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cno-inbminor · 3 years ago

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iterum vivere (childe/tartaglia)

a/n: wow, it’s been fucking forever. first genshin fic featuring childe/tartaglia!!! a very huge thank you to @suspensin for reading this over and being my rock and support, and i love her so fucking much. I couldn’t have finished this without her!

plot: reincarnation and modern/uni!au ft. afab reader!traveler with she/they pronouns x childe/tartaglia

-- in which meeting childe is a bit of a dangerous game of push and pull

wc: 12.1k; angst + fluff

warnings: DOES CONTAIN IN-GAME SPOILERS (1.5? 1.6? + story quest and idek) and NSFW MENTIONS (mdni to be safe). there’s no explicit smut but thoughts do run a bit wild here and there

EDIT: Altered ChiLumi version now posted on AO3 here!

“Haven’t we met before?”

The shine in your eyes does nothing to hide your curiosity, head even tilting a little in observation. He watches them scan his face for any recognizable features, but attempts to focus on the strange, taut string of déjà vu that pulls him toward you. In a moment of absentmindedness, he had heard a faint voice call out his name from your direction. Confusion overtook him as you weren’t looking at him, but something inside his brain said that it had to be from you. And so his feet redirected his path towards your figure in the student union building, as if on a mission.

“A fucking whale, Childe?”

Oh.

“I don’t think so…?” You trail off, curiosity now replaced by perplexed feelings. “Do we have a class together?”

I think I would’ve noticed you by now if you were.

“Ah, what’s your major?” Childe asks quickly to avoid listening to the little voice in his head.

“History and anthropology, you?”

“Economics, but I’ve taken a history course for core credits. Maybe it was then?”

“With Dr. Zhong?”

“Yes!” He snaps his fingers. Part of his brain decides to usefully function and scan his memories to see if he remembers your face or head of hair in the lecture hall then. “Last year? Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10 to 11:20?”

“Actually, yeah,” you affirm in surprise. You think you would remember the relatively attractive ginger in your class, but honestly, it had all been such a blur and you were often pretty sleepy during class. Dr. Zhong didn’t quite appreciate it, but you made up for it with your exam and essay grades, as well as paying better attention in some of his other courses.

“Did you need me for anything?”

“I’d like for you to come visit and meet my family.”

He’s really not appreciating this extra voice speaking for him.

“Well…uh…” Childe stammers and looks away sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He honestly had no reason for approaching you, and now, he just looks like a desperate idiot. Think quick, he tells himself, floundering for some shitty excuse.

“I wanted to, uh, take another history course as an elective and um, wanted to know if you had any recommendations?”

“Oh,” you blink. That’s a first. When he meets your gaze, the swirling shades of sapphire strike something deep within you. Flashes of events you can’t make out go by in the blink of an eye, but then you realize you’ve been staring for too long. Blood rushes to your cheeks because you don’t exactly want this guy to get the wrong idea from you, because how are you supposed to explain, “I’m sorry, but I think we have met before, but just a really, really long time ago, and we might’ve been more than just acquaintances because that’s what it feels like?”

“I think you’d like Teyvat Mythology,” your voice wavers on the verge of cracking. “Dr. Zhong might have a TA this time around, but Xiao’s a great teacher. Doesn’t have long, rambling anecdotes, but explains things well and gets straight to the point.”

“C-cool, I’ll look into it,” Childe replies and smiles brightly. “I’ll head out then,” jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, where he just realized he left a grouchy Scaramouche waiting by a vending machine, newly purchased Starbucks Tripleshot drink in hand. “Nice seeing you, (y/n).”

He scurries off before you both realize that you never told him your name.

“Who’s that?” Scaramouche asks, jutting his chin in your vague direction.

“Someone from my Intro to Liyuean History course last year,” Childe waves off. “Come on, let’s go before the line at the pasta bar gets too long.”

The next time you see Childe is by accident, traversing across an open field of grass that many students like to sit out on to relax with friends, sunbathe, hold events, or play casual team sports if room permits.

You had your earbuds in and were scrolling through social media when laughter rang above all other sound, causing your head to snap up and swivel around to find the source. And while it might’ve been strange to an outsider, your steps immediately slowed as you watched the man of your tiring, vivid dreams sprint in your direction, eyes pinned on a frisbee heading towards him.

He’s wearing a grey sports tank and basketball shorts, headband holding back his bangs as he makes a slight jump in the air to catch the plastic disc between his palms. His feet plant into the grass as he looks for someone to pass it to, and you watch (with embarrassment) the muscles in his throwing arm relax and tighten with practice, frisbee steadily soaring through the air in a beautiful arc towards a teammate. He then lightly jogs to get closer to his group, but then his back stiffens.

Before your instincts kick in for you to turn and bail, he looks over his shoulder and stares straight at your now stunned self.

The sole ruby earring that glints in the sunlight catches your attention, and you recall your dreams of terrifyingly dark, violet electric power, blades of water rushing toward you, and then the stomach-churning sensation of falling from great heights pours concrete into your veins—

Childe looks a little amused for having your sole focus, hand lifting up for a quick wave. And as you numbly return the greeting, your heart beats out, “Run from him.”

And so with the flight response pulsing and firing from your synapses, you abruptly speed walk away, almost breaking out into a sprint towards your dorm. You ignore his pointed, confused look, and pretend you don’t feel the two holes of imaginary fire searing into your back. It isn’t until you’re laying back in bed that you release a huge sigh of relief and pray to a deity you don’t believe in that those eyes of mirth will not haunt you tonight.

But of course, with a deity that doesn’t exist, the prayers go unanswered.

“Do you believe in any of the mythology you teach?” You ask Xiao about a few days later when you stop by his cubicle. Luckily, no one else is around for this conversation, and Xiao has always been kind enough to humor your thoughts. Granted, he might feel obligated because you had asked Dr. Zhong to be your advisor for your undergraduate Honors thesis, and Xiao was directed to be your receiver of some general questions and source of information if he wasn’t around.

A quick scan of your complexion tells Xiao everything he needs to know. Your eyes are overtaken with rumination and exhaustion, haziness clouding them as you seem to ponder over your own question. It’s not often that you ask him anything not related to your thesis or coursework.

“Perhaps there’s some sense and truth to the tales passed down,” he softly muses. “What makes you ask?”

You lift yourself to sit on the clean area next to his computer, legs slowly swaying back and forth. “It might sound crazy but...I’ve been having dreams lately. They feel too real, too natural to be anything that my mind would make up. I’ve never had the most creative imagination by any means, which is why there’s some comfort to me being a history major, but I can’t shake these.”

“So why ask me about the mythology?”

“...the Archons are there. I even dreamt that I met the Geo and Anemo Archons. And they controlled various elements, just like we were taught.”

You don’t notice that Xiao has ceased his rapid typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard before one hand removes his glasses from his face. He uses the other to rub his eyes and softly pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding the frames back on. Dark, golden amber eyes survey you as you grapple with the unfathomable possibilities of your nightly visions, at least until you shake your head in disbelief at yourself and lightly scoff.

“Who am I kidding?” You ask no one in particular. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much research and everything’s mixing together.”

“You’re ahead of schedule, if that provides any consolation.”

“Some.”

It takes Childe a grand total of one minutes and 53 seconds to sign up for Teyvat Mythology for the spring semester.

WInter in Liyue is only slightly miserable, being so close to the ocean. It’s chillier than usual on this dreary day, yet something compelled you to exit your dorm and shakily make your way to the campus coffee shop for a warm drink. Coffee, hot chocolate, you haven’t quite decided yet, but just as you let yourself bask in the warm building, familiar ginger hair and blue eyes wash away the comfort.

Or do they douse you in security?

They remind you of your recent dreams that now have shifted away from stress and violence to easygoing summer days by the oceanside, running barefoot in the sand while collecting beautifully patterned azure starconches. Sometimes, you thrust a hand towards an oversized four-leaf clover on a wooden stake with the power of wind and catch yourself in the air, soaring and looking around to find more of the little shells. Other nights, they consist of climbing steep cliffs, only to sit at the edge in the clouds with fatigue wracking through your system and marvel at the view before you.

Someone’s always with you though, ruby earring and maroon mask and cobalt blue gem hanging from the waist, sprinting with you, playfully tackling you down, pulling you up towards mountain peaks, laying their head on your shoulders, brushing their lips against your cheek--

You welcome the change of peace in those dreams, but only because they don’t leave you quite as tired the next day, as if you’d been avoiding an inescapable dark force.

Part of you wants the burning question of why this person, this man, in all his glory and brightness, affects you so fucking much when you barely even know the guy -- why looking at him sends your heart to lodge itself in your esophagus, why your lungs feel like they’re so close to being completely collapsed under the weight of his stare, why feeling like you’re trapped and caught between wanting to run towards yet away from him. It makes no sense, and you’re tired of trying to make sense of anything you don’t exactly want to remember from your dreams for some, once again, inexplicable reason.

But there’s no time to think as he quickly ambles towards you, your own feet shuffling forward to meet him in a warped reference of a distance that constitutes to “the middle” before you can stop yourself. Your shivering hasn’t quite stopped yet, and Childe seems to take notice of it.

“Pretty cold out there,” he softly states. It’s cute, the way you’re curling in on yourself to retain some warmth.

“Y-yeah, not sure why I decided I really needed something warm to drink right now,” you reply and avoid his gaze. He watches you peer over his shoulder to squint at the menu display hanging from the ceiling, seemingly contemplating on what you should get.

“How about I get yours today? My treat for your class recommendation last time.” Anything to keep you here longer. Childe doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you, which confuses him, and chooses to ignore the fact that he’d been camping himself at the study tables in the building where the history department is located in hopes of even just catching a quick glimpse of you.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you immediately attempt to subvert his generous offer, hands shooting out from your jacket pockets and waving in rejection. “It was nothing.”

“Please?” Childe puts on his best puppy eyes before reaching for one of your wrists, gently tugging you to the register. “Just this once?”

You want so badly to squash the tiny flare of disappointment that erupts in your chest from the newly acquired knowledge that this was just a one time thing. Do econ majors hate to feel in debt? That they must be even with everyone, or would rather have people indebted to them than the other way around?

There’s no time to think when Childe gives the cashier his order before turning to you, and without wanting to waste anyone’s time, you rattle off your usual beverage. He’s quick in fishing out his student ID to spend some of his campus currency, shooting you a boyish grin when you pout at your half-opened wallet.

“Go take that table over there,” he says, pointing to one in the corner by some windows. “I’m gonna tell my friends to go on without me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude or pull you away from them,” you slightly panic. The sooner you can leave, the better. Right? “You don’t need to sit with me, I was just gonna head back to my dorm.”

“I insist. Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Why your brain takes his orders over your own is a mystery in and of itself, because before you know it, you’re plopped down in one of the lounge seats and staring off into space, mind reeling over the last two minutes. You pretend you can’t hear the way Childe’s friends nudge his arm playfully with their shoulders, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively as Childe tries to get them to stop being nonsensical.

“You’re gonna scare them off,” he hisses at them, hands pushing at their backs so they could finally leave him to his devices.

“Not before you do!” One of them laughs and Childe groans at their antics. “All right, all right, we’ll go. They’re cute though, might steal them if you don’t make a move.”

The darkening of the aura surrounding Childe is too quick for them to fully process, not before he dampens any of their fleeting hopes with a, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

But it disappears just as fast when his and your drinks are called out, and he gives them one last shove before retrieving your to-go cups. Childe directs all his focus towards the seat diagonally from yours as opposed to the one that’s straight across, and you’re sharply ripped away from whatever reverie you let yourself slip into.

“Thank you,” you murmur, hands cupping the drink and feeling the heat seep into your fingertips. “You really didn’t have to, it was nothing big.”

“Can you blame me for just trying to find an excuse to finally talk to you?” He asks without a skip and you can’t tell if the quickening of your heartbeat is from a looming sense of doom or excitement. Those eyes, the tiny swirls of the ocean, blue like those shells buried in the sand--

It takes three seconds too long for you to understand where he was going with in his words, and part of you feels unamused at his smooth talking. You’ve always guarded yourself against guys like Childe, devilishly handsome who know their way around language semantics, ready to pull you in and just as ready to push you away. That (possibly unfair) bias, coupled with everything else you’ve been feeling for him, sounded the alarms and set the walls up around your heart. Perhaps you need to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, because Childe immediately retracts his forwardness.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise I’m not looking for anything in return and you don’t owe me anything, but I really did just...want to sit and talk and...get to know you?” Childe trails off a little towards the end. Your body loosens up and relaxes just a tiny bit, feeling bad for your snap judgment. Let the guy do something nice, don’t look into it too much, you tell yourself. It’s a coffee, not a five-course dinner.

You reach out a hand towards him, small smile across your lips, ready for his to join yours in a quick handshake. “I’m (y/n), senior history and anthropology double major. It’s nice to meet you.”

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage has nothing to do with the shimmering of his eyes, nothing to do with the fact that his hand fits with yours just right, and nothing to do with the fact that an eerily similar voice from your dreams whispers, “I love you.”

You learn a number of things about Tartaglia in the four hours, like his family members and their respective interests, which classes he did and didn’t enjoy taking, certain takes on Schnezhnayan politics, his own various hobbies, crazy accidents from the occasional college parties, and more. He’s a bit of an open book, probably telling you way more than any regular person would, and definitely more than anything you revealed during all this time. Everything you tell him seems surface level, nothing too deep. The walls are still there to protect you from the unexplainable, profound feelings his presence seems to elicit, and luckily, he doesn’t prod any further. Childe feels the resistance and respects it, which just adds more brownie points in your book, and you almost feel bad for having given so little in return.

“I wish we were taking Teyvat Myth together,” he sighs when walking you back to your dorm, hands stuffed in his pockets. His ruby earring catches the light from the sunset, the shade almost complimentary to the golden amber rays that streak across the sky. “Would’ve helped having a history major in there.”

“Is that all I am to you, an answer bank?” You jokingly ask, but he watches concerningly as you shoot your gaze to the ground, mindfully stepping over the cracks between concrete slabs.

“Of course not,” a gentle sincerity reaches you, giving you the confidence to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for making it sound like that, it wasn’t my intention. I really just meant it as a way of saying if the professor or TA ended up being a total bore, then well, having you would make it more fun.”

“I’m sure I’d bore you even more,” chuckling, speeding up to get away. You’re growing too comfortable in whatever atmosphere Childe has created, like an enclosed air bubble bobbing gently in the depths of the sea and letting the waves carry you both to whichever ends of the earth.

“Hey,” he interjects, hand reaching out to stop you with a soft yank of your wrist. There is no resisting force from you, feet stepping backward until he meets you eye to eye. It’s unfair in the way that he can render you motionless by standing just an inch from you, arms brushing with his head tilted closer to your own. “Seriously, I’m glad we did this today. Are you?”

No, because now I don’t know what to think, I don’t know who you are, I’m not any closer to figuring out why you terrify yet leave me so enamoured with you, I’m torn between punching and kissing you and--

“Yes,” you subconsciously answer, brain immediately short-circuiting to scold yourself. “I had fun.”

His grin, charming, devilish, is so so bright, bright enough to rival the Liyue sun that sits on the pier, on the edge of the ocean, bright enough to rival the love that your fraternal twin showers you with on a daily basis. You want time to stop right here because you’re almost sick of the voice settled deep within your heart that screams, “Don’t get comfortable, you must run from him!”

“Good. Let’s do this again?” And you nod, of course you do. Foolish you. “Don’t be a stranger!” He calls out as he turns on his heel and waves over his shoulder, hand raised in the air, and you’re suddenly transported to another scene, a less refined version of the Liyue Harbor, watching as the head of ginger hair with a red mask in a flashier attire of grey and maroon walks away from you and onto a roaring, magnificent ship; big, ivory sails only seen in books and museums. It’s the same gesture of “see you later”, and just before he turns, you blink, and you’re back to seeing your campus again.

But Childe does look back once, warm and content that you’re still standing there, watching over him, and he can’t help but think about when he can spend time with you again, because suddenly, it truly feels like there’s not enough of it anymore.

“Excuse me, what’s a Red Bull?”

The last thing, or person rather, you expect to see on the last day of finals for the fall semester, is a small boy who looks way too young to be here, tugging on the sleeve of your windbreaker. He’s at most eleven, ten maybe, but he has eerily similar characteristics, as well as an accent that doesn’t quite belong to most Liyue natives. Still gathering your bearings from your own perusing of the fridges that hold all the possible beverages a college student could consume, you kneel down until you’re at eye level with the child.

“Repeat that for me? Are you looking for a Red Bull, you say?”

“Yes!” He beams and holds out a student ID that most definitely doesn’t belong to him. “My brother asked me to grab him one because he was busy with something.”

Your eyes flit over to the top shelves where the aforementioned cans of caffeine are located, and definitely too high for someone of his height to reach. “I’ll grab one for you. Did he ask for a specific flavor?”

“Nope, he said regular. Thanks, you’re really nice! Do you know my brother?” He asks, waving the ID at you so you can get a better look at the name. That’s definitely a face you recognize, but the name leaves you confused.

“Yeah, um,” glance over again, “I know...Ajax…”

“He’s the best toy seller in the whole world!”

Somehow, it suits him much better than Childe or Tartaglia, and you’re not quite sure what toys have anything to do with the matter at hand. Speaking of hands, the little boy grabs yours in sheer delight. “Can you take me back to his room? I kinda forgot the directions he told me, and everything’s so big around here.”

“Sure, just let me buy something, too, and I’ll take you.”

“Okay!”

The cashier isn’t the least bit fazed by the little brunette at your side -- it’s always common for family members to come in around the end of semesters to pick up kids or visit, and being an open building with snacks and drinks and a stopping point of most tours, they’ve seen it all. You even let him pick out a bag of chips and a candy bar for himself for being so polite and not a complete menace, paying with your own campus currency.

Teucer, as you’ve learned in the last two minutes, likes to point out things and ask you questions. Luckily, you have answers to most of them and do your best to pad the time, enjoying the feeling of a tiny hand wrapped around three of your fingers. It’s sweet to any normal passerby, believing they’re witnessing an older sister doting on their little brother around the holidays, but to Childe, seeing the tender sweetness on your face as you nod along to whatever Teucer is rambling about to you, sets his heart aflame. He’s already constantly on the verge of wanting to hug and kiss you and never let go, but you haven’t made any indication that you could potentially like him back, and this is just torture.

“Look what they bought me!” Teucer shoves his rewards in Childe’s face as if he had extremely poor eyesight, and you can’t help but laugh a little as you set his Red Bull down on his desk, clutching your own preferred beverage while looking around his room. Finals must have gotten to him with the unusual lack of tidiness in the small space, some laundry strewn here and there, a couple boxes of eaten microwave dinners in the metal wire trash can, some textbooks left open and marked with more sticky notes than you’ve ever seen. You’d only been here once before to drop off some food that he desperately messaged you about, stuck doing a project that he just couldn’t step away from.

“Pretend you don’t see the mess,” Childe pleads, handing a kid tablet to his brother but holding on before Teucer can take it. “What do you say to our nice friend here for buying you these snacks?”

“Thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you shyly smile, ruffling his hair. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Wait, what’s your name again?”

“It’s (Y/n).”

“Okay, (y/n)! Wait…(y/n)..as in…”

Teucer trails off and gives a look to his brother, one that spells curiosity and trouble, before he grabs your hand and pulls you into a corner. Any movement Childe makes to leave his desk chair is immediately squashed by Teucer’s disapproval, and the older man is left to helplessly worry when you’re told to squat down so secrets can be whispered into your ear.

“He talks about you a lot whenever he calls home,” and you want to laugh at Tecuer’s attempt to sound as scandalous as possible. “All the time! I think he likes you, like, like like.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“What makes you say that?” You whisper back, indulging both yourself and him, yet also internally snickering at how troubled Childe looks.

“Sometimes, he video calls mama, but we’ll all sit around and talk, and whenever he’s talking about how he saw you or something, he just looks...happy. Really happy.”

The surprise on your face does nothing to settle Childe’s nerves and he’s about to start wringing his hands together. Whatever Teucer was telling you couldn’t be good, probably embarrassing, like the one time he unceremoniously fell on his ass while ice skating over a frozen lake, or when he tried fitting fifteen marshmallows in his mouth and nearly choked on them when their mother caught them in the act, or--

“I think he just thinks of me as a good friend,” you try to inform Teucer, not letting yourself get any semblance of hope. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so,” Teucer pouts. But then he stops whispering and bounds over back to his brother, grabbing the tablet before plopping down on the half-made bed.

“Look, I was overconfident and thought I could execute a perfect single loop on the ice, but there was a rock and I lost balance and--”

“I wasn’t being told any stories about you falling on ice, but do tell me more,” you chuckle and take some joy in watching the blush spread across his cheeks. It’s easy to tell that he’s mentally berating himself for jumping to conclusions.

“Well, first off, thanks for buying him all that, and my drink, too,” he sighs. “I spoil him enough as it is.”

“I can see why it’s hard not to,” you smile knowingly. “So is it just him here? Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Funny story, he somehow managed to convince my parents to let him come here on his own as his first ever plane flight, so I had to pick him up yesterday from the airport. He’s flying back with me tomorrow.”

“And the RA?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Ah...well...what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him? Speaking of, what was Teucer whispering to you about?”

There’s a pensiveness that overtakes you when you look at Teucer again, who’s happily playing some sort of game and completely oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. You won’t, can’t, take his words to heart, and will take them with a grain of salt at most.

“Nothing important. Although I did learn something new...Ajax?”

“Say my name -- fuck, say it, please--”

“I guess cat’s out of the bag,” he chuckles and looks away, absolutely unaware of the flare of heat that swirls in your stomach from the fleeting vision just now. “I came up with other nicknames as a kid to seem cooler, and they just stuck with me. Plus, the business world is full of people who just want something from you, or just a transactional relationship. I’d rather not give my real name to them, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s fair,” you nod and lean to sit on the edge of his desk. A thought pops into your head and you turn the words over in your head like a washing machine on the spin setting, teeth gnawing on the flesh of your bottom lip. If Teucer hadn’t been in the room, he would’ve been this close to kissing you.

“But if it’s worth anything,” your voice slowly, softly starts, cautious and wary of your thoughts. “I think...Ajax suits you best.”

Curse fate. Curse the legendary Archons. Curse karma and deities and spirits because all he wants to do right now is stand and tower over you, trap you between himself and his desk so you can’t escape, take those pretty lips between his until they’re bruised and swollen because of him, hear you call out his name in the throes of pleasure so he can finally replace his fantasies with tangible memories. The unnatural, magnetic pull that draws him to you is unbearable now -- he feels like he’ll lose the last tendrils of his sanity if he doesn’t do something.

You can’t stop him from slowly reaching out to grab one of your hands, lifting it towards him until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. It sends a shiver down your spine and blood is pounding in your ears because you can’t begin to fathom what he’s thinking about while doing this, even more so when his lips make contact with your skin and your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as he languidly peeks at you beneath his eyelashes with a heated gaze, then lowly confessing, “My name sounds best when you say it.”

Good heavens.

It’s difficult to swallow and keep your composure, especially when Teucer yells out in glee over, what you can assume, beating something in his game, and Childe drops your hand. But his dilated pupils don’t retract in the slightest, refusing to let you look away so that maybe, you can understand what he’s trying to convey to you. He’s taking the first step because he’s terrible and can’t contain his self-control anymore, pushing the ball into your court, ready for you to either play or exit into the sidelines.

When you do blink, there’s a vision of your naked body wrapped around another, limbs clinging desperately to a sturdy and panting frame. Lips, much like the ones that have seared themselves onto your knuckles, are at your neck and sucking, biting, before moving to your ear and laying filthy words into them that drive you closer to the edge. It all happens so fast that you feel you’ve just experienced whiplash, yet also feeling secondhand embarrassment at how lewd some of these thoughts have been.

You can’t stay here any longer.

“I-I have to go,” spills off your tongue before you can really think about it. The way the haze shatters in his eyes is heartbreaking in its own way, but there’s no time for you to explain. Your brain is in overdrive and eager to run, run, run. It detects danger on all fronts, but you muster out a, “H-have a good break, come find me next semester, mmk?”

And you’re out the door with inhuman speed. When the door clicks shut, only then does Teucer look up from his screen and frown at the lack of your presence. “Where’d they go?”

Chlide doesn’t seem to hear him, and Teucer has never seen his big brother look so sad and confused before.

He holds on to that last tendril of hope, because mark his words, he will find you come January.

After about a week at home, enjoying the festive time with his family and mildly unconcerned about next year’s courses because that was a problem for another day, Childe has his first, crazy, nonsensical dream.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he snaps awake and his body aches with exhaustion. Not only are his joints in agony, he also feels like he’s sporting unforeseen bruises, which makes absolutely no sense because he hasn’t done anything that would warrant them, no matter how much he and his brothers do some rough-housing. His night of sleep was all consumed by flashes and scenes of weapon fighting, lucid enough to remember feeling his arms flex and wield bows and double-headed polearms and being cognizant of all the enemies??? surrounding him. They ranged from deranged looking monsters, floating beings with soulless masks, and large humans in electricity-padded armor, to behemoth machines in the sky that could leave you within an inch of your life thanks to a drill for a hand?!

But what’s even worse is that you seem to have managed a deal with Morpheus himself and infiltrated his dreams. You were there, too, sometimes fighting with him, sometimes against him, much to his dismay, and while it was nice, he just didn’t get it. Why the friendliness and hostility? Why was there an anger that overtook him when looking directly at you, parrying your blade and sending harmful arcs of water toward your figure?

Why did he relish the fear in your eyes when he darted towards you with electricity cracking through the air?

There’s an overwhelming sensation now to grab his phone to text you and apologize -- for what, he can’t fathom and there are no words to accurately convey what he’s thinking. “Hey, sorry for wanting to kill you in my dream :( “? Or “Sorry for being a friend but then stabbing you in the back, but then being nice to you again”?

And the only thing that really made sense was the serenity and contentment that would course through his veins as the two of you danced around on ivory sandy beaches, picking up shiny blue starconches and taking down more weird creatures; the breathlessness when you would fall back into the water and re-emerge to reconfirm his beliefs that you were one of the most beautiful humans he’d ever laid his eyes on; the love--

Hold the fuck up.

He doesn’t love you. He likes you a whole lot and he’s severely and deathly attracted to you, but he doesn’t love you. Your existence has only been made known to him for about two months, and he didn’t really start talking to you until three weeks in. So no matter how comfortable he feels with you, no matter how much he wishes that you were sleeping peacefully next to him so his nights wouldn’t feel so lonely, it was too early, too hasty, to say that he loves you.

“I’ve been wondering, why didn’t you bring them home?” His mother asks him out of nowhere during breakfast, all to add to this extremely tumultuous roller-coaster morning he’s been having. All he wants to do is eat his bowl of milk and cereal, then potentially go back to sleep before fulfilling his promise to go with his siblings to the nearby skating rink. It takes everything in him to not choke on his spoon of grains.

“Agreed, didn’t you mention they didn’t really have any family to go back to and that the move to Liyue was semi-permanent?” His father chimes in, laying a quick peck on his wife’s temple. “It’s never fun to spend the holidays alone.”

“They would’ve felt like they were intruding,” Childe replies quietly, stabbing his bowl a few times before scooping up another spoonful of cereal to his mouth. “I know we’re friends, but we haven’t known each other for that long, and maybe they’d be uncomfortable because that’s a lot honestly…”

“You don’t know until you try,” his mother sings and pats him on the shoulder. “We do have a guest room after all.”

“For them and their twin?”

“And quite a comfortable futon with enough blankets.”

Childe smiles fondly at his parents’ kindness. He can only imagine what this winter break would’ve been like now -- you and your twin floating around, trying to help out with certain chores, sitting by the fireplace and watching TV, huddled up with mugs of hot chocolate, playing board games with everyone and engaging in all the shenanigans…

Laughing. Loving. Grinning. Basking.

Handing over one of his hoodies to you as a sick way of torturing yet blessing himself for seeing how lovely you look in his clothes, standing silently in the doorway as you attempt to help out with mealtimes next to his mother, watching you run around in the backyard and dodging his siblings’ snowballs while lodging a few of your own -- how wonderful it all would be.

But he squashes it down as quickly as possible, because you escaped his grasp. You ran away from his advances temporarily and even though you gave him permission to seek you out come the spring semester, he worries that you might take it back. Something will wake up inside of you to keep him out of your heart and your life, and he’s not confident enough at this point to believe there’s a good chance you will come spend the holidays with him and his family next year.

“Maybe next year, ma,” he sends her a hesitant, yet somewhat broken purse of his lips that’s just the least bit curved. It tells her everything he’s thinking, and the quick patting of his cheek lets him know she understands.

Half an hour later, Childe finds himself curled up on his side under the sheets, phone in hand as he stares at a blinking cursor. It shouldn’t be so hard to send a text to convey his holiday greetings, because that’s all it is -- part of him is becoming desperate and aching for some interaction with you, even if it’s just a text sent back for conventional social pleasantries. He’ll take it for now, right?

Before he can totally chicken out, his thumbs quickly type a, “Happy Holidays, (y/n) :)”, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly after he hits the ‘send’ button that he tosses it over his shoulder so he’s not directly looking at it anymore. His heartbeat is too quick and he prays for no phantom vibrations or phantom sound notifications to avoid any disappointment of thinking he got a reply. It was a harmless text, yet he’s treating it like he just got assigned on a mission to go and murder someone for the first time. What will he do if you never text him back? Does that mean you really don’t want to talk to him? Are you dead in a ditch somewhere? Did you change numbers and not tell him? Did your twin get all the details and make the executive decision to block his number? Will he never get a chance to talk to you again, even if it’s about something in the Teyvat Mythology class next semester? Will you--

His shoulder screams in protest when he quickly flips himself over at the text notification sound, hands shakily unlocking his phone and opening up your conversation again. His heart rate significantly decreases, reaching back to its normal pace, especially as he reads the little words on his screen.

“Happy Holidays, Ajax ^^”

There is hope.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

You’re huddled under the comforter of your twin’s bed, phone just peeking above the edge as you stare at it with a brightness in your eyes. For the most part, you had been sulking there, apart from meals and going back to your own room to sleep, and mentally berating yourself for the way you reacted to Childe the week before.

“He just texted me to say happy holidays,” shrugging to put on a facade of indifference. It’s stupid that you’re trying to hide your feelings from your twin of all people, who could pick apart and identify your emotions in a heartbeat. A roll of his eyes lets you know that you haven’t fooled him at all.

“So you think that whatever comment he made, which was very suggestive and indicative of clearly non-platonic feelings, was just something...friendly? Remind me again how you came to that conclusion?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking!” You whine, looking around to see if there was anything you could toss at him. “It’s just, with everything, all the dreams and stupid gut feelings, I just -- I don’t know, okay?? I can’t tell you enough how much I wish I had just kissed his stupid face and see where it goes from there.”

“Okay, gross, but don’t beat yourself up. Though...I do have a good idea on how to maybe get a good reaction out of him. You wanna go to the New Years’ celebration at Xiangling’s?”

“I think she’d threaten me with a knife if I didn’t. She wanted to go shopping at some point, too.”

“I’ll drop the overprotective brother act for one night, okay? One night, just to let this happen, and for your peace of mind.”

He does a fair amount of conspiring with Xiangling, a friend they met one time at a restaurant a couple years ago, even tagging along on the shopping trip. Together, the three of you find yourself a dress that Xiangling swears would make any person drool over you, including Childe, because at the end of the day, he was a person with the possibility of being attracted to you.

You think it’s a bit silly, but honestly, what do you have to lose at this point?

At 11:57PM on New Years’ Eve, Childe is standing outside in the freezing cold with his family, arms lifting up bags of sparklers and fireworks. They’ve driven out closer to the wild like they do every year, and everybody excitedly gets lighters ready, making sure someone’s got a clock out there that tells the seconds. As the younger kids open up the packaging and argue over which one to set off first, Childe’s phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

It’s 11:58PM when he manages to fish the device out and thank himself for buying gloves that are touch-screen friendly, excited to see that there are two texts from you, the latter reading, “Happy New Year!”. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little early, but he’s mainly intrigued by the fact a photo came before it. In his mind, you’re probably curled up with your twin brother, hopefully a selfie because wow, he misses your face.

He gets something else instead, and he is so glad that it’s dark outside and the electric lamp they have is too far away from him to draw any attention.

You have your arm around your brother’s waist and another girl’s that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s a full frontal view of your outfit, one that hugs your curves beautifully and shows more cleavage than he’s ever seen from you, sophisticated and elegant, yet fun and leaving enough to the imagination. There’s a bright smile coming from all of you, and you look like you’re at someone’s house or apartment with plenty of other people milling around in the back, but they don’t matter, not when all he can focus on is you.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, arousing, mind blowing, and gods, he wishes he could teleport to Liyue at this moment, find you, and kiss you right at midnight. Fuck the fact that he doesn’t exactly believe in superstitions like, “Kissing your significant other at midnight means you’ll last forever!” but he’s willing to take the chance with it on this night and the ones after, if he’s allowed. He tries not to think too much about pinning you against the wall and letting the world dissolve -- wants to be the one with the privilege to drag down that zipper and feel his bare skin on yours, and --

As Teucer starts yelling there’s only a minute left, he instinctively locks his phone and shoves it away out of anyone’s view. The last thing he needs is his family teasing him about ogling at your photo for a straight 50 seconds, wide-eyed and pupils on the verge of dilating, the visible breath leaving his mouth just a smudge more dense and prominent than usual.

The only thing he can do to distract himself from popping a boner in front of his parents is to join in on the countdown, making sure all the fireworks are set up correctly and grabbing a sparkler for himself. He waves it around with Tonia and promises to fulfill her wishes of taking one of those pictures right as she draws a pattern in the air. Their excitement is palpable and addicting, and even though the larger fireworks set off a few seconds after midnight hits, the nostalgia fills his lungs with fond memories and future wishes that they only continue this tradition for as long as possible, and hopefully, with you at his side.

When it’s 12:04AM, you get a picture message back of Childe bundled up in a black paletot coat, matching beanie and all, a gloved hand holding a sparkler and lips curved upwards, with a caption that says, “Happy New Year’s! See you soon :)”. You show it to Xiangling and your brother, both taking it as a win in their books, although the former does tipsily protest that there should be a better indicator of Childe’s brain breaking at how amazing you look right now. Maybe she’s prophetic, because another text chimes in and the words set you aflame, as well as suggestive whoops into your ears.

It’s a simple, “You look incredible btw”.

If you didn’t want to properly savor this moment, you would’ve found the nearest shot of the strongest liquor and tossed it back with abandon. But you want to remember the warmth in your veins that wasn’t from the alcohol or the heating, the fluttering of your heartbeat, the teeth-baring grin that you couldn’t fight off, the constant re-reading of those four words -- because they’re so different from everything you had been feeling before with him, the need for protection, the need to escape. Instead, you’d like to be in his arms right now and see for yourself how he’d look at you in this moment, and if he would take any action.

You want him to. So, so bad.

Childe spends his last week at home hating the fact that you’re just sitting around somewhere in Liyue, doing whatever you’re doing, probably doing some light preparation for your last semester of classes, and he’s not there to take advantage of all this free time and hang out with you. When classes start, it’ll be busy and hectic. You still have your thesis to finish and revise, and while that won’t eat up all your time, it’s still some that he’d want to fill in with his presence if he could. He debates whether or not he should ask for your schedule and compare it with his, maybe set up meetings every other day or propose that they all eat one meal together every day. Childe’s not quite sure of what you plan to do after graduation, as it hasn’t come up in conversation yet, but either way, he’s determined to stay in contact and make things work out. Long distance isn’t ideal, but with technology now, he’ll take it.

He feels a little bad for how excited he probably looked to be leaving home, uncharacteristic for the most part. His older siblings have already gone back to their respective homes, and it’s mainly Teucer and Tonia that worry and tear up when he starts packing his belongings. Tonia finds it unfair that Teucer got to meet you first and the latter makes sure to rub it into everyone’s faces. It’s hard for Childe to sleep on the plane because he’s thrumming with excitement, yet somehow even more nervous than usual when the plane hits small bouts of turbulence, and he doesn’t seem to relax until he sets foot back on campus.

He’s here. It’s January, and you’re physically closer to him than ever in the last two weeks.

“Found you.”

On the first day of classes, you’re sitting alone with some salad greens in a bowl, poking your fork at some scraps while you watch something on your phone, earbuds in and back towards the entrance of the canteen. It would explain the unannounced entrance of the very person who’s been at the forefront of nearly every thought in the last 96 hours, his fingers gingerly removing an earbud to surprise you as best as possible, and you startle in your seat.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when he hands you back your earbud and pulls out the seat next to you, setting his own plate of food down as he plops down in his chair. But then he says nothing afterwards, instead choosing to send you a cheeky grin before digging in. You’re left to slowly phase out of your state of shock, stuck between either running away or frantically texting your twin to come and save you even though he was off on a date with Keqing.

It’s not that you weren’t elated at the fact that Childe had done exactly as you told him last month, you just weren’t...prepared? It’s a shitty excuse and a cop out -- you’re mainly just having trouble with racking your brain to find the right words. What are you supposed to say? What should you do? Is it socially acceptable to lean over and kiss him on the cheek because that’s what you’d like to impulsively do at this very second??

“So you did,” you settle and steal a roasted potato wedge from his plate. It’s his turn to be taken by surprise, but he gets over it much quicker than you do. In fact, he spears two wedges and drops them in your bowl, smiling at you as best as he can with a mouth full of food. You give them your thanks before the silence settles in again.

“Did you have a good break?” He asks before his next bite.

“I did. You?”

“It was nice. My parents said I should’ve brought you and your twin home to spend the holidays with us. Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind before finals.”

Holy shit, what? “We couldn’t intrude like that, but that’s really nice of you guys.”

“That’s okay, there’s plenty of chances to visit later.”

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “But we graduate this semester?”

Childe challenges you with one of his own eyebrows raised. “And? Are we never gonna see each other again?”

Honestly, the possibility had occurred to you. You aren’t entirely sure of Childe’s plans after graduation, and if that meant he was staying in Liyue or going back to Snezhnaya or even moving to Inazuma or Mondstat. While people preach on and on about how lasting friendships and relationships are often formed during college, you believe it’s more common to slowly drift apart as life gets busier. And if Childe moved away, or if you did, it’d be hard to consistently keep in touch with 10 hour workdays.

The thought saddens you, regardless. You like him so much and you’re glad that he was even in your life to begin with, because as unbelievable as it sounds, seeing him was almost akin to the feeling of coming home. Amidst all your nerves, your confusion, your spiraling thoughts, something deeply sated in your heart was a comfort that you found with very few people in your life whenever in his presence.

The thought of leaving and never looking back somehow doesn’t feel new -- it’s bittersweet, but the air in your lungs feels like it’s surrendered to something, like it was to be expected.

“You can’t just leave without telling me--”

“It was last minute! I had no choice!”

“You could’ve written up a message, anything--”

“Can you imagine the position you’d be in if the message got intercepted? I wouldn’t have been safe, she’d make you come after me--”

“As if you’d be any safer in Inazuma of all places! That’s the one place I can’t easily get to!”

“I can take care of myself, Childe, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“This isn’t about me protecting you, (y/n) and -- stop walking, will you?!”

“Then what is this about?” You spin on your wheel with eyes aflame. “Why are you so angry with me? It’s normal for me to disappear for weeks at a time, why was this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died!” He yells back in despair, chest heaving. Your silence is his cue to continue. “You could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known until much later. You could’ve died and all I’d ever think about were the things I never got to say to you, and how I wish I had treated every day with you like it was our last.”

It isn’t hard to tell that you’re stunned and at a complete loss for words. Childe often hides behind facades of charm and wit, and only when he is truly weak does he choose to be this vulnerable, baring his heart for you to see.

“I only have two nightmares in this world. One, my family being harmed in any way. Two, reading in a report or hearing from an agent that you’ve been captured and killed.”

“I like to think that we will.”

His hand reaches out to lay on top of yours, giving it a quick squeeze. “Well, let’s make the most of it this semester.”

Conversation afterwards is easy, filling each other in on holiday activities. Childe speaks extensively about several family traditions and you listen with rapt attention, basking in how fond he is of all of them. Even as you both bring your dishes to the return belt and leave, he immediately offers to drive you both somewhere to get boba, noticing your reluctance to part ways. But boba shops have to close, and you both have class tomorrow morning, and you’re both finding any excuse to keep talking, even if that means sitting outside your dorm building on a nearby bench.

You eventually bid each other good night’s and see you later’s, him refusing to walk away until the heavy door locks shut behind you after you swipe your student ID, and you looking over your shoulder to watch his figure disappear into the night.

True to his intentions, Childe makes great efforts to meet you at least once a day, and he can’t get enough. Each parting from you tugs and tugs at his heart, as if there’s a high possibility you’ll never want to see him again the next day, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Your twin and Childe get along well for the most part, and he even meets Xiangling on one of her shifts at her regular restaurant, who sends you a salacious wink and an eyebrow wiggle over his shoulder that nearly causes you to burst from embarrassment.

February rolls over without a hitch, even if you’re a little disappointed that Childe didn’t make a move for Valentine’s Day. Granted, you two still spent time with each other and he’s so darn physically affectionate and he bought you a carnation from the event his dorm held, but you wish you had the guts to fess up and just kiss the man.

It’ll happen some day, you tell yourself. You have time before graduation.

Two days before the end of the Friday that would signal the start of Spring Break, you wake up in a cold sweat, mind reeling and head splitting, heart so so heavy, as a connection is made between your present and your dreams. Not long after, there are tears streaming silently down your face and into your open palms placed in your lap, and you sit in shock as everything comes back to you. Memories are such treasured burdens, you realize.

For the most part, you had gotten used to the dreams, choosing to take charge of what you know and feel now with Childe over succumbing to some strange neurological premonitions. Especially in your dreams when many people’s faces were blurred over and hazy, and the only things you could rely on were voices, touch, and other physical features. You thought that maybe your mind was just playing tricks by transposing Childe’s hair onto a body that was also strikingly similar to his, but for the first time last night, you could see each defining feature on his face as clear as day.

The sight of his figure arching gracefully over yours, the water arrows that appeared out of thin air, the back that protected you from some military men, the voice that said, “Hey girlie, hold still.”

And that was when you had snapped awake to your current state.

