#just read all her lines ever in a very monotone dry voice where no one ever knows if she's joking or not

[tricoufamily]

we interrupt this villareal story to introduce the plastics

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[vxlkyrie]

boo

pairing: spencer reid x reader

genre: (a bit of) angst, fluff

warning: cursing, mentions of (fake) blood, fake weapons, mentions of alcohol, suggestive themes

word count: 3.1k

summary: i guess that’s one way to get into the halloween spirit

a/n: hi! how is everyone doing? i’m like over two months into the semester and i’ve finally gotten into routine with the workflow. now that i’ve found some time to write, why not make a halloween-inspired oneshot? i hope you are all doing well and i hope you all enjoy reading! have a safe and happy halloween! (also this is definitely still in beta, so sorry for any mistakes!)

“hey y/n?” derek called from a few desks away from you.

“yeah morgan?” you answered, concentrating on your paperwork.

“got any plans for halloween?” he asked, trying to stifle a laugh.

“yeah, spence and i were-” before you could finish answering, you looked up to see a very detailed, yet disgusting mask in front of you. “hey babe.” you chuckled, lifting up the mask to reveal your boyfriend’s flustered face as you gave him a quick peck before returning back to your work.

derek and emily gave each other a bewildered look.

“you were supposed to jump out of your seat and scream.” spencer pouted as he took off the mask.

“i was?” you raised an eyebrow. “well, ahh!” you lightly jumped in your seat and let out a low monotone scream as you waved your hands in the air in an attempt to look scared, earning giggles from the other two agents.

“haha, funny.” spencer slouched his shoulders.

“i’m sorry babe, i just don’t really get scared at anything, especially during halloween.”

“but that’s the best part of halloween!”

“i know! i grew up on horror movies and video games. i guess i just desensitized myself from getting scared.” you shrugged your shoulders.

“that explains why you didn’t get scared when that phoenix unsub shot right next your head.” derek mumbled.

“she is so lucky he missed.” emily muttered back.

“i just have a couple sentences to write down. once i’m finished, wanna get some take out and watch a movie? your choice.” you asked spencer. he smiled and nodded in response, walking to derek’s desk.

“you’ve been dating y/n for how long and you just found out she can’t get scared?”

“we’ve only been dating for three months, five days, and eight hours.” spencer said matter-of-factly.

“right.” derek gave him a look.

“it’s my first fall with her – my first holiday with her, and it’s our favorite holiday too! i just thought i could get a good scare out of her.”

“well, you’re a genius. there must be some way you could scare her.” emily encouraged him.

“i mean, if she can’t even get scared from this,” spencer said, putting the mask back on. “this is gonna take longer than i expected.” he sighed.

“what the hell is that?” penelope suddenly screamed as she entered the room, looking at spencer with a terrified expression.

-

“what movie are we watching?” you asked as you got yourself comfortable on the couch.

“oh nothing, just the scariest movie to ever exist on the planet.” he over exaggerated as he wiggled his fingers to emphasize that it’s scary. you tried your best not to laugh at your boyfriend.

“where did you get this?”

“i found it on this website, it’s only available in asia and yet only a few people have seen this.”

“isn’t that kind of illegal?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“um, probably. anyways, trust me, it’s pretty scary.”

“scariest movie ever. gotcha.” you nodded as he took his seat next to you, wrapping a tight arm around you.

as the movie played, there were times where you felt spencer tightened his grip around you.

“you okay babe?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“yeah!” he said as his voice cracked. he cleared his throat awkwardly. “ just making sure you’re safe and not getting scared.”

“of course.” you lightly chuckled as you continued watching the movie.

sure, there were some parts of the movie that creeped you out along with a few jumpscares that you didn’t see coming, but none of that fazed you. spencer, on the other hand, was terrified. you can feel him shake at times where you could tell the monster was about to pop out or hear a faint noise come out of his mouth from trying not to scream. 

the sound became quiet – a little too quiet. the characters scope out the area with fear in their eyes when the monster popped out of nowhere and a loud sound effect followed. the characters started screaming and running away. as the monster appeared, you suddenly felt emptiness next to you. you look to your side.

“spencer?” you said out loud.

you look over the couch to see your boyfriend hiding behind the couch, crouching into a ball. you tightened your lips together in an attempt to not laugh at him.

“are you sure you’re okay, spence?” you looked at him skeptically.

spencer jumped up, dusting himself off as he shamefully walked back into his spot on the couch. he started to breathe in and out slowly.

“yes, i’m perfectly fine. definitely not scared at all. let’s keep watching.” he attempted to chuckle. 

he wrapped his arms back around you, his grip tighter than usual. you raised your eyebrows at him in confusion.

“just making sure you don’t get scared.” he lied.

“like a tough boyfriend should.” you playfully teased.

the movie kept on playing, but not even two minutes later, spencer has you on his lap with his head hiding behind your back, occasionally peaking over your shoulders.

at this this point, you didn’t even question him as you kept your eyes glued to the screen. spencer looked at you in shock as you kept a pokerface during the rest of the movie, no matter how loud or how scary the movie got.

he sighed in defeat.

-

you were adding the final touches on your makeup when you heard your doorbell ring. you opened your door to see spencer dressed up his favorite sweater.

“well you look warm and cozy.” you smiled at him as you gave him a quick peck.

“thank you. you look pretty cute yourself.” he shyly said as he took in your striking image as you sported your cutest fall outfit.

“you’re such a flirt,” you smirked. “so where are we going anyways?” you asked as you two walked towards his car.

“it’s a surprise.” he answered, opening the passenger door for you.

“come on, can you at least give me a hint?” you pouted. spencer softly laughed as he turned on the engine and started driving. he played your favorite tunes as an attempt to distract you from asking him again. luckily, it worked.

you felt the car being put into park as you finished the last song. you look around to see a big and dark warehouse.

“you took me to a haunted house?” you looked at your boyfriend in confusion.

“yeah. why? you a little scared?” he slightly smirked even though his voice sounded a bit hopeful.

“oh yeah, definitely.” you laughed as you stepped out of the car.

spencer sighed as he slowly locked his car. he was not a fan of haunted houses (and according to jj, he’s gotten kicked out of some for screaming too much) but if it meant getting a screech out of you, it was all worth it.

you and spencer were currently waiting in line to go into the haunted house.

“hey babe, you sure you’re not gonna get scared?” he asked as he played with your hand.

“oh i definitely am. i’m going to absolutely piss myself whenever i see a severed hand pop out of the wall.” you answered. spencer could practically feel the sarcasm in every word.

“you’ve been hanging out with rossi a little too much.” he frowned, causing you to giggle and plant a kiss on his lips.

time passed by and it was finally your’s and spencer’s turn to enter the oh-so-scary haunted house. the moment you two stepped in, you felt your boyfriend’s hand instantly grabbed yours. you tried your best not to giggle.

as you two walked through the dark hall, the lights started to suddenly flash. next think you know, a figure wearing a scary mask appeared in front of you two. spencer jumped up and let out a loud shriek. you couldn’t help but let out a cackle, earning a pout from your boyfriend and a head tilt from the actor.

you two continued to walked through the heavily decorated warehouse. spencer audibly gulped as he watched a pool of blood drip from the ceiling.

“we’ve been to crime scenes worse than this, and this is what gets to you?” you joked as you pointed at the blood that was obviously mixed with corn syrup and red dye.

“the blood’s, uh, usually already dry by the time we get there.” spencer practically whispered. you laughed as you shook your head.

more screams and cries for help from spencer continued as you try to find the exit.

“y/n, help!” he yelled as he saw several hands pop through the wall.

“just walk through it.” you casually tell him.

“i’m not walking through that!”

when a woman with disheveled hair and a white gown approached you two, you continued to pass by her while spencer pressed against the wall as he tried to tiptoe around her.

“hello ma’am, i’m just gonna, uh, walk around you if that’s okay.” he politely told the terrifying looking lady. she responded by screaming in his face, causing him to whimper as he ran towards you, wrapping his arms around you as you laughed.

“i’m sorry, but that was so funny,” you said, practically in tears as you gripped your stomach from laughing so much. “come on, we’re almost at the end.”

“it’s okay spencer, you can do this,” he said out loud to himself. “the exit is right there, you just gotta-”

before he could finish, a bigger man with a chainsaw appeared out of nowhere and started to chase after you two. spencer let out the loudest scream as he bolted towards the exit as you slowly walked behind him.

“you good babe?” you asked as you placed a hand on spencer’s shoulder as he had his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

he cleared his throat as he stood right back up, putting back his tough facade back on.

“oh yeah. i’m great.” he tried to look serious.

“did you have fun?” you asked.

“hell yeah i did. did you? i bet you were so scared.” he chuckled.

“terrified.” you deadpanned, patting his back as you walked back to the car.

spencer sighed in defeat once again.

-

“kid, what are you doing?” derek asked spencer who was currently staring off into space.

“i’m thinking.” he shushed his friend.

“oh wow who would’ve thought.” emily quipped, making derek laugh.

“guys, this is serious. y/n’s out getting lunch right now and i need to use this time to come up with a plan to scare her.” spencer explained himself.

“didn’t we establish that y/n is impossible to scare?” emily pointed out.

“yeah that woman isn’t scared of anything at all. that in itself is scary.” derek commented.

“i know! and no matter how much i try to scare her, i just can’t. that mask thing didn’t work, she wasn’t fazed by the haunted house we went to. she didn’t even flinch at the foreign scary movie i illegally downloaded!” he quickly said.

“you, an fbi agent, illegally downloaded a foreign film?”

“that’s not the point! the point is that i will scare y/n. i just don’t know how.”

derek and emily looked at each other.

“we might have an idea.”

the next day, you were out running errands when you got a call from derek.

“hey derek, what’s up-”

“y/n, you have to get to spencer’s right now!” he answered in a panicked voice.

“what?! what happened? is he okay?” you practically yelled into your phone.

“just get her, there’s no time!” derek hung up.

your eyes widened as you sprinted to your car and sped to your boyfriend’s apartment.

you entered through the already unlocked door to see derek and emily hovering over spencer.

“what’s going on?” you asked as your body was shaking with fear. you stepped toward spencer who was laying on the floor with a pool of blood surrounding him.

“i don’t know, we came to visit him but then we just found him like that.” emily explained.

you gasped as you saw the knife that was stuck in him.

“spence, how did this happen?” your voice cracked. 

spencer wasn’t moving. he barely breathing. 

“call 911!” you yelled at emily and derek, eyes still on spencer. “wake up babe. it’s gonna be okay.” you cried.

you tried to hold spencer when all of the sudden–

“boo!” he shouted in your face. you closed your eyes and let out a deafening scream.

“i finally got you baby!” he jumped in victory and laughed, pulling out the fake knife from his chest. “you should’ve seen your face!”

you kept still on the floor, quietly sniffling.

“hey baby are you okay?” spencer approached you, reaching his hand out towards you.

you slapped it away as you ran out, slamming the door shut.

“shit, maybe we went too far?” emily said as all three of them felt guilty.

-

you didn’t call spencer for the rest of the day, not wanting to talk to him after what he pulled.

you sat on your couch as you watched your favorite halloween movie with a frown on your face. you were ready to fall asleep when you heard a faint knock on your door.

you walked towards the peephole, looking to see a sad spencer holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. you took in a deep breath as you opened the door.

“h-hey y/n.” he smiled sadly.

“hi.” you responded, giving him a small smile, feeling a little embarrassed that you look like you’ve been crying for years and currently wearing a dirty shirt and sweatpants.

“can i come in?” he politely asked. you nodded, opening the door wider for him. “these are, uh, for you, obviously.” he nervously chuckled as he pushed the bouquet towards you.

“they’re beautiful. thank you.” you took the flowers from him and set them on your kitchen island.

“look,” spencer started. you turn around to look at him, ready to listen to him. “i just wanted to say that i’m so fucking sorry for being a dick to you. i just wanted to get a scare out of you because you’re impossible to scare, but i went too far and i had not intention to hurt you at all. i’m so sorry, y/n.”

you sighed.

“spence, i thought something serious happened to you. when i saw you on the floor, i couldn’t breathe. knowing that it was all a joke made me so pissed.”

“i know and again, i’m so sorry.”

“the only reason i don’t get scared of movies or haunted houses is because i know they’re not real. but when i saw you with that knife in you and all that blood, that looked a little too real and that scared the absolute shit out of me. i thought i was gonna lose you.” you explained, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“oh baby,” spencer wrapped his arms around you, wiping the tear off your face. “i didn’t want you to think that. i’m so sorry.”

you gave spencer a kiss on the lips as you wrapped your arms around him hugging him tightly.

“does that mean you forgive me?” he asked. you pulled away to look him.

“only on one condition,” you said. spencer raised an eyebrow at you. “don’t ask derek and emily for advice again.”

“i’ll do you one better. let’s get back at them.” he suggested.

“great idea doctor.” you smirked at him.

-

“happy halloween!” rossi, who was dressed up as dracula, greeted you and spencer at his front door. he decided that the team will be throwing a halloween party (at his house, of course).

“thank you so much for having us!” you hugged rossi.

“it’s no problem,” he said as he kissed spencer’s cheeks. “also, try not to make too much of a mess when you scare them.” he whispered, looking at you two. you and spencer looked at each other, trying not to giggle.

you two joined the rest of the team as they gathered around one of the tables.

“hey guys!” spencer shouted.

“wow look at you two!” penelope awed as she pointed out your beetlejuice inspired couples costume (after a small argument, both of you decided to go as beetlejuice).

“you guys look amazing!” jj smiled.

“thank you so much!” you smiled back.

as the party went on, everyone was pretty tipsy – except for you and spencer (and hotch).

“you ready?” he whispered in your ear.

“always.” you smirked as you two walked away from the group, giving a quick nod at rossi.

you two got yourself ready to scare the living shit out of your teammates.

“is this enough blood?” spencer asked, half of his face covered in red corn syrup.

“yes, babe, that’s plenty.” you laughed.

you two got into position, waiting for your friends to find you.

“hey, where did the two lovebirds go?” penelope asked, only now noticing that you two had strayed away from the team.

“they’re probably going at it like rabbits.” derek joked.

“oh gross, why did you say that?” emily said, downing the rest of her glass.

“let’s go find those rascals, i could use the blackmail.” derek got up.

“you go ahead, i’m not trying to see something that i’m not supposed to.” jj waved them off.

“same.” penelope said, with hotch and rossi agreeing with her.

“suit yourself. em, you coming?”

“hell yeah.” she jumped out of her seat.

the two ventured into the hall with rossi’s guest bedrooms, notcing that one fo them had the door slightly opened

“they didn’t even bother to close the door.” derek laughed as he shook his head.

derek readied himself, suddenly barging in through the door, only to see you and spencer sprawled out on the floor and bed, covered in an insane amount of blood.

“holy shit! what the fuck happened?!” emily shouted.

“stop, they’re probably just pulling a prank on us.” he said, nudging your body. you didn’t move, trying your best to hold in your breath.

“oh my god. emily, get some help!” derek panicked as emily froze in place.

“boo!” you and spencer shouted, causing emily to scream and derek to fall to the ground. you both broke into a fit of laughter, ignoring the rest of the team that decided to watch what was happening.

“that was so fucked up.” derek said.

“serves you right for giving spencer that idea to scare me.” you raised your eyebrows at them.

“you’re right, we did deserve it. sorry y/n.” emily surrendered, still trying to catch her breath.

“i’m sorry too. forgive us?” derek sighed.

“like water under the bridge.” you smiled, giving derek and emily bloody kisses on the cheek.

“hey!”

“gross!” they exclaimed in disgust as everyone laughed.

“i love halloween.” rossi smiled.

[turquoise-skyyyy]

The Solution To Everything(Is Hair Dye)

Note: Human AU! First time posting writing on tumblr lmao, and I wanted to try a bit of a different writing style... so there’s that.

Just a little writing practice paired with Marellinh fluff n kinda angst ig :)

Word count: uhhh i went overboard

Blurb: Linh is lonely, with no one in the world left by her side, hurt, by all that she’s lost, and possibly has an ever-so-slight crush on her elusive blonde neighbor. Marella needs someone to dye her hair within the day, and Linh happens to have exactly what she needs, in more ways than one.

When Linh wakes late in the night, startled from her dozing state on the couch in her dimly lit living room to the sound of persistent knocking, she certainly doesn’t expect to find the blonde neighbor she’s been inconspicuously watching— she’s still trying to convince herself that casually watching the girl enter her house anytime she got the chance wasn’t stalking— for the past three weeks since she moved in next door to be on the other side. And when the panting girl in front of her sucks in a breath, Linh definitely doesn’t expect the words that spill from her lips—

“Can you dye my hair?”

Linh blinks with bewilderment, still trying to process that the girl is here, on her doorstep. Not to mention really, really pretty. Annoyingly so, to the point where Linh’s tired brain has to avert her eyes to focus on forcing her mouth to form words.

“What?”

The girl smiles apologetically, and suddenly Linh’s throat feels dry. The girl’s beauty is much more manageable from a distance, through subtle glances out of the corner of her eye across the hall.

“My roomates— screw them— dared me to dye my hair bright green by tomorrow. I lost a bet.” She looks away. “And you have green hair dye, so...”

Linh stares dumbly, trying to puzzle out how to respond to such a random, odd request. Though she moved into the apartment complex almost a month ago and her maybe sort of possible little crush lives just next door, her mind is still trying to register the fact that they have finally crossed paths. And the girl has come to her, no less.

“How do you know I have hair dye?” The hair dye is something she’s gotten to send to Tam. The silver in his hair is something he kept in long after she cut it off and cut off their parents. He still hangs on, and Linh wants to change that, even if they haven’t spoken in a year. She isn’t going to send it though, she knows. She always chickens out. Her brother’s silence for the past year isn’t easy to face. Still, she buys brightly-colored dyes frequently on the off chance that a lightning strike of confidence will hit her. It hasn’t happened yet, but it’s a comforting routine anyway.

The girl blushes, scratching the back of her neck bashfully and shifting from foot to foot. The movement draws Linh’s eyes to her shoes. They’re ratty sneakers, and upon closer inspection, it looks like there are messy, multi-colored words scribbled all over the sides. The weird shoes match the long, tacky rainbow socks that go up to her knees and the bright, tie-dye, too big sweater draped over her surprisingly small frame, with black leggings to top off the outfit underneath.

“Well, I saw you coming back in from the supermarket yesterday and there was a box of green hair dye poking out of the bags...” she trails off. “Oh my god. I sound like a stalker, don’t I? I swear I’m not.”

Linh can’t help the delirious, sleep-deprived giggle that escapes at the words. It’s ridiculous to her, that the girl she’s been following and observing as subtly as humanly possible because she’s just so pretty and Linh wants to know everything is the one worrying about being a creep.

The girl grins at her laughter, the question still burning in her eyes, which are an even brighter shade of blue than Linh realized up close.

She clicks her phone on, checking the time discreetly. It’s late, nearly midnight. The hair dye takes at least an hour, most likely more, to finish. She has an exam at nine the next day that she still hasn’t studied for and she hasn’t yet messaged Tam for her daily one-sided check-in that he never responds to, or even reads.

She looks back up at the girl with thin braids threaded through thick, golden locks, framing beautiful ice blue eyes set in a still blushing face, waiting for her at her doorstep with an open gaze and just maybe, an open mind.

Her stupid, fluttering heart makes a decision before her rational mind can catch up.

“Come on in.”

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

The girl, who introduces herself as Marella, asks her if she’s always so quiet.

Linh snorts, resisting the urge to point out that Marella is the one invading the house of a relative stranger in the middle of the night. Of course, there’s also the fact that she let her, and that isn’t even considering how flustered the blonde makes her. Especially in such close proximity, where she can smell the faint lavender wafting off her hair. Linh never would have pegged her for a lavender girl.

And when she leans closer to touch up the roots again, she realizes that Marella smells of something spicy. It’s good, comforting, like the home-cooked meals made with love that Linh only ever got to experience in other people’s houses because hers never truly felt like home, or the smell of wood when it was burned in a desperate attempt to keep the warmth in the winter because woolen hats and group hugs were never quite enough to warm everyone’s toes.

Linh has to remind herself to keep working her fingers through the hair.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh is thankful when the summer sun finally leaks away and is replaced by autumn wind. There’s something calming about the crisp air blowing through the hair that escapes from tightly-zipped thin hoodies and the leaves bleeding red and gold. She much prefers it to the heat of the summer, or the harshness of winter, the temperatures of which she can never quite escape from completely.

When she pulls open the doors to a nearby cafe and lets the smell of warmth and caffeine wash over her face, and falls into line to order, she isn’t expecting to be behind a girl with a mane of blonde hair that’s streaked through with bright green that hurt the eyes and small braids that sway when she shifts. And Linh’s weeks of watching from a distance pay off— and the hard-to-ignore green certainly helps— because she recognizes the girl immediately.

It’s Marella, sporting the new, significantly greener look that she gained by Linh’s own hands. Linh blushes at the reminder of the night weeks ago. She’s surprised to find that it was the first time she’s seen the girl since their unintentional night together. She’s been so occupied with settling in, getting organized, figuring out independence, and attempting to reach out to her absentee brother, that she hasn’t even noticed the girl’s absence. It seems her creeper skills have gotten rusty, which should make her happy but instead causes the barest amounts of disappointment to creep up. Even from afar, Marella is lively and brightens, or at least eases, the monotonous days that all seem to bleed into each other in one eternal, never-ending passage of pain.

“Hey!” Marella’s voice jolts Linh from her thoughts. “Nice to see you here!”

“H-Hi!” Linh stutters. She thinks the girl’s impossibly blue, intent gaze will always catch her off guard.

Her gaze shifts to the green in Marella’s hair, the harsh coloring softened by the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the cafe and bouncing off the bright strands.

“Your hair looks nice.”

Marella touches a hand to her neon green-streaked look and smirks. “All thanks to you.”

Linh’s cheeks warm at the praise. By the time they reach the orders taken down, Marella has somehow convinced Linh to sit and drink with her. She takes Linh’s wrist lightly and guides her to a table, an action that makes Linh’s face heat again. She looks down at the thin fingers encircling her arm to make sure she isn’t dreaming, and is elated to find that she isn’t.

And sitting in that booth, sipping their warm coffees and exchanging even warmer smiles, Linh’s romantic fantasies from afar suddenly seem a lot closer than she ever thought possible.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh isn’t sure exactly how she’s gone from watching her neighbor from a(very far) distance to being dragged into her unfamiliar apartment to be introduced to her roommates, but she can’t say she’s complaining.

As nerve-wracking as it is to be inside Marella’s house, she has to admit that the chance of pace from routine is something she would have been too scared to do herself. Had Marella not knocked on her door and practically shoved her out of her own with an evil grin on her face and into the girl’s shared one just minutes before, she might have stayed holed up in her own apartment forever, seldom leaving and only ever for basic necessities.

Patterns are nice, reliable, and most of all, consistent, something that Linh has never had before, and up until a year ago, had given up on attaining, but there’s something undeniably exciting about throwing caution to the wind and launching herself into a new situation.

However, there is the slight problem of said new situation happening to be making a good impression on her crush’s roommates, who are all staring down at her stoically in a solid line of four with their arms crossed and their gazes narrowed. It reminds Linh of the stereotypical movie tropes in which the overprotective dad interrogates the unnecessarily perfect Mary Sue’s new boyfriend when she brings him home for the first time, and she has to force herself not to laugh in the faces of the people glaring down at her. They’re all at least half a head taller than her, excluding the brunette girl, who has the most terrifying expression of them all on her face.

Three hours later, Linh is laughing tears of joy and drinking hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon with the scary roommates in their warmly lit, cozy living room, who’s first impression couldn’t have been more wrong.

The scary-looking brunette girl isn’t actually one of Marella’s roommates, instead living with the other brunette, her brother, at home with their parents. Her name is Biana, she has an attachment to the color purple that everyone else seems to make fun of her for, and an affinity for randomly throwing out the others’ clothes and replacing them with ones she deems good enough to be seen out with.

Her brother, who’s name is Fitzroy— everyone teases him about this— is better known as Fitz. He is smart, put-together, and as Marella refers to him, their group’s resident “tired dad”. He’s dating Dex, the nerdy but sarcastic actual roommate of Marella.

Then there is Sophie, who was in the kitchen when Linh first came in, and Keefe, the former being Dex’s cousin and Marella’s second roommate who is constantly done with everyone’s shenanigans; Marella claims that Fitz, the actually responsible one, can never be bothered to do anything about their spontaneous endeavors most of the time. The latter, on the other hand, is the most mischievous of the bunch who Linh also knows the least about. His smiles and grins are the most abundant, but also the most weighted. Linh suspects there is a lot more to him than she’ll ever be able to fully grasp.

Linh’s surprised with how well she fits in with these people. They seem so much lighter and freer than her, a girl still tainted and chained down by the past and the experiences that came with it. They welcome her with open arms, and hours later, when dusk falls and it’s time for her to leave, the wrap her up in a hug and make her swear she’ll come back .She sinks into the hug, thinking that after knowing their light, she can’t possibly stay away.

Linh will forever owe all this new warmth in her life to Marella, who is perhaps the warmest of them all.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Fluffy blankets are good. Warm, cozy, comfortable, the kind of little thing in life that makes most people feel fuzzy feelings of nostalgia as they think back to the times they wrapped themselves up in warm blankets on the days they were feeling overwhelmed by the world, when they sat in messily-built blanket forts with their best friends and told scary stories during the devil’s hour with only a flashlight illuminating their evil grins, or the fights with their siblings to get the bigger portion of the blanket when they were forced to share a bed.

Unless that person is Linh, in which case all chances of that were stripped away by a pressured childhood where no room felt safe when her parents were near, friends were disapproved of, and anything that could knock the Song family from the top was discarded before either of the children could protest.

But whether it’s a childhood like Linh’s, or one where everything went perfectly, the fact can generally be agreed on: fluffy blankets are a good, good thing.

But Linh doesn’t think she was ever aware just how perfect fluffy blankets can be until they came piled in the arms of a blonde girl with tiny braids and green threaded through her waves at the door.

“Movie night?” Marella asks, wiggling a laptop in her other hand. “I noticed that you don’t have a TV yet.”

Linh lets her in, eager to spend more time with just her and especially eager to share another night with just the two of them. The idea of being in a dimly lit room wrapped in blankets with their bodies pressed together and only the light of a screen illuminating their faces doesn’t hurt either.

They curl up together on the couch without a second thought, as if they’ve been doing so all their lives. Linh adores the way Marella’s head fits in the crook of her neck like the last missing piece of a puzzle, and holds her breath as the blonde reaches across her and presses play on Netflix once they’ve settled.

When the girl falls asleep on Linh’s shoulder an hour later, she cuddles closer to the warmth of the fluffy blanket and her— crush, or love, maybe, she doesn’t know— pressing to her side.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

As nice of a distraction as Marella and her strange roommates can be in the months that pass, Linh has to come crashing back down to reality at some point. And crash she does, when the banging on her door at nine o’clock at night opens to the face she knows as well as her own.

Her brother, approaching her for the first time in years, bringing nothing but news of their father’s death.

Linh knows she should be feeling something. That she should be falling to her knees and sobbing dramatically, like a protagonist in a drama novel, or maybe grabbing his hands and begging him to tell her that it isn’t true. Instead, when Tam bears the news, all she can do is match his emotionless expression. After all, what is there to feel?

And why is she in such desperate need of comfort when, truth be told, she feels no suffering?

She can’t explain her mind’s twisted way of thinking, but she does know that it’s what leads her next door, and what pushes her to throw her arms around Marella’s neck when she comes to the door decked in pajamas and those long, irritating rainbow-striped socks that she loves so much.

Linh likes to believe that it’s her petty grudge against the annoying socks that makes her cry on Marella’s shoulder that night, but hiding from the truth isn’t as easy as she likes to believe.

And when Marella wraps her in a fuzzy blanket that rains tufts of fine fluff on their heads and pulls her in close, Linh has a hard time believing fluffy blankets aren’t the answer to all the world’s problems.

