#it’s gonna b my present to myself

[sadlazzle]

i hate the sand and snow boots side quest. i hate breaking this man’s heart. im so sorry baby jst know if it were me n not link i would absolutely go out with u

[sepiasys]

Quality interaction that just happened

I love having a quotebook in SP XD

[bright-and-burning]

.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also it's something (better) like, the exercise of deliberately [art imitates life imitates art] holding up Billions to My IRL Things Perspective and going like whaaat would i want for winston. first answer is you want any character to not have been within the scope of the show in the first place, and to exit it since they are. and you kind of get that in the accidental reward in banishing winston, since like in the end it's just that the show doesn't care about him existing at that point But like it's winston sitting there quietly as everyone leaves & turns out the lights & Then he can leave too; others have peaced out & nobody remembers he exists so Now he can go off & do whatever.

but like in true form i think they definitely accidentally baked in another divine reward for winston in that, like, the way he's kept around as fodder for these fun little [pov: enjoy abusing this guy] asides with him, where it Just So Happens that he's autistic as something they're unaware of but is completely relevant to the expectation we understand him to be inferior(tm), it Just So Happens that he's also ""bad"" at not ""causing"" abuse to be turned on him. he's ""bad"" at staying in line. like well yes Yes that's what i want for him. just like In Real Life it's like yeah Ideally i'd want people to be able to extricate themselves from where they're trapped in power structures & i'd want them to have the perspective about it of understanding they're not Inferior / i.e. they are as much a person as anyone else and they're not corrupting everything good / i.e. it wasn't them Bringing It Upon Themselves and it's not them being Destructive by toppling a jenga tower of a hierarchy that happened to be pressing down on them. and winston is the kind of [the ruinerrrrrr] who is Turned On exactly because he keeps acting like someone who's on the verge of breaking out of the [being in line] someone demands of him as autist, employee, whatever other supposed manifestations of [inferior]

like in the 5 second stretches in which winston's allowed to speak before retaliation, it's because he's like "matter of factly" delivering whatever Information that's useful for another plotline. then he Brings It Upon Himself by making people aware that he's Also existing in his own right as a person rather than what they think serves their own deal / what they want from him at all times, perhaps by expressing his personality (didn't appeal to them! so it was Wrong) or not b/c of anything in particular said or done at present, just b/c people have a constant / accumulating contempt for him so their being in the same room as him & able to see & hear him is already dangerous. the [we're just seeing Any Abusive Dynamic in action] continuing apace.

and it's like, well, right there. he's written as acting like someone who doesn't blame himself for how he's treated, which billions frames as being Rude & Mean, and so too does everyone's abusers lmfao like and that these are his moments that are written to be Bringing It Upon Himself. and it's like hell yeah he doesn't blame himself. hell yeah that his self-esteem can manifest as anger at all. hell yeah that he keeps expressing himself with personality & confidence & doesn't even disguise his having been hurt, & it's this [his ass is Not grey rocking] that billions frames as both him "causing" his abuse & making that abuse "successful" lol, wrow just like real life!! and when like speaking of real life yeah it's not "bad" that people Do engage in strategies to mitigate & survive, including things like blaming themselves or being too "boring" to be anything but a non dialogued background character b/c that's all that goes unpunished, it's bad b/c it's done to them at all, not [ohh they're doing it to themselvesss] and like i'm asking myself like Ideally. what do i want Ideally. and i'd want winston to know that it's being Done To Him & i'd want him to find as much room for his personhood & autonomy as possible. and that's basically how he's written anyways, and billions hates that like You See this is why he deserves it this is why he's doing it to himself. and i'm like my god if that's not Inspiration for like "so what if people don't find you Personally Likable" and not preemptively holding back all personality or anything that'd draw attention as if you exist as a person in your own right & not something that only either gets in the way of or serves their wants of a Real person (someone with more power) like hell yeah you have him out here doing it =']

another fun addendum is like, billions isn't getting into it much b/c it doesn't seem to care much about "what if some people were peers & seem to have a genuine, recipcrocal relationship?" but that it just so happened to be like "oh tuk as the next closest loser who deserves it might be nice to winston" while it's framing winston as the "worse" Loser as being....unconditionally supportive of tuk. while the one downside of billions Also giving bentuk as much as it is is that it also inevitably has that shadow of "but ben is Superior to tuk" and like that it's correct that everyone encourages tuk to Stop Bringing It Upon Himself and start being less of a loser; it's wrong for winston to be like hey let's go have a foursome. like yeah probably don't make a list of the women you work with you'd be dtf but it's not like i'm convinced "ah billions and it's strong anti misogyny stance like" roflmao and billions is Not reflecting on "the downsides of unconditional support?" there when winston was beaten up for criticising taylor earlier like we WILL take his ideas while looting his [beaten unconscious] body there but he WAS wrong to express them as though he's BETTER than taylor!!! mafee's beautiful show of loyalty in kicking his ass even when he might agree with the argument and then benefit when it's adopted by taylor anyways! so it's as usual actually purely based on hierarchy & who gets to be in charge of people. it's correct for ben to be in charge of tuk, unless he has to step aside for that bizarre dead-end subplot about how it's tuk's fault if he's treated badly, b/c it's really his own Failure to have Confidence to know he has good ideas [raising our voice to deliver this message over the sound of breaking desks and chairs and computer monitors over winston because he had the confidence to act like he deserved to talk to someone and because he knows his ideas efforts & results are good & valuable around there] like. and isn't it sooo fucked up to talk about who you're dtf in the episode that has it be neutral if your boss is dtf & lets you know but is nice about it (and you're already Correctly tending to their ego, which you're responsible for!) like hey no possible problem! it's not even so much of a problem for a boss man to have the sex they're entitled to & be rude about their leveraging their power in that acquisition that it Stays a problem into the next season. ew, winston is Known (Inferred) Dtf??? we'll use it to exploit His vulnerability, exacerbate it, & punish him further for good measure in another episode that just revels in abuse & violation with a sexual aspect once again, but like, hey tuk don't do that, winston's such a Bad Influence for being like, shrug, kneejerk intervening with the Good Friendship where the One In Charge leaps in & Tells tuk the Correct thing to do. obviously there's also the tragedy that billions will Never let winston push back against Real Winners like rian or taylor in A Way That Matters (actually gets in their way at all) lol like. one thing that would have really been fun, winston should've literal kneejerk started physically fighting wags in either pertinent scene in 7x03 for real 110%. i wouldn't be like Gasp Violence Is Never The Answer if he just hit someone to hit them b/c fuck you. or broke anything on his way out etc etc. billions would Never let him. which is the other side of the same coin of [why he should get to]

tl;dr how great that winston's being "out of line" means he's basically always noticeably flouting & rebelling against the [He Deserves Abuse] agenda lol. that IS what i want. his being "beyond hope" like ohhh he's sooo stupid he doesn't realize how much he has the bad tastes & wrong interests & annoying personality He Will Always Be This Way like hell yeah!!! billions like oh no winston's personhood will never stay tamped down & locked away such that some godawful person tolerates keeping him in their inventory :( ohhh the ABA will never work :( that's right!!!!!!!!!! although they're not sad about it because it's about relishing the promise there will always be True Inferiors you can enjoy abusing with your righteous power over, but like well you wrote him escaping anyways even while dragging other "better" characters into standing around to serve axe's need for more than 1.8 employees and [crickets, reverberating cough, sneaker scuff] like. another ""wrong"" thing for winston to do, another thing for him to not "deserve," which is itself godawful actually lol like lord what it "rewards" its Good, Deserving characters with, no thanks. meanwhile winston's punishment is that he's autistic and """bad""" at being abused like lmfao good for him, fantastic for him, just what i want

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[seddair]

,

[daisukekambehateaccount]

negativity ahead be cautious

is feeling indescribably shitty every single day even more so than normal for the past three months seasonal depression even if there are only 2 seasons in your country

[https-milo]

DATING SHOTA AIZAWA INSTAGRAM!

details!

Instagram posts w/ comments while dating Shota Aizawa!

a/n OBVIOUSLY these are just pictures off of pinterest, reader can be however you imagine!

main m. list / instagram m. list

sleepy.y/n · 15w

18.9k likes

liked by r.ratedMidnight, presentmicrophone, eraserhead

sleepy.y/n GUESS WHOS BACKKKKKKK!! who missed me! :P Also!! To my fans! I am not quitting being a hero, I'm just... moving my skills elsewhere so to speak ;)

presentmicrophone WHERE ARE YOU??? WHY WASN'T I TOLD?? I'VE MISSED YOU! sleepy.y/n presentmicrophone I'VE MISSED YOU TOO!! I HAVE A SURPRISEEEEE

eraserhead go back. sleepy.y/n eraserhead awww i've missed you too <333

izuku.mido AHHH OMG YOU'RE BACK IN JAPAN?? OH MY GOSH sleepy.y/n izuku.mido AND IM HERE TO STAY THIS TIME!!

random.no1 cant believe the sleeper hero is back! This is so exciting! sleepy.y/n random.no1 im excited to be back!!

sleepy.y/n · 14w

16.2k likes

liked by r.ratedMidnight, presentmicrophone, eraserhead, izuku.mido

sleepy.y/n rate the fit for my first day of school!

eraserhead you're 30, you don't go to school. sleepy.y/n eraserhead :) eraserhead sleepy.y/n no. you're joking. sleepy.y/n eraserhead introducinggggg class 1-A's assistant teacher :D

izuku.mido GAH! I'M SO EXCITED! sleepy.y/n izuku.mido I CANT WAIT TO LEARN YOURS AND YOUR CLASSMATES QUIRKS!!

eraserhead · 10w

1,921 likes

liked by izuku.mido, sleepy.y/n, ochaaaa, k.bakugo

eraserhead everyone got 100%? who's been giving out answer keys.

izuku.mido i don't think any of us would have the need to cheat 😅 Y/n-sensei has been giving us study guides and extra help when we need it!

sleepy.y/n don't worry, shota!! None of our students are cheating B) I've been helping them study and giving them extra assignments while you're sleeping! (Don't worry, I grade those myself) eraserhead sleepy.y/n k.

iida.tenya I will admit, tests and quizzes have been a lot easier now that L/N-Sensei is around. Still, I'm shocked we all got 100%.

ochaaaa am i insane or do Aizawa-sensei and Y/N-sensei have some... chemistry izuku.mido ochaaaa if the chemistry is bickering constantly then sure invisi.girl izuku.mido No but you can totally tell they don't mean it!! I ship it!!

sleepy.y/n · 8w

17.8k likes liked by eraserhead, r.ratedMidnight, presentmicrophone, izuku.mido, invisi.girl

sleepy.y/n even late at night, im only one call away <3

r.ratedMidnight OOOOO i know who that isssss!!

presentmicrophone ;) invisi.girl presentmicrophone OK THESE TWO WERE NOT ON MY BINGO CARD. PRESENT MIC AND Y/N-SENSEI??? presentmicrophone invisi.girl NO IN THE SENSE OF I KNOW WHO THAT IS. 📣THAT IS NOT ME📣

eraserhead what fool would call you? sleepy.y/n eraserhead a fool who needs me to put him to sleep ^^

eraserhead · 2w

1,201 likes liked by sleepy.y/n, izuku.mido, k.bakugo, invisi.girl, ochaaaa

eraserhead I fall asleep in her arms and wonder if it's just because of her quirk or not

tagged: sleepy.y/n

sleepy.y/n AWWW i love you so much Sho <3 eraserhead sleepy.y/n I love you too, idiot

invisi.girl YESSSS I CALLED IT

pinka.mina dare i say it.... cellophane pinka.mina ill say it for you: mama y papa

ochaaaa awwww you two are so cute! saw it from the start

presentmicrophone not even shockedddd you were obsessed with her in school ;) r.ratedMidnight presentmicrophone ikr! "Where's Y/n?" "Is Y/n gonna be there?"

