#futuresmut

A long time, Jackie was a gold medalist, a master of skating. He went to several Olympics and was beloved by many a teenage boy and girl. In his most recent T.V interview, he admitted to getting a bit burnt out and decided instead to look for inspiration as a coach. This took the world by shock, and there were many outrages until Jackie made a comment that he would make appearances again- just not as often as he had in his skating career. And that he’d been keeping an eye open for any fantastic skaters. To have them send their greatest routines to him. He was waiting. 

Phantom was absolutely in love with Jackie. He idolized the man. Jackie was why he picked up skating in the first place. He studied everything Jackie had everything done, from his early days to recent years. When word got out that Jackie was looking for a student, Phantom forced himself to skate nonstop. Unknown to him, his brother Mare edited a bunch of Phantom's routines together and posted it everywhere he could think of. He was determined, Phantom was going to meet his idol.

Jackie was on his couch; his cats were being idiots around him. He lazily scrolled through the socials- noticing a video of a small skater had blown up. His eyebrows raised in interest, and he clicked on the video to watch for himself. A small smirk grew on his face, the video was a bunch of routines spliced together. But Damn Phantom wooed Jackie. He was so fluid, so handsome, and handled skating as if as though he was born into it.

Phantom had caught his attention and held it tightly in his grasp, no way was Jackie going to allow this possibility to slip away through his fingers. He had to teach Phantom and get him to the Olympics. No retreat, no surrender. Jackie soon enough booked a flight to Phantom’s town and sent him a short DM informing him when he’d be there and how much he was intrigued by the videos and by Phantom himself. 

Phantom could’ve fainted, his idol was coming to mentor and coach him?! Oh, he could wake up any minute now please! Not a chance. Jackie was soon to be in his very town and was going to be staying in his house! Phantom was quick to inform Mare of the very exciting- and nearly unbelievable news. This was it, this was real. 

The lecture hall is damp from boredom and like minded individuals, and so she puts herself in a spot slightly to the left, in the back where it’s a bit hidden from the nosiness of the students in her History class. She waits for Mrs. Kang to appear as she tinkers with her phone, searching through her images and playing games, considering the internet is banned from inside the actual classrooms for the benefits of busybodies like herself.

Mrs. Kang enters in the same time as the last group of students do, and she stares them down so hard that they quickly skittle down, thanking God that she, from all professors, don’t have that rule in excluding students that come after her. She stares at the glared at students with sick amusement, opening her laptop and turning it on to ready herself in notes taking. However, her small tinge of positive amusement is destroyed when a heavy body slides himself so casually on her seat, the one thing that she had happily bragged to own herself. She looks to the abhorrent nuisance that invaded her personal space, and her neutral face expression shifts into an annoyed one. Seeing this, Baekhyun just grins prettily at her, his straight teeth glinting like diamonds. She wants to gouge his intestines out.

“What are you doing?” She looks down at her laptop in feigned disinterest, even though her eyebrows constantly shift around in a narrow. “No, seriously, what the heck are you doing?”

“Shh, we’re in a lecture hall,” he puts a tall and pretty finger on his lips. “Mrs. Kang had not punished you before because you’re her favorite student, but I won’t take my chances. She knows who I am. I’ve made a ruckus or two,” he seems very proud of this, his eyes flashing smugly, “and I’ve been kicked out of her class a lot. So shush, let me concentrate.”

“All the more reasons for you to fuck off,” she tilts her head a little to the side so she can hiss at him, her hands beginning to type quickly as Mrs. Kang begins her lecture. “I’d rather not be seen here with you. Also, you’re not here to concentrate. You’re here to rip the skin out of my body.” She pretends to shiver violently.

He snickers, and it comes out a little loud. Mrs Kang instantly stops her exciting monologuing (it’s rare to find someone who manages to speak so boringly, and yet excitedly at the same time, but she does so perfectly) to whip her head around, her eyes hawk-like and deadly.

“I hear snickering!” She yells. “Who dares laughing in my class?”

Baekhyun instantly pretends to be an innocent listener, his eyes big and preposterously uncanny. Mrs. Kang ravishes the students with her narrowed, kohl eyes.

