#and they are worse than most college flatmates i had when i was in college

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

What're the housemates doing today that's so awful?

So I get the impression that they never clean as they go whenever in the kitchen, so I go clean down the space then leave, then it gets messy again because other people do the same thing not cleaning up as they go and then they complain the kitchen needs cleaning :/

[rosewolfs-world]

Colourful (Part 2)

Toshinori x Fem! OC

Part 2: Hear-say & Memory

Year 1

☀️ It wasn’t often he went out. Hero-ing was a full-time job. As a rookie making his debut, he knew he had to work 10x harder than most to make a difference. These days he spends more time in spandex than jeans. 

💡 She wasn’t the type for public gatherings. Even after two years, she sometimes felt like an imposter, a Japanese doctor-in-training trying to pass off as an American college student in your local coffee shop.

☀️ But every once in a while--He’d revisit that cafe by the university, usually on a Monday, and catch himself looking for a head of raven curls in the queue. Or maybe feel a pair of golden eyes somewhere in the crowd.

💡 But every once in a while--She’d wear that old blouse again. Then, usually on a Monday, she’d go wandering around town. As if a shirt could, by some stroke of luck, bewitch a particular blonde behemoth back into her life.

☀️ Retelling the initial incident resulted in near-constant prodding and teasing from David, much to Toshinori’s chagrin. He hadn’t even dared to tell Gran Torino. To be honest, he wasn’t too sure that he should. Shimura...

💡 Explaining the stain resulted in much more attention from her flatmates than she’d ever wanted to garner. Ever. The moment she saw those blue eyes on the news, she knew she could never say his name to them. Yagi…

☀️ He knew it was a bad idea to tell David her name. He just knew it. But then he offered something Toshinori couldn’t bring himself to refuse. “Hey pal, I have some friends at the university. If you want, I could get them to ask around a bit. Getcha to meet up with her again. How does that sound?”

💡 She knew it would be difficult keeping the gossip girls out of her business after that. Her friends just wanted what they thought was best for her. They didn’t know that heroes don’t go to frat parties. “Hey, Hina! You’ll never guess who was askin’ about you last Saturday!”

☀️ David Shield was a goddamn Genius! He found her. He actually found her. When he told Toshinori the excellent news, it took all the young hero’s composure not to whoop and cheer like a kid at Christmas. Nonetheless, he could feel the fireworks in his chest. Together, they came up with a plan.

💡 “David Shield? Who the hell is that?” Hinata was beyond confused. Her friend said Shield was this tech-wiz who’d graduated early and was now engineering support tech for heroes. Of course, the mention of heroes caught her attention--Could it be?  So, after a whole lot of planning and a *little* bit of hoping, she agreed. 

☀️ When the day finally came, Toshinori wasn’t sure what to do with himself. It wasn’t like him to get hung up like this. Even David could tell he was trembling. “Hey, it’s going to be alright, pal. Just smile, be nice to her and her friend, and everything will turn out great, ‘kay?” Toshinori nodded. Smile--that’s easy enough.

💡 The resulting meeting was decidedly...awkward. It could’ve been worse, Hinata supposed. When she first recognised that wild mane in the corner booth, her heart had trilled and fluttered like a cuckoo bird in her chest. The mere idea was beyond absurd because human hearts weren’t supposed to do that. But then—

☀️ The moment she entered the door, it was as if he could sense it. Toshinori immediately looked over his shoulder and...and there she was. Stormy black hair, vibrant golden eyes like sunlight through amber--it was her. Under her warmth, his smile came quickly; “Shimura-san! It’s good to see you again!”

💡 But then again, it also could’ve been a hell of a lot better. Her friend Zoe had promised to come along and support her, and she was partly grateful. It seemed Shield-san had come to help Yagi-san as well. On the other hand, she couldn’t decide if things would have been better or worse if it had just been the two of them. 

☀️ Toshinori followed David’s advice, of which he was sure. He smiled and chatted with David and Zoe--who described herself as the leader of Hinata’s cheer squad, much to David’s amusement. But all the while, Hinata was quiet. Hardly speaking unless spoken to, arms crossed, hands rubbing her elbows. She kept her eyes on whoever was speaking, but at the same time, her gaze seemed...lost. Lost in what, Toshinori couldn’t say.

💡 He was wearing a Yuuei letterman’s jacket. So many family photos bore those same vibrant colours, that same obnoxious motto. There was a picture of Hinata drowning in her aunt’s old jacket...somewhere. He was wearing that smile he wore on TV. So many corkboard newspaper clippings had smiles like that, but the colours faded long ago. She’d known he was a hero from the moment they met, but...somehow, this time was different. 

☀️ At the end, the four young friends walked out together. Both David and Zoe were talking animatedly about...who knows what. But Toshinori couldn’t help latching onto how quiet Hinata--Shimura-san--was. Is something wrong? He wondered. Did I do something wrong? Is there anything I can do to help her?

💡 In the end, the four perfect strangers all left the cafe together. With every step, Hinata could feel something squirming in the pit of her stomach. Dammit, Shimura, get it together! She cursed herself internally. While Shield and Zoe’s backs were turned, Hinata shoved herself into the deep end. Dear god, I hope I don’t regret this.

☀️ She took his hand! Toshinori could have sworn his expression burst into flames as soon he registered the sensation. Her palms were cool and well-worn, yet still had a firm grip that made his stomach flutter. She held his palm between them and--with a pen in her other hand--pressed her name and number into his skin.

💡 “Here you go, Hero,” She murmured, tucking her pen in her pocket. “No more chasing tails. Let’s just stay in touch like normal people, yea?” The streak of pink blooming over his cheeks sent a whirling thrill through her stomach. Hinata tore her gaze away. “If you or Shield-san need a patch job, you’ll know how to reach me.”

☀️ “Thank you, Shimura-san,” Toshinori quickly nodded. He rolled his lips together a moment. “And...you can use my first name if you’d like.”

💡 She looked up at him. There it was...not a blinding TV-worthy smile, just a tiny little thing. Hinata tried her best to return the gesture gently. “Not yet, Yagi-san. Let’s get to know each other a bit more first, yea?”

[bisluthq]

just a quick note but taylor and travis lived together in LA for two months after the superbowl and when she was on break. just bc you said they haven't had a chance to cohabitate and that's not true

Lmao two months is literally shorter than a college summer break dude. Idk I don’t think living together for two months tells you anything profound a person. It’s a fun little sojourn.

I’ve lived with quite a number of people (two romantically and both, at this point, I can say for a long enough time but I’ve had multiple flatmates also). I can tell you that I actually knew fuck all about living with either of my two romantic partners after two months of living with them (full time like sharing a house and in both cases we’d made that decision after it was like 12 nights in a fortnightly cycle together minimum and we’d been together for like a year or so by then). I also can tell you I’ve lived with flatmates for like two months and found them awesome to live with but I’m gonna be real, I… don’t know what living with them is actually like - it was a brief arrangement because we had rent to pay lol over a short period of time.

You don’t know if you can cohabitate with someone after two months, especially when you’re that busy, and especially when the risk of it not working out is the most embarrassing and high profile divorce in the world dudes like worse than Di and Charles (btw a case study in why you SHOULD cohabitate and know each other first lol).

[jenojaemssss]

dazed and confused

pairing: jeong jaehyun x gn!reader

genre/categories: angst, college!au, frat boy!jaehyun, a bit of fluff

word count: 3.6k (this was literally supposed to be a drabble wtf)

warnings: mentions of sex, allusions of sex yk the vibes, oh and a lot of cursing 'cause i lack the ability to keep language below 14+

synopsis: jaehyun isn’t scared of heights. he isn’t afraid of roller coasters that dropped at those terrifying heights. but he is, in fact, so utterly terrified of falling.

