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hadersversion · 3 months ago

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‘tis the damn season.

“so we could call it even, you could call me babe for the weekend.”

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue! reader

warnings: 18+, SMUT, p in v, fingering, begging, overstimulation, use of babe....let me know if i forget anything lol. ALSO in some places in america, thansgiving eve is literally just a holiday to get drunk in your hometown

your home for the holidays for the first time in years. you've been avoiding rafe, the reason you've been away for so long, but after seeing him again all the old feelings come back. when rafe sends a text one night, you end up in the back of his truck like old times.

i parked my car out front of my childhood home, staring at the old exterior.

somethings never change.

being back in the outer banks felt strange. it has been a while since i have been back, avoiding come home for as long as i can. but with a few begging phone calls from my mom and kiara, here i am.

i knock on my front door and am greeted with a bright smile.

"jj?" i ask, confused.

"welcome home, stranger." he says, with a hug and grabbing my bag.

i walk into my living room and see the pogues, sitting with my mom. a homemade 'welcome home' banner hanging above their heads.

my mom comes over and gives me a big hug. "i thought i would never see this face again." she says with a squeeze.

"boston isn't that far, mom." i tell her but i know she would never leave the outer banks. never in a million years. i turn towards the others and smile. "i wonder who could've put this together?" i say, looking at kiara.

"hey it wasn't all me, pope was the one who brought it up." she says, engulfing me in her arms.

"guilty." pope chimes in, joining the hug. i feel jj and john b join in as well. my family.

we break away and hang out in the living room, catching up.

"don't tell me you went all city on us, y/n." john b pokes fun at me.

"not completely. but it is nice having more things to do than hang on the beach and smoke." i wink.

"who could want more than that?" jj asks, making us all laugh.

"speaking of," kiara starts. "there's a little thanksgiving eve celebration happening at the wreck. just some people from high school. nothing big."

"just a chance to get drunk of our asses and go to dinner the next day hungover." jj says, causing kiara to nudge him.

"what do you say? want to join us?" i look around the room at my friends, all eager waiting for my response. with a sigh, i nod and they all cheer. "thank god, i don't think i could've done that alone."

i smile and nod. it should be fun, it will be. but my brain can't help to wonder if the one person who's kept me away from coming home will be there. no, he wouldn't. not with the pogues. but a part of me can't help but hope to see his face.

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i fix my sweater in the mirror in my room, my body fidgeting from anxiety. it's been a few days and i still can't shake that feeling from my body about being home. sure, i'm happy but this place holds so many memories. memories i wish to bury. i stare at the photo booth picture tucked into my mirror of him and i. i guess i forgot to hide this with the rest of the stuff. i take it off the mirror and sigh, examining it.

almost four years since it was taken. almost four years since we called it quits. and yet, he still haunts my memories. his presence making itself known through cheap beer at the bar, expensive men's cologne at the mall, exhaust that leaves motorbikes as they ride down the street. he's always there, whether i like it or not.

the sound of a horn breaks me free of my thoughts.

"y/n, they're here!" my mom calls from downstairs.

"coming!" i open my dresser drawer and slip the photo in before racing downstairs. i kiss my mom on the cheek and slip out the door, rushing into the van.

"ready to get fucked up?" jj asks with his devilish smirk.

i roll my eyes and laugh. "let's go."

we pull up to the wreck, it's already dark outside and a slight breeze fills the air. we all hurry in, greeted by familiar faces. my name is called from every direction, old friends from high school or the beach. all my fellow pogues who i know and love. when i'm done making my rounds, i head over to our table. everyone has some drink in their hand, beer or cocktail, and they all smile up at me.

"who would've though little y/n y/l/n would be a pogue celebrity?" pope jokes.

i flip him off and slide in next to john b. kiara hands me a beer and i take a sip. "i'm not a celebrity, i'm just one of the only people from this island who actually made it off."

they all make jokes at my despair, teasing me in any way they could when sarah walks up. i feel my stomach flip and i smile at her. "y/n!" she embraces me. "i'm so happy to see you!"

i hug her back and smile. "me too, sar. how's everything been?"

"the usual but i can't complain." she sits next to me and lays her head on my shoulder. "it's been forever."

"it has." i sigh. "it really has."

we all share stories and laugh around the table. we take shots, chug beer, and play different drinking games. just like old times sake.

"i need another beer." i say with a slight slur in my voice, standing up. "anyone else?" everyone shakes their head as i excuse myself.

i walk up to the bar and wait my turn, twirling my debit card in my hand. it could be the alcohol but i feel content and happy to be home.

"y/n?"

until that moment.

i don't want to turn around, i don't even want to accept my fate in this situation.

i know that voice, i could recognize it in a crowd of millions of people. it was the voice that lingered in my dreams, my thoughts.

i turn around and look at the man.

"rafe."

he looks older, his hair buzzed and some facial hair covering his face. but those eyes. they are the same eyes of the boy i loved.

we stood there, not saying a word. just taking the sight of one another in.

"i didn't know you were home." he says, not breaking eye contact.

i nod, biting my lip. "i am, i got home monday."

he chuckles to himself and shakes his head. "how long you here for?"

"till saturday. then i'm going back to boston." my throat feels scratchy and my face is on fire. i want to be anywhere but here now.

his eyes continue to study me. "two more budweiser's, please." he says to the bartender. i open my mouth to protest but he shakes his head. "on me, think of it as a welcome home gift."

the bartender hands me the beer and i smile. i turn back to rafe and tip the bottle to him. "thanks."

"no problem." he clinks his bottle to mine. we both take a long sip. my eyes are desperately trying to find a place to land, ending up on the bright sign above the bar. but rafe's are still on me.

"you okay?" kiara asks as she walks behind rafe. she is my gurdian angel.

"yeah, just waiting for my beer. excuse me." i squeeze past rafe and walk back to my table. i look back at him and smiles. i hate him.

a few drinks more and my ears are ringing. it was loud and everyone was far too drunk. i excuse myself for air outside. there are a few people lingering, smoking cigarettes or waiting for ubers. i smile and take in the nostalgia.

"you know, it would've been nice to know you were home." i hear rafe's voice next to me.

i roll my eyes and look up at him. "oh, would it have been? sorry, i didn't think you'd care." i say coldly. that liquid courage is taking control.

he looks down at me. "and why would i have not cared?"

"hmm, let me think." i put my finger to my chin. "oh, right. 'don't ever contact me again. we're so over. i wish i never met you. blah. blah. blah.' do you want me to go on?" i say to him.

i watch as he processes what i said to him, the words of our last fight. he looks guilty, for once in his life. "that was years ago, y/n. w-we were just kids."

"oh, really? then why haven't i heard from you for the past few years? phone works both ways, rafe." i say, shrugging.

he stands there quietly, i got him.

"how's school been?" he asks, nonchalantly.

"are you for real?" i ask.

"what? i'm being nice." he says.

i huff with frustration. "you are such an ass." i push pass him and walk onto the sidewalk.

"where are you going?" he asks, following after me.

"away from you." i say, not looking back.

i hear him run up behind me and he gently grabs my arm. "y/n. y/n, stop."

i turn to look at him. "what do you want from me, huh? you want to torture me even more?"

he stares at me, hand still on my arm. "what? of course not. y/n, i missed you."

"fuck off." i spit out without thinking.

"you're drunk."

"and you're an asshole." i say, flatly. "you...you fucking broke my heart and you expect me to act like everything is fucking dandy?"

"y/n." he tries to plead his case.

"no, rafe. you don't get to waltz in here and act like everything is okay with us. do you know how much you fucked me over? one day you're telling me you love me and you want to move to boston with me and the next, you're dumping me over the phone." i poke his chest. "i did everything you wanted, i kept what we had between us a secret, i took care of you. and nothing was enough for you."

he looks down at his feet in guilt. "i-i know, i'm sorry. i was...i was fucked up back then. with my dad on my case and the drinking...i wasn't okay. i felt like..." he cut himself off.

"what, rafe? you felt like, what?" i ask.

"like i was going to hold you back, alright?" he raises his voice. "you are too good for this place, for me. i didn't want to hold you back. i loved you too much to do that to you." i stare at him and laugh. "what? what's so fucking funny?"

"you, rafe. you." i sigh. "instead of being a man and handling your emotions, you ran and hid. we could've worked that out. but you were too scared." i close my eyes and shake my head. "goodbye, rafe."

i walk down the street, hugging my body as the wind blows. a weight has been lifted off my shoulders but there's still that feeling i get whenever i think of him. that feeling that i miss him.

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thanksgiving flew by, even though i had a hangover that felt like it would last a lifetime.

i helped my mom clean up the kitchen as the pogues did the dishes and took the trash out. just like old times.

once we were done, we sat outside around the bonfire. you would think after yesterday, drinking would come to a halt but jj found a bottle of vodka in the freezer and mixed it with kiara's apple cider. we all enjoyed each other's company but my mind could not help but wander. my last conversation with rafe ringing through my head.

"instead of being a man and handling your emotions, you ran and hid."

i shake my head and take a sip of my spiked cider. as much as it rang true, there was still that part of me that wonders 'what if?'. the more i thought about it, the more i wanted to pick up my phone.

no, i need to be the bigger person. i'm stronger than that. i can't text him first.

then i felt my phone buzz in my lap.

rafe: hey

i stare at the text and bite my lip. i know i should ignore it, let it go unread. but my fingers work against my brain and type 'hi' back to him. i sit there, eagerly waiting for a response.

rafe: can we talk?

rafe: i'm sorry about last night, i'm a fucking idiot.

rafe: there's so many things i could say to you rn

rafe: but i miss you.

rafe: i wanna see you.

i look around at my friends and sigh, they would be so mad at me for this.

y/n: sure, give me like an hour.

y/n: park down the street at the usual spot.

my friends leave my house, mainly due to me faking another wave of hungover puking. i run upstairs and check myself out in the mirror, i look damn good. when i get his text, i sneak out the backdoor and hurry down the street. i see his truck parked under the big tree, the spot he always parked in.

i open the truck door and hop into the passenger seat. i look over at him, he's still in his dressy clothes. a blue polo that hugged his arms right and khakis that made his thighs look exceptionally big. he knew what he was doing and i can't tell if i hate him or love him for it.

we drive in silence for a bit, his radio playing music faintly. his hands grip the steering wheel as his mind looks like he's on another planet. i play with the ends of my sweatshirt, anxiously waiting for him to do something. anything.

he pulls up to the beach, the spot where we would always come to. it was dark and the waves crashed against the shore loudly. he turns the car off and looks over at me.

"thanks for meeting me." he says simply.

"sure."

"i'm sorry about last night. you went out to have fun and i ruined it, i know i did."

i just nod at him.

"and...you were right. about it all." he sighs, running his hands over his face. "i should've manned up, talked to you about how i was feeling. but you know how i get. i get too in my head and just jump to conclusions. it wasn't fair to you." he looks into my eyes. "these past few years without you have been a living hell and i have only myself to blame."

"are you drunk? high?" i ask.

"w-what?"

"are you not sober?" i ask again.

"i'm sorry, what? of course i'm fucking sober." he says. "why would i not be?"

"rafe cameron...taking accountability? i'm sorry, it just seems so...foreign?" i laugh.

"i'm being serious, y/n."

i laugh again. "oh, i'm sure. and...the sky is green. we live on the planet pluto. aliens exist and so do unicorns!"

he pinches the bridge of his nose. "y/n, i'm telling the truth! god, you always joke around."

"yeah, because i know you." i say to him. "and you would rather eat concrete than admit you are wrong."

"eat concrete?" he asks, with a smirk.

"you know what i mean!" i huff with frustration.

he grabs my hand and stares in my eyes. "y/n, i am fully sober. we are not in another universe, it is not opposite day. i was wrong and i am sorry."

my brain malfunctions as i look into his eyes. "y-you mean it?"

"every word i said."

my brain not working means i experienced a lack of better judgment. i grab rafe by his collar and connect our lips for the first time in years. this kiss, the one i have longed for since i left this place, was the missing puzzle piece i've been searching for in my life. everything seemed to make sense again.

his hands cupped my cheeks as his tongue slipped into my mouth. he was hungry for me and i wasn't going to stop him because i felt insatiable as well. his hands roamed from my cheeks down to my neck and onto my shoulders.

i needed more.

i climbed onto his lap and straddled him. my arms connected around his neck as he pressed against me. i felt his cock hard against his khakis and i wanted it. i wanted it all. i rubbed myself against him, causing us both to moan.

he continued to kiss me until he broke away and looked at me. his puffy lips formed a cocky smile as he brushed his nose against mine. "you missed me."

"shut up." i was itching for more.

"admit it, you missed me. you missed the way i made you feel." he states.

"rafe, shut up and kiss me, please."

"ah ah ah." he shook his head. "not until you tell me."

"you're such an ass." i roll my eyes, trying to catch my breathe.

"yet, here you are, rubbing yourself against me in my truck." he says, kissing my cheek. his lips then go to my ear and down my neck. "i want it all with you, right now, babe. but i need to hear it."

"fine! fuck, i missed you. are you happy?" i groan, needing him.

"very. get in the backseat." he demands. i quickly follow his order, hopping in the back over the seats. he gets out of the truck and opens up the back door, sliding in next to me. "come here." he pulls me back onto his lap and we pick up where we left off. i continue to rub myself against him as he sloppily kisses me. "just like old times." he jokes and i hit his shoulder. "c'mon, don't act like you don't think about it."

"oh, i do. but i bet you think about it more than i do." i smirk.

"probably." he laughs. his fingers fall to the hem of my sweater and he plays with it. "now are we only here to kiss or?"

"why? you wanna fuck me in your truck? just like old times." i say, making fun of what he just said.

"i do, i wanna fuck you right here, right now. it's all i've been wanting to do." he kisses my jawline. "do you want me to fuck you?"

this is what i missed the most, our back and forth.

"yes, rafe. i want you to fuck me." i moan out.

with that, he practically rips my sweater off my body and starts to kiss down my chest. his large hands palm my clothed breast. i bite my lip and let my head fall back, missing the way he affected my body. i felt his hand snake around to the back and unclip my bra quickly.

"show off." i say, out of breathe.

i smirks and connects his lips to my nipple, sucking and licking it. his hand massaging my other. "don't pretend you don't like it."

i smirk and shake my head.

he continues to focus on my tits, going back and forth between the two.

"more." i whisper, eyes clenched shut.

"what was that?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"i need more, rafe. please." i beg.

"look at you all needy for me. i knew you missed me." his hand slipped under my jeans and panties, stopping right at my core. i felt his fingers curl inside me, going in and out. "all wet for me, huh? what a good girl." he pushed in, fingering my cunt, when his thumb found my sensitive bud. he added pressure, circling it, and i felt as though i was seeing stars.

"s-shit." i cry out, moving my hips to try and gain some friction.

"feel good, baby? let me hear how could i make you feel." he picked up his pace and a pornographic moan escaped my lips. it's been forever since someone has made me feel this good. rafe knew my body like it was his own, he knew how to get me going. "there we go, like how my fingers feel?"

"u-uh huh." i nod, mouth hanging open.

his fingers worked their magic, rubbing my clit at a pace that'll make me come undone in no time. "love the way you look on top of me, baby. so fucking sexy." he attached his lips to my tits again and continued fingering me.

i felt on fire.

i place one hand on the window and the other on his shoulder, holding on for dear life. the more he whispered about me and the faster his fingers were going, i was cumming on his fingers before i knew it. i rode out my high, screaming his name. once i was done, i felt him pull his fingers out of my pants, my juices getting all over myself. i stared down at him, trying to catch my breathe, as he popped his fingers into his mouth and sucked.

"just as good as i remember." he cleaned his fingers off and kissed me again. my hands ran down his buff chest and stopped at the bottom of his polo, lifting it up. his gold chain laid against his chiseled body, he was perfect. i felt as though i was in a trance as i began to kiss down his chest. i could feel his groans vibrating in his chest and i smirked because i was the one making him feel this way. "i need to fuck you."

"you need to?" i laugh, kissing lower and lower.

"yes, y/n. i need to bury myself inside of you, please." he pleaded.

"i like when you're the one begging." i bite him lightly, causing him to hiss.

"i bet."

i unbuttoned his khakis and sat up so he could slip them off. his grey boxers were discolored from the precum leaking off his cock. he took his underwear off and his cock sprung out. "i-i don't have protection." he said, mentally cursing himself out.

"well, are you clean?" i ask.

"yes. i-i haven't been with anyone since." he openly admitted.

i felt the darkness overtake my eyes as i lower myself down onto him. his breath hitched as he slipped all the way in. he was deep inside of me, causing a few tears to leave my eyes. but the pain subsided as he started to rock my hips with his hands, moving me back and forth. i picked up the rhythm he started with me and placed my hands on his shoulder to steady myself. i felt the truck rocking back and forth as i did so.

his hands found my ass and rested there. "fuck, i missed your pussy. so good, takes me so well." he kissed my chest as i grinded back and forth.

i felt my finger nails dig into his shoulder as his cock hit all the right spots. i looked down at him and he stared at me in awe, like i was some work of art. "fuck, rafe. you're so big."

i bite my lip as i let my head fall back in pleasure. i ride him fast as i keep saying his name. "shit, y/n. you're such a good girl, you're so hot. you feel so tight."

i connect our lips, i feel his hands tighten around my ass. this means he was close. "i want you to cum in me, rafe." his eyes widen as he opens his mouth to ask for permission. "p-please fill me up. i miss it so much." i say, trying to catch my breathe.

with that, he lets out a groan and my name falls from his lips like a prayer. "y/n." i feel him coming inside me, painting me. it doesn't take long for his thumb to find my clit again. with the extra pressure applied to my overstimulated cunt, i feel my head reeling. the air in the truck is hot, making it almost hard for me to breath. it all feels too much, my body releasing onto rafe yet again.

we sit there, panting with our eyes closed. i rest my head on his sweaty chest and he kisses me gently. he rubs my back, tracing circles into it.

"felt even better than i imagine." he says, his voice gruff.

"you thought about it a lot, huh?" i smirk.

"all the fucking time."

i take him out of me and sit next to him in the truck. the windows are foggy and our hands find each other, holding them. i get a sense of weird nostalgia, from how things used to be with us.

"well that was a thanksgiving to remember." i joke, trying not to feel overwhelmed by what happened.

"'tis the damn season." he replies.

i slowly slip my sweater back on and try to find my pants.