“Just because you give me a vague face, doesn’t mean I won’t find you.” The teacher threatens again. Still, no one gives her any response.

She’s a bit astonished that none of the nearby students who actually heard Baekhyun snicker were telling on him. But the surprise quickly vanishes when she looks around at their faces, every single one avoiding Baekhyun’s amused eyes, threat very clear under.

She rolls her eyes.

Mrs. Kang kinda mellows over once no one confesses and she no longer hears laughter, and resumes her lecture with the same vindictive tone that she has been using in the start of the semester.

Immediately after her back is to the class, Baekhyun slides his butt closer to her, until their thighs are a brush away. She gives him a creeped out look, and he simply leans against the table on his elbow, putting his head on his palm. He grins, or smirks. His lips only curl a little, and the devilish glint in his eyes makes him appear dangerous, so she goes with smirking. He is smirking, indeed. For a second, she understands why people are afraid of him. Tremors kinda bloom in her body, but she pushes the irrational emotion out of her system quickly. She turns to the board, focusing on the professor.

Soon, she realizes that he isn’t looking away. He’s staring at her in the same mischievous yet intolerable way. She gives him a thin-lipped smile, apparent in its annoyance. Her eyes wide and irritated. His eyes only twinkle more in that stupid, attractive glint of his that’s entirely evil.

“Yes? Is there something you need, dumbass?” She sighs.

He nods seriously, his face grave. “Yes. I was wondering if you’d be my Twin Flame. The walls to my well. The stone to my heart. The poison to my soul. Oh, be my favorite nightmare.”

She takes one of her blue pens and flicks it on his forehead. It flops pathetically on the floor. He sniggers again - much more quietly - and rubs his surely reddening spot.

“Seriously, I want nothing. I’m just quietly staring at you.”

“For what reason, oh please tell, you’re staring at me for?” She leans towards him as if potentially saying something secretive. “Do you know that staring so intently at someone’s eyes can affect their chakra? So, I’ll just stare right back at you hoping that my laser eyes can negatively make you bend over this desk. I gotta tell you, I have very strong chakra.”

He furrows his eyebrows weirdly. “You believe in this bullshit?”

Her eyes widen a little, but she quickly composes herself to squint instead. “No, I don’t. But I thought someone like you might.”

“I can’t help but have the slightest conclusion that you just called me a loser, which hurts my feelings. It really does.”

“Does it? And here I thought hurting your feelings would require more effort.” She gives him a mocking smile, and then turns to the professor with her default blank face.

He stares at her, a little amused at her odd shenanigans, and wonders how someone like her had slipped from under his eyes. He’s usually a quiet person that makes it his daily struggle to stare people down to scare them, but to see her, a person that’s so easily irritated for completely different reasons than his amusement actually makes him... excited. He hasn’t really considered annoying her today because of their promise to work on their assignment (or just his) but once he came inside the classroom, he remembered her amusing response of yesterday and subconsciously found himself going to her row, seating himself comfortably next to her.

He continues to annoy her throughout the lecture by poking on her shoulder when she concentrates and breaks her focus, or kicking her shin from under the table whenever she’s pulling a funny look at the utter shit Mrs. Kang is spouting so she’d adjust her bold facials into a neutral face, of course for her own benefits. He’d even steal pens from her large - very large - pen collection, throwing the used pen away from her grabby hands only to steal another one right under her nose. She’s disappointed in herself. She thought she has great reflexes, but she’s considered piss poor in comparison to Baekhyun’s fast, dangerous reflexes. Something about his numerous black belts in hapkido, as he easily bragged at her discomforted look towards her stollen utensils.

Of course, she’s hyper aware of the accumulation of stares from everyone piling up her back. She knows she’s being watched; or rather he’s been watched, for some reason their close proximity to one another, and the constant flying arms coming from her part to smack him away has ticked everyone the wrong way. She has been aware, since the start, that his presence so close to her would rise unfiltered attention from nosy students who found it their prime pastime to watch other unsuspecting students. She doesn’t care that much, of course. She has already been a suspect of gossip her entire life for having the personality that she does, but to be stared down at for different reasons than the ones she’s used to... she gotta say. It feels good.

