#This essay is never getting done. can I request help academically even if I have no conditions that affect it?

[anothermonikan]

I get so hyped when Twin Size Mattress comes on the 8th grade / year 9 playlist it's unreasonable. Girl that is your entire 8th grade experience in a song we are not hype about that. what

[drawlfoy]

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

~ 

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy. 

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

~

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two. 

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him. 

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers. 

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door. 

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time. 

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled. 

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her. 

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks. 

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth. 

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile. 

Task 1? Technically done.

~ 

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable. 

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation. 

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her. 

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N. 

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone. 

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys. 

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was. 

“What is it?” 

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs. 

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??” 

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her. 

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on. 

“Y/L/N?” 

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

~

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match. 

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms. 

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made. 

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her. 

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled. 

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. 

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.” 

“Why?” 

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.” 

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin. 

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.” 

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest. 

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood. 

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own. 

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him. 

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost. 

~ 

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!” 

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink. 

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia. 

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed. 

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green. 

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked. 

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face. 

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before? 

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder. 

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me. 

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes. 

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.” 

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.” 

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour. 

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.” 

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.” 

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck. 

~

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him. 

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow. 

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica. 

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?” 

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

~

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what. 

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned. 

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper. 

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove. 

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.” 

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait. 

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill. 

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower. 

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?” 

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?” 

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress. 

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps. 

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

~

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim. 

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings. 

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot. 

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe. 

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking. 

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

[its-madi]

kiss for your thoughts?

Requested by: @suntaek17 -- I’m sorry if this isn’t quite what you wanted !! Beta-Reader: @flansum Tags: mostly fluff, academic struggles, Boyfriend!Golcha TW: mentions of food Length:1.5k, roughly 150 words each

___________________

Daeyeol - classic literature

Literature wasn’t your expertise, but when your boyfriend asked for assistance, you couldn’t say no. He’d been curled up to the same novel — Moby Dick — for at least three weeks.

“It’s just so dry! Why do I need a chapter just telling me the anatomy of the whale’s fins?” he whined, leaning his head back onto the pillow.

You laughed, knowing how you felt similarly while reading it. “If you pretend those chapters don’t exist, it’s really not that bad of a book.”

Daeyeol groaned. “But my essay is due next week, and I’m only halfway through.”

“Or you could look at it as if you’re already halfway through,” you grinned, falling into the empty spot beside him. “Tell you what. For every chapter you finish, I’ll give you three kisses.”

“Only three?” he pouted.

“Four if it’s a long one,” you decided, pressing your lips to his. “And one for good luck.”

Sungyoon - music composition

“I don’t know why you’re asking for my help. Music is your thing,” you muttered, flopping down beside your boyfriend, Sungyoon.

“Music might be. But this program they want us to use? I can’t understand a thing.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, peering at the computer screen in front of him. “And they didn’t go over how to use the program?”

He shook his head. “Professor assumed we had prior knowledge, and I’d used a similar one, so I thought it would be fine, and-”

“Have you tried a YouTube tutorial?”

Sungyoon’s eyes widened. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“You need to sleep more,” you laughed, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll treat us to supper.”

Jangjun - sound design

You’d never heard Jangjun be so quiet. You knew he’d been working on his final project for class, but you didn’t think it would pull him away from you for a full day.

After sending him a few texts and even knocking on his studio door, you eventually decided to just enter the room. Your boyfriend hunched over his desk, a microphone in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He was pouring it onto a tray, trying to capture the perfect sound effect.

You let out a laugh when he finished his take, causing Jangjun to jump into the air in fright. 

“Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you pouted, walking over to him. “I know you said not to bug you, but you haven’t eaten all day.”

Jangjun frowned. “I will. I will.” He looked back at his software. “Can you hold the mic so I can get this recorded?”

“Of course,” you smiled, taking the microphone out of his hands. “You’re working really hard.”

Jangjun grinned and met your lips with a quick kiss before sitting back in front of his desk. “And action.”

Youngtaek - journalism

“I just need you to proofread it,” Youngtaek muttered, shoving his laptop into your arms. The article he’d written was displayed on the screen in front of you. “Just check for typos, and make sure I sound unbiased.”

You nodded, sitting at your desk with his laptop. You read through the piece, trying to ignore his anxious breathing behind you. Like usual, you could picture his expression without seeing it: puppy-dog eyes as he waited for your opinion — one he always said he cherished. “Youngtaek, please. I can’t read it if you’re distracting me.”

“I’m sorry, this is just,” he sighed, “it’s worth like 40 percent of my grade.”

“And so far, it’s great,” you smiled, standing up once again. “Now, just give me some time to read, and we’ll get it sent in tonight, okay?”

He nodded. “Thank you. I love you.” He kissed you quickly, bouncing out of the room to let you edit in peace.

“I love you too,” you called after him, falling back into your chair.

Seungmin - philosophy

“I can’t wrap my head around what you’re trying to study,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms tight around your boyfriend’s torso. Seungmin had a midterm at the end of the week, and the poor boy had already spent the entire weekend cram studying. You didn’t understand how you could even test the subject.

“We’re studying like, whether humans have free will or not, and the midterm is essays based on the material we read, but I have a professor that grades based on his opinions,” Seungmin sighed.

“That’s the worst.”

“Mhm. But I need the credits, so I have to do well. I just can’t bring myself to disagree with my own thoughts.”

“Then don’t. And if he grades you badly because of it, we’ll write a complaint. I’ll back you up on this,” you stated, confident in your ability to write a professional letter of complaint.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, I would.” You pressed a kiss to Seungmin’s cheek. “But I bet you’ll ace this midterm anyway.”

Jaehyun - calculus

“And you think I would be any better at this?” you asked, laughing at Jaehyun. “I haven’t done math in years. Not this complicated anyway.”

“No, I just thought you could at least give me some moral support,” he chuckled, biting on the end of his pencil.

You sighed, pushing the pencil away from his mouth, replacing it with your lips instead. Jaehyun, immediately flustered, pulled his attention away and looked back at his work. 

“You’ve got an answer key. You can always try a question again if you get it wrong.”

“But that will take ages, and I-”

“I’ll kiss you for every question you get right.”

Jaehyun swallowed, meeting your eyes once again. “Okay.”

Jibeom - poetry analysis

“So because the curtains are blue, that means the whole poem is sad?” Jibeom questioned, looking at you for confirmation.

You shook your head quickly. “The curtains being blue can reflect the tone in the poem, but it could also just be because the narrator likes the colour blue.” You leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him squint as he read over the poem again. “What’s it about?” You prodded.

“Well, that’s the thing. I can’t really tell.”

“Is it an older poem?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

You nodded, knowing that sometimes older language wasn’t as clear. “I mean, a poem is fully up to interpretation. That’s the beauty of it; everyone can pull out something different.”

“But what if it’s wrong?” Jibeom looked up at you, worry stricken across his face.

You leaned over the counter and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “There are no wrong answers.”

Donghyun - art fundamentals 

“What’s wrong with it?” Donghyun whined, staring at the portrait in front of him.

“What do you mean?” you glanced at the piece with him, a sticky note marked with a B+ on the top right corner. “Donghyun, that isn’t bad at all.”

“But they can’t just give me a B+ and not tell me what I need to improve on.”

You laughed a little but nodded in agreement. “It can be a little annoying, yeah. Did you try making an appointment with the professor? I’m sure they’d be willing to talk to you about it.”

“I-” Donghyun was unable to come up with any excuses. “No, I haven’t.”

You laughed and kissed his cheek. “Why don’t we do that first, then?”

Joochan - scriptwriting

“How do you make dialogue flow naturally?” Joochan spoke into the silent room.

You glanced up from your desk, where you were working on your own assignments. “Well, you have to make it seem believable. The lines have to suit your characters and have to fit their personalities.”

Joochan hummed, looking back at the half-finished script in front of him. “Would you read one of the characters for me?”

“A cold read? Harsh,” you teased but stood so you could see the lines.

“I appreciate you; I think this will help a lot,” he grinned, handing you the script. “Your character is the villain, but you are falling madly in love with me, the hero.”

“Too late for that,” you teased, kissing him quickly before reading your first line.

Bomin - directing

“I guess I’m just not good with people or something. I don’t know,” Bomin groaned.

“Rehearsal didn’t go well?” you asked, sitting on the couch beside your boyfriend. You took his hand in your own, interlacing your fingers.

“Isn’t the class supposed to teach me about how to direct? Not just throw me in empty-handed?”

“I’d bet it’s hard to teach without the experience. You can only learn so much from a textbook,” you smiled at him. “Did you get a stage manager yet?”

He shook his head. “Professor is still looking for people to help out.”

“Well, that’s step one — your job becomes a lot easier when you have someone to help you out.”

“I just don’t get why they can’t follow simple stage directions. Is it that difficult?”

“You’ve got experience on the stage, Bomin. Not everyone in your show does. You need to be patient, and you need to trust the process. It doesn’t come together in the first couple rehearsals. And on stage is a lot different than on screen.”

He nodded. “You’re right. I’m being harsh.”

You shrugged, bringing his hand up to your lips and kissing his knuckles gently. “You’ll get there.”

©its-madi 2021

[iliveiloveiwrite]

House Rivalries

Request: hi! i have a request if you're interested in writing for cedric!! i was thinking about a cedric x reader where they're in a relationship & prefects at the same time (preferably slytherin reader). i think it's fun to imagine how young hufflepuffs and slytherins would feel about the relationship and cedric w/ a slytherin would be a nice dynamic :) cheers if you choose to write it!

A/N: I loved this request! Thank you so much for requesting it! I hope I have done it justice! There’s a flash back in this, I’ve written it italics and it’s bordered by asterisks. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader

Warnings: swearing, fluff

Word count: 1.8k

You lay across the brown leather couch in the Hufflepuff common room; resting your head on Cedric’s lap, smiling as he runs a hand through your hair. You shift in his lap, pushing your head further into his hand. Cedric smiles down at you, happily obliging, now scratching your scalp.

A Second Year Hufflepuff crinkles their nose at you. She has been watching the scene for a while now; looking between the mustard yellow of the common room and the emerald green of your robes and prefect badge.

“What?” You ask, a smile on your face, “Do I smell bad?”

“No… you’re a Slytherin.” She whispers; her eyes wide as if worried she’ll be caught speaking to the enemy.

You chuckle, sitting up from Cedric’s lap.

“I am. House rivalries are strong especially when it comes to Quidditch, but it’s important to have friends in other houses – you never know when you may need them. Plus…” You continue, pausing for dramatic effect, leaning close to the young student, “Your future partner might be in a different house.”

“I don’t have time to think of love,” The young girl says, turning her nose up at the very idea of it.

You chuckle, “You’re only in Second Year; that’ll change by Fourth Year, I can assure you.”

“Is that how you felt with Cedric?” She asks, her eyes flickering between the two of you.

You bite your lip, glancing at the bronze-haired teenager sat next to you. He’s pretending to act uninterested in the conversation, instead, focusing on the book now in his lap. But you know better; having known him long enough to know that all of his attention is now on you and whatever words are to come out of your mouth.

“It took a while for me and Cedric to get to where we are.”

The Second Year Hufflepuff furrows her eyebrows, “Why?”

You sigh, nudging Cedric with your elbow, bringing him into the conversation. “We’d always been friends with feelings for each other; we just didn’t have the nerve to tell the other.”

“Why didn’t you tell each other?”

You raise an eyebrow at the inquisitive youngster who blushes from the look on your face; feeling thoroughly admonished despite no words having been uttered.

“I’m sorry,” She stutters, “I hope you don’t mind all the questions.”

Cedric slings an arm around your shoulders; dropping a kiss to the side of your head before replying. “We don’t mind at all: what do you want to know?”

The young Hufflepuff straightens from the attention of her prefect. “How long did it take for you to tell each other how you felt?”

Cedric looks down at you with a soft look on his face, “I think we dodged the subject for a year or so.”

“A year?” The girl cries, “That long?”

He chuckles at the girl’s reaction. Nodding, he replies, “I was too scared to say anything on my end in case it ruined the friendship.”

You nod along with his words, “It was the same with me. We’ve been friends since Second Year, I’d fallen for him by Fourth Year but it wasn't until Fifth Year when something happened.”

“But you both felt the same?” She asks, eyebrows furrowing as she tries to understand how it could someone so long to confess their feelings to the one they love.

You fiddle with your fingers for a moment. Until Cedric takes your hand in his, tangling your fingers together.

“Are you sitting comfortably?” Cedric asks the younger student. At her nod, he continues, “Then we’ll begin.”

********************

House rivalries at Hogwarts had always been strong, ever since the founding of the school over a thousand years ago. Salazar Slytherin being an island unto his own compared to the other three founders who had banded together in unity. Yet, despite the unity, rivalries grew strong over time; separations becoming more defined by the characteristics that enabled students to join their houses.

The Sorting Hat sat on your head for three minutes before deciding upon housing you in Slytherin. It had deliberated between Slytherin and Ravenclaw before settling on Slytherin, deciding that your determination outweighed your need for academic success. You had a plan and you were sticking to it no matter what.

The Sorting Hat barely needed to touch the flyaway hairs on Cedric Diggory’s head before calling out Hufflepuff. He was the epitome of the house; fiercely loyal and kind.

The friendship started in Second Year; he ran into you as he left Quidditch practice, knocking you to the ground. You huffed as you hit the ground, the wind being knocked right out of you.

“Are you okay?” Cedric practically shouts, holding a hand out to help you up.

You take in a couple of breaths, blinking away the tears, “I’m okay,” you gasp, grabbing his outstretched hand.

“I’m so sorry,” Cedric apologises, pulling you up.

You take your hand from his, brushing the dirt from your uniform. “It’s okay, no harm, no foul.”

Cedric smiles at you, “That’s good. I’m Cedric by the way.”

“I’m (Y/N).”

“It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

You laugh, “It’s nice to meet you too, though I need to get going, and I think you need to get changed.”

Cedric laughs, looking down at his Quidditch uniform, “I do. I’m sorry again,” he says before turning away from you.

“It’s no problem,” you whisper, watching him walk away.

After that initial encounter, you started seeing Cedric everywhere you looked. It was as if your mind had switched to a radar where it was only aware of where he was. You’d spot him in classrooms; in the Great Hall; on the corridor. He’d be everywhere, and every time he spotted you, he would smile so widely, it knocked you breathless for a minute – just like he did when he knocked you over.

The friendship started when he sat next to you in the library. You had noticed how often he frequented it, but he had never sat next to you until one morning in March. You didn’t notice he had sat next to you, too caught up in your Potions essay for Snape, until he cleared his throat. You jumped at the sudden sound in the silent room, but relaxed when you saw the Hufflepuff, smiling at you from across the table.

“I like you, (Y/N).”

“You what?”

“I like you; I think we could be great friends.” He states.

And that was that. Cedric Diggory was good at reading people; he knew who was good and who was bad, and he could tell from the get-go that you were an innately good person at your very core. So he wanted to be friends with you; he wasn’t bothered about houses, he couldn’t care less. He just wanted to be friends with someone he could like, and that was you.

The friendship continued through your formative years, Cedric picking you out of a crowd – meeting you outside classrooms. He’d even join you at meal times; either sitting with you at the Slytherin table or dragging you over to the Hufflepuff table. Your friendship was questioned by a lot of people; curious as to why Cedric would make friends with a Slytherin, but they didn’t need to understand the friendship. It wasn’t for them to understand.

He made you happy. You made him happy.

And why should that be the subject of gossip for the student body at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry?

It was inevitable that you’d fall in love with him; three years of friendship and you’d fallen in love with him. Everything about you screamed for him. He was like the sun, and you were a simple planet in his orbit. You gravitated towards him and your heart fell for him over a simple smile shared in the library. That was all it took; a secret smile – one you knew he reserved only for you and you were a goner.

After that, you couldn’t ignore your feelings for the Hufflepuff. Your heart raced in his presence; your palms got sweaty when his touch would linger on your shoulder or your waist. He affected you all the time; he had eve started to feature in your dreams where he would press you against a wall and kiss you senseless. Those dreams had you waking with your hand touching your mouth, as if you could still feel the pressure of his lips; as if they were swollen from his kisses. But you didn't dare say anything for the fear of ruining the friendship you treasured more than anything in the world; for now, you were happy to keep your feelings hidden in the shadows. 

Fifth Year began with the stress of OWLs and the appointment of Prefects. Both Cedric and you being appointed with the great honour. Dumbledore smiled at you as he handed the badge for you to pin your robes.

Leaving the Headmaster’s office, Cedric takes you into his arms, hugging you. “Look at you, Slytherin Prefect!”

You grin, “Who’d have thought it?”

“I did, I had every confidence in you,” he says softly.

You nudge him with your elbow, “You are a sweetheart… and a Hufflepuff Prefect!”

He grins down at you; the smile so big it crinkles his eyes in the corners. It sends your heart into what you’re sure are palpitations; it knocks you breathless, as Cedric so often does.

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

Over the course of your friendship, the library had become the place where you could find Cedric, no matter the day. He would always be found in the same place; three stacks from the back, sat at the table to the right.

It’s where you find him as the countdown to OWLs gets smaller and smaller.

You sit down next to him, “How are we today, Ced?”

“OWLs are kicking my arse.”

You gasp, “Cedric Diggory, language!”

He chuckles, “I apologise. OWLs are kicking my butt.”

“You’ll do amazing, Ced. You’ve been revising for months.”

Cedric bites his lip, worry crossing over his features.

You sigh; worry was going to be the thing that killed Cedric. 

“How about this,” you propose, “you get the grades for your OWLs and I’ll take you to Hogsmeade for a Butterbeer?”

You shock yourself with the words; the confidence to ask him on a date surging from you and out of your mouth in a collection of sounds that sounded like so much like a proposition. You clap your hand to your mouth; stopping yourself from babbling anything else.

Cedric raises an eyebrow, “Are you asking me on a date, (Y/N)?”

You laugh, the shock wearing off into something else, “You know, I think I am.”

Cedric joins your laughter, “Alright. I’ll get the grades and I’ll go out with you to Hogsmeade.”

You hold your pinkie finger out to him; he wraps his around yours, “Pinkie promise.”

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

On results day, Cedric gets the grades.

He celebrates by pulling you in for a kiss.

****************

“So you’ve been going out since then?” The Second Year Hufflepuff asks.

You nod; your hand wrapped tightly in Cedric’s. “Almost eighteen months now.”

“So Slytherin’s aren’t all bad?”

You shake your head, chuckling, “No, Slytherin’s aren’t all bad.”

“And you love Cedric?”

You nod, “Very much.”

The young girl nods satisfied with your answer. Until she asks, “Do you think you’ll get married?”

You choke on your saliva; eyes wide. You turn to Cedric, letting him take this question. He laughs at the expression on your face, “Who knows? Maybe one day.”

You grin at his words; warmth flooding your body matching the happiness coursing through your veins. Cedric returns the smile with just as much feeling; pecking your lips before turning his attention back to the young girl who is practically bouncing in her seat.

“What do you think of house rivalries now?” You ask, curious to see whether you’ve changed her mind.

The girl blushes, ducking her head slightly, “I don’t think they’re so bad now.”

*********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @harrypotter289​ @dreamer821​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @figlia--della--luna​ @bforbroadway​ @idont-knowrn​ @summer-writes​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @black-lake-confessions​ @annasofiaearlobe​ @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​ @mytreec​

[ackerfics]

Hiiii is it okay to request something? I just really love your fics 🥺 I saw that you did song fics, so I was thinking Still Into You by Paramore mixed with Thinking of You by Katy Perry since I legit couldn’t get those out of my head. Also I’m having Mikasa brainrot rn, so maybe a fic about exes getting back together? Where reader is like already in a new relationship with Historia, but they still love Mikasa, and the pining is mutual. Thank you so much 🥺

we sang along to the start of forever  — mikasa ackerman

— mikasa ackerman x female reader (modern au)

— warnings: angst but it transitioned into fluff in the end so we’re fine :)))

— summary: you still love each other and like puzzle pieces, the two of you thought about trying out the relationship thing again.

