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yellowocaballero · 4 years

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Not Your Queer-Coded Disney Villain: Annabelle & Web!Jon Ficlet

Got bored again today and forced myself to write something that wasn’t gratuitously long. Set in the same universe (or, one of the universes) as The Convention on Chronographer Lane, but it’s completely unnecessary to have read that one before this.

Content warning for (apparent and fake) predation of a student by a teacher, body horror, and spiders. REVERSE content warning for A PSYCH 101 LECTURE WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO WAS A TA FOR PSYCH 101. ACCURATE SCIENCE, BITCHES.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

Annabelle was sleeping through Psych again.

In her defense, she was really tired. The nightmares had been getting worse every day, and yesterday she hadn’t gotten more than forty minutes of sleep without jolting up in the middle of the night. She had flipped on the light five times during the night, hysterically convinced that bugs were crawling over her and earning the eternal ire of her roommate. Whatever - Irene would forgive her once she bought her an iced coffee from that campus shop she liked. If Annabelle gave it to her later at night, she’d stay up later and would be less likely to bitch when Annabelle inevitably made a stink at three am again.

It didn’t matter. Psych was tediously easy anyway. Not that everything wasn’t tedious, but there were few things more boring than listening to the drone of Mr. Sims’ voice. She had no idea how that guy had a fanclub. Emmanuela Odugawa had asked her if she thought that he recited Piaget’s developmental stages in bed. Barf.

Thankfully, Annabelle had mastered the art of sleeping with her eyes open in class and barely aware enough to recognize when somebody called her name a decade ago, and she ruthlessly used this skill now. She dropped into a half-doze, and was only startled into awareness when she heard the word that had been running in a nonstop track loop through her mind for the past month.

“Phobia: an extreme or irrational fear or aversion to something.” Mr. Sims adjusted his glasses, pressing a button on his laptop that advanced the slides. “It’s an interesting definition, in my opinion. Like many things in Psychology, it is almost infuriatingly vague. How do you define ‘extreme’? How do you define ‘irrational’? Oftentimes, that label is determined by society, science, and our therapists. However, I believe you can argue that phobias are the most rational thing of all.”

Annabelle rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. These auditorium classrooms were always freezing.

“The concept of aversion is heavily rooted in evolution and biology. Anyone here ever eat any bad shrimp?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The smell of seafood probably made you sick for weeks afterwards. Our bodies are primed to detect poison, just as they are to detect danger. Phobias rooted in modern, abstract concepts - clowns, elevators, airplanes - are easy to extinguish. But phobias rooted in real, present, perpetual dangers, the sort of dangers that threatened the lives of cavemen, are far more difficult to ignore.”

Despite herself, Annabelle found herself awake. She found herself listening.

“Snakes. Heights. The Dark. Dogs, bears, large animals. Storms, driving, insects.” Mr. Sims’ looked up at the auditorium, and Annabelle could have sworn that he was looking right at her, he was looking at her. Annabelle’s breath caught, her heart thumping in her chest - a little differently than it used to. “Spiders.”

A horrible clicking echoed in Annabell’s ears. She was afraid that it was her.

Then he looked away, and the spell was broken. “Phobias are one of the most powerful and motivational forces in human evolution. Like mental illnesses, pack bonds, and emotional needs, the perceived weaknesses of the human mind can frequently be some of the most powerful forces that allow the survival of the human species. It isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. I find that a useful way to think of humanity, and of ourselves: that our weaknesses can make us very strong indeed. Next slide…”

If Mr. Sims said anything after that, Annabelle didn’t hear it.

She didn’t pay any attention to anything he said until the end of class, when she shrugged on her cute little silver backpack and merged into the stream of students filtering out of the classroom. A few students had stayed behind to talk to Mr. Sims, and he appeared wrapped in conversation with the giggling girls, but somehow he picked her out of the thick crowd.

“Annabelle?” Mr. Sims asked. “Stay after, please.”

So she leaned against the long sweep of desks, left with nothing to do but squint at Mr. Sims as he spoke with another student about the requirements for the upcoming paper, wondering why he looked so familiar.

All of the other students had assumed he was in his late twenties - “total DILF”, they all inanely assured her - but Annabelle wasn’t so sure. Despite the already graying hair, small glasses, and severe expression, she really wouldn’t put him any older than 23.

Maybe his greying temples were hair dye. Or stress did that to you, right? Annabelle squinted. But when Annabelle looked closer, if she really focused, then she really wasn’t sure it was his hair color at all.

So she looked closer. Her eyes had been itching for the past week. She had caught her skin flaking and peeling, and instead of pink raw skin underneath there was hard and scratchy black necrosis. Her eyes itched now, as if they were striving to split apart, and if Annabelle only let them then they would burst. And as her eyes itched in a horrible, visceral pain, she thought that maybe the white at Mr. Sims’ temples was the thin, sticky webs of spider-silk.

“Annabelle? Are you alright?”

She snapped back to attention, fairly embarrassed. She had been zoning out more in the past month than she had her entire life. Her older siblings had said that college would be rough, but she hadn’t known it would be this rough. This wasn’t like her. None of this was like her.

“I’m great,” Annabelle said reflexively. All of the other students were gone, and Mr. Sims was staring at her over his glasses. “Sorry. Is this about my test…?”

“No. You did quite well on your test. Best in the class, actually.” Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if this was a compliment or important. “Is that why you’ve been so bored in class?”

Ah. Busted. A rare thing for Annabelle. She affected a faux-abashed posture and expression. “Sorry, Mr. Sims. I’ve been staying up ‘til two every morning trying to get my homework done on time. If I’m ever going to go to med school…”

“I thought you were a poli sci major,” Mr. Sims said cheerfully. Annabelle fought a shudder - how did he know so much about her? This class had 200 students.

“Double major,” Annabelle said blithely. “I’m sorry about sleeping in class, I’ll manage my time better. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Sims waved her apology away, as if that wasn’t what he had been looking for. Then what had he been looking for? “I’m afraid I had somewhat of an ulterior motive for speaking to you today.” He leaned in a little, pulling his glasses down, and his foggy grey eyes - same color as the grey at his temples - focused solely on her. Annabelle made her eyes bigger, and she leaned in too, adjusting her posture so she looked smaller. “You’ve been doing very well in class. I actually wanted to invite you to a meeting. About...oh, your potential for med school. I’m excited to see you succeed. I think you could do quite well in whatever field you choose, and I’d like to help. It would be just us, of course.”

Ding ding ding. Annabelle affected a giggle. “I could totally use the help! Like, in your office? Or, like...lunch, or…?”

“I was thinking dinner, actually,” Mr. Sims smiled. “How’s Bombay Bicycle Club?”

Restaurant and bar, with a casual yet dignified atmosphere. Not formal enough to put up anybody’s guard, but nice enough that a freshman girl could feel treated and be impressed. Most importantly, it was popular among the businessman crowd and almost nobody on campus visited it. Annabelle used it herself to meet up with her sugar daddies all the time.

For a brief, strange moment, Annabelle felt as if he did - but of course he didn’t. But it wasn’t impossible. But if he knew, then why wasn’t he blackmailing her? Was the blackmail for later, once he got her alone? This was probably a power play, getting her off balance by insinuating that he knows but not being explicit about it. He’d probably pull out the blackmail, ‘I’ll ruin your reputation you slut etc’, once they actually got there. Not that he could - Annabelle had contingency plans - but she would have to be careful to actually record him propositioning her anyway. Worst case scenario they had a MAD situation, best case she could squeeze him. Probably not for very much money, since grad students were poor as dirt, and she didn’t exactly need him to boost her grades...get him to slip her the test key and sell the test key? That could work. She could probably get him to strategically cut grades, which was a service that Annabelle could probably sell to students with a grudge…

But then Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if he knew what she was thinking, and Annabelle realized that she had been silent too long. She wanted to come off as panicked, maybe desperate, definitely flattered.

“Sure!” Annabelle said, barely having to feign the anxious creak in her voice. “What time? I have night classes, so…”

“Next Friday at six,” Mr. Sims said instantly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.” Annabelle affected Smile #35 - shy virgin. Mr. Sims’ grin widened. Annabelle silently put aside the ‘Catholic schoolgirl’ outfit for Friday. “See you then!”

She turned around, gave him a shy smile, and bounced off. She had just opened the heavy door out of the room when she heard him speak again, freezing her in her tracks.

“Oh, Annabelle - how is the study with Dr. Bates going?”

And his question panicked her so much, made her heart change rhythm and made her skin itch as if something was straining to come out of it, made her eyes itch and crawl and burst, that every calculated move went out the window. She didn’t answer his question, didn’t even give an excuse - she just ran out the door, bright purple vintage boots thumping against the linoleum, breath catching in a chest where she was no longer sure she even had ribs.

Most of her was already calculating. She was already two months into uni, she had to start establishing her power base. The minute her sorority accepted her she’d have greater access to money, popularity, and influence, but she needed reach with the administration too. Mr. Sims was her in. This was a good thing.

But part of her was disappointed, because she had liked him, and she felt a little used. Feelings of disgust, as strong and vivid as in her nightmares, rose in her chest. She squished far down in her chest, familiar with the feeling and effortlessly repressing it.

Annabelle was good with disgusting things.

She had another session with the Arachnophobia study on Monday. Which went fine. It was fine! She didn’t wake up that morning so sick with nerves that she almost threw up. She didn’t stare at her email inbox for thirty minutes, begging herself to cancel and drop out of the study. Nope.

She distracted herself by befriending all of her roommate’s friends and dropping faux-concerned gossip about how cranky and anxious Irene’s been lately, have you noticed she’s been blaming me for how badly she’s sleeping? It was really super sad, frowny face, how do you think I can help, frowny face frowny face frowny face?

So Annabelle went to the Arachnophobia study (it was fine), had increasingly realistic and vivid nightmares about her chest caving in and a nest of spiders crawling out of her chest and eating her eyes, and slept through class. It was all fine.

She should have gone to Oxford. It still made her a little bitter. She had been smart enough to get in, but she hadn’t been smart enough to get the full scholarship. She couldn’t afford it, so instead she was stuck in University of Surrey, where dreams went to die. Future politicians should go to Oxford. Yeah, Surrey had some peers and Parliament members, whatever. She needed better, Oxford and awards and money. From there, from some swotty school or another, it was easy street. Annabelle deserved easy street, and she deserved Oxford, and it just wasn’t fair -

After another three am nightmare, Annabelle blearily scrolled through her sibling groupchat. Barney was doing great in med school. Tricia had posted her maternity photos. Wow, look at that, Robin had gotten a commendation at his law firm. Whatever.

No hope of distinguishing herself in the world. No hope of distinguishing herself in her stupid family. She was smarter than any of her siblings, brighter and better than those doctors and lawyers and accountants, but nobody cared. Mum and Dad were living their retirement in comfort and cooing over their grandchildren, finally rewarded in old age for all their hard work.

If Annabelle dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would even notice.

It should have been a depressing thought. The idea that nobody cared about her, not really, that nobody knew the real her. But somehow it just made her heart beat faster in excitement.

The idea of disappearing from all of this, of cutting herself free from a thousand threads that brought her plummeting down to earth...in the cold hours of that dark morning, to an eighteen year old terrified and alone in uni, it was a siren song.

It was a siren song that sounded, oddly, like the chittering and scuttling of a thousand tiny bodies, but Annabelle was learning to look beyond that.

By the time next Friday rolled around, Annabelle was considering breaking her self-imposed rule against drugs and popping a Xanax. But that wouldn’t help her exhaustion, the persistent bone-deep frazzled sensation of going a week on almost no sleep whatsoever, so she settled for an espresso as she wriggled herself into a tight, slinky plaid dress paired with a puffy olive green windbreaker. She wasn’t sure if she owned any clothing that was made after 1990 - a habit born from a childhood of shopping from thirst stores, and continued voluntarily into high school when she started making her own money online fleecing suckers. It was her, so much as anything was.

“Hot date?” Irene asked, bending over her Physics textbook without looking up. She glanced at her vibrating phone, scowling. Poor baby - her friends were staging an intervention. “New guy or old guy?”

“New guy,” Annabelle said vaguely, carefully picking out a bold red lipstick - or did that seem too forward? Should she go for a natural look? “If I’m not back by midnight call the police. I’ll text you a picture of his car.”

“Roger.” Irene flipped a page of her textbook, oblivious to the fact that she was one of the few people Annabelle genuinely liked. Not enough not to screw with her, but she liked her. “He’s not good enough for you, something something.”

“Darling,” Annabelle said, winking into the mirror, “nobody is.”

She hoped Irene believed it. She didn’t.

It wasn’t a frequent occurrence that Annabelle wished she was stupid, but today she wished she was stupid enough to take a power nap during her ten minute Uber ride. Her mind felt frazzled and frayed, as if it had been taken out of her scalp and spread out with a rolling pin onto a floured countertop. She felt as if she was melting, her vision spiralling into fractals or blurring out. She wanted to sleep. God, she’d do anything for some sleep -

So she blared Bad Romance in her frayed earbuds instead, clutching her iPod Touch tightly, pulling herself together. Gaga, give her strength.

By the time that she tipped her driver, effortlessly found Mr. Sims’ car in the parking lot of Bombay Bicycle Club and texted Irene the license plate (Volkswagen, obviously), she had dragged herself into focus. She stapled on her confident posture and walk - no, we’re going with ingenue today, make it shy and hesitant - and slipped inside the restaurant, making a show of holding her clutch tight to her chest and looking around with big eyes.

She saw him instantly. He was sitting in a corner booth, head down and texting on his phone with a half-smile. The corner booth was poorly lit, light dampened by the wood panelling and soft leather seats, and half of his face was draped in shadow.

Great. She had even arrived ten minutes early just so she could pick a brightly lit, intimate little table in the center of the room. This guy - he was almost like her. He was almost like her, but he was better.

Annabelle fought the urge to grind her teeth. She smiled instead, waving cheerfully until he raised his head. He smiled back at her, wriggling his fingers, and Annabelle wove around the tables until she could slide into the seat across from him.

“This is cozy!” She said brightly. “Thank you so much for inviting me out, Mr. Sims. It’s been ages since I got away from my books -”

“Oh, cut that shit out,” Mr. Sims said, bored. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Annabelle’s mind shut down. Error 404, blue screen of death.

“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, smile frozen on her face. “What?”

But Mr. Sims just shrugged listlessly, slumping against the cushioned wall. His expression was no longer fond, indulgent, haughty. He just looked bored now, as if he was too tired and underpaid to deal with eighteen year olds. “I don’t want to sit through this entire dinner fending off flirting. We have actual business to talk about, and I am uninterested in beating around the bush when there’s no point. You aren’t even subtle.”

“Excuse me -” Annabelle started, enraged, but Mr. Sims put up a hand and cut her off.

The change was instant. On a dime, Mr. Sims straightened his posture, swept a finger through his hair to transform it from slicked back professor type to windswept, adopted a friendly and casual expression, and leaned in as if he was happy and excited to be sitting with Annabelle. In a moment he dropped ten years. Barely a second after his transformation the waiter approached them, holding a notepad, and Annabelle realized with a start that he had noticed the waiter coming before she did.

“How are you two doing tonight?” the waiter asked politely, smiling at the both of them in a rote routine that Annabelle remembered from her own days waitressing.

“Doing great!” Mr. Sims said, and even his accent was different, closely matching her own. He glanced back at Annabelle, nothing but open and friendly. “Mum says get whatever you want, dork. It’s on her bill, so let’s run her out of house and home.”

Instinctually, Annabelle shot back, “Aren’t you old enough to take me out to eat with your own money, loser?”

“Not with your stomach!” Mr. Sims laughed, and the waiter chuckled along too. Mr. Sims effortlessly rapped out an order for the waiter, before Annabelle even got a chance to look at the menu, and when she floundered Mr. Sims just rolled his eyes and ordered for her too. It was, somehow, her favorite food.

He waited for the waiter to move onto the next table, eyeing him carefully, before he let the persona drop. Mr. Sims sagged again, dropping the friendly act, sizing her up from half-lidded eyes.

“How did he even believe that,” Annabelle said flatly. “We don’t look anything alike.”

“White people will believe anything,” Mr. Sims said, rolling his eyes. “I have the Belgian government convinced I’m an Iraqi scientist and most high profile Australian celebrities think I’m Egyptian royalty.”

“...does Egypt have -”

“Nope.”

Annabelle was beginning to feel a little like the star actress in the school play who got upstaged in every way by the villain’s performance. Nobody did what she did. Nobody did what she did, but better.

“Don’t feel insecure,” Mr. Sims said, as if he could read her mind. “I’m a good actor, and I’m excellent at reading people. But I can’t plan or plot like you do. I’m shit at thinking three steps ahead, much less thirty. You can keep plots and schemes going for years - decades, even, if I were to guess. I’m not sure how someone as competent as you can have self-esteem issues.”

Annabelle bristled. “You try having nobody care about you for - how do you even know that shit about me?” Something terrible occurred to her. “Are you some kind of stalker, Mr. Sims?”

Mr. Sims shuddered in real disgust. “It’s Jon. And no, of course not. You just aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

Yes, she was. She was subtle to everyone on the planet - everyone save, maybe, Jon. Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Jon said immediately.

“Liar. Everybody wants something.”

“I’m here altruistically,” Jon said, the perfect picture of innocence. “Really. I’m here to help you, Annabelle.”

“You are stalking me.” Annabelle leaned forward, but Sims didn’t move. “Are you even a real graduate student?”

“Absolutely not. I’m twenty three, I got my Psych degree last year and I’ve been bouncing odd jobs since.” Jon shrugged, as Annabelle felt silently vindicated. Nothing about this man acted like a twenty three year old - she remembered her siblings at twenty-three, there was nothing adult about them - but it was probably just another persona. She wondered how far she’d have to scratch to get to the real Jon Sims.

“So you were just at Surrey to spy on me,” Annabelle said slowly. “I don’t know what country you’re from, but in England that’s definitely stalking.”

“I’d call it scouting,” Jon said. The waiter dropped by to place their drinks on the table - Jon had gotten a mule for himself, and he had ordered water for Annabelle in a move uncharacteristic for a sketchy guy. He waited until the waiter left to continue. “Call me a recruiter.”

“For who? What kind of job recruiter teaches a class for two months just to get to me?”

“How’s your study with Dr. Blake going, Annabelle?” Jon said, almost randomly, and Annabelle shut up. He must have seen something in her eyes, because a sharp little grin stretched in the corner of his narrow and sharp face. “Thought so. What do you dream of, Annabelle? In the cold corners of night, what fears come to life in the dark recesses of your mind?”

Maybe, Annabelle thought inanely, this was a dream too. Just an extended nightmare, one she hadn’t woken up from. It felt like that: distant and strange, hyper-real and unreal. This strange man sitting in front of her, who swapped faces so easily even Annabelle couldn’t keep up, was far too out of place to truly exist.

Or maybe he was the first real person she had met in a very long time.

Jon continued talking, as if she had responded. Maybe she had. “I am not a hero in this story. If I was, I would have come earlier. I would have deleted your name from the pool of subjects, and I would have made it so that you never got that call.” Jon looked away from her for the first time, letting a little sadness show on his face. “I couldn’t. No - no, I could have, I simply chose not to. You’re important, Annabelle. And I didn’t want to rob you of something that you may grow to treasure. I’m afraid that the choice you make now may not be much of a choice at all - but, perhaps, there is still a chance. At the very least, I would like to make this transition a little easier for you. It is a terrible thing, to have to do it alone.”

That…

“That was so vague it was completely meaningless.”

Jon barked a laugh, strangely delighted. “It’s not fair to speak in circles to somebody who’s gone a week without sleep!”

“But you’re doing it on purpose,” Annabelle said, too dead inside to feel mad.

“Oh, absolutely. I am not taking the risk of taking you on at full power.” Jon smiled at her, as if they were friends sharing a joke. “I saw what you did to that Walker boy in secondary.”

Despite herself, Annabelle smiled. “Hear he gets out on parole in five.” Something else occurred to her, a bit belatedly. “You are stalking me!”

“Does a spider stalk the fly that strikes a string on its web?” Jon asked cheerfully. “Or is it simply investigating an encroachment into its territory?”

“Does that mean that you’re going to eat me?” Annabelle said archly. “Thought you said you didn’t want to fuck me. Rude, by the way.”

Almost hilariously, Jon wrinkled his nose. “Sex is a waste of time, resources, and my attention. Can’t imagine why people are so obsessed.”

“I know, right!” Annabelle burst out, before she could help herself. “Do you have any idea how much money I get a month from guys just to talk to me? It’s like they’re aliens! Why do people fuck or date if it’s not to manipulate someone?”

“Right! It’s ridiculous.”

It was the first time anybody had ever agreed with her on that. It was the first time she had even told anybody she felt that way. For a brief second, Annabelle felt connected to Jon. It was the first time that happened in...a very long time.

Jon was the first person Annabelle had ever met who was like her. Everybody in Annabelle’s life had always been either useful or useless. Jon seemed above that, somehow. To be beyond utility, to exist on your own power...what did that look like? To be the powerful, instead of the powerless?

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many puppet strings Annabelle tied around her fingers, she was never powerful. Not really. She was eighteen, from a nothing family, and no matter how many molehills she made herself queen of she would never rule the mountain. She couldn’t get as far as she wanted with what she had. The only reason she had even volunteered for the stupid Arachnophobia experiment was because she needed to crush out weakness in herself, erase the hidden flaws in her mind.

But Jon said her flaws were strengths. What made her weak could be turned into power.

Annabelle needed more, more, more. She needed everything, if she was to have anything. She needed what Jon had.

Everything Annabelle said had a purpose. Every word she used was chosen carefully, every little gesture or body language was calculated. She said nothing without thinking, and she could do it so quickly nobody even noticed. Jon would notice, a con man as perfect as she was.

Let him. Give her two straight days to sleep, and they’d have a real battle of wits. In the meantime, she just had to pick her questions strategically.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

All eight of Jon’s glittering black eyes shone in the darkness, straining her own and making her head thump. It was wrong, outside of humanity or reality, and it felt as if the very sight was straining the fabric of her delicately maintained life so tight it would tear. It felt as if it was tearing her, right in two, ruining her forever. Her eyes felt like they were going to burst out of her head.

She didn’t want to know what would replace them. But she had the feeling that she already did.

“Then what,” Annabelle gritted out, “are you?”

“I am the eldest and most treasured Son of the Mother of Spiders,” Jon said. He smiled at her, just a little, almost apologetic. “Sorry about that. I know you’ve always wanted to be an only child.”

Ah. Duh. Obviously. She should have known.

“...do I want to know who the Mother of Spiders is?”

“Your mother, should you choose to accept her,” Jon said cheerfully, leaning back into the light, and his face was normal again. Human as ever. Strange and foreign as ever - possibly everything, possibly nothing. “I know you aren’t strictly in the market for adoption, but you may not have much of a choice. You’ve felt her scratching beneath her skin. She’s going to tear out of you, and soon. Did you know some species of wasp lay their eggs in the body of spiders to provide food for the grubs?”

“During the next experiment,” Annabelle said dully, already filtering out Jon’s useless tidbits of information. That was a guy who spoke for the sake of hearing himself talk. “That’s when it’s happening. When I’ll...change.”

“Yes. It’s a painful process,” Jon said, and it was almost apologetic. “My own happened when I was fifteen - quite young, all things considered. I still remember the sound of my bones snapping as -”

“Don’t.”

“Of course! Anyway, I thought I’d make sure you had...to use the psych term, informed consent, before you entered the crucible. Our - my, sorry - Mother often foregoes true consent in our operations. The beauty of nature!” Jon laughed, as Annabelle felt sick. “Agnes wanted to put together a pamphlet, but then we let Gerry go wild on the clipart and...well, it’s better if I just explain. I can’t give you the full story now, but I’ll tell you as much as your mind can comprehend.”

Annabelle wasn’t sure she could even comprehend this. It was so much, and she was so tired. She had just heard that her body was going to rupture like a cocoon and give birth to a giant spider that may or may not also be her, and all she could think about was the fact that she wanted to go back to bed. Somehow, all she could ask was -

“Why?” She asked, so stupid and pointless, as if she was stupid, as if she wasn’t her at all. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s like I said.” In the dim yellow lighting, Jon’s eyes glittered pure black, and in that brief and stupid second Annabelle felt as if they were the same in that way. “Nobody should have to go through this alone and ignorant.” Then the moment was over, and his eyes were a human grey again, just left of normal. “Besides. Siblings stick together, right?”

“I hardly need more siblings,” Annabelle snapped.

“You’re about to lose seven of them real soon,” Jon promised, extremely worryingly, “so I’d take what you can get right now, Annabelle.”

“Are you going to kill -”

“Unfortunately, you may have to fake your own death!”

Then their food came, and Annabelle received her first lesson in the class of hard knocks.

They talked for hours. It took hours, to even just get a picture of the story. Jon was patient, answering every question, and Annabelle strained so hard trying to fight through her exhaustion, trying to understand the answer, Jon’s motivation in answering it or what he could be leaving out, that by the end of it she felt as if she had run a marathon. She had never felt so tired in her life, in the most dangerous situation in her life, with the most dangerous person she had ever met.

By the end of it, Irene was texting her to ask if she was dead, and Annabelle was falling asleep at her chair. Jon cut an end to their conversation when he slid out his wallet, covered the bill with a black Amex card, and slid a business card against the table. Annabelle squinted down at it.

The text in the center just said [FREELANCERS]. That was it. She stared at it.

Underneath the vague word, she saw a phone number [555-555] and an email [[email protected]]. Annabelle looked up to stare at Jon. “Are you for real?”

“Almost never,” Jon said cheerfully, “but the card will make sense when it needs to. Let me take you back to your dorm, alright? You can get some sleep in the car.”

If he was a creep, she was dead anyway. Annabelle didn’t bother arguing. She grabbed her jacket and got in the passenger seat of his car, and true to his word Annabelle drifted asleep almost immediately. She even felt as if the ride took longer than ten minutes, as if he drove in circles just waiting for her.

For the first time in a week, Annabelle slept uninterrupted, and had no dreams.

Annabelle wanted what Jon had.

And a week later, she took it.

Shivering in an alley, clothing ripped to shreds, her own skin hanging off her triple jointed limbs, she dug out a creased and torn business card. She had been worrying at it intensely over the weekend, staring and it and clenching it tightly as if it was her only lifeline. It was, of course. But Jon had known that.

The card looked different now. The text now looked handwritten, but with a beautiful and old-timey slanted handwriting. It now just read:

‘To Annabelle, with love. From your new friends Gerry, Jon, and Agnes’. There was a number underneath, and Annabelle frantically dug in her tattered leather jacket pocket to draw out her cracked phone.

