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hayleygrrr · 8 days ago

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hang the dj - a.d.

contains: nsfw 18+, mdni. 2.9k words, black mirror's hang the dj au, frank!art x amy!gn!reader, advanced technology, dystopian universe, groundhog day ahh dates, brief sexual content (penetration), lowkey its just a cute love story

notes: GAH holy fuck this was so fucking fun to write!!! i love this episode of black mirror and i feel like frank's character fit art really well. i loveee black mirror and i love challengers so this was incredibly fun and easy to write. it felt odd to format the ending bc i didnt know how to visualize the alternate realities so i may rewrite this. idc tho bc i love it!!

The ambient sound of cutlery clattering and glasses clinking surrounds Art, followed by chatter of other couples meeting and talking.

“Coach? I’m at the right booth, yeah?” he asks his device, which glows in response.

“Yes. You are seated in Booth 16, which is where your match has also been assigned to sit.”

Art just nods a bit dumbly, sipping his wine as he waits, drumming his fingers against the table. He was early, he knew that, but he couldn’t possibly be that early-

It’s then that you walk in, and Art swears his heart stops. He doesn’t have to check with Coach, he knows that you’re who he’s supposed to meet tonight. It’s like he’s known you his whole life, memorizing the pauses you make and the smiles that you deal out like they’re candy. You’re a visionary, glowing even in the dim light of the restaurant, and you’re coming right towards him.

You stop in front of him, holding out your Coach that’s displaying a photo of his face on it. “Hi. Art, right?”

He swallows, wetting his lips and nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s.. me,” he says, eyes glued to your every movement as you slide into the booth- the way your hair tickles the nape of your neck, how you check your nails for blemishes with a slight frown, the way you swish your glass around before sipping your wine.

“Is it your first time too?” Your voice jolts him out of his stupor, and he looks over to meet your gaze, nodding.

“Yeah. Sorta just.. gave up. My friends all have a Coach, so they got me one for my birthday…” he shrugs, nodding at you. “What about you? What’s your reason for blooming late?”

You mimic his shrug, making him laugh a bit. “I don’t know. I really don’t even think I should be here– I mean, it feels so much more real to find relationships without the help of tech, right?” There’s an awkward pause at your blunt answer, until you lean forward, sliding your Coach across the table.

“Should we check the expiry date?” you ask, raising an eyebrow with a coy smile. Art clears his throat and nods, pulling his Coach out of his pocket with fumbling hands and putting it next to yours.

“Revealing expiry date,” both of your Coaches say simultaneously. “Press down in 3…2…1.”

The two of you press the button at the same time, and the screen pixelates itself, revealing the number in bold hours.

Art coughs, pounding his chest gently. “Twelve hours, huh? That seems, uh… pretty short, no?”

You nod, furrowing your brow and taking your Coach back, slipping it into your pocket. “S’pose it is,” you muse, “but we can make the most of it, can’t we?” You beam up at him, and Art swears his heart just imploded.

“Y-Yeah. Heh, ‘course we can,” he chuckles, reaching his hand across the table to cover yours, squeezing gently. “I’ve got no qualms with that.”

The food arrives– fish smothered in sauce with greens on the side for you, and a pasta dish for Art. You wrinkle your nose, nodding gratefully at the waiter. “I hate fish,” you whisper to Art conspiratorially, who’s eyes widen. He switches your dishes despite your protest, already digging in.

“I’m an athlete, I could use the protein anyway,” he defends, looking completely serious about his need for protein, you can’t help but smile. This man… was just everything and more.

“Thanks,” you reply, and the conversation flows easy after that, talking like you’ve known each other your whole life. He correctly guesses your favorite color by just your smile, and you nail his top movie when he holds your hand. He’s like a book you’ve read a thousand times over, dog-eared and worn out, well-loved and never-ending.

When your meal ends, the cart outside is all ready to transport you to your house for the next 12 hours. It’s awkward once you get in, how the house makes it obvious that it just wants you to fuck. The countless packs of condoms in Art’s drawers speak multitudes by themself.

“Do you want to…?” you gesture to the bed and look at Art, whose face has flushed red as he looks away, shuffling his feet.

