#its an astronomy textbook (surprise surprise)

[mushroom-through-the-stargate]

i know that whenever im like "im gonna commit crimes" i add "for legal reasons this is A Joke" but like.... my favourite book that i have is stolen :)

[forlix]

𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫・h.h.

— an impromptu drive to the airport at five in the morning rekindles conversations and feelings alike.

words・2.5k pairing・ex-boyfriend!hyunjin x gn!reader genres・angst, mutual pining, hurt w/no resolution, established (former) relationship, Airport Scene™ warnings・implied toxicity, strong language, Not a Happy Read

a/n・dear anon who asked where this went after i posted and deleted it a few months ago & dear other anon who requested mentioned hyune angst: this is for u, my loves

“I’m outside,” was how you were greeted over the phone earlier, in a tone so callous and cold that you barely recognized the speaker. Barely.

“Sorry, you’re what?”

“You have a flight today, right? I said I’d take you to the airport.”

One second, you were at a complete loss; the next, you thought you were going to erupt with how much you felt and how much you wanted to say, the weight of the situation hitting you with full force. Your ex-boyfriend, to whom you hadn’t spoken in nearly three weeks, had just materialized outside your home with no warning at the ass crack of dawn and suggested you get into a car alone with him for an hour.

As if that wasn’t the very last thing you wanted to do.

Briefly, you reflected on how you parted ways; you wouldn’t say the breakup was malicious, but it certainly wasn’t amicable, either. The longer your relationship went on, the more questions you raised—important and unavoidable considerations of your future together, none of which Hyunjin could give you substantial answers to. Whether it was because he couldn’t or because he simply didn’t care to try, you didn’t know. But the fact that you had to ask yourself that at all was enough for you to take a step back.

Distance morphed into passive aggression. That, in turn, precipitated constant conflict. The starlight that you saw in Hyunjin fizzled further with every biting word and slammed door. The resulting supernova was far from the beautiful spectacle you’d been promised in your astronomy textbooks.

Standing on the sidewalk outside your apartment was your fallen star in the flesh.

“Let me do this, Y/N."

You’d gone silent for what felt like whole minutes before Hyunjin spoke again.

"Please," he added. You perceived how the word weakened towards the end, some of the frost in his voice displaced by quiet exasperation.

It was these observations, plus the time displayed on the clock hanging above your bathroom door, that prompted you to take your luggage in hand and leave your apartment. You were going to miss your flight if you stood there, glowering silently, for any longer.

When you emerged into the frigid morning, you spotted Hyunjin’s silhouette immediately, and something inside you came undone, as though a knot had been doing itself over and over since you and him parted ways. Your eyes locked together, your gaze contemplative, his a little surprised, as if he didn’t actually expect you to accept his offer.

The first word that came to your mind was exhausted. You could tell that the shadows on his face weren’t just products of the lone streetlight above his head; he had his back curved in a slouch that made him look a few inches shorter than he was. You were reminded of a balloon with an indiscernible opening somewhere on its surface, gradually and inevitably deflating.

Much to your irritation, the second word to surface in your mind was beautiful. Hyunjin’s normally sharp features, from what you could see beneath his hood, were bare and smooth from fatigue; thick strands of dark hair, longer than you remembered, fell effortlessly over his forehead and his cheekbones; his figure somehow looked even broader, leaner when fitted in the loose material of a hoodie and sweatpants.

He was the spitting image of a man you used to know, who looked just like this whenever he wandered into your bedroom at the end of the day, whenever he wrapped you into his arms and littered kisses over your skin until sleep overcame the both of you like a warm, clear tide, whenever he greeted you with a smile that shone like the tropical sun the next morning.

You were standing in front of a ghost.

You broke eye contact first, averting your eyes to your luggage instead. Just in time to see and feel his hand brush against yours when he took your suitcases from you and loaded them into the trunk, all without saying a word.

Now, twenty minutes have passed since Hyunjin started driving, and forty remain before you reach the airport. The vehicle is deathly silent save for the drone of wheels against pavement and wind whistling against dusty windows. You haven’t looked at Hyunjin since you met him outside your place. Instead, your eyes are fixated on the lights of Seoul and the way they flicker out of sight one by one as you drive further away.

And you remember.

The different memories you have of this car blow through your mind like you’re skimming a flipbook. That time you burst into tears mid-drive and Hyunjin pulled over on the side of the highway, giving you his undivided attention as you ranted about the terrible day you’d had. That time you noticed a paparazzi van stationed around the corner and the two of you sank so low in your seats that you had to later unfold yourselves from beneath the glove compartments. The assorted dog-shaped air fresheners you bought for him, a new one hanging from the rear-view every month (except the one that resembled Kkami, which stuck around for almost a year). The caffeine-flavored kisses shared over the cupholders between the seats, one person tipping over the drinks precariously, the other moving to catch them with a soft huff of laughter. The extra hoodie he kept in his backseat for if you ever accidentally underdressed when you went out together. The playlist you curated together, always playing quietly in the background.

You never gave this car a second thought when you and Hyunjin were together, but it is only now that you realize the place felt a little like an extension of home, of him.

The silence becomes fucking excruciating.

You are not sure if Hyunjin is interested in speaking to you. You’re less sure if you even have anything to say to him. But you open your mouth anyway.

“Thank you,” you say, hardly audible. “For doing this.”

A pregnant pause follows. Hyunjin probably wasn’t expecting you to start a conversation—neither were you, to be fair.

Little do you know that he has been trying and failing to string together a sentence since the moment he started the engine, and hearing your voice feels like clouds parting on a foggy day, a singular ray of sunshine settling on his cheek.

“It’s no trouble,” he returns. He’s quiet for a while after this, and you’re beginning to think the conversation is already over when he clears his throat.

“How are you feeling? About the trip, I mean.”

“Good. I think it’ll be nice to get away from Seoul for some time.”

Your choice of answer is intentional, and you can tell by Hyunjin’s lack of immediate response that he picks up on this.

“And you?” You return. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine, thanks. The members and I went to the states a few days ago, finished up album promotions there.”

“Oh, right.” He’d told you about this; they’d been in Japan prior, if you remember correctly. “And everything went well?”

“Yeah. It was a lot of fun.”

“When did you get back?”

You don’t expect him to hesitate at such a simple question, but he does.

“Few hours ago,” he mumbles.

This takes you a few seconds to process. And then, so surprised at his answer that you can no longer help yourself, you finally lift your gaze to the side of Hyunjin’s face.

Your eyes comb over the fluorescent lights of the highway illuminating the slope of his nose; the weariness clouding his irises; his teeth latched gently around his lower lip, as if trying to prevent himself from saying another word.

Hyunjin turns his head to look at you, too, only for a few seconds and more out of anxiety than anything. But you have long mastered the art of reading the fine print of his facial expressions, and that brief interval is enough for you to catch what hadn’t been there the last time you’d looked him in the eye: the true reason why he’d hardly set his bags down on the dormitory floor before he was leaving again, piling into a car and going to you; the same entity that you know is etched all over your face, too.

Yearning.

He is the one who looks away first this time, with a soft snap of his head like he has to force himself to do it—but the damage has already been done.

“Idiot,” you mutter under your breath, and you mean it in every sense of the word.

And it’s so unexpected (and so damn true) that it wrests a laugh from Hyunjin’s lips, the sound every bit as light as it is dark. The bittersweet smile that it leaves behind on his face mirrors helplessly onto your own.

You don’t say another word to each other for the rest of the drive.

The sun has risen by the time Hyunjin pulls up to the curb of the international terminal, but there’s hardly anybody around at this time of day, so he doesn’t mask up before stepping out of the car. He places your suitcases in front of you, then holds up a finger as a silent gesture of wait right there—and he dashes up the curb, beelines towards the line of trolleys, and pulls one over. 

You feel a helpless warmth in your fingertips as you haul your suitcases onto the metal platform together. Even now, he’s taking care of you, as thoughtlessly and naturally as respiring.

“Is that everything?”

“I think so.”

And the two of you find yourselves two feet apart and facing each other, examining your counterparts as if the answer of what the fuck to say now lies in the curves of their cheeks, in the purse of their lips.

But all you obtain from looking at Hyunjin is a glimpse of that wicked entity again, yearning, now in the form of eyes softened by the sunrise and lips parted by forbidden words, sitting readily on the tip of his tongue.

You feel a deep, hollow sadness within you, derived from knowing and hating that no amount of yearning will change the reality that he’s not yours anymore.

“Have a great trip,” Hyunjin says at last. “Be safe, okay?”

“I will,” you answer. “Thank you again. Get some rest today.”

Your arms move to push your trolley, but not before they nearly twitch in his direction with how much you want to hug him goodbye. The last thing you see before turning around is his hand in the air, and then you enter the airport, wondering vaguely if you will ever see him again.

You're in a bit of a numb state as you check in your bags and step into the line for security. The last hour has left you feeling like your heart and mind have filled with static—the kind that shows up when there are too many television signals in the air, all of them unintelligible and amorphous.

But then there is a shout of your name behind you, so urgent that the familiar voice cracks over the last syllable, like bone breaking upon boulder. You turn around.