Annabelle hated taking favors from people. Everything she had, she had fought for herself. She would scrape, borrow, beg, and steal whatever she had to. But, when it came to siblings...maybe, then, it was okay.

Dizzily, as Annabelle let the phone ring, she thought: this is my supervillain origin story.

The thought sent a slow smile crawling across her inhuman and warped face.

Sounds like fun.

#AROACE ANNABELLE RIGHTS #tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #annabelle cane #jonathan sims #web!jon #realized while writing evilcon that annabelle was seven while jon was twelve #and that their sibling relationship must be a NIGHTMARE #anyway i'm trying to convince myself not to write a web!jon agnes and gerry fic where its basically a leverage au #and i am failing miserably #so i wrote this instead of that #GRIFTER!JON AND IN THIS ESSAY I WILL #my writing

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Note

i saw u were taking requests, so maybe one w tyler n cody interrupting the reader at the library n just being absolutely chaotic until the librarian kicks them out? doesn’t matter if jj’s in this one or not :)

no jj :)

totally not based on my own poli sci elective and paper that i had to write

you’d been really stressed and exhausted lately, especially with finals coming up. cody and tyler had really been worried about you, it was getting to the point of unhealthy the way you’d been cooped up in the library living off protein bars and coffee.

drink water today!

cody texted you one afternoon and you sent back a thumbs up, but didn’t actually get up to go to the water fountains, already moving your focus back to the political science paper you’d been working on.

“why’d you take that class?” jj had asked you as he flew through his sociology study guide.

“it seemed interesting and while it’s a ton of work, i’ve enjoyed the discussions.”

jj nodded and read through your notes, “i like the paper topic, how the media coverage on the war on drugs has impacted public perception and racial disparity in incarceration, i think you’re going to absolutely kill it.”

which was definitely motivating, however, staring down the blinking cursor on a blank word doc was not. your head was starting to hurt, so you took the last few sips of the cold brew you’d bought from the cafe in the library and started to dig through your booksack for the advil you packed.

“it’s just the intro, this is supposed to be the easy bit,” you muttered to yourself before deciding to skip it completely and start working on your first point.

why’d you wait so long to start this?

tyler had sent you.

my prof didn’t confirm my topic until after thanksgiving which is total bullshit

ope fair enuf i guess

you rolled your eyes and started the first paragraph, managing to knock out 173 out of the 2000 you needed.

before you could dig in and start your second point, a bag landed on the table next to you. you jumped, hand flying to your chest as the caffeine mixed with the fright caused your heart rate to practically triple.

“fucking hell,” you snapped, glaring up at the two boys who were cracking up above you.

“bro, your fucking face,” cody managed between laughs and pulled up a chair to sit next to you.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, grumpily.

“we brought dinner, ms. ungrateful,” tyler told you, patting your head gently.

your jaw softened and you smiled sheepishly, “thanks guys, you didn’t have to.”

“we’re worried about you, bud,” cody admitted, “you aren’t taking care of yourself and you look like shit.”

“thanks,” you responded, wryly.

tyler knocked on the table a few times before asking, “you got all the notes and sources you need for this paper?”

“yeah, think so. if not, i can probably get the rest online.”

“you need anything printed?” he asked.

“nope, it’s an online submission.”

“let’s go,” cody said, standing.

you furrowed your eyebrows, “the fuck? no! i have to finish this.”

“you need a change of scenery, bub. let’s go find somewhere else to sit, yeah?”

“no, i’ve parked it here and i’m gonna stay till i finish,” you crossed your arms stubbornly.

“fine, we have no choice but to cause a scene.”

and cause a scene they did. tyler started singing loudly to music in his headphones. cody decided to watch netflix out loud, no headphones. and they both talked loudly to each other.

you sank down in your chair, cheeks heating up, as students around you started casting disgruntled looks in your direction. and it didn’t take more than five minutes for a security guard to walk over to the three of you.

he had an annoyed, yet slightly amused look on his face as he took the three of you in, you scrambling to shove everything into your booksack and the boys acting up without a care in the world.

you stood, looking ashamed at him, “i already know what you’re going to say.”

“i’m gonna have to ask the three of you to leave,” he said, confirming your suspicions.

cody grinned at him, “it’s for the greater good.”

“thanks for your service,” tyler added, linking his arm through yours practically dragging you out.

you ended up finishing the paper around 2 a.m. at tyler’s desk. the boys left you alone and fell asleep, tyler waking up long enough to let you climb over him to sleep next to the wall.

“proud of you,” he whispered, voice heavy with sleep.

“thanks,” you whispered back, feeling significantly better about where you were in terms of getting all your assignments done before finals.

#pike!jj #cody and tyler #frat!jj

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hddnone · 4 years

Note

for the birthday prompts, nsfw stuckony college au? a get together perhaps? please! I love your writing 😍

“I was never meant to learn Russian. I’m so behind. I’m going to fail,” Bucky whined as he collapsed at Steve’s table.

Steve barely afforded him a glance, as Steve continued working furiously in his sketchbook.

“You should buy me a coffee. My life is over,” Bucky pressed, crossing his arms.

“You’re lucky you even have a seat.”

Steve wasn’t wrong. The cafe was full to bursting with so many students needing their mid-afternoon caffeine hit. Bucky was surprised Steve even managed to score a table, not to mention an extra chair.

Steve continued, “And even if you were going to actually fail, which I doubt, failing your Russian class isn’t that big of a deal.”

“It is if I want to be on track to go abroad next year, and I need a good grade or Professor Shostakov won’t approve my application.” Bucky slumped.

Steve hummed but didn’t reply, his pencil zipping across the paper.

Bucky sighed and watched the line for coffee lengthen. He needed the boost, but he didn’t have the energy to stand in that line. He wanted Steve to do it for him, but Steve wasn’t even paying attention to Bucky’s woes anymore -

“Done,” Steve declared and slammed his pencil on the table. He slapped his sketchbook closed and slipped it back into his backpack. “Well, for now, anyway. It’s not terrible progress to show at class,” he explained.

“Why aren’t I an art major?” Bucky sighed.

“Because you’d be terrible at it,” Steve answered dryly. “Now, Russian. Are you actually failing?”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe, I don’t know. It’s these stupid exams. I can stay on top of the history readings or the language but not both at the same time, and I’m so behind on vocab it’s not even-”

He’d lost Steve’s attention again. Steve was on his phone, texting, and it was probably his boyfriend with that kind of smile on his face.

Bucky sighed. He was happy that Steve was happy, Steve and Tony had never made Bucky feel like the third wheel, and it should’ve been much more awkward then it was when they all hung out, but Bucky was having a crisis here. He should go complain to Nat, since she was the one who had forced him to join her in those classes back when they were freshmen.

Steve turned back to Bucky with a smug grin on his face. “Tony knows Russian, and he’ll tutor you.”

“Tony knows Russian?”

Steve shrugged. “Ask him. But come on, he’s at the apartment now.” Steve cleared the rest of his stuff from the table.

“But -”

“I’ll make you coffee at his place,” Steve conceded.

“Done,” Bucky said cheerfully and got to his feet.

Tony’s apartment was just off-campus. The place was better than a dorm, though not by much, and Bucky thought the price exorbitant, but Tony was willing to pay for the convenience and he was happy to have Steve and Bucky and whoever stop by whenever they wanted.

And, Tony had a coffee maker that took up a full half of his counter space, but it was great and he would provide free coffee to anyone as long as he didn’t have to make it. Which was fine, because Steve was more than willing to make Bucky’s coffee.

“Here’s the thing,” Steve said as they walked to Tony’s apartment, fidgeting with his backpack. “Tony helped me with some of those stat classes for poly sci, right? So I know he’s a good tutor, either way you want him, okay?”

“What are you trying to say?” Bucky pressed, rolling his eyes.

Steve explained Tony’s process for tutoring, his voice going husky.

“And you’re fine with…?”

“Yup.” Steve gave Bucky a bright grin. “I promise it works.”

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about Steve’s explanation the entire time. Or really, Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about Steve practically dirty talking to him while they walked down the sidewalk.

When they made it to Tony’s apartment, Tony greeted them with a knowing smile.

“So, Russian lessons,” Tony said. “I learned because of my Dad’s business connections. Boring story, and I know the weirdest mix of words, but I’m sure I can help.”

Bucky couldn’t help it. His gaze dropped to Tony’s lips, watching them form the words. Then watched those lips form a smirk.

“I see Steve already told you about my methods,” Tony purred.

Bucky nodded, and Steve patted him on the back.

“I’ll go make that coffee,” Steve said. He kissed Tony as he walked by. “For you both, don’t worry.”

“Thanks babe,” Tony said with a smile.

“Are you sure…?” Bucky asked. He’d asked Steve that too, along with a couple of what the fuck?s and why the hell?s around Steve’s explanation.

“Oh, yes,” Tony declared so strongly that it startled Bucky. “Steve said you guys were super close and shared everything. I’ve been dreaming of this since I met you.” Tony’s gaze obviously dropped to Bucky’s lips. “Haven’t you?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “I plead the Fifth.”

Tony laughed. “Steve explained the tiers, right? I’ll drill you - verbally, with questions, at first,” he said with a wink. “You get enough answers right, and you earn a kiss. Then, I start stripping. Then, you get a blow job and if you get an 85 or better on this next exam…”

Tony slung his arms around Bucky’s neck and pulled him close.

Bucky cautiously let his hands settle on Tony’s waist, his fingers just starting to touch that swell of Tony’s ass.

“I’ll rim you until you cry,” Tony promised.

Bucky swallowed a whine.

“Or I will,” Steve said as he held out two coffees, one for Bucky and one for Tony. “If you wanted to blow Tony for all his hard work in getting you to pass.”

Steve winked and Bucky swore.

“You’ve talked about this,” Bucky said, his throat dry. He stepped away from Tony so he could take the coffee and down a huge gulp.

He wondered how obvious his growing erection was in his jeans right now.

“A lot,” Steve said with an awkward smile.

“Steve is really great at dirty talk, and if you don’t fuck as well as Steve thinks you can then I think my heart will break,” Tony said.

Bucky swallowed. He considered all his possible answers, and finally settled on one. The one he wanted, desperately, but had been trying not to think about ever since Steve had started dating Tony and Bucky had realized how much he was attracted to both of them.

“You want a trial run? Right now?” Bucky asked. He set the coffee aside. He was suddenly wide awake.

“I have class…” Steve chewed on his lip.

“You’re going to be late,” Tony said, and then dragged the both of them to the bedroom.

#stuckony #steve x bucky x tony #tony's tutoring methods are suspect #un-birthday prompts #megan writes things #Anonymous

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mosylufanfic · 5 years

Text

Five Times They Got Caught Off-Guard (and one time they decided to settle the question)

Hail, @youareiron-andyouarestrong, I am your Secret Santa! Merry Christmas and here's your present! The prompt “WHO KEEPS HANGING MISTLETOE EVERYWHERE WE ARE” just made me giggle, so I wrote a goofy, fluffy, slightly pratfall-y 5 Times fic. I didn't use all your ideas for majors, but I definitely enjoyed hearing them. You said smut was okay, and while this is still T, it’s pushing the upper edge by the end. I hope you enjoy it, and that you have an amazing remainder of the Christmas season!

Five Times They Got Caught Off-Guard (and one time they decided to settle the question)

Cassian was stripping meat from bone with unsettling efficiency when Jyn walked in the kitchen.

"I can't believe you want more of that dusty jerky," she said, hoisting herself up to sit on the counter. "I've still got strings in my teeth." She picked her teeth with her fingernail to demonstrate.

"I'm making soup," he said, tossing a leg bone onto a plate and a few scraps of overcooked, dried-out turkey meat into a bowl. "Might as well get some good out of this bird."

"Ah," she said, reaching down for a carrot stick from the veggie platter that Han Solo, that cheap motherfucker, had contributed to their dinner. "Good idea. Do Americans really eat one of those awful things every year?"

"I think it's usually a little tastier." He shrugged, as unfamiliar with American Thanksgiving as she was.

A big noisy holiday dinner had been Bodhi's idea. Most of them in the elderly, rambling house just off campus were too poor to make it home over the break, and about half of them were international students anyway.

Add in some of the strays that Bodhi seemed to pick up like a magnet picking up leftover paper clips, and there had been enough people, and enough dishes, to make up for the dreadful main event. Jyn rubbed her belly and wondered if there was any of Bodhi's veggie curry left. Or the elote Cassian had made. Or the chocolate silk pie that their landlords Chirrut and Baze had brought. Her mouth watered.

A yell exploded from the living room. They both paused in what they were doing and exchanged eyerolls. They'd been booed down for attempting to veto the American football game on the telly.

"Call that football," Jyn said, and bit the carrot stick in half.

"Que chafa," Cassian said, shaking his head.

She laughed. "Man United is playing, too. Night game. Probably almost done."

"Since when do you root for them?"

"Watch your mouth, asshole, I'm rooting for whoever's playing them."

He smiled to himself, looking over at her. Suddenly his smile faded.

"What?" she said. "What are you staring at?"

"How long has that been there?"

"What?" She grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and tried to use it as a mirror. "I got something in my teeth?" Fucking turkey. She'd taken a slice for politeness, even though it had required a gulp of water after every bite.

"No," he said patiently, "look up."

She craned her neck and squinted at the ceiling, almost directly above her. "That's mistletoe."

"Yes, I thought so too."

She lowered her gaze and met Cassian's, feeling her cheeks heat. "I didn't put it up."

He looked away, back at the bird he was still stripping down. "Neither did I."

Her lips tingled. She bit them, and made herself stop. "Someone getting ahead of themselves with Christmas decorations," she said airily, hopping off the counter and sliding past him.

He lifted his head. "Where are you going?"

"I - " She shrugged. "Dunno, my room or something."

He reached over and pulled a giant knife out of the knife block. "Here. Make yourself useful and chop some veggies for the soup."

"You're actually going to let me help in your kitchen?"

"It can't be insulted any worse than it was today," he said. "Leia Organa will be running the world one day, but she won't be feeding it."

"It was supposed to be her brother," she pointed out, taking the knife. "Just, his flight got cancelled and she insisted on doing it in his place. Why'd you let her?"

"Because I've never cooked a twenty-pound turkey before and I foolishly thought she had. Celery and carrots," he instructed, passing her the veggie platter. "Leave the tomato and broccoli."

"You still would have been salty if Luke had been cooking the bird," she observed, following orders.

"Yes, but we probably would have been able to eat it."

Jyn chopped up the veggies at his direction. When she was done, she leaned against the counter to watch as he performed culinary alchemy, combining seemingly random herbs and spices with the veggies and the remains of the turkey carcass.

"There," he said, covering it with water and setting the timer on his precious slow cooker. "Let it cook overnight and I'll add noodles in the morning."

She almost moaned. Turkey noodle soup while it was cold and rainy out sounded perfect. "Save some for me."

"Cooks' portion," he said and gave her a rare smile. "You make a good assistant."

"Great," she said. "A fallback in case the cybersecurity market goes to shit before I finish my thesis."

They washed the dishes they'd used, leaving them in the drying rack as the dishwasher chugged away at the dishes from dinner. It was comfortable and companionable and if Jyn thought of the mistletoe dangling above their heads about once a minute or so, she felt sure that Cassian didn't notice.

He nudged her as he was wiping his hands dry. "Want to come hang out in my room? Avoid the fake football?"

She felt the blush start somewhere in her stomach. She crossed her arms, smirking at him. "You hit on all your kitchen assistants?"

Behind his beard, his cheeks darkened. "What? I - no - I - "

Oh. Damn. Well. Fuck, this was awkward.

"I meant to watch the Cruz Azul game on my tablet," he said. "It'll be in Spanish."

She swallowed and attempted a joke. "What's the odds somebody's gonna trip over nothing, roll around like his femur is shattered, and get up five seconds later to jog off the pitch?"

"High," he said, sounding like their housemate Kay, who was going for his PhD in statistics. "Very high."

"Well, that's more like it. Yeah, all right."

Cassian rubbed his temples. He had a bitter headache and had just sent out a piteous text to the house group chat, begging for someone, anyone, to bring him a coffee.

He focused on the essay in front of him. "Alicia, I'd like to see you expand more on this point. You gloss over it somewhat. Professor Draven graded you down for that on your last essay, remember?"

The undergrad he was working with shook her mass of blond ringlets back over her shoulders and scooted her chair closer to his. Why, he couldn't imagine, because his office wasn't much bigger than a closet. "What do you suggest?" she asked.

Even though Alicia was in another section of Professor Draven's 202 class and thus had a different TA, she always came to see Cassian for help with her assignments. A lot of international students in the poli-sci department tended to find him, because of the number of languages he spoke. Alicia had been the most regular this semester, dropping by before every test and essay. Her heavy body spray, some kind of vanilla musk, filled his tiny office and intensified his headache.

He made some suggestions and she noted them down. "So what are your plans for Christmas?" she asked.

"Oh, I can't really afford to go back to Mexico for the holiday, so I'm staying here." He scanned along. "Now this conclusion is rather good, but it will only be strengthened if you expand on your earlier point."

"So you won't see your family? That's so sad, Cassi!" She put her hand on his arm. "My roommate and I are having a party after finals, before I leave for Berlin. Would you like to come?"

"Um," he said. "I - maybe we should get back to the essay."

A knock at the door interrupted him, and he looked up. Jyn leaned in. "Got a coffee," she said. "Want it?"

"Yes, please," Cassian said, reaching his hand out to take it. He took a sip. Three sugars, no cream, perfect. He smiled at her. "Do I owe you?"

"Your first-born, as agreed."

"Will you take a rain check?"

"No," she said, poker-faced, "I demand a baby right now. Make sure it's a nice plump one."

He chuckled and took another drink. His headache was already receding.

Alicia was studying them both, narrow-eyed. "Is that your girlfriend, Cassi?" she asked in German.

But it was Jyn who answered, in the same language. "Nope," she said, leaning against the doorjamb and slurping from her own takeout cup. Tea, probably, strong and sweet and milky. She was very English in that way. "Just his housemate and caffeine delivery person."

Alicia studied her for another moment, then shrugged and smiled. "Nice to meet you." She turned her back and said, "Can you tell me more about the parts in the middle that needed work?"

"Actually," Cassian said, handing her essay back, "I think we were about done."

"Oh - but -"

"I have to prepare for class," he said firmly. "Just work on those sections and it'll be an excellent final project."

"I still wanted to ask you - "

Even more firmly, he added, "I hope you have a good trip back to Berlin."

Alicia bit her heavily-glossed lip. "I'd still love to see you at my party. Here's my address." She scribbled on a piece of paper from her notebook and handed it to him. "Lots of fun, I promise!"

Cassian waited until she was gone to drop it in his trash can.

"Frequent flier?" Jyn asked, taking the seat she'd left behind.

Cassian shrugged, leaning over to crack the window. The air that rushed in was bitter-cold, but clean and fresh, chasing vanilla musk out. "She always wants a lot of help, but never really needs it. Her work is very good as is. I think she just wants reassurance." He opened a drawer and found a pack of crackers, offering her one.

Jyn took it and crunched in. "Or she's pursuing you."

He almost choked on his own cracker. "She's - I'm sorry?"

"She wants in your pants real bad."

"I'm sure she doesn't."

"I'm sure she does."

"She's just a very conscientious student, always works hard on her essays, arrives early for . . . office hours . . . " He trailed off. "Oh."

Jyn chortled into her tea. "Wake up and smell the perfume, Cassi."

He made a face. "Don't."

"Why not? Don't you like it?"

"No, but I've given up trying to correct her." He looked at his trash can, the party invitation taking on a whole different cast. "Hell."

"Not into it? She's pretty cute."

"No," he said. "And annoyed you had to tell me. I thought she just really liked international relations."

She patted his arm. "She probably does, but she's thinking of a whole different kind of relations." She looked up and froze. "And she's very determined about it, too."

"What now?" he said rather wearily.

She pointed and he looked up to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from his ceiling. He squinted. "How did that get there?"

"Was she early today?"

"Yes, but how would she get it up there?"

"Was your desk rearranged?"

Now that he thought of it, his keyboard was a little off-center, as if it had been moved and then moved back, maybe when a certain blonde German undergrad had climbed up on his desk to hang mistletoe from his ceiling.

Jyn laughed out loud. "For a journalist, Cassian, you're not very observant, are you?"

"I blame the headache," he said, reaching up for the mistletoe. It eluded the very tips of his fingers.

"I got it," she said, stepping up onto her chair and then nudging the keyboard aside so she could climb on the desk.

"Jyn - !"

"I'm fine, I've got it," she repeated, stretching up for the mistletoe. She had to go up on her toes to get at where Alicia had taped it to the ceiling, and yank hard. "What did she use?" she grunted, "superglue?" She yanked again, and the sprig came free, knocking her off-balance. She took a step into thin air.

Cassian grabbed her waist. "Steady!"

She teetered, folded over, grabbed his shoulders, and they both froze. She shifted carefully, getting both feet firmly back onto the desk.

"M'alright," she said.

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

He became aware that his arms were wrapped around her hips and his face was practically buried in her - ah.

And he'd knocked both their chairs aside when he'd grabbed for her. They were just far enough away that he couldn't hook one with his foot and drag it over, not with their combined balances so tricky.

"I'm going to bring you down," he said. "All right?"

"Uh-huh."

He shifted his grip, stepped back, and for a moment her whole soft, curving weight slid down his front. Her boots hit the industrial carpet with a thump, and they both let go very fast.

"Thanks," she mumbled, her face pink. She snatched up her tea, which had miraculously survived the shenanigans, and backed through the door. "I'm just - I - see you at home, yeah?"

"No problem," he said, watching her go.

Jyn walked in, went directly to the couch, and faceplanted.

Some time later, she heard the door open and Cassian's footsteps on the creaky old wood floors. "Jyn?"

"Ungh."

"Are you alive?"

"No."

He sounded amused. "What killed you?"

"An all-nighter," she groaned into the cushions. "A bitch of a project. Bugs. Bugs everywhere. It's raining and I forgot my umbrella so I'm cold and wet, and I didn't eat lunch, and I may have to do my project over again because like I said, it was a bitch."

"Anything else?"

She considered. "My foot hurts."

"Well," he said. "I guess I'll just leave your deceased corpse there to rot. It'll be very smelly." He walked out again, creak-creak-creak.

"Nice," she mumbled into the cushions. "Spending too much time around Kay, that's what he's doing."

She considered getting up. Changing out of her wet clothes. Heating up some soup. She groaned again, and downgraded her expectations to getting her wet socks off.

She'd just chucked them to the floor - splat - and was attempting to burrow her chilled feet into the divide between cushions when the floors creaked again. Something thick and warm settled over her. She grunted and turned her head, rubbing her fingers against the fuzziness of the blanket. "What - "

"Just in case you might be revived," Cassian said, crouching by her head.

She smiled at hm, pulling her feet in under the blanket. They began to sting and prickle with warmth. "It is the season of miracles and all that."

His hair fell damp and soft over his forehead, and his shoulders were rain-spattered, so he must have come in just after her. He could have changed clothes or gotten his own food, but he'd elected to get her a blanket instead.

She wanted to reach out and brush her fingers over his beard. Would it be scratchy or soft? She wanted to run her hand down his throat and feel the motion of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard.

His eyes flicked up and he frowned.

She pulled her hand to her chest, afraid she might have already been reaching out to touch him. “What?”

He pointed, and she twisted her head on the cushion to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the reading lamp parked almost directly above their two heads.

“What - “ she said, looking back at him.

They both realized at the same time how close their faces were, and he lurched back, almost butt-planting before staggering to his feet. “Anyway,” he said. “I’ll leave you to warm up.”

“Thanks for the blanket,” she said. “You want it back?”

He shrugged, backing away. “I have more.”

When he was gone, she pulled it over her head with a groan.

Cassian was grading papers from his section when Jyn found him in the library. "Just who I was looking for," she said, plopping down.

"Have a seat," he said absently, opening up the next essay that had been electronically turned in at the last possible second.

"Have you thought about Christmas presents yet?"

Who could think of presents when he had forty-two essays to wade through and an analysis of the effects of European colonialism on Egyptian foreign policy due in three days? But he set his stylus down and said, "No, why?"

"Because I found the perfect thing for Bodes." She called up a website on her tablet and passed it over. "Look at it. No really. Look. Couldn't you imagine Bodhi's face when he unwraps that?"

Cassian studied the bomber jacket on Jyn's screen. Buttery chocolate-colored leather with a shearling collar, warm and thick and stylish. "He would love it. But the price - "

"I know, I know. That's why I'm showing you."

"Even half the cost is a lot," he said gently. "My budget is candy canes this year and even then it'll be the cheap ones."

"I can math," she said. "And you don't have to give me anything. Look, the more of us get on board, the smaller the individual cost will be. If I blackmail Leia and sweet-talk Han and you appeal to Kay's sense of logic - oh, hey, have you got anything on Han? Because I'm not so sure about my sweet-talking skills."

"You have this all planned out, don't you?"

"Bodes has had a shit year," she said. "We can't send him back to London to see his mum and sisters, but we can give him something."

He bumped his stylus against his lower lip. “Chewie will be in no problem, so ask him first and he'll make Han do it. And go by the Philosophy department to talk to Chirrut and Baze. They're both teaching this afternoon."

She grinned at him. "Right, I'll just have to catch Chirrut after his capstone seminar but before Baze gets out of his 101."

"Good thinking." Baze was always grumpy after a section of his Intro course, mumbling under his breath about pampered babies who wouldn't know Aristotelian ethics if it bit them on the ass. "Just don't let them pay for the whole thing. I want in. And I'll see who else I can round up."

"You're the best," she said.

Two boys walked up, holding hands. "Hi, uh - "

Jyn leaned back in her chair. "Can we help you?"

"Are you guys using this table?"

"Uh, pretty obviously yeah."

"It's just that we kind of wanted to sit here."

"There's like a thousand other tables on this floor alone."

Although, Cassian reflected, none of the others were tucked away in a sunny corner behind bookshelves, private and quiet.

"I know, but - " The shorter guy blushed. "This one has the mistletoe on the window."

They both looked up. Cassian swore under his breath.

Jyn got up so fast she almost knocked her chair over. "All yours, lads," she said.

When Jyn told her about the mistletoe issue, Leia was supremely unsympathetic. "So? You happen to see some Christmas decorations sometimes, and sometimes you happen to be with Cassian when you do. It's December and we live in a society that pushes a yearly orgy of consumerism with the promise that - "

"Blah blah late stage capitalism, yes, I know, but," Jyn said. "It's getting out of hand."

