#WHY WON’T YOU PITY ME TEACHER!!!!!

[spineless-lobster]

‼️BITING WILL COMMENCE IN 2 MINUTES‼️

[slasherscream]

He’s Just Not That Into You

pairing:  jordan li x reader

summary: a hopeless romantic, you keep looking for love in all the wrong places, with all the wrong guys. that is, until you meet jordan li, who takes pity on you and tries to help you learn when a guy just isn’t into you.

gif credit: artemidosgifs

“You good?”

"Huh?" Dazed and drifting, you look up from your incredibly important task of peeling off the label for the worst tasting artisanal beer ever created.

You quickly remember why you focused on the task in the first place. The lighting at this party sucks. It's mostly dim, to try and hide all the unsavory things happening in every corner of the house. The brightest bits of it are all flashing. Neon blue. Neon red. Neon green. As if anyone has ever looked good in neon green lighting. That plus the never-ending movement of people dancing is enough to make you sick.

"Are you good or are you starting to tweak?" Your eyes adjust enough to see who's talking and you sit up straighter. Jordan Li. Number #2.

She's wearing her ever present scowl that makes you study extra hard in Brink's class. You don't ever want to be in the position to have to ask for clarification on an assignment or further guidance. Brink's so busy being renowned that he's a pretty absent teacher, if you're not one of his favorites. Everything menial falls to Jordan.

"I'm good! Totally good. Just vibing, y'know."

Jordan stares down at you, looks back out onto the sea of partygoers, "What vibe do you think you're matching?"

“Excuse me?”

"You've been sitting here for almost twenty minutes. You've barely moved. Did you take something?"

"No! I.... I didn't take anything. I'm just enjoying the atmosphere."

Jordan rolls her eyes, takes the beer bottle from your hand, and then takes your hand itself. She pulls you to your feet, easy, despite the way you go limp at the last second to try and stay seated. Without a word she begins to pull you through the crowd. Bewildered, you follow.

She doesn't stop till you're outside on the porch. Surprisingly, no one else is lingering. But the air has a chill that's pretty biting for an early day in fall. You take a deep breath. You hadn't realized how loud the music really was. How overwhelming every smell. The itch that crawled across your skin with each jostle of a body coming too near.

"Yeah, you look like you were really enjoying the atmosphere." Jordan drawls, leaned up against the railing, observing you.

Your first instinct was to say 'fuck you' to that, obviously. But at the last second you remember she is your TA and is probably doing all the actual grading for every assignment you turn in.

You force a smile, "Thank you. Guess I was feeling pretty anxious."

"What are you even doing here?"

"Should... I mean, I was... invited? If that's what you're asking. Although I think crashing parties is pretty typical college stuff, even if I wasn't-" 

“Not what I meant.” Jordan interrupts, “I mean you don’t usually go to parties. I never see you at any of them.”

“Maybe we just run in different circles.”

“Not really. You’re in the top ten now. What did you jump to, number 6?”

“Seven, actually.”

“Really? Well, won’t be long. Number 6 is a dick. He’ll be easy to knock out with the type of stats you’re pulling this year.” 

Somehow, this compliment bewilders you more than anything. Jordan must see it on your face, because she rolls her eyes again. 

“I keep an eye on the competition. Even if you are just a sophomore.”

“Okay, Junior.” You narrow your eyes at her. She narrows hers back, which feels like overkill, because she was already glaring. 

“So, what are you doing here?” 

“Did they hire you to be the bouncer for this party?” 

“Jesus, ‘m just making conversation. You looked like you were gonna hurl in there. What? Did your friends drag you here then ditch you?” 

“My friends would never do that. That violates the party safety rule. Arrive together, leave together.”

“Oh of course.” She says, nodding in a way that feels sarcastic. 

“I actually came without my friends.” You say, standing up straighter. Proud of yourself for stepping out of your shell even if it ended on a sour note. 

“You did?” Jordan raises an eyebrow. You deflate a little at the shocked tone. Even your TA thinks you’re lame. 

“Well…. I was supposed to meet someone here. But they… I dunno, I must’ve missed them. Or whatever.”

“Who were you supposed to meet?” 

You hesitate for a second, but they impatiently gesture for you to go on. So, begrudgingly you admit to, “Uuuuh… Andre?” 

“Andre?” In the blink of an eye they shift, and take a step closer. As if he wants you to see the disbelief on his face as clearly as possible. “How do you know Andre?” 

“What happened to we run in the same circle?” You snap back. “Andre’s top ten.” 

“Andre’s a fucking nepo baby.” Jordan scoffs

“Aren’t you friends?” You frown.

“Andre barely shows up to class, he knows why he’s top ten, trust me.” Jordan says. “Andre invited you?”

“Yes, Andre invited me. We were at the club last week and you know…talked.”

“You were at the club? You’re changing it up like crazy this year, huh L/N?”

“Lot of good it’s doing me.” You sigh. You twist the sleeve of your top, wrinkling the fabric. You’d spent hours picking out the perfect outfit that looked like you weren’t trying too hard, but brought out all your best features.

Jordan’s face twists, you’d almost mistake it for sympathy, “Did you see Andre at all tonight?”  

“Did he come here with you?” 

“Would you like me to lie or tell you the truth?” 

You sigh, moving to sit down on the porch steps, emotionally and socially exhausted. “It’s okay, I already know the answer.”

A moment of silence before Jordan moves to sit beside you. He offers back up the beer he took from you earlier, “You look like you could use a drink.” 

“Eh, you have it. If you’re not a germaphobe. Thanks for rescuing me.”

Jordan shrugs, takes a sip and almost spits it right back out, “God it tastes like fucking piss.” 

“You weren’t very nice to me during the rescue, so you didn’t deserve a warning.” 

“Well fuck me, I guess.” He laughs, staring at you. He let’s out a sigh of his own, “So which line did he use?” 

“Huh?”

“What did Andre say to you?” 

“He didn’t use a line.” You protest. 

“Andre doesn’t know how to do anything but use a line. Wait! Lemme guess,” Jordan looks you up and down before glancing at a few rings on your hand. “Were you wearing those?” 

You stare back at him. 

“Well?”

“Yes, I was, why?” 

“Did he come up to you with one of them and ask if you dropped it?” 

“.....Maybe. I repeat, why?” You ask, stomach twisting.

“Cause he slipped it off your finger with his powers so he’d have an opening. It’s his go to for girls that look shy. Seen it a million times.” 

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, actually. Fuck me!” You groan, laying back against the steps and throwing your hands over your face. “You’re really good at comforting people, did you know that?” 

“I’ve been told to work on it.” 

“Clearly not enough.” 

“Just didn’t want you to fall for the bullshit any more than you already have.” 

You scrub your face harshly, trying to ignore the tightness in your throat. “Sorry. Do you like apples? I can put a nice shiny one on your desk Monday morning as a thank you for the solid.” 

“Are you about to cry?” Jordan asks, bewildered.

“No.” 

“Over Andre Anderson?”

“No!” You sit up, glaring at him. He glares back. “Not exactly. It’s just… I don’t put myself out there a lot. So it sucks. That I tried… and all I got was a guy who fed me a line he’s used a million different times on a million different girls, who then ditched me at a party he invited me to. I should’ve just fucking stayed home.” 

You sniffle and then remember who you’re actually talking to and how awkward it’s going to be to see their face Monday morning for class if you keep spilling your guts. You stand up abruptly, already planning on apologizing for whatever you said while you were “drunk” tonight. You’re opening your mouth to make your excuses, already taking steps away from the stairs when Jordan reaches out, grabbing you gently by the wrist. 

“Wait! I’m… sorry, I mean-”

“Why are you sorry?” You sniff, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I could’ve… I could’ve been nicer. About telling you. About Andre.” Jordan pulls you to sitting back down beside him, slowly, so you can pull away if you really wanted to. 

“It’s okay. I should’ve known better.” You say quietly. 

“Hey, no. I made it sound like he’s super obvious about it but he’s honestly pretty smooth. His only hobbies are picking up girls and cocaine. He could make… fucking, I dunno, Ellen Ripley blush if he had the prep time! It’s really not your fault.” The comment surprises a wet laugh out of you and Jordan smiles, bumping your shoulders together. 

“Thanks, but he probably was obvious. I just… don’t see stuff like that coming very well.” You laugh bitterly.

“What do you mean?” 

“I apparently just can’t tell for shit when a guy is actually into me! Or just… entertaining himself.” You sigh. 

You and Jordan sit in silence for a second. You have no clue what’s going on in his head. You see him tapping his finger on the beer bottle, the sound of his rings the only noise for a moment. 

“I could help you.”

“Help me what?”

“I could teach you how to spot when a guy is just being an asshole or when he’s serious about you. So this doesn’t happen again.” Jordan shrugs, taking another swallow of the beer, flinching again at the taste. 

“Piss kink or short term memory loss?” 

“Offer retracted.” Jordan laughs.

“Why are you offering in the first place?” 

Jordan shrugs, looking out in the distance, “You’re… cool, y’know. Think of it as a welcome to the top ten gift. You’re only gonna get more and more attention now that you’re there. You’ll need to be able to sniff out bullshit or you’ll get eaten alive. No offense.”

“I’ve been in the top ten for the last six months.” You scowl. 

“Mazel tov.” 

“Dick.” You scoff, fighting back another laugh. You and Jordan make eye contact and both lose the battle, laughing together. 

You take a deep breath once the fit passes, “This isn’t a top ten humiliation ritual of initiation thing, right?”

“I’m way too busy to waste my time doing stupid shit like that.” Jordan says, familiar glare falling back onto his face.

“Sorry, rough night, had to ask.” You say sheepishly. “Offer still open?” You smile, extending your hand out for a handshake.

“Yeah, offers still open, L/N.” Jordan rolls his eyes, but he does shake your hand.

“So, number’s one pretty obvious but we have to establish the basics because you told me you were hopeless.” Jordan sips her chocolate milkshake. 

“Didn’t use the word hopeless, but sure.” You mutter, tossing a fry into your mouth and frowning at the lack of flavor. “Hit me.”

“If he calls off plans with you all the time he’s not interested. If he doesn’t give you as much heads up as humanly possible before he has to cancel a plan or bail then he might actually hate you.” 

“You’re exaggerating.” You scoff, shaking extra salt onto your fries.

Jordan reaches over, stealing one of your now delicious fries to dip it into her milkshake. “It’s a type of power play. Too many reasons to name why a guy might feel the need to pull something like that but we don’t wanna get too complicated. All you need to do is memorize the red flags and run when you see them.” 

“Okay…. follow up question, what would you consider to be ‘all the time’?”

“If you just started seeing each other and he cancels two dates in a row without desperately trying to make it up to you he doesn’t give a shit.” Jordan steals and dips another of your fries. 

“What about emergencies? Like… I dunno, a funeral? What if his Aunt died? So he cancels that one date. Then the next one he tries to plan his car breaks down or something, you know?” 

“He should call an uber and get to the fucking location of the date come hell or high water. That’s what a guy who likes you is gonna do. Don’t over complicate, L/N.”

“Oh and you don’t think you’re over-complicating the process of eating my fries?” You smack at her hand as it reaches for your plate for the umpteenth time during this lunch. “You could have ordered fries. Why didn’t you order fries?”

“Didn’t want any until I saw yours.” She tries again but you see the movement coming and block her hand, again. You did not notice the second, slightly sneakier hand that does successfully carry out the theft. 

“Did you just juke me over a fry? 

“Yeah, and I won.” 

You toss a fry at her and laugh when she manages to catch it with her mouth. Asshole.

You sit on the corner of Jordan’s desk, watching as he finishes up some last minute work that Brink asked him to do before heading out. You’d offered to meet back up later but he just shook his head and said it wouldn’t take long.

“What if he’s just a private person?” You ask, kicking your feet lightly. 

Jordan looks up from his laptop and frowns at you, “Why are you trying to invent exceptions to the rules? The rules are there to help you. Can you say that for me, L/N? Can you say the rules are there to help me?” 

“The rules are there to help me.” You repeat back, mocking their tone. 

“Thank you.” Jordan smirks at you, “Like I said, if he’s hiding your relationship from the world then he’s not serious about you. He should be introducing you to people. You should be on his social media. People should not be shocked you exist when meeting you. All that bullshit.” 

“And if they’re a private person?” You challenge.

Jordan pushes away his laptop, turning to face you. “Fuck me. The types of guys you’re gonna be around as a hero are all gonna be doing the same stuff as you. There’s gonna be a certain level of our life that’s always in the spotlight. Minimum of two posts a week if he’s constantly posting in general.” 

“I don’t post very much.” You counter.

“You should be posting more. Especially as a top ten. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be number 6 right now. You need to be more active on socials.” Jordan gives you a look before going back to typing. Two weeks ago that look would have put you on the verge of tears. Now you roll your eyes.

“I’ll think about it.” 

“It was an order as your TA, actually.” 

“Oh god, an order? I’m shaking in my boots.” You tease, playfully kicking his chair. 

“That just knocked your essay from a B- to a C, congratulations.” Jordan quips. 

“You were gonna mark my essay a B-, you dick? You know damn well I don’t turn in B- work. Who do you think-”

The rest of the afternoon is lost to playful outrage. The papers get graded late. Yours comes back an A+. No one besides you has gotten a grade of + anything since Jordan became TA. 

“Okay, so this is one with a grey area.” Jordan says.

“Oh no.”

“Shut up. If he never gets jealous that’s a red flag.” 

“But-” You sit up from where you’re laid out on the blanket you threw on the ground to better soak in the last warm rays of September sun. 

“I am not saying go out with some overly possessive fucking maniac.” Jordan cuts you off. 

“Be specific, Jordan. You can’t give me rules with built in exceptions. I’ll fail. Is that what you want? You want me to fail, Jordan? That’s messed up-”

“Shut up-” Jordan laughs, shaking her head. “Listen to me, if a guy never gets jealous he just doesn’t care at all. The most namaste, enlightened dude on the planet will get jealous in the right situation. I’m not saying tolerate anything crazy. It’s just good if he like… responds, when you say you’re going to study alone with another dude at 9pm, in the guy’s dorm... while his roommate is gone.”

“Is studying alone with another dude, in his dorm while his roommate is gone, okay as long as it ends before 9pm?”

Jordan rips out grass from the ground and tries to sprinkle it onto your face. You put up a force-field and laugh when she sticks her tongue out. 

“He’s gotta give you his full attention. When he’s with you, he’s with you. Everyone gets distracted. But if his head is always somewhere else, every time you see him, he just doesn’t like you.” Jordan swipes at your head, fast enough to be a challenge to dodge but not hard enough to hurt you had the hit connected. 

You go in for a kick yourself and he practically twirls out of the way. You try twice more, managing to evade his own hits just barely. 

Breathlessly, you gesture for a time out and Jordan sighs, “We gotta get you better at hand to hand.”

“That’s what my shields are for.” 

“The way you use your shields is really good. You’ve gotten a lot more creative this year. It’s why you’ve been jumping ranks so fast. You’re powerful.” 

The earnest tone he uses makes you lift up from the hunched over position of misery on your knees, “You think so?”

“Well…. yeah.” He clears his throat. “But you can’t get lazy. What if someone wears you out and you don’t have any energy left for them? No more shields. You need to be able to fight.”

“If I don’t have any energy left for my shields and my only option left is hand to hand combat, respectfully, it’s my time.” 

Jordan rolls his eyes, “Break’s over. Back in position, stay on your toes more so it’s easier to move, okay?” 

You’re about to get back into form when you hear calls of Jordan’s name from across the arena. You turn and see Luke and Cate coming over, wide grins on their faces. You give them a small wave and they both wave back, incredibly eager. 

You’ve always been friendly with one another but the strength of enthusiasm is… strange. Enough to make you blink in surprise.  

“Thought you said you were super booked up this week doing stuff for Brink? Absolutely no free time.” Cate asks, staring Jordan down. 

“This isn’t free time. I can’t slack on hand to hand combat training. It’s important.” Jordan stares Cate down even harder. 

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Luke asks casually. 

“Jordan saw my form in a video I just posted and apparently it was ‘despicable’ and ‘the most insane way he’d ever seen anyone do that before’. He rushed over to show me what the ‘right way to do it is’. Control freak.” You fake a cough as you say the last part.  

“You were gonna hurt your back!”

“Super healing.”

“Super herniated disc.” Jordan quips back and you scoff, shoving him. 

He shoves you back with an eye roll, fighting back a smile.

“How ungentlemanly of you.” You gasp. A shift, and she shoves you again making you laugh, “and unladylike!”

“You shoved me first!” 

“Children, please try and be civil we’re in public.” Luke cuts in and you almost jump at the sound of his voice. 

It’s easy to get lost in your own world when you’re with Jordan. You turn to be politely facing your classmates and not just Jordan, wearing a sheepish smile. 

“Stop teasing them. They’re cute.” Cate smiles.

“Anyways, you guys need something?” Jordan asks.

“We can’t just hang out? Are you trying to get rid of your best friends?” Luke asks.

“Yes.”

“Jordan!” You bump her with your elbow. 

“Okay, okay. We’ll leave you alone. Wanna grab lunch with us after though?” Cate asks, looping her arm through Luke’s.

“You feeling up to lunch, L/N?” Jordan looks over at you.

With three unexpected pairs of eyes on you, you fluster. “If you go easy on me for the rest of training, yes.”

“Not a chance.” Jordan snorts. “We’ll be there though. Now scram. L/N needs a lot of help.”

“No, I fucking do not!” You protest.

The two of you don’t notice Luke and Cate walking away trading looks.

“When you don’t know really know anything about him, it’s not a good sign.” Jordan tilts the bowl of popcorn towards you. 

“And what do you mean, specifically, by knowing anything about him?” You ask, taking some pieces and throwing them back.

“Has has ever shared his feelings? Talked about his personal life? If you don’t know anything besides the superficial stuff he doesn’t care about you.” Jordan states. “You also need to look out for him not knowing anything about you. Does he give you space to open up? Does he remember the shit you do tell him?”

“Got it, so just look out for the superficial surface level conversations if you never have any deeper moments.” You say.

“Exactly.” Jordan says before her eyes snap back to the screen suddenly. “Did they say they’re gonna try and make that house feel more ‘open concept’? What the fuck is their problem?” 

“Huh?” You look back to Jordan’s TV, which is playing Property Brothers. “You got a problem against open concept?” 

“I have a problem with every house being made to look the same, inside and out. It’s bad enough new houses don’t have unique floor plans. Now we’re taking houses that were unique and fucking them up till they’re boring! What ever happened to individuality? I bet they’ll paint the walls grey too. Fuck me.” She huffs, leaning back against the couch. 

“Are you really into this show or just really into design patterns?” You ask, charmed at her passion for something completely random. 

“A bit of both.” Jordan says. “I wanted to be an architect. Before I got my powers.” 

“Shut up! No, you did not.” 

“I did.” She laughs, “I used to draw up plans and torment my parents with them every hour of the day.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon talking about your hidden passions. 

You even get the honor of seeing a few of the sketches Jordan made years ago. They were crinkled at the edges, pencil markings dull with age in some places. You smiled down at the folder Jordan keeps the drawings in. When you look up, finally, to compliment them you notice a strange look on Jordan’s face. 

Thinking you’d made her self conscious with your long silence you wrapped an arm around her and told her she would have made a hell of an architect. And probably killed someone with the utter lack of load bearing beams in her structures. 

You expected her to shove you off playfully but she only leaned into you and smiled, flipping to the next page of the folder.

When you get back to your own dorm room, moon high in the sky, you have to stifle a laugh. The latest post on Jordan’s Instagram is a picture of you standing with your hands on your hips in the middle of their room, looking baffled. 

The caption: I handed her the remote and walked away for five minutes. We’ve been looking for almost an hour #jesus christ #banned from room 4ever. 

You step out into the hallway and call Jordan up, demanding they take down their character assassination attempt because you two only looked for 26 minutes, actually. 

They refuse. 

You’re so incensed by the exaggeration that you wind up back outside Jordan’s dorm room not ten minutes later. When she opens the door, and sees you standing there, she bursts into laughter. She drags you inside, and when you ask her when the ban got lifted she just throws you on the bed. You spend the rest of the night arguing semantics. 

You and Jordan were sitting in the ground floor of the school’s library where you were allowed to talk quietly. You were teaching them how to fold paper to make little stars while they were teaching you how to make the perfect paper airplane. 

“Are you filled with barely suppressed rage? Why is it so damn wrinkled?” You laugh at their mangled star.

Jordan grabs another piece of paper with a huff, pushing her bob back behind her ears. “You are shit at giving instructions. This is impossible. Do the steps slower again.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m actually not capable of slowing myself down times 3 like a Youtube video.” You tease.

“Fuck you.” Jordan kicks you under the table with her foot. “Again. Show me.”

“You start with this corner here, then you twist it over here, next you wanna-”

“Hey! Hey! What’s up people!” You and Jordan turn in perfect sync to hiss at the person to be quiet only to find that person to be Andre Anderson. 

You turn back towards the table, Jordan moves an arm to curl around the back of your chair. 

“Hey.” Jordan says flatly. You make some noise that you hope passes for a greeting.

“Sorry, too loud. So this is where the party is, huh? What’re you two doing?” Andre grabs a chair on the opposite side of the table and you frown, focusing intensely on the paper before you. 

“Don’t you have a class right now?” Jordan asks sharply.

“Blowing it off.” Andre grins back.

Jordan scoffs. You only notice your shoulders are practically up to your ears when Jordan puts her hand there and rubs. You relax, letting out a quiet breath you were holding. Jordan gives you a squeeze. 

“Awww, you making little stars? Cute. Wanna show me how, F/N?” Andre has the nerve to sound flirtatious. 

After ditching you without a word and radio silence to back it up. To really make sure there’s insult to match the injury. You clench your jaw. Keep moving your hands. Try to zone out. 

The hand on your shoulder gets bigger and so does the thigh that brushes against yours under the table. “Could you fuck off for a bit? We’re trying to relax after our exams this morning.”

“Ouch. Didn’t know you couldn’t relax with me around, man.” Andre bites back. “F/N, you want me to stay, don’t you?” 

You get up from the table abruptly. The sudden sting in your eyes doesn’t even allow you you to collect your things. Your chest feels tight. You have to just get out of here. You hope in a school of future superheroes no one will steal your stuff. You think you hear calls of your name from behind you. Some yelling. Your ears are ringing too much. You break into a sprint. 

You can’t even make it to your dorm. You have to settle for tucking yourself into the first patch of trees behind a building you can find. You try to fight back the tears. One breathe. Two. Three. Try to focus on the birds chirping somewhere above you. But the memories are all flooding in at once and you start to cry. Heaving, chest burning sobs.

“F/N. F/N. F/N, hey look at me.” You zone back into the world to Jordan pushing your hair away from your face and you sob.

“Fuck me, I’ll kill him. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d get so upset. You seemed like you didn’t care after that night… I-  I’ll fucking knock his teeth in.” Jordan hisses. You’d thought you’d seen them angry before. But their face has never looked like this.  

“What’s… are you having a panic attack?” Jordan asks, still petting your hair gently. You manage to nod. “Is touching you okay? Is it making it worse?” You push yourself into his hands and without another word he pulls you into his lap, tucking you against him. 

You notice absently he’s wearing his favorite jacket and try to shift, so that you’re not getting tears and snot onto the fabric. He pushes your head back against his shoulder, shushing you gently. You let yourself relax, letting out the rest of the tears. Letting the anxiety leave your body. You start your grounding techniques as your breathing evens. You can see the sharp cut of Jordan’s jaw. Hear his heartbeat. The birds chirping. Feel his hands as they rub soothing circles into your skin. Smell the cologne he wears. You tuck yourself closer, even though no more tears are coming. 

