#part way through the exam (drinking my tea) my roommate texts me a picture of inside the kettle

[twobookshelvesfull]

Something tragic happened this morning

[bubble-tea-bunny]

butterflies

[margaery tyrell x reader]

author’s note: titles are hard. here’s an AU for y’all

word count: 3,589

You’re laying on the couch in the lounge, book held up as you read. When your arms get too tired holding it up, you roll onto your side to give them a break. Then you to roll onto your back and hold your book up again. You’re not sure how long you’re there reading, only that at one point you have to pause briefly and turn on the lights when the sun has set and you can’t see the words in front of you. Because you’re laying back, you’re reading against the light, which casts a shadow over your book, but you power through it because it’s better than reading without any light on at all. And you’re comfortable here.

The front door opens but you still don't move. You hear your roommate toss her keys in the bowl and kick off her shoes. Her socked feet are quiet along the wooden floor as she walks into the living room.

“You know, if you ever wonder why your eyes are going to shit, just remember…” Claire waves her hand in your general direction, indicating your current position.

You glance at her and laugh, dropping your arms back down to your sides and reveling in the relief they feel at getting to rest. You reach over to set your book on the coffee table, managing to get it halfway on and pushing it the rest of the way with your fingertips. “I could see it fine.”

“Doesn’t mean it was good for your eyes. You don’t read against the light.” Claire walks into the kitchen and you sit up, groaning quietly as you roll your neck and shoulders. You push up off the couch and follow her. She grabs some pots and ingredients from the fridge—it’s her turn to make dinner.

“It’s a good book,” you comment, taking a seat at your small dining table. “You should read it.”

“I hear the author of that novel is having a signing here on campus in a few weeks. You know about that?” Claire glances back at you.

There’s a smudge of dirt on the lens of your glasses that starts to bug you, so you take your glasses off and wipe them down with your shirt. “Of course I did! I already RSVP’d.” You set your glasses back on your face and push them up so they sit comfortably on the bridge of your nose.

“What was her name again? Merida… Malora…”

“Margaery,” you correct. “Margaery Tyrell.”

Claire’s eyes light up in recognition and she nods. “Yes, that’s the one! I knew it had to be some sort of fairytale-sounding name.”

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling. Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you take it out to check the notification. “You should come. Last I checked there were a few spots left.”

“Believe it or not, I have an exam the next day. And I really need to study. What timing, am I right?”

“Professor Smith?”

Claire nods, not looking away from the vegetables she’s cutting up. You cringe slightly as you set your phone down on the table. You’re not taking that chemistry class—in fact, you don’t need to take any chemistry at all because your own major doesn’t require it. But that professor has a reputation of being difficult, and a last resort if all the other good professors have full lectures. Claire drew the short end of the stick and you feel bad. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I really would’ve like to meet this writer you’re so obsessed with.” Even though Claire isn’t looking at you, you know she’s smirking.

Your nose scrunches up. “I am not obsessed.”

“You check all her social media like, 500 times a day.” Claire raises a brow as she turns to you once the food is boiling in the pot.

“She’s inspiring…” you respond quietly, shoulders sagging a little at being caught in your lie. Okay, maybe you’re very invested in Margaery’s life. But you mean it when you say she’s inspiring! Her books had taken off just as she graduated college a couple of years ago—your college, specifically. She’s an alum of your university, whose name is even printed on the back of her books, included in the little summaries about her. It makes sense she’s visiting campus as part of her book tour, and you’re excited. The next closest one is a couple of hours north and you’re without a car.

“You’re not majoring to be a writer.”

“Well, no, but that’s not what I’m talking about. She’s using her popularity to bring awareness to so many issues. I mean, all those charity drives? The fundraising? That’s dedication.”

Claire chuckles. It’s hard to miss the awe in your eyes. She turns back around and walks over to the sink to wash the utensils she had been using to prepare dinner. It’s silent for a few moments as she switches the faucet on and grabs the sponge. “You’re right. This Margaery does sound like a great person.”