Past the initial shock and uncontrollable tears, you soon bent over as sobs wracked your chest, overwhelmed by all the emotions and the pain the memories brought you; losing your twin, finding him to only be left with even more questions after roaming for decades and decades, meeting all your loved ones throughout Mondstat and Liyue, fighting yet falling so hard for Childe, feeling the fear when facing his Foul Legacy form, hating him for Osial, loving him, breathing heavily as the tip of your blade was pointed at his neck and his own just centimeters from yours, tendrils of water inching closer and closer--

Everything makes sense now.

When you meet your twin for lunch at the cafeteria, you pay no mind to the fact that you’re in public and hug him harder than you ever have in years. He’s already a little alarmed that your eyes seem swollen and you look like finals came two months early, but when he asks what’s wrong, all he gets is a shake of your head and nothing more than, “Just a bad nightmare. I love you, y’know that?”

“I love you too?”

“Don’t sound so unsure, now let’s go and get in line before they run out of Jueyun Chili Chicken.”

Even when you meet Xiao later in the early evening to talk about your thesis, you find yourself holding back more tears just two minutes in, reminded of his past and his own life, and he’s moderately concerned, hesitantly handing you a tissue from the corner of his desk when a stray tear escapes. “Is everything okay?” He hesitantly asks, really hoping that he didn’t do anything to make you cry.

“No,” you almost wail and sniffle while dabbing at your eyes. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long day.”

Xiao’s inquisitive gaze softens, remembering how hard undergraduate life could be sometimes. Graduate school was a whole other level, but that shouldn’t discount your own personal difficulties. Plus, in all of the year and a half that he’s known you, you’ve never broken down like this before in front of him.

“You work really hard, Xiao,” you continue, and he’s not sure where this is coming from. “You’re always so helpful and willing to work with me and answer my stupid questions and like-- you practice self-care, right?”

Xiao nods as a white lie, but it seems to comfort you. Maybe too much because you pull him in for a quick and unexpected hug, and you both decide to reschedule this meeting for tomorrow.

As per usual, you wait for Childe to join you for dinner since you finished up earlier than expected. It gives you more time to think about everyone from Mondstat -- Kaeya, Diluc, Lisa, Jean, Amber...funny to think that some things never changed as you compared their past version to the ones you know now.

“Mora for your thoughts?”

There’s a peace that warms your heart when you hear Childe’s voice, one that forces you to smile at him as he sits down next to you. “Just thinking about old friends.”

“I have to admit, I’ll be a little jealous if it’s another guy taking up more space than me in that pretty brain of yours.”

What a flirt. This man isn’t good for your heart. “Who said you had any to begin with?”

He dramatically places a hand over his heart. “You wound me, (y/n). How will I ever recover?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snicker. Childe reaches over to pinch your cheek and you bat at him in protest. Easily, he grabs one of your hands and simply pulls you towards the food lines, knowing that you’ll stop fighting back soon.

Part of it feels strange now to feel and see his hands with no leather gloves on.

“Childe,” you start halfway through your meal, continuing after he hums back in reply. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

He freezes briefly, but recovers so quickly that if you hadn’t been watching so closely, you wouldn’t have noticed. “I think it’s neat, the idea of having past lives. Why do you ask?”

What he really wants to ask is if you’ve been having those dreams, too; if he’s starring in your nights like you have been in his.

“Just a thought, especially since you’re taking Teyvat Myth now, too.”

“Do you...do you think if there was a past life, that we knew each other?”

There’s something about the look of content on your face before you meet his gaze -- he thinks that you know more than you’re letting on but you’re holding back for some reason. He wants to know what’s going through your brain right now, why the fondness in your eyes sends a jolt through him like he’s been searching for it all his life, if you know anything about this magnetic pull between you two.

“I like to think that we knew each other well.”

Even though the first day of your returned memories was somewhat eventful, you couldn’t help but feel yourself wanting to pull back from Childe -- at least, until you can successfully compartmentalize which emotions belonged to you past self and which ones belonged to your current mindset. You didn’t quite agree with his duties and his affiliation with the Fatui back then, even if he had his reasons that did make sense, to some degree.

The killing, the threatening, so intent on stealing Rex Lapis’s Gnosis in the name of the Tsaritsa, summoning Osial as a mean to an end -- and you definitely can’t forget how stubborn he was in not listening to your protests, so caught up in his brain that you had betrayed him and sent you plummeting to a near-death experience despite his earlier promise of no intention of killing you specifically.

Everything had been toeing a faint, thin line with Childe then. Undeniable chemistry and tension, guarding yourself for yours and Paimon’s safety, slashing at Fatui agents, whispering out pleas and affirmations of “I’m yours” while riding him, sometimes having to sneak out in the mornings…

The only thing you don’t remember is how everything ends -- maybe it’ll come back to you eventually, but for now, you think you’re okay not knowing.

If Childe still doesn’t remember anything from back then, you think it’d be unfair to spend time with him in all your conflicting emotions, even when it’s spring break, where you have so much more hours in the day to be with each other than normal. Fun plans around Liyue had been made, like a two-day one-night trip to Yaoguang Shoal, and you’re this close to cancelling on him.

But he had been looking forward to it so much, even made most of the preparations for it. Who are you to rob that joy from him when it was you who couldn’t figure out your own shit? Are you self-destructing?

Perhaps.

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window at the scenery. Somehow, it pleased you to see that the nature of Liyue had been carefully preserved over the many centuries despite its development into the modern age. You get lost in picking apart the differences between then and now that you don’t notice how quiet you’ve fallen and Childe looks over worriedly when you show no reaction to your favorite songs playing on the stereo.

Even when he calls your name once, twice, nothing gives as you clearly have tuned everything out. So he leaves you be until there’s about half an hour left on the drive, unable to hold back and succumbing to reach over for your hand. You startle so strongly that he almost feels bad for having done it unannounced. But what’s even more disturbing is that this isn’t really the first time.

You’ve been talking to him less, often sitting quietly and staring off into another world that he can’t seem to reach. His texts are answered less frequently and with less wit and enthusiasm, so much so that he just appreciates you still show up to see him. Each time he asks if you’re okay, you always affirm that you are. He’s had a hard time believing you, but Childe believes you’ll tell him when you’re ready, surely.

It’s a little ironic yet fateful that Childe planned to bring you here, of all places. In the past, you had spent many days and nights running around in the sand with him, fighting slimes and hilichurls and collecting starconches for him. You remember laying on a large towel next to him as you both looked up into the sky, pointing out stars and constellations while sharing endless kisses away from prying, spying eyes.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve zoned out,” you sincerely apologize.

“It’s okay, I just wanna make sure you relax while we’re here. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’re right,” you agree and squeeze his hand. “Let’s make the most of it before we become adults who are too busy to have fun like this again.”

And you do. Childe rented a small beach cabin (rich boys) closer to one end of the shoreline, just big enough with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining table. You help him bring in your bags and some groceries bought the night before, setting them down quickly so you can peer out the window again to take in the view. Childe picked a good time, too. Although it’d be a little chilly at night, the day was still warm and mainly overcast with clouds.

“What do you say we change into our swimsuits and head down to the water?”

“Sure.”

Childe hadn’t really been expecting for you to step out in a large, casual tee and gym shorts, one shoulder exposed. He might have been hoping to see a little more skin, but his mother didn’t raise a chauvinistic pervert for a son.

The light in your eyes as you both approach the water is everything he had been missing the last few days, your excitement and joy contagious. As soon as you place everything down on the sand, you kick off your flip flops and leave him behind to step into the water, giggling at feeling the waves crash over your ankles and bring sand between your toes. Childe approaches you from behind and starts smearing sunblock on the back of your neck, to which you just grin beautifully at him in thanks and he has to fight off the desire to kiss you right then and there.

You’re too caught up in embracing the ocean afterwards to feel the shrinking distance between you two, mistaking his warmth for the general spring air. It isn’t until he’s done with your shoulders that he hands you the bottle to leave you to do the rest of your body, and when you turn to thank him, he’s much closer than you remember. His eyes are gentle, holding your gaze and almost daring you to look away first.

But if there’s one thing you can place without a shred of doubt, it is the unmistakable look of love, because you had seen it many, many times before without knowing until later what it meant.

How so incredibly lucky you were to have Childe back in your life now, loving you all the same, and with no life-threatening barriers. Fate or the Archons have given you a second chance, and you’d be damned to take it for granted.

Childe welcomes your lips against his, wasting no time to bring you into his arms so you’re pressed against him as much as possible. He can’t care for the overt public display of affection because this is everything he’s wanted for months now, waiting patiently for you to give him permission to make you his. Your lips are incredibly soft and pliant against his as you first kiss him patiently, then applying more force and desperation to taste more of him. He mirrors you, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other on your neck with a thumb extended to your jawline, teeth moving to nip at your bottom lip. It’s dangerous, the way you smile against his lips, and when he sinks his teeth in deeper before pulling back, your quiet mewl nearly drives him over the edge.

But you’re in public, and this was an amazing first kiss. You two have a beach to enjoy and a fun night planned, and now that he doesn’t have to hold back on his affections, it’ll be even better.

His lips part from yours regretfully, his eyes languidly opening to meet yours. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a blue starconch in the sand and freezes.

It’s not that he’s never seen one before, but something clicks. You. The shore. Starconches. Starry nights. His dreams. Monsters. Gods. Fighting. So much fighting. Training. His family. Dragons. You. Falling. You falling. You fighting him. Yelling. Kissing. Loving. Chasing. Him chasing you before you disappear at a teleport waypoint that somehow you only can operate. The abyss. Your twin.

Oh, Archons.

“ -ou okay, Ajax? Ajax?”

He snaps to look at you again. How does he go about this? How does he ask?

“(Y/n)...have you ever heard of the Fatui Harbingers?”

He has to admit that it’s a bit amazing to be able to identify all the emotions that cross your complexion, from curiosity to realization to conflicted. You’re actively trying to piece everything together without revealing too much on the off-chance that you’re wrong, that Childe hasn’t regained his memories and is just asking about something from class randomly and completely out of the blue.

Wait.

“You haven’t reached that material yet in class,” you whisper, heart in your throat at the realization. Could it really be…

“I was once Tartaglia, eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, who possessed a Delusion and used my Foul Legacy Transformation with you several times,” he murmurs back, tucking a stray tendril behind your ear. “Is it too late to apologize again for summoning an ancient god and letting you fall about five floors with no warning?”

He should’ve been prepared for you wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “No, never, but I spent weeks after kicking your ass so you’ve been long forgiven.”

Childe burrows his face into your neck, breathing in your scent and basking in this moment. There was so much to talk about, but you two arguably had more time in the world than ever with nothing holding you back. There was no impending war looming over, no one on the run, no opposing forces. His silent wish for a different life with you seems to have been answered finally. If running into you had been the event to set everything in motion, he only wishes he’d done so earlier.

All that matters now is you’re here together in this plane of existence, given a chance to love again, and experience everything you couldn't before.

As written in the stars, take my soul for it is forever yours.

fin

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios #genshin imagines #childe #tartaglia #childe angst #genshin impact #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #this fic maybe took two years off my life

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havethetimeofyourstyles · 4 years ago

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in which harry stumbles across your livestream.

a/n: alright lovelies! here is my submission for bificathon hosted by my two lovely friends @bopbopstyles & @harrysclementines !! my prompt is ‘harry accidentally stumbles upon a livestream of her and her friend’ and let me tell you, I SNATCHED THIS SO QUICK! its my first time writing gxg smut, so pls be nice :’). also september is bi awareness month, so happy bi month babies! you’re so all beautiful and valid <3

enjoy 4k words of bi/camgirl!yn x roommate/best friend!harry filled with girl x girl smut/filth

come into my inbox and send feedback and let’s talk about this!

pls rb to share! <3

It was Harry’s usual Thursday night when he found himself lying in his bed with his laptop on his lap and a plate of his dinner in his hands.

He was binge watching interior home designers on Netflix, letting out an ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ as they revealed the finished homes, practically envisioning his future home the same way.

Thursday nights were practically the start of his weekend as he didn’t have classes on Fridays, and usually his friends and him would hang out, but he really just didn’t feel like going out nor did he have the social capacity to hang out and get drunk when he’s probably going to do that on Friday and Saturday.

He simply just wanted a break, and that included staying inside and watching interior designers flip a house completely different, and eating his dinner. And he wasn’t ashamed that he enjoyed it.

After a few episodes and an empty plate, Harry paused the next episode before it even started to put his plate away and grab a glass of water. As he was washing his plate, he heard the door open and close, followed by hushed giggles and whispers.

“Shh. Harry might be asleep,” a voice said, but he knew it was you. You knew that he liked to sometimes sleep early, but he thought it was too early to be asleep, seeing as it was only eight p.m.

“I’m actually in here,” he chuckled, making himself present with his voice.

“Oh!” You said surprisingly, and another laugh was heard.

You made your way to the kitchen, your guest following behind you as you saw Harry in just a pair of boxers and a t-shirt.

“Hey, H,” you greeted.

“Hi, love. Have fun tonight?” He asked. You had went to the bar to chill out from the many essays you had to write and exams you had to take, and Thursday nights were also a start to your weekend as well, so fuck it.

“Yeah, I did, thanks for asking. This is Daniela, by the way,” you introduced the girl you had met at the bar.

You had seen Daniela right when you walked in as her and her friends were sitting at the table right next to the entrance, and she immediately caught your eye. She looked right back at you, giving you some flirty eyes herself as you were dragged away by your friends and straight to the bar.

After a few drinks and rounds of dancing with your best girlfriends, you saw Daniela walk over to the bar and order some drinks, so you decided that it was your chance to go up to her.

You two had immediately hit it off, getting to know one another. She told you that she was a lesbian, and you proudly told her that you were bisexual. You also found out that you’re both in the same bio-chem class together, which definitely raised the excitement as she suggested studying together and you happily said yes. Then there was dancing while you two were both buzzed, completely forgetting your friends as you grinded against each other and kissed, not caring that you were practically putting on a show for everyone around you.

And when you suggested that you took her home, she immediately said yes, and you dragged her outside as you waited for the Uber you called.

“Nice to meet you, Daniela. I’m Harry,” he introduced himself, shaking her hand. “Her roommate and friend-”

“Best friend. C’mon, Harry, don’t put yourself lower than that,” you corrected and he smiled.

“Alright, alright. My bad,” he laughed.

“So, we’re gonna go to my room,” you winked him as Harry said ‘have fun’ before cleaning up a bit in the kitchen.

He was glad that one of you was getting laid. He also noticed how happy you were, which he absolutely adored, and he thinks it has to do with the fact that you came out a year ago, and you’re now living your life to the fullest and happiest, and that’s all he wants; is for you to be happy with yourself and in general.

Harry met you at the end of freshman year of college as your friend groups met up with each other at a bar. He was a bit more shy than the rest of his friends, and didn’t immediately mingle with everyone until a few drinks in. But as you introduced yourself to his friends, you noticed him sitting down at the bar, not interacting with anyone. You were also somewhat on the quiet side, but was able to handle introducing yourself, so you completely understood why Harry acted the way he did when you two met.

“Hey, not feeling it tonight?” You asked, taking a seat next to him.

“Eh, not one for going up to people and initiating a conversation,” he said nervously.

“I get that. Makes me nervous to go up to someone and talk to them, but I’m trying to get over that, so here’s me trying,” you chuckled as did he.

“Well, we gotta drink to that then,” he said, and it took him by surprise that he was able to make a joke and laugh.

It could have definitely been the liquid courage, but he was starting to warm up to you; joking around and becoming less tense as you two talked and drank. But that was because you were making him comfortable, to which he appreciated very much.

Since then, you two have been by each other’s side. He told you that your friends kind of intimidated him because they were very out there, and that made you laugh slightly because it was very true, but you made sure to be by his side whenever your groups hung out.

The group hangouts turned into one-on-one hangouts with just you and Harry. He was definitely more comfortable with you, and he really enjoyed your company and presence.

Both of your friends had expected you two to end up together, but you two realized that you were better off as friends—who knows if you two will end up together, but for now, you were happy being best friends with him as was he.

It was a year, the end of sophomore year, when you wanted to move out of the dorms. It wasn’t like you didn’t like your friends and roommates, but sometimes you wanted your own space and that didn’t help when there’s two other people in the same room as you.

So Harry suggested that you both find a flat together since he was on the lookout for a flat anyways, and it’ll help him a ton with bills and whatnot. You excitedly said yes after you asked him if he was sure that he wanted to move in with you, and if he was extra sure that he wanted to since you’d be there when he would take home people. He laughed, and said that he didn’t care and wanted to live with you, saying it’ll be fun. You both had gotten quite close throughout that year and practically told each other everything, so it’ll be even better to live with someone you both trust.

Junior year of uni, he noticed that you always came home with a sad frown on your face, briefly saying hi to him before going straight to your room and locking yourself up for hours. Harry tried figuring out why you were in such a mood all the time, and tracked his steps, seeing if he said anything wrong that made you upset. But he couldn’t figure it out as you both always had light and fun conversations during breakfast and dinner.

And the frown went on for months until you both came back from Christmas break, and you told him that you had to tell him something very important.

“Love, you can tell me anything, you know that right?” He said, reassuring you.

“Yeah. It’s just…I’m nervous to,” you said, shaking your leg. Harry really wondered what happened during break that made you so anxious. He was worried that you wanted to move out and not live with him anymore, but he had to remind himself that it was probably not even about him as he told you to take your time.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he said, and you nodded, giving him a smile before you walked off to your room to gather your thoughts.

An hour later, you came out of your room and found Harry sitting on the couch, watching a film. You sat next to him, and he immediately turned off the TV, giving you his full attention.

You took a deep breath and started, “What I was trying to say earlier was that something about me has changed, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I was still figuring it out, but I was just scared of what you would think,” you said. Harry started to get concerned, but he let you finish talking before he said anything. “So, I’ve always had an attraction towards girls, and I thought it was just me thinking a girl was pretty, but when I started to get nervous and flustered when a girl would talk to me, I realized that I really like them, and I would find myself flirting with them and longing to have something romantic with them. And then when I went back home for break, I met up with a childhood friend, and somehow…we kissed. It was so magical that it made my stomach flutter.”

Harry had smiled softly as you told your story; knowing where this conversation was going, but of course, he stayed silent and let you talk.

“So what I’m trying to tell you is that… I’m bi,” you had said nervously, hands shaking in your lap. You were trying to contain your tears from falling from your face as you shook your leg.

“Love, I’m so happy for you,” he replied, opening his arms to comfort you from the anxiety you were feeling from telling him. You had softly sobbed into his shoulder, feeling the weight on your shoulders disappear as you had finally told the person you were closest to and who you trust the most.

“R-Really?” You said as you pulled away from his hold.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m happy that you can be whoever you want to be and I’m here to support you,” he said, holding your arms and running his hands over your skin.

“Thank you, Harry,” you smiled at him, feeling ultimately grateful for your best friend and his acceptance.

Harry smiled at the memory as he heard giggles through your door, and he chuckled as he finished cleaning before heading to his room. He was feeling a bit tired and despite it being a bit earlier than his usual bedtime, he decided to call it a night a try to get some sleep, deciding that he could go on a run in the morning since he was sleeping early.

But after an hour of tossing and turning, he gave up trying to get a restful sleep, and opened his laptop to put on some Netflix, hoping it would lull him into a deep slumber. He was comfortably watching a random show until his hand grazed his crotch, and he realized he hadn’t relieved himself nor had he had sex in a while.

So, he pushed his boxers down his legs, kicked them off the bed, and took off his shirt before he grabbed some lube and pumped his cock as it immedately hardened in his hand. He began touching himself in the darkness of his room as he quietly groaned out and threw his head back on his pillow.

Realizing he doesn’t have some kind of visual, he stops to search up cam girl sites on the internet so he can get a mental image in his head to get him off. He finally settled on one user that was doing a live stream called ‘KISSYPLS’ as the preview was a girl going down on another with a purple ambiance to the room. The room was dark, but not dark enough where he couldn’t see the two girls.

The sound of the moans from his laptop were quite loud and he didn’t want you to hear it all the way from your room, so he grabbed some headphones from his bedside table, plugging in his earbuds into his ears as the sounds of the girls moaned and talked dirty to each other.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” the girl that was doing the eating out said before she crawled her way up to the other’s body.

And the slightest moment as Harry was watching, the girl on her back had shifted down a bit as they kissed, and Harry’s eyes flew wide open once he glanced. He saw the face that he wouldn’t have expected he would see.

His roommate. His best friend. It was you.

You were being eaten out on his computer screen by Daniela, and he was in complete shock. He honestly hadn’t expected to find you because it was just a random scroll through the site, but holy fuck.

You hadn’t had your account for very long—maybe about three months. But you thought it was a good way to make some extra money because the bills were stacking up and they had to be paid off somehow. And you loved the idea of getting off in front of a camera for random strangers who pay to see that shit.

And of course, Harry didn’t know you were a cam girl at all. He hadn’t seen that coming when he was looking for something to get off to. But he wasn’t complaining. He just didn’t expect you to be the one on the other side of the screen. But there you were, showing your body and having sex with someone on camera for the (as shown) 27 people watching who are also horny as fuck.

You as a person are already beautiful, he knew that, but your body was something else. The way your tits were shown so clearly on his screen with your tattoo that was inked right next to your left tit; as the purple light hit your skin. He wanted to take them in his mouth and devour them.

You were sprawled out onto the bed, naked as Daniela was kissing you, and he couldn’t stop looking at you as your face looked while kissing someone. He was in complete shock that he stopped stroking himself, his dick in his hands as he watched you two make out. But once his cock twitched from the sight of your ass sticking up, getting a view of your glistening pussy and ass, he continued.

You flipped Daniela onto her back, making her squeal in surprise before you started kissing down her body, leaving small and sweet kisses to her soft skin. You took her nipples into your mouth, sucking on it lightly as she moaned. Once you were lying on your stomach between her legs, you gave her inner thighs a kiss before licking one long strike up her pussy. You generally loved the way girls taste rather than guys, so your mouth salivates more when you’re with women, eating them out and tasting them, and pleasuring them to their orgasm.

You tongue focused on her clit, licking her sensitive bud relentlessly as your arms were looped under her thighs, and your hand reached up to grab one of her breasts, taking her nipple in between your finger and lightly pulling it.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned. Her voice was much more high pitched than normal, but you think it’s hot as fuck. “Like that.”

That encouraged you to continue sucking on her clit, and you brought your free hand to plunge two fingers into her wet pussy, curling up to meet the soft spot inside of her. Daniela’s back arched off the bed as her hair was spread out onto the pillow as she grabbed a fistful of your sheets into her hands. You pulled your mouth away from her to place your hand on her clit, rubbing it fast as you continue to finger fuck her. Daniela was an absolute mess above you, chanting that she was going to come as a way to manifest her orgasm.

“C’mon, beautiful. Cum for me,” you encouraged her, the sound of your voice had made Daniela and Harry moan out with how sultry and seductive you sounded. Daniela’s peak washed over her as her hips bucked up, but you placed your arm on top of her thigh to stop her from moving as you calmed her down from her high. You licked her up once more, collecting her juices on your tongue before climbing up her body to connect your lips with her. Daniela could taste herself on you, and it turned her on even more despite just having an orgasm.

Harry watched as you two kissed for a while. She wrapped her arms around your back, pressing her body against yours as you two made out, swirling your tongues together. Harry fondled his balls, intensifying the feeling before going back to stroke his cock. He gripped on his long hair with his other hand, so it felt like someone was in the room pulling his hair for him, and he closed his eyes. With the feeling of his orgasm coming, he was about ready to pump faster so he could get to his peak, but he heard your voice again.

“I’m not done with you yet. Wanna cum again?” You asked her, and she nodded eagerly. “Want you to cum when I say so,” you told Daniela, and she nodded. Harry slowed his movements down as if he felt like you were personally talking to him, even though a lot of people on her live stream felt the way he did once she said those words.

You fixed the laptop, pushing it back a little but still pointing it down to your bodies rather than your face. Giving Daniela a kiss, you situate yourself, putting one leg over her and the other under. You reach between you two, inserting your finger in her wet hole and bringing that wetness to her clit, and she does the same to you.

Slowly moving closer to one another, you touch clits, rubbing it against each other as you two moaned out. The sounds coming from both of your mouths were loud enough that Harry had heard them from his room, and it genuinely felt like he was in the same room as he was also watching it on his screen.

“Fuck, I wanna cum,” he groaned to himself.

“You wanna cum?” You said, rubbing yourself on her and she whimpered out a ‘mhm,’ and you proceeded to grind faster.

“Yeah, please let me,” Harry moaned.

The feeling of both your wetness rubbing together was sending you over the edge as you felt like you were going to explode. Your moans had gotten louder, and you really hoped Harry was wearing some sort of headphones with loud music because you felt bad that you were being this loud, but you couldn’t help it.

But little did you know that Harry was listening to everything.

You felt like Daniela had waited long enough to release, so you grabbed her face gently, giving her a kiss. “Go ahead. Cum for me,” you said breathlessly as you were going to let go after she was done.

Once Harry heard those words, he sighed in relief, letting out a loud groan as his orgasm was released onto his stomach. His abs clenched and his hips bucked into his hand. He grabbed a pillow and bit on it, concealing his moans as he came down from his high. With his chest heaving up and down, he looked over at his laptop to see you breathing deeply and he knew that you had just orgasmed as well.

Your orgasms had hit both of you hard as you were left sprawled out on the bed, laying on opposite sides as your legs were still entangled with one another. Daniela sat up, pulling your body towards her, and she kissed you deeply, still feeling entirely breathless.

“God, you’re amazing,” she said against your lips, and you smiled into the kiss. The live stream was still going on, so Harry continued watching you two interact with one another post orgasm. “Kinda wanna use that dildo of yours on you,” she smirked, and you chuckled, nodding your head eagerly.

“Like a threesome, but with a dildo,” you joked, and she laughed.

“Maybe we should have one?”

“What? A threesome?” You asked, pulling back, and she nodded her head and shrugged her shoulders.

“Yeah, why not?”

“With who?”

Just on cue, a knock was heard on your door quite loud, making you and Daniela turn your heads towards the door. Before you even had the chance to even get up, the door opened, revealing Harry in just his boxers. You couldn’t help but look down at his crotch area and see his cock hard.

“Done with the show ladies?” He asked, smirking. The two of you were still completely naked, but neither of you cared to make an effort to cover yourselves.

“W-What?” You stuttered and looked at Daniela as she had no clue what was going on either.

“Watched your live stream,” he finally said, and your eyes widened.

“How did you find it?” You asked, moving towards the edge of the bed, and Daniela stayed behind near the headboard.

“By coincidence, I swear,” he said, walking towards you. “Was just scrolling and I was horny as fuck, and I stumbled upon it.”

“D-Did you like it?” A nervous tone came with your words, and it was strange because you’ve never been nervous with Harry, except the time you came out to him. A huge part of you wanted him to say he liked it and that he enjoyed the show, and you really hoped he did.

He stood in between your legs and looked down at you as you looked up. The sight below him was just something that irked him; you looking up at him with wide eyes, acting innocent and him looking down at you with a raging hard on, begging to be touched by you and your mouth. He placed his hands on both sides of your face, caressing your warm cheek as he studied you for a moment. The smear of mascara that laid under your eyes and your flushed cheeks made his cock twitch.

Just from watching your live stream, he noticed that you were quite dominant in bed with girls. But with how you’re looking at him, wanting validation and reassurance from him, you’re submissive with men (or just him in general).

His stare was intimidating, and the dark purple light illuminating your room didn’t help. He’s never seen you naked and bare, so that added to the stress of if he likes what he sees. But you were surprised that you didn’t want to cover up in front of him. Throughout the years of being best friends and roommates, you two have never fucked. Although you have kissed multiple times, it was purely platonic and sometimes you just needed a kiss every once in a while. And as your best friend, Harry was happy to help.

“Of course I fucking loved it. Wanna know my favorite part?” You smiled softly, nodding slowly as you looked at him with big and innocent eyes. He bent down, matching your eye level before he whispered, “Well, first of all you, of course. Looked so damn beautiful, I swear.” You blushed, and he continued. “But the part when Daniela suggested a threesome just a minute ago. If you and her are up with me being a plus one, then I am. Your wish is my command,” he said softly, kissing your nose.

Daniela gasped behind you, a big smile on her face as she crawled to the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissed your shoulder before she spoke.

“Well, looks like we’re gonna have a lot of fucking fun.”

#harry styles smut #bi!reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles ff #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #roommate!harry #uni!harry #bestfriend!harry #harry styles au #gxg #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles #harry #hs

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lovelylogans · 4 years ago

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the words you read (my heart’s been displayed)

how did you know 'cause I never told but you found out I've got a crush on you the words you read, my heart's been displayed you found out I've got a crush on you —“crush on you,” the jets

warnings: awkward clueless teenagers, crushes, slightly overbearing matchmaking uncles, mentions of government surveillance, mostly fluff, please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairing: virgil/logan, secondary patton/roman and janus/remus

word count: 5,761

notes: this is for day 5 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “vocab card/skateboard” and i have decided to write about vocab card! please enjoy!

⁂

In Virgil’s opinion, Logan Sanders is the cutest boy in all of the sophomore grade.

He was the cutest boy in freshman year, too, and eighth grade, and seventh, and all the way back to kindergarten, but Logan’s changed over the summer.

He’s sprouted up a few inches, so now he’s a half-head taller than Virgil. He still looks a little gangly, like he’s going to grow more. He’d always been shorter than Virgil before. He’d gotten new glasses, too, black frames that suit him way better than the silver ovals he’d used when they were little. His voice has gotten a bit deeper, his jawline’s gotten stronger, and Virgil’s helpless crush on him has only grown with Logan.

Logan isn’t just cute, either, he’s smart. He carries around stacks of notecards, blank and filled in, and there’s all sorts of things written on it��interesting fun facts and the latest slang terms, in rubber-banded stacks next to rubber-banded stacks of notecards of terms that will be on their next exam. Logan has a way of explaining anything and everything in a way that is really understandable and never makes you feel dumb. Logan’s always top of the class.

And to make matters worse, they’re next-door-locker-neighbors this year, because Chloe-who-was-between-them-alphabetically moved away. Which means that Virgil cannot quite get away with admiring Logan from afar, the way he has since they were little. Which means that when school starts, on the first day when Logan asks him what homeroom he’s in this year, Virgil’s brain can only go ahhhhHHHHHH and the fact that oh my God Logan is tall now oh my GOD Logan has the locker next to mine now! makes him delay his answer because he’s just staring at Logan, and Logan looks at him a little oddly and then repeats his question as if he thinks Virgil didn’t hear him, and Virgil kind of wants to crawl into his locker to hide there forever thanks.

“Oh,” he manages. He closes his locker. “Um. I’m in Mr. Morales’ homeroom this year.”

Logan smiles at him. Logan SMILES AT HIM. And then he says, “I am, as well. Perhaps we’ll be seated next to each other in homeroom, in addition to being locker neighbors. I would enjoy that.”

He would ENJOY THAT!!!!!

Logan clears his throat and fiddles with his glasses, finally just pushing them a little further up his nose, even though they’re pretty high up on his nose already. “Would you like to walk together to Mr. Morales’ classroom? I was in his home economics class last year, I know where it is.”

“Um, sure,” Virgil says, voice cracking embarrassingly, and he considers opening his locker back up again so that he can hide there. He’s pretty skinny, he might be able to fit.

So they walk to Mr. Morales’ classroom. Logan’s the one talking, mostly; Virgil’s grateful for that, because he’d probably just be rambling nervously the whole time, and it’d be tempting fate to have his voice crack in front of Logan again. But now he can just listen to Logan’s various opinions about their summer reading for their English class, which is much safer. He sure has a lot of opinions about it, which makes Virgil sweat a little nervously—Logan sounds like he’s ready to sit down and write an essay about it, as if they’re going to have to, and Virgil’s pretty sure that if he sat down to take a multiple-choice quiz about that book right now he’d flunk it.

They end up not being assigned to sit next to each other. Mr. Morales says to just sit wherever, since they’re all going to go to an assembly once he takes attendance anyways, and that he probably won’t assign seats for the whole year.

And then Logan ends up sitting next to him anyways.

Like he really meant that he’d like to be next to Virgil in homeroom.

Mr. Morales smiles at them, and then, inexplicably, gives Logan a double thumbs up? And then Logan’s cheeks go kind of red? Logan turns his face away from Mr. Morales, turning to more fully face Virgil.

“You were in his class last year, right?” Virgil says.

“Erm, yeah. Yes. I was.” Logan clears his throat, turning away from him. “He supervises my study hall, too.” Then he mumbles, “also he’s my uncle.”

“He’s your uncle?” Virgil repeats. This is news to him.

“Through marriage,” Logan explains. “Mr. Regnant is my father’s brother.”

Mr. Regnant is the arts-and-music teacher, and, though they don’t talk about it very much (students do, but then, students always gossip), Mr. Morales’ husband.

Mr. Regnant is also, not that Virgil would ever tell him so, Virgil’s favorite teacher.

“Which dad?” Virgil says, because Logan’s two dads were basically his only version of real-life gay representation when they were really little. He knows Mr. Sanders better than Logan’s other dad.

Mr. Sanders always volunteered to be part of the PTA moms who supervised them during holiday parties and field trips, though, looking back, he doesn’t think the PTA moms liked him very much. The kids, on the other hand, loved Mr. Sanders, who would treat them like very short adults and once a year would bring in his mamba Eve for kids to pet and hold.

Logan’s other Dad had been the one who encouraged the kids to throw paints and roll around in the mud and tear things up. Logan’s other Dad had come to supervise one holiday party and was politely asked to never do so again.

“Not Pa—I mean, Janus,” Logan says, looking briefly embarrassed. “He’s Dad’s—Remus’—twin brother.”

Virgil makes an “ohhh” sound, because that makes sense. Now he’s thinking about it, Mr. Regnant and Logan’s dad really do look alike, if one looked past their contrasting senses of style.

“That’s cool, though,” Virgil says thoughtfully. “That you’re related, I mean. Mr. Morales is really nice.”

“Yes, he is,” Logan says. “It’s been a bit strange to adjust to calling him Mr. Morales instead of Uncle Patton, though.”

“Yeah, I guess it probably would be,” Virgil says.

The bell rings, and Mr. Morales ushers them off to the assembly.

Logan sits down next to him on the bleachers at the assembly, too. Their knees bump together as they listen to the principal welcome them back from summer vacation and give some announcements.

And Logan keeps sitting down next to him.

At lunch, in their two shared classes, in homeroom. He wishes Virgil a good morning and good afternoon every day at their locker. As the months of the school year slowly creep by, Virgil definitely does kind of feel like crawling into his locker, sometimes, but less and less so, because.

Because he and Logan are kind of friends now.

Logan asks him about his favorite hot beverage and then starts bringing him chai when he and his uncles stop by a café before school. Virgil sketches out drawings of astronauts and space when Logan goes on a loving tirade about it that lasts, on-and-off, for a week.

He still definitely has a crush on Logan. His increased presence near him is both a blessing and a curse.

They share earbuds and laugh at videos in homeroom, they sit quietly side-by-side and do their homework together in study hall. Virgil even tags along, sometimes, when Logan takes time out of his day to visit his uncles. His uncles always seem delighted whenever Virgil drops by, which Virgil guesses makes sense—Mr. Morales is just kind of Like That, and he’s been taking classes with Mr. Regnant since freshman year, and they’ve been sassing at each other for just about as long.

Logan makes those visits rare, though. He always seems a little self-conscious about how excited his uncles are during their visits, the way they elbow Logan and give him thumbs-ups and wiggle their eyebrows. Virgil doesn’t really get it—he thinks it’s nice that his uncles are so excited to see Logan with his friend.

But then his mom unexpectedly comes by and drops off his lunch and ruffles Virgil’s hair right in front of Logan, and Virgil spends the rest of the day going beet red even Logan assures him that it’s okay and he thinks it’s nice, something in his brain... clicks. A little bit. Even though it doesn’t make sense.

Does Logan...?

No, his brain tells him. There’s no way.

But Virgil keeps an eye out for the next week anyways.

On Monday, Logan’s uncles give him a ride to school and also drive him by the café, so Logan hands over a chai for Virgil. Virgil smiles and thanks him.

Have Logan’s ears always gone red whenever Virgil thanks him for bringing him tea?

On Tuesday, their fingers brush when Logan’s passing over a stack of notecards for Virgil to study for an upcoming exam during their study hall. Simultaneously, they look away from each other, redirecting their attention to their textbooks.

Have they always done that?

On Wednesday, Logan and Virgil swing by Mr. Morales’ classroom. After Virgil laughs at a somewhat sarcastic comment that Logan says, and redirects his attention to the sketch he’s been doing to turn in for approval for his end-of-semester art project, he peeks through his bangs to see Mr. Morales waving his hands eagerly, and Logan go red and gesture sharply for him to stop.

Has Mr. Morales always been so excited whenever he and Logan spend time in his classroom?

On Thursday, Logan seems chilled by the overenthusiastic air conditioning, so Virgil gives him a spare hoodie he had in his locker. Logan looks at him, looks away, and then proceeds to huddle in Virgil’s hoodie for the rest of the day, even after the school adjusts the temperature and it isn’t quite so cold.

By then, his brain saying no way! No way, you cannot afford to be wrong on this so you aren’t even going to try, there’s no way—

It’s after school on Thursday, and Virgil makes sure Logan has already gone home when he descends the stairs to Mr. Regnant’s art-and-music studio.

“Oh, Virgil, hey,” Mr. Regnant says, distracted, looking up from the sheet music he’s laying out across four desks. “Gimme a second, I’ve got the feedback for your sketch on my desk somewhere—”

Virgil looks to Mr. Regnant’s desk. He can’t even see the mug of pens on his desk that Virgil knows is there, it’s so buried in papers and models and paint palette piles. It’s like an avalanche waiting to happen.

“Uh, that’s not—you can give it to me tomorrow,” Virgil says awkwardly. “Um. That’s not why I’m here.”

Mr. Regnant blinks at him. “All right.”

“I,” he wipes his hands on his jeans and grimaces, not quite believing that he’s about to do this. “I need advice.”

Mr. Regnant pauses, before he manages to find an empty desk and sets down the sheet music. “Okay.”

“Before I say anything,” he says. “I need you to give me this advice as Mr. Regnant, faculty supervisor of the GSA club.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Regnant says. “Yeah, ‘course, Virgil. I’m always—”

“Mr. Regnant, faculty supervisor of the GSA club, is a separate person from Mr. Regnant, Logan’s Uncle Roman,” Virgil interrupts, twisting his fingers together anxiously. “Right?”

Mr. Regnant opens his mouth. Closes it. He gestures for Virgil to sit on one of the choir risers, settling there himself, but Virgil sits on the floor. This is a time in which floor-sitting is necessary.

“He could be,” Mr. Regnant says eventually.

“Well I need him to be,” Virgil snaps. “Okay?”

Mr. Regnant presses his lips together and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little higher pitched. His lips twitch and he clears his throat. “Yeah! Yeah.”

“Oh my God, you’re about to laugh at me,” Virgil says, horrified. “I knew this was a terrible idea, forget it—”

“No!” Mr. Regnant says hastily. “No I’m not, no I’m not. I swear I’m not. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is not about to laugh.”

“Is Mr. Regnant Logan’s uncle about to laugh?!”

“I thought they were different people,” Mr. Regnant sasses back, seemingly on instinct, and Virgil buries his face in his hands and screams a little bit. Just a little bit.

“Shi—shoot, I mean shoot!” He says, and tugs lightly at Virgil’s arm. Virgil peeks at Mr. Regnant from between his fingers.

Mr. Regnant’s face is very serious. There is no more sign of lip-twitching, throat-clearing, or mirth in his eyes.

“Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is here and listening,” he says. “Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA does not have any relatives to speak of. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA does not have any twin brothers or nephews. What on earth even are those? Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA would have no idea. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA doesn’t even have parents, or a husband, that’s how absolutely relative-less he is. Okay?”

“Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is an asshole,” Virgil mutters.

“Faculty supervisor of the GSA is starting to not sound like words anymore,” Mr. Regnant says, “also, you are so lucky school is technically over, otherwise I would have totally given you a detention for language.”

“You’re such a hypocrite, you literally just almost swore.”

“Almost,” Mr. Regnant says, “is not the same as did. Now. What can I do for you, Virgil?”

Virgil takes a deep breath in.

“What do you do if you think the boy you have a crush on likes you back?”

Mr. Regnant’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, but otherwise, he doesn’t react.

“You could talk to him?”

“Okay, maybe I should be more specific,” Virgil says, “What do you do if you have an anxiety disorder, and you think the boy you have a crush on likes you back?”

“I know you’re not gonna like this,” Mr. Regnant says, “but my answer is still you could talk to him.”

He holds up a hand before Virgil can protest. “I know it can be scary, I know it can be anxiety-inducing. I know that can be a deterrent for a perfectly neurotypical person, let alone someone who’s got a diagnosed anxiety disorder. But, I mean. Your only options, as I see them, are, A, tell him, or B, sit quietly and wait for him to maybe make the first move.”

“But how can I be sure?” He says.

“Well, why do you think he likes you back?” Mr. Regnant says reasonably.

So Virgil tells him. Virgil tells him all about it—thinking he was cute since they were kids, then suddenly becoming friends this year: the chai, the sketches, the music listening, the blushing and the awkward chats, and how they’re friends now but Virgil still really likes him in a romantic way.

“Does that sound like he likes me back?” he asks anxiously.

Mr. Regnant bites his lip. “As the faculty supervisor of the GSA? I think it could definitely be likely.”

“Likely?” Virgil wails.

“Well, as the faculty supervisor of the GSA,” Mr. Regnant enunciates carefully, “I can’t be certain.”

“I can’t go and tell him based on if it’s just likely! I need to be sure he likes me back or else there’s a chance he says he doesn’t like me and then I’m going to have a heart attack and die!”

“Virgil! As the faculty supervisor of the GSA! I really think you should go for it!”

Mr. Regnant looks like he’s about to reach out and start shaking Virgil by the shoulders. His eyes are huge, the way he always looks at actors onstage who have forgotten their lines, like by just staring at them he’ll be able to psychically impart the script to them.

“Forget it,” Virgil groans and reaches for his backpack, swinging it over his shoulders and standing up. “I’m doomed to suffer in silence. Thanks, I guess, I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Please don’t tell anyone I told you all this.”

As Virgil is closing the classroom door behind him, he’s pretty sure he hears Mr. Regnant screeching.

