Trap House Imagines

persistence - Colby Brock

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Summary; " Colby fighting with Brennen over u because he's too touchy and brennen knows how colby feels about u "

Warnings; swearing, angst, some fluff at the end

Word Count; 1,042 words

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"Brennen—" you warn strictly, finally getting fed up with the amount of times his hands have slid over your hips, "Touch me again and find out what happens."

When he doesn't remove his hands from where they are, you grab his hands, digging your nails into the skin between his thumb and the forefinger. Knowing that it'll hurt like hell, and he'll hopefully learn his lesson to keep his hands off of you for the rest of the night.

And you're right for the most part, his hands are suddenly absent from your sides. A string of profanities leave his mouth, shaking his hands like they're hot or something. Or to distract him from the immense amount of pain that's suddenly jolting through his hand.

Turning around, you push him away from you, "I'm serious. I'm not fucking interested."

After that, you begin to make your way away from him. Trying to put as much distance between you and him. Before he comes out of the shock of you just stabbing him with your nails.

It's not much distance, maybe a foot between you two, when he's grabbed your arm, pulling you back towards him. There's a moment that your mind flashes to the mace inside of your purse. But since you're considering Brennen a friend at the moment—soon to be enemy if he doesn't learn to keep his hands to himself—you don't grab at it just yet.

"Let me take you out, please." Brennen asks, there's a smile on his face.

"Are you drunk?" you ask him, the smile fades, "I'm not going to go out with you, ever! Get it through your thick fuckin' skull!"

Suddenly, Colby smoothly slides between you two. Face trained on Brennen's, and he's clearly pissed off. Maybe it's because Brennen's harassing you for the hundredth time in a row. Or maybe it's for some other reason. In all honesty, you don't give a shit. As long as Brennen is off of you.

You're glad Colby is here to do it for you. You were seconds away from pulling one of those escaping maneuvers you find on Pinterest or Tumblr. Something that girls commonly use on molesters.

"Let her go," Colby's voice is low, threatening as he pries Brennen's fingers from your wrist. When you're finally free, Colby offers you a half-hearted smile, "I'll take care of him, sorry."

"Thank you," you place your hand on his arm, "Find me when you're done talking to him?"

Colby's smile seems to be real after that, and he nods, "Sure."

"Thanks, again," you glare at Brennen, flipping him off before you make your way to the backyard.

You're not even a couple steps away again, when you can hear how hard Colby is grilling Brennen. Voice raising with each word that comes out of his mouth. But you're not really focused on that, rather than getting the hell out of the house while you can. You're sure that Colby will find you before Brennen when Brennen's finally released.

The air is cooler outside, making your sticky, sweaty skin cool down. Returning to its normal smooth state. You're certain that you're not the only person that feels like this. Since it's almost ninety inside the house, and out here it's seventy.

Sitting down in the grass, you close your eyes for a moment, letting the cool air take over you for a little while. You don't take enough time in your regular nights to just sit outside and feel nice.

Things like enjoying the summer night air is so mundane when you're always running around with a camera in hand.

"Want a water?" a voice asks, your eyes open to see that it's Colby, "It's cold, I got it from the fridge."

"It's not spiked?" you tease him, smiling a little bit.

"Oops." Colby then tries to hand you the one that's been drank out of, "This is the spiked one."

"I can tell," you laugh, taking the unopened one. Colby sits down next to you, leaning against the house too.

"Sorry about Brennen." He tells you.

"Brennen should be the one apologizing," you sigh, rolling your eyes, "I don't know what got over him."

There's a moment of silence, before Colby says, "I do."

Looking over at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for him to elaborate, you can see that he's debating something. However, with great patience, you sit there quietly, eventually turning your eyes to some girls that are standing off to the side taking pictures. It's a little late in the night for that, since their makeup is melting off their faces.

"I—" he breaks off, laughing, "have a..."

"Crush?" you ask, looking at him, "On me?"

He nods.

You sputter out a laugh, "Get in line, my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,"

Colby laughs, closing his eyes as he leans his head against the house.

"I'm kidding, I can hardly get one boy to the yard." You sigh.

"But you managed," Colby says hopefully, "I'm being serious."

"I know you are," You tell him, "And I'm guessing you want to go out on a date or something?"

"Only if you want to," Colby tells you, "Don't feel obligated to say yes just because I saved you."

You roll your eyes, "Thanks, Prince Charming."

Colby beams for a second, waiting your answer.

"Sure, I guess. But after guessing most of your sentences, I expect you to plan the date, instead of me guessing and you going along with it," you smirk a little bit.

Colby laughs again, rolling his eyes, "I get better, I'm not always like this."

"I wouldn't mind if you are. I'm just not very good at charades." You tell him.

"Damn, there goes my whole mime plan." Colby can't keep in laughter from his whole joke.

You're not even able to keep a straight face at it, even though you tried your best. You gave in because his laughter is contagious, and it wasn't that bad of a joke.

"I have a feeling we're going to get along really well." You tell him, "It'll be scary."

"That'll be perfect, because I hope this works out."

"So do I," you lean your head against his shoulder.