The white noise clears.

The soles of Hyunjin’s sneakers echo as he runs across the mostly-empty airport; his hood has been knocked down and his long hair set free, combed backward by the wind; there are other eyes on him, but he is only looking at you, something else burning in his gaze now, something certain and familiar. 

You move your suitcases aside and extend your arms, your pulse racing with anticipation—just in time for him to positively crash into you. He very well could have hurt you with how quickly he’s moved toward you, but the very instant his skin meets yours, he’s gathering you so tightly and securely in his arms that he cushions his own fall, costing you only of the breath in your lungs.

And the two of you fuse together like a cosmic collision, imperfect but quintessential. The moon’s craters themselves.

He knots one hand in your hair and cradles the back of your neck with the other; you form fists around the fabric of his hoodie, your face disappearing into the junction of his neck and shoulder. And you feel the tears come at last: tears of relief, of regret, of remembrance.

There are a billion things Hyunjin wants to say to you then. He wants to thank you for loving him. He wants to blame you for loving him. He wants to tell you that it was all worth it for him, so long as he was once the reason that you smiled. He wants to convince you—and himself—that nothing was meant to last forever, that the two of you were destined to burn out, the same way even the biggest and brightest of heavenly bodies have shelf lives too.

But there is one train of thought that overshadows the rest. It rings louder and truer than anything he has ever known and emerges straight from the chambers of his heart.

“I—” He sounds shattered when he speaks, his voice muffled where his lips touch your skin, his words a rasp that is only audible to you. “I still—”

“I know,” you whisper, squeezing your watering eyes. “Me too.”

And you think the shaky “fuck” that leaves his lips is an apt summary of the absolute mess that the two of you have found yourselves in: entirely and obtusely enamored with the person who has proven themselves to be incompatible with your love, time and time again.

You are only willing to pull away far enough from Hyunjin so that you can look at him, his cheeks now damp with saltwater and flushed with emotion, his dreary eyes swimming with adoration and sorrow. You cradle his face with both hands, and he drops his arms to circle around your waist. His fingers lace together against the small of your back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you murmur. You wipe at his tears with your thumbs, touch your forehead to his. “We’re gonna be okay, Hyun.”

His reply is so sad and so small that your heart feels like it’s being carved out of your chest with a blunt pocket knife. “When?”

You don’t know the answer.

You don’t know the answer when you finally go through security, the final boarding call for your flight booming through the intercom, Hyunjin’s face buried in his shaking sleeves.

You don’t know the answer when you return to Seoul a few months later, and Hyunjin is not there to give you a lift this time.

You don’t know the answer when your birthday passes and you still receive texts from Hyunjin’s parents, wishing you well, reminding you to take care of yourself. Nor do you know the answer on the birthday after that, or the birthday after that, which is when the texts stop coming.

You won’t know the answer for a very long time—so much so that you spend years of your life doubting there’s an answer at all. But you find it one day when you least expect it, and it congeals in your mind like expired milk, numbs your mouth like the strongest of anesthetics. 

You have your answer then, but you don’t want it.

You never have.

🔖・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[amethystunarmed]

A Melody That Lingers

Word Count: 861 AO3 Written for @pulpmusicalsfortnight2024 Day 9: Home. Thank you to my phenomenal beta and the event organizer, @snarky-wallflower!

Margaret Cavendish doesn't have friends.

Oh, she has plenty of people who act friendly towards her. Plenty who come up and visit her during society events, greet her with polite pleasantries. But she sees the same people break into whispers as she passes, who point and giggle when they see her alone, decorating the corners of the room. They avoid her, as though whatever strangeness that clings to her is catching. 

So yes. Friendly, not friends. Never friends.

She feels the weight of their judgment, the deep disconnect between her and those who ought to be her peers. 

All of this to say... Margaret had never really invited others into her home before. It was a whim, really, taking the Stratfords in. She hadn't really thought it through. She had just heard of the attack on their home and called for a carriage.

She hadn't accounted for the strangeness of sharing her space. The comfort of it.

Even as she prepares for bed, she cannot escape the giddiness surrounding it. The knowledge that, for at least tonight, she is not alone in the world. Perhaps this is the reason she lies awake in bed until late into the night, this fluttering, light feeling in her chest.

Or perhaps not. Restless nights have been shadowing Margaret Cavendish for as long as she can remember. Some days she swears she rises with the moon, called awake by its gentle glow. On nights like these, lying restless in her bed feels like torture.

She grabs a shawl she had laid over the desk in her room for this exact purpose and wanders out into the main rooms of her apartment.

She intends to go onto the roof; it is her habit to watch the moon over the harbor when sleep is far out of reach. It is the company she is most used to, and most comfortable with. She nearly forgets about her new company, until she stumbles upon Rose Stratford asleep in the library.

To be honest, Margaret barely understands how she managed to fall asleep like this. Rose is sprawled out on her couch. Her face is planted in a text, her hair fanned around her. Her leg dangles off the couch and onto the floor, leaving her knees bent at awkward angles. It looks remarkably uncomfortable. 

Piles of books are stacked around her, the corners poking divots into her skin. Margaret thinks she can spot her entire collection of astronomy textbooks piled around Rose like statues in a garden. Paper sculptures standing vigil around a sleeping rose bush. 

Margaret supposes she shouldn't be surprised Rose is still in the library at this late hour. Margaret hadn't seen her leave since they entered the library this morning. 

“I think this place is heaven!” Rose had cried and descended onto Margaret’s collection. Rose's admiration had made some kind of heat flutter in her stomach. Looking upon her now, softly snoring, hair reflecting the light like embers, Margaret feels it again. It reminds her of her phantom pain, but in the opposite direction; a joy she hadn't realized she was still capable of feeling.

She's beautiful. 

She is. It is an objective fact, Rose Stratford's beauty. The piercing green eyes, the rosy cheeks, the full pink lips Margaret often finds herself staring at. Margaret could shove the feelings away, hide behind this fact. But... That thought, that attraction...

It doesn't scare her, not like it should. It is just one more aspect that separates her from the upper class, another oddity she has to smooth the wrinkles from. She knows the knowledge should make her heart drop to her stomach, should flood her with nausea. 

But the horror never comes. Instead, it feels like docking on a shore she has been away from for a long, long time. The scenery is different, trees have been cut down, new ones have grown in their place, but it is familiar all the same. It feels like something she hadn’t realized she was missing falling into place, like remembering a song she has always known. It feels like... it feels like...

It feels like coming home. 

Margaret can’t help the giddy chuckle that springs from her. For the first time she can remember, the moon doesn’t feel so far away. Humanity doesn't feel so far away.

Margaret removes her shawl from where it had been draped over her shoulders. She unfolds it, and gently drapes it over Rose's sleeping form. Rose stirs under the weight, and for a moment Margaret fears she roused her. But Rose settles under it, cuddling closer with the books she had tried so hard to read. She turns onto her side, and Margaret could count all the freckles on her nose in the candlelight if she wanted too. They dance across her cheekbones and dip down below her neckline. Margaret traces constellations in them with her eyes.

Beautiful, she thinks again, just because she can.

The Stratfords continue to show her these nearly forgotten parts of herself. Maybe they truly are the answers to the questions she has been asking. She can't wait to see what they will reveal to her next.

[buckywritessometimes]

canal.

It was late.

Too late.

The streets were dead, save perhaps for the muffled shouts of a drunk too far away to understand and the quiet scritch-scratch of some small creature wandering the place, searching for food scraps to fill its belly or muddy puddles to drink from.

A man—young, tall, and utterly exhausted—sat engulfed in the tall stacks of books piled on the table around him, cracked spines telling tales of Greek classics, mythical creatures, and memories of the most obscure facets of history. He was bathed in the warm yellow glow emitted by the small green glass lamp in front of him, dramatic swathes of bright light draping the tall bookshelves in curtains of golden ribbons.

The turn of a page. The click of a pen. The scratch of an eraser.

Glancing up, he was surprised to notice that the sun had come down several hours ago, and that he was, in fact, sitting alone in the dark library, the only sources of light being the lamp at the desk and the moonlight streaming in through the paned stained glass window, casting a mystical glow across the paneled hardwood floors.

He’d been here since five-thirty at least—the thick astronomy textbook laying open on the table with notes in messy handwriting scribbled into the margins had evidently taken up the majority of the night.

He leaned back into his chair, sighing as he adjusted the tie hanging loose and limp at his neck.

He noted, with no great deal of interest, that the fine linen material of his olive green suit jacket seemed to be wearing away at the elbows—he’d have to have it sent to the dry cleaners, perhaps they could patch it.

With a great groan and the cracking and popping of stiff joints, he pulled himself to his feet, turning his neck to the side with a free hand as he neatly stacked the borrowed books onto the squeaky-wheeled cart to his side, before slipping the dense astronomy textbook into the leather bag at his side.

As he made for the door, he glanced up, and the moonlight reaching through the stained glass next to him caught his eye.

It was a serene sort of night; mid summer, with the soft glow of fireflies hidden in the thick grasses outside creating a pretty sheen against the red glass.

