#Had this thought while reading a fic and thanks to my Latin classes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ssscentral · 4 years ago

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Devil like you

Summary: Your boyfriend has a revelation about who - or what - he really is as he invites over a friend to have some earth-shattering, toe-curling, out of this world fun with you.

Pairing : Demon!Namjoon x Reader x Demon! Jimin

Genre : Smut. Pure filth. It be dirty.

Warnings : Threesome, Demon summoning, Overstimulation, Swearing, Restraints, Surprise your boyfriend is a demon, Dom!Namjoon, Dom!Jimin, Sub!Reader, Light Edging, Dirty Talking, Oral Sex (f and m), Fingering

WC : 5.5k

Member : Duda || @biaswreckme

A/N : Hope you enjoy reading this, i’m quite proud of it :v It’s my first AU for BTS, so be gentle T.T This fic is the second part of the group prompt “Hell of a Ride”, each part with our own interpretation, so stay tuned because there is more to come! Any similarities with Supernatural are not coincidental, thank you Spn wikis for the words in Latin and the inspiration for some of the abilities of these demons. And thanks so much @fluffy-fluffu for being the beta ♥

taglist: @sugasbabiie

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You thought you should have known. You thought you should have seen the signs – and there were quite a few, thinking back on your relationship. It should not have surprised you like this. It should not have affected you like this. It should not make you wish for more, waiting for the next time it would happen. It should not… you should not… you should not want this as much as you did, right?

You should have seen it coming. It should not have caught you off guard like that, after all, who teaches this language with this much ease and what seems like almost natural and native knowledge? That should have been the first sign to strike your attention. He was not the first Latin professor in the language department at this university, but he was the best. But this department has a lot of languages, and Latin is part of the curriculum for some of the other languages. It was not weird to have a Latin professor. It was weird to have someone as hot as Namjoon teaching Latin. Hot, gods, you sound like a teenager again talking about boys and crushes. But yes, Kim Namjoon, one of the hottest teachers in the university – and it is a big one – teaches a dead language.

So when he asked you, the English teacher – not the only one in the department and you did not consider yourself to be one of the best-looking teachers there – out on a date, you said yes. It had been a while for you, issues with an ex left you being cautious about entering new relationships. It made you pay more attention to certain red flags, but there were none with Namjoon, at least not like those from before.

Kim Namjoon was considerate. Kim Namjoon was creative with his dates. Kim Namjoon was a romantic man, one that had you indeed feeling like a teenager dating for the first time, sneaking around the empty halls and classrooms, the butterflies in your stomach wild and making you giggle at the mere thought of him. Kim Namjoon paid attention to you and your problems. Kim Namjoon listened. And Kim Namjoon was great when it came to sex. Great actually did not really translate how incredible and mind-blowing sex with him was. He knew how to do things to your body like no one ever could before. He suggested some things – some kinky, oh, very kinky things indeed – to spice up the sex that you had only fantasized about but never had the courage to ask for, and he did not judge anything. It was almost as if his mission in bed was to give you utmost pleasure, even if it hurt sometimes – but it always hurt so good. Kim Namjoon was the perfect boyfriend. Maybe too perfect, so you think to yourself that you had ought to know better. No one could be this perfect. There had to be an explanation. And there was. You just never would have imagined that it would be this explanation.

The day had started just like any other, there was nothing special about it, at least to your knowledge. So why, oh, why did it have to be on this day? (Maybe you could ask them later.) You woke up to your alarm, as usual. You love your job, but you always found it difficult to get up this early in the mornings, so you always made sure to set more than one alarm. You got up, had breakfast – “breakfast” is a very general word, but you do eat a piece of toast while the coffee machine warms up. You had a shower, just a quick one to truly wake you up and get you going before getting dressed in your usual teaching outfit. Namjoon would be coming over later, so you would have time to shower again and get dressed up for date night after getting back from the university. You grab a travel mug on the way out, pouring the hot coffee in it, the smell invading your apartment just as you like it.

The classes go on without any issue; a slight problem with the projector in the beginning but nothing out of the ordinary and that would strike one’s attention, especially if one was used to dealing with the projectors in that older building the languages and literature department was stuck with. You crossed paths with Namjoon once the entire day, walking down the hallways of the old building; you were getting out of an English literature class, Joon going to teach his Latin II group. As your bodies got closer, both of you nodded in acknowledgment as if you were any other professor, but your hands discreetly touched in passing, just a small sign you had agreed on to let the other know everything is okay, have a good class, I love you, I will be waiting for you later. You knew he was going out on a field trip with an advanced class and he would have to leave during lunch, so you ate a sandwich in your office, watching some comedy series to relax and get energized for the rest of the day – of course, the hot and new cup of coffee helps -, every once in a while, pausing to chat with the other professor who chose to do something similar. The afternoon is not really that different from other Friday afternoons; no one usually comes during office hours, so no one came on this day. You spent your time alternating between counting the minutes on the ticking clock to be able to go home and get ready for the date and responding to some emails, starting the term report, and downloading some articles to read. You were alone in the office, so you have some music going to help distract you and try to make the time go by faster.

When you finally got home the first thing you did was hop on the shower again, but now taking some time for yourself, phone blasting your favorite songs as you washed the day away from your body, cleaning, shaving what you wanted, moisturizing with some shower oils Namjoon gave you and that you know he loved the scent of. You spent some time choosing your outfit for the evening, knowing it had to be good. You opted for a white lace and silk playsuit, the new lingerie that Namjoon had recently given you, and you knew it had to be expensive from the brand – expensive and fancy lingerie was a guilty pleasure you had that somehow Namjoon was able to indulge, and you had no complaints about it. It gave you an almost innocent look under the black dress, and you were curious to see Namjoon’s reaction. You did not do much for hair and makeup, choosing instead to keep it quite simple and natural – it was only going to be ruined later on anyways.

Soon you heard the bell ring and you looked at the small monitor near the door, letting him in. His hair was slicked back, giving him an edge that was not present in day-to-day life at university. He had his earrings on and paired up with his silver-rimmed glasses and that black blazer made him look unbelievably hot and so different from the pristine almost clumsy-like image of Professor Kim. He kissed you, murmuring a hi in the kiss, letting his hands roam over your dress. He paused and stepped back enough to look at you.

“Are you wearing the new gift?”

It only took a nod from you to have him pressing you against the wall, hitching your leg up and around his waist. His hands took advantage of the position and touched your skin, going up your thighs and bunching up your dress in the way, giving him access to feel the lace and silk on your body.

“Fuck,” he paused, almost breathless, “fuck the reservation, right? I need you now.”

You nodded in affirmation, almost as out of breath as him, “Fuck the reservation, fuck me instead.”

He didn’t need anything else to press you even harder against the wall, hoisting both of your legs; you wrapped them around his body, and he pushed his hips into yours, you could feel how hard he already was. You moaned into the kiss, his hardness was right against where you needed it the most, and when he started slightly moving his hips into yours, it made his length deliciously drag against your clit. The feeling was also enhanced by the lingerie; every time Namjoon canted his hips up, it made the lingerie move up together and tug on your skin, and it did not take long until it was snugged between your nether lips and you were certain you were staining the front of Namjoon’s pants with your wetness as he started nibbling on your earlobe, sucking and kissing your neck, the skin caught between his teeth to make sure it would leave bruises. And then he let you go, dropping your legs from around his body.

“Do you trust me?” He looked into your eyes, seeming unsure, which was unlike him. You could swear that his eyes got darker for a brief moment – and not in the way writers usually describe, with eyes darkening with pleasure or something akin to that. No, it seemed that they physically turned darker, almost black, but you thought you must be imagining things. It could not be humanly possible.

“I trust you, Joon.” You said without any hesitation, fingers entangling with his and taking him in the direction of your bedroom.

He started by taking off his glasses and carefully putting them on the wooden nightstand, taking a minute to take off his blazer and carefully drape it over the piece of furniture. He then turned to you and you felt nervous, his walk almost predatory towards you. He gripped your shoulders, taking the straps of your dress into his hands, and it felt like he was considering just ripping the piece out of your body and your breath faltered. So this was the mood today. But he must have thought better and let his hands caress the front of your body, squeezing your breasts, his fingers then gliding over your clothed nipples, feeling them harder under his touch. His hands moved down, grabbing the edge of your dress in his fists and then lifted it up and off your body, and then you were there, standing in front of him, the white lace and silk that covered your skin seemed almost virginal when contrasted with the current mood. You bit your lip, looking at Namjoon, gaging his reaction, and you saw his eyes widen, a smirk crossing his lips, his tongue unconsciously poking out to lick his top lip. There was a different look in his eyes, one that you did not recognize at all, and you were getting slightly more nervous now. What did he have in store for you this time? You tried to think back to conversations you had, discussing ideas in between cuddles and kisses on the bed, after one of the times you had some passionate lovemaking, his eyes glued to yours the entire time, his body encompassing yours, protecting you. Not every time was kinky, but there was no doubt tonight was going to be. You took a deep breath and stepped forward, your fingers going to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, slowly, your fingers shaking in anticipation.

“Remember when we were talking about maybe having another person in the bedroom with us?”

His question took you by surprise, your fingers stopping mid-action, and you looked at him. “Yes?”

“You are going to learn some things about me tonight, Y/n, but you don’t need to be scared.” He grabbed your hands, intertwining your fingers and kissing them while looking into your eyes. “I promise everything will be okay, and I’ll answer all your questions later. Now I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

And ok, now you were worried, and he could see that in your face, so he brought you closer to his body, hugging you, and your arms tightened around his body.

“You don’t have to be scared, love. It can be scary, but have I ever hurt you?”

“Well…” you started, giggling at the double possibilities to answer his question.

“I’m talking about real harm, Y/n. And might I remind you, who asked to be spanked again?” He chuckled, shaking his head, the mood getting a little lighter. “I can’t promise it’s not going to frighten you at first but keep an open mind. You have your safeword, you can stop this at any time, no matter what.”

“Ok. I can’t promise I won’t fear whatever it is… because you are scaring me a little bit, Joon. But I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me like that.” You raised your head from where it was resting on his chest, looking into his eyes again, and this time you could not be mistaken. They were black. Like black black; you could not see any of the previous colors in his irises, even the sclera was taken over by the color, and it hit you. You took a quick step back, letting go of his body, shocked. Was… was this real?

“I’m still me,” his voice was soft and his hands raised by his sides in that universal sign of I’m not going to hurt you. “It’s always been me.”

“So you’re not… possessed?” you laughed in disbelief.

“No. It’s always been me,” he repeated, taking one step closer to you with one of his hands reaching out, and hesitantly you grabbed it. “Let me show you. I promise you will have a good time.”

Your body was still shaking with fear when you let yourself get closer to him, but his words were starting to reassure you, calm you. If he had always been like this and never harmed you, you would be okay, right? The fear and worry were slowly starting to give way to curiosity and some slight confusion when he started muttering some words under his breath. Now, you did not understand Latin – it was a dead language, come on –, but you were able to pick up that he was almost chanting in it, words like te invoco, spiritus, infernalis, and daemon being spoken with more intensity. He finished saying it and kissed you deeply, his arms encircling your body and pulling you to him, when you suddenly felt another presence behind you, a second body pressing against you, feeling a hard chest pressing you into Namjoon even more. You stopped the kiss, looking over your shoulder, and your eyes stumbled upon another black-eyed figure. This man, this demon, was shorter than Namjoon, but with the way the front of his body was glued to your back, you could feel he was just as muscular, maybe even more, from what you were feeling from his thighs. There were no words for his face. You thought Namjoon was handsome, but this man’s face was on a whole other level of beauty, with those rounded full lips that would give Namjoon’s a run for their money. If it were not for his black eyes you would dare say his face was angelic even, with his light-colored hair parted in the middle. But something about the smirk and raised eyebrows let you know that there was nothing angelic about him.

“Damn, Namjoon. You’ve been hiding her this entire time?” He almost growled, shifting his hips, and you felt the hardness in his pants. “If I’d known, I’d have come sooner.”

“And this is Jimin, Y/n,” he started, scoffing at his… friend? “Now close your eyes and let us take care of you.”

He did not wait for an answer from you, and at the same time his lips found yours, you felt Jimin’s lips on your neck and his hands on your waist, and you could only sigh, close your eyes, and give into these new sensations. The two pairs of hands were roaming your body; the contrast of their clothed bodies against yours, almost naked, was heightening the sensation of your powerlessness, and you had to press your thighs together in an attempt to bring some pressure to your center and relieve some of the aching. You could feel their smirks when you did it, and then Jimin’s hand traveled downwards and on the front of your body, his fingers sneaking under the lingerie to feel your wetness.

“Fuck,” his voice was almost strained, “she’s dripping, Namjoon.” His fingers went all over your mound spreading your wetness around, careful to not touch you for too long to tease you.

“Is this right, Y/n?” Namjoon asked against your lips, then tilted his head back to look at you, his hand joining Jimin’s. “I know you get wet for me, but if I had known you would be dripping like this, I would have brought Jimin much sooner.” He stated as his fingers toyed with the straps of your playsuit, slowly lowering them. “And you are wearing this, today of all days… all in white…”

Namjoon’s fingers teased your nipples lightly at first, just caressing them while Jimin slowly lowered the lingerie down your body, giving open-mouthed kisses to your back and lower and he went down on his knees behind you. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back and grabbing Namjoon’s biceps for balance when Jimin lifted your left feet first then the right, letting the playsuit fall to the ground off your body. You felt a pinch to your nipples, and you sighed, and shortly after you felt his tongue circling it, then his mouth sucking on it, tugging lightly with his teeth. You clenched your legs again, only for Jimin to spread them. You felt Jimin’s breath on your backside, and his hands made you arch your back so he could see you better from behind, but you felt nothing else but his warm breath very close to your center, his hands gripping your thighs from the inside to stop you from closing them. When Namjoon used the fatal combination of pinching down on a nipple harder and biting the other and sucking on it, Jimin chuckled.

“Do that again, Namjoon. She liked it, she just clenched down on nothing so hard.” His mouth was so close to you yet doing nothing, and to worsen the situation, he used his hands to help you spread your legs more. “Tilt your ass towards me, Y/n, I want to see you clench like that again.”

You did so without hesitation, arching your back more so he could see you better, and when Namjoon did it again, inverting touch and bite to the other nipple, you clenched again, needing their touch, needing something. And he combined pulling your nipple with his teeth with his other hand entangling in your hair and pulling it down hard, increasing your arch. You heard Jimin chuckle softly again and then his mouth was pressed to your inner thigh, licking upwards as he moaned, probably tasting the wetness that had started dripping. Namjoon was not being gentle anymore, using the amount of pressure and strength he knew you loved, much rougher than when you were making love, your nipples becoming more sensitive and abused under his ministrations. This moment, with his lips around your nipples, his teeth worrying them, while Jimin licked your thighs, was pure and unadulterated passion and desire. You let one of your hands fall to grab Jimin’s hair to try and direct him, but he let one of your thighs go to wrap his fingers around your wrist while he bit down on your thigh. You moaned in pain, but you loved it.

Your other hand moved from Namjoon’s biceps to the front of his shirt to undo the few buttons that were left, and he paused what he was doing to help you. When you went to unbutton his pants, you felt your arm being pinned to your back by the demon between your legs. You looked back and down, seeing Jimin licking his lips again while he got up. He pulled you against his body, murmuring that tonight was about you and not to worry about them. As he said these words, Namjoon’s long fingers undid his own pants, hooking them under his underwear to take them off at the same time. His erection slapped softly against his stomach, his cock long and thick, the bulbous head already a little wet with precum. He stepped out of his pants, his strong thighs flexing, and he came closer to kiss you again, letting you feel his hardness against your belly. He started to pull you towards the bed, turning your bodies so you could fall against the mattress with him on top, but he did not stay long. He got up, looking at Jimin, and raised his eyebrows.

“You look so innocent like this, wide-eyed looking at us about to devour you,” Jimin started, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, putting on a show for you.

The dark shirt Jimin was wearing opened to reveal toned muscles beneath, ones you had already felt against your back. His light purple hair was slightly messy from your attempt to grab it; his lips were turned up into a corner smile observing the way you were watching him. He let his hands caress down his body, feeling his own muscles, his luscious lips open now. One of his hands went to the button of his pants and the other grabbed his crotch, showing you the outline of his erection, and then he took the black garment off, and he was wearing no underwear. His hand went to his erection again, stroking himself up and down slowly, showing you his body and how proud he seemed of it. His cock was just as beautiful as the rest of him, the head a light pink color, and while he was thinner than Namjoon, he was just as long and curved upwards, and it made you wonder if he could hit that spot without much effort.

“We are going to destroy you, and you will take it all. You will be lying there on the bed, ruined, a sinner, and in the end, you will be begging for me to come back again and wreck you.” Jimin’s voice was deeper, his black eyes shining under the lights and the promise. And then he looked at Namjoon. “Have you done it yet?”

You looked confused for a moment, especially when Namjoon answered a no and Jimin chuckled. And then you understood. Jimin snapped his fingers and your arms were suddenly above your head, pressed on the pillow. You tried moving them but to no avail. Oh. Your chest went up and down quickly, your breath faster, but you smiled.

“Oh, this is new. Can you do it too, Joon?” You needed to know. Had he been hiding this from you this whole time? He licked his lips and snapped his fingers, and then your legs were up, an invisible force holding them up and wide open, spread apart for them. You bit your lip and clenched down on nothing, moaning softly, your head thrown back into the pillow. “This is fun.”

You smiled at them and saw them looking at each other smiling as well, but you could not even imagine what was going through their minds. Could they communicate like that? You had so many questions to ask Joon later, but before your mind could wander any further, your body was being dragged to the edge of the bed by Jimin, who was kneeling on the floor in front of it. You had never felt so exposed before and so without control, although you knew all you had to say was that one word and everything would end.

“She tastes delicious, Jimin. You’re going to love it.” Namjoon sat by you on the bed, looking down at the other man, and lowered his head to whisper in your ear, “you want to know another thing I’ve been hiding? We don’t get tired.”

Namjoon bit your earlobe at the same time that Jimin licked you where you needed the most, from bottom to top. You could only moan loudly and arch your back, your fingers closing into tight a fist and your thighs clenching, but you could not move them. You thought he would make you beg for it, considering all the teasing from before, but he wasted no time and started applying pressure to your clit with his soft tongue, short circular movements alternated with longer licks while his fingers kept your lower lips spread open for him. Unable to move, all you could do was take it, the pleasure intensified by your inability to move your legs; there was no escape from Jimin’s tongue on the underside of your clit, its hood up, leaving it exposed and so sensitive to his probing. While Jimin was doing this, Namjoon began playing with your nipples again. They were already hard and a little red from before, more sensitive, so when he started pinching them again the pain seemed to go straight down to your clit, enhancing your pleasure, and he seemed to know this. He became relentless in teasing them, pinching harder, lowering his body beside you to bite at them, tugging on your nipples and pulling them, letting his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. Jimin’s tongue was also relentless on your clit, and the first time he felt you getting close to your orgasm, he stopped and looked at you.

“Please, please…” you sobbed and moaned; the desperation clear in your voice as Namjoon did not stop.

“Should we see if she can cum only by teasing her nipples?” Jimin’s voice was playful.

“No, please, please, no, please,” you begged.

“Oh, Namjoon, she begs so beautifully. But is it a no or is it a please, do it?” His tongue was between his teeth, his smile wider now, the look on his face pure teasing. You shook your head negatively, a sob caught in your throat, but he continued, “You’re clenching again, Y/n. I think you can do this. But maybe another day,” you let out a sigh in relief, “another day, when we will tease you for hours, edge you until even our breath will make you cum, how about that?”

Jimin wasted no more time and got back to licking you, making out with your pussy, encompassing it entirely with his mouth, and the moment his lips closed around your clit to suck it, you lost it. It took you by surprise; the sensation usually begins with a slight tingle on your belly, and then it spreads to your fingers, but this time your whole body clenched as pleasure overtook you, his tongue continuing to press on your clit while he sucked to prolong your orgasm. You did not know what sounds came out of your mouth, as your ears seemed to be ringing, numb to sounds. You could barely murmur out a weak stop, but he ignored it – which also relieved you, you did not really want to stop–, choosing to insert a finger and then two into you, moving them in and out at first and then pressing them upwards, looking for the spot inside you that made you see stars. You were about to say you were too sensitive for him to continue when he found it, and as you moaned loudly you heard Namjoon say something to him, but you couldn’t understand what it was, but Jimin’s response was to increase the pressure of his fingers and let your clit go. You were confused for a second but you soon understood when you felt one of Namjoon’s hands moving down, his fingers then making quick movements on your clit, knowing it was what you needed to get you there fast again. This time you felt the sensation growing, a tingling on the tips of your fingers, your toes, as it grew and permeated your entire body again. You thought they would relent, and then you remembered what Namjoon had said. They did not get tired.

You lost count after the fifth orgasm, or so you thought it was the fifth; your voice was hoarse from moaning and your clit was so sensitive from all of the overstimulation, and they did not seem like they wanted to stop anytime soon. You could feel the tears that had escaped your eyes wetting your cheeks, and every once in a while, one of them would lick them away while the other continued his assault on your clit, the pleasure relentlessly taking over you again and again. You did not know anymore when one orgasm ended and the other began, the tingling sensation a constant on your entire body. And then, finally, they snapped their fingers again, releasing your body from the invisible restraints.

You could barely move, but they helped shift and turn your body until you were on your hands and knees, Namjoon’s body behind you. You heard the sound of a small foil packet being opened, and then he was pressing inside you, his cock stretching you even though they had used their fingers before. It was always a stretch, Namjoon going in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size before starting to thrust his hips into you. On his first thrust forward, you opened your mouth on a moan and Jimin took advantage of the opportunity to press his cock into your lips, holding your hair with one of his hands while the other was at the base of his cock, holding and moving it to go over your lips. You licked around his engorged head and then opened your mouth wider, taking him inside and sucking. You could barely keep your body upright, so soon your hands faltered, and you fell to your elbows, the dip in your spine changing the angle slightly and it had Namjoon pressing into that one spot that had you almost screaming. Jimin lowered his body, sitting down with his legs open to fit you between them, inclining his body backward, bending his elbows to have a good view of you, and it made it easier for you to suck him. His view was nice, your body bent forward, your ass being held by Namjoon’s hands while he pounded into you, but your view was not bad at all.

Jimin’s muscly thighs flexed each time he pressed his hips up, fucking into your mouth, his abs clenching, and his face… his face, dark black eyes half-closed, mouth open in a sly smile, licking his full lips still wet with your taste. You maintained eye contact while you sucked him, bobbing your head up and down, sucking hard when his head was about to leave your mouth, and when you went down, you let your tongue lick the underside. It was sloppy, saliva leaving your mouth, making him wetter and easier for your hand to help whatever did not fit your mouth. You were moaning around him, figuring he would like it as much as Namjoon did, and you were rewarded with high pitched moans from Jimin, his head now thrown back. On a hard suck downwards you felt his thighs clench and his release spill on your mouth at the same time Namjoon played with your clit, and you screamed and soon saw nothing else.

You did not know how long you were out, but when you came to your senses again you were lying on your front, covered by your blanket, and Jimin was nowhere in sight. You heard footsteps entering the room just when you raised your head and saw Namjoon with a cold bottle of water and pants on. He smiled tentatively at you, sitting by your side on the bed. He helped you sit, propped up against him, and you took the bottle from his hands, feeling thirsty.

“Hey,” his voice was almost shy, so different from before and from the usual Namjoon. Well, the Namjoon you thought you knew. “Are you ok?”

You nodded, smiling softly at him between sips. You looked around and then looked at him, the question clear in your eyes.

“Hm, Jimin’s gone now. He helped clean you up and left, we… we did not know if you wanted him here for the after. Or if at all. Or… if you still wanted me.”

It was strange, seeing this difference in him. Namjoon was so confident, especially in the bedroom, and after finding out the truth about him, you could not imagine he would ever be this timid.

“I still want you, Joon,” you could barely speak, but you wanted to reassure him, hugging him tightly. He needed you at this moment as much as you needed him. “I just have some questions, but I still love you.”

“I love you too, Y/n. And I’ll answer whatever you want.” He was eager to respond, his relief apparent in his voice.

“The first question is… can we have fun with Jimin again another time?”

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siriusheadspace · 4 years ago

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august - sirius black x muggle!reader

Warnings: I guess it's a bit angsty? But it's also cute, summer love fluff, so idk

Pairing: Sirius Black x Muggle!Reader

Summary: You meet a cute boy in your summer job. You share secrets and live a beautiful summer love, but will you still see each other once school starts again? Inspired by "august", by Taylor Swift.

A/N: Thank you so so so so much for liking my last fic, illicit affairs! I guess I'll have to create a master list here lol. This one's a bit less gloomy and there's *sequel potential*, so please tell me if that's something you'd be interested in! Also, should I open requests? Do you guys have any? lol. I'm taking too long in this A/N, so lemme shut up. Enjoy the fic!

Words: 3.5k ish

Salt air And the rust on your door I never needed anything more

You were chewing the pen cap while at an especially tedious English Literature class. A head full of luscious black hair poked through the door, and you jumped in your chair, thinking for a second it could be the person you missed the most. But, of course, it was just a girl asking the teacher to make a class announcement. You tuned out immediately and let the memories flood through your mind. It was just the beginning of summer and your first day at an ice cream parlor in the middle of London. It was a funny neighbourhood - you didn't know why, but it always had a couple of people wearing the weirdest outfits, like weird flowy capes and tunics. But that wasn't really important - you just wanted to make a little money of your own this summer, and the ice cream gig was supposed to be easy. You quickly found out it wasn't as easy as it should be, since the owner decided to leave you to be cashier and server from the start, leaving you alone on your first day after little training. You were stressed, trying to guess if the ice cream machine was supposed to be that noisy or if you already broke it after only a few customers, when someone got in. Sirius regretted everything about spending the summer with his family. He was fifteen going on sixteen and decided to spend most of his days roaming through London, looking for a way to have a halfway decent summer, sending letters to his friends every day. He was about to go spend the day at the Diagon Alley, but he figured he could actually try to see different stuff for the day. Muggle stuff. Perhaps get a couple of new posters for his bedroom? That would piss off his mother. He smiled at the thought. But it was too damn hot for the beginning of summer, and he definitely wore too much black for his comfort under the scolding, rare sunshine. His locks of dark hair were starting to get wet with sweat, and he decided to put his muggle money to good use when he went by an ice cream parlor. He was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever seen, her hair in a lazy, long braid, her skin tanned and glowing, and her brows frowned as if she was bothered to see him. And you'd never forget how pleasantly surprised you were to see the tall guy that just went inside the store. You'd never be able to forget the way that there was something else about him - he was gorgeous, his long strides revealing from far away how tall he was, his hair pulled back in a makeshift bun - but there was just more, an aura that made him magnetic; magic, you first though instinctively, but shook the thought. Charisma, perhaps. But you'd soon found out it was his own particular mix of both. The bell started ringing and pulled you away from your memories.

Whispers Of "Are you sure?" "Never have I ever before"

While you walked through the corridor, you felt the rush of excitement you'd always feel when you remembered you knew a secret, one so special no one would believe you, even if you told them. "You must know something about me, doll", he said, cuddling with you on your bed in the middle of the afternoon, your parents still away at work. You ended up quitting the job pretty quickly after your first day, but you were making good use of your free afternoons. "What, babe?", you said, and you felt his smirk against the top of your head, where his lips were, him breathing in your scent. You liked to use gauche pet names as much as he did. "That you're not the smartest, since it's very stupid for us to cuddle in the middle of a hot afternoon? Or that you're actually really smart, but just enjoy being around me anyway?", you joked. "How very funny of you. I am actually kind of smart, I swear", he said, jokingly, but you felt him tense up as he started talking again. "It's sort of a serious thing, actually", he said. "A… Sirius thing, you mean?", you joked again, but he brushed it off with a quick laugh. "You would know if you'd let me finish speaking", he said, and you waited. He got up and seemed nervous, not sure what to do with his hands. You never saw him like this. "Do you know how you always ask me how do I do a few things? Like, how did I fix the vase I broke the first time I came here so perfectly?" he asked, and you nodded. "You said you got another one", you squinted your eyes, trying to guess where he was going. "On the same day? Y/N, I want to be close to you, to be truthful to you. And I can't do that if you don't know about such a huge part of my life", he said. "I have… certain… habilities. And my family does, too. And my friends, as well. The school I go to… Everyone has these abilities", he completed, and pulled out a stick from his backpack. No, not a stick - not by the way he held it, with purpose. You looked for the right word in your head. A wand. "Can I trust you with the biggest secret humanity has?", he asked, and you nodded. "You can trust me with anything and everything", you said. And nothing was ever the same.

But I can see us Lost in the memory August slipped away into a moment in time

You missed him so much your entire body ached; the feeling of his callous fingertips against your cheeks, the pressure of lips on yours, how his tongue felt against yours, his laughter tickling your skin… You had to stop thinking about him. It was no good and absolutely useless. It was good while it lasted, but it was over. Still, walking home, you couldn't stop thinking about how it was once you were in on the secret, how he'd do magic in front of you, how he would tell you all about Hogwarts, about his friends… And you knew back then that there wasn't a place for you in that world.

'Cause it was never mine And I can see us twisted in bedsheets August sipped away Like a bottle of wine 'Cause you were never mine

You could remember the warm nights you spent together, once your parents decided to spend a weekend away, visiting friends or your grandparents, and how you had to pretend to be sleeping over a friend's house while you had Sirius over. You would meet at a pub, and he'd charm someone into selling you beers, so you would drink together, just enough to feel buzzed. Sirius loved teasing you. He would start by just brushing his knee against yours, but as the alcohol got to the both of you, he would get bolder, running his fingers up and down your thigh under your flimsy summer dress, whispering sweet nothings against your ear, kissing your neck. You felt so much joy, basking in his attention and his carresses. The walk to your house would always take longer than it should. He was the most sociable creature, making quick friends with everyone that grabbed his eye. He would help an old lady carry her groceries to her apartment, completely out of your way back home, while charming her; there was the time where he joined a deep conversation about bikes with a guy that had one, this huge black Harley Davidson, convincing the guy to let the two of you, clearly tipsy teenagers, to have a ride on it. It took Sirius five minutes to figure out the basics of riding that bike and convincing you to join him. "Don't you trust me, baby?", he pouted, and you gave him a quick peck - you couldn't resist his pouts and pleading. "Not with that bike, I don't", you said, watching him already seated at the bike as if it belonged to him. He looked the part, his muggle (the word always bothered you) clothes made him look like the hot, moody guitar player in a rock band, the wind flowing from his side making his hair fly in front of his face. "Then take a little risk", he chuckled, pulling you closer to him. "You can use it as an excuse to feel my abs", he said, and it was your turn to laugh. "Ok, I'm sold", you sighed dramatically, and sat behind him, your hands creeping under his shirt for a moment when you wrapped your arms around him. The speed was more intoxicating than the few beers you had, the wind whipping your exposed skin, the noise violent on your ears, the warmth that came from Sirius' back being the only thing that made you feel safe. Once you gave the bike back to its owner and were back on your foot, you would still take your time on the way there, Sirius listening to stories about your friends, the books you were reading, the movies you were watching - you promised to take him to the movies, shocked to hear that he never set foot on a movie theater. And sometimes, since you would take that long on your way home just to tease each other, he would push a loose strand of hair behind your ear and pull you in for a kiss, your back quickly meeting whatever wall was closer and spending a few minutes against the texture of the tiles while Sirius gave you long, slow kisses, trying to make the most of the night. Once you got home, you would barely have the focus necessary to find the keys and open the door, and Sirius oftenly used magic to make your life easier. "Alohomora", he said, opening the door soon after, and you chuckled. "You sound so hot when you speak fake latin", you said, and he laughed while he followed you inside, quicky going back to kissing you while you tried to guide him to your bedroom. On those nights, after he was fast asleep, his smug expression erased out of his face by sleep, you never thought about how it would be between the two of you once summer was over.

Your back Beneath the sun Wishing I could write my name on it

One week, you decided you would both spend a couple days in Brighton Beach, counting every penny that you had so you could afford two nights in the middle of the week in a cheap bungalow. Sirius had exchanged magical money for muggle money and it wasn't as hard as you thought it would be to get the amount necessary. "Well, my family sucks, but at least my allowance is halfway decent", he smirked, but the smile didn't get to his eyes. "It does help that muggle money is so devalued. Shouldn't you guys complain with your prime minister, or something?", he said, expecting you to go along in the joke as you usually would. But he touched on a subject that you felt it was taboo: he never talked about his family. You knew something was wrong - all the time you spent together was outside or in your house, and he never seemed too keen in having to go back to his parents place. "Is this the moment where you tell me more about your family?", you asked, and he sighed. "It didn't go unnoticed that you felt more comfortable to tell me about actual magic before taking me to meet your mom", you joked, but he knew you meant it. "Oh, Y/N… You could never meet my family. They'd never be able to appreciate you", he told you, and then went on to explain how there's a side of the wizarding world that despises muggles, that values purity of blood before anything else, and it killed you inside, a bit. That you were right in that gut feeling that you tried to ignore. He was too good for you. You didn't belong together. There was a whole part of his society that focused on that. And his family was totally on that side. But you avoided thinking about that in those two blissful nights away. You were close before, but that routine - waking up together, cooking breakfast for each other, seeing him getting letters from his friends delivered by owls that came inside the kitchen of the bungalow as if that was normal. He bought a polaroid in the beggining of summer and tried to adapt it to take magical pictures - according to them, they were supposed to move - but it didn't work. Still, you documented those days in normal polaroids, from candids of him drinking tea in the morning to pictures of you at the beach, and he sent one of you two together to his closest friends, and your heart ached at the thought of part of his world being even the least bit accepting of you. You'd trace random patterns on the skin on his back while he tried to tan, writing your name on him and hoping there would always be a part of him that belonged to you, that would be able to return to you once you were apart, like you did with your favorite toys when you were a kid. A childish desire to keep him with you. You loved your nights out, holding hands while going on rides that were probably unsafe and operated by other teenagers, convincing Sirius to try to win you prizes, and actually getting him a teddy bear - you were a better shot. And he would try to do magic discreetly when you asked him to cook or clean something, and you messed with him for cheating on those chores. It felt like you could absolutely live together forever, making that little bungalow home for those magical hours. You even held his wand, felt the texture of the wood against your fingertips, noticed how it was well used, the parts of it where you could see that his hands touched more oftenly, the worn wood reminding you how he was a part of something that you could only imagine for way longer than he was part of your life and your world. But he soon joked that you were "taking too long playing with his wrong wand", and you'd laugh and kiss him and forget your concerns.

Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinking I had you

You felt the nervousness as the summer approached its inescapable end. As Sirius went out to buy school supplies one afternoon, you couldn't escape the anxiety caused by the uncertainty surrounding your relationship. You just spent the most amazing few months of your life with this guy you absolutely Loved, with a capital L, and you weren't even sure you'd meet again after a few days. You didn't know his address and you couldn't send letters there anyway. You had no idea how to send a letter to Hogwarts. Once you met him at a park near wherever he would buy supplies for a magic school, with him excited to show you what he got and hear about your day, you were already unable to hide the change in your mood. "What's wrong, sweetheart? I was just talking about you with James and..." he said, and he noticed he chose the wrong words when you winced at him. "So you can't even introduce me to your friends that are supposed to be tolerant that you're dating a muggle?", you asked, trying to sound mean, but he could hear how much you were hurting under the façade of anger. "It's not like that, Y/N. There's too many people from Hogwarts there now, people that don't like me or my friends and despise, hum, people like you, and it would be dangerous for you if they knew they could hurt me by messing with you", he explained, but it didn't soothe the pain in your chest. "What is it gonna be like once you're not here, Sirius? Is there a way for us to even talk? I don't own a magic owl, and I don't think the postman is going to able to find Hogwarts", you said, spiteful. "Do you even want to continue this, us? Or are you going to be with people your friends and family can actually know about and meet, that can defend themselves instead of just being a source of weakness for you?", you asked, your voice trembling, all the thoughts you avoided for months taking space and energy, growing inside of you and blurting out. "Y/N..." Sirius started, but you were done for the day. You got up and went home.

But I can see us Lost in the memory August slipped away into a moment in time 'Cause it was never mine

You liked being with him too much to waste your last few days together, so you accepted his apologies for not taking you to meet his friends or more of his life, but you couldn't help but notice that he didn't have plans to do what he apologized for not doing. Still, you enjoyed your last few days, the picnics under the last few sunny days of the year, taking him to the movies to watch silly horror movies that Sirius fell in love with, making out with him under the soft movie lights that reflected beautifully on his gray eyes.

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets August sipped away Like a bottle of wine 'Cause you were never mine

The last night you had together made you nervous. Sirius had prepared himself to go straight from your house back to the station, hiding his luggage on your parents garage and climbing to your window. You drank wine you stole from your parents cabinet and talked in a low voice the entire night - you thought that was what you'd miss the most, just being near him and listening to his voice, to the varying inflections, to the fancy words thats would slip and denounce him as someone from a rich family, to his excitement at the perspective of being back with his friends, and to the low energy tone that followed once he said how much he would miss you. "Hey, I figured out how to keep in touch", he said, a coy smile creeping on his lips. "But I need to know at what time do you get home from school", he completed, and you quirked up a brow. He explained that his owl would bring you a letter from him and wait for you to answer with one of your own, since you didn't have another way of getting to him. You were happy that he found a solution, but it didn't go unnoticed, again, that it seemed like a simple solution that maybe he though about before, but wasn't sure he wanted to go through with you. Also, you'd always be at his mercy and will, having no way of contacting him besides when he wanted to hear from you. But at least there was a way, a chance…

Back when we were still changing for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope…

The next morning, he woke you up at dawn with a quick kiss and said goodbye, promising to contact you again. That was three weeks ago. I mean, you couldn't really blame him. He was beautiful, talented, smart, and everyone knew summer loves weren't forever. He was probably met by a swarm of beautiful witches that would do everything for him. It would be easy to forget about you, your normal, common life. But you felt resentment towards him. He could've just been honest, you thought. He shouldn't have given you hope. He should've been honest about your intentions. He shouldn't have made you act like a fool everytime your classes came to an end, always running home and looking for an owl in the sky, only to be greeted by the emptyness of your silent house. You were getting tired of feeling angry, though. It tarnished your beautiful memories of a perfect summer. You just had to say goodbye to your hopes of getting to see Sirius again, to hear his perfect laughter, always laughing with you and never at you, the ringing in your ear that would send a shiver through your back, or that you'd never feel the silky perfection of his hair tangled between your fingers again… You were trying to come to terms with that, distracted, once you got home. There was an owl on the front window, standing on the window sill. Your heart skipped a beat.

