First Bench Pt. 3
Summary: You and Zoya meet for tutoring, and another teacher throws you both together again.
First Part
Second Part
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Six p.m. You dreaded the hour as it crept closer. Naturally not wanting Zoya to one-up you, you had arrived ten minutes early. The only table which wasn’t occupied was in a dusty corner at the back of the library, and you’d taken out your heavily annotated textbook to read before she arrived.
Someone whacked you on the back of your head, and you instantly snapped back to elbow them in the ribs.
“Ow!” Zoya exclaimed with a scowl as she sat beside you. “You’re a little savage, aren’t you?”
You rolled your eyes, “Never do that again or I’ll personally make sure you can never walk again, Nazyalensky,”
“Whatever, Brekker,” she scoffed. “So, we’ll be covering math today thanks to your abysmal performance in the last few tests,”
“Don’t have to rub it in,” you grumbled.
She raised a brow and said cockily, “What, that I’m smarter than you?”
You clenched your fist underneath the table. She was getting on your nerves now.
“Did you come here to tutor me or to gloat?” You snarled, a frown scrunching your brows together.
You were adorable when you got riled up…
Zoya laughed cockily and shook her head, opening out her equally heavily annotated math book.
“Alright, Brekker, let me dumb it down for you…”
—Time Skip—
Kaz wasn’t getting any better, and the doctor was talking about another week of bed rest, since the fever your brother had gotten had made his leg worse.
“He says I have to use the cane more,” your brother confided that evening as you sat with him playing cards to keep him entertained.
You sighed softly and patted his hand lovingly. “It’s for your own good.”
“I know,” he scowled. “But come on. I’m in high school and I’m using a cane. Think of how I’ll be bullied.”
You shrugged, “I know a guy who can make it badass for you.”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
You nodded and smiled. “Really.”
He gently punched your shoulder good-naturedly. “You’re a good sister, Y/n.”
“Okay, no need to bust out the compliments yet, little brother,” you scoffed with a laugh. “You’re not dying.”
“First of all, we’re twins and you’re like, twelve minutes older than me,” he rolled his eyes. “And way to ruin an emotional moment, dumbass.”
“I have the emotional capacity of a toothpick,” you admitted. “So expect nothing from me.”
As much as you hated to admit it, tutoring with Zoya was helping. You were slowly regaining your position at the top of the class, and, suspecting that Zoya might sabotage you in some way, you made sure to study extra after she’d leave the library for the evening so that you could get a head start.
Obviously you’d never tell her that it was helping. She’d never let you hear the end of it.
“Had fun struggling in the test?” She asked snidely, referring to the stack of test papers on the teacher’s desk.
“Had fun getting lesser marks than me?” You asked, picking up your own paper from the pile.
“Pardon me, but who’s the one getting tutored?” She smirked, holding up her history paper which bore the score 49/50 in bold red letters.
You laughed, mimicking her cocky tone as you showed your own paper, which had 50/50 written with red and a good remark from the teacher beside it. “Pardon me, but who’s the one getting a full score?”
“Fuck you, Brekker,” she grumbled, her ears burning with irritation as you went to sit with Jesper and Nina.
“In your dreams, Nazyalensky,” you cackled, fist-bumping your two best friends.
“You know, I’m sensing some sexual tension,” admitted Jesper, nodding at Zoya.
Nina chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah. The flirting is a bit much, don’t you think?”
Your ears burned with a blush as you shook your head. “Absolutely not! She is a cocky, arrogant annoying, and irritatingly attractive girl.”
“Attractive, hm?” Nina raised a brow, resting her cheek on her fist as she looks at you with a knowing smirk on her face.
You flicked her forehead and clarified, “Irritatingly attractive. Like, have you seen her? All sharp jawline, full lips and dark eyes. No one so annoying should have such attractive features!”
Inej and Wylan came up to you thee as they overheard the conversation,
“Do you like her?” Wylan hinted with a smirk.
You grimaced and fake-gagged, shaking your head. “Ew, I would rather die!”
“Sometimes, I wish you would stop being so delusional,” Inej sighed. “It is painstakingly obvious.”
You grumbled and buried your blushing face in your hands. “I hate you all.”
Meanwhile, Zoya was chatting with her own friends, Alina and Genya.
