#Remind me to never do an eight-week class again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

forabeatofadrum · 1 year ago

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The Class Menagerie

Summary: Kurt is a pre-school teacher at a school that has a huge variety of animals to care for. Unfortunately, one day, Kurt finds out that ten of them have escaped their cages. Luckily, a new trainee teacher named Blaine, offers to help him out.

Notes: Hello, hello, welcome to The Class Menagerie, my fic for the Klaine Back-To-School challenge, hosted by @the-lima-bean. There are animals!

The title was given to me by an anon on Tumblr, so anon, if you're reading this, thank you!!!!

Also, also, don't try to wrap your head around why this random pre-school in New York has this variety of animals. It is my fic and I get to decide the reality of the situation!

I hope you enjoy.

AO3 | S&C

Kurt is about to lose his mind. He has no idea where it has gone wrong, but it has gone wrong.

"Fuck," he yells, because he's fucked. He is so totally fucked. It's his third year as a pre-school teacher and this has never happened before.

He needs to reel in the swearing before the kids arrive. He also needs to fix this mess before the kids arrive.

They will be devastated if they find out that ten of the classroom pets have gone missing.

"Fuck!" Kurt says again. How did this happen? These animals are all specially cared for. They live here in special cages. This classroom is reserved for them. Kids come here to see the animals, not the other way around.

Suddenly, Kurt hears a voice.

"Everything all right in here?" he hears, "I heard swearing."

Blaine Anderson is leaning in the doorframe and he has no right looking that good while doing so. Kurt knows of him. Blaine joined this pre-school’s staff as a trainee teacher a week ago. He mostly helps out in Mercedes’s class, so Kurt hasn’t gotten a chance to properly talk to him yet. Sure, they’ve exchanged some words, but Kurt would love to get to know him more properly.

Unfortunately for him, Blaine just happened to walk into an awkward situation.

Then he realises that the animals might be in the room.

“Close the door!” he frantically yells towards Blaine.

Blaine is shocked, but he manages to do so.

“What’s going on?” he asks, looking alarmed.

“We lost ten animals,” Kurt gestures around. Blaine takes in his surroundings and he sees the empty cages. His eyes widen when the realisation hits him.

“How did this happen?” Blaine asks frantically.

“I don’t know!” Kurt answers, sounding equally frantic, “I came in around eight, since my class will visit the fur babies first, and this is what I found. I don’t know how long they’ve been out. Or how they got out in the first place.”

Blaine checks his watch and Kurt sees the realisation sink in. They need to find these animals fast, otherwise they will have to deal with a lot of upset and potentially crying pre-schoolers.

“Check every corner, now!” Blaine yells.

It doesn’t have to be said twice.

Both Kurt and Blaine sprint towards the corners, but to no avail. Kurt’s about to tear his hair out, which is saying something cause usually nothing would allow Kurt to mess up his hair.

Then he hears it.

“Shhhh!” he shushes Blaine.

“What?”

“Shhhhhh!”

It is dead silent and that’s when Kurt can hear it more clearly. It’s a squeaking noise. It’s the sound of a little hamster. Kurt and Blaine follow the sound.

“Let me check,” Blaine says and the next thing Kurt knows, Blaine’s on the floor. He’s trying to see if he can spot the hamster underneath the furniture.

Kurt looks at Blaine and he reminds himself that he’s at work.

“I think there is an animal there!”

“Toffee?”

“Toffee?” Blaine asks.

“The hamster is named Toffee,” Kurt says.

Blaine slowly gets up and Kurt holds out his hand to help him. Blaine takes it and once Blaine’s up, he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t seem to notice. Should Kurt comment on it?

“Who are we missing, apart from Toffee?” Blaine asks and Kurt reminds himself to stay focused.

“Uh…”

“Kurt?”

“Right!” Kurt snaps out of it and he gets out of Blaine’s grip. Kurt sees that Blaine quickly looks down to his hand, but he also doesn’t comment on it and Kurt turns away to check the cages.

Kurt quickly makes a list of all the missing animals and his frustration only grows. He knows that ten are missing, but now that he knows who are missing, it becomes more real. They’ve already found Toffee, but they need to find two baby rabbits, a baby ferret, a baby meerkat, one guinea pig, a chinchilla, a rat, a hedgehog and a mouse. Usually, Kurt is proud of this school’s boastful collection, but now he wishes that they weren’t known for this.

“Kurt, help!” he hears and when Kurt turns around, he sees that Blaine is stuck.

“What happened?”

“I tried to reach Toffee, to no avail! I tried to reach through this gap between the cabinet and the wall,” Blaine says, “Could you help me move this cabinet?”

“Oh Blaine,” Kurt laughs, “This cabinet has wheels!”

“… Oh.”

Kurt takes the brake of the wheels and Blaine uses his free hand to push the cabinet aside and Kurt has to stop himself from laughing. Blaine looks so bewildered.

“Well, Toffee is accounted for,” Kurt says as he reaches down to pick up Toffee, “Although I am afraid it’s not going to be as easy to find the others.”

Blaine checks his watch.

“What are we going to do?”

“Let me send a message to Rachel,” Kurt says, “She can welcome my class.”

Rachel isn’t a full-time teacher. She sometimes gives music classes to the kids, but Kurt happens to know that she doesn’t have a class this morning and she’s at school. She likes to get here early to prepare.

Kurt quickly sends her a message, explaining the situation.

Meanwhile, Blaine is listening attentively for more sounds. He’s following something.

“Kurt, I think I found something,” he whispers.

Kurt presses send and he hopes Rachel sees it in time, otherwise they’ll be in big trouble.

Blaine’s crouched down in front of a bookcase. The bookcase is filled with informative children’s books about all the animals in the classroom, including the one who is currently sleeping behind the bookcase.

It’s Waffle, the chinchilla.

“Waffle!” Kurt whispers excitedly.

“Did you all name them after food?”

“I didn’t name them,” Kurt answers, “Some kids named them and they aren’t all named after food. Most are, though.”

“What name would you give to your pet?”

Kurt stops and think. He doesn’t really know. He’s never thought about it, since his landlord doesn’t allow pets and even if they did, Kurt wouldn’t have the space.

“I don’t know. You?” he casts the question back.

“Mimi,” Blaine answers.

“Mimi,” Kurt repeats, “I like the sound of that.”

“Thanks, I’ll tell her.”

“You have a pet?”

Blaine nods happily.

“Yes, wanna see a photo of her?”

Kurt would love to, but just at that moment, Waffle chooses to wake up. Kurt and Blaine’s heads jerk back towards the bookcase. They can hear Waffle making noises. It seems like the chinchilla hasn’t moved yet, so now is their chance.

The bookcase doesn’t have wheels, though, so Kurt carefully stars taking books off the lowest shelf. He hopes that Waffle won’t be scared. Blaine is in position to grab Waffle.

It works and Blaine carefully puts Waffle back in the cage. Two down, eight to go.

“This is a nightmare,” Kurt groans out.

“At least we’re together,” Blaine laughs.

“Huh?”

“I mean, the two of us. Here. Two is better than one. We’re faster!” Blaine says quickly.

“Exactly,” Kurt says.

“So, uh, do you want to see a photo of Mimi?”

“Absolutely.”

Blaine whips out his phone and his background is a photo of Mimi wearing a rainbow bandana, so he doesn’t have to sift through photos. Mimi is a cute light brown cavalier king Charles spaniel. Kurt focuses on the bandana.

“Oh, yeah, she wore this for Pride.”

Kurt already heard through others that Blaine is gay, but this confirms it for him.

“Very stylish,” Kurt says back.

“How about this? Let’s have some fun!”

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“For every animal we find, I show you a Mimi photo.”

Kurt lets out a laugh. Blaine is adorable.

“Deal.”

The two of them continue to search the classroom and Kurt thinks he can hear some stomping coming from one corner. He moves the furniture so that he can get a better view.

“Oh!”

“What?” Blaine asks from the other side.

“You should see this for yourself.”

Blaine moves to stand next to Kurt and his eyes also widen. Then he looks amused.

“This is why they call it breeding like rabbits,” he says.

“Do we… interrupt them?” Kurt asks.

“Maybe we’ll come back to these later. At least we know where they are now.”

Kurt moves the furniture back, now in a way to prevent them from easily running away from that spot, and Kurt and Blaine continue their search.

They find Noodle the hedgehog in the open cupboard with all the food. Kurt carefully wraps him in a towel so that Kurt won’t get hurt. Blaine cleans up the bag of food that Noodle demolished.

Afterwards, Blaine shows Kurt a photo of Mimi wearing a raincoat.

Blaine then has the idea to use the leftover food to potentially lure an animal out of hiding. He places it on the ground and he and Kurt move behind the cages. Lo and behold, Crumpet the guinea pig crawls out of a box with toys.

Even though Blaine is the one who came up the plan, Kurt still feels like he’s being rewarded when Blaine shows him a photo of Mimi sleeping with her head tucked between her paws.

“It’s so dark in here,” Kurt says, “Maybe some additional light will help the search.”

Kurt then draws the curtains open and Nathaniel the rat jumps on him from the windowsill. Kurt shrieks in shock and Nathaniel jumps off him and runs away.

“Bad girl!”

Blaine runs after her and dives to the floor in order to prevent her from hiding in another tight spot.

“I got her!” Blaine yells, “I got- Ouch! She bit me!”

Luckily, instead of hiding in that tight spot, Nathaniel zooms across the classroom. Kurt tries to catch her. He feels a bit bad for her, because she is clearly stressed, so Kurt makes a mental note to tell the kids to give her an extra treat later.

“Nathaniel, please just work with us!”

“She’s named Nathaniel?”

“Yes! Again, kids named these animals!”

Eventually, both Kurt and Blaine push her towards a corner. Luckily, she doesn’t jump on Kurt again, or Blaine, so they manage to carefully pick her up. Blaine places her back into her cage and Kurt’s left behind to clean up the poops, because Nathaniel pooped in fear.

By the time everything is clean, the bunnies have also finished their business, so Kurt and Blaine put them back in their cages as well. Luckily, they were too tired to run away. Besides, Kurt suspects that they don’t mind being in the cage as long as they’re together.

“That calls for 3 Mimi photos!” Blaine says.

“We fucking need it,” Kurt says back.

“Language, Mr. Hummel!” Blaine laughs.

“The kids aren’t here yet. Let me have this.”

“You can have this instead,” Blaine holds out his phone to show him a photo of Mimi running in the grass. Then he swipes to one of Mimi chewing a toy, and then to one of Mimi with a squirrel.

“That’s Watson,” Blaine explains, “He lives in Central Park and he’s Mimi’s best friend.”

Kurt coos. Of course Mimi has made a friend in the park.

“Alright, three left,” Kurt says and he quickly checks his phone. Rachel has sent him a thumbs up emoji and Kurt lets out a sigh of relief. He’ll deal with the repercussions of all of this later, but first he and Blaine have three more animals left to catch.

“Where the hell could they be?” Blaine ponders out loud.

He has a point. Kurt feels like he’s scoured every nook and cranny of this classroom, but he is still missing something. The windows have been closed this entire time, and apart from the moment Blaine came in, the same goes for the door. They must be somewhere.

There are some more cabinets with closed doors. They never checked that, because how the hell would these animals get in there?

Still, it doesn’t hurt to look.

Kurt and Blaine go through all the cabinets and indeed, they find Cookie the ferret sleeping between some blankets.

“How did this even happen?” Kurt asks.

“I have no clue,” Blaine says, as he carefully lifts Cookie out of the cabinet.

“These blankets do seem more comfortable than the cages,” Kurt says.

Blaine puts Cookie safely away and then shows a video of Mimi. She’s singing along with Blaine, who is playing some simple piano melodies and Kurt’s heart swells at the sight of Blaine. And Mimi. Mimi, too, of course.

Luckily, watching the video has an added benefit. Bear the mouse reacts to the sound by peeping. Kurt and Blaine follow the sound and find Bear in another closed cabinet. It’s an old one, so Kurt can see that Bear ate part of the door to make an entrance.

“Bear the mouse?” Blaine asks.

“Again, kids!” Kurt says as he puts Bear in the cage, “Someone thought it was funny to name a small animal after a big one.”

“I wouldn’t call Mimi Hedgehog or something.”

“You’re no fun,” Kurt teases.

Mimi is indeed a small dog. The photo of her standing next to a big tree illustrates that.

“One more!” Blaine says cheerfully.

Kurt smiles. His eyes fall on the clock. School has started, but it’s alright. Rachel will keep his kids entertained and all things considered, they’re doing this fairly quickly.

Right?

Twenty minutes later, Kurt realises he was mistaken.

They cannot find Sebastian the meerkat.

Meanwhile, Rachel is trying to message him, asking for how long it’s going to take. She obviously has to be discreet, since she cannot be on her phone while teaching the kids, but it makes it all a bit more complicated, since they can’t just call.

Blaine’s bowtie is untied and he looks stressed. Kurt’s certain he also looks messy. They’ve uprooted so many pieces of furniture in these past twenty minutes and that is exhausting.

“Can I go on the record and say that I fucking hate Sebastian,” Blaine says.

“Who’s swearing now?” Kurt says with mock horror.

“You were right. It is necessary.”

“Where could he be, though?” Kurt sighs.

“Maybe we need to change our approach,” Blaine says.

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“What do you suggest?”

“Maybe we need to startle him, so that he comes out of hiding. We can make a loud noise.”

“Hm. That’s an idea.”

“There’s one downside, though.”

“Hm?”

“We will disturb the other animals, and I don’t know if I can handle that. Emotionally.”

Kurt looks around and he also doesn’t like the idea. Cookie is still sleeping peacefully and Nathaniel has finally calmed down.

“I don’t think I can handle it either, but what choice do we have?”

“Yeah…” Blaine nods solemnly.

“What noise do we make, though?” Kurt asks, “We also can’t make too much of a mess, because it might scare the kids.

“I have a whistle.”

“Why do you… carry a whistle?” Kurt asks.

“It’s to remember my marching band days,” Blaine says and he reaches for something in his pockets. It’s his key ring and there is indeed a small silver whistle attached to it.

“I didn’t know you marched!” Kurt exclaims.

“I mean, we haven’t really gotten the time to get to know each other yet,” Blaine points out.

It’s true. There’s a lot that’s left to discover and Kurt likes the idea of that. He wonders how Blaine will react when he finds out that Kurt was on the football team for a short while and that he was a cheerleader for a little bit longer.

“Maybe after all of this, we can hang out more,” Kurt suggests.

“You can come and meet my dog!” Blaine immediately says.

“I’d love to!” Kurt beams.

“How about this? If we find this meerkat, you can meet Mimi in the flesh!”

“How will that work? Is she here at the school?”

Blaine turns a bit red.

“Erm. Uh. I meant you could come over to my place after work.”

“Oh.”

“I- You don’t have to, if you have plans! Or whatever reason! You don’t have to justify a no if it’s a no-”

“Blaine, it isn’t a no!” Kurt quickly says.

“Ah,” Blaine looks relieved, “Good.”

“We better find this meerkat, then, if me meeting Mimi is the pay-off.”

Blaine nods and he blows his whistle. As expected, a lot of the animals react and Kurt feels like a terrible person, but it has the desired effect. Sebastian the meerkat shows up from God knows where and starts running around the classroom, jumping on furniture, throwing off things, and creating chaos in general. It doesn’t help that Kurt and Blaine are frantically chasing him.

“Fuck!” Blaine yells as he trips over something and goes down.

Since Kurt was running right behind him, he, in turn, trips over Blaine and lands right on him.

“Ouch!” Kurt says.

“At least you landed on me,” Blaine groans.

“Are you hurt?” Kurt asks.

“Nothing is wrong. I managed to catch myself. I just lost some of my dignity.”

Kurt rolls off Blaine. Blaine also rolls on his back, and to Kurt’s surprise, Blaine starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Kurt asks, aghast.

“Just… You know…” Blaine laughs some more.

“What?”

“This is the weirdest things that has happened here at work,” Blaine says through his laughter, “And we work at a pre-school, Kurt. Kids do crazy shit.”

“Like naming a mouse Bear,” Kurt says and he also starts to feel a bit giddy. This is ridiculous.

“Exactly!”

The two of them lie on the ground, just laughing. They can’t wait to tell the others in the staff room. Kurt turns his head to Blaine and he’s surprised to see Blaine staring back. Kurt wants to say something else, but he doesn’t know what. The laughter has been replaced by a comfortable silence.

Kurt wants to reach out. He’s no longer on top of Blaine, since that’s the appropriate response, but he realises he misses it. That’s weird.

But before Kurt can even make up his mind about it, he feels something on his legs.

He looks at his leg and he sees Sebastian the meerkat crawling around.

“Uh.”

“Stay still,” Blaine says and he slowly gets up.

Sebastian the meerkat walks up towards Kurt’s face. By now, Blaine’s crouching next to Kurt, waiting to grab this damned animal.

Unfortunately, the meerkat must have crazy reflexes, because the moment Blaine tries to reach, he jumps off Kurt and runs away. Blaine loses his balance and falls face down on Kurt.

“Fuck this meerkat!” Blaine yells against Kurt’s chest.

“This meerkat seems to have a secret agenda to have us fall on each other,” Kurt jokes, “Now you’ve landed on me.”

“There are worse things to land on, I guess,” Blaine says and he lies there.

“Uh. Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

“We should get up and find Sebastian.”

“Right!” Blaine says as he gets up. He holds out his hand to also help Kurt up.

