#she just told me to use the leftover pastry to put something stupid on top

[snow-bees]

Cursed riddler x penguin pie that me and bestie made on Halloween

[folklorelise]

Civilian girlfriend

MASTERLIST

Jean Kirstein – you visit him during his training days and after

—————

You grew up next to Jean’s house in Trost District. Since your mother was a baker, you would always eat leftovers and sometimes, your mother would call Jean’s family to join you for dinner. Jean was a shy and nice kid – you instantly connected with each other.

One stormy night, Jean took his pillow and run to your house. He opened your door and whisper your name multiple times before you woke up.

“What’s wrong?” you asked Jean worried. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I– I thought you would be scared… of the thunder so I came to protect you!”

“Oh.” you paused. “But I’m not.”

“Oh.” Jean trembled.

“Are you scared?” you asked cautiously.

“No! I’ll go, sorry.” Jean turned around but you caught his hand before he could move.

“You can stay with me if you’re scared, it’s ok.” You reassured him with a shy smile.

You both went to bed – it was a small bed, but you were both kids, so it was not a problem. In the morning, Jean’s mother was worried sick, but your mother quickly reassured her that her son was with you, both sleeping. From then on Jean would always come to you during thunderstorm. As he grew older, he stopped being afraid of it, but still came to you. Jean started to like you more than just as a friend very early on, but he was too shy to do anything about it.

When he told you that he was joining the training corps, you were devastated.

“We won’t be able to see other anymore…” you teared up.

“Y/N, of course we will. You’ll see, when I finally become a MP, I’ll bring you with me in Wall Sina and then we could–” Jean stopped abruptly.

“We could what?”

Jean stared at you hesitantly and then gave you a quick kiss on the lips. When he backed up, he looked terrified and he was all red. Your cheeks were hot too – it was your first kiss.

“Then we could get married maybe and live together.” Jean mumbled. “Because I like you… a lot.”

“You do?” you asked happily.

“Yes. What about you?”

“I like you too.”

“Good.”

Jean and you just smiled at each other, holding hands.

“In three years, we’ll be together again and from then on, it will be forever.”

Jean kissed you one last time before leaving. Jean and you sent each other letters from time to time, but he was busy. You were receiving fewer and fewer letters from him but then suddenly, in his letter, he told you about a visiting day and asked you to come. You took a day off – you were working with your mother – and your mother said yes. The morning before leaving, you baked a lot of pastries and breads for Jean. You dressed up nicely and went out. The training corps headquarters had their doors opened and lots of families were already there. You had your basket of food in your hand and walked in. You quickly found Jean at the entrance and walked up to him smiling.

“H-” but before you could greet him and his friends, Jean gave you a tight hug.

“I missed you so much.” Jean whispered.

“Is that food?” a girl asked excited.

“Stop Sasha! You don’t even know her!” Another boy said.

“This is Sasha and Connie.” Jean told you. “And this is Marco.”

“Hello.” you said awkwardly, no knowing what else to say.

“Are you horse face’s girlfriend?” asked a boy with two other people.

“What, you’re jealous?” Jean shouted back.

“No, just wondering who could veer be stupid enough to date you!” Eren, screamed back.

“You take that back you deep sh!t.” Jean shouted at him which surprised you. When Jean saw your expression, he quickly took you to another place, not wanting any other problems with Eren while you were here.

“What are these?” Jean pointed at the basket.

“Food I made for you.”

You ate together in his dorm – no one was there, everyone was with their families and friends anyway. You ate and caught up with what happened the last few months.

“How is it going? The training I mean.”

“It’s good – I’m good. I can definitely get in the top ten.”

“That’s great!” you cheered up.

“Yeah.” Jean said staring at you for a long minute before kissing you.

The kiss was awkward and cute. Neither of you knew where to put your hands but it was still a good kiss.

A good kiss that was interrupted by Marco entering the room.

“Oh no! I’m sorry!” Marco shouted embarrassed.

Jean and you stoop up quickly and you were both embarrassed too. Your cheeks were hot, and you looked at everywhere except at Marco or Jean.

“I’m so sorry!” Marco apologised again. “I– I didn’t know!”

“It’s fine. We– let’s just join the others!” you said.

You took your basket full of food and ate with Jean, Marco, Connie, and Sasha. You all laughed together, and they told you embarrassing stories about Jean and you told them about baby Jean. A few hours later, Marco wanted to present Jean to his parents – he wanted to reassure them that their boy was not alone. When Jean left, two other boys arrived at your table – Reiner and Bertolt.

“You must be Jean’s girlfriend, right?” Reiner asked you.

“Mh… I guess I am yeah.” you answered joyfully.

“It’s weird.” Reiner continued.

“What is?”

“I always thought he was into Mikasa. Always complimenting her or something.”

“Wha – who?” you asked him confused.

“Reiner!” Bertolt yelled.

“Who’s Mikasa?” you asked but none of them answered. When Jean came back with Marco you asked him who she was.

“Why?” Jean asked.

“Just tell me.”

“It’s her.” Marco said pointing at the girl you saw earlier. “Why?” he asked you when he saw you were clenching your jaw. She is pretty.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Jean asked worried, resting his hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah… it’s late, I think it’s time for me to go home.” you stood up.

“Y/N what’s wrong?” Jean hesitated, “You don’t have to go until tonight and it’s not even–”

You were already walking away rapidly. Jean looked at his friends confused, waiting for someone to explain to him what just happened.

“Reiner told him you were into Mikasa.” Sasha explained.

“What!” Jean yelled at Reiner. “What is wrong with you, you sick son of a b–!” he screamed taking Reiner by the collar.

Marco and Bertolt had to restraint Jean – no one ever saw Jean that mad.

“Jean, stop!” Marco tried to calm his friend down. “Go after Y/N instead of wasting your time here.”

Jean run after you as quick as he could, and luckily for him, you were just at the entrance.

“Y/N!” Jean screamed catching up to you. “It’s not what you think! I do not like Mikasa. Plus, why would you believe a stranger?”

“Because it made sense to me.” you stammered. “You stopped writing to me as much as you used to and maybe that was because you didn’t want to talk to me anymore… because there was someone else.”

“Hey don’t cry.” Jean said holding your face in his hands. “There’s only you. You are the only one I want to talk to; you are the only one I want to see, and you are the only want I want to wake up to in the future. I know we’re still young, but I like you a lot.”

“I like you too.” you sobbed. “I’m sorry, I should’ve let you talk first.”

Jean hugged you close for a very long time. Once Jean graduated you were to celebrate with him, unfortunately it was not a happy one – Marco, Jean’s closest friend, died.