Honestly, Virgil should be the one screeching. He can’t believe he just told him all that—who knows if Mr. Regnant will be able to keep the information of a crush concerning his nephew to himself?!

⁂

“Okay, here’s your mocha-with-extra-espresso, please don’t tell your Dads,” Uncle Patton says cheerfully, passing back a to-go cup to Logan. “And the chai! I think it’s very sweet that you keep getting this for him, kiddo.”

“Gestures are a good way to express affection,” Logan says anxiously, carefully setting the chai in a cupholder. “I’ve been trying to vary my approaches based off the five love languages. I’m not sure if it’s working.”

Uncle Roman in the passenger seat, his arm thrown over his eyes, makes a sound of great discontent, the way he’s been doing for the past week whenever Uncle Patton has tried to give him any advice concerning Virgil.

“Are you okay, Uncle Roman?” Logan asks again.

“Thinking about being the faculty supervisor to the GSA,” Uncle Roman moans, as if in pain.

“Is the club schedule about to be particularly busy?” Logan asks, frowning. “You typically enjoy your work with the GSA.”

“You could say that,” Uncle Roman says tightly, then groans again.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do personally, in order to relieve any undue stress,” Logan begins, but is cut off by Uncle Roman shrieking.

“Um,” Logan says, looking to Uncle Patton, who snorts, shaking his head.

“He just, um,” Uncle Patton says. “Well, I think something’s happened, except he told me he can’t tell me what it is without betraying someone’s trust, so.”

“I see,” Logan says, frowning, except for the part where he doesn’t see, really. But that happens fairly frequently with Papa and Dad. Honestly, it’s rather curious that Uncle Roman has not acted in a way that seems strange to outsiders. Dad does it all the time, and they’re twins.

Oh, well. He’s sure he’ll understand eventually.

“I’m fine,” Uncle Roman says, and he sniffs loudly. “I’m fine, it’s all—fine.”

Uncle Patton pats his hand sympathetically, before directing their car to school.

Logan sips his drink, before he says idly, “I think I’m going to tell him I’ve had a crush him today.”

Uncle Roman immediately spews coffee onto the windshield in an impressive spit-take. It is hilarious. Even though Uncle Roman is choking a little.

Uncle Patton meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, his eyes bright with excitement. “Really?!”

“Really,” Logan confirms. “I mean, it’s been—it’s been a couple months. We are friendly enough. I do not think that Virgil will discard our friendship if I confess that I have had a crush on him since last year.”

“Well!” Uncle Patton says, so flustered that he accidentally turns on the windshield wipers when he means to signal a turn, and then when he tries to fix that he turns on his hazard lights, before he manages to get the car under control again. “Well, that’s great, kiddo! I’m so excited for you!”

“You are the smartest kid I know,” Uncle Roman says, turning in his seat to face Logan, his expression near-worshipful. “I love you.”

“Um. Thank you?”

“I know you don’t believe in psychics, but are you—?”

“Why are you bringing up psychics?” Logan says, perplexed. “I figured—well, I’ll tell him. And it is time that the Halloween festival will begin this weekend. That seems like a date that Virgil would enjoy.”

“Right,” Uncle Roman says. “Okay. Well—go for it! Please go for it!”

“I have already told you I will,” he says.

“I think it’s gonna go great if you go for it!”

Strange. Uncle Roman is acting as if he has had too much caffeine. As far as Logan is aware, the beverage they have just stopped to get is his first coffee of the day, and he does not metabolize the effects of coffee that quickly.

“Right,” Logan says, adjusting his glasses and taking a sip of his coffee. Then, “Right.”

Then, “What if he says he doesn’t like me back?”

Uncle Roman throws his arm across his eyes and makes that same groaning sound again.

Uncle Patton absentmindedly reaches over and bracingly rubs Uncle Roman’s thigh, again meeting Logan’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Well, kiddo, if he says he doesn’t like you back,” he says, then frowns. “It’s understandable to be disappointed, or a little bit upset, but it’s important to accept his answer graciously and kindly. No means no. No is a full sentence. But Virgil seems like a very nice boy, I can’t imagine he’ll be very mean about it at all, and you two have gotten close over the past few months. It might be kind of awkward for a bit, but with a little work, your friendship will be able to survive it.”

“I suppose,” Logan says quietly, looking down at his lap.

“But,” Uncle Patton adds hastily, “I think the chances are really good for him saying yes to the date! We both do, don’t we, Roman?”

Uncle Roman lets out a very strangled “mm-hmm.”

Logan chews his lip, before he says timidly, “Can I borrow one of your phones to call my Dads?”

“Cupholder, just a bit in front of ya,” Patton says cheerfully. “You already know the password.”

Logan does. He swipes it in—his uncles’ wedding date—and presses on Papa’s contact number. Dad’s phone is lost more often than not, and almost always turns up in strange places, like inside the gateau he’d tried to make, or inside the neighbor’s rain gutters.

His father picks it up almost immediately.

“Patton, if this is about the adopt-a-thon, if I have told you once I have told you a thousand times—”

“Um, hi, Papa,” Logan says awkwardly; he does not want to get into the family squabble about sharing a pet between their households again. Eve is a sufficient pet, even if she’s not as cuddly as Uncle Patton might like.

His father’s voice transforms from chiding to concerned in a second. “Logan, is everything all right?”

“Yes, everyone is operating under adequate parameters,” Logan says. “Is Dad there?”

There’s the sound of something crashing in the background, as if on cue. Knowing Dad, it might have been.

“I’ll get him,” Papa says wearily.

He hears his Papa say Remus, our son is on the phone, please put down the—Uh, Jan, sexy-pie! I thought you were! On the way to work!—what the—REMUS, we’ve TALKED about this, how did you lay hands on a HERON—and then the conversation gets a good deal more muffled. He is pretty sure that Papa is shouting at Dad about capturing local wildlife again.

He waits patiently, before he hears the clatter of the phone being passed into someone’s hands, and Dad asks, “Did someone die?! Do you need help covering up a murder?!”

“Remus, please,” Papa groans, “the boy is too smart to implicate himself by opening the opportunity to be recorded over the phone lines.”

“That’s right, Logie-bear, the government is always watching,” Dad says solemnly. “Big brother, all hail. Also lean over and give my little brother a wet-willie for me, it’d be so funny—”

Logan, accustomed to conversations of this tone since birth, continues stolidly onward. “I’m going to tell Virgil I like him today.”

“Finally!” Dad hoots.

“That’s excellent, Logan,” Papa says placidly. “Please know that I am fully aware of the misogynistic roots of the what are your intentions discussion, and I’ve been doing research in order to make our version as feminist as possible. Also, your father has been warned to discuss minimal amounts of gore when he comes to our home.”

“What is the point of a shovel talk then!”

“We already agreed no shovel talk,” Papa says irritably. “When we threaten the boy, we’ll do it subtly.”

“Please don’t threaten him,” Logan says anxiously. “I don’t even know if he likes me back yet.”

“Of course he likes you back!” Dad says, outraged on his behalf. “Why the hell wouldn’t he like you back?!”

“How did you two know that you loved each other?” Logan asks. The question feels slightly childish, and he feels even more so when he curls up in his car seat, but he cannot deny the posture brings a certain level of comfort.

There’s a pregnant pause.

“We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Papa says.

“I’m sixteen in a matter of weeks!”

Dad makes an absurd gagging noise, because he is ridiculously averse to the concept of Logan (and therefore, himself and Papa) aging. Logan thinks that it might have to do with a latent existential crisis, but he has not asked, because knowing Dad, he will spin it out into thirteen separate absurd reasons, and ten of them will make Logan cringe away, repulsed.

“Trust my judgment on this,” Papa says. “You do not want to know the origins of how our romance developed. However, when we actually had the discussion concerning feelings, your father—”

“I wrote him a beautiful letter in my best calligraphy,” Dad says proudly, then, “You probably don’t want to hear about the ink, do you?”

“Is it disgusting?” Logan asks warily.

“Quite, but,” then, in a voice that literally every other person wouldn’t realize is Papa’s version of profound sappiness, “that’s your father.”

There is the sound of kissing. Logan resists the urge to make a gagging noise of his own, because somehow, he is the mature one in the entire family.

“As it is, just,” Papa says, then sighs. “I cannot believe I am about to give such... Pattonish advice. But. As it is, just be yourself. If this boy likes you back—”

“—as he should, and if he doesn’t he’s in desperate need of a lobotomy,” Dad mutters.

“—then he will like you for you, just the way you are,” Papa says, as if Dad had not said anything remotely worrying. “Tap into your strengths, Logan. You are intelligent, and observant, and thoughtful—”

“—and the best son there is—”

“Well, that goes without saying, clearly,” Papa says. “As long as your confession comes from you, then there is no way that it can go wrong. You are simply too excellent a person for it not to.”

“Even if it turns out he doesn’t like me?” Logan says timidly.

“If it does, then have your uncle forge an excuse note for you to get out of school early today and we’ll plot accordingly,” Papa says evasively. “But I do not think that outcome likely.”

Logan chews his lip. Papa is the best liar he knows, but—

But hearing his encouragement is too comforting to really analyze if he is lying.

“Thanks, Dads.”

“Knock him dead, kid!” Dad shouts. “And if he doesn’t then I will!”

“What did we just say about discussing potential evidence over the phone lines,” Papa scolds, and Logan hangs up, smiling.

Just be yourself.

Uncle Pattonish advice it may be, it has given him an idea.

⁂

Waiting over this past week to see if Mr. Regnant will crack and spill to Mr. Morales, or even worse, Logan himself, has been absolutely agonizing and Virgil’s kicking himself over going to Mr. Regnant for advice surrounding Logan at all.

That morning, though, Mr. Morales is at his desk, and a chai is waiting for Virgil at their usual spot, but Logan is nowhere to be seen. Virgil tries his hardest not to act too much like he’s keeping an eye out for Logan, but he is pretty sure he’s not succeeding, because Mr. Morales is smiling at him way too wide.

He actually seems really excited about something. Like, Mr. Morales usually gets excited when it’s fresh chocolate chip cookie day at lunch, but this is beyond the pale for fresh chocolate chip cookie day. Maybe the assembly they have today is something special? Except Virgil’s pretty sure it’s to pass out honors for the last quarter and talk about fall sports. That’s nothing particularly special.

Logan slides into his seat just before the bell rings, though, wrapping a rubber band around one of his notecard stacks. It’s a thin stack, it must be for something that’s just started; usually Logan compiles every unit of every class into thick stacks, able to be differentiated by the different colors of the notecards. These are just basic white ones.

He fiddles with it, darting looks to Virgil as Patton takes attendance, and, as they’re all filing out of the door, Logan holds out the stack of notecards.

“Here,” he blurts out.

Virgil blinks. “I don’t think we have a test soon?”

“They’re not for a test,” Logan says. “Just—take them. Read them during assembly. Please,” he adds belatedly.

“Uh,” Virgil says and takes them. “Okay?”

“Okay!” Logan says and nods. “Okay. Okay. Great! Um—please take your time to consider them carefully, and I await your response,” and then he practically runs off to fall into line near Mr. Regnant.

So that’s... weird.

But Virgil sticks the notecards into his hoodie pocket, anyways, ready to read them during assembly like Logan directed.

He waits until the principal is droning on about the importance of school spirit to take the notecards out of his pocket.

He spares a glance for Logan—who is several rows ahead, near the faculty, sitting next to Mr. Morales and Mr. Regnant, Mr. Morales occasionally reaching over to rub Logan’s shoulder bracingly—and then angles the notecards so that a teacher looking into the crowd wouldn’t really be able to see them.

He stares at the title on the top notecard. Blinks hard. Blinks again. Looks down at Logan’s back, then back to the notecard.

Reasons why I have a crush on Virgil.

He reaches over to pinch himself. Nope. Not dreaming, then.

And Logan really doesn’t seem like the type of person to make a joke like this.

He flips the cards and reads them slowly, savoring each and every word written in Logan’s blocky, neat script.

He is exceptionally witty.

He is knowledgeable about a great many things, such as music, art, spiders, novels, and mental health issues.

He is sarcastic.

He is thoughtful and deliberate in the formation of his opinions, even ones as small as the proper preparation of chai.

He is very handsome.

He is never rude without reason, and when he is rude, it is usually because the other person is “an asshole” and should be receiving backlash.

He is a remarkably talented artist.

Virgil keeps reading on, he is, he is, he is...

When he gets to the end—I would like to take you on a date. I would also like to be boyfriends, though I understand if you would like to table that conversation until we have established a rapport. Please let me know if you would be amenable to that suggestion.—he feels kind of dizzy. His throat is tight, his heart is pounding, and his hands are so sweaty he’s had to wipe them off on his jeans twice already.

Is it really possible that someone as wonderful as Logan would think of him so highly?

It’s like he’s describing someone entirely different—awkward, anxious Virgil couldn’t possibly be the snarky, witty, caring, deep-thinking guy that Logan’s writing about. There’s just no way. But, Virgil thinks, heart twisting, but Logan doesn’t lie about things like this. Is this the way Logan sees him?

Is it really possible that someone as wonderful as Logan would have a crush on him at all?

He likes Virgil. He wants to take Virgil on a date. He wants Virgil to be his boyfriend.

There’s the rumbling of everyone standing up from the bleachers, and Virgil jumps—has it really been the entire assembly?—and hastily gets to his feet, so he won’t get swept up in the crowd of students returning to their classrooms.

As he’s heading for the door, Logan practically materializes in front of him, hugging his books tightly to his chest.

“Did you read them?” He asks fretfully. Now that Virgil’s close to him, face-to-face, he isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Logan so nervous. He isn’t sure if he’s seen Logan nervous at all. Logan’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, drumming his fingers on his books, holding the books like they’re a teddy bear.

“Do you,” Virgil says, his voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “You really like me?”

“Since last year,” Logan admits.

“I’ve liked you since kindergarten,” Virgil blurts out.

Logan blinks at him, jaw dropping. Then he says, “Really?!”

“Really,” Virgil promises. “My mom has this journal entry saved where I kept writing about how I was going to be Mr. Virgil Sanders, oh my God, she’s going to be so embarrassing about this—”

Logan snorts, ducking his head. “You’ve withstood my uncles handily.”

“Your uncles are cool, though,” Virgil says, confused.

“My uncles are embarrassing,” Logan says, “and my Dads are going to be so weird, I’m very sorry in advance, but—but if you can handle all of that, then I’d—I’d really like to take you out to the Halloween festival. I’d really really like that.”

Virgil’s smiling so wide that it hurts his face. “I’d really really like that too.”

And then the bell rings, and the pair of them jump at the sudden loud noise.

“I—we have to go to class,” Logan says, sounding very put out.

“Yeah,” Virgil says, then, “I’ll see you at lunch?”

Logan beams at him. “Lunch sounds wonderful.”

Virgil hesitates, before he reaches out and places a hand on Logan’s shoulder. He leans in and presses his lips to Logan’s cheek.

Logan’s bright red when he pulls away.

“Lunch?” Virgil confirms.

“Lunch,” Logan squeaks out, his voice cracking.

They emerge from under the bleachers, and have to split ways. Even when Mr. Regnant pulls him out into the hall under the guise of talking about his project and starts whisper-shouting about “do you know how HARD IT WAS to keep QUIET when i KNEW all along that you both LIKED each other bacK,” even when Mr. Morales ducks his head into his math class to pass over papers and gives Virgil some super-obvious thumbs up, even after he texts his Mom and his mom sends him screenfuls of exclamation points and immediately asks him to invite Logan over so that she can show Logan all of Virgil’s baby pictures—

Virgil cannot stop smiling.

#my post #text #my fic #analogical #analogicalweek #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #logan sanders

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irishseeeker · 3 years ago

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the story of us

summary: Five times Kate Sheffield and Anthony Bridgeton were just friends and one time they were more.

chapter 1: if one thing had been different, would everything be different?

Kate Sheffield and Anthony Bridgerton meet at Oxford University.

They’re both studying law and business, and they’re in the same college of the many in their university. They have nearly identical schedules, which usually resulted in heated debates in most of their lectures. They’re partnered up for seminars for their first semester, which means an hour a week the two of them and a tutor spend an hour discussing readings, essays and of course, arguing further.

Oddly enough, after a month of arguing and bickering, they sort of become best friends.

They lived in the same accommodation, a co-ed accommodation which Kate had thought was scandalous at first, but it ends up being amazing. They form a friend group in their course, and they all live together. It's sort of perfect, really. Kate had had friends in school, but she had never had a friendship group like this or a best friend like Anthony. For the first time, she felt like she truly belonged.

They still argued constantly, much to the amusement of their friends, but they also knew each other’s coffee orders and why he’s scared of bees and she’s scared of thunderstorms.

He’s the first boy-friend Kate has ever had, and she’s definitely his first platonic girl-friend as he seems to sleep with the rest of them.

They’re completely different, yet they understand each other. He’s a Bridgerton, an Oxford legacy with an actual title, and she’s a Sheffield from a small town in Somerset on a scholarship to Oxford. He went to Eton, she went to her local secondary school.

They spend their first year at university either in the library, in their rooms or drunk in a club or pub. Always together.

“So, you and Anthony,” Her friend, Anna, commented as they walked to class one chilly December day. Anthony was up ahead with some of the lads, the group of them laughing loudly and occasionally shoving each other. Kate had decided a while ago she would never fully understand the male species.

“Yes?” Kate asked, turning to raise an eyebrow at Anna. She knew what Anna was implying, it wasn’t the first time she had been asked about it and it was only December.

“You’re quite close,” She commented further, grinning at Kate as she opened up the Law building’s door.

“We’re good friends,” Kate shrugged, feeling her cheeks heat up. “That’s all.”

“The way he looks as you doesn’t seem that friendly to me,” said Anna, nudging Kate with her hip. Anna had long blonde hair, pale skin and a wide smile. She was also very petite. Kate was the opposite.

Kate was tall, around 5’10, which people oddly liked to to remind her about a lot. As if she wasn't aware of it. She was lucky she had never suffered from acne, bar the occasional stress spots, so her skin was clear and smooth. She had long, dark thick hair. It never stayed straight and was always knotted, so she usually just let it lie down her back. She had met the girls Anthony typically went for and she didn’t fit the picture.

Kate had long accepted that and wouldn't entertain the idea any further.

“He doesn’t look at me like anything,” Kate rolled her eyes, feeling her throat closing up slightly as they walked into their lecture hall and took a seat in the middle. “He saw me puke my guts out last week, so it’s fair to say he’s not looking at me like anything.”

She had gotten far too drunk on a night out last Thursday and she could still feel her hangover. It had been a particularly stressful day with a bad grade on an essay and a harsh feedback session from a tutor. She had embarrassingly burst into tears when Anthony had stopped by her room to go to dinner, and he held her as she cried and called their tutor a twat.

He then suggested they all go out. She had apparently danced on top of tables, attempted to take most of her clothes off (and was stopped from doing so) and then passed out. Anthony had carried her home. Not that she remembered anything, most of the night was a blur.

She was never drinking tequila again.

“He was the one holding your hair back,” Anna gave her a pointed look, raising her eyebrows. “I’m just saying, I think you two would be good together. Kate and Anthony has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

Before Kate could object, she felt someone appear sit down beside them. “Hey,” A voice appeared beside them and Kate nearly jumped, looking at Anthony. He was wearing a grey jumper and jeans, his nose red from the cold outside. “What are you talking about?”

“What we’re wearing to the Law ball,” Anna replied swiftly, and Kate let out a sigh of relief that her friend had stopped talking. The Law Ball was being held next weekend, just before the term ended for Christmas and all assignments were over.

“Oh,” Anthony said, taking out his laptop and logging into it. “Well, Kate, you should wear something that’s hard to get out of. I don’t think the law society will take kindly to one of its members stripping in the middle of the dancefloor.”

“Fuck off.” She elbowed him as Anna burst out laughing, and Anthony grins at her. She can’t help but laugh too even if she’s mortified.

After Christmas, when they’re back at university and exams are over, he teaches her how to drive. Mary, her step-mother and the only mother she’s ever had, never learned, and everything had been within walking distance back home. She had never had the chance to learn. She had got the train to university when she’d moved, and you walked everywhere. Anthony always had his car with him as he went home a lot to see his siblings and mother.

When he finds out she can’t drive, he insists on teaching her. “I’ve taught two of my siblings. Including Colin. If I can teach Colin, I can teach anyone.”

They’re about ten minutes into it before they start arguing.

Kate had never thought driving could be so stressful.

“Clutch!”

“I am clutching!” She shrieked, pushing the pedal forward as her ankles began to ache.

“Fuck me-brake, Kate!”

“Stop shouting at me!”

She pulls up the handbrake so hard she’s surprised she didn’t break it, and gets out of the car and refuses to get back in. They had gone to a retail park with a largely empty parking lot to practice in. He eventually convinces her to get back in the car, after apologizing numerous times, and he’s a lot nicer as she gets behind the wheel again.

Her birthday is in March, and he gets her driving lessons. They’re ridiculously expensive, and she initially refuses to accept them for a week. They argue about it, money has never been an object to him and it’s something she’s never had much of, so their perspectives are different.

She eventually accepts them and thanks him, after he insists for the twentieth time he didn’t mean it in any way other than to help her and so he would never have to teach her. She really wanted to be able to drive, to be able to afford a car eventually and drive home to Mary and Edwina more. She did warn him if he ever spent more than 20 pounds on her again, she’d murder him.

It’s the start of May when she passes her test, and he’s waiting for her outside the centre. He twirls her around as she runs towards him, shouting she’d passed, and they get McDonalds to celebrate. She thanks him for everything, and he shrugs it off because he’s Anthony. They do celebrate with their friends in the pub later that evening, and she gets very drunk, but their McDonalds that afternoon will hold a special place in her heart.

She’s beginning to think he always will, too.

Her dad’s memorial service is on a Sunday in June. It had been five years since he died, five years of missing him and him missing everything. Her graduating school, her getting into university, her first day at university. Kate planned to get the train back home for the day and get the last one back this evening. She had two exams on Friday and Saturday so she couldn’t have gone home earlier, and she couldn’t miss any of her tutorials or lectures tomorrow. A part of her was relieved, she didn’t want to stay at home. It was too sad and university was a good distraction.

It was far too early to be awake on a Sunday, it was 7am, but she had to be home before twelve for the service and the train was two hours.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the whatsapp messages that appeared on her screen.

Anthony: i’m outside

Kate raised an eyebrow at the text, grabbing her bag and heading downstairs, outside their accommodation. She walked out onto the road, eventually spotting him. “Anthony?”

“Hey,” He said, smiling at her. He was leaning against his car, his hands in his pockets. “We better hit the road. We’ll need to stop at a Starbucks drive through as well, I need caffeine.”

Kate stared at him, unsure of what to say or what was going on. He had been the person she had mentioned it to out of their friends, that she wouldn’t be around on Sunday. “What do you mean? I’m going to my dad’s service.”

“I know Kate,” He said softly, opening the passenger side door for her. “I figured I’d drive you. I don’t want you to be alone, so I thought I’d come. I know how hard today can be, so,” He shuffled his feet awkwardly, clearly very uncomfortable. “If it’s okay, that is. If you don’t want me to come, I can go.”

She stared at him. “Oh Anthony,” She half sobbed, completely breaking down and throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was probably the nicest thing someone had ever done for her. She hadn’t realized how much she had needed someone until she saw him in front of her. She squeezed him tightly, pushing the tears back that were brewing under her eyelids. “Thank you.”

She hadn’t had to ask, he was just there. That was Anthony Bridgerton.

“It’s okay,” He murmured, squeezing her back before she removed herself off him, half sniffling. Anthony had never handled emotional women well. “Let’s go? You have music privileges but if I hear one one direction song, they’re gone.”

“As if you don’t already know the lyrics and like them,” Kate teased, climbing into the car and putting on her seatbelt.

“I have three younger sisters,” He grumbled, flicking a glance at the rearview mirror as he pulled out onto the road. “Of course I know the lyrics.”

It’s a long and hard day, but she feels better when Mary, her stepmother, her mum, opens their front door and hugs her. Edwina squeals as she runs towards Kate, hugging her tightly.

“Hey guys,” Kate said, smiling as she stepped aside and gestured awkwardly to Anthony. “This is my friend from university, Anthony.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Anthony said, oddly formal as he extended his hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Mary said, smiling at Anthony as she gestured to them to come inside. “Come in! We can have some tea and biscuits before we head off.” She shot Kate an amused smile behind Anthony’s back, who was being lead into the kitchen by a chattering Edwina.

Kate ignored Mary, because she knew that look and there was no look needed. There was nothing going on between her and Anthony.

The memorial is long, and quite sad. Anthony puts his arm around Kate at one point, when she can’t hold her tears, silently streaming down her cheeks. There’s a small lunch at the local pub afterwards, which Kate spends mostly talking to old friends of her fathers and familiar faces she hadn’t seen since she had left for university.

Kate takes Anthony on a walk down the pier, where she spent most of her childhood hanging out with her friends. “I had my first kiss there,” She pointed at the edge of the pier where there were a few steps that led to the sea. “I had my first drink there as well. I remember how disgusted I was about how disgusting beer was. All that hype for it to taste like piss.”

Anthony snorted, licking his lips as he tried to keep up with his melting ice cream. His face was a mess, a few sprinkles at the edge of his ice cream stained mouth. “Very romantic. So this is where the Kate Sheffield came to be?”

“It is indeed. Here,” She chuckled, stopping in her tracks as she reached up to wipe his white stained mouth softly. “You’re very messy.”

He was staring at her as she wiped his mouth, and her brain had only caught up with her actions a few moments later. She was touching his face, her hand on his cheek as she wiped his mouth.

His mouth.

His perfectly, slightly rose tinted lips.

“Oh my god! Kate!” Her old school friend, Ophelia Nixon, who had gone to university in Nottingham screeched as she ran up to Kate and hugged her. Kate introduced Anthony and they made polite conversation before Kate said they better head back as they had a long drive ahead of them.

The moment between her and Anthony had come and gone as quickly as it had happened. Neither of them acknowledged it.

Kate shook her head, thinking she was being ridiculous. There wasn’t a moment, of course there wasn’t.

Right?

“I like him,” Mary said later that evening, hugging Kate at the doorstep as her and Anthony were about to leave. Anthony had already said goodbye, and he was waiting in the car to give the Sheffields a private moment.

“I like him too,” Kate said, giving her mother a pointed look. “As a friend.”

“Of course dear,” Mary brushed Kate’s thick hair out of her eyes, winning at her. “It was lovely to see you, darling. Safe drive home. I love you a lot.”

“I love you too,” She hugged Mary one last time, before moving to hug her sister.

“I hate when you go,” Edwina murmured, wrapping her arms around her sister tightly. “You should bring back boys more. Especially ones who look like that.”

“Edwina!”

“What?” Her sister replied innocently, but she was smirking. “He definitely likes you.”

“I love you,” Kate said pointedly, ending the conversation as she pulled away from her sister. “I’ll call you both later.”

“Love you,” Edwina was laughing, waving in her and Anthony’s direction. “Bye Anthony!”

Anthony looked up and waved as Kate groaned, turning to give her a sister a murderous glare as she climbed into the car.

“You okay?” Anthony asked as Kate waved at her mother and sister’s fading figures as they drove off.

“Yeah,” She said, that feeling of sadness still aching slightly in the pit of her stomach. The years passed, and it got slightly easier, but it would always hurt. She smiled at him. “Thank you for today.”

“Of course,” said Anthony, returning her smile before focusing back on the road as they sat in a comfortable silence. Kate felt herself dozing off, the events of the day catching up on her, but as she fell asleep thinking about how much her dad would have liked Anthony.

Siena Rosso comes into the picture at the start of their second year. Kate doesn’t understand their relationship, if it even is a relationship, and deep down she knows she doesn’t want to understand. She prefers to not think about it, prefers to not think about that gut wrenching feeling in the pit of her stomach when she sees them together.

Besides, Siena is nice. She’s studying drama in the year below them. She’s witty, gorgeous, has no problem putting Anthony in his place and Kate understands why he likes her. She’s absolutely nothing like Kate.

Kate had never had much experience with boys, something she had long come to terms with in school and was once aware of again in university. It did happen, she had more opportunities in university-it just didn't happen a lot. Boys didn’t seem to gravitate towards her and she never got asked out on dates. It just wasn’t something that happened to her.

Edwina had even gotten a boyfriend long before Kate had.

She’s at a party one night in October, and Anthony isn’t there. Kate had been trying to make more of an effort with people outside of their friendship group and particularly people who weren’t Anthony. He had a life outside of her, and she would have one outside of him. She was invited by Poppy, a girl she had met in one of her history electives.

She gets paired up with Simon Basset for beer pong at the pre-drinks, and they were getting on very well. She didn’t know him at all, she only knew of him from Anthony. They had gone to Eton together, but Kate hadn’t met him until tonight. Anthony had been good friends with him for years, but hadn’t thought to introduce Kate or invite her whenever him and Simon met up.

“I’m Simon,” He introduced himself as grinned at her. “I really don’t like losing at beer pong.”

“Good thing I don’t lose,” Kate replied swiftly, smirking right back at him.

They walk to the club together and he gives her a piggyback when she complains her feet hurt. She puts up an instagram story of Simon and her winning beer pong and another of them smiling at the camera.

She ignores Anthony’s reply to her story, and she drinks more.

When she's on her third drink, Kate decides her and Simon were flirting. They were definitely flirting.

“What course did you say you were in again?” Simon shouts over the music, his hands lingering on her waist.

“Law,” Kate shouts back at him, leaning up slightly to speak in his ear.

“Ah! Do you know Anthony Bridgerton?”

"Yeah!" Kate tries to contain the grin that forms on her face the minute he's mentioned. "He's one of my best mates."

“Wait,” said Simon, the grin on his face completely disappearing. “You’re Kate?”

“Yeah,” She said, raising an eyebrow slightly at Simon's fallen face. “Has he mentioned me?”

“I can’t do it, I’m sorry,” Kate looks confused and Simon sighs, shaking his head. “I can’t do it to Anthony.”

“What? Can’t do what?” said Kate, raising an eyebrow. “Oh! No, no. We’re just friends!”

“I still can’t,” Simon insisted, actually taking a step back from her. Did Eton breed these boys to be so dramatic? “Believe me, I want to, but I can’t. Bro-code.”

“That’s ridiculous. Wait, did he say something to you?” Kate asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at him and feeling quite infuriated. Why couldn’t he do that to Anthony? Kate was his friend, not his sister. Not that it made a difference but to boys it clearly did. Kate didn’t know what category it fell into.

Simon just winked at her, “I better go before I do something I’ll regret but really won’t regret. I’ll see you around Kate,” Simon then literally ran away from Kate, and Kate was left standing there, gobsmacked.

“What just happened?” Poppy asked, walking up to Kate and following her gaze towards the back of Simon’s head, fading into the crowd.

Kate sighed, taking a long gulp of her vodka and cranberry. “I have absolutely no idea.”

The following day, Kate was feeling rather sorry for herself as she sat in the common room of their accommodation. She was incredibly hungover, exhausted and had sat through two lectures back to back that morning. She was meeting Anthony for lunch before she went to sleep for the rest of the day.

Anthony strode into the common room, a frown on his face as he sat down opposite her. "Were you with Simon Basset last night?”

“Wha?” Kate mumbled, her hangover pounding against her temple. “Hello to you too. Oh, yeah.” She would have rather forgotten about him, the guy who had rejected her in the middle of the club.

“And?” Anthony pressed, staring at Kate rather disgruntled.

Kate sat up, rather confused at his attitude. She was more than familiar with Anthony's moodiness, but this was slightly bizarre. He looked pissed. “And what?”

“Kate,” Anthony snapped, looking oddly serious as he pulled out his sandwich. “What do you think? Did you get with him?”

She didn’t care for his tone and she glared at him as she lifted her head. She ignored his question. “Did you say something to Simon Basset about me?”

Anthony gaped at her, his mouth hanging open with his half chewed lunch. “What?”

“Ew, shut your mouth you animal,” She scolded, making a face at him. “He mentioned you last night.”

Anthony put his sandwich down, looking at her seriously. “Did you get with him?”

Kate felt her cheeks heat up, forcing herself to look at him and scowl. “That’s none of your business!”

He was not pleased in the slightest. His tone was cold with a hint of irritation, lower than usual. “Kate.”

“Anthony.”

He leaned forward as he spoke, “Seriously, Kate.”

“Not that it has anything to do with you, but no, we didn’t!” She exclaimed, not understanding why he was acting quite hostile and why he was acting that question. They weren’t the type of friends to talk about who they got with, and Kate wasn’t really that type of person anyway. She was easily mortified. “He wouldn’t because of you. Something about some misogynistic bro-code.”

Anthony let out what looked like a sigh of relief, but she wasn’t sure. She knew that she would never truly understand men, and this was another example of why she shouldn’t ever bother trying.

“What did you say to him?” Kate asked, frowning at him, now happily munching away at his sandwich. She felt ridiculous asking, but she was confused and annoyed. “Did you tell him not get with me? You better not have Anthony Bridgerton. I will murder you.”’

“I didn’t tell him anything! Jesus, Kate. It’s Bro-Code. You don’t get with sisters, girlfriends, ex-girlfriends or girls who are best friends of your friends. There’s some lines you don’t cross,” He shrugged. “It would be like me getting with Edwina.”

“Okay, I’m eating my lunch and I'm extremely hangover,” She gagged, shuddering at the thought. “That is not the same. That code is ridiculous. Women aren't possessions you can ban your friends from getting with simply because they mean something to you.”

“It would be like you getting with Benedict!” The coloured veins in his neck were sticking out and she could see his frustration. “It’s wrong and immoral.”

“Again, eating my lunch. Benedict is a child so that’s another disgusting example I won't be entertaining. You're being absolutely ridiculous,” She shook her head, “I can still get with whoever I want. I don’t need your permission or some stupid code dictating that.”

“I never said you did,” He retorted, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Besides, Basset is my friend and all, but he’s bad news. He flies through girls. He’s not relationship material.”

“That’s sort of the pot calling the kettle black, though, isn’t it? Siena is still with you.” She felt like she had gone too far, but she was too angry to care. Siena was a sensitive topic, an unspoken topic, but she did it anyway. “I know what I can handle.”

“Do you, though?” His tone wasn’t angry, it was cold. She had struck a nerve. He looked at her with a blank expression and Kate felt like he was looking right through her. “It’s not like you know what you’re talking about. You’re not exactly experienced, are you?”

Kate stared at him, speechless, as if her ability to speak had been slapped out of her. She felt the heat rush behind her eyes and the tears that were quickly following, but in that moment she’d rather die than cry in front of him.

She just grabbed her bag and walked off, ignoring his calls behind her.

They don’t speak for three days, which frankly, sucks. It's their first big fight in the two years they've known each other. They bickered constantly but they never actually fought. It was awful. They still had to see each other, at lectures and around the university, but she sits at the back and as far away from him as possible. He had tried to speak to her and pretend like nothing had happened the following day, but she had just walked past him.

He had really hurt her feelings. Her lack of experience was a sensitive topic, and he knew that, everyone knew that and he had still thrown it back in her face.

“Kate?”

It’s a Wednesday night and she’s in her room, writing an essay about corporate law. She had said no to going to the pub with her friends, she wasn’t in the mood. She was trying to focus on her lectures but her mind kept revolving back to Anthony bloody Bridgerton.

“Kate, I know you’re in there. I can see the light,” Anthony’s voice was loud and clear through her door. “Please talk to me. I’m really sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it. I was an asshole.”

She didn’t say anything, twirling her pen around with her fingers. Her breath had caught in her throat as she heard his voice, she hadn’t expected him to be there. She figured he had gone to the pub, or was out with Siena.

“I hate not talking to you. I miss you. Please? I brought you those cookies you like. And those fizzy bears,” His voice was pleading, and she knew he meant it. “I’m so sorry. Please.”

She opened the door after a few seconds, staring at him, and then at the goods in his hands. Her willpower had long expired and he sounded so sad, so desperate. He sounded like she felt. “White chocolate chip?”

“Of course,” He said, standing up straight and handing her the food. “I’m so sorry, Kate. Can I-?"

“Come in,” She murmured, walking in and collapsing on her bed. She pulled her legs up, making room for him on the bed. She opened the fizzy bears, offering them to him first.

He hesitated as he looked at her, biting his lip. “We’re okay?”

She nodded, “We’re okay. I am sorry about what I said too, you know. About the pot calling the kettle black comment. You were still a bigger asshole, but I’m sorry.”

“I deserved it. You’re not wrong and I wasn’t exactly nice, was I?” She snorted, and he laughed. “I really did mean it from a good place. I don’t want anyone to mess you around like that.”

“I know, but I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” She replied, licking the sugar off her lips. “You need to take that toxic masculinity down a notch, Bridgerton.”

“I know, I know what I said was wrong. It took me longer than I'd like to admit, but I understand that now,” He replied, his voice soft and she felt guilty for being mean to him. He didn’t look great, he looked tired and the skin under his eyes was darker than usual. “I am sorry. Please don’t ever ignore me again. I’d rather get my wisdom teeth out again than go through that.”

“Well, don’t be an asshole and we won’t have any problems, will we?” said Kate, smiling sweetly at him as she opened up the cookies, feeling the white chocolate melt in her mouth. It tasted glorious.

“Whatever or who you want to do, I will support it. I promise,” He looked slightly in pain as he spoke. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” She nudged him with her foot. “We’re friends again, relax.”

He looked relieved but slightly uneasy. “Is this one of those friendship moments where we should hug?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. Affection was not something that came natural to Anthony Bridgerton but it was adorable when he tried. “Hard pass.”

They spent the rest of the evening in her dorm, chatting about everything and anything. It had only been three days of not speaking, and she had missed him more than she should have. She had missed him a dangerous amount, and it seemed like he had missed her too.

Kate shook her head, pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind as she focused on Anthony’s story about some trouble his younger brother Colin had gotten into in Eton yesterday. Ever since his father died, Colin had been acting more and more reckless. Anthony didn’t know what to do with him and his mother just coddled Colin.

Their second year is a blur of exams, parties, clubbing, more exams, assignments as winter turns to spring and spring to summer. It’s over before it feels like it has started, and Kate can’t believe it.

Anthony’s on and off relationship ends as well, when Sienna decides to study abroad in Paris for her second year and leaves at the start of the summer. Kate doesn’t let herself think about why she feels lighter, but she still brings him McDonalds and beer when he texts them they broke up. His room is pretty much packed up, unlike Kate, Anthony is very organized. Their second year was officially over and they were leaving tomorrow. Kate hadn’t even packed, but she knew he’d help in the morning.

He doesn’t talk about his feelings, obviously, because he’s Anthony. They watch New Girl instead, on his laptop, eating crisps and drinking coke, until he shocks her and talks.

“She said I was lost,” He murmured, playing with his pocket watch. It was something he always did. “That I didn’t know what I wanted and she couldn’t keep waiting for me to figure it out. I wasn’t fair to her.”

“Oh,” said Kate, gulping slightly. Kate was just above Anthony on how to deal with feelings and general emotion, and that bar was set pretty low anyway. “I think, sometimes, some of us just take longer to figure out what we want. She must know she wants and she’s not wrong for going after it, even if it means leaving other people behind.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s right about you though,” She continued, trying to phrase her words delicately. “You’ve been through a lot, Anthony. It’s okay if you need more time to figure things out. We’re still young. No one meets the person they’re meant to be with when they’re 20 years old.”

“My parents met when they were 18,” He retorted, raising a pointed eyebrow. Anthony’s parents had been madly in love since they were teenagers and they had had Anthony quite young.

“Okay, well, they’re the exception then, not the rule,” She nudged him with her elbow lightly. “I know we’re not the feeling sort, but everything is going to be okay. It hurts because she mattered, and that’s a good thing. It’s better than not feeling anything at all. And eventually it will hurt less and less, and I’ll be here until it doesn’t.”

“Thanks, Kate,” murmured Anthony, looking uncomfortable but he still nudged her back which is probably the most affectionate exchange they’ve ever had between them. “Thank god you’re you. I couldn’t handle a friend who asks me how I’m feeling all the time.”

Kate snorted, rolling her eyes. The word rang in her head, a friend, but that’s what she was. That’s what he was to her. Her best friend, really. Then why did it sting when he said it? “I mean this is the nicest way possible, you need to see a therapist.”

He smacked her with a pillow, and she kicked him in the ribs, and that was the last they spoke of Siena and anything remotely to do with feelings.

Kate ignored the mixture of guilt and relief in her chest to see the back of Siena. She didn't question why it was there.

Kate had been away for most of the summer after their second year of university, traveling abroad with Edwina and Mary. It had been a trip Mary had saved up for for years and it was finally happening. They went interrailing around Europe, from Prague to Paris, staying in hostels and traveling by train.

It was the longest Kate and Anthony had ever been apart since they had met, and it was strange. They spoke on facetime most days, well, Kate spoke and Anthony listened as she spoke about her travels around Europe with her mum and sister. She sent him the picture of her holding the eiffel tower, a picture of her at the colosseum and sunset at a beach in Mykonos.

Not that Kate would ever admit it to another living soul, as much as Edwina had teased her relentlessly about it, she had missed him a lot. She had come to the realization that Anthony was her best friend. Her first, true best friend. He was someone she had always wanted to have in a friend, one that was depicted in movies and television shows-she had had good friends before university, but no one was like Anthony. She didn’t have to be anyone but herself around him.

She was thrilled when he had asked her to spend the last month of the summer with Anthony at his house in Kent. She loved Mary and Edwina but Somerset was boring and she needed to get away.

Kate felt strange.

She had this uncomfortable, nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach for most of the train ride on her way to Kent. Their flight had arrived in England yesterday morning and once they had driven home, Kate was gone the next morning. She had barely slept last night but she wasn’t sure if it was out of excitement or anxiety at the thought of seeing Anthony again.

She had changed her outfit three times before setting on a violet sundress with a daisy print.

It was just Anthony, Kate.

That was the problem.

It was Anthony.

The train finally pulled in at her station, snapping Kate out of her complicated thoughts and she dragged her suitcase off the baggage railing, glancing around. It was an old station, all she could see in the distance was fields and trees. It was just before noon and all the station had was a man behind the information desk and a small corner shop.

She walked out to the front of the station, half wheeling and half dragging her semi-functioning suitcase behind her as she glanced around the car park. Kate pulled out her phone, pressing the call button on Anthony’s contact.

“About time.”

Kate turned around to see Anthony Bridgerton grinning at her, a pair of black sunglasses covering his eyes. He looked so relaxed, in a simple white t-shirt and blue shorts, suitable for a warm English August in Kent.

