#the teacher made us write papers every few chapters

[protect-namine]

I have terrible historical imagination and recall so I'm not very good at imagining things happening at the same time in the same era across multiple countries. but I think it's really interesting how history can be viewed in such a different way depending on whose lens you're viewing it from

today I was on a wikipedia rabbit hole and was reading up art nouveau -> belle epoque -> second industrial revolution -> gilded age -> progressive era of the usa. those all occurred roughly the same era, which is the turn of the 20th century until before world war i (roughly 1870s to 1914)

and like. yeah I could imagine all of that happening in the same era. rapid urbanization and scientific/engineering progress (telephones, automobiles and railroads, movies). late victorian era -> edwardian era. the eiffel tower and brooklyn bridge. cabarets, greenhouses, nouveaux riches. optimism due to the turn of the century, technological advancements, and the aftermath of the american civil war and franco-prussian war and napoleonic wars. art and material excess and economic divide. apparently a lot of social activism in usa. h.g. wells and arthur conan doyle and george bernard shaw.

and I was like, okay wait, what was my country doing at that time. it was the treaty of paris, right? and yeah, it was the treaty of paris and the usamerican occupation. huh... vastly different kind of life then. obviously you can't tackle all issues all at once and some issues are systematic and hard to tackle, but in hindsight, there's like... a funny dissonance with knowing that the acquisition of the philippines happened during the start of the progressive era of usa lol

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER EIGHT: CONNECTIONS

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SUMMARY ↳ So.. dinner with the family. Yikes. Damian doesn't release his hold until you're both in a quieter part of the manor, away from potential eavesdroppers. "You enjoy teasing me, don't you?" he murmurs, voice dropping. You grin saliciously. "Of course I do," you reply, your voice teasing as you lean in closer to Damian. "It keeps things interesting, doesn't it?" pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: subtle "accusations" of cheating wc: 4.4k NOTICE: im gonna start adding my notes/end notes on ao3 from now on if i have any. they just include my yapping (the beginning notes are usually just warnings anyway) i might go back and add them to previous chaps, might not.

You actually spend the next morning skipping your first classes in exchange for visiting the Den. You’ve had perfect attendance so far, so you’re only grievance is that you won’t be able to brag about it anymore. You’ll send in an excuse note later.

The reason for your absence is to take note of what you need for the badassium. Karen lists things off for you as you write them on a little note. A lot of it is high-grade expensive stuff. If Victoria can’t get it for you, you’ll just ask her for the money to get it yourself. Or just ask her where you can steal it.

You arrive only a tad bit late to ballet class. That’s a lie, there’s five minutes left till the bell. The teacher barely notices, too occupied with scolding some of the other kids. Victoria sees you enter and scurries over.

“Where were you?” she asks.

You pull out the list, holding it up to her. “Making this.” You hold it out to her. “It’s a list of all the stuff I need. You wanna help me? Get me these.”

She takes the paper, looking it over. “What is it?”

“Materials I need. I’m building something really important.” Victoria’s eyes roam the sheet, before nodding and tucking it into her bra.

“How fast do you need them?”

“As fast as you can get them without raising suspicion. If you can’t get them, either give me the money or tell me where I can pick it up myself.”

Victoria raises a brow. “You’d steal it?”

You shrug. “What, like it’s hard?”

She huffs is disbelief. She’ll get used to you soon enough. The bell rings, and you and Victoria walk out together. “My staff are very discreet,” she reassures. “I will get it to you.”

“Drop it off at this location,” you text her the address. It’s an old apartment close to your Den. No one lives there, you made sure.

Determined to be of use, she nods. You wave her goodbye as you drop her off. Since you missed first period, you’ll only get to see Damian at the end of the day. You also missed lunch, so there goes your most fulfilling meal of the day.

You’re beginning to feel like a zombie. You’ve always been isolated from your peers, not on purpose, most of the time. Your mind is simply far beyond theirs in every universe, it seems. It’s why you started online classes, you simply just couldn’t stand being in school with others. It was just so boring . Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck in class. Life’s rough. Maybe you should start skipping more often. You can definitely catch up, you just have to not miss too many classes.

Ms. M greets you with a bright and cheery disposition, quite the opposite to your current demeanor. You give Ms. M a stiff but polite smile, trying to muster some enthusiasm. She’s one of the few teachers you actually like, her passion for the subject always evident.

You place your head down on your desk, feeling the lull of boredom pull you under. As Ms. M begins her lecture, you try to focus, but your mind keeps drifting back to the list of materials and your plans for the badassium. The thought of finally making significant progress makes you giddy.

Luckily for your peace of mind, Ms. M has a short lecture for the day with no assignment. She leaves the class alone for the remainder of the day. You shut your eyes, breathing calm. Feeling the call of sleep, you answer, escaping from the boringness of the day.

Except a finger flicks your ear, rudely disturbing your would-be sleep.

“Damian,” you murmur, rising. “May I help you?”

“Where were you this morning?” He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. He never does.

“Not here,” you grumble. “I had to take care of some stuff. And I was kind of thinking about not even coming at all.” It’s true. Most people in their right mind just stay home if they’re even ten minutes late.

Damian picks a piece of lint from your collar. “I thought that perhaps you were affected by Ivy’s abilities. After all, I doubt you are capable of taking care of yourself.”

You cup Damian’s face, making his lips pucker. “Aw, is this your roundabout way of saying you want to take care of me? You’re so sweet.”

He takes your hands into his own, pulling them away. “I didn’t think you the unfaithful type, [Name].”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Considering the compromising position I found you and Victoria in, certainly the two of you are… together?” His face twists as he says the last word. Oh, yeah. You forgot that he walked in on the two of you. The whole carnival thing occupied your thoughts.

“Well, first of all–” you start, placing your hands in your lap, tugging his hands there as well. “–you make it sound like we’re in the regency era and I’ve just compromised the young lady Victoria,” you huff in a British accent, rolling your eyes. “Second of all, what you walked in on was a… confusing situation. We kissed, agreed we were better of as friends, and that’s that. I am not the unfaithful type, fuck you,” you grin. Leaning back, you raise your legs so perch them on his thighs. Surprisingly, he lets you.

“So don’t worry, I’m still available and I would never cheat on you, baby.”

He pinches your thigh in retaliation, before moving to massage your calves. You let your head hang over the edge of your chair, relaxing. Damian’s got skilled hands, he has too. From his background as an assassin and his current occupation as Robin. His fingers work the stress out of your muscles. His hands feel really nice.

“We’ll go to my home to work more on the project,” he mutters, focused on his current task. You hum in contentment, the tension in your muscles melting away under Damian's skilled hands. “Sounds good to me,” you murmur. “Alfred makes really good sandwiches.”

Damian continues to knead your calves for a few more moments before finally stopping. “You’ve become spoiled.”

You laugh softly, sitting up and stretching. “Says the rich one.” You and Damian gather your things as the last bell rings. Stepping outside, you breathe in the cool air. It’s getting colder in Gotham, soon it’ll start snowing. Damian’s hand finds its place on your back, guiding you to the car. You make sure to greet Alfred as you step inside. 

“How’s Jon doing?” you ask. “I hope he isn’t too embarrassed about what happened.”

“Jon is fine. The antidote did it’s part. As for his unnecessary embarrassment…” he trails off, “...you should ask him yourself.”

You tsk. “Useless,” you joke. You have a feeling Jon will do anything to ignore and forget about what happened, so you’re not sure how easy it’ll be to ask him.

Wayne Manor stands before you once again as you arrive. The sprawling estate is both imposing and welcoming, a testament to the Wayne family’s legacy. You step out of the car, feeling a mix of anticipation and exhaustion.

When you enter, you’re greeted by a loud bark. A large dog, a Great Dane, rounds the corner. He trots happily towards Damian, panting. Damian gives him generous pets.

“This is Titus,” he introduces. Titus barks at you in greeting.

You grin reaching out a hand to pet him. “Hi, Titus.” Titus leans into your scritches, making you coo and increase your petting tenfold. 

“Sorry about that! I guess he knew you were here and got excited,” says a voice, rounding the corner. A figure clad is comfy loungewear makes his way over to the two of you. You clock him immediately as none other than Dick Grayson. He bears a charming smile as he approaches.

“You must be Damian’s friend I’ve heard so much about,” he greets, holding out a hand.

You shake it, looking at Damian smugly. “You talk about me, Dami?” You grin as he glares at you.

“I’m his older brother, Dick.”

The urge to make a joke is very strong, but you persevere. Wrong audience. “Nice to meet you. Damian hasn't mentioned you at all," you tease lightly, shooting Damian a playful glance.

Dick chuckles, looking between you and Damian with a knowing expression. "I can see that. Well, if you're Damian's friend, you're welcome here anytime. And it's always nice to meet someone who can keep him on his toes."

You chuckle softly, liking his easygoing demeanor. "Thanks, Dick. I'll do my best to keep him in line."

Damian doesn’t like how you and his brother are plotting against him in front of him, so he grabs you arm and drags you away. “We have work to do, Grayson. Do not bother us.”

Dick grins and winks as you two disappear from view. As Damian drags you away, you shoot Dick a playful wave before disappearing from view. You can hear Dick's laughter echoing behind you, amused.

Damian doesn't release his hold until you're both in a quieter part of the manor, away from potential eavesdroppers. "You enjoy teasing me, don't you?" he murmurs, voice dropping.

You grin saliciously. "Of course I do," you reply, your voice teasing as you lean in closer to Damian. "It keeps things interesting, doesn't it?"

“It seems to be your only talent,” he says, turning to look at you. Your faces are close together, breaths intermingling.

Your playful grin widens at his comment, enjoying the closeness as Damian's gaze meets yours. "Oh, I have plenty of talents," you retort smoothly, teasingly brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Damian's pupils dilate, a glint flickering in his eyes before he regains his composure.

"Is that so?" he challenges, a smirk playing on his lips. His hand, which had been resting on your arm, moves to lightly trace the line of your jaw, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

You lean into his touch, meeting his gaze with a mixture of playfulness and genuine affection. "Mhm," you murmur, your voice low. "But you'll have to stick around to find out all my secrets."

The intensity in Damian's eyes deepens, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. "Maybe I intend to," he replies, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Before the moment can escalate further, a loud bark interrupts the thick atmosphere. Titus, ever the loyal companion, trots over to Damian’s side, breaking the spell between you and Damian. You chuckle softly, pulling back slightly as Damian withdraws his hand.

Damian straightens beside you, brushing his hands down his front. Clearing his throat, grumbles. “We are distracted, we should be working.”

You shrug, easy. “You’re the guide.”

Damian leads you into the same room you worked in the last time you visited. Titus takes perch under the table, settling in and curling up. Today will probably be the last time you’re invited over for a while, if not indefinitely. You’re sure you’ll finish the powerpoint in an hour or so, so you wonder if Damian will kick you out as soon as that happens.

You hand Damian your laptop, since it’s been mostly you doing the actual work, it’s his turn. His fingers fly across the keys as he types. You sit on the table next to him and point out things he should add. You both work in comfortable silence, occasionally broken by your comments and Damian's terse responses. The atmosphere is focused, the earlier playful tension replaced by a shared sense of purpose. 

After an hour or so, you lean back, stretching your arms above your head. "I think that covers everything," you say, looking over the final slide.

Damian gives a final, scrutinizing look at the presentation before nodding in agreement. "It’s comprehensive," he admits, shutting the laptop. "We should be prepared for any questions they throw at us."

"Good," you reply, hopping off the table. "Now that the hard part's done, let's hope the presentation goes smoothly."

Damian closes your laptop and sets it aside. "It will. We've covered every angle. Even if they ask something unexpected, we can handle it."

You smile, appreciating his confidence. You stretch once more, your muscles appreciating the movement after sitting for so long. Titus wakes up from his nap, prancing over to you. You kneel and pet his face generously. He whines when you pull away to gather your stuff.

As you gather your things, you notice Damian watching you with an inscrutable expression. You can't quite read what's going on in his mind, but there's a sense of something unsaid lingering in the air.

“What is it?” you ask.

Damian hesitates, which he seems to do a lot around you. It’s strange to you how someone who appears so sure of himself, so absolute can do such a thing. “What are your plans for your future?”

You blink, taken aback. “Like… after high school?”

He nods, his gaze intense. "Yes. What do you see yourself doing?"

It's a question you haven't given much thought to, caught up as you are in the present challenges. You don’t really want to give it much thought. Being here long enough to go to college makes your stomach turn. You can’t pretend like you have been miserable all this time. You’ve made friends, made a life here. But it’s not your life.

“I haven’t really thought about a college or anything. I know I want to help people,” you say, eyes trailing off. “What do you wanna do?”

Damian’s expression softens. “I want to continue my fathers legacy. Do everything to make the city safer, I suppose. However, I would also like to explore my own interests.”

“I look forward to seeing your art in a museum, Damian,” you declare, facing him.

There's a moment of shared understanding between you, a recognition of the complexities that lie beneath the surface. It's a comforting feeling, knowing that despite your differences, you share a common drive to carve out your own paths.

A polite knock echoes against the door before it opens. Dick pokes his head out with a smile on his face. “Hey, you two. Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

You shake your head. “Nah, we just finished.” You shoulder your bag over your shoulder. “I was actually about to head out.”

Dick perks up. “Actually, Alfred wanted to know if you would like to stay for dinner.”

Behind you, Damian freezes and narrows his eyes. “As [Name] was just saying, they were leaving–”

“–Actually I think I will stay for dinner,” you grin at Damian. Only a fool would skip out on a chance to taste Alfred Pennyworth’s cooking. Any pokes and prods about your identity you’ll meet head on, and any chance to embarrass Damian is a good chance.

Dick matches your grin, nodding. “I’ll let him know.” He disappears, closing the door and leaving you two alone

Damian scowls. “Whatever you are planning–”

“I have no wrong intentions whatsoever Damian,” you furrow your brows and place a hand on your chest in mock offense. “I’m offended you think so low of me.”

Damian's scowl deepens, clearly not amused by your teasing. "You always have some ulterior motive," he accuses, crossing his arms.

You step closer, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. "Maybe I just want to enjoy a nice dinner with your family. Is that such a crime?"

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Fine. But don't think I won't be watching you."

You smirk playfully. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

With that settled, you follow Damian out of the room and into the sprawling manor once more. The atmosphere shifts slightly as you join Damian and Titus, walking through the grand halls towards the dining room. You can't help but feel a mixture of excitement and curiosity about what dinner with the Wayne family will entail.

When you step into the room your senses immediately buzz with anticipation, jittering around your skull. Just about every single member of the Batfamily is present. Even goddamn Jason Todd is here, helping Alfred set the table. It boosts your ego a little bit. Bruce Wayne greets you as you enter.

“I’m glad we can have you over,” he smiles. “Damian doesn’t have many friends to bring over.”

You snort at Damian’s grunt. You decide not to push Damian's buttons further in front of his family. For now. "Thank you for having me, Mr. Wayne," you reply politely.

Bruce nods back, his smile warm and welcoming. "Please, call me Bruce. Make yourself at home."

You take your seat at the large table, Damian at one side and Dick at the other. Everyone else settles in as well. Alfred serves the meal, a fancy foreign meal you don’t understand the name of. Damian, of course, gets a vegetarian portion of it.

Jason speaks up first. “You gonna introduce us or what?” He asks Damian. He looks about a second way from pulling out a hidden knife from somewhere, so Dick jumps in to save the day.

“This is [Name], they’re Damian’s classmate and…” he pauses for dramatic effect, “...friend!”

The table erupts in chuckles at Dick's teasing, though Damian remains stoic and unamused. You take the opportunity to greet everyone with a friendly smile and a wave.

"It's nice to meet all of you," you say, trying to match their warm reception despite Damian's icy demeanor.

Tim, who's been quietly observing the interaction, finally speaks up. "So, [Name], Damian's told us a bit about you. How's school been treating you?"

You take a moment to collect your thoughts. "It's been... interesting," you reply diplomatically, trying not to reveal too much. "I’m used to online so it’s definitely an experience."

“[Name] takes a ballet class. They are also the lead in the upcoming winter performance,” Damian pipes up, no doubt trying to put you on the spot. Asshole.

Stephanie grins. “No way! Cass does ballet too,” she claps a hand on Cass’s shoulder. Cass nods. She signs ‘what is your favorite move?’ . Barbara opens her mouth, prepared to translate what Cass said, but you beat her to the punch. You respond, fingers moving in practiced efficiency to gesture out your favorite move. Cass grins in approval.

“You know sign?” asks Duke.

“I know a lot of languages,” you smile. It’s true. Many of the Avengers know multiple languages, and they took to teaching you as much as they could. You even learned some Asgardian to impress Thor (he cried). Nat said it was a crucial skill to have.

“Like what?” asks Bruce, leaning in.

You look up as you think. “Russian, Italian, Spanish, some German, some Latin…” you trail off, “...etcetera. My dad has a lot of cool friends.”

A shared look of impressed spreads throughout the room.  Bruce hums, “and what about your father? What does he do?”

“He invents things. Right now he’s on vacation. Don’t remember where exactly he said, but he sends me money every now and again.”

Bruce gets a kind of sour look on his face before nodding. “Ah, sounds like quite the character,” Bruce responds with a nod, trying to maintain his composure. You sense there might be more to Bruce's reaction, perhaps his adoption senses are tingling (God forbid). The dinner conversation continues on lighter notes as everyone shares anecdotes and stories, keeping the atmosphere lively.

“Damian says you also like to invent and program things,” pipes up Dick.

“Yeah, I’m actually working on something right now. It’s pretty big, but hopefully it’s works,” you reply vaguely.

“Your father must be very proud of your accomplishments,” Bruce remarks, his tone measured. He gets a couple of side-eyes.

You nod. “Yeah, he always encourages me to pursue my interests. He’s pretty cool like that.”

Barbara chuckles, "It's always good to have interests outside of school. Keeps things exciting."

Tim nods in agreement, sipping his drink. “Yeah, I dabble in programming too. It’s a useful skill to have.”

After a while, Alfred brings out dessert - a decadent chocolate mousse that looks almost too good to eat. Everyone digs in eagerly, sharing their thoughts on the meal and enjoying the dessert in comfortable chatter.

Throughout the evening, you notice Bruce observing you with a mix of curiosity and concern, as if trying to gauge something beyond your words. His occasional glances toward Damian and Dick imply a silent conversation that you're not privy to, though you catch a few knowing looks exchanged between the brothers.

As the dinner winds down, Alfred discreetly clears away the dishes, signaling the end of the meal. You offer to help with the dishes, but Alfred kindly declines, insisting that you're a guest tonight.

Dick stretches contentedly, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled over the table. "Well, it's been great having you over, [Name]. Hope you enjoyed the meal."

"Yeah, thanks for letting me crash dinner," you reply warmly, smiling around the table. "It's been really nice."

Damian stands abruptly. “I believe [Name] should be heading home now,” he states, pointedly ignoring the snickers.

You nod, rising from your seat. "Right. Thanks again for having me, everyone."

“You’re more than welcome to stay the night, [Name],” smirks Tim. “We have plenty of room, though I’m sure Damian would be happy to–” Cass pinches Tim’s ear, interrupting his sentence.

You smile at their antics. “My cat is waiting for me, so I have to pass. I appreciate the offer, though.”

Bruce nods, his expression serious yet not unkind. "Anytime, [Name]. You're welcome here."

With a final round of goodbyes and well-wishes, you follow Damian out of the dining room. The atmosphere between you two is quieter now, the playful tension from earlier replaced by a sense of calm. "You enjoyed yourself tonight," Damian states, more a statement than a question.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, your family's pretty entertaining. I like their dynamic.”

There's a moment of silence as you both stand there, the air thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. You take a step closer, closing the distance between you and Damian. His gaze meets yours, a mixture of intensity and vulnerability that surprises you.

"You know," you begin, your voice low, "I do really like teasing you, Damian. But I also... appreciate our time together." Your heart beats a little faster as you admit this, feeling vulnerable yet strangely liberated.

Damian's expression softens further, a rare vulnerability in his eyes as he looks at you. "I... feel the same," he confesses quietly, almost hesitantly.

Before either of you can say more, the door creaks open, and Dick pokes his head in with a cheeky grin. "Hey, you two. Hate to interrupt, but Alfred’s outside ready to take [Name] home."

Damian straightens abruptly, a hint of irritation flickering across his features. "We'll be there shortly," he replies tersely, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

Dick raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Sure thing. Don't keep Alfred waiting too long," he teases before closing the door.

You roll your eyes playfully at Dick's teasing as he disappears, leaving you and Damian alone once more. There's a brief moment where neither of you speaks, the tension palpable in the air. Finally, Damian breaks the silence.

"We should go," he says, his voice low but firm.

You nod in agreement, trying to dispel the awkwardness that has settled between you. "Right. Let's go."

Together, you and Damian make your way out towards the front door of Wayne Manor. The grandeur of the mansion surrounds you, yet it feels less intimidating now, having spent an evening with Damian's family. As you step outside into the cool night air, Alfred waits patiently by the car, ready to drive you home. Damian walks beside you, carrying your stuff, his demeanor slightly tense yet thoughtful.

As you approach the car, Damian walks up to Alfred and mutters to him. Alfred raises a prim brow, handing Damian the keys with a nod. He walks back towards the Manor, where you see the rest of the family either peeking out the door or straight up standing outside looking. You snort. Damian sets your stuff in the backseat, opening the passenger side door for you to enter. You hum in appreciation, sitting inside.

Bruce watches the car drive away, a pinch in his brow.

“I thought Damian liked Jon?” questions Duke.

“He does.” Barbara squints. Tim gestures to the leaving car. “Then what was that?” he asks. Cassandra hums. “He also likes them, he doesn’t know it yet. Or he is just in denial.”

“Well if Cass says it’s so, then it’s so,” nods Stephanie sagely. Alfred leans closer to Bruce. “They may become part of your brood yet.”

"Perhaps," Bruce murmurs quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. Duke leans in, intrigued. "You think they're good for Damian?"

Bruce considers his words carefully before responding. "I think [Name] challenges Damian in ways that are both positive and... complicated."

Inside the car, Damian focuses on the road ahead, his grip tight on the steering wheel. The drive is quiet. You watch as people go on with their lives. Very few people roam the streets at this hour. You steal glances at Damian occasionally, noting the tense set of his jaw and the focused look in his eyes.

As you approach your apartment building, Damian breaks the silence. "I apologize for my family's... curiosity," he says, his voice soft yet tinged with annoyance.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. "It's alright, Damian. They just want to get to know me better."

Damian parks the car and turns to face you, his expression unreadable. "They can be... overwhelming at times," he admits reluctantly.

"You're lucky to have them," you remark sincerely.

Damian steps out of the car, grabbing your bag and walking you to the front door. The air feels like a stark contrast to the warmth of Wayne Manor. Damian's gaze meets yours, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. You lean in slightly, hesitating for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, just like last night. Damian freezes for an instant, different to his lack of reaction before.

"Goodnight, Damian," you murmur, pulling back slightly.

"Goodnight, [Name]," he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

With a final smile, you close the door behind you. Damian stands there for a moment longer before driving away into the night. As you enter your apartment, you're greeted by the familiar sight of Nari lounging on the couch. Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

‘All of your materials have been delivered to the address.’ is what greets you when you open up Victoria’s chat. You grin, sending a thank you. Your bed feels like heaven as you sink into it. Tomorrow real progress will be made, and you can’t wait.

notes: reader and damian are practically dating already lets be honest they just dont know it yet

[szynkaaa]

04. In Which They Have Language Lessons Together

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“What are those symbols you are writing above?” A bored monkey king was lounged in a chair next to me, his eyes following my hands gripping my fountain pen and scribbling things into a book that Shen Monkey gave me. Or rather, he was going to throw it away, and I decided to take it. It first started out with just being curious to see how books were made in ye olde ancient China, and then turned to slightly horrified when I realized, I can’t read half of the text inside.  

I usually pride myself with being able to understand and speak Chinese fluently. Informal Chinese, but better than nothing. My reading skills were also good enough to be able to read Chinese boys love web novels at three am in the dark, on the bed sideways with autor-otate turned off on the phone.  

The unfortunate reality was that I learned how to read simplified Chinese, which in my world was adapted less than 100 years ago from my time. That means while I was able to recognize some words and characters, a lot of I was not able to read the full text and understand the context.  

It’s like having learned French for a year on-and-off and when you open up The Little Prince in French, you are only able to understand every third word or less. Sometimes you understood the sentence context, other times there were just too many unfamiliar vocabularies for me to make any sense of what it was trying to say.  

Not being able to read a text in a language that I was familiar gave me a sense of loss of control, and there was nothing less I liked than not being in control of things in my life.  

So that was something I needed to rectify, and unfortunately for my favorite monkey, you were tasked with helping me learn how to read some words. And you seemed to be very happy when I approached you and asked you to help me. I haven’t seen much of you lately, as you were busy discussing with your generals and rebuilding Mount Huaguo, making sure it was habitable again, so I supposed you jumped at the first chance to be able to spend more time with me.  

Might have also heard you yelling ‘Clear my schedule for the next few days’ to your advisors, who did not look very happy about it but did not argue further with you.  

So here we are now, sitting outside in a nice forest clearing close to the waterfall, with books and papers and ink and brushes scattered across the table. You plucked a few of your fur, chewed on them and then blew them out to turn them into furniture.  

Very practical to have a walking and talking IKEA store with me.  

The ‘symbols’ you’re asking about are the Pinyin I was writing above the Chinese. “Those are Latin letters,” I explained “back in my world, we use Pinyin as a way to write down how Chinese characters sound, and have a standardized system. It uses Latin letters, because it also helps foreigners to learn Chinese.” The explanation was a very dumbed down one, but I hoped it was enough for you to understand the gist of it. “By writing it down above the characters I don’t recognize, I will know now how this word is pronounced. So the next step will be memorizing and hopefully next time I see the same character in another text, I can point at it and go ‘Hey, I know this because Old Sun taught me this’”.  

Your tail perked up at me calling you Old Sun, and you grinned. “So this is why you want my help. Do not fret, with your Monkey King as your teacher, you will be able to read every text in the mortal realm.” You boasted, tail now swinging left and right.  

My hair fell over my face, the long strand dipping into the clay tray that was holding the black ink. I grimaced at the ink staining the tip of my hair, and tucked the strand over my ear. My hair has goes a bit over my shoulder now. I was mostly used to short hair, but you liked to play with my longer hair, so I haven’t gotten around to cut it yet.  

“Latin letters...” you repeated what I said, and then pointed at the Pinyin again, “Is this the writing system used when you speak ‘English’?”  

I had to bite back a laugh, remembering your very confused face the first time you heard me cussing and cursing out loud in English at a yaoguai, because sometimes it was better they didn’t understand what my filthy mouth was saying.  

“Yeah, it's that. There are many other languages that use the same writing system.” More hair fell into my face, but you reacted fast this time and put the tray of ink color away before my hair could dip into it again. I gathered my hair in my hands and tucked it under my hanfu, hoping they will stay there.  