———

Your last class is an early one the day of the book signing. It gives you a few hours to relax after the rather stressful economics lecture. It had been nothing but an information dump that hour and a half. You thought your brain might melt or your hand might catch fire from writing so fast—whichever came first.

When you enter your room, you shrug off your backpack and set it down by your bed before flopping down on the mattress, heaving a sigh at finally being able to rest. You check your phone for text messages you’d gotten on the walk over here. You didn’t check it when you left the lecture hall because it’s cold out, and you’d wanted nothing more than to get back to the apartment. You doubt you would’ve been able to type out any response to your messages in that chill anyway. Your fingers might’ve frozen curled around your phone.

You’ve switched out your jeans for a pair of sweatpants for the time being, since you aren’t leaving right away. You’re at your desk, a mug of tea sitting next to your laptop as you submit an essay for your journalism class. Even if you’re not majoring in something like English, Journalism 2A counted towards your general education, so at least you get a little taste of what it’s like to be a writer. You hit the submit button and take a sip of your drink as the page confirming your submission loads.

The front door opens and you listen as Claire goes through all the motions of arriving home—keys in bowl, shoes off, coat hung up. You hear her footsteps in the hallway as she approaches your room.

“Hey,” she begins, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t know when you’re leaving, but I’m just gonna be cooped up in my room studying.”

You chuckle as you turn to her, mug cradled in your hands. “No problem. There’s some leftover chicken in the fridge if you get hungry. I ate already.”

Claire smiles and nods, and then she’s off to her room.

There’s about half an hour before you need to be out of the house, so you change back into your jeans. After you survey your hair in the mirror and tame it a little by tying it into a braid, you decide to take out your contacts. You’d already been wearing them all day and it would be good to give your eyes a break.

Your glasses are perched comfortably on your nose when you’re unpacking the notebooks from your backpack that you’d needed today, only leaving your wallet in there. You walk over to your desk to grab Margaery Tyrell’s newest novel, the one she’s doing a book tour for currently and the one you’d finally finished a few days ago. A glance at your watch tells you that you still have some time until you have to leave.

But you’re much too eager to wait around those last few minutes, so you put on your hoodie and sling your backpack onto your shoulders. You switch off the lights in your room and then walk over to Claire’s. Her door is closed, but light peeks out from the crack at the bottom. You knock.

“Come in.”

You open the door enough to poke your head in. “I’m going now.”

Claire’s sitting on her bed, surrounded by notes and her textbook open in front of her. She smiles and you can see the fatigue in her eyes. “Have fun.”

You smile back. “I will. And don’t forget to eat. You can’t be productive if you’re working on an empty stomach.”

“Yes, mom,” she responds playfully. You laugh and close the door, leaving her to her studying.

Without the sun out, the cold is even worse. You spend the walk to campus with your hands tucked into your pockets but it doesn’t do a whole lot. You’d forgotten to grab a scarf so now your face is subject to the cold wind. The building the book signing is in is close to the library, which is on the side of campus closer to your apartment, so your walk isn’t too long. There are a few other people arriving at the same time, and you mutter a thank you to the man who holds the door open for you.

The atmosphere is quiet and calm, and you’re already excited. There’s going to be a book reading first, then signings after. You look around briefly to see if there’s anyone you might recognize from one of your classes, anyone you’d sat next to and talked to about homework or weekend plans or some such thing. But with a university so large and an event so small in comparison, it’s not likely you’ll see anyone. And you don’t.

You go to the restroom while you still have time, and as you wash your hands you notice in the mirror how red your nose is. You sigh. Hopefully it’ll go away soon the longer you’re indoors, with the heater and the complementary coffee. You’re not much of a coffee person but the cold might be enough to sway your opinion just this once.

With a coffee in hand, you take a seat in the second row, setting your backpack on the floor by your feet. You contemplate for a moment getting your book out so you can follow along when Margaery reads, but decide you’d just like to sit and listen. You drink your coffee absentmindedly but then tell yourself to stop lest you end up having to pee in the middle of the reading. You can see Margaery at the back of the room speaking with someone, and you can’t believe you’re this close to her. You’re in the same room, within yards of each other! You want to sneak a picture quickly to send to Claire, or text her some mini freakout about how you can see your idol right there, but you’re too distracted just staring at Margaery to think about moving.

