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raz-writes-the-thing · 7 months

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Helping Hand

Crowley x GN!Reader

(use of female anatomy and the term 'good girl')

NSFW 18+ ONLY / Requests are: OPEN

Summary: Crowley catches you reading a NSFW novel and gives you a helping hand.

___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___

When Aizraphale had gone away for a few days out to the country on a hunt for some sort of first edition book he was desperate for, you’d not thought much of it. Aziraphale was always darting off here and there for rare books or conferences he thought might be interesting. He was always after the next bit of knowledge, or the next great novel.

He had to go further this time, and had let both you and Crowley know that he was going to be a couple days. The pair had always been respectful towards you, and the three of you were good friends.

You’d offered to look after the Bookshop for him while it was gone. Aziraphale had not wanted to put you out and promised to pick you up something while he was gone if he found something you might like as a thank you. It wasn’t necessary, but appreciated none the less.

And besides, you loved the Bookshop. It was homely and comforting- and the energy the Bookshop seemed to radiate felt, just… so safe. It was hard to express, but the point was: you loved to be at the Bookshop, and there was no way you were going to pass up a chance to be able to stay there for a week or with all those books. So many things to read, and if you didn’t make a start on your to-read list, you were afraid you’d never catch up.

Which is exactly how you found yourself in the position you were in now. Given how prone to distraction Aziraphale was, you’d been able to tell upon receiving the keys and Aziraphale shuffling off in the direction of Crowley and his Bentley who were parked across the street ready to take him to the train station- that Aziraphale had not had a chance to give the shop a once over in quite some time.

You’d started off with a quick vacuum, picking up bits and pieces here and there to move out of the pathway you were cleaning. And, of course- you knocked into a precarious pile of books that went tumbling to the floor. One of which caught you in the calf, causing you to bark out a curse before turning the vacuum off in a huff and picking up the offending book.

“Aziraphale,” you tutted, giving the cover a quick look over before turning it over to read the back. “Wouldn’t have picked you for a purveyor of cliterature.” You chuckle to yourself at the word, having seen it on social media somewhere before and absolutely loving it. Makes you laugh every single time.

You read over the back one more time, brow arching at the interesting themes presented in the book. Even for you, this was… something else.

Purely for curiosity's sake, you opened up the novel to give it a quick little read. Just to see what it was about. It was about twelve pages in before the first smut scene, and you had to wonder to yourself if this was only the first- surely it could only go downhill from here. The entire book couldn’t be this good, could it?

It didn’t take you long to find out. By the third chapter you were biting your lip- cleaning forgotten. Reading about the main protagonist being eaten out by Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome as if Mr. TD&H might die if she didn’t cum right then and there was, well, fucking hot. You’d have to make a point to look up the author later and see if they had any other books. Your question had been about why Aziraphale had this in his shop when it didn’t match with anything of his usual style, but that question was completely forgotten in the haze of cocks and fingering in the page-turner you held in front of you.

“Bit of light reading?” Crowley peers over your shoulder to read a few lines. “Mm- doesn’t seem your style.”

The voice snaps you out of the paragraph where the main character is currently enjoying something rather phallic from behind, and a sucking vibrator on their clit. The book falls from your hands and lands with an incriminating thud onto the floor.

“Oh, fuck- Crowley- uh, what are you doing here?” You exclaim, whirling around and pressing yourself into the bookcase in fright. The Demon in question drags his gaze up from the floor to your reddened cheeks and finally to your eyes. His lips are curled in a knowing smirk, and you clock the way his snake-eyes dilate just a little. “You scared the shit out of me!”

You raise a hand to slap him on the arm. He weathers the hit with a chuckle and a mocking pout. “Aww, darling- weren’t expecting me back so soon, is that it?” You splutter out a series of garbled sounds before he steps right into your space and noses by your ear.

“Imagine my surprise,” he says, voice low and dangerous, “when I come back from dropping our favourite Angel off at the station- to find the smell of sin in the air.” His tongue darts up to lick the shell of your ear, and you let out a real, honest-to-God whimper.

“In the Bookshop, no less,” he continues in a dark whisper. “Such a Heavenly place, I would have thought.” He punctuates the sentence with a bite to your ear lobe and your eyes flutter closed with pleasure.

“Mm- there it is,” he chuckles, pulling away to look over your flushed cheeks and hooded eyes. “Dunno if you knew this, darling- but given that I am, in fact, a Demon. Means I can do things. Great things. Interesting things.” He brushes a warm finger down your cheek to wrap around your throat lightly. You knew, of course that Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t human, but you’d also never pried too far for answers.

“One of the more interesting things,” he continues darkly, fingers pressing just a tiny bit tighter. “Is, well- I can sense sin. Sweet feeling, leaves tingles in the spine. If I’m attuned enough, I can even smell it.”

His fingers suddenly press harder and your head hits the bookshelf softly. You see his nostrils flare and choke out a whimper.

“Mm- I can sense how much you like that, Pet. Can smell it off you. Your sin…” he trails off thoughtfully, letting his fingers soften so you can suck a breath in. “Mm, smells like peaches and cream.”

“Now,” he says, letting go and leaning down to pick up the discarded book. “Tell me now if you don’t want this to go any further.”

You don’t know how to respond, and so therefore give him a soft nod. It’s all you can bear to do right now, though if you knew the plans Crowley had for you, you may have said no. Who were you kidding, you’d never say no to Crowley for anything he desired.

“Mm- good. Here, take this.” Crowley hands you the book and steps back into your personal space, raking a hand up your side and up to pull on your hair softly. “And read it.”

“You want me to… what?” You ask in a whisper.

“Read. It.”

You look between him and the book a couple of times before shaking your head. How embarrassing, you did not want to read the things that were in that book aloud to him. And what for? So he could revel in your embarrassment? Yeah, you didn’t think so.

“No?” He asks, arching a brow. “Oh, but darling, I asked so nicely. I won’t do it again.”

You feel yourself swallow thickly. And by the way his grin widens just a little, you know he notices it too. You pull the book up with one hand and flick open to a random page. Crowley makes a pleased sound. He lets go of your hair and uses one hand to grab your hip and the other plays across your lower tummy under your shirt, brushing the skin with feather light touches. He gives you a look to say ‘well get on with it, then.’

“Uh,” you stutter out as his forefinger trails circles above the waistband of your underwear. “His breath, smelling of mint brushes over her skin-” Crowley’s hand on your hip rolls down to your knee before hiking your leg over his, effectively pinning your legs apart but also pushes you back against the bookcase. Your breath hitches and his fingers stop moving.

“Go on,” he teases, mouthing at the side of your throat.

“And, he, uh, his tongue licks a stripe down her abdomen. With her-” you avert your eyes and Crowley tuts, trailing his fingers closer to your cunt. You try again. “With her tits heaving from heavy breaths, his tongue finds her clit- oh-”

Crowley’s forefinger reaches your own clitoris, and he chuckles mockingly into your throat at the choked off moan that spills from your mouth. He trails soft circles around with his fingers, testing the pleasure receptors and making sure it’s not too much for you. When you sink back against the bookcase, he lets out a disapproving grunt before grinding out an unappeased “that doesn’t sound like reading, Pet.”

You let out a breathy chuckle and Crowley clicks his tongue, rubbing his fingers just a little faster. He moves fast enough to start building you up, your hips bucking off the bookcase and towards him. His knee pressing you into the position he wants you in moves in a little closer, the muscles in your leg burning as it pulls taut over his leg.

“Right- what happens next then?” He asks, two of his fingers sliding down past your clit to rub your folds, collecting the slick he finds there. “Pretty sure you were saying something about clits and tongues?”