“Andre is a fucking loser.” Jordan says, quietly but vehemently, “You shouldn’t waste a second fucking thinking about him. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. It’s not you. It’s just who he is.” 

“It’s not just Andre… It’s… it’s not even mostly Andre.” You say quietly. “I mean he’s a dick but… it just brings up memories.” 

“Memories?” Jordan echoes softly, and you know you don’t have to tell him anything but you want to. 

“When I was younger… I was even more of a wall flower than I am now. Shocker, I know.” You try to joke, Jordan only hums to let you know he’s listening, pulling you closer. “Even though I had powers I wasn’t popular or anything. I had trouble controlling them. Not enough to be dangerous… just enough to be… well, a loser, honestly. Because of my anxiety, and how loud my head gets my force-fields would just pop out whenever. I couldn’t stop it. If I was scared. If I got nervous. If I was feeling stupid, or ugly. All the time. People called me bubble girl.”

“I learned to just keep to myself but I was such an easy, fun target. Sneak up on the mouse and watch them jump and make a bubble! Fun!” You laugh bitterly. You think you feel Jordan kiss the top of your head, but you’re still out of it. “It made even getting out of bed to go to school hard. Administration wouldn’t take it serious as bullying because I was a supe: if I wanted it to stop I should defend myself.” 

“My parents felt the same way. Wouldn’t let me transfer. But I didn’t want to fight back. I didn’t want to turn myself into something I’m not just to be left alone! I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I thought eventually everyone would get bored, mature a little. But it just got worse and worse every fucking year. Senior year was… bad, though. I was getting better at controlling my powers so what kids would do to make me react was worse. But I just ignored it. I started just… pulling into myself. Whenever anyone would pour paint on my favorite outfit. Or cut my hair. Or hit me, I’d make the bubble in my head instead, and go there. Eventually, towards the end I thought people finally got bored, they stopped fucking with me as much. I thought I’d be able to graduate in peace.” 

“There was this one boy… he was popular. But he’d always been nice to me. He smiled at me in the hallways. Would help me up if people shoved me when he was around. He even gave me his sweater once, when someone cut up my shirt during gym. His friends were dicks but I thought he was different, I thought he was nice.”

“He suddenly started being even more nice to me. It felt… when he asked me to prom I just wanted to be normal for one second. I should have known. I probably did know. I just wanted to pretend, for five seconds, I wanted to pretend.” You trail off, lost in the memory.

“What happened?” Jordan asks, voice sounding hoarse. You try to pull back to see what’s wrong but he keeps you still. You realize he started rocking the both of you as you spoke. You didn’t realize how soothing it was. 

“It was a joke, obviously. We went to go shopping together, so we’d match, he told me. When we got to the shop he insisted we go to all his friends were waiting for us. Recording, of course. They all laughed at me. I still remember what one girl said, ‘you’re more crazy than we thought if you honestly ever believed someone like him would go out with a loser like you’.”

“F/N, those people were fucking assholes. They… god what the fuck is wrong with people. That’s not true.” Jordan makes you look at him, suddenly. You’re shocked that his eyes are red. “You’re not a fucking loser.”

“It’s okay, Jordan. I know they were just assholes. I always knew. It just hurts still. I’ve… I’ve avoided dating ever since, obviously. My first kiss wasn’t even romantic. It was just with a good friend that I knew wouldn’t make fun of me. So I could get it out of the way.”

“I’m sorry.” Jordan looks helpless, like he wants to do something but doesn’t know what. 

“You didn’t do anything, Jordan. No need to say sorry.”

“And then Andre went and fucking… fucking motherfucker I’ll kill him!” Jordan snaps, goes to stand up and then remembers he’s holding you halfway. He sits back down, grip a little tighter, but still gentle. 

“It’s okay. It wasn’t even a joke, what Andre did. He’s just… inconsiderate. And I happen to have a nasty experience that makes me blow everything out of proportion. I’ll have to get used to that kind of thing if I want to actually start dating.” 

Suddenly both of Jordan’s hands are on your face, holding you still so you have to look at him. “You’re not blowing anything out of proportion. And… and you don’t have to get used to shit, F/N. You’re fucking incredible. You don’t need to tolerate anything, from fucking anyone. You’re a fucking… you’re a fucking dream girl! You’re smart, and funny, and sweet, and strong, and beautiful. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met. You don’t have to settle for fucking anything. Okay?”

You stare up at him, shocked, he gives your head a gentle shake, “Okay?” You nod slowly.

He pulls you into another hug, the tightest one you’ve ever gotten. You don’t pull away until the sun dips so low you’re both draped in gold. 

“Fucking rank number fucking 5!” Jordan screams, arm wrapped around you tightly. A chorus of cheers from the rest of the group and people nearby. 

You cover your face, laughing helplessly. Jordan didn’t surprise you with this party, they knew that would only make you anxious, walking into a room full of people you weren’t expecting to see with (even if asked not to) cameras pointed at you. 

Jordan had texted you: I am throwing you a surprise party on Friday night to celebrate your new ranking. Please practice your surprised face. 

You had practiced. You’d done a very convincing gasp when you walked in. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Jordan says, for the umpteenth time, looking at you. You feel your cheeks go hot.  

“Oh shut up. I’ll get a big head soon.” 

“You deserve it more than anyone. You’re fucking awesome.” Jordan had started heaping more praise onto you than you knew what to do with, most days. 

She claimed it was practically training. That you needed to get used to people complimenting you, with the level of fame you’re going to reach. That alone had made your stomach erupt into butterflies. Jordan believed in you. Really believed in you. 

“You’re the one who’s awesome… you’re a good mentor, Jordan.” You reach up to hold the hand that’s been wrapped around your shoulder all evening. 

“Are you saying that following my advice works?” Jordan pretends to gasp. You playfully dig your nails into her side and she jumps before grabbing the offending hand and holding onto it. She doesn’t let go. 

Her advice had worked. You posted on your social media more, at her insistence. You started to become a beast at hand to hand, thanks to Jordan’s brutal training regimen. You were socializing more, because as long as Jordan was there you felt safe. But you were even feeling confident enough to do things on your own that high school you would be shocked didn’t instantly send you to the grave. 

You’d done an interview, for God’s sake! All on your own. Although your eyes kept darting to Jordan right off camera, who smiled reassuringly the whole time.  

“I will not. Because then you’ll get a big head.” You tease, giving both her hands a squeeze. 

“Let’s get a drink.” Jordan says, tugging you towards the kitchen. 

It’s quieter in the kitchen. The drink table in the living room is still overflowing so no one’s had to start looking for leftovers yet. 

“How you feeling?” Jordan asks, helping you sit on the counter before going to the fridge. After a second he pulls out your favorite. He hid them in the far back, you can tell by how far he had to lean. 

“Good.” You smile as he pops your drink open before handing it to you. He leans against one of your knees. 

“Party isn’t too much, right?” He asks, for the third time tonight. 

Laughing you push a strand of unruly hair back from his face. He freezes at the touch, before a smile creeps onto his lips. 

“Party is perfect, Jordie. Thank you. For everything. For being so…” 

“Don’t thank me for treating you the way you should always be treated.” 

“You treat me like a princess! What if I get spoiled? You’ll have to deal with a monster.” You tease. “You won’t even be able to be mad at me, because you’ll be the reason.” 

“You’ll terrorize the world.” 

“Cause complete chaos.” 

“Devastation, even.” As Jordan speaks you realize you’d gotten closer. A lot closer. Your chest seizes up with anxiety as you wonder how long you’d been leaning in like this. You almost pull back, ready to apologize. But you’re frozen stiff now and realize the two of you are still getting closer. With a jolt you realize you both leaned in. 

Jordan has a hand on your thigh, you reach down, nervous, to hold his hand as reflex. It’s an every day comfort, lately. You give his hand a squeeze. He squeezes back. You don’t pull away as Jordan keeps leaning in. 

“Jordan! Come stop Luke from doing a keg stand, please!” Cate’s voice, typically pleasant sounds incredibly annoying at the moment. 

“Gimme a sec!” Jordan calls back, still looking you in the eye. You squeeze his hand tighter. He looks nervous. They’ve looked so nervous all night. Nervous you were having a good time. Nervous you were happy. Nervous… nervous to kiss you? Is he about to fucking kiss you?

“He has an interview tomorrow! Hustle please!” Cate calls back in a sing song tone. 

“Fuck me!” Jordan throws his head back, shifting, frustrated. “I’ll be right back, okay?” 

You nod, a little breathless from anxiety and excitement, and dread, and the full spectrum of human emotion. “Okay.” 

Jordan stomps out of the kitchen, probably going to rip Luke a new asshole from the sound of her boots on the floor. She sounds like her own stampede. You giggle, pressing your hands, still warm from holding Jordan’s into your face. You may be bad at signals but… 

You sit under the hideous fluorescent kitchen lighting feeling like something inside you is glowing. You kick your feet, nervous, waiting for Jordan to get back. Wondering what they’ll do. What they’ll say. If you’re delusional. You have to be delusional. You have to be. 

“Guard dog taking a walk?” In the doorway stands Andre, looking a little rougher than usual. His right eye is dark, like a black eye that’s started healing. There’s a small bandage over his nose. 

“What happened to you?” You gasp.

“Your guard dog.” Andre says, reaching into the fridge to pull out a bottle of spicy vodka. “Jordan’s number #2 for a reason. Congrats on making #5 by the way.” 

“Thanks.” You say. “When did Jordan do that?”

“A week ago. Would have probably gotten it earlier but apparently Cate talked them into waiting to see me until they were less pissed off. For which I’m eternally grateful.” He says, taking a sip straight from the bottle without chaser. 

You don’t really know what to say so you sit in silence. Legs still kicking, more from anxiety now, less from giddiness. 

“He gave me a busted lip too, but that healed pretty quickly. I also think he might have kicked a rib loose, been a little sore on the left side.” Andre says, he doesn’t seem to be angry but you don’t know why else he’d talk to you. 

“I didn’t ask Jordan to do that. If you’re wondering.” You say, slowly. 

“No! No! You’re way too sweet for that. This was just my shitty way of getting around to an apology. I’m sorry. I should’ve said sorry before Jordan kicked my ass but I promise Jordan kicking my ass isn’t why I’m saying sorry. The original plan was to ask you out again, make it up to you with dinner. Jordan just kicked my ass first.” 

“I hope to god you’re not working your way around to asking me on a pity date.” You narrow your eyes at him. 

“So Jordan could put me in a full body cast?” Andre laughs loudly, shocking you. “No offense, you’re really cute, but nothing’s worth that fucking beat down.” 

“Well, I guess I accept your-”

“You don’t have to forgive me. Jordan was pretty clear that I tore up some old wounds. I didn’t mean to, but I’m sorry. I can just be… a dick, sometimes. Often. All the time.” Andre jokes. 

“What did Jordan say exactly?” You ask nervously. 

“Nothing specific! I could barely pick out anything at all, really. The sound of her fist breaking my nose was pretty loud.” 

You laugh then try to cover it up by taking a sip. Andre grins and you relax, knowing it was his way of breaking the tension. 

“Can I ask you something?” Andre asks suddenly.

“You can ask, doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” You shrug.

“Fair enough.” Andre says, toying with the bottle. “Do you like Jordan?” 

“What?”

“Because Jordan sure likes you.” Andre states. 

“No, they don't.” It’s a reflex to deny the possibility of someone having feelings for you but the words feel wrong once you say them. Weren’t you just about to kiss? Wasn’t his hand just burning into your thigh like a brand? “Do they?” 

“Jordan would never do a fraction of the shit they’ve been doing for you if they didn’t care about you.” Andre takes another sip, then moves to saunter from the kitchen. He stops, a glance over the shoulder. “However you feel, tell Jordan. And soon. They’re looking a little desperate.” 

Then it’s just you and the sound of the party, and the cool marble you’re sitting on. And a lot to think about. 

“Your incessant leg jiggling is distracting me from how and why they intend to turn this beautiful victorian home into another soulless open concept millennial nightmare.” Jordan says, glancing from the TV to your leg which, yes, has been jiggling for awhile.

“I’ve got a question.”

“Obviously.” 

“How can you tell if a girl isn’t into you?” 

Jordan turns to face you, eyebrows furrowed, “what?”

You feel heat flood your cheeks, but keep your eyes firmly glued to the screen. “Are the rules the same? Or different?”

“You like girls?” Jordan blurts out.

“What?” The question is enough to make you look at her. And now you're trapped by societal standards of politeness to maintain the most anxiety inducing eye contact you've ever shared.

“You've never talked about… you've never said anything about liking girls.”

“You only offered up the help for the one gender. Didn't wanna get greedy.” You force a laugh.

“How long have you…. have you always liked girls?” Jordan asks and you hope to God you're not hallucinating that quick glance at your lips. 

“You follow me on Instagram!”

“What's that have to do with anything?”

“I literally have the pride flag in my bio?”

“I thought you were-”

“-Jordan Li, if you're about to tell me you thought I was an ally I'll beat you to death, and then jump off a cliff.” 

Jordan laughs, ducking her head, hair falling into her face slightly. You dig your fingers into your thigh to stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind her ear. 

“Is there a reason why you're asking… about how to tell when a girl isn't into you, all of a sudden?” Jordan looks up at you and the world narrows down to her brown eyes, and her nose, and her mouth. And the look in her eyes you hope you're not reading wrong.

You blink in confusion when amusement crosses over her face and for one awful second you think Jordan is laughing at you and you could throw up. But you realize you're suddenly looking at her from behind a force-field of light purple and feel queasy out of a different sense of embarrassment.

You can hear a smile in Jordan’s voice, but you refuse to unbury your face from your hands, “Never seen you not be able to control your powers before.” 

“Please kill me.”

“Can't. Your forcefield is still up, princess.” She teases, tapping at the bubble. 

With a groan of humiliation you drop your field and peek up at her through your fingers. 

“First the forcefield, now the hands. Still haven't answered my question though.” You almost snip at her that she should take a wild guess at your answer but there's something about Jordan’s expression. It's teetering between playful, guarded, and… something else. And you have to bank on whatever that something else is.

You take a deep breath in and move in closer, “You're not so awful a teacher that the lessons for a guy didn't stick, but considering you're a girl too who knows what incredibly important lesson you didn't know you had to teach me. The lesson… the girl lesson, that would have stopped me from misinterpreting what's been happening here. If I’m misinterpreting. All I know is… all I can really be sure of, is how I feel. And I, well-” You bite your lip, taking a shaky breath, and Jordan moves in closer, “I'm about halfway to being in love with you.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before her lips are on yours. Her hand curls at the base of your neck, pulling you in closer. A brush of her tongue against your bottom lip before you let her in with a breathless sigh. She moans against your lips, other hand moving to your waist to tug you into her lap. 

You lose your balance a little, fall into her in a way that is not at all seductive. You laugh, embarrassed and she chases the sound, using both hands to put you in her lap, holds you there firm and secure.

“You-” She kisses you, interrupting your sentence. “Haven’t-” Another kiss. “Told me-” She holds you tight this time, tilting her head to the side, sweeping her tongue against yours and gasping at your taste. You pull back with shaky hands, keeping her at a distance with a grip on her shoulders.

“Could we use our big girl words?” You ask, breathless and a little dizzy. 

“I’ve fucking only been in love with you for two years, thanks for fucking noticing.” She huffs, exasperated and smiling. 

“How on Earth was I supposed to interpret your seething stare of hate for being in love with me?” You’re already melting against her as she pulls you back in with the guiding grip on your hair. 

“Shoulda looked harder, baby.” She coos, and doesn’t let you up again anytime soon. 

A/N: my magnum opus of pining! if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. xoxoxo

[luv4fushi]

secrecy

jjk megumi fushiguro x fem!reader

hiding your relationship from your loudmouth friends and your energetic teacher is harder than it seems.

content: fluff, established/secret relationship, aged!up megumi (16/17 years old), there is implied/suggestive content because teenagers do stuff (come on, we all know that) but it’s not written out!!! yuji and nobara get the wrong idea and tease the hell out of megumi, that’s all!

wc: 2.1k

click on my masterlist for more!

meeting up after classes are over is always hard.

yuji and nobara are insistent in their spots between the two of you. yuji stays glued to megumi’s side and nobara sneaks her way in between you two. it’s a surprise that neither of them have caught on yet.

megumi’s sudden confession had been blurted out from the doorway of your dorm. you both had been in a pretty gruesome fight; you had needed stitches despite shoko using reverse cursed technique on you, and megumi was injured with a slight limp. he’d been worried even though you paid your wounds no mind.

“take care of yourself,” he’d said through gritted teeth. “i care about you more than you think.”

it had been out of pity more than anything; he had walked you to your room, believing it was his fault that you’d nearly been killed.

still, you acknowledged the warm words through his usual gruffness.

that had led you to today, with yuji and nobara arguing between the two of you. you want nothing more than to relax in your dorm with megumi’s head on your chest, running your fingers through his messy black hair. he’s got a knack for nuzzling into you, breathing in your scent and peppering kisses along your collarbone. it’s his way of telling you he loves you.

“so what d’ya wanna do then?” nobara huffs, frustrated.

“you just said no to every single restaurant i recommended. why don’t you choose?” yuji whines.

nobara crosses her arms. “i’m not choosing because you’re gonna say no.”

“that’s not true,” yuji deflects, furrowing his brows. “i just told you, i don’t care where we eat.”

“i’m gonna head back,” megumi says, clearing his throat. “i’ve got a mission tomorrow and i wanna get some sleep.”

it’s an obvious excuse, at least to you. megumi isn’t lying, though; he has to visit a train station tomorrow to get rid of a nasty curse that’d been formed from an accident. it’s overgrown and estimated to at least be a grade 1 curse, so megumi is being sent by himself because gojo trusts that he can handle it smoothly. megumi is a grade 1 sorcerer, after all, and lately gojo has been trying to get him reevaluated as a special grade.

“you guys have fun,” you announce shortly after megumi trudges away. “i’m gonna go finish my book before my sparring session with maki.”

“whatttt?!” nobara groans. “maki said she was gonna hang with me! someone isn’t telling the truth and i know it’s you!”

you cringe, knowing you’ve been caught in your lie. “oh, that’s right. the session is tomorrow.”

“if you or megumi aren’t going then i won’t go either!” yuji pouts.

“what was the point of us walking all the way out here?” nobara smacks him on the back of his head. “whatever! i’m going to find maki. maybe she’ll wanna eat with me.”

“the third years aren’t gonna hang with you, loser,” yuji says, sticking his tongue out at her.

nobara responds by flicking him off over her shoulder. she’s already long gone by the time you and yuji bid your goodbyes. you take your time on the way back to your dorm, shuffling your feet against the pavement as slowly as you can. the last thing you want is to catch up to yuji on your way to the boys’ dormitory.

you take a quick look around once you start to get close to megumi’s dorm. the sun beams down at you and you begin to sweat nervously. you’ve done this plenty of times before, but it still makes your nerves jitter.

the coast is clear. the bushes don’t seem to be hiding anyone. there doesn’t seem to be a person hiding behind any corners. you make a run for it, nimbly skipping toward the boys’ dormitories. you make a beeline for megumi’s door, which is the furthest one at the end of the hall. yuji’s dorm is across from his, so you make sure your footsteps aren’t too loud. you tap on the doorframe four times, a signal you’d unknowingly came up with in the weeks you and megumi have snuck into each other’s rooms.

megumi swings the door open, his face brightening as he pulls you in. he wastes no time in burying himself into the crook of your neck, inhaling your comforting scent.

“god, i was hoping they’d leave without us back there,” he sighs into your neck. “it took you so long to shake ‘em off.”

your lips stretch into a pretty grin, and megumi nearly melts at the sight. you ruffle his hair and press a kiss onto his redden cheek. “i’m here now, aren’t i?”

megumi would’ve cringed had it been any other couple, but it’s you and him, and all the sweet words you two whisper make him adore the cheesiness of the relationship. he takes you by the hand and nearly crushes you as he lays the both of you down.

napping together is a common occurrence for the two of you. it’s not like you can waltz out with your fingers interlocked because gojo would make fun of you both for the rest of your lives. dating as a jujutsu sorcerer is hard enough, and you two would rather not add him into the mix.

“are you sleepy?” you ask softly. you’re trapped in between his toned arms, your face pressing into his firm chest.

he hums. “you mind?”

“not at all,” you say with a small laugh. “but you gotta get up before dinner, ‘kay?”

you feel him nod. “yeah, just wake me up.”

“‘kay.”

the silence is comfortable, as if you’ve known him for longer than you actually have. he lets himself go when he’s around you, and that fact makes you more prideful than it should. there’s something about megumi fushiguro allowing you to see his vulnerable side that makes you feel all the more important. the boy never, ever removes the scowl off his face unless he’s with you.

“need to take off my clothes,” you complain. “i’m all sweaty from today. gojo sensei had me run a few laps ‘cause nobara snitched about me returning to my room late.”

the corner of megumi’s mouth lifts. “that’s why i told you to leave before sunset. see what happens when you don’t listen?”

you shove his shoulder and unseal yourself from his hold, giving him a glare. “you were the one asking me to stay, you idiot. now give me a shirt.”

he pretends to be annoyed, mumbling something under his breath as he reaches for a shirt hung on the end of his headboard.

“a clean one.” you give him a pointed look.

“i thought you liked my smell?” he looks at you through his lashes.

“your smell, megumi, not your sweat,” you deadpan.

he lets out a laugh and it sounds like music to your ears. perhaps this is what the world means when they say love makes you a different person.

he obliges and walks to his drawer. megumi is changed himself: loose sweatpants hanging on his waist lowly. he has on a white t-shirt and the necklace you had gifted him a week prior. megumi hands you one of his sweaters, which is oversized, but it’s the best he can do. you’d rather not go back to your dorm to change.

megumi turns around so that you can change. he’s awkward and beet red, scratching his head in a moment of tenseness. you slip on his sweater and you’re immediately engulfed in his warm scent. the fabric nearly drowns you as you take off your pants.

“do you have any shorts?” you ask, scanning the room.

megumi’s back is still turned to you. “you took those ones back to your room, remember? did you bring them?”

you shake your head, but then remember that he can’t see you. you duck your head in embarrassment, laughing lightly. “nah, but it’s fine. the shirt’s basically a dress anyway.”

megumi hears the sheets rustle and makes a bold assumption to turn around. he’s met with you sprawled out on the bed, patting the empty space next to you as a wordless invitation.

his eyes crinkle when he grins, which is not something you see everyday. you savor the moment and engrave it into your memory. it’ll make you giddy when you remember it tonight as you get ready for bed.

“love you,” you whisper, making yourself comfortable in his embrace. you feel his fingers caress your arm in loving patterns.

megumi pauses for a split second, but it’s long enough for you to notice. he still has a hard time using his words, but you’re in no rush to change that part of him.

“i love you, too,” he replies in a small voice.

“when did you get so corny?” you tease, your eyes fluttering shut.

“you’re being irritating,” he says. you can tell just from the way he puffs out a little breath that he’s rolling his eyes in distaste. “it’s your fault for making me all gross and corny. yuji would never stop making fun of me if he saw us right now.”

“megumi!” a knock interrupts him. it’s yuji, who calls from outside the door. “gojo-sensei needs us real quick! read your damn text messages for once!”

megumi freezes and your head perks up. your eyes are wide with fear and slight amusement. this has never happened before. megumi presses a finger to your lips, shushing you, before he yells out an irritated, “what does he want?”