Sebastian is once again nowhere to be seen, so Kurt and Blaine look around, but he’s gone. Or so it seems. Where the hell can a meerkat be?

Blaine takes out his whistle.

“I can do this again…” he trails off. He doesn’t want to and Kurt understands. It was a last resort and it scares the other animals.

Maybe they need to give up. Kurt can explain to the principal what happened and all ‘animal care’ lessons have to be put on hold.

Kurt sighs and he checks the other animals to see if they’re alright. He pets everyone, apart from Noodle, because the spikes would hurt him. He gives Nathaniel an extra treat. He chuckles when he sees that the rabbits are cosied up together. He says hi to Sebastian. He is happy to see that Cookie is still asleep. He-

Wait a second.

He backtracks.

He stops in front of Sebastian the meerkat’s cage.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kurt hears Blaine from behind. Kurt can understand the sentiment. Sebastian is in his cage. They couldn’t find him the second time around, since Sebastian straight up moved back on his own.

Kurt quickly closes the cage door.

“Well… At least all animals are accounted for.”

“Oh my God,” Blaine says.

“Does this still count for the Mimi photo requirement?” Kurt asks to lift the mood. It has its desired effect because Blaine loves the photos and the photo of him and Mimi on the beach does not disappoint.

And just like that, it’s over. Kurt quickly fixes his hair and Blaine also ties his bowtie. They have places to go. Kurt has a group of pre-schoolers to look after and Blaine also has to prepare some stuff for work. They’ve already lost valuable time, so they need to get going, but a part of Kurt doesn’t want to. As wacky as this was, it was also kind of fun.

Blaine coughs.

“Anyway. See you later? We can meet up in the staff room, or I can send you the address.”

“What?”

“For the Mimi meeting.”

“Oh, of course!”

Blaine opens the door. He waves and then walks out of the classroom. There’s nothing left for Kurt to do, so he leaves as well.

When he arrives at his own classroom, the relief on Rachel’s face is evident. They play it off in front of the kids and they don’t ask a lot of questions. It’s time to get to work.

Blaine’s apartment is very small, but Kurt likes it. The best part is that Mimi immediately runs towards them.

“Did you miss me?” Blaine coos as Mimi jumps against him and Kurt’s heart swells, “I missed you too!”

Kurt crouches down and Mimi tilts her head.

“This is Kurt, he’s a friend, and we had quite an adventure today,” Blaine tells her.

Kurt holds out his hand for Mimi to sniff it. He passes the test, because Mimi licks it.

“She likes you,” Blaine says.

“I like her too!” Kurt says and he’s beaming. Mimi is very playful and Kurt pets her. She revels in it. At one point, he scratches her head and her head tilts back and she squints her eyes. Kurt’s about to burst.

He looks up and he sees Blaine looking down with adoration written across his face. Kurt gets it. He’s only known Mimi for a few seconds and he’s already willing to go to war for her. Kurt’s certain he has the same smitten look on his face.

“You can carry her, if she wants you to,” Blaine says.

“How do I know?”

Blaine kneels down next to Kurt and Mimi.

“Just kneel in front of her and stretch your arms. If she’s willing, she’ll jump into your arms, so you must catch her.”

Kurt tries it and Mimi is eager to be loved, so she leaps into his arms.

“Look!” Kurt turns to Blaine, with Mimi pressed against his chest.

“I’ve never seen her warm up to someone this quickly,” Blaine sounds a bit amazed.

Blaine helps Kurt get up and Kurt carries Mimi to the living room. Blaine gives him a small tour of his place and he asks if Kurt wants coffee. Kurt can’t say no to that!

Kurt cuddles Mimi and Blaine talks from his kitchen. He tells Kurt how he adopted Mimi. A friend of his had a dog who unexpectedly got pregnant, so Blaine and his friends adopted all of the babies. They still have reunions with Mimi’s mom and siblings.

“I have pictures!”

“Please show them!”

Blaine returns with coffee and the two of them spend the remainder of their time together looking at pictures of adorable dogs. It starts with Mimi and Mimi’s family, but then Kurt learns that Blaine also volunteers at a shelter when he has the time and he has many pictures of animals there.

“That’s partially why I hoped to do my traineeship at our pre-school,” Blaine explains, “I like that this particular pre-school has the animals. I want to become a teacher because I love working with kids, so it’s a win-win.”

“Well, it’s important to learn kids from a young age how to care for other life.”

“Exactly!”

“My three-year-old niece once wanted to pet a friend’s rabbit, but she just started slamming that poor animal’s back. Luckily, my sister-in-law stopped her.”

“That sounds unfortunate.”

“How did you get into teaching?” Blaine asks.

Kurt lets out a sigh. It isn’t a big marvellous story. Teaching wasn’t his dream growing up, but that is fine. Sometimes you work hard on something, only to realise that it isn’t what you want after all. That’s what happened to Kurt. He was enrolled in a drama school, but he wasn’t feeling it. This only stressed him out, because he’d worked hard to be accepted into the school. He thought that acting on stage was his dream, so it really messed him up when he realised that it wasn’t true.

Still, he saw no way out. He was committed to finishing his degree. Then in his second year he had to do an internship and he did it at a school. He helped out in a drama department and it was as if the clouds in his head parted. He realised that he was still young and that he had his life ahead of him, so he made the big decision to quit drama school to learn to become a teacher.

During that time, he realised he preferred the pre-school age.

“And here I am,” Kurt wraps up his story.

“Here you are!” Blaine laughs and it’s a nice laugh.

“I’m glad I ended up at this school, even though our principal makes, uh, questionable decisions sometimes,” Kurt says, “But don’t tell principal Sylvester I said that!”

“My lips are sealed,” Blaine pretends to zip his mouth shut, but then he immediately says: “I am also glad I ended up there, even if I am just a trainee. It’s a great place, with amazing extracurriculars and other extra ‘classes’.”

Kurt hums in agreement.

“And, uh, I met you.”

Kurt looks up in surprise. Blaine is staring back, looking a bit nervous. Is he trying to flirt?

“I’m glad you joined our team too!” Kurt says, just to be safe, but then he adds: “I’m even glad that the two of us had our little adventure this morning.”

“Yes, although I will forever detest Sebastian.”

Kurt shrugs.

“I don’t. Because of him, we had more time together.”

Kurt really, really hopes he isn’t overstepping and that he understood Blaine correctly.

“Yeah, that is one way to look at it,” Blaine says back with a smile.

Kurt wants to say something more, but then his phone beeps. He knows what it is. He set an alarm for himself. He’s meeting up with some other people, but he so desperately wanted to meet Mimi and see Blaine, so he added this to his already busy day.

“Ah. I… have to go.”

Kurt puts his empty coffee cup down and he lets Mimi jump off his lap. He already misses her warmth.

“Okay.”

“But thanks for having me.”

“Always. Mimi loves you.”

“And I love her,” Kurt says and on a cue, Mimi barks.

Blaine walks Kurt to his front door and Kurt realises he really doesn’t want to leave, and that he wants to stay here with Blaine and Mimi, but he’s made these plans with the others weeks ago so he really cannot bail.

“Will I see you again?” Kurt asks as he puts on his coat.

Blaine has an amused look on his face.

“We will see each other tomorrow at work, remember?” he says.

Kurt lets out a small laugh. He knows that, but that’s not what he meant.

“Outside of work, dummy,” Kurt clarifies and Blaine turns red, either from embarrassment or something else.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“With Mimi?”

Kurt thinks about that. He loves Mimi and he’d love to see her again, but the idea of just going somewhere with Blaine sounds appealing as well. He tells Blaine that. Blaine turns even redder and Kurt’s pretty certain he must look the same.

“Are you, uh, asking me on a date?” Blaine asks.

“Yes,” Kurt says, “Interested?”

Blaine nods eagerly.

“Definitely. I’ve been meaning to get to you know me ever since I first saw you!”

“Ah well, as I said, maybe it’s a good thing that 10 animals escaped this morning,” Kurt says.

His phone beeps again. Shit, he really needs to go if he wants to catch his train.

“I’ll text you, okay?” Kurt asks.

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

And with that last eloquent word, he leaves Blaine’s apartment.

They have their first date the weekend after. It’s nothing glamorous. They have coffee at a local place and then pick up Mimi to go for a walk.

It’s absolutely perfect.

Blaine’s also picked up a picnic blanket and the three of them bask in the sun in the park. There’s a fenced off area for dogs, so Mimi can roam free and Kurt and Blaine take a lot of photos, because they can.

But all good things come to an end.

Blaine’s rolling up the picnic blanket and Kurt’s holding Mimi and scratching her behind her ear.

“See you on Monday, huh?” Kurt says.

“Yup.”

Kurt holds out Mimi so Blaine can take her. It’s time to go.

And Blaine does want to take her, because Kurt’s pretty sure he wouldn’t get away with kidnapping Mimi. Kurt moves closer so that he can put Mimi in his arms.

Once Mimi’s settled, she nestles herself in Blaine’s embrace and Kurt’s heart melts. He wishes he could just kiss Blaine.

And then Kurt realises that maybe he can.

He can’t help it. Blaine’s so close and Kurt leans in.

Blaine realises what Kurt’s aiming for and he doesn’t seem opposed to it, which is a win.

Kurt presses a kiss on Blaine’s lips as a goodbye. Blaine kisses back. Mimi lets out a bark, which makes Blaine laugh. It’s a bit awkward, because there is still some distance between them, since they don’t want to squash Mimi.

So Blaine puts Mimi down, much to her annoyance, but Kurt sees that as an invite to pull Blaine closer and he kisses him again.

That Monday, Kurt and Blaine see each other at the pre-school again. On their way to the staff lounge, they pass the classroom with animals.

“We should thanks them,” Blaine says, which makes Kurt adore him even more.

He’s right. They should.

Kurt opens the door so that the two of them can take a peek inside. For a split second, Kurt’s worried that some of them have gotten out again, but once he looks inside, he sees that all the animals are peacefully in their cages.

“Thanks guys,” Kurt whispers.

“Yeah, thanks! Even you, Sebastian!”

Kurt closes the door and the two walk to the staff room, hand-in-hand.

End notes: I hope you enjoyed. And that you love Mimi as much as I do. You can check my meme tag for memes about her, because I am me. And a shout out to @cerriddwenluna for naming Bear the mouse (kinda, she suggested naming a small animal after a big one) and @raenestee for naming Noodle the hedgehog and Nathaniel the rat.

#klaineb2schallenge2023 #holy fuck I wrote #2023 #glee #klaine #one shot

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mx-piggy · 7 months ago

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Okay I've finally watched the new Futurama... almost a week after it came out. In my defence, I had a pretty busy week, if you can class 'binge-watching several movies ready to go see stuff at the cinema and trying and failing to get some sleep before job interviews' as being busy. I digress. So, here's my review of The Temp. Spoilers ahead!!

This season has been consistently strong so far.

The Temp is an example of an episode that is all-around good; I'd rank it pretty highly amongst these revival episodes. The story is interesting, most of the jokes land, there's a lot of fun cameos and references for simpletons like myself to point at excitedly. After the devastating end of Quids Game, it was fun to see Futurama showing how great of a sci-fi comedy it is, with a fun, sci-fi, Twilight Zone-esque premise that is packed with strong comedy.

This episode definitely could have turned out more meanspirited than it did, but the crew constantly forgetting who Frank was never, for me anyway, veered into the cruelty of some of the Comedy Central episodes. I'd say that it stayed in the territory of funny, as opposed to doing a disservice to the characters like the Comedy Central era did.

The Temp actually reminded me a bit of Homer's Enemy, not just because Frank shares a name with Frank Grimes, and both episodes are named after each Frank. But, this episode feels a lot lighter than Homer's Enemy.

My only real issue with the episode is that the pacing feels a bit off at the end. I do appreciate its attempt at using a unique structure, and I would love to see further attempts from the revival to use a more a unique story structure without it being reserved for more emotionally-driven episodes like Quids Game. That said, I guess that it feels like, by the time Frank takes over Fry's identity in the main bit of the episode, it only lasts for a few minutes before they find the real Fry again. So, in total, there's only around seven or eight minutes where, as the episode synopsis describes, 'a mysterious temp worker takes over Fry's job, as well as his entire life', and we get around five minutes of that at the beginning, then three minutes in the middle of the episode. That and the six week timeskip leaves the episode feeling a bit rushed at the end, so it made it feel a bit underdeveloped. Again, it's just a minor criticism, and I liked the episode as it was; the structuring did make for an interesting story overall.

Part of me is tempted to write a Homer's Enemy-esque character study of Frank to satisfy my love of exploring characters whose lives kinda fucking suck lmao.

Something I really enjoyed about this episode is all the cameos and references it has. There's the Omicronians, Calculon, the Robot Mafia, Zoidberg's Uncle. And, I loved the incorporation of Amazonian Women in the Mood into this episode's story. It was such a fun, clever choice, and (unlike with Children of a Lesser Bog) it wasn't delivered in a clunky way. I also loved the Professor's 'I'm already in my pyjamas' (and how they subvert it).

And, this episode was so funny that I couldn't possibly list everything that made me laugh. Probably the biggest laugh was Bender's 'who the hell is he?'.

Overall, I probably liked The Temp a bit more than Quids Game and a lot more than The One Amigo, because I really enjoyed having an episode where we got to see the Planet Express crew together. Right now, I'd give this one a 7.5/10. I've used the word 'fun' far too much in this review (my apologies) but I really do want more fun episodes like this with interesting sci-fi premises and a mystery element to them, all the while being comedically strong.

As always, let me know what you thought about this episode!

#futurama #hulurama #futurama season 12 #episode: the temp

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hellfiremunsonn · 2 years ago

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Thank you for the tag lovely! @goblineddie

rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

I haven’t updated my AO3 in SO LONG so I’m just going to do fics I’ve posted on here instead hehe

1. Now You See Me - perv!eddie x “innocent reader”

“Hi Eddie!” Your singsong voice echoed through the empty garage, startling Eddie where he stood at one of the large toolboxes he had been organizing

2. Prove It - Eddie x Harrington! reader

When Eddie sees you for the first time you’re asleep. Not in a creepy way or anything; he was following Steve upstairs to his bedroom, listening to him mumble in about how his shower wasn’t working again and that Eddie was the only one he knew who could fix it.

3. Blood doesn’t scare me - Eddie x reader

You’ve been off all day. Small things irritating you more than they usually would and you’re desperately trying to keep your temper down, but the consistent ache of your uterus is hard to ignore.

4. Emetophobia - Steve x reader

It’s about eight thirty when the gang arrives at Steve’s for your monthly movie night. With everyone getting older, and relationships becoming more serious, your group of friends don’t get the chance to hang out together as often as you once did.

5. Pinkie Promise - singledad!Joseph x reader

You’ve been with Joseph long enough that his tiny two year old daughter Dodie, has a routine with you when you’re around. You don’t live with Joseph yet; although he’s mentioned it in passing a few times. You wanted to make sure that Dodie always comes first, and you don’t want to take up anymore of her and her daddy’s space than you already have.

6. Something There - Steve x pregnant!reader

“Steve I really don’t feel good” you said smoothing your sweaty hands down the bottom of your dress.

“It’s just nerves baby, it’ll be fine” he said with a reassuring smile, tucking a bit of your hair behind your ear before taking your hand and walking towards the front door of his bosses house.

7. Two Night Stand - Joseph x reader (loosely based off the film Two Night Stand)

It’s seven thirty in the morning when your eyes open to the dimly lit bedroom you fell asleep in. Stretching slightly you stiffened when your hand brushed a shoulder next to you. Just barely reminding you of the night before.

8. Forgotten How - Joseph x Reader

You’ve been begging Joseph to cum for an entire week. And through that entire week he hasn’t let you. You’ve been spanked, edged, and fucked, but not once did he let you cum.

9. On Your Knees - Steve x reader

Steve was never home before you, so you figured coming home early and skipping your last class would be a breeze but of course the universe had other plans.

10. Make Me - Eddie x reader

You had been in a mood all day. Nothing in particular had happen to cause you to have such an additive, but every little thing today seemed to rub you the wrong way.

NO PRESSURE TAGS: @quinnsbower @hard-candy-writing @wroteclassicaly @newlips @rustedhearts @luveline

#hellfiremunsonn #hellfiremunsonn tagged #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #Joseph Quinn #Stranger Things

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survey--s · 2 years ago

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503.

Have you ever seen a fox in person? Yes! Last week I did a Predator Experience at this local sanctuary and you could go into the enclosure with the red foxes and they ran right up to you! They were SO cute and inquisitive.

Would you say you have a quiet mind or do you have a lot of thoughts? I definitely have a lot of thoughts.

When did you last do something brave? I have no idea, I can’t really think of anything I do that’s particularly brave lol, I’m not much of a risk taker.

Have you ever seen a magician? Not like, a real professional one, but I had one at my birthday party when I was about eight.

What's something you remember from your childhood that you wish you could experience again? Skiing holidays in Canada.

Do you believe in karma? Why or why not? No. It’s a nice idea but I really don’t think the universe works that way lol.

Do you have a tiktok account? No.

Do you prefer the scent or color of lavender? I’m not a huge fan of either, really - I guess I prefer the scent overall, though. The colour of lavender just reminds me of old ladies ha.

Would you rather live in a castle or a cottage? A cottage.

What type of music do you listen to the least and why? Heavy metal - it just doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest.

When did you last visit a library? Probably when I was at university lol.

What's one of your favorite memories from staying up late? Having sleepovers/midnight feasts as a kid.

Have or would you ever wear a necklace with someone's initial on it? I have done in the past, yeah. They were all the rage when I was younger lol.