Confidence has finally come to her, and she’s able to give Tam a box of hair dye before he leaves. She doesn’t know if he’ll use it, or when she’ll see him again, but the smallest spark of light in his eyes when he takes the dye and turns it over in his hand is enough hope for her.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- 

When Marella appears at her door in the middle of the night this time, weeks since Linh’s father died and they last saw each other, Linh is surprised that she isn’t surprised. After all, surely there’s something seriously wrong if the only thing she says when someone comes knocking at her door at exactly three minutes past midnight is, “Did you bring the hair dye?”

She pulls the blonde inside softly, takes the fuzzy blanket still draped on her couch from their movie night, and wraps it around the girl’s shivering frame. Marella starts to sob on her shoulder. Her fingers wrap around Linh’s neck and latch onto her, bringing them both down to the carpet when her knees give. Linh immediately wraps an arm around her and holds her close.

Linh doesn’t know what’s wrong, but she does know that Marella is leaning on her for support, and she does know that she will always be here, for as long as the blonde might need.

When she finally stops crying and lets Linh reach gentle fingers to wipe her cheeks, and pulls out electric blue hair dye that brings a smile to both of their faces, Linh has a hard time believing that hair dye isn’t the cure for everyone’s sorrows.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh finds it funny that one can promise themselves one thing-- that they are going to try as hard as they can not to connect with others as a means of protecting themselves, for example-- but still end up breaking the promise if the right temptation crosses their path.

And her temptation? A certain blue-eyed blonde with now bright blue highlights who’s devious smirks and snarky words can snap Linh’s resolve in a second. She knows she should hate her for it, but surrounded by mischievous roommates with twinkling eyes and light smiles filled to the brim with warmth, she can’t help but snuggle closer to her weakness.

Her weakness, who is currently failing to dominate the board in a (not-so)friendly game of Christmas Monopoly. Marella informed her that it’s a holiday classic when she dragged her inside the house just an hour before, but judging by the rabid way the players are screaming at each other, Linh can’t say she agrees.

“What do you mean, the empire kind is the wrong kind?” Keefe screeches. “Duh, it’s easier!”

“For you, maybe! But it’s not the original!” Dex retorts.

Keefe jabs a finger at the board. “Then why are you still playing and why are you in second place?” He throws his hands up. “If you’re so mad about it, then stop playing and let the rest of us noncomplainers win.”

“Noncomplainers isn’t a word, Keefe,” Fitz says, idly shuffling the assortment of multi-colored money laid out in front of him. As banker, he’s the calmest and least angry of the bunch, though there’s something oddly menacing about the way he rearranges his money with careful, poised fingers.

Keefe, Dex, and Fitz are circled around the board, all nursing mugs of hot cocoa(which Linh has realized is a sort of trademark for them) in between bouts of shrieking, while Sophie left a little while ago to buy original Monopoly just in case Keefe and Dex destroy the board. Linh laughed when the exasperated blonde said it, but now she can see why it’s a legitimate concern.

Linh curls her cold feet in from her position on the long couch, and Marella automatically shifts the fluffy blanket they’re sharing to fully cover her toes again. Linh smiles up at her gratefully, and Marella offers a small smirk back. Then she goes right back to screaming. Linh debates calling Sophie and asking her to bring back ear plugs too.

“Whatever,” Biana scoffs. “You’re all sore losers.”

She is currently winning, as she has been for the entire game, and she glares down at the boys huddling around the game board from her perch in one of the armchairs.

And on it goes. At the end of the night, when Monopoly money is scattered on the floor and a smoking dinner that’s just a bit too salty is shared and hastily wrapped presents tied with glittery bows are exchanged(Marella is too impatient to wait for Christmas morning), Linh finds herself full of more love and joy than she thinks she ever has been in her entire life. There’s something oddly comforting about being with people who care for and accept her, even if it’s by default or association. Having someone who cares is a rare light in her life that most people take for granted.

Especially when there’s the smallest chance that the person who truly holds her heart returns her feelings.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- 

It’s the night before Christmas and Linh can’t sleep.

It’s the tossing and turning type of ‘can’t sleep’, the kind where Linh lies awake long after dark waiting for her mind and conscience to stop running around in circles around her head, the kind where her insecurities grow claws and fangs and sink them in skin-deep, where there is no light slipping through the cracks to keep them at bay.

And Linh hates that kind of ‘can’t sleep’.

It makes her antsy, on edge, and the urge to pace itches at her feet. The unfamiliar surface of the floor of Marella’s bedroom only makes matters worse, and as softly as she tries to twist under the thin covers, it doesn’t take long for the rustling on the floor to alert the blonde girl dozing off above her.

Marella slides to the floor sleepily before Linh can whisper a protest and lands next to her on the mattress with a grunt. Linh rolls over to face her, and is startled by how close their faces are. She can count the light freckles on Marella’s nose and cheeks when she’s this close. Moonlight is streaming into the room through the cracks in the shutters of the window, painting streaks of glowing white on the blonde’s face. She always looks beautiful, but Linh finds there’s something especially intimate about her in this moment. The air is suddenly buzzing with palpable tension, making her palms go slick with sweat and her mind hyper-aware of every movement. She can’t take her eyes off Marella.

Then, girl of Linh’s dreams breaks the stillness, leaning forward and pressing soft, sleepy lips to her own.

She’s asleep by the time she draws away, but Linh is shaking with adrenaline. It’s the moment she’s waited for so long she can hardly think of a time where she didn’t want the blonde.

And yet.

Linh’s the kind of girl with baggage, with the kind of ‘skeletons in the closet’ that people run away screaming from, not because it’s scary, but because it’s messy. Complicated. It bogs everyone who knows down, making every action in her presence laborious and painful with the knowledge of her past. Even her brother, who once promised to be by her side forever, wouldn’t stay.

She knows it’s irrational, but suddenly she can’t imagine how to face Marella.

She slips out of the apartment in the early hours of the morning so Marella’s blue gaze can’t stop her from running away. But despite her misgivings, the insecurities that still haven’t retracted their claws, and the voice in the back of her head whispering that she has to have imagined it, Linh can’t stop touching a finger to her lips, long after she’s left the buzzing moonlit atmosphere that allows slips of self control under the cover of night.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

It’s been weeks. Three weeks and five days, to be exact, and Linh still can’t figure out how to face her.

With every day that passes, she can feel the strong bonds they formed weakening. That’s one thing about relationships. They need an equal amount of effort. If Linh doesn’t put in enough, the object of her affection slips between her fingers before she can blink. That’s how she lost her brother, her friends, and any last semblance she might have had of “family”.

That is, until Marella.

She was persistent, even in the beginning, fighting to spend more and more time with a mildly resistant Linh, until she found it impossible to stay away. Her light is unlike any Linh has ever known, wild and fluid like an eternal flame that can’t be doused. That flame kept Linh alive for all these months, and yet here she is, ignoring it. Maybe even putting it through pain.

It takes a month, but it finally comes to her.

She realizes now that love isn’t something that affects only her, and that she isn’t the only one to win or lose in it. She isn’t the only person in love.

Love is two people, three people, ten people, a hundred people. Love is everyone who forces themselves into her life with the intent of staying no matter how dark it gets. Love is the flickers of light in the night and the bold streaks of sun in the morning. Love is the twinkling stars splattered across a purple painted sky.

Love is illumination. Love is clarity.  Love is a path paved special, with different twists and turns for everyone.

Love is...

Marella.

Love is Marella.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Weeks of radio silence after months of talking nonstop is hard to bounce back from, and they both know this well.

But Linh comes back anyway.  She comes knocking on Marella’s door exactly a month after they last talked, this time she being the one to approach at random in the middle of the night. When the door opens and she smiles apologetically, pressing a butterfly kiss to Marella’s forehead and pushing a big blanket and a bright, eye-melting color of hair dye into her arms in a silent apology, all Marella does is smile and pull her back in for a real, proper kiss.

Yeah, neon green and fluffy blankets are the solution to everything.

[snapefiction]

#5. Memories - Snapemas Challenge

A/N: Day 5 of #Snapemas! I´m late but(!!!) It's still the 5th of December. I didn't proof read this one but I will tomorrow. Enjoy! :)

Idea from @deepperplexity ´s Writing Challenge ! Check her Writings and the other Snapemas posts out! :)

❤️ Please remember that English isn’t my native language and that my Writings will include Mistakes and maybe weird formed sentences. ❤️ 

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mention of abuse

Word count: 2907

Y/N - Your Name, Y/L/N - Your last name, Y/H/C - your Hair colour 

#5. Memories

Walking down the corridor leading from the libary towards the Great hall you didn't expect to meet anyone. It was in the middle of the night and if you wouldn't have felt asleep while studying some new books you would have been already at your chambers. Trying to find the way without any light you fell over your feet twice. You tried to be respectful to the Paintings but your niceties would break your neck if you wouldn't finally turn on your wand. The reason why you studied until you fell asleep was quiet simple. Severus Snape, the Potions Master, the Man you fell in love with a few weeks ago asked you if you'd like to have Dinner with him. Of course you said yes but regretted it moments after. What if he wanted to talk about Potions? It's been three years since you've been a student yourself and he teached it for more than 8 years now. You'd totally embarrass yourself in front of him. That's why you did some panic studying after your working day. 

Reaching your chambers you quick laid down on your bed. Your head still hummed from reading about different stirring ways, ingredient preparation and correct ways to storage potions. Not being sure how much you'd remember tomorrow evening you still felt prepared and way more secure than you did a few years ago. Using a spell you invented for brushing your teeth in bed you quickly felt asleep a few moments after. Oh, magic could safe so much time of your life. You loved it.

Waking up in the Moning you instantly felt nervous. Today was the day. Around 8pm he'd pick you up at your chambers and walk you down to his where you'd eat and talk. You knew that there was no polite way out now and even if you still had the chance you wouldn't want to take it. When you First met him around a month ago at a staff meeting where Headmaster Dumbledore introduced you to the other Professors you fell in love with him. Yes, he didn't even cared about someone new joining their staff and yes he didn't even said welcome or anything at all but you still felt attached to him. He just simply wouldn't lie to be polite or to make people happy. That's it. His honesty was so refreshing fascinating that you couldn't help it but develope a thing for him. Not to mention his intelligence. He wasn't just bookmark but also life smart. Whenever you had a question about anything he'd always know the answer. He even knew a lot about Mugglestudies which impressed you a lot. Also Severus was a truly handsome man. His hooked nose may repel other people's likings but you really loved it. His whole face- the whole man was so beautiful- you couldn't stop thinking about him. Yes, he was a few years older than you are but that's the least thing that could scare you away from such an interesting human being like he was. 

The time wouldn't pass. You tried everything. In class you gave everything to distract yourself from looking towards the clock hanging on the wall, you tried to organise all your papers from your desk and clean the classroom in your break and tried to think about everything but tonight. But still the clock hasn't moved as fast as you wanted it to. Getting more and more fussy your day became a real torture. You couldn't even finish your breakfast because you got too nervous and excited that your stomach rejected to digest anything. So you gave in to let your mind wander to your black haired date and about everything you still wanted to do until you'd meet him later. As you thought about which dress you should wear you almost misspelled ,Bowtruckle' while writing on the chalkboard. It was easy to see that only the thought about him could get you out of your tracks.

Finally reaching the end of your class you almost ran to your chambers. Severus would pick you up in less than two hours and you still had to shower, pick out your outfit and rethink your whole life.

Standing on front of her door only do he could wait a few seconds until the clock hit exactly 8pm he heard her fast steps crossing the room over and over again. His palms became sweaty and his mouth dry. Was he really going on a date? Could he just go out and date someone after everything he went through with Lily? After her death he swore to himself that he could never love again but- She opened her wooden creaky door. Allowing him to look at her. Her YHC Hair was laying in curls over her shoulders. Her eyelids had a golden shimmer on them and her lashes looked as beautiful and long as always. Nervously she flattened her skirt with her hands. Her Pullover carefully tucked in at the edges. He couldn't help but smile. ,,Are you ready?" Holding out his arm he waited for her to link in which she quickly accepted. Closing her door they slowly started to walk to his chambers.

The evening went by quickly. Too quickly for your liking. After you reached his chambers, he soon served dinner. Your favorite food- and it was even more delicious than you have ever tasted it before. Afterwards you sat down on his couch, he asked you questions and you answered. At first it felt a little bit forced but as soon as he reassured you with a small smile you felt the well known warmth in your heart again. He admitted that he didn't like to talk about himself which you accepted quickly. Yes, you were curious but you didn't want to push anything. After the two of you lit the cabin and he sat next to you so you could drink some fire whiskey together you knew that he wasn't a very vocal but rather physical man. Everything he couldn't say with words displayed he by laying his hand on your knee or as you put your head on his shoulder he played with your hair. His Cologne and the smell of Lavender set in your nose. Pulling up your knees on the couch as your head slowly moved on his chest he just smiled and pulled you closer. It felt like you knew him since forever and not only since a few months. Happily you had to watch out to not fall asleep on him but stay awake and remember this closeness as long as possible.

An year later..

After knocking on Severus Door you quickly hide besides the doorframe. Trying to hold back your laughter you hoped he would open up soon. The coldness of the Dungeons was almost unbearable. As the door opened and he waited for a second you quickly jumped in front of him. Huffing at your silliness he tried to hold back his smile. You didn't mind if he'd try to hold up his facade knowing how soft he was at heart.

As you pressed a small peck on his lips and slid inside you had to try hard to hide the package behind your back. ,,Sooo- what's your plan for tonight?" After he closed the door and sat down on his desk again he shrugged his shoulders. ,,I actually don't have 'a plan'." Following him you felt like he was playing tricks on you. ,,Oh come on. It's Christmas! Everyone has a plan for Christmas!" Setting the package aside you hugged him from behind. ,,Well, Christmas is just another Day as every else." Gasping you let go. ,,Severus Snape, don't you dare to tell me that you don't celebrate Christmas!" Laying his book aside knowing you obviously had other things in mind he got up. ,,If you want to celebrate it then-" Chuckling you took his hand in yours. ,,Oh boy, who broke your heart that you never celebrate anything." His benevolent Smile faded and his monotone face returned after you finished your sentence. His rosy face turned pale as snow again and you knew it was something you said that had hurt him. Turning away he silently walked towards his kitchen.

Your heart beat so hard against your rip cage that you feared it could stop beating out of fear. ,,Sev-" It was so quiet you could've heard a bug crawling if there was one. A few seconds long you tried to understand the situation before you dared to follow him. Carefully you watched each step so you wouldn't cross an invisible line laying on the ground around him. His figure was leaning on his hand which pressed against the surface of the table. His head hung low and his hair seemed darker as it covered his face. ,,I-I didn't try to hurt you. I'm sorry.. C-Can I do something for you? Do you want a tea ?" Slowly like he could bite you let your hand rest on his back and his tension eased and he let your movements happen. Your arms made their way up to his chest so you could hug him from the side. ,,We don't need to celebrate if you don't want to. We can do anything you want to."

The words slowly swept into his skin. He couldn't explain his sudden pain besides the fact that all his most painful memories seemed to haunt him down. Her Arms slowly hugged him. It eased his pain a bit but still he felt like he could break apart any second. Telling her how much tension would build up in him whenever the 24th December got closer made him fear that he could scare her away with all his worries. One day, he was sure about that, all his worries and sins would eat him up. Besides her he had no one he could talk to and be completely honest. As her hand touched his face he got pulled away from his draining thoughts. She wiped over his cheeks and cleared his face from tears. He didn't notice how his eyes began to water. His tension could make him completely blind. ,,Do you want to be alone?" ,,No, no." Clearing his voice from the hoarseness that had been laying on it he laid an arm around her. ,,Just one moment and- and I can make dinner."

You watched him placing a small kiss on your head before he used his wand to conjure everything he needs on the counter. Without saying a word you took another knife out of one of his cupboards and started to help him. Chop, chop, chop. The knives hitted the cutting boards. Sighing you looked over to him. His Figure was still crouched down. ,,If you.. if you want to talk- and I know that it´s not easy for you-“ he let down the Knife to put the Veggies he just cute in a bowl. ,,I would talk to you if I knew how to say it in sentences.“ Adding your Veggies you gave him a small smile. ,,You can drop words and I can try to build sentences out of it. Or anything that works for you is fine as long as you can get some weight off your chest.“

It took some minutes of silence but he could felt how consistent you cared he knew he could talk to you about it. He started to open up. Page by page he read you his story. The Both of you now moved over to his couch where he pulled you close to him. Then he started feeling you about how he only celebrated Christmas at the Evans House, how much he loved Lily until he met you and how much it hit him when she died, how confused he got when he met you and how much he feels unworthy of Love. You knew that he didn’t wanted to talk about it he wanted to tell about it. He needed to get it off his mind.

,,In my unimportant opinion i think that you deserve only the best. It’s okay to grief, dear.“ Severus hand continued to let his hand stride through your hair. ,,It’s important to think about Memories that worth a lot for us. It made you who you are and makes you from day to day. Even the sad Memories are important.“ You thought about everything he told you. About his abusive Father, his love to Lily, his broken self. It made him to who he is.

,,It´s not like that that I think about her everyday. Just.. from time to time - or special occasions like Christmas or her birthday, Harrys Birthday…- that’s when I get so vulnerable. But I also think about you a lot. How happy you were when I asked you out on our first date.“ Laughing you remembered how you studied the night before the date just so you could impress him with simple potion facts he surely already knew. ,,I had to drink Felix Felicius to ask you out. Merlin, I was so nervous.“ He stated and you quickly sat up straight so you could look up at him. ,,Really?“ Surprised about what he just told you you started to chuckle. If he only knew how you couldn’t sleep all night after he asked you out or how you stayed up all night after the two of you have had their first kiss. If he only knew. Blushing you connected your lips. A strange smell pulled you out of your kiss. ,,What is this?“ His eyes widened quickly. ,,Fuck, the Dinner!“

Luckily he could save your Dinner and it wasn’t completely burned. Of course, thanks to his cooking skills it was still more than just delicious. You ate so much, your stomach strikes against any more food. Nothing would fit anymore. ,,Wait!“ You stopped him in his Tracks before he could attempt to drink his Wine. ,,I got you something.“ Running over to his desk you quickly  grabbed it and solemnly gave it to him. Confused his fingers began to unwrap the small package. Only to reveal a scarf. ,,I noticed how yours had some small holes and I knitted you a new one.“ Holding it up and laying it around his neck he presented you a big smile. ,,I love it.“ He said and looked over the little green details you added. ,,Thank you, Y/N.“ Again he kissed your lips thankful for the emotional closeness you two had.

A few years later...

Getting up you had to hold your Belly. The baby was kicking you again and despite that you loved being pregnant you finally couldn’t await the birth of your little baby girl. Passing the Christmas tree you stepped into the kitchen. ,,I’m sorry to bother you, love, but your daughter demands food.“ As Severus took the lasagna out of the oven he just send you a small laughter. ,,Like Mother like Daughter.“ He said before placing it on the kitchen Table before laying his Hands on your Stomach. ,,Oh, shut it. It’s not my fault that you’re a great Cook.“ Looking over to your plate you noticed a nicely wrapped Present. ,,Is this for me?“ Severus nodded as he pulled your chair out so you could sit down. ,,Kind of. Have a look.“  Unwrapping it you saw a little jar with something floating in it. With a quizzed look you tried to solve this little mystery in front of you. ,,It’s my Memory from our first date. I wanted to collect all my memories for our daughter. The next one could be her Birth or everything important with an meaning. And one day she can look at them.“ Slighty shy about his idea he hid his face behind his cup of water. ,,That´s- That’s so beautiful, I’m sure she will love it. I love the idea as well.“ Proud of his little family he took your plate to finally statisfy your hunger.

Four Years later.

,,Daddy, what’s this?“ The raven haired girl walked over to your Husband holding your little Son. ,,I give you one every time something big happens in our life i´ll take my memory and give you and Elliot one.“ Nodding she cuddled next to her father. ,,And what’s this one about?“ He kissed her small head and waited a second before explaining. ,,Well, this One is about Elliot Birth but I gave you another one about Mummy’s and Daddy’s Wedding as well. Maybe you can find it under aaaalll your presents.“ He smiled as he could see her instant motivation to open the rest of the gifts. ,,I love you, my dear.“ Slowly you gave Severus a kiss before you laid Elliot into his baby bed standing next to the Couch so he could continue sleeping and you cuddle next to your Husband. ,,I love you too. Merry Christmas, my love. Those are the best Memories.“ You could only agree with him when you leaned back and watched your young daughter unwrap her new doll. ,,Darling, can you give this one to Daddy please?“ Quickly she grabbed the Present you just pointed at only so he could open it up. ,,An Memory?“ Now he looked surprised. ,,Of our first Christmas together and how we kissed all night long after we let the Dinner burn.“ Laughing the both of you continued your Christmas Party knowing that there were a lot more Memories to come.

Taglist: @deepperplexity , @monstreviolet , @wow-life-love4

Let me know if you want to be added in my Taglist. :)

[brittledame]

Pairing: Shirabu Kenjirou/Reader

Warnings: Explicit, Cursing, Hair-pulling, Name-Calling, Hate Sex, Spanking, Slight degradation, Panty stealing, Table sex

Word Count: 7.6K

Summary: A school project brings together two academic rivals, where their dislike for one another reaches a whole new level. You and Shirabu constantly duke it out for the top grade, where it becomes an everyday occurrence to see the two scowling at and insulting one another. The tension between you two finally reaches a boiling point one afternoon when an argument breaks out.

Series: Part 1 of 3 (Part 2 & Part 3)

Shiratorizawa was a private school full to the brim of prestige and practically screams ‘money’. Inside of the sleek modern exterior, each extracurricular club ranging from calligraphy to kyūdō possessed state-of-the-art facilities. Basically, you name it and there was most likely already a club for it, with each one allocated a ridiculous amount of funding. It did help that a lot of old and new money sent their kids to the school, which unfortunately leads to uppity pricks with uptight attitudes flaunting their wealth at the drop of a hat festering the hallways.

One such uppity prick went by the name of Shirabu Kenjirou and he was the bane of your existence. He came from an affluent background, old money resulting from smart trades in property stock way back before the global telecommunications were even conceptualised. You could smell the money oozing from his pores in the form of some ridiculously over-priced Giorgio Armani cologne, topped off with his neatly pressed uniform and copper-toned hair perfectly sleek.

The part that pissed you off the most about the male, and has led to your open dislike for the asshole, was the fact that he got into Shiratorizawa solely by his phenomenal grades, never once relying on daddy’s money to get in, like most of your cohort. Meanwhile, you made every single second count when studying, not a moment wasted between school and sleep, just to hope to qualify for the academic scholarship. For a while your parents fretted that you were studying too much just to pass some school’s entrance exams, where their platitudes of ‘you’re already plenty intelligent enough, honey’ and ‘you could ace it this very moment’ weren’t enough to soothe your stressed mind.

Not even three months later, you sat the exam and low and behold, you did ace it, much to your amazement. It was a beautiful moment, witnessing your name on their admittance board not even a month later, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. The only thing that ruined your moment was the name that ranked just above yours, taking in first place: Shirabu Kenjirou. So, your well-known rivalry with the copper-tinged blonde asshole started one-sided and quickly evolved into something much greater than you could’ve ever imagined.

For both your first and second year, you shared the same class as Shirabu. It was to be expected since you were both in the same grade average bracket, but still a girl could dream, right? Much to your ever-growing annoyance you were placed in the same third year class as well. Evidently you were unable to escape his prickly attitude.

Every task, assignment and exam became a silent challenge between the two of you. Each and every time, you’d throw yourself into your studies just to wipe the smug look he gives you every time he pulls through with the top mark.

The worst part of all this was the fact that he consistently pulled high marks while balancing a sport on top of his studies. You’d have to give it to him, you honestly don’t know when he manages to fit in eating and sleeping in that hectic schedule of his.

Now to place two head-strong individuals together was just begging for trouble, especially when your little competition has reached infamy around the sprawling campus. Turn out trouble is exactly what your science teacher was looking for when she placed the two of you together for the physic unit’s partner research report about their topic of choice. You looked at her like she’d lost her goddamn mind, not sparing the equally shocked Shirabu a glance. You didn’t even bother to argue with her, knowing it would’ve ended up worse somehow if you did.

“Fuck.” You muttered, hoping four the next six weeks to pass quickly

As soon as the Ms. Nakamura dismissed the class, you marched over to his desk. Stopping directly in front of him, you perched your hands on your hips and gave him a disdainful look.

“Look, for the course of this project I am willing to be civil with you.” You place a genial hand over your chest to complete your saintly sacrifice. Looking up, Shirabu gives you a blank look, before returning to annotating his textbook with bright sticky notes.

‘What a fucking dick,’ You silently seethe.

“Whatever. Just pick a topic and I’ll start on it.” His monotone voice serves to piss you off more. You curl your hands into tight fists, resisting the glorious thought of punching his pretty face.

“Um, I think not. We’ll pick the topic out together and we’ll equally distribute the work. I don’t want to hear you bitching to your hot teammates that I’m slacking.”

Grabbing a vacant chair near his desk, you spin it around and sit on it backwards, ignoring his disgruntled look. Tapping on your phone, you open a new contact and start filling it out.

“What’s your number, dickhead?” Shirabu’s head shot up at the insult and you grin at him, shaking your phone in front of his face.

“None of your fucking business, bitch.” He bites out, forehead creasing as he glares at you, completing his signature expression.

“Well, asshole, if you somehow managed to forget already, let me remind you. We need to collaborate on this and to do that, we need a line of communication. Texting is the easiest option.” You reason. You weren’t fond of the idea of Shirabu having your number either, the ass will probably write it in the boy’s changeroom as retribution for some misdeed you’ve done.

Deliberating, Shirabu’s pen stops its furious scribbling. Heaving a great sigh, he concludes that unfortunately you were correct, but that didn’t mean he had to explicitly admit that.

Snatching your phone, he ignores your indignant shout as he taps out his phone number and tosses the phone back at you.

“Great, thanks for being a team player, sport.” You say, as you clean the screen off on the bottom of your uniform top.

As you get up and return the chair to its correct place, you trudge over to your desk whilst starting to conjuring up some topic ideas to suggest.

Peeking from under his uneven fringe, Shirabu watches your skirt sway as you walk. He loves it whenever you walk away from him, leaving him to both think in peace and admire the way your hypnotising hips move as you walk. The short purple plaid Shiratorizawa skirt left little to his imagination whenever you bent over, or a strong breeze came through. Shirabu briefly wondered how the hell you evaded the school’s disciplinary committee’s strict uniform coding monitors in the hallway because he’s sure that you’re breaking at least two of them on any given day.

The next day, you texted Shirabu the list of thesis concepts you wrote up. You were surprised when your phone vibrated in your hand, delivering his speedy reply.

Shithead: Sure.

What the fuck were you meant to do with that dry ass reply?

Now angry that he wasn’t taking you seriously, you texted him back to pick a god damn topic before you went over to his practice and caused a scene. And just like that he stopped being obstinate and picked the one you were secretly hoping he would choose; it was the one focusing on Einstein’s thought experiments how his process was adapted into modern-day quantum research.

After a few back and forth texts by that afternoon you had both scheduled a few meetups over the next few weeks for the more challenging components, such as devising a solid thesis and finding some credible academic papers to back-up your statements.

A week later found you waiting in the library, going through your homework as you wait for Shirabu’s team practice to end, hoping to make good use of some of your free time.

By the time Shirabu swept into the room, you had already gotten a good head start in the assignment. Dressed in his neatly pressed uniform and not a hair out of place, you almost suspected that he made up the excuse of volleyball practice to get out of spending anymore time than necessary with you. The asshole breezes past you, not even offering an apology or reason as to why he was late, but you could at least deduct that practice was at fault – that is if he even went.