“he says we gotta go see him in his office! check your phone.” yuji’s voice is muffled. he bangs on the door once more.

your breathing is shallow. there’s a sort of excitement in the air at the thought of possibly being caught, but the anxiety of it all overpasses that. you refuse to move, afraid that the loud sheets will give it away to yuji that you’re in the same bed as megumi.

“is the door locked?” you whisper lowly.

megumi’s eyes narrow. “i… i think so. i don’t know.”

“what do you mean you don’t know?”

“i was excited to see you… i’m not—i don’t remember locking it.”

“i’m sure you did,” you convince yourself out loud, “you always do.”

“and tell y/n that she’s gotta come out too!” nobara’s voice rings out.

you feel your body grow hot in humiliation.

once you’re all in gojo’s office, the white-haired man gives you and megumi a hard stare. he has a lazy smirk plastered on his face, his blindfold pushed down on his neck solely so that he can show off the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“let me make one thing clear,” gojo begins, “no boys in the girls’ dorms.”

yuji scrunches his nose.

“and no girls in the boys’ dorms. we all know this already, don’t we?”

“duh. is that all?” nobara says, shifting her weight on to her left leg. she looks amused.

“y/n,” gojo says, causing your eyes to flicker up at him, “run 30 laps. you’ve broken the rules.”

your jaw drops open. it had been embarrassing enough to quickly throw on your pants and rush out of megumi’s room with nobara and yuji’s smug faces trailing behind you.

“no buts,” he adds when he notices your apprehension.

you frown.

“i’ll take half,” megumi mutters, the annoyance leaking into his tone. “she’ll do 15 and i’ll do 15. we both broke the rules, so punish us fairly.”

gojo’s smirk widens. “i wasn’t finished, fushiguro. you’re gonna run 30 as well… but i guess it’s 45 now? isn’t that sweet of you? protecting your girl~”

“gojo-sensei… y/n is wearing megumi’s shirt…” yuji pretends to gag. “we all know what that—”

megumi shoots a glare at him. if eyes could kill, yuji would be six feet under. “don’t be fucking gross, yuji. it’s not like that.”

you tug at his t-shirt, eyes averting gojo’s. megumi’s behavior is only going to punish the two of you more. the whole situation is already making you want to curl up into a ball and die, and you want it to be over with already.

“oh my god, you’re right, yuji. that’s…. that’s very scandalous.” nobara brings a hand to cover her opened mouth.

“don’t piss me off,” megumi threatens. “it’s not anything like what you two are thinking. don’t be weird about it.”

gojo opens his mouth to speak, but megumi is quicker. he drags you out of the office and the two of you make it to the track field. the red of the field matches the red in megumi’s face. it’s ridiculously hilarious now that you’re really looking at it.

“let’s run our laps. 15 for you, 45 for me.”

you giggle and pull him in for a kiss. “thank you, megumi, but i can handle 30 just fine. we just have to get better at sneaking around, don’t we?”

“yeah…” he says, his composure breaking. “ah, whatever. they know anyway. let’s just start going out, hm? they can’t control us outside of school grounds.”

from somewhere inside the school, you can hear nobara celebrate over winning $50.

a/n: this was SO FUN TO WRITE. i have so many drafts and drabbles so i decided to just post one! none of it is canon blah blah idc IM A SUCKER FOR SOFT MEGUMI!!! he’s the epitome of “i hate everyone but you” HOPE U ENJOYED

[theloveliestembrace]

Let it happen. | CL

Charles Leclerc/Reader

f1 masterlist

crossposted to ao3

Summary: The five times you meet Charles Leclerc. (The four times it doesn’t work out, the one time it might,)

Warnings: Non-explicit (but definitely inappropriate) teacher-student relationship

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Reincarnation au

W/C: 2.7k

-

A/N: What’s good people, I’m back again. This fic was very cinematic in my head (it still is), so I hope the writing captures that. Enjoy~

-

The first time you meet Charles Leclerc, he’s a barista at the coffeehouse down the road from your interning job. It’s a brief stint in the industry as you wait for a university acceptance letter, so you don’t expect to stay for long. 

He’s sweet, beaming at you from over the counter nearly everyday, remembering your order before you’ve even asked for his name. 

“Charles,” he says, sweetly accented, “my name is Charles Leclerc.” 

That day, the flowing script of your name on the takeaway cup is accompanied with a ‘have dinner with me?’ and a smiley face. You picture him, eyebrows scrunched and eyes squinted in concentration, trying to write neatly on the curved surface, and smile. 

As it turns out, Charles Leclerc is also waiting for a university acceptance letter, to a prestigious place in the United Kingdom for the study of Liberal Arts. He laughs awkwardly as he confesses, “My English is not so good yet, so I am worried they won’t find me so elegant.” 

You bat it off as nonsense, pulling him in for a chaste kiss, whispering sincerely against his lips. “They’ll be foolish not to accept you, cheri.”

He’s a sweet relief from the bustle of your internship, where you’re surrounded by presumptuous old men and women who expect their coffee orders and bottles of perrier on their desk before eight. Your work in the fashion industry is not as glamorous a job as made out in the novels. The twelve centimeter heels you’re forced into daily pinch at your toes, and all your coworkers are size-zero hyenas, vying for a position. It takes all your energy to keep up. 

Just the sight of him, though, waving cheerily in the morning as you run in for coffee pickup, hands in his pockets as he waits for you to get off work, the soft kisses when he walks you home. It’s easy to get lost in this, lost in him , fingers slotted between yours and a glass of wine shared between interlocked fingers.  It’s a romance out of a metropolitan chick flick, something about finding love in the middle of modern day bustle, finding quiet in the loud city. 

Everything falls apart when you get your acceptance letter. You haven’t talked about the inexorability of the end, not really. Sometimes Charles will bring it up half-heartedly, and so will you, but the inertia to dealing with your very real future is too great, and you both end up kissing on Charles’ sofa instead of facing the truth. 

It culminates in one big fight, your fingernails pressed to draw blood, Charles bracing himself against the wall to prevent himself from losing his temper. 

And it goes like every other fight in the movies, things like i was always going to go anyway and why don’t you just fucking go then, if you have nothing to stay for , and don’t hold me back just because you don’t have the certainty of getting into your course, Charles spinning around and saying i already got in, i’m hesitating because of you and the pressure in your chest growing so large it’s all you can do to stop your tears from running. 

The movies lied to you. This is the part where Charles apologises and you hug and make up and you stay for each other. That’s the love story. 

Instead, you say, go then, if staying for me burdens you so . And he goes, your apartment door slamming behind him. 

You spend days wallowing in self-pity, avoiding the coffeehouse, running through the motions, thinking about the last ten months of your life, and make the decision when your hand reaches for a coffee cup that isn’t there. 

You’ll stay, for Charles, because you love him, even if it isn’t like the movies. Because it isn’t like the movies, and you’ll love him even when the post-credits have rolled. 

It is this that makes you run to the coffeehouse the next morning, forgoing an umbrella in your haste, soaking your blouse straight through. You yank the door open, waiting for the head of curls at the counter to look up so you can beg for a chance. Just one.

Instead, the older lady who owns the place, looks up and smiles sadly at you. “I’m sorry, kid. He flew off to the UK yesterday, he said you never called.” 

And again, this doesn’t happen in the movies. The main character doesn’t step back out into the rain alone, heels soaked against the pavement, nor do they spend the next week waiting for the love of their life to call. 

You hit reply on the acceptance email, and change your number to a local one when you land in America. 

Somewhere on another continent, a call doesn’t get connected.

-

On the sixteenth of October, the people of Monaco are blessed with an announcement. A prince is born, the news reports. 

Charles, they named him. Charles Leclerc. 

In another ward down the hallway, another woman gives birth to a girl. The royal family hasn’t realised it yet, but down the hallway, is their future pr manager. 

Your first day on the job is fraught with just about every roadblock you could face. 

At four in the morning, one of your neighbour’s ridiculous scented candles tips over and sets enough things on fire to trip the fire alarm. Management ushers every single person in the vicinity out of the apartment building, where you stand shivering in your bathrobe. 

A few hours later, your coffee machine breaks down before your espresso even finishes running. 

Then, five minutes after you leave the apartment to catch your Uber, your heel breaks, so you’re forced to change your shoes and foot the late arrival fee on your car. 

When you finally find the meeting room fifteen minutes after you were supposed to reach, you're very much on the verge of tears. 

You’re met with a frowning Charles Leclerc, whose expression instantly evaporates into fondness when he recognises who’s at the door. He stands to bring you into a hug, as if you’d been friends since you were children. (You had been, of course, but you didn’t forget that he was a literal prince. Hugs are not commonplace.)

It’s an odd feeling, standing in front of the boy you’d known from birth, tasked with covering up his scandals and manufacturing relationships to keep him in the public eye.

It’s even odder to fall in love with him all over again, especially while you’re both poring over staged Instagram posts of him and Monaco’s richest bachelorettes. But Charles is so— good, easy to fall in love with, like those princes from storybooks. He laughs at exactly the right moments, cracks jokes that have you gasping for breath, charms you so thoroughly it’s almost embarrassing. 

It falls into place like poetry, too many moments without supervision, secret smiles over the table, quiet mornings in the palace, hidden in his room. You pick up the closeness of your youth near flawlessly. Falling in love has never been this easy. 

(It’ll never be this easy again.)

The end comes knocking in the form of his mother. Marriage. You almost choke on the enormity of it, caught in the noose of your own stupidity. Because that is your job, isn’t it? The prince is almost thirty, you are almost thirty, and this has always been the final point, of your job, of his scripted relationships. 

You don’t even fight, which is kind of the worst part. A choice is presented to Charles, and he chooses.

It’s a special kind of cruelty, to stay. To sit with the photographers and videographers and event crew and wedding planner, poring over fabrics and angles, as if it’s your fucking honour to plan what’s set to be the greatest union in Monaco for the next decade. 

You were wrong. The worst part is standing at the fringes, in your blue dress, watching the love of your life slide a ring onto another finger and speak the vows that were meant for youyouyou . The worst part is knowing the photos will be beautiful, because you planned them yourself. 

The worst part is knowing there is no universe where he chooses you.  

-

Your new French Literature professor is… really fucking hot. You’re not just saying this because he’s a decade older than you, or because he’s at least three decades younger than the guy who used to teach the class. He’s just, objectively of course, a really attractive man. 

The way his accent rolls off his tongue when he says “Charles, my name is Charles Leclerc.” definitely doesn’t help. In your periphery, you see the girl seated next to you furiously typing on her phone, with caps and exclamation marks and sweating emojis. You can’t even blame her. 

And it’s almost criminally obvious, the way he looks at you, eyes darting to your open polo, the way he lingers on the syllables of your name when he calls on you to answer in class. 

It’s subtle enough to not warrant any accusations of misconduct, but not subtle enough to avoid the envious stares of the girls (and boys) in your class. You’re unbothered, of course, given that he hasn’t actually made a move, but also the fact that he wears his wedding ring all the time.

And if you start wearing tighter shirts and shorter skirts to class, just to see his breath hitch when you uncross your legs just so, well that’s nobody’s business but your own. 

It’s almost cliche, the way your little game unfolds. You make sure to book the latest possible consultation slots with him, in a cute ensemble and flawless makeup, toting a copy of Les Miserables as if you’re actually struggling with the material. 

It’s fun, to rile him up, watch his tongue slide against his lower lip as he looks at you from across the desk. You don’t typically make a habit of seducing professors, especially the married ones, but you figure it’ll probably make a great story for your grandkids, or something. He holds out much longer than you thought, so much so that the illusion of needing aid in your best subject starts to grate on you. Still, the sight of his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves, or the line of his throat when he sips water during lectures keeps you hooked. 

When he finally bends you over his desk, you’re almost disappointed that the game has ended. The imprint of his wedding ring stays on your waist for days. Your friend tuts nervously when you return back late, murmurs something about morals and regretting your decisions and something else you tune out. 

Un brin de folie egaye la vie, right? Some madness will brighten your life. You continue ignoring her.

It’s only after months of your routine that you can form the all-important question, perched on his lap in his (locked) office, “Why cheat on your wife?” And the room is instantly suffused with silence. You expect him to tell you to get out or something of the sort, but instead he hums thoughtfully, shifting you further onto his thighs. 

He’s silent for a few seconds, running fingers through your hair, “Why do we do anything?” You snort at the obvious deflection, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. 

“On n’aime que ce qu’on possède pas tout entier. Proust says we love only what we do not have entirely.” You giggle a little at that, “you love me because you cannot have me?” He sighs against your cheek, “something like that, yes.”

In the end, it ends much cleaner than affairs like this tend to. You graduate top of the class, watch Charles and his beautiful wife at the ceremony, and laugh a little meanly at how oblivious her smile is. How he watches you, still, as you give the valedictorian speech, the smirk on his face as you thank your professors with false fervour. 

And then, one last time for the road, in the handicap bathroom where the bustle of the hall isn’t quite muted, breaths mingling hot in the stale air. A kiss, almost chaste, and you leave. 

Your grandkids howl with laughter at the story, nearly seventy years down the road. You smile, think about green eyes and rolled up sleeves. Another life, maybe. 

-

You’re still not used to the wag lifestyle. It’s one thing to be recognised in Monaco, another to be Il Predestinato’s girlfriend. It’s almost obscene, the red that greets you down every hallway, the way you bite your tongue and watch the team fuck him over every weekend. The way the crowds chant his name; Charles, they scream, Charles Leclerc. 

It’s not like you haven’t earned a place in the paddock. You’ve done the work, the pr activities, the carefully curated soft launches, the jet lag, the helmet kisses and the careful, careful styling. You’ll always be silent and pretty, always smiling and skinny and happy for him, existing to prove something. 

The point is, it isn’t that you don’t love Charles anymore. It isn’t that he’s neglectful and distant (he is), or that you’re unhappy with the constant scrutiny and ever changing time zones (you are). You can swallow these things, breathe deep and let it settle. 

Mangia questa minestra o saltar questa finestra; eat the soup or jump out of the window. Accept things for what they are, don’t hurt over things that cannot be changed. 

And it really does feel like nothing will ever change, watching the man you love turn into a beating husk, consumed with his want. A championship, a victory, draped in enough red to drown you both, a hundred years of history. Nothing will change, you will always be the girlfriend, the girl in-the-pictures. You can feel the shadow of Charles’ name as heavily as he feels Ferrari’s. That will never change.    

The championship is a hollow victory, when it comes. You and Charles have devolved across the year into a state of a perpetual tense silence, intercut only with the curl of his fingers around your waist when the cameras come flashing, and drawn out, passive aggressive conversations.

You begin to fly out less and less, blame it on the job you pretend to hate for Charles’ sake. Slowly, you learn to be on your own, find your way around loneliness, spaces within yourself previously occupied with your boyfriend. You toss about the idea of him cheating on you while you miss his races, and find the thought less impossible and less painful each time. 

By the time you see him again in Abu Dhabi, the Monacan flag wrapped around his shoulders, fingers pointed to the sky, you only feel affection for the man you would’ve given everything up for a year ago. The knowledge squeezes painfully in your chest. 

You reach for him in the cooldown room, wince at how unfamiliar his hands are to you now, look him in the eyes, “It’s been over for a long time, hasn’t it, cheri?” Tears rise unbidden within you when he nods, eyes wet. You clasp his hands tighter, relish the feeling of his fingers against yours one more time, “I want you to remember the best parts of us,” you sniffle lightly, attempt a smile, “not the end. I want you to remember that I am always proud of you.”

The room is quiet. He leans against your shoulder, for a moment you are both twenty-one again, guileless. The enormity of what you are losing has settled in your bones. 

The soup is unassuming on the table. You choose the free fall from the window. 

-

The new doctor is cute, in a puppyish sort of way. Charles watches the way you interact with all your new coworkers, smiling and shaking hands, the way you laugh at a joke Max just made. 

You come up in front of him, and falter, tilting your head like a startled animal. “Have we met?” The deja vu hits him so hard his head spins, shaking his head at your question anyway. 

He kisses your outstretched hand, soft under his lips, revels briefly in your furious blushing. His mother likes to tell him; doctors only date other doctors. He intends to test the theory.

“My name is Charles,” he says, “Charles Leclerc.”

[cdragons]

Warmth & Stories - Aemond Targaryen x Wildling!Reader

Next Part

Summary: Love can bloom in the most unusual ways. The love between a stoic prince from the South and a wildling storyteller will be written in history as one of the strangest but truest of loves.

Author's Notes: To my very lovely and wonderful friend and beta reader Bel, aka @valeskafics, I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's! This is the first part of this fic gift I wanted to give you, and I promise the next part will have smut! I hope you like this fic and can feel my love and appreciation for you. Bel, you are one of my favorite writers of all time and a huge reason I began posting fanfics and writing in the first place. I am so grateful that you opened a whole new world for me, and I hope this year gives you lots of happiness.

Warning(s): Slight cursing, Reader's parents were killed, Daemon's an ass, Viserys is a negligent father, Westeros is Westeros, dysfunctional family shenanigans

Prince Aemond Targaryen was known to be many things. Proud. Serious. Studious. All things one should be proud of in a young man’s position. Every single one of his teachers and wet nurses sung praises of the young prince since he began to toddle. And although it might seem cruel to admit it, the second prince was the apple of the Queen’s eye and the clear favorite of her four children.

Her sweet Aemond was a mild, studious young boy who practiced his faith in the Seven despite his blood lineage belonging to the Old Gods of Valryia. Besides Aegon, he had always been respectful to his siblings–especially to his elder sister, Helaena. Aemond would often humor his sister’s strange ramblings and gift her with little creatures he found as he wandered the ancient walls of the Red Keep. Helanea, despite all her reclusiveness, only seemed comfortable enough to be touched with her younger brother and often offered comfort whenever he complained about how unfair it was that he still had no dragon. His sister was as fond of her younger brother as he was of her and would usually humor his requests.

Except now.

“Please?” Aemond had been pleading for over an hour, reaching a point where most would pity him.

“No,” replied his sister sternly, “I’ve already told you my answer won’t change.”

“But why?” he pathetically asked as his voice cracked. It was good that Aegon was still in his room, too drunk to start the day. Aemond would never have lived it down without allowing his brother to see him like this. “I won’t ask for anything else from you, I swear it.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But why?” demanded Aemond. “I would never harm (Y/N). Name one person in the Seven Kingdoms who would treat her better than I?”

Too upset by his sister’s refusal, the prince stormed out of the room in a near-blind rage.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was no noblewoman or someone with any particularly wealthy connections or background. You weren’t even someone born within the Walls in the North.

No, you were from a tribe of wildings that hailed outside the Wall and were brought within the borders after your parents were caught stealing. The Starks decided to spare when they realized their daughter was just a tiny child with an incredible talent for storytelling. Within a year, the tales that Y/N wove with her tongue had reached the ears of Aemond’s father, King Viserys of House Targaryen. The King was fascinated by the young girl beyond the Wall, who spun tales of giants and spirits from the Land of Always Winter. He spared no expense in bringing you to King’s Landing.

Aemond could remember the day so clearly, as you arrived very shortly after his bastard nephew took his eye in Driftmark, and his father did nothing but protect his whore of a half-sister. When brought into the keep, you could hardly present yourself to a room full of nobles, let alone the King. You stood before his father and family barefoot and filthy. Your clothes looked closer to rags and torn cloth, and your (h/c) mane was wild with a few braids and feathers. But that hardly mattered. As soon as you opened your mouth, it was as if everyone in the Great Hall had been transported to another world.

The story you told started with a young princess given a toy soldier named the “Nussknacker.” The young princess loved her little toy soldier so much that her sweet Nussknacker came to life one night. He told the princess a prince to a winter wonderland full of fairies, sugar plums, and magic. His home had been overtaken by a maniacal Rattenkönig, and he turned the prince into his current form. The soldier and princess had to face many trials, but they were successful in defeating the evil Rattenkönig and saving the prince’s kingdom. The Nussknacker turned back into the handsome prince he had always been, and he and the princess married to lead his kingdom into prosperity.

By the time you finished telling your story, the Royal court went ablaze with applause. Your pretty words and skillful tongue enraptured every noble. They longed to hear more of your stories and were starved for entertainment. His father was in an especially jolly mood after hearing your tale. He immediately appointed you as the troubadour of the Royal Court held in protection under the Royal Targaryen House. A proclamation that horrified both the king’s Hand and the Queen, to say the least. It was no secret that Aemond’s mother and grandfather did not look favorably on you. More than once, he heard his mother seethe in anger at the attention her husband gave to you as you sat beside him during his father’s pain flares. In her eyes, you were a savage hellion who likely spread her legs up from the Wall in the North to the Great Hall of the Red Keep in the South.

But in Aemond’s eyes, you were an angel. It was not only his father’s pain you soothed with your stories, but also his own. He tried his best to keep his distance from you, but it wasn’t long until you gained his sister’s favor. From then on, whenever he spotted Helaena, you were by her side. The tall and icy walls he tried to maintain around you came crashing down before he knew it. His mother so loved him because he always did as she instructed, including to remain far away from the new child from beyond the North.

But one night, the scar on his eye had been so painful that he gained a fever that lasted for nearly a week. The maesters weren’t sure if he would survive the sickness, as it was a result of his lost eye being inflamed. His mother had resigned herself to crying by his bedside while his sister would sit with him and talk about her day. But one night, when he was delirious with pain, you somehow managed to sneak in from one of the secret tunnels within the keep’s walls. He couldn’t see you, but he recognized your voice. He wanted to scream for you to leave his room, threatening that he would call over the guards standing outside. But then you spoke, and it seemed as if his world of pain had just washed away. You spoke to him about the history of Old Valyria and the beautiful tales of dragons and knights that were lost in time. This continued on every night during his ailment.

“Do you miss your parents?” Aemond asked you one night. But he immediately regretted his question when he saw how your shoulders tensed.

“Sometimes,” you replied after a few moments of silence, “I understand that they are in a better place, wherever they are. But sometimes I wish they were here so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“But you have Helaena to be with you. Even my father adores your company.”

You only scoffed in response.

“Helaena is wonderful,” you bitterly continued, “I am glad to have a friend as sweet and kind as her in this poisonous hellhole you call home. But your father-” you paused a moment to lick your lips to figure out how to phrase your thoughts – “all he sees me as is a toy. A commodity. A funny little object that he bought to entertain him. He never mistreated me but does not respect me as a person, let alone as a subject.”

The tears in your eyes welled to the point where they almost spilled, and you immediately stopped talking to prevent further incriminating yourself.

“You have no idea what it’s like-” you let out a bitter laugh before continuing to cry – “to have your family taken away from you. To watch your parents be executed before your eyes when you were only a small child. And for what? Stealing a loaf of stale bread? What should that matter to the Starks? They have their pretty castle with warm fires and fur blankets. My mother and father worked for everything they had in order to care for me. Now here I am, away from the silver winter I called home and stuck in the shit-odor that covers precious South.”

“However much you hate your family, at least you still have them. I have no one. No one to share my culture and past with, no one to understand your customs and way of life. Call my parents whatever you want. Savages. Thieves. Scum. But they loved me. However little it was, they taught me to be proud of myself. They were my whole life, and now they’re gone.”

You ran out of his chambers and back into the wall. Aemond didn’t see you for several days, even after his fever broke and the maesters told his mother he would live. Two weeks passed, and Aemond felt as if he were going mad. When he finally spotted you in one of the more secluded areas of the library, he grabbed your arm before you could scurry off.

“Tell me,” he told you. “Tell me everything about your parents, your home. Tell me about how the air was clean and clear. Tell me about how everywhere you looked, you saw white snow and clear ice. Tell me how much you loved your family, pets, friends – if you had any. I don’t care what it is. Tell me everything.”