What last made you laugh out loud? The dog doing an impression of a meerkat because he was hungry.

Do you usually keep water by your bedside at night? No. If I drink at night or too close to bedtime, I need to pee constantly.

What's an interesting fact about yourself? I have triple nationality.

What did you last heat up in a microwave? I think I was just defrosting some ice-cream, or maybe melting some cheese for nachos.

Would you consider yourself lucky? Yeah, for sure. I was raised in safe, white middle-class town. I have my health, a successful business, a home, access to free healthcare, a marriage and pets. I also have enough money to do all my hobbies and we never have to worry about paying bills. We’re incredibly fortunate in so many ways.

What kind of pizza did you eat last? Margharita but with sundried tomatoes and pesto.

What kind of shampoo do you use? Tresseme.

How many blue objects are in the room you're in? I can see maybe 4-5 things from where I’m sitting - a litter tray, a carrier bag full of dog stuff, a hoody, a box with some soap inside and a painting.

Would you rather visit an art museum or an aquarium? An aquarium, for sure. I have no interest in art museums - I was dragged around so many as a child and always found them dull.

Do you prefer sweeter cereal over unsweetened? Yeah, but not too sweet.

If you could build a 5 artist/band lineup to your dream music festival.. which ones would you choose? The Beatles, Dashboard Confessional, Jack’s Mannequin, Ed Sheeran and Dolly Parton.

What's a habit you have broken or are currently trying to break? I no longer bite my nails.

Have you ever volunteered at an animal shelter? No.

Is there anything currently bothering you? No, not really.

How many stuffed animals do you have on your bed? Just the one. His name is Bear.

How much is too much to spend on a pair of shoes? I personally wouldn’t spend more than about £40.

What's the strangest thing that you've ever seen someone collect? I find grown adults collecting stuffed animals a bit strange, tbh, but each to their own. I wouldn’t ever tell someone to their face that I found it strange.

Have you recently been to a concert? Nope.

Who did you last have a phone conversation with? Mike.

What's the most dominant personality trait you have? I have no idea. Is introverted a personality trait?

Do you ever watch sports? Nah, I’m not really interested in sports tbh - sometimes I watch Wimbledon but that’s about it.

What's had the biggest impact on your day? Uh, I have no idea really, I haven’t done much lol. I had a lie in, did the housework, had breakfast in bed, had a shower and now I’m doing this and watching movies.

What's your least favorite cheese? Anything spicy.

What did you last have as a snack? Salt and vinegar crisps.

What's your favorite decoration in your place of residence? Uh, the fairy lights around the living room, I guess.

Would you rather read a book or watch a movie? That depends on my mood, and the book/movie.

What's your plans for the upcoming week? Work, a riding lesson and then it’s BH weekend so I get a few days off which is always nice.

When did you last feel rushed? The other day at work when I kind of took on too many dogs in one day and regretted it as I had to get my last dog to the groomer for 2pm and had to rush his walk with his brother first ha.

What was the last thing to scare you? I can’t remember.

Have you drank enough water today? I haven’t had any water today. I pretty much never drink it.

What's your top 3 favorite fruits? Watermelon, raspberries and pineapple.

What season do you think is the most comfortable? Autumn.

What lie do you say the most? Probably something to clients about their dogs behaviour LOL. I HATE having to bring up behavioural issues as everyone takes it as some kind of personal attack.

What website do you frequent often besides Bzoink? I’ve never been on Bzoink before.

Do you have anything due soon? Nope.

What did you last consume that you thought was nasty? I don’t generally eat food that I don’t like - that’s the advantage of being a grown up who’s in charge of their own food shop lol.

What's a song you feel describes your mood most right now? I have no idea, something relaxing probably.

#survey #surveys

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ariannasenvolant · 1 year ago

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Moving On

The story I started for my creative writing class, but never submitted bc it felt too much like my diary & I wanted to move on from giving this trauma attention lol: however, i fw the writing

She stares at me soullessly. Her red hair, parted into two pigtails, with blue ribbons on the ends. The bright smile stays fixed upon her face and she doesn't blink once. Sitting across the kitchen table, I stare back, a bitter taste in my mouth; what does she have to smile about?

Piercing into her unwavering eyes, I'm suddenly back there. Spiraling. Losing my screws. Turning gray, blue, red, green. I'm sobbing on the floor. Throwing a tantrum, no better than any three-year-old who won't get their way. I'm lighting the room with my grief. So bright, you dare not open your eyes. You feel the pain behind your lids and one peek of desperation, the light consumes you and my shit becomes your shit and even though you're the cause of my grief, I am the one feeling it and you don't want to be a part of it because you're. Done. with. Me.

I close my eyes, accepting the warmth of tears forming. When I open them again, she asks me, “why are you doing this again?” Before I answer, her face crumples before me and my sister is throwing her and her fixed smile in the trash, along with the crumbs of the Wendy's fries at the bottom of the bag.

“Why so long?” my sister asks.

I quickly blink away my tears and leave for my room without saying a word.

The memory of my past love replays in my head and the word freedom sits on the tip of my tongue and for some odd reason, a word as such empowers me. I just want to be free. Free mind.

It's been eight months since my ex and I broke up. Eight months, and if I think about it enough, the emotions arise as if it was just today we ended things. I've been in love before, and heartbreak always follows, but this particular ex has become a part of my blood. I love myself as though she is still loving me, as she was the one who taught me love.

Moving on is not an easy process. But I realized nothing in this life comes easy. Lustful encounters with strangers, the fleeting excitement and euphoria is all I have to compare to her new girlfriend. I wonder what she is doing now, as I am writing about her.

When we broke up, I went to the beach alone. The vastness of the ocean reminded me of how small I was and how small my misery was. A woman approached me and she told me I looked depressed. I confided in her and we stood by the edge of the water together looking out. The water kissed our feet and she told me “I need you to be strong.” Her words, words of a momentary stranger kept me afloat for a while.

Not too long after her, a man with a kid approached me. He asked for my number, but I told him I just got out of a relationship. He told me to move on. As though moving on is something easy like turning the page in a book. I laughed at the irony of an option making itself present in front of me, that there's “plenty fish in the sea” yet I was not hungry at all.

Journaling and listening to music were my only two forms of escape. I’d do each mindlessly. No thoughts in my head. It was either words on a paper keeping me company or Popcaan’s voice on “Silence” reminding me to keep “my heart clean, filled with love.” Despite the present feelings of jealousy, insecurity, and sadness deep within my being, my soul, detached from the situation, only wanted love to prevail. For the time being however, I was numb.

My third week single I went to a film festival and met a man. We talked for hours and by the next day we were having sex, and by the end of the week he asked me to be his girlfriend.

I said yes because I needed the distraction. I was his girlfriend for two months and rebounding was hard because I didn’t want to admit he was a rebound and that I was using him. I would compare his love to her love, and I was wrong to think that a man could love me how I, as a woman, would want to be loved. It was nice to have someone hold my feelings when I couldn’t hold them myself though. I knew I wasn’t shit when I met his best friend, and he engaged my mind more than my boyfriend did, and I didn’t mind flirting with him. Our relationships' end was inevitable but I'm beyond grateful for the light he offered in the darkest spaces of my life.

It's been eight months since breaking up and I'm now understanding how to be alone for the hundredth time. I'm taking an edible and practicing self-discipline. I'm not looking you up on your social medias and I stopped smoking for two months. Can you tell I'm proud of myself? It's also recording YouTube videos, deleting other social media, beefing with a past fling on Tumblr, taking my brother to swimming class, taking shrooms with my friends to then isolate myself, isolating myself and writing this. It's spending less time thinking about you and my idea of you in my head and more time thinking about my identity, Dr. Sebi, and how I'm going to travel. The next book I'm going to read and the homework I still have to do. It's finding pieces of you in pockets of my life and having a good cry before standing up and realizing the love is still there, yet I'm no longer there in that place.

The woman I met at the beach told me that true love never leaves you & I'm befriending time in hopes of a calm sea and warmer days.

#diary

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brehaaorgana · 2 years ago

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So it sounds like actually the issue isn't the tools to organize your time and events themselves, but rather that the issue is you need additional memory activation mechanisms in order to remember to use them.

Because if you have the ability to "do things the same way every time," then you have the capacity to organize a schedule of some kind, and to stick to it.

The problem you're talking about is:

A) I don't remember I have the thing to aid me

B) I don't remember what the aid is for

So what you need is actually a system that triggers you to remember you have the thing and/or to use it.

I don't have an ultimate solution. I have things that sometimes work for me and sometimes don't. I have things that are more likely to be effective for me.

I would forget my paper planner? Okay, so I start carrying it everywhere. It's in my purse/wallet or backpack. I put it on my desk every day. I need to remember literally anything? I write it down. When I was in college/grad school this just meant I would open up my planner the moment I sat in any class or during my office hours and look at it. Over and over again. Couldn't forget I had the thing if I literally always had it in my hand or in my bag.

For people who prefer digital, you start by putting it as a quick access app on your phone. Above anything else. Make it a default to click on it.

Not enough? Then you set up a buddy system for check ins. Or clock alarm reminders. If it's digital, add notifications.

On pubmed there's a bunch of studies about ADHD youth and adults and coping tools and directives for organization. A lot of them talk about the best way to start guided organization and various studies. Lots of programs find success in in-the-moment organization intervention and promoting memory activation. Meaning it might literally help to have someone willing to be with you and prompt your memory for these things as part of your process in making this functional. Sometimes even talking aloud to yourself or verbalizing what you are doing in the moment helps ime. "I need to write this down so that I remember later what it is I need to do. I will check it at home, when my alarm to check it goes off."

For me, it's not helpful to say "we need to remember to do this thing," and then have a whole long day and be expected to remember something verbal. I simply won't recall something said verbally in a list eight or nine hours later. I forget that I forget. If someone else is also "going to remember," and they don't, and I don't, it doesn't happen.

So now that that's happened and I fucked up and forgot and people are annoyed because I "never mean it," how do I alter it? How can I fix it? Hopefully I will remember next time to say aloud "wait let me make an alarm reminder in my phone." Wait, I need it written down. Wait, I need a prompt of some kind to ensure I see that writing. No, I won't just remember.

Our short term memory problems can't always be fixed, but we certainly can prompt our memory and activate our awareness of our tools so that they can be used.

You have to come up with another layer of aid tools for the memory gap. Also if it's "I can't remember what this is for," then you need to be specific the first go around. Meaning that the alarm for 6:00 pm says "check your schedule," and isn't simply unlabeled. The task doesn't just say "send email" or "write class paper," but is concrete:

"write a reply email to John Doe." And "use your paper outline to write the intro/thesis paragraphs for class paper draft."

Being vague is what makes you forget things later. Put in pre-reminders for events! Got a work project due at the end of the month? Put in a "next week, XYZ is due!" reminder for yourself somewhere. Set an alarm or pop up or digital notification or something. The issue is skipping the step of memory activation. I believe the book "you mean I'm not lazy stupid or crazy?" Also talks about this.

Edit: I found this little visual chart thing

And it's like...to me, you are saying because of forgetfulness/memory difficulties, you have trouble using aids for poor organization/planning. I would say I find that to be generally true of when I struggle also. So that suggests we have to work on managing the forgetfulness and memory thing first.

Ykwim? You're actually already doing that a little bit if you try to do the same things the same ways every day. You know that a routine means you need to prompt your memory less because it's established already, and you're less likely to simply forget. But you can also find other ways to prompt yourself outside of just fixed routine, or even for things that are routine, but infrequent enough they might sneak up on you (me with tax season).

One thing I will never understand as someone who is very ADHD is how many other people with ADHD are like "I could never use a planner, planners don't work for me. I hate when neurotypicals say "just get a planner!"*

* [planners can be notebooks, calendars, apps, to do lists, post-it notes, etc etc etc]

Like we have the "easily forget things" disorder and you don't wanna write things down??? Idk how you think you're going to cope with that but I, personally, must have a list of some kind. If it's not written out it doesn't exist to me. Why is there some community driven idea that we cannot use planners/to-do lists because of our ADHD? A planner is like, literally the most basic coping mechanism for the disorder.

I genuinely don't know what else you can do to remember a list of tasks other than write them down somehow. Are you guys just like, trying to convince your brains to be better at memory or something?

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incorrectbatfam · 2 years ago

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Could you please do some headcanons about Batmans cooking disasters over the years?

Age 5: Bruce puts tinfoil in the microwave. Alfred shakes his head and laughs

Age 6: He decorates a cookie so badly another kid cries until they throw up

Age 7: He tries to make a PB&J and the countertop is sticky for a week

Age 8: He tries to make Martha's chicken noodle soup but ends up crying on the kitchen floor surrounded by half-chopped vegetables

Age 9: He tries to impress a houseguest by recreating Thomas's mixology tricks (sans alcohol). There's still a stain on the ceiling to this day

Age 10: He makes green eggs. It's not on purpose. He's never even read the book

Age 11: He makes lava in the school cafeteria

Age 12: He tries to make cheese bread by drilling holes into a baguette and filling it with melted nacho cheese

Age 13: He melts a cutting board in the oven

Age 14: He folds a Pop Tart

Age 15: The chocolate-covered bananas he makes for the school bake sale come out looking very very wrong

Age 16: He's asked to drop a home economics class after mistaking refried beans for pumpkin puree in a pie

Age 17: He boils eggs in the carton

Age 18: He makes his entire freshman dorm evacuate after burning his ramen to ash

Age 19: He sculpts a severed hand out of meatloaf and is sent to the university psychologist

Age 20: He tries to bake a cake but doesn't have a cake pan, so he pours the batter right in the oven

Age 21: He tries Thomas's mixology tricks again, this time with alcohol. One of the tricks is flipping it over his head. He ends up losing part of his vision for 3 days

Age 22: He burns water. Harley Quinn is there. She still holds it over his head

Age 23: He packs his first patrol snack as Batman. It's a chocolate bar wrapped in a tortilla. The chocolate melts onto his gloves and he drops the tortilla down a sewer grate

Age 24: He makes an ice cream cookie sandwich to eat while he and Batgirl work on a case, but he's so engrossed in the work that he doesn't notice it melt until Babs points it out

Age 25: He enters the first annual Justice League cook-off and immediately gets banned from ever entering again

Age 26: He tries to comfort little Dickie Grayson by making fried cornbread from a book of Roma comfort recipes. It turns out about as well as you'd expect when you give Bruce Wayne hot oil. Bruce is genuinely bummed out, but Dick says it's the thought that counts

Age 27: Clark delivers a huge hunk of beef from the farm. Instead of waiting for Alfred to come back, Bruce and Dick try to break it down with a power saw

Age 28: Bruce and Dick's latkes are burned so badly they can play floor hockey with them

Age 29: He makes stuffed mushrooms. Badly. Like imagine the worst way you can fuck up a mushroom. It still won't compare to what Bruce did. And it's for a potluck with the West-Allens that Barry won't let him live down

Age 30: Bruce sees Dick struggling to make ravioli and he's like "Let me show you how it's done" before proceeding to make it infinitely worse

Age 31: Bruce sees a hungry Jason Todd and the first thing he does when they return to the manor is make a double-decker bread sandwich. That's bread with two more slices of bread in between

Age 32: Bruce packs Dick and Jason's lunchboxes when Alfred is out of town. They're supposed to include a salad. Instead, Dick gets a whole head of lettuce and Jason's is just a bottle of ranch

Age 33: He makes hot chocolate after patrol... but forgets the chocolate

Age 34: The Manor is too cold, so Bruce tries to warm it up by making Jason's favorite soup. His hands shake the whole time. Suddenly, he's eight years old again, sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by scraps reminding him of his failure

Age 35: Jack and Janet Drake are out of the country again, leaving young Timmy by himself. Bruce decides to bring some dinner over. It's baked perfectly, but it's full of things that shouldn't be anywhere near a casserole dish. They end up ordering takeout and watching old detective movies together

Age 36: Steph walks through how to make waffles. Bruce is standing there, watching closely and taking notes. They still come out looking radioactive

Age 37: Cass asks if they can get smoothies. Bruce says he can make them at home. She gives him a warning look but that's not enough to stop him. Cue Bruce forgetting to put the lid on the blender

Age 38: Jason's first night back at home, Bruce tries to make that soup. It shoots out like a geyser and hits the lights. He's panicking until he hears Jason laugh, and then the soup doesn't matter

Age 39: Damian screws up hummus and he desperately tries to hide it so people won't see him as inadequate at something so basic. Instead of getting upset, Bruce assures him it's okay and offers to fix it. (He doesn't fix it, he just makes it worse)

Age 40: Bruce's birthday happens while he's fake-dead and away from home. He grabs a convenience store cupcake and sticks a single candle on it. Then he closes his eyes, pretends his family is around him, and makes a wish. (The candle droops and sets the hotel sheets on fire)

Age 41: Back at the Manor, he attempts to make lemonade on a particularly hot day. Selina offers to help, but Bruce declines, saying, "How hard can it be?" (Spoiler alert: it's not supposed to be full of seeds)

Age 42: Kate shows him a video of Canadians pouring maple syrup into the snow to make candy, so he gets her to boil the syrup so they can do it together. The problem comes when they can't control the pour and end up with a glob the size of Damian

Age 43: As part of a school project, Bruce and Duke try to deduce the Coca-Cola secret formula. Duke's teacher takes a point off because at the beginning he told her he'd taste the results, but there's no way he's doing that now

Age 44: The family gets together to make a full English breakfast Alfred's birthday. Each person takes a part—Dick has eggs, Jason has the grilled tomatoes, Tim has mushrooms, Duke has the bacon, Steph and Cass are tag-teaming the sausages, Damian just has to open a can of beans, and Bruce needs to put bread in the toaster. It goes South immediately when Damian reaches for his katana instead of the can opener

Age 45: Bruce puts tinfoil in the microwave. Alfred shakes his head and laughs

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cosmiclove-heavenstruck · 3 years ago

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Dance Lessons | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Wordcount: 12200 words (Yes, really. Do you ever just start to write a little oneshot and then it turns out as a fic with over 10000 words?)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, sexual tension but no smut, fluff, slight angst, slow burn i guess

Summary: Harry asks you to teach him how to dance for the upcoming Spring Ball.

a/n: Set in Harry’s sixth year. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. (The beginning is inspired by this oneshot)

Not many could say that they had faced Voldemort more than once and had survived, but Harry Potter was one of the few lucky ones that had gotten away every time. And if that wasn’t enough, Harry had defeated horrifying creatures, had broken into the Ministry and had saved the wizarding world several times – more or less accidentally, but hey. He had dealt with Umbridge and fought Death Eaters.

