#guy who only ever paints: i HATE colouring inside lines

[peachducy]

its autistic girl autumn

[fivelakesinwriting]

Hi love your Barry content ( he deserves all the love). Could you possibly write something about Barry only being soft for his girl and his girl only. Or even him being super protective over her when a kook/or pogue hits on her

Author's Notes: Thank you so much, lovely - the character of Barry is so interesting to me, and I'm so happy you enjoy my content surrounding him. If this was your request - I hope you love it xoxo

Warnings: Guns, Mentions of drugs, Swearing, Sexual references - Sexual innuendos, Violence.

Requested? YES! Requests for OBX are OPEN!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

Vulnerable wasn't a state that came natural to him. Perhaps as a child, but he didn't really remember back that far. He was a soldier and he had to be tough, show no emotion. Don't get attached, it's just easier that way.

Even when he came home he found he didn't attach himself to many people. Or perhaps, there just weren't too many people around he wanted to cling to. He always had his back up around people. If they didn't get to know him, then he didn't get to know them and then his heart never got broken.

Until Her.

There wasn't really a timeline for their relationship, or when she started coming around. If he was honest, it all started to blend together. One day she wasn't there and the next she was. On his couch, perched on his lap with her fingers in his hair and her sweet voice in his ear.

Barry thought she was the sweetest girl in the world. Too sweet to be hanging around with drug dealing scum like him. Too soft, sweet and all around precious to be hanging around with a guy like him. Tripping over a loaded gun every step she took. She would give him those gentle, knowing eyes after she had gathered herself.

I know this is who you are, baby.

It was her unwavering love, patience and support of him for exactly who he was that helped him break his own walls down bit by bit. The way she didn't mind that his house was messy, all types of people from different walks of life knocking on his door. Or how she let him rest his head on her chest after a particularly long day, her fingers twisting the loose lock of hair the hung in his face.

Barry, quite simply, felt like he would die for her if it came down to it. He wasn't sure why he would ever find himself that in position, or why his sweet girlfriend, content on spending her nights cuddled on the couch with him or buried between the pages of book, would ever put either of them in that position.

But he would go down in flames for his woman.

"Baby?" Her voice was soft behind him as he sat at the table out in the sun-room, weighing out bags. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt like a teenager getting caught with his first dime-bag of weed.

"Hey. I was just finishin' up in here. Won't be long." He muttered with a clear of his throat as he turned in his chair to see her standing in the doorway, fiddling with the hem of her dress.

"Are we still going for a walk on the beach today?" She inquired, so sugary sweet it was a shock to his system. He felt dizzy, lightheaded.

Barry stood up, his work completely forgotten at her question. He had promised her that he would take her to the beach. A simple request, but he preferred to say "low profile" and the beach seemed like the least low profile place of all. But if she asked him, he would oblige without question.

"Yeah. Can go now, if you want." Barry nodded as he wiped his hands off on the back of his shorts before he reached for her hands. No part of his life, his work, would touch her. He still didn't know why she chose a life with him, but he took it day by beautiful day.

She took the small steps forward so her bare toes touched the tips of work boots, her hands reaching for his to lace their fingers. Barry looked down at their feet, passed their hands interlocked, at her little painted toes. It would take him a while to admit out loud that the bright colours she painted her toes made him just a little bit weak. The way she curled her toes against his shins when they were in bed together, or even the gentle way she rubbed the flats of her feet against his own to stay warm at night.

It made him remember he was still alive.

Barry loathed the beach. So many tourists, unhappy kids and parents, sun burnt and drunk college kids who just didn't know when to call it quits. All of it was terrible, but he didn't seem to notice all of those distractions so much when he was with her. Playfully kicking water at her as they walked the shoreline, a soft kiss to her forehead now and then. He wasn't too fond of large displays of affection, they seemed grotesque to him. A kiss to the forehead, or the squeeze of the hand was more than enough for him.

The looks of the frat guys around them didn't go unnoticed by the soldier. He was acutely aware of everything that was going on around them. He knew the toddler at the top of the hill, near the food truck, was going to fall the minute it started run. He could see it in his brain before it happened. He saw the teen girls ahead, and to the left of them, battling over who got to take the photo to commemorate the day.

And he saw the group of Kooks, more than one of them could be called a regular customer, eyes zeroed in on Barry and his girl slowly walking down the shoreline. He could see their lips moving, but he couldn't hear anything. A Kook Goon Squad, clad in overpriced bathing suits and Oakley's. He hated them, every last one of them.

"Here. Think that ice cream truck over there has that ice for little kids you like. Take this, I'll be right there." Barry grumbled as he reached into the back pocket of his shorts and pulling out his wallet.

"Super Hero ice cream is not for little kids, Barry." She scoffed, but graciously accepted his wallet with a peck on his cheek before she took off with a run through the water, splashing up her thighs.

Barry ran his hand over his chin as he made sure his love far enough away before he turned on his heel and stalked over to the Kooks beneath a beach umbrella, attempting to tap a keg.

"...too hot for him, though. I met her at this party a year ago but no deal. She's loyal as shit to him, dude."

The conversation made Barry vibrate with anger. She had told him about that party and how some guy had been unruly with her, would not leave her alone.

"The only way he could have been closer to me is if he had been inside of me. He was so creepy."

Barry clenched his fists as he made the last few steps up to the group of Kooks, ready to strike. He pulled his fist back, the blood in his head blocking out any other sounds than the pure rage he felt at the disrespect they were speaking about his girlfriend.

Barry pulled his elbow back and connected his fist with the Kook's jaw, unannounced. Not the most fair punch he's ever doled out, but he didn't think that hitting on another man's girlfriend was exactly fair either. He wasn't sure if it was the sheer force of his punch, or the fact that it was unexpected - perhaps a bit of both - but the Kook was knocked off of his feet, and onto his back.

"So, you like hitting on girls with boyfriend's? Being persistent? Man, if I was as persistent as you, I'd probably having my fucking money from your ass by now." Barry growled as he crouched down in the sand beside the boy as he groaned, clutching his jaw.

"Leave my girl alone, asshole." Barry spat as he stood up, glaring at the friends that stood helpless around the Kook writhing on the ground.

Barry walked away from the rich kids with too much time and money to spare, and found his girl at the front of the line for ice cream. He let out a deep breath as he wiped off his raw, bloody knuckle on the underside of his shirt.

"Hi, baby. You're just in time. I got stuck behind a group of like, ten kids. Do you want something?" She smiled as he walked up behind her and gently placed his hands on her hip as not to scare her.

"Nah. Share yours." He replied softly as he leaned in to press another kiss to her forehead.

"See? Super Hero ice cream isn't just for kids."

Hotties:

@vintageobx @starkey-babie @fashion-fasting @barrysjumpsuit @babeyglo @rottenstyx @pogueslandia @whcclxr @soph0864

@beauvibaby @plutooryectors @sodasback

*tag list is open, please let me know if I forgot you or you would like to be added/removed from particular posts. I've removed the people that don't pre-populate :(

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much xoxo

Requests for OBX ARE OPEN!

[spacedikut]

spooky scary skeletons ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: spencer has the prettiest face you’ve ever painted on. 1626 words

a/n: a poorly edited, poorly written and late halloween thing! inspired by idmakeitbehave (go read everything theyve ever written ever) because they have the BEST meet cutes and every time i think of them i :-)

masterlist

The haunted mansion of the fair, overflowing with screams, the sound of chainsaws and the evil cackle your friend has been rehearsing in the mirror all month, stands tall behind you like the looming presence it is. It’s brought great entertainment for you, watching and hearing the reactions of those that dare enter.

You’re set up not far from the exit of the house with your array of face paint around you, paintbrush in hand. Most of your customers are children – this year’s most popular request is pumpkin, last year was skeleton – and as much as you love spookiness and gore and everything in between, the rush of pride you feel when a little girl gasps and thanks you with the sweetest voice when you show her your finished work is unmatched.

You’re not the least surprised that your clientele is mainly children. There’s the odd parent here and there that is persuaded to get a black cat on their cheek, or some fake blood coming from their eyes and mouths, but they never venture beyond the small request.

Until him.

He’s marched up to you by his friend who, wearing a dress covered in fake spiders and cobwebs, pushes him by the shoulders right up to the foldable chair that’s placed opposite you. You’re drying off a wet paintbrush, glancing up when you hear the crunch of leaves beneath their feet.

“My friend would like his face painted.” She tells you.

“Of course,” You gesture for him to take the seat in front of you, the compliment slipping out after giving them both a once-over. “I like your outfits.”

“Oh!” The girl grins. “Thank you. I’ve been waiting all year to wear it. And he,” She points to the still-silent customer who hasn’t taken his eyes off you once, “Is more obsessed with Halloween than anyone I know.”

Looking at the bright orange pumpkin-covered sweater he’s wearing, you’re overcome by the urge to touch it – and his hair, with the way it’s all squiggles and curls and seems so soft. “What can I do for you?”

The first time he speaks, it’s after he takes a deep breath and rubs his palms on his trousers. “A skeleton, please.”

You’re already arranging the colours you’ll need, missing how the girl slips away, too busy asking the usual questions, “How big?”

“My entire face.”

That’s a new one. For an adult, at least. Usually all they want is an easy to clean, easy to hide image on their cheek.

It’s only then you really take in his appearance. In the dark, dusty light of the fair, he looks like a real life Tim Burton character – shallow eyes, sharp cheekbones, a general gauntness that you’ve only seen in fiction. He’s the perfect skeleton, if that isn’t weird to think.

“All over?” Your hand moves to gesture over your face, as if miming to him what all over really means.

“Yeah,” He nods, “I’m not that good of an artist, and my mask makes it kind of hard to see. So a skeleton is spooky enough but not a lot of work, right?”

“Right.” You smile at him. “Right, okay, let’s do it.”

The second the cold bristles dip into the paint before you, you’re absorbed in ensuring you do a good job. You’re used to working on children, so you naturally take hold of his chin to move his face this way and that way to apply a firm coat and get your lines right.

“I’m Spencer, by the way,” He mumbles.

You huff a laugh. He feels your breath on his lips. “Hi, Spencer, I’m Y/N.”

The customer ��� Spencer – wiggles his lips in a way that tells you he’s holding back a smile. You’re not sure what it is about him, but you like him. You like how still he sits, patiently letting you do your work, you like how much he seems to like Halloween (you refer to the sweater and the fact he’s about to cover his entire face in paint to look like a skeleton), and you like how his eyes on you make you feel. Because it doesn’t feel gross, or weird, like it normally does; it’s like his gaze is complimenting you silently, the intensity of it making you bite the inside of your cheek.

Small-talk comes naturally after hours of doing this job. “You mentioned a mask? What was it a mask of?”

“Michael Myers.”

“Oh,” You shiver, “I hate that guy.”

“The iconic mask is actually a William Shatner mask that’s painted white and changed to blur the resemblance to Shatner. Specifically, it’s a Captain Kirk death mask created for Star Trek.” Spencer tells you, giving a tight lipped smile when you pause for a second to take in the information.

“How does William Shatner feel about that?”

“Not great, probably. But, can you imagine being considered one of the stars of the Halloween franchise?” He’s giddy, almost wiggling in excitement. “I’d love to see people wearing my face every Halloween.”

You laugh at that.

A few more facts are spewed out while you mix black with a little bit of white to make grey, some you already know and some you don’t, but he’s still chattering on when you turn back to face him, ready to paint again.

The words die in his throat, however, when your hand finds home on the back of his neck, thumb hooking around to lift his jaw up. “Still, please.”

Even if he wanted to give an unnecessary apology, he wouldn’t be able to, as if his throat is full of sand.

It’s silent for a while, Spencer’s eyes trained on the twinkling night sky that sits calmly compared to the thundering of his heart, the scramble of thoughts in his head. When your hand moves away a few minutes later, his disappointed eyes fall back to your face, where he finds himself thinking, please do that again.

“Do you want the black on your eyelids, too, or just around your eye?” You ask over your shoulder, oblivious to the new slump in Spencer’s back.

“Eyelids, too, please.”

You smile to yourself at how polite he is. Spencer might be the sweetest person you’ve ever met and you’ve known him for twenty minutes.

By the time you’re done, you’ve decided Spencer is the best customer you’ve ever had and you’d give anything to replay this interaction again and again. He’s polite, listens when you ask him to turn a certain way or sit up (a surprising amount of adults simply do not listen), and brings the most interesting conversation.

Did you know the use of OMG can be traced back to 1917? Cause Spencer does, and he bestowed you with the same knowledge.

You’re impressed with yourself and Spencer’s brain when you finally lean back, checking for any spots you missed or parts you can fix.

Before you even reach for the mirror, Spencer’s interrupting you.

“Um… do I-do I look spooky?”

You face him, a pretty smirk on your lips, “Terrifying.”

When you hold the mirror up to his face, he barely spares himself glance (but it’s enough of a glance for him to think holy crap, you’re talented) and there’s a look in his eye – he’s hesitant. About what, you’re not sure.

You wonder if he can tell you don’t want him to go. You enjoy his company, you enjoy him, and you’ve never wanted to wipe your work off someone’s face so quickly just for an excuse to do it again until now.

“How much do I owe you?” He asks, reaching for his wallet but not leaving the chair.

Your eyes narrow for a split second as you weight your option. Then you think fuck it, and say, “Nothing. It’s on the house.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You can, and you will.” You stand. “Consider it thanks for all the cool facts you gave me.”

He lights up when you say cool facts, and opens his mouth to again offer to pay when he’s cut off by a group of laughing teenagers flying out of the haunted house, the exit door slamming against the wood with a startling bang.

Spencer gets an idea.

Seeing you look at the house, he asks, “Have you been in yet?”

You shake your head. “No. Not yet. If I have time later, maybe-“

“Come in with me.”

His grip on his wallet is tight, channelling all worry into his fingers so he doesn’t stumble or say something stupid.

“It’s the least I can do, and it’ll be too scary on my own.”

He’s lying – the idea of going through a haunted house by himself sounds exhilarating, but he’s found an opportunity to not leave you just yet and he’s going to take it.

You consider him for a moment. It’s late, you’ve been painting faces all day, and the sweetest, most attractive person you’ve ever seen is asking you to join them in a haunted house on Halloween. What kind of person would say no?

“Okay,” You happily concede, “But don’t blame me if I end up clinging to you.”

The two of you join the line into the house, giggling when someone dramatically falls through the exit and gasps for air like he’s barely made it out alive. And when the next people to leave the house are a couple who hold eachother close and tight, hands intertwined and one with their head buried in the neck of the other, Spencer steps a little closer to you, hoping you get the memo that having you cling to him doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @roses-and-grasses @fandommonium3267 @ta-ka-shi-ma @ogmilkis @chiffonchronicles @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @jasongideonapologist @gublertoon @bitchyreids

[katsukisbimbo]

DDAENG

✯ pairing: hawks x reader

✯ genre: FLUFFYYDS!!

✯ summary: fan! hawks meeting his newly debuted idol crush y/n at a fansign!

✯wordcount: 2.1k+

✯warning: just swearing and hawks being thirsty <3

✯ note: this literallt came to me because i was trying to turn @hoodtoshi into a bts stan (lowkey succeeded) and i was jus like yea, thirsty hawks

-ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛--ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛--ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥

- you were nervous

- this was your first fan meet after all,, but you were still nervous

- you were only 19 and had already debuted!!

- that didn’t happen to just anyone!!

- you worked super hard to get to where you are today!! everyone knew that!!

- you sighed as your make-up artist continued to paint your lips a dark red colour

- you honestly didn’t look like yourself, but this was to keep up the whole idol image i guess

- “jinhee, how many people are outside? i’m sure only two people came to see me..” you pouted, resulting in your make-up artist to smack your cheek lightly

- “dOn’t say that you dummy! i’m sure a lot of people came to see you!” she scolded, wiping off the excess makeup on a towel

- “now get out, you’re done”

- “i don’t wanna”

- she raised a newspaper and flexed, ready to beat the fuck out of you if she heard another whisper of self-deprecation from you

- “fine! i’m going!” you grumbled, pouting at oncoming soreness of your feet from your heels

- why did idols have to wear heels anyway?

- okay no, you knew why, but sTill!! they sucked!

- you smiled as you saw the buffet table

- one little snack wouldn’t hurt

- >:)

- “keigo stop fuckign puSHING”

- “im so EXCITED!! i’m meeting THE y/n you SLUTBAG!!” keigo yelled as he shook his companion

- dabi sometimes questioned why he was still friends with keigo

- “i SEE that you asshole”

- keigo took this opportunity to punch dabi in the arm, causing dabi to retaliate, causing kEigo to retaliate, causing dAb-

- okay so

- “i’ve been in love with her ever since she debuted!! and she debuted ALONE!! a whole solo artist!! the talent!! the beauty!! i’m in love!!”

- dabi raised a brow at his friend

- “didn’t you tweet about wanting to ‘put a baby inside of her’?”

- keigo felt his cheeks heat up at the possibility of you seeing his indecent tweets about you

- what if you had seen? what if you think he’s a creep? what if you already hated him??

- keigo felt his anxiety creep onto his shoulders as he continued to overthink, not realizing that they were already next to go in

- ruh roh raggy

- keigo didn’t know anything BUT anxiety

- rip keigo we’ll miss you big daddy :,(

- “please come in, please don’t shout”

- whO was shouting?? nobody was shouting

- keigo wasn’t gonna shout

- as keigo was about to shout, he felt himself be silenced by his partner

- all keigo could feel was betrayal

- “calm down you hot dog, you’re going to TALK to her in person jfc. you can tell her how much you want to father her children then”

- it was almost time and you were STILL at the food table

- you saw a small intern approach you with an uneasy look on her face

- she was for sure about to reprimand you

- “m-ms. y/n,, we have to go now!” she stuttered

- she was sO! cute you just couldn’t say no

- so you decided to just sneak a few bags of chips under your skirt before smiling and quickly following her

- you made your way to the stage, peeking behind the curtains

- you saw a huge crowd of people, mostly males, but one man who sat near the front caught your eye

- he had bright yellow eyes with matching blond hair, even wearing some eyeliner

- the unknown male looked absolutely delectable

- he made you bark a little tbh

- you took a deep breath before you were pushed by your manager on the stage, cheers suddenly reaching your ears as your fans confessed their love for you

- quit shamelessly might you add

- you blushed as you watched the cute blond-haired man cup his hands around his mouth and yell—

- “I LOVE YOU Y/N! IM YOUR NUMBER ONE FAN!” he yelled, gaining the attention of everyone in the room

- soon everyone started to yell that they were your biggest fan and that the blond man could never even compare

- but the man had nothing but a satisfied smirk plastered on his handsome face

- did he enjoy starting riots?

- you sat on the chair, placing your hands on top of the table

- this was a small table ngl

- luckily there was a sheet on the table, hiding your nervously bouncing legs

- just imagine watching a fancam of you bouncing your leg

- people would still thirst for that

- anyway

- “thank you guys for coming! i’m so excited to meet you all!” you started, smiling at the large number of people

- “you guys can ask me questions or some things? i don’t know?” you laughed, feeling slightly awkward

- you didn’t know how to be a person

- “can you do a dance for us!!” a young boy, about the age of 7 yelled, jumping up and down in front of his seat

- “what dance?” you queried, raising your brow in curiosity

- “move by taemin!!” he cheered, immediately dancing

- you laughed at his adorable actions

- you were totally gonna dance for him!

- you got up as the music started to play in the background, moving to the side of the table and sensually moving to the beat while the audience watched intently

- you carefully moved your hips, hitting all the right beats

- this wasn’t any different than dancing in front of the camera people, plus you had to get used to an audience

- it also wasn’t any different from how you had to dance to kpop songs from when you were younger for your family!!

- (no, literally. the amount of times i had to dance to 2NE1’s i am the best, girls generation’s gee, and wonder girls’ nobody. the dances are engraved in my head. 6 year old giri had to dance or else)

- as the song faded out, you held your pose before bowing, smiling at the little boy who continued to hype you up

- “holy fuck.. dabi that was hot” hawks whispered, tightening his grip around his friends sleeve

- “jeez kei, ease up a bit” dabi complained, prying his friends hand off of him

- “oh my god she’s such a great dancer, do you think she’ll like me if i learn how to dance too?” he questioned, grabbing his friend by the front of his shirt, pissing dabi off once more

- “no. not if you don’t stop being a fuckinf weirdo”

- hawks pouted

- dabi grinned

- how cruel

- “does anyone else have a request?”

- “WAP!!” a number of people yelled, resulting in your face heating up

- how would they suggest such a lewd dance!

- especially when there were children here!

- “haha! that doesn’t seem very appropriate!” you laughed it off, trying your best to mask your uncomfortableness

- hopefully this would end soon

- “no! can you dance to gashina please!” a girl yelled, catching your attention

- hm, gashina was actually a very good suggestion

- you could do this! you could be as great as sunmi!

- okay maybe no. sunmi was a god <3

- you did the routine, catching the eyes and the hearts of the audience

- “fuck i think i’m in love dabi” hawks whined, clutching his chest

- he had a lovesick expression plastered on his face

- he was totally whipped for you, no doubt about it

- before you knew it, it was time for the fans to have a minute to speak to you and for them to get their albums signed!

- you had recently debuted with your album, dawn in tokyo

- you had taken inspiration from the time where you had left your hotel at dawn and walked around the streets of tokyo, sitting near a bridge and writing lyrics for some of the songs in the album

- hence the name of the album

- most of your album was written in japan

- hawks felt himself get more excited as he came closer to you, holding tightly to the fabric of his friends jacket, which wouldn’t surely gotten him slapped if you weren’t so near

- before he knew it, he was already next in line, dabi already sitting in front of your figure while holding your soft, delicate looking hand in his large ugly ones

- this made hawks’ chest bubble with jealousy

- >:(

- sure, you had a large fan base, but it still hurt to see people touch you the way he wanted to

- it was now his turn, he walked up the stairs with his wobbly knees, wanting to just sit and be near you

- he knew that you would be able to calm his nerves, or make him spontaneously combust

- “hey! i’m y/n! nice to meet you!” you smiled, out-stretching your hand to him, offering to place your hand in his own

- he swiftly, but gently grasped your hand, before placing it on his cheek, letting you hold the soft chub of his cheek

- no fan had been this brave to do this. it was quite surprising to be honest

- he wasn’t breaking any rules so you decided to fuck it and go with it

- you placed both your hands on his cheeks, slightly squishing them together, causing him to adorably pout

- “dash not nishe” he mumbled, brows furrowing

- you laughed before letting go of his face, bringing your hands back to your side of the table

- “you’re so cute! can i sign your album for you?” you smiled, tilting your head to the side

- hawks just..dieded

- mans said peace out

- your beauty was incomprehensible

- phew, he had to get his shit together! he was trying to impress u! he wanted to be the mc in a wattpad story

- we all wanna be y/n

- anywayss

- “sure dove! u can make it out to keigo, u can put your number in it too ;)” he winked

- KDNDHSK

- DID HE—

- DID HE JUST ASK FOR YOUR NUMBER

- LIKE—

- nobody:

- y/n: i’m not gon do it girl.. i’m just thinking about it

- “ah! sorry cutie! i’m not allowed to share my number :333”

- you tried to laugh as you died inside

- he smiled, before placing a kiss on your fingertips

- “don’t worry dove,i respect that” he winked

- BARK BARK

- “i have some gifts for you!” he announced, placing the huge paper bag on top of the table

- he first pulled out your favourite snack before handing it to you

- how did he get these??

- omg

- then, he brought out a bottle of perfume, and a new song writing notebook!

- this was great!!

- “oh my gosh! keigo! you’re too sweet” you cooed,

- this was a lot

- “i also have something else.. would you wear this flower crown for me and do some fan-service?” he queried

- of course you would!

- you nodded before placing the flower crown on top of your head

- “what do you want me to say?”

- “say.. i’ll be a good dove for hawks. is that okay?” he smirked, tracing small circles into the palm of your hands

- w-wHAT

- was this legal

- your managers were literally ignoring you—

- “o-oh! sure! uhm-“

- god you were going to regret this

- “i-i’ll be a good dove for hawks!” you whimpered, showing off your practiced aegyo

- “ahhh! my heart!” he gasped, dramatically clutching his chest

- “excuse me, we need the next fan to come up” you manager tapped the both of your arms

- you nodded before smiling at hawks and waving goodbye

- you were going to miss him :((

- ig it just wasn’t meant to be

- the night you had gotten home, you decided to go through your gifts

- you were particularly interested in the gift you had gotten from the blond man

- it was really sweet of him to get you a notebook

- the moment you had opened it, you had noticed that something was written on the first page

- ‘xxx-xxx-xxxx call me pretty girl <3’

- he was a bold onealright

- you were contemplating on actually calling him

- he could leak your number!