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[u3pxx]

💛🕊️ Five times Aziraphale gave Crowley a gift plus one time Crowley gave a gift in return.

DID YOU KNOW THAT @contritecactite, once again, wrote a VERY GOOD fic about my bad omens spouses??? and it's so wonderfully GOOD???!?!?!!

anywhooo, a very big special thanks again to elle for writing this! it's been just a real treat talking to them and the klapollomb gomens s2 support group about bad omens 🥺 i'm really, really thankful that y'all decided to indulge me and my freakingg swap au wheezes <33

i'm gonna cut myself off here and ramble more under keep reading :0]

like these drawings? they're prints, here! | like what i do? support me on ko-fi!

seeing this get written was an experience! one of the things keeping me alive during prelim exams LOL if i remember correctly, this kind of started bc i was curious if bomens zira would actually have, i guess, a real demon equivalent the way shax (stork), beelzebub (fly), and furfur (deer) do. so i looked up the words 'crow demon' and whaddya know!

a crow demon!! and what's that? "cause Love"?

what a perfect fit for demon!aziraphale! and really, i was only messing around the first time i had the idea of "haha lol wouldn't it be funny if demon aziraphale was a crow", and then bam! all of it started to, surprisingly, fit well together pfttt (special thanks to bepo for being the one to piece it all together wheezes <33) (also, just really thank you all for bouncing ideas with me, it really does make me happy dfgdhjd <3333)

and then elle wrote a little snippet at first (IIRC) and then he just feakign!!!!!!! WOAGH!!!!!!! just, tasty delicious words, a fic that made me kick my feet like i was a schoolgirl while reading the whole thing ASKSKS <333

i'm really happy with all the spot art i drew for this! wanted it to look very uhhh, i wouldn't say storybook, but watercolor illustrations were definitely a huge inspiration! i wanted them to feel as nice and cozy as YOU would feel while reading elle's fic <3

i do gotta thank elle again for making these two fem-presenting when they were at the dowlings' bc then i get to draw butch gardener crowley. do you know how much that means to me? do you know do you do y do you know how m how much that how m b butches butches butches .

and a little bonus, one where crowley did not want to pose for the painting PFTT

i am once again putting the link here if you've scrolled this far down without reading it yet, go! go! go!!! IT'S SO GOOD!!!! <3333

[queenofapeacefuldawn]

SxF Crack Theory: The Identity Of [REDACTED]'s Father

Hear me out here.... but, maybe, Twilight's father could be Yuri's boss, aka, the SSS Lieutenant.

Now, this might be a crack/joke theory, but here is the evidence I have to back up my claim (yes, I'm presenting it because I'm just Like That):

(Warning: Manga spoilers ahead)

Exhibit A: Physical Characteristics

Here is a picture of Agent Twilight:

Here is a picture of Yuri's boss (who, from now in, will be referred to as YB, for my own convenience):

We can see that Twilight and YB have very similar facial characteristics: bluish-grey eyes, blond hair, and a similar face shape (nose, jaw).

We never see Twilight's father's full face: only the lower half, because he has presumably forgotten his face, along with his mother's (King of Emotional Repression™️), but we can see that his jawline and shape of his mouth are very similar to Adult Twilight.

Oh, and look at that- rather pronounced cheekbones, if I do say so myself. Where else did I see those? Hmmm

Exhibit B: Ambiguous Fate

During the War Arc, we're never told about [REDACTED]'s father's fate. We just know he never returns to his family: and the reason why he left for the very last time, was that, "Things have been heating up at the border. I need to take a little business trip." The fact that his, a (presumably) rather important man's, body was never recovered: nor were [REDACTED] or his mother informed of his death. Of course, his body could have been lost in the bombings, or the part of [REDACTED] finding out about his father's dead could have been omitted, but for most of the part, we're left to assume about his father's dead. And... this sounds familiar to another instance...

Like the instance of [REDACTED]'s friends. He (and we) assumed they'd died in the warehouse as children, but later we see that they're alive and in the army (only to die a second time, RIP), but this time, for their deaths to be confirmed: for [REDACTED] to only receive their dog tags after the failed campaign.

This may have been a setup: for Endo to reintroduce [REDACTED]'s father, later in the story, as YB.

Anyway, one thing I've learned after reading and watching so many books, comics, and TV shows: never assume a person's dead, not unless their body/proof of their death has been explicitly shown. This belief was only reinforced after [REDACTED]'s friends.

And, [REDACTED]'s father's last known place was around the Westalian-Ostanian border. He could have escaped in the crossfire, theoretically...

Exhibit C: Fatherly Nature (?)

We all love a good found-family dynamic in the workplace. It's there with WISE, it's there with Garden, and it's kinda there with the SSS.

My main argument about this stems from the chapter which focuses on Yuri's work.

We see YB continuously worry about Yuri's physical health, in panels like:

Obviously, this doesn't happen only in this chapter. Whenever Yuri's there, YB is also there, yelling at him to a) go to sleep, or b) STOP GETTING HIT BY BUSSES OH MY FUCKING GOD IT CAN'T HAPPEN SO MANY TIMES TO ONE PERSON-

And, of course, there's the Yuri Sick Fic chapter:

Not gonna lie, this point is extremely weak, if I brought this up in court I'd be laughed out of there-

Anyway, I just wanted to put this in.

If it does turn out that YB is [REDACTED]'s father then. Bestie. Buddy. How are you managing to be a better father-figure to some insolent kid who gets hit by busses than you were to your actual son, like 20 years ago. Maybe he learned along the way.

Exhibit D: Symbolism (???)

Oh, look, another point I'm pulling out of my ass! But whatever, you're reading it <3

During the War Arc, we see Twilight sustain two major injuries:

One, as a child, when his home is bombed:

And two, as an adult, in the army:

and these injuries are both to his left eye.

Of course, this has given rise to theories of him not being able to see his left eye, it being his blind spot, and Yor guarding his blind spot on missions, etc., etc., which I love bc ✨Twiyor✨

Getting back on point, if we look at YB, we see that he has injuries too... or rather, remnants of them, what with the scars he has...

which, are also on his left eye. Huh! Interesting... this might just be me, but could this be parallels to how similar he and his father were? Are? His father also wanted peace between Ostania and Westalis: but he taught his child that in a very harsh manner (by slapping him), but Twilight wants to teach Anya that in a kind manner. Whenever we see him teaching her, he never loses his cool with her (of course, he loses a lot of hope, but this man's a pessimist, what can we do).

Also shows how much kinder Twilight is, compared to his father.

---

Of course, these points are very weak, and it might just be that Endo reused some character designs for efficiency, but let me be, ok!! This is a crack theory!!! Let me be a clown!!!! AKDFJSJF

If I'm being honest, this post was inspired by a convo I'd had with my friend, around the time Chapter 86 was released. She was theorizing that [REDACTED]'s dad is the Shopkeeper, and I was theorizing it was this dude. Of course, our theorizing was sidetracked by Chapter 86, and a certain panel within it, but... WHATEVER.

So, what are your thoughts? Obviously, my own theory is very weak (for example, why would the SSS accept a Westalian citizen into their ranks? Why would he even join the SSS? Could he have defected? Abandoned his wife and kid?), but this was fun to think about, lol. What are your theories? I think the Shopkeeper-is-the-dad theory and the YB-is-his-dad theory are both cool, so, what do you think?

(Also, yeah, I know, his dad could very well be dead. I just refuse to believe it, bc I'm just Like That <3)

[parisinflamesmp3]

the fucking CIRCUMSTANCES‼️‼️‼️

i should be on my way to thursday right now Fuck this gay earth .

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Can u write an enemies to lovers fic of Grayson X reader??? Plsss!!

thank you for your request and I apologise for the delay in writing it, my request list has been mountainous for a little while now and this particular fic actually also had lots of rewrites before the final piece. It began as an academic rivals sort of thing, then became family-feud but finally ended with whatever this is. I’m praying you enjoy this 🤍🤍

title: we’re just project partners

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you’re partnered with the one person you hate to complete a project you love… but what if he’s not as bad as you thought

warnings: swearing, gray-bae is being a nasty little b-word (BUT ITS FOR THE PLOT OKAY)

a/n: I am alive!! It’s just taken me a week and a bit to post again, I’m writing three fics at once so this one just happened to be done first

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I roll my eyes, eyeing the names on the board.

It just has to be him doesn’t it.

“There must be a mistake,” Grayson says. I turn my head to look at him, for once we can agree on something.

“No there is no mistake,” the professor tusks, “class dismissed.”

Everyone gets up and begins to pack their stuff, chatting about the project and their partners and various other things. It sucks when you have no classes with your friends, but it sucks even more when you get partnered with your rival for a project.

I’m about to walk out of the classroom when I hear my name.

“Y/n l/n, come back a moment!”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes, I just want to go home. I spin around and sluggishly walk back to the teacher’s desk where she stands and beside her is the infamous arrogant prat Grayson Hawthorne.

“You have to change it,” Grayson snaps quickly, his voice so insistent, so sharp. I look up to see he’s gesturing to our names beside one another’s. Classic Hawthorne. Thinks he can command people to do whatever he pleases just because he feels entitled enough to do so.

“What you gonna do, bribe her if she says no?” I scoff, arms folded.

They both ignore me but my lip still quirk upwards, proud of the pathetic joke I’d made, even if I was the only one who found it funny.

“There will be no changes Mr Hawthorne,” our professor replies sincerely.

“You don’t understand,” he shakes his head so vigorously I have to bite back a laugh, “I can’t work with her.”

“Well you’re going to have to,” she says, “this is 30% of your grade for the year.”

His eyes widen and he almost looks panicked. Almost. Nevertheless it amuses me to see the stoic, ironclad blonde crack for mere seconds.

“Professor please,” he says so desperately he’s practically begging, which I’d always thought was too beneath him to do, “she’s impossible.”

“I’m impossible?” I raise my eyebrows.

He rolls his eyes and turns back to our teacher, “anyone but her. I’ll do it by myself if I have to.”

“I’ve told you once and I will only repeat myself one more time, there will be no changes made,” she says too calmly, “I don’t see the problem, you are both excellent students with some of the highest marks I’ve seen in my time. You need to get past whatever this little tiff is and move on. Bounce off of each other, enlighten each other, create a show stopping presentation.”

Such a teacher answer to give. Played off to be inspirational, really just a nice way of saying get on with it or you fail.

“On the contrary Miss, I think Hawthorne here is the only one kicking up a fuss, I haven’t uttered a word,” I point out.

“That may be true but don’t you think I can see the vicious looks aimed at both him and me?” she asks, accusation in her tone.

So maybe the dirty looks weren’t as sly as I’d thought them to be. Still, it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie through my teeth, sweetened smile to sugarcoat it further.

“Perhaps it should be discussed in a detention then, I’m free after school tomorrow,” she proposes, her smile even sweeter than mine.

“No, no, that isn’t necessary,” I say quickly, “I’m suddenly horribly aware of the looks I’ve been giving.”