“Chinese and English... Impressive, my cherry blossom speaks knows two languages.” You said, a grin across your face, like you were very proud about the fact that I was multilingual.  

“Four.” I corrected you, and took a sip from my tea. You raised your eyebrow, even more impressed now. “Except three of them are virtually useless here, and I am struggling to read basic text here.” I added, pointing at said text book in front of me.  

My hair fell forward once again, and you could tell that I was getting frustrated by having to constantly pull my hair back somehow.  

“Why do you not use the hairpin gifted to you by the zodiac villagers.” You asked, there was a bit of bite in that question. The hairpin you were referring to was a birthday present from the villagers, given to me when I was seeking shelter there and hiding away from you for a few weeks. I think a part of you was also hurt that you missed my birthday when I was avoiding you, and I insisted that it was alright, and you didn’t have to get me anything.  

“I don’t know how to use it.” I replied, thinking back about the hairpin sitting on my vanity, unused.  

You remained silent at first, so I went back to studying and copying characters I was unfamiliar with, repeating the Pinyin silently trying to memorize it, when is saw from the corner of my eye how you picked Jingubang out of your ear. I looked up again, your golden staff now the size of a hairpin in your hand.  

“Face me and do not move.” You commanded.  

I did as you asked, putting my pen down and shuffled in my chair to be facing you. My heart was starting to pick up speed, my gut predicting what is coming next.  

You leaned forward, close to my face. With Jingubang in one hand, you used your free hand to gather my hair, and then moved both hands back to twist it a few times around your staff. In a few seconds, my hair out of my face, and tied up neatly around Jingubang.  

You then leaned back, and had a big proud smile on your face. “There, now you do not have to worry about the ink staining your whole black hair back.” You said, referring also to our time on the road when I temporarily tried to dye my hair black.  

My face heated up, and I carefully reached a hand to the back of my head to feel your masterwork, fingers running over Jingubang. There was something very precious and special knowing that he transformed his trusty golden staff into the size of a hairpin and then tied my hair up for me...  

“Thank you.” I said sincerely, and without thinking much, I quickly moved my head forward and planted a kiss on the cheek-part of your face that was covered in fur. The result was instant: The tip of your ears was turning red and a big red blush began to blossom on your face. Oh, how I loved seeing you blush, and even more when it was me who caused it.  

With the speed your tail was waggling, one would think you were trying to dust the floor.  

“Do you wanna know how to write your name in Pinyin?”

  

[hikaritakaishi]

Takari Week 2024 - Day 1: First Summer

Dias: [ 1 ] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Title: Mnemosyne [Prologue I] (First Summer)

Characters: Takeru Takaishi

Summary: The world performs in mysterious and strange ways. He didn't even understand the meaning of destiny at that time, but in the subsequent years he was grateful for every force in the universe that had made them reach that place together. Right when they needed each other the most.

Note: A collection of stories that gives us an insight into Takeru and Hikari's relationship over the years. It was really hard to put all the prompts explicitly in the story, so I tried to metaphorize some of them, in order for them to make sense at the end.

It is composed of two prologues, one for Takeru and one for Hikari, exposing events before 1999. And a final epilogue, summarizing all the feelings exposed in the previous chapters. In the intermediate chapters, we follow all the challenges that a long-term friendship has to face when it becomes a romantic relationship, and how we form solid and permanent bonds with the ones we love the most.

・。。・゜゜・。。・

His little hand gripped the pencil tightly. He didn't know what to write. In front of him, a piece of paper with the word family written in computer letter on top. And nothing more.

He couldn't think of anything good enough to write. His restless legs gently tapped the floor, again and again, impatiently.

In his poor understanding of his own emotions, he felt frustrated. Confused to say the least. Maybe a little scared even.

He just wanted to get away from there.

Not exactly going home, because home felt a little bit empty now. He didn't want to be alone, either. He felt alone most of the time lately. Even though he had friends at school, he knew they didn't understand what he was going through. And didn't want to talk about it. Despite all his mother's efforts to play it normally, he knew that even for her, it was a complicated situation to live with and to adapt. Everything was different, and there were no expectations of change.

"Why don't you write something about your mom or dad? "

Said the boy seated next to him, noticing the blank page in front of Takeru. "They are your family, aren't they?"

"I never saw your father, Takeru, is he alive?" 

Asked the girl who was sitting in the desk right behind him, trying to have a glimpse of his schoolwork. That statement was something that came naturally, unconsciously, that little girl did not think about what she said.

"Ah..."

His voice sounded insecure and lower than usual. He tightened his grip on the pencil even more. His little feet began to circle under the table.

"He just... doesn't live in the same... house, as me and my mom..."

"Is it just you and your mom?" Continued the girl. "That must be fell... lonely."

"Sometimes...But I know my mom loves me."

"Write that then!"

He couldn't.

He couldn't write that he felt alone in a text about his family that his mother could eventually read. The teacher would be uneased. And she would question him about that. And he didn't want to talk about it.

"I am writing about my brother and my sister!" The boy broke the brief silence that came upon them. "They are my heroes!"

The boy's tone of voice created a certain envy within Takeru's heart.

Yamato.

He missed his brother. They hadn't spoken in a few days, and he was afraid to ask to call again. He didn't want to be annoying or bother anyone. But what if Yamato forgets about him?

"It must be horrible to be an only child, right?"

He didn't know. Because he was not, an only child. But somehow, it felt horrible that it seemed like it for other people. Almost embarrassing.

What kind of siblings live apart?

And why couldn't he have a normal family?

Why did his parents have to hate each other?

He felt his head start spinning.

Slowly, placed the pencil on the table and raised his hand. His heart was beating hard, he felt like it would burst at any moment. He held back his tears until the teacher finally noticed his presence.

"Is everything ok, Takeru?"

"I just... need to go to the bathroom!"

"Oh... ok. "The teacher seemed surprised at first but then smiled. "You can go, but don't take too long!"

"Thank you..."

He left the classroom in complete silence, while he heard his classmates' pencils tapping on the table, and small, almost inaudible conversations going on in the back of the class. Were they talking about him? It didn't matter, he just wanted to get out of there for a few moments.

He walked to the end of the hallway and went down the stairs. The bathrooms were on the first floor, and he had classes on the second.

He started running when he reached the first floor straight to the bathrooms, noticing that no one was aroud.

Entering, Takeru closed the door softly so no one could hear him. He then sat in one humid and cold corner and hugged his legs. Lowered his head and rested it on his knees. Sighed. He could cry without anyone seeing him.

・。。・゜゜・。。・

You can also find it in: Fanfiction.net & Wattpad

[sideprince]

Can we talk about this for a moment please:

‘Sir Cadogan, did you just let a man enter Gryffindor Tower?’ ‘Certainly, good lady!’ cried Sir Cadogan. There was a stunned silence, both inside and outside the common room. ‘You - you did?’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘But - but the password!’ ‘He had ‘em!’ said Sir Cadogan proudly. ‘Had the whole week’s, my lady! Read ‘em off a little piece of paper!’ Professor McGonagall pulled herself back through the portrait hole to face the stunned crowd. She was white as chalk. ‘Which person,’ she said, her voice shaking, ‘which abysmally foolish person wrote down this week’s passwords and left them lying around?’ There was utter silence, broken by the smallest of terrified squeaks. Neville Longbottom, trembling from head to fluffy-slippered toes, raised his hand slowly into the air.

-Prisoner of Azkaban, Ch. 13

According to Sir Cadogan, Neville had the whole week's passwords, which implies that Neville was only in possession of the paper he'd written it on for a week at most. In fact, in the previous chapter after McGonagall gives Harry back his Firebolt and says, “I daresay you’ll need to get the feel of it before Saturday’s match, won’t you?” Harry and Ron run into Neville:

They turned into the corridor to Gryffindor Tower and saw Neville Longbottom, pleading with Sir Cadogan, who seemed to be refusing him entrance. ‘I wrote them down,’ Neville was saying tearfully, ‘but I must’ve dropped them somewhere!’ ‘A likely tale!’ roared Sir Cadogan. Then, spotting Harry and Ron, ‘Good even, my fine young yeomen! Come clap this loon in irons, he is trying to force entry to the chambers within!’ ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Ron, as he and Harry drew level with Neville. ‘I’ve lost the passwords!’ Neville told them miserably. ‘I made him tell me what passwords he was going to use this week, because he keeps changing them, and now I don’t know what I’ve done with them!’

-PoA, Ch. 12

Stay with me, there is actually a point to all this.

The Quidditch game was on Saturday. Sirius Black entered Gryffindor Tower that same night. In the next chapter (Ch. 14) we see Ron spend the next few days getting attention for Sirius' attack, then he and Harry are invited to Hagrid's - who wants to talk to them about Hermione - and when they get back to Gryffindor Tower that evening there's a post on the noticeboard about a Hogsmeade visit that weekend. We know that Hogsmeade visits only happen every few months, and that the last one was in Ch. 10.

So the timeline would be:

Neville gets passwords and writes them down

Quidditch match within the same week

Sirius attacks Gryffindor Tower

Hogsmeade weekend announced for the Saturday following the match

Therefore Neville could not have possibly gone into Hogsmeade, ie. left school grounds, between writing the list of passwords and Sirius entering Gryffindor Tower. Which means that if Neville had lost the paper with the week's passwords on it, he could only have done so on school grounds. Yet no one, including the teachers, is asking the question of how Sirius Black was able to get his hands on Neville's cheat sheet if it meant he had to enter school grounds to do so in the first place.

In fact, all McGonagall does is punish Neville and prevent him from going into Gryffindor Tower by himself, while not checking the school's security and searching for the breach in it that allowed Sirius to get into the grounds in the first place. Sure, we know that he did so because he was an animagus and apparently the protective charms don't apply to animals (which, as an animagus and Deputy Headmistress, McGonagall should have flagged), and we know that it was Crookshanks who stole Neville's passwords to give to Sirius. But McGongagall doesn't know this. Neither does the rest of the staff. All they know is that a student lost a list of passwords on school grounds, and Sirius Black got his hands on them - inevitably also while on school grounds.

And yet no one reaches this conclusion or does anything about it.

[lily-blue]

13 reasons why | reason no.7: their iced coffee can mend a broken heart

☆ characters: manager!wonwoo & teacher assistant!you (Yuri - ‘98 liner) ☆ genre: coffee shop au, angst, fluff ☆ summary: after your boyfriend breaks up with you in public, you tell yourself you aren’t ready for another relationship; however, Wonwoo is willing to wait until you are ☆ words: 9,1k ☆ massive thank you: to @dat-town​ ♥ for proofreading this chapter; i appreciate you a lot, i hope you know it ☆ taglist: @soobin-chois​

➼ chapter index

Getting a chance to challenge yourself as a teacher assistant had always been the plan. It was an amazing teaching experience at a prestigious university that you would have been a fool to decline even if you would have liked to work with high schoolers in the future. Many of your students were barely out of high school anyway, the memory of CSATs struggles still vivid in their mind. It was as good of an opportunity as you could get without working experience and you had always liked being a busy bee anyway.

You didn’t mind when you needed to answer ridiculous questions in and outside of class. You never complained when you had to grade assignments on top of submitting your own papers. A part of you actually liked giving detailed, written feedback to freshmen because it was always harder to guide them in person despite your seniority. You might have been confident in what you knew and had learned through the years, but the lingering awkwardness before speaking to someone for the first time often made you insecure. You needed a fair amount of time to get used to people.

Drumming on the hard surface of your old phone’s screen, you counted the seconds until the subway’s door opened and you could finally ran towards the café where your boyfriend was waiting for you. Joon had called you a few minutes past your lunch break, so you had been already teaching Creative Writing to a smaller group of students at your favourite seminar that semester, but luckily, you had time to read his messages while you had been waiting in line in front of your professor’s office for next week’s exam papers, hence all were good. You had agreed to meet at a coffee shop halfway between his workplace and the university, then promised him that you would be quick.

Relatively speaking, it shouldn’t have taken longer than ten more minutes. You had been the next one in line, you had only needed to pick up the papers and go, but professor Byeon had been adamant to tell you about the teaching opportunity at the high school where her son was attending and you couldn’t have left until you had gotten every possible contact information and instruction you might have needed to apply for the job. It was your dream job after all and she had willingly offered to write you a recommendation letter.

You were out of breath by the time you pushed the double doors open and you almost crashed into someone close to the entrance of Coffee Carat when you rushed inside without knowing where exactly your boyfriend was sitting.

‘I’m sorry,’ you apologised, but the gesture was also rushed; you didn’t even look the person in the eyes, too busy to scan the shop’s customer area.

Joon was chuckling when your gaze fell on his figure, but he didn’t laugh at your dishevelled appearance as he usually would have done with endearment written all over his face. Instead, he was staring at his phone. The sight pulled the corners of your mouth upwards. You wondered whether he was still playing with the same game he had shown you two weeks ago or he had already found another one he could have obsessed over.

Since you couldn’t see any drinks or pastries on the table in front of your boyfriend, you decided to surprise him for being so patient and understanding; thus, you walked up to the counter and ordered a cup of espresso for him with sugar and milk, two pieces of chocolate shortcake, and an iced coffee for yourself. It might have been late October already, but the cold weather never urged you to opt for something warmer.

‘I am so sorry, miss. Our freezer is currently out of order, but our manager is already on it. In the meantime, I can make you any other drink on the menu for the same price or if it is not a huge inconvenience, I can prepare your drink when hyung is back with the ice. In case of the latter, it is obviously on the house,’ the barista informed you politely with an apologetic smile and you stole a glance at Joon before you made a decision.

‘It’s fine. I can wait for it,’ you reassured him a bit clumsily, telling him where you would sit, so he could find you easier later.

Although the kind barista - Seokmin as his nametag suggested - offered a helping hand with the goods you had ordered, you told him you could manage and you really did. You lifted up the packed tray with ease and carried it to your table without any mishaps.

‘I’m sorry it took me so long,’ you started as soon as you took a seat across from Joon, even before you took off your coat. You didn’t intend to take his support for granted, not like how your mom had done to your father before he had left, so you always made sure to apologise first when something like this happened.

‘It’s not like it’s surprising anymore, is it?’ Your boyfriend retorted with a chuckle, making you frown with his comment, although you were aware you deserved it. The two of you had gotten together in January and you had made a habit of being late from dates and skipping on them altogether because of your other responsibilities. The only reason you could still show your face around him and his friends was that you knew you genuinely tried your hardest to be present in your relationship.

And he appreciated you for it just as much as you appreciated him for not giving up on you.

‘Okay, I admit that, but this time, I promise I have a really good reason for being late,’ you claimed while you reached out for one of the shortcakes and placed it in front of you on the table. You picked up a fork and sliced a small bite off it so that you could try it moderately. You didn’t want to make the same mistake you had made at the restaurant where you had gone with Joon on your 100th day: it had been a fancy place in Gangnam, but you had almost choked on their cheesecake, it had been that dry.

‘You always have a good reason for it,’ your boyfriend reminded you, his teasing wording as familiar as the furrow between his brows lately. He was right, though. You would have never made him wait without a good reason: whenever it happened, you were convinced that you either had a slightly more important task to finish or something you couldn’t have missed out on.

‘It’s true, but this time, it’s huge! You won’t believe i–’

‘I think it’s enough,’ Joon claimed, his voice lacking the warmth it always held when he was talking to you. The way he was looking at you now rendered you immobile; the fork in your hand trembled a bit before it came to a clumsy halt in front of your lips.

‘What?’

Your first thought was that Joon had had one of those awful days at work. It happened rarely, but when his sunbae gave him too much extra work or criticised his performance too harshly, he couldn’t bear other people’s happiness. Their achievements and excitement only upsetted him more and made him say things he wouldn’t have said otherwise.

‘We should break up. No… we need to break up,’ your boyfriend stumbled over his words in order to find the most suitable ones that wouldn’t have left any space for misunderstandings. One glance at his hardened features made it obvious that he didn’t want you to cling onto him and whine. He had the same look in his eyes when he had scolded you in front of his friends for being too excited about the movie you had been about to watch in the cinema and when he had told you how to behave around his family members before he had introduced you to his parents. ‘Look, I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of being someone’s second, third and fourth choice when I should be their one and only,’ he explained and your throat closed up while you were listening.

‘I…’ hadn’t meant to make you feel that way; this was what you wanted to tell Joon, but the words refused to come out of your mouth.

‘I’m leaving then. I’ve already packed your things, you can pick them up whenever you have some spare time, but I would prefer it if you didn’t come over unannounced.’ Your eyes were brimming with tears, but you tried your best to not let them run down your cheeks. You didn’t want to make a scene in public; you hated how he was doing this to you in public. ‘Could you give your keys back now? My landlord wouldn’t want anyone to copy them and…’

At that point, your brain got too overwhelmed to comprehend what he was saying. Not that it really mattered whether he wanted you to give those keys back because he truly believed you would have broken into his apartment when you two weren’t in a relationship anymore or it was his landlord’s request for safety reasons. Because at the end of the day, you had no right to have them in your possession anymore, anyway.

You swallowed the itchy knot in your throat, but it came back again by the time you grabbed your bag and found the requested item in the middle of the chaos. You loved your tote bag a lot, it had cute cats painted on the harsh canvas on both sides and you had bought it on sale in your freshman year, but it didn’t help much in situations like this: when your nerves made it hard to do anything efficiently.

‘Here,’ you mumbled, resisting the urge to smash the keychain against the table. That would have only drawn more attention to you and a part of you had already felt like everyone was giving you the side glances and judging you for being an awful girlfriend.

You didn’t take your eyes off the half-eaten shortcake on your plate. You couldn’t. If you had done so, you would have most probably started to wail because of how utterly miserable you felt while Joon had walked out on you so easily. You didn’t understand how you could have been so ignorant of the signs. Since there must have been signs. No one broke up with their partner of one year on a whim. Your behaviour must have been bugging your boyfriend for a while by the time he had come to this decision.

It didn’t take too much time: in a matter of mere seconds, you were already drowning in your own self-blame and self-hatred. If you had been a better girlfriend, your ex wouldn’t have felt the need to part ways with you in a coffee shop. He would have taken you to a private place and let you cry on his shoulder before he said goodbye.

You were pulled back to reality when someone put a glass of iced coffee on your table and your blurry eyes fell on an equally blurry man with rounded glasses.

‘Here, your iced coffee, miss. I am so sorry for the wait,’ the man said and while it must have been unintentional, his words broke something in you.

You were an ugly crier. There was not a single person you knew who would have claimed the opposite when your shoulders were shaking rhythmically, your cheeks turned red and puffy, and your tears got into your mouth along with your snot. When you cried, you cried like a child who felt like their life was about to end and maybe you actually felt the same way each and every time it happened. You definitely felt that way when the stranger turned his back on you, then turned back towards you twice within a minute.

‘Do you not want your iced coffee anymore?’ The man asked, his question barely registering in your mind until he wrapped his fingers around the glass and took it in his hand again.

If you had been in the right state of mind, you would have realised that you had never paid for your drink and that you were acting ridiculous when you reached out for it nevertheless, but at that moment, you couldn’t think rationally. Your emotions took control of your actions and your lips trembled in distress before you could have done anything about it.

‘Or… you want it. Of course, you do,’ the man mumbled as he put the drink back on the table and slid it right in front of you.

You observed his movements with mesmerism; your wailing quieted down and turned into a soundless sobbing that still shook your body, but not as intensely as it had done before. You pulled the glass closer to yourself and took a tentative sip from the most delicious chocolate coffee you had ever tried.

The awkwardness was palpable. You kind of felt sorry for the waiter who was still standing by your table when you eventually cleared your throat and wiped the tears off your cheeks with the back of your hand.

‘I am so sorry,’ the man mumbled, who looked a lot younger now that you could see him for yourself with a clearer vision. You had never been too good at guessing other people’s age, but at first glance, you would have said that he couldn’t have been that much older than you. Which made you feel weird when you tried to refer to him as a man in your head.

You couldn’t have helped but giggle at how absurd of a turn your train of thoughts had taken. Especially because it reminded you of the very same open lecture that had made you choose journalism as your major.

‘Are you… Is everything alright?’ The boy asked and you shook your head despite showing him one of your softest smiles. 

‘I’m having a rough day,’ you admitted before you took another sip from your cold drink and willed yourself to focus on your shortcake instead of looking around in the customer area. It would have done you no good if you had seen anyone staring at you with pity or laughing at something completely unrelatable just for your brain to convince you that everyone was as fixated on your misfortune as you were on other people’s opinion. 

‘If I said something–’

‘You didn’t. I mean, it’s not just that. I…’ you stirred your drink with the paper straw you had gotten with your coffee, then shifted your gaze from the floating ice cubes to the boy. ‘It’s not your fault.’

You weren’t good with strangers; you weren’t too good at reading your loved ones’ feelings and thoughts, either. You wondered whether the same went for this waiter, too, who opened and closed his mouth multiple times just to leave you wondering and swallow back his words in the end.

‘Thank you for the co–’

‘Hyung!’ The same barista who had informed you about the broken freezer cut you off, his firm voice urging your company to span his head towards the counter as though he knew the younger boy was calling for him. Maybe, he did. You couldn’t have been sure how many of the working employees were older than the smiley barista or how many of them worked that day to begin with. Most customers didn’t pay attention to these kinds of details and you definitely weren’t an exception.

‘They need me,’ the boy said in an apologetic manner as though he owed you anything when he obviously didn’t. If anyone, you were the one who should have done something for him for acting so non-judgemental when he had seen you going through a mild mental breakdown in the middle of their coffee shop.

‘Thank you for the coffee,’ you decided to say, since what else could you have told him? It was obvious that they needed him. You could have heard when the barista had called for him. It felt like it would have been super embarrassing if you had repeated the obvious. Especially because based on how loudly and urgently the younger boy had screamed, everyone with ears was aware that something wasn’t quite alright at the counter.

‘My name is Wonwoo,’ the boy blurted out, but before your brain could have processed what he meant by that or given your name to him in exchange, he turned his back to you and power walked to the quickly accumulating crowd around his coworker.

You didn’t keep your eyes on him. You weren’t super curious about the drama, either. Thus, you turned back to your food and took a couple of deep breaths. The overwhelming sadness that stressed your chest was still there, your lips still trembled here and there due to certain bittersweet memories, but the longer you were at the coffee shop, the less you thought it was all your fault.

You were obviously aware that your break-up was more on you than on Joon, though. But he could have shared his concerns and worries with you sooner, when you could have still been able to work on your problems together.

You might have planned to spend the rest of the day with your boyfriend to make up for your late arrival - which meant you could have gone a night without checking the questionnaire for professor Byeon -, but you didn’t stay long in the shop. You packed your things after you finished your drink and decided to carry the tray back to the counter, so that you could have told the barista that no one touched the second shortcake. It was delicious, the chocolate between the layers melted in your mouth while the whipped cream on the top complemented its subtle bitterness perfectly, but you had bought it for Joon, hence you couldn’t eat it.

‘Are you sure you do not want me to put it into a paper bag for you, miss? Our bags are all eco-friendly,’ the smiley barista informed you when it was finally your turn in front of the counter, but you just shook your head and fished a few won bills out of your wallet to pay for the iced coffee. ‘It is okay. Like I said, the drink was on the house.’

You blinked up at him, bashful, when the memory came back to you and shot a grateful smile at him before you bid your goodbye.

A part of you might have resented the place because of what Joon had done to you that day, but you knew you would have never been able to hate the employees who worked at Coffee Carat that afternoon thanks to the warmth they planted in your heart with their kindness.

In the following days, you had five midterm exams to study for, a couple of more exams to monitor, and a bunch of exam papers to grade, so your brain barely had any time to rest, let alone ponder over what you could have done differently in your relationship with Joon. Since your ex-boyfriend had been your first serious relationship, your knowledge of heartbreak and how to deal with the pain was strictly based on what you had seen in movies. Yet, other than the most random waves of sadness, you experienced none of the expected extremes. You had a healthy appetite, you didn’t feel the urge to get rid of the gifts he had given you during that one year while you had been together, and you hadn’t thrown your heaviest book at him when you had gone over for your stuff.

Once you had less obligations to fulfil, however, your brain couldn’t stop reminiscing about the afternoon when Joon had pulled the rug from under your feet. At nights, when you were too tired to be productive, but not tired enough to black out, your thoughts kept wandering: you wondered whether your ex would have given you more time to accept his decision if you had chosen a different shortcake for dessert; would he have stayed if you had begged him to? You also couldn’t get rid of the feeling that you should have paid for your iced coffee. Sure, the smiley barista had said it had been on the house because of the inconvenience, but hadn’t you put their waiter in a tough position when you had cried your eyes out in front of him? He had definitely looked uncomfortable when he couldn’t have decided whether you had wanted the coffee or not.

Might it have been because your family had been fairly poor until you had graduated from middle school and your mother’s online business had gone viral, but you didn’t like the idea of freebies. They reminded you of snickering and pity, so you much preferred working for what you had and paying for other people’s food or necessities when you went out with friends and acquaintances. Thus, it only took you a couple of days to come to the conclusion that you needed to pay back at least for the waiter’s kindness for your inner peace to be restored.

The day after the delivery service had dropped your order off at your doorstep, you woke up super early, so that you could leave the package at Coffee Carat anonymously. Your plan was foolproof: all you needed to do was arrive at the shop before any of the employees and hang the plastic bag with Wonwoo’s name on it on the door handle. Even your five-year-old sister could have done it if she had been strong enough to lift the gift above her head. You could almost hear her lisping “easy-peasy” in your ears when you closed your eyes on the bus for those three stops that separated you from the café.

You almost failed, though. 

The plastic bag was already swinging back and forth on the handle, you just wanted to make sure that the handwritten letter on the top of the package was visible, when the smiley barista from that day made your blood run cold with his loud yelp. Your shoulders tensed up as you snapped your head in his direction, then quickly let go of the bag and turned your back to him and his blond friend before your eyes could have met his.

Although your first instinct was to run, you forced yourself to walk at a natural speed since it would have drawn more attention if you had suddenly speedwalked to the closest bus stop, which was actually in the opposite direction. You didn’t have the luxury to take the latter into account. You had to get away from there as soon as possible without getting caught. You just had to get away quickly.

Which you did at the cost of being fifteen minutes late from your meetup with your friend, Xiaoxiao, but the girl had been a sweetheart as always and bought you a chicken-mayo sandwich, too, at the campus convenience store for breakfast, so that you could have spent every crucial minute on your final project that was due by Friday. With your individual, packed schedules, it was a drag to find time for these offline sessions - no wonder the library was practically deserted when you both were available -, but they were a part of the requirement and at least you both took your academic career seriously.

Having yet another strict deadline in your life was also the perfect distraction you needed. So you wasted no time on useless chatters and taking a huge bite from the dry sandwich, you got to work. At that, at least, you were excellent.