At first, you only stared. He couldn’t tell if you were furious or in shock. But soon, your eyes lit up as if you had been given five hundred gold dragons.

“Where do you want me to start?” you asked him, eyes wide with joy and a heart finally learning to trust.

Lo and behold, he found his heart beginning to feel the same.

“Wherever you want.”

The smile you gave him was worth more than all the money locked within the Royal Treasury.

So many nights since that day, you would sit by his bedside, speaking so prettily that even the most brutal of their acts and customs fascinated Aemond. You would burn the midnight oil, telling him about the adventures and raids of the Free People beyond the Wall. That’s how you referred to yourself as a “free woman.” While you despised the title “savage,” you did not mind being labeled as “wilding.” You claimed that since you were born outside the Wall, the laws of Westeros did not apply to you. You have been seen as wild, but you knew in your heart that you were born free. And what was more impressive to Aemond was how you honestly and sincerely believed that you were born as a free woman.

He saw it in the way you would make little shadow puppets shows to bring a smile from Daeron after it was announced that he would leave for Oldtown.

He heard it in how you got the cooks to spit on your name after stealing bread from kitchens and then giving it to the small folk children living in impoverished areas of Flea Bottom.

He smelt it in how your hair would always smell like the wind in the Godswood to ride his horse when you were supposed to be learning your letters with the Head Septa.

He tasted it when you let him take a sip of that rotten ale you made in secret when you went through one of your horrible bouts of homesickness.

He felt it in how you raced to his chambers to hug him after he woke up from another nightmare of the memory of that night when he lost his right eye.

You were the strangest mystery Aemond had ever and will ever know. No matter how long he spent searching for answers in his favorite corner of the library, Aemond could never understand how someone with a heart as warm as (Y/N) could come from the frozen wasteland she loved to call home.

With a single but powerful stroke of his blade, Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s upper jaw fell as the rest of his body dropped to the floor. Visenya’s Dark Sister had once more bathed in its victim’s blood. Gasps and shrieks filled the Great Hall at the sight of dark blood oozing from his corpse. The members of the Royal members all had varying reactions. From his mother’s side, Helaena immediately covered her eyes and turned away – utterly horrified by the swift mutilation. Aegon grimaced but was otherwise unaffected. Not surprising. He’d seen similar carnage from the illegal fight rings run in Flea Bottom. Aemond took a slight step back in shock as he gaped at the now-deceased lord in mild admiration.

He had no idea tongues were so long.

Prince Daemon Targaryen stood before his ailing brother, tall and proud. There was not a twinge of remorse or regret on his youthful visage as he towered over the spilled blood soaking his boots. Undoubtedly, this man carried the blood and fire of the proud dragons that graced their house.

“He can keep his tongue.”

Brutish as Daemon was known to be, Aemond respected his uncle’s instinct to remove objects that voiced slander against his wife. However much of a whore his half-sister may be, she was still of royal blood and their father’s firstborn.

However, he wasn’t sure how much that last fact mattered, considering how she spread her legs to swill only to produce bastards as her heirs.

His grandfather ordered the Kingsguards to disarm his uncle, but Daemon only scoffed as he wiped the blood off his ancient blade with an old rag. Moments later, Aemond’s decaying father collapsed on the Iron Throne in exhaustion after over-exerting himself. His mother immediately rushed over to aid him when she heard his pained groans.

“Call the Maesters!” she shouted before reaching him. And when his father fell into her arms, that was the first time Aemond saw you throughout this entire proceeding.

You stood close to the walls, remaining present but unseen. It was not until his father called for you by his side that he removed you from your hiding place. You and an apprentice Maester took Viserys to his chambers, leaving behind his wife, children, grandchildren, and every member of the Royal Court. As Aemond watched you carry his hobbling sire to his chambers – likely to recite to him a passage of the History of Old Valyria or one of the many tales surrounding Queen Visenya’s practice of the dark arts – his blood froze as he noticed Daemon’s gaze was focused not on his brother, but on you.

An hour had passed since Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s unfortunate passing, and Aemond was still no closer to finding you. He felt as if he was going mad in desperation. He checked everywhere. The kitchens, catching you sneak bites of freshly baked honey cakes. The stables, to find you feeding the mares and stallions carrots and apples. Your chambers, spying through the keyhole as you sat at your desk writing new stories. He even went so far as to ride to the dragonpit, hoping that you were reading to Vhagar again. He was close to announcing an order to search for you to the closest Kingsguard when he spotted you standing underneath the Heartstree. When another figure approached you, the one-eyed prince was about to call out your name.

Daemon. And judging by the way his violet eyes leered at your womanly form, it was clear to Aemond that this meeting was no coincidence. Aemond stepped out of view and pressed himself close to the garden’s entrance. The silver-tressed prince cursed himself for not publicly claiming you so everyone knew you were his and his alone. Differences in stations mattered little when you grew up so beautifully.

A fact he was sure that did not go unnoticed by his uncle despite meeting you for the first time.

Not for the first time did Aemond find himself cursing the gods for creating perfection in a single woman. Time had been unkind to many but seemed to spare you of any misfortune. While you were far from the polished and perfect image of a proper lady, you slowly but surely assimilated yourself to life in the South of the Wall. You traded your hides and furs for dresses and trousers. Your wild (h/c) mane became untangled by his sister’s ladies-in-waiting frequent brushings. Regular meals and proper care took a starving child with sharp, bony jabs to a woman with soft, feminine curves and beauty rivaling the Maiden herself.

“How have you found your time so far from the wall, little wilding?”

“I spent every waking second soaked and flushed from sweat and heat. To make it worse, I can’t escape the shit and piss that stains and bathes your pretty keep. Tell me, does that answer your question, my prince?”

Daemon barked a short laugh, amused that his brother took in someone so clearly different from the court’s usual vultures.

“When I heard my brother had taken in a little girl from outside the wall as his little entertainer, I was expecting a hobbled cripple caked in dirt with no sign of grooming. But here you stand, appearing more like a proper lady than a savage wildling.”

“You can take the girl from the North, but you can never take the North from the girl.”

No truer words had ever been spoken.

Aemond smiled at your quick wit and tongue. You were still every bit of the girl dragged before his father when he was only ten name-days old, even if you changed a little bit.

You still styled your hair with the little braids commonly worn in the North, but sometimes, he would catch Helaena tucking feathers in your locks.

You still carried your father’s old hunting knife on your person, but you also kept the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond gave you on Yuletide Eve from three years past.

You still made frequent trips to pass the bread to the small folk in Flea Bottom; you always made sure to help lead Aegon back to his bed after he drank himself stupidly.

It was a challenge, but you’ve adapted and made a life here with the Royal Family, whether you liked it or not.

“Do you ever plan on coming out from behind the wall, my prince? Or do you plan on renouncing your title and becoming Master of Whispers on your father’s small council?”

Realizing that his cover has been blown, Aemond brought himself in view to face the wildling girl who had stolen his heart almost eight years ago. He was relieved that his uncle had left the gardens, probably to inseminate his half-sister once more. It was as if she needed more children to convince all of King’s Landing that her claim on his brother’s throne was legitimate and valid. It did not matter that the evidence of her whorish nature was growing before their eyes.

“Careful, my lady,” replied Aemond, “one might think your words as treason towards the prince.”

“Please,” you scoffed, “the only people who continue to insist on taming my tongue are your mother and grandfather. And we both know my opinions of both parties.” Your cheeks began to flush, and your demeanor grew shy as you whispered your following words. “Besides, why would I need to be afraid of anything when I have you?”

Oh, how his cold, bitter heart grew ten times warmer with your sweet words. He removed his black riding gloves, reached for your hands, and was taken aback by how cold your skin felt against his own.

As if afraid of his voice, he cradled your hands softly as if he were the hunter and you were a little snow rabbit on the edge of running away. Your unblinking observation persisted as you silently watched your silver-haired prince raised both of your hands to his pink lips. He took in a deep breath before exhaling out. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent chills down your back. His mouth was opened just enough for you to see his tongue, bringing a deep sense of shame to wash over you as you dreamed of how good it would feel to have his tongue feast on your cunt.

“What possessed you to come outside without a cloak?” The low timbres of his voice broke you from your lust as you just now realized that you brought yourself into his trap. “It is already winter (Y/n). You could grow sick if you are not careful.”

“You forget yourself, Aemond,” you replied, tearing your hands from his grip. You almost wept at how profoundly you felt the loss of his warmth. When did his hands become so rough and big? “I have the true North in my veins. Such meek and pitiful clouds and winds could never get me ill.”

“Why were you outside at all?” Aemond had hoped to find you in one of the rooms with a fire roaring inside. Even if you were not alone, you would have been warm.

“Thinking about home, I suppose. I was tiny, but I would help gather whatever wood was available and put it in a big pile. We would put on our ceremonial furs and robes, along with masks we painted from the skulls of our kills. After that, the adults would drink themselves stupid on ale and heated yak’s milk as they and the children would gather around the wood pile and then burn it. I remember dancing with my parents around the fire as we sang praises for the old gods and yelled out prayers for the sun. A few boys would probably try to sneak some kisses from the girls with mistletoe.”

The silence that followed only added to the tension.

“I think I would have been stolen by now.”

“Stolen?”

“Your Southerners version of ‘marriage,’ I suppose,” you stated as you lightly shrugged, “at my age, if you weren’t stolen, it meant that something was wrong with you. If I remained with my tribe, some man would have stolen me by now and pumped me full of his babies.”

Aemond saw red. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles further paled to an almost translucent view of his veins as he imagined some savage, wildling man forcing himself on you. He wanted to ride Vhaghar beyond the North, if only reaching beyond the Wall and burning it all to the ground. No man other than him was allowed to touch you. He had only touched your hand and already decided that the rest of you belonged to him and him alone.

Taking a few steps closer to you, he removed his leather patch and lifted your chin between his fingers to force your focus on him. His ears caught a slight intake of breath when you saw his sapphire eye as he was so close that he could practically feel your heart racing in anticipation. He preened in satisfaction when he caught your perfect (e/c) irises dart down to his lips before resting his face again. Aemond didn’t need to look down to know that you were clenching your thighs in an attempt to stop your arousal from leaking.

His sister’s approval be damned.

If your traditions dictated that you must be ‘stolen’ to be a wife, then he would be the one to steal you.

“Sweet (Y/n), you’ve grown so cold.”

Do you wish to go back?

His face was so close to yours that you could feel breaths mix with your own. You could smell the fine leather of his tunic, and the fragrance of spices from his silvery locks wrapped you in a blanket of comfort. His violet eye’s gaze showed a vulnerability lost since that night in Driftmark. The night when he gained a dragon at the cost of becoming a cripple. If Aemond was to risk everything he’s worked for, he had to know.

Would you, a Free Woman, let yourself be called as his?

“No, my Aemond” - you took his hands in yours to tenderly kiss his knuckles- “not anymore.”

I am right where I belong.

And he believed you.

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @lady-ashfade , @faesspace, @its-actually-minicika, @aphroditesmoon, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @leavemeoutofitlay

[theunbearableweightofpedropascal]

Angel

Summary: Coming home from college without a degree has you scrambling to find your place in the world. Charlie just might be your savior.

A/N: I was thinking this would be set around eclipse. This was in the drafts for a while.

Warnings: Besides an age gap (reader in her 20s Charlie in his 40s) there is none.

Word Count: 3.1K

You didn’t expect your life to turn out the way it did, and neither did the people of Forks. If the confused looks you would get on the way into town were anything to go by. You had been a stellar student, assignments were early if not on time, and teachers never had a bad thing to say about you. You graduated and moved on to college like everyone would expect, but college was harder. It wasn’t even the work, it was you. 

For once you had no set path, everyone else just seemed to know what they wanted to do. After 2 years you realized how far behind you felt you decided to take a break. If you didn’t know what you wanted to do you were just wasting time and money. The loneliness set in soon after too. Although you have friends they’re all off doing their things, making their place in the world. 

Your dad helped if only by sending cringe Facebook posts captioned “It’s never too late.” His efforts were much appreciated but it’s not a good feeling when you feel like you are in last place for a race you didn’t even know you were running. Staying holed up in your room won’t help but at least you won’t have to run into anyone you know. You hate feeling like such a disappointment even though your parents assured you that would never be the case.

After a few weeks of licking your wounds, you started looking for jobs. You reach downtown and begin combing through your options. All of which would require you to run into people who would ask too many questions that you do not want to answer. Forks was already limited in what they had and if you wanted to avoid working for the Newton family your choices were much more slim. But you do take note of it just in case. Syphering through your selections you almost want to give up.

Turning the corner you bump smack into another person, you brace yourself for a fall that doesn’t come. Peeking through one eye you make out a badge and ‘C. Swan’. You immediately straighten yourself up after realizing you just bumped into Chief Swan. 

“You alright-”

“I’m so sorry-”

The both of you speak at the same time, a loud silence fills the air as you both stare at each other. Your wide eyes and his furrowed brow. You snap out of it first and bend down to pick up your fallen pamphlets, The Chief crouches down to help you. 

“You don’t have to do that Chief Swan.” He ignores you in favor of picking up the rest, stealing a glance at them before handing them back to you. 

“Charlie’s fine.” He scratches his head before telling you, “Since you’re looking we could use another receptionist down at the station.” Charlie took pity on you, Although he isn’t one for gossip everyone’s been talking about how you came back from university without finishing. He knows what it feels like to be lost especially in a town like Forks. 

“Really?” The prospect of working at the station was much better than any option sitting in your hands. “Is there anything for me to fill out?”

“No just stop by on Monday and I’ll have Helen walk you through everything.” His mouth forms into what you think is a half-smile, and you return it tenfold.

The conversation with Charlie was so refreshing you’re unsure why out of all the people in Forks he was the one to make you feel normal. You realize it’s because he’s the first person to not question or probe why you’re back here. Working at the station doing administration would be perfect. On your way home you mentally comb through your closet for appropriate clothes you can wear to the station for work. The combination list isn’t huge but you could make it work.

……..

Monday morning you awake at 6:00 am to begin getting ready, he never mentioned a time but you imagine how bad you would look strolling in there at 1:00 pm. You decide on black stretchy office pants, a chocolate sweater, and white sneakers that are comfortable enough to do sustainable walking. Grabbing your backpack you pack your essentials and bid your father goodbye before heading off.

On the way in you have enough time to stop for some coffee so you order for yourself and Charlie as a thank you. You make sure to get his black with no sugar, though you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover you can’t imagine he enjoys cremer. The last stretch of your walk toward the station has your heart pounding. You're not even sure what you are nervous about it shouldn’t be that hard since it’s Forks.

The station smells like stale coffee and mothballs, the atmosphere is mostly static but that’s given. Upon walking up to the front desk you see an older redhead who you assume is Helen. You smile as you approach her and she returns one.

“Excuse me, Chief Swan said to come up here for you to train me on administration stuff.” You hope Charlie actually talked to her.

“Of course, he told me about you yesterday dear follow me.” You set down your coffee before being given the grand tour. After a minute you’re back at the front being directed on your daily duties. Most of which is pretending to look busy, Helen prefers solitaire on her computer to get her through the day. On the other hand, you brought a book that remains hidden behind the ancient monitor in front of you. 

You thought about bringing Charlie his coffee but his office lights are off and his doors are locked so he must be out patrolling already. Within 45 minutes you’re given your first task of making more coffee, while the water pours out you see Charlie step into the break room. His eyes look surprised to see you but his face doesn't change, he peers around you toward the coffee maker before he can ask you to tell him. 

“I bought you coffee on the way in, it is at the front desk.” You quickly leave the break room to get it before he can react. On your way back you inform him, “Black, no sugar, no cream.”

“Thank you.” As he takes the cup your hands brush his, and he can feel the increased beating of his heart. It’s the most contact he’s had with a woman. He likes it. Your bright smile gives him that butterfly feeling he hears Bella talk about with her friend.

“No thank you, Sher- Charlie I appreciate the opportunity.” He waves off your thanks as if he does stuff like this all the time. 

“You adjusting OK?” He finds he wants to keep conversation with you despite his nature. You may be surprised but you don’t show it, enjoying this interaction.

“Yes, Helen is nice and I get to just pretend to work all day.” You bump your hip against him before you can think better of it.

Charlie surprises you with a deep chuckle, It’s not a full-blown laugh but it’s more than enough. It’s no secret that Charlie is one of the more attractive men in Forks, but you didn’t think of him like that until now. Not many men could pull off the 70s pornstache, or his grumpy attitude without being a complete ass. Your thoughts are interrupted by Charlie leaning down to speak quietly to you.

“Well let me know if you need more books to keep you busy Bella’s got tons of those romance ones.” He rolls his eyes playfully and nods his head before heading to his office. 

In the wake of his leave, you revel in the way his deep voice felt so close to your ear. However, you don’t dwell on his actions too much because there is no way he was flirting with you. Making your way back to the front desk you see Helen packing up to leave, she informs you she’s taking lunch. 

Charlie lets out an exasperated sigh at the stack of paperwork waiting for him when he unlocks his office. The coffee you brought him goes straight down like a shot, he appreciates the fact that you knew he wouldn’t like the extra bullshit. Throughout his shift, he sneaks peeks at you. He pauses when he sees you talking on the phone, telling himself he’s only checking to make sure you don’t need help. But the way your lips move has him in a trance, he snaps out of it before you can catch him. 

Even though he spent a fair amount of time staring at you he managed to complete over half of his paperwork. He’s overdue for a break and he knows you could use one since you never took a lunch.  

You have been manning the phones even after Helen came back, you know you should’ve taken your 1-hour lunch but you were in a groove. At least until Charlie strolled up beside you to see what you were doing. You could smell Irish Spring wafting off of him with a hint of laundry detergent. 

“You busy?” It was a loaded question on his part but he didn't want to just command you to come with him. 

“Not for the Chief.” You turn your body towards him to prove your words, and in return the corner of his mouth lifts almost like a smile.

“Lunch on me then?” He asks you with his hands balled in his pockets.

“I’ll never turn down a free lunch.” You turn to Helen to check that she’ll be okay, and she gives you a wink nodding her head toward the chief telling you to ‘have fun’. You raise our eyebrows at the implication.

On the way out Charlie gets the door, and his veiny forearm peeks out from his uniform. You wouldn’t say you have a thing for hairy guys but yet again Charlie somehow makes it work. Luckily you could blame the frigid breeze for your flustered expression. You follow his lead to the cruiser and he opens your door for you again. Your bashful expression after thanking him goes straight to his lower stomach, it’s been a while since a woman looked at him so fervently. 

Once he’s in the cruiser a comfortable silence fills the air, and you think of all the things you could bring up with him later in the diner. So far all you’ve come up with are sports and books but honestly, that should be more than enough for Charlie. Orange leaves take up most of the ground, a warning for the upcoming months. The diner is the same as always when you pull up, you open the door before Charlie can hustle his way to where you are. The stern look he gives you only makes your sudden attraction to him worse. 

The bell above the door alerts Cora to your presence. Charlie saddles up right behind you urging you forward with his hand on your middle back. Walking past the patrons, you can feel the questioning stares. But you’re sure Charlie won’t pay them any mind so neither do you. At the booth, Charlie gestures for you to slide in first.

Cora turns to you for your order since she already knows Charlie’s by heart.

“I’ll do a burger and fries with a sprite please.” You smile at Cora as she takes down your order. 

“So,” You turn to Charlie, “What’s been going on in the sports world?” 

Charlie’s side glance is enough to make you laugh. “Steelers are cleaning up, they have a path to the Super Bowl.” He didn’t mean to look at you crazy but it was the first time in a while someone was genuinely interested in his interests. The flutters in his stomach make another appearance. 

“My dad’s a cowboy fan so it’s the same thing every year.” Charlie snorts at that. 

The sound of plates landing in front of you ends your and Charlie’s moment. Looking up your eyes meet Cora’s and you thank her before she leaves again. You and Charlie waste no time digging into your food. With all of your fries and most of your burger gone you throw in the towel, leaning back against the booth.

“You gonna eat that?” Charlie eyes the rest of your burger.

“No, you can have it.” After your acceptance, he finishes it in one quick bite. You wish you didn't find that attractive.

……….

After your first lunch together many were shared, Charlie would always schedule his break around yours to make sure you ate. He also wanted to spend time with you when the opportunity would lend itself. The feeling was mutual, you put in more effort with your work outfits and make-up. Every morning you would stop to get Charlie coffee on the way in, and Helen would always give you sly smiles. You figured she picked up on the undertones of your and Charlie’s interactions, but unlike most people, she kept it to herself.

That didn’t stop others from probing you about your “Diner Dates” with the Chief. When you were collecting produce a few older women came up to you under the guise of concern. They told you getting with a man that age wouldn’t be good for any girl your age, while it was good advice you know it wasn’t given with good intentions. Instead, you pretend to not know what they are talking about effectively outing their ill-informed gossip. Charlie also hadn’t shown any initiative to ask you out on an actual date so you’re unsure where the fuel is coming from. 

The next day at work you decide to pull back seeing as the entire town somehow thinks you both are dating. You took your lunch before Helen, the words of the older ladies on replay in your head. Sure it was the wrong messenger but it was the right message you don’t know what you were thinking. 

It didn’t last a day, Charlie came by the desk deliberately when Helen took her lunch. 

“Hey there’s some discrepancies with the evidence log of Riley’s stuff, can you help me sort through it.” Though he posed it as a question he began to walk toward his office immediately. 

Once you’re in the office he shuts the door behind you before he moves to stand in front of his desk.

“I just uh wanted to check that everything was alright,” He clears his throat before continuing, “That you feel comfortable or if there’s something I’ve done.” After he finishes your face morphs to shock.

“No of course not, I just know there’s been some gossip around town about us dating and figured I’d have lunch by myself.” Charlie’s eyebrows furrow at your admission.

“I haven’t heard anything did someone say something to you?” His voice drops at the thought of anyone badgering you about this. 

“It’s not a big deal, and I didn’t want you to feel uncomfo-” He cuts you off with a deadpan stare. 

“Why would I be uncomfortable with people thinking a woman out of my league is dating me?” His definitive words leave you stunned. “It is a big deal, do you remember who it was?”

“No it’s fine Charlie really,” You try to convince him.

“It’s not if means you don’t go to lunch with me.” He gripes.

“I didn’t realize you enjoyed my company that much.” You stare at him until he returns your gaze.

“Well I do.” He assures you.

The both of you stand in front of each other in silence, the smile grows bigger on your face at Charlie’s confession. 

“Does this mean you want to go on a date with me?” You inch your way closer to him, gently tugging his tie. 

“Of course I do, I was working my way up to it.” He swallows hard when he feels you get even closer to him. 

“Yeah?” Your eyes never stray from his as your smile widens. Charlie’s eyes fall to your lips just as quickly as he looks away. You grab his hands placing them on your waist before bringing your lips to his ear. “How about now?” 

Charlie’s hands firmly grip your waist when he feels your warm breath tickle his ear. His pants grow tighter when your perfume invades his nostrils. When you reer back to look at him he wastes no time planting his lips on yours. His mustache tickles underneath your nose but you respond back with the same fervor. You tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, Charlie groans at your eagerness. 

Your hands slide up his chest and wrap around his neck to play with the hair on the back of his neck. When his tongue licks your bottom lip you eagerly open your mouth to him, pressing your chest against his. Charlie lets his hands dip to cup your ass through the jeans you’re wearing, earning himself a pretty moan from you. The way his tongue licks into your mouth gives you ideas of what else he would be good at. 

But all good things come to an end, and a knock at the door sends you two flying apart. You immediately focus on fixing yourself so it doesn’t look like you were in a make-out session with your boss. A folder catches your eye and you pick it up hoping to look busy. Helen peeks her head in to let Charlie know Bella is getting dropped off by Edward. Charlie’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the mention of his daughter’s boyfriend, you can’t stop the giggle that pours out of you. 