“Mm, oh, y-yeah,” you reply, swallowing thickly as those two fingers now rub around your hole teasingly. You can feel yourself squeezing- almost like you were trying to suck his fingers inside yourself. “-F-finds her clit- he licks against her sensitive-mmmh, fuck-”

Crowley’s fingers slam inside without warning, twisting and curling behind your clit just exactly where you needed it. He laughs, and stops moving, waiting for you to continue.

“-b-bundle of nerves. She pulls at his hair, and- oh, ah- he groans in satisfaction,” your head drops back as he starts to fuck his fingers into you in earnest. You whine as he hits a particularly good spot and bites down lightly on the join of your neck and shoulder. “His tongue presses down from her clit to- sh-shit, fuck, Crowley- to her entrance.”

The Demon in question pushes a third finger inside you, adjusting his fingers so that his thumb could bump against your clit with every push inside. Your leg over his begins to jerk with the pleasure- little spasms that you couldn’t control even if you wanted to. Your fingers were going white with your grip on the novel.

His fingers spread out and he rubs them against your inner walls, panting in your ear about how fucking tight and wet you were. Your spare hand wrapped around his neck to hold on for balance, and the Demon had the nerve to mock you for it.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Pet? Feels too good, huh? Gonna fall over if you don’t hold on?” To drive the point home he pistons his fingers in and out mercilessly, delighting in the shriek of pleasure that tears out of you. “Mm, that’s better, darling. Don’t hold back for me.”

You let the noises out easier after that, book almost forgotten in your grip. You’re sure there must be fingerprints imprinted into the cover after this. You felt bad about it, sure- but you could always just buy Aziraphale another copy later. Crowley lets you enjoy yourself for another minute or two, working you up closer to the edge, thumb rubbing against your clit just enough to send jolts of pleasure up your spine.

And just as you start to reach that peak, he slows down. You crack your eyes open- not even having realised they’d closed, and groan in frustration. He grins that charming, evil smile at you, and flicks his gaze towards the novel. “Didn’t tell you to stop reading, did I?”

“N-no, fuck- you will be the death of me,” you grind out, wiggling your hips on his fingers in the hopes it might spur him back into action. You look over to the novel, picking a sentence and continuing on. “With his t-tongue exploring her hole, she kn-knew she wouldn’t last long.”

Crowley let out a thoughtful sound, changing the pace and position again to rub against your g-spot. “Greedy thing,” he laughs out quietly, pressing his hips closer against yours so you could feel his dick against you. You widened the gap between your legs as much as you could given the fact that one was already spread out and over his taut leg. “Mm- good girl,” he growls.

“He knew s-she was close, and- oh, fuck, Crowley, I’m-” the demon grunted in acknowledgement, speeding up. “F-fuck- brought his fingers up to rub ah-against her- ngh- clit.”

You were so close and determined to see this through. You knew if you stopped reading, he would move the finish line for you, and so despite the fact you were moments from cumming, you found the focus to continue with the novel.

“W-with a cry, sh-she, oh-hoh, fuck- Crowley- she exploded around-d him,” a high pitched whine broke free of you, and he chuckled. “H-her pleas-ure rocked thr-through her in waves, but h-he did not let up,” you read between gasps of breath.

“Un-until she pushed h-him away, sat-isfied and sated-d- oh, oh fuck me, Crowley, I’m gonna-”

“Fuck, that’s it, Pet. Cum for me,” Crowley growls darkly, eyes boring heated holes through your skin, cock grinding up against your thigh- wherever he can get any friction.

He doesn’t even get through the sentence before you’re over that finishing line, book dropping to the floor so you can hold onto his shoulder for purchase. Your head slams back against the bookcase, sending a few novels tumbling down to the floor to join the first. Your leg spasms and dark moans and sharp gasps fill the Bookshop.

Crowley fucks you through it, fingers never ceasing until you- like the character the book, are trying desperately to get him to slow down, the overstimulation making you whimper and moan.

The Demon laughs, and gives your cunt a little slap before pulling his hand out and bringing them up to the light coming in through the window. His eyes flit over the slick he sees there, admiring how wet you were for him. When he’s done, he sucks them clean, forked tongue coming out to play.

He doesn’t fail to notice the way your gaze heats at the sight. He might have to store that one away for another time, he rather thinks.

Slowly, he lets your leg down- immediately filling the space with his hips rubbing into your own. You whine at the burn in your muscles and he laughs mockingly. Crowley grinds once, twice more before he’s groaning into your shoulder and cumming ribbons in his pants.

His mouth drops open, and he rubs himself up against you to ride out the high. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and you playfully tug at his hair, grinning at the way he lets out an honest-to-God moan. You think you might lock that away for future use.

Once he’s come down, he pulls a miracle up from below, cleaning himself up. He noses at your neck and pulls you in close.

“I think,” he says quietly, “we ought to make use of the spare room and take a quick nap, what do you say?”

You smile and press a kiss to his jaw, nodding in agreement. He humms contentedly and steps away from you to allow you to lead the way. You pick up the couple of novels that had fallen to the floor and put them away before taking him to the spare bedroom, the both of you collapsing down into the bed.

It doesn’t take long before Crowley is snoring softly, and you take the chance to snuggle up to him, watching the dust in the sunrays in the window.

Your pussy clenches as you think over the events of the last half hour, and you find yourself daydreaming about all the other ways you want Crowley to fuck you.

Next time, maybe you’d have to have him up against the bookcases and mewling under your touch.

Yeah, you rather liked the sound of that.

#good omens #gomens #crowley #crowley x reader #crowley good omens #one shot #aziraphale #smut #lemon #anthony j crowley #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #crowley x reader smut #crowley smut #david tennant #gender neutral reader #aziraphale brough you back an antique coin set btw

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septembercfawkes · 9 months

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Directionality in Fiction: Why You Need it & How to Create it

Every successful story has a sense of direction. The audience wants, and even needs, an idea of where the story is going. If the audience literally has no idea what could happen next, then that often means what happens next doesn't really hold any value one way or another. It's like Willy Wonka's river ride into darkness--confusing, awkward, and a little bizarre. It's hard to trust Willy Wonka to get you anywhere. Writers should avoid being like Willy Wonka, for several reasons.

Wait! you may be thinking. Don't we want our stories to be unpredictable? Isn't not knowing where the story is going more exciting?

Many beginning writers make this mistake (including yours truly back in the day). They think having no clue where the story is going makes it more of a page-turner. They may recall audience members happily describing a story, saying, "I had no clue where it was going!" or "I had no idea what was going to happen next!"

These are just expressions of emotion. In reality, for the audience to even have those emotions, they usually must have a sense of direction first.

It's a similar concept to being vague versus being ambiguous. Vagueness happens when you don't have enough context to tell what something is, if anything. Ambiguity happens when there is enough context to interpret something in two or more ways, and you aren't sure which it is. When audiences say, "I had no clue where it was going," often what they really mean is, "I didn't know which of the critical directions it would go."

A story that has no sense of direction is almost never as effective as one that does. Without a sense of direction, the audience can't measure what is progress or what is a setback. They can't get invested, because they can't anticipate anything. They can't feel tension or suspense or even surprise, because they can't hope or fear for what could happen, and don't have expectations for what is going to happen.

Instead of Willy Wonka's tunnel of terror, imagine taking a hike toward a beautiful waterfall (it can still be made of chocolate if you want). A twisted ankle, closed trail, or nearby predator is a bigger setback than if we had nowhere we were trying to go. A shortcut is a bigger leap in progress if we are trying to reach a specific destination. And discovering we're actually on a trail that leads to an active volcano is a bigger surprise.