To the world, he was a hero, he was the Boy Who Lived.

So yes, his record of fighting the evil was quite impressive for a sixteen-year-old. But there was one thing he knew he would never impress anyone with and that were his dance skills.

Because Harry Potter couldn’t dance for shit.

Everyone who had watched his poor attempt at a waltz at the Yule Ball knew it had been an embarrassing disaster, and a blessing when he had stopped – merely for Parvati Patil’s feet.

Everyone who had watched knew that Harry Potter had never before set foot on a dancefloor. And you had watched. You had watched with great interest because secretly, you had wished for him to ask you to the ball. But when there had been only two weeks left and Dean Thomas had asked you after Transfiguration class, you had said yes.

There you were, sitting with Dean beside Seamus and Lavender as well as Ron and his date Padma, your eyes glued to the raven-haired boy getting terribly out of step. You watched, of course, under the pretence that you found it disgracefully hilarious.

Harry had never thought about asking you to the Yule Ball, if he was quite honest with himself. He had been after Cho, and he waited way too long to ask her, so she was already going with Cedric. And you had a date with Dean.

As good as Harry was with fighting the dark and the evil, as bad was he with social interactions. He had no problem producing a Patronus, but he was absolutely useless when it came to talking to girls.

You were the opposite.

Yes, the boggart may had made you faint in front of your whole class, but on the other hand, talking seemed like the easiest task in the world. Whether it was a chat with a teacher or speaking to strangers, though you did not thrive off of that.

There was one other thing that made you stand out to the other girls (and boys) in your year: You knew how to dance, from a simple disco fox to a more complicated waltz.

So, when Professor Slughorn announced a Spring ball for the students in sixth and seventh year, Harry knew you were his only chance if he did not want to make a fool out of himself again. He asked you (after a whole week of practicing in front of the mirror), with heated cheeks and a fast-beating heart, if you could teach him how to dance.

You felt a bit taken by surprise by this request, but agreed, nonetheless.

Friday evenings, eight to nine o’clock, were now reserved for your weekly dance lessons.

Looking at Harry’s history, it should be no big deal to dance with a girl when you had already come across the most dangerous things existing in the wizarding world. He should not be nervous; what was the girl teaching you how to dance against gigantic spiders who saw you as their dessert?

Well, everything.

The thing was, Harry could prepare spells and charms, he knew what he had to do when he was faced with a Dementor or a Boggart. His mind, however, went completely blank when it came to you, like his nerves were on fire. To say he was nervous was an underestimation.

Harry ran his hand through the mess of black locks in a rather useless attempt to flatten them. They jumped back up immediately as he let go, pointing in every direction but the one he wanted them to. Stupid genes.

Sometimes he wished he had inherited his mother’s hair. It would have been fun to be mistaken as a Weasley and he could pretend he and Ron were actually brothers.

To keep his hands busy, Harry smoothened the plaid shirt he had thrown on before darting another glance at the clock over the door of the abandoned classroom on the fifth floor. 8:01 o’clock.

His fingers drummed against the wooden desk he was leaning on to release his excited tension, which only worked until the door opened, and he jumped up into a straight position.

You stepped inside, a vinyl clammed under your arm and an apologizing smile on your lips.

“Sorry I’m late, Snape held me off,” You said, placing your bag on the table Harry had leaned on previously.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. Uh, are you alright?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah. I mean Snape just almost failed my assignment, but I found a new song to dance to, and I’m pretty sure you’ll like it,” You said as you rushed over to the old vinyl player in the corner and unwrapped the black record.

Harry followed your every movement. You could feel his eyes on you and bit down on your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

“It’s a bit slower than the other one, so it will be easier for you to follow,” You added and pulled the vinyl out, stroking a streak of Y/H/C hair behind your ear, your back still facing him.

When the record was placed correctly into the player, you turned back around and led Harry by the hand to the middle of the classroom. This simple touch alone made Harry’s head spin, and it did not help when you placed his hand onto your waist.

“Are you ready?” You asked and he nodded. “Good, follow my lead.”

There was nothing but admirable beauty, the way you moved to the soft piano music filling the room, Harry thought, and he hated himself for not realising sooner. You were like a sunset, and he was afraid to look right at you because what if you saw all the feelings swelling in his heart that dared to overspill at any moment.

You had been right, he adored the music you had brought with you, but he adored you even more.

You thought he looked at his feet because he was afraid to mess up the steps.

“Hey,” You said softly, taking the hand from his shoulder to lift his chin. “Eyes up.”

“Yes. Right. Sorry.”

A sheepish smile spread over his face and your heart beat hectically against your rip cage as his emerald green eyes met yours.

It took Harry a great deal of strength to not break out of the dance routine he had so intensely studied and kiss you. But your hand slipped away from under his chin back to his shoulder and the moment was lost, like so many others.

Staying professional was not so simple for you either, as much as you liked to deny it. You liked Harry, more than friends should like each other, but who could blame you? Harry was very handsome, with his messy hair and those green eyes, he was sweet and caring, and he was dancing with you in an abandoned classroom, his hand on your waist.

Looking at it from this angle, there seemed to be no reason as to why you were so careful to deny your feelings.

Well, there was one problem: You thought he wanted to ask Cho to the ball to make up for the Yule Ball.

Harry was pretty oblivious when it came to love. Neither had he thought about you as more than friends before sixth year, nor had he realised that the feelings he had felt for Cho two years ago were similar to the ones he had for you now, though they were much more intense.

The worst part was that you two had been friends for three year and since then, you had spent a week of every summer holiday at the Burrow. Harry knew you; he knew that you liked his crappy jokes and his sarcastic comments, but never before had his stomach tingled when you laughed at them. Never before had there been goose bumps all over his skin when you hugged him. And to hell, never before had he acknowledged how goddamn beautiful you were.

“You’re getting really good.” You ripped him out of his thoughts.

“Oh. Really?” He asked.

It would be brilliant if he could dance without thinking about it all the time, fearing he could step on your feet.

“Yes, really,” You replied, grinning.

“Well, I- I suppose I have a good teacher.”

The piano music faded out and you stopped in the middle of the room, slipping your hand out of his. It was a good excuse to turn around and start the vinyl again, so you did not have to answer anything.

Harry stood there for a second, gulping and scratching his neck. He should not have said that.

What he had said flattered you, but it was only a knife dressed like compliment, stroking over your heart to stab you right after. All of this was amicable, temporary, fickle. All of this was for Cho.

You sat the needle back on the record.

“What’s it called? The song, I mean,” Harry asked quietly.

“‘Il Reste du Temps’. The rest of time.” You walked back up to him and took his hand, leading you two into the dance. With his hand on your lower back, he pulled you a bit closer than last time.

“So, there are only two weeks left. You have asked Cho by now, I suppose?” You asked to remind your thoughts of reality.

Harry narrowed his eyebrows, not sure how you had come to the conclusion he still liked Cho. She was great, for sure, but she wasn’t you.

“Oh. Uh, not really, no,” He answered. Your heart jumped.

“Well, you should hurry up. You don’t wanna wait until last minute like last time.”

“I- yeah, I mean, I don’t- I don’t want to go with Cho.”

You stepped forward even though you were supposed to draw back and stomp on his left foot. His hand around yours clenched for a second at the sudden pain.

“Shit. Sorry.” You quickly brought you two back into the right footstep order. “You’re not asking Cho?”

“No. I wanna- No.” Harry stopped himself from talking any further. He couldn’t ask you. He just couldn’t.

“Well, who do you wanna ask?” You said.

Maybe it was Ginny. She was gorgeous, phenomenal at Quidditch and in the Slugclub. Nothing you could say about yourself.

Harry opened his mouth and stammered. “It’s, uh, you know…some…girl.”

Oh yes, great save, Harry, congratulations, He thought to himself, couldn’t be any vaguer, could you? For Merlin’s sake, look at her, she is completely confused.

You were pretty even when you were confused, with your eyebrows drawn together over your eyes curiously inspecting him – Stop.

“Ah, okay. The lucky girl’s a secret,” You said, laughing lightly. It was definitely Ginny.

“No, I mean, she’s –”

“It’s not my concern who you’ll ask, Harry,” You interrupted to calm him down. “As long as you ask her.”

Harry didn’t know what to reply to that. You really saw them just as friends.

The two of you danced for a while and Harry tried to memorise every golden speck in your dark eyes, every freckle, every curve, just so he could imagine you instead of the person he would dance with in a fortnight. If he would even go. Because what point was there to go to a ball if the one person he wanted to dance with more than anything else would not be there with him?

You tried to enjoy the closeness while it lasted. But the voices crowding your mind all shouted that he would never see you the way you saw him. That his face would never be so close ever again. That his hands would never rest on your body the way they did now, and never with any other intention than for the sake of learning how to dance, learning how to impress Ginny or whoever he would ask.

“Have you – have you asked anyone yet? To go to the ball with you?” Harry disrupted your thoughts and pulled you back into reality.

“No. I don’t even know if I’ll go,” You said and Harry’s heart dropped. “I mean, I’ll come to watch you dance, that’s for sure.”

Now his heart was way up in his throat, beating like hell. He swallowed and forced himself to answer. “No pressure then.”

You grinned at his comment. “Oh please, you can dance better than most of sixth and seventh year combined by now. You remember the spin I showed you last time?”

Harry nodded. He lifted his left arm and put a little pressure on your waist. You performed a small twirl before he caught you again, hand on your side. He smiled proudly.

“Really good.” The music stopped and you looked at the clock on the wall behind Harry. 8:57 o’clock. “I guess that’s it for today.”

Harry smiled sadly but you thought it was just your mind, playing you a trick. You packed the record back into the cover while Harry shouldered his back bag, handing yours to you. Then he held the door open for you, and you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

Harry had already pulled out the Marauders Map to check if the way back to the Gryffindor tower was clear. You weren’t technically allowed out after nine p.m. because of the new safety measurements, but it was part of the charm.

“Filch’s down on the first floor and Snape’s in his office,” Harry informed you.

“Okay.” You nodded.

Quietly and side by side, you two walked back to the Gryffindor tower. There was plenty of silence to break, plenty of time to ask you to the ball, Harry thought. But he was too afraid.

–

“It’s not that easy, alright?”

“Bloody hell, you spent every Friday evening with her! Half of our year thinks you’re secretly doing it in that classroom.”

For that, Ron earned a jab into his ribs. The two made their way through the masses of students down the last staircase to the Great Hall.

“Ow! It’s not my fault, you can’t open your mouth.”

“Oh, I can’t open my mouth? Have you asked Hermione yet?”

Harry was sure this would shut Ron up, but he was wrong.

“I asked her six weeks ago and she said yes, mate.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, stunned. “Wot?”

“Merlin, do you ever listen to me?”

Ron shook his head, walking to breakfast. Harry needed a few seconds before he could move again, then he caught up with his best friend. He was about to say something back when Ron’s sister Ginny interrupted them, wrapping her arms around both of Harry and Ron’s shoulders.

“Morning boys,” She greeted them enthusiastically.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was covered in a pale blue and yellow, the upcoming sun shining golden through the high windows.

“So.” Hermione poured both of you a glass of pumpkin juice. “How was it yesterday?”

“Mhm?” You looked up from your toast.

She sighed as if her question was rather obvious. “The dance lesson with Harry?”

“Oh.” You shrugged. “Normal.”

“So, nothing happened? Nothing you want to tell me?” She asked further.

You eyed her suspiciously, but she kept an innocent face expression.

“It’s not like we could do much besides dancing.”

Lavender beside you snickered and Parvati snorted into her coffee.

“Believe me, there is a lot you could do in that hour besides dancing,” Parvati said.

“God, no! Have you met Harry?” Lavender said bemusedly. “Like he's the type to have secret sex.”

“Still waters run deep,” Parvati replied, a smug grin on her lips. “Don't they, Y/N?”

Hermione crunched her nose at the suggestive tone as you narrowed your eyes at the two girls, shaking your head.

“Yes, keep making fun of my non-existing love life.”

You grabbed the strawberry marmalade, determined to ignore any topic concerning Harry. While you had lain awake last night, you had decided to bury your feelings for him all together and get over it. This would be easier once your dance lessons came to an end and the ball was done.

“Well, it does exist for everyone else,” Lavender interposed.

“And it would exist for you, too, if you would finally do something,” Hermione said, leaning forward.

“What?” You asked. “I mean, yeah, I like him, but he is definitely not into me like that. And I can't force him to be.”

Hermione groaned, and Parvati rummaged through her bag, pulling out a piece of parchment and making some space on the table.

“Okay, let’s see,” She began, “He asked you to teach him to dance. Big step for him, you know that. He always stares at you during Quidditch instead of the Snitch. Wood would've killed him by now. He always sits beside you. He definitely smelled you in Amortentia, regarding how he looked at you during that class. And since then, he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He –”

“He does not,” You said, grabbing her wrist to stop her from writing any further.

“Yeah, he does,” Lavender argued. “Look!”

You turned to spot Harry alongside Ron and his sister Ginny coming through the doorway, and for one second, your eyes met. Then Ginny said something, and Harry looked at her, laughing.

You sighed and stuffed the rest of your toast down your throat to get rid of the sour feeling twirling and burning in your stomach.

“Well, Ginny’s pretty funny,” Hermione tried.

“Yeah, she’s funny and pretty and she likes everything he likes.”

“None of that matters because he fell in love with you and not Ginny,” Lavender said, smiling brightly.

“He did not – not what you said.”

“He did! The list doesn’t lie.”

Parvati waved the parchment through the air, and you snatched it out of her hand, drowning it in the pumpkin juice before anyone could read it. Hermione curled her lip as she watched the paper soaking up the orange liquid, sinking to the ground of the jug.

In the same moment, Harry, Ron and Ginny reached your table, and to your surprise, Harry really did sit down beside you, your knees touching shortly while he climbed over the bench. The sudden touch sent sparks through your body and filled you with a comfortable warm which was quickly extinguished by Ginny sitting down next to Harry.

You didn’t want to be jealous.

There was no need to compare yourself to Ginny, you were two completely different people. But hearing her talk about Quidditch to the guys and seeing her flicking her beautiful hair over her slim shoulder made it so obvious how perfect for Harry she was. You couldn’t compete with that, in fact, you didn’t even want to compete with that.

No, you would get over your feelings and maybe ask someone else to spend the next Hogsmeade weekend with you. Those evenings with Harry, those moments too good to be true would stay somewhere deep down in your heart, locked away from the real world.

The weekend left as fast as it had come, and soon enough Harry and you both found yourselves in your day-to-day school life, studying for an upcoming Charms test and writing essays for Snape and McGonagall.

There wasn’t much time to think about each other, yet Harry managed to glance up from his homework a few times to stare at you opposite from him, snuggled into an armchair while flicking through a book. He noticed that you captured your tongue between your lips or mouthed single words to yourself whenever you were so deeply sunken into thoughts that you forgot the many people around you.

The latter found Harry very impressive because he was never that relaxed if more than three people were with him. Your lips on the other hand found Harry... well, much more interesting than his homework was the least to say.

Every day he woke up thinking that today, he would ask you. But whenever he came close to ask, he changed the topic or was distracted by friends and classmates.

Even Ron had given up with his jokes by now, which was a very bad sign and a nonverbal way to say, Man, you fucked up.

–

You had decided to make the last of your dance lessons a memorable one. An hour of pretending, of being close to someone you know you would never be this close to ever again.

Therefore, you had asked your older sister to send some of your favourite records from home, which you were now sorting through in the abandoned classroom. It was ten minutes to eight and you were sipping a butterbeer to cool your nerves. All those times before you had been as calm as ever, but today you were on the edge.

The door opened and you turned to find Harry in the doorway, hair messy as ever.

“Hi,” He said and the corners of his lips jumped up into a lopsided smile.

“Hey. You’re early.”

“Could say the same about you.”

“Yeah, you could,” You mumbled, pushing the needle of the record player down onto the vinyl.

Classic music filled the air and you walked over to Harry to lead him to the middle of the room after he had dropped his back bag to the floor. With the high heels on your feet, you were almost eye to eye, your nose at the height of his lips.

For a wonder, he did not need your instruction to place his hand on your waist and pulled you much closer than usual.

Harry felt his heart beating in his throat. Being this close to you was galvanic, every nerve was burning, and then again, for the first time in two months, he was able to close his eyes and let himself sink in, to melt with the music, to feel the tact pulsating through his whole body. It was what you had tried to teach him all along.