The minute the lecture ends - very, very slowly - she instantly stands up, making her chair squeak. She raises her already collected stuff on her shoulder, turns to a suddenly flustered Baekhyun, and reaches over for his hair. His yelps come quick and excessive, especially when she uses his hair to pull him out of his chair. He complies, of course, so she doesn’t end up ripping his entire hair roots from his head, and follows after her obediently - yet loudly - as she drags him somewhere else. At first he doesn’t say anything, even though he can overpower her easily, because he knows he kinda sorta deserved to be treated like a dog, but the minute he sees her approaching the library (where silence is a requirement he can’t reach) he grabs her wrist and twists her hand as further back as it can go from his hair. It’s her time to yelp.

In response, her claws release his hair from their clutches, and he stands to his full height. Then, he pulls her towards him, or more like jerks her against him in a single gesture, until she bumps roughly into his chest, and pushes her on the wall so she’s stuck between two solid rocks.

She looks up at him with wide eyes. Her heartbeats are racing so fast inside her chest, she’s a little worried she wouldn’t be able to breathe at the end of this escapade. Of course, he looks down at her, his eyes narrowed and dangerous, but still holding a small flicker of childlike smugness. When he’s so close to her like this, she realizes how short she is. At first, she considered him short in comparison to most males in her university, but while he’s pressing her against the library wall like this, she understands that no, he isn’t short.

“Yah,” he calls, but the voice is soft and tender, the kind that makes a prey submit just to be devoured. She refuses to gulp in front of him and instead glares venomously at him. Seeing this, he lowers his face to her, his warm breath falling on her nose, her mouth and chin like waterfalls. “Yah.”

“Is my name yah to you?” She hisses like a snake, giving him her best don’t fuck with me look, even though genuinely, she’s shaking underneath him.

He narrows his eyes at her. “Do you think I let people shove their hands in my hair like that? Do you think people go around dragging me like that?”

She scoffs. She’s burning up from the inside; of course she is. In one hand, she’s not used to being squished like this against walls. In fact, she’s not sure she has ever felt such warmth from a human body encompassing her like this, and she’s not sure the sensation is to her liking. A girl from her background is used to selfish smacks on the head as a meager exposure of emotions, so such little proximity, with a man nevertheless, makes her feel.. strange. He’s not as soft as she first thought of him, as well. He’s all rigidness and soft muscles, and considering she’s as experienced as a squished slug, she’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. The way he’s staring down at her, like he’s conscious of the fact he might be in the presence of a cheetah hasn’t gone unnoticed by her, and despite his dumb personality, she has to admit that she likes careful people, especially those careful around her. However, she’s not exactly a flower girl. She refuses to be a flower girl, no matter how much respect she has for flower girls.

She lifts her knee and violently connects it to the man’s junk. She watches in sick, fascinated awe as the man’s face changes. It contorts into a painful scrunch, and quickly, he succumbs to the gravitational pull into the floor. He curls in a heap on the ground, moaning in pain. She huffs, brushes her hair from her sweaty neck - for no specific reason, of course - and glares at the watchful crowd. They quickly flush away like toilet water.

A few minutes after Baekhyun’s fall, she looks down at him as if she’s exhausted from his childish antics, and says. “I don’t let people pin me to walls, either. You’re not that special.”

She twists around dramatically - yes, she knows she’s dramatic - and intends to walk inside the library. But a few seconds later, she realizes that she isn’t being followed, so she pauses. She twists back dramatically (again) and narrows her eyes at the dead body on the floor. “Yah, Aren’t you coming? We have stuff to work on, you know.”

-

She yawns monstrously, and drags her heavy legs towards the convenience store a few minutes away from her tiny apartment in the middle of a neighborhood she has troubles remembering the name of. She bows respectfully at the older man owning the store, being on social terms, enough to be yelling at him without taking responsibility to her stupid anger, and walks further inside.

She shuffles around, her legs feelings like a full body sag as she tries to pull her weight up. Considering she has a certain amount of money she can spend on snacks because of her tight budget, she only chooses the most important snacks to her. For instance, she’s a sweet tooth so she gathers as much chocolate, marshmallows, and fluffy jellies as she can, then settles on two medium sized chip bags. She travels to the beverages’ fridge like a disabled elephant, and takes a few bottles of soda. She is not a fan of beer and soju. Those do nothing to tilt her world upside down anyways. To her, they are a waste of money.

