray plastic dodgeballs. “What the hell,” I grumbled, wondering if that stupid F4 card was to blame for my classmate’s sudden desire to single me out from everyone else.

I crossed my arms at the thought, finding myself once again looking back over at Chan...Did he think it was funny to make me a target of ridicule? Well, at least Changbin was being surprisingly nice, and just the mere mention of the older boy was enough to do crazy things to my poor heart.

But lost in my daydreams, I failed to notice that Mandy and one of her friends had stalked to the edge of the court, rearing back to throw their dodgeballs at me while I was distracted. “Y/N!” I heard Suzy’s voice scream from across the field, and I looked away from Chan only to find myself frozen in place while a dodgeball flew in my direction.

The sickening CRACK! of the stupid thing hitting my nose was audible, and I immediately tasted blood on my upper lip. “Go clean yourself up, Miss Y/L/N,” one of the instructors said, but I was furious that she was treating the situation so nonchalantly.

It was all Chan’s fault. Even if he hadn't thrown the ball, he empowered his classmates to belittle me at every opportunity, and I was tired of being the school’s metaphorical punching bag. And I hated the tears threatening to fall, refusing to show any signs of weakness as I stormed past Suzy for the girl’s bathroom.

“Fuck,” I cursed as I leaned over the sink, splashing some cold water on my face as I looked at my bloody and mangled reflection in the mirror.

This was the worst incident so far, and I hated that the situation had escalated to something physical, gripping the edge of the sink tightly as I closed my eyes to regain control over my breathing.

“Here,” a voice whispered from behind me, and I turned around with a glare already contorting my expression when I was forced to face Bang Chan once again.

“It’s your fault,” I replied, snatching the paper towel from him as I dabbed at my nose. “What the hell are you doing in the girl’s bathroom?”

“I’m sorry,” Chan said, but I refused to believe it was sincere, turning back around to check the damage of my nose in the mirror. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“You can’t be sorry after the fact,” I snapped. “You had every chance to make things right and leave me the hell alone.”

“Well, I can’t do that now...” Chan trailed off, and it was surprising to see him suddenly look so unsure of himself. “I'm just trying to help...”

“And who asked you to do that?” I returned, looking at him from the corner of my eye. “Even if you were the last person on Earth, I would never ask for your help!”

My exclamation was punctuated by a rather harsh sound after I shoved the paper towels into the trashcan, preparing to leave the bathroom before Chan grabbed my arm to turn me back around. “What do you dislike so much?” Chan whined. “I don’t understand...I’m rich, handsome, smart...”

“All of it!” I interrupted with a harsh tone, and Chan immediately stumbled back against the sink. “You must not realize, but do you think those things matter to me? Because I can’t even consider them when your entire personality is unattractive! Your arrogant attitude, your stupid face, and that ridiculous curly hair!!”

“Are you insane?” Chan asked, and his bewildered expression would be funny under any other circumstances.

“I’m not done yet,” I sharply interjected. “It annoys me that you guys are allowed to do whatever you want at this school, and the whole red card deal? Where you give everyone a free pass to bully other students? Like it’s nothing? That’s the absolute worst thing about you!!”

“Y/N...”

“Do I need to repeat it?” I interrupted once more. “I hate everything about you!”

The harsh exclamation was met by silence as Chan continued to stare at me, and I decided to leave him alone in silence to think about everything I had said, rejoining my classmates with a sense of relief at having stood up to someone who considered himself as better than everyone else.

Day Fourteen

“You should come with me,” Suzy remarked one afternoon, sitting next to the poolside with me as I swam my regular laps.

“I’d rather not,” I said, pausing at the edge of the pool to consider her request - a night under the stars, as the school’s dance team had proclaimed it, and it was one of the biggest school events of the year.

“Why?” Suzy whined. “The F4 revoked your red card, and you can meet some more people...maybe even score some connections.”

“Right,” I scoffed, thinking the idea absurd, but I guess it wouldn’t seem so outrageous to the ones who had been dealing with these politics for their entire lives. “I’m not really that outgoing.”

“It’s okay,” Suzy reassured me, and I could tell that she really wanted me to come with her, which is probably why I felt compelled to agree. But her smile and cheering was worth it, especially considering just how good of a friend Suzy had proven to be during the past two weeks.