Leia looked skeptical.

“I swear to you," Jyn said darkly, "that if Cassian comes along, a piece of mistletoe will materialize over our heads within twenty seconds."

"Confirmation bias," Leia said.

"Is not!"

"Is," Leia said. "Mistletoe as a decoration is ridiculously common. Look, there’s some above the door right there.” Leia gestured at the door of the Echo Base Coffee Roastery. “And no Cassian.”

“Give it time,” Jyn said.

Leia rolled her eyes. “It's not that the two of you are making it manifest, It's just that you're hyper-aware of it when you're with him." She smirked at her. "And why is that?"

"Because it's haunting us," Jyn growled.

"Because you want to kiss him so bad you're drooling," Leia said and bit into her scone.

“So what if I am,” Jyn said, and slouched in her chair.

Leia stopped mid-chew. “Wow,” she said. “You really want to if you’re not denying it. So why haven't you just laid one on him?”

“He’s so calm,” she said. “I don’t know what he wants. He’s impossible to read. What if I slap lips on him and he screams and runs?”

Leia arched a brow. “Unlikely.”

Jyn pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know what to do.”

“Slap lips on him, as you so romantically put it?”

“Nope. Avoid him until Boxing Day. You Americans rip everything down at 11:30 pm Christmas Day, and it’s like the holiday never existed. No mistletoe, no problem.”

“Yes,” Leia grinned, “but then it’s all Valentine's Day, all the time.”

Jyn’s face worked and then she huffed. “I’ll see you later.”

“You know I’m riiiiight,” Leia sang into her coffee cup, and Jyn made an obscene gesture. She stomped toward the door. Before she could grab the handle, it opened to reveal Cassian, Kay on his heels.

He stopped.

She stopped.

As if they’d practiced it, they both looked up at the mistletoe at the same time.

“Right,” Jyn said, pink-faced. “See you later then. Bye.” She nodded at their other housemate. “Kay.”

“Jyn,” Kay said, and stepped around her and Cassian both, announcing, “I advise you to get out of the way and permit the door to close. The wind is very cutting today."

“Right,” Cassian said. For a moment, he and Jyn performed a sort of awkward, shuffling dance as they both tried to pass through in opposite directions. Finally, Jyn was out, Cassian was in, and the door was closed.

Through the window to the left of the door, Jyn caught Leia’s eye. She pointed upward and mouthed I told you! Didn’t I tell you?! She was gesticulating so wildly she almost ran into a pole, and Leia made a dismayed sound.

Cassian looked at her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said, watching Jyn scramble out of sight. “Just got some coffee down the wrong pipe.”

He looked doubtful, but turned back to Kay. “This is exactly what I was talking about. Now do you believe me?”

“Confirmation bias,” Kay said, surveying the offerings in the pastry case.

Leia smirked into her coffee again.

Jyn turned in her last final on the Thursday before Christmas, and slept like the dead for fourteen hours.

She wasn't the only one. The house was full of post-finals zombies. When she shuffled out of her attic room and down the stairs in sock feet and ragged sweatpants, she found Chewie, eyes hidden behind his mop of hair, wandering around the second-floor hallway with a toothbrush in his mouth. "Done with the bathroom?" she asked.

He grunted, went back and spit out his toothbrush, came out, and grunted again. Interpreting that to mean all yours, she crawled into the shower and cranked it as hot as it would go. She counted herself lucky that she'd remembered to peel off her sweatpants first.

She felt more human by the time she snapped the water off and climbed out. The sweatpants went back on, but she promised herself that she'd trade them for clean clothes up in her room. Rambling out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel over her hair, she almost crashed directly into Cassian. "Uh," she said. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Hi." Shit, she'd said that already. She slouched against the doorjamb, hoping she looked incredibly casual and not like she was feeling self-conscious about being caught by him in her rattiest clothing. "How's the grading?"

"Turned in," he said. "You? How did your final project turn out?"

"All in. It's probably shit, but it's in."

"I'm sure it's not," he said.

She shrugged. "How's everyone else holding up? Does Bodhi still gibber when you say the words high pressure system to him?" Their friend's aeronautical meteorology class had kicked his ass.

"He's downgraded to whimpers."

Somewhere off in the distance, the doorbell rang, with the four-note sequence of the Addams Family theme. (Chirrut thought it was funny.)

Jyn ignored it. Someone downstairs would get it and she didn't feel like moving. "Well, that's progress. We should go out tonight or something."

"Us?"

She choked. "Uh, yeah, all of us here in the house. Big, uh, big housemate post-finals party. Alcohol and cake and - " Debauchery, she almost said, and changed it to - "Frivolity."

"Maybe pizza to soak up the booze and sugar," he said.

"Right, yeah, that sounds good." She grinned. "The Mill?"

"That's a good choice. Han's so lazy he refuses to decorate for Christmas, so - "

"No mistletoe," she said brightly, and just like that it was all awkward between them.

She thought of Leia's skepticism that she'd be able to bury all this after Christmas. Especially with Valentine's Day coming up.

He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and averted his eyes. "Jyn, I - " He choked on the rest of his sentence, staring at a spot just over her head.

With a certain feeling of inevitability, she followed his gaze to see a sprig of mistletoe, hanging from the light fixture.

She dropped her eyes again and met his.

He said, "I still don't know who's putting those up."

"Me neither."

"At least in here," he added.

"Right. Yeah. The Roastery and the library were probably . . . some poor worker who's getting paid minimum wage to climb on a ladder and - " She felt herself rambling and hiked up her chin. "Look, it's five days until Christmas. We don't know why these are suddenly turning up around us but it's just making it weirder and weirder, so I say we settle the question."

"The . . . question," he said carefully.

"Yeah. Let's just kiss and get it over with."

". . . That question."

The doorbell rang again, more insistently. Neither of them moved.

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. "Well?"

He swallowed. She followed the motion of his Adam's apple down his throat and felt herself break out in a sweat, heat thrumming at all her pulse points. She wasn't sure when she'd decided she wanted to lick his neck, but she did, she did. Maybe some heretofore unsuspected infection of vampirism.

"Maybe we should," he said in a low rumble.

She unfolded her arms and rested her hands high up on his chest. Damn, he was tall. She tilted her head back to meet Cassian's eyes, sticking her chin out in a dare. Go on, then.

Downstairs, a babble of voices broke out. They could have been in the next zip code for all Jyn cared.

He put his hands to her waist, warm through her worn-thin Gerrera's Gym t-shirt, and leaned down. She shut her eyes just before his mouth brushed hers.

Dry, warm. Fleeting. Tendrils of agreeable heat began to curl through her belly.

Then he was gone.

She swallowed and opened her eyes again, feeling the tendrils of heat curl themselves into nothing.

Her body hummed with tension and dissatisfaction. Was that it? Was that little taste all she was getting?

Even though the light fixture and its stupid, stupid mistletoe was right above their heads, she couldn't read his expression.

She dropped her hands. "Okay. That's done, th-"

The last word was cut off by his mouth covering hers again. Her back hit the wall so hard the light fixture rattled. She ignored it, too busy winding her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him, kissing back hungrily.

This, now. This.

If the first kiss had been a taste, this was a five-course banquet. They devoured each other, tongues and teeth and lips and hands. His hands slid south of her waist, clamping on her ass and hauling her into the arc of his body. She whimpered and hooked one leg over his hip. He pressed her harder into the wall and licked into her mouth.

She gasped aloud when he left her mouth and started kissing her neck. Somehow, both her legs were locked around his hips, and his hands - Jesus, he had good hands. She felt like a volcano, all liquid heat inside and liable to go off at the slightest provocation.

"That's more like it," she said, and nipped at his ear.

"I've been wanting to do that since September," he said against her neck.

"So why didn't - ohhh," she groaned as his teeth scraped her skin.

"I'm usually very good at reading people. But I find you impossible to predict."

She grabbed his head in her hands and stared into his eyes. "Take me back to your room and fuck my brains out," she said. "How's that for a read?"

He rocked against her and demonstrated he had no problem with her proposed course of action. "Your room would be better."

"Yours is closer."

He kissed her hard. "I'm next to Kay."

"So," she mumbled into his mouth.

"He's asleep."

"So?"

"I don't intend to be quiet."

Oh. Oh damn. There went her last brain cell. "Right," she gasped. "My room it is."

Over at the Mill some hours later, Leia watched them snuggle in a booth with a little smirk.

She'd been keeping an eye on that, texting her brother with regular updates. Luke always liked hearing the gossip from her house, especially any news of a certain British-Pakistani aeronautics major. She'd always thought Cassian and Jyn had a certain similarity, under their wildly differing outer presentation. And of course they'd been thirsting for each other practically since they'd met. They made a cute couple.

The smirk turned into a blush when they started kissing and groping each other again. Okay, whenever they got over that in public, they would be a cute couple.

She turned toward the bar and the giant bowl of eggnog that Han Solo had rustled up. Call him what you like - and she did - he could pull a party together.

Bodhi was already there, pouring himself some. "Want one?"

"Absolutely," she said, leaning up next to him. "So - the mistletoe."

He ducked his head and made a sort of grunt.

"You were the one putting it all up in the house, right?" She'd noticed Bodhi decorating for the holiday as early as Thanksgiving morning.

"Yep," he said on a sigh, passing her a full glass.

She chortled and took a sip that threatened to curl her eyebrows. It was very strong. She blinked and shook her head. When her tongue had regained feeling, she pursued her line of questioning. "What, did you just get tired of watching them orbit around each other for the past few months?"

"Actually . . ." He looked down into his own glass. "It wasn't for them."

She sputtered out her next sip of eggnog. "Say again?"

He sighed. "I had a whole plan. Remember how Luke was supposed to come for Thanksgiving?"

"And his flight got cancelled, yeah."

"And then he was supposed to crash on our couch over break?"

"And then his advisor asked him to stay to work on some 'special project'?" She made a face. She wouldn't be forgiving Professor Yoda anytime soon for attempting to deprive her of her twin. "But - "

"Well, I figured if there was all this mistletoe up, it would be sort . . . of . . . romantic," he mumbled.

Her hand stopped. "Bodhi," she said, slowly and clearly. "How long have you been crushing on my brother?"

"Look, I wasn't trying to be creepy - "

"Of course you weren't," she said. "Just - how long?"

He shook his head. "It's dumb, it doesn't matter."

A voice from behind him said, "I'm interested."

Bodhi whipped around to see Luke standing behind him, face bright and hopeful. "What - you - when?"

"A few hours ago," Luke said. "I drove overnight. I was taking a nap in her room until just now." He toasted Leia with his beer. "She left me a text to come on over."

Bodhi was still goggling at him, the tips of his ears going brick-red. "But I thought - "

"I excused myself from the project. Professor Yoda's not too happy, but I don't care. So, uh, what was my sister saying? About you and mistletoe, and me?"

They wandered off, eyes only for each other, hands bumping. No need for mistletoe.

Leia laughed to herself and drank more eggnog.

"Hey, princess, look what I found!" Han leaned over the bar and dangled a sprig of mistletoe over their heads. "Pucker up."

She tossed her eggnog in his face and marched off, refusing to reflect on the not-small part of her that had been intrigued. It would take more than mistletoe to get her to lock lips with Han Solo.

FINIS

#Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #rebelcaptain #rebelcaptainsecretsanta #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #boy it's been awhile since I used that tag #university AU #modern AU #everyone is an overworked and slightly crazed student #fluff #star wars

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calpalirwin · 5 years

Text

Shenanigan Squad

Summary: Ashton’s focus was simple: graduate. But if he happened to make some friends, and maybe a little more, along the way, he wasn’t one to complain.

A/N: College Ash AU!

Content: Swearing. Alcohol usage. AKA Bri and her usual bullshit.

Word Count: Just shy of 6k

And away, and away we go!

~~~

Ashton’s glasses pushed up as he rubbed at his eyes. Eight am was way too early to be having class. But, at least he had his friend Mike with him. Graduation was so close, he could practically feel the degree in his hand. And at least the class was taught by Professor Lewis. So even though it was early, the enthusiasm was infectious as the red-haired, freckled professor bounced around the front of the lecture room, his voice way too perky as he went, “Alright! Let’s get this started! Get to know your neighbors! Find out what they did over the summer!”

Ashton couldn’t help but chuckle at the older man’s energy as he turned in his seat and started conversing with Mike, catching up on how the summer had treated them both. While they had kept in touch, neither of them had actually seen each other since May right after finals. That wasn’t to say they weren’t friends though. A shared major and common quest for a scrap of paper was a bonding experience and Ashton had created a small close-knit group without ever realizing it.

“Ah, Jo! Nice of you to join us!” Professor Lewis said as a young woman walked in, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hey,” she greeted warmly, hurrying up the aisle and taking the empty seat behind Mike.

Ashton looked at the woman in her flannel with the sleeves rolled up, her blonde-streaked hair pulled back into a ponytail, her cheeks flushed from her fast-paced walk across campus. Her black glasses slid down her nose as she pulled a notebook and pen out of her backpack. She pushed them back into place and she flipped open the notebook before reaching forward to tap Mike on the shoulder. “Psst, Mike, what are we doing?”

“Jo!” Mike said happily. “Introductions. What we did over the summer. You know.”

“Cool,” she nodded, her brown eyes scanning the room. “Aw, sweet Luke’s here, too? Dope.” She offered a small wave to the tall blue-eyed blonde closer to the back of the room. “And you are?” she asked, her gaze settling on Ashton as she finished her scan of the room.

“Ashton,” he supplied, offering her a hand.

“Jordan,” she smiled, a dimple appearing in her right cheek. “Or Jo. Are you new to the history department? Or have we just never been lucky enough to have a class together?”

“Not lucky enough to have a class together,” Mike explained to her. “Ash is gonna be in thesis with us, too.”

“Oh, shit, yeah?” she asked, her eyes brightening. “Dope. Luke’s in it too, yeah?”

“Yup,” the green eyed boy said. “Not Cal though. He couldn’t get a section.”

“Bummer,” she said, leaning back in her desk. “So, Ash- Do you prefer Ash or Ashton?- How do you know this nerd?” she asked, gesturing to Mike.

“Oh, we took the historiography class last semester together. But we’ve had other classes together too. And Ash is fine.”

“Right, cuz you, Cal, and Luke ditched me,” she said with playful roll of her eyes as she nudged Mike’s shoulder.

Ashton wasn’t sure why, but he swallowed harshly as Calum’s name was brought up for the second time. He knew the brown-skinned boy fairly well, having had a class or two with him in the past. They were friendly. Ashton would easily consider Calum to be part of his close-knit group. But the fact that the girl to his right also knew Calum didn’t settle well in his stomach.

“It didn’t fit in our schedule. And hey, at least we had Lewis together,” Mike defended.

She nodded again. “True that. And my historiography paper was loads easier than yours.”

“Fucker,” Mike muttered with a small chortle. “Jo here got it easy with Lopez and turned in...” Mike started to explain to the rest of the small group but faltered. “How many pages did you turn in?” he asked, his green-eyed gaze shifting to the girl.

Jordan’s gaze went up and her teeth bit into her lower lip as she thought. “Like.. 4 and a half, I think?” she answered, uncertainly.

Ashton whistled low. “Shit, I turned in 12 I think.”

Jordan shrugged. “I got a B minus, so…”

“Alright!” Professor Lewis said, his hands clapping together to get the attention of the room full of history majors. “Let’s hear about your classmates’ summers.”

“Shit…” Ashton muttered under his breath, realizing that the group of two turned three hadn’t figured out who was introducing who.

Jordan waved a hand in a circle. “I’ll do Mike. Mike’ll do you. You’ll do me.”

Mike nodded in agreement but Ashton’s hazel eyes widened a bit in panic. He knew nothing about the girl he was supposed to introduce. He was so panicked at being unprepared that he even catch the way Mike jokingly wiggled his eyebrows at the young woman’s words. “What am I supposed to say?” Ashton whispered at her.

“I’m Jo. I’m in my last year. I went to Oregon,” she whispered back with a wink.

Ashton nodded and leaned back in his seat, waiting for their turn.

“You three?” Professor Lewis said, gesturing at the group.

“This is Mike. He’s a last year history major. And he played videogames over the summer,” Jordan started, making up something about Mike she knew to be true on the spot.

Mike laughed with a nod before he went about introducing Ashton. Then, it was Ashton’s turn. “This is Jo. She’s in her last year. And she went to Oregon over the summer,” the soft brown haired man said.

“Oregon, nice,” Professor Lewis nodded approvingly. “Do anything cool?”

Jordan shrugged. “Ziplining, cave exploring. Had a snowball fight at Crater Lake.”

“Snow in the summer, huh? That must’ve been cool,” Professor Lewis continued to converse.

Jordan laughed. “Not nearly as cool as white water rafting.”

“Sounds like quite the adventure. Glad you came back to us.”

“No place I’d rather be,” she grinned, hands clasping behind her head.

“You flatter me, Jo,” Lewis laughed before moving on.

Ashton on the other hand, agreed with Jordan. There was no place he’d rather be either.

~~~

“So, what’s the game plan?” Jordan asked, her backpack slung over one shoulder as the trio milled around the hallway outside the classroom, Luke having slipped out and disappeared already.

“Gonna hit up the library before thesis,” Mike told her, a hand ruffling his blonde hair.

“Aw, so that’s a no on food?” she frowned.

Ashton shrugged, his hands going into the pockets of his jeans. “I could eat,” he offered.

Jordan grinned and then her arm was flinging itself across his shoulders. “Catch ya on the flip side, nerd!” she waved with her free hand as she started walking towards the door, taking Ashton with her.

“You’re the nerd, nerd!” was the response called after her without missing a beat, giving Ashton the impression that this was a frequent back-and-forth between the two

“The nerdiest!” was the retort, complete with a middle finger thrown Mike’s way and a laugh that seemed too loud for a girl of her size. “So, Ash,” she started as they walked together, her arm dropping from around his shoulders. “Whatcha in the mood for? I’m thinking a bagel from the coffee shop sounds amazing right now. But, I’m open to persuasion if you want something else.”

“Nah, a bagel and coffee sound fuckin great now that you mention it.”

“Ooo a coffee person, huh?”

He shrugged, “Gets me through the day.”

She waved a finger at him in agreement, “Fair enough.”

“Not a coffee drinker, I take it?”

“Not really. I mean, I will on occasion. Like I’ll probably get one after lunch to power me though my poli sci class later.”

“Which one?” he asked, curious as he too had a political science class later in the day.

“California,” she frowned, clearly not excited about the concept. “It’s so dumb. Like I’ve taken California geography and California history, and now I have to take California politics? They should figure out a way to combine it all because the overlap is ridiculous.”

He giggled, knowing her pain all too well. “What time and who with?”

“Uh… 4 with Stevens.”

“Shit, me too!”

“Yeah?” she asked, turning to look at him, her brown eyes lit up with excitement behind the black frames. “Sweet! I won’t have to suffer alone.”

He giggled again and her heart did flips at the sound. He pulled the door to the coffee shop and held it open for them. “After you, m’lady,” he said with a silly posh voice.

“Oh, why thank you, good sir,” she responded in the same voice, even giving him a small curtsy before walking through the door and giggling. “You got a girlfriend, Ash?” she asked as they got in line.

“Nah,” he said, his cheeks flushing the same color as his red sweater, a hand pushing through his fluffy hair.

“Bummer,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “Me neither.”

“Oh?” he chuckled, her words taking him by surprise.

She giggled. “It’s a joke. But it’s also true. I’m bi. But, I got a boyfriend instead.”

“Oh…” he said. Of course someone like her would have a boyfriend. She was as if laughter and sunshine had become a person. Who wouldn’t want her? But it did make him feel loads better at her knowing Calum.

Jordan was grateful it was her turn to order so Ashton couldn’t catch her blush. She had heard the deflation in his tone. She had always thought herself too boy-ish and loud to draw much attraction from others. Attention she certainly held as it was hard to ignore the quick-witted young woman, but attraction? Nah, there were plenty of girls who were prettier and more soft-spoken than her. So it always took her by surprise when people seemed to like her. Especially when that attraction seemed to be coming from someone she deemed as so far out of her league as Ashton. “Eh, he’s an idiot,” she finally said, moving to the side so he could order. “Him and Mike are gaming buddies. It’s how I met Mike, actually.”

“Oh?”

“You say that a lot,” she decided with a giggle. “But, I can hook you up with someone if you like? I mean, I set Luke and Sierra, and Crystal and Mike. So, I’m pretty good.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Nah, I’m good for now, thanks though.” He only wanted to be hooked up with one girl and he was looking at her. And she had the most dazzling smile.

~~~

“You better have blocked Nick, that scumbag,” Jordan growled at Mike a week later, her usually shoulder length hair shorn short in an asymmetrical bob, showing the woman’s natural chestnut colored hair in its full glory.

“Already did,” Mike said, patting the hand she had slammed down on her desk with affection. “I dig the hair by the way. Very edgy. It suits ya.”

“You think?” she asked, a small smile at her lips, a hand running through the longer side. “Not too dramatic?”

“Oh, very dramatic,” Mike replied.

“Dramatic enough to appease the girl gods?” she asked sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

Mike shrugged, “Here’s to hoping.”

“I really hate boys,” she said with another eye roll. “No offense to you guys.”

“None taken,” Ashton told her.

“Yeah, we’re men,” Mike added, making his voice deeper and puffing out his chest.

Jordan laughed and shook her head, “You’re a bunch of nerds is what you are.”

“The nerdiest,” her two friends smirked back at her. Then “Who’s Nick?” Ashton asked, curious about the boy who evoked such a rage from such a happy person.

“Her boyfriend,” Mike answered.

“Ex-boyfriend,” Jordan clarified, before tilting her head back to yell out, “God, boys suck!”

“And what’s your evidence, Jo?” Professor Lewis’ voice asked as he strolled in the classroom.

“Uh, all of history? Let’s face it, your gender blows.”

The man frowned. “That’s quite the over-generalization, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But, you know I’m right. Your gender has an…” she paused, fighting to find the right word. “Affinity! For making history the chaotic mess it is.”

“I’ll grant you that much,” the man agreed. “Speaking of chaotic messes!” he continued, loudly, drawing the attention of the rest of the class and starting the lecture.

~~~

“So, what’s the game plan?” Jordan asked her usual question as the trio walked together out of the building.

The two guys shrugged. The small joy of taking a morning class that met on Fridays was that they did had the whole day to do whatever after class.

“Think it’s too early to get a beer?” she asked with a short laugh.

“Jo, it’s nine in the morning,” Mike laughed. “And you don't drink.”

“Much,” Jordan corrected. “And I’m not hearing a no.”

Mike shrugged. “I ain’t got shit to do. Your place?”

She high-fived the blonde, “Fuck yeah.”

“Do you even have anything to drink at your place?”

She smiled sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders. “Booze run?”

Mike laughed loudly. “How typical! Jo wants to get drunk, but wants us to foot the bill.”

“Hey!” she laughed back, poking his chest. “I am a broke college student. So you’re damn right I do!”

This earned laughs from all three of them. “Alright, so my place in say an hour? Bring your own choice of poison?” she asked.

There was a murmur of agreement, then, “Wait,” Ashton said. “I don’t know where you live.”

“Aw, shit,” Jordan said, her nose scrunching up as she pulled out her phone. She typed something into it and then both boys’ phones pinged. “There,” she chirped happily, pocketing her phone.

“Shenanigan Squad?” Mike asked, eyebrows raising at the name of the group chat. “Nice group name,” he approved.

“Oh, damn that is a good name,” Ashton agreed.

“I like alliterations,” Jordan shrugged.

~~~

“So, why’d you and your boyfriend break up?” Ashton asked as they all hung around Jordan’s place which turned out to be a small back house behind her grandparents.

She passed a hand through her hair and let out a slow breath. “Gonna have to get me drunk to hear that story,” she decided, giving a short laugh.

“That won’t take long,” Mike said, his gaze not shifting from the game he was playing with some other friends online.

“Shut the fuck up,” she laughed, a sound truer to her real laugh than the short one she gave a mere moment ago.

“Aw, you’re really gonna say you’re not already feeling it a little?” Mike asked, looking over at the woman to wiggle his eyebrows at her before returning his attention to the game.

Jordan tilted the cup in her hand to peer at the liquid swirling down at the bottom. “Almost. But, I’m gonna need a refill first,” she confessed, drumming her fingers against her jeans as she stood up. “Y’all need anything?” she asked, walking the short distance to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” came the response from both guys.

“Whoa,” she laughed, “I’m not your waitress. Mike, you know where shit is.”

“Yeah, but you’re up,” Mike said.

Ashton rolled his eyes and pushed himself off his spot from the couch. “I’ll help ya,” he offered, crossing the short distance to her fridge and pulling forth a beer for Mike.

“Mike, you’ve been dethroned as my favorite,” Jordan told her friend smugly before smiling softly at Ashton. Ashton noted the way it made her eyes squinch up- a true Jordan smile.

“Yeah, love you too, Jo.”

Jordan shook her head and set out to make her drink. “Bottle opener’s there,” she said, gesturing next to Ashton with the bottle of whiskey in her hand.

“Whatcha making?” Ashton asked, popping open the top to the beer.

“Jack and Coke. Want one?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Fair warning, I make it with a lot of Coke,” she told him. “Like a lot, a lot.”

“That’s fine,” he responded. He could handle strong drinks, but he wasn’t the biggest fan of drinking himself. Getting drunk scared him.

“Here,” she said, holding out her cup to him. “This is how I make mine. Same or stronger?”

Ashton took the cup in his hand and took a swallow. The carbonated sweet drink held just the slightest trace of that good whiskey burn. “Yeah, that’s good,” he said, passing her the cup back. “How do you get drunk drinking like that?”

She took a deep drink, winking at him over the rim of the cup. God, he wanted to be that cup. “That’s my secret, Cap. I’m never drunk.”

~~~

“Catch ya on the flip side, nerds?” Jo asked, her hands going into the pockets of her zip-up hoodie as the trio walked out of the last class of the semester.

“Yup, see you nerds in January,” Mike said, pulling up his beanie down lower over his head.

“Where you headed?” Ashton asked Jordan.

She shrugged. “Home probably.”

“Wanna get one last coffee?” he asked, his hands pushing his hair to the side. Their bagel and coffee had grown to become the duo’s tri-weekly tradition, and Ashton wasn’t ready to say goodbye until January just yet. Not that he had made a move. No, he was letting Jordan recover from her break-up. He didn’t want to be a rebound. Plus, he wasn’t even sure if Jordan liked him that way. And as cliche as it was, he didn’t want to risk losing his coffee date buddy.

She smiled and looped her arm through his. “To coffee!” she declared in a silly voice.