- well, you could just wait for him to speak

- fuck it

- you dialed the number on your phone and waited as it rang

- “hello?”

- “i-is this keigo?”

- “hey dove, i’m glad you called”

- y/n: i did it :33

[writingsbychlo]

let me down slow (epilogue)

word count; 2830

summary; it’s moving day, and stiles is getting his dorm all set up with the sheriff, while you and mitch still have a considerable amount more unpacking to do.

notes; I know some of y’all didn’t like the events of part eight, but you’re just gonna’ have to deal with it, because they’re adorable, it was all a misunderstanding, and they deserve the world.

warnings; none, really. some vaguely dirty innuendoes, that’s it.

Smoothing your hands over the poster on the wall, you pressed it flat to the plaster, holding it steady as Stiles pinned it down straight, and you cheered once the final one was up, the collection of Star Wars posters lining the walls making the room seem entirely perfect for your best friend. Hopping down from the bed, you smoothed out the covers, before letting both of your hands fly up to meet Stiles’ in a set of high fives, and the pair of you cheered as you took it all in.

“It’s really getting there!”

The oversized corkboard he loved so much was sitting against one wall, a shelf you’d spent almost an hour trying to put up between the pair of you as the Sheriff laughed was now assembled, with three baskets sitting along it. The first contained bundles of assorted pins and paperclips for putting up the vast assortment of photos and collage pieces that added, the space freshly cleared so that he could build it up ready for the new year. The second basket contained his camera, with a selection of different types of film for interesting shots, and the third was filled with pens and note pads for all the annotations and quotes he would put under each picture. 

The opposite wall was lined with six matching Star Wars posters, showing off the promotional pictures and titles of the originals and the prequels, a prized possession that you’d bought for Stiles as a graduation present, so that he didn’t have to take his collection at home down and travel them across the country. His desk was already cluttered with notebooks and pens, and the closet was brimming with flannelled shirts. The bookcase was stacked with textbooks and DVDs. Above the desk was pinned a campus map, class schedule, time table and a calendar, all for his convenience, because Stiles had already voiced his desire to cram as many college experiences into his first year as he possibly could, he wanted to live life to the fullest.

Along the windowsill were photo frames with his favourite pictures of everyone from back home, and he was proudly staring at the final few boxes on the floor, as his dad carried the last one in, the final clothes he had ready to be unpacked into the set of drawers beside his bed, your hand coming up to wipe across your forehead in false exhaustion as you looked around. 

“It’s fitting for you, kid.”

His voice was a little rough, and you could tell that the Sheriff was holding back his emotions as he sent his youngest son off to college, too. He held his arms out of you both, and Stiles rolled his eyes as he let out a string of curses at the affection, but pressed his face into his father’s neck as he wrapped around one side of his body, not covering the little sniffle he let out as well as he thought he had. You were quick to follow in his footsteps, tucking yourself happily under the older man’s chin, and you squeezed the two men in a tight hug. 

You easily remained that way, knowing that the two were each trying to hide their emotions, and you smiled to yourself at the thought, rolling your eyes softly. “You know, dad, I’m going to be checking with Melissa that you’re still eating healthy. Don’t think you can start eating bacon and fries every day now just because I’m gone.”

“You’re the worst.”

You giggled as he pushed you both away, but he ruffled your hair fondly, and you decided to lighten the mood a little, turning to swipe the camera from its place on the shelf, checking it was loaded with film before handing the polaroid device over to Noah. “I think we need to take the first picture to put up, don’t you?”

Stiles gasped, nodding happily before turning to you, and you pressed your hands to his shoulder once he’d turned back to face his father, and you jumped up as high as you could, sealing you legs above his hips and he gripped at your thighs, letting out a laugh as you landed on his back, your hands wrapping around his neck. With the cheesiest grin that you could muster, the Sheriff gave you a count down, before clicking the camera and waiting as the small piece of paper pushed it’s way out of the device, before handing it over to you both and putting the camera down on the desk.

Holding up the little slip, he waited patiently as the colour began to drip into it, the picture slowly revealing itself, and you let out a squeal once it became properly formed, so that you could see the image clearly. “I love it! Pin it!”

You tapped his shoulders, and he moved eagerly across to the board, selecting a pin and pushing it through the card, securing it to the very centre of the board. Only a second later, he was grabbing a red pen and a yellow post-it note, scribbling down a reminder before adding the note to the photo, and you peaked over his shoulder to read it. 

‘Move-in Day, August 2020’

You grinned, taking the pen and adding a little heart to it, before placing your hands on your hips and looking around the room. The phone you’d left on the bedside table a while ago buzzed loudly, chiming a little tune as it did, and you jumped at the interruption. Stiles moved across the room for you, picking up the device before letting out a long groan, and you chuckled at his reaction, already knowing who it must be.

“It’s my brother. Your boyfriend. Ew, I hate the sound of it, still.” You grinned at his words, sticking your tongue out as you took it from him, scanning your eyes over the message, before reaching for your bag and sealing the device inside, lifting it up onto your shoulder. “Time to go?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. You’re unpacking these last few boxes alone.” You joked, and he huffed, kicking at one lightly with the toe of his shoes. 

“Not alone, Dad is here to h-”

“Dad is going back to the hotel to rest his back and take a shower. Stiles is alone and putting his own laundry away for the first time in his life.” His dad grinned, and the boy let out a whine at it, stomping his foot a little before giving in. 

“See you tonight, at the restaurant?”

“We will meet you there.” His face scrunched up once again.

“I can’t get with the referring to you and Mitch as a ‘we’. I’m not used to it.” You shrugged, but leaned up to press a friendly kiss to his cheek, before letting him wrap you up in a tight hug, and brush his lips to your temple. “I’ll get used to it. I’m just glad you’re happy.”

His dad left the room, leaving you both to your moment, even though you were only saying goodbye for a few hours, but he was a little jittery once the door had closed. 

“Can I tell you something, before you go? I don’t want it to be a big deal, but I do want to tell you first.” You nodded, brows furrowing as he fiddled with his fingers between your bodies worriedly, and you reached up to place your hand over his own, letting him lace your fingers together. “Now that I’m not obsessing over Lydia anymore, and I’m in college and really taking a minute to get to know myself, I think I discovered something.”

“Is it good?”

“Yeah.. yeah, I think so.” He was nervous, biting down on his lower lip, and you squeezed his hand reassuringly in an attempt to tell him that it was okay. “I think I might be bi.”

A blushing tinge spread over his cheeks, his eyes ducked to avoid your own as the heat spread up to his ears and painted his pale skin pink, and you leaned in to press your body to his, your arms wrapping around him tightly, and he let out a deep sigh, before wrapping himself around you once again, his body sagging out of relief. 

“There was this guy in my welcome lecture, and he was really good looking, and while I was still in my Lydia phase I didn’t really think about anyone else that way, so I was pretty shocked when my first thought was about a guy, but then he asked me if I wanted to get coffee before the semester starts, and I said yes. We’ve been texting for a few days, now.” The words came out jumbled and hurried, and you stepped back to look at him, making sure to catch his gaze as he gave you a nervous smile. 

“I’m so happy for you, Stiles.”

“I’m going to tell my dad and brother at dinner tonight, but I just needed some support.” You nodded, before stepping back as he let out a relieved laugh and wiped a hand over his face. “God, I feel so much better. I hate keeping things from you. I don’t know how you did it for months, having secrets with you kills me.”

“It wasn’t without a lot of suffering, trust me.”

He grinned, before nudging you towards the door. “See you in a couple of hours.” You simply nodded, waving your goodbye to the Sheriff as he chatted with the other parents of Stiles’ various roommates for the year, and you made your way to the door, stepping out into the corridor. 

With hurried steps, you made your way down the stairs, knowing it would be quicker than taking the elevator, and you were just glad Stiles was living on the first floor, you really weren’t sure he’d be able to handle hiking up twelve layers worth of stairs to the top floor on a tired day if the lift ever broke. 

It wasn’t a short walk to the place you had promised to meet your boyfriend, and the walk was enjoyable, hot sun shining down and a light breeze carrying through the campus, cooling you down from the heat. Shuffling through your bag, you searched for your sunglasses, lifting them out to place them on your face, and letting out a happy sigh when you no longer had to squint. 

You could already see the man you were waiting to meet, his body coming into view as he sat on the edge of the fountain, scrolling idly on his phone as he waited for you, the bag slumped on the floor beside his feet was spilling out with textbooks and his laptop, and his hair was messy from constantly running through it. Picking up your speed a little, you made your way over to him and took up before him, your shadow falling across him. He glanced up, expression stoic and stony before he realised who it was, and his face split open in a wide grin as his entire demeanour brightened. 

“Thought you were standing me up for a second there. You’re late.”

“Yeah, well, I got caught up. You can believe that I will never just leave you hanging.” You offered, and he scooped up his bag, swinging the strap over his shoulder before standing up, and he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

Pulling you in towards himself, he bumped the tip of his nose with your own, before letting out a sigh. “I know you wouldn't.” He pressed his lips to your own, a sweet kiss that made your heart thud and your mind spin, before you were pushing up into him a little further. Resting your hands on his shoulders, his own slipped down to your waist, holding your body to his as his mouth moved with your own in gentle rhythms, and giving you one final peck when he pulled away. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely.” He took your hand in his, pulling you away toward the direction of the apartment the two of you had so carefully chosen together, and you leaned your head against his shoulder as the two of you walked. He twisted, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head, and you squeezed you hand in acknowledgement of his affections. “Guess who I ran into earlier?”

“Who?”

“The redhead from a few weeks back.” He stiffened underneath you, only relaxing when you paused, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips as he fixed you with a worried glance. “Her name is Cassandra, which you never told me, and she’s actually really nice. We arranged to go for coffee.”

He practically choked on his breath, turning to look at you with wide and worried eyes as he held the door to the building open for you, and you slipped through, letting him follow as you laughed lightly at his reaction. “What was she doing there?”

“Her friend was moving into Stiles’ building, and she was helping out.” You shrugged, the two of you stepping into the elevator and you were glad to be alone, leaning back against the wall and pushing your glasses up onto the top of your head to peer at him, raising a brow. “Hey, stop freaking out. I can see the cogs working in your head. She asked about us, you know.”

“What did she say?”

“Just wanted to know if I was all good, and if things worked out.” You shrugged a little, your glasses slipping on your head, and you detangled them from your loose hair and put them away once again. “I told her that we’re doing amazing, and that I’ve never been so happy, and that we have a place together with a whole bunch of plans for the future.”

He finally let his shoulders drop from the tension he’d built up, before tucking some hair away behind your ears and stepping in towards you, crowding you into the wall a little further. “Never been so happy, huh?”

“Totally and one hundred percent in love with you.”

“I love you too.” He whispered the words into your mouth as he leaned down to kiss you, barely getting a chance to do so before the elevator was chiming and the doors were sliding open. You grinned in the kiss as he huffed out, pulling away and letting the two of you walk along, both of you patting down your bags to find your keys, but he found his own first, and lifting the set up to the door to open it.

Boxes still littered the room, labelled with things to be unpacked and brought out, but whereas Stiles had been unpacking only one room, the two of you had been unpacking an entire apartment, and there was still a lot to buy and a lot to set up, the flat-pack furniture box holding the coffee table the two of you had yet to assemble was sitting with coasters out and rings on top from drinks, using it for its purpose before it was even constructed. 

“We’re still on for dinner with Dad and Stiles, right? I don’t think we have any leftovers from last night’s takeout and I’m too lazy to go for a supermarket trip.” He flopped down onto the couch, and you nodded, hanging up your bag on the hooks and taking your phone from it, running you fingers through your hair and tugging on some of the knots that had built up.

“Yes, we are. Are you going to get changed, or wash up?”

“No, I'm going to take a nap.” He grinned, settling along the couch and tucking a hand behind his head, pouting his lips when he felt you lean over him. Pressing a soft and quick peck to his lips, you brushed some hair off of his forehead and out of his eyes, before standing up. 

“Okay, well, I’m going to take a shower before we go.”

You jumped when his eyes snapped back open, and he rolled up from the couch, grinning cheekily as his hands found your hips and he turned you around. “You know what, maybe I should wash up. We haven’t christened the bathroom yet, and I bet you look great on your knees in the shower.”

He tapped your ass cheekily in a light spank, and you gasped at the impact, but laughed anyway as he guided you through the halls, tugging at the bottom of your sundress as you went, until he had the material over your head, dropping it to the floor in the doorway to the bathroom. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You love it.” He teased, switching on the water and waiting for it to get hot as he stripped himself down, and you let out an exaggerated sigh. 

“I love you.”

“Good, because I love you too.”

[lilflowerpot]

Soulmate AU where the marks on one person's skin show up on the other, but obviously they can't understand each other's writing, so Keith mostly just tries to express himself through art instead. So naturally, when he starts investigating the Blue Lion he starts drawing THAT too. Which is why, when Voltron shows up, Lotor is Dead Certain that the blue paladin is his soulmate, and he desperately tries to force himself to fall in love with Lance even while he's like "... Really? THIS guy?"

Lotor’s soulmate is not illiterate, but they may as well be. He’s compared their careless scrawl against every language in the Imperial data banks - thrice! - and it’s simply... not there.

“They’re a primitive,” Ezor nods sagely from where she’s half draped over his shoulder, eyeing the illegible lettering on his wrist with an entertained curl to her lips, “must be. Guess the universe wanted to counterbalance all your insufferable braininess.”

When Lotor shrugs her off with a snarl, she has the audacity to laugh.

Acxa’s kinder, or she tries to be, comforting him with the notion that if his soulmate is a primitive, they’re at the very least an educated one, or better yet of a more evolved society wherein knowledge of scripture is commonplace, so... they’re not feral.

Zethrid seems to half wish that they were, if only for the thrill of it.

“And the sex,” Ezor tacks on with an evil little grin, “the sex would have been fantastic.”

Her soulmate’s raucous glee drowns out any further discussion of the topic.

-

So they can’t communicate, not with words, but if Lotor’s soulmate is anything it’s tenacious (and the Prince can’t help but admire that). They come to the conclusion that pictures are the way to go, painting Lotor’s forearms with a veritable rainbow of quadrilaterals, each containing varying stripes and symbols, and then a series of dotted squiggles that Lotor is beginning to recognise as their approximation of a question.

The problem being he doesn’t actually know what it is that they’re asking.

There’s one rectangle - the majority of which is striped red and white, with a one contrasting quarter of stars in a blue sky - that his soulmate keeps coming back to, and Lotor realises it must be a clan symbol of a sort, indicative of their own people and culture, but... once again scouring Imperial logs turns up nothing of import. Frustrated, Lotor practically carves the hateful Imperial emblem into his palm with jagged lines of ink - Vrepit Sa - and turns in for the night.

In the morning, his arms are wiped clean.

They stay that way for a quintent.

Two.

On the third, he hears back, and it rocks his entire world view.

Kraliept Sa.

The lines are careful, deliberate, as if someone unfamiliar with the old scripture had taken great pains to transcribe that singular character, and Lotor quite simply can’t believe his eyes, because that would mean... that would mean that the only two things he knows of his soulmate are in direct contrast with one another: the first being that they are completely isolated from the Empire, and the second more impossible yet, that they have ties to the Blade of Marmora.

-

They continue this way for almost a decaphoeb, and it’s not perfect, but it’s something.

Lotor sends renderings of the stars, his ship, Kova, and in return his soulmate replies with sketches of the animals and sunsets and vast expanses of desert on an alien world.

One evening, they blur blues and greens into a perfect little marble on the inside of Lotor’s knee, an arrow pointing to one of the green patches labeled with a sequence of characters that the galra Prince is beginning to recognise as his soulmate’s name - though he can’t so much as begin to guess at how they might be pronounced - and so on the opposite knee Lotor paints Daibazaal, and then, because that feels inadequate, smears his thumb through the centre of the planet he no longer calls home, doodling a battalion of ships leaving the wreckage in a mass exodus, the children of an orphaned world.

And once more, his soulmate falls quiet.

-

It’s almost a full phoeb until they reach out again, and when they do Lotor finds them franctic, frightened, their little blue-green marble only the beginning; an entire solar system follows, complete with details such as what Lotor assumes must be an accurate number of moons on each planet for how deliberately they’re marked out, and then-

A ship.

It’s small and unassuming and positively archaic in design, but it’s a ship nonetheless, and as Lotor watches, his soulmate draws and erases and re-draws that same design until it’s traveled the length of his leg - thigh to ankle - and ‘lands’ on an unassuming moon of the most distant planet. They circle it with agitation, jabbing whatever implement they’re using to mark their own skin so violently that Lotor’s quite sure they must bleed under the force of it, but he doesn’t know what to say, let alone know how to say it if he did.

The next morning, his soulmate’s mural has gone.

The phantom ache of it remains.

-

They call him Champion.

Lotor only takes interest because of the timing, because of the circumstance, because it’s Sendak’s fleet that located these new lifeforms on a desolate moon in some distant corner of the universe, and of all Zarkon’s commanders he most of all has something of a reputation for toeing the line between cruelty and outright sadism.

The odds are one in a million, but that’s not a risk Lotor is willing to take.

He paints an obnoxious criss-cross of colour onto his own face that will be impossible to hide or mistake for anything other than what it is, and sends his generals to ascertain whether the Champion or either of the two lifeforms that accompanied him - soon to be subject to the work camps - share the mark.

They don’t, not one of them, and so Lotor chalks it up to coincidence and moves on.

Finding what could almost be mistaken for the legendary Blue Lion on the back of his hand only for Voltron proper to re-emerge into the universe after thousands of decaphoebs with the Champion himself allegedly at the helm, is not so easily written off.

And this time, when his soulmate abandons him to cold silence, it feels final.

-

Thayserix was very much a spur of the moment decision, but Lotor has never been so glad of such impulsivity as he is now, with the blue Lion of Voltron having been stolen from the thick mists and safely in his grasp.

Though, it’s not the lion that interests him.

Yes she’s a beautiful beast of considerable power, but in this case it is quite literally what’s on the inside that counts, that being of course Lotor’s soulmate... or so he’d thought.

Princess Allura of Altea cannot be them.

At least he certainly hopes not.

She’s lovely, in theory, but they’ve been in a stalemate for the past varga with her sullenly refusing to so much as consider entertaining Lotor’s attempts at hospitality, let alone conversation, and instead quite stubbornly standing with both her guard and weapon raised.

“I really would simply like to speak with-”

“Release me.”

Her end of things has consisted solely of those two words, and the monotony of it all really is growing rather tiresome.

Narti saves him from another repetitive bout, slinking into his mind and whispering that the rest of Voltron have located them far more quickly than Lotor would have thought possible.

The worst part is he’s almost grateful.

“Very well,” he growls, temper wearing thin, “your friends are here to collect you Princess, perhaps they will be more amenable to a little tête-à-tête, hm?”

They are not.

“Release Allura,” is the first thing to pass the dark-haired Paladin’s lips, teeth bared and tongue sharp, and it takes everything Lotor is not to simply concede on the spot.

“Frankly, I would love to,” he spits, gratified by how completely this blindsides the lot of them, every face on the holoscreen struck blank by his immediate compliance. “I do not believe she is the individual I am looking for, nor does she seem inclined to assist me in locating whosoever is. Answer my questions, and you are welcome to her and the blue Lion both.”

“We... We are?” It’s an older gentleman who speaks up, the only other altean among them.

“Absolutely,” Lotor hisses, and then graciously concedes: “the mistake was mine. I simply wished to open a dialogue with who I had assumed to be the blue Paladin, but as she is of a background that would doubtless have allowed us to communicate in galra script, that no longer seems the case.”

Their group look like they’re going to ask him to further explain what must sound to the lot of them nonsense... all except the black Paladin whose eyes have gone wide on some personal revelation, whispering “you,” as if he can’t believe his ears, only to spit out an obscenity before repeating himself with all the fury of an imploding star. “You!”

There are several exclamations of “Keith-!” as those violet eyes narrow to slits, the man smacking his hand down and cutting their com-line dead.

Ezor, helpful as ever, mumbles: “Well that went well,” quiet enough that it’s almost as if she doesn’t mean for everyone in the otherwise silent cockpit to hear her.

-

For the first time in ten thousand decaphoebs, the black Lion is - technically - in Imperial hands.

Lotor couldn’t care less.

The man who strides out of her is a veritable firestorm, all dark brows and snarling lips, and in a heartbeat Lotor knows, he just knows, who he is.

What he is.

Galra, for one, almost certainly a hybrid like Lotor - it’s the eyes that betray him, half luminescent with rage - and there’s a gorgeous poeticism to that.

Reckless for another, and behind him from where she’s been brought to stand witness, Princess Allura is clearly horrified to see her companion step from Voltron’s keystone and leave it completely unprotected, but the Paladin doesn’t seem to care, and neither does Lotor.

“Release Allura,” he growls again, voice like thunder and just as electrifying as he storms across the landing bay without hesitation, not even stopping to glance in his fellow Paladin’s direction and affirm that Zethrid has, in fact, released her as instructed.

No, Lotor’s soulmate simply fists pale fingers into paler hair and hisses, “fuck you,” into his mouth before kissing the Prince senseless.

-

Later - much, much later - Lotor is pleased to report back to Ezor that the sex is, in fact, fantastic.

[angrylizardjacket]

dirtbags // 4: Lola

Summary: High school AU. 1985. Winter. Heather’s party is huge; Lola makes new friends, get better acquainted with some underclassmen, and turns out to be far cozier with the hostess than anyone could guess. The next day, Nikki comes to work despite his hangover, while Charlotte and Eileen plan Vince’s murder. Razzle’s just there to have fun. 

A/N: 6603 words. For @misscharlottelee and @julymotel , my beloveds, as always. Sorry it's late, it's been a hell of a week. But, here's the kids. I should say that this chapter does include slight, implied internalised homophobia, just as a warning.

judge if you want, we are all going to die. i intend to deserve it.

For the record, Lola isn’t a party-goer by nature, and the fact that she’s been to two in as many months is baffling her. Usually she just goes to see bands, and sometimes hangs out at peoples’ houses, but high school parties specifically alluded her for most of her time in Boston. It’s not that she wasn’t invited, but her mom had been something of a hardass, and the closest she’d ever gotten was when drunk kids made their way to the diner right before closing on a Friday or Saturday.

Her dad’s fully supportive of her going out and partying, which is weird in it’s own right. He writes down their home phone number on a piece of paper, in case Lola can’t remember it when she’s drunk - his words - and tells her to call whenever she needs a lift. Don’t go get into a car with strangers. Drink plenty of water. Be safe. Have fun. 

“Dad, you’re being weird,” she’d told him flatly, applying eyeliner to her waterline in the bathroom. Leo, leaning against the door with his arms crossed, was watching her with a fond expression.

“If I was a hardass and banned you from going out, you’d probably still sneak out anyways -” Lola goes to protest, which Leo finds sweet, but he holds a hand up, and she lets him continue, “not that I don’t think you respect me, but I just know what it was like being a teenager; if you got into trouble while sneaking out, you wouldn’t feel like you could call me for help,” he explained, giving pause, “but I always will, you know that, right?” And Lola nods, but goes back to applying eyeliner, knowing her father’s tone of voice too well, anticipating the fact that he was about to dive into a story of his own to help prove his point.

“When I was your age, or maybe a bit younger, fifteen or sixteen, me and some friends snuck out to a bonfire one night that my parents had absolutely forbidden me from going to, and I ended up needing to go to the emergency room from a burn I got on my hand from being an idiot around the fire,” and he raised his left hand, to show the still visible, large scar on his palm, “I was more terrified of what my father would do than of the burn itself so I didn’t try and call him or mum; I walked home from the hospital alone the next morning, and lied about how I got the burn.”

Lola paused, lowering the eyeliner pencil, meeting her father’s gaze in the mirror. Leo’s smile had turned a little sad at the memory; Lola doesn’t hear much about her grandparents, and she wonders if stories like this are the reason why.

“You’re my kid, Keola, I never want you to think you can’t come to me for help, okay?” It’s rare for Leo to use Lola’s full first name, usually reserving it for more poignant and earnest moments, so every comment about how he’s being a sap, or that she already knows, dies on Lola’s tongue. 

“Thanks, dad,” she smiles soft, and Leo smiles back, all crows feet and laugh lines, before he tells her that she looks badass, and he steps out of the doorframe, heading back downstairs to the diner. 