— word count: 4.8k

— author’s notes: i’m so sorry this took so long, we have so many backlogs  but i thought that writing would be a great thing to unwind so here it is !! i also made the reader a girl because as soon i started writing, mikasa with a girlfriend just keeps popping in my brain and i can’t help it sjjkjksjs and thank you so much for requesting !!

reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

< you said move on, where do i go

“Hey, there you are.”

A melodic whisper got you out of your daze from looking at your laptop screen. Exams are around the corner and your professors thought that it was the perfect time to dump more work for you. Tomorrow, you have a deadline coming up for a 2k-word essay about a topic that you could care less about, it wasn’t even under your major. Yet here you are, in one of the study areas of your university, trying to squeeze your brain just so you could reach the word count without caring for the outcome of your essay. But it seems like the gods graced your prayers because a small figure with golden blonde hair appeared in front of you, her blue eyes shining under the lights of the study area.

You started dating Historia Reiss not too long ago, it was probably ranging for three months at most. It was quite rocky at first, with you being out of a long-term relationship and Historia balancing out her time between extracurriculars and academics. The long-term relationship that got you all wound up was with a close friend back in high school and it sucked because you were such a good pair together — maybe fate wasn’t by your side that time. The two of you were immature and young but your time together was golden, having known each other way before asking one another out. You promised each other you’d move on and clearly, you did, your eyes finding your current girlfriend sitting in the neighboring study desk, taking out her stationery and color-coordinated notes.

Historia was a sweet person, always patient and caring when it comes to you. You met during a lecture that you two happened to share. She forgot her Apple pencil and luckily, you still had yours in your bag, lending the gadget to the blonde since you already have your laptop perched in front of you. With small smiles, the two of you gradually became friends, sitting next to each other during that lecture. Those small moments grew and later became study meet-ups in cafés or hanging out in one of the university’s libraries. The best thing that connected you two was your personalities, it matched so well that people sometimes thought you knew each other way longer before college. When you noticed Historia showing some signs that she likes you more than a friend, you couldn’t quite believe it at first. It was Historia being so understanding of you that made you say yes to her dates.

And now, here you are.

“Yup, you found me,” you told her, stretching your arms above your head before smiling at your girlfriend.

“Is that essay for Mr. Smith’s class?” Historia asked, leaning over to your side to get a glimpse of your screen. She patted your shoulder at the number of words you wrote. “Wow, you already got past the 1k mark. That’s amazing! Don’t forget to take breaks, though.”

“Of course, Tori,” you smiled. “You, too. I know your exams start four days from now. How is that holding up?”

Historia opened her readings, sighing at the thought of the dreaded season of the student body. “I don’t know if I can answer anything that well. I mean, we’ve been having study dates every day but I get so nervous just thinking about the exams. I know I’m going to be prepared but my anxiety said ‘no’.” She buried her hands through her hair, eyes softening when your face started showing how worried you are for her. “I’ll just think that this will be over a week from now.” Historia reached a hand out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Hey, why don’t we go to that restaurant just outside of uni for dinner?”

You took her hand in yours, squeezing it affectionately. “I think that’s perfect.”

The two of you proceeded to work on your separate tasks until you both agreed that it’s time for a good dinner. Historia helped you tidy your things up, occasionally smiling softly at you when you yawn. You bid goodbye to some of the students in the study area you know and the two of you went out of the room with joined hands. It was a nice walk around the university, the golden glow of the Sun bathing everything in orange, and making you relax despite the many backlogs still on your to-do list. That was until you saw a familiar figure going out of one of the many buildings of the Business Department. The blonde beside you even recognized the young woman hiding her face behind her scarf, blue eyes darting to you with a worried air.

It also happened that Mikasa Ackerman looked up from adjusting her scarf, her stormy gray eyes meeting with yours by chance.

Her eyes slightly widened at the sight of you, her gaze then dropping to your hands still joined with Historia’s before pursing her lips. Looking up to tangle your eyes again, she rose her hand in a little wave. You reciprocated the gesture weakly, never leaving your stare off her retreating form. You noticed that her shoulders became tense after that little encounter, fists enclosing the straps of her backpack and steps hurrying to get to her apartment that was just a walking distance from the university.

You felt a light squeeze coming from the girl beside you, knocking you out of your reverie.

“Let’s go?” Historia asked, eyes knowingly roaming your face.

“Mm-hmm,” you only hummed, following your girlfriend out of the campus.

You thought there wasn’t anything left but why were you still stuck in a limbo that you couldn’t get out of when you stared into those gray hues haunting your dreams?

< recount the night that i first met your mother

Mikasa had her life figured out. 

Everything was perfect. She has the most amazing people she can call her friends. She has the most supportive parents (and brother, but he can be a little shit sometimes but that’s beside the point). She has the perfect grades that can maintain her standing in the university, earning her great credits from various professors on the campus. She has scored a good apartment with her best friend, Sasha, all equipped with the best rooms and views that she can pay for a reasonable price. She is still a member of the university’s track and field long-distance running team, a regular and a manager at the same time. She also had the most beautiful girl as her lover and confidante, someone she could be herself with (not that her closest friends and brother didn’t see her real personality but being with her lover was a different kind of bliss compared to hanging out with her friends).

Well, had a girlfriend.

Ever since meeting you again earlier that night, suddenly Mikasa’s schedule for the night seems to blur.

It was her turn to cook for dinner but she couldn’t do anything properly. First, she managed to burn her sauteed vegetables, something that she had never done before knowing that this is her favorite go-to dish. Second, she boiled the pasta too long and now they’re too soggy. She nearly threw the pot down the sink but she didn’t want their neighbors to call the cops to their place, she just didn’t want to have a repeat of the first time that happened. (The first time their neighbors called the cops because of them was all Sasha’s fault, it appeared to the brown-haired girl that Mikasa’s cooking is one of the best in the world that she screamed bloody murder in the middle of the night.) Now, the gray-eyed girl had no choice but to start from scratch with the pasta, it was a good thing it was only the pasta though. 

The front door of their apartment opened with a bang while Mikasa tried to concentrate this time. Without looking up, she can see a brown-headed blur dashing towards the kitchen. “Stop right there, Sasha,” she said while stirring the alfredo sauce in the pan. “If you reach for the chicken one more time, I’m going to skin you alive. I don’t have the energy to hold your hungry ass back right now.”

Sasha backed away at the look of her roommate who was ready to commit violence if she steps out of line. “Whoa, who pissed at your day?”

Mikasa blinked, realizing that she might have been unreasonable with her remark. Of course, she wasn’t the only tired one in their apartment right now. Sasha was also struggling with academics and extracurriculars, not to mention, her love life is perfectly stable despite being in a relationship for a year. Not that Mikasa felt slightly jealous but she did everything she could to save their relationship but it still ended on a consensual note. The black-haired girl relaxed her tense posture, sighing deeply to expel the negativity accumulating her mind at the moment (Sasha called them dark forces after Mikasa told her about it, it took everything not to leave the room when the words came out of her friend’s mouth). Turning back on her sauce, Mikasa stated, “I’m sorry, I’m just stressed. You know, with the exams coming up and my track team entering this meet at the end of the month for official records. It’s just,” she sighed, “too much right now.”

“Aw, Mikasa,” Sasha empathized, going around the countertop to wrap her arms around Mikasa. She placed her head against her friend’s, petting the latter’s hair until they became a mess on her head. “I know just the thing to make us feel better. Let’s watch some of those anime movies that Armin recommended while eating dinner. Or anything that you want to watch if you don’t feel like watching anime right now.”

Mikasa smiled a little, resting her head on top of Sasha’s and relishing the comfort her friend gave her. “Thanks, I appreciate it, Sash.”

The moment she shared with Sasha reminded her of when you two were in high school. At that time, Mikasa was one of the star athletes that belonged to the track team. After the rigorous training their coach gave them, Mikasa’s knee started to hurt. This was dismissed by the head coach, saying that this wasn’t serious at all. You witnessed it when she ran more laps than what was written in her training regime to the point that her knee gave out. It was a good thing that her knee only acquired a sprain and a good rest from physical activities for some time will heal it gradually. Mikasa never had anything against it because getting some time off from her club meant that she could spend her free time with you. It was spent staying on her family’s couch, watching movies to pass the time while making small talk about her friends. The reminiscing continued until Sasha helped her prepare the living room for their movie night. She just couldn’t help but associate every little thing with you. You were a great part of her life since middle school.

She missed everything about you.

While the movie played out, her mind went to a time when it was time to introduce Mikasa as your girlfriend to your mother.

It was in the first months of being first-years in university. There was an issued academic break set by the faculties, taking the time to invite Mikasa to your home. You were so excited that that’s all you can talk about while the gray-eyed girl drove you two to your hometown. That was the only thing enjoyable in the entire trip. Everything went into shit when you blurted out that Mikasa has been more than a friend to you ever since high school. The look on your mother’s face was enough for the two of you to tell that this shouldn’t go on as planned.

“So, you’re telling me that Mikasa has been in our home, doing God knows what to you since high school?” Your mother flatly questioned.

The coldness of her tone made you stiffen in your seat. You can see Mikasa from the corner of your eyes trying to calm herself down by rubbing your hand under the table. It couldn’t be helped that your father, the only understanding person in the family, was absent because of his job. This is why your father chose to live separately from your mom, seeing as she was the kind of authoritative parent and wife, always hovering around each of her family members to keep them in line. You now understand why your father left her because God forbid, it was tempting to cut off ties with the person who gave birth to you as she threw degrading words at Mikasa left and right. You furrowed your eyebrows, tightening your hold on your girlfriend’s hand, which was trembling on your lap. The first time you saw her this shaken was when her knee got injured during her track training. Her skin was so pale like that time that you wanted to pull her out of the house and stay at a nearby hotel to get away from your mother’s wrath.

“Mom, please,” you pleaded, tears prickling your eyes.

“No, [Name], don’t you say another word,” she pointedly snapped at you. “I feel like I have become a failure of a mother. I don’t understand why you have a woman as your lover. It’s just not right. I support it but not if it’s with my daughter.”

You abruptly stood up with half-lidded eyes that never strayed from your mother’s similar shaded ones. Your hand still gripped Mikasa’s, your thumb stroking the back of it in a soothing circle that contrasted the indifferent gaze you gave your mother. When you were a child, you understood her sentiments because you’re her only child, the only person left in her life. But when she started badmouthing the little things observed from other people, you started questioning her parenting. You were told that people who love others of the same sex were sinning the word of a divine being but if that’s the case, you’d gladly be condemned to the pits of Hell if it meant protecting Mikasa from your mother’s harsh words. “We’re leaving.”

“What—?” It was Mikasa.

“Come on, Mika. Let’s find some restaurant downtown. This place is becoming stuffy and I don’t want you to suffocate any further.”

“Hey, Mikasa? Are you alright?”

Mikasa jumped, looking around at their apartment’s living room as if she was confused as to why she was there. She slightly shook her head before turning to the concerned brown irises of her roommate. Trying for a convincing smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Mikasa forced a laugh as she mindlessly twirled the pasta on her plate with a wistful air surrounding her. “Yeah, I think I’m alright. Just saw my ex earlier when I got out of my last lecture for the day. I feel like that’s the reason why I don’t feel like myself today.”

The movie was then forgotten when Sasha positioned her body so that she could give Mikasa her undivided attention. With a serious expression that the gray-eyed young woman didn’t see in a long time, Sasha asked, “That gorgeous beauty?”

A nod was all Mikasa could answer. Gorgeous was an understatement when it comes to imagining you. You’re practically the most beautiful girl Mikasa saw in her lifetime. 

“Damn, it’s been what? Half a year since you guys broke up?”

A nod from Mikasa. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pushing them further into her chest, feeling so small at the moment. “It would have been fine if she’s alone but…”

Sasha’s mouth parted with realization; eyes wide as she stared at her roommate. “Oh,” she breathed. 

Scooting closer to the gray-eyed girl, Sasha wrapped an arm around her shoulder to let the former lean against her side. She always viewed the two of you to be endgame, seeing as you were dating since you were in high school. It sucks that no matter how much the two of you proved that you belong to one another, it just ends inevitably. Sasha even liked you when Mikasa introduced you to her new roommate when you were first-years. You were shining in the brown-eyed girl’s eyes; smile so bright that she couldn’t help but think you’re pretty, hair perfectly mussed by the wind during the ride to the apartment, casual clothing fitting you in the most pleasing way possible, and personality that one could describe as amazing. You even gave her some of your food when the three of you ate out together. (Mikasa always scolded you for giving away your food when you’re barely even eating regularly.) And when you guys broke up, Sasha saw how Mikasa ended up at the lowest point of her life, locking up inside her room and only going out when Sasha’s asleep. It was only recently that Mikasa slowly became herself again.

Now, Mikasa became that closed-off version of herself after the break-up, and Sasha instantly pulled her in for a hug.

The television kept playing the movie they chose to watch, Mikasa’s silent sobs blending with the movie’s dialogue and seeping through the night.

< she kissed my lips, i taste your mouth

You nearly pulled away when you tasted lemon instead of strawberry.

You nearly looked away when you saw azure instead of metallic gray after the kiss.

You felt so bad for thinking of midnight tresses instead of spun gold every time you lay in bed after hours of studying. Guilt bloomed in your whole torso like a giant wad of roses prickling your insides with their thorns, images of Mikasa plaguing your mind a week after you saw her again after six months. And every time you close your eyes to let sleep pull you in their embrace, arms so secure would wrap around your middle in your dreams, the smell of a rose-scented soap enveloping you in a warm cocoon. It was so contrasting to the minty scent you tried so hard to get used to in those three months you were together with Historia. You promised yourself you’d never date someone else after Mikasa but you tried because she told you to find someone who will treat you better than her. As much as you pleaded with your rationality to not follow her advice, Historia was a breath of fresh air.

It was a rainy night the time you and Mikasa broke up. Funny how you always love the rain and yet the one moment tormenting your daydreams occurred in a thunderstorm.

“Mikasa, what are you talking about?”

Your favorite-colored irises couldn’t meet your stare. “I said you deserve to be with someone who can make you glow with happiness.”

“Where is this coming from?”

She only shook her head, short black hair moving along with the movement. “I feel like I’m not giving enough in this relationship. I noticed how happier you look when you hang out with your friends from your department but when you’re with me, you’re mellowed down and so drained that I’m starting to feel like I’ve done something wrong.” Mikasa buried her hands in her hair, elbows placed on her knees, making herself feel smaller in front of you. You stood up from your bed to kneel in front of her, covering her cheeks tenderly with the palms of your hands. Yet she continued, “My mind is telling me these thoughts that I denied a long time ago since we started university.”

“What thoughts, Mika?”

“That our spark had died down for good.”

You searched her face for any sign of a joke but you could only stare at her downturned eyes.

“That I think we should break up for you to be happier with other people.”

“No,” you murmured, tears starting to blur your vision. “Mikasa.”

“I love you so much to see you unhappy with me.”

“I’m never unhappy when I’m with you. Where did you get that idea?”

Mikasa smiled despite her wobbly lips, gingerly placing her lips on your forehead. “I love you, [Name], I hope you’ll find someone bright enough to let you shine even more.”

It hurts just thinking about that but something pinched it even more when you stared at Historia in front of you, Facetiming someone on her phone. You two were celebrating the end of your exams in a café, treats covering the expanse of your table. It was a breather from all the stressful weeks draining your energy and now you feel refreshed. The book you recently bought was snug in your hands, eyes skimming over the words as Historia animatedly talked to her friend, Ymir. Hearing her laugh at something the freckled girl said, you couldn’t help but look up from a paragraph you were engrossed in. Historia looks so happy, cheeks flushed and giggles so clear that she couldn’t even contain them with her small hand. She never looked like this with you and as much as you anticipated the pain brought by the sight, it didn’t come.

Now, you understood what Mikasa felt, only this time you had to let Historia go because she already belonged to someone else.

Historia just said goodbye to her friend and you knew you had to hold on to this chance.

“Hey, Historia, I have a question.”

She sipped her iced tea. “Shoot.”

“You like Ymir, don’t you?”

The silence and flustered reaction that followed was all it took for you to smile.

< no more mistakes ‘cause in your eyes i'd like to stay

Getting out of a four-hour lecture was bliss to Mikasa. She stretched her arms over her head, letting out a deep breath of relief at the thought of spending her weekend without any backlogs. Finally, she can relax without feeling guilty. After all that hell her department professors gave her, she deserved this break.

Mikasa walked down the hallways with a slight spring in her steps, feeling her phone vibrate with a text message in her bag. Stopping by a little bit at the side of the hallway, Mikasa opened the outer compartment of her bag and turned on her phone. A smile instantly overtook her confused expression.

armin

hey, wanna watch a movie tonite?

eren suggested we could unwind after the exams

figured you needed it

you can stay the night here too !!

Her fingers typed out a reply almost giddily.

Sure.

Let me just text Sasha that I won’t be sleeping in the apartment tonight.

Another message from Armin appeared.

armin

yey !! see you later, Mikasa

At this point, her smile couldn’t be erased on her face.

See you later, Armin.

Then, another message from Armin popped out that made Mikasa laugh a little.

armin

this is eren

mikasa, can u bring dinner PLS

armin and i are too lazy to cook 

plus, you love us 🥺🥺🥺

The gray-eyed girl rolled her eyes, typing out a ‘fine’ before closing her phone. Her brother was sometimes too hard to handle but he can be sweet as well and saying that he needs dinner is just a way for him to say that he misses Mikasa’s cooking. When she looked up, a very familiar blonde and one of Mikasa’s classmates in a general subject came into view in one of the gazebos. Confusion was an understatement while she continued staring at Historia and Ymir laughing as if they were the only ones in the world. It was only a few weeks ago that she saw the blonde girl holding hands with you after a whole day of lectures. Maybe it was because she was staring too long at the couple that Ymir turned in her direction. As the freckled girl recognized the black-haired, stoic girl in one of their general classes, Ymir rose a hand in the air as a greeting. It also didn’t help that Historia looked at where Ymir was waving, with Mikasa tensing at the attention. She hastily waved back before turning in the direction of her car in the parking lot.

Several theories flickered through Mikasa’s head as she pulled out of the parking lot, the department store in their part of the city as her destination. Her mind was still a questioning mess the whole time she roamed the vegetable aisle until she bumped into another shopping cart, the clang of the metal breaking her trance.

“I’m sorry,” she told the person holding the other cart without looking up from her groceries.

“It’s fine.”

Mikasa quickly lifted her head at your voice. She probably looked like an idiot gawking at you in the middle of an aisle. You were dressed in an aquamarine shirt tucked in a pair of black slacks; your hair slung over one of your shoulders but for her, you looked so pretty. She concluded that you also got back from one of your lectures since your bag was placed inside the shopping cart, leaning beside a carton of strawberry milk. At the sight of the beverage, Mikasa’s chest pounded with her loud heartbeat, all the memories of you saying you like the taste of strawberries because of her entering her mind. Even after a full minute of you staring at each other, Mikasa couldn’t bear to look away. You’re so beautiful and she misses you so much.

“I miss you, too, Mikasa,” you murmured with flushed cheeks. “And you look good as usual.”

Mikasa’s face burned with embarrassment, reaching her ears, as she realized that she said her thoughts out loud. She was acting like she was in high school when she came to terms with her feelings for you. “U-Uhm, how are y-you?” Fucking hell, what is she stuttering for? It’s not like she got a below-passing score on one of her majors.

You softly smiled, tucking a stray lock of her behind your ear. “I’m doing fine. I was just thinking of making some homemade dinner tonight.” 