“Well since you decided to keep me waiting for –“ You glance down at your phone, “forty-five minutes, I already started it. I’ve written both the study’s aim and objective and began devising the outline for what needs to be addressed in the introduction.” You say shortly, not waiting for him to seat himself and set up before you push your laptop across the desk and into his personal space.

Shirabu rolls his eyes at your accusing tone and started to read what you’ve written up in the shared word document. Kenjirou was mildly impressed at how much you accomplished in such a short amount of time, but he tried not to show that outwardly though, afraid your already inflated ego would grow. Grunting in agreement, Shirabu slid the laptop back over to you.

“That’s fine. I’ll start pulling some sources for the statements you outlined and start writing them up. Why don’t you start researching any recent projects detailing new discoveries and start collecting data to include?”

That last part was less of a question and more of a demand, but his usual flat tone made it hard to distinguish between the two. The lack of inflection in his voice could just about put anyone to sleep, and after sitting here for almost an hour in the calming atmosphere of the library, you were ready to start dozing off.

A sharp kick to your shin ripped you out of your thoughts, causing to to yelp and rub at the sore spot. A quick look at Shirabu’s smug face illuminated by his screen was enough to rid the last of your daze, begrudgingly returning to your work.

Two hours had passed, filled by the tap-tapping abuse of your keyboards and the occasional groan released by you at another paywall obstructing an article containing some nice data. Other than that, Shirabu was a quiet as a graveyard. You’d assume he had spontaneously passed away if not for the typing and blinking, the fucker didn’t even look like he was breathing.

What a completely boring guy with a nasty attitude. The most interesting thing about him was his unfortunate fringe, looking like he got mugged in an alleyway by a guy with no fine motor skills wielding a pair of scissors.

Plainly coloured hair, irises almost an identical shade of almost blonde but not quite there. He was of average stature, maybe a little below for the volleyball team. He was completely normal, nothing you would normally give a second glance while passing by, and yet…

You mentally shake away the unwanted thoughts conjured by the sight of his hands, or the slight flexing of his arm under the thin fabric of the uniform shirt.

Dirty little fantasies of Shirabu just snapping one day after one too many insults, throwing you over his lap and just going to town on your ass with the same hand that scored so many serving points for the elite team filled your head incessantly. The force would jostle you forward, tears in your eyes as you beg him – for what you don’t know, but you would beg and he’d wrap his strong hand around your throat, the threat of cutting off your blood flow to your brain was enough to stop your breathless begs.

Wrapped up in your raunchy thoughts, your typing ceases and your eyebrows furrow as you’re faced with the horrible realisation that you actually have feelings other than hate for the up-tight prick. The feelings were far from romantic, more likely resting somewhere between hate and dislike, but it was still the principle of the matter. Acknowledging those feelings alone felt like you ceded your part in a game that you two had unofficially started.

Fuck.

The next few weeks were going to be hell. You internally groaned at the thought.

You had no idea just how right you were, as the next few Friday sessions were almost unbearable for you since that day. After that dreadful meet up, one could slice the tension that brewed between the two of you with their bare hand, even though it was solely emanating from you.

As most horrific diseases start, it was all innocuous at the beginning. The session all started the same: witty quips and digging barbs swapped at the beginning of your sessions before silently coming to the unanimous agreement to not speak another word to one another unless it was absolutely necessary. Even then, you could feel the migraine pulsating threateningly behind your eyes at how effortlessly hot he was. The headache was quite literally the physical manifestation of the vexation you felt towards the irritating copper-haired male.

It turned out that your exasperation was mutual, Kenjirou thought if he had to sit through another session with your loud breathing or deafening clacking of your keyboard, he was going to start ripping out hair. He was at his wit’s end and he had no reason as to why you set him off so easily. Not even the over-exuberant Goshiki could elicit such a nasty comment so quickly from him, even on his worst days.

The tension mounting between you two from previous sessions hung heavy in the air, but neither of you were willing to acknowledge the elephant stampeding through the small and rarely used study room.

The irritating sound of your long, trimmed nails typing, no more like smashing, on your keyboard cut through the tension. It was enough to put Kenjirou on edge faster than any other assignment meet up. He’s had a hell of a week and while he didn’t have grueling practice today, spending it alone with you was the cherry on top.

Usually the silent and calming ambiance of the library never failed to soothe him when he’s tense and anxious, but his irritation was hitting a whole new level he’s never experienced before.

“I swear if you keep smashing at your keyboard like that, I’ll rip them off and shove them up your ass.” He seethes, hands curling into fists where they rested on the table.

Looking up, you give him an incredulous look before opening your mouth. God what Shirabu wouldn’t give to get that stupid mouth of yours to not ever open again. He’d be saving the world from one less idiot spreading their stupidity.

“That’s kinky Shirabu. This is a library, keep it in your pants and save it for the bedroom.” You tease, fluttering your long eyelashes at him paired with a plastic grin.

At the murderous look his gives you, you throw back your head and laugh quietly. You weren’t willing to face the librarian’s wrath if you broke the rules, even if you were situated on the deserted top floor in a room furthest from her station at the entrance.

Conversation stalls from there on out, with only the clacking of your keyboard’s once again filling the air, although you do take greater care when typing now, not that the asshole thanked you for your consideration.

Kenjirou watches you from his periphery as you brush your glossy hair over you your shoulder, ponytail bouncing with added weight. That stupid ass hair style that made Kenjirou want to reach over and yank –

“I know you lost a couple of brain cells playing volleyball but come on, are you really that slow?” You raised your eyebrow at him, glancing at the unfinished excel charts Kenjirou had elected to do.

Giving you an unimpressed look, he chooses not to bite, thinking he’s already wasted enough time acknowledging your existence. Kenjirou hadn’t even noticed you talking to him, he was just that used to tuning you out and hearing your annoying voice as background noise.

“Can you add a trendline to the data, so that the upward trend we mention in the discussion is clearly evident in the chart?” You carefully enunciate each word to him.

Your demeaning tone and slow talking really pissed Shirabu off this time, he clenches his jaw and expels an exasperated breath through his nose.

“I’d appreciate it if you don't address me like that ever again. A trendline on the data we collected is pointless, just a pretty line. If we generated the data ourselves, then maybe, but the studies these numbers are sourced off of don’t even have trendlines.” His reasoning is rock-solid, but he was a prick about it, so you rolled your eyes and moved on to the next section of the paper that needed sorting.

“Fine, I acquiesce. A trendline here would be rather inappropriate.” He scoffs at your formal language. This was coming from the same girl that he heard on many occasions say obscenities so vulgar it’d make a seasoned soldier blush.

Tense silence fills the void between you both. You brushed of the strange sensation of being on edge. It is true that Shirabu seems even more pissy than usual, but you’ve been dealing with his shit for weeks now, you could put up with two more sessions with the unbearable prick. Hopefully.

Focusing back on the shared document open before you, you stare blankly as you try to decipher his nonsense tables. Concerned, you quickly scroll through the rest of the discussion he had begrudgingly volunteered to complete. To your absolute horror, you noticed that your format of your portion of the discussion was utterly incongruous with his formatting.

Well shit.

While grammar mistakes and sentence structure could be tweaked and fixed within a day’s work, it would take you both at least a good day's to make the report’s content flow freely and have a singular format. Thankfully, you guys have the time to fix up his – and maybe some of your – mistakes.

“Could you not?” You say shortly, tacking on a sharp glare aimed at the bane of your existence.

“Could I not what? Use your big girl words.” He bites back, not even trying to hide his annoyance with you anymore.

“Could you please stop fucking up our assignment. I don’t know about you, daddy’s money, but I’d really like to get full marks for this.” You shoot back, angry that he had the gall to be annoyed at you when he was the one fucking up the format of the assignment.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m doing everything that we outlined in our past sessions.” Kenjirou fumed. He swears to fucking god, if he has to argue with you over the (lack of) importance of a trend line for this data set again he’s going to scream.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you miss the way his eyes quickly flit down. Kenjirou hates himself for the way his dick twitched at the sight of you inadvertently pressing your breasts together. Licking his lips, he allows you to stew over his words and watches as you reluctantly accept his logic.

It was true, you guys didn’t really decide on a true format in the initial planning phases, it seemed like a far-off issue to worry about at that moment. Well the future is now and that issue was just going to compound by the day if it didn’t get sorted out soon. It didn’t help that you hated editing papers with a passion.

At your silence, he rolled his eyes so hard you were scared they may get stuck – although he deserves at least that much for all the shit he’s given you over the past three years. He turned back to his work and went back to ignoring you.

Oh well, two can play at that game. You didn’t want, nor need, to talk to the prick anyway.

Shifting your restless legs under the table, you accidentally kick Shirabu in the shin, earning you a dirty look. Enjoying the ugly look of his face, you give him a sickly-sweet smile.

“Oops, my bad, Shirabu. I’ll sure to be more cautious next time!” Topping off your act with some obnoxious batting of your eyelashes.

“Do it again and I’ll wipe that look off your face real fast.” He sneered back at you.

Ignoring all common sense, you played with the idea of what exactly he meant by his threat. Most likely nothing sexual and most definitely involving a punch. But that doesn’t stop you from briefly entertaining a short sexual fantasy involving the two of you fucking in his chair.

Damn, these thoughts have been getting more frequent and out-of-hand recently. If they became anymore of an issue, you may just have to see the on-campus therapist about your obvious undiagnosed nymphomania.

True to your nature, you decide to grab the metaphorical bull by the horn to see how hard he bucks. Adjusting your posture again, you lean your elbows on the table as you uncross your legs and again hit his leg stretched out under the table.

You could practically hear Shirabu’s restraint snap, a dark expression taking over his face. He jerks up and out of his chair and proceeds stalks towards you, a dangerous glint in his ochre eyes.

‘Oh shit, I might have actually overdone it this time. He’s going to fucking kill me.’ You were frozen in place, not even breathing as he towers over your seated form. You mentally said your goodbye’s to family and friends. They wouldn’t be shocked to find out that you met your end due to pure pettiness.

You were expecting at least a slap, maybe even a gut punch, so when he grabbed your arms and hoisted you onto your feet, you assumed the absolute worst. Unexpectedly, he backed your body against the table, his hips pinning yours against the hard edge, making it dig harshly into your back.

You gasp as a calloused hand grabs the back of your exposed neck, the other moving to your waist. He pulls himself incredibly close to you. You're sure there isn’t an atom of space left between the two of you now, feeling every inch of his body pressed up against yours.

He bends down and breathes softly into your ear words that set off a blaze within you.

“I warned you not to try me today and yet you kept on pushing me.” His low tone sent shivers down your spine.

Hands flat on the table, you shove yourself up against his hard chest even more, meeting his dark expression head-on.

“I figured you were all bark and no bite, so what’s the harm?” Ignoring the sharp edge of his previous words, you kept making digs at him. You already made peace with the fact that you may die at the hands of the unfairly attractive man before you.

Snapping, Shirabu grabs you by your tie, pulling you upwards and meeting your lips in a fierce kiss. It honestly was more teeth than lips, but you’d take whatever he would give you. Lust quickly replaced shock as you reciprocated the kiss, giving back as much as he gave you.

Never one to be one-upped, you both furiously made out against the table. Eventually you reluctantly conceded to him, pulling away gasping for breath to fill your aching lungs. While he didn't look as effected as you, he still panted as he caught his breath.

Lips kiss-swollen from the hard kiss he gave you, he gulped at the mussed up look of your uniform from the short make-out session. The sight alone was enough to spur him back into action. You met his lips half-way, hands flying up to bury themselves into surprisingly soft hair.

The kiss was more than just that, it was a battle of wills. It was another challenge set before you both, another one added to the extensive list of trials. It tested who had the guts to resolve the unresolved sexual tension building between you both.

Fingers digging into your soft flesh, he easily hoisted you up onto the table, slotting himself between the space made between your open legs. The kiss picks up intensity as he throws in a few nips at your bottom lip, while you lightly bite at his tongue invading your mouth.

You gasp at a particularly harsh bite at your bottom lip, drawing back to give the self-satisified male a scowl.

“Oh? Is this the reason why you’ve always been so short with me. It’s cute that you don’t know how to act around your crush.” Your teasing words make the male between your legs tense up.

“I’d rather bite off my own tongue than date you, bitch.” He goes to kiss you again. It was the only thing that got you to shut up, which he very enjoyed.

“Who said anything about dating, dearest? My, my, so you have been thinking of me.” You laughed and gave him a belittling look.

“The only thoughts I’ve had about you involve either shutting you up or fucking you senseless, so make of that what you will.” He grits out between clenched teeth, not willing to give you that inch he threw out to you like a lifeline.

If he was going to go through with this, he at least wanted you to know exactly what he wanted to get out of it. Nothing more, nothing less.

You consider him under hooded eyelids, gaze sweeping up and down his clothed torso. Well at least he wanted the same thing that’s been haunting your waking thoughts for the past month. You weren’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth that's for sure.

“Sure, I mean you could try, but I doubt that you could even a moan out of me.” You said languidly, setting up another challenge. Now all he had to do was pick up the gauntlet.

Words igniting a fire within him, his lips tipped into a lopsided smirk. You had no idea what you just started and he was more than happy to show you the consequences of your bold actions.

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not going to stop until I hear you screaming.”

The room you occupied was situated on the top floor, at the end of a long corridor of empty study rooms exactly like this one. It was highly unlikely that the elderly librarian at the entrance would hear what was about to go down. It was also unlikely any snooping students would come across your study room on the neglected floor.

You fully expected him to pull you into another bruising kiss before fucking you but it seemed that the stupidly hot bastard was just full of surprises today. Instead, he pulled you off the table and turned you to face the chair he had previously occupied. With the hand placed at the nape of your neck, the other moving to your opposite side of your waist, he pushed you down to lie against the cold tabletop. Though definitely not for your benefit, he pushed aside any stray bits of paper out of your way to prevent them from creasing.

You gasp as the pressure he applies onto you forces the breath out of your lungs, pressing you hard against the unforgiving surface. Hands scrabbling for a purchase to help you establish a counter force to push up against him, he bends down and breathes softly into your ear.

“Look at you so pliant for me, I could get used to this.” His smug tone made your blood boil. That bastard was going to milk this situation for all it has and you have no ground to stand on to refute him when you were planning on doing the exact same.

“You know, your nasty attitude destroys that pretty boy stereotype you have going on.” You retort. You weren’t going to take his bullshit laying down – metaphorically speaking.

Fed up with you running your mouth, always talking but never saying anything of substance, he hastily loosens his tie. Without warning, he shoves a bundle of fabric into your mouth, quickly moving his fingers away from teeth that would gladly bite down onto his precious setting tools.

Trying to voice your anger, you squirm in his grasp with muffled nonsensical words leaving your mouth.

Kenjirou marvels at the sight of your stuffed mouth, words finally muted and wide eyes that were angry at his action. If he knew this is all he had to do to get you to shut up for more than two seconds then he’d gladly do it again.

Kenjirou couldn’t help but wonder if your cheeks would also look like that if he’s shoved his dick between your plush pink lips but he saves that thought for another day. After all, he had at least half a year left to put up with your bullshit.

Pressing his hips against your ass, he revels at the feeling of finally having you under him, squirming and all. Deciding not to draw this out anymore than he already has, he smoothly grinds his slowly growing erection into the cleft of your ass obscured by ugly purple plaid.

Unsatisfied with the lack of friction, he flips up your skirt to reveal lacy panties. He thought it was a bit risqué to wear them at school but who was he to complain about the lovely gift.

You gave a muffled shout when he snapped against the waist band against your hip. Tempted, you considered trying to kick him in the shin again somehow in your position. The thought dissolved into nothing as he lightly smacks your ass, causing you to jolt forward more in surprise than in pain.

With the absence of any complaints or irritating whinging, Kenjirou weighed the plump flesh in his hand, grinning to himself when he hears you moan at his curious squeezing. He wondered what other delicious noises you’ll make under him.

Well there was only way to find out.

Winding his hand back, his hand came down with a loud ringing smack, hard enough to leave his hand pleasantly tingling. The pink imprint of his hand on your ass was going to be burned into his mind for a long time, a wave a heat rolling through him and coalescing in his groin.

Again, you jolt forward at the impact, nails scratching at the acrylic lacquer of the tabletop, unable to find purchase. While you could feel the poor skin pulse dully with pain, pure arousal flashed hot and bright within you. If you had ever thought spanking would be something you were into, you’re pretty sure Shirabu was one of the worst people to discover along with, always the one to abuse any situation.

The next time his hand came down on your ass, you mistakenly tensed, causing the pain to shoot through you ten-fold. You wince at the sensation of him hitting the exact same spot over and over again. You were sure the spot would be rouge red by this point, but the pain didn’t take away from the pleasure you derived from his rough treatment.

Mixing things up, Kenjirou bites his lip as he aims a smack right at the apex of your thighs, close enough to your core that the vibrations of the hit ripped a lewd moan from your lips, much louder than the rest. Blood rushing down to his already engorged cock at your noises, he knows that he could easily get addicted to your bent form. You enjoying the spanking was just a fun bonus for him.

“I should’ve guessed you were into spanking. It fits the ‘good school girl’ façade you’ve got going on,” Shirabu hums, throwing the words back into your face. Leaning down, he breathes into your ear, “I could really get used to you like this beneath me. I have such big plans for you.”

Shivering at his low tone, your mind whirled chaotically with half-baked ideas of what exactly he had in plan for you. Honestly, as long as it ended up with his dick inside of you, you don’t care about the rest. You were always opposed to the saying ‘It’s not the destination, it’s all about the journey.’ And this situation was no different to you.

Kenjirou slides your panties over your ass and down your legs, half tempted to chuck them across the room just to see you panicking over locating them after this. On second thought… He shoves the offending piece of lace into his back pocket, as a present for himself putting up with you.

His hands bracket you bottoms of your ass and smooths his thumbs over the soft pink flesh. Kenjirou watching them slightly jiggle in the palms of his hand, admiring the rosy tinge he painted them. Kenjirou firmly decided that the flesh looked much prettier painted pink by the very hand that slammed balls over the side of the net with shocking force.

Fingers gliding over the cheeks and trailing downward, he makes contact with your wet lips. Mildly surprised, he runs a slender finer between them, gathering your juices.

“Look at how wet you are for me. I bet I won't even have to prep you, your greedy hole will probably just suck me in.” He states, rubbing his finger slowly -torturously - over the entrance of your hole.

You whine through your makeshift gag and buck your hips against his fingertips, hoping for them to dip in deeper. The pad of his crooked index finger dipped shallowly into you a few times from your efforts. Kenjirou was greatly amused at your efforts, deciding to hold his fingers in place for you to try and fail to fuck into yourself.

“Look at how desperate you are, it’s honestly pathetic. I expected so much more from you.” He tutted.

The flash of anger fizzled and died before it took root, much too distracted by him inserting his entire index finger in without warning. While you had explored yourself on more than a few occasions, mapping out sensitive flesh with your fingers, the feeling of his much longer and slightly thicker finger inside of you was incredible.

You whimper at the slick feeling of him moving his finger in and out of you, occasionally curling against the spongy tissue, seeking for the bundle of nerves that will make you scream. Slotting in another finger and him twisting them simultaneously had you panting and clenching your eyes at the full feeling from just the two.

Feeling your walls tighten and quiver around his finger as he crooked them a few times, he doubled down to find your erogenous zone before he fucks you. It only took another finger and few moments of scissoring them deep inside of you, indicated by your abrupt gasping jerk.

Licking his lips, he rubs his fingers harshly against the soft area, committing to memory the muffled breathy moans and whimpers that dropped from your panting mouth. Dick twitching, hard and painful within his tight slacks draws him out of his mind. He withdraws his saturated fingers from your sopping hole, briefly abandoning the sensitive spot for now.

Slumping, you simultaneously miss and despise his fingers fucking into you, hating that he found your G-spot quicker than you’d anticipated. The prick was too smart for his own good, the asshole probably knew more about female anatomy and orgasms than you did with biology being his best class.

The rustle of his pants being undone pulls you back to reality. Oh god this is really happening. Your breath picks up, anticipating the next move the bitter setter will make next.

The sensation of something long, hot and rigid, his dick you assumed, rests between your still stinging cheeks. His fingers dip back between your lips and gather more liquid arousal. Kenjirou ignores your groan at the odd feeling, preoccupied with smearing your slick over his dick, taking his sweet time.

One hand on his cock, guiding the tip to sit at your entrance, with the other placed for support on your hip. Tense, you waited for him to just slam on in, not anticipating him to draw out the moment. You hated the way that you squirmed at the thought of his dick being so close but so far away from where you wanted it most.

“You better hold onto the desk. Once I start, I’m not going to stop until I hear you screaming.” He said, smug tone and all ringing loud and clear.

You huff indignantly at his statement, as if to say: ‘Sure, whatever you say, asshole.’

Rolling his eyes, he tightens his grip as he starts to insert himself inside of you. Obviously taking pity on you, he graciously chooses to glide in at a decent pace. The breath was punched out of your lungs as he completely sheathed himself inside you, hot and throbbing. You try not to violently shiver around him because you couldn’t bare the thought of inflating his already unhealthily enlarged ego.

Dropping the niceties, as if there were any with Shirabu involved, he slid out not a moment later and slammed back on in, loving the sound of his skin smacking against yours. Sloppy sounds of your fucking fill the air and frankly you’d be pretty grossed right now if your brain didn’t reside in your pussy that very moment.

Fucking you from behind, Kenjirou grabs a fistful of shiny hair and harshly rips back your head, hot breath cascading over perspiring skin.

“You take me so well, like you were made for me. Maybe I should fuck this hole of yours again sometime.”

In retribution, you clench down as hard as feasibly possible, hoping to knock him off of that high horse of his. The grunt that rings in your ears pacifies your ire, but the unexpected resistance doesn't stop him from trying to fuck up into you even harder.

Pardoning his attitude, you loosen up for him, more so for your own pleasure than his. He doesn’t hesitate to pick up his unforgiving pace, pumping in and out of you like a sex-crazed mad-man. Eyes rolling into your head, you felt the tip of his thick dick kiss the entrance of your cervix, which paired fantastically with the friction his thick cock made against your quivering walls.

Moaning around the tie as he furiously fucks you from behind, you can feel the piece of fabric become saturated with your drool. He seemed to appreciate the sounds you made, hands tightening around your hips and starts to seek out the highly sensitive spot hidden somewhere inside of you.

Every time he slid out, he’d readjust his angle with only the tip still in before slamming back on into, waiting for the moment he found his target. The pain of the table cutting into your stomach is buried underneath the pleasure Kenjirou relentlessly delivered to you.

An idea flashed in Kenjirou’s mind, a cruel one, but not too cruel as revenge for all the shit you’ve put him through. Unknowing of the feral grin on his face, you continued to moan as his dick fills you so perfectly, suddenly jolting when you feel his warm lips against your throat. You let out a squeal and clenched down hard around his length when you feel his teeth bury into the soft skin. Manicured nails scratching small divots into the desk as he sucks the bruise deep into your skin.

You grit your teeth when you feel him release your skin, the spot already feeling sore at the rough treatment. You could tell from the position that it was too high for the uniform’s collar to hide and wearing a scarf in this summer weather was way too suspicious. That motherfucker probably planned that; you silently fume as he smirks against your perspiring flesh.

The worst part though was when all conspiring thoughts of retribution were wiped clean from you mind as your entire nervous system is struck by lightning. You cry out loudly at the sensation, to which Kenjirou huffed under his breath, muttering out a quiet ‘Thank fuck’ that went unacknowledged by you as you tried to recuperate from him hitting your G-spot with the force of a tank.

Kenjirou greedily ate up each cry leaving your lips as he continued to hit the sensitive nerves with deadly precision. The sight of you writhing underneath him was enough payment for the annoyance he’d suffered through at your hands the past month. But it was the feel of your walls clutching at him tightly and your delicious moans that was the true reward for all his patience.

The wet squelching noises of your furious fucking was enough to make you blush, which was hilarious thinking about it. Not even four weeks ago you were ready to jump the table and non-sexually choke him out with your tie – and now he was railing you with his tie as a makeshift gag.

Ah, fate truly was a bitch.

Thrusts becoming frantic, you knew that Kenjirou was nearing his end and you would swear bloody vengeance if he finished and left you high and dry. It turns that promise would be for naught. Shirabu reaches around you with his still slick covered fingers and rubs furiously at your clit, giving it a few good squeezes, rightfully assuming you loved the rough treatment. And that you did, you bucked wildly in his grasp, moans hitting a whole new pitch as you unravel quickly under his dual ministrations.

The arousal that had been sitting hot inside of you, seemed to snap and unleashed upon you an orgasm that had stars sear into your eyelids, eyes clenched tightly as the sensation threatened to drown you in it. What felt like pure electricity coursed through your veins, feeling as if Shirabu’s dick had just sent you to a new dimension, brain liquefying inside of your skull.

Behind you, Kenjirou seizes up as he feels you tighten up considerably around him, delivering him to his peak as well. His pace slows as his hips stutter, unleashing his load within you. Even completely incoherent, you shivered at the feeling of him feeling at you, not able to muster up and ounce of disgust at the feeling. That should’ve been the moment that you knew that you were truly fucked; you were completely wrapped around Shirabu’s long pretty fingers.

Limbs trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you laid there limply as he pulled out. You felt a bead of sweat drop down your brow as you weakly collect yourself together, drawing yourself up on shaky arms. The sensation of thick globules of Shirabu’s cum slipping out of you was enough of a distraction to brush of the intense stare Shirabu aimed at your leaking hole.

Leaning back, Kenjirou fights down the flush on his cheeks from watching his cum slowly dripping out of you, feeling hot under the collar from both the sight and  from the mind-blowing orgasm. Shuffling back, he cleans himself off with a clean tissue in his shirt pocket before tucking himself back into his boxer briefs and pulling up his pants.

Slumped against the table, you felt like a wreck, both inside and out. Dick rearranging your insides aside, you were happy that Shirabu deigned for you to orgasm instead of leaving you a begging mess, which was a very likely move for the bastard.

Your jaw felt sore from how full your mouth was with his tie crammed in. Pulling out the wet article, you tossed it onto the table in his general direction. Kenjirou looks at the crumpled fabric with disgust. Weirdly, he doesn't complain as he gathers some tissues from his bag to wrap the article in until he can get it cleaned.

Choosing not to question his sudden pacified attitude towards you, you pushed yourself up on weak arms. Kenjirou laughs at your struggle, not at all intimidated by your nasty glare.

“Asshole.” You mumble under your breath.

You make quick work of cleaning yourself up too, feeling weirdly exposed bent over and naked from the waist down whilst a fully clothed Shirabu almost looked bored, acting as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out.

Your skirt slides back into place as you stand upright, shortly followed by more of his load trickling out of you. Pinned underneath his burning stare, you refused to give him an inch and fought back the tremble that threatened to overtake your body at the odd sensation.

“Alright, now sit down. Let’s finish this project before I leave and you have to finish fixing up the format by yourself.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

It seems the bastard wouldn’t even let you properly clean up first before diving back into the assignment.

“Really. Now get your lazy ass up, you’re creasing our data sets.”

Not willing to reveal how flustered you were, you downplay your disgust at the feeling his cum drying on your thighs and stiffly walk over to your chair, trying to spy your panties somewhere on the ground, but ultimately found nothing. You could have sworn that Shirabu smirked at your searching looks, but a second glance showed you his normal bored expression.

Sticking your nose up in the air, you start discussing your plan on how to fix the minor issue of formatting. Shirabu gave lackluster nods at your prodding, clearly wanting nothing more than to leave. You did your best to push through the sensation of the sticky mess drying between your legs, internally fretting as to where your panties may lie. You're pretty sure that you'd perish on the spot if a staff member found them.

Thankfully, it took only half an hour before Shirabu beat a hasty retreat, quickly placing all his stuff neatly into his bag and intent on walking out of the room without another word. The fucker wasn’t even going to say goodbye to you.

Shifting in your seat, you start packing up. Eyes wildly darting around, you didn’t notice him pausing in the open doorway.