On the day of your job interview at the high school professor Byeon had mentioned to you, you decided to give yourself a well-deserved break. Thus, you skipped your Adult Education lecture for your minor and wrote a list about cliche things you had always wanted to do as a university student, but never had the time or energy for.

You started the day off with a veggie smoothie that you made with your own hands, then took a bunch of pictures of it just for fun, too embarrassed to send it to anyone - especially because Xiaoxiao would have wanted one for herself in exchange for her notes (she was a big foodie) and called you out on its terrible taste the moment you gave it to her. That, and your only other option would have been your mom who would have scolded you for wasting your time in the kitchen. She was the type of person who didn’t see much value in being a traditional woman because she had hated her life when she had been forced to live as a housewife despite her husband’s incapability to provide for his family on his own.

Later, you put on warm clothes and searched for an empty bench at a park not so far from the job interview’s location. You wouldn’t have admitted it for the world, but you had somehow managed to underestimate the November weather; thus, couldn’t concentrate on the book you had brought with yourself after the second chapter. Still, it was an aesthetic experience you could have finally ticked off your wishlist, so you stayed there until it was time for you to carry your (hopefully) future coworkers off their feet with your enthusiasm.

For lunch, you went to one of those homey diners where the owners knew all of their regulars and chirped their ears off about personal matters when there weren’t a lot of customers in the shop. It was a little overwhelming - very overwhelming to be honest -, but it reminded you of family gatherings when your parents had been still together, so you finished your jjigae in a good mood.

You didn’t plan to stay out all day. You had movies and series to catch up on, youtube videos that had been sitting on your watch-it-later list for months, and a couple of house chores to do since your laundry, for example, was long overdue.

However, when you walked past the coffee shop where your ex-boyfriend had pulled the rug from under your feet a couple of weeks ago, your gaze fell on a familiar blue scarf and a boy with two heavy-looking boxes in his hands, and your steps came to a subconscious halt. You were standing on the opposite side of the road, wondering whether you should have helped him with the door, but the smiley barista was faster. He came to Wonwoo’s help before you could have made up your mind, leaving you hanging in an odd state of mind: should you have gone home? Should you have walked inside?

You weren’t sure you were ready to have an iced coffee at one of their tables yet. And a part of you said you had already repaid the waiter’s kindness when you had bought him that scarf to keep him warm. But a drink to go had never killed anyone, had it? It could have been a nice step forwards on your way of moving on.

Still, your hand was trembling when you pushed the handle downwards and your heart was beating in your throat while you were waiting for your turn in the line. With every tiny step you took forwards, coming inside felt a stupider idea. Yet, you stood your ground. Mostly, because there were already people behind you and it would have been awkward if you had run out of the coffee shop without a plastic cup in your hand.

‘Welcome to Coffee Carat! What can I get for you, miss?’ The polite question pulled you out of your thoughts, eyes growing wide at the realisation that there was no one between you and the counter.

‘I…’ you stuttered before you took a step forward and put yourself together. ‘An iced coffee to go, please,’ you muttered, eager fingers fidgeting with the hem of your coat even after the boy took a plastic cup in his hand, put it on the inox grill, and pushed a button on the huge coffee machine you couldn’t see.

‘You must love iced coffee a lot,’ he commented, but because he didn’t look at you while he was talking, you couldn’t decide whether he was talking to you or talking to himself. Were you expected to say something to that? Did he mean it as a joke? You weren’t sure your sense of humour matched his in case he was waiting for a laugh. ‘I am sorry. It is just, last time…’

‘Oh?’ You let out a surprised sound when his apology reached your ears. Disoriented, you felt a bit bad for making him feel as though he had offended you, when you were just taken aback by the ease he had cracked a joke around you after last time. Considering that you were right and he had tried to be funny. ‘Yeah. I can’t drink too fast and it tastes weird when it starts to get colder, so I just… choose to drink it cold from the beginning,’ you explained sheepishly, a soft smile tugging on the corners of your mouth when he bit into his lower lip and scratched his nape out of embarrassment.

The light tint of his rosy ears was something you could resonate with. Yours turned crimson, too, when you felt like you had said too much.

‘Makes sense,’ Wonwoo concluded quietly and you couldn’t help it, you let out a small huff upon hearing him. You weren’t sure funny was the right word to describe him, but to you, he was amusing. ‘I am not making fun of you. It does sound logical,’ he defended himself while he opened their freezer and filled another plastic cup with ice cubes. You wondered whether he should have done that first or this was the standard way baristas made iced coffees in this coffee shop.

You didn’t ask him how much he remembered from last time or whether he knew it was you who had written him that letter in which you had expressed your gratitude and asked him to stay warm in the chilly weather, but the way he looked at you when he slid the cup towards you on the counter said it all. He could have put two and two together. He was aware that the person to whom he had brought warmth with his consideration wasn’t someone else despite how the iced coffee he had served you that day was rather cold.

You were chewing your cheek out of nervousness when you took a couple of bills out of your wallet even before the boy told you how much you owed him for your coffee.

‘Anything else?’ He asked and you hesitated. It hadn’t been that long that you had eaten, so you obviously weren’t hungry, but these delicious, baked goods at coffee shops were desserts anyway. You could always find some place for dessert.

‘A croissant, please,’ you decided and chose a raspberry croissant with dried raspberry pieces on the top and raspberry-vanilla cream on the inside. You had never tried or seen anything like that before - it had a few dark pink stripes on it beside the usual, golden brown ones as though its dough had been made of raspberry -, but it had caught your eyes the moment you had turned towards their sweets, so you couldn’t resist. You hoped it would be as delicious as their chocolate shortcakes.

You wished it had tasted even better!

‘Here,’ the boy said when he handed you a paper bag with the coffee shop’s logo painted on it, his smile warm and indecipherable while he told you how much your order cost in total.

Your fingers didn’t touch when you took the croissant from him, but you felt as though you had been struck by lightning when your eyes met. It made no sense: the effect his piercing yet soft gaze had on you. So you paid for everything as fast as you could, then shoved the change into your tote bag along with your croissant and bid your goodbye.

It was a matter of sheer luck that you didn’t walk into the double door on your way out, but somehow you managed. You even got back to your student apartment in one piece, without your heart breaking out of your ribcage.

You were sitting on the floor, elbows leaned on the coffee table you used as a dining table due to the lack of space in your home, when you noticed the extra croissant in the paper bag you had gotten for free. It must have been Wonwoo’s way of saying thank you for your gift, it had to be, but in a way, it was what started it all: the neverending saga of small smiles, bashful conversations, and thoughtful presents you surprised each other with to repay for something both of you thought was basic human decency on your own part.

It was on the third day of winter break that you decided to stay inside the coffee shop while you finished your usual iced coffee with a dessert of Sooryeon’s choice. You wouldn’t have called the girl - or any of the employees of Coffee Carat for that matter - your friend, but she liked promoting their desserts to you whenever you seemed indecisive and you didn’t have the heart or confidence to tell her that at the first time you hadn’t been contemplating about what to order. You had been wondering where Wonwoo could have been as you couldn’t have seen him anywhere and whether he had liked the book you had bought him the week before.

You chose an empty table close to the windows because they were the furthest from the huge coffee bean sticker you had sat under the last time, then fished the same book you had read on the day of your job interview out of your tote bag to catch up on some reading. You would have liked to finish Rey’s The Enchanted Forest before the New Year began because you had started it months ago and you knew you wouldn’t have too much free time once the new semester started. Especially because then you wouldn’t only work as a teacher assistant anymore, but as a substitute literature teacher, too.

Sometimes you were convinced you overworked yourself and that you would be burnt out at the age of thirty, but you loved your busy schedule. Your endless to-dos were what made you feel accomplished. Wasting just one day, when everyone had limited time in life, always felt like you threw away something important. Something most people held onto desperately until their last breath. 

You took a bite from your brownie and pushed aside your lingering worries. It wasn’t that you would be a university student forever and you didn’t have too many friends to spend time with anyway. One more year and you would get your first degree. From then on, only your pedagogy minor would take up your time beside work and that wouldn’t last much longer, either, just another ten months. You could do it.

‘Hey,’ a familiar, deep voice addressed you and you turned your head to the left so that you could see Wonwoo’s face when he shot a soft smile in your direction. You reciprocated the gesture without noticing. ‘Sooryeon said it’s already winter break. How do you like it so far?’ He asked; the question a bit clumsy, but heart-warming at the same time.

‘It’s a bit… slow. But I’m not complaining,’ you said as you slid your index finger between the pages and placed the book on your lap. ‘Does the coffee shop go on a break, too? Will you be able to rest during the holidays?’

It was always interesting to see the contrast between how awkward you felt your questions were and how happy Wonwoo got when you engaged into a conversation with him despite his duties that often put an abrupt end to your talks. If you wanted to be honest, you didn’t mind the unlucky circumstances. In fact! They made each of your encounters more precious since you both needed to make an effort for them to happen.

‘We will be closed on the 25th, but other than that, I’ll be here on most days,’ he said and you acknowledged it with a nod. By now, you knew that he wasn’t just any waiter in the coffee shop. He was the manager of the place who was kind of a substitute for the owner when he wasn’t around. And that man had a whole wedding to plan, so he was less frequently around since he had proposed to his fiancée.

You and Wonwoo had obviously talked about a couple of different topics through the weeks, not only your responsibilities at work and school, but there were times when you still found yourself wondering whether you were allowed to ask personal questions and if you had been, where was that fine line you shouldn’t have crossed.

You were about to ask him whether he celebrated Christmas at all when he cleared his throat and broke the temporary silence.

‘Speaking of the holidays… Will you come to the charity event? It’s on the 23rd,’ he asked, referring to the event you had already seen on social media and of which they had posters all over the place. You honestly hadn’t thought of coming since you would go back home for the holidays, but Guri wasn’t that far from Seoul. You could always catch the last train and got home in time to help your mother with the Christmas tree. ‘We could come together if you are wary of coming alone. It’s my day off, but I’ll bring some presents to the kids, so… not together together, though. I mean, if you wanted to, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, I’m just not sure it’s appropriate considering that it hasn’t been that long since you broke up with your boyfriend…’

You had never heard Wonwoo speak so much under one breath. And while you thought his rambling was adorable - not to mention his rosy ears -, you wished to put his heart at ease, so you put aside your book and turned towards him with your entire body.

‘Wonwoo…’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,’ he apologised, tugging on your heartstrings with how weak his voice sounded. For some reason, you hated seeing him like this. Especially because it was you who made him feel so bad about his suggestion; although, you did so unintentionally.

‘You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable,’ you reassured him and based on the sigh that left his mouth, he must have believed you. ‘It’s just, Joon broke up with me because I didn’t have enough time for him. I’m a bit reluctant to get back into dating,’ you explained, finding it odd how easily the words had fallen from your lips when not exactly two minutes ago, you had been wary whether you two had been close enough to talk about personal matters.

It seemed like, from your point of view, you were.

Still, the silence that usually pulled you into its warm embrace around him refused to bring you the same comfort. Instead, you felt anxious. Had you been mistaken? Had you crossed a line with how much you had said? Did he see you in a different light now?

‘I would have waited for you,’ the boy claimed in the end, stirring up dozens of conflicting emotions in you with his statement. On one hand, you were grateful for his approach, that he didn’t think you had deserved to be dumped because of your behaviour. On the other hand, he sounded too sure of himself, too hopeful and you didn’t want him to take your words lightly. You weren’t just saying you were busy. You were really, genuinely way too busy for a serious relationship. (Or any kind of relationship, truly, including platonic friendships that demanded more than a couple of hours of your time per week.)

‘He waited for me, too. All the time. That was where things went wrong,’ you insisted, which brought more silence into your conversation.

You didn’t think your concerns were overdramatic. You were simply cautious, because you didn’t want to make the same mistake again, especially not with someone like Wonwoo who deserved the whole world and more. He deserved more than what you could have given him at the current period of your life: late replies and indoor dates because you were too tired to do anything else but cuddle with him in bed.

Wonwoo wasn’t oblivious or stupid. He must have known that you tried to reject him in the least painful way possible without damaging the bond you had built during the past weeks. Still, when you looked up at his face, he was smiling.

‘That doesn’t matter to me. People are different,’ he reassured you and you might have been delusional, but the care he formed every syllable with and the way he looked at you like you were someone he wanted to protect made you feel as though this was his way of telling you that he would wait. That only if you had given him a chance, he would have waited for you and appreciated every date with you regardless of how short they would have been.

The weight of the implication closed up your throat, hence you were grateful when he didn’t push your boundaries more. Not that it should have taken you by surprise. He never did.

Your heart skipped a silly beat when instead of more questions, the boy put a minimalistic yet beautiful daily planner on your table. It was his turn to surprise you with a present, you were aware of it, too, somewhere in the back of your mind, but it still took you aback. You were seriously at a loss for words when you thanked him with a bashful smile.

‘There’s a letter in it. It’s like a book report about the book you gave me last time. I finished it yesterday,’ he explained and your first instinct upon hearing the news was to jump on the opportunity and ask him how he had liked the plot, which was stupid. This was exactly what his letter was about.

Cheeks rose-tinted and palms clammy, a massive amount of anxiety was lifted off your chest when Minghao chose the next second to walk up to Wonwoo and tell him about the woman who came for the job interview. You knew from the boy that they were currently looking for a second baker who could have helped Mingyu with the immense amount of baked goods he needed to prepare from day to day, but you had no idea it was a part of his job to evaluate the candidates. It made sense, though. He was the manager of the shop, after all.

After the boys went back to work, you spent long hours by your table, enjoying your lack of concrete plans for that day. You finished your book and got so excited about the sequel that you ordered it online. You jotted down a couple of important tasks in your new planner. You also paid more attention to your surroundings between two sips and bites, wondering whether it had always been so entertaining to just exist or it was the unique atmosphere of the coffee shop that turned mundane activities into something worth experiencing.

In the meantime, you pondered over Wonwoo’s words more frequently than your confidence would have let you admit. You thought about how differently you and your family members saw the world. You thought about all the fundamental things you disagree on with Xiaoxiao despite loving her with your whole heart. You recalled every single fight you had had with Joon and thought: Shoot! How insignificant they appeared to be compared to those millions of harmonious agreements you had come to in that almost one year you had spent together. Could those differences have mattered more than you had initially thought? Had it been a mistake when you had been deliberately oblivious of your differences because it had been easier to concentrate on your similarities?

Were differences a good thing or a bad thing? Where did the line lay from where too many disagreements would have torn a relationship apart?

You didn’t find the answers that day. You were also reluctant to believe that just because Wonwoo was right about how every person was different, he could have also been right about the difference in their opinion about the importance of time spent together with their partner. Could such a significant deviation exist at all when it came to human connection?

You were almost convinced that you had more questions by the end of the boy’s shift than how many you had had when he had asked you about the charity event, but you were still smiling when Wonwoo walked up to you in his streetwear and offered you to walk you to the bus stop in case you were still up for it.

You obviously had nothing against spending a bit of more time with him just because of the awkwardness that had lingered around you when you had been talking about your break-up. Especially because when you looked him in the eyes, you realised that waiting for him to finish at work hadn’t been bad at all. You simply weren’t ready to admit: just like his, your definition of waiting for someone you liked might have differed from Joon’s, too.

To you, it was more about the barely noticeable excitement of anticipation than the wasted time you could have spent more wisely. It was about the reward in the end instead of those long minutes or hours it took you to reach the finish line.

And this might have been easily the reason that ultimately led to the end of your first serious relationship. Not the number of differences you had, but the nature of those that reappeared in your everyday life over and over. Joon was too focused on the negative aspects of your busy schedule and you were too happy to see the problems.

This conclusion helped you feel less guilty.

You hadn’t had much time to decide whether you would have shown up at the café’s charity event, only five and a half days to be precise, but you had made up your mind an average of five times a day before you had written a curt message to Wonwoo about what kinds of gifts you should have bought for the children.

Since there wasn’t a maximum amount of presents each participants should have left on the table in the back of the shop where Yeseo and Seokmin were collecting them, you arrived with one for each age group they had announced on the posters beforehand, then exchanged your free coffee or dessert coupon at the counter for a glass of iced coffee.

‘These coupons don’t have an expiration date. You could have taken one for each box and used them another time,’ Wonwoo enlightened you while he was waiting for his pumpkin pie hot chocolate. It was a seasonal item on the menu along with their cinnamon-apple pie latte and gingerbread macchiato, but no matter how christmassy they sounded, they were all hot drinks and those were a big no for you under every circumstance.

‘Yeseo made sure I knew, but it’s for a good cause. It would’ve felt wrong to take more,’ you explained, failing to find an empty table in the customer area until Wonwoo tilted his head to the right and encouraged you to follow his line of sight. ‘I’ll go and take a seat,’ you claimed with a relieved heart, glad that you wouldn’t have to stand awkwardly beside the counter until the event officially came to an end.

People had almost an hour left to bring their presents to the coffee shop before the girlfriend of one of Wonwoo’s friends arrived with her minivan and took them to the children’s hospital near your university.

You shot a grateful smile at the boy when he put the tray in the middle of your table and took your coffee off it the same moment Wonwoo put one of the shortcakes in front of you. You hadn’t ordered any dessert, but accepted it without a word or making a fuss about how it was your turn to surprise him with something he might have liked.

‘Thank you,’ you said instead, only realising it belatedly that you didn’t feel burdened by the error in the unspoken order or the fact that he gave you something for free.

If you wanted to be honest, you weren’t sure how you felt about the change. You had been taught in your whole life that owing others could be dangerous; you had been unable to accept gifts from Joon without a frown throughout your whole relationship. But if anything, it only proved to you that you might have been more ready to give a chance to Wonwoo’s theory than you had thought.

You still stalled.

Even though you had a separate present for him in your bag, you let him bring up topics that had nothing to do with the holidays. You jumped on the opportunity to talk about your future plans like a starving man jumped on a loaf of dry bread and inquired about his. How had he ended up at Coffee Carat with a literature degree? Had he always wanted to be a coffee shop manager? Didn’t he seek something more tranquil like libraries and those hidden bookstores in the heart of Seoul he liked to visit in his free time so much?

With every answer he gave you, you had two and three more to ask, but you made sure to add comfortable silence to your afternoon, too, because you knew you would always have another chance to get to know him more and because you didn’t want to overwhelm him with your slowly growing curiosity. 

You also felt awkward whenever you talked so much and with that came the urge to play with the closest napkin, tear it to tiny little pieces and look at the snow-like pile intently, so that you had a reason to avoid eye contact.

‘I brought you something,’ you blurted out at one point, after your third glass of iced coffee, when there were only a couple of people left in the shop. Maybe, you were on caffeine high. Maybe, you found Wonwoo irresistibly cute when he reminded you of the consequences of a fourth glass. Either way, you felt you were finally ready.

Your smile was small albeit genuine when you reached for your tote bag and pulled a square shaped present out of it. It was wrapped in midnight blue paper and neatly decorated with silver ribbons for aesthetics. The more time you had spent on making it look perfect, the less you had thought of the book you had chosen this time, which had definitely kept you from overthinking it. It was just a book, after all.

Even if, to the both of you, it might have meant more. In case he had meant when he had said he would have waited for you.

‘Here,’ you mumbled, too nervous for your own good while you paid close attention to the boy’s reaction. He didn’t seem surprised, which made sense since he must have anticipated it the same way you always did after you had given him something. It was like… like an unsaid promise that sooner or later you would get something in return.

You held back your breath while Wonwoo’s long fingers tore apart the wrapping paper ever so gently and debated whether you should have observed his facial expressions or kept your gaze on your empty glass.

‘Is this…’ the boy broke the silence, his deep voice borderline hopeful as he reached for your hand to gain your attention.

You gulped and nodded, letting his fingertips brush aside your nerves as they fondled the back of your hand.

‘Yeah, I…’ you started, staring at the cover of the book you had bought for him, at the capital letters that said: Ready for the fall.

The book itself had nothing to do with relationships. It was a sequel of a fantasy you had never heard about, but when you had been wandering around the bookstore to pick the perfect novel for him, you couldn’t have left it there. 

‘I’d like to give this… us a try. But before you say anything, Wonwoo-yah, I need you to know that I might not be the best girlfriend you can get. I’m busy and I will be even busier once the next semester starts. I might fall asleep in the middle of our date nights and be late from dinners. I might forget important dates and…’ you bit into your lip when he squeezed your hand and a part of you expected him to say your words meant you weren’t really ready, but instead, he just smiled at you as though you had given him something wonderful.

‘It’s okay. I’m okay with baby steps,’ he reassured you. ‘It’s also okay if we don’t put a label on our relationship immediately. We could hang out outside of the coffee shop more often at first, just the two of us,’ he proposed and his consideration took the invisible burdens of high expectations off your shoulders.

You squeezed his hand back.

‘I need to go back to Guri for Christmas, but I’ll be back on the 28th,’ you said, not letting go of his hand. ‘We could… grab dinner together,’ you suggested, loving how easy it was to find a date that was good for the both of you even though you knew it was easy because it was still winter break. It would become harder with time.

The possibility that your relationship with Wonwoo would hurt him in the long run scared you, but one glance at his warm, chocolate brown orbs gave you hope. Thus, when he walked you home later that night, then said his goodbye in front of your building with a clumsy bear hug, you wished you had made the right decision.

This time, you wanted to do it right. You wanted to keep all the unsaid and voiced out promises relationships were built on, because if you had been worth the wait, he had been worth the extra effort.

➼ next reason

[noneedtoamputate]

Ooh, could I please request #61 polish and/or #73 dress for Ellen and Chuck? Thank you💞

Thanks for the ask! I already had part of this written for an upcoming chapter, but I added the polish part, and it was really fun to write Chuck as an early adopter to manscaping.

Chuck hadn’t realized how dull and quiet his apartment had been before the wedding. 

But now it was their apartment, and Ellen had made it a home. And his senses came alive.

Her clothes, bright reds and yellows and greens, hung in the closet next to his drab browns and blues. 

A whiff of her perfume hung in their bedroom, and the kitchen smelled like the flowers that sat in a vase on the table.

Ellen couldn’t carry a tune if her life depended on it, but she sang while she did chores or graded papers. Chuck never minded.

Every Saturday, she would make an elaborate meal, nothing like he made himself, nothing that came out of a tin can. She would go to Boudin Bakery and get bread bowls and then head over to the Wharf to get everything for clam chowder. Or she would stop by her favorite Italian deli in North Beach and pick up all sorts of meats and cheeses, olives, marinated peppers, and the orange soda Chuck liked so much. She’d lay everything out on a platter. 

She would feed him the last piece of prosciutto and he’d pull her up from her chair and sit her on his lap and they’d kiss and laugh, wondering how they got so lucky.

Once a week, Ellen painted her fingernails, and Chuck always watched. He found it calming, the way she shaped her nails with the file and applied the color in long, sure strokes. 

“Always pink,” he noticed. “Why not red?”

“We’re not allowed,” she said as she opened the topcoat bottle. “Red is too garish for teachers, or so the thinking goes.”

Chuck wondered what the school board would say if they knew what those nails did to his back last night. They would probably ban pink nail polish, too.

One week, Ellen surprised him.

“Your turn,” she said. 

“No way.”

“I’m not going to put any color on. It’s like just using your nail clippers, but fancier.”

He still didn’t say anything.

“Just try it once, and if you don’t like it, I won’t ask again.”

He caved. “You cannot tell Joe about this.”

“Why would I tell Joe?”

“Well, you can’t tell Miriam, either. She’ll tell Joe, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Deal.”

She filed his nails, then placed them in warm water for a few minutes. She used a tool to push back his cuticles. She massaged his hands and fingers with Pond’s cold cream, and it did feel nice. He closed his eyes.

“I can see you’re in total agony,” she said with a smile.

He frowned at being caught out.

“Topcoat?” she asked.

“Is anyone going to be able to tell?” 

“I doubt it.”

He nodded.

That night in bed, he dozed off in her arms.

“You liked it, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted, sleepily. “But don’t tell Joe.”

[xoxiu]

autumn outside the post office - jin x reader

chapter two table of contents masterlist

≪ how long will beautiful things last? ≫

summary: it wasn't your fault that dr. kim was the most beautiful man you've ever seen. falling for him was entirely your fault, however. first semester at college and you're already dreaming of a student/professor relationship- so naughty and against the code of conduct. you like the thrill, though.

tags/warnings: smut, teacher!jin, college au, cute yet forbidden romance, daddy dom!jin, love triangles, frat boys jungkook and taehyung, age regression, age play, ddlg, spanking, eating disorders, mental health, first love, exhibitionism, lots of blowjobs, age gap

"Very few classical Korean works have been translated and appreciated outside of Korean culture. I hope to change that with the class." Seokjin started his lecture, basing it on a PowerPoint he had created the night before. The students listened quietly, jotting down notes on their laptops or notebooks. The professor took note of this, reminding his pupils that they learn better by physically writing notes on paper.

You didn't need to be told this- your purple notebook had been opened right as class started. Your notes had been very organized, jotting down key points of the PowerPoint as well as Dr. Kim's lecture. In high school, your notes made you a star student often used as an example for others. You badly wanted to blurt that out to make Dr. Kim proud, but you managed to control yourself.

"Does anyone know a famous classical Korean writer?"

"Kim Shisup!" The blonde from the bus stop spoke up from the front row. Seokjin looked her way with a smile.

"Good job, Cara! Someone paid attention in history class." The professor gave the student a wink. You felt rage and jealousy fill your entire body. Glaring at the back of her head, you tried to make her explode with your brain. Sadly, it did not work.

This was only your second time in Seokjin's class. You barely knew the professor, yet you wanted all of his attention solely on you. Seeing him act friendly with other students made your blood boil. Your notes soon turned messy as you aggressively wrote.

"Classical Korean literature was written in Chinese, and dealt with themes surrounding loyalty."

Oh, you'd be loyal to Dr. Kim. You only had eyes for him, unlike Cara. Cara probably went after every male professor in the Asian Language department. It was so obvious she wanted him; you could see her flirtatious gaze on him from your seat. As the class went on, you caught on to the playful banter between Dr. Kim and Cara and began to worry that something was going on between them.

Class ended on time, with Dr. Kim giving a quick wrap-up. He timed his lecture perfectly, allowing for a quick summary right at the end of class.

"And my apologizes to you Korean majors, most of today probably felt like the information you already knew."

"It's fine. Having a refresher is never a bad thing!" Cara said as she stood up. She waved goodbye to Dr. Kim before leaving the classroom.

You sucked your teeth to avoid calling her any rude names. Frantically, you tried to think of a question to ask now that class was done. Everything today made sense to you, but you needed time to talk to Dr. Kim one-on-one.

"Dr. Kim, I have a question," you said, walking up to his desk. He smiled at you, turning to give you his full attention. Somehow you missed him eyeing up your outfit- a purple plaid skirt with a flowing ivory blouse. What you didn't miss was him licking his lips.