Mikasa nodded, recalling that you got a single apartment. “Me, too, but Eren asked me to make dinner for our movie night with Armin.”

At the mention of the two men, your face brightened. “How are they?”

The gray-eyed young woman reciprocated your smile. “Armin is still reeling Eren from doing anything stupid. You know how that dingbat is.” Your laugh made her day better. She faintly noticed that the two of you started walking side by side, pushing your carts to who knows what section of the department store. “The last time I saw them was before the exam week and we were studying so we didn’t do any catching up. Speaking of exams, how are yours?”

You hummed. “I think I got a passing grade on Parasitology and Microbiology. Those were the only subjects keeping me up for how many nights in a row.” You chuckled at your caffeinated state the previous weeks. “But the others were all papers so I guess I’m fine as of now.”

“Don’t tell me you got yourself palpitations from all the coffee.”

“You know me so well, Mika,” you laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to order coffee every time I go out this time. I don’t want a repeat of that night when I studied for Para. It was worse because I don’t have a roommate. How is Sasha doing, by the way? Still a ball of sunshine, I hope.” You spotted a cereal box you wanted to try so you mindlessly reached out for it but it was on the top shelf. Mikasa noticed your struggles, stopping behind you after chuckling to herself at how adorable you looked to reach the cereal box. You visibly tensed when you felt her front brush against your back, the box of cereal greeting your vision with Mikasa’s hand brushing on yours. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“You’re welcome,” she answered, patting your head before taking her cart and pushing it in the direction of the dairy section. “Yeah, Sasha is still as rowdy as the day you last visited. I threatened her again when she tried eating what I was plating for dinner. It was not a lovely night.” Mikasa paused, looking behind her when you’re not following close. She slightly panicked when she saw you looking down and gripping on the handle of the shopping cart. “[Name]? Are you okay?”

“Mikasa, I’m still into you.” You faced her with a smile. “Will you let me love you with all my heart again?”

Mikasa was speechless, her throat clogging up with overflowing emotions. She let out a delighted light, looking at you with eyes full of love.

“Yes. Will you let me in your heart again, [Name]?”

“Always, Mika.”

Their song of forever played once again and it felt so right that they wondered why they stopped it in the first place.

[a-simple-imagine]

The Smarter Witch

Synopsis: You like to consider Hermione your academic rival but things begin to fall apart between the two of you when Malfoy and friends start asking questions. The reader is in Slytherin sorry.

Pairing: Hermione Granger x fem!reader (can be read as romantic or platonic)

Words: 3.5+

A/N - I’ve been rewatching all the Harry Potter Movies at the cinema recently and I think i like it more now than I ever did before. This is my first HP story so go easy on me, okay? Comments are appreciated and requests are open!!

Warnings - Swearing, excessive use of the word mudblood... i think that’s it. 

"Granger," You call out, shoving your things into your bag as quick as humanly possible before charging after her. The crowd of other students growing the distance between you as you slip between them but not without almost crashing into people a bunch of times along the way. "Granger- wait." You try but she continues to walk away with Potter and Weasley beside her. You eventually manage to push your way through until you're walking in step with the trio. The girl stands in the middle, guarded by her two best friends.

"Hey," You offer them a smile, "Guess who got a perfect?"

"How?" It's instinctive to turn your nose up when it comes to Ronald Weasley. Not because of his social status like Malfoy suggests but you just found him rather... irritating. You completely ignore his question; breaking formation, you get ahead of the group and begin to carefully walk backwards so you can focus on the girl. She looked anywhere but at you, however, she had a smirk on her lips. Small but visible.

"Only because Snape favours you," The brunette proclaimed. This was routine for the two of you as of late. Always making excuses as to why the other came out on top. Only because of this. Only because of that. It was never as simple as just studying and doing well.

"You're just jealous that I'm a genius." You insist, your smile growing as you teased your own brilliance. Her head shakes a little.

"Since when were you, two friends?"

"Nobody said anything about friends Weasley-" You growl, your once happy expression morphing into one of pure distaste as you look at him. Spinning gracefully on your heel, you begin to walk normally again. "Since I'm so much smarter than you, I can help you study if you need it."

"I don't need any help from the likes of you, thank you," The likes of you? Did she mean a Slytherin? Or just someone who was smarter than her? Although you didn't actually believe you were smarter... well, not entirely anyway. Hermione Granger was often proclaimed as the smartest in your grade, didn't matter how hard you worked; you'd never quite be the promising young witch everyone seemed to think she was. Which is why you find yourself constantly competing. If you can prove to her you were smart then maybe everyone would see you as more than just a Malfoy crony.

You slap your hand against your chest just above your heart; stumbling backwards as if she just shot an arrow straight through. "Oh, how you wound me, Miss Granger. Care to share how well you did? One hundred percent?" She wouldn't have done badly at least not by everyone else's standard of bad. "Ninety maybe?" You turn back to them, coming to halt directly in front of the girl. "Merlin's beard Hermione, don't tell me you got less than eighty? That would be a travesty."

"if you don't mind, we're a little busy." She hadn't answered the question and as she walked around you, you expected she wasn't going to. "Come along Harry," she took his hand. "Ronald." And his before marching away. You watch them as they go, a smirk lingering before slipping off in search of your friends.

Come Friday afternoon and you found yourself in the great hall. The busy castle was beginning to calm and few people sat in the tables alongside the two of you. You take a sip of some water as you watch the gears in her head turn, debated her next move. At this point you already knew you would win; you always did. While everything else was more of a competition; Hermione Granger surprisingly wasn't all too hard to beat at Wizard's chess. Your Fridays together we're brilliant times to chat though, you'd often sum up any achievements from the week just to see who's doing better.

"I can't believe you beat me in history of magic again- I spent hours on that stupid essay. I basically lived in the library."

"I can help you study if you like," she offered, her eyes not leaving the board as she ordered her bishop forward. You watch as the chess piece moves along the board.

"You're not funny Granger," you tease, ordering your knight forward to take down her bishop. "Check,"

A paper ball hit the back of your head, drawing your attention away. Pansy stood with a wide grin on display, you ignored her and returned to your game but Hermione was also focused on your friend. "I think she wants your attention."

Another paper ball collides against your head. You sigh loudly before turning and mouthing 'what?'

"We're going down to the black lake? You coming?" She asked. "Or are you too busy with the Gryffindor?"

"just give me a sec." You wave her away, turning back to the other girl. "Have you moved?" She nods a little, her hair bouncing with the movements. You examine the board trying to figure out who she had moved but it didn't really matter. With a final move of your queen, the king was knocked off the board. "I do believe that is checkmate."

"I'm beginning to think you're cheating."

"Me?" You ask, pretending to be offended by the notion. "Never. How little faith you have me in, Granger."

"Slytherins are known for being cunning."

"We're not all cheating monsters, my dear sweet Gryffindor. Some of us actually have a conscience."

"I find that hard to believe," Her lips were curled into a cheeky smile. You'd never quite noticed the way her eyes crinkle when her smile is so big or how teethy it was. It was adorable. 

"I gotta go- same time next week? Maybe I'll even let you win."

"I don't need you to let me win,"

"You sure?" Nothing more than a harmless joke as you stand. "How many times in a row have I won now?"

"Slither away," Hermione smiles as you back away towards Pansy. You had to admit, you did firm Hermione to be intriguing.

Being in the same year, meant you actually saw Hermione rather frequently, however, your actual interactions were limited. Yes, you played Wizard's chess together every Friday but other than that, you basically only had very short conversations. It was like being in two completely different worlds simply because you were put in different houses. This school had a weird obsession with separation by houses. You were a proud Slytherin as were you friends but your ambition to branch out was often looked at as beneath some of the others. It was dinner time and you sat at the Slytherin table but your focus was pulled towards a certain familiar Gryffindor student. She just happened to be sat in your eye line, so you couldn't help but amuse her from afar. With funny faces and playful winks. Her most common reactions were shakes of the head or rolling her eyes but you knew secretly she enjoyed the teasing.

"Are you even listening?" A sharp elbow slams into your side. You bite back a groan as you shove the boy gently.

"The hell Draco,"

"What are you staring at?" There was a particularly bite behind his words but you'd grown used to how aggressive he could come across. He was always trying to be the alpha and frankly, everyone let him be. You simply shrug at his question; grabbing an apple and taking a bite.

"What did you want?"

The grey of his eyes flickers in curiosity as he tries to figure out what had you so distracted. When you look across at Granger, she's chatting to Ginny Weasley about something.

"Sometimes I wonder if the sorting hat got it wrong with you," He muses. "Should have put you in Gryffindor since you're so obsessed with Potter."

"Says the boy who never shuts up about him." You fight back. You couldn't care less about Harry Potter or his chosen one status. You knew Malfoy hated him though; it was a little weird just how much.

"You gravely misunderstand my interest in potter."

"I don't care if you have a crush on him Malfoy," There are a few snickers around the table but he's definitely not laughing.

"Don't be ridiculous." He growled, leaving the table. It was only a joke. You follow after him along with the others.

After dinner, you're lounging in the common room. One leg hooked over the arm of the couch as you read a book all about dragons. Fascinating creatures.

"So are you and the Gryffindor friends?"

"Who?" You question. Not even looking at the blonde as he sits down beside you.

"Granger." He confirms. "Pansy thinks you have a crush or something?"

"Pansy is a liar." The joke isn't as funny when it's against you. Your feelings towards Granger was nobody else's business but your own. You were often left conflicted when it came to her. You roll your eyes, sitting up straight. "I just like proving that I'm better than her."

"You spend a lot of time with her," Goyle adds.

"So?" You finally lower your book. Your brows knitted together in a clear frown as you scan the room. A few people had invited themselves into the conversation. "I spend a lot of time with you but doesn't mean I wanna get into your pants,"

"I don't know why you associate with any of them." This was beginning to feel like a lecture. Why do they even care who you hang out with? You didn't care much for the boys but you liked Hermione. She was kind, funny and really smart. You enjoyed the little time you ultimately spent together but if you admitted that, they would crucify you.

"They'd probably say the same about you lot," you state. Bringing the large book back up to cover your face. "Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to read here,"

"You can tell us if you like her," Pansy contributes. "I mean we all know you have a soft spot for the weak."

"Are you taking pity on her?"

"Maybe she wants to start hanging out with Potter. Can you imagine?"

You grit your teeth, not at all reading the words on the page in front of you. They're just trying to get a rise out of you.

"I can't imagine anything more pathetic," Malfoy chuckles followed by a few of the others. "They're an embarrassment to the wizarding world if you ask me. Parading around like they own the place-"

"We're nothing okay?" You slap your book shut. "Not friends or secret lovers or anything, I would never date someone so.... dirty." The word slipped out before you had a chance to stop. You didn't see her that way; she was much too grand to be considered dirty. And you couldn't care less about pure bloodlines. It didn't make her any less of a fantastic witch. "I'm not joining Potter's Merry band of monkeys, so just drop it okay." Ignoring the snickers and hushed whispers, you march off to bed.

It's the Friday following your little session in the common room. You forgave them all of course; you always did. There was no point in being angry at them over some harmless teasing. You had the chessboard set up and even brought along a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans but she was running late. Normally it was you showing up late; very unusual behaviour from someone known for punctuality. But as time ticked on and you were still left alone, you began to realise she wasn't going to turn up. Packing everything up, you decide it'll be best to search for her; something bad must have happened for her to not show at all.

"Weasley," you shout, jogging up to Harry and Ron who seemed to be missing their third arm. "You seen granger?"

"Why?" Asks the redhead. Harry presents you with a smile.

"None of your business," you spit at Ron. "Have you seen her or not?"

"Last we saw her she said she was heading to the library," Harry answered. You offer a grateful smile but you can't help but wonder why she's decided to head to the library. Was there a test you didn't know about? Was she trying to get the upper hand? Surely she could have just told you that instead of having you wait.

"Thanks, Harry," You skip along to the library but the journey proves pointless when you discover she isn't there either. You would be lying if you said you had searched particularly hard before giving up though. There was always next week. With a defeated sigh, you head back towards the common room. Luck must have been on your side because you spot her on the way back. Perched on a ledge with her head in a book. Typical Hermione Granger.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," you announce as you walk towards her. "I thought we were gonna play wizards chess so I could annihilate you again." The faintest sniffle hit your ears and you froze. Was she... crying? Shit. You don't do well with criers; you never know how to handle situations when people cry. It's always so... awkward. "What's wrong?"

"Go away." Her voice is quiet but echoes through the empty corridor.

"Granger?" You closer to her now, leaning against one of the stone columns.

"I said go away," Her words are harsh; she shoves her face further into the book. Was she trying to hide the fact she had been crying? It was pretty obvious at this point.

"What's up with you?" You wonder, folding your arms over your chest.

"I don't want to talk to you,"

"What did I do?" The confusion is very clear in your voice. You'd hardly even spoken to the girl recently so how could you have possibly upset her.

"You're as bad as the rest of them, now leave me alone," Sharp words as she grabbed her things and stormed off. As bad as the rest of them? What did that even mean? Pushing yourself upright, you follow after her.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Just some filthy mudblood am I?" Venomous words spat at you with the speed of a viper. You stumble back a little; she's never been so angry with you. Tears spill down her rosy cheeks."Malfoy told me what you said- Guess I should have known better considering your so-called friends. You're just as cruel as the rest of them."

"Hermione..." you sigh softly. You couldn't exactly defend your fellow Slytherin friends. "Why do you believe him anyway?"

"So you didn't say it then."

"No, I did," you shrug a little. "Well I said you were dirty, I didn't say... that word."

"Mudblood- Same thing though right? You think you're so much better just because you're of Pure blood."

"I didn't say that, I-"

"Just stay away from me." Her tone has you backing down from the fight. You consider following her as she charges off down the hall but instead, you go back to the dorms.

"You're a right git," you exclaim, storming into the room, grip tight on the book you launch at his head. Platinum blonde hair darts of the way.

"What the hell."

"You told her?" All eyes are on you as you confront him.

"What are you on about?"

"Hermione- you told her I thought she was dirty."

"Your words, not mine." Draco shrugged a little. A huff of a laugh passing his lips which pissed you off even more. 

"I-," you look around, picking up a pillow and tossing it at him. "You are such a pain in the ass."

"Why do you care about that filthy mudblood, you said you don't even like her?"

"I don't even like you and yet we're best friends," You shout, looking at the coffee table you grab a mug and aim at the boy. Draco's hand shoots up in defense.

"Don't you dare throw that at me or I swear-" He fought back. You lower your hand and so does he then you throw it anyway, hearing it break as you collapse on the couch. "You don't need someone like that." He muses as he cautiously approaches the couch.

"We can't all be insufferable snobs Malfoy," you grumble, rather casually considering what just happened. "You mess up everything for no bloody reason"

"Probably shouldn't go around calling her dirty then," He argues. "I didn't make you say that..."

The boy hovers over the back of the couch and you shove him away. "I hate you."

You realise you have to be the one because Malfoy's not about to admit he did anything wrong. And you know at the end of the day it was your fault for saying it in the first place. You retire to your bed, no longer watching to deal with other people.

For the next week or so Hermione avoids you like the plague. You'd obviously see her in some of your classes but when you'd try to speak to her after, she'd rush out before you had a chance to so much as saying hi. If you managed to catch her gaze, she'd stare daggers; if looks could kill you'd be six feet under by now. You'd sometimes find her in the library, it was the one place she could cause a scene but neither could you. When you tried to whisper to her, she'd completely ignore you. You were beginning to miss the limited interaction you hard; Half the fun of studying was ultimately doing better than her in the end.

The girl was alone today, searching the shelves. The library was fairly empty and it was getting late. You take the opportunity to make some paper birds and send them fluttering over to her. One by one until she whispers yells at you to stop. You chuckle. Doing it again. This develops into a habit throughout the next couple of days. You'll send paper birds her way, just to get a reacting out of her. You start writing little messages on them too but you don't think she ever reads them before setting them on fire.

It becomes abundantly clear she's not giving in and therefore one day during breakfast you abandon your table and enter what Malfoy would consider enemy territory. Pushing Neville aside to sit next to Hermione. A bunch of lions look to you like you'd just entered their den without permission; in their defense, you never sit here. Hermione gets up to leave but not before you can grab her wrist.

"Can you please stop ignoring me," she yanks out of your grip, walking away to leave you surrounded by kids you've only ever spoken to in passing. You groan loudly.

"What happened between you two?" Ron asked.

"Do you ever keep out of other people's business Weasley or do you have some obsessive need to weasel your way into everything."

"Just tryna help, jeez."

"If you must know, Malfoy told her that I referred to her as a... y'know."

"Mudblood?" Harry continues for you.

"I called her dirty but I didn't mean it."

"Thought you weren't friends anyway," Ron wore a smirk like he caught you out or something so you just ignore him.

"Now she's ignoring me. I just want her to talk to me."

"Have you apologised?"

"How can I apologise if she won't bloody talk to me, Harry? I thought you were supposed to be smart." You comment, dropping your head against the table. "I've tried writing notes but she burns all of them. I'm running out of ideas, I can only be so charming."

"Can't really help you there," Ron replies.

"All the boys in this school are so bloody useless," you sigh dramatically, slamming your hands on the table to push yourself up. "You’re her best friends and you can't help? Pathetic."

You debate joining the others but you decide against it and leave the great hall. You're not hungry anymore.

"You really should stop sending paper birds," The voice catches you off guard, whipping your wand out before realising it's her.

"I'll stop if you talk to me again," You counter, lowering your wand.

"I'm not ashamed of my parents."

"And you shouldn't be." Your head falls, "I really am sorry for what I said, it was definitely a peer pressure thing and I was stupid." You blurt out. "Malfoy can just be a lot sometimes and I was trying to study so... I don't think you're less than just because your parents are muggles Hermione. Not even a little." You take a deep breath. "I just want my friend back."

She hesitates. "Oh, so we're friends now huh?"

"Only if you want to be," You shrug. There was part of you that wanted to say maybe you like her as more than that but you kept it to yourself; at least for now. "I understand if you don't like... I was really shitty."

"So Friday then?"

"What?"

"Wizards chess? I think I may be able to beat you now, I've been practising."

"Pfft not likely," You tease, your smile growing. "Friday sounds good."

// NEXT

[alloftheimaginesblog]

You’re Never Helping Again (Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader)

Plot: A follow up to ‘Let Me Help’ in which it's made apparently clear that Indy definitely overestimated his ability to teach the gendered nuances of Victorian Medical practice or something. All your students demand that you never let him teach one of their lessons again, He pretends that it went effortlessly and was the best lesson he's ever taught.

Character: Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader

Requested by @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

PART TWO OF ‘Let Me Help’ 

Part of my Secret’s Out Saga (Plus Size History Professor Reader x Indiana Jones) series and part of my Plus Size Reader x Character series!

For once in your life, you listened to Indy and you did exactly what he instructed you too. You never liked following rules, especially when it came to men and boyfriend’s rules but you knew that he was right. You were running yourself into the ground and you needed to let yourself up for air, even if it was a few hours of self care.

You’d been in Indy’s apartment many times before, you stayed over multiple times during the week, but you’d never been here alone. You’d never let yourself in with a key before, you’d never kicked off your shoes and hung up your jacket as though it were your apartment; you’d never even made yourself anything to eat here before, Indy always took care of that! It felt strange, extremely odd, that you were here in his apartment without him. It almost felt... exciting? He had said he was meaning to give you a key soon anyway... was this what it was like? A proper, long-term adult, serious relationship? You smiled to yourself as you explored his apartment, wanting to soak up everything whilst he wasn’t here. You’d never really had this before - never had anything this serious before. Men just never treated you the way he did. Men around here just weren’t... they weren’t like Indiana.