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captain-josslett · 4 years ago

Text

Broken Melody - Part One

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven,

Summary: Grammy Award winning Emma Danvers is the first to say she has a pretty good life. But what happens when it implodes around her and it looks like things will never be the same again?

Words: 10k+

Warnings: None... yet...

Pairings: Emma Danvers x Lena Luthor (Eventual)

Right! I wrote the beginning of this fic months ago. It’s going to get angsty so be ready. But the purpose of the first part is to introduce this version of B!D, a well known singer in a grammy award winning band. I honestly had a great time writing this first part!

Thank you for reading and let me know if you wanna be tagged or any general feedback will be greatly appreciated.

For @thewitchandtheassassin, @natasha-danvers, @life-is-hella-unfair, @finleyfray, @supergirl-writingz,

The screeching of Emma Danver’s alarm makes her hazel green eyes shoot open. Normally on a Saturday she wouldn’t have her alarm set and would laze in bed. Especially when she is home from her latest world tour. However, today was going to be a day filled with the Superfriends, and she can’t wait!

Emma had mentioned at the latest game night that she wanted to check out a beach over an hour away from the city and how they could make a day of it. Kara, her Supergirl sister, instantly accepted the idea while bouncing up and down with excitement. Mostly everyone else agreed, happy to know the summer sun would be in full force that day.

Well they still had to persuade a few people, mainly Lena and Alex. But when Emma and Kara both knelt in front of the women with their identical Danvers pouts they were forcibly won over.

Emma smiles as she stretches and runs her hands through her wavy blonde hair. She quickly gets out of bed and opens her curtains. Sighing happily and just enjoying the sunshine blazing into her penthouse bedroom. Emma can totally see how Kara gets her Supergirl powers from the sun, how it recharges her and makes her the Woman of Steel.

After a few more minutes Emma turns and grabs her phone. While making her way to her ensuite she messages the group chat.

Emma: Gooooooodd Mmmoooorrrrnnnniiiinnnngggg!!! How’s everyone? Seriously can’t wait for today!

After having a quick shower Emma wanders back into her room and decides what to wear. She puts on her turquoise surf bikini with her tight black surfing shorts. She wears her blue jean shorts over the top, and a white tank top. She finishes her outfit off with her many bracelets, her apple watch and a layered necklace that has a star, sun and swan pendant. Symbolising each of the Danvers sisters. Alex is the star, Kara is the sun and Emma is the swan.

Swan became one of Emma’s nicknames in school due to there being a lot of Emma’s in the class. Her friends joked she was a swan princess due to doing ballet when she had asked them to come to a recital. Which they did and were in awe, but you know. Emma happily accepted the nickname, taking it as a compliment. Emma smiles as she looks at her ballet shoes strung over her mirror. ‘Another thing I need to get back into.’ Emma thinks wistfully. She still loves dancing, especially the latin styles like samba and tango. But she doesn’t have the time.

As she draws her attention to her reflection she definitely looks like a surfer chick, lean, toned and sun kissed. Which she was happily going for. She’s been dying to surf for ages but just hasn’t had the time. Her band had recently returned from a sell out world tour. And sadly most of the places they played at didn’t have beaches or the right surf. She felt sorry for her neglected surfboard in the back of the tour bus.

Her phone pings drawing her attention away from her musings. Emma laughs when she sees a few messages have already been sent.

Kara: Good morning sunshine! I’m sssoooooo excited too! Did you need me to bring anything else? I got all the food ready!

Kelly: Of course you’d have the food Kara!

Kelly: And good morning Emma! Shall I bring my swimsuit? Anyone going for a swim?

Kara: Ooo I am! And I think Emma is going to surf?

James: Why are you guys texting this early? I could have had at least another hour or more of sleep.

Alex: I agree with James… Emma, I hate you.

Emma chuckles at Alex’s message while she gets a bag ready with a change of clothes.

Emma: Love you too Alex!

Kara: Ahem… What about me?!

Emma: Love you too Kara!

Alex: You love me more though right?

Emma: No I love you both the same!

Kara: *Wink Wink*

Alex: Hey!

Nia: What am I just decoration?

Emma: No of course not Nia! I love you too!

James: What about me?

Kelly: And me!

Emma: Yes James and Kelly I love you both too.

Lena: Do you love me?

Emma pauses before she responds to Lena’s text. Honestly, she’s had a crush on her since the moment they met. But Lena is way out of Emma’s league. A CEO dating a musician and artist like Emma wouldn’t work. She’s not clever or brave like Kara or Alex.

Once when Lena had met her for lunch, Lena had explained what being a CEO entailed. Emma’s mind melted; it was so complex. Lena just laughed at her exasperated expression trying to figure it all out. “And that, my darling, is why you are an artist and I am a CEO.” Emma practically melted at Lena’s smile from across the table.

But that’s one of the things she loves about Lena, her passion for her work and drive for making the world a better place. And her smile. To Emma, Lena’s smile lights up the whole room.

Sighing Emma looks back down at her phone.

Emma: I love you the most… *Delete*

Emma: Yea I love you too. :)

‘Somewhat truthful…’ Emma thinks as she puts her phone in her pocket, grabbings her backpack, guitar case and placing it by the door. Kneeling on her sofa she pulls her surfboard up from behind, giving it a quick hug. Excitement surges through her veins at the thought of surfing the waves.

‘Rao I hope the waves are good today!’ Emma wishes as she swings the board around and accidentally knocks her recent Grammy on the floor. “Shoot!” Emma yelps and quickly drops her surfboard to pick up the award. Emma sighs in relief when she turns it over in her hands, seeing it wasn’t broken. Out of all her awards, this year's Grammy meant the most to her. The album had been a real breakthrough moment for her and the band, Axis, and they swept away the competition. Emma remembers the feeling of pride and honour when their name was called. How she and the rest of the band rushed to the stage in unison and linked arms as each said a thank you.

Emma carefully places the Grammy down and picks up her surfboard. Grabbing the rest of her stuff she locks the door behind her and takes the elevator down to her beloved yellow VW beetle. Which she affectionately calls the ‘bug’. Emma puts her stuff in the car and carefully straps the board onto the roof rack before getting into the driver's seat.

Taking her phone out she sends Lena and Kara a quick message to say she’s on her way to pick them up. Alex and Kelly are picking up Sam. Who did try and persuade Ruby to come but now as a teenager, Ruby has better things to do then hang out with her Mom and her Mom’s friends. James is giving J'onn, Nia and Brainy a ride.

Emma quickly plugs in her phone and chooses to blare out her playlist of her favourite songs. As she pulls out of the underground parking garage she starts singing and making dramatic hand movements as she dances along. Not caring if people see her.

Soon she’s outside Lena’s apartment building and as she turns the music down Lena Luthor herself was exiting the building. Emma’s mouth drops open with how beautiful Lena looks. And how different she looks too! Gone were the suits and smart wear of a CEO. Instead Lena was wearing a thigh length red patterned skirt that matched her red lips with a black crop top. To finish the look off she wore a black bowler hat.

When Lena opens the passenger door Emma quickly closes her mouth.

“Hi Em!” Lena smiles brightly at the blonde and leans over to place a kiss on Emma’s cheek. Making the blonde blush and causing her brain short circuits.

“Hi Lee!” Emma says more high pitched than normal.

Lena grins at her in amusement. ‘Rao I could get lost in those green eyes.’

“Er, Em… We gonna go?” Lena teases causing Emma to jump and pull away from the pavement. “So, how has your week been?”

“Fine. Got a commission to complete before Thursday but I’m almost done. I actually have to thank you, it's the lovely couple we met at the recent gala we went to.”

Whenever Emma is back in the city Lena always invites her to the gala’s. Surprisingly Emma finds she enjoys them, especially when it's one of Lena’s charity events. Lena and Emma are both thrilled to find Emma has a talent in being able to persuade the rich attendees to donate their money. Even from those who have never donated before. “It’s the Danvers charms!” Emma would laugh and wink at Lena when the raven haired women would be dumbfounded at the cheque in her hand from a rival.

“Mr and Mrs Green?” Lena asks, remembering how the couple were enthralled with Emma’s work as an artist and musician. Their donation had been one of the biggest of that night. ‘No surprise there.’ Lena smirks.

“Yea them.” Emma nods while concentrating on driving. She does love the city life but driving through it can be such a pain.

“What did they ask for?” Lena inquires while picking at a loose thread in her skirt.

“Mainly a seascape of a view they had back in the UK. Thatchers rock… I think.” To be honest Emma had been surprised by the Green’s enthusiasm when she showed them her portfolio. How they were willing to wait for Emma’s tour to finish before getting their commission. It had been made easier that there was a reference to work on. Even though she has never been to that part of the UK. Mainly the cities dotting around the island. And even though Emma doesn’t need the money she enjoys doing something different. Her art gives her another escape.

“What style are you doing it in?” Lena asks as she bobs her head along with Emma to the music. Something she’s never done before until getting rides with Emma. Something about the blonde’s carefree attitude rubbing off on her.

“I’m using oil this time. I think it works better with the layering and it can really make the sea look like it’s moving you know? Well… If I get it right.” Emma realises she started to ramble and quickly cuts herself off. Certain Lena wouldn’t want to hear the techniques Emma has been using. “If all goes to plan the painting should look different with the different lighting of the day.”

“I am sure you will darling.” Lena smiles widely at her.

Emma smiles back. Feeling butterflies zoom round her stomach at the term of endearment.

“Thanks Lee.” Emma taps her thumbs to the beat while they wait for a light to turn green.

“How-”

“How’d-”

They both stop when they realise they both started talking.

“You go.” Emma motions Lena to continue.

“How’s everything going with the band?”

“It’s going really, really well! We are already writing songs for the next album. But we’ve also really benefited having this time off too.” Emma grins thinking of the other band members.

In some ways they’ve become another little family to her. The four other guys were already formed and were looking for a female influence. Emma saw the flyer and thought ‘why not!’ before calling them and doing an audition. The guys were blown away by her voice and talent. Unanimously they agreed she can become a member of the band and ultimately making her the lead singer. That was over eight years ago when Emma was eighteen and Axis were well known in certain areas of America but when Emma joined their popularity skyrocketed.

However fame didn’t matter to Emma, but she loves performing and writing music. Especially when she gets fan messages about how her songs have helped someone get through a difficult time and gave them hope. She always makes sure to save those messages.

“Sounds exciting.” Lena agrees, nodding her head.

“Speaking of deals.” Emma pauses to concentrate on the traffic. “How’d the deal with the Japanese go?”

Even though Emma wasn’t looking at Lena she could feel the big eye roll the raven haired beauty did.

“That good huh?” Emma jokes but feels for the CEO.

“Honestly it was a nightmare. They kept going around in circles and I’m just getting over the migraine!” Lena dramatically rubs her forehead. Which Emma misses from looking at the road.

“Ah no.” Emma frowns as she quickly looks at Lena. “Are you sure you’re okay to come to the beach?”

“Yes I’m fine.” Lena smirks at Emma’s concern.

“Okay, I am glad you’re coming.” Emma smiles brightly back.

Lena raises an eyebrow. “Did I have a choice?” Lena teases.

“Yes! But it would have made me very sad if you hadn’t.” Emma pouts dramatically and pulls off her best puppy dog eyes.

“And that’s why I said yes.” Lena chuckles at how adorable Emma looks.

Soon they pull up to Kara’s building and she’s already waiting outside. Piles of bags by her feet. Both Lena and Emma laugh at the sight. “Joys of being Supergirl I guess!” Emma jokes about Kara’s metabolism.

As she parks Emma can’t help but remember the day Kara became a part of the Danvers family.

Emma had taken to the alien quicker then Alex, especially as there was only a year age difference between the two blondes. She also found she became the bridge between Alex and Kara. Over time the three learned how to live with the new dynamic and would soon enjoy each other's company. Kara and Alex would laugh when little Emma would cheerfully yell that they were the three musketeers as they played with wooden swords or practically any activity that involved the three of them. Even making hot chocolate together.

When Kara became Supergirl Emma almost had a fit. She’d been in New York for a sold out week of gigs when she had seen the news in the early hours of the morning. Frantically she called Kara to see if she was okay and getting even more frantic when she realised Alex had been on the plane too. The two sisters were eventually able to calm her down after a lot of sobbing and panic from her end. When Emma returned to National City she held onto her sisters a lot tighter that day. Eventually the three ended up falling asleep together on the sofa. Emma in the middle of the two as they wrapped their arms around each other.

Emma’s musings were interrupted when Kara slammed the car boot down hard. Causing the car to bounce.

“Careful Kara!” Emma yells, knowing full well her sister would hear her.

“Sorry little one! I’m just so excited!” Kara squeals as she opens the backseat door before leaping in.

“Hey I’m only a year younger than you!” Emma frowns into the rear view mirror to glare at her sister. Who just sticks her tongue back at her while clicking in her seat belt.

They continue the hour long drive to the beach, chatting and singing along to Emma’s playlist. Lena watches on in amazement as Kara sings the melody and Emma does some beautiful harmonies around her. They all laugh and cheer when Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ comes on.

“Come on Lena! Join in!” Emma yells while she puts the volume right up. So Lena does. When the rock part of the song comes on all three of them dance and headbang along. Lena laughs as she feels so carefree. She pauses when Emma starts singing passionately to the next verse.

So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye So you think you can love me and leave me to die Oh, baby, can’t do this to me, baby Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here

Honestly she could listen to Emma’s voice for hours. Which is probably why she secretly went to as many of Emma’s gigs as possible. But every time she would go to reveal herself to Emma she would back peddle and leave. Knowing that someone as talented as Emma was way out of her league. Her pride for her friend as she watched with the Superfriends at Kara’s apartment as Axis won Grammy after Grammy, award after award. How they screamed with joy and hugged each other after each announcement. Plus Lena thought someone as pure and happy as Emma wouldn’t do well with someone broken like Lena. So she keeps her feelings to herself and tries to be content with being Emma’s friend.

Lena’s heart warms as she remembers meeting Emma for the first time over 3 years ago. She had been at one of her first game nights with the Superfriends when a knock sounded on Kara’s door. Everyone had looked at each other in surprise as no one was missing. Lena watched Kara bounce towards the door and as she opened it a continuous scream of surprise and happiness escaped Kara’s mouth. This caused Alex to rush over in response and suddenly scream as well. The two sisters practically tackled the blonde beauty out into the hallway where they fell into a laughing heap. Kara kissed the blonde’s head over and over while Alex held onto her like a koala bear and kissed her cheek over and over.

Finally they untangled and Kara dragged the other blonde into her apartment. Excitedly introducing everyone to her little sister, Emma. The Superfriends each individually greeted the newcomer and when it came to Lena’s turn Emma had stepped forward and gave her an affectionate hug. Laughing that Kara has told Emma so much about her that she feels she already knows Lena well. When Emma stepped away from the hug they both ignored the warm feelings racing around their bodies. Lena had to agree as both the Danvers sister’s spoke of Emma fondly and how proud they were of Emma’s success. Lena hadn’t told anyone this but she bought all of Emma's music to listen to it after Kara gushed about her sister. She instantly fell in love with the voice coming through the speakers.

Kara soon asked why Emma was in National City and Emma excitedly revealed that Axis was moving to National City. Lena again ignored the feeling of excitement that shot through her. And again Emma was tackled to the floor as both Alex and Kara leapt towards her in celebration.

“Lena?” Kara’s voice breaks through her thinking and Lena turns to look back at her best friend. Listening intently as Kara excitedly explains a new prototype Brainy is designing to help Kara not be so affected by Kryptonite.

“Maybe I can help with it?” Lena offers kindly.

Kara’s smile brightens up even more. “That would be swell!”

Lena gives Kara a small smile before turning back to the front. To be honest it still stings that Kara didn’t tell her Supergirl secret to the CEO. It had been two years after Emma had moved back to National City when Lena and Kara were having lunch but Kara was being called away. Again. Lena couldn’t stop herself and blurted out she knew Kara’s secret. She will never forget how Kara’s face fell and the promise of talking about it after she’s finished. Lena’s face grew cold as her walls shot up. She told Kara not to bother and stormed out of the restaurant to her penthouse apartment. She refused to see anyone or answer her phone. Allowing her past hurts and hatred to simmer and boil.

That was until a knock sounded on her door. She chose to ignore it but the knocking persisted.

“Come on Lena, please open the door. Let’s talk about this.” Emma’s muffled voice sounded through the door.

“Why should I?” Lena spits out as she draws closer, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“Because you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Lena scoffs. “And why not?”

“Because you’ll allow your demons to lie to you and it will eat you up.” Emma had experience with this herself.

Tears fill Lena’s eyes and against the screaming in her head she reaches out and opens the door.

“Hey you.” Emma gives Lena a small smile before stepping into the apartment. Placing the takeout bags on the floor and pulling Lena into a tight hug. Allowing Lena to break down as she sobs into Emma’s shoulder. All her past hurts rushing forward and spewing out.

After she was spent Emma gently led her to the sofa and reheated the food. Making sure Lena ate. They talked long into the night and when Lena started rubbing her eyes from exhaustion Emma helped her get ready for bed. As Lena slid between the sheets Emma leaned down to give her a goodnight hug. But stopped when Lena wouldn't let her go. “Stay.” Lena whispered. So Emma grabbed a pair of her spare clothes she left for times like this and got in next to her. Lena shifted over to her and rested her head on Emma’s shoulder. Emma wrapped her arms around Lena and held her close. They don’t say anything more but drift into a peaceful sleep.

“We’re here!” Emma sings out, causing Lena to jump slightly. They pull into a car park right next to the beach.

“Oh wow!! Look at the sea! It’s so beautiful!” Kara gasps as she presses herself against the window and like an excited child she unbuckles and races towards the beach. Having already spotted Alex, Kelly and Sam setting up.

Emma snorts at her sister’s behaviour while she unbuckles her seatbelt.

“Er… She will help us with the food? Right?” Lena looks back at the overflow of food bags in the back of the bug.

“Yea as soon as she realises she will shoot back up here.” Emma chuckles while getting out of the car. And Kara did just that as Emma went to pay for a parking ticket she watched Kara race back up to them, in human speed. “Glad to see you helping.” Emma raises an eyebrow at her sister as Kara reaches the bug.

“Sorry! I just got really excited! It’s so beautiful here!” Kara bounces like a puppy.

“Now you understand why I dragged you here instead of going to the beach at NC?” Emma says while carefully unstrapping her board before lowering it and leaning it up against the bug.

“Yes, yes.” Kara keeps her eyes on the beach.

“Hey.” Emma smirks at her distracted sister.

“Yea?” Kara tears her eyes away to look at Emma. Smiling when Emma opens are arms and they hug. “Haven’t been able to give you one yet.” Emma says in her ear. Kara buries her face into Emma’s neck, enjoying the warmth and feeling of home whenever she hugs her sisters.

The car door closing makes them break apart. “Okay I think that’s everything.” Lena says while looking at the small mountain of bags.

“Thanks Lena!” Kara sings as she grabs half of the bags before Emma can tell her to only take a few. Hopefully no one will question how a slim woman can carry that much weight. Lena catches Emma’s eye and they both roll their eyes at each other.

“Jink!” Emma yells causing Lena to do another eye roll. Before Emma can reach down for her stuff Lena steps forward.

“Can I have a hug too?”

“Sure you can Lee.” Emma opens her arms wide and Lena almost tackles her with her enthusiasm. They both sigh happily as they hold onto each other a bit longer than necessary. Emma breaks the hug and steps back, grabbing her backpack, placing a few food bags on her shoulders picking up her guitar, and securing her surfboard under her arm. “Oh Lee don’t take that many, Kara will come up and get the last few.”

“Okay.” Lena nods while swinging a food bag on each of her shoulders and they start walking towards the beach. “Kara is right though, it’s really beautiful here.”

Emma smiles at her, happy Lena approves. The sand was a beautiful white which made the sea clear and looked like a gorgeous turquoise and teal. The richness of the colours makes Emma want to weep with happiness. They could pretend like they were in the Caribbean or on the Hawaiian islands.

“Hey Peanut!” Alex yells as Emma approaches her.

Peanut has always been Alex’s nickname for Emma since their parents told three year old Alex she was going to be a big sister. Alex had been fascinated about it all and when her Mom had told her the baby was the size of a peanut the name stuck. Even when Emma grew and was the size of tennis ball Alex would still refer to the baby as Peanut.

“Hey sis!” Emma yells back, dumping her stuff on one of the picnic blankets. Alex comes over and pulls Emma into a tight hug, quickly followed by Kelly and Sam. “Been a long time Sam, how are you?”

“I know I’m sorry!” Sam says as she takes a step back. “Life’s been hectic!”

“Oh don’t I know it.” Emma laughs. “Maybe you can ask your boss to allow you to have a life?” Emma teases while giving Lena a pointed look.

“Not my problem she wants to work longer hours then she is contracted!” Lena places her hands on her hips.

“Maybe she’s following her boss's example? And maybe the boss needs to cut down too? Maybe relax a bit?” Emma stalks towards her crush.

“Maybe-” Lena stops what she was going to say and tilts her head as she watches Emma approach. A smirk on her face. “What are you doing?”

Suddenly Emma reaches out and starts tickling Lena who laughs loudly and tries to swat the blonde away.

“Lena! She’s ticklish too!” Alex snickers as she goes through the food bags.

“Traitor!” Emma yells as Lena starts her own assault. The two women fall to the sand in fits of giggles as they wrestle. Before Emma can gain the upper hand Lena straddles her and continues tickling her. “No! Lena!” Emma kicks out trying to shift the woman on top of her. But Lena was not budging. “Argh! I surrender! Please!” Emma wheezes.

“I win?" Lena stops and gazes down at Emma triumphantly.

“You win.” Emma coughs and when Lena moves off her she instantly misses the feeling of Lena’s weight on top of her.

“Are you ladies done or are you going to help?” Alex raises her eyebrow at them as they catch their breath.

“Yes ma'am.” Emma salutes before getting up, rubbing the sand off herself and reaching out to help Lena up. They smirk at each other and set to work getting the rest of the blankets and chairs out for the Superfriends.

Soon the other group arrives and they all sit chatting and relaxing. The men start setting the BBQ up, insisting they can do it, much to the amusement of the women as they try to do it without looking at the instructions.

Alex, Kara and Emma smile at each other as they share a look before giggling. The Danvers sisters have barbecuing in the great outdoors down to an art. But if it keeps the men happy they stay quiet. Sighing Emma turns away from the entertainment and looks out to sea, watching the waves and the surfers riding them.

Alex shuffles up to her, resting her head on Emma’s shoulder. “You can go if you want.”

Emma rests the side of her head on her sister’s. “I know, but the waves aren’t quite right yet.”

“Okay.” Alex wraps her arms around Emma, who returns the gesture and holds onto Alex. Emma moves her head and kisses Alex’s head before resting her own on Alex’s again.

Alex smiles and kisses Emma’s hand that's holding her close. At first Alex wasn’t too keen on the idea of coming to the beach, too much work to do at the DEO and an hour travelling seems like an eternity. But Alex is glad she came. They sit content.

“How can you tell if the waves are not right?” Brainy asks, having left J'onn and James to sort out the BBQ.

Emma looks up at him. “I don’t know, you just can. It’s a feeling.” Emma runs a hand through her hair trying to think of a better way to explain it. “Like when you are out there you know a big wave is coming, the wave. You just got to be patient and take the moment when it comes.”

Brainy tilts his head at her. “I think I understand.”

“Well I’m glad you did.” Alex snorts and yelps when Emma playfully slaps her bare arm.

“Oh come on I didn’t slap you that hard!” Emma laughs but rubs her sister’s arm.

“Anyone wanna play rounders?” Lena asks the group as she picks up one of her bags. She pulls out a rounders bat, which is shorter than a baseball bat, and ball.

“Rounders?” Kara asks, confused. “Don’t you mean baseball?”

“No, I mean rounders, it’s what we played at my boarding school. It’s the game that baseball came from. The first known account of it was in 1744 with the Tudors.” Half of the group look at Lena blankly, while the other half look interested and know who the Tudors are. “Basically you still have four bases, home runs etc. The bowler must do underarm, though we can do overarm…” Lena pauses. “It’s just different okay?”

“Sounds good to me!” Sam leaps to her feet and starts setting the four bases up. Everyone else follows suit and splits into teams, Lena and Sam being the captains of each team. On Lena’s team is Kara, James, Alex and Emma versus Sam’s team which has Kelly, J'onn, Brainy and Nia.

After a coin toss Lena’s team bats first with Sam being the bowler, or pitcher, as Alex yells out.

“And can we make a rule of no powers? We don’t want the ball getting batted into space!” Sam jokes as she jogs to bowler base.

“Sounds fair.” Kara says looking at J'onn who nods in agreement. She gets into position to bat. She hits the ball no problem and starts to run, but she hits the ball too high and Brainy is already waiting to catch it.

“Out!” Sam yells as Brainy holds the ball in his hand, causing Kara to skid to a halt. She turns and walks back to the team, kicking the sand as she goes.

“Hard luck sis.” Alex rubs Kara’s back when she comes back to the line up. Pouting all the way. Emma gives her a hug and kisses her cheek.

“You’ll do it next time.” Emma reassures her.

They watch James get into position and hit quite a good ball. He manages to get to third base before having to stop when Nia catches the ball while on 4th base.

Lena is the next to go and Emma can’t help but watch as she sways her hips getting ready to strike. Her ball goes low and far. She sprints off and her team screams and cheers when she manages to do a home run.

“Nicely done Lee!” Emma holds her hand out to high five the out of breath CEO.

“Thanks.” Lena smiles brightly at the blonde while holding onto her hand longer than necessary.

Alex is up next, feeling the pressure of going after Lena’s home run.

“You got this babe!” Kelly smiles from the 2nd base. Alex smiles back at her before readying herself. She misses the first ball.

“Strike 1!”

Huffing Alex gets back into position again. And misses.

“Strike two!”

“You got this Al!” Emma claps and encourages her sister.

Taking a deep breath Alex readies herself and watches the ball. She manages to hit it and sprints to 2nd base.

“Nice to see you Alex!” Kelly teases the red head causing Alex to gently shove her girlfriend.

“Right you’re up Emma!” Sam calls as she catches the ball.

Emma picks the bat up, wiping the sand off it and stands in position. Noticing the opponents are standing mainly to the left, Emma decides to trick them. When Sam throws the ball she quickly turns her body and whacks the ball to the right side of the field far away from the group. She runs half the way and seeing Brainy is still running to the ball she walks the rest of the way, dancing and blowing kisses. She starts sprinting the last few feet as the ball is being thrown towards Nia. The team celebrates her home run and they play a few more rounds, having a few collisions and lots of laughter. They have two more goes each and swap over. Lena takes over as the bowler. “Pitcher!” Alex yells as she runs to man 2nd base.

The new batting team does just as well and Sam’s team are one point behind. J’onn is up as the last batter, it’s all on him. If he gets a home run Sam’s team has won the game. Emma watches the ball carefully as Lena throws it and in a split second it's coming right at her. She reaches out her hand and catches it. Everyone stares dumbfoundead before yelling in surprise and either excitement from winning or groans for losing.

Emma’s team crowd her and she laughs at the attention.

“Emma?” A voice says behind her.

Emma’s head shoots round and she smiles when she sees her bandmates standing there.

“Guys?” She rushes towards them. Emma had told them of her plans and had invited them to join. They had said they were busy so it's a huge surprise to Emma that they stood in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

“We are… Wanted to talk to you.” Jack, the guitarist and other singer, says before he looks at the Superfriends behind Emma, watching them intently. “Alone.”

“Sure.” Emma shrugs, she turns back to Lena and throws her the ball. Emma walks with her bandmates along the beach until they are far enough away. Though Emma is sure Kara can still hear them. “So, whats up? Everything okay?”

“Er… So about that-” Danny, the drummer, starts but rubs his neck. Feeling very awkward. Frankie, the keyboardist, doesn’t make eye contact with Emma and shuffles his feet in the sand.

Mick interrupts. “We want to leave the band.”

Emma’s mind screeches to a halt. “Leave? All of you?”

“Yea Em. Just with Jack getting engaged, Frankie’s Dad being ill and Danny’s baby is due. We just don’t have the same drive like you do.” Mick looks sadly at her. “We are a great team, but it’s just not the same. After moving to National City we realised we want to settle, have families, the whole white picket fence thing.”

Emma places her hands on her hips, biting her lips to stop the tears threatening to fall. “What about the new album? We’ve already written most of the songs.”

“You don’t need us Em. You are the front runner and can do this with anyone.” Jack tries to reassure her.

“But they won’t be you.” Emma’s heart starts to break when she looks at the finality in each of their eyes. “And… And nothing I can say will change your minds?”

Her four bandmates shake their heads.

“Okay.” Emma looks up at the sky, taking a deep breath before looking back at the men in front of her. “Well, can we do a farewell tour?”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Danny smiles sadly at her and the other three nod.

“Can we give you a hug?” Jack asks quietly, hating seeing Emma so defeated.

Emma nods and they go in for a long group hug. But as the tears start to spill Emma breaks the hug and rushes back to the Superfriends. Ignoring any questions, she throws off her clothes and jewellery and grabs her board. Sprinting to the surf and diving into the sea.

She paddles quickly, still hearing voices, most likely Kara and Alex, calling after her. But she drowns it out by duck diving under a wave as it rolls over her and she resurfaces. Emma continues further out past the swell where she can stop and just lie there. Letting the board bob as she gazes at the horizon. Emma allows her tears to fall. Her face distorts with her disappointment and hurt.

‘What am I going to do?’ Emma thinks. She gets why the guys want to leave. Knowing this would happen one day. Or at least a break, but it still hurts. ‘Since when did it change for them?’ Emma stays like this for a while, lost in her own thoughts.

Some time later splashing behind her makes her turn her head and she sits up. A wet laugh breaks through her lips when she sees Kara and Alex balancing on a paddle board trying to reach her. Alex particularly looks like how a cat would look in this situation. On her knees and very tense having come to a very deep part of the beach. Alex doesn’t like not being able to touch the bottom, or see it. Kara is using the paddle, obviously using a bit of her super strength with how quickly they are going.

“What you laughing at?” Alex snaps.

“Nothing.” Emma smiles sadly at her while wiping the tears from her face. She swings her legs around and places them either side of the board. When the paddle board comes alongside Emma’s, Kara moves to sit down. Causing Alex to shriek as the board rocks dangerously. Emma reaches out and steadies it while trying not to laugh.

“Sorry Alex!” Kara apologises before turning her attention to Emma. “You okay?”

Immediately Emma’s smile drops and her eyes fill with tears again. She furiously rubs her eyes to stop them. “Yea fine.”

“No you’re not.” Alex sighs, hating seeing her sister look so unhappy.

“Guessing you heard?” Emma looks at Kara who nods sadly. Crinkle on her forehead evident of her concern. Emma looks down at her hands, not able to look at her sisters anymore. “I just… I get why…” Emma exhales deeply. “It just hurts you know. We are so in sync with each other and I honestly can’t imagine having to restart all that again.”

“But you will.” Alex reaches out and touches Emma’s linked hands. “Because your voice, your music needs to be heard Em.”

“Yea it's one of my favourite sounds, like ever.” Kara agrees. “But you know you will always have us, right?”

Emma nods, allowing a few more tears to fall.

Alex reaches out and wipes the tears from Emma’s cheeks. “And yes it sucks right in this moment but you will get through this. We will both help you through this.”

“Totally.” Kara agrees.

“Thanks.” Somehow Alex manages to hug Emma without falling in and Kara joins them.

Right on queue Kara’s stomach rumbles. “Oh and lunch is ready.”

“Uh oh the monsters coming.” Emma smirks as she looks at her alien sister.

“Race ya?!” Kara jumps to her feet making the board rock dangerously and had Emma not been holding Alex the red head would have fallen in. After making sure her sisters were okay Emma waves them off.

“Nah, you go on ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

Emma watches her sisters go, hoping Kara has enough control not to cause Alex to fall in too far from the beach. She keeps her eyes fixed on them, slowly following in case Alex needed her. But when they reach the shore Emma lets out the breath she didn’t realise she was holding. Emma chuckles when Kara returns the paddle board they borrowed to get to her.

Shaking her head Emma starts slowly paddling into the swell and waits, her board moving with the ocean. Suddenly she feels a shift. Emma lies on her stomach and starts paddling hard. She smiles as her board gets picked up by the huge wave. Whooping as her board flies through the tube, she reaches out and skims her hand along the break. She comes out the other end and using the momentum turns her board, shooting her closer to the beach. Until finally her board slows down and she jumps off, wading the short distance to the shore.

“Hey!” A surfer approaches her, smiling flirtatiously. His brunette hair slicked back from the sea.

“Hi.” Emma responds while picking up her board.

“That was a sweet wave you just did!” His enthusiasm makes Emma smile.

“Thanks, kind of wish it went on forever.” She admits, cause really there was nothing like going through the tube of a wave. The colours and sounds were breathtaking.

“Ah man I know right?!” He laughs. “So, I was wondering if I could have your number?”

“EMMA!” She turns to look at Kara who is waving her arms about wildly. Most likely due to Alex saying she can’t eat until Emma joins them.

“Thank you but I’m kind of not available. Sorry.”

“No worries at all.” He looks slightly disappointed but still smiles.

“EMMAAAAAA!!!”

Emma laughs at how Kara’s yells got even louder. “Well I better go, don’t want my sister getting any more hangry.” Emma starts to walk back to the group.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Emma.” He calls after her.

Emma swings round but continues walking backwards. “You too.” She turns back around, smiling and shaking her head.

As soon as Emma gets near, Kara is loading her plate up at top, human, speed. Emma chuckles at the sight and digs the end of her board into the sand before taking the leash off and flopping onto the picnic blanket.

“Who was that?” Kelly asked across from her. Lena pretends she isn’t listening in as she gets some food.

“Oh just some guy congratulating me on my sweet wave.” Emma imitates the guy's accent which makes them laugh.

“And he wanted her number!” Kara teases while she sits next to Emma.

Whistles and ooo’s sound around the group. Alex watches bemused as Lena purses her lips before going back to a neutral expression.

“So where’s the number?” Sam asks excitedly, not missing Lena’s rigid posture.

“Meh, not my type.” Emma tries to play it off cooly while she grabs her top and shorts to change into again. Not minding that they will get a bit damp as the sun is out in full blaze. She also applies her suncream handing it around and reminding everyone to keep it topped up.

“Since when has hunky surfer boy not been your type?” Kara asks confused as she focuses on the surfer. “Honestly I could grate cheese on his abs!”

“Kara!” Emma laughs loudly while she dishes up a plate of food.

“You also said you weren’t available,” Kara presses on, missing the looks Alex was giving her. “Who's the lucky guy or gal?” Emma had come out as bisexual when she was a young teenager. Her Mom and sister’s supported her and Emma was glad she could do the same for Alex when she came out to her. Alex had even flown out specially to where Emma was gigging to tell her. At first Emma was really worried when Alex avoided eye contact and was nervously fidgeting in her seat. When Alex finally blurted it out Emma held her sister close. Saying how proud she was of her and her love for her sister hadn’t changed.

“No one, I just wanted to get him off my back.” Emma says nonchalantly but inside she was freaking out. She’d said it because yes she wasn’t available because her heart belonged to Lena.

Kelly gives Alex a look and watches as Emma settles in-between Lena and Kara under the umbrella they were sitting under. Alex doesn’t miss how much closer Emma sits to Lena than her sister.

The Superfriends continue talking and when everyone has finished eating they split off to do their own thing. Alex and Kelly go for a walk, mainly to come up with a plan to get Emma and Lena together. While Kara, J'onn, Sam, Nia, Brainy and James play volleyball. Girls and against boys. “Original.” Emma mutters causing Lena to snort.

Lena and Emma opt to stay with everyones stuff. Lena is happy to sit back against the pile and read a book she’s been wanting to read for months but never had the chance.

Emma sighs as she looks at her guitar case. Twiddling her thumbs for a moment she draws her knees to her chest and watches the waves. But not feeling quite ready to get back in.

After half an hour Lena puts her book down and focuses on Emma. “Something on your mind?” Lena asks, nudging her shoulder into Emma, causing the blonde to sway.

“Guessing Kara told you?” Emma keeps her eyes fixed in front of her.

“Yes, she was relaying what was being said.” Lena says apologetically.

“It’s okay. Makes it easier in a way.” Sighing heavily Emma turns to look at Lena. Who is watching her with concern. “I just don’t know what to do. I need to look for new bandmates, but that just seems so daunting. Can I really go through that all again?” Emma runs her hands through her hair. Huffing she looks back into emerald eyes. “Okay if we don’t talk about it? Just enjoy what we have right now?”

“And what do we have?”

“Great company, good food and a wonderful view.” Emma motions to the beach around them.

“Yea, I can do that.” Lena keeps her eyes on Emma.

“Go back to your book Lee. I’ll be fine.” Emma tries to smile reassuringly.

Lena doesn’t buy it but starts reading again. She watches Emma from the corner of her eye as she shuffles over to her guitar case, opening it and pulling the guitar out, making sure it is in tune.

Emma gets her songbook out of her case, opening the page to a song she had started writing. Making sure she doesn’t hit Lena with her guitar Emma settles back down. Grabbing her phone she hits record and starts plucking. Softly singing to herself.

Tell me somethin', girl Are you happy in this modern world? Or do you need more? Is there somethin' else you're searchin' for?

Emma pauses as she remembers a chorus of a song she’s been working on. She quickly flips to that page and moves her fingers to find the chords. She continues to play. Not realising her soft singing has steadily got louder.

I'm falling

Emma sees Lena in her mind as she sings. Her pain at falling for her friend and not having the courage to take it deeper.

In all the good times I find myself Longin' for change And in the bad times I fear myself

Sighing Emma looks at the sea before turning her head slightly to look at the raven haired beauty. Whose focus is on the book in front of her. Returning her attention to her notebook Emma keeps playing and singing.

I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in I'll never meet the ground Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us We're far from the shallow now

Lifting her head she focuses on the sea again.