“Who does she think she is?” She glared at you as you talked to your own friends.
Alina shrugged, “Personally, I think you’ve got a thing for her.”
“Agreed,” Genya giggled, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Like, all you ever talk about is ‘Oh, Brekker is this, Brekker is that,’ or ‘You won’t not believe what Brekker did!’
Zoya let out an incredulous snort. “Me! Like her? Brekker? Absolutely not. I would rather fail all subjects and die!”
“Why is that?” Alina smirked, having spotted the lie.
“Well, she’s annoying, ridiculously cocky, and infuriatingly cute!” Zoya scoffed. “Like, no one should have the right to have such a smile when they’re the literal embodiment of irritation!”
“I’m sensing sexual tension…” Genya said in a sing-song voice.
Zoya shoved the redhead gently off her desk and mumbled, “You’re both idiots.”
The teacher came in and called for decorum, so the class settled down at last.
“Alright,” she said with a sigh. “Exams are nearly over, so I should brief you on your latest project. This one is worth 20% of your annual grade, so make sure your report is well done. I will be assigning pairs.”
A collective groan went through the class, and Jesper whispered to Nina, “Thirty vlachki says Y/n’s gonna be with Zoya.”
“I say she’s with Alina,” Nina replied.
“You’re both idiots,” you scoffed.
“Alright, you will all have to make a comprehensive report on any one nation in particular, mapping out every last aspect of its history. Simple enough?” The teacher asked, and the class mumbled in agreement. “Good because either ways I do not give a single damn. This is due in the next one week.
“Now for the pairs, Nazyalensky and—er—girl Brekker,” Jesper nudged Nina with a grin as she said it. “Starkov and Oretsev, Zenik and Helvar, Fahey and Van Eck, Ghafa and—well—boy Brekker?”
“I suggest you go with first names, Miss,” you chuckled, making the class hum with agreement.
“Fine,” she agreed, starting over. “Zoya and Y/n, Alina and Malyen, Nina and Matthias, Jesper and Wylan, Inej and Kaz…”
“I have a feeling she ships everyone with each other,” Nina chuckled.
You sighed in irritation. Zoya Nazyalensky of all people was your partner. It was like the Saints were condemning you.
First you have to be tutored by her and now you have to work with her?
After class, Zoya caught you near the lockers and said, “So, we have to work together now.”
You grimaced, “Yes.”
She chuckled softly and poked you with her pencil. “I guess I’ll have to make sure it’s good work, since I’m better.”
“Says the one who got a 49.” You scoffed, catching her wrist sharply when she made a move to poke you again.
She wrestled her hand from your grip and caught your chin in her hand, pulling you close.
“Gloat about that again, I dare you,” she hissed in a tone so menacing, you actually figured the consequences would be bad.
You giggled, however. “Getting riled up because you know I’m better than you, Nazyalensky?”
Her grip loosened around your chin as she caught your collar in her fists, her dark eyes glaring fiercely into your e/c ones.
Saints, she had pretty eyes…
“Shut up, Brekker, or so help me, I will make you fail,” she seethed.
“And risk getting in the bad books of Reznik?” you laughed evilly. “We both know you could never.”
She let go of you and scowled. “Tonight, six p.m. Keep your material ready and do not be late.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure my work isn’t as mediocre as yours,” you shot back with a sweet smile.
She rolled her eyes. “Fuck you, Brekker.”
“In your dreams, Nazyalensky,” you chuckled and turned away, walking towards your friends who had somehow miraculously appeared there.
Jesper clapped you on the back and sing-songed, “Sexual tension…”
You gently elbowed him in the rubs and mumbled, “Shut up and go moon over Wylan, you dumbass.”
—Time Skip—
“Decided a country?” Zoya asked as she arrived at the library that evening.
You showed her your binder of resources as you said plainly, “We will do our project on Kerch.”
“Why Kerch, when Ravka has such a rich history?” She asked with a raised brow.
You grumbled and said, “Because Kerch is where we get everything from. We get our oil, our resources, our ships, our manual labour from there. Everything essential to run a country, Kerch provides.”
“I have to admit, Brekker,” she curled her bottom lip in approval, “I’m impressed.”