His living room was organised chaos. There was mess, like coffee cups lying on the table and on his desk and his jacket and shoes in a pile the end of the sofa, but the rest of it was organised chaos. Piles of papers stacked high and low, messy but organised. He had piles of essays to grade, dissertations to grade, books stacked, piles for his newest research papers; it was organised but it was chaos. His living room was exactly how you’d imagine it to be; brown and leather - that academia look. He had trophies and certificates on shelves, you smiled as you read over them, he was still young but my god, he had accomplished so much. He had replicas of artefacts on the walls and on the remaining shelves but as you looked, some of them looked a little too old and a little too perfect that you were sure it was the real thing. He never failed to surprise you.

You made your way to his bedroom, now this was your favourite part of his apartment. It was simple, not a lot in his bedroom. Four post brown wooden bed, messy bed (he was never one to make the bed in the mornings), wooden drawers and wardrobe. It was very basic but it was the little details that you loved. He had drapes around the bed, that usually remained tied up they were more for decoration, but he had told you the story of how he came to be in possession of them. When you glanced at them they just looked plain white with some dark embroidery but when you looked up close, you realised that it was writing all around the bottom of them. He’d told you that he’d been in India years ago and helped them get an artefact back and they’d given him these drapes which had ‘Indiana Jones; our hero’ in their native language all around it. You had laughed when he told you that, “Of course, you’re the only person I know that would have drapes singing your praises on them and get away with it.”

A photo in a frame was perched against his bedside cabinet. It was a picture of you, not you and Indy, no, just you. It was a picture of you reading a book whilst curled into his couch. It was a grainy photo, black and white and a little faded but he loved that picture. You’d never really liked it, the curls in your hair had come loose, your lipstick was all faded, your glasses were half way down your nose, you were in your pyjamas and could see all your lumps and bumps and yet, Indy loved it. You’d asked him why he loved it so much one day, he just smiled and said, “It’s just... you.” You placed the photo down before heading to his closet. You did have a bag of clothes here but who in their right mind would turn down the chance to steal one of his shirts?

You filled the bath and whilst you waited, you were reading his newest research paper. He had let you read the drafts but now, this was close to being the finished thing and you couldn’t help but want to read it. He never failed to amaze you with his academic talent, the knowledge that man had; the first hand experience this man had with so many cultures and artefacts, it blew you away every time. You’d finished reading just as the bath was ready, “Incredible,” you whispered as you stood to put it away back on his desk - you knew that if you kept it in the bathroom with you you’d somehow end up dropping it into the bath.

The bath was a perfect temperature, you were glad for it. Sometimes if a bath is too hot you get too stressed about trying not to lobster yourself that you don’t enjoy it and sometimes if you make it too cold... well, that’s just no fun, is it? You sunk into the warmth of the water, relishing in its soothing touches. You washed your hair, trying to detangle the mess of curls with your fingers as you let the soapy suds clean away all your worries.

Soon, you were out of the bath and padding around the kitchen trying to find something to eat. You’d put on one of Indy’s looser fitting shirts. It didn’t button over your stomach so you’d pulled on one of his stretchy t-shirts under it. You found leftovers in the fridge from the night before, homemade spaghetti and meatballs. You had been surprised when you found out that Indiana was a decent cook. You thought that with him being so busy teaching, writing and adventuring that he wouldn’t have a lot of time to cook for himself. Sure, he loved Chinese take out but he could whip up a decent meal.

It wasn’t long after you’d reheated the spaghetti that you heard the front door open and heavy footsteps. You poked your head out of the kitchen to see Indy taking his jacket off and taking his glasses off, “How you feeling?” He asked as he walked into the kitchen with you.

“A lot better,” you admitted, “thank you... Really, Indy, thank you.” He smiled bashfully as you thanked him, “I hope my students weren’t too wild for you.”

He shook his head, “One of the best lessons I’ve ever given actually,” he said quickly... too quickly.

“Yeah?” You asked with a frown, “cause it was going to be a pretty full on lesson about Victorian medical practice, that can get quite tricky especially when we bring gender into the equation-” He cut you off.

“You don’t think I could handle it?” Indy asked, unusually defensive.

“Of course you could, Indy,” you rolled your eyes, “I was merely saying that sometimes even I find teaching Victorian medical practice hard going, there’s just a lot and I know my students, I’ve trained them to question everything so that they know and understand every single detail.”

Indy raised his eyebrows, “Oh I know they question everything... Believe me, I know.” You eyed him suspiciously but he seemed eager to drop the subject and he’d already done so much for you today that you just shrugged and passed him a plate of spaghetti.

The rest of the night was spent with you going over the research you had and what you still didn’t have sources for. Indiana proved to be very helpful. He had hundreds of books, some in shelves, some scattered around, and he was able to find the sources and missing pieces of information that you needed. It didn’t take long until you had finished your first draft. You beamed as you put the pen on the desk, “I’m finished. I did it!” Indiana was right there beside you, giving you a kiss on the forehead, and singing your praises, “I couldn’t have done it without you, Indy,” you whispered as he congratulated you, “Thank you.” 

It seemed a wise choice to take the rest of the night off after that. Yes, you were aware that you had papers to grade and dissertation drafts to sift through but you could get to them tomorrow. Tonight, Indy had better plans for you. He was going to help you relax with something a little more intimate and pleasurable than grading papers.

The next morning, you’d used some of your spare clothes that you left at Indy’s to get dressed and found him in the kitchen with two mugs of coffee waiting. You ate a small breakfast with him, talking about your lesson for the day, “You might want to go over yesterday’s lesson again with your class,” Indiana said nonchalantly, “Some of your students didn’t really fully understand and I ran out of time.”

You narrowed your eyes but nodded anyway. He didn’t know that your students would tell you exactly what happened yesterday so you let him believe that he was safe for a while longer.

You felt great. You felt like the weight had been lifted off of you shoulders and you were refreshed and well-rested. It just showed you how much having someone help you out benefited you. You couldn’t thank Indy enough, you just appreciated it so much; that he would help you out like that. His sweet gestures always made you feel like the luckiest woman alive.

With your lesson plans and papers in hand, you walked into your class to see all of your students already there, “Class doesn’t start for another forty five minutes!” You frowned, “What’s going on?”

“Thank god you’re back!” One of the girls, Sarah, said with a huff, “You are never letting Dr Jones teach us again!” 

You put everything on your desk and sat in your chair, “Why?” You asked tentatively, “What happened?”

“He had no clue, Professor!” A boy at the back told you, “First twenty minutes started out strong but as soon as we started asking questions, he just rambled and could not figure anything out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as they told you more about what really happened. Poor Indy. He had tried, he really had tried but he was just not prepared for the inquisitive nature of your students, “He was getting so annoyed that we asked so many questions,” another girl said, “after about an hour of his rambling, he eventually handed us out textbooks and told us to read in silence for the rest of the time.”

Wiping your eyes for the tears of laughter, you took a breath, “Well, Dr Jones really helped me out yesterday and he at least tried to teach you, that’s more than what some people would do. I apologise that I wasn’t here though.”

“Professor, please promise that he’ll never teach us again. Promise us.”

This started your hysterical laughter again, “I promise.”

You couldn’t wait to see Indiana at lunch. As always, he was waiting outside of your class to walk you to his where the two of you would eat lunch, “I went over everything again and they all seem to understand a lot better now,” you said, trying to not smile.

“Yeah?” He asked, clearing his throat, “Good.”

“They did tell me something about yesterday though,” you smirked as you walked into his classroom, “they never want you to teach again.”

And so, the jig was up, “They told you, huh?” You found yourself doubled over laughing as you recounted what they’d said to you, “Well, it’s not my fault they ask too many questions!” Indiana exclaimed, “Everything I said, they questioned!”

“Thank you for covering for me but you’re never helping me again.”

[gravelyhumerus]

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 3

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

It's midterm season and Emily runs into JJ at the library, they decide to study together.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

There were no seats left in this entire goddamned library. Not a single one. Emily was on her second lap on the third floor, desperate for somewhere to sit down and have some peace and quiet to study for her test. She should have assumed this would happen. It was midterm season and the libraries were packed with students around this time each year.

She quietly made her way through the stacks and came upon a long, rectangular table near the back window. It overlooked a dark parking lot. The books were gigantic tombs of old academic journals that no one had probably even opened in decades.

There were eight seats and seven people, with one selfish asshole storing their backpack on the empty seat. Well, could be saving it for their friend, but with it being midterm season, those rules really shouldn’t apply anymore.

Emily braced herself and, with a smile, tapped the boy on the shoulder.

He had a large pair of headphones on. He lifted one side off his ear in a gesture of: ‘what do you want.’

“Is anyone sitting there?” She whispered, as quietly as she could, pointing to the seat next to him.

“Oh sorry,” he said, somewhat reluctantly, moving the coat and bag, inviting her to join him. She smiled in thanks and sat down.

Carefully unpacking her laptop and books, Emily tried to avoid disturbing the other folks at her table, the silence making each noise she made boom through the library. She settled down and pulled out her thermos, taking a sip of her coffee and bracing herself for a long night.

Her core classes for psychology were brutal, filled with endless memorization of terminology, stacks of mandatory books to read and countless essays.

At 8:30 the next morning it was her Introduction to Clinical Psychology midterm, worth a whopping thirty percent of her grade. She spent the entire day, between classes, at the Starbucks on campus, drinking her way through her student funds in coffee form and making endless flashcards.

She already had a stack of almost one hundred cards and she still had a couple hours of work left.

Just returning from dinner at the cafeteria, Emily had decided that she needed the relative quiet of the massive campus library to focus on the memorization period of her evening.

She flipped to the right page of her textbook: page 315, with a large header reading “SEXUAL DISORDERS” in large caps. Emily sighed, it was a strange thing to spend her time learning but at least it never failed to be interesting.

At least she wasn’t in Statistics this semester.

Emily took another sip of coffee, then rummaged through her bag for her wireless headphones, connecting them to her phone in order to play her studying playlist, which was mostly movie soundtracks, interspersed with Emily’s favourite classical music and of course, some lo-fi hip hop beats. She could not listen to music with words when studying, she would get too distracted and get nothing done.

Emily began gnawing at her thumbnail, focusing on writing down the definitions.

After around two hours of writing, Emily finally finished her flashcards. She stretched her back, closed her textbook, and went on her phone for a short break.

A Snapchat notification popped up on her screen.

Cheetobreath98 added you as a friend.

Emily frowned. Who on earth was that? Emily clicked on the profile, revealing the familiar face of Jennifer Jareau.

JJ had added her as a friend! On snapchat no less! That was at least three steps more intimate than Instagram.

Woah. Slow down there Em. She told herself. Don’t make it something it’s not.

They kept running into each other. JJ was probably just being friendly. She probably just wanted to say thank you for the cookies or send her funny snaps of the other students on their floor.

She has a boyfriend, a boyfriend she is having trouble with, but a boyfriend nonetheless. You can’t go around thinking about intimacy and Jennifer Jareau in the same sentence.

Emily accepted the friend request. Did that make them friends now? Emily hoped so. They could be friends.

As Emily stared at their chat, a new snap from JJ came in. Emily couldn’t help herself, she opened it immediately and she was met with a photo… of herself.

Emily’s head shot up looking around. She looked back down and it was clearly a photo of Emily, hunched over the desk with her head resting on her chin, staring down at her phone, taken from somewhere to her left.

JJ waved at her from between some books. Emily shot her a surprised smile in response.

She closed her laptop, stood, and walked over to her.

“Creeper,” Emily whispered with a giggle.

JJ had a large textbook and some notebooks in her arms, and a backpack hanging off one shoulder, and leaned in towards Emily to speak quietly, which let Emily catch the light, fruity smell of her perfume, blending nicely with the earthy smell of the old books around them.

“Guilty as charged,” JJ smiled.

“What are you working on?” Emily asked, gesturing at her heavy load, she leaned and took a peek at the title of the textbook.

“French,” JJ said, “It’s hard to bullshit that when you don’t know it. I’ve got a midterm tomorrow.”

“Bien sûr,” Emily replied confidently in French.

JJ blinked.

“Tu parles Français?” JJ’s French was shaky and uncertain, with less of an accent than Emily would expect.

Emily coughed quietly and tried to clear her throat.

“I do,” she replied in French, “I’ve been told that when I was a toddler, I was speaking it more fluently than English.”

JJ glanced down, seeming to be translating her words for a brief moment before replying, slowly, clearly excited to use Emily for practise.

“Are you French?”

“No,” Emily said, “My mom wasn’t around much when we were living in France and the nanny didn’t speak English.”

“Ton nurse?” JJ asked, not knowing the definition of ‘nanny’ in French.

“Oh uh,” Emily replied in English, “My nanny, the lady who watched me when my mom was working. She’s an ambassador.”

JJ nodded, then switched to English. She didn’t ask about Emily’s dad, which Emily was grateful for.

“My family is French, originally I guess,” JJ said, “Hence Jareau , the French name. I remember my grandparents speaking it when I was growing up. I only learned a few words from them so I thought I’d take a course here. I need language courses for my communications degree anyways.”

“Your French is good!” Emily assured her. “Honestly mine is getting rusty, I have no one to practise on.”

“Well,” JJ said between coughs, “you could tutor me?”

Emily smiled. An opportunity to spend more time with her? She would take it. She nodded.

“Mais oui!” Emily replied in her most dramatic accent that she could manage, sending both girls into a fit of giggles.

“Shhhhh!” Someone at Emily’s table hissed.

The two girls made eye contact, then burst into another fit of giggles.

“I have a study room booked for nine,” JJ said, “If you want to join me.”

“Absolutely,” Emily replied, “I have a midterm tomorrow as well, so I’ll be here for awhile.”

“Allons-y!” JJ whisper-yelled.

Emily collected her things and followed JJ into a room down the hall, tucked behind the stacks. Inside, was a desk, a couple of white boards and a small window facing into the quad. It was small, with only two chairs. It was shocking that JJ even managed to snag that, the booking system filled up days in advance during midterm season.

“I hate whispering,” Emily said at normal volume once the door was shut.

“Libraries are supposed to be quiet,” JJ said.

“I’ve never been good at quiet.”

JJ laughed.

Emily sat down next to her, stealing a glance at JJ while she was distracted: she had a pair of track pants, with a loose fitted t-shirt on top, a pastel blue which complemented her skin tone well. On top, she had her varsity hoodie unzipped, with their school’s crest on display. She looked good, as always, despite being in basically athletic sweats looking ready to go to the gym at any moment.

Emily placed her books down next to JJ at the table, stacking her flash cards neatly next to it. JJ’s eyes widened at the sight of the pile.

“You don’t have to help if you don’t have time,” JJ said, “Honestly I would just appreciate the company.”

“Nonsense,” Emily replied, “I’d be happy to help. I’ve been working on these flash cards all day, I need a break anyways. How ‘bout we work through your practise sheets, then you quiz me after? What’s your test on?”

“Conjugation,” JJ replied, flipping her notes open to a page full of irregular verbs and their conjugations.

“Oh sweet,” Emily scanned the notes, “Present tense, I can do this.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, pulling her feet up to sit crossed-legged.

“I was worried you were going to ask me the difference between plus-que-parfait and subjonctif or something.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Lucky,” Emily said.

JJ then reached into her bag, pulling out a small case and revealing a pair of glasses—reading glasses—and put them onto her face. They were gold rimmed, round framed, and made her eyes slightly larger with the magnification.

“You-” Emily stuttered, her brain feeling like it was short circuiting at the sight of JJ, “Have glasses?”

“Yeah,” JJ muttered flipping through her notebook, “I don’t really need them but I’ve been staring at screens all day and my eyes are tired.”

“Nerd,” Emily fake-coughs. JJ’s draw drops and she hits Emily playfully with her notebook, whacking her on the arm lightly.

“You promised to help me, not mock me for my bad eyes,” JJ huffs.

“Ok fine let’s conjugate… hmmm… ‘voir’ to start,” Emily jokes, spinning her pen between her fingers.

“I know you’re kidding but I actually don’t know that one.”

Emily grins and begins explaining to her how to conjugate ‘to see’ in French.

“Now,” Emily says, “If you want to talk about how I can see, and you can’t—because you’re blind—you would write: Emily voit. Emily sees.”

“Elle voit? V-o-i-t?”

“Oui, et, Jennifer ne voit pas!” Emily giggles, “Jennifer does not see!”

“Ha-ha,” JJ says, not laughing.

“Sorry, I’ll stop now,” Emily says, picking up the worksheet and reading it over.

“Basically,” JJ says, “I need to just memorize this list of common irregular verbs by tomorrow. I already have the regular er, ir and re verbs down.”

“Cocky girl,” Emily said. “I like it.”

“Ok what verb should we start with?”

“Vouloir,” Emily said, “to want.”

The deeper meaning of this was not lost on her, even as she said it. Emily was far past the point of denying it to herself, or Morgan when he teased her, Emily wanted JJ.

“Start with je,” Emily continued, unfazed by her own internal monologue. “What do you want?”

“Je veux… un biscuit,” JJ said, sticking her pen in her mouth. She was so cute when she focused, chewing distractedly on the cap, with her glasses falling down her nose.

“Now what would I want?” Emily prompted, trying to focus back on the worksheet and not JJ in profile, gazing at the gentle slope of her nose, her pink lips that would probably taste like chapstick.

“Tu veux du thé?” JJ grinned, evoking their previous late-night hang out.  

“Oui,” Emily smiled, “I could definitely use some of your tea right now. Stuck with coffee for now though. I need the caffeine.”

They continued through that verb, moving down her list and covering aller, mettre, venir, before cycling back to the most important ones to make sure JJ had them memorized. Covering lots of ground, the two girls spent almost two hours straight working through her midterm prep booklet.

“Thanks so much for helping,” JJ said. “Maybe you could tutor me again sometime.”

Emily grinned. Maybe it was just tutoring but that meant hours alone with her and her pretty face and her laugh and the way she smelled like warm vanilla.

“Whenever you need me!”

“Je suis excité!” JJ said, in French, which was definitely not what she aimed to say.

Emily began to laugh. Hard. It started as a giggle but the sheer ridiculousness of her situation made it so much funnier. Her crush just looked her in the eyes and told her she was horny.  

“What?!” JJ demanded, nervously laughing at Emily’s reaction.

“Oh gosh I’m sorry,” Emily tried to calm down, to hold in her laughs. “In French we never say excité. It does not mean excited.”

“What does it mean?”

“JJ you just said that you were horny,” Emily made out between laughs. It must be the lack of sleep that made the simple mistake so much funnier.

“Emily!” JJ laughed, “don’t laugh at me I didn’t know!”

Emily’s laughter was infectious and before long the two girls were lost in a fit of giggles.

“You should say: ‘J’ai hâte!’” Emily said eventually, “it means I can’t wait. Like: J’ai hâte d'étudier avec toi. Or Je suis ravi. Or impatiente. Just don’t go around telling people how horny you are.”

“Fine,” JJ said, with a slight pout, “ J’ai hâte. ”

Emily nodded.

“I guess I can say I learned something today,” JJ murmured, “I guess it really is the language of love.”

Emily didn’t say anything, taking a sip of her cold coffee to muffle the squeak threatening to come out of her throat

“So,” JJ changed the subject, “gimme your flash cards. What are you learning?”

Before Emily could earn her, JJ flipped over the first card which read: ‘SEXUAL DISORDERS!’ in Emily’s messy script.

“On the same theme,” JJ murmured.

And so for the next hour, JJ and Emily made their way through her psychology flash cards, slowly making sure that Emily had the endless serious mental health disorders, personality disorders and other terms memorized before her midterm.

Luckily, In the process of writing them down, and due to her religious commitment to attending lectures, Emily had already retained most of them. Studying with JJ did help, because it forced her to explain some of the concepts in plain language, which, she found, furthered her understanding.

Moreover, JJ had brought snacks. Which made studying every more doable when she  could award herself with an m&m for each correct answer.

The thing was, half way through Emily’s stack of cards, and as the night crept on, JJ’s energy crashed as the girl’s body decided that it was way past her bedtime and that she should be asleep.