In the shallow, shallow

In the shallow, shallow In the shallow, shallow We're far from the shallow now.

Emma pauses and stops the recording. Running a hand through her hair which starts getting more wavy from getting wet.

“Wow Em.” Lena breathes out.

Emma turns to Lena who put the book next to her. “You like that?”

“Yes, seriously… I don’t have the words.”

“Thanks, it’s not really finished. It needs another verse…” Emma goes through her notebook but comes up empty. Replaying the first verse Emma closes her eyes to figure out the words for the second verse.

Tell me something, boy

“What rhymes with boy?” Emma mutters to herself. “Toy? No… Void?”

Aren't you tired tryin' to fill that void?

Emma sighs as she remembers friends she has lost due to depression and addiction. Knowing how hard it is to feel whole and get out of the pit.

Or do you need more? Ain't it hard keeping it so hardcore?

She sings through the bridge and the chorus again, making sure it all fits. But to her horror she realises she stopped the recording.

“Crap!” Looking down her phone wasn’t where she left it. Instead it's in Lena’s hand.

“I could see you didn’t press record so I did it for you.” Lena answers Emma’s questioning gaze as she presses the button to stop the recording.

“Thanks Lee.” Emma takes her phone and grabs her pen, listening to the recording and writing the song out in full with the chords.

Lena watches Emma. “Do you usually write songs that quickly?” Lena asks, fascinated.

Emma laughs in response. “No, not usually. I guess I was more inspired.” She shrugs, placing her guitar back in the case with her notebook. She shuffles back over to Lena. “Can I?”

Lena looks up and nods, letting Emma lean down, resting her head in Lena’s lap. They do this quite often and it always makes Lena’s heart skip a beat. Slowly she puts her book down beside her and runs a hand through Emma’s hair. Looking at the view and doing what Emma said, enjoying the moment.

Time passes on and Emma watches the group playing volleyball. Kelly and Alex have joined them, Kelly staying with the girls while Alex went over to the boys side. Emma smirks when Kara would not so sneakily use her powers to gain an advantage.

But Emma’s attention diverted back to the sea, the tide was coming in and the swell had gotten bigger. Turning her head to look up at Lena Emma pauses. Her eyes linger on Lena’s chest before taking in her profile. ‘Rao she’s so beautiful.’

“Okay if I catch a few more waves?” Emma asks, finding her voice.

Looking down Lena smiles. “Sure.”

“Thanks Lee.” Emma sits up and presses a kiss to Lena’s cheek. As Emma takes her clothes off she grabs her board and runs to the surf. Lena touches her flushed cheek and smiles softly.

Soon the volleyball group end their game, the boys team winning by a few points. They head back to their set up, laughing at how both J'onn and Kara leapt for the ball, only to miss it completely.

“Hi Lena!” Kara says while sitting next to her best friend. “How's the book?”

“It’s…” Lena looks down at the book and realises she’s only got through part of the first chapter. Her attention had mainly been watching Emma surf. “Slow.”

“Ah I hate it when that happens!” Kara hands Lena a drink while they sit and watch Emma. Who had just gone through another tube, much to the excitement of the surfers watching in the shallows. “I don’t know how she makes it look so easy!”

“It’s one of her many talents.” Lena agrees, though there is always a feeling of anxiety whenever anyone she cares for is in any body of water.

“Totally.” Kara says before sighing sadly.

“Kara?” Lena asks concerned for the Super.

“I just… She’s worked so hard. I know she will come back from this, but when Alex and I got to her she… She just looked so broken.” Kara sighs again. Worry filling her eyes as she watches her sister.

“She didn’t want to talk about it. But said how daunting it is to find new bandmates. Which I can understand.” Lena knows how hard it is to make friends in general.

“Yea it’s not the easiest of processes. She needs to click with them, for them to become in sync with each other and then get on with them. How they managed to drive around in that tour bus all over America and later the world is beyond me!” Kara says with wide eyes, she had joined Emma for a few gigs and thankfully the venues weren’t too far from each other. But Kara found the journey long and boring.

“Kara, anything slower then you flying is beyond you!” Lena's teasing causes Kara to laugh loudly.

“True!”

They continue watching Emma who attempts a few aerial tricks. The spray of the sea flying high above her. “She wrote a really beautiful song just now.”

“Really?” Kara perks up and Lena nods. “Think she’ll play it for us?”

“Maybe.” Lena hopes Emma does. She really wants to hear it again.

While Emma still surfs the Superfriends play UNO. Laughing at how competitive Alex is getting and only getting calmed down when Kelly gives her a gentle kiss.

As the sun starts to slowly descend Emma finally gets out of the sea. Waving goodbye to a group of surfers she had been talking to.

She notices a fire has been built in the centre of the Superfriends circle and a few of them are roasting marshmallows.

Emma’s body is completely shattered but she smiles at the feeling. Making a note to come back here as much as she can. Even if the weather isn’t perfect like today.

The Superfriends greet her while she grabs her stuff to change. Alex stands and uses one of the blankets to block anyone’s view of Emma. Kara joins in and goes to the other side. Emma scoffs knowing full well she can change without showing anything and there has been no paparazzi bothering her.

Finally dry and feeling much warmer Emma sits next to Lena and places her head on her shoulder. She can’t help but yawn and let her eyes drift.

“Tired Em?” Alex teases from across the circle and smiles at Lena whose cheeks are tinged with red.

“Uhmm.” Emma confirms. “Do we have any more food?” She asks, keeping her eyes closed. “Or has Kara eaten it all?”

“Hey!” Kara swats Emma playfully but causes Emma to jump and glare at her. “Sorry! Did I hurt you?” Kara asks, panicked.

“No, I was just surprised.” Emma sighs before resting her head back on Lena’s shoulder.

“Well I did see a pizza place as we drove in. Maybe we can order?” Nia asks.

“Sounds like a good plan to me!” Emma gives a thumbs up. Pizza is one of her favourite foods.

With the joys of technology the friends order and half an hour later a pizza boy with a mountainful of pizza boxes comes towards them. They thank him and dig in. Emma grabs Lena and her pizza, two cans of soda and some salad left over from lunch.

“M’lady.” Emma holds out the cans which Lena takes. “I got some salad too.” Emma places the container in front of Lena.

“Thank you Em.” Lena says touched that Emma thought about her. She opens the lid and wonders how she can eat it. Looking up she sees Emma holding out a knife and fork for her and she smiles.

“You may need this.”

Lena grins back thanking her and takes the cutlery from the blonde.

Emma happily munches away at the pizza, rolling her eyes when the debate about Hawaiian pizza is brought up.

“Personally I don’t see anything wrong with it.” Sam defends laughing at Brainy’s stunned face.

“But to have a fruit on a savoury dish… it just does not compute.”

“Brainy.” Emma gets the alien’s attention. “Have you actually tried it?”

“No I have not.” He looks appalled that Emma would ask that.

“Then how’d you know if it doesn’t work?” Emma tilts her head.

After a moment of thinking Brainy nods. “Fair point.”

“Next game night I will order one and you can try it!” Sam says happily while winking at Emma, who smiles back.

“Just keep it away from me.” Alex says, shivering at the thought.

“Sorry to change the subject, buuutttt, Emma.” Kara says making Emma freeze while her last pizza slice was near her lips. She lowers it slightly while looking at her sister, who is beaming from ear to ear.

“Yea?”

“I saw you working on a song, wanna share it?”

All the Superfriends turn to look at Emma expectantly. Always appreciative of hearing anything Emma is working on. Taking a deep breath she lowers the slice back to the box and wipes her hands on a napkin.

“Peanut, you don’t have too.” Alex says glaring at Kara. Emma would do anything to make her sisters happy, Alex knew this. So did Kara. And yes, they would both exploit it sometimes.

“No, it’s okay. Would be great to get everyone's opinion.” Emma grabs her guitar and notebook. Reminding herself of the chords. “So… This… Well…” Sighing heavily, Emma closes her eyes to control her nerves. “I kind of imagine this as a duet, but with, well, the band breaking up. I may have to rethink it a bit.” Emma focuses on the fire in front of her, feeling too embarrassed to look at anyone.

She starts playing the chords and sings. Allowing the music to wash over and for her voice to carry with the wind. Emma adds the new verse but as she nears the end she feels her emotions take over, her frustration at her situation and the need to release it. She improvises. Closing her eyes and allowing herself to go with it.

Whoa-oh-ah-oh-ahh

Emma belts out, slamming her fingers into the guitar strings as she increases in passion and volume.

I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in I'll never meet the ground Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us We're far from the shallow now

A smile graces Emma’s face as she lifts her head.

In the shallow, shallow In the shallow, shallow

Emma softens her voice, allowing the natural end of the song to take place.

In the shallow, shallow We're far from the shallow now.

Emma allows the last chord to hold longer than necessary. She keeps her eyes closed and waits.

A huge roar around her causes her to jump and open her eyes. A crowd has gathered round the group and are applauding her. The Superfriends all clap wildly too, Alex wipes tears from her face and Kara beams as brightly as the sun. Emma turns to look at Lena and her smile is as bright, if not brighter then Kara’s. Her green eyes simmering with tears. Emma watches as one falls and she gently reaches out and wipes it away with her thumb.

She then acknowledges the crowd with a small wave and thanks them with a bow of her head. They soon disperse, returning to their own groups and Emma sighs in relief.

“So, was the song okay?” Emma asks while picking at a chipped bit of wood on the base of her guitar.

“Okay?” Alex's voice booms causing Emma to quickly look at her sister. Alex’s eyes are wide. “Okay? Em that song… Wow I don’t have the words!”

“That’s what Lena said.” Emma smiles at the two women.

“Well it’s true.” Lena grins back, nudging her shoulder into the blonde’s.

The other Superfriends nod and agree.

“It really moved me.” Sam says smiling at Emma who blushes in response.

“Yes.” Brainy adds. “Very- touching.” Nia smiles at him. Emma grins too, happy Brainy was able to express himself.

Emma plays a few more well known songs and the Superfriends join in. But as the sun dips slowly into the horizon Emma stops and hands the guitar to James who continues playing. Not as well as Emma but enough.

Emma heads back towards the surf, wading in up to below her knees. Taking deep breaths she watches the colours change, memorising the rich reds, oranges and yellows. Lena comes and stands next to her. They watch in comfortable silence and Lena links her fingers with Emma’s. They smile softly to each other before watching the sun dip under the horizon.

(Part Two)

#supergirl #supergirl imagine #supergirl tv #supergirl fanfic #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl baby danvers #lena luthor x baby danvers #alex danvers x baby danvers #kara danvers x baby danvers #lena luthor imagine #alex danvers imagine #kara danvers imagine #b!d #baby danvers

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rainofaugustsith · 3 years ago

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Thank you so much @tishinada for the tag! Tagging, um, @verbose-vespertine @a-muirehen

I think I can count this one for 100 Days of Writing today. @the-wip-project

My AO3 list of works is here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainofAugust

How many works do you have on AO3?

51.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

460200.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

SWTOR on AO3.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

An Open Affinity - 294

The Eternal Wrath - 247

Sithy Snippets - 138

Five Times - 118

Two Days - 85

Do you respond to comments; why or why not?

I always do my best to respond. Every now and then there's been a comment that has gotten lost in my emails but when I see it I do respond even if it's later on. I really appreciate it when people comment.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Probably one I actually pulled down that was an AU called "Total Eclipse." It was an AU, worst-case-scenario story that Lana was in on things during the traitor arc (again, complete AU) and when Viri found out she had a complete meltdown and tried to kill herself. Because if she couldn't trust Lana she couldn't trust anyone and after everything in the traitor arc and Zildrog, it completely broke her. I pulled it down because it was really dark, and in my headcanon it does not work anyway - Viri and Lana cannot lie to each other.

I am of the opinion that my characters need and deserve happy endings so that is what I write. They may go through all sorts of angst but nobody dies, nobody loses their wife or girlfriend, nobody ends the story with a sad conclusion. I try to end on happy notes, or hopeful ones.

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I don't.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not on AO3, knock on wood, but I've had nasty comments sent to me on Tumblr. There was someone who was throwing very open hate at asexuality (Viri is demisexual and that's integral to her story of falling in love with Lana) and someone else who was pissy with how Viri treated Theron after Nathema (he's still in the Alliance, but she doesn't trust him and he's not inner circle now - and not someone she considers a friend).

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes. Always sapphic, and I'm really big on enthusiastic, clear consent and emotional connection. I try to show Lana and Viri as being a couple that truly enjoys each other, has a lot of fun in bed (and out of it, given all the places they've had sex, LOL), and pays attention to what they each need.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not...per se. But I've found one that had a very, very similar word for word scene. I did not say anything publicly, I just cried a lot and talked to a friend about it. It honestly upset me enough that I stopped writing fanfic for a while and then wrote an angry fic where I had my characters say all the angry things I wanted to say about it.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not as far as I know.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Lana/Viri of course.

Whats a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I'm struggling a lot with "The Two." It's meant to be Suvia and Viri during their Dark Council and Wrath days when they formed an alliance and became friends. I'm really stalling on it because getting my head into post-class story, pre-SOR space isn't the easiest task for me.

What are your writing strengths?

I much do my best to consider backstory and detail. To use the blue curtains metaphor, sometimes the curtains in my fics are just blue - there's nothing behind them. But at the same time I do consciously often try to bake in a lot of my characters' backstories and make them multi-dimensional.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Right now, finishing stuff. Also I tend to have very little confidence and assume everything I write is awful.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Every now and then I've thrown a word in Sith into a fic. Writing non-fic, every now and then I've used terms in Latin, French, Yiddish, Spanish or Italian that are commonly seen in English or are known. Like I've caught myself writing "it's a schlep" in Rain Plays SWTOR guides because that's what I'd say IRL.

In general, though, when it comes to more than a word here or there, I write in English and then indicate that the person is speaking in another language.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I don't even know. Probably Star Wars. I wrote my own Star Wars stories as a kid. Nobody read them, but I wrote them.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

My favorite smut fic is "Been a Long Day." I think it's just really hot and well put together. Second is "Ten Ways To Please Your Lover."

Favorite overall is "The Eternal Wrath" even though it's not done. Because I'm really proud of how I wrote the Machine Gods, Viri's confrontation with Zildrog and Viri's Force Walking illness.

#100 days of writing #100daysofwriting #fanfic #fanfiction #cw suicide mention #suicide mention tw

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canarygirl1017 · 5 years ago

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Hands On Me - Chapter 1

Pairing: Reader / Jungkook

Genre: College!au, fluff, mild angst, smut

Length: 4,341k words

Warnings: language, sexual themes

Summary: You’d never had much luck with relationships, and experience had taught you to shy away from physical intimacy. But when you started dating your neighbor, Jungkook, you began to think he was worth the risk. College AU.

A/N: Next chapter coming soon. I originally wrote this a few months ago based on a prompt I got from my writer’s group. It was supposed to be college based romance, couple’s first time together, mildly angsty, and include the dialogue “Do you want to break up?” I sort of vaguely pictured JK when I was writing the male lead, at least visually, so I thought I would post it as a reader fan fic, which I’ve never written before. I usually write Marvel fan fic at AO3 in third person (not second person) so this isn’t as natural for me. Also, this is just for funsies because I don’t do real life shipping with real life people, though I do enjoy reading some of the well written fics I’ve seen in the fandom. If people enjoy this one, I might post more as I have a lot of short story prompts I’ve written for my club and don’t do anything with.

Chapter 1

Snuggled up on the sofa watching TV together was how you spent most evenings with your boyfriend, Jungkook. You did a quick clean that morning in anticipation of him coming over since he seemed to prefer being in your space, though it hardly mattered; home was just a few doors down regardless of which apartment you chose to spend time together in.

You shifted your attention from the book you were reading to Jungkook’s profile, fingers itching to trace the sharp jawline that attracted so many women to the gym where he worked as a part-time trainer while he finished university. He also needed a haircut, but he’d shrugged off the suggestion when you mentioned it earlier that week. The slightly longer, inky black locks suited him though.

He was focused on the basketball game that had gone into overtime, his thumb absentmindedly stroking against your hip as you leaned against him. Being close to him was a double-edged sword lately and a reminder that he hadn’t really touched you in a while. Not since that night a few weeks ago.

When you first started dating three months ago, he’d been very physical with you. Dates that ended with kisses at the door had quickly turned into dates that ended with making out on the sofa at his apartment or yours. But during one very heated session on his sofa you got nervous, suddenly worried that things were moving too fast, and you pulled back. To his credit, Jungkook backed off immediately, assuring you that he was fine with following a slower pace.

Your high school boyfriend had pushed for sex and against your better judgment, you’d slept with him after the senior winter formal, only to be devastated when he moved on less than a month later. Similarly, your last boyfriend had been very pushy about sex, and your reluctance was a bone of contention between you until he broke it off.

At twenty-two, Jungkook was a year older, and you knew that he was much more experienced. You’d been neighbors for almost a year now, and you’d seen several of the girls he dated coming and going during that time. You’d never spoken to one another outside the occasional hello in passing until the night you came back from work to find your ex-boyfriend, Mike, drunk and pounding on your door.

Since you didn’t want to let him into your apartment, you stood outside to talk to him. Apparently offended that you wouldn’t let him in, he’d begun berating you loudly enough to have a few neighbors popping their heads out to see what was going on. And in the middle of that embarrassing situation, Jungkook and his friend walked up.

“Hey y/n,” Jungkook said. “Sorry we’re late.”

He slipped an arm around your waist, startling you, though you couldn’t deny you were grateful for the interruption.

His friend chimed in, holding up a takeout bag. “We brought dinner.” You’d seen him around campus and remembered that his name was Jimin.

Mike had eyed Jungkook, as if sizing up a potential fight. But while he had an inch or two on Jungkook in height, Jungkook was all lean muscle and without question the stronger of the two. So, he had backed off, but not before firing off a parting shot. “Good luck with the virgin. Cold fish bitch.”

Your cheeks were burning as he walked away.

Jimin broke the silence. “What an asshole. Does he do this a lot?”

You shook your head. “This is the first time I’ve seen him since we broke up.” You could only assume the alcohol had made him think that you were a potential booty call.

Jungkook frowned as he stepped out of your personal space. “Sorry if I overstepped. I know it’s not my business, but I didn’t like the way he was crowding you at the door and yelling at you.”

“No, I appreciate you getting rid of him,” you answered. “Thank you.”

Jimin held up the takeout bag again. “We really do have dinner. Do you want to join us? Maybe it’s better if you’re not here alone in case he decides to come back.”

You hesitated, but then your stomach growled, a reminder that you hadn’t eaten since breakfast because of a hectic day of classes followed by work at the campus library.

Jungkook smiled. “We’ll take that as a yes.”

You became friends with Jungkook after that night. It was amazing how quickly you’d felt comfortable around him. He was kind and friendly, and he frequently helped the elderly residents of your building. Then one night after he’d shown up at the campus library and walked you the few blocks home, he kissed you. It marked the beginning of your new relationship, and you’d been inseparable ever since.

Unlike the few other guys you had dated, Jungkook had never directly brought up the topic of sex, nor had he pushed for it. You’d had a brief conversation one night about your respective exes. You knew he’d had one serious relationship that ended when he moved away for college and the long-distance relationship proved to be too much of a strain. He’d only dated casually since then, though you’d seen some of his overnight guests leaving his apartment the morning after.

Jungkook knew you’d had a boyfriend in high school, but you hadn’t gone into the details of the breakup. Though it was several years in the past, that rejection still stung, and you didn’t like to talk about it. He’d never asked about Mike other than to ensure you weren’t being harassed. You supposed the drunken scene he and Jimin had witnessed was explanation enough.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you failed to notice the game had ended until Jungkook spoke. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

You looked up to see him watching you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Doing what?”

“Completely zoning out,” he replied with a half-smile. “Is something bothering you?” His chocolate brown eyes studied you intently.

“No,” you said quickly. Maybe too quickly because you could tell he didn’t quite believe you. His tongue pushed against his cheek, something he did when he was thinking about how to deal with a problem.

After a moment, he nodded. “Okay.” He stood up and stretched. “I should get going. I have an early client tomorrow.”

Saturdays were always busy at his gym, and he sometimes worked longer hours on the weekends. “Do you have clients tomorrow night?”

“One,” he confirmed as he pulled on his leather jacket. “Jen’s birthday party is tomorrow, right?”

You nodded as you walked to the door with him. “We’ll be at Carmen’s.” Jen had been planning her birthday for months and wanted a venue with good food, music and dancing. The trendy bar had only been open for about a year, but it was popular for the menu, which included themed cocktails, and the Latin music. You’d been looking at salsa dancing tutorials on YouTube because you were sure that your best friend would insist on hitting the dance floor.

“Okay. Jimin and I will swing by around ten.”

Jimin and Jen were involved in a casual flirtation that they both enjoyed, though you weren’t so sure it was really going anywhere. Jimin was a handsome transfer student studying modern dance, which took up a lot of his time, much to the disappointment of the single girls on campus. And for the two years you’d been friends, you had never known Jen to date anyone seriously. Still, Jen had heavily hinted that she wanted Jimin to come to her birthday party, and so you had told Jungkook to bring him.

“Okay.” You tilted your head back as he leaned down to kiss you goodbye.

You loved kissing him – the way his hands settled on your hips, and the way the first gentle brush of his lips against yours always gave way to slow, deep kisses. Your hands drifted down his chest to his waist, clutching the material of his t-shirt to ground yourself.

It would be so easy to get swept away. By the heat that flared between you. By your feelings. You knew without a doubt that you had fallen hard for him.

Jungkook pulled back, kissing the top of your head before releasing you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You closed the door behind him and locked up, leaning your head against it for a moment. You were beginning to regret letting him leave every night even if you weren’t sure if you were ready for more. You wanted more, but you were afraid of it too. And you had no idea what to do about it.

_________________________________________

You nibbled your bottom lip as you sat on Jen’s bed, watching your friend dig through her closet. “Do you think I should…” you paused, wondering how to broach this topic. While Jen had few conversational barriers, you were more hesitant to talk about sex.

“Should what?” Jen asked, her tone distracted as she pulled out another dress and tossed it over the chair at her desk. She tapped her well-manicured nails against the wall as she studied the contents of her closet before pulling out another dress and dropping it on the chair.

You glanced at the pile of dresses accumulating on the chair. “I thought you were going to wear that new dress you bought last week?”

“This isn’t for me,” Jen stated. “This is for you.”

You failed to contain a snort of laughter. “You’re like six inches taller than me. And I have a dress.” It wasn’t new, and Jen had complained that the dark color washed you out the last time you wore it. But unlike Jen, whose wealthy parents supplied her with credit cards and charge accounts around the city, you couldn’t afford to waste money on clothes. Your parents helped when they could, but you also had three younger siblings still at home and college was only possible because of your scholarships. Living in the city was also expensive; if not for Jungkook contributing to your groceries since you often ate together, you’d probably be eating ramen five nights a week.

“And I’m a fashion design student, so I have time to alter one of these. If I have to see you in that funeral dress again, I’m going to burn it. Worse, do you really want Jungkook to see you in it?” she shuddered as she tossed another dress on the chair. “Okay, I think these are the best options. Now, what were you asking? Do I think you should what?”

You hadn’t considered that Jungkook might also hate that dress. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see what Jen had in mind. Arguing with her was next to impossible anyway.

You helped Jen hang the dresses on a clothes rack in the corner so you could see them better. “Do you think I should sleep with Jungkook?”

Jen raised a brow as she glanced over at you. “Hell yes. Have you talked about it?”

You shook your head. “No. I kind of… I don’t know. Freaked out a little bit a few weeks ago when we were kissing and stuff. It seemed like we were headed there, and I wasn’t sure I was ready, and I know I totally pulled a one eighty on him. And now he barely touches me.”

“Huh.” Jen considered that for a minute. “So things are weird now? Are you afraid he’s going to break up with you or something?”

You hadn’t really thought about that. “I wasn’t, but now that you said it, maybe.” You had mostly been worried that if you broke up after sleeping together, he’d be that much harder to get over because you knew that you’d be more attached to him then than you already were. But maybe that worry – that he would leave because you were holding back – had been there all along.

“I’m not saying he would do that,” Jen hurried to add. “I’ve seen how he acts around you, and how he looks at you. I really think he’s one of the good ones. But with your past experiences, I can see why you’d be worried. Has he ever been pushy about it?”

“No, never. When I told him that I thought we were moving too fast, he said he’d follow my pace. Only now, we’ve just kind of stalled out.”

“I guess he’s waiting for you to do something then. Like give him a signal that you want more.”

That could be it too. “I don’t really know how,” you admitted. “I have one night’s experience to draw from, and that was years ago.”

“That wasn’t an experience, y/n, that was a sexual travesty.”

You couldn’t argue with that. “He’s experienced though. I’m sure he knows how to make it good for me, but I don’t know how to do that for him. What if I’m bad in bed?”

“First of all, you have no idea how you are in bed because you’re practically still a virgin. Second, men are easier to please when it comes to sex anyway. Jungkook likes you. It’s easy to tell that he has real feelings for you, so I think there’s zero chance that he wouldn’t like sex with you. You really need to talk to him about it.”

You felt your cheeks heat up just thinking about trying to talk to him about this. “I know. I’m just embarrassed.”

Jen rolled her eyes. “If you can’t talk about it, you probably shouldn’t be doing it. Or I guess you could take the easier route and wear something that does the seduction for you. Like this.” She held up a deep red halter neck dress. The low neckline and back ensured maximum skin exposure. Jen was tall and had long, dark hair so on her, it probably looked fabulous.

Eyeing the dress with skepticism, you said, “That dress is your style, not mine. I’ve never worn anything like that before.” Your style could best be described as casual. On date night, you managed flirty casual, and Jungkook didn’t seem to have any complaints. This dress was on a whole other level, though.

“We can make it your style. I’ll make sure it’s not too revealing if that’s what you’re worried about.” When you still hesitated, Jen added, “Come on, Jungkook will forget how to talk when he sees you in this. I guarantee that you won’t have any trouble getting him into bed if that’s what you decide you want.”

The idea of surprising Jungkook with something like this was appealing. Maybe shaking up your image for one night would give you the confidence to talk to him about your relationship.

_____________________________________

Jungkook stifled a yawn as he entered Carmen’s. It had been an exceptionally long day, and he wished this was a regular Saturday night like the ones he usually spent with his girlfriend, y/n. He liked being in your apartment because your sofa was comfortable, you had an old record player and some killer albums that you’d collected since middle school, and your essential oil candles made everything smell nice.

Jimin had been teasing him for a couple of months now, calling him domesticated. He supposed he was because before meeting you, he rarely spent a Saturday night in. If someone had told him then that he’d soon trade beers at his favorite bar for candles and snuggling on the sofa, he would have laughed.

And since Jimin rarely got him out on a weekend anymore, and Jen had equal complaints about you, he doubted either of you would get away with ducking out early.

“Are they upstairs or downstairs?” Jimin asked.

“Downstairs, I think,” he replied.

He let Jimin lead the way. It was crowded downstairs, and he first searched the booths and bar area, expecting to find you chatting with friends. You always said dancing in public made you feel awkward unless you were drunk, and since your alcohol tolerance was low, you usually didn’t drink much.

“I see Jen on the dance floor,” Jimin said. “Did you find her?”

“No.” Jungkook scanned the dance floor, briefly pausing on a petite girl wearing a red dress before looking back at the booths. “Maybe she’s in the bathroom.” He pulled out his phone to call you.

“Wait, is that y/n?” Jimin suddenly asked.

Jungkook glanced up from his phone. “Where?”

“That girl in the red dress.”

He looked back at the dance floor for the girl in red, ready to deny it. Except she’d turned around now, and Jimin was right. Holy shit.

“Damn. I know I’ve been giving you a hard time lately, calling you domesticated. I’ll shut up now because if I knew I was taking her home later, I’d be domesticated too.”

Jungkook glared at Jimin. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

Jimin’s expression was sheepish. “Sorry, man. I’m going to hell for impure thoughts, but so are half the guys hanging around her. You might want to worry more about them.”

Jungkook was already on the move as he’d noticed the same thing. Shouldering past two guys trying to dance up behind you, he gave them a look that ensured they backed off. Your back was facing him, and he swallowed hard as his eyes drifted down from your shoulders. The dress draped in the small of your back, leaving a bare expanse of skin, and his fingers literally itched to touch you.

He gave in to the urge, sliding his hand along your waist lightly to get your attention. You turned your head, brows furrowed as you flinched away from the unexpected touch. But when you saw it was him, you smiled and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“You’re here,” you said, tilting your head back to look at him. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

He smiled at your uncharacteristically dramatic tone. “Sorry. I forgot my bag, so I had to run home to change. Are you having fun?” You were pressed close against him on the crowded dance floor, and he was enjoying the feeling of your small body against his. He let his hands settle on your hips, thumbs rubbing light circles. You shivered in response. “Are you cold?”

“No. That just feels good,” you said with a sigh. You toyed with the top button of his long-sleeved white Henley.

He wasn’t used to you being that direct about what you liked. And when your hands suddenly wandered under his leather jacket and ran up his back, he suppressed a shiver of his own. “I think you’re drunk, baby.” He pulled you closer, trying to ignore the teasing glimpse of cleavage revealed by your dress. Your hair drifted around your pale shoulders in loose waves, and all he could think about was running his fingers through it as he kissed you.

“Maybe a little bit,” you admitted, scrunching your nose as you smiled up at him. “The cocktails are really good here.”

God, you were adorable. He’d never met another girl that he wanted to simultaneously fuck senseless but also protect and cuddle, though the former urge was winning out tonight. He’d never imagined you wearing a dress like this, and he knew it would be fueling his fantasies for quite some time. It had to be Jen’s influence, though he certainly wasn’t complaining.

As if reading his thoughts, Jen suddenly sidled past him on her way to the bar. “You’re welcome.”

For the next three hours, you divided your time between the dance floor and the bar, and Jungkook was content to follow behind you. You danced slowly together regardless of the beat, and he finally allowed his hands to stroke your bare back. You kept tilting your head back, inviting his kisses, and he was happy to indulge you. He was so turned on he could hardly think straight, but he knew he needed to keep a tight rein on the situation. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of that night a few weeks before when you had all but run from his apartment.

When you got a bit unsteady on your feet, Jungkook ordered water and fries at the bar before leading you to the booth where Jimin, Jen and a couple of other friends were talking. He could tell you were starting to fade as you finished the water and food. When you yawned and leaned against him, he kissed the top of your head. “I think it’s time we got you home.”

You hummed in agreement. Jen tossed him your jacket from the corner of the booth, and he helped you put it on. The cab ride back home was long enough for you to fall asleep in his arms. He savored every minute, stroking your hair gently, lulled by the sound of your breathing and glad that you had shaken off the pensive mood you’d been in the night before.

Jungkook was observant enough to realize that something was worrying you lately. While it bothered him that you wouldn’t tell him what you were thinking about, he worried that the relationship was still too fragile for him to push when it was obvious that you didn’t want to talk about it. Still, it was becoming increasingly difficult to let it go because he was concerned that it had something to do with him.

He wondered if it was about sex. Ever since that night he’d intervened when your ex showed up drunk, he’d wondered about your relationship with him. Something in the past had made you nervous about physical intimacy, which he’d realized after you ran out of his apartment that night, and he’d been very careful not to do anything that might make you run again. More and more he wished he’d punched that asshole, feeling certain he was somehow to blame. He’d deserved that and more for the name calling alone.

When you arrived home, Jungkook paid the driver and helped you from the car. Upstairs, he unlocked your apartment, smiling when you kicked your heels off and the effort sent you stumbling sideways. He steadied you before removing your jacket and draping it on the arm of the sofa. You walked to your bedroom and he grabbed some water from the kitchen before following you.

“You don’t feel sick, do you?” he asked, placing the water on your nightstand.

You shook your head as you sat on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand to him. “No.”

He took your hand and sat next to you. “You should change before you go to sleep, so you’ll be more comfortable.”

“You like the dress, right?” You nibbled your bottom lip as you peeked up at him through your lashes.

Understatement. “You look beautiful,” Jungkook said quietly, pushing your hair off your shoulder. His breath caught when you turned her cheek toward his palm and rubbed against him like a sleepy kitten.

“Then kiss me,” you whispered.

He hesitated, but you were already reaching for him. The kiss was like throwing a match on kindling. Then you scooted back to lie down and pulled him with you.

This was dangerous and he knew it, but he ignored the niggling little warning in his head because he’d been thinking about kissing you like this all night. He pressed against your soft curves but kept most of his weight off you as slow kisses turned more passionate. And when your hands grew bolder, running across his chest and back and tugging him closer, he gave in to the temptation, pulling you more fully beneath him.

When you parted your thighs, allowing his hips to settle between them, he dropped his head to your shoulder with a groan. Pressing kisses against your neck, he willed himself to calm down. “Baby, we should stop.”

You responded by pushing your hips up against him, and he bit back a curse. He was fully hard now and stopping was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew it was the right thing. Jungkook braced his weight on his forearms and took a breath as he stared down at you.

“But I want you to stay,” you said, threading your fingers in his hair. Your eyes seemed much darker in the dim light of the bedroom. Your small hands drifted down to his shoulders, kneading, and then moved further down to toy with the hem of his shirt.

Jungkook closed his eyes and took another deep breath, the light fragrance of your perfume doing nothing to help him regain control. As much as he wanted you – had wanted you from the first night he kissed you - he didn’t want your first time together to be after a night of drinking. If there was even the slightest chance that you might regret it later, it wasn’t worth it.

He gave in one last time, kissing the spot beneath your ear that always made you shiver. He darted his tongue out to taste you and then captured your lips for one more long, slow kiss. “Not tonight.”

You didn’t argue anymore, allowing him to pull away. You were quiet as you got up and took some clothes from the dresser before going to the bathroom to change. When you returned, your face was clean, and you wore the usual pajama pants and t-shirt you preferred to sleep in. You didn’t say anything as you slipped past him to crawl back into bed and pull the covers up.

“You’re sure you feel okay?” he asked.

You nodded, your eyes already closed. “I’m just tired.”

He brushed his hand over your hair and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “I’ll lock up on my way out. I’ll give you the key back tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook hesitated for a moment. Something seemed off somehow. Awkward, maybe. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned off the light and let himself out, making sure to lock the door behind him.

#college au #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x you

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hrina · 5 years ago

Text

Serotonin

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M for mature WORD COUNT: 23.7k REQUESTED: nope!

hi everyone 🥺🥺🥺 she’s here 🥺🥺🥺 please be kind to her 🥺🥺🥺 i poured my heart out into this fic. it’s the longest (and probably the best) standalone piece that i’ve ever written. if you want to let me know your thoughts, reblogging and sending feedback to my askbox would mean the absolute world.

p.s. since this fic is extremely long, it may cause the tumblr mobile app to glitch. if that happens to you, i suggest opening it up in google chrome or safari instead. enjoy 💕

~*~

September 4th, 2019

You always sit in the middle.

The front makes you feel far too exposed. It’s more likely that you’ll be called upon by chance, and your professors are liable to notice your absence if they’ve grown accustomed to seeing you sat squarely before them during every class.

The back is riddled with too many distractions. You know that you’ll end up watching the shows playing on the laptop screens of the students in front of you. You might not even be able to hear the lecture all that well. Despite your aversion to sitting at the front, you still want to pass with a decent grade.

The middle of the lecture hall serves as a happy medium.

Margaret and Mateo agree. That’s why the three of you push through the door and make a beeline for the trio of free seats located directly in the middle of the room. They seem to be calling your names. You nudge past a pair of girls who are absorbed in a hushed conversation, taking the time to apologise for the inconvenience. A moment later, you plop down into your chair; Margaret takes the seat on your left, while Mateo slumps against the one on your right.

“You’d think that with the thousands of dollars we pay each year, they’d be able to afford more comfortable chairs,” Mateo mutters, resting his chin on a closed fist. You snort in response.

Margaret flips her silky hair over her shoulder. “It’s because they’re too busy offering ridiculously-high salaries to profs who can’t even teach.”

You shoot her a look, cocking one eyebrow teasingly. “We all know that you want to namedrop Allende. It’s okay—you can say it.”

“She’s horrible,” Margaret groans, burying her face into her hands. “She speaks the language perfectly, but she can’t fucking relay the knowledge in an effective way. Isn’t that the entire point of teaching?”

“That’s what you get for minoring in Spanish,” Mateo mutters.

You laugh and nudge him with your shoulder. “Oh, like your minor is any better? How do you say ‘dumbass’ in Latin?”

“It’s the root of most European languages!” he protests.

“It’s a dead language!” You and Margaret say at the same time. You turn to face each other with wide eyes; an incredulous giggle slips past your lips. Mateo opens his mouth to form a rebuttal, but then the door to the lecture hall slams shut, and every head in the room snaps in the direction of the sound.

“Glad to see that trick still works.” Dr. Renault claps his hands before rubbing them together excitedly. Subconsciously, you sit up a bit straighter in your seat.

Dr. Renault is a short, balding man, with a face framed by thin gold spectacles and a belly that bulges slightly over the waistband of his suit bottoms. He fiddles with his red tie as he makes his way over to the podium at the front of the room. You’ve heard good things about him; almost everyone who has taken his class has left shining reviews and gushed about his skills. The buildup has set your expectations high. You don’t think that you’ll be disappointed.

Your eyes drift away from your professor, drawn, now, to the person walking a few paces behind him. The man has wavy brown hair that curls just behind his ears. He’s wearing a patterned green sweater and black trousers; a pair of dark brown loafers adorn his feet. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up slightly, and you can’t help but to notice the smattering of dark ink that decorates his left forearm. Big, bulky rings cover nearly all of his fingers. Tortoise-shell glasses keep his dark hair pinned back—you think that the strands would flop over his forehead if left untamed.

“Welcome, everyone,” Dr. Renault starts, and you turn your attention back to him. He’s standing behind the podium now; there’s a small stack of papers in front of him. “First things first: can you all hear me properly? Or will I need to use a microphone for the duration of this course? I don’t mind.”

A low rumble of responses travel across the room. You shake your head; Margaret and Mateo do the same. You can all hear him just fine.

“Alright,” your professor clears his throat. “My name is Gabriel Renault, but you can call me ‘My Lord’.” He smiles, and the class laughs weakly. Dr. Renault holds out his arm, gesturing to the tattooed man that you’d been studying before. “This is my assistant, Harry. He’ll be grading most of your work this semester, so if you’re looking for someone’s ass to kiss, it should be his.”