“To coffee!” he giggled, taking the lead in walking down towards the coffee shop. “M’lady,” he said, getting the door.

“Why thank you, good sir,” she laughed. Then, “Hey, I’m sorry. I got a little caught up this semester with…” she let out a huff and waved her hands around, “everything. Did you ever get that girlfriend? Or find someone you’re interested in?”

He giggled and shook his head, his hair shaking with the movement, glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed them back up into place. “Nah.”

She frowned but her brown eyes remained playful behind her own glasses. “Aw, one of them ‘gonna finish school’ first types, huh?”

Ashton chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

She scoffed as she got her bagel and hot chocolate. “While I respect those types, I also can’t understand it. Like why not date someone while you ‘find’ yourself or whatever? That’s half the fun of a relationship is watching them grow into the person their meant to be.”

Ashton nodded his head as he grabbed his coffee and they took a seat but didn’t say anything. In his opinion, she was right. Half of his fun over the past semester was watching her grow back into her loud tomboy self. Instead, he watched as she sipped her drink, an urge to capture this moment washing over him. “Smile,” he said, opening his phone’s camera. Instead of smiling, she raised her eyebrows, giving him a mysterious quirky look over the rim of her paper cup.

“You gonna show me?” she asked, leaning across the table.

“Nah, not a chance,” he giggled, pocketing his phone.

“It is good at least?” she pressed.

He giggled more, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I’m not answering that.”

“Damn, that bad, huh?” she laughed.

He just laughed with her rather than admit his true feelings about the picture and the girl in it. It was perfectly Jordan in every possible way- cute and snarky with a little bit of knowing he’d never be able to fully pin her down.

He was walking just a few steps in front of her when he saw the phone come out. He turned, his tongue coming at the corner of his mouth as the camera shutter clicked. “Ha!” she laughed at him. “If you can take candids of me, you best believe I’m gonna do it back.”

She was more generous than he had been, tilting her wrist so he could look at the picture. “Damn, that’s bad,” he giggled.

“Well, by all means,” she gestured with her phone.

He rolled his eyes, but cocked his head slightly to the side, offering the barest hint of a smile. “Better?” he asked.

“Would it have killed ya to smile?” she teased.

“Would it have killed you?” he teased back, patting his pocket where his own phone was.

“Touche,” she relented. “Alright, catch ya on the flip side, nerd,” she finally said, stepping in the close the gap between them, her arms wrapping briefly around his shoulders.

“See you in January, Jo,” he responded, hugging her back and swallowing how easy this felt. Everything about his relationship with Jordan was easy. His urge to kiss her felt so natural he almost did it. His head tilted and his lips puckered. But then she was pulling out of the hug and his heart was pounding in his chest instead.

~~~

SmashIrwin: Last coffee of the semester with @heyitsjogirl

Liked by @heyitsjogirl and @mikerowave_X

Comment from @mikerowave_X: WITHOUT ME?!

@heyitsjogirl replied to @mikerowave_X: We’ve been getting coffee all semester, where you at?! #shenanigansquad

heyitsjogirl: Gonna miss this nerd. With @SmashIrwin

Liked by @SmashIrwin and @mikerowave_X

Comment from @mikerowave_X: Wow, the audacity… #ineednewfriends #shenanigansquad #morelikesheNAHnigansquad

@SmashIrwin replied to @mikerowave_X: Mikey, don’t even… #shenanigansquad

@heyitsjogirl replied to @mikerowave_X: What @SmashIrwin said. No complaining if you can’t roll with us #shenanigansquad #thenerdiestofnerds

~~~

Jo-girl: Fuck! Overslept! Don’t let Lewis drop me, lol

Smashton: I’ll make sure he doesn’t

Mikeywave: UGH HURRY UP!

Jo-girl: FUCK YOU!

Jo-girl: Also save me a seat!

~~~

“Jo, welcome, welcome!” Professor Lewis’ voice chirped brightly as Jordan breezed in, her cheeks flushed from both the cold and the half-sprint across the campus as she took the seat next to Ash and behind Mike.

“Sup?” she nodded her head, half-heartedly, her glasses pushing up as she rubbed at her eyes and yawned. “Fuck, getting back into sync is gonna suck.”

Mike laughed, “How late were you up last night?”

She shrugged, “Like 2? What are we doing? Saying what we did over break?”

“And what we’re looking forward to most,” Ashton told her.

“May,” she said with a harsh laugh, then her eyes danced as she looked longingly towards the door. “Get me outta here, please!”

“Glad to have you in class again, too, Jo,” Professor Lewis said with an eye roll.

~~~

“So, how was your break?” Ashton asked as they walked out, having left Mike behind because he had another class in the same room.

“Just the recharge I needed,” she said, looping her arm through his. “You got class or is it time for coffee?”

“Nah, I’m free until Van.”

“To coffee!” she declared in that silly voice he had missed than he realized.

“Onwards, m’lady!”

Her laugh rang out, her breath still visible in the morning cold. “How was your break?” she asked, her voice back to its normal lilt.

“It was good,” he replied.

She nodded, accepting the barely-scratching-the-surface answer. Then, “Have you taken digital research yet?”

He shook his head. “I’m taking it this semester.”

“Sweet, who with?”

“Professor Walker.”

“Yes!” she cheered, pumping her fist in victory. “I won’t have to suffer alone!”

He giggled. “Professor Walker’s great, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, I know. But like… you know?”

He nodded, knowing what she wasn’t saying. Taking classes without Jordan sitting next to him just weren’t as enjoyable.

~~~

@heyitsjogirl: Not the same without my #shenanigansquad but jo girl is TIRED!

Liked by @SmashIrwin and @mikerowave_X

Comment by SmashIrwin: Clearly not too tired to commit BETRAYAL!

@mikerowave_X replied to @SmashIrwin: THIS IS TREASON!

@heyitsjogirl replied to @SmashIrwin: Y’all are idiots lmao.

~~~

“Deja vu!” Jordan’s voice laughed as she waltzed into the room and spotted Ashton in the same seat he had been in earlier when they had been in the classroom for their thesis class. “Holy shit, definite deja vu,” she continued to laugh, waving over at Luke on the other side of the classroom. “Lu, do I just have you for every class? You stalking me?”

Luke’s blue eyes danced and his blonde curls shook as he laughed. “Shh, just ignore me.”

“Hey, remind me to get your number after class.”

“Oh yeah, for sure.”

Jordan was about to turn to start chatting with Ashton but the door opened and in walked Calum Hood. “Yo! Where ya been, Hood?!” Jordan said, her brown eyes lighting up behind her glasses.

“Jo girl!” Calum said, taking a seat on the other side of her.

Ashton busied himself with staring out the window. Great. This was just what he needed. Competition from the tanned soccer god.

“Britt!” Jordan’s voice squealed as a young woman breezed into the room, startling Ashton from his thoughts.

“Jo! I’ve missed you girlie!” the woman said, coming to sit behind Calum.

“Do you know everyone?” Ashton laughed, breathing a little easier at the other woman’s presence. Maybe girl bonding would distract from Calum attraction.

“I’m popular, what can I say?” she winked. “Britt this is Ash. Ash, this is Britt. My year is not complete if I don’t take at least one class with her.”

Ashton clutched his hand to his heart in mock pain. “I am OFFENDED!” he gasped.

Jordan giggled and pushed his shoulder playfully. “Fuckin’ nerd. You know I love you.”

“You’re the nerd, nerd,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing and heart racing at how easy the words rolled off her lips in his direction.

“The nerdiest,” she grinned.

~~~

Ashton’s heart sank a little when Jordan left the classroom without waiting for him. But when he pushed his way out, he saw her standing in the hallway, chatting with Luke. “And send,” she said, tapping at her phone.

Two seconds later, Luke’s phone pinged. “Sweet, see ya, Jo. Later Ash.”

“Later,” they both told him, watching the blonde sling off into the dark evening. Then, “Thought ya ditched me. Watched you go and was like ‘Jo! Jo, no!’”

She laughed. “Nah, I’d never ditch ya. C’mon, I’m parked in lot M.”

“Cool, me too,” he lied.

They made pleasant conversation as they trekked across campus in the dark, both admitting their delight in the course they were taking and how close graduation was. And also admitting their fear that graduation was right around the corner. “But you’ll be back in August for the graduate program, won’t you?” he asked her.

“Yeah, but still. You know people always tell you to chase after your dreams no matter the cost. But nobody tells you what to do when those dreams come true, you know? Like what happens when there’s nothing left for me to chase after? What if I’m chasing after something to fill a void that’s unfillable?”

He nodded, pondering her words. Then, “But is that any reason not to chase after what you want?”

Her laugh echoed throughout the parking structure. “God, no. I’m a firm believer that taking your chance is always worth the risk.” She reached into the pocket of her jeans to pull out her car keys as she jogged up the stairs. “Well, this is me,” she said, slightly breathless. “Catch ya on the flip side?”

“See ya, nerd,” he smiled before heading back to the staircase.

“Hey!” she called out after him, her hands on her hips. “You said you were parked here!��

“I lied!”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“I know. I wanted to. See ya!”

She chuckled to herself as she watched him disappear down the stairs. Damn, he made it really hard not to like him. In their short time together, he had become one of her closest friends and he knew her almost as well as Mike did. It took a lot of willpower to not brush his hair out of his face every time she saw him. She bet it was soft and imagined it would fall through her fingertips like water. She bit her lip and chuckled again, deciding then and there that she would kiss that boy at graduation if he didn’t kiss her first.

~~~

“Hey, you stole my shirt,” Jordan said, her nose scrunching up playfully as she walked into class and took notice of Calum in his seat, wearing sure enough, the same grey NASA t-shirt Jordan was wearing.

“Psh, I had mine longer, so I think you stole mine,” Calum teased her back.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she laughed, taking her seat. “Hey, Ash.”

Ashton nodded in greeting, his gaze never leaving the window. “Gonna rain,” he murmured. A perfect metaphor, he thought with a sigh. His feelings for Jordan, much like the storm clouds outside were growing faster every second. And soon it was all going to come crashing down.

“Fuck, think we’ll make it out of class before then?” she asked, her brows furrowing together. She had a coat with her, but if it started pouring rain, she was toast.

Ashton shrugged. The storm in him was getting worse with each class session he spent with Jordan between him and Calum. Outside, lightning cracked across the sky and the first droplets began to fall.

~~~

“You good?” Jordan asked as they walked out of class together.

“Yeah, why?” he asked, his voice clipped, a frown on his face as he pushed his way out of the building. The rain was coming down, but the downpour had had given way to a lazy drizzle. Their hair began to frizz as they walked at a fast pace to the parking lot. He had started parking in the same lot as her since that first day of classes.

“You just seem off,” she commented, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

“Just tired, I guess,” he shrugged, walking a few paces ahead of her.

She shook her head and quickened her pace to fall into step beside him. “No. I know you. This isn’t your end of the day tired. This is something is wrong pissed off.”

He paused, his brows furrowing together. He had spent so much of his time noticing her that he never once thought to think she had been doing the same. Why would she notice someone like him, anyway? He was so… and she was so… “So,” he said, his voice as chilly as the air, resuming his walk.

“So?” she asked with a short chuckle and a click of her tongue. “Ash, we’re friends. You can tell me anything.”

“No, I really can’t, Jo,” he mumbled under his breath.

“That’s bullshit,” she scoffed.

“Is it?” he challenged, stopping again and whirling to face her.

“It is,” she asserted, planting her feet and crossing her arms, preparing for battle. Lightening cracked, illuminating them both, their eyes dark behind their rain-splattered glasses. “Well? Before I’m soaked, please,” she demanded, gesturing around as the rain started to fall faster and heavier.

“Do you like Cal?” his voice boomed with the thunder.

Her laugh was harsh. “Do I like Cal? What type of dumbass question is that?! Of course I like Cal.”

He gaze flicked away from hers, his face pinching. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Another harsh laugh fell from her lips. “Wow, the nerd finally realizes I’m friends with Cal. Stunning discovery! Bra-fuckin-vo!”

“Friends,” he scoffed, his eyes still avoiding hers as he struggled to come to terms with the fact he had been desperately hoping wasn’t true ever since he first learned Jordan knew Calum. Of course the pretty girl would like the pretty boy. He really shouldn’t be so surprised. But the truth stung all the same.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she growled, her hands shoving at his chest. “You’re being a real jerk and honestly, I’m not sure if I like this side of you.”

“Do you like any side of me?!” The question flew from his lips, his voice cracking with another lightening strike.

“Again with the dumbass questions! Of course I like you!”

“You just said you like Cal!”

The pieces clicked into place. Every shy shrug of his shoulders. Every door he opened for her. How he parked in the same lot as her so he could walk with her at the end of the day. The digging into her relationship with Calum. His persistence that he wasn’t interested in dating. God, why did it take feeling like the girl was slipping through their fingers before they could finally fight for what they wanted? “You really are a dumbass, aren’t you?” she shouted. If he needed a fight to finally do something, she was going to give him his fight. “I can like more than one person, Ashton! I’m allowed to have friends!”

He flinched at the usage of his full first name. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“Well, here, I’ll dumb it down for ya! Do I like Cal? Yes! Do I think he’s pretty? Yes! Does it matter? No! You wanna know why? Because Cal likes pretty girls, like Britt! Nobody who looks like Cal is looking at nerd tomboy Jo when a girl like Britt is right there behind him!”

Ashton faltered. Did Jordan really think she wasn’t pretty? Did she feel for Calum the same way he felt about her? That Calum was as far out of her league and she was out of Ashton’s? Fuck, of course she thought that. In what world would a girl like Jordan ever go for a boy like Ashton.

“Are you going to do something or just continue to stand there looking like a jackass?” her voice pulled him from his spiral.

The pieces clicked into place again. Every little smile she gave when he said he wasn’t interested in dating. Every hug that lingered. How she had told him she was a firm believer in taking chances, win or lose. Fuck it. Now or never.

He crossed the distance between them in one step, one hand gripping her chin as the other wrapped around her back. His head dipped down as he tilted hers up. His lips attached to hers and he smiled, feeling her sigh into it. It was deep and soft and it made their heads spin.

“Fuckin’ finally,” she said when they broke apart. Her eyes were shining as her finger traced the tingling in her lips.

“What?” he asked with a breathless chuckle.

“Took ya long enough.”

“I’m still not following.”

She rolled her eyes. “I like you, dumbass.”

“You do?”

“Would I do this if I didn’t?” she asked before kissing him, her hands running through the soft hair that fell through her fingers like water, just like she knew it would.

~~~

Jordan’s laugh bounced off the walls of the building as her and Ashton rounded the corner and found Britt with her back against the wall, Calum’s lips on hers. “See? I told ya Cal likes the pretty girls,” she told Ashton, her nose scrunching up.

Ashton giggled and took a page from Calum, pressing Jordan up against the wall, earning a small shriek of surprised laughter to fall from his girlfriend’s lips. “Shut up and kiss me, nerd,” he said before pressing his lips to hers. God, he would never get tired of kissing her.

“The nerdiest,” she smiled into the kiss.

