#ch: isabelle light wood

[herestoimagination]

―   Isabelle Lightwood, City of Fallen Angels    

[floofymuses-archive]

Muse Tag Drop! Doing this for my tags page!

[bitterlikesweets]

Love Bites Ch 7

This is the seventh chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on Ao3. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Next

There’s a typo in the first text that Eren sends to Levi. Determined to stop overthinking their interactions, Eren is quick with his fingers, typing out a brief message that only requires a quick glance at the screen.

That’s how ‘Be there in a sec’ became ‘Be there in a sex’. A slip of Eren’s finger ruined a perfectly good message.

Eren doesn’t notice until he’s buckling himself into his car and Levi responds.

'Don’t tell me that shit, kid.'

He spends the next few minutes trying to type out a response that doesn’t make him look like a complete fucking idiot, only to resign himself to the fact that there isn’t one. He explains that his finger slipped, but Levi doesn’t answer his text and Eren wants to chomp his stupid, clumsy fingers off.

When Eren gets to the restaurant, Levi is already waiting for him in the break room. He doesn’t say anything about the text as Eren quickly grabs a seat at the table, and Eren drinks in silence. He’s more than happy to pretend that it never happened.

When he feels Levi’s hands in his hair, he’s quick to pull away.

“I’ve got the night shift at an arcade bar,” he tells Levi, an answer to Levi’s raised eyebrow as he watches Eren hurriedly collect his things. “I’ve got to be there in half an hour.”

“Should we skip the lesson?” Levi asks.

“Unless you’ve got some quick advice, yeah.”

“Hmm,” Levi says, wiping his wrist with a napkin. “Lesson one for this week is proofread your texts.”

Eren splutters and aims a glare at Levi, who just stares at him as impassively as ever.

“Fuck you,” Eren says, and he marches out of the room before Levi has a chance to notice his blush.

Eren’s not sure if being pissed is any better than being embarrassed, but the annoyance does feel a bit closer to normal for him.

Lesson two takes place after Eren’s six o’clock statistics class. His warning text was safer this time—a simple ‘On my way.’ Levi is the one in a rush today; Isabel is off and he can’t leave Furlan being both a waiter and a chef for long. He talks while Eren drinks, and his hand is preemptively resting on the crown of Eren’s head, so Eren has to wait for the tug and pretend that Levi’s hand isn’t distracting him from properly listening to the man’s words.

Lesson two is about myths. Levi tells him not to worry about not appearing in mirrors and photos, but to be wary of any liquid claiming to be holy water.

“Can I turn into a bat?”

Levi scoffs.

“Maybe through reincarnation.”

The third day is more relaxed. Levi’s not rushing, and Eren has at least an hour until he needs to be at work, but Levi’s hand is still on his head from the start, and Eren suspects this is going to be part of their routine now.

The lesson is about partners. How to choose them and when to drink from them.

“Nobody anemic,” Levi says. “And never after they’ve had alcohol or drugs or any of that shit. You’ve got to wait until it’s out of their system, or you’re both going to feel fucked up once you’re done. Especially you, as the vampire, since you’ll already be half drunk with blood.”

The next day’s lesson is also about partners. But it’s also about Eren.

“You both need to know your limits,” Levi says. His voice is stern and his fingers tangle in the strands of Eren’s hair. “You need to be careful not to drink too much.”

There’s that tug at his scalp and Eren pulls back, swiping his tongue across the bite mark on Levi’s wrist.

“How do you always know when to stop me?”

“You slow down once you’ve had your fill,” Levi replies, “so it’s easy to notice. Normally it should take a few tries to figure it out, but you’re consistent.”

“What should I do if not everyone’s as observant as you?”

“They’ll get dizzy or weak and will know then that you’ve had more than necessary. But I’m hoping to have trained you to recognize the right amount on your own by then.”

“Sounds like work,” Eren grumbles, and he thinks Levi gave him a little extra today, because he feels more blood drunk than usual. “Why don’t you just stay my partner?”

Levi’s silence is sobering, and Eren nearly takes the words back.

“I doubt you really want that,” Levi says eventually.

“You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t either.”

Eren feels like he should argue with that statement, but he doesn’t know what to say. So he says nothing, and Levi doesn’t say anything either.

Day five’s lesson is not about partners. Levi is busy and impatient. His hand only falls upon Eren’s head when it’s time for him to stop. The man’s tone is clipped and stiff when he speaks, and Eren has to remind himself that Levi is just in a rush because Furlan isn’t there today, so there’s no substitute chef. It’s not at all because Eren said something stupid the day before.

Right?

The lesson is about turning people. A bite to the neck doesn’t automatically turn someone into a vampire, but Levi tells Eren that the blood spills faster there, so it’s easier to take too much. And taking too much from the neck creates new vampires. Something about the vampire healing saliva overcompensating for the blood it takes, enough of it that it overwhelms the human. There was something else too, about proximity to the heart.

Eren lays a hand over his chest. He forgot that there’s a heart in there. A heart that used to beat.

Levi watches him, tells him something else on his way out.

His heart can beat again, at least for a moment, but only at the cost of someone else’s. That’s what turning people is; a brief breath of life, gained by stealing someone else’s.