And that’s how I found myself walking up to the school’s gymnasium that weekend, wearing an uncomfortable black dress that Suzy had agreed to lend me for the occasion. “You look hot, Y/N,” Suzy said, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my reflection reminded me too much of the time when Chan had brought me to his house to play dress-up.

“I can hear the music all the way out here,” I said, following Suzy up the gym steps.

“Yeah, this event isn’t regulated by the teachers, so it’s basically a free-for-all,” Suzy explained, and I desperately wished that I could find the appeal in that statement, especially once we entered the building, washing us in neon colors of purple and pink. “Let’s dance!” Suzy immediately cried, pulling me to the dance floor despite my protests.

Thankfully, I only had to awkwardly navigate the party scene for one song before Suzy became preoccupied with a very cute Senior boy from our homeroom. I was able to sneak away to the punch bowl, ladling some of the red liquid into my cup before bringing it to my lips. “Hmm,” I wondered, eyeing the drink because it tasted so familiar...”Oh well,” I said, shrugging as I proceeded to drain several more cups before sinking down against the wall, never noticing that a pair of eyes had been watching my every movement until a pair of Versace-toed boots stopped in front of me.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Chan remarked, and I was shocked that he had the guts to talk to me after honoring my request to be ignored for the past several days.

“What do you want?” I grumbled, reluctantly taking his outstretched hand to help me stand again because my vision was unusually blurry and my stomach was churning.

“The punch was spiked,” Chan said, chucking at my disheveled state.

“Spiked?” I repeated, finding myself totally incoherent as I leaned most of my weight against him. “When did that happen?”

“The Seniors do it as a prank,” Chan said, and his gaze seemed to soften as he held me close. “Do you want to sit down?”

“That would be nice,” I slurred, allowing him to guide me over to the bleachers where I dropped down with a thud!

“Damn, you’re pretty wasted,” Chan said, looking me over with an uncharacteristic amount of concern.

“I didn’t know...” I trailed off, pointing back at the punch bowl. “It tasted so good.”

“I bet it did,” Chan said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he cleared his throat. “I saw that you came with your friend, but maybe you might want some company?”

“Sure!” I said, patting the space next to me. “You’ve caught me in a good mood.”

Chan grinned - a genuine smile that I could hardly recognize - as he sat down with a sigh. “This doesn’t really seem like your type of scene.”

“Not really,” I agreed, narrowing my eyes when the room started swaying. “But you’re not my usual type of person.”

“Right,” Chan agreed, chuckling awkwardly as he messed up his hair - straightened instead of curly. “Maybe we could go somewhere else?”

I frowned because, even though I might’ve been a little more than tipsy, I still remembered that I didn’t like Chan, and there was no reason for me to go anywhere with him. “Are you intentionally ignoring everything I said from the other day?”

“No,” Chan murmured. “But I was hoping that I could give you space...and maybe a chance to prove myself?”

“Really?” I snorted. “How much have you changed since the last time we talked?”

“Probably not much,” Chan acknowledged, much to my surprise. “But after everything you said, maybe I’d like to? And I feel like you’re the only person who can be honest enough to help me.”

“Oh,” I replied, slightly disconcerted by Chan’s abrupt change in attitude. “Still, after everything you did...”

“I know I don’t deserve it,” Chan quickly agreed. “But I think you’re one of the rare kinds of people who believes in second chances.”

I exhaled loudly at his words, and in part to keep myself from throwing up after all the alcohol I ingested. “Where would we go?”

“What about a date at the diner downtown?” Chan asked, swallowing hard. “With me?”

“Let’s not call it a date,” I grimaced, and Chan agreed, even though it seemed to be a reluctant remission on his part. “But, yeah, that actually might be nice.”

“Perfect!” Chan said, and he was already on his feet with an energy that was impossible to ignore. “I’ll have Changbin tell your friend. Wait right here, and I’ll come back.”

“Okay,” I muttered, clutching my stomach as I watched Chan run off into the crowd. “Jeez, Y/N,” I groaned. “What are you doing with this guy?”

It might be one of the worst decisions of my life, but something he said struck a nerve deep inside of me. He might be unbearable, but he was right about one thing: people could always change, and I was the type of person who allowed second chances...just as long as someone was willing to earn it and prove themselves.