I’m not the kind of girl who gets detentions, actually I’d never gotten one in my life and I didn’t intend to change that. My record was perfect, it was going to stay perfect. My professor, annoyingly, knew that a bit too well.

“Good, I suppose no detention then,” she says, “and what about you Mr Hawthorne, would you like to discuss your stubborn means to switch partners in a detention with me?”

“No thank you,” he grits through his teeth, his jaw nearly set in stone. I fight back a grin at his irritation.

“Challenges are good for the mind,” she smiles, “and I have a feeling you two will very much challenge one another. You once told me you liked a challenge, no?”

“I do,” Grayson nods slowly, then side glances at me, “but not of this kind.”

I think it was meant to be an insult towards me but it was so poor it didn’t even come close to mildly hurting me so I don’t bother to respond.

“Try something new, branch out a little,” our professor shrugs, “and who knows, you may even enjoy each other’s company.”

“That is very optimistic,” I scoff at the same time as Grayson says, “that will never happen.”

“Only time will tell,” she replies with a whimsical look in her eyes, “good luck.”

We exit the classroom in the coldest of silences. Any colder and we would’ve had an ice palace with an interesting rendition of ‘let it go’. I vote Grayson plays Elsa.

He actually barely spares me a glance, with his jaw all clenched and tightened. I wonder at one point if he’s breathing. He’s so tense, the feeling smothers the air around me, suffocating any sense of relaxation. I turn to leave the building.

“Where are we going?” he questions, too assertive for my liking.

“I’m going home,” I tell him bluntly.

He furrows his brows, “why?”

“To get changed,” I deadpan.

“Why?” he repeats. I try to read his emotions but they’re not clear enough to define. He’s accustomed to hiding them.

I stare at him, “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Fine, we’ll meet here in 15 minutes,” he decides.

I don’t reply as I turn on my heels and walk away.

***

After getting changed and piecing together all of the things I might need to study, all my notes and books and highlighters and pens, I walked back over to our ‘meeting place’. As I approach Grayson is already stood there with a sour expression on his face. Of course he’s already there.

“You’re late,” he tells me, his voice so bitter I wonder how many lemons it would take to rival it.

“No I’m exactly on time,” I sneer, flicking my phone in his face.

“It’s been 15 minutes and 43 seconds, so technically you’re 43 seconds late,” he smirks. I almost feel sorry for him because I can see how proud he feels after saying this, sense the smugness burning in his chest.

“Did you count?” I try extremely hard to suppress my laughter.

“Of course not, I wouldn’t waste my breath on that,” he rolls his eyes, then pauses slightly, “… I set a timer.”

“Of course you did,” I purse my lips with a sigh.

His screws his face up, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean you’re a weird person who would time someone going home to get changed,” I shrug, attempting to walk past him.

Talk about being late, when he was the one stood here chattering on about meaningless subjects. He ignores the comment and briskly stands in front of me to block me from walking any further.

“What are you wearing anyway?” he asks, looking down on me with great distaste with all but his eyes.

“Clothes,” I deadpan, staring down at my much loved and slightly over worn band tee-shirt.

“They’re awful,” he tells me bluntly.

“Was that meant to hurt me?” I raise an eyebrow. I mean sure, it hurt a little, but I didn’t actually care what he thought. Or I shouldn’t at least.

“You could’ve picked something a little nicer to wear in public,” he continues, so cut-throat and cold.

I look directly into his mellowed silver eyes and wonder how someone with such soft, inviting eyes could be so sharp and jagged with the words he uses.

“Worried I’ll ruin your street credit,” I tease, “sully your good name with my sports leggings and band t-shirt?”

“I’m just surprised at your lack of care for your appearance,” he replies, a slight discomfort worming its way through his features. It makes me smile a little.

“I just think I’m not as fixated on it as you, I mean what’s with your outfit, James Bond? Do you own anything that’s not a suit and tie,” I ask.

“Matter-o-factly I do,” he replies bluntly as if to end the conversation.

So of course I continue it, “so do you just stare at those clothes then, hanging in your walk in wardrobe.”

His eyes snap up and his stare is suddenly so piercing it hurts to hold eye contact, “how do you know I have a walk in wardrobe,” he practically spits, in a defensive tongue.

I snort, “that was a joke, but yeesh rich boy you’ve got it all.”

“Rich boy, how original,” Grayson comments.

“I’ve got more,” I shoot back with that smile I know makes his blood boil and skin singe.

“Spare me them,” he responds, “sweetheart.”

A forbidden fluttering occurs in the pit of my stomach, it’s as if eight hundred butterflies have decided to dance a jive there. Some feeling between guilt and shame settles in my chest. The word sweetheart shouldn’t make me feel anything, least of all from the mouth of Grayson Hawthorne.

But it was the way he said it, so softly, so smoothly, the word just rolled off of his tongue like he’d called me it for years. It almost sounded nice. The guilt weighs heavier on my chest and I snap out of it. I don’t feel anything. For anyone. Least of all him.

“Awww you’ve got a nickname for me too Goldilocks,” I reply with a laugh to bury the truth.

“Did you not hear the spare me part?” he tusks, beginning to walk.

I shake my head, walking a little faster than usual to keep up with his strides, “sorry I usually don’t listen when someone irrelevant talks.”

He scowls at me and I wink back.

“Did your face get stuck in a permanent scowl as a child or were you just born unhappy?” I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes.

“Do you ever shut up?” Grayson asks flatly.

“My therapist told me not to hold back,” I shrug.

“Doesn’t that explain a lot,” he says dryly, shooting me a look that makes me feel inferior. I go to bite my tongue, but ask myself when I’m trying to hold back. I don’t owe him anything.

I stare at him, “don’t look so disgusted blondie, just because you’re too up yourself to admit you need help doesn’t mean all of us are.”

“I don’t need help,” Grayson replies, each word candid and dull.

Something in me almost feels sorry for him. Did he really think he didn’t need help? Did he really feel that alone and isolated? I wanted, in that moment, to reach out and be there for him. Then I remember who he is.

“Whatever you say,” I sigh.

“We’re working at my house,” he responds abruptly, as we get to the end of the street.

I fold my arms and raise my eyebrows, “says who?”

“Me,” he shrugs.

“And who are you to tell me where I’m working?” I ask.

“I’m your partner and I’m making a decision,” he presses on, stubbornly. Little does he know, I’m twice as stubborn and I’m not going to back down.

“I don’t think you really understand how this whole project thing works,” I say.

“I’ve done plenty of projects and I can very much assure you, I understand what I’m doing,” he grumbles back, clearly annoyed that he isn’t getting his way this time. Someone has to teach him I suppose.

“Oh great,” I smile sickeningly sweetly, “then we’re not working at yours.”

“Why on earth not?” he screws up his face as if I’ve just told him I want to skin a cat alive.

“I don’t want to,” I reply simply.

“Well I do,” he argues back.

“That’s a shame,” I shrug softly, leaving him with no option.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his perfect hair, “you are insufferable.”

“That the worst you got Hawthorne?” I giggle a little, turning left to walk down the pathway.

“And impossible,” he says, following me.

“Oh you wound me,” I say hyperbolically, putting I hand in my head and feigning a dizzy spell.

Grayson rolls his eyes, he’s done it so many times now I’m worried they might get stick here soon, “can we just work?”

“Where?” I shoot him a lopsided grin.

He sighs, most likely suppressing some very colourful language, “why don’t you decide seen as my ideas oppose you.”

“Much like your entire personality,” I let him know.

“My personality is fine,” he replies, probably trying to soothe his rapidly declining pride under that suit of his.

“Mhmmm,” I nod sarcastically, “and I have a unicorn that shits cupcakes called Craig.”

“Really?” he wrinkles his nose, “profanities?”

“Oh no is it too beneath the great Grayson Hawthorne to say fuck every now and then,” I laugh.

He tenses and mutters something under his breath. I don’t quite hear the words but you can see he’s fuming. It ignites something in me, a spark. I like seeing him furious. I really like it.

“Where do you want to work?” he asks me, grey eyes a little too distracting for my liking.

“The library,” I tell him, my answer almost immediate.

He tries to mask his horror but fails miserably, “in public?”

“You’re not going to get cholera,” I snort.

“Can’t we just work somewhere nicer,” he complains.

“The library is nice,” I tell him, “and they have a coffee stand outside and I want coffee so that’s where we’re going.”

“And you call me demanding,” he mutters underneath us breath.

***

We walk to the library bickering about how fast he walks and how slow I apparently walk. In my personal opinion I think he was walking fast on purpose, he obviously disagreed.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” I ask him, it now only just dawning on me that he was leading the way yet he didn’t know where the library was.

“I’m not an idiot,” Grayson spits back, nose in the air, posture upright and powerful.

He always carries himself like that as if he’s saviour of the world and we should all bow down to kiss his presumably pedicured feet.

“Are you sure?” I tease him.

“Certain,” he snaps regimentally.

“We’re here,” I say halting conversation to walk up to the coffee stand.

“I knew that,” he mumbled.

He glances at the cart, looking it up and down like it needs to be judged and inspected to his high standards.

“What is this?” he interrogates me.

“It’s called a coffee cart in english but in rich boy it might be called something else, I haven’t studied the language yet,” I respond coolly.

“Is this even safe to drink?” Grayson says, some variant of worry wavering in his tone.

“It’s coffee,” I deadpan, “not raw chicken.”

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

“I like it and I’m getting some,” I tell him bluntly, “you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“No,” he checks his watch, “I need a coffee, this’ll have to do.”

I don’t bother wasting my breath to respond but make a mental note that maybe the Hawthorne wasn’t so different from me, addicted to coffee.

“Hey Jack,” I wave, walking closer to the cart.

I’d known Jack for a good eight years of my life, he was my rock. The smile in endless clouds of grey, the light at the end of the tunnel and of course, most importantly, the coffee provider to my caffeine deprived being.

“Bonsoir sunshine what can I get you,” he grins his usual grin at me, the witty mischief-ridden grin is known since I was nine years old. His eyes slide over Grayson judgementally though when he realises I’m watching him he immediately flicks back to his job.

“The usual of course,” he makes sure.

“You come here often?” Grayson raises an eyebrow, interrupting my answer.

“Just every day,” Jack says, before I can get a word out. I shoot him a look.

Grayson looks at me, “every day?”

“I really like coffee,” I explain with an exaggerated hand gesture.

“Coffee is bad for your health,” he responds almost immediately.

I suppress the hundreds of colourful words exploding in my mind settling for a more well-mannered reply, “well it’s good for my mental stability.”

“She’s addicted now,” Jack adds, “she’ll get withdrawal symptoms without it.”

“Shaking, sweating, you name it, I get it,” I continue.

“That sounds like a serious health condition,” Grayson says, his eyebrows pinching together. It was so soft I could’ve mistakened the expression for concern. But of course, why would he be concerned for me. I must’ve been reading it wrong.

“Hence me buying this coffee,” I tell him.

“Blueberry muffin, on the house,” Jack offers me, as if he didn’t every Friday.

We had a deal, I was allowed to take a free blueberry muffin that came out of his earnings if he kept up to date with his school work. Jack had always had a problem with handing things in on time and concentrating and school wasn’t his strong point. He hated going and was so close to dropping out too many times. That was until I made him stay. I talked him into it and he promises me he doesn’t regret it. It seems this week, he’s turned in all assignments on time.

I smiled, “you mean on the cart?”

“Sure whatever,” he brushes it off, “anything else?”