“I decided to join the survey corps.” Jean told you that night.

“Oh… okay. Isn’t that dangerous?”

“It is, but that’s what I want.”

“I just… I don’t want to lose you when you’re out there.” you said resting your head on his shoulder.

“You won’t. I promise.”

Once the cadets were settled in the survey corps, the commander organised a visiting day for them and the other members. You and Jean’s mother went together to visit him. Jean was with his group of friends. You went over where they were with Jean’s mother and she greeted them.

“Hey,” Reiner said to you, “I’m sorry about last time we saw each other, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine, it’s all good now.” you affirmed looking at Jean. “Jeanie and I are good.”

“Jeanie huh.” Connie teased him, “I’m going to call him that from now on.” he laughed.

The whole day was spent talking to each other, getting to know all his friends. You also met Armin, Eren and Mikasa – they were all very nice. At night, Jean excused himself and took you with him.

“Where are we going?” you asked him.

“Trust me.”

Jean brought you outside and met with a Garrison soldier and exchange a few words with him before putting on his gear. He reached out his hand for you to take it, but you waited for an explanation.

“I trust you a lot Jean Kirstein but what did you plan?”

“Just come on, please.”

You took his hand and he just warned you to hold tight. He used his gear to take you on top of the wall. You were holding him so tight you could have strangled him.

“Oh, what are you doing! Don’t you dare drop me!”

“I won’t.” Jean reassured you. “You can let go now; we are here.”

“Oh, this is high. This is really high from the ground.” you rumbled. “Is it even legal to go there?”

“I asked permission, don’t worry. The commander is a nice person.”

“Why are we here?”

“I prepared dinner for us.” Jean showed you a basket full of food with a sheet on the ground. “We never actually had a proper date so I thought this would be the perfect occasion.”

“You did this for me?” you smiled.

“I’d do anything to see that beautiful smile of yours.” Jean said with a smirk that made your cheeks hot.

“You’re the best, have I ever told you that?”

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” Jean whispered.

“No.” you gasped. “I– but I love you too.” you said before he kissed you.

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

mystic meadow and the sweet spot

pairing: harry styles x reader (farmers market au)

warnings: anxiety, awkwardness, shy!baker!harry, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, cockwarming

word count: 6.8k

synopsis: harry hates working the farmers markets, but the girl in the kombucha booth is cute

author’s note: hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

Harry used to hate working the farmer’s markets; there was so many people, so many awkward encounters, and so many stupid questions. The heat of the midsummer didn’t help either. He hated having to set the booth up and take it down, with the help of nothing more than an inadequate coworker, who spends most of his time on his phone or flirting with the other vendors. He hated working the markets, which is why he honestly contemplated quitting when his boss told him that he was scheduled to work the new rounds of the summer circuit, but the pay was double what he was normally making, in addition to mileage compensation.

It’s been a couple weeks since the market season began; every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, he has to set up his booth, put on a fake smile, try to sell as much as he can, and take the booth down, only to start it all again the next day in a different location. It’s exhausting, draining.

Today isn’t as bad as others. Cas, his poor excuse of a coworker, hadn’t even bothered showing up, but other than that, Harry hasn’t had any rude customers, and Andy, the guy who owns the spirits booth, gave him a couple bottles for cheap. By the end of the day, he sold most of the product, with only a few pastries and macarons to save for tomorrow, which will be handed out as samples.

He’s nearly all packed up when a girl meanders over near his booth. A loose yellow tee hangs off her shoulder with pale pink lace peeking out from the top of her chest, and she offers Artemis, the elderly woman who works the soap booth next to him, a soft grin. They make eye contact, and she gives him a warm smile. Thinking she’s a straggler who doesn’t know the market is closed, he offers her a tight smile while not-so-subtly boxing up the remainder of baked goods.

“Hmm, macarons,” the girl mumbles, fingering at the blue and white plaid tablecloth. “Any good?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says softly. He has never been really good when it comes to small talk, which is one reason why he probably isn’t able to have any lasting relationships; he barely had any acquaintances, let alone meaningful friendships. He scratches the back of his head, beneath a wool beanie he apparently had to wear, even though it’s been burning hot all day. Sweat seeps into his hair, threatening to drip down his neck. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek. He slides the tray of eclairs onto the side table, wrapping it with a healthy amount of plastic wrap before placing it in the insulated tote.

“And you’re not just obligated to say that since I’m a potential customer,” she smirks.

“Would never lie to such a pretty girl,” he says, smiling. He honestly can’t believe that those words actually came out of his mouth. A blush makes its way from his neck, to his cheeks, to the tips of his ears, and he prays that she can’t see it. The sun is setting; dull oranges and pinks peek over the tops of trees and wrap around her like wings, bright and comforting. He wipes his forehead, trying to conceal his blush from her. Just by looking at her, he’s sure that she wouldn’t even bat an eye at the rosy flush to his skin, but his stomach still balls up.

“Smooth,” she says. “You come here often?” Regret passes over her features as soon as she asks that, brows furrowing and head shaking. “Sorry, that sounded stupid. I just haven’t seen you. It’s normally Ryan or Cas,” she explains. She starts folding the tablecloth when Harry packs the final trays of pastries away.

“Well, Cas didn’t even show up today.” Harry can’t help the bitterness that seeps into his voice. He doesn’t mean to dump all of his anger on this poor girl, but she’s looking at him with such understanding eyes, it’s hard not to completely break and rant about everything that’s been building up. She hands the cloth to him, which he takes with an appreciative nod. “But, yeah, ‘ve been workin’ this fo’ a couple of weeks,” he says. Feeling like he’s being a little too standoffish, he offers her a smile, nudging the tray that caught her eye toward her. “You like macarons?”

It takes a bit for her to answer, and she bites at her lip, fingers wringing together. The skin of her palms are stained a pinkish-purple.

“Yeah,” she says. “They’re my favorite.”

“Here,” he says, scrambling to get a box. He digs into the tote, easily ripping into the plastic wrap. “Take some. Better you than me. ’Ve had enough sweets to last me the rest of my life.”

“Thanks.” She takes the box of pistachio-honey, raspberry-basil, and orange cream. “Pretty,” she says, fiddling with the gold ribbon he tied around it and already picking at the label. She lingers for a little bit, like she’s waiting to find something else to talk about, fingers tapping nervously on the table top. “I, uh,” she stutters, gesturing toward the booth across the way from his and a little to the right, “work the kombucha stand over there.”