“I mean.. we should, shouldn’t we?” he murmurs, sitting down on the bed and bouncing, testing the firmness. “We’ve only got twelve hours, after all.”

You sit down next to him, taking your jacket off and tossing it aside. “We don’t have to do anything,” you remind him softly, meeting his gaze. There’s a hint of longing in his clear blue eyes as he looks back at you, lips parting to let out a quiet sigh.

“Can we just sleep?” he whispers, and you nod. The two of you get under the covers, opposite sides of the bed and not touching. After a few awkward moments of silence, he speaks up.

“This was fun, you know. Um. Goodnight.”

A soft smile graces your face as your hand travels under the sheets, tentatively interlocking with his. After a moment, he squeezes your hand gently.

“Goodnight.”

You’ve been paired with someone new this time, a big buff nobody who’s name you’ve already forgotten. He’s pistoning into you, grunting and moaning, and it does feel good, but-

Art’s smile flashes into your mind, his bright eyes and golden curls stuck behind your eyelids, his face being the only thing you can see even as this brute fucks into you.

“Oh, yeah, you like that?” he moans into your ear, sucking a sloppy kiss onto your neck. You can imagine Art saying that, grinding into your core gently instead of pounding relentlessly, asking that question out of genuine concern, not just to fan his ego.

“Ohhh– hnnnnh, yes!” you squeal, faking everything to get an excuse to push him off of you. You squeeze your thighs together, pushing his cock out from inside you, as you turn over to the nightstand, grabbing a cup of water. “Well, that was…” awful. “exhilarating! I’m pooped,” you say, pecking the man on the cheek and setting the glass back onto the nightstand. You’re under the covers and fake snoring before he can even react.

You miss Art.

The next time you see him is at a wedding with a girl. Tall and lean, dark skinned. Most likely an athlete like him, you guess from her figure. She’s got an arm wrapped around Art’s waist, and they’re laughing together– happy, joyful, in love. You look to your side to see your current match, making small talk with the happy couple, and judging from their shocked expressions, he wasn’t saying anything good.

“Hey, you!” Art’s at your side now, his girlfriend having left to give the couple a gift. You immediately feel warmer inside, like he’s given you the gift of the sun with just his presence.

“Sorry, who are you?” you joke, making him laugh and bump your hip playfully. It’s funny because you both know the truth. You’ve never forgotten about each other, not since that first night. You nod towards his girlfriend, all long legs and radiant smiles. Fuck. “Is she your match?”

“Hm? Oh, Tashi! Yeah, yeah.. she’s not my ultimate pairing or anything, but… yeah. I mean, she’s my girlfriend for now,” he shrugs. “It ends tomorrow, so…”

You nod slowly, trying not to let the smile break free from your neutral expression. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. He shakes his head, a smile on his face.

“Don’t be. Happens to everyone.” He looks around the bustling afterparty, both Tashi and your match out of sight. “D’you wanna take a walk?”

You’re nodding before you can even process it, grabbing your bag and jumping up to your feet. “Please.”

The two of you stumble your way down to the lakeside, the peaceful scenery calming both of your jitters. You stand by the water, searching for rocks to skip as he watches you.

“Can I say something weird?” he asks, and you nod, not looking up from your scavenging. “I feel like I’ve known you forever. That you’re just an old friend that I fell out of touch with.” Art exhales heavily, shuffling alongside you.

“Is it weird if I say the same thing?” You counter, skipping the rock. It floats across the water, beating one, two, three, four times until it sinks beneath the murky blue. You turn to look at him, his eyes reflecting the sky above. “And is it weird that I really wish you could cheat on your match?”

Art laughs at that, his curls flying through the sun-soaked air. “Only if it’s weird that I’m wishing the same thing.” You find another rock to skip, tossing it– one, two, three, four, and it sinks again.

“Maybe we’ll be each other’s final pairing,” you suggest, looking up to gauge his reaction to that idea. “Would you want that?”

He looks down at you, a shy smile playing at the corners of his lips, as if he’s afraid to let his secret out. “Yeah. I want that.”