"w-wait." rafe says. "is this...is this it? just a single fuck and you're gone."

i look at him, his eyes pleading with me.

"i go back to boston on saturday rafe, we only have like a day and a half."

i wish we could keep this going, i wish this was how things always were. but i had to think realistically. i have to go back home, i have to move on with my new life.

he grabs my hand and squeezes it. "boston is only an 11 hour drive. hour or two by plane."

"rafe." i say.

"i can't lose you again. i can't, y/n. these past few years have sucked without you. i can't wait until you come home for christmas again. now that i've got you again, i can't risk it."

i sigh and kiss his hand. "i know. i know." i close my eyes and shake my head. "we'll make it work. we almost did it before."

"we can do it again." he smiles sweetly. i kiss his lips gently, laying my hand against his chest.

"you'd do an 11 hour car ride for me?"

"y/n, i'd fucking walk if i have to." he smiles.

i roll my eyes and kiss his cheek. "you're so cheesy."

he lays me back against the truck seats and kisses me. "don't act like it doesn't work for you."

#kaila’s fics₊˚ෆ #rafe cameron₊˚ෆ #obx₊˚ෆ #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #obx #drew starkey #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut

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kquil · 1 year ago

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JAMES POTTER | 16:49 ⏤ FREE GOODIES

SUM. : you had more baked goods than you were able to sell and decide to give them out for free to the firefighters at your local fire station to say thank you

TAGS. : fluff ; modern au ; muggle au ; baker reader ; firefighter james ; james being a love sick puppy ; he hides it well though ; remus and sirius begin scheming ; everyone knows james is in love ; it's obvious to everyone but you

LENGTH : 1.6k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

“No! Don’t tell me!” you giggle as the man behind the counter grins widely and laughs along with you, his hazel eyes carefully watching as you bring up a brown paper bag and a steaming take-away cup of coffee, “Our special BLT sandwich and a dark roast, cocoa blend to go,”

“All ready for me, huh?” James teases as you smile innocently. He pays for his order and goes to inspect the contents of the brown paper bag as you move behind the cash register and file away his notes, “And a mini treacle tart!” James’ voice lights up in cheerful surprise when he sees the unexpected treat but hurriedly goes in search for more payment in his wallet.

“Don’t you dare, James,” you scold light-heartedly, “it’s on the house,” his movements stop and he meets your eyes, ready to retaliate. However, sensing your seriousness, his shoulders slacken and his expression eases into a grateful smile instead.

“Thanks, you’re an angel,” of course, he couldn’t help but send you a wink. His words spread a heat across your cheeks but you pay it no mind, hoping that any signs of your flustered state can be ignored as long as you didn’t draw attention to it.

“I know I am~”

“Take care, angel,” with a toothy grin and a wave, James turns and leaves, his day already looking as bright as could be.

James has been visiting your little bakery and cafe for the better part of a year now; he’s become one of your beloved regulars, maybe one of your most beloved. He was just too handsome and charming for his own good, cute and sweet and always gentleman with you. His uncontrollable dark curls and round glasses gave him this boyish appeal that you couldn’t help but fall for. His voice is smooth and comforting, his eyes a mesmerising hazel, his lips a pretty shape—

“Hey!” snapping out of your daze, you turn to your co-worker in shock.

“Wh-what?”

She smirks and wiggles her brows at you, “I knew you had a thing for him,”

“Oh shush Leona!” you huff and fold your arms but burn hotter in the cheeks when she laughs at you.

“No need to deny it, I can see why you’re so head over heels~”

“Is that any way to talk to your boss?” making your way over, you playfully nudge her side as you plant yourself beside her and help with the cupcake decorations.

Gasping, Leona grasps at her chest in mock offence, “I never believed you were that kind of boss! I was tricked—!” her mock ramblings were cut off with another nudge to her side that sent the both of you into a fit of giggles.

“What should we do with all this?” you ask with a huff, staring in disappointment at all the leftovers in your display cases. Most would only end up in the trash and it broke your heart to see such goodies go to waste.

“Why don’t you donate them at the local police station or fire department?” Leona suggests with a smile as she wipes down surfaces, “The fire department isn’t too far from here so you can go there first and do the police station on another day we have extra leftovers,”

Smiling brightly, you nod and get to work, “Brilliant idea Leona! How come I’ve never thought of that before?”

“Maybe because you’re too busy all the time?” with a light-hearted pout, she faces you and presses on about how you need to consider yourself as a priority for once and actually go home on time. She had a point; the bakery was consuming your life. But you worked hard on the things that mattered to you and that was always a trait you were proud of. Every day you return home with pride and fulfilment in your heart; you loved that feeling despite the ache in your limb. Sighing, your enthusiasm slows considerably but you keep on packing up a random selection of baked goods, “Just think about it at least, boss,” Leona comes up behind you and gives you a quick but heartfelt hug, “we want you to be our boss forever so you have to stay healthy,” just like she always does, she brings a smile to your lips and slowly helps you with packing up the rest.

With the bakery closed up, you head out with your packaged leftovers piled high in the passenger seat of your car and wave goodbye to Leona before pulling away. She was right in saying that the fire station wasn’t too far, it was a short five-minute drive from your bakery with parking close by too.

It was a little unnerving. You had never done this before. And, even though you knew there was nothing wrong with doing this, your nerves still caused a stir in your chest and stomach at the thought of facing such brave and dedicated workers. However, it was that simple thought that pushed you forward. These men and women deserved free baked goodies and more for all of their hard work, there was no need to be shy about it. Balancing the stacked packages in your arms, you push the front door open with your back and carefully turn around as you step into the space.

“Whoa, you need help with those?” someone calls from your left and you turn to see a handsome brunette, standing tall with an almost invisible dusting of freckles on his nose and a faint scar across his cheek and jaw.

“Good afternoon!” you chirp happily and sheepishly accept his kind assistance, “I— umm, I wanted to give you guys some of the baked goods from my bakery. We made a little too much today,”

He grins widely as he appraises the tall stack of packages before turning to you with gratefulness in his eyes, “So that’s what smells so delicious,” the two of you share a laugh, “Thank you so much for this, it’s very kind of you,” a warm heat coats your cheeks as you shyly wave off his praise, which he shakes his head at discreetly but still maintains his happy grin, “come,” he tilts his head to one direction, “lets go feed everyone,”

Remus introduces himself as he leads you down a hallway to the lounge room, where he suspected most of his colleagues congregated to. When you give your name in return, he tilts his head and mutters something unintelligible under his breath.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Oh nothing,” he chuckles softly, “I just thought it sounded familiar,” you had questions but shrugged and shrugged them off as unimportant when the two of you finally made it into the lounge area. Entering the space, you see the firemen scattered around the wide room, a group were playing cards around a table with several spectators, one or two were reading a book while another small group stood by a small kitchenette with steaming mugs, chatting between themselves.

“Remus!” a dark haired man with a visible neck tattoo walks up from where he stood observing the card game, just so he could sling his arm over the brunette’s broad shoulders, “Who’s our cute guest?”

Remus introduces you and the purpose of your visit but his voice slowly fades into the background as soon as you meet eyes with a very familiar pair of hazel pools.

“James?” blinking in surprise, you tilt your head and observe the man in his fireman uniform, minus the heavy jacket, leaving him in a black compression shirt to showcase his muscles. It made your cheeks heat up again but hotter. You had no idea how brawny he was with his soft charm and sweet face. But this was a very pleasant surprise.

The man in question stands up, staring at you as if in a trance and makes his way over as Remus and his raven-haired friend step away with devious grins on their faces. They weren’t the only ones however, everybody else in the room looked on with a similar grin stretching across their lips, slightly leaning forward in their interest.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” he sounds like he’s choking on air, breathless and in complete disbelief at the sight of you.

“I uh– there were some leftover goodies at the bakery so I thought I could give them to you guys…as a thank you for all your good work,” you admit softly, staring up at him with timid eyes and watching with a gradually racing heart as a toothy grin takes over his features. His eyes sparkled with mirth under the fluorescent light and your heart skipped a beat in your chest. How does he do that?

“You’re really too kind,” and so perfect James wanted to finish, ignorant to his friends’ snickering. Please be mine! It was a desperate wish and one that he had been making for a long time but he needed to keep his cool. He understands how overbearing and clingy he could be at times and didn’t want to frighten you.

“You guys deserve it,” you return and silently hold up your packages with a smile. Happily, he takes the load and leads you to a table where he helps spread them out for his friends and colleagues to take as they please. Everyone around you gushes at the array and sings your praises in between their gratitude for the kind gesture. Amongst all the chatter, you also manage to hear soft whisperings that didn’t quite fit the rest of the words at the forefront of surrounding conversations.

“That’s the cute baker Jamesie has been gushing about for months now, huh?”

“Seems so. Finally, we can put a name to the face,”

There was some laughter, “He looks like a love sick puppy,”

From the corner of your eye, you observe James and the goofy grin on his face, trapped in a daze as he stares down at you with adoring eyes and a soft blush on his cheeks. In your head, you make a mental note to visit the fire department more often.

A/N : it just feels right that James is a firefighter, right? i'm not the only one who thinks this? nevertheless, i hopefully managed to convince you lovelies otherwise hehehe~

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @sageskisses444 @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @fortheeeefics @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @ghostgardn @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision

#james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter imagine #𐂂 : timestamp #james potter fanfiction #the marauders #marauders #marauders fanfiction #firefighter James potter #fireman James potter

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hoffmansgirl · 2 months ago

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❛ 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐄 ❜ 𝐍𝐀𝐂 𝜗𝜚

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. nicholas chavez x shy!actress!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. christmas time seems to be the perfect opportunity for confessions, questions and... gifting presents. ⇄ ⟡⟡ 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨: mistletoe — justin bieber 𓍯

𝐚/𝐧. a short, christmas-y, extra fluffy fic for y'all! i hope you have the best christmas ever (nicholas, i'm waiting for you to appear under my christmas tree) !!! ꨄ︎

The December air felt cold on your skin as you stood on the first step leading to your trailer, a warm cup of tea in your hands — it somehow managed to heat you up. A familiar scent of orange and ginger filled your nostrils as you brought the cup to your lips, taking a lingering sip, careful not to burn your tongue in the process. Your cheeks were brightly flushed as you watched the snow-covered roofs, pavement and some surrounding trees — some snowflakes landed on your hands, and you studied them carefully, small smile playing on your lips as you watched them melt on your skin. It was already getting dark, yet the whiteness of the snow seemed to light up the set on its own.

"Enjoying yourself?", you heard a teasing voice from somewhere behind you, and you couldn't help the smile that crept up onto your face. You muffled a laugh with a bite of your lip as you slowly turned towards him, wrapping your free arm around you in order to warm yourself up.

"Yeah. It's beautiful. Haven't seen snow in years", you admitted, studying Nicholas' face as he stood just a feet away from you, his puffer jacket wrapped tightly around his upper body, cheeks cutely flushed from the cold air. A newfound warmth enveloped you as you watched him, his brown eyes glimmering as he stared back at you. Snowflakes landed on his hair, melting immediately, adding to the — rather rare — boyish look of him.

"Really?", he questioned, stepping closer, until he was right next to you, his eyes following your own as you stared at the sky. You simply nodded, taking a sip of your, now cool, tea to cover up your sudden fluster. "You don't really seem excited about Christmas, though".

There was a hint of softness and curiosity in his voice as he casually leaned back against the trailer.

"Well, I never really got to... really experience it", you muttered, dropping your gaze to the ground — your leg warmers suddenly becoming very interesting. "The fact that we get to spend Christmas here, on set, is kind of comforting — well, to me. I guess you'd rather be anywhere else", you chuckled, sending Nicholas a glare, noticing that he was already looking at you. When he met your gaze, soft smile appeared on his lips, his eyes staring back at you with an intensity and quiet adoration.

"Actually, no", he retorted, and your eyebrows rose up in pure surprise. You tilted your head, hiding your face in the fluffy fur coat adoring your form, waiting for him to continue. "I mean, we are family now. Whether we like it or not", Nicholas nudged your side teasingly, winking at you, causing a quiet, muffled laughter to escape your throat. "It's nice to be somewhere different, just for once. And also, you're here. My favourite costar in the world".

You shook your head, although you could feel the heat building up in your stomach at his words. The cold, December air didn't feel so depressing and suffocating anymore.

"You're so sweet", you chuckled, pouting your glossy lips, watching as Nicholas' eyes followed the movement. A sudden shiver run down your spine, and your body shook lightly. Nicholas straightened his posture, a hint of nervousness in his movements as he offered you a hand.

"Come with me?", he asked softly, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that left no room to protest. You nodded, feeling your heart thudding in your chest.

A spark of excitement run down your spine as you grabbed Nicholas' awaiting — and, surprisingly warm — hand, his fingers intertwining with yours; the gesture so natural it felt as if he has already done it multiple times. His thumb brushed against your knuckles as he led you to his trailer that was just across from your own. Snowflakes landed on your entwined hands, and you couldn't seem to look away, blinking rapidly, as if to make sure the moment was real.

The air inside the trailer was hot, fogging up your glasses the second you walked in. You let Nicholas' hand guide you as the squeaky door slammed shut behind the two of you, nothing but comfortable silence filling the air.

You set the, now cold, tea cup on the wooden table by the door, moving to take off your furry jacket — it felt almost suffocating, now, in the quietness of Nicholas' trailer. You quickly cleaned your glasses, oblivious to the man's eyes on you as you did so.

"I like your glasses", he commented casually, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coatrack by the door. "You look pretty".

You chuckled, your cheeks somehow becoming even hotter, now — your gaze falling to the floor as you fixed the gold rims on your nose, unsure how to reply.

Nicholas cleared his throat, his hands behind his back as he figured what to say next.

"So... I actually got you something", he said, and your eyes shot up in surprise. There was a hint of visible nervousness on Nicholas' face as he fidgeted with his fingers, soft blush covering his skin.

"Nick...", you started, feeling your heart flutter in your chest — affection mixed with adoration making it hard to breathe. "I— You didn't have to".

His eyes met yours, soft smile playing on his lips, and you thought you'd never seen him that flustered before. Cute.

"I know, but I wanted to. I want... I just want to make this Christmas special for you", he laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair, before turning away to grab a little box from one of the drawers. Your breath hitched as he got closer to you, his presence intimidating but not overwhelming — the warmth of his body surprisingly soothing your mind and wrecked nerves.

The tiny, shammy box caught your attention, and you were sure Nicholas could hear your loud heartbeat in the silence of the room.

"Ever since I first saw you, I just knew you're special. You seemed to light up the room the second you first walked in — and I thought, oh my God, she's so beautiful", he started, meeting your eyes that began to well up with tears the longer he talked. "I figured Christmas time would be perfect to ask you this. Uh, I know we don't know each other for long, but... I can't wait any longer. Would you want to be my girlfriend?".

Your lower lip quivered as you watched his worried expression, not an ounce of confidence in the way he spoke — which was a surprising contrast to his usual self. You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, reaching for Nicholas' hand. His gaze met yours, soft and gentle, your cheeks lightly flushed as you run your thumb over his palm, soothing his nerves, watching as a small smile made its way onto his face.

"You don't have to reply right away. I know it might...".

"Stop it, Nicholas. Of course— of course I want to be your girlfriend. God, I wanted this ever since I first met you", you jumped in, squeezing his hand assuredly, a wide grin making its way onto your face.

Nicholas exhaled loudly, his shoulders, visibly relieved with your reply.

"I wanted to make it perfect. So I got you something. It's not much, but...", he shrugged, lifting the little box and opening it right away.

A glimmering, heart-shaped centre stone framed by a halo of small, sparkling stones caught your eye immediately, your breath hitching at its beauty. The band was sleek, adorned with additional small stones.

"Nicholas, this is...", your words got caught in your throat as you stared at the gorgeous ring that seemed to catch the light every time Nicholas' hand shook slightly. "It's beautiful. I...".

"Don't say anything. Just, let me", he chuckled, taking the ring out of the box softly before taking your hand in his, slipping it on your ring finger.

"Thank you. Thank you so much, Nick", you whispered, lifting your hand to your eyes to take a better look at the glimmering stone. "You didn't have to".

"I wanted to. Do you like it?".

You felt bad when you heard the hesitation in his voice, almost as if he was scared of your reaction. You lifted your gaze, sending him the warmest smile before stepping on your tiptoes to hug him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your face pressing against his chest as you breathed in his intoxicating smell — you felt his body relax against yours, his hands resting on your lower back, his face hidden in your hair.

"Do I like it? I love it. This is the best gift I've ever gotten— I can't thank you enough".

You felt him smile into your hair, breathing in the smell of your shampoo heavily. "Everything for you. I have liked you for a while now, y'know? I just didn't know how to approach it", he whispered softly, pulling away just slightly to catch your face in his hands.

His touch felt soft on your burning skin, not helping with stopping the flames of excitement that licked your insides. Your face heated up as your eyes locked, his face now closer than ever — except for the few times you filmed a steamy scene together. This time, though, it was raw, the passion between you melting into words that couldn't quite be addressed out loud just yet.

"Look", Nicholas ordered softly, gently lifting your face to make you look up.

There it was — on a hook, protruding from the ceiling, hanging just above Nicholas' head — a mistletoe. It was decorated with a light pink bow, adding to the charm of the little moment between the two of you.

"You planned this", you laughed slightly, and Nicholas grinned, shrugging as if it was nothing.

"Wanted to make sure this moment was perfect. You're the woman of my dreams, Y/N. I've wanted to do this the exact moment I first saw you".

With that, he leaned down, his hands gently guiding your face until his lips met yours. It was as if fireworks erupted around you, making your whole body surrender to the soft touch Nicholas offered you.

Your hands tightened on his shoulders as he brought you closer, lifting you from the ground, his arms keeping you from falling down onto the floor. Your lips worked together, softly and deliberately, as if you had the whole time in the world.

"Merry Christmas, girlfriend", Nicholas whispered against your lips, his hot breath tickling your cheek in the process. You grinned, your eyes falling open at his words.