If he were younger, perhaps he would’ve taken a small jar outside and ran through the grass, giggling as he disturbed the fireflies and reached out for them as they flew around him. Would’ve stuffed the jar full of twigs and leaves, filled a bottle cap with sugar water, poked holes in the lid and collected the little lightning bugs as he went.

Instead, he walked silently along the twisted concrete path, passing the gleaming grass with barely a second glance, his head pounding with the weight of the world.

If nothing else, he admired the stars as he went, silently pointing out the constellations scattered across the night sky.

Once, too long ago to quite place the exact time of his life it’d happened, he’d visited New York, hoping to see a city gleaming with the opulence and hope he felt he’d been promised.

Instead, he found himself under a great deal of unimaginable stress. The tall buildings of the city were choking, claustrophobic; the general uncaring demeanor of passersby was disconcerting; and perhaps worst of all, the bright lights from too-tall skyscrapers and uncapped street lamps blocked out any chance of seeing the stars—or, as he’d come to think of them, his stars.

He wondered briefly if a life amongst those stars was truly as illustriously grand as the Greeks, who placed their heroes to rest in the deep soil of the night sky, seemed to believe; to him, rather, it seemed like a doomed fate, to wrap oneself in the blanket of anonymous adoration of people so far down below. If he were to perch in the sky amongst the likes of Perseus and Andromeda, he felt it would be nothing more than an acceptance of the inherent tragedy of life; to be the decidedly ordinary amongst the supposedly extraordinary would simply be a reminder that the extraordinary did not quite exist; rather, that the blank faces of people unknown considered even the most mundane of figures to be of a type of beauty and worth supposedly unknown to them, when in reality, it was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

And truly, he thought, did Andromeda see herself as the illustrious figure that nearly every facet of humanity believed her to be? Or was she simply a tale of commonality thrown into the complicated whirlwind of a unique story? Perhaps she considered herself the stick in the mud that was normality, compared to the stoically famous heroism of Orion and Hercules.

Furthermore, he wondered that, had humanity never created the hero, would beauty truly be so coveted? Would they—they being, of course, all the likes of the human race—truly crave the fortune they assigned to all those untruthfully deemed worthy?

It was an assortment of existential horror, he decided. There was little to no distinction between the worshiper and the worshiped, the onlooker and the martyr; they were, rather, one and the same, with the sole division between the two being uniquely horrific sets of incomprehensible circumstances following them each through life like a lost dog, eyes gleaming with the wet, pathetic hope that they both desperately wished for.

Busy mulling over the overly complicated thoughts whirling through his mind, he failed to notice the eyes peering at him from behind bushes and lampposts. Tiny creatures observed him with the sort of indifference only achievable by critters desensitized to human presence, their scleras glowing artificially with a look akin to a camera set to night vision.

If he’d bothered to look up from his (frankly, ridiculously overcomplicated) contemplation, he’d notice not only the small flexing hands of racoons perched watching in the trees, not only the twitching ears of the bunnies emerging from their holes, but the stable gaze of a barely-noticeable woman partially submerged in the muddy water of the stone canal following his twisted path.

She was entirely nude, her chest exposed and dripping wet as she slowly made her way towards him, the sheen of water against her shoulders oddly compelling, despite the thick streaks of mud and some other matte, dull substance besmirching her skin.

He remained oblivious to the world around him, lost in complex thought.

Her eyes were impossibly light, the soft white coloring over her irises deeply reminiscent of cataracts—though, something about them conveyed a sense of precise intention.

Her skin was pale, with an odd blue-green tinge to it; difficult to place, as it was not any shade ever before seen by another person—or at the very least, not seen in the past couple thousands of years.

In short, she was otherworldly; ethereal in a mysterious sense that was near-impossible to fully understand within the context of the scene at hand. Had a woman even just emerged from the canal dripping wet, it would have been utterly befuddling; however, her demeanor and unfeasibly alien look, paired with the complete nudity (though, any obscenity was erased by her demeanor), created a new layer of confusion.

She was out of place, and every animal within ten miles knew it, though perhaps they knew not how.

Abruptly, a fluttering sensation trickled down the man’s spine, sending shivers up his back and causing a spatter of goosebumps to prickle across his shoulder blades.

He whipped around, eyes darting around at his surroundings as he looked for the source of the tightening in his stomach.

The woman made no attempt to hide herself, instead standing plainly just a foot or so behind him, still following the curve of the canal as she lingered behind him.

After a few moments scanning his surroundings, the man’s eyes finally landed on her, causing him to jerk away in surprise, cursing under his breath as he waited for his heart to return to a normal pace.

She stood unnervingly still, observing his obvious fear and anxiety.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Wha—what?”

“Who are you?” she repeated calmly, her voice impossibly soft and quiet in person, yet clear and quite loud in his ear.

He stared at her with wide eyes, his jaw hanging open with confusion and shock as he processed the woman in front of him.

“I—my name is—” he started.

She put a single dripping wet finger to his lips, hovering a breath away but pointedly not touching him as she quietly shushed him.

He felt oddly at ease in front of her.

“No. Who are you?”

Quick understanding gleamed in his eyes, and he pressed his lips together, worriedly considering his answer.

“I don’t know,” he finally whispered. His throat made a spluttering sort of choking noise, the ball of his Adam’s apple bobbing anxiously as he looked down, unwilling to meet her too-white eyes.

She smiled softly, removing her finger and leaving her hand to rest at her side.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I do.”

A lengthy pause stretched out between them, pressing a thick, choking silence down his throat.

“You crave a fresh start, rebirth. You think that the stars are where heroes go to die, and you resent this infinite graveyard for dividing the men of whomst you walk amongst. You wish to free yourself from the burdens of complicated humanity, in which the world decides who is and who is not. You long for a world free of segregated hope, dream of a place where the heroes and gods walk amongst men with the ease of a child unaware of the pressures of each day; a world where greatness is not solely placed only upon the shoulders of those deemed worthy.

“This is who you are. A name is entirely irrelevant. And truly, perhaps you knew this. Contemplated the complicated finality of it. But you refuse to accept your complacency in the world you claim to hate.”

The continuous silence was enveloping, every creature around them waiting with bated breath for any hint as to what might happen next.

Green eyes met white.

“But most of all, you wish to come home,” she said plainly. She extended a hand in his direction.

He allowed a short exhale to escape from between his lips.

“How?”

She shook her head. Her soaked hair dragged against her shoulders and came away thick with smeared mud.

“Matters not.”

The man looked down at his shoes—once expensive, possibly Italian (he couldn’t quite remember), now obviously scuffed and worn—, his jaw quivering ever so slightly as though, throughout the span of their short conversation, he’d been reduced to the state of a nervous child, waiting anxiously outside a classroom on the first day of school. Unsure, afraid—and yet, harboring the slightest (though, utterly stubborn) bit of excitement within.

“I want to come back with you,” he whispered, his voice quiet and trembling. “Wherever you came from.”

“For what?”

He paused, taking a shivering breath.

“Hope. I want hope.”

“You lack hope here?”

“Hope died with every hero buried above our heads.”

“You lack hope, but continue to possess trust.”

“I know.”

“Display it.”

Before he had a chance to respond, she took a step backward, aligning the heel of her foot against the edge of the mossy stone bricks of the canal. She tipped backwards, her arms extended out as though she was poised on an invisible cross.

She fell.

He rushed to the edge, scuffing his knees on the rough stone as he dropped down, his hands gripping the very brink of the wall.

There was no sign of her.

The pounding in his heart mixed with the gentle lapping of water at the walls of the canal, soothing the sudden ringing that had erupted in his ears. It formed an oddly comforting symphony of nullified silence as he quietly contemplated his options.

The woman was gone. She’d left no traces behind as she went, save for the splash of mud on his shoulder.

But he hadn’t been paying attention. Had that been from her? Perhaps he’d bumped into a tree during his walk home; after all, his mind had been otherwise occupied by the complicated musings of a man far more intelligent than he considered himself to be. It seemed eerily plausible that she may have never existed at all; though this thought bothered him deeply, he felt it was too significant to ignore.

But surely, she had. There was no way he’d imagined it.

Indeed, she hadn’t touched him—but he buried the thought beneath a mountain of manufactured confidence.

His mind swam with uncertainty as he sat perched at the lip of the water with his feet dangling.

He wanted to jump. Wanted to follow her, wanted to shed the uncomfortable nature of life as the ultimately ordinary man. Wanted a chance to merge man with the ever-fated gods. She’d implied that, had she not? Wanted him to understand that wherever she was from, it was better.

Lacking the division that mankind imposed on itself.

Free of the horrors presented by uniformity under mediocrity.

Free of the forced contentment towards being a person made of nothing who wished ever so deeply to be something.

Before he had a chance to think even a single second more, he pressed his loafers against the old and stained stone bricks, releasing his arms and pushing off. He plunged feet first into the deceptively deep water, the cold sending a thick shock through his body that made his fingers clench up and nick at the centers of his palms.

In the split second before his head hit the water and the world dissolved into a murky fog, he wondered perhaps if this was akin to the freedom sought by Andromeda amongst the stars.