And yet his tongue was tied. He just had to ask. Would you like to go to the ball with me? One simple question. You had told him yourself to not wait until last-minute to ask, and now with every minute, every hour, every day passing it felt more ridiculous. He had known that he wanted to ask you and only you to the ball, but every time he thought about forming the question, his mouth failed him.

Your eyes lay calmly on him, tapping his shoulder in time to the music while secretly trying to remember every little detail of his face: His prominent eyebrows curved over his emerald green eyes, his flushed cheeks and the dimples created by his light smile lying on his lips.

Harry had become, for lack of a better word, quite fantastic at slow dancing. There was confidence in the way he moved through the room and held onto you, mingled with a certain elegance and appreciation of the art he was participating in. A good teacher, he had called you. Well, regarding slow dances, yes.

But there was one other thing he had yet to learn.

“You’re really good, you know that?” You said, and his smile brightened.

“Yeah? Or are you just saying that because it’s my last lesson?” He asked.

“No, I mean it. You know, I wrote my sister last week and she send some of my vinyl discs from home,” You told him as the music slowly faded out and let your hand slip from his shoulder and hand to turn to the record player, not noticing how his fingers lingered a moment longer on your waist.

Harry watched how you sorted through the discs, not able to make use of their names in any way. The only record he had come across before those dance lessons had been one by a singer named Bonnie Tyler, who Aunt Petunia secretly listened to on repeat during the summer when Uncle Vernon went grocery shopping or mowed the lawn.

Harry wasn’t a big fan, which was pretty much the only thing he had in common with his cousin Dudley.

“Here. To dancing and a nice Spring ball.” Harry snapped out of his thoughts. You held out a bottle of butterbeer, which he took and snapped its bottle top off, regarding for a moment to say something along the lines like To you, for teaching me how to dance or To us, but that seemed a bit too much.

Therefore, he went with a simple “Cheers” and touched glasses with you.

While he took a big sip in hopes it would make him braver, you decided on a turquoise and pink coloured disc with a man dancing on the front, the words Footloose in ornate writing covering its front. He couldn’t help but notice the grin you tried to hide, as if knowing something he didn’t.

“What’s that?” He asked, leaning against the table beside you and putting his beer aside.

“That’s what the cool kids dance to.”

You placed the needle onto the record. Drums began to play a fast rhythm, mixed with an electric guitar, and you slipped off your high heels, now only in tights. Harry watched with fearful curiosity how you snapped your fingers in time, bopping your head with closed eyes to internalise the music.

Every movement of your feet, your hips, your shoulders was nonchalant, effortless and... well, simply cool.

“Come on!” You said loudly over the music, waving Harry closer.

“No, no, that’s –” He shook his head, heat flushing his cheeks, and crossed his arms.

“Yes!”

You danced up to him, grabbing him by his hands and pulling him to the middle of the room.

Harry had improvised a lot when it came to fighting evil. His whole trip to the ministry had been decided because of his gut instinct, because he had thought he knew what he was doing. Well, that was probably a bar example. He had made everything worse back then.

But everything he had done to fight off the hundreds of Dementors at the Great Lake, or the creatures in the maze two years ago, or Voldemort at the graveyard, every single thing had been purely and spontaneously improvised.

Now, he wasn’t sure if he was that good at improvising dance moves, but you had other plans.

“Come on, don’t you trust me?” You said as his fingers clenched around your hands, unable to let go, like a man clinging onto a life buoy in the middle of the ocean.

And Harry wanted to say back that of course he trusted you, more than he probably knew himself, but all that came out was a “Yeah” which sounded more like a laugh than an actual word because of the grin stretched across his lips.

“Just dance the way you dance when no one’s watching,” You said.

“I don’t – I don’t do that,” He admitted, feeling how his cheeks burned under the unbelieving look coming from you.

“Okay, then close your eyes and just – just do it. Here, I’ll do it, too!”

You closed your eyes, smiling brightly, and slipped your fingers out of his, twirling on the spot like you usually only did behind closed doors, and clapping your hands in time with the music.

Harry couldn’t rip his gaze off of you, the way your body moved without any shame, your ridiculous head banging while acting like you play the guitar – air guitar, that’s what it was called, he had seen Dudley and his friends doing it, but never with so much... passion?

You were quite passionate about dancing, much more passionate than you were about school or Quidditch, and it fascinated him. How you could let loose, could forget what everyone thought of you, and he wanted to feel it too, wanted to not think that everyone was judging him.

So, Harry closed his eyes, concentrated on the beat of the music and your hands clapping, and then he did what you had been doing: Moving his arms, his legs, his feet, all a bit offbeat, all much less cool than what you did, but it had the effect he had wished for.

He forgot. Forgot about everything going on, everything in the past, everything that would come. It was like the music had deleted Voldemort from his mind. There was only his body and those absurdly freeing dance moves he would have been ashamed off any other time.

But not with you.

“Hey, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, look at you!” You shouted over the music, and Harry ripped his eyes open in the same moment as you grab his hands again. He slowed his legs.

“You said you wouldn’t look,” He said breathlessly, very aware of his fast-beating heart.

But if he was honest, he did not mind that you had seen him. If he could choose any of his friends to watch him dance like this, it would definitely be you.

“I had to, I’m sorry!” You laughed, and the song came to an end. “Oh, I have something even better, you’ll like that!”

You hit him friendly in the chest and rushed over to your pile of vinyl discs, wrapping the Footloose back up and pulling out another one from a white and pink packaging with two people on the front.

Harry would’ve never believed that dance lessons would be more exhausting than Quidditch training, but he had soon been disabused. He took a huge sip from his bottle of butterbeer and watched how you placed the needle on the disc before reaching for your own bottle.

“‘You broke my heart – ‘cause I couldn't dance – you didn’t even want me around!’” You were mouthing along the words the singer was speaking in an overdramatic seriousness, holding your bottle like a microphone. Harry was grinning at you, afraid of what would come next. “‘And now I'm back – to let you know – I can really shake 'em down!’”

The music dropped in, and you shook your hips, hands on your black skirt.

“Now don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Dirty Dancing,” You dared as Harry stayed at his spot, and he shrugged helplessly.

You shook your head at him with a smile on your lips, placed your bottle away and pulled him away from the table until you two were almost as close as in your usual dance lessons.

“Okay, like this.” You grabbed him gently by the waist and pushed him a bit down so his legs were slightly bent. Harry’s heart jumped at the unexpected touch. “Good, yeah, look at what I’m doing.”

Your grip became firmer, circularly moving his hips like you did. His eyes jumped up between your face and your waist, and he tried his best to copy your movements while calming his heart speed down.

“Yes, good! Now, your upper body, look at me – yeah! Good, eyes up,” You reminded him, and he glanced at your face, his cheeks flushed.

“Is that okay?” You asked, stepping closer so your hips almost touch, and he nodded. You took his hand, placed it on your lower back, and wrapped your own arms around his neck, just like Johnny and Baby had done it in the beginning of Dirty Dancing.

“That’s good!” You encouraged him, and he grinned at you, his face bright red. “You know, in the movie, they have another dance with a lift.”

“You’re not gonna make me do that, are you?” He asked.

You shook your head, laughing. “No, definitely not without training and a mattress,” You said, slowing your hip movements. “Maybe after the ball. I mean –”

The words had just slipped out of your mouth without thinking about them before. But Harry smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of his forehead, while I’ve Had The Time Of My Life began to play, and Bill Medley’s voice filled the room.

Harry felt like he was on fire. If you wanted to continue the dance lessons next year it must be because you liked him. In some way, you liked him, and it was very hard for him to concentrate during this dance. And training on a mattress would not make that easier – Stop it, stop it, just answer!

“Yeah, okay,” He said, and your heart jumped up in excitement. You smiled back at him and grabbed his free hand with yours, leading you back into a simple dance routine fitting the music. Harry followed almost effortlessly, only shortly glancing at his feet.

“I’ll have to demand payment if we keep doing this.”

“What kind of payment?”

His hand on your lower back pushed you a bit closer, you were almost chest to chest. Was he... flirting with you?

Whatever it was, it made you speechless, and in a moment of incautiousness, your eyes fell down to his lips. You held your breath for a second as you looked back up into his eyes, slowing your movements. He returned your gaze, but just as you were about to gather all your courage, his eyes shifted to the door of the classroom, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

“What?” You asked, turning around.

“Filch,” He said and not far down the hall, you heard the meowing of Mrs. Norris.

Panic flared up inside of you as you saw the clock on the wall: Half past nine.

“Argh, fuck.”

You let go off him and rushed over to the table with the record play on top, shoving your vinyl discs into your schoolbag and collecting your high heels in a hurry.

Outside in the hallway, the scratchy voice of Filch mixed with the clicking of his cat’s claws on the stone tiles. Harry had grabbed his bag from the floor and fished out his Invisibility Cloak. As you turned around, he had reached you and enveloped you two in the cloak, standing almost as close to you as a few seconds ago.

“Have you found someone, Mrs. Norris?” Filch’s voice echoed through the hallway. “Is someone out of bed at night?”

“We have to get out,” You whispered, not very keen on getting detention any time soon.

“If we open the door now, he’ll know someone disguised is there,” Harry answered.

“How often have you snuck out of bed at night?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a lopsided smile.

“Enough times to know what to do.”

The scratching on the classroom door reminded Harry that, despite the fact that they were invisible, it was still pretty obvious that someone had been in here. Harry flicked his wand at the ceiling light right in time – the candles went out and the two of you were coated in darkness just before Filch pushed the door open and the light from his lantern fell onto the stone floor. You held your breath, hoping he would leave again.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Norris’ red eyes scanned the room and the greyish cat walked up to you as if she could actually see you. Instinctively, you wanted to move backwards, but Harry’s arm wrapped around you, holding you in place. You looked up to him and he slowly shook his head.

Mrs. Norris eyed you for a few more seconds before she suddenly jumped onto the table behind you, walking up to the two almost emptied butterbeer bottles and bumping her head against them.

“Oh no.” Your voice was no more than a whisper. “I didn’t –”

Harry placed his hand over your mouth, forcing you to keep quiet.

“Sorry,” You mumbled.

Filch had turned away from the other side of the room he had inspected and was now walking over to his cat. With his arm around your mid, Harry pulled you two quietly away from the table he was now inspecting. You weren’t entirely sure whether it was the panic of escaping Filch or Harry’s chest pressed against your back, but the butterflies in your stomach were jittery as though they were on drugs, and your heart beat unbelievably fast.

Harry felt your heartbeat. He felt the pulsating blood in your veins on your neck where his arm lay, reaching up to your mouth. You were barely breathing, and he figured it was because he was holding you like he was about to kidnap you.

“Run when we’re in the hallway,” He whispered, eyes steadily watching Filch, and removed his hand from your lips to grab your free hand. You nodded shortly. Fortunately, Filch had left the door open, and in one swift motion, Harry had steered you outside.

Fingers still interlocked with yours, he began to run, you by his side. And despite the fact that you two had almost been caught, despite that you had been interrupted when he had felt most confident, despite the ruined moment, he felt light and free and happy.

You were clutching your shoes, slithering over the cold tiles in your black tights, and Harry, looking at you, almost missed the last step of the stairs leading to the portrait of the Fat Lady. He held onto you as he staggered, and you giggled breathlessly, pulling him back up.

“That – stupid – fucking – cat. Can she see through your cloak?” You asked.

Harry shrugged and ruffled through his messy hair.

“Don’t know. I think, but I’m glad she can’t talk,” He said, and a grin spread over your lips, which he returned.

He caught your eyes, looking at you like before, like there was something he needed to say – the tingling feeling in your core got overwhelmed by heart-racing panic and because of some sour mix of uncertainty and fear, you slipped out from under the Invisibility Cloak, taking a few steps away from Harry.

Not a second later, he emerged as well, fighting to keep the smile on his face like his heart hadn't just sunk so deep he wasn't sure if it was even still connected to his veins.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah!” Your voice was too loud, too squeaky to convince him. “Yeah, I – I'm sorry, it's just been a long week and I'm really tired. I'm gonna – gonna go...”

You gestured to the portrait behind you, avoiding his eyes, and turned to escape the situation.

Harry stared at the spot where you had vanished into the common room, his fingers clenching around the fabric of his cloak before tossing it to the ground. It didn't give the satisfying sound he had wanted to make, so he sent a “Fuck!” after it.

“Young boy, that is not a very appropriate language, now, is it?”

His eyes flew up to the Fat Lady, who had apparently watched with great interest. “Besides, what are you doing that late out of bed? I mean I know it gets later on Fridays for the two of you but it's later than usual today –”

“Chinese Fireball.”

“I just don't know what you are doing during that hour. There are rumours, for sure –”

“I told you the password, now will you open the fucking portrait? Chinese Fireball.”

“Oh, fine.” She let the portrait swing forward. “I'll find out by myself... maybe visit some paintings down on fifth floor...”

Harry ignored the Fat Lady.

He also ignored Ron calling after him from the sofa in front of the fireplace, as well as Hermione's questioning look and all the other people staring at him as he darted through the common room and up the stairs, slamming the door of his dorm shut behind him.

He ignored them because the only person he wanted to be seen with had just left him standing in the hallway and he wasn't even sure why.

The first time you saw each other again was three days later in Potions. You had ignored him on purpose, which you knew was obvious to him: Leaving the Great Hall whenever he stepped inside, sitting as far from him in the common room as possible, avoiding his eyes... that did not leave that much room for speculations.

You didn't want to hurt him, you really didn't, but you couldn't be friends any longer, especially not after last Friday. You weren't even sure what exactly had happened – had he really flirted with you or had that been your imagination? Probably the latter. He had asked someone else the ball after all. Right?

Parvati nudged you with her elbow, and you snapped out of your thoughts, noticing the hole in your parchment created by your quill. The two of you sat in the far back of Professor Slughorn’s class, who was in the middle of telling one of his anecdotes instead of teaching about Veritaserum.

“What’s going on?” She asked in a hushed voice. “You’ve been weird since Friday.”

Lavender, who sat in front of you, turned around. “Is it because of – you know?”

She gestured towards Harry in his usual place diagonally across from you. You sighed, placed your quill aside to rub your hands over your face and shrugged. You had also avoided any questions from your friends about Friday, mostly because you could not even answer them yourself.

“I thought he would ask you,” Lavender whispered while throwing a quick glance at Slughorn to make sure he was still occupied with his story. “Didn’t he?”

“No,” You mouthed. Parvati shook her head.

“Man, you’d think he had grown a set of balls after all. If it turns out he just used you to look good in front of Ginny, I swear to Merlin –”

“Well, that’s what it looks like, I mean, he had enough time to ask you,” Lavender said.

Before you could reply anything, Parvati had grabbed her wand and leaned forward. In the next second, the blue Jobberknoll feathers on Harry’s desk burst into flames with an ear-piercing noise.

Both Harry and Ron jumped up, startled from the sudden explosion, and Hermione let out a little shriek as one of the sparks got caught up in her locks. Snickering came from the Slytherin table, and Crabbe and Goyle were stupidly grinning.

“Was that you? Stupid tosspot, I’ll shove that feather up your –,” Ron swore loudly, fists high and ready to walk over to the Slytherins, who had gotten up as well and were throwing insults through the room.

“Calm down, m’boys, no need to get abusive.”

Slughorn stepped between the two fronts while both Harry and Hermione pulled Ron back down onto his chair. With a wave of Slughorn’s wand, the feathers stopped burning and were as good as new.

“Have you gone mental?” You asked during the turmoil. Parvati shrugged and innocently shoved her wand aside.

“You’re my friend and if he hurt you, he’ll get what he deserves –”

“He didn’t hurt me!” You whispered angrily. “I was the one who panicked, I ran away that evening because I was afraid of what he would say! Not Harry. I left him like the idiot I am even though he – he was super nice and said he wanted to learn more –”

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Sorry, Professor, I was just –”

“Talking to Ms. Patil, I noticed. Could you still answer my question?” Slughorn eyed you, and so were all the other students.

“Uh...yes... if you could repeat it? Sir.” You said, and once again snickering echoed through the classroom, the loudest coming from Pansy Parkinson.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Parvati reaching for her wand again, and you quickly pressed her hand down to the table, awkwardly smiling at Slughorn.

“I asked if you could tell me anything about the usage of Veritaserum in court,” He kindly repeated and you straightened your back, ignoring Hermione’s raised hand.

“Well, the potion is strictly banned by the British Ministry of Magic, therefore they don’t use it during interrogations and such, which is also because, like any other potion, it’s not infallible. But I read that in some Asian countries, the accused can choose if they want to take Veritaserum before they give testimony. Unfortunately, in some courts they give the accused failed Veritaserum in order to alter the given testimony fraudulently.”

You had never read about that, you were – ironically – making it up, but Slughorn didn’t seem to notice.

“Very well, that’ll be five points for Gryffindor,” He said. “That reminds me of –”

As Slughorn fell back into his old habit of telling personal stories during class, you sank back into your chair and stared at the chapped top of the desk for the rest of the lesson.

Only the bell ripped Slughorn out of his monologue, and over the rustling of chairs, he told the class to read the next chapter of Advanced Potion Making until Wednesday.

“Courtyard?” You asked Parvati as to where to spend your free lesson.

“Yeah, but I got a question about that graded essay from last week. Just go ahead, I’ll catch up with you,” She answered and made her way to the front. Alongside with Lavender, you were one of the first to leave the Potions classroom.

“I wish I hadn’t picked Arithmancy,” Lavender complained.