By the time Lola shows up, it’s just edging past eight-thirty, though the party still seems to be in its early stages. There’s music that can be heard down the street, and fairy lights scattered throughout the garden, though most of the partygoers who had already arrived are still confined to the house. Apart from a gangly, dark-haired boy whose face she knows, but whose name she doesn’t, sitting on the wide, ostentatious front steps, looking up at the stars glittering overhead. There’s a cigarette in a loose grip between two fingers, though the ash has already burnt down half of it without him tapping it off; it’s almost comical, she’s pretty sure he hasn’t even put it to his lips yet.

“You’re wasting that,” Lola points out, and the guy is jolted from his thoughts, the movement sharp enough to have the ash falling from the cigarette and to the ground by his shoes. He looks to the cigarette, which has gone out, and then to Lola, a little helpless, “I could take it off your hands,” she offers, unsure of how to proceed, and he holds the cigarette out, smile blooming on his face.

“I can’t get the hang of it; I’m playing a smoker in this play I’m doing in a month, and I’ve been trying, you know, make it feel natural, never seems to,” his mouth is curved into a bemused smile as he shrugs helplessly, watching Lola tuck the half a cigarette behind her ear. For a moment, his eyes roam his face, like he’s searching for something to recognize, and she can read it all over him when he finds it, his eyes alight with familiarity, “you work at the diner!”

Lola hates how disarming she finds his earnestness. He doesn’t mention her reputation or the rumours around her, which she’s pretty sure he would have heard since she’s eighty-percent sure he goes to her school.

“Lola,” she offers her hand, and he takes it, using it as leverage to get to his feet before he gives it a proper shake.

“Keanu,” he says, matter-of-factly, still grinning, and Lola suddenly knows where she knows him from. The school musical sign-up sheet is on the Art Faculty’s notice board right outside her art classroom, and she’s been staring at his name amongst a small list of others, including Eileen’s, much to Lola’s surprise, while she and the rest of her art class wait to get into their room.

At least she’s pretty sure it’s him; Keanu’s not exactly a common name. The only other time she’d heard it was in one of her dad’s stories, it was the name of one of his childhood friends -

She leaves it be; he groans and stretches, and there’s an idle moment where his shirt rides up, and Lola reminds herself to focus on the person who actually invited her, and to stop getting fleeting feelings for people she barely knows just because they’re pretty. Lola mutters that she needs a drink, and Keanu claps her on the shoulder and agrees, the two of them heading inside.

Heather’s house is in the same part of town as Vince’s, almost an hour’s walk from the diner, but somehow Heather’s is even nicer. Sprawling front lawn, abstract paintings and movie props on little, pristine pedestals inside, Lola feels like she’s lowering the property value just by stepping foot inside. The party was easily both the nicest and most raucous Lola had ever been to, which, granted, wasn’t saying a lot, but their house was wired with speakers, all connected back to the jukebox in the living room, and Heather’s parents had even let her hire coloured lights.

“As long as the cops aren’t called, we can do whatever we want,” was the message passed around the school from Heather herself. Lola’s feels as though that probably won’t bode well for her parents’ elegantly displayed collectables, but whatever, it’s not like it’s Lola’s problem.

Already there’s a decent crowd inside, and Lola loses Keanu amongst them, making a beeline for the kitchen, manoeuvring around the house with easy familiarity. She reaches pushes past several people to get to the fridge, reaching all the way to the back, past a set of tupperware, to the bottle of wine Heather’s mom had stashed there. Lola removes the sticky note telling everyone not to touch it, and uncorks the bottle over the sink, scowling.

It feels like she’s floating through the night, no-one around that she knows just yet, disconnected from everyone else, carrying the bottle of wine by her side, occasionally taking a drink. Moving from room to room, she takes her time people watching, and guessing how long before the various, expensive props and bric-a-brac were being used for things counter to their intended purpose. 

In the front room, there’s finally someone she recognises, kind of; the the young redhead, the fruit one- Peach! She’s unsteady on her feet, beautiful and angry, defiantly making her way through a can of cheap beer, and Lola wonders where the rest of her clique is, that sister of hers, Eileen, even Charlotte. 

“You okay?” Lola’s never been great at comforting people, but Peach is currently leaning against a wall at a forty-five degree angle after losing her balance, and scowling. She’s drunk. Already. Fuck.

“I’m fine! Freaking- fucking great!” She’s not even looking at Lola properly, glaring out the window she’d narrowly missed falling on. Lola follows her gaze. It’s just passed nine, and Tommy and Charlotte can be seen walking up to the door; they don’t see Peach or Lola, thankfully. 

“You - you’re friends with that... that mean, asshole, punk guy, right?” Peach asks, standing upright so suddenly she overbalances again, and Lola has to catch her elbow to keep her from topping. Peach slaps her hand away, but keeps her balance, obviously with a bee in her bonnet about something that Lola couldn’t even begin it fathom.

“Nikki?” Lola clarifies flatly, amused but not wanting it to show. Peach nods solemnly. Lola bites back a laugh, “yes, I’m friends with him, why?”

“Is he coming tonight?” Peach asks, tone almost forcibly coy and casual, raising her can of drink, taking large gulps as Lola says that he mentioned that he should be, and then asks why. Peach goes quiet. Lola had thought it impossible for Peach’s scowl to grow deeper, but it did, as a blush began to creep up her neck. 

“You know my sister, right? Eileen?” Peach says, instead, and Lola nods slowly, and she takes a swig of wine, “she’s a year - a single goddamn year - older than me; I’m sixteen, Lola, she said I was too young to go to a party like this.” And yeah, okay, Lola makes a face at that; she was the same age as Tommy, and he’s done objectively worse stuff in front of Eileen and Charlotte with no complaints. The last house party flashes through Lola’s mind, and she grimaces - “exactly, it’s dumb! Charlie had been dating Duff for a year by the time she was my age, and let me tell you, they were proper gross!” Peach sways a little, and Lola reminds her that she has no idea who Duff is; Peach calls him a word that shocks Lola to hear her say it, especially for a girl who had to correct herself from saying freaking to fucking just moments ago.

“Noted,” Lola nods, and takes another drink; she’s almost a third through the bottle.

“I’m not a child, Lola,” Peach says, as seriously as she can muster, and, as if light a lightbulb has gone off above Lola’s head, she realises why Peach was asking after Nikki. 

“You’re not,” Lola agrees slowly, and looks around, hoping to spot Charlotte or Tommy around, someone better suited to talking an angry, determined Peach out of something she’d regret. 

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Peach huffed, standing to her full height, which unfortunately for Lola, made her taller by a few inches, “you know what, fuck you, Lola -”

“Peach -”

“No, fuck that, I know that tone -”

“Never thought I’d see you out at a place like this, Peach,” there’s a warm familiarity in the voice that joins them, and Peach visibly relaxes. Lola turns, and sees Vince Neil, bleach blonde, decked out in his usual, obnoxious white. 

“Fuck off, Vince,” Peach mumbles, turning back to the window in an attempt to hide her sudden blush. Lola raises her eyebrows and looks to Vince, intrigued. The moment his gaze meets Lola’s, Vince turns quietly awkward, and can do little more than offer a shrug. 

“Peach?” He tries again, and Peach finishes her drink, tipping her head back, and doesn’t even seem to notice that she’s started to topple back until he catches her, “fuck, Peach.” He says, still holding her.

“You really should fuck off,” Peach says, softer this time, leaning into him, and something pained flashes across Vince’s expression for the barest moment; Peach doesn’t notice in her state, but Lola sees it. 

“Eileen been in your ear lately?” Vince asks through gritted teeth. Peach’s scowl back in full force, and she’s righting herself.

“No,” she snaps, an obvious lie, and she pushes past Lola, making her unsteady way to the kitchen, Vince obviously feeling some sort of obligation to her, following quickly in her wake. Thank God. Lola really didn’t want to take care of a girl she barely knows all night. 

She’s two thirds of the way through the bottle of wine, feeling good and buzzed, and she’s made polite conversation with the people she knows and the people she doesn’t, the people who know her by reputation, or from the diner, polite to a fault, knowing too much and too little about her all at once.

Tommy’s roped them into a conversation with a few kids from his year that Lola doesn’t recognize any of them, and one, drunk, brunette, stupid, asks her about the rumours, in a crude, roundabout way. Tommy’s hand is firm on Lola’s shoulder, apology in his eyes as he silently pleads with her to not make a scene. Lola kicks his asshole friend in the shin anyways, and spits that he has terrible taste in friends. 

Charlotte waves to her, but Lola doesn’t see it in her angry state, storming up the stairs to the second floor. It’s quieter up here, mostly. There’s a group in a side room playing spin the bottle, and people taking advantage of Heather’s parents’ bedroom, and the door to Heather’s room is closed. Lola bangs her closed fist on the nondescript door. 

“Who is it?” Heather’s voice, strained, rings out from the other side.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Lola whined through a lie, banging again. There’s scuffling on the other side, Heather hissing for whoever’s with her to go, to get out the window, anything. Lola smirks, “please, all the other bathrooms are -” and she fake gags, right as the door wrenches open to show Heather’s flustered face, hair a mess, scowling.

“What?”

“I’m lying,” Lola whispered, leaning against the doorframe, pushing down all her annoyance at Tommy and his asshole friends, and playing at being coy. Heather huffs an annoyed breath through her nose.

“I know,” she snaps, but lets Lola in anyways, and Lola automatically closes the door behind herself, leaning her back against it, watching Heather try and act casual, heading to her bed, “should I be jealous?” Lola smirks, and Heather shoots her a filthy look. Lola takes a long drink of the wine, and Heather’s expression turns from angry, to simply annoyed.

“Of course, of fucking course, you, the only asshole who actually knew about it-”

“Your mom can buy another one, it’s not like you’re not -”

“Don’t say it,” Heather warns, sitting on the edge of her bed, and Lola’s smile grows sly and amused. Heather’s gaze flicks to the door handle, “lock that.” 

“Yes, Princess,” Lola smirks, reaching over with her free hand, making quick work of locking the door.

“Do not,” Heather hisses at the pet name, and Lola pushes off the door, heading towards her, and offers her the bottle. Heather’s lips press into a thin line as the regards the drink she knows is completely illicit for a number of reasons, before taking it, and taking a drink - “fuck, how much of this have you had?”

In answer, Lola takes the bottle back and finishes it off. 

“You’re a pig and a thief,” Heather tells her, but Lola’s smile is all teeth.

“And you kicked out someone - a boy, I’m guessing - for this thieving pig,” Lola reminds her, placing the empty bottle carefully on the nightstand of her luxurious double bed. Heather turns scarlet.

“I thought you’d at least wait until eleven to find me,” she deflects, defensive at the truth in Lola’s words, to which Lola herself actually laughs, flopping back onto the bed, arms spread, two fingers hooking into the back waistband of Heather’s flirty, short skirt.

“The fact that I’m here at all is a miracle, Princess -”

“Don’t.”

“And you know you could have told me to throw up in the garden,” Lola points out. A moment of silence follows, she tugs at Heather’s waistband, and Heather follows the unspoken prompt, leaning back onto the bed.

“Boys don’t know what they’re doing,” she says, staring up at the ceiling, arms folded but feet still planted firmly on the floor, and Lola’s eyes go wide, delighted, twisting onto her side to look at Heather’s blushing face.

“I knew you liked me,” Lola teases, grinning sharp.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Heather scoffs, angling her head back to level a glare at Lola, after a beat, she reaches back, fingers nimble and cold but her grip on Lola’s jaw secure. She frowns at Lola’s lips, rubbing her thumb none too gently over the bottom lip, taking off the black lipstick painted there, staining her own thumb in the process. 

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Heather prompts, frustrated, tone icy. Lola raises her eyebrows at the blonde's impatience.

“As you command, your highness,” Lola pushes herself up on her elbows, and off the bed, smirking in the face of Heather’s annoyance, before she scrubs at her mouth with the back of her hand, getting rid of the rest of her lipstick.

“I’ll be quick so you can get back to your boytoy,” Lola smirks up at Heather, kneeling between her knees, and in the next moment Heather’s legs clamp painfully tight around her head, bony knees pressing into her temples.

“If you tell fucking anyone I did anything other than get you water while you threw up in my bathroom, I will ruin your fucking life,” she spits, and Lola’s expression contorts into one of furious annoyance as she wrenches her head free, sitting back on her heels.

“As if I’d tell anyone; if you tell anyone, I’ll burn your fucking house down, do not test me on that,” she warns in return, before Heather relaxes and lays back, eyes back on the ceiling, waiting, “fucking pillow princess, I wish you’d get me a glass of water once in a while,” Lola muttered, leaning back in.

“Hey!” Heather objects, looking down, only to see the barely concealed fury smouldering in Lola’s eyes as she looks at Heather through her lashes. Lola orders her to shut up, presses a pointed kiss to her inner thigh, and Heather obeys without any more fuss.

All it took, in the beginning, was for Lola to confront Heather and ask why the fuck she couldn’t keep her eyes to herself during class, fully expecting a fight. It was after school, Lola had followed her into the bathroom after class as the school was emptying. Heather’s lip had curled, derisive, giving Lola a look like she was a bug beneath her shoe.

“You see something you fucking like?” Lola had snarled, ready to square up, chest puffed out, and Heather had rolled her eyes, scoffing about how Lola wasn’t even close to her type, before she’d realised what she’d said. 

Neither had known how to proceed in that moment, both terrified of how the other would react, Lola could see the sudden fear in Heather’s eyes at the admission. Very deliberately, Lola had relaxed her posture, looking Heather over with a new appreciation, and Heather had flushed under her gaze.

“I didn’t know it was like that,” Lola had smirked, gaze locking onto Heather’s. The blonde was embarrassed, furious at herself, “well if I ever become your type -” those seven words had changed everything. Immediately, Heather knew exactly what Lola had meant, that she wasn’t a threat in the way she’d feared, and that Lola was like her, in some way, in a way that was safe.

“You’re -?” Heather raised a single, perfect eyebrow at her.

“I don’t advertise it,” Lola said, voice flat, hands in her pockets and shoulders carefully relaxed, “don’t know, you know, who else is... like me.”

“Like you?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it here,” Lola had muttered, gaze flicking to the empty stalls, and Heather had given her a long, evaluative look, before stepping forward, apparently finding something she likes. 

Heather’s kind of pinning over a straight girl and none of the rest of the school has any idea she likes anything other than boys, and she’d like to keep it that way. No-one really cares about Lola the way they do about Heather, so they feel safe fooling around together at Heather’s under the guise of ‘studying’; they don’t really even like each other as people, it’s more mutually beneficial than anything else, but it’s kind of nice to have this understanding between them, free to be themselves without fear, even if it’s only for short amounts of time.

Now, at the party, when Lola goes to leave the room after all is said and done, hair checked in the mirror, lipstick reapplied neatly, Heather grabs her arm, quiet but no longer irritate in Lola’s presence, and Lola’s eyes go wide with question, but she too is silent. Heather steels herself, steps up to Lola, and then she’s got her fingers carding through Lola’s hair, and holding tight, and Lola lets herself be maneuverer, her head tipping and Heather’s lips on her neck. 

When Heather steps back, there’s the beginning of a hickey blooming on the juncture where Lola’s shoulder meets her throat, aching faintly, pleasantly, and her hands are soft on Heather’s hips, lips twitching into a smirk.

“You could have just said thank you,” Lola snorted, and Heather’s frowning, but it doesn’t seem to be specifically at Lola; she rolls her eyes. Lola presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, quick and chaste, and scrubs at the mark she leaves behind before Heather slaps her hand away and tells her to get out, though there’s no anger behind it. 

When Lola opens the door, she puts on a show of being a little more unsteady than she really was, and is surprised to see Nikki leaning against the wall a few feet away, chatting to Tommy, looking so carefully casual. Lola’s pretty sure she hears Nikki sigh something about needing to find a guitarist, but that’s the moment Tommy spots Lola. He tries to apologise for his friends, but Lola shrugs, letting the incident go easily.

And then Nikki’s eyes flick to hers, and he asks if she’s okay, and Tommy seems confused but Lola’s hit with a realization. She pulls back her act and tries not to smile too wide.

“I’m fine now, great actually, it’s sweet of you to care,” its absolutely and completely innocent, but she raises an eyebrow at him, as if asking how he knows that she was unwell. In lieu of response, Nikki stands to his full height, walks to the door, and knocks. Lola and Tommy watch, the former far more confused than the latter.

Heather opens the door wide, not a hair out of place, makeup immaculate and untouched, and tells Nikki to fuck off, swanning past him and down to the rest of her party. Nikki turns on Lola. 

“You couldn’t have thrown your guts up in a bush somewhere?” Nikki hissed, frustrated, and Lola does a great job at biting back her laughter, shaking her head and shrugging helplessly. 

“We’re you waiting out here that whole time?” Lola asks, and Nikki turns amusingly pink, stalking past her to the stairs, to which both Lola and Tommy followed, with Lola calling out a half-hearted apology, and Nikki telling her to shove it up her ass. 

gandhi said 'be the change you want to see in the world.' fuck that. be the trouble you want to see in the world.

“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last night,” the morning after the party, or was it afternoon - midday after Heather’s party - Lola’s tying her red bandana around her head, hip leaning against the counter out the back by the fryer where Nikki was scowling at an order of fries that was bubbling away.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Lola,” Nikki snaps back, looking up at her, still frowning, and Lola’s smile widens, just a little. Nikki sighs, relenting, his voice dropping low, “I’m hungover as fuck, just piss off, can you?” But it doesn’t sound half as cruel as the words themselves imply, and Lola dips to press her cheek to his shoulder in a moment of affectionate familiarity before heading out to start serving customers. 

It’s almost one when Charlotte and that English kid, Razzle, walk in, with the tall, pretty ginger, Eileen, sans their usual extras, but they take their spot at their usual booth by the window, talking quietly but animatedly. 

“- the nerve on him! Hi, Lola,” Eileen’s practically vibrating with pent up, frustrated energy, greeting Lola with what Eileen probably assumed was a smile, but was still definitely a scowl.

“Everything alright here?” Lola asked, forcing her voice even brighter than she’d usually attempt, and Eileen’s gaze dropped to the menu, going quiet, brooding, while Charlotte sat up a little straighter and smiled, clearly not on such an intense wavelength as her friend.

“Everything’s just great; plotting Vince’s murder, kind of starving, the usual,” she shrugs, and Razzle, by her side, snorts a laugh.

“Good to see you survived the night, Honky Cat,” he adds in lieu of a greeting of his own, and Lola takes a moment to process all the information she’d just been exposed to.

“’course I did, I drank my weight in water between shots,” Lola smirks at Razzle, before her gaze slides to Charlotte, “and that’s very fair; I’d ask what he’s done now, but I think I’ll take care of your order first,” she grins amicably and pulls out her notepad and pen, as the three of them order their usual drinks and lunch preferences.

Lola heads back to the counter, calling out the order to the kitchen, taking another few order to their various destinations, before getting her friends’ drinks together to take them over.

“- home and didn’t even call, Razz, she didn’t even -” Eileen was still ranting by the time Lola deposits their drinks before them. Lola’s pretty sure she saw Razzle and Charlotte deliberately knocking knees beneath the table, but doesn’t think about it too hard. Nor does she dwell on the memory of seeing them at the party last night, of a gaggle of cheerleaders around talking to Razzle, though he just kept trying to talk to Charlotte. Later, she’d definitely seen them on the sofas, talking with Tommy and some of Charlotte’s other friends, leaning in to each other, Razzle’s arm around her shoulders, playing with the whispy ends of her hair. Lola hadn’t thought much of it at the time; she’d made out with Tommy at her first house party in the area, it hadn’t developed past friendship. 

It was cute, if it was anything. 

“Lola, you were there!” Eileen turned very suddenly, the moment her cup had been placed in front of her, and Lola’s eyebrows shot up, “did you see my sister last night?”

It feels like a trap, because yes, Lola definitely did, but also -

“Yes, why?” Lola asks, slowly, cocking a hip.

“They’re in the middle of a blue,” Razzle said, with a fond smile at Eileen’s carefully neutral expression, while she stirred her drink with intent.

“A fight,” Charlotte translated, “and Peach went to Heather’s last night, and got kind of shitfaced, and Vince took care of her, was really quite sweet, but she stayed with him because his place was closer and Peach refused to call Eileen.”

“She stayed with Vince?” Lola said carefully, trying not to imply she was jumping to conclusions, but Eileen’s stirring ceased in favour of vigorous drinking of the drink, obviously stuck on a similar train of thought.

“She slept on the couch,” Razzle filled in quickly, “was still there when I left, tucked in with a blanket, all above board.”

“And you didn’t know where she was -?” Lola frowns, confused.

“Vince called at three in the morning,” Eileen glowered out the window, voice low and even, “dad was mad until he was grateful; the man’s backbone is made of marshmallow fluff. She was meant to be home at one.”

“But she’s okay?”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Lola,” Eileen had said, giving Lola a look far older and longsuffering than her seventeen years. 

“If we brought in Vince’s heart, would your dad batter it up and fry it for Eileen to eat?” Charlotte asked, tone teasing and light, to which Eileen rolled her eyes, but at least it got her to smile, even a little. Even when Lola snorted a laugh and told her ‘absolutely not’.

Later, on their break, Lola and Nikki sit on the roof of the building and share a serve of chips that he’d overcooked, and a cigarette, and Lola asks about Vince. Turns out Nikki doesn’t know much; he hadn’t grown up with the rest of them, had moved to the neighbourhood near the start of high school, and all he really knows is that girls apparently think Vince’s dick developed some sort of Midas touch over Summer.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s always been stupid pretty,” Nikki shoves a chip in his mouth before leaning back on his elbows, “far as I know, but you’ve seen his car, right? That fuck-off, expensive red one that sits in the teacher’s carpark, with the massive scratch in the paint along the left? Yeah that’s his; got it for his birthday last year and he’s been getting tail like nobody’s business ever since.” And Lola tries to process all this information before he’s barrelling right on ahead with, “speaking of; if you’re gonna nail Tommy, can you do it soon and put the poor kid out of his misery?”

“Excuse me?!” Lola had choked on her lungful of smoke, turning red at the suggestion.

“Yeah, poor kid was pretty convinced we were a thing and didn’t want to make a move; kinda stupid, but I dunno, admirable? Noble?” Nikki groaned through his words, laying back against the gravel of the roof, hand out for the cigarette. Lola passed it to him, glad he couldn’t see her vaguely guilty expression, knowing she’d slept with the girl he’d been hitting on the night before.

“Tommy has a thing for anything halfway pretty that’s not related to him, he’d be just as happy to boink any other girl,” Lola points out, and Nikki snorts a laugh in mild agreement, “and the only reason we’re not fucking is because you’re afraid my dad’s gonna rip of your arms like he’s the fucking Wampa from Star Wars.” She punctuates it by eating the last chip, laying out beside Nikki on the gravel, checking her watch. Five minutes before their break ends.

“Leo wouldn’t rip off my arms- I don’t think Leo would rip off my arms!” Nikki counters defensively, but that just has Lola laughing as she corrects -

“Sorry, no, your exact wording was ‘I don’t want your dad to Kali Ma my fucking heart like I’m that little bastard from Indiana Jones’,” Lola does an absolutely atrocious impersonation of Nikki, who’s laughing despite himself, “which you only took back because I told you he wasn’t Indian, and even if he was, it’s kind of a fucked thing to say,” Lola tells him pointedly, shifting onto her side, propping her head up on her hand as she smirked at Nikki. 

When Nikki looks at her, green eyes shining in the overcast, afternoon light, there’s something unreadable, teasing and soft all at once, like he’s entertaining an idea he’d considered unthinkable.

“I don’t think I could look Leo in the eye if I banged his daughter,” Nikki’s voice is soft and low, though he’s grinning wide, tone coy, eyes creasing in the corners, and Lola’s gaze flicks to his lips. 

“For Leo’s sake, then,” Lola matches his tone, corner of her mouth twitching into a sharp smirk when she finally looks back to his eyes, “and Tommy’s too,” she teases, pushing herself into a sitting position; she can hear it when he presses his head further into the gravel in exasperation, swearing under his breath. When Lola stands and smiles, the picture of innocence, she offers Nikki her hand to help him up; Nikki rolls his eyes, but is still smiling when he accepts.

“Your hair looks dorky like that,” Lola teases as she climbs down the fire escape.

“I know,” Nikki sighs, “but its better than getting hair in everyone’s food; I’m not gonna be the reason your dad fails a health inspection,” Nikki adds, a strange hint of protectiveness in his voice that warms Lola’s heart in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“Don’t worry, Leo’s never failed a health inspection, he doesn’t intend to start any time soon.”

love is a dream someone else had last night.