Helen slips back out and Charlie walks over to the far corner you’ve placed yourself in. “It’s a little backward now but would you let me take you out on a proper date?” 

“I’ll have to check my schedule.” You smile up at him knowing he knows you’re joking.

“How does Saturday at 7 sound?” He bends down to your ear before continuing, “I know a nice Italian place in Port Angeles.” When he pulls back he is glad to see the bashful expression on your face. He’s still got it. 

“It sounds great Charlie.” You get on your tip toes to peck him on the cheek before exiting his office. 

On the way to your desk, you see Edward and Bella sitting in the waiting chairs talking. As you sit down you see Bella’s head snap in your direction, her and Edward's conversation halting. You pretend to do work as usual until Charlie comes out to greet Bella and grunt in Ed’s direction. 

[calcifiedunderland]

Wishing Wells & a Hunter’s Box

or, Encounters of a Disney-Aware Prefect, ft. Rook Hunt

Part 1, Part 2 (here), Part 3, Part 4

GN reader, uses they/them pronouns!

Warnings: None

Please enjoy~

—————

Damn, Crewel’s class is gonna end me.

You were slouched against the well in the courtyard. Despite the blue birds and doves singing sweetly from the apple trees and squirrels scurrying from branch to branch, you were in a foul mood. You stared at the papers in your hand, waiting for Rook to come help you after Crewel set up a tutoring session for you (against your will-)

Your latest lab report from Alchemy was pockmarked with red marks, all made by none other than Divus Crewel. As if that wasn’t grim enough, he’d even pulled you aside after class a few days ago.

“Prefect, I understand that since you hail from another world, you may find it more… difficult to understand these concepts,” you’d grimaced and tried to hold his gaze. His eyes were steely, but he didn’t seem disappointed per se. Concerned? “You’ve done well enough thus far, but I’d like for you to have some extra help. To… level the playing field, as Vargas would say.”

Crewel was taking pity on you? The Crewel, who assigned Epel a basically impossible task to grow some magical plant? The same Crewel who would’ve skinned Ace alive over spilling a single drop of ingredient? The Crewel who ran Science Club with an iron fist? That Crewel???

“Teacher’s pet,” Ace quipped as he stuffed food in his mouth when you told everyone during lunch. “Literally. He’s nicer to you, anyway. And he calls you his lil’ pup,” he grinned, snarky.

“Yeah, I’d rather not be babied by Crewel,” you retorted. Jack and Deuce seemed pensive about it. “If Crewel’s giving you pointers, maybe that’s a good thing,” Jack pointed out. “You’re not on his bad side at least.” Deuce nodded, trying to cheer you up. “He knows you’re at least trying.”

Grim swiped at your plate, then asked with his mouth full, “So what’d he want anyway? Y’gotta do retaliation too? Ya won’t stay my henchman if y’can’t pass alchemy!”

“Grim, you have to do remediation, and no I don’t. He actually asked the Science Club if anyone would be interested, and he said Rook would help.”

“Seriously? That guy?” Ace spluttered. Deuce looked concerned, “you sure you’ll be safe with him? I mean, if you help, we could ask Housewarden Rosehearts or Trey for help.” “Or Leona,” Jack chimed in.

You were touched by your friends concern. “I’ll be fine guys, Rook may be a little… odd, but he hasn’t been that bad. It’ll be fine.”

So now, it was late afternoon. You’d been waiting forever for the blond to finish in Science Club, you were lowkey hungry and highkey stressed, and you would really like a nap. It seemed fine then, but now you were getting impatient and your paper seemed to be taunting you. Frustrated, you sprang up and turned to the well.

“Aaaaaaauuhgghh!” You screamed into it, then immediately winced when it echoed back AAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHHH at you. Wells didn’t like being yelled at.

You huffed, and your thoughts wandered back to your weekend trip with Vil.

He’d taken you out to ‘teach you about film-making’, and while it was nice, it was a little daunting to see not only him, but his father, in their natural element. Not to mention, afterwards he’d taken you shopping in places where the price tags had too many zeroes to comprehend.

But before that, you somehow made the Dark Mirror speak to you, all from a little line from a dream. A movie?

Maybe it was more than a dream. Maybe it was a hazy memory from your life before Night Raven College, and even though you arrived only a few months ago, why was it so hard to remember? Either way, you remembered the Fairest Queen speaking to the Mirror, and…

A girl singing to the well?

You kicked yourself up, abandoning your lab report on the grass. You leaned over the well, seeing your wiggling reflection in the water. Above your head, a little bluebird and dove swooped and perched at the bar with the water pail, chirping sweetly. Your mind flashed to your dream, where the girl in a ragged dress sang sweetly into the well.

‘I’m wishing!’ I’m wishing!, came the echo.

‘For the one I love!’

‘To find me!’ To find me!

‘Today!’ Today!

You hummed it to yourself, glancing around warily for anyone who was passing by. There wouldn’t be anyone nearby anytime soon, since club time didn’t end for a small while.

Still, you felt a little silly for wanting to sing into a goddamn well. But when you thought about flopping back on the ground, your mind went back to the Dark Mirror responding to your mindless question.

If the Dark Mirror, which supposedly only obeyed the Headmaster of NRC, responded to you, surely something could happen at this well, right? After all, both had been here since the school’s founding.

“I-“ you coughed as your voice cracked, and cleared your throat self-consciously. You tried again,

“I’m wishing,” the echo came back, I’m wishing.

“…for the… one I love.” One I love.

“To… find me,” To find me.

You felt more comfortable now, “Today!”

“TODAY!”

You shrieked and fell on the grass as none other than Rook fucking Hunt bounded up to you with a grin, ignoring your utter embarrassment as he loomed over like a hunter crowding his prey, blocking out the sun ominously. You scrambled back a bit and got to your feet.

“Rook,” you seethed, still embarrassed. “Why?”

“Ah, mon cher tricksteur!” He sighed happily, the feather in his hat fluttering. “I hadn’t known you were a secret romantic! Singing to a well, quelle suprise! La romance, la mystique, la beauté-“

“Alright Rook, that’s enough-“ you tried, but he just carried on. “Why, it makes me want to sing with you!”

Rook promptly burst into song, one hand on his chest and the other flailing around as he spun. He’d at least changed into his regular school uniform, otherwise strange liquids from his club outfit would’ve been flying everywhere, and then you’d have another issue on your hands.

“ROOK!” You screamed exasperated. He stopped and grinned mischievously. “Je suis desolé, I seem to have gotten carried away. Ah, but look at the time! We must prepare you, or Professor Crewel will have both of our hides!”

He spun on his heel, an easy smile on his face, and offered his arm to you. “Shall we, mon cher (y/n)?” His sharp green eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly at you. You nodded slowly and took his arm, and allowed him to steer you away to wherever he was going.

Even though nothing happened (except Rook nearly giving you a heart attack), your mind wandered to the girl in your memory-dream. After she sang that part, she wasn’t alone. She’d sung a duet with… a man?

You glanced at Rook, regarding the feather in his hat bob up and down cheerfully. You smiled despite yourself. A man with a feathered hat.

~

Rook had taken you to the Pomefiore common room and, despite your friends’ fears, was quite helpful and very meticulous. The hours passed, and when you both were finished going over every procedure, ingredient, applicable magic law, and anything else that Crewel could throw at you, the room became flooded with a soft haze from the setting sun.

You leaned back on the lavish purple couch as Rook perused his own notes. You quietly looked around the common room.

It was much different than Ramshackle’s dusty living room. The room just oozed with luxury and royalty. Truly fit for the Fairest Queen indeed.

Your gaze shifted to a large display case. Sometime ago, when Vil was in his tyrant rampage during VDC, he’d dragged you through Pomefiore and given you a grand tour (against your will, which happened alarmingly often) of the dorm, including the precious objects within said case. You stood and walked to it, leaving Rook to his own work.

The display case held a few objects. The crown Vil wore with his dorm uniform (only taken out when he needed it, apparently passed down to all dorm leaders of Pomefiore). A beautiful dagger with a heart (owned by the Queen’s most trusted huntsman), and-

You frowned, mind becoming fuzzy. An ornate box with a knife through the heart, beautiful and golden-

‘The blundering fool!’

You shook your head and blinked a few times. You stared at the box, brow furrowed.

A dark-haired man with a feather in his cap accepted the box with shaking hands. You couldn’t hear what the regal woman in black said to him, but he didn’t seem to like it. Then suddenly, he was in the forest with the girl in the yellow and blue dress, and raising his dagger to her turned back and-

“I see you’ve found the dorm treasures!”

You jumped, spinning around to Rook smiling innocently down at you, knowing exactly what he did. He’d snuck up so quietly to you, or you were so deep in thought, that you didn’t even hear him. You clutched your chest, breathing quickly.

Forget a defibrillator, Rook could easily restart your heart with his constant jumpscares.

“These two are relics of the Fairest Queen, many years ago,” he began, speaking softer when he saw how startled you were, eyes regarding yours gently. “They are treasures that are a testament to her tenacity and perseverance.”

You were calmer now, and you glanced back at the cabinet. “The dagger…” you turned to him, “Did the hunter use it?” You asked naively, swallowing thickly at what you hoped didn’t happen.

Rook chuckled, but noted how you seemed shaken by your question. He said gently, “Of course mon cher, he was a hunter like moi. He used his dagger as needed.” He gestured to the ornate box, “legend has it that he even brought the heart of a deer to the Fairest Queen upon request.”

A deer. You sighed in relief. Of course he wouldn’t kill the girl. Of course. Who’d want to hurt her?

As you and Rook ruminated by the relics, the sun sank and students entered the dorm, chattering amongst themselves. Vil walked in, and noticed you two.

“Hello Rook, prefect. I trust you two were able to go over the alchemy topics? Crewel said you needed some help,” Vil looked at you, expression unreadable. “He asked me if I could help, but I’d already scheduled a photoshoot beforehand. I do wish I could’ve been there, though.”

“Quelle sympathie mon roi!” Rook started, hand on his chest. “Such benevolence and dutifulness truly befits that of the Queen herself! With your skill in potions and poisons alike, the prefect would pass Crewel’s class with flying colors under your tutelage!”

You laughed to yourself as Vil smiled, shaking his head at Rook’s antics. “I’ll head back to Ramshackle then, thanks for everything Rook,” you smiled at the hunter. You turned to collect your things from the table, and after bidding the pair goodbye and goodnight, you trekked back to Ramshackle with Rook who insisted on walking you back.

As you walked, Rook regaled you with tales of the Queen and her Huntsman, and at some point began reciting poetry after becoming so impassioned. You waited patiently, and as you neared the dorm he sighed. “One day, I wish to become as great a huntsman as he!” Rook closed his eyes, taking off his hat and clutching it to his chest.

You gave a small laugh, but your thoughts turned to your dream from earlier. “Something tells me you’re practically him already.”

———

Ok so ik that the wishing part should technically be Neige’s/Prince Florian’s part

but then I remembered that Florian had a hat with a feather in it and so does rook

And then I connected the dots and made this.

Also theater kid rook needs some time to shine too tbh and he canonically bursts into song according to Trey! What a guy lmao

Anyway thanks for reading this far, Epel’s part isn’t too far away! <3 thank you all for the support!!

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 3) Chapter Four

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Four: One Hell of a Trap

Summary: (Y/N), Sebastian, and Ciel create the perfect stage for Cole's downfall.

            In a single day, Soma achieved what he had been brought to Weston College to accomplish. He had followed Cole around, created such a mess with his elephant that Cole had to stay in his room, and then awoken when Cole snuck out of the room. (Now, that was not planned. Soma had just been very bad at directing the elephant on his own…) However, it had all worked out, and Soma had very important information to share with Ciel. He quickly came to Sapphire Owl to meet with Ciel. When he saw (Y/N) and Sebastian, he stared in surprise.

            “Welcome, Prince Soma,” said Sebastian, smiling. “The Young Master awaits you within.”

            Soma looked at Sebastian and (Y/N). “I thought we weren’t allowed to bring our servants along?!”

            “Let’s just say they have a very good reason for being here,” said Ciel.

            Sebastian and (Y/N) smiled at Soma, and he shivered at the dark look in their eyes. After the time they had reprimanded him, he was terrified of them whenever they got serious.

            “Prince Soma, we pray you will do use the great favor of keeping the fact that we are the Young Master’s servant to yourself,” said Sebastian.

            “If you let this fact slip…” (Y/N) tilted their head. “Well, I’m sure you won’t.”

            Soma shivered. “I-I-I won’t!”

            “So, have you found anything out?” said Ciel.

            “Oh, right!” said Soma, turning away from the intimidating demons. “You see, in the middle of the night, I caught him posting flower-shaped cards to Scarlet House members on the sly. And so many of them, too.”

            “Cards, you say?” said Sebastian. “Why, he’d be better off talking to them face-to-face.”

            “What a pity, he left a paper trail,” said (Y/N), smirking. “Anyone could use that to their advantage.” They intended to.

            “It seems we finally have a lead on some proof,” said Sebastian, pleased.

            “Now to decide on the best method for making it up to him,” said Ciel.

            “Oh, one more thing,” said (Y/N). They smirked. “I had an interesting discussion with Cole today between lessons.”

            Sebastian and Ciel looked at them.

            “Prince Soma, did Cole rise quite early to prepare himself for the day?” asked (Y/N).

            “He did,” said Soma, nodding.

            “Then my suspicions were correct,” said (Y/N), smiling. And so, they explained the latest trick of Cole’s, and Soma, Sebastian, and Ciel’s eyes widened.

            “Now all the pieces have fallen into place,” said Ciel.

            “Excellent finding, (Y/N),” said Sebastian, and (Y/N) straightened at his praise.

            “Thank you, Soma. You did good work,” said Ciel.

            Soma brightened. “You can count on me for anything! See you later!” he chirped before leaving the room.

            “Time for a strategy meeting, Sebastian, (Y/N),” said Ciel.

            “As you wish, sir,” said Sebastian.

            “I look forward to this plan,” said (Y/N).

            “We’ll settle this tomorrow,” said Ciel decidedly.

l

Earlier in the day…

            “Mr. Noir!” said Cole, approaching (Y/N) as the rest of the students from their lesson filed out.

            “Yes, Cole?” said (Y/N), smiling pleasantly.

            “I had a question for you,” said Cole.

            “If it’s about the lesson, my tutoring hours are in the evening,” said (Y/N).

            “Oh, yes, but it’s not about the lesson.” Cole smiled brightly. “You’re such an excellent teacher that I understood instantly.”

            Attempting to flatter me. (Y/N) laced their fingers. That wouldn’t work on them. “Then what is it about?”

            “It’s about self-care,” said Cole. “It is important for one’s appearance to be always presentable as an aristocrat’s son. And, of course, putting your best foot forward is always expected.”

            “Of course,” agreed (Y/N) to draw Cole forward into whatever he’s trying to get at.

            “I was simply curious about what your routine for preparing for the day is,” said Cole, smiling. “You always appear so…fresh-faced, as if you’ve done nothing.”

            Ah, so he believes I use makeup. Which suggests… (Y/N)’s sharp eyes focused in on his appearance, and they were pleased when they noticed the slight hint of a gloss on his lips—not natural. So, that is how he appears as the “most beautiful boy in school.”

            (Y/N) was happy to crush his expectations. They smiled. “I simply regularly wash in order to keep clean and fresh.” True enough. As a demon, they could look as perfect as they wished no matter the circumstances.

            Cole’s smile turned tense. “Surely you must do a bit more.”

            “Cole, I would not lie to you,” said (Y/N) pleasantly. “I can assure you, I am telling the truth. After all, who would lie about such a thing?”

            Cole fought not to grit his teeth. “No one.” He nodded and plastered a soft smile on his face. “Well…thank you, Mr. Noir.”

            “Of course, Cole,” said (Y/N). “Goodbye.”

            Cole left the room, cursing the entire world. He was the prettiest boy in the school, and it always worked to his advantage in a place without women, and yet this housemaster arrived, young and attractive, and suddenly his monopoly on the school had changed. He despised it.

            But there was nothing he could do. And now that he had spoken to (Y/N), he had revealed yet another vulnerable. (Y/N) would use it to their full advantage.

l

            Sebastian and (Y/N) finished attaching the strings to the canvases in the art classroom. Ciel had convinced the P4 to give him a chance to redeem himself and set up the trap of sound, but he had left the actual preparation to (Y/N) and Sebastian outside of the gramophones in the gazebo.

            “Is everything ready? Cole will be arriving soon,” said Ciel, stepping into the room.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N), angling the final painting. “The sound will go directly to the Swan Gazebo and the P4.”

            “Good,” said Ciel. He grinned. He was going to have his revenge and get into the good graces of the P4 in a single move.

            (Y/N) and Sebastian left the room and hide close by incase the situation became too dangerous or extreme and they had to intervene. A few moments later, Cole walked into the art room, hands on his hips, and faced Ciel.

            “Well? What do you want with me?” said Cole. “You’ve called me to this room and all. I really must be getting to the Swan Gazebo, you know.”

            “I won’t take much of your time,” said Ciel. “I simply wanted to confirm a small matter. Cole. Regarding your summons to me the other day, it’s the message you conveyed was incorrect, after all.”

            Cole scoffed. “You’re still saying that? It’s not nice to blame others for your own mistakes.”

            “A friend confirmed it with our classmates,” said Ciel. “Since you’re the most fair-faced boy at school, Cole, the onlookers were many. By the way, eighteen students testified that you ‘mistakenly’ said ‘at four.’ No. To call it a mistake, a mere slip of the tongue, is itself a misleading. Because you allowed your tongue to slip on purpose.”

            “Hmph,” scoffed Cole. “What a false accusation indeed!”

            “In that case, how do you explain the incidents involving four other students, including Joanne Harcourt?” said Ciel.

            “Huh?” said Cole.

            “Of the students who were invited to the Swan Gazebo by the prefects, all who broke their appointment claim it was due to communication troubles with you,” said Ciel. “For a prefect’s drudge to cut down the weak as you’ve done goes to show just how much of a sly coward you are. Your actions are that of an outright liar! Moreover, you even leave your duties as a prefect’s drudge to other students.”

            “Whatever can you mean?” said Cole, rolling his eyes at the “ridiculous” accusation.

            “Compiling the data Redmond requested. Ironing and shoe polishing. Even the preparing of dishes…you haven’t done any of it yourself! Your competence is an utter shame!” declared Ciel.

            (Y/N) stifled a chuckle because Ciel, too, could not do his own chores.

            “What a wild fancy,” said Cole. “How can you claim all that when you haven’t any proof?”

            “Ah, but I do have proof.” Ciel smirked as he drew a pieced-together red scrap of paper.

            “Th-that’s—!” Cole’s eyes widened in horror and shock.

            “Recognize this, do you?” said Ciel. “It’s one of the cards you employ when commissioning your hangers-on to do your work for you. This here is a request for the compilation of data.” He lifted another. “This one is for ironing. This one, shoe shining. This one, a request to the Scarlet House cook to make a snack!” He dumped a variety onto the floor. “Shall I go one? I’ve got many more. Each one is quite clearly written in your hand, down to the date and time.”

            “How could they?!” cried Cole. “After I made a point of telling them to get rid of the cards?”

            “Oh, they did just as you asked and disposed of them,” said Ciel. “What a relief that the refuse hadn’t yet been collected. Such trouble it was unearthing these tiny cards from the heap of rubbish gathered from all over the school.”

            Sebastian had worked diligently.

            “Wha—?” Cole couldn’t believe it.

            “And carefully the cards, which were torn into very small pieces, was quite difficult as well,” said Ciel—work again done by (Y/N) and Sebastian. “What would Redmond think if he were to find out about all this? As a student of the storied Weston College, aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Cole?! I’m willing to overlook your deception of me and the others. But you should speak plainly to Redmond about this.”

            Of course, Ciel didn’t plan on truly forgiving Cole, but it was part of the trap and show to the P4 that Ciel was honorable and trustworthy.

            “Yours is a brotherly relationship built on trust, right?” said Ciel.

            “Yes…you’re right…I’ll tell him.” Then, Cole’s expression turned ugly and angry. “I’ll tell him absolutely nothing! Who in their bloody mind would?!” He snapped his fingers, and three lackeys ran into the room. They grabbed Ciel roughly by the arms, and Cole smirked. He was handed the pile of red papers. “You didn’t actually think I’d come here unprepared, did you?” He struck a match. “You’re a fool!” He grinned cruelly as the papers burned to ash. “There we go! Evidence destroyed! After you went to all that trouble to find it, too…” He pouted. “What a pity!” Cole grabbed Ciel’s tie and pulled it roughly to force the younger boy to face him. “You irritate me. Who do you think you are?! You’re getting uppity simple because the seniors have taken a passing fancy to you.”

            Cole grinned and roughly let go of Ciel’s tie. “Making use of other people is a talent, too, you know? And I am particularly good at making good use of the plain students! I, the most attractive boy in this school! Whether or not I become a prefect at this school can make or break my future.” He narrowed his eyes. “That’s why I’ve flattered and fawned over the prefects to within an inch of my life! Someone like you, a winner with a title can never understand the feelings of a second son who will never be in a positive to inherit, can you?!”

            Ciel’s gaze darkened. “I don’t believe there is any value in a victory obtained by deceit!”

            “Your good boy act makes me sick!” spat Cole, drawing a pair of sewing scissors from his coat. “I will be the next prefect of Scarlet House! And I will be the one Redmond loves best!” He slashed down and cut Ciel’s uniform open. “And I am the most beautiful one here in this school!”

            “What are you—!” Ciel coughed as Cole kicked him in the stomach.

            “You really are a fool for choosing a deserted place like this,” sneered Cole. His lackey brought a camera over. “No one will come to your rescue, you know? Now, then! Time to take some photographs! The kind that’s so embarrassing you’re want to die~” He looked at his men. “Do it!”

            They began to pull at Ciel’s clothes, and Sebastian and (Y/N) tensed in case the P4 didn’t intervene and they had to.

            “Please, stop!” cried Ciel.

            Wham!

    ��       The door of the art room slammed open.

            “What the hell is this, you lot?!” Two angry yells rose and echoed in the room.

            Greenhill and Edward had arrived. In a single moment, Greenhill slammed into the boys ganging up on Ciel and sent them flying with his cricket bat. Cole fell to his knees in shock and fear at the prefect finding him doing something so cruel—orchestrating it, even.

            “You’re going to pay dearly for forcing me to break my vow of nonviolence, Cole,” seethed Greenhill, gritting his teeth.

            “P-Please!” Cole looked up at Greenhill desperately. “I beg you, Greenhill!” Please don’t tell Redmond—”

            “Do you not want us to keep silent as well?” said a cold voice.

            “Bluewer! Violet?!” Cole’s eyes widened as two of the other remaining prefects appeared in the doorway. “Wh-Why are you here?”

            “Upon hearing the able and talented Maurice Cole’s violent act, it would be odd indeed for them to not hasten here,” said Ciel as Edward helped him stand.

            “But the Swan Gazebo is well away from the school building!” cried Cole. “They should not have been able to hear me!”

            “Cole,” said Ciel, looking down his nose at Cole, and for a moment, the true, cold Ciel appeared. “Sound is not transmitted by amplitude but by vibration. As long as vibration can be transmitted, sound can travel over any distance, in theory. For example, if thin, plank or sheet-like objects are connected by a taught string that allows vibrations to be conveyed with ease, they can become devices that transmit sound to a distant location. For example…” Ciel turned around a canvas to reveal a taut string. “Like this.” He smirked.

