#so many girls i knew as a teenager wore colour contacts

[dropkicks]

can't believe i ever let people convince me brown eyes weren't beautiful

#big round brown eyes that sparkle with emotion #sharp brown eyes that are piercing and knowing #brown eyes that look black until the light hits them just right #light browns that remind you of marbles in the sunlight #i read so many things. heard so many times #people calling them boring #comparing them to mud and dirt and shit #i hated my eye colour and would be so distressed because i couldn't wear contacts either #so many girls i knew as a teenager wore colour contacts #because they felt that brown was boring and ugly #(there's a lot of race shit there too but we won't get into that) #brown eyes are so fucking gorgeous goddamn!!!

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

This Boy (George Harrison x Female!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! welcome to my first oneshot! a lot of my stories are very plot-driven and they end up becoming these long chapter fics but I'm gonna see if I can make a handful of oneshots in the next little bit to kind of give yous something to read while waiting for the longer fics to finish up. this is my first one, and it's for Georgie!

Summary: It's date night, and you're more than ready to meet your mystery date; George, however, is not.

WARNINGS: Swearing is in almost all my fics, so this one isn't safe either probably, hints of suggestive behaviour, slow burn, friends to lovers, lack of self-editing probably, etc. *This fic is also LONG AF so I would advise y'all to start reading this when you have nothing else to do*

I'll rate this one as a T. Enjoy, folks!

George checked the clock on the wall again and sighed gently.

You were still getting ready.

As much as it disappointed him, George agreed-- well, more like offered-- to drive you to your blind date one of your girlfriends set you up on.

It's not that he wasn't excited or proud of you for getting yourself out there. He knew you'd been meaning to do that since graduating school.

He was just frustrated at the fact that whichever lucky man was going on a date with you that night wasn't him.

When he found out about the date, he immediately vocalized his distrust for the mystery person, despite knowing absolutely zero about him. You seemed heartbroken at that, and to make it up to you, he offered to drive you to the date.

So there he was, sitting on the sofa in the living area of your flat, waiting for you to finish getting ready.

George had taken you to school dances in the past, and while your mother let you wear makeup to them, it never took you this long to apply it.

You were definitely dressing to impress tonight.

"Lucky man," he just mumbled under his breath at the thought of that boy.

You and George had been friends since you were children, and he deemed you his Best Friend Forever only an hour into your first playtime.

You spent your days as children riding your bikes to the park to play, and helping each other with homework at each other's houses every night.

However, that sort of platonic "buddy-buddy" dynamic changed when the both of you hit puberty.

It wasn't until a boy at George's school questioned him if you were his girlfriend, that George realized he had a crush on you. Some of his friends had girl friends, and they were always teased about whether or not they were dating, but this was the first time anyone had put you and George together.

After this discovery, (which he would endlessly thank the young boy who opened his eyes to the truth in the first place) George began to notice lots of little things about you that he hadn't before.

You would run your fingers through the hair on the back of his head during hugs, you never took your eyes away from him when he was speaking; there hadn't been one time to name that you'd ever made him upset or angry, but more or less excited, and free, and joyous.

And not to mention, the way you called him "Georgie" made his heart pound so loud and hard in his chest that he might as well have just completed a marathon...

He was in love with everything only when you were around.

Actually, as awkward as George thinks it is, Paul helped him realize he was physically attracted to you.

The boys were on their way to George's after school, a few years after George realized he had a little crush on you, and the teenagers both caught sight of you watering the front garden of your home at the request of your mother.

George stopped in his tracks when he saw you, his mouth hanging open as he watched you do your thing. After being enrolled in his boy's school, you never had much time to see one another, as much as it hurt him; so he cherished every moment he could see you.

"If her ma catches you out the window starin' at her daughter's arse the way you're doin' right now Harrison, they'll rip your tongue right out."

George's face went bright red, and he turned to look at Paul in horror, slapping him on the arm for saying such a thing. "I wasn't staring at her like that!" But he couldn't help but steal a glance at your behind since it was now the topic of discussion, though he really didn't want it to be.

Paul knew George felt compelled to say something to you, and he smirked as George awkwardly raised his hand to wave as he called to you from the other side of the street.

"H-hey, Y/n!"

You turned around, and grinned at who you'd seen.

"Hey Georgie! Hi Paulie!" You twiddled your fingers at them, and George's stomach churned in jealousy at the fact you had a nickname for Paul, as well.

"Your garden looks beautiful, Ms. Y/l/n!"

Paul stole George's line. He fucking stole his line!

"A-and you look just as lovely as ever!" George added to one-up his friend.

You put a hand to your heart. "You boys make my heart sing." George took pride in your words despite them partially being for Paul as well.

"We need to see each other more, yeah?" George never expected his question to really get him anywhere, but he was wrong.

"Why not tonight? I don't have any homework and my parents are leaving town 'round five for the weekend to visit my auntie and uncle."

George's answer came quick, and effortlessly. "I'll be 'round for six. Sound good?"

"Perfect! I'll see you tonight then." You waved to the boys again, and then went back to watering the garden after bidding farewell.

The rest of the walk home was just Paul making fun of how lovestruck George was with you, and by the time they got to his house, just down the road from yours, Paul looked over at his buddy and smiled.

"No wonder you value your time with your darlin' over there so much, Magpie. Looks like she would definitely be a fine birdie in bed."

George looked over at Paul, eyes wide, and his voice broke. "... What?!" The thought of going to bed with you never crossed his mind-- well, until that moment.

"Hey, her folks'll be gone by the time you go over! You can make your move then! It's perfect!" Paul's words laced with excitement made George feel panicked, and the boy shook his head worriedly after a moment. "M-maybe it's not the best idea to go tonight..."

"Why not? All you ever wanna do is be alone with her!" Paul set a hand on the other boy's shoulder when he didn't answer. "What's up, George?"

"Paul, I've never even kissed her. She doesn't even know I like her like that! What if she likes someone else?! What do I even do?!" Paul was the biggest heartbreaker George knew. He'd had like... ten girlfriends since they met, and he kissed a whole three of them. They didn't last long, much like the fate of other young relationships, but George took Paul's advice as serious guidance; he needed to in a time like this.

"You just need to be calm. Take some deep breaths. You'll know what to do when the time comes. I know you will."

That night, George had many opportunities to dive in for a kiss, or mention his feelings for you; some of those opportunities he even believed you encouraged, but he didn't budge out of utter fear of rejection. George knew for a fact that Paul was going to facepalm when he asks him for details on the visit to your place.

Instead, the night only consisted of talking, and the only contact you made were a couple of hugs and a kiss on the cheek (which left George a stumbling mess again), though you did agree to spend more time together, which is how your friendship lasted so long.

He was so close to having you, and because he was too scared to make the move Paul (and maybe you) were encouraging him to make so long ago, you slipped through his fingers; and since, the thought of not being able to have you that way never left his mind.

Especially not when you were now a gorgeous young lady, blindly torturing poor George, who beat himself up every day because he lost his chance.

You were like a piece of artwork to George. You could be loved, admired, and looked at by him, but he could never hold you or touch you.

And George hated that.

George wanted you to be his girl.

And you were his girl-- well, in a twisted way. You were always with him, smiling and laughing about nothing and everything, holding onto each other in your darkest nights and guiding one another through personal struggles...

But when other boys started to want you too, George wanted to make it a point to keep the majority of them away.

Some didn't heed George's threats and went on to pursue you anyways, only to be turned down on your front steps by yourself. George never understood why you never reciprocated anybody's feelings, but it's not like he was verbally complaining.

And that's what lead up to tonight. George had wanted you for so long, and the sudden knowledge of a blind date had him in shock, especially since this was your very first time giving in and agreeing to go.

It killed him to know some rando was going to appear out of thin air to whisk you away, whisper sweet nothings in your ear and eventually put his hands on you, thinking his love for you is stronger than any other despite knowing absolutely nothing about how you should be loved, and treated...

But George hid his fury from you because you were excited about this date.

And he would do anything for you.

George's rage-inducing, mind-racing thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut from behind him. He turned his head, heart in his throat, and you stepped into the room.

You wore a lovely high-waisted navy dress, and a pair of black flats. Your hair was half down, the rest coming together at the back of your head by a matching clip-on bow.

As expected, your makeup was quite noticeable. The burgundy colour of your lips and dark brown eyeshadow had George's head spinning, and he couldn't resist ogling at the way that dress fit you so well...

"So… How do I look? Like, if we were about to go on a date..."

A date? Us? We?!

George's palms began to sweat, and his heart did somersaults. If only.

It was only then that he realized his mouth was hanging slightly ajar, and after snapping it shut, he swallowed in embarrassment, not daring to look anywhere but your eyes again in fear of falling victim to your appearance again.

Imagine not being able to trust your eyes?

"... What would you think?"

George squeaked, his lips moving hesitantly though he didn't make a sound. His face was surely an embarrassing shade of red, and the longer he waited into answer, the more anticipated you looked for a response.

George rose to his feet and approached you, bravely deciding to give you another good onceover after a deep breath, though he kind of lost all sense of feeling in his legs when you smiled at him with that perfect mouth of yours...

"Wow." George sighed, eyelids falling heavy over his brown irises as he admired you.

"I just... you... wow, Y/n." He couldn't come up with a coherent sentence with the way you were staring at him like that.

God, he was absolutely smitten with you.

Your eyes shone joyously as you placed your hand on your heart, and George, as impossible to him as it seemed, fell so much more in love with you than he was just moments before. Your presence rendered him speechless, and the thought inflated your ego a lot more than you would have expected it to.

George remained silent, but his gaze was still glued to you. He'd looked at you for long enough in his life to probably draw you perfectly by memory, but he still took his time to drink in what he was given; because who knew if he'd ever be able to see more of you than this?

"I... I'm-- I'm speechless, is what I am." He cleared his throat after a moment and said, "I... honestly hope my eyes are doing all the talking for me."

"Aw, you're just a sweetiepie, aren't you?"

You beamed at George, blushing as you took another step toward him. "Well Georgie... if you keep looking at me and sweet-talking the way you are..." your warm words were carefully chosen, and it was obvious that George was hanging into every single word you were saying.

"I may just have to pass on this date and spend tonight with you." Your eyelids fell heavy over your eyes, and you offered George a smile that was suggesting something maybe not so innocent.

"Wh-what?!"

"... I said I'm ready to go." You raised your eyebrow in a little confusion at George's flustered state.

Oh my fucking God she didn't even say that?!

Idiot.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

"... R-right, yes, of course." George shook his head as if to rid his brain of the idea of tricking him like that again. He offered his arm out to you, and you linked yours with his before walking to the door together.

You passed a mirror on the way out, and George caught a glimpse of the both of your reflections, and his chest felt like it was on fire.

He looked so happy to be with you in that moment.

And you looked so happy to be leaving to spend time with another man.

George just hoped at least the reflection of him and you were going on this date together, and both of those smiles were meant for each other.

George pulled up to whatever restaurant this guy wanted to meet you at, which was on the other side of town. George did not approve of this and even reminded you of this on the way there, though you insisted you'd be fine, like you had the couple of times he mentioned this before.

You looked at him after he threw his car into park, and he gave you a little smile after a moment, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You do look beautiful, Y/n. This guy... he's very lucky."

"I... I don't know what to say."

"Say you believe me."

You didn't say anything. Instead, you smiled sadly, and leaned in to kiss George's cheek. His skin darkened to pink beneath your lips before you could pull away and leave the car with another goodbye, though his ears were ringing and he missed your final farewell.

She doesn't believe me...

George waited until he saw you were seated in the restaurant to put his car back into drive, but something kept him from lifting his foot off the brake. He watched you adjust your silverware at your table, and clasp your hands together in wait.

... Maybe George wanted to wait for this guy to show up.

But would he really want to kill himself by spying on you and watching you fall for someone who wasn't him over the course of one night?

That was the question that made him decide to look back, and pull out of his parking space before he could spot anyone even go near the building. He was in drive and speeding home moments later.

The car ride back to his flat was a quiet one. George kept the radio off, and his fingers drummed against the steering wheel the whole time as if he were almost impatient to get home and do nothing.

Every time he looked in the rear view mirror and saw his eyes stare back at him, it just reminded him that his reflection left that restaurant alone and just as disappointed as his real counterpart.

It wasn't long before George pulled into his building's parking space and sulked out of his car, slamming the door shut. His eyes and nose were burning from the assault of unfallen tears.

He dropped you off to meet this guy. This was all on him this time.

George loved you. He loved you with all his heart, enough to swallow his pride-- sacrifice his happiness for your own.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, dropping you off that night felt like he was letting you go.

And was he?

He pretty much stumbled through the door because his fucks to give for himself were pretty much nonexistent at this point. He kicked his shoes off, not caring if he scuffed up the wall with black marks.

He just wanted to have a long hot shower, crawl into bed, and hide from everyone.

And that's just what he did.

His shower was well over an hour long, and that's where he broke down and cried for the majority of the time. He cried about you, and the situation his own decisions put himself in. He cried in jealousy for the threat sweeping you off your feet right now, and he cried as if that was the last night he'd ever see you again.

When he got out of the shower, well after the stream went cold, he had no more tears to shed. He was dehydrated, and he felt broken. He did a half-assed job of drying himself off before leaving the bathroom and collapsing into bed, only a towel secured around his hips.

His face was pressed into his pillow, and he tucked his arms beneath it and submerged himself even further into the soft fabric.

He recently switched detergent to whichever one you regularly used, and he just took in the familiar scent; anything to make him feel more at home without you actually being present...

George had no idea how long he was in that position for, but he fell asleep like that, only to wake to the sound of the phone ringing.

He got up and stumbled out of his room to ease the obnoxiously loud phone by picking up the call, shouting, and hanging up on whoever decided to phone at this hour-- whichever hour it was.

"Yeah," George rasped through the receiver, his tone laced with underlying irritation. He just wanted to be left alone in his sadness.

"George..."

"... Y/n?" He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the palm of his hand before you spoke, but your voice made him freeze.

"Oh Georgie..." your voice was breaking over the phone, and he could tell it wasn't the connection.

"Y/n, my Love, what's the matter?!"

"George he... He didn't show." George's heart stopped.

He didn't show.

George's grip closed tighter and tighter on the phone receiver, and he could feel the pure rage bubbling in his chest, and the plastic receiver crackling from the force under his fingers.

"Where are you?" He demanded. "I'm coming right now to get you," George was about to start throwing his shoes on, despite wearing absolutely nothing to start off with, his towel discarded and still on the bed from when he passed out.

"The same place you dropped me off."

God dammit, this fucking guy had you go to the other side of town just to be forgotten about.

It was finally settled: if George ever found out who this guy was, he'd kill him for doing this to you.

"Don't move. Be there in five." As soon as George hung up the phone, he took off to his room. He was ready in record time: under a minute. Up until the day he died, George wouldn't have been able to dress as quick as he did that night, and he never knew how he did it.

What really mattered was that George got to the other side of town in about five minutes, as he said over the phone.

George whipped into the parking lot and got out of the car. He hurried over to the front of the building to go in and search for you, but he caught a glimpse of you sitting at the curb as he grabbed the door handle.

His grip eased on the lockset, and he slowly turned to you. You were facing away from him, arms folded as you tried to shield yourself from the cool evening wind. You had no clue he was even behind you.

George sighed gently, shedding his jacket off and placing it on your shoulders without another word. He could see your whole body relax from the weighted piece of clothing, and he wondered if his scent was comforting for you too, as it was vice versa.

George heard you breathe out, but you sniffled afterwards. It broke his heart to see you like this. George looked around to see if anyone was watching, because if there was a chance this guy was cackling away in a parked car at the sight of you in tears, George would have had no problem kicking his headlights in and slashing his tires.

He dropped to the curb and sat down right next to you, not hesitating to circle his arm around your body.

At his touch, you curled yourself into a ball, and George scooped you up to squeeze you tight. And against his chest, when you knew you were safe from all harm, you gently sobbed.

George let you cry it all out, and the tighter you held onto him, the tighter he held onto you.

"Am I just unlovable George...? Is that it?" Your words were quiet and muffled, but George heard every syllable you mustered.

He pulled away from your embrace to look you in the eyes, and his grip on your arms were firm, but not tight. "Now Y/n, you do not for one second even think you're unlovable. That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." His eyebrows were lowered in anger at the very idea of you feeling unloved.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, and George's expression softened. He reached his hand up to your face, and he could feel you shaking. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow again.

George wished then more than ever that he was the one who was supposed to see you. He would have shown up.

"Y/n, you deserve so much better than this. If you were mine, I’d make sure sitting alone on the curb, stood up, would be the last place you'd ever find yourself, especially when you were so excited to go out..."

George didn't know where his little spurt of confidence came from, but he was more focused on the words he was choosing to use with you, and what he was all going to say.

"... If I were yours...?" You sniffled again, cheeks and the tip of your nose turning pink and George paused at the sudden realization.

You still had a chance to be his.

And all because that boy didn't show up, he still had time to figure out how he could pull it all off; but it had to be tonight.

He took a deep breath.

"I mean, anyone would be lucky to date you. I just... I sometimes wonder why you were never mine. Why you're not mine..." his voice lowered throughout the sentence, and the end of his confession was barely above a whisper.

You watched George for a moment, lips parted, as if you couldn't believe your ears, and the young man panicked a little, deciding to disregard his last words before it suddenly became the topic of discussion.

"Oh, my Love," George's eyes suddenly saddened as he reached out to wipe away your fresh tears and smeared makeup with his thumb. Your bottom lip trembled at the contact, and he sighed.

"Just because he didn't show up doesn't mean your evening has gone to waste." He stood up and turned to look down at you.

"The night is still young." He then held his hand out in front of you, and you looked at it for a moment as if you didn't know what he wanted from you.

"Y/n... give me one night. Let me show you how a man should always treat you."

He wasn't quite sure if he just unintentionally asked you on a real life date, or if you thought of all this as an act, but even if you didn't reciprocate his feelings, it gave George the chance of a lifetime to at least pretend you were his, even if this opportunity only lasted one night.

"Please."

You didn't move at first, but George was patient. You eventually slowly reached your hand out, and George helped you up, not making the effort to let go of you afterwards.

George looked up at the restaurant, and did a double take. "... You... you don't even like fancy places like this, am I wrong?"  All you could think about when looking at him was that he knew you so well.

"A place like this on a first date is a clear sign he'd leave halfway through and I'd be stuck with the bill." George smiled a little, and so did you.

You wiped your final stray tear from your cheek and George gave your other hand a squeeze. "... I'd rather get a burger and go for a walk, to be honest."

"Then that's what we'll do," George confirmed with a nod. It was settled, then.

George and you strolled to the car, still hand-in-hand, and he courteously opened your door to help you in. He ran over to the other side afterwards and climbed in behind the wheel before pulling out and taking off to find somewhere for you both to eat.

You both came across this quiet burger place downtown, and the both of you were able to get a booth in the back for privacy so you could both scarf down your meals in peace.

George ordered the same food you did, and you both settled on sharing a milkshake together (a single milkshake eventually became two).

"God," you looked around the nearly empty joint before turning your gaze back to George. "Do you know how much more comfortable I feel in here?"

"Even when you're dressed like you belong in a dress shop window?" George smiled around his straw and you matched his grin. "Shut up. At least my hair is brushed out."

The poor guy had no clue until now that he forgot to comb his hair out after his depression shower, embarrassingly clawing his fingers through his locks to at least tidy up the mess on his head.

You just laughed out that you were teasing him, and the joyous hiccups from your laughter had George briefly forgetting everything negative that had happened so far that night.

After settling down a little, your food was brought out and you both started eating.

There wasn't much for the both of you to talk about other than the part of your day when you weren't together, and it wasn't like George wanted to mention what happened to him in the last two hours or make you upset by talking about your night.

Instead you both settled on joking about old times. Before the both of you knew it, George had you giggling and smiling once again before your dessert even came, and when the waitress came around to your table with your two-person cookie skillet, you grinned even wider.

You thanked the waitress before she went on her way, and you looked up across the treat to George, whom you were half expecting to be drooling over the cookie. Instead, he was in a dream-like trance, soft gaze fixed on you, and only you. You weren't too sure if he even knew the skillet was in front of him, he was so distracted.

"George...?" You called to him gently as to not frighten him when coming back down to reality. His response was almost immediate, like he could hear you.

And maybe he did.

"... I'm sorry, I don't know how many times I've tried to say this already tonight but have chickened out, but you look just..." George was examining every inch of you that he could see and you blushed, casting your eyes down to the table.

"Angel, look at me." George reached over the table and rested his hand over yours. You lifted your head to look him in the eye, and he hesitated for a moment. Your full attention flustered him, then again it always did, but he took a deep breath.

"You look heavenly, Y/n."

You said nothing. This time, he had you speechless, but nothing wasn't the response he was looking for.

"Dontcha believe me...?" His question echoed through your brain, and you blinked. George scanned your eyes after giving your hand a squeeze. He knew you had something to say, and he was at the edge of his seat in anticipation for your words.

"... Do you really think so?"

"Are you kidding me?! Y/n, I... when you came out of your room tonight I just... looking at you right now, I'm at a loss for words. Heavenly doesn't even scratch the surface. No word exists that perfectly describes how you look to me. Now, or ever."

There was yet another spurt of confidence that washed over George. He had a feeling his words and actions were getting the both of you somewhere, especially when his final sentence had you blushing the way you were.

At least he knew he was doing something right.