It made her feel warm inside.

“Hey there, stranger,” Kate said, her cheeks beginning to ache as her grin matched his own.

She didn’t know who moved first, but when Anthony’s tanned arms wrapped around her, essentially lifting her off the ground and her arms wrapped around his neck, there was one thing Kate knew for certain.

It was the best hug of her entire life.

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #this is a slow burn #friends to lovers #modern au - university #kate x anthony #bridgerton fanfiction #ao3 #fanfiction #chapter 2/6 coming soon!

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years ago

Text

Written In The Stars CX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I just hope you guys are actually enjoying this book bc you’ve been extremely quiet and it’s making me worry jfdg -Danny

Words: 4,785

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Lemon To A Knife Fight -by The Wombats

Chapter Eight: Arguments.

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation..."

Mel discovered that pouring all her attention into the classes was an excellent way to keep Harry and his stupid ogling towards Cho away from her thoughts. She wasn't going to bury herself in homework and miss the fun, but for the first time in her life, she was going to put herself first.

"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," called Snape.

As on queue, the surface of Hermione and Mel's started to create a mist, Snape barely looked at them without saying anything.

"Potter, what is this supposed to be?" She heard the Professor ask in quite a nasty voice.

"The Draught of Peace," said Harry shortly.

"Tell me, Potter, can you read?" "Yes, I can."

"Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."

" 'Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.' "

Mel noticed Harry's face shift slightly at the last line.

"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"No. I forgot the hellebore..."

"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco. Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."

She knew it had been unfair to vanish Harry's potion, but she picked up her things, delivered her own, and left the classroom in silence.

"That was really unfair. Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire," Hermione commented during lunch.

"Yeah, well, since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"

"I did think he might be a bit better this year. I mean... you know... Now he's in the Order and everything."

"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots. Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?"

"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," snapped Hermione.

"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," said Harry. "Can't you give it a rest? You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad..." He turned and left.

Ron and Hermione looked at her in search for an explanation.

"I think he was pretty clear, wasn't he?" Mel raised a brow. "You two fight a lot."

"Look who's talking!" Ron said heatedly. "You and Harry have been arguing all the time!"

"We don't even talk!"

"You do! But you only fight!" Hermione pointed out. "It's strange, you barely speak and when you do, you end up yelling."

"We still fight less than you two."

"Fine," Hermione replied irritatedly. "We'll stop fighting, but Harry has to stop lashing out on us, we're not the ones he should be treating like this."

"Well then, you tell him that," Mel scowled.

Hermione looked like she wanted to keep arguing, but Ron stopped her and mumbled something Mel couldn't hear.

"D'you realize how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about O.W.L. year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any..."

"I reckon I can handle it, but if you got any problems I'll help you, you just have to pay me five knuts per essay!" The girl joked.

"I think I rather fail everything, thank you..." Ron pouted.

"Well, good afternoon!" Umbridge greeted them in that unnerving voice.

"Good afternoon," said a few.

"Tut, tut– That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," Everyone replied. Mel and Ron shared an amused grin.

"There, now. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please. Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it? The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year. You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

"Theory-centred?" Mel looked at Hermione. "I'm hating this already..."

"Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?" A few replied humorlessly, the woman interrupted them. "I think we'll try that again. When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge."

"Good. I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

Everyone listened. Everyone except for Hermione, who kept her book closed and raised a hand in the air, waiting for Umbridge to notice her. An awful lot of time passed before Umbridge finally decided to address the girl.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?"

"Not about the chapter, no."

"Well, we're reading just now. If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims."

"And your name is — ?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."

"Well, I don't. There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

"Using defensive spells? Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?" The woman laughed, Mel found it extremely irritating.

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron asked in surprise.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr — ?"

"Weasley."

Hermione raised her hand again.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes. Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?"

"No, but —"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way —"

"What use is that?" said Harry. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a —"

"Hand, Mr Potter!"

Several students now had their hands up.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge asked to one.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free —"

"I repeat, do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but —"

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school, but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention, extremely dangerous half-breeds."

Mel gasped quite loudly. Several of her classmates stared at her in anxious anticipation.

"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean Thomas, who was as upset as her, "he was the best we ever —"

"Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day —"

"No we haven't," Hermione said, "we just —"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"

"How can self-defense be inappropriate at any age?" Mel asked, her hand up without waiting for the teacher to giver her permission. "Why does it matter? Isn't it better if we manage to learn it while still young? It makes room for more knowledge–"

"More knowledge?" Umbridge's eyes had a dangerous glint. "What kind of knowledge, Miss Dumbledore?"

Mel opened her mouth but she did not speak. Umbridge knew her name without needing to ask for it.

"Just..." The girl hesitated, measuring her words, "general..."

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you — Did that help you, Miss Dumbledore?"

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he? Mind you, we still learned loads —" Dean commented.

Mel was starting to like Dean better than other years, she made a mental note to buy him a few sweets on their next visit to Hogsmeade.

"Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas! Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?"

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions."

"Without ever practising them before? Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough —"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" Harry blurted out.

"This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world."

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."

"Oh yeah?" Everyone stared at him in expectation.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"

"Hmm, let's think... maybe Lord Voldemort?"

Mel swore under her breath, this was exactly the kind of stuff they were supposed to be avoiding, and Harry had run straight into the trap.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter. Now, let me make a few things quite plain. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead —"

"He wasn't dead– but yeah, he's returned!"

"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Professor Umbridge, her demeanour changing, but barely. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark Wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is NOT a lie! I saw him, I fought him!"

"Shut up!" Mel hissed, but Umbridge spoke louder.

"Detention, Mr Potter! Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office," She looked like she'd just been granted her biggest wish, which Mel didn't like at all. "I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.' "

Harry stood up.

"Harry, no!" Hermione cried quietly, she turned to Mel with a pleading look, but she crossed her arms and looked ahead. He handles his own stuff, she convinced herself, too pissed about his careless behaviour.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said without missing a beat.

"It was murder. Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

"Come here, Mr Potter, dear." She said sweetly.

Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.

Mel was wondering what was going to happen to Harry when she walked out of the classroom and a younger student stood in front of her, handing her a note. Mel opened it quickly knowing from whom it was, she read it with a new sense of purpose.

'Sugar quills. Tonight after dinner.'

Mel sat down in front of the Headmaster and stared at him, waiting. Dumbledore seemed unimpressed.

"You've got your first class with Professor Umbridge."

"That woman is as close to being a Professor than I am to being a mermaid."

"Professor McGonagall told me Harry had an outburst in the middle of her class."

"He did."

"Why didn't you step in?"

Mel frowned.

"Was I supposed to, sir?"

"You're certainly not obliged, but after all these years I assumed you knew better than to let him speak about Voldemort in front of a member of the Ministry."

He didn't sound upset, but there was an edge on his voice that made her feel uncomfortable about her indifference.

"I tried to get my point across, but she knew who I was and after that, I didn't dare to speak. I didn't want to give her a reason to believe my lessons are more than what they are..."

"I'm afraid Fudge is not entirely wrong about your lessons, Mel."

The girl looked up at the man in confusion.

"What?"

"After the events of last June, I've decided to advance your classes to N.E.W.T levels," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I beg you forgive me, but your studies to become an animagus will have to wait. You'll be learning legilimency and occlumency, and nonverbal spells that you will try to do wandless."

"That's..." Mel started, taken by surprise. "That's okay... why?"

"Professor Umbridge will refuse to teach you in practice because Fudge doesn't want you to learn more than what you already know," Dumbledore explained. "I can't allow that to be your case. I need you to be ready."

"Ready for what? You're not... you're not saying I'm bound to take your place?"

Dumbledore fell silent for a moment before continuing.

"I don't want you to be my replacement. I want you to cover all the aspects that I cannot. I understand, thanks to Emily's letters, that you and Harry have grown apart during this summer, is that true?"

Mel thought about it for a moment before speaking.

"You need me to stay close, don't you?" She said in resignation. "Want me to become Harry's guard? You'll find that hard to achieve, as soon as he found out about the lifeline he cut all ties... He's convinced that this way is safer."

"What we're doing is important and we can't afford to fight in times like this. If you don't stick together, then we already lost."

"It's not that I don't care," Mel started, getting a bit irritated. "I just that he's been acting up on everyone–"

"Have you stopped to think that maybe he's acting this way because he's been cast out?" Dumbledore asked carefully. "He pushed you away, and you decided to push even further. He felt guilty of the pain you went through. I'm not saying you owe him kindness, but I surely expected more of you, Mel. You've always been understanding. What's different about this time?"

'What's different is that he broke my heart', Mel thought bitterly. However, his words did cause her to reflect on her actions.

"We'll start next week then, with the new lessons?" She asked weakly.

"Indeed," He stood up. "I must ask you to keep them in utter secrecy this time. No one must know."

"Umbridge could be listening," Mel nodded.

"Keep a low profile," The man told her once they were standing at the door. "Don't give Professor Umbridge a reason to punish you."

"I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and I believe you fought him and escaped from him," Luna approached them in their way to Herbology. She said all this quickly and without blinking.

"Er — right," said Harry.

"I also believe you and your grandfather are misunderstood geniuses."

"The Headmaster's not my grandad, Luna," Mel replied politely.

"I know," She said like it was obvious. "You can laugh!" Luna exclaimed, unaware that the laughter coming from Parvati and Lavender had nothing to do with her words. "But people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"Well, they were right, weren't they? There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Hermione mentioned.

"D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?" Harry asked after Luna left.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, you can do better than her! Ginny's told me all about her, apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler."

"I don't think Luna's a bad person," Mel defended. "Just because she chose to believe in something you don't, it doesn't make her stupid or crazy."

"I know that," Hermione rolled her eyes. "But c'mon, Mel..."

"I don't want to hear another word about Luna's 'madness'– she's all right. I don't want to hear any of you calling anyone crazy- I'm sick of that bloody word..."

"I want you to know," Ernie approached them the same way Luna did, "that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred percent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I."

"Luna's not a weirdo–!" Mel started, put Harry stoped her.

"Thanks very much, Ernie," He stared at her expectantly.

If she was supposed to prove her point on uniting the houses with good manners and a kind attitude, she had to start now.

"We appreciate it," She kept a smile firmly on.

"Oy, Potter!"

"What now?"

"I'll tell you what now," Angelina stormed towards them. "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"

"What? Why... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!"

"Now he remembers! Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch especially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!"

"I didn't decide not to be there! I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who —"

"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday and I don't care how you do it, tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!"

"You know what?" Harry grumbled, looking over his shoulder to make sure Angelina was gone. "I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because she seems to be channelling his spirit."

"What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?" said Ron as they entered the Great Hall.

"Less than zero. Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno... I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realize we've got to write three essays, practice Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a countercharm for Flitwick, finish the bowtruckle drawing, and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?"

"I already finished half of all that," Mel said with a pleased smile. "If you didn't spend half of your time moping about homework, you would've done so as well."

"I don't remember asking to be lectured," He replied.

"If it weren't because the teachers are pushing schoolwork down your throat, you wouldn't be learning at all."

"Does it look like it's going to rain?" Ron asked, trying to break their argument and looking at the sky reflected on the ceiling with mild worry.

"What's that got to do with our homework?" said Hermione.

"Nothing," Ron blushed.

"So, dear ol' Ronnie," Mel sat down next to him in the common room, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Trying out for the Quidditch team, are we?"

Ron let out a choked squeak.

"How d'you know?"

"Oh, please," The girl rolled her eyes. "You asked for a new broom! You brought it with you, and you want Harry to be there on Friday because it'd make you feel better. Am I wrong?"

Ron's ears turned scarlet, which was enough confirmation.

"I think it's a great idea," She continued. "I mean, I've seen you fly and I've seen you play... sort of– I could help you if you want?"

Ron hesitated.

"Would you? I don't want to ask Fred and George because they'd laugh at me."

"They probably would," Mel agreed. "I would try out myself but I don't own a broom, so better you than someone else."

Ron let out a heavy sigh.

"I could really use some help, Mellow."

"No worries, mate. We got this."

Mel was having the worst cramps on her right hand ever since the start of the evening. She thought it was thanks to writing more than she was used to, but after a specially sharp pain, she hissed and grimaced, when she looked down she saw a hand that wasn't hers with the words 'I must not tell lies' carved into the skin.

"Mel, you're all right?" Someone nudged her shoulder and Mel blinked coming back to her senses.

She held onto her hand tightly, breathing unevenly she examined it only to see her skin untouched, her anxiety shot up at a dangerous speed.

"Yes," the girl stood up, leaving her stuff abandoned as she walked to the portrait. "I forgot something in the library..."

She rushed out the door not knowing where to go.

'Look for Harry', She urged herself, running towards Umbridge's office.

Ten minutes later she came face to face with Harry, who stopped abruptly at the sight. Mel stopped too, examining his face carefully and picking on the way he was sweating.

"Hi," She said tensely.

"Mel," Harry frowned. "What're you..."

She looked down at his right hand, Harry was quick to hide it.

"What are you doing here?" He asked with a straight face.

Mel wanted to say what she'd seen, but then she remembered what Dumbledore told her, and she was certain that telling Harry the truth would only cause him to push her away, so she lied.

"I was studying with Neville in the library and I forgot my books there, I was on my way to pick them up."

Harry nodded shortly.

"See you later, then."

Mel frowned, last year he would've offered to go with her, but it was clear that he was adamant to keep his distance. She felt stupid, running out of the tower like that after such a minor inconvenience. Harry was clearly okay! It didn't matter what she'd seen, he could handle it on his own.

"Yeah, see you..." She walked past him, her eyes fixed on the back of her hand, rubbing the skin in circles.

In the middle of her training session with Ron, a cramp pulled all the way to her elbow and she closed her eyes for a moment. It had happened every evening since Tuesday, normally she would just drown the pain and focus on her surroundings, but she was especially tired that night.

"I think we should call it a day, Ron," She sighed. "C'mon, it's getting dark..."

They walked in silence until Ron pulled her behind a statue at the same time the twins walked past them followed by a bunch of first years.

"Ron, you have more dignity than this," She whispered. "You need to stop acting like a baby around your brothers! How're they going to take you seriously if you don't give them a good reason?"

Ron was about to reply when a voice called for them.

"Guys? What are you doing?"

"Er — nothing. What are you doing?"

Harry frowned at them.

"Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?"

"We're– We're hiding from Fred and George, if you must know," said Ron. "They just went past with a bunch of first years, I bet they're testing stuff on them again, I mean, they can't do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there."

"You're a terrible liar," Mel mumbled beside him. He elbowed her arm roughly, causing her to grunt.

"But what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?" Harry asked.

"Have you, Ron?" Mel pressed.

"I — well — well, okay, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right? I-I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom and Mel's helping me train. There. Go on. Laugh."

"I'm not laughing," said Harry, glancing briefly at her. "It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?"

"I'm not bad, according to Mel," said Ron, smiling a bit. "Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays."

"So you've been practicing tonight? With Mel?"

"Every evening since Tuesday... Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect."

"You'll do fine, and if they try to mock you, I'll make sure to hex them afterwards," She replied.

"I wish I was going to be there," said Harry.

"Yeah, so do — Harry, what's that on the back of your hand?"

Harry froze, attempting to hide his hand away.

"It's just a cut — it's nothing — it's —"

Ron grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled. There, exactly the same place she'd been feeling pain all week, were the words she'd seen on her vision. Ron let go of his hand.

"I thought you said she was giving you lines?" He asked coldly.

Harry stared at the both of them, suddenly looking smaller than before.

"She's... she's been making me use this quill... she says it doesn't need ink and I think that's because, well, it's using my blood."

Mel felt her mouth dry. Harry might have been acting up, but he certainly didn't deserve that.

"...I've been writing the whole week with it– and it's been cutting deeper each time," Harry concluded as the reached the Fat lady portrait.

"The old hag! She's sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!"

"No. I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me."

"Got to you? You can't let her get away with this!"

"I don't know how much power McGonagall's got over her."

"Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!"

"No," said Harry.

"Why not?"

"He's got enough on his mind," said Harry.

"Well, here's a different solution," Mel started. "You go to her office tomorrow, you finish your detention, and then you keep your mouth shut for the rest of the year."

"You can't be serious..."

"I talked to Dumbledore the other day and–"

"And of course you're telling me this just now. What did he say? Surely he asked you to stay out of trouble–"

"He asked me to step in," Mel replied over his voice. "I should've stopped you from getting detention in the first place. I find it funny that exactly the same year I decide I don't give a flying troll about you, suddenly everyone wants me to defend you–"

"Well, I reckon you should —" Ron started, but the Fat Lady interrupted their chat.

"Are you going to give me the password or will I have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?"

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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trashscenariihxh · 4 years ago

Text

Pariston x Reader x Wing part 4

Enjoy~

If Pariston had taken offense to your sleeping on the sofa, he didn’t let on about it. He greeted you in the morning cheerfully as he drank his coffee. “You look tired,” he observed, setting his mug in the sink.

“I’m not, “ you lied, filling the kettle with water and turning it on.

“Well, tired or not, you certainly look it.” He smiled unctuously at you as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Suddenly he furrowed his brow and tutted at you, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting your face to the side. “Oh, ____, you have more lines around your eyes. Whatever shall we do about those, hm?” His face relaxed back into a smile. “Ah, nevermind. I’ll go ahead and make you an appointment with Dr. Komacine. She’s very good. She’ll get you sorted out.”

“But I don’t--”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Now Darling I don’t want to hear it. I am, after all, doing you a favor.” He furrowed his brow again. “A very big favor.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb. “Have a wonderful day, Darling.” He withdrew his hand and gave your cheek a closed-lipped kiss. As he turned to leave, he added “I hope you aren’t intending to stay in your nightgown all day.” With those words, he strode out of the kitchen, put on his jacket, and left.

You stood, blankly watching after him, only dimly aware of the kettle boiling. By the time you jerked yourself out of your stupor, it had nearly boiled dry.

***

The hours between when Pariston left for work and when he got home always seemed to stretch to impossible lengths. After you’d washed, gotten dressed, done your makeup and hair, there wasn’t much to do, except occasionally clean something that the cleaning staff missed, which didn’t happen very often. Sometimes you managed to read for a bit, but the knowledge that Pariston would eventually come home drew your mind away from the pages. As the seconds ticked by, you always wondered if you’d done enough. Was the house clean enough? Did you cook well enough? Were you pretty enough? Pariston’s standards seemed to change with the winds, so you never actually knew.

You made yourself another cup of tea and sat on the sofa to do what you did every day: wait for Pariston’s return. Once again, you found yourself longing for someone, anyone, to talk to. Hell, you’d even welcome it if some Jehovah’s witnesses came to your door. You thought back to the day before, when you’d run into Wing at the cafe. It had been nice, talking to someone again. You looked at your phone. You could message him, see what he’s up to. You could even arrange to meet for more coffee.

You bit your lip. Would it be weird to message him this soon? It might be. You stared at your phone, considering what to do. Wing was your only friend-- acquaintance-- at this point in time and you really didn’t want to scare him away by being too needy. Chewing your lip, you decided against sending him a message, deciding you’d wait a couple days. Maybe a week. Yes, you decided, you’d wait a week before sending any messages to him. You’d just get coffee by yourself in the meantime.

***

You lasted three days. You were sitting on the sofa again when the urge to talk to somebody came over you, and you grabbed your phone and sent the message before you could stop yourself.

“Hi. It was great chatting the other day. Would love to meet up again some time.”

You waited, wondering if you’d made a grave error. Was the message too long? Too formal? You stared at the phone screen, wishing you could unsend the text.

***

It took four hours for Wing to reply. His reply was short and simple:

“Me too.”

Me too? Me too what? Had he had a good time, or did he want to meet up again? Both? You hoped it was both. Spurred on by a desire to figure out which, you replied:

“Would you like to meet again? Coffee?”

You paused before sending the text, wondering if you were being too forward. If Pariston saw… You clenched your jaw in determination. If Pariston saw, it wouldn’t matter. You’d tell him the truth: that you were meeting an old friend for coffee. You hit send.

Wing only took a minute or two to respond:

“Sure :)”

You couldn’t help smiling to yourself. After years of isolation, you were finally making plans with someone. A friend at last. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you immediately responded.

“When are you free?” You were basically free whenever Pariston wasn’t at home, which was often; it would be better to adjust to Wing’s schedule.

“Weekends. Most late afternoons.”

You could do that. Not wanting to appear too eager, you suggested that you meet up next Thursday. Wing’s reply was almost immediate.

“Sounds good. See you then.”

***

You arrived at the same cafe you’d gone to before with a spring in your step. Not only because you were about to socialize for the first time in a week, but also because, in an act of subtle rebellion, you had decided to wear flats instead of the painful heels that Pariston always insisted you wear. Upon entering, you ordered an earl grey and scanned the room for free tables.

You spotted Wing sitting at a corner table with papers spread out before him. You hesitated to approach him for a moment, wondering whether he was too busy to actually meet somebody, but your fears were soon assuaged when he caught sight of you. Wing smiled and waved you over, shuffling the papers into a messy pile and shoving them into his briefcase.

“Busy?” You smiled, sitting down across from him and setting your drink on the table.

“Just marking exams,” he sighed. “I swear, some of the stuff my students write…”

“Tell me about it,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “Back when I taught, my students often wrote the most ridiculous essays imaginable. I still remember one particularly bad paper about the Hanseatic League…” you shook your head.

“I bet you’re happy to have all that behind you.” He smiled warmly at you, genuinely pleased at your apparent good fortune.

“Yeah,” you answered, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m happy I don’t have to deal with any of that now!” As you spoke, you felt a tug in your chest. It had been a lie; sometimes, when you were lying in bed alone, you thought about how you’d give anything to have your old job back. Your old job, your friends. Your freedom. It all seemed so distant now.

You sipped your tea, content to listen to Wing’s stories about his students. You noticed that even though he apparently held his students to very high standards, he was still full of praise for them all. You wondered what it would be like to have even an ounce of his patience.

“So do you not work, then?” Wing asked, picking up his mug.

You shook your head, suddenly embarrassed. “No. No, I don’t.”

“And your husband? What does he do?” He didn’t have to say it, but you could guess what Wing was thinking.

How much does he earn to support a leech like you?

“My husband? He’s a lawyer.”

Wing nodded. “That’s a demanding job.”

“Yeah. He’s often stressed out,” you lied again. Pariston never seemed remotely stressed out, no matter how long he stayed at the office.

“I’m really glad we could meet up again,” you blurted out suddenly. When Wing looked surprised at the rapid change of subject, you quickly added that you spent most days at home alone, seeing as how Pariston was so busy.

“That must be difficult,” Wing nodded in understanding. “Do you not get out much at all?”

“Nah.” You shook your head. “To be honest, it gets pretty lonely.”

“I can imagine.”

“Hey,” you set down your now-empty mug, “would you mind if we did this again? More often, maybe?”

#wing hxh #pariston hill #tw abusive relationships

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peterthepark · 5 years ago

Text

Princess

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: He’s seen her around the campus - a polite and quiet girl, who unmistakably happened to be very close friends with Billy Hargrove. But the more Steve gets to know her, he realizes that there’s a completely different person underneath that shy facade of hers.

Warnings: smutty content, cursing, fluff, some angst, DADDY STEVE, more than 5k words

A/N: Pure filthy fun and fiction. Enjoy!

It’s Thursday when Steve Harrington finally shows up to class. His hair is a mess, falling in matted waves against his forehead as he struggles to even out his breathing. Everyone is glaring at him because of his late and abrupt arrival. He leans against the doorframe of the busy classroom, flashing the professor a charming smile as he attempts to casually waltz in.

Steve takes the empty seat beside you, pulling out the chair with a sharp screech that makes him comically cringe. You look over to him, smiling shyly as he scoots closer to the edge of the table. He meets your gaze, returning a tight-lipped smile in your direction before he takes out his notebook and pen, scribbling nonsense as the class picks up again.

However, you do catch him looking occasionally over your shoulder at some points during the lesson, and figured that he was having trouble keeping up with the speed of Mr. Cortez’s lecture - and so you decided to do what any other kind classmate would do. You slide your notebook over to Steve, not failing to notice the breath of relief he takes once he‘s able to successfully copy your notes without rush.

“Thanks.” He nudges you softly. “I was literally dying earlier. I mean, c’mon, I show up and suddenly he’s zooming through this thing.” He jokes, covering the side of his mouth as he whispers to you. “By the way, I’m Steve.”

“I’m Y/N.” Extending his other hand, you give it a polite shake before you turn back to the projector.

“You new here?” You take your notebook back, brushing your hair away from your face as you continue to write. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around that much.”

“Oh, I only come around to class on Thursdays. I have a few other classes that - that screwed up my schedule.” You chuckle, tapping your pen lightly against your hand. “Overloaded myself this year. College sucks.”

“Shame. This is the only class we have together, then.”

He can see your rosy blush despite the slight dim in the room. She’s pretty.

Steve bites his lip subconsciously when you look away with a mousy grin. He bumps your knee with his, before he continues. “It’d be nice to have you around. You’re cool. Uh, you’d be a cool study buddy, you know? Unless - unless you have one already? A study buddy?”

Damn, get it together.

“Study buddy?” You glance at him, shutting your notebook. You lean back into your chair. “That’d be nice. It’s - It’s real sweet of you, Steve. But I’m - I don’t really... I like to stick to myself with my studies.”

“Oh! Of course. Yeah, no problem.”

“No hard feelings?” You laugh, watching as he runs his hands through his hair.

“No hard feelings.”

Class is over by the time you and Steve are done speaking. He walks you down the hall towards Economics before you feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, tugging you slightly away from your newfound classmate turned friend.

“Y/N, I see you’ve met Steve Harrington.”

“Billy.” Steve gives him a nod, clenching his jaw at how the asshole of a guy pulls you closer towards him. Billy chews on a piece of bubblegum, smacking his lips together before he whispers something into your ear, to which you laugh at.

“Oh, Steve, yeah, this is - Billy’s a friend. I didn’t know you guys knew each other?”

“We go way back. High school.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, sure.” Steve replies, eyes trained on the ground. “Played him in basketball a few times. For sure the best players on the team. Although, don’t get me wrong, but he was a big piece of-“

He turns his head to look at you. But you aren’t there.

And that’s when he realizes that he’s walked past your Economics classroom.

Dumbass.

“Harrington, where you going?” Billy smiles viciously at him, following Steve down the hall with long, smooth strides.

“Just headed to the library. I’ve got a free period.” He rolls his eyes as Billy starts chuckling once more. “Okay, what’s funny, asshole?”

“You - you gotta stay away from Y/N.” Billy takes out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, lighting one as he places it between his lips. “She’s a lot different than you’d think.”

“Jesus, I’ve just met her and you’re already hounding me about her? Chill out.” Steve scoffs. Unbelievable.

Fucking annoying.

“I’m warnin’ you, Harrington.” Billy glances behind him, looking in the direction of your classroom while he shakes his head. “She’s a player. She ain’t afraid to break hearts around here. Watch your back.”

Steve gives Billy a dirty look before he walks away again, pushing his shoulder to open the door to the library. It’s silent, as expected, and Steve is sure to walk around quietly. He sits down by the table in the back corner of the room, hidden away in the shelves of numerous books. Bored, he takes one into his hands, placing it down onto the table as he reads quietly. He can’t get you out of his mind. Although his eyes read over the words of the book, all he can think of is you - your voice, your hair, the aura of mysteriousness that you carried. Normally, Steve wouldn’t care to go after a girl as shy and as resigned, but something about you simply struck a place in his heart.

But, Billy’s apparent warning from earlier also sends him into a spiral of confusion. What could you have possibly done to cause Billy to tell him that? It seemed like you wouldn’t even hurt a fly - much more a person. Maybe Billy was just trying to have you all to himself, and that irritated Steve.

Unless you were dating each other.

It’s hard for him to imagine it - Billy Hargrove, the town asshole, with one of the sweetest girls that Steve has met. It’s all very strange. But it doesn’t stop Steve from wanting to be around you more.

He hears faint footsteps approach him. He doesn’t think of it much, until he sees a stack of books drop onto the wooden table. He looks up, and he nearly jumps out of his seat. You smile at him as you sit down across from him, pushing your stuff aside before you take out your homework.

“Y/N, hey.” Steve says, surprised to see you so quickly.

“Hey, Econ got cancelled. That’s why I’m here.” You shrug with one shoulder, resting your chin in the palm of your hand as you fix your gaze on the tiny lamp on the table. “Free period?” You ask him.

He nods, pursing his lips. Now, he’s able to finally get a good look at you under the harsh light. He wasn’t wrong before. You are pretty. Wisps of hair dangle against your face, coming loose from the modest ponytail that you had done earlier. There’s an innocent glimmer in your eyes, accompanied with another look that Steve can’t quite place.

He watches as you shift in your chair, tugging at the knitted fabric of your sweater. That’s when Steve sees the faint, red mark hidden in the juncture of your neck. He’d recognize that kind of blooming shade from anywhere.

A hickey?

Your lips turn up into a quick smirk, and it fades instantly before Steve can see it. You cross your legs over each other, bumping your knee softly against the hard wood of the table.

“Well, uh, there’s this party tonight,” You start, licking your lips. Steve’s eyes flicker down to the motion. “Billy and I are gonna be there with a bunch of other people from our year. I... I think it’d be nice to see you there.”

Steve didn’t take you as the type of person to party even though he had just started talking to you.

But, really? You? A sweet, smart girl partying with Billy and other classmates?

It was a little crazy and surprising to think about. He considers your offer for a second, knowing that he hasn’t been to a college party since last year. Even more, he hasn’t been hanging out with anyone new recently - other than Robin and a few other mutual friends, who fortunately, also got into the same school as him. Though, for once, Steve just wants to be a regular, college kid - partying, hooking up with girls, or regretfully getting hungover before an exam day. There’s a voice in the back of his mind that urges him not to go, to focus on studying and finish the essay that he needs to turn in before Saturday night.

“Fuck it.” He chuckles, gesturing a hand mindlessly. “I’ll see you there.”

You grin toothily.

“Can’t wait.”

Steve stares at the neon pink flyer in his hands. He runs a hand down his face, sighing as he places the paper onto his bed. He looks at himself in the mirror, readjusting the collar of his leather jacket. Suddenly, he feels a little self-conscious. He tugs his sunglasses over his eyes, running his hands through his hair with groans of frustration.

He‘s gonna have fun tonight. He promises himself.

There’s a loud, rhythmic knocking at his dorm when he finally puts his shoes on.

“It’s open!”

The door clicks, and Robin peers into the room with a suggestive face. “You going to the party?”

“Yeah, aren’t you?” He tilts his head at her. A purple masquerade mask covers her eyes, while her freckles peek out from beneath.

“Of course I am, dingus. I’m trying to have fun tonight.” She chuckles, moving out of the way so Steve can shut the the door behind him. They walk down the bustling hall of boys, who also seem to be dressing up for the party. “I can’t believe you’re wearing shades...” She flicks the frame, rolling her eyes when Steve lets out a yelp. “...To a masquerade party. Literally. You’re lame.”

“I’m not lame!” He raises his eyebrows at her, wagging his finger before they leave the dormitory. The air is cool, blowing a light breeze through Steve’s hair. “These shades are - they’re cool, okay? They’re Ray-Bans, c’mon. Anyways, who are you tryin’ to impress?”

“I’m not impressing anybody. I’m impressing myself.” He shares a knowing look with her, biting the inside of his mouth. “Fine, fine. I’ll actually be honest. There’s this girl that everyone’s been talking about-“

“Oh! So she’s popular? Okay, I can get with that.” Steve pushes at her shoulder, throwing his head back with a laugh as she tries to push him, too. “Sorry! Sorry! What’s her name?”

“Literally nobody knows. She has - she’s like some mystery girl around campus with like multiple aliases. I don’t know.” Robin shrugs, eyes twinkling with wonder. “Maybe she’s into girls. Maybe, you know?”

And Steve nods with understanding.

There’s some part of him who wants to have fun and hang out with potential hook-ups. But also, he really doesn’t want to look for other girls. He wants to genuinely hang out with you, to get to know you better, to actually talk out of class and without Billy getting in his way.

After all, you did invite him to the party - which must’ve meant something, right?

Steve and Robin push past the masses of people - students and graduates alike fill the big house, each holding red solo cups or a can of beer. It’s loud and reeks of liquor, as expected from a party. Def Leppard plays through the speakers by the DJ booth, while people dance and grind around in the living room. There’s a pool outside, where older students push each other into the water and play beer pong.

Steve doesn’t deny the fact that he’s missed going to parties. High school was different, but college - it was something else. It’s wild, fun, and nobody really gives a shit about what anyone’s doing. He bobs his head along to the music, still sticking with Robin as they make their way to the kitchen. There’s cheers and hoots, and Steve runs into a bunch of friendly classmates.

“Frankie! What’s up, man?” Steve rejoices, bumping fists with his old dorm buddy. They start to chat with one another, catching up on the latest happenings in each other’s lives before Frankie - as usual - brings up something about dating and sex.

“Dude, you’ve heard about that girl, right?” Frankie pours Steve a drink, passing him the cup of alcohol.

“Which one? There’s a lot of girls here.” Glancing around the room, he chuckles. Was he talking about the one that Robin had brought up earlier? “Oh, wait! Is it - is it that girl, the one with like no name? Nobody knows her? But she goes here?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” Frankie pumps his fists into the air, beer sloshing over the rim of his cup. “Hottest chick I have ever seen. God, she’s supposed to show up tonight. She literally never misses a good party. She’s crazy, brother. This is why I’ve always invited you to the parties, Steve! This - this girl! Have you even seen her?” Steve shakes his head, feeling a bit overwhelmed from Frankie’s sudden burst of energy. “Man, you’ve gotta - you are missing out.”

Maybe Frankie has had a little too much to drink.

It isn’t long before Steve is on the dance floor with Robin. Alcohol pumps through their veins as they jump around and shout, taking gulps from their something-number cup of beer. Steve can barely hear his voice anymore over the booming bass, and he’s sure that he’s probably lost it from how loud he’s been drunkenly screaming the lyrics of certain songs.

However, Steve feels his chest tighten from how cramped the room is as more people begin to flood in. He lets Robin know that he’ll be outside, and steps out onto the deck by the pool - finally getting some much needed fresh air.

“Steve!” He turns with a look of surprise, shifting into laughter when he sees Penny Kramer - a friend that he had met through one of his previous classes. He pulls her into a quick hug, instantly hitting it off into a conversation about the party.

“Oh, yeah. I’m having so much fun.” He tosses his empty cup into the trash, before he leans onto the deck railing. A thought passes through his head, and he swallows before speaking, “Hey, uh, really weird question.”

“All ears.” Penny replies, taking a drag from her cigarette.

“By any freakin’ chance, do you happen to know anyone named Y/N?”

Penny bursts out into a long chuckle, blowing a puff of smoke into the night air. “Oh, Y/N? Such a nice girl. Too nice. Kinda freaks me out sometimes. But yeah, I do know her. Why?”

“She invited me here tonight. I haven’t seen her at all. Was hoping to hang out with her, but... she’s not here.”

“She invited you?” She stops, tapping her cigarette. “What the actual fuck? That’s so weird.”

“What? Why?”

“She never invites people to parties. Hell, let alone ever show up to one.” Steve furrows his eyebrows, burying his hands in his pockets as he scoffs. “Seems like she stood you up, bud. Sorry, I guess.”

“And she’s friends with Billy Hargrove? He’s an asshole? And she’s like a really sweet and quiet girl? How do you explain that?” He should’ve known that you wouldn’t have come. But why the hell did you invite him in the first place? To embarrass him? Leave him hanging?

“Now that... that I can’t explain. Maybe they’re like study buddies or something. She probably tutors the damn idiot, Steve.”

Study buddies. Funny.

Suddenly, collective shouts ring from the living room as the loud roar of a motorcycle echoes through the neighborhood.

Curiously, Steve makes his way back inside with Penny, along with other groups of students who seemed drawn to the sudden attention. He finds Robin in the crowd, tugging on her shoulder to ask what the ruckus was about.

“It’s her.” She says, not bothering to look back at Steve. Everybody turns to the front door, and Steve can just squint out the sight of a group of people approaching the house.

“Who?”

The music kicks up as soon as they walk in. Billy Hargrove, along with a few other people, stride inside. As always, Billy carries a smug smirk, sporting a leather jacket to go on top of his bare chest. He’s got a cigar between his fingers, laughing about as people begin to talk to him and greet him.

But Steve doesn’t give a flying fuck about Billy.

Instead, his attention shifts over to the girl who has Billy’s arm slung around her shoulders. A blue bobbed wig sits on her head, along with an ornate mask that covers the upper half of her face. Her lips are painted bloody red, while she shows a cocky grin. She’s barely dressed as well - wearing a flashy top accompanying the fish-net tights underneath her short skirt. It’s also as if Steve can hear the sound of her high-heeled boots click onto the hardwood floor.

Immediately, he knows who she is.

The mystery girl that everyone seemed to be whispering about.

And now, he realizes why she’s the talk of the town.

She kisses Billy on the cheek, giggling when she realizes she’s left a lipstick stain on his skin. The people in the room start to separate as her and Billy strut deeper into the house, before stopping in the middle of the makeshift dance floor.

Robin whispers something to Steve, but frankly, he doesn’t hear her.

Because mystery girl seems to have locked eyes with him.

Her blue wig glitters under the disco lights, and Steve can barely make out the color of her natural hair beneath it. The party picks up again, only this time, it’s much louder and crazier than before. Mystery girl hasn’t broken eye contact with him, even though Billy starts to kiss up her neck and grope at her hips.

Who is she?

Steve tries not to get affected by her. Him and Robin decide to sit on the staircase, taking a break from all the heavy partying.

“I’m gonna have a killer hangover tomorrow.” Robin mumbles, falling into Steve’s shoulder. “Dude, I’m so wasted. Holy shit.”

“Yeah, me fucking too.”

He looks over the crowd. He can see the blue head of hair from a mile away. She has her arms hooked around Billy’s neck, making out with him amongst everyone else. She pulls away, before whispering something in his ear. Steve shuts his eyes for a second, only to miss out on how mystery girl pointed in his direction and Billy looked.

“I’m gonna throw up.”

Steve winces as Robin hurls loudly into the toilet. He sits against the shower curtain, massaging his temples as he waits for a minute of peace. Because Robin - poor girl - is literally still spilling out her guts into the toilet. She takes a deep breath, flushing away the disgusting contents before she collapses against the sink cabinet with an exaggerated groan.

“I wanna die. This is terrible. Why are people doing this to themselves?” She scoffs, burying her face in her arms as she brings her knees to her chest.

“At least you’re already sobering up. I can still - I’m still a bit doozy.” Steve chuckles, rubbing his eyes. “God, is that - girl with blue wig... she’s the girl?”

Robin nods, voice muffled as she speaks into her arm. “Yeah. She’s always wearing a mask to parties and that wig so nobody - nobody really knows what she looks like. But I’m sure she’s beautiful. And hot. She’s probably hot.”

Steve chuckles, before he stands to help Robin to her feet. “C’mon, let’s ruin our lives some more. Make the most out of this damn party.”

That’s how Steve ends up by the keg stand.

Chugging and chugging and chugging.

He feels adrenaline soar through his veins. Beer trickles down his shirt when he pulls away, while Robin and the people around him cheer happily for his new record.

However, his glorious ‘King Steve’ moment is stolen when Billy and Mystery Girl enter the kitchen, possibly drunk off their minds.

“Harrington! Finally fuckin’ showed up, huh?” Billy punches Steve’s shoulder, biting his tongue when he sees him wobble over. “Fucking lightweight.”

“Hey, back off, dickhead.” Robin steps in front of Steve, slurring her words as she snarls spitefully at him. Pulling him away from Billy, she glances at Steve with reassurance before she ushers him to the less-crowded backyard.

If Steve wasn’t drunk before, he certainly is now.

“God, so much for ruining your life.” She scoffs at her friend. She sits him down in a plastic chair. “I’m gonna get us water and some food. Cool down, alright?”

Steve can only nod, and Robin disappears back into the house party with hasty steps. She bumps into Mystery Girl, apologizing profusely with blushing cheeks.

Her wig bounces as she wraps her arms around her chest, shielding her skin from the chilly air. There’s an empty seat next to Steve, and she gestures at it as if to ask if it were taken. She sits down, crossing her legs together.

“You’re pretty big around here.” Steve pipes up, feeling a bit nervous to be around the ‘myth’ herself. He immediately wishes he hadn’t spoke when she quirks a brow at him.

“Really?”

The voice sounds almost familiar, but Steve can’t place where he’s heard it before. She sounds slightly strained, as if she were speaking in a pitch that isn’t her regular voice. Steve looks over at her, eyes trailing down her neck and down her chest. He shakes himself out of his trance, knowing that he shouldn’t be looking at her like that.

But he can’t help it with the way she chews on her lip.

“Yeah, everyone - everyone thinks you’re-“

“Hot? Pretty? Sexy?” She chuckles, glancing down at her freshly manicured nails. “Trust me, I’ve heard it all.”

She reeks of confidence. Steve would be lying if he said that he wasn’t attracted to her. She seemed straight out of a movie.

A fantasy.

“You’re with Billy Hargrove, then? How’s that? Must be some...” He scoffs, clasping his hands together as he leans forward in the chair. “... some power couple, yeah?”

Mystery Girl cackles loudly. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, and Steve can’t help but smile. Her masked eyes twinkle in the night, while the water of the pool reflects ethereally onto her outstretched legs.

“Oh, Billy wishes that I was his girl.” She sighs, before she finally looks over to Steve. For a second, he thinks he recognizes the face beneath the mask, but she turns her head away again before he can mention it. “I like to ride solo. There’s nothing better than - than being free to do the shit I wanna do. Being with Billy would only tie me down.”

“Of course. Someone like you... I’m sure you have lots of - of, uh, fun.”

“Met anyone nice tonight, Steve?”

What?

“I’ve actually been look - wait, how do you... how do you know my name?”

“Uh, you mentioned it to me earlier.” She flips her hair over her shoulder nervously.

She doesn’t let Steve see the faulty break in her wall.

“Did I?” He narrows his eyes at her. She nods confidently. “Damn, I really must’ve had too many fucking drinks. Jesus.”

“It’s a party. Have fun. You’re supposed to get drunk.” She utters, waving her hands about. “When’s the last time you’ve done some stupid shit?”