Glancing over his shoulder, shooting you a dastardly smirk, Kenjirou savours your infuriated expression before turning away and walking off. Slightly confused, you squint as you try to make out an odd-looking lump in his back pocket. At the sight of familiar lace peeking out of his slacks, your eyes widen in shock and indignant rage.

“That bastard.”

Edit: I fixed an incongruity with a bit in the end scene, sorry to anyone that picked it up!!

Notes: We need more Shirabu content so here I am delivering some extremely self-indulgent content. I made Shirabu a dick but I made reader a bitch towards him and he strikes me as the type to hate stuck up people. Hope you all enjoyed!

[star-wars-scribbles-ff]

Where I Belong | Chapter 5

Story Summary: The only family she’d ever known gave her a name; back when she belonged to something. But when that family is lost, she leaves it all behind. When destiny drops her in the last place she ever wanted to be, she has to earn back the trust and respect of the Republic that left her to die. Caught between the Jedi and the Grand Army of the Republic, she’ll discover where she belongs.

Fandom: Star Wars | Galaxy Far Far Away

Rating: T+

Story Genre/Warnings: action/adventure/found family | war violence, death, torture, discrimination, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, found family, lots of clone boys, (spans the whole clone war) eventual Order 66 and rise of the Empire

Words: 3,205

Disclaimer: Majority of properties within this fanfic are owned by Lucasfilm/Disney. My OCs, as well as a few other things within this fanfic are of my own creation. Republic Cog header/chapter divider made by me 😊

Taglist: @divergent-llamas-03 @thisistheendtimes @tallyquark @your-very-rude-neighborhood-ace @remadster @808tsuika

CHAPTER NOTE: Planned on making this a May 4th chapter update but time got away, not really proof read, I remembered I’m pretty much writing this for myself, and this chapter is kind of short so... sorry me I guess lololol. 

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter | Arwen Corcer Mercenary Visuals Art | Arwen Corcer  - Past Lives Art

Anakin Skywalker considered her in silence. Do I look dead, sir? Was that a jab? Just a statement- a question? Her aura was giving him nothing; it was calm, collected, but under the surface bubbling with a scrambled mix of emotions that he couldn’t decipher. Not just anyone could mask that from a Jedi. It made him uneasy. 

“... What’s your CT number?” He asked, posture straightening as he crossed his arms.

The look she turned on him was almost amused as she looked him up and down for a moment, brow knit before she raised an eyebrow.

“My CT number? What- do I look like a clone to you?” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Anakin quickly found his voice turning almost impatient. It wasn’t intentional, but perhaps a defense against this situation which he wasn’t the slightest prepared for. He’d buried this. Having it drop back in on him like this wasn’t something he wanted to welcome with open arms.

He narrowed his eyes at her lack of reaction as she continued to eye him before her gaze fell to the table. Her ease and calm nature regarding her situation pushed a button he didn’t know he had, and it irritated him. The only thing that brought him solace was that despite her seemingly tranquil exterior, he could sense she was harboring a restlessness. One he was having trouble deciphering, but all the same it was there. 

Considering her posture, he noted her body language gave away very little. Somewhat defensive, but not overwhelmingly so; her arms were rested in her lap, shoulders slightly caved inward, but still relaxed. She looked like a mercenary by her attire. The chest and torso plates she was wearing had notes of old republic craftsmanship; it wasn’t a commonly worn style anymore. Her shoulder plates also had unique craftsmanship, but he didn’t recognize them. 

A few dried splatters of blood covered her left shoulder plate, where her head injury was making itself known. She’d need medical attention; something he wasn’t looking forward to as she’d need to be transferred to the medical facility onsite. He needed very little to tell him she was dangerous. She lacked a boastful ego, and that only increased the likelihood that she possessed a deadly skill set. Moving someone like that around should be avoided at all costs, but a head injury was cause for concern. Thankfully, that was something to consider later on. For now, he had to worry strictly about interrogation of the individual. 

Part of him was uncertain of how to proceed. She would be on the GAR database, it was just a matter of whether he’d be able to access the material. Surely he’d be able to. He vaguely remembered seeing her file, but he didn’t remember enough details.

“What was the nature of your assignment on Garo IV.” He questioned. Only way forward was to strike the connections they had present. While the mission wasn’t related, it was the only string he could pull. Waiting for an answer was how he had spent eighty percent of his time during interrogations. Maybe pulling this string would get her talking a bit more.

When she met his eyes, he raised an eyebrow as she put off giving him a verbal response. He really didn’t have the patience for interrogations. Obi-Wan knew that and would usually have him conduct them because of said fact. 

“What unit were you with?” He tried, adjusting his crossed arms over his chest as he stood at the opposite side of the table from where she was seated. 

“I’m not at liberty to disclose details regarding my assignments nor my former position with the Republic Military.” The monotone of her voice surprised him as she leaned back in the chair and met his gaze once more. “Sir.” The tone of her voice was laced with sarcasm, unamused sarcasm but it was becoming more obvious she was going to make this harder for him.

He found himself giving the smallest hint of a smirk. Two could play the game.

“Well then, make yourself comfortable. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” He noted before stepping forward to lean one hand on the table, the other coming to rest on his belt. 

“We’ve got a lot to talk about before you’re inevitably arrested for treason against the Republic.”

Rex had watched the footage multiple times now, and it pulled him in opposite directions. This should be an easy case, but every time he came to that conclusion, something knocked him upside the head screaming that it wasn’t. Cody seemed to be in a similar position.

He glanced at his brother, noting the gears seemingly turning in his expression as he lowered his gaze from the footage they were reviewing.

“What're you thinking?”

Any other Commander, and Rex would’ve addressed them properly; but this was Cody. He’d known Cody all his life. He was more than just a superior officer, he was a brother - his brother - and they rarely ever used formal addresses around each other. He knew Cody felt the same way towards him. 

“This won’t be cut and dry.” His expression stoic, the Marshal Commander finally let his eyes fall from the footage before he turned and took  a few steps to the adjacent table where the sack of explosives resided. 

“Facial recognition picked up the other one.” Rex informed his brother before letting out a quiet sigh as he turned his gaze towards the hall leading to the interrogation room. “Your average mid ranking merc in the underworld. This one on the other hand...” Rex gestured to the holoscreen on the computer station against the wall. The footage played over and over again; the image of the mercenary they had in custody knocking Cody out of the line of fire did little to lesson Rex’s caution. “Still no hits. I don’t like it.”

“Do you think it was an act?” Cody questioned, turning to meet the eyes of his comrade.

“What part exactly?” Rex leaned back against the table, partially seated on the edge. 

The shift in the Commander’s eyeline back towards the footage answered Rex’s question as he looked to the holoscreen as well. The footage looped over and over, and Rex took a few moments to analyze the moment when the merc pushed his brother out of the line of fire.

“W- Do you think it was sincere?” Rex tried to suppress his chuckle but it slipped out. It wasn’t something he had considered. He’d honestly been avoiding thinking about her motive to push Cody out of the way. It seemed that’s all Cody was thinking about however. 

“She said ‘sorry sir’... to me.” Cody responded.

“Sir?” Rex emphasized while raising an eyebrow. “Alright I admit that’s- odd. But what’s your point, Cody. She still infiltrated this base with a sack full of explosives. I think the intent is clear.”

“Gentlemen,” The announcement of the Jedi’s presence caused Rex and Cody to briefly stand at attention.

“General Kenobi,” Cody greeted his superior with a courteous nod of his head and Rex gave a similar gesture as Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi walked through the blast doors.

“I apologize for the lateness of my arrival, Cody.” Obi-Wan dipped his head towards Cody as the Jedi came to a stop in front of the two troopers. “I did receive your transmission. Have there been any developments on our intruders?”

“Yes sir,” Cody responded, taking a couple steps closer to the holoscreen at the computer station, giving it a small gesture with his hand. “We’ve got a hit on one of them, I was going to get your confirmation on a warrant. The other however isn’t coming up on civilian or criminal databases.”

“Neither?” Kenobi questioned, taking a step closer to watch the footage quietly.

“No sir,” Cody gave Obi-Wan the response as he went to open the satchel on the far table, Rex loosely at his side. “Both had one of these. This belongs to the one we have in custody.”

“Skywalker is doing the interrogation?” Obi-Wan inquired, eyes on the footage. His brow knit gently and one brow twitched up with curiosity as he watched the footage of the criminal they had in custody.

“He is, sir.”

Silence followed closely behind Cody’s words as the two Officers waiting for the Jedi’s next move. Rex glanced briefly at his brother, hands loosely at his sides, but a subtle tension remained in his posture. This was a new problem, one they hadn’t encountered before. 

General Skywalker was being oddly distant with this mercenary in custody. Usually an Officer would accompany on interrogations, however the General had made it clear that he wanted to handle this one alone following some sort of revelation. Whatever it was, Rex knew it complicated matters to some extent.

“If you’ll excuse me, Commander, Captain,” General Kenobi turned to the Clone Officers. “I will have a word with Skywalker.”

“Let us know if you need anything, sir.” Cody was quick to respond and Rex backed up his brother’s words with a nod. 

Once the General excused himself, Rex took a couple of steps closer to the Commander and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why wouldn’t she come up on any database?” Rex mumbled the question privately to Cody. “It doesn’t make sense. Not even facial recognition picked anything up prior to the last few months. She’s a ghost.” Rex shook his head in subtle disbelief, brow knit tightly.��

His arms already crossed, Cody reached up with a hand to lightly touch his chin as he thought quietly. 

“I was hired to hit this location. I don’t know who, I didn’t get a name, but I suspect it came from a long chain of people most likely working for the Separatists.” The mercenary explained. 

“Do you mercenaries normally just take jobs and ask questions later?” Anakin inquired, causing the girl’s eyes to narrow. 

“It was a closed door job; information was kept private until they pulled people in for the job. If I hadn’t taken it they would’ve shot me then and there.” She muttered the explanation, defensive frustration subtly laced through her voice. 

“Considering the way to shoved that Officer out of harm's way - I take it you prefer to hurt from a distance. Not too soft to do the dirty work up close are you?” He pushed further, much to his contempt as she visibly clenched her jaw and hardened her glaring gaze at him. 

“Anakin, might I remind you of the reliability of using more friendly tactics during interrogation?” 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin carefully greets his old Master as the Jedi enters the cell. 

“Might I have a moment with you outside,” Kenobi gestured briefly towards the cell door. 

Anakin grumbled before reluctantly leaving alongside the Jedi Master. This was not a good look for an interrogator. 

Once on the other side of the cell’s energy shield door, Obi-Wan and Anakin made their way down a few cells to get some space from everyone. 

“Now, what is this all about?” Obi-Wan inquired, crossing his arms across his chest. “I left the base for one day and-”

“This isn’t just some mercenary, Master.” Anakin cut to the chase rather quickly but begrudgingly hesitated for a moment. “I can’t believe I am saying this- but she was one of us.”

“I beg your pardon?” Obi-Wan’s brow was knit tightly, a clear expression of confusion marked his face before Anakin went to explain.

“This happened a few months ago; shortly after I became a knight. The battle group I was with near Sundari. Master Krell was dealing with forces on the planet surface when I picked up a distress signal from a Clone Team on Garo IV. They asked for extraction; said they had vital information. I’m not sure exactly what kind but…” Anakin trailed off as he remembered the day. 

Kenobi eyed his former padawan for a time before giving a small nod of reluctant understanding.

“And where does this mercenary come into play?” He inquired, gesturing forward with a hand.

Anakin met his Master’s eyes for a time before looking away once more. 

“She was the one that sent the distress signal, Master.”

Once the Jedi left the cell, Arwen let herself slump back into her chair. Jaw relaxing she muttered under her breath before briefly closing her eyes, squeezing them shut for good measure to briefly combat the pain of her head injury. 

This isn’t good. I have to get out of here before this spirals. 

If she tried to escape, it would make things worse long term. The situation couldn’t get much worse from here, at least not in regards to her relationship with the Republic. The worst thing that could happen to her is imprisonment. Right now her reputation was what she was most concerned with. 

Corcer relaxed her brow, trying to soften the pressure that had been building in her head before she took in an audible breath and slowly let it out. 

Of all the Jedi that could be dealing with this… It just had to be the one that one. 

He could either make matters better or worse. She’d have to suck it up regardless.

At the mere thought of it, Arwen clenched her jaw, unable to hide the snarl of an expression that threatened to appear. 

Jedi. There were few she thought below them. A twisted organization. Sure they had a few good ones here and there, but they were the biggest problem with the Republic. She’d rather shoot herself now and get it over with than roll over and play dead in this interrogation but… She had somewhere to be and had things to do. 

As long as this di’kut doesn’t try to mention the team, I’ll be fine. 

Silencing her thoughts, Arwen looked to the cell door and waited for someone to reappear. Her intent gaze only increased as she tried to silence the thoughts at the back of her mind. Seconds turn to minutes before she finally feels her shoulders begin to relax and her eyes fall.

…. The team…. My team.

Her chest tightened as she caught herself subconsciously distancing herself from the painful memories of her old life. 

You can’t do that. No matter how much it hurts. If you don’t remember them, no one will.  

Obi-Wan processed this information quietly for a time before finally meeting the eyes of his former padawan. 

“And you’re certain this is her?”

“I’m positive, Master. She already confirmed it to me; reluctantly I might add.” Anakin responded.

The two make their way back down the hall and pass the mercenary’s interrogation cell before turning down the hall towards where Commander Cody and Captain Rex resided.

“We can continue her interrogation later. For the time being, we need to continue our prevailing investigation.” 

Anakin fought the urge to roll his eyes but let out a grumbled huff before rubbing the back of his head as they entered the open room. 

“Master-”

“You and I both know that intel may be critical, Anakin.” Obi-Wan reminded the younger Jedi with a somewhat stern tone. “If the Separatists get ahold of it-”

“We’ll have problems. I know, I know.” Anakin put his hands up before letting them fall. “Pirate scum.” Skywalker muttered under his breath, shooting a brief look around the room towards where Cody and Rex resided cataloging another sack of items from the mercenary. “They’re all talk, this info could just be putting us on a wild bantha chase.”

“And if it’s sincere?” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and waited for his former padawan to concede in his weak reluctance to pay the investigation the attention it needed. 

Anakin didn’t hide the roll of his eyes before giving a nod. “Understood, Master.”

The Jedi didn’t come back. Something Arwen wasn’t necessarily against. However as she was escorted down the hall by a Clone squad, she found herself almost disappointed she wasn’t able to speak with the Jedi. 

It was becoming clear to her that she needed to talk with them to make any progress, but her anger- maybe even mild hatred towards them- kicked at her to not wish to be stuck in such a situation.

“Destination?” Arwen chanced speaking up, and was surprised when she got a response.

“Jail cell for temporary holding until interrogation continues.” The Clone a few paces in front of her on her right responded, not sparing her a glance as he continued to walk down the corridor. 

Arwen looked to the ground and nodded to the side.

Better than silence I suppose. That means they still plan on talking to me. Good.

The quiet sound of conversation perked her ears and as they continued walking, it grew louder, and the voices grew clearer. 

One of them was the Jedi she’d spoken to - Anakin as the other Jedi had called him. And the other one was Obi-Wan. The names were familiar unfortunately, and now she had faces to put to the names. Practically celebrities as far as the Republic was concerned. Forget the Holovid stars, Jedi Knights were it since the war had started. 

Arwen’s gaze found an open room coming up on the left and she looked inside to find the two Jedi on opposite ends of a holotable looking hologram of an individual she actually recognized.

The fact made her stop, much to the surprise of the two clones behind her as one of them ran right into her with a grunt of surprise. 

“Sir,” She called out to the Jedi, either one of them. 

They both looked over, each with a look of mild confusion before Arwen went to continue talking.

“Is that Jiro Tuck?” She inquired, her eyes briefly dwelled on the hologram before turning to the bearded Jedi.

“You know of this individual?” He was the one she hadn’t seen much of, Obi-Wan as the dark haired Jedi, Anakin, had called him.

“Yes sir,” Arwen responded, glancing to the clone escort which she could tell was getting agitated. “If you’re looking for either him or his brother- I might have a few leads. I’ve been hired to find him before.”

The butt of a blaster was suddenly knocked into her back and Arwen caught her footing gracefully before looking over her shoulder at the helmeted trooper.

“Keep moving,” He snapped before ushering her forward with his rifle.

Arwen looked towards the Jedi once more before complying with the Clone escort, continuing down the hall. 

They took her down to the holding cells and placed her in an empty cell. From the look it was vacant; she was the only one there.

Once the cell door closed, the troopers walked away and Arwen found herself sitting down on the metal platform that acted as a cot. 

Ok. Seed planted. You better be able to deliver on that.

She had done work with the pirate before. Whatever he was involved in though would probably only bring her more heat from either the Separatists or the Republic, neither of which she wanted.

Either way… She needed to find a way out. This looked like her only option. If she played her cards right, she might be able to get out of this. 

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter | Arwen Corcer Mercenary Visuals Art | Arwen Corcer  - Past Lives Art

Chapter Note: If anyone is reading this I hope you enjoy I suppose. Again- wasn’t proof read so.... sorry for the grammar errors. Might fix it... Might not. Probably won’t. 

[leotssukinaga]

Lost on You

Pairing(s): unrequited!Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader, Oikawa Tooru x Reader.

Summary: Ushijima Wakatoshi still remembers how soft your hands were when he helped you up the first time you met. In fact, he remembers everything about you. Including the way your lips brushed Oikawa’s, the soft words you spoke to someone who wasn’t him. You were never his, he knew that. But that didn’t dull the ache he felt knowing you were marrying someone else.  A/N: I’m not even sorry tbh. Also, dedicating this to @4haikyuu​​ since it was her idea. Ily ma’am. Word Count: 2,051

You're 15, not yet through your first year of high school when it happens. You're walking through the halls, not paying attention to where you're walking, trying to figure some math problem out in your head, and you walk straight into a wall. At least, you thought it was a wall, until it apologised to you. Walls don't tend to do that. You look up to see a hand outstretched, and follow the arm up to see a tall, mildly terrifying boy, wearing an unreadable expression. Definitely not a wall, then. 

"You don't have to be sorry, its my fault. I have a tendency to not look where I'm going. I didn't hurt you, did I?" "No." You think he might be a second year, and you're too busy wondering why you recognise him to notice the way he stares at your hand after it leaves his, or the slight blush that paints itself on his cheeks. You realise he's wearing a volleyball jacket, and it hits you. This must be Ushijima. "Oh, good... I'll see you around, I guess. Um- good luck at the preliminaries." It wouldn't have been audible if the corridor hadn't been silent, but the way you whisper it makes his heart skip a beat. You're gone before he can thank you, but the impression you leave behind lingers. You might just be the first thing outside of volleyball he takes an interest in. 

• • • • • • • • • •  He barely allows himself to hope when, the day after Shiratorizawa wins the finals, a note is taped to his locker. It's simple, reading 'good luck at nationals', and he'd have brushed it off if he hadn't seen you walking away from the area just a few minutes ago. Did you really come all the way here for this? You'd waved at him a few times since your first encounter, and he'd seen you in the crowd at the finals. You seemed nice enough, and interested in volleyball, so the chance that the handwriting was yours was at least a little high. It wasn't like him, though, to hope that it had been you. In fact, the way you'd lingered on his mind since that meeting had been far from in character for the second year spiker. What was this?

Your friendship, at least that's what he thought it was, blooms over the next few months. He doesn't talk much, but you do, and you don't seem to mind his monotone responses. The topic of conversation is usually volleyball anyway, and he's comfortable with that. You're quite the analyst, and he'd considered asking you to sign up at the club's manager, but seeing you sporadically was distraction enough. He isn't sure exactly what you're doing to him, but it's definitely something.

The first time you called him ‘Toshi’, he nearly chokes on his drink. He not a fan of the way his cheeks flush at the nickname, but if you notice then you don't care. It ends up sticking, although you refuse to call him as such in front of his teammates, you didn't want them to tease him and you had a feeling that at the very least, Tendou would never let it go. The nickname wouldn't have caused in issue, but the way he blushes would. He finds himself grateful for your mercy. 

• • • • • • • • • •  Shortly after the start of your second year- and his third- you approach him. You look nervous, refusing to meet his eye, and he kicks himself for where his mind takes him. Are you going to confess? He attempts to remove the thought from his head. He doesn't have a shred of no evidence that you like him, and he hates when people jump to conclusions without anything to back them up. He does not want to be that person.  "Toshi... can I ask you a favour?" "...Yes." "Could you maybe... teach me to play volleyball? I don't expect to be good at it or anything, I just... wanna know how."  "Of course." "Thanks Toshi!!" You hug him. It's rather unexpected, but not unwelcome, although he's a little unsure of what to do with his hands- not wanting to make you uncomfortable. The two of you spend the following weeks in the gym together after practice. He.s trying so hard not to be distracted by everything about you; being distracted just isn't like him. But you're so pretty, the way your cheeks flush due to exertion, the way you bite your lip nervously when you don't hit the ball quite right, the sheer excitement in your tone when you do hit the ball right, and somehow make it seem like Wakatoshi deserved all the credit. 

He's caught a glimpse of a necklace more than once, small and gold with a heart shaped pendant, and he desperately hopes it had been given to you by a close friend or a relative, rather than the other option. He knew by now that his heart belonged to you, and he wanted yours to belong to him too. He swore he'd tell you soon.

• • • • • • • • • • Shiratorizawa didn't tend to do practice games with other high schools, their skill had far surpassed them and it offered no challenge. But for whatever reason, one against Aoba Johsai- probably their biggest rival in the prefecture- had been scheduled. He briefly commented on the oddity of this when he told you as you practiced with him, missing the way your face lit up at the news that Seijoh would be at your school.  "You don't pick the ballroom, Toshi. You just dance." It was an odd metaphor, but he supposed it made sense. The way his mind drifts to dancing with you- with no mind paid to where- is the more pressing matter. As the two of you leave the gym an hour later, he doesn't notice the way you hurriedly sent a text, nor does he see the line of hearts next to the contact name. 

When he sees you at the practice game a week later, standing with some other second years, he offers you a small wave. This is the first practice game you'd ever come to, your schedule always conflicting too much. He's glad you'd made time for him, even if this isn't an important game. And when Seijoh's captain- ever the flirt- winks at you, Ushijima simply rolls his eyes. He doesn't look at you, assuming your reaction would be similar. Perhaps he should have. 

• • • • • • • • • •  The preliminaries were a breeze for Shiratorizawa, as usual. Nevertheless, he's grateful for the support you show, turning up to every game they play. He enjoys sharing the victory with you, even when it was to be expected. You always tell him you're proud of him. He doesn’t need to hear it, but Wakatoshi likes the way his heart fluttered when you say it. He pays no attention to the crowds when he played, and nobody can fault his concentration. Even with you there, he's utterly focused. There's only one time this proves to be a bad idea.

He'd promised himself a week earlier that if they won the semi-finals he would finally tell you how he felt- before he graduated and you slipped through his fingers. But when he scans the stands for your face after the win, you were nowhere to be seen. (If he'd scanned them before the game, he'd have noticed you weren't there at all.) He makes up his mind to find you, hoping you're somewhere in the building still. He finds nothing but heartbreak, instead. 

• • • • • • • • • •  He stops walking at the sound of your soft voice, peering round the corner.  "I'm so sorry, Tōru. I know how important this was to you,  And I know you're not gonna believe me, but you played excellently today." He stopped in his tracks. Your hands are cupping the cheeks of Aoba Johsai's captain, tears streaming down them. They lost the semi-finals, he'd heard that, but he hadn't expected to see this. "If I'd played well we'd have won!" "You know that's not always true. Karasuno have grown this year- in ways none of us could have imagined. Playing well and playing better than the other team are not the same thing, you know that. You fought so hard out there, and I'm so proud of you. I know how important this was, I've watched you run yourself ragged for months for this. I know I can't make it better, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stand here and let you beat yourself up." Wakatoshi could tell by your tone that you were close to crying yourself, though he was unsure whether it was Oikawa's anguish or Seijoh's loss that was making you emotional. Perhaps both.  "I don't deserve you, Y/N, I'm a failure." "Tōru, you deserve the world. And if I could give it to you wrapped in a bow, I wouldn't hesitate. Come back to my place for tonight. I'll take care of you." He nods, reaching up to dry his eyes. Wakatoshi feels his heart break further- if that's at all possible- as the setter places a soft kiss to your lips.  "You really are too good for me." "One day I'm gonna train Iwa to slap you whenever you say that." That gets you a laugh from him, and you smile softly upon achieving your goal.  "Y/N?" "Yes, love?" "I know this is a really dumb time to get insecure but... you don't comfort Ushijima like this, do you?" "I don't think I've ever comforted him in any way, to be honest. You don't need to be jealous of my friendship with Toshi. That's all its ever gonna be, you're the only volleyball player in my heart." As your voices fade in the distance, a certain wing spiker feels like he's losing his grip on the composure he's renowned for. Not only is your heart most definitely not his, you sounded so certain that it never would be. This cast a new light on a lot of things, depending on how long you'd been with him. 

Did all of your volleyball knowledge last year come from your relationship with Oikawa? He was certain you hadn't gotten close to him because of Oikawa's one-sided rivalry with him, you were too down to earth to do anything like that, but he was also certain that this had been the reason you'd asked him to teach you to play. And the reason you'd turned up to the practice game a few months prior. The heart necklace that he'd almost prayed had been a platonic gift was probably given to you by the setter, too. Wakatoshi truly didn't know how to feel, but he was aware of the heartbreak settling over him like a thick fog. You were never his, he'd always been aware of that, but he'd allowed himself to hope you could be. And now even that hope was stripped away.

• • • • • • • • • • Wakatoshi recalls all of this with a heavy heart as he reads the words on the small card he'd received in the mail. It’s been 4 years since high school, and he isn't any less in love with you. That’s the peril of remaining friends, he supposes, but how was he supposed to say no when you asked him to keep in touch? How was he supposed to say no when you asked him anything, even this? He's spent 4 years supporting your relationship, pretending it doesn't tear him to shreds every time you mentioned Tōru. 4 years hating himself for hoping that one day you'd show up with a broken heart for him to mend. 4 years seeing sunlight in your eyes, knowing they shone for someone else. 4 years knowing that after all of the agony being in love with you put him through, he'd still find a way to bring the moon closer to earth for you if you asked him to, if he knew it would make you smile. Wakatoshi glares at the invitation he clutches in his fist, as if that might change what it says. Your name next to Oikawa's brings an ache to his chest, and he barely notices as a tear drops onto the small card. He doesn't want to go, but he knows he will. He'd go anywhere for you. Even your wedding. 

[baby-grayson]

Kind Stranger|Part 3|GBD

Read Part 1 Here Read Part 2 Here

Word Count: 3k 

Trigger Warning: quarantine talk

Tags: @evergreendolan​ @someonetogray​ @vintagedolan​ @prettyboydolan @dolansficsandpics @graysavant @baby-turtles A fresh New Jersey breeze moved through Grayson’s hair: a metal folding chair dug into his thighs. He sipped from a diet root beer while his sister, Cameron, told him, Ethan, and their mother about her post-college job search. The twins offered Cameron a job on the design team for their merch line and Wakeheart, but Cameron declined because she wanted to forge the path for her own career. Their mother sat on the opposite side of the table, sipping a glass of iced tea. Cameron’s rant about a quarantine job search was cut off by their waitress politely interrupting to deliver four plates of pancakes. The family had decided to try outdoor, socially distant dining at a local diner to celebrate their weekend together.