George's grip on your hand tightened a little, and he flipped your hands over so your palm was face-up in his. He brought your hand closer to him, and he kissed your fingertips before leaving a final one at the centre of your palm. His eyes never left your red face as he did this, and he grinned against your hand when you offered him a shy smile.

Oh... she IS actually liking this.

When he pulled away, George looked down at the still-untouched dessert, and he smiled, releasing another nervous breath he was holding as he finally let go of your hand. "Let's finish up so we can go on our walk. Sound good, my Love?"

You only nodded before digging in with him, every nudge of his hand against yours reducing you to a blushing mess, and George, who was gaining more confidence as every second passed, would just smile to himself knowing he was successfully turning the tables on you.

But it wasn't yet the time to give in and confess, as much as George wanted to. He still had a nice long walk to woo you on, and then he had to do the important step of walking you to your apartment door at the end of the night, and God knows that was the part he was dying to get to.

You finished your dessert not long after and George payed the bill. After helping you out of the booth, you'd left hand-in-hand again.

The both of you stepped out into the cool night and you looked up at George. "Are you cold? Did you want your jacket back?"

You were holding it in your other hand since you'd taken it off at dinner, and you shoved it in his direction without another word.

He laughed and took the jacket from you, unfolding it and pulling it back around your shoulders before rubbing his hands up and down your arms to keep you warm.

"You'll catch a cold without it. Besides, you look better in it anyways." He leaned in and kissed your cheek, smiling proudly to himself when he pulled away and continued to lead you to the car, deciding it'd be smoother to not turn around and gauge for a reaction from you.

Like before, George courteously opened the car door for you, and closed it when you were in. Their destination was his place. It wasn't for the reason one would think, but the idea of driving you to his home and inviting you in with every intention of walking right past the kettle made George's legs restless.

In reality there was a park down the road from his flat that cut pretty much directly to your own humble abode. You'd walked the trail hundreds of times together to look at the pretty flowers growing in the garden, but something told George that this time, like everything else happening that day, was going to be very different.

When you pulled up to his building he raced you to get to your door for the second time of the night; the first being at the burger place when you first arrived. He took your hand and helped you out of the car, and he didn't let go, even after locking the doors to his car and leading you both down the road.

There was a silence that fell between the both of you. It wasn't bad. You took this time to think about your night, as did George. With every step down the road and into the park you took, the smile on your face only grew wider. As for George, he began to sweat with every step he took.

Every foot forward led him closer and closer to your door, where he was going to finally let everything off his chest and confess to you. The problem was that George's confidence was quickly draining, and this was something he needed to do.

He eventually let go of your hand to wipe his palms off on his pant leg, and at the immediate loss of contact, you were turning to him with a confused look on your face.

"Sorry uh..." he breathed out slowly, cheeks dusted pink. "I-I don't know why, but I'm kinda nervous."

Your look of confusion faded into an unreadable one. "Was it holding my hand?"

George shook his head. "No no, not that, I want to hold your hand."

"So what's the problem?"

He just shook his head again. "Maybe it's just... the stress of making sure tonight is perfect for you."

"What?!" Your reaction was sudden, and George's eyebrows were raised high up on his forehead at your exclamation.

"George, tonight has already been perfect for me! I had a great meal, I'm on a lovely walk with you..." you reached out to take his hand again, and he lifted his gaze from his shoes to look you in the eye. You smiled up at him from under the streetlight, and George smiled back a little.

"Georgie, I would never have asked for a better night." You squeezed his fingers with yours and tugged him forward gently. "C'mon, Magpie. Let's get home. It'll be cooling down soon, and I don't want you walking outside much longer than needed tonight."

George followed behind, but you still took your time coming home since the both of you got caught up in another conversation. This time, it was about the flowers you were passing in the park.

"... I used to water those for you, y'know." He pointed to a cluster of marigolds. To think that was ten years earlier and they still stayed put, growing outwards and stronger than ever.

"I used to check on them every day to make sure they weren't dying. You told me one time you really liked those flowers and I just..." he smiled a little at the memory. "I just couldn't get enough of your smile every time you saw them."

You turned to look up at him. You had absolutely no clue he did that for you. It made you love the flowers even more, and your heart jumped a little when you realized that the marigolds were the very reason George insisted you both took the trail all the tine.

"I'll still come across them when passing flower shops. I always think of you when I see them."

"Wow. George, I... I never knew you paid that much attention to me."

"Why wouldn't I? You're my best friend."

And George didn't say anything after that, especially when you didn't respond to his last comment, which he didn't even mean to say.

By the time George could think up a sentence to save himself from friend-zoning the both of you right then and there, he felt like he'd left it for too long.

His heart was sinking, and he tried to shake off the comment best he could, and walked you the rest of the way home.

His stomach was in a knot as he looked up at your apartment building. The front door to the lobby looked intimidating, and his palms began to sweat again. You slipped your hand out of George's, and it distracted him from his racing thoughts.

"You think I'm gonna just leave you here?" His question was sudden, and you blinked once.

"I'm sorry?" You looked from George, to the apartment door which was ten feet away from the both of you. "But George, I'm home?"

"I have to walk you to your door." You laughed at his response, head thrown back as you sighed. "You mean to tell me you, George Harrison, are gonna walk up five flights of stairs in the next two minutes just to make sure you can hear me lock my door and know I'm safe?"

"Would it be a real date if I didn't?"

There was another beat of silence as George watched your eyes shift from left to right in thought. You pursed your lips a little, and then looked him in the eye.

"... Suppose it wouldn't be then, no."

"Then may I walk you to your door, Y/n?"

You finally answered him with a simple nod of your head, and George reached out to take your hand again. He wordlessly led you to the door which he opened for you, and then brought you to the flight of stairs. Nowhere else to go but up.

In about two minutes, you and George got to the fifth floor. As soon as he entered the hall, it felt like the walls were slowly closing together as you both took quiet, careful steps towards the end of the way.

The entire time, your hands were glued together, and no one let go, even when you were both finally stopped, and standing in front of your door.

"I'm sorry about tonight, Y/n. I know you were saying earlier tonight turned out perfect and everything but..." George's brain was still on that platonic comment he made on the walk.

"George, there is no one I would have rather spent tonight with than you. No one."

George squeezed your hand, and then sighed. "I just wish tonight happened under different circumstances."

"Different circumstances?" You repeated a little confused, and the boy in front of you pursed his lips and nodded his head.

Deep breaths. Here it goes.

"Y/n, ever since I found out about this date, my blood has just been boiling with jealousy for that boy. Hell, I still don't even know his name and I could tell you he isn't good for you."

You looked taken aback. Jealousy was definitely not where you thought he was going with all of this.

"I fell in love with you, Y/n. Years ago. And because I feared rejection, I didn't want to take my chances and say anything. But the truth of the matter is that I'd be the happiest person alive just to be able to love you openly. I can't stand to see you cry the way he made you tonight."

Again, you stood there, no words coming to mind to respond with. Your silence didn't make George stop.

"To think for years my feelings for you haven't gone away. I've always thought you felt the same, yet you were never mine." George paused. "When can this boy get you back again, Y/n?"

There was a long silence, his eyes searching yours for your answer, and you were staring up at him like a deer in headlights.

"I-- if I'd known-- I never thought-- George, I had no clue." He could see the lost look on your face, and it made his heart ache, especially when your lip began to tremble and your eyes started filling to the brim with tears.

"Why do you think I turned down every guy who's tried to get with me? I just... I never thought you'd love me back, Georgie." His emotions sank into a deep dark guilt. All this time, and you felt the same way about him...

And then he blinked.

You feel the same way about him!

George reached out to you, his hand cupping the side of your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb. Your tears began to fall, and he pulled you into his chest tightly for a moment. "My Love," he mumbled, pulling away just far enough for him to see your face again.

"Oh, even when you're crying, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever set eyes on..." There was a beat of nothing; just the sound of shallow breaths shared between the both of you before George began to inch in slowly towards you.

"... George, what are you doing...?" Your question was gentle, and you didn't stop him from coming any closer. You didn't want to stop him.

"Something I should've done a long time ago."

His attention fixated to your mouth once before your lips finally clashed together.

For over a decade, George had waited for the moment he tasted your lips; and now that it was here, he was almost scared he wouldn't know what to do.

The both of you were holding your breath since you both felt a little unsure at first, but it was a given, he was kissing his childhood best friend, and you were, too. You kissed back a little, and George exhaled lightly through his nose, a little relieved knowing you were getting a little more comfortable with the situation.

George's hands fell to your waist, fingers curling around your body as he eventually pulled you even closer. You parted your lips a little, and he bit down on your bottom lip, pulling away after hearing you gasp.

"Oh! Did I hurt you? I'm--" George could barely rush an apology out before you pulled him down to kiss him again, and pushing him backwards until his back was flat against your door. He watched as you closed the space between you again, and your lips were on his again.

His heart was pounding, ears ringing loudly as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, and all the boy could remember thinking about was how blissful it all was in that moment. George threw his arms around you and started pushing back just a little.

You pulled away from him to gasp in a breath, George's hands grabbing your arms and pinning you against your door so he could put you in the place he was moments before; to give you the moment to experience just a fraction of all the love he would be able to eventually give to you.

His lips briefly found the crook of your neck and you moaned quietly as George sucked at your skin a little, which only resulted in him pulling away just to lean back in to kiss your lips and swallow your pleasant hums.

You eventually pulled away to face him again, lips swelled and pink, and breaths quick. You never thought you'd have so much trouble breathing while kissing someone.

Then again, it's not everyday that the man you're kissing is George Harrison.

"I know it's rare to ask this on a first date but..." George leaned down to attach his lips to the column of your throat, and he hummed against your skin when you moaned gently, delaying your question for a moment.

"... Did you maybe wanna, I don't know, come in, stick around for some tea?"

"Is that even a question?" George asked lowly against your neck, and you smiled. You reached into your purse to retrieve your apartment keys, which you blindly stuck into the keyhole since George was back to kissing you again, and the both of you stumbled through the door as soon as you got it open.

You and George kicked your shoes off after shutting the door, and you pushed him up against the wall in the front corridor to kiss him once again.

Ten years was way too long for the both of you to be deprived of one another any further, and George gladly let you migrate your lips to his neck after a moment, tilting his head back for you to make things a little easier.

With your head buried into his neck and your arms circled around one another, George lazily opened this eyes to watch himself in that same mirror across the hall he looked into a few hours prior.

All the boy could do was smile to himself, breathing heavily as he watched your reflection switch to the other side of his neck after leaving a mark on the right side of his throat.

Not only was his reflection successful in this date tonight, but George himself pulled off the biggest risk he could imagine and it paid off.

He finally got the girl of his dreams.

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

A/A/N: honestly, this fic lives rent free in my head and it has been since I wrote it, so I gotta show it off to y'all. Again, I know it was long, but I really hope you enjoy it <3

PERMENANT TAG LIST

@culturefiendtrashqueen​

@rogermeddow

(message me if you want to be added to any of my oneshot/queen/beatles/chapter taglists)

#the beatles #john lennon #john lennon x reader #paul mccartney #paul mccartney x reader #george harrison #george harrison x reader #ringo starr #ringo starr x reader #paul mccharmly

[moonboohoo]

BOOK: DREAM; IN THE STARS

CHARACTER: IWAIZUMI HAJIME X READER

SUMMARY: IN WHICH A GIRL NEEDS TO REPAY HER SINS BY BEFRIENDING WITH A VOLLEYBALL PLAYER.

WORD COUNT : 2285

*LOWERCASE INTENDED.

2.3 ㅡ STARRY NIGHT. 

warnings: slight angst, crying hajime. 

you woke up in the middle of the night, and you felt like you were freezing to death. you rubbed your eyes tiredly and glanced at the illuminated green numbers on the digital clock. it was only 2:24 am. you groaned in dismay as you put your blanket on top of you, attempting to sleep since you have classes tomorrow. you heard a strong gust of wind blowing against your window, and this irritated you even more. you're too lazy to close the curtains, but you didn't like the sound of the wind either - you let out a frustrated sigh as you wore your white fluffy house shoes, and walked towards your window. your eyes landed on a certain figure, who was standing on the roadside as he looked at the night sky with an emotionless expression.

you squinted your eyes and tried to see it clearly, and you're shocked that iwaizumi hajime was standing outside his house at 2:30 am, wearing only his sweater and sweatpants, he warmed his shivering hands by rubbing them; fatigue engraved on his worn face.

...

"...what the heck, something is not right."

                                                                2009, October 11.

"(y/n)-chan, hanami-chan! let's go to the volleyball gym to see them practice!" akane whined as she hugged us from behind, and stomped her foot like a child that wasn't getting what they wanted. you sighed as you turned around to hanami, the girl crossed her arms over her chest, still contemplating whether she should accompany her friend or just go back home and sleep. without a second thought, she then took her school backpack and faced akane, giving her a cheeky grin before she left the classroom.

"b-but please..." she grabbed her wrist, begging her to stay.

"if (y/n) is staying then i will be staying, too."

even though you have better things to do at home, you just couldn't say no to your friends. and plus, you wanted to check up on iwaizumi. your brow furrowed as you rubbed your temples, recalling the moment last night; it wasn't a dream. you thought it was you who was hallucinating, it was midnight after all - but when you looked at him from afar, it was him, iwaizumi hajime was standing there, it's like he was counting stars or something. it was awfully cold yesterday and nobody will just go out without a scarf like that, the more you think about it; the more you think that iwaizumi hajime was hiding something, and it makes you suspicious. akane and hanami were throwing insults at each other again, you couldn't care less about it; as you're trying to analyse about the situation last night.

the familiar low thudding sound echoed through the volleyball court, twelve people were playing volleyball at the center of the gym, six in green uniforms versus six in blue. there were a lot of girls sitting on the floor, cheering and screaming their names. akane squealed and grabbed both of your hands - as she grinned widely, and sat on the floor. hanami and you exchanged glances and let out a sigh. akane gets excited easily especially when she sees someone attractive. she couldn't stop talking about them and this girl won't hesitate to take pictures of them and make it as her collection. frankly, you're not like the other girls, or like akane. you've passed that phase long ago, and it was not a big deal when you're talking to one of the hot guys in school, you just...don't care, and you're focusing more on yourself and many other things that you think it's important.

the girls were screaming again when it was time for oikawa to serve.

"oikawa san! you are the best!"

"he's so handsome! look at him-"

hanami rolled her eyes and turned away, you could clearly see that she was frustrated and annoyed at the same time, she was fuming; and you thought that her ears were in danger of turning into smokestacks. you didn't understand why she was acting in this way, and you tried many ways to comfort her, but to no avail; she was still pissed. akane was smiling dreamingly when matsukawa blocked one of his opponents, she quickly waved at him when he was looking towards her direction.

he just nodded.

"i think he likes me." akane squeezed your wrist and let out a giggle. you laughed at her optimistic behaviour, she was always that cheerful and energetic, she's that kind of friend that you can actually rely on, she was always positive; which you liked her a lot. hanami, on the other hand, was really rational. she hates it when akane asks her about love relationships, basically everything about love, she said that it was a waste of time. hanami was neutral, and her personality was really straightforward, brutally honest about her own opinions and her feelings; and very stubborn. you loved them, you loved all of them, you loved it when they always attacked you with hugs, it was something that you never experienced before, and yet you're given another chance to feel alive again.

"nice one, iwaizumi!" one of the seniors ruffled his hair, and he just smiled in response. this was strange, iwaizumi would normally exchange high fives with all of them. he took a deep breath, then using a blue towel to wipe off his sweats. you're starting to worry about him, he had never been absent-minded before, and the dark circles under his eyes were so obvious.

suddenly, a ball flew towards your direction and hanami stood up and dodged it just in time. iwaizumi yelled at oikawa, and oikawa screamed, their seniors tried to calm everyone down, the fan girls - once again, were shouting and yelling at each other, and the scene was really, chaotic.

what's worse? the coach was nowhere to be seen.

"trashykawa!"

"stop calling me that!" he pouted angrily.

"you almost hit them! you gotta be focus-" iwaizumi retorted.

"i-it's not my fault when hana-chan is looking at me! it's dis-distracting!" the brunette blurted out, and he immediately covered his mouth. everyone was dumbfounded, and oikawa was blushing heavily as he looked at hanami, the girl clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes, a blush spreading across her face. her eyes - her eyes were filled in embarrassment, her hands rubbing on her skirt, hanami had never gotten into this situation before; and oikawa was basically getting into her nerves. a tiny furrow appeared on your head, this exact moment was definitely too cliche for you; typical high school love and puppy love romance, which you've experienced many years ago, witnessing this entire scene again made you shivered slightly.

no, you didn't feel excited at all.

"uhm...i'm too old for this..." you mumbled slightly, rubbing both of your arms, trying to rid yourself from goosebumps.

just then, hanami cracked her knuckles and yelled at oikawa; "fuck you, oikawa! go get your eyes checked!"

───

iwaizumi walked back home without telling you.

after the practice match was over, oikawa dragged you outside the court and ranted at you about hanami, his love relationships and begging for advice, and frankly, you really wanted to excuse yourself and find iwaizumi, but the brunette was whining and complaining about his problems; which you have no choice but to listen to him. you found oikawa somewhat amusing, even though he was always up to no good, very cunning and an absolute prick, but oikawa was actually not a bad person; it's just sometimes - he didn't know how to express his emotions.

"i hate autumn, it makes me all gloomy and sad." - oikawa.

you sighed, putting your hands in your blazer pocket while walking back home. you agreed to his statement, autumn made you feel lonely and depressed, the falling leaves and bare trees - and the atmosphere was totally different compared to summer and spring. the colours were less vibrant, and it was not as refreshing as these two seasons - when you saw flowers blooming and beautiful grasslands, smelling the pine trees as the warm sun drew out their fragrance, you felt happier; it makes you feel at ease. summer and spring give off lighthearted vibes, and you also believed that warm seasons made your mind rest and become refreshed.

in contrast, autumn is a bittersweet season.

it reminds you of both teenagers falling in love when they first met each other, walking among the flower fields, watching the sunset on the beach, and laughter and chatter fill the air - when the weather starts to get colder, it all felt like a daydream, flowers stopped blooming, leaves falling, the once vibrant colours turned dull and monochromatic, only reddish, orange and brown, they said spring and summer is a season of cliches; you could hear birds singing and bee buzzing, it's love in the air - when it comes to autumn, then it's not the case. it's a repetitive cycle, autumn means ever-approaching endings, a threat of frost creeping in anytime, heartbreaking events, romantic love fades away and forms a bittersweet memory that can only be kept inside your heart.

you dislike autumn.

a crunching sound could be heard when you're stepping on these dry leaves, you frowned as you kicked away some of the branches along the pathway, you're worried about him, and you knew that something was up when he just ditched you and didn't inform you that he'll be leaving the court first, which made you feel anxious. "autumn is definitely a stupid season." you mumbled.

you passed by a big field, and you saw iwaizumi hajime sitting on a bench.

you let out a long sigh, slowly approaching him and put your bag beside him, you crossed your arms over your chest and eyed him curiously. "oi, what is wrong...with you..." your voice trailed off when you saw his puffy red cheeks and swollen eyes, he quickly stood up and avoided eye contact with you, iwaizumi hajime didn't expect that - absolutely not expecting that you're here, he felt ashamed, and you wouldn't expect that he had fallen to such a state. "what are you doing here?" he spoke in a harsh tone, grabbing his backpack and trying to leave, you quickly pulled his arm and dragged him to sit beside you.

"you're so stubborn, tell me about it."

"i have nothing to say."

"bullshit. i saw you standing outside your house yesterday at 2 am," you spat.

"you what?!" iwaizumi was surprised, looking at you in disbelief. "how did you know -" you interrupted him while he was speaking, "iwaizumi hajime, i'm serious here, i'm worried about you, what happened? you know you can always talk to me." you said, hugging your backpack and waiting for him to speak. he sighed, and took a deep breath, "my parents want a divorce, some sort of thing...then...uh...it makes me overwhelmed?...ah, forget it, i don't speak to anyone about this..."

iwaizumi hajime hates himself for being weak.

"oh, so you think that pushing your feelings away will sort out your problems? do you think acting strong is the best way to overcome your issues? we all are humans, crying is just an expression, there's nothing wrong with it, you know?" you grabbed his wrist gently and continued, "you said it makes you overwhelmed, and that's fine. it's understandable, you shouldn't keep everything to yourself, showing your weakness doesn't define you, iwaizumi." he bit his lip harshly, in a weak attempt to stop his tears flowing out from his eyes, though he tried, the stored tears continued to flow and the sobs wracked his body, robbing it of the ability to speak. iwaizumi was strong, he was tough, your heart aches when he was breaking down right in front of you, to think that he's been going through a lot of problems by himself makes you want to stay by his side.

when you looked up to the night sky, the stars were glowing brightly, each one was more of a golden yellow orb, and it was different from the stars that you've usually seen for the past few weeks, which their colours were slightly misty and white; a typical autumn night. but today was different, the moon was shining in the middle of blazing stars, definitely a picturesque view. you turned around and looked at him, he closed his eyes, a rattled sigh passing through his parted lips as he did so.

it was a cold autumn night.

"i'm sorry," he spoke softly.

"for what?"

"uh...i didn't wait for you today because i saw you're talking to oikawa, i didn't want to bother you." you let out a laugh, and then you put your hand over your mouth as you found it hilarious and adorable. iwaizumi frowned and pouted angrily, his ears were completely red due to embarrassment.