a/n: y’all this was supposed to be a drabble…but i wrote too much and now it’s a fic and idk how i feel abt it LOL anyways, it has not been (and will probably never be) proofread so please excuse any grammatical and spacing errors! i will now go cry with my 3 assignments due in like an hour.

~~~~~~~~

faded. drunk. confused. mentally unstable. all these words, along with maybe 30 more could be used to describe your current state as you sludge your way into a familiar bedroom at the nu chi theta house after puking up probably a lifetime’s worth of alcohol.

the god awful ringing in your ears and the throbbing of your head makes the room spin, but you’re awake enough to recognize that the room was currently occupied. before you can mumble out a string of curse words and a sorry, you particularly notice exactly who was inside the room.

you’re caught off guard by a, now pissed looking, jaehyun along with someone who you don’t immediately recognize. you realize then who’s room you just entered and mentally smack yourself, reminding yourself to rid of the habit.

the other person is hiding underneath a blanket as jaehyun does his best to cover their figure, protecting their privacy to shoot daggers at whoever was interrupting his ordeal.

it takes you a couple seconds to fully register what was happening in front of you and you scoff.

so that’s how it is.

jaehyun, on the other hand, has his eyes widened. so wide that you think there are more whites visible than the typical brown orbs. he’s gaping now, mouth open and trying to think of excuses as to why he was in bed with someone else after dumping you only 2 days ago.

in his defense, there’s no need for an excuse. the two of you were already over, and he could fuck whoever he wanted to fuck. you could be doing the same.

but you aren’t.

instead, all of yesterday and the day before, you hunkered in your bedroom, cuddled in a blanket with tissues sprawled all over your bed and the floor. you went to your classes, hoodie pulled up way over your head to shield your puffy face and baggy eyes, came home, drowned yourself in ice cream, and cried.

yet he’s here, hooking up with people after leaving you heartbroken. you should’ve listened to jungwoo when he warned you about his flatmate; about his tendencies to sleep around and leave his relationships in the dirt.

when you and jaehyun first began flirtatious interactions with one another, it wasn’t in your intention to start anything serious with the dimple-faced boy. yet one encounter followed another and you never realized how hard you were falling until you were up at 3 am smiling at messages he’d sent you the previous day.

when he asked you to be his girlfriend after about 2 months of successful dates, you were ecstatic. your mind raced back to jungwoo, correcting him telepathically. he was so wrong about jaehyun. he was the sweetest person you’d ever been with, and was so patient with you.

It even made jungwoo take back his words after you announced the relationship to your best friend.

he said jaehyun had changed since he’s been with you.

that change lasted about 4 months afterwards.

4 months of pure bliss; cute dates like picnics at 11 pm after going on drives, watching the sunset from the roof of a nearby apartment building, jumping fences into the expanses of lakes after hours.

4 months of being pressed into a mattress with jaehyun gazing down so lovingly at your writhing body. him pressing into you as your mewls surround the small bedroom. him holding you as both of you come down from your high.

4 months of falling in love with jaehyun.

all to waste after he texted you during class, saying that he needed to talk to you. at least he had the decency to not dump you over text.

jaehyun said something along the lines of “it’s not you, it’s me,” and mentioned that he “doesn’t like being tied down.” you remember nodding, emotions not surfacing until he stands up and leaves you at the coffee shop just around the corner of your dorm building.

your coffee shop. the one you two went to whenever you wanted to find the other. it was like your secret hideout, because no one from your campus knew of this place, even though it was so close to home.

you thought things were going so well, the two of you even making plans to meet each other’s parents over the coming break. but with only a few words from one side, and wordless nods coming another, everything faded to dust.

so as you stare at the man who shattered your heart with someone else underneath him, you plaster a polite smile before flipping him off and exiting the room. his shouts follow you, and you inwardly scream at him to shut up. he has no right to sound so broken at the moment.

you pass by jungwoo on your way out and he immediately notices your tense figure, trailing his eyes towards the direction you were coming from. his jaw clenches when he realizes, wanting to barge into the room and beat the living shit out of his flatmate, but instead follows you out the house.

the blaring music coming from the beaten house becomes muffled by the time you step foot outside the door, tears threatening, but not yet falling from your bloodshot eyes.

jaehyun isn’t slow to catch up with you, but is stopped by a raging jungwoo before exiting the house. jungwoo warns jaehyun to leave you alone, but jaehyun is persistent, pushing past his friend to grasp your shoulder before you could storm away from his reach.

his previous rendezvous has been completely forgotten, and all jaehyun could focus on was you. he notices how you reeked of alcohol, a hint of marijuana radiating from you as well. what he notices the most, though, was that you had a hint of his favorite perfume lingering on your skin.

before you have the chance to turn around, jaehyun is ripped from you, a loud smack following almost immediately after. jaehyun stands, one hand holding onto his pounding cheek while the other grip’s jungwoo’s shirt.

your best friend has both his hands tightly fisting jaehyun’s shirt, staring bullets into the boy’s face.

“you have no right to barge out here and chase us down after you let y/n go,” jungwoo growls. he sees red, heart hurting for his best friend. he cares about you so much. the two of you always fitting into one mold, completing each other, and every time either one of you had their hearts broken, the other would be there to fix and mend everything.

yet, he’d never seen someone hurt you as much as jaehyun did. however much you hurt, it hurt him equivalently. he knew this one was different, because the pain you felt was so much more intense than any you’d experienced before.

what pushed jungwoo even further off the ledge for him to act like this though, was that if he were to be in the same position as you, you would be doing the same thing. you’d also be doing your best to keep him from hurting himself over and over by someone who only meant trouble.

“woo, that’s enough,” you mutter out before coming to push the two boys away from each other.

“y/n, let me explain,” jaehyun grabs your arm as he says this, eyes searching yours for some form of reaction. your previously watery eyes are dry now, and the emotion that was threatening to overcome you minutes prior have all disappeared. you shrug off his hand.

“there’s nothing left for you to explain.”

it killed you, but you had to muster the strength to spit those words at the man you were falling in love with. you knew that it would have been worse if you were to hear him out.

“y/n please just-”

“that’s enough,” you whip your head in his direction, warning him with your eyes.

“but y/n-”

“i said enough!” you’re yelling now, slightly pushing the boy back. he stumbles over himself, and jungwoo takes this opportunity to grab your shoulders and tuck you safely behind his back. you had tears running from your eyes, frustrated at the tugging of your heartstrings because you’re supposed to hate him. you were supposed to be elated that you were in this situation, him begging for your time.

yet it hurt seeing him so broken in front of you, begging for another chance. it hurt so damn much, and you’re so angry at yourself for being such a pushover.

jaehyun straightens himself, looking in your direction but not quite at you because you're hiding your face behind your best friend’s denim jacket covered back.

“y/n, i just want to apologize.”

“there’s nothing to apologize for.”

“there-”

“no, jaehyun, there isn’t,” you use this as a stepping stone to emerge from behind jungwoo, who’s calmed down a bit since connecting his fist with jaehyun’s sharp features.

“don’t talk. let me finish,” you raise a hand before he could get another word out of his mouth. he shrinks a bit, but his eyes focus on your figure slowly approaching him, letting you know he’s listening.

“there’s no need for you to apologize for whatever you were doing because we aren’t together anymore and you can sleep with whoever you want. i don’t care, it’s none of my business. you don’t have to apologize for me walking in on you, because again, none of my business anymore.” you take in a deep breath before you continue.

“if you were going to apologize for breaking up with me, there’s no need. what’s done is done,” you whisper. you feel a huge lump form in your throat. you do your best to swallow it, along with your pride, and smile up at him.

you can’t really read him, but you can tell he’s in thought. you continue.

“if you were to apologize,” you began, sniffing up the snot that’s beginning to trickle down your nose. you probably look like a mess, but you could care less. you needed to get all of this off your chest. you wouldn’t have any other opportunities, so might as well do it now.

fuck the fake smile. fuck faking it til you make it. this is so much better.

“you should be apologizing for making me believe you were sincere with me,” you continue. jaehyun’s eyes go wide, and you notice the slight, subconscious, shake of his head. you proceed.

“i shouldn’t have believed it when you said i was different. fool me once, shame on me. but you continued to make me believe that i was different.” jaehyun opens his mouth, but you give him a look that shuts him up completely. he needs to fix that habit of always wanting to interrupt.

your ramble continues. “you should be apologizing for lying to me when you said you wanted to meet my parents. we set up the date and everything, and they were actually looking forward to meeting you, but now i have to tell them you aren’t coming,” you speak as calmly as you can. anything related to your parents always makes you ten times more emotional in every situation, and this was taking somewhat of a toll on you.

“you should be apologizing for making me feel special all the damn time. you made me believe i was the only one for you and that you were the only one for me. you made me feel so fucking foolish after you left, you know that? i thought we were doing so well, and you just left me in the dust after being so fucking vague. what do you mean ‘it’s not me, it’s you?’ it makes absolutely no fucking sense,” you’re almost hysterical now as you let everything fall down your face. you’re still eye to eye with jaehyun, and he looks taken aback by your declarations that he’s rendered speechless.

your next few words are what makes jaehyun’s world come crashing down.

“you should be apologizing for making me believe you were falling in love with me too,” you whimper. you’re full on sobbing now, and jungwoo assists you from falling to your knees.

it takes jaehyun a couple moments to register what was happening, a couple moments to fully comprehend what you were saying; what you meant.

you were so broken because you were beginning to love him. and he let you go.

“i’m..i’m-”

“leave, jae. do it when i’m asking nicely,” jungwoo’s low voice echos from your spot on the ground. your shoulder shake with every sob you’re letting escape you.

“jungwoo, let me fucking talk, okay? stop interrupting me every damn time while i’m trying to figure things out with y/n. this was our relationship, not yours!” he’s yelling now, and jungwoo shrinks. he knows he’s stepping over the line, but some things reach a limit, and jaehyun is reaching his.

“yes, i know y/n told you things, but did you know that i used to wait after classes when the weather turned bad just to make sure y/n wouldn’t be walking home in the rain? always forgot an umbrella when it counts,” he chuckles the last line, eyes teary.

“did y/n tell you that every single time my phone rang, i was internally wishing that the name popping up on the screen would be ‘lovely’ and no one else’s? i always wait for your calls, you know,” he directs it to you this time. “they always made my day.”

you raise your head when you realize he was walking to you. when you see his tortured expression while reminiscing his feelings for you, you suddenly had the urge to run up to him and wipe away the tears falling from his handsome face. you hated that that was your first thought, though.

“did y/n tell you i was falling too?”

you tense at his words, and jungwoo scoffs.

“if you were falling, why did you break things off?” the words leave your mouth before you had the chance to stop them. your mind was running a mile a minute because in what world did it make sense for jaehyun to dump you when he claims to be falling in love with you.

“i was scared,” he finally mutters after a couple seconds of painful silence.

“what is there to be scared of, jaehyun?” you’re standing now, jungwoo completely baffled at the interaction taking place in front of his eyes. he realizes then, that maybe jaehyun was telling the truth.

jaehyun was scared of falling.

jungwoo recalls all the times jaehyun has been in an actual relationship, but can only remember one other time that he actually introduced someone to the boys as his. all the others were just casual flings, where they'd be slipping out the door before anyone could acknowledge their existence.

when he broke things off with that past relationship, his actions were similar to the ones he’s portrayed the past few days. silence in his room instead of the typical blaring music from his sound system. a shocking decrease in teasing his housemates. jungwoo even noticed that he didn’t see the dimples on jaehyun’s face as frequently.

the one other person ended the same way, jaehyun breaking it off about 4 months into the relationship, saying he didn’t like being tied down.

he didn't like being tied down? he doesn’t like...shit, what a fucking dumbass. he’s scared of being in love, jungwoo realized.

“that’s what you meant,” jungwoo states his epiphany out loud and he stands up. he brushes off any dirt from his pants and begins to walk towards the house, knowing that whatever happens on the front lawn would heal more than harm.

you look at your best friend in confusion, but he plasters a grin on his face and looks in your direction before turning to jaehyun. “you need to stop being such a wuss.” and he’s back inside the house.

“it seems like everyone’s mission is to cut me off today, and it’s getting a little aggravating,” he tries to joke and you just stare at him in silence. he takes it as an, “i don’t care, just talk,” and begins his tangent.

“i broke things off with you because i was scared,” he begins. you follow his words with a nod, emphasizing that you’re listening to the man standing across you.

“i’ve never been in love before, and i didn’t realize how-how utterly terrifying it felt. i was close one time, but i broke things off before anything else could develop because i didn’t think i was ready for it. i felt like i was incapable of love for a while because of my stupid frat boy image, you know?” you nod in response to his rhetorical question and he begins moving towards the small bench sat on the lawn. you follow suit and sit yourself down a good distance away from him.

he talks again, this time sounding more regretful than anything. “i sometimes tell myself how idiotic i am because i let them go before. if i just had the balls to accept the fact that maybe i was falling in love, i wouldn’t have to see them roam around campus a couple months after with someone else.”

you remember briefly jaehyun’s previous relationship. it was the talk amongst your campus because the jeong jaehyun was in an actually relationship with someone. and people were making bets on how long they thought it’d last. same as they’ve been doing for your relationship with him.

“it all kind of got to me without much of a warning because like, shit, falling in love with someone meant checking your phone every 3 minutes cause you’re scared you missed their call, or calling them if they took too long to assure you they’re home safe, that kind of thing,” he smiles. “no one teaches you that.”

you chuckle dryly because he hit the nail on the coffin. no one tells you the details about being in love, only mentioning the feelings and not the irrational things you’d do for them.

jaehyun continues after he assures himself that you’re listening to his words and internally heave a relieved sigh. he was scared you were going to have things come in one ear and out the other.

“at the same time, if i kept them in my life, i wouldn’t have met you. we wouldn’t have developed a relationship, and i wouldn’t have began to fall in you,” he scoots a bit closer to you, and you let him.

“and you wouldn’t have broken my heart like this,” you retaliate and he physically winces.

“ouch. you’re not wrong though,” he smiles, dimples reappearing on his face.

“get to the point, jaehyun. it’s cold as fuck and i don’t have a jacket,” you complain when he’s silent for a little too long. you’re holding your arms now, hit by the frosty air. when he’s silent for another moment, you look up from your feet, ready to complain again. but instead, you’re met with a hoodie being pulled over your head and you’re stunned.

“when i said i was cold, i didn’t mean for you to give me your hoodie.”

“well, too bad,” he smiles widely. the hoodie smells like him, and you take in his scent. the sweater was a bit larger on you, so you begin to roll the sleeves up, pulling your arms out of the sweater paws.

“as i was saying, i realized i was falling in love with you and i was just- i don’t know, i was scared. i think i’ve said the word scared like 10 times today, but what other word is there?” he chuckles. you do the same.

“so i did what any other sane person would do and dipped. i ran away from my feelings because in my brain, it was the best thing to do. and i hurt you in the process because i was being a selfish asshole, and i’m sorry,” he finishes, you assume. as you’re thinking about how to respond, he catches you off guard with something you never thought would leave jaehyun’s mouth.

“oh, and i love you. i’m sure of it,” he declares.

and you’re crying again. as intoxicated as you were just 30 minutes ago, you swear that in that moment, you weren’t drunk on the drinks or faded from the j’s, but you were intoxicated by jaehyun.

the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s smiling at you.

he stretches out a hand in your direction, asking for your permission to take your own and grab his hand in response. his hand engulfs yours like a hug, and he intertwines his fingers with your cold ones.

“so does this mean you love me back?” he questions.

you nod, because you can’t think of anything else to say. you’re so utterly in love with him that you’re rendered speechless, you fool.

“and does this mean we can start over?” he asks, hoping for another nod.

instead, you speak. “why were you fucking someone else when i got here if you’re in love with me?”

jaehyun is now the one rendered speechless and gulps before answering. “have you ever heard of heartbreak sex?”

“isn’t that supposed to be with the one who broke your heart?”

“yeah, but if we had sex, i would only fall in love with you more.”

“and you don’t want that?”

“i do now,” he smiles.

you roll your eyes and say nothing.

“i’m sorry i hurt you.”

“you better be.”

“i promise i won’t do it again.”

“next time you do, i’m chopping off your dick in your sleep so you won’t be able to go have heartbreak sex with someone else.”

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

champagne problems (part 1)

here's my first part of my modern no magic "champagne problems" singer-songwriter quarantine thomastair AU! happy birthday to @foxglove-airmid even though I don't think it's your birthday where you live anymore (and I still haven't posted zia's birthday fic, it'll happen I swear)!

no content warnings for this part (besides maybe quarantine), but future parts will include discussions of mental illness, substance abuse, and a suicide attempt

obviously, the song alastair "wrote" in the fic is not mine, it's by taylor swift! and a few of the lyrics have been changed!

Masterlist | AO3

Thomas breathed out a sigh of relief as he lugged his suitcase up onto the fifth floor landing.

“‘Ere we are,” Piers announced as he unlocked the door.

Thomas was utterly exhausted, such was the result of taking a redeye flight across the Atlantic during a global pandemic, but any idea of rest that he’d had was interrupted when he heard the sound of piano flood the apartment.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Piers nodded, “One of my flatmates, the walls are paper thin. He can’t record at the studio right now, but he’s trying to finish his EP, so it’s been a bit noisier around here. He’ll take a break soon, hopefully.”

Thomas shook his head. “It’s no problem. Thank you, again, for allowing me to stay here. I’ll be looking for my own place as soon as the quarantine is up.”

“Of course. You’ve got the couch as long as you need it. Couldn’t just hang you out to dry, could I? Although, you did pick a god awful time to move to the city, if I do say so myself.”

Thomas sat down on the couch and tried to make himself comfortable. It was more comfortable than the flight or the airport, at least. “I know… I considered postponing the move, but the visa was so difficult to get, I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. They say this will all blow over in a couple of weeks, but borders are closing and I heard talk of them suspending all pending visa applications. I didn't know how long it would be if I waited, if the job was even still here for me at all.” Although at first entrance, the music had seemed to be a nuisance, it now comforted him. It wasn’t bad at all, in fact, it quite reminded him of the days Alastair’s playing had filled their flat…

“Where did you say you were working again? At a record company?”

“Yeah. I’m just doing pretty basic stuff for now, but if I ever do want to record my own music, I’ve got to start somewhere.”

“Hm,” Piers said, gesturing to the room the music was coming from. “Perhaps you’ll get on with him well, then. Would you like some tea?”

Thomas nodded and Piers went to start the teapot. Piers continued, “Though I suppose he's more of the tortured artist type. Very reserved, quite prickly. I didn't even meet him until a couple weeks after I moved in here because he was off in some psychiatric hospital.” Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was never one for gossip. “My other roommate’s nice, though, I think you’ll like him. He-”

“How did you end up in New York, again? I don’t think I ever asked.”

Piers dove into the subject change quite readily, explaining his uni - or college - years in New York City and his decision to stay afterwards. Thomas had tuned most of it out, truthfully. It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude, but he was rather exhausted, and Piers was wearing thin on his patience.

As the kettle started to whine, Thomas heard the musician begin to sing, and he froze. It sounded so much like Alastair. But it couldn't be, could it? With over 8 million people living in the city, he would not end up in Alastair's apartment by accident. His Alastair was certainly reserved and prickly, but it wasn't possible. It must be like all those times he thought he saw him on a street he'd never walked or heard his laugh in a café he'd never been to. Just his mind, tricking him. Even if he knew that voice so well, despite not hearing it in so long.

“It’s quite good, isn’t it? His first single just dropped.” Piers asked, bringing over his cup of tea. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been staring intently at the door.

Thomas took the cup. “Hm? Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

“You should look it up. It’s called “champagne problems” by Simurgh. That’s spelled- Well, it should come up.”

The name Simurgh sounded familiar, but Thomas couldn’t put his finger on where he knew it from. At Piers’ insistence, he pulled out his phone and brought up the song. As he skimmed through the first few lines, a cold feeling settled in his stomach.

“You booked the night train for a reason So you could sit there in this hurt Bustling crowds or silent sleepers You're not sure which is worse”

“Simurgh,” Thomas realized.