"Merry Christmas, boyfriend".

tags (click here to be added): @darlingnikkisixxxx @titsout4jackles @brlwla @blackynsupremacy @mrs-riddlexo @essentialwriter @nicholaschavezslut69 @niteskysx @emluvsuxo @nicholaslut @greengoblinswifey @sin-deciric @onlyangelicc @urlitttlevenicebitch

#nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas alexander chavez #charlie mayhew #charlie mayhew smut #charlie mayhew x reader #nicholas alexander chavez x reader #father charlie mayhew #father charlie smut #father charlie grotesquerie #father charlie mayhew smut #father charlie mayhew x reader #father charlie x reader #nicholas alexander chavez smut #doctor charlie mayhew smut #doctor charlie mayhew x reader #doctor charlie mayhew #doctor charlie

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macfrog · 11 months ago

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you've got mail! 🩵

this is honestly the silliest thing i have ever done but i wanted to close this one out with a bang, alright? here we go.

i thought to celebrate the final part of sweet child o' mine going up in a couple days (nudge nudge wink wink), we could have a lil baby shower bash for our favorite little meddler.

if you'd like to swing by, below the cut are some emoji asks that you're very welcome to submit. or, as usual - grab a chair, cold drinks in the fridge, let's just hang and catch up.

the party starts tomorrow (feel free to submit before then if you want!), and will end with part iv being posted on thursday, april 18th.

i have seriously loved sharing this crazy story with you guys. y'all have made it so much fucking fun. i love you all millions and billions and can't wait to share this final part with you. 🩵

↓ emoji asks below! ↓

🩵 for a short drabble from a day not shown in sweet child o' mine. could be an unseen day from her pregnancy, could be sometime during the Awkward Three Weeks, could even be from before the series is set.

🪿 to ask me anything about the series (no spoilers!) and i'll tell ya. a behind-the-scenes gem, joel's favorite song to play on guitar, what i really think of vanessa. whatever you feel like!

🍼 for a three-pic spoilers-without-context for part iv! sure to be misleading and weird as hell.

🍅 if you wanna send me one word and i'll answer with a line it appears in from part iv. zero context, plenty mystery. (be tactical)

cool. love you! x

#fic: sweet child o' mine #joel miller #joel miller fic #duckie's baby shower

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photmath · 1 year ago

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Blue Scribbles | Trent Alexander-Arnold

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Female Reader

Summary: Trent and you have always bumped heads, but after seeing him kiss a girl, you begin to feel something you shouldn't.

Word Count: 8.0k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, little angst reader is drunk briefly, jerkface Trent, vomitting, loose-editing

Note: Not my best work but might as well free up space in my wips. Just a whole lot of nothing but Dominik cameos, sorrry.

“Trent, are you bringing anyone to the party?” Harvey asks, flipping through his notepad to jot down the number of guests.

Trent nods his head mindlessly, head still tucked down as he scrolls through his phone, “Yeah, just put down two.”

“Girls?” Dominik blurts. “Gonna have them meet at the same time?”

Trent looks up at his friend, a smug expression unfolding on his lips as he looks at the rest of the group. All six pairs of eyes await his answer. His eyes circle back to you, his smirk growing wider, “Something like that.”

You dart your eyes away. You don’t care who Trent brings to the party, it just bothered you that after looking at the entire group of six at the table, he stopped and stared at you to confirm his number of guests. It shouldn’t have made you feel anything, but it left you feeling bitter.

Harvey nudges your elbow, “And what about you?”

“Just me,” you murmur. Trent snorts from across the table and you look up at him, he sends you back a wink. “Say what you have to say.”

He shrugs, placing his phone face down on the table, “Nothin.’”

“Don’t start,” Veronica rubs her temple.

“Are you going to tell those two girls, who by the way, are bestfriends, that you’re fucking the both of them?” you remark, ignoring Veronica’s plea. The rest of the group groans, Jude gasping.

“You’re doing what?” His eyebrows wide.

Trent clenches his jaw, the smug expression he wore moments ago disappearing, “I’m not fucking either.”

“Yeah right,” you huff, closing your laptop and slipping it into your bag.

“Where are you going,” Tara sits up, grabbing a hold of your wrist.

“I’m going home.”

“It’s dark out, you can’t walk alone.”

“It’s not that late,” you reply, throwing your backpack over your shoulder. The sun had already set and the apartment was not that far away, although sure, it would’ve been safer to walk with someone.

You don’t notice Trent trailing behind you until the door swings open, him scurrying behind you, “Did you really have to say that so loud?”

“It’s not like we all didn’t know.”

Jude not knowing was his own fault, he was too airheaded at times to remember gossip.

He grabs a hold of your wrist and you spin around to face him. He shoves his hands into his black hoodie, “I’m not having sex with either of them.”

You shut your eyes close, “I don't need to know that.”

“Yeah, well you talk like you know everything,” he exasperates.

Huffing, you pull your jacket tighter to your chest, “Okay, fine. You aren’t fucking either of them.”

Trent purses his lips, “I’ll walk with you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, come on,” he walks past you, bumping into your shoulder.

Trent is not someone who you consider yourself close to. He was a part of the friend group, but he was also your academic rival. The two of you bumped heads constantly in class, always on opposite sides in debate, and fighting over the better grade in biology. No amount of “forced-bonding”—as Veronica described it—stopped the bickering. Since you met him four years ago, nothing has changed and that didn't seem to be changing soon either.

Trent suddenly shuffles around in his backpack, tsking to himself as he looks back at you, “Do you have a pen I could borrow? We have that paper due tomorrow and you know, we have to write it out.”

You roll your eyes, swinging your bag around to your chest. You’re careful to make sure you don’t slip off the sidewalk but Trent stays close to the side closest to the road, him bumping into your shoulder to move you further away.

“Sorry,” you mutter, unzipping the small pouch. The only available pen you have is a brand new blue Pilot G2 pen, one that you got from the library. You sigh, “Here.”

“Thanks,” he takes it and threads it into the space between the tip of his ear and head. His locs fall on top of it.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, only helping him because he was walking you home—but he lived in the apartment next to yours. No surprise there.

“Have you already finished your paper?” He asks, turning back to you. A cloud of condensation blows in your direction.

“Yep.”

He nods, “You had what? Romanticism?”

“Uh-huh.”

He chuckles, “What’s got you so upset? I just saw you earlier and you were fine. And then the stunt you pulled in the library? What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m good,” you stare ahead, the apartment finally coming into view.

He bumps into your shoulder again, this time with more force, “Why are you being such an ass?”

You stop abruptly, attempting to grab your pen back but he just weaves away. “Am I supposed to thank you for walking me home?”

Trent smiles but not genuine, his tongue licking across his lips, “I try to be nice even after you’ve said something about me twice.”

“You live there too!” you scoff, and then turn back to the apartment. Scanning the key fob, the staircase doors open and Trent follows closely behind you.

“I was trying to make small talk with you,” he says calmly, rephrasing his words as if it will prolong the conversation.

“Don’t. We don’t do small talk.”

“Your mood changed so fast, sorry for trying to make sure you were okay,” he relents.

You halt, turning around and looking down at him, “Don’t act like you care about me.”

He gapes, “You’re my friend, of course I care.”

“Friends? We aren’t friends, Trent.”

“Why not?” he looks taken aback, his hand clutching onto the rail. His knuckles turn whiter the longer you take to respond.

“Because you ruined my presentation!”

“That happened months ago.”

“That was an asshole move and you know it, don’t be dense. I worked on it for an entire month and you fucked it all up, for what? A five minute laugh? You cost me my grade,” you cross your arms, feeling yourself grow hot as rage seeps through you. “I would’ve never done that shit to you. Why do you think I’ve kept my distance from you? All I want to do is punch your stupid face.”

Trent huffs, “Then do it, if that’s going to stop making you feel upset.”

You blow out a breath, “You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me.”

“I was this close to getting an A,” you pinch your fingers together, displaying the small gap you needed to bump your B to an A. All you needed was a superb presentation and you would've gotten it, but here comes Trent, infiltrating your hard drive and changing your entire presentation to Latin. Luckily, you had memorized and practiced what you wrote and was able to present it that way, the PowerPoint just a mere background. But it wasn’t enough to change your grade to an A.

You exhale slowly again, “And then you changed my presentation and I got a bad grade on it. Long nights worth of researching, gone.”

Trent glances around the stairs, biting down onto his bottom lip, “I’m sorry.”

“Too late,” you purse your lips. “It doesn’t matter now.” You turn around and head up the stairs. Trent lagged behind but then eventually caught up to your pace. You held the door open for him begrudgingly, him walking past you without a glance. His hands stuffed into his pockets as he walked down the corridor to your and his apartments.

He shuffles around in his pocket for his keys and then opens his door, slamming it closed and you furrow your eyebrows at his attitude. You slam your door back, not caring that it rattles the apartment.

Trent is a couple of minutes late to class, your professor going on about your papers needing to be passed down to the ends of the rows so that she could pick them up.

And for whatever reason, your eyes latch onto Trent’s appearance once he strolls into class. A black beanie covers his head as he climbs up the stairs, his backpack on one shoulder, and the black leather jacket he has on makes your eyebrow rise. Was it new?

As he passes by your seat, the scent of his usual laundry detergent is replaced with an unfamiliar cologne. You let out a cough, him glancing in your direction but then turning away as he sits down. His eyes look a lot more hooded than usual, and the sudden emergence of eye bags.

Two seats separate the two of you but the space is so small that it’s almost an arm’s length of distance in reality. You had missed the first day of class, not realizing the seat you chose the second day of class was next to Trent, neither of you daring to move away.

He takes out his paper quickly, passing it in your direction and the ink—it’s black? You give him a dubious look as you pass it to the person sitting beside you.

“Where’s my pen?”

“I lost it,” he mumbles.

“Are you serious?”

He nods, never looking at you as he props up his iPad, “Very.”

“Dickhead,” you whisper. You’d have to grab another pen. You had multiple colored pens, but nothing compared to the slick roll of a Pilot G2 pen. It was a good pen.

Class goes by without another peep from Trent, until the professor tells you you’ll be assigned a partner and topic for the next research paper. You hold your breath as you search through the class’s website to find your partner, and the universe always works against your favor:

Trent Alexander-Arnold. Darwinism.

Trent slams his iPad case closed, seemingly just reading the same list you did and you groan. The paper was due in a week.

“We can meet up later this week,” you suggest.

“I have to get to class,” he says, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and walking away.

You sigh, gathering your things and then following Trent. He is already at the end of the row when you notice a blue tab sticking out of the small pouch of his backpack. Your pen!

You pick up your pace, grumbling at your peers as they stop you from catching up to him. They crowd the stairs and take their time going down them, you attempting to maneuver through them but it’s no use. Once you exit, you stand on your tippy toes and catch the tip of his black beanie. As you beeline towards him, he turns the corner and once you round it, you stop dead in your tracks.

He’s grinning as he wraps his arm over a girl’s shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss on her lips. It isn’t a quick kiss, it’s a deep one, his fingers coming up to her cheek to draw her in deeper. Something tumbles in your stomach, making you lean against the wall for support. You turn away, feeling like you’ve invaded his privacy and you really shouldn’t have seen that. You swallow the bile in your throat and head to the library.

Dominik is the first one you see in the study room, his head perking up as he spots you, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you exasperate.

His eyebrows pinch, “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “Just motivating myself for Harvey’s party tonight.”

He chuckles, “He says it should be lowkey, just us.”

And whoever Trent is planning on inviting.

You gulp, “Mm-hmm.”

“You look like you’re going to puke,” he says, putting down his iPad and standing up. He grabs the bin and pushes it near you.

Before you can thank him or push it away, Trent walks in. And that’s it, you bend down and hurl into the bin.

“Oh my god,” Dominik yelps. “Maybe you shouldn’t go to the party tonight.”

Trent doesn’t say a word as he sits down, you take the napkin Dominik pulled out of his bag. You wipe your face, feeling flushed and dizzy.

“I’m going to go home.”

“Do you want me to walk you?” Dominik asks.

“Uh—”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Trent says, slouching down in his seat as he types on his phone. You glance at him and notice the tips of his fingers are stained blue. You don’t question it as you get up to leave.

You can’t keep a secret. It was your biggest weakness, always making you physically ill. Trent was kissing one of those girl’s, her bestfriend oblivious that they were both going for the same guy. You had to either tell her or somehow forget about it.

Dominik huffs, closing his iPad and grabbing your backpack. He swings it over his shoulder and ushers you out of the room. Once the door closes, you blurt, “Trent was kissing her.”

“What?” Dominik asks.

“He kissed her. Her bestfriend has no idea.”

“Her bestfriend?”

“They’re both going for Trent!” You turn towards him and he’s blatantly confused, his lips part open.

“Okay, so what?”

“One of them is bound to get hurt.”

“Maybe they know,” Dominik sighs. “It’s not our business.”

“But tonight, he’s bringing them both.”

He walks you into the lift, “And? Trent can handle his own business. If he’s going for a pair of bestfriends, let him.”

“I’m breaking girl code,” you murmur, letting your head fall dramatically against the lift’s walls.

Dominik rolls his eyes, “You don’t even know them.”

“But I know it’s happening.”

Dominik sighs, letting the conversation die out. He walks you back to your apartment, making sure you eat something before he goes next door to his own bedroom.

Tara has you out of the apartment before you can even protest. Dominik’s already too buzzed to tell you to go back home, instead he’s pouring you a shot glass. Even though you know alcohol wouldn’t calm your nerves down, you down it anyway. It burns your throat that you turn away from the island, accidentally bumping into someone.

Looking up, Trent wears a weary smile as he looks down at you. His beanie is long gone, but so are his locs. Instead his hair is cut short, super short that you blink repeatedly at it, just to make sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you.

Before you can say something, he looks away and walks past you. You don’t realize his arm is clutching onto someone else, the girl from earlier following closely behind him.

Dominik coughs and you face him, he shakes his head rapidly. His cheeks flush red as he starts choking.

“Jesus, Domi.”

“What?” he rasps, bending down to catch his breath. You rub his back as your gaze finds Trent. Trent brings a brown bottle of beer to his lips, his gaze flickering up at you. “You aren’t the only one who lost a boyfriend today.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend to lose—wait what?” you pick up Dominik by his shoulder. His eyes are brimmed red, his cheeks still beet red. “What happened with you and Ibou?”

He shrugs, “He said he wants a break.”

“What?”

He looks down at his shot glasses, pouring another round of whiskey into them, “And it makes sense why you threw up, you like Trent.”

“No I don’t,” you deny, your eyes finding Trent again, hoping he couldn’t hear Dominik. Trent is too submersed into conversation to notice.

He nods, handing you the glass, “Don’t deny it, it’s obvious the more I realize it. Always has been.”

He can’t be right. Whatever chance Trent had was ruined the day he messed up your presentation. He made you sob in the girls’ restroom, there was no way you could have a crush on him.

But your stomach tumbling earlier today. The burn of your neck and cheeks. And the way your chest caved in so deep that it felt like you were choking—no.

It didn’t help that Dominik had known you so well. He was the first friend you made on campus and he had always had a knack for reading you. He ended up meeting Trent through his football team, but you had already known of Trent.

“See,” Dominik murmurs, pointing out the horror etched across your face. “He’s cute, he’s just an asshole.”

“No, Dominik, you’re wrong.”

He purses his lips, face growing somber, “I wish I was, just so I didn’t have to see the disappointment on your face. Let’s just forget about it. Ibou is supposed to come and I don’t know…I might escape to your apartment to be honest.”

“Go for it,” you mumble, tearing your eyes away from Trent and tilting your head back as you gulp down the shot. Dominik is quick to pour another, and Jesus, how many were you and him going to have back to back?

Once the both of you drink the third shot, you take the bottle away from his tight grip. The party had barely got rowdy thirty minutes ago and you had maybe fifteen minutes before you couldn’t see straight. Drinking with Dominik was never a smart idea and you were going to regret it soon.

Tara drags you and Dominik away from the island to the beer pong table. Trent stands behind you, the girl—and her bestfriend—beside him. Dominik hums in your ear, before grabbing a cup and drinking the beer.

“Dominik!” Jude yells and Dominik apologizes, a sloppy grin forming.

“You two drink too much already?” Trent butts his head between the two of you, Dominik murmuring in Hungarian as he gets startled—or annoyed—with Trent’s voice.

You look away, crossing your arms as Tara and Veronica start the round of beer pong.

Trent’s presence behind you makes you feel hot, as if you can feel his breath on your exposed shoulder. And when you miss your first shot, he doesn’t let his presence go unnoticed, “You can’t be that drunk already.”

“Shut up,” you slur, jabbing him in his rib with your elbow. The white tee he wears hugs his biceps tight that you get distracted momentarily before Dominik pulls you back to your senses. He tosses the next ball and it lands in a cup.

As the game continues, Tara and Veronica don’t let up, making you and Dominik drink more cups of beer. Your head was already spinning, incoherent words flying past your lips as you tried to distract Tara and Veronica.

Once you two lose, Dominik sits down on the couch and you groan, finding yourself in the kitchen and searching through their fridge for a bottle of water.

“What are you looking for?” Trent asks behind you, his arms folded.

“Why do you have so many eggs?” your brows furrow as you stare at the drawer filled with eggs.

“Do you need water?”

“Yeah,” you stand up, feeling the weight of the world around your head, and then you bump your head against the top of the fridge. Before you can tumble, Trent wraps his arms around your waist.

“Okay, let’s sit you down, yeah?” He ushers you to a chair and you groan, your head pounding from the sudden hit. The wave of pain seemed to only exacerbate your nausea. Your cheeks feel hot as you close your eyes to make the room stop spinning.

Trent uncaps the water and taps your elbow. You hold your hand out, “Hold on.”

“Do you need to throw up?”

“Just shut up.”

He sighs, “C’mon.” He bends down to hoist you up from your waist, ushering you into their guest restroom that was a few steps away. He locks the door and leans you against the wall. He leans against the door, watching you carefully.

“Ibou and Dominik broke up,” you slur. Here go you spilling secrets that weren’t yours to tell. “Fuck you weren’t supposed to know that.”

He nods, “It’s okay, I already knew.”

Thank God.

“And I saw you kissing that girl—ugh—what was her name, Clare? Clarissa?”

He furrows his eyebrows, crossing his arms. Your eyes selfishly land on his bulging biceps. He coughs, “Anything else you want to spit out?”

“I know you have my blue pen. And I’m really fucking drunk right now.”

Trent fights off a chuckle, it was a sight to see you flushed from alcohol. You rarely get super drunk and this seems to be the night you are going to—or already were. Your eyes are more hooded than usual, hair a bit out of place, and your face is sticky.

“Yeah, you are really drunk,” he chuckles.