Eileen and Razzle see fit to join their ragtag bunch of misfits at lunch the following Monday by the open gate and the science carpark, which Lola had been informed was the teachers’ carpark.

Lola doesn’t care who sits with them, except for the fact that she’d taken the leftover lemon merengue tart from the diner since it was being replaced with an apple crumble, and there was only enough for four. For the past week, Eileen’s been alternating sitting with them and sitting elsewhere, but she hadn’t been here last Monday, so Lola had assumed - anyways, now she’s worried she looks like a bitch, and not for an actual reasonable reason.

“What do you mean you almost got with Heather on Friday?!” Charlotte’s voice was somewhere between a horrified and disbelieving squeak where she was picking at the crust of the piece of tart she was sharing with Eileen. The lemon merengue debacle turned out to not be much of an issue, with Charlotte and Eileen sharing, and Tommy and Lola sharing too. Lola was incredibly focused on picking at a scab through the hole in the knee of her jeans.

“I mean I had my hand in her fucking panties when someone -” Nikki cast a very pointed look to Lola, “knocked on the door threatening to throw up, and I got shoved out a window,” Nikki played up being irritated, despite the fact that he was laying out on his side directly behind Lola, while she was leaning into him.

“You’re my hero,” Eileen told Lola, serious as ever, while Charlotte cackled with delight, and Razzle snickered from where he was touching up the left hand of Tommy’s sharpie-nails.

“You guys are a bunch of assholes,” Nikki huffed, shoving the remained or his own piece of tart into his mouth.

“I brought you food, show some fuckin’ respect,” Lola smirked despite herself, gently elbowing him in the ribs; he flicks her knee in retaliation.

“Absolutely not; you’re a cockblocking traitor and the worst friend I’ve got,” Nikki announced, nose in the air, and Lola leans all her weight back suddenly, tipping Nikki onto his back and laying heavy across his stomach as she demanded he take it back, the two of them getting into a petty squabbling match, shoving at each other while the others could only look on in exasperated amusement.

“I thought Heather had a boyfriend,” Eileen pipes up, to which Charlotte makes a a gentle ‘eh’ noise in the back of her throat.

“She’s getting laid,” Charlotte corrects with half a smirk, and everyone who was paying half attention understand easily. Tommy sighs, but it’s not nearly as dejected as he’s known for whenever the topic of girls he fancies being with other people comes up.

“Whatever, I got to second base with Pam that night, and no-one can take that away from me,” Tommy announces, watching Razzle finish off his pinkie.

“Good for you, man,” Razzle says, with his trademark sincerity. Eileen and Charlotte still can’t believe it happened, but unfortunately both Razzle and Vince had seen with their own two eyes and been able to confirm; Vince may be biased, but Charlotte trusted Razzle.

“Everyone got some fuckin’ action that night except for me,” Nikki whines, finally shoving himself off, “and the fuckin’ Vomit Comet over here,” he jerked his thumb to where Lola was righting herself; Lola flips him off in response. 

“I didn’t,” Eileen points out.

“You weren’t there,” Nikki rolls his eyes, “you don’t count.” 

Meanwhile Razzle and Charlotte had both gone very quiet, and very pink. However Lola, who had no patience for people trying to hide their somewhere-between-pining-and-sincere feelings from each other and from other people, instead turns her attention to Eileen as she’s sweeping her hair out of her face.

“Have things gotten any better with Peach?” She tried, tone hopeful, and Eileen’s expression barely changed, just the barest crease of a frown upon her forehead, though judging by the way Charlotte’s whole expression soured, things had not, in fact, gotten better.

“Came back on Saturday afternoon all sunny and smiley and mom was thrilled,” Eileen’s deadpan irritation really sold her exasperation at the whole situation, “that she was friends with Vince again, and she hasn’t said a word to me yet.” Eileen takes a deep breath, straightening up from where she’d been slouched without realizing, taking a deep breath, nose in the air as if rising above it all, “which is fine with me, because I have a ton of dialogue to learn and they want us off-book in a month.” 

This only sets them off fondly teasing the ever-unflappable Eileen, for her seemingly out of character choice to join the school’s musical, though they were all very proud of the fact that she scored the lead, even Nikki had voiced that he thought it was pretty cool. 

When Lola had asked about it, Eileen had made mention that it filled in a lot of free time, that it was something she could add to college applications, and that a friend had convinced her to do it; Keanu -

“I keep hearing that name around,” Lola muses, leaning back in her seat while they were waiting for their French teacher to arrive. Eileen raises her eyebrows, “is that the pretty, dark haired Senior?” Eileen, surprisingly, had flushed scarlet when nodding. Lola hummed thoughtfully, leaning back further until the front legs of her chair lifted from the ground; she hooked her feet around the legs of her desk as she contemplated.

“It’s a musical right?” Lola asked, and Eileen hummed in confirmation, “if you can sing, you know Nikki and Tommy are -”

“I’d rather eat an entire microphone,” Eileen responds flatly, already knowing what Lola was about to suggest before she’d even finished her sentence, and Lola really tries not to laugh, but she knows Eileen well enough by now that that response makes entirely too much sense.

“You make a fair -” and that’s when Lola’s grip on the table slips, her feet sliding quickly up the legs of the desk as she topples backwards, the momentum pulling the desk up with her legs and directly on top of her, winding her. At least it made Eileen laugh, mostly from shock, sure, but Lola counts it as a win.

[harley-sunday]

The Draw [17]

Summary: The whirlwind starts at the 2018 ACE Comic Con in Phoenix but you’re not sure where it will end…

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language.

Word count: 3.5k

AN: I’m sorry.

Masterlist

You’re still a little hungover when you make it into the office that next morning, not for the first time glad Deb usually works from home on Monday. You’re not sure you could face her right now without having to explain everything that’s going on. Your phone rings just as you’ve turned your laptop on, the sound only adding to the already-there headache, and so you take the call without looking to see who it is first, answering with a rather curt, “Hello?”

“Hey,”

A shiver runs down your spine when you hear his voice, but you don’t say anything.

He sighs, “I take it you’ve seen the pictures?”

“I have.”

“Will you let me explain or have you made up your mind already?”

There’s such an accusation in his voice that you physically recoil, “What?”

“Sorry,” he says almost immediately, “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

You let out a staggered breath, not really knowing how to reply.

“There was a birthday party for one of the cast members,” he starts, his voice much more controlled now. “The girl in the pictures is one of the extras and I don’t know, at one point she told me her grandmother’s Romanian and how she used to go there every year during the holidays and so we were just talking about the country and how much it’s changed over the years, but that’s all.” He clears his throat, “Nothing happened.”

You let his words hang in the air for a moment, the silence between you two deafening and uncomfortable, and it scares you. It’s not that you don’t believe him, but you can’t help but wonder if this is how it’s going to be from now on, with him away for work while you both have to deal with something neither of you had any part in but that’s putting a strain on your relationship nonetheless.

“Talk to me,”

You shake your head even though he can’t see you, “I can’t-” you take a deep breath, “I don’t know if we should do this over the phone, Seb.”

“This?”

“Please don’t,” you whisper, hearing the hurt in his voice. “You know that’s not what-.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I don’t know, ok?” You close your eyes and lean back in your chair, “I just think we should talk about this face-to-face. When we’re together. Not with a million miles and a few time zones between us.”

“Ok,” he agrees, but you can tell there’s something he’s holding back.

“Ok,” you echo. “So I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be seeing you, Stan,” you say, trying to lighten the mood, but by then you hear the call’s already disconnected.

You try to focus on work the rest of the week but often find your mind wandering and so by Friday afternoon you tell Deb you’re taking half a day and head home around lunch time. Trying to distract yourself you decide to clean the house, starting in the bathroom, before you move onto your bedroom, and Jake’s guest bedroom. You’re pretty sure there’s some psychological reason why you feel this sudden need to organize, probably something to do with trying to control what you can, but so far it isn’t really working.

You order a pizza for dinner and while you wait for it to be delivered you decide to tackle the second guest bedroom. It’s not so much a guest bedroom as it is a storage room, one you haven’t really stepped foot into for at least a year or so, and so you’re a bit hesitant when you open the door. A quiet, “Oh,” escapes you because suddenly you remember when you were here last, the proof of it standing on an easel, almost taunting you.

It’s a painting you made right after you found out Mark cheated on you, all your anger put into this one piece, the colour palette nothing but dark blues and greys, almost like a dark storm rolling in, called ‘The Currents’.

Mark made you give up painting when you were together, deeming the abstract work you preferred to make ugly and something his three-year old niece could do. In a way, painting this was your way of claiming your life back and even now it makes you feel happy. It also makes you realize how much you’ve missed painting and you wonder if maybe you should pick it up again.

The doorbell rings then, interrupting your thoughts and so you quickly make your way downstairs, leaving the door slightly ajar as a sort of promise to come back.

Letting yourself in with the key Lauren gave you shortly after she moved into her apartment, you call out, “It’s me!” You hear her reply from the kitchen and so you make your way over there, finding her stirring in a big pot with a glass of wine on the counter beside her. “So, sorry I’m late,” you tell her while you kiss her cheek, “I lost time while I was cleaning the kitchen and-”

“It’s fine,” she smiles while she pours you a glass of wine. “Matt’s just gone out to pick up some more eggs for the Pavlova.”

“Pavlova?” It’s your favourite and she knows it and so you bump your shoulder against hers with a smile, “I love you.”

“I know,” she says with a wink. “I figured I’d better spoil you a little.” Her look turns more serious then, “How are you?”

You shrug, “Ok, I guess. I mean-” you sigh, “I’m just trying to figure out why I’m so upset about this, you know? He told me nothing happened, and I believe him, so why is it still bothering me so much?”

“Are the pictures bothering you, or,” Lauren turns around so she’s facing you, “is it maybe just that you don’t have any control over it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she scrunches up her nose, “I’ve been thinking, and please don’t take offense-”

“None taken,”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” she counters with a grin.

“Yeah, but it’s you. I know you and I know you’re not trying to hurt me.”

Her eyebrows knit together then, as she takes in your words. She looks back up at you, “Babe.”

You nod, because you think you know what she’s getting at. “I know you,” you repeat a little slower now, “and I know you’re not trying to hurt me.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” you echo, because fuck, maybe this is it. Or at least part of it. You bite your lip and let your eyes fall to the floor, trying to figure it out. When you look back up you find her staring at you with a sad smile and you know she agrees.

“If it makes you feel any better,” but she knows it probably won’t and so she pulls you in for a hug, “I was going to tell you something along those lines too, but in much more of a go-around kind of a way.”

Before you can say anything else there’s a knock at the door and so she lets go of you, the look on her face letting you know she’s here if you need anything and so you mouth a quiet, “Thank you.”

Matt is exactly how you imagined he would be, a good-looking, down-to-earth guy who is a perfect match for Lauren. You watch them during dinner and can’t help but smile when you see how in love they are.

“So, Matt,” you start when Lauren’s in the kitchen to get dessert. You watch him as he sits up and looks at you expectantly, “You’ve made a pretty good first impression, but as Lauren’s best friend I’m obliged to tell you that first of all,” you hold up a finger for added effect, “I’m not above kicking your ass if you ever do something to hurt her.”

“Noted,” he says with a nod.

“And second, her favourite flowers are Dahlia’s, she hates chocolate but would kill for vanilla Tootsie Rolls, and,” you lean in closer, “if you ever really want to sweep her off her feet, you should take her to go see Hairspray Live.”

He grins, “Thank you.”

“Hey,” you shrug, “anything to make our girl happy, right?”

There’s a knock on your door but before you even have the chance to respond the door opens and you hear a loud, “Hey, loser!” coming from downstairs.

“Hey,” you yell back, while you finish your brushstroke, “I’m upstairs. Guest bedroom.” You smile when you see his head pop into view not much later, “What are you doing here?”

He starts to protest, “Can’t a guy-”

“No, Nate,” you scoff, “not you.”

“Ok, fine,” he admits, “Sarah made me go check up on you after I told her what happened last week.”

“You can tell Sarah I’m fine,” you reply while you dry your paintbrush on the rag that’s hanging over your shoulder.

“You sure about that?” Nathan asks with a nod towards the half-finished canvas.

“I think I’m going to call it ‘Love’,” you say, as though that explains it all. But then again, it kind of does. “I found my old supplies last week and, I don’t know,” you shrug, “figured I might as well give it a go and see if I still got it.”

“And you’re sure this has nothing to with what’s going on between you and Sebastian?”

“No.” But your answer came a little too fast and you both know it. Nathan just looks at you without saying anything and it isn’t long before you cave, “Of course it has.” You put the paintbrush down and motion for him to follow you downstairs so you can wash your hands and make both of you a cup of coffee.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“I honestly don’t know,” you tell him over your shoulder while you grab two mugs from somewhere inside the cabinet. “I’m afraid we both fucked up this time and that there’s no coming back from this.”

“What do you mean,” he asks, shaking his head, “how was this a joint effort? He’s the one who ended up in the tabloids-”

“Yeah, but I think I made too big a deal out of it.” You sigh, “If I’d just told him, ‘Ok, I heard your side of the story, I believe you’, and moved on, none of this would have happened.”

“But it still would have bothered you,” Nathan says.

As always, your brother hits the nail right on the head and so all you can do is agree, “Yeah, it still would have.”

In through the nose, out through the mouth, you keep telling yourself as you keep watching Exit E, waiting for Sebastian to come through the doors any minute now. His plane landed a little over thirty minutes ago, although it feels like you’ve been waiting here for hours already. You’re nervous and scared and way too emotional for this not to end with tears. In through the nose, out through the- “Oh.”

He’s wearing the same baseball cap he wore the first time you picked him up here almost two-and-a-half months ago although it feels like another lifetime. He keeps his head down as he walks towards you and if anything it makes you even more nervous. You haven’t really spoken since that phone call last week, only sent the occasional text to each other, the distance between you even more palpable with each passing day. It isn’t until he’s just a few feet away from you that he looks up and your heart, oh your heart.

You try to smile, try to say something, but the tears that have threatened to spill all day finally make their way down your cheeks and so you just to stand there, for a moment worried about what will happen next but then he holds out his arms and you step forward, holding onto him with all your might, “Oh, Seb.”

He doesn’t say anything, just holds you, his lips pressed against your temple.

You know you can’t stay here like this and so after a while you let go, running your hands over your cheeks to try and wipe some of the tears away.

“Please don’t cry.”

His voice is soft and brings on a new set of tears, “I’m sorry.”

“Come on,” he picks up his suitcase and puts it in the trunk, “‘I’ll drive.”

The drive over to your house is silent, even though you keep thinking of things you want to say but then deciding against it. You steal quick glances in his direction every now and then, a little worried by the way his jaw is set and his hands are gripping the steering wheel.

It’s early in the evening and the roads are relatively quiet, especially for a Friday, and so he pulls up onto your driveway not much later. You wait for him to get his suitcase before you make your way to the front door and inside. “Did you eat?” Your voice is a little rough and so you try again, “I could make something if you want?”

“I’m good,” he replies from somewhere over your shoulder.

You drop your purse on one of the kitchen chairs before you turn around and face him, “I would offer you a coffee but I guess we both could use something a little stronger.”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, “Listen, is it ok if I take a shower first? I’ve been in the air for the better part of the last eighteen hours and-”

“No, of course,” you nod towards the stairs, “go ahead.” You watch him as he carries his suitcase upstairs, something heavy settling inside of you.

You’re curled up in the corner of the couch when he comes back down again, his hair still a little wet and his cheeks still a little rosy, and he surprises you when he sits down next to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. You let out a heavy sigh, “I fucked up.”

He kisses the top of your head, a “Me too,” whispered into your hair.

You stay like that for a moment, letting him hold you, and you wonder if, like you, he’s putting off the inevitable just a little longer, because as long as the words haven’t been spoken out loud, haven’t been put out into the universe, there’s still a glimmer of hope somewhere. Still, you know you can’t stay like this forever and so after a while you reluctantly push yourself off him and hand him the glass of whiskey you poured him earlier. You raise your own glass towards him before you take a sip, the liquid burning its way down your throat. Knowing it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do you take a deep breath before you ask, “Will you let me try to explain?”

He tries to smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Talk to me.”

Cupping the whiskey glass in your hands you let your eyes fall, “Remember when we were in Los Angeles and I asked you how you deal with the paparazzi and you told me it’s just part of the job?” You don’t really wait for his reply, “For me it isn’t, Seb. And I don’t know if I can handle this the way you maybe want me to if it happens again.” You clear your throat, “I don’t know if I can get used to this.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“You told me nothing happened and I believe you,” you continue, “but- I don’t know. I hate how it made me feel.” You hold up your hand when you see he wants to say something, “That’s totally on me, I mean, that’s something I need to work on, but I don’t want it to be something I’m blaming you for, you know? And I’m afraid maybe that’s what will happen if something like this happens again and I just-” You sigh. “I don’t want you to have to reassure me every time I get insecure about our relationship.” You look up at him, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he puts his hand on yours, “it’s ok.”

“No, it’s not,” you scoff, a lone tear rolling down your cheek. “I fucked up, Seb, but I think we both know there’s no coming back from it this time.”

“Hey,” he says again, giving your hand a squeeze to make you look at him, “I don’t want you to take the blame for this, and to be honest, I think neither of us should. Put it on bad timing, or bad luck, or whatever else you can think off, but not on us.” His voice catches on the last word and you notice his eyes are a little glossed over as well. He shrugs, “Sometimes things don’t work out. No matter how much we want them to.”

“But don’t you think we should fight for this,” you try to blink away the onset of tears, “for us?” You wipe your cheeks angrily, “It feels like we’re just giving up and I-”

“We’ve been fighting for a long time,” he says then, his voice barely above a whisper.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to contradict his words, but then you allow them to sink in and you know he's right. Hell, this all started because he felt like he had to make up for what happened at the Infinity War premiere. You look up at him, a sad smile playing on your lips, “But when it was good-”

“-it was great,” he agrees, his hand now cupping your face and his thumb stroking your cheek.

You bite your lip to keep from really crying, scrunching up your nose before you whisper, “So this is it then?”

He nods slowly, “I guess it is.”

Letting out a ragged breath you get up and make your way towards the kitchen because it feels like you just got punched in the stomach and you’re about to get sick. Leaning over the kitchen sink you cry, big fat tears and heavy sobs, and it hurts, God, it hurts.

He comes up behind you not much later, his hand on the small of your back, “Come here.”

You run a hand under your nose before you stand up and when you turn around you can tell he’s been crying too and your heart hurts even more. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

He wraps you in his arms, “I’m so sorry.”

You nod against his chest because you get it, and so you mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry too.”

You offer him the guest bedroom for the night, because you both agree it’s too late for him to go somewhere else, and when you ask him to please ignore the mess you’ve made while painting, while warning him the paint is still wet and to be careful with his clothes, it feels like such a normal thing to do that it’s almost ridiculous.

It takes a long time before you fall asleep, tossing and turning in your bed, and when you finally do it’s restless, full of dreams you can’t remember but make you feel anxious nonetheless.

It’s still early when you wake up, but you can hear the shower’s already running and you guess he couldn’t sleep anymore either. You wait until you hear him go downstairs before you make your way to the bathroom, the lingering scent of his cologne triggering a fresh set of tears.

When you get downstairs after getting dressed you notice that his suitcase is already by the door and you find him leaning against the counter in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee. You try to smile, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies. He runs his hand through his hair, “I uh- I found a flight to New York.”

“Ok.”

“There’s a cab picking me up in ten minutes,”

“Oh.” You nod, because even though it’s way too soon you know there’s no point in dragging this out either. “Ok, uh- Is there anything you need from me?”

He shakes his head, “No.”

“Can I give you one last hug?” Your voice is small and you hate how insecure you sound, but he nods anyway and so you step into his arms, wrapping yours around his waist. A sob escapes you then and he pulls you closer and you stay like that until you hear a car honk its horn outside.

“That’s me,” he says, his voice rough and barely above a whisper.

You take a step back and look up at him, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The last four months.” A fresh set of tears cloud your eyes and you try your hardest to blink them away, “I know it’s not fair to say this but,” a sob then, “I’ll miss you.”

He nods and tries to smile, but there are tears in his eyes too. He puts his arm around your shoulder and presses his lips against your forehead before he whispers, “I’ll miss you too.”

And then he is gone.

[whumpthisway]

Huck and Stephen - Abandoned

OC Nonhuman Whumpee and OC Master fic

This is a series - link to 01. Masterpost here <3

A/N: This one is set directly after Before: Party with Huck being called ‘Pet’ and currently stuck with Harrison whilst Parry is away. Please do ask me for specific tags or warnings if you need them or I miss something, and if you have any opinions, questions or thoughts, feel free to send me an ask :3 

Content warnings: abuse, mention of broken bones, alcohol, drunk people

Huck/Pet POV

*

The street lamps were swimming in front of them as Harrison dragged Pet up the street They couldn’t seem to get their balance, and Harrison’s erratic jerks on the leash repeatedly sent them tripping over their own paws and off the curb or into the gutter, leaving grazes on their side, and painfully jarring their injured tail.

“Keep upppp!” Harrison dragged roughly at Pet, who choked as they stumbled back to their feet with a breathless whine. Master Parry would have scolded them for making such a pathetic noise, but Harrison wasn’t even paying attention, too busy laughing and yelling drunkenly at his friends.

A car drew up, the headlights making Pet wince. Harrison staggered inside and Pet was dizzily dragged after him and pushed into the footwell, and when someone climbed in after them, Pet’s tail was stood on again, sending a flash of awful agony up their spine. They yelled out, their fur standing on end and ears flattened, before retching, the pain turning their already upset stomach. A hard smack slammed their head into the centre console of the car and Pet went limp. They weren’t quite unconscious, but dazed, and trying not to be sick or cry.

They came back to themself as Master Harrison tried to tow them out of the car and Pet was forced to move, or be strangled by the leash, or worse, left behind. Stumbling out of the car only to wretchedly throw up onto the pavement, Pet heard taunts and laughter around them, but couldn’t even care whether they were being good anymore. They were in too much pain from their broken tail and feeling like their stomach was trying to turn itself inside out.

A group of loud people, even louder than Harrison and his friends, passed by on the pavement and when they threw a bottle at the wall nearby and it shattered, Pet flinched away with a whimper even though it hadn’t been directed at them. Cars rushed by, pulling up and depositing more loud, unsteady people and Pet guessed that this, with all its tall buildings and noise, was the city where Master Parry came to work. Pet hated it already, wanting nothing more than to just get away.

They whined and managed to open their eyes against the bright, artificial lights around them enough to look up at Harrison, trying to silently plead with him to let them go home, or just anywhere at all that was quieter than here. But Harrison wasn’t paying them any attention, and when Pet dared to lightly tug Harrison’s trouser leg, though they’d have rather touched a bare electric wire than do that to Master Parry, they were carelessly knocked away and ignored.

Pet was beginning to realise that, as awful as Master Parry’s loathing was, Harrison’s drunken disinterest was worse.

So Pet sat on the damp pavement, sick and shivering, their skin hot and then cold under their fur, with their eyes mostly closed, just hoping Harrison would get bored of all this soon and take them back.

But Harrison didn’t get bored and they were forced to tag along behind him as he staggered and laughed his way down the city street, which was too crowded, too noisy, too much.

“Oh look!” a high voice called nearby and Pet didn’t even flinch, now, their ears flattened and shoulders hunched as they tried to retreat as far into Harrison’s shadow as they could. But someone had still spotted them, as Harrison was waiting in a long, rowdy queue, although what he was queuing for, Pet didn’t know or care.

“Is that- a dog?” More laughter, then Harrison drawling, slurring his words, and Pet couldn’t focus enough to make him out. The stranger’s sharp voices, though, cut through the throbbing in Pet’s head.

“A creature? Really? A real one?”

A hand on their cheek made them flinch with a soft whimper, especially because the hand had long, sharp nails, painted a bright blue, of the like Pet had never seen on a human. Claws like that would hurt, if they were scraped over Pet’s skin or dug into the sensitive membrane of their ear, but the hand continued to pat them gently and Pet forced themself still, dragging up reserves of fortitude from somewhere deep inside and reminding themself that they still had to be good. They had to. Master Parry had trained them better than to be so damn weak.

More hands joined the first, cooing over them, and, when the hands didn’t turn to pinching or tugging their ears or fur, Pet risked a glance up, their vision still swimming.

It was a group of women, dressed up in shiny outfits and with colours and paint around their eyes. Pet relaxed fractionally as the women fussed over them, their movements clumsy with alcohol and yet remaining careful.