Steve exhales, closing his eyes in thought. “I don’t know. Uh, maybe... maybe the summer after high school graduation? Got into a fight with this...” He shakes his head with disbelief, before continuing. “... this Russian guy.”

“That’s hot.”

Her and Steve exchange another round of laughter. She uncrosses her legs, smoothing down her skirt against her thighs with the palms of her hands. She pushes her hair away from her cheeks, licking her lips.

Steve is hooked.

And he’s desperate to know who she is.

“What’s your name?”

She huffs, turning in her chair towards him. “You really think I’d tell you that?”

“Well, you know my name. I just think that...” His gaze flickers down to the hickey on her neck. His cheeks heat up, before his whole body starts to feel warmer. “I just think that it’s only fair that you tell me yours.”

She opens her mouth, hesitating for a split second.

“You can call me Princess.”

Steve gulps audibly. His jaw clenches momentarily and he feels a rush of sensation in his body.

Princess.

“That’s hot.” Steve jokes, earning another smile from her.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” She stands from the chair, holding a hand out towards Steve.

“And do what exactly?”

“Just stupid shit.”

Steve gasps as he is pushed against the door of his dorm. His hand cups Princess’ cheek as he kisses her deeply. Their breaths are heavy as Steve takes off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. He steps forward, letting his hands roam all over the expanse of her back as he traps her against a wall. Her blue hair tickles his nose as he goes to suck on her neck, leaving an angry red love bite.

“Fuck...” She whispers, watching intently as Steve rids her of her shirt and lacy bra. Her mouth falls open as he cups her breasts, squeezing them softly in his hands before he leans down and takes a nipple between his plump lips. She chuckles, running her nails through his thick hair. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” She pushes him away for a minute before she tugs his shirt over his head.

Princess slings her arms behind Steve’s neck, pulling him into another messy, hurried kiss. Her lipstick is smeared all over his mouth, traces of it littering the length of his neck. Steve reaches behind her to cup her ass, moaning into her shoulder before he unzips her skirt. He curses when he sees her lack of underwear, and the fact that she was only wearing the fishnet tights for the entirety of the party. She’s taken by surprise when Steve grips her face, bumping noses with her as his lips ghost over hers. He parts his lips as he watches her tongue poke out from the corner of her mouth.

“Shit, look at you.” He brushes her hair away from her eyes, still hidden by the mask. He tries to hold back a moan when her leg brushes against the bulge in his jeans, and he places a hand on the wall beside her face to stop himself from stumbling over. “I’m so fucking hard, Princess. Fuck.” He gasps when she repeats the motion, but Steve catches her wrist the next time she does it. “Can I... can I taste you?”

She whimpers loudly, nodding with furrowed eyebrows. Steve takes her by the arm, guiding her to sit down on his bed. She yelps out of surprise when he pushes the back of her knees over her head. He rips the fishnet tights apart, moaning when he sees how wet she’s become. He sinks to the floor, pulling her to the edge of the bed before his tongue delves deeply between her sweet folds.

“Steve!” She sits up on her elbows, face contorted into a mix of pleasure and relief. Steve locks eyes with her, chuckling.

His mouth feels divine. But his goddamn tongue...

Shit.

The ridge of his nose brushes against her clit. And Steve feels himself twitch in his pants at the way her back was arching. His hands wrap themselves around her thighs, pushing her legs farther back onto the bed before he’s replacing his mouth with his long fingers. He pumps them in and out at a quick pace, collecting her juices once he pulls them out of abruptly.

“Jesus...” Steve shakes his head, undoing his belt. Princess crawls forward, tearing Steve’s hands away from himself as she unbuttons his jeans at an expert pace. Princess laughs at the state of his lips - swollen and wet and definitely sweet.

Suddenly, Steve is the one on the bed - clothes are strewn all over the room, hanging from ridiculous places as Princess lays between his parted thighs. She takes him into her mouth, humming. Her wig bounces as she pushes him into the back of her mouth, gagging once her mask brushes against his pubic bone. She pulls herself off of him, saliva dripping down her chin as she tries to catch her breath. Her hands twist around his length, jerking him off quickly while she bounces on her calves. Steve throws his head back against his pillow, groaning quietly as Princess moves to hover above his hard cock. But before she can sink down onto him, Steve flips them over, so that her torso is buried into the mattress while her ass is in the air.

“Do you have a condom?” She breathes out.

Steve swiftly opens the drawer in his nightstand. He rips the packet open with his teeth, groaning as he rolls the latex onto his erection. He’s panting, running a hand through his messed-up hair before he finally gains the air to speak. “Do you want this?” Princess nods silently, pushing her ass back at him teasingly. “Tell me to stop. I’ll do it right now.”

“No, I want it. Steve, just fuck me alr-” She chokes on her words as Steve pushes his dick inside her, placing his hands on her hips. He’s smirking at her silence, knowing damn well that her cockiness and bratty demeanor was just an act. “Daddy...” She whispers into the sheets, fisting the material.

Steve moans filthily. He leans over to grab a fistful of her hair, pulling her back carefully to brush his lips against her ear. “What’d you call me?”

“Daddy.” She giggles, biting her lip when she decides to look into his eyes. She gasps when Steve lets go of her hair, letting her fall against the mattress without care as he starts to pound into her.

“Keep calling me that. Fuck.” He thrusts into her, screwing his eyes shut at the pleasure that he was feeling. He’s flush against her, mouth agape as his dick slams in and out of her.

“So good, daddy. I love it.” She glances back at him, flashing the small butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck when she moves her hair away.

It isn’t long before Steve is pinned onto the bed, while Princess bounces on top of him - tits in face and everything. Steve has never done anything as dirty as this, and he feels his abdomen tighten as she leans back, placing her hands on his thighs as she rides him sensually.

“Princess...” He bites his lip, bucking his hips up to thrust into her pussy with choked moans. “You gonna cum? You gonna cum for - for daddy? Shit...”

“Yes! Yes!” Her legs quiver as she reaches her orgasm, and she falls against Steve’s chest with loud pants. Steve sits up, hooking his arm around her waist before he pounds harder into her. The sound of skin slapping against skin rings throughout the dorm room, and Steve’s glad that he doesn’t have a roommate. Princess pulls his hair, and Steve places a hand around her neck before he’s sent to the edge. He thrusts out of her, sliding the condom off before he’s covering her tits and stomach with strings of his cum.

He stops to catch his breath, resting his cheek against Princess’ chest in exhaustion. “Fuck, that was so good.” She toys with the little tufts of hair at his neck, leaning down to kiss his cheek before she leaves the warmth of his lap.

She combs at her blue wig with her fingers, sighing when she swings her legs over Steve’s bed. There’s a hesitancy in her voice, but Steve is too hazy to hear it. “Do you have a bathroom?”

He nods to the bathroom in the corner of his dorm - it’s super tiny, with only a toilet and sink, but it’s enough for Princess to freshen up. She collects her clothes from off the floor, before locking the bathroom door behind her. Steve grabs a fresh pair of boxers from his closet, before going to rest on his bed to wait for her to return. He shuts his eyes, placing a forearm over his head.

The last thing he hears before he falls asleep is the click of a door, and a muffled ‘thanks.’

“Steve.”

He groans, rolling over onto his back. The room becomes brighter as his curtains are pulled apart, bringing him to a state of anger at the sudden disruption.

“Steve.”

“What?” He mumbles, clutching his pillow under his arm. Lazily, he lifts his head towards the sound of his voice, and his eyes bulge out of his head. “Robin? What the fuck are you-“ He tightly wraps his sheets against his bare chest, scooting up till his back hits the headboard of his bed.

A pang of nausea hits him, and he’s immediately reminded of the amount of alcohol he drank last night. Still wrapped in a sheet, he sprints to the bathroom, nearly tripping over his own feet as he vomits into the toilet. He mewls dramatically when he feels the throbbing pain in his forehead. Slowly, he makes his way back to his spot on the bed with hooded eyes.

“Put some clothes on, you dingus.” Robin makes a face at him, tossing him some from his closet. Steve grunts as he slips into the fresh clothing, struggling to get into his shirt from how sore his whole body feels.

“What happened last night?” He asks, voice hoarse and laced with sleepiness.

“Dude, you ditched me!” Robin frowns at him, crossing her arms over her chest as she plops down onto his study table. “You suck!”

“I didn’t ditch you! What - when did I ditch you?!” He panics, genuinely unable to think about the rest of last night. “Ro, all I remember is the keg stand and that’s it. That’s as far as - as my brain can go. Oh, my - I wasn’t drugged, was I? I must’ve been drugged. Holy shit, it’s that whole Russian thing all over again-“

“Steve! Hey!” Robin claps her hands, blinking at Steve with utter concern. “You were not drugged last night. But you were drunk off your ass!”

Steve literally doesn’t remember shit. He’s not kidding. Frankie. Penny. Beer. Keg stand. Mystery girl. That’s it.

Then a memory hits him from out of the blue. He snaps his fingers continuously, recollecting thoughts as he turns to look at Robin. “Does the name Princess ring a bell to you?”

“Princess? Are you still drunk?” She rolls her eyes at him, slapping the back of his head. “The only princess here is you, sleeping beauty.”

“Robin! I’m serious! I swear I... nevermind.” He facepalms his forehead, obviously frustrated with how last night’s events have gone over his head. “Fuck, how drunk did I get?” He rocks back and forth on his heels, nervously pulling at his hair.

“Steve. Listen.” Robin reaches over, squeezing his shoulder with a softer voice. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out but...” She erupts into a chuckle, glancing around his dorm. “By the looks of this place... it seems like someone had a lotta fun last night.”

Surely enough, Steve’s place is messy. His clothes from the party are thrown all over the floor, along with a few pillows from his bed. There’s a condom wrapper on the floor, to which Robin gags at.

But his gaze is drawn to the shimmering thread on his pillow.

He reaches for it, then realizing that his fingers were pinching at a strand of hair.

Blue.

“Is that...” Robin gasps, eyes widening when she takes the string of blue hair from Steve’s fingers. “Why the - what - no freaking way.”

“I have no idea what this is. What-“

“Steve. Mystery girl.” She dangles the strand in front of his face. “Did you take her here?”

Oh, fucking hell.

“Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god!” He launches himself off the bed, pacing around in short circles. “There’s no... how...”

“Steve! Remember. Try to remember.”

Stupid shit. They did stupid shit.

“We hooked up.” He realizes. His eyes dart around the room, and all the memories come back to him in short pieces. “Her - She goes by Princess. That’s her name. And then - oh, my god. I had sex with her, Ro-“

“Calm down. She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

“No! Of course, not. I just - fuck!” Steve stops pacing. “Yo, what time is it?”

“Ten.”

“Shit!”

Steve ends up late to class. Again. For the second day in a row, Mr. Cortez gives him a disapproving nod, glaring daggers at Steve as he drags his feet shamefully to a empty chair. He looks over, realizing you are nowhere to be seen. It’s Friday, and Steve remembers that you only show up on Thursdays. Maybe it was for the best, not to see you till then, because Steve did feel a bit angry and saddened that you didn’t come to the party. He’s thrown off for the rest of the day - searching for someone who resembles Princess in the halls to get his mind off you. But he doesn’t know what he’s looking for, except a bright ass blue wig and possibly a flamboyant outfit.

It’s the following week when Steve is able to see you. He isn’t late, but in fact, he is very early. He can easily spot you in your navy turtleneck, and the bare beautiful face that he can’t help but stare at. He walks up to you quietly, unsure what to say.

“Y/N.” He says, clearing his throat when he hesitantly sits down next to you. You seem surprised, and your eyes flash with pitiful embarrassment.

“Steve, listen, about - I can-“ You drop your pencil onto your notebook, gesturing at him with an ashamed voice.

“It’s fine, Y/N. It’s fine. Just... why invite me to the party if you weren’t planning on showing up?” He scoffs, looking down at his lap as he plays with his hands. “I wanted to hang out with you. I was - Y/N, I was so excited.” He rubs at his chin, shaking his head. “Genuinely.”

“Steve, I’m so sorry. I wanted to go. I just... I forgot I had other freaking plans and I had to stay home. I didn’t mean to - to flake on you.” You pause, before continuing with a shaky voice. “I invited you because I think you’re... shit - I think you’re cute, Steve. And I wanted to hang out with you, too.”

Steve looks up at you. “Actually? You think I’m cute?”

Blushing, you chuckle. “Yeah. I do. And you’re really nice to me.” There’s a hint of distrust in Steve’s body language - due to past experiences with dating and girls during high school. Slowly, he nods, taking in your unexpected words. “I totally get it if you don’t... I mean, we’ve only known each other for a week, probably less. But the party was a way for me to get to know you more. Out of school. I definitely missed out on not going.”

You send him a hopeful look. Your lips are pulled up into a struggling smile, obviously under pressure because of the situation. Your hands tremble on the desk. “Y/N,” Steve convinces himself that you probably were busy. Anyways, he didn’t know you that well, so who was he to distrust you right away? “You know what, let’s meet up later.”

“Yeah?” Instantly, you sit up straighter in your chair.

“Yeah. Let’s go to that coffee shop down the block. It’s my favorite. I think you’d like it.” He flashes a boyish smile at you. “I’ll pick you up?”

“Okay. Yes, of course.” You nod rapidly. Stuttering, you whip around the grab your notebook, tearing out a paper before you hurriedly scribble something down. “C-call me. Later. I mean. Before you pick me up.”

“Promise you won’t flake on me.”

“I promise.”

“Robin, what do I wear?” Steve tosses a pile of clothes onto his bed, clearly stressed as he places his hands on his hips.

“All of this shit is ugly.” She sputters into laughter, sorting through the clothes. “Where’s that jacket I gave you for Christmas?”

That’s how Steve ends up in a denim jacket with fur lining, sporting a white shirt underneath. He rubs his hands against his cuffed jeans, adjusting the black belt around his waist. He feels good. He looks good. He smirks at himself, before spraying a round of Farrah Fawcet into his hair.

“So, tell me about this Y/N!” Robin sits up on the bathroom counter, looking down at Steve with pure excitement.

“She’s really pretty, and shy. Smart girl.” He chuckles, flicking the stubborn curl that wouldn’t leave his forehead. “I’m going in pretty blind. But hey, it’s a date. I’ll get to know her.”

Robin smirks, playing with her shoelace. “Well, look at you, Steve Harrington. Hooking up with the hottest girl on campus then scoring a date with a smart, gorgeous lady? You’ve gotta lend me some tips, dingus.”

“You don’t need any. Anyone would easily love you.” A friendly stare lingers between the two of them, before Steve huffs and slaps at Robin’s shoe. “Now get out of my room. I’m tryin’ to call Y/N.”

After an awkward yet pleasant phone call with you, Steve drives himself over to your house. He’s nervous, but also eager - he hasn’t been on a proper date for a long time; he knew that he couldn’t find anyone more perfect than you to be his new first. He pulls into your driveway, tapping his fingers against his steering wheel as he stares up at your big house. Preparing himself, he takes a couple deep breaths, before he steps out of his car and strides up your porch. Then, he’s struck with realization: he never got you a gift. Frantically, Steve’s eyes dart around his surroundings, landing on the vibrant yellow sunflower in a planter. It’s the thought that counts, right?

Steve immediately holds the sunflower up to his face once your front door swings open. You break out into a grin when you step out onto the porch with him. “F-for you.” He stammers.

“Thank you, Steve.” You take the flower into your hands, completely looking over the fact that it was one that your mother grew herself. Closing the door behind you, Steve offers his arm to you. You chuckle, wooed by his chivalrous gesture as he walks you to his car. There’s a sway in your steps, and Steve finds it a little amusing that you can’t walk straight. He’s suddenly thinking about Princess, wondering if he did enough to...

He shakes his head, pushing away any thoughts of her as he reverses out of your driveway. You and Steve are engaged in conversation; all awkwardness between the two of you are thrown out the window, and Steve feels relieved in getting to talk to know you more. Weird as it seems, he also feels like he’s met you before. Something about the way you talked and the sound of your voice sent him into memory lane. Only, he’s sure that it was a recent memory.

As promised, you and Steve walk around the city with coffee cups in hand. Occasionally, your shoulders brush against each other. Your voices are loud, filled with enthusiasm when you mention a quaint bookstore down the avenue. Soon, you’re taking Steve by the hand, pulling him into your get-away place with innocent eagerness. You start to chase each other quietly down the shelves, laughing silently as Steve manages to nearly knock over a porcelain vase. You stand on opposite sides of a bookcase, starting another interesting conversation.

“You’ve read all these books?” Steve stares at you in wonder, following you down the aisle. You nod proudly, picking up a lost novel from the floor. You pass it to Steve, who takes it carefully into his hands. He looks at you for a moment, before he flips through the dusted pages. “This is your favorite.”

“You remembered?” You meet his gaze with a touched smile, feeling giddy at how Steve was able to remember your favorite book from when you told him on your stroll.

“I didn’t know I was gonna be tested on that.” He jokes, tucking the book under his arm. “Is it for sale? I’ll buy it for you.”

“No, Steve. It’s okay. Thank you.” You pass up on his offer, rounding the corner of the bookcase in that you stand across of one another. “I would’ve bought it for myself, but it’s too expensive.”

“That’s why I’ll get it for you. It’s a gift. Let me, Y/N.” He towers over you, holding the book against his heart. “I like you a lot. I wanna buy it for you as a - as a...”

You burst out into laughter, taking the book from him to place it on a shelf. “As a token of your affection?” He shrugs with a playful scoff, studying you. “Steve, you don’t need to give me anything. You don’t need a book to show me that.”

He sucks in a nervous breath, parting his lips as he speaks. “Would it be too soon for me to kiss you?” He steps forward, light on his feet. The bookstore is silent, and the sudden tension between you and Steve is loud. “Can I kiss you?”

“I think that’d be much better.”

Steve pushes your hair behind your shoulder; his fingers brush over the fabric of your turtleneck sweater as he dips down to kiss both of your cheeks. The tip of his nose bumps against yours, and Steve closes his eyes at the little gasp you make when his hand trails across your back. You step into him, peering into his beautiful brown eyes with marvel. He presses his lips to yours, softly. The toe of his shoe bumps against yours as you run your hands down his arms. He tastes like an autumn day - a combination of sugar and spice. You pull away, letting your thumb graze across his bottom lip gracefully, and Steve isn’t afraid to kiss you once more. You’re smiling like a teenager when you finally step away from each other, cheeks reddened.

“We should go...” You grin up at him coyly, lashes fluttering against your skin. Steve’s hand envelops yours as he leads you outside. Your arm finds itself tangled with his as you walk across the street, winding around the town until you reached his parked car.

From then on, Steve hasn’t stopped taking you out on dates, bringing you to different shops and restaurants around town until nothing new was left for the two of you. However, you never really expressed what your relationship with him meant to you. Steve was in turmoil: Were you two casual? Was that a ‘no strings attached’ kind of thing? Were you guys even a thing?

Steve thinks he’s found an answer when he sees you one Wednesday morning in the community park - with Billy Hargrove. The conversation seems to be tense, based on the way that Billy stares down at you and how you push at his chest. Immediately, Steve’s jealousy is replaced with furiousness. Was Billy messing with you? Stopping his morning run, Steve stomps over to your place by the fountain, frowning with clear resentment.

“You okay, Y/N?” He pulls you behind him, taken aback when he sees the tears in your eyes. He brings his voice down to a whisper so that you can only hear him. “Is he messing with you? What’s going on?”

“Steve, it’s - it’s fine.” You place your hand on his chest, pulling him away. You sniffle, and Steve feels the blood boil in his chest at the thought of someone making you cry.

“Whatever shit you just pulled, Billy, I want you to know that you should fuck off.” He growls at Billy as you both walk away, tugging you close to his body. He shushes your sobs, soothing you with sweet words. “I’m here, Y/N. Can I take you home? Do you want me to take you there?”

You’re nodding rapidly; your airway is constricted with overwhelming emotion as Steve talks about his day to distract you, not once does he ask you for directions to your house, having memorized the walk there anyways.

You’re in your room when you cry into his shoulder, clutching at Steve’s shirt that was now damp with tears. Steve feels heartbroken - not because he saw you with Billy, because that meant nothing to him. Nothing mattered to him than the beautiful, crying girl in his arms. The bed creaks as he shifts, embracing you tighter. You haven’t spoken a word since earlier, and Steve patiently waits in the silence of your room. “I’m sorry,” You croak, wiping your tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “God, I ruined your shirt.”

He rubs your elbow. “You wanna tell me about what happened?”

“You’re gonna hate me.” You mutter, curling up into yourself. Steve stares at you intently, clenching his jaw. “Billy... Billy and I were kind of - I don’t know what it was, but we messed around. We were messing around before we started going out.” You shut your eyes at how Steve tenses up. “I wanted to break things off with him, but I couldn’t... he knew stuff and... he wasn’t hurting me, I hope you know that. I was just too scared to let go.”

So you were messing around with Billy.

“You didn’t tell me.” Steve scoots away from you. His jealousy arrises again at the thought of you and Billy together, behind his back. “We were together and you didn’t tell me about him? Y/N, what the hell!”

“You have every fucking right to be angry, but Steve... Steve, when were we ever together? You were doing the sam - It’s not like I was cheating on you.”

No. Not like this.

“Bullshit, Y/N! We were going on dates!” He stands from your bed, gesturing at you wildly with his hands. You hurt him. You fucking hurt him.

“I’m sorry! Steve, I’ve never... I’ve just never been committed to anyone. I-It scares me.”

“Well, it looks like you won’t be committed to anybody for a long time. I’ll see you around, Y/N. I’m done here.”

You are left with a hanging jaw and an aching soul as Steve leaves your house, slamming the front door behind him angrily.

Steve doesn’t sit next to you anymore on Thursdays, resorting in the dark corner of the classroom. He doesn’t talk to you that much either, rarely even engaging in a full conversation with you. He knows it’s childish to ignore you, and that you weren’t technically at fault for anything that had happened.

He’s done the same thing as you. So why the fuck was he acting like this?

He just needs time.

Time to figure everything out.

He’s at a well-deserved spring break party when he runs into Princess again. She seems off, disinterested in everything around her. Heck, Billy was staying out of her way as well, making out with other girls instead of her, to his surprise. Steve feels a bit suspicious, based on how she began to stray away from the attention, chatting with friends in the corner of the room and drinking soda rather than beer. When he locks eyes with her from across the house, he doesn’t hesitate to approach her. This time, he’s completely sober and he can actually feel his nerves flare up.

“Hey,” He says to her, raising his cup of water. “How are you?”

“Not in the mood, Steve.” She sighs, downing her soda as she stares at him blankly. There’s a tiny hitch in her forced voice, and Steve easily catches the way she eyes him. He inches closer to her, yet respectfully careful in keeping his distance. “A guy fucks you once and suddenly he can waltz in whenever he wants.” She snaps, brushing angrily past Steve.

What the hell?

People whisper and point at Steve as he chases after her. She walks briskly out of the party, clicking her heels against the sidewalk as her arms swing at her sides. Not once does she look back when Steve calls for her to stop. He’s able to weave around her, halting her in her tracks. “What is your problem? Does everyone have a problem with me these days? Jesus, Princess-” She stops him by smashing her lips against his, bringing his head down to meet hers. Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise, before relaxing into the kiss. He caresses the side of her neck, before he has to tear himself away. “What’s gotten into you?” There’s something about the color of her eyes underneath the mask, a shade that he’s sure that he’s seen carved into his mind. His eyes are concerned, and he suddenly feels a knowing feeling when she presses her forehead against his, tracing his bottom lip.

It feels too familiar.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Princess?” Confused, he takes her hands into his. It’s too intimate of a gesture, he knows, but her behavior was worrying.

“I need you.” She whispers breathily, before stepping onto the tips of her toes to kiss him again. “Please.”

“I don’t wanna take advantage of you like this.”

“You aren’t. I just want another good time with you...” She scoffs, and the wall she’s been putting up is back again. “Daddy?” Her face splits into a mischievous smirk when Steve holds his breath.

Screw it.

He leads Princess by the shoulder, pushing her into the backseat of his car roughly. She lands against the leather seats with a squeal, before Steve is climbing in himself and locking the doors. He slams a hand against the window to brace himself, hovering over her body as he leaves open-mouthed kisses down her neck and over the tops of her breasts. They’re naked in minutes, grinding against each other. The car has fogged up, windows blocked out with condensation as Steve pushes his cock between Princess’ folds. Her leg is propped up over his shoulder, while the other hangs loosely against the driver’s seat. Steve can’t hear his own thoughts over the sounds of her wetness, which drives him to thrust into her harshly. She gasps at the full feeling, gripping the skin at her stomach as she bites back a moan.

“Where do you feel me? In your stomach?” She nods blissfully, combing her nails through Steve’s hair as he pounds in dick into her. “Does Daddy make you feel good?”

“Yeah. You do.” She whimpers, barely audible over the creakiness of the car. It shifts from side to side, surely drawing attention from outsiders. It excites Steve, the possibility of getting caught with Princess. He wraps his arms around her waist, groaning as she whispers dirty comments into his ear. “Look at you, daddy. Fuck, you love it. Can I cum, daddy?”

“No. Shit, no.” He shakes his head. Sweat accumulates on his forehead from how hot the car’s gotten, and he grunts loudly into Princess’ blue hair. “I’m so close. Wait for me.” Steve’s thrusts become sloppier each second, and she pushes the extra mile by clenching around him. “Go, cum. Fuck!”

Princess moans sinfully, hitting her head lightly against the door as she rubs at her clit. Steve pulls out of her pussy; she rolls onto the floor of the car gracefully, landing on her knees before she pumps Steve’s dick into her mouth. He holds onto her hair, careful not to tug too hard as he fucks her mouth. It’s messy - saliva everywhere, mascara running down her cheeks as she struggles to keep her tears under control.

With a look of approval, she lets him push her head down onto his cock, her nose brushes against his happy trail while she gags around him. Steve cums in her mouth, moaning at the lustful look that she was giving him. He pulls her up for one more kiss after she swallows his load, then collapses against the seat with ragged breaths. He’s quick to put his clothes back on, taking a glimpse at Princess with awestruck eyes as she followed his actions.

“Hey.” He nudges her arm. “Don’t leave.”

“I have to pee, Steve.” She snickers, glancing at the house that still held a party. “But I... I’ll come back.”

“Promise?”

She cups his cheek, wiping the lipgloss from his mouth. “I promise.”

Steve feels nothing but relief when he sees Princess come back to his car. He pulls her inside, scratching his eyebrow as she takes a seat beside him. The air smells of sex, and Steve resorts to rolling down the windows.

“Are you okay now?” He questions, staring outside.

“I will be.” She answers. The leather squeaks as she turns to face him, leaning against the door. “Are you okay?”

There’s no point in lying. Because based on how she began to study his face, Steve knows that she sees the bags under his eyes, and the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. With an exasperated sigh, Steve meets her stare.

“I don’t think so.” She listens earnestly. “I met this... this amazing girl. Her name’s Y/N. I doubt you’ve heard of her. She’s low profile around here.” He chuckles. “But, uh... I really like her. A lot. I haven’t met someone as - as breathtaking, and kind, and intelligent as her in a long time. She’s different, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“And, the thing is... I thought I knew her. I took her on countless dates - great dates, by the way. I’m a pro at dates. Dating professional, actually.”

“I’m sure of it.” She laughs, fixing the mask on her face. “God, sorry, I hate this thing.”

“Take it off then. I’d like a face to match the voice.” She glances away, peering at herself in the rearview mirror. Steve senses her uneasiness, so he moves to rub her thigh with a comforting tone. “I’m kidding. I just hope you haven’t glued it on.” Momentarily, they exchange laughter. “But I’d like to meet you one day. Really meet you. When you’re ready.” There’s a lingering gaze between them, before Steve continues swiftly. “Anyways, I’m taking Y/N on dates, then she tells me that - I guess that she was involved with someone before me. I got mad. I’m a fucking hypocrite because here I am, with you.”

He exhales shakily. “I’m jealous, too. Because someone as perfect as her could never be with someone as imperfect as me.” Princess opens her mouth, but Steve speaks before she can. “I know. I know it’s stupid to think like that, but damn. I can’t help it.”

“Not everyone’s perfect, Steve. I’m - I know that deep down Y/N feels the same way. I don’t know her, but as perfect as she makes herself out to be, she must have her vices, too.”

“I should talk to her.”

“She’d like that. I’m sure.”

A pinch of sadness wafts around the air, and Steve knows that it’s goodbye. If he really wanted to pursue you, he’d have to leave behind Princess.

He’s okay with that.

“I guess this is goodbye, then.” She smiles nostalgically.

“It is.”

Princess leans over, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of his head. “Bye, Steve.” She steps out of the car, carrying her boots as she heads the opposite direction.

Goodbye, Princess.

“You wanna talk?” You look up at Steve, who leans over your desk.

“After school. Not here.” He shakes his head, ignoring the way that your classmates were glaring at the two of you. “I’ll meet you at the bookstore. Your favorite place.”

Steve doesn’t even wait for your response. Suddenly, he’s hollering a big ‘screw this class!’ to Mr. Cortez as he bolts out of the classroom, leaving you there in your chair with wide eyes.

He wants to make it perfect for you - his apology, his sappy ass declaration of ‘emotion’ towards you. He’s rented out the whole bookstore, passing the clerk a couple hundreds as he waits for you to come. His head throbs with adrenaline, pacing around the store as he thinks of what to say to you.

You’re my perfect.

I think I love you.

“Shit, too soon.” He hits himself in the face with a book.

Hour.

After.

Hour.

You still aren’t here. Should Steve be freaking out? Were you going to flake on him again? He’s too busy panicking to hear the chiming bell by the door. He walks to the back of the store, banging his head against a shelf as he tries to calm himself down.

But when he turns around, he nearly faints.

“Princess? What are you-” She holds a finger up to his lips, before she slowly pulls it away from him when he is finally silent.

Stepping back, she inhales deeply.

Her hands move up to touch her blue wig. With a tug, she pulls it off. Her natural hair falls in waves against her shoulders, and she combs her hands through them lazily.

Steve’s eyes widen when she reaches around her head to untie the mask.

It clatters to the floor.

“Y/N.”

It all connects.

The voice, the movements, the mannerisms...

You’ve been behind the mask for this whole time.

“Hey, there.” You chuckle uneasily, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Y/N, you - I - Princess was - what?” He covers his mouth in shock, placing a free hand on his hip as he bites down on his knuckle.

“I’m sorry if... if I’m not who or what you expected.” You shrug, crossing your arms over your chest as you observe his features. “Steve? Are you mad?”

“No, I’m... I’m not mad.” He stares at you, mouth agape as you grab his hand. “I’m - it’s been you? This whole time?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it has.”

“Why?”

You wipe away your lipstick with the back of your sleeve. “I never told you about Billy because he knew my identity. I couldn’t let go of him because he would tell everyone about me - the real me.” You confess, feeling tears brim at your eyes. “I know this whole thing looks... looks awful. I wasn’t using you. Gosh, I hope I wasn’t using you, Steve. But fuck, you noticed me. The real me. I was too scared that you’d see all my flaws the more we got closer, and I thought that being Princess would save me from that hell.” You swallow, closing your eyes as Steve brings a hand up to hold your face. “You proved me wrong. Because someone as perfect as you ended up liking someone as imperfect as me.”

He wipes the tears from your face. “You know... you know that you’ve seen my dick, right? My actual, full-on, naked dick?”

“Steve!” You gasp, chuckling uncontrollably at his words.

“Y/N, I like you for who you are. Shit, I hope you realize that. Yeah, I did like Princess, but Y/N was a whole new level of breathtaking. I don’t care that you have flaws. We all do, remember? You told me that. And I lo - I like you for everything that you are. Whether you’re shy, or - or loud or quiet, whether you like bookstores over parties or whatever. I just wished you didn’t have to hide yourself from me. Princess or not, I would’ve fallen for you either way.”

“Really?”

“Fuck, yeah.” He whispers, leaning into you. “Princess was able to show me a good time, but Y/N is someone I want for a long time.”

He takes you by the chin, pressing his lips against yours for what felt like the first time again. How could he not have realized? The way your lips felt, how perfect they molded with his, the sweet taste of your gloss and how feathery your touch was against his skin. He should’ve known it was you. Steve moans into your mouth when you pull at his hair, and the kiss deepens when you slip your tongue into his mouth. He spins you around, slamming your back against the bookcase.

“I wanna see the real you, okay?” He murmurs into your collarbones, undoing the zipper of your jeans. You whine into his jaw, peppering his neck with hickeys.

He drops to his feet to pull down your panties. Steve lifts your legs up with ease, before his face is buried in your pussy. He laps at it, sucking on your clit and licking at your folds with expertise. You don’t shy away from moaning his name, yelping when he smacks his hand against your inner thigh to keep your legs apart. He pushes a finger inside you, smirking at how wet you always get because of him. He adds another digit, gasping at the wanton groan you let out when he uses his thumb to play with your clit.

“I love your fingers, daddy. Feels so good.” You place your hand on the back of his head, guiding him to the perfect spots. “I... Steve, fuck.”

“You gonna cum so soon? You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” He stands up, still fingering you at a fast pace. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you began to see white spots in your vision. “Good girl. Look at you, angel.”

“Fuck me, please. I wanna make you feel good.” You beg him, whining as he quickly stepped out of his sweatpants. He tosses his shirt aside, licking his lips at how your nipples poked out through the thin fabric of your top. He laughs at the neediness in your voice, turning you around so that your tits were pressed against the bookcase.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N. Every single time I see you like this...” He kisses your shoulder, pulling your hair into a ponytail. His eyes land on the butterfly tattoo on your neck. “My sweet princess.” Steve lubes up his cock with his spit, groaning at how painfully hard he is. “You’re okay?” He checks up on you, pushing the tip into your wet hole. You nod, moaning when he sinks in deeper.

Books begin to fall to the ground as Steve fucks you, holding you by your waist as he thrusts into you.

It feels better than before.

Princess was a great fuck, but you?

You were heaven itself. Despite how lustful you made him feel.

Steve cums at the same time as you do, grunting and moaning without shame as he emptied his load onto your back, where it dribbled onto the floor.

“That never gets old.” You giggle, breasts heaving as Steve turned you back around.

“You’re perfect.” Steve says, resting his forehead against yours.

“Thank you for everything, Steve.”

He stares into your eyes lovingly, glistening with nothing but pure adoration for you.

“Anything for my princess.”

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unnuevosoltransformalarealidad · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Ok

Summary: Chris has been gone on a work trip related for a while. Reader has a complicated week, when she finds out that Chris is coming back, she is not able to welcoming him the way she wants.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Sickness, vomiting, fainted, fever, body issues (not to profound)

Word Count: 2,768

This was written for the Week 5 Weekly Challenge of @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @donutloverxo @captain-a-rogerss

A/N: This was kind of proof-read so if there’s any mistake, please let me know, English is not my mother tongue, and I’m still learning. Enjoy the reading!

Monday

You had to get ready, but you were still in bed. It was one of those days you wanted to stay in bed and do nothing. You weren’t feeling ok; you assumed that it was because you missed him, your dearest boyfriend. Today marked the second week since he left for work. It was supposedly to take just a couple of day, but it didn’t go as planned because he hasn’t come back yet.

You felt alone, empty. Chris wasn’t there with you, neither Dodger; Chris insisted on took him in with his sister, so you didn’t have to worry about him. You took a deep breath and decided to get up and get ready for the day.

Once on the kitchen, you were having just a tea, not coffee today, you weren’t in the best mood and the caffeine didn’t help you. You were lost in thought about all you had to do for the day when your buzzing phone brought you back to reality.

Good morning doll. Counting the days to be back with you.

I wish you a beautiful day

Love you

Chris

Suddenly a smile appeared on your face, and felt love, just pure love. Chris knew how sad and difficult is for you to be alone for so long. You decided to text a quick response and then get ready for work.

Hello beautiful boy. I can't wait to have you with me.

Have a beautiful week.

Love you more

Y/N

The day at work started pretty good for your liking, but it ended up bad and it was just Monday. Someone did something wrong on important papers and your boss had to deal it with you. Being part of a group of assistants was difficult, you have to deal with the bad mood and yelling from the bosses and people who believed had a superior position than yours. You were really stressed, you needed a break to keep going but it was the beginning of the week and you still had the rest of the week ahead. You finished working around 4:30 pm and had to get ready for your classes. You’re on your third year of college with a major in Art History, your current job it doesn’t have any connection with what you’re studying but it helps the survival.

You have a few delayed papers, a few with close deadlines but still you have to prepare two final exams. The stress was starting to kick in.

Tuesday

The same emptiness you felt yesterday today was there. You had barely slept; you stayed awake doing some papers and making flashcards to study. Last night after coming back from school, you started to cry, you were overwhelmed, and you needed Chris by your side. You had texted him but you put it aside afterwards because you didn’t want any distractions. You were starving; you didn’t have dinner yesterday, so you got up and went to have breakfast. You took the computer with you so you could update more papers. You had to checked the phone, probably some of the teachers had emailed you because you were late and the grades were coming down. You had a few texts from Chris, of course.

Hi love! I’m sorry I didn’t answer back, I was busy.

How did your day go? I really miss you

Chris

Babe, is everything alright?

Pls answer me

Chris

I hope you rest well. I can’t wait to see you

Sweet Dreams, good night, I love you

Chris

You felt really bad because he wanted to talk to you, but you needed to update some of your essays. Your work was taking you more time than you had expected and because of that you were getting behind in the classes. You finished breakfast, got ready and went to work.

At lunch break, you decided to text Chris back and tell him what was going on.

Hi honey! How are you? Sorry I didn’t answer I was catching up with homework

I hope your day it's better than mine :(

I really miss you. Can’t wait to see you

Love you

Y/N

So far the day was stressful, but manageable. You had tons of work, and probably you had to stay extra hours to finish some papers that had to be delivered the following day. After the break you started to work on those papers when you got a phone call.

-Hello –I say not seeing who was calling

-Hi love –Chris said –How are you?

-Lost in work, you? –I say

-Missing you –he says

-I miss you too –I say –Look honey, I really appreciate you calling, but I have to finish this, and I’m already late with it –I mention with a sad tone

-It’s okay doll. I wanted to check on you actually –he says –but I’ll call you later

-I’m good, don’t worry –I say

-Ok. I love you –He says upset

-Love you too. Bye –I say and hang up

If you thought that your day was going to get better after that call, you were wrong. A really strong headache hit you and made you feel dizzy, probably it was because the late night working. You decided to take an aspirin, ignore the pain and keep working.

You had to stay almost four hours after work, your headache never left and you had missed the classes of the day. You wanted to get home and get into bed and wake up on the weekend. You decided to send Chris a quick text because he had promised you to call.

Hi love! I know you wanted to talk, but I’m leaving work right now and I have to finish an essay for tomorrow and I’ll probably ignore my phone.

I’m really really sorry

Talk to you tomorrow. I promise

Love you

Y/N

Once you got home, you took off your clothes, put some pjs and started the essays which were due date tomorrow and you haven’t started yet. It was going to be a long night with lots of coffee.

The pounding headache you had earlier got really worse, your eyes were watering making it really difficult to read and your body was really sore. It was the fifth cup of coffee when you got a text from your mom

Hello Y/N! I hope you remember our dinner tomorrow

It’s been a while since the last meeting.

I really miss you

Mom

As soon as you saw who texted you, you rolled your eyes. You’ve totally forgot the dinner with your mom, you were doing too many things but remember it wasn’t, but you couldn’t cancel it. It was the only time you were able to see her during the week.

Hi mom! I’ll be there, don’t worry

I miss you too

Y/N

When you send it the message, you realized it that was almost 6 AM and you haven’t finished your essay yet. You stop doing it and went to take a shower and then start the new day.

Wednesday

After your late night work and your shower, you still felt tired and sore. You prepared your breakfast and went to finish your essay. Luckily you were able to finish it just in time to go to work. You send a quick text to your mom and Chris and started your day.

Your day at the office went pretty well. Some stressful moments, but besides that, everything was normal. You were feeling really bad, being all night awake wasn’t your best decision but it was worthy, your essay was perfect, as your teacher said, and you were proud. You needed to go home and crash your bed; unfortunately you had dinner with your mom. You felt feverish but you didn’t pay much attention, probably was the lack of sleeping.

Hello my love! How’s your dinner with your ma going?

The producers told me that probably I’ll be back home by the weekend. I can’t wait

I love you

Chris

Your face lighted up immediately. It was the middle of the week, and Chris was coming back home. Nothing could ruin your day.

Dinner with your mom went terrible. She’d complaint about everything you have been doing since you moved on your own. Everything got worse when she started to criticize your body and your diet; and when she compared you to your sister you snapped. You had to kick her out of your house before something bad happened. Chris promised you to call, but you weren’t in the mood, not after what happened with your mom, so you turned off your phone, drank a beer and then you went to sleep. You deserved it.

Thursday

Your alarm started to sound pretty loud, you got up and had to run to your bathroom, it wasn’t the cleverest idea to drink a beer before bed. Once you emptied your stomach, you laid on the cold floor. Today you had to stay in, so you emailed your boss calling in a sick day. You went back to bed and you fell asleep immediately. You woke up a few hours later feeling a little bit better from your stomach. You went to the kitchen; you prepared something light to eat and went back to bed. It was the perfect opportunity to finish all your essays you hadn’t hand in yet.

Some hours later, you were emptying your stomach on the bathroom again; you probably had caught a bug during the week. You should tell Chris about it, he shouldn’t get sick.

You remembered that you’d turned it off the night before, probably you had several messages and missed calls, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to deal with anything. Indeed, you had several phone calls from your mom and a bunch of texts saying she was sorry and she never meant to tell you such things. Before calling her you texted to Chris quickly to give him an update on your day and your health as well

Hi love! That’s great news! Sorry I didn’t answer back sooner, I was busy…

I don’t think you should come directly from the airport, I think I caught a bug, cause I haven’t been feeling well for a few days.

I hope your day is going good.

I miss you

Y/N

And then you called your mom. She picked up after the first ring

-Y/N! Darling, are you ok? –she asks almost screaming

-Yeah, I forgot to turn on my phone –I say avoiding my health

-I’m sorry about last night, I shouldn’t have told you such horrible things –she says

-But still, you did it –I say –Look, I know you don’t like the way I’m living, but it’s MY life –I say

-I know sweetie, but I still feel bad about how everything ended –she told me.