His eyes dare to skim over Grayson again though he is quick to come back and meet my gaze, his cheeks flush like he’s a child who’s done something wrong.

I turn to Grayson, “what do you want?”

“I’ll pay for myself,” he says shortly, looking slightly offended at my question.

I screw up my nose at him, “I wasn’t going to offer to pay for you asshole.”

“Play nice, sunshine,” Jack teases.

I glare at him and his smile quickly fades.

“You can’t play nice with that,” I glower.

He shoots me a look, the turns to Grayson, “what can I get you sir?”

“It’s not the evening,” Grayson replies.

Jack’s eyes are lost in a blanket of confusion, “sorry?”

“It’s not the evening it’s the afternoon,” he clarifies, as if it made the meaning of his sentence any clearer.

“You’ve lost me sir,” he shakes his head with furrowed brows.

“You said bonsoir but it isn’t the evening,” he chastises, “it’s afternoon and therefore you should’ve said bon après-midi.”

Jack turns to me, bewildered, “is he on drugs?”

“Probably,” I shrug. I wouldn’t be surprised if the rich kid had private access to that sort of stuff, he probably had the lawyers to cover it up as well.

“Are you…” Jack hesitates, “…you know?”

He makes an odd gesture with two fingers as I confuse to stare at him blankly.

“No I don’t know,” I reply.

“Are you with him,” he asks, “romantically.”

I almost choke on my own spit as I bark out a laugh, “oh god no.”

For a fraction of a second a look of relief passes over Jack’s features. Something uninvited tugs at my insides but I quickly ignore it.

“You’d be lucky,” Grayson scoffs.

“Oh he fancies himself,” Jack grins, clearly amused.

“Yeah it’s an ego thing, his is massive,” I explain.

“No it’s not,” the blonde insists.

“In denial as well,” Jack smirks, folding his arms.

“Always,” I say, then turn to Grayson, “now what do you want to drink because if you don’t tell him now I’m taking mine and ditching you.”

“Black coffee, no cream, no sugar,” the answer was instant, rehearsed.

“Ooo you made a hardcore friend,” Jack snickers, I want to slap him.

“We are not friends,” I make clear.

“Yeesh okay,” he raises his eyebrows, lifting his hands up as if he’d been convicted of a crime.

“And let’s be realistic here, rich boy probably has a massive sweet tooth and is too embarrassed to let people know,” I say with a sly smirk.

“Oh one hundred percent!” Jack nods, handing me my cup and muffin.

“I do not,” Grayson mutters, but loudly enough for us both to hear.

“That’s confirmed then,” Jack winks at me.

I giggle as he hands Grayson his drink. We exchange payment and then comes the dreaded point where I actually have to leave to get work done. Usually coming to the library for me was getting to see Jack and getting my coffee, not the actual going to library part.

“See you tomorrow,” I smiled sadly.

“Hopefully without thunder face here,” Jack says.

“I can hear you,” Grayson says curtly, before taking a sip of his coffee.

“I know,” Jack shrugs.

“I hope so too,” I reply to his previous comment, “bye!”

“Bye,” he salutes me as I turn around and begin to walk.

I’m aware that Grayson is by my side but neither of us speak. The only sounds come from our surroundings and the alternating elongated sips of coffee were taking to avoid talking. I practically inhale my muffin, after skipping lunch as school had booked my time table that way.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” Grayson says suddenly with a sour expression on his face.

“The way he looked at me was none of your business,” I reply sharply, indicating for him to drop the subject unless me wanted a fight.

“Well I didn’t like it,” he continued. Fine, he wants a fight.

“I don’t really care,” I shrug, “he’s Jack, he’s been a friend since freaking kindergarten, he’s got no dishonourable intentions.”

A slight exaggerated lie on my part, but I wasn’t ashamed. It feels like I’ve known Jack that long anyway, the technicalities don’t matter.

“You don’t know that,” he states.

“I know that better than anyone now back off okay?” I snap, “or you and I will have a real problem.”

He laughs, “you’re almost adorable when you’re angry.”

“Adorable?” I say, fantasising spitting in his face after that comment.

“Almost,” he corrects me.

“I can throw a good hard punch and I’m not afraid to,” I warn him.

“Oh I’m sure you’re not,” he says, a ghost of a smile twitching on his lips, “I can see as much in your eyes.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, raising my voice a little.

He stays quiet and averts his eyes, deciding to ignore me a continue walking.

“Oh ignore the question, real mature,” I roll my eyes, “so glad I’m having a proper adult conversation.”

Silence hits again, like a sonic boom of nothingness. He doesn’t even look at me. It’s as if I don’t exist, as if in the last three seconds I’ve become an irrelevant invisible being.

I stop Grayson in his tracks and force him to meet my eyes, “stay away from Jack,” I practically growl, “or I’ll fail this assignment on purpose.”

“We both know you wouldn’t damage your perfectionist reputation for petty revenge,” he murmurs, our faces only inches away from one another’s.

“I have a talent for getting myself out of things,” I cock my head to the side in an art of competition, my cheeks flushing at the realisation that I could feel his warm breath on my face.

“How funny,” he counters, “me too.”

His eyes are narrowed to challenge me. Okay Hawthorne, game on.

***

We’ve been researching for an hour with no further conversation. Since our previous altercation neither one of us had so much as looked up from our laptops. The only reason I knew he was still sat opposite me was the sound of his keyboard typing. I get out my textbook and begin to highlight the lines I need to use

“Why are you using six different highlighters?”

The first thing he says to me in an hour is that? I don’t bother looking up.

“Why do you care?” I ask, my eyes flicking over to my work, my hands continuing to highlight information.

“It’s annoying me,” he shrugs.

“Okay,” I reply slowly, “it sounds like more of a you problem to me.”

I look up. Grayson is staring right at me, his steel eyes cold looking on my face. He opens his mouth to reply but my surprise gets there first.

“You wear glasses?” I gape.

“Seen as I’ve had them on for the last hour that would make sense,” he teases.

“I never see you wear them at school,” I explain.

“That’s because I don’t,” he pauses, “why were you looking at me in school?”

“It was just generally, like I’d waste my time looking at you,” I roll my eyes.

Then catch his for a moment. My head tilts to the side. Something feels off about him. He looks warmer, softer, calmer.

“What?” he asks, clearly annoyed.

“You look weird,” I blurt out before my brain can filter it.

“How lovely of you to say,” he replies dryly.

“You don’t look like you,” I say, “you look more…”

Human. That’s what I want to say but I trail off instead.

“More what?” he prompts.

“It doesn’t matter,” I shake my head, getting back to my book. I can feel his eyes on me.

He stares me down quizzically, like he’s trying to work me out, “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Highlight my textbook in peace? Yeah,” I scoff, “but that’s not really happening anymore.”

“You’re trying to get under my skin,” he seethes.

“By highlighting my book?” I raise my eyebrows.

“In six different colours,” he reminds me, as if I don’t already know.

I sigh, “I dare say that coffee made you even more of a bitch.”

He rolls his eyes, “you really feel the need to use those words?”

“No but I feel the need to punch you,” I retort.

“Well I’m right here, why don’t you?” he challenges.

“Because I have a level of self control,” I shrug gently.

“Are you quite sure?” he asks me.

He doesn’t realise I’m not the kind of girl to question myself just because a man did first. I’m not that kind of girl at all.

“Are you quite finished?” I reply, just a smoothly to mirror him.

“No.”

Our eyes linger on each others and it feels like we share a million unspoken conversation through the patterns of our irises. I’m fixated on him like I’ve been fixated on no other before. It’s not me but that doesn’t make me pull away. His gaze becomes more concentrated, harder to ignore without unwelcome feelings arising so I look back down to my highlighters and pick up for where I left off, except now I had a thumping heart in my chest.

I slide a sweaty palm on my trousers keeping it hidden under the table. I finish up my highlighting and then begin type up the final few notes I have to get done. After that, it’s over. I get to leave, I get my freedom, I get to breathe.

“I’m finished,” he announces when I’m mid sentence. Why is his tone always so articulated, so definitive?

“Okay I’m nearly there,” I say, frantically typing the last of my notes.

“Bit slow,” he comments.

I roll my eyes with no energy to reply. He’s done me in today. I’m exhausted at the thought of more bickering. With a few more clicks of my keyboard I complete all that I wanted to.

“I’m done,” I exhale, “just send me your work so I can proofread and check the facts.”

“You doubt my skill?” he raises an eyebrow.

I shrug, “I don’t know you well enough to trust it.”

“Then send me yours,” he purses his lips, “and I’ll do the same.”

“Okay then,” I say, sending him over my copy slowly.

He opens it and begins to read as I open his. My eyes are just in the middle of the second paragraph when there’s an untimely interrupted.

“It’s a waste of time,” he says suddenly, irritation thick in his tone.

“Not if I find mistakes,” I sing song, not taking my eyes off of his page, knowing full well I’d have to reread this sentence and other four times.

“You won’t,” he snaps.

“Oh take it out!” I exclaim finally, growing too exasperated to keep my feelings at bay.

He grows suddenly extremely confused, providing a perfect answer, “what?”

“The stick, wedged up your backside!” I whisper-yell, exasperated, “just yank it out already.”

“Excuse me!” he widens his eyes, looking highly disgusted.

“You’re rigid as a board, you never smile, your muscles are literally tensed, chill out a little,” I breathe, “I literally just want to check over the notes, why is it nearly world war three?”

“Your imagination is quite something,” he comments, practically ignoring all that I’d just said.

“So is your expressionless face,” I answer with a small shrug.

Grayson’s lips twist into a smile, “you think my face is quite something?”

“Don’t flatter yourself Hawthorne,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“I’ll try not to,” he replies.

“It must be hard for you,” I tease.

“Not as hard it is for you to admit you like my face,” he continues to smirk, annoying twinging through me with each curve of his mouth.

“If liking it means I want to spit in it, then yeah I really like your face,” I reply.

He leans over the table, getting closer, “you’re revolting.”

“Get the dictionary out for the next adjective,” I taunt him, “there’s one behind you.”

He doesn’t respond and I take that as my win. His eyes just become fixated on my notes all of a sudden. My stomach dances a little. I feel nervous, why do I feel nervous? It’s just Grayson, reading my notes… but my leg is bouncing up and down and I’m holding my breath without realising it. The clock has never ticked so loudly.

I focus on his notes and unfortunately realise he’s right. There are no mistakes. How annoying. I wanted to make him feel stupid for being so arrogant but he had a right to be. His work was practically perfect. Of course there are things I would’ve written differently but it didn’t taken away from the fact that his work was masterful.

“There’s a mistake,” he says suddenly.

Damn it.

“What?” I ask.

“In your work,” he smiles, almost proudly.

“Okay?” I say, “that’s why we proof things, hence proving my earlier point of the important of proofreading.”

“You got the date wrong,” he explains.

“Which one?” I furrow my brows, dates were the first thing I checked usually. It wasn’t like me to make mistakes on them unless I was distracted.

“1922 should be 1923,” he counters, showing me on his screen.

“Must’ve been a typo,” I shrug.

“Or poor research,” he replied smugly.

“Well I’ve written down 1923,” I tap my pen on my paper notes, “so it must have been a typo,”

“Well you should proofread more carefully then?” he says.

“Maybe I should’ve,” I nod.

He’s got nothing left to say. He can’t argue with me if I’ve agreed with him. Silence hit us like the dead. You could cut the tension with a knife.

“Just correct it,” I finally breathe.