“Are we taking your car?” I asked, staggering against Chan’s hold as he brought us outside the gym.

“Yeah,” he said. “We can take my car, and you can sober up on the way.”

“Good idea,” I agreed, regretting the decision to drink so much of that stupid punch with every swaying step towards Chan’s expensive sports car.

He had the decency to open the door for me, and I fell inside with a grunt, waiting for him to turn over the ignition before he started fussing over me. “Do you need anything? Something to drink? Are you hot or cold? Should I turn on the music?”

“Don’t ask questions,” I gritted out - a response to everything while I leaned my head against the window.

“Got it,” Chan said, and he dutifully followed through on his promise, never speaking again until we pulled into the parking lot of the diner he had advertised earlier. “Do you feel any better?”

I nodded, an honest response. Because the drive had taken close to twenty minutes, and I had found a water bottle in the floor, downing the contents to settle my stomach and the wave of nausea that only alcohol could bring. “We can go inside,” I said, rolling my eyes when he made a show of coming around to help me out of the car, grabbing my arm despite my protests. “What is this place?” I asked when we walked inside, choosing an empty table near the back.

“My friends come here a lot,” Chan replied. “It’s quiet.”

“Quiet?” I laughed. “There’s no way it’s quiet if the whole school comes here.”

“They don’t,” Chan said, surprising me yet again. “Nobody knows we come here.”

He gave me a meaningful look, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was risking a lot by entrusting me with their secret. “Got it,” I said, miming myself closing a zipper across my lips (perhaps that was the drunkenness affecting my judgement).

But Chan still laughed, and then he went to the counter to order, leaving me to contemplate what the actual hell I was doing with the school’s literal celebrity who treated most people like shit, including me for a short while at the very beginning.

At this point, I really couldn’t blame the alcohol. So, what was wrong with me? Why was I doing this?

“Here,” Chan said, dropping a mug of something sweet down in front of me, effectively interrupting my internal conflict.

“Hot chocolate?” I asked, and I was definitely caught off-guard as Chan shrugged and sat down in front of me.

“I thought you might prefer this,” he admitted.

“Oh...” I started, searching for a good response. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Chan said, and he smiled as he watched me taste the foam resting on top. “Is it good?”

“It’s nice,” I admitted, and Chan had the appearance of someone who had just landed an acceptance to their dream college.

“You’re different from the others,” Chan said, switching the topic. “I like that about you, and it makes me regret everything I’ve done even more.”

“Yeah,” I huffed. “That red card shit needs to stop.”

“I agree,” Chan said, bringing his mug even closer. “My friends have wanted to stop for a while...”

“They’re way smarter than you,” I said, tilting my head to the side as if it might give me a different vantage point of the confusing boy sitting in front of me. “Did you really want to come here with me?”

Chan nodded, eyes gleaming. “You’re interesting,” he decided, mirroring the exact same thing that Changbin had said to me a while back. “I think I like you a lot, which is why what you said to me at my house and in the bathroom really made me reconsider a lot of things.”

“Oh?” I questioned him, amused by his reasoning, and possibly even endeared by his regretful expression. “I might learn to like you...” I trailed off, laughing at his puppy-dog eyes as he looked at me with obvious desperation. “If you learn to behave.”

“Is that so?” Chan remarked, and his smile was perfectly sincere. “Well, I think you’re the best person to teach me.”

And despite our complicated history together - unwinding after such a brief amount of time in one another’s company - I was more than willing to try for the very strange boy who was starting to show me the intricate layers underneath all the wealth and arrogance - a mere façade for something better, the potential for good if a brave enough person was careful enough to find it.

End of Part One

#bang chan fanfic #stayverse #skzwriternet #stayracha #chan fanfic #stray kids chan #stray kids chan fanfic #bang chan imagines #stray kids imagines #bang chan scenarios #stray kids scenarios #bang chan oneshot #stray kids oneshot #boys over flowers au #skz au #skz x y/n #chan x y/n #mostlycompetent #requested

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undercover-trio · 3 years

Text

Summer Rose x GN reader

De request

Yeah, first I’m not sure what kind of request you do. Specific scenarios in mind or no, but I guess head cannons of a Summer x reader in which the reader gets into Team STQR as a sort of student exchange. Summer of course being the person who she was gladly volunteers for you to be on her team with the relation of the two developing.