“You can sleep longer on Thursdays, remember?” You said as you reached the entrance hall. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Lavender began to climb up the stairs to the third floor, and you walked down the hallway. It was freezing cold outside, but the courtyard was beautiful during every time of the year, especially in the early mornings when the sun melted the iced-up grass and you could share a hot chocolate with your friends on one of the benches.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

You turned to spot none other than Theodore Nott running up to you, his Slytherin scarf loosely around his neck.

“Hi,” He said as he had reached you.

“Uh, hi. Can I help you?” You asked.

“Actually, yeah. I wanted to ask if you have a dance to spare at the Spring ball? I mean, I know you’re going with Potter, I just wanted one dance with someone professional –”

“I’m not going with Harry,” You blurted out. Theodore narrowed his eyebrows.

“What?” He asked, a bemused smile on his lips.

You gulped and shook your head, crossing your arms. “I’m not going with... anyone.”

“Oh. Well, then,” His body relaxed visibly, and he raised his eyebrows, “do you wanna go with me?”

You opened your mouth, an agreement already on the tip of your tongue, but you knew that was just out of desperation and not because you actually wanted to go to the ball with Theodore.

“Hey, you know what, no pressure at all, okay?” He said, placing his hand on your shoulder casually. “I’ll be at the ball anyway, so if you want to dance then, I’m free.”

You nodded. “Thank you, Theodore. I’ll think about it.”

“You can call me Theo. Only if you want to, obviously.”

A grin crept upon your face. “Yeah, I’ll – I’ll think about it.”

Whatever Harry had felt the two days prior, it was nothing compared to the sour feeling circulating in his stomach now, like some dragon-creature spitting fire and tearing at his entrails with sharp claws. Inside of him, everything was clenching and itching, but on the outside, he was numb.

Like his brain had been disconnected from his muscles, wherefore he was only able to stare at Theodore Nott and his stupid, complacent grin and his hand on your shoulder while he asked you to the ball.

This wasn’t fair. How come everyone else but him was able to do it, how come everybody else had managed to find a date, when – to be honest – he had been provided with one of the best initial situations? How come the only thing he was apparently fit for was getting himself into trouble and escaping death every goddamn year? Harry had kind of forgotten about all that was to come, all that Dumbledore had told him, and the memory Slughorn was still tending like dark secret simply because of you.

The worst thing wasn’t that Theodore Nott had just asked you to go to the Spring ball with him. No, the worst thing was that you had agreed.

The only thing that was left for him was to run, which he did now: Up to the Gryffindor tower, tossing his back bag into a corner and grabbing his Firebolt from under the bed, then back down to the Quidditch pitch in record time.

Flying was one of the most freeing activities known to Harry, especially in the cool, fresh morning air with no one else around. High above the frozen grass and the wooden stands, much higher than probably allowed without any teacher near by, Harry paused to watch the sun over the Forbidden Forest.

He wondered if you had ever flown before, if you knew how brilliant it was to hover a thousand feet above the ground, far away from all the problems. Far away from Ron asking what the bloody hell was wrong with him. Far away from Hermione telling him that it was his own fault for waiting so long but that you surely weren’t interested like that in that tosser Theodore (though she would probably word it much more formal).

Time was relative up here, Harry had noticed over the years, so he closed his eyes and shut the world out for a moment. Saturday was still light-years away anyway, so –

“Harry, is that you?”

He almost fell from his broom.

With his heart still beating way to fast and adrenalin pumping though his veins, he turned his broom around to find no one other that Luna standing inside commentary box and waving up to him. Oh well. So much for being alone.

He steered his Firebolt down to the blonde witch and landed beside her.

“What are you doing her, Luna?” He asked as climbed from his broomstick. “Don’t you have classes right now?”

“Oh, yes. But I saw that you are sad so I asked Professor Sprout if I could go because I’m not feeling very well,” She explained and sat down on one of the benches.

“You lied to a professor?”

“Oh, no,” She said, looking at him with her dreamy blue eyes. “I don’t feel well when my friends are sad.”

Harry didn’t know what to reply to that, so he simply sat down next to her. Luna had such a strange, but calm energy, like a pulsating, pink bubble inhibiting her, and if you were lucky, she let you inside this bubble and you could shut the world out for a moment.

“Harry, why are you sad?” Luna asked softly after a while.

“Because... because I like someone who doesn’t like me back,” He said.

Luna placed her hand upon his, and he saw that she had painted her fingernails in every colour of the rainbow. Though that was probably Ginny’s work.

“I think Y/N likes you very much,” She said. Harry scoffed.

“Not the way I like her,” He said. “She just agreed to go to the ball with Nott. I saw it. She looked happy. And when I wanted to ask her last week, she ran away.”

“You know, first I thought you wanted to go to the ball with somebody else,” She said. “I thought maybe you wanted to ask Cho again and wanted to prepare this time. And maybe Y/N thought so, too.”

Harry looked up at the blonde girl.

“She did ask me if I was going to ask Cho,” He said, remembering one of the dance lessons.

“And did you tell her that you actually want to ask her?”

“No,” He admitted, burying his face in his hands. “I panicked... and now it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not. You should still go to the ball, and then you should tell her,” Luna said.

“How? I can’t do it when we’re alone, I certainly can’t do it when there’s a hundred people around,” Harry said miserably.

“Well, then don’t.” Luna shrugged. “If you want her to be with Theodore –”

“I don’t want that,” He interrupted her. “Of course, I don’t.”

“Then go to the ball and tell her. I know you can do that.”

Saturday evening came around faster than you liked it to. Over the last four days, you had noticed Theodore’s eyes on you more than once during the meals or potions class, but it did not cause the tingling feeling in your stomach you would like his looks to cause.

If anything, you felt a pressure to talk to him and to spend time with him because you would go to the ball together. But you did not give in to that pressure and avoided him as much as possible, which led to you often leaving the potions classroom as one of the first.

To be honest, you were much more concentrated on Harry.

Harry who did not sit beside you during meals anymore. Harry who did not look in your direction but rather stared at his plate. Harry who looked like he had just lived through a very miserable week.

And you knew that was because you had left him standing in the hallway last Friday night. Maybe he had figured that you had feelings for him and that was his way of dealing with it: Distancing himself from you.

You wished you had not run. You wished you could’ve stayed in that abandoned classroom forever, your favourite song playing and his arms around you.

–

“What eyeshadow should I use?”

“The darker one.”

“Y/N?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, looking up from where you sat on the floor in your puffy, ankle-long purple-pink dress. Parvati held out her eyeshadow palette, eyebrows raised as she sceptically eyed you. Her black hair was still wrapped around a dozen curlers. Lavender had spent all morning on them.

“Yes, the darker one,” You said. “Brings out your eyes.”

Thankfully, that answer seemed to satisfy her enough to not ask how you were doing. She and Lavender had already asked that over a million times, but you had reassured them that you were totally okay.

Parvati turned back to face the mirror.

“When did you want to meet with Nott?” Lavender asked. She kneeled in front of her trunk, pondering whether she should wear black or silver heels.

“Half past seven,” You mumbled, picking at the tulle of your dress.

Theodore had held you back yesterday after Defence against the Dark Arts to tell you that he would be at the Great Hall at 7:30 and that you were welcome to eat dinner with him and his friends – which included people like Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson; people you usually avoided by all means, people that had laughed at you for tripping over the last step of a stair, for not knowing an answer to one of Snape’s stupid questions, or for simply being Muggleborn.

You had never been less interested in going to a social event. All you wanted to do was lay in bed under your blanket and erase the last week out of your mind.

“Oh, come on, darling, we talked about this.” Lavender came over and squished your cheeks, brushing away a tear. “Today is not the day to sulk about some guy who doesn’t return your feelings. Today is your day, and you’re gonna have fun with us. Don’t let some guy ruin that. Okay?”

You sniffed and nodded, not able to answer because she cupped your cheeks so solidly. Lavender smiled and kissed your forehead.

“That’s right,” She said. “We’re gonna have some dinner and dance a bit and if by then you still feel bad, we can go back to our dorm.”

“And if Harry dares to talk to you, he’s gonna know what’s it feels like to be kicked in the balls with a heel,” Parvati added dryly. You laughed.

The Great Hall was decorated with yellow, pink and purple banners, and the four long house tables had been exchanged with much smaller, round ones scattered where the staff table usually stood, on each of them a vase filled with rosa tulips and white daffodils.

The ceiling did not mirror the night sky outside but a beautiful, orange sunset lighting up the dance floor in the middle. Opposite from the many tables, on the other end of the hall, Slughorn had organised a stage with a cover band. Next to the stage hung a long parchment onto which everyone could write requests.

You spotted your Potions teacher, dressed in a bright green suit, next to Dumbledore, his robes a terrible pink, both of them writing down their song requests.

“A Galleon that Dumbledore is a Spice Girls fan,” Lavender said grinning as she had followed your eyes.

“Bet,” Parvati said, grabbing three drinks from a passing waiter. “Here. Cheers.”

The three of you clinked glasses and took a sip of the red punch – it tasted strongly of various fruits, coconut, and bitter alcohol.

You let your eyes glide further over the hall and the people that sat together in groups around the tables, some of them already eating. Secretly, you were looking for Harry, though you only discovered Ginny in between Luna and Hermione, all of them chatting happily, and a few tables behind them, Theodore.

He waved as he saw you, gesturing to come over. You forced yourself to smile and wave back at him.

“I’ll see you later,” You said, chugging down the rest of your drink.

“Tell us if he’s being an asshole,” Parvati said. “Or really any of them.”

“And have some fun,” Lavender added.

You took one last look at your friends – Parvati in her silk, almond white, slim dress, and Lavender with flowers in her hair, their arms linked together – and swallowed thickly before turning and making your way through the crowd towards Theodore, though you made sure to give the table with Ginny a wide berth.

“Hi, Y/N,” Theodore greeted you, pecking a swift kiss on your left cheek. His eyes, however, were gliding over the room filling with more and more students. “We’ve already ordered some drinks, come on.”

You took a step back after the kiss, blinking quickly, then noticed how the other people around the table were staring at you:

Pansy and Daphne eyed you and your dress dismissively, and Blaise sipped on his wine, eyebrows raised. Only Draco was slumped in his chair and chewed on a gum, not wasting a single glance at you. He looked as uninterested in this Spring Ball as you felt.

An hour ago, you sure as hell wouldn’t have believed to relate to bloody Draco Malfoy.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N,” You said, forcing a smile on your face and holding out your hand towards Pansy, as she sat closest to you. “I like your dress. Matches your earrings.”

That compliment seemed to leave a mark. Her judging look softened and she shook your hand.

After introducing yourself to everyone (well, except Draco, who had only shortly nodded at you), you sat down in between Theodore and Blaise, and ordered something to eat.

Pansy and Daphne were huddled together the whole time, giggling and pointing at others, while Draco raised a complaint about every meal on the menu or really any other small inconvenience that had the unfortune to be spotted by him (“I can’t eat that, it has tomatoes in it. Nothing on here is gluten free. I’ll write father first thing in the morning. Pansy, will you shut the fuck up for a second? That’s not even a real band. God, I hate this place.”).

“He’s a whiny bitch most of the time, but his family has a great holiday chalet in France,” Blaise said to you after Draco had shot you an annoyed look for asking if you should ask the band to play a different song. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be friends with him.”

“I hope you choke on that disgusting wine,” Draco muttered, and you chuckled.

“Sure, darling,” Blaise replied, sharing a look with you. Until now, Blaise had surprisingly talked the most with you, and it turned out he wasn’t half as bad as you had always thought he would be.

Theodore on the other hand had only occasionally asked you how your meal was and how long you had planned to stay. His eyes had not held contact with yours for longer than a second and were still searching for something in the crowd, which was – by the way – having fun on the dance floor while you had not moved in almost an hour.

It wasn’t until a particularly beautiful girl from Ravenclaw strode past your table that Theodore hooked his foot around the leg of your chair to pull you closer and placed his hand on your upper thigh, giving you his full attention for the first time that night.

“Have I told you that you look very pretty tonight?” He asked, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“Er – no,” You said, darting a confused look towards the Ravenclaw girl.

“Well, you do,” Theodore went on and turned your head back to face him by stroking his thumb over your cheek before pressing his lips onto the skin beneath your ear. They felt chapped and not pleasant in any way. You cringed.

“Uh, sorry, but that’s maybe a bit early, don’t you think?” You said, drawing back and shoving his hand from your thigh.

“She’s gone anyway, Theo,” Blaise said. You did not understand.

“Who’s gone?” You asked, looking back and forth between Theodore and the others, who all seemed to know something you didn’t. Pansy giggled.

“Nothing,” Theodore said. His sweet voice had turned bitter, and you felt like that was your fault. He stood up. “I’ll get some more punch.”

The band segued from an upbeat song into a much slower one, and the light of the candles magically dimmed.

“Do you want to dance maybe?” You asked Theodore as a way to make up for your rejection, but he had already pushed past a group of chatting seventh years, not turning around.

You sank back into your chair, picking at the tulle of your dress again. Was it too early to tell Lavender and Parvati that you wanted to go back to your dorm?

“Girl, if I were you, I would get out of here as quickly as possible,” Blaise said. You looked up at him. “He’s not worth it. And he’s not here for you. So don’t waste your energy.”

“But he asked me to the ball,” You said weakly.

“Did he? Or did he just ask for some time with you to make his ex-girlfriend jealous?”

“He – well – he…”

But Blaise looked at you and you knew that he was right, that this was never about you but some other girl. It was always about some other girl.

“Excuse me, I’ll get some fresh air,” You said and made your way through the tables towards the doors.

The last time, everyone had watched him. Now it was Harry’s turn to watch everyone else try their best on the dance floor. He wasn’t sure what was worse; to be laughed at by the others while stepping on Parvati’s feet every other second or to watch not only Hermione and Ron but also Ginny and Luna, as well as Seamus and Dean dancing closely, arms around the other.

They all had no idea what they were doing, Harry could tell, but they were having fun anyway. He had never seen Hermione this happy.

“Oh, flashback.”

Harry looked up. Parvati sat down next to him on the chair that Ron had left over half an hour ago.

“Yeah,” He mumbled, taking another sip of butterbeer, and turned back to the dance floor right in time to see Dean kissing Seamus passionately in the middle of the room.

“And you are not dancing because…?” Parvati asked. Harry crossed his arms.

“If you’re here to make fun of me or to blow up my butterbeer, feel free to fuck off.”

Parvati chuckled. “Sorry about that. But seriously, why are you sitting here miserably after all those dance lessons?”

Harry tried to make out if she was actually serious or if this was her way to revenge herself for the Yule Ball.

“Are you kidding me?” He asked. Parvati narrowed her eyebrows, now visibly puzzled.

“No, I’m genuinely asking –”

“Well, it’s not that fucking easy to slow dance if you have no date, is it,” He said crossly.

Parvati gaped at him, but he was certainly not in the mood for this. It had cost him all his strength to not look for you in the crowd all evening, he did not need reminding of you not liking him back by Parvati.

Before she could say anything else, he placed his butterbeer bottle on the table and darted outside, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his suit and eyes directed to the floor.

Harry’s feet guided him towards the courtyard. The music played by the band wasn’t as loud out here, and the cold night air was lively in contrary to the sticky, perfumed air inside the Great Hall.

He kicked some of the grass away and walked towards the bench underneath the willow, watching how its branches weighed in the wind and thought how you were probably having as much fun as his friends, or maybe even more, considering Nott was infamous for snogging in various broom closets.

Harry’s stomach turned at the thought of that. He wished he had a time turner to make it right.

The moon stood high on the deep blue night sky, illuminating the courtyard you had unconsciously walked to. Grey clouds had approached, and tiny raindrops were falling to the ground, steadily drumming onto the roofs of Hogwarts.

On your way out of the Great Hall, you had caught a glimpse of Theodore sticking his tongue down the throat of that Ravenclaw girl, but to be honest, it didn’t matter that he was making out with someone else. It would’ve just been nice if you could have had a forewarning.

You thought you were the only single soul wandering about, then spotted a figure sitting on a bench. You were about to turn and search for some other place to wallow in your feelings, when you recognised the messy hair.

Maybe this was the time to make up for running away. Maybe this was the time to be honest.

Harry looked up when he noticed someone coming closer, the tulle of your dress rustling over the wet grass. His heart jumped and he forgot to breathe for a moment.

“Hello,” You said, voice echoing over the empty courtyard. “Can I sit?”

“Of course.”

Harry scooted to the side to make some space for you. You sat down next to him, leaving maybe a hand width between the two of you. The wide branches of the willow guided you from the cold rain.

“You weren’t dancing,” You said, staring at the grass instead of his face.

You would understand if he did not want to talk, if he just walked away. He didn’t owe you an explanation for why he had not asked you to the ball or why was sitting here instead of inside with Ginny or whoever he had asked.

“You weren’t either, were you?” Harry replied. “You and Nott.”

“No, he’s busy with someone else, so… no. Not dancing.”

“Oh.” Harry shuffled. His knee bumped against yours. “Well, he’s an idiot then.”

You smiled, not moving your knee away from his.

“Yeah…but I don’t mind, really.”

“You should,” Harry said, and he meant it. No one should be treated like that. “If anyone should be dancing, it’s you.”

You looked up at him. Harry was already watching you, and it filled you with warmth despite the freezing cold. There wasn’t a single sign of hurt on his face, just a soft curiosity lying in his green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, “for running away last Friday. I had to sort out some things.”

“What things?” He asked quietly.