Perhaps he would join her one day after all.

[ddejavvu]

reader being witty and sarcastic when talking to Sirius and he can't help but murmur, 'she's so hot'

he's such a sucker for teasing and then it gets turned back on him and he just 😵

-

"Fancy meeting you here, L/n," the voice sends your stomach twisting, but out of dread or excitement, you can't tell.

You look up to meet Sirius Black's eyes, glancing around at the classroom you both sit in for six hours every week.

"Black, we've been in this class together for years, and you're surprised to see me?"

Sirius' grin falters, and his friends snicker from behind him, "Nevermind that, wanna be partners for today's lesson?"

"I'd rather jump off of the astronomy tower into the black lake and let the giant squid rip me to pieces."

Sirius's eyes widen continually throughout your very detailed admission, but he manages to spin even that around, "Seems like you've thought about that a lot, am I always on your mind like that?"

"Only in my bloody nightmares."

“Well I’m afraid you don’t have time to get to the astronomy tower before the lesson,” He plops down beside you, “so you’re stuck with me.”

“No, no, go sit with one of your mates, please, I don’t wanna deal with this right now.”

“Too late.” Sirius grins, gesturing up at Professor Slughorn, who begins speaking as if on cue.

You huff, slumping over in your chair so that your chin rests lazily on your hand. You spend most of the lesson like this, until Slughorn finally instructs everyone to begin brewing their potions. You flip open your textbook, skimming the ingredients list and scribbling down its contents. You slap the scrap of parchment onto the desk beside Sirius’s hand, not bothering to look him in the eyes as you turn back to the empty cauldron.

“Black, would you go and fetch these for me?”

A grin appears on Sirius’s face at your small interaction, and he stands hastily, “ ‘course. Be right back.”

You’re granted only a moment of silence before he returns, neglecting his seat beside you and instead electing to lean against your desk, sleeves rolled up his arms and tie dangling into the cauldron. 

You reach a hand up to save it from being dipped into the already-simmering liquid, tugging on it to steer him back around to his seat. This only riles him up further, and you don’t dare look in his direction, not wanting to egg him on.

“Jesus, L/N, I didn’t know you were this kinky. I mean, really, you’re acting like I’m a dog on a leash.”

“Black, if you were my dog, I’d have sent you to the pound already.”

He turns away, but you hear a faint, “So bloody hot.” that makes your stomach begin twisting again.

”Did you just admit to finding that hot? God, you have issues.”

You can hear Sirius’s friends laughing from behind you, no doubt eagerly waiting until class was over so that they could tease their friend, but you go back to working on the potion, ignoring their taunting, and especially ignoring the smirk on Sirius’s face.

[lune-hime]

Wakey Wakey (Chocobros x Reader)

For you, your chocobro, and coffee. 

↞Noctis↠

Coffee doesn’t do anything for sleepy boy Noctis.

I’m serious, it has no effect.

But does this really surprise you?

In highschool, when Noctis was struggling to stay awake studying for his astronomy midterm, Ignis suggested he drink a coffee with an extra espresso shot.

Nothing.

Then Ignis brewed another cup, this time with 2 espresso shots.

Nothing.

3 shots

No change.

6 shots

The prince’s eyes are still drooping.

8 shots.

And now his head is lolling to the side.

Ignis’ limit was 10 shots as he did not want to send the boy into a caffeine coma.

But to his surprise, and utter shock, when he returned to Noctis’ bedroom 15 minutes later the prince was knocked out and drooling over his textbook.

The future adviser didn’t know whether to be impressed or utterly concerned.

No matter how early or late you wake up, you will always rise earlier than the prince on most days.

So needless to say 99.9% of the time you are getting your own coffee.

If the Insomnia weather isn’t horrible, you prefer to slip on your sneakers and walk to the nearest chain coffee shop.

The gentleman he is, Noctis is ever insistent he pay for your coffee even when he’s fully immersed in slumber.

Now equipped with a steaming americano, you waddle back to your shared apartment, chasing away the frosty autumn air with the steam of your drink.

Crawling back in bed laptop in hand, you have a chill morning until you have to get ready for class.

Noctis’ arms are immediately around your waist like there is a magnetic force drawing him to your warmth through his unconscious state.

↞Prompto↠

Definitely a coffee drinker, although the bouncing bean doesn’t need anymore energy than he already does.

In fact, you have to constantly limit his caffeine intake because when he has too much, he becomes too much.

His tolerance level is the polar opposite to Noctis; load more than one espresso shot into that boy and he is a vibrating mess.

He’s even more talkative than usual, touchier than usual, and wants nothing more than to drop everything and go out on some spontaneous adventure.

He is the epitome of a distraction.

Not that you would mind these things otherwise, but right now the two of you are trying to push through mountains of readings for your college classes.

And his foot keeps accidentally kicking you in the shin, to which he responds with profuse apologies and sheepish grins.

On road trips he will pull off to cute cafes along the side of the road. He knows that you will be needing your second cup for the day around 4 pm and plans accordingly.

He definitely did not research it ahead of time and will vehemently front that it is just a coincidence.

Knows your order by heart, even if you have multiple orders.

“You want an affogato right Y/N? You know, I affogetto where I am when I’m with you.”

The affection (albeit a chuckle at his cheesiness) that swells in  your heart drowns out the groans of your friends as they eagerly await to jump back into the regalia with their drinks.

His thoughtfulness just makes the trip all the more special.

↞Ignis↠

Let’s just say the two of you are a match made in coffee bean heaven.

He wholeheartedly supports your coffee addiction as he completely understands the need for caffeine.

The two of you go on an immense amount of cafe dates, to the point that you have entertained the idea of opening a coffee shop from the sheer amount of time you spend in these establishments.

This is partly because being a college student calls for lots of cafe time but also because the two of you just love the atmosphere.

You have a favorite coffee shop a few blocks from your university that you have become regulars at.

When Ignis finishes work at the Citadel he pops back to the apartment to change and grab any extra work he needs to tackle before meeting you at your favorite place.

Cafe Ignis is best Ignis.

Sure you love his silken dress shirts and custom tailored (and bless the six just the right amount of tight) dress pants, but you are ever love to see the other side of the crown’s advisor.

Seeing your Iggy in his knit sweater and jeans is a truly delightful experience.

And although you both are swamped with work, the atmosphere allows you to unwind and just bask in the presence of one another.

Every so often he brushes a loving hand over yours.

Or a chaste kiss to your cheek when he gets up to use the restroom.

His head rests snuggly atop of your shoulder when you ask him to proofread a particular paragraph in your essay.

Knows whenever you need a refill.

Before you can drink the last drop of the golden liquid, he’s already up and ready to order you another grande cappuccino.

And he will stay with you the entire time even if he finishes early because he knows how stressful work can get.

The two of you should really find a 24-hour coffee shop.

Could Ignis ask for anything better? I think not

↞Gladiolus↠

Not a big coffee drinker as he is a strong believer that caffeine will mess with his hard earned physique.

Supports your addiction but will never admit that he has discreetly tried to get you to cut down on your dosage.

Will follow you to your favorite coffee shop after your morning run with no complaints.

Though he will tease you about how you should have drank the caffeine beforehand because you ran so slow.

“Shouldn’t you be drinking water instead?”

To which he gets a playful jab in the ribs.

“Coffee is my water.”

To cool off from the work out the two of you take a detour through a park, the smell of hazelnut mingling with amber gazes and warm embraces.

If  you decide to skip the morning run, Gladdy will never fail to bring you a cup back on his way home.

Who could say no to awakening to the tantalizing smell of vanilla and featherlight touches.

Akin to Ignis, Gladiolus is never opposed to chilling with you at a coffee shop.

He loves it actually, because it's an excuse to do two things; read and be with his love.

The shield is a busy boy so moments like those are ones he cherishes.

He brings his book, you bring your homework.

Prompto isn't the only one who is good at photo taking.

Gladiolus is the master of sneaky photos.

He adores the way your brow lightly crinkles when your wrestling with what is the angular acceleration of the disk if its mass…

The candidness of the image brings a genuine smile to his face and roaring laughter from his chest when you struggle to confiscate the image from across the table.

Something that he would never admit to, though, is sometimes he does indeed sneak a few espresso shots in before a sparring match.

He knows you would tease the hell out of him if you knew.

He is right.