Unlike Emily, JJ was clearly not a night owl.

Eventually, Emily finished up her studying alone, discovering that the blonde was just about useless, as she read out gibberish and expected Emily to understand her. JJ finally fell asleep sitting up at about one-thirty in the morning. Emily decided to leave her be as she still needed to jot a few things down.

“JJ?” Emily murmured after a few minutes, poking the other girl with her pen. “JJ? Wake up.”

“Mm?” JJ murmured, her eyes still closed shut, her head heavy resting on her hand. She was adorable.

“I’m calling it,” Emily said, closing her textbook. “It’s almost two. We’ve studied enough.”

“Mmm… yeah I don’t know if I can fit any more French in my brain,” JJ rubbed her eyes.

“I think you’ll do just fine!”

They packed up their things, bundling up against the cold fall air. JJ went through the motions with her eyes half shut, allowing Emily to guide her out of their study room, down the spiral staircase and into the lobby.  

Unfortunately, as they stood just inside the library door, the clouds broke, sending rain pouring down onto campus. Sighing at their poor timing, they pulled their hoods over their hair in an attempt to stay relatively dry.

They walked home, laughing as it rained down onto them.

JJ seemed to wake up and her prior drowsiness seemed to fade into the night sky. She giggled as she splashed in a puddle, and her yellow jacket lit up under a street lamp.

Emily grinned, feeling elated in her exhaustion. How lucky she was! Splashing in the rain with JJ, which was a strange yet pleasant ending to what had promised to be a dredge of an evening. JJ waited for a moment, letting Emily catch out before grasping onto Emily’s hand and holding on, pulling her through the rain.

They tore through the torrential downpour, their hands clasped together, unbothered by the cold as the fiery feeling of JJ’s hand in her own had her full attention. A warm feeling filled her chest as she thought about how it was JJ who wanted to hold Emily’s hand.

Not caring whether it was just a friendly hand hold, or if it meant more, Emily’s heart soared.

JJ’s hand was smaller than hers, and their fingers fell together perfectly, comfortably linked like they were built to do so.

They only let go once they reached the door to their building, as Emily fumbled with the wet metal key ring in her pocket, unlocking the front door and offering the two relief from the rain.

They lingered in the hall, both damp, looking at each other as the tiredness returned and settled into their bones. Emily could see the bags under JJ’s eyes, the exhaustion clear on her face. Her cheeks were flushed from running through the rain and her blonde hair wet and tangled from the wind.

A voice in Emily’s head demanded that she reach out her hands, firmly grab the sides of JJ’s perfect face and kiss her then and there. It would be so perfect, their lips would meet and JJ would rest her hands on Emily’s hips. She would pull her in close and their bodies would crash into each other, fitting together perfectly. Emily’s tongue would graze against JJ’s lips, and their kiss would deepen until finally they would pull apart and-

“Goodnight, Emily,” JJ said, smiling at her sweetly, “Get some sleep before your midterm.”

Emily was brought crashing back into reality.

“Oh,” Emily said, “Yeah you too, you need it.”

“Thank you for helping me out,” JJ continued, “I was having a really bad day and you really made me feel a lot better.”

JJ looked down.  

“Yeah, uh, this morning I broke up with Will. Or maybe he broke up with me. I don’t know,” she admitted, “and with the midterm… then the home game tomorrow afternoon...“

She sighed.

“It was a long day and I’m grateful for your company.”

Kiss her, the voice in her head screamed, do it!

“I’m sorry about your break up, either way,” Emily said sincerely. “I feel the same way. I mean, I enjoyed your company. I think I’m going to do well on my midterm too.”

She smiled at JJ who returned it sleepily. Emily kicked herself for the awkward phrasing but blamed the fact that it was late at night and she was processing the fact that her crush was single. Single and had held her hand.

“Bonne chance demain,” Emily said with a wave, wishing JJ luck.

They looked at each other for another moment, before turning and unlocking their individual rooms. That night, Emily dreamt of Paris, cookies and the girl across the hall.

[lesbiradshaw]

hellooo you’re one of my fave fic writers and i was just wondering if you have any tips for getting into fic writing? how do you find the inspiration and the motivation to write so much so well & so consistently? i’ve dabbled in writing fics before but i have such a hard time avoiding perfectionism or sticking to long projects or even developing a plot past the vibe or the message i want to convey which leads me to getting too in my head about the whole fic and never being able to bring myself to finish or publish it 😭

oh this is such a nice ask ... can’t believe i’m someone’s favorite! thank youuuu. now i feel the need to preface this by saying that i have no clue what i’m doing and i don’t write seriously (as in i try my best but i’m not concerned with being Novel worthy or anything) which is what i think a lot of people need to remember when it comes to writing fic! i do know fic writers who are more serious about the writing craft and want to become real authors but personally i am not one of them. i write for fun. i write because i love the characters and want to treat them right. i write because it’s a fun little hobby and gives me a good outlet that makes me feel productive! and a lot of my favorite fics aren’t even necessarily high quality, i just like the plots and general characterization. i make like a bajillion typos in my fics i’m always reading over again after uploading to fix and people don’t tend to point them out, so i know my fics aren’t perfect but they are still enjoyable. that’s not to say i don’t hold myself to self scrutinizing standards (i am doing that even as we speak this very second) but every so often realizing that people read and write fic for fun is a good reality check. that’s how i got into it honestly ... i saw other people having a good time but also saw that there a lot were more fics i wanted to exist so i figured why should i not be the one to write them? that’s what happened with my tangled au. nothing better than doing it yourself. as for motivation, i feel like i have a kind of odd way of writing? i’m very much a “do it now or you’ll never do it later because you’ll lose interest” person but i also love procrastination. i have to set due dates and quotas and obligations for myself in order to get the wheels turning. my method right now is setting a number of words i want to write every other day (in the beginning it was 1k, now it’s 5 because i have a lot of free time) so i can move fast but still have breaks in between. that’s probably not normal but ... well. it’s what must be done for me. like i said, it makes me feel productive (and putting into perspective how many pages 1k words make up has actually helped me so much with writing academic essays 😭). inspiration/fic planning is also a fairly messy method for me but basically here’s how it goes: i get the idea and open the notes app. i jot down the general idea/message i want to convey. then i start coming up with details i want to include, like specific items mentioned, imagery, comparisons, even full lines if i like something and it sticks out enough. it doesn’t have to be a full idea either, i have a doc made up of only singular tidbit ideas that i pull into fics upon a whim where they fit if i can’t think of a full idea to revolve around it. from there, once i actually know i’m gonna write the fic, i transfer it to a google doc and start daydreaming the entire timeline of it in my head. which scenes come first, any dialogue i can think of that i want to put in, etc. it’s usually generic but sometimes i do get overly detailed for no reason. basically by the end it’s a messy map that i try to take care of in chunks as the writing process goes on so nothing i want to include gets left out. not the most clean cut process but it works for me! i’m terrified of forgetting things i want to write about so i try and write them down before they leave me. sometimes that includes 5am wakeup moments where everything i type is incoherent. i’m still deciphering what “small soft domestic momrntts loke steve waking up and being able to hear bucky using yhe radio in the garage from the bedroom.., he cant see it but he knows buvkh js singing along” means.

anyways you didn’t request an answer this long but yk i love talking! fic writing is truly a perfect outlet for me and i’ve made so many friends along the way <3 i encourage everyone to get involved in it if they want to. publishing stuff can be scary but isn’t everything we put on the internet scary at the end of the day ...

[sortavibing]

Hi! I saw requests were open for matchups and soooo I would like a romantic matchup if you don’t mind:)

My pronouns are she/her. I’m Pan and a Pisces. I’m also an ENTP:)

I’m a black girl with partially orange/red dyed hair that is a little below my collarbone that’s curly(as one could assume lol). I’m fairly tall, around 5’7-5’8, and have a somewhat athletic build.

As for my personality, I’m a pretty optimistic, bold, but very blunt individual. I just know myself well enough and I’m comfortable with myself. I’m not going to hide parts of my personality if the situation doesn’t call for me to do so. Because of that tho, I’m a natural loner since I’m completely content with just myself. I, however, choose to be extroverted because I believe that you can’t go through experiencing the world with just yourself the entire time. Life is about the connections you make throughout it you know? Besides that though, I would say I’m pretty fun and that most experiences with me with be riddled with some sense of exuberance.

I’m half academically driven half just wanting to live my life to it’s fullest. So while doing normally perceived mundane things such as analyzing literature and writing essays is enjoyable to me, I also enjoy very social events such as going to roller rinks, visiting different places within the city, and late night hangouts.

A few of my likes and dislikes:)

Likes: all sweet foods, literature, anime+manga, jrpgs, blankets, rnb and neo soul music

Dislikes: ignorance, having to repeat myself, cottage cheese

I also slightly kin Mina:)

Sorry if this was too long!!! Thanks for reading this of all:)

hello! thank you for requesting! i love jrpgs too, especially genshin impact. the cryo zone will be the death of me anyways, here’s your matchup!

i match you up with oikawa!

what first drew him to you was that you never tried to hide your true personality. most people (especially his fangirls) put on a nice attitude, full of compliments and praise about his looks and skills. you on the other hand, aren’t afraid to call him out for his bs and you never sugarcoat anything, which he likes because he knows he can trust your opinion.

whenever you guys are alone, he really likes to touch your hair, because the curls are really fluffy, and he loves how bouncy it feels. he always wants to do your hair, so you spent a couple of hours teaching him how to style your hair, and he has gotten really good at it, so whenever you are with him at home, he will ask to try a new style and will get really happy when you let him.

one of your funnier dates was when oikawa took you to a roller rink and spent most of the time leading up to the date talking about how graceful he was on skates, and how you shouldn't be embarrassed when he outshines you. when you actually got there, it turns out oikawa has never roller skated before and spent most of the night falling, while you spent most of the night laughing at how bad he was.

oikawa is also sort of academically driven, so you guys help each other study a lot, but the study sessions usually end in you guys giving up on working, and just watching a sappy romance movie together with some sweet snacks. however, if there is an upcoming test, oikawa will actually get pretty serious, and you guys will actually learn a lot during the study session.

he absolutely LOVES when you show up to his games, and he will get so happy if you wear one of his jerseys too. once you show up, he will point you out to all of his teammates, and before every serve, he will kiss 2 of his fingers and then point them to you. he says you are his “good luck charm”, and after the game, he will immediately go to you and give you a kiss to thank you for coming.

whenever it gets warm, you and oikawa will go to a local park at night and set out some pillows, snacks, drinks, and blankets, and just stargaze until the sun comes up. oikawa knows a lot about space and the stars, so he will always point out the constellations, and talk about why they are named like that, and basically show you his nerdy side that most others haven’t seen.

he will definitely take you shopping because he wants to get matching outfits, so you guys can wear them and be that bad bitch aesthetic couple. you guys will spend a good 3-4 hours just looking through various stores, trying to find the perfect outfits, and when you get them, he will pay for your stuff because he says “all boyfriends have to do that”. after you guys are done shopping, you will take him to your favorite drink place, and you and him will get something quick to drink while you walk around the city.

if you ever let him play jrpgs with you, he will take forever to choose his character because he wants his character to be as “pretty as he is”. when he finally chooses, you end up finishing most of the quests, because he has no clue what to do, even if you teach him the basic controls. 

he really wants to teach you how to play volleyball, so when you agree, he gets really excited and almost drags you to the gym to play. while you are practicing, your choice of music will be playing, and he will be super supportive and might throw in a couple dirty jokes just to see your reaction. the practice ends up being really fun, and every few weeks you practice with him.

overall, oikawa supports and hypes you up in everything you do, and you guys are such a cute and slightly chaotic couple, that everyone aspires to be like. he loves to tell everyone just how amazing you are, and he just loves spending time with you, no matter what you guys are doing.

i hope you enjoyed!

[canchewread]

Editor's note: this journal is original content (written by myself, of course) and has not appeared elsewhere online before today. I should also note that because this is both an opinion piece and an informal journal, my level of commitment to providing citations for the disingenuous wasn't particularly high; if you're looking for formally documented evidence that we're currently in the middle of a fascist takeover, I encourage you to check out my academic writing about the subject on ninaillingworth.com instead.

Journal 09/09/2020: Looking the Beast in the Eye

When I originally sat down to pen this journal, my intention was to call it something along the lines of “advice to a young leftist” which is probably in no small part, the reason why it's taken me three days to write this piece. This is because unfortunately I do not have very much good advice for a young leftist today in two-thousand and twenty, or at least much advice that isn't going to sound rather a lot like “quit before what you believe destroys your entire life.”

As I've written (extensively) elsewhere, we're in the middle of a fascist takeover that is more or less succeeding across the entire Pig Empire, and what passes for the liberal (read: capitalist) establishment in our respective nations seem quite content to try and appease the beast by feeding them the entire left and any marginalized group “uppity” enough to demand justice, equality or representation. There is not a lot of upside to being an open leftist right now and understanding what I know about both the history of fascism and the history of reactionary crackdowns in America, it's awful hard for me in good conscience to advise any young person to willingly subject themselves to the tender mercies of an uncaring state and its fascist cutout vigilante groups.

Let's talk a little bit about what that history, including very recent history, can tell us and why what it tells us isn't very good for the American left. Here in particular, we as both a class in American society and a people that believe in a more equal, compassionate and humane way of life, stand at the intersection of state power, class oppression and the homicidal revenge fantasies of a fascist political order that has seized power throughout much of the United States. The fact that this is not understood by our milquetoast Dem Soc allies and the bougie “progressive left” is completely irrelevant; as any Ferguson activist (who is still breathing) can tell you COINTELPRO never ended, performative liberal anti-racism stops well short of opposing police repression, and genteel society will respond to violent reprisals against activists by the reactionary right with either dead silence or some mild clucks of disapproval at best.

Are the liberals aware that when the increasingly fascist American right says “the left” they mean liberals and suburbanite Democrats too? On some level I'm sure they are, but clearly the threat of increased taxation and social programs for the poor terrifies them far more than the possibility fascism will progress to the point that they're next in front of the firing squad – I've been told the liberals of Weimar Germany felt much the same way during Hitler's rise; which merely demonstrates that the liberal capacity for coddling fascism if it's profitable knows few limits. Furthermore the nauseating truth is that many of your misguided and misinformed liberal allies in the working class simply don't understand that the fascist right always seeks to eliminate the militant left first simply because those are the people who're going to fight back when you start loading Muslims, Latinos and lanyard Democrats onto cattle cars.

This historical process of fascism of course intertwines with the American establishment's history of ruthlessly repressing, criminalizing and even murdering the left. As I detailed extensively in a prior essay called “The Inversion Perversion” the state's war against Americans who want a more equal society (in any number of ways) predates the rise of Nazi Germany, the American Civil War and as those who've studied colonial America might argue, even the foundation of the country. Between the mass deportations of anarchists, suppression of left wing literature through the mail, two Red Scares, anticommunism, Hoover's COINTELPRO war against the civil rights movement, the black power movement and the American student left, or all the way up to the Obama Department of Justice's ruthless oppression of the Occupy, Ferguson and North Dakota Pipeline protests, I could easily spend this entire essay demonstrating that when it comes to persecuting, destroying and yes even murdering the left, there is a long and storied history of bipartisan consensus in America – I see no reason or evidence to suggest that has changed much in our modern times.

In other words history, even recent American history, says that this story ends in a jail cell or a shallow grave for some of the folks reading this journal right now and I don't know how to sugarcoat that for anyone, let alone a young person with their whole life (such as it is) ahead of them. The plain, god-awful truth is that the American right wants you dead, and the center-right American liberal establishment simply doesn't care, just as it has never cared, because they also want the left destroyed and fear sharing their ill-gotten wealth more than they fear fascism. Furthermore, this same elite “liberal” establishment is actively engaged in splitting the component parts of the current American uprising up into acceptable and non-acceptable targets; that's why Joe Biden keeps yammering about police funding, anarchists and “looters.” Democrats in particular are doing this even as fascist militia vigilantes are starting to execute antifascists and protesters in the street, might I add.

Did I mention that it's a really bad time to be an open leftist, or even just someone who passionately feels cracker murderpigs shouldn't get away with murder because some fascist gave them a badge? And yet of course therein also lies the rub; just as there is danger in resisting the imposition of a fascist order there is also danger in refusing to resist.

Turning once again to history, we know that the fascist creep isn't going to stop itself until well after it has killed millions of people and destroyed everything about our lives that contains any meaning whatsoever. The reactionary backlash will not stop with silencing, arresting and/or killing teenage anarchists, African Americans protesting against racialized police violence or Portland soccer moms who've had enough fascism for a lifetime. The fascist mindset and method of societal control dictates that there must always been more enemies both within and outside of the state who represent both an abomination that should be destroyed and a threat to everything good and pure in the national character. Right now, the waking dragon of American fascism has cast a laser-like focus on those brave few Americans who are willing to physically resist the transformation of the country from a corrupt Oligarchy to an overt fascist police-state with rigged elections. Once that enemy is crushed and defeated, the beast will turn its eye to others – unions, teachers, and yes even Democratic Party politicians who've always been friendly to the fascist capitalist billionaires running much of the reactionary American right today.

Whether you choose to fight, hide or run, it has become crystal-clear clear to me that we are all headed towards dark days in the very near future and the only variable left to be determined is which segments of the audience reading this will be thrown onto the pyre first. What we know today as “Western Society” is blindly crashing through the kinds of barriers people who desire peace, comfort and security simply don't breech without expecting violence, bloodshed and a whole lot of rain.

Perhaps in light of all this my advice to the young leftist should be to harden oneself for the torrential downpour of violence, repression and yes death that lies ahead, regardless of whether or not you choose to resist the fascist creep. Perhaps the best thing I can offer a young person staring directly into the eye of this beast is the assurance that it is not their fault, that nobody in history has ever asked to be born into the war against fascism and that ultimately the fascists cannot win because fascism is a death cult that will eventually eat itself and has done so every single time before this one. Perhaps all I really have to share with you is the hope that in the darkness and despair that lies ahead of us you will remember my words and know that no matter how much they repress, terrorize and torture us, fantasy cannot be reality, slavery cannot be freedom and life cannot be death.

And that I think is the handle and the comfort I can offer those of you reading this who’re young enough to have a future beyond the fascist order; I have no optimism to sell you but I can make one promise that may help carry you through the bowels of the hell we are all descending into after all. It might not amount to much yet, but I promise you there will always only be four lights; no matter how many of us they murder to try and “prove” otherwise. Do not give these maggots the satisfaction of seeing your fear; know that at least some of you reading this will eventually dance on their graves and take whatever comfort you are able to, in that inevitability.

Never forget - one way, or another, the future is left.

nina illingworth

Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus. Please help me fight corporate censorship by sharing my articles with your friends online!

You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog

Updates available on Twitter, Mastodon and Facebook. Podcast at “No Fugazi” on Soundcloud.

Inquiries and requests to speak to the manager @ASNinaWrites

Chat with fellow readers online at Anarcho Nina Writes on Discord!