“She was really excusing herself” you thought but your stomach had other plans

-I’m sorry mom –you say –I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later –I say and hung up

You run to your bathroom, lucky for you, you made it. You really needed Chris next to you. You heard your phone ringing, probably it was him calling you, but you didn’t have the energy to get up, you were really dizzy and you started to see black dots, and then everything went black. This wasn’t good.

You didn’t know how long you were passed out, but when you woke up, you felt terrible. You checked your temperature, the thermometer marked 100.4°; with all your energy you got up, and went back to bed to rest, you didn’t have enough energy to take anything or even cook something.

Friday

You don’t know when exactly you woke up, you emailed to your job calling in sick again. You didn’t realize what time it was or how long you were asleep. The only thought in your mind was that you needed to clean the house, Chris was coming tomorrow and everything was a mess, even though you warned him about being sick you knew he was going to come either way. You had to take your temp again; you were shivering, probably because it went up. Certainly it did, it was 102.2°; you knew it was bad, so you dragged yourself from bed and decided to run a bath, which was going to help.

After your bath, you went to the kitchen and prepared just a tea, and grabbed two crackers, you didn’t want to push your stomach, you were still weak; and you went back to bed.

You had a few emails from school, from work and some texts from your mom and Chris. When you were about to texted Chris back he called you.

-Hello my love –he says with his calming voice

-Hi –you answer

-How are you feeling?

-Really bad –you say pouting

-I’m sorry doll. Do you want me to call someone to take care of you?

-Don’t worry hun, I’m better now. With some rest I’ll recover –you assure him

-I’m calling you because I’m about to head to the airport so, I’ll probably don’t answer my phone until tomorrow –you heard him smiling

-It’s ok love; I can’t wait to see you again –you say smiling as well

-Me too love. Me too. I’ve got to go –he says upset

-Safe travel, I love you –you say

-Love you too. Bye –he says and hung up

You were crying already, you didn’t know why, probably was the fever. You finished your tea; you put some cozy clothes and went to the kitchen to start cleaning everything.

You finished cleaning pretty late so you took another tea and some crackers for dinner. You weren’t in the mood for food and neither your stomach. Once you finished your tea, you went to your room to clean it, when a wave of nausea hit you and you had to run to the bathroom again. You lay on the cold floor; it was a beautiful sensation against your heated skin. With all your strength you grabbed the thermometer and took your temp again, because you were pretty hot. You were running a temp of 103.1°. You needed help, you tried to get up from the floor so you could go to grab your phone, but you fainted before getting up.

Saturday

Chris arrived at dawn; he found the house clean although you told him you were sick. He noticed there was no dinner leftover, “have you been eating?” he thought to himself, he was worried

-I’m home baby –he calls but there’s no response

-Y/N? –he calls you a little louder

He thought that you might be sleeping, but his heart broke when he find you. He lifted you from the floor and put you in bed. He went to the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and pouring some cold water, grabbed a washcloth, a glass of juice and some ibuprofen and came back to the room.

When you woke up, you realized that you were on the bed, “did you make it to the bed?” you thought when you saw that Chris entering your room.

-Hey! You are awake –he says and you could barely smile

-When did you arrive? –you question

-Not long ago, I was worried –he admits -I found you on the floor –he sits next to you on the bed pulling the tray on the nightstand

-Oh –you say and you look your hands

-What is it love? -he asks caressing your cheek

-I think I fainted in the bathroom –you admit

Chris didn’t say anything; he went to the bathroom and picked up the thermometer. He came from the bathroom with a worried face

-Open –he commands

You did what he had told you and waited. He never stopped caressing your cheek. You were falling asleep when he woke you up

-Don’t fall asleep sweetie, I know you’re tired, but please, hang on –he sounded worried - Did you eat something? –he asked you but you just shake your head and the thermometer beeped

-104° .How high was the last time you checked it? -he asks you

-103.1° –you says

-We have to break this before it gets worse. How many times did you faint? –he was really worried

-Two times, I think. I don’t really know actually –you say disappointed

-When was the last time that you eat something solid? –he asks concerned

-On Wednesday, with my mom –I say –Probably that’s why I fainted the first time –I explained

-Don’t worry, doll. I’ll take care of you –he says caressing your face.

~Tag List (If you want to be part, let me know)

@iguessweallcrazyithinktho

#weekly challenge #writing challenge #captains weekly challenge #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction

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official-weasley · 4 years ago

Text

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 1, Ch. 8

PART 1: WHERE IT ALL BEGAN Chapter 8 - The Potions Hero

Penny

It was about a month before we would have to take our first-ever final exams. I was so excited as I was good all year, did all my homework plus some extra credit work in Potions, of course, and I just couldn't help to feel prepared.

Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for my friends who were oblivious to the fact that the final exams were coming. I have been warning them for about 2 weeks now but the replies I got back, made me think that they were going to be in big trouble if I don't nag them even further.

“Oh, come off it Penny, we still have plenty of time.” Tonks said to me one morning as I tried to slip the final exams into our conversation as we were meeting our friends for breakfast in the Great Hall.

“Penny, you are overreacting.” Tulip rolled her eyes over dinner the next day. “We have plenty of time and besides we are not doing so horrible at school that we ought to be worried about exams! How much harder than a few essays can they be?” She sounded really confident.

Charlie and Nova gave me the most trouble as I could hardly catch them as they spent more and more time outside. Nova kept relying on my notes more and more and when I heard that they are thinking of skipping a History of Magic lesson to go to Hagrid's I flipped.

You should have seen the look on their faces when the whole Courtyard turned in our direction as I was practically yelling at them that they simply can't be that irresponsible.

Nova's mouth was open and I could see guilt in her eyes and Charlie blushed so much that he looked like a tomato with red hair.

After I've threatened them that I will not lend them my notes for the final exams, they finally started to listen to me and now I take every opportunity we spent together as a group to remind them of the exams.

—

One morning, when I woke up and Tonks' bed was already empty and nobody was outside the Hufflepuff Common Room entrance and nobody was at the Courtyard or in the Great Hall, I was beginning to think that they have started avoiding me for nagging them so much.

Then an idea came to my mind that was almost impossible to believe. Could they be in the Library? I thought incredulously. I grabbed a quick bite in the Great Hall and hurried to the Library.

I've made sure to be as quiet as possible entering as Madam Pince would have my head if I spoke a word too loud. I looked around and at first thought that they weren't there after all. But then I spotted 2 redheads at the table in the far back. Charlie and Tulip were sitting with Nova and Tonks. They were all facing the bookshelves, their heads stuck together.

For a moment I felt proud as I thought they were finally studying but as I got closer...

“Okay, so what's the plan?” I heard Tonks whisper to the best of her ability.

“I reckon we should just ask her nicely.” Nova said, scratching her head.

“Are you mental, did you forget how she yelled at us in the Courtyard for being irresponsible wanting to skip History of Magic that one time, because I haven't? Her voice is still haunting me at night.” Charlie's voice shook a little.

“Well, what else can we do? It's not like we can force her?” Tulip said and gasped as if she couldn't believe what she just said.

“We can try!” Tonks already warmed up to the idea.

“Tonks, don't be ridiculous! Penny is our friend.”

“Shhhh!” Madam Pince shushed them as Charlie said the last sentence a little too loud for her taste.

“I am confident that if we apologize to her and ask her nicely, she would love to help us.” Nova felt confident.

“Hi guys, what are we whispering about?” I decided to play a little joke on them and stuck my head next to Tulip's who was on the left side of the head-sticking group.

“Ahhh!” There was a loud bang as they all jumped up and Tonks hit her knee at the table, their hands on their chests as I scared the living ghosts out of them.

I had to put both hands over my mouth not to laugh too loudly but it was in vain as Madam Pince was next to our table so quickly as if she has apparated.

“You either leave right now using your legs,” she glared at every single one of us, whispering, “or I will drag you out by your loud mouths.” She crossed her hands on her chest and pointed her long finger to the door.

I followed the lot to the Courtyard, them looking quite embarrassed but for me, this was the pranks I wanted to pull on people, not the ones Tulip, Tonks and Jae usually had in mind. Mine at least won't get us to lose House Points.

Tulip, Tonks, and I sat on the bench while Charlie and Nova sat on the ground in front of us.

“Soooo,” Tonks looked as if she swallowed a chili pepper, “how much have you heard?”

“You are planning something that might or might not be forced upon me.” I giggled, still amused, their faces frightened.

“Well,” started Nova, while scratching the back of her head. I bet she got that from Charlie, as he did it every time he was too shy to say something, “it has dawned on us that the final exams are approaching.”

“Oh, really?” I responded in a sarcastic tone.

“And we were,” Charlie continued, doing the same scratching motion as Nova, “we were wondering if you could help us study for our Potions exam?” He said as quickly as his tongue allowed him.

“Just for the Potions exam?” I was skepticalabout that.

“Yeah, we were talking and we are doing pretty good with Herbology. We are already doomed in History of Magic as even you haven't been taking notes. Nova will help us with Transfiguration and Charms, while Charlie helps us with Flying and Defense Against the Dark Arts and I will lend everybody my notes and hand when it comes to Astronomy.” Tulip revealed their plan.

“So you have all been studying?” I couldn't believe that they actually had a plan.

“Of course, we have, Penny!” Charlie exclaimed. “You've nagged us so much that we didn't have a choice, now did we.” He chuckled.

“As much as we don't want to admit it, we do care for school and our exams, Penny.” Tonks grinned.

“Tonks and I have been studying Herbology and Astronomy in the Kitchens for the past week.” Said Tulip proudly.

“That's what you've been doing in the Kitchens?” I couldn't help but be startled.

“Mischief isn't the only thing we do, you know.” Tonks sounded offended.

“Yeah and Hagrid has been helping Nova and I study for the Defence Against the Dark Arts. We studied so many beasts this year and he knows so much about them. That's why we were planning to go to Hagrid's the day you yelled at us at this exact place.” Charlie pointed a finger behind him to the middle of the Courtyard.

“You weren't going to go to Hagrid's to ask him again if he can take you into the Forest?” I asked incredulously.

“Nah, we gave up on that. It's almost the end of the year and he did promise to do it once we are in our Second Year so we decided to give it a rest. Make him forget about it a little.” Nova grinned.

“Sure!” Tonks and Tulip replied at the same time, giggling.

“Wow, I didn't think you were taking me so seriously.” My hand on my mouth as I couldn't help but be astonished at their achievements. “You even wanted to skip a class to study for another class.” I extended my arms at Nova and Charlie, proudly.

“We got your hint, Penny.” Chuckled Tulip.

“So will you help us study Potions?” Asked Tonks, now all 4 of them looking at me like Fang when he wanted scratches.

“Of course I will help you study!” I exclaimed. “I would help you lot even if you didn't start yet.” I admitted and they squeezed me into a tight hug.

We decided that we would start the next day and I stayed up all night to make them each notes on the most important things that I was confident are going to be on the exam. I also made them sheets that would help them remember potion ingredients and their most common uses. As for myself, I've made a plan what I would teach them, how, and where.

Obviously, Madam Pince wouldn't let us in the Library all together probably until the next year. So, in the morning when we all met for breakfast and I gave them everything I've prepared for them, we decided that staying at one of the tables in the Great Hall was going to be our best option.

After a few days, Nova and Tulip were doing the best. Nova had all the potion ingredients for all 3 major potions we worked on this year memorized. Tulip exceeded my expectations as she gave me not 7 but 8 reasons why Firecrab cauldrons are not as important as one might think. As much as Tonks was trying she still couldn't memorize the right ingredient sequence for the Sleeping Draught and Charlie was struggling to understand why do we need 5 reasons why a potion has to be stirred in a specific direction and why the other way around could be very harmful.

—

Later that week we got our Final Exam Schedule.

I've read it aloud:

“Monday – morning Charms theoretical exam, afternoon Charms individual practical exam

Tuesday – morning Herbology exam, afternoon History of Magic exam

Wednesday – morning Flying practical exam, midnight Astronomy practical exam

Thursday – no exams

Friday – morning Potions theoretical exam, afternoon Potions practical exam

Monday – morning Defense Against the Dark Arts theoretical exam, afternoon Defense Against the Dark Arts individual practical exam

Tuesday – morning Transfiguration theoretical exam, afternoon Transfiguration practical exam”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts practical exam?” Repeated Charlie. “We didn't even do any practical spell work in class!” He felt offended.

“I guess Rakepick assumed we would learn them on our own.” Nova shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, to be honest, we did learn some of the same spells in Charms, haven't we.” I thought out loud.

“I guess.” Charlie rolled his eyes. “It's nice to know that we have until Friday to study Potions, though.” His mood recovered.

—

I have to say that I was very proud of every single one of my friends as they were all fairly prepared for their Potions exam on Thursday night. We did have to shake Tulip awake a couple of times when her eyes started to shut as she was repeating different kinds of cauldrons in her head.

Of course, our study group didn't go unnoticed and by Wednesday afternoon Murphy, Jae, and Andre, who stopped to talk to Tulip and Nova as he was a Ravenclaw, joined.

On Friday, nobody except me and Charlie, who was obviously a nervous eater, ate breakfast as others rather nibbled on their nails, lips, or mumbled words to themselves as they were revising before the hardly anticipating Potions exam.

Nobody wanted to talk about the theoretical part, they saw it as a waste of time as they wanted to prepare themselves for the practical part of the exam. I was leaning on my hand in the Great Hall, looking at them as I was listening to their murmurs, counting on fingers, and rubbing the sides of their foreheads. I knew I had amazing and smart friends but I couldn't help but smile as I was so proud of how much effort they actually put into their least favorite subject.

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epic-potato-crisp · 4 years ago

Text

Caramel Syrup

Note: Dear @gingerrhd, I was your secret santa this year! You mentioned KouKei, autumn, sarcasm, and the worst coffee date ever in the prompts, so I decided to go with a coffeshop! AU for the story. I hope you enjoy! ^-^

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bell jingled over his head as Kei pried open the heavy door of “Fantôme.” There weren’t many customers around, which is what he had been going for for when he decided to pick a small, secluded coffeeshop to study in favor of the larger franchise store down the road. It had been his go-to-place, before Kei discovered just how many students from his High School spend their free hours and afternoons there.

No thank you. Kei could do without the obligatory socialization every time he tried to get ahead in his homework. Also, their management had changed and for some absurd reason he had a strange feeling about the new shift manager behind the counter, an old man approaching pension age who graced him with a downright unsettling smile every time they met. So Fantôme it was. As it turned out, not only was the store empty, and offered “Free Wifi” if one were to believe the obnoxious signs plastered throughout, it also held a large amount of seating opportunities. That was welcome news to Kei, who despised encountering his classmates almost as the lack of free tables. “Welcome!” The red-haired boy behind the counter shouted as soon as he spotted him, bowing promptly. Kei grimaced at the ear-splitting volume. “A gingerbread latte please.” he ordered, after a customary glance at the menu. “That will be 600 yen.” Kei nodded, and handed over the required amount. “Alright. Please take a seat. Coming right up!!” the barista responded, flashing him an irritatingly cheerful smile. Kei rolled his eyes and went to find a table.

“Here you go, sorry for the delay.” A good ten minutes later, a steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of him. Kei had already spread himself out over the desk, his laptop turned on and class notes on his side. “Thanks.” Kei graced the barista-server-whatever he was with a court nod, before turning back to his screen. “Oh, what are you doing there?”

Someone save him.

“Homework.” “Oh, cool, for what subject?” The redhead didn’t seem the slightest bit deterred by the venomous look Kei shot him, sliding into the empty next to him. On the contrary. “History.” “Oh man, I hate that subject. But you know what I hate even more?” Kei did not remember asking, but the barista generously provided him with an update anyway. “Biology. Seriously man, I didn’t know there were so many complicating things to know about plans. Don’t you just water them?” He gestured wildly as he spoke. “Oh, and don’t get me started on Japanese Literature-“ “Don’t you have work to do?” Kei cut across him. “Nah, actually, my shift break just started. Lucky, eh?” the barista grinned.

Oh God, he should have gone to his old place. Not even his classmates talked this much.

“I’m Nakano Kou, by the way! Nice to meet you!” He held out his hand. Kei grimaced, but forced himself into the polite response and shook it briefly. “Likewise.” He replied monotonously. Nakano tilted his head, his bushy eyebrows travelling skywards. So much for privacy. “I’m Nagai Kei.” Kei grumbled, “And I have work to do, so if you excuse me-“

It was at that moment a tall man with glasses and silver hair appeared behind the counter. “Nakano!” he barked, as soon as he spotted the pair of them, “If you have time to harass the customers, you might as well get to work! The tables won’t clear themselves.” Nakano winced, caught and got to his feet with a sigh. “Sorry, my shift manager is no fun. I’ll see you around, yeah?” Kei didn’t dignify that with a response. He got to work.

“Welcome! Oh, Nagai, it’s great to see you back!” “Likewise.” Kei ground out between clenched teeth, cursing his luck. The shop was fuller this time, the tables being occupied by elderly people enjoying their afternoon treat and college students typing away at laptops alike. Did the Fantôme not employ anyone else? Either Nakano was the epitome of obliviousness, or he purposefully ignored Kei’s hostile tone. He took his order- Kei went with his regular, with an extra helping of caramel syrup- chatting away merrily as he did. “Honestly, I’m really glad you chose our store. You know, the bigger franchise one down the road?” “Hard to miss.” Kei deadpanned. “Yeah, that one! So, they drive away most of our customers. But Hirasawa-san- that’s my boss, you know- he says not to worry. That the Phantom has its own unique charm, ya know?” The coffee machine beeped shrilly. “Oh, whoops, gotta refill the water tank. Just a second!” “It’s Fantôme.” Kei couldn’t help himself. “What?” Nakano appeared genuinely confused, as he filled a large container under the sink. “The shop. It’s pronounced Fantôme.” Correcting other people’s pronounciation had always been one of Kei’s biggest pet peeves. It hadn’t exactly helped him in making friends at school. “Sure, if you say so! French confuses the heck out of me.” Kei was about to spitefully remark what doesn’t, but held his tongue.

Nakano, who had meanwhile successfully managed to get the machine working again, turned his back on the cup filling with coffee and grabbed a chocolate pastry from showcase, placed it on a tiny plate and handed it to Kei.” “Voila!” “I didn’t order that.” Kei said. “Yeah, I know. Consider it on the house.” Kou winked and rang him up.

Kei managed about an hour of successfully typing away at his essay before a certain redheaded menace decided to join him again at the table.

“Hey, hope you don’t mind!” He declared energetically, before taking a seat next to Kei, armed with a piece of cake and sparkling glass of soda. Kei did mind, but apparently that was obsolete.

“So what are you doing today?” “History again. Citing my sources.” “Ugh, that sounds boring.” Nakano said emphatically. “Tell me about it.” “So you’re going to Kaisei?” Nakano said, with a nod to his blazer. “I guess.” “Isn’t that crazy hard to get into?” Kei shrugs. “Maybe. I didn’t think the entrance exam was that difficult.” “Woah!” If Kou’s eyes widened any further, they would have popped out of their sockets. “You’re really fucking smart, aren’t you?” Kei, much to his disagreement, felt his cheeks warm at the unexpected praise. “So, you’re in High School too? What year?” Kei asked, in an attempt to redirect the conversation towards Nakano himself. “Year 2.” “Same as me.” Nakano groaned pitifully. “End of term exams are going to kill me once I start studying for them.” Kei stopped his typing. “What do you mean once you start studying for them? They’re in February.” “Yeah, so? “It’s December.” Kei knew it wasn’t his place to advise the other boy on study methods, but he was adept at spotting a train wreck in the making. Or perhaps, that was just his OCD talking. “When were you going to start?” “End of January?” Nakano responded. It sounded like a question.

Oh dear God.

“Anyway.” Nakano said, misinterpreting his stunned silence for agreement, “You know how I said that the larger store drives our customers away? Know why that is?” His eyes sparkled excitedly. Kei glanced at the counter, hoping the coffee machine would decide to act up again and save him from the rest of this conversation. “Other than that they’re an internationally renowned franchise with stores all over the world? No. Couldn’t possibly imagine.” Kei replied sarcastically, which went right over Nakano’s head. “Nah, that’s not it.” Nakano said, dismissing Kei’s perfectly logical statement with a wave of his hand. He grinned conspiratorially. “Listen to this. There are rumors that their new manager is cahoots with the yakuza. The Yakuza! Crazy, right?” “Wow.” Kei said, not knowing what else to respond to this. Indeed, the grandpa behind the counter did look like he could murder his him in his sleep and get away with it. It would probably a merciful death by comparison, he thought, side-eyeing Nakano, who rambled on as though there was no tomorrow. A few minutes later, he was saved by the same sour-faced shift manager that had come to his aid the other day. “Stop trash-talking the competition, Nakano! Table 3 wants to order!” “Ah, yessir!” Nakano yelled, making Kei wince. He jumped up and gave a wave. “Laters!” Kei pinched his forehead, and returned to his sources.

For someone who had vowed to never return here, Kei thought glumly to himself, as he walked into the Fantôme a week later on a rainy Thursday afternoon, he was really bad at keeping promises. Even to himself. The lady behind the counter was tiny. “Good afternoon.” She greeted him monotonously, staring at him with dark, soulful eyes that looked like they’d seen enough. “What would you like?” Kei thought decisively that he didn’t miss the exciting chatter that had accompanied his earlier orders, and got out his wallet.

“Oh, hey! Nagai! Izumi-san, I’m taking this one.” Kei didn’t know what exactly possessed him to return the very next day, but there was work he had to yet finish, and the atmosphere of the coffeeshop had provided to aid his levels of productivity. Well, for the most part. “Alright.” The petite woman from yesterday replied, eyes even more weary than the day before, and moved on to the next customer. Fridays were busy, even at the Fantôme. “Gingerbread latte?” Nakano asked, as soon as Nagai reached the counter. Nagai nodded. “And, one of these pastries, please.” he said. “Coming right up! And, sorry, but I guess I’ll have to charge you for the pastry this time. Tosaki-san- that’s my shift manager said I’m not allowed to give out freebies.” He shrugged. “That’s fine.” Kei said. “But I’m starting to convince him of the fact that you’re a regular, so that might change!” Nakano winked. “Don’t count on it.” “Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.” Nakano said teasingly, and rang him up.

Kei was impressed to learn that even a rush on a Friday afternoon was not enough to deter Nakano from bothering him at his table. Strangely enough, he found himself not really minding the company. Even if it did keep him from his statistics homework. “Fun fact.” Nakano said, “You know that this store was originally gonna be called IBM? But you know, that’s trademarked, so Hirasawa-san didn’t go ahead with it.” “What the hell would IBM even stand for?” Kei shut his laptop screen, deciding that perhaps a small break would not completely ruin his progress. He took a bite out of his pastry, which tasted more delicious than it had any business being. “I don’t know, man. International Brewery Masters?” “You literally have one store.” “Point taken.” Nakano grinned.

Kei rolled his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at the register?” “My coworker’s handling it.” Nakano said, making large puppy eyes at him, “I have a double shift on Saturday, give me a break.” “Your coworker?” “Well, yeah, Izumi-san. You’ve met her, right?” Nakano’s voice picked up, excitedly. “She’s really hot, isn’t she?” “What exactly is hot, Nakano-kun?” a quiet voice asked behind him asked. Nakano choked on his soda. The woman in question had approached with the stealth of a panther. She narrowed her eyes at the younger employee. “I-Izumi-san!” Nakano responded, flustered, “I, uh, I meant the coffee! Right, Kei? It’s really nice and hot, isn’t it?” “It’s very good, indeed.” Kei responded, after a delighting moment of watching Nakano struggle in embarrassment. Izumi left, but not without shooting last glare in Nakano’s direction. “I feel like she doesn’t like me.” Nakano whined, as soon as she was out of earshot. “How on earth did you reach that conclusion?” Kei asked, raising an eyebrow. He glanced at his watch. It was already close to 6 pm. “I’m sorry, but I’m leaving in a bit.” Eriko was home from the hospital for the weekend. And as strained as their relationship might be, Kei did feel guilty for not spending as much time with his little sister as he probably should have. “Oh, that’s perfect!” Nakano replied, “I’ll get off in half an hour. Want to walk to the station together?” Oh well. He needed to catch his train either way. “Sure.”

Nakano, predictably, talked the entire way to the station. Which suited Kei well this time, as it saved him from having to make awkward small talk. He learned that Nakano had been working at the Fantôme for a year already. He was one of two High Schoolers the shop’s owner, Hirsawa-san had employed. Most other employees were college students. There was Tosaki, who was studying for his masters at Keio University, and Izumi, an undergrad student at Sophia. He also learned that Nakano lived on his own, and had barely scraped by his first year in High School. When asked about his parents, he shrugged. “They didn’t pay the rent, and got us kicked out of our place. My uncle’s helping me pay for a room, but I’m pretty much on my own with all other expenses. Sucks, but that’s the way it is.” “I’m sorry.” Kei answered, not knowing what else to say. “Don’t be.” Nakano gave him a smile that seemed genuine, “I do like my job. Even though Tosaki-san can be a pain at times.” An awkward silence fell between them. “Want to exchange LINE ID’s?” Nakano asked, just before they reached the station. “Sure, whatever.” “You can call me Kou, by the way. Nakano’s so freaking formal. And can I call you Kei, too?” “Whatever.” Kei repeated, ignoring the pleased feeling in the pit of his stomach when he realized Nakano had bothered to remember his first name.

Ten minutes later, on a crowded train heading back home, Kei muted his phone notifications when Kou wouldn’t stop spamming their chat with rilakumma emojis.

Despite his better judgement, Kei started showing up at the Fantôme once a week. His visits fell mostly on Mondays, which was coincidentally also the day that Kou was on his regular shift. Kei blamed it on the workload the school assigned with the beginning of every week.

He had slowly developed a craving for the Fantôme’s coffee specials, and the place did offer a rather peaceful study atmosphere, if he left aside Kou’s chattering during his impromptu visits at Kei’s table.

But even those, he secretly grew to like. Not that he would ever admit to it.

“Welcome! Your order?” The barista at the counter was not Kou. A shadow fell over Kei as the man towered above him at what was easily two meters of height. The Fantome’s signature apron barely reached his midriff. The accompanying cream-coloured frills provided a striking contrast to his perpetual scowl. Tanaka, the name tag read. “I, um-“ “Oh, hello Kei.” Izumi greeted him, emerging from the kitchen with a rare smile. He did know when exactly she had learned his name, but somewhere between his first and his fifteenth visit, he had apparently made an impression. It was what came with being a “regular” , he supposed, which wasn’t nearly as beneficial as Kou made it out to be. Even though he enjoyed the occasional complimentary pastry. Where was he, anyway? It was a Monday like any other. “Nakano’s not working today.” she said, apparently having read his thoughts, “He’s at home studying. His exams are coming up soon.” “Oh, I see.” Kei said, “Then, well…” he glanced at the mountain of a barista that looked like he could take him out in one ill-timed blow, “I just wanted to get drinks for takeaway. One gingerbread latte, please.” he said. “600 yen.” “Actually, can you make that two?” Tanaka grunted, which Kei understood as a confirmation. “Visiting a friend?” Izumi-san asked, a knowing look in her eyes. “Just for my sister.” Kei responded. His heart was racing, which was a little odd, he thought. He was yet to consume any amount of caffeine. “I see.”

This was most likely a bad idea, Kei thought. In between spamming him with memes, links to prank compilations on youtube and various emojis, Kou had also written his address.

“What would I need that for? ”Kei had texted back. “In case you ever wanna hang out!” Kei had left him on read.

Now, standing in front of his door, he considered turning around. But he had already come all this way, to a ward on the suburbs of Tokyo. Also, the coffee was getting cold. He sighed, and pressed the doorbell. “Kei!!” Nakano’s surprised expression gave way to a joyful one when he noticed his unexpected visitor. “Come in, please!” He beckoned him inside eagerly. “Please excuse the intrusion.” Kei mumbled, taking off his shoes and stepping into Nakano’s apartment. It was tiny. There was bed and a dresser, a floor table and seating pillows. A fridge, and a single stove with a microwave took up one corner of the room. Kei spotted a door in the another one, probably leading to a bathroom. Also, it looked like a bomb had exploded in here. “Please have a seat. Sorry, it’s not very tidy.” Nakano said, That put it lightly, Kei thought, stepping over books, socks and empty bottles. Nakano brought him a glass of water, and they sat down at the table. “I heard you were studying for exams.” “Yeah, I have some tests coming up.” Kou sighed, “Tosaki-san told me to take the week off and study. When I came into work this afternoon, he yelled at me, so… I guess I’m here.” He laughed embarrassedly. “When are your exams?” Kei asked, with an impending feeling of doom, taking a sip of his water. “Thursday. Friday.” Nakano said. “This week?” “Yep.” He should have just gone home. “Do you have trouble with any of the material?” Nakano flashed him a saccharine smile. “Perhaps you could tutor me?” Kei could feel a headache coming on. “Depends on the subjects.” “Math, I can mostly do, but I am struggling with biology.” Nakano said, giving him the largest puppy eyes Kei had ever witnessed. “Alright, fine. Let’s do this.” Kei agreed with a sigh, opening a textbook. How hard could that possibly be? He aced biology every time. Surely tutoring someone else was not that vastly different.

One hour later, their styrofoam cups were empty and Kei was about to lose his sanity. “What exactly are you not getting about the polymerase chain reaction?” He snapped, twisting a pen in his hand, ink smudging all over his fingers, “It’s not that hard!”

“Yes, it is.” Nakano yelled, desperation clawing its way into his voice. “Well, what part?” “Everything.” Nakano moaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh man, I’m sorry. Nagai. I’m a lost cause. You should just go home.” Kei felt very tempted to do just that, but he took a way at Kou’s room and the tense way he hunched his shoulders and the staple of bills on the corner of the desk, and felt like an asshole for even considering it. But wait. He still had an ace up his sleeve. He stepped out onto the balcony, and made a call.

“I came as fast as I could.” Kaito leaned against the doorframe, motorcycle helmet underneath his arm, “Lucky I live nearby.” “Thank you. I owe you one.” Kei said. Kaito waved him off. “No, believe me, you’ll call in that favor once you see what I mean.” Kei said dryly. Kaito laughed at his pained expression. “It’ll be fine.” “Kei, are you leaving?” Nakano called, emerging from the bathroom. He paused in his tracks once he saw Kaito. “Oh, hi, you are-“ “Your new biology teacher.” Kei said coldly. Kou tilted his head in confusion. “A friend of mine. Who’s good at biology. He agreed to teach you. That’s all.” Kei grumbled. Immediately, Kou’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Hey! Wow, thanks for doing this! I’m really an idiot, so sorry in advance for taking up your time. I’m Nakano, by the way. Come in!” “Kaito. Pleasure.” the blond replied, giving him a warm smile. “I’m gonna go and get some food from the conbini down the road.” Kei responded, “Have fun.” “Get me some tuna onigiri, yeah?” Kou called after him. “In your dreams.” Kaito laughed.

Three hours later, they sat at Kou’s table together, feasting on rice balls, soba noodles and lemon tea. “Kaito, you’re seriously the best.” Kou said, mid-chew. Kei turned his face away in disgust. “I feel like I really understood the stuff for the first-time!” “You’re welcome.” Kaito replied, “And by the way, Kou, don’t be so hard on yourself. You do understand more than you think. I think you just have trouble remembering the detail, but that’s okay. It’s what you study for, after all.” “You’re so nice, Kaito.” Kou fawned, “You’re much nicer than Kei.” “Hey. Remember who got him here in the first place?” Kei snapped, irritated. “I know, sorry. That was pretty great of you.” Kou said apologetically, grinning at him cheekily. Pretty great of you. Kei felt his cheeks heating up. “Bathroom.” he said, leaving as quickly as he could, and ignoring the smile on Kaito’s face.

“So, what’s the result?” Kou’s shift manager had apparently been waiting for them already when they walked into the store on Monday. “Hello, Tosaki-san, nice to see you too.” Kou said, rolling his eyes. Tosaki glared at him. “Okay, okay, fine!” Kou held up his hands in defeat. “I passed. Both exams. B in maths, C in biology.” “Just a C, after all the tutoring that Kaito gave you.” Kei comments acidly, “Were you even trying?” “Hey, I passed, okay? Wasn’t that the goal?” Kou pouted at him. Kei sighed, wishing that his puppy eyes didn’t have that much of an effect on him.

“I guess you did. Well done.”

Kou smiled at him. Kei felt his heart flutter, and looked away. “Well done, Nakano-kun.” Izumi said, who’d apparently overheard a part of their conversation, “Nagai’s drink is on me.” “Thanks.” Kei said. “Well then, get to work.” Tosaki adjusted his glasses. “Seriously, that’s all? Don’t I get a reward or something?” “Your reward is the tables you’ll be clearing.” Tosaki says haughtily, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “You’re late, so get moving.” “Yes, boss.” Kou sighs. “…Well done.” Kou turned in his tracks. “What was that?” “Move it!”

“Your regular?” Izumi asked, just as Nakano trudged off to get changed, “It’s on me.” “Is the gingerbread latte even a seasonal item anymore?” Kei said, seriously. “We make exceptions for our frequent customers.” Izumi responds, lowering her voice secretively. “Well, then I won’t say no.”

Izumi hummed and got to work preparing his drink. “Oh, in case you were worried. Nakano-kun still has all his vacation days. I guess that’s a type of reward, isn’t it?” “Hadn’t crossed my mind to be worried at all.” Kei answered, too quickly for it to be true. “I see.” Izumi said, with this knowing smile Kei hoped he interpreted too much into. “Here you go.” “Thank you.”

Kou came out from the staff room at this very second, wearing his work-shirt and apron. “Grab a seat, yeah?” he told Kei, “I’ll be with you as soon as I get a free minute.” “You don’t have to-“ His voice cut off, his brain short-circuiting in shock once he realized that Kou had kissed his cheek. “I-“ “That’s your reward.” Kou said, smiling at him, gentle and invigorating like summer rain, and for the first time in months, Kei was speechless.

#koukei #nagai kei #nakano kou #ajin #ajinss20 #ajin demi human #ajin secret santa #gingerrhd #fanfic

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adapted-batteries · 4 years ago

Text

Making Art

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General/sfw

Relationship: Flynnstone

Word count: 7274

Summary: Instead of never leaving his hometown, Jacob goes off to college under the guise of getting the only degree his dad values, petroleum engineering, but of course also majoring in art history. In “Survey of Native American Art,” he meets someone who he only knew before as “guy who basically lives in the library stacks.” Of course, Fate decides he needs to suffer through a group project with him.

Alternative summary: What would happen if Jacob Stone went to my alma mater and met Flynn there?

Also posted on my Ao3.

-----

Jacob thought well and hard about how he was going to convince Issac to let him go to the University of Tulsa. There were several hurdles he had to overcome: Pa was a University of Oklahoma man, and here he was wanting to go to the nerdiest school in the state; he already knew more than enough to run the oil business, why would he need to waste his father’s money on a useless degree; if Jacob went to Tulsa for four years, he couldn’t keep cleaning up his father’s messes, and there was a real risk of Isaac running the company into the very ground it drilled.

He had solutions to all of these things. The University of Tulsa had the best petroleum engineering degree in the Plains, and he’d always be a boomer sooner fan. And, while his high school grades weren’t too spectacular, his test scores and essay application for the Presidential Scholar program at TU got him a full ride. All he needed was Isaac to let him go and then not kill his company, and he’d be set.

Isaac didn’t need to know about Jacob’s ulterior motives. Tulsa was over 100 miles further from home than Norman was, for one, and Tulsa had a budding humanities program that Jacob really wanted to get invested in. He’d suffer through the engineering degree, but what was going to get him through it were the other courses he had in mind to take out of the humanities, languages, and arts departments. If he was lucky, he’d weasel himself a position of some sort at Gilcrease Museum just so he could learn even more from their displays and get into their archives.

When his acceptance letter came in the mail, Isaac read it with disdain. “When’d ya apply to that place? OU not good enough for you hm?”

Jacob kept the kitchen counter between himself and his father. “No I, well, I wanna do good for the business, and TU’s got the best oil program in the state, you know.”

“I didn’t need no fancy engineerin’ degree to make money,” Isaac countered, eyeing Jacob.

He kept himself from flinching from his father’s glare. “No, but now days you gotta have one to get started. Besides, couldn’t hurt to have one to spread our reach.”

Isaac tossed the nice letterhead on the counter. “Hmph. Well, how’re you gonna pay for that? I can’t just shill out that money.”

“I’ll, I’ll figure it out,” Jacob supplied. He’d already sent off his extra application for a full ride scholarship, which he hoped his more than qualifying exam scores and a 15 page, single-spaced analysis on Choctaw artwork and mythology would be convincing enough to award him.

“Fine, but I’m not co-signin’ any loans.” Isaac fished around in their refrigerator for a beer. “John’s off takin’ care of Sylvia, I need you on the rig Saturday.”

“Alright,” Jacob said. He had planned to spend the evening reading some books he had picked up from the town library, but that’d have to wait. After his dad wandered over to his worn recliner and he heard the click and buzz of the TV, Jacob sighed and set about making them dinner.

---

That August couldn’t get there quick enough. There were many, many times he thought about not going. He’d miss all his friends, his home town, and his pa. But, by the time he loaded up his truck and drove two hours northeast, there wasn’t any backing out now.

When he arrived on campus, he felt very out of place, but that feeling quickly faded once orientation week started. By the time classes started, he didn’t ever want to leave. His experience from oil rigging he already had carried him through his engineering classes, so he could devote himself to his other pursuits. Language courses, literature, history, art, those were the subjects he spent near all his time on. This also meant he spent a fair time in the library.

During his second year, a new student seemed to be competing with how many hours they could clock in the library. He was a nerdy sort, Jacob thought, which meant he was going above and beyond the above-average level of studiousness the student body already had. They quickly established a routine around each other. Jacob would go to his study carol he’d staked the previous year, the leftmost one in a set of three in a forgotten corner of the stacks no one except this new person seemed to want to go to. The newcomer took the study carol two down from him, rarely acknowledging Jacob’s presence.

Their schedule he figured out within the first two weeks of class. Mondays and Wednesdays Jacob would get there first, the new guy coming about an hour later and staying while Jacob left for class. Tuesdays and Thursdays the newcomer was there before him, and would leave around two hours into Jacob’s studying. Fridays the guy wasn’t there at all, at least not when Jacob was, but he practically lived there Saturday, no doubt not going to the football home games.

The beauty of studying in the stacks was that no one talked like they did in the study areas. The hum of the air vents, the scratch of his and the other guy’s pencils, the flip of books, and occasional footsteps of a seeker of knowledge comprised his sound track. He and the guy even alternated who stood and waved their arm to reactivate the lights when they timed out.

Without realizing, he had learned a fair amount about the guy from just studying near him. He was either dressed like a stereotypical professor, or a bedraggled grad student, which predicted how late he had stayed up the night before (confirmed by how prominent the circles under his eyes were). He had notebooks for every subject, and he studied near every subject, though a good amount of the books he hoarded were Native American ones. When he was frustrated, he might mumble under his breath, but most certainly made his hair even more wild by running his fingers through it. When he was hyperfocused, he'd sit on one foot, scratching furiously in a notebook.

Jacob never learned the guy’s name until the next semester when he had a class with him. Jacob had gotten himself into an upper-level Native American history course, filled mostly with history majors finishing their degrees and grad students. Not wanting to seem too eager, he chose a desk one row back from the front row. People he knew from previous history courses meandered in as it neared time to start the class, and some he chatted with, asking how their breaks were and such. The professor walked in right on time, a stack of syllabi on top of a binder in one arm, an insulated travel mug in her other hand.

Dr. Mashunkashey had begun going over the syllabus when the door to the classroom opened, revealing the guy from the stacks. He looked a bit disheveled, running late from somewhere it seemed. “That’s a two for two for not showing up on time to the first day of my class, Flynn,” the professor said, but she didn’t seem that annoyed by it.

“Sorry, I stayed up too late reading,” Flynn replied. “I got a bit carried away following sources referenced in Reclaiming Diné History.”

“Of course you did,” Dr. Mashunkashey said with a laugh, handing him the last syllabus. “Go on and have a seat.”

It turned out the easiest seat for him to take was the one right in front of Jacob. Jacob gave him a nod, which Flynn returned quickly, and then sat down. Jacob focused himself back on the syllabus on his desk, but his mind kept drifting to the man in front of him. He’d caught glimpses of the books Flynn read in the study carrel, and they were quite all over the place in subject matter; any given day he might have had a botany book, or a German biography, or something on Egypt. And now here he was, sitting right in front of him, apparently having spent the previous night doing the same thing Jacob did, though at least Jacob’s morning gym sessions meant he was never late to class like Flynn was.

The sound of a bunch of pages flipping snapped Jacob back into reality. The professor was explaining the main project of the class. “You’ll each focus on a particular tribe’s art, and an era within that. The paper requirements are in the syllabus, standard format. Images are welcome, but don’t shirk on your words because of them. Then, for the second part of this grade, you’ll work with a partner to make some form of art, combining the styles of both of your papers.”

Flynn raised his hand, but Dr. Mashunkashey shook her head. “Yes, Flynn, you’ll have to work with a partner.” Jacob stifled a laugh when Flynn’s shoulders slumped, but apparently not enough as she glanced at him before looking back at the syllabus. “The art component can be anything. Music, painting, writing, whatever, so long as you both incorporate themes from what you highlight in your paper. Since art can take time, and you might want to coordinate what art styles you’ll be using, go ahead and pick your partner.”

Jacob started thinking through the people he already knew in the class, but Flynn startled him out of his thoughts by turning around. “Do you want to be partners?”

“I, uh, sure,” Jacob stuttered. The professor had apparently been watching Flynn to see who he’d pick, and Jacob saying yes surprised her, based on her raised eyebrows. "Do you know what you're gonna do your paper on?"

Flynn didn't hesitate to respond. "Hohokam culture."

"I'd been thinking of doing Pueblo myself, so that should work well," Jacob said.

Dr. Mashunkashey cleared her throat, getting the class to quiet down. “Okay, now that you all have partners picked, we’re gonna get started.” She moved behind the computer and proceeded to give her introductory lecture on Native American art.

---

When the class came to an end, Jacob packed up his notebook and walked around the side of Flynn’s desk. “Hey, since we’re doing a project, we should exchange numbers.”

Flynn had been still scribbling something down, so it took a beat before he looked up at Jacob. “Phone number, yes, that’s a good idea.” He fished out his phone from a worn messenger bag stuffed with books and notebooks, handed it to Jacob, and then went back to writing.