"i'm serious, i'm sorry."

"it's fine, iwa-chan, please don't ditch me again, i feel lonely," you replied, mimicking oikawa's tone. he smiled, shaking his head, "you are so annoying."

maybe you're older than iwaizumi, maybe you have experienced many shitty things throughout your teenage years, and maybe you have an abusive family that makes you sympathize with those people who're experiencing the same thing as you - more specifically, family issues. when you looked at iwaizumi again, he looked exhausted. you knew exactly how he felt, you knew that it was hard to deal with these things alone, the more you thought about it, you began to feel depressed.

and that's what you feel about autumn; a series of heartbreaking events.

"let's walk back home together," he said.

when he stood up, you pulled iwaizumi into a tight embrace.

"...i'm always here for you."

#haikyuu #haikyuufic #iwaizumihajime #iwaizumi x reader #moonboofic #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumific

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) ner aliit STAR WARS

(belated) Whumptober no.29 - I Think I Need A Doctor

Comfortember no.8 - Lashing Out

Jango had never imagined getting his sister back. He had thought, for over a decade, that his ori’vod was dead, that she had died all those years ago with their buire when Kyr’tsad had burned their family’s farm. He had spent years with Arla’s name at the top of his Remembrances, unknowing that she was alive and that Kyr’tsad had her in their grasp. He had left his ori’vod to be tortured and twisted until she was a chained pet to be released whenever Vizsla wanted someone dead.

Vizsla had probably taken some sort of sick enjoyment out of sending his own sister after him, most likely looking to get the Darksaber back but was not willing to face Jango or his Foundling in combat himself. So he had sent Jango’s own family to kill them and bring the dha’kad to him instead of doing anything himself, and Arla had tried. They had been docked and resupplying, and she must have snuck on board while they had been busy - likely the blood she shared with Jango had let her slip past the security.

Manda, Jango had nearly killed her. He hadn’t known it at the time, all he had seen was a Kyr’tsad ramikad pinning Ben and ready to slit his throat, and Jango had thrown himself forward to defend his son. It had been Ben - Ben who had never let go of the morals he had been raised with, despite declaring his quest for cin vhetin upon earning his beskar’gam and passing his verd’goten - who had stopped Jango from killing his attacker. It was Ben, the boy who refused to kill unless absolutely necessary, even with all the evils in the Galaxy and everything he had been through, who had pulled Jango off of the limp Kyr’tsadii and removed the woman’s helmet.

Jango had nearly lost what little remained of his cool in that moment, stiffening in shock and horror. Arla was almost identical to their mother, though Jango could see himself in her jaw and nose and the shape of her eyes, and her colouring had been their father’s. He remembers that, as a teenager, Arla had idolized their retired ori’ramikad mother, and had wanted to be just like her, to the point she had dyed her brown hair blonde and spent an hour every morning straightening her curls. When he had been eight he had found it annoying to be locked out of the bathroom while his di’kutla ori’vod did di’kutla things, but after the farm had burned, he had guarded even the most annoying memories of his family jealousy. Now though, there’s not a hint of blonde in Arla’s thick curls, and where her skin had once been golden-brown, it was now pale and ashen and covered in scars from torture and cruelty that he had gotten a peek of while Shmi had been tending to her injuries.

Jango had been able to experience love and family after their Buire had been murdered, but Arla had only known pain and torment.

He had spent the last few days sitting beside his sister’s bacta tank, watching her float limply in the thick liquid and reacquainting himself with her face. It had made him painfully aware of the fact that he couldn’t remember her voice, that he could barely remember her. She’s in her thirties now, and she was so very different from the fourteen year old girl preparing for her verd’goten that he could remember. All the baby fat was gone from her face, and there’s a scar across the bridge of her nose that Jango couldn’t remember being there - so many thick, ropey scars stretched across any part of her body that he could see. He hadn’t seen her since he was eight - he’s twenty-three now, and he likes to think that he looks like his father, but finding Arla has made him painfully aware of the fact that he can barely remember them anymore.

What kind of ad and vod is he that he can’t remember his familys’ faces? Would Arla hate him for moving on, for finding a new aliit while she had been tortured?

Arla had been pulled out of bacta just that morning, and it had been painful for Jango to cuff his sister to the medical cot, but he didn’t really have much of a choice. He has two non-combatants on the ship, and a son that Arla had already once tried to kill. As much as Jango hates it, his sister is a prisoner and an assassin, and he has no idea what Death Watch had done to her over the years, or what kind of state her mind is in.

Even so, knowing all of that didn’t mean it hadn’t torn something in him when his sister had immediately tried to throw herself at him, intent to harm, the moment she had opened her eyes. Arla had snarled, twisting against the restraints, teeth bared in fury, and a firm Shmi had ordered Jango out of the room as she’d given his sister a sedative. So Jango had left, trusting Shmi to look after herself and Arla.

“Traitor!” Arla had screamed at him, and the words had struck deep.

He finds himself feeling lost, staring at the wall, and wondering what he could possibly do to fix this. He hadn’t thought his hatred of Kyr’tsad could grow any hotter and yet here he is, with a sister he had believed dead for most of his life, twisted and broken and turned into an assassin for the very people who had murdered their Buire and who he hated more than anything, even the Jetiise. Kyr’tsad had taken everything from him; his parents, his Buir, his aliit, his sister, his honour. He could reach out to the others; he knows that there are Haat’ade still out there, people who had followed Jaster, who had followed Jango, and people who would come the moment he called. Roz had given him a list of contacts of Mando’ade who were still loyal to the Mand’alor. There were people with the right sort of training who could help him help Arla. He hadn’t considered calling them before - he’s unworthy of their loyalty, but for his aliit , he’d be willing to do anything.

Jango lets out a heavy breath, turning on his heel to march towards his room - Jaster’s old room - in search of the comm codes, thoughts dark. His people didn’t deserve Jango dragging them back into his problems, but Arla also doesn’t deserve what happened to her and needs help. He doesn’t trust a hospital to protect her from Kyr’tsad should they come for her, but he does trust the True Mandalorians.

The disgraced Mand’alor pauses in front of his door, tightening his hand around his buy’ce and tapping his fingers against the visor. He sighs slowly, closing his eyes and muttering a quick prayer to the Manda for courage and to the Ka’ra for luck, before gathering himself and typing in the code to the door and stepping into his room. He strides over to the storage chest at the base of his bunk, opening it to rifle through the belongings until he finds the datapad Roz had handed him back when he and Ben had first gone to her for work after escaping the spice freighter.

He staring at one name on the list, an open expression of pain on his face - there’s so few of them, compared to what they had once been, and that’s on him. Mij Gilamar - he remembers the man. Or more accurately he remembers his riduur; Tani Gilamar had been on Galidraan, she had been one of his ramikade. Mij had been a dedicated baar’ur, and while he had married a Mando’ad, he had never worn beskar’gam, preferring to heal rather than fight, but Jango had seen him spar with Tani enough to know that he could.

Mij would be his best choice to help Arla, but would he want to do anything for Jango after he had gotten his riduur killed.

He looks up when the door hisses open, letting Ben peer into his room. His son cut an impressive figure in Jango’s old beskar’gam, the one that he wore after passing his own verdgotten but painted dark red and white, and his buy’ce tucked under his arm - he looks like a true Mando’ad, and Jango wonders if this is what Jaster felt every time he saw him in his armour. He watches Jango with worried eyes.

“Are you alright, Buir?” The teenager asks, stepping into Jango’s room and letting the door slide shut behind him. “Shmi told me our guest woke up.” Blue eyes study him intently, and Jango’s shoulders slump at the reminder, Arla’s words rattling in his head. “I can sense that you’re upset.” Ben lowers himself to his knees next to him with the unnatural grace of a Jedi, head tilting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jango huffs out a laugh, “You do know I’m supposed to be the buir, right, Ben’ika?”

His ad ’s eyes sparkle, and Jango can already feel the weight of his past easing with the boy’s small smile. “So you are.” Ben says cheerfully, “I’m afraid I hadn’t noticed.”

“Brat.” Jango murmurs fondly, flicking the fourteen year old across the forehead. Still, Ben had passed his verd’goten and was considered an adult by Old Mandalorian law, even if he is still young and inexperienced and still needed guidance. Jas’buir had allowed Jango to lead his own squad at fourteen, and Mandalorians knew better than anyone that ade were just as competent as those who were fully grown. He sighs again, “Arla needs special care right now.” Jango tells Ben, who listens attentively. “Things we can’t get her without help.”

Ben’s head tilts again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “Like a mind healer?”

Jango taps Mij’s name on the list, “Baar’ur Gilamar is a doctor, and a very good one. All Mandalorian doctors are trained in mirjahaal for wounded verde.”

“One cannot heal physically if they don’t also heal spiritually.” Ben states knowingly, and Jango ruffles his hair.

“Learn that from your fancy Core Temple, did you, ad’ika?”

Ben grins crookedly, “We were all expected to attend minor healing classes.” He shrugs, “I wasn’t very good at it.” Then his blue eyes grow sharp in the way that makes Jango feel like the boy was looking into his soul. “Arla will be fine, Buir.” Ben states, “We’ll help her; she’s aliit.”

Aliit, it’s a nice thought.

#cole writes #whumptober 2020 #comfortember 2020 #fanfiction #star wars #jango fett #obi-wan kenobi #arla fett #shmi skywalker #mandobi-verse

[ginnranger]

A Strange New Student

Summary: 

Ginn is a new student in a prestigious London private school. It’s pretty obvious she is not the type to be in private school, but is that going to stop her? Honestly, she doesn’t even know the answer to that one. 

But she does have a pretty good guess, when she meets Alex, Martin, George, Louise, and Elsie. They are pretty different from her. They seem nice enough, but will her past lessons allow her let them in? Another good question. 

Word count: 6542

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The large, stone hallways of Churchill high school were a lot less busy than Ginn’s old public school back in Liverpool. She guessed that was because barely anyone was able to afford the tuition to actually attend this school. How she got in was a complete miracle, sparked by some pretty unfortunate events.

The biggest understatement of her life.

Ginn was not used to anything that she had already faced in this new school at all, and she had only been in the building ten minutes. The students hanging around in the hallway before class were well behaved, milling around and chatting instead of running and fighting. The floors and lockers were clean, free of graffiti and chewing gum. The uniforms were the weirdest part; everyone wore it neat and proper, the boys’ ties being evenly tied, their shirts neatly tucked into their trousers, which were not sagging halfway down their butts, and their blazers free of burn holes and glue stains. The girls’ skirts were closer to the knee than the butt, their blouses also neatly tucked, and their cardigans neatly buttoned. Everyone’s shoes were perfectly shined, not a scuff in sight.

Every student had neatly styled hair, not a strand out of place. They all had perfect posture, shoulders squared and backs straight, the girls tending to keep their feet touching each other. Their faces shone with happy, satisfied smiles. There was no anger, hunger, or sadness in these people’s lives. Very different to what Ginn saw back in Liverpool. It was obvious these teenagers knew their place in the world. So did Ginn, and it was not surrounded by these people. They made that clear with their odd looks.

She stood out for many reasons around these people. For one, she was the only girl wearing trousers and a tie. Ginn flat out refused to wear a skirt, and the rules said trousers could not be worn without a tie, so she was stuck in the unflattering, unfitted, too big boy’s uniform. Her tie was relatively neat, but she had not buttoned the top of her shirt, and pulled the tie down slightly to accommodate the room the lack of a top button provided. her blazer sleeves had been rolled up slightly to accommodate her shorter arms. Her shirt was tucked in, but it was not neat. the sides of the shirt were bunched up, as she had tried to angle it in a way it was more fitted to her feminine frame. It was not working, but she felt comfortable. When Ginn stood, she leant on one leg, arms crossed, and her feet obviously not touching. Her shoulders slumped, and her hands folded into fists, no matter whether she was walking or standing. When she walked, her back curved forwards slightly, and her eyes shifted between everything that moved, glaring into every pair of eyes she met. Ginn had to be aware of everything that was happening around her. Just a little compulsion of hers. Her hair was cut short, mostly jar length, with layers getting shorter as they went up, and a fringe cut in line with her eyes, parted favouring the left side, and whilst that was not abnormal for girl, it was expected that she would make an attempt to calm and style her messy mop of ginger hair. But she didn’t. She liked it messy. It gave her an excuse to have her fringe covering her left eye. You see, Ginn had heterochromia. Her right eye was a bright, electric blue, whilst her left eye was a shining light brown, almost orange when the light hit it just right. Ginn preferred to cover her left eye with her hair, as it blended in with the orange strands better than the blue did. That, and the brown colour was not the genetic colour. Her mother had blue eyes, and her father had green eyes, so brown was definitely not a family eye colour.

Ginn could tell people were looking at her as she wondered the fancy hallways towards the administration office, though she couldn’t tell if this was because of her rough, stand-offish appearance, or the fact that it was early November, and she was a new student entering year 10. Honestly, Ginn didn’t care which one it was. She didn’t expect to form relationships with these people.

She managed to reach the administration office, where she was expected to pick up her time table and ID card, after a few minutes of cluelessly wondering around, following strange signs written in the worst font for someone like her; cursive. How is that acceptable, you may ask? It honestly isn’t, but this school had an aesthetic to stick to. Ginn was dyslexic, so anything that wasn’t block letters or her own handwriting was torture to read. As she reached the old looking, oak wood door, she straightened her back and readjusted her backpack, forcing her face to change from confrontational to neutral. This was the face she preferred to show in front of adults, as they could never figure out what emotion she was feeling so they struggled to ask her questions. She opened the door and walked up to the desk, waiting for the old woman sitting, typing on her computer, to look up at her. She did quickly, luckily.

“Hello there! What can I do for you today?” Her voice was far too perky and high pitched. It irritated Ginn’s ears. Ginn forced her face to remain neutral, pushing down her natural, uncomfortable reaction, so she could respond as quick as possible.

“I’m the new student. I was told to pick up my stuff here.”

“Ahh, yes! Ginn Ranger, am I correct?” The woman squeaked, smile never faltering.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Ginn avoided eye contact, uncomfortable with her full name being announced.

The woman rooted around the organised mess that sat on her desk, until she found the right envelope that held Ginn’s ID card and timetable. She handed it to Ginn and asked her to sit down for a moment, as the headmaster wished to speak to her before classes started. Ginn forced herself to swallow a groan as she nodded and took a seat next to the desk, facing the door to the headmaster’s office. Her leg bounced quickly as she stared into space, trying to concentrate on her thoughts rather than the loud world she lived in. She slouched in her seat after finding a comfortable place in her imagination to rest. Sadly, it only took two minutes for her to be called into Headmaster Windsor’s office.

“Hello, Miss Ranger.” Mr Windsor was far more serious. much more pleasant to Ginn’s ears. “It is a pleasure to finally have you here.”

Ginn only forced a smile as she sat awkwardly in the chair. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, taking in every detail she could. the shelves behind Mr Windsor mostly held the textbooks this school studied. Two of the four shelves held the textbooks. one held a collection of frames, some holding pictures of what Ginn assumed to be Windsor’s family, other holding certificates. One was a certification of first aid, one an inclusivity certificate, another being Windsor’s degree in teaching. The inclusivity certificate intrigued Ginn, as she knew for a fact that this school was pretty exclusive.

‘Guess it’s for everything except class.’ She thought to herself.

The final shelf held folders, ordered by category. The first was labelled ‘Enrolment’. The second was labelled ‘Disciplinary Reports’. The third was ‘Human Resources’. The fourth one was what Mr Windsor pulled off the shelf and flicked through. It was labelled ‘Inclusive Support’. Yay.

“So, Miss Ranger-” Ginn interrupted Windsor.

“Call me Ginn.” She said quickly and sheepishly, shoving her hands under her legs to avoid her usually gesturing that annoyed so many adults. “I prefer just Ginn.”

“Ok then.” Mr Windsor peered over the top on his reading glasses, unhappy with the interruption. “Ginn. Your old school transferred us your files and records last week, and I feel we must discuss some things before you head to classes.”

Ginn bit her lip and nodded. She had always gotten pretty good scores in lessons, but she was by far the favourite student to any teacher she ever had. She had a tendency to speak her mind, even when out of terms. Especially then, actually. She also did not have the best track record when it came to peer relations. Most of her past incidents were not her fault, but she had to claim some as her own doing. What could she say? She knows how to stick up for herself.

“These records say you are a very smart young girl, you could thrive in an academic environment, if provided with the right resources. This is why our scholarship program chose you to be our first representative of the… less fortunate.” Windsor hesitated with that last part. He really needed to brush up on his appropriate language book.

‘Just say I’m poor and move on.’ Ginn thought to herself.

“However,” the dreaded sentence conjunctive. “You do have a worrying amount of negative peer relations reports. I must tell you, Ginn. Fighting is strictly prohibited on the campus of this school.”

Ginn let her voice take the lead. “What’s your stance on fighting in self-defence? Mine is that is fine to fight, as long as you don’t start it. Pretty sure those records say that’s what I did.”

Oh dear. She really should have thought before speaking.

Windsor looked exasperated. Ginn was clearly not the first wise crack he had dealt with. “I believe anything can be sorted with the right words. As long as it is reported, it will be dealt with.”

“What about the times it can’t be reported?” Ginn’s voice deepened as she became serious. “That’s what happened in my experience. I couldn’t report it, and if I could, nothing happened, so I sorted it myself. Sure you wont have to worry though. This doesn’t exactly seem like the place where fights happen.”

Windsor chuckled and nodded. “You are an interesting young lady, miss- Ginn. I’m sure you will fit in with the class I have placed you in. All of your teachers have been informed of your mental heath and learning difficulties, as per your request.”

Ginn hated how that was phrased, but she thanked him anyway. ‘Gotta try and be polite’, after all.

“I have assigned a young man to help guide you around school as you settle in.” Oh no. forced interaction. “He should be outside now.”

as Windsor finished his sentence, the phone device on his desk beeped, and the voice of the receptionist through the door sounded out, saying ‘a Mr Peterson was here to see Headmaster Windsor.’ Windsor told the receptionist to send him in, and the device buzzed, causing Ginn to cringe. That sound was horrible!

Before she could fully recover, the door opened behind her and a boy around her age walked in. He had pale white skin, with bright blond hair, shaved at the sides and combed over, the parting favouring the right side of his head. His eyes were cornflower blue, shining and bright. He had a small, wonky smile on his face as he greeted the headmaster and took a seat on Ginn’s right side.

“This is Alex Peterson. He will be, what we call, your class escort.” Windsor introduced the boy to Ginn, and the boy turned to Ginn and smiled, offering his hand to shake, which she just looked at nodded to him. Windsor broke the awkward tension between the two and continued. “He will show you around until you are comfortable with your surroundings.”

Ginn hated this idea. She could see why they implemented it, many people would want it, but she was not one of those people. She would much rather just figure it out on her own, even if it meant being late to all her classes.

“The bell is about to ring. You two should head off now.” Windsor gestured to the door, and the two teens picked up their bags and walked out.

 “So…” The boy, Alex, said, drawing out the ‘O’ sound. “Can I see your schedule? Just so I know for sure where you are?”

Ginn wordlessly shoved the piece of paper into Alex’s hand, still avoiding eye contact with him. Alex shot her a strange look, realising this was going to be so much harder than he originally thought. He did think she would be quiet, being new and all, but dang.

“Cool, you’re in mine and my friend’s form.” he handed back the paper to the new girl and started walking, being closely followed by her. “You’ll like Mr Caxton, he’s fun.”

Ginn hummed in response. God, she was not making it easy for Alex.

The bell rang and Ginn tensed, her shoulders squaring, and her fists clenching. Another loud, irritating noise. This school was just made to make her uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, Alex had noticed her reaction to the sound. “You ok? It’s just the bell, no need to worry.” he chuckled.

“Fine.” Ginn grumbled through gritted teeth. She started storming off down the corridor without a plan, and luckily Alex jogged to catch up to her before she reached the turning point.

Alex desperately wanted to break the awkward air between them, but did not know how. This girl seemed tense, understandably, as she seemed quite strange to the standards of this school, so he did not know how to approach anything with her.

“So… where you from?” Alex asked, trying to study her body language. She walked like she was trying to look tough, as well as be silent in her steps. She succeeded on both aspects as she definitely looked intimidating, and her steps barely echoed around the halls.

Ginn subtly looked Alex up and down, figuring out his motive, in both the question and with helping her. He stood straight and proud, taller than her by a good few inches. Although, that wasn’t hard, as Ginn was only 5”3’. She estimated him to be about 5”9’, and she guessed he still had room to grow. He was looking at her expectantly with a small smile, his blue eyes shining in curiosity. She could see no malice in his wonderment, so she answered.

“Liverpool.” She said, bluntly. To be exact, she lived in a small terrace house, in Roscoe Street, very close to her primary school, Pleasant Street Primary. Ginn had hopped around several high schools in the past four years, so she couldn’t say how far she lived from them. She did not live in a great area, but it was close to the city centre, and she always felt safe there with her parents. She missed Liverpool.

Alex nodded, biting the inside of his mouth in mild frustration at Ginn’s refusal so converse. “Cool. Good city. What brought you to London then?”

“Family stuff.”

The two sighed, knowing that conversation was not going to happen right now.