“As if your opinion means anything to me,” you kicked her under the table. However, some part inside you warmed up at her words.
Maybe it means something a little bit…
While you both discussed the topic, adding each other’s views and opinions while drafting, Zoya had to notice little things when you both would take long silences as a break.
She noticed the way you tugged at a stray lock of your hair, or how you began turning your wrists after a long round of writing.
Her favourite thing was when you’d spin your pen deftly between your fingers.
It had her mind going places it shouldn’t…
‘Stop it, Zoya,’ she thought to herself sternly. ‘You have to beat her, not stare at her fingers!’
Meanwhile, you noticed how she always furrowed her brows in concentration while she explained a topic to add in, or how she bit her lip if she was writing something down.
But, your personal favourite was when she’d make eye contact when you’d explain something, her head tilted slightly as she listened intently.
Insufferable as she was, she knew how to listen.
You leaned back in your chair and sighed loudly, rubbing your eyes tiredly. The clock had chimed ten p.m. it had been four hours of work, and both of you looked worse for wear. The table was piled with books, and you both had to scoot closer in order to work on the massive stack of pages which had the first draft of your report. Thirty two pages in four hours.
You wanted to collapse and fall asleep, but only after making fun of your partner.
However, you had to admit that Zoya with her wavy hair tied up in a messy knot atop her head, with a slightly sluggish smile of satisfaction on her face was…maybe a little bit cute.
“Take a break,” you said. “I need my opponent to be forever ready for battle, Nazyalensky,”
“You are insufferable, Brekker,” she rolled her eyes as she closed her eyes tiredly.
You chuckled and decided to draft a conclusion to the pair of yours’ messy notes.
Suddenly, you felt a bit of weight against your shoulder. You froze instantly, unsure of what to do.
It was Zoya, sleeping soundly, snoring a little with her arms crossed and her head against your shoulder.
The enmity against her within you made your skin bristle, and the urge to push her off you rise on your fingertips.
But something else, something a little stronger, pushed the feeling away and replaced it with the need to keep her peacefully asleep while you finished the work up for her.
You’d bully her about that later, obviously.
Zoya started awake twenty minutes later and immediately moved away from you, her cheeks burning red.
Did she really just fall asleep against your shoulder?
“Did I fall asleep?” She said, fixing her hair hastily, trying to regain composure.
You chuckled, “Looks like Sleeping Beauty’s finally awake.”
She kicked you under the table and replied sneakily, “Working with you is more tiring than working on a farm during harvest season.”
“Oh yes, because I’m such a slow worker that I made a draft conclusion for the report in twenty minutes?” You raised a brow, holding the paper out to her.
She snatched it from you with a side eye and pulled the pencil out from her hair, making her chocolate brown locks fall down her back in slightly tangled but otherwise captivating waves.
She checked over the page, making a few changes here and there before she placed the page down with the others, sighing deeply.
“Well,” she said, as if the words were a massive effort. “It’s not bad.”
“It’s our first draft, idiot,” you scoffed. “We have to work on it more, so don’t get too excited. I’m still waiting for a better response to my hard work.”
“You did a page in twenty minutes, that’s hardly anything,” she rolled her eyes.
You leaned closer and cupped a hand behind your ear, saying in a tone as though you were prompting her, “Oh, thank you so, so much, especially for letting me nap like the little baby I am while you did the work…”
“Thanks, Brekker,” she sighed. “You are insufferable.”
“I’m not usually insufferable, but you get so easily riled up it is hard not to be,” you giggled, packing up.
You both reached the steps outside the library. “Want me to walk you home so you don’t get lost, little baby Nazyalensky?” You jeered at her, leaning against the railing.
She rolled her eyes and placed her hand against where you were leaning, pinning you, somehow, against the railing, saying, “Don’t get too confident, Brekker. Take me on a date first.”
Butterflies erupted in your stomach, as your slightly shyer side threatened to come out.
What was it with her and pinning you against things this way? Did she know how it made you feel?
You made a face, praying the dim light masked your blush. “As if I would ever! No amount of money in the world could make me do that!”
You consciously avoided her gaze, afraid of the feeling in your stomach. It was a knot of heat which pulsed when she tried making eye contact with you.