“Some…” Your heartbeat sped up. Be honest, you told yourself. “Some feelings.”

“Oh.” Harry tried to figure out what you meant by that, but the way you looked at him made his mind go blank. “You mean you…”

“I really like dancing with you,” You said. Harry felt his heart beating faster than ever against his ribcage. He wondered if you could hear it. “And I wouldn’t have done those lessons with anyone.”

The music from inside the Great Hall was growing louder, overshadowing the rain; someone must’ve opened the doors to let in some fresh air. The band was playing a slower, French song and it stung in your heart. It was one of your favourites.

When you turned back to Harry, he was standing up. For a second you thought he wanted to leave, to go back inside, then –

“May I have this dance?” Harry held out is right hand, and you did not have to think twice if you should take it or not.

He helped you up from the bench and led into the middle of the lawn, the rain still pattering onto the grass and the stone tiles. It smelled strongly of petrichor, and you thought that this was much closer to spring than the decorations in the Great Hall.

Harry’s hand found its place on your back, pulling you closer to him. You placed your hand on his shoulder, tapping his skin with your finger in time to the music out of habit, and met his eyes, reflecting the moon light in them.

Had you ever told him how beautiful he was?

The two of you moved, swaying back and forth. Harry realised that he did not even need to concentrate on the steps, he knew them by heart. The closeness of you took his breath away, the way your fingers held onto his, the way there was little to no room between your torso and his. You were smiling at him, despite the cold and the rain. Harry felt his stomach tingling.

“What’s it called?” Harry asked quietly, not wanting to drown out the music.

“‘Je Te Laisserai Des Mots’. I’ll leave you words,” You translated, having memorised the lyrics in your mind. “I’ll leave you words underneath your door, underneath the singing moon. Near the place where your feet pass by…hidden in the holes of wintertime and when you’re alone for a moment.”

You paused and Harry’s eyes fell to his feet, not able to take your gaze any longer. There were words on the tip of his tongue he did not dare to say – afraid, to ruin the moment. He wanted to stay here forever.

“Eyes up,” You said, placing your hand underneath his chin to lift his head up.

More French words reached your ears; Harry figured they were the same sentence repeated over and over, but even if he had been able to understand French, he wouldn’t have been able to translate them because of your hand still resting under his chin.

“Kiss me whenever you want,” You whispered. “Kiss me whenever you want. Kiss me –”

And then, Harry let go of his fears and kissed you.

After all it still took you by surprise how he loosened his fingers from yours to cup your face, pulling you as close to him as possible, until there was no space in between, noses bumping against each other. Both of your hands slung themselves around his neck, caressing his skin and driving up through messy hair.

His lips matched yours, gliding smoothly over one another, smearing your lip gloss everywhere until all you tasted was strawberries and sweet alcohol. With his chest against yours, Harry was glad to notice your heart beating as fast as his did, though that was also because he really needed to breathe – not that he wanted to, he would have been totally okay with never breaking away from the kiss if it was always going to feel this soft and freeing.

It was you in the end that had to carefully pull his face away from yours, heavily breathing in and out. You brushed his wet hair out of his forehead and let your fingers slide over his temples and cheeks down to his neck.

“That offer,” Harry began breathlessly, tucking a strand of hair he had accidentally drawn from your pinned-up hair behind your ear, “about continuing the dance lessons…that still stands, right?”

Your lips curved upwards into a smile. “Of course.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, mirroring your smile before leaning down again to close the gap between your lips.

#Harry Potter #Harry James Potter #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #fluff #oneshot #my writing #angst #slow burn

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mistydear · 3 years ago

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soften me now, let me take as is given (xi)

billie dean howard x reader

summary: You meet Billie in mourning. She's too professional, and you're too angry, and it takes too long to see her again. And again. And again as your lives tumble together.

w/c: 3.1k

notes: hiii, i'm back! been sporadically working on this one for a while, so i figured it's time to finally finish it. still have a plan for this story, don't worry. just slowly getting back into it :)

chapter one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen

taglist: @thedeconstructionist @cordeliass @cordithatgurl @talulahmae @max-the-d0g @mistysswampmud @angelxsarahp

Your schedules never seem to align. Billie’s either at a press event or filming while you’re off work, and you’re either working or meeting with your realtor when she’s available. You’ve been texting her sporadically for a week trying to schedule something. You don’t realize it’s a form of commitment until Norah throws popcorn at you and asks why you’re texting during your Monday movie night.

What about Wednesday? You ask over text, shooing Norah away.

Hmm…

Oh come on… nothing interesting happens on Wednesdays. You can’t possibly be booked

I’ll check with my assistant.

Ew.

You haven’t forgotten that she’s a celebrity now, but she always tends to remind you right when it begins slipping your mind. You chew your lip as Norah looks over your shoulder.

“Billie Dean Howard,” she comments, reading your contact name for her. “Still on a full name basis?”

“I don’t know,” you grumble, sinking into Norah’s couch cushions.

You had an extensive conversation with Norah about the origin of Billie’s black eye when you finally got back from your date at an ungodly hour. She was almost more interested in that than Saanvi, which was so unexpectedly unsettling that you decided to try and forget it. She asked if you believed her, and for the first time since you’ve met Billie, you didn’t have an answer.

“She wouldn’t have lied. Not about that,” you told Norah seriously, shaking your head.

“Why?” Norah challenged. “According to you, isn’t that what she does?”

“It’s not like I was paying her,” you defend.

“She still has a reputation to uphold,” she shrugs, and a twinge of anger bursts through you. Seeing you unable to form a reasonable response, Norah shifts, her finger tapping your knee. “It’s ‘cause she respects you, dummy.” The anger dissipates, and your cheeks flush. You don’t know why.

“Do you believe her?”

“I believe her experiences are real,” Norah offers, not quite committing. You suspect she’s been reading Signs Unseen. Who hasn’t? You, dummy.

I can’t. Press in the morning, VO in the afternoon. Billie responds, ignoring your ew. You quickly look up what VO means and roll your eyes when the answer is voice over.

Aren’t you done with season one already?? It’s half over

The last few eps are still in post. They changed the dialogue on me.

Post-production is the second term you learn that night, and you can’t deny the vague irritation you feel at being so out of the loop.

What about lunch? I know a good spot

You watch her type and then stop typing and then start typing again.

Pick you up at 12:30?

You grin.

. . .

As promised and punctual as ever, Billie walks into Corner Store at 12:30 that Wednesday looking for you. You will admit that you get a bit of a kick out of Jenny’s face when Billie Dean Howard knocks on your office door. She’s eating her lunch and talking to you about what she’s going to do after graduation. Her last class on Wednesdays is a long study hall, and because she’s a senior in good standing, she’s able to leave campus for it. For whatever reason, she often chooses to come to work early. Today, she’ll be happy she did, because her mouth drops open and a deep red blush rises to her cheeks.

“Hello,” Billie says to Jenny, and then she looks back to you, her eyes softening, voice changing. “Hi.”

“Billie Dean Howard,” Jenny gasps, sliding off your desk and practically throwing her sandwich all over your keyboard. “Oh my god. I love Medium.”

“Thank you,” Billie says, smiling like she gets that a lot. She’s in a long, soft dress as she leans against the doorframe, holding her hands in front of her. Her black eye has faded considerably, but it’s still visible under her makeup, just barely.

“I’m Jen,” she says, holding out her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Jen,” Billie offers, shaking her hand. Jenny flushes deeper, and when she pulls away, she steps back toward you for comfort.

“So, you know Y/N,” she rambles, pressing a hand into your arm as you lean against your desk, arms folded casually over your chest. Billie chuckles, her gaze raking over you. You feel every inch her eyes touch.

“I do,” she muses. Your skin prickles, and you swallow, tapping Jenny on the shoulder.

“Be cool,” you breathe jokingly, glancing at her. She glares.

“You need to warn me the next time Billie Dean Howard is gonna show up here. I’d, like, brush my hair or something,” she grumbles, tightening her long ponytail. You roll your eyes, grabbing your wallet as Billie watches on with interest.

“You look great,” you say, sliding past her. “Every single piece of lettuce better be out of my keyboard when I come back,” you warn as you round the corner out of your office. Billie turns with you, lips quirked up.

“It’s good to see you,” she says easily. You consider her, the softness of her voice.

“Yeah, you too,” you say, and it’s the truth. She catches your smirk with one of her own.

. . .

“What can I get you two lovelies?” the server asks, a pen in her hand. You order first because you love this place, and you think the server might recognize you since you come here so often. “Trying something new today?” she asks, and that answers that question. Billie quirks a brow at you, a faint blush rising to your cheeks.

“I’m branching out,” you mutter, glancing up. When Billie orders, the woman pauses. She must recognize her but, thankfully, doesn’t say anything. You’re starting to understand Billie’s aversion to being approached in public. It’s awkward and invasive and more of a burden than you realized. Once you’re alone, Billie sips her water, and you smooth down the napkin on your lap. “So. How was the press…you know, whatever?”

“Do you really want to know?” she asks skeptically.

“I’m trying out this new thing called friendship. You’re supposed to care about each others’ stuff,” you shrug, and Billie wants to smile, you can tell, but she looks away before it forms on her lips. You wonder why she does that, hides. You’d like to see a real smile someday, a full grin, something giddy and childlike. You know she has it in her.

“Is that what we are?” Her voice is lower when she asks, when she looks at you so carefully. Her voice cracks, just once, and for a moment it’s sweet. It’s lovely, even.

“Do you care about my stuff?” you ask just as carefully. Her eyes drift across you, and she chews the inside of her cheek.

“Against reason, I care about your stuff,” she admits, reluctant. Her tone isn’t sharp the way it used to be when she said something biting to you. But you know it isn’t completely genuine. She’s holding tightly onto something she doesn’t want you to see.

“Against reason?”

“We’re very different people,” she acknowledges, straightening out her fork. You give her that. “And still.”

“And still,” you repeat like a mantra. Billie swallows and gives a little shake of her head before sipping her water. It’s her way of hiding, you’ve noticed, to swallow and shake the emotion out of her. It’s very physical, how she roots her emotions in her body and then suppresses them like a sneeze.

“It was fine,” she offers. “Just an interview with Entertainment Weekly. Apparently there’s a rumor going around that I’m sleeping my way through Hollywood.” She rolls her eyes, disgusted.

“And they brought that up in the interview?” you ask, horrified. Billie shrugs lightly as if to say, what can you do? “How are you even expected to answer that?”

“Well, they had the proof,” she mutters, glancing around like there are paparazzi at the next table. It steals the breath from your lungs, and as you watch her press her lips together tightly, you try to remember you’re in public while Billie Dean Howard talks about sex.

“Oh?” There’s something hot and uncomfortable bubbling through your chest and up your neck, and you’re unsure whether it’s intrigue or embarrassment—because are you close enough with Billie to be talking like this? Or maybe it’s something else entirely.

“They had a source,” she scoffs. “Unnamed, he said. Well, I know exactly who it was.” Between sleazy interviews and celebrity betrayals, you’re immediately at attention. It’s all so surreal to you still. This doesn’t feel like a world you belong to, so it must not be real. But Billie’s face confirms that the unnamed source’s actions have consequences. And it all falls directly onto her. “I knew I’d have to be careful. I just didn’t think I’d have to be this careful.”

Your mouth gapes, and you can’t help it—you really can’t—when you grin and laugh and say, “Billie Dean Howard, the slut of Hollywood.” She glares at you so fiercely it almost burns, and when her cheeks redden just slightly, you reach over and run your thumb along the back of her hand. It’s easy. It’s instinct. “Hey, now…”

“I know,” she dismisses your gentle reassurance, her jaw twitching.

“Tell me everything,” you say then, sliding your hand from hers. She gives you a look. Here? Now? “What are friends for if not to complain about hookups?” There’s a twinge in your chest when you say it, but you keep your expression neutral. Do you want to hear about Billie’s hookups? Why shouldn’t you? She wets her lips, sitting up straighter, and when her eyes meet yours, they’re flighty but determined.

“It was at a party in the Hills. There were eyes on me all night,” she explains and then shakes her head. “People like me don’t show up in public with black eyes,” she adds, and Kate drifts into your mind. You’d never seen her get physically violent with anyone the entire time you’d known her. She didn’t condone violence, and she wasn’t one to blame the cheatee over the cheater. You’d been weighing that in your mind for a while now, unsure of how to dissect it. You can’t decide if Kate is jealous or angry or sad, but you know that you’re surprised. Why would she ever think that you and Billie were together? You and Billie? “So I was…tense,” she continues, snapping you back to the conversation. “And I think she was just a release.”

“Was it good at least?” You’re interrupted when the server comes back with your sides, and it’s awkwardly silent until she leaves. Billie takes a breath and stabs into her salad.

“Well, she wasn’t exactly complaining,” Billie admits, not breaking eye contact when she slides her fork into her mouth, lips closing over the silver. Your eyes are drawn where she wants them drawn, and you swallow. You’re not sure you’re brave enough to fuck someone at a crowded houseparty, but you do admire Billie’s courage. Well…you can’t help imagining Billie’s courage. The way her pink lips might close over a supple neck. The way her long nails might have scraped beneath the elastic of damp underwear. The way she might have silenced moans with a forceful kiss. Jesus, you’re flushed now.

“Was she good?” Billie pauses at that, fork hovering in midair.

“No.” It’s so final, so intimidating, bordering on cold. And when she chews, the heat dissipates from you, replaced with a vague sense of hurt, as if the comment were directed at you. Which is completely silly. “Anyway, now I just feel…”

“Used?” you guess.

“A little,” she admits in a rare moment of vulnerability. And you tuck it away in your mind with the care it deserves. There’s a few minutes of silence between you as you watch her try to wrangle her emotions back under control. You’re sure you would feel similarly betrayed and, frankly, icky, if someone you slept with slipped it to the press like a piece of hot gossip. “So, if you have anything uplifting to share, now’s the time to do it,” she says, forcing a joke. It doesn’t land, but you smile anyway, soft and reassuring.

Now’s probably not the time to admit you just sold the house a couple days ago, so you hold back.

“I have a date tomorrow,” you offer instead. Billie’s lips pause on the glass of water she’s holding. When she sets it down, it’s careful and deliberate, like she’s collecting her thoughts.

“Are you…I mean, is that…how do you feel about it?” she stumbles, blinking. Her care is amusing in the most endearing way.

“You’re not very smooth, are you?” you smirk, and her jaw twitches, eyes fluttering away. When her gaze meets yours again, it’s steadier.

“Not when it comes to you, it seems.”

“I hope that’s a compliment,” you laugh, picking at your food. Billie’s teeth come down over her bottom lip.

“It very much is,” she confirms, voice full of an emotion you can’t place. “You’re refreshing.”

“See, now that sounds like an insult.”

“You worry too much,” Billie says, setting down her fork. Gently, she rests her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers under her chin as she watches you. “I’m here because I want to be, believe it or not.”

“Well, ditto,” you say for a lack of anything more inspiring to say. Billie always seems to leave you tongue tied, which is a new and frightening feeling. And she just hums when she takes a last bite of her salad.

. . .

You have another date tonight. Not with Saanvi. She was sweet, and you did like her, but you don’t think you can see her again. Being the first person you go out with after your wife dies is a category all its own. It wouldn’t feel right to see her again. It wouldn’t feel honest.

Her name is Andy, and you met her without Norah’s help this time. You’re not nervous because that would imply investment or desire or that this means something important. And really, it’s more of an experiment to see what you can handle.

When you get to dinner—after your nerves are thoroughly suppressed despite your best efforts to convince yourself they don’t exist—Andy meets you out front. It’s a mild, windy night, and her dark, coily hair shifts in the wind. It frames her head like a halo, and she’s in an emerald green jumpsuit, silky as it flows around her.

“Y/N?” she asks, and when you nod, she immediately goes in for a hug.

“Oh,” you mutter, reciprocating. She squeezes you briefly then lets go, showing off dimples that make your chest tighten, a smile blossoming on your lips.

. . .

“So, should I be reserving moving vans or…?” Riley asks casually, their ankle bobbing over crossed knees. There’s a pad of paper on their lap, taking notes for the next week of Billie’s schedule.

“What?” Billie asks, looking up over a small pair of glasses she only wears when she’s alone—or with Riley. She didn’t expect to be dealing with this much paperwork as a TV host, but here she is, staying late at work again.

“For the house I just helped you buy,” they say like it’s obvious, and it really should have been. Billie made the purchase through an LLC so that she’d remain anonymous, but all of the legal and business dealings were orchestrated by Riley. They’re the only one who knows besides her lawyer. Billie flushes and takes off her glasses, setting them carefully on her desk before looking up at Riley.

“We’re doing nothing.”

“So it is haunted then, right?” they ask, confused. “Are you at least gonna stage it for the camera?” Billie’s nostrils flare. The less Riley knows about that house the better. She should have had them sign an NDA.

“No, I’m not staging it. I’m not touching it,” she says tightly, her black eye twinging. Billie thinks Kate might actually kill her if she tried to use the house for Medium. Besides, she’s not doing this for herself. It’s all for you. It’s always been for you.

Riley twirls a pen between their fingers. “I heard the previous owner’s wife died in some awful car accident and that’s why she’s selling. It’s really not haunted?”

“I don’t ever want to hear another word about that house, Riley,” Billie snaps, harsh and cold. They furrow their brow, lips parting as they just stare at Billie.

“Okay,” they mutter, swallowing and looking back down at their notebook. Billie’s afraid she may have just piqued their interest in the house, but there’s no logical explanation for what she’s doing, and she hasn’t been able to think of a cover quite yet either. So, for now, this’ll have to do.