“Why are you laughing? It’s not funny,” you groan. “My head, it feels so heavy and then the fucking fridge—”

Trent bursts into another loud laugh, “I’m sorry, it’s just, I haven’t seen you like this since last year.”

“I didn’t plan on it, Dominik kept pouring shots and then we sucked at beer pong.”

Trent shakes his head, “No, you sucked. He was pretty good.”

“I sucked,” you throw your hands up in surrender but it only makes you feel more unbalanced that you wobble.

Trent reaches out for you, “Woah.”

He brings his head away from yours, his lips shiny with saliva as he peers down at you. Your hands are clutching onto his arms to regain your balance and god when did his arms feel so strong? And those eyelashes, were they always this long?

“You okay?” he whispers. His voice is so soft that it makes you close your eyes, you wanting to desperately lean forward against him to settle the spins.

You are too drunk for this. Instead, you fall back onto the wall and try to stand against it as straight as possible.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He lets go of you and hands you the water bottle, “Drink up.”

Bile teases along your throat that it hurts swallowing but you continue on, feeling the bottle crush beneath your grip. Trent watching you gulp down the water doesn’t make the room any less stuffy or hot.

“You’re drunk,” he repeats, “so you won’t remember any of this in the morning?”

You let out a dry chuckle, “Probably not, to be honest. Being in a small restroom with you, god I hope not.”

Something flickers across Trent’s eyes but it’s gone within a heartbeat as he says coldly, “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to remember this either.”

“Why aren’t you with Clarissa and her bestfriend?”

“Because I’m here taking care of you being a sloppy drunk,” he spits.

“I can handle myself, I was doing just fine until you startled me and made me hit my head.”

Trent’s nostrils flare, his jaw clenching, “I don’t understand you.”

“Save your monologue, I won’t remember this and I really want to remember the way you look like you’re about to lose it,” you say monotonously, finishing the last bit of water.

Trent grits his teeth, “Can you stop being an ass for five minutes?”

“Timer starts now.”

“Why do Clarissa and Diane bother you so much?”

“Because they’re bestfriends, that’s cruel, Trent,” you say. “They have no idea you’re playing them both. I shouldn’t be surprised after you humiliated me in front of everyone in class, but that’s cruel. And you say you’re sorry but you’re doing the same thing.”

Trent’s eyebrows crease, “It’s none of your business.”

“It’s not, but you’re an awful person. And it just makes me look at you differently. If the presentation didn’t prove you to be the biggest jackass at this uni, that does.”

“What you think of me doesn’t matter to me.” Trent snarls, looking around the restroom but only faces the mirror, where he immediately darts his eyes away from his reflection. “You made it out to be that I was playing them both, I’m not.”

You gawk, “You were right, I am too drunk for this.” You step to leave the restroom but he stops you, your head bumping into his chest that you stumble back against the wall where you were. “So what, I’m wrong and you’re only going for Clarissa? You know what, you’re right again, it’s none of my business and I’m not about to sit here and try to get it right because I won’t remember this in the morning. I’ll still think of you the same.”

“I like you,” he blurts out.

“What?”

He looks…flushed? Shocked? His eyes wide and his lips part as if he can’t believe what he just said, “Nothing. I just wanted you to stop talking.”

Silence falls between the two of you as he scratches the nape of his neck. He chews on his bottom lip anxiously. You couldn’t have heard him right. Surely the alcohol was seeping deep into you that comprehending words was much more of a task than before.

“Why did you cut your hair?” you ask quietly. Your gaze shifts to his chest, it’s heaving rapidly.

He shrugs, “Just wanted a change.”

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

“Do you like it?” He glances at the mirror and pats the back of it down.

Instead of answering, your jumbled mind reads his expression. He’s looking away from you but he’s expecting an answer, looking shy. His hands are still patting misplaced curls back into place but nothing is out of place. He waits patiently for your answer, but didn’t he say that it didn’t matter what you thought of him?

“Didn’t even recognize you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. He looks at you and his eyes urge for you to continue. “I guess good, but then I recognized you and it became bad.”

His eyes look down briefly, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“Yeah yeah,” you grumble, having heard those same words over and over again.

“I want to show you something in my bedroom.”

Your brows furrow, “I’m drunk, I’m not having sex with you.”

His mouth drops, “No! That’s not what I meant.”

“I would hope not,” you gag as the image of you two pops up in your head. “I don’t think I’d want to remember that anyway, good thing I wouldn’t.”

Trent’s flustered state doesn’t go away as he rambles, “I made you something.”

“If I go upstairs, you might have to carry me down.”

“Okay,” he shrugs, holding out his hand. “Come on.”

You hesitate, “Won’t your girls get mad?”

He rolls his eyes, “They aren’t my girls. Come on.”

You clasp your hand into his but the second he pulls you, you stumble into chest. He places his free hand on your waist and helps you out of the restroom.

Dominik stands with a drunken smile perched against the wall beside the restroom, “Oh, I’m glad you two worked out.” He sends you a wink before taking another swig of his drink.

You turn back to Trent, “Make sure he ends up in his bed tonight.”

“I know,” he nods, tapping your hip so that you can lead the way. Despite your few stumbles and the death stares from the pair of bestfriends, you make it to the staircase. Trent guides you upstairs with his hand pressed against your back.

Your head still felt like it was spinning but the bottle of water helped. You just needed some kind of bread, or crackers, something.

You turn back to Trent, he stops abruptly and bends down to your ear, “What?”

“Do you have food? Water and bread?”

“Bread?” He scrunches his eyebrows, his hand becoming more heavy on your back.

“It helps with alcohol.”

He blows a raspberry, “I’ll get it for you once we get to my room.”

“Okay, thank you.” You continue up the narrow stairs, cursing as you trip over a step. Trent hoists you up quickly, his hands never leaving your waist, even after your shirt lifted and he was now touching bare skin. His fingers stung, firm as they dug into you.

Once you reach his bedroom, you plop down on the floor and lean against his bed and bed frame. He leaves to get you bread and water and you peek around his room. Not much has changed since you had last been in it. There’s a couple of books piled on his nightstand, a hoodie loosely thrown over his desk chair, and a floor lamp lighting up the room.

You expect him to return with a bottle and maybe three slices of bread, but instead he returns with a six-pack of water bottles and an entire loaf of bread. You selfishly gawk at his biceps but then feel your eyes well up with tears.

“Are you crying?” he scowls, getting onto his knees and prying open the six-pack. He then unties the bread and faces it towards you.

“You brought me a whole loaf?” Your voice trembles as you tear a piece off and eat it. Your jaw wobbles as more tears spill out, a much harder cry than you expected.

“It’s just bread…” he mumbles, sitting next to you and hesitating to look at you. He rests his hands over his perched knees while you stuff your face with the bread. A small smile teeters against his lips.

“You’re so sweet.”

“You just said I was an awful person.”

“You do awful things,” you correct.

“Wouldn’t I still be awful then?”

You nod through tears, not wanting to debate the logistics of your drunk mind because you knew somehow you’d convince yourself to see him through rose-colored glasses. You’d circle back to him being a “sweet” guy because deep down you know he is, but sometimes he does things that you don’t understand—much less he.

He shuffles up to his feet, “Let me show you what I made.”

You shake his head, “Don’t. I won’t remember.”

Trent looks back at you, his piercing brown eyes growing more gentle as he looks back at you. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“I want to,” you confess.

He swallows, his hand on the edge of his dresser, “You’d hate it if you were sober.”

“No I wouldn’t,” you say muffled, still chewing on bread. Being thirsty and hungry, this bread tasted like the best entree.

He nods persistently, “You’d get upset that I wasted your pen. Say something about it being a good pen, probably your last because you only ever have one pen on your person. And then you’d probably throw it at me.”

You chuckle, “That does sound like me.”

He doesn’t laugh, only purses his lips as he opens his top drawer. He pulls out two things, turning his back to you before sitting back down beside you with haste.

Your head still felt a bit heavy, but with you sitting and getting hydrated, it felt a lot better. Maybe you wouldn’t wake up in the morning with a throbbing headache, and maybe you barely missed your limit before blacking out and remembering nothing.

“Here,” he says sheepishly. He pulls out a papered flower, the petals scribbled with blue ink. The flower is so elaborate with layers of petals—it was a dahlia. It must have taken Trent hours to cut the pieces into the right shape and then scribble them all blue. You knew he had to color them blue afterward because of the way the scribbles lined up, all pointing to the apex of the petal.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, twisting the dahlia from its makeshift stem.

He pulls out what he hides from his waist, “I had to buy more blue pens, thought you’d want the extras.”

The blue pens are tied together with a white ribbon, a little bow in the center. They’re in a makeshift bouquet, baby’s-breath tucked in the gaps.

“Okay now I’m really about to cry and not because I’m drunk,” you say, setting down the dahlia and wiping away the tears that cascade.

Trent’s jaw drops, “You aren’t drunk?”

“I’m getting sober,” you sob. Somehow knowing Trent wanted to show you what he made you while you were drunk and couldn’t remember doesn’t quiet the ache in your chest. Why didn’t he want to show you while you were sober? Why didn’t he want you to remember? It would’ve helped the way you see him, not as the cold-hearted persona he puts out.

Trent stays quiet as his hands twirl around the bouquet of pens. You were going to remember everything in the morning.

“It doesn’t make sense,” you whisper through your cries.

Trent looks at you, his eyes frantic, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“You were kissing Clarissa after you made me this,” you pick up the dahlia. “Why would you do that to her? To me?”

He shakes his head, “It’s just a flower.”

“Trent, this is—elaborate. This is detailed. It’s beautiful, not something you can make within an hour. Is that why you were late to class? Why you looked so tired?”

He gulps down, “I had gotten a haircut, that took a couple of hours and then I still had to write the essay—”

“Why are you lying?” you look at him and he darts away. His jaw tenses as his hands tighten around his knees. “You didn’t write the paper yesterday. You already had it done before you asked me for the pen. You never wait until the last minute to do an assignment. You got a haircut and then you made this, tell me I’m wrong.”

A heavy exhale leaves his nose as he glances at you, “You’re right.”

As another sob escapes you, Trent’s breathing seems to become difficult. He shuffles his legs around until they’re outstretched in front of him.

You shake your head, “God I’m so fucking stupid. You are an awful person, and I should’ve never thought you were any different.”

Trent was going to bask you in gifts as if he wasn’t making out with an entire girl after giving you the cold shoulder the same day. He spent hours making and buying you something—and those pens weren’t cheap—just to screw around with someone else.

As you attempt to stand up, Trent grabs your wrist, “Wait, let me explain.”

“How do you explain that, Trent?” you ask, almost yelling. You snap your wrist out of his grip and gulp half a bottle of water.

“Just listen to me,” he stands up, pulling his shirt down. “I convinced myself it was stupid. You fucking hate me. Why would you forgive me after all that I’ve done to you? I wasted your pen and then bought you more to replace them when all you wanted was your pen. You didn’t want my flower or more pens, just like how you didn’t want my apologies after ruining your presentation. It was a joke gone too far and I get that, but I didn’t think it would hurt you. I didn’t know it would bring your grade down. I know you’re smart, I knew you’d know what to say, but fuck I didn’t know our professor was going to grade the PowerPoint so hard. I tried to tell him that I did it, but all he did was bring my grade down too, but I maintained my A. I care about you, I do, and I’m sorry for hurting you.”

You shake your head, even though you were getting sober his words were too much to digest especially when he spoke way too fast to keep you from leaving.

“Trent,” you rub your forehead. “Even if all that is true, that doesn’t explain Clarissa.”

He holds out his hand in front of you as if you are going to dash out his room. “I was distracting myself from hurting you. Yeah, I’m hurting her too. I’m not proud of it, but—I can’t hurt you more than what I already have.”

“Yeah,” you nod tiredly. “You fucked up really bad.”

You make your way to his door but he grabs a hold of your arm, physically pleading you to stay and listen to him. “Wait, okay, please—”

“You wanted to give me these when I wouldn’t remember. As if I wouldn’t realize it was from you?”

Trent nods, “I know you would’ve, but it would’ve been different with you confronting me. I could’ve lied and said it was from Dominik or something—”

“God, you and your lies,” you shake your head. “Just fucking stop. I’m not going to listen to you if you keep fucking lying, I’m done with this.”

“I said ‘could’ve,’” he says curtly. “I’m being honest. Fuck,” he rasps, pulling the ends of his curls as if he still has his locs. “I like you, stupidly and selfishly so. The only reason I went for Clarissa is because I know you don’t like me back and I’ve been trying to move on. But it’s hard when we’re in the same friend group, when I see you in class, and then get paired with you. It doesn’t help that Dominik is constantly in my ear talking about what a screw up I am because I’m not doing this right. But fuck, do you know how much it hurt for you to tell me we aren’t friends? That you don’t even see me as a friend? I made the dahlia as a gift to give to you as a friend but fuck—” He stops himself and runs his hands over his short curls.

He shakes his head, “I scrolled through your Insta and for the first time realized how I’m cropped out of your posts or barely there. Even before I ruined your presentation, you’ve always hated me. I thought we were bantering, I thought you knew I viewed you as my friend and me teasing you about grades was friendly fire. We’re both competitive, but I thought you knew I cared about you. I thought it was so obvious. After I scrolled through your Insta, I didn’t want to give you the dahlia or pens back. I thought it best to forget about it.”

You bite onto your tongue digesting his words. He has always been a rambler, especially when he was desperate and watching him nervously shift the weight of his body between his feet, the way he tugged his hair, or him constantly licking and biting his lip between pauses, it hurt seeing him like this. He wasn’t prepared to confess his feelings or his intentions, just spewing his thoughts without a blueprint. It was a mess.

He was a mess.

“Trent,” you sigh. “Do you want to talk it out or do you want us to just talk tomorrow morning? After we’ve both gotten rest.”

He scratches his face, “I don’t think I’m going to get any sleep after this.”

You sure wouldn’t either.

You nod, moving the hoodie from his desk chair to his desk before sitting in it. “Okay, then let’s talk. The only reason I cropped you out of my pictures is because you aren’t much of a social media person. You always seem reluctant to take photos, never really wanting to be in them, and posting you after you didn’t want to be in the photo in the first place seemed like I was throwing you under the bus.”

Trent looks down but the side of his lip curls up, “It’s okay to post me.”

“Okay,” your tired voice comes out as a whisper. “I know us competing in class was always friendly but you really messed up with ruining my presentation. I know you are sorry about it, I get it, it just made me view you differently. Not as my friend because friends don’t hurt each other, but obviously we aren’t strangers. I forgive you for my presentation and grade, there’s nothing we can do at this point and it makes me feel a little better that you tried to help me despite failing. So we’re friends, okay? Friends.”

You hold out your hand for Trent, he reluctantly grabs it and gives your hand a weak shake. His thumb strokes your knuckles before he lets go.

“I like you,” you admit. “I like you too, but you have a lot of redeeming to do because I’m not sure if I can ever get the image of you kissing Clarissa out of my head. And you have a lot to sort out with her.”

He nods, “Mm-hmm, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh.

Trent seems distraught enough. He didn't need any more of his wrongdoings pointed out. He understood the message, even if he had gone all about this wrong.

“I think we both need to stop assuming stuff for each other. Like me hating you. Hate is strong, Trent, maybe a strong dislike but that was before this conversation,” you chuckle. “And I shouldn’t have assumed you were messing with both Clarissa and Diane.”

He nods, standing upright against his dresser, “Okay. We’re good.”

The next morning, Tara, Veronica, and you head over to the boy’s apartment to help them clean. Dominik’s wearing sunglasses, his curls tousled as you sit down next to him on the couch.

He barely moves his head in your direction, “Morning.”

“It’s noon,” you chuckle.

“I threw up in Trent’s bathroom when he walked you next door,” he says. “He came back pissed.”

“Did you forget where your room was?” you laugh. Trent enters the livingroom, the mop in his hand as he sees the two of you settled on the couch. His lips simper as he places the mop into the sink and then sits down in the space next to you.

Dominik coughs, “No. I just wanted to be with you and him, but I didn’t realize you both left. And then it just came out.”

“You missed the loo, you idiot,” Trent replies.

Dominik waves his hand, “How was I supposed to know the lid was closed?”

Trent rolls his eyes, bumping into your shoulder, “Hi.”

“Hey,” you smile. He seems more lively than before, his teeth breaking through his lips as he smiles bashfully. His eyes scan your face and it makes your cheeks warm. You turn away, looking towards Dominik, “Well, it seems like you have a long day ahead.”

You tap on Dominik’s knee and he groans. You get up and look back at Trent, “Need help with anything?”

“Still cleaning my bathroom,” he stands up. The loose gray zip up he has on flaps open revealing his white shirt underneath.

You scrunch your nose, “You slept with his vomit on the floor?”

“He threw up a lot,” he groans, walking you up to his room. “I cleaned most of it but not a deep clean. And then forced him into his shower, but I had to stay with him because he kept crying about Ibou.”

“You’re such a nice friend,” you chuckle.

His eyes flicker away from you, “I’m not awful.”

“No, you aren’t,” you smile.

A moment of silence engulfs you both as you enter his bedroom, his sheets jostled around and his bathroom emitting cleaning fumes. You let out a cough, going to his window and propping it open.

He chuckles, “Yeah, I don’t think I was supposed to mix some of these.” As he points at the various bottles of cleaning supplies he’s opened, you let out a laugh. Your cheeks ache from smiling at his uncertain facial expression, as if he couldn’t have passed out from cleaning.

You glance down, “Oof, you are not.”

The two of you work in tandem quietly but also talk about various things. Trent even brings up the project the two of you were paired together for and hashes out the dates to work on it.

It was soothing to converse with him without feeling on edge as if he would say something to get under your skin. He wasn’t making any snarky remarks, only a few teasing words, but they were jokes, a goofy grin always following afterward.

“What?” you gasp.

He nods, he tosses a wipe into the bin, “You forced me into the restroom downstairs.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You were drunk,” he shrugs, a teasing smile teetering onto his lips. Last night wasn’t much of a blur, you remembered Trent and talking to him in his bedroom, but you didn’t remember how you got up there. The pen bouquet and dahlia were placed on your nightstand but you remembered him giving them to you.

You swipe at his chest, his jacket gone, “That’s such a lie.”

Trent bursts into a laugh, “You seriously don’t remember the restroom?”

“No, what did we kiss or something?” you quip but then palm your face. “Tell me we didn’t.”