It’s a large booth with large, draping black curtains shifting. If the wind catches it just right, he can see streams of warm colors painted on them, layered and bold. Two men are taking down a large banner that says ‘Mystic Meadow Kombucha’ with the outline of a bull’s skull beneath it, wildflowers winding around it. It seems to be more extravagant than Harry’s setup, with 3 large kegs in the front, decorated with fake vines and flowers.

“D’ya paint?” He asks suddenly, gesturing toward her hands.

“I do, but these are from some beets. We were testing new flavors, and I, well—” She bares her hands, laughing lighty, “I wasn’t careful enough.”

“I see.”

“So, I’ll see you around,” she says after a minute, offering him a shy smile. Before she walks away, she raises the box of sweets with gratitude. “Thanks, again.”

“See ya,” he says, eyes lingering on her, watching her skip back toward her booth. One of the men looks at Harry and smirks, nodding knowingly. The rest of the night, he finds his gaze wandering back over to her booth. A couple of times, she catches his eye, and when they leave, in an old van with a flaking paint job that wobbles over every bump in the road, she waves at him.

It’s ten at night before he gets back to the bakery, the sun long gone, but the dry heat still hangs heavy in the air. Marty, the owner, is still in the office counting the money for the night that she probably wasn't able to get to earlier. It’s a fairly small operation, with only two baristas, two managers, Marty and Ryan, and two bakers, himself and Cas, who probably won’t have a job after today’s no-call-no-show. Harry leans against the doorframe, handing her the bank pouch.

“‘M headed out,” he says. “See ya tomorrow.”

“How was it?” She asks before he can leave. He turns around.

“Wha’?”

“The market,” Marty supplies. “Is it still as bad as you thought?”

“Today was better than others,” he says vaguely, his mind wandering to the girl at the kombucha stand. A smile plays on his lips. Marty cocks a brow, leaning back in her chair.

“So you wouldn’t mind working next week?”

“Nah,” he says, “Tha’s fine.”

That night, he dreams of a girl, with pretty eyes, a yellow t-shirt, and stained hands.

In the weeks following their first encounter, Harry takes the time to visit the kombucha girl before the market opens, and at the end of the night, she stops by to get a box of leftover baked goods. He’s learned a lot of things over the past few weeks: her name is Y/N, she’s the daughter of the owners of Mystic Meadow, her main jobs being selling at local markets and businesses and coming up with the different flavors, she’s working on her bachelor’s degree, she’s single (Harry found it difficult to contain his joy when she told him that), and she’s an all-around sweet girl, who’s wonderful with people.

Harry also found out that he hates kombucha.

But that doesn’t stop him from getting one every time he stops by. It’s normally before the market is actually open to the public. She just gets so excited whenever he tries a cup of the newest flavor, normally an odd mixture of spices or herbs with vinegar and a fermented fruit flavor—it’s not even good fermentation, like with alcohol— it tastes absolutely horrid, but Y/N looks at him with such hopeful eyes the first time he has a sip; he couldn’t bear seeing the disappointed look in her eyes, so he accepts the little plastic cup from her, nodding thankfully, and takes it back to his booth, where it will sit for the remainder of the night, untouched and dripping with sweat, leaving faint rings on the tablecloth.

“I brought you something,” she says to him one afternoon.

It’s early August, the sun at its peak, beating down on his black tee; he really needs to learn how to dress for such heat.

“Yeah?”

She lugs a black glass bottle from the cooler in the far corner of the booth, hidden behind the wooden chair for her. Her smile stretches from ear to ear; it’s hard to contain his own, but why would he want to? When you’re in the presence of beaming sunlight, you shouldn’t shy away, rather, embracing it because you never know how long it’s going to last. Her finger is hooked in the small hole near the top, and she slams it down on the table, the decorated glass jar filled with inspirational quotes and stickers with the Mystic Meadow logo on them nearly toppling over. He clumsily grapples for it before everything falls.

“Sorry,” she laughs, rubbing the sweat that has already formed on the bottle. She holds it out for him to take. “It’s a growler of the pear and pink peppercorn,” she says, smiling. He takes it gingerly from her hands, turning it over and feeling the weight.

“Wha’?”

“You said it was your favorite,” she says, her grin falling slightly. His heart stops for a second. Guilt floods him as he smiles widely, dimples settling deep in his cheeks.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “Thank you.”

It’s quiet after that. Neither of them, he’s noticed, are very good at making conversation. Y/N is normally the one to initiate the pleasantries, but it still takes a little bit before they can actually get into a deep conversation. Sure, when they finally find a subject that the both of them are passionate about, they can talk for hours, like her paintings or his music, but the starting off is always difficult. Granted, that’s not abnormal for Harry; he’s never been much of a talker. He can fake it if he has to, but he’s a bit of a blundering idiot sometimes, and he’s learned that the less he speaks, the less likely he is to embarrass himself—especially when he’s around Y/N.

He’s been trying to find the courage to ask her out on a date for the past few weeks, hell, ever since the day they met, but of course: he hasn’t. Granted, he’s never had much luck in the dating scene, probably because he can’t flirt for the life of him. There are some times where something charming comes out randomly, but it’s soon followed by an uncomfortable silence, and he gets embarrassed.

He just needs to go for it. He knows that. He tells himself that every time he misses his chance, when he waits too long, and the window of opportunity is slammed in his face. Y/N is a wonderful match for him, and she’s too sweet to completely laugh in his face or flat out reject him.

But it’s still scary. His heart is in his throat, and his palms are sweaty. He wipes them on his jeans, noticing the slight tremor. He tucks them in the pockets of his jeans (yet another terrible clothing choice for such a hot day).

He just needs to do it, rip it off like a band-aid.

“Was wondering,” he blurts out, shifting nervously on his feet. “Do you have plans on Saturday?”

“No, do you have something in mind?” She looks at him with hopeful eyes, and he melts. He wishes he could be as comfortable as Y/N, to not be constantly worried about the approval and validation of the people around him. He wonders what it’s like to wear his heart out on his sleeve.

He wishes he could live like that.

“Uh, I have work,” he says, “but after, maybe, we could get dinner?”

“Sounds like a date.”

—

The Sweet Spot Bakery and Cafe is a cute little shop on a corner in downtown, ironically next to a nutrition store. A blue neon sign shaped like a mug flashes in the corner of Y/N’s eye. Rain pounds onto the red and gold striped awning, dripping onto the flooded concrete. There’s cute flower boxes beneath the windows, but the flowers look sad and droopy, the dirt splattering out with every powerful raindrop. Antique metal tables are stacked in the far corner, out of the rain. Y/N shakes off her umbrella.