"Anything for you, miss y/n," His voice made you blush, almost forgetting what exactly you wanted to ask him.

"You mentioned that whiteness was seen as a symbol of purity in ancient Korea. Could you go deeper into that for me?"

He blinked at your request, looking rather shocked by your question. The smile soon returned to his face, happy to answer you.

"That's an excellent question, y/n. I may have brushed over that too much," He leaned back in his chair, preparing to give you his spiel. "White is a very important color in Korea even today. It represents the sun, harvest, origins, and the foundations of humanity. When Westerners came across Korea, one of the first things they noted was the white clothing Koreans wore.

"I'm sure you meant to imply a sort of racial bias with your question, which is okay, as pale skin has always been seen as a status symbol in Korea."

You nodded as he answered your question, sheepishly smiling as he picked up your hidden intentions.

"Pale skin seems to be a status symbol in many cultures back then. I know Greeks held paleness to a high degree as well." Seokjin smiled and laughed at your statement, happily clasping his hands together.

"You're such a smart girl, y/n. I'm sure you know how all this applies to present-day racial bias and supremacy, too." You blushed hard at the compliment and were about to excuse yourself when Dr. Kim spoke up again.

"If you have any more good questions, feel free to stop by my office hours. They're listed on the syllabus," he paused a second before continuing. "Or feel free to email me anytime. Although, I prefer you visit me instead. I get rather lonely."

—————

Despite being much larger, the dining hall was much quieter than the cafeteria in high school. Everyone spoke at a normal level, watched videos with headphones in, and didn't goof around with the food. It was a nice change in pace for you.

You grabbed a tray and began to walk to the various food bars, hoping to find something good. Dinner service had only started a couple of minutes ago, so none of the lines were too long. In the end, you decided to make yourself a salad and grabbed some baklava from the Greek bar. You sat in the far corner of the dining hall near the exit. Balancing your phone against the condiment basket, you turned your attention to Netflix as you ate.

A notification popped up on your screen- another email from Dr. Kim. You went to swipe it away only to see that it was directly addressed to you. Curiously, you picked up your phone to read the email.

'y/n,

I couldn't help but note your curiosity about foreign cultures. I'm very impressed. I'd like for you to join us at our next Korean Cultural meeting this Friday at 6 pm. I know you're not a Korean major, but I think you'll get something out of this club.

- Dr. Kim Seokjin'

You smiled at the idea of Dr. Kim thinking about you, even well after class had ended. Looking over the email again, you frowned as you realized you had a meeting at that time. The meeting wasn't exactly necessary- it was just a check-in for first-year students to see how the first week of classes had gone. But at the same time, you weren't sure if the club was meant for you. You weren't Korean and had no cultural experience in that area. You only took Korean Literature because you needed a foreign literature credit. Not wanting to fully commit just yet, you didn't reply to the email.

Leaving the dining hall, you made your way up to your dorm room. Jennie was already back, diligently working on homework at her desk.

"I don't know why I have so much homework during the first week of classes. It's- oh! You look happy!" Jennie's frustrations faded as she noticed the large smile on your face. "Is it a boy?"

"Maybe," you teased, sitting down at your desk. You opened up your laptop to work on the chemistry homework you have due tomorrow, but your mind kept wandering to Dr. Kim.

"Wow, you must really like this guy," Jennie jokingly elbowed you with a smug smile. "That grin is just getting bigger and bigger."

You opened up the class page for Korean Literature, checking to see when Dr. Kim's office hours were. They were Tuesdays and Thursdays, 1 pm to 3 pm. Perfect, you thought, your chemistry class ended fifteen minutes before the start of his hours. You grew more giddy as you realized you were able to see him tomorrow.

Chemistry homework in college was much harder than chemistry homework in high school, you quickly learned. The questions were so confusing and the diagrams were borderline unreadable. It all made your head hurt. 

A knock at your door drew both you and Jennie out of your intense concentration. Taking off your headphones, you went to go see who was at the door. Jimin, your RA, smiled at you.

"Hi, y/n! Hi Jennie!" He leaned in to wave at Jennie, who politely waved back. "I'm just letting you know there will be a hall meeting in the kitchenette in five minutes."

"We'll just head on down now, I guess," Jennie said, closing her laptop and walking out the door with you. Jimin continued knocking on doors, letting the other residents of the hall know about the meeting while you and Jennie got comfortable in the beanbags in the corner of the kitchenette. 

Ten minutes had passed, and no one besides Jimin,  you, and Jennie sat in the kitchenette. Jimin looked very displeased, looking down at his plate of brownies with a frown. He baked them for the residents at the meeting, expecting a room full of twenty students. Instead, the meeting turned into small talk between the three of you. 

"Well, this sucks. I guess you two can have the brownies if you'd like."

[eyeslikewatercoolers]

If Found, Please Burn- Chapter 2

Chapter 2- In which Jasmine returns to LA, Daya doesn't know how to shut up, and Kerri goes into protective-sister mode.

Read on ao3

Dear Daya,

Lemon invited me to stay with her in Toronto for a few weeks, and I’m going to take her offer. 

She’s the only person who knows how I feel about you (besides Kerri’s mom, but I’m pretty sure Sasha knows everything), and she thinks I just need space from you and everything that reminds me of you. I’ve had this stupid crush on you for over two years and I’ve tried everything else to get over it. I’m tired of being in love with someone that I’m supposed to hate. 

So when I get back to LA, I have to be over you. I don’t have a choice anymore for myself. Even Sasha’s told me that I deserve someone that’s going to treat me better than you do. You’re never going to stop hating me, I realized this a long time ago. 

I know you are never going to see these letters, but this is the last one I’m writing to you. I need to let these stupid letters go, I only started writing them to try to get over you. And it’s only making things worse. So hopefully when I get back, fighting with you won’t hurt as bad. 

Never writing to you again, 

-Jasmine

Daya finished reading the picture of the letter on her phone. It was the only one she had fully read so far from what she’d found in the box. She might as well read the one that had the latest date, and then move back to the others once she had the chance. 

“Are you almost ready to go?” Willow popped her head into Jasmine’s room as Daya played with Aveyah using a laser pointer she found at the bottom of the box. Daya continued to join her friend at Jasmine’s apartment every other day for the last two weeks to help occupy the cats (and not to look for more letters, not that she even found them).

“Yeah, what time are we coming back tomorrow?” Daya stood as she slipped her phone back into her back pocket and tossed the laser pointer into the box. 

Willow shook her head as they started to turn out the lights and to the front door of the apartment “We’re not coming back. Jasmine’s flying back in tomorrow.”

Daya wondered if it had been three weeks already, as dealing with the letters made time seemingly fly by. “Oh, that sucks. I mean, for playing with the cats.” Daya made a quick save, catching her slip-up as Willow shut the door behind them and locked it.

“I doubt you’ll go, but we’re hanging out at Kerri’s the day after Jasmine comes back,” Willow explained as the two watched down the building’s hallway towards the elevators. “Camden and Angie will be there, and I think Bosco’s coming too if that gives you any incentive.” 

The thought of seeing Jasmine again made Daya feel a mix of unfamiliar emotions towards her nemesis. Apprehensive? Nervous? A little curious? 

“No, I wanna go. Not for Jasmine, but we haven’t all hung out since we were at the beach house.” she pointed out. 

Willow shrugged, seemingly not noticing the pause in Daya’s response. “Cool, just try to keep your bickering to a minimum, please?” 

“No problem, I’ll keep reminding her that I kept her cats entertained for three weeks while she was gone.”

“It’s been quiet in the group chat until Jasmine landed last night.”  Bosco pointed out as she and Daya walked up the stairs to Kerri’s apartment. Daya carried a brown paper bag from the liquor store down the road as Kerri asked them to pick drinks up earlier that day. 

“I don’t think she wanted to pay the international data fees,” Daya responded, switching the bag to her other hand.

“Can you blame her? Dance teachers get paid shit when they work with kids.” 

“Is that why you moved to doing choreography?”  Daya asked as she found the door and knocked loudly.

“That, and I realized working with people’s kids wasn’t worth the pay anyways.” 

They both heard Kerri’s voice from the other side of the door stand out from the music “Could someone get the door?” A few moments later, the door opened to reveal Jasmine on the other side, stepping to the side to let Bosco and Daya inside. 

Jasmine’s usual dirty blonde hair was now a dyed copper color. If Daya hadn’t found the letters a couple of weeks before, she wouldn’t have thought twice about the change. But she knew that a girl dying her hair was a classic post-breakup move, realizing Jasmine must have pulled all the stops to get over her crush.

“Nice new hair, Jas,” Daya said as she placed the bag on the coffee table next to a prepared ice bucket. As soon as she said it, Daya realized that she complimented Jasmine. It wasn’t bickering, so she was off to a good start with her so far.

Jasmine had a look of slight surprise and gently held a piece in her hand, “Oh, thanks, Daya. Lemon got bored and said that she accidentally picked up the wrong box months ago and used it on me.” she explained with more background information than Daya asked for. 

Somehow, Daya didn’t hate hearing Jasmine’s rambling for once.

“Well, it looks good on you,” Bosco added as she helped Daya unload the beers and hard sodas into the bucket. 

“Thanks for bringing the drinks, Willow and I didn’t have a chance to get them earlier,” Kerri said as she walked in with bowls of various snacks to put on the table. Willow followed close behind from where they emerged from the kitchen. 

“Yeah, the edibles we had this morning hit us almost too hard.” Willow laughed as she sat across from where Camden and Anergia were sitting close together on the two-person bean bag chair Keeri dragged out from the bedroom. 

The rest of the group found other places to sit in the living room as they all helped themselves to different snacks and drinks, settling into various side conversations. 

“Did your cats miss you? I’m guessing they were all over you when you got home.” Camden asked Jasmine before taking a sip from her drink. Kerri excused herself into the kitchen, quickly saying that her mom was calling her.

“They were all over me. But I can’t find one of Theo’s favorite toys for some reason.” Jasmine thoughtfully said. 

“Have you checked behind the dresser?” Daya said but realized what was actually in that area in Jasmine’s bedroom and not supposed to know about. 

Luckily Jasmine had a good poker face, “Why the dresser?” she asked Daya, seemingly challenging her recommendation.

Daya had to think of something to say quickly. “Oh, I found another toy back there when I was playing with the cats when I went over with Willow.” 

“Just one toy?” Jasmine asked, crossing her arms. 

“Yeah, just one toy was back there, that's it.” Daya calmly said, looking for any change in Jasmine’s expression. 

Thankfully, Kerri returned to interrupt the awkward tension, “Hey Jas? My mom was wondering if you could babysit this weekend. Both she and Mama are flying to a destination wedding this weekend but they can’t find anyone to watch Delia.” she said as she settled back in her seat. 

“Yeah I can, but they’ll be gone all weekend?” Jasmine asked. 

“They are, I’d help you out but Willow and I are going to that music festival this weekend.” Kerri pointed out and looked at Camden and Angeria. “What about you two?”

Angie shook her head “I have family coming in this weekend, and most of them haven’t met Cam yet.” She gave a sympathetic smile to Jasmine, 

“Otherwise, we would help you if it weren’t for that.” Camden pointed out. 

Jasmine pursed her lips, thinking of other people who might be available to help her. “Maybe I could ask-”

“I can help you.” Daya blurted out before thinking, and everyone in the room looked at her in complete shock. 

Kerri broke the shocked silence amongst the group, pointing between Daya and Jasmine as she spoke.

“You? Want to help Jasmine? With babysitting?” she asked, confusion rising in her voice.

Daya nodded, “Yeah, why not? I’m free this weekend anyways.” 

“I think hell just froze over,” Bosco mumbled as she took a sip of beer. 

Kerri shook off her confused state, “Well, my parents and Delia all like you, so I guess it’s up to Jasmine then.” She looked over at her best friend, who had been silent since Daya offered her help.

“I’ll take the help if you’re not joking about this,” Jasmine said, still slightly surprised. “I guess I’ll text you the address and when to come over this weekend.” Jasmine sounded like she was trying to keep her voice even, but still held back some apprehension. 

After a couple of hours, everyone was winding down from the small get-together. Jasmine left with Camden and Angie since they were her ride home. Daya and Bosco chose to stay behind afterward and help Kerri and Willow clean up. 

As Daya was putting the rest of the empty bottles in the trash and working on taking the bag out of the can, Kerri suddenly approached her, and she was blocking the doorway. Kerri stared her down with a piercing gaze and her arms crossed. 

Kerri continued to quietly stare at her until Daya spoke up “Can I help you?” she asked with slight confusion. 

“What’s with you suddenly acting nice to Jasmine?” she questioned, continuing the stare-down. Kerri kept her voice low so as not to catch the attention of the others in the apartment.

Daya straightened her posture, “What do you mean?” trying to keep her voice calm.

“You didn’t start any fights with her, you offered to babysit with her, and hell, you even complimented her!�� Kerri explained. “Why are you acting differently around her tonight?” Kerri tilted her head slightly. 

Daya cleared her throat before answering. “I just thought you guys didn’t want to hear us bicker all night.” 

“Oh really? So you don’t have any other reason to suddenly be nice to her?” 

Daya shook her head, “No, just turning over a new leaf with her. If we want to call each other friends, we might as well at least try to get along.” she explained, and luckily the other woman seemed to accept that answer. 

“I just don’t want to see my sister get hurt. That’s all I’m worried about.” Kerri sighed and turned around, allowing Daya to exit again. 

“Don’t worry, your little sister is going to be in good hands this weekend,” Daya said as she tied the garbage bag shut, and Kerri spun around with her dyed blonde hair flowing behind her.

“I wasn’t talking about Delia, by the way.” 

[braveclementine]

Chapter 14

Warnings: None. However, future chapters will contain sexual content so readers that are under the age of 18 may have to skip those chapters (However they are very few so those under the age of 18 can still read a majority of this book. However please keep note of the warnings).

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

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𝕾𝖔, 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖘 𝕴 overreacted a bit.

For the remainder of Christmas break I stayed in the Hufflepuff Common room. I only left to sneak down to the kitchens late at night to get food or get up early early in the morning for breakfast.

I was hungry most of the time, but I wasn't going to dare to show my face- at least not when Professor Snape might be around. I missed Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I missed the forest and I missed Firenze but there was no way I was leaving the safety of the dorm. Every day I put off was another day to give Professor Snape time to forget what I'd said.

I finished all my homework and when I was done with that, I read and re-read all the books I'd gotten for Christmas and of course, IT.

Susan was the only one who asked me why I wasn't leaving the dorm. I don't think anyone else really noticed. I just said I was feeling tired often and didn't want to move much. I think she was concerned about me not eating though. I wasn't- Trang had sent candy from America for Christmas and I had my hot fudge cakes from Mrs. Weasley. Besides, I didn't notice hunger when I was reading or sleeping.

I had, against my better judgement, drawn some scenes from that night. I had drawn Professor Snape and I dancing- mostly because I wanted to remember it one day. I had also drawn Harry and Parvati, Ron and Padma, Cedric and Cho, and Hermione and Krum.

When I woke up on the first day of second term, I summoned up my courage and, packing my books, made my way down the stairs to the Great Hall. I sat with Hermione, Ron, and Harry, carefully keeping my back to the teachers' tables. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I couldn't help but think there were eyes on me.

I ate two helpings of food. Meanwhile, Hermione, Ron, and Harry filled me in on what had happened- after asking where'd I'd been. They then preceded to tell me about the conversation between Hagrid and Madam Maxime.

"I already knew that." I said shrugging, "Foresaw it." I shoveled eggs in my mouth. Hermione looked a bit worried about my appetite. Harry and Ron got up to go to Care of Magical Creatures and she held my arm so keep me back for a second. I'd been about to tear off to Divination.

"What happened after the Yule Ball?" She asked quietly.

"Nothing." I muttered, looking at the floor.

"Well you must've done something, no one's seen you for two weeks except the Hufflepuff girls. Have you even eaten in two weeks?"

"Of course I have!" I said a bit defensively.

Hermione shrugged, but I knew she wasn't letting it go, she just wanted to get to Care of Magical Creatures class quickly. I'm sure she'd bombard me about it again soon.

I hurried to Divination, glad that no one else was going to look at the situation to closely. But perhaps Hermione was right. Locking myself in a room for two weeks might not have been the best way to handle it.

But then again, I was quite dramatic.

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��� 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓 to lunch feeling apprehensive. To my luck (which meant it was bad), I had potions after lunch and I was feeling very sick.

Harry and Ron looked extremely angry when they sat down and Harry tossed me a paper he was holding. It was the Daily Prophet. "Read that." Harry snapped.

          DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE      Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that cause many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part- human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.      Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secure for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates. An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening."      "I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything."      Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed "Blast-Ended Skrewts," highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions. "I was just having some fun," he says, before hastily changing the subject.      As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not- as he has always pretended- a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.      Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror.      While many of the giants who served He-Who- Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature.      In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who's fall from power- thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who's supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the un- pleasant truth about his large friend- but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants.

I stared blankly at the last sentence and then looked over at where Draco was sitting with the other Slytherins and I made to get up but Hermione held my arm. "Must you always act so dramatically?" Hermione asked.

Yes, I thought.

"We've got to go see him." Harry muttered, putting beef casserole on his plate. "This evening after Divination. Tell him we want him back. . . you do want him back?" He shot at Hermione.

Hermione blushed and said, "I- well, I'm not going to pretend it didn't make a nice change, having a proper Care of Magical Creatures lesson for once- but I do want Hagrid back, of course I do!" she said, quickly changing her tune at Harry's glare. He looked at me.

I shrugged, "He won't answer the door- if he's even in the cabin when you go."

Harry still decided that he was going to go after dinner anyways. I shrugged again, dreading potions. Maybe I could keep turning back the hour so I never had to go. But I decided that I was going to have to face him eventually.

I was nearly late to class and took my customary seat, staring down at the wooden table as though it was the most interesting thing I'd ever seen. Did you know you could find patterns in wood just like in clouds?

He addressed the class normally and I focused completely on my potion, blocking him out. The one time that I looked up at him, he had his back to me and I breathed a little easier.

I finished my potion before the bell rang and was packed and ready to go by the time the bell rang. I dashed from the classroom and headed to the Great Hall for dinner. I went down to the cabins with the other three and, as predicted, Hagrid never answered the door.

Over the next week, we didn't see Hagrid and part of me had to agree with Hermione as Professor Grubbly-Plank went over lessons with unicorns. I had, of course, seen unicorns before in the Forbidden Forest. But it was different, seeing them like this. Sadder, in a way, in a pen instead of free. I had half a mind to open the gate and let it run away. I wondered if I'd get a bad grade.

There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January and Harry wanted to go. We had left the castle in our cloaks when I looked over at the Durmstrang ship. Viktor emerged onto the deck dressed in only swimming trunks. He dived into the lake.

"He's mad!" Harry cried, "It must be freezing, it's January!"

I looked on with interest as Krum continued to swim in the water, "I should really try that out."

"It's a lot colder where he comes from. I suppose it feels quite warm to him." Hermione said reasonably.

"Yeah, but there's still the giant squid." Ron said, sounding hopeful.

Hermione and I both frowned, "He's really nice, you know. He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He likes it much better here, he told me." Hermione said.

"He told me the same thing on the first day here." I said. "And he certainly isn't anything like how they portray the Durmstrang's to be. Karkaroff wasn't happy at all that he invited you to the dance, you know. Durmstrang has a very high anti-Muggle policy."

Ron kept quiet. I scanned the streets for Hagrid but didn't seem him. Harry suggested we go into the Three Broomsticks and we agreed, eager to get out of the cold. We went up to the bar and ordered four butterbeers. Madam Rosmerta peered very curiously at me- probably trying to figure out what made me so special to the teachers back up to the school. Meanwhile, I stared at the decorations hanging around until she handed us our drinks.

"Doesn't he ever go into the office?" Hermione whispered, "Look."

She pointed into the mirror behind the bar and we looked into the reflection where I saw Ludo conversing with three goblins. The goblins looked menacing, their arms crossed across their chest. He seemed stressed too.

Then, he looked up and saw us and quickly came over to us. "Harry! How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?"

"Fine, thanks." Harry said.

"Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Harry? You couldn't give us a moment, you two, could you? I also need a word with you Elizabeth, if you'd wait just over to the side."

"Er-okay." Ron and I said together. Ron and Hermione headed to find a table and I took a few steps back, leaning against the wall.

Madam Rosmerta kept glancing over at me and finally, I looked over at her and said, "You know, if you have something to ask me, you can ask. I don't bite." and I gave her a warm smile. She seemed a bit relieved.

"I was just wondering if you were the Elizabeth Kane I've heard quite a bit about." she said, filling up a cup.

"I am." I verified. "I know I've been talked about in this bar too. Last year, Fudge, you, Flitwick, Hagrid, and McGonagall."

Instead of looking abashed, she looked amazed and curious, "Your foresaw that did you?"

"Parts of it." I admitted, "But I was actually just sitting at a nearby table when the conversation took place."

"Hagrid talks about you a lot and your Professors will end up talking about you if prodded." Madam Rosmerta said, still sounding a bit awed for some reason, before walking out of the bar with her drinks. She set off for a table nearby to serve the drinks.

I thought about her words. I wondered if Professor Snape would talk about me if he was asked about me. Then I remembered I was trying not to think about him and I quickly set my eyes on Ludo and Harry. They seemed to wrapping up their conversation. Harry walked off a few seconds later and Bagman approached me.

"So Elizabeth! I was just wondering-"

"You're betting wrong." I finished for him, taking a sip of my drink.

He looked guilty, dropping his voice, and said quietly but urgently, "I'm in trouble."

"I know."

We stared at each other for a moment and then I sighed. I was to nice. "If you bet that Harry and Cedric tie the competition, I think you have a higher chance of winning your gold back."

"But there can't be a tie!" Ludo said, frowning.

I shrugged, "I'm telling you what my gut feeling is. But it'll be either Cedric or Harry or both and as for now, my gut says both. Now, you need to talk to the Weasley twins too and just come clear. Alright, I'm going to go find my friends now. Take care."

I walked away, leaving him there are the bar. Fred and George were eyeing Ludo and me with vivid interest and I smiled at them as I passed by. Fred seemed like he wanted to talk but I wasn't really in the mood.

". . . for Crouch, according to Bagman. He's still ill. Hasn't been into work." Harry was saying.

"Maybe Percy's poisoning him. Probably thinks if Crouch snuffs it he'll be made head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation." Ron said.

"Funny, goblins looking for Mr. Crouch. . . They'd normally deal with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical creatures." Hermione said, frowning.

"Crouch can speak loads of different languages, though, Maybe they need an interpreter. What did Bagman want with you, Elizabeth?" Harry asked.

I rolled my eyes. "He's having money troubles. Wanted to know a future bet."

Hermione scoffed.

"Uh oh." Ron said, staring up at the door.

I look up briefly and felt my annoyance leave, replaced by anger. She was wearing yellow robes and her nails were hot pink. She was talking very fast to her photographer. I gritted my teeth.

". . . didn't seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow, anyway? Showing them the sights. . . what nonsense. . . he was always a bad liar. Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? 'Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman. . .' Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo- we just need to find a story to fit it-"

"Trying to ruin someone else's life?" Harry asked loudly and my eyes jumped to him.

"Harry! How lovely! Why don't you come and join-"

"I wouldn't come near with a ten-foot broomstick. What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?" Harry said furiously.

People were getting quieter in the bar. If I wasn't so angry, I think I might've been properly embarrassed.

"Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my-"

"Who cares if he's half-giant?" I asked scathingly. "No one who actually knows him sees him as any of the ways that you portrayed him in the article."

"There's nothing wrong with him." Harry assented. The entire pub was silent. Madam Rosmerta was still filling a full cup of beer. It was about to overflow.

Rita pulled out her Quick Quotes Quill. My wand hand twitched- I wanted to set the thing on fire. "How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know, Harry? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?"

"Oh, shut up." I snapped suddenly. The father thing was a touchy subject for me.

"You horrible woman." Hermione said furiously, standing up. "You don't care, do you, anything for a story, and anyone will do, won't they? Even Ludo Bagman-"

"Sit down, you silly girl, and don't talk about things you don't understand. I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl. . . not that it needs it-" Rita eyed Hermione's hair, her eyes narrowing.

"You mean the trial?" I asked lightly. "Pretty sure they never had evidence in the first place and he got off without a single charge so it's a moot point, isn't it?"

"Let's go." Hermione said. "C'mon Harry, Ron, Elizabeth."

They got up and followed her but I stayed where I was a second longer and then walked out. As I passed Rita Skeeter I whispered, "I know your future, you know. Let's just say you've got some hard times coming. You're just a little bug with zero skills." I looked up at her, smiling wickedly, and walked out of the pub. She didn't look intimidated.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron were already halfway down the street and I ran to catch up with them.

". . . don't read the Daily Prophet. She can't scare me into hiding!" Hermione was saying, striding so fast the others were running to keep up with her. I matched her pace. "And Hagrid isn't hiding anymore! He should never have let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come on!"

She broke into a run and we ran after her. The curtains were still closed in the cabin and Fang barked as we approached.

"Hagrid!" I shouted. "Let us in!"

"Hagrid! Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being-" Hermione said, pounding on the door in intervals.

The door opened and Hermione cried out, "About t-" before realizing that it was Dumbledore who had opened the door.

"Good afternoon." He said pleasantly, smiling down at all of us. I smiled back.

"We- er- we wanted to see Hagrid." Hermione said in a small voice.

"Yes, I surmised as much. Why don't you come in?" Dumbledore asked.

"Oh. . . um. . . okay." Hermione said while I smiled wider.

Hagrid was sitting at the table. There were two large mugs of tea on the table. His face was blotchy and his eyes were swollen . His hair was all tangled and a complete mess.

"Hi Hagrid." Harry said.

Hagrid looked up. "'Lo" he said in a bit of a hoarse voice.

I went over and put my arms around him.

"More tea, I think." Dumbledore said and raising his wand, a revolving tea tray appeared with a plate of cakes. Ron eyed the plate hungrily. There was a slight pause and then Dumbledore asked, "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid?" I giggled as Hermione went pink. "Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Elizabeth still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door."

"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry said, staring at Hagrid.

I laughed. "you don't think anything that Skeeter cow wrote really means anything to anyone, do you?" I asked. "Pardon my French Professor, I'm a bit angry with her."

"Understandable." Professor Dumbledore said, sounding extremely amused.

"Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that- woman- wrote about you?" Harry asked more civilly.

"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid. I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it-"

"Not all of 'em. Not all of 'em want me ter stay." Hagrid said hoarsely.

"Hagrid, you've known this already." I said, trying not to sound exasperated. "None of the Slytherins want you to stay. But that's never stopped you from teaching us Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors! Come on now!"

"Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school where I haven't had at leas tone owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?" Dumbledore asked.

Unable to help myself I asked, "Are all the letters from Lucius Malfoy?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and said, "A large majority."