Eren touches the scar on his neck and feels sick to his stomach.

On day six, they’re both a bit calmer. The restaurant is busy, but Furlan and Isabel are as lively as ever, and they encourage Levi to take his time. They’re both used to Eren by now; they greet him with smiles whenever he arrives, and he feels guilty for not having any full conversations with them yet.

He feels that he is drinking slower than usual, but that doesn’t stop Levi from knowing when to stop him, detecting a change in speed that Eren is always too hazy-brained to notice.

“What am I learning today?” Eren asks, resting his head on the table.

Levi is walking around the room, probably choosing a weapon to reveal. He’s taken to finding them as he teaches, to save them both a bit of time. The weapon is usually a stake, but he’s also pulled out vials of holy water out of the filing cabinet in the corner a few times.

“I want to talk about turning again,” Levi says, and Eren frowns. He doesn’t like this topic.

“Okay.”

“It’s not always involuntary. Actually, it’s more likely to be voluntary these days.”

Eren’s frown deepens.

“Who would volunteer to be a vampire?”

“People who want to be immortal, usually. Sometimes they want the strength. Some just want to stay with the vampires they’ve partnered up with.”

Levi stops by a photo on the wall. Eren recognizes it as the one he knocked down when he threw the table over a week ago. The photo of Levi as a child, with the cardboard Kuchel’s Kitchen sign. Levi pulls it off the wall and flips it over, carefully removing a wooden square from the back of the frame.

“Have you ever thought about getting turned?” Eren asks.

Levi scoffs.

“Fuck no. A hunter becoming a vampire? I doubt anyone would even turn me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“No vampire in their right mind would want me to live forever. It’s in everyone’s best interest that I die someday,” Levi says, and his voice is completely calm, like he’s thought about it and accepted it.

Of course, it makes sense that Levi will die eventually. Levi is human. He’s going to grow old, just like everyone else. But the thought still puts a sour taste in Eren’s mouth.

Maybe it’s because Eren’s never going to grow old and die.

The weapon hidden in the picture frame is a knife, small and thin and sharp, but Eren isn’t looking at it. He’s staring at the table, twiddling his thumbs, thinking about how he’s not going to die and Levi is.

“What?” Levi says, coming to sit back down at the table. “You going to miss me, brat?”

“Yeah, maybe I fucking will,” Eren snaps, and he really doesn’t know why he’s so worked up over this because of course Levi’s going to die someday, he’s human—

A hand comes to rest on his head, heavy and familiar and comforting. And when Levi speaks, it’s like a sigh, with something in his exasperated words coming off as almost affectionate.

“You’re so damn honest.”

Eren shifts just enough to look at Levi, not wanting to lose the hand Levi is resting on him.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Levi huffs, but he sounds like he’s on the border of a chuckle.

“No. It’s refreshing. But you need to learn to take a joke.”

“I can take a joke,” Eren insists. “You’re just bad at telling them.”

“Oh, don’t turn your shit sense of humor back on me—”

“Wha—you’re the one who has the shit sense of humor!”

Their conversation devolves into half hearted insults that leave Eren laughing, and he’s so distracted by Levi’s teasing that he almost doesn’t notice the way the man’s hand lingers on his head, fingers combing through his hair.

They only stop when Furlan comes in, begging Levi to get back to work. Eren is still grinning on his way out.

~ ~ ~

The lights are off in Kuchel’s Kitchen on day seven. The day marks a month since Eren first met Levi. A month from the day he mistakenly ate garlic and tasted Levi’s blood.

Eren presses his face against the front windows of the restaurant, trying to see inside. The chairs are all flipped upside down and on the tables like they are after closing. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s only eight. He sends another text to Levi, asking if everything’s alright. Levi simply texts him that he’ll be out in a minute.

Eren huffs a sigh, leaning against the brick wall of the restaurant.

The whole restaurant has a sort of old fashioned, cozy feel. The red bricks on the outside, the heavy wooden door with a literal bell hanging on the inside. The tables inside are all dark wood and thick red tablecloths, and there are black and white photos on the walls, most of people that Eren doesn’t know or recognize, though he has noticed a few of Isabel and Furlan on his trips to the break room. Eren can picture it all in his head fairly clearly, even without having to look through the window.

It’s different from the vibe he gets from Levi. The white and yellow tiled floor, the red walls… It’s colorful and bright, and it feels more like something Eren’s mom had decorated, rather than a no nonsense, practical man like Levi. The wallpaper even has fucking flowers on it.

And then there’s the name. Kuchel’s Kitchen. Who is Kuchel?

Eren thinks of the picture in the break room. The small kitchen, the cardboard sign. Little Levi, and the dark haired woman handing him a plate.

Maybe Levi’s mother helped him with the decor. Either that or Levi’s got a soft spot for flowery wallpaper and pretty colors.

It’s sweet, either way.

Eren hears the sound of the door unlocking, and he’s already looking when Levi steps out, the chime of the bell accompanying him.

“Sorry,” Levi says, beckoning Eren inside. “Isabel and Furlan said they both couldn’t make it to work, so I had to close early.”

“Are they your only employees?”

“They’re the evening shift,” Levi says, “I’ve got a few others that work during the day.”