Oh, but how enticing that offer was…
“It’s Saturday tomorrow,” she said, grasping your chin between her thumb and forefinger to keep you from looking away. Her dark eyes locked on yours magnetically, as you felt that foreign heat travel steadily lower. “So I expect you to be here at four p.m, got it?”
Saints, she looked good up close, too.
You laughed nervously, and moved such that you got slightly closer to her. Your gaze skirted to her lips unintentionally, and your body was practically immobilised in a gay panic.
But, when her breath hitched and her dominant demeanour faltered, you laughed and moved away, bowing mockingly.
“And that’s how you flirt, Nazyalensky,” you smirked, thankful to your ability to get easily flustered for once. “Getting a little too obsessed with me, I see.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “That’s called wishful thinking, Brekker. As as if I would ever be.”
You hummed. “Well, you’re too annoying to be my type. So, wishful thinking on your part, really.”
“I’m too annoying? Brekker, you make a bratty toddler look like an angel,” she laughed humourlessly.
“Whatever, good night, little baby Nazyalensky,” you sniggered, gently punching her shoulder.
She rolled her eyes. “Fuck you, Brekker.”
Obviously, you gave her your standard reply.
“In your dreams, Nazyalensky!”
Zoya, as she walked away, mumbled to herself, “For now, dreams will have to suffice…”
———
WOW SO MANY UPDATES-
I hope you enjoyed this one <3 feel free to ask or request!
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Prompt: How long could we be a sad song 'til we were too far gone to bring back to life?
Song: You're Losing Me - Taylor Swift
For Zoya x Reader??
The Oath I Intend To Keep - Zoya Nazyalensky
Content Warnings: Suggestive Content. Uncomfortable Relationship Conversations. Discussions Of Love, Breaking Up And Unhealthy Relationships. Not Beta/Proof Read.
In all the time you'd known Zoya, she's only ever loved one thing, Ravka. You'd all but convinced yourself that Ravka was all she was capable of loving, because she had all but convinced herself of that fact.
She is shedding her jacket and talking strategy like you are just another comrade in arms, and normally, for the most part, you wouldn't mind. Normally you would let her talk to you in strategy and plots, in scheme and policy, until the sun rises, because at the end of it all she will kiss you, in the way you always think about her kissing you. And the world falls away. You let her spin her webs of military knowledge and tactics, because the lips she kisses against your skin, softly to your neck, every inch of skin that she claims with soft presses and tight grips makes every moment when she keeps her mind on her duty worth it.
But tonight, the distance between you both feels deeper than station, deeper than position. It feels like roots being torn from the ground with every word she speaks when her eyes don't meet yours, every sentence about war, about damage control, about the future of Ravka, it feels like an axe to what remains.
She closes the door behind her, and she relaxes, shutting the world out, shutting the eyes out, shutting all that could break the sanctity of secret kept in these walls, out by lock and bolt. She keeps you like a secret, while you've always kept her like an oath.
Her tone shifts as she stops talking like a general, and more like the type of woman you keep her as in your mind, that stiff upper lip remains, and that cold demeanour for a while, but the layers fall away. She lowers the buttons on her shirt, and reaches for a couple of cherries on her bedside plate. "The music tonight," she sighs, and for a moment, you forget that ardent need to make her understand, and you want to stay here in this moment, let her play pretend with you.
You know Zoya, she has never been the type to be capricious or insincere, you have always known what to expect from her, and you have loved her regardless, knowing the pain that would likely cause you. But she has always been worth it.
"It was dreadful enough that we had to withstand that infernal music but need it be so damn melancholy all the time?" Zoya asked, more to the air than truly to you. And you know better than to answer, because she can smell your dishonesty like it were flowers in bloom, and you do not know a way to explain to her that the sad songs of lost love remind you of a future you cannot know is laid out for you. Because how do you explain that you feel like you're losing her with every step you take. How long could we be a sad song 'til we were too far gone to bring back to life?
"You're quiet," she observes, pulling you in by the fabric of your shirt. Her hands feel like a homecoming, her touch makes you want to forget everything but her, the taste of her lips against yours, the feeling of her hand on your side. Saints, to know Zoya, to love Zoya, it was a privilege, and it was too much for most. But when someone touches you, and you come alive, how can someone easily pull back from that? How can someone want to give that up? How can someone be willing to ever give that up? Even if it's just breaths of moments in the cycles of the sun and the moon, every stolen moment with Zoya is worth the waiting.