"Yeh- yeh're not half-giant!" Hagrid said.

"Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives. Look at the Dursleys!" Harry said furiously but I wasn't sure what it had to do with anything.

"Look at my dad." I said softly.

"An excellent point." Dumbledore said. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery. . ."

I giggled.

"Come back and teach, Hagrid. Please come back, we really miss you." Hermione pleaded.

"I refused to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday. You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you a-" At that moment, an owl flew and tapped on Hagrid's window. I opened it up and a tired Sadie came into the cabin.

"Thanks girl." I said, taking the letter from Sadie, seeing that it was from Trang, and opened it up right there. As I read it, the blood drained from my face.

"Elizabeth?" Dumbledore asked in mild concern.

"It's nothing." I said bitterly as I read over and over about how Trang's mother had written to Trang asking if she could ask me how my dad was because he'd been all over town trying to find a job- unsuccessfully. "Just be glad you're not a werewolf Hagrid." I angrily stuffed the letter in my pocket.

"Your dad's having a hard time finding work?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore observed me with a serene look, a look that I couldn't read.

I nodded, jaw clenched. "I'm used to it, of course- but he told me he had a job and we said we weren't going to lie to each other. I know he doesn't want me to worry but still." I ran a hand through my hair. "I'll see you in class Tuesday Hagrid. I need to go write some letters. Bye Professor."

I left the cabin and strode up the hills. I went up to the Owlery, pulling Trang's letter out of my pocket again.

Dear Elizabeth, Thank you for the Christmas present of course. I found the peppermint imps to be absolutely fascinating. (I nearly burned the small shed we- that is to say my American host family- have in the backyard down). However, my mum has been writing to me quite frequently, asking me if I've heard anything about your dad from you. I guess she said he's been going around town looking for jobs. Apparently he's staying home a lot so I guess he didn't get a job? I don't know, you haven't talked about him a lot. I can't very well tell mum that werewolves have a hard time getting a job and I know you probably didn't want to mention it to me. I know our families are very different when it comes to money. If you want, I can help out- I know you mentioned he wouldn't take money from your vault. I'm sorry for bringing this up and hopefully it gets cleared up. Maybe by the time my letter gets there he'll have had a job and this letter won't mean anything. Or maybe mums' wrong and he's always had a job. Anyways, you don't really have to let me know, of course. Your dad is your business. But I just wanted to let you know mums' worried about him. Keep in touch, Love, Trang

I put my face in my hands, laying the letter down on the ground. I didn't cry but I felt horrible. Then, I pulled out a piece of parchment and tried to figure out what I was going to write.

Dear Dad, I just got a letter from Trang. Apparently her mum wrote her to ask me if you're okay because according to her, you're having a difficult time getting a job. I know you don't want me to worry, but I can't help it, and if she's right and you don't have a job, I don't appreciate the lie. We said we weren't going to lie to each other. I'm sending money with this letter. I'd rather you just suck it up and use it then starve or whatever you're doing to save money. I love you and forgive me for calling you a liar if you do have a job.

Also, can you send me information on Barty Crouch? Just like about his life and work? I think it might be important.

Love,

Elizabeth

I rolled it up and headed down the stairs and went back to the Hufflepuff common room to get some of my Galleons. I put seventy-five in a bag and then went back up to the Owlery. I used a weight reduction spell. Sadie was up for a trip by this time and I told her it was for dad. She held out her leg and I attached the letter and money and she flew away.

I trooped back down the stairs and went to dinner.

💙💙💙💙

𝕳𝖆𝖌𝖗𝖎𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖊𝖉 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖗 Grubbly-planks' lesson book and had baby unicorns- called foals. They were pure gold. They were lovely and a majority of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls dissolved into squeals at the sight of them. Again, I had the strangest urge to open the gate and let them go out into the forest.

In Charms, I sat at a back table with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He told us about how he'd taken the egg down to the bathroom and the memorized poem that he'd heard which went like this:

Come seek us where our voices sound we cannot sing above the ground, and while you're searching, ponder this: We've taken what you'll sorely miss, An hour long you'll have to look And to recover what we took, But past an hour- the prospect's black, Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

"That's why Krum was jumping into the lake." I said. "He must've been practicing for the tournament."

"Anyways." Harry said quickly with a look at Ron's face. "When I was coming back, I er, fell on the trick stair and dropped the egg and the Marauders map." He then proceeded to tell us about Snape and Filch and Moody. Mostly the conversation between Moody and Snape.

"Snape said Moody's searched his office as well? What. . . d'you reckon Moody's here to keep an eye on Snape as well as Karkaroff?" Ron whispered, trying to banish his cushion. It did fly across the room, knocking Parvati's hat off her head, but did not land in the box he was supposed to be aiming at.

I'd already banished all four of my cushions to the box. "Of course not." I scoffed.

"Well, I dunno if that's what Dumbledore asked him to do, but he's definitely doing it. Moody said Dumbledore only lets Snape stay here because he's giving him a second chance or something..." Harry said, trying to banish his cushion but it only flopped on the desk.

"What? Harry. . . maybe Moody thinks Snape put your name in the Goblet of Fire!" Ron said, his next cushion bounced off the chandelier and landed on Flitwick's' desk.

I scoffed again. "Of course not."

"We thought Snape was trying to kill Harry before and it turned out he was saving Harry's life, remember?" Hermione asked. "I don't care what Moody says. Dumbledore's not stupid. He was right to trust Hagrid and Professor Lupin, even though loads of people wouldn't have given them jobs, so why shouldn't he be right about Snape, even if Snape's a bit-"

"Evil?" Ron asked. "Come on Hermione, why are all these Dark wizard catchers searching his office then?"

"Why has Mr. Crouch been pretending to be ill?" Hermione said, changing the subject. "It's a bit funny, isn't it, that he can't manage to come to the Yule Ball, but he can get up here in the middle of the night when he wants to."

I frowned at this phrase of questioning. It was bizarre, wasn't it? And why had I foreseen the conversation but not the robbery? I was sure someone had taken something from Snape's office, but what could it have possibly been? Potion ingredients most likely, but for what?

"You just don't like Crouch because of that elf, Winky." Ron said scathingly.

"You just want to think Snape's up to something." Hermione retorted, sending her cushion into the box.

"I just want to know what Snape did with his first chance, if he's on his second one." Harry said, his cushion following Hermione's into the box.

"Nothing." I said. "It's a matter of opinion and which direction you look at it from. But you'll find out about it anyways so I won't tell."

"Typical Elizabeth answer." Ron snorted as his cushion was banished far away from the box.

💙💙💙💙

𝕳𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖞, 𝕳𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖊, 𝕽𝖔𝖓, and I searched endlessly in the library for something to help Harry breathe under water.

"You know." I said, slamming a book closed in frustration. "If you could swim on your own and hold your breath for long periods of time, you could just swim along the top. The only problem would be seeing. If you had night-vision or under-water vision, then we might get lucky."

"I can't swim well." Harry said, gritting his teeth.

"I ought to go try it out and see how deep the lake is." I said thoughtfully.

Hermione snorted, "The lake could be miles deep- it's not a pool."

Harry had gotten notes for the restriction section from Professor McGonagall and had asked Madam Pince for specific books on breathing underwater. Nothing helped and we found nothing.

"You know. . ." I said slowly. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong spot." I said a day before the task. I was going to let slip about the plant- Gillyweed, and then Fred and George came around and I shut my mouth.

"What're you two doing here?" Ron asked, looking up at them. Fred and George were never in the library.

"Looking for Hermione and Elizabeth." George said. "McGonagall wants you both in your office."

Hermione and I exchanged brief looks of shock. Well that wasn't supposed to happen. What about Ron? But I shouldn't have been so surprised. My visions had been wonky since day one. I had to stop relying on them.

"Why?" Hermione asked, looking surprised.

"Dunno. . . she was looking a bit grim, though." Fred said.

"We're supposed to take you down to her office." George said.

"We'll meet you in the common room." Hermione said, standing up and I got to my feet too. "Bring as many of these books as you can."

I followed her out of the library, feeling apprehensive. In McGonagall's office was Cho and a little blond girl who looked a bit like Fleur.

"Ah, Miss Granger, Miss Kane." Dumbledore said, smiling at us. Professor McGonagall looked a bit stressed behind him. "Wonderful, all four of you are here."

I was frowning, confused. Why me? Surely Ron would have been chosen in place for Harry.

"Now then." Dumbledore said. "There's nothing to worry about. For the next part of the tournament, each contestant is supposed to rescue you- a hostage like situation. Miss Delacour for Miss Delacour, Miss Chang for Mr. Diggory, Miss Granger for Mr. Krum, and Miss Kane for Mr. Potter. You won't be in any immediate danger and I will be putting you each in a deep sleep. The charm will break when your champion reaches you and your head comes up above water. Are there any questions?"

My hand shot up into the air like we were in class and Dumbledore looked at me. "Sir, I though you were going to use Ron Weasley for Harry."

Dumbledore smiled and said, "I was, but I thought this would be a bit interesting, and there were some hints, of course." Professor McGonagall's mouth grew thinner.

I shrugged. Alright then. Who was I to challenge Dumbledore in the first place anyways?

I wasn't very keen about spending the entire night and half the morning in the lake but since I was going to be asleep anyways, I guess it didn't really matter. Lake water did horrible things to people's hair however. I was going to have to wash it afterwards.

We all walked down to the lake. That was the last thing that I remembered.

⬅️➡️

[queenlucythevaliant]

An Autobiography in Books

We made a list, my mom and I, of all the picture books we loved best

All the Places to Love, which made my mom and my aunt cry together on a summer day once and I didn't understand why

Miss Rumphius

Miss Fanny's Hats

Doctor Suess's books - all of them. We used to have Suess-a-thons on snow days, all curled up together under covers in my parent's bed.

The Best Place, which was probably our favorite

(I would still like to have a screen porch someday, like the Old Wolf)

We had only just moved when we listened to Mr. Revere and I in the car on cassette tape. My parents had to pause it every few chapters to answer our questions, but after we finished with it I played Sons of Liberty with my dolls for years.

And over the years, my parents must have read the Laura and Mary books (so I called them) aloud to me twenty or thirty times. Silver Lake was my favorite. I didn't much mind which parent read them to me, except for Farmer Boy. That book belonged exclusively to my dad.

Pages and pages. I'm in my pajamas with a glass of chocolate milk. My mom or my dad sits on the edge of my bed. Ramona and Avonlea and Where the Red Fern Grows.

My first grade teacher read us a picture book that had a witch in it. I told my mom when I got home. "Can you write me a note to sit out?" I asked, thinking of the previous year's Halloween party.

"What was the book called?" my mom asked me.

"The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe."

My mom laughed. "That's a Christian book," she said. "There's a longer version. We can read it together."

My mom's copy of Little Women had gilt pages and the most beautiful painted illustrations. Sometimes, I would open the book up and flip through it, just to look at the pictures and feel the paper on my hands.

I still dream about running away to live in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, like Claudia in From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.

There was a book called For Freedom, which almost no one else seems to have heard of.

It was about a teenage girl training to be an opera singer in occupied France.

She was a spy who carried coded messages in the hollowed out heel of her shoe.

In the end, her voice gave out while singing Carmen, which to me seemed a fate worse than death.

She- the girl in the book- would pray: "God, make me brave. Make me brave and make me sing. Protect my family. Make me brave."

I won a Hunger Games trivia contest at my library before Mockingjay was released.

In sixth grade, my friends and I all read Shannon Hale's The Books of Bayern together. There were four of us and four female heroines. We each chose one and we played pretend: Elizabeth was Isi, Lauren was Dasha, Morgan was Rin, and I was Enna

(And then!)

My whole world blossomed into color when I read Gone with the Wind. I had never known such books existed! I remember a kind of frenetic eagerness. A thousand pages in less than a week, and I came away with a fierce, joyful love for messy antiheroines, sprawling epics, and bittersweet endings.

"Recommend me some more of your favorites!" I begged my mother. She handed me Jane Austen, Edith Wharton, the Brontes.

Jane Eyre was a challenge. I was forever flipping to the footnotes in the back of the book, translating the French dialogue and making note of all the words I didn't know. My reading pace was like frozen molasses and I remember several times thinking "Why is this so much harder than Gone with the Wind?"

But by the end, I saw myself in Jane. I was quiet, like her, and I hoped I could capture some of her integrity.

I read Kristin Cashore's Fire right in the middle of my forray into Jane Austen: Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility before, Emma and Persuasion after. For that reason, my mind insists on erroneously filing Fire with Austen's work, a sort of forbidden sixth novel. It does feature

a beautiful, clever heroine who plays an instrument and wanders through the forest,

a romance with a stern but kind young military man,

and issues of class, wealth, and family,

so maybe it's an okay thing if it stays.

Anna Karenina was magic, pure and simple. I couldn't shut up about it. Eventually, my friends begged me to stop quoting. "I think you're even more into Anna Karenina than Narnia nowadays!" This assertion offended me; Narnia will always be my favorite.

(Here, I started high school.)

How to describe the first experience I had with The Age of Innocence?

I read it sitting in a sunbeam over several summer afternoons.

When I was finished, I flipped it back over and read it again.

I think I mostly wanted to embrace Ellen and tell her she was very brave.

I wanted to tell Archer that he wasn't, but that he should be.

My dad gave me a copy of The Story of Earth by Robert Hazen. It was a secular history of Earth's geology and biology, but it had just the slimmest glimmer of theism around the edges. I think this book has set the course of my life more directly than any other.

I read War and Peace and Atlas Shrugged back to back the same summer I read The Story of Earth. What a summer of ideas that was.

More needs be said about War and Peace: I set out to read it because I wanted to conquer it, but then I read Natasha and Sonya gazing at the lovely moon with Andrei below. I was still in my sundress and gold eyeliner from church, and reading Natasha's "Oh, how lovely," I felt positively celestial.

So it was that conquest became a love affair.

The Killer Angels came in the first full year of my battle with chronic illness. It was hopeful, brave and sad; it made me proud to be an American and equally proud to be fighting my own small battle. I wondered if I had any hope of winning.

On the mornings when I didn't have migraines, I sat on a certain bench outside the gym complex with a book until 7:59. I ignored everyone who spoke to me.

I didn't like The Lord of the Rings the first time I read it. I was dreadfully disappointed because I expected to find Narnia. Yet in the pages of The Return of the King, I found no Aslan, only Aragorn.

(Here, I began college.)

The Far Pavilions was just the epic I needed my first year. The migraines were bad; I was alone and in pain and my thoughts were muddled, but whenever Ash thought how unfair his lot was, I felt a little better in mine.

After considerable peer-pressure, I re-read The Lord of the Rings- on it's own terms this time- and at last I loved it.

Then I read The Silmarillion and made all the same mistakes.

It took me four attempts to finally understand the glory of Tolkien's writings.

I read most of The Gulag Archipelago crammed in the back of a van on a road trip to Florida. It was too loud - people talking over one another, radio cranked up high - and I could barely move my legs from where they were pinned to the seat in front of me. My shoulders spasmed and ached. I felt that book in some small yet visceral way. My physical discomfort made the suffering more immediate, which allowed the Solzhenitsyn's knife-words to cut me deeper than they could have otherwise.

Solzhenitsyn got some stuff wrong, my dad says. He just didn't have access to the best information. Try Anne Applebaum, if you really want to know about the gulags. But how can I replicate the experience of reading The Gulag Archipelago in the back of that van?

I was reading Nicolas and Alexandra the next-to last-time I saw my grandfather alive. We sat in the cafeteria in his nursing home and I recounted the most interesting bits for him.

I wasn't finished reading it by the time I left. I'm glad I was reading history that trip; my granddad already knew the ending.

Villette was a book about loneliness and Protestantism. It made me feel less lonely and more Protestant, which is exactly what I look for in a new favorite book.

(Okay fine, I do quite like Wuthering Heights actually, though I wouldn't call it a favorite. Are you happy?)

I picked up The October Horse for quite a shallow reason: because I learned that Julius Caesar was an epileptic, and epilepsy is quite closely related to migraine.

Julius Caesar and Ulysses S. Grant, those were my guys. However, I'd read Grant's memoir all the way back in fifth grade, so Caesar it was.

The rich velvet of Colleen McCullough 's writing came as a delightful surprise, and The Thorn Birds (soon to be another favorite) soon followed.

(It's getting harder to write this now. It's harder to write about more recent history, even indirectly.)

The Master and Margarita was strange and fascinating and I couldn't look away. I have spoken and written hundreds and thousands of words trying to explain it's appeal. I have evangelized on behalf of this book, but ultimately all I can say is: Go read it. Read it right now.

The Sparrow made me weep more times than I would like to admit. Like Emilio Sandoz, in reading it I felt naked before God. How horrible and how lovely a thing it was.

Which of this year's books will I carry with me into the future? This Too Shall Last for practical advice? Dead Souls for justice, Pyrenesi for joy, Deathless for beautiful prose? The Queen of Attolia for friendship, perhaps, or Six of Crows for my sister? Only time will tell which shapes me most.

[seitmai]

Very important chapter, so obviously very many thoughts under the cut

You could feel and hear his laughter as one big hand came up to squeeze your shoulder before gliding down your side to your waist. "Make you move? I want to keep you with me forever, Gorgeous." Did he know the extent to which his words excited you every time he said forever? You tried to play it cool, wrapping your arm around his waist, but as soon as his lips met your forehead in a gentle kiss, you whispered, "Forever sounds really good."

I have a feeling that forever is gonna be happening sooner than later 🤭

"Of course you are," you murmured, letting your hand rest on his flat belly. He only took a quick lunch break earlier during Career Day before pulling off the flyover surprise that had your whole school buzzing with excitement. "I don't think you ate enough today. Let's remedy that."

I love so much that she feeds Bradley 🥰

"I did notice," he whispered. "There has to be something there. He was looking at her the way I look at you."

Yes!!🥳

You must have been watching the sexy way he walked for a little too long, because Natasha honked her horn and yelled out the window, "I want some wine!"

Ahahaha I love Nat and honestly would have done the same 😅

"You're going to freak out later," she mumbled, making a left turn. "What?" You weren't sure you'd heard her correctly.

Good god, Nat is playing with fire

"I might have to start bringing headphones again though, because the man will not shut up about you the whole time." You covered your face with your hands while she laughed. "Sorry." "Don't be sorry. It was so bad at times before he met you, I used to have to put my earbuds in and pretend I was listening to him complain about his exes. It was always the same thing. Nat, I don't know how to break up with her, but she's kind of mean to me. Nat, I can't keep taking her to the bar, because she flirts with everyone else. Nat, why is she being so selfish? Nat, I feel like she's just using me. Nat. Nat. Nat. Nat. Nat." Her voice softened as she said, "It's not like that with you at all. Now he just wants to know if I think his date ideas sound stupid or romantic. And if I think he's crazy for already having you move in."

Geez all of Bradley’s exes sound horrible lol

She grinned as she switched lanes. "Trust me when I say I've given him some solid date ideas. And I told him he would have been miserable if he waited any longer to ask you to live with him. That man is so solidly in love with you, it is disgusting." "The feeling is mutual," you whispered as your cheeks burned.

I wanna know all about Nat's date ideas!!!

"I know. Now let's enjoy some wine while we talk shit about him. I've been way too nice today up to this point."

This is peak Nat and I love it 😅

When Natasha dropped you off after four hours of wine and conversation, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. You were already looking forward to hanging out with her again soon.

Those are the best times 🥰

"Bradley?" You glanced at the wall and then back at his face. You weren't even sure if your words were intelligible as you muttered, "Paper planes?" His smile widened. "It's all the letters you and your class sent to me. You know... when you were looking for a Naval aviator to write back and answer a few questions? I guess a few questions turned into a lot more than that. And a simple correspondence with a gorgeous fourth grade teacher soon made me realize that you're the woman of my dreams. My pen pals changed my whole life." He nodded toward the wall. "Your students helped me fold them up yesterday."

Ahhhh what a cute way to pop the question🥰🥹

"It was my mom's." He held up his right hand, fingers curled in a loose fist. You watched as he carefully unfurled them, revealing a ring resting on his palm. "I want you to have it. Unless you don't like it. It's from 1984, and it's definitely vintage, so I won't be upset if you tell me you'd rather have something more modern." He was rambling, but you could barely breathe from the butterflies which were fluttering hard against your ribcage. "Maverick was holding onto her engagement ring for safekeeping. I had no idea until he heard me talking about how desperately I want to marry you."

She is gonna marry him with whatever ring but it's so cute that he shared the backstory of the ring with her ���

I'm SO happy that Bradley FINALLY popped the question and has gotten the desired answer 🥰🥹

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 26 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley has a plan of action, but he needs to make sure you're a little distracted before he can proceed.

Warnings: fluff, adult language, smut, 18+

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

"Today was exhausting," you whispered, pulling your legs up so you were sitting on Bradley's lap on the couch. His flight suit was a little scratchy, and you were still wearing your dress, but you yawned and nuzzled against his chest in surrender. "Please don't make me move yet."

You could feel and hear his laughter as one big hand came up to squeeze your shoulder before gliding down your side to your waist. "Make you move? I want to keep you with me forever, Gorgeous."

Did he know the extent to which his words excited you every time he said forever? You tried to play it cool, wrapping your arm around his waist, but as soon as his lips met your forehead in a gentle kiss, you whispered, "Forever sounds really good."

His posture stiffened a little bit as his fingers flexed on your waist. You could feel him fighting the urge to jump to his feet with you in his lap.

"What's wrong?" you asked, stifling another yawn.

"Nothing," he replied quickly, but you could tell he was antsy. "Just getting hungry."

"Of course you are," you murmured, letting your hand rest on his flat belly. He only took a quick lunch break earlier during Career Day before pulling off the flyover surprise that had your whole school buzzing with excitement. "I don't think you ate enough today. Let's remedy that."

"No," he insisted, pulling you back down when you tried to stand. "I can wait a bit longer. We were just getting comfortable."

"Mmm," you hummed. "Did you notice Marty and Ms. Masters earlier? I think there might be something there."

"I did notice," he whispered. "There has to be something there. He was looking at her the way I look at you."

With a smile on your lips, you felt yourself succumbing to the warmth of his body and his deep voice and his big hands.

Soon your eyes were closed, and you were drifting to sleep.

---------------------------

Bradley's growling stomach was the least of his concerns as you dozed in his arms and drooled on his Golden Warriors patch. You were clearly exhausted from how busy and emotional this week was. He'd only just returned from a mission where you and he hadn't spoken for weeks, and then you hosted Career Day at work. Hell, he was still tired, and he'd taken the week off from work.

He thought he had himself under control. He thought he would be able to bring you home and let you have a relaxing Friday night. After all, he was in no hurry. But as soon as you told him forever sounded really good, he felt his muscles coil with anticipation. His body told him to get up and prove to you that forever was what he needed. All he had to do was walk into the bathroom and get the engagement ring.

You seemed to be able to feel the energy he was trying to reel in even as you started to fall asleep. Tonight was not the night. Truly all he wanted to do was hold you until tomorrow morning and let you rest, but his foot was bouncing gently. There was always the chance you'd say no or that you weren't ready to be engaged yet, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. But previous conversations indicated otherwise, and he knew he was ready for everything.

His head tipped back against the couch in frustration. He should have told Nat that he wanted to propose sooner rather than later, but she didn't even know he actually had his mother's ring. His best friend would have riled him up more before helping him calm down.

After kissing your forehead a few times to test how asleep you were, he unzipped the side pocket of his flight suit and carefully removed his phone. You shifted a bit, and your nose twitched in the most adorable way, but you dozed on while he texted Nat to see if she could help him out tomorrow. She already told him numerous times that she liked hanging out with you.

"Bradley," you mumbled, arching your back and stretching as soon as he set his phone down on the couch. "You need dinner," you told him with a soft kiss before standing and reaching for him. He took your left hand in his right one, hoping this might be the last night that you weren't wearing the ring that would signify to everyone else that you'd be his wife someday.

"I came up with a plan while you napped," he said softly. "Dinner and then a shower together and then we'll get in bed early. You look so tired after nailing Career Day, Gorgeous. You need a little break."

His stomach growled obnoxiously. "And you need to eat," you told him with a laugh. "Come on. I'll make you something."

"Nope," he replied, gripping you tight as he stood up with you in his arms. "I'm going to take care of it."

You held on as you guided your legs around his waist. Your lips on his scarred cheek took him all the way back to the early days of those flirtatious emails. "Okay, handsome," you whispered, kissing him softly. "I'm not going to argue with you tonight. It's our first weekend with you back home, and I've been missing all of this. I'm finally off tomorrow, and we can relax all day."

When Bradley set you down on the kitchen counter with a kiss to your perfect lips, he heard your phone vibrating on the coffee table and tried not to grin as he asked, "Want me to grab that for you?"

"Please," you replied, looking beyond cute perched between the stove and the wilted bouquet in the makeshift Miller High Life vase. When he backtracked and picked up your phone, Bradley saw that the text notification was from Nat, and he knew he was going to have to take her out for another steak dinner soon as a thank you.

"Oh," you said when you tapped your screen. "Natasha texted me."

"Really?" he asked, feigning surprise as he took inventory of what the refrigerator had to offer. It was honestly a little scary how much he'd eaten since Monday.

"Yeah," you murmured, eyes skimming the message. "She thanked me for inviting her to Career Day. And," you added, giving him a cautious look, "she wants to know if I want to hang out with her tomorrow afternoon. We still have money left on the winery gift card."

"You should go," he urged, pulling everything out to make pancakes for dinner. "I love that my girl gets along with my best friend."

You were chewing your lip nervously. "Yeah?" you asked, thumbs poised like you were ready to type back. "Even though I literally just told you I can't wait to relax with you tomorrow?"

Bradley chuckled, knowing he was leading you in the direction he wanted you to go. But of course you'd be in good hands. "Gorgeous, we can still sleep in late. And as soon as you get home, I'm hoping you'll feel so in love, you'll want to cuddle with me for the rest of the night."

"I always feel so in love with you, Bradley."

He abandoned the eggs and butter as he whispered, "Say my name again?"

"Bradley."

It was another hour before the pancakes were ready.

-----------------------------------

"I thought we were going to sleep in," you whispered, lips brushing Bradley's as his hands explored your naked body. It was around the time you usually woke up for work, and you were still tired. But his words had you pushing him onto his back.

"I missed you so much, I'm still making up for lost time."

His hands were big and rough as you took them in yours and pinned them above his head. His body was beautiful in the early light, all muscular angles and ruddy cheeks. You kissed his biceps and then his stubbled cheek and then his lips. He was already hard, you could feel him. Bradley was strong and sexy, and he was yours.

"I'm not going to lie... I love how much you missed me," you told him before kissing your way along the side of his nose. "Because that's how much I missed you, too."

Bradley's kisses were sweet, yet they lingered. Your hips moved slowly against his body, setting the pace exactly how you wanted it. Your reaction to him was always effortless. His wide pupils let you know it was the same for him. 