Everyone laughs a bit louder this time, including you. Harry steps forward and offers a small smile but doesn’t say anything.

Margaret leans into you. “He’s kind of cute,” she mumbles, shrugging. “In an old-man sort of way.”

“Oh my God.” You cover your mouth and shake your head at her words, but you have to admit that she does have a point. Realistically, Harry can’t be more than four or five years older than you, but the clothes he’s wearing don’t exactly fit the dress code for someone his age. In fact, his outfit looks like something that you could probably have pulled from your grandfather’s closet.

Margaret giggles quietly and recoils, sitting up properly again. When you look back up, your eyes lock immediately with Harry’s. Even from thirty feet away, you can see the mossy green of his irises and feel the intensity of his gaze. A lump forms in your throat, but nonetheless, you shoot him a faint, barely-there smile. He looks away.

Your brows knit together in confusion, but you force yourself to shrug it off. “Bit of a prick,” you breathe to no one in particular.

Mateo looks over at you inquisitively. “What?”

“No, nothing,” you whisper, waving his question away. You turn to face the front again, watching conscientiously as Dr. Renault takes hold of the stack of papers in front of him and splits it into two. He gives one half to Harry before addressing the class.

“Harry and I will be handing out the syllabus for this semester,” he announces. “There will be a short quiz at the end of each class. Don’t worry,” he smiles wryly when quiet murmurs begin surfacing amongst the seats, “They’re only composed of five multiple choice questions. They’ll each count for two percent of your grade; I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but I find that sometimes students will need that two percent to stay afloat in the course.”

“Me,” Mateo mutters quietly. You and Margaret snicker.

“There will be a quiz at the end of today’s lecture,” Dr. Renault continues. “I’ll be going through the syllabus with you for the first half of the class, and then we’ll do a quick review of the content that you should already know.” He and Harry begin distributing copies of the syllabus to each student, coaxing your classmates to pass the papers down their rows.

“So today’s quiz should be relatively straightforward. An easy two percent,” Dr. Renault says, before casting a glance at his assistant. “Wouldn’t you agree, Harry?”

Harry nods. “Yes, sir.”

You balk at the huskiness of his tone. The words are impossibly deep and throaty. Margaret stares at you with wide eyes and leans in closer.

“If I could fuck a voice…,” she hisses.

“Shut the hell up,” you retort, trying not to laugh at her candour.

Something nudges your arm; you turn and find Mateo holding out a few copies of the syllabus for you to take. You slip one out from the pile and pass it on, but not before glancing up and spotting Harry standing a few feet away at the end of your row. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. The two of you make eye contact again, but this time, it’s you who turns away first.

“There will be a short paper due next week.” Dr. Renault is speaking again. “Don’t fret—it only has to be seven-hundred-and-fifty words. One thousand is the maximum, though I doubt anyone will want to be writing that much after only the first week of class.” He chuckles to himself. “I’ll go into more detail as we read through the outline of the course. Grades for any tests and assignments will be posted online, but we’ll always give the physical copy back to you so that you can use it to study for the exams.”

A girl in your row raises her hand. When your professor nods at her, she asks, “What exactly did you mean when you talked about a review? Like, what kind of information? Just the basics?”

“Yes,” he replies, his cheeks rounding out as he smiles. “Only the content you learned in the introductory course. I believe they taught a chapter on neuroscience, am I correct?”

Everyone releases a quiet murmur of affirmation. Dr. Renault pushes his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. “Excellent,” he says. “So that would be the basics of this course—the three main components of an axon, the chemistry behind an action potential, the parts of the brain and their general functions, etcetera. All of that serves as a foundation for neuropsychology.”

“Okay, thank you,” the girl says. You recognize her—you’ve had a few classes with her, but her name escapes you.

“You’re very welcome.” Dr. Renault beams, and you fight to suppress a smile. He seems so nice—you find yourself predicting that this will quickly become one of your favourite classes.

“Is anyone missing a copy?” Harry pipes up, holding the remaining papers aloft. Your spine stiffens at the guttural rasp of his voice, and you take note of the slow drawl that crawls past his lips.

He has an accent. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Margaret fanning herself in small motions, and you roll your eyes with a soft snort.

When nobody raises their hand, Harry lowers his arm and turns to make his way back to the front of the lecture hall. You train your eyes on him, studying the way his shoulder blades protrude with every slight swing of his arms. His back is broad, tapering off into a narrow waist and long legs.

He’s probably six feet.

You cross your thighs over each other.

“Alright.” Dr. Renault resumes his initial position at the podium. “If you all look at the first page of the syllabus, you’ll find my email, as well as Harry’s. I’ve also taken the liberty of including our office locations and the hours during which we’ll be available. Please don’t hesitate to come in for extra help; it’s what we’re here for.”

“Maybe I’ll head on down to Harry’s office for some extra help,” Margaret murmurs. You don’t miss the suggestiveness lacing her words. You scoff and bump her gently with your elbow. Mateo peers over at the two of you, but you just shake your head.

“She’s being gross again,” is all you say.

He puckers his lips and nods knowingly. “Of course.”

“Are you guys down for a latte at Grounded later?” Margaret pokes her head into the conversation, her voice a bit louder than it should be. You and Mateo shush her; she pouts.

“To answer your question, though,” Mateo says, “Yes.”

“I’ve missed their coffee,” you say wistfully, staring off into nothing. The three of you fall silent, instead deciding to tune in and listen to what Dr. Renault has to say about the layout of the course. Despite your sharp concentration, your ears tingle with the feeling of being watched, and your eyes reflexively fall to the side.

You catch only a glimpse of green, and then it’s over just as quickly as it had begun.

September 11th, 2019

“How much are you willing to bet that Mateo wrote exactly seven-hundred-and-fifty words?”

Margaret cackles. “He probably didn’t even reach the minimum.”

“You’re so mean!” you laugh, turning the corner and zeroing in on the door of your lecture hall. “Have a little faith in him.”

“Let’s wager an iced coffee from Grounded,” she suggests, lifting an eyebrow. You nod and push open the door. The room is full of students buzzing around and chatting. A quick glance upward reveals that Mateo has already reserved three seats in one of the middle rows. You and Margaret climb the steps of the hall and squeeze past a few students sitting right next to the aisle.

“Sorry…excuse us,” you murmur.

“Hey.” Mateo smiles when the two of you finally reach him. You drop down into your chair, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of your face and yawning loudly.

Margaret doesn’t waste any time. “How many words did you end up writing for the paper?”

Mateo grimaces. “Like…seven-hundred. I’m hoping Renault doesn’t actually count them all.”

“Oh, fuck yes!” Margaret beams and points a finger at you. “You lose. I like my iced coffee with a shot of vanilla bean, bitch.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” you groan, batting her hand away before turning back to Mateo. “And technically it’s Harry who’ll be grading them. Hopefully he’s lenient with that stuff.”

Mateo doesn’t seem to have registered your last two sentences; in fact, he disregards your correction completely. His gaze bounces between you and Margaret, creases weaving into his forehead. Eventually, it dawns on him, and he releases an affronted squawk.

“You guys bet on me?”

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt!” you protest, lifting your hands in the air. “Margaret’s the one who—”

“Good morning, everyone!”

Dr. Renault is at the front of the room, standing behind that same podium from last week. He’s wearing a bright red polo shirt and a pair of blue jeans, which makes you smile for absolutely no reason. The colour of his top brings out the rosiness of his cheeks, and when he offers up a bright grin for the class, his teeth appear to be even whiter than normal.

Behind him, Harry’s standing off to the side with his hands clasped at the small of his back. He’s clad in a black button-up and black trousers. The outfit would have been completely appropriate had it not been for the suspenders striping up his sides; the silver buckles on each strap glint teasingly in the light.

“Why does it look like they swapped closets?” Mateo mumbles. You giggle softly.

“The first thing we’re going to be doing this morning,” Dr. Renault says, “is giving back your quizzes from last week. They’re short, so Harry had no trouble getting around to marking all of them. He’ll be handing them back to you in just a moment.”

You wait with a bated breath as Harry pulls a stack of sheets from his messenger bag. He begins calling out names, and each person quickly scrambles up from their seat in order to retrieve their grade. Mateo’s name is one of the first to echo around the room. He grimaces offhandedly at you and mutters something about wishing him luck. You and Margaret make a show of crossing your fingers and holding them up as a proclamation of your support.

Mateo clambers down the steps, graciously accepts his quiz, and folds it up without looking at it. He makes it all the way back to his seat before thrusting the sheet into your hands and averting his gaze. “Tell me what I got,” he pleads. “I can’t look.”

You chuckle at his theatrics before opening up the paper and letting your eyes rake over the mark circled in red. “Perfect,” you say quietly, a small smile playing on your lips. Your friend’s eyes go wide, and then his cheeks split apart with the force of his grin.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighs, slouching back in his chair and rubbing his palms over his face. “That two percent is going to keep my ass from failing. I’m calling it now.”

“You’ll be fine,” you scoff, swatting at him half-heartedly with the hand clutching his quiz. Mateo thanks you as you hand the sheet back, pleating it once more and tucking it into the sleeve on the inside of his binder.

Margaret’s name is called a moment later, and yours follows immediately after. You both look at each other and shrug, standing from your chairs and stumbling through the row. Margaret ends up in front of you; you stare down at your shoes to make sure that you don’t trip down the stairs. Your face heats up at the mere thought of humiliating yourself in front of the class, in front of Dr. Renault, in front of Harry.

In a matter of seconds, you’re standing before him. Margaret moves out of the way and treks back up to where Mateo is waiting, subtly flapping her page around to indicate her mark. You stare at Harry evenly, your gaze never leaving his face—he’s looking down at your quiz, and he’s hesitating.

His apprehension makes you nervous. Had you done poorly?

Eventually, he pulls the paper out of the pile and looks up. His eyes meet yours.

The green of his irises is even more vivid up close. It knocks the wind straight from your chest. You can see the flecks of hazel dotting the area around his pupils, and the way his eyelashes brush along his browbone when he lifts his head. There’s a small mole beneath the corner of his mouth. His lips are full and pink; they look soft.

“Here you are,” Harry says, and for a moment, you’re confused. Here you are, stationed in front of him. Had he been waiting specifically for you?

Then, you realise that he’s got his hand outstretched, offering you the marked quiz clutched between his long fingers.

You’re an idiot.

“Thank you,” you say dumbly.

Your hand brushes his when you pluck the sheet out of his grasp. There’s a cross tattooed on his hand, right above the divot of his thumb. You turn around, and for a moment, you think you hear him say something from behind you—it sounds suspiciously like “good job”—but you shake your head free of the thought. He doesn’t seem like the type.

On your way back up to your seat, you allow yourself to glance at the grade scrawled across the top of the page. A perfect score. You exhale in relief. Your attention is drawn to where a small, messy smiley face has been drawn in red pen. Beneath the doodle, there’s a few words of encouragement:

Well done. Keep it up. H. x

You gnaw on your bottom lip, so focussed on the note that you nearly pass your row. Margaret hisses at you, and you stop cold in your tracks, silently berating yourself. After a few painful moments of squeezing by the other students sitting closer to the aisle, you drop back down into your chair and fold up your quiz quickly.

Had there been a note on Mateo’s quiz?

You can’t remember. Maybe there was, and you’d merely skimmed over it. You don’t want to ask him about it right now, though, because the room is silent save for Harry calling out names and your peers shuffling forward to received their tests.

You lean forward and pull a brand-new notebook from your bag, sneakily slipping your page inside the knapsack and zipping it back up. Neither Mateo nor Margaret make inquiries regarding your grade. It’s like an unspoken rule: you always do well.

The three of you settle into your seats and wait for the lecture to begin.

~*~

“Hi.” You lean forward and shoot the barista a friendly smile. “Can I get a medium iced coffee with one sugar and a shot of vanilla bean?”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“Um…” You say, biting your bottom lip. “Actually, can you make it two? That’s it, thanks.”

“That’ll be five dollars and ten cents.”

You fish your wallet out of your bag and produce the correct amount of money. Margaret grins from beside you; you both move down the counter as you wait for your drinks.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I can tell you want to brag.”

“That’s what happens when you come to expect too much from Mateo.”

You laugh. “You’re such a bitch.”

“But you’re the one who’s friends with me,” she shoots back, lifting an eyebrow teasingly. Her straight brown hair is braided today, draped over her shoulder and cinched at the bottom with a sparkly pink hair tie. You reach out and play with a loose thread on her sweater before yanking your fingers and snapping it off cleanly. She yelps, but the sound quickly dissolves into laughter.

“How’s Spanish?” you ask wryly, mostly because you’re in the mood to see her fly off the handle.

She scoffs. “Allende is…a demon. It’s only the second week and she’s already fucking killing me.”

“Just drop the class,” you suggest, shrugging your shoulders. “You can always take it next year—maybe she won’t be teaching it, then.”

“I thought about it,” Margaret says, sighing. “But Valentina would murder me. She wanted me to be able to speak the language fluently so I could learn more about our culture and shit. Even if I tell her that I’ll retake the class next year, she’s still gonna flip.”

“That sucks.” You pout and shoot her a sympathetic look. “Valentina should learn to trust her daughter’s judgment.”

A low, hollow laugh echoes in the back of your friend’s throat. “Not likely.”

You try a different approach. “Well, at least you’ve got me—since you’re stuck taking the course, I promise that I’ll listen to all your rants and complaints.”

“Oh, really?” Margaret grins. “Is there an expiration date on that offer?”

“Nope,” you reply, popping the syllable playfully. “This coupon is valid until the end of time.”

“Two medium iced coffees, one sugar and one shot of vanilla bean!”

You and Margaret accept your drinks, sending out quick spiels of gratitude. The barista smiles and tells you to have a good day. As you walk away, your friend guides her straw into her mouth and takes a lengthy, obnoxious sip of her drink. She throws her head back and moans dramatically at the flavour.

“Mhm,” she says, smacking her lips. “It tastes so much better when it’s free.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, shaking your head. You fix her with a begrudging smile, but something behind her catches your eye. Stupidly, you freeze right in the middle of the basement corridor, the straw of your coffee resting against your parted lips.

Inside the room, Harry’s sitting behind a desk, his tortoise-shell glasses perched on his nose as he rifles through a sizeable stack of papers. There’s a red pen nestled between his fingers, and the sleeves of his black button-up have been rolled a handful of times, leaving his forearms exposed. His tattoos are much clearer now that there’s less distance separating the two of you. You spy an anchor, a rose—

“What are you—?” Margaret scowls and spins around. “Oh.” She turns back to you. “His office is right here? That’s convenient.”

You reluctantly tear your gaze away from Harry so that you can look at her properly. “How so?”

“Well, if he wants to get coffee, he doesn’t exactly have to go very far.” She smirks before taking another sip of her drink. “Plus,” she swallows, “It’s convenient for me, too. I can grab a latte and then pay him a visit right after for some of that extra help.”

She wiggles her brows. You snort.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell her earnestly. She just giggles, shouldering the strap of her purse and angling her chin to the left.

“Let’s go,” she says. “I really don’t wanna get stuck in traffic again. Last week, it took me, like, two hours to get home.”

“Yikes.” You grimace at the thought, but Margaret’s already pedalling away.

“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. You follow her, but not before deciding to spare one last glance into Harry’s office.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you find a pair of grassy green eyes staring back at you intently. Harry’s gaze is unwavering; there’s a certain peculiarity about it. It’s searing, like he’s taking you apart piece by piece, unravelling every layer to study what lies beneath. Your skin crawls with the humiliation of getting caught, but something else, too. Anticipation? Exhilaration?

The exchange doesn’t even last a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Your lips curl up into an uneasy smile as you try to quell the nervous frothing in the pit of your stomach. For a moment—a foolish, optimistic moment—you think that he might actually return your friendly expression.

Harry merely blinks, twirls his red pen over in his fingers, and looks back down.

September 18th, 2019

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, looking down at your phone. Your class starts in five minutes, and you’ve just made it onto campus. You’d texted Mateo already and kindly asked him to save you a seat, but your eyes are drooping and you’re absolutely exhausted. Before you can even weigh your options, your feet are carrying you down into the basement of the building to retrieve a cup of coffee from Grounded. You can’t even be upset about it—your body clearly knows what it needs, and right now, that need is manifesting itself in the form of a massive dose of caffeine.

You hop in line, pulling up Mateo’s contact and composing a quick message regarding your whereabouts. Before you send it, you ask if he or Margaret would like for you to buy them anything. A short moment later, he replies, assuring you that they both already bought their coffees and are as awake as ever.

You guys didn’t even offer to get one for me? How rude, you type back, a small smirk on your face.

Mateo’s response is instantaneous, like he had already rehearsed what he was going to say.

In our defense, we thought you were dead.

You snort softly and shake your head as the message sinks in. Your phone clicks quietly when you lock it, but as you lift your gaze, you catch sight of an intricate drawing and freeze. Your eyes nearly bulge out from their sockets when you register that the left arm of the person standing in front of you is littered with tattoos.

An anchor.

A rose.

A mermaid, whose chest is on full display in all of its naked glory.

There are countless others, but you don’t have enough time to study each one, because just then, Harry is stepping up to the counter to recite his order.

“Morning, love,” you hear him greet the barista. She blushes profusely and grins at him in return. Your shoulders tense at the gruffness of his voice, and you briefly wonder just how deep it can get.

You don’t catch the rest of the trade, trying to focus instead on anything other than how good Harry’s ass looks in the khakis adorning his legs. He cracks a low joke, and the barista laughs. Smiling slightly, he casts a casual glance over his shoulder, and you stiffen when his eyes land squarely on you. His pleased expression fades.

“Also…,” he says, keeping his gaze on you for a moment longer before turning back to the counter.

You don’t tune in to the remainder of his sentence, mostly because your ears are ringing and your heart is hammering wildly beneath your ribs. Harry pulls a crisp bill from his pocket and hands it over before moving to the side and waiting for his drink. It takes all of your willpower to look at everything except for him. The barista abandons her post at the cash register to prepare his coffee. You stand awkwardly at the beginning of the line, waiting for her to come back.

She finally does after a couple of minutes, greeting you cheerily and subconsciously leaning in so that she can hear your order properly.

“Hi,” you say. “Um, can I get a large vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso?”

“Sure,” she replies, but as soon as you begin to pull your wallet from your bag, she stops you. “Actually,” she says, “The man who was just here paid for you. He gave me a ten and told me to keep whatever was left over.”

“I’m sorry?” You blink.

“The man in front of you,” she elaborates. “The one with the accent.”

Your lips part in surprise. Instinctively, you whip your head to the side, just in time to watch as Harry disappears around the corner.

~*~

You end up being a few minutes late. The sound of the door being pushed open is painfully loud, and you have to conceal an embarrassed cringe when your entrance is met with dozens of faces staring down at you. Dr. Renault is in the process of speaking, but when you walk in, he injects a quick, “Welcome, good morning, pull up a chair!” into the middle of his sentence. You try for a sheepish smile and hope that it comes across as sincere.

“That was humiliating,” you mutter when you finally collapse into the seat next to Mateo. He’d saved you a spot right beside the aisle; you send out a silent prayer of thanks. “This is why I’m never late.”

Your friends both shoot you knowing looks, their features soft with compassion. You sigh quietly, taking a long sip of your latte and trying to shrug off the mortification looming over your head.

“As I was saying,” your professor continues, unperturbed by your brief interruption. “The midterm is next week. It will cover chapters one through three; I trust that everyone has begun reviewing?”

Low murmurs are all that he receives as a response. Dr. Renault chuckles and pushes his glasses further up his nose. “I’ll be going into further detail regarding the exam during the last twenty minutes of today’s class. As for right now, Harry will be handing back your quizzes from last week, as well as the assignments that you all submitted. There were a few bumps, but overall, I think most of you did well.”

And just like that, all eyes fall on Harry. He steps forward, a stack of sheets balanced in the crook of his left arm. He clears his throat and licks the pad of his thumb to effectively grasp the corner of the first page.

“Morning, everyone,” he says huskily. “I’ve paired your quizzes from last week with your papers, so you’ll be getting both at the same time. If you’ve got any questions regarding your grades, please feel free to consult me at the end of today’s lecture.”

That’s the most that you’ve ever heard him speak, you realise.

Harry peers up at the class, his eyes skimming over the rows of students before landing on you. You’re not sure if it’s real, or if your mind is just playing tricks on you, but he seems to stare at you for a beat longer than anyone else. You swallow heavily, hoping that he can’t see the violent bobbing of your throat from down below. A moment later, he calls out a name. The girl in the chair in front of you jumps to her feet, and the spell is broken.

One by one, each undergraduate stands and ambles down the stairs of the lecture hall to retrieve their marks. Margaret’s name is called; Mateo’s follows a few moments later. You smile encouragingly at them and watch as they descend the steps.

You grow nervous as the stack of papers nestled in Harry’s arms begins to dwindle. It’s silly, but whenever your work happens to be located near the end of the queue, you always feel a niggling sense of paranoia biting at the back of your brain. Realistically, you know that your assignment will most likely be present in that pile, but there’s always that small what if.

Finally, though, you hear your name ring out.

You immediately decide that you love the way it sounds exiting Harry’s lips.

You stand, grateful that you don’t have to squeeze past anyone. Maybe you should aim to sit in a seat next to the aisle more often—it’s awfully convenient.

Your heart is thudding wildly in your chest, and as you make your way down to where Harry waits, you grow afraid that he’ll be able to see it pulsing through your shirt.

Don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip.

Fortunately, you reach the bottom stair without a single misstep. Harry’s staring down at your papers, his lips tucked into a thin line. When you clear your throat gently, he looks up at you. Twin pink spots dot his cheeks when he realises that you’ve been standing in front of him for a moment too long. He holds out your assignment and your quiz, the pages held together by a skinny silver clip.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You hesitate for a second before adding, “And thank you for paying for my—”

“Evan Ross.” Harry cuts you off without blinking, the next name rolling off his tongue seamlessly. You blink in surprise, stiffening. Your mouth pops open as a mixture of shock and hurt washes over you.

Your chest grows tight with emotion, and your eyes burn as you whip around and hurry back up the stairs. You keep your head low as you slide back into your seat; Margaret and Mateo are too absorbed in a hushed conversation to notice the distressed expression on your face, but you don’t mind. In fact, you’re thankful for it.

Your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. Needing a distraction, you unfold the small pile of papers in your hand and glance down at your grades. You’ve achieved a perfect score on your quiz. At the top of the sheet, scrawled in red pen, there’s a smiley face and a brief note:

Well done. Glad to see that somebody’s been paying attention. H. x

You direct your awareness to the written assignment in your other hand. A bright 95% stares back up at you, along with another few words of encouragement:

Very insightful. Great job. H. x

Your eyes narrow. You sit back in your chair; a quiet, incredulous laugh bubbles up in your throat. Luckily, it’s faint enough to avoid being detected by anyone else. You shake your head in disbelief, skimming over Harry’s comments one last time before angrily shoving the pages into your bag. They crinkle loudly—you know that they’ll be all bent out of shape by the time you’ll need to retrieve them, but you don’t care.

You straighten up and risk a glance down to where Harry is still handing assignments and quizzes back to last of your classmates. He smiles at one boy and gives him a reassuring nod before his green eyes stray upward, as though drawn by an invisible magnet. His gaze locks with yours, and the mild curl of his lips quickly flattens out. You clench your jaw and look away, huffing petulantly through your nose.

What a fucking dick.

September 25th, 2019

“I’m not ready,” you declare, slapping your binder down onto the small foldable desk attached to Mateo’s seat. Your friend jumps in surprise, his eyes growing ludicrously wide, and Margaret cackles loudly from beside him. Despite the panic coursing through your veins, you crack a small smile.

“Good morning to you, too,” Mateo grumbles, his shoulders still hunched from your sudden intrusion.

You groan and collapse into the chair next to him, massaging your temples in hopes of avoiding an oncoming headache. The sensation tends to creep up on you, and you’re sure that it’s due to the measly amount of sleep you’d acquired only a few hours prior. Margaret leans over, extending her arm and offering you a sip of her coffee. You take it and flash her a grateful (albeit pained) smile. Her latte is still a bit hot, but that doesn’t stop you from swallowing down a large gulp.

“What’s wrong?” Margaret asks as you hand the cup back over to her. “Did you not study enough?”

“Yeah,” you say, scowling deeply. “The proposal for my experimental psych class was due last night, so I spent pretty much all my time working on that.”

“Don’t worry,” Mateo says. “You always do well, even when you think you won’t—you’ve got this.”

“Thanks,” you mumble nervously, blowing him a meek kiss. You shift closer to him so that you can scan the contents of his open textbook, hoping to memorize a few final facts before the exam starts.

Dr. Renault and Harry walk in a few moments later, both carrying intimidatingly-tall stacks of paper. A hush falls over the classroom—the abrupt silence makes your professor laugh.

“Don’t worry!” he says. “It’s not that difficult, I promise.”

Somehow, you don’t believe him.

In a matter of minutes, the tests have been distributed, and all of the students in the room are sitting with one seat separating them from their neighbours. Dr. Renault announces that he and Harry will be perusing up and down the aisles, ready to answer any questions regarding the exam. Subconsciously, your toes curl in your shoes—you definitely won’t be asking Harry for further clarification, no matter how badly you need it.

“You will have one-hundred-and-twenty minutes to complete the midterm,” your professor says. His smile is supportive, but it does nothing to soothe to anxious knot in the pit of your stomach. “Good luck, everyone.”

With that, you flip to the first page of the packet. The next two hours are filled with the sounds of pencils scribbling on paper, the hushed whispers of Harry and Dr. Renault, and the occasional lone, hacking cough.

October 9th, 2019

You’re sitting in the library with Mateo when your phone buzzes with the notification. You glance down at the screen and gasp loudly when you read the words:

Harry Styles has posted to the forum.

“Mateo!” you hiss. He doesn’t reply. Looking up, you see him bopping his head along to the music playing through his white earphones. He’s twirling a pencil through his fingers absentmindedly and skimming through his neuropsychology textbook. You kick his shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” he yelps. The sound is far too loud, considering that it’s only nine in the morning and you’re both situated in an establishment that demands silence.

“Shh!” you say, frowning slightly. He pulls out one of his earbuds and stares at you with bewildered eyes. You choose to stay tacit, simply holding up your phone and letting him read the notification lighting up the glass screen.

“Okay…,” he whispers, glaring at you. “Why the fuck did that warrant such a hard kick?”

“I’m sorry.” You wince. He’s right. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine.” He waves off your apology before fishing his own cell phone out of his pocket and unlocking it swiftly. Together, the two of you pull up a browser tab and type the name of your school’s website into the search bar. You log into your student accounts and click on your neuropsychology class. The link takes you to the collective forum, and your eyes sweep over Harry’s name at the top—the most recent post. You tap it gently and begin to read.

Hi all,

Attached to this post is a spreadsheet containing your scores on the midterm. In the first column, you’ll find your student number. In the second, I’ve provided your mark as a percentage. As always, I will be available after class today if you have any questions regarding your grade.

See you soon.

Sincerely,

Harry

You hold your breath as you scroll down and open up the spreadsheet linked below his message. After a few prolonged, painful seconds of searching, you find your student number and zero in on the percentage located right beside it. You swear that your heart stops.

62%.

Sixty-two percent.

Your lips part in surprise. You take a long, hard look at the spreadsheet, wondering if maybe you’d landed on the wrong row, but no. Your number is there. And a few pixels away, a dark, insidious 62% stands out in black. You inhale deeply, trying to keep yourself from hyperventilating.

“I got a seventy,” Mateo breathes, looking up from his phone and closing his eyes in relief. A moment later, they pop back open. “How about you?”

“A sixty-two,” you whisper, unable to tear your gaze from your screen.

He balks. “Come again?”

“A sixty-two,” you restate, a bit louder this time. “I—”

“Don’t panic,” Mateo says immediately, holding up his hand. You finally manage to focus on him, your eyes growing damp with anxious tears.

“Hey,” he says sternly, reaching over and laying a comforting palm on your forearm. “Don’t panic. It’s only worth twenty-five percent, okay? You’re doing really well on the quizzes so far, and you did great on that first paper, too. That was, like, another five percent or something, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding weakly.

Mateo chews on his lips, but his expression is determined. He mimics your nod, though his appears to be a bit more assured. “Okay,” he tells you. “So, here’s what you’re gonna do: you’re gonna go see Harry after class today and set up an appointment so that he can go over the exam with you. And then you’re gonna take in all that information, and you’re gonna ace the final at the end of the semester, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeat, but this time, there’s a bit more conviction behind the word. Mateo knows how bad your anxiety can get—he’s caught you in the middle of an emotional breakdown more times than you’d care to admit. But he also knows how to keep you grounded, and he’s almost always able to bring you back down when your thoughts take you elsewhere.

“Thank you,” you tell him, swallowing heavily. “That’s a good idea, I’ll do that.”

“Yes, you will,” he says, and then he sits back and flips his textbook shut. “Come on, let’s go grab a coffee before class. My treat.”

~*~

When you get your exam back, there’s another haphazard note scribbled at the top in red.

It’s okay. I know you’ll do better on the next one. H. x

~*~

As your fist lands the first perfunctory knock on Harry’s door, you find yourself wanting nothing more than to spin around and speed away as fast as you can. Harry lifts his head from where it’s buried inside a book, fixing his gaze on you and cocking his head to the side.

“Hi,” you say nervously. “Um, sorry to bother you. My name is—”

You’re shocked to hear it escape Harry’s lips before you can say it yourself. You clamp your mouth shut and nod silently, too afraid to utter anything else.

“Hi,” Harry replies. His voice is the epitome of a lazy drawl. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering,” you start, pausing to clear your throat. “If—um—if I could talk to you really quickly about my midterm?”

“Sure,” he says, shrugging indifferently. “You can sit.”

As you step forward to position yourself on one of the padded chairs in front of his desk, Harry shuts his book and stands. You can’t stop your eyes from following him. He tucks the hardcover back into a vacant slot on the tall shelf located in the corner of the room.

“You have a lot of books,” you note. Immediately, you want to strangle yourself for letting the observation slip out.

He simply bobs his head. “I like to read.”

“Me too.” God, why the fuck won’t you just shut up?

But when Harry turns back around, you’re shocked to find the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips. His gaze locks with yours, and it fades just as quickly as it had come. You swallow forcefully; your mouth feels like a desert.

“Do you have your midterm with you?” Harry asks, crossing his arms over his chest. You look away immediately to keep yourself from ogling his biceps. He’s wearing a dark green crewneck and a pair of khaki pants again. His hair is tousled, like he’s been raking his fingers through it incessantly, and his glasses are tucked into the collar of his shirt. There’s a slight shadow of stubble scattered across his jaw. His lips are flushed a perfect shade of pink; they look smooth and soft.

“Yeah.” You snap out of your stupor and answer him quickly. Leaning down to unzip your bag, you say, “Sorry. It’s right—”

“Why’re you apologising?” Harry asks, creases of confusion etching themselves into his forehead. You pause and peer up at him, your hand buried in your knapsack.

“Sorry?” you ask, afraid that you hadn’t heard him properly.

The corners of his lips jump only slightly. He repeats his question with the same amount of ennui. “Why’re you apologising?”

You blink. “Er…I don’t know, sorry. I mean—!” You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, feeling your cheeks grow warm. Eventually, you give up on searching for the right words, instead pulling your exam out of your bag and thrusting it forward. “Here you go.”

Harry takes the packet from you, bringing it up to his face. He grabs his glasses from where they hang on his chest and slides them onto the bridge of his nose. You look away when his eyes land on the shameful grade scribbled at the top of the first sheet.

“I didn’t do too well,” you say, training your gaze on the floor. “As you can clearly see.”

Harry hums in response. He flips through your midterm quickly, spending only a few seconds on each page. “That’s odd,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

You peek up at him through your lashes. “What’s odd?”

He shrugs. “If I’m remembering correctly,” he begins, fixing his green eyes on you, “You’ve been doing well on the weekly quizzes. So…what went wrong this time?”

You swallow heavily, bringing your hands together in your lap and fiddling with your fingers. “I was working on a research proposal that was due the night before the exam,” you explain timidly. “So, I guess…I just wasn’t able to study as much as I should’ve.”

Harry nods. Quiet ensues. Your attention stays glued to the ground.

“Well—,” he clears his throat. “I can go over it all with you now, if you’d like.”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head immediately. “I’ve actually—I’ve got to be somewhere after this.”

It’s a complete lie. You don’t have anything scheduled for later on. But your heart feels like it’s about to give out any second now, and the hairs on your arms are tingling apprehensively. You feel like an idiot, tripping over your words and second-guessing every syllable that leaves your lips. Harry’s unwavering, unforgiving stare is making you want to curl up into a ball and sink into the floor. You can’t imagine any torture greater than spending another minute in this office.

“I see,” Harry says. A long moment passes as you wait for him to say something else; when he doesn’t, you jump in to fill the awkward silence.

“I just came by in hopes of scheduling an appointment,” you rush out. “Is that okay?”

“It’s what I’m here for.” There’s no humour in his tone. You nod, gnawing on your bottom lip.

“What day works best for you?” you prod gently. The air is thick; you don’t think that even the sharpest of knives could slice through the tension. Harry rubs his nose with two fingers and taps his thumb against his lips, lost in thought.

“How does ten in the morning on Monday sound?” he says at last.

“The one coming up?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fine,” you tell him. “Thank you so much—I really appreciate it.”

He doesn’t reply, choosing instead to return your exam to you and retire to his chair. You zip your bag back up and sling one strap over your shoulder, standing from your seat and subtly trying to wipe your clammy palms against your thighs.

“Send me an e-mail on Sunday,” Harry says suddenly, drumming his fingers along the smooth surface of his desk. Your eyes are drawn to the gaudy rings on his hands, the jewellery glinting alluringly in the light of his office.

“Regarding what?” you ask, your brows knitting together.

“The appointment. Just as a reminder,” he states, shrugging his shoulders placidly. “I’ll put it in my calendar too, but you can never be too prepared.”

“Right,” you say, nodding. “Okay, I will. Thank you again.”

“It’s no problem.” Harry pauses for a moment before adding, “Take care.”

A bit of the stiffness in your body trickles away at his words—is it possible that he’s beginning to warm up to you?

“Have a good rest of your week,” you say as you start to back away toward the door. Against your better judgment, you offer up a small, friendly smile.

Your feet carry you a few steps further; you attempt to restrain yourself from shooting him one last glance before you turn to face the other way (though of course, you can’t resist.) You think you see the corners of Harry’s lips twitch, but you don’t stay long enough to reflect on it.

Only once you leave his office do you decide that it was merely your eyes playing tricks on you. If majoring in psychology has taught you anything, it’s that humans are extremely unreliable creatures.

Sometimes, we only see what we want to see, you think. The words tumble through your head in the form of a dynamic mantra, echoing continuously until you stagger outside and into the comforting hold of the cool autumn air.

October 13th, 2019

No matter how many times she tries, Margaret cannot down a shot without cringing after swallowing. She always declares that this time will finally be it, that she’ll throw the alcohol back without so much as a grimace, but both you and Mateo know by now that it’s all just nonsense. Her countless attempts are the main reason for her eventual, inevitable inebriation whenever you all decide to go out for drinks.

“Fuck!” Margaret yelps, squeezing her eyes shut and wincing radically as the vodka burns its way down her throat. She reaches for the glass of water standing a few inches away and takes a desperate swig. You and Mateo laugh as she pounds her fist against the table in frustration. You’re sitting across the table from your two friends, the three of you nestled comfortably in one of the booths lining the wall of the pub.

“Told you,” Mateo says dryly, shooting Margaret a wry smirk. She shakes her head and smacks her lips together.

“No, let’s do one more,” she says, her voice taking on a pleading quality. “It’ll be this next one, I swear.”

“Slow down,” you tell her, holding your hand up. Even from a few feet away, you can see the dilation of her pupils and the rosy flush on her cheeks. She’s never been good at pacing herself, and you really don’t feel like ending the night with your hands in her hair as she retches over the toilet.

Margaret pouts; Mateo grins knowingly at you, the thin gold chain around his neck glinting against his dark skin. You’re all a bit buzzed, and though your friends want to continue, you don’t intend to get plastered tonight. There’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind, reminding you that you’ve got your appointment with Harry tomorrow morning, and you want to be as alert and attentive as possible.

You’d sent him an e-mail earlier this evening, right before the taxi had pulled up into the parking lot of your apartment complex. The correspondence had been simple, just a quick verification of the day and time, followed by a short closing remark and your name. You’d snapped your laptop shut as soon as the message had gone through, willing yourself to tuck the thought of it away into a dark, incognizable corner of your brain.

“Did—?” Mateo hiccups quietly and swallows. “Did you guys hear that Grounded is closing down?”

“What?” You and Margaret both nearly snap your necks to gape at him.

“Not permanently!” he backtracks, throwing his hands up in the air. “Just for a couple of weeks! They’re doing renovations in the basement, remember?”

“I knew that,” you say, cocking your head to the side. “But I didn’t know they were doing them there—I thought they’d just closed off the area near the biology labs.”

“I guess not.” Mateo purses his lips, and Margaret pouts.

“How am I gonna survive without their coffee?” she moans, her shoulders deflating.

You shrug and trail your finger around the rim of your water. The glass is clouded with condensation, drops trailing down the side and dampening the coaster lying underneath. “There’s always Starbucks,” you say, though the suggestion is lackadaisical, unenthusiastic. “But the closest one is halfway across campus.”

“Exactly.” Margaret sulks, placing her elbow on the table and propping her chin up on her fist. “How the fuck am I supposed to stay awake in Spanish, now?”

“Pop some modafinil,” Mateo mutters under his breath. You look at him with wide eyes and burst into laughter a second later. He grins; Margaret elbows him in the ribs, but even she can’t suppress the small smile that creeps up onto her face.

“I’m serious!” she says, her voice shaking with the ghost of a giggle. “Even for neuro, like…I don’t know how I’m gonna get through it.”

“Neuro is at ten in the morning,” you stress, lifting your eyebrows in disbelief. “Just be grateful that it’s not an eight o’clock class—if that were the case, you’d really be fucked.”

Margaret raises one shoulder lazily and rolls her eyes. You lean forward and take a sip of your water, humming appreciatively when the cool liquid runs down your throat and fans out across your chest.