[apenitentialprayer]

A Monastic Mathematical Method

Medieval mathematicians knew many techniques for simplifying sums, often breaking them up into series of sections that could be worked out mentally, or with basic operations of the abacus. John Westwyk would undoubtedly have learned some such techniques. One, which has a variety of names, including the Russian Peasant Method and the Egyptian Method, was invented independently in several places and may well have been taught at the St Albans grammar school. It turns large and difficult multiplications and divisions into a series of halvings and doublings. The popularity of this method helps explain why the earliest textbooks on arithmetic using the new Hindu-Arabic numerals, including the one copied by that Bury Benedictine, teach how to halve and double them as separate procedures between addition and multiplication. The beauty of doubling and halving is that you do not need to know a separate process: you only need to know how to add a number to itself. Let us say you want to multiply 43 by 13. Write the number side by side and start doubling the larger one and having the smaller one (ignoring any remainders). In a few moments you will have: 43          13 86            6 (ignoring the remainder) 172          3 344          1 (ignoring the remainder) When you cannot halve any more, strike out the rows where you have an even number in the halving column (in this case, 86 : 6), and add up what's left in the doubling column. So 43 x 13 = 43 + 172 + 344 = 559. With a little practice, this can be done very quickly - and since it uses mental arithmetic, it is no more difficult with Roman numerals than with Hindu-Arabic. It works because it depends on the fact that any number can be made up of powers of 2. So 43 x 13 = 43 x (1 + 4 + 8). [n. The reason you only keep the rows with an odd number in the having column is because that is where you will ‘lose’ a remainder, which needs to be added back at the end. If you are multiplying by a number which is a power of 2 (e.g., 8), there will be no such remainders: you will strike out all but the last line, since multiplying by eight is a simple series of doublings.] It works just as well for division. So you want to divide 729 by 34 (or DCCXXIX ÷ XXXIV). Simply begin by doubling 34 until you can't go any further without passing 729: XXXIV       (1) LXVII         (2) CXXXVI     (4) CCLXXII    (8) DXLIV       (16) Now, starting from the last line, add together the largest numbers you can to get as close as you can to 729 (this takes a little practice). When you have done that, the respective real numbers you have used will add up to your number. Here: DXLIV (row 16) + CXXXVI (row 4) + XXXIV (row 1) = DCCXIV (714). So 729 ÷ 34 = 16 + 4 + 1 = 21 (remainder 15) Again, this can be done using mental arithmetic, but if John Westwyk did have to resort to his counting-board, he would have found that the Roman numerals corresponded perfectly to its columns, making direct transcription of the answer very easy. Transcribing from the counting-board into the Hindu-Arabic numerals would require a moment’s extra thought. These techniques became very easy with practice. Knowing them, and having the option to resort to a counting-board if necessary, most monks had no need to reject the methods that had served their predecessors perfectly well in favor of the new algorismus. If their work or interests did require them to make frequent multiplications, or to use fractions, monks might prefer to draw up a reference table of the Roman-numeral multiplication, rather than learning a whole new arithmetic. Such reference tables and counting-boards are the tools that John Westwyk would have had at his disposal as he began his education at the St Albans grammar school. They would serve him well until his growing interest in astronomy forced him to get to grips with the new numerals and multiplication techniques of Hindu Arabic algorismus.

-  Seb Falk (The Light Ages: The Surprising Story of Medieval Science, pages 39-41)

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Want nobody else

Request: Hi can I request a Draco Malfoy x Gryffindor reader where they’re dating in secret & Draco decided to spend the holiday at Hogwarts instead of going back to the manor because he wants to spend more time with the reader but surprise surprise Narcissa decided to drop in to his dorm just to find them cuddling in front of the fireplace or something. She’s scared of course but Narcissa turns out to be very kind & welcoming and the three of them spend the day together and even invited her to come to the Malfoy Manor anytime she’d like Thank you! - @queenofmankind

A/N: I loved this request bc I am a sucker for secret relationships, like that is my shit. I’ll not lie, these last couple of days I have been really doubting my writing ability, but nevertheless, I hope I have done your request justice. It’s really fluffy bc I love fluffy Draco so much omg. Enjoy! (Title is from Liam Payne - Midnight)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (Gryffindor)

Warnings: one swear word

Word count: 2.1k

Being pulled into a supply cupboard was not how you wanted to start your morning, but it happened, nonetheless.

You’re about to start shouting when a familiar voice whispers, “Lumos.”

The tip of his wand starts to glow with a pale light, and you’re greeted to the sight of your boyfriend smiling down at you.

“Draco! You can’t just go about pulling me into supply cupboards.”

“Why not?” He asks, crowding you against the wall. He’s so close to you that his breath fans over your face.

“What if we get caught? What if someone sees us?”

Draco shrugs, leaning in to kiss you but his lips land on your cheek when you move your head at the last minute.

“We both agreed we would keep this a secret. That means you can’t pull me into supply cupboards between classes.”

“I know, but would you believe me if I say I did it because I missed you?”

“I would, but only because I missed you too.” You reply, fisting a hand in the front of his robes to pull him in for a kiss.

He hums into the kiss, pressing you even further into the wall. Your arms wrap around his neck; one hand making its way into his hair, pulling lightly drawing a groan from his mouth. He responds by biting your bottom lip.

“The bell is going ring any minute.” You whisper against his lips.

Draco nods in acknowledgement but kisses you again and continues to do so until the aforementioned bell rings.

You pull away from him with a peck to his lips. You smooth down your robes and hair to make it look as if you haven’t been making out with the Slytherin Prince between classes.

His hand grabs yours as he tugs you in to kiss you again, “I’ve got to go,” You say, pecking his lips one more time, silently loving how he chases your lips for another, “I’ve got Divination and those stairs are killer. I’ll see you later?”

“Definitely. I’ll meet you in the astronomy tower after dinner.”

You blow him a kiss which he catches with a laugh before rushing to Divination. Professor Trelawney had a thing for making latecomers make the first prediction of the lesson.

-----

The closer it got to the holidays, the slower the school day became. In every lesson, you zoned out, finding it hard to keep your attention on the topic of the class. Instead, daydreaming of a certain blonde-haired Slytherin.

Being in a relationship with Draco was the last thing you expected to happen to you. A member of Gryffindor and raised a muggle, you didn’t think for one moment that Draco would look in your direction.

A friendship blossomed between the two of you after being assigned a paired essay in History of Magic on Gellert Grindelwald’s threat to the International Statute of Secrecy. Draco was apprehensive at first; his walls securely built around him. However, as time went on and progress on the essay was good, those walls steadily came down and he started to have feelings for you. He just didn’t know you felt the same way.

You couldn’t help but feel sad as you finished writing the final sentence of the essay. Your time with Draco was up and things were to return to how they were before.

He didn’t want that; you didn’t want that.

Whilst waiting for the ink to dry, Draco took it upon himself to confess that he didn’t want this to end. His happiest time of the week were the hours he spent with you, but he would understand if you didn’t feel the same way. Draco never got a chance to finish his sentence – you had pulled him in for a clumsy but sweet kiss. It was after you had pulled away that you both agreed to keep the relationship secret for fear of the reaction from his parents and your house.

A ball of paper hitting the back of your head breaks you from your reverie. Turning to see who threw it, you smile as you see Draco staring intensely at his textbook.

Unscrewing the wad of paper you read his recognisable scrawl: ‘What are you thinking about?’

You don’t take the time to think of a reply, simply writing: ‘You, like always.’ It’s worth it when you see the blush on his face as he reads your reply.

---------

The astronomy tower had always been a favourite of Draco’s. Somewhere he could come, think and not be disturbed. If you ever had trouble finding him through the school, your first port of call would always be the astronomy tower. In the early weeks of your relationship, it became your go-to meet up spot.

Climbing the stairs to the top of the tower was always worth it when you saw him waiting for you; the breath stolen from your lungs when his eyes landed upon you and he smiled.

Tonight was no different; the butterflies in your stomach had turned into a full-blow riot, but you knew they would settle the moment your eyes landed on Draco.

He’s already waiting; leaning against the railing, looking out across the view. The astronomy tower held the perfect vista of Black Lake and the Scottish Highlands behind it. You sometimes questioned how you went to school in such a wonderful place.

Draco turns at the sound of your footsteps, a smile already making its way across his face. He holds a hand out to you and you are quick to fold your hand into his, tangling your fingers together as you do so. He brings your joined hands up to his lips, dropping a small kiss to the back of your hand before letting them fall between the two of you.

“I liked your note, by the way.”

You laugh, “I could tell. That was some blush.”

He grins at you, savouring the sound of your laughter, “I like the fact that you always think of me.”

You hum, “I like it too, but I’m going to have to pay some attention to my work, I think it’s getting jealous.”

Draco pulls you into his side; his arm now wrapping around your shoulder. He presses not one, but two kisses into your hair before saying, “I’m staying at Hogwarts over the holidays.”

“You are?” You ask, your eyes wide, excitement starting to build.

He nods, confirming, “My parents want to go travelling for those two weeks, so I said I’d stay at Hogwarts instead.”

“They didn’t question it?”

“My mother wanted me to go with them, but my father wasn’t bothered. Besides, it means I get to stay here with you which is exactly why I told them no.”

Your body warms with those words, as if they take root in your heart.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“No!” You shout, wincing as you realise just how loud your voice is. Draco has a shit-eating grin across his face. “What I mean to say is, I don’t mind at all. I get to have you all to myself for two weeks.”

“Yes, you do.” Draco murmurs before pulling you in for a kiss; effectively ending all forms of conversation for now.

------

The first week of the holidays, it is decided quickly that you were to stay in Draco’s room since his dorm mates had all gone home for the holiday.

Waking up to Draco is a whole new experience, and you can’t help but love every minute of it. His blonde haired messed up, his voice gravelly with sleep. Your mind flashes to ten, fifteen years from now – hearing that voice whispering sweet nothings to you in the morning.