"Baby," he whined as you tightened your hold on his wrists. He was rubbing himself up against you, looking for the friction you needed as well. Slick with arousal, your pussy welcomed the tip of him, and you rolled your hips slowly, taking him inch by inch until you were full. "Oh, fuck, Gorgeous," he rasped, lips parted as he looked up at you with those pretty brown eyes. "You feel so good."

You went slowly, and your hands eventually found their way to his shoulders. Bradley coaxed you closer until you were kissing him as you worked your hips in a steady rhythm that you knew would give you both what you wanted. You thought about every cold morning you woke up here without him while a bead of sweat rolled down along your spine. You got lost in the way he smelled and how his hair felt between your fingers. He was yours.

"I love you," he groaned. "Oh, I love you so much."

You came on his cock as your movements turned jerky, and he filled you with cum as you whimpered his name. Then you eased your body down so you were laying on top of him. "This is how I want to spend the rest of my life," Bradley whispered. "Loving you and fucking you and cuddling."

With a soft laugh, you relaxed enough to fall asleep again while he ran his fingers along your back.

The next time you woke up, it was three hours later, and Bradley wasn't in bed. He wasn't even at home. After you pulled on his sweatshirt, you found a note on top of the sandwich he made for your lunch in the refrigerator. 

Out for a quick run with Nat, and then I'm stopping at Home Depot for Edith. I love you.

You enjoyed your sandwich quietly in the kitchen while taking inventory of the grocery situation. Bradley already ate everything which made you smile. It would take a few weeks, but you'd make sure he bulked up again. Maybe you could get him to go shopping with you tomorrow morning.

When you sat down on the couch with your phone, you were pleasantly reminded of how sore you still were from the past few days with Bradley back from deployment. The gentle ache brought with it the memory of how much better your orgasms were with him than alone. You really needed to start getting dressed since you were sure Nat was going to want to head to the winery after they finished their run, but you stayed sprawled out on the couch until Bradley walked back inside.

"Hey, Gorgeous," he rasped, still a little sweaty in his gym clothes and carrying a bag from the hardware store. "You got enough rest?"

"I did," you giggled as he tossed the bag onto the coffee table and straddled your waist. "Do you think we should buy a bigger couch at some point?"

"Nah. This one's more fun," he replied as your fingers threaded through his damp hair. "Means I can get nice and close." 

Would this needy feeling for him ever go away? You hoped not. But just as soon as he really kissed you nice and hard, he was pulling away. Bradley smacked you lightly on your rear end where he spanked you the other night.

"You better get ready to go with Nat. And I need to fix Edith's mailbox and get my free piano lesson."

"And then when I get home, we're cuddling and watching a movie right here," you told him firmly, patting the couch cushion.

"As long as you still want to."

You rolled your eyes. Of course that's what you were going to want to do. Maybe you and he could even enjoy some more wine after you had wine with his friend. You were smiling as you thought about the plethora of wine you might be enjoying today as you got dressed in some jeans and an oversized sweater. You skipped makeup, because it was Saturday, and when Natasha arrived, you walked outside with Bradley.

"I love you. Call if you need me," he crooned, kissing you and waving before turning toward Edith's house.

You must have been watching the sexy way he walked for a little too long, because Natasha honked her horn and yelled out the window, "I want some wine!"

"Sorry!" you told her, laughing as you climbed in the passenger seat.

She was pulling away from the curb when she replied, "It's nice to see you so happy again. You seemed to have a good time at Career Day, and now you're all smiles for your boyfriend."

"I missed him so much," you said, watching Bradley get smaller in the side view mirror as she drove. "I felt instantly better when he got home from Norfolk."

"You're going to freak out later," she mumbled, making a left turn.

"What?" You weren't sure you'd heard her correctly.

"Nothing. You ready for some wine?"

"Absolutely. We can finish off the gift card," you told her. "And I found another winery for us to try next time that serves frozen wine slushies."

"That sounds like heaven. Thank god you fell in love with Bradley so we can have girls' days."

That put a permanent smile on your face. Just knowing that Natasha thought you and he were a good match really meant a lot. She'd known him for a long time.

"How was your run earlier?" you asked, settling in for the ride.

"Running in February is always better than running in July or August," she replied easily. "I might have to start bringing headphones again though, because the man will not shut up about you the whole time."

You covered your face with your hands while she laughed. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It was so bad at times before he met you, I used to have to put my earbuds in and pretend I was listening to him complain about his exes. It was always the same thing. Nat, I don't know how to break up with her, but she's kind of mean to me. Nat, I can't keep taking her to the bar, because she flirts with everyone else. Nat, why is she being so selfish? Nat, I feel like she's just using me. Nat. Nat. Nat. Nat. Nat." Her voice softened as she said, "It's not like that with you at all. Now he just wants to know if I think his date ideas sound stupid or romantic. And if I think he's crazy for already having you move in."

"What did you tell him?" you asked immediately.

She grinned as she switched lanes. "Trust me when I say I've given him some solid date ideas. And I told him he would have been miserable if he waited any longer to ask you to live with him. That man is so solidly in love with you, it is disgusting."

"The feeling is mutual," you whispered as your cheeks burned.

"I know. Now let's enjoy some wine while we talk shit about him. I've been way too nice today up to this point."

------------------------------------

When Natasha dropped you off after four hours of wine and conversation, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. You were already looking forward to hanging out with her again soon.

"Want me to tell Bradley you'll run with him tomorrow morning?" you asked, leaning back in the passenger side door as you stood next to her car.

"Nope," she replied, shaking her head. "There's no way he's going to want to get up and run in the morning. Tell him I'll see him at work."

"Okay," you replied, confused by her thought process. Bradley usually liked getting his cardio workouts in with a partner rather than alone. You'd follow up with him about it in a minute. "Thanks for driving. Wine slushies next time?"

"Wine slushies next time. Enjoy your night," she said with a wink.

You waved as she drove off, the sky getting dark and the air cooling down even further around you. Edith's mailbox next door looked perfect once more, so Bradley must have finished that project. You shivered as you hustled up to your front door ready to get inside and into the warmth of his arms.

The living room was a little darker than usual when you walked in, and then you realized it was because the only light was coming from your candles which had been placed around the room. You were about to call out for Bradley and ask him why he was burning every single candle you brought with you when you moved in, but then you froze.

"Oh my god," you gasped, taking one stumbling step further into the room to get a closer look. The flickering light illuminated dozens and dozens of paper airplanes all folded up and taped to the dark blue wall above the couch. They were arranged beautifully, and you swallowed hard when you realized they spelled out a message.

MARRY ME?

It was just two words, but they took up the whole wall. Your fingers were shaking as you brought them up to your lips, and then you heard Bradley's voice.

"Hey, Gorgeous," came that familiar rasp. You turned to face him as he stood there in one of his tropical print shirts and his worn out jeans with a nervous smile on his face.

"Bradley?" You glanced at the wall and then back at his face. You weren't even sure if your words were intelligible as you muttered, "Paper planes?"

His smile widened. "It's all the letters you and your class sent to me. You know... when you were looking for a Naval aviator to write back and answer a few questions? I guess a few questions turned into a lot more than that. And a simple correspondence with a gorgeous fourth grade teacher soon made me realize that you're the woman of my dreams. My pen pals changed my whole life." He nodded toward the wall. "Your students helped me fold them up yesterday."

"They did?" you managed as he took a step closer until he was right in front of you, and then and sank down onto one knee. 

"They did." He was all vulnerable brown eyes and sincerity as he looked up at you and said, "I love you. And I have something for you, Gorgeous." He swallowed hard. "It was my mom's." He held up his right hand, fingers curled in a loose fist. You watched as he carefully unfurled them, revealing a ring resting on his palm. "I want you to have it. Unless you don't like it. It's from 1984, and it's definitely vintage, so I won't be upset if you tell me you'd rather have something more modern." He was rambling, but you could barely breathe from the butterflies which were fluttering hard against your ribcage. "Maverick was holding onto her engagement ring for safekeeping. I had no idea until he heard me talking about how desperately I want to marry you."

"Bradley," you gasped, trying to hold back your tears as you sucked in shallow breaths. "Are you serious?"

You'd known him for less than a year, but you never felt this comfortable or safe around another person before. You never felt so loved. When he raised his hand a little higher like he was ready to hand you the ring along with his heart, he said, "I'm serious. You told me forever sounds good to you. It sounds good to me, too. I think we should do it. Will you marry me?"

There was really only one acceptable answer when you knew he belonged with you. When you were certain your future and his matched up perfectly. When there was no chance you could love anyone else like you loved him.

"Yes."

-----------------------------

Yes. Yes. Yesss! Thanks kiddos, for making it extra special. I don't think any of them will be surprised to find their teacher sporting some new jewelry at school. Bradley plus Gorgeous equals forever.

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[imaybelactoseintolerant]

Commander Luthal

Chapter Six: Kyber

Word Count: 3510

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Kinda rushed to edit this one this morning because I hadn't done it earlier, and my dog was being extra cute so sorry if I missed anything. :)

The strongest stars have hearts of kyber, and the planets most in tune with the Force itself are often rife with caverns full of it. They weren’t used for much besides lightsabers, but they were incredibly valuable, and not easy to come by. The location that the Jedi Order sourced their kyber crystals from was a closely guarded secret, not shared with outsiders, and told only to initiates when they were finally allowed to make their own lightsabers—real ones. Initiates didn’t even know the planet's name before then.

Arwen had been admitted into the independent studies class, assigned several catch up papers—all of which had topics she was given free choice of—which she had researched thoroughly and written up in every spare moment she had. The first paper had taken Master Kenobi’s advice very seriously; five pages of the importance of Jedi martial arts and how they correlated to Jedi philosophy. She’d chosen Shii-Cho specifically, but she saw a lot of other titles in the archives that related to other forms. Nevertheless, she was more familiar with Shii-Cho than anything else, so it was a safe topic to ease into. She’d gotten good marks, and she’d been proud enough to slip a copy of her paper under Master Kenobi’s door with a thank you note on top.

He mercifully hadn’t told Anakin anything about their encounter, if Anakin’s lack of questions was anything to go by.

Several months later, more than caught up in her independent studies, Arwen was creating an extensive survey for Jedi to fill out, questioning their preferred saber forms, in order of most to least, which saber forms they could actually perform, what age they became initiates, padawans, knights and masters (if applicable), their opinions on reverse grip, Jar’Kai, double bladed, single bladed or dual wielding lightsabers, the colour of their sabers, how many sabers they’d had in their lifetime—and much more. She’d already cooked up a very lengthy research project, and a condition of filling out this survey was that they’d once again have to fill it out in six years, when the independent studies class finished up. She would use the information gathered in this survey for current projects, but she was hoping that because she had so many different questions and so much information that she would be able to write an extensive dissertation required for her final year that her teacher had warned her about, in which half of the information would have been gathered years ago. Not only would it show how serious she was about the topics, but also how good at planning ahead she was.

Not long after that, Arwen still ten years old, Master Rancisis announced they would be travelling in several different groups over the next few weeks to find their kyber crystals and make their own lightsabers—the nine year olds, the ten year olds, and the eleven year olds, as the eldest had made theirs the previous year. Arwen’s heart soared—she’d been waiting for this for so long! Tarrock had made his soon after being made a padawan, and his green saber was brilliant!

After the lesson, Master Rancisis held her back, waiting until the other initiates had left, “Arwen, I’m afraid you’ll be staying behind this time,” he said softly.

Her heart sank, and her voice came out a shaky whisper, “What?”

“You won’t be joining the other initiates this year.”

Her eyes prickled with tears that she quickly blinked away, “Why, Master?” Master Rancisis sighed, watching her for a long time, “What did I do wrong? I’m sorry,” she said desperately. She wanted to go, she’d been waiting to make her own lightsaber for so long! Why could the younger children go, but not her?

“You’re just not ready yet, young one,” his voice sounded tired and weary, like he’d been dreading her reaction.

“But why, Master? What can I do?”

“Nothing, I���m afraid. You’ll just have to wait until next year.”

And there he went, walking away like he’d explained everything to her.

Master Plo was the one who found her in the Room of a Thousand Fountains this time, unable to hide her tears. He seemed to always know when something was wrong with her, “Little warrior? What troubles you?” The gentle tone he used, like she was going to break at a word louder than a whisper, sent her careening over the edge again, unable to stop the sob that escaped her.

“I don’t know what I keep doing wrong, Master! I’m trying, I always try so hard, but it’s never enough. No one wants to be my master, Master Rancisis always looks at me like I’m doing something bad, and now I’m the only one who’s not allowed to make a lightsaber, and I don’t know why!” She cried, “He won’t even tell me why, or what I did wrong! How can I fix it if he won’t tell me?”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Master Plo. She didn’t want him to see her face. It was bad enough he was here to listen to her yell and cry.

“Master Kenobi said I can only do my best, and that’s all anyone could ask of me, but why isn’t it enough?”

“That is wise counsel he has given you, Arwen,” she felt a hand on her shoulder, and another sob wracked her body, “Your best is all you can give, and it is enough.”

It doesn’t feel like enough.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise, Arwen.”

He meditated with her for hours after that, and left only because he said he had some business with the Council that he’d just thought of. She bowed and thanked him, her eyes puffy and dry, but her mind calm. Master Plo would never lie to her. She had to have faith that he was right.

After several weeks, all her crèche mates had returned with their shiny new lightsabers and she still used a training saber, Master Plo approached her once more, explaining he’d misplaced written copies of her papers for her independent studies. He’d asked for copies of them all once more and Arwen had happily supplied them. She had no idea Master Plo valued them so watch that he’d want copies if he lost them.

His care for her studies inspired her to write a paper about his preferred form, Shien/Djem So. It wasn’t a form she knew much about, so it was primarily a research paper, but she’d proudly handed him a copy of it, and not batted an eye when he asked for a spare—just in case, he said.

After she’d turned eleven, she noticed that Master Rancisis was taking another group of younglings in her clan to make their lightsabers—but he hadn’t asked her. It had taken no small amount of meditation to get through that again, but she was proud she hadn’t cried this time, even if she had needed Master Plo’s help to work through it again.

Leading up to the tournament, they had a guest teacher when Master Rancisis was suddenly needed off-world. The Jedi Knight Ur-Sema Du took the class for the last two lessons before the tournament, and she seemed quite content to simply watch them all, make sure they weren’t wasting time, and assist as needed.

She was Human, calm but stern, with a low voice, brown hair and green eyes, and Arwen decided after seeing Master Du demonstrate a Soresu technique that may help them all in the tournament that she liked her. She’d been begging for months to be allowed to learn Soresu, not only for sparring, but because she had an idea for a research paper that she felt she couldn’t do justice until she actually knew how to perform the basics of Form III.

Arwen practised that single move relentlessly, a defensive technique useful against both lightsabers and blaster bolts, and put it to good use in the tournament. She noted Master Du standing beside Master Plo during the tournament, talking quietly over the sounds of sabers clashing. Perhaps she was reporting to the Council—Master Plo was a member afterall, and she’d been taking the class over from another Council member temporarily.

She pushed the thoughts away quickly. She had to remain focussed at all costs. She was running out of time to be accepted as a padawan.

Her Shii-Cho and Makashi techniques were near perfect, and she outmatched most of her opponents by a landslide, though her last spar was by far the hardest, pitted against one of the initiates in her advanced saber lessons who practised almost as much as she did. It was a hard fought victory, lasting over twenty minutes, and she was forced to rely on her saber skills as he greatly outmatched her in his Force techniques.

When the tournament was over, Arwen stood once more alone, waiting fruitlessly to be approached by a Jedi. When the room was half empty she gave up.

If a Jedi wanted her to be their padawan, they would find her. Standing around waiting wouldn't bring them to her, and walking away just spared her the pain of waiting in an empty hall when everyone else had left.

She instead walked to Master Plo and Master Du, swallowing the emotion she could feel tightening her throat. She wouldn’t run off to meditate this time. She needed to pull it together.

“Master Plo, thank you for watching my spars today. Master Du, thank you for teaching me a Soresu blocking technique,” she gave a bow, and the masters inclined their heads slightly.

“You put it to good use,” Master Du said, “Congratulations on your victory.”

“Yes, Thranta Clan has won for the third year in a row now. You’ve placed first all three times,” Arwen flushed slightly, eyes flickering to Master Du—she was watching Arwen closely.

“My crèche mates and I get competitive—really, without them, it wouldn’t matter if I came first or not,” she said. Her victories before joining the older half of the clan had mattered little—Bear Clan and Heliost Clan had still beat them.

Master Du hummed thoughtfully, “Many victories, but still no master?”

Arwen’s throat tightened again, and she tried to smile at Master Du. She was sure it came out looking more like a grimace, “There’s always next year.”

Likely, there was only next year.

Master Du just hummed again, and Arwen quickly changed the subject, before she felt the need to run off and cry again, “I finished that paper on the Baron Do Sages, if you want a copy?” She asked Master Plo hopefully.

“Of course, little warrior.”

“May I read it as well?” Master Du asked. Arwen gaped for a second, blinking up at the master before she snapped out of it.

“Yes, I, um… yes, of course. I’ll just… do you want a paper copy, or—?”

“Please.”

“Okay, I’ll… I’ll go get them,” she’d already made two copies, as Master Plo had taken to asking for two, but she could get him another one if he wanted. She rushed to her shared room and back to the hall, handing over her papers before the rest of the Jedi had finished filing out, “It’s mostly just compiled research, but Master Plo,” she looked over to him with a thankful smile, “was kind enough to lend me a copy of some original Kel Dor texts about them, so the sources are good,” she looked up at Master Du with an excited smile, and the Human gave a small one back.

“I understand you’ve taken your independent studies class quite seriously—did Master Plo recommend it?”

“No, Master Kenobi did.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“Yes, I sometimes spar with his padawan, Anakin.”

Master Du nodded slowly, eyes squinting thoughtfully, “And how good do you think he is—young Skywalker?”

Arwen looked at Master Plo in confusion, but he simply gestured back to Master Du. Wasn’t this a question for Master Kenobi to answer? “He’s really good, and he learns fast. He can’t beat me, but that’s only because I’ve had more training. I think if he’d started learning when I did he could beat me,” she’d said as much to Anakin before—she’d been training since she was a toddler, and Anakin had only had a scant few years to get as good as he had. If he’d come to the temple at six years old, even without previous training like she had, she was sure he’d outmatch her.

Master Du was quiet again, and Arwen shrunk slightly under her piercing gaze. Had she said something wrong? “You’re not worried he’ll best you one day?”

Arwen shook her head, “No, but if he does… Anakin and I have already had an argument about who’s better, and in the end we both learned it's best not to let our pride get in the way. What matters is that we’re always trying our best.”

Master Du’s smile widened slightly, and she knelt down to Arwen’s level. In response, she immediately straightened her posture and raised her chin. She felt like she was being inspected, not unlike Madam Oren used to do during practice drills, checking their posture, the state of their clothes, their grips, their hair.

“Not an easy thing to admit, I’m sure, as I’m told you spend almost all your free time practising,” Master Du gave her a searching look. Arwen tried not to shrink under her gaze. Why did it feel like she was being tested?

Arwen shrugged uneasily, “Losing to Anakin wouldn’t be the worst thing, I guess, but I’d feel the same against anyone. Madam Oren taught me that before I came to the temple. And Master Dooku said that failure is just an opportunity for improvement.”

“And when was your most recent loss?”

“A few weeks ago—it was against my last opponent in the tournament actually. We’re in the same advanced saber lessons class.”

“It was a close match.”

Arwen nodded, a smile pulling at her lips, “He’s got good form, but it's his Force abilities that I struggle against. I’m not very good at them, but sparring against him these past few months has really helped me to find ways around that. Actually, it gave me an idea for a paper—I’ve heard about bounty hunters that are skilled enough to beat Jedi even though they can’t use the Force—”

Arwen snapped her mouth shut as Master Du raised a brow.

“A niche topic.”

Arwen just nodded, keeping her mouth closed. Maybe this was another reason no Jedi wanted her as a padawan; she rambled on about useless topics, dedicating time to research that didn’t really help anyone.

“Interesting, nevertheless. Should you ever write that paper, I’d very much so like to read it.”

Arwen smiled, though she wasn’t sure if Master Du had said so out of genuine interest or to spare Arwen’s feelings.

Master Du hummed again—something of a habit, apparently—before she placed a hand on Arwen’s shoulder, “Chin up, Arwen. You will be a padawan soon enough. A Jedi would be foolish not to see your potential,” Arwen brightened, and bowed to Master Du in thanks, “Now, I’m afraid I must part ways with you both, Arwen, Master Plo. I’ve some business with the Council.”

Arwen watched the Jedi Knight leave, her thoughts optimistic. It was one thing for Master Plo to say such things, he’d known her for many years now, but for a Jedi who didn’t know her to say it? It gave her hope. Maybe she wouldn’t be chosen today, or next week, or a month from now, but she had time. Many initiates were not made padawans until the very last moment and, despite all her hard work, maybe she would be one of them.

She hadn’t expected to see much of Master Du again, but the Jedi Knight had come to see her only a week later as Arwen was leaving the mess hall after breakfast, “Arwen, a moment? I won’t keep you long.”

“Of course, Master Du,” she said, wondering if she’d done something wrong.

Master Du smiled down at her, “I read your paper—excellent work. I’d like a copy of your next one, if you don’t mind.”

Arwen grinned up at her, “Of course! I’m finishing up another this week, I can make you a copy.”

“Thank you, young one, though I’m afraid you’ll have to hold onto it for me for the time being. I’ve come to say a short goodbye—I’ve been given a mission, and I’ll not be back for perhaps two weeks.”

“Oh,” Arwen said, “That’s okay, I’ll keep it in my room until I see you again.”

“Thank you,” Master Du said, and gave a short bow that Arwen quickly returned, “I will see you in a few short weeks.”

“Goodbye, Master Du.”

Master Du did not return for almost two months, and in that time Arwen wrote three more papers that she made copies of to hand to Master Du, should she wish to read them when she returned. It was strange, the excitement she felt, but she had this strange feeling that was impossible to ignore—the Force, for all that it had been mysterious and often hard to grasp to her, was all but singing to her. Something felt so very right, and in a way she had never felt before.

Arwen did not receive visions or premonitions from the Force, nor great feelings that warned her of coming danger or good tidings, not typically. She was told that may change as she grew older and more adept in the Force, but even some younger initiates showed promise in these areas without training. She did not, so this feeling was altogether unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

It peaked one afternoon while she was sparring in a training hall amongst other initiates, her training saber locked with her opponents—the place and situation she felt most comfortable in, where the Force flowed more freely around her. There was a warmth, a distinct softness, in the Force that day, and with each passing minute it rose in volume, in strength. It bloomed in her chest, spreading across her body in slow and steady pulses, until she could feel it in her very fingertips. Gentle and calming, Arwen let it flow through her, let herself bask in the pleasant and unfamiliar feeling as it ebbed and flowed beneath her skin—until all at once it crescendoed, washing over her like a bucket of water had been tipped on her head, so forceful that Arwen’s brain froze for a second, her arms stilling and feet stuck to the floor.

Her sudden and lengthy pause gave her opponent the upper hand, knocking her saber out of her limp hands and clattering to the floor.

Her ears were dull to the sudden and surprised cheers of the initiate across from her, even as he jumped and whooped. Slowly, Arwen turned around, aware of the Force urging her to. It wasn’t like the prompts she got during spars from the Force—it felt nothing like the quick and often sharp warnings that made her limbs retract, feet sidestep, body lean backwards or hold her saber a certain way to deflect a blow—and she struggled to define the way the Force spoke to her at all. Not in words, not in flashes of images or visions, and not a string-pulled marionette that was at the whim of the Force, but feelings. Sometimes weak, brief, a gentle breeze that was gone as quickly as it had arrived. Those feelings had generally been unimportant to her, nothing to linger on. Sometimes all they did was allow her mind to recognise that someone she knew especially well was close by, like Tarrock. Then came the more prominent feelings—quick but strong, sharp in both her mind and her body. They were most often felt during spars, and such a common occurrence that she rarely looked further into them. She heeded the Force and all its warnings, at first blindly, but with years came a quicker mind and a better understanding of how to best benefit from the signals the Force sent her.

And now this. More powerful than anything she’d ever felt. Almost overwhelming, stifling in its strength. She’d never felt the Force urge her to do something so loudly, and all it wanted her to do was turn around. 

Master Du stood in the open doorway, cloaked in her brown Jedi robes, arms folded into her sleeves across her torso. She was looking straight at Arwen, offering a nod of greeting, despite being across the room.

Arwen didn’t even have it in her to feel embarrassed that Master Du must have seen her freeze and be disarmed like she was nothing more than a toddler playing with a stick.

Abandoning her training saber on the floor, she approached Master Du slowly, a hopeful but tentative smile on her face. She stopped a few feet away and bowed to the Jedi Knight and this time Master Du bowed back just as deep.

“Welcome back, Master Du.”

“Thank you, my Padawan.”

[eviesaurusrex]

Stark Universe | Chapter Two

Nick Fury x Stark!Reader

summary: Coming back to her childhood home reveals new, unpredictable opportunities - and insights.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: swearing (as usual), Pepper being a big sister, sad thoughts, Fury... being Fury, my bullshit about how a motorcycle works (I've studied motorcycle at Wikipedia University), mentions of Steve Rogers (because this handsome man is a warning)

author's note: I was so excited to write this chapter because the plot is slowly emerging! Have fun, people, and thank you so much for all the lovely comments and the overall support of my writing! Lysm!!!

[Series Masterlist]

“Don’t wait for me, Pepper,” [Y/N] shouted over her shoulder back into the apartment where the redhead sat at the table, surrounded by papers and envelopes. The woman looked up to watch the Stark picking up her jacket and the keys lying next to the mirror in the hallway of the luxurious Upper East Side apartment. “Mind if I ask where you’re heading? In case Mr. Stane calls.” [Y/N] stopped in her tracks and pushed the phone into the back pocket of her outworn jeans. She thought about telling her confidant where she intended to go, but instead, she shrugged her leather-clad shoulders. “Just taking a walk in Central Park. Getting some fresh air and trying to clear my head. Should I get you something for dinner on my way back?” Even though she didn’t tell Pepper where she would spend the next few hours, she definitely cared for the woman. She was the last trustworthy person in her close proximity, after all. The redhead smiled at her question. “If you’re getting something for yourself, then yeah, sure. Thank you, [Y/N/N].”

Smiling and waving, the Stark snatched another set of keys out of the key box next to the door before leaving. She took the elevator down to the lobby of the apartment building and peeked around the last corner to see the sidewalk in front of the revolving doors. An ocean of reporters and photographers stood in front of her home because word traveled fast in this city (well, in every city, actually), and everyone wanted to have a piece of Stark for his own so-called newspaper.

More likely the shame of the entire press world.