Busy going around the ramen section, she doesn’t notice the tall man that enters the shop. She fails to notice the humongous sneeze that he releases either, shivering like a wet dog, sans the wet part. Her eyes are half-lidded with sleep, and her lips are practically swirly like water with how tired she is because of work, so she only gets attuned to his presence when she smacks into his side.

“Ow,” she mutters pathetically, rubbing her forehead with the hand holding the ramen. She raises her eyes to glare at the fucker, because that’s what she’s good at, even though she’s the one who bumped into him, only to falter when she sees Chanyeol. “Chanyeol?”

“Uh, yeah. Hello?” He sounds awkward, his large hands paused around two packets of ramen himself. He stares down at her because he’s a skyscraper, and that’s what skyscrapers do to align to people; and stares back at the ramen. He stares back at her, again, then at the ramen, nervous at seeing her for whatever reason.

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “What the heck are you doing in this convenience store? Or in this neighborhood?”

Chanyeol blinks, “I live here?”

“You don’t sound so sure about that answer.” She continues to narrow her eyes at him.

“Okay?”

She rolls her eyes and shuffle away from him. Noticing that she picked everything she needs, she heads for the register to pay for her things. Oddly enough, Chanyeol’s quick to follow her, standing behind her patiently. She tilts her head backwards so she can peek inconspicuously at him, and sees he’s only holding packets of instant ramen. He notices her trying to act slick, and focuses his big eyes on her. She quickly looks away, feeling a burn in the back of her neck.

She pays, and leaves, walking through the endless night of the day, huffing because her bags ended up being heavier than she expected. However, she’s a strong, independent woman, and so she swallows up her growing whine. But that doesn’t stop her from stomping on the ground as she walks further away from the convenience store.

Her loud, angry stomps doesn’t entirely block her from the steps that’s strangely walking after her. She pauses in her strides to check if she’s really hearing things, and the footsteps behind her pauses as well. She turns around suspiciously and finds Chanyeol standing behind her, a confused look on his face.

“Why’d you suddenly stop?” He asks, and she’d have found the question an okay one if she hadn’t already surrendered herself to the growing suspicion in her belly.

Instead of answering his question, she fires a question of her own. “Why are you following me?”

He tilts his head to the side, and a lock of dark hair falls on his left eye, giving him a sense of innocence that contradicts the tight clothes he’s wearing. His leather pants are so snug against him that she wonders how he can even walk, and his leather boots make him appear taller, if that’s even possible. She’s a bit envious of the large jacket that he’s wearing, making him bigger and helping him against the cold nights of January. She has been dumb enough to forget her jacket at work today, and so she’s forced to walk around shivering like a rat.

After she finishes inspecting him like a creep, and remembering the fact he hadn’t answered her question, she goes on her merry way for some reason, noticing that his own footsteps commenced after her. She takes lefts and turns away from her house, to check if he’s following her, and once she makes clear accusation in her mind that he is following her, she swivels around to glare at him. He looks back, eyes entirely vacant of emotions.

“See? You are following me, listen..” she twiddles her toes inside her flats, instantly nervous at the concept of being followed. “I don’t know who you think I am, and I don’t know who you think you are, but kidnapping unsuspecting victims is wrong. Kidnapping any kind of victims is wrong. See, maybe you are failing your classes, and maybe you don’t have a flourishing sex life, and maybe you are into this bad boy bullshit, but trust me, a felony following after your back is bad. It’s very bad for your resumé. Weren’t you the one so careful about the internal scarring of your heart? A felony is so much worse than that, I gotta tell you.”

Chanyeol’s lips curl at the blunder she’s throwing on his way, her usually glaring eyes now shaking in nervousness. He gathers all of his ramen in one arm so he can throw a large hand on his mouth to stop his growing laughter from bursting out. To see a girl like her showing uncharacteristic nervousness, it’s kind of funny, despite evilly knowing it’s causing her an internal meltdown.