“Speaking of neuro,” Mateo starts, running a hand through his dark, kinky hair, “How did you guys do on the quiz from last week? The one on cognitive processing and perception.”

“I only got one right,” Margaret snorts, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I was kind of zoning out during the lecture, to be honest.”

“Shocker,” you tease. She scoffs in mock-offense, and you flash her a smile to tell her that you’re only joking. You turn to Mateo. “I think I got, like, three out of five,” you say, squinting your eyes and puckering your lips. “Not my best work.”

“It’s still a pass,” he replies, winking playfully.

You chuckle and nod. “True. Plus—,” you tap your nails against your glass and make a vague gesture with your other hand, “—Harry’s nice little notes are always a bit of a confidence boost, you know what I mean?”

When your question is met with silence, you look up from the table with cinched brows and puzzled eyes. Both Margaret and Mateo are gawking at you, their lips parted and their expressions ripe with confusion. Subconsciously, your mouth twists down into a frown; you sit back against the padded material of the booth.

“What?”

“Harry…,” Margaret shakes her head, tucking a silky strand of hair behind her ear. “Harry doesn’t write nice little notes for us.”

“What?” you say, creases digging into your forehead. “No, I mean—the comments he leaves on the quizzes and stuff! You know, like, right at the top of the page?”

“He’s never left a comment on any of my quizzes,” Mateo tells you. He turns to Margaret. “Has he done that for you?”

“No,” she says, pursing her lips. “Not at all.”

Something inaudible passes between them, and when they both look back at you, they’re trying to hide their amused expressions. The scowl on your lips deepens, pulling at the muscles in your cheeks and making your face grow sore.

“Why the fuck are you guys looking at me like that?” you ask, fed up with their cryptic behaviour.

Margaret scoffs loudly and barks out your name. It’s enough to grab your attention, and when you glare at her, she beams wickedly and hisses, “He’s trying to fuck you!”

You can’t help it—you laugh. Margaret’s grin fades, and Mateo cocks an eyebrow at you, waiting for your glee to subside. After a long moment, your giggles dwindle, and you smile across the table at your friends. They remain frozen, still as bewildered as ever. Their silence aggravates you; in a matter of seconds, you’re glowering at them.

“You can’t be serious,” you deadpan, looking at them with blank eyes. “The only time Harry’s ever really spoken to me was when I went to schedule that stupid appointment! I swear to God, he avoids me like I’ve got the plague.”

“Maybe’s he’s avoiding you because he likes you,” Margaret suggests. Her brown irises twinkle with mischief.

A disdainful sound bubbles up in your throat and flops out of your mouth. “Not likely.”

“Why else would he write you little notes, then?” she demands, and you hate to admit it, but she has a point. You’ve got no idea why Harry’s trademark scribbles are always at the top of your tests and assignments, especially since he seems to intent on evading you whenever the two of you happen to cross paths. You chew furiously on the inside of your cheek, only able to offer up a half-hearted shrug.

“We don’t even know if I’m the only one,” you say. “He could be doing it for some other people, too—let’s not jump to conclusions.”

Margaret and Mateo snicker. You glare daggers at them. Mateo is the first to fix you with a semi-apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” he tells you, his teeth gleaming in the low lighting of the bar. “It’s just—Margaret might be onto something.”

“She’s not,” you say flatly.

Margaret releases an offended squawk, pinning you beneath her stern gaze. “Hey!” she squeaks, pouting indignantly and pointing her index finger at you. “Just because you’re in denial doesn’t mean—”

She breaks off right in the middle of her sentence, her eyes growing outrageously wide when they land on something behind you. You tilt your head to the side and scratch your cheek, afraid that maybe she’s noticed a spot or a new blemish blossoming on your face. But then she squeals, her hand shooting to the side so that she can deliver several excited slaps to Mateo’s arm.

“Holy shit! Speak of the fucking devil!”

Everything clicks into place, then, and your jaw drops. You spin around in your seat so quickly you’re surprised that your vision doesn’t go blurry. After a quick sweep of the room, you find the thing—or rather, the person—that has Margaret losing her mind.

Harry’s dressed in a simple black t-shirt and a pair of black, high-waisted, extremely baggy trousers. The pant legs are comically wide, but somehow, he makes it work. His hair is fluffy, and his sneakers are pristine, not a speck of dirt in sight. Something shiny glints near his waist and catches your attention; you find the patterned frame of his glasses peeking out of one of his pockets. Briefly, you wonder if he’s cold—it’s a bit of a chilly evening, and he doesn’t appear to be sporting a jacket.

“He looks good,” Mateo notes.

You and Margaret swivel your heads around and stare at him. He shrugs. “What? It’s just an observation!”

And despite the panic simmering in the pit of your stomach, you laugh softly. You’re about to settle back into the booth and hope for the best, but then Margaret lifts her arm in a frantic wave and shouts, “Harry!”

Your lips part in shock. She must be drunker than you thought.

“Margaret!” you whisper furiously, ducking down and gaping at her. You’re no longer facing Harry, but you get the feeling that he heard his name, because Margaret giggles, twiddles her fingers, and curls her hand in a beckoning gesture. You place your elbows on the table and bury your face into your palms, too embarrassed to look up.

“Oh my God,” Mateo mutters. “He’s coming over here.”

And sure enough, after a few long, painful moments, Harry is standing in front of the table.

“Er, hi,” he says, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

Mateo offers him a small smile; Margaret beams widely.

“Hi!” she says cheerily. “Sorry, this might be weird because you don’t know us. I’m Margaret, this is Mateo, and this is—”

Just as he had done in his office, Harry breathes your name before it’s uttered. Margaret stops speaking immediately and mashes her lips together to suppress a giant grin. Mateo catches your gaze from across the table; his eyes are the size of tennis balls. You want to groan—subtlety is most definitely not their forte.

“Um, yeah,” you reply. You glance up at Harry momentarily before looking away. “Hi.”

A beat of silence ensues.

“So, Harry,” Margaret jumps in. Her tone is a bit too loud, but it’s not noticeable over the mindless chatter echoing in the pub. “What brings you here?”

Harry shrugs, clasping his hands behind his back. “Just out for drinks with a few of my mates.”

“‘Mates’,” Margaret parrots, lowering her voice and putting on a horrible accent. You gawk at her as she giggles. “That sounds like fun—we’re doing the same thing! What’s your favourite type of alcohol? I like vodka.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble, shaking your head imperceptibly. When you look back up, you find Harry’s eyes sweeping across your face. A coy smirk dances on his lips.

You take note of the dimple that carves itself into his cheek and groan inwardly. Just when you thought that he couldn’t get any more attractive…

“I’m more of a whiskey guy, myself,” he says. His shoulders relax a bit; the tension in his body visibly melts away. Though Margaret is the one who had gotten you into this mess in the first place, you suddenly find yourself thankful for her presence. It’s easier to socialize when you’re around someone who makes it their mission to inject comedy into a conversation.

“I’m going to go grab us another round,” you announce gently, making a move to slide out of the booth. Before you stand, you look over at your friends. “What do you guys want?”

“I thought you said we had to slow down,” Margaret says, shooting you a confused frown.

“I changed my mind. What do you want?”

“Just a root beer for me,” Mateo says, trying to hold in a laugh.

“Another shot of vodka!” Margaret cheers, throwing her arms up. She sighs and leans her head on Mateo’s shoulder; he pets her hair, humouring her. She hums and speaks the words that she promises before every drink. “I’ll do it this time. I won’t even wrinkle my nose.”

“Okay,” you say with a curt nod. You stand and face Harry, hesitating only for a second before murmuring, “Well, it was nice to see—”

“Harry!” Margaret suddenly cuts in, drowning out the rest of your sentence. “Would you be a doll and go with her? I don’t think she’ll be able to carry all of our drinks back by herself.”

“I—,” Harry glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, sure.” His throat bobs when he turns and asks you, “That alright with you?”

No!

You want to scream your refusal at him, and then leap across the table and pummel Margaret with hard, closed fists. But instead, you merely purse your lips and bob your head once. “Yup. Let’s go.”

~*~

“Hi.” You smile at the bartender and lean your forearms against the counter. “Can I get a root beer, a shot of vodka, and a vodka cranberry, please?”

She nods, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder and giving you a thumbs-up. You exhale deeply as she bustles away to prepare the drinks. Your skin is prickling with nerves, hyperaware of the fact that Harry is standing right next to you. Casting a furtive glance around the pub, you gnaw on your bottom lip. Harry’s friends are sitting on the other side of the room; they’ve claimed a booth as well. A few of them are piled atop each other as they all struggle to squeeze in. The sight makes you chuckle.

“So,” you hear from beside you. Harry’s gaze is steady as he rubs his fingers against his chin. “What did your friend mean when she said that she wouldn’t wrinkle her nose?”

The question is so arbitrary and out of the blue that it pulls an involuntary laugh from your mouth.

“Oh, Margaret?” you ask. When Harry nods, you continue. “She just sucks at taking shots. She pulls a face every time, so whenever we drink, she always tries to stop herself from doing it. It never works, though.”

Harry smirks. You look away. A few long seconds draw out before he speaks again.

“They seem nice,” he tells you. When you cock an eyebrow at him questioningly, he elaborates. “Your friends, I mean.”

“Oh.” You dip your chin. “Yeah, they’re great.”

He opens his mouth to say more, but just then, the blonde bartender returns with the drinks you’d ordered, setting them down onto the counter in front of you. “Anything else?” she asks, drumming her fingers on the surface of the bar. Your eyes are drawn to the low cut of her top.

“That’s all, thanks,” you declare, but then you pause. “Actually…,” you decide, and you turn to Harry. “Do you want anything?”

He balks, slightly stunned. His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and you suppress a small smile—that’s probably the most expressive you’ve ever seen him.

“No, no,” Harry assures you. “I’m alright.”

“I insist,” you say, and there must be something powerful in your gaze, because he just purses his lips and forfeits his repudiation.

“Er, I’ll just have a coke, then.”

You and the bartender both nod simultaneously. In less than thirty seconds, she’s got his drink standing alongside the others on the counter. “That’ll be eighteen dollars,” she tells you. You unzip your wallet and hand her the exact change before taking a quick sip of your vodka cranberry.

“I’m surprised you didn’t order whiskey,” you joke lightly, peeking over at Harry. He lifts the rim of his glass and takes a hearty gulp of his soda, licking his lips once he swallows.

“I—,” he begins, shaking his head. “Actually, I don’t drink.”

“Oh, really?” You cock your head to the side. “Why not?” A moment later, you backpedal hastily. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I used to drink a lot while I was doing my undergrad. Like, a lot. Shit happened, and I ended up needing to get my stomach pumped. After that, I just kind of…made the decision to lay off.”

“I see.” You falter. “Was it difficult?”

Harry nods, but only barely. He suddenly seems much more interested in the shiny floorboards of the bar. “Yeah, it was. But it was for the best. I’m here now, and I’m a teaching assistant for two classes, so I’d say things worked out pretty well.”

“Two classes?”

“Yeah. Neuropsychology, and then Doctor Chen’s psychopathology class,” he tells you.

“I was actually thinking of taking that,” you confess. “It looks really interesting.”

“It is.”

Though your mouth is dry, you hold up your vodka cranberry. “Well, then…cheers to you. That’s definitely something to be proud of.”

Harry gazes at you through his lashes and lifts his own drink, clinking your glasses together. The two of you take a sip at the same time; his eyes hold onto yours over the rim of his cup. You’re the first one to look away, your heart hammering as you reach out to grab Margaret’s shot. Harry mimics you and wraps his fingers around Mateo’s root beer.

“What’s your favourite drink?” he inquires, his grassy eyes alert. You pause.

“Probably tequila,” you say eventually. “It goes down smoother than anything else, I’ve found. Plus, it doesn’t take much for it to fuck me up.”

A low chuckle slips from Harry’s lips. Your thighs clench together at the sound.

“Guess I’ll have to buy you a shot of tequila later,” Harry tells you, leaning against the bar. “To repay you.”

You can hear the blood thundering in your ears. There’s an odd, fluttery sensation in your chest. You aren’t sure of whether it’s excitement, or anxiety, or perhaps both. All you know is that this is uncharted territory for you. You think that maybe it’s because of the pub and the atmosphere it provides: something laid-back and nonchalant. Harry has never spoken to you like this—like you’re a friend. You have no clue how to feel about it, so you settle for simply hoping that you won’t accidentally say the wrong thing and dash all of the progress you’ve made.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you answer, shaking your head. “I think that this was me repaying you for that coffee you bought me a while back. Do you remember?”

Bringing up his previous act of generosity makes you nervous; he’d swiftly cut you off the last time you’d tried to thank him for the latte. But—much to your surprise—his features don’t harden when your words sink in. You watch as his brows knit together for only a moment before a spark of recognition flickers in his eyes.

Harry’s expression opens up as the memory dawns on him, like petals from a rosebud. “I do.”

You shoot him a tight smile. “See? So now we’re even.”

He smirks. “I guess we are.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat and lift your chin in the direction of where your friends are still waiting. “Shall we?”

He nods, holding out his arm and inviting you to take the lead.

Your feet have only carried you a few steps when you hear someone call out, “Wait!”

Instinctively, both you and Harry spin around. The blonde bartender is back, raking her fingers through her hair and sliding a napkin across the counter. She’s looking at Harry, a roguish smile twisting her mouth upward. When he leans forward to accept her offering, you catch a glimpse of a series of numbers written across the serviette in black ink. Something in your stomach drops grossly; you turn to avoid witnessing Harry’s reaction and hastily speed away.

Margaret claps her hands excitedly when you return with her drink. Mateo looks at you inquisitively.

“Where’s Harry?”

“He’s coming,” you mumble, refusing to meet your friend’s eyes. You remain standing as you take a long sip of your vodka cranberry. Mateo’s lips curve down into the smallest of frowns, like he can sense that something is off with you. Thankfully, he doesn’t pry.

A moment later, Harry appears beside you, holding out the glass of root beer in his left hand. “Sorry, mate,” he apologises to Mateo. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Okay!” Margaret exclaims, rubbing her hands together and staring intently at the shot of vodka resting on the table in front of her. “I’m gonna do it!”

Mateo grins at her, giving her the type of smile that you’d offer to a child who’s just done something endearing. You snicker silently.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up when Harry turns to you and lays a large hand on your forearm. You stop breathing as he leans in close and whispers against your ear, “Is this the part where she…?”

The words are warm against your skin. A violent shudder races down your spine. In response, you can only muster a nod and a high-pitched, “Mhm.”

He chuckles lowly before pulling away.

Margaret downs the shot, and you, Harry, and Mateo all laugh when her face collapses into a vicious grimace. She’s still grumbling about her failed attempt when Harry states that he should be getting back to his friends on the other side of the bar.

“Have a nice night, you lot.” He shakes Mateo’s hand and shoots Margaret a small smile. He then turns to you, his gaze locking with yours. Your cheeks tingle hotly.

“And, you…,” Harry murmurs, the corners of his lips twitching. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nod, swallowing with some difficulty. When the words finally make it out of your mouth, they’re wobbly and forced.

“See you tomorrow.”

~*~

Around one in the morning, you and your friends have decided that it’s time to put an end to the night. Even Margaret is ready to go home.

“I’ve got to be up early tomorrow, anyway,” you explain to her. “My meeting with Harry is at ten.”

“Right.” Margaret nods knowingly and wiggles her brows. “Your meeting. Are you guys gonna fuck in his office?”

“Margaret!”

“What?” she laughs, gathering her hair into a low ponytail. “That would be so hot!”

You shake your head. Mateo pinches the bridge of his nose. The three of you head toward the exit of the pub, passing by the large group made up of Harry’s friends. They all seem to be having a great time, absorbed in a flurry of conversation and laughter. You scan each face quickly, frowning when you note that Harry isn’t among them. He must’ve gone to grab another soda, you decide, or perhaps he had to use the washroom. Either way, you don’t dwell on his absence.

You wrap your windbreaker around your body as you step out into the chilly October air. Beside you, Mateo sighs—his breath emerges as a small, foggy cloud.

“Do you guys want me to call an Uber?” he asks. He shoots Margaret a pointed glare. “Or are you gonna do it this time, you cheapskate?”

“Excuse you,” Margaret protests, still sloshed. “I’m not a cheapskate!”

“You’re literally the stingiest person I know,” Mateo deadpans. She squawks.

While the two of them bicker, you glance around and take in your surroundings. The road in front of you is dark and quiet, disturbed only by the occasional car. There are squished wads of gum, burnt cigarette butts, and haphazard attempts at graffiti littering the sidewalk. The streetlights bathe you in a warm, orange glow. About twenty feet away, a man and a woman are engrossed in a series of heavy kisses.

You pause. Your eyes narrow.

Holy shit.

“Fine!” Margaret yells, fishing her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll call the Uber!”

She’s too loud.

Her voice carries through the air.

Lips parting, you watch in horror as Harry detaches his mouth from the bartender’s neck and turns his head toward the noise. His eyes land on your face, and your chest seizes up in panic. In the millisecond that passes before you look away, his features morph from an expression of surprise to that of shame.

You whip around, nearly snapping your neck.

“Actually,” you say shrilly, interrupting Margaret and Mateo’s squabble. “Let’s hit up one more place. I’m not ready to head home just yet.”

Your friends stare at you, mystified.

“Okay…,” Margaret says slowly. “Why don’t we just stay here, then?”

“No!” you blurt before you can stop yourself. The divot between Margaret’s eyebrows deepens. Her pupils bounce from side to side in drunken confusion, but then her gaze lands on the person behind you that you know is Harry, and she gasps.

“Fuck,” she whispers. You glue your eyes to the floor.

Mateo is gawking, too, now. You shake your head and reach for the pair of them, wrapping your fingers around their arms and guiding them further away from the scene. “Let’s just go,” you murmur quietly. The words taste sour on your tongue.

“What—?” Margaret turns back to you, her nostrils flaring angrily. You find solace in knowing that she’s equally as upset as you are. “What do you wanna do?”

You shrug, too overrun with humiliation to meet her eyes. Mateo wraps a protective arm around your shoulder, and you busy yourself with ogling the buttons on his coat. Your throat is tight with emotion, ears ringing relentlessly.

“Can we go somewhere else?” you ask weakly—your friends are nodding before you’ve even finished the question. “I want to get fucked up.”

October 14th, 2019

Your head hurts.

Standing in front of Harry’s office, you wish that you’d forgone that final shot of tequila. Your stomach churns uneasily even now—hours later—and you find yourself struggling to recall certain points from last night. You don’t remember much, but what you do know is that Margaret hadn’t ended up being the one hunched over the toilet at three in the morning.

Where the fuck is he?

The door is locked, leaving you no choice but to stand outside in the hall and lean against the wall for support. Your eyes are puffy and red from lack of sleep. You’re fairly certain that your cheeks are swollen, too. You’d cried yourself into a fitful slumber just as the sun began to rise.

You touch your face; your skin feels grainy thanks to the tears that had escaped your eyes and soaked through the cotton of your pillowcase.

You check your phone and bite your lip. It’s a quarter past ten.

Harry is never late.

You’ll wait another ten minutes, you conclude, and if he doesn’t show up, you’ll just go home.

Only a minute after you settle on the decision, the squeaky sound of shoes slipping against polished tiles reaches your ears. You turn toward the sound just in time to watch Harry skid around the corner. Before you can stop yourself, your brows shoot up in dry disbelief.

He’s a mess.

“Hi,” Harry says, slightly out of breath. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

He’s wearing a pair of brown corduroy trousers that sit lopsided on his hips and a white button up tucked beneath a tan-coloured sweater vest. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up unevenly, and the vest itself is wrinkled near the hem. His tortoise-shell glasses are crooked on his face; his hair is disheveled. That same messenger bag is slung over his body, but there’s also a disorganized, rumpled pile of papers in his arms. A loose sheet slips from his grasp and flutters to the floor.

“Shit,” Harry mutters. Silently, you bend down, pick up the page, and hold it out to him. He grunts, wrestling one hand free to accept it. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Your words are monotone; you refuse make eye contact with him.

Harry digs his fingers into his pocket and produces a set of keys. They jingle cheerfully as he jams one into the lock on the door and twists it to the side—you wince at the loud noise. A telling click echoes through the air. With a gentle push, the door swings open.

“Ladies first,” Harry mumbles. Forcing your chin up, you walk into his office.

The room is very different compared to how it had been a few days ago. It’s emptier. A couple of boxes are strewn across the floor, packed up with supplies. All that’s left on Harry’s bureau now is a red pen and a desktop computer. Even the tall bookshelf in the corner of the room is bare, void of all the novels that it had previously housed. You cock your head to the side, nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“Sorry about the mess,” Harry says, shutting the door and staggering over to his desk. He plops the pile of papers onto the corner of the table and collapses into his rolling chair. “Renovations start the day after tomorrow, so I’ve been clearing out my essentials.”

“All of your books are essential?” you mutter, gingerly taking a seat in one of the cushioned chairs across from him. You don’t intend for him to hear the question—it’s actually more of a taunt, if you’re being honest—but he does.

“I like to read.” He shrugs.

You unzip your bag and rustle around for your midterm. “Me too.”

When you finally retrieve the exam, you pull it out and look up at him for the first time that day. His lips twitch almost indiscernibly, and it’s a soft, mocking lilt when he says, “I know.”

It dawns on you, then, that you’ve already had the same conversation in this exact spot. Your face grows hot, but you compel yourself to shake off the embarrassment. Clearing your throat, you slide your midterm onto his desk in hopes of changing the subject. “Here you go.”

Harry’s eyes fall to the packet.

“Right,” he says, tucking himself in closer. He licks his lips, turning it to the side and opening it up to the first page of questions. “You can see it like this, yeah?”

You nod, placing your elbows on his desk and slyly trying to massage your temples with two fingers—your headache seems to have only gotten worse.

“Okay.” Harry shifts in his seat and points to the third question on the sheet. “This answer here was B. The common name for fluoxetine is Prozac.”

“Got it,” you say, nodding solemnly. You feel silly for having forgotten something as simple as a type of medication.

Harry’s eyes skim the paper before he shifts his finger to the bottom of the page. “And this one here—,” he starts, “The motor cortex is located in the frontal lobe, just before the central sulcus.”

“Oh, shit.” You cringe, pinching the bridge of your nose. “The one in the parietal lobe is the somatosensory cortex, right?”

“Exactly.”

You shake your head, and then immediately regret doing so—it feels like someone is drilling screws into your skull. “What a stupid mistake.”

“It’s not, really,” Harry says, scratching the underside of his jaw. “The parietal lobe tends to be responsible for processing sensory information—some of it is visual, but most of it is tactile. And because of that, it’s really easy to get it mixed up, because we tend to associate touch with movement.”

“That’s exactly what I did,” you admit, pursing your lips.

He shrugs. “It’s okay. You’re learning—that’s the point.”

You glance up at him and find his eyes trained on you. It’s like he’s trying to convey something unspoken, but you don’t quite know what it is. Your throat bobs with a heavy swallow, and you force yourself to look away.

“Next page,” you urge softly. Harry obliges.

He places his finger beside the first question at the top. “This answer was D—all of the above. Because yeah, cerebrospinal fluid is produced by the ependymal cells, but those are located in the choroid plexuses, which, in turn, are found in the ventricles.” He puckers his lips. “It was a bit of a trick question.”

“No kidding.”

Harry’s lips curl grimly.

He’s in the middle of explaining the next error on your exam when your stomach flips and the top of your throat pulses dangerously. You sit back in your seat, one hand flying to your belly while the other shoots up to cover your mouth. Harry looks up at you quizzically; his expression softens when he absorbs your wide, terrified eyes and your hunched shoulders.

“Are you gonna be sick?” he asks quickly, straightening up.

At that exact moment, the nausea passes. The tension melts from your body, and your chest visibly deflates. You exhale quietly; your hand drops from where it had been shielding the lower half of your face.

Nervously, you peer up at Harry, only to find him regarding you with a blank expression. His lips are tucked into a thin line, and his stare is shallow and emotionless. You open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it.

“You’re hungover,” he states flatly. There’s no humour lacing the words.

“I—,” you grit your teeth. “Yeah, I am.”

Harry sighs regretfully, sinking back in his chair. He hooks his finger into the collar of his shirt and twists it around to loosen the material. Your lips part in shock, eyes nearly bulging out of your head.

“And you’re marked up,” you exclaim before you can stop yourself.

Harry’s brows knit together in confusion. As soon as the realisation strikes, though, he sits up straight, his nostrils flaring with a sharp inhale. His hand flies to cover his throat, but it’s too late—you’ve already seen them.

A number of dark, splotchy purple marks stand out against the smooth, tan skin of his neck. You’re not sure how many there are in total, and you don’t think that you want to know. Harry’s staring at you, his expression severe. You can’t tear your gaze away from his face—it feels like an eternity passes before either of you says anything.

“I think…,” Harry speaks slowly, his eyes flitting from side to side as he studies your features. “We should reschedule.”

“Good idea,” you breathe.

“And I think,” he adds, still using the same tone, “That we should both agree to keep this entire ordeal…confidential.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Deal.”

You can’t help it, then—you snort once before dissolving into laughter. Though bewildered creases dig into Harry’s forehead, the corners of his lips slowly curve up into a smile. Before long, he’s joining you in your amusement, his chest vibrating with deep, rumbling chuckles. His blocky front teeth latch onto his bottom lip, and he covers his mouth with his fingers in an attempt to subdue the sounds.

Deep in your abdomen, you can feel a tight little ball of jealousy festering. It had been conceived yesterday upon seeing the bartender slip Harry that napkin, and it had grown once you’d witnessed him kissing her outside of the pub. The hickies on his neck should be sending you into a downward spiral, but the hilarity of your current situation is enough to overshadow the ugliness—at least for the time being.

Later, you know that you’ll probably feel sick to your stomach, but you’ll just choose to blame it on the surplus of alcohol from last night.

“Wait, wait,” you say, rubbing your palm over your cheek. There’s a small smile on your lips, and your shoulders tremble with silent giggles. “What—when do you want to meet, then? Didn’t you say that renovations are starting soon?”

“Oh, shit.” Harry’s face falls immediately. He frowns in thought. “Does tomorrow work? I’ll be here in the afternoon.”

“I’ve got class until noon, and then I’ve got to leave for a dentist appointment at one,” you say mournfully.

Harry curses under his breath. You rub your hands together anxiously, watching him come to the realisation that you’re both out of options. He pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, gazing down emptily at the exam still splayed out on the desk.

“Okay,” he murmurs. He looks up at you, speaking with a bit more conviction. “Come over to my place on Wednesday, then.”

The look of unapologetic shock on your face must be priceless, but Harry holds his ground. The gears in your mind immediately kick into overdrive; you try to quell the noise—it’s only going to make your headache worse. You look at Harry, hoping that he can’t see the way you’ve just swallowed down the hard lump in your throat.

“Your place,” you echo dumbly. “On Wednesday.”

Harry nods assuredly. “Yeah.”

It’s taking everything in you to steer clear of an overreaction. Harry’s suggesting it because he wants to help you improve in time for the final exam—he’s just trying to do his job. You don’t want to be the one to make it weird. There’s a certain kind of maturity to his idea, you think, and you want to show him the ease with which you can meet him on that level.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “I don’t want to, like, impose.”

“I’m sure.” His reply is firm. “You’re not imposing. I told you that I’d go over the midterm with you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

You nod, rubbing your clammy hands against your thighs. “Okay.”

“Perfect,” Harry says. He reaches forward and folds your exam closed before sliding it back to you. “Can you make it for, let’s say, six in the evening?”

“Um, alright.” You hesitate. “Where exactly do you—?”

“I’ll e-mail you my address,” Harry promises before you can finish your question. You clamp your mouth shut, nodding again. You don’t miss the delicate curl of his lips, or the shallow, nearly invisible crinkles that appear at the corners of his eyes. You stand up, slipping your midterm back into your bag and tugging on the zipper to ensure that it stays secure.

“Okay, well…,” you look at him through your eyelashes, too afraid to fix him with a proper stare. “Have a good day, then.”

He shoots you a tight, pained smile. You wonder if he’s already regretting his offer.

“You too.”

And for the second time in less than a week, you find yourself exiting Harry’s office with a muddy mind, sweaty palms, and a racing heart.

October 15th, 2019

“You’re going to his house?” Margaret shrieks.

You wince and bury your face into your palms. The half-eaten plate of gnocchi that you’d ordered is pushed off to your right, abandoned. Margaret stabs her lasagna with her silver fork, shovelling a piece past her lips and chewing frantically. “What were you thinking?” she demands through a mouthful of pasta.

In the dim lighting of the restaurant, her gaze is piercingly judgmental.

“I was thinking about my grade!” you retort defensively. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. “And I didn’t want to be the one to make it awkward. Like, if he’s suggesting it, that obviously means that he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. So, if I get all freaked out, then I just end up looking like a child.”

Your friend turns your words over in her head, tilting her chin from side to side in acknowledgement. “I get that,” she says, swallowing her food. “But I’m still fucking upset about the other night.”

“You and me both,” you mumble, averting your gaze.

“Hey,” Margaret says sternly, fixing you with a strict glare. “You’re not allowed to feel embarrassed about that. You did nothing wrong—he’s just a dick.”

“He’s not a dick,” you tell her, a hint of admonishment creeping into your words. “And it’s not like he asked me out before hooking up with her. There’s no valid reason for me to be mad about this.”

“Say that again,” Margaret warns, pointing her fork in your direction, “And I’ll punch you straight in the tit.”

You snort.

“I still want you to sleep with him,” she says casually, popping another bite of lasagna into her mouth. “But if he wants my forgiveness, it better be a phenomenal fuck.”

“Margaret!”

“What? I’m just telling it like it is!”

“Jesus Christ.”

October 16th, 2019

You had been looking forward to today’s lecture. It’s all about memory processes and mnemonic devices, retention and phenomena regarding recollection. You’d been hoping to integrate some of the information into your study habits—though you already know all about the spacing and testing effects, you’re always open to learning new tricks.

Yet you don’t find yourself as immersed in the class as you thought you’d be. Margaret and Mateo are beside you, giving themselves to Dr. Renault with rapt attention, but you can’t seem to devote to him that same level of focus. A small, naïve part of you wonders why, but deep down, you know the exact reason for your lack of concentration.

And that reason is currently standing off to the side of the room, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest and his olive eyes fixated shamelessly on you. You have to suppress a smile—he’s not even trying to hide it.

Around thirty minutes ago, Harry had returned the quizzes that you had all written last week. You’d looked down at your paper to find a perfect score, along with a messy red scribble in the corner.

Well done, love. See you tonight. H. x

You don’t think that your heart has ever swelled so rapidly. Even now, sitting in the middle of the room, you can hear the blood rushing through your ears. Sometimes, when you glance down at Harry, he’ll look away—other times, he just stares at you evenly, refusing to be the first to give in. You’ve witnessed his lips twitching with a forbidden smirk on multiple occasions. It takes everything in you to keep from grinning like a maniac.

What the fuck is going on?

He must be in a good mood, you decide. You peek down at him one last time—to your surprise, his attention is elsewhere, eyes trained on his watch to check the time. When he lifts his head back up, you deflect your gaze immediately and try to ignore the giddy warmth that erupts across your chest.

You refuse to look at him again, but in your peripheral vision, you swear that you see his shoulders rumble with a silent laugh.

~*~

Harry’s building is really nice. The floors in the lobby are shiny and polished, and glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Actual chandeliers! The windows are large and clear, letting in just enough natural light from outside to make you feel like you’re starring in an episode of Gossip Girl. You shoot a timid smile to the woman sitting behind the front desk—since when do apartment complexes have receptionists?

Even the elevators look like they’ve been recently renovated. The buttons light up when you press them, a thin ring of red surrounding each number. You find yourself humming along to the music playing softly from the speakers.

The elevator dings when you reach your level. “Fourth floor,” an automated voice announces. You chuckle incredulously as you step out into the hallway. How the hell is he living here?

Your eyes narrow as you scan the plaque on each door that you pass. 4A, 4B…

4C.

You stop short, running your fingers through your hair and tugging on the sleeves of your denim jacket. You pull your phone out from your pocket and glance at the time—it’s exactly six o’clock.

Before you can lose your nerve, you lift your fist and rap gently on the wood. The sound is drowned out by the ringing in your ears. You swallow heavily and shove your hands behind your back, waiting with a held breath and a racing pulse. The passing seconds feel like eons; you’re about to knock again, but then there’s a faint click, and the door is swinging open before you can blink.

“Hey,” Harry says, not unkindly.

You offer up a nervous smile. “Hey.”

The first thing you notice is that his outfit looks nothing like the usual ensemble he wears to your lectures. You were beginning to think that all he owned in his closet were slacks and button-ups and any other articles of clothing that make him look about twenty years older than he really is. But here he stands before you, sporting a light grey hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants. Cute little ankle socks cover his feet, and—as he had on the first day of class—he’s pinned his hair back using his glasses. His eyes seem brighter than usual, and his lips look slightly swollen, like he’s been chewing on them continuously. The prospect of him being antsy to see you makes your stomach flip with anticipation.

You force the thought out of your mind and silently berate yourself. He’s not eager to see you, and there’s nothing here for you to dissect—you’re reading too much into this.

“Come in,” Harry says, stepping away from the door and making room for you to pass through. You thank him softly, gliding past the threshold and taking a short moment to toe off your shoes.

“How are you?” you ask him, though you don’t meet his gaze.

“Good, thanks,” he replies. “You?”

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

You snicker hollowly—the playfulness he’d channeled today in class has clearly faded away. Harry turns on his heel and pads down the hall; unsure of what to do, you simply follow. You take advantage of the fact that he can’t see you, allowing your eyes to rake over his broad, muscular back. Your mouth waters when you cast only a momentary glance at his ass.

“I figured we could set up in the kitchen,” Harry tells you matter-of-factly.

“Sounds good.”

He nods and stops in front of another doorway. Just as he had done before, he steps aside and motions for you to enter first. “After you.”

You hate the weak articulation of your response. “Thank you.”

Everything in the kitchen is white, save for the black marble countertops and the sleek grey refrigerator standing proudly in the corner. On the table sits a bowl of bananas and a small stack of letters and bills. When you glance at Harry with a puzzled look on your face, he just shrugs.

“I really like bananas,” he says, somewhat sheepishly. His sudden awkwardness makes you smile.

“I prefer pomegranates,” you reply, a hint of teasing evident in your tone.

Harry nods. “Those are good.”

“Right?” you say, setting your bag down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “They’re a real bitch to peel, though.”

“I know,” he hums, rolling his eyes. “It takes forever.”

You chuckle and look up at him properly for the first time since he’d opened his front door. His irises twinkle with mischief, and the sight makes your heart flutter in your chest. You’re not used to seeing him like this—with just a few short sentences, it feels like he’s let down his guard and is allowing you to see a new side of him. You like it. You don’t want to screw it up.

“Have you got your exam?” Harry asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You blink and nod quickly, unzipping your bag and pulling your midterm out of a random binder.

“Here we go,” you murmur, handing it over to him.

He hums gently before motioning for you to take a seat. You lower yourself into the chair at the head of the table, and he chooses to occupy the one adjacent to you. The skin on your arms prickles when he shifts a bit closer. He unfolds your exam, opening it up to the second page.

“Right, then,” he says, clearing his throat. He points to the top of the sheet. “We ended off with this question the other day, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles. He slides his index finger to the very bottom of the paper, where your next error is circled in red. Your attention is glued to the small cross tattooed on his hand.

“For this one,” he starts, tapping the page softly, “Sleep spindles become apparent on a monitor during the second stage of light sleep, not the third.”

“The third stage consists of delta waves, correct?” you ask. Harry nods—you think that there’s a trace of pride in his expression, but you can’t be sure.

“See?” he tells you, pinning you with a serious look. “You know this stuff. You just had a bad morning that day, that’s all.”

His words make you want to lean over the corner of the table and tackle him in a hug.

“I—thank you,” you stammer instead. You focus your attention on your exam, praying that he doesn’t catch the stupid smile that spreads across your face. Your cheeks are aflame, and your heart feels like it’s only seconds away from giving out. You adjust your position in the chair, crossing your legs and shoving your hands beneath your thighs to hide the way that they tremble.

The two of you work through most of the remaining questions together—you’re shocked at how many of the correct answers you actually know. You feel like an idiot for having gotten them wrong; when you mutter as much under your breath, Harry shoots you a stern glare.

“You’re not an idiot,” he tells you, a hard edge to his voice. You shrink beneath his piercing gaze. “This is why we encourage going to bed early the night before an exam. You know so many of these, but a lack of sleep can really just screw you over.”

“Yeah,” you say, sighing softly. A second later, you add, “Thanks for bearing with me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Harry responds. He flips to the last page of the packet. “We’re nearly done,” he reveals, and you have to fight to hide your surprise when he smiles teasingly at you. “Then you’ll be able to get me out of your hair.”

You scoff and emit a nervous laugh. “If anything, I’m the one in your hair.”

“Not true,” Harry says. His shoulders shake with a cool shrug. “I wouldn’t have been doing anything tonight, anyway. Your presence is a welcome distraction.”

You snort, though the sound rapidly dissolves into a violent cough. Harry’s eyes widen, and he rubs his palm over his forehead when the realisation hits him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs before speaking up. “I didn’t even offer you something to drink, Christ. What can I get for you?”

“Um,” you choke out, placing your hand on your chest. “Water—water’s fine.”

“Brilliant.” He shoots up from his chair and darts around the counter. You curl your fingers into a fist and deliver a few gentle pounds to your sternum. When the hacking fit passes, you swallow heavily and squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed beyond belief. You busy yourself with staring at the last page of your midterm, skimming mindlessly over the words on the sheet.

Lost in your humiliation, you don’t look up when the loud clinking of glass reaches your ears. It’s only when you hear the deep baritone of Harry’s voice that you lift your gaze.

“Er…would you mind?”

Your jaw drops.

“How the hell did you manage to do that?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Harry protests as you stand. His features contort with concentration. “They all just fell down at once!”

You laugh and scurry around the counter quickly. Harry’s standing in front of an open cabinet, his forearms acting as the only barrier between several cups and the floor. He wrinkles his nose as he shifts, only to freeze immediately when one of the glasses slips further down. You pause beside him, looking for a way to provide help without causing anything to fall and shatter.

“Why’re you just standing there?” he demands, but the question is laced with laughter.