He chuckles, “I think you wanted to.”

You laugh, feeling hot but not embarrassed, just nervous. Trent’s taunting gaze is unrelenting, the smile he hides by forcing his lips into a thin line. You chuckle, pushing his shoulder, “I don’t think so. I think I would’ve remembered you and Clarissa.”

Trent’s face simmers down as looks away, “I talked to her by the way. I apologized and told her the truth. She slapped me but—” you burst into a laugh while he rolls his eyes. “Don’t laugh, but yeah, I’m not going to be seeing her again—or Diane for that matter.”

“Good,” you nod. Even if he was doing it because he wanted to now focus on you after knowing you felt the same, it was good that he wasn’t going to be leading someone on when he didn’t feel the same for them.

“So,” he exhales, his chest bowing down as he looks at you, “can we hang out alone sometime? Doesn’t have to be anything big, maybe a walk around campus or coffee? I know I have a lot of making up to do with you, but I want us to be on the same page this time.”

You resist the urge to smile. Him taking care of Dominik last night stuck out to you the most. More than him bringing you water and bread to sober up. Dominik was too much of a heartbroken and vulnerable mess to handle himself, and after seeing just how much his vomit plastered on Trent’s walls, that was a big ask of him to deal with at three in the morning.

Trent was trying, flawed, but trying. You could work with that.

“Okay, we can grab coffee,” you smile. “But slow.”

He nods, “Okay.”

He breaks out into a smile as he pokes the broom against your shoulder. You let out a kiddish laugh, turning away from him to finish scrubbing the cabinets. Trent jabs your bent knee with his foot and you don’t catch yourself before you fall forward, your head hitting the cabinet.

“Oh shit,” he says, dropping down beside you and inspecting your forehead. Your head hitting the cabinet made the contact seem much more dramatic than what it really was, but Trent’s careful and concerned eyes only make you pretend it hurts more.

“Ow,” you feign, clutching the spot. He removes your hand gingerly, getting you to sit down on the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m already fucking this up, am I?” He suddenly leans forward and kisses the spot on your forehead, swiping his kiss over the spot with his thumb.

Your chest shakes as you laugh silently, him looking at you confused. Your silent laugh can be mistaken with a cry but he groans.

“You’re fine, aren’t you?” He stands up and holds out his hand.

“You looked so scared,” you tease, taking his hand and standing up.

He rolls his eyes, “That was loud.”

“The door was open a little,” you laugh. Your hand reaches out to grab a hold of his, “Thank you for checking out my forehead with your lips.”

“Ugh,” he flusters.

You give his hand a squeeze, “Thank you, Trent. You can kiss my forehead again.”

“No,” he moans dramatically, his eyes stopping at the spot on your forehead and then he gasps, “Oh my god, it’s already swollen.”

You turn around to face the mirror so fast that it gives you whiplash. His shit-eating grin is the only thing you see, your forehead unmarked. You scowl when you turn back towards him, not realizing just how close he stood in front of you.

He chuckles, leaning forward and pressing his lips chastly on your forehead, “You craving coffee?”

----

Note: I'll write a proper academic rivals to lovers eventually. I just got lost within the plot, too delirious to make it make sense LOL. 🫠🫠

#trent alexander arnold fanfic #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold x you #trent alexander arnold imagine #em.writes

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rootedinrevisions · 5 months ago

Text

In the Wings: Part 3

SUMMARY: The natural chemistry between you and Glen continues to build in subtle but meaningful ways. When Glen casually invites you to join him for lunch at a nearby food truck, you find yourself unexpectedly spending a relaxed afternoon together, where easy conversation flows and hints of something more begin to surface. Later, as a stressful, windy day on set pushes you to the edge, Glen notices your struggle and steps in to offer comfort, reminding you how appreciated you are. His small but sincere gesture leaves a lasting impression, strengthening the connection between you.

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2

WARNINGS: None.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

As you grabbed your bag, ready to head out for lunch with the other hair and makeup artists, there was a knock on the door. You paused for a moment, glancing over at the other girls, then back at the door. You instinctively moved to set it down, assuming somebody was coming by for a touch-up or something work-related.

Before anyone could respond, the door creaked open, and Glen stepped inside, flashing that effortless smile of his.

"Hey," he said, hands tucked casually in his pockets. "I was just about to head down the beach and grab something from this food truck everyone’s been talking about. Thought I’d see if you wanted to come with?"

You blinked in surprise, your bag slipping slightly from your hand. But lunch? You hadn't expected that. A touch-up on his hair or makeup, sure. But not lunch.

"I was actually about to head out with the girls," you said, nodding towards your friends who were already grinning and nudging each other as they packed up their things.

One of them waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, don’t worry about us. You should definitely go."

"Yeah, seriously," chimed in another. "We'll be fine. Go hang with Mr. Food Truck over here."

You could feel your cheeks warm slightly, their teasing not helping your decision-making process. You glanced back at Glen, who was now leaning casually against the doorframe, waiting patiently for your response, a light smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Are you sure?" you asked your friends, not entirely sure why you were suddenly so nervous.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t spent time with Glen before, but this felt… different.

"Absolutely. We’ll catch you later," one of them insisted, practically pushing you toward the door with an exaggerated wink. The girls’ playful encouragement was impossible to ignore, and you gave them a sheepish smile as you turned back to Glen.

"Looks like I’m in," you said, trying to sound casual as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

Glen’s smile widened as he pushed open the door for you to step through.

"Awesome. Let’s go," he said, motioning for you to follow him outside.

As the two of you made your way toward the beach, you could hear the muffled giggles of your friends from inside the trailer.

As you and Glen made your way down the sandy path towards the beach, the breeze carried a light saltiness in the air, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore mixed with the faint murmur of people in the distance. The sun wasn’t harsh yet, just a comfortable warmth that seemed to reflect the ease between the two of you. You glanced at Glen, who walked beside you with an easy stride, his hands casually tucked in his pockets.

“So,” you began, deciding to break the silence, “is this food truck really that good? Or are you just hyping it up because you need someone to share the disappointment with?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, it’s good. Trust me. I don’t joke about food, especially when I’m the one making the recommendation.”

“Alright, I’ll hold you to that,” you teased. “But if it’s not as good as you say, I’m never letting you live it down.”

Glen raised an eyebrow. “Deal. But when it turns out to be incredible, I’ll expect a full apology. Maybe a handwritten letter.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “You’re not getting a letter, Powell. At best, you’ll get a shrug and a ‘fine, it’s okay.’”

The two of you exchanged playful banter as you neared the food truck, the line not too long but bustling enough to add to the lively atmosphere.

Glen ordered first, then stepped back, watching as you read the small chalkboard menu. “Go ahead and order whatever you want,” he said casually, “my treat.”

You gave him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Trying to buy my forgiveness ahead of time, huh?”

“Just being polite,” he replied with a shrug, though the smirk on his face said otherwise. You shook your head, but didn’t argue, stepping up to order your food.

A few minutes later, with your meals in hand, Glen led you down toward a quieter spot on the beach. He kicked off his shoes and gestured to a space just far enough from the water to avoid the rising tide but close enough to hear the gentle crash of waves.

“Here good?” he asked, glancing at you for confirmation.

You nodded, sitting down and adjusting yourself on the soft sand. Glen settled beside you, stretching his legs out in front of him and balancing his food container on his lap.

For a few moments, you both sat in comfortable silence, focusing on your food. The sounds of the beach washed over you, and the sun glittered off the waves. It was one of those rare moments where nothing felt rushed, where you could just sit and enjoy the simplicity of it all.

“So,” Glen said between bites, “you think you’ll be working on a lot of big sets after this?”

You glanced at him, considering the question. “I mean, that would be nice, but it depends. This gig’s definitely been the biggest so far, but I try not to think too far ahead. You never know with this industry.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s true. It’s kind of like that on our side too, you know? You could be riding high on one film, and then nothing for months. But something tells me you’ll be busy. You’re really good at what you do.”

His tone was genuine, not the teasing or lighthearted vibe you’d gotten used to. You paused for a second, taking in his words, then gave him a small smile. “Thanks. I don’t usually hear that directly from the actors, so I’ll take it.”

“Well, consider me the first of many,” he said, his voice soft but sincere. He took a sip of his drink, his gaze shifting from the ocean to you for a moment, holding your eyes just a second longer than you expected. It was a brief, almost imperceptible moment, but it left a faint flutter in your chest.

The conversation flowed easily from there—lighthearted, playful, filled with shared stories and a few inside jokes. It was comfortable, and as the sun dipped lower in the sky, you found yourself not wanting the moment to end. There was something easy about being around Glen, something that didn’t feel forced or overdone.

After you finished your meals, the two of you stayed seated on the sand, watching the waves roll in. You could feel the faintest hint of something lingering beneath the surface—an unspoken connection that was becoming harder to ignore. But neither of you pushed it, neither of you addressed it outright.

Instead, you sat together in that quiet space, the gentle breeze brushing past, and let the moment be exactly what it was. It was enough—for now.

* * * *

The following week on set was a rough one. The wind had been relentless all morning. Every time you thought you’d finished touching up one actor’s hair, another gust of wind would come through and undo all your efforts. Between rushing from one trailer to the next and trying to juggle all the touch-ups while keeping a smile on your face, you were starting to feel like you were barely keeping up.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the weight of the day was pressing down on you. The momentary breaks you’d been hoping for never seemed to come, and now you were back on set with your hands full of hairspray and a comb, trying to tame Glen’s wind-tossed hair for what felt like the tenth time.

He sat in the chair in front of you, wearing his flight suit, waiting patiently as you worked. But even through the focus of your task, you could feel his eyes on you. Normally, you’d crack a joke or chat, but today, you just didn’t have it in you. You were too focused on trying to get his hair right despite the elements.

“Everything okay?” Glen asked softly, breaking the silence.

His tone was different from normal—it was gentle and concerned.

You gave a quick, dismissive smile, not wanting to draw attention to your exhaustion. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a little tired.”

But Glen wasn’t buying it. His eyes studied your face as you continued to comb through his hair. “You sure? You seem a little... off.”

You paused for a moment, glancing at him through the strands of hair you were fixing. Part of you wanted to shrug it off, to keep pushing through the day without letting anyone know how much it was getting to you. But Glen’s genuine concern made you hesitate.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice lacked the usual energy it carried. “It’s just... you know, the wind’s doing a number on everyone’s hair, and I feel like I’m putting out fires nonstop.”

Glen nodded as if he understood exactly what you meant. “Yeah, it’s been pretty brutal out here. But hey, you’ve been handling it like a pro.”

You finished with his hair, stepping back and giving it one last check before capping your hairspray.

“Thanks,” you said, managing a small smile. “Just trying to keep everyone looking their best.”

Glen stood up from the chair, and before you could step away, he reached out and pulled you into a brief, warm hug. It wasn’t a grand gesture or anything that would draw attention from the rest of the crew, but it was enough to make you pause. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, offering a sense of comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

“You’re doing a great job,” he murmured softly, his voice close to your ear. “Just so you know.”

It was a small thing, but it hit you harder than you expected. You felt seen—all the effort you’d been putting in, and that moment of kindness washed over you like a breath of fresh air. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed to hear those words until they left his mouth.

When Glen pulled back, there was a quiet, understanding smile on his face, and for a second, you felt like everything was okay again. The wind was still blowing, the work was still piling up, but somehow it all felt a little more manageable.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice carrying more sincerity than before. “I really needed that.”

Glen just winked, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “Anytime. Just don’t tell the rest of the cast—I can’t have them expecting hugs every time they need a pick me up.”

You laughed, feeling a little lighter as you gathered your things. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

As Glen walked away, you watched him go with a newfound appreciation for the way he had managed to lift your spirits. It wasn’t anything grand or over the top, but it was enough to keep you going for the rest of the day. Sometimes, all it took was a small moment like that to remind you that you weren’t just invisible behind the scenes—you were seen, and you mattered.

#Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction

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boyfriendstevie · 1 year ago

Note

No because the way Steve would get soooo smug if Robin had the hots for his girl. So much for teasing him and calling him names when he’s the one to see your boobs every day 😮‍💨

has this... become my niche? i'm not mad abt it as a bisexual girly who's in love w both of them lol

Oh he’d be sooooo smug. He’d tease her about it every chance he got. He knows it’s not anything real, that Robin just thinks you’re hot, and he’s inclined to agree. Of course his girl is stunningly beautiful and sexy, and he’s definitely going to rub it in Robin’s face.

You’re heading to a fancy event or maybe just a night out so you’re all kind of dressed up, and Robin and Steve are waiting for you to finish up. When you walk out to the living room, both of their jaws drop. You’ve got on something with a plunging neckline and a slit up your leg, and the fabric is accentuating all the right curves and you feel hot. Clearly, you look hot, too, if their reactions are anything to go by.

Steve whistles appreciatively and holds his hand out for you to take, “Well, look at you, pretty baby. Stunning, and so sexy.” He twirls you around once you take his hand, making you giggle, his eyes scanning your body as you turn. “Christ, sweetheart, y’gonna kill me. Robin, too.”

Robin, bless her heart, is standing there silently, mouth still open as she watches you turn. Steve takes notice of his best friend, how stunned she seems to be by your appearance, and nudges Robin’s side with his elbow, “Doesn’t she look gorgeous, Robs?”

The nudge finally gets her attention and she blinks, coughing to clear her throat, “Oh, yep, definitely. Y’look… look really good.” If she thinks she’s being inconspicuous with how she’s staring at you, she’s sorely mistaken — her eyes trail up your body, darting from the slit exposing your thigh, to your chest. “That’s definitely— definitely a nice dress!”

“Thanks, Robin,” you giggle in reply as you loop your arm through Steve’s, “You look really nice, too.”

She flushes instantly, face warm and pink behind her bangs. She giggles nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear, and then untucking it as she murmurs her thanks. Steve knows this move; she’s nervous from the attention of a beautiful girl. He’ll definitely have to tease her about it later.

“Oh!” you exclaim suddenly, freeing yourself from Steve’s grasp, “I almost forgot… can one of you finish zipping this up? I couldn’t get it all the way.”

“I was just about to go start the car… Robin, you can help, right?” Steve asks, throwing his best friend a wink as he grabs his keys and heads towards the door. He knows it’ll send her into full gay panic mode, but it’ll be good for her, right? And yeah, she sends him daggers as he slips out the door, but she manages to help with only mildly shaky hands and a blush that won’t leave her cheeks.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #steve thots #robin thots #kit writes #anon #kit answers #steve harrington x reader #robin buckley x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

Unorthodox 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.

Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“I think that’s everything,” you smile at Conrad across the table.

Sy continues to loom and pace around the edge of the room. He’s been doing that. Hovering like a vulture. Even when you try to get him to participate, he only has grumbles and glares. You’re used to his grumpiness but lately, he’s been nearly intolerable.

“Mm, yes, I think it is,” Conrad smirks, “shall we have a celebratory drink? Seems the old boar could use it?”

“I’m younger than you,” Sy stomps over, his ears sharp. “So how’s that?”

“Yes, well, one might not guess it by looking. Do relax, I am merely making fun,” Conrad crosses his arms. “Is there a reason you are so antsy to be away? I was rather happy to receive an old friend such as yourself.”

“Nice seein’ ya and all but we gotta get back,” Sy crosses his arms. “Izzie’s got friends waitin’, don’t ya?”

He nudges you with his elbow and you send him a skeptical look. Since when did he care so much?

“Ah yes, so you mentioned some wonderful ladies back home. Do have a drink in my honour. Such a considerate boss, eh, Syverson?” He smirks.

You stand and press your fingertips to the table, “thanks. Uh, I guess he’s right. The sooner we’re on the road, the sooner we’re back. It was nice meeting you. And doing business.”

“Always a pleasure, Syverson, and I do enjoy a beautiful lady darkening my door now and again.”

Sy growls and you try not to notice. You’re not sure if it’s territorial or what but you don’t need him acting like a guard dog. You prefer his slightly oblivious gruffness to his intense derision.

“Thank you. You’re a great host.”

You shake Conrad’s hand and he tugs it up. Once again, he kisses your knuckles and sends you a wink. Sy grabs your other arm and yanks you away.

“Get on with it, Izzie,” he snarls as he drags you away.

You stagger with his furious pace, not mentioning that he hardly bothered to give a proper goodbye. The way he’s gripping you so tight, you can’t think of much else but the creak in your bones. You dig in your heels as you get through the compound door.

“Yow! Sy!” You yank your hand away at last. He takes a few steps before he stops and faces you. “What is your problem? You can’t grab me like that.” You raise your arm and rub the tender skin, “you hurt me.”

“Ah, I’m-- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, Iz. Ya know I wouldn’t ever--”

“But you did. What’s gotten into you, anyway? Why are you being so rude?”

“I’m not,” he harrumphs and drops his shoulders. “I just wanna be home. Bein’ out here in all this sand, takes me back. That’s it.”

“Is that it?” You challenge and stand straight. Even with perfect posture, you hardly measure up to the large man.

Sy frowns, “I’m sorry, Izzie, truly. Why don’t ya give me a smack then? I deserve it.”

You almost laugh, instead snorting, “I wouldn’t-- I’m not that sort, you know that.”

“I do. It’s why I like ya, Iz. You temper me out. I’m a big oaf without you,” he looks away bashfully. “How about you go grab your bag and I’ll go say sorry. You’re right. No way to treat a friend. And partner.”

You consider him and slowly nod. “Alright, I’ll meet you at the gate then.”

“Sure thing, sugar.”

You tilt your head at the pet name but have no time to comment. You move aside as he moves towards you and let him pass. You stare after him for a second then turn back to your path. You know how he feels. You just want to be home in your bed. Oh, and it would be nice to have cell reception.

You find your room after a few stray wanderings and grab your bag. You head back out, still lost in the maze of the compound. You find the sunlight and walk out into the blaze of the noontime apex. You go to the gate and peer around at the mercenaries in their padded vests and harnesses.

As you wait, you grow uneasy. You’re still not entirely used to this job. Not always. It’s easier to manage Sy’s grocery list or his forgotten appointments, but out here, in the shit as he calls it, you feel lost.

He appears with a wave of his large hand. The fingerless glove nearly blends into his skintone from the wear and tear. You face him fully as he approaches and he points behind you.

“Ready to go for a ride?”

You follow his finger to the buggy just on the other end of the yard. You squint and turn back to him.