You’re not each other’s final match. You end up being matched with someone from months ago. You remember his face, hovering above yours and panting like a dog. His breath had smelled like onions.

“You are permitted one 24 hour day with a past match of your choosing,” your Coach chimes cheerily when you climb out of the pool, practice laps completed. “Who would you like t-?”

“Art,” you hurry to say, drying your hands off with your towel and pushing out of the pool. “Art, I choose Art. Please.” You’re desperate, saying his name like it’s a prayer, like if you say it three times he’ll appear.

There’s a whirring noise from your Coach, before a happy ping! can be heard.

“You have selected: Art Donaldson as your final meeting. Please meet at Booth 16 at 8 o’clock PM.”

You sigh, sitting down at the edge of the pool and letting your feet dangle into the water, making small ripples appear. “Coach, can you count to four?”

Your Coach glows, and you pick it up, readying your aim and throwing. The blue light from the Coach shimmers along the glimmering blue of the pool as it begins speaking.

“One,” skip, “two,” skip, “three,” skip, “four,” sink.

You watch as your Coach’s light fades out, robotic voice glitching as it sank on the fourth skip, like always.

He’s early again. Sitting at your table with a nervous smile on his face, as if he’s still worried about impressing you.

You sit down next to him in the booth and immediately kiss him– you’ve learned your lesson, and you’re not going to lose any more time than you already have. You kiss like you’re starved, your tongue slipping past his plush lips to meet his, cupping his jaw and leaning close to him. You’ve never kissed him before, but something about it feels… familiar. Like this is the millionth kiss you’ve shared already.

You pull away, eyes raking over his flushed face and parted lips. “...Hey,” you whisper, tracing your thumb over his cheek gently.

He swallows thickly, a shy smile spreading across his face. “Hi,” he replies, his voice equally quiet, reverent like you just gave him everything he’s ever asked for.

The food comes, fish and pasta, and you switch dishes again, like it’s a habit you’ve drilled into your body. Your conversation flows as easily as the wine pouring into your glasses, and soft kisses accompany every word. It’s perfect.

The house you two stay at for the night is the same one as your first date, and it feels like home to you. The feeling of his arms around you as you stumble to the bed makes your chest warm, even as he slips your jacket off your shoulders. The way you two collapse onto the bed, kissing every inch of skin feels practiced, like a ritual. Like this isn’t the first time.

Every thrust and moan comes out naturally, as if this was meant to be. Like you two were made for each other. His sweaty curls dangling in front of your face, soft breaths escaping his lips as his thrusts increase in speed, his large hands roaming over your body lovingly.

“You’re so– goddamn gorgeous,” he whispers, kissing you softly to silence your moans. You don’t need to say anything back, your orgasm consisting of pure ecstasy and filth, back arching and hips pressing against his.

It feels like the thousandth time you two have made love– not fucked, for that would have less feelings involved. You two were in love. The two of you lay side by side in bed, hands intertwined like your first time sleeping here. It’s safe and practiced, his fingers pressing against your skin gently, grounding you.

“I feel like we’ve done this before,” you whisper to him, voice worn out. “I think… I mean, you knew me too well for that to be our first.” He presses a finger to a mark left on your neck, right where you’re especially sensitive. He knows that, somehow.

“I’d remember you,” he whispers back, voice low and gravelly as his finger swipes over your skin, gentle and loving, like he’s memorizing the softness of your supple skin.

You prop yourself up on an elbow, facing him. “Art, really. Think about it,” you murmur, your eyes dark and serious. “This feels right. It’s like… shit, it’s cheesy, but we’re like two puzzle pieces.”

His eyes soften and he nods in agreement, his hand dropping from your neck. “I know,” he replies, unsure of where you’re going with this.

“I can’t remember anything before our first date,” you continue. “Not– getting ready, or driving to the restaurant. It was like I just spawned in there, ready to meet you.”

Art furrows his brow, the gears in his brain turning as you keep speaking. “...Yeah. Like I just happened to… appear in that booth.” He cocks his head, glancing over at you. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

You’re out of bed already, putting your clothes on haphazardly. “Do you have your Coach with you?” you ask, and he nods, getting up as well and pulling it out of his jeans pocket.