“Yeah, I think it’s Arabic or something.”

It took Thomas a moment to process that Piers was responding to him. “It’s Persian.” He was certain that Alastair would have some very stern words to say if he heard Piers confusing the two, actually. Thomas had admittedly let his Farsi skills deteriorate quite a bit since the breakup, but he was fairly certain the name came from the Shahnameh. There was no doubt in Thomas’ mind now: he was staying in Alastair’s apartment, and Alastair’s first single was about one of the most painful days in Thomas’ life. “I, er, I used to study it.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right!” Piers launched into a tangent that Thomas tuned out as he read through the rest of the page.

“Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems”

“Thomas? Are you alright?”

He realized then that his hand was trembling so badly that his tea nearly spilled. He used his other hand to steady it. “Oh, uh, yes, I’m just tired.”

“Perhaps you should rest. I can ask Alastair to quiet down for a while-”

“No!” he exclaimed rather too forcefully. “No, that’s not necessary. I’d just rather not talk, if that’s alright.”

Piers nodded.

Thomas kept reading.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it Champagne problems”

Of all the songs, why did he release the one about him? Why was it about a memory still so painful in Thomas’ heart, all of these years later? He remembered it so well, standing there, alone, shattered into a million pieces.

“You told your family for a reason You couldn't keep it in Your sister splashed out on the bottle Now no one's celebrating”

He was fairly certain that Barbara had been more excited than even he was, confident that Alastair would accept, and so very proud of her baby brother, all grown up. She’d been furious when it fell apart, but it was her who stood with him during the aftermath, who boarded him onto a train to Edinburgh to visit Eugenia when he couldn’t stand to be in the same city as him any longer, who went through his phone, blocking all of Alastair’s accounts so that he could obsess over him no longer, who comforted him as he wept and held him as he picked the pieces of himself back up again.

And all the more sour was the memory in light of her death.

“Dom Pérignon, you brought it No crowd of friends applauded Your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems”

He looked up at Piers, who had fortunately become enthralled with something on his phone and was no longer paying Thomas any mind. He lifted the teacup gingerly to his lips, but he felt far too sick to take a drink.

“You had a speech, you're speechless Love slipped beyond your reaches And I couldn't give a reason Champagne problems”

A reason, that’s all Thomas had wanted. Just any explanation. He understood if they were moving too fast, or perhaps he’d misread something, but he just didn’t understand it.

Why? Why can’t you tell me why? I deserve an explanation, Alastair. Please, anything.

I… I’m sorry, Thomas.

Stop it! Stop apologizing! We can just go home and pretend this never happened, please, forget about all of it, it was a stupid idea-

Thomas, stop. I shouldn’t’ve… This was a mistake. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.

That was the moment Thomas felt his heart stop beating.

“Your Midas touch on the Chevy door November flush and your flannel cure "This dorm was once a madhouse" I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me" How evergreen, our group of friends Don't think we'll say that word again And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls That we once walked through”

Despite the nearly two decades Thomas had spent in London before Alastair, it was never the same without him. He saw him everywhere he went, despite knowing he was thousands of miles away. After graduating uni that May, he accepted a spot at a graduate program in Spain and didn’t look back.

“One for the money, two for the show I never was ready so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you "You’re the only one I want by my side, What a shame you’re fucked in the head," you said”

Those were the words that haunted Thomas’ nightmares, even now.

It’s you! It’s only you for me! It was always going to be you! But I can see now that I was never going to be enough for you, you and your secrets and walls and your lies. It’s a shame… it’s a shame you’re so fucked in the head, Alastair. You’ll never truly love anyone, will you? You’re not physically capable of it.

Alastair hadn’t responded. Thomas had wanted a rise out of him, any reaction at all, despite knowing how lethal and volatile Alastair could become when provoked. But there was nothing. Not a flicker of anything in his steeled expression. He’d simply looked down, apologized again for any pain that he’d caused, and left.

That was the last time they’d spoken.

Thomas and his sister left for Edinburgh that night, and when he’d returned to London, Alastair was gone.

“Well, you'll find the real thing instead Who'll patch up your tapestry that I shred And hold your hand while dancing Never leave you standing Crestfallen on the landing With champagne problems”

Thomas couldn’t imagine giving his heart to anyone again, not now and certainly not then. He’d dated in Madrid, but it had always stayed casual. He’d made sure of it. He could see now that he and Alastair had gotten together quickly, moved in together quickly, done all of it very quickly. After all, he’d fallen hard and fast. He gave all of himself to Alastair, and he’d nearly lost all of himself in the process.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket New picture in your wallet You won't remember all my Champagne problems

“You won't remember all my Champagne problems”

Now, he wondered what the rest of the story was. He’d convinced himself that Alastair had never loved him, that he was heartless and cruel, though he’d known that wasn’t true. Could Alastair have written this song if he’d never truly loved him? Perhaps he was a sociopath.

Thomas felt like he should run. Like he should pick up his bag and dart out of the apartment before Alastair could notice him, find some hotel somewhere with undoubtedly extraordinary high rates and just pretend like this never happened. He could get back on a plane and go back home to his parents and delete his phone browser history and pretend like this was all just a bad dream. But he could not move.

He didn’t know how many minutes had passed before Alastair’s door opened. He looked up with a start.

“Thomas,” Alastair breathed. He stood wide eyed, flushed.

“Do you two already know each other then?” Piers asked.

There was a moment of silence before Thomas cleared his throat. “We used to,” he said, looking down.

“I, er, I forgot that your friend was coming today,” Alastair told Piers. “It’s quite a long journey from London, you should have told me, I would have been quieter.”

Thomas considered correcting him for a moment, but decided not to. “Don’t worry about it. I heard you had your first big release. Congratulations.”

Alastair gave an awkward nod. “Thank you. Right, well, I’ll just…” He rushed over to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’ll try to be a bit quieter.”

“Don’t- It’s fine, really. In fact, I’m sure there’s some hotel in the area I can stay at for now, actually-”

“Well, don’t leave on my account,” Alastair interrupted. “We agreed to let you stay here, and the city’s a bloody mess right now. I’ll stay out of your hair, Thomas.”

Thomas only nodded as Alastair disappeared back behind his bedroom door.

Thanks for reading! Taglist (ask to be +/-): @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @shadowrunner2000 @thewarthatsavedmylife @fair-childd @itsjusta-j-really

[bukojuiice]

rose-colored boy

ೃ pairing: (eren jaeger x fem! reader)

ೃ  tags: college/modern au, fluff, humor, love at first sight cliché, mikasa is your cute little sister, armin, sasha, jean, and connie are your besties, and eren is a himbo who works hard and has terrible friends.

ೃ warnings: strong language and mild suggestive content

ೃ part 1/??? of my (eren x reader) college au!

ೃ word count: 3000 words

ೃ  my nav  →  my mha writing masterlist 

ೃ This is my very first snk x reader fic! so i hope you bear with some errors! qwq 

i’ve been following the anime ever since it was released in 2013, and this is the first time i’m  going to be writing for it.  this month’s manga chapter really took me out so why not channel my sadness thru writing an fluff! eren fic? 🤧 i hope you enjoy either way!

ೃ  please do reblog if you enjoyed!! (feel free to add tags too because i love reading them and my heart swells with happiness when people love my work!)

ೃ  in which (Y/N) (L/N), 20, still in school, and regretfully-unregretfully-her little girl scout sister's assistant, meets eren jaeger in an embarrassing too innocent door-to-door cookie sale whilst a humiliating party was going on.

cookies, suspicious maybe-maybe-not pot brownies, meddling little sisters and friends, “oh my god they were roommates” vine on replay 24/7, homework, tears, and fairy lights bring them together.

“I’m going to enter now.”

“Ahhh yes, please!”

“Shut up, please.” Eren muttered to himself as he tossed and turned around in his bed, but still couldn’t get to sleep. “When will they ever stop doing this?” Why did Eren’s next-door roommate and his girlfriend have to do this five times a day? They had a lot of stamina for 21-year-olds who didn’t have anything better to do.

Eren’s thoughts eventually brought him to his parents.

His parents- did they even exist?

For pretty much 14 years of Eren’s life, they had been out of town or out of the country. His older brother, Zeke, blonde, bespectacled, tall, and sometimes too far up his own ass older brother who Eren is able to confide in from time to time, recently got a girlfriend whom he’s hopelessly in love with (they’re even thinking about getting married which isn’t really a problem since the girl is genuinely nice to his older brother so Eren is good with her.), so… things in the family had been a bit rough and busy to say the least.

Communication with his parents wasn’t always the best.

Eren would study late at night back when he was seven, because no one bothered to help him with homework. Along with the fact that he wasn’t the brightest kid in class, and he knew that very well, but he had ambition and he was determined to make it big in the world. He focused more on sports, particularly Soccer in middle school and high school, and tried to balance that with his studies.  After being granted a Sports Scholarship from Shigashina University, Eren decided to rent and share a flat, living with his batchmates who he met at a mixer party (before Uni started as this whole meet and get to know each other kind of thing) and whom he was so quick to call his ‘friends’, just so that he could get out of the hellhole that was his own house.

But things turned out much worse than expected.

Eren thought that the ‘College Life’ was to focus more on pursuing your future career and make a name for yourself but… it was the other way around.

He thought that after Freshmen year, everyone would take things seriously. Sure, have some drinks, get wasted after finals, or have house parties from time to time. But he was unfortunately, dragged into the wrong crowd. After attending around 5 parties in the first few months of being generalized as one of the infamous and pompous freshman archetypes present in every university, he called it a year and spent the rest of his nights doing homework, projects, playing video games, staying at the school soccer field until 10PM while his roommates were probably smoking crack and not caring about the number of units they needed to take for each of their goddamn subjects.

 He was ~living the life~ and now that he regrets most of the decisions he made in freshman year, the only option that he has left was to wait until his third year and move to a different apartment.  

 Now, here he was, Sophomore year, nearing the end of the semester, and very much eager to get the hell out of here and also study for his upcoming finals on Constitutional Law II, as his professor, Mr. Erwin Smith, was going to throw hands if one of his students score below average on the exam.

 “EREN MICK JAEGER! BROOOO!” Eren winces when he hears the shrieky and annoying voice of his flatmate Thomas Wagner, calling out to him. “Wanna go and party with us?” Eren smiles halfheartedly, shaking his head, “Ah, no thanks. I have a game tomorrow and finals coming up on Thursday.” Thomas smirked and wrapped his arm around Eren, “Oh fuck that, live the college life ya spoon.”

“No, really I have to study.”

Thomas frowned and groaned, “Oh god, you’re such a killjoy. Fine, if that’s what you want. Don’t blame us if we tell you to buy some beer down the block.”

Eren cracked an obviously fake laugh and pushed Thomas away from him, “You’re an ass. That only happened once and that was when we first met. Don’t you even dare try to ask me to buy you shit again.”

“Woah. Woah. Woaaaaaah. That was a joke Eren. Loosen up will you?” Thomas raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the brunette’s sudden aggressiveness. He hums Moves like Jaeger by Maroon 5 as a way to spite Eren whilst passing by him down the staircase.

The brunette shook his head, tying his hair into a bun carelessly and sprinting into his room without uttering another word.

Eren just wanted to study. He really did.

Instead, his roommates, all of them, mind you, were all partying in the lounge and the music was too loud and Eren was too annoyed.

They did manage to bring him out and make him stay in the kitchen where he mindlessly glared at anyone who came in. He sighed and tapped his pen restlessly amongst the insane amount of books on the table.

There was a knock.

His roommate, Floch, came in the kitchen with his girlfriend who Eren couldn’t even name with all the women he has brought into the apartment. She was hanging onto his arm and giggling. Floch’s eyes were red and his speech very slow and lazy. "Eren!" he said with a sly grin.

Eren raised an eyebrow, shooting him an irritated look. "What now Floch? Are you here to tell me to take a shot again?" The ginger-haired’s girlfriend giggled once again and kissed Floch’s cheek. Floch laughed and swatted her away, though he missed by a long shot. "Someone's at the door," a thumb pointing to the den. "wouldchumind ge'in it?" another giggle. The girl nodded sloshily. "Yesss! Erenieee get 'em door, please. Be a dearrrrr."

Eren frowned and stared at them menacingly, earning no reaction from the two as they were mad drunk. "You were just in the den," Floch’s eyes widened. "My lovey wovey-we was in the den?" His girlfriend’s mouth went into an O. "Di'nt notice tha'!"

Eren sighed and stood up. He miraculously got through the throng of bodies and to the front door. "Yes?" he called out exasperated, not knowing who was outside.

"Do you want cookies?"

Eren turned and looked to see a little raven-haired girl, a girl scout no less, a blonde-haired boy pulling on a trolley who looked significantly shorter than him, wearing rimmed glasses, and an overall appearance whom his “friends” would immediately label as a nerd they had to be a few feet away from if they saw him and lastly, a girl who looked very tired and very done with life.

Beautiful (h/c)-colored hair, her eyes looked like the starry night sky, twinkling as he catches her gaze and a smile that looked forced, but warm all the same.  

A girl who was just absolutely fucking gorgeous.

Eren was captivated. His heart was beating like crazy and he could feel his ears turn red. He would make a fool of himself if he looked red as a tomato right now.

"Um," The girl peeked inside and grimaced, squeezing the hand that was her little sister's shoulder and catching Eren’s gaze. "Mikasa, I don't think these kinds of guys would want cookies."

“Unless they're pot cookies,” Eren almost said. Mikasa pouted and widened her eyes at Eren.

The older girl crouched down and frantically covered her little sister’s eyes. "Nopenopenope, Mi, don't pull that on him."

"But (Y/N)!"

(Y/N).

Her name was (Y/N).

Eren smiled sincerely (for the first time today) and leaned back inside to the drawer by the door to grab the extra cash he and his roommates put there for emergency pizza and stuff. "You know what? You're absolutely brilliant at selling cookies. I'll take one."

Mikasa smiled back at him cheekily and tugged her older sister’s hand. "See, (Y/N)?! He wants some! Go get 'em!”

The raven-haired girl then turned to the blonde teen, practically jumping up and down. “Armin look! We sold another one!"

“We did!” The boy who was apparently named Armin, clapped his hands together, then gave the little girl a high five. “You’re a natural at this Mikasa!”

(Y/N) looked at Eren, then Mikasa, and sighed. She grabbed a bag from the trolley Armin was dragging around and pulled out a box of cookies. Eren grabbed them slowly from her, their hands almost touching as he gave (Y/N) a small smile. The (h/c) girl blushed lightly, though not visible enough for the brunette to notice.

"Hope to see you again!" Eren called out when the siblings said their thank you's and bid farewell.

And, this time, even for the slightest moment, Eren’s serotonin levels were going straight through the roof. His heart was still beating loudly, almost in sync with the trash music his roommates were blaring on the speakers. and for a moment, even just for a moment. 

He felt genuine happiness that he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

 The three of you continue to walk animatedly, now that the coast was clear and the guy from earlier wasn’t within earshot, your blonde friend just had to break the silence.

 Armin smiles, pushing his glasses up to the crook of his nose. “(Y/N), you did see how he looked at you right?” The blonde chuckles softly, catching his best friend off guard.

 You blinked. “Him?” You try to stop yourself from smiling, blushing profusely. “Geez Armin, I don’t even know his name yet.”

 “I’ll bet you 100 bucks that he goes to our Uni.”

 “Even if he does, it’s not like we’ll talk to him or anything. Judging from the place he lives in and the people he was hanging out with, we’re in two completely different worlds.” You shook your head in denial, holding Mikasa’s hand, your interlocked arms swinging playfully. Armin gives you a knowing look in response.

 Mikasa continued to wave back at the boy whom they had just sold cookies too. (Y/N) looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Wasn’t he nice (Y/N)?” Mikasa asks her older sister. (Y/N) returned her sister a small smile, “He was.”

 "I hope we see him again!"

"I'm sure we will."

 The day of Eren’s dreaded finals finally arrive.

He has prepared tirelessly for this. Hours upon hours of hard work. But, before he finally gets his well-deserved sleep, he has a few more hours to cram and absorb more knowledge for his exams.

So, what better way to do so than head straight to the library as soon as it opens at 6 AM?

This time, no one was going to bother him. No annoying roommates and no distractions.

Eren heads over to a table near the coffee and snack machines. He puts down his bag on a seat next to him, and begins to study once again. Looking through the course materials and the lessons that he still didn’t quite understand. Eren was so absorbed with studying and relying on his gut feeling that no other student in this university would think of going to the library at 6 AM on the day of finals… then he’s wrong. Very wrong. 

 “Sasha, should you even be eating mashed potato this early in the morning?” Armin asks the brunette worriedly, a huge tone of concern in his voice.

“Armin! Don’t chu worry! I ate heavy breakfast! Bacon, Eggs, and Toast! Did you not see me in the kitchen!?” She reassures her blonde friend, continuing to scoop up the mashed potato on a reusable cup.

“Liar.” Connie hissed, narrowing his eyes. “I was awake since 4 AM. Not once did I see you sneak into the kitchen until (Y/N) woke you up.”

“Atatata. Can we… stop with the negative vibes for a second?” Jean tries to become the mediator by holding his hands up against his two friends who were about to start an argument. “It’s finals week. We have to keep a clear mind, body and soul-“

“Jean, you know that’s BS.” You yawn widely, still practically half-asleep.

“Oh, come on! Can’t you just let me be positive just this once!? If we fail this exam I’m going to blame you!“

The five of you continue to talk mindlessly on the way to the library. Connie pushes the glass door open, very much excited to have this huge library all to yourselves.

Until…

There was someone already there.

Your eyes immediately come into contact with Eren’s. His radiant jade eyes staring into yours, mouth practically agape, his hands holding on to wooden chopsticks as the hot air of instant ramen breezes through his face.

“Oh?” Connie blinks. “Guess we aren’t the first ones here then.” He whistles.

“(Y/N)!” Armin nudges you in the arm in an attempt to tease you. “Guess your wish came true huh? We did see him again! By himself too!”

“W-what am I supposed to do exactly?” You turn to Armin, speaking in a hushed whisper.  

“Say thank you to him! Offer him to go on a boba date or something!”

“You got the Sasha seal of approval (Y/N)! He’s hot!” Sasha motions you a thumbs up and you can’t help but feel yourself already wanting to die of embarrassment.

The four of them slightly push you towards his table. With your friends cornering you like this, there was no way of escaping this.

All you had to do was talk to him and properly thank him for buying cookies from your little sister.

That was it.

No need for any extra ad-libs or poor and bad attempts of flirtation.

Just thank him (Y/N).

You can do this.

You breathe a hefty sigh then approach his table with confidence. The brunette continues to look up at you whilst turning the page of his reviewer that he wasn’t even looking at.

“Hi again! I just wanted to thank you properly for helping my sister and I, out the other day. Mikasa really appreciated the gesture you did for her, and she couldn’t stop talking about you to our parents since we saw you. You see, none of the other girl scouts want to be paired up with my sister because they think she’s an emotionless and monotonous freak. They’re really mean to her but she really wants to continue being a girl scout so my friend and I accompany her whenever she has to sell cookies!”

“It’s N-no problem!” Eren quickly replies, running a hand through his hair. “Why would they say such horrible things to your sister like that? Judging from the way she acted in front of me, she was quite the opposite. In a positive way of course! Those kids are just assholes who are intimidated because another girl their age is seemingly better than them.”

You giggle in response. “Thank you. I’ll tell Mikasa that you said that!” 

There was short silence for a few seconds until you realized that you forgot to say something. 

“Ah! I’m (Y/N) (L/N) by the way!”

“Eren.” He smiles, reaching his hand out to you for you to shake. You grip his strong and calloused hand firmly, and Eren could feel his ears turning red again while you were about to blush as red as a tomato.

You hear your friends snickering in the background and you took this as a sign to go back to your table. “I guess, I’ll see you around campus?” You ask, tilting your head. For, you actually really wanted to see him again after this.

“Yea! I’ll be seeing you!” He grins widely, watching you leave where he was seated. His smile then envelops into a frown as soon as you went away then he goes back to studying.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” Connie whispers loudly, calling you over by waving his hand. Why was this dunce being so painfully obvious? “Ask him if he’s looking for an apartment or if he wants to live with us!”

“Already!?” You ask in disbelief, a bit shocked by what Connie had just said. He scoots to the left, as you take a seat between him and Sasha. “Guys, you’ve known him for like… 3 minutes. Only Armin and I actually interacted with him before this.”

“He has to pass the vibe check first.” Jean shrugs, sipping on an iced expresso. “But, yeah, he does seem alright from a few feet away.”

“Come on (Y/N)! Ask him!” Sasha nods approvingly. “It’s weird that he’s studying alone like this while we’re in another table trying to remain unaware that he looks lonely as hell.”

“UMmMM… maybe he wants to study alone because that’s the only way he can focus? That’s a thing that normal people do, Sasha.” You remark sarcastically, trying to think up of more reasons to not approach him again.

Armin clears his throat, “Look, (Y/N), it won’t hurt to try right? Besides, don’t you feel a tiny bit sorry for him? He does seem lonely and you do have a crush on him so… more ways to interact with him right?”