            “No! No, no, no, no!” cried Cole as he realized where all the strings connected to every canvas led—the Swan Gazebo. Redmond.

            “I’ve heard every last word.”

            Redmond’s voice came through the canvases, and Cole’s eyes widened in despair. “Red…mond…”

            “To think even you betrayed me…I ashamed for being such a poor judge of character,” said Redmond coldly.

            “N-No—”

            “I don’t want to hear your excuses,” said Redmond. “You are a great disappointment to me. Cole, I hereby sever my brotherly ties to you!”

            Cole let out a wail of despair and fell to his hands, still on his knees.

            “Cole.” Ciel looked at Cole with a “kind” smile. “If you face everyone with honesty from now on, I’m sure you’ll be able to regain their trust.”

            “Phantomhive…” Tears fell down Cole’s cheeks.

            “And to help you with that…” Ciel pulled out a photograph—one that Sebastian and (Y/N) were throwing throughout the school as they spoke—and showed it to Cole. “I made certain to share your ‘true face’ with everyone, Cole.”

            Cole stared at the photograph of him putting on makeup in shock. His entire reputation was down the drain, ruined.

            Leaving Cole on the ground, Ciel walked to the door. “You can take pride in yourself, I think. Your skill with makeup is the real thing.”

            He left the room where three of the P4 and Edward waited.

            “Ciel,” said Edward. He bowed. “I’m sorry for falsely accusing you. Please forgive me.”

            Ciel put on his good-boy attitude again. “Whatever the reason, I was indeed late. There’s no need for you to apologize, Edward.”

            “I must say, I honestly didn’t take you for such a man of action,” said Greenhill, smiling. “No wonder Midford acknowledges you.”

            “You’re really quite entertaining,” said Violet, smiling.

            Even Bluewer smiled fondly and ruffled Ciel’s hair. “Your deeds were indeed brave, Phantomhive.

            “Thank you!” said Ciel. He smiled widely in a practiced, youthful, bright manner. “When I discovered there others besides me who had suffered at Cole’s hands, I couldn’t just let it go. I’ve never been one to condone such wrongdoing, you see.”

            “Heeding tradition. Being without dishonesty. Remaining pure and noble of heart. That’s what it takes to be a student of Weston!” declared Greenhill.

            From outside the window, Sebastian and (Y/N) looked in before exchanging glances. They had been successful; the P4 adored and trusted Ciel. Now, hopefully, their investigation would move forward towards a successful conclusion.

Taglist:

@technikerin23

@im-making-an-effort

@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

@neenieweenie

@nex-crowley

@anxious-chick

@bellacastiel

@v1l-ismissing

@agentdedf1sh

@iamsexytrash

@oceansfloor

@sarkzjam

@temporarilyablog

@elaemae

@urlocalsabito

@roo024

@ittomain1

@whereismymonsterlover

@alythewolf

[temis-de-leon]

Day 14 - Kiss on a dare

Characters: Belphegor x male!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: none, they're just teasing each other a little bit. Pre-established relationship

A/N: thanks to those who said they liked Day 13, it made me feel better :)

.

MC didn’t understand why no one would wake up Belphie during classes. Finals were right around the corner and the teachers demanded more effort than ever, not caring about their baggy eyes or their stressed behaviour. It reached a point were some of the students were crying in the hallways, one of them even using his shoulder as a tissue. The poor thing was so distraught that MC couldn’t find himself to be upset about his ruined shirt.

Good thing he had Satan as a tutor. He’d have to make sure to treat him for a coffee as a 'thank you' gift.

Looking at his side during those dreadful classes and seeing the demon peacefully sleeping the hours away made him feel extremely guilty, even if it wasn’t his responsibility. He tried waking him up once and Belphie only looked at him with blurry eyes for a second before going back to slumber.

“Don’t worry about me, MC” he had said that night with a pleased smile, delighted at his concern “I’ll pass the exams with no problems. You should worry about yourself instead”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be mad, I’m just joking”

Belphie laughed at his defensiveness, nuzzling the crook of his neck. The close contact made MC’s limbs tingle in excitement and he wasted no time in hugging him back, even when his words offended him.

 “Well, you should know I’m studying as hard as I can and even more”

“Okay”

“I will pass”

“Sure”

He was teasing him, which was the norm coming from Belphie, and maybe it was MC’s lack of sleep compared to the demon’s nonchalance, but it still riled him up.

“Wanna bet?”

Belphie scoffed, sinking further into the mattress.

“Who do you think I am? Mammon?”

“Just say you’re scared of losing, Belphie. It’s okay, I won’t judge you”

He pulled away, equally insulted, leaving a cold spot beside his body.

“I’m not scared”

His frown twisted his face, but MC couldn’t help but laugh, which only aggravated him further.

“Fine, then! Let’s bet! If you pass, I’ll take you out for dinner”

The proposition surprised him, but not as much as the blush across his face did. Even in the dark of the attic, Belphie was so pale it made the red of his cheeks extremely noticeable. A few seconds passed in silence before MC finally opened his mouth, but he was interrupted.

“And if I pass… You’ll give me a kiss”

His voice was low, but firm. He clearly knew what he wanted, but MC wasn’t sure how to feel. Belphie looked so serious, but how could he get the necessary grade when he didn’t even pay attention in classes? On the other hand, he offered a dinner in case he passed. And what if they both did? Would that end up being a date?

Not trusting his voice, MC ended up nodding and Belphie finally laid down again against him before quickly falling asleep.

He had been too distracted to study the next day, thinking about the bet and Belphie’s flustered expression the whole time, and Satan was quick to notice his behaviour.

“May I remind you, MC, we don’t have time to spare. If you have something in mind, say it; otherwise, focus and listen to me”

He could notice his entire body buzzing in expectation, vision blurring the paragraphs in the textbooks and reorganizing them to form Belphie’s offers. His face was engraved in his mind, the shade of red and the purple of his eyes shining in the darkness.

MC would rather spill his guts and die of mortification than make Satan angry for wasting his time.

To his surprise, however, when he explained the whole situation, the first thing the blond did was laugh at him. It was a mixture of pity and amusement that confused MC.

“Don’t you know Belphie is a top student?” he asked, obviously enjoying himself “He’s able to listen and memorize while sleeping. Obviously he’s going to pass!”

He laughed again, delighted at his embarrassment.

MC felt like a fool. An excited, smitten, blindsided fool, but a fool nonetheless.

“And he knows you’re also going to pass thanks to my help” Satan continued speaking as if it was an obvious fact “Seems to me you’re both going to win the bet”

Studying for the rest of the evening after that was proved to be impossible, not with his heart beating so fast it was making him feel sick.

In the end, it did look like he was going on a date with Belphie after all.

Nice.

.

.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation  @owlisbuffering  @chizukimp4  @ravenredwine @darkflowerav  @beatlebeesstuff   @mehkers

[taylorhawkins]

14 Essential-Listening Taylor Hawkins Tunes

… that aren’t “Cold Day in the Sun”!

1. Pitiful (Taylor Hawkins & the Coattail Riders)

One of his most emotionally raw tracks. I love the strange chords he used on the acoustic guitar to convey the somber depiction of guilt and shame associated with drug addiction described in the lyrics. This is a really painful song to listen to, but it’s beautiful.

2. The Path We’re On (Nighttime Boogie Association)

Matt Cameron and Taylor share vocal duties on this tune (Taylor sings the verses, Matt sings the choruses). Their voices together are pure heaven! Also features Melvins’ Buzz Osbourne snd Steven McDonald on guitar & bass. This group unfortunately only put out 2 songs during the pandemic, but they’re a magical 2.

3. I Could Be Somebody Else (NHC)

Psychedelic in every aspect of that word, this one is best experienced cranked with headphones. Trippy as hell. Dave Navarro was right when he said Taylor is a mind-blowing lyricist and singer. Another emotionally raw tune, when he said one of NHC’s songs makes him feel naked, I think he was referring to this one.

4. Running In Place (Taylor Hawkins & the Coattail Riders)

This song takes you on a journey. It eases you in, then crescendos into classic prog-influenced chaos before it turns to a stream of pretty guitar work and layered vocals as it drops you back off. Taylor said this one was something he wrote talking to himself, trying to bring himself back down to earth and not go crazy. “The Teacher” by Foo Fighters almost certainly took inspiration from this song - the breakdown is nearly identical, and the “…say goodbye” outro is very similar.

5. Too Much for My Own Good (Phil X & the Drills)

This song by Phil X features Taylor on the drums. This is such a fun rock & roll tune that will definitely be stuck in your head for days but you won’t be mad about it. Every person I’ve ever played this to has loved it!! PS- you’ve definitely heard Phil X before, his discography as a studio musician is wild.

6. You Drive Me Insane (Taylor Hawkins & the Coattails Riders)

I love the trippy riff and the vocals in this song, it’s a California rock & roll vibe and it’s one of my top favorites of his. One of his sexier tunes he said was written about Mrs. Alison Hawkins.

7. Southern Belles

No group credited as he played every instrument and sang this one! (I think the bass is either Chris Chaney or Nate Mendel, but I couldn’t find out for sure). This is a heavy-hitting, super catchy one about his southern family roots. Really under-appreciated track from the same EP that gave us “Range Rover Bitch”.

8. Never Enough (Taylor Hawkins and the Coattail Riders)

Taylor’s vocal range doesn’t get talked about enough… The cathartic way he belts his heart out at the end of this song gets me every single time. His voice was so beautiful. Another of that emotionally raw side of his music.

9. It’s Ok Now (Taylor Hawkins and the Coattail Riders)

Another earworm, this one’s rhythm is bound to make you move. His voice is pure rock and roll. I think you can really hear how much his songwriting impacted the Foo Fighters’ music on this album, even though many people think Dave told everyone what to play…when you really listen, that doesn’t seem to be the case. This song feels like summer sunshine to me.

10. Guess I’ll Go Away (Edgar Winter)

Taylor on vocals for “Brother Johnny”, a tribute to Johnny Winter album, this was one of the last things he did musically. He SLAYED that shit. He sounds so good. Rock and fucking roll.

11. Louise (Taylor Hawkins and the Coattail Riders)

I have no idea how he played that drumbeat and sang this song at the same time. Mind boggling. This song is so unique and so catchy, I don’t get why it wasn’t a hit. The rhythm section is my favorite part of the whole thing, Taylor and Chris Chaney locked in together SO well. It’s no wonder they played together from the Alanis days all the way up to him putting the ‘C’ in NHC.

12. Fearless (NHC)

This is a Pink Floyd cover…But it’s an amazing one! It’s groovy and trippy and they’re so locked in together, they were made to play music with each other. NHC unfortunately has a very small discography, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have selected a cover…but maybe I would’ve anyway, this one is just so good!

13. You’re No Good at Life No More (Taylor Hawkins and the Coattail Riders)

Taylor and Dave Grohl split the vocals on this one and it’s such a wild ride. You can really hear his Queen influence throughout this album… so much so that he manifested Roger Taylor’s appearance on the last track! D&T’s voices together are magic as you hear on “Rope” by Foo Fighters and their cover of “Come Together”, I always wish they sang together more often.

14. Perfect Day

Only a minute long, this beautiful song is just Taylor and his guitar. A sweet reminder he wrote for Mrs. Hawkins that his love is always with her no matter where he goes. I’m sure she treasures this one. There’s so much love in it.

[ilovefakemilitarymen]

Deal with the Devil

Professor!John Price x Student!Reader (Part 1)

——————————————

A/N: Originally posted this to AO3 and then decided to start a Tumblr account for some COD x readers and headcanons. So, if any body is interested, my requests will be open for the next couple of weeks till I hit about 10-15 or maybe more if this gets a lot of love. I’ll be posting a list of who I’ll write for later today. Enjoy!

Word Count: ~3.4k

CW: Inappropriate Teacher/Student relationship///This part is pretty tame, it’s the later parts you have to worry about but each will have their own warnings attached.

The truth was as simple as this: You were failing History.

Terribly at that, and it would take an act from whichever god would take pity on you to get your grade above the F you were currently sporting on your most recent report card. You were determined to get at least a C by the time the next report card came around, just so you wouldn’t have to take the same damn class for another semester.

The second truth was not as simple: Your teacher was as hot as the sun in the Nevada desert during the summer solstice.

He was a man that played by the rules, teaching tough love in the form of not giving a shit when you didn’t turn a paper in on time. His rules were strict, and so was his grading system. Professor Price was going to be the death of your college career. That didn’t keep you from eyeing the way he moved during the lecture, and it didn’t help that he was the type to make eye contact with each of his students to make sure they were paying attention, forcing you to keep your eyes off of his body and on his face for the entire hour that he spent lecturing the class on the different wars that had plagued the earth.

Despite failing, you had to admit his class was one you had looked forward to. However, it's not because you had a love for history, it’s to ogle the man that taught you. You should probably feel bad, but you didn’t. You couldn’t focus when he wore the furthest thing from educational wear, usually sporting a simple tee that fit him a little bit too well and either a pair of dress pants or coming in what looked like uniform pants that you could only guess were from his earlier days in the military. He had never talked about his days before becoming a professor, but you could about guess it was something that kept him fit by the way his muscles threatened to shred his thin shirt.

However, none of this could explain why you were now leaning over his desk, trying to bribe him into taking the paper you had tried to turn in late.

Price leans back in his chair in the front of the class, hitting his pen against his hand and taking in every word you had whispered to him, trying to keep your voice down as much as possible.

“Isn’t there any way you can take the paper?” Your hands press heavily against the edge of his desk. There aren't many times that you had come up to him instead of it being the other way around. He was continuously trying to get you to turn your work in on time, but lo and behold, it seems that his prodding had gone in one ear and out the other.

“No,” He speaks sternly, and you can’t help the way your shoulders drop at his words.

“But-” You begin again, but he cuts you off before you can even say anything else.

“You should have turned it in,” He shrugs, his more nonchalant attitude coming out in his words. You knew he didn’t give a shit if you failed but you wished he would at least take some pity on you. “I told you multiple times when it was due, and you ignored it.” His eyes shone with mischief, and you knew he was a man that had seen a lot worse than a student practically on her knees, begging for a second chance.

“I promise it won’t happen again, sir” You tacked on the last bit, trying to play into the small power trip he has, but it does nothing. “Just give me one more chance.”

“And I’m supposed to trust that?” His words aren’t harsh when they come out of his mouth, just stern, “You had multiple chances to turn that paper in on time, so your irresponsibility doesn’t seem like it’s my problem.” He leans back up on his desk as he speaks, nodding towards the small folder in your hand.

You had worked all night trying to get this paper written, staying up damn near the sunrise just to get it to him on time, only to realize the due date was yesterday when you had moved to turn it in.

Your words come out with not much thought from you, but the smirk on his face spurs you on, “Just this once, please. I’ll do anything, sir.”

You hadn’t realized how much trouble your words would get you into just yet.

Price leans back in his chair again, continuing to fiddle with his pen as he gives you a small chuckle. It’s barely there but you hear it and his words come shortly after, “Anything?” You give him a small nod at his words, “You know what they say about making deals with the devil?”

“No…” You breathe out slightly at his words and they imply something, but you’re not quite sure. You can’t help but look down at his arms. There’s no way he’s implying what you think he’s implying, but you don’t stop your mind from wandering.

“Then I guess we don’t have a deal,” He leans back up moving to begin grading papers again, “You’ll just have to accept the grade you earned.” He doesn’t give you another look, instead his pen moves against the paper as he tries his best to ignore your presence.

“Wait- What do they say, about making deals with the devil?” You continue to lean on his desk, voice low. “I’d sell my soul for a good grade in this class, sir. I’m begging.”

“You’d sell your soul, would you?” His face turns towards you, a small smirk playing at his lips, and you have to admit he looks god-damn attractive like that, about a foot or so between the two of you. You can only nod, eyes glancing down at his hands once again.

You don’t care if he’s just some creep wanting you to suck him off in the back closet once for him to take your late paper, and you also don’t admit to yourself that you would probably do it if he offered, good grade or not. He’s the hottest thing you’ve laid your eyes on in years and a heat pools in your abdomen at the thought of it.

“I don’t know about your soul, but we might be able to make another deal.” His words are low as he speaks, his face turning back to his papers, and his pen moves, marking little details in the margin of the paper.

“Anything, I’d do anything…” Your words trail off, waiting to hear whatever he has to say.

He nods, taking in your words before he moves to put his hands under his chin. There’s a devious smile under his mutton chops, and when he finally speaks, it’s not what you really expected him to say. “I want you to be my personal errand girl for the rest of the semester.” He takes in your reaction, eyes on your face for a reaction, “That means you’ll grade papers for me, fetch me coffee, and do whatever else I need you to do.” Your shoulders slump slightly, and you can’t believe you had fully expected him to tell you he’d be bending you over his desk for a passing grade. Your eyes don’t catch the way his lips had darted out to wet his lips at the words, ‘anything else’. “And in return, I’ll give you a passing grade, but if you fail to do so, I won’t hesitate to fail you.”

“Is that all? I can manage that.” You say confidently. You can be his personal lap dog for the rest of the semester. It really didn’t seem all that bad.

“Oh, I don’t think you understand the full extent of what I’m asking,” You watch his face as he speaks, “But if you’re willing, then we have a deal.” He raises his hand to you, intending to shake on the agreement.

“What?” You say a little bit snarky, “I get you coffee when you ask for it, and you say jump and I ask how high?” You reach your hand out, placing your palm in his. The calluses against his palm scratch against your soft one.

“Something like that,” He speaks as he shakes your hand, and you don’t realize that one handshake will be your unraveling. “We’ll discuss the details after class. For now, get back to your seat and let me finish grading these papers.”

“Of course,” You nod eagerly, placing the folder on his desk before turning to make your way back to your own seat, and he turns back down, moving through the papers with grace, marking along the pages at the right and wrong information.

Professor Price has always been a little bit of a wildcard, but you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when you finally get back to your seat. You’re not sure what you had actually got yourself into, but you swear to yourself not to screw up the chance he’s given you. The work in front of you is completed rather quickly, which is lucky considering you can’t focus through class and have to rely solely on the reading. You can’t help it that the sheer circumference of the man's arms get more attention from you than the words he speaks. It would be nice if your slight infatuation with him would garner you some way to get information from his words instead of turning your brain into a pile of mush.

Your gaze moves up to him, and you catch his eyes on you. He gives you a small smirk, and you can tell he’s quite pleased to have you agree to his little deal, and you can’t help but feel slightly flustered from the unwarranted attention. He’s probably just excited to get some of his workload off of him.

Your eyes stay turned to him, even after he looks away, and you know you shouldn’t stare, but you can’t really help yourself. Your work is finished in front of you, so taking a break from the reading to watch him grade his papers shouldn’t hurt.

His arms are lean, and his muscles seem to flex each time he raises his arm to flick his pen against one of the papers. Your mind flows back into wondering just what it was he had done before deciding to become a professor. Despite it being in the past, he definitely continues to work out since there’s no way he’s keeping a physique like that just lounging around the house all day.

“Something on your mind?” His voice comes out, tearing you out of your thoughts and you look up, realizing he had caught your eyes on him.

You decide to say fuck it, and shoot, asking him the question you had wondered for the last couple of weeks, “What did you do before you were a professor, sir?” Your question garners a few looks from the other students in class, their eyes turning to him, probably wondering the same thing.

“Well,” He lays his pen down before he speaks, “I’ve had quite the career,” His voice carries through the classroom, looking at you before turning his gaze to the other students. “I served in the military for many years, fought in several wars, but,” His eyes are on you again, “Now I’m here teaching the next generation.”

You nod to him, turning your attention to the textbook in front of you but the voice of another student pries you away from it, “Explains the drill sergeant attitude.” It’s followed by a small laugh. Price just shrugs, not really disagreeing with him.

Price finally dismisses the class moments later, slightly early, but you do your best to lag behind, gathering your things in your bag, and throwing it over your shoulder as the last student filters out. You move to walk to his desk, knowing he’d want to talk to you about your little ‘agreement’. Price is also packing up his things, stuffing papers into a folder before he pushes it into what looks like a laptop bag.

His eyes pull towards yours, and you watch as he lays a heavy hand down on his desk, “First things first, I expect you to be at my beck and call whenever I need you,” He pulls the bag over his shoulder as he speaks.

“Yes sir,” You speak, nodding at him. Your hands play with each other nervously.

“If I ask you to fetch me coffee, you do so. If I need you to grade papers for me, you do so.” He speaks and you continue to nod to him.

He continues, “Good, secondly, I’ll need you to keep my schedule organized,” He hands you a small planner, and you come to realize this is going to be a little more time-consuming than you had expected. “You’ll be responsible for making sure I’m on time, whether it’s a class, a meeting, or any other obligations.” He studies you as he speaks, “Lastly, I expect you to be discreet about our agreement. I don’t do this for any other student, so no one needs to know about this. If anyone asks, you’re simply helping me with some extra work. If it gets out, I won’t think twice about failing you.” He watches you as you nod to his requests, but you can’t help the itch at the back of your brain. “Is that clear?”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” You speak, eyes resting on his, “Helping you with extra work?”

“Yes, that is one way to put it.” He smirks slightly, “And you’re not to question my authority or disobey my orders.” He leaves the air open for a moment, gauging your reaction to his words, “Understood?”

The way he speaks, just in his simple tone, makes a heat pool between your legs, but you have to pull yourself out of your thoughts. He doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s his military nature. You’re sure he had a high rank, his commanding presence sure to make anybody weak in the knees.

“Yes sir,” I speak, my words a lot lower than I had meant. It feels like a big secret, something shared with you and you alone. You can’t help that it makes you excited.

“Is there anything else you’d like to clear up,” He speaks before he adds, “You seem a little distracted.” His words are low, but you have to push the feeling that rises in you down. He’s your professor, he’s just trying to make sure you understand what he’s saying.

“This just feels a little more secretive than I was expecting.” Your words tumble out of their own accord.

“Our agreement is a little less...conventional than most,” He gives you a small smile, innocent in nature, but you can’t help but get excited. It is something that only you and he share. “I don’t offer extra credit for anyone else, and we wouldn’t want to make any other student jealous, would we?” You shake your head at his question. “Plus, I think you’re up for the challenge, aren’t you?”

You can feel your heart rate pick up, “Yes sir.”

“Now, I expect you to keep me on schedule,” He taps on the planner resting in your hands, and you nod at him eagerly. “And if you do a good job, I’ll reward you with some extra credit.”

You nod to him again, hoping you don’t come off as too excited, “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“I’m sure you will,” He moves around the desk, “You can go ahead and head out for today, I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

You adjust the bag on your shoulder, moving to put his planner in as you head out of the classroom. You can feel his eyes on you as you leave, and it leaves you with a feeling of excitement and anticipation. You had never expected him to give in and offer you extra credit. It’s definitely going to be a lot of hard work on your part but you’re practically buzzing at the idea of being able to do these things for him in exchange for a better grade. You’re willing to do what it takes to get through this in one piece, and hopefully not have to take another history class in the next semester.

------

That night, you finally open up his planner, eyes roaming over all the things he does in his day. You look across the margins where he has small dates and times in place, and various meetings are strewn across the pages. To put it simply, the entire planner is a damn mess. No wonder he had asked you to keep up with it. Just looking at it would give any normal human a headache.

You scoff, pulling out your own planner that admittedly doesn’t get much use. At least you can use the thing you had spent an ungodly amount of money on during this agreement. You look through the pages of his planner, transferring whatever information you could get into a better format into your own planner.

Along one of the pages, you find what seems to be his personal phone number. You quickly put it into your phone, making a mental note to give him a call in the morning. He probably already knows about the class, but you don’t want to disappoint, so you decide to tell him every time he has something to do, including the regularly scheduled things that are probably muscle memory to him at this point.