A sweet chime sounds when she pulls open the door. Inside, the scent of coffee and sugar fill her senses. There is just something so comfortable about being in a bakery or even a cafe that always reminds her of warmth, of intimacy, of home. The shop is fairly empty, with an older man reading in one of the corners, snug in a velvet chair, and a couple quietly chatting on the other side, hidden behind a hanging plant, their legs crossed over each others’ on a leather stool.

An older woman greets her from behind the counter, obscured by a gold espresso machine. She’s short with graying black hair, brown eyes peeking behind horned glasses. Her red painted lips stretch into a smile.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?”

“Hi, is Harry here?”

As if he could hear her, Harry stumbles out from the back, the door swinging idly behind him. Flour coats his arms to his elbows, with a few stripes on his nose and forehead. The green bandana struggles to hold back his hair, curls slipping onto his forehead.

“Y/N,” he breathes out. He wipes his hands on the apron, a cloud of white billowing out. He coughs. He shoos the woman away and leans against the counter, his features impassive. To the untrained eye, he looks normal, fine, calm, even, but Y/N has learned how to read him; from the faint blush on his cheeks to the look in his eyes, which are unable to meet hers. He looks anxious, more so than usual, and there’s a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Sorry, I forgo’ to tell ya, but I’m scheduled to close tonight.”

“That’s fine.” She tries to hide the disappointment in her voice. “We can do this some other time, then.”

“I can take my break in a bit. Marty doesn’ really mind how long it takes. D'ya wanna sit? Be out in a minute,” he says quickly.

“Sure,” she says, nodding. She opts for the corner booth, away from the other customers. Harry comes out from behind the counter only a moment later, like he promised, clean with a large white mug clutched in one shaky hand and a white box, wrapped in a pretty gold bow, in the other.

“Here ya go,” he says, sliding a large mug toward her. Foam sloshes over the edges and onto the table, wetting the napkin under the cup as well as her hand. He curses under his breath, grappling for the napkin dispenser. A poorly shaped face made with cinnamon smiles up at her, and she wants to aw at the sight, her lips pouting.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, wiping her hand with a stale paper napkin.

“It’s fine, H,” she whispers, placing her hand on his.

He doesn’t really know why he’s so nervous (more nervous than usual). It’s not like this is his first time meeting her; they’re comfortable with each other, and they joke around, and he also knows that she’s interested because of how understanding she was when he told her that his shift changed, or maybe that is a sign that she’s not interested.

He really needs to stop overthinking these things.

He’s a grown man. He should be able to talk with her without his hands clamming up or his heart beating out of his chest. Maybe it’s the pressure of it being defined as a “date” that makes it even worse. He just hopes that he doesn’t psych himself out.

“Thank you.” She grins.

“No problem. Remembered that ya told me once that you liked honey and cinnamon.”

Her heart swells at his words. Even though Harry puts on an uneasy exterior, he’s very attentive and loving. None of her exes would have remembered how she took her coffee after she mentioned it once.

“Sorry,” he says again suddenly, looking at the sad excuse of a smiley face on her drink. “Don’ normally work the front unless it’s too busy.”

“You should. Such a pretty face, I can’t keep it all to myself.” She pinches his cheek, and he shys away, swatting at her hand playfully. He nudges the box toward her.

“Macarons. Your favorite,” he says, and she nudges it to the side, taking a large gulp of the coffee.

“How’s it been today?” She asks, rubbing some of the foam off with her thumb.

“Slow,” he admits, breathing out shakily. His feet tap nervously on the floor, tapping back and forth, from heel to toe.

“Hey, it’s just me,” she says, placing a gentle hand on his. “No need to be nervous.”

“Right,” he says, nodding. “I jus’ feel like I should apologize again. I should’ve said something to you about my shift change.”

“It’s no problem, Harry,” she reassures him.

“I just got promoted. Marty needs help with orders and stuff, so I’ll be the bakery manager, now. She wanted me to close as a part of my training.”

“That’s great,” she smiles, lacing their fingers. He stares at them, his thumb tracing over her knuckles gently. Her skin is calloused and warm. He tugs her hand up to his lips, and she gives him a shy smile.

“You’ll still be working the markets, right?”

“Ya can’t get rid o’ me tha’ easily, lovie,” he smirks.

“Good.”

They talk for a good ten minutes, but the conversation is no deeper than the short interactions they normally have at the markets.

Harry wishes that wasn’t the case.

“Harry,” Marty calls from behind the counter, interrupting them. “A timer’s going off. What’s it for?”

“Oh, um—” He stands up, looking at Y/N with apologetic eyes. “I promise I’ll make it up to ya. Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she says, downing the last of her drink and gathering her things.

“Brunch? I’ll text ya?”

“Harry,” Y/N calls out after he slips behind the counter.

“Yeah?”

She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, not missing the red forming on his neck.

“See you tomorrow.”

She gives him a wink before leaving. Harry stands, stunned in silence, his fingers tracing the warmth lingering from her lips.

“Whipped,” Marty mutters, a soft smirk toying on her lips.

“Shut up,” he scoffs.

“I’m not judging. It’s cute, H.”

“I don’ need this, ‘kay?”

She throws a wet towel at him, catching his leg before the door to the back closes.

—

As promised, they had Sunday brunch, with bottomless mimosas and American biscuits, something he still isn’t used to, with jam and poached eggs. Y/N, who is a lot bolder when she has some alcohol in her, chattered on and on about her friends, her parents, and her classes. College never seemed like an option for him. He always held the belief that in his career choices, a baker or a musician, he doesn’t need a degree; you either have it or you don’t type situations.

But Y/N, the smart little cookie, loves school. She talked about how she may get an education degree, but one is plenty of work right now. She commended those brave enough to be in a double major. She asked him about his family and his job, mostly; he would rather listen to her than talk, so he kept his answers short and sweet.

Afterward, they went to the park, cliche as it seems, because even though he’s lived in the area for nearly five years, he never took the time to stop by any of the parks, and Y/N took full opportunity of this: she gawked at him, pulled him out of his chair at the bistro, and slammed some cash onto the table. He tried to argue with her, that he should at least leave the tip, since he was at fault for their date yesterday not going to plan, but she wasn’t listening.

“I can’t believe you haven’t been to any of the parks,” she said, tugging him along the sidewalk. “There’s a nice one around here, only a ten minute walk. It has a pond and that cute little playground equipment—you know, the tiny slides with tiny stairs for the little kids. Do you remember those?” She stops. “Should we get bread to feed the ducks?” She shakes her head, answering her own question. “No, we can do it some other time.”