“It’s ok Willie; swing heil, swing heil…”

[foxymuses]

@corruptaxpoliticus​ sent: five times kissed for myc and bby jamie, under cut for length

he leaves ireland behind at fifteen, unsure if he’ll make a name for himself or simply fade into obscurity. unsure which he’d prefer. oxford isn’t a home, and he’s decidedly younger than most of his peers (another excuse to outcast himself), but academics is what he knows. academics is what he’s good at.  and he’s here on a scholarship, which means if he doesn’t turn up to class sometimes (most times), it’s not like he’s wasting money. he’s just wasting time until his age catches up to his brain.

he’s fluent in french before he even sets foot in the classroom. likes to make one appearance in the beginning to prove he exists, to prove the work he does belongs to a face. settles himself in the far back, where he won’t be in the way and hopefully pass by more or less ignored until the time is up. sets his coffee and his book on his desk, barely looks up when the professor arrives, already submerged in the text (at least his history classes are good for something; jamie’d never been able to afford these books before his professor gave each person a copy). spends the next hour or so tuned out of the ‘hi welcome to class’ nonsense, doesn’t attempt to participate, doesn’t bother to learn names or offer his. for all intents and purposes, he’s not there.

until time is up and everyone is gathering their belongings, exiting the room – the teen closes his book, downs the rest of his now-cold coffee, and stands to leave. the other professors have let him, deciding that if he chooses not to engage, they can’t force it. decide to let his grades speak for themselves (assuming he’ll fail, of course, until a few weeks later and he hands in flawless essays for the three other classes he’s enrolled in and the professors are stunned). he expects nothing else here – until he’s stopped on the way out of the room. are you going to do that every class?

jamie pulls his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, finally decides to give his professor a look. the slightest of grins turns his lips as he slides a cigarette from the pack. only the ones i come to. cigarette between his lips, and he’s done talking, out the door before he can be scolded or encouraged or whatever.

he shows up again two weeks later, settles in the same seat, with another coffee and a new book. class begins, the lesson is full swing when, perhaps to test the boy, or perhaps merely to get his attention, the man poses a question entirely in french, because surely someone who doesn’t come to class and doesn’t pay attention will have no clue what he’s said. but jamie responds on instinct, pronunciation perfect, accent crystal clear, adding in an apathetic request to leave him alone, without ever lifting his eyes from the words before him. he responds to nothing further after that, but is again, stopped on his way out of the classroom. why is he here if he speaks french fluently? couldn’t he be getting these credits from a different course?

but why should the man care? jamie’s presence will not hinder or help the man’s lesson, but his grade will make him look good at the end of term. he’s doing the man a favor, surely. another cigarette, another few steps to leave, but a final comment, simple but curious with a touch of sarcasm, has him pausing in the doorway.

at least tell me it’s a good book.

and he’s caught, because more than making people look stupid, more than coffee and wandering the countryside late at night, jamie loves to talk about books. he hesitates, considers merely saying yes and moving on, but something compels him not to be short with the first person that seems interested in his habits, and jamie finds himself giving an honest answer – it’s a great book, actually, about the way meanings of old books are lost to time due to translations lacking the words necessary to convey them as they were intended. holds the book out when the man asks to see it, leans awkwardly back against a desk trying to figure out if this professor is actually intrigued by what the book entails or if he’s just looking for an excuse to keep jamie talking. decides maybe it doesn’t really matter because the longest conversation jamie’s had since he got here was with the financial aid office explaining the stipend given to low income students (and jamie had laughed because in order to be low income, he’d have to have income in the first place) and so talking to the man about things jamie cares about hits something in the lonely teen’s heart, and that’s where it begins.

no, he doesn’t show up more often to classes. he’s got a reputation to keep, and anyway being around other students is exhausting. but he begins to appear as class ends, awkward and still gaging the level of actual interest the professor has or whether there’s a boundary jamie’s stepping over – then more confident, dropping into a desk across from the man’s with exaggerated sighs, skips the small talk to say can you believe the prompt for this essay? it’s… it’s elementary! i could’ve written about this when i was seven! and mycroft, as jamie has finally decided to learn, only has amused smiles, commentary that makes jamie rolls his eyes but somehow still feels heard, even if he casually dances around any of the hidden questions about his life that mycroft peppers into their conversations.

nothing happens that first year – not in this way. not even when, in the middle of the night, mycroft’s phone rings, a call from the hospital because jamie has no family, has no friends, and didn’t know who else to give as an emergency contact in his three minutes of consciousness from the scene of the accident to icu. not even when the man offered to let the traumatized teen stay with him for the remainder of the holiday, helped him through the nightmares and the panic attacks. nothing happened save for the man sinking deeper into the boy’s life, slipping through the cracks in the walls jamie put up to keep others out. nothing happens except that mycroft, over the first year, becomes the only person jamie treats not as a nuisance, but as an equal.

and maybe their banter has always been bordering flirtatious and neither knew, or maybe both knew and chose to ignore, but the more comfortable jamie becomes around the other, the less of a filter there is on his tongue. and when he shows up again in mycroft’s class the following fall, a class he definitely doesn’t need after he passed the first one with flying colors, there’s a shift between them. a tension that mounts as jamie sits on mycroft’s desk while the man corrects work instead of safely several meters away, chatting absently about anything that comes to mind, words slipping from small talk to lightly teasing remarks to clear flirting until jamie’s asking ever fucked a student so suddenly it leaves mycroft only able to reply with a sputtered no!?, can’t even begin to explain the level of taboo that is before jamie, as ever casual as he is but tone indicating a serious consideration, arches a brow and follows his first question with would you?

a switch flips in jamie even after mycroft gives a halfhearted ‘that would be wrong on so many levels, jamie’ lecture that the teen doesn’t listen to. he dances around the issue, never explicitly brings it up again but pokes at the man’s resolve, determined in his own way to find out for sure if mycroft is all talk.

(1)gets his chance on a day that’s taking too long, attention long since drifted from the book he’s reading in mycroft’s office, and he looks up over the pages to stare at the man, watches him grade work for a long few minutes before the man is glancing up to catch his gaze, smile on his lips as his eyes go back to the papers, some teasing remark that doesn’t register in jamie’s mind because he’s already decided, sets the book aside, is across the small room before he can stop himself, reaches out and turns the desk chair to face him and catches the what are you doing on mycroft’s tongue with his own, and jamie doesn’t even think that mycroft immediately rejecting this is an option because they both know it never was, the way the man responds without thinking, pulling the teen closer, and for a moment reality fades away because they both know they wanted this, that maybe they’ve wanted this far longer than they realized, and –

reality crashes back down hard, and in a breath of clarity the man is pushing the teen away, and after a long second of light eyes staring into dark ones, the man is kicking jamie out, and jamie’s not deaf to the lack of anger in the man’s tone, doesn’t fight about it now because he has his answer. just picks up his book and his pack, pauses in the door way with an innocent smile thrown over his shoulder, a casual, see you in class, professor echoing in the office as he closes the door behind him.

things escalate rapidly from there.

oh sure, it doesn’t happen again right away, but jamie is there in class at the start of the week, but this time his book remains in his bag, mischief written clear across his face as he asks questions through the lesson, questions he and mycroft both know he knows the answer to, demands the man’s attention just because he can. because he wants to see what mycroft will do. what the kiss has done. and yeah, he doesn’t hang around to talk after class, but offers a farewell in way of hope you had a good weekend.

(2)in fact it takes several weeks of palpable tension, of carefully kept distance between them, of deliberate teasing and blatant comments before things boil over, and it’s not jamie this time that decides to throw caution to the wind after a remark causes arched brows and a sly grin from the teen who has resumed his position on the desk across from where mycroft is leaning against his own and it’s a good thing it’s after hours on a friday because the door is wide open when the man can’t take it anymore, pushing off from the desk with such purpose that when his lips connect with the teen’s, jamie has to grab desperately to the man’s shirt to keep from slipping from the desk and dragging them both to the floor.

whatever remains of the line is almost crossed entirely because neither can stop, neither wants to stop, but jamie’s freeing one hand to lean back on the desk to give himself better stability, and accidentally knocking his half drunk coffee to the floor, and the low shit that falls from his lips could be from breaking the moment, could be from how breathless he is, or could just be because he doesn’t want to clean up the mess. and once more jamie is being told to leave, but softer this time, accompanied by the man saying he’ll stay to clean up, it was his fault to begin with. and jamie hesitates, opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t have time before mycroft is telling him again, go, and jamie knows from the man’s tone that it’s not because he wants jamie to leave, but because he doesn’t, and if jamie stays, there might not be a coffee to stop them from erasing the line completely.

exams, assignments, grading consume them shortly after – school actually acts as school for once, keeping both student and teacher too busy for much, and even in the moments tucked in the safety of mycroft’s flat are spent in exhausted peace, the man having to deal with last minute begging for extra credit and the teen working his way through three lengthy essays. once, jamie catches mycroft watching him as he works through handwriting his second essay (because the poor don’t have internet, and even though mycroft offers his laptop, jamie declines, preferring the authenticity of handwriting and real paper), looks up from his work to give his wrist a break, switching his pen to the other hand with intent to resume writing, but sees the man studying him.

(3) and jamie tries to hold down a smirk as he returns his attention to his notebook, though he fails miserably. exclaims, firmly but amused, a hint of longing underneath, don’t. because if jamie lets mycroft pull him from the paper, jamie may never return to it. and the man just gives a laugh, resumes his own work before, after some time, standing to figure out something for dinner, if not for himself but the younger who never seems to eat enough. leaves jamie to his paper in the study scribbling intently, returning only several minutes later to present jamie with his options, only to find the teen passed out in the chair he’d claimed, pen still in his fingers. jamie doesn’t see the fond smile that pulls at mycroft’s lips as he gently lifts the pen and notebook from jamie’s lap, retrieves a spare blanket and drops it over the boy before pressing a soft kiss to his head.

jamie is still asleep when mycroft goes to bed himself, and he falls asleep wondering if he should’ve woken jamie up to offer the bed, only to be awoken several hours later by the smell of coffee and a notebook falling onto his chest as jamie drops unceremoniously onto the bed beside him, mug of caffeine shaking dangerously over the covers, already wired, gesturing to the notebook with a grin. a grin that says he’s done. he has no further obligations and therefore no reason to not be distracted by whatever the man feels like doing. he may or may not be on his fourth cup of coffee since he woke up at four am, using the fact it was dark and the man was sleeping to fuel his motivtation to finish his work, the last work of the semester.

and jamie doesn’t need to make it obvious what he thinks they should be doing now, but the only response he gets from mycroft is a still half asleep laugh as the man removes the notebook from his chest, handing it back to the younger with an excuse that he needs to wake up first. and jamie, though he sighs loudly, knows that they have more than just all day --- they have all winter holiday. if mycroft hasn’t learned by now how impishly persistent jamie can be, well. the next few weeks will be plenty of time for him to realize.

it would be easy to list all the kisses that follow, from the privacy of mycroft’s flat over winter break to the more guiltily stolen around campus, the man grappling with the weight of the situation the longer it continues, the deeper in he gets, despite jamie’s insistence that it’s not a big deal. it would be easy to explain how comfortable jamie finds mycroft, how nobody has ever wanted him around before and now he feels seen, how he’s been lonely his whole goddamn life and now he finds he can sleep peacefully through the night as long as he’s curled up in the man’s arms, how right this feels, how it could be the real thing, how much he sees mycroft struggling between what’s right and what he wants and wishes he wasn’t so selfish so he could tell mycroft it’s okay if he wants to end it, but god jamie doesn’t know what he’d do without the man, how he’d survive, how much he’d break.

so it would be easy to describe the summer before jamie’s third and final year, the carefree days and hot nights, the freedom that came with no obligations, that came from being mycroft and jamie, no lines or boundaries to cross or worry about. just tangled sheets and pretending the future wasn’t coming at them far too fast for them to brace.

(4) instead, focus on the kiss that happens a week before the fall term begins, a kiss hiding a cruel decision, all laughs and smiles through the day that shift into something more serious, something almost somber as lips meet in something that tastes like regret, tastes like farewell, a hint of desperation, of apology mixing with desire as the younger is pressed into the mattress, movements softer, more careful, like they’re learning all over again, taking their time. existing the moment and the moment only.

focus on the anger that fills the flat the next day. the shouting, the accusations, the blame that turns into cold silence as dorms open once more and students begin returning to the campus. focus on the world around jamie shattering because how could he think mycroft was different, how stupid he was to think he’s worth anyone to anything, how foolish he’d been to let himself be used like that.

focus on how only a few weeks into the semester, jamie sulks into the class that he doesn’t need, the class he signed up for before the storm hit and now can no longer drop, wearing sunglasses despite being indoors, long sleeves despite it being one of the hottest days of the year. focus on how he doesn’t talk to mycroft, and how mycroft doesn’t stop him from leaving after class is over, and how the next time jamie decides to show up, sunglasses can’t hide his split lip, the way he is careful with each breath he takes, and how mycroft spends the entire class trying to figure out if he should ask about it except that halfway through the lesson jamie walks out, so the man never gets the chance.

focus on how winter break begins again, and jamie hasn’t shown up because he’s not about to stay at mycroft’s, and didn’t file the paperwork to stay in his dorm in time because of a foolish hope so he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go when the cold settles in – focus on him trapped in a bad situation that has mycroft’s phone ringing in the middle of the night again, because jamie still has him listed as an emergency contact, and how he, for the second time, is rushing to the hospital because jamie’s attempt to be ‘normal’ like mycroft wanted for him resulted in a couple broken ribs that punctured a lung and the danger isn’t in jamie surviving the injury but in the fact that he has to go back to the guy who gave it to him in the first place or else he’s sleeping on the street until mycroft is taking him home with no room for complaints because this isn’t what he meant, jamie, why do you only seek out things that will destroy you in the end?

it doesn’t magically repair itself overnight (the lung or the relationship), and much of the first portion of winter break is spent in tense silence, glares and clenched jaws that refuse to do anything, even eat, until jamie is cracking under the pressure and breaking down and mycroft spends the second half of winter break trying to apologize for something he doesn’t want to be sorry for because he does believe jamie deserves better, but damn if he doesn’t want to be there for him.

but graduation is approaching, and even amidst the healing that they’re working through, something in jamie is broken now. the light in his eyes during the past summer has faded, his gaze lifted from his books to the future he doesn’t have despite what mycroft keeps trying to tell him, his only plan to drop everything and run once the term is done – once jamie is no longer a student but just another name lost amongst the rest.

(5) and he attends graduation at mycroft’s insistence, watching as friends and family celebrate together while he stands uncertain in the shadows. returns to his dorm to pack what little belongs to him into a bag, gets stopped on the way out of the building by the man come to offer his congratulations. jamie’s eighteen now, no longer one of mycroft’s students, and he should feel hopeful that maybe something could work between them now but instead he feels empty. a few soft words, careful and vague, and jamie goes to move by the other, a last-minute decision having him pause as he brushes by mycroft, has him turning, pressing a soft kiss to the man’s lips, doesn’t care if someone could see because what does it matter now? has it ever mattered? (it has)

a moment of hesitation, where a gaze tries to fix everything that has gone wrong, before jamie shifts his backpack and continues out the door without a word, leaving mycroft standing in the dim stairwell, watching the other disappear into the wind, stuck wondering if this could ever have ended differently and knowing it couldn’t.

[persuasiveessayexamples303]

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[nextgensquad]

headcanon: finnigans

A very self-indulgent (though sorta requested) post about my Finnigan kids, because I couldn’t fit them into that reply:

In September 1997, a small group of frightened but angry teenagers met in the Room of Requirement. Most of them had been members of Dumbledore’s Army two years previously, although there were a few new faces, mostly close friends of those old members, for the word had been passed around as quietly as possible. 

Other faces were missing. Some had finished their school years and left Hogwarts behind. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were out there somewhere, nobody knew where. Others were simply... not there. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Dean Thomas. The Creevey brothers. Muggleborns, all of them.

In one corner, a half-whispered argument was taking place. Anthony Goldstein furiously protesting at a younger girl, also in Ravenclaw robes, small and dark-haired, who was glaring daggers back at him while his friends looked on uncomfortably.

‘What’s going on? What’s the matter with you lot?’ Neville Longbottom--who, with Ginny Weasley, had called the meeting--demanded.

Goldstein swung round towards him.

‘Look, Longbottom, tell her she can’t be here! She won’t listen to me.’

Neville looked at the girl, whom he didn’t remember ever seeing before. 

‘Why? Who is she?’

‘My sister!’ Goldstein said furiously. ‘And she’s too young.’

‘You don’t get to decide that,’ the girl said.

‘Yes, I do! This isn’t a game, Leah--it’s real and dangerous. We could get into serious trouble just for being here right now. Longbottom, tell her.’

Neville was not sure how he had become an authority figure, and he didn’t want to interfere in someone else’s family, but the girl did look young. 

‘Look--Leah, right? I mean, I get that you want to help, but...’

‘I’m the same year as Dennis Creevey,’ the girl interrupted. ‘You let him in last time.’

‘That was different...’

‘Yeah, I know it’s different. Dennis isn’t even here--he’s my friend, and I don’t even know if he’s safe, or what they’ve done to him. I’m not a kid, I know what’s going on. I want to help my friends. I’m not just going to sit here and watch!’

‘How old are you?’ Ginny Weasley asked from beside Neville.

‘Fifteen.’

‘Fourteen,’ Anthony put in.

‘Nearly fifteen.’

Ginny looked at Neville. 

‘Same age as me when we fought at the Ministry.’ She turned back to Leah Goldstein. ‘How about this? You can stay for the meeting, but if we end up doing dangerous shit, you’ve got to be far away from it. Okay?’

----

Seamus Finnigan and Leah Goldstein met while fighting in the Hogwarts resistance, but they didn’t get together until the war had been over six years. Seamus was back in Ireland, training--after a number of false starts at other things--as a magical architect, and Leah was in her final year of Auror training, along with her friend Dennis Creevey. Both of them had, for reasons too long to tell here, sworn off love and romance, and it took them nearly a year--and, in Leah’s case, a night of drunken soul-searching with Dennis--to do anything about it, but, eighteen months later, Seamus proposed and Leah said yes.

They moved to Belfast, and Leah transferred to the Northern Irish Auror Office, where four pregnancies over the next ten years didn’t stop the progression of her career. She was made Senior Auror the year her fourth--and last--child was born, and in 2021 became Head of the Belfast Office. It was Seamus who stayed at home with the children when they were little, and neither of them has ever regretted that.

----

The oldest is Ira. A charmer from the moment he could smile, with eyes like caramel, an infectious laugh, and a brain he doesn’t exactly try to hide, but which it’s too much effort to show all the time. The laziest of Ravenclaws, Ira Finnigan frustrates his teachers by doing no work in class all term, then producing a brilliant, nuanced essay, apparently pulled out of nowhere. He gets the best grades in his year, but laughs it off when people call him clever, and slides away from all talk about the future.

He’s seventeen when he realises that he’s bisexual, and has a quiet crisis before coming to terms with it, although it’s a year or so until he comes out to his family. He is one of only two people who can claim to have had sex with two of the Weasley-Potter clan, though--Louis Weasley the summer Ira finishes Hogwarts, and Lily Potter about eighteen months later. It’s the source of mild embarrassment for two out of the three of them. 

Despite outward appearances, Ira takes quite a responsible view of life, and does his best to look out for his younger siblings. He’s the same year as Molly and Roxanne Weasley, and fairly good friends with them, especially after his best friend starts going out with Molly. 

--

Second comes Padraig, as laid-back about life as Ira but without the sensible streak. Padraig also prefers to do as little work as possible, but, unlike his older brother, can’t get away with doing so and still get good grades--not that he cares too much. 

Padraig is one of Lucy Weasley’s inner circle, which means that in his third year he gets reluctantly recruited to her theatre club and turns out to be a surprisingly good actor (though he never will remember all his lines). He has friends in all the houses, but his best friend is fellow-Gryffindor Artemis Magorian, with whom he is joined at the hip (their friends never can work out whether there’s anything romantic going on between Padraig and Artemis, but they act like a married couple). 

He has a typical Gryffindor disregard for authority and rules, loves having fun and smoking weed, and is utterly lacking in any type of ambition--post-Hogwarts he’ll end up in Lucy’s theatre troupe, and working in the Leaky Cauldron to make ends meet.

--

Benjamin, known as Benji, is number three, and can’t keep up with either Ira’s brains or Padraig’s mischief. He works hard, but he hasn’t got it in him to excel academically, and sometimes he feels a little bit left-behind and over-looked. His main passion in life is food--both cooking it and eating it. 