Jacob waited for him to say more, but he didn’t speak, so he opened the phone and texted this is flynn’s number from Flynn’s phone to himself. Flynn was still writing, so he cleared his throat to get his attention. “Uh, here’s your phone.”

Flynn looked up a bit faster this time and took the phone. “Great.” He looked as if whatever was in the notebook was reaching out and trying to drag his head back to it, but he was now trying to fight it, looking at Jacob like he was trying to memorize Jacob. “Um, I’ll...see you around, in the stacks.”

He hadn’t imagined Flynn would be so awkward. “Sure, probably will.” Taking it as a cue, Flynn gave in to the pull of his notebook. Jacob wandered up to the professor; he had a habit of chatting up his professors after the first class, and today was no exception. Dr. Mashunkashey had just finished talking to another student when he walked up.

“I’ve heard good things about you, Mr. Stone.”

“And I’ve heard good things about you, too,” Jacob replied. “I wanted to take your class on Osage history last semester, but it conflicted with a class I needed to take.”

“I’ll be teaching it again in two years, so you’ve got some time,” she replied. Mumbling came from where Flynn was, making them both glance at him. “So you’ve got Flynn as your partner...that should be interesting. Do you know him from somewhere?”

“Yeah, I met ‘em in the library,” Jacob replied.

Dr. Mashunkashey laughed a little. “That sounds like the place to find him. Well, I look forward to your paper. Daniel, Dr. Griffith, liked your final paper so much he couldn’t quit talking about it.”

Jacob’s ears reddened a little. “Oh, well, I’m glad he enjoyed it.”

“Are you considering grad school?”

“Well, I’d uh, been thinkin’ about it, yeah.” He wasn’t about to tell her that he was also doing an engineering degree to take back home.

“If you want to talk about it, stop by my office anytime. There’s definitely fellowships out there for students like you, if finances are a concern.”

Jacob couldn’t help but perk up at that. “I’ll take you up on that. See you during office hours.”

---

Flynn, it turned out, was kind of the worst. Jacob wasn’t in a rush to get the project going, considering it wasn’t due until April anyway, but Flynn wanted to get started right away...at 3am apparently. Jacob hadn’t seen the string of texts until the next morning.

Flynn 3:04 AM: Can you do pottery? There’s a ceramics studio in Phillips Hall, I think I can get access to it.

Flynn 3:05 AM: There’s a few designs that would work for my time, depending on what works with your era.

Flynn 3:07 AM: You could decorate half and I’ll do the other.

Flynn 3:15 AM: Are there specific techniques your people used in their pottery making? We should use a traditional method.

Jacob didn’t reply right away. He went about his morning routine, and was on his way to the gym when his phone buzzed again.

Flynn 8:07 AM: What do you think about woodworking for our project?

Jacob groaned out loud, no one close enough to hear him. No wonder the professor was shocked he said yes to Flynn.

Jacob 8:08 AM: We have months to do this project. There’s no need to start so early.

Jacob shoved his phone in his pocket on do-not-disturb, intending to ignore any messages for the duration of his workout, but now that Flynn got him thinking about it, he sent off one more text.

Jacob 8:09 AM: I think pottery would probably work best. I’m sure we can manage it between the two of us.

Flynn responded almost instantaneously.

Flynn 8:10 AM: That’s what I was thinking. Though if we really wanted to incorporate both, we could also include the woodworking.

“Lord,” Jacob hissed, earning a confused look from the bleary-eyed student working the desk at the gym. He took his student ID and apologized. “Sorry, thanks.” It wouldn’t be that bad, so long as he didn’t let Flynn get under his skin.

Despite his efforts, Jacob’s workout was overshadowed by his loud thoughts. It wasn’t that he hoped Flynn would be cool, but, well, from months studying silently next to each other, Jacob had wondered what he would be like as a friend. He wanted to know what went on in Flynn's brain, what made him tick, what he did outside of class and studying. But now, he realized, Flynn was a brilliant mess of an academic who breathed school 24/7.

---

Flynn hadn’t been in the library Monday afternoon, and Jacob hadn’t gone to the library Tuesday. He hadn’t gotten any texts from him either, so by their second class on Wednesday, Jacob was curious what Flynn had been up to. That curiosity grew when Flynn showed up with a new notebook he hadn't had on Monday, already a quarter of the way filled with notes. "Jacob! So I talked to Kelly, er, Dr. Mashunkashey, and she talked to the art department, who then talked to the main ceramics professor, and he emailed me back saying we could do our project in his studio."

Jacob was kind of shocked at how fast he’d contacted people. “Well, that’s good.”

“I think we could start working on it, hm, next week?” Flynn looked down at Jacob expectantly, as he’d yet to take his seat.

For whatever reason, Jacob got an odd feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it. “I wasn’t plannin’ on gettin’ goin’ so soon, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt. I’ve only read about their pottery techniques, not done them, so extra time might be a good idea.” Flynn was practically vibrating with excitement at his response, which made Jacob laugh before he could stop himself.

Flynn thankfully didn’t think he was mocking him. “Great! The studio is open for us Friday afternoons.”

“I can do that,” Jacob replied. Flynn somehow smiled at him even more than he was, and well, Jacob couldn’t deny it felt nice to have that joy aimed at him. It didn’t last long though, as Flynn sat down when Dr. Mashunkashey walked into class. Flynn turned around in his seat and started going through his notes on the techniques he wanted to try until the professor had her powerpoint up and running.

Flynn wasn’t as insufferable as he thought, his excitement contagious, but Jacob realized this project was gonna be tough for another reason: he was falling for Flynn.

---

Jacob hadn't done any ceramics since art in high school. Flynn said he could, as apparently he minored in art to add to his many degrees, Jacob found out. It unnerved him a bit, to know that Flynn already had 2 Ph.D.'s and 3 masters in Egyptology, two ancient languages, Chinese history and physics, and that Flynn had no plans on stopping from acquiring more. All Jacob had was a high school diploma, though he had a lot in his head from the books he devoured and the time he spent out on the oil rigs.

The ceramics studio was thankfully empty when they arrived. The room was open, old windows hinting at a time when the space used to be an engineering workshop when the art building used to be the engineering building, which the engraved stone above one entrance still said. Shelving with a variety of in-progress and complete works lined most of the walls, with tables in the center of one half of the room, and space for throwing wheels in the other. It smelled like wet earth, and for a moment, Jacob imagined he was out on a new rig after a rain.

The professor who taught ceramics classes gave a basic rundown of the room, clearly with the dual purpose of informing them of where things were and sussing out just how skilled they were. Flynn's rambling at various points about technique and clay types seemed to satisfy the professor, who left them to their devices.

Flynn took a hunk of clay out of the plastic bag and started rolling out coils on top of a drywall square. "Okay, were there specific techniques you need to incorporate from your time period?"

"Well, it was coil-based, like yours, though the clay they used had a different composition ‘cause of where they sourced it," Jacob replied. Flynn had set him on making the base, so he was rolling out a slab to index finger thickness with a rolling pin.

It was clear Flynn had worked with clay before. He already had several coils made and covered to prevent drying out while Jacob hadn't even gotten to the right thickness yet. "Dr. Kanhg couldn't get clay with the mineral composition we needed, but he does have matte glazes we can use to make the clay look the right color, give it the more reddish hue," Flynn said. His eyes then flicked to Jacob's work, brow furrowing. "You're rolling it too thin."

Jacob had been paying attention to his clay, but then he had gotten distracted by Flynn working, how delicate yet firm he rolled out the coils under his palms, the way his hair flopped a bit with his head bent down. Jacob had rolled his clay out all right, to about an ⅛ inch thick divot in the middle with over an inch thick edges from not flipping his slab. If he was making a mini half-pipe, he would've done a fine job. "Uh, sorry, I'll start over." He went to smush it together when Flynn yanked the clay out from under his hands.

"If you do that you'll dry it out with the oil from your hands," Flynn snapped like Jacob was supposed to know that. Flynn folded it twice and then started slamming it on the drywall slab to combine it.

"I've only done ceramics once in high school, man," Jacob retorted, puffing himself up a bit on the stool he was sitting on.

"Clearly it shows," Flynn replied, salt in Jacob's wounded ego. Flynn, not very gently, shoved the drywall square with the now condensed clay over to Jacob. "Pay attention this time."

Jacob grunted at him, not trusting himself to say anything good, and rolled out his slab again. This time he kept his eyes glued to his work, ignoring the pinprick sensation of Flynn's judgemental gaze on him. He rolled it out well enough, and used a large yogurt container to trace out a circle and cut it out.

No sooner than he finished sliding the knife around the trace he made and started to pull the excess clay away, Flynn snatched the circle and started working it to attach the coils. "I was gonna do that," Jacob growled, watching Flynn flip the edges up with more speed and evenness than Jacob would have.

Flynn didn't look up at him. "And I'm sure you'd have to do it twice too."

"You don't know that," Jacob muttered, watching Flynn. He looked around the studio, feeling useless, so he said, "Is there something I can do? It's half my project too."

Flynn stopped working, glaring at him for a moment before softening his expression. "Have you made a coil pot before?"

"No...but I think I can do it from watching you," Jacob said.

Flynn narrowed his eyes a bit, but gently slid the partially done pot across the table to him. "Pinch and smooth down on the inside to connect the clay, but don't push too hard or you'll warp the coil below."

Jacob got halfway done with the coil before he punched through accidentally with his finger, making a hole. "Well fuck," he said as Flynn let out a frustrated sigh. It was going to take forever if he kept working, so he passed it back to Flynn. "Sorry."

"Since you're just going to mess it up, let me make it," Flynn said with exasperation. "You can decorate, if you won't mess that up too."

"Just ‘cause I'm not some genius like you and I mess up sometimes doesn't mean I can't do it," Jacob barked. For an instant he reminded himself of his father, and he cringed a little. He’d startled Flynn too; where Flynn had been repairing the hole Jacob made, there was now a rip again. “Sorry, I, uh, look. It took a lot for me to get here, and I wanna learn just as much as you do, but if you’re gonna treat me like I’m an idiot, I’m just gonna leave.”

Flynn didn’t respond at first, so Jacob started packing up his things and leaving. “No, wait!” Flynn grabbed his forearm; thankfully Jacob hadn’t rolled down his shirt sleeve yet. “I’m not good with people.”

Jacob huffed. “You don’t say.” He glanced at Flynn’s clay-dusted hand, still holding him, which made Flynn release him.

“I mean, school, learning, it’s everything to me. I don’t want to mess this project up. It has to be perfect, everything does, because that means I understand it.” Flynn went to rake a hand through his hair, but at the last second realized his hands were not clean, and stopped himself. “I just want one group project to go right. I hate group projects, but I need you to prove to Dr. Mashunkashey that I can work with people. She says I need to be able to do that if I want to be a professor.”

Jacob was not expecting Flynn to open up to him like that. Nor was he expecting the warmth in his chest when Flynn said he needed him, but he pushed that aside before he did anything reckless. “I’m willing to put in the effort if you are, but you have to let me do some of the work. I’m not gonna flake out.” Jacob hadn’t realized just how spooked Flynn was until he relaxed, tension released from his shoulders.

“Okay.” Flynn looked at the in-progress pot for a moment, then said, “I’m going to finish fixing the hole, then you can try again. You have to be gentle with it.”

“I know.” Jacob sat patiently, waiting for Flynn finish the repair. Once he did, he pushed the pot to Jacob. He started adding a new coil, but after a couple pinches, Flynn stopped him.

“You’ve got to be gentler than that,” Flynn said. “Can’t you feel when the clay is giving too much?” Without warning, Flynn took Jacob’s hand, looking at his fingers. “Oh, of course you can’t, you’ve got calloused fingertips.” He glanced up at Jacob. “Guitar, I assume?”

Jacob was doing all he could to contain himself. “Uh, yeah, and probably from years of working on an oil rig too.”

Flynn nodded thoughtfully at the addition, clearly filing it away wherever he was storing facts about Jacob. He hadn’t let go of Jacob’s hand, and this time Jacob wasn’t going to do anything to make him. “You’re pushing too hard, and thus thinning the clay too much at the join, that’s why you punched through,” Flynn explained. He then moved Jacob’s hand back into position, but this time, keeping his hand on top of Jacob’s. Their hands together almost didn’t fit into the pot, but Flynn made it work. “I’m going to press down so you can feel how hard you can go without breaking it, okay?”

Jacob nodded, not trusting words at the moment. Flynn proceeded to work the clay through Jacob’s hand, somehow just as good as he was before. Part of Jacob’s brain noticed that he didn’t push near as hard as Jacob had been when trying to be gentle, and filed it away, but most of his brain was focused on how intently Flynn was watching their hands work, and then how intently he was looking back at Jacob when he stopped. “Did you feel the difference?”

“Uh,” Jacob cleared his throat when it came out husky, “yeah, I did. Thanks. You really know your stuff.”

He noticed Flynn blush a little at the compliment. “Good. Uh,” Flynn realized he was still holding Jacob’s hand and released him, “now you try on your own.” After Jacob satisfactorily did a whole coil, they alternated until they reached a stopping point a third of the way through. “We need to let it dry to leather-hard before we add any more, otherwise it will collapse.”

Jacob vaguely remembered that leather-hard was a term to describe the texture of somewhat dried clay. “Alright. How long is that gonna take?”

Flynn considered the room a bit, thinking. “Today’s a humid day, so it would probably be best to wrap it with a paper towel and leave it in a plastic bag, then check it tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Jacob went and gathered the plastic and paper towels while Flynn fiddled with a coil. “I guess we can come back Monday afternoon?”

“That should be good, yes,” Flynn replied, swaddling the base of the pot with paper towels. He took a strip of plastic and wrapped the rim, and apparently noticed Jacob watching him. “This will keep the top fresh so when we come back, we can continue working it.”

Jacob nodded. He helped Flynn clean their area, replacing tools and wiping down the table. Done with their tasks, they awkwardly stared at each other across the table for a few moments before Jacob said, “Well, guess I’ll see ya Monday then?”

“Yes...see you then,” Flynn said, and then without warning, he rather hastily left the studio.

Jacob watched him go, then sat back down on the stool he’d been sitting on. “Oh Lord.”

---

He felt kind of guilty when he pulled up Clayton’s contact on his phone. He’d not been great about calling like he’d promised when he left Lawton, but Clayton always told him he knew college was hectic and to not worry about it. Still, as the phone rang, Jacob felt bad about calling just to talk about his personal life.

“Hey, long time no call, eh?” Clayton said as he answered.

“Yeah, sorry man. Some of these engineerin’ classes I should’ve tested out of, but they don’t really do that here,” Jacob replied. He was in his apartment, laying on his bed.

“I bet you could test out of half of that degree,” Clayton said with a laugh. “So what’s new with you?”

“I was gonna ask you that first,” Jacob said, feeling his face heat up already.

“You know I’d tell you the same as a few weeks ago, ‘cuz nothing new’s happened,” Clayton replied. “Plus,” Jacob could hear the smile in his voice, “I got a feelin’ you’re gonna ask for advice about somethin’.”

“How’d you, ugh, never mind,” Jacob scoffed, really blushing when Clayton laughed at him again. “Yeah, I got a...situation.”

Clayton sighed. “And who is he?”

Jacob sighed. “He’s in my Native American art history class, we’re partners on the group project, but I actually knew him before it.”

“...Wait, is this the same guy who you studied with in the library?”

Jacob shook his head, yet again surprised by how well Clayton could read him, even over the phone. “Studied near, but yeah. Turns out he’s doin’ a Ph.D. in Native history.”

"So he’s closer to your age?”

“I think so, though he might honestly be younger than me. The man’s got like five degrees already,” Jacob said, not bothering to keep the contempt out of his voice.

“So you went and fell for a genius, huh?”

“He’s a smartass,” Jacob said, but after a moment he added, “yeah, I have.” He was super fortunate to have such a good guy as Clayton he could call his best friend. He’d fallen for him too, briefly, but Clayton didn’t feel the same, and then Clayton decided it was his job to be Jacob’s wingman.

“And does he feel the same?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think so at first, but now…”

Clayton chuckled. “Then tell me what happened.” Jacob explained the happenings in the ceramics studio. “Well, he sounds awkward, but I think it’d be best to ask him directly.”

Jacob knew Clayton was going to say that, but he still felt shocked. “I can’t just ask him!”

“Why not?” was all Clayton said.

“‘Cause, well, if he doesn’t, this whole project is gonna be awkward.”

“Isn’t it already though?”

Jacob thought a moment. “Well, I guess, yeah. But I also don’t wanna get distracted before we finish this project. It’s worth half our grade.”

“So you’re just gonna pine away in silence for three months?”

“It might not be three months...Flynn’s too focused on doing this project as quick as we can.” Jacob hadn’t really considered that until now. “If we get the project done quick, then there’s nothin’ stoppin’ me from askin’ him after.”

“That’s the spirit. Let me know how it goes, you know I wouldn’t mind drivin’ up if you needed it.”

“Thanks, Clayton.”

"Anytime, Jacob."

---

Jacob decided that getting the project mostly done was the priority. This meant he had to suffer through two more equally awkward handbuilding sessions before their pot was ready for the first firing. At least in class, Flynn’s back was to him, except when they had class discussions. By the time they started glazing their pot, Jacob swore Flynn knew exactly how he was making him feel.

Glazing was just as messy as he remembered in high school. Flynn didn’t care about the state of the table, or himself, so long as his strips on the pot were perfect replicas of various designs he picked. Compared to the pot making, Jacob turned out to be the better painter. The hardest part for him was picking the designs he wanted to use.

Jacob was halfway through a strip when Flynn asked, “Where did you learn how to paint?”

Jacob snickered a little. “Same as most everything else, self-taught.” He glanced at Flynn, who currently had smears of blue underglaze where he’d wiped his forehead. “Are ya goin’ for war paint too?”

Flynn narrowed his eyes, confused. “What?”

“You got underglaze on your face,” Jacob said, pointing at Flynn’s forehead with the brush.

Flynn swiped at his forehead, making the smear worse, which just made Jacob laugh harder. “Oh yeah? Well-” Flynn decided to go for direct retaliation and swiped at Jacob’s face with his orange-covered brush across the table “-Now we match!”

Jacob tried to dodge, about fell off his stool, and Flynn’s brush ended up tapping the end of his nose. He knew better, he really did, but Flynn had worn him down the past week, so Jacob got off his stool, holding his brush out like a rapier. “You’ll regret that,” he growled.

Taking the challenge, Flynn got into a much more trained en-garde stance. “I rather think you will!” Then, without warning, Flynn jumped around the edge of the table at him.

Jacob realized that he was outclassed, but gave a valiant effort anyway. Quickly, Flynn had him giving up ground, forcing him to the sink that sat in the middle of the room between the tables and throwing wheels. “You’ve taken a class on fencing, haven’t you?”

“Lessons, when I was a kid, but yes, I’ve been trained,” Flynn replied, spying for an opening to tag Jacob. Just as Flynn lunged, Jacob dodged left, letting Flynn catch himself on the sink. Flynn shook his head, a mischievous grin on his face. “You, you’ve got some fight experience too.” He took a swipe, forcing Jacob closer to the finished projects shelf. “But not formal, no...brawls, that’s what you get into.”

Jacob took a jab at Flynn, gaining a foot of ground, but Flynn quickly forced him back two. “Not been in a scrap in a while,” Jacob said, trying again to swipe himself some room.

Seeing Jacob essentially pinned, his left blocked by the stoneware clay reclaim bin and a table, Flynn went for the killing blow. Jacob knew how to read people in fights, and Flynn had gotten to the “confident of a win” stage, so Jacob ducked at the last possible second. This meant he was out of range of the brush, but Flynn was now barreling straight for the shelving. Without thinking, Jacob jumped back up, wrapping his arms around Flynn’s waist as he did and pushing him back away from the shelf.

“I was going to stop myself,” Flynn quipped as Jacob released him.

“I know overshooting when I see it,” Jacob retorted. He hadn’t stepped away from Flynn, nor had Flynn stepped away from him. They were less than a foot apart. Flynn’s eyes were dark, no doubt from the adrenaline of the fight; Jacob assumed he looked a similar state of riled up. He caught himself glancing at Flynn’s mouth without thinking, and was about to step away, until Flynn mimicked him, glancing at his lips.

Jacob closed the distance between them before he could think of reasons why he shouldn’t.

Flynn kissing him back made him forget any of those reasons.

An odd wetness on his forearm made him pull away. Flynn’s paintbrush had made an orange stripe on his arm. He looked back to Flynn, eyes even darker than they had been. “Guess we should finish the pot.”

“Uh, y...yeah,” Flynn said eloquently. “I didn’t know you…”

Jacob laughed under his breath. “You’ve been driving me crazy the past three weeks.”

Flynn’s eyes went wide. “I thought you were angry at me.”

Jacob closed his eyes, a smile on his face. “You really weren’t kiddin’ when you said you’re bad with people.” He opened his eyes when he felt Flynn shaking his head, nose brushing against Jacob’s. “Well, maybe I can teach you a thing or two,” he murmured, giving Flynn a tease of a kiss before pulling away again. “But we really should finish the pot.”

Flynn took a moment to adjust his focus. “Right, yes.” He stepped away, smoothing out his shirt in an effort to make himself look less flustered. He walked over to the pot, but turned back to Jacob following him. “So, we’re doing this?”

The fact that Jacob was now finding Flynn’s awkwardness really endearing was a testament to just how hard he’d fallen for the genius. “I am if you want to.”

Flynn nodded...and nodded some more before he responded, “Okay, good, yes, I very much want to do that again.”

Jacob laughed. “Well, we can make out as much as we want after we finish this pot, ‘cause the next firing is two days from now and it needs to dry before then.”

The motivation of more set a fire in Flynn’s belly; he attacked the pot with his brush, clearly caring less about perfect replication and more about finishing in the same general design so he could go do better things. Jacob put a little more effort into his, and thus was still painting when Flynn finished his underglaze design and cleaned his materials up. Flynn managed to sit there for 30 seconds before he interrupted Jacob. “How much longer will you take?”

Jacob glanced over at him, an eyebrow raised. “Why, you got somewhere you gotta be?” Flynn squirmed on his stool, making Jacob feel the heat of satisfaction in his chest. “I’ll be done when I’m done. I might just reward ya for your patience,” Jacob said with a smirk.

Flynn practically melted under his gaze, ears going red. “Okay...fine.”

It was just too fun seeing the effect of his words on Flynn. “Can you wait a little more for me?” Jacob rumbled, letting his voice get low and gravelly. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Flynn shuddered, making Jacob smile.

After Jacob slightly more hastily finished his strips, Flynn practically threw himself at him. Jacob had to make himself shove Flynn off him. “Hey, I didn’t say you could do that,” Jacob growled more than he had meant to; Flynn shuddered a bit. “We need to clean up, and not make out in a public classroom.” Flynn looked like he was enjoying getting told what to do too much, red flush on his face and neck, but eyes definitely staring Jacob down. “Look, once we clean up, we can go to my apartment, alright?”

Flynn, also very aware of how he was affecting Jacob, moved back into Jacob’s space. “You took entirely too long to say that,” he said, voice low and a bit breathy. Flynn leaned–not to kiss Jacob again, but to grab the dirty paint brushes on the workbench, making Jacob lean into empty air. Flynn looked at him expectantly. “Well? We better clean up then.”

“You little…” Jacob shook his head, smiling deviously. Flynn preened as he dramatically walked to the sink, knowing full well Jacob’s eyes were on him.

They could’ve been perhaps more thorough in their cleaning, if they weren’t both busy imagining what they were going to do to each other once they got to Jacob’s apartment.

---

The next class, Jacob had intended to play it cool, meaning acting like nothing unusual happened between him and Flynn. That fell flat when Flynn, arriving just barely on time as usual, strode over to Jacob with a dopey grin on his face. For a moment Jacob was terrified Flynn was going to kiss him in front of the whole class. Thankfully, Flynn just patted Jacob’s hand, purposely drawing his fingers away sensually, and then sat in his seat.

Once his brain restarted, Jacob looked around as discreetly as he could manage. No one seemed to have noticed, expect Dr. Mashunkashey, who was watching him with curiosity. Thankfully, she started class, and Jacob did his best to take notes and not reach out and pet the back of Flynn’s head.

On the way out of class, Dr. Mashunkashey stopped Jacob. “Jacob, can you talk for a moment?”

Jacob looked to Flynn, who was all but dragging him out of class to “work on the paper” which Jacob knew wasn’t what he was planning. Flynn didn’t seem to think anything amiss, so he said, “I’ll meet you outside,” and left the classroom.

“Everything okay with your project?” she asked, glancing at the door. “I know Flynn can be a bit...much, so if you need me to talk to him, I can.”

Jacob went a bit red, but tried to power through. “Oh, uh, nah, everything’s good. We’ve even started making our art piece.”

Dr. Mashunkashey seemed a bit surprised with his response. “Well, that’s certainly a change. I look forward to seeing what you two make together.”

Jacob’s brain of course heard “seeing you two together” and had to blink a few times to refocus himself. “I, uh, think it’ll be pretty good. It’s been a long while since I worked with clay, though that’s apparently one of Flynn’s many damn talents.” Jacob kicked himself internally, cursing in front of a professor like that.

Dr. Mashunkashey, to Jacob’s surprise, gave a hearty laugh. “I wouldn’t say it’s often I teach students who have more degrees than I do children. Though I think you could put Flynn in his paces from your papers so far.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could be as good as him,” Jacob retorted, pausing as he briefly considered what that would entail, “I’d have to quadruple major or something.”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you. Flynn seemed pretty eager to get to work.”

“Yeah...he really likes to work on things when he’s focused on them,” Jacob replied, pointedly making his way towards the door so he didn’t have to directly look at the professor. “Have a good day, Professor.”

“You too, Jacob,” she said with a wave.

Flynn was apparently waiting to pounce on him in the hallway, which Jacob had briefly pondered if he would, so he braced his arm to keep Flynn off him. While it did keep Flynn from macking on him, Flynn also took his arm and entwined his own, and started walking down the hall. “What did she have to talk about?”

“Oh, uh, she asked if we were doing okay–I mean, our project,” Jacob stammered, glancing down at their arms.

Flynn didn’t seem to care and just kept walking towards the stairs. “Oh, well I bet she was surprised to hear I’m not procrastinating on a project for once. Speaking of projects,” Flynn leaned to speak lowly into Jacob’s ear, “I was thinking we could move our research to your place, or mine.”

“Uh huh,” Jacob chuckled. “Well, I suppose we could do that.”

They did not, in fact, work on their project that morning.

---

In the end, they got an A on their papers, project, and presentation of said project. And Dr. Mashunkashey won her bet against her colleagues that Jacob and Flynn would get together by the end of her class.

-----

Post Notes: Sorry for the quick ending, I’ve been sitting on this fic since February and never finished it, so I figured making an ending and getting it out was better than it sitting in my google drive forever. Also, when it comes to ages, I saw them both as a bit older than your usual 18-22 college students; for both they’re at least 23 or so, Jacob from working with his father, and Flynn from doing other degrees.

The University of Tulsa doesn’t have a Native American studies program (they really should though given location and history of the school), but they do have a well-known petroleum engineering program, which is what gave me the idea of how to get Stone to school. Considering Flynn’s all about ancient history studies, surely the ancient American people he knows about too. And I’m assuming Jacob grew up somewhere out near Lawton, OK, based on the mileage he gave in “And What Lies Beneath the Stones” since the actual town Wagoner (Wagner was what they used in the episode) is about 45 minutes southeast from Tulsa.

#the librarians #the librarians fic #flynnstone #flynn carsen #jacob stone #librarians fanfic #fanfic #a. l. writes

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sankt-brekker-the-demjin · 5 years ago

Text

You Know, For Research Purposes - Tom Holland x Reader College!AU

Summary: Working on their research project, group mates Miles, Ned, Haz, Betty, Tom and Y/N grew closer together over the course of a few months. Also, how does Cheetos and ice cream taste together? ;)))

Word Count: 2,433

A/N: (gif not mine.) lolz hi! Look what boredom did to me.. I made a fanfic... [first time doing this idk what to do so there's that moving on. Hope u like it! Geronimo.]

Tom ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands with force. He banged his head lightly on the table. He looked back at his Lit folder and saw he still had half of it to finish. He closed it and decided he would do it later. Managing the research project and studying for exams were taking a toll on his body and his sanity. He got up and went to the get some water.

It was halfway through midnight. His parents and brothers were asleep on their rooms. Miles, Haz, Y/N, Betty and Ned - his Qualitative Research applied subject classmates were sprawled all over the living room, laptops shoved to their faces, bond papers in hand. It was a typical students' night. The group had gotten together at Tom's house, and planned to stay overnight.

Miles and Y/N have History 1 together, while Betty and Haz had Calculus. But other than that, this was the only classes they all had together. Being in college is no easy feat, proper time management was necessary.

Ned had assigned each member to a specific part of the paper, and they've been at it since 8 pm. They all have to multitask and manage their time. Tom had almost finished his part of the paper, so he tried to do his Lit homework now.

Tom heard footsteps stomping on the floors. He turned and saw Y/N marching up to him with an annoyed look on her face and was about to speak but he cut her off.

"If you complain about the heat one more time, I'm give you a real reason to sweat," Tom set the cup of water with a smug look on his face.

She halted on her tracks and smacked the paper she brought on his arms. Tom chuckled, but didn't move.

"No, you idiot," Y/N rolled her eyes. "You might wanna fix that paper before you go off scaring people to death with that annoying face of yours."

His mouth twitched in amusement and took the stapled papers from her hands. "So you admit you've been looking at my face."

"You're so full of it," Y/N stepped around him and grabbed another glass, getting water from the tap.

Tom looked at the incorrect charts and tables he had made on the paper. He cursed under his breath. He had been working on it in the wee hours of last night. Spontaneous typing, no pit stops on spelling errors and everything else, just got it done.

"The original file is on my computer upstairs," he groaned. "I'll have to re-do this again."

"You do that," she clicked her tongue. "And I'll just chill here by your fridge for a moment."

Y/N opened the fridge and took the remaining slice of cake laid on a plate.

"That's mine -" Tom protested.

"Not anymore." Y/N ate the cake.

He scowled and moved to close the door of the fridge. Y/N leaned her back on the door. There they were, a few inches away from each other. Tom stood seething; Y/N chewed the cake with an amused expression. She wiped the frosting on her lower lip with her tongue reflexively. Before he realized it his eyes wandered to her lips.

Tom inched his face closer, eyes darting over to her eyes and lips. "If you don't stop biting your lips ..."

"What are you gonna do?"

Tom remained quiet but clenched his jaw.

Y/N chuckled, "You're all talk and no action."

Heavy footsteps echoed on the hallway to the kitchen, gaining both their attention away from each other. Tom whipped his head to the of the voice and shot him a look.

"I told you 7000 times, a chicken is a bird -" Haz bursted into the room with a phone clutched to his ears, pausing when he caught sight of Tom and Y/N. "D'you have a charger I could borrow?" Haz covered his phone with his hands.

"I have one in my backpack." Y/N said.

Haz nodded, talking again to his sister on the phone about chickens. He walked back to the living room, waiting for Y/N to follow him.

Y/N stopped by the table where Tom had been working on, and pointed at his paper. "I can't finish my part if you can't finish yours." Seeing as his paper's original file was on his computer upstairs, she grabbed his laptop without waiting for him to reply. "Imma borrow this ... Thanks."

She went back to the living room, laptop on hand.

"And don't look at my browser history!" She heard Tom call back from the kitchen.

"Wouldn't dare," she countered in a mocking tone.

As the weeks passed, they started collecting data on the field. They went through one institution to another, gathering reports and statistics, and validating it with professionals. Then after that it was all a blur. They submitted the paper to Mrs. Luxley and was graded, only given back to them for minor revisions.

The gang decided to spend that same night they passed the assignment on Tom's house again, just like they did when they were still making the paper. Tom's parents had gotten used to them staying over, and Sam always tried to flirt with Betty when he was around.

Ned and Haz raced to Tom's bedroom. Ned threw himself on the bed first. "God, I've never felt the bed being this good," he sighed and melted with pleasure. All those sleepless nights they've had finally paid off.

Haz hit him with a pillow. "Move over!"

Y/N laid on the couch, feet perched on top of Tom's lap, getting comfortable. Betty and Miles slept on the carpets of Tom's living room. They just sort of crawled to the floor in delight and just stayed there, too tired to move anywhere else. Haz came back to the living room, holding a bottle of champagne on his hands from the Hollands' cupboards.

He cheered. "Let's celebrate!"

But they celebrated the victory by sleeping out for an entire day spread all over the Hollands' house.

Even though their project was finished, the lot still remained close with each other. They spent times at Miles' favourite diner by the corner of the campus during their collective free time.

And last week, Haz's sister gave birth to a pretty baby girl. Haz invited them over and they all came to join the little house party his sister threw. The group counted on this as the official celebration of their hard work.

It was a Thursday afternoon. Family and friends chatted and caught up with each other in the Osterfield's backyard. Dream by Fleetwood Mac could be heard playing on the living room speakers.

Tom was talking with his dad. Betty and Ned sat at the garden chairs talking to one of Haz's brothers. Those two really were people persons. Miles and Y/N laughed at a hilarious history joke their professor rambled about. Tom tried to pay them no mind, though his glance drifted to them every now and then. His dad eventually noticed the shift in his mood, but decided to ignore it because his mum came to them, carrying Haz's niece. Tom accepted the baby to his arms while his mum and dad went to the kitchen.

Lily, the smol bean's eyes crinkled with joy and giggled. Her chubby little hands reached out to him. Tom stuck his tongue out affectionately her. He turned his head to the low whistle he heard.

"Wow... Daddy," Y/N smirked.

That day was all fun and games, but by the end it they still had school stuff to catch up on. A few weeks later, they decided to cram in the library.

Nothing feels better than suffering with acads together friends.

The group sat in a table by the corner, immersed in their own world. Tom went to the bookshelves to look for an autobiography book his proffesor suggested. Ned was compiling essays on his laptop. Miles was reading a book by Neil Gaiman. Haz and Betty were doing their Calculus homework.

Y/N's chin rested on her hands, staring blankly at her laptop screen. A straight line blinked repeatedly on the ends of the only sentence she typed.

What the fuck |

She just needed a head start on this critique paper. Nothing too heavy, just one paragraph to kick it all into place. That's where it's always hard. The first line. So now she's stuck with cursing. Before Y/N realize it, she's slumped her face down to the wooden table with a light bang. The group lifted their eyes to her, asking if she was alright. She shoved her thumbs up above her head, and they went back to what they what they were doing.

Haz who sat on her right, patted her back. "Same here, sis," he fought back a yawn.

Her eyes felt heavy. Then she groggily looked up to the little 'thunk' dropped on the table.

"Oh, great you're alive," she muttered before setting her face back on the table again.

Tom pulled his chair beside her. "Miss me already? I was barely gone for a few minutes."

"I'm so blessed to be with your presence," she stated in a monotonous voice.

Tom snorted. "Your professor is really gonna give you an A+ with those colorful words. 'What the fuck,' short but sweet."

She looked up and stuck her tongue out. Seeing his face has started to get old ... she tried convincing herself that, though.

They did their business. Ever so often, Y/N and Tom's elbows would brush against each other. Y/N had her earphones on, listening to her shuffled playlist on Spotify. Tom heard muffled tunes, and turned his head closer.

"What are you listening to?" He whispered; his breath fanned the side of her neck that sent chills up her spine.

She didn't look at him and instead continued to write key points to make on her essay. She spoke, her voice low. "This one's called Uncomfortable by Wallows."

He grinned and leaned even closer. "Can I listen?"

From across the table, Ned took 10 bucks from his wallet and shoved it on Betty’s hand. She pumped her fist in a silent triumph.

Y/N shifted her head to look at him, only to find his cute, devilishly handsome face inches away from hers. If she would tilt her head a little... their lips would touch. They locked eyes for a second, before she plucked one earphone and gave it to him.

He cocked his head, liking the song. Minutes passed. The only noises were from turning book pages, soft patter of keys on the laptops, and bits of hushed voices encompassed the area.

An hour later, Y/N felt herself getting hungry and went out to buy food, Betty tagging along. They ate outside since the library was strict on the 'NO eating policy.' Not even other drinks are allowed, only water. The others stayed behind. Then Betty came back to her seat.

"Where's Y/N?"

Betty sat on her chair, "She's outside, still eating."

Tom nodded and felt himself getting hungry, too. He opened his backpack and took a bag of Cheetos he stashed. He stood and said to them he was gonna eat outside. He went out, and spotted her leaning on a pillar, scooping ice cream out of a cup.

"I'm starving," he stood beside her.

"We've been there for ages," she scooped another spoonful of mint chocolate ice cream she got from the shop across the street.

Tom munched on his Cheetos. He turned to look at her happily savoring her ice cream. He moved for Y/N's ice cream cup but she swerved it out of his reach.

"Get your own," she swatted his arms away.

A thought crossed his mind. It reminded him of the last time they did this at his kitchen, over a slice of cake. And how they've been so close...

For the past few months, he's gotten a strange feeling whenever Y/N was around. Like there's an electric buzz in him, his heart would warm up at the sight of her. He couldn't stay away from her, and he wants to know her better, and feel her and just be there right beside her. He couldn't explain it.

Tom grinned at the memory, chucking a piece of Cheetos on his mouth. He stepped forward. "D'you wanna know how Cheetos and mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like together?" he leaned closer to her face; his breath hot against her skin. His gaze shifted down to her parted lips. "You know, for research purposes..."

"Hmm?" She held her eyes up on his own gleaming brown ones. "Probably good. Anything's good with mint chocolate ice cream."

"Yeah?" His hands reached out to move the strands of her hair away from her face. "Wanna test it out?"

She shrugged.

Tom found his hand on the back of her neck and slammed his lips to hers. Y/N's eyes fluttered shut. He tasted full of that cheesy goodness. And her, a heavenly taste of vanilla and the aroma of mint. Her arm stretched out to keep the ice cream cup away. She parted from his lips to set the cup down onto the pillar. He wrapped his arms to her waist, pulling her flush against him. With her now empty hands, she ran her fingers on his soft brown curls. She tugged at the strands, eliciting a low guttural sound from him muffled by her mouth on his.

He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead on hers, breathless. "We should get back inside to do ... stuff."

"No no. Don't care." She pulled the back of his neck and closed their distance again. He chuckled.

Y/N loved the way their mouths danced to a rhythm, flavors mixing together from the forgotten taste-testing session, now a different kind of session.

A hand still on her waist, the other cupped her cheeks and tilted her chin to give him more access. She wrapped both her arms around his neck, welcoming warm the feelings burning inside her.

They parted, but still inches away from each other. Y/N bit his lower lip. Tom hissed in surprise but she kissed it better.

"So ... what do you think?" He murmured in a low voice.

"Mmm, I like it." Cheetos and ice cream forgotten.

"Yeah?" He grinned at her. "Me too."

Seconds lapsed. Neither of them moved, still stuck in a more romantic version of a staring contest.

"I like you." Tom's heartbeat raced.

She grinned back at him. "I like you, too. Like 3000. I like you that much."

Roll the end credits.

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joaquinwhorres · 4 years ago

Text

The Fool (Ch. 2) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 7,000-ish

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› This chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend Emma. You KNOW why.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net

Wren wasn’t sure who was right, if it was Simon or the cards or her gut feeling about this year: all she knew for sure was that NEWT classes, and not the Triwizard Tournament, would be the death of her.

The last part was a bit of a disappointment, not so much that she wanted to die in a blaze of glory, but she would have at least liked the chance. Sadly, her June birthday saw to the fact that she would be a supporter and not a competitor.

Her small silver lining (more dull grey than a true silver) was that it was one less thing to worry about on top of her classes. McGonagall’s warning when passing over her time table that this year would have a “demanding workload” was apparently code for “grueling affair with death itself.”

Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed fixated on killing her through the traditional means of excessive school work, but the rest seemed to approach her death in a more “hands on” manner.

Herbology seemed intent on strangulation as Professor Sprout has decided to begin with snargaluffs and venomous tentacula. Dodging the slippery and spiky spines soon became second nature.

Hagrid has decided to introduce them to, if not venomous, exceedingly dangerous animals. Currently the class was in the process of telling jokes to Fwoopers as an alternative method to the silencing charm. Leave it to Hagrid to find out that they just click their beak when laughing. Of course, the untraditional method had already put Kenneth Towler and Amina Qureshi into the hospital wing to treat their minor insanity. But, all things considered it was a nice reprieve.

For its part, Potions had started off the year with poisons and their antidotes, which while extremely fascinating was somewhat nerve racking. Wren was fairly certain that at some point Snape would attempt to poison her as the lone Gryffindor in NEWT level potions. That minor fear, in addition to her particular love for the magic, drove her to devoting most of her studying hours to the class.

Which seemed to come in handy now as Snape began to pass out his unannounced quiz to the class. To Wren's surprise and mild relief, it was not a practical quiz but instead a written one. She assumed this was in an attempt to catch out students with trick questions which could otherwise be avoided as long as their potions worked.

In fact, as Wren reached question four, she was sure of it:

I am called in to the Hospital Wing once again because a careless Herbology student has failed to properly cork the juice of a Venomous Tentacula and has gotten some on their skin. What condition do I find him in, and how will I cure it?

She remembered this one as it had been a precaution Professor Sprout had failed to give them. She had simply instructed them not to let any get on their skin, and it was only in potions that Snape had revealed why. It had been more of a side comment in his lecture antidotes for the plant's other means of attack: bite, spike, and venom.

The student will be a bright shade of purple, and depending on how much juice he has come in contact with, complain of a faint burning sensation. The student should also feel quite embarrassed about their negligence. No antidote is truly needed except time which will hopefully make them more careful. Should you choose to cure them, however, the quickest effective cure would be a tincture of muddled fluxweed, shredded boomslang skin, and leech juice. The student will be extremely pale instead for a few days, but it might be preferable to the purple colour.

Wren reread her answer and felt that all loopholes were closed before she moved on to the next question.

A student suddenly collapses in the middle of class during last hour and slowly turns to stone. She has come into contact with no plants or creatures and eaten and drank of nothing since lunch. What were they poisoned with and what is the antidote?

Wren twirled her quill in her hands. Come into contact with nothing but suddenly turned into stone. They could have seen a basilisk? No, that only petrified people, it didn't turn them into stone. Could they have a Gorgon run into their class? Unlikely unless the student was in the Grecian Isles. And that was a sudden turning. This student slowly turned into stone.