 The two arrived at the classroom after everyone else had arrived and sat down. Alex greeted the teacher with a cheerful ‘good morning’ and he sat down on a table for four, with two other boys, whom he greeted and immediately started chatting and laughing with. The boy sitting next to him had slightly more tanned skin than Alex, but he was still quite pale. He had neat, honey brown hair, with a full fringe that was cut just under his eyebrows, the top of head was thick with hair facing forwards, and what Ginn estimated as one inch clipped shaving around the rest of his head. His eyes were forest green, thoughtfully staring at Alex as he spoke, but also at someone on the other side of the room Ginn couldn’t locate. The other boy had his back to Ginn, but from what she could see, he had dark, sun kissed skin, and the only messy head of mahogany brown hair she had seen in this school. Well, there was an order to this mess, unlike the mess that sat on her own head. His hair was methodically spiked up, then brushed forward. He appeared to have every portion of his hair cut to a similar length, apart from the front.

Ginn heard her name and she turned, seeing the teacher beckoning her towards his desk. she walked over, head down.

“You must be Miss Ranger!” Oh god, he was perky. “Now, I like to ask before I start teaching new students, if you don’t mind, what would you like me to call you, and what pronouns shall I use for you? And are they the same in class, privately, and in front of other adults?”

Ginn blinked at the sudden questions as she let her mind catch up with her ears. “Just Ginn, thanks. Female pronouns, all the time.” She said quietly.

“Perfect.” Mr Caxton smiled softly at Ginn, then continued. “I have been told of the support you require, so don’t be afraid to approach me any time!”

Ginn felt extremely awkward, biting her lower lip, and nodding, avoiding eye contact. She always hated it when her personal stuff was brought up by other people. She knew they were only trying to help, but it never helped Ginn. all she did was nod.

“Ok, so everyone in this class has their seat. I had everyone choose to sit somewhere at the beginning of the year and that is where they sit for the rest of the year. The only available seat is across from your guide, Alex. Go sit down, and we’ll start up, ok?”

Ginn glanced over at the table of three boys. She would be sitting next to the dark-skinned boy. He looked like the more energetic person in the trio. Freaking fabulous. At least the seat was on the left side, so she wouldn’t be bumping elbows with the seemingly right-handed boy.

Ginn had nothing against boys. Truly, she didn’t. She was just very insular, and teenage boys tended to be pretty rambunctious. She also didn’t exactly have a perfect track record with relations. Not just with boys, girls too. But, well, Ginn’s short, slim stature was not a good match up when she fought with boys. Luckily, she is quick, so at least she has that going for her.

She sighed and walked over to the table, unslinging her bag off her shoulder and sat down, immediately leaning on her hand and staring at the floor. She dazed, and started thinking about what she could draw. She thought of characters from tales she enjoyed, and she started moving her finger on one spot of the table, mimicking drawing. This was something she did when uncomfortable. Actually drawing is much better, but she hated showing others her stuff, so rarely drew when sitting at a table with strangers. Or classmates, as she should call them.

the three boys had noticed Ginn sitting down, and turned to her to smile and greet her, but she was avoiding all eye contact. Alex shrugged, realising this was going to be his week. Boy to Ginn’s right decided to break the awkward silence by introducing himself.

He went to speak, nudging her first to get he attention, but before he could speak, she jumped at the sudden touch, tensing her shoulders and clenched her fists, straightening her back and gasping lightly. Her duel coloured eyes stayed locked staring forwards, and she took a few breaths before she snapped her head to look at the boy and growl, “What?”

Now she could see his face, she took in his features. He looked nervous, likely due to Ginn’s aggressive nature. He had warm, russet brown eyes that where currently wide in shock. He was handsome, with a square jaw, and strong cheekbones. His mouth was tight in shock at her reaction. Luckily for him, he recovered quickly. His eyes softened into a more relaxed form, and his tight mouth morphed into a cool side smile.

“Hey,” his voice was smooth and joyous. Enjoyable to Ginn’s ears. Wait what? “I’m Martin Williams. This is George Groden, and you’ve met Alex. It seems like we’re desk mates!”

Ginn struggled to relax her muscles from the sudden touch. She swallowed and forced her hands to open as she shoved them under her thighs. Her voice was failing her, so she just looked back at the table and nodded, humming ‘mm hmm’.

The boy, Martin, made eye contact with the other two, concerned by the reaction. He decided to pry a little, tying to get Ginn out of her shell. “Ginn, right? Interesting name, never heard it before. Where’s it come from?”

Ginn was shocked by the question. Usually when people found out about her name, they made a joke about alcoholic parents, or threw out guesses as to what it was short for. Her name was Ginn. Not Ginera, or Ginevra, or even Geneva, shockingly. This question made Ginn happy, and her vocal cords decided to work.

“It’s a combination of Gill and Finn.” Ginn kept her head down but was smiling lightly for the first time in a while. “Gill was my mum’s mum, and Finn was dad’s dad. They wanted to honour both of them, so it was either Ginn or Fill, and Ginn was pretty gender neutral.”

She huffed in amusement at that last bit. the story of her naming was always interesting to her, especially when you think of the whole story of a young pregnant woman and her husband staring at each other, trying to make the other back down, until they came to the compromise of combining the names.

“That’s cool!” Martin said, enthusiastically. “You have such an interesting story! I’m just names after my grandad!”

Ginn smiled, amused by the boy’s excitement.

Before they could continue, the teacher cleared his throat and started the lesson. It was English. This was not the best subject for Ginn due to her dyslexia, but she had a creative mind, and enjoyed story telling, so it wasn’t so bad. Well, unless they were reading old stuff, like Shakespeare or Jane Austen, they were utter torture for Ginn’s brain. Sadly, that is exactly what they were doing. Romeo and Juliet, to be exact. They started the lesson reading the play, the characters being assigned to a random assortment of students. Ginn struggled to follow along as they worked, not understanding anything they were saying. The words were floating around the page, lines and letters flipping and swapping place, it was giving her a headache. It didn’t help that the most dramatic character in the play, Mercutio, was being voiced by Martin, who was slowly becoming more and more dramatic in his reading, his movements rocking the table, making reading even harder for her.

After they had finished the first four scenes, Mr Caxton instructed the class to discuss them as a table. Ginn was thankful for this as she could finally rest her eyes for a minute. She rubbed her eyes and led her hands up to brush her hair up out of her face, letting it fall how it wanted, which was apparently not in front of her eyes. She looked at the trio of boys expectantly, waiting for a conversation to start, when she noticed they were all staring at her. Alex looked shocked, staring curiously, eyes switching between each of her eyes. George seemed curious, one eyebrow raised, and a small smile spread on his lips. Martin was far too excited for Ginn’s taste.

“Woah!! You have heterochromia?!” He said far too loud. “That’s so cool!”

Ginn quickly dipped her head and brushed her fringe over her brown eye, feeling her face flush red.

“If you say so...” She muttered under her breath.

This conversation was clearly going nowhere, much to the dismay of the three boys. Ginn was obviously not a conversation person, and the boys were not interested in discussing Shakespeare, so decided to further press.

“You don’t think so?” George questioned.

“Let’s just say it’s not my favourite thing about myself.” Ginn grumbled, shooting them a sarcastic and awkward smile. The boys shared a look, all expressing different thoughts and emotions. Martin locked eyes with his friends, then looked at Ginn quickly, and back at them, wiggling his eyebrows and smirking. The boys shot him warning looks, but he ignored it, turning around to look at Ginn, leaning his elbow on the table and putting his head on his hand, wearing his flirtatious, lopsided smirk.

“Well,” He said, making Ginn look us at him. Once she saw his face, she huffed, rolling her eyes, and looked back down at her work. “I think they are beautiful, completing the gorgeous image you hold all over.”

Ginn felt panic rise in her chest. She had never been complimented like that before from the mouth of someone who... had little to no obvious ill intentions. This boy did not seem to be particularly threatening, but still, Ginn could not be help but be wary. She clenched her fist around her pen in panic, as her defence mechanisms snapped into position.

“Say anything like that again,” She turned and glared at Martin through her hair. “And I break your hand.”

Martin tensed up, squeaking in fear as his arm slipped off the table in surprise. Ginn did not break eye contact, however, needing to maintain her tough exterior.

“Well ok then.” He squeaked. Pleased with herself, Ginn looked back down at her work, deciding to do the work herself. The boys fell silent and just did the work, quietly discussing Shakespeare out of fear for their hands.

At the end of the class, after a long lesson of awkward silence between the four tablemates, the boys packed up and met with Elsie and Louise. Ginn had rushed out of the classroom a lot quicker that the others, so Alex had already failed at his job of making sure she was ok. This was going to be a rough day.

 The final class of the day was P.E. Luckily for Ginn, sport was something she excelled in. Unluckily for Ginn, she had to get changed in front of other people, which was less than ideal.

Alex instructed her to follow Louise and Elsie to the girls’ changing rooms. Ginn kept her head down and shuffled along with the other girls as they chatted, complaining about the lesson they were going into.

“P.E. sucks, I hate it so much!” Louise groaned, dramatically. “I mean, I like exercise, but the structure of P.E. is so messy, and its so boring!”

“I know!” Agreed Elsie. “It’s even worse right now, doing those weird drill things.”

Ginn perked up at that comment. If they were anything like the ones she used to do in Cadets, she was golden! She didn’t look at the other girls, but she did smile and huff in satisfaction.

“You like P.E., Ginn?” Said Louise, sounding surprised. The girl looked Ginn up and down quizzically. She did not exactly fit the typical description of a fit girl. She looked very skinny, but Louise guessed that was mainly due to her oversized uniform.

Ginn hesitated with her answer, wondering how to answer without sounding weird. “Yeah, kind of. I like exercise, and I’m used to pretty strict sessions, so nothing really bothers me much anymore.”

The other girls seemed satisfied with her answer luckily.

After only moments, the three girls had reached the girls’ changing room. As the tried to find a free section of bench to place their bags and clothes, Ginn was silently praying that no one would pay attention to her so she could change and slip out unnoticed. She utterly hated changing in public. Sadly, her prayers were not answered, as the only available space was on a bench in the middle of the room, with a group of chatty girls surrounding it. Perfect. The three set down their bags and started undressing, quickly swapping from blouse to P.E. polo shirt. Ginn was particularly mad about their easy method of swapping from skirt to shorts without presenting their underwear; slipping the shorts on under their skirts, then taking off the skirt from above. Ginn, wearing trousers, had no such luxury, so had to take advantage of her too big shirt and take off her trousers, hoping they would cover her behind as she slipped the shorts on. Now for the bit she dreaded: changing from shirt to polo. She wanted to do this as quickly as possible, but struggled due to her ever growing anxiety. She slipped off her tie and unbuttoned her shirt, then readied her polo shirt to be the correct way to slip on as soon as she rid her back of it’s professional cotton attire. Quickly, she took off the shirt, and immediately heard what she feared.

Louise and Elsie had gasped, quietly. They had finished changing and lacing up their trainers, and were waiting for Ginn to finish changing so they could walk out together, and happened to glance up when they saw her take off her shirt. The two girls were sitting on Ginn’s right, so they could see what Ginn was worried about clear as day. Right across her back, from the bottom of her shoulder blade, creeping up to the top curve of her right shoulder, were two long, pale, jagged, and bumpy scars. They looked awful, and the two girls were certain that they were from a horrible incident from a long time ago. This scared them, as they worried about Ginn’s safety and current situation.

Before they could say anything, Ginn tugged her polo shirt over her head, hiding the scars before anyone could ask questions, or, god forbid, anyone else saw them. Louise opened her mouth to speak. She was not sure what she would say, but it was instinct. Before she could make a sound, however, Ginn shot her a warning glare, her blue eye shining like a lightning storm, her amber eye shimmering like a raging fire. Her lips were tight and eyebrows knitted in a tight V-shape. Her ginger hair had fallen before her face, blocking the light from reaching her face, only making the looming pit of aggression in Ginn’s aura stronger. Her fists were tight. Louise only just realised the new girl’s flat and scarred knuckles. Louise immediately shut her mouth. She offered an awkward, slightly scared smile, but Ginn just straightened her back, slipped on her battered old trainers, and started towards the door. Louise and Elsie shared a concerned look, then darted up and dashed to keep up with Ginn, who had suddenly developed a quick, strong stride.

Once all of the students had gathered in the sports hall, the P.E. teacher, Mr Dullan, called registration and introduced the aim of today’s class. The class knew they would not like this lesson. Mr Dullen was clearly in a bad mood, he was completely stiff and glaring at everyone who made eye contact with him. Ginn was not happy when he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to face him when she marched into the hall, so he could interrogate her about who she was. He seemed satisfied after a full 30 seconds of comparing her to the ID picture that was on his register. But, this was a respectable school that definitely would not accept her doing what she wanted to do at that moment, and tuition was far too expensive for her to be kicked out on her first day, so she let it go.

“Ok, everyone!” Mr Dullen shouted, making a huge, distracting echo ring around the room. Ginn knew she would barely be able to understand him immediately. “I don’t want to deal with teaching you all today, so you’re just going to do run laps around the school grounds all lesson.”

The entire class groaned and started quietly complaining to themselves and their friends. Well, all except Ginn, who enjoyed running. Also, the echo in this room was getting to her, and she was finding it hard to concentrate. She silently thanked every deity she knew of that the run was outside.

“Alright, alright, quit the complaining!” Mr Dullen yelled, making Ginn bunch up the hem of her polo shirt in her hand to squeeze. She found early on that this was a better coping mechanism than her automatic reaction, which was covering her ears and gripping locks of hair and pulling. Distractions from bad noises are always oh so fun. Mr Dullen carried on, interrupting Ginn’s thoughts, “Everyone get your butts outside!”

The crowd of grumbling students headed towards the doors leading to the yard so they could start the run. Before Ginn could disappear into the crowd and go off to enjoy her run, Louise had grabbed her wrist and started to speak.

“Hey, are you ok? We should talk abo—”

“Do not touch me!” Ginn growled, ripping her hand away from Louise, immediately marching off in a strong, quick pace.

As soon as she set foot on the outside area of the school grounds and witnessed part of the crowd all heading in the same direction, she started her rounds of the school with a light jog, preparing her body and lungs for a long, pleasant run. She really needed to calm her mind, after everything that had happened today, especially in the last few minutes.

 Louise was incredibly confused by that reaction. She had noticed Ginn tense up and ball her shirt in her fist, and she knew Ginn had not calmed down from whatever emotion she was feeling after presenting those scars in the changing rooms.

“What was that about?” George said, the four friends walking up to Louise so they could walk the laps of the grounds together.

“She’s seemed pretty tense all day.” Alex offered. “Maybe you just scared her and she reacted.”

She definitely has something she’s hiding.” Elsie said, as the group wondered outside and started walking. “She had two huge scars on her back. She got real tense, more than usual, when we saw them.”

“Let’s go find out what’s up with her.” Louise said, determination in her voice. Then, she sounded unsure. “If we can catch up to her...”

Ginn was no where to be seen as they walked their round. They knew this because Ginn was extremely noticeable in the crowd of students, being one of the only people in the school with ginger hair. She was even more noticeable because her hair was messy and choppily cut short, and her P.E. kit, like her uniform, was too big and looked it. They walked quickly around the grounds, talking and looking around. Ginn was nowhere to be seen.

“She must actually be running.” Martin shrugged. “That girl is an enigma.”

“An enigma you’re crushing on!” Alex said teasingly, elbowing his friend in the side and laughing.

“Shut up!” Martin pushed Alex to the side, a crimson blush rising in his cheeks. “I am not!”

“Then what was that comment in the changing room about?” George smirked and raised and eyebrow.

“Ok!” Martin’s dramatic flare revealed itself as dramatically waved his hand in the air and pointing at nothing in particular. “You have to admit, she is quite pretty!”

Martin stared a the group, waiting expectantly for their response, to which he got a couple nods, but mostly just looks of ‘my dear boy, calm yourself’.

The group continued to walk around the school grounds, giving up on searching for the strange new girl, she was far gone and they could not see her at all. The lesson went by relatively quickly, the group only lapping the school once and only going another 20 yards before Mr Dullen blew his whistle and called everyone into the changing rooms five minutes before the final bell rang. The five friends wondered back into the school, avoiding the stares of disapproval from Mr Dullen.

Louise and Elsie were slowly changing out of their kits when Ginn finally appeared by their side. She was sweating slightly, despite the November chill outside, and her breaths were long, quick, and laboured. As expected, she did not greet the girls, she just started changing, first preparing her shirt to be quickly thrown on after she removed her polo. Louise and Elsie tried not to look at her, feeling her haste and discomfort with being around people after what happened earlier. However, Louise is a pretty stubborn girl, so waited for Ginn to finish changing before she confronted her.

“Hey, where were you all class?” Louise tried to keep her voice perky and welcoming, rather than the interrogating tone she almost used. “we were looking for you when you ran off.”

Ginn let out a small growl of annoyance. “Ahead of everyone. Just needed to run.”

She removed her shorts, her shirt covering her underwear, and slipped on her trousers, then sat down to put on her school shoes. She never looked at Louise. Not that that was expected. This girl is so strange.

“You must be quick then!” Louise laughed lightly. Ginn just hummed. “It’s pretty impressive, running is pretty hard.”

This made Ginn’s head snap up, shooting Louise a confused look. “How is it hard?”

Louise and Elsie shared an amused look. Elsie laughed lightly and said, “You know, keeping pace without losing your breath, stuff like that.”

Ginn hummed thoughtfully whilst finishing up lacing her shoes. Once she was done, she stood and picked up her bag, just in time for the final bell to ring. Ginn attempted to supress her cringe at the sound, but her efforts were in vane, as the other two girls noticed. Luckily for Ginn, all they did was share a look and stand with their bags.

“Not sure I follow, but ok.” Ginn broke the silence, starting to walk out alone. However, Louise and Elise had other plans, both speeding to catch up to her and standing on either side.

“You’re a real enigma, you know?” Louise chuckled. That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Ginn glared at her, a quiet and low growl echoing from the bottom of her throat. Her eyes raged, like a fearsome lightning storm and a blazing fire. Even though she is a very small person, Ginn knew how to make herself look large and terrifying.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Erm... well, I... I just meant that you, well,” Louise stuttered and squeaked, as if she were learning how to speak again. “I just mean that you’re, you know, pretty mysterious...”

Ginn grunted and said something like ‘that’s the point’ as she stormed off, out of the building and around the corner towards the front gates, not to be seen again that day.

“Well, you kinda fucked that one up, huh?” Elsie chortled anxiously.

“Thanks for helping there Els. Come on, let’s just go find the boys.”

Alex, George, and Martin exited the boys changing room a few minutes later. The girls explained what happened as they walked out of the school and back home. The only thing they could all agree on when it came to Ginn: She would be very difficult to befriend.

#no war au #rangers alive au #ginn ranger #Alex Peterson #george groden #martin williams #louise mitchel #elsie brown

[pandawritesmanythings]

Halfrid // Part 2

Platonic!Loki x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your life has always been dictated by the fact that you are smarter than most adults. This has made you antagonize many of them, it isn’t your fault that you are just citing facts! However, when the god of mischief becomes your friend, are there enough facts you can cite to prove his innocence?

Warnings: None

A/N: Thanks for the support on the first part. I’m not sure how this one came out, but I’m having a lot of fun writing this! Feedback is always appreciated!

PRESENT TIME

Fury looked at you as if had grown a second head.

“You sneaked past me? Past security?”

“In my defence, I was a curious nine-year-old. I had no concept of boundaries.” You put your hands in the air and tugged at the table as your cuffs stopped you.

“And don’t you think that maybe the sceptre started manipulating you? We barely figured out how it works.”

You had thought about it. It was a possibility that more than once had crossed your mind. You had looked at every angle, searched every corner. There was no possible way that you were under some sort of influence.

“No. There’s no way.”

“How would you be able to know?” He pressed for information.

“You’ll just have to trust me in this one agent Fury.” You said with determination.

“That is hard to do, especially considering that it is the representation of mischief and lies who could be behind this.”

You hit the desk with your fist. “Is that why he’s up there? Literally fighting the thing he’s most afraid of? To try and trick you? To try and destroy you?”

A shaky breath left your lips. Fury just silently looked at you, he didn’t really know what to make of this unusual situation. But the fact that a literal teenager was defending on of earth’s most wanted enemies was the most baffling part of the whole thing.

You sighed. “I just wanted to help. I just wanted to know why he did what he did.” You slumped in your chair. “My search for knowledge brought me here…”

“Do you regret that knowledge?”

That snapped you. “No! Of course not!” You straightened up. “Not in a million years. His burden is one that I am so happy to share. People told me to be curious, to learn things, to understand the world around us. But if there is no one else in that world to understand, is it worth it?”

NEW YORK 2012

You sat with your back pressed against the glass. On the other side, Loki did the same, the only difference being that he had extended his legs and you pressed yours against your chest. You head slightly tilted to look at him through the glass.

“So… Who exactly are you?” You broke the silence.

“Who do you think I am?”

You took a second to think. “Are you that Harry Potter dude? My friends are obsessed with him but I honestly don’t see it.”

Loki had an idea of who you were talking about, but most of all, your nonchalance amused him. “Snape, I believe he is called?”

“I guess, I’m not the one to ask about Harry Potter facts.” You giggled.

“Ah well, I guess we will have to find another topic to speak about.” He didn’t know why he was going along with her antics.

There was nothing particularly interesting about this kid, he thought. Besides her quick thinking, there wasn’t much more he could exploit. He told himself that if she could reveal even the slightest information about who she was or if she had any special abilities, then maybe she could be of some use to his own benefit. Yeah, that was it.