Ethan raised his eyebrows at Grayson from across the table when their waitress, who had an amply plump chest, leaned down to deliver his breakfast. Grayson rolled his eyes at his brother while the waitress said a nice goodbye and walked back into the restaurant. “She’s good looking,” Ethan noted. “You already have a girlfriend Ethan,” Cameron said crossly. “Not for me!” he defended “For Grayson! The poor guy’s right hand is applying for other jobs right now.” “E!” Grayson bellowed as Cameron busted out laughing. Their mother, sensing things getting out of hand, scolded Ethan for being so brazen. “Sorry mom,” Ethan said before shoveling a fork full of pancake into his mouth. Cameron snickered beside him. “You should ask for her number,” she prodded before taking a bite of her own breakfast. “Yes, he should,” Ethan grinned at Grayson from across the table. Grayson rolled his eyes, “Don’t start this,” he shoveled a bite of food into this mouth. “It’s not a horrible idea,” his mother chimed in, awaking a triumphant look from Ethan and Cameron. “Mom,” Grayson groaned with a bite of food in his mouth. “Don’t talk with your mouthful,” she warned, “But really, what’s wrong with asking for her number? She seems like a nice girl. I wouldn’t mind you finding a girl in Jersey, it would give you a reason to come home more often.”

“Let’s face it Gray, you’re about as single as slice of dairy free cheese” “N-n-n-ooo Noo No No,” Grayson started while Cameron started nodding. She added, “You can’t deny it, you’re getting desperate” “I don’t need her number,” Grayson sulked and tried to eat his breakfast in peace. Cameron and Ethan shared a knowing look before looking back at Grayson. “You kinda do, “ Cameron started. “It’s been a while for you buddy, “ Ethan finished. Grayson couldn’t read the difference between their care and sarcasm.

Grayson drew in a harsh breath between his teeth, “Maybe I don’t need her number because I already have someone else’s.”

“Grandma Bernadette doesn’t count,” Ethan quipped. “Not her,” Grayson snapped. He broke his authoritative tone, “... I met a girl” Ethan drew back, wide-eyed he blinked at his brother while his sister and mother glanced over to him for more information. Ethan leaned forward, hunching over slightly to ask “What are you talking about?” The twins told each other everything, but Grayson had failed to inform Ethan of his morning beach friend. Grayson had intended to tell Ethan but had not gotten to it yet. Truthfully, Grayson was worried about his brother’s emotional state in the wake of this last video. Ethan was doing a good job at putting up a tough front in the face of everything being thrown at them on the internet. But ever the doting twin, Grayson knew when Ethan was disturbed.

Their close, brotherly relationship dictated that they told each other everything, which is why Ethan sat wide-eyed at the idea that his brother had some kind of a secret lover. “I met a girl,” Grayson somewhat mumbled a bit more clearly this time, both nervous and sorry that this was how Ethan was finding out. A part of Grayson wondered if it was too soon to talk about Kate out loud. Another part of Grayson knew it was too soon to talk about her in front of mother. “Who is she?” Cameron’s voice held every ounce of protective sisterhood it could. Ethan’s mouth went dry while he waited for Grayson’s answer. “Her name is Kate,” he started. What did he really know about her? “I met her at the beach where I take my morning surf. She’s nice.” He thought for a moment, realizing that he didn’t have that many details to give. She bandaged my foot? She has a limp? “She’s new to California, just moved from Philly,” he decided on before shoveling another bite of food into his mouth. Ethan’s brow furrowed. “What does she do for a living?” the trio’s heads snapped up at the question, forgetting they were having this conversation in front of their mother. “I’m not really sure,” Grayson signed, “We haven’t talked about it yet” “Have you talked at all?” Cameron peered at him from the tip of her straw, implying that this was yet another hookup that Grayson caught feelings for. “Yes, we talk a lot” Grayson quipped. A lot was subjective. “We talk every morning when I visit the beach” “What does she think of the channel?” Ethan’s voice was monotone, almost spiritless.

“I don’t think she knows about it,” Grayson shrugged. Cameron’s eyes widened as Ethan snapped, “You don’t think?” Grayson nodded, “Yeah, we haven’t talked about it. It hasn’t come up.” He continued to shovel food into his mouth, insistent that this remain a normal breakfast outing. “Hasn’t come up?” Ethan’s jaw locked. “And yet you talk every day?” His tone was accusatory, and Grayson recognized the oddity in the situation. Grayson nodded with a shrug and continued eating his pancakes. He wished that waitress would come around to politely break the tension at the table.

“When were you going to tell her about ..everything?” His mother prodded. “I’m not sure, I guess I was going to mention it whenever it came up.” Grayson answered reasonably. “Whenever it came up?” Ethan’s exasperated tone felt sharp on Grayson’s ears. “Came Up? Like your career isn’t relevant?” Ethan was started to snap.

“There is more to my life than just the internet” Grayson asserted. Cameron reached a hand across the table, on Grayson’s left hand which was gripping a butter knife with white knuckled. “How do you know she’s normal?” Cameron tried to hide her judgement but Grayson saw through the sympathy. “What do you mean?” Cameron retracted her hand and looked down before Ethan clarified, “What if she’s a stalker? Or crazy? Or just getting your number to leak it on the internet?” Grayson dropped the knife on the table with a clatter, “Because she’s not. She’s friendly and harmless.” Grayson took in a break before looking at his siblings again. Cameron sat with her lips pursed while Ethan sulked in his chair. Both of them clearly didn’t believe him, something that drove him crazy. “I’M A NORMAL GUY,” he bellowed. “And normal guys meet normal girls out in public and don’t have to worry about this. You should know E, we’ve become outcasts in LA because we don’t play into all that clout bullshit” “Grayson-“Ethan interjected. “NO! I’M  A NORMAL 20 YEAR OLD DUDE” Grayson continued, “I don’t understand why you can’t just be happy for me right now. If this is how you react when you barely know her, what happens if I want her to meet you guys one day? Or what if I want anyone to meet you guys one day? Are you going to collect their fingerprints for a criminal record?” Grayson ran a hand through his hair. He took a heavy breath before taking a sip of his diet root beer. The can was empty; he crushed it within his fist and dropped it on the table. He looked down at his mutilated pancakes, not hungry anymore. “We just want the best for you,” his mother consoled him before asking for the check. From across the table, Ethan and Cameron shared a worried look. ********************

Grayson kicked off his flannel sheets, sweating in the hot, summer New Jersey midnight air. The sound of Ethan’s shower hummed in the background. The twins had pushed their morning brawl aside, pretending like nothing had been said. He’s going to bring it up again. Grayson sighed, thinking back to breakfast. He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed at a few strands. He picked up his phone and opened his text messaged.

He stared at a blank text message. What should he say? What was there to say? Grayson rolled in bed. I told my family about you? Definitely not. My foot feels better! No feet talk. I miss you? I have yet to meet an angry rock? Is the beach lonely without me? Grayson looked up as Ethan walked out from the bathroom. Grayson closed his phone and put it on his nightstand.

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

Grayson stepped out of his van and onto the tarmac of the beach parking lot. He shook his hands before shoving them in his pockets, feeling sweat start to form a thin layer against his fingers. He didn’t text her. He got her number and didn’t use it. What if she wasn’t there anymore? What if she was mad? God, why did he have to be such a loser?

Her long dark hair flowing in the wind was a sign of relief on that Monday morning in Malibu. The sky was still red and orange with the sunrise. Grayson smiled when he saw her there: she was sitting on the sand and waiting for him. Her petite figure was dark against the bright morning sky. He watched as her hair fluttered in the ocean breeze: a serene scene to greet him in the early morning. “Good Morning,” Grayson didn’t try to hide a very wide, very bright smile as he sat down beside her. “Good Morning,” she smiled back at him. “How was Jersey?”

“It was alright,” Grayson tried to think of another comment but found his memories of the weekend clouded by his tiff with Ethan at the breakfast table. Kate nodded, taking note of his meek answer. “Glad to see you didn’t get on the wrong side of a boulder,” she tried to joke, “considering you couldn’t win a fight against a pebble.” Grayson mustered a weak laugh before making a decision. If he was going to get to know her, it meant she was going to get to know him. “Wasn’t the best weekend honestly, “ he started “I got in a little fight with my brother.” “Oh,” Kate started. She looked down, unsure if she should pursue this line of conversation. When she spoke up, her voice just soft enough to be heard above the crashing waves “I’m sorry. Are you okay now though?”

Grayson gnawed at his lip for a second, looked down at the ground and then back at Kate. “Yeah,” he decided, “We live together so we kind of have to be.” “He moved to LA with you?” Kate questioned, not being able to hide the surprised tone in her voice. Grayson nodded, “Yeah, we moved together. “ He managed a soft smile to assure her that he was okay. He held himself back from giving her more details about why they moved. His knuckles found their way to his hair while  he palmed a shell in his other hand. Kate nodded softly, taking in a slow breath. She thought on where to bring the conversation, but realized she didn’t have enough information about Grayson to decide what discussion avenues were non-problematic options. She decided on “Who’s older?”

Grayson let out an audible laugh, squeezing his tongue between his teeth when he met her gaze with a smile. Kate brightened at the sight of his smile, a hint that somehow he had exited whatever brooding fog he found moments earlier. “We’re twins,” Grayson kept his smile as he spoke, letting the edges extend slightly when Kate’s eyes went a little wide.  “No way!” she exclaimed before stopping to picture two of Grayson sitting in front of her. “That’s so cool. I always wanted a twin!”

Grayson chuckled. He didn’t want to tell her, but that was everyone’s reaction when he and Ethan went out in public together. “It’s only kind of cool,” he modified before leaning back on his hands, turning to take in the sight of the shore in the morning.

Kate followed his gaze out to sea and then back again, watching him as he watched the waves. She took a breath and started toying with the hem of her shorts. “Yeah..”her voice was just above a whisper, “I can imagine why you fight sometimes”

“It’s like having another you sitting next to you all the time and you’re constantly talking over each other because you are trying to say what you want to say but the other you also wants to say it even though you thought of it first” Grayson rubbed his face with a hand while before shaking his hand and letting out a disgruntled breath. He looked up at Kate and saw her shy face, her bright smile hidden behind a pensive look. “But..” he tried to reign himself in from his previous statement , “we are the two closest humans on this Earth, I’m sure of it. And there is no one out there who wants the best for me more than him. “ Grayson felt relief when a small smile crossed Kate’s lips, meeting his eyes with a kind and gentle gaze. “He gets under my skin sometimes, but I love him” Grayson let out a breath of tension that he hadn’t realized he’s been holding. He wanted to run home. He wanted to run home and drag Ethan’s sleepy ass out of bed and hug him. He wanted to tell Ethan that he loved him and that he was sorry for springing the news about Kate on him that way. Suddenly, Grayson felt a pang of guilt for how he treated Ethan last weekend. Kate noticed Grayson’s face return to peace, understanding that he had resolved whatever inner debate she wasn’t privy to. She looked out over the horizon while she buried her toes in the sand. Grayson’s thoughts woke from his inner monologue to focus on her. He looked down, seeing where she was burying her dainty hand under the sand. He tossed his shoulders back drank her image in: the way her eyelashes framed her big brown eyes and how her small pink mouth naturally fell into a soft smile. Grayson inched closed to her, settling himself in the sand again. He took in a breath, centering himself and letting the thoughts of Ethan wash away. He looked at the girl sitting next to him, drinking her in once again. He thought of how happy he had been to see her sitting there this morning. She had waited for him. She wanted to talk to him. Grayson immediately felt like an idiot, not realizing that just the fact that she had sat down and waited for him implied that maybe he had a chance. What should he do now? Should he try to flirt with her? What do they do in the movies? Grayson shimmied his large hand over to where her small one laid on the sand and gently wrapped his pink finger over hers. Kate looked up to meet his eyes with a wide smile and Grayson felt his face become hot. “You didn’t bring your board today, “Kate pointed out, “Even though your foot is better.” Her eyes wore a mischievous look, a look that knew exactly what her words were implying. Grayson’s mouth turned into a smirk, as he let out a low, breathy chuckle. “I did,” Grayson’s voice held an air of challenge. His gaze fell on her small, pink mouth. He felt accomplished when a blush fell on her round cheeks. Grayson found himself so lost in her features that he forgot to move the conversation along further: a realization that triggered his thoughts into a spiral. What should he say? Is the silence awkward? Was she expecting more?

Kate broke their silence, “I have no plans tomorrow.” The sound of her voice put a stop to Grayson’s inner spiral. He breathed a sigh of relief before realizing what she was implying. He felt a thin layer of sweat cover his palms before Kate spoke again, “What is there to do in a semi-locked down LA?”

Grayson’s mouth went dry as his palms were soaked. “Y-yeah,” he started mindlessly, his tongue yammering on his pallet while his thoughts race. Was this a date? Was she expecting him to come along? No maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe she really just wanted a suggestion. But no, she waited for him. She waited for him this morning. She wanted to talk to him. But did she want to go on a date with him?

Grayson’s inner panic heightened when he realized how long he was taking to answer. He looks out over the ocean in an attempt to escape her big brown eyes and cute pouty lips. His heart rate remains high as he notices the waves crashing on the shore, just a few feet from where he sat. Suddenly, inspiration hit him. Ocean. Sea. Water. Fish. Aquarium.

“The aquarium is open” he bounced up as he spoke, resembling a first grader shouting out an answer in class. “Fun! Is it any good to visit?” Kate asked innocently, but her voice triggered a series of explosions in Grayson’s body. His heart pounded, while his eyes almost watered. He tried to take even breaths to calm himself, but his brain had been replaced by a spastic hamster trying to learn the electric slide. What should he do? How should he say it? Grayson nodded, “It is, but I haven’t been in years. I think the last time I went was when I first moved here.” Grayson gulped hard. He took in a large breath and tried to ignore the thick layer of sweat on his palms, “I could show you around if you want?” HE DID IT. He said it, he did it. He desperately hoped that she had been intending on taking him. He really hoped she would say yes.  A/N: Thank you for reading! As usual, let me know if you have any feedback. I’m sorry for ending on a cliffhanger but I couldn’t figure out how to transition into part 4 without it. xoxo

[irwintry]

hiiii babe sorry to bother youuu can i request a lil writing where the reader is rlly good friends with 5sos and luke ash and mikey think her and cal are both hopelessly in love with each other and at the very end they confess??? youre the bestest💖🥺

hi babe! i’d love to :-) p.s. you’re the bestest best 

-

He had one hand on the wheel, another curled around the gear shift while he tapped mindlessly to the latest pop song on the radio. Physically, he was in the same care as you, but mentally, you knew he was knocking back drinks on a beach somewhere far from reality. Work consumed him; it consumed all of them. 

You kept quiet, not a thought in your mind on the ride over to Luke’s. The pseud cat-and-mouse game you conjured up in your head had been going on for too long for it to overwhelm. Most days, you pretended your feelings for Calum hardly existed at all. So, you tapped to the beat of the song and stared out the window at the setting sun. A few drinks with friends would get your mind off of it. 

Their only job failed as the night dragged on. 

Calum’s head was elsewhere for hours. His shifty eyes trained on posters and unimportant objects in the room before settling back on you. Once your brows furrowed in concern, he pressed his lips into a thin line and rejoined the conversation.

“Okay, whoever bought this cider—” Michael began, voice booming loud over the four others. “—I’m in love with you.”

“I’ve literally never tasted anything so heavenly before,” Ashton said against a sloppy slurp on the cider can’s rim. 

“That’s what she said.”

“Oi, fuck off.”

“Y/N brought them,” Calum said monotonously, although you could see a small smile grow on his lips. 

Michael’s jaw dropped dramatically. You could visualize the drunken thoughts swirling around his brain. “We’re in love?” 

A giggle left your lips. “Only if you say so, Mikey.”

“How’s Y/N gonna be in love with that—” Luke pointed at Michael across from him. “—when they can have this.” His finger moved toward Calum. 

Your chest felt hot, but only for a brief moment. Calum’s eyebrows knotted as a short laugh left his lips. And then, in those few split seconds, you swore you saw something else flash over him. Was he nervous? 

“What the hell’re you talkin’ about, mate?” Michael asked. Everyone was all laughter and smiles, brains buzzing with light intoxication while a bowl of chips was passed between the group. It never mattered how much Michael drank—his voice carried high above everyone else’s.

“Oh, c’mon, Mike,” Ashton chimed in, “you’ve seen it. These dumbasses—” He motioned to you and Calum. “—are hopelessly in love. You can see it in their eyes. They scream desperate romance.”

“Care to explain what you mean by desperate romance?” you said to Ashton. 

“No.”

“How’ve you not seen it, Michael?” Luke said. 

Michael looked properly taken aback by his friends. Meanwhile, Calum stayed silent through it all. He seemed amused, but you pretended that his silence spoke words only you needed to hear. 

You folded your arms over your chest. “Do I get any say in this?” you asked.

“Why—are you gonna deny it?” 

Your mouth went dry. “Well, I—I just wanna know why you think we’re in love. That’s all. Relax. You guys are so accusatory tonight.”

“Cos’ you two are the most lovesick-y pair of airhead lovebirds that I’ve ever seen,” Ashton said through laughter. He took a quick sip of the cider you brought. “You’re attached at the hip—practically meltin’ into each other.” 

“I—what?” Your eyes found Calum across the living room. He had his jaw clenched until his eyes found yours in return. They were wide—panicked almost, and his hands fidgeted with his can of cider to keep busy. 

The more you looked at him, the more you understood why his friends felt this way. 

Calum stood a second later. “’M gonna take a piss.” 

“Lovely, mate,” said Michael. “Thanks for sharing.”

“Anytime.”

You watched with a frown as Calum left down the hall. Something in your chest pulled, telling you to go after him and talk the last few seconds through. The more you let time pass, the larger the feeling grew. It was building in your stomach like a heavy, dark mass. 

The conversation between the other boys faded into something of little nonsense. So, you stood too, barely glancing back as you hurried down the hall. Your fingers had fallen numb.

You shifted weight between your feet until the bathroom door opened a minute later. Calum raised his brows, allowing room for you to squeeze by him, but you didn’t budge. 

“You all right?” he asked. His pouting lips were already a distraction. 

“Did that bother you?” you said breathlessly. You could still hear the close chatter of the other three in the living room as you spoke. “Back in there? A-about the whole—”

Calum shook his head. Now, he seemed unaffected and confused. “No. It was—it was just banter. Between friends. I mean—” He chuckled and scratched his nose. Now, you could see the nerves peaking through. “—we’re close. They’re gonna make fun of us no matter what we do.”

“They think we’re in love.” 

“Yeah. They made that pretty clear.”

You didn’t know how to edge it out of him. You didn’t know why the words felt like molasses on your tongue or why your chest ignited with sparks when he kept his eyes locked on you. You didn’t know why you were desperate to reveal everything right then and there because your best friends had innocently joked around with you. But you wanted the feeling to leave you alone. A confessional was worth it to get the thoughts out of your mind. 

“Do you think we’re in love?” you ended up asking. 

Calum didn’t react. He didn’t speak. He stared at you as if the answer would be spoken for him. But his eyes softened, the corner of his lips twitching before spreading into a smile. 

“I, um—” He hugged his arms tight. “Sometimes I think that. Yeah.”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you?”

You nodded slowly. “Sometimes.”

Calum grinned until crinkles appeared beside his eyes. Nevertheless, you still couldn’t read him. Whether he was happy with your answer or playfully amused, all you wanted was a solid answer. Did he reciprocate your feelings or not? 

“You’re in love with me, darling?” he asked. 

You hadn’t expected to answer that. “I-I—” Your throat closed up, and it wasn’t because Calum’s tongue had slipped over his bottom lip. “You’re making this so hard on me.” You managed a small chuckle, but the sweat collecting on the back of your neck proved that you weren’t joking. You pressed your hands to your cheeks as heat spread into them. 

“I’m so sorry—no, you don’t have t’answer that.” Calum took your wrists carefully. He lowered your hands down to your sides but his touch never left. “It’s just really nice to hear that you’ve thought about it. About us.”

“You have, too?”

“Course, babe.” He chuckled. “Like, all the time.”

You couldn’t help but smile now. “Really?” 

He nodded. “We’re not gonna tell them any of this when we get back in there, all right? Cos’ then they’re gonna be all we told you so and get all high-horse-y on us. Sometimes secrets are fun. And, um—I kinda just wanna see where this goes. I-If that’s cool with you.”

“You mean, you’re in? You wanna—you would wanna—”

Calum cut you off with a laugh and a quick peck to your lips. When he pulled away, you were certain your heart had stopped. 

“I’m in,” he said after a few seconds. “Are you?”

You tugged him down by the neck, reattaching your lips in a soft kiss. It was warm all over. A kiss that made you addicted to his touch. “I’m definitely in,” you breathed out with a smile. 

“That was cute—can I pee now?” Michael asked from behind. 

Calum’s hand slipped from your waist. “Did you hear all of that?” he said. 

“Only the part about not telling us and so on,” Michael explained, quirking a brow. “But fuck ‘em—I’ll keep your secret. As long as you don’t tell Luke I’m using his deodorant.” 

You grimaced as Calum laughed. “Deal.”

The bathroom door shut, and Calum wrapped his arms around your waist once again. 

“You wanna get out of here?”

[coloursflyaway]

Let’s Repeat Our Chorus Triumphantly [1/4]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.800

Tags: Angst and fluff, fix-it of sorts, past character death, falling in love (and everything that goes along with it)

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

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“Where to now, then?”, Jaskier asks, excitement so very obvious in his voice, as if someone had caught the sun’s light in a bottle and offered it to the bard to drink. He’s a fool for following Geralt in the first place, even more of one for not having left already. Even a bard, even someone as hopelessly cheerful, as untainted by the world as Jaskier is, should know that the Path is dangerous, that Geralt is. And yet, he’s still here, not dissuaded by the insults Geralt throws at him, by the silence, the long marches and the sparse food. If Geralt allowed it to be, it could be intriguing.

He hums in response, not wanting to say more, because where Jaskier goes is none of his concern, but the bard pouts next to him, brandishing his lute like a weapon, and for once, Geralt gives in. “Lindenvale”, he tells Jaskier and watches his face light up once more, bright with imagined possibility. “There’s a contract for a couple of drowners. Doesn’t pay much, but enough for a night in an inn.” “Drowners, huh? Ghastly blue things, bulging eyes, those ones?” “Hm.” “Hardly the monsters great ballads are sung about”, Jaskier comments, not quite complains, but strums his lute anyway, looking at Geralt for second almost wistfully before he turns his eyes back to the road ahead. “But don’t worry, my dear Witcher, I will do my very best to change that.”

 He hears the melody drifting through a window, soft like a summer’s breeze, as familiar as his own heartbeat and immeasurably more loved. Weeks have passed since he last heard it; they do not sing his songs as frequently anymore, too much time has passed. So much time. And yet, here in Lindenvale, the tune drifts through the streets, and Geralt stops, because there is nothing else he could do. There’s a griffin’s head tied to Roach’s saddle, ready to be swapped for coin, but he hoists his old, aching limbs off his mare and leads her closer, ever closer, to the source of the music. It’s sweet and longing and Geralt has felt old so often, but never as much as he does whenever he hears those tunes; at the same time, he never feels more alive.

Lindenvale has grown since they passed through it together, has gained an inn and three taverns, more merchants and a silk trader that Geralt cannot set foot in fear of blues and purples and deep, deep reds. And yet, he finds his way easily, every note making his heart sing, his heart ache, even before a voice joins the lute. When it does, it’s a young woman singing, and secretly, Geralt is glad for it; it would never be a competition, and yet it’s easier to try and not compare the singer’s voice to the one he knows by heart when it’s higher, clearer, possesses not the smoothness of velvet and honeyed wine, but instead the clarity of birdsong.

“O’er glistening roofs, you float” the woman sings, and Geralt turns a corner to find himself in front of another inn, one that even he didn’t know existed. “Through lily-strewn rivers, you dive…” Her emphasis is wrong, her fingers a little to clumsy for her instrument, but it matters not, Geralt still feels the words vibrate through his bones, his flesh, his heart. Hears them sung by another, pensive and bathed in sunlight, a lifetime before. Sees pink lips curl around a quill, which stains them grey, dark lashes pensively fan across cornflower eyes, brown hair that shimmers silver around the temples, as if a spider had caught him in his web.

“Yet one day, I will know your truths…”, the woman sings and Geralt pushes the door to the inn open, finds it cosy and warm and utterly forgettable. The singer doesn’t seem to notice her new audience, and he is glad for it, takes in her chestnut hair and tan skin, the green dress she’s wearing and aches so fiercely that he almost expects his tattered knees to buckle. “…if only I am still alive…”

Because that’s it. That’s the one wound he carries that even his mutations are unable to heal, even if they have carried him through everything else, the one blow that ruined him and yet wasn’t merciful enough to let him die. Because it’s been sixty-four years since Jaskier died, quietly and gently and in Geralt’s arms.

 “I am certain you have heard it before”, Jaskier tells him, mere months after they have met, his eyes so blue that Geralt cannot look away, even though he desperately wants to. “But you’re a bit of an arsehole.” There is no venom in his voice, if anything, he looks amused, but Geralt still bristles internally, unsure why the opinion of a bard would matter anything at all, but somehow, it does. “Hm.” Jaskier cocks his head, then chuckles, a bright, joyful sound that seems to echo somewhere between Geralt’s ribs, the vast, empty space of his chest. “Oh no, you don’t have to worry”, Jaskier tells Geralt, just as if he already knew how to read him. “I like that about you.” And he smiles, and somehow, even that matters.

 The last notes fade, sweet and familiar and taking another piece of Geralt’s heart with them; he lets them, gladly. After all, it’s not like he needs it any longer. In front of him, a tankard of ale is waiting, ordered more out of politeness, out of habit than want, because Geralt has stopped to try and drink his pain away more than forty years ago. Still, he takes a gulp, then another, before he gets up and walks over to the young singer, who is fiddling with the strings of her lute, brows drawn together in displeasure. She looks up at him anyway, and her eyes are blue. Not the right shade, although even Geralt isn’t sure which one it would be anymore, but they are blue nonetheless, and for a moment, Geralt considers turning back, because he doesn’t know if he can speak.

“Yes?”, she prompts when he doesn’t, raises an eyebrow inquisitively. She’s pretty without being stunning, but there’s a light in her blue, blue eyes that makes it easy to forget about it. “Do you need something?” He does, but nothing she can give him; nonetheless, Geralt does his best to smile a little, because he knows that is what Jaskier would have done. “Yes”, he tells her, and knows that the rest of the pain is still etched into his words, won’t go away for hours. “I wanted to ask – do you know more of his songs? Any of them, it doesn’t matter which. It’s just, it has been too long since I last heard them.”

Although it’s been decades since Jaskier passed, Geralt cannot force his name from his lips, fears it would slice them to shreds, but the singer seems to understand what he means anyway. She looks confused, but nods slowly, eyes narrowing. “…I do. There’s that one about the Witcher, I know that fairly well. I can play it, if you want.” Geralt doesn’t tell her that her description hardly narrows it down, Jaskier has written countless songs about Witchers, about him and Lambert and Vesemir and Eskel and far, far later, about Ciri, too, instead he just nods, tries to give her another smile, but fails. There are no tears, because he has already shed more of them than one lifetime could permit, but Geralt can still feel his throat go tight, the roof of his mouth start to hurt, even if his eyes stay dry. He knows what song she means.

“I’d appreciate it”, he says instead, heart so swollen in his chest that it is hard to breathe. “Thank you.”

 “Thank you”, Jaskier says softly as they walk towards the castle, Geralt dressed in black silk that crinkles with every step he takes, driving him slowly insane. “I know you didn’t want to come, even if there is food and beer and women. I really appreciate it.” It’s not like the bard to talk like this, sound so honest, so sincere, and despite himself, it makes Geralt turn to look at him. The same thing happened earlier this evening, Jaskier crouching in front of his bathtub, his expression so unguarded that Geralt had wondered if the bard wanted him to read a secret in his eyes, his voice so soft when he muttered, “And yet, here we are.”