✨✨✨

Ah, I see, just for future reference I’m fine with doing most things except for NSFW, this is based on the main mods request and my super cheesy self. You’d be cringing over how basic my writing would be.

I try not to be biased as heck with characters but there are just some I can’t help but want to choke to death.

Hopefully you never find out which ones

;)

Anyways, onto your request

o(-`д´- 。)

-Mod Pengie

——————————————————

Summer Rose

——————————————————

Summer’s a pretty positive person, the moment she heard the potential to make a new friend through this student exchange she immediately was all for it

Summer had just been boredly sitting during her leadership class, it was specifically for leaders. Suddenly she perked up at the mention of an exchange student, immediately she raised her hand and volunteered her team.

“As for the exchange student Y/N L/N, which team would be willing to-“

“My team will do it!!!”

The professor stared blankly at the girl who was practically about to fall out of her seat from excitement. With a sigh he nodded in agreement.

“Team STRQ it is.”

If she was excited about you being on her team she must’ve overloaded on serotonin when you met the team

Summer heard a knock on her dorm door, Raven and Qrow were on their beds as Taiyang was reading comics. With a quick little prep dance she opened the door, there you were, in all of you slightly nervous glory.

“Nice to meet you Y/N!! I’m Summer, this is Qrow and Raven!” Summer introduced quickly, giving you minor whiplash with her energy.

“Hey! What about me-“ Taiyang complained.

“And that’s Tai.” She finished, interrupting the blonde making him pout.

You gave a small smile as you put your suitcase down to formally introduce yourself.

“I’m Y/N L/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

Everyone on the team was pretty nice, a little iffy with Raven but Summer would be keeping you company throughout out the whole day

You entered your dorm room with team STRQ, you had a free period now and was totally going to study. As you walked in you immediately made eye contact with blood red eyes, with a minor pause you gave a slight smile.

“Hey Raven.” You greeted, she merely hummed then proceeded to ignore you, with a small pout you noticed the other person in the room.

“Hey Sum.” This time you had a genuine smile, she immediately bolted up from her bed.

“Hey Y/N/N!!!”

You really did appreciate how she made you feel at home.

It was quite obvious you two clicked, the rest of team STRQ noticed this pretty quickly

You and Summer were walking down the hall together, not noticing the rest of your team was behind you, observing.

“I will say- I make some pretty good chocolate chip cookies.” Summer bragged with a smug pose, you merely looked amused.

“Cookies are pretty great but I prefer making macaroons, takes an experienced baker to make em.” You teased, slightly dissing her baking skills. Her eyes widened as she huffed and shoved you with her shoulder, you were surprised but shoved her back only seconds after.

Then you both started having a shoving war as you walked to you next class.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Qrow and Tai were placing bets as Raven added 25 lien towards you confessing first.

As you guys hung out, the two of you couldn’t help but notice certain things about the other. Cute things.

You and Summer were at a bakery, in between you two were macaroons and cookies. You took a cookie as Summer took a macaroon, she bit the macaroon first.

You observed her as she chewed, her face in a pout you couldn’t help but find cute.

“It’s good, not amazing like cookies but it’s edible.” She murmured all salty.

With a smug grin you took a bite of your cookie, unlike Summer you were mature enough to admit you liked it. As you had a blissful look on your face she couldn’t help but smile.

You could be pretty adorable sometimes.

Summer’s a pretty dense girl, it wasn’t surprising you realized your feelings first

You glanced at Summer from the corner of your eye, she was sitting right next to the window. You couldn’t help but admire how the autumn background suited her.

It wasn’t a secret you thought Summer was pretty, her red hair tips were beautiful. You liked how rosy her cheeks were, and don’t even get started on her eyes.

You smiled a bit.

You liked Summer a lot.

Then your smile dropped.

‘I like Summer?’ You thought, your face quickly turning beet red. You gave one last glance towards Summer.

She looked perfect to you, even as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

‘Yep..I like Summer’

You decided to go to your teammates for advice, good advice? Who knows?