But you pull back anyway. Zoya knows there is something wrong, of course she knows, her physical beauty is barely a shred of her true beauty, her intelligence, her perception, that made her a whole other depth of beautiful. But sometimes, it was a curse as much as an attribute. She wished she was more blind to certain things, like the storm she can feel coming between you.
You see the storms, waiting to burst to life, in her eyes, and the air feels heavy with loss and indecision. "You're wanting to leave," Zoya says. You're not sure on the scale she means, this moment, this bedchamber, this place, Ravka. She is both wrong and right at every level.
"Where you go, I follow," you say gently, "you know that Zoya, that will never change."
Zoya knows there is more to come, she knows that you are not done, that this is the soft protective layer before the fire burns through, the calm before the storm. But a selfish part of her wants to drown it all out, so she pulls you back in, guiding your hand to rest in her hair, urging you closer to her, this quiet hope that for all the weakness it might display, you could stop and just be here, be hers.
Her lips brush your own and you feel it, the pull to get lost in her, to let yourself fall into the haze, where she is the only coherent thought on your mind. You remember every single kiss she has ever taken from you, and you wonder if that would be something you could ever forget, even if you wanted to,
"Zoya," you breathe out, pulling away just enough that you can speak, not daring to open your eyes, not daring to see hers shining back into yours, knowing if you look at her now, truly see her, you'll never have the strength. "I cannot keep doing this."
You've always been her solider, more than you were ever for Ravka, you were for Zoya, frontlines and courage all for the sound of your name in her mouth. You will never stop being that for Zoya, but loving her, and letting her love you, if that is what this is, that is losing yourself in the tides, and you thought you could navigate the tides, the storms of Zoya have never scared you. But you're running out of air, and you could never unlove Zoya, and you never would want to. But you can't keep this up. You cannot keep fading into small moments and quiet corners while her love for Ravka is all that truly matters. You respect that about her, you love that about her, but you can never be truly reconciled with it.
"You mean us," she says, and that lip of hers stiffens again, more than before, you've become very acquainted with how venomous Zoya can get when she needs it. For all her armour, for all her walls, her skin as thick as scales, she is still that little girl buried deep down, that young girl with ribbons in her hair, begging, with all the hope and boundless need of a child to be loved. "You mean me."
"Zoya Nazyalensky," you utter, pushing stray strands of that dark hair from her face, "my love of the lightening, I want nothing more than to be with you, but this is not being with you."
"I... I swore a long time ago, to myself, that I was content with loneliness," Zoya says and her eyes meet yours and there it is, that longing, that need to be the best version of yourself, for her. To be here, for her. All you want to be, all you could be, hers, all of it.
"Zoya..."
"But I am not," Zoya says, "I..." the vulnerability hurts. She is fighting the bitterness, fighting the urge to be cruel and mean because it is what she leans into, even in love, especially in love, as if that might protect her somehow.
"Do not be kind on my behalf," you tell her, reading her like a favourite book that you've broken the spine and battered the covers, the pages faded and worn, some threatening to pull away from the bindings. You know her, and you love her, even in her cruelty, especially in her cruelty, not inspite of but as well as.
"I do not want you to leave me, I am stubborn, I am sharp edged and I do not want to have to wait to find someone to love me as I am, not as they believe me to be underneath this all. And I do not believe I could love them in return, not if they were not you, and I do not wish to try," she admits. "I know I am not easy to love and often I think you stupid for trying. I think that love is futile and that people live and die for such frivolous things and then I am here with you, and I do not want morning to come so quickly." She sighs, but her hands to not shake, her voice does not quiver, even in this she will not falter. "So do not leave me, I do not have the energy for it."
"You," the smile that should not rise to your lips breaks across your face anyway, "you do not have the energy for it?"
"Can we talk about this tomorrow?" she asks, wanting just to have you close. "We can talk about it tomorrow, and you can kiss me and we can pretend for now that nothing is wrong."
You know you cannot ignore this forever, that everything is a few moves from falling apart, but you cannot deny her, not this, not now. So you kiss her, and quietly hope tomorrow never comes.
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