You take the small device and hold it in your palm. It’s cool, the metal clashing against the heat of your body. It’s so small, the size of a cookie, yet it held so much power over you. Over everyone. You storm over to the window and crack it open, smashing the Coach against the windowsill before tossing it out. You turn to Art, who looks shocked, but not unsurprised. Like this isn’t the first time this has happened.

“Let’s go on a walk.”

You’re tripping over your feet in the darkness of the night, giggling as he catches you and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “For safety,” he insists solemnly.

You’re walking to the border of town, your reasoning being that there was something greater past the borders, outside of the world you’d grown up in. Supposedly. Though Art looked like he doubted you, he followed along obediently anyway, as if he’s had it programmed into his body that you know the way.

It’s a struggling trek, dirt and dust flying into your eyes as the night goes on, storms passing overhead and wind blowing against you, as if trying to reason with you to not leave. It doesn’t deter you, only gripping Art’s hand tighter as you forge ahead, turning around occasionally to check if he’s still there. You don’t want to lose him, not again.

You reach the large wall that borders around your town, a flimsy ladder leaning up against it, like they want you to escape. You go first, moving your hands and feet slowly until you get the hang of things, looking back to make sure Art’s climbing up behind you. And he is, like a determined puppy, gritting his jaw as sweat drips down his temple.

The two of you reach the top of the wall, Art grabbing you by the waist to steady you. His eyes gleam beneath the stars, meeting yours. “What do we do now?” he whispers, his voice hard to hear in the whipping wind.

You look out, past the town, past the wall. It’s all inky blackness and shimmering stars, a future unknown past the wall you’ve lived within all your life. There’s a sense of excitement, pounding in your chest as you take a step, loosening your grip on Art’s arm.

“Now… we’ll see each other later.” You say it with a sense of finality, turning to face the sky as you bend your knees and jump, letting yourself fall into the endless darkness.

You land. Eventually, you do, in a bar, loud and noisy. You’re not sure when it happens, when you stopped falling, but you’re grateful to find respite, even if it’s in a shitty bar. It’s raucous, the air smelling of tobacco and sweat, yet it feels so much more comfortable than the bars back home– all refined and quiet, no music or chatter, just fancy cocktails that were 10 dollars a glass. Here it’s dirty and overwhelming, but in a good way. You can’t help but smile.

Something familiar starts playing from the jukebox– Panic by The Smiths. As the song starts playing, your eyes lock with a familiar face from across the room, innocent blonde curls and a leather greaser jacket, hunched over the bar. He looks back at you and grins knowingly.

Your heart flutters like you’ve known him your whole life, and you get up from your seat, approaching him and stopping right across from him. Your lips part and words come out before you can even process them.

“Hey, you.”

taglist: @girliism, @imperishablereverie, @faiztsheap, @musingsofheaven, @yardofbrunettes, @fwaist

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hayleygrrr · 8 days ago

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idc idc idc idc im a PROUD dilf!art donaldson truther. something abt that ring…how good of a father he tries to be for lily, AND at least trying to be attentive in his failing marriage.. I love it LOL

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hayleygrrr · 9 days ago

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My baby you are working OVERTIME

introducing bot one in the thousand follower celebration, thanks to maya— art donaldson.

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hayleygrrr · 13 days ago

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frat!art x f!reader

you were dumb if u thought art would cheat on you.

sure he always went to parties, but was always drinking with assholes he calls friends. and always around...girls. who throw themselves on him and patrick.

but cheat on you? really? art would rather kill himself than cheat on you. sure, the old art would, the old art would cheat and gaslight you into taking him back. and he still can, but his heart would break seeing you cry and sad.

he loves you...alot. you just dont know it yet! you probably think he's just another situationship. but he isnt. he isnt planning on letting you go any time soon.

which is why he's so confused as to why you're ignoring him. yet again you are both at a party, but instead you're of being on his lap, in his arms; you're drinking with your friends.

he doesn't want to force himself on you, but god does he missed touching you. you and your sweet little lips touching his. he stood up from the couch were him and his friends were, telling patrick to save his spot. because he knows he'll come back with you in his arms.