He doesn’t look quite the same now, but there is still something in his gaze that Geralt thinks he could decipher, if he only tried hard enough. “Don’t mention it”, he answers, keeping his voice low, monotone and looks away so whatever Jaskier is hiding can stay hidden. “Just make sure I don’t have to leave this mess sober.” Jaskier chuckles and there is an edge to even his voice, but before Geralt can decide if he wants to figure it out after all, the bard puts a hand on his shoulder, just for a moment. “Of course, my dear Witcher. Whatever you want.”

 She sings and Geralt listens, sees Jaskier walk in front of him, hair tousled in the wind, a nuisance he wasn’t able to get of rid of, yet. Sees Jaskier, leaning against a table and singing along with the crowd, the stench of selkiemore guts on his tongue, the bard’s soft eyes in his mind. Sees Jaskier standing on a table, wobbling dangerously as he tries to conduct the crowd around him as they sing, a tankard of ale in his hand and his smile so bright it put every celestial body to shame, and his body warm in Geralt’s arms later, when he had slipped and the Witcher had caught him mid-air. Sees Jaskier, his hair as silver as Geralt’s, but his smile so much brighter, playing his lute in their favourite tavern in Oxenfurt because the barmaid had asked for it so nicely.

It’s impossible to look at her, so Geralt doesn’t try, instead keeps his eyes on the rough surface of the table, traces the lines in the wood with his gaze while he listens to Jaskier’s words, sung by the wrong person, always the wrong person. “He’s a friend of humanity, so give him the rest-”, she sings, and Geralt sees Jaskier, every version of him so clearly that he can almost trick himself into thinking the bard will be there when he looks up again. “That’s my epic tale, our champion prevailed, defeated the villain…”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t dare to, but cannot help but to wish that his tears had not yet dried up so he could shed them again.

 Geralt doesn’t watch Jaskier leave, because even if he is so angry he can feel himself tremble with it, he knows that those would be memories he wouldn’t know how to get rid of again. Everything seems to be crumbling around him and he doesn’t know how to stop it, doesn’t know how to cope, but he knows how to lash out, how to hurt. And hurt he did, he doesn’t need to watch Jaskier to know that. Maybe it’s better this way, because it would have happened sooner or later, Geralt knows it, because he knows humans and he knows himself. Maybe it’s better if Jaskier leaves before Geralt has figured out what the bard hides behind the blue of his eyes.

 Leaving the tavern is more difficult than Geralt would have thought, as if Jaskier’s melodies had ingrained themselves in the walls to make them matter, but there is still a reward to be collected, and even if Geralt wishes it was different, as long as he continues to breathe, he needs the money. The singer’s eyes follow him as he leaves, blue and bright and beautiful.

 Time has passed, but it seems it hasn’t changed a thing. Geralt is tired, so tired that he can feel it in his bones, his very soul. And yet, it only takes one look at Jaskier’s face for him to forget how coming here, every step had felt like walking a mile. He looks different and yet the same, blue eyes and brown hair, lips that should be smiling, but are pressed together in a thin line although Jaskier is surrounded by people, by ale, by music. The tavern is everything he should want and yet Jaskier looks broken, battered, and Geralt hates himself for causing this, hates himself for still feeling relief flood through him, just because he’s in the bard’s presence again.

It had been difficult to admit at first, but oh, he has missed Jaskier, and missed him terribly; yet, it might be the hardest thing he has ever done to cross the room. Their surroundings are loud, people talking and drinking, but Geralt doesn’t even make it half the way before Jaskier looks up and directly at him, as if it was him with the mutated senses, not Geralt. For a second he seems to be frozen in time, but then his eyes widen, his lips part with a silent gasp that Geralt can nonetheless hear across the chatter, the clanking of tankards. And Geralt is lost, because there's pain written still on Jaskier's face, inked into the blue of his eyes, and Geralt feels. For years, oh so many of them, he has refused to name it, that tightening of his chest, the breathlessness, the warmth that looking at Jaskier brings, but now the feeling names itself, declares itself to be love and Geralt cannot do more than nod mutely, and agree.

"Jaskier", he rasps out and hopes that the bard's human ears won't pick up on what his hear so clearly: the tightening of his chest, the breathlessness, the warmth. Everything around them seems to fall away, as easy as raindrops would; how could it dare to matter when Geralt hasn’t seen Jaskier in such a long time, when he has missed him so fiercely that he can still feel the remnants of pain gripping his heart, clouding his vision. He had been nervous coming here, but there is no room left for it now, no need, because there is pain on Jaskier’s face, and pain means there is still feeling left. And Jaskier has always been far too good a person to refuse forgiveness.

Geralt’s feet cross the remaining distance without him commanding them to, stop when Jaskier is so close that, if he dared to, Geralt could reach out and touch him. He doesn’t, but not for lack of wanting to. “Jaskier”, he repeats, just because the name feels right on his lips, because it’s been so long since he has uttered it. The bard’s companions are watching them, but it matters little when Geralt is back in the one home he thinks he has found, within Jaskier’s sight. “Forgive me. I meant none of it, not even in my weakest moment. It doesn’t make it right, and I know I do not deserve it, but please, forgive me nonetheless.”

After the way Geralt has treated him, Jaskier would deserve far more, an apology only a poet could craft, but this is all he has to offer, for better or for worse, and after all the time they spent together, Geralt trusts Jaskier to know as much. Trusts him with every fibre of his being, trusts him against every bit of training they tried to ingrain in him, trusts him because it’s Jaskier and he has never done anything but earn it.

A few moments pass, in which Geralt doesn’t allow himself to doubt, because Jaskier’s eye glisten blue and wet in the light of the fireplace, then Jaskier’s head jerks to the side, he wipes his eyes and there’s a sound coming from him that is as close to a sob as Geralt has ever heard, rich with emotion, slick with tears. But when he looks up, there’s a smile on his face, brighter still than the ones Geralt can remember, his cheeks are flushed, and Geralt wants nothing but to hold him, feel how warm his skin is when it presses against the Witcher’s. “Of course, I do”, Jaskier answers softly, and his voice is still half sob, half laugh, his eyes so wild and happy they take Geralt’s breath away. “You know I do.  I was just waiting for you to ask me to.”

And he reaches out across the distance between them to take one of Geralt’s hands in his, holding it tightly for just a moment. Geralt’s skin burns for the rest of the night.

 Roach is waiting outside for him, just as reliable as her predecessors were, nudges Geralt’s hand as he unties her as if she can feel something is wrong. This version of Roach didn’t know Jaskier, just like the one before didn’t and the thought is enough for Geralt’s overfull, empty heart to clench painfully. “Come on”, he tells her and wraps the reins around his hand; the merchant who hired him doesn’t live far away, so he doesn’t bother to mount the mare, just leads her through dusty, unfamiliar streets until they reach the small house. It’s seen better days, Geralt can still make out cracked white paint under the grime as he leaves Roach outside, taking the trophy with him, the bag he stored it in wet with blood and Roach’s sweat. The sturdy oak door underneath the merchant’s sign seems out of place on such a house, or in Lindenvale in general. Perhaps it agrees, Geralt can hear Jaskier tease as he pushes it open to reveal the small shop and he cannot keep the smile from tugging at his lips. Jaskier would love it, knowing that Geralt can still hear his voice so many decades later, that he talked enough for his words not to only last his, but Geralt’s lifetime.

“Killed your griffin”, he tells the shopkeeper when the older man doesn’t look up immediately, crosses the distance between them quickly; he can see bolts of fabric in the back of the room, white and green and cornflower blue. The faster he can leave again, the better. He drops the soiled bag onto the counter, undoubtedly ruining the papers the merchant was working on, but Geralt is too old, has seen too many people bluster and grumble and rail to care any longer. This merchant doesn’t even seem inclined to do that, only looks down at the trophy with shock painted across his face for a few moments, before raising his eyes to meet Geralt’s. They are brown and scared and Geralt breathes a sigh of relief.

“….yes, yes, of course, thank you, Master Witcher, certainly – “, he stutters out, pale around the nose as if he has never seen blood before. He very well might not have, but as long as he doesn’t faint, Geralt cannot bring himself to care, not when the echo of Jaskier’s ballad is still ringing in his ears. The merchant rummages through a drawer for a few seconds before retrieving a pouch of coins, sufficiently heavy for Geralt not to count them after the man has handed it to him. It should be enough for a few nights in an inn, food and drink and some supplies, and it has been so, so long since Geralt asked for any more.

He grunts in the merchant’s direction, turns to leave, but a timid voice stops him, fragile and with a hint of desperation clinging to words. “What – what am I supposed to do with this?” And Geralt suddenly is so, so tired. Of the same people, the same questions, the same fear and shock and disgust and loathing, the same towns and the same monsters, the same sun rising and setting again, illuminating everything Geralt has already seen and isn’t able to leave behind “I don’t know”, he growls, far more vicious than intended and yet not able to hold himself back. “Sell it, burn it, throw it out for all I care. It’s just meat and bones, nothing more and nothing less than any of us.”

 When Geralt wakes, it’s still early, the morning sun only just sending out her first rays of light into a world that seems lighter than usual, even without it. It’s only been a few weeks since Jaskier allowed Geralt back into his life, and up until now, the novelty of it has not yet worn off. It seems to tinge every second of the day, makes steps lighter, words come easier and Geralt’s heart ache in the most pleasant way every time he looks over and finds Jaskier smiling.

They’ve gone west for no reason at all, but although money is tight, it’s the best Geralt has felt in what seems like an eternity. And the lack of funds brings one thing Geralt has never before been able to truly appreciate, it seems. Brings nights camped out in the wilderness in which Jaskier sits close to him to soak up the fire’s warmth, sings soft songs that are not for a crowd, but only for Geralt’s ears, wakes up beside him, dark lashes fluttering open like a butterfly’s tender wings.

If he hadn’t yet accepted the way his feelings have changed, Geralt thinks he would have to do so now, because there is a tenderness gripping his heart when he looks at Jaskier which he hasn’t felt with anyone before, not with Triss, not even with Yennefer, who he thought for so long he loved. But Jaskier is different, bold where Yen was harsh, gentle where she was fierce, sweet where she was forced to be bitter. Sometimes, Geralt still thinks of her, still misses her, but if so, then for her wit and her determination, not her kisses.

The sun is creeping up the sky, turning it pink and golden; it won’t take long until it wakes Jaskier, so Geralt uses the little time he still has to allow himself to watch Jaskier sleep and to finally be happy.

 Since it’s only midday, Geralt knows he could go on, find a new contract in a new village, help people, like Jaskier asked him to all those years ago, but he cannot bring himself to leave, not when there is a chance to hear his bard’s music again. So instead, he leads Roach to nearest inn, pats her chestnut fur and listens to her whinny softly. She’s getting older too, her mane losing its shine and her stamina fading, but Geralt still loves her dearly, can’t imagine trading her for a younger mare. Hopes deep down that this time, it’ll be Roach who loses her rider and not the other way around.

The inn is small, but the stables where he leaves Roach are clean enough, a young boy promising to take care of her for a few orens, and there is a room left for him inside. It’s furniture is sparse, a bed, a small table and a water basin, but it’s more than enough for Geralt. He’s used to less, to makeshift camps on the side of the road, to the cold of Kaer Morhen, to the emptiness of their house and bed and garden in Novigrad after Jaskier had passed. So he drops his bags on the table and starts to take off the armour, his muscles crying out their gratitude; it’s been days since he allowed himself rest for more than a few hours and even his mutated body isn’t as spry as it used to be, aching from old wounds and new, aching most of all because Geralt has long since stopped taking care of it.

 They stumble into the room, Geralt’s arm slung across Jaskier’s shoulder so he can keep himself steady, the bard’s hands warm as he helps him sit down onto the bed. There’s blood staining his palms, bright red on pale skin, and Geralt wonders for a short, delirious moment if Jaskier would allow him to kiss it away. “I’m not sure if I should scold you or patch you up first”, Jaskier grumbles, even as he starts to pull off Geralt’s armour piece by piece, by now as familiar with the buckles and clasps as the Witcher is himself. But there is panic hidden in his scent, sharp and metallic, and Geralt would do anything to soothe him. “What a silly thing to do, letting that slyzard get so close to you. How did you even make it this long, if something so – so hideous gets close enough to you to do this. Couldn’t you just use your pretty fingers to make your pretty signs and not get sliced apart by that disgusting phallus with wings?”

Geralt can’t help but chuckle, regretting it just a moment later when the motion aggravates the wound on his chest, the one on his ribs. It was a hideous thing, Jaskier was right, with a tail that had whipped the sword right out of his hands, the breath from his lungs. But - “It was coming right at you, Jaskier”, he explains quietly, trying not to wince when Jaskier removes his breastplate, then the tattered shirt he wears underneath. “It would have torn you to shreds, I couldn’t let that happen.” The hands inspecting his chest falter in their rhythm as Jaskier looks up from where he is kneeling in front of Geralt, something tender hidden in the blue of his eyes, something else that Geralt now wants to decipher more than anything else but hasn’t managed yet. Jaskier’s fingers trail idly across his collarbone, far away from the actual wound but still enough to make Geralt shiver.

“I appreciate the sentiment, believe me, my dear Witcher, I do”, he says softly, and his fingers have not yet stopped moving across Geralt’s skin. “But by now you should know that if anything were to happen to you, it would do just the same.”

 He calls for a bath to soothe his ever aching muscles, because that is what Jaskier would have done,  even if, without someone by his side to work out the kinks in his back, someone to press soft fingers into the tense mess of scars that covers his entire body, the relief will fade quickly. The bath doesn’t take long to come, two boys, carrying a large tub between them, that will still only just fit Geralt’s body. They’re followed by another two girls, pretty things that steal looks at Geralt’s form as they empty jug after jug of water into the bath until it is full, steam filling the small room until the air feels stifling. Fleetingly, Geralt hopes that what they saw was no monster, but a man, yet the thought vanishes and leaves no trace of its existence behind.

Instead of hoping, Geralt undresses and sinks into the bath, which should smell like chamomile and lavender, but instead has no scent at all. Still, the heat is pleasant, chases away some of the tension in his limbs, the strain in his neck and the sheen of sweat and blood that has collected on his skin since he started hunting the griffin. It was an easy enough beast to slay, yet enough to inflict scratches, which smart in the water, even if in the most pleasant of ways. He takes a deep breath, letting the steam feel his lungs until it feels like he is drowning in it, then dunks his head under water until he can believe it.

 As much as Geralt teases Jaskier about his oils, his bathing salts, it’s hard to pretend that he doesn’t enjoy them now as the whole room smells of herbs and flowers as he steps into it. The scent must be a remnant of the bath Jaskier had ordered just before Geralt had left to stock up on supplies, on dried meat, alcohest and grease for the bard’s beloved lute. It’s not the one he usually uses, Geralt notices, it’s not as sweet, but carries a hint of tartness, the scent of fool’s parsley and ranogrin. And Jaskier doesn’t look like he usually does either, because Geralt doesn’t find him humming under his breath or plucking away on his lute, doesn’t find him spread out on the bed with a quill in his hand and dark ink stains on his fingertips. Instead, Jaskier is sitting on the mattress, his back against the wall and his skin still flushed from the hot water, the steam that still lingers in the air. He’s not wearing his doublet, his chemise half tucked into his breeches, and he looks beautiful, looks soft, looks like everything Geralt wants to look at for the rest of his days.

But at the same time, he looks more pensive than Geralt is used to, elegant brows drawn together as he studies the hands he has clasped in his lap, quite as if he held in them a mystery he can’t begin to solve. Even to look up at Geralt takes him a few moments, and while that doesn’t hurt, it might sting a little. “Jaskier?”, he asks, setting aside his bag and stepping closer to the bed, the bard’s cornflower eyes finally on him, following his steps. “What’s the matter?”

What Geralt expects is that one of the stable hands had insulted his singing, or a maid had rebuffed advances that he truly had meant, a small reason, easily fixed with ale and a good night’s rest, but instead Jaskier slowly blinks, then fixes his eyes– and by Melitele, how are they so blue, so bright even if Jaskier is distraught? – on Geralt, a new determination seeping into the furrows of his brow, into the curve of his pink mouth. “What are we to each other, Geralt?”, he asks and there is a shiver in his voice that Geralt hears but cannot understand.

He cannot understand the question either and maybe it’s that what causes his chest to constrict painfully, his heart turn to ice within it, because whatever is hidden behind those word, it matters to Jaskier and Geralt doesn’t know the right answer. Doesn’t know what will happen if he gives the wrong one.

Gingerly, he steps forward, feeling like he is crossing a river on the thinnest ice, only stops when he’s so close that he could touch Jaskier, if he only had the courage to do so. “What do you mean? We are… friends. Are we not?” It is the first time he says it out-loud, but surely, Jaskier must know already. After all, Geralt has stopped denying it years ago, has listened to his songs and shared his camp, his food, his life with Jaskier. He has always been better with actions than words, meant I care for you every time he allowed Jaskier to ride on Roach when his feet were aching but the next town too far away, meant Don’t leave me every time he let Jaskier pick their next destination, was trying to say I love you with every look, every touch, every breath. Maybe it wasn’t enough, he thinks, and it strikes fear in his heart unlike any monster could.

“That I know”, Jaskier replies, his eyes softening but the resolve is still there, hidden behind shining eyes; for a moment, Geralt breathes a bit more easily. “But it’s not what I mean.” “What then? You’re not making sense.” “How long have we known each other?”, Jaskier, asks, leaning forward, but doesn’t give Geralt a chance to answer. “Decades. And we travelled many of those years together, so I would never have wanted to disturb our relationship by asking for something you couldn’t give, and yet I cannot help but wonder… it used to be that we travelled together for a few months, then split and met up again when the time for it was right, but think of the last time we parted. It’s been years, I think. You even spent the last winter with me in Oxenfurt instead of Kaer Morhen, although I know you hate the city.”

Jaskier laughs softly, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and he is right, Geralt hates the city and yet hated the thought of leaving his bard even more. For a moment, he wants to say something, but Jaskier isn’t finished. “You have seen me at my best and at my worst”, he continues, and his voice is soft, contemplative. “When I was successful and when I had failed, when I got injured, rejected, thrown aside, and when I was happy, silly, drunk with love or ale or a crowd’s adoration. And yet, it seems that you haven’t tired of me. You let me dress your wounds, wash your hair, keep you company in your worst moments, in your best.”

He takes a deep breath and something deep inside of Geralt aches with the need to hold him, trembles with fear because he still doesn’t know where Jaskier wants to take him with those sweet words that feel like they could be either a beginning or an end. But he can’t, not yet, maybe not ever. “I hope-”, Jaskier starts once more, looks up at him, and this is it, this is where everything will change, Geralt can feel it, a tension crackling through the air. “I hope you know that I would never expect anything from you that you didn’t want to give. And I hope that, if you don’t reciprocate what I feel for you, that it doesn’t change the friendship we have. But I just – I can’t help but hope, because of the way you sometimes look at me, and touch me, and because you let me say all this without interrupting me once… Geralt, tell me, is there really nothing but friendship between us?”

 He stays in the bath until the water has gone cold, then gets out to dress in the same shirt and breeches as before, feels the rough material scratch at his skin as if to ask him to spend the rest of his days submerged in water and memory. The light has changed since Geralt has last looked outside, midday giving way to a sunny afternoon. The bed seems to be calling out to him, a sweet siren song, and he could stay here, sleep until the next morning, but his herb supplies are running low, his whetstones almost ground to dust. And there is another song, ingrained in every of his cells, that draws him back to the tavern, back to the singer’s too-high voice and inept fingers. It’s the one temptation Geralt can’t withstand, even if it’s no longer his siren who weaves the tunes. So, he leaves the room behind and pretends he can smell ranogrin, fool’s parsley and the saccharine scent of love.

[whumping-every-day]

I read your tags on the Whumper heats a handmade leather and barbed wire whip post where you mentioned Gabriel can't look at barbed wire now. I would die for a drabble about him seeing some while he's with Maria and Stefan

Hlkjhlkjh me too Nonnie! Me too. This got away from me. 

Gabriel Masterlist

-

The spool of metal is coiled in the corner like a poisonous snake. Gabriel’s chest is pounding like it is one, and the sweat prickling in his palms and at the back of his neck seem to agree. He can’t look away. 

The danger feels very real. It’s innocently sitting there, completely stationary, but somehow Gabriel’s body is convinced that it will spring up at him at any moment. 

There’s a burning sensation spreading across his back, and it’s not real, Gabriel thinks, it’s not real - 

But it doesn’t matter. 

He barely remembers his last encounter with barbed wire. But he remembers recovering well enough. 

The first days had been excruciating. He remembers days and nights spent awake, hot and feverish, kept from sleep by the constant, unrelenting agony. He remembers being unable to lie on his back, unable to even cover himself with the thin blanket, because the skin of his back had been flayed like raw meat. 

Master had left the whip there, lying in plan view, so Gabriel could see the tattered pieces of his own flesh clinging to the barbs. 

He remembers sobbing himself dry, staring at the walls of the basement while his mind spun and floated somewhere above his body. 

Gabriel is somewhere else when Maria pulls the door open. 

“Gabe? Sweety?” She steps onto the first stair, reaches a hand out, and Gabriel keens and flinches away from her like she’d come out carrying a whip. He hasn’t flinched away from her like this in months - Maria can only watch as he scrambles to the far side of the garage, keening and whimpering as he sinks into a puddle. 

He’s staring at something on the opposite shelf, and there’s so much on it that Maria can’t tell what. 

“Oh, bud…” The boy is shaking, and his eyes are glazed. Maria takes a careful step closer, then another. Gabriel moans in terror as her shadow falls over him, and she quickly falls into a crouch. “Hey… Gabriel, love, can you hear me?” 

The answer is, for all appearances, an empathetic no. 

The boy is rocking faintly, arms clenched tight around his middle, and for once his trembling is still. Instead he looks like he’s about to be sick; there is an ashen cast to his skin, and a fresh sheen of sweat. 

His lips are moving, and it takes Maria a moment to decipher what he’s whispering. 

“No, nonono, please, not that, not that, not again-” It’s nothing like his usual begging. This is monotone, nearly inaudible, like he knows it won’t work but he can’t help trying. There’s nothing behind Gabriel’s eyes this time, even as he pleads for mercy. 

Maria feels a well of tears rise to her own eyes, and she grits her teeth and pushes it down. She always feels helpless when this happens, every time that her poor sweet pet goes somewhere she can’t reach. 

“Gabriel? Please, baby,” she whispers as she settles in front of him. “Come back to me. Where did you go, sweet boy?” 

The sight of the coil of barbed wire is imprinted on the back of Gabriel’s eyelids. He’s seen it before, he knows what it means, but he’d tried so hard to be good, so hard… 

Something settles in his line of vision, and suddenly instead of his gaze locked dully on the barbed wire, it’s his Mistress in front of him. He takes a shuddering breath, and he hiccups and sobs on the next bout of begging. 

“P-please, please, not that,” he whimpers. “Please, please Mistress, I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, I’ll, I’ll be better, I’ll do better-”

It’s like his mouth is running without him. Gabriel breaks down halfway through, and then he’s just crying, useless and weak and pathetic. Mistress cautiously lifts a hand, and Gabriel mewls in terror and flattens himself to the wall. 

“- efan? Stefan? Help me get him back into the house. There’s something in here, I think, he saw something, I don’t know what-” It’s all broken fragments to Gabriel. His vision starts to tunnel at some point, but he’s awake enough to feel himself being picked up. The arms are strong enough to lift him clear off the ground, and he sobs and twists in a panic. 

His vision whites out after that, and an indeterminate amount of time later, Gabriel finds himself blinking back to awareness on the couch. He’s inside, and dizzy, and extremely disoriented. 

“Gabe?” Gabriel scrambles upright in a whole-bodied flinch, and his Masters are waiting for him. He doesn’t remember how he got there, and that frightens him. 

“Wh-wha- where, nn-no, please-” he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, and he’s so confused. He doesn’t know why he’s so afraid - doesn’t know why his heart is pounding like he’s just run a marathon. 

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, listen-” Mistress tries to get his attention, but her voice is too gentle, too soft. 

It’s only when Master curses and strides closer, grips him by the shoulders and shakes, that Gabriel feels properly awake. He’s gasping, and his hands are up halfway, like he’d gone to grab his Master’s wrists and thought better of it. 

“Shit, bud, you’ve got to listen to me,” Stefan says, and there’s fear in his voice. It’s shocking enough that Gabriel stops, and for a long moment the whole world hangs in stasis. Master’s hands dwarf his shoulders, and Gabriel feels so fragile underneath them, like he could shatter at the slightest squeeze. 

“I - I’m sorry-” It’s the only thing he can say, and Master releases his shoulders and sinks into a crouch beside the sofa.

“No, sweetheart, no,” he whispers. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You - you panicked, or had a flashback. You’re not in trouble, I promise you’re not.” 

It’s said with a hint of desperation, as if Master has tried to tell him that many times in the last few minutes. 

Gabriel sucks in a steadying breath and squeezes his eyes closed. This happens sometimes, he knows - sometimes he gets scared, and his Masters have to calm him down, and usually, there is nothing to be afraid of. They’ve never hurt him for panicking, never gone through with what he was so frightened of in the first place. 

“I’m nnn-not, not-” Gabriel has to stop, swallow, try again. “ ‘m n-not in t-trouble…?” It’s timid, and quiet, and he can’t meet their eyes. But they both murmur soft agreements, and as bewildered as he is, Gabriel thinks maybe he can believe them. 

“I don’t know what scared you, bud, but it’s not like that here,” his Mistress says softy. It sounds like a promise, and Gabriel’s fingers curl in his lap. He wishes that he could be certain.

He believes they won’t use the barbed wire, at least. 

Mostly. 

If he’s good. 

He’d have to be very, very bad, he thinks, for these two to hurt him like that. They’ve been so gentle with him, so kind - maybe they would even warn him beforehand, let him know when he’s done wrong and punish him some other way first. 

He thinks of Master’s belt, and the impact Mistress’s sharp heels, and he’s frightened and hopeful and grateful all at once. 

He can be good for them. Maybe even good enough to never see that corner of the garage ever again. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Happy Together : 9

Good Morning

Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+. [spanking]

Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Steve continues to toy with the reader.

Notes: Okay, so this is the least chapter I have ready to go but I will do my very best to get another done by next Wednesday as usual. I really love this series but it is intense and I wanna do it a certain way so it takes a little more. That being said, I love everyone reading along!

Thanks to everyone who reads and as always, I looked forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3

+

That night was spent in agony. Steve slept soundly beside you, his arm wrapped around you as ever, but you couldn’t stop squirming. He had left a need in you. It may not have been him you wanted but you couldn’t quell the desire nestled between your legs. Every time your thighs rubbed together you had to hold your breath. You weren’t sure if he had done it on purpose but it annoyed you all the same. He had kept you locked up here for a whole week and you were going crazy from it.

How could you ever be incensed by the touch of a man who had paddled you? Not only that, he had dry-humped you like some teenage virgin. You thought you had left that nonsense behind in high school. When you did at last doze off, you dreamed of the scene in the kitchen. Trapped against the counter but this time, Steve was inside of you. Your thighs shook and your walls clenched around him longing for more. Then you woke up.

Something moved along your thigh. Steve’s fingers danced around the hem of your nighty, slipping beneath it and glossing over the thin satin of your panties. He caressed your stomach, picking at the elastic waist and slid his fingers under it. You went stiff against him, his thick arm holding you in place as his erection once more poked you ass. You reached down to stop him, your hand merely resting on his as he continued his motion downward.

His finger pressed between your folds, finding your hooded bud. He held his finger down, inflaming your nerves and your pelvis bucked unwillingly. You scratched at the back of his hand, “Please,” You begged, unsure if it was for him to stop or continue. 

He withdrew his hand, only to quickly catch yours and start guiding it with his own. He lined his large fingers up with yours, once more searching out your clit. You trembled as he made you rub yourself, the circles spinning your wits on end. Then two fingers, firmly against your bud, your body wracked as your breath picked up. Despite your efforts to resist, the flames were growing high, sparking along your thighs and stomach. You arched your back without thinking, his cock only withheld by his thin pajamas. He forced you to pluck at the strings, pulling, pulling, pulling tighter. Your moans wisped out of you as you tried to steady your heart. 