[Y/N] ground her teeth against each other before pressing her palms against the tightly shut eyes. The reporters were the one thing she hated the most about being a Stark. Sometimes, she just wished for an easier life, far off the public eye and interest in which she could be a teacher or something the like. But she was no regular woman, and she had learned through the years how to conquer everyday life while carrying the name Stark. That’s why [Y/N] again peeked around the corner to have the concierge within her line of sight. She whistled, and Mr. Kingsley spotted her instantly. A genuine smile formed on his face, and he walked over to her.

“Miss Stark. How can I help you at this beautiful afternoon?” Ever since buying the apartment after transferring from Yale to Columbia University, she had spent an awful lot of time inside this building, and Mr. Kingsley had looked after her since day one. His fatherly instinct had probably kicked in at the sight of the parentless teenager, barely even old enough to live in a city like New York on her own.

[Y/N] nodded in the vague direction of the building’s front. “Could you use your magical superpowers and hinder these idiots from getting too close to the garage exit? I don’t wanna find myself on another front page of one of their tabloids.” Plus, she didn’t want them to earn more money with her face. They certainly had made enough with lurid stories about her very person until this point. But the woman had backing like Mr. Kingsley to help in situations like these as soon as they occurred. The aged man nodded before patting her arm softly. “Nothing easier as that, Miss Stark. Will you take the Audi?” At the question, [Y/N] shook her head. “Nah, I’m more in the mood for some wind on my face.” With that, the concierge went back to his desk and opened the large cabinet door behind it to grab one of the many helmets stored inside.

She wasn’t the only one with an unhealthy taste for fast trips around the city. The black helmet flew in her direction, and the Stark caught it with both hands.

“You don’t need to wait downstairs for my go. Save driving, Miss Stark.” Waving with the helmet in hand, [Y/N] grinned while walking backward. “You are the best, Joseph.” A blush crept on his cheeks, and the Stark grinned even wider before stepping back into the elevator to reach the underground car park of the building. She put the helmet down on the ground and securely braided her hair together. The last time she drove the motorcycle, she forgot about her hair, and after the ride, she thought she had to cut her ends off. Tangled beyond rescue. But Pepper, always the more patient one in the trio formed by Tony, Pepper, and herself, took her time and brushed every single strand.

[Y/N] bent down to retrieve the helmet and took her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans to write Pepper a quick message while walking out of the stopping elevator.

I’m gonna get some cheeseburgers on my way home. Any special orders for the booze?

If she’ll eat in honor of her brother, the woman needed alcohol to accompany her pathetic coping attempt. Maybe Pepper knew it, maybe not. But judging by the arriving message she read after stopping in front of her trusty bike, the redhead knew what was happening.

Remember the cocktail bar next to the diner? I think they started selling cocktails to go. – Got’ya.

The last Stark smiled warmly at the screen before closing the chat and stowed the phone in the pocket of her leather jacket before closing it with the sipper. Yes, she loved Pepper Potts with all her heart ever since she arrived in the siblings’ lives. She was like the older sister she never had - and always wished for because an older brother just wasn’t the same - even though [Y/N] thought that Pepper and Tony were oblivious little idiots. But making a move now was basically impossible, and the woman felt sorry for her friend and assistant.

Ferociously shaking her head, the Stark shut her eyes close as tightly as it was biologically possible to stop the tears from forming. She had been so good at controlling these foolish tears since leaving the Metro-General two days ago that she just couldn’t jump back to the beginning of everything. She had to be strong. Not because Obadiah ordered her to be, but for Pepper and herself.

“Just… take a deep breath, compose yourself, and get on that motorcycle,” she whispered to herself, the helmet already on the seat, to lean both her hands against the tuned and altered machine. She just needed to breathe in and out, and everything would be alright. Keep telling yourself that, stupid. Well, she had to begin somewhere.

And that’s why [Y/N] straightened up again, put the helmet on, and swung her right leg over the seat. The key found its place inside the ignition. Her sneaker-clad foot found its home on one of the footpegs after pushing the stand up, and her left hand pulled the clutch tightly. The adrenaline production within her body kicked off. Her adrenal glands started to produce, the neurons within her medulla oblongata started to fire, and the hormone soon flowed through every single vein in her body. All of this happened within fractions of seconds, and [Y/N] couldn’t even press the start button of her motorcycle. But that followed soon after the last deep breath she took, and her baby came to life.

The roaring sound echoed through the car park. The engine’s vibration shook through her entire body and awakened the woman. Her soul felt slightly lighter, not as heavy as in the past weeks. Using the throttle, the engine roared even louder, and [Y/N] pushed the visor of her helmet down, preparing herself for the ride in front of her. 

Finally, she could feel like a bird again – free and without any responsibilities, without pain and agony constantly torturing her body and soul. She would be free in every possible meaning, even if it was short-termed and short-lived. It would be enough to rescue her from the abyss opening up in front of her feet for the next couple of days.

The last thing [Y/N] did was press the button for the garage door to open up before she used the throttle again and finally released the clutch and brake. The motorcycle shot forward in a swift motion, gaining speed, and brought its rider out of the concrete bunker underneath the building. The Stark took a sharp turn on the street to prevent causing a crash, almost sliding with one of her legs over the road, but the horns of disturbed car drivers didn’t bother her at all. Instead, her lips formed a wide grin behind the dark visor.

She changed the gear to drive like lightning through the streets of New York City, and a joyful scream pushed through the black helmet while passersby turned to follow the deep red motorcycle with curious eyes.

It was strange coming back to the place where she grew up if she hadn’t been at boarding school in Upstate New York. The Stark Mansion always seemed like a palace back then when she was still a kid who didn’t know anything about the real world. Now, as an adult growing up too fast, it was a mere tad bigger than other houses only a mile away.

[Y/N] sat on the still rumbling motorcycle, the helmet still on her head, and only the visor lifted to observe her surroundings. This street was where her father had taught her how to ride a bicycle; it was where she had fallen multiple times and had shed blood and tears in order to achieve riding the coolest bicycle ever in existence. It was where she and Maria had planted numerous plants and flowers in the front yard. Tony had taught her how to skate after their parents had died. Well, he had tried but failed horrendously. Jarvis had brought them both to the hospital, and where Tony had broken his arm at multiple spots, [Y/N] only showed some bruises and cuts.

This place, this very street, had been her entire world.

Now, the house laid dark in front of her and reminded the Stark that she was the last one carrying their once shared name.

With a barely audible sigh leaving her lips, the engine died down, the helmet got removed off her head, and she left the bike behind. [Y/N] walked the footpath up with slow, measured steps, past the neatly trimmed lawn and pretty cut flower bushes, and stepped up the stairs to the front door. Its old wood – Mahogany, as Jarvis had once told her – was still intact and still owned his beautiful shine.

Tony must have paid them well.

Whoever “them” were. He scarcely had talked about their family home, always avoided the topic like acid-spiked booze, so the younger Stark really didn’t have a single clue who looked after their home. Almost more than a decade had passed since [Y/N] had left her home to begin her studies at Yale and never looked back. Jarvis had already passed away at that point in her life.

Shaking her head to sort the circling thoughts, infused with memories rising to the surface of her consciousness, the Stark opened the left sipper of her jacket to pull out the long-unused key to this very house. She wasn’t sure why the urge to come back after all these years was so strong, but she stopped asking what her emotions meant a long time ago. She just… lived with them. Lived after them and just followed their lead. Until now, it had proven itself.

Never change a perfectly running system.

A half-smile tucked at the corner of her mouth while unlocking the door. The familiar feeling of the wood under her palm and fingertips elicited a relieved sigh out of the depths of her soul. How she craved familiar feelings. It was absurd how much [Y/N] needed well-known things around her in order to feel at ease. The old wood slightly creaked at the force of her hand as she pushed the door open and was greeted by dim light which fell through slits in the sheets people had hung at the windows to prevent nosy glances by even nosier individuals.

Her sneaker created light footprints in the thin layer of dust as soon as she entered the threshold. She laid her head back, both hands now inside her jacket pockets, and glanced up to the ceiling with the massive but beautifully crafted chandelier her mother had bought. Dad hated that thing. She smiled softly at the memory of him complaining about the damn thing while workers had hung it up. But her mother had just smiled while patting his cheek and had told him bluntly, “You have to deal with it, dear”. After a while, Howard Stark had started to love it.

“I’m glad you didn’t return as ghosts like you always told me, Dad,” [Y/N] whispered into the silence while wandering eyes observed the foyer. Every single piece of furniture elapsed under white cotton sheets, probably until the end of the Stark family. After her death – if she never would marry and never would have kids to pass on the name - this very house would be auctioned off to some strangers, and they probably would sell everything in it.

Their stuff doesn’t deserve such an end, the daughter thought sadly before venturing in the direction of the living area behind the grand staircase, which led to the upper two floors.

Silence greeted [Y/N] once more, and her steps were the only sound inside the huge house. Not even the wooden floor creaked underneath her weight. Fingertips stroked over cotton sheets, dark eyes following the light to watch the memories of her childhood merge with the here and now. The pictures put themselves over the abandoned living room and filled it with life like a film. In one second, [Y/N] stood alone in the dim light, whereas a second later, she saw her eight-year-old self sitting at the midnight black piano while playing one of her favorite pieces she could master at that time.

It was a travel to the past, and [Y/N] wasn’t sure how she felt about that observation.

Why did I come here?! “I must lose my mind.” The mumbling almost echoed through the empty halls, but a creaking sound startled the Stark. It was almost inaudible, but she always had a better hearing than other people. Soft and slow steps moved her through the living room, past the abandoned piano, and to the swinging door leading to the kitchen. [Y/N] tried hard to listen closely if the creaking noise would erupt a second time, but all she heard was her rapidly beating heart and the rush of blood within her ears.

Her hand held the swinging door back as it tried to close again behind her, and as slowly as she could, she put it back into place without creating a treacherous noise. As fast but silently as possible, [Y/N] sneaked around the kitchen island, over to the drawers that were once full of cutlery and knives. Opening one after the other, she searched with her eyes only, the heart still beating profusely in her chest. Until she found a suitable cutting knife – it was more of a small(er) butchers’ knife – time had seemingly passed in slow-motion. But with it in a surprisingly steady hand, [Y/N] felt much better prepared in case a burglar had decided to try his luck today.

Of all days, why couldn’t you wait until tomorrow, dumbass?!

Sneaking back to the swinging door, the Stark pushed it open slowly and peeked around its edge to observe the living room. Without the sun shining through the white sheets, she never would have seen the dark silhouette standing in front of the massive bookshelf – a bookshelf without a sheet, at second glance. And on it stood various pictures which [Y/N] knew by heart. She had copies of them at her apartment, after all.

The intruder didn’t wear a mask, and the audacity behind that angered the woman tremendously. That was probably why she abandoned the original plan, consisting of keeping hidden and calling the damn police, and instead, she just stepped into the room. The swinging door behind her fell shut with another creaking noise.

“I hate to disturb your staring and the overall intruding thing you obviously have going on, but what on earth’s fuck do you want in my house?!”

The knife still tightly in her grasp, [Y/N] cocked an eyebrow while the person wearing a dark coat crossed their hands behind their back. Judging by the statue of this person, the Stark was pretty sure it was a man. Only a few women would be this dumb to just stroll into a house in one of New York City’s best neighborhoods.

“You see, Miss Stark.” [Y/N] was shocked that he knew her name. “I have something to discuss with you. Something of important matter.” Still, he looked at the pictures on the shelf, and the woman scoffed. “Yeah, sure. Instead of, I don’t know, calling my assistant or writing an email, you just decided to come here in the hopes my sorry little ass sits around and wallows over her pathetic, sad life? Puh, okay. Interesting train of thought you’re having there. Care to teach me a few things?”

She just couldn’t shut her mouth in moments like these – life-defining moments.

He chuckled, hands still behind his back. “Like father, like daughter, I suppose,” he mused but seemingly still couldn’t push himself to turn around to finally face her. He was starting to get on her freaking nerves. “Yeah, well. Can’t really say something about that because my father died when I was nine, and I did spend most of my time at a boarding school in Upstate New York.” Another chuckle left him. “I know all of that, Miss Stark.”

Yep, he got on her nerves. Lowly groaning, [Y/N] stepped two steps forward. “Would you have the courtesy of telling me your name? Maybe it would make this entire situation less awkward and Matrix-like? I never asked for a full-on Morpheus experience during my prayers in the morning.” Please, you need to keep an eye on that mouth, dumbass! He could kill you. Would it be that bad, though? Probably not.

One of his hands reached out the put one of the pictures back into place. “My name is Nick Fury. I’m the Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.” With that, he turned around to finally face her. [Y/N] wasn’t impressed at all because she had to suppress the grin tucking at her lips. “Ah, yeah. The Strategic Homeland Inter-what the fuck is this name. That’s… uhm… a mouthful.” She furrowed her forehead and let the hand with the knife finally lower itself. “You ever thought about renaming it? Because this name will never fit on merchandise, I’m really sorry if I’m the first one telling you that.” The Stark saw something on his face, something almost resembling a humored smile, but it was faster gone as ice cream in summer.

“We recently started to work on that front, yes.” Nick Fury rounded the piano and situated himself near the windows now, and [Y/N] finally could scan his face with building curiosity. The eye patch was the first thing to observe, of course, but after that… Well. The woman couldn’t say that he was terrifying. Maybe intimidating to some extent. “Do you know anything about Captain America?” His question elicited a snort from the young Stark. “Who does not? People who don’t know about Captain America either didn’t pay attention in history class or just live behind the moon.” She leaned against the wall next to the swinging door and crossed her arms to her chest. The knife had found a place on the cupboard next to her before that. “Fair point,” Fury nodded and gave her a look-over.

He cleared his throat before continuing. “Captain America, or Steve Rogers to be more precise, started as nothing but an ordinary man, unfit to be sent to Europe during World War-…” [Y/N] interrupted him. “You don’t have to give me a crash course in US history, Mr. Fury." - "Quit the mister." She was confused, but did it anyway. "Fury. I did not only pay attention in history classes, but my own father was the hugest fanboy ever gracing this planet. To-…” She stopped instantly, not ready to say his name out loud. “My brother had to grow up with the picture of Captain Steve Rogers all over the place, with our father’s expectations that he will, one day, turn out just like his former best buddy and hero. I know everything there is about Captain America, so just skip that part, and we can end this conversation sooner rather than later, yeah?” The Director seemed taken aback but continued, nonetheless. “As I mentioned before, I have an important matter to discuss with you. If you know everything about Steve Rogers, you will know something about how he became as who he died.” [Y/N] nodded slowly. “The transformation. You’re talking about the - what did they call it again? The Super Soldier Serum?” Again, Fury nodded. “Yes, the Super Soldier Serum. Your father helped transforming him back in the forties. He tried to recreate the serum over the decades, but failed numerous times, before he finally succeeded. He recreated an enhanced version of the original serum and we locked it away.”

[Y/N] propped her left foot against the wall. “There is an until waiting. I can feel it. Until… what? It was stolen? It expired because it had an expiry date my father didn’t know about?” She hated the unpleasant feeling of patience. She never had that when it came to stories and information.

Nick Fury started to slowly walk around the room again. “Until Howard Stark was supposed to deliver the serum to a safe place and died in a car accident.” Ouch. The Stark didn’t see this bomb coming. Her brain started to work, tried to connect the newly acquired pieces of information with already existing folders in her mind. She tried until everything started to make sense and fell into place. She lifted her eyes and carefully eyed the Director. “Are you trying to tell me that my parents not only died that day, but were killed, so some asshole could get their hands on the serum?” The man looked more than just pleased. “You have an excellent working mind, Miss Stark,” he complimented, and [Y/N] scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not stupid, thanks for noticing. It’s tradition.” As usual, she tried to hide confusion and pain behind sarcasm and jokes.

Like brother, like sister. It was their unique way of coping with reality.

Fury grabbed a thick file from a table behind him and looked from it back to the youngest Stark. “But Howard Stark did something before he died. Actually a few years prior to the accident. He took one of the samples and injected it a single person.” Now her brain couldn’t follow anymore. “So, why are you here, then? If you know so much as you claim to know, you probably know the name of said person and you can just track them with your spy-ness and take a sample of their blood. Having the blood will reopen the possibility of recreating it another time. It’s a simple biological process. Even a high schooler could come to that conclusion.”

Now it was the Director to cock an eyebrow, but he answered, nevertheless. “Howard Stark gave the sample to the person he loved more than anything in this world. A person, who was constantly sick and familiar with Death itself. They would have called Death an old friend if they were older back then. The person was magically healed after the last time they had went to the hospital, and never became sick again, not for a single day in their entire life.”

As Nicky Fury progressed with his explanation, a memory forced itself into her consciousness.

She saw sterile white walls surrounding her shortly before her father stepped into the white room, a hopeful look in his eyes. He sat on the chair next to the bed she lay in, and she felt his cold hand caressing her heated cheek. The feeling of a fire burning deep inside her felt too real to be just an imagination. She saw her father’s lips moving, but she understood nothing of what he said, too deep within the fever dream. Then, the piercing pain of a needle in her arm and her father’s face became blurry.

Swallowing dryly, [Y/N] looked up from the floor, straight to the file in Nick Fury’s hand, before she moved her eyes to his face. “He gave it to me,” the Stark whispered and crossed her arms even tighter. “Yes. He prevented you from dying another, and probably your last time. The serum enhanced your immune system which had attacked your body constantly, but it enhanced other aspects as well. We are not entirely sure which exactly because we were only able to track you from afar, but now, with arising threats, we need to know more.”

The Stark nodded deep in thought, slowly realizing what was happening. But afar from all the new information she had gathered in a new folder within her mind, she had to ask one question. “Do you know if he’s still alive? If he’s somewhere out there, trying to find help?” Trying to come home and back to me? But Fury couldn’t answer that. “I don’t know, Miss Stark.” And that seemingly was a first-timer.

She sighed, kind of deeply annoyed, but shrugged anyway. “If you promise me to not turn me into a lab rat, I’ll give you my blood and time. As soon as this changes though, I’m out and leave the country to start living on the moon. Understood?” It was an offer; Nick Fury only had to accept it and keep his promise. But he had other plans. Plans, [Y/N] never would have thought of.

“Actually, Miss Stark, I want to offer you a job.”

Comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated! Lots of love and thanks for reading! If you want to join the taglist, please reach out and let me know!

Taglist:

@poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @seasonofthenerd @mischiefmanaged71 @keepingitlokiii @sokoviansorceress @perssepeony @apple-and-berry @seggsyswagger (tumblr doesn’t let me tag you!)

[kusaka6e]

TUTOR

two | three | four

chapter list

———

you'd been at the library for about an hour, doing homework for your other classes while you waited for 4:30 to hit.

someone dramatically sitting in the chair across from you makes you jump, pulling one of your earbuds out.

baji is sitting in front of you, slamming a notebook down onto the table.

"did you have to make such an entrance?"

"didn’t wanna be late.”

"i didn't know you cared about being on time."

he scoffs at your comment, pulling out a pencil.

"what are you doing in chem right now?"

"i have no fucking clue." he replies blankly

you choke back a laugh at the deadpan look on his face, knowing he's being completely serious.

"you have any notes to look at?" he shakes his head, making you roll your eyes.

"no wonder you're failing, you don't have anything to study with."

"my teacher talks too fast for me to write anything down! and he just talks to us like we're stupid if we ask questions." he crossed his arms over his chest, angrily furrowing his eyebrows.

"i can look in my dorm and see if i still have my notes from last semester, you can have them if i do."

"really?"

"i've already taken all the chemistry classes i need for my major, it's not like i have any use for them."

"so what happens until you find them?"

"you can't think of one thing your teacher talked about? or have any exam you've already taken, or something?"

he clicks a few times on his laptop, face scrunching with concentration as he scrolls.

"here's this." he turns the screen towards you, a triumphant smile on his face. a '35/100' is in large numbers next to the assignment name.

"damn. looks like i've got my work cut out for me."

"shut up!"

he searches through his surprisingly organized notebook, pulling out a few sheets of paper from a divider.

"this is the written work."

"give me a second." you look over the problems, analyzing his work and where he went wrong. his handwriting was a little wild, but to your surprise he was pretty detailed in writing out his calculations, which made it easier for you to explain his errors.

"so, you got all the numbers right on these but you have to mind your sig figs."

"what the fuck is a sig fig?"

"significant figures. in chemistry calculations, you have to be really accurate. sig figs are like a set of rules to keep numbers accurate."

"how is that any different from just using a calculator?"

you flip to an empty page in his notebook, making a small title to write about significant figures.

he watches as you scribble down the notes, your eyebrows creeping together with focus.

why is my chest tingling ?

ew this is weird

"so, every time you do a calculation you have to follow these rules with your answer."

"so, even though this is what the calculator says, that's not the whole answer."

"right, it starts with two zeros and those don't count."

it takes about a half an hour, but he's eventually able to get through a set of problems without error.

"good job."

"i did it! i'm the best chemistry student the world has ever seen!" he dramatically flexed his arms, proudly grinning

"you sure about that?"

"of course i am."

"okay, show me how to do dimensional analysis." his face pales, smile dropping. you let out a chuckle, turning to a fresh page in the notebook

"you couldn't just let me have my moment?"

"not until you don't need my help anymore."

two hours pass, and you've covered a good amount of information. you could tell as hard as he was trying, baji was quickly losing focus.

"okay, let's call it a night."

"finally." he breathed out, tossing his pencil on the table.

"damn, i didn't know you were that excited to get away from me."

"if you come near me with any more chemistry stuff right now, i might punch you."

"i'd like to see you try." you raise a brow, making him smirk.

"you’re a lot more dense than i thought, but i think you’ll be able to pass. the fact that you actually care so much helps.”

"don't call me dense, i don't know what it means." you burst out into laughter, making him roll his eyes before he lets out a chuckle.

"just because im in toman doesn't mean i don't care about school. we're all humans too, we don't eat sleep and breathe fighting."

"i never said you guys aren't human. but it's nice that you care about your grades."

"well don't make me out to be some softie!"

"i'll see you later baji." you roll your eyes, waving as you head for your dorm.

you open the door, hanging your keys on the wall hook.

"how was tutoring?"

you whirl around, seeing emma, draken, and mikey sitting on your floor with uno cards in their hands.

"how the hell did you guys get in here?!"

"picked the lock." mikey grinned

"you’re all insane."

"i'm surprised you both made it out alive." emma giggled

"he’s even dumber than i thought, but he’ll be fine.”

“baji might seem like an idiot, but he’ll surprise you.” draken doesn't look up from placing down a draw four, making mikey's jaw drop.

"kenny! this is betrayal!"

"you hit me with draw fours three times in a row last round, get over it."

you grin at their banter, mikey dramatically whining about draken breaking his heart.

"deal me in next round, i'll destroy you losers."

"you're on." emma grins, grabbing the stack of cards.

as the next round begins and you're looking over your cards, your phone buzzes.

unknown

today, 7:32 pm

hey

can we meet agn tmw

hey baji

more questions already?

i'm still at the lirbary

libary

LIBRARY

i was looking at the notes u rote and i got lost

same time tomorrow

[tnystrk-exe]

Estocolmo

Hannibal x Reader

Masterpost

Warnings: Smut 18+ thigh riding, fingering, oral, daddy kink, plot to make up for my first attempt at writing smut.

Word count: 6.8k

Chapter One

“Fucking hell.” You sighed as you looked at the still tall stack of essays that needed grading. “I’m never getting through this.”

Your stomach grumbled, signaling it was time for a break. Stretching, the quiet was interrupted by the sound of your bone’s protest from sitting in one position for hours. It was nights like these you had regretted your choices. Sure you had known Professor Jacob loved to torture his students with too much work, but when you took the job as his assistant you assumed that he’d shoulder some of the weight. A ridiculous thought now that you’ve experienced working with him. Why should he even think of grading an assignment when he had a perfect little lackey doing it for him? That was a non question. He had been strict about the work not leaving his office, which meant you had accidentally fallen asleep in his office more than often than you would have liked. The pile of work never seemed to diminish. 

Walking out the office, you thought briefly of the joy you would feel when you’d never have to see it again. These long corridors would be a thing of the past in just a few, short months. Then you’d probably go to the city and struggle for a while but at least you would be free from here. As much as you prided yourself for getting through the first round of college, the walls of the building gave you more of an annoyed feeling than anything. 

Pushing open the door to the teachers lounge, you made a beeline for the fridge. The leftover pizza already seemed like a feast until you noticed it was nowhere to be seen. “Hannibal,” you whined to the empty room as you closed the fridge. 

“Yes, darling?” 

You startled, immediately turning around to face him, a mischievous smile was plastered on his lips. Usually your missing dinner meant to head over to his office. It wasn’t typical, but the two of you had managed a comfortable friendship between the shared late nights. Though, you suspected he’d stay longer than necessary to accompany you in the empty building. “Would you mind telling me where my dinner went, handsome?” You asked, raising a brow at him.

“Old pizza can hardly be considered dinner. Come,” he motioned to sit next to him at the table, “I’ve got a better meal prepared for you nonetheless.”

“Or maybe you just need to learn to appreciate the simple things,” you quipped as you took your seat.

“And you, the finer.”

You gave him an obvious look over, “I’d say I appreciate you plenty enough.” 

Being so forward wasn’t usually in your cards. However Hannibal had always been a gentleman and it had been fun to tease at him a bit. He never complained, often just acknowledging what you said with a raised brow or chuckle. Still there was always some truth in jokes and you’d be lying to say that he was anything less than tempting. Especially in the dark grey suit and dried blood red shirt of his. ‘No’ wouldn’t come to mind if he ever offered.

“Naughty, Miss LN,” he chided you, “What shall we do with you?”

“What do you want to do with me?”

“Eat your dinner,” he said, humor in his voice as he shook his head.

You choked back a comment about him just wanting to see your mouth stuffed, deciding it was too much of a push. Instead you just opened the lunchbox he placed in front of you. Hannibal watched you expectantly as you took a bite of the meat.

Closing your eyes, you savored the bite. It had been a while since you had something home cooked. “Han... I’m going to miss you most. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you. Delicious, as always.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” He went back to work on his own stack of papers as you ate. “Though, I’m not sure I’m ready to allow you to live off street food once we part.”

“Guess we’re gonna have to find me another man that insists on throwing away my perfectly good food to serve me home cooked meals.”

Hannibal left some remarks on a paper before pushing it to the side. “You could always come learn a few things. Maybe I’ll rest better knowing you know how to make yourself a couple of decent meals. Any guesses for the meat?”

It was a strange guessing game, but you indulged him, he was just eccentric. “Oh, definitely human,” you teased, making sure to pick up some spinach and artichoke in the next bite, “Probably had a boring name like David.”

“Close. It was Richard,” he corrected. 

“Beef, it was the Rolex of all farm animals hand picked by you and I’m very grateful you shared some with me,” you smiled at him, “So how are things going with Baltimore?”