"baby-" "no." your friends cut him off, almost shielding you from him. "you think you can go hoeing around with other girls then-" "shut the fuck up." he softly pushes past your friends and grabs your wrists, pulling you along the hallway.

"really? is that why you're ignoring me?" he mumbles, lifting your chin up. "you know i only have eyes for you." you look up at him with pouty lips, your hand softly wrapping around his wrist. "i know but-" you shrug. "i just hate seeing you around other girls while im not there. specially since you know how some girls dont care if-"

you cut yourself off. you both arent even dating and you're overthinking about things. "hey," he cups your cheeks, looking deep into your eyes. "just stop thinking about it, yeah? you can go through my phone you can-" he kisses your lips softly. "you can do anything. just come with me. i miss you."

you nod, and he smiles before he can kiss you again. "come on." he guides you through the crowd, his hand on your lower back. he sits on the couch, and he pulls you into his lap, like usually. he passes you his phone, and you look through it as he embraces you.

you know its dumb, you arent nothing. atleast in your opinion. but to him? you mean the world. and he will not let anything influence you or convince you to leave him. his hand softly rubs your jaw, kissing your eyelids. "see?" he says as he watches you go through his dms. "nothing."

you smile softly, looking up at him. "yeah, if you say so."

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hayleygrrr · 13 days ago

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꒰ the guys ask bassist!reader for help with some very important… measurements ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, drug use (weed), measuring cocks, not-quite-a-blowjob, gagging, cursing

a/n: this one’s been sitting in my drafts for a while now, finally got inspo to finish it!

⋆˚꩜｡

jet lag is a bitch, enough said. even though you’re on tour for like a half of your life, you still have some trouble adjusting to different timezones whenever you fly overseas. and so, you end up doing the same exact thing as usual – getting high with your boys at the ass crack of dawn in a shared hotel room.

you’re on the bed, a joint snugly tucked between your fingers as you take a puff, head resting on theo’s lap. through the light mist, you watch enzo and mattheo check themselves out in the mirror hanging on the wall, standing next to each other and flexing their abs in a silent competition.

“this is bullshit,” lorenzo huffs out when it becomes clear that mattheo is far superior in the ‘ripped’ department. the latter looks at him with a lazy smirk, pleased by such an easy win, and weakly punches enzo’s arm as a small taunt.

“i’m serious,” lorenzo whines, returning the punch with a shove to mattheo’s ribs. “we aren’t talking about the real deal here.”

both you and theo simultaneously raise an eyebrow in curiosity, but seems as though mattheo instantly gets the hint, his smirk widening into a grin.

“and what’s the real deal?” you ask, passing the joint to theo. he holds the smoke in for a few moments before leaning down and pressing his mouth to yours. a small cloud billows out of the tiny gap between your lips, and momentarily, you get lost in the moment, mind turning off. the moment gets broken by two sets of footsteps approaching the bed.

“well, it’s damn obvious, mate.”

mattheo takes a pointed look at theo’s crotch. ah, that, you quickly realise, lifting your head from theo’s thighs and looking down. he’s semi-hard already, and you’ve been feeling it against your nape for a few minutes now.

"i mean, we never really compared, have we?” enzo’s hand moves to his cock, twitching in his boxers at the contact. mattheo mirrors the action, grabbing himself and squeezing, making his dick gradually harden.

you shake your head in amusement. “seventh grade, at most,” you pretend to scold, but the sight renders you somewhat endeared, and maybe a bit aroused as well. theo, on the other hand, looks intrigued. he puts the joint out in an ashtray and straightens up. he doesn’t really have to do anything to get himself hard – he’s halfway there already.

“we don’t have a ruler or anything, but, you know…” mattheo looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to understand what he’s getting at. your eyebrows knit together momentarily, but the other guys turn to look at you as well, and realisation slowly settles in your drugged up mind.

“you’re actual animals,” you scoff, but the thought of what’s about to happen makes your thighs squeeze together; you feel your panties dampen pretty rapidly. of course, theo notices; he leans in, his breath ghosting over your cheek.