They spend the rest of the day by the pond, people watching, another one of Y/N favorite past times. After dinner, Harry didn’t get home until after sunset and went to bed with a smile on his face.

The next day, Harry spends two hours contemplating whether or not it was too early to send a good morning text. He nervously rolled around in his bed before he accidentally sent the message. She responded quickly after, and they talked for the entire day (seriously, he didn’t get up unless he absolutely had to).

Tuesday, market day, comes around quickly, and Harry gets there earlier than usual, not so subtly waiting for the Mystic Meadow van to chug through the grass lot, and when it does, his heart speeds up, but he doesn’t recognize the girl that hops out of the passenger side.

His mind runs amuck, as usual. Even though they talked nonstop the day before, he thinks that maybe she’s not here because she doesn’t want to run into him, that she was annoyed by him already, his wariness and nerves. His heart skips a beat at the thought. He tries to reassure himself that there are so many other possible explanations, but his anxiety wasn’t having it.

It takes him a while to gather the courage to go over to the booth, and he tries to act as inconspicuous as possible, pacing slowly in front of the other booths, organic fruit, soap, paintings, and jewelry, until he’s at Mystic Meadow. The chalkboard sign that usually says Y/N’s name in fancy lettering says, ‘Florence will be helping you today’ instead. A girl with very long, very bright hair turns toward him. Thick blue eyeliner outlines her eyes, and smattering of freckles enlivens her pale skin.

“Can I help you?”

“Where’s Y/N?”

She looks taken aback by the question.

“Sick,” she answers slowly, brows furrowed.

“Oh,” he whispers. “‘M Harry,” he says. Her eyes widen suddenly, and she gives him a quick once over, leaning her hip against the table.

“You’re Harry?” She laughs. “We thought she was making you up.”

“Tha’s...” Harry doesn’t really know how to feel about that; it’s a cacophony of pride, excitement, and little anxiety. Pride for the fact that Y/N talked about him to her coworker (and potentially even more people, since Florence said “we”), excitement from the fact that Y/N seems very interested in him, and, of course, anxiety from this stranger's piercing gaze. He wonders what Y/N said about him; maybe she talked about how awkward he is or his gauky figure or his clumsiness—

“How sick is she?”

“Not too sick,” Florence says, winking.

“Oh, tha’s not—“

He hates the fact that he actually sounds disgusted, even though he honestly doesn’t mind the thought of it. Sure, Florence is right; he wouldn’t mind being with Y/N in that way, but that’s beside the point. They have only been out on two dates, and the first one was at his work, of all places, so he doesn’t really count that one. He wants to take their relationship slow.

“I’m messing with you,” Flo laughs, crossing her arms, “Although, it is nice to see a grown man blushing.”

“‘M not blushin’,” he says, wiping at his cheeks petulantly. “Uh, is Y/N alright? How sick—” He swallows thickly. His skin heats up even more, struggling to find his words. He’s trying to figure out how to ask where Y/N lives without sounding like a stalker. Maybe he should just ask Y/N himself.

“Where, um, does she—”

“Here,” she says, chuckling. She rips a piece of paper loose from under the register box and writes down an address with looping script.

“Thanks.” He leaves the booth with a quick nod, the paper clutched tightly in his sweating palm; hopefully, it doesn’t smudge the ink.

“Hey, Harry,” she calls out. He turns. “You’re a good guy. I’m glad she met you.”

If he wasn’t blushing before, he sure as hell is now.

—

Y/N looks worse for wear when she answers the door to her apartment, eyes tinted red with exhaustion, puffy and droopy, and she sniffles, a stuffy breath slipping through her lips. She’s wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. Her eyes widen, and she tries to hide slightly behind the door when she sees that it’s him.

“What are you doing here?” She squeaks.

His nerves spike again, worried he’s intruding or maybe it was too soon for him to start showing up at her house unannounced, when he’s never even been there before (he knew asking Florence for her address was a bad idea). They have only been on a couple of dates, and now, he probably ruined any chances he had with her by acting impulsively and like a total creep.

“I asked Florence,” he answers softly. “Said you were sick.” When tears fill her eyes, he’s sure she’s going to yell at him for disturbing her and tell him never to come again. He doesn’t think he’s ever regretted anything so much; his skin is hot, his racing heart sinking into his stomach. “‘M sorry. I jus’ thought, since you were sick, you may wan’ some company. I’ll leave, sorry, sorry—”

“No,” she says, grabbing onto his arm before he can leave. “I’m sorry for freaking you out, but…” Her throat closes, and she tries her hardest to not start ugly-crying, but with Harry standing on her front porch, visibly drained from work, arms full of grocery and pharmacy bags, makes it very hard not to break. It’s exhausting having to take care of yourself when you’re feeling ill, and with Harry simply there, and knowing that he was thinking about her, makes things so much easier.

“You’re so sweet, H,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“May I?”

“But—” She hesitates, nibbling at her lip. “I’m in my PJ's,” she says softly.

“And ‘m all sweaty from being in tha’ sun all day,” he smiles. He lets himself in, thick boots thundering on the hardwood. “I came straight from, but I did pick up some soup and Sprite and tea. Hope you have honey and lemon,” he rambles, tugging everything out from the bags.

“Wasn’t real sure what kind of sick ya were, so…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I got everythin’.” He gives her an awkward tight smile.

“Thank you,” she sighs, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. “Do you wanna shower? I’m sure I have some clothes that can fit you.” She guides him to the bathroom, laying some towels and clothes into his arms. “The shower head screams sometimes so don’t be worried. It normally stops if you wiggle it a bit.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. Her shower is filled with dozens of half-filled soap bottles decorated the shelves and the little basket hanging from the shower head. The hot water is nearly all gone by the time he decides to use the no-more-tears strawberry shampoo. Her towels are warm and soft, softer than he thinks he’s ever felt before, and they’re big enough to nearly swallow him whole.

He finds Y/N in the kitchen with a warped mug, seemingly handmade, filled with steaming tea. She stares at the cap of medicine on the counter, breathing heavily. He can see the confliction on her features, one moment she’s nearly convinced that she doesn’t need it, that her body can take care of it overnight, but she also knows that if she didn’t take it, she’ll be in for one hell of a terrible night; then she remembers how awful it tasted the last couple of times she’s had to take it.

Her nose scrunches when she finally decides to down it.

“Thanks for the tea,” she says, “I was just about to head to bed.”

“Oh, uh,” he says nervously. “I don’ want to impose. I’ll leave. I jus’ wanted to make sure ya had everything ya needed.”