“I will,” he says, tapping at the keys.

“Done?” I ask once he’s finished.

“Done,” he consolidates.

“Great so now we can leave,” I say, standing up, a little too eager to get out.

“Not yet,” Grayson tells me, his words slow and staccato.

“What is this? Some sort of damnation? I want to go home,” I exclaim.

“Well we need to seal our work with our fingerprints,” he explains.

I stare at him blankly, it feels like he’s just said something to me in a strange foreign language, “what?”

“Put fingerprint recognition onto the data base so only we can open our work,” he clarifies, as if it makes it any easier for me to understand.

“Why?” I ask cluelessly.

“So no one can hack into it,” he replies.

“Why do you say it likes it’s obvious?” I say.

“Because it is obvious,” he shrugs.

“Only you would have a fingerprint recognition for school assignments,” I roll my eyes.

“Well I want them secure,” he says.

“Clearly,” I snort.

He opens his mouth to reply but I interrupt him before he can get there.

“Let’s just get this over with, I want to go home tonight,” I sigh.

“Fine,” he says, “you just have to tap here.”

I place my finger where he directed it but it didn’t work. Huffing, I jab my finger at the screen a few times harshly. I’m surprised I don’t break the screen.

“I said tap, not murder,” Grayson says.

“I’m imagining it’s your face,” I growl back, still tapping relentlessly at the uncooperative piece of technology.

“It’s cute you think you’d even get close to touching my face,” he replies cooly.

I smack his forehead sharply. His reflexes aren’t fast enough to register it until the act is done. He sits there, stunned and blinking.

“Still cute?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.

“Adorable,” he growls, a sarcastic venom dripping from every letter.

I groan, as the fingerprint fails me again, “it’s not working.”

“You’re doing it wrong,” he tusks.

“Come on then genius,” I roll my eyes, “show me how it’s done.”

I’m surprised when he takes my hand gently and guides it to the screen. That familiar jolt in my stomach returns. He’s so delicate with me, as if I’m worthy of being treated fragile. He applies light pressure to the tip of my thumb so the fingerprint recognition goes through, his eyes fixated on the screen. Mine are on him.

“There, that’s how it’s done,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts. The screen lit up green.

He let go of my hand and a wave of shame rolls over me because I’m disappointed he let go.

“Good then,” I nod, mentally telling myself to stop thinking such nonsense, “I need to get home.”

“It’s 6pm,” he deadpans.

“And I need to get home,” I repeat, remembering what an aggravating human being he could be. It washed away any tentative hand touch in an instant.

“But the assignment-“

“We have three weeks,” I say, “don’t get your kickers in a twist Barbie 2.0.”

“The names keep getting better,” he grits through his teeth.

“Well practice makes perfect,” I tease, enjoying myself a little too much

“Doesn’t it just,” he smiles sarcastically.

I sigh shaking my head, “why did she have to pair me with you?”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining, you got the better end of the bargain,” he says with a laboured laugh.

I pause and stare at him, “how?”

“You were partnered with me,” he states, “I’m coherent, cohesive, co-“

“Too many co words Mr,” I cut in.

“But I got you,” he says.

“You say it as if I’m a piece of shit on your shoe,” I practically spit at him. I hate the way me makes me feel inferior.

“Well you’re not exactly pleasant to be around,” Grayson defends, leaning back in his chair.

“Ditto.”

“You’re annoying, irritating-“

“They’re literally synonyms of each other,” I yell over him, earning myself a stern look from the librarian.

“I mean you’re clearly very argumentative,” he says, gesturing his hands as if I were proving his point, “but I wouldn’t put it past you, after all I’m presuming your background didn’t give you lessons in etiquette.”

I clench my jaw to keep it from dropping. I knew he was nasty but I didn’t know he could be cruel.

“My background?” I question him. I know what he means, I just want to see if he’s brave enough this stick his neck out and explain it

“You’re a scholarship student,” he shrugs.

“How do you know that,” I ask quickly.

No one is meant to know that. The headmaster assured me no one could possibly find out and yet Grayson Hawthorne knew. How funny. He only shrugs in response, he wasn’t going to let up that information. He could see it meant something to me.

“I know you think you’re king of the world and all that but it wouldn’t kill you to take your head out of your ass every once in a while and breath some fresh air,” I raise my voice a little, wildly furious.

“Must you be so creative with your insults,”he asks dryly

“Must you be so blatantly rude with yours,” I shoot back.

“So it’s not true?” he replies.

“You don’t have the right to judge me on what you think you know about my life,” I snap fiercely.

He raises his eyebrows, “sorry, did I hit a nerve?”

“You hit nothing,” I mutter.

He smiles to himself, he knows he hit something.

“I’ll be leaving now then, see you later,” I say, the annoyance too thick in my tone for me to hide. I stand up and grab my bag.

“Wait!” he calls.

I spin around, “what?”

“I need your number,” he says slowly.

“You don’t need to sound so desperate,” I smirk.

“I need it to text you the times to meet up and work on the assignment,” he clarifies with an infamous eye roll.

“You don’t need to use that as an excuse blondie,“ I say.

“How can someone some on so intelligent be so utterly exasperating,” Grayson groans.

My cheeks heat up. He thinks I’m intelligent. He values my mind.

“It’s a talent,” I grinned back.

He rolls his eyes as I write down my number and hand it to him.

“There.”

“Thank you,” he nods at me.

“Wow,” my eye widen in shock, “you can be civil!”

“Every once in a while,” he shrugs delicately.

I almost smile but suppress it. Quickly I stack all of the books I’d borrowed to out them away on my way out. Though as I go to carry the pile his voice stops me.

“You’re never going to able to carry all of those books,” he says.

“You don’t need to underestimate me Hawthorne, you’ve done that too much today,” I tell him.

“Watch me defy your so called fact then,” I retort, lifting all eight volumes on top of one another into my arms.

“I’m not underestimating you,” Grayson replies, “I’m stating a fact.”

It’s heavier than I’d estimated which is the first shock. They sit unstably, wobbling and threatening to come cluttering to the floor. But he could not be right. I wouldn’t buckle. I wouldn’t drop anything. I’m not a failure.

“Need some help there?” he tilts his head to the side.

“No,” I say, my strained voice giving me away.

“You look like you’re struggling,” he comments.

“Well I’m not,” I reply, feeling that my face is rosy from sheer effort.

He looks at me, “are you sure?”

“Very,” I grunt, my arms burning with the weight.

“I’ll save you the stubborn act and the library damage fee and take some,” he rolls his eyes.

“I said I’m fine-“

He takes a large sum of books from the top. My arms relax slightly as I glare at him.

“If you drop them you’ll like an idiot,” he explains.

“I wouldn’t have dropped them,” I state.

“Okay, whatever you say,” he replies.

“Don’t use my saying on me,” I say.

“It’s not yours,” he shrugs, “you didn’t create it.”

“I used it earlier, that’s close enough,” I tell him.

“Sure.”

We come to an abrupt halt in conversation and both turn back to back to put the books back to their respected areas. I see one in my pile that has a page marked. I flick to it and pause to skim over the contents.

“What are you reading?”

He almost makes me jump, I didn’t hear him sneak up behind me.

“An article,” I say, tying to keep my voice from trembling after the shock.

I can feel him now breathing down my neck, his chest almost touches my back. My pulse races, skyrocketing a little too far.

“Who’s it by?“ he asks.

My eyes flick to the bottom of the page where I read aloud my response, “am anonymous writer.”

He scrunches his nose up, “what good an article with an anonymous author?”

“It’s not about who wrote it, it’s about the impact it has,” I say.

“I disagree, if I wrote a life changing article I’d want people to know I’d written it,” he replies.

“Of course you want more,” I scoff, stacking the books a little too aggressively.

Classic Hawthorne. The second I think he might not be so bad he goes ahead and reminds me of exactly why I hate people like him.

“Want more?” he furrows his brows.

“You want the glory of it, your name talked about, your legacy preserved,” I snap.

“So I can’t want anything?” he shoots back with venom on his tongue.

“You’re a rich, stuck up prick, like all the rest of them at that school,” I laugh bitterly, “your grandfather is a billionaire, what could you possibly want that isn’t already at your fingertips?”

“You don’t have the right to judge me on what you think you know about my life,” he quotes me.

“Bite me Hawthorne,” I snarl, spinning around.

He catches my wrist and the corners of his mouth lift to form a smirk. A twinge of hatred shifts in my stomach as I glare at him.

“Any other requests?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t play that game with me,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.

“And what game might that be?” he asks, our faces inching closer by the second. The butterflies madly gnawing on my internal organs.

“You know what you’re doing,” I mutter, as my fingers clasp around his wrist too.

His smiles broadens and his silver eyes ignite, “and what is it that I am doing?”

“Stop,” I snap at him. We’re so close now that our foreheads could touch with the slightest of movements.

“Stop what?” he questions me, his voice so hushed it send a shiver down my spine.

“I’m going to strangle you,” I growl, the sound coming from the back of my throat. An uninvited passion rippling through my tone.

“I’d like to see you try,” he murmurs, snaking a hand around my waist. A soft gasp escapes my lips at the warmth and tenderness of his touch. He holds me like I’m breakable. It makes me vulnerable and I hate it yet I don’t tell him to stop. I come to horrible realisation that maybe I don’t want him to.

“I swear to god Hawthorne-“

“Shhhhh,” he says, eyes pinned to mine.

“What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly. All the oxygen previously in my lungs had been sucked out mercilessly by his tentative being.

“Just shut up for one second,” he snaps.

Fury lights inside of me and the spark of rage burns brighter than ever, “don’t tell me to shut-“

“Shhhhh,” he murmurs, placing a gentle finger to my lips.

My mouth obeys without my brain’s consent and my voice ceases. It’s just him and I and the silence around us. My heart thumps in my chest, so loudly it rattles through my ears. Slowly, almost cautiously, my own hands slide up his back as if some other world force is tugging them that way. I know I don’t want to do this but a familiar aching for deprived feeling was forcing me to.

“What are we doing Grayson?” I say, the words barely heard.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, “all I know is, you drive me insane.”

“Funny,” I smile softly, “you drive me insane too.”

His pupils dilate as we get closer. An entrancing monochrome kaleidoscope, only black and grey. Our foreheads meet, pressing into one another. It feels so natural, so right. His hands tighten slightly around the small of my back, as my eyelash graze his cheek, tickling him lightly. I can feel his breath on my face and his heart beating against my own. Our lips go to meet and-

“We’re closing the library now.”

I jerk backwards to suddenly my back smacks into the shelves of books behind me. Pain surges through my spinal cord and I bite my lip to keep me from crying out. My eyes become glossy as previously stacked books thump to the floor. I look up to see the librarian standing there.

I cough, picking up the books, “thanks, we were just leaving.”

She raises a brow but doesn’t say another word. I feel my cheeks burn a feverish red. I don’t meet Grayson’s eyes as I spin on my heels and charge out.

thanks for reading my loves 🤍🤍

TIG masterlist

[moonstruckme]

You’re poly!marauders writings literally soothe my anxiety I love it so much. Could I please request poly!marauders comforting reader the night before a big presentation she’s super anxious for because she hates public speaking. I feel like they’d be so soft and encouraging when they realise how sad and anxious she is about it. You’re the best lovely 💗💖🩷

Thanks sweetheart!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 957 words

James erupts in applause as you click to the final slide, and Sirius sticks his fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly. 