Your shoulders slump and you breathe a defeated sigh. “Okay okay fine.” You make your way to Eren’s table again but before you do, you turn to your friends. “By the way, I don’t really have a crush on him just yet. I just find him cute okay?”

“Yeah yeah.” They say in unison as you continue to walk back to the brunette’s table.

“Hi again Eren!” You wave and try your best not to fumble or look painfully obvious that you were infatuated by him. He looks up and you try your best not to smile like a weirdo.

“Hm?” He hums.

“Would you like to come over to our table and study with us?”

To be continued.

[zillennial97]

Enemies to Lovers | Larry Fanfic Recs

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy | 149k | Explicit

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes.- A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry | 136k | Explicit

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

we're not friends, we could be anything by nooelgallagher, yoursongonmyheart | 115k | Explicit

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry. “What that supposed to be a fucking joke?”

Harry narrows his eyes right back. “It was a good joke.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Jokes require laughter, Curls.” Louis glances down at Harry’s thighs again, Christ. “Your pants must be so tight they’re restricting airflow to your brain.”

Harry wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead. “Pretty sure yoga is supposed to increase airflow, blood flow, and all that,” he responds dryly, finally jumpstarting himself and walking away from Louis towards his own bedroom.

Louis can’t help but stare at his broad back, still sheen with drying sweat, and his perky bum in the tight yoga pants.

Louis swallows. Christ.

...Or, the one where Harry and Louis are unlikely uni flatmates who definitely don't like each other and definitely won't fall in love (even if Liam and Niall think otherwise).

Our Lives, Non-Fiction by indiaalphawhiskey | 113k | Explicit

Heralded as the next Neil Gaiman, Louis Tomlinson does not appreciate being told that his very serious novel is in dire need of a PR boost. Even worse, that it comes in the form of a joint book tour with the UK’s #1 online romance-writing sensation Marcel Styles. Already turbulent at best, their partnership takes a drastic turn when, overly stressed about his looming deadline, Marcel accidentally blurts out a secret: though he’s famed for his scorching hot literary love scenes, he is, actually, a virgin.

Convinced that the only way to rid himself of writer’s block is to gain some experience, Marcel asks Louis, author-to-author, to sleep with him – for Science. And of course Louis agrees because, well, what on Earth could possibly go wrong?

Or, a lesson in romance that proves that sometimes the best love stories aren’t always by the book.

Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can't Lose by dolce_piccante | 112k | Mature

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

Dance to the Distortion by Lis (domesticharry) | 96k | Explicit

Louis accidentally breaks Harry's camera lens and in order to get it fixed, they decide to participate in a romantic couples study. The only issue is that they are not actually couple. Well that and the fact they cannot stand each other.

You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by lucythegoosey | 95k | Explicit

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

The Sidelines by RedRidingStiles | 47k | Explicit

"Alright, I know you guys are the best of friends but I'd like you to do this for the rest of the team,” Cowell says, making the rest of the team snicker. "So I want both of you to compliment each other." "I hate your trainers. I mean that in the nicest way possible. They're very...yellow," Louis says, arms crossed as he offers a fake close-lipped grin. "It's really nice of you to blow anyone you find slightly attractive," Harry replies, a sickening sweet smile on his lips. "Thank you, children, let me remind you this is a college hockey team. Try again," Coach says, completely unamused.

Or Harry and Louis play hockey for Penn state and can't stand one another, since they can't keep their hatred off the ice their coach and team do what they can to keep their hard earned spot in the playoffs and their two star players from killing each other

Wonderwall by AFangirlFantasy | 43k | General Audiences

Taking the sheet cluttered with times available for the next few weeks, Louis notices a pattern in the list. The name of the person Perrie had just mentioned: Harry Styles. It’s written at least seven times, and three of which are during timeframes Louis wants.

“Who the fuck is Harry Styles?”

“You’re about to find out,” she answers, pointing over Louis’ shoulder.

Or a Love/Hate College AU where Louis Tomlinson is the lead singer of The Rogue - the most popular band on campus - and Harry Styles is the talented Freshman unknowingly challenging all that.

All the Right Moves by cherrystreet | 32k | Explicit

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

Nicotine by KrisStylinson | 32k | Explicit

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

"Just because you can get me hard doesn't mean I like you," Louis whispered. The fact was, he didn't like Harry right now, not at all. Not even a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmured, his breath fanning over Louis' cock as he spoke. "You done telling me how much you hate me so I can suck you off?"

Like Candy In My Veins by littlelouishiccups | 31k | Explicit

“Um…” Harry said slowly after a moment. “Okay. That’s… this is… Let me get this straight.” He lifted up a hand and swallowed. “You told your family that you have a boyfriend… and my name was the first one you thought of?” “Harry Potter was on TV, alright? It wasn’t that much of a stretch.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe he was explaining himself to Harry fucking Styles. He couldn’t believe he was stooping this low. “Forget it. I’m sorry I even thought about bringing you into this.”

Harry snorted. “What? Did you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?”

(Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.)

We're Like Bumper Cars by sincehewaseighteen | 31k | Explicit

“I have won, I won the final cross country. I win, Harry--”

“Whoever gets to fucking nationals wins it, pretty boy,” Harry teases. “You haven’t won. Interhouse is nothing compared to nationals, or interstate. You haven’t even won interschool. You can dream all you fucking want that you’ve won.”

Louis becomes so ignorant he decides to no longer eye the boy taunting him. “Trophies prove it all, Styles.”

“Where’s your trophy for biggest asshole?”

“Where’s yours for winning cross country?”

Harry growls before hooking his fingers in Louis’ belt loops and bringing them together for a flat kiss.

Or the AU where Louis and Harry are rivals of the century and Cross Country competitors before things get complicated and they play pretend.

After Hours by Velvetoscar for shipsdrifting | 26k | Not Rated

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are the bane of each other's existences. Unfortunately, they're already in love--even if they aren't completely aware of this minor detail.

[A "You've Got Mail" AU]

When It's Late At Night by Rearviewdreamer | 25k | Mature

Louis has zero interest in an ex-boybander turned solo artist when his appearance on the show gets announced, but that's exactly who he gets stuck with when Harry Styles shows up at the Late Late show to promote the release of his debut album. For an entire fucking week.

Or

The Late Late prompt that we all need to get through this excruciatingly hard time.

Love Me Please by angelichl | 23k | Explicit

Louis hates Harry, which is fine because he would really rather prefer to avoid him at all costs.

The only problem?

They're soulmates.

runnin' like you did by orphan_account | 20k | Explicit

“Should we tell him?”

When Lauren is met with everyone either nodding their heads or shrugging, she takes a deep breath. “I mean, I think it’s pretty obvious by now.” She stalls, sounding ominous and Louis doesn’t like it one bit.

“What is obvious by now?” Louis asks. He’s starting getting anxious. “I swear to God, spit it out. Stop being so damn cryptic.”

“I—We think it’s pretty obvious that you’re in love with Harry,” she states simply and shrugs as if she isn’t telling him he’s in love with the second—Nick being the first—most annoying person on the planet.

or, a college au where Louis knows how to hold a grudge and is definitely not in love with Harry Styles

Three French Hems by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews | 20k | Mature

In which Louis is a designer at Burberry and Harry spends December wearing Lanvin… and Lanvin… and Lanvin.

once bitten and twice shy by pinkcords | 19k | Mature

This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?”

Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended.

That's How I Know by allwaswell16 | 19k | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson has just landed his dream job, coaching soccer at Augustus University. When he moves into a new house near campus, he meets his very fit new neighbor, English professor Harry Styles. Although their first meeting leads to an instant mutual dislike, the more Harry gets to know Louis, the more he likes what he sees.

Or the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

Get Off of My Cloud by Marora_Daris | 9k | Explicit

Harry is the most annoying neighbour that sexually frustrated Louis could have. Niall decides it's a good idea to handcuff them together.

Featuring guinea pigs, animal print leggings and inappropriate boners.

Erase My History, (Expo)se Me by BayouSexual, pacificrimjob for Edandcurly | 6k | Teen And Up Audiences

“My hair does not smell like strawberries.”

Louis blinks up at Mr. Styles. “I never said your hair smells like strawberries. How would I even know that?” Harry’s hair does smell like strawberries, Harry himself smells like strawberries, everyone who’s been within three feet of him knows this. ~~~~~~~~ Or the one where Harry and Louis both teacher history, their students think they should date, and one pink dry-erase marker is trying to ruin their lives (with a little help of course).

[musedblues]

okay hear me out

you're a college freshman in the 60's and have a forbidden romance with your TA, john deacon

sorry not sorry for how long this turned out 😘

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You floated through the library like you'd breezed into town with nothing better to do. Running the tips of your fingers across the spines of books as your eyes looked ahead to the upcoming shelf. Beyond spaces empty of volumes, you saw him.

John was hunched over a desk doing work with a look of concentration you'd come to recognize and adore. You breezed near, clearing your throat, sure that you were close enough for him to hear, and that no one else would. Like you knew he would, he looked up and saw you. But to anyone who might've noticed, it seemed he didn't care. You knew that wasn't true. You didn't have to look back, as you breezed behind the shelf again, to know he was going to follow you.

Funny. When you started uni, you had no idea what to expect. But besides the overwhelming amount of coursework, and the struggle you had finding friends who stayed sober enough to remember you'd become acquainted, one thing surprised you the most. Out of all the things you'd failed to properly prepare yourself for, getting caught up with a TA... with John Deacon, wasn't one of them. He was in his final year of uni, and a rather unassuming presence. He seemed to stick to the shadows, off-campus. And when he was busy with classroom duties, he was a man of few words then too.

Maybe his quiet nature was what drew you to him. You longed to know the sort of thoughts that ran through his head. If there were any of you... Or maybe it was the look in his eye, when he finally dared to look right at you. No one had ever looked at you like that. With such assuredness. Like something of you belonged to him, before he even knew your name.

After a couple weeks of gathering up the courage to trade longing gazes for something more, you'd planned to take advantage of office hours with your fingers crossed behind your back. You'd made it late that afternoon and John said,

"You shouldn't be here." As he sat hunched over a pile of work, then. Alway so determined with every task at hand.

"Why?" You dared to ask with every scrap of confidence you could feign. "Afraid you'll get in trouble?"

John shook his head of flaxen waves, ever so slightly, scribbling on the papers below his steady hand.

"Afraid you'll be a distraction."

And then he looked at you, in that way you'd come to recognize. But it was always a thrill, that stormy gaze of his. It took your breath away, and you wondered if he knew. If he'd meant to.

Now, like then, John was at your side before you could blink. His fingers lost in your hair, his mouth on yours. Every bit of him fit against you, in a way that made your heart ache at the very thought of him taking one step back.

You only had a few minutes to spare before you had to dash to a class. But you and John had gotten pretty good at this. You knew exactly where to find each other on any given day. And you knew exactly which corner of the room to escape to, where you might get to share something more than a quick kiss or two.

And besides classrooms under renovation or the restrooms outside the gymnasium that no one ever used, the back of the dustiest part of the library was easiest. With little to no traffic, and the perfect nook between shelves, you'd find John here more often than not.

He'd whisper things in your ear that echoed through your head as you sat through one of the lessons he was called in to teach. Here, he'd give you previews of things he'd invite you over to his place to put into practice on extra long weekends and rare holidays you each had nothing planned for.

But invitations over were as rare as holidays themselves. He lived alone, in the quaintest flat with navy walls and lots of extra blankets. And the nights you spent there were the highlight of every odd month.

It had gone on like this for so long, you were sure you could survive till he graduated. You'd managed to keep your distance when it counted, even on the increasingly frequent nights out with a set of mutual friends. His best mate hooked up with your flatmate, Casandra. She was older, and their match made sense. But how could you know John would be mixed among the crew you'd agreed to meet up with for drinks?

Casandra asked what had you looking so flushed as she shoved a shot into your hand. You shrugged, and said something about how bad the lighting in the pub was. And even though shaking John's hand like you'd never met before nearly made you laugh out of sheer nervousness, you managed through the night without a hitch. He kept his distance, and only shot you that thrilling look a handful of times. You didn't even talk about the run in next time you flagged each other down for a quickie behind the auditorium.

You just kept it up, crossing paths like you had been, and acting like you hadn't when your friends got together. There were ball games, movie nights, and birthday parties you'd breezed through without sitting too close together.

And there were still nights you'd stayed alone together, and those were becoming more common. John would ask you to stay over to waste days with him, and you tried your best at slyly accepting, as to not seem too utterly desperate for his company.

But you really had become attached. You weren't sure if he had, but suddenly, all you thought of was the next time you'd get to see John. Suddenly you didn't even care what it was you'd do together. Suddenly, when he caught your eye in class, you couldn't help but smile no matter who saw.

Then one of your friends bought a new place. And she invited everyone over. All the mates you'd come to love, and some new faces too, who flooded her sparsely decorated home and filled the countertops with sweets and liquor. You were the last to arrive, and when you spotted John across the room, he didn't look your way. You shrugged it off, realizing there were a lot of unfamiliar faces to be wary of, on your way to the kitchen. Still, you fetched a couple of beers and found John in the living room between a pair of art majors, rambling about something you couldn't imagine held his interest.

You approached him and extended the extra bottle, a gift disguised as a greeting- something you'd do for any friend. But without even really looking at you, John stepped to the side and mumbled something about getting his own drink. As soon as you whipped to watch him slink off to the kitchen, another pal slid up and stole the beer you had one too many of. You let him, and laughed a little, hoping to erase the furrow in your brow.

Had you done something? Stepped too close? Looked to John too fondly? Couldn't you still be friends, mixed among so many others? You had done a fine job as such so far, you thought. But something was up. You just had no idea why, or what to do about it. 

So as the night moved on, you just kept trying to act like his extra cold shoulder was in fact, the norm. You withheld a frown when John left the rooms you were in, and bit back frustrated tears when he rose from the sofa in a room sparse of people enough you'd hoped to ask him what the matter was.

And when you left on your own, you'd felt lonelier than any time just like this one. You didn't look back to see if John had rushed to meet up or stop you. Because you couldn't decide if it would be worse to find he'd followed, or not. So you went home and waited.

You lost yourself to a never-ending sea of coursework, and prayed that the next time you floated into the library that you'd find John there. You'd never questioned it before. He'd always been there.

But you were right too. Because John wasn't at the table with a stack of work under his nose, that week. You couldn't find him behind the auditorium, and the classroom was suspiciously closed during office hours. You tried not to worry. You figured maybe he needed space. So you debated for hours, the night you'd promised to sneak over to his next.

A ray of hope beamed from the light in the living room he always left on as a signal that it was safe for you to sneak over. But something was still amiss. And you knew John knew so too, when he opened the door with a pursed smile, instead of pulling you in with a sultry grin, like usual.

You lingered near the entrance with your rain-wet boots in place, your arms over your chest.

"What's wrong?" You asked with a waver in your tone.

John shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and let out a sight before uttering the word "Nothing." As if only to convince himself.

"Nothing?" You breathed. "All month you've been begging me to spend practical weeks here with you, but you wouldn't even look my way at Maureen's party?"

John paced before you, listening reluctantly.

"And I'm pretty sure they know about us, anyway. Last week Jery basically cheered us on when he noticed us trying to quietly sneak out of his walk-in closet."

John said nothing still, bringing a hand to his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose as silence stole the air from the room, and when John's silvery gaze met yours at last, it wasn't like all the other times before. There was a sadness there that drained the colour from your world, and as his mouth started to open to presumably let you down easy, you wouldn't let him.

"I'm sorry I thought this was something it wasn't." You choked out, before spinning to open the door.

John called out your name, then, and you could feel he was hot on your trail. He called for you to turn around and come back, when your feet hit the pavement. But you just kept going, too close to the verge of tears, and John couldn't see that. You marched away until his pleas for you to come back were echoes, and the sweeter things he said over the year mockingly rang in your head.

Cassandra worried over what was wrong as you stormed into your shared flat, and hurried to your room. You threw yourself to the shelter of your bed, and let out the worlds longest held breath. But you didn't let yourself cry. Not yet.

Not until the class he sat in for came around, and John wasn't there. Instead, the cynical old professor who found every reason to skip out on teaching that he could find. The guy started his course by saying something painfully vague about having to find a new TA. All during a dry lesson, you took notes and bit your lip to stop it from quivering. And when the hour was up, you hurried out into the hall and to the corner of campus no one would see you cry.

You wouldn't let yourself for long. You just allowed yourself a moment to let out a little of what you'd been keeping in for so long. All the frustration you'd been confounded by the past week, out of nowhere at all it seemed. Even the thrill of being with John was something you'd been keeping dormant, hidden away from anyone who might've caught a loving gaze or grazing of the hand. Your adoration for John and the hurt that came from his ignoring you all mixed together and weighed heavy on your heart. After your tears bubbled over, you started home with a reluctant plan.

Now, you figured it best to toss out that old jumper of his you'd stolen, the week and a half he headed home and left you all by your lonesome. You'd have to burn the notes he'd leave in your textbooks, the mornings you'd finish work at his coffee table. You'd have to spend the weekend getting over John Deacon, but you really didn't want to.

Out of all the things you'd come to expect from your first year of uni, falling head over heels for someone you just couldn't have wasn't one of them. You'd learned, over the course of time, when he'd pop into halls and pull you around corners that John was very good at catching you off guard.

So, on your sorry stroll home, when the guy on your mind suddenly appeared in the middle of your path, you couldn't be too surprised. It was like him to show up when you least expected, in good times and bad, it seemed. But the pace of John's walk stopped you in your tracks. He shouldered past groups of friends eager to kick off weekend plans they chattered about. And in a couple of strides, John was toe to toe with you. And his fingers were lost in your hair. And his mouth was on yours.

John kissed you, right there on the pavement, in front of everyone. He held you against him, a good thing too, because you couldn't be sure of your own strength to hold you from fainting into a puddle of shock. Surprise took such a hold of you that you hadn't even attempted to kiss John back until he was pulling away from you.

"I'm sorry." He breathed, searching your eyes with his in a way you recognized. "About the party, I'm sorry. Maureen asked me out for drinks and wound up finding out about us. She was so bloody pissed and we got in this big fight about morality. And she threatened to sell me out and cost my job a minute before you showed up, and I was just so caught off guard, but I should have explained so earlier." John told, keeping two firm hands on your shoulders.

Your heart sank with the weight of the realization, all too suddenly recalling Maureen, and the strange things she kept saying that night. About you, and where you belonged in the world. You figured she was just drunk, and maybe she was. But her ramblings about finding your way in life didn't seem so random now.

"So I worked it out. I managed to finish things up early. I've been here for so long, working so hard for this degree. But the moment you showed up I knew there was nothing in this world I'd ever want more." John rang, desperation pouring from his tone. His long fingers dug into your arms as he rambled, and his eyes peered into yours with such intent. "And, that can happen now. I just hope you can forgi-"

You threw yourself toward him, taking the collar of John's shirt in your fists and kissing him with all the stored up adoration you'd been collecting over the year, right in front of everybody. John held you against him, and you fit perfectly like you always had.

Then, with a coy grin, John took your hand in his and you started to walk together like a couple of bashful teens on their first-ever date. Your heart had belonged to his for a while now, though. But you could really get used to acting like it. And you didn't have to ask to know John felt the same.

[earnestly-endlessly]

Can i request Cherik fic rec of collage au? Pretty please? Extra cookie points if it’s long fic

Thank you for the request anon! I am so sorry how late this is, but I hope that this list will give you plenty of new fics to read and enjoy!! 

College/University Cherik AU 

** Where they’re both college/university students**

A Road Trip to Pennsylvania – Aainiouu

Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Love Medley – ikeracity

Summary: Charles and Erik have been friends and roommates for two years. They've also, coincidentally, been in love with each other for two years. Neither of them has ever had the courage to admit it to the other, but Erik's new friendship with Magda and an untimely accident forces them to confront their feelings once and for all.

it was a red scarf semester – ikeracity

Summary: When Erik makes a bet that he can get into Charles Xavier's pants before the semester ends, he doesn't expect Charles to resist quite so much. And he doesn't expect Charles to change everything he thought he knew about mutants, friendship, and love.

Can You Feel My Heart – FuryRed

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr hates Charles Xavier.It’s as true as the words written on the wall in the bathroom at the university that Erik attends. Erik sees them one day- accompanied by a crude drawing of Erik and Charles glaring at each other- and recognises the truth of the sentence, and smiles.

He hates Charles. Probably…

Enemies With Benefits – bettysofia

Summary: Casual sex with your sworn enemy gets tricky once feelings get involved.

CMUniverse - Pookaseraph

Summary: A series of fics that star Tony, Charles, and Erik (and probably some others as the idea expands) at Carnegie Mellon University. Some are AU of each other, don't use logic.

Math Reasons - pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Still Life with Cookies – stlkrchck

Summary: It wasn't fair that he only wanted Erik to draw him when Erik wanted to listen to him talk about how unfair the lack of emphasis that tenure committees placed on teaching ability was and tuck him into the hat and scarf and mittens that he wore even though it wasn’t properly cold yet and kiss his gorgeous, ridiculously red mouth and make out with Charles on the bed that he'd apparently wedged between the window and "pipes of some sort, don't ask me why there are pipes in my room, Erik," in his tiny dorm room.

Or: Charles is a nude model, and Erik is an art student.

The Pretender – Clocks

Summary: Charles is sick of having his best friend Erik drop to one knee and fake-propose to him in restaurants, just to score a free dessert. He doesn’t know which is worse: the complete embarrassment, or the likelihood that Erik doesn’t mean a word of it.

That time the System didn’t work – bluexlily

Summary: "pick each other up from bad dates" au

They had stablished The System a long, long time ago.

Since they became each other’s roommate, actually, and realized that they had more in common than their home state and decided they should be friends.

Whenever he or Charles is on a date, they send a first message after meeting the prospected boyfriend.

Accidentally Welcome to the Rest of Your Lives - Kianspo

Summary: Non-powered college AU. Erik and Charles have nothing in common until they end up having sex at someone's party. They don't have much in common after that, either, but find each other a hard habit to quit.

A Study in Advanced Lecherism - orphan_account

Summary: Charles has this thing he does when he's drunk. He gets completely lecherous. For some reason, that really pisses Erik off. Who knew?

Learning Curve – pocky_slash

Summary: (Non-powered college AU) Erik takes a trip back to campus to visit a despondent Charles and does his best to offer comfort.

Charles Does Not Buy a Shamwow - Madneto

Summary: Charles and Erik are spending the first few days of their university's winter break alone at Erik's mother's house. Then, Erik's mother decides to come home early unannounced... while Erik and Charles are naked on the living room couch.

5 Times Charles Had Nothing to Say and 1 Time He Did – BadLuckBlueEyes

Summary: Charles Xavier usually has a lot to say. But sometimes he doesn't and that's nice too. (Written for the prompt: Erik befriending and falling in love with mute!Charles)

Five Useful Signs When Dating Charles Xavier (a down under remix) – letosatie

Summary: Erik meets a fascinating mute boy and rapidly discovers sign language is useful.

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

The Wall (a.k.a.  Erik Lensherr) – fkbunnyclub

Summary: Charles doesn't really want to have a crush on the cute stoic senior who keeps dropping by the library where he works who also has a pregnant girlfriend. Or so he thinks.

Building a fire – dedkake

Summary: Erik wishes he were in law school instead of med school, because then he would be researching the legal remedies for the doubtless thousands of violations his apartment building's slumlord owner, Sebastian Shaw, has perpetrated on his tenants.

On the bright side, maybe he can finally coax his bizarrely oblivious roommate, Charles into sharing his bed, or curling up together on the couch under many blankets. Purely for surviving the night, of course.

April Showers – ikeracity

Summary: Walking home in the dark in a rainstorm is not Charles' idea of a pleasant night. Of course, the stranger with the umbrella who offers to walk him home makes the experience infinitely more agreeable.

Alles hat ein Ende, nur die Wurst hat zwei – Darksknight

Summary: “My mother has expressed that if I come dateless, I will be assigned one, to put it lightly. So, you see... well, I have a favor to ask. Erik, darling. Will you be my pretend boyfriend?"

Erik thinks it over for a second. "... No."

Mutant House at Dead Kings College – mabyn

Summary: When it comes to romance, Charles has terrible timing.

Best of Enemies – Black_Betty

Summary: Student and mutant rights activist Erik Lehnsherr is furious when the college newspaper chooses to interview his opponent Charles Xavier instead of him.

He's mad because of the politics of the thing. It nothing to do with how hot Charles looks in the picture accompanying the article.

Seriously.

The Luck You’re Born With – Lynds

Summary: College AU. Erik thinks Charles Xavier is an arrogant, rich brat, whose only redeeming quality is his intellect. Charles never disputes this image. Then through an accident Erik finds out that Charles has been long cut off from his family and is essentially a single parent to a ten-year-old Raven.

Like Roses and Wine – Schwoozie

Summary: Charles is not what you would call a “sports person” - but the promise of free kisses after the game, especially with one Erik Lensherr playing midfield, is a temptation Charles can't resist.

Every Song I Know – Fengirl88

Summary: “Erik,” Janos says wearily, “you had amazing sex with this guy. He obviously really likes you. You have, what, a month, six weeks left? You can spend it moping and hiding and worrying you're going to run into him. Or you can call him, have a good time, and figure out where you go from there.”

Erik groans. It's what he wants to do, so much it scares him.

[or, the one where Erik and Charles meet and fall in love as exchange students, break up, and meet again by chance seven years later]

Argue me tender, argue me true – Wild_Imagination

Summary: “You’re having your bad-boy crisis with seven years of delay, Charles.”

“Why must he spit out those hateful, misanthropic, science-free, separatist ideas of his with a face like that!”

Charles and Erik attend the same college, and they never, ever agree on anything. But that's fine, because Charles can't stand him. No, really.

Simultaneity – TurtleTotem

Summary: Trying to deliver roses to his girlfriend, Erik knocks on the wrong door -- but Charles is so happy to get them, how can Erik possibly tell him the truth? Love, lies and exhaustion follow as Erik tries to keep boyfriend and girlfriend happy and, most importantly, unaware of each other!

**Where one of them is a college/university student**

in the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

Mutually Beneficial Transaction – Pookaseraph

Summary: In his sophomore year at Columbia University, Erik, feeling slowly strangled by his mounting college debt, places an add on a sugar daddies website. He doesn't know exactly what to expect from it, but when he's contacted by a man named Charles who seems less creepy than the other people who have responded to his profile, he decides to give it a shot. Charles is nothing like what he expected, and Erik finds himself slowly falling in love with his sugar daddy while trying to find out exactly what caused this amazing guy to buy his emotional and sexual intimacy when he clearly deserves so much more than that.

Authority kink – aesc, Subtilior

Summary: “You’re going to be in your room, on Skype with full video, when I call you tonight, at … nine o’clock sharp, your time.”

Tonight.

Erik, a proud and surly graduate student, keeps his deepest, darkest desires under tight control. Charles, his genetics professor, keeps handcuffs on his copy of the university handbook. You can see where this is going.

An Ideal Grace – afrocurl, nekosmuse

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a visiting professor at Columbia University, as well as an acclaimed and award winning poet. Charles Xavier is a lead researcher with the Genetics Department who is well on his way to tenure. But what happens when Charles has to cancel a class because half his students abandon him in favour of a mysterious new English Lit professor? Naturally he ends up sitting in in the class, where Professor Lehnsherr mistakes him for a student. It's really too bad Erik has such a strict policy against dating students. It's also too bad Erik doesn't seem to know how to use Google.

Note: This is not technically a university/college AU, but I’ll let it slide because it’s one of the best cherik fics out there and for the majority of the fic Charles is in Erik’s class (even though, unbeknownst to Erik, he’s a professor as well).

[candlelight27]

Chapter 1: The Call Of Yesterday

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans... (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: Not so unrequited love, Sylvain being an asshole, curse words

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 3617

AO3: The Call Of Yesterday

A/N:  Okay, my aim is not for this College AU to be faithful to reality, but to incarnate my own college fantasy. I’m tring to use a lot of characters to make it interesting. Anyways, come talk to me! Send me your suggestions, your comments, your thoughts... And enjoy this fic!

“This is going to be my year”, you told yourself as you got ready for your first day of university. You were brushing your hair and styling it the way Dorothea suggested, since she always knew what would suit everyone’s features. You wanted to be perfect because that was going to be a special day.

Your mind wandered off into the days you spent in Garreg Mach High School. You smiled softly at the reminiscence, since some of the most beautiful memories you harboured took place there, between those cherished halls. Prom night, summer c88uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

amps, the sports club... You were going to miss that time, but you had to move on.

For that matter, it was about time you moved on from a certain thorn in your heart. One that had been bothering you for years. Of course, that thorn had a name, a middle name, and a surname, all too well known to everyone at Garreg Mach.

Sylvain Jose Gautier.

Your own particular unrequited love story.

Your crush on him was kept a secret throughout all high school, naturally. How could it not be? You had fell for the most renowned womanizer of your year – probably the most renowned womanizer of the whole history of your school. He was handsome, he was intelligent, he was nonchalant and carefree, yes, but he also was an asshole, and you didn’t want your friends acknowledging the fact that you had fell fully for his tricks. However, there was something quite worse than falling for the corny clichés and shameless lines Sylvain constantly used. Something far worse than melting with his every word and dying to be the girls whose cheeks he made blush. And infinitely worse than spending all your breaks trying to catch a glance of his fiery hair around the corners of the building.

The thing is that Sylvain had never spared a second glance to you. He hadn’t even tried to flirt you, unlike he did with the whole female community.

That complete banishment was what mortified you the most in your romantic ordeal.

You remembered that time Ingrid introduced you to her childhood friends, Dimitri, Felix and Sylvain. They had gone to the field to cheer her during a football match of your high school team. You had heard of them before and saw them often on the corridors, but you had never crossed a word with any of them, as they were in Ingrid’s class and not yours. You were quite excited to finally talk to Sylvain, for you had been looking at him in the distance ever since Ingrid started telling you stories about him. Yet while your heart pounced like a runaway horse, he only muttered a ‘hi’ and disappeared into thin air.

“Apologise our friend. He’s always off to chase skirts, it’s nothing personal”, tried to explain Dimitri, ever the gentleman.

The next few times you met him, he merely pronounced monosyllables to your efforts of striking up a conversation. Even Ingrid commented on how dry his behaviour was when you were there. How could love appear out of nowhere? It was probably the stupidity of puberty. But your desire was out of control and you couldn’t help going back to him. To those light brown eyes that seemed to melt your heart…

But it was all water under the bridge. You grew up. That silly attraction ongoing for years was going to meet its end with your fresh start at university. Your teenage love was gone with the wind.

You had all summer to psych yourself up and forget him. So far so good. No nigh-time fantasies to keep suffering, no fateful encounters to revive the forgotten flame, nothing to remind you of Sylvain.

You even went on a date with Ferdinand, something completely new for you. It was Dorothea, always meddling in your love life, who had set you up with him when she wormed out of you that you liked redheads. She was convinced your lifelong crush was Ferdinand, because you had been on the same class since you were kids. After such a pompous announce of your date with him, you almost felt bad for your brunette friend as you told her how horribly wrong your date was, but in the end you both laughed about it.

So, yes. You were indeed free from the fetters that Sylvain had bounded without realizing. Or so you thought. You didn’t want to think about that small trace of doubt that told you it would all be in vain the second you see him again after summer break.

“This is going to be my year…”, you repeated out loud as a chant while you gathered your things for your lessons.

“Are you ready?”, asked Ingrid from another room. She was now your flatmate, on one hand because a sudden friendship had bloomed during the holidays, on the other hand because Dorothea was stuck with a new exchange student, Petra, and Mercedes couldn’t be separated from Annette, so you both ended up alone and it seemed the obvious solution. You didn’t complain, you liked her company and things were working just fine.

“Yes!”, you answered and joined her in the entrance, rucksack on your back and phone on your hand.

Her blonde hair was tied neatly in a long braid and her clothes were comfortable yet formal, just like her usual self. She seemed excited for the fresh start, too, as she rushed to talk about the upcoming lessons.

You left the student’s residence, following a couple of groups of people you didn’t know. It was a sunny morning, thus the beams of light shone right though the leaves, already changing their colours at autumn’s pace. While you walked, Ingrid was checking her phone for new messages.

“Are you talking to the guys?”, you asked as you wondered about Sylvain’s schedule in silence – not that you were interested, you wanted to make sure you avoided him –. You didn’t want to be too straightforward, because even the most oblivious person, Ingrid in this case, would notice there was something going on if you were too invested in his affairs, so you were cautious.

“Oh, right now I’m talking to Ashe.” She smiled, still typing. You raised your eyebrows.

“I thought you weren’t that close to him.”

“He’s attending all my lessons so I’m checking a few things with him”, she answered. You nodded and checked your own phone.

Dorothea (08:45): I’m waiting for you on Anna’s Café.

Dorothea (08:45): HURRY UP YOU ARE SLOWER THAN MY GRANNY

“Dorothea’s waiting ahead for us”, you commented.

“Who are you sharing lessons with?”, Ingrid questioned, putting her phone away in her pocket. You hadn’t seen her so interested in the machine ever – you’d have to figure out if it was Ashe’s fault.

“I’m not sure!”, you said. “I think I’m sharing subjects with some of the Golden Deers… Marianne, Lysithea, Claude… Also, Mercedes and Bernadetta.” You weren’t that close to any of them in particular. You sometimes hoped you had closer friends with you, but at least it was a good opportunity to become closer to new people.

“That’s quite the group! All the houses of Garreg Mach mixed!”, the blonde exclaimed. She was right, it was going to be quite the sight – and an exciting adventure, too, you supposed. “Yesterday Sylvain told me he’s going to be in my first lesson today along with Felix, and on some other ones. But the ones who got the same itinerary as me are Dimitry and Ashe, so I’m going to see them often.” She made a pause, as if imagining the future. You, on the other hand, were delighted to hear you weren’t going to share classes with Sylvain. “Leonie and Edelgard have chosen that itinerary too –”

“Hello!” Dorothea sprang to you, dressed in the latest trend, as always. Her smile was radiant.

“Hi, Dorothea! We were talking about who’s on our classes”, commented Ingrid.

“I’m with Hilda! I was hoping some handsome boys would be on my classes but Hilda said she did the research and was quite disappointed.” Dorothea sighed but suddenly called your name. “Claude is in your class, right?” You nodded with caution. “Didn’t you get along with Claude?” You nodded again, furrowing your brows in suspicion. “You could ask him out!”

Ingrid started laughing while Dorothea’s voice was a sweet giggle.

“Playing the matchmaker again, Dorothea?” Ingrid tried to calm herself. “Last time, it was a disaster.”

“Yes, sorry for that”, offered Dorothea.

“Don’t sweat it”, you said, shaking your head humorously.

“But”, the singer wasn’t one to let things go, “he’s actually very hot. Everyone with eyes can see that. And he’s really easy going, unlike Ferdinand. And smart! You must have a lot in common –”

“I’m fine.” You had repeated the same many times. Your friends were trying to set you up on dates lately. “I can manage myself pretty well.”

“You could use a little stress relief though…” Ingrid blushed this time hearing Dorothea’s words. Noticing the silence, the brunette continued. “This goes for you too, Ingrid!”

“That’s not true!”

“Anyways, where’s Petra?” You tried to divert her attention as you were approaching your building.

“She had to sign some documents, so she must be in the main office,” informed Dorothea with a bright smile, her good mood contagious.

“I want to meet her”, said Ingrid, who hadn’t moved yet when you all were acquainted with the student from Brigid. You hadn’t shared more than a few greetings, but she was getting really close to her flatmate.

“We are going to throw a party at my house next week or the other!”, Dorothea announced with excitement. “If you don’t bump into her before, you’ll get to know here there.”

Even though you knew Dorothea’s parties tended to get out of hand, they were always fun, and it could be a great start for something new. You would have to work hard to convince Ingrid, who didn’t like going out that much.

And like that, you reached your destination and parted from them.

The halls of the place where you’d spend your next course studying were filled with students. All seemed to be trying to find the right way to their new classrooms. Chatter filled the air as you read the indications on your phone. It was confusing finding your way in the intricate web of corridors and doors.

“Where is room 122?”, you muttered and chewed your lip.

You found the room 121, but room 122 wasn’t nowhere in sight. You looked at the map, and figured it had to be around the next corner, so you kept walking to the direction you thought was right. You saw your phone, and it was almost 9 a.m., so you increased your rhythm. Then, you turned left.

Only to bump into someone. More specifically, someone’s chest.

You were quite confused as you fell on your butt and your backpack flew. Your bottom ached. Disoriented, you let out a faint ‘sorry’, but you were not sure to who it was directed. When you processed the situation, and that you were indeed going to be late on your very first day of university, you lifted your glance with the intention of getting up fast and entering your classroom.

Yet light brown eyes that seemed to melt your heart stared back at you.

“Are you all right?” The question was announced by a smooth, rich voice.

It was Sylvain.

Shit.

You felt a rush of nervousness that run all over your body. You tried articulating a sentence, a word, anything to play it off cool, but your tongue didn’t respond, so you simply nodded. You weren’t okay, but he didn’t need to know that. Sylvain seemed quite surprised. His luscious lips were parted slightly, his pupils were fixed on you, and he remained as still as a statue, which only added to your agitation. At last, as if he was awakened from a trance, he rose his eyebrows and extended his hand.

“Sorry, let me help you.”

You grabbed your rucksack and took his hand. It was warm, soft, and strong. Sylvain helped you up and you could see you were right in front of your classroom.

“I have to… go to my first lesson”, you said as you pointed at the door.

“Oh, yes. Me too”, he flashed you an award-winning smile of his, totally recomposed of the mishap. “I think we share itineraries.”

“I thought you were… with Felix. And Ingrid,” you said. Inside of you, your thoughts were rioting. This couldn’t be true, you repeated yourself over and over. Half of you was trying to stay calm and affirm yourself that your stupid crush was over. The other half was sheltering some kind of hope you didn’t have time to identify. What was clear was that the redhead managed to break all of your expectations once again and you didn’t like it one bit. Of course, you put on a blank face, totally disconnected from your real feelings.

“Yes, right. I switched itineraries this morning”, he extended his hand and hold the doorknob. “My father signed me up for the one he wanted without any kind of regard to what I wanted in life… So, yeah, thankfully I had time to change everything before it was too late.” He opened the door for you.

“That’s… nice”, you smiled timidly.

“We’ll see each other often, then.” You entered the lecture room and Sylvain walked behind. It was big and spacious, and it was full of students. But at that time, it was as if only Sylvain existed. You’d have to get used to his presence in your lessons. A new challenge, but you were going to ignore him anyways.

Sylvain bid you farewell with a ‘see you’ and took a seat next to Mercedes.

You looked around to see where you could see. You saw a smiling Claude waving at you, right next to Lysithea and Marianne, and making gestures for you to come closer. “Sit with us!”, you barely understood what he said with all the chatter in the room, but his body language left no doubt.

“Hi!”, exclaimed Lysithea, looking cheerful and determined as always. Marianne looked collected and waved her hand. They both seemed much more mature after summer break.

“I’m glad to see you here! Just in time.” Claude moved his books in order to make some room for you at his side. You took the seat and settled there.

“Nice to see some familiar faces here”, you told the Almyran.

“I wonder what this year has in store for us…”, he continued, but he couldn’t finish the rest.

A young professor appeared. He looked like another student, but you could sense the authoritarian aura around him. His short hair was dark blue, and he wore black clothes. This new face sparked your curiosity, and although you were dying to turn your head and see what Sylvain was doing, you forced yourself our of your own trap. ‘Focus! You’re here to study, dammit!’, you chastised yourself.

“My name is Byleth and I’m going to teach ‘Fódlan’s history and culture’”, started the new professor.

Then, Byleth proceeded to give a long, detailed, and boring speech about the bureaucratic minutiae related his subject. It was completely tedious. He went over percentages, grading systems, schedules, credits and so on. He was really testing your will at not being distracted.