You grunted as your climax blossomed suddenly, rippling across your flesh as goosebumps broke out over your skin and electricity coursed through your veins. You bit the pillow to keep from crying out and Steve worked your fingers until you went limp.

“Good morning,” He whispered, leaning over you. 

He pulled your hand from your panties, holding up you glistening fingers in the artificial light from the window. He moved your hand to his lips and licked them with a hum. You wanted to recoil but waited until he released you, not wanting a repeat of the night before. As it was, you were ashamed of what he had just done. What you had done.

“Morning,” You said quietly, drawing up your legs as if to hide from him. You kept your back to him and tucked your hand under your side. Your thighs were slick with your cum. He kissed the top of you head before rolling to his side of the bed, his weight lifting from the mattress. 

“I’m gonna shower,” He said sweetly, “You wanna get the coffee on?” 

You mumbled your ascent but didn’t move. You watched him as he came around your side and neared the bathroom door, his hand reaching into his pajamas as he stroked his unyielding erection. You could see the shape of him through the stripe pants; he looked even bigger than he felt. You covered your face and the sound of the faucet came soon after.

It took you a moment to break free of your mortification. Sure it was nice to release the tension but the method had been less than ideal. Why had he done that? Why were you even still asking that question? There was no reason for anything he did. You didn’t know why he had first bothered you that night in his restaurant or why he had continued to pursue you afterward. You didn’t know why he had abducted you and brought you to this place. You only knew that he was undoubtedly insane.

When you stood, you tried to ignore the dampness of your panties. You wrapped your robe around yourself and entered the kitchen. You went about the dull practice of readying the morning brew and stared at the cracked screen as it peeked out between the curtains. 

You leaned on the counter and felt something jab your back. You looked over and grabbed the leather paddle from where Steve had left it. You spun it in your hand as you considered it; too light to use as a weapon. It’d only anger him. Once more, a large hand wrapped around yours and you jumped as Steve came up before you. He easily took the paddle from you and waved it in the air. 

“I’ll put this away,” He lowered it, turning it flat against your thigh, “Unless you don’t want me to?” You crossed your arms and sidestepped him. You pulled open the cupboard and took out two mugs. “Sorry, that was bad joke,” He said.

You stayed silent and poured the coffee. You handed him a cup and returned to the counter, content to drink yours right there.

“Dear,” He came up closer, his hand on the small of your back, “Is there anything I can bring you tonight? A book? Maybe...a record? There’s a player in the den.”

“There’s a den?” You still didn’t look at him but the prospect of another room was a speck of excitement in your monotonous existence.

“There is,” He confirmed, “But if I unlock it, you have to behave. Understood?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” You let go of the handle of your mug and turned to him, “Please. I’ve been so…” Your breath caught in your throat as you feared finishing the sentence and angering him.

“I know it’s boring in here, for now, at least. But you’re still learning,” He touched your shoulder, “You generation...Well, you’ve forgotten a lot of things. I’m just trying to give you the skills society took from you.”

Your eyes narrowed but you said nothing. You really wanted to listen to some music. Or read anything but lifestyle articles. It felt as if it had been years since you had heard a melody. You recalled the rich notes blaring in your ears when he had taken you. You wondered what he had done with your headphones.

“I swear, I’ll be good,” You pleaded, “Please?”

You looked up at him hopefully and he smiled. He bent down to kiss you, drawing you to him as he swayed against you. “I can’t say no to you,” He said, brushing his fingers through your hair as he held your head to his chest. “After breakfast, I’ll show you the den, okay?”

-

As promised, Steve unlocked the den after breakfast. He led you through the small hall parallel to the dining room. It was a large room. A fireplace along the far wall hooded by a painted mantle with a line of ornaments, including a few empty picture frames. An ornate rug was spread across the centre of the room beneath a cherry red couch; book-ended by a pair of walnut end tables. A matching coffee table with curved legs stood before the sofa right before the hearth. Two arm chairs finished the set; their fabric striped with white and red. 

There was a bookshelf along one wall and in the next corner, a record player atop a tall table. Beneath were a collection of records on the single shelf. Two more windows, or rather screens, shone, adding to the light of the porcelain lamps. The aesthetic matched that of the rest of the house; you hadn’t expected anything less.

Steve watched you as you considered the room. It was a little more freedom; not true freedom but as much as you could hope for. You couldn’t help the slight curve of your mouth. There were books in here. Not just magazines of fashion tutorials and cleaning secrets. Actual books. And the record player! It was literal music to your ears; or would be. You stepped forward, forgetting about your unwanted escort, but he caught your hand before you could get far.

“Dear,” He drew you back to him, “I’m trusting you today. Keep the den in order. Don’t let yourself get carried away. I still expect your chores to be done.”

Your face immediately fell. “Yes, sweetheart,” You droned.

“I think it’s mostly just Sinatra, some Cab Calloway,” He turned you and led you towards the record player. “Maybe some Judy Garland…” He released you and knelt by the table, “Do you know how to work it?”

“I do,” You voice was lined with a hint of excitement. You looked to him as he stared at you expectantly. “Thank you.”

He smiled and stood. His eyes wandered to your body. He stepped closer and you found yourself against the wall. He touched your arm, tracing his hand along your shoulder and across your collarbone. He leaned down to inhale the scent of your hair.

“You were naughty this morning,” He breathed, “Touching yourself like that.” You froze and closed your eyes in shame. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’ve done it too.” He confessed, his nose brushing against your temple as he spoke in half-whisper. “I think of you when I’m in the shower.”

“Steve,” You squeaked as he pressed himself against you and your eyes snapped open. He pulled back to gaze down at you, his hand rested on your neck, palm pressed to the side of your throat.

“If you wanted me to, I’d touch you. I’d do anything you asked me to. Well, within reason.” His other hand was at your throat, too. You thought he was going to choke you but then his fingers began to dance down your chest, hands cupped your breasts through the thin fabric of your nightie. “There are things we cannot do until we are wed...I want you to choose a date today. That is my one request,” He pinched your nipple between his fingers and you whined.

He released you suddenly and turned his back to you. You were left against the wall, bracing it for stability.

“Here,” He crossed to the wall just beside the door and took down the calendar hanging there. He found a pen in the drawer of an end table and came back to you. “Pick a date,” He circled a whole row, “Within this window and we’ll start planning right away.” He tucked the pen in his pocket. “The sooner, the better.”

You took the calendar from him and he checked his watch with a sigh. “I’m afraid I have to leave you, dear,” He bent to kiss you, his hand holding your chin as he crushed you against the wall, the calendar trapped between you. “I promise, when we marry, I won’t work for two weeks. Maybe three...our honeymoon is going to last forever.” He pecked your lips one last time before detaching from you, “I love you, dear.” He brushed the hair away from your face, “Be good.”

He stared at you until you echoed him; ‘I love you’. Content enough, he smiled and left you as you were. The door stayed open and you heard him leave through that at the end of the hallway. You looked down cautiously and examined the calendar. He had circled the week after this. If he had his way, you would be married within a few weeks. You dropped the bundle of paper and slid down the wall. So much for freedom.

+

tags: @brigidwolf @ruff-m3rc @alexakeyloveloki @lanabanana-86 @sathlens @jessieray98 @lilithhellfire @kellyn1604 @ahideousthinginside @ironlady1993 @kloe-iel @grayxswan @iheartsebastianstan @myboyfriendgiriboy @tanelle83 @patzammit @phoenix21love @they-call-me-le @spaghettirogers @buckycaptspideypool @bethanyzed @biasedtittes @bbyspiiice @thoughtlesstales @glitterypinkkitty @selinbaskaya @vitamingrant @dil-emmuh @metalarmlover @queenoftheunderdark @lilly-evans-and-the-kpop @captainfreecandyvan @collette04 @this-is-my-design @yagurlrosie @blackpantherimagines @kweenkxtrina @heavenlyblyss @secretlyactivated @roses-and-absinthe @xxxelettaxxx @rainbowkisses31 @celestiial-angel @alphabloodfur @xdatbitch @quant-um-fizzx @peaceloveyesh @bodhi-black @captainarp @booklover240 @kawaiiloverofanimu @everything-is-awesomesauce @holylulusworld @lemonnggrab @kiwihoee @aekr @arkhamsanity @twizzziee @karabear0091 @breezy1415  @beautiful-and-strange  @momc95 @buckycaptspideypool @justballoonfishthings @ms-munchkin @whosmarisaaarw @kxllyxnnx @calspixie @imdiegohargreeves @satinprincessxo @amethyst-the-thot @docharleythegeekqueen @iiqueer-vibesii @carol-damn-vers @l0rd-disick @jilldsumner @hufflebucky @nerdypinupcrystal @pink1031 @agent-spidey @wassupbitchesssss @lucifersnipnips @thirstyforsomeyandere @xxm3xxj @stuckybarton @heartbeats-wildly @tea-with-seb @the-lululemon @abesottedlass @poppyshawn @obsesseds-world @jazztherebel  @heartislubbingdubbing @couldntbedamned @desir-ae @adreamemporium @ashrod98 @buckyxwintersxldier @buckybarneshairpullingkink @lazinessisalliknow @kastheabsolutepessimist @daggersofloki @odinson-barnes 

[turtlepated]

Beetlejuice x Reader - Lonely Like Me

Part 2

This one’s waaaay longer than Part 1, and I cranked the angst up to 11 and broke off the knob, so tread lightly. Don’t wanna upset anyone. Thanks for reading!

@imtherain

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

Beetlejuice was invisible for a long, long time before Lydia came along. He hated it, but he got used to it because he had no choice. Now he’s got his own weird little family thing going on and he’s the most content he’s ever been. But then he discovers that someone else can see him, too, and he just has to check it out. 

Your life wasn't much, but you did all right.

You didn't like your job very much, but it wasn't without it's perks. It was certainly a step up from ten years' worth of minimum wage drudgery in one department store after another. It was still far from your dream job, but you could get by. You tried hard to remember that.

Your social circle was... easy to keep track of. Over the course of your life you'd had really good friends from middle school on up through senior year. You'd been close with a couple people in particular, but as you all got older and your lives became more hectic, people spread out and lost touch. You understood that, it was only natural after all. You did think more than once that maybe you ought to reach out some time, just to touch base and catch up.

But then the thought would occur to you that if they really wanted to talk to you, they would do it. It seemed to happen sooner or later with every friendship you made. One day they just... stopped answering your messages and you figured that was that. It bothered you sometimes, but you were used to it. Life went on for everybody. 

But not for you.

Things began changing the day you almost crashed your shopping cart into that strange man at the supermarket. You had never seen another person like him in your life, at least not in living color and outside the glow of the TV screen. He'd been dressed in a black and white striped suit in such a state of distress that it looked as though he'd fallen down a ravine while wearing it. And his hair! Brilliant green locks that stood straight up from his scalp as though electrified.

You'd apologized, of course, offering him a smile and heading on your way. You'd glanced back over your shoulder as you rounded the next aisle, but he wasn't there? No way you would have missed such an outlandishly dressed person, but it was as though he'd disappeared into thin air. Strangely, the black-clad teenage girl he'd presumably been with was still standing right where you'd seen her before, apparently talking to herself. You shrugged it off. After all, you often talked to yourself too.

Ever since that day you've had this feeling like you were being watched. It would be the barest flicker in your peripheral vision, enough to make your pulse speed up a little bit. But there was never anything there. Even your cat would apparently just stare at a random area of empty space. Which was, admittedly, not unusual for a cat.

You did your best to put it out of your mind. You had plenty of other things to concern yourself with than imaginary visitors. Your job was monotonous, it was repetitive. There were days you dreaded going to bed at night because you knew that in the morning you would have to go back there for nine hours with no escape. You tried to make your cubicle into your haven from the mind-numbing tedium. You tacked goofy little drawings and memes and poems all around your walls. You decorated it with seasonal trappings: fake flowers in the spring, pumpkins and leaves in fall, fairy lights and garland at Christmas. Some days it was enough to distract you. And some days it wasn’t.

One week, for no particular reason, it’s bad. You start out every day frustrated for no definable reason, and then you have to go to work where it only gets worse. From Monday to Friday, everything is awful and it sends you spiraling down a dark pit into despair that try as you might, you can’t seem to pull yourself out of. The hours drag by with unbearable slowness, each passing second seeming to cost you more than you knew you had to give. You soldier on as best you can, wanting more than anything to simply go home and collapse into someone’s comforting embrace and just cry. But no matter how fiercely you want it, how desperately you wish for it, no one will be there. You will spend the night as you always have; alone, aching, and drying your own tears.

Finally, blessedly, you leave work for the day and you would have the whole weekend to try and recover from this terrible week before doing it all over again. When you step through your door a short while later you find the house utterly empty save for yourself and your cat. Ordinarily shutting the door behind you after a long day would bring on such a sense of relief. You would pet your cat and change into your pajamas, sit on the couch and relax. But not today.

You kick your shoes off at the door and leave them there, slinging your coat over the back of the couch as you pass by it, dropping your shoulder bag on the floor as you begin shucking off your clothing, stripping right down to your underwear and crawling back into bed, pulling the covers up over your head. It only takes a few seconds before it begins to get stuffy in your cocoon, your face growing hot as your eyeballs burn. At long last tears come, soaking your pillow, coating your cheeks as you curl into as tight a ball as you can, trying to stave off the gnawing ache in the center of your chest.

When it becomes too difficult to breathe you sit up in bed, raking back the hair stuck to your damp face, sniffling, your eyes red and raw. God dammit, you’re being ridiculous. You’re an adult, for crap’s sake, you’re supposed to be stronger than this. Yet here you are, bawling your eyes out, wishing so damn badly just for someone to sit next to you and say everything will be ok.

Your phone rings loudly from its place on your headboard and you jump, your heart leaping into your throat at the unexpected sound. Curious, you raise it up to see who’s calling. The screen reads: “UNKNOWN – 2383543873”. You roll your eyes, clearly a telemarketer or robocall, and silence the phone before setting it back on the headboard. You take a deep breath, filling your lungs til they felt they might burst, and let it all out in a harsh exhale between pursed lips. You actually do feel better, at least, after the crying session, sort of emptied out. Your head jerks round as your phone rings again, “UNKNOWN – 2383543873”. What in the world?

You don’t silence it this time, but you don’t answer it either. You sit there watching the phone, and sure enough a minute later it rings once again: “UNKNOWN – 2383543873”. This time you pick it up, swiping your finger across the screen to accept the call. “Hello?” you say tentatively. Silence is your only response. “Hello?”

After nearly 30 seconds of no answer, you lower the phone to hang up. At the same moment your thumb hits the Call End button, you think you hear a voice on the line: “He-…Hello?” It’s low, raspy and gravelly and it sounds surprised, but before you have time to react you’ve already hung up the phone. Barely a minute later it rings again and you pick it up immediately. “Who is this?” you demand, the beginnings of real fear tightening in your chest. You can hear what sounds like heavy breathing on the other end of the line, and that same gravelly voice in your ear, “Holy crap, is this really working?” “What do you want?” There’s a burst of maniacal laughter that makes you snatch the phone away from your ear. “I can’t believe it, it is working! Hiya, babes!”

You’re completely dumbfounded. What is going on here? Who is this strange man (because by now you’re pretty sure it’s a man’s voice) and why is he calling you? Is he drunk? High? Some combination of the two? “Is there something I can help you with?” you ask him, interrupting his gleeful giggling and babbling, getting frustrated with this whole crazy situation. “First things first, sweet stuff,” he says in a sing-song tone. “I’m gonna need ya to say my name, and then I can help you.” You frown, confused by the request and a little unsettled by the eagerness in his voice. “All right, weirdo, I’m hanging up now,” you say flatly. “Have nice night or whatever.” As you lower the phone you hear him sputtering in alarm. “Wait wait wait wait!” With a sigh you raise the phone back up. “I know this is weird and I didn’t mean to piss you off, but I just wanted to say everything’s gonna be ok.”

He says it all in one breath, like he’s afraid of being cut off before he finishes speaking, so it takes you a minute to fully process the onslaught of words. But when you do you can’t help feeling a little unnerved. “What?” you ask dumbly, thinking maybe you’ve misunderstood him. “I know you’ve been havin a hard time, doll, and I just wanted to letcha know everything’s gonna be ok.”

Your breath catches in your throat. How did he-? “Are you… watching me??” There’s a pause before he answers. “Is there any possible way I can say yes to that question without you getting mad and hanging up on me?” You scoff, angry at the invasion of privacy, afraid of what his motive might be, and hang up at once, scrambling out of bed to put on more clothes. You feel unbelievably vulnerable, what if he’s watching you right now?

You throw on a t shirt and pajama bottoms, peering out through your blinds to see if you can spot anybody watching your house. It’s already dark, but as far as you can see there’s no one around. The phone rings again, the same number, the same Unknown caller. You ignore it and soon enough it stops. But then it rings again, and again. You snatch up your phone and turn it off. It’s not a permanent solution, but maybe it’ll buy you some peace of mind for the night.

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

Sorry for the massive angst-dump, but hopefully Part 3 will make up for it when Reader finally gets to meet the Ghost with the Most! 

PS: there’s a little bit of an Easter Egg slipped into this part. If you figure it out, you get a high five!

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 28)

Promises And Honesty

Here’s a pretty long chapter with a mix of conflict, smut and fluff. I hope you enjoy! Rated explicit, wink wink, ‘cause our man is injured and he deserves some lovin’. Also, I’ve included some HC’s about Arthur’s, *ahem*, romantic experience. These are just my own thoughts, feel free to have your own thoughts and take what I write in my story as just that, my story. I’m not saying this is canon :)

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

Micah and I headed back to camp after another drink, and it was dark by the time we returned. After the awkwardness passed at the Parlour House, Micah and I ended up having a pleasant evening. I found that he could be a likeable enough guy when he wasn’t attempting to flirt or suck up to me, he could even be quite entertaining. Still, two drinks were enough and I was ready to return, eager to surround myself with the company of the other gang members, who were decidedly more comfortable to be around.

Micah was loud as he swung down from his horse, pulling out the money clip and waving it around, singing my praises. It attracted the attention of Dutch, who asked what we’d been up to. I let Micah explain, remaining quiet as my eyes wandered over to Arthur’s tent. The canvas was pinned back so he wasn’t isolated, and he was sitting upright against the wagon and watching us, his journal open on his lap, pencil in his hand but no longer moving. He was looking at Micah, not seeming to notice my gaze on him, and the man in question distracted me with a hand on my shoulder.

“What’d I tell you, Dutch? She and I do well, paired up together. That was a good call of yours to send us out to that house together all those weeks ago,” Micah said, his fingers kneading and rubbing at my shoulder, far too comfortable there. I eased away a bit, until he got the hint and let go of me. That was one thing I could give him credit for; he tended not to push things further than I’d like.

“Sixty dollars is pretty darn good for a bag of broken glass, I must admit that’s probably some of the easiest money we’ve ever made,” Dutch replied, giving me a proud smile. “My dear, you have any more ideas where that came from?”

“I could probably think of some,” I said, “though, these kinds of things probably shouldn’t be done in the same town too often, in case some busy body catches wind.”

“Of course, you do what you think is best,” Dutch nodded, taking the money that Micah offered to him; the camp’s cut. He handed me my share too, and I slipped it away in my satchel before glancing over at Arthur again.

“Anyway, excuse me,” I dipped my head politely and went to excuse myself. A hand wrapped around my wrist, and I turned to see it was Micah. 

“Thank you, darlin’, for a very pleasant evening,” he told me, his tone dripping with his version of charm. I stalled for a moment, taken aback by it. 

“Oh, you’re welcome,” I murmured. 

“I’m welcome, am I?” He repeated, a sinuous, cheeky laugh following up his words. I retracted my arm and walked away, fast losing interest in whatever sort of innuendo he might be making. 

“Mr. Bell?” I heard Dutch questioning playfully. Micah laughed, secretive and somewhat suggestive. I frowned to myself, trying my damnedest to rise above it, something unpleasant crawling within me at the thought of the assumptions Dutch could possibly come to.

Why couldn’t Micah act like the half decent human being I’d seen glimpses of, all the time? Perhaps then, the rest of the gang might actually like him, considering I got the impression that most of them didn’t. 

I reached Arthur’s tent just as Miss Grimshaw did, she was carrying a bucket of water. 

“Here you go, Mr. Morgan, be careful it’s not too warm for you,” she said, leaving the bucket on his table before turning to undo the strings tying the canvas to the wagon, about to let it swing closed when she spotted me. 

“Thanks, Susan,” Arthur told her, his voice sounding tired and monotonous. 

“You have a visitor,” she said, shifting to show me to him. He was unbuttoning his union suit, and paused to wave me in. I entered, the canvas falling closed behind me as Susan left us alone in the privacy of the tent. 

I sat down on the chair by Arthur’s bed, helping him pull back his union suit so he wouldn’t have to strain and pull too hard on his injury. It was healing well, all things considered, but I knew that it still caused him a lot of pain and he wasn’t yet out of the woods. The more time went on, the less happy he seemed being cooped up, and I felt so much sympathy for him. 

He left the union suit hanging around his hips, scooting forwards on the bed to reach for the bucket of water, grunting a little at the use of his bad arm. I placed my hand on his chest and reached into the bucket for him, taking out the washcloth there, squeezing it out and bringing it to his body, scrubbing it gently over his chest. Arthur kept his eyes down towards the floor as I washed him. I didn’t want him to feel bad about being bathed like a child, so I tried to do it in a way that was affectionate, bordering on sensual so that he might enjoy it, rather than feel embarrassed.

“How’d it go with Micah?” He asked me, and my mind went to his offer in the Parlour House before it went to our job, making my hand still on his toned stomach. I carried on quickly, though, re-wetting the cloth and bringing it to his arm, and he held it out for me to give me better access. 

“You wanna talk about Micah whilst I’m doing my very best to be like them bath girls you mentioned?” I teased him. 

“I mentioned bath girls?” He questioned, head quickly turning to me, eyes filling with dread. 

“The night you turned up here. Ain’t surprised you don’t remember, you weren’t in a good way. All that whiskey, too,” I explained. Arthur kept staring at me and I met his eyes, chuckling. “What'chu look so nervous for?”

“I���m sorry if I said anything out of line,” he said ashamedly, eyes dropping to where my hands worked across his forearm.

“What? You didn’t.”

“I’ve only ever paid for one once, an’ that was out of curiosity. Never thought much to it, felt a little awkward if I’m being honest,” he told me quietly, “I don’t make a habit of it.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” I laughed, dragging the cloth under the palm of his hand and kissing at his fingertips. “You made a joke, that’s all. We laughed about it.”

“Oh, well alright,” he murmured. I stared at his face for a moment before taking a breath and answering his question. 

“It went well, anyway. Got sixty dollars, and it turned out being pretty funny… we had people stepping into help us, the con artists." 

"Really?” He asked, lips curling up into something close to a smile. I nodded and he breathed a short laugh.

“Felt a little bad for a moment, but,” I trailed off, shrugging. 

“Ain’t nothing compared to what the rest of us do,” he murmured, going quiet for a moment before adding, “well, I’m glad it went well.”

“I figured it’d been a while since I brought in any money.”

“You’re alright, you do enough.”

“How’re you feeling, anyway?” I asked, moving onto his other arm; on his injured side. I avoided his dressing and carefully brushed the cloth over his skin. Arthur was silent for a few seconds.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” I peered at his eyes, though he kept his gaze on my hands.

“I’m just… I don’t like having to just lie here,” he admitted. 

“I know, sweetheart, but you gotta get fit and healthy again. You ain’t gonna do that by pushing yourself.”

“I know. It ain’t so bad when you’re here, but,” he trailed off and sighed, and my hand froze on his bicep.

“I’m sorry for leaving you, earlier. It didn’t occur to me– I thought you were just fed up over not being able to get out yourself,” I apologised, and Arthur met my eyes, his widening a little.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I know I can’t keep you chained to my bedside this whole time,” he chuckled, “you gotta do what you gotta do. Don’t mind me.”

“I will mind you. I don’t like seeing you upset.”

Arthur shook his head and changed the subject. “Saw Micah touching you again, he ain’t getting ideas just ‘cause you’re working with him, is he?”

My eyes widened and I faltered, my heart beating it’s way into my throat. It was as if Arthur had read my mind and somehow knew something had happened. He frowned in concern at my expression, and I sighed and decided it was best to come clean, as keeping it to myself felt dirty. 

“I want to tell you something,” I began.

“Okay,” he sounded nervous. 

“Don’t be mad. Micah and I went to the Parlour House after, just to have a drink to celebrate a job well done,” I said, meeting his eyes. 

He was staring at me with parted lips, anxiety clear in his pretty eyes. 

My mouth went dry and I shifted the cloth to my other hand and began cleaning his back. “I’m only telling you this in the name of openness, and because it feels wrong to keep it from you when we're… you know.”

“Angel,” he exhaled, his head shaking minutely. I realised how it was all sounding and was quick to amend my clunky wording. 

“Arthur, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Nothing happened,” I assured him and he relaxed a little, sighing out in mild relief. “But he did… offer.”

“He offered?” He repeated drily.

“Yes, he tried to persuade me to- to– well, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? I told him no, obviously, and thankfully he didn’t push. But I wanted to tell you, Arthur, because I see that he likes to rile people up, twist things, and the last thing I wanted was for some rumour to start and for you to hear it, and–”

“I understand,” he nodded, cutting me off with a gruff tone. His jaw was tight and he stared daggers at the ground. “That son of a bitch’s lucky I’m injured, if I weren’t I’d be out there right now–”

“Arthur, it’s fine.”

“–knocking seven bells out'a him.”

“I don’t doubt it, that’s another reason why I’m telling you now instead of waiting around until something gets spread and you’re fit enough to do something about it. I don’t want you fighting him on my account, you get on poorly enough without me.”

“He’s a bag of shit, sweetheart, with or without you I’m sure at some point I’ll bust his face, whether he looks at me wrong or somethin’ worse,” he growled. I sighed and leaned close, pressing a kiss to his damp shoulder before rinsing the cloth, continuing to wash him. 

“It’s not worth it,” I told him. 

“Oh, it would be. Nothin’ would bring me greater pleasure,” he responded, and I caught his eye.

“Nothing?” I repeated, cocking a brow suggestively.

“I hate him so goddamn much,” he said through clenched teeth, missing my insinuation. His voice had darkened to that particular tone that always ran right through me and made my insides hum peculiarly. “It’s bad enough he’s kissing Dutch’s ass like he is, now he’s tryin'a get a piece of yours.”

“Arthur,” I breathed, shaking my head and letting out a surprised laugh at his choice of words. “I handled it.”

He looked at me, his brows arching unhappily. I kissed his cheek then brought the cloth back to his front, scrubbing it down the center of his torso, over his abs, right above where his union suit covered his more intimate parts. I felt him tense. 

“Don’t think about him no more, we’re alone right now. It’s just us,” I reminded him. He went quiet, watching me as I tugged at his union suit; he lifted his hips to allow me to pull it down his legs, leaving him naked. It was the first time I’d seen him completely nude, the first time I’d seen his manhood in decent light from the lantern.

I swallowed, heating up significantly, and began washing his thighs, bending to wash his calves, his feet. Moving up and repeating the action on his other leg. The tent had gone unnaturally quiet, like we were both trying to breathe silently. I pretended not to notice the way his body began to stir at my touch. I rinsed the cloth, biting down on my lip as I gingerly brought it between his legs.

“I could do that,” his words were breathy and half-hearted. I tried to be as appropriate as possible, but regardless he hardened further under the cloth in my hand. My heart pounded harder than I imagined it could, thinking about the gang being outside of the tent, completely ignorant to whatever we got up to in there.

“Arthur,” I whispered, turning my head but keeping it tilted down, not daring to meet his eyes. “You think if I was to… to do something for you, you’d be able to be discreet?”