“And the most beautiful.”

~~~

Tag List (Wanna join? Just ask!)

@goeatsomelife @flameraine @cashtonasff5sos @here-for-the-uproars @cxddlyash @1-irwin-94 @baldcalum @sparkling-chaos

#shenanigan squad #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #5sos #galcal irwin

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dxmagedrose · 4 years

Text

GET TO KNOW THE BLOGGER!

Tagged by: my lover @hammurabicomplex I’m tagging: anyone and everyone who wants to pick this one up! share with the class if you feel like it! tag me in it!!

PRESENTING. RANDOM DEEP DIVE WITH INDIGO-MUN AT 2AM ;

FIRST NAME Good fucking question… It’s (sort-of) currently Dylann! I was Kieran before that, though; it’s still used as one of my first names and I’m not used to Dylann quite yet bc I’ve just started using it.

Indigo is one of my middle names though, and I’ve used it as an online handle elsewhere forever so I use it here now! [ Fun etymology facts: Dylan(n) is a mythology name generally meaning “born of the wave” (aspiring diver & a water witch at heart). Kieran means “little dark one” bc of my love for horror, && I chose Indigo bc as a kid to be it was neither boy (blue) or purple (girl) and was both and neither as well as my absolute favorite color as this vibrant ass mystical color. ]

STRANGE FACT ABOUT YOURSELF hmmmmm…. I’m a horror lover at heart, so as a child (I wanna say 12), I was walking through an antique store (I have a few cool finds, I considered putting my other one as the fact tbh) and I turned the corner and I saw these two dolls staring back at me at the foot of the stairs of this antique building. my blood froze, and i felt my stomach drop. i got actual, physical goosebumps stumbling across these two creepy dolls staring back at me in the corner, and i couldn’t leave the store without them. perhaps the little painted porcelain boy would be somewhat spooky by himself if it wasn’t for the terrifying lidded gaze of the porcelain girl with the hairline fractures and slightly open lips. i cant look at her. i dont really find dolls scary, I like to find the spookier ones ones, and she makes me paranoid as hell. i keep her face covered and her up in my closet except for when i bring her out to show her off proudly as the spookiest thing I have but……. i dont really collect dolls anymore. even thinking about her brings a fearful tear to my eye. i don’t like to think about her for very long, but that’s why I’m so fucking proud to own her. ( YES — I’m THAT white person in the horror film )

TOP THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU FIND ATTRACTIVE ON A PERSON hhhhh a beardy jawline, high cheekbones, crooked canine teeth >:3c

A FOOD YOU COULD EAT FOREVER AND NOT GET BORED OF b.l.t.’s with avocado. ahhhh. my mouth is watering just thinking about it, oh my god. just a bit of salt and pepper???

A FOOD YOU HATE barbecue anything, i hate the taste of bbq sauce, you keep your nasty black goo to yourselves at the grill. twice in my life i have presented with barbecue pizza and both times i cried literal tears. why would you do such a horrible thing to a person? what kind of a monster are you? how do you sleep at night?!

GUILTY PLEASURE the sims. constantly. always. i’ve sunk thousands of hours into my households. oh also uhhhhhh i run two 80s horror blogs, one being a shitpost blog with occasional art of mine and one gremlin fanfic ship blog for horrible, terrible self indulgent fanfics i’ll get the courage to finish writing & post so i can be cancelled on tumblr for at some point. NO, i won’t link them. as i pretend they’re even all that hard to find, within a day i was found on both by someone i admire here a lot :’) ilu bby thnk u eternally for supporting ur local horrifying dumbass wtf

WHAT DO YOU SLEEP IN the same clothes i’ve been wearing all day usually, my sweats & long sleeve raglans or my hoodies. i like being cozy day & and out. and ugh. efoort. just throw me in a blanket in a cool room and im out.

SERIOUS RELATIONSHIPS OR FLINGS serious relationships with some openness or poly. i wish i could fling! just not exactly easy for demisexual autistics lmao.

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN THE PAST AND CHANGE ONE THING ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WOULD YOU AND WHAT WOULD IT BE I think I would be adopted by my grandma as a kid. It would save me some trauma but mostly I think it would get my autism diagnosed way earlier and save me angsting all these years of wondering why & thinking it’s my fault I’m struggling so much and so loud and affectionate and different in a world that i didnt fit in the same way.

ARE YOU AN AFFECTIONATE PERSON when i get drunk i text people how much they mean to me in my life. does that answer your question? ahhh. i’m sometimes a cuddle monster with friends, i message people with long texts about how much they mean to me, but I sometimes really don’t like to be touched at all.

A MOVIE YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN FLYPAPER. F L Y P A P E R. FLYPAPER. FLY, and, I can’t stress this enough, fucking PAPER. ( Though also Whole Nine Yards and both Re-Animator & Bride ). I have watched Flypaper already like, 5 times this week and I’m still not done, and the other movies have been on repeat for days in this household within the last year. In the past it has also been Donnie Darko & the new Nightmare on Elm Street. roast me.

FAVORITE BOOK White Fang by Jack London. Have I actually ever finished it? No. Do I still own a copy I’ve had since childhood thru multiple dogs eating it, taking it to and from school, and highlighting and circling all the best parts of chapter one ever since I was a kid and it was too hard of a book for me to read? You bet your ass. If I ever need inspiration I just reread chapter 1. Although one of my other favorites was Broken Monsters by Lauren Beukes. But White Fang is like, a weirdly personal text. We stan London’s writing in this household.

YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO KEEP ANY ANIMAL AS A PET, WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE FENNEC FOX!! I used to daydream about having my own named Shiloh when I was a lil kid. they’re adorable little things and i am obsessed. i mean, gimme any fox and im happy, marble foxes, red foxes… but I was obsessed with fennec foxes. Also tbh ferrets. I want a ferret.

TOP FIVE FICTIONAL SHIPS [IF YOU ARE AN RP BLOG, YOU CAN USE YOUR OWN SHIPS AS WELL] Rosa & @ninetyscnds‘s Luke, Rosa & @iimpulsivity is already screaming my name, Rosa & Constantine, Jesse & Andrea from Breaking Bad, and the joker and harley of 80s sci-fi Dan & Herbert from Re-Ani. I am but a simple opossum.

PIE OR CAKE Pie! I’ll take both pumpkin & melty apple over cake. also, cheesecake is more pie than cake soooo, pie wins.

FAVORITE SCENT my dogs / my blanket. :’) It’s the most grounding smell in the world.

CELEBRITY CRUSH oliver jackson-cohen, i’m fucking GAY and im angry about it. there i was, minding my own business, and i saw that asshole in a certain SHIRTLESS GIF and it AWOKE SOMETHING IN ME. dont talk to me about it, holy shit im obsessed with beardy men now god fuckkdafjaask i hate him why did he make me this gay i was perfectly fine being into girls but NOOOOOO him and his dumb hairy chest and sweet rugged face and I—— I also am obsessed with the archaeologist & television personality Josh Gates and may or may not be considering making a fan blog for him bc idk if my anthropology docuseries host is Dad or Daddy but i love him lots

IF YOU COULD TRAVEL ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD YOU GO I would go on a dive with anthropologists and archaeologists doing fieldwork research in the ancient cenotes of the Yucatán Peninsula. My actual dream job, catch me crying & fantasizing about being underwater documenting Mayan skulls given as offerings. Fuckkkk, I love anthropology so much!! take me anywhere in the world to immerse myself into culture & archaeology.

INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT Introvert. I have a real life friend I see roughly once a month, and that’s it. Plenty of online relationships, I’m chatty, message me all day every day. but i dont do people well.

DO YOU SCARE EASILY I used to! Really bad. I don’t as much anymore. I do get paranoia a lot still. Having therapists telling you that the FBI could be outside your house watching you through your windows will kind of nervous. ( no google results for: yes hello fbi i am a writer please dont put me on watchlists i just have research i need to do for this idea im working on, would you like to try again? ) I have nightmares nightly but not they never make me afraid, they just make me feel like crap. jumpscares and loud noises and seeing people reaching into their pockets dont set off as many brain alarms anymore tho!! progress haha.

IPHONE OR ANDROID I like my android better bc of capabilities but meh

DO YOU PLAY ANY VIDEO GAMES My mom, her husband & I play COD for family game night, and Silent Hill is my life’s blood. I’ve sunken hours into Sims & Skyrim, and Norman Jayden from Heavy Rain is my #1 fictional character in existence, why do i love the druggie babies

DREAM JOB Oh… You’re asking me to pick? I’d love to be an anthropologist doing work out in the field. Underwater archaeology is peak, but I’m also heavily considering being a body recovery diver or police diver. I’d love to see myself in uniform someday, if possible. Just the thought makes me teary eyed & proud.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH A MILLION DOLLARS fund my person creative & educational endeavors. get myself a spooky ass abandoned house to make my own home to create in, and travel to the world’s best dive sites. just live a mild life of education, creation & exploration. that’s the dream TM.

FICTIONAL CHARACTER YOU HATE dr. hill is a gross and whiny lil bitch this post brought to u by the miskatonic crew, how is everyone here an even worse bad guy than herbert west precious dan excluded talk shit get hit tho john winchester from spn and both walter white & todd from breaking bad are all in my crew of hated characters. i jusT… the reani novel is difficult to read because i have to deal with this old sack of shit.

FANDOM THAT YOU WERE ONCE A PART OF BUT AREN’T ANY LONGER Supernatural :-)

… AND THIS CONCLUDES A DEEP DIVE WITH INDIGO!! //

#||: && the mundane ( ooc );#( get to know a bitch!! )#( this was... a lot of me rambling about weirdly personal shit at 2 am )

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petuniatom · 5 years

Text

No. 1 Party Anthem [2] | College!Tom AU

Pairing: College!DJ!Bartender/Barista!Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You’re coming up on your last year of college, grappling with finally getting ready for the actual “adult” world and being in two majors you’re not crazily passionate about. When you’re in the middle of a stressful essay at your favorite local coffee shop/upstairs bar, Dommo’s, you meet Tom Holland, a barista and bartender.

You slowly get to know each other over sangria, and soon enough manage to slip your way into his world where the days don’t usually end until about 5 a.m., music is everything, and uncertainty is your best friend.

A story about late night laments, sangria, and a whole lot of growing up.

SERIES MASTERLIST | Ch. 1

Word count: 5.8K

A/N: Hello! Long time no post! Here’s the long awaited update. It’s a little bit more exposition here, but part three is when it starts getting a little bit more spicy. Primarily, we’re focusing on watching the reader developing more of her other friendships here. But stay tuned for pt. 3 which will be coming very soon!

“I don’t see why we couldn’t just go to Dommo’s,” you whined.

You’d been waiting nearly an hour in line outside of Over & Easy with Tony and Jacob. The day before, you made them promise to get mimosas with you Saturday morning, following their late-night adventures and your Friday night essay-writing. While Over & Easy was one of the best spots in town for brunch food, its popularity meant usually there was a battle for those wanting to get inside.

Jacob and Tony, rather than accepting your quiet suggestion to head over to Dommo’s, were insistent that Over & Easy was the best idea for today. Though it was bound to be busy, Tony was craving their french toast and Jacob said their mimosas were better deals anyway. (After all, Saturdays usually meant pitchers for $5, so he wasn’t wrong.)

“You just went there yesterday!” Tony said. “And we rarely come to Over & Easy.”

“C’mon, it’s good to do something different every once and a while,” Jacob said, nudging you.

“Well, it’s just for a place that’s named Over & Easy it just seems to be the exact opposite,” you huffed.

Jacob snickered, and Tony rolled his eyes at your statement.

“What’s going on with you? Why do you want to go to Dommo’s so badly?” Tony asked.

“My car is there,” you said. Tony and Jacob shot each other a look. You knew the jig was up; these boys could read you almost too well. “All right, I met someone there yesterday. He was really nice. And I wanted to see him again because I forgot to get his number.”

Tony and Jacob let out a long, “Ooooh,” at your response.

“Well, I hear all the Dommo’s bartenders and baristas are kind of fuck boys, Y/N, so it might be well-worth your time to just skidaddle anyway,” Tony said. “But I mean, if you want to meet him, just pop-in for more coffee or something when you go get your car.”

You bit your lip. “I know, but he just didn’t seem like the usual type for Dommo’s. He actually seemed nice, like he wanted to talk to me. He listened to me complain about my major for like two hours, and gave me free sangria. You don’t just give anyone free sangria.”

“We do every week,” Jacob replied, lifting his arms up. “Whine and Wine, c’mon.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yes, but we’re close friends. This guy was a stranger.”

“Doesn’t our roommate work at Dommo’s?” Tony asked, slightly scrunching his face up.

Jacob shook his head. “No, you idiot. He works at Wilson’s.”

“I swore he told me that once,” Tony muttered, shaking his head.

At that moment, your group’s name was called out, and you were ushered to a table in the back that seated four. You all ordered a round of mimosas, but you were all going to stick to just that — only one. Tony and Jacob were admittedly a little bit hungover still from last night, and while you were fine, you thought it’d be good to still hold off after all the sangria you drank the night before.

You chatted with both Jacob and Tony about how classes were going so far. Tony was going to have a stressful upcoming week, considering he had an exam coming up in one of his chemistry classes. Jacob, however, was going to be able to take it easy this week. He was a film and acting student, and he only had to worry about a group project he was going to be tackling soon. For the most part though, he was more thrilled than anything when it came to its progress so far, discussing how he met this new girl named Zendaya he wanted to integrate into the friend group.

“She’s a great actress and one of the most laid-back girls I’ve ever met in my life,” Jacob said.

“What is she studying?” you asked, lifting your eyebrows up.

“Women studies and music theory, but she’s heavily involved in the theater scene too.”

“You have to invite her for whine and wine. We need someone new in the mix,” Tony insisted. He then turned to you. “Are you inviting anyone new?”

“Maybe Brynn,” you mused, shrugging.

Jacob and Tony both groaned.

They hadn’t completely warmed up to your friend after an ill-fated incident at a previous party where she, in a completely drunken haze, decided to start jumping on Tony’s already fragile bed, and ended up breaking it. They hadn’t seen her since, slightly agitating the relationship between them and her. In her defense, she did help Tony pay for a new headboard and whatnot. So she wasn’t completely disgraced — just not a favorite to have around.

“You know what that means, time to lock all the bedrooms,” Tony huffed.

You giggled at your friends response, shaking your head. “I don’t think she’ll do something like that again. Besides, it’ll be good to have her around again. You guys can actually get to know her this time around. She’s a good person to complain with.”

“Why couldn’t you just get the bartender’s number and invite him instead?” Tony griped. You knew he was (mostly) kidding, but you were a little bit sad when you realized how fun it would be to invite Tom to Jacob and Tony’s parties on Wednesday nights. You could sit in the corner and chat, sipping on more wine and just get to know each other.

“More mimosas?” your waitress asked, approaching your table.

“I think we’re going to stick to water now,” Jacob replied, thanking her.

After a surplus of french toast and laughing, you were soon walking along the street toward Dommo’s to pick up your car.

Chatter consumed the world around you and you weaved in between all the people who were heading toward their own hangover brunch. You couldn’t help smiling, thinking of how you loved your college town for all its quirks.

As you headed in front of Dommo’s, you immediately spotted your car in one of the two hour free-lots, groaning when you realized you’d gotten a parking ticket for exceeding on your allotted time. It was a $35 ticket — not the worst you’d ever gotten downtown, but still not great.

Figuring you had nothing to lose still, you popped your head inside, scanning the room for Tom.

You sighed when you realized he wasn’t inside, but told yourself that you could maybe make a run by another time. He still owed you that latté that he talked to you about last night anyway. Either way, you headed back to your car, tucking the parking ticket in your glove box.

***

Over the course of the weekend, you quickly got over Tom. You fixated on your homework that was due Monday and Tuesday, burned some candles, and caught up on your favorite television shows. He turned from your brief confidanté into a passing memory.

Soon enough, you were back in your poli-sci class, plopped next to Brynn on the left side of the classroom as your professor lectured. You were nervous about today. He’d sent out an email before class that said he would be handing back papers today — a paper you rushed to complete and barely glanced over. You knew your grade was bound to be fucked by the time you got yours.

While your thoughts spiralized, your classmates were consumed in a debate over the topic of the paper. You heard Brynn contribute to the discussion and you started to doodle on your notebook, in hopes of temporarily escaping your thought process.

You then felt Brynn nudge you, a typical cue for when she needed you to back her up on something. You figured it was the typical conservative boys in the corner giving her trouble, and lifted your head up.

“What’s going on?” you whispered in her ear. “I’ve been tuned out.”

She snickered. “Nothing really, just Brad and Chad here are saying that voter fraud is the reason Hillary Clinton won the popular vote, and it’s an epidemic across the country. No racist history behind voter laws whatsoever.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course, your poli-sci discussion always turned into this at one point. You typically enjoyed the debates a little bit more, but since it was still within the first month, you were in the less compelling element of class. You were less enthusiastic about the fact that you were currently stuck in this class with two of your least favorite fellow political science majors — Carter Higgins and Quentin Carver. They’d followed you through the political science classes since your freshman year, but most of the time, you were fortunate enough to only have one of them. This semester, you got both of them.

You were grateful when your professor decided to cut off the discussion early to hand back papers. You slumped back in your seat, somewhat eager to see your grade and yet not prospective about how it was bound to look.

Soon enough, your professor called out your name. Your fingers felt jittery as you walked up to the front, and grabbed the folded paper from his hand, and returned to your seat.

You unfolded the packet of paper carefully. You were surprised when you saw in red pen on the front a giant “A” and a note from him that said, “Excellent job.”

A wave of relief washed over you. You slumped back into your chair, this time in pure disbelief.

“What did you get?” Brynn asked, leaning over to spot it. “Holy shit, first paper and you already aced it. He’s a tough grader too. Congrats.”

You’d heard of this particular professor’s reputation before throughout others who took his class, so you were familiar with some of the horror stories when it came to grading. You knew it wasn’t just you who helped coordinate all of this, as your mind wandered back to your Friday night in Dommo’s and the bartender who was kind enough to look over your paper.

You focused back on Brynn. “Thanks! How did you do?”

She frowned, “B+, but still good. Better than I expected, that’s for sure.”

You packed up your things into your backpack, waiting patiently for everyone to be handed back their papers. Once everyone had, he gave a short overview of what to do on future papers, should anyone need help and reiterated his office hours incase anyone wanted to chat about their grade. Shortly after, everyone was dismissed, and you slung your backpack back over your shoulder. There was a bounce in your step as you approached the door to the classroom, but right as you were getting ready to leave, your professor called your name again.

You turned around, facing him. “Yes, Professor McKinley?”

“I was really impressed with your paper, Y/N. It was one of the best I’ve seen right off the bat in this class. You have a fairly impressive future ahead of you,” he said.

You were flattered by the statement. Sure, you excelled in all of your political science courses, and you were glad you were already doing well in this class in particular. Yet, the thought of the future still somewhat terrified you. You wanted to tell this professor so badly that you had no idea how you were going to handle things following this school year, and the last thing you thought the future would be for you was “impressive.”

“I’m currently looking for an undergraduate student to be a research assistant and join my team,” he continued. “I think you would be perfect for the job if you’re interested. I need someone that I know can analyze, write, and work well with others. Currently, I just have one person, Carter Higgins actually, who works with me, but I always like to have another person around while campaign season unfolds.”

You gulped. You weren’t sure if you wanted to work alongside Carter; you hated him. Yet, this was a tremendous opportunity. Professor McKinley was one of the most well-connected professors politically. If you wanted a job at a non-profit or in a politician’s office, he almost always had a way in. If you joined and impressed him, you could ride on his coattails.

“What exactly would I be responsible for?”

“Just doing research, maybe picking up some books from the library. We’d go to different parties of political candidates as well. You might accompany me to a few panels as the election approaches, all sorts of things. It’s a great opportunity to network and learn more about political research.”

You bit your lip. Admittedly, you didn’t like your current job so much. It’d be nice to do something during the school year that focused on what you were passionate about.

“I’d love to do it,” you said.

He beamed. “Great, I’ll send you a link tonight to apply. I’m looking forward to working with you, Y/N.”

You gave him a polite thank you, before exiting the room. Brynn was outside, leaning against a wall and waiting for you. You smiled when you saw her.

“What was that all about?” she asked, synchronizing with your step as you both exited the building.

“Professor McKinley just asked me to work for him and do something political research,” you said, not meaning to brag, but well, it did sound that way.

You hated whenever you talked to Brynn about things like this. While she was an amazing friend, she was prone to jealousy and being competitive. A lot of the times, that manifested in your friendship with one another.

You could tell she was a little bit envious about the offer you received, and you felt a little bit guilty. Soon enough, a smile was on her face. You weren’t sure how genuine it was.

“That’s good. You’re going to get a lot of good networking out of that,” she said. “Congratulations!”

And yet, it felt forced. You weren’t sure just why you felt so guilty. Normally, if something like this happened, you would wave off the person who was exhibiting this kind of jealousy. But it was Brynn, and Brynn was one of the most passionate people you’d ever met. She genuinely cared about political science; it was her life ambition. The opportunity would have meant so much more than a resume line and connections to her.

“Thanks,” you replied. “But here’s the downside, I have to work with Carter Higgins.”

She groaned and you felt a little bit better in knowing you could now joke with her about the offer.

“I fucking hate that kid. He thinks he’s so important just because he’s a man and knows how to walk on two legs,” Brynn muttered. “Timmy Turner lookin-ass.”

You giggled at your friend’s string of insults. None of them were inaccurate.

“Speaking of Carter, why were you so spacey today? I needed your back-up.”

You let out a long sigh, uneasy how to best navigate the conversation. You didn’t want to agitate the whole friendship you had between you and Brynn, since you’d known she spent all week working on the paper. You knew she was going to judge you just a little bit for your lack of promptness with the paper, particularly since you’d gotten the special offer from Professor McKinley.

So you settled for, “Oh, I’ve just been anxious all day.”

“Why?”

You hadn’t thought that far along yet.

“Just a number of different things,” you said slowly. You decided your best bet was to slowly spin off the truth. “And like, I don’t know, I was nervous about my grade on the paper because I didn’t think it was my best work, and like, this one is going to sound a little bit lackluster, but I met this cute boy this weekend. We flirted for a few hours and I really liked him, but I forgot to get his number.”

It was an exaggeration to an extent, but for the most part, there was no lie.

“Oh that always sucks. I’ve done something like that before,” she replied, frowning slightly. “But hey, maybe you’ll bump into him again sometime soon. And like, I feel you on the anxiety in general, because I get that all the time.”

You felt yourself simmer down after her response. There were so many reasons you liked Brynn, but primarily because she never invalidated you when you talked about the things that were stressing you out. Even if they were just small things like forgetting to get a boy’s number at a bar.

“So, tell me about the boy,” she nudged you on.

You smiled and recounted how you met Tom to her, and how you opened yourself up to him so immediately it surprised you. You told her how sweet he was, how he waited to ensure you were comfortable with him giving you a ride home and in making sure you got home safely to begin with.

“Wow, you’re smitten by someone you’d only met for maybe two hours,” Brynn remarked.

You laughed. “I know, highly unlikely for me right?” You shook your head, your eyes slightly sparkling. “Some people are just magnetic, though, you know? And I think he’s one of those rare types.”

Brynn donned a smile at your words. “I honestly never thought I’d see the day where you were so flustered over another person. Who knew Dommo’s would put something like this together, huh?”

Brynn was reasonably surprised. In all the years that she’d known you, you’d never really pursued a relationship with another person. Often when someone was interested, you’d go on a date, but it almost always turned into nothing besides maybe a brief fling. This was the first time she saw you genuinely entranced by another person since you’d both been at college.

It was just that you were a total stickler about dating people you felt like were just as motivated as you were. Or at least, people who could keep up with you in terms of interests and banter. Other potential significant others you’d met over the years were great, but you always felt like you were never fully understood by them.

There was something different about this thing with Tom. Finding common ground wasn’t an issue. He got you.

“Hopefully it stays a thing. I haven’t seen him since, remember?” you continued. “And I don’t know how to see him again considering I don’t exactly have his phone number or anything like that?”

“Well, hopefully we’ll find him somehow. Worse come to worse, just run to the studio on Friday and see if he’s around. Or go to Dommo’s again somehow. If he works there as much as he says he does, I’m sure you’ll bump into him eventually.”

***

It was Wednesday night, which only meant one thing for your friend group — Whine and Wine time. You pulled the Yellowtail you’d been saving in your cabinet out, placed it in a bag, and walked over to Jacob and Tony’s apartment.

When you first moved out of the dorms, you knew you wanted to live by yourself. Jacob and Tony desperately wanted you to move into their apartment, but you had a feeling that if you shared a home with them, you wouldn’t be able to handle their living habits. Even so, the three of you agreed to live in the same apartment complex anyway — that way if you ever wanted to hang out or get drunk at the others’ apartment, it wouldn’t be a far distance.

You’d arrived at their front door in less than five minutes. Jacob’s eyes brightened considerably when he opened the door and saw you, and you gave him a tight hug. You were the second person there; the first being Laura, who was an expert at making sangria and was helping them out.

Granted, the general rule in your friend group was to typically arrive 30 minutes after the planned time. So by that standard, you were still about 15 minutes early.

“You’re not going to believe who’s coming today,” Jacob said as soon as you walked into the apartment.

You raised an eyebrow, setting the yellowtail you brought on the counter. “Who?”

“Our roommate,” Tony said from the couch. He was sprawled across it, already half a wine glass into the night. “Can you believe it? I invited him, not really thinking he’d say yes, and he texted back that he’d love to come!”

“He’s gonna be here around 8 o’clock,” Jacob said, nodding his head.

You grinned. “Way to include him in the friend group finally, guys!”

“You’re awfully excited, Y/N,” Laura remarked from the kitchen.

“Okay, they’ve been telling me about this guy for a while now, and he’s so mysterious like- I’m just curious about him. Where does he go? What does he do? Is he cute?”

“She’s going to scare him off within the first five minutes of being here,” Tony said.

You rolled your eyes. “Or maybe he’ll be happy that someone is finally acting interested in his life around here. You guys just ignore him!”

Jacob raised his hand. “In my defense, I try talking to him. Tony barely acknowledges him in the kitchen.”

“I don’t,” Tony admitted. “It’s just weird, like what do we talk about?”

“Wait, so in the morning if you’re like in the kitchen at the same time you guys just stand there in silence?” Laura asked.

You nodded your head. “Tony does at least.”

Laura shot him a look. “You don’t at least say hi or anything?” Tony shrugged again, and Laura rolled her eyes, slightly giggling. “No wonder he doesn’t really come home!”

“I’m trying now!” Tony attested, lifting up his glass of wine for another sip.

“He’s redeeming himself,” you joked. “Speaking of redemption, you know my good friend Brynn, she’s coming tonight. And I think we should give her a chance again, okay?”

Both Tony and Jacob groaned again.

“I’m already at max capacity tonight, Y/N! She broke my bed!” Tony protested.

Laura giggled from the kitchen and you rolled your eyes. “Guys, c’mon. She’s so much fun. Might be a little bit judgey from time to time but like a good friend.”

Jacob shrugged. “Listen, I’m usually just joking about all of this. I don’t actually have a problem with her. If you say she’s good, I believe you.”

Tony was pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m locking my bedroom door.”

You stuck out your tongue at him, before turning to Jacob and asking, “And what about your friend?”

Jacob frowned. “She’s not coming tonight. She couldn’t make it.”

Tony sat up straight. “What?!”

Jacob shrugged again. “She said she was busy! She seemed disappointed, so maybe some other night.”

Tony let out a long sigh. “I hope she comes eventually. We need more friends around here,” he said.

Laura then started pouring herself a glass of sangria from the pitcher. She offered some to you, which you naturally accepted.

It was good, but not even close to the quality of sangria Tom made you at Dommo’s. But even so, you were content with it.

“Damn, she’s missing out on some great sangria,” you complimented, taking another sip.

Slowly, more of your friends started piling into the apartment. Abraham, Sally, and some people you didn’t know well started walking in right around 7:30 p.m., exactly when you expected more of the crowd to show up. You nudged Tony over and sat on the edge of the couch. Laura sat on the other side of Tony, while Jacob primarily played host by greeting everyone who came in.

Brynn came next, after the large wave of people. She plopped on the ground in front of you, and you could see Tony eyeing her. You knew he was genuinely wary around her, and you couldn’t help giggling slightly at their dynamic.

Brynn started making conversation with Tony, and surprisingly, he was receptive to it. You were only half-tuned into their discussion, as you sipped more of your sangria and enjoyed being slightly antisocial for a long moment.

“So when are we going to start complaining or start group games?” one of Jacob and Tony’s friend that you hadn’t met yet asked.

That was another tradition of whine and wine — when you weren’t crying over your week, you were usually sitting together in a circle playing Cards Against Humanity or more likely, King’s Cup.

“Soon as my roommate gets here,” Jacob said. “We’re waiting on him and a friend to officially get started.”

You all gathered around in different sections across the room to begin catching up. You mostly pursued conversation with Laura, talking about her classes and what life had been like as an accounting major.

Every now and then, you glanced over at Tony and Brynn, who were still having somewhat of a decent conversation. Tony seemed less uneasy about opening up to Brynn now, as his animosity from Brynn breaking his bed was now gone. Laura nudged you about it, placing bets that by the end of the night they would hook-up.

You wandered over to Jacob, who was pouring some more wine for himself over by the kitchen.

“They’re getting along well now, huh?” you whispered, gesturing over to Brynn and Tony.

Jacob snickered. “You know how Tony is. You think the two of them will be good for each other?”

You cocked your head. “I think they have the potential to be. Either they’re going to mortal enemies or soulmates.” Jacob laughed.