“I’m trying to find a way to get in here!” you say, giggling. You gnaw on your bottom lip to suppress a smile, stepping closer to him and placing your fingertips delicately onto his elbow.

“Okay, maybe—lift your arm a bit for me.”

“What?”

“Lift your arm!”

“Alright, shit!” Harry obeys.

You hunch your shoulders and slip in between him and the counter, ending up with your back pressed against his chest. His breath washes out onto the shell of your left ear—a shiver races down your spine. You bite down harshly on your tongue as you lift your own arms, carefully plucking each glass from its teetering position and placing them all safely back onto the shelf.

“There we go,” you murmur, holding out your hands in front of the cabinet—one last act of caution. His arms fall from where they were outstretched next to yours. You give yourself a mental pat on the back, smirking proudly and turning around.

Your breath gets caught in your throat.

Harry hasn’t moved an inch.

His expression is unreadable, features stony. His eyes stare at you with such intensity you feel as though he’s pulling you apart layer by layer and scrutinizing everything that lies beneath. You watch anxiously as his tongue dips out to wet his lips—the action is over just as quickly as it begins. His strong chest moves against yours, rising and falling with shallow, sporadic gasps. You swallow roughly, refusing to make the first move.

But then Harry lets out a defeated sigh.

“Fuck it all,” he says.

A pair of large hands fly up to grip the sides of your face, and he covers your lips with his.

~*~

If someone had told you a week ago that you’d end up like this, you’re pretty sure that you would have cackled right in their face. Hell, if someone had told you ten minutes ago that you’d end up like this, you would have considered it to be the grandest comedy special of the century.

But there’s nothing funny about this situation.

You fail to see any bit of humour in the way that Harry presses his lips to yours with a bruising force. You don’t laugh when he steps closer to you, trapping you against the counter and sliding his fingers into your hair to keep you near. And you’re not fucking around one bit when you melt against him, your hands slipping past his waist and your fingers interlocking at the small of his back. A soft, pleased sigh escapes your lips.

Finally.

“I’ve thought—,” Harry breathes against your mouth, cutting himself off so that he can pepper hard kisses to the corner of your lips. “—thought about this so much, you’ve got no idea.”

“Shut up,” you murmur, digging your nails into his back through the thick material of his sweater. He presses a forceful kiss to the curve of your jaw; you can feel the way his cheeks lift with a smirk.

It’s frenzied, it’s feverish, and it’s been a long time coming. Harry doesn’t waste a second, hiking you up onto the counter and tugging your denim jacket from your shoulders. You whimper delightedly at the action. His fingers find the hem of your white t-shirt, slipping beneath the soft cotton and rucking it up your sides. His nails scrape gently across your skin, leaving a searing path behind. Your top falls to the floor, leaving you in a plain, nude bra.

Your face heats up in embarrassment—of course, you’re wearing the foulest undergarments you own. You hadn’t exactly expected to wind up here.

“You too,” you protest breathlessly, trying to turn his attention away from the sheer ugliness of your intimates. You ball the fabric of Harry’s hoodie up in your fists; his body rumbles with a faint chuckle. He steps back, fixing you with an intense stare as his grip curls into the collar of his sweater. You watch with hot cheeks and dilated pupils, clenching your thighs together when he finally rids himself of the material.

He’s got a few dozen more tattoos hidden beneath the sweatshirt, designs littered across his shoulders and his chest. You’re not even surprised. Your gaze falls to the intricate butterfly inked across his abdomen. Harry moves back into your space, and you reach out to trail your fingers along the insect’s ebony wings.

“It’s gorgeous,” you mumble softly.

“I want you,” he replies.

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Have me, then,” you say, lunging for the knot on the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Wait.” He stops you, his long fingers circling around your wrists. “Not yet. First, I’ve got to—”

“What is it?” you ask, somewhat impatiently. You duck your face down, intending to sponge kisses up and down his neck. Your urges are dashed, however, when you catch a glimpse of the marks already scattered across his throat. The hickies aren’t as dark as they had been a couple of days ago (they’ve faded into a light brown, now), but the mere sight of them still leaves you paralyzed with resentment.

You sit back on the counter, your features hardening. Harry watches you in confusion before it dawns on him. One of his hands shoots up to cover his neck.

“She—it didn’t mean anything,” he tells you quickly.

You choke on a dry laugh. “And this does?”

His eyes grow dark. He cups your face in his palms, leaning forward so that his lips brush against yours when he speaks.

“You have no idea,” he says lowly, “how much this means to me.”

You gulp. Your voice shakes when you say, “Prove it.”

Harry kisses you urgently, wrestling his way in between your legs. Your thighs fall open easily, welcoming him closer. He growls gruffly when you hook one of your calves around his hips, drawing him in. His fingers dance up your spine, playing hesitantly with the clasp of your bra. You arch your back, silently encouraging him to take it off.

He makes quick work of the ordeal, undoing the three little hooks in a matter of seconds. Your lips detach from his with a loud smacking sound when the cups loosen around your chest and the straps slide from your shoulders.

“Lemme see, love,” Harry rasps. “Please.”

You swear that those four words are enough to have you soaking through your jeans.

You pull your bra from your body, tossing it away mindlessly. Harry diverts all of his attention to your breasts, reaching up to caress them in his hands. His thumbs stroke over your skin. Your nipples grow tight with arousal, and you’re about to beg him to just do something, but then he bends down and engulfs one of them into his mouth.

“Shit,” you breathe, tilting your head back. “That feels good.”

Harry continues to fondle your other breast with his left hand, while the right slips down so that he can plant a firm grasp on your waist. He rubs his fingers soothingly along the space just above the waistband of your bottoms. You’re torn between pushing your hips back against his touch and curving your torso forward into his mouth.

He pops off of your chest, licking his lips and scattering a haphazard trail of kisses along your cleavage until he reaches the other side. He’s quick to pamper your other nipple with the same amount of attention, sucking avidly and swirling his tongue around it. You whimper, his actions unearthing something wild buried deep in the pit of your belly.

“Harry,” you moan, gripping the edge of the counter tightly. “Please.”

“My hair…,” he mumbles quietly, moving away from your chest and leaving a path of wet kisses up your neck. You sigh when he bites down gently on your collarbone.

“What?” you murmur, your eyes fluttering shut. Harry snickers.

“Pull—”

He kisses your throat.

“—my—”

He kisses your chin.

“—hair.”

He kisses your lips.

Your fingers twine immediately through the wavy brown tendrils at the back of his neck. You stroke his hair zealously, your nails bumping against the glasses that are still perched on top of his head.

“Take these off,” you mumble, giggling against his lips. Harry smiles, removing the frames. Instead of folding them up, though, he slides them onto the bridge of your nose, his cheeks dimpling with a smug smirk.

“You look hot,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’d love to fuck you while you’re wearing my glasses, but I think you’d just end up with a headache afterwards.”

“My God,” you mutter, shaking your head softly and pulling them off. His words are intended to mock, but they’ve only succeeded in turning you on beyond belief. You leg tightens around Harry’s waist, and you place your hand on his right shoulder to guide him down for a kiss.

“Are we—do you wanna—?” you inquire between soft smacks of your lips against his. Harry seems to catch on to what you’re trying to ask. He nods vehemently, winding his arms around your waist and squeezing you tightly. Your breasts squish against his bare chest—the contact sends a shiver down your spine.

“C’mere,” Harry says, helping you stand from the counter. You reach out for the knot on his sweatpants again, but just like before, he interrupts the act.

“Stop that,” he instructs, his lips twitching in amusement when he registers the pout on your face. “I wanna do something else, first.”

“What is it?” you whine. Harry flips your hands over and traces small circles into your palms. He plants a few chaste pecks on your lips before guiding your fingers into his hair once more.

“Keep them there,” he murmurs as he kisses down your neck. “You’re gonna need something to hold onto.”

You open your mouth to question him, but then he’s dropping to his knees and fiddling with the button on your jeans, and your voice betrays you. Harry tugs your zipper down slowly, peering up at you through his eyelashes and fighting to mask a conceited grin. You wiggle your hips as he jerks your pants down your legs, eventually stepping out of the material once it pools at your feet.

“I can smell you, love,” Harry whispers, groaning wantonly and pressing his forehead against the top of your left thigh. You swallow violently at the pure lust coating each syllable of his sentence, arranging your feet so that they’re planted a bit further apart.

“Can I have it?” Harry asks, looking up at you for permission. His fingers hook into the fabric of your panties.

You nod feebly, choking on the word. “Yes.”

With that, he yanks your underwear smoothly down your legs, throws one of your thighs over his shoulder, and goes to town.

You tilt your head backward as he licks a wide stripe up the length of your folds. His plush, swollen lips pepper kisses against the innermost parts of your core. Your clit throbs when he pulls it into his mouth and sucks gently. He grunts appreciatively when you tug on his hair.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering shut. The cold edge of the marble counter presses into the small of your back, but you pay it no attention. Harry places one hand on your waist, while the other snakes around to cup your ass. He pinches your bum lightly, chuckling when you squeak and twitch in response.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, sticking his tongue out and flicking it rapidly against your clit. Your lips part with a lewd moan, and your fingers tighten in his curls. You feel him smirk against your cunt, evidently satisfied with your answer.

“Harry,” you breathe, your chest heaving. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Good.”

He doubles his efforts after that. You can’t even be embarrassed about the sounds that leave your mouth. It feels like he’s everywhere at once, pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs and lapping fervently at your folds. You jump when he circles your entrance with the tip of his index finger, and whimper as he slowly sinks the digit inside of you. He probes around, cursing at the sensation of your walls bearing down on him.

You can’t believe that this is happening. Never in a million years would you have predicted that you’d be standing in Harry’s ridiculously expensive kitchen, stark naked, with his lips and his tongue guiding you to the brink of an orgasm.

Things have a funny way of working out, you suppose.

Harry hooks his finger inside of you, petting a rough, sensitive spot. You cry out and fall over the edge. The muscles in your legs shake so violently that you have to lean against the counter to keep yourself upright. The heel of your foot digs into Harry’s back, and your grasp on his hair grows unbelievably strong. He continues to pump his finger in and out of your cunt, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he pulls back to watch your features contort in pleasure.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles, kissing the skin just beneath your navel. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Damn,” you whisper, inhaling deeply. You pause when you realise that you’ve still got an ironlike grip on the wavy tendrils atop his head. Releasing his curls, you flex your fingers and wipe your sweaty palms against the sides of your bare thighs. Harry’s eyes glitter.

“You’re good at that,” you say breathlessly. He grins, and you swoon upon spotting the deep crevice of his dimple.

“Can I kiss you again?” he requests.

A winded laugh falls from your mouth. “You didn’t ask me if you could before.”

“I should’ve.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you seriously saying that right now?” Your eyebrows climb up your forehead.

A low grunt escapes Harry’s lips when he stands. You watch, amused, as he places a hand on his lower back and stretches. His nose wrinkles in contempt.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Back problems.”

“Why’re you apologising?” The corner of your mouth quirks up. Harry pauses, looking down at you before an incredulous chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest.

“You’re something else,” he says, shaking his head. You smile, winding your arms around his neck and steering him in for a long, lazy kiss.

He tastes like you. The realisation makes you moan.

Sneakily, you run your hands down his back, taking only a moment to marvel at the way his muscles shift beneath his skin. You stop right above his bum, gliding your fingers over the elastic of his bottoms and circling back to the front. Harry scoffs when you begin tinkering with the tie on his sweatpants, and you giggle. Despite his slight jeer, though, he allows you to continue.

You pull at the string, and it promptly comes loose. “Wait,” Harry says.

You groan.

“I swear to God,” you exclaim. “If you don’t let me get you naked—”

He grabs your face in his palms and cuts you off with a bruising kiss. Your empty threat dies on the tip of your tongue.

“I just meant—,” Harry mumbles, the words hot and sticky, “—maybe we should take this to my room.”

You pull back and blink. “That’s awfully forward of you.”

His face is vacant until your sentence sinks in, and then he laughs. The sound comes from deep in his diaphragm, capping off at the end with a high-pitched squeak. It makes you want to grab him and cover his lips with yours until you’re both struggling to breathe.

“C’mon,” Harry commands, tangling his fingers with yours.

He leads you out of the kitchen and down the hall, stopping at the last door on the left. As soon as you step into his room, you note that his bed is preposterously big. That’s the only observation you’re able to make, though, because then he’s picking you up in all of your naked glory and flinging you onto the mattress.

You yelp in surprise, scrambling up to where a mountain of pillows is propped against the headboard. Harry watches you as he saunters over, his eyes hungry and voracious. His tongue swipes over his teeth as he joins you on the bed. You giggle eagerly.

Once your lips convene again, the atmosphere shifts. The playfulness is gone, replaced by something deeper, something greedier. Harry licks into your mouth, ravenous. You whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist and subconsciously bucking your hips up off the duvet. You can feel his cock inside his bottoms, hard and heavy and waiting to be freed. Fed up with the numerous delays, you grab onto material covering his thighs and yank it down. He notices your struggle, and he sits back on his knees to help you in your quest to get him undressed.

“I’m not—,” Harry begins, but he’s too slow.

Your eyes grow wide when they land on what lies beneath his sweatpants.

I’m not small, he might have started to say, or perhaps, I’m not wearing any underwear.

You’re not sure which statement it would have been, because both are true. He’s now equally as naked as you, his cock swollen and curved against his stomach. The tip is flushed a light pink, dotted with clear drops of arousal. A prominent vein runs along the underside—you’re suddenly overcome by the urge to feel it against your tongue. A few inches lower, there’s a tattoo of a tiger’s face inked on his thigh. You feel your stomach tighten as an entirely new wave of desire washes over you.

You look up at Harry with unreadable eyes. He stares back at you, and—for what may be the first time ever—you think you see a hint of insecurity brewing in his gaze. He swallows; you get the feeling that he’s going to say something, but you beat him to it.

“You’re so sexy,” you tell him earnestly, and then you kiss him again.

He ruts against you, his cock sliding along the inner crease of your thigh as the two of you move together. His hands slither up your body to squeeze your breasts, and you arch into his touch. After a few minutes of him devoting his attention to your chest, he reaches over and pulls open the top drawer of his nightstand.

“I’m clean,” he says, panting. “But…just in case.”

You nod once. “Agreed.”

He fishes out a condom, the foil packet crinkling loudly in his grasp. The sound snaps you out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

You’re really about to have sex with Harry.

Harry, who grades your papers.

Harry, who is employed by the university that you’re currently attending.

Harry, who ignored you for weeks.

All of those things should send off warning bells in your brain. They should remind you that what you’re doing is wrong, and the two of you could get into an unbelievable amount of trouble. Your academic career might very well never recover. Harry could lose his job.

But you don’t care. Because though he’s the same Harry who grades your papers and who works for your university and who ignored you for weeks, he’s also Harry, who writes little notes on all of your tests and assignments. Harry, who bought you a coffee just because he felt like it. Harry, who was willing to devote a hefty portion of his free time to reviewing your midterm with you and showing you where you went wrong.

“You good?”

His innocent inquiry pulls you out of your haze. The condom has been rolled on.

You nod firmly, your legs falling open with a surprising amount of ease. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Let’s do it.”

When his cock first enters you, it takes a minute to get used to the intrusion. Harry watches your features for any sign of discomfort; you find it sweet. You pulse around him, and his hips falter as he swears softly.

“Sorry,” he says. “It feels good.”

“Glad to hear it,” you say wryly. He smirks.

You take deep breaths as you try to grow accustomed to the way he’s spreading you apart. He leans down, balancing on his forearms and sprinkling dozens of kisses across your face. His lips land on your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your chin. The small displays of affection help you loosen up.

“I think it’s okay, now,” you whisper, pushing his hair out of his face. Harry seals his lips against yours, gradually pulling out and thrusting back in. His pace is still slow, cautious, wary; you cup his jaw and skirt your thumb over the small mole by the corner of his mouth.

Steadily, he begins to pick up speed. Within minutes, you’ve got your lips parted and your back curved, your little mewls of pleasure filling the air. Harry curses, sitting back on his heels and searching for a secure grip on your waist. He pistons his hips, pulling you onto his cock with each drive forward. Your fingers dig into the duvet.

“Fuck,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “It’s so good.”

Harry reaches forward to pull your hands away. “Don’t,” he gasps, his forehead gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat. “Lemme hear you, I wanna—,” he groans, “I wanna hear you.”

You moan in response. The headboard creaks incessantly, but neither of you pay the noise any attention. Harry’s chest is flushed a dark shade of pink, matching the blush on his cheeks. His hair has flopped over onto his forehead; he doesn’t even attempt to move it out of the way. You can feel his thighs flexing against your bum as he fills you to the brim with every thrust.

“Bloody fuck.” He grits his teeth, a vein in his neck popping. “So fuckin’ tight, love. You’re squeezing me.”

At that, you deliberately clench around his cock. One of Harry’s hands splays out over your navel abruptly. The next drive of his dick inside of you is hard and sudden—a form of admonishment. It makes you gasp.

“Don’t,” he warns softly, sliding his palm upward and pinching your left nipple. “Be—be good for me.”

His hand continues further north, and your eyes widen when you feel him wrap his fingers around your throat. He doesn’t apply much pressure, but you moan loudly anyway. His thumb strokes over the gentle curve of your jaw, and his middle finger prods gently at your mouth. Without hesitating, you take the digit past your lips, laving your tongue over his knuckle.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers. He stares at you—completely awestruck—like he can’t fathom that you’re real. You whine and buck your hips against his, urging him to resume his previous pace.

“Filthy,” Harry mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. He releases your neck, trailing his finger down your sternum and leaving behind a damp path of your own saliva.

“I’m almost there,” you tell him, biting on the inside of your cheek to keep your sounds from increasing in volume.

“Yeah?” he asks breathlessly. “Gonna cum for me? Please, darling—I wanna see it.”

“Fuck me,” you gasp, twitching at the lewdness of his demand.

Harry grunts, and with the finger that was just inside of your mouth, he rubs frantic, messy shapes against your clit. The sudden onslaught of stimulation catches you by surprise, and you shriek when your orgasm crashes into you unexpectedly.

“Holy shit!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut. Your climax is powerful, splintering through your entire body. Your toes curl into the mattress and your thighs quiver pugnaciously. Harry continues to fuck you, alternating between deep, languid strokes, and short staccato pumps. He digs his fingers into your skin as his rhythm wavers.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” he groans, his face screwing up in pleasure. You grasp at his wrist with shaky hands, stroking over the anchor on his arm when he releases a string of cusses. Harry snaps into your cunt one, two, three more times before stilling and collapsing on top of you, utterly depleted.

The two of you lie there for eons, it seems. Your bodies are hot, spent, and slick with sweat. He sighs, nuzzling into you and delivering a gentle kiss to your temple. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you struggle to regain your bearings. The room is silent, except for the shifting of limbs and the sound of Harry’s breathing in your ear.

“Was good,” he croaks, lifting a hand and tucking your hair away from your face with feeble fingers.

You hum and turn to the side, the tip of your nose brushing his chin. “Yeah. It was.”

“We’re fucked,” he adds weakly.

You purse your lips. “Yeah,” you repeat. “We are.”

October 23rd, 2019

The next week, Harry isn’t in class. Instead, settled in the corner of the room, there’s a short Korean girl with dark silky hair and a bright shade of red daubed on her lips. She’s wearing a brown knitted-sweater that looks awfully cozy, and her feet are covered by a clunky pair of combat boots.

Who would transfer into a class this late in the semester? You wonder. Is that even allowed?

At that exact moment, Dr. Renault clears his throat. His announcement makes all of the blood in your body run cold.

“Good morning, everyone. Unfortunately, Harry will no longer be accompanying us on our exciting quest to learn about the brain.” He gestures to the Korean girl standing off to the side. “This is Hana. She will be my new assistant for the remainder of the course.”

November 13th, 2019

“Oh my God, here it comes!” Margaret squeals, her nails digging into your bicep. You laugh at her excitement. Mateo leans over to pull her painted claws out of your skin.

“Jesus, woman, you’re gonna draw blood,” he berates her. Margaret rolls her eyes and faces him with her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t see her complaining!”

“I was about to,” you pipe up, shooting her a dry smile. Your friend turns on you, her features warping with an expression of betrayal, but before she can say anything, the barista sets three tall cups of coffee onto the counter and calls out your orders.

“That’s us, bitch!” Margaret exclaims. “Thank you,” she adds in a softer tone. The barista just smiles, giggling quietly and wishing you a good day.

You reach out for your latte, taking a small sip and humming appreciatively at the taste. “I fucking missed this place,” you say. “Nobody does coffee like Grounded.”

“Agreed.” Mateo nods.

The three of you make your way down the hall, the sounds of whirring espresso machines and jingling coins growing fainter in the distance. The corridor is teeming with students, people engrossed in animated conversations as they head to their next class. Margaret is rambling about how she can’t wait to resume her routine of drinking three cups of caffeine a day, and Mateo is marvelling at the spotlessness of the basement floors.

“They really cleaned this place up,” he says. “I guess renovations aren’t useless, after all.”

“Mhm,” you hum in response.

You balance your coffee in one hand as you rifle through your bag for the little pot of lip balm that you know is hidden somewhere in the smallest pocket. You’re so absorbed in your search that you don’t notice a tall figure walk right out of the door in front of you and into your path.

“Oh, shit!” you hiss, bumping into a solid body. A few drops of coffee spill from your cup and run down your fingers. The liquid is still hot; you whimper.

“I’m so sorry,” you ramble, lifting your gaze as you apologise to the stranger. “I wasn’t looking where I was—”

You stop in your tracks, and the rest of your sentence fizzles out. Harry’s peering down at you with piercing green eyes, seeming to stare through your soul. He’s wearing a maroon crewneck and a pair of dark brown trousers, and his glasses are tucked securely into the collar of his shirt. His hair has grown since you’d last seen him all those weeks ago, wispy tendrils curling just beneath his ears. Your skin tingles with the memory of running your fingers through the soft strands, and you have to hold back a sigh.

“Hi,” Harry says, the greeting deep and guttural. You swallow heavily, gripping your coffee with both hands.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He buries his knuckles into his pockets, his brown loafers squeaking against the floor. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine.” Your answer is curt. “You?”

“I’ve been alright, yeah.”

“That’s good.”

A beat of silence passes before someone beside you clears their throat. You jump; you’d forgotten all about your friends.

“Okay, well, we’re gonna go…,” Margaret says slowly, drawing out the last vowel of her sentence. She’s only referring to Mateo and herself, but you put your hand on her forearm to keep her still for a second longer.

“I’ll come with you,” you tell her quickly, refusing to look at the man standing in front of you.

“Actually,” Harry pipes up. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

You force yourself to meet his eyes. Margaret and Mateo step away leisurely. “What is it?”

“It’s about your midterm,” Harry says, even though both of you know that it’s not. Everything on his face reveals to you that his words are a lie, from the pursing of his lips to the furrowing of his brows. Despite your irritation, though, you find yourself nodding apprehensively.

Harry steps back, holding out his arm and motioning for you to walk into his office. You don’t bother shooting your friends one last glance before you oblige.

They’ll be fine; you’re not worried about them.

You’re worried about yourself.

You don’t miss the sound of the lock on the door clicking into place. You busy yourself with studying the office—Harry has begun moving his supplies back into place. The bookshelf in the corner is half-full; a few boxes—each of them are filled to the brim with novels—sit on the floor as they wait to be emptied. There’s a tall pile of papers on Harry’s desk. Your brows furrow in confusion for only a moment before you remember that he’s also serving as a teaching assistant for Dr. Chen’s psychopathology course.

“Er…,” Harry says from behind you. You keep your back to him, choosing instead to run your fingers over the smooth surface of his desk.

“What’s up?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level.

He sighs. “I quit my position in Dr. Renault’s class.”

“Really?” you say. Your tone is light, but the sarcasm in your words carries a harsh bite. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Your name leaves Harry’s lips in a quiet plea. It shocks you so much that you instinctively turn around to face him.

“Don’t be like that,” he implores. “Please.”

“Like what?” you snap, scowling at him. “What exactly am I doing?”

“You’re upset with me,” Harry states weakly. A dry, hollow laugh falls from your mouth.

“Maybe I am.” You shrug, the corners of your mouth curling disdainfully. “Wouldn’t you be upset if the person you’d fucked just decided to ghost you for a month?”

“I didn’t—,” he starts, but you cut him off without hesitating.

“Yes, you did,” you say, a hard edge creeping into your voice. “You kissed me, we fucked, and then you fell off the face of the planet.”

Harry remains silent, because he knows that you’re right. You grip your coffee tightly in one hand, the other coming up to rub tiredly at your forehead. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest, but there’s an odd, gratifying sensation spreading through your body. It feels good to tell him off, you realise. The anger and resentment brewing within you for the past month has made you astonishingly bitter.

“Why did you bring me in here, Harry?” you ask, sighing. “To tell me you quit Doctor Renault’s class? Because I already knew that.”

The words hurt as they exit your mouth. Hana seems like an absolute sweetheart, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the little notes scrawled in messy, boyish handwriting at the top of your weekly quizzes. You blink rapidly and will the reflection out of your mind, drumming your fingers against the side of your latte.

“Bloody hell,” Harry mutters, shaking his head. “Why the fuck do you think I quit?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows knit together.

“Why do you think I quit?” Harry demands, his lips twisting into a frown. You balk, hating that the question has caught you by surprise.

“I—,” you start, growing frustrated. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“God, you really are quite dense, aren’t you?” Harry asks, chuckling sardonically.

You narrow your eyes. “I didn’t come here to be belittled.”

“What did you come here for, then?” he shoots back. “Why’d you agree to speak with me?”

“Because I wanted an explanation,” you say, feeling your chest grow tight. The words are thick when they leave your lips. “But if you’re not going to give me one, then…”

“Fuck, wait,” Harry rushes out. He blocks the path to the door as you try to sidestep his broad frame. “Please, just…lemme figure out a way to say what I’m thinking.”

You cross your arms over your chest and glare at him. “You’ve got two minutes.”

He scratches the back of his neck, pulling gently on the collar of his dark sweater. You watch him turn phrases over in his head and hate that even now, in the middle of an argument, you still want to kiss him. Your lips prickle as you recall what it felt like to lick into his mouth, and how he swallowed up every single one of your moans.

“We had sex,” Harry finally says carefully. “That’s against the university’s policy.”

“I’m aware,” you say. You’ve realised this—why is he reiterating what you already know?

“I’m not allowed to be involved with a student in the classes where I’m…,” he continues and shakes his head, “Basically, if I’m a teaching assistant for a certain course, the people enrolled in it are off-limits.”

“I know.” You’re growing impatient, now. Harry’s mouth twitches.

“But I’m no longer the teaching assistant for Doctor Renault’s class,” he says softly. His stare is earnest, like he’s trying to tell you something without actually saying it.

You pause, allowing his words to sink in. Your lips part when the situation dawns on you, and you suddenly understand what he chose to do—what he’s done. You look up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, your fingers constricting so tightly around your coffee that the cup nearly dents under the pressure.

“You—,” you initiate, but Harry interrupts you before you can continue.

“Have dinner with me,” he requests with prudence, approaching you slowly. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go. We can even see a movie after, if you’d like.”

Despite your dispute from only a few minutes ago, a small smile creeps onto your face. Harry takes another step toward you, and your stomach flips in anticipation. You gaze into his eyes, taking note of the way his green irises glimmer with hope. He lifts his hand and runs his thumb over your jaw. You find yourself leaning into his touch.

“You want to take me out on a date?” you ask, fighting to keep your eyelids from drifting shut. Harry smirks, his dimple popping on his cheek.

“I do,” he confirms, pinching your chin gently. “Will you let me?”

“I guess,” you say dreamily, and then your lips are on his. He exhales in relief, wrapping his arms around your waist as yours loop behind his neck.

Sparks are whizzing around in your brain. You’re sure that, realistically, they can be attributed to some sort of neurotransmitter, but you choose to believe that it’s just The Harry Effect.

You eventually pull apart for air, gasping hotly and scattering kisses anywhere you can reach. “As much as I’d love to continue this,” you say, sighing delicately as Harry delivers several hard pecks to your lips, “I need to head home and finish up a research report for my experimental psych class. It’s due on Friday.”

“Fine.” Harry drags himself away from you but keeps your face nestled in his hands. He runs his index finger along the seam of your mouth. “Go on, then. Congratulations on being a responsible student, I suppose.”

You smile and hold out your hand. “Give me your phone,” you order. His lifts an eyebrow teasingly; you mirror his coy expression and elaborate. “Let me put my number in. That way, we don’t have to e-mail back and forth like we’re in our fucking fifties.”

“I like to think that e-mailing is a very efficient way of sending messages,” Harry says.

You laugh. “Are you saying that you don’t want my number, then?”

“No, no,” he backtracks quickly, fishing his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it before handing it over to you. “Here, by all means.”

“That’s what I thought,” you simper. You key your information into the device, grinning as you pass it back to him. “There we go.”

Harry leans down, stealing a chaste kiss before you can even register what’s happening. He pulls back, humming impishly at the stunned expression on your face. “There we go,” he repeats, flashing you a crooked smirk.

He escorts you out of his office, down the hall, and up onto the main floor. Every so often, your hands brush as you walk. When you reach one of the many exits in the building, you turn to him.

“You’ll text me, right?” you check, succumbing to the small sliver of doubt that nags at your brain.

He nods. “I promise.”

“Okay.” You chew on your bottom lip. Your mouth subconsciously lifts into a doting smile. “Have a good day, Harry.”

His eyes are full of tenderness. “You too, love. Take care.”

You turn and push through the doors without looking back.

When you finally find your car in the winding maze of the parking lot, you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket. You dig it out and open it absentmindedly. A soft laugh slips past your lips when you discover a text sent from an unknown number.

“He’s cute,” you murmur to yourself, your eyes scanning over the message.

It was really nice seeing you. I look forward to having dinner with you soon. H. x

~*~

thank you for reading 💖 and thank you to @all-things-fic, @emotionally-imbruised, and @imethiminthemorning for being my betas! i love you guys [masterlist] [askbox]

Dopamine (a Serotonin extra)

if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #i really hope you guys love this #TArry #harry writing

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ironwoman18 · 4 years ago

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We Found Love in a Hopeless Place Part 24

The end of this fic has arrived!!! Hope you like this and comments your thoughts.

Read you at the end.

Chapter 24: Family

Spencer had been working in between cases trying to understand what was going on with those emails he received a few weeks ago.

“You’re so quiet… when you read” Max said as she walked to him, holding two cups of coffee.

“My brain is working… this person is sending me weird messages and I can understand quite well what he is meaning…” he said looking at her while holding the cup of coffee “I think this person was in my seminars and got my email from there”

“Not even with your super memory?” she asked sitting next to him.

He laughed softly “the problem is that there were so many people that I can’t focus on a particular person if I don’t know who I am looking in the first place”

She nodded and checked his laptop “and what do you expect to find?”

“I think this person is dealing with someone really dangerous because the way he is talking is like he knows someone might track our communications” she nodded drinking more coffee “now… I don’t know what to do, I’m trapped” he bit his lip thinking and watching the screen.

She looked at him and closed the laptop “come on… let’s go out for a walk. It will relax you” she held his cup and put it on the table then held his hand and made him get in.

“Max… I don’t know if this case is a life or dead situation…” he said looking at his girlfriend.

“Spencer… baby… I know it is important but I learned something in my career, when you can’t have new and creative ideas, you need to do something else, like going out or listen to music” she looked up at him “if you stay here your brain won’t think correctly”

“Well that’s a good theory”

“It’s not a theory, it’s a fact” she smirked softly and he smirked back “now let’s go”

He nodded and after getting jackets the couple left the apartment for a walk. They set just one rule; they cannot mention anything about his current investigation. They ate pretzels and watched the kids playing at the park.

They spent the rest of the afternoon out of the apartment. And when they got back to the apartment she looked at him before open the door “you need to relax and think out of the box. If this person is talking with encrypted messages you need to try to figure out the meaning for them” he nodded and leaned in to kiss her.

“I think that’s a great advice” he hugged her and walked in together.

After a couple of hours later they ordered dinner and decided to watch a movie, he picked Titanic. Almost at the end of the movie and a couple of tears after Jack’s dead; Max looked up at him and, as the credits started, with Celine Dion in the background she started to talk “Spencer, I had been thinking for a while about this but I knew neither of us were ready but now I think we are” she said looking his face and his reactions “I want you to move in with me. Its almost a year since we met and honestly I never had good luck with this kind of decisions but I got a feeling that it will be different with you” she bit her lip looking at him.

Spencer took a long moment to answer, making her nervous “I would love to. I know your story with your ex boyfriends and you know that I’m like an old man in a younger one but as you said… I think we are different and we love each other so I’m sure we will be perfectly fine” she hugged and kissed him.

He decided to ask for a days off to continued his investigations and to move his books and clothes to her apartment. And he was sure that he found everything he needed to know, he led a SWAT Team in a storage unit where they found the former VICAP agent Owen Quinn.

At first he thought the agent was dead but suddenly the man came back to life and they took him to check in the hospital then returned to the BAU.

“Spence… how did you find Quinn?”

“I received some emails with some encrypted information and at the end I figured them out to find him”

“Emails? Since when you… the technophobic… created an email account?”

“JJ I created one for my classes during the few months I was my hours in the field restricted, so you don’t need to worry…” he said walking to the interrogation room.

“Of course I have to… Spence, you hid information about going to New Mexico to buy a medicine for your mother, which led Catherine Adams to attack you” she said stopping him “I’m your best friend and I didn’t even know you have and email. Also I feel like you are hiding more things and I can’t tell what”

“JJ… you know I really appreciate your concern and I’m happy that you are worry but I’m not a kid or your son. I’m a grow man and I can take care of myself. I know you do it because you don’t want me to get hurt but you can’t protect me all the time” he said in a calm voice, he did not say it angry or frustrated. She just nodded and he left to start the interrogation.

It was hard to believe Quinn’s story about the marriage couple and their son keeping him hostage, so the team was trying to keep their minds open but it was hard, especially knowing his paranoia with this serial killer team.

After hours they discovered that the person who sent Spencer the emails was Theo, the son of the crazy couple, which helped them to believe in Quinn’s story. When they finally understood about the cult they led Quinn go.

The team left to Rossi’s house for a drink and maybe even dinner but Spencer and Penelope which stayed a few more time. He wanted to wait with Quinn’s son until his dad was released, and he texted Max about it, and Penelope had a few things to finished before joining the team.

But VICAP agent Mary Meadows went down with Penelope and Quinn and she killed Quinn and kidnapped Penelope.

Then took Spencer hostage with her and took them out of the FBI building.

The team thought it was Quinn’s fault at first but after watching the cameras they realized that Mary was the one who did it. Meanwhile Spencer and Penelope worked together to left breadcrumbs for the team, doing little things to lead them to the cult.

Emily recognized Mary from an old case and the team discovered their plan of killing three hundred people and Spencer was the three hundredth so they decided to leave to save him after saving Penelope.

They did not have troubles finding the Cult, and they made sure to be quiet to infiltrate and save Spencer.

On their way home and after a heartfelt conversation Emily decided to give him a little surprise to she texted Max, explained her briefly what happened and asked her to go to the FBI office. Max did not ask much, she was happy to know he was fine and on his way home so she drove to the FBI.

Emily made some calls to get her in and when they arrived to the airport, the team went to the office to see Garcia, who was crying and hugged her good friend and Comic-Con partner.

Then Emily led him to her office “I brought a surprise for you, I made sure no one see her because I know you don’t want them to know” he shook his head knowing what she did.

“Really? You brought her here?” she nodded and opened the door of her office. There was Max biting her nails waiting. She looked at him, he had some bruises and cuts on his head but he looked as handsome and perfect as usual.

She walked to him and hugged him tightly; he hugged her back and laid his head on her hair. She cried on his chest for a minute and when she calmed down he led her to a couch in the office.

“I-I got worry when you didn’t arrive but I thought you had some other things to do. T-Then Emily texted me to come here because you were kidnapped by a cult…”

“Yeah… I met them after Gidion left the team, their former leader died that day and another man took over the cult. They spent all this time killing around the country and collecting the bone that hold the tongue in place. They had two hundred ninety-nine of them and wanted there three hundred”

“And it would be yours, right?” she rubbed his cheek with tears. He nodded and his eyes were on hers “what happened to the man you found?”

“He died… the woman who kidnapped me and Garcia killed him because he recognized her” she nodded and hugged him again. She was happy to have him back but worry about what could come next “come on… I think you should meet my family” he smiled and stands up “they saved me and now I want them to know someone who saved me in another way” she smiled still with tear.

They walked out the office and there were the rest of the team. JJ looked at him then at her and she smiled, finally realizing why he was different. The rest of the team looked at them and smiled.

“Boy genius had a girlfriend?” asked Penelope watching Max close to him.

“Apparently…” said Matt looking at Luke “you own me 50 bucks” he whispered in his ear.

The Latin man signed “You are better profiler than me man…” he handed it to Matt without the others realizing.

“Guys this is Max. She is my girlfriend and the person who helped me recover after what happened with Cat” she waved at them.

“I heard so many things about you all and I’m glad to finally meet you” said Max smiling.

Each of them introduced themselves and after that Rossi invited them to go to his house for a proper dinner/ breakfast and a toast for finally meeting Spencer’s girlfriend.

Mount Pleasant Women’s Correctional Facility

Cat Adams was in her cell, bored, when one of her puppets walked in “Cat, I have information…”

“About?”

“Spencer Reid…” Cat’s bored face changed “he has a girlfriend”

“How do you know it?”

“There’s someone in the FBI that told a guard here and he told me” Cat smirked and nodded.

“Thank you Claire… I have something fun to do now” her smile grows bigger.

“The memories we make with our family is everything.” – Candace Cameron Bure.

FIN?

OOooOOooOO

I hope you liked this final chapter. Thank you again for reading and sharing your feedback. If you have plots for Maxcer let me know and I will do it.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #maxine brenner #maxcer #fanfiction

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sarkywoman · 3 years ago

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Writing Asks

Tagged by @under-the-shady-tree, thanks!

20 questions, writer’s edition, let’s go!!

How many works do you have on AO3? 85

What’s your total AO3 word count? 712708

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Oof, uh... since like, 1999? Um, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Andromeda, Supernatural, Heroes, NCIS, DC, Marvel, The Umbrella Academy, Kingsmen, ASoIaF/Game of Thrones, Borderlands, Community, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, Doctor Who/Torchwood, Final Fantasy, Harry Potter, Misfits, I think I’ve forgotten some...