It hit her, thinking of islands. Naghinbato Brew.

The student was likely dosed with Naghinbato Brew during their lunch. This poison is undetectable aside from its slight tang and it takes approximately four hours to begin affecting the person poisoned. If the student was lucky enough to fall over with her mouth open, a Wiggenweld potion with some Mandrake roots brewed in after the salamander's blood would reverse the effects. If not, an Adarna must be brought in to sing the student awake.

The remainder of the questions proved to be more and more tricky so that by the end Wren hoped for nothing but essays and practical exams for the rest of the year. The wording of each question proved difficult to navigate and at the end as she packed up her bag to leave for Defense Against the Dark Arts, she found herself casting a look at Snape who had begun to grade the quizzes and looked very much like he had just smelled something unpleasant.

Wren turned and headed out the door, eager to put the past hour behind her.

"Hey, Wren." Quick footsteps caught up to her as Cedric appeared to her left. As the only Hufflepuff in Potions, the pair had taken to sitting together as the sole representatives of their respective houses. Wren had to admit, she hadn't expected to see him on the first day of class. Nora had always claimed he was brilliant, but it had never quite shown through in any of the classes they had together. "How do you think it went?" Cedric asked, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

Wren shook her head. "I don't know. Has he even taught us any antidotes involving the dirt of a child's grave? Or was that just a veiled threat?"

Cedric chuckled. "They use it against Amnetias."

"Of course," Wren moaned.

"What combination of poisons did you list as the components for that last one. I got Angel's Trumpet Draught but what caused the vertigo?

"I said Syrup of Hellebore."

Cedric winced. "Missed that one."

"Your antidote could still work," Wren shrugged, making her way up the stairs as Cedric walked behind her. The two of them pressed close to the walls as a flood of nervous looking Hufflepuff first-years descended down the stairs. Poor kids.

"Not likely," Cedric said. "I used a creature-based remedy for the vertigo."

"Ah well," Wren sighed. "At least we'll all get D's together." Cedric laughed at this and they continued the rest of the way up. The two exited the stairwell, heading towards the classroom that had been the talk of the school recently.

Quite frankly, Dumbledore should have hired an ex-Auror much sooner. Professor Lupin had been good--loads better than Lockhart or Quirrell, or Merlin-forbid, the ghoulish woman Wren had her first year--but Moody, he had lived this. His very first lesson for all of the students 4th through 6th year had been showing the Unforgiveable Curses. Today they were supposed to be practicing resisting the Imperius Curse. This was real education.

Wren entered the classroom, peeling off from Cedric who walked over towards where Nora was sitting with their other Hufflepuff friends. Instead Wren sat at the desk across the aisle from her dorm mates-- Angelina and Alicia.

It was pitiful how quickly Wren had given into the Imperius Curse.

Unsurprisingly, Fred Weasley had been the longest hold out, beating George by a full twenty seconds. Wren suspected it had something to do with their natural inclination to ignore any given directive, but Lee Jordan hadn't done as well as Angelina, and she was by far the most rule-abiding in their friend group.

Wren spent a good portion of the rest of her week practising fortifying herself against being Imperiused so as not to embarrass herself the next lesson.

Her timing wasn't much better.

She largely chalked this up to mental exhaustion after the previous afternoon's brutal double Potions lesson. Snape had clearly been seeking retribution for the class's quiz scores. While Wren had managed to earn an E on hers, it seemed the rest of the class had not been so careful reading the questions if Snape's rant about their inattention to the finer details and nuances of potion making was any indication.

So, after that lesson on Wednesday, being Imperiused on Thursday, and failing to to transfigure her raccoon on Friday, Wren felt completely spent and ill prepared for the mountain of homework awaiting her this weekend.

"I'm not going to survive NEWT classes," Wren griped, laying her head down on her arm and giving her eyes a rest from her Charms textbook, instead gazing at a sideways Simon who looked up at her from across the table.

"You're not going to die," he shook his head, returning his eyes to his parchment. "Nora didn't read it in your cards."

Wren rolled her eyes at the sarcastic joke and propped her head back up on her palm. She might have been more annoyed at the lack of sympathy if it weren't for the fact that she brought up how busy and stressed she was each time he saw her. It was a miracle he put up with her, really. She doubted anyone else would.

"You're right," she agreed. "But, a study break couldn't hurt. We've got ten minutes 'til dinner. Plenty of time to pack up and go to our corner..." She dropped her hand and leaned towards him. Simon looked up from his work again, this time giving her a small smile as he came forward and kissed her gently and far, far too briefly. He sat back into his chair, leaving Wren hovering over the center of the table.

"I wish we could," he sighed, picking up his quill. "Truly." His eyes raked down her face to the opening of her blouse. Wren's face heated up, and she returned to her chair. "But I have to get this done. My weekend's packed as is, and they rescheduled Wizard's Chess Club to tonight so I already have less time than usual."

Wren pouted "I know," she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I just miss you is all. I haven't seen you all week."

It hadn't been that either of them was avoiding the other--this year it just seemed like their time tables filled up too quickly with barely enough room to squeeze in each other. Each of their classes seemed to meet at opposite times so they never had a free period together. Time after dinner was largely devoted to clubs, homework, studying, and prefect duties with the weekends looking largely the same with the addition of Simon's commitments to his Ravenclaw friends and tutoring of younger students. The only small bit of time they had together during the week was the hour right before dinner on Fridays.

"Wren," Simon said, his voice taking on a slight edge. "I'm doing my best, ok?"

Wren's cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. She hadn't meant to insinuate that he wasn't. She wanted to whine about how Hogwarts seemed to be plotting against them, not whine about him.

"It's my seventh year. I sit NEWTs in June. If you think professors are giving you too much, just wait 'til next year. It's all I can do to keep my head above the water. Between that and my duties," he paused, running a hand through his hair and breaking off the sentence. "When we meet to study, all I can do is study. I want to spend time with you, but I can't afford to just muck about this year."

Wren nodded, sinking back into her chair. She needed to stop complaining. She needed to make the most of their time together. She needed to remember the lessons she had learned from her parents' own marriage dynamic of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. That the Ravenclaw would always focus on the goals and achievements, but couldn't function without the Gryffindor by their side. He did need her. He did want her. She had to just get over this.

This wasn't last year.

For the remainder of their time together, the pair worked in silence. Or, at least, Simon worked. Wren re-read the same paragraph out of her textbook three different times. The silence continued even as they packed up to go to dinner and most of the way down the corridor.

Suddenly Simon tugged Wren by the arm to the side of the hall, the movement leading her to gasp in surprise. He stood before her for a second, looking down at his shoes. "I'm sorry," he apologized, dropping his hand from her arm to hold her hand. "I'm just stressed."

Wren nodded quietly, her eyes also on his navy blue and white wing tips.

"I already hate how little we get to see each other, and when you brought it up--it felt like you were trying to make me feel guilty. And it worked."

"I wasn't trying," Wren said, smally. "I was being honest."

Simon tucked a finger under her chin, tilting it up so he could press another kiss to her lips. This one was far harder than the one in the library, and soon his hands moved to her waist and behind her neck, pulling her against him. Wren's brain had just caught up with the moment, allowing her to tug at the front of his robes when he broke away and leaned his forehead against hers. Tingles still raced to her nerve endings as her body buzzed from the kiss. Simon's kisses always seemed to linger--or perhaps, echo was the right word. The sweetness of the library had lasted longer than the kiss, and the dizziness of this kiss…

"We'll figure it out, ok?" Simon asked. "It's the beginning of the year. Once things settle, we'll find more time."

Wren hummed in agreement, kissing him quickly and chastely before following him off towards dinner.

Weekends hardly felt like the weekend anymore. No time with Simon. No sightings of Nora. Even her dorm mates were out of the Gryffindor tower in various parts of the castle. Everything seemed to pass in a blur. One moment she was eating breakfast on Saturday morning, and the next it was Sunday evening and she was hunched over a stack of Transfigurations books in a corner of the common room. Wren sighed as a fifth year boy burst out laughing as an Exploding Snap tower blew up in his friend's face. The noise was getting too much for both her concentration and her nerves, so, gathering up her books, she retreated up to her dorm, spreading out the materials on her bed.

An hour later, she jolted awake to the door flying open. Wren's pulse raced as she extracted her cheek from the page of her textbook and blinked around to see what had happened. Alicia stood just inside, tears streaming down her face. She also seemed surprised to see Wren, half sitting up amongst her materials with her hair sticking to her face.

"Oh, hullo, Wren," she greeted, hastily wiping at her eyes while studiously avoiding Wren's gaze.

Wren lifted herself up to a seating position, her face creasing in worry. She wished she had Nora's natural instinct to know what to do in situations like this. Did she ask questions? Pretend like she didn't notice the tears? Leave?

"Hi," Wren said gently.

Alicia walked over to her bed, bending over to pull off her shoes. She succeeded in unlacing one and threw it to the floor with much more aggression than the shoe could possibly have deserved.

"Are you all right?" Wren asked dumbly, cringing the second the question came out of her mouth. It was exceedingly obvious, even to her, that Alicia was very much not all right.

"I'll be ok," Alicia brushed aside, fighting with the other shoe.

"Ok," Wren nodded, despite the fact that Alicia still refused to look at Wren.

"Is Angelina around?" Alicia's voice came out tight and high.

Wren winced. "I think she's in the library with Lee."

Alicia nodded, evidently not trusting her voice for a response.

"If you'd like, I'll fetch her," Wren offered. Because that was the decent thing to do right? That was the right solution? Before she could get a response, Wren hedged her bets. "But also if you want, I'm a decent listener."

"It's stupid," Alicia dismissed, despite the fact that her voice seemed to crack around the word.

"Given the fact that I haven't seen you cry more than twice over the past six years, I doubt that."

"It's just...boys are morons," Alicia sat down on her bed, and Wren got up from hers, humming in agreement with Alicia's statement as she crossed the room, sinking down into the bed next to her dorm mate. She lifted her arm to put it around Alicia's shoulders before moving to pull her hair back over her shoulder as if that's what she had always intended to do. She couldn't remember: was it Angelina or Alicia who didn't like to be touched? She had to be the world's worst dorm mate. It was a miracle they even tolerated her.

"And which boy in specific is the moron that made you cry?"

Wren had a sinking feeling she already knew the answer.

"Thom Spiro."

While she had expected it, she still had no idea what to say hearing the name of the boy Alicia fancied fall from her lips. Guessing what he did hardly seemed appropriate, but given the wide range of idiocy common in the teenage boys of Hogwarts, asking seemed to be a dangerous option too. So instead, she sat next to Alicia and tentatively looped her arms around her in what she hoped was not the most awkward hug to ever be given. Whether or not it was, Alicia fell into Wren, her crying picking up.

"I caught him kissing Louisa Finch."

Wren's spine straightened, but she didn't say anything.

"Last night--we were fooling around, and he wanted--" Alicia sobbed, seemingly unable to continue as she buried herself into Wren's shoulder. "I said no. I shouldn't have--"

"No," Wren said, firmly. "Absolutely not. You're not finishing that thought."

Alicia sniffed. "But--maybe--"

"No," Wren repeated, shaking her head. "You're not for his use. Obviously he doesn't want a companion, he just wants something he can stick his knob into. You're more than that."

Alicia let out a watery laugh. "I can't believe you said knob."

"What else do you call it?" Wren asked, and Alicia laughed a bit harder. Spotting a bit of success, Wren smiled. "He's a wanker. A tosser. A prick. A dickhead. A pants thinker. A broomstick with no lift. A magicless wand. I'm just guessing on the last two."

Alicia wiped at her eyes, extracting herself from Wren's hug. "I wouldn't know."

"Because you're smart," Wren said, grabbing Alicia's hand and squeezing it. "If you're not ready, you're not ready. It's better to wait than dive in too soon."

A pause settled between them as Alicia silently nodded seeming to think over the statement. "You're right, but--" she swallowed, and Wren could see the tears begin to gather in her eyes again. "It still hurts."

Behind her Wren heard the door to the dorm open and she looked over her shoulder to see Angelina.

"What happened?" she asked, the tone of her voice hinting that she already suspected exactly the story she was going to hear. Alicia filled her in quickly, adding a few more details that had been lost to sobs when she told Wren. All the while, Angelina listened, her face growing stonier and stonier. "Well, you know what we have to do now," she said simply.

Alicia nodded. "Can you?"

Wren looked between the two girls, her brow creased in confusion. "Sorry, I feel like I'm missing something."

Angelina turned her attention to Wren with an echo of amusement on her face. "We have to tell the twins."

It was impressive how much food Fred and George were able to knick in just a half hour. Crisps, popcorn, apple tarts, pumpkin pasties, oranges, treacle fudge, nut brittle, and butterbeer were all placed in the center of the floor of the boys' dorm. Wren and Katie had managed to scrape together a decent stash of other candies like Fizzing Whizzbees, Sugar Quills, Liquorice Wands, and Acid Pops while Lee had convinced the other sixth year boys to leave the dorm and done an impressive job cleaning. Either that, or the boys were a lot neater than Wren would have ever expected.

Wren reached forward, grabbing a new bottle of butter beer and tapping her wand to the top so the bottle cap flipped off.

"Alright are we going to keep avoiding it or should we get to the business of bashing Spiro?" Fred asked, rubbing his hands together. "I've got some excellent remarks on the spelling of his name."

"Come on Freddie, that’s too easy," George admonished, plucking up a handful of crisps. "Let’s get straight to the point that he's a disgrace to Ravenclaw House."

Wren choked on her butterbeer, and Katie reached over to pat her back some as she attempted to pull herself together. Angelina looked more amused at Wren's reaction than the comment, and Alicia turned rather glum as she twirled a sugar quill between her fingers.

"I'm sure there's plenty of boys in Ravenclaw who have done the same," Alicia sighed, lifting the tip of the quill so she could nibble on it.

"No doubt. Boys are horrid," George agreed. "But even amongst the ranks of Roger Davies and Hector Martín-Delgado, Spiro has a particular brain. One might even liken it to a troll's."

Fred nodded. "He's got to be the dullest of the lot. Not quite sure how he got in, frankly."

"No bloke in their right mind would choose Louisa Finch over you," Lee added, nudging Alicia with his shoulder. The corner of her mouth ticked up.

"That's one thing for sure, but the larger issue is--why snog in a public corridor if you're attempting to run around with as many girls as possible?" George asked.

Even Alicia laughed this time, spitting bits of sugar quill out of her mouth before clamping a hand over it.

"A fair question, George," Fred acknowledged, toasting him with his butterbeer. "There are plenty of empty classrooms for that."

"Or any of the not-so-secret passages," Katie added.

"Behind a tapestry," Angelina shrugged.

"In the woods at night," George suggested.

"Anyone on the grounds, really." Wren put in quickly.

Alicia smiled. "He's not exactly the best at finding spots for...rendezvous. Last time I tried to meet him, I ended up with you and Norah Randolph." Alicia gestured at Wren. This thought seemed to deflate her a bit. "It must be nice to have a boyfriend. You don't have to worry about the running around together bit."

“I wouldn’t know,” George quipped, popping some Fizzing Whizzbees into his mouth.

Alicia reached over and smacked his arm. George flinched away with a chuckle, his body slowly lifting off the floor as he tossed the rest of the sweets in his hand into his mouth. “I was talking to Wren,” Alicia corrected.

“You have a boyfriend?” Fred’s eyebrows shot up as he looked over at her, locking eyes. Her stomach flipped and she paused mid lick of her Acid Pop.

“Where was he at the Cup?” George asked. She felt more than saw his eyes on her.

Wren swallowed, clearing her throat of all sugar. This was not a conversation she wanted to be having. Not ever really, but particularly not now. “He was on holiday.”

“You may very well be on holiday, but you come back for the Cup!” Fred said, indignantly. As if Simon’s absence from the Quidditch World Cup was a particular affront to Fred’s own honor as a fan of the sport.

Wren returned her focus to the acid pop at hand. With any luck it would burn a hole through her tongue in the next twenty seconds, and she’d have an excuse to end this conversation before it steered into unwanted territory. “Well, he’s not particularly a Quidditch fan.”

“What particularly is he then?” George asked.

“Simon Chambers,” Wren answered, sticking the lollipop back into her mouth and deciding that she would not take it out under any circumstances.

“Simon Chambers? Really? You and him?” Fred asked. The shock in his voice was a bit offensive.

Before Wren could break her own resolve–which might have had something to do with why she couldn’t manage to stay un-Imperiused-- Angelina stepped in. “They’ve been dating almost two years,” Angelina looked between the twins. “How did you not know?”

The twins shared a look, and shit, shit, shit.

“Well, I just never would have seen it. You, George?”

“No, never.” No one asked Lee, but he shook his head.

Despite the small wave of relief, her stomach still felt as if it was twisted in knots, and she wished very much that all of the attention was off of her. “Look this isn’t about my love life, this is about celebrating Alicia for narrowly avoiding dating a troll’s tit.”

“Collings! Your language!” George gasped, holding a hand to his chest.

“You should have heard her earlier tirade,” Alicia said, grabbing a licorice wand from Lee’s hand.

Wren once again took the acid pop out of her mouth to defend herself. “It was hardly a tirade. None of the words I said were that bad.”

Alicia crossed her arms. “Would you use them in front of your mother?”

Wren opened her mouth but before she could get a word in, Fred followed up the question.

“Would you use them in front of McGonagall.”

Wren’s mouth snapped shut and the boys laughed.

Katie shook her head. “Never would have expected that out of you, Wren.”

“I never would have expected it out of Simon Chambers’ girlfriend,” Fred remarked.

Wren cast him a sour look, and he laughed loudly, but the subject was dropped, and they returned to eating unhealthy amounts of junk, devising new insults for Thom Spiro, and escaping all of the things that truly sucked about being a 6th year.

Despite the fact that she had to spend two hours, first thing in the morning, avoiding plants attempting to kill her, Wren found Herbology to be a bit of a reprieve. Even today as Professor Sprout taught them to wrangle with a Venomous Tentacula in order to effectively and moderately safely collect the plant’s juice, Wren felt as if she was able to breathe in the Greenhouse.

Part of this she attributed to her mother. Having grown up with a Herbologist of some note, a good amount of Wren’s childhood was spent in the gardens and greenhouses her mother tended. Of course, her mother had never let her get near anything quite so interesting as the plants at Hogwarts, but she’d always quite enjoyed tending to the honking daffodils and umbrella flowers.

Her young training had certainly come in handy during the early years of Herbology, but even now as she collected vial after vial of the juice. Wren backed away from the plant, casting an eye around the greenhouse. Many students seemed to still be struggling getting near the plants, while others, like Fred Weasley, seemed to have no issue getting near the plant but couldn’t quite figure out how to draw out the juice. She continued looking around, her eyes landing on Thom Spiro who was currently standing far too close to Caroline Purvis. She giggled as she held the vial up to the plant, and he stepped even closer, almost forgetting his role as a distractor for the plant.

Wren’s jaw clenched. George was right. Boys were horrid, and Thom Spiro was a special sort. He deserved a serious bit of justice.

As she set the vials in their holder to be brought up to Professor Sprout when class ended, an awful idea struck Wren.

It made her smile.

With one eye on Professor Sprout who was busy helping Arlan Summers and Tom Dalgliesh with their plant, Wren corked a vial, wrapped it in cloth, and stuck it in her bag.

Herbology ended soon after, some pairs, like Wren, scoring as many as four while others had nothing but a few tears in their robes to show for their morning.

Quickly, Wren made her way up the hill towards the courtyard where she could study before lunch. She had just picked out a spot lawn when something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned, staring harder as if that would make things make more sense.

Alicia and Nora were….hugging?

It was none of her business. She should really sit down and open up a textbook and focus on her studies and not be walking across the courtyard right now.

"Hi?" Wren cast a look between the two girls.

"Hullo Wren," Alicia said, the words coming out a bit muffled because of the sweet she was chewing. Wren turned her attention to Nora, squinting at her cousin as if that would explain why she was suddenly such close friends to Alicia. Alicia, Wren's dorm mate, whom Nora had had maybe three classes with in her entire Hogwarts career.

As both girls looked at Wren somewhat expectantly, it hit her that she probably should have come up with some excuse to be coming over to say hello. "Hi," Wren repeated again, this time more as a statement than a question. "I just wanted to catch Nora, for a second."

"Yes?" Nora asked, tilting her head slightly.

Shit.

"Mum said to ask if Aunt Kathleen had sent you my color changing ink. She thinks I must have left it at your house when we got back from shopping."

Nora shook her head. "No, mum hasn't sent anything yet...I thought I saw that in your trunk?"

Shit. Shit. Wren was saved from having to attempt another lie by Alicia.

"Wait--are you two cousins? I always thought you were neighbors or met on the train."

Nora laughed heartily. "I know it's hard for me to believe this moody one is my blood," she teased, poking Wren.

"To be fair, we are practically neighbors. It's just the two houses between us," Wren said, batting Nora's hand away as the other girl continued to poke Wren in the arm.

"Blimey," Alicia shook her head. "I'm just as bad as Fred and George aren't I?"

Wren wanted to assure her that she wasn't. The fact that Alicia even knew Wren was dating Simon was purely because Wren had asked her for advice to help get dressed for their first date. The only reason Wren had known that Alicia fancied Thom was more due to Lee announcing it to the common room one afternoon at the end of last year than because of any kind of closeness between the girls. But Wren didn't get the chance because Nora spun to face her.

"Oh?" she asked, her voice going up an octave. "How's that?"

"They didn't know she was dating Simon Chambers."

“Well can’t blame them for that one,” Nora's voice returned to normal as she once more turned to Alicia, ignoring Wren's glare. “You two are never around each other.”

“Our schedules don’t match," Wren defended flatly.

Even though she wasn't facing her, Wren could see the small twinkle in Nora's eyes. “Would you say it’s…'an unavoidable conflict'?”

Wren groaned, and Nora laughed again. "Told you Wren. Divination is serious magic. Anyway," Nora flipped her plait over her shoulder. "I'm supposed to meet Arlan and Cedric so we can do some Astronomy work before lunch. Keep me updated," she added to Alicia who nodded in agreement. With that, Nora was off leaving Wren and Alicia together.

"I can't believe I didn't know Nora Randolph was your cousin!" Alicia shook her head, moving out into the courtyard. Wren followed her.

"I didn't know you were friends."

"We're not really. Or at least, we weren't," Alicia said, selecting a shady spot under a tree and sitting down. Wren hesitated before putting her own bag down and sitting beside the other girl. "We have Ancient Runes together. With Thom."

Wren's eyes widened. "Oh."

"She saw me looking miserable yesterday and made her partner switch chairs with me. Next thing I know, she's passing me toffees and I'm telling her the whole story."

Wren shook her head with a small laugh. “That sounds like Nora.”

Alicia began unpacking some parchment and books from her own bag. "There's not anything in those toffees is there? Veritaserum or something of the sort?"

Wren shook her head again. “That’s just Nora. People'll tell her anything.”

“I think we might be best mates now.” Alicia commented and Wren laughed before taking out her own work, and settling into a studious silence next to Alicia.

She hadn't planned how to get the juice into Thom Spiro' drink.

That was the primary thought running through Wren's head as she sat at the Gryffindor table, picking at her food. She had waved Alicia on to lunch before her, claiming she was just going to finish the chapter before she went in and the other girl didn't have to wait. She'd waited fifteen minutes to enter the Great Hall, sitting far along the table so as not to be seen by professors or any of the prefects who tended to group together at the middle of the table whether consciously or not.

It was about then that the thought hit her for the first time, and she had eaten most of her food and was in the final quarter or so of lunch without the faintest clue as to how to get this vial in his drink.

She couldn't very well just walk up to the Ravenclaw table and slip some in his goblet. The most interaction she'd ever had with him was holding a door open to Charms. They'd never even so much as spoken. Wren half considered dropping a knut on the floor and picking it up and handing it to him. But, passing off a knut and simultaneously pouring something into his goblet seemed just short of impossible.

Wren took a bite out of her roll, watching as more Ravenclaws came in and filled the table. She caught sight of a familiar tall and lean boy with copper hair, and her eyes lit up. Simon. She would walk over under the perfectly reasonable guise of saying hello to her boyfriend, and swap her own goblet with Thom’.

This plan quickly crashed as Simon passed Thom, picking an empty spot, naturally towards the center of the table.

Of course, Wren had considered switching her plan to a simple Pepper Breath Hex, which certainly would have put an end to his romantic endeavors at least for the next couple of days or so. But compared to her initial plan, this idea seemed so inadequate. And how could she even be sure that Alicia got to enjoy the justice? There had to be some way, some excuse, for her to switch goblets--

Of course.

It was so simple, really.

It was unlikely the teachers would expect it. If anything, it'd be written off as an unhappy accident from Herbology. If only he had properly corked his vial or used gloves to pass it along like Professor Sprout had said. Quickly glancing around to see if anyone was looking at her, which of course they weren't, Wren pulled the Venomous Tentacula juice from her bag and poured it in her own cup.

Subtly, she took her wand out of her pocket and with another quick glance up at the professor's table, tapped her own goblet, muttering the spell.

She peered inside and noticed her cup was slightly emptier than it had been.

She'd switched them. A rush of victory swelled in Wren's chest and she almost wished that someone near her would give her a high five.

It took five minutes to determine that her plan worked. A small commotion rose at the Ravenclaw table which seemed like normal lunch nonsense before the group of boys around Thom parted. Wren watched as Thom’s skin slowly shifted from its beautiful shade of lilac to a darker lavender. Giggles began to echo through the Great Hall as Thom’s distress grew more and more apparent. Wren cast a quick look up at the professors' table. Professor Snape looked particularly unamused, but Dumbledore had a small quirk of his lips.

Wren took this as permission for herself to smile as Thom’s friends rushed a now violet Thom Spiro out of the hall and towards, undoubtedly, the Hospital Wing. Sensing this was as good a time as any to dismiss from lunch, the food vanished from the table, and the students began to file out. Wren picked up her bag, ready to go to Transfiguration and feeling particularly pleased with herself as all around her students whispered about that purple Ravenclaw!

"Fine work, Collings." Wren nearly jumped out of her skin, fumbling her books. She succeeded in catching them back onto her arms, but one slid out, bouncing against the ground in front of her. Before she could bend over to retrieve it, one of the twins scooped it up and placed it on top of his own, significantly shorter stack of books. If two books could be called a stack.

"What?" Wren asked, her head turning to each of the twins.

"I was wondering what you were up to in Herbology," Fred, the one who was not holding her book, remarked.

"Sorry, you've lost me." Wren shrugged and gave a jerky shake of her head.

Fred gave her a wolfish grin. "Have I?" He waved his wand, and the empty vial shot out of her bag and into his hand. Because of course he could do nonverbal spells already. He wiggled it in front of her, and Wren snatched at it, surprising herself by actually wrenching it from his hands.

Wren stuffed it back into her bag, glaring at him--although the fact that he was absolutely correct took all of the heat out of her look. "That's for potions."

"And apparently poisoning Ravenclaw dickheads," Fred remarked.

"I didn't poison him."

She did. Technically.

"I don't even understand why you think it was me." She succeeded in making her voice slightly more casual this time which did nothing but make the boys' smiles grow.

"It's not a suspicion," Fred dismissed. " I know it was you. Saw you in Herbology."

"There's a plant that does that?" George asked with widened eyes.

"Apparently the Venomous Tentacula," Fred said. "Sprout said it was a poisonous juice, but I never reckoned I'd actually see someone poisoned with it."

"Stop saying I poisoned him!" Wren hissed.

George's brow wrinkled. "Is there another word for it?"

"Empoisoned?" Fred suggested.

"Envenomed?"

"Would this count as drugging?"

Wren brushed past the twins, entering the Transfigurations classroom. They followed her in laughing.

Alicia looked up from where she and Angelina were gathered together giggling. "Wren!" she called, waving her over quickly. Wren approached, dropping her books off at her desk along the way and trying very hard to keep the smile off of her face, seeing Alicia positively beaming.

"Tell me you didn't miss it."

"Thom Spiro turning bright purple? How could I?"

"Merlin, it was glorious," Alicia exclaimed looking happily up at the ceiling as if attempting to thank Merlin himself up in heaven. When she looked back down, her eyes fell on the Weasley twins who had followed Wren over. "You two, you did this, didn't you?"

"Us? No," George shook his head.

"We'd never dope a student," Fred added, pausing for a second. "That's the word we're going with, right?"

George shook his head. "Doesn't seem quite right. I still think poison's the best fit."

Alicia's face creased in confusion, and perhaps if Wren hadn't seen fit to cast a dark look at the two, the other girls might have assumed they were lying.

"Wren Collings, what did you do?" Angelina asked, and Wren's face went slack with surprise. It was just her luck that Angelina, the one observant enough to have taught Wren and Alicia how to tell the twins apart, would have caught the look.

"Me?" Wren asked, perhaps too defensively because now Alicia's eyes were on her.

"Wren," Alicia looked at her wide-eyed. "Did you....?"

Wren made a sound of disbelief. "You think I poisoned a Ravenclaw student? I'm dating a prefect! A Ravenclaw one."

"You did!" Alicia gasped, grabbing Wren into a tight hug. "You're bloody brilliant. Honestly, Wren. I could kiss you."

"Doubt she'd let you," Fred quipped.

Alicia released Wren who stepped back, taking her book from George and hitting Fred with it. "So violent, Collings," he flinched away laughing. "They're going to lock you up in Azkaban. You maniac."

"So if he wasn't poisoned," Angelina said, "What exactly happened to him?"

All eyes fell on Wren. "He didn't wash his hands properly after handling the Venomous Tentacula juice in Herbology today. Or maybe the cork wasn't on right and some got on his skin," she shrugged. "Professor Snape said it happens every year."

Fred opened his mouth to remark but was cut off by Professor McGonagall walking in, signaling to the students to stop talking and find their seats. Her gaze fell on Fred.

“Mr. Weasley, as you are not taking this class, please find your way to the door.”

Fred gave McGonagall a salute, and turned to leave, making sure to gesture to Wren that he had his eyes on her before heading out of the room. Wren's cheeks tinged pink as she made her way to her desk.

The light poisoning might have been a mistake.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley x f!oc #weasley twins #weasley twins fic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter book 4 #harry potter and the goblet of fire #ocappreciation #the fool #oc: wren collings #oc: nora randolph #series: the fool

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cxmetery-gates · 4 years ago

Text

SURREPTITIOUS - DRACO MALFOY

CHAPTER THREE: DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS

SUMMARY: After getting her schedule, Leslie realizes that exams and essays just might be the least of her worries. WORD COUNT: 2.7k NOTES: Hello! It’s been a century..... whoops. WARNINGS: none!

MASTERLIST

THE NEXT MORNING, FOLLOWING THE feast the night before and catching up with others over breakfast, all the Slytherin six years patiently surround Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin House, in the Great Hall as he files through their schedules thoroughly. Before the sixth years could be off on their way to class, their schedule had to be confirmed, ensuring they are fit for N.E.W.T.-level courses, considering how miserably difficult each class is.

Some of Leslie's housemates were already on their way, now leaving the young witch with just a few other students, all clad with a serpent emblem and matching emerald-and-silver ties.

"Greyscale," Professor Snape drawls.

The brown eyed girl takes half a step forward. He skims over her desired schedule, along with her O.W.L. scores, taking as much time as the previous students. Meaning, there was a heavy downpour in Leslie's racing thoughts for quite a few moments. Despite the beating of her heart, Leslie passed with high marks on her chosen classes. She was only worried about one in particular.

"Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration are all fine. I must admit, I was pleased with your Potions mark and to see your continuation."

Despite Leslie's company and social inabilities, the long-time Potions professor (now Defense Against the Dark Arts) had a good standing with the girl. She did her assignments well and always lived up to his unrealistically high standards without complaint. Not many could say the same, so Leslie took his statement as a compliment. While the witch let out a breath of relief, Professor Snape had yet to confirm the last.

"But, I must ask: why the interest in Alchemy?"

Leslie had known her answer for a while. "My mother excelled in the practice, and I have always had an interest." Many years before Leslie was born, her mother had been gaining recognition for her work in the art, the Daily Prophet once even had a column titled "Witches You Should Know" with the mother's name at the top. Eve Greyscale was a talented, intelligent, and kind witch with a life ahead of her, but the world is unkind even to the most gentle of souls.

"Fair enough," the professor replies in understanding.

Professor Snape did not feel the need to question the girl further. After all, last term when she and the professor sat down for the mandatory meeting on what her last two years of Hogwarts should look like, Leslie informed him that she was still mostly uncertain which career path she desired. Perhaps Leslie would continue what legacy was stripped away all those years ago. "Lucky it was offered this term. Be sure you and Mr. Malfoy make Slytherin proud."

The girl could have blanched, but the parchment was held in front of her face, egging her to move and get on with her day. Leslie took the paper from the head of Slytherin House and glanced over to the pale blonde for a split second. As quickly as her eyes shot towards him, she looked away—she had not expected to see the young wizard already staring her down.

Leslie let out a long breath as she begun to head out of the Great Hall. Glancing down at the paper, her eyes absorbed her schedule for her sixth year at Hogwarts:

MONDAY: 10:00-11:00 : Defense Against the Dark Arts 11:00-12:00 : Lunch 13:00-15:00 : Potions

TUESDAY: 13:00-15:00 : Potions 15:30-17:00 : Charms

WEDNESDAY:

THURSDAY:

FRIDAY: 09:00-11:00 : Alchemy 11:00-12:00 : Lunch 13:00-15:00 : Transfiguration

The schedule is almost ideal, happy to see her Wednesdays and Thursdays would be free. Though, Leslie knows the off-days are intended for students to work on the vast amount of assignments. Nonetheless, she feels content.

"Hey, Leslie," a voice calls almost lazily.

Upturning her head, Leslie searches for voice, coming across a ginger boy. A distinct memory of her and different ginger boy, though a couple years her senior, alone and in very close proximity pops into her head and she feverishly tries to calm a blush. However, Ron Weasley spots it and it takes effort on his part to not laugh. Harry is with his friend and no doubt knows about the story in the two's head, having a twitch at the corner of his lips.

Leslie almost wants to run to the Slytherin common room, but instead, she smiles sweetly.

"Harry and I were comparing schedules," Ron informs her. "What's yours looking like?"

"Well, I have a free period now," - to this, Harry and Ron made a unanimous 'us too' - "And after, I have Defense Against the Dark Arts and then Potions later." Once again, the two Gryffindors make the same sound, the group pleased they share the same Monday schedule.

As the comparisons went on, Leslie discovered she also has Charms and Transfiguration with both Harry and Ron. It appeared the only class she had alone, at least so far to her knowledge, was Alchemy. The two Gryffindors made a face when they read the name on her timetable.

"Professor Snape said Malfoy is also in it." With a curl of her lip, Harry and Ron visibly see her lack of comfort in the ordeal. The duo understands all too well, and it only took befriending Leslie a year prior to propel their disdain.

"Malfoy is into that sort of thing?" Ron questions, his brow arched in disbelief. "Huh. I wouldn't have put him as someone interested in anything, except for being a royal git."

Leslie smiles though her eyebrows draw close. "Git or not, he's allowed to have interests. He's still a human, you know."

Ron scoffs, glaring at the platinum blonde now walking out of the Great Hall. "Hardly," is the ginger's reply which earns a good laugh from Leslie and Harry.

Now that the corridors were beginning to thin, Leslie decided she could afford to go back to the common room to grab more ink, having realize she only snagged a single bottle. "I'll see you in a few," Leslie tells her friends before taking the stretch to the dungeons.

══════════════════

Almost an hour later, Leslie's march ends at a queue leading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. She was nearly late, but luckily, Professor Snape is very punctual about when to let students inside his classroom, leaving them all to wait outside until 10 o'clock exactly.

She just reaches the end of the line when the door is swung open, revealing the professor.

"Inside," is all he says.

Leslie did not miss Ron's bright hair and while she would have chose to sit next him and his friends, Professor Snape made it a habit to sort his students by House. So, Leslie took to one side as the other houses took to another. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws took the front while the house of serpents and lions took the back.

Unfortunately, due to Leslie arriving last, the very back row had the only available seating. And what made things worse was who sat in the spot next to the last stool.

Despite her glancing around, there was no other option but for Leslie to sit next to the blonde Draco Malfoy, not having realized (nor is she surprised) he was in the queue for the Dark Arts class. It appears his lap dog Pansy Parkinson and his goons did not pass or choose to take a N.E.W.T. level Defense Against the Dark Arts, otherwise he'd have his own posse to take up the remaining seats. For once, Leslie is upset she and the Parkinson girl do not share a course.

What had happened on the train did not falter in retellings. She felt almost thankful Malfoy created a distraction for her head, that much she will admit, but a giant part nagging at her was the fact that it simply was Malfoy who triggered the silence. She doesn't know whether her bumping shoulders was just a break in the wiring or if his presence meant something else. Leslie also was not wanting to find out. Not to mention, the ordeal made Leslie uncomfortable with their history considered.

"You are the worst person I have ever met, Draco!"

"If you would just listen to me, instead of acting crazy—!"

The witch blinks away a fight from last term and, ever so reluctantly, Leslie lowers herself on Malfoy's left, keeping her eyes far from his figure as a scar across her right hand replays a story. She sets her bag down, knowing Snape will use the first few minutes as an introduction to the course.

Leslie waits for a remark, something cruel to come out of the boy's mouth. But nothing of the such passes his lips. Instead, she finally notices his eyes are angled at her hand that was fiddling with the quill on her desk. Faster than a Golden Snitch, she redacts her arm under the table.

It was only then did Leslie notice how Professor Snape turned the old classroom into something of his own— truly his own. The atmosphere is heavy and gloomy, curtains pulled over the windows and the only source of light comes from lit candles. There were pictures, too, that rose goosebumps on Leslie's arms; they all depict what she assumes is the aftermath of evil curses and dark magic.

"I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

Every wandering gaze fell upon the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion, I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be more advanced." The statement did nothing to calm the nerves of each student. They all went in knowing the difficulties of N.E.W.T. classes, but the reminder from the monotone professor makes everything more real.

"The Dark Arts," Professor Snape continues having rounded the edge of the room towards the gruesome photos, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible. Your defenses must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" - all eyes absorb the sight of a witch shrieking an agony - "feel the Dementor's Kiss" - then a wizard with sunken, lifeless eyes huddled in a corner - "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" - finally, a bloody mass.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" Parvati Patil asks. "Is it definite? Is he using them?"

The mere concept of an Inferius makes Leslie shudder. To reincarnate the dead to do one's bidding is far too disturbing for her to stomach.

Professor Snape's eyes shows he did not appreciate the interruption. "The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now, you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

It was an answer every student knew, but Hermione Granger shot her hand up anyways. Leslie had to bite back the humored smile as the professor surveyed the rest of the classroom, hoping for another hand to raise. But no one wanted to deflate Hermione's ego.

"Very well. Ms. Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform which gives you a split-second advantage," says the Gryffindor.

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six..." Professor Snape says dismissively. Next to Leslie, she hears Malfoy snicker, leading the girl to roll her eyes, a small huff escaping her.

The boy shoots his eyes to the left, eyeing down and smirking at Leslie. "I see the summer did nothing to kill that newfound feistiness. I almost miss the old you."

"And I missed it when you weren't speaking."

Dark brown irises roll once more to glare at silver grays, though the later holds a mischievous glint. Malfoy makes an exhale, the sound of a laugh being hidden. Leslie knows he is trying to get under her skin. Part of her feels it working, the other part truly just wants the boy to shut up. "Those Gryffindors really did a number on you. Especially that one twin—"

Before Leslie can retort, a voice comes from the front of the classroom. "If your conversations during my lecture are so important, Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Greyscale, perhaps a free period would be better suited."

Eyes from all around shoot towards the pair in the back. Leslie notices Ron give her a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, Professor," Leslie utters, as Malfoy was too busy smiling to himself.

The rest of Professor Snape's lecture was simply instructions on how to cast a non-verbal spell. Luckily, Leslie was already halfway to success, having learned how to perform a Shield Charm thanks to D.A. last year. However, they never learned how to cast it without using words. Leslie felt her nerves kick in even with her professor preparing them with the essential steps.

"You will now work with the person next to you. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence."

Oh, how lovely, Leslie thinks bitterly.

The back of the classroom held a wide space, wide enough for each pair to have room to practice standing up. Malfoy stood before Leslie when Professor Snape sent them off on their way. Leslie suppresses a groan when she pushes her stool back.

From behind her, she hears Harry whisper, "Good luck. If he does anything stupid..."

Leslie tosses a reassuring smile to the boy. "I'm sure I'll be fine, but thanks."

Malfoy already stands waiting with his wand out as Leslie approaches. There's a sly smirk on his face. It makes Leslie uncomfortable: does he thrive on making her queasy? "I'll go first."

"Go figure," Leslie replies wandering a few paces away. A few feet from the Slytherins, two Gryffindor boys named Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were paired to spar but only stood glaring at the blonde boy. Both boys made the assumption Malfoy was going to put Leslie in the hospital wing. Unbeknownst to them, however, the gift that allows her to know their very thoughts will aid her during the exercise, avoiding whatever the reason was behind Malfoy's smirk.

It took a matter of five minutes before Malfoy's smirk fell clean off his face. Much like the rest of the students, he had grown frustrated by the lack of progress. Leslie was gaining some improvement, but of course Hermione had seemingly mastered the skill before anyone else. Her efforts should have given Gryffindor at least 20 House Points, but all Professor Snape was interested in regarding that house was taking points away.

"Excellent progress," Snape tells the Slytherins. "But be more demanding, Greyscale. It is not your strong suit obviously, but defending yourself against Dark Wizards require it."

"Yes, thank you, Professor," Leslie responds as her professor and Malfoy share a brief moment of eye contact.

Malfoy twirls his wand and then goes still once Professor Snape moves on. "Try screaming the spell in your head. It's slowly working for me so far."

Leslie's eyebrow raises. Truthfully, the advice would have made her laugh if anyone would have given it to her. But she's stubborn, and not ready for Malfoy to earn her praise. "I didn't ask for your help."

He shrugs. "Yeah, well, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go back to hating each other."

"I've always hated you." Her eyes narrow but it's a lie, and Malfoy knows that well.

The same sly smirk fell upon his face once more. "That's not how I remember things."

Malfoy would regret his advice a second later as he flies backwards, not yet ready to block the spell from Leslie's wand.

"Powerful, and effective. Twenty points to Slytherin," Professor Snape announces as Leslie wears the proud smirk Malfoy once had.

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