“Listen Y/N, all ya gotta do is start with minor flirting, she’ll start noticing your affection before flirting back.” Qrow advised as he looked you up and down, you had the looks, he was positive you had a chance.

Then Tai came in.

“No no no, Y/N don’t listen to him, just last week he got slapped by this girl from Team LOVE for his stupid pick up lines.” Tai shook his head as Qrow grumbled, way to take away his cool lone wolf image.

“What you need to do are special things, like being extra nice. Open doors for her, get her things from the weapon store, help her with her studies, all of that jazz.” Taiyang grinned, only to see Qrow looking at him all confused.

“What?”

“Nothing, just questioning how I got stuck here with you.”

As the two argued, you merely stood in the corner pensively. You thought their advice was good yet for some reason you didn’t think it’d be best to use on Summer.

After trying to follow your advice, even with doubts, it seemed your worries were right. Summer. Could. Not. Take. A. Hint.

You and Summer were once again walking down the hall together, you speed walked ahead of her to open the door for her. She seemed confused but let you do your thing.

“Uh thanks Y/N, but what was that for?” She asked, slightly befuddled. You could only wince as you realized why Tai’s advice wouldn’t be the best.

Summer is a hardworking person, who likes doing things for people instead of people doing things for her.

You panicked as you tried to follow Qrow’s advice, using the pick up like he said was a must.

“Erm...did it hurt when you fell from heaven.” You couldn’t say the pick up line with a straight face, your face was red as you looked down at the ground. Summer couldn’t hear you very well given that you were mumbling but she got the gist of it-is what she thought.

“Of course it didn’t hurt when I fell in initiation, I’m a huntress in training after all! A little launch from a cliff doesn’t even faze me.” She pridefully bragged, you couldn’t help but think it was cute.

Didn’t stop the migraine you got from thinking of how you’d confess to this dense girl though.

So you tried your own spin on things, a blunt confession for a dense girl

“Hey Summer, can we talk?” You shyly asked, Summer quickly nodded. Both of you were alone in your dorm, Summer at the moment was worried you were being bullied since this seemed serious.

“What’s up Y/N?” Summer asked, her face looked slightly worried as you looked nervous.

“I was wondering..”

Summer beckoned you to continue.

“If you’d like to go out on a date with me.”

Summer nodded but then immediately froze when she realized what you asked. She looked at you in surprise, her heart melted when she saw how you were fidgeting with the sleeve of your uniform.

“I- I would uh- love to.” Summer croaked out, she too was getting shy now, in a burst of bravery she kissed your cheek before making a tactical retreat.

Your face exploded in a blush as she left, you could practically feel the happiness coming off of you.

And just like that you two became the most awkward couple, at least until Qrow kicked you out of the room every time you made him cringe

Summer heard a knock on the dorm door, she smiled slightly as she remembered how much this reminded her of you two’s first meeting. She smoothed out her red dress and white cloak as she opened the door.

There you were in all of your shy glory.

You two merely stood there in silence before you coughed to get her attention.

“Ready to go?” You asked.

“Yeah.” She nodded, another moment of silence went by before Summer was shoved out the room and the door slammed.

“I’m cringing just watching you imbeciles, don’t come back until you can actually socialize!” You two could hear Qrow shout through the door.

You both merely chuckled, he certainly helped break the awkwardness. Then you both headed to your date spot.

Finally you two became one of the bearable and sweet couples

You rested your head on Summer’s shoulder as she read her textbook, her sitting in between your legs. This was how you guys relaxed together now, not noticing Tai, Qrow and surprising Raven in the corner with lien.

“You two are heartless” Tai sobbed out as he gave them 50 lien, Raven took the money then headed to her bed to relax. Qrow stayed and threw his arm around Tai’s shoulder.

“Y’see Tai, on the bright side those two romantic abominations got their feelings through.”

Tai could only nod as he proudly looked at you and Summer.

“All in a day’s work.” He spoke, wanting to say a cool one liner, of course Qrow had to ruin it.

“More like a few months but okay-“

“Hey!”

—————————————————-

And the request is doneee

o(🔥`д´ 🔥。)

As always I hoped you liked it

The theme of this request is

✨Adorkable✨

Hoped you liked it my ✨anonymous✨friend