“I’ve found a beautiful home. The office, however, seems to be harder to find.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect one.” Your phone started ringing. Grabbing it from your pocket, you looked at the screen. Mom. “They’re making this unnecessarily difficult,” you sighed to yourself. 

Hannibal looked at you with peaked interest as you shut off your phone and pushed it away. “Is something troubling you?”

“My parents aren’t taking too kindly to the no contact rule. It’s the tenth call today.”

“You’ve cut them off?”

“I thought about what you had said,” you shrugged, “I’m tired of always having to get them out of troubles and be their ATM when I don’t have enough for myself. It’s just too much on me right now. Between school assignments, Jacob’s work pile, and my other part time, it’s all just suffocating. They keep trying to use my grandfather’s death as a leverage to make me feel bad about not talking to them now, but they just want some money. I don’t want to feel guilty about this but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t,” he placed his hand over yours, “You deserve to feel taken care of and appreciated. They aren’t providing you with that now. Especially now when they use the death of the person who raised you as leverage,” he shook his head, making a disgusted sound, “It’s for your own well-being that you take some time to breathe and be young. They provide too much stress…” Hannibal fell silent. “I’ve suggested this before but i-“

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “I’m not taking your money. We’re friends. Money complicates things. Muddies the waters.”

“Friends help each other,” he reminded you, “I’ve already told you I wouldn’t want any payment.”

“But I’d still feel like I owe you.” You shook your head, “It wouldn’t feel right to me. I’m fine. I promise. Though, if you’re so willing to help me with something, I wouldn’t say no to those cooking lessons. They could be fun.”

He spared you a smile, “It would be my pleasure to teach you what I know.”

“And I’d never deny your pleasure,” your mouth spoke before you could think about it, “Sorry.”

“I don’t deny myself pleasure either,” he said, amused. “You’re fine. Now, how about we meet on Sunday? I’ll have time to figure out a full meal and gather all of the ingredients.”

“Great!” You ignored the heat that still lingered on your face, “I- um, do you need me to bring anything?”

“Nothing at all, I’ll make sure to take care of everything. All you need to do, sweet girl, is bring yourself and an appetite.”

You stifled a pleased smile at the term of affection. “I’ll make sure to do that,” sparing a glance to the clock, you frowned, “I should probably get back to work on those essays.”

“Why don’t we work on them together?” He suggested. “My colleague is notorious for drowning you in his work. I can help you sort through it all and you can have a restful Saturday without Micheal’s added stress.”

“I really can’t ask that of you. You already have enough work as it is.”

“We’ll work together. First your work, then mine. What happened to never denying my pleasure?” 

Your eyes widened, but you laughed all the same. Maybe a while more in his company wouldn’t be so bad. “Fine. Hold me to my words, but it’s only going to cause you a headache. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. These new kids are… something else.”

“They’re nothing,” he stood, grabbing his papers in one hand, “Meet me in my office. We can be more comfortable there and I may have stowed away a bottle of wine.”

“What would I do without you Doctor Lecter?”

-

“You have arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice informed you as you parked.

You took in the mansion of a home. It was too big for someone that lived alone. The thought made you shiver. Homes should be filled with life, not empty space. Then again, he was a fan of dinner parties, extravagant ones at that, so you supposed there was life in those walls on occasion. The home itself reminded you of the houses in old movies. Ones where the lightning would strike at just the right moment as a warning to stay away. But this was real life and there was no lightning, just a sun setting on a near perfect day. 

Without a warning telling you to keep away, you grabbed the gift bag and stepped out of your car. He had said to bring nothing, but you couldn’t resist a simple gift. The ties in the bag had taken out a decent chunk from your pocket, but he deserved them. Between agreeing to give you cooking lessons and helping you out with grading every so often, the simple pieces of fabric meant nothing. Besides, it was a two way gift, he’d get more of the patterned ties he was fond of and you’d get to see him in the darker colors you liked on him, knowing he’d feel compelled to wear them to show you his gratitude.

Knocking on the door, you waited a couple of minutes before he emerged. “YN, just in time. Please, come in,” he stepped to the side, “I’ve looked forward to this all day.”

You smiled and stepped past him. “I have too. Entertained myself a bit today by finding you a gift.” 

“Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

Nervousness bit at you slightly, a bit self conscious they’d be too cheap for his taste. Too late to back out of it, you handed over the bag. “You’ve always been so kind and I really appreciate everything. Let me do something for you.”

He set the bag on the nearby table, laying out the ties to get a better look at them.  “They’re all lovely,” he ran a finger across the fabric of a maroon one, “Fond of me in darker colors, YN?”

“What can I say?” You shrugged, “We catch ourselves spending a lot of time together. Why not make you a decent piece of eye candy?”

“Inappropriate,” he chided you, before signaling you to follow after him.

“You just wear them so well, Doctor Lecter.”

Shrugging off his navy suit coat, he draped it over a chair, making quick work of rolling up his sleeves. “Ready to get your hands dirty, my little sous-chef?”

“What are we making?” You asked, looking at his kitchen wide eyed. It was definitely bigger than your measly studio apartment. 

“Frisee aux lardons, duck with a pomegranate-citrus glaze. I took the liberty of preparing a blood orange sorbet for dessert.”

“I have a proposal.”

“Yes?”

“We don’t do any of that and just have dessert for dinner.”

“No,” he gave you an amused glance, “There’s more pleasure in waiting for things. Why don’t you start washing up the vegetables and I’ll start preparing the duck?”

You stuck your tongue out at his back but set to your work. “This is what I get for befriending a charming old guy.”

“Keep going the way you are and our next meal together will be langue d’Agneau en papillote.”

“That can’t be a threat if I don’t know what that means,” you quipped, setting aside an endive. 

“It means, darling,” he pointed his knife at you, “The fondness I feel for you is an inconvenience. Nonetheless, it’s welcomed.”

You smiled at him brightly, as you brought the washed vegetables over to him. “I’m fond of you too, but you gotta stop flirting and teach me how we’re gonna cook Daffy here.”

He motioned for you to grab a cutting board and a knife of your own. The two of you worked in quiet harmony, occasionally he’d tell you exactly why he was doing something a certain way or just give you simple instructions and let you have a hands on feel of exactly how to prepare something. It was nice to see him in his element. Hannibal seemed much more content in his kitchen than any where you had seen him at the college. Eventually he set his work to the side and washed his hands. 

“You’re cutting them too thick. Thinner is better for this dish.” He stepped behind you, “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.” You attempted to move to the side, but Hannibal had already caged you in between himself and the counter. His cologne was different from the one you were accustomed to him wearing, but the subtle spice of it gave a more homey feeling to him. 

Hannibal grabbed your hand that had yet to  let go of the knife. He made sure to show you how to cut them the right thickness. “See? A little thing can unbalance everything.”

“Hm,” you hummed, catching yourself relaxed against the man, his frame strong against yours, “I don’t see much of a difference. Pretty sure this is just your variation of a putter.”

“You assume I have hidden motives,” He acknowledged, looking down at you, “And if there were any?”

Taking the bait, you pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. “I wouldn’t be too upset.”

His head dipped into your shoulder, taking in a breath. “What happened to not wanting to bring on complications in our friendship?”

“We only have weeks left with each other,” you shrugged, “There wouldn’t be any complications. Not really.”

“We really should get back to making our dinner, darling,” he sighed, almost seeming reluctant to pull away, “What else did you did you do today?””

It took you a second to respond, still shaking off the embarrassment. You weren’t sure what had compelled you to do that. When you looked up at him you grimaced. Grabbing a napkin, you carefully wiped away the lingering lipstick. “The ties were the more interesting part of the day, I didn’t plan anything eventful. Honestly most of my day was taken with trying to recall the shop you mentioned that carried the ones you liked.”

He hummed in appreciation, “You also managed to pick out two I have had my eye on. I’ve got new suits coming in soon that will pair perfectly.”

You beamed at that, happy he did actually like what you had chosen. “Lucky guess. It was difficult remembering the ones I had seen you wear.”

Hannibal made to grab some ingredients and set them on the counter near the stove. “Have your parents tried calling you this weekend?”

You sighed, sure you didn’t have to tell him the truth but you wanted to, he had a compelling thing to him that made it easy to just speak. “I sent them money for rent. Which was honestly the dumbest thing I’ve done in a while.”

“It wasn’t idiotic,” he stated, setting to work on making the pomegranate sauce as you watched, “They’re you’re parents. It’s only natural you worry about them. Though, I do worry they’ll think of you as a person that doesn’t stick to her word.”

“I know, I really meant to, but the thought of them out on the street. It’s not my responsibility, but I’m just so used to being their adult.”

“It’s difficult to detransition. You worry for them as they should worry for you.”  He checked over a pan he had been heating, “That’s perfect. If you could please..” Grabbing the plate with the duck you set them on the pan. “With duck it’s important to render off the fat. A low heat is necessary.”

You nodded, “Low and slow, got it... You know, I’m not sure they worry about me at all. I mean- I know they don’t. It should hurt, but it’s just a fact of life.”

“They didn’t give you an opportunity to be a child. When you were supposed to be in the most carefree moments of your life, they burdened you with the responsibilities of an adult.” He held out a spoon with some of the pomegranate sauce for you to taste. “Any pain the notion inflicted on you has been killed with time.”

“There are still moments though. Suppose that’s common enough, isn’t it Doc?” You leaned in, allowing him to feed you, “That tastes amazing. I really should have paid attention.”

“It’s simple, I’ll write it out for you later.” Casting the sauce aside, he set a pot of water to boil. “Very common. We aren’t too dissimilar when it comes to how quickly we had to grow up. Very different reasons, but the fall out isn’t much different. Our paths left us in places where we’re very much alone.”

“What happened?” You asked, realizing that he had known a great deal of your family and you had known nothing more past how his day had gone or his preference of coffee. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t.” Hannibal went to fill two glasses with wine. “I was very young when my parents died. My father had implemented in me that, if anything were to happen, I was to take care of my mother and sister. Which meant I had grown fiercely protective of Mischa when the time came. Soon I was acting more as her father than a brother.”

“Where’s Mischa now?” You asked, knowing at the very least she had to be in her late twenties.

His lips set into a frown, he took a quick drink. “Lost her sometime after. There was a lapse of judgement on my part and she suffered because of it. My days have often been shrouded by the thought that I could have done better by her. The ways I failed burdens me significantly.”

You rubbed his arm sympathetically. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine that pain.”

“It’s something I never wish to experience again. Losing someone you love so dearly, it changes a person.”

“I’m sure you tried your best. You’re a good man. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that when you were so young.”

“You think too highly of me,” he patted your hand on his arm, “Far better than I deserve. Still if my childhood had taught me anything, it’s to value those I hold dear. Such as yourself.” 

“I’m glad we found each other. Even if it is for a short while.” You watched as he stepped back into the rhythm of cooking. Maybe you weren’t any help to him but watching him work was comforting. 

He raised a brow, “Just because the amount of time we physically see each other will diminish, doesn’t mean we need to completely break apart. I’d like to have you at my dinner table later in life.”

“I’d like it if we kept in touch,” you replied, looking at a small box on the counter. The small black beads glimmered in the light, calling at you to take a peek. A neat row of recipe cards in his impeccable penmanship, numbered as high as 120 but there could have been more. “That’s sweet,” you mused, looking at the back of a card, noticing a couple had business cards on them, “You keep track of your friends’ favorites like this?”

“Friends, acquaintances, business partners. It’s difficult remembering everyone’s preferences. When I have dinner parties I like to make sure there’s a bit of something for everyone.”

“Hm, well I’m sorry I don’t have a card for you to have.”

When everything was said and done, you helped Hannibal set up the plates to have dinner. The conversation became light as you laughed along to the better memories of Mischa. From his smile it was easy to see he adored the usually shy girl. You never pressed on to find out how she died, simply choosing to bask in his soft smiles and laughter instead of entertaining curiosity. It was easy to see he rarely talked about her and you were grateful that he found that much comfort in you.

Some time later he was sitting at his harpsichord, playing a self composed melody as you browsed his shelves. There was an almost familiar calm in the air, like this was a usual happening and it would simply just happen again. A naturally reoccurring moment. You found comfort in his presence too. 

You looked up from the shelves when you heard his sigh. “I can’t seem to master this melody,” he stated, “The ending never sounds right.” The annoyed demeanor contradicted his lax look. At least lax for him. His vest and suit jacket had been discarded a while ago leaving him with a popped button, loosened tie, and rolled up sleeves. “I may just leave this one in the air.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” you said, walking over to him, “Though we can be our own worst critics. I know I’m mine.”

“It sounds… forced. Almost as if it’s reluctant to work with me.”

“Forced things just need time.” You placed your hand on his shoulders, digging in your thumbs to relieve the tension you felt. A soft groan as he let his head lull back to rest against your stomach. “Time is all you need sometimes. I thought you would have learned that already, old man.”

He opened his eyes, raising a brow at you. “Always with that mouth.”

You smiled down on him fondly, something- probably the wine in your system -thought about pressing a kiss to his forehead right then. “What can I say? It has a mind of its own.”

“I do prefer when it’s otherwise occupied,” he stated, closing his eyes again.

Your fingers dug a little deeper at that, caught off guard. “And yet.”

Hannibal played a couple soft notes, seemingly testing the waters for his next attempt at getting it to sound right. “And yet.” The first melody seemed almost innocent, but was followed by a second seemingly stalking after it. “Would you mind putting on a record? It seemed I’ve grown bored with music of my own.”

“Sure thing, Han.” Giving his shoulders one final squeeze you pulled away from him. At the record table you browsed through his selection. Hannibal was still composing as you decided to go with a record that looked more worn than the others, figuring something well loved would help him out of his frustrated state. Setting it on the platter, you gave it a brief once over with the anti static brush, knowing he’d probably be attentive to that type of thing, and dropped the needle. The music filled the air as you took in the melody. “Very you.”

He let out a soft chuckle, abandoning the harpsichord, in favor walking over to you. “Very me, indeed.” Hannibal took the record sleeve out of your hand, setting it down on the table. The music’s build up reached. “Would you give me the honor?” His hand was stretched out toward you.

You gave him a sheepish smile, “Afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. I’m not much of a dancer.”

“I’ve been told I’m a wonderful teacher,” he pressed, a charming smile on his lips, “We all start somewhere. Let me be yours.”

A soft laugh bubbled from you as you took in his look of boyish excitement. “You’re not allowed to complain when I step on your toes.” You placed your hand in his. 

He gave a gentle squeeze to your hand. “If you’re too terrible, I’ll show you the way I taught Mischa. You can stand on my toes as I try to help you commit the movements into muscle memory.”

“Handsome and a comedian.”

“I try my best.” Hannibal gave you a gentle spin as he pulled you closer. A kiss was pressed to your hand before he placed it on his shoulder. “Now, just follow after me,” he instructed, placing his hand on your hip.

The moment could have made you fall for the man as you danced with him throughout the room. Toothy smiles and teasing winks were sent your way the couple of times you stepped on his toe. Soon enough, you figured out the pace and learned how to follow through with his unspoken plans. Still, ever the novice, you managed to place your foot in a way that sent you both stumbling to the floor.

Hannibal held you close to his chest, ensuring you didn’t get hurt in the fall. “Oh my sweet girl,” he laughed, “we are going to need more practice.”

You hid your face against his neck, ignoring the fact that he could feel how hot your face was getting. “You want more of that?”

“You were doing perfect, YN,” he stroked your hair sympathetically, “One misstep isn’t something to be embarrassed about.”

Taking a deep breath, you shifted off of the older man, opting to sit beside him on the floor. Hannibal followed suit, leaning back on his elbows. “I really am going to miss seeing you regularly,” you admitted, reaching out your hand to push back the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. 

“We spend much of our time together,” he acknowledged as he looked at you curiously. “In the kitchen-“

Your eyes widened slightly, “We don’t need to talk about that i-it’s fine. No hard feelings.”

“Romantically or physically?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you see me as a romantic or physical conquest?”

“I, um,” you opted to look at your fumbling hands, “I’m honestly not sure about romance… especially considering… everything and my experience when it comes to romance. Never really thought past- I’m talking too much.”

Hannibal’s hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Oh? What happened to the confident girl in the kitchen? Don’t go shy on me now.”

“I was high on your cologne, you can hardly blame me,” you rambled, “It pairs with mine nicely I think.”

His thumb stroked absentmindedly at your jaw. “Such a sweet little thing you are… Now, tell me, YN, what couldn’t you think past?”

“You,” you offered lamely, “Mostly nights when I needed to relax. You’d cross my mind. I’d wonder how you felt. How’d you do things. Maybe you’d like to leave bruises only you’d ever know about…”

“There’s something special in knowing what others don’t,” Hannibal acknowledged, “I do enjoy my lovers wearing my marks, hidden from others view and only acknowledged by myself. As it should be, I’m certain you agree.”

You swallowed thickly at the implication of being marked as his solely. The idea of having normal conversations with him at the college with evidence of him knowing you well burned against your skin. Maybe you’d see if you could convince him into one particular fantasy Friday night had conjured. 

He rested his thumb against your bottom lip, bringing you back to him. “I’ve had thoughts of my own… I wonder… Have you ever wrapped a hand around your own neck?” Hannibal smirked at the way your lips parted in surprise as he felt the heat rise to your face, caught in a way you hadn’t expected. “Sweet girl, were you desperate for me?”

You went to lick your bottom lip out of habit, instead finding the pad of his thumb. “Yes, sir.”

“Darling,” he sighed out softly, almost disappointed, “we could have sorted you out this entire time, if you’d only ask politely. There would have been no need for you to imagine, creative as you might have been. You always put everyone’s needs before yours, but where does that leave you?” Hannibal his thumb pressed against your lips lightly, humming in satisfaction when you let him in, already so compliant. “All you have to do is ask. What would you have me do tonight?” A soft pop sounded in the room as he pulled his thumb back, smearing your spit onto your lips and chin. 

“Just tonight?” The words rolled out of your mouth thoughtlessly. 

A soft laugh. “Maybe more, if you behave.”

Hannibal threaded his hand into your hair, pulling your head back slightly. Leaning closer he took a deep breath, taking you in, before leaving a simple kiss against your neck. His warm breath fanned across your face as he kept you in anticipation. Finally he graced you with a feather light kiss, so quick you weren’t sure you even noticed. You didn’t have time to feel ashamed of the whine that had escaped when he started to move away. Following after him, you caught him in an urgent kiss, threading your own hands in his hair to make sure he’d stay close. Hannibal bit at your bottom lip, his tongue sliding in the second you gasped. You ignored the sting and slight coppery taste. 

Sure you had had your fair share of ventures. It was only natural to crave the attention for the night or a couple hours. However, Hannibal didn’t feel like any of your past partners. His kiss was unrelenting and passionate. Quickly he learned exactly how to kiss you to ensure you’d moan into his mouth. You weren’t sure how long had been spent like this. Lips on lips. Someone’s wandering hand trailing down the other’s body. The growing need. Every movement slowly became bolder. Hannibal took the time to pull you onto his thigh, closing the distance between you even more. He kissed along your neck until he found a spot that made you buck against him. 

“Please,” you sighed out, not really knowing exactly what you wanted, but having faith that he’d give you just what you needed. 

Hannibal leaned his forehead against yours, “Are you sure about this, darling?” 

It wasn’t time for contemplation though, everything was already set into motion. He had just asked out of politeness. His hands moved to your hips, he dragged you against himself in a way that clouded your mind. “You’re very convincing,” you said with a shuddered breath. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you matched his rhythm. At the moment everything in the world was him and you couldn’t find it in you to mind. 

“You came to me,” he pointed out. His hand tugged at your shirt and you allowed him to pull it off. Fingers raised goose bumps along your skin as he followed the fabric of your bra to unclasp the material.  

“Could you blame me?” You kissed the side of his jaw for the second time this night. The lipstick mark left behind wasn’t as embarrassing when you were half undressed on his lap. A blush blossomed in your chest as you watched his darken eyes take you in.

Hannibal kissed along your chest. His hand made its way into your pants, drawing slow circles on your clit. Your soft moan and jut of your hips urged him for more. Before you could ask, he thrusted two fingers inside of you, the pace changing every so often as he took in your reactions. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you grinded against his hand. Soft whimpers were muffled by the fabric of his shirt. 

“Come on sweet girl,” he used his free hand to pull you off of his shoulder by the hair, “you shouldn’t be hiding. Look at me when I’m touching you. Don’t you want to be my good toy?”

You nodded meekly, unable to make a smart comment when you saw a smirk settle on his lips as a too loud moan took its place. 

“That’s it, no one can hear you,” he teased as he worked at the spot harder, his thumb rubbed at your clit. “You seem very close, what if I…”

As he went to move his hand, you grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No, no, no. Please, I’ll be good for you.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he brought his pace back up. Instead he chose to revel in your soft sounds and the way you had to focus to keep your eyes on him. Finally, he decided keeping you on the edge was enough and allowed you to cum on his fingers. 

“Clean up your mess,” he said as he thrusted his cum coated fingers into your mouth, “There you go, good girl.”

You watched him as you sucked his fingers clean. Bringing a hand down you palmed cock through his pants, fully intending on returning the favor. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“I’m afraid that status isn’t going to change anytime soon.” Hannibal kissed your pouted lip. “Don’t worry, I fully intend on taking care of you. Come, let’s make you more comfortable.”

As he stood, Hannibal offered you his hand to help you up. You followed him through the home to his bedroom, a place you didn’t think you’d end up but were more than pleased to see. Still you weren’t exactly taking in the sights when you were pulled into a rougher kiss as he led you toward his bed. A not too gentle push to your chest landed you on top of it. Leaning back on your elbows, you watched as Hannibal took his time undressing you fully. 

“You don’t play fair,” you complained, shifting yourself higher on the bed, away from him, “I like a pretty view too you know.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly, “Very well, but only as a reward for earlier. I know you struggled.”

You smiled at that, shaking your head, “Come here won’t you?”

There wasn’t any time wasted when he settled on top of you, you didn’t have his patience. Your hands worked on his tie and buttons as his lips and teeth trailed across your chest. A subtle grind against your pussy had your thighs squeeze his waist. Pushing his shirt off, you felt down his chest, still surprised by how muscular he seemed to be underneath it all. You wondered if he’d stop you as you reached for his belt.

“That’s enough. I don’t think you’ve earned it just yet.”

An annoyed huff was all you could manage. 

“All in its time, darling.” A surprisingly gentle kiss was dropped on your cheek. “Can you manage waiting a while longer for me?”

You resisted the urge to nuzzle against him, unused to such soft displays from past partners. “Yes, sir...”

“Always such a sweet, polite thing.” 

Hannibal kissed and bit his way down your body, ensuring there would be evidence of him the next time you saw yourself in the mirror. He allowed you to thread your fingers in his hair, giving him a soft push down when he took too long marking you in one spot. It wasn’t much longer until Hannibal was level with your thighs, he pushed them further apart. A moment passed without anything before you remembered his rule. Willing yourself up you looked down at him, catching a wink before you were rewarded with a broad lick. Hannibal sucked your clit, pressing your hips down when you grinded against him. 

A helpless noise was the most you could do.

He bit your thigh, his fingers immediately making their way back inside of you, targeting the spot he had quickly learned turned you to putty. 

“You really are beautiful like this,” Hannibal acknowledged, “Completely at my mercy. Desperate for anything I’m willing to give you.”

There wasn’t any time to think up something to say as Hannibal’s mouth replaced his fingers, silencing any words that weren’t his breathy attempts of his name and pleas. Teeth grazed against your clit and a soft moan of his own was enough to pull you closer. 

“Please, daddy,” you begged, too far gone to be embarrassed by your slip, “I’m close…”

Hannibal was merciful, helping you finish as quickly as you had asked. Maybe at another time he would have teased and made you hold on longer but there was only so much patience he had. Especially when there was such an eager lover begging him. You watched him, dazed, as he came back up, his hand gripping at your jaw.

“Open.”

Doing as he wanted, you opened your mouth, instantly receiving a mix of the still lingering wine he had drank at dinner and you. He watched as you swallowed.

He let out an almost dreamy sigh. “So pliant.” 

Hannibal kissed you, finally allowing you to get your way as you pushed off the last clothes. You pumped him in your hand, working up the courage as you shook off the daze he had left you in. He was definitely the most talented partner you had had.

“We don’t have to go any further,” Hannibal reassured you, kissing the side of your mouth, “I’m perfectly sedated watching you.”

You shook your head immediately, not wanting him to think you were hesitant. “I want to, college guys aren’t so giving, just needed some time to clear my head.” As if to prove your point you gave him a squeeze, that made him thrust into your hand on instinct. “I just feel bad you’re doing all the work.”

“I prefer it,” he groaned quietly, as you thumbed at the slit. Hannibal rolled so that you could be on top of him, “But if you insist…”

A soft laugh. “That was hardly the fight I was expecting,” you muttered teasingly, kissing his jaw. 

“My patience is running thin.”

At that you straddled him, your hand lining him up with you. His hands held you steady as you sunk onto him. The both of you moaned softly when he was fully inside. Hannibal slowly grinded you against himself as you adjusted to his size. Hands against his chest, you started riding him in earnest. 

“That’s my good girl,” he praised you, his fingernails digging harder into your hips. 

“Yours,” you whimpered, too enthralled in the feel of him to pay any attention to the weight of what you were saying. His groans underneath you encouraged you more than anything. “All yours.”

Hannibal sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you firm against him. His soft kiss was a contrast to how roughly he was working himself into you. You couldn’t find it in you to care that he had taken control again. Instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him do as he pleased, just enjoying the way his hands and lips would travel across your body. Teasing, pinching, biting everywhere he could reach.  Your chest alone would be covered in marks left behind by Hannibal. That would be a problem for the future you to deal with at the moment you were too preoccupied with begging him for more. He’d slow his thrust whenever he felt you close to the end, chuckling lowly at the whining sounds you had made.

“Give daddy one more sweet girl. I know you can.”

You moaned loudly, giving Hannibal exactly what he wanted. When he wanted. Drained, you fell limp against his shoulder. Every small sound you made broadcast directly to him as he used you for all your worth. His arms tightened around you when you tried to pull away from the over stimulation. 

“Daddy’s close,” he promised, his accent thicker than usual, “I’ve taken such good care of my girl. Be good for me.”

Nodding, you dug your nails into his shoulders. You could be good. He had been so good to you after all. Still your vision blurred and it had taken a while longer for him to finally go still inside of you. 

Hannibal kissed the side of your head, before pulling you to lay down against him. His thumb wiped away the stray tear that had managed to fall. “You did so well for me. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

You sighed sleepily, curling into his side more comfortably, “I’m alright. Just want you.”

“We’ll take care of you later,” he promised, seeing how tired you were, “You should rest, darling. I’ll be right here.” His hand rested on your hip, thumbing at forming bruise gently. Between the soft touch and his quiet humming, it didn’t take long for you to find sleep. 

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