Eren hums a little, casting a glance around the still darkened room.

“We could’ve met somewhere else if you wanted,” he says, and Levi just shrugs in response.

“I needed extra time to clean up around here anyway.”

They slip into their normal seats in the break room, and Eren leans onto the table, resting his chin in his hands as he watches Levi push up the sleeve of his shirt.

“I’m not busy today,” Levi says. “Are you?”

“No. No work and no school for me today.”

Levi nods, laying his arm across the table.

“Then, today, feel free to ask me anything you’re still not sure about.”

Eren pauses, his hands reaching for Levi’s arm.

“Is Kuchel your mom’s name?”

Levi’s entire body tenses, and Eren stops with his mouth halfway to Levi’s wrist.

“I meant questions about being a vampire, shitty brat.”

Eren tries to apologize, but Levi’s hand is on his head and he practically shoves Eren’s face into his wrist, stifling anything he was trying to say. Eren lets out a little grumble of protest, but he obediently sinks his fangs in. Levi sighs after a moment.

“...Yes, Kuchel is my mother’s name.”

Eren’s mouth is still occupied, so he squeezes Levi’s arm with his hands, hoping the man understands his request for the man to continue.

“You know that vampire hunting was the family business,” Levi says slowly. “My mother… she didn’t enjoy it. She was the one who taught me that vampires are still people. She learned all the tricks because she had to, but she only killed if it was absolutely necessary.”

Levi tightens his grip on Eren’s hair.

“She wanted an Italian restaurant. Went on and on about that shit. We’re not even fucking Italian, but that’s what she wanted. She started collecting shit—decorations and plates for her future restaurant. Started writing down recipes.”

Even in the midst of his explanation, Levi must be observing Eren, because Eren feels that familiar tug, that silent instruction to pull back. Eren does remove his teeth, complies with the obligatory healing lick, but he doesn’t pull all the way back. He keeps his head low, his lips pressed against the man’s pale skin.

“She was killed when I was a kid,” Levi says and the quiet statement hits Eren like a pound of snow dropped on his back. “She… she always tried to talk shit out, even in the midst of a fight. But there was no point to talking to the ferals. She knew that. She was just stalling—stalling so that my uncle could get me out of there. We all lived together. She was letting us escape.”

Levi takes in a shuddering breath, and Eren sits up, tries to look at him, but the man’s head is turned away. His hand falls away from Eren’s head, and Eren takes it, cradles it in his own.

“When you told me about your mom, I—it was too similar,” Levi says. “I looked at you, and I saw myself. That’s why I let you bite me.”

Eren’s stomach is a painful knot as he thinks about his mother, about that day, about how he couldn’t do anything for her. And he imagines Levi, just a little kid, watching it all play out, knowing exactly what was happening. He feels his own helplessness from the day he was turned and knows that Levi has felt the same. And his mother’s face, her scream are too vivid to Eren now. The images, the memories flash in his head and he squeezes his eyes shut, his hand tightening around Levi’s as his chest starts to burn—

“Sorry,” Levi says, and the word only makes Eren ache even more. “I shouldn’t have—it’s still fresh for you.”

“Don’t apologize,” Eren says, and the words are like a growl, far harsher than he meant to say them. Levi doesn’t even flinch at his tone, but Eren still pulls in a rough breath, trying to calm down, to stomp out the burning. “I’m glad you told me.”

Levi is looking back at him again, and in the place of his usual mask of indifference, Eren sees sorrow and guilt, even as he huffs a sigh and tries to change the subject.

“Didn’t mean to tell you my sob story today,” Levi says, and his voice is under more control than his expression is. “Let’s move on. What else do you want to know?”

The fire in Eren’s chest helps him answer.

“Tell me the best way to kill a vampire.”

[cakesunflower]

Quiet Hours [College!Luke AU] Ch. 11

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Chapter 11

THERE WAS SO much that Luke needed to figure out, yet he found himself sitting on one of the couches at some fraternity, taking sips of the jungle juice in his cup. He lazily watched the people around him through the clouds of smoke in the room, a Migos song bursting his ear drums while his nose was numb to the mixed smell of alcohol and weed that made up the house. He was on the first floor which was where everyone was smoking and drinking, while down in the basement was where everyone was dancing in the dark with colorful flashing lights.

Calum was seated next to him, having just smoked and now seated with a quiet high in his system. Luke had no idea where Michael, Crystal and Ashton were, but he was sure they were having more fun than he was as he sat sipping his drink and kept stressing over what he was going to do when the school year ended and he was to walk across the stage and get his degree. Truthfully, after interning for a few summers and a couple of semesters at a recording studio in New York, he was sure to have a job lined up there. So it wasn’t what he was going to do that was stressing him out—it’s how fast it would be coming.

This was Luke’s last year in college before he was supposed to deal with the real world, and he wasn’t all too sure he was prepared to face that. Which is why he was trying yet failing to drown his worries in the fruity-vodka jungle juice he was drinking. Adulting was not something Luke Hemmings was ready to do—he was barely keeping his shit together as a student.