A part of him wanted her to invite him to be with her; that part that is touch starved and eager to be near her again wants to toss any worries to the side.

“As long as you’re fine listening to my coughing all night, I’m fine with you staying the night.”

She listens to nature sounds to go to sleep.

How cute is that?

For the first couple minutes, they were ocean sounds, but she didn’t like the seagulls; she had him switch it to rain after a little bit. She looked a little embarrassed when she started playing them, but Harry listened to music in order to fall asleep, so it’s really no different. He never thought about listening to nature sounds, but it’s definitely something he could get used to.

It takes them a bit to finally get settled together. They start on their own sides of the bed. Not wanting to push his luck and make her feel uncomfortable, Harry stays on his side, trying not to hoard too much of the blankets, with a pillow hugged to his chest. She’s afraid that he won’t like her being so close to him, given her current state of health. They stare at the ceiling stubbornly, one occasionally glancing over to the other.

Soon, the night-time medicine kicks in, and Y/N throws caution to the wind.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, rolling onto her side, one arm nestling underneath him with the other prying between the pillow. “You okay with this?” She looks at him with pleading eyes, and he smiles.

How could he say no to her?

“Definitely.”

And so, she snuggles deeper into his chest, eyes growing heavy at the feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp, the scent of strawberry shampoo and Vix lulling the both of them to sleep.

—

Kissing her is something he doesn’t think he could ever get tired of. The feel of her soft lips over his, with tongue and teeth, aching and messy, is addicting. He never understood why people liked kissing so much; granted he’s only had five other ones to go off of, only two of them ever lead to a full-blown make out session on his bed, but still; how much fun could it be to practically suck another person’s face off?

But he severely underestimated the power of Y/N’s lips. The first time he felt them was a couple days after he spent the night with her when she was sick. It was a quick little peck he gave her when he dropped her off at her apartment, and ever since, he was hooked. It still completely baffles how much he aches for her lips when he can’t see her, and when he finally gets his fix, it feels perfect.

He finds himself craving the taste of her tongue.

How can someone’s mouth taste good?

It’s December, now, the market season long gone, and he and Y/N have been together for nearly five months. It’s more serious than any of his other relationships. Obviously, that’s not saying much since he hasn’t had many, but Harry slowly found himself opening up more toward her, which is more than any of his other ones.

He nips at the skin of her neck, tugging off her tee, and he finds the hickey he left a couple days ago, just below the collarbone, tongue pressing lightly on the tender skin. She whimpers.

“Fuck me, H,” she moans. She’s wearing a pink, lacy bra, the same one she was wearing the first day they met. He slips the straps over her shoulders, leaving a trail of kisses behind it. Her head lolls back against his, and his hand finds its way to her neck, caressing the warm skin. He can feel her heart rate pick up.

She slips her pajama pants and panties down, kicking them across the room. She slips further down the sheet, his hands firm on her hips. He tugs her frail bra up over her head. He fondles her breast for a bit before his lips trail down the valley, his warm mouth wrapping around her tender nipple, tongue soft against the pebbling skin. Y/N feels herself melt into him, skin sensitive to every teasing kiss he leaves down her body.

“Hey, babe?”

He rests his chin on her tummy, the thin hairs coating his jaw ticking her skin.

“Yeah?”

A sweet smile crosses her face at the chills that cover her skin when he speaks, lips so close to her skin, her pussy throbbing. Her thighs twitch. She runs her fingers through his hair, fingers smoothing the flyaways down. He kisses her bellybutton.

“I love you.”

He isn’t expecting that.

He chokes a little bit, his throat closing up on him.

“What?” He lifts himself up, crawling back up her body, and she cups his face. “Really?”

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She’s not afraid that he won’t say it back. Hell, there's a part of her that doesn’t even expect him to say it back. (There’s an even smaller part that thinks that he’s just going to leave, but she doesn’t want to think of that). She’s not afraid because she knows that she needs to be the one to reassure him, to love him, to coax him out of his shell, and she’s completely willing to do that, to put forth the time and effort, because she is wholeheartedly enamored with him.

She waits for him to process everything; she can see the confliction in his eyes. Ever the worrier, Harry is thinking of the negative outcomes that can come if he goes about this the wrong way, but he doesn’t dwell on them for too long. He thinks of the mornings that he woke up in her arms, the afternoons they spent in tje park, a new tradition for them, the evenings they spent in contemplative silence, where she would paint his profile and he would serenade her with another love song, and the nights they spent making love.

Loving her is probably the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Love you too, babylove.”

Y/N lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and she pulls his forehead onto hers.

He wants to thank her, for being patient, for being understanding, for loving him, for just being her, really. He doesn’t think she realizes how much of an impact she has on him.

She sits up and pushes him beneath her. He leans against the headboard. It’s cold against his hot skin, sweat slipping down the small of his back. They both struggle in pulling off his pants; he almost hits her in the head. She settles low on his thighs, straddling him, and her feet tuck beneath his calves. She spits on his cock, wetting the red tip, and strokes him slowly. He moans, pouting slightly.

“No teasin’.” He tugs her forward, until their chest to chest, his hands settling low on her hips, rocking her wet pussy back and forth over the length of his cock. Her clit rubs against the head, making her hips jolt within his grasp. He easily slips inside of her, his head knocking against the headboard. She teases him, still, just barely putting the head inside before pulling out slowly. It takes a couple more tries before she sinks fully onto him, a drawn out groan slipping past his lips. He pulls her back in for a kiss, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine.

“So deep,” she moans, her thighs twitching and quivering at his side. She caresses the skin of his belly, thumb teasing along the thin hairs.

“There ya go, baby,” he coos. “Takin’ me so well.” He sets his hand on her lower abdomen, feeling the little bump. “Can feel m’self,” he smiles. He waits for her to start moving. It takes a little longer than usual, probably from the lack of preparation, but she doesn’t let that stop her. She moves her hips back and forth, wiggling about to find that one special spot.

He thrusts himself into her, and she nearly collapses completely onto him, with a broken whine breaking from her chest. Hands gripping her fleshy ass, he moans against her neck. She tastes of sweat and cherries, addicting, and she grinds harder into him, hands gripping the headboard, which hits the wall with every move of her hips. The mattress creaks noisily beneath them, but they can barely hear it over the sound of each others’ moans of pleasure.

“Love you,” he says against her lips.

She breathes out her response, a pledge of her own love; it’s weak, but that’s no surprise, since she struggles for air when he bucks his hips, hitting the deepest part of her. The aching in her chest only adds to the pleasure, the burning fire in her stomach. Her arousal slips down to his thighs.