“Aw they’re shy!” a taller one said, when Pet ducked their head.

A tug at the leash, less harsh than before, prompted them to follow Harrison as the line moved along. Harrison chatted with the women, smirking at them, as they continued to rub Pet’s head and pat their back pleasantly, if a little clumsily. Pet blinked back tears, from the pain in their tail, their exhaustion, and the unexpected kindness.

Reaching the front of the queue, Harrison tried to drag Pet into the building after him, before a big man, big enough that his boots could have broken Pet’s tail with just one step, held Harrison up. The women were still there, but only three now. One of them seemed clearer-eyed than the others and her gaze kept returning to Pet, her brows pressed together as she looked at Pet in the first show of concern that Pet had received in a long time.

Harrison grew angrier at being held up.

“I don’t even care!” Harrison slurred. “Look I’ll just leave it.” Harrison glared briefly down at Pet, his eyes unfocused. “Jus’ stay, mutt. Bye.” Pet blinked up at him, feeling themself shaking. What was Master Harrison saying? Where was he going?

“Mate you can’t leave it here-” the big man protested.

“Oh fuck this!” Harrison yelled suddenly, loud enough that Pet flinched with a whimper. “Hey, hey!” Harrison got his friends’ attention. “Let’s goooo guys, fuck your shitty club.”

Abruptly, the tension went out of Pet’s leash and Harrison walked away down the street, his friends laughing and staggering around him. Pet tried to hurry after him, before a group of strangers got in the way and Pet shied away from them so quickly in terror that they hit their injured tail on the pavement and were almost sick again from the pain.

The women appeared again then and, gently, kindly guiding Pet out of the way, towards a quieter bit of pavement and Pet, though they were thankful, twisted to look for Harrison, because he wasn’t meant to abandon them like this! Harrison had to return them to Master Parry, not leave them alone on the street with strangers. But they couldn’t see where Harrison had gone, he’d been swallowed up by the mass of people.

Terror choked them and Pet found themself to be trembling when one of the women, one wearing very tall, yellow shoes, carefully got down in front of them and gently stroked them until they felt like they could breathe again.

“We can’t just leave them,” she was saying and Pet mewled softly, begging, pressing their head closer to her, because being left alone again- the thought hurt more than they could bear. “How that dickhead could just walk off-”

“Alyseeee,” one of the others, who’d gotten quickly bored of stroking Pet, “come on, let’s go! Just- tie it up. The- its owner- dickhead, he’ll get it later! It’s not our problem!”

“Look at them,” the woman in the yellow shoes, Alyse, said. “They’re so upset, though.”

“What’re we going to do with it though?” the third woman put in, whilst texting on her phone. “Creature centres aren’t open. Club won’t let it inside. I’m not freezing my tits off out here, waiting for some rich prick to-”

Alyse scowled, but her hands stayed soft on Pet’s head, rubbing one of their ears just right, so that, just for a moment, they forgot that they were in a strange place, alone among strangers, their tail bent at a wrong angle, and feeling sicker than they’d ever been. Just for a second.

“Fuck off inside, then.” Alyse stayed by Pet’s side. “I’m not leaving the poor thing tied to the railing.”

“Jeeeesus.” Alyse’s friend rolled her eyes, but the other two grudgingly stayed.

“Look,” the woman on her phone said, clearly irritated. “Look, let’s just go to Maccies. ‘Kay? Warmer than here and I’m bored and I want chips. You can feed your new pet some- I don’t know, whatever those things eat.”

Pet didn’t want to eat anything, even though they knew they’d not eaten in much too long, but they’d have forced themself to swallow whatever food Alyse wanted as long as she didn’t abandon them completely.

“Alright, alright.” Alyse got gracefully to her feet with a groan, tugged down her dress and flicked her long hair out of her face. Pet wanted desperately to press close to her, but they didn’t want to annoy her with their neediness like they did Master Parry. “To Maccies, bitches.” She grinned, and then looked down at Pet, her expression going soft in a way that made Pet’s chest ache. “Come on, sweetheart. We’ll get you somewhere warm, give you some water, hey? That good?”

Pet couldn’t think of anything better, getting their unsteady legs under them as quickly as they could so that Alyse wouldn’t leave them behind, nausea and tiredness making them sluggish. But she didn’t hurry them, and the women’s heels meant they didn’t move too fast either. For a traitorous moment, Pet thought about getting to stay with Alyse for the week Master Parry was away. About her gentle smile and her promise to give them water and how she cared enough to keep the slack in the leash. But most of all, how she hadn’t left them. But she wasn’t their owner and Pet didn’t belong to her. They had to get back to Master Harrison somehow, even if he didn’t want them.

*

i’m going away in the next couple days so not quite sure when next one will be up, might be over a week, sorry <3 my inbox is always open for thoughts, requests, feedback and ideas!

If anyone wants to be added to the taglist or taken off it, pls do send me an ask or DM! :D

Tagging (flshdfks tagging people I love u all): @smolnarwhal @free-2bmee @ffaerie-dustt @mortifiedwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpity–whump–whump @quirkykayleetam @oracle-of-maybe @whumpersworld  @quoththeraven-what @halibellecter @usernames-suck-but-i-like-whump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @pennsss @whumpqhs @whumpzone @deluxewhump @haro-whumps @redstainedsocks @gimmethatsweetwhump @redstainedsocks @newbornwhumperfly <3

If you like my work, I have a Ko-Fi account

[peachebunnys]

Pain, with love VIII

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x reader

Summary: Arranged marriages are tough, but add that with having a drug lord on the loose? Horacio Carrillo can only imagine what’s coming for him. 

Warnings: (slight) mentions of blood, hints of dying, grammatical issues

a/n: i really hope this chapter makes sense because i’m editing this at almost 12am and i have school tmr :) also i realised i changed the ending from the one i wrote in the preview so i’m very very sorry. 

4.5k words

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Chapter 8; 

The night was cool, carrying the faint scent of gasoline from nearby vehicles in the air. The rain was heavy, dancing with the wind as it poured onto the streets of Bogota. The streets were full of life, and just once did Horacio wish it wasn’t. 

It almost seemed like the colours of the festival had lit up the gloomy skies, shining a flurry of bright lights that did not dim despite the weather. The display was truly a sight to behold, with large decorations framed with beautiful flowers that hung along the road. The music echoed from across the street, musking the sound of the heavy downpour that resonated throughout Bogota. Everyone was humming to the same tune, skipping with each step they took despite the air of anguish that hung above them - or so Horacio felt. 

The night was beautiful, until it wasn’t. 

The droning of the engines was the only thing that kept him company, driving between lanes in hopes to find a way out faster. The rain had become heavier, in turn, creating disruptions in the transmissions to his men. With each time he tried to give orders, the static would sound, drowning out his words that at this point - was incoherent. What could you say, when your lover was in the hands of the man you hated most? What could you say when you were close to losing yourself? 

Horacio had no clue, and at this moment, the only thing that kept him from breaking was the possibility of saving you - despite how difficult he knew it would be. A glimpse of hope, he thinks, a small light that shines in the sea of unforgiving hopelessness. He was only one man, against who knows how many - even then, did it not dampen the spirit that ignited within him.

He promised, hadn’t he? 

A promise he would keep, even if it meant he had to die trying. Whatever it took to keep you safe, that much (and more), was he willing to do. What would it mean, if he had to live without you? What would it mean, if the one that showered him in love wasn’t there to keep his broken soul together? 

The night went on forever, so it seems, and the fear was becoming of him with each passing second. He tries to steady himself, to not be controlled by the paralysing realisation that he had brought this upon you. You, a being so sweet - like a goddess made for only him to worship, didn’t deserve the dangers that came with marrying a colonel. No one should have to face the horrors the Search Bloc had to witness, lest of all, you. 

Horacio’s mind was quick to jump, insecurities creeping up on him as he remained cooped up in a vehicle too small, with a threat too big to handle, while stuck in a traffic jam that seemed endless. This, he thinks, was what I feared about - That one day he would wake up with your blood on his hands, a nagging reminder that he could never save you. A nightmare that he was sure would haunt him forever. 

I truly never deserved you, he believes, because I could never fully promise to give you picket fences or sunny afternoons that I know you deserve. 

Red. Always red. 

Blood. Always stained. 

Fear. Always ingrained. 

Will he ever be the same? 

The pitter-patter noises against the windscreen had become harsher, with heavy raindrops splattering on the vehicle. It breaks him from his thoughts, and once again he is reminded of the cards he’s given to deal with. The music from the festival now sings in slow motion, and Horacio could hear his breathing labour as the red traffic light paints and bleeds all over his face. 

How much more of a nightmare could this turn out to be? 

Well Horacio, this could only be the beginning. 

The skies were bright, and while the rain would’ve been a soothing melody to anyone else - all it did was churn more anxiety and frustration in him. He was restless, and as the emotions continued brewing within him, he felt the strong urge to puke. He felt suffocated - the claustrophobia unknowingly creeping up on him. Too small. Too tight. Not much air. 

Dizzy.

Horacio maps the road in his head, the one he’s been on for years. He knows it, like the back of his hand - but for some reason the memory doesn’t come to him. Was it the stress? The panic? The worry? He couldn’t tell, and he racked his brain trying to remember something, just something that he could use to get out of this traffic. 

“The road,” he muttered, “the road leads there doesn’t it?”

He tries, and tries, and tries. Which way would lead to you again? He can’t think, not when his mind would drift back to you. 

Always you. 

He struggled to be strong, and it confused him - where was that tough guy front he had all these years? Where has that mask gone to - when he needed it the most? Had you torn down all those walls completely? Had he let you in so easily? 

He stares at the sight before him, as a cold and broken man - unsure of the fate that awaits you. He breathes in a shaky breath, palms sweating against the cool leather of the wheel. The night was chilly, and Horacio had found himself wishing it wasn’t you - that it was him instead.

He had broken his promise, the very one that your father entrusted him with. And as the rain twinkled with the festival’s lights, Horacio only prayed that your blood wouldn’t be running cold when he finally got to you. 

There was melody, strung out and eerie - like a soft soothing piano instrumental, with every other note missing. 

Fear. 

He makes the haste decision to take the next turn after the traffic light, knowing it would lead to an ‘unused’ road that might help to speed up the process of getting to you. He was one man, which made everything he did more time sensitive. He was only one man - one against the many to come, and everything he will do, he does it for you. 

The static of the radio rings in his ears, and Horacio could hear each time he swallows his saliva. Why was everything becoming so loud all of a sudden? Had the festival’s lights gotten brighter too? He couldn’t tell, and the sounds only seemed to get louder with each passing moment. 

Think quick.

Think fast.

Horacio makes a swift turn, driving on the road that was deemed ‘unused’, only to realise that there were a handful of cars before him which made his heart plummet to his belly. 

Fuck, he cries, and his fingernails dig roughly into his large palms. He scrapes the nails over the wounds that form, and his mind is back again on you. It draws blood, staining his hands that now tremble more than before.

It was surely an improvement from the main roads, which he knew would take hours before the jam would clear up. This road, however, was narrow, and despite the significant drop in density of vehicles, anything could happen - and Horacio wasn’t going to bet on the likelihood he would be out of here fast. 

Time seemed to fly by slower, the seconds feeling like minutes as the car’s interior began to heat up quickly. While everything Horacio was doing - every decision, every step he made in the matter of seconds, felt like hours to him. Was this the torture he had put the drug lord to? The torturously slow wait that was slowly eating him from inside? His fingers shaked as he gripped the steering wheel harder, palms becoming sweaty as he thought about the hostage situation.

The traffic flow here was much better, with occasional stops that made Horacio’s heart hammer in his chest. He could feel the conflicting emotions fill his body, and the liquid fire that now pumped through his veins. The fear that was once controlling his entire being had now transformed into anger, and he made a silent promise to put an end to Gacha when all of this was over. And everything he will do, he does it for you. 

Please, he begs, please let me just get to her. 

Now - have you ever seen a man that was as authoritative as him, beg? 

He was directly next to the festival’s stores, each one of them lining the long street with their beautiful goods displayed. The scent of cooked food was carried in the air, as well as the sounds of chatter from nearby customers. The sidewalk was practically swarmed, with people of all ages carefully inspecting the various items that each shop sold. 

Horacio tried again, rolling his thumb over the radio in hopes to finally get his message out to his men. The static had come out shaky, but as a softer buzz than the last time. He calls out, desperate and in pleads, that hopefully someone would be able to reach to you before he did. 

The transmission comes back to him, with one of his men answering in broken responses. 

“Hello? -- Can you hear me?”

Horacio slams the radio down, his anger getting the better of him. In all his years in Search Bloc, he thought he had seen it all - from hostage situations, to drug lab busts to petty crime. But never has he been put in a situation where he felt so helpless and weak, a hair’s breadth away from crumbling with the pressure that settled on his shoulders.  He had thought about it, to open his car door and race home to you, but that wouldn’t work - not when his house was still several miles away. It wouldn’t do anyone good if he were to run home in the rain, soiling all his gears and equipment with the cold droplets that fell from above. 

It wasn’t you they were after, he reminds himself, it was him. 

They wouldn’t dare to touch you, right? 

Horacio decided not to think of anything else but the former, and the blood within him boiled a little warmer than before. 

A commotion had broken him from his dwelling, and as traffic moved, Horacio had driven right next to the source of it all. A man, in shabby and torn robes was picking a fight with a pedestrian, clearly drunk off his wits’ end. The window at the seat next to Horacio was down, and he could smell the stench of the alcohol that the drunkyard had reeked of. The man stumbled, steps uneven as he made a beeline towards the smaller man. His footing was off, which resulted in him falling back against several people behind him - ones who were too busy in buying food from the store nearby to care about the fight that had just broken out. 

The traffic was finally picking up its pace again, and Horacio drove past the forming crowd, eyeing the way the dunkard was yelling profanities. In any other scenario, Horacio would’ve stepped out of his car to stop the fight, but in a dire situation like this - he couldn’t find the need to care. 

Horacio took one last glance at the crowd before looking back on the road, focusing on the problem he had at hand. But there was just something, a dress of white and yellow, that had caught his attention amidst the pool of people. His head snapped back quickly, studying the person that had worn the article of clothing. 

The visibility was poor, but as Horacio strained his eyes beyond the water droplets that painted his windows, he noticed the dress to be similar to the one he had got you just a few weeks prior. 

Horacio’s radio was burning up again, with transmissions becoming clearer as the rain lessened significantly. The voices of his men were less shaky and their replies were now more prominent than before. Horacio winds down the window more, straining his neck out to get a better look at the woman. 

“Sir, is there something wrong?”

The radio had called out to him, with Trujillo’s notable voice now laced with worry. Horacio drove his car half a metre forward, hearing the cars behind him fill the air with their persistent honking. There were just too many sounds, but it didn’t bother Horacio as he continued studying the unknown figure. There were just so many features that resembled you, and Horacio caught himself double taking in confusion. 

Perhaps it was just someone who looked like you from behind, seeing that your hair length and colour was a pretty common style amongst young women in Bogota. Horacio tried his best to tear his eyes away from the figure, but there was just something that nagged at him to look back.

His radio once again calls out to him, and Trujillo’s voice had a tinge of panic as he asked if there were any issues that Horacio needed help with. The car honks had continued blaring, and Horacio decided it would be best to pick up the pace, ignoring the doppelgänger to continue his drive home. 

Time was ticking, and Horacio couldn’t spend it on studying people that vaguely looked like you - especially when you were in grave danger. 

Horacio started his car again, listening to the familiar whirring as he stepped on the accelerator. There was a brief moment where everything was silent, and soon after he heard a shrill -  a loud unpleasant sound that made him snap his head back. The drunkard had vomited all over the pavement and onto a woman’s shoes, which explained the scream of disgust and anger that broke the peace. There were onlookers that were peeking at the damage done, sniggering as they found the scene humourous. One person, in particular, who was amidst the crowd was undoubtedly you. 

You had turned your head and peered over the woman’s shoulder, staring with disgust at the scene that had just played out before you. Horacio’s heart pounded in his chest, and he stared at you in disbelief. 

What?

Horacio’s eyebrows knitted together, feeling the air from his lungs get knocked out of him. He could feel his heart rate slow down, listening to the beats echo in his ears as time went in slow motion again. 

How was it possible that you were here?

You brushed your hair out of your face, tucking the loose strands behind your ears as you ventured further into the festival’s displays. His eyes widened, feeling the confusion muddle his thoughts. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening, and what he had just seen. 

What the fuck?

That woman was unmistakably you, and that made Horacio’s mind blank. The drivers from the cars behind had left their vehicles, standing before Horacio’s driver window in an attempt to get his attention. But Horacio had made little to no movement, like a beautiful marble statue, as his eyes glued to where you were just standing a few moments ago. There were loud poundings on his windows that followed with muffled complaints, all of which were trying to snap Horacio out of his thoughts - but everything around him seemed to still as his eyes followed you. 

How could this be possible? 

If you were here, despite the planned hostage situation that was taking place at his home, what the hell could this mean?

His back stiffens, the thoughts slowly forming in his brain as he carefully pieced the puzzle together. The muffled yelling only seemed to get louder, all of which calling out for his immediate attention. 

Pound. Pound. Pound. 

The windows of his passenger seat at the back trembled with the blunt force, and Horacio slowly turned off the engines of his vehicle. His car was now parked at the side of the narrow road, leaving a tight space next to him for other drivers to drive through. There were more eyes on him now, with each person now curious as to what he was up to. He spots your head get lost behind the crowd, and he immediately unbuckles his seatbelt to bolt out.  

Was this … a set-up?

This whole situation didn’t make sense to him, and seeing you had almost given him a whiplash. 

Horacio grabbed his radio and jumped out of the car, running towards the entrance of the festival, in direction of where you went. There were shouts calling for him from behind, each one from the drivers that he had no doubt just pissed off. Horacio pushes through the crowd, tip-toeing every few steps in hopes he could catch a glimpse of where you would be. 

There were loud noises everywhere, along with sudden flashes of lights that caught Horacio off-guard. Sweat was forming along his hairline, feeling the heat in this small space get to him faster than anticipated. The fans that hung above each stall blew on the customers that walked by, but with the humidity that came after the rain, Horacio felt like it was setting his skin on fire.  

His eyes scan through the sea of people, each one in different coloured clothes which stood out like a parade of colours - making it harder for him to find you. Horacio quickly held his radio to his mouth, calling out for Trujillo as he continued recklessly bumping into people just to get to you. 

“Trujillo!” Horacio shouted into the device, his voice competing with the speakers that he stood next to.  

“Trujillo come in!”

With barely a moment to spare, Horacio heard the voice of his most trusted man answer back. 

“Yes Sir?”

“Trujillo, gather all the units to set up a perimeter around my house on 25th street! I have a suspicion that Gacha is planning an ambush there, call all units to de-escalate the issue immediately!” 

There was a faint response from Trujillo’s end, indicating that he understood Horacio’s request. Horacio shoved the device into the back pocket of his uniform pants, before continuing to push through the area. The place was getting more packed, with the post dinner crowd finally arriving at the venue. The air was stifling, with the heat and sweat of everyone around him causing him to grow more nervous. Horacio’s eyes dance around the general area, hoping to spot something that he could identify you with.

The sudden flashing lights that were meant to attract customers now messed with his sight, and Horacio found himself wincing every few seconds. His heartbeat was rising, and the collars of his uniform were now once again drenching in sweat. There were so many questions in his mind, but he opted to find you first - placing your safety before everything else. 

He managed to spot you soon after, noticing that you were at the other end of the festival grounds, on the way to the road just across it. Horacio stretched out his arms, forming a small barrier around him as he apologetically pushed past the people. The area of the festival wasn’t large, and Horacio found himself and the other end within minutes. 

He slowly moves past the people in front of him, steps slowing down as he notices you sitting at a small bus stop just across the festival. The mellow orange light casted down on you, and you looked around the empty streets that only had various cars and trucks parked along it. You fiddled with your fingers, playing around with them as you patiently waited for the bus, occasionally glancing up to check if there were any oncoming vehicles. 

Horacio’s eyes were trained on you, and as he finally stepped out of the crowd, he could feel the light drizzle coating his body. The air was cool, carrying the scent of wet grass as Horacio finally felt himself breathe - no longer stuck in the small space that he had to claw his way out of. He staggers towards the edge of the road, staring at you as you continue playing with your items, occasionally huffing with restlessness.  

Horacio could feel the tears that were about to well in his eyes, body sagging with exhaustion as he took in the sight of you safe and sound. He sucked in a breath before calling out to you, rubbing his palms against his canvas pants to rid the slight trembling that had continued since he got out the car. 

“Y/N?” he croaked, arm stretching out towards you, “Y/N!”

Your head snapped up, eyebrows furrowed before you recognized your husband standing from across the street. The lights from the night festival had given you better visibility, and you could see the relief and happiness that was etched on his face. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you, and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered, making your cheeks turn red. 

“Horacio? What are you doing here?” 

You stood up from the cold plastic seat, taking a few steps to meet him halfway. The granite under your shoe grinded against the soles, crunching with each step you took. The festival music had drowned behind you, and as you stepped closer to Horacio, you could feel your heart beating faster. The street lamps illuminated his face, and you caught sight of the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. 

You reach your hands out, moving to cup his face as he stands closer to you, watching as the lights framed your figure perfectly - making you seem so ethereal and angelic. He feels his voice waiver, and he swallows the lump that forms in his throat, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

You smile at him, missing the pain that laced his earlier statement, “I did mention I wanted to come here, didn’t I?”

Your hands trail down his neck and to his arms, holding his huge biceps as you continue smiling in his embrace. He looks at you in a certain way that has your heart doing flips, noticing the way his eyes would land on your nose and lips. “Horacio, is something wr-”

His lips are on yours, strong and passionate as he kisses you deeper. Horacio coils his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The world around you disappeared, and it felt like time stood still as he moulded his lips with yours. There was something so sweet about it, the tenderness yet passion in the way he moved his lips against yours. He tasted like mint, and you found yourself wanting more. 

The salvation, he remembers, to save him from himself. 

He melts into your touch, and he tries his best not to cave him. Just like that, the weight on his shoulders are removed, and he feels the tears roll down freely. 

You’re his saving grace, and as your fingers gently brush off the tears that fall, he knows now - he would do anything for you. 

He pulls away first, panting against your mouth as a string of saliva connects both of your lips. Horacio rests his head on yours, staring right into your eyes with a look of adoration and love, and you felt your cheeks burn harder. 

His hand trails your back, moving up your neck to gently cup your left cheek in his large palm. The heat made you lean in further, purring with delight as he broke the silence between the two of you. 

“I love you,” he muttered, softly at first and only to you. 

You felt your heart burst, filling your entire being with an incomprehensible emotion. He drags his thumb over your mouth, feeling the plushness of the bottom lip under his finger pad.  You barely gasp out a ‘what’, not quite believing his confession to you. Your mind swarmed with thoughts, making your heart pound faster against your ribs. 

“I love you,” he says it again, this time louder - unafraid to admit it to the world. 

You jump into his arms, trailing your hands around his neck and he carries you up. Your head rests against his shoulder, and your wavering voice could barely bring out the words ‘I love you too’. He holds your head against his body, leaning in to kiss the crown of your head with a shaky breath, “I am so sorry, my love.”

You smile against the soft skin of his neck, running your fingers through his short hair, “I know, ” you whisper, and you lean forward to feel his lips against you, “I know you are.”

Horacio’s radio sounds from his back pocket, with Trujillo’s distinct voice indicating that Gacha’s men have been all arrested at the ambush site. That piece of information alone allowed Horacio to relax, dropping his head down to bury it on your neck. Horacio hugged you tighter, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. 

There wasn’t anything to worry about now - for the problems have now all been solved. 

Or so he thought. 

Trujillo’s voice was heard over the device again, this time taking a serious tone in his voice, “Sir, Gacha has not been seen anywhere, it seems like he didn’t even show up here at all.”

The blood in Horacio’s body had immediately run cold, his head looking up as he processed the information. He hugged your body tighter against him, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. You nuzzle your face further into the space where his neck and shoulder meet, gently planting kisses with an evident smile on your face. 

If he wasn’t there, where would he be?

There were flashes of white that blinded him, catching his off-guard as he thought of the escaped drug lord. Here he was, in the middle of an empty road, relishing in the sweet embrace after confessing his love for you, while an unsuspecting threat loomed over him. The sound of tires was gradually growing louder, along with the familiar faint cracking sound of a heavy object against the wet granite road. Horacio turned to his left, wincing as the harsh white headlights flashed into his eyes. There was a vehicle, a truck to be exact, that was taller than he was, speeding towards his general position. 