Rather than yielding to temptation, you turned around to see what Claude was doing. He was stretching like a cat and yawning. When he realised you were looking at him, he winked at you. You weren’t expecting it, so you nervously smirked and looked elsewhere. You swore it was a coincidence that your glance just happened to fall upon the infamous womanizer of Garreg Mach.

Unexpectedly, your eyes met with Sylvain’s. You decided your safest option was looking at your professor and finally paying attention.

What was happening that disastrous day? The Goddess herself must have been punishing you. You felt like you lost a war to your heart. You thought you had finished the chapter where all you did was thinking about Sylvain, you were going to date someone else, maybe fall in love and, above all, you were going to avoid returning to those years head over heels for someone who didn’t even know your name – or at least you supposed so, since he had never said it. Instead of the sensible thing, your whole being decided to betray your will, and you were all flushed and flustered with a single look of that man. It didn’t matter it was the first time he paid attention to you or that your longest conversation had been held that very same day. It didn’t matter to your dumb heart, which-

“This project will be done in pairs and it’s about the 25-30% of the final grade.” Oh, you might have wanted to pay attention to that, now that Byleth was saying something quite important.

“What did he say?”, you asked Claude.

“Too busy giving Sylvain the eye?”, he remarked, a satisfied smirk on the side of his face.

“Claude!”, you tried to scold him, but as you were whispering, it sounded like a high-pitched yell of guilt. Just like your feelings.

“Okay, okay. No need to get your knickers in a twist”, he couldn’t resist teasing you. “There’s this big project, 30% of the final grade or so. We have to research a topic he will give.” He sighed. “The professor also added that he’s going to assign the partners. I know it’s for our own good, for the sake of team working and all that boring paraphernalia, but it kind of sucks.”

“Maybe we’ll be lucky and we will be able to work together”, you tried to look at the bright side.

“As much as I’d love that, I think it’d be far more interesting if you got paired with someone else we know…”, he trailed off, testing the waters.

“I don’t know what you are talking about”, you sentenced.

“I’m not a fool. I know you’ve liked him since high school”. That, you weren’t expecting it. You hadn’t been exactly secretive with your longing staring, but you hadn’t been expecting the master of gossip to be after your very own secret. “Don’t make that face. I didn’t tell anyone, but you can’t fool me.”

“Just don’t tell Dorothea or I’m not going to hear the end of it”, you surrendered and pleaded. What was the use of hiding it longer? Besided, Claude made you feel comfortable and you though that he might be the right person to help you.

“Don’t worry. Just, why him?”, he wondered.

“I… It’s something beyond my control. It’s like I was condemned to love him and I can’t escape by any means. Like a force of fate is controlling me.” Now that you got to put it to word… it was the perfect description to how you felt. And you wondered how that could be.

“And how come you haven’t hooked up yet?” He laughed again at your expression of shame. “He’s Sylvain! Come on!”

“He ignored me. As in, he had never talked to me in high school”, it actually felt better than you imagined having someone to talk to. And Claude always kept quiet about other’s matters. He knew everyone’s secrets, but he never told any.

“That’s… weird. I will investigate that.” He placed his hand on his chin and his expression turned meditative. “He seems interested in you now, tough.”

“What do you mean?”, you couldn’t believe him. But something told you that it must be true if it was Claude who noticed it.

“He’s been looking at you for 40 minutes.”

You turned around and, in effect, Sylvain was looking at you. This time, it was him who moved away his gaze, a bit embarrassed to have been caught.

“So, from what I’ve seen,” Claude started to sum up, “you are trying to ignore him – don’t deny it, I’ve seen you stealing glances – because he had rejected you all high school. But now he’s flirty and charming, so you are on square one.”

“Yes, you could say so.” You were ashamed, but eager to see where he was going.

“There’s only one solution.” He moved his head closer to you, as if it was a conspiration.

“What is it?” He decidedly had captured you then, and you moved your head closer to hear him better.

“Play it along. See what happens. Don’t implicate yourself too much, but find out what changed.”

Right before you could answer, Lysithea shushed you. The professor was beginning to announce the pairs. As expected, most of your friends ended up with an unknown partner. Marianne was lucky and was set to work with Mercedes, one of the sweetest girls you knew. Bernadetta, who you hadn’t noticed until that moment, was paired with a girl called Monica, who seemed eerily familiar. Your name hadn’t been said, and neither did Sylvain’s, much to Claude’s delight.

After a long list of surnames, you didn’t recognise, it was your turn. While your name left your professors lips, your eyes widened. You raised your hand so Byleth could identify you with the name.

“Okay. There. Your partner will be…”, he was scanning the remaining names, for the list was almost finished. “Sylvain Jose Gautier.”

“Fate has decided for you”, Claude commented. You looked at Sylvain, and he had the audacity to smirk and wink at you. Outrageous.

You were then sure of it. Sothis was laughing at you. How were you supposed to survive this year?

[queernarchy]

Statement of Elizabeth Williams, regarding a box of tapes found in the basement of her student house. Statement given October 18th, 2018, 105 Hill Top Road, Oxford.

[INT. OXFORD, 105 HILLTOP RD, UPSTAIRS BEDROOM]

[TAPE CLICKS ON]

[SOUNDS OF BETH STUTTERING, APPARENTLY SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING TO SAY]

[A SHAKY INHALE]

BETH

Right. Um. I, uh. Right.

[PAUSE]

BETH

To be perfectly honest, I’m not really sure what I’m doing. I- I found this. It’s the only one I’ve found in the box that’s blank. You know, I’ve never actually seen a tape recorder, like in real life? It’s quite - Well, I’m not even sure I know how to use it. Except … I do. Because I turned it on. I hit the button and now I’m talking to it, like it’s a person. Like I’m crazy, which … I might be. God, I might be. 

[BREATH]

BETH

I probably am. In fact, I hope I am. I hope I was just dreaming it all up. Another sign of an overactive imagination. Spending too much time with those books and not in the real world, as mum would say.

[PAUSE]

Even if it was real, there is no reason for me to be talking to you - no, to this. [TO HERSELF] It’s a tape recorder, Beth, it’s not a person. [BACK TO NORMAL] But I am. It feels right to, to tell you. So I’m going to. I’m going to tell you what happened and then it’ll be over. And I can go back to my life. 

BETH (STATEMENT)

I’m not great at this. The talking, the explaining, the storytelling, it’s not really my thing, at least not anymore. 

When I was a kid it was easy, you know? I was always latching onto one thing or another, letting it consume my brain and then going on and on about it to whatever poor soul I could corner long enough into listening. My parents didn’t let me use a computer until I was well into my teens - something about them making nightmares worse? It was all bollocks, really, how would they know that if they never actually let me use one? But, anyways, before that I used to spend hours in the Wokingham library touring the sections. Once, when I was twelve, I read a book on oceanography: Vanished Ocean: How Tethys Reshaped the World, and spent a solid week scouring the corners of every bookshelf for anything I could find on ancient supercontinents or vanished fault lines before giving my report to the first unlucky and unsuspecting librarian who happened to be out in the open. [LAUGHS] Poor Mike.

I never cared what the genre was, nonfiction, mystery, fantasy, that was never important to me. I just loved the pursuit, and the compelling joy of walking through a new world. It was like a secret between me and the writer, something that we knew that nobody else did. 

I always dreamed of being a writer too one day, but like I said, the storytelling part never actually came natural to me, no matter how many books I consumed. I suppose it must have been that lack of skill that bugged the people around me to no end. My father spent most of his time at work and I didn’t really get along with my brother or sister, but let’s just say that my mum was never as ... enthusiastic about my new interests as I was. 

It wasn’t her fault, I was deeply, deeply irritating. But to my credit, the minute I realized that, well, that’s when I finally started to shut up. Thinking back, I think that’s where it started. I had always kind of been afraid of pretty much anything and everything. But when I got old enough, I started to routinely feel a gripping terror bubbling up through my stomach, my chest, shaking my limbs and rooting me to the spot whenever I spoke for more than a minute at a time. 

All this to say, a few years ago I graduated secondary school with absolutely no skill in writing, the one thing I actually enjoyed, and a lot of anxiety. It seems inevitable that I would end up studying library sciences, doesn’t it? It’s practically what I’ve always done anyways - sorting and researching. And a future as a librarian with a couple cats and a cozy cottage, surrounded by books, well … there are worse things. Much worse. 

I moved into student housing right before my first term started at Oriel. I call it student housing, but it’s not, not technically. The actual dorms were a bit out of my price range, so when I saw an ad looking for flatmates in Cowley, only a 20 minute bus ride from the college, it seemed meant to be. There were ten living here all together, to start. George moved into his boyfriend’s place last year, leaving nine of us. [DARKLY] Well, eight, now, I suppose.

It was a proper house, renovated a few years back, I think, but it was already thoroughly  trashed by the time I showed up. It was one of those places that, the minute you walked through the door, you could just feel the grime lurking between the worn couches and stained mattresses, that musty smell of overuse. I tried to ignore it, I did, but one Friday night a couple weeks after I’d settled in, I waited until everyone had gone and walked to the closest shop to buy a blacklight. It went about as well as you’d expect. I spent that entire weekend scrubbing this house from top to bottom. I even cleaned Sam’s room. It’s not like I’m a germaphobe or anything, I just like to know where things have been. And if they dirty again, well, at least I know it’s the slobbery of my friends rather than that of strangers. 

I didn’t touch the basement, though. None of us ever did. I’m not sure why, it was always just an unspoken agreement between us. I must have asked about it when I moved in. I must have. I mean, it would be one thing if it just never came up, if it was just an unfinished and unsafe part of the house we didn’t go down to and that was that. But, you know, thinking about it now, we didn’t even mention it, not once. It’s amazing, isn’t it, what you can ignore. Right up to the moment you’re devoured by it.

I don’t remember the exact moment things started to feel wrong. Can’t have been more than a couple weeks ago. It was subtle, at first. Doors swinging closed on their own, misplaced items, shadows that didn’t really ... fit. All things that could be chalked up to the mind playing tricks out of boredom, or fatigue - just a consequence of one too many sleepless nights. I didn’t really think about it too hard, even when Sam brought it up at breakfast, started insisting the place was haunted. That was easy to dismiss, she’s always going on about some supernatural this or that and I don’t believe in ghosts, but even that would have been easily digestible as an explanation. 

It was like that for a few days, and all the while, that feeling of wrongness lurked in the background, pulsing beneath us. I honestly don’t know if I would have even taken notice if Milton hadn’t started behaving the way he did. Milton is - was - every bit the hipster film student of your wildest imaginations. I swear, I saw him wear a beret once, completely unironically. We’d been friends, as I was one of the few people who would listen to him ramble on about whatever arthouse film had caught his attention that week. We got on fine, well, actually, for flatmates at least. That’s not to say that I always liked him - I’d acted in a few of his student films, just by convenience, and he wasn’t exactly the most easy to work with. Everything always had to be just the way he wanted it, down the most minute detail. I swear, if he could have tied strings around our limbs and puppeted us from afar, he would have. [PAUSE] Sorry, that’s … that’s poor taste. 

It had to do with the cassettes. You see, Milton had always insisted on using magnetic tape for his recordings, refusing to even entertain the idea of a digital camera. Something about being more authentic - I never understood it, but far be it from me to get in between a film major and their precious ‘analog charm.’ He loved those tapes, and we all got used to seeing dozens scattered throughout the house at any one time. Which is why it struck me as odd when last week, they vanished entirely. When I asked him about it, he just said that he'd been editing a new project that he needed them for. I wasn’t sure what kind of project would require that many cassettes all at once, but he certainly spent enough time working on it. He’d be locked away in his room for hours, sounds of whirring machinery coming from behind his door. When he did come out, he was exhausted, gaunt. I tried talking to him about it, you know, but he’d just ignore me.

It was strange behavior, sure, but not supernatural. Perhaps I would have chalked it up to stress, just a bad week, but that’s when the nightmares started. I had always had them, just a side effect of my anxiety, but they’d died down a couple years ago, after I moved to Oxford. One sleep after this started, though, I saw Milton. He was sat at a desk, a mess of cassettes unspooled into piles of thin black magnetic tape scattered across it. He was tangled in tape as well, almost every limb bound by it. He stared at the pile in front of him with dull eyes, completely still. 

I didn’t realize until the tape began to lift his arms that he wasn’t just tangled in it. The long, metallic strands were embedded directly into his skin. The strands controlling every movement, he grabbed a spool, and, very slowly, raised it to his mouth. His jaw unhinged, farther than anything natural, and he began to stuff the tape down his throat. Again, and again, and again, until the entire pile was gone. I had never felt relief the way I had when I finally woke from that dream. I didn’t know that was only the first time that I would have it.

I woke from one of these nightmares late one night, heart beating fast and body sticky with sweat. I climbed downstairs, trying to clear my head, and found Milton sitting in the living room, staring at our small television screen playing his movie. At least, that’s what I assumed it was. There was no coherence, no audio, just rapid, violent black and white images that flashed across the screen sporadically and bits of static that faded in and out at random. Occasionally, I’d see the corrupted and disjointed image of my own face cross the screen, along with the other actors. The pattern was hypnotic. Every few minutes, the images would perfectly align, shaping spindly, bony legs that almost seemed to reach beyond the glass face of the TV.

After a while, I finally managed to ask him if he was alright, if the cassette had become corrupted somehow, if there was any way to fix it. He had always been so fiercely protective of his tapes, and with the state it was in I expected him to be furious, or devastated, at least concerned. But when he turned, there was none of that written into his face. Just a calm, blank expression. He studied me carefully for a long moment, before finally speaking. ‘We should feed our guest. She’s so happy to have arrived, and she is very hungry.’ He smiled after he said that. When he did, I could have sworn I saw that thin black film tape weaved inside him - webbed in the back of his throat and threaded right through the fleshy center of his tongue. I went back up the stairs immediately and locked my door, sat in bed until the sun came up.

I managed to avoid him the days after that. I thought about telling the others, trying to explain it to them, but I knew it wouldn’t end well. They wouldn’t believe me, why would they? I wasn’t even sure that I believed me. I thought about moving out, of course I did, but I had nowhere to go. No money, no real friends outside of the ones I already lived with. And who knows if I was just overreacting, imagining it all. So I decided I’d just ignore him as much as I could until he went back to normal or I’d saved up enough money for a new place.

It didn’t last, though. It was three days ago that it happened. It was late, and I had carelessly lost time sitting in the kitchen, studying for my history exam. I was alone when he walked in. He didn’t say a word, just, met my eyes with that calm look, like an invitation. Then he turned, with a finality I had never seen before, opened the door to the basement, and vanished down the stairs. 

I shouldn’t have followed him. I could have just walked away, went upstairs and buried my head in my pillow. But I didn’t. I had to know. To see. 

So, I walked down those old stone steps, dodging cobwebs. I don’t remember if I closed the door behind me, or if it did that part on its own. The cellar was warm, far too warm for October. It was unfinished, and empty save for an old, lidded cardboard box that sat neatly in the center of the room. A long, jagged crack ran through the floor and up into the far wall, as though the foundation had been damaged in an earthquake or something. Milton stood facing away from me, towards the crack in the wall, whispering something I couldn’t quite make out. I called out to him, and he turned to face me, expression wild with … something. Excitement? Panic? He had started to say something before, all at once, dozens of shadowy, spindly tendrils, adorned with what looked like coarse hairs crept from the crack and began to wrap themselves around him.

I felt that familiar terror bubble up, running cold through my veins, stronger than I’d ever felt it before. I wanted to run or scream, but I couldn’t. He didn’t scream either, but I could see the fear growing in his eyes, silently pleading. He didn’t move, not even as the tendrils began to … unspool him. They reached into him, breaking into his body like plaster, and pulled. He was hoisted from the ground, his limbs yanked in different directions and elongated. They just dangled there, arms and legs and head only still attached by threads of dark, magnetic tape, like an old, torn doll hanging together by string. And then the tendrils began to move him. They took their time puppeting him, and at the end, they pulled up his head, forcing his gaze to meet mine. His cheeks were strung up into a grin, but I saw the tears that flowed freely down his contorted face. 

I don’t know how long I stood there, watching him stripped him apart, piece by piece, slowly and deliberately. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I felt hot tears roll down my cheeks, although I couldn’t tell if they’d come from the terror of it all or simply because I no longer possessed the ability to blink. I watched and watched. And when it was over, and he was gone, I waited. I waited for them to take me, a part of me just relieved that I didn’t have to watch anymore. I had already shut my eyes tightly before I understood that I could. I felt my hands twitch, regaining their will. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was alone, in that old, dank basement, with nothing but that long dark crack, and, in the center of the floor, the cobweb covered cardboard box, now open, and filled to the brim with tapes. 

I don’t remember the rest of the night with any real clarity. I know I stood there for a while. I know at some point I calmly bent down, picked up the box, and walked it upstairs. I spent most of the last two days just staring at it. I’ve missed all of my classes. Sam has come to see me a couple of times, to ask how I am. This morning she actually brought me a plate of spaghetti. Imagine that, spaghetti for breakfast. I do appreciate the thought, even if it makes no practical sense whatsoever. Must be an American thing. She did mention that a man stopped by yesterday. Short, greying hair, lots of weird scars, asking about ‘strange happenings’ in the house. Sam told him about her hauntings, and apparently he had been, less than impressed. He told her he was sorry, and that she should move out, and then left without another word. [LAUGH] Creep.

I finally got up the nerve to look into the box. It’s pretty much what it says on the tin: Tapes and stationary. And cobwebs. So many goddamn cobwebs. 

Nobody has said anything about Milton. I expect in the next few days someone will notice he’s gone. How do you explain something like that? I’ve been seeing it again, though. My nightmares … my nightmares have been getting worse. I keep ending up back there. I just watch, and watch, and watch, and I can’t turn away. 

BETH (POST STATEMENT)

Statement ends, I suppose.

[STATIC RISES]

[STUTTERS, CONFUSED]

…. Statement? I, I don’t, I didn’t -

[STATIC FALLS]

[A SHORT SIGH]

I don’t feel better. I really thought I would. I don’t know why. Why in the world did I think that telling my stupid story to this thing would make me feel better? 

The box is still sitting at the foot of my bed. I want to get rid of it, I do. So why don’t I just toss it? It would be so easy. Just … throw it out. But I can’t. 

[RIFLING THROUGH THE TAPES]

Oh, huh - 

[STATIC RISES]

This tape’s blank as well. I thought I’d sorted through them all, but I guess I missed one. Hm. 

[TOSSES THE TAPE ASIDE]

They’re quite interesting, you know. I haven’t played any of the tapes yet, but I glanced at a few of the written accounts. Some of them are so illegible I can’t even read them but others are. Compelling. They make me feel, right. Scared, but [SIGHS]. I don’t know how to explain it. 

I did some research on them, the ones I read anyways. I say research, I mean some quick Googling, a bit of asking around. They’re not real. The Magnus Institute, that’s the logo printed onto the stationary, isn’t a real place. And, as far as I can tell, these people … these people don’t exist. Anywhere. I mean, I found a few names that match but nobody who lines up to the descriptions and when I reach out to them they claim to know nothing about any of it. One of the people I called, Timothy Hodge, his name is, actually gave me the number of his psychiatrist. [LAUGH]

So maybe it’s fiction. A collection of short stories about fictional people and fictional suffering. Just a practical joke. Except, I know that it’s not. I can’t explain how, I just … Know. 

I should probably move out. Only an idiot would stay in this place, after something like that. When I leave this room, I’m going to have to walk by that basement door. Every single day.. I should leave. I want to leave. I will leave. Just, not yet. 

I need to understand, to unravel the mystery, and I’m getting the feeling that there is something in this box that’ll help me do just that. I’ll try to record whatever I find out. I do have another blank tape, after all. [HM] End recording. 

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Grilled Cheese & Cereal Deaths

Dean unlocks the door to his apartment, his forehead resting against the wood and eyes closed in a calculative fashion as he turns his key in the lock.

He’s opened this door thousands of times before, and has collected enough data to reach the conclusion that he does it better when he’s not looking at it. His fingers know exactly what to do, relying on muscle memory and the grooves of the key; but when he’s looking, it takes him a minute to figure out which key is for which, since he’s got every key he owns attached to his purple-pink, rubber ‘I want to break free’ keychain.

Having to not pay attention as he’s unlocking the door allows him to start thinking about Cas again, as if he hasn’t been doing it all four hours of his drive back from Kansas. Cas should be awake right now, it’s only ten, but then he knows this is Cas, infamous for sleeping the weirdest hours known to man. One day, he’s snoring by five pm without a trace of dinner in him, and the next, he’s nudging Dean awake at three am for pancakes.