“I know! Let’s guess things about each other!” You beamed. “I’ll start guessing your name!”

Oh right, he hadn’t told her his name. He was going to, but you probably already had heard of who he was. And something inside him didn’t want you to confirm who he was. He didn’t know why, but that’s just what he wanted.

“Alright, try.”

“I think your name is Thomas.” You smiled.

Loki cringed visibly. “Norns no. Who would curse their child with such a name?”

You held your stomach as you laughed. “Many do! It is a very silly name, right?”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “Well, I believe you look like a Halfrid.”

Your face went blank for a second. “Hal-Who?”

“Halfrid. Don’t you agree?” His smirk only widened, knowing he had confused you.

“That is the weirdest name I have ever heard… Is that even a real word?” Your sense of reality seemed to have been shaken.

“Yes, where I come from is not that weird of a name.” He laughed at you.

“Well, then let me tell you of a name that you have never heard of.” You challenged with your chin raised.

“You think there is a single name in the galaxy that I have not heard?” He leaned closer to you as you challenged him.

“There is no way you have heard it.” You smirked at his defiance.

“Alright, say it.”

You smiled wickedly remembering exactly how your friend had taught you to say it. She was a Hispanic girl in your class, and she told you that even though the name Maria was 50% of the female Hispanic population, at least another 25% was made of the most unusual names in existence. It was particularly hilarious when it was a substitute teacher the one who tried to pronounce her first and last name.

“Douglimar Carmela Carrabos.” You said, accent almost perfect.

“Duglymer Cormella Karabos? What sort of monstrosity is that?” He said in a choppy Spanish accent.

“The name of a poor classmate of mine.” You giggled.

“Point taken.” He raised his hands in defeat.

“Okay, so now favourite color.” You did him a once over and raised an eyebrow. “I may not be mistaken to believe that your favourite color is green?”

He smiled at the child’s guess. “Well, although I am fond of the color, in reality, I prefer gold.”

“Then why don’t you wear it?” It seemed so simple to her if he likes the color he should wear it. That’s what she did if there is something she liked unless it was hurting herself or someone else, there was no reason why she couldn’t talk about it or show how much she liked it.

Loki, however, furrowed his brow. He had never truly thought about it. Why didn’t he wear it? It was something that ran deeper than it just being a color. He knew he could be risking spilling details about him if he tried to explain to the girl the reason for his attitude. So easing his expression he just looked at her with a controlled and unreadable expression and answered her.

“It’s too shiny to wear in the sunlight.”

She didn’t buy it, and he knew it. But she shrugged and let it go.

“Alright, if you say so. What about mine?” She asked tilting her head in a questioning manner.

He gave her a quick look and tried guessing, but seeing that her shirt had an array of different colours, he didn’t know if to securely pinpoint one.

“Well, I would be inclined to say blue, because of your skirt and stockings. But your shirt could tell another story.” He slyly responded, to not get himself in a pickle with the girl.

“Smart boy! In fact, I love all the colours! All of them are beautiful. Which is why I try to wear them all, every week. Even poop green, I have a really ugly poop green sweater that I always wear with my overall. I should show you one day.” She smiled.

Loki had a keen interest in this child. She was so different from the children of Asgard. Not that he had that much contact with any of them, but you were different from the ones he got to make acquaintance with. You had a carefree expression, not being afraid of just… living. You wore the colours of the rainbow, and yet still, you could also wear the ugliest of colours. And without seeing you in that ugly sweater he could already tell that when you wore it you did it with pride.

The girls he had known in Asgard were proper and shy. You were expressive and carefree. Your words may not feel that deep nor psychological at first glance, but in them, he could dig down and see a wisdom that was weird for a nine-year-old. 

Princesses in Asgard were afraid of him. You, however, talked to him as if you had known him all along, looked at him as if he was worth anything at all. You weren’t scared of him, and that was something he never thought to be even remotely possible.

There was a silence that settled between the both of you, but it wasn’t awkward or heavy. It was just a simple enjoyable silence.

“But, for real…” You broke the silence. “Who are you?”

Your eyes… Loki had never seen such sincerity in someone else’s eyes. He felt something stir inside him, an old forgotten memory. Something so deep buried down in his mind that dusting it and bringing it into the light made him feel dizzy.

“I-I…” Why was he stammering?

He composed himself. “Who do you think I am?” He repeated the question he had asked her earlier trying to divert her attention.

She was just staring. You searched. Searched deep into his eyes. You tried to find a clue, anything that gave away who he was. There was only one thing that she could guess, it was an instinct, something in her gut that told her it was so.

“Are you Loki?”

PRESENT TIME

You looked at the wall. Fury leaned forward, urging you silently to continue.

“So? What did he say?”

You keep quiet for just another moment, knowing fully that you were getting to his nerves.

“Really, agent Fury?” You leaned forward, defying him. “You know very well what he said.”

You relaxed your posture and leaned back into your chair. However, your serious expression never left your face. “In fact, I know for a fact that you know what he said to me. How? Because your guys told me. You watched and rewatched the security tapes because you just had to know if he let any information slip his lips.” You accused. “So why are you asking me if you already know the answer?”

Fury remained silent. He knew you were right, so it was better not to dawdle on it. 

“Alright. Then, let me ask you a better question. Why do you think he didn’t lie to you?”

Your serious facade broke. As much as you claimed to understand Loki, there were so many things you still couldn’t understand. And it ate your insides.

“I don’t know…” Your shoulders slumped. “I have no idea. A-and I hate it because I have given so much thought over what went on that day and I am still no closer to figuring out. Why…?”

Why had he not introduced himself from the begging? Why did he go along with your antics? Why did he make you finally understand the meaning of the word friend? Why? Why? Why? A million of those always rushed through your mind, and you could barely answer a couple.

“If you want me to say what you want me to say, then maybe he was just trying to play me. Maybe he just wanted to take advantage of me. Maybe he was waiting on something that I could say that would solidify his plan. Or maybe he just wanted to know who my parents were to see if I was worth kidnapping. Who knows?”

“But is that what you believe?” Fury asked, fully immersed in your way of arguing this antagonist’s case.

“No. Of course not.” A small smile crept onto your lips, your eyes lost in nothingness. “I mean, Loki can be a pain to deal with sometimes. But in all the time I’ve known him… I know I would trust him with my life if it came to it.” You focused again in agent Fury’s face. “And, that kind of trust doesn’t come out of nowhere.”

“You do realize what he did shortly after, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’m not blind. I know exactly what he did, not only because it is one of the most striking events that happened in New York since 9/11. But also because I have been making a ruckus in my mind trying to figure out how did it get there. Why did so many people have to die? Many points show us that this could have been avoided.” You debated if to tell Fury your next point. You had not yet made him understand how you got to this level of knowledge. Would he even understand?

“My men have also been very analytical about this situation. But what makes you think that a fifteen-year-old can know more about this than us?” He questioned.

“Honestly, the fact that your guys were just looking at one point in time tells you how unprepared they were to tackle this subject. They didn’t even question Loki nor kept him in custody long enough to find his motives! How could you be certain that their investigation was thorough?”

Fury thought that was a good point. And knowing that HYDRA had infiltrated SHIELD, for God knows how long, could explain why a fully fleshed out explanation never landed on his lap.

“Well, it may be what you say. But we are running out of time kid.”

Just as he said it the whole bunker trembled. You held onto the chair your hair bouncing, fear in your eyes. The light flickered, it seemed about to turn off.

“What the heck?”

“What are they doing up there?” Fury quickly got up from his seat and walked towards the door in a hurry.

“Wait! I have to help them, please!”

“Kid, you are not a superhero. I need to check what’s going on up there. You need to stay here and figure out a way to tell me the short version of your story. Because if you don’t, your friend can either die or live as a hero, or remain a villain.” He finished slamming the door as if to prove a point.

You were so tired. Mentally and emotionally. It just wasn’t fair. The fact that your whole life had revolved around trying to show everyone how smart you were, only for them to look at you in disapproval. His were the only eyes who had looked at you and listened, laughed and believed your words. Even if they were the stupid comments of a nine-year-old who thought hers were the best comebacks in the history of ever.

Thinking back on it, knowing what you know now, you wondered if you ever were that smart. Your brain remembered you being clever, but honestly, you now cringed at the words you had said to the weasel behind the glass.

You smiled at that. Your departure from him that day had been perfectly timed. If this was a movie your father probably would have found you before he answered your question. But life gave you another mystery to solve.

You would have to ask him when he returned. Why did he go along with an annoying know-it-all nine-year-old?

That was… If he even came back alive.

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. Your friend. Your best friend. Your only true friend. You had to get out of here and give it to him. It was the only way.

You took a deep breath in and tried to remember all you could from the rest of the day to try and summarize it to Fury.

It was honestly a pain since this was more than 6 years ago, so how could you remember every detail?

Still, you tried. Your mind walking back to your past self and seeing as clear as you could what had happened after you had guessed who he was.

NEW YORK 2012

Loki expected a reaction, a scream, a flinch. Anything. But you just staring at him was not exactly what he had in mind. 

Your eyes didn’t look at him with the judgement, fear nor resentment that many others looked him with. There was only curiosity. And a slight level of cuteness that Loki didn’t want to admit thanks to your tilted head and slightly pursed lips.

“So…” You finally started. “You are… Evil?” You slowly tried to wrap your head around that fact.

It did make sense, in a way. Since the first thing you felt after looking at him was fear. His evil smile honestly freaked you out, but there were mixed signals to you.

He had complimented you, listened to you and talked to you without complaining about you being annoying a single time.

He opened his mouth to answer but the sound of boots alerted you both and you snapped your heads towards the door. As it opened you scrambled to your feet and you noticed that Loki was already up.

“(Y/N)! Daughter!” You heard your father’s voice. 

He came in the room, his eyes frantic and filled with fear. His body becoming rigid when he saw the unnerving man standing behind you.

You, however, just smiled and bounced on you feet wiggling your fingers at him nervously. “Hi, dad." 

"I told you not to go near the bad guy!” He reached for you and took you by the shoulders starting to lead you out of the room.

“But it was blondie who left me-” You tried to excuse but he didn’t let you.

“I don’t even want to know how you got past the door! Did you figure out the combination? How? You are just nine! The possibilities for it are endless!” He kept ranting desperately trying to make sense of the situation.

Just as the doors were closing behind you you turned and waved smiling brightly at Loki. 

“Bye Loki! See you next time!”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING-?”

Your father’s shouts were cut short as the door closed behind you. Loki wasn’t able to hear more of the argument or of your father’s ranting. Which was, in all honesty, a relief. You obviously hadn’t inherited your brain and charm from him. Maybe your physical features, but he didn’t know much about him to make any solid conclusions.

One thing was for sure, your dad was just a regular agent, so there wasn’t much to exploit there. Not that he would want to kidnap you, he had already decided not to hurt Barton’s family, so why would he come even close to hurting you now that he had a notion of who you were?

He refocused his mind. This had been a nice distraction, but he knew why he was there. He knew why he was going along with this plan and he wasn’t going to let a mere child distract him from his goal. 

He had to finish what he started, and yet there was something inside of himself that wandered, all the while he did his escape. 

All the while The Hulk caused rampage in the helicarrier.

All the while he opened the portal to the Chitauri.

All the while he flew across the destruction that New York had become with the invasion.

All the while he was finally smashed to the ground and immobilized.

And all the while he was taken into custody back to Asgard…

That made his brain flash your innocent smile.

To be continued…

#loki odinson #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x reader #loki #loki friggason #loki fandom #long reads

[yeaaabudddy]

Even A Hero Needs Some Help

Ship: Peter Parker x You (Y/N)

Type: Fluff

Requested: Yes by anon

Words: 1 383

Notes: Thank you for requesting and this is pre-endgame so if you’re still worried about spoilers, there are none dw and let me know what you think!

-

You needed some time away from everyone and everything, school was stressing you out, friendships weren’t easy and being a teenage girl definitely wasn’t the smoothest thing to handle. The peace and quiet brought out at the rooftop of your apartment building was what you needed right now.

You didn’t know if you were allowed here but you took a chance to come up here and check it out. The cold weather immediately brushing against your skin as you opened the heavy door that leads you to a view of the night sky.

It was a beautiful view, and the air was fresh as it could be in the city, allowing you to breathe away your problems into the dark sky littered with luminous stars.

You wore two layers of jackets just to make sure you don’t accidentally catch a cold in this time of the year, especially since the temperature change was so sudden. The edge of the building didn’t seem to tempt you as it had no railing and you actually weren’t trying to die tonight so you made sure you were safely behind the edge but still in the far-out part of the roof.

You sat down on the dirty concrete, not really caring about how rough the ground was on your butt as the cold air felt like a remedy to all your problems. You spent a lot of time just thinking about everything and anything but also trying to clear your mind and just feel.

“What are you doing?” You jumped at the sudden intrusion of someone in your space. The volume of said person being too loud as you were listening to the low whispering of the air as it flew around you.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, you were probably resting- meditating or something, sorry.” Your eyes open to see the image of the infamous Spider-Man standing before you. He looked a bit surreal with the colors of his suit popping out and his big eyes -the only feature that you can see on his head- were wide and curiously staring straight at you.

The sight intimidated you a bit because he felt like such a contrast compared to the surroundings around him, so cartoonish.

“Um, it’s okay! I just needed to clear my mind I guess, uhh… Spider-Man.” He chuckled happily as he squatted beside you, now turning his eyes to look at the view that you learned to appreciate a few moments ago.

You were glad that his big eyes were not concentrated on you anymore.

“You’re the first one to properly call me by my actual name.” You looked at him curiously. The things you’ve heard and seen of him were mostly from around your school and on the news. The kids in your school had a bias for Spider-Man as he is a neighbourhood hero and they took pride in that fact.

“Then what do they call you?” The boy chuckled under his costume, his hand going to his neck in embarrassment. A cute habit, you thought.

“Spider-boy, Spider-ling, basically anything but Spider-Man. I guess I'll have to grow into this name.” You pretended to think for a bit, your eyes looking off in the distance.

“I think the name fits you perfectly. If people are too scared of calling you Spider-Man it’s because it'll take away from their egos but that doesn’t mean you don’t fit the name.” You look at him in all seriousness. “It just means that everyone else is too fragile to accept it.”

“People underestimate us teens and kids sometimes, thinking we couldn’t understand most of what goes on around us but there are some of us that have been through way worse than some who have lived full lives. Don’t let that bring you down.”

He didn’t know how you did it. You always managed to help him out even if you didn’t know it was him. Out of his suit and in his suit you were still a confidant for him and a person who was able to read him so easily.

He was always able to count on you for advice and he really appreciated that. Not being able to talk to you about Spider-Man business did make him frustrated because he knows that you would tell him to chill and just do what he thinks is right and that’s what helps him keep going sometimes. He wishes he could tell you but so many people already know it's a bit unnerving.

“Thanks, you-you're really great with words.” Peter let out a little compliment, something he knew he would never be able to do if he didn’t have this suit on to hide his expression and slightly burning cheeks. He properly sat down beside you now, legs spread out in front of him.

“I’m okay, I think you just needed a little pep talk.” You deflected the compliment, something you are used to doing. Compliments are a weird thing that you just didn't know how to handle.

“That was way more than a pep talk. It was nice to hear it though so... thank you.” The eyes on his mask squint a little, making you assume that he was smiling at you. You notice the breeze in the night started to quicken its pace and get colder.

“Shouldn’t you be out saving people?” You questioned, your head resting on top of your knees.

“It’s actually harder to find crime than it looks. The more you wait for it, the less it comes and sometimes there are nights where nothing happens. It gets boring.”

“Do you just stay out here for a few hours until you find someone in danger?” You were curious about how the whole thing worked, imagining Spider-Man bored, just walking around the city was a weird scenario in your head.

“Mostly... yeah. It’s fun to explore the city though, just watch as all the buildings pass as I go by them or just the feeling of swinging around.” You hummed in interest at the answers he gave you, they gave you more insight into the person behind the mask.

Talking with him took you out of the world for a second, you remembered where you were when your eyes focused back on the sky, realizing the darkening blue had turned into almost a black colour.

You should be heading back to your apartment by now as the night sky just seems to get darker but you notice spidey’s outfit is very thin and just a single layer of fabric. A cold breeze brushing by you makes you pause in your world for a second.

You contemplate whether or not you should do what you’re thinking but before you can worry about it, your hands move.

You take off your outer jacket and put it around his shoulders while standing up. He reacted right away, jumping at the contact and turning around a bit to look up at you to meet your eyes in question.

“It’s getting cold spidey, that doesn’t look very efficient in keeping you warm but what do I know. Take the jacket for now and get home, I’ve also got to head back now as it's a school night.” You smiled at him, you knew by his voice that he also probably was around your age.

“I really don’t need-” Spider-Man started to take off the pale purple jacket that was hanging on his shoulders but you cut him off.

“Let me do one thing for the person who keeps this city safe, even a hero needs some help sometimes.” You keep walking towards the door leading to the staircase to take you back home, turning around for a second to look back at him and say “Goodnight Spider-Man.” You wave, not waiting for a response and open the door and walk to your apartment now in a good mood.

Peter smiled as he saw the door closing, the jacket did help with the wind and even though he has internal heating, he didn’t dare turn it on. The feeling of the jacket around him made him feel safe and warm -not just from the outside. He swings away into the night, the conversation replaying in his mind as he gets back to his own room.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader #spider-man imagines #spider-man x reader

[solecize]

REPLY 2009 ⠀ ⠀⠀.⠀⠀.⠀⠀.⠀(OR: 2009, YEAR OF US) — 003.

now playing: palette by iu ft. g-dragon

summary: ten years ago, we found ourselves at a turning point in pop culture as the decade began to close. this was the year that brought the world obama, the death of michael jackson, and the highest grossing film of all time, avatar. however, in south korea, something big was brewing as well and it started off with infectious lyrics, colourful costumes, and sensational dance moves: kpop. the korean wave that started to build several years ago begins to find its footing in the international limelight in 2009. this was the golden era of kpop. this was the time of sorry, sorry. the debut of quite possibly the most different and groundbreaking girl group in korean entertainment, 2NE1. the rise of shinee, one of the most consistent boy bands of this era and beyond. the throne of bigbang would remain steady with their ventures into japan. and of course. . . snsd's gee that would solidify their place as the nation’s girl group and overtake their male counterparts. nothing can touch this legendary age.meanwhile, in the very city that milled and churned out these stars, eight teenagers were also coming to a certain close in 2009. youth was suddenly running out like grains of a darkened hourglass, as everything and everyone brought tension into their lives. where was the next step on their path? high school is nothing more than a cruel halfway point between childhood and adulthood, but this group of friends made the most out of it. after all, this is the youngest that they'll ever be. this age is the time where hopes rise higher than ever, where love burns the most passionately, and the desire for freedom expands the furthest. in 2009, we follow these teenagers' stories to the background music of the opening chapters of kpop's greatest legacies.but, ten years later at their high school reunion, where do we find them.

or: highschool!got7, dancecrew!got7, coming of age, school reunion angst, reader x ?

PRESENT DAY (06)

As fate would have had it, Bambam arrived shortly after Jinyoung and I spoke of him. The night was still young and the two of us were still exploring the school while the other attendees had yet to arrive. Or so we thought. Jinyoung forgot something in the car and I wanted some fresh air before officially going into the gymnasium for the main event, so we made out way down. At the very same time, Bambam was being dropped off by a mustard taxi. The air was sweet with nostalgia and the darkening sky anticipated something great about to occur.

Neither Jinyoung or I recognized Bambam at first glance. He exited the car wearing a crisp, navy blue suit and Gucci sunglasses, with his middle parted hair dyed a reddish brown. The boy I was knew had grown and wore a great smile that I didn't see the last time I saw him. I didn't give him a second look until he called out our names.

"Wait—Bambam?" Jinyoung's jaw dropped and immediately, embraced the other man in a tight hug without having to think about it.

Bambam's pearly whites continued to shine. "It really is you guys! Come here!" He pulled me into a hug next and I wanted to cry right then and there, as I swayed with him back and forth in the hug.

"Oh my god, I didn't even think that you were, well, you!" I was at a loss for words.

"You guys look amazing, yo, have you been working out?" The Thailand native pinched Jinyoung's biceps, to which he flinched at. His eyes moved to me and it took him a moment. "You cut your hair!" Bambam reached out and my locks, now falling above the shoulders, laced in between his fingers.

"I prefer it short way more." I couldn't stop grinning.

"It suits you way more! You guys look so different," Bambam took in both of our appearances, "but it's as if nothing even changed."

Just the energy from the three of us was overflowing and as Jinyoung began to babble to Bambam about how he saw the latter's last movie in theatres, where the crowd gave a standing ovation, I couldn't imagine what it would be like when everyone was still together. This was just. . .nice having him around. Nobody had truly spent time together as a group since graduation and everyone hadn't been able to even see each other since the funeral.

The funeral.

It'd been pushed to the back of my mind like I so often did with many things, but I came to the reunion knowing that I'd have to talk about it at some point during the night, whether I liked it or not. That was strangely okay with me. I was ready to move on from what happened. However, I was not entirely sure if the others were. I couldn't even tell with Bambam, who was always bright and living his best life.

"Having not heard from you in a while, I would've have thought that you forgot about your loser high school friends," I teased.