She looks at him carefully, eyes prodding, and she fails to notice the fact his raised hand is to cover his laughter, not to knock her out. She eyes him up and down, putting her large bag of bought goodies on her chest as a secure guard against him, even though he seems like he can smack her unconscious with a simple kiddie slap. She swallows, taking a step back.

“Please,” she whimpers, then clears her throat when it shows that she’s whimpering, “I don’t taste good. I have nothing against cannibals, but I have the thought to consider myself distasteful.”

He calls her name to pull her out of her stupidly amusing fear, and she swallows, lifting her head up in false confidence. She notices that his eyes are twinkling, the same devilish sparkle that she associated Baekhyun with. To see them so similar yet different at the same time is unnerving, but she doesn’t focus on that. She’s a bit terrified to be consumed at the moment to think about anything else.

“Listen,” Chanyeol’s low baritone comes out of his lips, and this time he doesn’t push himself to conceal his smile. “I’m not following you. I’m not going to eat you. I don’t like the meat of innocent women.”

She stares at him suspiciously. “You prefer the meat of innocent men? I’m not judging.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t eat people, sweetie.”

She bristles like she has been burned, and she forgets about her flammable fear to give him a cold, deadly look. He falters. “Don’t call me that. Nobody calls me that, Chanyeol.”

He clears his throat, “Right,” he points at the house right behind her, the mirth quickly returning back to his opaque eyes. “My apartment is right behind you. I genuinely was walking home.”

she twists around to observe the house, noticing that it’s a large building with numerous floors. She guesses that he indeed is telling the truth, noticing the small sign on the corner naming the house as a university resident for males. Her face goes all types of colors at having not noticed the actual sign, and she starts to recollect her footsteps to see if she had accidentally just lead the man home. Maybe she is the stalker one. Her embarrassment grows.

She looks back at him, blinking, and he has the audacity to showcase his smug smirk. She clears her throat and squeezes her fingers around her bag, taking a few steps to the side so the giant scraper can get a leeway to enter his home. He does so, but before he can disappear inside; he turns around to give her another amusement-filled look.

She tries to gather her dignity, disliking the fact Chanyeol has seen her on her real act of a little scaredy cat, whether her fear is justified or not, so she clears her throat, swings her bag on her shoulder like a boss, and bellows, “Just so you know, cannibals are disgustingly immoral, whatever immorality is to you. I was just trying to secure myself a safe spot. I do have a lot of judgment against you. Lots and lots of judgments.”

“Good to know that.” Is Chanyeol’s cheeky answer.

She goes home with a stamp of red, crimson blotch all over her face and the back of her neck. For a second she wonders if she can avoid Chanyeol for the rest of her life so this episode of hers can be removed eternally from her internal disk drive, but then she rationalizes that the memory is shared between the two of them, not her alone. Whether she forgets her shameful distastefulness or not, she’s sure he won’t, so she bangs her face to a wall in her living room, believing that her stoic good girl image is ruined, forever.

She just hopes he doesn’t share this with Baekhyun.

-

Author Note:

So maybe the oc is dumb, ahaha.

I really find myself enjoying writing this fic. It’s very different than the characters I usually write, even though the concept is repetitive and cliché.

And yes, they live in the same neighborhood, but it seems that Chanyeol’s university resident is a bit far away from her apartment, thus why the lefts and turns she had to take to guide him away, ahaha.

*I bowed to peer pressure and have added an extra chapter*

Jughead makes no pretence about the fact he’s going to hold her while they watch Girl On The Train, stretching out on the couch with his arm slung over the back of it in invitation.

It’s an invitation Betty’s more than willing to accept.

She joins him with the bowl of fresh popcorn, setting it on the coffee table so he can easily reach, and then settles herself against him so that her head’s resting on his chest. When his arm doesn’t drop from the back of the couch to hers, she wonders whether she’s read the situation wrong, and her whole body tenses, ready to pull away.

And then he says, in only a fraction louder than a whisper, “Betts? Is it okay if I hold your hand?”

“I uh...I have a tattoo,” he says. “On my arm. Got it in my sophomore year of high school.”

She watches him but says nothing.

“My dad was in jail and I was living alone in our shitty apartment in Hunts Point. I made a series of decisions that, in hindsight, were pretty stupid. Maybe even at the time they were pretty stupid,” he adds. “But I couldn’t see another way. I joined a gang.”