The lock clicks, and Dean straightens.

It’s only been three days since he’s seen Cas, but he misses him. He considers surprising him, because their door has a silent lock, which Cas wouldn’t have heard unless he’s in the living room - which he never is, unless Dean barters cuddles on the couch in exchange for a Dr Sexy watching partner. Cas is more of a bedroom person. Occasionally, a balcony person. Or, weirdly, sometimes, a hallway person.

Dude just settles cross-legged on the floor, in the middle of the hallway, with his book on his thighs and elbows on his knees, and doesn’t move until Dean almost trips over him, hence finding him, and nagging at him to at least sit on something with a mattress.

Fuck, he misses him.

Dean swings open the door, deciding not to think anymore, and just get to his boyfriend and kiss him and - he steps in. 

“I’m back!” He sings exaggeratedly, hands on his hips, giant grin pulling the corners of his lips up.

“Dean!” Cas yelps, his voice the kind of heavy only sleep deprivation can cause. Dean takes a moment to scan his face, the bags under his eyes and his slightly unfocused eyes. 

Cas’s eyes blink wide and lips completely pursed, like the child who was caught with his hand in the candy jar. But here, the proverbial jar is a stack of books so high - they come all the way up to Cas’s hip, beginning from a two-feet-high table, and the proverbial child is a panicky IT major who knows exactly how long ago he should’ve taken a nap.

Dean sets down his bag next to the door.

“Come here.” Dean lifts his arms, beckoning with a soft voice.

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” Cas starts to argue, from five feet away. The idiot is in the living room, after all. How could Dean forget? He can also be found at the living room when he’s having one of his truly bad, must-do-everything-at-once episodes. “I swear, I just took out all of these books an hour ago, there’s just this thing which came up -”

“Come here.” Dean says, his mouth a straight line.

“You’re wrong if you think I haven’t slept in 24 hours, Dean.” Cas whines, his resolve lessening. “But I just had so much to do, and there’s this deadline, and there’s not even -”

“Come here.” Dean repeats.

Cas yields, giving up with a little huff, and dragging his socked feet across their living room.

He tucks his head under Dean’s chin, once he’s wrapped his arms around his middle, and Dean’s arms automatically move up to hold him close.

Most times, Dean doesn’t think it’s fair that Cas gets to alternate between being the larger in the two of them, with his wide-ass shoulders and his frigging arms; and the next instant, the adorable little snuggler who’s burying his face in Dean’s shirt.

But at the moment, Dean doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, he doesn’t mind it so much, that he stops thinking about everything else and spontaneously decides he wouldn’t mind if Cas never pulled away.

He squeezes, exhaling happily.

Cas lets out a content little sigh, melting into him, and Dean stops smiling for a moment when he realizes Cas is leaning all of his weight on Dean. And it’s not the fact that Cas is six feet tall, and built completely of concentrated snark and runner’s muscles, and that he’s heavy - but that Dean suddenly remembers that Cas hasn’t slept in 24 hours.

As he conveniently just confessed to.

“You need to sleep.”

Cas makes a disgruntled sound, possibly scrunching up his nose.

“I need to shower.”

Dean sniffs the air dramatically, and shrugs. It’s nothing he can’t handle. He doesn’t really think Cas has been up to jogging lately, and staying holed up in your second floor room with two semester worth of books for a project doesn’t exactly make you sweat, it’s not too unpleasant. Sure, stale clothes have a smell, but this one’s mostly just Cas.

“You need to eat.” Dean counters, and it’s probably a strong point he makes, since Cas doesn’t have a retort to throw back at him within the first second.

“That reminds me. We’re out of coffee,” Cas mumbles, in a little voice. “Didn’t know how I could text you to buy Nescafe when you were driving home two hundred and fifty miles.”

“What about the emergency stack you keep in the bedroom?”

Cas shakes his head. “I forgot to replenish that after the Great Scare of Preponed Papers, in September.”

“You’re every inch the college boy my mama warned me to look out for.” Dean teases, wriggling out of the hug, so that he can stare at Cas.

“And yet you’ve been living with me for years.” Cas returns, turning around and walking towards the kitchen. He plops down on a dining table chair, facing Dean.

“What can I say? You make me a rebel.” Dean scoffs, following Cas’s tracks to the kitchen, after he’s taken off his jacket and deposited it on the couch.

“Ooh, I’m even worse than I thought.” Cas deadpans, crossing his arms. And that ends it. Because there’s more important things to do, right now.

Dean opens the fridge, and starts to rummage through it.

“We’re out of honey, too.” Cas tells him, his chin propped in his hands, as he stares at a busy Dean.

“I can see that.” Dean rolls his eyes, and the almost empty milk carton is the only thing which sympathizes with him. “What kind of meals did you even have since friday, Cas? Honey and coffee? Or maybe, coffee and honey?”

Cas nods. “And ramen.”

“Fucking dumbass, with a 3.9 GPA to show for it.” Dean rolls his eyes again, done with going through the fridge, and closing the door with his elbow as he holds bread and cheese in his hands. “Well, doesn’t matter. Point is, I’m back. What do you want now?”

And before Cas could answer, Dean went on in a typical five star restaurant voice. “We have grilled formaggio. And grilled queso. And the chef’s recommendation, the grilled cheese.”

“Could I have grilled syr?” Cas asks, innocent.

“Lemme guess, Russian for cheese?” Dean confirms, in a dramatic stage whisper.

Cas’s eyebrows dance. “I missed you.” He mockwhispers back.

“You know what, I’ll have to pull some strings, but I think the chef will be able to manage that.” Dean returns to his grand waiter voice. And starts to unwrap the bread and pick out plates from the drawers, while Cas surprises him by beginning to talk.

“It’s a group project.” He begins, not sounding a tenth of the pumped up and clever from before. “For Professor Naomi Novak.” He groans, his head falling on his arms folded on the table.

“Okay?” Dean urges him to go on.

“And Balthazar bailed on me.”

***

Dean listens, as Cas eats. He occasionally offers words of sympathy, or those of righteous annoyance. He stares at Cas, wolfing down the sandwiches like they’re the best thing on the planet, and looking more and more okay as he finishes what’s on his plate.

Dean had had his dinner during what was supposed to be a fuel stop, at a motel who advertised their pies on unmissable banners hannging on every surface of the gas station. He couldn’t resist the temptation.

Thinking about that reminds him that just about an hour ago, he’d been in the last quarter of his drive, tired, but excited to get home. To Cas, to his shower and of course, to his mattress. Now, he doesn’t feel exhausted at all. Or perhaps, there’s just more important things around him. All in all, he knows he isn’t going to bed himself until Cas is going with him.

“Dean.” Cas interrupts his reverie, and Dean looks up to see him pushing away his plate, completely clean.

“Yeah?”

“Everything in the world except you and this grilled cheese sucks.” Cas declares, solemnly.

Dean grins, refocusing all his attention on Cas. “Oh?”

“Definitely.” Cas nods. He licks his lips, and rests back in his chair. “I mean, I know this’ll come as a surprise, but I think I was hungry or something.” He adds, feigning innocence, and Dean snorts. “I don’t know. Must’ve been the stress of the project I’ll never be able to complete in time, that made me overlook it.”

“Cas, listen to me.” Dean begins, reassuring. “The project will be done, Novak will not freak out, and you’ll ace through her class too. Everything’s going to work out.”

“How?” Cas asks, not as much ridiculous as it is desperate.

“You see,” Dean answers, his tone smooth. Well, sarcasm’s always been their language. “I have a brother.”

“Congratulations?” Cas squints, in a confused monotone.

“Nah, he’s not a pleasure to have or anything,” Dean shrugs, a grin on his hips. “But he’s dating someone.”

“Congratulations to him?” Cas offers.

“You don’t get it, smartass. The guy my brother’s dating, is Balthazar’s flatmate.” Dean waits for Cas to catch up. “So, all I have to do is talk to a few people, and I’ll know where to go find this weird-name guy.”

“Fuck.” Cas exclaims, stunned.

“No, Balthazar.” Dean smirks, and Cas is starting to smile much wider. “So, I’m going to get this jackass do his part of the job. And I’m sure as hell going to make him call you.”

“Oh!” Cas squeaks, eyes wide again. His face lights up with a smile, and it’s one of those genuinely gummy ones which make his eyes shine. Sonuvabitch, Dean loves him so much.

“So, yeah. I’m going to go call Sam, and get Baby out.” Cas practically radiates relief at this point, and happiness, and Dean has never been prouder of himself. “But,” He adds, before he forgets. “I have a condition.”

“What?” Cas cuts him off, abruptly. “And please don’t say you want me to go sleep, because I won’t be able to sleep until this is done, I’m too restless, and -”

“Fine.” Dean folded his arms. “Then eat.”

“I just did?” Cas motioned to his empty plate.

“Those were two sandwiches, Cas.” Dean huffs. “I need you to promise me you’ll eat the entire time till I’m back.”

“I don’t want to cook right now, I have to revise -” Cas starts to whine, and on another day, this may have been the moment Dean shut him up with a kiss, because he was being too annoying about not doing things for himself, but right now? This is a different Cas - a sleep deprived, fretty Cas, who needs to be handled in a different manner.

“I’m not asking you to cook.” Dean stands up.

Cas follows. “Huh?”

“I was just in the kitchen. We have cereal.”

“No.”

“Come on, Cas.” Dean argues, indignant. This is where they always end up. Debating on cereal. Dean’s got his facts clear. “Cereal’s a snack.”

“No, Dean. You’re a snack. I’m a snack. Arguably, Dr Sexy is a snack. Cereal is not a snack.” Cas throws back.

Dean glares at Cas. “You’ll eat your goddamn cereal until I’m home, Cas, or I swear on your coffee-freaky, sleep-deprived ass -”

“Okay.” Cas gives up. He takes a step back, puts his hands in the air, and lets out a breath.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll eat it while I reread my notes.” Cas says, his eyebrows curved. There’s still a smile on his lips, though a more annoyed one.

Dean hums, unsatisfied.

“What?”

“Cereal needs your attention.” Dean postulates, tongue in cheek. “I really can’t have you choking on Honey Nut Cheerios.”

Cas levels him with a look, which would’ve been more effective if it wasn’t leveled at him through dark-circled eyes.

“That’s the opposite of an honorable death.” Dean goes on, sweet.

“Then in the obituary, let it be said that it was Cap'n Crunch.” Cas scowls, and Dean breaks into a laugh without meaning to. “And eating cereal isn’t a singleminded task, believe it or not.”

“Fine.” Dean lets it go, knowing it’s the best deal he’s going to get.

“Fine?” Cas says, like Dean had before.

“Fine. One for me, one for you.” And with that Dean throws his jacket on again, and starts to walk out, with a pleased smile. He’s going to make this work. And as he deals with Balthazar, Cas will keep eating. Two birds with one stone.

“Though,” Cas starts speaking, and Dean looks back, surprised at how soft his voice is. Cas is looking down at his feet. “This is more like, all for me, none for you.”

“Cas.” Dean shakes his head, returning to the dining table, and putting his hand on Cas’s.

“I mean,” Cas goes on, his voice shaky. “You literally came home after three days. And instead of talking about your trip, and your family, and taking a shower and getting in bed and resting after your four hour drive - you’re already completely immersed in solving my problems for me. I’m - I’m sorry.”

Dean purses his lips. He has not thought about it like this at all, and doesn’t want Cas to, either. “Cas, no -”

“No. I’m selfish and horrible, and I didn’t even stop you when you offered to cook for me and go get Balthazar to get in touch with me, or any of it - I’m just -”

“Cas.” Dean repeats, sterner. “That is not the case. I’m fine, okay? I’m absolutely fine. And you needed to eat, and you need this now, and I want to do it for you. You aren’t making me do this! And what the hell am I here for if not to be there for you, when you need it, Cas?”

“But -”

“And do you really think you telling me to not go would’ve stopped me from wanting to help you out?” Dean cocks his head, challenging Cas to agree.

Cas shakes his head.

“Exactly. In fact, you’re showing that you trust me enough to let you know when I’m tired and pushing my limits. You’re showing that our relationship has come to that kind of level, where though we mean the gratitude, concern and appreciation entirely, we aren’t always required to keep repeating it, and that’s growth, Cas, and I’m -”

Cas waits, his eyes starting to haze.

“I’m proud of us.” Dean finishes, swallowing. He feels his own throat start to clog up. Must be from watching Cas get teary, because they don’t usually end up crying every time one of them does something nice for the other.

“You’re everything I’ve ever needed.” Cas tells him, matter-of-factly, like it doesn’t pierce Dean through the heart in the best way to hear it.

“You’re pretty perfect, too.” Dean says, trying to avoid getting as sappy as Cas has already gotten. Cas gets to blame the lack of sleep later, what does Dean do then? “And please, please don’t feel guilty about me trying to be a good boyfriend, next time?”

“I’ll try?”

“We’ve come a long way.” Dean teases. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll try to stop feeling guilty about it too, whenever you help me out with, I dunno, professors, college papers, buying durable things online, choosing gifts for friends, ice cream flavours I don’t like -”

“That’s enough.” Cas grins. “And, thank you.”

Dean slid his arm down from Cas’s forearm, to rest on his hip. His other hand snaked around Cas’s waist.

“Thank you for everything.” Cas says, like he’s tried to soak the meaning out of all the words into his voice, and it works.

“Yeah, yeah.” They just had a chick-flick moment, and Dean isn’t prepared for another one, so soon. So he does what he does best, and deflects, rolling his eyes dramatically. “People don’t call me the awesomest-roomate-ever-slash-ideal-bestfriend-slash-your-knight-in-shining-armor for nothing.”

“Nobody calls you that.” Cas snickers, putting his arms loosely around Dean’s neck. He’s doing that thing again, like the flipping of a switch, and now it’s Dean who’s probably going to end up with his face in Cas’s neck. Kissing him, though, this time.

“Hey!” He pouts, pulling Cas in closer from the waist. “I call myself that.”

“Yeah, I have no idea why you do that.”

Remember how before it wasn’t the moment to shut him up with a kiss? Dean repeals that statement now. It’s no longer valid, because Cas is being a little shit again. Plus, he’s being a little shit who doesn’t kiss Dean yet, just teases around it, and that’s not fair, right after they’ve had such a romantic moment, is it?

So Dean takes matters into his own hands.

“Shuddup, you overworked little asshole.” And leans in to capture Cas’s lips with his, and straightens with Cas following him, planting breathy kisses on every inch of Dean’s lips, while Dean tries to return the equivalent of the favor by running his hands over Cas, under his shirt.

Cas tastes like grilled, uh, keso - ignore them, that’s a game they’ve been playing for years - and love, though knowing Cas, that’s probably just honey - and in that moment, everything is exactly as it should be.

In that moment, Dean thinks to himself, kissing Cas with every fibre of his being; everything is perfect.

[verstappenist]

I Dare You | Ben Hardy

A/n: I just want to say that this is my first time writing for Ben, so I’m sorry if it’s bad... Also, English is not my first language so there could be some mistakes... Constructive criticism is appreciated!

The first part of this is College!Ben, the second part is current Ben! It is based on a prompt I found somewhere on Pinterest and sadly didn’t save...

Big thank you to @anotheronebitestheskye for convincing me to post this ily💗

Word Count: 1,601

Warnings: None!

Your and Ben’s story began nearly a decade ago, when you both went to the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama in London.

You had most classes together and would consider yourselves as good friends. Especially after starring in one of the plays together and spending hours upon hours in each others flats running lines to present the professor the perfect result.

Ben and you have been friends ever since.

Three years later, just before graduating the two of you, as well as some of your mutual friends from school went out to celebrate.

But after a few (well many) rounds of drinks and shots the club turned out to be too boring for your little group, that's why Amy decided it would be best to go back to someone's and spend the rest of the night there. "Maybe play some fun games", as she put it with a mischievous grin directed towards Ben.

The other three members of the group quickly approved, and that's how five (including yourself) completely hammered graduands ended up in the living room of your small flat.

"Now, what kind of games did you have in mind, Ames?", questioned Alfie, ever the responsible, whilst handing everyone a glass of water to at least try to cool you down a bit.

Gulping down her water way too quick, she paused for a second before listing a bunch of party games you'd normally play at a high school party, rather than a 'get together'.

"I mean, truth or dare doesn't sound half bad", added Charlie, "we could put in some twists like if you refuse to tell the truth you have to take a shot, and if you refuse a dare you have to remove an article of clothing?"

"That's brilliant! (y/n) you got any liquor?", called Amy, already halfway in the kitchen. "There should be Jägermeister in the cabinet above the sink!", you yelled back, your head falling against Ben's shoulder. The buzz from earlier slowly wearing off and exhaustion taking over.

Ben was looking down at you, adoration reflecting in his emerald eyes. If someone asked him, he would definitely deny it, but the blonde was madly in love with you since you started to hang out - well run lines together but it's essentially the same, right?

Curling his arm around your shoulders to pull you even just a little bit closer, you all waited for Amy to return with the herbal liquor your sister got you as a souvenir from her germany trip with her fiancé.

The sound of the bottle meeting the dark wood of your coffee table caused you to startle from your doze and you nearly jump into Ben's lap. "Holy - Amy be careful, otherwise you're gonna break the bottle", you groaned, burying your face in your friend's shoulder.

"Right, whatever. Who starts?", she grinned after a brief flash of annoyance crossed her face. Charlie volunteered to ask the first question, and chose Ben to be on the receiving end, who chose dare - since truth apparently is only for weaklings.

"Let's start off easy then, I dare you to let each of us draw something on you with a sharpie!", the brunette proposed, grabbing the pen off your notepad.

"I'm sure there will be worse, so let me be your canvas, dear ladies and gentleman!", Ben chuckled whilst shrugging off his jacket to free his muscular arms.

The drawings ended up only half as bad as he expected them to be, which is why he quickly moved on, asking Alfie.

The game continued for another four to five rounds each, leaving most of you at least shirtless, and the, used to be, full bottle of Jägermeister a good amount emptier.

To be honest if it weren't for the others you probably would've already sent them all home by now, the clock on your wall showing 3:16. 

But not just because of that, but also because Amy's obnoxious flirting attempts on Ben were seriously getting ridiculous. That's why you suggested, it would be better to end your gathering and surprisingly most of them thought it was a good idea. Except for Amy, who over the past hour somehow took in your place at Ben's side.

You never really found out why exactly she was hanging out with you lot, since she wasn't even attending the same school. She was Charlie's flatmate that just ended up tagging along with the four of you about two years ago. That was also when she completely, hopelessly started to fall in love with Ben, and honestly who could blame her? But your probably unrequited feelings for your best friend were nobody's business but yours.

Ben quickly stood up, freeing himself from the blondes tight grip around his arm, “I’m going to help you clean this up later just gotta - real quick!” He called as he hurried down the hall towards the bathroom. Making sure to take his time, it might seem rude to wait out for the others to leave, but he really couldn’t deal with this anymore.

When he returned to the living room, Charlie, Alfie and Amy were gone, leaving you spread out on the couch, half asleep. “(y/n), love? You still with me?”

His question startled you, causing you to sit up straight, “Yes, still here.” Taking in the rest of the room Ben noticed that you already put away the bottle and cleaned up the mess you made.

It might seem stupidly cliché but right then, looking all dishevelled and tired, to him you looked ethereal. And it was all it took for him to make a move, finally.

“I have one last dare for you, (y/n)”, he told you confidently.

“And what would that be?”

Ben hesitated, the bravery he just gained, vanished as soon as you finished your question. The blonde just stood there for a second unable to pronounce a single syllable. Which is why you decided to get up, now standing just inches away from him.

His following words were rushed and quiet, just barely loud enough for you to hear, "I dare you to kiss me."

And that was all it took for you to close the gap between the two of you. 

The kiss was the perfect balance between slow and tender, as well as filled to the brim with lust and need. His soft plump lips felt like heaven on earth connected to your own. It felt right in every way possible.

After your drunken kiss seven years ago, your friendship turned into a loving relationship, with a few minor hiccups along the way but you're still going strong. 

Not too long the two of you got a beagle puppy to complete your little family, and Frankie quickly became the most important thing in both your lives.

Your little friend group from back then sadly didn't last but thanks to Ben landing a starring role in Bohemian Rhapsody his cast mates became your second family in no time.

Even after release of the movie and after press tour ‘the band’ never spent more than a few weeks without seeing each other.

And when coincidentally all of them, including Lucy and you, were in the same city there was no way you won't at least spend one night together.

Which is how you ended up in Joe's living room in New York, drinking wine and catching up on each other.

It took you by surprise when Gwilym, out of all people, suggested to play truth or dare, Lucy was immediately on board. Them being the only ones who knew about Ben's plan.

After very little convincing the rest of your little group agreed as well.

"Okay I'll start! Joe, truth or dare?", Lucy asked the first question the man to her left.

The game was nothing too spectacular, discovering some embarrassing teenage stories, here and there humiliating dares and constantly flowing alcohol.

When it was finally Ben's turn, he decided to ask you next. "Truth or dare, love? Choose wisely", he grinned cheekily.

Pretending to think for a moment you winked at the blonde next to you and answered his question with a confident, "dare!", causing the man to grin even wider. Ben's plan might actually work out.

"Okay, I need you to close your eyes for a second. No peeking!"

"Okay, okay! I promise", you giggled, putting both your hands in front of your closed eyes.

Only a few seconds later the whole group gasped, making you wonder what the actual fuck was happening right now. "Okay, (y/n), open up."

Slowly you put down your hands before opening your eyes, only to be met with the other ones standing in a line behind Ben, each one of them holding a single rose.

Your boyfriend of seven years sank to one knee right in front of you, a tiny velvet box held tightly in both his hands.

"(Y/n) (y/l/n), I dare you to marry me."

His deep, rich voice suddenly sounding so small, emerald eyes wide, waiting for a response.