Bambam giggled, as he placed his sunglasses on the top of his head. "Are you fucking crazy? If anything, I'm the loser high school friend. I bet that you have guys lining up just to take a look at you." He gestured to me. "I mean, high heels? Short hair? You're not that same girl from GOT at all!"

"My tastes have changed with age, I'm telling you!" I slapped his arm playfully, but Jinyoung cut in.

"Wait, what? Guys?" he said, looking between the two of us. "Holy shit, Bambam, you didn't know?"

I sucked in a sharp breath. Here it comes, I thought. This would be my first of many announcements of the night.

"Know what? Sorry, I'm really busy with work and I haven't talked to you guys in a while. Did I miss something?"

That's when I broke the news to him. All it took was for me to raise my left hand for Bambam to completely lose his mind. He froze for a second and I thought he wasn't going to move at all. Then, out of nowhere, he started to holler and picked me up by the waist.

"NO FUCKING WAY!" Bambam exclaimed, spinning me around. He started to yell words that I couldn't make out, except for 'married' and 'maid of honour.' Meanwhile, to our left, Jinyoung couldn't stop laughing and clapping his hands together at the reaction.

I screamed, giggles bubbling at my throat. "Bambam, put me down! Don't you want to know who he is?" Hysteria was beginning to build and if he didn't stop now, it wasn't going to go away at all.

"Wait, I know him?" The younger male gasped, immediately placing me back on the ground at the revelation.

I whispered the name into Bambam's ear and while I imagined that it would completely set him bouncing off the walls, he stayed right where he was. In fact, he didn't say a word. I was afraid that I'd completely missed something and made him upset, but he then he started to smile and shake his head. Bambam, for probably the first time in my entire life, was calm.

"Uh, Bambam? You okay, man?" Even Jinyoung was concerned, observing our friend's face.

Bambam just pulled me into another hug, but this time, he buried his face into my shoulder softly. "I'm so happy for the two of you. Congratulations."

"Why are you being so calm about this? Please, it's scaring me," I admitted, pulling back and put hands on both of his shoulders.

"Because I knew that it was always going to be the two of you," he replied simply. "You guys are meant for each other. I'm not surprised at all that you're getting married." Looking closely, it looked as though he was about to cry.

It was always going to be the two of you. Those words rang in my ears and gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling at the pit of my stomach. Things finally fell into place, just like puzzle pieces that went missing for a while. My brother seemed to share Bambam's thoughts, as he nodded in agreement.

I pretended to look disgusted. "Ew, Bam, don't get all sentimental with me now."

We both laughed and hugged again. Jinyoung joined us this time, wrapping arms around the both of us. It was probably an odd sight to passerbys, some random idiots who were blocking the main entrance to the school and I wouldn't have had it any other way. I didn't realize these emotions would come so early into the night. When Bambam remained peaceful, it was for important reasons.

"Don't you dare tell anyone yet! I know how your big mouth is and everyone's going to be frolicking to Haerin's most famous alum, so zip it!" I warned the actor, who grinned in response.

"You got it. Let's go in?"

Jinyoung said, "Let me just grab something and I'll met you guys inside." He patted Bambam's back and turned around to return to the car. At the soonest opportunity, Bambam took it upon himself to slap the other male's behind, just as they did when they were teenagers. Jinyoung yelped at the contact and began to swear at the actor, while he and I laughed at the sudden throwback.

He yelled, "You're dead later!"

When he was gone, Bambam looped his arm around mine.

"Shall I escort you before Prince Charming gets here?" His childish nature never changed and that's what I loved the most about him.

I laughed, nodding, and allowed the younger man to lead me into the school. As we entered, Bambam cooed in surprise at the surroundings, looking all around him. I could see the gears turning in his head, rewinding all the times he spent here that he forgot about, just as I did.

The floors were glossier than they were when Jinyoung and I arrived and the decorations were fully set up. Silver and maroon streamers ran up and down the pillars of the foyer with matching balloons spread across the area. The banner was pinned up, a refreshments table appeared beside the sign in area and I could smell the night's courses wafting in the area. The savoury dishes were being brought in by the caterers through the east doors and I watched the student volunteers scramble to help.

"This place looks exactly the same, it's amazing!" Bambam was filled with delight.

As we entered, the music system was being finished setting up. It didn't take long for the familiar phone ringing sound effect to fill my ears, followed by the crooning of the ladies from KARA. I ignored it at first, but the familiarity began to grow on my senses, as I hadn't heard this tune in years, but all it took was for the chorus of my only honey, honey, honey, for me to groan out loud.

Bambam noticed it too, his eyes lighting up and he began to sing along. "I've always wanted you and you only. . .man, this song takes me back. I used to love this song in high school!" He looked at me and chuckled at my reaction. "Oh, yeah. You used to really hate KARA!"

"I didn't hate them—"

"Oh, yeah?" He challenged and I knew exactly what he was going to bring up. "If I recall correctly, there was that one time where you said you'd rather—"

MARCH 2008 (05)

"—gouge my eyes out than listen to KARA's music."

Bambam and Jinyoung looked absolutely disturbed at my statement, even stopping to stare at me in the middle of the sidewalk. I was in the middle of texting Youngjae about details regarding our weekend plans, so I didn't even notice. It was only until I was several feet away that I realized I didn't feel the presence of the other two males at either side.

Looking back, I remained irritated. "What?"

Jinyoung and I walked home together everyday from school, but it wasn't unusual that one of his friends would join us on our route, as a few of them lived in the same area. Bambam, a Thai student on my brother's dance crew, joined us today. He's one of the few people in that group of friends that I was somewhat close with, since he'd been at Haerin in elementary and transferred in and out as his family's business required him to.

"That's a little extreme," he shuddered when he and Jinyoung walked back up to where I was.

The latter smirked knowingly and I just wanted to kick it off his face. "Would it have to do that Mark's been talking to that Hara lookalike in first year?"

"No," I answered a little too quickly.

"Bingo!" Bambam declared, sharing a high five with my brother right in front of my face.

The two of them began to sing Honey by KARA, which only irritated me further. I tried plugging in my earphones connected to my MP3 player, looking for any song that would block out their obnoxious singing. Even after pressing play on a SS501 song, their voices could still be heard.

I ripped the earbuds out and whined, "Just shut up!" I said over and over again that I was over Mark, that it was me who broke up with him, but my jealous tendencies couldn't help themselves.

"Oh baby, honey, honey, honey!" While Jinyoung stopped, the Thai male went on and on and even began to add a skip to his step. If we weren't in public, there were so many things that I wanted to do to him that would make him shut up.

Scrunching my nose, I said, "You really think Suji will date you with that kind of singing voice? Poor girl is going to go deaf." That made Bambam stop immediately.

"Hey, how do you know about that?" he interrogated, visibly distraught. Bambam looked over at Jinyoung, who made an innocent face. "Did you tell her?"

"No! Are you crazy?" Jinyoung raised his hands up in defense. Unlike me, he was quite good at keeping secrets.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. I've seen you guys flirt on each other's Facebook walls, it's nauseating."

Bambam looked like he was about to retort something back, but then he remembered something. "Oh! I almost forgot." He sent a devilish look toward Jinyoung.

"Do I want to know?" he raised a single eyebrow, already knowing that his friend was probably up to no good.

"Suji told me that she wants to audition for the crew!"

Jinyoung and I shared a glance and it didn't take long for the both of us to burst into laughter. Many students at Haerin knew that Suji couldn't dance at all, as the girl was on the cheerleading team and couldn't do a move for shit. It was well known that she only made the squad because the advisor, Mr. Park, favoured her greatly.

However, Bambam looked completely serious.

"You guys are so mean! She's not even that bad, we should let her at least audition," he pointed out. While it was the fair thing to do, it was still hilarious.

"Can someone record her audition and send it to me?" I was still laughing and both boys ignored me.

My brother gave him a pitiful look. "We can't let her do that. It's just going to be embarrassing for her."

The three of us continued walking down our regular route home, while Bambam attempted to reason with Jinyoung all the way there. I had other concerns on my mind, like how Youngjae not-so-discreetly signed up to audition for the dance crew and the basketball situation. I glanced over at my hand, which was still casted up. There really was no way that I could try out.

"But, Jinyoung, she's so pretty! And if we let her on the crew, then I can spend more time with her and—"

"Dude, the crew is not a shortcut to a girlfriend. If you suggested that to Yugyeom or Jaebum, they'd think that you've gone nuts." Jinyoung shook his head. "My sister would be a better addition than her!"

"Excuse me?" I was suddenly pulled back into the conversation. "I'm no dancer anymore, but I can't be a Suji."

"I'm saying the complete opposite of that, stupid."

"Oh, yeah! I forgot you used to dance!" Bambam recalled, tilting his head to the side. "You were actually pretty good. Why don't you dance anymore, like Jinyoung?"

I grumbled; this was the second time within a couple of days that someone's brought the subject of me dancing up. It was still sensitive as hell and talking about it made me feel like shit. "Because I don't like it anymore. Is that so hard for you guys to understand?"

Jinyoung loosed his uniform tie, probably out of aggravation. "Do you like anything anymore? All you do nowadays is watch Super Junior and take naps."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You used to actually have a passion for things!" He sighed aggravatingly, while Bambam watched on. "It's like high school changed you or something. This is our last year, don't you want to do something great? Do something worth remembering about when you look back? This is supposed to be it and as your brother, I can't just let you sit around."

I retorted, "Yes, you can. It's my life, Jinyoung." I didn't see anything wrong with supporting my inspirations and all Jinyoung ever seemed to do was shit on it. "I don't dance anymore and my passion is Super Junior!"

We finally arrived at Bambam's apartment complex. The air was thick and awkward, so the other male simply said goodbye and left as quickly as he could. I watched Bambam leave, as I hastily put my earbuds back in and blasted music. Jinyoung did the same and neither of us talked to the other on the way home. The slate sidewalks were silent with each step.

#—— REPLY 2009. #got7 #got7 fanfic #got7 series #got7 imagine #got7 scenarios #got7 reactions #kpop fanfic #kpop series #got7 au

[thehappiestandunluckiest]

The Time We Went on a Saga Holiday

Now, where do I begin with this one?

A SAGA holiday. Saga holidays are organised holidays for people aged 60+ and there are so many types. Cruises, excursions, couples exploring, and the best one, singletons holidays.

Let’s start from the beginning.

Back in 2016, we’d had a hard year (a little foreshadowing here, if we thought that was hard just wait a couple of years…). We couldn’t afford to go on our usual summer holiday but it was getting towards the end of the summer and we needed a break. So my mum and dad went searching and found this little summer town on the coast of Spain, only 3 hours away from us and they were having an end of season sale – perfect!

So we book, pack our bags for this two-night getaway and we’re off.

Looked it, booked it, fucked off! *it’s an inside joke*

So ever oblivious we wiz down to Spain in our beloved fiat 500 – far too fast, my dad likes to pretend he’s in fast and furious. And we get to the town.  It’s empty. It’s a ghost town! Now we didn’t care, after all, we live in the Algarve and we had had enough of tourists so some clean sheets, food and sun was enough. We rock up to the hotel, it's huge and promising, but! Now side note, my life seems to be filled with BUT’S and not the nice kind like Channing Tatum's butt- the bad kind, like when your mum says you can leave the table, but you have to take the rubbish out kind of but.

So outside this towering hotel that's guarded with palms and bird of paradise are 2 buses. Big buses. And swarming out of them is an army of 60 to 80-year-old Spanish men and women. 

Now, imagine this, you walk into a lobby, ready to dump your bags, change into a swimsuit and relax but instead, you're greeted by about 200 Spanish buzzing, imperial leather smelling, silver taloned old people. Now I don't want to offend anyone who’s of the 60 plus era, nor do I want to get the wrath of any angry Spanish people, but god it was a lot to take it. Now I have a Spanish godmother who I love dearly – shout out to Angela being the only godparent to stick by my side! But Latin blood boils FAR hotter than any other blood and the more mature the person – the worse. 

So my dad goes up to reception dodging the Spaniards like mines in a warzone. The reception is immediately so apologetic and transfer us to their sister hotel that’s 5 stars and just across the street. That’s great we drive over.

Oh -  but how the gods were against us on this one – or at least we thought that at first.

This lobby, equally as bombarded with OAPs* was a parallel universe to the last hotel but the difference was – they were single, 60 + year old Britons. This was going to be fun.

If I were to briefly and very broadly describe these lovely people, it would be like this. 

Some wore shell suits – they must have been jocks when they were younger, maybe they were playboys that never settled down. They leant against the walls chatting up the ladies. It was honestly very peculiar to watch and I did wonder what their pick up lines would be like? “My arteries are the only things that have hardened” *gags*

Then you have your cargo shorts, bright coloured polos and socks with sandals men - Now I’m not sure who the hell thought it was ok to send grandpa off with that many bad ideas in one suitcase, but they did. I would also like to take some time here to mention that MEN CAN GET CAMEL TOES TOO AND IT BURNT MY 16-YEAR-OLD EYES!

Next, we have similar to the last cargo shorts, socks and polos men but with trainers – now this is a special breed, the polos are usually less irritating to the eye (usually white or blue), they wear a belt a little too tight, and socks halfway up their calves. Usually, this specie is a university professor or a small town business owner. They don’t carry viagra pills with them everywhere and ask you about your family not your bra size like the jocks do.

Women. Now as most men would be able to confirm, explaining: describing; and understanding any woman ever, is like solving quantum physics formulae with a blindfold on whilst the room is on fire, but the women were mainly wearing fluorescent colours, lots of shawls and hot pink lipstick and ridiculously oversized beaded jewellery. They giggled like teenage girls talking about Harry Styles naked.

So, my brother and I had never gone on an all-inclusive holiday, and this was probably for our own good as we very quickly got on a sugar high that turned to a steep fall low off of all you can eat milkshakes and burgers.

 Literally, kids in a sweet shop.

It got to the evening and we went to the only restaurant open (my mum got food poisoning on our last day). We went back to the hotel for a nightcap – exhausting doing nothing all day. 

In the bar they were playing…. guess…go on……guess what they were playing…..BINGO!

Now the ever-competitive family we are, we had to join.

“TWO FAT LADIES- 88” “CLICKETY CLICK- 66!” – you’d think that’s what they were saying but no, that's not what they were saying. 

The two very Spanish hosts did not really speak English. Now if you speak very little of a language you usually don't know how to say 76, 89, you'd be lucky if you know 12, but god bless them, they were trying. They would pick the small bingo ball look at it to see if either of them knew how to pronounce it, shake their heads and choose another instead. It was very amusing. 

We were sat next to a sweet old man who, my best way of describing him is by saying – he was an exact look-alike of the pirate from SpongeBob square pants. So we are having that good old fashioned British banter with a stranger – super normal, but then he popped his eye out.

 HIS EYEBALL. 

OUT OF NOWHERE! 

Now we didn't know how to react to a strange old man passing us his glass eye with no context so we did the only feasible thing to do - grab it and inspect the ball itself but also the crater he just scooped it out of. God, I’m getting queazy just picturing him scooping it up out of his orbital socket like some rum and raisin icecream. *ew*

Minor distraction averted we win the game – more specifically my dad won the game and made sure everyone knew about it, and if looks could kill….

The grandmas weren't happy that he won a bottle of sparkling wine that costs about 6 euros to buy at the store and that you could get at the bar FOR FREE! Because it’s an all-inclusive holiday, but at the end of the day the famous saying goes ‘its the winning that counts!’ (that’s right, right?)

The rest of the night consisted of us talking to another family from the midlands who were actually on an intervention for their 40-year-old son who had lost his wife, custody of his kids and job to a gambling and alcohol addiction. He cried. A lot. It was very bizarre.

We went off to bed. At breakfast, we tried to avoid eye contact with the strange characters we had met the night before.

And left for home the next day.

Now, remember when I mentioned we travelled in our beloved fiat 500, which is the most glorious lawnmower motored vehicle to exist. Well, we didn't realise that we had to pay for parking and it got quite expensive. But oh so luckily the car is so small, that it fit on the sidewalk so we drove the car around the barrier on the sidewalk, ditched a small fortune and drove off into the sunset like the little parkour gangsters we are.

And that was the story of the family holiday that made my mum get food poisoning, my brother and I hate milkshakes and realise that we are in fact very lactose intolerant, and my dad win a very competitive game of bingo. This was the cheapest holiday we had ever been on and by far the best and funniest. We laugh about it often and its one that I can imagine sitting around the table 20 years from now still laughing at.

E. L. Wilson

[hrina]

Holy Pt. 2 {Luke Hemmings Smut}

PAIRING: Luke/Y/N RATING: A for angst and S for smut WORD COUNT: 8000+ REQUESTED: yesssss!!! so many ppl wanted a second part so here u go!! 

guess who’s back!!! well not rly bc i have so much work to do but i managed to churn out this monster fic in like....3 days lmao ! just letting u guys know, it deviates from the religious aspects that r mentioned in the first part; this part definitely deals more w their relationship and there’s literally sooooo much angst so y’all can thank me for that later ;-) anyways, hope u enjoy!!!

[part 1] [masterlist] [come yell at me]

~*~

Luke walked up the rickety steps of the familiar porch, his chest rising and falling as he took deep breaths. It had been two years—two years with no contact, no phone calls, not even a text. The house still looked the same: white stucco and a plain white garage, the cobbled path leading to the door, the cross nailed to the space right underneath the doorbell. Luke gulped, removing his hand from the tight grip it had on the handle of his suitcase. He rang the doorbell and waited anxiously, his hands clasped behind his back.

For a moment, a fleeting thought crossed his mind: maybe no one was home. A part of him would be disappointed, but a larger part would be relieved. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to face them, endure the awkward silence and the unfilled gaps, the judgemental, hurt eyes and the tension saturating the air. He could leave. He could escape.

But then the door was swinging open, and he knew that he was fucked.

His mother’s eyes narrowed when she cast her gaze upon him, as though she didn’t recognize him. Luke couldn’t blame her—he had changed a lot since he’d left for Oxford. His slacks had been replaced with black, ripped skinny jeans, his loafers by suede boots. His hair—which had been lighter and styled up into a quiff during his teenage years, now swept down across his forehead, the shade having dulled to a sandy blonde. He was no longer clean-shaven—stubble lined his jawline, and—almost reflexively—his hand came up to scratch his chin.

“Hi, Mum,” Luke forced out, his voice hoarse. 

His mother’s eyes connected with his—her irises were the exact same shade of peculiar blue, and he felt like he was being examined, studied, overturned from the inside and exposed.

“Luke?” his mother stepped back, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes raked down his body, taking in his appearance. Luke shot her a half-smile, expecting the gesture to be returned, but instead he was met with her horrified expression.

“What happened to you?” she demanded, “What are you wearing? How long has it been since you’ve last shaved?”

Luke blinked. He glanced down at his outfit and then at his suitcase before looking back up at his mother—the woman who was supposed to love him unconditionally and support him. Yet here she stood, staring at him like he was an utter stranger and critiquing him, just as she had always done.

She hadn’t changed. Their encounter had been so brief, but Luke could already tell. His hopes of returning home for the holidays and being greeted normally flickered and went out, quelled by a despairingly strong gust of reality. He knew—just by looking at the betrayed expression on his mother’s face—that he wouldn’t be welcome here. She hadn’t changed.

And she never would.

“I-I’m sorry,” Luke stammered, reaching back blindly for the handle of his suitcase, fumbling. “I have to—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, rushing back down the porch steps with his belongings in tow. The wheels of his luggage clattered noisily along the cobbled path as he sped into the street, hurrying away from his childhood home. He squeezed his eyes shut, chuckling bitterly to himself. How could he have been so stupid? He’d thought that things could go back to how they once were, and he had been so wrong.

She hadn’t tried to stop him.

His mother had let him go.

~*~

He was not going to do this.

There was no way in hell that he was going to do this.

He opened the door, and a faint jingling sound reached his ears.

Holy shit, he was going to do this.

Luke entered the tattoo parlour, dragging his luggage in behind him. His wallet had been shoved back into his pocket, considerably lighter now that he had paid a hefty amount to the taxi driver. The man behind the wheel had warned him that travelling to the next town over wouldn’t be cheap.

The place was brightly lit, with a large waiting room. Several people lounged around—the majority were large men who looked as if they could squash Luke with their thumbs. There was a younger couple sitting in a corner, giggling madly and trading cheek kisses every so often—Luke assumed that they were there to get matching designs. A woman with a shaved head and a septum piercing lifted her head at the bells that had tinkled when Luke entered. She glanced at him once before going back to scrolling through an app on her phone.

Luke tentatively sat down in one of the chairs, gulping as he rubbed his hands together. He rolled his suitcase so that it was situated between his spread knees, and looked around again, his head cocking to the side when he noticed something.

One of the men—the buffest one who wore sunglasses and who looked like he could be the leader of a fucking motorcycle gang—sat across from him, smiling down at a young child who rested on his lap. The baby looked to be no more than two years old—perhaps only a year and a half—and wore a frilly blue frock, with white tights and blue shoes to match. Their wispy blonde hair was secured with a white, sparkly pin, and Luke assumed that the child was a girl. Scary Biker Dude—that’s what Luke would call him—lifted his hands to his eyes, pausing briefly before removing them suddenly. Luke heard a faint “peek-a-boo!”

The child laughed and clapped, a high-pitched squeal leaving her lips. Luke smiled slightly, looking down at his lap to hide his face. The interaction continued for the next few minutes, the child giggling happily and bouncing up and down, and Scary Biker Dude chuckling gruffly in return.