“‘M gonna come, babylove,” he whines, skimming his nose over hers. Her teeth nibbles his lips, riding him faster.

“Come in me, H, wanna feel you,” she says breathily. His arms quiver around her, squeezing her tight to him, his face digging into her neck. Her toes curl when he comes, his nails digging into her skin. She eases him through his high, cupping his cheeks and wiping the sweat from his forehead. She pulls his head to her chest, fingers carding through his curls; his heaving breaths leaves her skin wet. She moves up, whimpering softly, but he stops her, feeling some of his cum slip out onto his thighs.

“Hm, no, lovie,” he whines, wrapping an arm around her waist. He gently moves them onto their sides, while keeping his cock nestled deep inside her. “Wanna feel you.”

She loves being so close to him, warm and full. She’s never done this with anyone. It’s intimacy at its core, with Harry holding her so tightly against him. It nearly brings tears to her eyes. She’s so glad that she met Harry, so thankful that she took that leap of faith and talked to the cute guy at the baked goods booth, who had wise eyes and a nervous smile. She’s glad that she inched past that guarded exterior to find his soft, gooey middle. Harry kisses her forehead, shifting slightly, and her sensitive walls flutter around him.

“Feels good, baby,” she moans, rubbing along his waist.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah,” she says, still at a loss for breath, her fingers absently tracing over his inked skin. Goose pimples rise in their wake.

“I don’ like kombucha.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t like macarons.”

—

[amnachil]

To the Perfection Chapter 1 Part 6

I’m late and I’m sorry ! But here is part 6. Part 7 will come this weekend as planned (I hope) :x

Thomas Monday January 21

The weekend had been a two-day long disappointment for the teenager. Raphaël's departure this morning was a release. I don't have to see their idyll anymore. It was painful to watch Dan with his brother. To see them laugh, cuddle and kiss together. Thomas was itching to be at Raphaël's place, and it pissed him to be only a spectator. Consequently, this morning, he had felt relieved. But he was also more than embittered. That was probably why he arrived at school annoyed. Of course, he kept his warm smile. He looked happy to everyone, and it was fine this way. But inside, he was seething.

"Hey, look what Jessica texted me yesterday." told him Joël.

The message was a compliment about his great personality. Such a good joke.

"Looks like I earned one point." laughed the cocky lad. "Maybe she has a secret crush on me ?"

"Sure. Keep dreaming man." ironised Thomas.

Joël snorted. Next to them, Ilhan was finishing his history's assignment. He didn't start the second semester pretty well.

"Dudes, I don't know how I will manage science." he complained. "Thomy, could you help me ?"

Hell no. Why me ? Sure, he was the best student of their promotion, but he had others things to do than help this boots-licker.

"Sorry." he smiled. "But I'm busy enough with all the stuff we have to do. Besides, I'm sure you'll manage pretty well."

Ilhan nodded, half convinced. They entered in class, but Cody held the ginger back. He waited a moment, until their friends were far enough. What ? The young millionaire had always been smarter than the others. Two years ago, he had reproached Thomas for being distant and not really involved in their friendship. But my smile convinced him of the contrary, right ?

"Why you didn't tell us your mother has left you to move in England ?" he asked curiously. "We could have support you."

"How do you know that ?"

Thomas realised it was a stupid question. He already knew the answer.

"Raphaël told me." revealed Cody. "He said you were feeling sad, but you wouldn't admit it. Man, Joël and I are your friends since kindergarden. You should have tell us."

He did that on purpose. Maybe the ginger was seing evil all around, but he thought Raphaël wanted to tear Dan and him apart.

"My brother is wrong." he said with a cheerful smile. "I'm perfectly fine. I mean, yeah she left and I've felt lonely, but it's okay now. I reckonned it was useless to alarm you for nothing."

Cody stared at him a moment. You can't read me. Thomas knew he had a warm face and inscrutable eyes.

"If you say so..." finally mumbled Cody.

And they went to class.

When he arrived at home this evening, Thomas shivered. He sensed Raphaël's presence everywhere. Even my so-called friends are his pawns. His brother engulfed his life. It was so infuriating.

"Thomy ? What is going on ?"

He suddenly realised he was showing his feelings, and quickly put up a front. Dan looked at him, perplexed.

"I'm fine." smiled the ginger lad. "I'm going to cook something amazing tonight."

"I thought we could order something." suggested Dan, much to his surprise. "Spend the evening playing videogames together ? I mean, only if you already did your homework ?"

Thomas nodded slowly. It was hard to not rush in his friend's arms and express his feelings. Resist to him is so hard. Not only Dan was cuter each day, but he also seemed more and more attentive. Of course, it was only as a friend, but the teenager didn't see it that way.

Pizza arrived half an hour later. They started a new game Thomas got from his mother. It was kind of fascinating, and time passed rapidly. But the young lad wasn't focused on the screen at all. He was watching Dan as his friend wolfed down the first pizza. And the second. His stomach was getting rounder which each slice. Once he finished, the junior rubbed it, causing a soft blech.

"That was good." he sighed, satisfied.

Then, he went back to the game. I should too. But... I can't let things like this. Seing Dan taut belly turned him on. Since his friend was always shirtless, he could note even the tinier details. His tummy button getting slighly deeper. His bulging lovehandles. Nothing could escape from Thomas's stare. Dan suddenly handed him an orange juice.

"Here." he said. "Fresh and with low-sugar rate, as you like it. We're close to the hardest level, so better be refreshed."

He knows me so well, this is insane. Thomas let his fantasy got the best of him.

"Thanks." he smiled. "I'll go grab some foods we could snack on."

He brought more than enough. The pie leftover, cakes, his secret box of cookies, some donuts from Mrs. Liliano's bakery... But Dan didn't notice it, or he didn't say. He only took a big morsel of pie, and gobbled it.

For two hours, it continued like this. They lost the level several time, because Thomas was way too distracted. His friend's middlesection was growing larger. He was getting very bloated from all the food and the beer he was consuming. The way his belly pushed his sweatpants made the ginger hard as rock. Each burp made him shiver with pleasure. And Dan continued to eat, barely taking the time to rub his overstuffed stomach. Finally, when he finished the pop-corn Thomas just brought, he grunted. He leaned back to find a more comfortable position. His belly gurgled, way too full.

"It's... burp... so hot in here." moaned Dan.

Thomas didn't answer. He was frozen, unable to do anything but stare. Feed someone and see him overfed was already his turn-on. Seing Dan in this state was more than that. His dick was sore. His lust prevented him to think clearly. Only the fear of Dan's reaction stopped him to do the worst mistake of his life. His friend groaned, his two hands rubbing his distended belly.