He’s part of a Hufflepuff trio, the other two being Solomon Thomas and Finn Creevey, and although Seamus and Leah don’t have favourites, he’s his mum’s baby boy. That’s pretty much all I’ve got on Benji.

--

At the tail end of the family comes the only girl, the one-and-only Nessa Finnigan. A little goblin with masses of blonde hair she never does anything with other than tie out of the way, Nessa likes high speeds and danger, and has almost no sense of self-preservation.

She forms part of the Scamander twins’ group of friends--Gryffindor with Lysander--although her best friend is Esme Creevey, and the two make a lethal combination. They have no idea when to stop, and if they, Lysander and Alfie Cattermole are in the same place, chaos will inevitably follow. 

She’s currently twelve in my writing, but there will definitely be more to come from Nessa.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Comfort is coming (YG x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, College/University AU

Pairing: Student!Yoongi x Student!Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Hard academic labour deserves to be rewarded with a treat every once in a while. For example, with holding a marathon of a favourite series while eating a tub of ice cream.

And the unsuspected company in the form of the silent force under the same roof. 

There are times when life is hard, when it knows periods wherein every single thing that is normally so ordinary now forms an extraordinary addition to the amalgamation of educational stress. Each day is filled with nothing but typing on the flat slightly illuminated keyboard of the matte silver MacBook filled with academic files, hoping to finish that close reading essay that was thought of too easily, when a heavily caffeinated mind is not occupied by trying to process every bit of information eyes framed by glass absorb from paper. It always is the same song and yet its dance can never be learned.

Day in, day out.

Sigh after sigh.

Nevertheless, they pass, eventually, invoking feelings of tremendous relief, mental devastation and exhausted defeat to flow throughout a learning being again and again. Today is one of those moments in which this memorable potion is drunk after completing the deadline and cramping up with pain inflicted by ink in a most powerful tool and chaotic panic at not understanding the capability of the human intellect despite cramming hours on end.

The leather bag is thrown onto the floor at the entrance of the apartment shared with a silent stoic raven-haired force who composes music in the hush habitual to the residence, headphones always on in the bedroom functioning more as a studio even when nobody is home. In fact, it is not unlikely to think the padding of toes merely clad in socks goes unnoticed, the noise-isolating padding tuning them out immediately after removing nightly black and crisp white Adidas sneakers in the tiny entryway and putting them into the shoe closet next to the entrance. 

It is not minded since it is part of the routine, the only moments of really enjoying each other’s company being dinner and occasional mutual trips to the supermarket to stock up for the coming week. Lunch is never shared because either party picks up something in the cafeteria of the university building they have to be for a seminar or lecture or somewhere in the big concrete jungle, alone or with a friend. Breakfast is also rarely a moment of true friendship, Yoongi skipping it on a daily basis yet always nagging the curiously accepted housemate when there is a risk of giving into the same habit. It has gotten to the point of being forced to wait until the musician finishes his characteristic double espresso and preparing a decent enough meal for one likely running late for class whenever the scenario presents itself, nonchalantly blocking the way in every instance feet try to slip away from the scene to crack on or sending empty threats behind a turned back.

Although, in hindsight, the same happens in the event of dinner and not feeling too hungry if at all.

Withal, skipping a meal will have to be excused for the day because when bone tired limbs have exchanged the complicated outfit - consisting of onyx leggings matching the same-toned dress underneath a denim jacket and above knee-height light brown leather boots - for dusk-shaded Puma sweatpants and a plain ivory V-neck shirt, nothing will be done anymore. Bare feet crawl under the alabaster thick sheets after wrapping them in the blanket coloured in a murky earth and mossy tone, moonlight-shaded MacBook opened to the downloaded Game of Thrones episodes the quiet strangely kind power roaming the same house shared by email at accidentally discovering a mutual love for the series during a boring lecture, sharing earphones to watch season one painfully unfold all over again because, apparently, Yoongi had just started it.

And, although already having seen the first few batches that were sent by digital means before illegally online, they nevertheless bring a grateful smile to tired lips each time because it is due to this sharing of documents a splendid opportunity has been steadily formed to indulge in a marathon to withdraw from the world in silent celebration of a liberation from stress.

However, it would appear the musician has stopped watching recently since conversations have led more often to forbidding giving any spoilers for season four and further. Though, when asking to brand new seasons bought on DVD on the hard drive to add to the little nerdy collection on the bedside table also functioning as a headboard, Yoongi gladly rips the files and sends them over email thus adding both to the personal collection and that of a soul glad for the kindness in spite of the more stranding chit chats since there have not been many moments of bonding since moving in four months ago. Other than the series, there is little to talk about that which has been discovered as common interest let alone bond over and both working and hanging out with different people besides the study does also not greatly help in forming a deeper meaning to the fragile friendship.

Just as a comfortable position is taken up and noise-cancelling white headphones put on, a digit hovering above the touchpad for the cursor to start from the very beginning of the visual version of “A Song of Ice and Fire”, a dimly audible knock is followed by an immediate opening of the door to the private haven. Obviously disregarding the polite pause to wait for consent, Yoongi stands on the threshold, bangs as dark as ink covering a pale forehead and the light skin of the resident stoic silent force further accentuated by the overall casual outfit of ripped jeans and a T-shirt that could blend easily into the shadows. ‘Judging by your appearance, I wager it’s either that time of the month again where you get grumpy at me for no good reason and act like a drama queen or you just made your exams and deadlines.’

‘Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be composing or something? You normally ignore me until before dinner.’ The constraints on hearing are removed while eyes wander to the bright green slightly translucent plastic convenience store bag held by bony skillful fingers, light up at registering what the item within it is and seeing a comforting sympathetic curve on lips having lost every sense of mocking when looking back at the unexpected visitor. ‘Why the ice cream?’

‘I never ignore you, Y/N. I know I don’t say much and we don’t have much of a relationship, but ever since you’ve been here I’ve had no choice but to observe you on a daily basis, looking as shabby a-’ An offended palm lashes out as the flatmate sits down on the edge of the mattress - a bed frame a disturbance to the overall minimalist aesthetic - on the cedar floor and puts the bag down, the sharp slap of skin on skin resonating in the temporary hush. The hit has a deceivingly powerful impact because a red outline already begins to form and makes the baffled young man cover it protectively in the instant the imprint is noticed. ‘What the- Y/N! What the hell?’

‘That’s for calling me shabby. It’s not, it’s comfy.’ The pout in which the last statement is made returns clear amusement with a caring undertone to the other’s shocked expression. The digits reaching out to pat locks depicting the aftermath of academic stress are swatted away, arms crossing in defiance afterwards while an unforgiving glare holds a warning strengthening the one made in a voice that cannot sound entirely angry due to the gratefulness towards the pale onyx-haired lad for checking up on an exhausted somewhat friend. ‘Don’t touch me. I’ll bite your fingers off if you try again.’

‘Fine. Here I was, thinking I’d cheer you up with the ice cream you always buy when you’re like this, but apparently, it isn’t appreciated. Guess I’ll give it to Joon or Jimin, instead.’ An attempt at getting up is made yet stopped directly by apologetic palms at the ends of uncrossed arms clad in too long sleeves, a tug on the wrist asking to return while also not being able to help but glance longingly at the icy cinnamon roll treat that threatens to leave alongside the present company. ‘Oh, so now you want it, huh?’

‘I’m sorry, if that’s what you want to hear.’ Albeit reluctantly, an apology for the defiance is given, knowing full well the playful mocking attitude of the fellow student though personal pride was still damaged at being called badly composed style-wise.

‘You’re forgiven. Look, I’ve gotten to know your personality through actions. In university, you’re the independent hard-working calm girl while at home you’re one giant ball of stress who’ll get frustrated with deadlines again the day following a bit of rest. But it is days like this one that you’re happy and it’s annoyingly rubbing off on me.’ The tub in the plastic bag is put in the lap covered by the thick alabaster duvet. ‘Making me want to see you be a little content hermit. Here, eat up and relax. You’ve earned it.’

Brows furrow in played confusion, teasing like him howbeit in retaliation for the insult earlier in spite of the oddly satisfying confession at not being a mere invisible force like the musician. ‘How am I supposed to eat this without a spoon?’

A contemplating nod, acknowledging the treat cannot be enjoyed without otherwise and should have been brought along from the beginning. ‘Right... I’ll get you one.’

‘Can you make it two?’

‘What?’ The surprise at the request raises the indifferent husky voice by a few tones.

‘I can’t eat this all by myself, though. So, do you-’ Doubtful irises shift from the favourite ice cream to the screen, awkwardly moving on the mattress thanks to the self-made constraints on wrapped feet, and back to Yoongi whose expression briefly transforms into characteristic stoicism before showing a ghost of a rare gummy smile. ‘Do you want to watch Game of Thrones with me?’

‘Sure. Which season, though?’

‘Three. Where are you?’

Sheepishly, the creative genius rubs the back of the neck in obvious hesitance to admit something. Regardless, as always, what needs to be said, is said is as serious a tone as possible. ‘I’ve kinda forgotten since I think I stopped halfway. Although, I’ve seen the Red-’

‘We. Do. Not! Talk about The Red Wedding.’ An accusing finger rises in offence at bringing up the sensitive subject about a most traumatic and tragic event in Westeros. ‘Not a single word more about it, Min Yoongi.’

‘I forgot how immersed you are in the series.’ A roll of the eyes goes accompanied by an amused sigh as palms plant themselves on hips and a headshake emphasizes the entertainment at the, perhaps, too extravagant reaction. ‘Alright, I’ll shut up. You start up the point from which you want to watch, but no further than the event we just spoke about, and I’ll get the spoons. So you can shovel the ice cream in.’

‘One more degrading comment and I’ll have your head!’ The empty threat is shrugged off by the leaving flatmate who has always laughed off these types of statements, either frustratingly coaxing more out or merely mumbling something along the terms of being cute which, in turn, raises more protest that, again, gets treated in the same manner. It is a viscous endless circle.

‘Who are you? Geoffrey Baratheon?’ A smug glance over the shoulder invites a new discussion that on one hand wants to be held while, on the other, the aftermath of educational stress does not allow it.

Henceforth, it is hoped to be ended with a final deciding futile violent phrasing. ‘I will be if you don’t get the bloody spoons.’

A reflecting tilt of the head, raven locks partially covering up the devious expression of the annoying yet beloved musician. ‘Maybe Cersei.’

‘Go.’ The command comes out between gritted teeth, absolutely done with the subject and too eager to attack the tub of cinnamon roll goodness before it is all melted.

‘As my lady commands.’

Vaguely in the distance sounds the barely audible padding of bare feet towards the kitchen after the flatmate has left the room, leaving a small crack in the door in the wake filled with endeavours at soothing kindness. Although it might mean inherently nothing, the tight grip on the edge of the warm duvet cannot be helped as the heart flutters with innocent joyous sentiments bordering on a deeper version of themselves. Especially when Sense comes in to calculate the outcome of the sum of caring behaviours and recalled mental transcripts of past conversations, however trivial, alongside the little gestures in the studying composer’s absence in the form of song recommendations on post-it notes or sharing earbuds inconspicuously during boring lectures or seminars to listen to the same song.

The clinking of the cutlery drawer being searched, looking for the right spoons.

The sound of a metal wave when the loud impact of the momentum makes the insides shake in unison when it is being slammed shut despite the mechanism ensuring a gentle closing.

Returning bare toes underneath a delighted sliver of a grin as slim pianist fingers present the retrieved items, one of them handed over with a broad smile that is glad to see the eagerness with which it is accepted and the tub opened to attack immediately.

Once more Yoongi strikes down on the edge of the mattress but this time to look for a comfortable position to sit in and getting incredibly close while doing so. It is not unusual to be fairly intimate during educational hours, but this is a whole new sort as the onyx-haired man tries to secure a seat just in front of the night table functioning as a headboard, thus placing an utterly confused girl between black pepper and ink scented legs. ‘Scoot over. And don’t you dare eat that whole tub by yourself. You always get me worried for your health when you do. I enjoy seeing you eat, but you shouldn’t overdo it.’

‘It’s only 360 calories and I’m an adult. I can do what I want.’ Awkwardly, an attempt is made at putting a bit of distance between bodies by trying to ease into a lying position next to the curiously intimate flatmate so that only shoulders touch.

However, the composer does not allow it and makes use of the clumsy unbalanced shuffling to pull the spine flush against a soft warm chest, locking the captured party by grabbing the laptop from the side and placing it on top of the two-person lap which has just been created and locking ankles in place after rearranging the warm sheets to cover both parties.

Both friends.

Or more, though that remains to be seen when the confusion will be explained by the course of Time.

As if nothing unusual has happened, blatantly ignoring burning ashamed crimson cheeks, the cursor flies over the screen to start up one of the episodes without knowing the exact point from which an original beginning of the marathon wanted to be made. ‘Where do we start?’

Hands still wrapped about the cinnamon ice cream carton, spoon balanced between nimble fingers, grab the treat a little bit harder to calm down while speech clearly portrays being affected by the sudden show of closeness. ‘Season three, episode- no, wait. Season one, episode one.’

The best way to remember all that has transpired in the politics of Westeros after escaping the realm for a while is to watch the game of thrones unfold all over again despite almost being able to recite every scene by heart. ‘That’s where we’ll start.’

‘I think I still rec-‘ The considering protest is broken off by a spoonful of cinnamon ice cream from the rapidly opened carton box, tired of having to wait to finally kick back and relax in, apparently, good human company.

‘Shut up, Lannister, and just start the series.’ The nicknames from the houses each individual supposedly belongs to have become a sort of inside joke to refer to one another and it would be a lie to say it was not missed in rare actual conversations. It brings back the memories of that first moment of watching this exact same beginning to the turbulent fantastical political chaos, huddled together while plainly ignoring the professor talking about a subject undoubtedly important for the exam but which at the time did not matter whatsoever. Perfectly content watching the battle for The Iron Throne unfold and taking a quiz to figure out where one would be in Westeros was it the real world.

The topic of the lecture did matter, as would be discovered, for the close reading.

‘Okay, fine, Tully, we can still cha-’ Another icy bite cuts Yoongi off again before irises return to the screen and a weary head lies down on the top side of a cushiony stomach in splendid delight, eating ice cream while regarding a bloody imaginary history.

Winter is coming.

But comfort is already here.

[imaginesmai]

Marco Ilso- You’ve got my heart

This was requested by lovely @recklesslonelyblond. She’s a fantastic girl with even better ideas. If you like Lucifer (Tom Ellies) she’s writting about it. Take a look!

I’ve tried to make it as similar to your request as I could, but it was a little too long! Anyway, I’ve enjoyed writting this a lot, and I’m pretty happy with the result (it’s the longest I’ve every written!). I hope you like it!

Plot: Marco is your best friend, your neighbour and your crush. One night at your house changes everything for the best; but you’ve taken different paths and life might never reunite you again.

Warning: mid-smut, and SO MUCH FLUFF, maybe a tiny bit of angst but, if you read me usually, it’s nothing (i’ve done much worse than this)

For the fourth time that afternoon, your pencil broke; and you had to gather all your patience to avoid shouting to hell and back. With a deep breath, you started your essay again; why should we choose you to get in our university. It was a stupid draft, and you really didn’t want to do it; because the only thing you could say about yourself was that you liked to chill with your best friend in your sofa and wait in the shadows until he notices your almost invisible advances. Yeah, you were good at that. You had been doing it for the past eighteen years. Besides that, you could stutter to death and blush until you were as red as your blood. Oh, and you knew by heart all the things that Marco liked, too. Something you should probably avoid if you wanted to enter in college.

The annoying ring of your bell made you sigh; it was obvious that no one in your family was going to get it, as they all knew it was the blonde sweet guy looking for you. You got up from your desk and went down the stairs, only to find Marco closing the door already.

-          Why did you rang? -you asked, waiting for him in the middle of the stairs. -You have a key.

-          I wanted to let you know I’m coming -he smiled, and you swore your knees shook. -If I don’t, then your mother might kick my ass.

-          That’s not true.

-          It is! I’ve scared her a few times. -he said, walking up the stairs.

-          Because no one enters in a foreign home at three a.m., Marco!

-          Can’t I see my best friend whenever I want? -he placed a swift kiss to your head before heading to your room. -You better have food, I’m dying Y/N.

Marco was everything you weren’t; outgoing while you spent Friday’s night watching a movie. Smart while all you did was get good grades with hard-work. Talkative though you preferred to stay quiet and go unnoticed. So it was a surprise when in high-school you were still friends. It was like a cheesy teen movie, where the popular guy falls in love with the nerd girl; except that this time the popular guy wasn’t an asshole and the nerd girl was the only one falling in love.

-          Sometimes, I do wonder, do you have a home? -you said, walking into your room to see Marco laying in your bed. -Do they love you there, Marco?

-          I don’t think so, but thanks God I’ve got you bambi. -you scoffed at the nickname; seeing that he was much taller than you, he had started calling you that since he met you.

You had met Marco when you were just six and were starting school. He was two years older than you, but he took upon himself to be your protector. You were neighbours, so he walked you to school every day, took you back and played with you always. And God help anyone who tried to mess with the Ilso’s friends, because that family could for sure make someone life hell. While your families were best friends and had keys of each other’s houses, you and Marco had a special relationship.

-          Besides, Nick has all his friends in the living room, and mum is harassing them from the kitchen, like a proper stalker. -he scoffed. -So I thought, why not hide here?

-          I was doing things. -you said, sitting in your chair.

-          You can just do me, bambi. -he winked at you. It was a joke, but how you wished it wasn’t.

-          I don’t think Becca is okay with that. -you replied, thinking about his current girl. -I haven’t seen her in weeks.

-          Me neither. She could be in another country for all I care, what a nightmare. -he talked about other of his numerous girls. -What were you doing?

-          The essay. -you didn’t say anything else, as he knew what you were talking about.

-          Why is taking you so long? It’s not that hard!

-          It is when I have to fill five sheets explaining why should they pick me instead of much more prepared people, Marco. -you said.

-          There are a lot of things to say about you, Y/N. -he sat in bed. -I could fill you a hundred sheets.

Without any other word, he lifted you with ease from your chair and sat you on his lap. Marco ignored your blushing cheeks and started writing; he hated that you couldn’t see the good things about yourself, and he was more than happy to help you to do it. Neither of you noticed, but if anyone saw you, would have realised that you were more than friends.

-          Let’s see, what do you have to talk about? -he asked, with his hand on your tight. – Your personality or academic facts?

-          Both of them. -you said. -They want to know what I like and I don’t, and what I’m like too. And about my grades and that shit.

-          “Hi, I’m Y/N and I love stalking famous actors on the Internet” -he said with a high-pitched voice.

-          That’s not true! -you said laughing. -Come on, Marco. This is serious.

Marco started making a list with things you liked and not; then, he took a new sheet and wrote down good things about yourself, and the only thing you could do was to love more your best friend.

-          You’re funny and know how to make anyone’s day better. -he said, writing it down. -Also, you are always smiling and looking for the good things in bad situations.

-          I’m pretty negative, Marco. -you said, having found your place with your head in his neck.

-          Nah, you’re not. You always make me want to keep going. -he gave you a short wink. -You are responsible and care about everybody.

-          Responsible? -you frowned. -I forgot about Ken the other day in Walmart.

-          First, my brother was lost. -he laughed.- Second, if it wasn’t for you caring about me, I would probably be in a ditch somewhere right now.

-          I’m-

-          Intelligent too. -he interrupted, writing. -You know too many historical facts.

-          That’s because I spend Friday’s night watching films, Marco. Do you want to write that too?

-          There is nothing bad with that. -he shrugged. -Even if I would like for you to come with me to parties, I like you just the way you are bambi.

You smiled sadly; he liked you, but as a friend. He didn’t share those feeling with you, didn’t mean all those words he said. What you didn’t know, was that in his head he was hoping secretly that you would get the hint.