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Noble Blood (Game of Thrones, ASoIaF - GRRM) A Song of Bastards and Wards (ASoIaF - GRRM, Game of Thrones) Young God (Borderlands) Story and Sorcery (Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel) My Shame is True (The Umbrella Academy (TV))

Do you respond to comments, why or why not? I try to! Comments are so important in the fanfic community and I know how hard it is to think of something to say about a story, even when you’ve loved it to bits, so I don’t want people to feel ignored. Especially because I appreciate comments so, so much! I will say though, I have lapses, often when my mental health isn’t good, where I simply don’t know how to respond to people and then months go by and I feel weird about replying... so sorry if you’ve ever commented on one of my stories and got silence - it was me not you!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? The Aimless One (Misfits (TV 2009)) Straight up the saddest story I’ve written, no question. Normally writing sad stuff doesn’t make me sad but I had to take a break in the middle of this to just try and grapple with the idea I’d had because it tapped into a lot of depressing thoughts I have about life and death in general. The comments were all complimentary but so upset that at first I was like ‘hooray, it had the desired impact’, then after a while I started to think ‘why did I want to hurt people like this?’

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? Probably Realising All You Ever Wanted, a Hobbs/Dirk fic for the Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency fandom. There’s such minor conflict in that one that the sugary sweet ending isn’t out of place.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written? Well. I have some fandoms that are sort of crossovers already, things like Marvel where you have comic versions and movie versions and it doesn’t really feel like a crossover to be picking and choosing. Same with a Dirk Gently/Thor fic I did, because Thor cameos in the DG canon, but not this Thor. I think the most ambitious crossover I’ve worked on was a collaborative chatfic with @freshgratednutmeg that we’re never likely to post, where the need for more background characters in an Umbrella Academy A/o fic led to it being crossed over with Marvel and Brooklyn 99. (Leading to such amusements as Diego sparring with Rosa, and Five competing with Shuri in class.)

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Yeah, but it’s never been very well-reasoned so it’s been fairly easy to dismiss. Some people expect everyone to share their own perspective of the characters and it’s weird.

Do you write smut? If so what kind? Not really. I can go there and have done on occasion, but it doesn’t interest me very much. I think I did it more when I was younger because I felt like it was a necessary aspect of grown-up fanfic writing (when I started I was a teenager amongst mostly adults... or other people lying about their age too lol). These days I’m more likely to fade to black or allude to the acts. But I’m not averse to writing it or anything, but it’s never the focus of my story.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Only in the sense that I see them on other sites I didn’t upload to, sometimes in other languages, sometimes not. They normally say my name somewhere on them so they’re not stolen as such, but it’s still uncomfortable to see my work circulated to other sites without my permission.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not with my permission, but yeah. I don’t know how to feel about translations. Obviously I want people of other languages to be able to read my work, but at the same time I’m not fluent enough to be able to check the translator’s work, so I won’t know if they’ve done any better than google. Word choice is pretty important in fiction. A bad translation can totally warp a text.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not for posting or sharing, but me and @freshgratednutmeg cowrite all the time.

What’s your all time favorite ship? All time?! That’s impossible to answer. I’m a multi-shipper for starters, in pretty much every fandom I’ve been in. When I find a ship I love, I love it intensely above all others for the duration of the fixation. Then eventually it gets set aside when I find a new fandom. I’m also indecisive enough to not really have an all-time favourite anything.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? A Song of Bastards and Wards (ASoIaF - GRRM, Game of Thrones). I can’t begin to describe the pages of notes I have for this beast. Unless I threw them out, which... scanning my room... is a distinct possibility. Ouch. I’d hoped to parallel the books for a long time with this one, but the amount of work for a project like that is too much when you’re no longer as passionate about the source fandom. I suspect what I might do is scenes with interconnecting notes, just so people get some sense of closure.

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, baybee! Kinda makes me want to be a scriptwriter. People are always telling me that the characters ‘sound like’ them. I think it’s from reading voraciously from when I was young and being quite a social child, that moving speech patterns and quirks into writing is something that comes very naturally to me. Too natural, in fact, because IRL I write how I speak and that’s not always suited to the situation.

What are your writing weaknesses? Most things other than dialogue. Even thought processes are an internal dialogue, so they’re okay, but then like... a fight scene? A sex scene? Just even... what are their hands doing while they’re talking? How are these people physically present? Where are they? Are they inside, outside, is the building on fire? My descriptive skills are lacking, to say the least. It’s something I’m working on.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I’m not quite sure what’s meant by this. I’m not fluent in anything other than English so I don’t see that would work well for me. I know a few phrases in German/French/Welsh/Latin/Spanish but nothing useful for conversation. Dropping in words can work, if it’s the same way the speaker would use them amidst their English. Most of the time the characters I’m writing wouldn’t be speaking in another language anyway. We can blame the tag-team of English colonialism and American media for that one I think. I think that sometimes authors utilise a character’s language in a way that just exposes how little the author actually knows of the language and that’s a bit cringe for me.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Buffy the Vampire Slayer. None of those are online atm because they’re so so bad XD I should post them just so people can see improvement but... I can’t even read them, they’re hilarious. The most gratuitous self-inserts, the most ludicrous arguments, the most out-of-character romantic declarations.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Hmm, that’s a quandary. I think I’ll differentiate between favourite to write, and favourite end product. Favourite to write was probably Noble Blood (Game of Thrones, ASoIaF - GRRM) because it was just a romp through my favourite themes. Given it’s one of my most popular stories, I’d say that just proves you should write what you want! I was going to quickly say Young God (Borderlands) is my favourite fic for quality of the finished product, because I pretty much just sat down one evening and spilled it into a word doc then reread it back and thought ‘huh, did I write that? Awesome’. But I’m happy with a couple of more recent things I’ve done for The Umbrella Academy fandom, notably The Price of Parenthood, which is very different to what I usually write and is a look at the life of one of the mothers who gave up her child to Reginald. Also The Water Calls, which was the only thing I managed to write for the recent MerMay event. It took me a little while to puzzle out how it all fit together, then once I had it worked out it came together wonderfully and I was very happy with the tone of it.

Tagging anyone who fancies doing it.

#long post #this was fun #like being interviewed lol

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thelibrarina · 3 years ago

Text

Fic meme!

I was tagged by @shitpostingfromthebarricade. Thanks, this was fun!

how many works do you have on AO3?

61. Now I have to add more words to this line or it becomes a giant number. Oh, tumblr, never change.

what’s your total AO3 word count?

527,746. Half a million words. Damn.

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

On AO3? 14, though some are fusions. The primary ones are Les Mis, The Professionals, MCU, Vikings, and Star Wars.

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Grounds for Dismissal (exr coffee-shop AU)

2. Friday I’m In Love (exr fake dating AU)

3. But I’m Hopeful Yet (exr wrong suitcase AU)

4. Pining for You (exr hallmark holiday movie AU)

5. Still the Same (exr White Collar AU)

Gee, do you see a pattern here?

More below the cut, as we said in the olden days...

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I want to, I swear!! But the process goes like this: I see the comment and I have to sit and bask in the warm happy glow, and then I get distracted while thinking of something to say and suddenly it’s been two years and then it feels a little awkward, right? So this is just to say: If you have ever commented on my fic, I see you and I love you and I cherish every word. Thank you.

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I am bad at angst. Probably the fics with the saddest endings are In Fire (exr Pacific Rim fusion) and We Will Become Silhouettes (Professionals episode-tag drabble--it’s not clear without context, but they sort of explode at the end).

Honorable mention to Even After All These Years, which has the angstiest beginning.

have you ever received hate on a fic?

I once got scolded in an AO3 comment for using the fandom tag correctly. Also someone yelled at me on ff.n for mentioning America in a positive context in a Les Mis songfic. (There were so many better reasons to yell at me for that fic, tbh.)

do you write smut? if so what kind?

The highly fraught and overly emotional kind. Also sometimes the iambic pentameter kind, or the alliterative verse kind.

For years I could only get myself to write smut for the semi-annual p*rn battle that was held on dreamwidth. It was super-handy for shutting up my inner editor and locking my inhibitions in a cupboard somewhere.

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Scraped to a random website, yeah, but not stolen.

have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Grounds for Dismissal was translated in to Chinese, and a few other fics have podfic versions, too!

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not to completion, but writing with friends is a joy even if we never finish things.

what’s your all time favorite ship?

Don’t make me choose, it’s mean. But Enjolras and Grantaire have had my whole heart for quite some time now.

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

All of my as-yet-incomplete Les Mis fics are in a shared word doc. It is longer than my total AO3 word count. There’s a college professor AU (exr, of course) that has gotten hugely bloated and might or might not be fixable.

But I will finish the indulgent Batman AU someday. Mark my words.

what are your writing strengths?

Banter! And replicating a voice or a style.

what are your writing weaknesses?

Action and smut. What are bodies? What do they do? How many limbs to they usually have, again? I don’t even know.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Storytime! I was the only non-Classics major in my Latin class, and my professor would regularly start writing shit on the board in Greek. I would have to raise my hand and remind him that I couldn’t understand it.

And that’s all I want: to understand what I’m reading. Whether the author uses translations or context clues, or just indicates in the header or the notes that you need to know multiple languages to understand the fic, I’m cool with it.

(Also consider not italicizing words from other languages when you put them in a sentence. Daniel Jose Older has a great 2-minute video on it here.)

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

Somewhere in my parents’ house is a blue spiral-bound notebook with a printed label that says Star Wars Novel on it. I think I was 11 or 12 and it was a Young Jedi Knights continuation. So...that one.

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Usually, whatever fic I’ve finished most recently. But I’m really proud of The Glorious People’s Republic of the Cafe Musain. I can’t claim a hundredth of Terry Pratchett’s skill, but trying on his style was an absolute blast, and there are some lines in those fics that I’m still genuinely delighted by.

#my fic #writing #writing memes

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dasphinxone · 4 years ago

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I hope I'm not too late and asks are still open. But I wondered if you had any more thoughts/ideas/scenes/etc for the Mummy au? I totally love your contribution of Booker and Nicky as brothers and what that dynamic would look like. BAMF!Nile and Librarian!Booker give me life. Thanks for all your wonderful au ideas and fic!

Oh man, you are NEVER too late for Asks and they are currently open! In the meantime, allow me to ramble about my PURE AND UTTER LOVE FOR THE FRASER/WEISZ VERSIONS OF “THE MUMMY.”

You see, I had a mad HUGE crush on Brendan Fraser when the first one came out. Except it turned out that the entire damn cast was so beautiful (OMG, the Oded Fehr hotness. So glad they brought him back for the sequel). They all have wonderful chemistry too, and rather similar to the group dynamics of The Old Guard.

On top of that, I have always maintained that it’s Evie who is the real protagonist of the movie. Everyone else stays pretty much the same to their characters as when we’re introduced to them. Meanwhile, it’s Evie who goes from librarian to adventuress. She is thrown into all sorts of situations where she can prove to the world that librarians are just as damn smart and necessary as the brawns of Rick, the cunning of her brother Johnathan and the honorable warrior of Ardeth Bay.

It’s also Evie who comes out of the other end of the wild-ass adventure a changed person. It’s even more obvious in the sequel, where she takes a level in badassery. The best part about that? Rick adores her for it and they are clearly in a happy marriage versus the tired trope of married couples being all bitter.

(I pretend the third movie NEVER HAPPENED, you hear me?!)

ANYWAYS, As Evie and Jonathan grew up rich (the museum curator clearly says to Evie that the only reason he puts up with her is that her parents were the largest donors to the museum), I figure Booker can grow up pretty wealthy too.

Sébastien le Livre is an only child who spends his life around his Action and Adventure!French Parents who have moved to Egypt to be archeologists. While they are world famous archeologists? They’re not the best parents. For they drag Sébastien along on their archeological excursions because they don’t know any better. So Sébastien spends all of his childhood time around his parents and their eccentric adult friends. Yes, they should have sent Sébastien to boarding school, like other rich folks of their time. But what kind of boring-ass education is that as compared to going out into the real world for field study?

Sébastien’s field experience makes him brilliant child. Yet it also turns him into a socially awkward little boy. He’s rarely around other kids or attending school since he out on digs with his parents. On top of that, when his parents can’t bring him on digs, they leave him home in their great big house with his nanny, tutor and the servants for company. Since Sébastien doesn’t have kid friends, he’s always taking in stray animals, rescuing birds that fell out of their nests and doing precious sorts of things like that. He also LOVES reading. He’s fluent in French, English, Latin, Greek and conversational Arabic. Oh, and he can also read hieroglyphs with ease.

Again, Sébastien is a weird kid.

When Sébastien is around say, nine or so, he catches seven year-old orphan Nicky in the parlor of his and his parent’s grand house breaking in and trying to steal things. His parents are out of town on yet another dig, so Sébastien’s randomly wandering around the house by himself. Instead of panicking, Sébastien just invites spooked Nicky to kitchen for tea and sandwiches out of the sheer delight of having another child to talk to. Thoroughly used to Sébastien and his soft spot for strays, the kitchen staff sits the two boys in the corner and lets Nicky wolf down whatever he wants. Nicky eventually leaves after Sébastien swears he won’t tell his parents about the stealing. But only if Nicky promises to come back tomorrow to hang out with Booker.

Nicky actually shows up the next day. Mostly due to the promise of food. While he thinks Sébastien is clearly odd, he also realizes he’s just as lonely as he is (after all, street kid orphan Nicky hasn’t survived this long on his own without being able to see people for what they truly are). But whereas Nicky is aggressive with acting out due to his abandonment issues, Sébastien tends to implode on himself due to his own parental abandonment issues. Basically, they balance each other out.

Three weeks later, Sébastien’s parents come back from their latest dig down in Alexandria. They find Sébastien playing with this street kid out on the extensive grounds of their estate. Shocked at seeing their usually quiet and withdrawn son having a blast with this Italian ragamuffin of a child, due to being the impulsive types, Booker’s parents decide to adopt Nicky. So Sébastien gains a new brother. No matter that they’re not related by blood, Nicky is his brother.

Since Sébastien loves to read, he enjoys reading out loud to Nicky (who is nearly illiterate since he’s an orphan who never had formal education before being adopted). While Sébastien and Nicky have their own rooms at their parents’ estate, Nicky will often sneak into Sébastien’s room at night so that his older brother can read to him. Their nanny usually finds the two boys asleep together with a book sitting between them. Sébastien also helps Nicky learn to read far better than their tutor does. Mostly because Sébastien is so patient with his new little brother.

It’s because of this that Nicky comes up with the affectionate nickname of “Booker” for his new big brother.

Booker graduates from boarding school and attends The Sorbonne back in Paris. While he misses Nicky something fierce, everything will work itself out because he’ll be graduating from The Sorbonne at the same time Nicky will be finishing boarding school. That way, they both be archeologists together and follow in their parents’ footsteps. Booker plans to focus on the research side of things from either libraries or teaching. Nicky plans to actually go on digs and bring back things for Booker to study and catalogue.

Booker does eventually get sent off to British style boarding school in Cairo, as is expected of a wealthy child of his class. A couple of years later, Nicky is sent off to the same boarding school.

Nicky's always getting into fights. Mostly due to the other kids bullying him for his accent, heritage and defending Booker against bullies too. The only reason Nicky doesn’t’ get kicked out is because Booker is able to charm the teachers into looking the other way (remember, he was around mostly adults before he started attending school) when it comes to punishing Nicky. Also, their parents donate a ton of money to the school.

Except the Great War breaks out the same year Nicky graduates from boarding school. He signs up with his school chums for “a great adventure,” like all of the other young men of means did in the opening days of the war.

However, Booker refuses to come along. He’s studied history all of his life and intellectually knows how terrible war can be. As far as he’s concerned, the war is stupid. People are going to get themselves killed over all of these royal families of Europe who refuse to apologize to each other over the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. He’s certainly not throwing his life away to get shot at, thank you very much. Besides, he didn’t grow up with much in the way of friends or camaraderie among the other boys while he was away at school. So he doesn’t feel like he’s going to miss out on anything.

Nicky thinks Booker is a coward who has no appreciation for a right proper great adventure. Booker thinks Nicky is a headstrong fool who doesn’t value the opportunities their parents have given them. They part ways on bad terms.

Booker eventually relents and writes to Nicky whenever he can. However, he never hears from his little brother. The only way he knows Nicky is alive is through their parents, who Nicky constantly writes to in Cairo. At the same time, Booker doesn’t return to Cairo because it would remind him too much of how much he misses his brother. So he throws himself into his work at the Egyptian Antiquities department of the Louvre. He also tries to ignore the raging war moving closer and closer to Paris.

Wars come and go, antiquities do not.

Except Nicky suddenly goes missing during the Battle of Verdun.

Still in Paris, Booker is dealing with his side of suffering through the war as a civilian. He suddenly gets frantic word from his parents (who still live in Cairo) that Nicky is MIA. The panic immediately starts to set in. He regrets that he didn’t do more to communicate with his little brother while he was away at war. To assuage his guilt, he goes down to the war office every single day to find out where the hell Nicky is.

After a few frantic weeks, Nicky turns up alive but injured. As a result, he’s evacuated to a Parisian hospital. Booker takes a sabbatical at the Louvre to attend to his beloved brother there. Nicky almost dies of an infection but pulls through. Too weak to go back to fighting, Nicky is honorably discharged and goes to live with Booker to convalesce.

Nicky’s not the same vivacious, passionate young man he was before the war. He’s the only one of a handful of his unit to survive both death and not losing a limb or having parts of his face blown off. So there’s the survivor’s guilt. He constantly has nightmares about his time on the front and in No Man’s Land where he wakes up screaming. Bouts of rage and grief hit him without warning.

In order to deal with the crushing swirl of ugliness that’s festering within him, Nicky starts spiraling. He starts heavily drinking. He skips meals. He starts hitting up gambling dens and whorehouses that can make your every wish come true in Paris.

Booker has no idea how to cope with it all. So he once again throws himself into his work. He feels disgusted with himself for silently judging his brother’s actions all while he absolutely has no clue how to deal with his own guilt of not being by Nicky’s side during the war. Perhaps it would have been better to have died together than exist in the sea of darkness they are trapped within now.

Within two years, the war is over. Everyone celebrates only to see the rise of the Spanish Flu Pandemic. It ends up killing Booker and Nicky’s parents, who die within days of each other back in Cairo.

Now, Booker and Nicky are alone in the world and with only each other to depend on. Wanting to escape all the pain they’ve seen in Paris, they head back to Cairo to put their parents’ estate in order. Since their parents split their inheritance evenly between them, they’ve inherited a hell of a lot of money. At the same time, money doesn’t fix their psychological problems.

Yet while they both have a difficult time dealing with their parents’ death and each other’s war trauma? It turns over a new milestone for them. For it allows Booker and Nicky to make their peace with each other since they're the only ones left of their family. They vow that they’ll try to go back to their dream of working together as an archeologist team.

Unfortunately, it never happens. Nicky is still dealing with the PTSD and acting out. Booker tries to manage his brother’s psychological issues and balance his work at the Cairo Museum. Problem is, it’s a job he knows he only managed to secure out of pity since their parents were the largest donors to the museum. The nepotism stings and makes Booker feel inadequate. All despite that he's a damn good researcher and brilliant at languages and hieroglyphics.

Booker once again throws himself into his work at the museum. He has no social life, rarely goes out for fun and no relationship lasts for more than a few months at a time. For he’s grieving his parents and the shell of a man Nicky has become. Meanwhile, Nicky drinks, gambles and whores his way through Egypt in between digs with folks no better than grave robbers. But he always comes back home to stay with Booker in the nice house they own together.

Booker is always there for Nicky and vice versa. No matter how hard it gets for both of them to deal with the losses in their lives, they are and will always be brothers to the end.

And then one day, Nicky finds Booker in the Cairo museum after he’s been rejected by the Benbridge Scholars yet again. All after Booker’s ruined the library and knocked over all the bookshelves after he nearly killed himself trying to get off that damn ladder while filing away books.

Nicky reveals to Booker an odd little box that he found on a dig down in Thebes. Turns out the box contains a map to the lost city of Hamunaptra…

#Book of nile #my asks #booker le livre #nicolo of genoa #the mummy au #booker x nile #the great war #sadness #because even in AUs we gotta have that angst #fanfic #fanfiction #the old guard #why are my answers to my asks so damn long tho?

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ship-trek · 3 years ago

Note

I would like to know everything about your ships with Spock, Uhura and Bones please!!! KJFEWHKJFW if there's lore or fic I wanna read it and if there's art I wanna see it those three are VERY GOOD (I have a lot of love for TOS) @goldenworldsabound

@goldenworldsabound

!!!! I! Thank you for this lovely ask!! I also have a lot of love for TOS, it was the first Trek I watched and it's always going to have a special place in my heart!!

If you really want to know everything, we're going to be here for a while, so this is going under a cut for length. I should never have been enabled like this. None of them have any fics yet and I can't really draw all that well, so there's no art either, but I'm always happy to ramble about them and call it lore, so here we go!

Ok, as I'm writing down the lore for my ship with Spock, it's becoming a lot longer than I thought it would be - as in it's over 1000 words and we *just* got to Starfleet Academy. I'm going to trim it down a bit to try and get a shorter version and I'll probably turn the rest into a fic. Even with the cuts, though, this is really long. You've been warned.

Once I finish my WIPs with Nerys, I have some plans for some TOS fics, so hopefully my lovely friends will get their fair share of fics soon! I can tag you in any TOS fics I write if you'd like, but of course there's no pressure!

Bones:

I selfship with Bones in the way I do to cope with some specific issues, so lore-wise it's a bit different than my other ships. I don't really have an s/i, it's just me here in our world. He's off on the Enterprise doing all those fun space things, but I can call him whenever I like and he always tries to get back to me as soon as possible if he misses the call at the time. He doesn't miss them often, though - he and I set up a system so I can mark calls as high, mid, or low priority and he'll interrupt almost anything to take a high priority call. I hardly ever use it, but it's nice to know I can reach him if I really need to. And he's amazing to talk to! He's really supportive and always willing to listen to me, and he gives the best hugs :)

I'm actually really excited because he's due back on Earth soon, and he promised to come visit! He can't visit often so every time he does he goes out of his way to make our time together special. It's one of the little ways he shows he really cares about me.

This is a fairly new ship for me, so I still haven't figured out what I'm going to do about Joanna. I'm unlikely to add her as a familial f/o, but we might end up as friends or I might just ignore her entirely. It's my canon now :)

Uhura:

So! I am a massive language nerd. I've been teaching myself both Vulcan and Klingon in addition to studying Latin, Japanese, and Spanish in school at various points. (Yes, Swahili is next on my list. Yes, this is because of Uhura.)

Nyota and I met at Starfleet Academy (more details on how I got there in Spock's lore as both ships use the same s/i) during one of our xenolingustics classes. She seemed super cool, but she had a friend group already, so I ended up being too scared to approach her. I haven't always been the best student, so I got into the habit of taking any extra credit opportunities that came my way. Our xenolinguistics teacher offered extra credit if we went to a presentation being hosted by the xenolingustics club, and I figured I had nothing to lose, so I showed up. Nyota saw me there, recognized me from class, and encouraged me to join the club. She seemed nice and I was free, so I said I'd try it out. I came to a few meetings and we ended up becoming friends!

I was never close with her friend group (we didn't have a lot in common and i just didn't fit their vibe) but she worked hard to make sure we still had time to hang out, and I never felt like she liked me any more or any less than the rest of her friends. How she balanced it all, I don't know. I still think she might be superhuman.

She was a year ahead of me and we ended up falling out of contact a little bit when she graduated. Between her (and later my) assignments, there was just never enough time, and as some of you may know (Sorry!!) my ability to stay in touch with people online is atrocious. We didn't stop talking entirely or stop being friends, but it wasn't until we were both assigned to the Enterprise that we were able to reconnect, and we're even better friends now than we were back then. I didn't exactly figure out who I was, but I grew more comfortable with the process of growing as a person and not having all the answers, and as a result I ended up way more confident in myself and with a lot less self loathing. Turns out, that makes you a lot more fun to be around! I still have a lot of work to do in that area, but I'm a lot better than I was back at the academy.

She and I hang out a lot on the Enterprise, sometimes with Spock or Nurse Chapel and sometimes just the two of us. We sing together, play games, talk in half a dozen languages (just because I don't know them yet doesn't mean my s/i can't!) and just do all those normal fun friend things. Sometimes we even teach or help each other learn new languages (I'm learning a new dialect of Klingon and she's learning Latin). One thing I've always really appreciated about her is the way she handles spontaneity with me - when she wants to hang out or change plans on short notice, she always gives me a really good sense of what she's suggesting we do and gives me the chance to raise any concerns or questions about it before we have to make a decision.

Interesting quirk of our friendship: I can usually be flexible about what we do but really need to know in advance who is going to be there, and she can usually be flexible about who's going to be there as long as she has a good sense of what we're going to do. It took us a little while to figure that out and start warning each other appropriately, but once we did things got a lot better!

It's really a crime that the writers didn't give us more Uhura-centric episodes because there are just so many things I want to know about her! This is also a new-ish ship for me, so the lore isn't quite as finalized as I'd like. If you see me changing things about our ship later, that's why!

Spock:

Ok, important warnings time. My selfship with Spock fills a very particular emotional role for me that causes me to be unusually protective of him and our relationship. I'm aware that this isn't exactly emotionally healthy, and that's something I'm actively working on. Part of the benefit of my ship with him is that he can fill this role rather than me putting it on a real person, which, yeah, wouldn't be great. A lot of this has to do with him putting me first.

To be clear, I view my ship with him as happening in one of many similar but distinct universes (there's a TNG ep I'm thinking of here) that's separate from both canon and other people's ships with him. That's why I say that our s/is probably can't be friends (unless we have some universe crossover stuff going on). I would never want to get in the way of another person's ship with him! And this is the division of things that makes it easiest for me to wholeheartedly support others' ships with him, which is something I very much want to be able to do. (What I'm trying to communicate, badly, is that I want to be clear that I don't view the way he thinks about me as being true anywhere outside of my ship with him.)

I do refer to him as my best friend, the platonic other half of my soul, and other similarly intense terms, which he reciprocates. We also have a minor telepathic bond (I have Headcanons about Vulcan telepathy and no one can stop me from using them). Our relationship really is strictly platonic, but if that's going to make you uncomfortable, the time to stop reading is now! I'm also always happy to work out more detailed tags if needed.

Now! On to the actual ship stuff. I've changed around the lore a little bit recently to be a little truer to the way I've been shipping with him for the past 6-7 years, so hopefully this is the final(ish) lore. There are several moments where if canon says otherwise I simply do not see it. I am looking away. My canon now :)

It's late, later than I should have been out, but I'm too young to know better and too excited to care. My cousins are playing in the sand out ahead of me, but I've had enough of the noise and the people for right now, so I'm doing what I do best: wandering off when I shouldn't. The beach is busy but the nearby hills are quiet, so I start to climb. Even at that age, I hate sand, and the stone staircase is a welcome relief.

I was so focused on the climb to see him and by the time I reach the top, I'm too exhausted to do anything but flop on the ground. As soon as I do that my eyes turn skyward and then I'm too focused on the stars to do much of anything else. Even with the lights around, it's a dazzling display. Most call it science, but to my untrained eyes there's a much simpler word: magic.

Between the exhaustion and the stars, it takes me several minutes to realize I'm not alone. A Vulcan boy I don't recognize is sitting on a bench a few feet away from me, staring at something in his lap and staying very still. I watch him for a while and when he still hasn't moved, I walk closer. He twitches - clearly, he knows I'm here - but keeps his eyes fixed firmly on his PADD. If I were older, I would have gone down the hill and this would have been the end of it.

But I wasn't older. I was young, and dumb, and perhaps most dangerously of all, I was curious. I didn't go down the hill. Instead, I walked up, pulled myself up to sit on the far end of the bench, and asked the question that would end up shaping the rest of our lives:

"Have you ever looked up?"

And he did.

I rambled about the stars and asked about his logic homework, and he watched the stars and patiently answered my questions. By the time we parted ways, I was smiling with his contact information tucked safely into a pocket and he watched my go with the corners of his lips pulled up into that classic Vulcan not-quite-smile.

My mom recognized his name and description as the son of Amanda Grayson, a friend of a friend, and she let me use her PADD to keep in touch with Spock until I was old enough for my own. He turned out to be a few years older than me and a lot of fun to be around with a subtle sense of humor that never failed to make me laugh. We'd hang out in person whenever I went to Vulcan or he came to Earth and we talked almost every day online when we were apart. He was (and is) my best friend, and we saw each other through the highs and lows of growing up. Even when his bullies got really bad and when my school social life went down the drain, we always had each other, and somehow that was enough.

Because of something something Vulcan brain development, the eligible age to apply to Starfleet is 20 rather than 16. (ooc this is my headcanon and I need it for our backstory to work, so shh.) I was certain he would apply for Starfleet Academy the moment he was eligible, and I think his decision to wait for a year shocked everyone. I asked him about it, wondering if there was something wrong. We'd talked for ages about how much he wanted to escape Vulcan, so why wasn't he now that he finally had the chance?

His response? "Not all humans treat me as you do. The bullying is unlikely to change, only its source. If I am to be bullied no matter my path, I will choose the one in which we are together."

I have never felt more honored in my life.

We applied for Starfleet together the next year. His father was devastated displeased that he did not choose the Vulcan Science Academy, my parents were upset that I was moving out so young, and we rolled up to Starfleet Academy as the resident pair of family disappointments. Good times.

The academy was a blast, though. We got to see each other! In person! Every day! I was there to stand up to the people who teased him, he was there to encourage me to make good choices, and we both were there to remind each other that sleep is a necessary biological function not to be ignored. We were both studying science, but he focused on the astrophysics side and I focused more on the biology side, so we didn't share too many classes, but we'd hang out all the time in between classes and we tried to take the same electives when we could. Having similar interests helped a lot on that front.

I was a weird child that had by now grown into a weird teenager, so I didn't have a ton of friends at first. Even when it started directly affecting his social life, Spock was never embarrassed to be seen with me, and though he claims that he would be treated the same without me... I doubt it. Still, though, it helped a lot to have him there, and he's never held it against me.

I did convince him to do a show with me once. He tries to hold that one against me but he had fun and we both know it. Besides, it's my job to drag him into illogical things sometimes :)

We graduated together but like so many close friends are, we were posted to different ships. It was a weird time for us. I was doing great, honestly. I was medicated for my chronic illness (finally!), in therapy (finally!), and I loved my ship and fellow officers. My job was interesting and engaging and I was having a blast. Spock, on the other hand, started to struggle a little bit. Though he always treated me like an equal, I think there was a part of his mind that always thought he was a little bit better than me, and seeing me succeed seemingly effortlessly where he was struggling was hard for him. We got through it, though, and he got some better accommodations (and later a transfer to a ship that fit him better) which made everything a lot better. I even ended up taking some engineering classes and wound up getting a degree in engineering too, just for fun.

Before we knew it, he was the first and science officer of the Enterprise and I was a lieutenant commander working for him. (I say working for him, but really it's a lot more like working alongside him. Most people in the science department assume that if you tell something to one of us and don't specifically say not to tell the other, we will, so you can basically report things to either of us.) I do some work for Scotty too, and Kirk likes to joke that I'm an honorary member of the bridge crew at this point. It was a funny joke right up until I started getting invited to briefings, but hey, who am I to complain?

Serving together is a lot of fun. I'm one of the only people on board who doesn't constantly pressure him to show his emotions, with the result that he is a lot more emotional with me. He knows that I don't view his moments of emotion as a reflection of how Vulcan he is or isn't, so he has nothing to gain by hiding them. Mostly, I don't comment on them, which is his preference.

While we're both happy to offer each other emotional support when needed, most of the time we end up just sitting with each other and letting them process it on their own. Between my emotional regulation issues and his I Am A Vulcan mentality, it's been a great way for us to show each other the support we crave without worrying about finding the perfect words.

Speaking of words, I'm one of very few people on the ship who speaks Vulcan. I actually learned it years ago because of him so we've been speaking it to each other for a while, and we take the Vulcan tendency to drop words to a truly ridiculous extent. Uhura tends to joke that we created our own language somewhere along the line, but it's a fun way to annoy Bones when he really gets on our nerves. He can't even complain about it because as it turns out having the ability to converse in a way no one else understands is very, very useful when a mission goes south. You can't really complain about something that's saved your life, now can you?

The telepathic bond (again, very minor and strictly platonic) came about when he had to meld with me on one such mission gone wrong. It wasn't planned, though we'd talked about it in the past and neither of us was upset by it. Bones tried to joke that our minds were so compatible that we were probably going to start dating now and immediately found himself on the receiving end of two death glares. Credit to him, he never made that joke again. We view each other like family anyway, so yeah. No.

But I like the bond we have! It's nice to know when he's uncomfortable but not saying anything and it's easier for me to tell when he's protesting for effect and really does want to go along with my bizarre illogical scheme and when he'd rather not. As someone with no real sense of social cues or sarcasm, it's a lifesaver. Besides, he's been a lot more comfortable with causal touch between us since it formed, which is great for me.

We also play a lot of D&D together. It's something I got him into but which he took to like a fish to water, and the lengths we go to to avoid scheduling conflicts for our weekly game night are probably a bit excessive, shall we say, but it helps that all the friends we'd normally have conflicts with end up getting invited too. He very rarely DMs, but when he does, you better hope someone in your party has a decent intelligence stat because his puzzles are amazing. Seriously, I don't think you've really played a puzzle based game of D&D until you've played one of his. Works of art, I tell you.

I could go on about him for hours, but I'll wrap it up here for time and length's sake. If you have any more specific questions, I think I've already effectively demonstrated that I'm incapable of shutting up about him!

#thank you for the ask!#this was a lot of fun!#my grumpy space dad #thrah t'nash-veh eh thrah t'du #uhura tag tbd #seriously. I should not have been enabled like this #kestrel go to bed challenge

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anywhozits · 4 years ago

Text

All I Really Want Chapter 4

Rating: M

Pairing: Kristanna (at some point lol)

Verse: 90s High School AU / frozen retelling

Chapter Summary: Hans and Anna go on a their first date.

Notes: This chapter has some extra warnings—there are references to and conversations about underage sex. Nothing graphic, nothing explicit. None of that will be in any chapter of this fic. However, while reading this chapter specifically, it is important to note that this is a fictional account of one character’s experience. This is definitely not meant to be a universal depiction of how adolescence is “supposed to go” or anything to that effect. Everybody has their own timelines for things like this, which is perfectly valid, and in fact, exactly how it should be—individualized.

Read on Ao3

Anna took a deep breath, sighing contentedly while smoothing out her pink silk dress. She knew Hans didn’t mean to be late or keep her waiting or whatever, but she sat here, ready, for the last twenty minutes and he said he was going to arrive ten minutes ago. But Anna didn’t even know whether to trust his word at this point.

She didn’t even know him, really. She didn’t even know what he was like…

Yeah. True. Ugh—shit. Kristoff was right. She didn’t know that much about him.

Well. Okay—his last name was Westergaard. He had 13 brothers.

Um.

He had red hair and green eyes and this really pointy nose that looked really hot and cute at the same time. Like hotute or umm maybe hute. Nah. Hotute was much better.

So, yeah. He had red hair, green eyes, and a hotute nose.

What else…

He lived in Newport Beach.

And… she also knew that…

They had a lot of fun together! They had the most fun together she’d ever had with anybody in her whole life.

And this fun, well—she moved a little quickly with him. It was her decision to take things past kissing on their second night together. And duh—kissing him brought out some kind of really nice jolt of electricity, and it felt so absolutely amazing to actually share that electricity with someone else. So, she couldn’t help it. She was happy to move… quickly. She was more than happy to. They hadn’t done everything yet, but...

Well, it meant they didn’t do much… talking, exactly.

Of course, Anna still found the words somehow in between kisses and um—other things—to monologue about whatever consumed her mind.

But Hans didn’t say much at all. About himself, at least. He still asked a lot of personal questions about her life.

Maybe she should ask him some for a change. Besides, they couldn’t make out throughout the whole dinner, either. That felt like a big no-no in such a super ritzy establishment as Five Crowns anyway. So, they had to talk.

Her stomach suddenly sank.

It was like… she was nervous?

About spending the night with her… friend… with? benefits?

But that seemed so wrong? Why would she be nervous about spending a couple hours gnawing on steak and delicious soufflé and talking with the guy she loved most?

Why did the entire concept of conversation make her want to barf on the spot?

Her stomach fell to her knees.

Maybe Kristoff was right. Maybe love at first sight didn’t exist and she was just lying to herself because she wanted it so badly and…

No. No. Kristoff was getting in her head. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.

She and Hans would make wonderful conversation at their friends-with-benefits-dinner-date and it would be all fine and dandy and wonderful.

She’d ask him some questions. She’d get to know him. And then she’d show Kristoff! She’d show the shit out of him and that grumpy BFF of hers would be totally wrong!

Except Hans still wasn’t here. So, Anna nervously fidgeted with her dress again. She tried to smooth it out. She clipped and unclipped the two hot pink sparkly snap clips that were on either side of her middle-parted red hair.

After her seventh time fiddling with the clips, she heard the intimidating chime of the doorbell.

Thank God.

She counted to twenty-five before she allowed herself to open the door, needing him to think she had better things to do than twiddle her thumbs and wait for him.

The second she saw his handsome face, her entire bundle of nerves completely disappeared. “Hans!” She ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck to give him a passionate kiss on the lips. He stumbled back a little bit, not quite ready for this show of affection, probably, but he caught himself easily, finally relaxing into the kiss and bringing his hands to the small of her back.

“You ready, babe?”

She kissed him again. “Mmhmm,” she mumbled into his mouth.

“Let’s do it.”

And all of a sudden, the nerves were back. Now that she had to contemplate how they would make it through dinner before getting back to this whole smooching business.

But she gave him no inkling of any of these likely-Kristoff-induced-second-thoughts and smiled brightly. She followed him to his black Mercedes and bit her lip for the entirety of the car ride. His hand rested on her thigh, squeezing it ever so slightly.

Only letting up when they pulled off Pacific Coast Highway and into the Five Crowns Parking lot and Anna caught herself shaking.

Nervous, still.