“Conrad can be nice when he wants to,” he grins, “you wanna drive?”

You stare at him, deeply considering the prospect. You don’t know if you trust him to make the drive and yet, you don’t if you should trust yourself either. He dangles the key from a thick finger and you roll your eyes.

“I wanna get outta here in one piece,” you snatch it.

He chuckles and lets you have it. He reaches for you and you wince. He grabs the strap of your bag and hauls it onto his shoulder next to his.

“I’ll get these secured, Iz,” he offers.

You hesitate. He’s being awfully helpful. Not that he can’t be but the last few days have been strange. You guess both of you might be getting a bit homesick.

#au #series #drabble #captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #sand castle #unorthodox #bad bosses

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lunamadhatter99 · 1 year ago

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All for the cameras

chapter 2

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Here we go, part 2! Thank you, thank you, thank you all for the support with the first chapter!! I'm so glad that everyone liked it.

I hope you're going to like this second chapter too🤞 again if you're new and want to be tagged in the next chapter, comment here❤️❤️❤️

Chapter summary: It's time for the big event. And better keep our eyes open.

Chapter warning: none, except the usual mention of prostitution and usual Hunger Games stuff. Nothing too wild. We still won't see Finnick in this chapter, but I promise it's going to be worth it❤️

Tag list

@guacam011y

@justtrying2getby

@idontevenknow1359

@alexandra-001

@bambikitten

@maggiecc

@redh00dsbf

@haneybunny

@1-800-styles

@sisiking99

"Snow is watching us." Haymitch says, we're almost at the Capitol for the final interview and the big celebration.

"Of course, he is. He needs to watch everything. Especially the inconveniences," I scoff.

"Yeah. And if he wants you to pacify the districts, I promise you, he's not happy." Haymitch continues, "instead of being in love, you two sounds like you're reading from a drilling manual."

"You try reading that stuff that Effie writes us," Peeta mutters.

"Snow doesn't care." I tell him. "That's not how you want to convince him."

"I'm open to suggestions," he says back, tired.

"We could get married," Katniss quietly suggests, not looking up at anyone.

"That's not helping," Haymitch comments.

"I'm serious. If, like you said we're on this train forever, it's gonna happen eventually. Why not now?"

"It does make a statement. I'll give you that." Haymitch then looks at Peeta who agrees, but quickly stands up and leave. Katniss looks at me.

"It's something we can try, you're right... they would want it to happen eventually." I shrug.

"It's settle, then." Haymitch drinks to that and Katniss looks at me with hope.

---------------

"Are you sure you don't want to come to the party?" I ask Haymitch before I have to leave for Snow's residence. "Lots of free alcohol."

"I don't need free alcohol." He chuckles amused, "I'm a victor. I already got that."

"Don't you want to save a damsel in distress?" I try again.

"Our president seems very well guarded on his own," Haymitch jokes, "he's safe."

I genuinely laugh at that shaking my head.

"See? I need that! Please?" I try to beg just one more time.

"Don't send me that look, Princess." He turns his head away ready to walk away.

"Fine, fine... I tried." I raise my hands up in surrender. "Wish me luck, at least. "

"Maybe they'll leave you alone tonight, too interested in the two lovers," he sadly smiles at me, hoping, rather than believing, his own words to be true.

"Yeah, maybe," I take a deep breath, "well... have a goodnight, Haymitch."

"You too, princess." He winks, "and eyes open."

------------

The party is just as exaggerated as ever. Lots of people, lots of food and drinks and lots of lights.

I make my way through the crowd, towards the tables full of food and drinks, hoping to find something to make this evening more tolerable. I take a glass and take a sip, breathing deeply.

Some people come to talk to me, about the victors, thankfully.

"Two victors, exciting, uh?" One of the them says cheerfully.

"Very," I say with my usual forced smile.

"You must be proud, two victors on your turn on 12," a woman with very voluminous hair nudges me, "you were the talk of the town these past few days, you know?"

"Me?" I ask, surprised by that, usually everyone forgets about me during the victory tour.

"Oh yes, well beside the lovebirds." A green haired man chimes in.

"Why?" I start to get anxious, the necklaces feel a lot tighter than before.

"I heard a rumour... someone wants to put a ring on your finger," she whisper-exclaims with a wink.

"W-what?... I don't think... uh..." I stutter.

"C'mon, everyone knows you're Cal Kingslay's favourite." She teases, with a devilish smirk, "and it's rumored that he wants you all to himself."

"Isn't that wonderful?" The man cheers. "We could probably get two well awaited weddings this year!"

"I hope I didn't ruin the surprise." The woman adds, with, what I'm sure is, a fake apologetic smile.

"Of course not. Now would you excuse me, gotta wait for my Victors." I say turning around to walk as far as possible from them, I finish my drink in one go and soon take another glass. Thankfully it's announced the arrival of Katniss and Peeta.

I spot them walking through the crowd following Effie and heading to Flavius and Octavia so I quickly join them.

As they see me arrive they immediately smile, relieved.

"There you are," I say holding my hands out for them to hold, "I've missed you,"

All for the cameras.

"It's only been 30 minutes," Peeta plays along.

"And you can stay that long away from me?" I fake offence, "You wound me,"

Everyone around us laugh so I just decide to stick with them as long as I can.

Helping them play along is much easier than expected, especially with Peeta, Katniss is still a little uncertain, but I get her, it got me years and years to get used to the cameras.

After I unfortunately finish my fourth glass, I need another one, in order to survive this evening.

"Excuse me a second," I whisper at them and head to the other side of the room where I can get another glass of Whiskey.

I turn around to go back to Katniss and Peeta when I'm met with a firm chest.

Unfortunately I already know who this might be.

"Found you" Cal teases.

I look up at him, the blue in his hair is even stronger than I remembered, and a little longer too, he got bigger, more muscles for sure, eyes just as devilish.

"That you did," I try to mask my fear with a chuckle.

"I've missed you, you know, been looking everywhere for you since I got here," he says with a sweet tone, that only makes my skin crawl. He grabs my hand to play with my fingers.

"I've been here the whole time, chatting with the Victors you know," I take my hand back, "I should get back to them, exc-"

"They got you all this time," he stops me from walking away, "it's not the same without you."

"I..." I want to say something, but nothing comes out.

"I mean, it's fun and all with Finnick, but with you..." he lets out a big dreamy sigh, "with you it's so much better"

He says the last part leaning in, close enough to suffocate me.

"Excuse me?"

We both turn and see Peeta standing there.

"Peeta!" I say, both surprised and relieved, "Peeta, uh.. this is Cal Kingslay, his father was once the general himself"

"Nice to meet you, sir," Peeta extends his hand and Cal grabs it and shakes it.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr Mellark," Cal greets him, he's tense though, he doesn't like being interrupted.

"Uh... Peeta, where's Katniss?" I ask to change the subject.

"She's dancing with the new Head Gamemaker," he explains simply, "but I still wanted to dance so I thought to ask you, if you're free."

"Oh, but of course," I say holding out my hand for him.

"But..." Cal starts.

"Oh, c'mon, he's our new victor, we can't say no to him, now can we?"

"Of course not," Cal says with a very evident forced smile.

That being said, me and Peeta go dance with the other people, I even spot Katniss with said New head Gamemaker.

"Thank you," I breathlessly say as we start dancing.

"You're welcome, you looked like you needed saving," he says with his kind smile, "who is he?"

"A fan" I simply say, "a very... uh... insisting one"

"I see," he nods.

"Thanks again, really."

"Don't worry about it." He laugh, "I mean, you helped saving me in that arena, this is nothing."

It's actually a lot more than he thinks.

I smile at him, grateful.

I then feel a slight tap on my shoulder, I turn around seeing Katnis and the Gamemaker.

"Mind changing partners?" He asks politely.

"Sure."

Me and Katniss exchange spots.

"It's an honour," he says once we're dancing.

"That honour would be the same if I knew your name sir," I tease.

"Oh, my bad, I apologise." He chuckles, amused, "I'm Plutarch Heavensbee,"

"Now the honour is mine," I say, "new head Gamemaker... when did they choose you?"

"Oh, I volunteer," he simply explains.

"Oh..." I let out a surprised laugh, "I see Katniss is already dictating fashion."

"Yeah, she's an inspiration, don't you think?" He says it almost as a challenge.

"I do," I answer seriously. "There must be more then... why volunteer?"

"I think it's time for the game to mean something," he shrugs and smiles.

"Mean something?" I wonder, "that's pretentious,"

"A little," he chuckles again, "so I'd keep those eyes open, if I were you."

My eyes snap back at his face, he's smiling, proud of himself.

Why? Does he know something? Does Haymitch know something?

Before I get the chance to ask him anything, the Capitol anthem starts and the crowd cheers.

"I'm sure we'll meet again," he says before following the rest of the people out for President Snow's speech.

I'm a little stunned, it's Effie's call that snaps me out of it. I quickly join her, Katniss and Peeta out.

We all gather in front of the residence, waiting for the President Snow to come out. I turn around looking for Cal, only to make sure he doesn't sneak up on me again. I see him looking around, for me probably, so I quickly turn around getting closer to Katniss.

At last the President comes out on his balcony.

"Tonight, on this, the last day of their tour, I want to welcome our two Victors." He starts with his usual charming persona, two young people who embody our idealsof strength and valor. And I, personally, want to congratulate them on the announcement of their engagement."

Everyone cheers. Peeta and Katniss smile at the crowd around them.

"Your love has inspired us. And I know it will go on inspiring us every day for as long as you may live." He holds up his glass and the fireworks start and I turn around to look at them like everyone.

I sense Katniss holding my hand and turning around. I want to look at Snow too, but the way she starts to squeeze my hand tells me all I need to know...

He doesn't believe them.

It didn't work.

---------------

I'm sitting in an armchair staring at nothing in particular. My mind can't help but think about whatever we can do to make their story more believable, but nothing, absolutely nothing comes up.

The riots in the districts surely won't make him happy, which means it will be worse for everyone else.

Fuck.

My head snaps back as I hear footsteps coming, I let out a sigh when I notice it's just Katniss.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she apologises.

"Don't worry about it," I wave her off, "can't sleep either?"

She shakes her head, I motion for her to sit with me.

"Do you think we ever had any chance?" She then asks me.

"I guess, the positive side of me really hoped... but the realistic side knew." I sigh, looking down at my own hands, "I'm afraid it was too late from the beginning. And I don't mean from what happen in 11... I mean from the moment you took out the berries, that made the districts feel something, these riots all over the place won't be pacify by a love story. Snow knows that."

"He asked me to convince him," she explains, "to convince him ours is true love."

"He never believed you." I directly say, "not for a second."

"Why ask me that then?"

"Control." I simply answer looking up at her with a serious expression. "Show you he has control."

"How did you end up living like this?" She asks, she seems genuinely interested, but I'm not ready to share that part of my life with her just yet.

I smile at her, a smile that doesn't reach my eye.

"Aw... Katniss, I thought you knew the difference between living" I turn serious again, looking her dead in the eyes," and surviving."

With that I stand up, grab a bottle of what I think is rum, and head to my room.

-----------

I stand by the doors waiting for Peeta, Katniss and Haymitch to get off the train. The thought of going back to normal is dreadful enough, going back alone is even worse, I don't want to think about it.

"Home sweet home," Haymitch declares as he nears.

"Don't be so eager to leave me," I joke, holding my hand out for him to shake, he takes and kiss the back of it.

"You know, it pains me deeply," he teases back and I chuckle.

"Take care of them, will you?" I ask quietly.

"You take care of yourself, will you?" He lets go of my hand and leans down to whisper into my ear, "and eyes open" He smiles one more time before getting of the train.

"You'll have to explain that to me properly one of these days," I tell him as I watch him go.

"Isn't his whole character just... cryptic?" I turn around seeing Peeta and Katniss.

"Or just constantly drunk." Katniss chimes in.

"He's cryptically drunk all the time," I smile, "so... you got everything?"

"Yeah, we're ready to get home." Peeta smile back at me.

"Good... Good." I let out a deep sigh, "it's been a pleasure assisting you two. I guess I'll see you at the next Hunger Games, mentors."

"Thank you for everything, Y/n." Peeta pulls me in for a quick hug before walking away.

"Bye," I wave then turn to Katniss, "you okay?"

"Yeah... I think so." She forces a small smile.

"I wish I could do more," I tell her honestly.

"Thanks,"

"Say hi to your family for me, alright?" I smile again and she nods.

Once Katniss is out of sight a Peacekeeper comes up to me.

"Yes?" I ask.

"Your presence has been requested back in the Capitol. We'll be leaving soon." He tells me.

"May I know who requested it?" I ask, tired. I already imagine who-

"President Snow."

Uh?

"Did he say why?"

The peacekeeper doesn't answer and walks away. I stand here dumbfounded, wondering what he might want from me.

Is it because of Katniss and Peeta?

Is it because of the riots in the districts?

Is it because of the Quartel Quell? Does he wants me to be more participant or?

Then a terrifying thought comes to mind...

------------

"You asked for me, sir?" I stand in front of his desk as he write something down.

"It came to my attention a rumour's veen going around regarding you, miss L/n." He starts, still not looking directly at me, "a merry one."

"Sir?" I ask, my throat instantly dry.

"Cal Kingslay apparently wants to marry you," he finally puts down the pen and looks at me with, what might seem, a genuinely happy expression, "That's a wonderful news."

"Is it?" I don't know what he wants from me.

"Oh yes, the people can't help but be thrilled about. the idea. I, myself, think it's great news. After the contributions the Kingslays gave to the games in these last years, it will show, not only to the Capitol, but the districts as well, that you are an active part of this system." He explains, the hint of a challenge in his eyes. Challenge me to say no, to refuse.

I really want to, I want to scream at him and just run away. Being sold to all rich people in the Capitol is not the life I want, but being tied to him... permanently, it's more terrifying.

But I have no choice.

All I can do is swallow my pride and take a deep shaky breath.

"I... how... how will it happen, sir?" I ask.

"You two will get engaged once I announce the Third Quarter Quell and get properly married after the crowing of the Victor. He will ask, you will happily say yes." He explains, satisfied with my compliance, then he goes back at the papers in front of him, "That's all."

I don't need him to tell me twice, I immediately walk out of his office, ready to go home and just let everything out.

"Oh, before you go," Snow's voice freezes me on the spot, "Plutarch Heavensbee asked for your company, you will be escorted to his house immediately." He informs me.

I shakily nod and walk out of his office where two guards make way.

-----------

"Do you want some tea?" Plutarch motion for me to sit at a big wooden table, "perhaps something stronger?"

I nervously nod as I sit.

He walks away, I hear him talking to someone before walking back into the room I'm in with two drinks in hand. He offers one to me and sits by the opposite side of the table.

"I told the guards to come back in an hour, we should have enough time" he smiles and I nod again, still not sure of what to expect.

Suddenly the lights go off and the room falls into deep darkness. I can still make out his face due to the lights coming from outside.

"What...?" I ask.

"You can never feel safer," he tells me.

"What's going on, Mr Heavensbee?" I ask, anxiety growing at every passing second.

"Tell me, miss L/n," he starts, voice a little quieter than before, "what do you know about district 13?"

#the hunger games fic #the hunger games x reader #hunger games fic #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair #finnick imagine #finnick x reader #finnick odair x y/n

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cherrychilli · 1 year ago

Text

18+

Steve Harrington x AFAB reader, soft! dom! reader, soft! sub! Steve established relationship, PIV sex, unprotected sex

A/N: We're doing sub! Steve today because he's so pretty and pathetic. I want to ruin that boy.

"Let me see", Steve crouched down by your feet, carefully undoing the dainty gold buckle that held the little black strap wrapped around your ankle in place. It made your heart feel full whenever he tended to you like this, always with a gentle touch and soft tone.

Carefully, he slips your foot out of the stiletto, placing the shoe next to the one you'd undone yourself. Watching closely and quietly, you hold yourself in place with a palm flat on the kitchen island, balancing on one bare foot while he inspects the other in search of the cut you'd hissed about when the two of you arrived home.

Glancing at the tin of band aids he had placed on the island, you feel a pang of guilt somewhere deep in your belly but it's a fleeting whisper of a feeling compared to the raucous ache inside you.

He'll forgive you for what you're about to do, you know he will and that flicker of guilt goes out as quickly as licking your fingers and pinching out a lit match.

Steve examines your foot carefully, palpating it all over and frowns, confusion creasing his brow as he fails to identify any sign of where the open toed shoe had bitten into your skin as you'd claimed.

"I don't see anythi— ", he's cut off when you lift your foot up from where he held it in his hands, pressing it flat against his chest, the buttons on his dress shirt tickling your sole faintly.

With one quick breath you steel yourself and push, careful not to be too forceful to avoid hurting him, only enough to send him backwards until he's sat on the kitchen floor.

The bottoms of his dress shoes slip over the tiles as he loses his balance, legs stretching out in front of him as his ass bumps against the floor. Fortunately, he's able to catch himself by bringing a palm down quickly on the cool tile before his back can make contact with it.

"What the fuck?", he exclaims but there's no anger there. Only pure surprise as he lays there, sprawled out, looking up at you for an answer.

Standing over your boyfriend, you think about how much you liked seeing him under you, the sneaky little nudge that put him there making you feel a ripple of power you only ever felt in moments like this.

Catching that distinct glimmer in your eyes, Steve starts to understand. Anyone else would have missed it entirely but to him it shines bright like Las Vegas neon.

"Oh yeah? you wanna be in charge tonight?", he asks, the corner of his mouth picking up into a lopsided smile.

Dropping down to join him on the floor, the hem of your flowy dress inches high around your thighs as your knees bracket his hips. Framing his face with your hands, you press your lips to his before you answer.

"Is that okay?", you checked because it was important that he wanted this too.

He has a little fun with you as he pretends to mull it over in his head, humming in mock contemplation, a bigger smile fighting its way through to curve his pursed lips, giving him away. "Go on. Have your way with me bad girl", he encourages you with a wink.

Perking up with a delighted grin, you hurriedly undo his belt, pulling it through the loops of his slacks and tossing it aside. You'd waited all night to get him alone, denying yourself the thrill of slipping your foot between his legs under the table at the restaurant or letting your hand wander up his thigh in the car.

Scooching down to rest yourself on his thighs, you pull his pants and underwear down to free his cock, finding him half hard already. You use both hands to grip his growing length while he props himself up on his elbows to watch, the crisp white of his dress shirt bound to catch dirt as the material drags on the floor. Not that he cared.