“Dude,” Calum spoke up over the music, his voice slow and steady as he rolled his head to the side to look at Luke, who quirked a brow. “I can feel your stress. Relax.” He was stretching out his words ever so slightly, much like he did whenever he was drunk or high. He reached over and tapped Luke’s cup. “Drink.”

Luke rolled his eyes though he did so anyway—not because Calum told him to, but because it’s all he could do. When Luke didn’t say anything, Calum asked, “how come you’re not with Ophelia?” Luke looked at him, slightly confused as Calum lazily gestures towards the door that led to the basement. “She’s downstairs. Saw her come in with the girls. I thought you knew.”

Sitting up, Luke’s eyes flickered towards the door, as if expecting Ophelia to magically appear. He knew she was coming to the party since they had texted each other earlier, but they didn’t really clarify when they would each get here. Hastily, Luke gulped down the rest of his drink, wincing slightly at the bitter taste before putting his cup on the floor and pulling his phone out of his jeans pocket. Much to his surprise, he had a few texts from Ophelia that he hadn’t seen, telling him that she was on the way to the party, that she was here, and asking where he was.

Luke cursed softly at the unread messages, knowing if she was downstairs she was most likely not going to see if he responded as he got up from the couch. Glancing down at Calum, he asked, “you okay here by yourself, mate?”

Calum merely shot him a lethargic grin and a thumbs up, slouching on the couch and Luke was off, pushing his way through the dozens of people gathered until he reached the stairs of the basement. Right at the top, he knew how damn hot it was gonna be downstairs, feeling the warmth radiate up to where he was, especially when there were people coming up the stairs in sweat and complaining about how they needed a break from the heat.

The music was louder and Luke could swear that he felt the walls vibrating as he carefully made his way down the steep steps, the black boots he wore thudding on the wood as he finally made his way down to the dark basement. People were dancing everywhere, crowding the room as a makeshift DJ station was in the front with colorful lights flashing everywhere. Luke could immediately feel his body temperature rising because of the heat and the fact that he was wearing a leather jacket, but he still narrowed his eyes as he stood as one of the tallest people in the room, hoping to catch sight of Ophelia or at least one of the other girls.

It had been a few days since Luke and Ophelia had slept together—three, to be exact—and neither of them really brought it up when they ran into each other. Which wasn’t often, seeing as their schedules were different and Ophelia worked, but avoiding your next door neighbor wasn’t entirely impossible. They still texted and such, but neither brought up the events of Saturday night—and Sunday morning. Despite the fact that both of them couldn’t stop thinking about the other, they weren’t about to start demanding the other’s attention. They were too prideful for that.

Luke scowled in annoyance as he felt people rubbing up on him, which wasn’t something he wasn’t used to since he’s been to his fair share of parties, but his patience was running thin when he couldn’t spot who he was looking for. Where the hell is she? Luke couldn’t exactly pinpoint why he was so desperate to find Ophelia, but he was kind of tipsy so he didn’t focus on wondering why. Though, Luke was realizing he didn’t really need a reason to see Ophelia—he just wanted to. The flashing lights were beginning to give him a headache, but his stubborn self wasn’t about to leave the sweat-inducing basement until he found Ophelia.

The effects of the few cups of drinks he had taken were beginning to take as Luke pushed his way through the thick crowd, brows lowering into a frown as he tried to find Ophelia. He could feel the sweat already beginning to form on his skin. But then Luke’s eyes landed on a familiar face towards the corner, dancing with even more familiar faces and he stumbled over, running his fingers through his curly hair as he regained his balance in the overcrowded room.

“Isabelle!” he shouted over the music, unsuccessful in catching the dark skinned girl’s attention until he called her name a few more times. She looked over, dark eyes meeting his through the flashing lights as he neared her, Laurel, and a couple of other girls he didn’t recognize. “Is Ophelia with you? Where is she?”

Isabelle’s eyes narrowed for a moment, whether she was trying to figure out who Luke was or what he asked, he didn’t know, but was grateful when she finally answered, “upstairs, I think.” Luke gave a nod, about to turn until he heard Isabelle over the music, “she literally just left with Pat.”

Luke froze, suddenly unfazed by the multiple bodies rubbing up and bumping against him as his gaze flickered to Isabelle through narrowed eyes. She had gone back to dancing with her friends, unaware that Luke was sending a confused, questioning glare towards her before demanding, “who the fuck is Pat?”

When Isabelle didn’t respond, Luke snapped her name once again, feeling a bit bad for his harsh tone but he was impatient and kind of tipsy, and Isabelle didn’t seem to care. She rolled her eyes, fixing her dark afro before responding, “one of the brothers she sometimes gets with.”

Her words had a startlingly uncomfortable, angry knot forming in Luke’s stomach as he felt the blood in his veins freeze. Isabelle didn’t at all notice the way Luke had gone rigid at her statement, gone back to dancing as Luke’s fists clenched and jaw locked in agitation. Knowing he wasn’t going to get any more answers from Isabelle, Luke let out sharp breath through his nose before turning and storming through the basement and roughly pushing through the people without any regard for them.

He hated to admit that he was pretty Goddamn ticked off.