I heard him swallow, then he shifted slightly on the bed. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“Would you be able to be quiet?” I rephrased, making myself look up to his eyes. He bit down on his lip, gnawing for a moment as his face reddened. 

“Angel, I lived out my teenage years living in camps just like this,” he started, his voice so very quiet, “I’m more practiced than I care to admit in being quiet.”

We shared a breathy laugh, faces lingering close to one another. I pressed forwards and kissed him, rubbing his growing erection with the warm, wet cloth a little more purposefully now. His breathing sped up, his body jerking, lips moving against mine hungrily. His arm reached for me, crossing his chest, twisting his shoulder and making his breath hitch with a shot of pain. I let go of the cloth momentarily to guide his arm back, breaking the kiss and looking him in the eye. 

“Don’t do nothin’, just enjoy this,” I told him and he nodded after a moment. 

I pressed against his chest, prompting him to lean back against the side of the wagon, and I picked up where I left off, my other hand roaming across his chest. He seemed to appreciate my hand’s exploration. Though, admittedly I was doing it more out of greed than to bring him any extra pleasure. Arthur’s body was incredible. Firm and built with muscle, marred by the occasional scar and oh so beautiful. I couldn’t not feel him all over, noting the way his chest hair felt under my palm, the way his muscles flexed when my hand moved over his abdomen, lower down. He was so attractive to me and I found myself enjoying the situation far more than I expected.

He let his eyes fall closed as his mouth fell open, audible breaths leaving him, the occasional, quiet hum of pleasure as my grip tightened around both him and the cloth. I hoped the warm wetness added to the experience. 

“You’re so handsome,” the words slipped from me of their own accord, so naturally. His chest jerked a bit with a quiet laugh and he opened his eyes to me. “I wanna give you more than this.”

“How could you possibly think that this ain’t more than enough?” He questioned breathlessly.

“I wanna give myself to you, completely,” I divulged to him and his jaw slackened, face morphing into one of deep pleasure. “Would you have me?”

“Jesus– princess, of course I would,” he exhaled, his good arm reaching up, hand cupping my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. A smile formed on my lips and I dipped my head enough to watch my hand working over his length, speeding up. A quiet grunt released from his throat and his hips jerked a bit on the bed. 

“Can’t think of anyone else I’d rather experience all this with for the first time,” I told him, letting go of the cloth and wrapping my hand around him again. Skin on skin. He loosened a quiet sound, nothing that had me worrying that people might hear. “And I think about us, making love for real.”

Arthur’s hand slipped away from my face, landing on my shoulder where his fingers squeezed around the material of my top. His eyes closed again, brow creasing. 

“Shit, I'm…” he breathed, not finishing his sentence. I licked my lips and squeezed him firmer, my hand sliding freely as the head of his length grew wetter. It wasn’t just leftover from the wet cloth.

“Never wanted it so bad before,” I continued, and Arthur shook his head weakly.

“Me neither,” he said, surprising me. 

“Yeah?" 

"God, yeah. Cooped up in this tent, no distractions, the mind wanders an awful lot.”

“Well, now you know, I promise myself to you. I'm all yours, once you’re well enough,” I told him, leaning towards him and kissing the base of his jaw, near his ear. I kissed down a little, testing out a few spots on his neck, hearing him breathing hard and fast. 

“Almost there,” he whispered in a low exhale.

I hummed a pleased sound, leaning back so I could watch him; my free hand gliding over his chest again, nails raking through hair, palm knocking against a nipple. His abdomen tensed, making his muscles more pronounced. Then, with a soft sigh of my name and the loosening of everything, he came. Shooting up over my knuckles, onto his belly, his breath was hot and laboured, puffing and filling the tent. He managed not to make too much noise; the odd grunt, a loud breath like a heavy sigh, my name once or twice more. I bit my lip as I watched him, my own arousal warm and demanding between my legs. I ignored it.

“That’s nice,” I whispered, my thumb sliding over the head of his member through some of the slick, lifting off and watching a string form between us. Arthur seemed amused by my fascination, letting me play with him as he calmed down from the peak of his pleasure.

I was tempted to lick at my hand, curiosity rising about what he might taste like. However, I decided against it, letting go of Arthur and reaching for the discarded washcloth. I soaked it in the water before using it to clean both of us up, peeking up at his eyes to catch him watching me with a small, tired smile on his face. My skin heated up at his attention. I averted my eyes back down to his body, wiping up the evidence of what we’d done where it pooled below his navel. 

“Thank you,” he whispered to me. I laughed a little, shaking my head. 

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” I told him and he shrugged his good shoulder. 

“I feel more relaxed now than I have all week, I’m thanking you. That was real nice,” he insisted, moving to sit up gingerly once I was done cleaning him. He approached me for a kiss, one that was sweet and simple, tender. 

“Well, I’m glad. Let’s get you dressed,” I smiled, running my hand over his body to check that he was dry enough; pleased to find the air had dried him off during our deviation.

I helped him back into his union suit – he rarely bothered dressing any further than that lately unless he planned on venturing out of his tent – and once he was dressed I guided him to lay back down on his bed. It was getting late anyway, and Arthur looked sleepy. I stood up, going to get rid of the dirty water, but Arthur reached for me, hand catching my skirt. 

“Leave that. I don’t want you to go, yet,” he murmured. 

“I’ll come right back.”

“Mm, just sit for a sec’,” he insisted, and I didn’t resist. 

I quickly came to learn that Arthur became a little more affectionate after we were intimate; cuddly, clingy even. Though, not in a way I disliked. I couldn’t bring myself to neglect his apparent need for closeness, and sat myself down on the chair next to his bed. 

I threaded my fingers through Arthur’s where his hand rested on his stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his steadying breath. My eyes wandered to the side of the wagon where a couple of pictures were pinned. There was one of Arthur with Hosea and Dutch, taken a long time ago. They were all very young, Arthur looked like he could be in his teens, certainly no older than his early twenties. There was another photo of a dog, and one of another gentleman. I gathered it was Arthur’s father, given the fact he was holding up a board that read Lyle Morgan, and I recognised the hat he was wearing as the one Arthur wore now.

Another photograph caught my eye, one that was framed and sitting on one of the storage boxes in his tent; it was laying face down. I reached for it to pick it back up, thinking it must’ve been knocked over at some point. I immediately recognised the woman in the frame, looking as pretty as the day I’d seen her in person. It was Mary. I looked at Arthur, his eyes were closed but he opened them after a moment as if sensing my attention. He noticed what I was looking at, his face shifting into something anxious. 

“Do you still miss her?” I asked, keeping my tone light, not accusatory. 

“Not really, not anymore,” he told me, “I’ve kept that photo since we ended things, I held onto her all these years, but I ain’t got no reason to now.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did. She was special to you,” I said, putting the photo down, standing up the frame. He craned his neck to look at it. 

“She was. I guess I… I think fondly of her, but I don’t think of her the same way as I used to. Not since you and I,” he explained, turning his attention to me. He gazed at me from his pillow, face relaxed, a soft smile on his lips. “You’re all I think about now.”

His words flustered me and I shifted in my seat, eyes darting all over the tent. 

“You really mean it when you say you’ll give yourself to me?” He asked after a moment. I met his eyes again, noting the soft crease of his forehead.

“Of course. When you’re all better and the time is right,” I said, seeing his forehead soften. “I want to.”

“Me too. It would mean a lot to me, I’m not–” he paused, rephrasing. “I haven’t shared that connection with many people. Two, in fact.”

“Really?” My brows raised and I hoped I hadn’t offended him with how shocked I sounded. Arthur simply chuckled. 

“Really. And truth be told, neither of 'em really meant anything at the time. It weren’t like you and me, how we are,” he explained, and I couldn’t help but frown, eyes wandering over to the photograph beside me. 

“What about Mary, surely that was kind of like us?” I pointed out and Arthur shook his head, eyes peeling up to the roof of the tent. 

“She and I never actually went the whole way. We might’ve fooled around a little, but,” he admitted, much to my surprise. “She didn’t wanna risk falling pregnant and disappointing her father, she was adamant she’d be married and settled before anything like that. For security’s sake. I guess it was the smart thing for her to do.”

“Well then, lucky for us I ain’t too smart,” I snorted.

“If wanting to share a bond like that with someone special is dumb, well, I’m a fool too,” he chuckled, then sighed. “It’d be a first for me. I lost my virginity to a prostitute, the fellers we was rolling with at the time’s idea of a birthday gift when I turned eighteen. Sometimes I regret that, but I was a kid, too curious for my own good. 

"Then, few years later when things went to pot with Mary, I was stupid and upset, went to bed with the first person who showed an interest and that– that’s how Isaac came to be.”

I didn’t know how to respond to his openness. I certainly appreciated that he felt comfortable enough to be honest with me, and somehow I felt comforted by the fact that he didn’t have an awful lot of experience. I’d assumed otherwise, of course, simply because he was perhaps the most handsome man I’d ever seen and he could’ve used that to his advantage if he wanted.

“And uh, that’s my romantic history in a nutshell, I guess,” he gave a nervous laugh when the silence stretched on a little too long. I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you for telling me that,” I whispered, “I feel better knowing that you and I ain’t so far apart.”

“And I feel better now I ain’t gotta try and live up to any expectations. If I don’t do a good job…” he frowned to himself and I kissed his cheek again. 

“You ain’t got nothing to worry about. I’ve liked everything we’ve done so far. Rather a lot,” I smiled at him, wide enough to feel the need to try and stifle myself as to not seem overly eager. 

“I jus’ wanna please you,” he whispered, reaching up to stroke the side of my face. I leaned into his palm, closing my eyes. “And make it special for you.”

“It’ll be special,” I whispered back. “'Cause it’s you, and I care about you a great deal.”

“I didn’t think I could feel anything like this again,” he confessed, and I opened my eyes to meet his. “Thought I’d used up all my chances.”

My mouth opened, but I was lost for words. I wished I could think of something to say to him that’d make him feel at least half as warm as I did, instead I just stared at him with an expression I hoped wasn’t as blank as my mind. 

“–I have never known a woman, with so many needs!” An irritable voice cut through the quiet, I soon recognised it as Dutch’s. 

“You don’t know the first thing about a woman’s needs,” Molly was slating right back, her words enough to make Arthur and I wince at each other.

“How selfish are you?–” Came Dutch’s response, more annoyance spewing from the next tent, only getting more heated. Arthur sighed heavily, his hand dropping away from the side of my face. 

The little bubble I was in burst as I remembered there was more than just Arthur and I in the world. 

[insanityclause]

There’s no possibility of poetry in Harold Pinter’s Betrayal. Best known through its four Broadway productions in as many decades for its clipped exchanges and rewinding timeline, this anatomy of an affair strives to present life and conversations as they really are. (Walter Kerr’s original Broadway review shrewdly called the dialogue “vodka-dry.”)

But Jamie Lloyd’s gauzy new production—like the original, a West End transfer—aims for the abstractly lyrical. The mundane locales—a pub where former lovers reconnect, the cheap flat where infidelity blossoms, a bedroom where the dalliance sparks—all dissolve in the largely empty space, designed by Soutra Gilmour and featuring little more than a pair of chairs. Tom Hiddleston, Zawe Ashton, and Charlie Cox, all directed to take 10-second pauses between most of their lines, float on turntables in counter-clockwise patterns around each other as the play moves them back and back and back in time. The underscoring—including a Vivaldi aria, a cover of “Enjoy the Silence,” and, bizarrely, three instrumentals from the Gone Girl soundtrack—similarly unmoors the play from any practical sense of time and space.

That disorientation is offset, though, by the whip-smart and sometimes bitterly funny performances of Hiddleston and Cox as, respectively, the wronged husband and his backstabbing best friend. Hiddleston’s Robert follows his most biting lines with a half-grimace, half-smile that becomes a toothier, more playful grin as the timeline moves backward. Robert’s furious when the play begins, but he’s also bemused at his friend Jerry’s total lack of self-awareness: The ultimate betrayal, Jerry suggests, is Robert keeping his knowledge of the affair to himself. Cox captures Jerry’s confused self-interest convincingly.

There’s an unvarying rhythm to Lloyd’s production, and treating every moment with the same dynamic and tempo—a mezzo-piano adagio, perhaps—makes Betrayal feel ever so slightly like a rehearsal-room exercise. Moments of brilliance do emerge from this elongation, like the electric spaces in one critical conversation between Robert and Emma in which Ashton’s eyes, so darting, shimmering, and wincing, work a mile a minute to convey rich, unspoken monologues. But that halting pacing starts to become monotonous, especially as Pinter pushes further back in time. The early scenes, as characters contemplate years of memories, get room to breathe, but those later ones, which take place before the trio considers the consequences of their actions, lack much sense of impulsive urgency.

Lloyd traffics, too, in bold-lettered symbols that tend to underestimate the psychological clarity of the characters’ sparse lines and the audience’s capacity for reading between them. We know the walls are closing in without needing to see the actual walls closing in. If the heavy-handed stagecraft (they’re drifting apart, literally!) isn’t an out-and-out betrayal of the actors’ self-sufficient performances, it’s not a great show of trust either.

Most of Pinter’s scenes play out as duets, but Lloyd keeps the absent figure in the emotional triangle always on stage, lurking, sometimes very close by, as a constant reminder of the third vertex of that triangle. Highlighting Emma as the odd one out during the tensely buddy-buddy scenes between Robert and Jerry emphasizes the possibility of an unspoken attraction between the two men. It’s not necessarily just a play about two friends competing for the same woman, and Lloyd even seems to hint at times that Robert knowingly allows Emma’s dalliance to develop as a sort of proxy for his own longing. Usually, though, Hiddleston and Cox seem to resist Lloyd’s choices that lean in that direction. There’s probably more depths to be plumbed from Robert’s sour jibe at his wife: “To be honest I’ve always liked him rather more than I’ve liked you. Maybe I should have had an affair with him myself.”

There’s something vaporous, too, in Ashton’s performance, except for that one riveting scene with Hiddleston. Pinter told the New York Times back in 1979, when Betrayal was first opening on Broadway, that “the play is about a nine-year relationship between two men who are best friends” and the character of Emma still hasn’t fully recovered from that authorial oversight. Ashton seems more of the fuzzy, airy world of Lloyd’s imagination, at least when up against the grounded, affably quotidian men created by Hiddleston and Cox.

From the way she positions herself, legs splayed over her chair almost at 180 degrees like a praying mantis, to the carefully maintained indifference in her voice, Ashton’s Emma anxiously constructs the version of herself she wants to show the world, or, at least, the two men who seem to take up so much of it. In the final scene, we see her surveying herself in the mirror, perfecting that image, but Ashton never totally transcends Emma’s pawn-like purpose in the play or conveys what she’s hiding behind the veneer.

It’s that kind of fogginess that finally makes this production only intermittently memorable and rarely revelatory. The extraordinary acting moments tend to arrive in spite of Lloyd’s vision for the play rather than because of it. But when they do—in Hiddleston’s smile or Cox’s lazy swig of beer or Ashton’s pulsating eyes—they form a set of memories worth rewinding.

[late-nightdevil]

i’m lonely, part one

read part two here

Word count: 3K

Warnings: none

Summary: loosely based of the song “fuck, i’m lonely” by lauv ft. anne-marie or where Calum dumped Brooklyn and now neither of them are happy

Authors Note: honestly this is shit and i’m sorry but i’m trying to get back into writing and practice makes perfect right?? requests & feedback are openly welcome!!

It’s been sixteen months since my life was destroyed.

Well, that’s a little dramatic.

It’s been sixteen months since my heart was ripped out of my chest, stomped on the ground, thrown into a pot of boiling water until it disintegrated into nothing but remnants of a girl who thought she could love a boy; leaving behind the broken pieces of her soul and no way to put them back together.

Okay, maybe I’m a little dramatic.

But who wouldn’t be after getting dumped by your boyfriend of two years, who doubled as your best friend for even longer? With nothing more than a pathetic, “I want to explore my options,” as a reason to break my heart?

Oh fucking well I guess, such is life. Situations like those are what lessons are bred from, and you learn to move on. It’s been an incredibly difficult ride, but sex, parties, and a lot of alcohol seemed to solve all my issues pretty efficiently. And by solved, of course I mean pushed so far into the back of my mind that I couldn’t possibly need to deal with them anytime soon.

So tonight, like any other Friday night in a hopeless college town, I’ll be attending a party at one of the many frat houses that thrive off of girls like me - girls who just want to forget.

“Brookie, have you seen your pink dress anywhere? I can’t find it.”

My attention is quickly stolen away from the current daze I was in, eyes locking in on Melissa swiftly moving my clothes back and forth in the closet. “What’s wrong with that you’re wearing?”

She huffed aggressively, as if the question was uncalled for. “Michael is supposed to be there tonight, I can’t wear jeans! Do you know how hard it is to be seductive in jeans?”

I mutter a smart, “it’s not hard if you do it right,” but it fell on deaf ears. Standing from my bed and walking behind her, my gaze settles on the dress in question in a matter of moments. “Here, go change. We’re supposed to leave in less than an hour and you’re nowhere near done.”

Her lips land on my cheek in a quick peck, following a ‘thank you!’ as she heads to the bathroom to get ready. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at her eagerness. Melissa has had eyes on the edgy guitar player for months now, but lacks the amount of confidence to do anything other than stalk him at every social gathering. Deciding on becoming her wing-woman, I downplay my outfit into a simple white crop top and high-waisted, distressed shorts.

Mel had been there for the break up as a shoulder to cry on and soon became an easy friend. She was sweet enough to introduce me to her group, a few more girls and a couple of guys who were all truly kind people. After learning of my situation, they all were very supportive and offered a hand in back up if I ever wanted to take revenge on the boy who tore me apart. Shocking even to myself, however, I never took them up on that offer. He switched majors and I never really saw him again, spending most of his time on a different side of campus, I guess. Better for the both of us.

She stepped out of the bathroom thirty minutes later, makeup and hair done to the nines. Her princess-like ambiance battled my simple attire, but it fit us well. I took my hair out of the Dutch braids I had it in, letting the waves fall naturally just below my shoulders. My simple makeup from the day would do fine, just a touch more of my trusty burgundy lipstick and I was ready to go. As if the universe was on my side, we both soon receive a text from the group chat, signaling their arrival. I grabbed my flannel, and Melissa, and headed out the door.

Fifteen minutes later and we pull onto the proper street, cars were lined up and down the entire block. Ashton, the lucky one who drew the straw for designated driver, soon parked near the house as someone else was leaving.

“Two am guys, meet back here.” He swung his arm over his girlfriends shoulder and made his way into the house before Melissa and me, along with the rest of the group.

“Alright Mel, we only have one mission tonight: get you laid.” She blushed softly and giggled at my blunt words, but nodded her head in agreement. “Just stay close, let me know if you see him first. I have a plan.”

I didn’t, really, but I’m quite good on my feet. I’m sure I can come up with something on the spot.

Arms linked, for now at least, I dragged her to the kitchen to help take the edge off and start tonight off right. I grab the first bottle of dark liquor I see, along with two red cups, and pour a shot in each of them.

“Cheers!” We say in unison, before repeating the glorious ceremony a few more times. The crowded living room soon draws us in, enveloping is in the mass of people who just want to dance their worries away. Our bodies move together as we face the opposite ways, still on the eager search for the dirty-blonde haired boy.

I can feel the small amounts of alcohol begin to make its course through my bloodstream, heating every ounce of my body that it touches. A familiar song comes on and I can’t help but lose myself in it; well, moreso the memories it holds. Flashbacks of nights spent together in blissful happiness seem to cloud my rational thoughts. The need to feel the comfort of his hands on my waist becomes an overwhelming feeling that I can’t, and really don’t want to, ignore.

I need another drink.

My body whips around to let Melissa know, but I find myself face to face with a stranger, my friend nowhere to be seen. Assuming she slipped away for the same reason I wanted to, I find my way back to the kitchen, but not before catching a glimpse of my pink dress; the only recognizable object peeking through the silhouette of a certain guitarist.

Good for her.

I continued my journey to the kitchen and quickly mix the first two things I found that made sense, vodka and lemonade of course, and filled my cup to the brim with it. Before I knew it, half the cup was down my throat, and I could soon feel the bass of every song synching to my heart beat.

“Rough night, Brooke?” Smooth fingers made their way around my waist and the smell of vanilla musk filled my nostrils. It was comforting, to say the least.

My body naturally leaned into his chest. “I’m alright, Luke. Just washing away some memories, s’all.” I shot him a reassuring smile, which he returned with a kiss on the top of my head.

Luke and I have both been through a rough break up recently and we’ve helped each other in various ways. He’s one of Melissa’s friends that I bonded to early on, he’s just so easy to talk to. Plus, you know, we have casual friends-with-benefits sex every once in a while. A great coping mechanism, really.

“You know I’m willing to help with whatever you need, babe. Just say the word.” He placed another kiss, this time low on my cheek, in a suggestive manner.

I considered taking him up on his offer, seeing as my mission has been concluded for the night. Just as I’m going to finish my drink and take him upstairs, I hear an unmistakable sound that brought chills to my spine.

Laughter.

Not just any laughter, but laughter I haven’t heard in over a year, and thought I’d never hear again.

Oh how I wanted to be wrong. To tell myself it’s just the drinks, the music, and how a bunch of people must have the same voice. How there’s no way in hell I’m about to face my fears while under the influence.

My first instinct is to run and hide, and not come out until it was two a.m. and my group would congregate together again. My second instinct, which seemed to be influenced by the liquid courage coursing through me, was to act like he didn’t even exist. To go upstairs with Luke and fuck his brains out, effectively forgetting this is even happening.

Both of those options flew out the window when he came into sight.

First it was his arm, littered with tattoos that I've traced with my tongue, and new ones that have yet to be touched. The bicep that seemed to flex whenever he laughed, as if he couldn't help but draw attention from every girl in the room with such subtleties. Then it was the shirt; red border on the sleeves and presumptuously on the collar as well, a clean white base seems bright against his tan skin. Words poked out, above and below a set of red lips, but my brain was too focused elsewhere to comprehend the letters. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw next. As my eyes traveled up his striking body, my sights set on the bleach blonde hair atop his head. A stark contrast to the black waves that were there before; and some part of me deep down really likes it.

I hadn’t noticed how tightly I clung onto the tall boy at my side, as if he could protect me from my thoughts. After gathering enough strength to stop my staring, I looked up at Luke, a silent plea escaping my lips. His features laced with concern as his eyes followed the path mine had just left.

His eyes grew wide with the realization of my dilemma and sprung into action. With an arm wrapped tight around my shoulders, he turns us around to head deeper into the kitchen. The back door comes into sight and just as I begin collecting my thoughts, a soft, curious voice rang through my ears, making me stop in tracks.

“Brooklyn?”

It was as if the world had gone silent. The dull thumping of the music, the monotone beat of my heart, and the dismal whispers of the crowded mansion disappeared as my name left his lips.

My muscles tightened as my senses heightened, the atmosphere grew cold and dry. I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. Every ounce of my being was screaming run; run away, run and hide to the far corners of the earth, run and bury my head deep into the earth so that I could never hear him utter my name ever again.

But I couldn’t do it.

I stayed, planted in my spot, like I was waiting for a burning fire to consume me whole. What was mere moments stretched into hours in my mind. The next sound I could comprehend was the hoarse tone of Luke saying my name, and I immediately hated the way it sounded coming from his lips.

“C’mon, babe. Go outside. I’ll take care of this.” His arm squeezed mine protectively, which I usually find comforting, but right now I just want him to leave my side.

He urges me towards the door, but I stay still. My confidence slowly comes back to me and I utter a quiet, “no.” I was saying no to going outside, no to leaving my situation and problems behind. But it was more than that. “No, I can’t.. I- I need..”

What?

What do I need?

I need to continue avoiding my problems, pushing them deeper and deeper until they disappear again.

Or do I need to face him? Say all the things I didn’t get to say when he crushed my soul the first time?

Am I even strong enough to do that?

I threw back the rest of the drink in my cup as if it were water. The burning sensation felt good, soon helping me regain control of my not-so-sober thoughts. “I need to talk to him. Luke, just go outside, I’ll be right there.”

His eyes showed signs of disappointment, knowing there was no way he could talk me out of it. His eyes glanced over at the patient boy behind me before kissing my forehead tenderly. “Come get me if you need me, baby.” His tone rose loud enough that I’m sure he heard. This whole moment would’ve been truly endearing if it hadn’t been an act of protection. Luke and I were nowhere near being a couple, but that wouldn’t stop the jealous boy behind me from reacting to what he witnessed.

Luke walked out the back door and I slowly turned around, silently thanking the alcohol for the encouragement. His brown eyes bore into mine and my heart ached at the glimpse of pain inside them. We both took a step forward to close the space between us and I let go of the massive breath I’ve been holding in.

“Calum.”

“That’s some bodyguard of a boyfriend you have there. Didn’t expect you to.. move on, into that direction I mean.” His words come out slow and unsure, alcohol evident on his breath. His smell was intoxicating, a smooth mix of his signature cologne with the rum based cocktail still in his hand.

“He’s..” my immediate reaction was to explain myself, unfolding for him as if he even deserved a response. “He’s my friend. Just trying to look out for me.” I couldn’t take my stare away from his stern gaze, not breaking contact even to blink, as if he were afraid I’d disappear the second he looked away.

Our eyes searched each other’s souls for what must’ve been an eternity until I gathered the muster to speak again. “You changed your hair.”

A small smirk showed on his lips at the obvious observation. His eyes moved up to survey my hair, which has been dyed black and cut short since he last saw me. A finger came up slowly and wrapped itself around a dark curl, gently stroking the strand, admiring it. “You did too. It suits you. I really like it.” The smile on his lips grew a little, and I couldn’t help but mirror it.

The air grew thin once we went silent. Small talk didn’t feel right. I wanted to pull his body into mine, connecting us once more and never letting go again. Until I remember that I’m not the one who let him go the first time.

“I was looking for that flannel the other day.” He grinned wide enough for his teeth to show and my heart all but exploded. “I can’t believe I forgot that I gave that to you. It looks way better on you than it ever did on me.” His finger moved down to lightly trace the collar, dangerously close to my neck. His words were as smooth as butter and I was ready to melt into his touch, but I had to stay strong. Or at least act like I was.

“I never really got a chance to give it back to you.” I tore my attention away from his face, looking down at our feet. “Why are you here, Calum? I’ve never seen you on this side of campus. You hate parties.”

His touch left and I felt the atmosphere grow colder at the loss. “A friend wanted company. I owed them a favor.” He was withholding something from me, the sudden drop in his tone and lack of eye contact proved it. “What about you? I thought you hated alcohol.”

He gestures his cup towards my empty one and just a bit of anger boils inside me. Before I could catch myself, I slipped out words laced with bitterness. “It’s the only thing that’s been able to temporarily numb the pain.”

The look in his eyes turned sorrowful, as if he is just now realizing how difficult even simple conversation is for me. “Brooke.. I still think about you, about us..” He stepped forward once more, closing the space between us. The warmth radiating off his hand crept onto my cheek, barely skimming the surface before a shrill voice took us out of our trance.

“Cal! There you are!” A flash of blonde pulled us apart, grabbing onto his shoulders from behind, trying to turn him to face her. The reluctance in his eyes was noticeable, and his body visibly stiffened at her touch. He wants her here even less than I do.

“Vicky, give me a minute, I’m kinda-“ he tries to brush her hands off, but her eyes whole body slumps against his back. She didn’t like being dismissed. I didn’t like being lied to.

“It’s alright, Cal. You seem.. preoccupied.” I smack on a fake smile that I knew he could see right through. Placing my cup on the nearby counter, I peek back at the same face I’ve been dying to see for months, now dressed in a regret that I’d never expect. We stood silent, not the slightest bit of motion coming from either of us, as if our hearts had stopped together. As if the dream was over, and we were ready to wake up. I had to leave before it turned into a nightmare.

One last look in his mournful eyes and I was done.

“Goodnight, Calum. It was nice seeing you.”