There’s a meeting about an hour after his first class, and then another evening class around 3. It shouldn’t be too hard to just let him know after class that he has a meeting to attend. You close the planners, putting the both of them into your bag before cutting the small desk lamp off and heading to bed.

The alarm blares loudly the next morning, pulling you out of your sleep, and within moments, you shoot up, remembering your deal with Professor Price. Your hand reaches around for your phone, finding it half stuck under some pillows. You cut the alarm off before moving to your contacts, taking a deep breath, finding his name, and pressing call.

Your nerves are on edge from the simple task of waking him up. The entire thing is now reeling in your head. What if he hadn’t wanted you to call him?

His voice is groggy when he finally picks up the phone, laced with sleep and it sends a jolt directly between your legs, “Hello?” He sounds slightly confused.

You cut to the chase fairly quickly, “It’s (y/n), found your number in your planner and thought you might want to know you have a class in an hour.” You hold your breath afterward, hoping that this is exactly what he had wanted from you.

“Right, right.” His voice comes heavy through the receiver, and you barely hear him mumble something that sounds a lot like ‘smart girl’ before he’s back to speaking to you again, “Thank you, I’ll be there on time.” He huffs a small chuckle now, and it sets your skin ablaze from the roughness of his early morning voice, “You’re proving to be quite useful already.”

It’s ridiculous what his small praise does to you, and you know that if he was there with you, you would have to keep yourself from falling to pieces, but he’s not, and you’re alone in your small solo dorm. You have free reign to lay your head back on the pillow and bask in his voice.

“Glad to be of service, sir.” Your voice comes out lower than you had wanted, but fuck, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You follow it with a light laugh.

“You’re going to be a very valuable asset to me,” You keen at the praise, and he continues to speak. “I’ll see you in class.” He finishes and the phone line goes dead. You let it rest against your chest and curse yourself.

This is gonna be a hell of a lot harder if he keeps praising you like that.

[morganski-19]

I Don’t Know Which Way’s Home

Chapter 1: The Reveal

ao3 link

September 1986

Julie slams the door shut when she comes home, she doesn’t mean to, most of the time. But today, she really does. And the hinge is already broken so what harm is it really going to do? So she ignores the comment her mom makes about it and does it again with her bedroom door, hearing the slam vibrate the walls of the trailer. 

She’s just so sick of it. It’s like every single class decides to do some stupid project that just makes her stand out from the beginning in front of kids who might not already know. Not like anyone does. Everyone knows everyone’s business in this town, and Julie’s family situation is no different. 

The problem today, was the beginning-year project her Spanish teacher assigned. A family tree, something simple to introduce yourself to the class and to see what you remembered from the last year. The only problem is, Julie is always missing half a tree. 

Her father has been a void in her life for its entirety. There’s no face to the name, and no name to even put a face to. Her mother won’t tell her anything, not even a peep. The most she knows is that he was a mistake her mom made for a few months that ended as soon as she became pregnant. Which translated into Julie’s mind that she was an accident. And with how their situation turned out, she couldn’t help but believe it was true. 

So when she’s reminded of the fact that her existence on this Earth is due to one of her mother’s flings that never lasts a year, she gets to slam a few doors. She gets to play the Iron Maiden tape she found on the ground one day at full volume without complaint. She doesn’t even like it that much, but it was free and loud enough to match the screaming that was going on inside her head. 

That’s the worst part, with how angry she can get about her family situation, she can never be mad at her mom for too long. Not after everything she’s done to make sure Julie had a good life. Not a perfect one, but one where they at least had a roof over their heads and weren’t living on the streets. 

It’s bad enough that her mom had to work two jobs just to get them by, she didn’t need to deal with all of Julie’s problems on top of that.

“Would you like to tell me why you’ve just permanently broken the front door, or am I supposed to guess?” Her mom says after coming into the room without knocking and turning the music down. 

Julie grunts from where her face is dug into the pillow. Hoping that it was enough to make her mom leave, but it never was. 

“Come on,” her mom gives her a soft shove. “You don’t get to barge into the house and break a door without explanation. What’s up?”

“What up is a stupid Spanish project,” Julie complains angrily as she rolls onto her back, glaring at the ceiling. “It’s a stupid family tree where I know I’ll be questioned on it in front of the whole class, again, on why I ‘failed to include my dad on the tree’. Like I would fucking leave him out on purpose.”

She feels the bed dip as her mom sits on the foot of it. “I’ll let that slide this time because you’re upset.”

“Yeah, I am. I just am so tired of explaining it in every single damn class I seem to have that he just left and I have no clue who he is. They don’t have a right to my life and I don’t need the pity looks they give me once they figure it out. And what’s worse is that everyone in the class already knows except for the teacher, so dumb Billy Johnson will start snickering or some shit, and then I’m the kid without a dad all over again.”

“Bullies really need to get some new material,” her mom jokes without hesitation.

Julie snorts. “Tell me about it. “ She gets softer, already feeling the anger start to dissipate. And when it does, all that is left is the gaping hole in her heart that she knows will never be filled. “I don’t even care that he’s not in my life anymore, I accepted that he wouldn’t be a long time ago. I just want to know who he is. Why I’m here. Why you won’t tell me anything about him.”

“I just don’t think-”

“Oh just save it mom, I’ve heard all the excuses. I’m not a little kid anymore who writes that her dad will want to know her in her Santa letters anymore. I know he doesn’t give a shit about me, I just want to know who. I deserve to have a name to not give a shit about either.”

Her bed rises again as her mom leaves, turning the music back to full volume and shutting the door softly behind her. Julie rolls back over, pulling her blankets over her head, and starts to feel like shit again. 

It’s not just the fact that she doesn’t have a present dad that bullies love to tease, there are more kids than you’d expect with only one parent. It’s that her mom wasn’t married when she had Julie that was the problem. Unwanted pregnancies are like drugs for small towns, they spread like wildfire. The second the neighbor saw that her mom had a significant bump, it was everywhere. And then the kids heard it from their parents at every school function. 

It’s all, “Oh poor Julie Lawson, her mother couldn’t keep a boyfriend long enough for her to have a real dad.” Like they have the right to comment on Julie’s family. Or her mom. No one does, not even her. 

. . . 

October 1986, Present Day

Steve walks in after his shift with two pizzas, a six-pack of beer, and Robin right behind him. It was Friday, which means that Robin, Eddie, and him shook off the kids for a night to watch a movie. Alone. They loved the kids but sometimes it was nice to have a night without chaos. Calming even. 

Eddie wasn’t coming over for a few more hours because of his band practice, so Steve stuck the pizzas in the oven so they stayed warm. Robin already makes herself at home, rummaging through the fridge to find something to drink and making a nest out of blankets in the living room when she does. Steve follows her, digging himself into the nest and putting something on the TV. 

An hour or so later, he hears a knock at the front door. Robin gives him a concerned look as he leaves the living room to open it. Eddie had a key so he just let himself in, and they weren’t expecting anyone else. And with their track record, it could go from random salesperson to world apocalypse pretty fast. 

When he opens the door, a girl he guesses is around Dustin’s age is there, nervously playing with her hands, a backpack loosely thrown over her shoulder. “Hi, sorry to bother you but, do the Harrington’s live here?” she asks shyly.

“Yes, I’m Steve. Who are you?” There is a familiarity to her face that he can’t quite place.  

“Steve, right, he had a son. Sorry, this week’s been weird. I’m uh, my name is Julie. Your dad kinda knew my mom.”

He must have met her at one of his dad’s work events, that has to be why she looks familiar. “Oh ok, did she have to drop something off here or something?”

“Well, kinda. But it’s not what you’re probably expecting.” She pauses looking unsure of what she is going to say next. “Can I- can I come it, you might want to sit down for what I have to say. It’s kind of shocking.”

“I’m not sure, I don’t really know you. Could you tell me who your mom is, maybe I can remember you then.”

She takes a deep breath. “When I said that my mom knew your dad, I didn’t mean from work. Well, I did mean from work but she hasn’t worked for him in over fifteen years, so I doubt you’d remember her. She was his secretary for a while, and they had a very,” she pauses again, looking around to see if anyone is there. “Intimate, relationship.”

The dots clicked immediately in his head, thoughts immediately started to run around about who this girl could really be. He thinks that her offer to sit down was probably necessary. “Yeah, why don’t you come in.”

“Ok.” She steps through the doorway, waiting for him to lead her through the house. 

He brings her to the kitchen, motioning for her to sit at the small table. Grabbing a few glasses, he fills them with water and brings them over, placing one in front of her. She thanks him, taking it and gulping it down with shaky hands. The more he looks at her, the more he can’t help but see more and more similarities, just ones that remind him of himself. 

“Who was it, Steve,” Robin asks, wandering into the kitchen. “Oh shit, hi.”

“Rob, this is Julie, her mom apparently knew my dad.” Steve makes a motion with his head to indicate how, hoping that she can read it right. 

Her eyes widen in shock. “Oh like, special knew. Like knew knew.”

“Yes,” Julie says weakly. “Yeah, they did.”

“Oh shit,” Robin takes a seat next to Steve, her hand immediately finding his. It brings comfort, reassurance that she’s there. He knew his dad was a piece of crap cheater, his mom certainly made it known during many of their screaming matches. But with the girl staring at him with the same eyes he sees every morning in the mirror, his brain can’t help but jump to the conclusion that she’s, something. And that just makes his chest tighten in anxiety.

“I, uh.” Julie starts, wringing her hand nervously again. “I don’t really know how to say this gently. But, when my mom worked for your dad, they had an affair. It didn’t last that long, but remember when I said my mom stopped working for him like fifteen years ago? It was actually seventeen because that’s when she figured out she was pregnant.”

Steve feels a lump forming in his throat as she nods, trying to take it all in. “With you?” he asks, not knowing how he is even speaking at all right now. Robin squeezes his hand.

Julie gives a small nod, looking down at the table. “Yeah.”

“And my dad is-” he can’t finish the sentence, but it’s answered by her sorry nod. “Holy shit.” 

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to wrap his head around everything. This girl, Julie, is his sister. Half-sister, whatever, it doesn’t matter. Robin breaks her contact with him and goes to rub his back instead. His head falls into his hands propped up on the table and he just focuses on breathing. 

“Steve, you ok?” Robin’s voice soothes him a little bit, but when your world just gets shattered, there’s not much that can be done to help completely. 

“I knew he cheated. I knew that. It’s why my mom followed him around on all his trips. But he- he had a kid, and just hid it.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot, I have proof if you want to see it.”

Steve looks at Robin, asking her what to do with his eyes. She shrugs, her way of saying that it couldn’t hurt. Probably is better that they have proof anyway, make sure this is legit. He nods, unable to say anything. 

“Could we see it? Just to double-check everything,” Robin asks for him. God, he’s so happy that she’s here. He can’t imagine doing this by himself

Julie ruffles around in her backpack, random clothes peeping out as she pulls out a file. She opens it, pulling out two pieces of paper before going in again and pulling out what looks like a school ID. “Here’s my birth certificate and the paternity test. And my ID with my picture on it, so you know it’s me.”

The first thing he sees is his father’s name on the test results, followed by the line saying his relation to Julie is undeniable. That he was undeniably the father. The birth certificate only has the signature of her mother and the doctor, but the father’s name is absent. He ditched them, probably made her mom prove that this kid was his, and then just paid them to shut them up. His mom would never know, he would never know, and they never had access to any of his records. 

Julie Rebecca Lawson, born January 28, 1970. He was three when she was born. He’s had a sibling this whole time, and he didn’t even know it. 

“Does your mom know you’re here?” Robin asks, softly. 

Julie’s face visibly falls as she rapidly blinks away some tears. “She- she died two weeks ago. Car accident.”

“I’m so sorry, Julie,” Robin reaches across to comfort her, but the hand she was going to grab gets pulled away. “Whoever is watching you then, do they know where you are?”

She sniffles. “I’ve been staying with a foster family while they find a permanent placement. They don’t really care where I am. My caseworkers were trying to find some family, but my grandparents are long gone and my mom’s sister is in no place to take in a kid. So they were looking on my dad’s side.” She says the word dad as if they don’t fit right in her mouth. 

“I didn’t come here looking for a place to say,” she continues. “Right before my mom passed, she finally told me about my dad. How he never wanted anything to do with me because he had a big reputation and another family. It was supposed to be a secret, but the more I thought about it, I couldn’t help but think that you had a right to know. And then since she-, since I needed a place to stay, it was only a matter of time before you found out. I knew he was out of town so I thought it might be better to say it myself. Now I’m not so sure that was such a great idea.”

“No,” Steve finally says. “I’m, I’m glad you told me. You’re right, we, me and my mom, had a right to know. So, thank you.” He turns to look at Robin, her face shifting when she sees the panic in his. “Rob, could I talk to you for a minute?”

She stands. “Yeah. We’ll be right back, ok Julie.” 

Julie says a soft reply as Robin leads Steve to the living room. “I don’t know what to do, Rob.”

“How could you? You just found out that your dad had another kid. With another woman. And then hid it from you. How are you supposed to cope with that information?”

“I don’t know. I have no clue what to do. But I can’t-. Shit Rob, I want to help her.”

“Steve, you don’t know her, at all. She just spawned on your doorstep not even an hour ago and just dropped the biggest bombshell on you since the, you know what. I get that you want to help her, I do. Shit, I do too. But I’m just asking that you take a step back and think about this.”

Steve crosses his arms, pulling his eyebrows together. The decision was pretty much made in his mind, but she was right. “What if she stays the night, we sleep on this and get to know her more tomorrow. Then we can go from there.”

“Ok,” she puts a hand on Steve’s arm. “That’s a good plan.” 

Robin steps forward, pulling him into a hug before they walk back into the kitchen. Julie looks back up at them, uncertainty filling her face. It reminds him so much of himself it sort of hurts. “Julie, you can stay the night, if you want to. That way tomorrow we can talk some more, and get to know each other, figure out what to do about this. But I can drive you back to the house you’re staying at if you’d like.”

“Could I stay here, I really don’t like it there.” The fear that coats her eyes with the mention only makes it worse. 

“Come on, I’ll show you the guest room.”

Julie stands, grabs her bag and follows after Steve. When he shows her to the room, she stands in it like like she knows she doesn’t belong. He can’t help but think it’s not the first time she’s felt like this, especially since he’s pretty sure she brought enough clothes for a few days in her bag. 

He tells her where the bathroom is, where his bedroom is if she needs anything. She nods silently. The similarities between them keep coming in waves. Sure they’re not like an exact match. But her eyes, her jawline, her hair, it’s ever so similar to his. If they were to walk down the street together, it would be clear that they were siblings. 

The fact that it’s true just keeps shocking him all over again. 

“You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen, and there’s plenty of supplies in the bathroom if you need any. I keep it all under the sink. And, don’t be afraid to ask for anything, ok?” He stands there awkwardly, not quite knowing what else to do. 

“Ok,” she replies softly, placing her bag on the bed and pulling out some things. 

When he shuts the door behind him, it finally hits. He practically runs back down the stairs to find Robin waiting in the living room, on the phone with someone. 

“Yeah, something came up and we can’t do movie night anymore. No nothing bad, yeah no he’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all good, just a migraine. Yep. I’ll have him call you tomorrow. No, you don’t need to do that. Ok, bye.” Robin turns to him when she hangs up the phone. “Eddie, thought it was pretty clear that movie night was canceled.”

“Yeah, no, it was. I-” the words get stuck in his throat. “I have a sister, Rob.”

Robin crosses over to him, pulling his fingers away from where they held his arms in a death grip. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now.”

“Angry mostly. How could he keep this from us, from my mom? From me? Do you know how many times I wished for a sibling, only for me to have one all along and just not know about it? And then she goes through life knowing her dad didn’t want her. I can’t begin to imagine what that is like.”

“Pretty shitty probably. What do you really want to do about all of this Steve?”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I want to help her, get to know her. But I-I don’t know if I can do this.”

“She wasn’t asking you to fix everything. She just lost her mom, I think she just wants someone to lean on like that again.”

“But what if I can’t even do that?”

Robin gives him a soft look that he knows means he’s overthinking it all again. “Let’s go get some sleep ok. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

They walk upstairs, passing the room that Julie is staying in on the way to his. He remembers being little and looking at the empty guest rooms in his house, wondering when people would come to fill them. Wishing that when they did, they’d stay for longer than a week. Maybe then he wouldn’t be alone anymore. 

When he was really young, he would sit in the rooms and pretend that it was other kids that filled them. Brothers and sisters that he got to play with for however long he wanted to. His nights would feel less empty and during the day he’d be less lonely. He’d be like every other kid on the playground with their siblings, pushing them on the swings and chasing them around the park. The house would be full of noise instead of deafening silence. 

But that day never came. The years went on and he kept getting older. His mom went on more and more trips and then just stopped calling. The only time his dad ever called was after the police told him that he’d thrown a party. He used to just mess up just to hear his dad’s voice. Because then maybe he could convince himself that his dad cared for him. If you're disappointed enough to yell, that has to mean you care about something. 

Most people say wait until you’re older and then you’ll understand like it’s some kind of mystery that everyone cheers when you solve it. Not knowing that some mysteries only crush the people around them. Steve Harrington spent most of his life alone and it wasn’t until he graduated and no one from his family showed up that he finally accepted why. 

As he looks back at the guest room, he can’t help but feel that part of himself get unearthed again. That sad little kid that begged for someone who he could grow up with. Knowing that was there across town all his life only makes him hurt all over again. 

The urge to call his dad right then and there is strong. To scream at him for hiding something that he wanted for so long. Yell at him for being a piece of shit to not just him, but to his mom, and to Julie. He was used to his dad, no one else deserved to be hurt like he was. 

. . . 

Julie lays in a bed that is bigger than one she’s owned in her entire life. Having one of this size would make it easier when she and her mom would share when her back was too sore after her double shifts to take the cot. The sheets are softer and clearly barely used, the fabric smells of fresh flowers. 

She’s almost angry at all of this. That one person could have so much and be so cruel. That Steve got more out of their dad than she ever did. But one of them was wanted, the other clearly wasn’t. 

The word still feels weird in her mind. Their dad. She didn’t even know the guy but she spent so long hating someone who was a dad to someone else. But by the lack of family pictures on the wall and the way Steve talked about him just briefly, it doesn’t look like he was much of a dad to Steve either. 

She wonders what it’s like to live in this giant house alone. The empty walls and rooms prepared for people but never filled. There were at least two living rooms in this house and a kitchen just made for a party. A house so perfect from the outside but so broken from within. 

Steve at least seemed nice, even after she broke the news. Hell, she’s still here, isn’t she? In her mind, she was preparing for the worst. To be kicked out on the curb right after even implying that her father was just that, her father. Because a businessman with a poster family could never do anything wrong, could never be a terrible person who would have a kid and just abandon it. 

But she was believed, and accepted. Allowed to stay the night in a house she always dreamed of living in with a family she didn’t even know existed. She just hopes that in the morning it all won’t go to shit like everything else in her life seems to. 

. . . 

September 1986

Julie hears her mom call out for dinner from the kitchen. As much as she’d like to still be angry, she can’t force herself to avoid her mom forever. For what it’s worth, her mom is all she has in the realm of family and a friend. There’s no one who knows her like she does, and it’d just be cruel to let the pain of the past dwell any longer. 

Except this isn’t a pain of the past, not for Julie. Almost daily she’s reminded that there’s someone out there who doesn’t care enough to know her, and that person is half the reason she exists. It seemed like everyone else in this town knew who their father was, even if they weren’t around, except for her. 

But she can’t help but think about what her mom went through. How raising a kid on her own had to be, especially in a town like this. Someone she obviously cared about just dropping her after a positive test and leaving her high and dry. Life was hard, but she managed, somehow. Julie’s not so sure she would have in her position. 

“I want to talk to you about something,” her mother starts once the table is cleared. She goes to sit back at the table, placing a folder on top of it. “What you said earlier, you’re right. You have a right to know who your father is, whether he’s in your life or not.”

Julie sits across from her mom. “I was just angry before, you really don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

It’s a lie and they both know it. 

“No, you need to know. There’s going to be a point in the future where you’ll need to know certain things, medical history and such. And there might be a day when his family finds out about you and comes asking for questions.”

“His family,” she says shocked. 

Her mom nods. “A wife and a son. He had both of them already when we were together.”

Julie’s entire world shifts. “What?”

“A year before you were born, I worked as a secretary for Richard Harrington in his business, well his dad’s business at the time. We entered an, inappropriate relationship, which ended up in you.”

“Inappropriate’s one way to say it,” she jokes under her breath. “He’s a big deal in town, Mom, his whole family is.”

Her mom nods. “It was risky and stupid and I never should have done it. But back then, he was good at hiding what a terrible person he was behind his looks and his charm. It wasn’t until you got to know him and got on his bad side that things went south.”

“So, when you got pregnant with me?”

“It went south, fast. I told him, he wanted you gone but I couldn’t go through with it. So instead we came up with a deal. I prove you were his with a paternity test, and he gives me a monthly payment to shut me up. It wasn’t a lot, clearly, but it would be enough to pay off the trailer in a few years and make sure we had money for bills.”

“I’m surprised that he gave you anything at all.” It really couldn’t have been that much if her mom had to work two jobs just in order to scrape by. 

“The rich will do anything to keep a secret, including bribery. Everything you could ever need to know about him is in this file. With a copy of your birth certificate and the paternity test. Just so you have it. I’m sorry I kept it from you for so long.”

She looks at the file in her hand. It’s still pretty empty, but it has just enough. “I can see why you did. It’d be worse for you for a kid to accidentally tell everyone their dad is a Harrington.”

“It’d be bad.” Her mom clears her throat, looking down at her hands. “I also didn’t want you to think differently of me. I slept with a married man after all, for a year. That’s a pretty shitty thing to do to someone, even if you don’t know them.”

“Yeah, it is.” Julie would be lying if she said it didn’t come as a shock, that her mom would do that. All this time she thought that her dad was some drugged-up guy that she hooked up with for a month or two before they stole all her cash and ran off. That’s who her boyfriends were in the past few years, so it wouldn’t have been a surprise. But a married man, one with a kid, that’s a new one.  “Do you regret it? Sleeping with him.”

“All the time, but then I’d never have you.” She reaches her hands across the table and cups them around Julie’s. “You’re my life, Jules. I love you more than anything, and I wouldn’t change a thing if it meant never having you.” 

Julie puts a smile on her face. “Love you too, Mom. And thank you for telling me about this. Now I have a name to not give a shit about.”

“Yeah, now you do.”

Her mom gives her one last smile before going to the living room and setting up her cot. Julie takes the file and heads to her room, shutting the door softly behind her. 

She doesn’t know how to describe what she’s feeling. Like a weight has been lifted off of her but a new feeling of dread came to replace it. The name of the person who she’s hated for so long is in her hands, and she doesn’t know what to do with it other than hate him more. He had a wife, and a kid, a young kid, and he still went and had an affair. 

When she lies in her bed, waiting for sleep to come, all she can picture is the face of the man who ruined not only one life but three. And while her mom isn’t blameless, she can’t help but think that there is more to the story than her just willingly sleeping with him. She imagines taking her fist and hitting him straight in his smug face. Once for her mom, and once for her. 