You shift in his bed, moving the covers from your body when Draco’s arm clamps itself around your waist, pinning you to the bed.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh?”

“Nope, you’re staying in bed with me all day.” He says, rolling on top of you, bracing himself with his elbows. He runs his nose along the expanse of your neck before placing light, butterfly kisses across your jaw – teasing you, driving you to the brink of insanity.

Your legs wrap themselves around him, a hand tugging at his t-shirt as he finally presses his lips to yours.

You don’t leave the bed that day.

------

After that morning, Draco has a hard time keeping his hands off you. Pulling you into empty classrooms or rarely visited stacks in the library. You’ve had to apologise to Madame Pince more times that you’d like to admit – but seeing this side of Draco, unafraid of what people think of him, it’s addicting. You’ve cornered him in the Slytherin common room just as much.

-----

The second week of the holiday starts blissfully; you wake wrapped around Draco each morning and you can’t help but want this for the rest of your life. To be able to wake up to him for the rest of your life, you would count it as a life well lived.

Sitting on one of the many couches dotted about the Slytherin common room, you read a muggle book you brought from home. It tells the story of a huntress taken away by a faerie in payment for the death of the faerie’s sentries – the huntress soon starts to fall for her captor, and she promises to break the curse on his land. It keeps you enthralled as Draco reads the muggle classic Frankenstein after you introduced it to him some months ago.

The fire is roaring, Draco’s hand doodles aimless patterns on the top of your thigh from where your legs are thrown across his. You catch his hand every time it travels higher up your thigh; not missing the smirk on his face as you do so.

Neither of you think to look up from your respective books as the door to the common room opens. Neither of you think to look up until a delicate cough breaks your bubble.

“Mother,” Draco greets, standing up from the couch, pulling you up with him. His arm automatically going to your waist, as if it belonged there.

“Draco, who is this?” Narcissa asks, not taking her eyes off you.

Draco’s arm remains tight around your waist, “This is my girlfriend, (Y/N).”

Her next question is directed at you, “How long have you been seeing my son?”

“Almost six months now.” You answer, keeping your voice steady. This was not how you envisioned finally meeting his parents.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes, I think I do.” You answer honestly. Draco’s hand squeezing your waist tightly.

Narcissa smiles, her eyes now on Draco’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist. She smooths out an invisible crease in her dress before saying, “Then that’s all that matters.”

“You don’t care that I’m a Gryffindor?” You ask, the words flying out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I care if Draco is happy and by the looks of it, he is. Your house doesn’t matter to me. Now I came here to see my son, and I’ve met his girlfriend as well. I say we take a walk into Hogsmeade and get some lunch – how does that sound?”

“Of course, mother.” Draco states, “I’ll grab our coats.” He kisses your cheek before rushing to his dormitory.

-------

Lunch with Narcissa went brilliantly, if you could say so yourself. She declined Draco’s offer of walking back to Hogwarts with the two of you; deciding to apparate from Hogsmeade instead. She kissed your cheek before she left and extended an invitation to visit Malfoy Manor whenever you wanted – she wanted to get to know the girl who her son had fallen in love with.

Walking back to Hogwarts, yours and Draco’s hands swing between you. If this was bliss, you didn’t want to know anything else. If this was being in love, then you didn’t want to be proved wrong. All you wanted was the boy walking next to you – for the rest of your life, if possible.

“(Y/N)?” Draco asks, coming to a stop in the middle of the path.

You hum, “Yes, Draco?”

“What would you say to us going public? Not hiding anymore?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Draco speaks over you. “I’m tired of having to pretend that I don’t want you, that I don’t love you. Because I do, I love you, a lot. I don’t think we have anything to be afraid of now, my mother knows, and everything will be okay.” He wraps his arms around you, “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

You throw your arms around his neck, tugging him down for a long, unhurried kiss. His hands tighten on you whilst yours find purchase in his hair. It’s a long time before you pull away from the other; completely unaware of how many people have hurried past you.

Your hand strokes his cheek as you whisper, “I love you too. Let’s not hide anymore.”

****

Draco taglist: @cheapglitter 

[sleeperswakewriting]

After Class

For @himebee-5's prompt!

Summary: Petra is Professor Ackerman's star student and yet, she keeps meeting him for office hours every Monday afternoon.

Rated: E

CWs: teacher/student relationship, age gap, praise kink

Word count: 3.2k

Surprise! I queued up another fic for smutty Saturday since I'll be out for most of the day--enjoy! 😉

She was distracting.

Levi prided himself in his stellar concentration, his perfunctory work, and despite his cold and callous demeanor, he was an excellent professor. Always receiving high remarks from his students and colleagues, and managing to churn out at least two research papers a year, there was little that compromised his neat routine.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he faced the chalkboard, clearing his throat. Levi Ackerman didn’t make mistakes, but after one look at her, his mind went elsewhere as he absently completed the calculus equation and one student shakily raised his hand and said, “E-excuse me sir, but I think you forgot to take the derivative in the fifth step.”

Taking a step back, realizing that his glasses slipped from its usual position since he took a double take at her, he merely nodded and erased the step in which he made the error and redid the equation. He thanked the student and a flurry of pencils hit paper as they recorded the problem, and Levi glanced at his watch, giving them a few minutes before he moved on.

It’s wasn’t just the plaid mini skirt and thigh high stockings that did it--he knew he was enough of a perverted old man that he at least acknowledged that turned him on, but the way she sat in the front row, prim and studious as she eyed him for the hour and a half lecture made him feel stupidly special. Most students’ eyes glazed over, and he didn’t give a shit if they were on their phones, it was their time and money after all, but the way her amber orbs never left him was almost damn unsettling if she didn’t have such a coquettish look.

Her short ginger hair was pulled back with a red head band today, and as he was giving back the first test of the semester, he paused at her seat and said, “Good work, Ms. Ral,” while sliding the test face down onto her desk. She beamed, looking at the paper, and her face fell at the grade. Levi frowned slightly, wondering what she could possibly be upset about since she received an 88, the third highest in the class. Calculus wasn’t an easy subject, and it was usually the class where students on the science and math track chose to drop out and choose a different major.

After passing out the tests, he returned to the desk at the front of the classroom to collect his things and head back to his office for his office hours for the day. As most of the students filtered out of the classroom, Petra sat stark still at her desk, eyes running over her exam, and eyebrows contorted in confusion.

“Is something wrong, Ms. Ral?” he asked, slinging his messenger bag over his grey dress shirt, adjusting his tie, and she looked up, eyes aglow. Levi pretended not to notice the way her tight long sleeved shirt hugged her curves, and the v-neck emphasized her breasts when she brought her arms together in anguish.

“I’m trying to figure out where I went wrong, Professor. I’m really disappointed in myself, I thought I aced this test.”

Levi cocked his head. “You should be proud of yourself, you have one of the highest marks in the class.”

Petra shook her head in disbelief. “Even so, I think I made far too many silly mistakes.” She sighed, shoulders slumping in clear disappointment. “I guess I’ll try harder next time. Sorry professor, you probably have to go--”

“My office hours are now,” he said, the words leaving his lips without even thinking. His glasses shone from the ceiling lights of the high lecture hall, and he swallowed. “We can go over the test if you’d like.”

And she smiled brilliantly at him again, collecting her things and swinging her fashionable book bag over her shoulder as she followed him to the math building. Levi kept at least three feet ahead of her, not wanting to give her the impression they had to make small talk since the math building was on the opposite side of the quad, and he breathed a sigh of relief when they entered his office. It was at the end of the hall of the third floor, a quiet place since it was around lunch time and most students were at the dining hall.

Levi closed the old wooden door and gestured for her to sit at the front of his desk while he deposited his bag and thumbed through the manila folder for the answer key. Petra set her things down and unfurled her own test, using his desk as she tapped her pencil at the corner of her lips.

“So which problems were giving you trouble?” He asked, loose leaf paper at the ready, and Petra motioned to problem number three.

“I get tripped up when there’s a double integral, I think.” She was already making the amendments in her head and she asked him for a piece of paper as well. Levi withdrew another from his desk cadenza and his breath hitched as their fingers touched. Stop acting like a teenage boy, he scolded himself, wondering when the last time he went on a date or had gotten laid because this was ridiculous. She was at least ten years his junior, his student no less, and she was just asking her math professor for help, even though she clearly didn’t need it.

She crossed her legs cutely, emphasizing her thighs between the space between her skirt and socks, and Levi averted his gaze as he forced himself to concentrate on her bright tone, going over her process as she circled and made the adjustments from her previous attempt.

“Yes, that’s correct. You want to integrate x and treat y as the constant. It’s like in the partial example, which you completed correctly in problem one.”

Petra smiled, nodding as understanding entered her field of vision and she completed the problem with ease. “Thank you Professor! Can you give me a harder problem just to make sure I understood the concept?”

And as Levi did his best to not pay attention to the way she said harder, he opened up the math textbook and selected an exercise, scratching it onto the paper between them and slid it towards her.