There are two critical plot elements that will automatically inject directionality into your story. Then, there are a lot of alternative methods you can use to reinforce it, or that you can rely on when performing a rule break (more on that in a bit). First, let's go over the two major ones:

1. Goals

A character's goal immediately gives the audience a sense of direction. This is because goals are about an outcome. They instantly convey what the character wants to happen, or doesn't want to happen. In order to be effective, though, they have to be achievable and relevant. Who cares if your character wants to do magic, if magic is literally impossible in your setting? That's not a real goal--it's a wish.

There are three basic types of goals: obtain, avoid, or maintain.

Convey a clear, relevant, and achievable goal early, and your audience will not only have a strong sense of direction, but they'll be more invested--because they'll want to see if the character gets the goal.

Then, if you add how the character plans to get the goal, you'll reinforce the goal and sense of direction even more.

2. Stakes

Many like to define stakes as what is at risk in the story. I feel like it's more effective and more accurate to define them as potential consequences. It's what could happen if a condition is met. If Voldemort gets the Sorcerer's Stone, then he can return to power. If Frodo destroys the Ring, then he saves Middle-earth. If Katniss cuts down the tracker jacker hive, then she can get away from the Careers.

As you may have noticed, stakes are often tied to goals. They are often the potential consequences of meeting or not meeting a goal.

Stakes are about conveying to the audience what could happen. This gives what does happen, meaning.

Stakes also innately convey a pathway, a direction. If X happens, we'll go down path A. If Y happens, we'll go down path B.

I've never seen a story with too many stakes. I've seen lots of stories that don't have enough stakes. Walk the stakes out to create strong directionality.

And don't assume your audience will simply imagine the stakes on their own. Almost always, they want the story to tell them (explicitly or implicitly) the stakes. Almost always, the story is better when we clearly communicate the stakes. Avoid being vague. Help the audience imagine which important pathways the story could take.

These are the two most important, and most effective, ways to create directionality--they accomplish multiple major things at once.

However, this doesn't mean they are the only ways to create directionality.

And while they are almost always critical to a solid plot, that doesn't mean you can't ever break the rules and have them be absent on occasion.

If they are absent though, that usually means something else needs to be used to create directionality in their place (unless, of course, you are working with a teaser--but even they can arguably have a sense of direction). So how do stories without legit goals or stakes still work? Well, they probably incorporate at least one of the following things--which you can also use to reinforce directionality when you already have goals and stakes in play.

3. Dramatic Irony

Dramatic irony happens when the audience knows something the character doesn't. Often this is a critical piece of information, and frequently (though not always) it is implied that the character will learn the same thing at a later point in the story. In a horror, we watch the villain enter a dark room, and later see the heroine, oblivious, go in that same room. It's likely only a matter of time before the heroine realizes the villain is in there, and the audience anticipates that encounter. This creates directionality.

Even if the character never learns the critical information (such as the fact that Juliet isn't actually dead in Romeo and Juliet), the audience still anticipates how the character will interpret or react to what they do encounter (a Juliet who seems to be dead).

4. Convergence of Plotlines

In a story that contains multiple viewpoint characters, each with plotlines, it's often implied or assumed that these plotlines and characters will converge. We may start a story with a rich man eating a feast for breakfast, then taking his recent earnings to the bank. And after, we may cut to a scene where a poor, starving woman is begging, perhaps a block away from the same bank. The audience anticipates that these two characters will cross paths.

Sometimes the two viewpoints or plotlines don't seem to have anything in common, but the audience expects they will relate to each other on some level--they are in the same book after all.

Promise your audience a collision of plotlines, and you'll promise them a sense of direction.

5. Countdowns

A countdown automatically implies direction--whether or not the audience knows the consequences tied to it. We show a clock counting down, and we wonder if a bomb will go off or if another catastrophe will hit once it reaches zero. Or, it could be a countdown to a celebration, like the New Year.

Countdowns on a timer are obvious, but there are other types of countdowns too. A simple calendar can work as a countdown. In Christmas Vacation, an advent calendar is used to count down the days until Christmas. Each Harry Potter volume fulfills one school year, each chapter brings us closer to the year's end. So even when there isn't a dire goal in play, there is always directionality.

A deadline works in similar ways.

There can be a countdown when using up resources: Fuel is running out. Oxygen is limited. There is only one loaf of bread left to eat.

Illnesses and maladies can work as countdowns. There may be a countdown to when cancer wins, or when a spell leaves its target as an unseemly beast, permanently.

Countdowns always imply direction.

Knowing the potential consequences--the stakes--creates more tension and suspense, not knowing them creates intrigue.

6. Geographical Destinations

A destination naturally implies direction. In The Emperor's New Groove, Kuzco needs to make it back to his palace. Every step closer is progress, and every obstacle that blocks or pulls him off course is a setback.

But destinations can still work even when there isn't one specific destination yet established. Whenever you open a book that starts with a map, it implies a sense of geographical direction. You may not know exactly which place is the desired destination, but the map promises that the characters will be venturing to different places.

7. Passive Mysteries

Passive mysteries work by withholding context from the audience. Stuff is happening, but the audience doesn't really know what it means (think: vagueness). Because of the lack of information, no one is really doing anything to solve the mystery--there aren't any "leads." (In contrast, in an active mystery, the character has the goal to solve the mystery and has leads to follow.)

Teasers often work as passive mysteries (which is why I said sometimes even they have a sense of direction). The audience is promised that if they stick around, they will get the context they need, to understand what is going on. The audience is promised a direction.

Passive mysteries often can't hold an audience for very long, strictly because they work off vagueness. You need other elements in play to get readers to stick around.

Nonetheless, the promise of context does give readers somesense of direction.

Active mysteries create directionality too, but in the same way that goals do. In an active mystery, the goal is to try to solve the mystery, so the audience is promised a direction with that.

Directionality is important in every story, and not only is it important in the whole narrative arc, but it is important within acts, sequences, and scenes, too. Nearly every scene should have directionality, which should be established early on.

Once the audience has directionality, you can make the story more exciting and dramatic (and even "unpredictable"). They think things are going X direction, but something comes along that threatens that direction or even throws the characters off course and onto a new pathway, a new direction. Just like our (chocolate) waterfall hike. In any case, there should almost always be a sense of direction.

#writing tips and tricks #writing tips #writing help #writeblr #writing advice #writing reference #writing tip #writer #writing #fanfic

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corvigae · 2 months

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Did some practice doodles trying to figure out my Durge Page's stupid little bard outfit. Anyone got any opinions/feedback?

#there will be more detail in like her corset and such these are just rough outlines #she's actually sooo cute i can't get over it #i also love how her mismatched eyes (bc volobotomy) are almost always covered by her hair. gives her an air of mystery #my art #my ocs #oc stuff #page turner #robin plays bg3 #she's a college of swords pact of the blade bardlock #and her melee fighting is decent enough that i actually forget to use her spells a majority of the time #which imo tracks for a durge - OFC she's good with a weapon #she's dexterous and charming and a lil bit stupid

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cameronspecial · 7 months

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The Other Drew

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Getting Hit By Car, Amnesia, Almost Drowning

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.6K

Summary: Drew's crush on Y/N gets him hit by a car and causes him to lose his memories. She doesn't have the heart to tell him the truth.

A/N: This is inspired by The Other Zoey trailer drop.

Masterlist

The invisible waves from the sun steam off the pavement. She readjusts her claw clip in her hair to keep the hair off of her neck. She looks up from her textbook occasionally to watch people walk past her. The sudden sound of a ball hitting the ground and yelling coming from behind her attacks all of her senses. She is about to turn around to ask if they could shout any louder, but a sharp pain to the back of her head stops her. “Sorry, that was my fault,” a voice calls out. Y/N turns to see the voice belongs to Drew Starkey. She gives a roll of her eyes, “Well, next time, keep your balls to yourself.” He approaches closer to her and she is surprised to be overcome by the fresh and clean scent of the man, considering the sweaty dripping off of him. He lets out a deep chuckle and smirk forms on his face as he bends down to pick up the basketball.