Luke didn’t know where to exactly go except for the fact that all the bedrooms were on the second floor of the house, so once he left the basement he headed towards the second set of stairs on the first floor. Party goers were walking up and down the stairs, Luke having to inhale sharply through his nose to maintain his patience as he made his way up. The music was still in his ears as Luke’s hand reached up to wipe the sweat off his forehead, eyes flickering to either side of the hall at the many doors and wondering which one Ophelia was behind.

Fortunately, Luke didn’t have to ponder for too long because the door to his right had suddenly swung open, his eyes watching as Ophelia walked out. She didn’t see him, seeing as her head was turned over her shoulder as she said to whoever was in the room, “I told you downstairs, Pat, I’m not interested. Lay the hell off.”

Luke’s frown deepened at her words, mind processing just as Ophelia turned her head and caught sight of him, hazel eyes widening at his appearance. Neither had a chance of saying anything because suddenly there was some guy coming up behind her while saying, “come on, Lia, you telling me you don’t fuck with me anymore?”

The flicker of annoyance that flashed across Ophelia’s face wasn’t missed by Luke as she turned around to face Pat, who was lingering in the doorway in a muscle tee and jeans and hadn’t even acknowledged Luke’s presence. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” she stated through gritted teeth, wanting more than anything to get out of this situation. Discomfort was swimming in her belly as she was standing in between the boy she hooked up with on occasions and the one she had recently slept with and come to terms with her feelings for.

Pat’s green eyes narrowed in obvious indignation, looking almost incredulous at how this was going. “So, what, you’re just gonna come up to my room only to—”

“Mate, she said no,” Luke spoke up, Australian accent gruff as he grasped Ophelia’s hand and pushed her behind him, her eyes blinking up at the tall boy who successfully blocked her from Pat’s view. It was obvious to Luke that this Pat kid was adamant on hooking up with Ophelia tonight, despite her wishes not to, and if it’s one thing Luke hated, it was guys being overly pushy when it came to sleeping with girls. Pat’s eyes then finally met Luke’s, blinking as if just realizing he was there, and Luke didn’t give him a chance to say anything before adding, “when a girl says no, it’s not your job to try and change her mind. Either find someone who will say yes, or stick to your hand.”

Ophelia’s mouth dropped as she let out an amused yet disbelieving scoff, eyebrows shooting up as she glanced around Luke’s figure to see Pat’s clenching jaw. Luke was a few inches taller than him, which he honestly was than most guys, but that didn’t stop Pat from glaring up at the Australian. But then his green eyes met Ophelia’s before he let out a scoff with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever, man,” he said while stepping around to step away from the doorway. With one last look at Ophelia, who had an indifferent expression on her face, he added, “not worth it.”

He walked down the hall, waving them off before disappearing around the corner. Luke’s tightened jaw loosened once Pat was out of sight, before turning to look at Ophelia, who was standing with her arms crossed and lips pursed. She then looked up at Luke, her tightened lips melting into a soft smile as she gave a one shouldered shrug. “Thanks.”

Luke mirrored her small smile, hands shoving into the pockets of his leather jacket. “No thanks needed,” he returned, simply glad that he was able to do something. Ophelia probably could’ve handled herself, Luke figured, but it made him feel better to step in anyway. The two stood by the wall, out of the way of drunk college students stumbling around, as Luke raised an eyebrow. “So. . .” he stretched the word out, catching her attention once again. “You and Pat?”

He refrained from cringing at how obvious his curiosity that may or may not be tinted with jealousy was, watching as Ophelia’s lips scrunched at the corner in mild guilt. “It was just a, uh, casual thing from time to time.” She then let out a scoff as she glanced over her shoulder down the hall where Pat had gone before looking back at Luke. “But that’s, you know, over now obviously.” No way was she going to subject herself to someone who suddenly thought she wasn’t worth it just because she refused to have sex with him. Some people were so fucking immature when they didn’t get what they wanted.

She looked at Luke, who was nodding slowly at her words, Adam’s apple bobbing slightly in his throat as Ophelia briefly wondered what he could be thinking. He had a calculating expression on his face, brows furrowed ever so slightly in the middle and gaze lowered. Luke had tried to wipe off the disgruntled expression but it was fruitless, especially when he suddenly burst out, “I didn’t know you were having a. . . thing with someone.”

Ophelia blinked at his statement, registering the way Luke’s sharp jaw locked after he said those words. His stance was casual, leaning against the wall on his left shoulder and hands in his jacket pockets, though his broad shoulders were squared and rigid. He was tense, and Ophelia’s eyebrows furrowed as she took this in along with his words that she detected a hint of displeasure in. “Yeah,” she slowly began, unsure of where this was coming from. “But like I said, it’s over now.”

“Huh,” Luke quietly sounded, gaze still on the puzzled girl as his lips parted and tongue pressed against the floor of his mouth ponderingly. What was he thinking? Ophelia bristled, eyebrows raising ever so slightly. “Are there any other lads?”

She was slightly taken aback, to say the least, as her brows lowered in confusion. Luke was acting weird, his cool gaze unnerving though the way his blue eyes were peering at her seemed anything but calm. What the hell is going on? “That’s—” Ophelia broke off, shaking her head slightly and finding some of the confidence that disappeared when it came to Luke—she had found herself being less shy around the guy, especially since he’s already seen her naked. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Luke.”