Spending a whole day with Marco was exhausting, but when night arrived you had already finished you essay. Your parents had gone only God know where, and that left you and your best friend alone for the night. Marco loved those nights when it was just the two of you, and secretly, enjoyed them more than Friday’s nights. Sure, they were good, but watching a film with you and eating junk food was much better. That’s what you did; you ordered pizza and put a film that neither of you were watching, too focused on the conversation you were having.

-          Have you written your essay? -you asked, changing the subject. You were sitting on the floor, between Marco’s legs as he combed your hair.

-          About that. -he let out an awkward laugh. Marco was supposed to start collage two years ago, but he didn’t know what to do until that year. -I’ve meaning to tell you something since I came here today.

-          I’m not writing it. -you sighed, knowing that he could ask you and you would do it. -It’s not some homework, Marco, it’s something important.

-          I know, Bambi. -he pulled you softly at your hair. -It’s… not about that.

-          Then? -you turned around to look at him, and for a few seconds the forgotten film was the only thing you could hear in the living room.

A soft sight left his lips; it hurt him physically to tell you that, and you weren’t making it any easier. Placed between his legs, you were looking at him with such adoration and care that the only thing he wanted to do was to pack you in a box.

-          I’m leaving. -if the film would have been any louder, you wouldn’t have heard him; but you did.

-          What? -you frowned.

-          Yesterday I got the letter from Danish National School of Performing Arts. I’m… I’m in, bambi. -he let out a little laugh. -They want me in.

-          When did you applied for that?

-          A few months ago.

-          And you didn’t think of telling me?

-          I didn’t think I would get in, Y/N! -he said. -It’s such an important school.

-          Did your family know?

-          Of course, wh-

-          Am I not important enough for you, Marco?

Before you knew it, you two were deep into an argument; he was trying to make you see that it was not such a big deal, but you thought he should have said something. Because that school was far away from your home, and you knew what happened to friends that were away for too long. You didn’t want that for you two, you wanted a happy life with him.

-          That’s why I didn’t tell you, Y/N! -he shouted, running a hand through his messy hair. -You always overreact with things like this. Maybe I should have just left without saying anything.

His words hit you like a truck; could he really leave you like that? And you thought that he had a reason to say goodbye to his parents, to his friends and even to Becca, because they all had a special relationship with him. But for Marco, you were the friendly neighbour. Not his girlfriend, the girl he liked or his family, just his best friend.

-          You know the way out, Marco. -you got up, turning the TV off. -I’m going to bed.

-          Come on, Y/N. Don’t be like this.

-          Just-you know, forget it. -you said.

Marco couldn’t say anything else as you walked up the stairs in silence. Closing the door behind you, you fell into your bed like a dead weight, and hugged your pillow close to you. Maybe you were overreacting, yeah. But Marco was your only friend, your confident and the man you dreamed about. Thinking about him gone wasn’t a possibility until just minutes ago, where he had destroyed every dream you could have. Because who hasn’t imagined themselves with the love of their lives? You knew how you wanted to name your children, what house you wanted and when were you going to marry; with Marco, of course. It seemed that none of your dreams were going to happen.

It was quiet in your home for a while, and you really thought that Marco had left. You had cried too much over him; every time he got a girlfriend, when he asked for advice about how to get the girl he liked… So you just felt numb, with some tears running down your cheeks. If it had been any other person, you would have been scared, because feeling a sudden weight in your bed is disturbing. But you knew by heart Marco’s smell and steps, so you weren’t surprised when he laid in bed with you and pulled you close to him. Your back was against his chest, and one of his legs pulled you closer, so that it seemed that he was englufing you. Still, he didn’t say anything.

-          I’m happy for you. -you said, enjoying the silence in your house and his arms around you. -It’s a big opportunity and you’re going to smash it.

-          They are all rich boys. -he sighed. -I hope that none of their feet’s stink.

-          That’s what you’re worried about? -you let out a little laugh.

-          Can you imagine living with someone who has stinky feet? It troubles me to no end.

-          Or someone who is a cleaning obsess. -you turned so that your faces were inches apart. -You can’t be such a mess them.

-          God, I hope not. -he smiled, touching your nose with his. -I should have said something earlier, I’m sorry bambi. It’s just- Y/N, you’re the most important person in my life, I didn’t want to upset you.

-          Marco, it’s your dream. -you blushed, aware of his breath in your lips. -I’m going to support you no matter what.

-          I’m going to miss you a lot. -he said, putting a hand behind your head. -Promise me you won’t forget about me.

-          This will be our best summer, I promise. -you touched the little scrub on his jaw. -I will call you every day, and I will visit you whenever I can.

-          Can I kiss you? -he said in a low whisper, looking down at your lips.

You didn’t know how, but you ended up with your lips just an inch away from him. His soft breath was hitting your mouth, and your noses were touching. You could see his beautiful eyes with just the light of the moon, and his hand behind your neck pulled you just a little closer.

-          What? -you asked.

-          Let me kiss you, bambi.

Your answer came when you sealed lips with him. You could actually feel him smirking into the kiss, and when you slapped his arm softly he moved so that you were under him. His arms took all of his weight, so that he didn’t crash you, and his lips continued moving against you. It was like that for a while; your lips together as if they were a part of a missing puzzle.

-          Wait. -you parted. -Wait, Marco. This is not right.

-          W-why? -he seemed truly upset. -It’s- I understand if you don’t see me this way, I-I can-

-          No! -you played with his necklace that was hanging between both of you. -You-you go from girl to girl, Marco. I don’t want to lose our friendship because of this.

-          I promise I want this as much as you. -he pecked your lips. -And if you let me, I can show you.

Again, your answer came with a kiss. Who knew Marco could kiss like that; it was like dancing in the rain, eating a fantastic meal, seeing the sun for the first time after a rainy week. It was the best thing you ever felt, and then you understood why all women were chasing that man. His kisses were intoxicating, and if it wasn’t for him going down your jaw, you could have been just kissing for ages.

Marco left a soft trail of pecks in your jaw, neck and collarbone, to finally start sucking a little mark in the last one. You moaned, trying not to be loud so that your neighbour didn’t know about your business. One of his hands travelled all over your skin, placing itself in the part of your body exposed by your shirt. Marco led his kisses back to your lips while his hand pushed your shirt away; you only parted ways to let it slide over your head, and, that time, you were the one pulling him closer, pressing your body against his. What started as a small grinding against each other, soon became a full make out session with tongue where he rubbed against your drenched panties.

-          Take out your pants, Y/N, please. -he begged; his cock was so hard that he was starting to lose focus.

-          I’m trying, get your big body off idiot. -you let out a little laugh, and then moaned when his hand squeezed your nipple through your bra.

-          Did you just call me fat? -he stood up and, when he came back, he was naked in all his glory.

-          Can you shut up? -you laughed again.

His mouth kept leaving kisses down your body until he arrived to your panties; and after leaving there one too, he took them off. As his breath touched your core, you let the loudest moan ever; and when he pressed his lips against your clit, you swore that it was already being your best summer. Without really knowing it, you caught the blonde’s heart and saved it in your back pocket.

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Those three months until Marco left were the best of your life; he proved himself as a serious guy. Took you out, planned amazing dates and made you feel the most incredible person in the world. The day he left, you went with him to the airport, and waited until his family had said goodbye to talk to him. You spend nearly fifteen minutes just hugging each other, crying and making promises. Watching him leave hurt more than what you could tell, and you only hoped that he kept his promises.

And he did, at least for the first year. Marco called you every day, did face-timing with you each chance he got, and when there was a free day, he was traveling at insane hours just to see you for a day. Everything was perfect, he was happy and you were more confident with yourself because of that. You were going out more, making more friends and loving what you were studying. He really enjoyed his time there, met amazing people and took part in small plays now and then.

Maybe that was the problem, maybe the problem was his busy schedule. You didn’t fight, never did; but then, you found yourself talking less and less to him. When you did, it was like if nothing had happened, yet you only saw him once a month if you were lucky.

“Sorry bambi, I need to study my lines for tomorrow”

“I wish I could go to see you acting, Marco, but finals start next week”

“Hey Y/N, I will call you later, I’m going out with the boys.”

“Baby, the girls are calling me. Can we talk tomorrow?”

It wasn’t any of your fault, but at the same time both of you were guilty. When you finished your degree in biology, you found yourself with your phone in one hand and a photo of the both of you in the other. It had been nearly a year since you talked to him, and you made the mistake of not calling him for your graduation out of fear; not knowing that, at the same time, he was thinking about calling you to tell you about his role in Vikings. Neither of you made that all, and with that what was left of your relationship died.

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

Dublin was… full. It didn’t matter where you went, everywhere there was too much people. You wanted to eat? Every restaurant was crowded. Just a drink? Have luck finding an empty stool in a pub. You had just moved there, and you had had so many difficulties finding a flat that you nearly gave up your new job. You had been hired in a laboratory to investigate about bacterium; your dream job in a nightmare, what a paradox.

You had been lucky enough to find a little apartment outside the city; maybe it was too far away from your job, but it was quiet and worthy. Your roommate, Sophie, was a total sweetheart who wanted to be a model. She was blonde, tall, with blue eyes, gorgeous and with a perfect face; not to talk about her personality. Funny, outgoing and kind. You had clicked with her as soon as you met her two years ago.

It was your first year out of your university, and you already got a job; so it was Friday night and you were going to celebrate it. You were meeting some friends in a popular pub, with Sophie and her boyfriend; who you hadn’t met yet. She told you that he was bringing some friends over, because he didn’t want to be the only man. Secretly, she was telling you that it was your chance to find a man. But after Marco it felt impossible for you.

After your graduation, you tried to contact him again; he changed his number, stopped following you on Instagram and had become so famous that you couldn’t talk to him. You should have called his family, yet you thought it would be useless. What could you tell them? “Hi, I’m Y/N. I was wondering, can you ask Marco if we are still in a relationship?” The only comfort you got was seeing the first two episodes of his show, yet you couldn’t continue it since it made you cry. So close yet so far.

-          Blue or red? -you heard Sophie asking.

-          Blue.

-          You didn’t even look at it, Y/N! -she scoffed. -Come on, it has been months since I saw Jordan. I need a little help.

-          Soph, you’re beautiful. -you smiled, now looking at her. -It doesn’t matter what you wear because everything suits you.

-          Aren’t you a sweetheart. -she laughed. -But you weren’t looking, Y/N. What’s the matter? We can stay home, I don’t care.

As a good roommate, she knew how you hated big places and parties. With the years, you had become more outgoing; still, you got nervous and anxious when a big event was coming.

-          Are you crazy? -you frowned. -You haven’t seen Jordan for two months, Soph. Don’t be ridiculous.

-          I can meet him tomorrow. -she smiled, sitting beside you in the bed. -I won’t make you go if you don’t want to.

-          It’s okay, I’m fine. -you looked at her, grateful at her attitude. -Really. And if I want to come home, I will tell you.

-          And we will come back and watch The Last Kingdom until the sun comes out.

-          With popcorns and cheap ice-cream. -you laughed. -Come on, we’re going late!

You linked arms with her as you closed the door, and you walked towards the pub. Even if it was Friday night, there weren’t a lot of people in the streets; and you picked up some of your friends in your way. There was this annoying girl, Mary, that kept asking Sophie questions about his boyfriend. And you, as the good friend you were, pulled her away.

-          Thank God, Y/N. -she sighed, walking a little bit faster. -I’m worried that she might faint when she sees him.

-          What’s her deal? Does she know him or something?

-          Not face to face, but she has heard about him. As probably everybody here.

-          Why? -you frowned. -You didn’t tell me he’s famous.

-          He doesn’t like to talk about that, you know. -she looked at you. -Prefers to be known as a normal person. When I told you his name and you didn’t recognise him… I just thought it would be better that way.

-          It’s okay, Soph, I understand. -you smiled. -But if he knows important people, you better make him introduce me to someone famous.

-          He’s trying to get me a role in his show. -she blushed. -I don’t know, it’s something new.

-          What’s –

-          Jordan!

You couldn’t finish your question as, when you arrived to the pub, a man was waiting outside reading something in his mobile. He was tall, with brown hair and wide shoulders; as handsome as his girlfriend. They were totally a match made in heaven, you thought. When he heard his girlfriend shout, he looked up and smiled widely. After spinning her a while and kissing her with love, he let her down and said something in her ear.

-          Shut up! -she giggled. -Come on, I want you to meet her!

-          It’s time, yeah. -Jordan looked for you between your friends. -I need to know who’s my girl with while I’m away.

-          You’ve talked to him about me? -you gripped her arm a little too tightly.

-          Of course! You’re my best friend here, silly. -she whispered back, just as Jordan’s eyes found you.

-          There you are! -you were going to give him your hand, but he surprised you with a hug.

-          Oh, hi. -you laughed awkwardly between his arms. -I’m-I’m Y/N.

-          I’m Jordan, but you must know that already. -he smiled, but looked at you with a weird stare. -It’s a little random, sorry but- do I know you? You’re so familiar.

-          I haven’t show you any pictures yet. -Sophie said. -Don’t tell me you’ve met already!

-          Thing is, your face is familiar too. -you smiled. -But that’s probably because you’re an actor.

-          You told me she didn’t know, Sophie! -he looked at his girlfriend.

-          And she didn’t! But Mar-

Sophie was interrupted by said girl, Mary, who came running into Jordan to ask him for a photo. You waited by Sophie’s side thinking about Jordan. It was unusual for you to mess faces; and if you thought someone was familiar to you it was because you had seen them before. In the back of your brain a little bell was ringing, but you didn’t know why. Yet his face was awfully familiar to you. Soon, nearly all your friends had taken a photo with Jordan, and you headed inside. He told Sophie that he had bought some of his friends too, and you got the feeling that soon both of them would leave to be alone. You couldn’t blame them, you were happy for your roommate, yet you were already thinking of an excuse to leave early. Inside the pub, a lot of people were talking, dancing, drinking and playing pool. Your short height didn’t let you see where you were going, but Jordan signalled towards a pool table in a corner.

-          I can’t believe this is so crowded. -you complained.

-          It was the only place where fans don’t follow us. -Jordan replied, putting himself behind you and Sophie so that you didn’t get lost. -Young girls usually don’t come here.

-          That hard being famous? -you laughed. You liked Jordan; he was nice and easy to talk to.

-          Tell me about it. -he smiled. -Since we started in Vikings, it has been crazy.

-          Vi-vik-king-gs?

You tried to stop before arriving to the table, because you suddenly understood from where you knew Jordan. He was an actor in Vikings, the show that Marco was playing in. You really tried to stop walking, but Jordan didn’t notice and just pushed you a little forward, making you get out of the crowd and see his friends sitting there. All the girls who were in your group ran towards Alex and Marco, trying to sit as close as they could. Some of them started asking for pictures or tried to start a conversation, but Sophie stayed close to you, looking at your terrified stare with a frown.

-          Whats wrong? -she asked, not receiving an answer. -Hey, Y/N. Are you alright? Do you want to go out?

-          Soph. -you whispered, looking at her for the first time. -Soph, he’s here.

-          Wh-Marco? -her eyes widened at realization; she knew him, just didn’t know that the guy you talked about was him. -Oh my god, Y/N. It’s him. I’ve knew him all along and I didn’t know.

-          Soph. -you repeated, not knowing what to do.

-          I’m sorry Y/N, if I had-

-          Y/N? -Sophie shut up, and both of you kept looking at each other. -Y/N!

Along the years you had imagined your reunion in a lot of ways; he not remembering you, hating you because not calling him. You receiving an invitation to his weeding. What you did not expect was his arms wrapping around you so quickly that you nearly fell down. All of you were frozen for a moment, seeing as the famous actor was hugging a normal girl. Before the first tear could come out of your eye, you moved and hid your face in his shirt, hugging him back.

-          I knew it! -you heard Jordan said. -She’s the girl from the photos, I knew I’d seen her before! You see that, Sophie? I’m a genius!

-          Shut up, babe. -she sighed, dragging him away.

You could still hear some voices around you, and it took nearly ten minutes for him to let you go; then, you looked up. Marco was a grown adult. His hair was long and pulled in a beautiful bun, his face had some scrub and a little moustache. Also, he was taller and much wider than before. You thought then, that he was really a man.

-          I don’t know what to say. -you said truly, a small smile in your lips. -I’ve missed you.

-          Me too. -he smiled too. -Hey, Alex? Where is Jordan?

-          I don’t know man. -a black-haired guy answered. -He has left with his girl; we all know why.

-          I’m going to leave too. -he turned around to take his coat, surprising you all.

-          What? Dude, don’t leave me here! -Alex said with wide eyes.

-          Georgia’s here too, Alexander and Darren. -he smiled. -You’re not alone!

-          You’re the worst, Marco! -you heard him shout as you went away, with Marco’s arm around your shoulders.

He knew that Alex didn’t say that seriously. The guys knew about you; Y/N, the girl who stole his heart and never gave it back. So he understood that Marco was leaving with you. The cold air hit your face when he opened the door for you, but it was welcomed.

-          What are you doing? -you frowned.

-          Smoking, what do you think I’m doing? -he laughed, but stopped when you took it away. -Hey! They are expensive.

-          They are cheap compared to your health. -you said.

-          Always taking care of me, bambi. -he smiled, at there was a second of awkward silence. -So what are you doing here?

-          I’ve a job here, in a laboratory. I’m living with Sophie, Jordan’s girlfriend. -you said. -It’s my second month in Dublin.

-          In a laboratory? That’s good, Y/N! What you always wanted, isn’t it?

-          I guess. –“what I’ve always wanted is you”, but you didn’t say it. -And you? How…have you been?

-          Good. I’m playing in this show, which it’s becoming quiet famous.

-          Quiet famous? I would say world-wide famous. -you laughed softly. -You’re everywhere.

-          Have you seen it? -he asked with a glint of hope in his eyes, and you felt the worst person for crushing it.

-          I…Not really. -you moved your hands up and down your arms. -I tried, but it was kind of hard. Sorry.

-          Kind of hard? -he raised a brow.

-          You know, kind of hard. -you scoffed, seeing the mischievous smirk on his face.

-          No, I don’t know. -he took your face between his hands; with his back against the wall, he made you come closer until your chests were touching. -What was hard about seeing Vikings, bambi?

-          Marco. -you tried to say, as his hands made you pout your lips. -Dun be luk thut.

-          Are you saying something? -he laughed. -Because I can’t understand you.

-          U’m suing dun be luk thut! -you fought the smile out of your face.

It was like the old times; both of you laughing without a care in the world. If Marco said he didn’t miss you, he would be lying; he thought about you each day, had a photo of you in his wallet and talked about anyone he met about you. Having you between his arms again made his heart swell with love.

-          I wanted to call you. -he sighed, moving his arms down your waist. -I promise, I had the phone in my hands so many times. But you were going out more, having fun, and I didn’t want to be the stopping you.

-          You’re stupid, Marco. -you smiled.

-          Well, I know that. But it wasn’t only my fault!

-          What I’m saying, is that you weren’t stopping me. -you put your arms on his chest, and looked up at his eyes. -I didn’t call you because you were living your dream, and having me here would have only pulled you back.

-          There is nothing we can do now, bambi. -he smiled, touching your noses; just like the night he kissed you for the first time. -We’re still a couple, aren’t we? Or have some frat guy taken away my girl?

-          No one. Is there any Becca in your heart now?

-          Just you, Y/N. -he smiled, pulled you on your tip-toes until you were an inch apart. -You’re the only one who have my heart.

As the first night together, you kissed him and felt his smirk growing. It was all like back then; you kissed and made out like a teenagers, you went to your apartment and made love all night long. Except this times, your parents didn’t caught you; it was Jordan and Sophie, who had been doing the same in her room. The only thing that changed was that, this time, you did not only keep his heart, but you also kept the blonde-haired boy. Not for just three months, but for a whole happy life.