“Darling, I am more than capable of controlling my balls,” he teases, finding the scowl on her face adorable. Y/N shakes her head, “That doesn’t even make any sense.” “I think you know what I mean, Darling.” Drew brings the bottom of his shirt to wipe off the sweat on his forehead, which Y/N is a hundred percent sure he does to show off his defined abs underneath. She has enough of his cocky attitude and picks up her bag to leave. He doesn’t want her to leave, so he hesitantly reaches out to stop her. The pressure of his fingers on her bicep causes her to glare at him, yanking her arm away. Her defiance to his charm is rare to him and he likes that she doesn’t just bite down her remarks for the sake of him liking her. He watches as she walks away and the scent of her lavender perfume fades away. Drew wishes she would stay to tell him her name.

——

Drew wouldn’t say that he stalked her, but he did ask around about her. Y/N Y/L/N is a psychology major in her junior year. She doesn’t have much of a social presence on campus, yet it is known that she hangs out with Addy Morrison, who Drew has spoken to at a few parties. He is close to a friend of Addy and he told him that Addy frequents Page Turner, a bookstore just outside of the campus. The reason for her habitual visits, Y/N works at the store.

He wipes his palms on his pants before opening the door to the shop. A little girl and her mother are on the other side and he lets them walk out then enters. His gaze darts to the counter with the cash register; disappointment flashes through his face when he sees that she isn’t at the counter. He has been in the store a couple of times before and while he does enjoy the dusty smell of books, he hasn’t been able to find what he has been coming to the store for. The unoccupied register does give him hope that she might be working today because no other employee seems to be working at the store. He browses the books until he hears the creak of a hinge opening from the back of the store. He waits for a second to check over his shoulder at the door, but the smell of lavender filling the room tells him who it is. He hides his smirk and waits for the patter of her footsteps to stop.

“Does this place sell phone chargers?” he asks, walking toward her. He waves his dead phone, which is really just turned off, in the air before placing it on the counter. She gives him a raised eyebrow and an annoyed look. “This is a bookstore, not Apple,” she mocks. He laughs at her remark, “Does your boss know that you are always so rude to the customers, Darling?” “You know you should try reading more. You might be one of the 36 million Americans, who can’t read over a third-grade level,” she quips, ignoring his previous comment. He grins at her, “Interesting. Could you get me a statistic book on that?” Surprise flashes on her face. “Really?” she inquires, turning towards the computer. He amusedly shakes his head, “Nah.” She gives him a crossed look, “You know people don’t like sarcastic people.” “They also don’t like know-it-alls either, Darling,” he fires back, turning towards the door and exiting.

Y/N glances down at the counter to find his phone still there. She does not want to give it back to him but fights against her better judgment. She runs out after him, calling his name. He stops in the middle of the street and turns toward her. She goes to give him his phone when the blaring of a horn fills the air. The car slows down, but not fast enough. Drew is knocked off his feet and his head slams against the ground. Y/N lets out a small scream, running to check on him.

“Are you fucking crazy? Watch where you are going. That was a crosswalk, Jackass,” she screams at the driver, who came out of the car to check on the person he hit. When Drew comes to, all he sees is the ray of sunshine standing above him. Her hands are waving around in the air as she screams at someone in front of her. He doesn’t know who she is, but he feels an overwhelming feeling of affection for her. She must be his girlfriend with the way she is defending him. Once she gets the driver’s information for the insurance, she helps Drew up from the ground. “Darling, what happened?” He questions, letting her guide him to her car. She sends a quick text to the owner explaining what happened and that she locked up, “You got hit by a car. I’m going to get you to the hospital.” She settles into the car and helps him buckle his seat belt. “Oh, that’s good. Hospital good. You are such a good girlfriend,” he babbles. She ignores his statement about being his girlfriend, hoping she just misheard him.

——

“The doctor said he has a concussion, so wake him up every so often to make sure he’s fine. If he pukes, take him to the hospital just in case,” she informs Austin, one of Drew’s frat brothers. He nods his head and helps guide Drew to their couch, “Got it. So you’re Y/N?” She gives him a puzzled look. She’s never talked to him and she sure as hell never told Drew her name. “Uh, yeah,” she awkwardly responds. “Austin, you should know her. She’s my girlfriend,” Drew scolds, looking at her with loving eyes. Austin gives her a confused look. “He also has amnesia. He thinks I’m his girlfriend,” she whispers the last part. “I don’t exactly have the heart to tell him otherwise, so I’ll just wait until he remembers.” Austin’s mouth opens in understanding.

She hands Austin a post-it note with her number, “Give him my number when he is feeling a little better. I have the driver’s info so he can file an insurance claim. I’ll also ask the owners of the store around where he got hit for surveillance footage.” Austin takes the number into his hand. “Got it. Thanks for taking care of him,” Austin thanks, leading her out of the door.

——

Got the insurance claim :). He texts her, sitting back on the couch. He sees the bubbles pop up and a smile spreads across his face. That’s good. He hasn’t gotten to see her since the accident. Every time he tries to take her on a date, she says she is either busy with work or school. God, his girlfriend is so hardworking. It’s cute. He remembers he is supposed to go back home this weekend and decides that this is a good time for her to meet his family. Darling, I’m gonna go to my mom’s place this weekend. Wanna come?

Y/N stares at the phone with a grimace. She wants to tell him no and she also knows she has to tell him in person that she isn’t his girlfriend, which she could do after dinner. Okay, I’ll go.

——

The car ride is quiet with Drew trying to make conversation with her. She keeps shutting him down. She parks the car on the street and he gets out of the car, going around to open her door before she can do anything else. “Thanks,” she mutters, feeling guilty, she takes the arm he offers for her to grab. The door opens before they can get to it and out comes a beautiful blonde. “Drew, are you feeling better? How’s your head?” she worries, checking over his head before going to give him a hug. He shakes his head with a smile, “I’m fine, Mack. My girlfriend was there to take care of me.” Mackayla, who Y/N knows is his sister because he gave her a breakdown of his family, does a double take upon seeing her. “So you weren’t joking about that. You actually have a girlfriend,” she states, holding her hand out for Y/N to take. Drew gives Mack a funny look, “Of course, I wasn’t joking. What are you on about?” Y/N squeezes his arm in reassurance, “Drew, it’s fine. Let’s just go in.”

Inside, they find Drew’s other sister, his brother and mom in the kitchen. “Hey guys, I want you to meet Y/N, my girlfriend,” Drew introduces, using his hand on her lower back to nudge her toward the kitchen island. She awkwardly waves to his family. “Wow, he wasn’t joking,” Brooke says. Drew and Y/N watch as she hands Logan some money. Drew’s face turns to shock, “You guys bet on my girlfriend being real or not?” “I thought it was easy money. Drew, you’ve never talked about her before,” Brooke defends. Y/N notices Drew’s pouty face and feels bad for him, “Yeah, it’s because the relationship is relatively new. Your brother is a great guy though.” Jodi rounds the counter to give Y/N a hug. “Don’t listen to my children. He talks about you all the time since he got his concussion. Maybe, it knocked him to be more confident in your relationship,” she promises, taking a step back to admire her son’s girlfriend.

——

“So you’re studying psychology, Y/N,” Jodi states with interest. Y/N looks up from playing with her food, “Yes, ever since I was younger trying to figure out the reasoning for our behaviour fascinated me. My parents like to joke that I was the little therapist of my preschool class, always trying to solve everyone's problems.” “That’s pretty funny,” Logan notes. Drew gives her a massive grin and throws his arm over the back of her chair, “See, my girl is so smart.” His pride feels so genuine and he gives her a kiss on her cheek.