Luke’s right eyebrow twitched slightly at her words, the movement so subtle but Ophelia had caught it as Luke’s throat tightened. He knew it was none of his business and his question was definitely uncalled for, but the words had slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. Who Ophelia got with was her choice, and seeing as Luke’s track record on that was a lot more than hers, he had no room to judge. And he wasn’t judging—he just found himself being bothered that Ophelia slept with boys that weren’t him.

“It’s not,” Luke smoothly agreed, keeping the edge that was threatening to slip out of his tone. “I’m just saying. . . You should be careful. Some guys can be real assholes. Like that Pat guy.”

Ophelia scoffed with a roll of her eyes, arms crossing over her chest in an almost defensive move. “Trust me, I know,” she replied in a knowing tone, shaking her head slightly as she absently watched people stumble around the hallway.

Offense took over Luke at her words, eyes narrowing slightly as he stood straighter, back going rigid as he practically demanded, “what’s that supposed to mean?” Something didn’t settle well with him as he heard her words, not liking the slight accusatory tone that was in her voice. Was she implying that Luke was one of those types of guys?

However, she merely tilted her head to the side as she peered up at him, taking in his slimmed eyes. “What?” Ophelia returned with a slight shake of her head, not understanding the annoyed look that suddenly took over Luke’s face as she shrugged. “I’m just saying; some guys are just looking for hooking up but that doesn’t mean they should be, like, slept with. It’s just a bad idea.”

Luke despised the stinging indignation that hotly mixed with the blood coursing through his system. Was she talking about me? Does she regret sleeping with me? The Australian was a lot of things, and proud was one of them so even the subtlest hint that Ophelia wasn’t keen on the fact that they had sex was irking him more than he’d care to admit—though, he wasn’t doing too well of a job at hiding it.

Which is why he raised a challenging eyebrow, staring down at her with blue eyes as he evenly asked, “am I on that list?”

Ophelia was still confused because even though she had realized his change in demeanor, she hadn’t exactly figured out why. “What list?”

The muscle in Luke’s jaw jumped. “The list of people you regret sleeping with.”

The brunette girl’s jaw dropped, the music playing mostly in the basement vibrating under her Converse clad feet though it wasn’t really reaching her ears. Realization dawned on her as Luke’s chin jutted upwards slightly in question while she stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Luke shrugged uncaringly, though the expression on his face and the thoughts running in his mind said he was anything but that. “‘S just a question, Ophelia,” he stated almost casually.

She was a bit offended that he would even ask that, but then Ophelia thought about neither of them brought up what they did after they had done it in conversation. So, honestly, both Luke or Ophelia had no idea what the one truly thought of the other. They were too stubborn in their own right to talk about it at all for different reasons. “It’s a dumb one,” Ophelia shot back with a light scoff.

He found himself taking a lazy step closer, shoulder dragging against the wall as he did so while keeping his eyes fixed on Ophelia. “Then answer it,” Luke replied, raspy voice low yet she was still able to hear it over the busy house. She hated how the mere sound made her knees weaken.

Ophelia wasn’t sure what the purpose of this conversation was other than giving Luke some sort of peace of mind, which she found both ridiculous and amusing. The last thing she wanted to do was inflate his—or any boy’s, for that matter—ego, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie as she admitted, “of course you’re not on that list.”

Satisfaction coursed through Luke as his expression relaxed somewhat, especially when he heard her matter-of-fact tone. And Ophelia’s use of of course did nothing but bring a victorious, smug smirk onto Luke’s lips, just like she had suspected it would. Ugh, boys.

Ophelia’s own pouty lips were formed into an innocent smirk, which Luke didn’t think was even a thing until he saw her do it. He suddenly felt his tight jeans constricting him even more when he took in the burnt orange dress she wore that hugged her body in all the right ways and tantalizingly showed off her legs, along with her denim jacket that Luke had realized was her favorite piece of clothing. Remnants of red lipstick were smudged across her lips and Luke found himself stepping and leaning closer to Ophelia when his eyes landed on her mouth.

He couldn’t help himself, and Ophelia made no move to stop him as Luke’s hands shot out of his pockets and cupped her cheeks, giving Ophelia no time to adjust to the cold metal of his rings against her skin as his lips pressed against hers without warning. She didn’t care the slightest, head tilted upwards to meet Luke’s searing kiss as her heart did the familiar leap in her chest as Luke’s lips pulled her lower one into a sucking, toe curling kiss.

Her hands gripped the lapels of his leather jacket as she pulled him impossibly closer, blindly turning so her back was against the wall and Luke pressed his front against hers. The already muffled music might as well have been non-existent in Luke and Ophelia’s ears as their kiss deepened, alcohol infused tongues coming together yet neither caring the slightest as Luke’s facial hair electrifyingly scratched at Ophelia’s chin.

She wasn’t one for PDA most of the time, but Ophelia found herself throwing caution out the window with Luke’s tongue in her mouth and her fingers threading through his curly hair, earning a deep groan from Luke that only served to excite her even more. Ophelia’s heart was pounding wildly and her skin was on fire as Luke’s hands gripped her hips, using his grasp to dig his own into her as he hastily mumbled against her lips, “we need to get the fuck out of here.”