The night was beautiful, until it wasn’t. 

A familiar voice now laughs at him, the sound - maniacal and forced now echoed through the streets, bringing a whole new wave of pressure. Many would say that the best things in life go by too fast, Horacio would argue that everything in life went by too quick. 

The cocking of the gun rings in his ears, and a shimmer against the metal shines into his eyes. The weapon was now directed at him, and he frowned deeply at the gesture. 

 Life is so unpredictable, isn’t it? Just when you thought things would go well - it goes the opposite direction. 

As he stood in the middle of the road with you in his arms, he could hear the threats that were barked at him a few hours prior. His arms around you tightens, and he looks down at your head still tucked into the crook of his neck - blissfully unaware of the end that awaits the both of you. 

He smiles, and he knows that no matter what happens now, it would be done just to save you.

Engraved in your heart, he thinks, even if I die, I’ll live on forever. 

“You’re going to fucking regret this.”

And that, he finally didn’t. 

[outerbankslut]

Sorry... Pope Heyward

Summary • After a fight between the Kooks and the Pogues you go to your friends to apologise but Pope’s not having it.

Warnings • Swearing? Maybe but I can’t remember and I cba to go back through. Mentions of violence (in the fight). If there’s anything else let me know :) JJ smoking as usual.

Word Count • 1.7k (Imagine)

Masterlist

(GIF isn’t mine, let me know if it’s yours)

    THE NOISES OF the cars engine knocked you out of your daze as you drove down the paved, sweltering streets of outer banks. The houses you passed a second ago were filled with perfectly trimmed bushes, the building decked in marble and stone with backyards for miles and a pool to finish it off. Whereas the houses you passed now were smaller and wooden, looking fragile almost. Lots of the yards were messier and lazier but they didn't have personal gardeners or the time nor money to do it themselves generally. It made your heart clench as you thought about how just a mile back you were living luxuriously while people over here slaved away to earn everything they owned. They weren't handed it like you were.

You were on your way to the cut to see your friends. But not for a casual hangout. You needed to see if they were okay. After the events of the night before you couldn't be sure what happened after you left.

Rafe has been involved in a fight between all the Pogues including you. No surprise there. He’d been the instigator of it all. It had broken out just you were all planning to leave and then the Cameron boy and the rest of his country club friends came over and joined in somehow finding fun in hitting and punching people due to the entitlement blinding their eyes from the truth that they were the same. Well maybe not personality wise in any way at all. But you were all human beings and yet you were pitted against each other from the day you were born. Only some succumbed to the amounting pressure of their kook or pogue parents to stay away from the other side others realised how petty and stupid it was.

It was always like a scene from west side story when the two groups were mixed and it never ended well. It usually left you to pick up the pieces of their messes. Or any mess of your brothers really. It had always been you. You taking responsibility for anything he did. Whilst he would go disappear and sniff a few lines before making his triumphant return you would be mending what he broke or taking the blame. Being younger than him didn't help with him manipulating you as a child. Rafe broke a vase and suddenly you broke the vase. Rafe stole money from dad since he blew his allowance on coke and alcohol and instead you stole the money. It had always been that way and by now you were used to being left in the wake of your brothers tyranny.

You always felt responsible no matter what happened. The events of last night where stuck in your mind like super glue and the guilt was filling up your lungs. It wasn't your fault. But at the same time it was. You didn't stop your brother, you let your friends get hurt by him. And they must hate you. Probably wish you'd never been let into their group.

The tires of your car screeched to a halt beside the Twinkie which occupied the space outside of the chateau. It was eerily quiet until you stepped out onto the grassy and muddy ground and heard muffled laughter from inside the wooden walls of the small fish shack. You could smell the after effects of a joint wafting through the air. No doubt it was JJ.

Once you entered the chateau the small creak of the screen door was enough to gain the attention of all the Pogues who glanced up at your presence. Only then did you see what was leftover from the fight last night. Kie looked at you with a small smile but you could see the light grazing on her cheeks and her hands that held the wooden neck of a ukulele. But yet she still seemed happy to see you. And then JJ who sent you a lazy smile as he inhaled more of the joint between his bruised knuckled fingers and the smoke covered his purple and yellow and green painted face but only for a second. Then John B who held a beer in his hands but you could see the blood surrounding his split lip and small cut above his black eye.

None noticed your small frown or look of quilt swarming you except from Pope who stared intensely and lingered on the downturning of your lips as you turned and caught his gaze. You could see the small cut beneath his chin and no doubt just like the John B and JJ he accumulated bruises on his stomach or arms. But he was wearing his shirt buttoned up whereas JJ laid shirtless and John B stood with his shirt open.

It hurt you the most seeing Pope. The multiple bruises and cuts adorning his normally smooth and unharmed skin. They were because of you. When Pope moved in front of you stopping you from receiving the backhand Rafe sent your way as you berated him to stop. He was the reason you weren't hurt. And you were the reason he was hurt.

Pope looked at you oddly as you just stood there letting out a sigh.

"Y/N?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing in question. When you didn't answer again he stood up and walked over to you where you stood with your hands threaded together and rubbing in anticipation. "What's wrong?"

"I-I wanted to apologise to you last night."

The rest of the Pogues had turned their attention to you, JJ even stopped smoking for a second to listen. Your eyes were down trained on the wooden flooring as you spoke. Popes furrowed brows deepened as he looked at you slightly bewildered that you thought you needed to apologise.

"I'm sorry he hurt you guys. It was all my fault and I should have stopped him but I didn't." You let out a dry chuckle. "All of you got hurt and yet I'm perfectly fine." You shook you head and sighed. "But I'm really sorry."

Despite the nice welcoming from your friends you still had the deep rooted fear they would hate you after last night but the looks on their faces held sadness or confusion rather than anger or disdain.

Pope had seen you do this before with the group. Whether it be a Pogue and Kook fight or just a small thing when he'd been around your house, like accepting responsibility when Rafe forgot to pick Wheezie up from her ballet class or the time when you'd apologised profusely for Rafes mistreatment of JJ at his job at the country club. But most of those times he'd believed it to be a small courtesy of just being related to the problem or saying it like when you say you're sorry for someone's loss but it wasn’t like that with you. At least not this time.

You were apprehensive to look up to meet his but when you did you saw the boy let out a small scoff and you were ready for him to yell at you to leave and never come back.

"God! Stop apologising for other people! You're not the shitty one!" The Heyward boy exclaimed blowing a fuse which surprised everyone when Pope was normally the calm and collected one. Not all the time. But most.

And he wasn’t angry towards you but toward Rafe and even the smallest notion that what he did laid on your shoulders. You simply blinked in his direction not sure what to say at his outburst.

"Pope—" You started saying before you were cut off by the boy throwing his hands in the air.

"No I can't take it any longer. I can't watch you blame yourself and apologise for the punches Rafe throws or the shitty things he does. He's a bad person and you are not him. I don't give a damn if he's your brother, okay? Y/N you've never done anything wrong in your life and yet you keep apologising for everything he does. It's not your fault. I'll tell you a million—scratch that a billion times if I have to."

And once again you blinked but this time blinking away the glossy liquid in your eyes hoping to clear your vision. It was a different feeling having someone tell you it wasn't your fault for once. Popes eyes stared passionately towards you as you held his stare. You felt comforted just the the deep ebony colours of his eyes that focused on you.

"I still left you guys though after. I didn't stay and help." You told them and Kiara stood quickly, abandoning the instrument on the couch and placing a hand on your arm. You felt yourself sniffling. Pope moved his hand as well but lightly placed it in your own moving his fingers over your palm in circles soothingly. Letting you know he was there. Pope and you had definitely always been the closest in the group. If you ever needed someone Pope was always there. Whether it was someone to cry on or rant to, he was always there. And he definitely cared a lot about you as you did him.

"Hey, Y/N. You still tried to help us. That’s what counts. And we get it was overwhelming. We don't have to deal with psycho brothers. No offence." Kie spoke softly and you chuckled lightly at her comment through small tears that you were quick to wipe away.

"Yeah, Rafe is his own person and technically an adult he can take responsibility for his own shit." JJ spoke as he stood from his space on the couch joined by John B behind him.

"I still don't understand how the two of you are even related."

You shrugged a small smile growing on your lips that Pope noticed. "Me and Sarah both wonder that. A lot."

They all let out small laughs before Pope pulled you in for a hug and you nestled your head into his shoulder at his warm and enticing hold. He smelt of musk with small hints of aftershave and salt water. But most of all he smelt of home. Somewhere that would always be inviting and your one true solace from the world.

Note • Got my writing mojo back, kinda. And I used a prompt for this which helped a lot as well maybe too much. But uh so funny story I said it could make a cute blurb and one thing leads to another and I’ve written 1.7k words oopsies. I rambled too much and it’s trash and it’s also 2am so forgive me. But I need help I write too much unnecessary details in my fics and it makes it so long and probably boring. Anyway it’s✨trash✨but I hope maybe you enjoyed.

Join My Tag List Here • @starlightstarkey @rafecameron @starksweasleymain @jjsredhat @scandalousfemale @sguymon21 @bricksatanakinswindow @futuretaxcheat @wannabeslut @ad-infinitums @outrebanx @pit-zuh @pankowrudeth @jiaraendgame @outerbanksbro @copper-boom @alternativehp @brie-gr3y

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.23

Keith had been had. Lance had slipped out of talking to him by making him flustered, then they’d put a totally dumb movie on... and the stupid night had slipped away before he knew what was happening. Lance was infuriatingly relaxed. He’d laughed at the big pieces of garlic on the pizza, complimented him for not being a bad first timer in a weird way that made Keith’s heart go weird, then started making fun of the horror comedy they were watching. There was some name for the genre that Lance had used, it wasn’t comor, or hormedy, but it was something as equally stupid sounding. After half a dozen drinks it’d sounded good enough to laugh at. Now Keith was laying in bed, hiding himself away from Lance. He’d been aiming to get Lance’s guard down, not his own... What even was last night? And what the heck was Lance doing making so much noise too early in the morning? How was he supposed to ignore his existence when Lance sounded like he was demolishing the house? What happened to getting up and sneaking into his office for his morning meal? And why was keith trying to do the brain without the coffee? He couldn’t brain without the coffee.

Shuffling into the kitchen, Keith grimaced at the noise. Hunk was talking a million miles an hour as he blended something, Pidge sitting at the kitchen table with her knees up and laptop in front of her

“Hey, man! I’m making breakfast smoothies! Do you want one?!”

Yelling over the blender, Hunk’s stupid face was smiling too much... that was mean. Hunk was alright, but too much smile in the morning was weird

“Coffee...”

Lance was already working the coffee machine, Keith frowning as he noticed the way Lance’s hands were shaking

“Way ahead of you. Sit down and I’ll bring a cup over. Don’t disturb the gremlin, she’s extra cranky this morning”

Keith was perfectly fine avoiding a cranky Pidge, carefully taking Lance’s usual seat, lest he bump the table and set the gremlin off

“Get fucked”

Keith raised an eyebrow, not sure who the comment was directed at

“Fucking piece of shit!”

The laptop? It had to be directed at the laptop... right? Shuffling over to him, Keith eyed Lance. He looked like he should still be in bed, most of the coffee in Keith’s cup was now pooling on the saucer under it

“Sorry... here we go”

As Lance set the coffee down, he winced at the minute amount of sound it made. Catching Lance by the wrist, the vampire cringed, Keith staring up at his unwell face

“Lance? Have you fed this morning?”

“Couldn’t... Company”

An unfed vampire wasn’t safe... Not that he was worried about how ill Lance looked... or felt strangely concerned about his wellbeing. That was the lack of coffee talking

“Go feed, I’ll cover you”

“But...”

“Just go already. You’re disturbing my coffee”

Lance stumbled over his own feet as he shuffled off. Keith staring at his half empty coffee cup sadly. What a waste of coffee... Fuck being socially polite. Lifting the cup off the unmatching saucer, something very unLance, further proving how bad he must feel because everything always had to match, Keith poured the other half his coffee back into his cup as Hunk cut the blender. The lack of sound was welcoming. Grinning, Hunk went to turn to Lance

“Here... huh... where’d he go?”

Pidge grunted, Keith trying to get the coffee in the cup when it insisted on running down the side and under the saucer

“Keith?”

“Just a... fuck”

Fuck all coffee wound up in his mug, Pidge snickered as Keith frowned deeply

“Keith?”

“He had to check his work phone”

“Oh, maybe I should take this down to his office... it’s best if he drinks its right away”

“No! No, ugh. We had a late night...”

That wasn’t how Keith wanted it to sound. Pidge closed her laptop, but her and Hunk giving him a funny look

“What?”

“You two had a late night, hmm?”

“Not like that”

“Not like, what?”

Keith groaned. He should have kept his mouth shut

“Shut up”

Pidge poked her tongue at him. All Keith wanted was his coffee. Pouring out the strangely green smoothly, Hunk smiled at him

“Man, if there’s something going on between you and Lance...”

“No”

Cackling, Pidge wasn’t having it

“Me thinks he denies too fast”

“Me thinks I need my coffee”

Keith died a little on the inside. Who the hell was he? He didn’t talk like that

“Keith and Lance...”

“Sitting in a tree?”

Hunk didn’t sound sure about continuing Pidge’s teasing

“Look, it’s not like that. He’s a friend. I’m just worried about him...”

Oh. Fuck.

Pidge grinned at him so widely that she surely thought she was right with her line of teasing. Hunk, on the other hand, lost his smile

“Something’s wrong with him, isn’t it? He said it was Miriam. Was he having tests? Is that why he wasn’t responding? He’s been acting really weird for the last few weeks”

“He’s acting weird because he’s been hiding his boyfriend”

“Pidge, you know what I’m talking about. He like never leaves without letting us know”

Raising the cup of coffee to his lips, Keith was so close...

“Keith, what’s going on with Lance?”

Why did people have to think he could human before his coffee? It was cruel and inhumane to bully him like this. Lowering his cup slightly, Keith sighed

“Lance is fine. We’re not dating. My stupid brother took off and thinks being here will be good for me. Shiro has like no chill, as you should know Pidge. Miriam had a really bad fall, broken hip and messed up her face. He was organising things in Platt”

It was on the tip of Keith’s tongue to mention that Luis had been there, but he didn’t know what Lance had told his two best friends in relation to his family, outside of Miriam being his grandmother.

“And he didn’t have another doctor’s appointment?”

By “doctor’s appointment” Keith assumed that was Lance speak for a visit to Coran. The previous days talk with Coran felt like it’d happened weeks ago

“Nah. I mean, I wouldn’t know. He does his own thing”

“He always has. We totally tried to have him move in with us when we were in Platt, but he wasn’t having it. He’s always been a bit odd”

“And here I thought you guys were best friends?”

“We are. He’s our odd best friend. And you’re our new odder best friend. We totally decided that in group chat”

Keith didn’t know what to make of that

“You talk about me?”

“Only to tease Lance. You do know you’re like the first person he has ever like warmed up to like this. That’s why we were sure you two were secretly dating”

“Oh, we totally are. Keith’s dick game is totally on point”

With his coffee cup heading back towards his lips, Keith was glad he didn’t have a mouthful or it’d have been sprayed across the table at Lance’s casual remark

“Lance!”

“What? You’re a total dick and you know it”

The bastard vampire shot him finger guns as Keith’s heart decided it needed to keep racing from Lance’s comment. Pidge cackled with laughter

“Oh, man. If I wasn’t convinced before, I am now. You should have seen the look on your face!”

Being a total arsehole, Lance placed his hand on Keith’s shoulder

“Did you tell them all about us, baby cakes?”

Keith growled. Why the fuck had ever been worried about this dick?

“Keep touching me and I’ll break your hand”

“Look at them, Hunk! Okay. So you’re like weird room mates...”

“Yep. For now. At least until I paint the house”

“Have you thought of a colour scheme yet?”

“I was thinking of going full ‘70’s. Shag pike carpet, lots of mismatched prints...”

Why was Lance’s hand still on his shoulder? And why was Keith now hyper focused on the fact Lance was touching him? He didn’t like it. He didn’t like Lance. He didn’t like the way he felt all weird since coming to the house... Something was definitely wrong with his heart, it kept racing for no good reason

“You do that and you’re dead to me”

“If I’d known that, I would have done it sooner”

“That enough you two. Here, I made you a smoothie. It’s chocked full of the good stuff”

Lance finally removed his hand from Keith’s shoulder. The idiot walking into the dining chair in front of him. Maybe Lance had been using him for support, and there was no greater meaning to it? Shiro did say he had the tendency to over think things...

“God, you’re worse than me. Sit down before you break your whole house”

Lance took a seat next to Pidge

“Better?”

“Much”

“You’re not as cranky”

“And you don’t look as dead”

Pidge wasn’t seeing Lance the way Keith was. Lance had a little more colour in his face, but there was pain in the corner of his eyes

“Damn, I was hoping to be the best looking dead guy in town. I take it you got their number plate?”

“I got more than their number plate. I got their home address and two dozen eggs that’d look great splattered across their windows”

“Pidgeon, that’s not my field of expertise”

“Then they shouldn’t have sideswiped my car”

So that was what Pidge had been so cranky... her anger hadn’t been directed at him

“No, but violence only leads to more violence”

“That’s why I’m egging their house and not punching them in the face. Hunk, help me out here”

Hunk placed the glass of smoothie in front of Lance who wrinkled his nose at it

“I’m kind of with Lance here. Besides, I already helped you out, dad’s organising the repairs as we speak”

“Merp”

“Merp to you too. Hunk, do I wanna know what’s in this?”

“Nope. Drink it all fast”

“I hate it when you say that”

As Lance drank his smoothie, Keith settled back in his chair, finally able to enjoy his first, half empty, cold, sad looking coffee.

*

Lance was not having a fun day. He’d had a very, very, very vivid dream. A very, very, very vivid dream about bending a very, very, very emo vampire hunter over his kitchen table... He’d woken up feeling strange, waking up secondary to the lower parts of his anatomy that’d apparently had a pretty good time without his permission. Washing his underwear had been a lesson in humiliation, the only consolation being he had his own private bathroom. His dream had been way too vivid, like waaaaaay to vivid to the point he swore he could feel Keith on his skin... and after showering, he just felt deflated. Like he was running on a third of his strength. Weak and shaky, worse than he had the day before. He’d barely been out the shower five minutes before Hunk was calling to say they were on their way, and Pidge was pissed.

Trying to choose something to wear had been a struggle, by the time he’d done that, he could hear Hunk’s car coming, his stupid senses deciding he needed to hyper aware. He hadn’t had time to feed, nor to prewarn Keith, or get his shit together because how he was supposed to face Keith. He felt as if he’d violated the man by dreaming about him... Especially when he kind of wanted to reverse the positions... He was a goddamn pervert... Keith wasn’t... they hadn’t... He hadn’t been horrible company the night before. He’d tried to press him for information, but couldn’t a guy just relax and eat some bad pizza in peace? Not that the pizza had been bad... Keith didn’t know better when it came to a pizza drowning in toppings.

When Hunk started the blender Lance had felt as if his brain was in their with the other half dozen ingredients. Pidge was murderous, someone having sideswiped her car during the early hours of the morning. She’d spent the morning reviewing the security feed from the front of her house... Lance not quite able to find the right time to slip out the kitchen and drain a blood bag like his body was telling him he needed to do. He hadn’t thought Keith would see how poorly he felt, his hands were shaking as he tried to banish the thoughts of his unwanted dream. He felt like he should be apologising repeatedly and begging not to be decapitated for betray him like this.

Then Keith had gone and been even nicer, sending to feed while he babysat Pidge and Hunk. Lance had nearly torn the blood bag in half in his rush to feed. Coran had said “changes”, not damn dreams like he was a teenager again. They’d had a bonding moment watching TV. Keith was pretty funny when he wasn’t trying to murder him, or being stupider than words could describe. His taste in movies really was as bad a Pidge’s, the pair would be an unstoppable remote hogging pair if they teamed up. Keith just... He’d opened up somewhat, awkward with Pidge and Hunk, but not as awkward as he’d been. He talked. He covered for Lance over what had happened in Platt. He’d covered for him a lot, and Lance didn’t know why he was going that little bit extra to keep Hunk and Pidge from worrying.

“Dude, I’m surprised your kitchen’s this messy. Normally you’re a clean freak in here”

As Lance recovered from the horrible green sludge he’d choked down for Hunk’s benefit, he was almost envious that Pidge had missed out. He’d take a dirty kitchen over that smoothie any day of the year

“Keith made pizzas last night. We couldn’t be bothered cleaning up after”

“Keith, man. Another cooking aficionado?”

“No”

Keith’s answer was blunt. The fact he’d pulled himself together after Lance’s little temper tantrum was to be applauded. The wood fire stove came with the house, but rarely got used for anything other than pizzas. The thing was a temperamental old bitch on the best of days, but at least she was always there when there was no power or gas. Poor Hunk didn’t know how to deal with Keith

“Not from scratch, but it was pretty good”

“Are you two sure you’re not dating?”

Lance really wished Pidge would give the topic a rest. He’d had a tough enough morning as it was

“Pidgeon, I wouldn’t hold out on you if we were. I know how much you love those tiny little details...”

Pidge covered her ears with her hands

“I don’t want to know”

“Then give it a break already. Hunk, what are you Pidge up to for the rest of the day?”

“Not much, man. This wasn’t even planned...“

Planning would have been nice. Then he could have planned to hide until he died. He wouldn’t have had to face Keith. What kind of idiot put their hand on a caffeine deprived hunter and cracked lame jokes? Oh, that was right, it was him. He was the idiot. He wasn’t even sure why he had. He’d felt a little woozy as the blood rushed through his system, but once his hand was on Keith, he’d had a hard time letting go.

“... I’ll probably help my dad at the garage today. What about you, Pidge?”

“Seeing I’m not allowed to egg houses even when they house arseholes, I’ll probably set up a board and see what I can figure out. It’s been ages since we went on a proper hunt”

Pidge had the remnants of various boards tucked away in the attic of her family home. They were essentially murder boards for supernatural things. Photos, timelines, interesting articles. It was something she didn’t really talk about around outsiders, and something the three of them had taken to doing together. Lance felt a flare of jealousy over the fact Keith was being made privy to secret group information. Hunk didn’t seem to care

“Ooooh. Why didn’t you tell me you started a new board?”

“It’s an old one. Garrison, again. I mean, like, you’d think they would have fixed the arrangements of the wars. We all call it the Third World War, and sure there was a huge technology jump, but it was aaaaaaaages before the First World War”

It was and it wasn’t. That was the weird thing. Everyone knew it happened, yet when you tried to focus really hard on it, things became a bit muddle. Lance couldn’t quite put his finger on it either. It was kind of like some mass imagination thing had happened, but there was proof of it happening even if they couldn’t say exactly when. Personally Lance wouldn’t have listed it as a world war, and more an allies skirmish between two sides who both thought they were right and leader who had peanuts for brains... or maybe one of those monkeys with the cymbals that smashed them together every time they got remotely close to a good idea

“The good old Garrison board. How we loved you so. You revisiting the hospital?”

“No, I was thinking of re-examining the building usage lists. I want to see if we can set up again for another night in another building. Lance is probably going to be busy with Miriam, so I’m keeping it local for now. There’s this total members only club in Platt, that I have been dying to see. They reckon it’s run by werewolves who were born werewolves and that all the staff are werewolves that drank from water in their footprints”

Werewolves. Lance’s mood shifted again. He was turning into a breeder, with two new werewolf roommates coming. Werewolves could be quite lusty, and his arse was definitely saved for someone else. Someone with a big dumb black mullet... Lance chocked on air as he quickly cut that train of thinking off. Keith was basically a working condom advertisement. Emotional issues that’d never been treated, far too good looking to be human, cranky 24/7, plus he wasn’t even domesticated. He was never going to be interested in him and the sooner his brain got it together, the better it’s be for him.

“How about Pidge and I go pick the board up, then we all can work on it together?”

Noooooooooooo. Lance loved Hunk with the power of a billion suns, but noooooo. He didn’t want to be trapped on the couch next to Keith. He still needed time to settle his instincts, and to push down that damn dream... mostly the dream. Making the mistake of closing his eyes, the dream popped back into the forefront of his mind. Back’s had never really been sexy, but Keith’s broad shoulders and muscular form as he gripped the table... the sounds he made as Lance rode him hard into the table... The warmth... Keith was so fucking warm and loud... Whining, Lance clamped a hand over his mouth as his eyes shot open

“Dude?”