“Fantastic job!” James gushes, fawning. “Never seen anything like it. Will this presentation be considered for a nobel prize?”

“It ought to be,” Remus agrees, also clapping, albeit more normally. “That was great, dove. They’re gonna love it.” 

“Are you sure?” You look to the screen uncertainty. “The ‘thank you’ slide isn’t too informal?”

“No,” Remus confirms. “I think it’s the perfect way to signal that you’re done.” 

“But did I talk too fast? I do that sometimes.” 

He gives you an odd look. “Did you think you were talking too fast?” 

You shrug, looking at your pajama bottoms like there’s something interesting down there. “I can’t always hear it myself. Maybe I should run it through one more time, and you can let me know?”

“Wait, again?” Sirius sounds slightly alarmed. “This is a very interesting topic, but I think six practice rounds is probably enough. What, are you gonna give us a test or something?” 

You cringe. “Sorry, I don’t mean to keep you captive. I can practice it by myself.” 

You close your laptop, thinking of going to your room, but James says, “Wait, sweetheart, why do you think you need to run through it so many times? It seems like you’ve got it.” 

“I just need it to be, like, muscle memory,” you reply. “A lot of the time, once I get up there, I sort of…it’s almost like I can’t think anymore, and if I don’t know the presentation super well I won’t know what to say.” 

“I don’t think you need to worry as much as you are.” James’ voice has gone soft in that way he does when he wants to be extra kind. “Every time you’ve run through it tonight, it’s been flawless.” 

You scoff. “Yeah, because it’s just you guys.” 

“Oi,” Sirius pipes up, faux indignant. “I’ll have you know we are the most critical audience you’ll ever meet. If you can do it in front of us, those dolts will be no problem.” 

“Yeah, don’t be nervous.” James gives you a smile. “You’re going to do great.” 

“That’s a lot easier said than done,” you sigh. 

Remus pats the arm of his chair, and you abandon your laptop, letting him pull you into his lap. Your boyfriends have the ability to bring emotions you didn’t even know you had straight to the surface, and you feel unexpectedly teary as he kisses your temple. “Would it make you feel better if we came to watch tomorrow?” he asks lightly. 

You give him a small, sad smile. “Thanks, but even if you did, everyone else would still be there. It’d be a pointless trip for you.” 

“Not if you could have a hug afterwards.” He sets his chin atop your head like he’s going to make you a fortress out of his own body. “Or if you just want support in the audience, we don’t mind.” 

“I appreciate it,” you reply, “but I’ll be okay. I just need to get it down so that I don’t mess up.” 

“And what if you do mess up?” Sirius asks, characteristically blunt. “Would it really be the worst thing in the world?”

You blush, and Remus rubs your upper arm comfortingly. “No,” you admit. “It would just be embarrassing. It would kind of ruin my day, to be honest.” 

Sirius nods, looking at you evenly. “But then you get to come home, and it’ll be over. Maybe we can get you a treat or something to have tomorrow evening after you get home. That way you get a reward no matter what.” 

You fidget in Remus’ hold, and you know they’re not going to like what you’re thinking, but you say it anyway. “I won’t deserve a reward if I mess up, though.” 

“That’s not true,” James fires back instantly. “The reward doesn’t have to be only for if you give your presentation without a single hitch. It could just be for trying.” 

You’re quiet, pleading silently for a change in topic. Remus drops another kiss on the side of your head. “You’ve worked hard on this, dovey. It’s really good, and even if everything doesn’t go as planned tomorrow, you still put a lot into it,” he pauses, stooping his head so you’re looking at him. “You deserve to feel good about yourself.” 

You try to shrink, but he won’t let you, trapping you with an immovable arm around your shoulders. Remus is strong when he wants to be. He raises his eyebrows, a tiny smirk playing on his lips, until you smile. 

“Okay, you’re right,” you capitulate, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Thank you guys.” 

“Maybe it’d help if you got the presentation off your mind and just relaxed for the rest of the night,” James suggests. “There’s no point in fixating on it anymore, you’ve done all you can.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you say, and then Sirius is squishing into you and Remus’ chair, sitting half on top of both of you. 

“Our poor baby,” he whines, words muffled against your cheek. “I’m sorry I made fun of your practice, sweetpea. I didn’t know you were so nervous.” 

You laugh as he moves down to your neck. “It’s okay, it’s—quit, that tickles!”

Sirius ignores you, pecking relentlessly up and down your neck as Remus struggles to keep the both of you from falling off the armchair. “You’re going to do so good,” he promises ardently. “You know that, right?”

“She doesn’t even have to know it,” James speaks for you as you gasp for breath between giggles. “We know well enough to make up for her.” 

[helloalycia]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 [𝐓𝐖𝐎] —𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

summary: Jackie and you become closer and she takes it as a challenge to make you fall for her charms.

warning/s: none.

author’s note: part 2 is finally here, sorry for the delay! i’ve had a migraine all day otherwise i would’ve posted this earlier 😅 hope you like it!

one / three / masterlist / wattpad

A month passed and any reminder of my conflict with Leroy and Tiffany had faded into oblivion. Jackie was correct in assuming they'd drop their beef with me, and once my hand was healed and Jackie's face no longer looked like an overly inflated balloon, there was nothing left to remind me of the incidents that occurred.

The only thing to come out of the whole experience was being a little more than acquaintances with Jackie. I couldn't go as far as saying we were friends, but she definitely felt the need to greet me more whenever she saw me in class, and I didn't mind returning the favour.

The real shift in our relationship began when Van, Jackie, Shauna and I were grouped up for a History class project. It was a presentation we needed to pull together, so we'd all made plans to meet up to discuss everything over coffee, which is how I found myself driving there with Van in my new car.

"You know you're gonna have to take me everywhere now," Van pointed out from the passenger seat with a grin. "I'm gonna be your passenger princess."

I laughed. "Hey, I don't mind. It's a bit of a rust bucket, but it beats skateboarding everywhere." I paused, then added, "Who am I kidding? I'm gonna miss skateboarding everywhere."

"We can still hit up the skate park every now and then," she promised. "But driving is a lot easier, you can't lie."

I smiled in agreement. After using some of my savings and convincing my parents it was time to get a car, they bought me an old, second-hand banger from one of my dad's friends who owned a garage. It wasn't the best looking car, but after a wash and a little bit of sprucing up with some car accessories, it looked decent enough to serve its purpose.

Conveniently, I pulled up at the coffee shop at the same time as Shauna, who was parking a few spots down. When Van and I jumped out the car with our bags, Jackie and Shauna were already approaching us.

"Hey," Shauna greeted us both with a smile, before nodding with approval at my car. "Love the new ride, Y/L/N."

"Thanks," I said with proud smile.

"You got to the part where you have to fill the tyres with air?" she asked with amusement. "It's so awkward when everyone watches you do it."

I snorted with amusement. "I'll be lucky if I get that far. This thing is trying its best right now."

She chuckled and glanced over it once more. "It's still pretty nice. Gets you from A to B, right? Driving saves so much time, trust me."

"Very true," I agreed, before I noticed Jackie checking it out curiously, having greeted Van already. I quirked a brow as I jokingly asked, "What? Not up to the princess' standards?"

Van and Shauna exchanged amused glances whilst Jackie shot me a playful glare.

"That's not what I was thinking," she said matter-of-factly.

I stopped by her side to look at it like she was, giving her a sideways glance. "I was kidding. Kind of."

She gave me a knowing look. "It's nice."

I tried not to laugh as I said, "Thank you."

She rolled her eyes playfully before the four of us headed inside to find a table. After claiming a booth in the corner, we pulled out our supplies and textbooks to get started.

"I'll go order our drinks," I offered, before we got stuck in. "Everybody know what they want?"

After they shared their orders with me, I slid out the booth to get in the queue, but Jackie slid out alongside me.

"You might need more hands to carry it," she said, when I quirked a brow.

I shrugged and the two of us got in line to order. It didn't take long to reach the front, and after giving the barista our order and paying, Jackie decided she wanted a muffin that was on display.

"Shoot, I'm so sorry to be annoying," she said with her signature smile, albeit a little apologetic, as she pointed to the muffin. "Please can we get that too?"

The guy, probably no older than we were, nodded eagerly and got the muffin for her, placing it on the tray. "Of course. It's on the house."

I resisted the urge to smile as I raised an eyebrow, watching Jackie laugh flirtatiously.

"No! Really?" she asked with bright eyes. "You're too sweet!"

The guy shrugged casually, his cheeks turning pink as she gave him all her attention in this moment. Before we knew it, our drinks were added to the tray and I picked it up to leave.

"Thanks again," she said with a tilt of her head and a matching smile.

He watched her leave distractedly, and only when we were walking away did I let out a quiet chuckle at what I'd just witnessed.

"What?" she asked, glancing at me, as if she didn't know what she'd done.

I gave her a look of disbelief. "Seriously?" Her confused expression forced me to continue. "You just bat your eyes and get what you want?"

She looked up thoughtfully before nodding. "Pretty much."

Breathing out through my nose, I shook my head with amazement. It made sense that even strangers fell victim to the Jackie Taylor effect.

"Can you get some napkins?" she asked, flashing me the same smile she gave the barista, but I would be damned if she thought she could fool me.

"Not a chance," I said with a stifled laugh, equally amused by her frown as I was her audacity.

I returned to the booth as she went to grab some napkins for us, and the four of us got stuck in immediately. As well as getting the base of our presentation researched, we also had a nice bonding session. To be fair, Van already knew Jackie and Shauna well, but I enjoyed getting to know them too.

I especially learnt that Jackie was pretty used to getting what she wanted whenever she wanted, and having people fall head over heels for her. This was something that came to light the more time we spent together working on this project. I guess you could say that the project is what intertwined our lives again once more.

—

After yet another studying session with Jackie, Shauna and Van in the library last night, I realised I grabbed Jackie's notebook by accident and planned to return it to her the next morning at school. I found her by her locker, but she was in a conversation with Jeff and I debated whether or not to interrupt.

They weren't together, the two of them surprisingly staying broken up unlike the many other times they'd somehow got back together, so it was odd to see them talking. But it wasn't any of my business, even if I was a little curious to whether they were back together – especially after everything that happened – so I just sucked it up and politely interrupted.

When I stopped by their side awkwardly, their conversation fell quiet and Jeff glanced at me, no doubt thinking of the whole Leroy incident. Without another word, he walked away, leaving Jackie and I alone.

"Sorry," I said to her uncomfortably, before holding out her notebook. "I just wanted to give you this."

"Oh, thanks," she said, blinking, before accepting the notebook. "I was looking for this all morning."

"Yeah, I must've grabbed it by accident," I said with a small smile. "My bad."

She nodded, and I was about to leave, but then she met my eyes and said, "That wasn't–"

She'd stopped, so I prodded, "Wasn't...?"

Uneasily, she explained, "He's been trying to get back together with me. Jeff."

I chewed on my lip, unsure what to respond, because she didn't owe me any kind of explanation. But a small part of me was nosy enough to want it.

"I'm not stupid, obviously," she continued.

"Obviously," I repeated in agreement, otherwise stumped for words.

"But yeah," she finished, a small, awkward smile on her lips. "That's it."

I mirrored her smile, nodding. "Awesome... er, thanks for the update."

She cleared her throat, nodding too, and then an uncomfortable silence filled the air. I was relieved, though I would never admit it, to know that she wasn't considering going back to him. It only reaffirmed all she'd said about listening to me, and it showed that she respected whatever friendship we seemed to share.