“come on, dolcezza, it’s gonna be fun,” he murmurs in a kind of voice that makes you believe him. not that you doubted it in the first place – everything these three ever suggested always turned into some type of fun. “let’s see who really gags you.”

the sight of three hard cocks pointing at you isn’t new at this point. enzo is the first one to go. you grab his thighs for support, wrapping your lips around his tip, the salty taste of precum settling on your tongue.

“damn, you’re that horny?” you mumble as you ease onto his cock, but he just chuckles in return.

“can’t help it, baby. oh fuck–”

he gasps as you take him fully, the tip already hitting the back of your throat. you easily hold him there, glancing up to notice his eyelashes fluttering at the pleasure. theo and mattheo exchange a look, letting out equally amused laughs.

“damn, mate. no gagging there, that’s a bummer,” mattheo mutters through a fit of giggles, his hand lazily moving up and down his own slick length. “careful, you might just nut.”

“shut the fuck up.” enzo rolls his eyes, shoving him in the ribs again. “she just doesn’t have any gag reflex.”

“sure. if it helps you sleep at night,” theo chimes in, stroking himself to the sight of your lips wrapped around lorenzo’s dick. next moment, it pops out of your mouth, strings of saliva dropping from your mouth and starting to drip down to his balls. enzo huffs in frustration and takes a step back, still not ready to accept his obvious defeat.

“come on, baby. let’s get you some real food.” mattheo is awfully smug as the tip of his cock glides across your wet lips. your eyes roll playfully at his arrogance, but you eagerly take him in – maybe a bit too eagerly, since you do indeed gag the second his cock slides right into your throat. he’s always been thick, but fuck, you feel it pretty damn well now. tears gather at the corners of your eyes as you hold him in your mouth, and to your surprise, you find yourself unable to do it for too long. you push back, mattheo’s cock slipping out of you and slapping against his stomach with a sinfully wet sound.

“see? told ya.” mattheo pats lorenzo on the shoulder, offering him mocking condolences.

“yeah? wait until i shove my cock up your ass. let’s hear you talk shit then,” enzo retorts, and mattheo doesn’t protest. he just smirks, knowing this threat sound suspiciously like a promise.

by the time you get to theo, he’s fully dripping – watching you choke on mattheo does that to him. you waste no time sucking his cock in, and it slides smoothly along the walls of your throat, hitting its back in just the right way to make you gag instantly. you try to hold him in, you really do, but it just seems impossible – he’s too big for you to properly settle on his dick, and it doesn’t help that his hips buck up, pushing himself deeper into your throat. you squeeze his thighs, pulling back and slurping up the mess that is your drool and his precum. it’s dripping all over your chin anyway, mixing with the remnants of the other two.

theo grins triumphantly, looking up at enzo and mattheo, who seem genuinely baffled that theo did, in fact, turn out to be the biggest out of them all, judging by your incredibly accurate gag scale.

“you cheated, asshole!” enzo exclaims, gesturing absently towards theo’s throbbing cock and your face, which looks a bit too dazed for it to be a game anymore. “you pushed!”

“blah, blah, blah. you have to learn to accept defeat, amico.” theo leans back on the pillow, his smile wide and proud, hand clasped underneath the back of his head. “seems like i’m the real deal here.”

“but you saw how her lips stretched around my cock, right?!” mattheo huffs indignantly. “i’m the thickest, you gotta admit that.”

“sure, sure. i wholly believe that.” theo’s denial doesn’t seem too serious, though – after all, he’s no stranger to mattheo’s thickness, so he knows there’s a lot of truth to his assessment. “but she couldn’t even keep me in, so… i am the biggest.”

“well, i’m gonna test that right now,” mattheo almost growls with determination, already making his way to climb onto the bed. you glance at enzo, whose cock is practically weeping for attention at this point, and know that the actual real deal has just started.

au. more.

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hayleygrrr · 14 days ago

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between the lines

a very inconvenient discovery

You don’t realize what you’ve done until you’re halfway through your second class of the day and open your notebook to find...

Not your handwriting.