“I think I’m going to be sick”

He was... Hunk’s smoothie had to come out one way or the other. Bolting from the kitchen, he heard Keith covering him again. Why couldn’t keith go back to being a dick! Things were so much easier then, and now he was all friendly with his friends

“We kind of got drunk last night. He’s probably hung over... I’ll check on him. Why don’t you guys come back this afternoon and we’ll work on your board then?”

“Damn, man. I’ve never seen him hung over before...”

“Are you sure it’s just a hangover?”

“He’ll be fine. I need more coffee”

[pretty-thoughts-and-a-pen]

Their Game (The One They Feared, 3)

Tagging @quirkykayleetam . And shout out to @whumpfigure for the amazing prompt!

CW: dehumanization, captivity, mind control, magic whump, asphyxiation, sensory overload, burning

“Now, don’t be scared, kids. We’ve done a good job of trapping him completely. But be warned – you are about to see a monster.”

Azure’s voice, fast becoming the bane of Jacques’s existence, floated in from behind the closed door. Chained to the opposite wall, all Jacques could do was glare holes into the locked opening and grit his teeth. A sick feeling churned in his stomach at the whispers that arose on the other side. Unintelligible, sometimes even too quiet to be heard at all, yet the sounds made it clear that there was a whole group of people accompanying Azure. A group that was fidgeting – tapping their feet and bumping into each other – and snapping at each other in crisp, sharp sentences. Hushed in dread. In fear.

The lock clicked and the door swung open.

Jacques had already prepared to see their faces. Deep in his heart, he had known, and somewhere in his logical mind he had also deduced that Azure would do this. But the second he caught sight of the crowd, it was clear his preparation hadn’t been enough. His carefully stilled hands shook, eyes widened and bottom lip quivered. Jacques looked with despair at the faces of his former classmates.

They didn’t fare much better. Ten young faces, five girls and five boys, stared back at him in utter shock. Feelings ranging from discomfort, to horror, to sickness on their faces. One by one they filed into the room, stepping as if they thought the ground would collapse under them. But, the whole time, all of their eyes were trained on him, and perhaps the worst part was, their surprise was not the same as his. Jacques hated the unfairness of the situation, and how helpless he was in it. Their shock was at being in the same room as him, someone that was to be feared. They hated him.

Azure came in last, locking the door again behind him. The only face in the room that was the picture of calm and joy, he stalked forward, spinning a keyring around his finger. His grin only got wider as he got closer to Jacques, but every time he looked up, at the remaining students, faux sympathy painted that expression. As if his smile was meant for them, to reassure them, in the face of danger.

Jacques couldn’t let this continue.

“Guys,” he started, wincing at the rasp in his voice. There was no talking to do where he was, only screaming; and, in moments of truly gripping weakness, pleading at the merciless walls. The Sorcerers that condescended to bringing him food barely even acknowledged his presence when they came. All Jacques ever saw was eyes turned away and postures tensed defensively, expecting an attack. But, with his hands wrapped in leather gloves, really the only thing he had was his voice.

So, he had to use it.

“I don’t know what he told you…” He breathed deeply between words and tried to speak steadily. All those efforts went to waste when, quick as lightning, Azure’s fist flew into his face and knocked his head back into the stone wall. Pain thrummed through his battered head, and the only response from people Jacques had long ago called friends, was a little gasp from exactly one person. And that was immediately stifled. For no one had truly cared to listen to the prisoner, the enemy that posed a threat to their town. They would rather focus on the wall, or the floor, or the presence of their teacher, Azure.

The man in question knelt in front of Jacques, and raised a finger in front of his face. A second, no, a fraction of a second before it happened, what was happening clicked in Jacques’s mind and a scream built up to the edge of his throat. His last independent thought – stop him. Then, his vision focused intensively onto his captor, and his muscles relaxed in response to the power of the man who could control belief.

Azure reached up and unchained Jacques’s wrists. That received a much more startled, horrified reaction than before as some students clamored forward to stop him, others stumbled backward to put distance between themselves and the prisoner. Azure simply held up a hand and, with the other, seized Jacques’s arm and hauled him up. The boy teetered trying to find his balance. Days, it had been days since he had stood upright and on his own. How many days? Not even the faintest idea was in his head.

“How nice of you, Jackie,” Azure spoke from his right, “to volunteer yourself as a target for my students. They were so, so bored, I think they’ll have a little more fun now.”

Yes, of course, Jacques had volunteered. He dutifully stepped into the middle of the room when Azure guided him with a hand on his lower back. He gestured to the others and, though still apprehensive, they moved into a circle around him, tightly knit for protection, and closing in on Jacques, leaving no escape.

“Tell them you deserve it. It’s the least you do – help them practise their abilities.”

“I deserve it,” Jacques looked in turn at the people encircling him though his response was aimed at Azure, “whatever you need to do to practise.”

“Trying so hard not to be completely worthless.” Azure spoke with glee, and victory, in his voice. “But you have to, since you’re just a monster.”

“…that’s not true.”

The screeching in Jacques’s mind, following that answer, rose more and more as he tried to stick to that conviction. Uncomfortable shivers travelled down his spine a symptom of resistance in the face of powerful magic. His beliefs were under the control of the master Sorcerer; but perhaps, never entirely.

Azure’s face promised pain and horror for that answer. His expression had turned stony with hatred. But, in the blink of an eye he was back to normal. And Azure’s normal happened to include a terrible, self-assured smile.

“You kids were playing a game before, huh?” He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He was sitting this out. “Do carry on, and include the little monster. There’s no reason practice should be boring.”

Seven out of ten students raised their hands and flexed their fingers in anticipation. They didn’t look uncomfortable now, when Jacques had already shown how willing he was to stand still and repeat what Azure said. Mostly, anyway. His former friends, they looked steady and confident. Behind Jacques, a girl clapped her hands and gained everyone’s attention. Her long, auburn hair fell in a fiery mane around her shoulders, and the same fire seemed to translate into her eyes.

She had seemed the least scared from the start.

“Alright!” Julietta Romano spoke to the crowd. “Here’s the plan. You give him one of the tongue twisters from before. If Jacques says it perfectly three times, you lose a turn for target practice. If he can’t, then he’s fair game. Agreed?”

Yes! Sure! Got it! Some part of Jacques’s mind wanted to scream against this arrangement. But why? He had volunteered to play, he believed. The only thing Azure had said that he didn’t believe was…was…

“I have one.” A tiny, soft voice piped up. The girl next to Julietta, shorter and chubbier, raised her hand and waited for the others to nod. “Uh, how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

That was easy. Jacques could say that, no prob-

He couldn’t say it.

“How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodch-could…choo- chuck-"

Five people clapped their hands, as if that was a buzzer sealing his fate. How had he messed that up? But, try as he might, he couldn’t get his tongue to move as naturally as it did before. He seemed fine. He was fine. But his body wouldn’t cooperate, knowing it was pointless.

As if someone had planted that belief there.

Jacques mouthed wordlessly a little, and went to try again. But suddenly, a column of air shot upwards around him; he blinked and found himself inside a translucent white cylinder, carved out of thin air and stretching from floor to ceiling. The short girl flexed her fingers and twisted her palms, and slowly but surely, the air around him seemed to vanish.

Jacques’s breath came in gasps as, minute by minute, the oxygen seeped magically out of his prison within a prison. He tried to escape, scratched and pounded against the curved “walls", but they didn’t budge. His lungs burned and he collapsed as emptiness surrounded him instead of air. Grasping his throat, he felt panic consume him as the choking was followed by black spots, dancing at the end of his vision, creeping further, multiplying…

When the cylinder dissolved, it left behind Jacques writhing on the floor.

“Not bad!” The guy next in line clapped the little girl on the shoulder. “You’ll be creating vacuum pockets in milliseconds soon. Now my turn.”

Jacques gulped down as much air as he could. He tried to soothe the ache in his chest. Tried to get ready for the next round-

“She sells seashells by the seashore.”

“See…sells…sea sells…”

He had barely wheezed out the words when three people clapped and the guy took his chance and snapped his fingers. Then the room exploded in colour.

Lights. Flares. Fireworks. Bright and glaring and constantly moving. They whirled and twisted around the room messier than a kaleidoscope, sharper than stage lights. Aches pounded behind Jacques’s eyes and soon they were watering. Shapes materialized on the walls and bounced back and forth, almost like they were attacking the weak figure on the floor. Jacques curled up on the floor and covered his face with both arms.

He still saw the light show, clear as ever behind his eyelids. This young Sorcerer’s ability wasn’t physical. It was mental.

Jacques was left reeling and wiping lines of tears from his cheeks when the colours let up. The others hadn’t seen the ability in action, but the reactions spoke plainly. People cheered and whistled in awe. Jacques couldn’t stand to face them anymore. He flipped onto his back and pinned his gaze on the ceiling, trying to ignore the after images still flitting around on the stone.

“Listen up!” Julietta stamped with her foot. “Your next one.”

No…he couldn’t.

“Which witch switched the Swiss wristwatches?”

“Which…witch…which s-sw-“

This time there was no indication. No claps. No snaps. Only red hot flames bursting up in a circle around him. The fire rose up as high as his eyes were, and Jacques wailed as the flames danced back and forth around him, getting licks at his skin and scorching it in small stripes – on his arms, his feet, his stomach’s sides.

But never on him. No, the flames stayed a fixed radius away, amping up the temperature and sending smoke billowing in his eyes. The faces of the students became hazy and vanished, Azure’s face vanished, and the only thing remaining was Julietta's prominent voice.

“Have the next one ready!”

[thereddieficlibrary]

Reddie Soulmates Masterlist pt 1

his favourite colour is yellow. by odetodun (1/1 | 1414 | not rated)

Richie and Eddie have always seen the colours.

more than just a dream by fljghtlessbirds (10/10 | 21648 | mature)

soulmate: (n) “a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.” his whole life, eddie had heard the legends and myths of soulmates. everyone had a unique mark etched onto their body, and their soulmate had the exact same one. eddie still hasn't met his.

The Love Song of Edward T. Kaspbrak by bellatrixblacke (2/2 | 35214 | mature)

"What do you know about Words, Eddie?" Sonia asked.

He reeled back at her question, shocked. What in the Lord's name did words have to do with his mother's untimely death? "Words? Well, they're what we speak, and what we write, and-"

"No, no, not just ordinary words, Eddie," she interrupted him, slightly exasperated. "Words, a person's Words."

Eddie frowned. "A person's words? Like... Like their name?"

Eddie had no idea where his mother was getting at, but he looked at her, saw her wringing hands and the crease on her forehead, and suddenly knew he was about to learn something important.

"Not their name, Eddie, no," she explained. "The Words of their soulmate's song."

Wonky Compass by RanjantheVictor (1/1 | 8558 | teen)

Everyone has a soulmate, and everyone has a mark on their body hinting who that person could be. But marks and soulmates can change.

For Eddie Kaspbrak, figuring it over the years can be quite a challenge.

Our House, in the Middle of Our House by orphan_account (1/1 | 4460 | teen)

Whatever song your soulmate has stuck in their head is resultedly stuck in yours. Eddie, long suffering through mattress commercial jingles and old rock hits, imagines he would kill his soulmate if he had the chance. Or, he would, if he didn't think revenge was a better answer.

Friday, Never Hesitate by wings_g_leviosa (7/7 | 14519 | teen)

The next day, his mother told him to swallow a new pill. Oblong, slightly pink in color. It was bitter on his tongue, and he didn’t like it.

Clue(less) by endversed (1/1 | 8244 | teen)

Every person on this sorry planet wakes up on their seventeenth birthday with a soulmate mark somewhere on their body – but it’s not always easy to figure out. It’s not their name, or their first words to you, or even some kind of matching shape. It’s not anything clearly indicative; nothing concrete (at first).

No, all this mark gives you is a clue.

Cracked and broken. by sweetkisses (1/1 | 15890 | not rated)

Richie is good with words, fuck he's great with words, but he can't seem to say "I love you" to his soulmate, Eddie. Sure, both of their necklaces glow the peach color of love but neither boy has actually said it outloud. Maybe these few months of their junior year can push them to finally say it.

This is a sequel to my other fic, There is a crack right through my heart, you should probably read that first or else you might be a bit confused here.

I Believe A Thing Call Love by ma_cheries (1/? | 3042 | teen)

Soulmate Au- Soulmates wear mood rings but instead of the ring showing there own emotions, it shows their soulmate's mood

your true colours are beautiful (like a rainbow) by eddiefuckinkaspbrak (1/1 | 2371 | teen)

Soulmate AU where you see in black and white until you meet your soulmate.

Resigned to Fate (Fading Away) by punto_y_coma (1/1 | 7712 | teen)

Soulmate AU: Being next to your soulmate heals injuries.

Put Those Colors On by TheMightyChipmunk (2/2 | 16525 | explicit)

Richie Tozier wasn’t funny. He just wasn’t. And Eddie respected Bill for maintaining a friendship with the man since high school, even through Richie’s rise to fame, but no matter how much Eddie loved Bill, he could NOT sit there and pretend to appreciate Richie Tozier's Netflix Special.

“Can you not just sit there and bitch?” Bill asked and Eddie raised his hands in question.

“I didn't say anything!” Eddie argued. Bill rolled his eyes, shoving popcorn in his mouth.

“You’re been making dumb faces this whole time. I can practically hear the judgment rolling off of you.” Bill scolded, “There’s some funny stuff in here, if you get over yourself and... well, parse through the bullshit.” Eddie laughed once, loud and unbelieving.

“Bill, unclench. Eddie’s allowed to not love Richie as much as you do,” Audra said calmly, through a mouthful of Doritos, “I mean, the guy did just make a joke about dick-hole vaping.”

Seriously. Not. Funny.

***

Set in a universe where you don't see color until you hear your soulmate laugh, Eddie really doesn't think Richie is funny. I wonder how that's going to work out for them.

How Not to Be Soulmates by The Red Squirrel (Just_a_Fangirl) (3/17 | 14177 | teen)

When Eddie joined RB Publishing he expected the usual awkwardness that comes with starting a new job - like forgetting someone's name or losing his way to the kitchen. He did not expect to find himself in the middle of an intense office prank war, or to meet someone he hated as much as much as Richie fucking Tozier.

i love you so much it hurts my head by Biltchibo (1/1 | 5037 | teen)

“For the last time, Bill, I'm not going into that fucking shop with you!” Eddie came back to the moment, aggressively stapling the paper once. “That thing is full of flowers, top to bottom and, “ he turned around in his chair, staring pointedly at the man, Bill, across the room, “it’s Pollen Season, do you want me to die?”

or the Flower Shop/Tattoo Parlor Soulmate AU nobody asked for.

The Line Between Love and Hate by hufflepuffkaspbrak (1/1 | 2945 | teen)

They say there's a thin line between love and hate

or the soulmate au where you feel intense emotions with your soulmate & their name appears on your body the first time you touch

desiderium by giraffingallday (1/1 | 2631 | not rated)

He pushed his nose into the soft skin under his jaw, soft prickles itching his face and smoke mixed with a distant smell of plain white soap filling his nose. Richie placed his joint-free hand on the middle of Eddie’s back, just resting there as a heavy solid pressure, and started his story from the top. They weren’t, like, together, but this had always been a bit of a thing for them, the closeness. _

In a world where a soul can only find rest with it's mate, the same is true for Eddie Kaspbrak.

Truth or Dare? by Hand_of_the_Alex (1/1 | 4525 | teen)

When you turn eighteen you are unable to lie to your soulmate. It's Richie's birthday and the losers are going camping.

i fucked your mom by Hand_of_the_Alex (1/1 | 2396 | teen)

Soulmates have a specific phrase on them, a phrase that means something to the two of them.

Eddie has 'I fucked your mom' on his arm,

Soulmate AU: Injuries by HoshiYoshi (1/1 | 1308 | teen)

Soulmates are born with flowers in the places their soulmate is going to be injured in some way that's significant to them.

Beverly has a flower on her abdomen. Mike has flowers around his face and on the inside of his wrists. Richie, on the other hand, has a giant flower on his chest.

sick of losing soulmates by Sunflowers_And_Bluebelles (1/1 | 4934 | general)

That night, Richie was told about soulmates. His mother’s eyes had lit up when Richie told her about the disappearing ink and she quickly ushered him to the dinner table. Everyone could start communicating with them at different ages and Richie was very young compared to others. Soulmates. A person perfectly suited just for you.

the ruby effect by paxamdays (1/1 | 2931 | general)

‘Ruby’ was derived from the word ‘rubatosis’, which in turn had the very vague definition of 'the awareness of your own heartbeat.' Eddie didn't know how one was supposed to be able to feel their own heartbeat, let alone someone else's, but he doesn't make the rules so it didn't matter at all.

•

In which Eddie is a cynic and Richie, in true Richie Tozier fashion, makes truly awful jokes (and neither of them really know how to talk to each other without being fucking awkward, but that's fine.)

It's Always Been You by chucknovak (1/1 | 2342 | teen)

At midnight on their 18th birthday, every person develops a mark somewhere on their body identical to that of their soulmate. Richie Tozier thinks the whole soulmate business is bullshit; there's only one person he wants his soulmate to be, and what if it's not him?

Stop Thinking So Much by eddiesgazebos (1/1 | 1286 | teen)

the one where Eddie meets a new boy that seems to have something VERY special about his mind.

the writing on your skin by eddiefuckinkaspbrak (1/1 | 2498 | teen)

Prompt: The au where whatever you write on yourself shows up on your soulmates body where you wrote it with Eddie and Richie. It would be super cute ❤️

we have traveled (love and pain) by sunsetozier (1/1 | 4929 | teen)

The Prompt: soulmate au where you share intense emotions. like if richie is really sad then eddie feels sad, if one of them gets punched really hard the other one can kind of feel it. reddie are friends but don't realize they're soulmates until they get confronted by bowers or jumped or whatever depending on how old you want to make them and one of them gets hurt and that's how they figure it out.

man, i can't believe dumbledore died by wheezy_trashmouth (3/? | 1312 | mature)

basically. soulmate tattoo au. eddie doesnt Have a soulmate! ....or does he? haha..jk.........unless??

Handcuffs, Feathers, Rings, and Tattoos by inawaragainstreality (21/21 | 41922 | teen)

Richie's always believed in soulmates and he knows that Eddie Kaspbrak is his soulmate. So much so, he's not showing Eddie his soulmate tattoo until Eddie has his. He wants them to be the first people to see each other's.

But then Richie gets into an accident and loses his memory. His family moves away shortly after. Eddie and the rest of the Losers struggle to deal with their lives without Richie as well as what their new tattoos can mean.

Eddie's almost ready to get over his first love (well second) and start his college life when he runs into the last person he would ever want to see.

Soulmates in Paint by ironarm (1/1 | 1602 | general)

Eddie just wants to hand in his art project, Richie wants to get his number, and apparently, soulmates are a thing.

Eds by Ness09 (1/1 | 7910 | not rated)

When Eddie wakes up on his sixteenth birthday, he finds Eds tattooed onto his skin, but Richie has already found his soulmate. A lot of people hide their soulmate tattoos, but none of them are friends with Richie Tozier.

hard to see this time of night by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson) (1/1 | 8587 | teen)

For 27 years, Eddie Kaspbrak doesn't remember his dreams. Something about him is just broken. But after everything, in Derry, when he falls asleep - he dreams.

at once i knew i was not magnificent by wishie (2/2 | 11651 | general)

Soulmates make romance easier, but they are not, after all, a guarantee. Richie finds this out the hard way, and Eddie realizes the problems with forever. (Or, Richie and Eddie fall apart.)

regrets by r_eddie (1/1 | 2145 | teen)

Where people can feel what their soulmate feels when they touched and things that are hidden safely in their mind are blurted out unexpectedly.

-

The second Richie accidentally touched Eddie, they instantly knew that they were soulmates. But the problem was that they couldn't even stand being in the same room as each other. When their friends found out, they became determined to help them realize what they're missing out in front of them.

i've lived and died a hundred times by bughead (1/1 | 6167 | general)

In a rare moment of genuinity, Eddie whispers, “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Eddie and Richie's souls are connected, and they've met millions of times throughout history.

(or, some souls are just meant to meet, one way or another)

I Lost Who We Are by richietoaster (1/1 | 4534 | teen)

Richie frowns, “You can go home if you want to. I won’t be mad at you.”

“I don’t want to. I like hanging out with you. I don’t know, it’s weird..” Eddie looks up at the sky as if he’s trying to think about how to word what he’s trying to say, “You know how magicians, like.. Pull a rabbit out of their hats?”

Richie nods. “I love magic! The card tricks are always cool-io.”

“Yeah.. I’m the rabbit. I appear. And it’s like you’re a magician.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

Eddie shrugs, “I don’t think I do, either."

how do you sleep when you lie to me? by stansrichie (1/1 | 3331 | not rated)

reddie soulmate au where when you write on your skin, it’ll show up on your soulmates skin as well so eddie started wearing long sleeves… until one day, he doesn’t.

Bless You by reddiebitch (1/1 | 1494 | teen)

Soulmate AU where you sneeze at the same time as your soulmate, and Richie has terrible allergies.

The Water Will Carry Me to You by LuddleBubble (1/1 | 8813 | general)

Richie Tozier dreams about his soulmate every night, but he had no idea what they look like, sound like, or even what their name is. It's like that for everyone with soulmates- they interact in their dreams without really giving away their identities. The only way of knowing who your soulmate is, is that you have to meet them out in the world. Of course, you won't know right away, just once you go to sleep that night and you see their face. Richie isn't really looking for his soulmate on this particular day, but instead is just looking to have some fun with his friends. But that's how it works, isn't it? You only find something when you aren't looking for it.

Love me, please? by hoeziertozier (1/1 | 2346 | general)

Everyone has a mark on their body from birth that only they can see. It becomes visible to their soulmate once they fall in love with them. This means that you can love a number of people in your life, but only one of them is your soulmate.So even though everything might be set in stone from the beginning, at least you still get to experience the whole ride of falling in love, and the heartbreak that comes with it being the wrong the person. But he was Richie Tozier, and the universe was never on his side.

best part of me is you by eddiefuckinkaspbrak (1/1 | 2076 | teen)

Eddie and Richie are soulmates who can feel each others immediate emotions. Fluffy! 

[moonb-eam]

I loved the skate park one shot you did with Robbe and Eliott! It was adorable 😍. I can actually picture Eliott and Sander being friends! Or brothers / cousins as I have seen others say in the wtfock tag. I would love to see a Sander/ Eliott fic of some kind as friends or family! Maybe Sander could go to Eliott and Lucas for advice cause he thinks he really messed up and he has no idea how to fix this! Or something? ... I love everything you write and I just want to see them interact! ❤️

okay, here’s the dealio, anon.

i have so many other prompts to fill but since i first saw this ask i kept thinking about it. it just wouldn’t let me go, because firstly, i had no idea that people were talking in the tags about eliott and sander being friends or cousins, which blew my damn mind what a Concept

but secondly, one of the main reasons i started posting skam france fan fiction was as a coping mechanism for shit that was going on in the show that made me angry and sad

this is all to say, i took the prompt and wrote 3.7k with it ✨

hope you like 🧡

He thinks about him, and the charcoal in his hand slips, a slow, even curve that goes jagged, a thick black line breaking his canvas in half.

He wants to knock the canvas to the ground. He wants to tear it to pieces. He wants to ignite it with a match.

The skin over his eye still pulls, the bruise along his cheekbone still stings.

Everything fucking hurts.

Sander drops his piece of charcoal down to the easel and turns away from the canvas, running his hands up the back of his head and scrubbing them through his hair, not caring that he’s getting black fingerprints stuck in the bleached strands.

He can’t even draw. That’s been taken away from him, too.

Not taken away. There’s a voice in his head, a voice that sounds like rocks against windows and cracking ice. This hasn’t been stolen from you, you lost it didn’t you, you lost him, you lost your heart, you lost your mind—

He doesn’t stop walking until he reaches the far wall of the empty studio, leaning his forehead against cold glass, his body slumping forwards. He tries to take deep, even breaths, tries to find something to centre himself on, but when he closes his eyes all he sees is Robbe.

He dreamt about him last night, about the space at the base of his neck, right above his collarbone. He dreamt about pressing his face into that spot, surrounded by soft, warm skin and that clean cotton smell that’s always attached to Robbe’s clothes. He dreamt about feeling the vibrations of Robbe’s gentle laughter under his cheek, about Robbe running his hands through his hair and saying, Sander. I love you.

He woke up sweating, tangled in threadbare sheets, faced with the early-morning blackness of Antwerp. He’d wanted nothing more than to sink back into that dream, and to never leave it.

Being awake is a curse.

