under the skin ft. @memoriesblur
ah, there he is—that motherfucker—leant up against the circulation desk with that stupid, cocky, son-of-a-bitch half-a-smirk that makes it seem like he owns the damn place. and he does. arguably. the fifth floor, at least. on behalf of antares.
he’s up to his usual antics until a little birdie flutters by. a little birdie who happens to go by olivia. olivia song, resident smart aleck, stick-in-the-mud, all work-no play—what is she doing in the library on a lovely summer day? knowing her ( and he likes to think that he knows her well ), she’ll have her nose buried in rough drafts, her pen poised as she annotates the hell out of a poor kid’s paper.
whether or not she’s actually doing that, it doesn’t matter.
like a moth to a flame—or perhaps, more accurately, a snake to its prey—lucas slithers up behind where she’s sitting and drapes himself around her shoulders. “what are you working on?” someone’s essay, no doubt. “is that …” he reaches over and snatches the stack of papers, holding them high above his head as he pretends to read. “‘and so she leant up to kiss edward on his lips.’ … olivia. are you writing twilight fanfiction?” tsk tsk.