"No wonder I'm... burp... growing fat." he said. "I can't control myself around food, can I ? Sorry for... burp... that. You shouldn't see me like... that."

"Like the glutton you are ?" asked Thomas before thinking.

Dan looked at him and smiled.

"Yeah, something like that."

The ginger lad hesistated. What the hell am I doing ? He wanted to rub Dan's belly, who was obviously in pain. He wanted to put him at ease. To soflty kiss him. To fuck him. No way. This is a terrible idea. Thomas stood up, hiding his erection as best as he could.

"Imma going to sleep." he declared. "Tonight was awesome Dan, thank you. And don't worry, I don't mind if you indulge a bit. I think it's nice."

And he went to his bedroom in order to masturbate.

Dan Thursday January 24 – Friday January 25

When he entered in the sheriff office, Dan sighed. He adjusted his too-tight belt. I shouldn't wear it  anymore, it pinch me. Gregory noticed him and came closer.

"Hi Dan." he greeted. "Here to pick up your criminal sister ?"

It was dark humor. Since she gratuated from highschool, Shirley was often in troubles. Nothing too bad, but she ended up several times at the police station. His brother, maybe because he was naive, maybe because he was too kind, was having her back. He had been lying to their parents all the time for her.

"What did she do this time ?" he asked.

"Well, she entered illegally in a private property. The owner reported her, but he hasn't sued her."

Dan sighed again. Why she turned like this ? During highschool, she had been a top student. Good grades, good in sport, she had had a nice boyfriend. She had even managed to make Raphaël genuinely smile once, which was rarer than snow in summer. Well, she had been in troubles during 11th grade because she was suspected to be homophobic... Since then, she never had made up with their parents. Or him, to be honest. They weren't close at all since she tried to hurt Raphaël. His boyfriend had forgiven her, but Dan had some difficulties to do the same. He only helped because he thought he didn't have a choice.

"The sheriff will be there soon." announced Gregory. "You can wait him here. Donuts ?"

Dan looked at the pastry, but declined politely. He had to save room for Thomas's diner. And he was already gaining weight fast enough. Not even one month, and all his clothes were already snug.

Eventually, Mr. Davos arrived, and after a talk, Dan's sister was free. She looked at him with a smile.

"Sorry big bro." she said. "I promise it'll never happen again."

He wasn't that stupid. It the fourth time in less than a year.

"What were you thinking ?" he asked, irritated. "You know how much troubles you could have been in ?"

She shrugged, detached. She was wearing a dirty speckled pullover, with holed jeans and shoes. She had left their parent's home last july. She had crashed in her boyfriend's home during one month. There, she started to be on a slippery slope. She did pickpocketing, but luckily the victim didn't press charge against her. Then, she tried to resell drugs from the local dealer. Without any real evidence, the sheriff had to let her go. Eventually, around november, Sam had dumped her, and Dan couldn't honestly reproach him for that. She had been a real pain for him, always demanding more and more. I don't know why she became like this. I don't know how to help.

"Shirley, where are you living now ?" he wondered. "And how are you eating ? You should go back home, or come live with me in the worst case."

"No way." she answered. "I'm free, totally free. I'm not going to see mom or dad ever again. And I don't want to live with you."

She looked at him, mocking.

"I wouldn't be able to hold myself... You're so hot."

"That's gross." he mumbled. "Just... Don't do anything stupid again please."

He felt powerless. What can I do ? Maybe he should let the sheriff lock her up. Maybe he should talk with his parents ? He was so hesitant that in the end, he did nothing. He let her go on her own. I'm not the brother of the year...

On the next day morning, Dan was cosily munching cookies when he got a call from Mrs. Muller. She told him the school had contacted her about Thomas, because he and his friends caused a little blast during science lesson, apparently on purpose. What does that mean ? He would never do that. Anyway, he got suspended, which worried his mother. Dan took the time to reassure her. When he hung up, he was very concerned. Thomas's friends probably had done a mistake, and they were all grounded. But still, it wasn't the ginger's type to get suspended. Wait, science class... Does that mean it's Darren who punished them ? Well, Dan's bestfriend was new in town, he probably wasn't affected by Thomas's natural charm. So this explained that. Dan decided to text him, but Raphaël suddenly called.

"This is improper." he said straight. "We can't tolerate this."

I guess he's talking about Thomas... His apathetic tone warned Dan. He was angry.

"I asked you to be nice with him, and this is how he behaves ?" continued Raphaël. "There are limits he can't cross."

The junior didn't answer yet. He knew how to act when his boyfriend was annoyed.

"There's no way I could let such a bad behaviour unpunished. I understand he's sad and he feels abandonned, but this is no excuse to be suspended from science class. I'll call him straight this evening."

"Honey, can you let me handle this ?" suggested Dan.

It was the good moment to step in.

"I'll talk to him, and we'll see what happened. You know it is possible he did nothing wrong. Maybe he just helped his friends ?"

A cold blank followed. Nice, he's thinking. He's always overreacting when it comes to his little brother.

"Fine." eventually agreed Raphaël. "But make sure he perfectly understands. I don't want mom to tell me things like that ever again."

"Sure thing love. Just... try to calm down, there is nothing to be worried about. I got this."

Now I can relate to Mrs. Muller. It must have been very difficult to raise these two boys. Raphaël was already quite a phenomenon. But Thomas had his own difficult character. Dan knew it as soon as he arrived at home this evening.

"Are you gonna lecture me ? Because my teacher already did." he said as an introduction.

The young teenager was smiling. His most genuine, most cheerful smile. I see right through this mask.

"It depend." he answered prudently. "What did you do exactly ?"

"Nothing. Ilhan got the formula wrong and he made a blast. I laughed. Our teacher thought we did it on purpose... I don't like him."

Oh good. So... I guess I'll make the presentations later...

"Look, I'm not your father, and I trust you." Dan stated. "Just be careful next time okay ? We don't want your mother to come back here only to yell at you, right ?"

Thomas lowered his eyes, seemingly ashamed.

"Yes." he said. "Sorry Dan. I didn't intend to put you in trouble."

"No problem buddy."

"To make it up to you, let me cook an amazing diner." suggested the teenager.

And that was how the junior knew he was gonna end the day completely full.

To be continued

Shirley was the main character in the High School Game. She’s a strong and indepedent young women, but who as a tendancy to find troubles. She doesn’t has a major impact in this story, but she’ll be there.

Also, The College Society is coming back next week with chapter 3 !