He takes another breath, pressing his forehead further into the glass and he’s listing off different shades of black in his head to try to find something to focus on, and it’s working, a bit.

pure black, onyx, eigengrau, xiketic

“Sander?”

He startles, knocking the side of his head against the wall as he stumbles back, whipping around to the studio doorway.

That French guy is standing there. The exchange student. The one with the annoyingly perfect blending technique.

Eliott, his brain supplies.

Eliott has one hand gripping onto the strap of his backpack and he’s staring at Sander with his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth turned down at the corners.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, then bites down on his lip, regretful, like he knows there’s only one possible answer to that question when you find someone collapsing into a wall in an empty studio on a Friday afternoon.

Sander blinks. “I didn’t think anybody would still be here,” he says flatly.

Eliott shrugs. “Yeah, well.” He gestures vaguely to the hallway behind him. “I had to finish some stuff and I needed lots of space for it…” Then he grins, bouncing on the spot. “And anyway I have to wait for Lucas. He’s coming here from the train station.”

Right. Lucas. The famous boyfriend back in Paris.

His name is Lucas, Sander heard him gushing to Greta one day in class, excitedly scrolling through the camera roll on his phone. He’s a science student, still in Lycée. He’s amazing. He’s so smart and funny, and he’s so thoughtful, but he doesn’t always let people know that.

Out of curiosity, Sander had craned his neck forward to see the screen of Eliott’s phone. And yeah, not bad. Cute. Really cute, actually, with wide, clear eyes and a full, teasing smile. But, personally, Sander has always preferred brown eyes over blue.

“Right,” he says to Eliott, and he doesn’t know what else to do, so he walks back to his easel, taking his canvas down and propping it up in the corner of the room reserved for unfinished works.

There’s the sound of a phone going off and Sander turns towards it, heart soaring, but he sees Eliott pulling his phone out of his pocket and he’s smiling down at the screen, rapidly typing out a reply, and Sander's heart sinks back down to the bottom of the ocean. He crouches to the ground and gathers his charcoal back into its box, securing it with an elastic band, his face burning.

What was he even expecting? Why would Robbe message him when he knows, he knows Robbe saw Britt’s Instagram post, and he heard Robbe was at that party which means he saw them together and he must hate him but that was what Sander wanted, wasn’t it?

“Hey. Sander.”

Sander glances up from where he’s packing his bag and Eliott is staring back at him, tapping his phone against his chest.

“I don’t want to be…prying. But you, uh, you seem like you’re having a hard time right now. So, if you want to talk about it, we can. Talk about it. And if you don’t want to, then…we don’t have to.”

Eliott is fumbling through this speech, giving it in stops and starts of heavily-accented English but he holds Sander’s eyes the entire time, and Sander has always respected straightforward people, but more than anything else, he’s struck by the care colouring Eliott’s words into soft pastels across the harsh white of the studio, the concern painted clearly across his face in shades Sander had forgotten existed.

He really doesn’t know the last time someone worried about him.

Apart from Robbe.

This is why, while Sander’s first instinct would normally be to make a lame joke or change the subject completely, instead he sits back on his heels, takes a deep breath and asks, “Did you ever…hurt anyone?”

Eliott tilts his head. “Because you tried too hard not to?”

“No. Because you meant to.”

Now there’s something dawning behind Eliott’s eyes, something that looks a bit like reluctant understanding. Or, perhaps, undesirable understanding.

Eliott asks, “Does this have something to do with that boy? The one that came at the end of class.”

For all that Sander’s brain has thought of nothing but Robbe, Robbe, Robbe for weeks, it’s nearly impossible for him to say his name aloud. “Yeah. Robbe.”

He doesn’t think he deserves to say it. The word is too sweet on his tongue. It tastes too much like the last time he said it, when Robbe was swaying towards him on his bar stool and flashes of blue and purple light were playing tag across his face and he was so beautiful, so delicate and so mesmerizing and somehow, impossibly, he was Sander’s.

He was.

Eliott sighs, and leans against the doorframe, his backpack sliding down his arm to the floor.

“It never works the way you think it will.”

Sander’s head snaps up. Eliott is staring at a spot just over his shoulder. There’s a faint line between his eyebrows.

“At one point,” Eliott says at length, “I didn’t think I could ever have what I have with Lucas. I didn’t think that sort of thing was meant for someone like me.”

“That sort of thing.” Sander echoes dubiously.

Eliott’s eyes snap over to him. “Love.” He says simply. “Being in love. Being loved. Without any, uh…” He waves a hand out, searching for the word. “Inconditionnel.”

“Unconditional.” Sander nods. “Yeah. It’s similar in English.” He sees a loose thread in the knee of his jeans and he tugs at it, tearing a hole open at the seam. He’s hoping Eliott will keep going, will give him something solid to latch onto, but he seems to be waiting Sander out now, like he knows Sander’s only given him the prologue to the story.

Sander wants to tell him. And he doesn’t want to. Because saying it aloud will make it more real, in a way. It’s as if, as long as the words stay buried inside of him, there’s still a chance that this is a dream Sander will wake up from, and when he wakes up he’ll be a different version of himself. One who’s normal and can love and be loved like a normal person and won’t have a built-in self destruct button.

“I…” He keeps his eyes fixed on the hole in his jeans, pulls harder on the thread. “I hurt him. Because I needed him to hate me.”

Eliott’s voice is very soft when he asks, “Why?”

“Because being with me…it was ruining his life.” The words feel dramatic coming out and Sander drops the thread, falls back onto his ass and throws his arms out, palms flat. “I know how that sounds, but it’s true. He was so messed up from kissing me that he…he said shitty things. He said he thought I drugged him, as if I could ever—and then, then, we, one night we went out and we…” Without even realizing it, Sander’s hand has drifted up to his eye. He lowers his hands to his thighs, digging into the muscle there. “Something happened. Something that was really bad and he got hurt and I. I can’t see him hurt like that. Ever again.” He drops his head to his knee, eyes shut tightly. “From the moment he met me, his life went to shit. I was ruining him. I was.” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until his voice breaks on the last word and there’s something wet sliding down to the tip of his nose and he wipes it across his jeans, coughing to try and mask the sound.

God what a fucking mess Sander has made. He’s fucked with everything good in his life and now he’s crying in front of a French guy he barely knows and it’s all just…a fucking mess. There’s no way out.

“D’accord.” Eliott says quietly from his post at the door. Sander hears him shifting on the spot, then his phone buzzing in his pocket, and for a brief moment, Sander hates him. He hates his buzzing phone, hates how Eliott gets to wait for someone and Eliott gets to message someone and Eliott will get to kiss someone today, probably. Someone he loves. Someone who loves him. The jealousy is a violent flash of lightning that surges through him, makes his fingers tremble.

It makes him spit the rest out coldly, bitterly, pure black tar from between his teeth.

“We were victims of a hate crime.” He says. “These two guys, they saw us kissing and they beat the shit out of us, left us on the street. And do you know what I did? I abandoned him. When he really needed me. I got back together with my girlfriend. I stopped responding to his messages. I let him see that we’re back together.” He laughs and the sound hurts on its way out. “He must wish he never met me.”

He’s expecting Eliott to leave at this, to realize this is way more fucked up than he thought it would be when he first decided to play the caring classmate. Maybe he’ll shoot Sander a look of disgust for good measure. What he’s not expecting is for Eliott to take a step away from the wall, a step towards Sander, his face marred with worry.

“Wait. What the fuck. A hate crime? Did you report it to the police?”

It sucks the lightning storm out of Sander’s veins, that worry. His head drops down on his shoulders.

“It wouldn’t do anything.” He says. I can’t, he doesn’t say. I’ve been in the wrong place at the wrong time before and it’s not good for me, he doesn’t say.

Eliott is shaking his head. “It would. Saying it out loud means it happened. It’s real.”

And fuck if Eliott isn’t tapped directly into Sander’s head. It makes him shiver.

“I’m so sorry.” Eliott says. “No one should ever have to experience that.”

Before Sander realizes what’s happening, Eliott is coming over, he’s kneeling down onto the floor in front of him and he’s pulling him into an awkward, long-armed hug, and he’s saying it again, “I’m so sorry.”

Out of every possibility Sander considered for this conversation, he didn’t imagine this.

It’s like his body can’t decide if it wants to pull away or fold in closer, locking up in indecision and leaving his arms hanging limply at his sides.

He hates that a relative stranger is comforting him like this, seeing him so broken and vulnerable, so laid bare, but at the same time it feels so fucking good to be held, to be looked after, that he doesn’t ever want the hug to end.

Then Eliott is the one pulling away, planting his hands on Sander’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, in a rush, “I shouldn’t have done that without asking. But it really looked like you needed it.”

Sander stares at him. He thinks his mouth might be hanging open.

Eliott squeezes his shoulders. “You need to know: what happened to you wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything to cause it, and you did nothing to deserve it.” Eliott blinks and his own eyes are wet. Sander looks down to break his gaze, everything feeling to raw and too wrought for him to handle.

All he can say is, “Yeah. Well. Maybe.”

“And you should know,” Eliott continues, “that you’re not helping him by deciding he’s better off without you. You can’t decide for other people what will make them happy. You can’t decide what’s good for them.” He drops his hands from Sander’s shoulders, and falls back, mirroring Sander’s posture. “I tried that, with Lucas. I tried to push him away because I thought he would better off without having to deal with me. I thought he wouldn’t be able to handle what being with me is really like.”

Sander shifts on the spot, a bit uncomfortably, because there’s that feeling again. It’s like Eliott can see the inside of his head, can take the tangled web of his thoughts and unravel it to something tangible. Flawed and tragic, but true.

“I didn’t trust him.” Eliott says. “I underestimated him, which is something I did a lot in the beginning.” A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “But he keeps surprising me.”

“How could I ever fix this?” The words pour out of Sander in frustration, curling around his face like smoke. “I’ve fucked up too much. Too much to be forgiven.”

“Robbe may surprise you, too.”

Fuck.

The very idea of it, of seeing Robbe again, of explaining himself to him, of Robbe forgiving him.

The very idea of being able to hold him again.

It sets Sander afire from the inside out.

“You need to be completely honest with him.” Eliott says. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he slowly stands from his spot on the ground, brushing off the back of his jeans. “And with yourself. You need to show him how you feel but you also need to tell him. You need to make it right. For both of you.” Eliott bends down to retrieve his backpack. “And Sander…” He pauses. “Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but I think you really need to report that attack. Together.”

Sander feels a bit like crying, and a bit like laughing, inappropriately enough. There’s too much happening inside of his head, there is always is, but it’s too much in a way that feels like being awake is necessary. It’s important.

“How did you do that?” Sander asks, staring up at Eliott. “How did you know exactly what to say to me? You don’t even know me.”

Eliott smiles, and it’s sweet and bitter. “Maybe, but I think we’re very similar, actually. I think we both try to…hm. Comportement autodestructeur.”

“Self-destructive.” Sander fills in automatically.

Eliott nods. “We are both like that, and it made us lose the best parts of ourselves. Lucas, he fought for me. He fought for us, and so we found each other again. I don’t want to imagine what it would be like for me if he hadn’t. I don’t want to imagine that for you either, if Robbe makes you feel the same way Lucas makes me feel. So. You have to fight for him. That is what I’m saying.”

Sander digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“I don’t mean to—”

“No.” He cuts Eliott off, pushing himself up from the ground. He’s shaky as he tries to stand. “No, it’s. You’re right. I know you are. It’s just a lot.” He takes a long, deep breath, and he’s listing off shades of brown in his head for something to focus on, something to keep him from crumpling back down to the ground.

chestnut, raw umber, taupe, wenge, robbe’s hair, robbe’s eyes

“Hey.” Eliott’s interrupting him again, driving a wedge in front of the runaway train of his mind. “How about you come with me? You can meet Lucas. Get a drink with us, and we can talk. He can give you advice on how to be brave.”

Eliott’s grinning as he says it, a look in his eyes like he’s kidding but he’s also not, and Sander knows he’s not, because he actually could use some pointers on being brave right about now, when all he’s wanted for the last week is to disappear from the face of the Earth. To do nothing but go to sleep.

It’s so much more difficult, being awake.

“Will he mind?” He asks, sliding the strap of his messenger bag onto his shoulder.

If anything, Eliott’s smiles grows wider. “Nope. He’s been saying for weeks that he wants to meet my Belgian friends.”

Friends.

Yeah. Sander thinks he could really use some friends right now.

Eliott and Sander are outside of the school’s entrance for only a few minutes, watching the sun set and sharing a cigarette, and then there’s a tiny blur crashing into Eliott from out of nowhere, latching its arms around his neck and climbing onto his back, nearly knocking Eliott over with the momentum.

Sander flicks the cigarette towards the ground, and watches with a small smile forming on his face, what feels like the first in a long, long time.

“Eliott!” The blur cries happily, and then he’s speaking in rapid-fire French, his metropolitan accent managing to sound lazy and rushed at the same time, his vowels melting together to form one long stream of exclamations.

Sander manages to catch something about a nightmarish train ride, a desperate need to eat something, and then, when his feet are back on the ground and Eliott has turned around to face him, I missed you so much. My love.

They kiss, and it’s slow, soft and intimate and Sander looks away, taking a drag off the cigarette. He checks his phone but the only notification is from Britt, telling him that he left a sweater at her place, and she doesn’t want to keep it but she also doesn’t want to bring it to him, so he’ll have to drop by to pick it up himself.

Sander sighs.

I’ll come by tomorrow, he replies. He wants to tell her she can just give it away, or throw it out, he doesn’t care, but he can guess that for her, it’s for closure. Something she can do to tell Sander that she’s over it, over him, and Sander doesn’t want to take that away from her.

He owes her that, at least.

“Hello.” Another heavily-accented voice is saying to him, cutting through his thoughts. His head snaps up and the boy/blur himself is standing in front of him, offering a hand to shake. Eliott is next to him, an arm draped across his shoulders. “I am Lucas.” He announces, like he’s the king of France declaring himself to a pauper, and Sander already likes him.

“Sander,” he says, shaking Lucas’s hand.

“Eliott says you are coming with us for drinks?”

Sander shrugs. He flicks the cigarette to the ground and smothers it with the toe of his boot. “Yeah.”

Lucas squints at him, biting down on his lip. Sander tilts his head to stare back at him, not sure what Lucas is looking for, if he’s measuring him up to determine if he’s worthy to be Eliott’s friend, or if he’s trying to extrapolate on the inner workings of his heart just from what’s written across his face. Sander wonders if Lucas can read wasteland somewhere along the lines of his forehead or in the hollows of his eyes. When Sander woke up this morning, that was all he could see when he looked in the mirror.

Lucas must find something satisfactory in his appraisal, because he’s nodding, and Eliott leans close to whisper something into his hair and Lucas smiles, something soft and sad, and he says, “Ah, oui. D’accord.” He slips out from Eliott’s arm and steps froward, gripping onto Sander’s wrist. “Come on. You will pick the bar and Eliott will pay for the drinks.”

Eliott makes an indignant, protesting noise at this, but Lucas waves him off.

“It’s an emergency, Eli! We have to get him vodka and make a plan.”

Sander is staring down at Lucas, feeling a bit like he’s being pulled into a tornado. “A plan for what?”

“For how you will fix it.” Lucas says, as if it’s obvious. Sander throws a look at Eliott over his shoulder, wondering just how much of Sander’s private life he’s shared, and Eliott shrugs like maybe he overstepped but he’s not sorry about it.

Lucas is practically yelling into his ear. “We need somewhere with good food and cheap alcohol.”

And Sander, who’s thinking about being brave, being honest, being vulnerable and being able to hear Robbe’s voice, to press his cheek to that spot at the base of his neck, he points down the street, towards the centre of town.

“That way,” he says.

“Good.” Lucas says. He reaches back for Eliott’s hand, pulling him along with them. “Let’s go.”

[pffbts]

quiet night with taehyung :( if requests are open.

GENRE. fluff; angst.

CHARACTERS. kim taehyung x reader | no supporting character

W.C. 2.3K

AUTHOR`S NOTE.  

taehyung looking at you as if you`re the only thing in his eyes, that`s a good feeling, isn`t it? happy reading, bub and thank you so much for requesting!

[10:11 PM] [the sound of the futon while someone moves a little closer to someone]

―days like this comes often during the fall time. the patchy farewell of summer against your skin and the skies accompanying that with the gloomiest days ever. your college days go by while you remain drowning under assignments. the only good thing is that at least you`re finishing them up on time while others remain to be as lazy as ever.

you reach the floor of your little apartment pulling the strap of your bag tighter. after the death of your grandfather three years ago, your grandma decided to sell the house and go to some old age home while giving you some money to buy yourself an apartment. you remembered her saying that it would feel not only empty but too burdensome for her to stay in the house where you grew up and your grandfather stayed by his orphaned grandchild when needed. she said she won`t be able to have a sane mind after waking up in that empty house every morning. you had laid a hand over her shoulder complying by her words. after all, you understand what she might be feeling at that moment.

so for the last three years, you`ve been visiting your grandmother at her old age home during the weekends and during the weekdays, you come back home after a fruitful day in college. it was really boring if anyone would care to observe in your daily life. but you wondered if it had been so if some things never left from your side out of nowhere.

out of habit, you reach inside the front of your bag to open the part where you chunk your keys in. taking it out, you walk over the mat in front of your door only to reach the doorknob and finding it unlocked. a chill runs down your spine as you stay fixated in your place. your eyes remain frozen over your hand that remain clutching onto the doorknob. suddenly, as your outside became completely silent, you could hear the loud thumping of your heart against your chest and it was becoming painful all at once.

you tried breathing for at least ten seconds, you tried breathing through your mouth to intake a much more amount of air than usual but your heart remained as same as ever.

you knew this was a do or die situation but you also thought who could`ve come to your place without any motive. you don`t have an enemy, you are just wrapped up within yourself. you`ve never involved yourself in any matter and you don`t even have a boyfriend, to begin with, who would care to surprise you out of nowhere.

squeezing your eyes shut, you push your door inside.

it was empty.

the minimal living area was as empty as you left behind that morning but something felt different but it wasn`t a bad different. it was like something you`ve felt before but you can`t just let your mind catch on it. you tried looking through the nooks and corners of your living area―behind the small couch, the DIY kitchen place. you tried finding any traces that someone might have left behind. you widened your eyes looking at the lampshade, you search the drawers, the utensils, the wall hanging but you absolutely nothing.

it was not until your eyes moved towards your bedroom door that you discovered that there`s a light coming from underneath the door, which was as you could see was just loosely closed. knowing by the colour of the light you understood it`s the dull lamp beside your bedside. but who? you wondered.

when you tiptoed towards your door, you managed to take a paper cutter in your hand, you know, just for precautions. you realized that it`s now or never. pushing the door at once, you pull up the cutter in front of you only to see your best friend who had previously vanished three years ago, was lying there with the same book you had once given to him for reading but never got it returned.

it isn`t always like that, you continued to convince yourself, that it`s okay for once in a while to give someone a chance to read you like an open book.

your eyes flicker to the boy in thin-rimmed specs reading the book you had once bought from the bookstore in front of the convenience store. the light that was emitted from the dull lamp would`ve pained your eyes if you were in his place but he was perfectly calm, his eyes moving along with the lines. his red snapback hat was lying upside down on the floor and your attention diverted to his slumped body against the futon.

“taehyung?” your mouth as dry as the desert, your emotions building up the frequency and your eyes remained as fixated as an archer on his face.

taehyung remained really calm watching his best friend holding a paper cutter in one hand and a trembling finger pointing at his direction. his mouth formed a straight line and he smiled, squeezing his eyes for a second only to open them up and wink at you.

“i thought this would be a good way to surprise you.” he got up really slowly, put aside the book and took off his glasses while continuing his sudden monologue, “i thought your interests might have changed over these past three years, so i couldn`t decide on any gift. but if your interests are still the same, i`ll definitely buy you the gift you`ve always wanted.”

“that book.” you said out of nowhere. “isn`t that the book i gave you?”

“aaahhh this one,” taehyung picks up the same book that he had put down seconds ago, “it has been the only thing that`s been with me all this while. i had given up on almost all things other than this.”

“but―” you started only to be cut off.

“but i had to return this. i had a feeling that we will meet someday and that i would`ve to let go of this someday too.”

“this is so sudden. i don`t know how to think right now.”

“you don`t have to, ______. i don`t know what came upon me. my manager was driving me back from the shooting spot―”

“shooting spot?”

“oh yes. i had a hunch you would never know this.” this time taehyung stands up completely and brings both of his hands in front of you but instead of cupping your face like he always used to do, he took hold of your hands, now void of any paper cutter (you`ve placed it on the cupboard when taehyung was talking about the book.). “i`m a model,  love. well,” perking one his brows, he scoffs a little before continuing, “i didn`t initially want to do this but it`s easy money and you know how much of a sucker i`m at studies. but i was scouted on the streets. so you can`t throw any tantrum, okay?”

taehyung pulls you towards himself and moves both of you towards the futon he was previously lying on. “so what was i saying before that?” he asks you, while putting a spare strand of your hair behind your ear. he still had that face while looking at you as if you`re his only darling in the world and he could do anything to tend you all day.

“your manager was―”

“ah, yes!” taehyung`s eyes glowed for a split second, “so,” he envelopes one of your hand in-between his large ones, unconsciously warming you up, “my manager was driving me back from the shooting spot and i realized that i`ve been in this side of the city. i remembered when you were planning to look for an apartment and when your grandpa left this world, you finally shifted here. i was probably here for like one or two days, isn`t it?”

taehyung helped you pulling off your jacket and he brushes off the wrinkles on your t-shirt before helping you lie down beside him. the futon made quite a sound when you moved beside him. your friend lets his arm become your pillow as he continued his story, “it took me exactly one hour to find this place and when i saw how you were living, i felt sad. i was angry too,” he moved his face a little to see if you were still looking at him or not. he realized that he was right―you were still looking at him as always.

“you were angry? why?”

“because if i was here, i would`ve never let you feel like this. it was not until i was in this room, lying on your futon, having your essence all around me that i realized how much i`ve missed you.”

taehyung now completely turns his face towards you, looking into your eyes so deeply that you thought he might have the power to read your mind. “i missed you a lot. i think i still miss you.”

he whispers the last sentence and his warm breath fans against your face.

“why did you leave then?”

there.

you said it. 

okay, but you had to. you didn`t really have any option. that question had been sitting at the tip of your tongue for three years and it had been eating you out since the moment you saw him back.

“i didn`t really have a choice. my sister ran away with a guy my parents didn`t approve of. my dad had been drinking on a daily basis. my mother was already dead from inside. they were always fighting. i was already old enough to leave the house anyway so i didn`t stay behind. i just didn`t want to see the picture i had painted of my happy family turn into something straight out of a horror movie. i just wanted peace. so i ran away but i had left a letter letting my mother know that she shouldn`t search for me. she must know that wherever her son is, he`s well-lived.”

your fingers find the place above his heart and you grip his maroon coloured shirt as hard as possible. it wasn`t like you didn`t want to tell something―anything―to him, but it`s just suddenly you were void inside. you realized how much of a fool you were. all these years you blamed him for being selfish and leaving you all alone but now that you realize how much he had gone through, you just hated yourself.

“but you must not hate yourself, love,” taehyung speaks up breaking your negative thoughts. your eyes snap up and you hover your face over his own with wide eyes. “i knew it. you just hated yourself because you blamed me for three years without knowing any reason.”

“taehyung…”

“you must know,” his hand which wasn`t your pillow moved up, to hold your head from behind, “i`ve always cared for you. i don`t know how you see me,” you feel his hand against the corner of your mouth and it hits you that there`s a sense of hesitation at the tip of his fingers, “but you`re still in that place inside me as always.”

when you both realized that your stomachs will not be satisfied by only each other`s presence, you opted for the option to get up from your place and start heating up the water for another ramen night. but this night didn`t feel like any other night. you smiled at the thought of sharing this another ramen night with taehyung.

as you feel a whine slipping from his mouth, you laugh at him. he clearly didn`t want you to physically leave his side, not when he has found you after all this while.

but just as you were crossing the threshold of your room`s door, a thought provokes you to stop and peek back into your room, setting your gaze on your friend still lying there, with his arms crossed behind his head.

“taehyung?”

he hums back, opening his eyes half-way for you, “what is it?”

“how did you get into my apartment?”

you witness a smile climbing onto his mouth which further turned into a smirk and when he finally closes his eyes, he replies.

“i was waiting for you to finally ask that question.”

he opens his eyes quickly to meet with your own and he snorts very lightly.

it was at that moment when you remember that it was not just the book he left with.

fin.