"I'll see you in class," I said, straightening up.

She relaxed her shoulders. "Yeah. See you."

—

Shortly after finishing our group assignment together, Jackie felt the need to work with me more often, for whatever reason. She had a lot of friends, so I couldn't see why she needed me in the mix also, but I guess I wasn't totally against it.

I was walking into Chemistry class when I spotted the blonde sat where my usual lab partner, Dennis, sat. Getting a sense of deja vu, I watched her questioningly as I set my stuff down in my seat.

"Is there a particular reason you're sat there?" I asked, when she flashed me a nonchalant smile.

Placing her chin in the palm of her hand, she stared at me through her lashes. "I feel like you don't know me well enough. So, I switched partners."

I resisted the urge to laugh, oddly intrigued by whatever game she was playing. "I mean, we've only been in the same classes all our life, but–"

"It's not the same," she insisted with a wave of her hand, making me laugh.

Not caring enough to be opposed to her trading seats with Dennis, I took a seat beside her and began to get my books out. As I did, our teacher, Mr Turner, approached our table with a stern expression.

"Miss Taylor," he addressed her. "Can I ask why you're not sitting in your assigned seat?"

I watched on with amusement, wondering how she'd get herself out of this one. But if she was sweating in the slightest, it didn't show.

Shooting Mr Turner her signature smile, she said, "I'm sorry, Mr Turner. I was just about to come and ask you permission. I thought moving beside Y/N here would help improve my grade and be less of a distraction than my old partner."

I quirked a brow, glancing between him and her, and watched as his expression softened slightly. Holy shit. The Jackie Taylor effect worked on teachers too?

"Very well," he conceded. "I suppose that's alright, if it's for the betterment of your learning. Just don't let me catch you chatting through my teaching, alright?"

She nodded innocently. "Of course. I'd never disrespect you like that."

My mouth opened slightly with disbelief, her pure arse kissing astounding me. Mr Turner nodded appreciatively before returning to the front of the classroom, and Jackie turned to me with a cheeky smile.

"I'm impressed," I admitted. "Everybody really loves you, huh?"

As she grabbed her book, she shrugged, though gave me a sideways glance as if she was pouting. "Almost everyone."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "C'mon, Jackie. You have the whole school– heck, probably the whole world at your fingertips. Why are you so adamant on making me like you?"

She raised her brows impatiently. "Because I'm likeable!"

The pink tinge on her cheeks, darkening her already-existent blusher, paired with her impatience only served to make me grin. If I'd known treating Jackie Taylor like this would get her so flustered, I would have done it more often. It was definitely entertaining, and she was going through more effort than she needed to, which only made me laugh more.

As amusing as it was though, I knew she'd give up soon. I simply refused to let myself slip under the Jackie Taylor spell that she had over everyone – doing whatever she wanted, treating her like she was god's gift, there at her beck and call... Unlike every other poor soul who genuinely believed they had a chance with her, no doubt because she had a power to make you feel that way, I wasn't naive. Jackie Taylor was out of my league, as a friend or anything more.

I wasn't blind. Her powers of seduction were rooted in her beauty and ability to turn heads wherever she went. It was normal to have a tiny crush on her, I was sure of it, but I'd never let it be more than that.

Of course, there were small micro-moments where I'd let myself indulge for once, to be a little selfish and delirious. Like now, as she sat beside me in class, nodding along to what Mr Turner was explaining. From the corner of my eye, it was easy to make out the perfect curve of her jaw, the glossiness of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes. And it would have been even easier to give into it all, especially when she asked me to grab her a lab coat from the back of the classroom, a soft smile on her lips and a single bat of her eyelashes.

But all it took was one relinquishment of power and I'd be just another fool who let Jackie Taylor create delusion in their heads. And I refused.

"I don't know what the arrangement between you and your last partner was, but here, you do things yourself," I said with a suppressed smile, appreciating the way her face dropped.

She tensed her jaw slightly, before trailing along behind me to grab a lab coat. After suiting up, we returned to our desk and I got out the lab equipment whilst she read over the worksheet we'd been given.

"Okay, first step is to turn on the bunsen burner," she read aloud, glancing at me expectantly.

"Great." I pushed over the bunsen burner to her. "Go on."

Indifferently, she straightened up and began to connect the hose to the bunsen burner, shooting me a knowing look as she connected the whole thing to the gas tap.

"I know how to do things myself, y'know," she said disapprovingly.

I chuckled. "I know, it's just fun watching you actually do it."

She huffed dramatically before twisting the gas tap without warning, making me jump back quickly as the flame lit up. Her eyes widened as she twisted it off, before falling to me with both concern and amusement.

"Shit, are you okay?" she asked, hand covering her mouth, but a smile was threatening to break out.

I released a breath, touching my shirt which almost set on fire, and shot her a look. "I am, yeah. No thanks to you!"

She began to laugh quietly. "I'm sorry. See? If you'd just done it for us, that wouldn't have happened."

"Oh, if I'd just done it for us?" I asked sarcastically, mimicking her voice.

"Yeah, you should've just listened–" she started, eyes darting between mine with entertainment.

"I should've just listened," I agreed, still as sarky as ever.

"Yes," she agreed between laughter.

I sighed, giving into my smile as she watched me with dismay. This was going to be a long lesson.

—

As much as I hated to admit it, I was enjoying having Jackie as my lab partner, looking forward to the hour lesson where she was as careless as ever when it came to our experiments, but to the satisfaction and humour of me. Of course, she could never know that all of her efforts to sway me were working, so I played it cool.

I definitely didn't expect to see her beyond that, so I was especially surprised when I showed up to the local community centre after school with the intention of improving my college application and saw her waiting outside with a few other students. I did a double take, her face being the last I expected to see.

"Hey," she said when she recognised me, moving to stand beside me with her usual blinding smile.

"Are you stalking me, Taylor?" I asked jokingly.

"You wish," she retorted with a playful eye roll. "I'm here because it looks good for my college application."

"Ah, of course."

She lifted a brow. "You?"

"Same," I admitted sheepishly, making her laugh.

Once the other students turned up, there were thirteen of us in total and the manager of the community centre met us outside to brief us. We were to work on the community garden over the coming weeks, helping to clean it up and plant some fresh produce and flowers to brighten up the place. Only once it was complete would we get a certificate of recognition for our efforts.

We got stuck in straight away, everyone assigned to different areas. Jackie and I were working on planting the flower beds, so the first thing to do was bring over the soil to the designated area. I heaved the giant bag of soil over my shoulder and brought it over, dropping it to the ground with a sigh and wiping the sweat from my head.

Giggling made me look up, and I watched as Jackie got some freshman to grab her bag, twirling her hair and fluttering her eyelashes as he dropped the bag beside mine.

"You're too sweet, Johnny," she said with a classic tilt of her head, touching his arm. "Thanks again."

He shrugged casually, clearly affected by her attention. "Anytime. You need a hand with anything else, just let me know."

She nodded in agreement and watched as he walked away before her eyes found mine.

"What?" she said like it was obvious. "It would've gotten my nails dirty."

I glanced down at the soil staining my shirt, before giving her a knowing look. "Wait until you start to plant the seeds."

Kneeling down, I used the spade provided to dig out the old dead plants from the flower beds. She kneeled down beside me, careful not to dirty her skirt as she did, and watched my hands work.

"I'm curious," I said, glancing at her. "Were you planning to help at all?"

She straightened up with a sense of pride. "Of course." And then reluctantly, she used her hands to help me remove the old plants, but not without pulling a face.

I tried not to laugh as I watched, finding a sense of satisfaction as her fingernails did indeed get stained with soil. Working alongside her, I used the spade to dig out the next plant, but it skidded across the soil, the plant too firm, and I ended up flicking a handful of soil at Jackie.

"Oh, shit," I said with a stifled smile, watching as she looked down at her clothes. "Sorry."

She breathed out slowly and dusted the soil off, but it left dark tracks in its midst. "It's fine."

"Good thing you wore your old clothes, right?" I asked, biting my lip to contain my smile.

She hummed in agreement, jaw tensing slightly, and a grin fell upon my lips. Everything she wore looked too nice to be considered old. Poor Jackie was probably not expecting to lift a finger.

For whatever reason, whether it was to prove me wrong or to prove her own point, she actually helped me with our tasks, no longer using freshmen to get everything done. It was fun, working with her, and it only gave me more time to appreciate spending with her.

Once we'd done our assigned two hours, it was finally time to leave for the day, and Jackie and I walked out together. Parked a few cars down from mine was Shauna's, and I gave Jackie a look of disbelief.

"You made Shauna pick you up?"

"Duh," she said with a shrug.

I breathed out slowly, looking up and shaking my head. "Why do I still get surprised?"

"What? That people love me?" she asked with a teasing voice.

"Yes."

She rolled her eyes, lips pressing into a smile. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Until then, see you tomorrow."

I waved goodbye to her as she kept walking, trying to understand the hold she had on everyone. Her and her silly smiles and silly hazel eyes and silly raspy voice.

Annoyingly enough, I was starting to see it.

—

I found myself in Chemistry class later that week, doodling on my notebook as I waited for class to properly start. Jackie arrived as usual, greeting me, and when I looked up, I took a moment to find my words.

"You look different," I said without thinking, trying to figure it out.

"I'm pretty sure I don't," she said with a chuckle, sitting beside me like always.

But no, there was something different about her today, something that had me admiring her a little more closely than usual. And as I was subtly studying the freckles on her face, the slope of her nose, the golden flecks in her eyes, it hit me.

"Your hair," I said with realisation, making her look up. "It's up. You never have it up."

She lifted a brow with amusement. "I guess, maybe not often, but..."

She'd worn her hair up before, obviously, but her signature look was to leave it out, freshly curled. So, seeing her with it up just happened to draw my attention more, and also show off her pretty face a bit more, which I guess is why I noticed.

Satisfied that I'd figured it out, I nodded. "Yeah, that's it. It looks pretty like that."

Her lips curved into a soft smile, eyes darting away from mine in an uncharacteristic manner. "Er, thanks."

I didn't think much more of it as I returned to my doodling, but then from that day onwards, I noticed she began to wear her hair up more often. And every single time, I found myself admiring her secretly, letting myself indulge just that little bit more.

—

Promising to pick up Van from soccer practice today, I headed to the field to wait in the bleachers for her, having killed time studying all I could before my brain would fry itself. I was a little early, so the Yellowjackets were still practicing.

I took that as my opportunity to get comfortable at the bottom of the bleachers, feet leaning on the ones in front of me as I pulled my headphones on and focused on my book. I was deep into it when something hit me and I jumped, startled.

Yanking my headphones off, I looked down to see a bottle cap, and then looked up to see a laughing Jackie stood by the bench on the field, bottle of water in hand.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, before tossing the cap back at her, which she swiftly dodged.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a grin.

Admittedly, she looked really cute right now, dressed in the school gym kit, a little sweaty and her face flushed pink from all the running she'd done. But I would never give her that satisfaction, so sarcasm was my next best defence.

"Oh, I just had to come and see Jackie Taylor in all of her team captain glory."

She raised her brows, pausing. "Really?"

"No. I'm here to pick Van up."

She scoffed gently, rolling her eyes.

"As much as your many admirers would love to watch you practice, I'm not one of them," I teased.

"Hilarious," she said with narrowed eyes, making me grin. Dismissing my mockery, she asked, "Are you coming to the pep rally tomorrow? First game of the season is this week."