But then, the door swung open. You knew who it was going to be even before Jacob leaned over to say it. It was the mysterious third roommate — the one that you’d heard so much information about, but had never met. You felt your heart pick up its pace, ready to make your judgements as soon as the door came to a close.

Two heads poked their way in the apartment. The first was a tall, blond man, with broad shoulders and a serious expression. As you weaved your way through your own memory, you realized you didn’t recognize the face. And it didn’t seem to fit the descriptor Jacob and Tony t0ld you about since they’d moved into this apartment. They told you their third roommate was on the shorter side, and this guy seemed to be fairly average in height, if not higher than average, all together.

But, even more surprising was when you were able to see the second head that stuck its head through the crack of the door. You knew the face; it’d been a face you’d been looking for almost extensively over the course of the past few days. And now, there he was — Tom himself. He was standing right in front of you, with an inquisitive and apprehensive expression across his face as his eyes surveyed over the room. With the ways his eyes moved with ease, like he knew the apartment itself, you knew at once he was the mysterious third roommate Jacob and Tony had been talking about so much.

You laughed to yourself about the irony of it all. You’d been looking for him for so long it felt like, and now, he was right under your nose after all this time.

His eyes brightened once they connected with yours.

“Oh, Y/N, my roommate is here,” Jacob said, nudging you. “Tom! There’s someone I want you to meet!”

He weaved his way over to you and Jacob in the kitchen, his blond friend following closely behind.

“Tom, this is Y/N,” Jacob said, gesturing toward you. “She’s a friend of mine and Tony.”

Tom shoved his hands in his pockets. “Oh, Y/N and I actually know each other. We met Dommo’s this weekend.” He gave you a quick head nod, and you smiled.

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” He shot a look over at you. You could tell by his reaction that it was all clicking in his head — the way you were eying Tom, the conversation you’d had at Over & Easy, the fact that Tom said you’d already met, and more.

“Yeah, Tom was really helpful to me when I was complaining over that paper I had to write for pols. He even proofread it for me,” you replied.

Jacob nodded his head, a small smirk tugging on his lips. It was all the confirmation he needed. You tried not to blush.

“This is my mate, Harrison by the way,” Tom said, gesturing over to the tall blond boy standing next to him. He stayed relatively quiet throughout the introduction, but now he gave you and Jacob a quick greeting. He was a fellow Brit, you learned quickly. “Harrison, this is Y/N and then Jacob, who is my flatmate. The other one is somewhere around here.”

Jacob and you both gave a quick wave.

“Welcome to your first whine and wine,” Jacob said. “There’s sangria over in the corner, and all the wine is communal usually, so feel free to drink whatever. No one really gives a shit here, we all just try to get drunk and complain.”

Harrison and Tom both grinned.

“Now that’s what I’m down for, mate,” Harrison said, and all of you laughed.

Tom and Harrison excused themselves from the conversation to get a drink. Jacob shot you a look again.

“So that bartender you’ve been obsessed with is my roommate?” he asks.

“It appears so,” you replied, cocking your head. “And I’m not obsessed with him. Just… curious.”

Jacob chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, whatever. I know you.”

You gave a pout. “I’ve only met him once.”

Jacob shrugged. “Just saying, for meeting only once, he obviously left an impression on you.”

And in truth, Jacob was absolutely right. You were enamoured by Tom in a way you couldn’t quite explain. There was just something about him that you were still trying to decipher.

You weren’t sure if you’d met anyone like him before.

Tom wandered back over to you and Jacob, Harrison closely in tow. He lifted up his glass of sangria, in somewhat of a cheering motion.

“Sangria isn’t so bad, huh?” you asked him, as he took a sip out of the glass.

Tom shook his head, a small smile curling up on his lips. “Do you like it better than mine?”

You pursed your lips. “Yours is definitely the best I’ve had.”

You could tell Jacob and Harrison were surprised by how easily the two of you got into conversation, but they weren’t quite fully sure on the context behind the topic at hand.

“At the bar I work at, I make sangria a lot of the time,” Tom explained. “I’m always trying out new recipes. Y/N was one of the few to try a new one I made the other day.”

“It was really good,” you replied, nodding your head.

“Well, you’ll have to bring it over to Whine and Wine sometime. I think we need more of that around here, if anything. The more alcohol, the better,” Jacob said. He was met by the chuckles of both Tom and Harrison. “But, we’re going to start a game soon if you guys want to jump in. We usually play Cards Against Humanity, or like King’s Cup which is a fun drinking game.”

Tom shook his head. “I think I’ll hold off for now.”

“I’ll jump in,” Harrison offered.

Jacob shot you a meaningful look.

“I’ll hang back,” you said swiftly. “I’ll kick in though after a few rounds, okay?”

Jacob seemed a bit disappointed by your answer, and you knew it had a partial role in the fact that earlier in the week, you’d turned down hanging out with Jacob and Tony at all of those parties. But he could handle himself. This was the first time you were seeing Tom in a while, and you wanted to get to know him better.

Jacob and Harrison both headed over to the living room, where the whole crowd of attendees were hanging out. You tried to stop your hands from fidgeting when you realized you were alone with Tom now.

“I got a job because of your excellent proofreading skills,” you said, a bit abruptly. “Thank you for that.”

Tom’s eyebrows raised at your statement, and a small grin curled up on his lips. “Really? Where?”

You explained how it was a research assistant job, but the professor it was attached to had multiple connections that were bound to help your own prospective career. You mentioned how you got one of the best grades in the class compared to the other students on the paper, and how he’d noticed it.

Tom nodded his head and his eyes stayed fixated on your face as he talked. It was a bit strange, being able to talk to someone with them being so intent in paying attention in what you had to say. It was so typical in college for all the people you were usually around to maybe check their phone every now and then, or at some point, their eyes would slightly glaze over as you spoke. But that wasn’t the case with Tom. Not at all.

He was attentive and engaged. His coffee eyes were soft, but with kindness, rather than with a lack of interest.

“Congratulations,” Tom said finally, when you were done explaining the premise of your new job. “It sounds like you’re a perfect fit for it.”

“Yeah, m’pretty stoked about it,” you replied, shrugging slightly. “I know I gave you all that talk about how it’s not necessarily my passion, but like I actually think this could be good.”

Tom nodded his head. “At least gives you the hope that you’re going somewhere after college. Which means you’re probably doing better than the rest of us.”

You grinned. “Tom, it seems like you have it pretty together.” He snorted, but you continued. “I mean seriously, you host a good radio show, and from the small interaction we’ve had together, you seem pretty emotionally in-tune. Which is more than you could say about most of the men that I’ve met.”

He snickered. “Well, you haven’t gotten to know me super well yet, so maybe hold off on making a lot of judgements yet. I don’t know if emotionally in-tune is necessarily the best way to describe me.”

You bit your lip, and said softly, “I think I’d like to get to know you better though.” Tom raised an eyebrow. “I just think we could be good friends is all. And you live with two of my best friends, as I’ve learned after today. So, might as well, right?”

You’d backed off a little bit, thinking maybe your initial move was a bit too forward. But thankfully, Tom followed along with it.

“Yeah, if anything, you should come by Dommo’s again sometime soon,” he replied. “After all, I still owe you that latté.”

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x fem!reader #college!tom #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x female!reader #we'RE BACK #my writing #n1pa #next chapter: your best friends learn more about the boy you like #a lot of musing and rambling #and we return to dommo's!!!!!

43 notes · View notes

aquaminwrites · 6 years

Note

sndfdhsdkjl i relate to #81 on a spiritual level, that is 1000% something i'd do. with fluffy hobihobi please! [also hi hello ily lots ♥]

Downpour

Pairing: Hoseok x ReaderGenre: FluffWarnings: NoneWord Count: 1.7k

Prompt: 81. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain?”

A/N: FOR MY DARLING LIA! I hope you enjoy love

Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

Raindrops smack against the large glass façade of the coffee shop as you stare out the window wistfully, the palms of your hands pressed to your cheeks. Your elbows are propped up on the counter as you watch the puddles grow on the sidewalk, wondering how unlucky you have to be to forget to bring an umbrella to the café, even though your roommate had warned you about the weather when you were heading out the door.

You had gone to the coffee shop in the hopes that the cute barista, Hoseok, would be working today. Well, that was partially the reason. In reality, you have a paper due next week for one of your political science classes (an elective you chose on a whim that you only partially regret), and could have just written it in the library.

But as a regular, Hoseok often checks up on you and gives you cookies or muffins if you’ve been cooped up working all day. And you had hoped he would be there to offer up his heart-stopping beautiful smile and a sympathetic ear. Instead, it had rained all day, you barely got through a quarter of your essay, and Hoseok isn’t even working.

You pull out your phone to check the time, and realize that it’s later than you thought. It’s dark out, the moon snuffed out by the clouds overhead. You debate texting your roommate to come bring you a spare umbrella, but then remember that she has a meeting with one of her study groups this evening and is probably on the other side of campus already.

You weigh your options and are just in the process of calculating just how soaked you would be if you were to run home right this second, when the bell above the door chimes, signalling the entrance of another customer.

“Oh, hey, Y/N!” A familiar voice chirps. Your eyes widen and you spin around to see Hoseok shaking off his umbrella, looking sharp in a well-tailored coat and his hair pushed back from his forehead. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You try to suppress the blush that blooms across your face, but you know that you probably resemble a cherry tomato by now. “We only ever see each other here, Hoseok.”

“And whose fault is that?” He winks with a grin. You try not to read into it too much—Hoseok is flirtatious by nature, and you just happen to be the only girl in the cafe whose name he actually knows. “Were you here all day again? Paper due soon or something?”

You sigh, remembering the mountain of work you still have remaining. “Unfortunately, yes. Poli-sci with Professor Lee, due next week. Barely made a dent, though.”

“Ah,” Hoseok commiserates. “I took that class in second year. I don’t envy you.” He gestures to the counter with a jerk of his thumb. “I just came by to pick up my pay check. Do you need anything? I can try to swipe a croissant for you if you’re hungry.”

You shake your head with a bashful smile. “No, it’s alright. I was actually going to head out, but I forgot my umbrella and I’m trying to see if the rain is going to let up anytime soon.”

Hoseok frowns slightly. “Well, it’s supposed to start thunder storming soon—”

Just as he makes the statement, a flash of light bursts from the clouds and a loud rumble shakes the sky. You groan, your shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Maybe I’ll just call a cab,” you mutter, pulling your phone from your pocket. Hoseok sees this and gently places his hand atop yours to lower your device from your line of vision, and you can’t help but shiver slightly at the feeling of his skin against yours, no matter how brief the contact.

“No need. I can walk you home.” He gestures to his umbrella with a smile that makes his cheeks dimple slightly. “My umbrella has room for two.”

You open your mouth to protest. “Hoseok, I—”

But then he lifts his hand, gesturing for you to stop. “I insist. You don’t live very far, right? Let me just go pick up my pay check and we can head out.”

He doesn’t let you get a word in edgewise before he’s heading for the counter and disappearing into the back. Hoseok emerges five minutes later with a grin and his elbow extended towards you.

“M’lady. Ready to go?”

You manage to nod and place your hand in the bend of his arm, and the two of you venture off into the storm.

It doesn’t rain often where you live, but whenever it does, it always seems like a torrential downpour. This storm is no exception—the raindrops are heavy, splattering against the material of the umbrella and pummelling against the pavement. The battering overhead is so loud that you have to raise your voice in order to speak, and you have to strain to listen whenever Hoseok replies.

The streets are pretty much abandoned, the only light coming from the street lamps that cast their illuminated reflections along the puddled concrete. There aren’t many cars on the road either. You figure that most people are already holed up at home, waiting out the storm and hoping that the power doesn’t cut out and leave them stranded.

You hope that, too. But at least, for a little while, you have Hoseok as a companion.

You’re still holding onto his arm, not that he’s protested at all or shifted in any way that would make you believe that he wants you to let go. The two of you have been dancing around each other for months, now. You were in that limbo between being friends and him just being your barista. But with this offer to walk you home, to actually be alone with him outside of the café, your heart and head can’t help but soar to so many different possibilities.

Your other arm swings idly at your side, and you feel a few drops of rain against the back of your hand. You glance down for a second, enjoying the cooling sensation on your skin, and it reminds you of when you were young and used to splash around in the rain in your parents’ backyard. You stop walking and Hoseok jerks back, regarding you curiously.

“You okay?”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, I just…” You pause, shaking your head. “It’s silly. Never mind.”

Hoseok nudges you with his elbow, a faint smile growing on his face. “I’m sure it isn’t silly. What’s on your mind?”

“I just…” You glance past him at the heavy rainfall that slaps against the street. “I want to feel the rain.”

Hoseok’s expression turns to one of surprise. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain?”

You blush, tugging lightly on his arm to get him to start walking again. “It’s dumb, never mind.”

He doesn’t budge. “It’s not dumb,” Hoseok replies quietly, and there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place. “Not for too long though, okay? I don’t want you to get sick.”

Hoseok then takes his umbrella and closes it, allowing the rain to fall down on you, drenching you both in a matter of seconds.

You tilt your chin up to the sky and close your eyes, basking in the sensation of the droplets on your cheeks, against your eyelids, and dampening your hair. It instantly brings you back to when you were six years old, when life was simple, and you can’t help but smile. The rain brings the smells that cement you in your childhood—fields of wet grass that you would race through in your sneakers (to your parents’ dismay), and the driveway of your childhood home where you would watch the rivulets filter down into the storm drain where your property would align with the street.

You recall all of it behind closed eyelids, and the memories have you instantly smiling with fond nostalgia.

Your eyes are still shut as a giggle escapes your lips, and then suddenly, you feel a pair of hands gripping your waist and gentle pressure against your mouth. It takes you a beat to realize it’s Hoseok, that his arms are around you, and that he’s kissing you in the middle of the sidewalk in the pouring rain.

As soon as your brain resumes functioning, you tug him closer by the soaked lapels of his coat, angling yourself slightly to deepen the kiss. Your hands rise to cup his sharp jawline, and you feel him smile slightly against your lips. The raindrops that fall against your face help to cool your skin as you feel yourself growing warmer and warmer on the inside, and you wonder if the racing heartbeat you feel belongs to you, or belongs to him.

Hoseok’s lips are slick from the droplets but neither of you seem to mind, totally wrapped up in your own little world. Reluctantly, you both pull away, your eyes glazed over slightly as breath returns to your lungs in tiny puffs.

“W-what was that for?” You have to ask, though you’re smiling so wide that you’re afraid it will split your face clean in half.

Hoseok licks his lips, a subconscious action that has your mind reeling and heat pooling between your legs. “I don’t know,” he shrugs, his arms still holding you close. “You just looked so…beautiful. And ethereal. And perfect.” He then adds, with a shy grin, “Plus, I’ve never kissed a girl in the rain before, and it’s always something I wanted to try.”

You nibble at your lower lip and move a lock of wet hair away from your face. “Worth it?”

He beams at you, eyes soft with affection. “Worth it.”

Thunder claps overhead again, and it catches you off guard. You jump just slightly in his grasp, and he chuckles, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly.

“Do you want to come over to mine?” He asks, sounding a little bashful. “I have an en-suite washer-dryer combo and I would feel really terrible if you caught a cold being out in the rain like this.”

You don’t even have to think twice. Grasping his hand in yours, you answer, “Lead the way.”

Send me a drabble request from this list!

#bts au #college au #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts drabble #jung hoseok #jhope #jhope x reader #hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #hoseok fanfiction #hoseok drabble #jhope fanfiction #jhope drabble #fluff #whimsicalia #aqua talks

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bastardsonofday · 6 years

Text

OHKAY SO @rhyciensmut SENT ME AN ASK AND I LOST IT CUZ IM AN IDIOT BUT ANYWHO HERE IT IS

hi!! im not really sure if you're still taking these but rhycien + "you’ve had a rough day so let’s get in our PJs and watch a cute movie together and cuddle"?

Sure thing!

Prompt: hey you’ve had a rough day so let’s get in our PJs and watch a cute movie together and cuddle bUT IT’S TOTALLY PLATONIC ALRIGHT

(Yeah you can still send me these if u want) (also i changed cute movies to cute tv shows and gilmore girls is a personal comfort show of mine)

Lucien lay on the floor of Feyre and Rhysand's dorm room to study. He was here and not his room because currently Vassa was entertaining some of her friends from her "Queens" roller derby team and they were.... a little intense to say the least. So he'd taken refuge at Feyre's like she always said he could.

Feyre herself was out on a date with Mor and she promises that Rhys would be late home anyway because of the Poli-Sci class of his doing some thing or another, so it would be quiet. Food was in the fridge and he was free to use her Netflix account.

Not that Lucien minded Rhys. In fact, they had become friends recently, and Lucien actually rather enjoyed hanging out with him. Too much, actually.

Way too much.

And anyway, Lucien was busy. It was a good thing that Rhys would be out late, Lucien had a soc paper due and he couldn't have any distractions (also the reason he hadn't headed over to Cass & Az's place, though, albeit, Rhys was certainly a much more welcome distraction than the two of them).

Lucien turned on Criminal Minds as background noise and got to work.

Lucien hadn't realized how late it was until the door blew open and Rhys stormed through. Lucien jumped at the sudden noise and fumbled with the remote as he turned off the TV. "Oh. Hey Rhys."

Rhys glanced down at Lucien and a flash of surprise lit his face. "Lucien. What're you doing here?" He said in a way that was cold and harsh.

Lucien flinched. "Feyre said I could study- I'll leave if I'm disturbing you-"

Rhys' face softened immidately on seeing Lucien flinch. "No. Stay." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I was just- Today has been a bad day. Sorry if I'm a bitch tonight."

"Oh, that's okay. I was gonna just study anyway--no need to feel like you have to pay attention to me or anything." Lucien tapped gently out a sentance on the keyboard of his laptop as Rhys struggled out of his coat and scarves.

"Want to talk about it?" Lucien asked.

Rhys shook his head and sat down on the couch. He pulled a pillow up to his chest, resting his chin on it. "Not really." He muttered.

He glanced over at Lucien. "Paper for Spellcleaver's class?"

"Yeah."

"Heard he's a tough grader." Suddenly Rhys flushed and looked away. "Sorry." He mumbled. "You probably want to write in peace. I'll just go to my room-"

"Actually, I'm pretty much done. I've just got a few more line of the conclusion to write, but I can do that tomorrow." Lucien said. He saved and closed his laptop. "You don't have to leave. I was planning on sleeping over anyway so what do you want to do to make you feel better?" Lucien asked.

"Don't make fun of me." Rhys warned.

"Would I ever?" Lucien asked retorhically because while they both knew he would under normal circumstances they also both knew he wouldn't at this very moment.

"I just kinda... want to sit here and watch fluffy tv shows... okay?"

Or well, knew Lucien wouldn't after he got one shot in. "Should we also paint each others nails?" Lucien teased.

"You said you weren't going to make fun of me!" Rhys whined, hitting Lucien gently on the arm.

Lucien chuckled. "That was the only one I get for the night. Promise." He tossed the remote over to Rhys. "Alright, slumber party it is. Pick a show and I'll see what junk food you have."

Lucien stood and walked over to the kitchenette when Rhys called "Feyre's got some Ben and Jerry's in the freezer!"

While Lucien grabbed a handful of crap-food from the kitchenette (Ben and Jerry's included) Rhys went to his room and changed into a pair of pajama booty-shorts he'd gotten as a gag gift from Mor (they read "Enemy of the State" across the butt, 'cuz he was a poli-sci major Mor had explained) and a sweatshirt. Lucien tossed him a bag of doritos and stuck a Plate of nachos into the toaster oven to cook while he took the oppertunity to change into pajamas as well. (His, however, proclaimed no discontentment towards the state of any kind).

By the time he was done so was their food and they settled down on the couch, nachos between them, as Rhys clicked on Gilmore Girls (currently his go-to feel good show). Rhys liked to yell at the characters when they did something stupid and loved the sense of humor. Lucien didn't feel much of one way or another about the show, but Rhys loved it. And He-

Nope. Not going there.

Lucien settled his eyes back on the TV, hoping the redness of his cheeks would fade before Rhys looked over.

Seven episodes, two nacho platters, three bags of chips, two hot chocolates, and a half a pint of ice cream later, Rhys and Lucien were curled up together on the couch, Rhys laying on Lucien's chest and Lucien trying really really hard not to be- well... hard.

Dead puppies. Professor Helion in a bikini. That time you accidently walked in on Eris. Naked Grandma. Amren.

Rhys shimmied slightly in Lucien's grasp, and Lucien caught his breath. He'd been trying so hard (really, he had to stop thinking about that word-) not to have a guest appendage apperance that he hadn't noticed the "Are you still watching" Netflix message. How long had that been up there? Why wasn't Rhys reaching to-

Oh. Lucien craned his neck around to see Rhys's face. Rhys had fallen asleep.

On Lucien.

So here Lucien was trapped. Until the end of his days. Not a bad way to go, Lucien thought absently as he restrained himself from brushing Rhys' hair from his face.

Lucien gently reached over Rhys and turned off the TV, careful not to wake him. He then settled back under Rhys, curling his arms tighter around Rhys's waist so he wouldn't fall off the couch and riskily place his head in the crook of Rhys' neck. His eyes flutter closed right as Rhys said groggily: "Lucien?"

"Hmm?" Lucien's heart pounded in his chest as Rhys shifted around, tired eyes blinking open, long thick eyelashes sweeping.

Lucien forgot how to breathe. And any luck he'd had preventing an erection was suddenly out the window.

"Thanks for tonight." He mumbled, yawning loudly. His eyes fluttered closed again, as if he couldn't keep them open anymore. "I know I-" he took a break to yawn again, "-interrupted your studying with my shit, but you've really made my day better. You're a good friend." He turned back around and settled back against Lucien.

Yeah, Lucien thought, heart crushed. Friend.

Lucien leaned his head back down against Rhys' neck and closed his eyes. He was just on the verge of sinking into sleep when could have sworn he'd heard Rhys breathe a slightly incoherent: "love you."

Lucien's heart skipped a beat as he said back, "love you too."

#diana writes prompts #diana writes rhycien #diana writes lucien vanserra #diana wants attention #diana replies #anywho sorry abt losing the ask hope this works #me????? posting content???? never!

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smokeinherperfume · 6 years

Text

I have a blurb req! I feel like h gets insecure too sometimes y’know? Like maybe his girl is taking criminology major, top of her class, raising awareness charities etc, knows alot about human trafficking and slavery and he just wanna be smart enough so he can help her but he doesn’t know how:((

(So I fiddled with the specifics on this one. I did a bit of a more cohesive theme about the reader being a social justice/ poli sci major and I incorporated most of what you mentioned. I hope the little tweaks are alright bubs!)

If there’s one thing about Y/N that drew him in, it was how brilliant she is.

Seriously, she could talk circles around him on almost any subject possible (even music). When it comes to the work within her major at university, well, let’s just say often she knows more than her professors do.

Her work is her life, and on the side, she’s even dabbling in studying criminology. That all stemmed from her hobby of listening to true crime podcasts. She had been disheartened with how little justice seemed to ever beserved, and so she decided to look into what she could do to help in her freetime. So now she’s taking night classes on the subject ON TOP of what she’s working on for her program, and even spending a few hours a week at a couple local NGOs focused on inequality.

Pile that onto of her regular volunteer hours at the food bank, a women and children’s shelter, and her Thursday morning cuddle time with the cats at the local humane society, and then her job at the campus bookstore?

Harry’s surprised she manages to sleep most days.

Now, he suspects most people their age would be intimidated by her, would find her work ethic off putting. But if anything, he’s found a kindred spirit in Y/N, in her passion for her work and for helping others which in the same way mirrors exactly how he is what he does. Though he must admit, sometimes he feels well…he feels a little dumb in comparison to her.

“And then my professor told me that I’d actually got the highest mark in the class on the paper! Can you believe it H?!” She exclaims while she’s sat cross legged beside him on the sofa as Harry glances down at the essay in his hands. He’s trying to work through it as she speaks, giving her a meek nod and a wide smile when appropriate; but admittedly – he’s completely lost.

“That’s amazin’ love really.” He coos, leaning over to steal a quick kiss. “Feel like goin’ t’dinner tonight to celebrate?” Turning his attention back to the paper, he flips through it as she pulls her phone out, scrolling through her calendar app to check.

“If we leave at 8? It’s kind of late, but there’s a speaker coming in from the UN to talk about human trafficking and NGO action, I don’t want to miss it.” Normally, if it was anyone else, he’d probably protest and try to get them to skip the lecture.

But he knows how much she enjoys these talks, finds them useful in terms of broadening her understanding – and he’ll be dammed if he’s going to stand in her way.

“You’re welcome to come to H, know it’s not your thing. But I doubt you’ll be spotted.” She says, moving closer, resting her head on his shoulder as he switches hands, holding her paper in his left so he can snake his right arm around her.

“Are y’sure darlin’, I can just pick you up afterwards it’s no problem.” He hums as he squints at the 12 point font, trying desperately to understand what she’s saying but ultimately coming up with absolutely nothing.

“Really H, I want you to be there, it’ll be nice to have company for once.” Cuddling close, she rests her head against his chest as he nods, looking nervously at her before flipping to the next page.

“I just… hell, love, I don’t want to embarrass you.” He says softly, gently rubbing her side as he speaks. “The stuff y’study, it’s just so involved, and I wish I could be as smart as you, but ‘m not. I see struggling with your papers and your lectures and I want to help you, but I never can. I wanna go with you, go with you to everythin’ that you’ve got planned, but the last thing I wanna do is make y’miss somethin’ important just because I don’t understand what’s going on.” Carefully he places her paper on the coffee table just across from them and tips his head back, letting it rest on the back of the sofa as he closes his eyes.

“You’re so brilliant love, and the things you do, the things that you write, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever read. I’m always so proud of you, for everything.But I just, I can’t keep up sometimes. It’s ridiculous, but I guess I’m just insecure about it…”

“H… look at me for a second bubs.” Gently she’s prying his hands away from his face, tilting his chin as he reluctantly opens his eyes.“It doesn’t matter to me one second if you don’t understand, in fact it’s nice. I spend all day with people who are constantly trying to one up each other, who are bullshitting their way through whatever we’re doing, that half the timethey don’t even think. I wish they were as honest as you, because I love explaining things like this. If you came with me tonight, I’d be happy to help you understand. I want you in my world,like you’ve included me in your music because I know that for the longest time before I felt the exact same way as you do right now.”

“If you want to know more about what I do, well I’d be happy to explain it H, and I don’t mean it in a condescending way at all. The fact that you’re curious enough to want to know, and to be so honest with me. Well it really does mean a lot. “ You lace your hand in his and bring it up to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckle.

“So… will you come with me tonight?” She’s laying it on thick and they both know it, Y/N clearly remembering how Harry can almost never say know to that petulant pout of hers that she pulls in times like this.

He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtfully down at her as she’s practically perched on his thigh at this point. “And you swear you’ll answer my questions over dinner without judging me afterwards? N’matter how ridiculous they are?”

“I promise.”

#harry styles drabbles #drabbles #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb #harry blurbs #harry styles drabble #1dff #harry styles fluff #harry styles preferences #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles written #queue

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ikesenhell · 6 years

Text

The Difference

You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here.

They’d all known each other for so long that they stopped being anything other than friends, a casual reminder of the differences that wedged between them a meaningless thing. In a lot of ways, the seven of them were so close that they might as well have operated as one person. Nobunaga was the head, Hideyoshi and Masamune the arms, Mitsuhide the mouth, and he and Mitsunari the legs to support the whole thing (loathe though he was to lump himself into the same group as Mitsunari).

But she--she was the heart of it, the conscience of them, and just as often the lines that delineated her from the rest of them blurred and folded.

Ieyasu remembered she was a girl at some point in high school.

“Got asked to homecoming.” She shunted her backpack onto the table at lunch, rolling her eyes.

“No shit?” Masamune laughed at her. “Who the hell did that?”

“Take three guesses.”

“Let’s see.” Mitsuhide rolled his chopsticks between his fingers, a slithering grin that had long ago become his trademark creeping in over his lips.

“No fair if you guess first,” Nobunaga cut in imperiously. “As you’re nigh on psychic.”

Hideyoshi narrowed his eyes, ever the overprotective mom friend. “Was it Shingen? It wasn’t Shingen, was it?”

“Ding ding ding.” She tapped her nose and the table burst into laughter (except for Hideyoshi, who looked utterly annoyed at the idea of someone asking out his friend, and Mitsunari, who couldn’t quite understand why exactly it was so funny). “Guess what he hit me with?”

“Let me try.” Masamune crawled on his knees around the table, generating a spatter of laughter from the surrounding benches, and clutched her hands. “My angel, did it hurt? When you fell from heaven?”

“Jesus Christ, Masa, that was almost worse.”

Ieyasu scrunched up his nose and appraised her. “Why the hell would he ask you?”

“Ass.” She shoved his bright yellow backpack off the table. “I’m not chopped liver, you know.”

“He coulda asked a real girl.”

She fixed him with eyes that could call down a lightning strike, and suddenly the conversation wasn’t so funny. “I am a real girl.”

“Ieyasu.” Masamune’s tone brooked no replies. “Maybe shut up.”

That didn’t placate her mood. Soured, she swung her bag onto her back and stalked off.

She wound up going to homecoming with Mitsunari. He sorted through the photos on social media, he and her smiling at each other and exchanging little boutonnieres, and imagined feeding each of them into a shredder.

Senior year, and they shared the same English class. She sat right in front of him.

It wasn’t so bad. He would never admit it out loud, but it was nice having someone to partner up with that he could rely on. Whenever Thursday Discussions started and they were told to pair up, they’d shunt their desks together and work as much as roast the book. This time, it was Wuthering Heights.