“Y/N,” Brooke calls out to capture her attention. “We are going to the beach house during Drew’s reading week. Do you want to come? We would all love to get to know you better.” She should’ve said no. There was no reason why she should say yes because she was supposed to tell Drew the truth. But then she remembers saying she would let Drew figure it out on his own time so she doesn’t break his heart. Plus, who doesn’t want a free trip to the beach house? He turns towards her with wide puppy dog eyes and she knows her only answer could be: “Yes.”

——

Y/N is meant to meet Drew at his house so they can drive up to his mom’s house together and then with his family to the beach property. “Drew is out getting some things for the trip. He said you can wait in his room,” Chase tells her, leading her to Drew’s room. She thanks him and enters the room. The amount of books in his room truly shocks Y/N. His shelves are filled with classics and profound books that even she doesn’t have the patience to read. She spots his schedule printed on a paper above his desk. This is another source of shock as she notices both classes for the stage and screen program as well as the English program. If Drew is in the stage and screen program, then why does he have so many English classes?

“Have fun snooping?” Drew pulls her out of her exploration. She turns towards him with embarrassment on her face, “Uh, yeah. Why do you have so many English classes?”

“Right, most people don’t know that I’m doing a double major. Stage and Screen, and English. I like to read.”

“And yet you went into a bookstore looking for a charger. What’s your favourite book?”

“Well, I had to charge my phone if I was going to take pictures that try to capture your beauty. And East of Eden is my favourite book. I like how it explores the mystery of identity. How it shows the inability to explain love. And how it demonstrates that the absence of love can lead to murderous outcomes.”

“Wow, spoken like a true English major.”

They both laugh at her joke and smile at each other. Y/N, stereotypically, never thought that there was more to Drew than his fratboy, actor persona and she is happily being proven wrong right now. He changes the subject, placing something in his suitcase before closing it up, “Are you ready to go?” “Yep, my suitcase is downstairs already,” she nods. “Great! Let’s go.” They pack their bags into his car and start the drive to his mom’s house.

——

The drive to the beach is filled with laughter and car games. Y/N really does enjoy being in his family’s company. After the car ride, everyone wants to just relax for a little bit, so they retreat to their own rooms. She is sharing a room with Drew. After unpacking their stuff, he settles at his desk with his laptop. She can see he is reading something but doesn’t know what. Instead, she concerns herself with trying to finish up her work so she can have the rest of the week free.

“What are your thoughts on cognitive dissonance?” he turns towards her with an inquisitive look. She looks up at him in surprise that he is asking her a psychological question, “I think that I have major cognitive dissonance when it comes to eating healthy.”

“Well, you know one way you could ease some of your discomfort from it is either by changing your attitude, so maybe just stop thinking that you need to eat healthy. Or you can change your behaviour by eating healthy. Or you can think of a new cognition about not eating healthy by saying that your busy schedule sometimes doesn’t allow you to eat healthy.”

“All that is very true. Are you planning on adding another major to the list? Why do you sound like my introduction to psych textbook from first year?”

“No, no thoughts on a new major. I just thought it would be nice to have something to talk to each other about and you like psychology.”

“That’s sweet. We can talk about books too, you know.”

“We could, but I have a feeling the books I like to read aren’t the kinds you like. The book I ordered still has come in yet, so we’ll have to wait to be able to talk about those.”

“What book did you order?”

“The Library of Lost Things. I saw it on your dashboard the day you drove me to the hospital.”

“You ordered a book just because I’m reading it.”

“Of course. I want to know what you like, Darling.”

Butterflies erupt through her stomach at his charming gesture. “Do you mind if I play some music? It helps me think,” she asks. He nods as he hands her his Bluetooth speaker. Her music plays as she works and Drew can’t help but dance to the song. He stands up from his chair. His hips move from side to side and his finger gun hands move in a circular motion like a train. She giggles at his dancing. He holds out his hand for to get up from his bed and dance with her. She moves her hips to the beat of the music, twirling in his hands. Feeling a little silly, she does the shopping cart move, which he mimics. The upbeat music stops and a Lewis Capaldi song starts to play. Drew quickly places his hands around her waist, bringing her in for a slow dance.

Her head rests on his chest and they sway to the beat of the music. This peaceful moment is one she never thought she’d have with him.

——

“Come on, just try. I promise to be beside you the whole time,” Drew begs, holding onto her bicep. She turns her head away from him, “Are you crazy? I am not getting on that surfboard.” “Nothing will happen to you. I’ll protect you,” he breaths out close to her ear, causing some heat to build in the pit of her stomach. She looks out to the ocean where others are surfing and they look like they are having fun. She guesses she can give it a try. “Fine, but you can’t leave my side,” she threatens, walking towards the water with the expectation that he will follow. “Deal.” He picks up his surfboard and jogs after her.

When they get deep enough into the water, he helps onto the board. “Okay, for now, you’ll just do some paddling to get used to the feeling. Then hopefully, as the week goes by, you can work your way up to actually standing up on the board,” he advises, helping her lie down on the board. She gets the hang of it; however, a sudden wave catches them both off guard. Y/N gets thrown off of the board and into the water. She isn’t expecting this action, which causes her to panic. She can’t tell up from down and she doesn’t have enough air in her lungs for her to feel comfortable. A pair of arms wrap around her waist, which helps her to the surface. Her panic starts to die down with the relief of air entering her lungs.

Her gasps worry Drew and he rubs her back reassuringly. “It’s okay. I got you, Darling. I got you,” he whispers, kissing her temple. She nuzzles her head into his neck and feels the comfort of his embrace.

——

Their day ends for them in a domestic way. They both lie on his bed, reading their perspective books. The silence isn’t filled with dread or awkwardness; instead, comfort haunts the room. She feels his eyes looking at her book over her shoulder and gives him her attention. “Can I help you?” she inquires with raised eyebrows. His head moves from side to side, “Not really, just interested in what you are reading. Maybe, I could read it to you?” She sighs, handing over the book she is reading. He scoots over closer to her and wraps his arm around her. She leans into his touch. Her eyes start to droop as he reads to her; she can’t stop herself from falling asleep.

——

The sound of the birds chirping wakes one of the sleeping pair up from his slumber. He didn’t realize they had fallen asleep cuddled next to each other. She is still asleep, so he checks his phone to see Austin tried to call him. As quietly as possible, he tries to move out from under her. Y/N is still in deep sleep, so he takes the call out on the balcony. “Yo, what’s up?” he greets into the phone. Austin’s voice fills the air, “How is the planning going?”

“It’s going pretty well. I feel like she is slowly falling for me.”

“I still can’t believe you haven’t told her that you remember the truth. It’s pretty messed up.”

“I know, but I couldn’t tell her. She would never give me a chance if she knew the truth.”

“You’ve been lying to me?” A voice from behind him stops their conversation in its tracks. Drew turns towards a now awake Y/N and hangs up on Austin. He takes a few steps towards her, “Y/N, let me explain. Please.” She doesn’t let him as she runs out of the door.

——

He finds her sitting on the beach, looking out to the ocean. “Why did you lie to me?” she asks, not looking over her shoulder. He comes to sit beside her. “I mean, technically, you lied to me too,” her glare causes him to change courses. “This might sound a little creepy, but I had a crush on you and I knew you wouldn’t give me a chance at all. I really did think you were my girlfriend after the accident, but after a few days, I started to remember and Austin told me the truth.”

“Okay. Keep going.”

“He told me and I thought that if you didn’t want to break my heart with the truth, then I might as well see if I could make it work in my favour. You got to admit, you were starting to like me.”

“That is not true at all.”