And then there was a voice—a voice that Luke hadn’t heard since he’d kissed you at the airport. An action that he’d performed despite the decision you had both made weeks before: to end what you’d both had so that you could avoid the heartbreak that would come with his departure.

Pain flashed through Luke’s chest as he remembered your solemn expression when he had presented you with the extra plane ticket, the sad shake of your head, your watery eyes once he’d turned away from you a month later and the flight attendant had confirmed his ticket. He remembered those first few nights away from you, how lonely he had felt, how his hand couldn’t bring him the same pleasure, how it hurt for him to breathe because fuck, he couldn’t smell the fruity scent of your perfume. Not anymore.

“Clay, don’t get her too excited, or she’ll throw up!”

Luke’s head snapped up, and he was sure that he stopped breathing.

There you were. Right in front of his fucking eyes.

Luke wasn’t sure where to look first. If anything, the few years apart had made you even more beautiful. Your hair was tossed up into a haphazard bun, and you wore a black button-up, your breasts stretching the fabric slightly. Pale blue jeans adorned your legs, the colour cut off abruptly by those same clunky combat boots—a reassuring jolt of pleasure ran through Luke when he saw the familiar shoes.

“Sorry, Y/N,” Scary Biker Dude—Clay—said, though beneath his graying beard, Luke could make out the fragments of a smile.

You just walked over to the biker with your arms held out. Clay reluctantly picked up the child sitting in his lap and passed her over to you. Luke watched in confusion as you placed the girl on your hip, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You like playing with Clay, Jo?”

The toddler giggled.

Luke stood abruptly. Before his mind could catch up with his body, he was crossing over to where you stood. He stopped a few feet away, but you didn’t look up at him, seemingly too distracted by the child in your arms.

“Is she yours?” Luke asked.

Still staring lovingly at the baby, you nodded.

Luke’s stomach plummeted while his heart somersaulted—he didn’t know what to feel, anticipation and dread and shock and anger rolling like waves throughout his body.

“How old is she?” he said, desperately trying to keep his voice level. A suspicion was building in the back of his mind, quickly gaining momentum with each passing second. Luke’s mouth was dry, as was his throat, and he tried swallowing but found that he couldn’t—he was choking on air, on the remnants of what used to be, on the possibilities that could have come true.

“Sixteen months,” you said. Luke calculated in his head, and a loud gasp left his throat. He looked down at the little girl, only to be met with the brightest shade of cobalt—a peculiar blue.

His peculiar blue.

Finally, you looked up at him, having heard his sharp intake of breath. You cocked your head to the side. “Is everything okay?”

And no, everything was not okay, because you didn’t seem to recognize him—at least, not at a first glance. Luke took a step back immediately, inexplicably overwhelmed. His hands came up to rake through his sandy hair, causing some tendrils to stick up—like the old Luke, the straight-laced pastor’s son, the Luke who had loved you, wanted to take you with him, wanted to break down your walls and know you fully.

And goddammit, that part of him was the one thing that hadn’t changed.

~*~

Luke sat at your kitchen table, his hands folded and his head bowed. The apartment was silent apart from the faint shuffling that could be heard from down the hall, the sound of you trying to put your—his—daughter to bed. Luke dragged his hands down his face, attempting to compose himself. His suitcase was leaning up against the wall near the front door.

He could leave right now if he wanted to. He could stand, slip on his boots, and get the hell out. And God, a part of him wanted to do just that.

But he also needed answers. He needed to talk to you, to question you—dammit, he needed to look at you. It was an innate urgency; he had to study your face, your soft lips, your deep eyes, the caring soul within that was trapped and bound by years of shattered trust. He hadn’t see you in two years—and it was as though within those two years, you had started over, made a life for yourself, let go of anything that was holding you back, erased your past completely.

Luke didn’t want to be erased.

His head whipped to the side once he heard footsteps approaching. He watched with tense shoulders as your silhouette entered the small kitchen.

You leaned against the wall, a small, nostalgic smile playing on your lips.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

Fuck.

Luke swallowed. Sighing gently, he ran a hand through his hair and turned towards you. “Hey.”

There was silence. Luke could hear you breathing heavily, the steady sound mixed in with the erratic thumping of his heart. It was so loud that he was afraid you would be able to see his chest pulsing. You could always read him—even before he’d left, you seemed to know his desires, his worries. You’d helped him conquer his fears and realize that his dreams could become realities, and for that, he was eternally in your debt.

“Do you want something to drink?” you asked, your voice tight.

“Water is fine.”

You nodded, and for a moment, Luke saw through a crack in your composure. You were just as nervous, just as afraid. There was a storm brewing behind your guarded eyes, the dim lighting in the kitchen reflecting off of your pupils. Luke was hit with the strongest urge to hold you, to kiss away your worries and make you happy.

Making you happy—that was all he’d ever wanted.

“Here you go,” you snapped him out of his trance. Luke’s hand shot out to catch the glass of water that you had slid across the table. He hunched his shoulders as he cradled the cup with both hands, trying to make himself seem as small as possible.

“You still do that.”

He looked up. “What?”

You smiled wistfully. “That. You always…curl up into yourself. ’S cute.”

Luke didn’t reply.

You looked around the kitchen as you walked over, pulling out a chair and sitting next to him. Luke regretted sitting at the head of the table; it suddenly felt like he had picked the perfect spot where you could watch him, study him, scrutinize him. He looked down at the clear liquid in his cup, willing himself to keep his gaze trained downwards, but once you let out a defeated sigh, he couldn’t resist a small peek.

“How’s Oxford?” you asked, but the question was hollow, as though you weren’t expecting him to respond.

Luke cleared his throat. “It’s good,” he grunted.

A small smile found its way to your lips and you ducked your head, trying to hide it. Luke couldn’t help but to smirk as well—your happiness was fucking infectious.

“I bet it’s a lot of work,” you continued, looking hopeful. Luke nodded, finally taking the first sip of his water. The liquid slid down his throat easily, cooling his entire body. It was like that was all he needed, because he set the glass down, looking at you squarely.

“I don’t want to talk about me. I want to talk about you.”

A beat of silence passed. You looked away, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment before your irises were trained back on Luke.

“I—,” you hesitated, body tight from the sudden onslaught of communication, “—what do you want to know?”

Luke seized the opportunity, not knowing when he would ever receive another chance like that. You were blatantly allowing him to ask whatever he wanted, and it seemed like your answers would be sincere. His lips were moving before his brain had a chance to filter through the questions, and words poured from his mouth.

“How did you get into the piercing business? When did you get this apartment? Are you stable—like, financially? Do you need me to lend you some money? Because I have plenty, don’t worry. Why did you move out here? Why didn’t you tell me that you were pregnant?”

“Luke!” you stopped him, your voice rising slightly. He clamped his mouth shut, his chest heaving. You sighed, pursing your lips.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “Okay.”

Luke waited, gazing at you expectantly.

You looked up at him, inhaling sharply before beginning, “I figured that my chances of getting a job were shot back in the suburbs. I moved out here—nobody knew me or my reputation, so I figured that I could start over. That’s when I met Ashton—he’s the guy that owns the parlour—and fuck, even though I was five months pregnant, he gave me a job.”

“How old is he?” Luke demanded, “Ashton, I mean.”

You smiled, “He’s twenty-two.”

Luke’s mouth went dry. He looked away, trying to swallow. “Oh,” he mumbled, “And did you—did you guys ever—?”

“No,” you smirked, shaking your head, “We didn’t.”

Luke breathed a sigh of relief, and you continued, looking uneasy, “I was—I was still too hung up on you.”

Luke’s head snapped up at that, his eyes wide. You looked away, suddenly seeming to find the walls of your kitchen extremely intriguing. Luke studied your side profile, his fingers twitching around his cup. God, all he wanted to do was take your hand. A single touch, the brush of palms—it was like that would be enough to mend everything that had happened between the two of you. Luke studied the bridge of your nose, the delicious curve of your lips. His eyelids fluttered shut as he remembered how he used to kiss you—how you kissed him back.

“Ashton let me stay at his place until I made enough to move out,” you continued, your gaze still fixated on the wall. Luke felt an ugly knot form in the pit of his stomach, and he grinded his teeth together at the thought of you living with another man.

“So, I bought this apartment,” you said, “It’s nothing special, but it’s got two bedrooms, and that’s more than enough. Believe it or not, piercing bodies actually pays a decent amount.”

“Do you need—?” Luke began, but your head suddenly turned, and you shot him a glare.

“If you offer me even a penny, Luke Hemmings, I will kick you out.”

Luke held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, sorry.”

You blew a wisp of hair away from your face. “It’s fine. It’s just—I’ve managed this far on my own. I don’t need you swooping in to save me or anything like that.”

“I didn’t mean—,” Luke tried, but he broke off once you chuckled.

“It’s fine, pretty boy. Jo and I…we’re okay.”

Jo. Luke had nearly forgotten about the toddler that was asleep just down the hall. His mind flashed back to earlier that day—the girl’s wispy blonde hair, her charming and captivating giggles, her striking blue eyes. She resembled Luke so closely—it made him feel a bit nauseous.

“What’s her full name?” Luke blurted. He couldn’t help it.

“Josephine,” you smiled softly, your eyes growing distant.

Luke gnawed on his bottom lip. There was so much happening, and he was beginning to feel overwhelmed and slightly hysterical. He had so many questions, but he knew that he wouldn’t have enough time to ask all of them—and that terrified him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said quietly, looking down at the water in his glass. He was suddenly overcome with aggravation and frustration, his head feeling like it would explode. “Why didn’t you tell me that we were going to have a fucking baby?”

He looked up at you, feeling betrayed. The shock had come and passed, and now he was angry—he was so goddamn angry.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, but Luke just shook his head, growing more and more irritated.

“Sorry isn’t good enough. I want to know why. Why didn’t you tell me that—that I was going to be a dad?”

He knew that he couldn’t start screaming, but that didn’t stop him from raising his voice a fair amount. He ran his fingers through his hair anxiously, pushing back against the table—his chair made a loud screeching noise against the floor, but he paid it no mind, standing and turning away from you. Luke heard the soft sigh you let out, and he clenched his jaw, rubbing his hands over his face to regain his composure.

Several long, silent moments passed, the tension in the kitchen unbearably thick. Luke’s shoulders oscillated dramatically with each breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at the hem of his shirt, wishing that it would help ease some of the strain that resided in his body.

And then there was a gentle hand on his arm. He froze, swallowing heavily. “Luke,” you breathed, and the way that his name rolled off of your tongue finally persuaded him to turn around.

He moved slowly, his eyes glued to the floor. It was only when you squeezed his bicep that he finally dragged his gaze upwards—he had to hold in a gasp.

Your bottom lip was quivering, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. You inhaled, the breath shaky and difficult. Luke watched as your right hand came up, your thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of your nose. You expelled a long breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head slightly. Luke was frozen, unable to move—it had been so long since he’d seen you cry.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I’m so fucking sorry. You have no idea—how many times I wanted to call you and tell you. I was so scared…I didn’t want to do it without you but—”

You broke off, clearing your throat. When you spoke again, your voice was laboured, thick with emotion, “I didn’t want to hold you back. I couldn’t. You—it was your dream to leave, and I couldn’t force you to stay just because we fucked up. It wasn’t fair.”

“Why didn’t you abort?” Luke asked, “Or—there’s always adoption.”

Immediately he cringed—that was the best that he could do? It was obvious that you needed comfort, and he hated how the situation had robbed him of being able to wrap his arms around you and whisper consoling words into your ear.

You shook your head. “I didn’t—I don’t know why. I think I just…didn’t want to be alone.”

Luke’s heart shattered and his brain clicked.

“That’s why you didn’t—you didn’t want to come—fuck!” he exclaimed, smacking his hands against his face. He whirled around again, taking a few steps away from you and leaning his forehead against the wall, breathing heavily. Behind him, he heard you sob.

“I’m sorry,” you said again. Luke exhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring.

“When did it—?” he paused, trying to rephrase, “We were always careful. How did it even—?”

He waited for an answer. When you didn’t reply, he turned back around, looking at you expectantly. You crossed your arms over your torso, hugging yourself—Luke couldn’t help but to notice how much you’d changed. You were softer, not only physically (though he found himself eyeing your new curves hungrily, aching to feel your skin underneath his fingertips), but emotionally. He vaguely wondered if that old predicament was true—if motherhood really did make a woman more sentimental.

“I’m not sure,” you said, shrugging your shoulders sadly, “But I think—,” you sighed, “—do you remember that night when we went to your dad’s church? And I—”

“Gave me the best fucking blow job of my life?” Luke supplied, “Yeah, I remember. It’d be pretty hard to forget.”

You froze, your eyes wide. And then you laughed.

Luke’s brow furrowed, and his hands flew up. He couldn’t help his agitation. “What’s so funny?”

You covered your mouth to mute your amusement. “I—I’m sorry, it’s just…I’ve never really heard you talk like that before.”

You broke off into quiet giggles. Luke watched, shocked at how your mood had changed so drastically within seconds. The longer he stared, however, the quicker his anger seemed to seep out of him, and his frown began to lift into a smile. He couldn’t help it—your happiness was contagious. Luke smirked and a moment later, a low laugh slipped past his lips.

And eventually you both stood there, smiling bashfully and chuckling. You wrapped your arms back around your body. Luke stepped closer to you. You looked up at him, your eyes still wet—Luke presumed that they were a mixture of sad and happy tears. He lifted his hand, gripping your wrist and pulling your arms away from your body, effectively dismantling the makeshift shield that you had created.

“You’re always fuckin’ doing that,” he grunted.

“Doing what?” you breathed, looking up at him from under your eyelashes.

“This,” he said, squeezing your wrist gently, “Always hiding away from me. I just want to see you, you know? Like, really see you.”

“I’m right here,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering closed before they opened once more.

Luke swallowed, taking another step towards you. Your fingers twitched; Luke loosened his grip on your wrist, though you didn’t let him retreat, instead reaching for his hand and brushing your fingertips against his palms. He understood, lacing your digits together and squeezing appreciatively. You glanced up at him, your eyes hooded. Luke watched—completely enraptured—as you licked your lips.

“I really want to kiss you,” he blurted.

You pursed your lips, “I know.”

“So—hypothetically—if I were to kiss you, would you be okay with it?”

“Hypothetically?” you cocked an eyebrow, and Luke nodded. You shrugged. “Hypothetically, I don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Luke asked, his brow creasing and his heart aching painfully. He was so goddamn close. You were right there, pressed up against him, your breaths intermingling. His pulse was pounding, and his head was foggy as he breathed in the comforting scent of your perfume. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to grab your face and make sure that you knew how much he had missed you.

“Because,” you said softly, “If you kissed me, I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from giving you the second best fucking blow job of your life.”

Luke’s breath hitched in his throat. He stared at you in awe, but there was no shame in your expression. Your eyes were wide, tender, sincere. Even before he’d left for university, Luke had only seen that look a handful of times. He knew that it was a look that was reserved for him and only him—proof that he had finally broken down your walls.

And he was determined to make the most of it, before you built them back up.

“Would that be so bad?” Luke questioned, “Hypothetically, I mean.”

You smiled wistfully, your eyes glimmering. Luke watched as you tilted your head up, your lips moving to form words.

“I guess not,” you paused, biting your lip. “Kiss me, pretty boy.”

Yes.

When his lips touched yours, Luke felt like he was going to explode. His heart hammered against his ribcage, and his mouth tingled, the zealous feeling spreading from his lips throughout the rest of his body. He suddenly felt energized, like he could run a fucking marathon, and his fingers twitched against yours. He carefully slipped his hand out of your grip, moving instead to cup your cheeks and keep you close.

“I missed you,” he panted once you’d finally broken apart, “I missed you so fucking much.”

You looked up at him with vulnerable eyes. “I—uh—I haven’t been with anyone. Not since you left.”

Luke tilted his head to the side in confusion. You gripped the collar of his shirt as though you couldn’t bear to be far away from him.

“I mean—,” you said, your voice taking on a hint of desperation, “Fucked. I haven’t fucked anyone since you left. But I—I want…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “God, this is so embarrassing—”

“No!” Luke cut you off, his tone higher than he’d intended. He cringed before sweeping his palms down your neck, across your shoulders so that his fingers were eventually wrapped around your biceps. Luke pressed a hard, fleeting kiss to your lips, “I fucking—I want you too, shit. I just—are you sure?”

Instead of replying with words, you merely leaned up, your fists tightening around the fabric of his shirt as you delivered a bruising kiss to his mouth. Luke’s hands immediately went to your head, his right cupping the back of your neck and his left raking through your hair.

You began moving backwards, and Luke opened his eyes in surprise (one of you had to watch where you were going). His hand shot out to stop your back from colliding harshly with the wall; the abrupt movement made you pull back, and after glancing over your shoulder, you giggled quietly. Luke’s ears were hot, the sound of your laugh ringing like church bells—and God, he wanted to repent.

“C’mon,” you mumbled, gripping his chin between your thumb and forefinger and pressing another short kiss to his lips. You sidestepped, grabbing his hands and pulling him through the doorway that led off into the small (and only) hallway of the apartment. Luke followed you thoughtlessly—he’d follow you straight into hell, if you’d asked.

You led him down to the very end of the hall. Luke couldn’t help but to glance at the closed door of Josephine’s room—his daughter’s room. The thought invaded his mind, and he almost stopped right in his tracks.

“Luke, I—,” you began, and he looked back at you as you pushed open the door of your bedroom. You had used his name; he knew that you meant to say something serious. He followed you inside, waiting for you to finish your thought, but you hesitated and clamped your mouth shut. You leaned up to kiss him, but Luke stepped back, shaking his head.

“No. You’re not allowed to do that now. Tell me what you were going to say.”

“It’s not—”

“Please,” Luke was prepared to drop to his knees and beg. “Don’t hide from me anymore.” He approached you again, pressing your foreheads together and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “Open up, angel. Let me see you.”

Your breathing hitched at the pet name, and Luke smiled softly, immediately deciding that he liked it. You looked up at him, your arms winding around his neck, fingers playing with the soft curls at the back of his head. The double bed was so close, but Luke only had eyes for you—everything else could wait.

“I just—,” you said, taking a deep breath, “Tell me what happens after this. With us.”

Luke tensed, his eyebrows knitting together. He would’ve been prepared to answer anything—except for that. Immediately, his mind was travelling a mile a minute, and he was trying to rack his brain for a reply.

He found none.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice quiet and ashamed. You swallowed heavily, nodding and looking away, running your own fingers through your hair. It was easy to see that you were flustered; your eyes were wide, lips swollen, nostrils flaring as you inhaled sharply. Luke just wanted to kiss the worry from your face.

“I don’t—,” you began, shaking your head, “I can’t let you go; I can’t go through that—not again.”

“I can’t either,” Luke was quick to reassure you, gripping your face in his hands and leaning down so that he was staring into your frazzled eyes. “Please, I’m—I’m here for the next two weeks. We can talk about it, we can figure it out, I promise.”

You stared at him, gnawing nervously on your bottom lip. Just when Luke was certain that you’d push him away, you did the opposite, pulling him in close and kissing him harshly. He resisted the urge to chuckle against your lips—he’d never truly be able to figure you out.

“Fuck me,” you whispered, and Luke let out a faint growl, not needing to be told twice. 

He moved forwards until the backs of your thighs hit your mattress, and you pulled him down onto the bed. Immediately, he was on top of you, his knees and palms bracketing your body—you whimpered, reaching for the hem of his white shirt and rucking the material up his torso.

He smiled against your lips, indulging you and pushing himself up. He sat back on his heels, reaching for the collar of his t-shirt and yanking the fabric up over his head. When he tossed it behind him and looked back down at you, he had to restrain himself from grinning. You were staring at him hungrily, your eyes soaking in his broad, bare chest, his smooth shoulders.

“Your turn,” he said.

You sat up, your gazes locking and staying that way as you reached for the top button of your black blouse. Hastily, you undid each clasp, but to Luke, it felt like eons had passed until you were finally slipping the material from your body, baring your blue bra to him. The garment was cute—it was a periwinkle colour, with a small bow resting snugly between the cups, but Luke thought that it would look even cuter standing out against the dark hardwood flooring.

He said just that, and watched how you grinned mischievously before nodding. A moment later, your torso was bare, and Luke couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and giving your breasts all the love and attention that they deserved.

“Fuck,” you breathed, lying back as Luke climbed on top of you once more. He chuckled, and you let out an embarrassed laugh. “It’s just—it’s been a while.”

“Tell me about it,” he groaned, tweaking your nipples gently.

You gasped, seemingly torn between arching your back for more and curling up to avoid the contact. Luke leaned down, kissing you passionately. You tangled your hands in his hand, your fingers tugging at his sandy curls when he moved away, pressing a kiss to your cheek and proceeding down the column of your neck.

“I missed you,” Luke mumbled—the words were constantly there, pushing against the barrier of his lips. Without waiting for your reply, he took your right nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud and reveling in the quiet squeak that left your lips.

Suddenly, he felt a hand pushing at his shoulder, and he pulled away from your nipple with a low ‘pop!’

“Is everything okay?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, afraid that you would close up on him again. But you merely nodded, your eyes wide and your chest heaving with pleasure. Luke vaguely noted that your lower halves were still covered by black skinny jeans, and he vowed to do something about it.