Chapter 2

tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet, @steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy, @connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @cheddartreets, @theupsidedownrealestateagent, @acidbubblegummie, @sirsnacksalot, @adaed5, @l0st-strawberry, @helpimstuckposting, @strawberry-starss, @freddykicksasses, @italianwhore1, @i-threw-my-name-out-the-window, @rageagainsttheapathy, @nuggies4life, @ape31, @whimsicalwitchm, @chrissycunninghamfanblog, @michellegilligan, @hippielittlemetalhead, @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale, @jaytriesstuff, @confused-stripes, @faeb1tch42069, @marklee-blackmore, @genderless-spoon, @mamafaithful, @estrellami-1, @starryeyedpoet17

[misguidedasgardian]

The Lifeaters (I.3)

III. Teacher's Pet

MASTERLIST

Summary: getting to know your professors and friends is tricky, specially when you start doubting yourself

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: Cursing, magical objects, Mugglephobia, magic! might miss some warnings 

Wordcount: 3 k

Notes: I really have BIG plans for this and I understand that is not getting enough traction, but these chapters are to set a tone, not only for the reader but her relationships, anyways, I will keep writing! I need this to write the really darkish stuff that is happening in the last years and during/after the war! muahaha you won’t regret it!

You looked like… well… a child

You looked at every place, every detail of the castle with wonder, as your prefect led you to your first class… potions

“They say professor Snape is the meanest of all teachers”, you heard someone whisper, and you believed it to be true, even when you met him in the Malfoy Manor, he looked severe and mean

You had this class with the Gryffindors 

You took seat between Draco and a boy you recognized as Theodore Nott, you felt your cheeks heated when you realized… he was very cute, dark brown curls, big green eyes, you giggled

“I’m Theodore Nott”, he greeted, “I’m a friend of Draco”

“(y/n) Basilik”, you said back, “me too”, you giggled, and Draco nudged you, a tall, dark haired man burst into the room walking rapidly, using his wand to close all windows and the door behind him, his eyes found you in a second. He was Professor Severus Snape

“There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to enjoy the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few…”, he looked at both of you, with a less severe look, “who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death…”, he kept looking on to find Potter writing without paying attention to him, “then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not...pay...attention”, he stopped in front of him, only after his friend nudge him is that he looked up

“Mr. Potter. Our...new...celebrity. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”, he mumbled, but didn’t answer, “You don't know? Well, let's try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

“I don't know, Sir”, he answered shyly, and you were thankful that you weren't him because you couldn’t have answered either

“And what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?”

“I don't know, Sir”, Draco looked at you smugly, you smiled back

“Pity. Clearly, fame isn't everything, is it, Mr. Potter?”

“Why don’t you ask Hermione?”, the curly haired girl had her hand in the air desperately to answer the questions.

You exchanged looks with Draco

“With powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood you get a very powerful sleeping potion, you can find a bezoar in a goat’s belly, and also… those are the same plant, also known as aconite”, You almost saw Snape smile, “Why are you not copying this?”, he asked everyone, you shared concerned looks with Draco and then started writing frantically in your parchment

. . .

“Did you see that girl Granger raising her hand desperately?”, he continued his rambles as you walked to your next class, “pathetic really”

Then you went to McGonagall's class, Transfiguration, where she was going to teach you how to turn things from one thing to another, very impressive really. You were excited about all classes that require your wand and enchantments 

That Granger girl, again, sat in front of you, first line to the class, and was as cooperative as in Potions. You wondered why she didn’t end up in Ravenclaw if he was that smart, but you paid more attention to Gryffindor's head teacher.

But then… came the really exciting class

Flying lessons. Draco and you were completely going to dominate the class, as the both of you had broomsticks since you could remember 

And Professor Hooch that had the most extraordinary eyes

You had this class with the Gryffindors, which you didn’t particularly liked, Harry was standing right in front of you, and even though he had said nothing to you, you were a bit angry at him for rejecting Draco’s invitation, as grassy as it was.

You looked down at the broom, the training broom that had been provided by the school for the first years, you couldn’t wait to get the nimbus 200 as soon as this school year ended 

“Good afternoon, class”, Professor Hooch greeted

“Good afternoon, Madam Hooch”, you all answered in a chorus

“Welcome to your first flying lesson. Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to the left side of their broomstick. Come on now, hurry up. Stick your right hand over the broom and say, Up!”,s trite to business, you liked that, you raised your hand over the broom and commanded it, and immediately, she flew to your hand, the very first try. You cheered excitedly as the chorus of voices repeated the word 

“Up!”, Draco demanded and his broomstick also obliged, your friend smiled smugly 

“With feeling!”, demand the teacher, as many haven’t been able to succeed on the first lesson, you looked up to the exact moment the broom went up and hit Neville Longbottom in the face, you hissed, sympathizing with his pain but Draco deadass laughed 

“Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight, you don't want to be sliding off the end”, you did as she told you to, this was a very exciting moment for you, you had never been able to do this before 

“When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, and then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle...3...2…”, you shared excited looks with Draco before doing exactly what Professor Hooch instructed, which you did perfectly 

But your classmate, Longbottom took off from the ground

“Mr. Longbottom”, called the teacher, clearly scared

“Neville!, what are you doing?”, called one of his classmates

“Neville...Neville… we're not supposed to take off, yet”, But he was raising to the skies in a incredible speed, he screamed bloody murder, scared for his life

“Mr. Longbottom! Down! Down!”, demanded Hooch

“Ahhhh!”, he only managed to scream. Even Potter screamed for his friend but he couldn’t command his broom, flying randomly over your heads 

“Help!”, he cried and you felt scared for him

“Come back down this instant!”, but to no avail, he soars through the sky and hits a wall, conking along it and then swooping off. All the while, he is screaming

He flied until he crashed into a statue in the top of the building adjacent to the field, luckily his cloak got trapped in the sword, which prevented him from flying, but then he fell to the ground in a grunt of pain

You all ran to him to make sure he was alright, of course the professor got to him first. He was whining and whimpering, that was a tall fall 

“Is he alright?”

“Oh, oh, oh, oh dear. It's a broken wrist! Tch, tch, tch. Good boy, come on now, up you get”, Meanwhile, Draco by your side leaned in and grabbed Neville’s Remembrall front he grass 

“Everyone's to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. Understand? If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will find themselves out of Hogwarts before they can say, Quidditch”, demanded Professor Hooch as she lead Neville out of the field

“Did you see his face? Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze, he'd have remembered to fall on his fat ass”, he said loudly for everyone to hear

“Give it here, Malfoy”, demanded Harry when he realized what he was holding 

“No. I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find”, he got on his broom, like he had many times before in his house, “How 'bout up on the roof?”, he flied higher with incredible mastery, showing all of you the glass ball on his hand, you felt proud, the first tie you got in his father’s old brooms had been tricky 

“What's the matter, Potter? Bit beyond your reach?”, he mocked. Harry grabs his broom and runs to get on it. But his friend Hermione stops him

“Harry, no! You heard what Madam Hooch said! Besides, you don't even know how to fly”, but he doesn’t hear her, instead he flies as high as Draco

“Give it here, Malfoy, or I'll knock you off your broom!”

“Is that so?”, he teased back, making tricks in the air, “Have it your way, then!”, he throws the ball far, and Harry swoops in quickly to grab it, almost crashing against a building 

Draco comes back to the floor next to you, and you giggled excitedly, the positions in Quidditch were as much as yours for next year 

But Harry’s catch… that was impressive too, all your classmates cheer him on and run to meet him when he comes down from the skies

Then Professor McGonagall appeared, making all of you takes steps back away from Potter 

“Harry Potter? Follow me”, he was in trouble, Draco, Goyle and Crabbe laughed loudly, he was going to get spelled!

But he wasn’t

Draco growled, loudly when he appeared in the great hall the next morning

You couldn’t believe it! Draco stood up from his seat and Crabbe and Goyle followed him, you just sat there, not knowing what to do

Is not that you hated Harry, your first meeting was a bit… mean, and he had rejected your friend, and you didn’t even know why Draco cared so much, but your friend was hurt, Harry had hurt him, so you did hate him.

He was a celebrity of sorts, and that was annoying, that every day was “Harry this…” and “Harry that…”, 

Your friend came back with a face mixed with feelings, for one, he was upset but for the other… he was planning something…

“maybe now we will get rid of Potter”, he said triumphantly

“What did you do?”, you giggled

“I challenged him to a dual at midnight, a duel I don’t think to attend”, he said with a cheeky smile

. . .

Draco’s Eagle Owl screeched, making you recognize him immediately as he flied into the room while you were hanging out with your friends in the dining hall at midday, actually, you were reading your potions book, you were actually terrified that Snape would ask you something and caught you off guard, and you didn’t want to make Slytherin lose points, it was barely like the third week of classes and you were already studying 

He dropped a package in the table before he landed on Draco’s shoulder, hooting excitedly as Draco petted him, and then he took flight again

Umbra flew in too, dropping a single envelope, all marked with your aunt’s stationary. And landed heavily in the table next to you, you petted her too and she playfully played with your hair making you giggle 

“She is cute”, muttered Mathew, and she tried to pet her

“She bites”, but she didn’t only try to bite him, but raised her wings in a threatening manner and ruffled her feathers, screeching. Then she took off, leaving all surprised, “she had never done that before”, you explained at his angry face.

You turned your attention to the letter. She was answering your own, writing about her excitement about you getting sorted into Slytherin. You smiled as you read her sweet words.

Draco opened the box but he already know what it was, a box filled with sweets from Narcissa 

“Here”, Draco says, dropping in your lap a small package, “My mom always sends me this even if she knows I don’t like them!”, he mocked

“Because she knows I do”, you muttered triumphantly, taking a bite of the delicious treat, she always send you fudge brownies 

But you were interrupted, as a commotion in the Gryffindor table happened, of course when you both looked, it was around Potter, and he had received something that looked like…

No

You shared concerned looks and your feet actually led you to him, yo see what he fuzz was all about and sure enough, you didn’t even to see it in its entirety to see that it was the mythical Nimbus 2000

“You are in for it this time Potter, first year aren’t allowed broomsticks”, snickered Malfoy

“It's not any old broomstick”, muttered Ron Weasley, you have heard of the Weasleys, “It’s a Nimbus 2000 What did you say you both have at home?”, oh he dragged you into this too?, “A Comet 260?”, Harry seemed too happy, “Comets look flashy, but they’re not in the same league as the Nimbus”

He was right

“What would you know about it Weasley? you couldn't afford half the handle”, Malfoy Snapped, “I suppose you and your brothers have to save up, twig by twig”,  and you couldn’t help but giggle, it was funny

The redhead looked at you angrily and he seemed he was going to fire back, but a professor interrupted you all, Professor Flitwick of incantations 

“not arguing I hope”

“No professor”, you said

“Harry got a broom”, Draco said quickly, and you hoped that this time…

“Oh I heard! Minerva told me about the special circumstances”, you couldn’t hear anymore

This was unfair! Why was he allowed a broom and you weren’t?

“Did you hear?”, Draco asked, with a frown, as you went back to the table, “Harry Potter is the new Gryffindor’s seeker”, he muttered with his face filled with cookie crumbs 

“What?”, you said, outraged, “we are first years! we are not supposed to be in the Quidditch teams”, you said. You looked right in front, and you saw Theodore snickering with Blaise and Matthew. They were probably mocking you, but you didn’t care. “that’s unfair”, you whispered, looking down at the table at your potions book that you carried with you since the first class. 

“I can’t wait to see Harry Potter fall from his broom, the first game is against Slytherin”, Draco snickered, and you thought that could be a funny sight, and it did make you feel slightly better. 

“Hey, relax, potions are not that difficult”, Matthew mocked trying to grab your book from under you. You took it back from him with a frown

Draco was lucky in many aspects, one of them being that he was incredibly smart, he didn’t even need to study! He would read a book once and store it in his memory and he could come back to it as many times as he needed, he was incredible

“I don’t want to be caught off guard by Snape, he will take points from us!”, you said hurriedly and defensively

“He wouldn’t take points from his own house”, he said dismissively 

“He is right, potions are easy”, muttered Draco

“You are saying that but there are so many names to learn!”, you whined

“You had memorized by heart all the Quidditch players in the female league OF EUROPE! AND THEIR STATS”, he said quickly

“It isn’t the same!”, you said exasperated 

“And you bother me constantly with names and dates of important wizards and witches of history”, you had the class of magical history with an actual ghost, how cool is that? you even had the class with Hufflepuffs, which was a nice break from the Gryffindors 

You only smiled at him, but then continued your reading, the tricky part was to learn the quantity of ingredients

The truth is you cared about the others things, and potions were… rather out of fear, and necessity, due to your family’s legacy, you could not, NOT, be bad at potions, you really thought is the reason why your grandfather let you stay in here and attend Hogwarts, because of their mastery in potions class which was better than Beauxbatons 

As you watched in the corner of your eye the boys snickering and giggling amongst themselves you started to wonder…

Draco was your only friend, but he had many, many other friends, why did he never introduce you? The only ones you knew were Greg and Vince. 

Then you shook your head, why would he keep you from knowing people? it was silly.

“I will help you in potions, you will help me with HIstory of magic”, Draco said softly to comfort you and you smiled widely at him

“Alright!”, you said cheerfully

“Did you do your Astronomy homework?”, asked Zabini

“Yes! I chose a constellation named the Bootes”, you said happily, “it has 8 stars”

“Is it shaped like a boot?”, asked Matthew with a mocking grin

“No, it’s like a crooked man with a little legs”, you muttered

“Can you help me with the homework?”, he asked. And you got quiet, “my telescope broke”

“Already?”, asked Blaise

“I’m clumsy”, you remembered him tripping a hufflepuff in the first class making it stumble and fall on its side, they were very fragile, “so…?”, he asked, looking at you

“Sure, we’ll need to get permission from Professor Snape”

“I’m sure you can talk him into it”, he wasn’t asking, he was demanding, and you were sure you were going to write all his homework for me

“Well, bring your book and parchments, I’ll bring my telescope”, you whispered sadly looking back at your book

“Hey, you can’t make her do anything”, snapped Draco, “do your own homework”

“It’s fine Draco”, you whispered, but you felt cornered by his big brown determined eyes

“We’ll all go then”, he said quickly, “I didn’t do my homework either”, you frowned knowing he had made it, last week when they gave it. 

He wouldn’t introduce you to Matthew, and he wouldn’t let you be alone with him. 

What was this all about?

[goldenhickeysandramen]

Letter

Hey jikookers, how are you?

Face is out, and I'm sure we're all steamming. I love “Like crazy”.. so smooth and elegant....it's a pity I can't listen to it on loop  (for streaming purposes 😣)

ok... then... let’s move to the point...

Who hasn't had an attack of giggling or screaming (anything goes) when they found out that there was a hidden song by Jimin in collaboration with Jungkook?

I mean JIKOOK singing together! 

That perfect match it is... JIKOOK 

JIKOOK JIKOOK JIKOOK forever

..

LETTER

What should I say? And how can I do it well? I'm just clumsy, I know it's obvious, But I'll deliver these words Without being too light.

I say oh oh I hope you become happier When I stumble, You reached out your hand to me.

I say oh oh Now, I'll hold you when you want to cry So you won't fall down. Even after time passes, Will we still be the same as we were? Like when we first met.

If we're together, We can cross mountains and seas. Just like we were then.

I say oh oh I hope this never ends. You're like a warm spring day to me, In the cold winter.

Baby, don't leave, Just stay by my side, yeah. I'll only say what I can deliver, As much as you've done for me. I'll keep the promises I made.

Don't worry, Just stay by my side, yeah. We don't know what tomorrow holds, But don't be afraid, always remember

...

I'm dying with this beautiful song. With that  subtle JK that accompanies his bae in the chorus and in the bridge, like a caress, without taking any spotlight away from Jimin and his song.

I hope you come to my funeral and write epitaphs that say "she died because of a song" 

As I don't have the album yet, I listened to it on youtube, read the lyrics, and on twitter I saw this explanation of how it is included in the album.

Of course, this time stamp is going to be great for Army to consider Jimin's song as a gift for them. And surely Jimin is going to endorse it, if he decides to speak about it.

But... let's read between the lines... for a song to Army.. did he need JK? 

He could have done the backup vocals himself and make the whole thing more intimate (jimin-army),

It also doesn't fit that JK just yesterday decided to make a spoiler of the song.

(I know who the teacher of that one lesson was!)

I think he came live to show us exactly that spoiler 🤣.. He also had the guitar ready for it!!! 

U know why? cause that song means something else for them. It’s not just a casual song... (I remind you that JK barely mentioned his Stay Alive, even back then when he had instagram)

I know the lyrics of LETTER could apply to army as well, 

Some are gonna say it

And I agree too. Look: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83NyhL_Plw8

But it’s a love song. Whichever way you look at it. 

I asked a friend of mine, a k-kookminer, and she thinks so too (we already know that the language thing is very important here and better to ask).

A hidden song about a hidden love. Period

[girl-named-matty]

Do you have any headcanons for Professor Sharp, including his boggart? Sorry about spamming your asks.

No need to apologize! I love the asks ❤️

Random Professor Sharp headcanons by me!

Ah yes, Aesop Sharp 

Dude was definitely in Slytherin without a doubt. 

He’s probably a half-blood or a pureblood.

He is TALL. I imagine if he had any siblings they would be pretty tall too. 

He did not want to become a professor at first. He had no interest in being around any kid or teenager so why would he? But he was good at potions and thought that the next generation of witches and wizards needed a good teacher, so he took the position as Potions professor. 

He was a really good Auror and he loved his job, which is another reason why he took it so hard when he could no longer work as one. 

He and Solomon Sallow probably worked together at least once while they were both Aurors. 

He’s unmarried and has no kids. Although he was close to getting married once, he was engaged but then it just didn’t work out and they both parted their ways. 

Very reserved guy. He doesn’t talk much unless he has to. 

Doesn’t allow tomfoolery in his classroom. Joking around? Detention. Talking too loud while he’s giving a lecture? Detention. He already has to deal with Garreth all the time, he’s not about to let any other kid disrupt the classroom as well. 

There was a Dueling club similar to Crossed Wands dueling club back when Aesop was in school and he attended it regularly. He was actually pretty good at it. 

Out of all the professors, he probably talks to Professor Black the most, but he often has conversations with Professor Weasley, Professor Kogowa, and Professor Ronen. 

He had a hard enough time dealing with Garreth’s older brothers when they were at school and so when Garreth showed up and was ten times worse, he about had a heart attack. 

Had to lock his office specifically cuz Garreth would always sneak in and grab potion ingredients and blow up the classroom. 

If he played quidditch in school, he probably was a chaser or beater. 

Hates when people bring up the injury to his leg and the fact that he has a limp. Although he won’t get mad when his students ask why.

After years of working as a Professor, he did soften up a bit and he actually grew pretty fond of his students even if they made him want to yank his hair out 24/7 with how much of a handful they could be. 

That being said, since your fears change with the new experiences you have. I’d honestly say that Sharp’s boggart would probably have to do with losing one of his students. As stressful as they are, he cares a lot about them and their safety which is another reason why he gets mad at Garreth a lot.

He won’t admit it but he’s dreading the day Garreth graduates school because he knows his job will get boring again until the next chaotic Weasley joins in. 

Knows Sebastian and Ominis surprisingly well. He’s not too fond of the other slytherin students but he liked Sebastian and Ominis because although Sebastian is a troublemaker, they’re both intelligent and he doesn’t feel like he’s having to explain things 100 times over while talking to them. 

That and he pities Ominis sometimes for always failing tests. He’s definitely tried to personally tutor him in hopes to help him in potions. 

[cheerleaderman]

Astrid Primrose

A quite person who doesn’t want to stand out.Some-people think he’s hiding something deep given his curse but others see him as friendly and helpful.

Personality :

quite, reserved, socially awkward,only show true self with people their comfortable with, won’t say if he’s hurt, more Genuine with people they are comfortable with, pretty simple , Gracious  

Twst : the enchanted rose 

Basic Info

Age: 17

He/they

Voice claim: Langa- Sk8 the infinity (eng and Jp)

Birthday: September 18

Height: 174cm

class: 2-C

Dorm: Diasomnia

Nickname: koi fish (Floyd) ,Monsieur rose enchantèe(Rook) ,Ash

Dominant Hand: Right  

favorite food: different kinds of bread, salad, chocolate and melon

Hobbies/likes: chess, cross word puzzles, puzzles, origami , snow, birds, architecture, stargazing 

Dislikes: feeling trapped, moldy food, mold , dumpster diving

Club: Equestrian  

Hometown : Briar Valley  

Best subject: astrology

Talents: Completing puzzles quickly and reading maps

Unique magic/Curse : Beast of the guilty 

He has no control of the curse but it seems like if he touches or direct eye contact for long enough. A shadow looking beast will surround a person in vine staring them down making them relive something they deeply regret and it could last for a day or two after being let go basically tormenting them with guilt. Astrid curse that will later become his UM.

For the selfish and the lairs

You must not feel pity

Because soon they will meet

The beast of the guilty

More info

-Wants to travel the world when they hit 21

-thinking of becoming an architect 

- Astrid pretty goofy with people they are comfortable with and would do it with his resting expression having others if he’s serious 

- Doesn’t talk much about their home or family when they do some say there is a kinda unsettling feeling/ look in his eyes

-Swears the horses like messing with him

-Part Fae but didn’t know until Sebek said something ( Malleus and Lilia thought he knew about it)

- is like 80% Fae 20% human [ he can Fly ,is super strong and poison doesn’t have the same effect on him as humans]

- believes they’re unlovable

-played against Leona in chess during a school club event and impressed Leona so now they play against each other often (Astrid got adopted )

-Friends with Jamil (they don’t have a label on their relationship) They met during joint classes in 1st year and would talk continue to talk. Would look Astrid in the eyes and miss the shot on purpose goofy stuff like that.

J-“what’s your obsession with bread?” A-“Bread was the only food that wasn’t stale or moldy that was given to me at the orphanage * goes back to eating bread*” J-*shocked*

-Managed to get Azul indebted to him with 2 favors and would always avoid his attempts saying “he doesn’t want anything from Azul” Azul can’t even blackmail since there isn’t much he can use besides basic info even then Astrid blocks the attempt.

-good at drawing manly buildings and interiors and has some sketchbooks filled of them

- Would carry Sliver back to the dorm if it’s late/ Sliver would sometimes fall asleep on them

-Sebek has never called Astrid human

More about Astrid

Outfits

(Astrid’s hair is covering his eye in lab wear just lazy to fix it)

Backstory

Astrid lived in an poor orphanage in Briar valley until they were 10. During their time there others would stay away or bully him because of his curse thinking he did it on purpose causing them to run away.Astrid would dumpster diving for food, doing best to survive when he teacher found them.

Being taken in Astrid reside in the west wing of the place.Given a place to stay and food to eat he was very grateful for finally finding a family so he thought. Even though his teacher showed him love and kindness the rest of her family didn’t seem to like him and didn’t understand why.

At 14 is when he finally understood sneaking out of the west wing. Walking around coming across room where Teacher and her husband were talking about no other than their cruse.

The cures was supposed to be used against his teacher.Due to the selfishness and betraying her old friend.

One day you will come across a child who will be your downfall.

By the time the child turns 21 you will pass as they will obtain the magic you prioritize so dearly.

But if you put away your selfishness and welcome the child into your arms truly loving them you may live to see another day.

He never heard such a venomous tone from his teacher but didn’t hear anymore running back to his room heartbroken.

“That why teacher family doesn’t like me”

“Were those accident everyone trying to get rid of me”

“Teacher doesn’t even like me, My parents didn’t want, The staff ignores me, no one wants to be around me”

“All because of this stupid curse! The only reason I’m here is for someone’s revenge”

“I’m I really that unlovable?”

After that day Astrid started to pretend to reciprocate the “love”  their teacher gave them.Planning to leave at 20 which changed when he got excepted into NRC for when they graduate they’ll just never return home.

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