"Y' could have said something at the restaurant", he humors, hissing when you lean over to dribble a line of spit onto his cock. "Or in the car", he manages to add before you begin stroking him, both of your hands slick with your saliva and the precum that had begun to leak from his tip. "W-would have left sooner if I knew."

He looks big still, even with both of your hands wrapped around him, warm and sticky to the touch. "Wanted to catch you off guard", you tell him, ears tuned into the wet, sloppy sounds of your hands working him lazily, wrists twisting slightly with each stroke, gently wringing more clear beads from his slit.

"and— uh, and the— shi— the bed? too cliché?"

That makes you chuckle, lifting your eyes up to his. "You want me to stop so we can head upstairs?", you ask with a smile that's all tease, rubbing your thumb over the slippery head of his cock, looking back down to watch the pale pink flush magenta from your touch.

He huffs out a laugh, the answer so obvious he feels silly having brought it up at all.

"Fuck no."

You return your focus to stroking him leisurely, the feeling of his cock kicking up and flexing in your hands making it impossible to ignore the ache between your own legs any longer. Luckily you'd already taken your panties off in the restroom, balling the lace and stuffing it into your clutch so all you had to do now was lift up your skirt and let him see.

When your hands leave his cock to furl your fingers around the hem of your skirt, his lips part, staring with unwavering awe as you show yourself to him, revealing your bare pussy and the slick that glistened between your thighs.

"You're so fucking beautiful", he whines like a man enraptured, eyes wide and pupils blown obsidian.

His reaction fills your belly with flame, lifting your hips to position yourself over the base of his cock, lowering yourself to let it fit between your folds, rubbing yourself along the length of his shaft all tacky and wet with a mix of both him and you.

"Oh fuck please, baby put it in", Steve pleads, nails biting into the meat of your thighs, head thumping gently against the tiles as he leans all the way back. It's too much fun having this kind of power over him and you can't help being a little mean, shaking your head all while you wear a smile, watching the pained expression on his face grow deeper.

"Not until you tell me how badly you want it", you tell him in a tone that's thick with sticky sweetness like honeycomb.

Reaching for the front of his shirt, you grab enough of the fabric before you briskly pull it apart, buttons popping out of place, some coming loose entirely as they scatter and retreat into different corners of the kitchen.

You're treated to the sight of his naked chest and stomach, raking your nails along the exposed skin and coarse hair, marking his tanned skin with narrow scarlet welts. "Fucking Christ", he groans, helpless and loving it.

Leaning over, you take it a step further by swiping your tongue over one of his nipples, biting down on it gently, tugging until his breath hitches in his throat.

"Shit shit shit— "

"Go on", you encourage him, trailing higher to nip at his neck next, kissing a constellation of moles by his shoulder along the way.

"I wanna be inside you— please, need to feel it", he sputters, hips twitching beneath you but he stops himself from trying to do more. He knows he's not allowed. Not without your say so. Not tonight.

"Aw, this not good enough for you? I'm not making you feel good like this?", you tug on his earlobe with your teeth, whining into the shell of his ear, rocking back and forth over the ridge of his cock slowly, your clit throbbing with the way you drag yourself along him.

"You are! you are, god, baby you're making me feel so good but please-"

"You want more?"

"Yes. Please", he chokes on a whine. You almost feel sorry for him.

Pulling back to get a look at him and the torment clouding his face, you level your stare. "And what if I don't let you?"

The blunt edge of his nails dig into your skin a little deeper and his expression crumbles, a look of genuine anguish contorting your boyfriend's pretty face.

"Come on, baby— fucking hurts I want it so bad. See how hard you've made me?"

With a low chuckle, you keep rolling your hips back and forth, doing nothing to increase your pace as you torture the poor boy.

"Mm, you need it that bad?"

"I do. I need it", he answers, his hazel eyes all big and pleading. Just how you liked.

"You gonna be a good boy for me then?", you ask, your finger catching on his gold chain as you draw a line down from the dip between his clavicles, down his sternum, trailing lower and lower...

"God, yes I promise", he nods fervently. Desperately.

You take pity on him then, lifting your hips while you wrap your fingers around his cock with one hand, guiding it to your entrance. Relief enters Steve's body like a dam bursting when he feels the tip pop in and you begin to sink down slowly, rewarding him both with the tight warmth of your cunt and the sounds of your breathy moans.

"Fuck, you're perfect— you're so fucking perfect", he chants blissfully until he's all the way inside you, filling you up.

You allow him a few moments to relish the feeling of your soft wet walls wrapping around him like silk before you bring a hand up to cradle his jaw. His eyes snap open then, shivering when you lean close, your lips forming a wicked smile, the kind that feels like the cold blade of a dagger held up to his throat.

"You'll cum only when I say so, understand?"

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington #stranger things smut #stranger things #steve harrington x reader

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captainlunaxmen · 1 year ago

Text

All for the Cameras

Chapter 2

Finnick Odair x reader

This is a repost since the old blog doesn't work anymore. 🥰

Chapter summary: it's time for the big event. And better keep our eyes open.

Chapter warnings: none, except the usual mention of prostitution and usual hunger games stuff. Nothing too wild we still won't see Finnick in this chapter, but I promise it's going to be worth it.

Masterlist

"Snow is watching us." Haymitch says, we're almost at the Capitol for the final interview and the big celebration.

"Of course, he is. He needs to watch everything. Especially the inconveniences," I scoff.

"Yeah. And if he wants you to pacify the districts, I promise you, he's not happy." Haymitch continues, "instead of being in love, you two sounds like you're reading from a drilling manual."

"You try reading that stuff that Effie writes us," Peeta mutters.

"Snow doesn't care." I tell him. "That's not how you want to convince him."

"I'm open to suggestions," he says back, tired.

"We could get married," Katniss quietly suggests, not looking up at anyone.

"That's not helping," Haymitch comments.

"I'm serious. If, like you said we're on this train forever, it's gonna happen eventually. Why not now?"

"It does make a statement. I'll give you that." Haymitch then looks at Peeta who agrees, but quickly stands up and leave. Katniss looks at me.

"It's something we can try, you're right... they would want it to happen eventually." I shrug.

"It's settle, then." Haymitch drinks to that and Katniss looks at me with hope.

---------------

"Are you sure you don't want to come to the party?" I ask Haymitch before I have to leave for Snow's residence. "Lots of free alcohol."

"I don't need free alcohol." He chuckles amused, "I'm a victor. I already got that."

"Don't you want to save a damsel in distress?" I try again.

"Our president seems very well guarded on his own," Haymitch jokes, "he's safe."

I genuinely laugh at that shaking my head.

"See? I need that! Please?" I try to beg just one more time.

"Don't send me that look, Princess." He turns his head away ready to walk away.

"Fine, fine... I tried." I raise my hands up in surrender. "Wish me luck, at least. "

"Maybe they'll leave you alone tonight, too interested in the two lovers," he sadly smiles at me, hoping, rather than believing, his own words to be true.

"Yeah, maybe," I take a deep breath, "well... have a goodnight, Haymitch."

"You too, princess." He winks, "and eyes open."

------------

The party is just as exaggerated as ever. Lots of people, lots of food and drinks and lots of lights.

I make my way through the crowd, towards the tables full of food and drinks, hoping to find something to make this evening more tolerable. I take a glass and take a sip, breathing deeply.

Some people come to talk to me, about the victors, thankfully.

"Two victors, exciting, uh?" One of the them says cheerfully.

"Very," I say with my usual forced smile.

"You must be proud, two victors on your turn on 12," a woman with very voluminous hair nudges me, "you were the talk of the town these past few days, you know?"

"Me?" I ask, surprised by that, usually everyone forgets about me during the victory tour.

"Oh yes, well beside the lovebirds." A green haired man chimes in.

"Why?" I start to get anxious, the necklaces feel a lot tighter than before.

"I heard a rumour... someone wants to put a ring on your finger," she whisper-exclaims with a wink.

"W-what?... I don't think... uh..." I stutter.

"C'mon, everyone knows you're Cal Kingslay's favourite." She teases, with a devilish smirk, "and it's rumored that he wants you all to himself."

"Isn't that wonderful?" The man cheers. "We could probably get two well awaited weddings this year!"

"I hope I didn't ruin the surprise." The woman adds, with, what I'm sure is, a fake apologetic smile.

I spot them walking through the crowd following Effie and heading to Flavius and Octavia so I quickly join them.

As they see me arrive they immediately smile, relieved.

"There you are," I say holding my hands out for them to hold, "I've missed you,"

All for the cameras.

"It's only been 30 minutes," Peeta plays along.

"And you can stay that long away from me?" I fake offence, "You wound me,"

Everyone around us laugh so I just decide to stick with them as long as I can.

Helping them play along is much easier than expected, especially with Peeta, Katniss is still a little uncertain, but I get her, it got me years and years to get used to the cameras.

After I unfortunately finish my fourth glass, I need another one, in order to survive this evening.

"Excuse me a second," I whisper at them and head to the other side of the room where I can get another glass of Whiskey.

I turn around to go back to Katniss and Peeta when I'm met with a firm chest.

Unfortunately I already know who this might be.

"Found you" Cal teases.

I look up at him, the blue in his hair is even stronger than I remembered, and a little longer too, he got bigger, more muscles for sure, eyes just as devilish.

"That you did," I try to mask my fear with a chuckle.

"I've missed you, you know, been looking everywhere for you since I got here," he says with a sweet tone, that only makes my skin crawl. He grabs my hand to play with my fingers.

"I've been here the whole time, chatting with the Victors you know," I take my hand back, "I should get back to them, exc-"

"They got you all this time," he stops me from walking away, "it's not the same without you."

"I..." I want to say something, but nothing comes out.

"I mean, it's fun and all with Finnick, but with you..." he lets out a big dreamy sigh, "with you it's so much better"

He says the last part leaning in, close enough to suffocate me.

"Excuse me?"

We both turn and see Peeta standing there.

"Peeta!" I say, both surprised and relieved, "Peeta, uh.. this is Cal Kingslay, his father was once the general himself"

"Nice to meet you, sir," Peeta extends his hand and Cal grabs it and shakes it.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr Mellark," Cal greets him, he's tense though, he doesn't like being interrupted.

"Uh... Peeta, where's Katniss?" I ask to change the subject.

"She's dancing with the new Head Gamemaker," he explains simply, "but I still wanted to dance so I thought to ask you, if you're free."

"Oh, but of course," I say holding out my hand for him.

"But..." Cal starts.

"Oh, c'mon, he's our new victor, we can't say no to him, now can we?"

"Of course not," Cal says with a very evident forced smile.

That being said, me and Peeta go dance with the other people, I even spot Katniss with said New head Gamemaker.

"Thank you," I breathlessly say as we start dancing.

"You're welcome, you looked like you needed saving," he says with his kind smile, "who is he?"

"A fan" I simply say, "a very... uh... insisting one"

"I see," he nods.

"Thanks again, really."

"Don't worry about it." He laugh, "I mean, you helped saving me in that arena, this is nothing."

It's actually a lot more than he thinks.

I smile at him, grateful.

I then feel a slight tap on my shoulder, I turn around seeing Katnis and the Gamemaker.

"Mind changing partners?" He asks politely.

"Sure."

Me and Katniss exchange spots.

"It's an honour," he says once we're dancing.

"That honour would be the same if I knew your name sir," I tease.

"Oh, my bad, I apologise." He chuckles, amused, "I'm Plutarch Heavensbee,"

"Now the honour is mine," I say, "new head Gamemaker... when did they choose you?"

"Oh, I volunteer," he simply explains.

"Oh..." I let out a surprised laugh, "I see Katniss is already dictating fashion."

"Yeah, she's an inspiration, don't you think?" He says it almost as a challenge.

"I do," I answer seriously. "There must be more then... why volunteer?"

"I think it's time for the game to mean something," he shrugs and smiles.

"Mean something?" I wonder, "that's pretentious,"

"A little," he chuckles again, "so I'd keep those eyes open, if I were you."

My eyes snap back at his face, he's smiling, proud of himself.

Why? Does he know something? Does Haymitch know something?

Before I get the chance to ask him anything, the Capitol anthem starts and the crowd cheers.

"I'm sure we'll meet again," he says before following the rest of the people out for President Snow's speech.

I'm a little stunned, it's Effie's call that snaps me out of it. I quickly join her, Katniss and Peeta out.

At last the President comes out on his balcony.

Everyone cheers. Peeta and Katniss smile at the crowd around them.

I sense Katniss holding my hand and turning around. I want to look at Snow too, but the way she starts to squeeze my hand tells me all I need to know...

He doesn't believe them.

It didn't work.

---------------

I'm sitting in an armchair staring at nothing in particular. My mind can't help but think about whatever we can do to make their story more believable, but nothing, absolutely nothing comes up.

The riots in the districts surely won't make him happy, which means it will be worse for everyone else.

Fuck.

My head snaps back as I hear footsteps coming, I let out a sigh when I notice it's just Katniss.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she apologises.

"Don't worry about it," I wave her off, "can't sleep either?"

She shakes her head, I motion for her to sit with me.

"Do you think we ever had any chance?" She then asks me.

"He asked me to convince him," she explains, "to convince him ours is true love."

"He never believed you." I directly say, "not for a second."

"Why ask me that then?"

"Control." I simply answer looking up at her with a serious expression. "Show you he has control."

"How did you end up living like this?" She asks, she seems genuinely interested, but I'm not ready to share that part of my life with her just yet.

I smile at her, a smile that doesn't reach my eye.

"Aw... Katniss, I thought you knew the difference between living" I turn serious again, looking her dead in the eyes," and surviving."

With that I stand up, grab a bottle of what I think is rum, and head to my room.

-----------

"Home sweet home," Haymitch declares as he nears.

"Don't be so eager to leave me," I joke, holding my hand out for him to shake, he takes and kiss the back of it.

"You know, it pains me deeply," he teases back and I chuckle.

"Take care of them, will you?" I ask quietly.

"You take care of yourself, will you?" He lets go of my hand and leans down to whisper into my ear, "and eyes open" He smiles one more time before getting of the train.

"You'll have to explain that to me properly one of these days," I tell him as I watch him go.

"Isn't his whole character just... cryptic?" I turn around seeing Peeta and Katniss.

"Or just constantly drunk." Katniss chimes in.

"He's cryptically drunk all the time," I smile, "so... you got everything?"

"Yeah, we're ready to get home." Peeta smile back at me.

"Good... Good." I let out a deep sigh, "it's been a pleasure assisting you two. I guess I'll see you at the next Hunger Games, mentors."

"Thank you for everything, Y/n." Peeta pulls me in for a quick hug before walking away.

"Bye," I wave then turn to Katniss, "you okay?"

"Yeah... I think so." She forces a small smile.

"I wish I could do more," I tell her honestly.

"Thanks,"

"Say hi to your family for me, alright?" I smile again and she nods.

Once Katniss is out of sight a Peacekeeper comes up to me.

"Yes?" I ask.

"Your presence has been requested back in the Capitol. We'll be leaving soon." He tells me.

"May I know who requested it?" I ask, tired. I already imagine who-

"President Snow."

Uh?

"Did he say why?"

The peacekeeper doesn't answer and walks away. I stand here dumbfounded, wondering what he might want from me.

Is it because of Katniss and Peeta?

Is it because of the riots in the districts?

Is it because of the Quartel Quell? Does he wants me to be more participant or?

Then a terrifying thought comes to mind...

------------

"You asked for me, sir?" I stand in front of his desk as he write something down.

"It came to my attention a rumour's been going around regarding you, miss L/n." He starts, still not looking directly at me, "a merry one."

"Sir?" I ask, my throat instantly dry.

"Cal Kingslay apparently wants to marry you," he finally puts down the pen and looks at me with, what might seem, a genuinely happy expression, "That's a wonderful news."

"Is it?" I don't know what he wants from me.

I really want to, I want to scream at him and just run away. Being sold to all rich people in the Capitol is not the life I want, but being tied to him... permanently, it's more terrifying.

But I have no choice.

All I can do is swallow my pride and take a deep shaky breath.

"I... how... how will it happen, sir?" I ask.

"You two will get engaged once I announce the Third Quarter Quell, and get properly married after the crowing of the Victor. He will ask, you will happily say yes." He explains satisfied with my compliance, then he goes back at the papers in front of him, "That's all."

I don't need him to tell me twice, I immediately walk out of his office, ready to go home and just let everything out.

"Oh, before you go," Snow's voice freezes me on the spot, "Plutarch Heavensbee asked for your company, you will be escorted to his house immediately." He informs me.

I shakily nod and walk out of his office where two guards make way.

-----------

"Do you want some tea?" Plutarch motion for me to sit at a big wooden table, "perhaps something stronger?"

I nervously nod as I sit.

He walks away, I hear him talking to someone before walking back into the room I'm in with two drinks in hand. He offers one to me and sits by the opposite side of the table.

"I told the guards to come back in an hour, we should have enough time" he smiles and I nod again, still not sure of what to expect.

Suddenly the lights go off and the room falls into deep darkness. I can still make out his face due to the lights coming from outside.

"What...?" I ask.

"You can never feel safer," he tells me.

"What's going on, Mr Heavensbee?" I ask, anxiety growing at every passing second.

"Tell me, miss L/n," he starts, voice a little quieter than before, "what do you know about district 13?"

#the hunger games imagine #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #finnick x reader #finnick odair

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bigassmoonchild · 1 year ago

Note

Gaz x insomniacFem!reader and she’s always is energetic (love me some Kyle)

(another character i haven’t really read for, but i’m always happy to increase my character list! it’s also not entirely all energetic reader and a lil angsty at the end, but it’s okay! feel free to send more requests!!)

kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x reader

the first time gaz had noticed anything, it was on a 4 day mission. you were more than happy to take on watches when no one else wanted to. you would help patch people up, and didn’t wake him when it was his turn.

he watched the bags under your eyes grow deeper, even though your energy stayed just as bright.

‘hey gaz!’ you wiggled your fingers at him in greeting, smiling bright even with dark bags under your eyes. you greeted everyone you walked by and no one thought anything of it.

he would go to sleep well before you finished your workouts and would find you having breakfast well before he was awake. it confused him, truly.

you laughed and moved just as quickly, with not a single yawn given out. you messed with the recruits, joked with Soap and found Price to drag out of his office for but a few minutes.

at the bars after missions you were the life of the party. dancing, drinking and finding more things to nearly get in trouble with.