He looks her in her eyes and leans forward. Their lips are practically touching; no one moves. “If that’s not true, then why aren’t you moving?” he whispers. She is at a loss for words so he brings his lips to hers and then pulls apart. “Please, just give me a chance.” The hope in his eyes tells her that his feelings are authentic. She also lied to him by not telling him the truth right away, so what does she have to lose? “Okay.”

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x female reader #the other zoey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fic #drew starkey one shot

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sleepynegress · 6 days

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About Online Threats Abuse & Misogynoir Towards Black Women in the Entertainment Industry...

Susan Wokoma appeared on the Woman's Hour on BBC Radio recently and she bravely spoke out on the letter of support she and Somalia Seton put together to support Francesca Amewudah-Rivers, as well as speaking candidly on the effects the online abuse that Black women face have...

I IMPLORE people in these fandoms, especially where harassment of Black women happens to listen to this podcast to understand what it does. Listen below:

There is a very white tendency to either make the focus their own sympathetic reaction to a Black woman entertainer being bullied/harassed like this (crying or feeling bad for it happening to them) or minimize what's happening. "It's only one or two" or "They'll probably never see it." And I get the tendency to want to either distance or somehow equalize it to the harassment white women face, as well...but there is a particular nastiness that comes with misogynoir that gets at literally wanting to dehumanize and punish a Black woman for existing. The intention is to destroy them completely, rather than put in place. Anyway, I encourage anyone who cares about Black women in fandom to give the segment interviewing Susan Wokoma, a listen.

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toaster-trash · 2 months

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Me when so many people think Les Misérables is just a dense pretentious brick but it’s actually genuinely the most top tier action/comedy/romance/historical fiction/thriller/mystery/horror/satire ever written full of the silliest most in-depth interesting varied characters ever written and the funniest jokes I’ve ever read and the most profound shit ever written that I think about daily:

I HAVE GIGGLED SO MANY TIMES AT THAT BOOK. OUT OF ALL THE CLASSICS I’VE READ AND REALLY LOVED, ITS THE ONLY ONE THATS BEEN A GENUINE PAGE TURNER FOR ME AND EVERYONE I KNOW THINKS ITS THE MOST PRETENTIOUS ONE AND THINK I’M READING IT JUST TO LOOK ‘SMART’. 😭 YOU DONT HAVE TO TORTURE YOURSELF WITH SUPER COMPLICATED TRANSLATIONS!! ITS OKAY!! YOU CAN READ A SMOOTHER TRANSLATION WITHOUT LOOSING ANYTHING in fact you’ll almost 100% get more out of it, I highly recommend the Julie Rose translation 🙏

Anyway Les Mis fans stop giving every last acre and drop of content to Les Amis THEY’RE FINE. THEY’RE OK. I LIKE THEM WELL ENOUGH. But WHERE is my babygirl Jean Valjean WHERE IS HE. ALSO STOP DRAWING AND PORTRAYING COSETTE AS A SUPER STEREOTYPICAL BLONDE LOVE INTEREST SHE’S WEIRD AND INTERESTING AND HAS A PERSONALITY OF HER OWN AND DRESSES IN ALL BLACK AND SHE’S NOT EVEN BLONDE 😭

#Les Misérables #les miserables #Les mis #cosette fauchelevent #jean valjean #Victor Hugo

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stylespresleyhearted · 1 month

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POV: YOU’RE DATING CALLUM TURNER

pt. ✌🏻

liked by fan23, user12, and 1923 others

cturnerupdates Cal & Y/N spotted at a cafe in Paris today - March 23, 2024

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fan12 I SHIP IT BUT IM JEALOUS

y/nfan two lovers in the city of love 🥹 fitting ♥️

user23 I’m calling it now these two are gonna be it for each other. They’re end game.

yourinstagram that’s the goal🥹

liked by yourinstagram, austinbutler and 15,713 others

keoghan92 Context: Cal taking his bird away because we were apparently “pissed ” 🙄

Photo credit - me 🫡

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anthonyboyle baftas are always a fun night eh?

yourinstagram he saved your ass, i had you!!!

keoghan92 love I’ll out drink you any day

yourinstagram tbh we weren’t even that drunk

rafflaw you were crying cus you “lost” your boyfriend but he was holding your hand the entire time and barry thought the stalls were narnia entry

keoghan92 that’s a solid night mate

fan23 damn y/n looks good

yourinstagram tits out & every thang 🤗

keoghan92 Oi her heads big enough

liked by enews, yourfriendsig, and 5,391 others

yourinstagram trying to enjoy my lunch but this weird (cute) guy won’t stop bothering me (i love him)

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user12 i need to know what its like to be her

fan23 callum is so down bad for her #relatable

fan21 what did she cover up 👀

yourinstagram lol just cal being cheeky

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yourinstagram hi handsome ♥️

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fan23 THE WAY HE’S LOOKING AT HER 🙌🏼😭😭

user68 i wonder if he’s aware how many photos she takes of him and she posts them all its weird

yourfriendsig lmao trust he’s aware & he’s obsessed when it comes to y/n

fan21 ppl see shit on the internet & think they know everything ugh 😑

yourinstagram guys let’s all be nice and enjoy looking at my beautiful boyfriend! 😍

liked by yourinstagram and 38175 others

jimmyfallonshow Tune in tonight 10/11 CT to witness Callum Turner swoon over ‘amazing’ girlfriend 💕 ….

When asked if he’s aware how iconic she’s become on social media he said he’s well aware and he isn’t at all surprised before divulging to Jimmy “she’s the one.” 💍 👀

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user23 After watching the interview I’m 100% convinced he’s the golden retriever and she’s the black cat. Y/N loves him but gosh … the way he was talking about her and looking at her?

fan13 IMA CRY ITS NOT LETTING ME WATCH SOMEONE SHARE

y/nupdates It starts with Callum sharing a joke and Jimmy didn’t laugh but Y/N did from the crowd 😂 Callum recognized her laugh and said “thanks baby” and then that’s when Jimmy asked about her IG fame. Callum said “she’s the one man - we aren’t worried about that.” When Jimmy asked how they deal with the attention.

user12 starting to wonder if they’re secretly married/engaged

fan31 Nah and I think it’s beautiful even though they’re aware they are it for each other she’s willing to wait and support him as he enters a new kind of fame

liked by user23, fan12, and 71942 others

yourinstagram Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry. Daddy - 🥵

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callumfan Y/N PLSSSSSS I CANNNOOOTTT

user41 girllll yes !!!!

fan53 can i please be you???

user91 ur man is so daddy he’s fire

user33 Y/N and Callum daddy kink confirmed

keoghan92 That’s what we called him on set

yourinstagram back off my man barry

rafflaw … we really did though

liked by austinbutler, yourinstagram, and 58194 others

drewbarrymoreshow Hilarious, gorgeous, and kind — yes these guys, but I was referring to the star of tonight’s show Callum Turner’s girlfriend. Her Instagram page is one of my favorite’s, tune in to watch me fan girl over three stars tonight.