The mahogany desk was slightly too tall for Petra to comfortably lean against from the chair, so she sat up and leaned over to solve the problem, orange hair falling from her tucked ears. This time, Levi didn’t even bother looking away since Petra was fully invested in solving the equation, and he felt his pants tighten as he noted the white lace bra she had on underneath, and her round mounds spilling from her top.

“Is this right?” She asked, finally finishing, sitting back down in her seat and Levi coughed as he fought down the flush on his face.

He stared at the problem, willing himself to concentrate on the numbers in her neat handwriting, but he was finding it difficult to focus as he noticed her licking her lips after reapplying some chapstick. He took it line by line until he finally nodded and said, “Good work.”

Petra returned the paper to her folder and touched his hand gently from across the desk. “Thank you Professor Ackerman, it really means a lot to me that you went out of your way to help me. I guess the reviews were right after all.” His eyebrows rose since he didn’t usually make a habit to read his class reviews but relied on the report that the school gave him at the end of each term.

“Oh really? What do the reviews say?”

Petra giggled, and Levi felt his heart stop at the beautiful sound. “Well for one, they say you’re the sexiest teacher on campus, but more importantly, students who take your class are set up for success for linear algebra, which is my goal. I’m an astronomy major.”

He didn’t know why he found that to be a turn on since he worked at a university where there were literally hundreds of majors, but before he had a chance to think, Petra had collected her things and waved as she made for the brass knob of his office door.

“See you next week, Professor!”

And the door clicked shut. Levi’s head was spinning, and if he didn’t know any better, Petra was outright flirting with him, and he was having a difficult time processing that. He moved to lock the office door and he double checked to make sure that he didn’t have any upcoming meetings. Sinfully, he laid back in his chair and closed his eyes while he unbuckled his pants.

She’s your student, you filthy fuck. But her shiny lips, her sweet voice, and her intellect…

He stroked himself, thinking of her, and he came quickly, her name on his lips as he imagined himself taking her between her plaid skirt and thigh high socks.

---

Monday afternoons became a ritual for them, and while Levi attempted to muster up every ounce of professional courage, he found himself unable to say no to her. Every day, after class, she would sweetly ask if she could go over the day’s lecture, and he would say yes and they would wordlessly walk to his office and repeat the same routine.

It was always strictly professional, but he could have sworn that she was intentionally taking off her jacket or sweatshirt in front of him, sometimes leaving her in only a crop top. He decided then that she was purposely trying to kill him because the blood rushed faster to his groin than he could will himself to stop. He had to keep himself firmly behind his desk, not wanting to scare her from his raging hard-on as she pattered on about her misunderstandings for the day, and he would mutely nod, watching her the entire time.

She stopped the week during finals, only visiting him after his final lecture and he missed her presence during the two week absence. He eagerly awaited the day of the final exam, just to pathetically see her again, and there she was, front and center, pencil at the ready.

“This is my last test,” she whispered to him excitedly as he handed her the exam and he gave a thin smile and muttered a ‘good luck’ to her row, but looked at her the entire time.

She was the last to leave, and she heaved a sigh of relief as she handed him her packet, looking joyful.

“How did you find the test, Ms. Ral?” he asked, sparing her a last glance before she left his classroom for the final time. His heart ached at that, but he supposed it was for the best since dreams and visions of her had plagued him since the beginning of the semester.

“I think I aced it, thanks to my excellent teacher.” And she gave him a dazzling smile as she walked away and Levi trailed her form until she disappeared.

--

It was a routine message that Levi sent out to all of his students, that if they wanted to go over their final exam that they could set up office hours. He didn’t allow for debating for points--he had no time for that, and his grading procedure was precise and calculated, but he set up time slots for ease of the students.

So when he saw Petra Ral in his email, requesting for the last time slot before the last day of the grading period, he hurriedly clicked accept even though she received a perfect score on her test.

It was spring, and the promise of a new future hung in the air when Petra entered his office, wearing a similar ensemble to when she first came in, a red plaid skirt, thigh high stockings, and this time, a white knit t-shirt that unbuttoned just at her cleavage. She poked her head in, and he noticed that she didn’t carry a book bag, but opted for a small purse that slung over one shoulder.

“Hi Professor!” she chirped happily, hands clasped behind her back. Levi allowed himself a smile as he took her in.

“What can I do for you Ms. Ral? Surely you don’t have any complaints about this test--congratulations on ruining the curve, by the way. Your classmates are furious.”

Petra laughed, feeling satisfied with herself as she gazed at him--sleeves rolled up to his forearms and he opted for a vest and tie set that complimented his eyes nicely. “I wanted to let you know that I’m taking Professor Hange’s class next semester for linear algebra.”

His heart fell; he was also teaching that class, but maybe it didn’t fit into her schedule. He didn’t meet her eyes as he said, “She’s a tough teacher, but she’s good at what she does. Don’t expect to be let go early, the woman can and will go on for hours.”

Petra smiled. “I’ll be sure to make a note of it.” And she shuffled between her feet as a light blush came to her cheeks. “I wanted to give you a thank you gift, for all the office hours you’ve given to me the past semester.”

Levi raised a thin eyebrow between his glasses. “You don’t have to do that, Ms. Ral. It’s part of my job. You’re an excellent student, you made my job very easy.”

She batted her eyelashes as she stepped closer to him. He was seated in his leather office chair, arms crossed and she took a deep breath as she stood a foot apart from him, hands still playing with each other behind her back. “It’s nothing expensive. And you can call me Petra, Professor, the semester is over.”

And before Levi could question her words, she leaned in and kissed him gently on the cheek. Levi’s heart pounded in his chest, noticing that Petra was visibly shy despite the bold gesture she had just committed and he stared at her, slack jawed.

“Thank you, Professor.”

Levi’s eyes widened, and the hungry need he had for her over the past three months took over. Before he knew it, he was tugging at her wrist and she was straddling his lap, skirt pooling between them as he devoured her into a kiss, lips furiously nipping and biting as she let out an animated moan. Her hands went for his tie, pulling it from his vest and then around his neck where she buried her fingers into his undercut. A shiver of pleasure went down Levi’s spine as he settled his hands at her waist, then her back, and then at the fabric at the end of her shirt.

Panting, Petra raised her arms, signalling for him to take it off, and Levi let out a groan and a fucking hell at her lacy push up bra. Arms wrapped around each other again, Petra leaned into his chest, pressing her tits against him while she grinded against his lap, smiling as she devilishly noticed his hard-on between their clothing. Her breath was hot against his as she moved to unbutton his vest, and he raised himself to take it off, but let out a hiss as their centers made contact.

Not being able to help himself, Levi trailed his fingers up and down her legs, groaning that he was finally able to touch her, and the way the spandex hugged her skin was driving him crazy. He dove between her skirt, reaching for her panties and he played at her apex, noticing that she was incredibly wet, which only turned him on more.

Petra keened and threw her head back in pleasure as he began lavishing her neck with kisses and suckled at her jawline, happy that she tasted as beautiful as she looked. A light floral perfume danced across her flesh, and he inhaled her as he undid the headband from her hair, freeing the locks so he could bury his nose between them.

“Professor, ah, can you please touch me?” She asked weakly, eyes clenched shut from Levi’s ministrations and he chuckled.

“Only because you’ve been such a good student,” he whispered into her ear, and she nodded as he slipped a finger in, and pleasured sighs escaped both of their lips.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. Were you planning on this before you came in?” Levi asked, using his other hand to unbuckle his pants and slid down his zipper.

Petra was finding it harder and harder to think as Levi pumped into her, alternating between two and three fingers, teasing her clit and taking his hands away before she could go any higher. Vision going blurry, she reached for the back of her bra and undid the hook, letting it fall between them and Levi ripped it off, freeing her breasts.

He took a nipple between his teeth and bit down hard, earning a cry from Petra as she begged him to keep touching her while he buried his face into her chest. Petra moved to play with both of her nipples, all while riding against his hand and she felt like her heart was about to explode from Levi’s touch.

She slid her tongue against his lips, drinking him in as she asked him to help slide her panties down, and he obliged, but not before pocketing them into his pants. She shot him a questioning look, and he smirked, “This is my thank-you gift.”

Bashfully, Petra smiled and pawed him between his underwear, stroking his length up and down with her hand and she pulled his waist down just far enough to free his member. She gasped at his size, and Levi let out a hum of satisfaction while she took a moment to gaze at it, providing him with light touches.

“Levi, can I ride you?” She asked demurely, eyes fixated on his dick and he gripped her by the ass to guide her close.

Leaning over, he whispered into her ear, “That’s Professor Ackerman to you.”

Petra keened at his husky voice, and lowered herself onto him, moaning loudly as he breached her, dick hot against her tight entrance.

“That’s a good girl,” he encouraged, holding her close as she steadily bobbed up and down, her wetness providing enough slickness between them. His balls smacked against his legs, and her tits bounced each time she reached his hilt and she cried out.

Wild with lust, Levi toyed with her clit as she continued to ride him, fingers dancing and shaking as she paused to catch her breath. Their eyes met, and with equal fervor, they kissed as Petra braced her hands against his shoulders, pace increasing and then reaching her climax in a frenzy as she bobbed up and down.