Your hand that just moments prior covered your eyes, were now keeping you from sobbing.

Trying to collect yourself, you turned away from the others, quickly wiping away the tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

Taking another deep breath you smiled at the still nervous young man kneeling on the carpet, "Yes, let's do this Benny!"

Your friends, who you really forgot were even there erupted in loud cheers as the blonde scrambled to his feet, eagerly pressing his lips to yours, grinning from ear to ear.

[rickybowxn]

another rini hc

(tw: anxiety)

ricky has a really hard time adjusting to college as a freshman. he has a rough time adapting to the work load, the time management, the socialising and general change aspect of it all. he’s never really been good with change, and it manifests horribly with his inability to fall asleep. 

realising that college literally stops for no-one, and maybe he just isn’t good enough to do it roams at the back of his mind, taunting his eyes to continue staring at the ceiling until it’s 4am and his eyes are too tired to keep themselves up anymore. what’s worse, he always wakes up in a cold sweat, jolted awake by a terrible nightmare, fuelled by his anxiety and exhaustion, long forgotten seconds after waking up.

it gets to the point when he’s counting down the hours to the facetime calls he’ll have to his dad, nini, big red, gina or ej. he can’t help but feel this heavy weight rest on his chest, not enough to knock the air from his lungs, but just enough to announce its omniscient presence, that only temporarily lifts when he’s talking to someone that feels like home. 

ricky’s friends, and especially nini, start realising how winded ricky becomes with each call. it’s  barely noticeable at first, a rare faltering smile, a tired voice - they just assume the hustle of university was overwhelming him, just like it’s been hitting everyone. but soon, nini becomes more and more aware of how the bags under ricky’s eyes worsen with every call, how he seems always just a tad off-pace, how his smile grows smaller and smaller, laugh hollower and hollower. 

ricky’s reaction to her confrontation starts to worry her even more. he seems to get more and more defensive; his sentences clipped and paced. nini falters at how much he’s clearly hurting, and the way he’s become uncomfortable with her, someone who’s he’s always relied on. it brings her to tears after the red button is pressed after each conversation. shorter than the last. 

at the same time, ricky get’s more and more exhausted trying to hide it from nini. he insists that he’s fine, that he’s managing - the last thing ricky wants to do is tell his well adjusted girlfriend and best friends that he’s struggling with the one thing he’s supposed to be managing. he’s so tired of having to lie to nini, every time she asks him. he doesn’t want to burden her. he doesn’t want to be a burden. 

nini thanks the heavens that she saved up some money from her summer jobs and books a plane ticket to ricky. she loved him so so much. there was no way she wan’t going to be there for him. she decides to surprise him, lift his spirits and hopefully get him to open up to her. she wanted to be there for him, she’d always be there for him. even if it meant taking plane rides to him when he needed her the most. even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

she talks to his flatmate and gets him to help her into the dorms. she knocks on the door, and to her mild panic, he doesn’t respond. she tries again, she was assured that he would be in there, it was a sunday, he had no classes and there was a storm raging outside. she continued to knock on the door, her soft pats evolving into light bangs. something didn’t feel right.

ricky, inside his room, is more than distant than ever, tears streaming down his face and uncontrollable sobs shaking his body as he sits down on the side of the bed, unable to function with the thought of his incompetence at how much he sucks at uni. these anxiety attacks seemed to find him regularly now, he had to focus on the texture of the carpet and the rain hitting his window to calm himself down.

you’re alright ricky. you’re alright. you’re doing fine ricky. you’re gonna be fine. come on ricky. you got this. you got this. 

he repeats continuously. over and over. he keeps saying it. a hand clutches his chest and he repeats it, eyes tightly shut. over and over. 

as the pounding of his heart moves down to his chest from his ears again, he begins to notice the more hollow bangs. coming from outside of him. he realises that someone was restlessly at his door. 

he quickly opens the door. 

it takes ricky a second to even fully process nini standing in front of him. and when he does, the tears rush back to him. but strangely, they hold such difference - these are of relief, of love, of overwhelming sadness. he doesn’t even register her warmth enveloping him in an almost life-saving hug. he clings to her. he grip tightening around her waist as much as it can - to materialise her, to make sure she’s real. she was real. she was here. 

he was so thankful she saw right through him.

nini’s mind was racing. she knew it. they were still hugging. guilt rushed into her.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t realise sooner. i’m so sorry i wasn’t there for you soon-”

ricky kissed her so desperately, she could feel the gratitude he felt. somehow it only made her feel more guilty.

“don’t even think that. you’re here now. you’re her- i can’t beli- the timing- i just-”

for the first time, ricky cracked an actual smile. a full ricky bowen smile. oh how much more of that she wanted to see.

she guided him to his bed. they seemed to cling to each other. arms and legs intertwining almost instantly. her head on his chest, one of his arms enveloping her waist, she felt so much like home he couldn’t even come to grips with it.

“nini i-”

“i know. we’ll get you the help. i know. i already talked to your dad about some options we could manage. some therapists we could consult. you don’t have to do this alone. i know it’s hard sometimes- to open up. but i’m here. everyone’s here.”

there was a small smile on her face. she wanted him to be okay. that’s all that mattered to her. those words were the first time ricky felt like he could breathe again. even though his exhaustion was creeping in, he felt content after so so long. he was so stunned at how lucky he had gotten, to be loved by someone like nini.

and about ten minutes later, with nini’s soft voice serenading him, her arms around him and her fingers running through his hair, he fell asleep peacefully, for the first time that entire semester.

[heyyyharry]

Flatmate blurb? Anything please? 🥺

Because you said please 😂

This is before they got together, Harry was grumpy and Y/N didn’t give up until he told her what was bothering him. 

.

Harry had just got off the phone with his dad, and it couldn’t have ended worse. It began with him mentioning this internship he wanted to apply for, and Devlin told him not to, because that company wasn’t “big enough for a Styles”. Harry loved it though. But it didn’t matter what Harry thought, it never did. If Devlin didn’t think it was good enough, it wasn’t good enough. Every single one of their conversation ended with them arguing, and every single time Harry would tolerate and let his father have the last word. One, he was afraid of Devlin. Two, he looked up to Devlin too much to disobey him.

When Y/N came home and found him watching Friends with a big frown on his face, she knew for sure that something was wrong.

“I thought you were going to that party with Niall?” She asked.

His head snapped to where she stood as he furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance. “How do you know? Did you stalk me or something?”

“As if. Niall told me.”

“Since when is Niall talking to you?”

She rolled her eyes and tossed her bag down on the couch by his side. “I ran into him in the library.”

“Since when does Niall go to the library?”

Tired of his attitude, Y/N raised her voice. “Since who the heck cares? Gosh, what’s wrong with you? Are you on your period?”

Harry turned a deaf ear to that insult as he scoffed, turning his eyes back on his laptop screen. “I’m not going because I’m tired. Leave me alone.”

“Are you okay?”

“What part of ‘leave me alone’ didn’t you understand?”

Heaving a sigh, Y/N muttered one word “fine” under her breath and went to her room.

.

.

.

Harry had been lying on that couch for hours straight. Y/N was sure he had finished Friends and was now binge-watching another show. It wasn’t like him to act like this, so even though she had told herself to just ignore him and let him be, she couldn’t anymore. Taking a deep breath, she marched straight to the couch and shut Harry’s laptop, causing him to sit up and shout, “what are you doing?!”

“I’m doing you a favor,” she said, shooting him a glare. “We need to talk.”

“I already took out the trash.”

“It’s not about the fucking trash.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide as a smirk spread across his face. He titled his head to look at her funny. “Did you just curse?”

“So?”

“Do it again!”

She responded by smacking him hard on the arm.

“Hey! What’s wrong with you?!”

“What’s wrong with you?!” Y/N stabbed her finger at him, her eyes squinted. “Look at yourself!”

“Why do you care about me?” He huffed. “We both agreed when we first moved in that we would stay out of each other’s business.”

“Well, screw that. I cannot live in such a depressing environment! If you tell me what’s bothering you, it’ll feel much better for both of us.”

Harry said nothing. He crossed his arms and turned away like a child refusing to eat his dinner. He expected his flatmate to give up and leave him alone, because most people would when he gave them this attitude. But he forgot that Y/N wasn’t like the others.

“Okay, fine.” She took a deep breath, sounding calmer than before. “This morning I took my final exam in Marketing. I thought I’d done a good job, until we stepped out of the exam room and Tessa asked me about my answer for the last question. That was when I realized I’d misunderstood it and got it wrong.”

“What does that have to do with me?” He mumbled, finally stealing a glance at her, but she ignored his question and went on.

“Then I went to the library to return this book but I couldn’t find it in my bag. I freaked out thinking I’d lost it, and the librarian was making a big deal out of it. After arguing with her for a pretty long time, I suddenly remembered that I’d left it in my bedroom. It was really embarrassing. Just ask Niall, he was there.”

Y/N paused when she saw the way his lips twitch. He found that story amusing too, even though he didn’t want to let his beam show.

“So…” She smiled. “How was your day?”

Harry froze as soon as he heard that question. He turned back to his flatmate, who was waiting for an answer.

“That’s not how it works,” he mumbled. But this time, instead of scolding at him, she chuckled slightly, nodding her head.

“From this moment it is. New rule, I’ll tell you about my day and you’ll tell me about yours. We’ll do it every night.”

The corner of his lips curved up into a crooked smile as he thought she was joking. It took him a few seconds to realize that she wasn’t. So he asked, “why do you want to hear about my problems?”

“Because it makes me feel like I’m not the only one struggling through college.” She shrugged. “I assume you feel better now after hearing about my day?”

“A little.” He nodded, rolling his eyes. “By the way, I hate Tessa. I had Microeconomics with her, and she always made me feel so insecure after an exam. Like, it’s over, let it go, don’t ask me how I solved the problem in question number three. Fuck you.”

Y/N giggled at how he raised a middle finger as if their friend was sitting right in front of him. The sound of her laugh got him smiling as well. He looked at her for a few seconds, then finally exhaled and told her the truth. 

“It’s my dad. I…um…I had a fight with him.”

Her eyebrows knitted together as she heard him. “Fight about what?”

“About…my future, and—well, I want to do something but he thinks it’s lame, and he expects me to do something better, because he’s counting on me with something much bigger. Not sure if you get it but…I just…I don’t wanna let him down…”

“Since when do you care what people think?”

“I don’t.” He glared at her. “But it’s my dad, and I’m…afraid of him.”

“I’m afraid of my mum.” She laughed, scooting closer until her knee touched his leg. She didn’t notice it, but Harry did, for some reason, and he couldn’t look away now. “We always have at least one parent like that. But we’re not them, we’re us. Maybe your dad will get super angry if you ignore his opinion and do that thing anyway, but he’ll get over it. Like I do every time I tell you to take out the trash, and you wait until a couple of days later to do it.”

“Hey, you never get over it though.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “Yell at me all the time.”

“Well, I stopped being mad at you after a few hours, then it happened again the next day. You can’t blame me, sir.” She gave him a shrug as they both shared a laugh.

When Harry first moved in with Y/N, he didn’t think there would come a day, when he would stay up until early morning just to talk to her. But now it was 2 AM, and if Y/N hadn’t stopped to check the time, they would’ve continued until the sun came. So they got up, awkwardly said goodnight, and each went back to their own room.

As Harry returned to his bed, he had made up his mind. He would ignore his father’s comments and do what he wanted, and tomorrow he would ask Y/N about her day.

[johnwatsonblog-co-uk]

A Study in Pink

7th February

I've blacked out a few names and places because of legal matters but, other than that, this is what happened on the night I moved in with Sherlock Holmes.

When I first met Sherlock, he told me my life story. He could tell so much about me from my limp, my tan and my mobile phone. And that's the thing with him.

It's no use trying to hide what you are because Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.

This morning, for example, he asked me who the Prime Minister was. Last week he seemed to genuinely not know the Earth goes round the Sun. Seriously. He didn't know. He didn't think the Sun went round the Earth or anything. He just didn't care. I still can't quite believe it. In so many ways, he's the cleverest person I've ever met but there are these blank spots that are almost terrifying. At least I've got used to him now. Well, I say that, I suspect I'll never really get used to him. It's just, on that first night, I literally had no idea of what was to come. I mean, how could I?

I was looking at the flat, surprised at the state it was already in, when DI █████████ from Scotland Yard burst in. Sherlock, of course, already knew why he was there. There'd been another death - this time, in ████████. Sherlock asked me to join him and I went along, intrigued. In the taxi, he explained how he'd deduced everything about me the previous day - how he'd picked up on every word I said, every action, tiny little things about my phone. It was extraordinary. I'd try to explain it here but I don't think I'd be able to do him justice. Go to his site, The Science of Deduction and see for yourself how his mind works.

I was still surprised that, even being the genius he clearly is, the police would come to him for help. He said he was a 'consulting detective'. Naturally, being the arrogant so-and-so he is, he'd had to give himself his own unique job title.

We arrived in ██████████ where, to my surprise, he introduced me as his colleague. The police seemed surprised by this as well I get the impression he'd not had 'colleagues' before. It was a body of a woman, dressed in pink. And she'd been poisoned. Again, Sherlock just looked at her and he knew everything about her. The way she was dressed. Splatters of mud on her leg. What was there and, more importantly, what was missing. Her suitcase. And it was that which excited him. The missing pink suitcase.

He left the body and ran outside to searched for it, naturally leaving me behind. I spoke to a policewoman and she summed Sherlock up. She said 'he gets off on it.' And he does. He didn't care about the dead woman or any of the other victims. I suspect if he came back and found me and our landlady lying here with our throats cut, he'd just see it as an intellectual exercise. 'Fantastic' he'd exclaim, rubbing his hands together. 'But the door was locked so how did they kill each other?' The policewoman, she called him a psychopath. That seems harsh and it was hardly a professional diagnosis but I look back at what I wrote about him when I first met him. I called him the madman.

So I went back to Baker Street and Sherlock asked me to send a text message. He'd found her suitcase and discovered that the victim's phone was missing. He knew the killer would have it, so there I was, texting a serial killer.

He'd found the woman's missing suitcase because he'd known it would be pink, like the woman's clothes. It hadn't even crossed my mind and when I said this, he told me I was an idiot. He didn't mean to be offensive, he just said what he thought. I've been called worse things but his bluntness was still a bit of a surprise. He just didn't care about being polite or anything like that. I was starting to understand why he didn't seem to have many 'colleagues'.

After that, we went on a stakeout. We waited in a restaurant to see if the killer would visit the address I'd texted him. Across the road, we saw a taxi pull up. We ran out, but it drove off. Sherlock insisted on chasing it and luckily he seemed to have an intimate knowledge of London's backstreets. Of course, as I realised afterwards, he's probably memorised the London A-Z. We ran down street after street and we managed to catch up with the taxi - only to discover that the passenger wasn't our killer. He'd only just arrived in the UK. It was the most ridiculous night of my life - I mean, an actual chase through London. People don't do that, not really. But we did.

And, of course, by doing this, Sherlock proved my limp was psychosomatic. Did I mention he's clever?

We returned to the flat to discover that ██████████ and the police were there, examining the suitcase. It was actually pretty funny seeing how offended Sherlock was by this. I genuinely think he believes himself to be above the law. And he couldn't stand the fact that █████████ had got one over him. ██████████ described Sherlock as a child and, in many ways, that's what he is. I said that he doesn't care about what others think and that he's arrogant because of this but it's not really that. It's not that he doesn't care, it's that he genuinely doesn't understand that it's normal to care. It's normal to worry about what other people think. Like a child, he just doesn't understand the rules of society - which, of course, is probably why he's so good at working the rest of us out.

Sherlock thinks everyone else is stupid so he's like a kid at Christmas when it turns out that one of us have done something clever. I'm not talking about me but our murder victim. She hadn't lost her phone. She hadn't left it behind. She knew she was going to die so she'd left her phone in the taxi - And, like all modern phones, it had a GPS system so you could locate it. That brilliant woman had led us to her killer.

And he was outside. He was outside our flat - in his taxi! We'd chased him halfway across London, thinking he'd been driving the killer - but he was the killer himself. That was how he'd manage to get to his victims - just by picking them up in his cab. Of course, Sherlock being completely and utterly mad, got into the taxi so he could talk to him. Again, he wasn't interested in the 'rules'. He wasn't interested in how the driver had done all this. I don't think he was particularly interested in stopping him and it didn't even cross his mind to let the police know that the man they were looking for was outside. All Sherlock Holmes was interested in was discovering why the killer had done it. He wanted to be alone with the killer so he could question him. That was more important than anything else - despite the obvious threat to his own life.

The taxi driver drove him to a college of further education so they could both educate each other on - well, on how their minds worked, I guess. It's not something I'll ever really understand and, to be honest, I'm not sure I ever want to understand it. To be that much of a psychopath. To be that above the rest of us. To be that dangerous. It's pretty terrifying.

Afterwards, Sherlock told me what happened. The taxi driver had a brain aneurism. He was dying. He'd pick up his victims and take them somewhere. Then he'd give them a choice. Take one of two pills - one of which was harmless and one of which would kill them. Their only other choice was that he would shoot them. It makes me furious to think about those poor people who got into his taxi - one of them was just a kid! They must have gone through hell. But Sherlock, mad old Sherlock, he understood him. As far the taxi driver was concerned, he was outliving people. He was giving himself the power of life and death. And I do, I genuinely think Sherlock understood this.

Myself and the police had managed to work out where they'd gone so we'd driven after them. But it was too late. By the time we got there, I could see that Sherlock was going to take one of the pills. It wasn't because he had to but because it was a game of wits. He wasn't going to let this other arrogant, pompous psychopath win. Which is when someone shot the taxi driver. Someone like that's bound to have enemies so it shouldn't have been a surprise but I hadn't seen anyone shot since Afghanistan. It's something you never really get used to. That someone could have the power of life and death over someone else - but I'm glad whoever it was did it, because they undoubtedly saved Sherlock's life. And, frankly, after everything that man had done to those innocent people who got into his car, a quick death like that was better than he deserved.

And after all that? Well, me and my flatmate went for a Chinese. Like I say, he really does know some great restaurants.

There was one other thing though. Before the taxi driver died, he said a name. A name of someone or something that had helped him. Moriarty. I've never heard of it and neither has Sherlock. Of course, he loves it. He thinks he's found himself an arch-enemy. He's a strange child.

And since that night? It hasn't stopped. Oh, there's so much more I've got to tell you.

20 Comments

*Comment deleted*

Harry Watson 07 February 14:32

Yeah, kids might be reading this Harry.

John Watson 07 February 14:46

Okay, but really? Is this really what flipping happened? Cos that's flipping mental!

Harry Watson 07 February 14:49

It's all true.

John Watson 07 February 15:00

This is exciting. I am writing this on Mrs Turner's computer. One of her lodgers is trying to get me to join Facebook but I have told him I don't want to poke people. I am writing this to you from next door.

Marie Turner 07 February 15:08

Ha! Thanks. Mrs H. Don't suppose you could bring some biscuits back with you?

John Watson 07 February 15:09

I'm your landlady not your housekeeper.

Marie Turner 07 February 15:11

That's amazing!! You deserve a medal! Another one!!

Bill Murray 07 February 15:14

of course if i was sherlock's colleague we would have solved the case much earlier. how could you not realise the suitcase would be pink?

theimprobableone 07 February 15:26

Who the hell are you!??! And what kind of name is that!?!

Harry Watson 07 February 15:30

i'm an expert on sherlock holmes. i understand him which is something someone like you would never do.

theimprobableone 07 February 15:32

At least I understand how to use CAPITAL LETTERS!!!!

Harry Watson 07 February 15:43

capital letters are just one of society's conventions that I choose to ignore. you've just been programmed to be one of society. you're a sheep.

theimprobableone 07 February 15:46

*Comment deleted*

Harry Watson 07 February 15:48

Language. Harry!

John Watson 07 February 15:50

Bravo, John! Knew you had it in you!

Mike Stamford 07 February 15:54

Sherlock's amazing, isn't he. He's just so brilliant!!!

Molly Hooper 07 February 16:06

Oh he's a genius. I do hope we'll meet one day

Anonymous 07 February 16:09

Freak.

Sally Donovan 07 February 16:36

John, I've only just found this post. I've glanced over it and honestly, words fail me. What I do is an exact science and should be treated as such. You've made the whole experience seem like some kind of romantic adventure. You should have focussed on my analytical reasoning and nothing more.

Sherlock Holmes 28 March 17:46

It's your turn to buy the milk, Sherlock.

John Watson 28 March 18:12