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yourinstagram unreal !! i adore you !!❤️❤️

drewbarrymoreshow Text me for our date night 🤗

fan23 everyone loves y/n it’s beautiful to see someone being praised when they’re authentically themselves

user12 shoulda interviewed her too

drewbarrymooreshow 🌚

liked by austinbutler, camilamorrone, and 43817 others

yourinstagram Y/N by me (Cal) 💍♥️😍

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fan31 HIS EMOJI USE?!?? rip me

user12 im gonna cry she’s so smol he’s so tol

fan23 Cal make your own page!!! We know it’ll just be Y/N and we’re okay with it!!! It’s what we want tbh !!!

keoghan92 “why the fuck are you taking a photo” is what she was mid saying

user25 omg he probably crushes her she’s tiny it’s great

liked by zendaya, austinbutler, and 65189 others

yourinstagram 🥹

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fan23 ugh the height difference kills me

user12 they’re so in love it makes me happy

fan33 I believe in love because of them tbh

fan67 idk how he hasn’t popped the question yet

liked by fan21, user33, and 19278 others

cturnerupdates Callum spotted with Y/N and his mother in London back in Feb for his birthday. The group had a picnic at the park and Callum’s mother even braided her hair — Feb 19, 2024

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user13 ohhhh he’s gonna be a girl dad fs

fan54 she’s got the momma’s stamp approval it’s gonna happen

user23 what i wouldn’t give to be his gf and have a picnic w him at the park and have his mom braid my hair

fan56 Is anyone gonna talk about how he’s looking at her? 🥹🥹😍 Definition of heart eyes

————

I’m so down bad for this man so I really couldn’t resist making another one. He’s handsome and charming and manly and ughhhhh kill me!

P.S slight FC use of Olivia Dejonge. Not only is she gorgeous but she’s so smol and I find it so beautiful, especially with how large he is. Needed that picture for a specific use to help identify the size difference between the two but feel free to keep imagining whoever. He’s dated Vanessa Kirby and Dua Lipa so the hair color constantly changes in pics 😭

Don’t have a tag list but thanks to everyone for all the love, hope ya’ll enjoy this one as well 💕

#callum turner #callum turner instagram edit #callum turner x reader #callum turner fanfic #callum x reader #made by me #should i perhaps make a tag list?#also a part 3 anyone maybe

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assortedseaglass · 2 months

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Talk Refined - Chapter Two

Michael Gavey x Reader

[Masterlist]

Summary: When Michael Gavey unwittingly insults a fellow Oxford student, they enter into a game of intellectual cat and mouse.

Content Warnings (this chapter in bold): Language, Smut, Saltburn Spoilers

Esme did not let you live your encounter with Michael Gavey down.

“You should have heard her. Like she was interviewing all over again!” At any given opportunity, she took the chance to tell the story of how her best friend had shot down the genius from Brasenose.

“Esme, everyone’s heard this story a hundred times,” you’d said when she once again brought the matter up at the pub. “And anyway, he didn’t even reply when I shouted at him. Just said he needed a piss.” People at the table tittered. Michael’s reputation as a genius made had its way around the university’s colleges. Mainly because he was the one telling them.

It was a fact begrudgingly agreed upon at each recounting of the tale. Esme would tell her college mates, or new friends at the pub, the story of you and Michael getting into a fight, and inevitably they would say “The self-proclaimed genius?”

“The maths nerd?”

“That dickhead?”

Before resigning to the fact that, despite his arrogance, Michael Gavey really was a genius.

“Didn’t you hear him shouting at dining hall first night?”

“Heard he got 100% on the maths admissions test!”

“Pretty funny really. If he wasn’t such a twat I’d invite him out, he’s great entertainment.”

Luckily for you, the spectre of his reputation loomed larger than the man himself who, since your encounter at the pub, you had not seen. Perhaps he was too embarrassed after his very public rejection. More likely, it was because you were preparing for your extended essay deadline. Burrowed in your room at the desk, or else tucked in a dark corner of the library, Esme almost had to drag you to leave your room these days.

“Should have done something on Gentileschi,” you muttered into the open book on the library table. Your endless studying on the use of women as decoration that formed the basis of your essay was slowly crushing you. “Wanted to do a feminist essay but this is fucking depressing.”

Esme shifted in her seat next to you, leant over your book to look at the pictures on the open page, then pushed it from your view. Before you could protest, she spoke.

“One minute not looking at that dull picture,” she gestured to the image of Turner’s Reclining Nude on a Bed, “-isn’t gonna hurt you. But I’ll tell you what won’t be depressing. My end of year party!” Esme grabbed your shoulders and shook you.

You laughed, stifling it behind your hand when a few pug-nosed students frowned at you.

“I thought you’d settled for a cheese and wine night? ‘Sophisticated with a chance of minor sluttiness’,” you quoted her and she winked.

“Yeah, well, it’ll still be a cheese and wine night,” she opened another textbook and riffled through the pages absent-mindedly. “With slightly more wine than cheese-”

“And about sixty people.”

“Only after the meal! Had to take the chance and get in there before Catton. No-one’d come otherwise.” Esme’s face dropped, a flash of worry crossing her bonny face at the prospect of competing with Felix Catton for the Party of the Year.

“It’ll be grand,” you grabbed her hand reassuringly. “Who wants Catton’s friends there anyway? Load of stuck-up snobs-”

“You sound like Gavey!”

You shot an irritated look at Esme. She grinned back and busied herself with the work in front of her. You looked at the title scribbled across the top of the page. “Semper femina: misogyny’s early beginnings.”. You really picked a corker when you saw her at the humanities social. You nudged her shoulder affectionately, rubbing off her last comment and, still a little distracted, look around the library.

Not all libraries in Oxford had vaulted ceilings of ancient oak, or were decorated with elaborately carved roses. Some had harsh fluorescent lighting and tiled navy carpets. It just so happened that you and Esme preferred the grander of buildings. So too, did most other students. When dedication and inspiration waned, the quickest way to feel inspired was to pop to the libraries with ancient tomes alongside the course textbooks, sharing silent exchanges with other students gazing in awe at the latticed windows and rows of paper possibility.

“By the way,” Esme whispered, not due to the setting but what she was about to say next. “Who are you bringing?”

Your eyes didn’t flicker from the book in front of you. “Bringing where?”

“To the cheese and wine party,”

You looked at her, a mixture of exasperation and amusement on your face. “Since when did I have to bring someone?”

“Well,” Esme fully turned in her seat to look at you. “You don’t, but I’m bringing Eleanor-”

“Pretty girl from the pub.”

Esme nodded and continued counting people on her fingers. “Laura’s boyfriend is visiting that weekend, Holly’s bringing some rugby lad, Joe’s best mate is coming and the other three all have boyfriends. Bit sad if you’re the loner.”

“How can I be a loner at a party?”

“You know what I mean! Come on, it’s the end of the year, loosen up a bit. Doesn’t have to be a bloke, just pick someone!”

You thought a moment. Though you hated to admit it, Michael Gavey had been right; a lot of the people on your History of Art course were public school wankers and horsey girls fast-tracked to jobs in their parents’ cosmopolitan art galleries.

Nope. No-one there you could bring, and all of Esme’s friends were already going.

“I don’t know!” You despaired, slumping back in your seat comically in mock defeat.

Esme laughed. “Tell you what, next person that comes round that corner,” she pointed to the last bookshelf of a long row, right by the library entrance. “You’ve got to take. Deal?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll buy your cheese and wine for the night.”

You stared at her. Trinity term was almost up, and so too was your scholarship loan. “Fine.”

Esme laughed excitedly and stared excitedly at the shelves. You did so with apprehension. A minute passed and no-one rounded the corner. A group of gorgeous boys left the library, but not one person entered.

“Looks like you’ll be coming alone after all.” You pinched Esme’s side and she giggled. “Aha!” She pointed behind you and your stomach dropped. Turning slowly, you faced your fate. Date.

A wizened old man no taller that the fourth shelf shuffled along the wooden floor, his worn leather shoes squeaking with every step. There were more lines on his face than the tube map.

“No.”

“Don’t be a bitch!”

“People don’t want their fucking lecturers there, Esme.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “But it has to be the next person or my share of the food is on you.”

“Fine.”

You both stared at the bookshelf. The wizened old man shuffled past you, and soon the sound of his leather shoes faded. You glanced over your shoulder at Esme. “This is stupid-”

“Oh. My. God.” Esme was looking past you, and what had momentarily been shock was turning to unbridled glee.