‘c’mon, guys! just one more?’ you nudged soap to try and get him to dance just once more but he slumped over in his seat, waving you off.

you looked at gaz expectantly. he could never say no, at least to you when you gave him those eyes. so he’d danced, and danced, and seemingly kept dancing.

by the end of that night, he had to help you to your room. he stood there as you fought him to not sleep before giving in, alcohol and enough dancing to kill a normal person paving the way for your sleep.

some nights gaz would find you sitting in the rec-room. some nights, he would join you, feeling just as mentally exhausted but incapable of sleeping as you’d claimed.

you’d slumped against him, blinking slowly. ‘you need something to sleep? melatonin, something a lil stronger?’ he nudged and winked, raising his brows suggestively.

you shoved him, surprisingly strong considering how tired you were claiming to be. ‘come spar with me?’ you stood, trying to pull gaz up. he slumped his full weight against you, not allowing you to move him much.

shaking his head, he smiled. ‘i’m gonna go off to sleep, and you should try,’ you gave him a disgruntled face before telling him where you’d be at and walking out.

some nights, though, he could hear you talking to someone, he assumed it was price most nights. he was never able to really decipher the voice.

‘y’ever feel like you didn’t do enough?’ your asked and he could barely make out the hum responding to you. ‘some nights it gets especially bad,’ he couldn’t make out the rest of what you said.

gaz would sometimes watch you, sitting outside and watching the sun set or waking up just early enough to watch the sun rise with you. speaking happily with him, talking about anything and everything.

‘a lot of the big thinkers in science took things from women,’ you told him one night, drinking gross hot chocolate you had pulled together. your breaths visible in the cold. ‘einstein took inspiration from his wife,’ you looked away.

gaz hummed in thought. this was the calmest you’d been, no longer exceptionally energetic and talking a thousand miles a minute. he looked at you, watching the reflections of the sun off the snow slowly change as it set.

‘you don’t sleep much, do you?’ it was sudden and he could see the emotions flicker through your fast just as fast as your words often were. you gave a little smile, looking down at your hands.

you glanced at him briefly. ‘before i was assigned with you guys, the 141, i was on my own squad. i’m not allowed to discuss a lot about the mission i was on, but a lot of the things i can still see clearly,’ you whispered.

‘it’s terrifying. seeing everything you try to forget you know,’ you laughed at the end, shaking your head. he could see tears dotting your eyes, watching as you kept blinking.

even with the words you’d just spoken, you suddenly shoved at his shoulder and choked a laugh out. smiling, you looked back out at the forest.

‘can’t stop being me, though. always promised them that i’d never stop being me,’ and you gave him a goofy grin.

he pulled you closer to him, letting you rest your head in his shoulder and soak in some of his warmth. if the smallest he could do was give you comfort now, he could be happy.

#no use of y/n #kyle garrick x reader #call of duty x reader #gaz x reader #task force 141 #cod mw2 #modern warfare ii #slight angst #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #call of duty #insomniac reader

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 months ago

Text

The Lark's Nest | Sawdust

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: chronic pain, implied/referenced torture

Pairings: roloceit

Word Count: 3256

The first storm. The worst storm.

The first storm:

Roman opens the door, smiling when he sees Logan in the hallway. He leans against the door frame, head tilted to the side as Logan clutches the bag strap slung over his shoulder, suddenly feeling terribly under dressed despite Roman being in nothing more than worn fatigues, barefoot, and the contrast between the fearsome point man he typically sees all suited and booted is enough to make him regret coming here, perhaps this was a mistake—

"Lark," comes Roman's gentle voice with no small amount of amusement, "come in, would you?"

He steps through the door as Roman closes it behind him. The hand on his shoulder doesn't startle him, but judging by Roman's immediate flash of concern it doesn't comfort him either. He forces himself to take a deep breath, letting the bag slide free. Roman holds out his hand and he gives it. It's not a large bag, after all, only enough to hold a change of clothes and basic toiletries, it isn't as though he's moving in here—

"Sit," Roman says, giving him a gentle nudge, "please. Would you like something to drink?"

"What do you have?"

"Tea? Coffee? Juice?" He tosses a wink over his shoulder as he moves toward the small kitchenette. "Hot chocolate?"

Logan flushes as he sits on the couch. "Wha—who told you about that?"

Roman pauses, halfway out of the fridge. "Told me about what?"

The flush deepens. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Oh, come on, now you're just teasing me." He leans over the back of the couch, face far too close to Logan's with that crooked smile. "You can't just give me the tip of the iceberg for a story like that and not expect me to go digging for the rest of it."

"I—uh—plead the fifth?"

Roman chuckles. "As if we'd ever let you be a witness if any case ever made it to trial."

It shouldn't make him flinch. It shouldn't, and yet it does, and Roman spots it, because of course he would see it, and then there's a hand tangling gently in his hair.

"Shh, don't fret, songbird." He cards his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm the one being mean right now, I know."

"Sorry."

"Now, what on earth do you have to be sorry for? Ah, no, that's my fault again," Roman says when he goes to open his mouth. "Let me rephrase: you have nothing to be sorry for. All you need to do is tell me what you want to drink."

"…can I have some hot chocolate, please?"

"Lark, you could ask for just about anything like that and I'd find a way to give it to you." Before Logan can figure out just what that entails, Roman lets him go, returning with two mugs of hot chocolate, one with significantly more whipped cream than the other. "Here you are, drink slow. It's still warm."

Logan takes a sip—yes, it is certainly still warm, and definitely not as alcohol-free as he'd expected. Roman sends him a wink over the rim of the mug, pausing when Logan's face falls.

"No good?"

"C-can—never mind."

"Ask, lark."

"…would it be possible to have a non-spiked version?"

"Of course. Forgive me, I should've asked first. I'll leave this one for Janus." He takes it from Logan's hands, quickly replacing it with a non-spiked mug as he sticks the other in the microwave. "You needn't answer this question if it's too personal, but why don't you drink?"

Logan shuffles a little on the couch, tracing the edge of the snowflake pattern with his finger. "It wasn't allowed by some of my previous employers. Never developed the taste for it."

"Well, you can drink if you like here—God knows some of us need it to get through the worst nights." He nudges Logan's leg with his own. "Though I suppose Patton never gets tired of having someone willing to try his new mocktails."

"They're good!"

"I'm sure they are." He chuckles again when Logan narrows his eyes, reaching out to lightly punch his shoulder. "Don't look at me like that, lark."

It's…strange. The warmth of the hot chocolate begins to dispel the worst of the cold ache in his gut, even as the pain across the backs of his shoulders slowly begins to spread. As their conversation continues, he finds himself leaning further and further forward, hiding winces behind sips of drink. He would be a fool to expect Roman not to notice, but at the very least, the man doesn't comment on it. At least not until there's a pause and the first roll of thunder echoes distantly over their heads.

"Are you doing alright?" Roman sits up a little, reaching for him as his head jerks towards the ceiling. "No harm will come to you while you're here, you must know that."

"I know. Just—habit, mostly."

Roman nods. Logan glances at him, steeling himself, something he clearly picks up on as he sobers, setting his mug on the coffee table.

"Can I—would it be alright if I—" he puts his mug down too and shuffles along the couch.

"Of course you can." Roman leans back, holding out his arms. "Come have a cuddle, lark, you look tired."

Gratefully, Logan shifts forward enough to ease his weight over Roman's chest, only for Roman to chuckle and pull him the rest of the way down. He lets out a slightly undignified yelp as Roman's arms come up to wrap around him.

"You're not that heavy, songbird, you can rest on me. Shh, shh," he murmurs as they adjust, "that's it…just do what makes you feel comfortable."

"Are you sure this is alright?"

"Perfectly. Am I hurting you at all?"

"N-no, this is fine."

"I think we can do better than fine," Roman sniffs, before softening his voice once more, "tell me what to do, lark."

With a red face—that Roman can certainly feel—Logan directs him to shift his grip, move his leg, let him slot further underneath his chin until Roman's arms close over him in just the right way and an embarrassing noise slips from his throat.

"There," Roman chuckles, his voice even deeper with Logan's ear pressed to his chest, "that's better isn't it?"

"Mm."

"Close your eyes, then, songbird, I can feel how hard you're trying to keep yourself awake."

And so he does, dozing and drifting there on the couch until there's the click of a doorknob and the sound of Janus's surprised laugh.

"I see you've beat me home, lark."

"There's hot chocolate in the microwave for you if you want it."

Janus hums, walking over and crouching by Logan's head, smiling. "Hi, sweetie."

"Hi."

"Has Roman been terribly mean to you?"

Roman scoffs as Logan shakes his head. "Terribly mean, he says—as though I'm not performing exceptionally at being a human pillow."

"Well, in that case, I'm going to go wash up." He ruffles Logan's hair. "Try not to fall asleep until I get back, alright?"

"Shame on you," Roman scolds without any real heat, "it's a crime to ask the poor lark to stay awake a moment longer than necessary."

"Don't think I haven't caught on to your clever little plan here, Roman."

"I would never."

Janus rolls his eyes fondly as he stands and moves to an adjoining room. Logan follows his path with drowsy eyes, frowning. "What did he mean?"

"Oh, we've been squabbling over who gets the honor of being your personal pillow for the night once we learned there was a storm coming."

"But you didn't know I'd come."

"Know? No, we didn't. But we certainly did hope. Now hush, songbird, you were dozing off a moment ago."

"Janus said not to fall asleep."

"Janus isn't the one in pain," Roman corrects ever so softly, "he doesn't get to be in charge of that."

Still, Logan does manage to stay awake until Janus re-emerges, hair still slightly damp as he prods Roman's shoulder. "Your turn. Best wash the day off before Logan has to smell it all over you."

Roman pouts as Logan sits up, only for it to fade as soon as Logan hisses in discomfort. "Are you alright? Do you need painkillers of any sort?"

Logan shakes his head. "Those…those can make things worse."

"How so?"

"The body compensates for the missing sensation," Janus says quietly, gesturing to the burn on the side of his face when Logan looks up at him in surprise. "Go on, Roman."

Roman gets up without further protest, letting Janus take his spot. It's no less of a surreal thing to see the second in command smile softly at him, holding out his arms and bidding him to lie down for a cuddle. Unlike Roman, whose arms stayed still as soon as they figured out where best they would be, Janus traces lightly over his back and sides, counterbalancing the pain with sensation just soft enough to tickle. Logan slips easily back into a daze as the water runs in the next room.

"If I fall asleep," he mumbles, "will you wake me up to say goodnight to Roman?"

"Of course, sweetie."

"…did you really fight over who got to sleep with me?"

His movement pauses for a moment before his hand cups the back of his head. "Logan, I will say this as many times as you need to hear it, as will Roman, as will anyone else whom you ask: you are beloved here. We would all fight for the honor of caring for you, so long as you make the final choices yourself. You have been hurt, mistreated, abused under the cruel hands of others. No more. Not here. Not with us."

"O-oh."

And to his horror, his throat grows thick.

"Oh, sweetie," Janus murmurs, "it's alright. It's alright, you're safe, I swear it. Shh, shh, it's alright, hold onto me—yes, that's it."

"Shame on you," comes Roman's voice again, only partially teasing this time, "you've made our little lark cry."

He drops to his knees next to the couch, one hand overlapping Janus's as he cups his cheek. Logan reaches out and he quickly takes his hand, squeezing tightly.

"What's the matter, what's he done to you?"

"N-nothing, nothing, I swear, nothing—"

"Don't work him up," Janus scolds, "the poor thing's just crashing, that's all."

"Oh, lark…" Roman brings his hand to his lips, brushing kisses over his knuckles, "it's alright. You're safe here, I promise. No storm can reach you down here, not while we're around."

"P-promise?"

"I promise, lark."

"I promise, sweetie."

And despite the tears still flowing down his face, Logan thinks he might be able to sleep tonight.

The worst storm:

The man had only gotten as far as hearing that the singer warmed the boss's bed before he was shoving his way across the room and demanding to know where they were.

Now he was storming down to the last dock on the wharf and scanning for the offending party.

"Big blue coat," the person had stammered, "you can't miss it!"

Sure enough, there it was, flapping obnoxiously in the breeze. He grits his teeth and storms over, temper as clouded as the sky. He rounds the corner and the other man barely has time to turn around before he throws a punch right for his jaw.

"Hey," shouts one of the other people, "what's your problem?"

"I have a problem with a prick who abuses his authority to bed his crew, yeah," he snarls as the man straightens slowly, "I have a problem."

"Not that it wasn't an effective way to get my attention," the other man says slowly, rubbing his jaw, "but I do have some reservations about being greeting with a punch to the face."

"But not about bedding subordinates, huh?"

"Let's…start this over. Do I get to know the identity of who just punched me in the face?" The man snarled but gave his name. "Right. And why am I being punched in the face?"

"For taking a crewmember as your bedwarmer," he snarls again, "and abusing that rank."

"And how have you come to this conclusion?"

"One of yours was bragging about it inside less than two minutes ago."

The other man hums, an infuriating smile coming to his face. "This all seems to be a misunderstanding. I can assure you there is an explanation what will omit any further need to punch me in the face."

"And what in the hell would that be?"

"I am not bedding a member of my crew," he says slowly, as though talking to an idiot, "and the nights that the man you speak of was referring to are under the orders of our doctors."

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for it?"

"You were quite happy to act on the words of a man you did not know personally, off of a conversation that you were not a part of, but yes, I can assure you that—"

He growls and lunges for the other man again only to have his arm caught in a surprisingly strong grip.

"Do not mistake my calm demeanor for weakness," says the other, grip unyielding, "you are not owed the personal details of my life, nor any other in my crew. I do not take your accusations and slights lightly. The reason I have not fought back is because I believe in understanding things first before I throw a punch."

He shoves him back with such force that he stumbles a little before he gets his feet under him.

"Now," and a hint of steel enters his voice, "if you insist upon such accusations, then this conversation is about to get far more dangerous for you."

"Dangerous?" He scoffs. "What, are you going to kill me?"

"Perhaps not," says the man who much be the second, "but you are awfully outmatched, my good sir, and I don't think even you're drunk enough to like those odds."

Indeed, the rest of the crew silently began to stand. He glances around and then back. The important crew member isn't here.

"And what if I want to take the one you bed with me?" His face twists with a cruel smile. "Or can he not walk at the moment?"

There it is.

Rage flares in the other man's eyes and he steps forward to—

"Stop!"

Something shoves him back hard and he stumbles, looking back up to see someone standing between the two of them, their hand out to stay the other man.

It's him.

"You're alright," he manages, "you're—you're alright."

"What are you doing? Why are you here? What—what happened?"

All words have left him at the site of his old crew member, standing here. "Someone…someone said you were warming his bed. That you were…that you were…"

"That's what this is about?" He makes a face. "It's only during storms, he sleeps on his back, that's all—and that doesn't make sense, why were you there? What—"

Sleeps on his back? Only during storms?

Oh.

"…still?"

Something in that face hardens, and he feels something lodge in his throat. "Yes, sir. Still."

In the midst of wallowing in his own self-pity, he almost misses the way what was rage darkens into fury in the other man's face.

"It was you." His voice is dark and vengeful.

Around them, the rest of the crew understands, and at the sudden wave of anger he fights the urge to take a step back.

"You have some nerve," the man continues, eyes boring into him, "to act as though you have any right to decide what is and is not appropriate for a boss to do."

He steps forward.

"Let alone tell me that I do not know where to draw the line."

Thunder rolls in the distance.

Despite the wrath radiating off of him, the hand he places on his crew member's—his crew member's shoulder is nothing but tender.

"Go back inside, little songbird."

Songbird. He did learn to sing again.

"Come on," says another who must be the crew's medic, "we need plausible deniability."

"No."

"You don't want to be out here for this, lark," the second says, eyeing him as though he were a piece of meat, "it's not going to be pretty."

"No," he says again, turning so his back is to him—his back, his back that still hurts when the storm comes, there's a storm coming, it will hurt tonight— "it's not worth it. He is not worth it."

"He took your sleep," another crew member growls and oh, there is not a wavering heart in the whole crew, "he spilled your blood, he taught you fear and called it loyalty."

"He isn't worth it."

"He hurt you," the second says, "that makes it worth it."

The boss hasn't said anything. The songbird walks up to him, voice heavy.

"I still feel them," he says in a voice that strikes him in the chest, "in my body, every day, every time I see it, I will never be rid of them. They will always haunt me."

He takes another step.

"But if you do this, you will tie him to me forever. I will never be able to live with that," he whispers, "don't do that to me."

The boss looks at him. Something intimate and tender softens his eyes, and then hardens them once more as he looks back.

"Run."

The man who once commanded half of the city turns like a prey animal and flees.

When his footsteps have faded into nothingness, Logan lets out a shaking breath, his knees buckling, only for Janus and Roman to swoop in on either side, their arms around him.

"It's alright, lark, it's over, he's gone, you'll never see him again."

"Still think we should've killed him," Virgil grouses despite Patton's light cuff upside his head.

"You heard him," Remus says, even though he looks as murderous as ever, "Logan said no."

Roman still has his mouth to Logan's ear, murmuring soft comforts and soothing words. Janus glances at Mr. Sanders, silently asking if he should take care of it—Logan needn't know, of course, but Mr. Sanders shakes his head. Logan's word was law when it came to this matter, and the man would live.

Now, he might only live because he would instruct Remus to keep him alive, but he would live.

For now, though, he lets out a breath and steps forward, placing his hand on Logan's shoulder.

"Come back inside, lark," he says quietly, "I think we've all had enough excitement for one night."

The lark doesn't utter another word until safely ensconced in the club's inner sanctum, far away from the docks—he had only wanted to watch the sunset, how dare that man try and take that from him too—far away from anyone who could possibly wish him any harm. Roman and Remus are on watch, Janus promising to attend to anything that needs happen upstairs, Patton only a call away. And Logan looks at him with that soft and scared look and he cannot refuse his lark a single thing, not when he's so driven by fear.

"What do you need, songbird?"

"I don't know if I can sleep tonight," he confesses, eyes on his hands, "will you let me stay here with you?"

"Of course you can, lark. Come—you must be hungry."

Logan doesn't sleep that night, not well, but he wakes as safe as he could be and perhaps, perhaps that is enough.

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#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #fic #roman sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #logan sanders

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