Ophelia was practically whimpering when she pulled away from the kiss, lips brushing against Luke’s as she told him, “there’s a bathroom two doors down.”

Luke wasted no time in grabbing her hand, a thrilling grin spreading across her mouth as she let Luke drag her in the appropriate direction, trying to press her lips together to keep her from seeming too eager. But with the long, confident strides Luke was taking, she knew he felt exactly the same way as they finally reached the right door, briefly feeling relief at the fact that it was unoccupied.

There wasn’t a single moment lost as soon as the bathroom door closed and locked, Ophelia being suddenly lifted as a quiet yet startled exclaim escaped her once she was settled on the sink counter. Luke’s tall figure dominated her easily even then as he used his hands to spread her knees so he could stand between her legs, dress riding up excessively, and press his lips against hers once more, the green eyed girl instantly returning the urgency of the kiss.

Hearts were pounding, hands were roaming and lips never left the others as Ophelia and Luke once against lost themselves in each other, much like their first night together. While the setting was drastically different, neither could bring themselves to care as Ophelia’s hands reached forward and blindly yet expertly began unbuckling Luke’s belt. The clanking of the belt coming undone was mixed in with the sounds of their lips smacking together, sharp breaths and distant music as Ophelia finally slid it off, tossing it behind Luke as it clattered against the tiled floor.

Lips were still pressed together as Luke shoved his jeans down to pull around his ankles, boxers following soon after and he couldn’t help the relieving groan he released into Ophelia’s mouth as his dick sprang free after being restrained for far longer than Luke would’ve liked. Ophelia’s arms were around his neck as she nipped at his lower lip, prompting Luke to quicken his movements as his hands slid up her bare legs and right under her dress, leaving a fire on her skin in their wake as his fingers hooked on the band of her underwear before pulling them right down her legs.

Goosebumps were rising on Ophelia’s skin, which she found funny because Luke’s touch was both warming her to her excited core and sending shivers up her spine. But once he slid her panties off her legs she reluctantly pulled away from his lips, breathlessly whispering, “hold on,” before twisting behind her to open the mirror cabinet. Her eyes landed on the box she was looking for, pulling out a condom from the emptying container before shutting the cabinet and turning back around to look at Luke, who was staring at her with a quirked brow.

“How’d you know that was there?” he asked, his chest moving at a quicker pace as he tried to regain his breath, full lips swollen even more and pinker than usual that only increased the wetness gathering between Ophelia’s legs.

She tried not to squirm to hide just how much she wanted him in this moment, holding up the condom as she deadpanned, “do you really wanna get into that right now?”

Luke didn’t miss a beat. “No,” was all he said before plucking it from her fingers and connecting their lips once more, and Ophelia never would’ve thought that she would be in this very frat house, fucking someone in the bathroom that wasn’t the usual frat brother she hooked up with. She had no damn regrets.

--

tags: @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @softforcal @valentinelrh @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @calntynes @invisiblexcth @soulmatecashton @calumsmermaid @kchillout @thewackywriter @akacalciumhood @calumculture @ohhmuke @empathycth @flannelpunkcalum @poppedpins @novacanecalum @walkedhomealone @calistheloml @gettingjillywithit @hearts-to-the-sky @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-stan4lyfe @all-i-want-is2b-loved-by-you @calumthoodsyonce @xhaileyreneex @rosecoloredash @asht0ns-world @cxddlyash @mysteriouslycali @lmao5sosimagines @monsteramongmikey @calteahood @5secondssofssummer @sublimehood @biwriting @findingliam-o @isabella-mae13 @canujustnotplease @vxidhood 

[krustywhore]

ten thousand words ch. 5

sorry for the wait! here’s chapter five on ao3! as always, i would recommend you guys read it on ao3, but here it is without the italics for anyone who would prefer that!

The house was beautiful, much nicer than any college students should realistically be able to afford, but nice nonetheless. A shiny gold sign hung on the front now with the house’s Greek characters carved out of wood and Spot wasted no time rapping his knuckles on the white painted door. The door swung open almost immediately and Spot huffed out a heavy sigh as Isabel threw herself into a hug.

“Babe, how many times do I gotta’ tell you, it isn’t safe to just swing the door open without checking first,” Spot grumbled, Isabel clearly not loving the mini-lecture.

“Yeah, yeah, if I try to be welcoming some ax murderer on my doorstep in the middle of the afternoon is gonna’ attack me,” she teased, a smile on her face as she detached from her boyfriend.

As much as Race hated seeing Spot and Isabel together, it was clear he really did care a lot about her. That was the worst part.

Even as admittedly gay as he was, Race could admit she was beautiful. He wasn’t surprised someone else knew what a catch Spot was, but it definitely didn’t help to know someone like her noticed him. The further away he could stay from anyone even remotely popular, the better.

Her hair was long, almost all the way down to her hips, and a light caramel brown at the ends to contrast her dark roots. It complimented her tanned skin that, to Race’s amazement, seemed to be free of any blemishes whatsoever.

“Iz,” Spot started, stepping aside as he held his arm out to sort-of guide Race to stand beside him. “This is Tony. Tony, meet Isabel.”