Her brown hair is in a half-crown braid which looks so elegant. You wish you could do styles like that, but your own hair is finicky and the fanciest thing you think you’d ever be able to muster is a fishtail braid. Maybe one of these days you’ll sit in front of your laptop and follow video tutorials only to give up and make Claire help you. Just like every time you decide you want to try and style your hair.

When it’s finally time to begin, everyone takes their seats as Margaery approaches the lectern. Her smile is bright as she begins, opening with her greeting and thank you’s for attending—all the little formalities. She doesn’t drone on, instead getting to the point quickly. She mentions the chapter she’ll be reading from and the page where she’ll be starting, for those who want to follow along. As if on cue, the sound of books opening and pages being flipped reaches your ears. The girl to your right is going about this the same way as you: she’s just listening.

You’re not an audiobook listener. But you think that if Margaery were to narrate whole novels, you’d listen to them. Her voice is soft and soothing and while part of you speculates that you’d like to fall asleep to the sound of her reading aloud, another part of you speculates that you’d want to stay awake, in an effort to not miss even one word.

After the reading is over, you trash your empty coffee cup and run to the restroom. Even though you’d tried to be in and out of there quickly, the line for book signing has already gotten rather large. You’re nowhere near the front. You sigh and pull out your phone to occupy yourself. The screen lights up with a message from Claire: How is it?

You untuck your free hand from your pocket so you can type out your response with both thumbs: It’s great. How’s the studying?

A few seconds after your text is sent, little chat bubbles appear, and then—It’s hell.

This elicits a small chuckle from you. The line moves starts to move so you momentarily look up to take a few steps forward. And then you return to the conversation.

Me: Well when the semester is over, you’ll never have to think of Professor Smith again

Claire: That can’t come soon enough

Claire: You met Margaery yet?

Me: I’m in line to get my book signed

Claire: She prettier in person?

You don’t reply to this right away, and you can feel your cheeks warm. You do have a bit of a crush on Margaery, and it only made sense that as your best friend, Claire would know… and proceed to tease you. Even if you hadn’t told her, you’re pretty sure she could figure it out on her own. Actually, she probably knew before you admitted it. It’s not like you were being subtle with your “obsession,” as she called it. You sigh and try to fight off the heat in your face but you’re not successful. The line moves again and you take a couple more steps forward.

Me: Yes

Claire: Oooooohhhhh

Me: Shut up

Claire: Take a picture for me

The rest of the time you’re waiting, you browse your social media, and it doesn’t feel like too long before you’re near the front. You tuck your phone away and grab your book from your backpack, messing with it nervously the closer you get to your turn. You run your fingernail over the hardcover, tracing the title and Margaery’s name. You tap the underside of it as you hold it. You hold it in one arm and then the other, back and forth.

Being this fidgety is uncommon for you. Usually it’s only before exams. And when you’re at the front, waiting for the guy in front of you to finish talking to Margaery, your heart seems to tighten from your nerves. It’s like the way you feel when the test is finally in your hands and it’s time to get to work.

You swear that guy is taking too long, but when he finally does leave, you decide he hadn’t taken long enough. Because—oh god, she’s looking at you now and she’s smiling and you’re walking towards her but you don’t really remember taking those steps, one foot in front of the other, desperately hoping not to trip and make a fool of yourself, until you finally make it to the table where’s she's sitting and you think you deserve a reward for not magically fucking it up before you’ve even said a word.

“Hello,” she greets softly.

“Hi,” you force out, smiling back and setting your book down in front of her. “I’m such a huge fan of all your work. It’s amazing.”

She says thank you with a graceful smile and slides your book closer, grabbing a Sharpie. “I hope you enjoyed the reading too. Truth be told, even though I’ve been doing them for a while, I feel I don’t do them that well.”