“This is a shit book.” He started sourly.

“I mean, yeah, fuck Heathcliffe and all that.” Her face had taken on a womanly shape almost overnight. Sometimes, Ieyasu would look at her in her hoodies and loose shirts and wonder where the hell the nine year old he used to know had gone, swallowed up instead with that long neck and those long legs. He liked looking at her--a lot--and couldn’t reconcile to himself what that meant. “But, like, you know what I do like about this?”

“Mm.”

She knew him well enough to discern a ‘continue, please’ mmm from a ‘I don’t care’ mmm, so she continued. “Letter writing.”

Ieyasu huffed. “You’re not serious. We do have phones, you know.”

“No shit. But, I dunno, I like the effort of it? It’s thoughtful. I think the way this book is written reminds me of how letters used to be written, and--look. I don’t know. I just like it, is all. Nothing really to explain about that.”

He appraised her with his clear eyes, parsing the thought through his mind, and all at once a strange urge to write her a letter overtook him.

“You’re a fool.” Ieyasu grumbled, squashing his unspoken, unexamined feelings down. “Let’s talk about something actually relevant.”

That night he sat in front of his computer and penned letter after letter to her in his notebook, ripping them out after barely a paragraph and tossing them in his wastebasket. After about fifteen tries, he gave up and crawled into bed.

She went to prom with Nobunaga. Somehow, that made sense. Their pictures were perfect, he wearing an impeccable suit and she in a red, vibrant dress that did wonders for every curve he’d never known she had. They spent the afterparty at Hideyoshi’s house, splashing in the pool under the moonlight and taking drinks, and Ieyasu soon discovered there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to squelch the weird things his stomach did at seeing her in a bikini.

They all wound up at the same university. It made sense. Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Mitsuhide were all headed into business. Masamune didn’t bother with college, but he was just down the street doing a culinary internship, so he may as well have. Mitsunari was in poli-sci, heading into law, and he--well, he aimed for a chemistry degree and desperately hoped to prove himself as a medical student. He wasn’t as (frustratingly) gifted as Mitsunari, nor did he have Masamune’s charm or Mitsuhide’s silver tongue, Hideyoshi’s affability or Nobunaga’s charisma. He was just him, and that ate at him.

As for her, she went into finance, often taking the same classes as the others in business. They were all older now, and a little wiser, and Ieyasu wasn’t blind to the attention she attracted. What was it about her? Everywhere she went, that beautiful smile turned heads, her wit drawing laughter, her presence drawing adoration. Ieyasu was no fool. He could see the way she bent Nobunaga and Masamune in toward her with her presence alone, whether she realized it or not.

They suited her, he thought miserably. They were both on their way to realizing their ambitions, and here he was, only at the start of a stupid, stupid road that he might not even reach the end of.

Hideyoshi took her out for sushi one night, the pictures surfacing on Instagram. Ieyasu scrolled through them, trying to parse if it was a date or a date, eventually giving up. Trying one more time, Ieyasu took pen to paper and struggled to write something to her, shredding the drafts from his notepad with reckless abandon until he realized it was no use and gave up.

Years passed.

He got accepted to medical school, and she was the first apartment he ran to, letter in hand, everything completely forgotten in his rush. She emerged wide eyed in the doorway, inspecting his flushed, panting expression.

“Yasu? What’s wrong?”

“I got in.” He thrust the letter from John Hopkins at her, barely getting the words out. “I got in.”

“Holy shit!” She flung her arms around his shoulders, laughing and smiling. He wasn’t much for hugs, but oh god, Ieyasu crushed her body against his, delirious with relief and joy swirling together. “Ieyasu, that’s so good! That’s so, so good! I knew you could do it!”

He shut his eyes and dropped his forehead into the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent. For the first time, his mind sang lines of poetry to write to her, but by the time he’d gotten home, he’d forgotten them all. The notebook remained empty.

Medical school was cripplingly lonely.

Almost no one moved up to Baltimore with him; they remained largely intact, and he, apart and alone, soldiered on.

Some days when it was hard, he would scroll through her Instagram and watch the myriad curated details of her life play out in front of him, her lovely face on display for all to enjoy. Ieyasu would have hated it were it not for the fact that he could enjoy, too. He didn’t know how else to ask to see her face. She was seeing someone now, some guy he didn’t know the name of and didn’t care to find out. How long had it been? Two years? Three? Four, he realized with intense irritation, and turned off his phone.

He got a call from her not long after.

“Hey, stranger.” She sounded like a song that he desperately wanted on repeat. “How goes medical school?”

“Busy.” He huffed.

“Yeah? Too busy for me to drop by?”

He considered that. “I might be able to make time. No promises. Maybe.”

“Gee, I can’t wait.” But her voice made his heart rise into his throat.

She was more beautiful than her pictures ever let on, and he hated and loved it in equal measure.

They went out to a restaurant he liked nearby (though he pitched her with the ringing recommendation of, “it isn’t completely terrible” and she laughed at him) and walked around the park, talking about life and the weirdness of it. Ieyasu wasn’t used to being open with anyone, but medical school had ground him down and--

Well, he needed someone to lean on.

So they laid down in the grass and talked about her upcoming birthday, and as a tease, she turned her head and asked him, “So what are you gonna get me, hmm?”

Ieyasu ducked her gaze, feeling entirely too vulnerable under it. “I dunno. Something you need. Like some brains.”

“You can’t get me with that one.” She tittered. “You use that one on Mitsunari too much.”

God, he was more worn out than he thought he was. He rolled over onto his arm and looked at her, as serious as the grave, and said. “The sky.”

Her brow cocked. “The sky?”

“The whole thing.” He motioned above him. “I’d take it and bring the whole thing down. For you. Because--” Oh, his mouth was dry, and she was staring at him, eyes wide, and he finished in a mutter, “because you deserve it.”

“Ieyasu,” she whispered, so sweet he couldn’t stand it.

“Come on.” He cut her off and jumped to his feet. “I hate it out here. It’s too hot.”

“It’s like, sixty degrees!”

“Too hot.”

She and the boyfriend broke up two months later, and no one heard from her for a while.

“Why the hell do you think I know what’s going on?” Ieyasu snapped at Mitsuhide over the phone. “I don’t know where she is.”

“Odd. She tells you everything first.”

He scoffed. “That’s a lie.”

“Is it?” Mitsuhide’s slithery voice was so, so infuriating in its smug assurance. “It’s been that way for years.”

Ieyasu opened his mouth to dispute the claim and faltered when he had no evidence. Shit. More than that, Mitsuhide was right.

What had he been missing?

“I gotta call you back.” Ieyasu hung up without warning and headed to his car.

The drive took nearly three hours, but she hadn’t moved in years, so Ieyasu was confident when he rolled up to her house. He parked in the driveway behind her car and stalked up to the front door, realized halfway there that he hadn’t taken off his white jacket, headed back and tossed it unceremoniously in the passenger seat, and walked the path again. She’d opened the door before he even rang the bell.

“Ieyasu?” She stared at him. “Wh--”

“So...” He trailed off and delved his hand into his pocket, thrusting the tiny slip of folded paper out at her. “Take it.”

“What’s this?”

“Take it,” he hissed, his ears flaming. “You told me years ago that you wanted someone to write a letter to you, and all my drafts were shit--”

“--Ieyasu, that was in high school, you remembered that--?”

“--and someone has to try and be decent to you.” He charged on, trying desperately to ignore the spreading smile on her lips. “And if it has to be me, then that’s disappointing, but I guess we can’t all have what we want.”

“Yasu.”

And she was in his arms suddenly, her hands cradling his cheeks where they’d belonged, all these years, and the next thing he knew he’d shoved her up against the screen door and pressed his lips to hers. It was so much easier than he’d dreamed it would be. She was sweet and sugar and heaven, and he closed his lips around the bottom one of hers and sucked hard. Her moan shot adrenaline through his blood. Bolstered by stupid hope, he hitched his fingers through her belt loops on her jeans and dragged her hips against his, the swell of her body intoxicating.

“Yasu,” she sighed, barely audible, and it was everything he’d ever wanted.

“Shut up and let’s go inside,” he grumbled, shoving her door open. “Don’t think you’re getting off easy from this.”

“Please.” She’d learned long ago how to separate out his ‘Be quiet’ shut ups and his ‘I can’t stand it’ shut ups, and he knew she’d found the right one from her smile. “I hope I’m not.”

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eleanor-writes-stuff · 6 years

Text

i miss the thought of a forever you and me [one-shot]

Kylo Ren has spent what seems to be the entirety of his adult life working towards a partnership in Snoke's firm. Now that future is finally within reach, and only one thing stands in his way.

So maybe he hasn't spoken to Rey in eight years. And maybe he's still not quite over her. But getting in touch with his ex-girlfriend to have her take down their old webcam videos shouldn't be an issue... right?

This is far from my best work, but I haven’t posted anything in nearly a month so here, have a two-tropes-in-one fic: exes getting back together and ‘we were young and broke and webcam porn seemed like a good idea’. Is that last one even a trope? Who knows. I wrote it anyway. If a bunch of fluff and pining sounds like a good idea, this might be the fic for you.

Also available on AO3.

Kylo Ren has been working towards this moment for the entirety of his adult life.

“If all goes as planned,” Snoke finally says after a long, roundabout conversation about legacies and partnerships and apprentices becoming equals, “the announcement will be made this Monday.”

The announcement – the one that will cement his place as a partner of the firm, the one that will ensure his name lives on forever, the one that will overshadow anything and everything that has come before. “Sir, this is–”

Snoke holds up a hand, all paper-thin skin and arthritis-curled fingers; it’s a wonder, really, that the man is still alive at all, let alone sharp enough to continue running his firm. Some will see this announcement as a sign of weakness, as the beginning of a transition of power – and perhaps they’ll be right. Two years ago, Kylo would have entertained the thought in the back of his mind, might even have come up with the outline of a plan to begin the process of supplanting Snoke entirely.

As it is, he can barely even muster the energy to fake excitement at the news.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet, boy,” Snoke warns him. “Once the announcement goes out, it won’t take long for everyone to start looking you up. While I trust that Kylo Ren has been nothing but professional, I cannot say the same of Ben Solo – and I refuse to have another Hux situation.”

Just last week, Hux had been his sole competitor for this very partnership – until a quick Google search by Snoke’s assistant had yielded pictures of Hux in a Nazi costume plastered all over the Internet. The idiot had worn the costume not one, not two, but five Halloweens in a row, and any effort on his part to contain the damage would have been hopeless.

He was fired that very day.

“I assure you, sir,” Kylo speaks firmly, with all the confidence of someone who was born into the spotlight and has almost never done anything stupid, “that will not happen.”

Snoke pins him with a look that might have been intimidating once, back when he still cared about the man’s opinion and approval. “See that it doesn’t. Take the rest of the week to get your affairs in order.”

He’s dismissed with a limp wave of Snoke’s hand – has he really grown that frail in just a handful of years, or was Kylo simply too blinded by his promises of greatness to notice before?

Kylo thinks he sees that same blind loyalty in Mitaka as he walks past the assistant’s desk. The man is terrified of him and had been just as scared of Hux, but that hadn’t stopped Mitaka from bringing his findings to Snoke anyway, even at the cost of making a lifelong enemy out of Hux.

Maybe someday, Kylo thinks as he returns Mitaka’s curious gaze with a curt nod, you’ll wake up too. You’ll realize that the voice whispering in the darkness is filling you with empty promises, that greatness and power mean nothing without all the other things he’ll make you sacrifice first.

But then what? Kylo himself came to that realization years ago, and here he is anyway because what else is there? Maybe that’s the truly frightful thing about Snoke – even if he can’t deceive you forever, he’ll make sure that there’s nothing else left for you, that there’s no reason to break free of his trap.

Maybe once there would have been a reason, a person–

But that was years ago. Now there’s no one else, and nowhere else, so he might as well just stay and keep going down this path strewn with material comfort and little else.

Kylo returns to his office and settles in to retrace every single step he’s ever taken online. There’s nothing left of pre-college Ben Solo – he’d made sure of that the summer after high school in a foolish attempt to present himself with a clean slate for college, as if his last name and his parentage didn’t cast a longer shadow than anything his idiot fourteen-year-old self could have said on Myspace. After college there was no more Ben Solo, only Kylo Ren, and an intensive Google search (he’s on the seventh page of search results by the time he clicks away) reveals nothing but a handful of professional profiles used for networking and the occasional write-up about him or his cases.

Which leaves him with one last concern: college Ben Solo.

College Ben Solo has a Facebook account that he never posted on, one he used only to interact with his classmates and lecturers. He has a Twitter account with zero tweets, and an Instagram account with zero posts but a hundred or so tagged photos.

That was the only reason he’d signed up for Instagram in the first place: to see what kind of pictures his friends were posting of him, to see (and like) everything Rey tagged him in.

He would have deleted his Facebook account years ago, but he’s a sentimental fool and that was where he and Rey first got to know each other, really, when she chose to write to him instead of the literal dozens of others in their class for help. (It’s Rey from poli sci. I wasn’t in class today. Did I miss anything?)

He should have deleted his Twitter account the day he graduated, but sometimes he scrolls through all of his Favorites and their relationship plays like a movie in his head, each milestone – no matter how tiny – recorded for posterity in 140 characters. (The summer before their third year, a picture of her rolling her eyes at the camera and him talking to a realtor in the background: house-hunting with the pickiest guy in the world. I swear to god, @Ben_Solo, if you don’t pick an apartment by today I will kill you.)

And Instagram… Instagram is an exercise in masochism. Pictures of them in class, when Holdo was running late and she was bored. Pictures of them hanging out at parties Hux dragged him to and Finn dragged her to. Pictures of her tucked into his side on movie night, of him turning his face away from her camera while he made them breakfast, of the two of them building an entire life together. (A caption to accompany the last picture of them she ever posted, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist: Who needs a space heater when you’ve got this guy? #lifehacks #savingafortuneonheatingthiswinter #agirlcouldgetusedtothis)

It’s painful to look back on, every single bit of it, but there’s nothing here that would actually have a negative impact on his reputation. His Twitter account is already private and his Facebook reveals nothing but a string of perfunctory, impersonal birthday messages from former classmates. He double-checks that his Instagram account is locked, and then he looks up her account too – just to be safe.

Rey Niima | Cali Full-time software engineer, part-time app developer, occasionally an actual human with a social life.

The bio’s changed since he last saw it a year ago – I almost never post but don’t worry, I’m (probably) not dead – but the account’s still locked, which should mean no one can see her pictures of him. He’ll have to check with someone who’s more familiar with social media – maybe Phasma, who’s gotten surprisingly good at this stuff since she started developing a social media presence for her gym – but Kylo’s pretty sure this means he can keep all of his shrines to the past without exposing himself as a lovesick fool to the public.

All except one, that is.

Kylo exits Instagram, sets his phone aside, and reluctantly turns to his laptop. He types a URL into the box – one he visits far more than he’d like to admit – and watches as a few dozen thumbnails for corresponding videos begin to appear.

Because while college Ben Solo had maintained a minimal, barely-there presence on social media, there’s one particular corner of the web where he had been very, very active.

There’s a reason he waited until he was safely locked away in his own house to conduct this online purge, and the revealing thumbnails make him glad he did – limbs splayed wide open and miles upon miles of bare skin but no faces, never any faces, they were always so careful about that. It’s probably the only reason no one’s ever found out about this.

He’s never forgotten about it – having sex with your girlfriend in front of a live online audience isn’t exactly something you can just forget about – but Kylo’s felt fairly confident in their anonymity for the past few years. No names, no faces, shitty audio that completely distorted their voices – they’d thought of everything, discussed it all at length when she first approached him with the idea. But now… now he can’t risk it any longer. So as much as he’s going to miss being able to watch these whenever he really, really misses her–

It’s time to call Rey up and ask her to take down all of their videos.

“Hello,” she says distractedly – he can picture her pressing the phone between her ear and shoulder, her hands busy at work and her mind half-focused on a dozen different things. The image is so vivid it hurts, and her voice – the voice he used to wake up to a lifetime ago – isn’t helping.

He takes a deep breath. “Um, hey. It’s…” Not Ben, not for a long time now, but would she even remember Kylo Ren? The name he only adopted towards the end of their time together, the name she laughed at once or twice before telling him to stop being an idiot, Ben Solo is a perfectly good name–

Over the phone, Rey makes an almost imperceptible sound – a gasp, maybe, or a sharp inhale. “Ben,” she breathes, not even the slightest hint of a question in her voice after all these years.

He was always Ben to her, even right up until the end. It doesn’t feel right to change that now. “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to just call you up like this–”

“It’s okay,” Rey cuts him off, her words tumbling out in a rush. Maybe he should’ve asked if this is a good time to talk. “Really, it’s fine. What’s… what’s up?”

“I’m… this is going to sound weird, but I’m in town and I need to talk to you about something… private,” he grimaces as it finally hits him how ridiculous this all is, how pathetic and see-through his excuse is. They could’ve had this phone call even on opposite ends of the world; he could’ve checked the website after to make sure she’d gone through with it. There’s absolutely no reason for him to have flown across the country just for this.

But here he is anyway.

Rey is quiet for the longest while. “Oh,” she finally says. “I… um. Okay, I guess. Do you want to tell me what this is about or would you rather–”

“I’d rather tell you in person,” Kylo says quickly, before he can lose his nerve and fly back without ever laying eyes on her. “Can I- are you free now?”

“Now?” she echoes questioningly. “I’m kinda at work right now, Ben.”

Because of course she’s at work, of course she has a routine and a life and none of it is going to stop just because he’s unceremoniously dropped himself back into her existence. His life in New York feels so distant now, almost like a dream, but it’s unfair of him to expect her to drop everything and rush to him the way he’s rushed to her.

“Of course,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, I forgot that–”

“But my lunch break is in two hours, if you’d like to drop by then,” Rey offers haltingly, her tone somewhere between a suggestion and a question.

“Yes,” the word tumbles past his lips without a moment’s thought. “Yes. Great. That’d be great.” He clears his throat to shut himself up and stop rambling at Rey.

“Great!” she agrees brightly, her cheery tone the slightest bit hysteria-tinged. “So I’ll just text you the address?”

He could easily look it up himself, of course, but he’ll take any form of contact with her – Kylo’s not above admitting that to himself. “Yeah, sure. Thanks. See you in a bit, Rey,” he makes himself say, because who knows how long he’ll keep her on the phone otherwise, keep her voice in his ear and her presence in his life.

When Rey speaks, he likes to think he can hear a smile in her voice. “See you, Ben,” she says quietly, and a moment later her voice is gone and his phone is buzzing with a message containing directions to Resistance Tech.

The company sounds vaguely familiar – he must’ve read about her getting a job there at some point, maybe gleaned it from one of her bios or a congratulatory post on Finn’s Facebook account. There’s so little about her that he actually knows, but the bits and pieces stored in the back of his mind are still more than he should have, more than he’s entitled to, given that they haven’t spoken in eight years.

He wonders when she stopped working with Skywalker, and why; wonders if she still hates coffee and chugs way too much Coke in the mornings to get her caffeine hit instead; wonders if she ever reaches out across the bed at night only to remember there’s no one there anymore, the way he still does.

Thirty minutes later he hops into an Uber and stares out the window at the bright sun and the swaying trees, thinks of how much Rey must love this place, all her favorite parts about her desert home and their rainy college town rolled into one city.

The car pulls up to Resistance Tech more than an hour later, and his Uber driver tells him that’s considered good time given that it’s the middle of the day and they made their way here all the way from the airport. He thanks the guy, shoulders his weekend bag, and opens the door to a beautiful, sprawling, horribly familiar sight.

Rey never stopped working with Skywalker, Kylo realizes belatedly. Resistance Tech is just the new name his mother had chosen for the company when she decided to quit politics and partner up with her brother.

The receptionist calls for someone to escort him upstairs when she recognizes his name, and Kylo finds himself deposited in an empty conference room on the seventeenth floor shortly after.

The hallway outside is barely lit, and the entire floor seems abandoned for now. He sits down for a bit, re-reads Rey’s message a couple of times before he takes to restlessly pacing the length of the conference room and then parting the blinds to look at the courtyard below.

Benches and picnic tables dot the open space, and food carts begin to appear seemingly out of nowhere as lunch hour draws near. He thinks he spots Finn amongst the throng of employees spilling out of the building, accompanied by a man and a woman, and idly wonders if maybe he’ll catch a glimpse of Rey rushing to get a bite before she comes up to meet him.

An achingly familiar voice draws him away from the window.

“Hello, Ben.”

She’s eight years older but somehow still exactly as he remembers her, all thin sweater slipping off one shoulder and loose hair framing her face and a soft little smile on her lips. He’s seen her like this a thousand times, in memories and dreams that always leave him wanting.

“Rey,” he whispers, curling his hands around the back of a chair to anchor himself. The urge to wrap his arms around her, to sweep her off her feet and pick her up the way he used to, the way that never failed to make her laugh in delight, is overwhelming. “You look… the same. Beautiful, I mean,” he adds in a hurry before she can wonder whether that’s a good thing. “You look beautiful. That’s all.”

“Um, thanks. I like your hair,” Rey replies in kind as she steps into the room and shuts the door behind her. He resists the urge to run a hand through his hair self-consciously; he hasn’t worn it short-short since he was a teenager, grew it out to hide his ears even when they were together, but now it’s shorter than it ever was in college, only half of his ears hidden underneath black waves.

She used to run her hands through it absent-mindedly, coo at how soft it was and lament that there wasn’t more of it for her to braid. He wants nothing more than to feel her blunt nails scratching down his scalp again, her fingers tangled in his hair to hold him close.

“Sorry to make you come all the way up here,” Rey says as she takes a seat and motions for him to do the same. “It’s just… I know you and Leia still aren’t talking that much, and you never know where she’ll be during lunch hour. I thought this would be the safest option.”

Leia. Back in college she used to call his mom Mrs. Organa, and they’d met all of two times when Leia dropped by campus unannounced to confront him about the growing rift between them. Now she knows his mom well enough to be on a first-name basis, has probably spent more time with her in the past year than he has in the past decade.

Kylo slowly takes a seat opposite her. “Thanks. That’s… very considerate of you.”

Rey simply nods in acknowledgement, and they stare at each other across the wide conference table until–

“Why are you here, Ben?” she asks softly, no hint of hostility or frustration in her voice. Maybe the years have mellowed her out, maybe more than a decade of not having to fight for survival on a daily basis has drained her of the hardened, confrontational nature he remembers from their earliest interactions and allowed her true personality to emerge - the one he’d begun to see glimpses of during their last year together, the one he used to think he’d have the rest of his life to get to know.

“I…” he can’t help but drop his eyes down to the table, finds himself focusing on the way she fidgets with a bracelet around her wrist as he speaks. “I’m being promoted, next week. Snoke’s making me a partner.”

Her hand stops moving at the mention of his boss. “Oh. Um, congratulations,” Rey offers weakly.

Kylo forces himself to look at her. “Thanks. But… that’s why I’m here, basically. Snoke demands that all of us carry ourselves in a manner befitting of the firm’s reputation, which means no hidden skeletons or potential scandals. And now that he’s about to announce me as a partner…”

“You’re worried people out there might do some digging,” she fills in, nodding in comprehension.

There’s no need to talk about what exactly people might find, what kind of scandal they’d have on their hands. There’s only that one thing.

“Do you still have the login information?” he asks bluntly.

“I…” Rey pauses, and the slightest furrow emerges between her brows; he wants to lean across the table and smooth it out, wants to tuck her hair behind her ear and– “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I still remember everything. But um,” she gives him an apologetic smile, one marred by a wince. “I’m not that comfortable logging in here at work, so maybe…?”

Kylo nods. “Right, of course. I completely understand.”

“I’ll do it as soon as I get home, I promise,” she assures him. “Really, I should’ve done it years ago. It just… slipped my mind, I guess.” The casual shrug, the light tone – none of it is the least bit convincing. This isn’t the kind of thing that just slips your mind.

He plays along anyway, just as guilty as her of… whatever this is. Keeping a shrine to the past? Getting off to your own homemade porn? Holding on to memories of the happiest time in your life? “Yeah, same.”

Rey moves as if to get out of the chair, as if to leave, and he panics, grasps desperately at straws for something to say–

“How long are you in town for, by the way?” she asks, getting to her feet but making no move to leave.

“I… I don’t know,” Kylo realizes out loud. “I just packed a bag and hopped on a plane. Fuck, I haven’t even gotten a hotel.”

She studies him, head the slightest bit tilted to one side in suspicion. “Ben, did you fly all the way here just for this?”

He can’t exactly admit that his brain had short-circuited at even the slightest possibility of seeing her again, that he’d fly halfway across the damn world if it meant getting to be in the same room with her for five minutes. “No,” Kylo croaks, clears his throat and aims for nonchalance. “No, definitely not. That’d be… that’d be ridiculous. I just. Work’s about to change in a big way and I needed some time to myself, you know?”

Rey simply stares at him for the longest while. “Right,” she finally says. “Of course.” After a moment’s consideration, she adds, “This might be weird but we did part on good terms and all, and you just said you haven’t found a hotel yet so… I mean. I have a spare room. That you can stay in, if you’d like.”

It takes him a second too long to process what’s happening here, to understand that Rey is inviting him into her home for the night. “Yes!” he blurts out when it looks like she’s starting to regret the offer. “I mean, yes. I’d love to. If it’s okay with you.”

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” Rey smiles. “So I’ll just send you the address and let you know when I’m home?”

“That sounds good,” Kylo nods, following her lead as she moves out of the room. “Thanks, by the way. I know this is all really unexpected and–”

She turns in the doorway, places a hand on his arm. “It’s no problem, Ben. Really, I don’t mind.”

It burns where she touches him, in the best way possible.

But Rey drops her hand as if she’s been singed, and quickly leads him out of the room and down the darkened hallway. “I’d walk you out, but then people might stop us to talk to me and who knows if they’ll recognize you.”

“It’s okay,” he says as they wait for the elevator. “I know my way around.” After all, he used to spend entire summers exploring this place as a child. “Hey, what happened to Skywalker, anyway? Why the name change?”

They get into the elevator and Rey presses two buttons – twelfth floor for her office, he can’t help but note. “Luke disappeared on some kind of soul-searching mission shortly after Leia retired from politics and came here to join him,” she explains. “So your m- so Leia said that if he was going to make her do all the work of running the company, she might as well make the company her own. Gave it a total overhaul, rebranded and everything.”

Twelfth floor, an automated voice chimes before he can voice the thought that that sounds entirely like something Leia would do.

“Well, this is me,” Rey says as the doors begin to slide open. “I’ll see you at home?”

It feels like a dream to hear her say that again after all these years. Rey realizes her slip-up the second she steps off the elevator, and her eyes grow wide as she frantically shakes her head. “I mean, at my home. Which you don’t share. Because you’ve never been there. Because we–”

Kylo smiles, braces one hand against the door while the other reaches out to finally, finally tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “See you later, Rey.”

Her eyes close when his fingers graze her jaw, and he thinks she even leans into his touch. But then there’s a voice from down the hall, an awfully familiar one, and their eyes meet in a moment of total panic.

“Rey, is that you? I was wondering where you’d gone! Would you like to have lunch together?”

Leia’s voice grows dangerously close.

“Go,” Rey urges, and Kylo turns his back on her to conceal himself while he frantically jabs at the button to close the doors.

He finds himself in a café five minutes away from Rey’s office for the rest of the afternoon, scrolling through Instagram and Twitter despite his better judgement.

But the way she said see you at home, the way she sighed and leaned into his hand–

At five, his walk down memory lane is abruptly cut short when his phone lights up with a text.

Leaving work now, home in twenty. Come over whenever.

Kylo makes himself sit still for another ten minutes, even if it’s the hardest thing he’s done in recent memory. And then he calls for an Uber and promptly gets stuck in traffic.

Rey opens the door nearly an hour later and laughs at the sight of his disgruntled face. “You called for a car, didn’t you?”

“Mistakes were made,” he acknowledges, stepping into her apartment. For a moment there it’s almost like he’s stepped back in time, like he’s walked into their old home again.

But her plants are in proper pots now, not chipped mugs and emptied-out jars of food with the labels still on them. And the furniture is significantly nicer, not a single piece rescued from the curb and given a total makeover. It still screams Rey though, at the very heart of it, and he instantly feels more comfortable here than he has anywhere else since they moved out.

“That’s why I bike everywhere,” Rey says as she closes the door behind them, oblivious to his reaction to her home. “Have you eaten? I was thinking of calling for Thai. There’s this great place–” her voice carries as she heads for the kitchen, and he follows her once he’s successfully snapped himself out of it.

“Thai sounds great,” he tells her, watching her retrieve the menu from a drawer stuffed to the brim with brightly colored flyers. The genie drawer, Rey used to call it back in their kitchen, even put up a nice little chalkboard label proclaiming it as such. Like so many other things about her, it had been both endearing and heartbreaking to see how excited she would get about something as mundane as being able to simply place a call and know for sure that your next meal was taken care of, that you wouldn’t have to starve that day.

They settle on their orders, and Rey heads into the living room to get her phone and make the call. He looks out her kitchen window while waiting for her, pictures her standing in this very spot every morning, quietly cradling a mug of tea in a stolen moment of peace before the day ahead. It’s what she used to do, at least, back when their kitchen was barely functional and the view from their window was just a dirty alley.