“What?” You span in your chair. “No. Absolutely not.” Panic prickled the hairs of your neck. You whipped back to face Esme. She was laughing. “I can’t. Fuck. No!”

“This is brilliant,” Esme clapped her hands together. Some students shushed her and she sent them a two fingered salute. “He’s coming this way! Go on, ask him!”

You took a deep breath and, with growing unease, turned to face your unknowing date.

Michael Gavey was walking stiffly along the rows of bookshelves. The muscles of his jaw were set in a tight line; he wasn’t here to browse; he knew what he wanted and was making his determined way towards it. You watched him carefully, waiting until the perfect moment to speak. How the hell were you going to ask?

“Let’s wait a minute-” Esme made to cut you off but you continued quickly. “Just to see where he goes. I don’t want to ask in front of everyone.”

Esme huffed but nodded, and you both went back to watching him.

“This feels creepy,” you said, watching as he got closer.

“All we’re doing is looking at him.” Esme said matter of factly. But that wasn’t quite true. It felt altogether more like you were studying him. Something about Michael Gavey meant you couldn’t look away.

Just as when you last saw him, his clothes looked second hand. Or like something an aunt would by. A crisp, short-sleeved shirt, starchly ironed, tucked into a pair of beige cargo trousers. Vile. Around his belt swung a number of carabiners, one containing his keys, another a collection of USB sticks. They jangled as he walked past.

You ducked your head to avoid being seen. Esme scoffed. You kicked her under the table.

The two of you watched his retreating back. You noticed you weren’t the only ones looking at him. A few other students, some boys smirking and some girls, were watching him to. None indicated that they knew him personally, for none sent him a smile or a wave. They simply watched as he passed. His reputation really did precede him.

You tried to think on what it was that made Michael Gavey so hard to ignore. He had done nothing today but enter the library and, by now, everyone knew him to be a stuck-up knobhead. So what was it that was making everyone stare?

Perhaps it was the rigidity with which he walked, so upright and solid. For one so thin, you imagined that if someone bumped into him now he would just continue walking as though nothing happened. Maybe it was the unnerving way in which his grey eyes stared. You remembered them from before. How he analysed people, unblinking, as he spoke to them, dissecting every minutia of their movement behind his glasses.

Could it be, that underneath the dreadful clothes and frankly alarming attitude, he was quite handsome? You blushed at the thought and turned away from Esme.

In another life, with better clothes, better glasses, a kinder face, he might have been attractive. Afterall, his hair was that Gisele Bündchen colour girls in your sixth form tried unsuccessfully to get from the bottle. His face was all angles, like the bassist in some boy band. Not front man handsome, but with a little something that appealed to the weird girls. And he was tall. God, was he tall. Not Felix Catton tall, but after him he’d been the tallest at the pub. You remembered the way he’s unfurled his body uncomfortably from the chair. Even now, he was almost half the height of some of the old bookshelves. When he came to a stop, depositing his Tesco carrier bag on the table with a rustle, his shoulder bumped into one of the shelves, and you noticed how broad they were, accentuated by the black leather belt holding up his trousers. Who’d have thought it? Michael Gavey vaguely good-looking. Shame he was a prick.

“There you go,” Esme whispered in your ear as Michael disappeared between two shelves. “Perfect chance.”

Your mouth went dry. You’d momentarily forgotten the reason you were both watching Michael. Sensing your apprehension, Esme turned you by the shoulder and looked you deep in the eye. “It’s fine, I’ll help.” She was loving this, and the two of you spent the next five minutes working out how to approach the Bastard from Brasenose.

You tried to get rid of Esme as quietly as possible.

“Just let me do it on my own!” you hissed.

“I don’t trust you, not after last time!” She was pushing you towards the bookshelf Michael was browsing. You were digging your feet in.

“Please, just let me-”

“No,” Esme giggled, pushing you closer to the shelves. “You’ll either have an argument or not ask at all. I want to see this.”

Your hand gripped the wooden bookcase just as you arrived and blocked her from going any further. She pushed against you, trying to force you towards Michael.

“I’ll do it, Esme, just give me a second!”

“Just get on with it, for God’s sake!” she whispered with a shove.

“Ouch! You’re hurting me!”

“Can I help you?”

You both jolted. Michael was staring at you, his hands balled into fists at his side. He looked…nervous. Esme had clearly pushed you closer to him than you’d thought.

“No, er, sorry,” you took a step backwards only to be blocked by Esme.

“Oh,” Michael relaxed a little, a tight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s you.”

You stared at him. “You don’t need to sound so offended by my presence.”

“You’re the one stumbling around the library hissing like a banshee.”

You were about to retort when Esme caught your arm warningly. You looked back at her with annoyance. She simply nodded at you and gestured to take a deep breath.

“Sorry, Michael,” you said. He flinched a little as you said his name, not that you noticed. Esme did. “Erm,”

“She has something she wants to ask you, Michael.”

“Ask me?”

Fucking hell, here goes. You tired to smile at him. He stared back blankly. Why did he make everything so bloody difficult?

“Yeah, um,” you stepped forward and leant against the bookshelf for support, to make it seem less formal. “Well, Esme is having an end of year party-”

“A dinner party,” Esme cut in.

“-and we wondered.”

“She wondered!”

“We wondered,” you said louder, drowning out your friend. “If you’d like to come? Maybe?”

Michael stared at you. His head jerked almost imperceptibly, as if it had suddenly fallen out with his neck, and he scoffed quietly. “Is this a joke?”

“What?” You and Esme said together.

“Are you taking the piss?”

“What? No-”

Michael placed the book he was reading back on the shelf and faced you both fully. “Get out of the way please, you’re blocking the exit.”

“Michael,” he stopped again when you said his name.

“Honestly, we’re not taking the piss.” Esme said kindly.

“We saw you come in, and Esme keeps reminding me what a bitch I was at the pub.” Never mind the fact that you were an absolute arsehole. “And we just thought, as a way to apologise, you might like to come to the party? Fresh start?”

“I don’t do parties.”

“It’s-a-cheese-and-wine-night-actually.” Esme said quickly.

“Right,” he continued staring at you. The longer he did it, the more you regretted asking. Fucking blink. He glanced quickly back at the shelves of books, and screwed his eyes tightly shut, as if working out something impossibly difficult. When he opened his eyes again, you weren’t sure whether he was going to scream or cry.

Then you realised he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking past you. With surprising force and speed, Michael pushed past the both of you.

“Oliver Quick.”

Esme looked at you with excitement. Without a word, you both hurried to the end of the bookcase. There he was. Oliver Quick, caught in a staring contest with Michael Gavey. Oliver glanced quickly at the two of you, eagerly poking your heads around the shelf to get the gossip.

Michael hadn’t noticed. “You look different.”

“Do I?” Oliver sounded bored and you wanted to smack him. What was it with the boys at Oxford? He turned away from you all, but Michael wasn’t done with him.

“He’ll get bored of you.” A pang of pity twisted your stomach. Esme had been right. Oliver’s abandonment at the pub had hurt Michael more than he let on.

Oliver stopped and turned around. “Excuse me?”

You glanced at Michael, waiting for his retaliation with bated breath. He said nothing.

“G’wan, Mikey,” Esme whispered.

Oliver walked away, but not before Michael could twist the dagger. “Bootlicker.” He enunciated every delicious, vicious syllable.

Oliver looked back again, only to cast an uncomfortable look at Michael and see Esme swearing at him behind Michael’s back. “For that Michael,” she clapped her hands. “You can be guest of honour!”

Notes: Short one this time but I’m getting back into writing by doing shorter chapters. SO excited to write the party.

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