“I thought you were fantastic.”

Margaery glances up at you after she flips back the cover of your book. She can tell you’re nervous: by the slow and steady breaths you take, your chest rising and falling with them, and the way you wrench your hands together, which you probably don’t even notice you’re doing. It’s endearing. “Who am I writing this out to?” She uncaps her marker.

“Um, [Name].”

Margaery nods to let you know she’s heard you and she begins to write.

“And, uh, do you think we could take a picture… when you’re done?” You want to face palm. Why are you so awkward?

“Of course.” Margaery pauses in her writing to give you a comforting smile.

You grab your phone and open it to the camera. When Margaery’s finished signing, she closes your book and stands up. You end up taking a few photos to flip through later, and you hope you don’t look stupid in any of them. When you’ve put your phone back in your pocket, Margaery hands you your book.

“Thanks so much,” you tell her with a wide smile as you take your book and hold it against your chest.

“You’re welcome.” Margaery nods. “It was nice to meet you, [Name].”

“You too. Have a good night!”

When you leave the building and head out into the cool night, you take a deep breath, which helps calm your rapidly beating heart. You really hadn’t noticed just how nervous you were. But then you smile to yourself, a toothy grin you don’t try to hide because it’s late and there’s no one here to see you smile for seemingly no reason. You’d just met Margaery Tyrell, an author you’d been enamored with for who knows how long. And she was so nice! You think you can die happy now. Nothing will ever top this.

The apartment is quiet when you get back. You stop by the kitchen in search of a snack, and you peek into the fridge. You’re glad to see the chicken you’d left in there is gone. So Claire had left her room at least once tonight. You drop off your bag and book in your room before walking over to your best friend’s.

“Hey, did you have fun?” Claire looks more tired than when you’d left her, but your return and the stories you have to tell seem to wake her up.

You nod and take a bite out of your apple as you grab your phone. “I come bearing pictures.” Claire scoots over and you slide onto the bed next to her. You hand her your phone and she looks through the photos you took with Margaery.

“She is cute,” Claire remarks absentmindedly as she studies one of the pictures.

“Really nice too.” You take another bite. You briefly recount the meeting to her before remembering you left the newly signed book in your bedroom. You retreat briefly to grab it and set your apple down on your desk. As you walk back down the hallway toward Claire’s room, you open the cover of your book to where Margaery had signed it, on the first page. You hadn’t gotten a chance to read it until now. You stop in the doorframe as you look at it.

To [Name]—

I could practically see the butterflies in your stomach. I thought you might grow wings of your own.

There’s a number at the bottom, next to Margaery’s signature. You stare at the digits, not entirely sure if you’re imagining them or not. Claire looks up from her notes when she realizes you’re just standing there, frozen to the spot. “What?” she inquires.

You look up slowly, a combination of excitement and shock in your eyes. “She gave me her number.”

It’s silent for a few seconds, and then—“What?” Claire all but squeals. “Let me see!”

You laugh in disbelief as you walk over to the bed and sit back down, showing her the page. Claire reads it all quickly and squeals again. “She gave you her number!”

"I know!” you exclaim, covering your face with your hands as you lay down, head plopping onto the pillow. “Is this real?”

“She totally liked you too. Oh my god. This is amazing.” Claire has officially ended her studying for the night. She figures she can’t get anymore prepared than she already is. She tucks away her notes into her textbook and tosses it onto her desk before joining you, laying down and staring up at the ceiling.

“When will you call?” she asks.

You shrug, tinkering with the tail of your braid. “I don’t know.”

“Tomorrow maybe? She might be sticking around here for at least a day.” Claire glances at you and smirks a little. “You two can go on a little coffee date.”

You blush heavily and roll onto your side, all but nuzzling Claire’s shoulder as you try to hide your face. She laughs. You suppose she does have a point. Margaery’s next signing isn’t for another few days, and she might be hanging out near campus until then. You decide to follow Claire’s advice and text her in the morning. Hopefully the next time you see her, those butterflies in your stomach will be tamer. Though, truthfully, you doubt it.