He hears her sharp intake of breath but still, Betty doesn’t say anything.

“They had this initiation - the gauntlet. It’s...you walk down the line and the members inflict pain. Punching, chains, that sort of thing. You make it through, the tattoo’s yours.”

Her voice is uneven when she says, “You made it though.”

Jughead nods. “Have you ever had pain feel like a relief?”

Her head snaps up and he sees the water pool in her eyes before she can blink it away. And then, almost inaudibly, she whispers, “Yes.”

A movement across from her tears her eyes from her screen (and the numerous spelling mistakes she’s made) and Betty looks up to see Jughead - now with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to expose his forearms - rubbing at the back of his neck. 

He’s standing, bent at the waist to look at the computer screen in front of him with his hands splayed across the desk, and she feels something stir low in her stomach. Her mouth is dry and she reminds herself it’s because it’s hot and she hasn’t drunk enough water, so she rises from her chair to head to the cooler at the other side of the room.

The entire walk there (which, in reality, isn’t anywhere near as long as it feels) his gaze weighs heavily against her back and remains there as she fills the plastic Evian bottle with fresh water. Betty almost doesn’t want to turn around.

She does though, toying with the material of her blouse which is starting to grow sticky against her skin. She won’t look at him, she tells herself, but as she takes her seat again, their eyes meet. His adam’s apple bobs and she looks at his lips and thinks,

 fuck.

“Betty Cooper," Veronica announces. "The new intern.”

As her new boss stands, a sweep of dark, wavy hair falls across his eyes in a way that makes Betty realise he’s much younger than she’d initially assumed.

“Welcome to The New York Times Magazine,” he says.

…

Or, Betty Cooper interns at her dream newspaper and finds herself falling for more than just the job.

And Jughead Jones? Well, he's not prepared for anything when it comes to his newest features writer.

They walk back in the direction in which they’d come and then reach a stop outside of a glass-walled office housing a single desk, two dark leather armchairs which look worn but comfortable, and, Betty notes, a potted plant in need of some water. Veronica knocks on the glass in a way that’s almost regal and the editor looks up from his computer. Although there’s no official ‘come in’, she opens the door and ushers Betty inside before following herself.

“Betty Cooper - the new intern.”

As her new boss stands, a sweep of dark, wavy hair falls across his eyes in a way that makes Betty realise he’s much younger than she’d initially assumed. Not that she’d really assumed anything about him (her interview had passed by in a blur of nerves regarding the rigid pitch she’d practised with Archie in the apartment they now share). 

“Welcome to The New York Times Magazine,” he says.

...

Or, Betty interns at her dream newspaper and finds herself falling for more than just the job.

Her fingers rub absently at her eyes of their own accord, leaving her vision blurry halfway through a sentence. Betty blinks and squints into the screen’s glare, reaching blindly for her coffee.

“I’m cutting you off,” a voice says softly, a hint of what she thinks might just be mirth filtering in around the edges. She sets the mug back down and turns in her chair to see her boss standing behind her.

His hand then reaches over her shoulder to turn off the computer screen and her eyes re-adjust to the less-harsh overhead and natural lighting combo gratefully. “I didn’t get to finish it,” Betty protests, although she can hear the weakness in her argument and cringes at her lack of sincerity.       

Jughead shrugs. “There’s a growing trend regarding the purchase of second homes in Krakow. That’s pretty much it.”

“You paint quite the picture,” she replies, a touch of amusement tingeing her response - and growing when the corner of his mouth lifts into the smallest of smiles. It reaches his eyes too - only just - and Betty notices how acutely dark blue they are: sapphire-like, or the cold ocean on a winter’s day, except there’s a warmth in them that she hasn’t noticed before.

“That’s why I’m the editor,” he replies, now leaning against her desk. She can smell pine and soap and a faint lingering of what she thinks might be cigarette smoke.

His mouth drops back into its usual position and Betty finds something out of place - something about wanting to make it better (whatever it is) - flitting across her thoughts. She’s saddened to watch a smile that wasn’t even big to begin with fade right in front of her eyes.

It reminds her instantly of Polly and she sucks in a deep breath.