“Everything’s fine,” you breathed, inhaling, “It’s just—we need to be quiet. And I won’t be able to if you keep doing that.”

Luke let the words sink in. After a moment, he chuckled, raising his hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll let it slide this one time.”

You smiled at him before sitting up, your hands sliding down your stomach, fingers fumbling with the button of your jeans. Luke helped you undo it, hooking his fingers into your waistband and tugging the denim down your legs. When the material was finally bunched up at your ankles, he pulled it off with a dramatic flourish, and you laughed softly at his antics. Luke beamed.

“Your turn,” you prompted, repeating his words from earlier. 

With a quiet groan, Luke stood from the bed, messing with his own jeans and trying to remove them. You laughed yet again as he hopped around on one foot, and he pouted at you when he finally wrestled his pants off.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he moped, “I’m trying to be sexy here.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back down to you and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his perfect nose. “You’re doing a fine job of it, pretty boy. I just like seeing you—the dumb and clumsy you.”

“The mood’s ruined,” Luke frowned childishly, and you merely cocked an eyebrow. You tilted your head up—pulling him into a heated kiss—while your right hand snaked down his body, your palm eventually pressing into the bulge at the front of his boxers. Luke’s hips bucked forward, and you grinned deviously against his lips.

“Mhm…are you sure about that?”

“F-Fuck,” Luke stuttered, only making your smile widen. He blushed, his eyelashes fluttering down against his cheeks. You didn’t stop, your fingers wrapping around his girth through the cotton of his briefs, and Luke’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head (it had been far too long).

You rubbed your nose against Luke’s jawline, and he was momentarily afraid that he’d come right there on the spot. It wasn’t only your fingers squeezing his dick—it was the intimacy, the closeness, the knowledge that you were right here. Luke’s hips rutted against your hand, and he buried his face into your neck, trying to muffle his groans.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” you whispered against the shell of his ear. Luke nodded fervently, using every drop of willpower to pull away from you and the heavenly sensation that you offered. He sat back on his heels once more, his large hands wrapping around your hips and dragging you closer to him.

You smiled mischievously as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your sheer black panties. Luke returned your expression, reveling in the gasp that you emitted when he yanked your underwear cleanly down your legs. You barked out a laugh.

“Okay, that was sexy.”

Luke bit his lip to suppress a smile.

“’M going to open you up now, okay?” he asked, and then continued on an afterthought. “I just really want to fuck you. I promise I’ll eat you out for, like, an hour later tonight.”

You smirked. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

He took his time, his hands running down your sides and his mouth open in awe when he finally felt the impact of your pregnancy. You were so fucking soft, and if it weren’t for his raging erection, Luke probably would have nuzzled each roll of fat, each stretch mark, pressing consistent kisses to your skin.

He cursed when he swiped his index finger along your folds, feeling the moisture at the apex of your thighs. You shivered, breathing out a gentle ‘fuck’ and twisting your fingers into the bedsheets. Luke couldn’t stop himself from popping his finger into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as he tasted you. His shoulders rolled as a shudder passed down his spine, and he brought his hands back down, his left poised carefully on the inside of your thigh to keep your legs spread.

You inhaled sharply as the first finger entered you. Luke watched you, completely enraptured by the creasing of your brow and the flaring of your nostrils. He leaned down, his left hand squeezing your thigh reassuringly as he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your swollen clit. A small ‘oh!’ left your lips, and God, Luke was so fucking hard.

“You okay?” Luke asked, looking up at you with concerned eyes. In response, he received a teasing shrug.

“You don’t have to be so gentle, pretty boy. It’s not like I haven’t done this to myself.”

“Fuck,” Luke swore, pressing his forehead against your pelvic bone. Images of you getting yourself off—your fingers between your legs, your body convulsing as you came—flashed through his head, and he subconsciously rutted against the mattress. God, he was fucking pathetic, reduced once more to a fifteen-year-old virgin with quaking knees and fragmented sentences.

Your smirk grew, and Luke—who was determined to regain the upper hand—pursed his lips, retracting his finger from your pussy only to plunge back in with two. It was his turn to smile smugly as he watched your back arch, your left hand flying to your mouth to stifle a moan.

“Fuck me,” you gasped. Luke thought that it was merely an exclamation, but then you repeated the demand, your voice taking on a conscious and sure tone. He looked up at you and your eyes locked.

“Are you sure?” he asked. You nodded rapidly.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine.”

Luke pouted playfully. “I’m kind of offended—are you implying that I have a small dick?”

You laughed, and he grinned. With a quiet grunt, Luke pushed himself back up, clambering on top of you and pressing a messy kiss to your lips. It was barely a kiss, seeing as you were both smiling like idiots, lips bumping against teeth and low snickers being breathed into the clammy air.

“I love your dick,” you whispered against the corner of Luke’s mouth, “You know that.”

Luke hummed in response, pressing a final kiss to your lips before rolling off of you, his feet connecting to the floor. He stood, tucking his fingers into the elastic waistband of his boxers and hastily yanking the offending material down his legs. He stepped out of them once they pooled around his ankles, climbing back onto the bed and resuming his previous position on top of you.

“Do you have a condom?” he asked. Your eyes widened, and then you clenched them shut angrily.

“Fuck, I—”

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, “I can—pull out if you want? I got tested about a month back; I’m clean.”

You looked skeptical but eventually you nodded. Luke returned the gesture, shooting you a reassuring smile.

He bowed his head, kissing you fervidly as he reached down, gripping the base of his cock and lining himself up with your entrance. The kiss deepened—he tried to distract you from the obvious discomfort that you would feel—as he slowly tilted his hips forward, his dick sliding into you with an obscene sound.

“Shit,” Luke said immediately, his shoulders tensing and his vision whiting out for a good few seconds. You were so fucking tight—after months with just his hand to keep him satisfied, he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep himself from coming.

“Yeah,” you panted against his mouth, nosing along his cheek. Luke kept his right hand planted firmly onto the mattress next to your head, granting his left hand the luxury of exploring your body, feeling down your torso, squeezing your thigh and hip appreciatively.

“Are you okay?” he asked, pursing his lips. Hurting you was the last thing that he wanted to do.

But you just nodded, closing your eyes briefly before they snapped open once more. Luke immediately felt relief wash over him, and he drew comforting circles against the skin of your hip to soothe you. You shifted underneath him, and he tried to pull out, but you gripped his biceps, shaking your head silently.

You both stayed like that for the next minute, Luke watching as you closed your eyes, tuning him out and trying to grow accustomed to the foreign (though it used to be familiar) feeling. Finally, just when Luke was sure that his head was going to explode if he didn’t move soon, you opened your eyes, squeezing his arms and nodding your head.

“Go.”

Luke groaned gratefully before pulling out slowly, watching your facial expression change from anticipatory to blissful. That was the only confirmation that he required, the last push that he needed to plunge back into you, coaxing forth a surprised gasp from your lips. He smiled lightly, biting his lip to stop the corners of his mouth from curving up into a radical grin.

“Shit,” you whimpered, biting your fist to keep your moans quiet. Luke set a quick rhythm, leaning back slightly and placing both of his hands underneath the skin of your thighs. He pushed your legs upwards, practically folding you in half and thrusting back into you. You threw your head back into the pillows at the top of the bed, covering your mouth—though your pleading, helpless whimpers still managed to escape.

“Fuck,” he cursed, “You feel—so fucking good. I…”

“I know,” you mumbled, a soft moan tumbling from your lips. You reached out and Luke understood, leaning into you so that he could kiss you deeply. His lips proved to be no more useful at muffling your noises, so he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours.

“God, I missed this,” Luke choked out, “My fucking hand—I could never…never even—”

And goddammit, he wasn’t making any sense. You felt too good, too tight for him to form even a single coherent sentence. His thrusts were already faltering, growing sloppy and sporadic, and he chalked it up to the fact that he hadn’t fucked anyone in so long—he hadn’t fucked you in so long. And he had missed it. Fuck, he had missed it so much.

His hips stuttered when you subconsciously clenched around him, and a shudder raced down his spine. He fell forward, his elbows digging into the mattress beside your shoulders.

“Kiss me,” you gasped, and Luke obliged happily. The kiss was so fucking messy, tongues and teeth and whimpers and groans and God, Luke thought, it was perfect.

“I—I can’t,” Luke stuttered out, driving into you with more force and speed, determined to make you come so that he wouldn’t look so utterly pathetic. “I can’t hold it, ’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you soothed.

You rubbed your palms along the vast expanse of his shoulders, and Luke wanted to cry because wow, here you were, looking more beautiful than ever, and he had been able to provide only mediocre sex (at best). Yet you didn’t appear to care, seemingly happy merely because he was with you, and Luke felt his heart somersault in his chest at the realization.

His sudden awareness pushed him to do it: he managed to snake a hand down your body, his thumb rubbing hard circles into your clit. Luke’s chest panged victoriously when he angled himself perfectly, the head of his cock spearing directly into that special spot inside of you. That—coupled with the stimulation of your clit—was enough to push you over the edge, and you shook in Luke’s arms, your orgasm overtaking you.

Luke swore when the silky walls of your pussy locked down on his dick, and he knew that he had to pull out. He steadied himself, sliding out of you in one fluid motion. As soon as he made a fist around his dick, he was coming, the first spurt of come streaking against your hip.

“Fuck,” Luke babbled, his head becoming foggy, “I love you. I fucking love you so goddamn much.”

Somewhere, deep down in the cobwebbed corners of his mind, his brain panicked, realizing what he’d said and screaming out a steady chorus of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck!’

But a larger part of him was drunk on pleasure, unable to register even the most obvious of movements, too high on bliss to remember anything. Luke shuddered, the last bit of his come kicking out and lacing onto the skin of your thigh. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking lethargically and trying to take in his surroundings. In a way, it was sort of like being reborn.

And then he slumped on top of you, not caring that his own come was being smeared between you. You let out a surprised groan, but Luke silence you by pressing his lips against yours, the kiss chaste yet passionate.

“You just—,” you began, and Luke nodded solemnly, sighing. Here it was—the part where you pulled away from him, built up your walls and withdrew once more. He was used to it, but it still stung.

“I know.”

He was waiting for the blow: the tensing of your shoulders, the angry smouldering of your eyes. You would most likely roll over, sit up and mumble about how the whole thing had been a mistake, how you had both let it go too far. Luke’s jaw clenched as you opened your mouth.

“I love you too.”

~*~

“You’re going to call, right? And we’ll Skype?”

“Yes, pretty boy,” you blew a strand of your hair away from your forehead in exasperation, securing your arms around the toddler who sat on your hip. Luke watched you with fond eyes, his gaze flitting over to his daughter.

“Goodbye, Jo,” he mumbled sadly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the girl’s hair. “Daddy loves you very much.”

“It’s been two weeks,” you teased, “Don’t you think you’re rushing into things?”

Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “Shut up. You know you’re going to miss me.”

It was like—with those words—a dam had broken inside of you. Luke watched, utterly horrified, as your eyes filled with tears. His lips parted in surprise, and then he was pulling you into his arms, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Oh, shit. Please don’t cry, I’m sorry.”

“No,” you tried for a sad laugh, “Don’t be sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just being stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Luke said earnestly, trying to sear the words into your brain. He pulled back, stroking your cheek while the toddler in your arms gnawed on the skin of your shoulder. Luke heaved out a tired sigh, trying to take in all the details of your face before boarding the plane. He was painfully aware of the suitcase resting only a foot behind him, the handle gleaming in the bright lights of the airport.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Luke assured you, though his own voice was thick. “Five months, okay? And then I’m coming back. For, like, two months. Two full months.”

You gave him a watery smile, and Luke returned it. He leaned down, kissing your lips softly. A grainy voice came onto the intercom, informing him that other passengers of his flight were beginning to board. Luke pulled away from your lips (quite reluctantly, if he was being honest) and looked at you helplessly. You pursed your lips and tried for an encouraging smile, nodding for him to go.

“I love you,” he reminded you.

“I love you more,” you replied softly. Luke pressed another kiss to the top of his daughter’s head—grinning widely when she giggled—before turning around, gripping the handle of his suitcase and heading off to the gate of his flight.

He forced himself to stare straight ahead; he watched where the other passengers were lined up, their tickets in their hands as they waited for the slips to be confirmed by the flight attendant at the door. Luke closed his eyes for a moment, counting down the days until he’d see you again.

Five months in England. And then two months spent with you. Another four months, gone, separated by thousands of kilometres. And then three months, back. The cycle would repeat once more, and then he would finally be through with his studies.

And that meant coming back to you—and to his daughter. To several job opportunities that he would happily consider. Luke found himself smiling at the ground—once upon a time, he had hated how predictable his life had been; you had been able to offer that deviation, the rebellion that he secretly craved. And now, he just wanted certainty—you provided that sense of support, that promise of stability.

It didn’t matter what Luke needed; you were always there, and with you, things always had a funny way of working out.

He boarded the plane.

 ~*~

damn....if u got thru this....thank u lmao!! and i rly hope u liked it!! [feedback] is much appreciated, tbh the comments fuel me to keep writing lmao 💞💞

#luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings imagine #5sos smut #5sos blurb #5sos imagine #fvesos #dammitbands #dujourvevo #princessscut #starrprincess #calumhoodes #faemichael #puckerupmikey #i cant rmr anyone else ripppp #anyways ya feedback would be super!!! js

[officialcherubcampus]

CHERUB: Disconnected

The events in this story take place at the same time as Chapter 44 of CHERUB: Divine Madness

James Duncan was thirty-one years old. A maths professor with tangled blond hair, he felt pure love as he crouched over the cot of his fourteen-month-old daughter, Megan. She was fast asleep with a pink and white teddy nestled under her chin.

“Is she OK?” James’ girlfriend, Gaynor, asked as he stepped through to the living-room. They’d been out for a meal. She wore a long strapless dress and her high heels had been kicked under the coffee table.

“She’s all snuggled up,” James nodded, as he stretched into a yawn. “I gave the sitter an extra fiver. She seemed really nice.”

Gaynor tutted. “And she’ll expect a tip every time now.”

James was startled to see a tower collapsing in flames on the TV screen. “What the hell’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Gaynor said. “I just flicked the ten o’clock news on. It’s down under, I think.”

James grabbed the remote and turned up the sound as he sat with his girlfriend on the sofa. The reporter spoke in an Australian accent and the screen had LIVE FROM AUSTRALIA in the top right corner.

“The colourful religious guru Joel Regan is dead, believed murdered. His world-famous ark has been devastated in a massive explosion that killed many of his most devoted followers, and government sources have revealed that his controversial Survivors cult has funded the terrorist group Help Earth to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars...”

“Oh, it’s those nutters,” James said. He felt dizzy as he bent forwards and kissed Gaynor on the neck; he’d drunk more wine than he’d realised. “There was a thing about that lot in the Sunday paper a couple of months back.”

“At this stage there are no casualty estimates but there are thought to be more than two hundred children inside the ark...”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” James said, as he sat on the couch. “Something I probably should have told you a while back.”

Gaynor recoiled as she watched an image of a burned child being hoisted into a helicopter on a stretcher. She was engrossed in the drama and turned irritably towards James as he switched TV into standby.

“I was watching that.”

“Sorry,” James said, “but we’re getting married in less than a month and there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

Gaynor suddenly looked uneasy. “What is it?”

“Before Megan, erm...I mean, a long time ago - I have a son.”

“With Trudy?” Gaynor gasped. “Is Kieran really yours?”

“No, give over!” James smiled. “Kieran was born before I ever met Trudy. This boy would be fourteen now.”

“Fourteen! But that would make you barely seventeen when...”

“You know I told you that I ran away from home?”

“After you went nuts, knocked over that little girl and crashed your dad’s car?”

“That’s the one,” James nodded. “I was out of my mind. I had no money, nothing to eat and I was just wandering around the West End of London scared that the cops were gonna nab me and throw me in young offenders.

“It was getting dark and this lady sat down next to me. She looked really beefy, but then she started pulling video games out of her coat and sticking them inside her backpack. Remember the old Sega Megadrive? She must have had thirty Megadrive games tucked inside her coat. I saw what she was doing and I couldn’t help but laugh. After a while we got talking about this and that. I told her that I’d run away from my parents, although I left out the bit about the cops being after me for knocking down a kid. It was December, freezing cold and I clearly had no place to go, so she took pity and invited me home.

“She was in her twenties, a bit overweight - even without all the stuff inside her jumper - but I was kind of in awe. The closest I’d ever been to a girlfriend was a game of chess with Stacey Beech. She told me to take a shower and when I came out she’d found me some clothes: stolen of course.”

“So what was this woman’s name?” Gaynor asked.

“Gwen Choke. She was nice, even though we were as different as could be. Like, my dad’s a doctor, her dad was a bus driver. She made us a nice roast dinner and told me I could stay in the spare room for a couple of nights. But we drank all this wine and started mucking about, chasing around the flat and one thing led to another. I was on cloud nine. I mean, I went from never having kissed a girl to boffing Gwen in the space of about four hours...”

Gaynor looked a touch upset. “You said you got your first girlfriend at university, after you’d been inside.”

“I made a huge mess of my life back then,” James admitted. “This is the first time I’ve ever told anyone the truth about when I ran away. Even my folks don’t know this stuff.”

“So it was just the one night?” Gaynor asked.

“No, I was totally smitten. I mean, she was seven years older than me, but she really pampered me. Stolen food, stolen clothes, stolen booze. Nothing but the best. We had Christmas and New Year with her parents and it was a great time, but a few weeks into the new year she told me she was pregnant.

“I was seventeen and I couldn’t handle it. Gwen said she wanted a baby and understood if I wanted nothing to do with it. At first I said I’d stick by her, but the more I thought about it, the more it freaked me out. I mean, I’d always imagined that I was going to be a doctor like my old man and yet there I was, seventeen years old living in a council flat with my pregnant girlfriend. I told Gwen that I wanted her to get an abortion, but she said she wanted a baby with someone smart like me and she wouldn’t ask me for anything.

“I got really depressed. I knew the cops would catch me eventually and I just waited until she went out, packed up all the stuff she’d bought me and headed back to Cambridge. My mum was glad to see me. She didn’t pry and the next morning my dad took me to the police station to give myself up.”

“So have you ever seen him?” Gaynor asked.

James nodded. “He’s named after me. Gwen sent me pictures and stuff when I was in prison and she brought James up to visit me when he was a few months old. She’d started getting a few other girls to shoplift for her whilst she was pregnant and she was building herself a proper little empire.”

“Didn’t you bother contacting her when you got out of prison?”

“Yeah,” James nodded. “The baby was walking by the time I got out of young offenders. I was flat broke and I’d got my place at university, but I was determined to be a proper dad to the little fellow. But Gwen seemed to like picking up waifs and strays and she had this new bloke called Ron. He was a right horrible sod. The first couple of times I turned up to see James he kept having digs at me. Calling me a snooty so and so.

“Then the third time I came he’d heard something about the car crash. He kept going on about how a bloke like him would have got life for knocking down that little girl and that I’d only got off with three years because of my public school accent. I’d toughened up a hell of a lot when I was inside and I just saw red and decked him. But James was really upset and Gwen was crying and it was just this whole god-awful scene.

“I called up again a few weeks later. Fortunately Ron was out and I managed a chat with Gwen. She said she was pregnant with Ron’s kid. I said maybe it would be better if I steered clear for a while. We spoke on the phone a few more times and she sent me some pictures of James with his new sister. It wasn’t that I didn’t mean to go back, but I got into my degree and I waited longer and longer.”

“So when did you last hear from Gwen?”

“She used to write a letter and send me his school picture every year and I used to jot a few paragraphs in a Christmas card. But she stopped about three years ago for some reason. I wrote a letter to ask if she was OK, but I didn’t get a response. I even tried calling, but the phone was disconnected. I think she’d split up with Ron, so I guess she moved away. Probably remarried or something.”

“There’s a part of you that I won’t ever know,” Gaynor smiled. “So why did you choose to tell me this now?”

“Well, partly it’s the getting married thing. But also I figure that he might go looking for his old man at some point. My parents still live in the same house, so he’d have no problem tracking me if his mum gave him the address.”

“When did you say he was born exactly?”

“October ninety-one,” James said.

“So he’ll be fifteen this year?” Gaynor smiled. “I could just see you trying to squirm your way out of it when this big strapping son turns up on our doorstep!”

“You sound OK about this,” James said uneasily. “I mean, tell me if you’re mad. You’ve got every right to be.”

Gaynor shrugged. “You were so messed up at that time...It’s like, you were this geeky kid who grew up to become a maths professor, but right in the middle there’s two years of absolute craziness. That part of your life is like some whole other person who I’ve never met.”

“I was thinking that I might try to track him down,” James said. “I think a boy should get to meet his dad, even if he ends up thinking that he’s an arsehole.”

“James, he’s almost fifteen. He’s just as likely to plant one on you and tell you to piss off.”

“And maybe that’s what I deserve...”

“And don’t start on this now,” Gaynor said. “I mean, Megan’s still a baby, we’ve got the wedding and the honeymoon to plan. We could probably get by without a teenage boy in our midst over the next few months.”

“Yeah,” James smiled, as he slipped an arm around his girlfriend’s back. “I wasn’t talking about getting in touch right now, but I’d like to meet him, you know? I might try finding out where Gwen Choke moved to and I’ll ask her if it’s OK to write a letter or something.”

#CHERUB #cherub books #Robert Muchamore