I leaned back, thinking about it. "Eh, why not?"

Hand on her hip, she shot me a disapproving smile. "Don't sound too enthusiastic or anything."

I crossed my legs comfortably as I met her challenging stare. "I'm not big on the whole soccer thing. I'm just going to support Van. That's what a good friend would do."

She began to smile, a glint of amusement in her gaze. "A good friend, huh? Pat yourself on the back much?"

"Someone has to."

She looked away with disbelief, hiding a smile. "Wow, I see."

I quirked a brow, smile forming on my lips. "See how annoying that is? That's what it's like having a conversation with you."

She pursed her lips as she looked over me with feigned irritation. "Touché, Y/N."

I flashed her a satisfied smile as she finished the last of her water before flipping me off then jogging back to the others. I chuckled to myself as I watched her leave, admittedly checking her out as I did. Stupid Jackie and her stupid cute face.

—

We were well into October when it happened. I couldn't have seen it coming in the slightest.

Lottie, one of Van's teammates, was hosting the ultimate Halloween party at her mansion of her house, able to get away with it because her parents were away. Everybody was attending, and if Van herself didn't invite me, at least ten other people had because of how awesome it was supposed to be. Naturally, I said yes, loving a party more than anyone else but especially a costume party.

So, I showed up with Van and Taissa, the latter opting for a Catwoman costume that she very much pulled off, and Van and I dressing up as two of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles – her as Michelangelo and myself as Leonardo. They were iconic outfits, what could I say?

Of course, I may have felt a little stupid when we met up with the rest of Van's team, including Jackie who looked drool-worthy in her Supergirl costume.

"Wow, you two look...," she began when she saw Van and I, eyes flickering between our matching costumes. "It's very you."

Van swung her nunchucks in agreement. "I thought so too. Love the sexy Supergirl getup."

Jackie stifled a smile as she nodded in acknowledgement, before her eyes fell to me. "Which one are you? Raphael?"

I pointed to the blue bandana over my eyes. "Leonardo, obviously."

A grin broke out on her lips as she touched the bandana, pulling it over my eyes a bit better and also sending goosebumps all over my skin at her touch. "Obviously."

I swallowed thickly, trying not to let my eyes drift below her head, because her costume was very tight and she looked very good right now.

"Nat's pouring everyone drinks in the kitchen," she said, looking between the three of us. "You coming?"

"Hell yeah," Van spoke for us all, raising her nunchucks in the air, before glancing back at Taissa and I. "Leonardo and Catwoman, on my six!"

I cracked a smile as I readied my sword and followed after my idiot best friend. 

It was admittedly an eventful first few hours, with Van and I stressing Taissa out enough times that she was forced to take our pretend weapons off us for the rest of the party. Apparently assuming the personas of our costumes wasn't going down well with her, which, in hindsight, was fair when I remembered how drunk we got.

At one point, I found myself rambling to some random guy about the lore of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, aware that he was passed out on the couch beside me but still talking anyway, when Jackie strolled over to me, just as drunk as I was.

"There you are," she said with a grin. "Come dance with me."

"Jackie, I'm in the middle of a conversation," I said, motioning to my passed out friend.

"He's asleep, idiot," she pointed out, before outstretching her hand and wiggling it. "Come on."

I batted her hand away. "I don't dance."

She lost her smile as her patience ran quicker now that her inhibitions were lowered. "Y/N."

Finding it amusing, I motioned around us. "There's a billion people here. One of them would kill to dance with you. Why not ask them?"

"I'm asking you," she said through gritted teeth.

Not really aware of her anger, I pushed myself off the couch with a stretch. "I'm hungry."

She glared at me as I walked away, pushing through the party-goers and intending to find the kitchen, but Lottie's house was huge and I'd already forgotten the layout. I opened several wrong doors, and then on the last one – some sort of games room – I felt someone shove me from behind, forcing me in.

"Hey–!"

"Why does nothing work with you?!" Jackie interrupted my complaining, shutting the door behind her and fixing me with a frustrated stare.

I blinked, confused.

She scoffed, uncrossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "I've been trying to get your attention for months, you idiot! I even started–" she faltered, embarrassed, "wearing my hair up because of one stupid compliment you gave me."

My brain was working slower than usual, so her words were catching up to me little by little. "I noticed that."

Still not happy, she narrowed her eyes at me. "Why do I even try?"

Realising this was about the Jackie Taylor effect, as I'd rightly dubbed it now, I said, "Everybody loves you. Why is it so important if I don't?"

Her eyes flickered between mine, and I was certain she was going to slap me or berate me or shout at me. But then her expression softened and she admitted, "Because I want you to."

I didn't get chance to register her words before she stepped forward, pressing her lips to mine. Her fingers curled around the back of my neck and I found myself melting under her touch, falling right into her. Her lips tasted like alcohol, tobacco and strawberry lipgloss, and I was suddenly eager to taste her concoction even more, all my senses heightened as I pulled her close.

She moved her lips against mine eagerly, fingers sending shivers down my spine as they tickled my skin, and I pushed my tongue between her lips in retaliation, not even thinking about anything other than her. We broke apart for air, barely seconds passing before our lips reconnected, and I was infatuated with every part of the blonde that had been on my mind these past few months.

Time was a drunken haze – we could have been there for seconds or hours for all I knew – and we were unfortunately interrupted by the sound of the door suddenly opening. Our sloppy movements meant we pulled apart a second too late, and we turned to see Van standing there in her Michelangelo costume. God, did I look that stupid right now?

"You're both trashed," she said, words slurred, before she looked to me. "C'mon. Catwoman is taking us home." Then she looked to Jackie, adding, "Shauna's looking for you."

I glanced at Jackie, heart still racing and her taste still on my lips. The state I was in made everything feel like it was so distant, as if it was happening to someone else, so I still hadn't truly acknowledged what had just happened between us. Jackie was already looking at me, eyes half lidded and cheeks flushed. I almost wanted to kiss her again, but Van impatiently calling my name snapped me out of it.

"Coming," I told her, before tearing my eyes from Jackie and following after Van.

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

God made girls lethal, when he made monsters of men.

Jonathan Crane x psycho!reader PART TWO

PART ONE

warnings - blood, gore, attempted sexual assault, death.

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN - request here

*************************

You’re sessions with Jonathan began to dwindle. No matter how much you screamed, bit, scratched and attacked the other shrinks, demanding to see Jonathan, no one would let you. Always claiming that he had other patients he deemed more severe.

“BULLSHIT!” You screamed. If he wanted dangerous, boy, was he gonna get dangerous.

That was how Jonathan Crane sauntered down the hall and into your cell where he saw you, straight jacket on, strapped down to a wooden chair, held by three guards. Your smile dribbled blood out of your red mouth.

“There are easier ways to get my attention than biting off a guy’s ear.” He sounded almost bored and this made you whimper.

“Well they clearly weren’t working as I asked for you a million times and you NEVER CAME!” Your voice rose into a shrill scream for the last words. But he didn’t even flinch. Instead he kneeled down in front of your shaking form and stroked your soft cheek.

“Now, now darling. There, there. I haven’t been a very good psychiatrist have I?”

“No.” You softly whimpered out.

“No. I’ve been neglecting you haven’t I?" He cooed. Your body softened at his caring words. You meekly nodded.

The guards around you were confused but one sharp glare from Jonathan shut them up and they daren’t look at your intimate moment any longer.

From then on, Jonathan allowed the two of you to have weekly meetings. But they weren’t designed to analyse you, but rather to court you.

He would come and sit down with you and you would talk for hours. About movies, books, games etc.

Some days he would bring you little treats. Secret chocolates, a teddy bear. One day he even brought a hairbrush and he sat behind you and the whole session consisted of him lightly brushing out the tangled locks of your unkept mane. No words were said. But it was ecstacy.

Your favourite gift was when he presented you with a white rose.

“What are those red splotches?” You enquired looking at the streaks which littered the pure base.

“You see I cut myself on the thorn and some dropped on the rose. I was going to get you a new one but I couldn’t help but be so intrigued by it. It really adds something, don’t you think?”

In lieu of a reply you merely reached forward and grabbed his hand where you could see the healing scar. Without breaking his gaze you leant forward and took the whole finger into your mouth. Jonathan struggled to hold back a moan as you salivated at the still iron taste.

In his time with you, Jonathan had noted the keen interest some of the male guards had in you. He sometimes laughed it off believing their stupidity knew no bounds if they were willing to take you on. But he couldn’t help but worry for you.

“God I wouldn’t mind taking a bit of that ass.”

“Are you serious dude? That bitch is crazy. Proper stone cold psychopath.”

“Don’t worry, she’s being sedated well enough, or at least she will be soon. She won’t give us any problems.”

Jonathan overheard the guards from the outside of the break room door.

Since meeting you he had become enraptured. Enchanted by your very being. He viewed you as the most sacred relic he could ever dare to possess. He knew your strength was unimaginable. But you were his. And no one messed with his Queen.

One day you were being transported from your session with Jonathan, who had now deemed it fit to have the sessions in his office rather than your cell. The two guards, who flanked your sides, spoke over you in silent code. Once they had deemed the corridor completely empty. They grabbed your sides, still held in the straight jacket, and began to drag you towards an abandoned closet. Taking your pants and underwear off on the way. Their intentions clearly immoral.

It took you by such surprise that you barely had time to react. You were not used to being manhandled but the shock of the moment meant you couldn’t clear your head enough to launch a good enough attack.

Before the three of you were over the doors precipice, a loud voice announced their exit from their office.

Jonathan called out to ask the two men a question, to which they responded after manoeuvring you out of a compromising position. He shot you a single glance before explaining how he would prefer to walk you back to your cell as well, as, in his words,

“I don’t want her to give you any problems.” with a knowing glint in his eye.

That night the two same guards were summoned to your cell.

They stood to the side of where you sat slumped in your chair. The previous encounter had scarred you and weakened your own sense of self. They were just men, you had killed them before. Why was it so hard now. What was this weak feeling and why did it make you want to scream.

However, your self-sabotaging thoughts were halted the minute Jonathan’s lean frame entered. His soft smile landed on your frame which appeared to have shrunk in the presence of the two guards. This lit a fire deep within his heart.

He brought his briefcase up to the table and popped it open. He pulled out a macabre clown mask, decorated with black and red. He walked forward, whistling as he went, and placed it on your face. You were unable to resist, but deep down you didn’t want to. You trusted Jonathan.

He returned to his briefcase, sat down, took off his glasses, and looked deep into your eyes.

“Would you like to see my mask.” He condescendingly teased.

He pulled out a ratty burlap sack which you noted had stitching which resembled a face. He placed it on his head and immediately pressed a hidden button which released a sulphuric green gas into the air. It was then you noted the breathing device attached to your own mask.

Jonathan bared his knuckles on the table and used it to raise himself into a godlike stance.

You were startled by the bloodcurdling screams which erupted from the two men behind you. You whipped around to see them collapse to the floor, writhing about in pain. Both looking and pointing up at Jonathan in pure god-fearing terror.

Suddenly, they both seized. Their last moments of fear etched onto their faces like stone. Their hearts had gone.

You tilted your head to look down, interestedly, at the two corpses. You turned back around when you felt a presence at your back.

Jonathan stood over you, masked and all. His hand outreached.

“Scarecrow will never hurt you, my love.”

You carefully lifted up your own mask to reveal a teeth-chattering grin plastered over your sadistic expression.

*************************

PART THREE

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