Thankfully Hans took her hand, guiding her into the restaurant in a way that felt more… relationship-y than she was expected. This wasn’t friends. It certainly didn’t seem like friends.

Oh, crap. Maybe she needed to have this conversation with Hans tonight, too. Crap. Crapity crap crap crap. That was not at all what she wanted.

But the fact that there were about five hundred million butterflies eating away at absolutely everything in her stomach right before she was about to chow down on some delicious and expensive food that she actually really wanted to enjoy…

She should do it. Yup. She should do it. All she had to do was wait for the perfect window of opportunity and then she’d just—bam get it all out there out in the open and then they’d say I love yous for days and then go back to his car for some making out and it would be glorious and perfect and probably the best date she’d ever been on.

Wait.

Date. This was a date.

She and Hans hadn’t really… been on a date since they met in February. Not a real date, at least. They went to the movie Vegas Vacation but classically sat in the back and made out the whole time, like, so much so that she didn’t even know exactly what the plot was besides the Griswolds going to Las Vegas and oh yeah—Wayne Newton was also there at some point?

She didn’t count that as a date, exactly. Because of the lack of… talking.

And all the other times they only hung out at each other’s houses.

Which meant… this was her first date. What better time to figure out if they were hopefully something more than just friends? Because friends with benefits wasn’t really what she wanted out of any of this. She knew she should be thankful that she had love. They loved each other. That was great. But… she wanted a relationship, too.

Okay. So that was the game plan. All systems very much go.

When she looked around at the restaurant, taking in the English Tudor / nautical hybrid décor, she began to feel a little out of her element. Her silk dress suddenly became itchy. Everybody else in the restaurant had to be at least 40 years old at a minimum and she thought she must seem like a child. Her pink dress and her pink glitter snap clips and her pink eyeshadow only further proved this point.

This made her even more nervous. Uncomfortable. It made her worry she’d never find the right opportunity to have this mature and important conversation when she felt like she was eight years old and at her father’s birthday dinner again.

But she’d try…

When they sat down next to each other at their corner booth, Anna’s stomach lurched. Still very worried. Still very young and out of place. Now was definitely not the right opportunity.

The right opportunity didn’t arise when they ordered their French Onion Soups and Filet Mignons.

The right opportunity didn’t arise when they received their French Onion Soups, when they slurped them up, when Anna realized her breath probably reeked more than she cared to admit.

But once the French Onion Soups were cleared, once Hans placed his right arm comfortably over Anna’s shoulders, so she could lean in close… she thought maybe now was the time.

But Hans wanted to talk, too.

“What classes are you in this year?”

This question jarred her. She hadn’t realized they somehow hadn’t covered any of this basic information in the last month. “Oh. Um. I’m taking Geometry Honors, Spanish II, World History, Conceptual Physics or whatever the freshman science is. Oh! And also, studio art because that sounded fun!” She had to take a break for a bit to catch her breath. “English I, too. But I’m not that happy about it because I really wanted Honors English but apparently that doesn’t exist for freshmen? Which seems really dumb because obviously there’s a lot of us who can handle it. I’ve already read like all of the books on our English I reading list. Like, Sense and Sensibility? Jane Eyre? Catcher in the Rye? Honestly? That feels like middle school to me but whatever.” Anna didn’t usually let that many people in on her secret middle school classic literature obsession, but once she got going she couldn’t stop herself. “Um. Sorry. I got all rambly again. I just really like English. It’s my favorite subject. If you couldn’t already tell…”

“Yeah. English is solid.”

“Mmhmm! And what are you taking?” Anna asked. “Let me guess. You look like an … AP US History guy. French III? Regular English. Ummm.. I don’t know what math. And probably um chemistry honors?”

“Close.”

“So, what is it?”

“I’m in Latin. And yep. APUSH, regular English, Chem Honors. I’m in AP Stats this year. I was so over calculus. Such a bullshit class. Tried it for a day but that bitch Ms. Maloney fucking hated me for no reason.”

“Oh. Okay.” Anna bit her lip. This was stagnating. And he was way too oddly aggressive about that calc class. Her stomach dropped again. She wanted to make sure they had the best conversation of their entire lives at Five Crowns on her first real date. “So, then what’s your favorite subject?”

“History.”

“What do you like about it?” Anna asked.

“Wars are hella dope. Cool to learn about.”

“Ah,” Anna said. “Any one in particular?” She tried her best.

“I dunno. I’ve always been into The Great War.”

“That’s World War I, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like that’d be a good one.” Anna cringed. Her whole body tensed. She hoped he didn’t notice. This conversation felt awkward. She needed to change the subject. “And you play baseball? Any other sports?”

“Nah,” he said as he squeezed her shoulder. “You had that track meet last weekend, right?”

“Yeah. I did. All day Saturday,” she explained, leaning in closer to him. “I did the pole vault, triple jump, and a relay.”

“That sounds pretty fly.”

“Mmhmm. I guess. But…” Anna sighed. “I kinda wish I hadn’t gone. It was, like, the whole day and I came home to a message from Elsa, so. I don’t know. Maybe I’m not meant for track.”

“What’d Elsa have to say?”

“Not too much, really. It was a short message…” Anna’s voice got a little lower. “But she said she’s pretty nervous because she’s meant to hear from colleges soon.”

“Ah,” Hans said. “Well, I wish her luck.”

“Me, too.”

Anna sighed. Sustained silence fell between them for a short while. And Anna couldn’t help but realize… maybe this was her window of opportunity.

“Um… Hans?

“Wazup?”

“What… are we?”

“What do you mean what are we?”

“Oh, duh. Yeah. Well, it’s not—I don’t mean like—what are we—like humans or whatever. It’s not… deep like that,” Anna winced at her futile attempts to explain her nervous thoughts. “I just mean… what are we? You know—in our… relationship or friendship or whatever it is.”

“Oh.”

“You get it? Does that make sense? I can try explaining it again if it doesn’t…”

“I get it.”

“Okay,” she exhaled. Then inhaled. She bit her lip again. For probably the 50th time that night. “So then… what are we?”

“We’re us.”

“Right. And what is us?”

“We’re having fun. Aren’t we? Didn’t you have hella fun watching Vegas Vacation?

Anna’s cheeks flushed red. “We didn’t watch—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But didn’t you have a blast, anyway? Aren’t you having fun right now?”

“Of course I am, I just meant—”

“That’s all we’re doing, babe. We’re having fun.”

“So we’re… so you’re not my—we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend is what you’re saying?”

“We’re having fun.”

Anna could feel her heartbeat quickening. Her stomach couldn’t drop any lower than it already had.

Now they were confirmed just friends. Even though she wanted this date at Five Crowns to mark the start of something a bit more serious…

But maybe…

Maybe they didn’t need labels to be serious. Maybe they were already serious.

Thinking of this, Anna stared into his green eyes, catching some swirls of what she hoped was sincerity hidden within. “You love me though, don’t you?”

“Of course I love you, babe. I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

She smiled now, snuggling into him further, content. It didn’t matter what they were, it didn’t matter what they called themselves. They had each other. They had snuggles and smooches and smiles and now a real, legit, super-fun date and they loved each other since the very second they laid eyes on each other.

Take that, Kristoff. Mr. Grumpy-Doesn’t-Believe-in-Love-At-First-Sight man. You lost today, sucker.

She planted a gentle kiss on his lips, a kiss that deepened, continuing until their orders of Filet Mignon were placed gingerly in front of them.

Without the constant pressure of the impending scary and mature conversation, Anna gobbled up her food with ease, quickly, in fact—because she was starting to look more and more forward to the after-date than the date itself.

So much so that she considered skipping out on the chocolate soufflé entirely. And chocolate was her favorite thing in the world. Period.

Once the chocolate soufflés arrived, though, she realized that would’ve been a grave error. No way no how.

Naturally she inhaled the chocolate soufflé. In a way that left Hans laughing and laughing, trying as hard as he could to wipe the chocolate off of her mouth and her shoulders and her dress… and also the walls and some areas of the booth… safe to say, Anna had made quite the mess.

And with him touching her and laughing with her, Anna became giddy. When Hans paid with his Visa platinum and signed the check, taking Anna’s hand again and helping her out of the booth, Anna’s giddiness turned ecstatic.

He thought she was funny. He laughed at her jokes. He laughed at her antics. He helped clean up her mess.

And they had a good conversation about school and a really informative conversation about their relationship. And they loved each other, of course. That was important, too.

Still overjoyed, Anna sat again in Hans’s black Mercedes. Hans drove to one of the Crystal Cove beach parking lots. They parked the car.

The entire area was dark. Nobody was there. Not a car. Not a soul. Not even a seagull.

Anna knew where this was going.

Her heart beat quickly for a new and exciting reason.

Their lips touched with sparks of electricity; a fervent move that sent them shimmying into the backseat of the car.

Anna was no stranger to the black leather seats. She was no stranger to this position.

She’d moved quickly with him. She recognized that. But hearing a chorus of Hans’s delectable I love yous made fireworks ignite within her soul. And so, it didn’t seem quick at all. It seemed just about right. Perfect. If they loved each other on the first night, then everything naturally had to follow at lightning speed to match.

Right?

“Hey, babe?” Hans whispered in her ear, so close that it tickled her a bit and she giggled.

“Yeah?”

“Can we do it?”

She giggled again. “I mean—sure. Yeah. When were you—”

“Tonight,” he said. “Now.”

“Oh.” Anna was out of her element again. Yes, she liked moving quickly. Yes, she liked everything else they’d done, but… this? Tonight?

She didn’t think she was ready. She didn’t feel ready. Did anybody ever feel ready? Did it matter?

It was then that she realized Arendelle Academy had failed her. The school had failed them, more like. She had the period talk in the fifth grade. But since then… all she had to do was some dumb assignment about chlamydia in the Human Development class she took last semester.

That wasn’t enough. Clearly.

And here she was—terrified.

Because, sure, she knew what it meant to do it. But only because of a healthy mix of Sex and the City (Anna knew she was a Carrie), Friends, and Anna Karenina. As a curious middle schooler, Anna learned more than she’d like to admit from Anna Karenina’s spicy affair with Vronksy.

But that suddenly felt all… abstract.

It was like she knew nothing. Nothing at all. In the backseat of Hans’s car, she was about to flunk out of doing it class.

The only shred of information that remained in her brain was her vision. Her perfect, wonderful vision of how she both imagined and desired it to happen.

She pictured herself sixteen or seventeen… on her birthday. One of her favorite days of the year. After some kind of wonderful birthday surprise party all planned perfectly by her boyfriend, the two of them would dash off to a swanky hotel, and when they would get to their wonderful suite, there would be rose petals scattered around the bed. They’d have bottles of some fancy champagne… oh—and some chocolate covered strawberries, of course.

But most importantly—boyfriend. She’d said boyfriend. Obviously. Because she imagined it happening with the boyfriend she loved with all of her heart.

That was just for it, though. The Big It.

For any of the other stuff—stuff they’d already done—she never had the same kind of perfect vision. So, it was easy enough to just… full steam ahead do all of it.

But not this it. Not the Big It.

So many parts of her vision were missing. She needed it to be special. She needed it to feel like the most intimate expression of love for another person possible.

Because…well—that’s exactly what it was to her.

So she couldn’t do it tonight. Not like this. But at the same time, she didn’t want to let him down.

She didn’t want to lose him…

“I don’t know,” was all she said.

“Well, why not? We’ve done everything else. What’s the difference?”

“I want it… to be special. And I’m only—I’m, like, young. Isn’t that bad?”

“No.”

But this didn’t comfort her very much. Because she was young.

Elsa would say that she was too young.

“You don’t think it’s bad? That I’m…” Anna gulped. She worried saying the word fourteen out loud would make him see her as immature and naïve. “You don’t think I’m gonna be bad?”

“No.” He kissed her, then, romantically. Anna relaxed a bit into the kiss. “You’re gonna be great.”

“Have you ever… um—have you done it before?”

“A couple times.”

She’d figured as much, and it made her nervous. Really, really nervous. In her vision of how this should play out, it was her first time and it was her loving, doting, wonderful boyfriend’s first time, too. There were no expectations. There were no comparisons.

Her mind flashed to Kristoff, eyes crinkled and mouth wide in that wonderful smile of his.

No. Don’t do that. Don’t do that, Anna.

She needed to shake herself clear of those thoughts. Of that visual…of that desire, maybe. If that’s what it was.

No. No. It was about Hans tonight. HansHansHans. His hotute nose and his beautiful green eyes.

She loved Hans. She wanted Hans in this way, yes. She did.

It was just…

“I think I want it to be special,” Anna said, her voice small.

“This is special, babe. Just you and me here in my car… loving each other.”

“No, no, no. I mean special special. Like… really romantic special. On a really big event or a really big milestone or something. I want it to mean a lot. And I’m not saying that I don’t want to do it with you because I really, really do want to—like…I want to, and my body wants to and… I just think I need to wait um… a little bit.”

“Okay,” Hans said, sighing. “We can wait.”

Anna’s heart soared. Now she just needed a new vision of how she wanted it to go down. She figured he wouldn’t want to wait that long and really neither did she. If she really wanted him to be her boyfriend and not her friend-with-benefits then she needed to double down. She couldn’t keep him waiting for too long.

But if she were worried about being too young… and if she were worried about what Elsa would say, and she wanted it to happen on her birthday, ideally. Then… she should just say it.

“My birthday.”

“What about it?”

“My birthday. We can do it on my birthday, okay? That’s… three months away,” Anna explained. In three months, she’d be fifteen. And fifteen seemed old enough.

Right?

Right. Fifteen felt right. Her birthday felt right. Elsa had to understand. And maybe Elsa would even be proud that she waited those three months instead of diving right in.

Shit did Anna want her sister to be proud of her.

She continued, “I know it’s awhile, but. It’s an important day and we can be together, and I think… I think that’s perfect. I think then it’ll be really special.”

And then… when it happened, she just knew he’d decide he wanted to be her boyfriend for real.

Hans nodded. “Okay. Deal. June 21st, right?”

And her heart leapt at the sheer fact that he remembered.

They made out some more. They got close, really close, to doing what he wanted, but they didn’t. He respected her wishes.

He respected her.

And when Hans dropped her off at home that night, Anna knew what she needed to do. It was late. Again. She always called Elsa so late. It was self-sabotage, really. Elsa’s world operated three hours later than Anna’s…

But she picked up the phone and dialed her sister’s number anyway.

Nothing but ring ring ring ring times infinity and then that condescending beep. Another beep… another message destined to be unanswered but not unheard.

Anna still couldn’t believe that stupid track meet had kept her away from Elsa’s once-in-a-blue-moon phone call.

“Um—Els. Hey. It’s me again. Your sister. Anna…” Anna shook her head. Elsa would recognize her voice. Duh. Anna always had to make everything so awkward. No wonder Elsa hardly ever called her back. “Um, anyway. I, uh—I’m so sorry I keep calling and I’m so sorry I keep leaving all these messages and I’m, like, the most sorry I missed your call Saturday—I wish I’d been home. I…I can’t even tell you how much I wish I’d been home…” She balled up her hands into tight fists and squeezed, hard, trying to keep a lid on all of her emotions. “It’s just—I really, really miss you and I have…” Anna knew what she wanted to tell Elsa, but she didn’t know quite how to frame it. She tried to squeeze her fists harder. “I, um—I did something. And I think…” But she couldn’t help it—her emotions had no lid. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she took a deep breath in a futile attempt to hide the trembling within her voice. “I think you’ll be really proud of me.”

#kristanna #fanfic #frozen

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lovelylogans · 5 years ago

Note

are we ever getting dee’s backstory in the wyliwf verse? or actually are we ever getting more dee logan interactions?

alliance

“all warfare is based on deception. hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.” —sun tzu, the art of war

dee usually tries to subscribe to some of the life lessons in the art of war. he has no idea why, today, he has flubbed it this badly.

(or: dee accidentally spills a secret, and those sanders’ might not be as bad as he thought.)

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: deceit, snake mentions, mention of a fight, allusions to an unhappy home life, let me know if i’ve missed anything

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 4,515

notes: thank you, anon! this references this ask i answered a while ago about dee’s backstory; not super necessary to read, since i cover a lot of it in here, but it does give some general background that might be nice going into the story. takes place after the black parade. happy birthday, deceit!

patton’s not usually home when logan gets back from school.

if paton did see logan right after a school day, it was usually because patton went to virgil’s for a mid-afternoon hot cocoa/coffee, or if logan walked from the bus stop to the inn. they don’t meet at home right after school.

today was different, though. because today, logan was bringing home his partner to do a project for the gsa.

logan had been kicking himself for not getting more involved as soon as he’d set foot at chilton. so, in the aftermath of the “I AM NOT DOING ENOUGH TO GET INTO COLLEGE” frantic list-making session of winter break, logan had joined a slew of clubs and activities; the cross-country team, with the intent of joining the track team in the fall, as long as it didn’t interfere with the newspaper, chilton’s book club, chilton’s quiz bowl team, the science club, photographing for the newspaper, when mel needed him to, backstage crew for the spring play, the debate team, and, of course, chilton’s gay/straight alliance.

that hadn’t been around, when patton went to chilton. patton likes to think that means that things are way better now—well, he knows things are a better now, there’s been so much progress since patton was a teenager—but, well. to patton, chilton’s always going to have that memory, to him. of being excised and bullied because he was trans.

but. anyway. logan’s part of the gsa now. logan’s bringing home a designated partner from the gsa, to help make some posters to put up around the school. so patton has some ulterior motives for being home right now.

because, well, patton knows that logan’s mostly signed up for everything because it looks good on a college admission form, but. patton can’t help but think about logan’s not-super-hidden concern, the night before he’d started chilton—“what could he possibly be scared of? he’s the one staying at sideshire high. he’s always had other friends. he’ll probably make more friends now that i’m not going to be at school taking up all his time.”

and, well. involvement in things he’s interested in. which means other kids who are interested in the things he’s interested in. which means potential friends.

with roman as the sole exception, logan’s always been slow to warm to people—he’s very particular about who he lets to be close to him. but once he does warm to them, he’s fiercely, intensely loyal, defensive, a good friend. a fantastic friend.

so maybe patton’s hovering a little to make sure that things go well for logan. sue him. but he can be a cool dad, that’ll help, right? he can offer snacks! and supplies for poster-making! and… and more snacks!

so patton had been a whirlwind of activity, shoving most of the clutter out of sight so that the house looks slightly tidier, stacking outer layers on his coat rack that seems to wheeze under the pressure—patton practically has to tie things to it with his trans pride scarf, just to make sure that things wont fall down—and shoves dirty dishes in the dishwasher, out of sight, out of mind. he’ll wash them later.

he straightens up the bin of markers that he’d dug out of various desk drawers, and ensures that the glitter and glue are all grouped together, and that they’ve got pencils to sketch out a starting idea, because knowing logan, he’ll want to sketch out the idea first.

he runs through the list of names that he’s heard logan mention as he straightens everything out—maybe it’ll be kai, logan had mentioned him and his interest in video games. or there had been a set of boyfriends the grade above him, corbin and… and sloane, wasn’t it, maybe it’d be one of them! or maybe someone that logan hasn’t mentioned.

there’s the sound of a key at the door, and patton glances at his phone. right on time. he’d really expect nothing less, from logan, oh goD he should look like he’s being totally natural act natural patton!!!!!

so he quickly pivots and starts rattling around in the cupboards, and starts scooping coffee grounds into the coffee maker as he hears the door open, two thumps of backpacks hitting the ground, a mutter of “you can take your shoes off here” from logan.

“hey, kiddo!” patton calls, and a mumble of “my dad” from logan, and then the sound of two pairs of socked feet approaching.

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted some coffee too, so i figured i could ask you and your—“

he pivots, and the word “guest” dies on his tongue.

because, standing in yellow socks in the midst of his kitchen, with his strange, sneakily altered version of the chilton uniform, looking supremely uncomfortable, is dee slange.

the same dee slange that has been logan’s de-facto rival at chilton. the same dee slange that told logan he’d never catch up to the rest of his class. the same dee slange that goaded someone into hitting his son. that dee slange.

this is the worst outcome for “logan could be bringing home a potential friend!”

patton swallows, setting aside the scoop of coffee, and glances at logan.

“we were randomly assigned people to get to know them better, since it’s the start of the new semester,” logan says, a brusque explanation.

“right,” patton says. “okay. um. hi.”

“hi,” dee says, voice tight, tilting up his chin.

“do you want some coffee?” patton says stiffly.

a long pause. “sure.”

“right then,” patton says, and turns to the coffee machine.

dee slange. dee slange! god, it probably is a good thing that he’d decided to hover, because honestly if logan and dee had had to work alone patton probably would have come home to the house in shambles.

but he has to be polite, patton tells himself. so patton wracks his brain for his (probably outdated) etiquette lessons, and, once he gets the coffee machine going, he turns, leaning back against the counter.

“it is dee, right?” he checks. “i’d hate to be calling you something that you don’t particularly want to be called. is it short for something?”

“it’s dee,” he says. he doesn’t answer the other question. he’s busy glancing around the kitchen.

right, patton figures. time to move to the next small-talk topic.

“your grandmother’s friends with my mom,” patton tells dee. “evelyn, right? i always liked her.”

honestly, a lot of his mom’s friends had been a wild gamble, if he told them he was trans, and evelyn had probably taken it best out of all of them. that had been enough to earn his affection, even if evelyn’s general kindness hadn’t done that already.

dee’s dad, on the other hand… well, he’d been a flip side of that coin, but so had a lot of people, back then.

but dee smiles, ever so slightly, at the mention of his grandmother, so patton figures he hasn’t made any major social missteps.

yet.

“yes,” dee says, refocusing from where his eyes had been briefly fixed somewhere beyond patton, back toward the entry hall. “she’s doing well. i’ll tell her you said hello.”

another long pause. patton clears his throat, tapping his fingers on the counter, before he says, “how was school?”

“fine,” logan says, with a slight grimace.

“there was that, um. the thing in latin today, right?” patton says. “the recitation thing? tempora cum causis Latium digesta per annum lapsaque sub terras… i can’t remember any more.”

frankly, it’s a miracle he can’t. logan’s been reciting the first part of ovid’s fasti for the past week. he was pretty sure “scilicet arma magis quam sidera, Romule, noras, curaque finitimos vincere maior erat” would be running around in his head for a month, since logan had been chanting in his room like he was conducting some arcane ritual.

logan scowls, a dark look flitting across his face even as he finished patton’s line, “ortaque signa canam. yeah, that was today.”

“and?” patton prompts.

logan scowls. “he thought my pronunciation was over-rehearsed.”

“over-rehearsed?” patton says. “i mean—it would be, wouldn’t it? it’s not like you walk around and latin just casually tumbles out of your mouth.”

“precisely,” logan says.

“the man is an idiot,” dee says, brusque, turning his focus back again—patton didn’t think he’d done that bad of a job, tidying things up in there.

“i—well, now,” patton says, unsure of exactly how to step but he’s a dad it’s practically an instinct to instill manners, “don’t be mean.”

“no, he’s right,” logan says, looking at dee thoughtfully. “he is an idiot. he forgot to teach us the imperative verb tense and only remembered when all of us got it wrong on the imperative-centric quiz.”

dee rolls his eyes, the yellow one glinting. “i nearly forgot about that. my god, did the man get hired just because he plagiarized some old myths from percy jackson during the job interview?”

“those are greek,” logan says, “unless you’re referring to the later series.”

“my point,” dee says, “you cannot deny that charleston is a simpleton, look at the way he handled the moreno/watts situation.”

patton blinks. “what moreno/watts situation?”

logan also looks confused, but really the only way he can tell is because patton is his dad and knows when he’s covering up an emotion. well. most of the time. some of the time. more than most other people, let’s go with that one.

dee sighs, put-upon, before he says, “janey watts and sarah moreno were both taken to our esteemed headmaster’s office yesterday because mr. medina caught them about to claw each other’s eyes out in the alcove near the hidden rear staircase of the senior’s lounge. when attempting to discover what was wrong, mr. charleston’s first guess on what they were fighting about was that they were fighting over the same boy.”

logan allows his confusion to show. “but janey watts is a lesbian.”

“yes,” dee says, “and now you can see one of the many reasons why charleston is a simpleton.”

patton sighs. “well, charleston’s always been… a product of his time?” he says, and tries to elaborate. “you know, he backed up giving me a month of detention once because i refused to respond to my chosen name and pronouns.”

dee’s eyes darken. “bastard,” he spits out, filled with more venom than patton was expecting.

“hey, now,” patton says, even as startled as he is with… that. it’s not like dee and patton are particularly close, to warrant this level of defensiveness. well, patton guesses he’s in the gsa, so it makes sense that he’d be defensive of trans rights. “i could bust out the swear jar.”

“you’ve never had a swear jar,” logan says.

“i could start,” patton says.

logan turns to dee. “i didn’t know you were friends with janey watts.”

“oh, i’m not,” dee says, and then, matter-of-fact, “she thinks i’m a slimy jerk with no morals and who would sell out his own grandmother if it meant getting further ahead.”

patton feels a little stab of hurt, the way he usually does whenever he hears someone talk bad about themselves.

“then how did you know what charleston said?” logan says, and hey, good point! but logan’s always been more observant than him.

“oh, please,” dee says. “logan, you’re a journalist, you should know that we all have our own sources.”

“in the headmaster’s office?”

dee shrugs. “to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but theopportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”

“sun tzu,” logan says. “art of war. you could do with the seem humble part.”

“but you’re already so filled with conceit,” dee says, and patton’s about to burst in with a hey now, but logan just shrugs.

“i know myself,” logan says.

“so you can win all battles?” dee says. “i didn’t know you read had an interest in ancient chinese literature.”

“mostly just that one,” logan says. “do you have an interest in ancient chinese literature?”

“mostly just that one,” dee parrots. “shall we get started?”

“may as well,” logan says.

“you kids want coffee while you do that?” patton says. “oh, and would you mind if i did my homework, too?”

“for your business degree,” dee surmises, and really, patton probably shouldn’t be surprised that he knows that, but he’s surprised anyway, darn it. “fine. it’s your house.”

so patton pours everyone some coffee and sets out cream and sugar, since he doesn’t know how dee takes his coffee, before he gathers up his own homework and settles in, listening absentmindedly as the boys sort through various options that’s been offered to them.

dee, it turns out, milks and sweetens his coffee to a frankly absurd degree—patton wouldn’t be surprised if dee would be met with a few mouthfuls of sugar-sludge at the bottom of his mug—and picks his way through snacks, eating them so swiftly and unnoticeably that patton doesn’t realize it until he goes for a pretzel and realizes the bowl is near-empty.

“i don’t suppose you want to do the ‘how i knew i was gay’ one,” dee says briskly. they’ve sorted through most of the list—this is the last suggested poster theme option—and then they’ll narrow down their yeses.

“certainly not,” logan agrees. “there isn’t particularly much to tell, anyway. boys were always just… pretty.”

“one boy,” patton murmurs slyly, grinning down at his homework even as logan half-heartedly stamps on his foot.

“not much for me, either,” dee says. “girls always had cooties, and i always knew i was a boy, so—“

everyone at the table freezes. and then things start to click.

the altered, strange uniform, as if to say look here, look directly here and nowhere else—hadn’t patton practically lived in too-baggy chilton sweaters, to hide his chest and later his binder from anyone who could have possibly seen it?

dee’s continuous glances toward the entry hall—not just at the clutter, but at patton’s trans pride scarf on display.

dee was short, and patton had been too—patton hadn’t even been 5′3″ before he started t on a more consistent basis, after logan was born.

dee for short, and nothing else—an unusual name, but it wasn’t like he could throw any stones with a name like patton, could he?

dee’s face shuttering in too-great anger, at the news that charleston had given patton detention for sticking up for himself—because he’d had experience with that, maybe?

and then:

patton thinks, oh.

as he stares at dee’s yellow-gloved fingers, curling into fists, he thinks: you’re like me.

the lashing out at other people. the isolating himself. the particular taste in clothes. the new name. the upper-class society. the potential clashing with parents.

oh, oh, oh.

if it weren’t for how perfectly, perfectly still dee was, patton could almost believe that he came out on purpose.

“okay,” patton says, when he realizes it’s probably been a too-long pause. “hey, it’s okay. me too, you know? we won’t say anything if you don’t want us to.”

dee dips his head in a nod, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“right,” he says hollowly, before he clears his throat and tries for his usual, arrogant tone. “of course.”

“we won’t,” logan agrees, and frowns. “i’m your academic rival, not some asshole that would out you without your consent.”

it’s at that that dee relaxes, fists unclenching. he smooths his hands over the poster.

“right,” he says, and clears his throat. “fine, then.”

patton hesitates, before he says, tentatively, “your grandma was really cool about it, when i came out. back in the day.”

dee’s lip quirk up, and patton knows he’s said the right thing.

“yeah,” dee says. “i mean, i can’t really remember it, it was back when i got adopted—”

“you’re adopted?” patton asks.

dee gives him an almost patronizingly amused look, gesturing to his dark skin, the vitiligo on his cheek. “yes, that’s such a shock, i’m sure, because my parents definitely match my coloring.”

patton flushes. “well, i’ve never met your mom.”

dee mutters something like what a blessing for you, and patton feels a flare of worry that he can’t really expand upon before dee continues, “yes, i’m adopted, from haiti. i was… i don’t know. four, five. i can’t remember it very well. but grandmother’s… yeah. grandmother’s the best.”

it’s the most fond patton’s ever heard him sound, and, from the look on logan’s face, it might be for him, too.

“i might try and get coffee with her soon,” patton says, casual. “and if, you know. if you want advice about, um. this. just let me know. yeah?”

dee’s eyebrow quirks at him, and he gives him a look full of quintessential teenage amusement and, potentially, embarrassment.

patton can relate. he was the same, a lot of the time, whenever people offered advice or help when he first came to sideshire.

well. maybe he was less sassy about it.

“can we focus on the project?” logan says tiredly.

“what, are you jealous you can’t contribute to the discussion about various nicknames for testosterone?” dee says.

patton grins. “the testoster-zone.”

“the t-party,” dee offers.

“ooh, good one,” patton says. “um—”

“can we please focus on the project?” logan says, more pointedly.

dee rolls his eyes, but turns back to his poster.

patton tries to focus on his homework, but he just can’t help it, and—

“anti-cis-tamines.”

“dad,” logan groans, and patton and dee share an amused glance, and—

well. maybe dee wasn’t the worst potential friend that logan could have brought over.

⁂

this place might as well be the twilight zone.

dee has his bowler hat on, and logan’s tall enough that they’re probably at a decent angle that he can’t tell that dee is looking around everywhere he can.

if only dee had managed to shake him off—but mr. sanders (”please, it’s patton, mr. sanders is my father!”) had insisted that either logan or patton walk dee back to the bus stop and, well, honestly, logan was the lesser of two evils.

not that mr. sanders is evil. he seems removed from that. too removed, if you get dee’s drift. no one could possibly be that deeply nice. there had to be something going on there. a ploy to get people to trust him, or something. the defenseless little puppy defense, or something. playing sweet and kind until it suits him.

even as he’s thinking this, something in his brain refuses to let it click into place. dee shakes it off. he’ll investigate later—whether it’s an opossum defense or a ploy or something—there’s too much to see here.

it’s like a group of tv set designers got together and thought, right, what are all the clichés of a tiny small town, added some overgrown ivy and picturesque worn red brick, and the entire place reeked of domesticity. he means, really, who even has a town center gazebo? dee’s seen flyers advertising for a twenty-four-hour dance-a-thon. for charity. “costumes and periodwear encouraged.” what kind of periodwear did one wear for a twenty-four-hour dance-a-thon?

the buildings have those twinkly lights all around it. the streetlights are wrought iron instead of the stark poles that are near the streets of his neighborhood. there is a community garden. there is a punnily named cat-themed store.

seriously. what planet is this?

they get to the bus stop.

(also—the bus? what was this, the middle ages?)

“right, then,” dee says. “you’re bringing the posters tomorrow?”

logan nods his head in assent, hands stuck in his pockets. apparently, that’s not a clear enough hint, but his research shows that logan doesn’t respond very much to subtleties.

“you can go,” he adds, bluntly.

logan shakes his head. “i’m just going to go to the diner for dinner, anyway, and not being there means that my dad can get sappy with virgil without my bearing witness. and besides, my dad would kill me for leaving you here alone.”

dee stares at him. “you do realize the likelihood of someone attacking me here is approximately on the same level as greedo being the one who shot first?”

logan blinks. “you’re a star wars fan?”

dee shrugs a shoulder, before he says, “more when i was a kid. i’ve got three snakes named—”

“rey, finn, and poe?” logan says, with a twist of his mouth.

“luke, leia, and han,” he corrects. “i said when i was a kid, sanders.”

“kid is an unclear term,” logan says. “for instance, i could argue that your viewpoint on the superior space western is childish, since the clearly superior space western franchise is—”

dee scoffs before he can finish his sentence. “of course you’re a trekkie.”

“so you admit it,” logan says, and dee rolls his eyes.

“i was just narrowing down the number of popular space westerns, spock.”

“i prefer data,” logan says.

another pause, before:

“snakes?” logan asks.

“garters, all three,” dee says. he hesitates, before he says, “luke and han are trans.”

“i wondered,” logan says. “since snakes can often eat each other, but if all three snakes were, ah—“

“afab?” dee provides.

“right, yes.” logan says. “may i see?”

“i don’t have them on me,” dee says, before he says, “yeah, all right” and digs out his phone, swiping for the latest photo of his snakes.

it turns out to be the one of grandmother, amused, looking just enough off-camera that it’s clear it isn’t candid, wearing leia as a necklace, luke and han in her upraised hands. logan smiles at the photo. well, smiles as much as he’s capable of smiling. dee thinks that the whole i prefer data thing might be a cover-up for the fact that logan might actually be a robot.

“the checkered one is leia, the one with the yellow stripe is luke, and the one with the brown stripe is han.”

“nice,” logan says. “and that’s your grandmother?”

“yes,” dee confirms, tucking his phone away.

“do you spend much time with her?” logan says.

“frequently,” dee says, and lies, “she lives closest to chilton, it just makes the most sense.”

well, the first part of that sentence isn’t a lie. it’s just that that isn’t the whole truth.

but partial truths are what he works best with, and he notes that logan nods, seeming to accept it as a whole truth, before his eyes turn elsewhere.

dee follows his gaze.

the window’s lit, gleaming softly, a wide window that allows a view.

there’s a boy in there, alone. he’s shirtless, and wearing red leggings typical of a dancer. even at the distance they’re at, dee can see his muscles straining as he moves, graceful and limbs elongated as he reaches and spins, slowly, achingly slowly, everything so precise down the slightest twitch of his finger, and logan is staring, eyes gone soft and awed and sweet, and—

“didn’t realize i was boring you that much,” dee comments, even if he is a little relieved that logan’s attention is off the question of his home life and on his pretty dancer. “that’s the boytoy, isn’t it?”

logan looks at him, eyes sharpening. “roman’s my boyfriend.”

“right, right,” dee says, waving it off. he’s distracted, good. “so that’s still a thing, then?”

“yes,” logan says. “that’s still a ‘thing.’”

he doesn’t use airquotes, but it’s a near thing. it’s basically implied in his tone of voice.

“do you like him a lot?” dee asks.

“i love him,” logan says simply—as if it’s a fact, indisputable, absolute.

dee nods, turning his attention back to the bus stop. it should be coming soon.

“are you going to tell him?” dee says abruptly and oh, now he’s done it, losing control of his mouth just once today isn’t enough, he really needs to make himself look like a fool, doesn’t he?

logan turns his attention more fully back to dee. “no.”

dee scoffs. “right.”

“i won’t,” logan says. “really. roman would understand, he’s—well, clearly he’s gay too, he understands the importance of coming out on your own terms.”

dee glowers at the ground, scuffing his shoe over the cement, before—

“my dad and i were effectively homeless until i turned six.”

dee pauses, and turns to look at logan.

logan isn’t looking at him. he’s got his hands clasped behind his back, still staring ahead, as if he’s keeping an eye out for the bus.

“my dad worked at the inn—he’s manager, now, but back then he was a housekeeper. he worked his way up. we could only afford to live in the poolhouse because the manager, maria, gave him a major cut on rent. i was bullied about it, when i was a child. my dad doesn’t know that.” a pause, and then, “my grandparents don’t know about the poolhouse, either. they thought we lived in the inn proper and got an apartment much sooner than we actually did. they’re paying for me to go to chilton. it comes with the condition of going to their house for weekly dinners.”

dee stares at him. “why would you tell me that?”

logan shrugs, and turns just his head to look at dee.

“i know you’re trans, you know where i lived and that i can’t afford schooling,” logan says simply. “if either of us feel tempted to let it slip…”

“then we know the other one has something in hand,” dee finishes slowly, not admiringly. “mutually assured destruction.”

it’s a sound strategy, really. logan takes the assumption that dee won’t listen to promises, and uses a shortcut. it’s a dangerous move, a gamble. not one he’d have expected, from logan. this day’s just full of surprises.

“precisely,” logan says. “for whatever reason, i don’t think you hold very strongly to the sense of the honor of giving someone your word.”

that last part is said in the closest tone to sarcastic that he thinks he’s ever heard logan use.

“you’re right, i don’t,” dee says, and swallows. “homeless?”

“i didn’t really put the pieces together until i was older,” logan says. “it still doesn’t seem like it, to me. we were happy.”

dee wonders what that’s like.

“well,” logan says, peeking down the way. “i think i hear the bus coming. i’ll bring the posters tomorrow.”

“right,” dee says. “so. are you going to suggest we dissolve the academic rivalry, then?”

logan hums, and tilts his head. “you know, you’ve been my only real competition since i showed up at chilton.”

dee does not preen.

“we’re the only ones who’ve ever challenged each other. without this, we’ll get lazy.”

“i’ll achieve nothing, i’ll become my mother,” dee quips, and logan smiles, just a little.

“right,” logan says. “so.”

dee pauses, before he says, “allies?”

logan smiles. “allies.”

as the bus rolls up, logan offers his hand, and dee shakes it, once. logan knows full well that he doesn’t hold to the honor of giving someone their word, but it still feels like they’re making a deal, anyway.

so dee clambers onto the bus, and settles in a window seat.

and if he smiles and turns details over his head the whole drive back, well. it’s not like anyone will know.

#Anonymous #ask #my fic #the sideshire files #deceit

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