“Hey,” Rey says as she returns to the kitchen, and when he turns around she has her laptop in hand. “I thought we might as well get it done with, while we’re waiting for food to arrive,” she explains, her smile too tight and close-lipped to be anything but nervous.

“Good idea,” he nods, and moves away from the window to join Rey at the kitchen island. There are two small barstools tucked under one end, and he follows her lead when she slides into one and logs into her laptop.

Rey types in the URL. “So,” she says a little too loudly as they wait for the page to load. “Excited about your promotion?”

“Not really,” Kylo mumbles as thumbnails begin to pop up.

They’re… well, as explicit as you’d expect them to be. But nestled amidst all of that is the occasional image of them just wrapped up in each other, Rey’s arms around his neck and his hair falling forward to obscure them from view as they kiss.

And always, always the slightest hint of a smile on her barely-visible face. He’s beginning to forget what it felt like, to have Rey smile into a kiss. Because for all the tiny details that furnish his longing dreams, there are just as many that have started to slip through his fingers – and he hates it, hates the way each missing detail feels like a fresh cut over a barely-healed wound, hates that time is chipping away at his most precious memories, hates that they’ve been apart for so long, that they’ve been apart at all.

Kylo sighs. “What happened to us?” he murmurs unthinkingly, and from the corner of his eye he catches movement – a flinch?

“Life,” Rey says easily, suddenly fascinated by her own hands. “We went down different paths, grew apart… it happens. People change. You changed,” she shrugs.

She’s never said so before, ended their relationship with a casual looks like we’ll be going to opposite ends of the country, let’s keep in touch rather than any complaints about him changing. He inhales sharply, snaps his head up to look at her. “What do you mean I changed?” His voice is too sharp, too demanding and accusatory, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Rey looks him in the eye, doesn’t falter or hesitate as she confronts him. “When I met you, you said you’d never go into politics because you wanted to actually make a difference, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to do that from within the government,” she reminds him. “And then the next thing I knew, you were working with Snoke and defending the very people you used to rail against, the ones who stood in the way of the change you used to want.”

Kylo takes a deep breath, counts to ten and pays close attention to his tone before he speaks. “I grew up, Rey,” he tells her stiffly, evenly. “That boy – he was naïve and idealistic and he would’ve starved to death working pro bono for every sob story he came across,” or so Snoke has said a hundred times, whenever he feels Kylo is in need of a reminder and some gratitude. “Snoke saw my potential and rescued me from that.” It feels wrong to parrot his mentor’s words back at Rey, especially when he himself stopped believing in them a long time ago. But what else is there to say?

“He didn’t rescue you,” Rey spits bitterly. “He hollowed you out and destroyed everything that made you you! He stripped away your morals and your beliefs and filled the void with a fuckton of money to hide it from you.”

“I’m not– Rey, I’m still me!” He gets to his feet so abruptly that the force of it sends his stool skittering across the floor. “I’m still the same person you knew, I’m still the man who took a job he couldn’t care less about because I wanted a roof over our heads, because I wanted to give you everything–”

Rey shakes her head at him. “I never asked you for everything, Ben. I was happy with what we had, I was happy with you.”

What they had? What they had was a tiny apartment and a mountain of overdue bills and a barely-defined thing between them because Rey never asked for anything but she never let him ask for anything either, never agreed to a proper date or labels or anything real, anything that would have given him the power to hurt her.

“I wasn’t!” Kylo snaps, running a rough hand through his hair, tugging at a tangle in frustration. “God, how do you think I felt, Rey, knowing that other people were getting off to my girlfriend just so that we could pay rent? The things they said about you–”

“Hold on,” Rey stands up, raises a hand in protest. “I was never your girlfriend, we were just–”

“Just what, Rey?” he snarls. “Just living together? Sleeping together? Talking about our future together? I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but that sounds like a relationship to me.”

Rey’s breathing hard and glaring at him and out of nowhere it occurs to him that this is their first fight, that they dated for three years and have been broken up for eight but somehow this is the first time he’s ever raised his voice at her.

“The only reason,” she says slowly, deliberately, bites off each word with thinly-veiled anger and coats it in false calm, “we were living together was because neither of us could afford to pay rent separately. You said so yourself, when you suggested it.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rey,” he sighs, brings a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose where he can already feel a headache coming on. “Did you really think that was… I mean, come on. If all I wanted was a roommate, I would’ve just asked fucking Hux. He would’ve had a bigger budget. He would’ve had his share of the rent on time every month.”

And this cannot be news to Rey, but still uncertainty casts a shadow over her features as she asks, “Then why…?”

Kylo shakes his head, closes his eyes and runs a heavy hand down his face. “Because I wanted to be with you,” he whispers, something so obvious he’s always just assumed Rey – and the whole wide world, really – must’ve seen it from the very start. “Because I loved you.”

Rey makes a tiny sound – he can’t tell if she’s choking or gasping, not with the doorbell drowning her out so that all he can see is the way her lips part infinitesimally in shock.

“I’ll get it,” Kylo sighs when the bell rings again, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket. The fact that Rey doesn’t even react when normally she’d be fighting to split the bill makes him wonder if he’s broken her.

Did she really not know? How? God, the way he’d look at her, the way he’d hold her close and sigh her name – wasn’t any of it obvious enough? Wasn’t it written in big red letters across his forehead that he had been a fucking goner for her from the very start?

When he comes back into the kitchen, Rey is still standing in the exact same spot. He leaves her be, busies himself with taking plastic containers of food out of the bags and setting them out on her countertop.

“Ben?”

He turns around to find her hugging herself, arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders hunched in on herself so that she looks even tinier than usual, lost and scared and–

“Did you mean it? That you loved me back then?”

Kylo brings his hands behind his back, wedges them between his body and the kitchen counter to subdue the urge to cross the room and hold her. Rey stares at him unblinkingly, even as her arms grows tighter and she grows smaller, even as she sinks her nails into the soft flesh of her waist.

It hurts, to see her like this. Eight years and still all he wants is to always be there for her, to make her feel happy and safe all the time.

“I think I still do,” he admits quietly.

Rey makes that sound again – it’s a sob, he can hear it clearly now – and runs into his arms.

The food grows cold, forgotten on the countertop as they stumble into the living room.

After, snuggled up together on her tiny couch that’s so small she has to sprawl out on top of him rather than beside him, he gives voice to a dream he buried long ago.

“I thought I was going to marry you.”

Rey lifts her head from his chest, props herself up with her palms braced just above his shoulders. “What?”

“Back in college,” he explains, one hand drawing circles into her hip while the other brushes her hair out of her face. “Back when we… I’d look at you, sometimes, and out of nowhere I’d think, I’m going to marry her someday.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Rey asks gently, leaning in to brush the lightest of kisses against his lips.

“Didn’t want to scare you off, at first,” Kylo shrugs. “And then everything else happened so fast and we’d already made plans to move to opposite ends of the country. You know what’s crazy?” he asks, exhaling a short, bitter laugh. “Even then I thought we’d make it. I thought maybe I'd work with Snoke for a couple of years, save up enough for us to be okay while I looked for a better job where you were. Or maybe you'd hate it with my uncle and decide to fly out and find something closer to me. But then…”

But then there was talk of keeping in touch, a request to just text me once in a while, Ben, it won’t kill you to stay social, and with it came the heartbreaking realization that they weren’t anything worth holding on to, not to Rey.

He tears himself away from the memory. Just minutes ago she had hidden an endless string of I love yous in the crook of his neck, and that’s enough for him now. That has be to enough, because it’s already more than he’s ever dared to so much as daydream of.

“You never said anything,” Rey murmurs now, dropping her head back onto his chest. “I thought…”

“I wish I had,” he whispers into the silence, shifts slightly to nuzzle her temple.

Rey pushes against his chest, moves until they’re both sitting on the couch facing each other. “But…” she pauses, takes a deep breath as if to brace herself. “But things are different now, right? I mean, you’ve got everything you wanted now, what with the promotion and–”

He laughs bitterly, anguished enough for Rey to fall silent and stare at him wide-eyed. “Rey, you are everything I wanted. The rest was just… I don’t even know anymore,” he admits in defeat, can’t think of a single reason he left her behind for such a hollow life. “I hate it, all of it. I hate my job, I hate my apartment, I hate my life.”

She stares at him thoughtfully, nibbling on her bottom lip as she considers the situation at hand. The shirt he’d scooped up from the ground to drape around her shoulders is dangerously close to falling off as she shrugs and says, “Then quit.”

Oh, how he wants to. But – “And then what?”

Rey shuffles closer on her knees, climbs into his lap and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Then come here,” she suggests easily. “Look for a job.” And then, after the slightest pause– “Marry me.”

His ears are ringing. He can’t possibly have heard that right, because Rey is still giving him that nonchalant look, still absentmindedly playing with his hair. “What?”

“That was your original plan, right?” Rey reminds him. “Quit after a few years with Snoke, move here to find a job, marry me someday,” she says it so softly, so lovingly, and in her eyes he sees all of it, sees that life he gave up on years ago. “I know it’s been a while, Ben, but… it’s not too late, if you still want it. If you still want us.”

“I– of course I still–” The idea that he might not is impossible to even wrap his head around. “But… Rey, are you serious? I know what I said, and I meant it, but you don’t have to… I mean, we can take it slow, if you want.” They’ve already wasted eight years, after all. What’s a few more so long as it means he gets to be with her, wife or not?

Rey shakes her head, surges up to kiss him all desperate and needy and so, so sure in her actions, her suggestions. “I’ve spent every single day of the last eight years,” she confesses against his lips, “trying to pretend that there isn’t a giant you-shaped hole in my life. So yes,” Rey gives him one last peck before she pulls away, “yes, I’m serious. Come back to me, Ben. It’ll be different this time, I promise.”

Her eyes are wide and earnest, and of course he knows exactly what she’s talking about, feels his heart get stuck in his throat at such a promise. “I feel like I should be the one asking to come back,” Kylo mumbles, thinking of how he left her behind all those years ago, of how much Rey has always hated being left behind and sure, this time it was different, it was just a day before she left for a new life of her own, but still. Maybe if he’d fought harder then, if he’d been willing to make sacrifices… “Feel like I should’ve been the one to ask you to marry me, too.”

“And you will,” Rey smiles, taking his words as a yes. “This isn’t a real proposal, Ben Solo,” she warns him playfully, jabs one finger at his chest. “You’re still going to have to gather up the nerve to ask me properly, some day. But for now... for now it’s a plan.”

She looks at him expectantly, as if there’s any world out there where he would say no to this. “It’s a good plan,” he tells her, pulls her in for a lingering kiss and rests his forehead against hers. “I like it.”

“Good,” Rey murmurs against his lips, and they don’t talk again for a good long while.

“We should probably still take those videos down though, right?” she asks the next morning, right after he hangs up on a puzzled Mitaka who’s still struggling to process his resignation.

Ben chucks his phone far, far away before Snoke can start to bombard him with calls and angry emails, pulls Rey into his arms and drags her back down under the covers. “I guess,” he sighs mournfully, dotting kisses along her bare shoulder.

“Babe,” Rey laughs, squirms in his arms when he focuses on a particularly ticklish spot under her ear and turns to face him. “You do realize that I have backup copies, right?”

He had not, in fact, realized that.

“God, I love you.”

Anything Reylo is usually soothing to my soul so I'm posting this in the hopes that at least some of you will enjoy this silly, tame take on the 'we were young and broke and needed the money, plus we were already having sex anyway so why not?' trope. (Seriously though, is that a trope? I don't know anymore.)

As always, I hope you guys enjoyed this even the tiniest bit. If you did, please don’t hesitate to like/reblog/leave a comment/scream at me in the tags.

I'm planning to participate in the Reylo AU Week happening later this month, so... see you guys then. In the meantime, thanks for reading!

#reylo #rey/ben solo #rey/kylo ren #kylo ren/rey #ben solo/rey #modern au #star wars #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #fic: a forever you and me #fic archive #my fics

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milesgonzalomorales · 6 years

Note

1-50 for studyblr (all or nothing motherfucker ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

I owe you my life anon I wanted to answer these

What year are you?Third-year as of summer 2018

What’s your major/what do you think you want to major in?Double major in Political Science and History

If applicable, what is your thesis about? n/a

Do you think you picked the right major? For sure. At first I was uncertain in my choice bc I switched quite a bit in my first/second year bw English and History, but then I realized that English classes were making me dislike my relationship w/ literature. I love my poli sci and history classes

Ultimate educational goals? Getting my PhD in International Relations but i have no job to pay for it

Career goals? Working with an international organization like the UN or the IMF

Do you think your goals are realistic? Certainly. They may be difficult to reach, but they are within my grasp so long as I keep working towards them.

What classes are you taking right now? Canadian government/politics, introductory political theory and a comparative history class on race relations in the US and SA

Favorite class out of everything you’ve ever taken and why? Introduction to international relations parts 1 and 2, I took them both in my second year back to back (one in the fall, the other in the winter) while I was still in the political science minor. I loved this class for several reasons. First, the content was so interesting that reading the textbook was never a chore and I was always in the first row of the lecture hall ready 15 minutes before classes even started. Another reason I liked this class was bc I had a really good experience with the ta who was my tut. leader in both semesters - there is only one other ta that I’ve had who has been that phenomenal in their teaching. This ta along with another prof have been really influential in my learning and I don’t think thank you will ever be enough for what they both did. It was actually through these classes that I decided to major in poli sci bc I loved it so much.

Least favorite class ever and why? An Ancient Greek history class bc it was at night and the prof had us read exclusively from a sourebook and his slides sucked.

Current favorite class and why? Canadian government, I’m learning a lot of cool stuff about my country that high-school teachers never did justice to. Also the prof is really enthusiastic and it’s contagious.

Current least favorite class and why? Political theory… it’s not that I hate it, but some of the texts are really difficult to read at times. Lectures are fun though, the prof really knows how to keep an audience engaged.

Favorite STEM field? I took an anthropology class in first year and loved it, the tutorials were really interesting bc we actually got to handle bone material!! It was nothing like humanities tutorials where you discuss and debate. A fun experience overall and I loved learning about the science parts too even if it was a little complicated sometimes…

Favorite humanities subject? Political science, hands down.

Class that you’ve always wanted to take but never had the chance? I want to take a class on ethnic conflict and security, but it’s a 4th year class and i don’t have the prereqs (yet!)

Do you use caffeine and if so how much daily? Never, unless Coffee Crisp counts

What’s your preferred method of taking in caffeine? ^ see above answer

Have you ever tried study drugs? Nope, not a huge fan of supplements like that.

Are you a homework-in-the-morning kind of person? Homework whenever I can type of person

Do you listen to music while you study? Used to, but now it distracts more than anything so I’ll put on some ambient noises or just work silently.

Crowded area or quiet place? Quiet place, but one that has people in it so I feel obligated to work

What’s your preferred writing implement? bic gelocity 0.7 black and blue pens. i cannot write w/o them but they run out so fast.

Do you need to work out before you can study well? work out??? haven’t heard that term in years

Describe your perfect study environment. Idk the specifics, but good lighting, nice temperature, a rolling chair and a high desk i guess?

Are you procrastinating right now? Not really, I have time before assignment deadlines roll in.

What was the last thing you procrastinated? Reading Thomas Hobbes Leviathan, the language was too complex and I shied away from it

Are you a perfectionist? Not really, you make a mistake and you move on, I find that studyblr aesthetic notes are counterproductive

Do you like easy classes or do you feel bad if you’re not working hard? I don’t think there is such thing as ‘easy’ classes, it depends on what an individual’s strengths and weaknesses are. That being said, I had a light course load for a first year class where the prof felt bad for assigning us 10 pages of reading a week when another prof was assigning 80-100.

Are you a good test taker? Most of the time, but with essays, I need to write outlines or I lose my train of thought and get frustrated and anxious about the time and my argument.

What are you the proudest of out of all the assignments you’ve ever had? A paper I did for my critical writing for history class 2 semesters ago, I contacted that professor regularly and was in her office all the time working with her to keep making it better and when I saw my final grade of 38/40, I cried with happiness.

Do you talk to your teachers/professors a lot? Oh yeah, I’m that student who stays after class, spends half the time at office hours, asks questions during class, you name it. Professors are people too, just really accomplished people. Also they’re pretty cool and they want to see you succeed.

Describe your favorite teacher/professor and why you like them. Okay again not a prof, but this person is training to become a prof and i truly hope he’s successful for several reasons. He has a lot of cool book recs both academic/non-academic, calls out the bullcrap that is academic writing, genuinely goes above the paygrade to make sure that students succeed and most importantly, is enthusiastic about the content himself. (press f to pay respects)

Describe your least favorite teacher/professor and why you dislike them. Hnghhhh there was these 2 profs who taught intro ir part 1 and one of those guys was an absolute loser, he constantly made holocaust jokes and other tasteless comments and when i went to talk to him about my final paper, he told me that i’d look like someone who might like to write mine about is/s like ://. never told that prof anything about my academic interests so shut your mouth

Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher/professor? A few times, but I don’t think I could do it. I’d be one of those rambling profs who never end up finishing their scheduled content.

Most profound thing ever said to you by a teacher/professor? Not a prof, but a ta once said that my ideas were worthy of respect and that i shouldn’t feel the need to apologize for contributions (ta: you are valid me: holy fuck i’d die for you)

Best feedback you’ve ever gotten on something academic? Best feedback I’ve ever gotten was on a paper I wrote for my ir class in the first semester where i had a lot of pitfalls in my argumentation style so when i wrote one the next semester w/ the same ta marking it, i got a better mark bc i incorporated that feedback.

Worst study habit and how are you working on it? My worst habit is lacking discipline and I’m working on it by trying to stick to schedules so I can fall back into routine and ultimately be on top of things

Are you an in-class fidgeter? moment of silence for all the pens i’ve dropped while twirling them/taking them apart.

How’s your handwriting? pretty neat, not to brag. but apparently my f’s are jumping off the lines practically.

Write “the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog” and post a photo. sorry, too late for that I’m headed to sleep soon.

Neat or messy notes? A weird combo?? Like messy enough that you have arrows sticking out from all corners and sometimes things are disorganized, but the writing itself is usually very neat unless i’m tired.

A lot of notes or the bare minimum? A lot, for me, the slides are the skeleton and the meat comes from the prof’s mouth.

Post a photo/scan of your notes from your favorite class. I think I uploaded them to my side blog?? anyway it’s late now so can’t do that

Are you a doodler? I used to be, but I cut the habit bc sometimes I miss key info if I’m not paying attention.

Post a photo of your doodles if you have any. lol i used to post a lot under the tag naailah draws

Do you have pre-test rituals and what are they? Making sure I have more pens than I’ll ever need and checking the ink refills to ensure there’s enough.

Are you a tangent-question asker? Yup, there’s no such thing as a dumb question. Unless it’s answered on the syllabus. That’s a dumb q.

Do you make jokes in class? Sometimes. I’ve cracked some awful puns in my comparative poli class once and the prof’s mic picked up on it bc i sit at the front so you have a room of 200 or so students hearing me laugh about poverty and i swear it sounds bad but it was not as bad w/ context.

How many hours do you spend on academics per day? A lot… most of my time is spent on studying/procrastinating on it

What’s something more important to you than school? Life after school and making a real impact in the world, whether it’s small-scale or large.

#Anonymous #naailah receives an ask

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boreothegoldfinch · 3 years

Text

chapter 5 paragraph xii

Before Boris, I had borne my solitude stoically enough, without realizing quite how alone I was. And I suppose if either of us had lived in an even halfway normal household, with curfews and chores and adult supervision, we wouldn’t have become quite so inseparable, so fast, but almost from that day we were together all the time, scrounging our meals and sharing what money we had. In New York, I had grown up around a lot of worldly kids—kids who’d lived abroad and spoke three or four languages, who did summer programs at Heidelberg and spent their holidays in places like Rio or Innsbruck or Cap d’Antibes. But Boris—like an old sea captain—put them all to shame. He had ridden a camel; he had eaten witchetty grubs, played cricket, caught malaria, lived on the street in Ukraine (“but for two weeks only”), set off a stick of dynamite by himself, swum in Australian rivers infested with crocodiles. He had read Chekhov in Russian, and authors I’d never heard of in Ukrainian and Polish. He had endured midwinter darkness in Russia where the temperature dropped to forty below: endless blizzards, snow and black ice, the only cheer the green neon palm tree that burned twenty-four hours a day outside the provincial bar where his father liked to drink. Though he was only a year older than me—fifteen—he’d had actual sex with a girl, in Alaska, someone he’d bummed a cigarette off in the parking lot of a convenience store. She’d asked him if he wanted to sit in her car with her, and that was that. (“But you know what?” he said, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think she liked it very much.” “Did you?” “God, yes. Although, I’m telling you, I know I wasn’t doing it right. I think was too cramped in the car.”) Every day, we rode home on the bus together. At the half-finished Community Center on the edge of Desatoya Estates, where the doors were padlocked and the palm trees stood dead and brown in the planters, there was an abandoned playground where we bought sodas and melted candy bars from the dwindling stock in the vending machines, sat around outside on the swings, smoking and talking. His bad tempers and black moods, which were frequent, alternated with unsound bursts of hilarity; he was wild and gloomy, he could make me laugh sometimes until my sides ached, and we always had so much to say that we often lost track of time and stayed outside talking until well past dark. In Ukraine, he had seen an elected official shot in the stomach walking to his car—just happened to witness it, not the shooter, just the broad-shouldered man in a too-small overcoat falling to his knees in darkness and snow. He told me about his tiny tin-roof school near the Chippewa reservation in Alberta, sang nursery songs in Polish for me (“For homework, in Poland, we are usually learning a poem or song by heart, a prayer maybe, something like that”) and taught me to swear in Russian (“This is the true mat —from the gulags”). He told me too how, in Indonesia, he had been converted to Islam by his friend Bami the cook: giving up pork, fasting during Ramadan, praying to Mecca five times a day. “But I’m not Muslim any more,” he explained, dragging his toe in the dust. We were lying on our backs on the merry-go-round, dizzy from spinning. “I gave it up a while back.” “Why?” “Because I drink.” (This was the understatement of the year; Boris drank beer the way other kids drank Pepsi, starting pretty much the instant we came home from school.) “But who cares?” I said. “Why does anybody have to know?” He made an impatient noise. “Because is wrong to profess faith if I don’t observe properly. Disrespectful to Islam.” “Still. ‘Boris of Arabia.’ It has a ring.” “Fuck you.”

“No, seriously,” I said, laughing, raising up on my elbows. “Did you really believe in all that?” “All what?” “You know. Allah and Muhammad. ‘There is no God but God’—?” “No,” he said, a bit angrily, “my Islam was a political thing.” “What, you mean like the shoe bomber?” He snorted with laughter. “Fuck, no. Besides, Islam doesn’t teach violence.” “Then what?” He came up off the merry-go-round, alert gaze: “What do you mean, what? What are you trying to say?” “Back off! I’m asking a question.” “Which is—?” “If you converted to it and all, then what did you believe?” He fell back and chortled as if I’d let him off the hook. “Believe? Ha! I don’t believe in anything.” “What? You mean now?” “I mean never. Well—the Virgin Mary, a little. But Allah and God…? not so much.” “Then why the hell did you want to be Muslim?” “Because—” he held out his hands, as he did sometimes when he was at a loss—“such wonderful people, they were all so friendly to me!” “That’s a start.” “Well, it was, really. They gave me an Arabic name—Badr al-Dine. Badr is moon, it means something like moon of faithfulness, but they said, ‘Boris, you are badr because you light everywhere, being Muslim now, lighting the world with your religion, you shine wherever you go.’ I loved it, being Badr. Also, the mosque was brilliant. Falling-down palace—stars shining through at night—birds in the roof. An old Javanese man taught us the Koran. And they fed me too, and were kind, and made sure I was clean and had clean clothes. Sometimes I fell asleep on my prayer rug. And at salah, near dawn, when the birds woke up, always the sound of wings beating!” Though his Australo-Ukrainian accent was certainly very odd, he was almost as fluent in English as I was; and considering what a short time he’d lived in America he was reasonably conversant in amerikanskii ways. He was always poring through his torn-up pocket dictionary (his name scrawled in Cyrillic on the front, with the English carefully lettered beneath: BORYS VOLODYMYROVYCH PAVLIKOVSKY) and I was always finding old 7-Eleven napkins and bits of scratch paper with lists of words and terms he’d made: bridle and domesticate celerity trattoria wise guy = кpymoŭ пaцaн propinquity Dereliction of duty. When his dictionary failed him, he consulted me. “What is Sophomore?” he asked me, scanning the bulletin board in the halls at school. “Home Ec? Poly Sci?” (pronounced, by him, as “politzei”). He had never heard of most of the food in the cafeteria lunch: fajitas, falafel, turkey tetrazzini. Though he knew a lot about movies and music, he was decades behind the times; he didn’t have a clue about sports or games or television, and—apart from a few big European brands like Mercedes and BMW—couldn’t tell one car from another. American money confused him, and sometimes too American geography: in what province was California located? Could I tell him which city was the capital of New England?

But he was used to being on his own. Cheerfully he got himself up for school, hitched his own rides, signed his own report cards, shoplifted his own food and school supplies. Once every week or so we walked miles out of our way in the suffocating heat, shaded beneath umbrellas like Indonesian tribesmen, to catch the poky local bus called the CAT, which as far as I could tell no one rode out our way except drunks, people too poor to have a car, and kids. It ran infrequently, and if we missed it we had to stand around for a while waiting for the next bus, but among its stops was a shopping plaza with a chilly, gleaming, understaffed supermarket where Boris stole steaks for us, butter, boxes of tea, cucumbers (a great delicacy for him), packages of bacon —even cough syrup once, when I had a cold—slipping them in the cutaway lining of his ugly gray raincoat (a man’s coat, much too big for him, with drooping shoulders and a grim Eastern Bloc look about it, a suggestion of food rationing and Soviet-era factories, industrial complexes in Lviv or Odessa). As he wandered around I stood lookout at the head of the aisle, so shaky with nerves I sometimes worried I would black out—but soon I was filling my own pockets with apples and chocolate (other favored food items of Boris’s) before walking up brazenly to the counter to buy bread and milk and other items too big to steal.

Back in New York, when I was eleven or so, my mother had signed me up for a Kids in the Kitchen class at my day camp, where I’d learned to cook a few simple meals: hamburgers, grilled cheese (which I’d sometimes made for my mother on nights she worked late), and what Boris called “egg and toasts.” Boris, who sat on the countertop kicking the cabinets with his heels and talking to me while I cooked, did the washing-up. In the Ukraine, he told me, he’d sometimes picked pockets for money to eat. “Got chased, once or twice,” he said. “Never caught, though.” “Maybe we should go down to the Strip sometime,” I said. We were standing at the kitchen counter at my house with knives and forks, eating our steaks straight from the frying pan. “If we were going to do it, that’d be the place. I never saw so many drunk people and they’re all from out of town.” He stopped chewing; he looked shocked. “And why should we? When so easy to steal here, from so big stores!” “Just saying.” My money from the doormen—which Boris and I spent a few dollars at a time, in vending machines and at the 7-Eleven near school that Boris called “the magazine”—would hold out a while, but not forever. “Ha! And what will I do if you are arrested, Potter?” he said, dropping a fat piece of steak down to the dog, whom he had taught to dance on his hind legs. “Who will cook the dinner? And who will look after Snaps here?” Xandra’s dog Popper he’d taken to calling ‘Amyl’ and ‘Nitrate’ and ‘Popchik’ and ‘Snaps’—anything but his real name. I’d started bringing him in even though I wasn’t supposed to because I was so tired of him always straining at the end of his chain trying to look in at the glass door and yapping his head off. But inside he was surprisingly quiet; starved for attention, he stuck close to us wherever we went, trotting anxiously at our heels, upstairs and down, curling up to sleep on the rug while Boris and I read and quarrelled and listened to music up in my room. “Seriously, Boris,” I said, pushing the hair from my eyes (I was badly in need of a haircut, but didn’t want to spend the money), “I don’t see much difference in stealing wallets and stealing steaks.” “Big difference, Potter.” He held his hands apart to show me just how big. “Stealing from working person? And stealing from big rich company that robs the people?” “Costco doesn’t rob the people. It’s a discount supermarket.” “Fine then. Steal essentials of life from private citizen. This is your so-smart plan. Hush,” he said to the dog, who’d barked sharply for more steak. “I wouldn’t steal from some poor working person,” I said, tossing Popper a piece of steak myself. “There are plenty of sleazy people walking around Vegas with wads of cash.” “Sleazy?” “Dodgy. Dishonest.” “Ah.” The pointed dark eyebrow went up. “Fair enough. But if you steal money from sleazy person, like gangster, they are likely to hurt you, nie?” “You weren’t scared of getting hurt in Ukraine?” He shrugged. “Beaten up, maybe. Not shot.” “Shot?” “Yes, shot. Don’t look surprised. This cowboy country, who knows? Everyone has guns.” “I’m not saying a cop. I’m saying drunk tourists. The place is crawling with them Saturday night.” “Ha!” He put the pan down on the floor for the dog to finish off. “Likely you will end up in jail, Potter. Loose morals, slave to the economy. Very bad citizen, you.”

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