She was surprised you didn’t bring up the house at lunch yesterday. She’d been expecting it, waiting for it, and then nothing. There was a moment she thought you might say it, a hesitation, a certain look in your eye. But then you talked about your date instead. Billie checks her watch. You’re probably with her now.

Part of Billie wishes she were with you now instead. She swallows and blinks and quickly slips her glasses back on like a shield. Maybe she should start dating again too.

. . .

At the end of the night, your cheeks hurt from laughing, and Andy has a look in her eye that you know well. Her hand slips up your arm, light as a feather, and her eyes are a blazing amber.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight. I had fun.”

“Me too,” you say, fighting a smile. Andy’s fingers curl around your arm, thumb stroking softly. A breeze rustles past you outside the restaurant, and Andy’s perfume drifts through you. She smells like honey and elm, and your eyes flutter to her mouth, the way her lips quirk up. She knows. “I don’t…do this very often.”

“So I gathered,” Andy chuckles, leaning into you. You blush at her and your close proximity and the heat slicing through you.

“I’m sorry,” you nearly whisper. Andy brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, and the way you shiver at her touch sets your nerves on fire. The anticipation kills you.

“Don’t be. It’s cute,” she mutters, finally leaning down to you. Her lips meet yours quietly, softly, easily. She tastes the wine she’d been drinking, and her breath is warm against you. Your hand slips to her jaw, and as you feel it work, you smile. “Goodnight, Y/N,” Andy breathes.

“Night,” you reply, eyes fluttering open. Andy gives you one last smile before turning down the sidewalk, and you let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding all night.

That felt okay. That felt good.

#soften me now #ahs fanfic #billie dean howard #ahs fanfiction #american horror story #ahs murder house #billie dean howard x reader #sarah paulson #writing

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adito-lang · 2 years ago

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No zero days 08/365 - Weekly review

This weekly review encompasses eight days and is inspired by @mainichi-nihongoal's first "weekly report" 📝

Some thoughts

I joined @chenopodiumlang's No Zero Days Langblr challenge (thank you for the Excel template!). It has been interesting because up until now, I've never really tracked time spent on my language learning or bothered to write down exactly what I'm doing. Now I'm trying out a bunch of different learning methods/activities and actively thinking about which ones I want to keep and further integrate into my day.

I'm going to try to designate Sundays as my "review" day but record my audio on Mondays, because I want to be home alone when I'm talking to myself 😂

Switching between three languages in one day has been challenging, because I need to focus on different things. With Norwegian it's vocabulary, with Japanese it's grammar and kanji, and with Spanish it's everything... 🤖

Norwegian

Listening to Norskpodden and reading Hør Her'a have reminded me once again that I have to let go and not fuss over words or chunks that I don't understand within a sentence, as long as I get the overall gist or meaning of what's being conveyed. Today, when I read the third chapter of Hør Her'a, I just underlined words I didn't know, took a guess and KEPT READING, and I surprised myself at how quickly I finished the chapter.

I'm having fun with the Språkkalender 2013 😃

My goal for next week is to watch a Norwegian movie or start a Norwegian series on Netflix.

Japanese

This week, I mainly read articles and watched videos, but also translated something I'd written in Norwegian - it took ages 🙈 Which reminded me that I need to work on my writing (also my handwriting). Is good old fashioned daily journaling the answer?

I will start watching Alice in Borderland in the coming days.

Spanish

Ughh verb conjugation 😩 Let's just say there's a reason I have never really gotten into Romance languages...

I'm on track to complete the first three chapters of Con Gusto A1 before my Spanish class begins on the 17th. Today I started the second half of Chapter 2, which I'll try to finish tomorrow.

#no zero days 2023 langblr #langblr #norwegian langblr #japanese langblr #spanish langblr

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extasiswings · 4 years ago

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15 + buddie

15. "Shouldn't you be with her?" On ao3 here.

When Eddie is eleven, his class gets a new student. Her name is Maria Esparza and her family is from Arizona. She has dark curls that look like they would be soft to touch and a smattering of freckles across her nose and she’s so smart—always reading and forever raising her hand in class, always with the right answers—but she never acts stuck up about it.

He thinks she’s beautiful and when he gets home from the first day of school he promptly announces that he’s in love. He doesn’t understand why his mother laughs or why Sophia rolls her eyes and calls him an idiot when he’s perfectly serious.

He’s in love, he insists, and goes on believing it for three whole weeks until he gets up the courage to give Maria a flower at recess and she looks at him like he has two heads. The rejection smarts for a couple of days, but then he’s fine. So, he figures...maybe it wasn’t love after all.

Eddie is fifteen when he finds his eyes slipping too frequently to Diego Reed in autoshop, lingering on the other boy’s long, dexterous fingers, his forearms, the sharp edge of his jaw. Eddie can’t explain it, he just knows those stolen glances make him squirm, make him flush, make him feel too warm and like his very skin is too tight.

Diego steals Eddie’s first kiss two weeks before winter break, pushes him up against the back wall of the shop where they’re hidden by a truck and licks into his mouth with a confidence that Eddie can’t imagine ever having when he himself can’t even figure out what to do with his hands. But it makes his knees weak and leaves him breathless and panting when Diego pulls away with a smirk and tells him not to say anything.

It’s not love—for one thing, Eddie knows he’s not supposed to love boys, and for another, the only time he suggests it might be anything at all, Diego gives him the same look Maria had once upon a time and walks away—but it’s nothing he’s ever felt before. The next year, Angelica Phelan asks him to go to the winter formal and he gets to second base in the science lab when they slip away from the chaperones. It’s different from kissing Diego. But it’s just as good, he enjoys it just as much, and part of him is…relieved.

He doesn’t think about that too much.

Eddie is eighteen when he’s not watching where he’s going and runs directly into his future on the sidewalk. Thankfully, the only casualty is Shannon’s coffee, and after she snaps at him for not paying attention and he offers to replace her drink—well. They close down the coffee shop, emerging, startled, from conversation only when interrupted by a mildly disgruntled employee trying to lock up. Eddie walks home in a daze, Shannon’s phone number burning a hole in his pocket, and he’s simultaneously elated and terrified because it’s never been so easy being with someone, he’s never felt so seen so quickly. He’s old enough to realize that love at first sight is bullshit, but he thinks he could fall very fast.

He’s right.

They take things slow because Eddie wants to do things right, doesn’t want to risk confusing love with the heady cocktail of teenage hormones and sex. So he knows by the time he does fall into bed with her, eight months in, that he’s in love. Really in love, thinking about the future in love, factoring her into the mix when he thinks about what the hell he’s going to do with his life in love.

And then Shannon gets pregnant. And it’s too soon, he loves her but it’s too soon, and he’s terrified all over again—

He loves her though. He loves her. And she’s pregnant so—they get married. He wants to do the right thing.

At their wedding the readings are selections from Song of Songs and Corinthians.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud....Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things...

With all due respect to St. Paul, Eddie doesn’t think he knew what the hell he was talking about. Or at least, maybe he did, but he was being pretty damn aspirational and left out a few things.

Because after the wedding…after the wedding, Eddie learns a lot more about love.

Love is beautiful, yes. But love is also…trying to do the right thing and fucking up. Love is fighting and knowing exactly what to say to cut the deepest and not always holding back. Love is forgiving, but after a point finding it difficult to forget.

Or maybe that’s not love, maybe that’s just marriage. Maybe it’s a little of both. Because love endures—sure. Love endured with Shannon even when trust was nonexistent, when their marriage was fractured, shattered pieces strewn across the floor ready to draw blood if either of them tried to pick them up.

Love isn’t enough. That’s what Eddie knows. Or maybe it is, maybe love would have been enough to fix what was broken if it hadn’t been his. Shannon’s gone, so they’ll never be able to have that conversation. He’ll never know the answer.

Love endures. Eddie kind of wishes it didn’t. It would make a lot of things a lot easier.

But…it’s fine. He’s fine. Shannon dies and he locks that piece of himself away and has no plans to ever fall in love again.

Then again, God has a funny sense of humor and never seems to resist an opportunity to be an asshole, so of course…he does. Slowly. Quietly. The threads slipping through the cracks in his walls so carefully that he doesn’t even notice until they’re twined around his heart, unspooling through his blood, through his veins with every pulse. Eddie doesn’t notice.

And then he gets shot and it’s like being hit by lightning, an electric shock of clarity down his spine, rooting him in place as he meets Buck’s eyes.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

***

Eddie despises recovery.

He’s never been good at being still, at being useless, at being left alone with nothing but his own head. And maybe he’s not entirely alone—he has Christopher, after all, and Christopher is understandably a little clingy now that he’s home from the hospital—but Christopher sleeps and has play dates and spends time in his room and just in general isn’t in Eddie’s space every second of every day.

And then there’s Buck. Buck who offered to keep staying on the couch to take care of everything they needed when Eddie came home from the hospital. Buck who Eddie sent home to his own bed with promises to call if he needed help because having Buck so close after Eddie’s little realization was stirring him up, making everything a million times more difficult in his head. Buck’s still over frequently, but it’s less dangerous if he’s not staying overnight, if Eddie can’t wake up and be tempted to walk out to the living room and pull Buck into his bed. Not for anything sexual—he’s on too many medications and too immobilized for that even if it was remotely a good idea—but to be held. To feel wanted. To feel safe.

He knows Buck probably wouldn’t say no, wouldn’t think anything of it except that maybe he’s a little raw and fragile, which he is. Which is exactly why he can’t ask. So. Removing the temptation it is.

But. Being left alone with his own head is a terrible idea. He’s in pain because he lowered the doses of his pain meds so he would stop worrying about developing any dependency. He can’t sleep without waking up with screams trapped behind his teeth and the smell of blood and gunpowder in his nose. And he can’t stop thinking about Buck. About being in love with Buck. About wanting Buck. About whether he could ever have him or whether he’ll ever be okay enough to be in a relationship. About whether Buck could ever want him back or if he’ll ever feel safe enough to risk their friendship by even asking.

He broke up with Ana the second he was able to figure out how to do it without feeling like a complete dick. But he hasn’t told Buck that. He doesn’t know why.

And then there’s—

The key turns in the lock and Eddie starts, looking up from his place on the couch. Christopher is with his abuela for the night, and he didn’t expect—

“Hey,” Buck calls, stepping through the door. “I brought dinner.”

Eddie stares.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, before he can stop himself. “Shouldn’t you be with Taylor?”

—Taylor. Buck and Taylor. Which, Buck waited weeks to tell him about, hedging about why he wanted to know if it was okay to invite her to Eddie’s welcome home party. Which, Buck only did admit to when Eddie called one night at 2AM and Taylor answered Buck’s phone.

Eddie clears his throat, the question sounding a little too sharp and accusatory to his ears.

“I just meant,” he adds, softening, “I thought you said you had a date tonight.”

An odd look passes over Buck’s face.

“Isabel called me,” he replies. “She said you were by yourself, asked if I would check on you. We rescheduled, it’s fine.”

Eddie nods once and pulls the couch throw tighter around his shoulders with his good arm. A petty, possessive piece of him is pleased. That Buck’s there. That Buck would drop everything for him.

He’s always been wary of Taylor. Even way back when they first met and she was prowling around the station filming everyone and flirting with Buck. But now? Now he’s jealous, his stomach twisting at the very reminder that she has Buck the way Eddie wants him.

But at the same time…he hates that. Hates the jealousy, hates feeling possessive. Because what claim does he have over Buck’s affections? None. Especially not when he can’t even admit to loving him outside his head.

He hates it because he knows that more than anything, Buck deserves to be happy. And maybe Eddie could make him happy, but—

Even if Buck felt the same—and Eddie isn’t convinced of that, doesn’t have the arrogance to assume—what right does he have to say please, to say wait, to ask Buck to put his life on hold indefinitely while Eddie sorts through the tangled mess in his head in the hope that one day he’ll finally be ready? He can’t be that selfish. Especially not with Buck.

Buck deserves to be happy. Even if that’s with Taylor Kelly. Even if it means Eddie loses him.

He doesn’t get to be jealous.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie replies quietly. “I’m fine.”

Buck sets the bag in his arms down on the coffee table.

“You don’t look fine,” he points out. “Actually, you look like shit. Isabel was right to call me.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie repeats. His heart pangs at the concern in Buck’s eyes. “Really, it’s okay—you should—you should—”

Go. Call Taylor back. Enjoy your date.

He wants to do the right thing. He really does. But the rest of the words refuse to leave his throat.

Buck shakes his head anyway. “I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “So tell me what’s going on. How can I help?”

Eddie bites his lip. Drags his hand over his jaw before making a face. The messy, overgrown scruff is itchy and difficult to manage on his own, and the foreignness of it doesn’t help him feel grounded in his own body when he wakes up gasping in the middle of the night.

“It’s stupid,” he says.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Buck replies. “And I’m here, so you might as well just talk.”

I’m in love with you, Eddie thinks. And I can’t sleep. And I can’t shave. And everything hurts. And I just want to stop being afraid—

He swallows. He can’t say all of that. He can’t blow everything up that way.

So, he picks the easiest one.

“I can’t shave with my left hand and it’s driving me insane.”

Buck blinks. Then he laughs as the worry in his brow smooths out.

“That’s it?” He asks. “Well, that’s easy. I can do that. Come on.”

And that’s how Eddie winds up sitting on the bathroom counter with shaving cream all over his face while Buck wets a razor and steps between his legs.

His breath catches.

“You good?” Buck asks, his voice low. His eyes are soft and focused, and Eddie almost regrets everything because the proximity—god, the proximity. He’s been so cold since the shooting and Buck is so warm, heat spreading through Eddie’s body from every discrete point of contact. Buck tips his chin back and Eddie lets his eyes slip closed.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m good.”

The razor drags along his skin. Neither of them say a word, the main sound in the room the drip of the faucet when Buck rinses the razor between passes. They’ve always been physical with each other, but this sort of thing is new. Intimate.

Eddie aches.

His eyes open a crack to watch. Buck’s lower lip is caught between his teeth, and having every ounce of that focus on him is…intoxicating.

I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Buck steps in closer, Eddie’s legs spread ever so slightly wider. A spark of heat flashes through him and he inhales sharply—Buck’s startled enough that his hand slips and the razor nicks Eddie’s jaw.

“Shit,” Buck swears. The razor clatters into the sink. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Eddie opens his eyes the rest of the way. “It’s fine,” he assures. “What, you think I’ve never cut myself shaving before? It’s still better than I would have managed myself.”

“I’m—” Buck looks stricken, his fingers reaching out to gently cradle Eddie’s jaw only for him to snatch them back almost instantly, the tip of one faintly smeared with blood. His hand trembles.

“Buck,” Eddie says quietly. Buck’s eyes are fixed on the red smear and Eddie is sent back—

Watching his blood splash across Buck’s face and not realizing at first that it was his. Being half-delirious on the way to the hospital worrying that Buck had been hurt—

All this time, Buck’s been moving forward, pushing ahead, for Christopher, for him, for everyone, and Eddie knew he wasn’t entirely okay, knew he was fucked up from the moment in the hospital when he said I think it would have been better if I was the one who got shot, but since Eddie’s been home, Buck has seemed…better.

Maybe not. Maybe he’s been struggling to pretend as much as Eddie has.

Eddie twists around to grab the towel draped over the faucet and wets it enough to wash the rest of the shaving cream off his face, feels the sting of soap and water in the cut. And then he reaches out to grab Buck’s hand, wiping the blood off of his finger.

There’s something profane about blood staining skin. And something sacred in the act of washing it clean.

Eddie wonders if anyone helped Buck wash his blood off when he was in surgery. Taylor, maybe.

But no, that doesn’t feel right.

Buck probably did it himself. Alone.

“Hey.” Eddie squeezes Buck’s fingers. When Buck doesn’t look at him, he reaches out and curls his hand around the side of Buck’s neck, tips Buck’s chin up with his thumb to force him to meet his eyes. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay. No harm done.”

Buck breathes out shakily. His throat works, his face passes through a million stages—finally, his hands fall to the counter on either side of Eddie’s hips and his forehead drops to Eddie’s good shoulder. Eddie lets his hand slip around to the back of Buck’s neck, his fingers combing up through the short hairs there. He turns his head and he’s close enough to kiss the side of Buck’s, but he holds off. It feels like it would be too much. Too much when Buck doesn’t know how he really feels, what he really wants. But even just this—the closeness, the touch—is good. Needed. A balm to the itch under his skin.

When Buck turns his face into Eddie’s neck and inhales, Eddie thinks maybe Buck might need this just as badly.

“I’m okay,” he repeats, closing his eyes again as his fingers comb through Buck’s hair. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

They stay like that for a long time. Buck’s phone rings out once, but neither of them moves to answer it. Eventually, Buck lifts his head and clears his throat roughly as he steps back.

Eddie’s hand falls away from Buck’s neck. He feels the absence keenly.

“You good?” He asks. Buck nods. His eyes are red.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. He pauses. Shakes his head. “No. But—can we just—can I just finish this for now? I want to finish this.”

Eddie watches him for a moment. Wets his lips. Then finally nods and passes over the shaving cream again.

“Sure,” he says. “I trust you.”

I love you.

Maybe…maybe eventually he’ll be braver. Maybe eventually, both of them will be free at the same time and he’ll be whole and healed, or at least something closer to it than he is now. Maybe eventually…love will be enough. Maybe.

For now, he has this.

#chapel writes #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie fic #prompt fill #911 fic

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