Isabel smiled and Race really, really wanted to hate her guts. It would’ve been so much easier, but she was actually really nice. Plus, her teeth were perfectly white and he really wanted to ask what toothpaste she used. In all honesty, nothing about her seemed ‘evil demon’-like at all.

Except, that is, for the whole reason why they were even there at all.

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you,” she chided sweetly, surprising Race as she pulled him into a quick hug as well. They pulled apart and Race looked to Spot quickly before signing.

“Nice to meet you too,” he signed, Spot translating almost immediately after as her expression shifted. She didn’t look offended per-say, but compared to the way Spot first reacted as if Race was just a normal person with nothing abnormal about him, she looked at him like he had the plague. SHe waved awkwardly, flashing Spot an uncomfortable look before turning back to Race.

“Sean, you know I don’t know sign,” she hissed through her teeth as if she was trying to pretend she wasn’t talking.

Race snorted, glancing at Spot who seemed to share in his amusement.

“He’s not deaf, Iz,” Spot mused, stepping up beside the girl and sliding an arm around her waist. Race felt his mouth go dry. Still, Isabel’s face went bright red, which was admittedly hilarious to both boys.

“You don’t have to talk to me any differently,” he started signing, Spot quickly translating once he finished. “Just talk like you normally would and Spot can translate what I say.”

Isabel smiled nervously and nodded, cautiously sticking out her hand as Race shook it. “Well,” she spoke, clearly eager to end the awkward encounter. “It is nice to meet you.”

Race just smirked, nodded, and moved just a little closer to Spot.

“Babe, I thought you said you didn’t want to come?” Isabel chirped, her perfectly-groomed brows furrowing. “Like...I’m not complaining, but I thought you didn’t...like this.”

Spot sighed, painting his pace with a look of casual contempt.

“Yeah, well,” he stated, looking at Race instead. “We won’t be here long, we were just riding around and figured we’d stop by.”

Isabel smiled and stepped back inside the house, leading both boys in behind her. Race stayed close to Spot as they followed Isabel through the immaculate foyer into the living room.

“Make yourselves at home. I’ll go tell the girls you stopped by, Sean,” Isabel waved before jogging up the large staircase.

Almost the moment she was gone, Spot turned to Race and started apologizing profusely.

“Fuck, Tony, I’m so sorry. I knew she wouldn’t react that well, but I hoped she’d at least be halfway decent, but-”

Race tried to stop him by signing the words, “It’s okay,” but Spot grabbed his hands before he could finish. Race felt his heart leap into his throat as he stared at Spot’s hands wrapped around his own. He let go just as quickly as he started, but Race could practically feel his heart, well, racing.

“No, I should’a told her she needed to be civil. She’s a good person, I swear, but she seriously doesn’t know how to behave when people are even a little bit different. Dude, I’m really, really sorry.”

He could tell Spot felt legitimately guilty, which was absolute bullshit in Race’s opinion, considering Spot was very likely the nicest person he had ever met. He could deal with Isabel if he still had Spot.

“Seriously, Spot. It’s totally fine. She’s no different than most of the people I’ve met throughout my whole life,” Race signed quickly, hoping to get his say out before Spot took any more blame.

Spot smiled and Race could see a little bit of sadness behind his eyes. If he said he didn’t notice how they didn’t crinkle at the corners like they usually did, he’d be lying.

“It shouldn’t be like that though,” Spot commented as the two headed up the main staircase.

There was a long hallway with soft pink walls and bright white wainscoting and crown molding. Each door had a unique nameplate hanging on it with impeccable gold calligraphy of two girls’ names carved out of painted wood. Spot mentioned something about Isabel’s room being at the end of the hall and, before he knew it, there they were.

“So, Iz,” Spot started, plopping himself down on her bed as the former sat at a glowing vanity, fixing her long, dark hair. “My friend Tony here happens to know a couple a’ guys in Sigma Epsilon, as a matter of fact. After you called me earlier, he mentioned he might be able to set something up for your girls.”

Isabel didn’t turn around as Spot spoke until the very end. She had a smile on her face and, as Spot and Race looked between each other, it was mutually acknowledged that their plan was perfectly falling into place.

“Well,” Isabel started, pulling a giant monogrammed planner out of her desk and flipping through its pages. She stopped on one page and seemed to scroll her eyes down the page with her finger, clicking her tongue as she did so. “We have...Lucy...Katherine...and Ramona.”

Spot nodded to Race to head into the hallway and the latter obliged.

“Thanks, babe. We’re just gonna’ go let them know when they’re getting picked up. I’ll, uh...meet you back here before I gotta go, okay?” Spot crossed the room to give Isabel a quick peck before meeting Race by the door and following him back into the hallway.

Race felt a heaviness in his chest, only slightly lifting as they were once again alone, but he just told himself that he would have to move on. He was falling and falling fast and if he didn’t get it under control, he’d lose the first person who was even remotely nice to him before they could even really call themselves friends. Besides, they hardly knew each other, Spot was probably straight, not to mention that he already has a girlfriend, and still. It wasn’t like he deserved someone like Spot.

He would just have to take whatever he could get.