Not your diagrams. Not your very specific color-coding system. And certainly not your very dramatic drawing of Professor Binns mid-lecture, labeled “Sir Snooze-a-Lot.”

You stare at the page. Then flip. And flip again.

Oh no.

You’ve taken someone else’s notebook.

You never make mistakes like this. Your entire personality is built around being the girl who does not make mistakes like this. The girl who labels her tab dividers and rewrites her notes in neat, margin-aligned bullet points.

And now you’ve accidentally stolen someone’s entire academic life.

You're about to panic when a small ink blot in the corner of a page catches your eye.

It’s not a blot. It’s… a doodle?

Of a plant. One you recognize from Herbology drawn with an almost obsessive attention to detail, like someone who secretly loves the subject but doesn’t want anyone to know. Cute. Kind of nerdy.

You flip again.

Another page. Another harmless doodle.

You squint. There’s writing next to it, a scrawled little annotation that reads: cold in the library again. she never brings a jumper.

Your stomach does something weird.

You turn the page one more time.

It’s a sketch of… you.

It’s not a masterpiece or anything, but you recognize yourself immediately: the curve of your cheek, the way your quill rests against your lower lip when you’re thinking. There’s a tiny label under it, scribbled like an afterthought:

"Library girl."

You slam the notebook shut, face hot.

Okay. So.

You’ve just accidentally discovered that someone, an anonymous, emotionally repressed someone, has not only been sketching you in their notes… they’ve noticed things. Like the fact that you’re always cold in the library. Like the way you sit. The way you—

Oh Merlin.

Who does this belong to??

You think back to that morning. The rush of class. The pile of identical-looking notebooks on the desk in the library.

There’s only one other person who sits near you there. Always. Like clockwork. Never speaks. Just reads quietly in his perfect posture and his perfect jumper and his perfect bloody bone structure.

Theodore Nott.

You nearly fall off your chair.

Because if this notebook is his...

You look down at the cover. Nothing. Not a single identifying mark.

Of course. He would be mysterious about it.

You spend the next three hours spiraling.

Maybe, hopefully, it wasn't Theodore Nott’s? What if it is his and he finds out you saw and... Oh no.

He’s going to hex you.

You clutch the notebook like it’s about to self-destruct. You need to return it. Quietly. Discreetly. With as little eye contact as possible. Preferably while pretending you’ve seen nothing at all. Unfortunately, fate (and Theo Nott) are not that kind.

Later that evening. The library.

You slip into your usual spot and there he is.

Seated across from you like always, looking calm and composed and terrifyingly unreadable. His hair is a little messy, like he’s been running a hand through it, and his tie is slightly askew in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is.

Your eyes meet.

Something flickers in his.

He looks down at the desk in front of him… where he has your notebook. Oh no. He knows.

You hold his notebook out toward him like a peace offering, trying not to die on the spot. “I, um— We switched. Earlier. I think.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just takes the notebook from your hands and flips it open. Your face burns in mounting horror as you take your own notebook back and see that he dog-eared a page where your very detailed to-do list included:

Finish Transfig essay

Ask Theo Nott what his problem is

(or if he just hates me personally???)

(he’s hot tho. unfortunately.)

“You read it,” he says, voice low and maddeningly calm, snapping you back from your brief paralyzation of horror.

“Did not,” you lie immediately.

One of his brows lifts.

Your face burns. “Okay, maybe a little. But like... casually.”

He leans back in his chair, studying you. “You read this casually? Was it a casual read for you?”

You fidget. “I didn’t mean to.”

There’s a long, awful pause. Then, softly and unexpectedly, he says, “I thought you’d be mad.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I thought… you’d be freaked out.” He taps a finger lightly against the edge of the notebook. “That I drew you. That I notice things.”

You stare at him.

“Theo,” you say, voice too high. “You drew me like a Victorian botanist in love. I’m not freaked out. I’m flattered.”

He gives a quiet huff of laughter, then looks down, shy, almost. It's disarming. You reach for your own notebook again, flipping it open and finding a new note on the inside cover. In that familiar sharp script:

“You looked cold. I’ll bring a jumper next time.”

You glance up.

He’s already pulling off his jumper and sliding it across the table to you.

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