“Professor,” she whined, releasing her hands and crying into his collar as she rode out her orgasm.

Levi’s eyes were clenched shut as her walls fluttered around him, her tightness becoming too much for him as he also met his own pleasure, and he pumped into her in short pulses. Breaths panting, he looked up to meet Petra, who was smiling between breaths.

Still sitting comfortably inside her, Levi laughed warily, unsure of where to go from here. Petra, still wrapping her body around his, licked the lobe of his ear as she said sultrily into his ear, “Did that count as extra credit?”

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

Chapter 2 | | Lamplights and Lonesome Bridge

warnings; mention of assault (being bullied)

word count; 3k

Tapping the end of her pen on her bottom lip, Zuli took a moment to close her eyes and breathe in the fresh air. She sat cross-legged upon her burnt orange blanket on a grassy square outside the Astronomy and Astrophysics building, writing pages and more pages for her thesis.

The transference of energy in the universe and its inability to be created.

So far she’d handwritten sixteen pages, the words just flowing from her mind but now she’d hit a wall. Slowly laying down onto her back, Zuli looked up at the sky. How could it hold so much space? Matter, particles, chemicals, stars, meteors, planets. And yet all she could see was clouds; aerosols consisting of liquid particles and crystals. The sky is just plain azure; like a door hiding so much beyond it. A crisp orange and brown leaf swivelled down from a nearby branch, landing only centimetres from her head.

She was truly fascinated by everything the world and the galaxies had to offer, intrigued by discovery; obsessed with learning. Letting out a deep exhale and closing her eyes, she almost began to drift off; her brain realising it needed a few minutes to reboot and recover. But a ruckus of sarcastic laughter and shouting stirred her from her relaxation.

Sitting up and shielding her eyes from the glowing sun, Zuli looked around to see where the noise was coming from. Sight finally following Sound, her stomach dropped as she noticed what was happening.

All too familiar she recognised five grown seniors underneath the arches by the Mathematics classrooms surrounding somebody, whoever it was being thrown around like a rag doll. Passed between each student, they were being shoved, hit, laughed at and verbally abused. While she knew she could be quite assertive and intimidating, that really only applied to people her age or younger. Seniors were different.

Continuing to watch at the same time as keeping an eye out to see if any staff were walking past.

“Ha ha, won’t be able to read your sappy love letters without these huh?” One older guy shouted, holding up a pair of clear framed glasses. Oh no. Her heart sank. Something began tingling in her stomach, flowing through to her feet and her arms and hands; she grew angry, scared, overwhelmed.

Collecting her textbooks and notepad, Zuli stood up and marched straight over to the group of boys. Adrenaline and dopamine worked evilly beside each other, triggering Zuli’s instincts of fight or flight; both of them somehow coming into play.

“If you don’t leave him the heck alone, I’ll report you to the dean of the CARE team. I know you. You,” Zuli addressed two of the group, “are from Chemistry. You others are from Mathematics. It’s not a threat, it’s a promise. Back off.” She spoke with such a seething tone to her voice, regardless of her being a small 15 year old kid; the boys listened, gathering their things and jogging off in a different direction.

“Spencer?” Zuli’s tone changed immediately, as she whispered to the boy curled up on the floor clutching his bag. His glasses were thrown just a bit away from him so Zuli picked them up, wiped the lenses with the hem of her sweater and handed them back to Spencer. He snatched them, scrambling to get himself together and stood up.

“It’s a silly question, but are you alri-“ Zuli couldn’t even finish the sentence before Spencer ran off, the back of him becoming a small shape as he got further and further away.

Shrugging her own backpack on her shoulders properly and adjusting her own glasses on the bridge of her nose, she tried to tell her brain not to take it personally. She probably wouldn’t want to talk to anybody after being exploited like that in public.

As she took a step forward to follow him, her foot nudged against something thick on the floor. A book covered in tight lavender coloured woven cloth lay on the floor, as if discarded like trash. Picking it up to observe, she noticed it had S.R embroidered down the spine. Holding it to her chest, she looked up to see if Spencer was still visible.

Watching as he became a little dot in the distance, she watched as he stopped underneath a junction of trees. Go left. Go left Spencer. He looked to his right before running off to the left and Zuli sighed with solace.

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

The sunshine and clear sky was quickly a thing of the past as the weather turned into what should be expected of the fall; darkness creeping in early, and light raindrops hitting the ground. And as Zuli creaked open the recognisable doors to the library, it was the rain against the windows that made the soft sound of sniffling even more melancholic.

Following the soft sniffles to where she hoped in foresight Spencer would be, she sighed at the confirmation. Curled up in one of the big leather armchairs in what they’d both christened as ‘their’ corner of the room, Spencer had his knees tucked into his chest and his head tucked into his knees.

Arms wrapped tightly around his legs, he squeezed himself tighter at the sound of soft footsteps creeping toward him. He wanted to be alone. He didn’t want to speak to a dean or a librarian or another student.

But as he peeked underneath his elbow and saw Zuli’s maroon Doc Martens standing by the chair, he lifted his whole head to see her smiling down at him.

“Hey you.” She spoke, for the first time, truly gently.

“Hi.” Spencer sniffed hard, clearing his throat and wiping his eyes with his sweater sleeve and trying to sit up properly.

“You don’t have to get up for me Spencer, I’ll sit over there,” Even though her instinct was telling her to give him a huge hug, she knew he wouldn’t want it, “I think this is yours though.”

Holding out the mysterious book, Spencer’s eyes widened and he let out a breathy chuckle of disbelief.

“I thought they took it,” You shook your head as he took it timidly from your hands, “It was a birthday gift.”

“Wait. Did I miss your birthday?” Zuli asked, eyes widening and mouth open in surprise. Had she been so caught up in her thesis she didn’t notice her own friend’s birthday? As her brain attempted to figure out his birthday, he spoke.

“It’s today.”

“What? Why didn't you say anything?” Zuli supposed also, how hadn’t she noticed from the years before? She would’ve got him gifts, made him some cupcakes, anything.

Spencer shifted in his seat a little, fingernails stretching at a loose bit of cotton on his pants. He was evidently uncomfortable, for reasons that Zuli didn’t know and didn’t want to press on. Looking over Spencer’s shoulder at something happening outside in the hall, Zuli let out a little giggle.

Joining her in looking, Spencer too giggled at the sight of some students carrying a range of pumpkins and running down the hall with them.

A tradition they’d both learned takes place every Halloween at Caltech; students dropping pumpkins from the 9 floors up, watching them smash into tiny pieces at the bottom. It was one of the first things that Zuli and Spencer had done together besides study, laughing at the atmosphere of excitement and madness as the pumpkins shattered on the ground.

Zuli had picked miniscule bits of pumpkin out of Spencer’s hair for hours after.

“Shall we go watch?” She asked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and holding onto her bag straps, “It might make you feel a little better.”

Spencer smiled at the doorway before turning to look at Zuli, overwhelmed by her kind soft voice; also wanting both to feel better and see the tradition.

“Let’s go.” Spencer stood up, brushing down his pants and running his hands over his face, removing evidence of his upset minutes ago.

As they both walked towards the doors, Zuli nudged Spencer’s shoulder with her own; getting a little chuckle out of him. Reaching down to turn the doorknob, Zuli leant her full body weight on the door to push it open.

But it wouldn’t. Jiggling the door handle over and over, the realisation creeped in that it wasn’t going to budge. Turning to Spencer, she let out a splutter of anxious giggles, his eyes wide however returning the same laughs.

“Well, looks like we’ve been locked in.” Spencer said, attempting to look through the glass and down the hall in case anyone was still walking around. He knew that everybody would be outside watching the pumpkins, but surely they would’ve seen them both in there.

Looking over to the corner they were sat in, he realised that the chairs were tucked in a corner behind some bookshelves, out of sight from the entrance door. Brilliant.

“Let’s just use the desk phone and call the caretaker or somebody?” Zuli suggested, pulling out her planner from her backpack and heading over to the phone sitting on top of the librarians desk. She’d taken all the emergency numbers of staff and authorities down in case anything ever happened. Preparedness was a relatively strong suit for her.

Spencer paced around the front of the desk as Zuli tried different numbers, stopping only when she began talking to somebody. It wasn’t that he was worried about anything, he adored the library; however he was exhausted and wanted to go to bed. Spending his birthday trapped in a library almost sounded fun, and it was only counting on the fact that Zuli would keep him entertained and busy.

“Okay, that’s fine. No it’s not that bad actually. See you soon. Thank you sir. Bye.” Zuli sighed as she put the phone down, hopping down from where she was sitting on the desk, “They’re sending a caretaker out to come and unlock the doors, but they won’t be for another two to three hours because of the rain.”

“I suppose that’s significantly better than staying here until 7 tomorrow morning.”

“The lady asked if it was cold in here, because the heating turns off at six-ish, buuuuut-“ Zuli unzipped her backpack and pulled out the blanket she was sitting on earlier, “I came prepared. Oh my god! I have an idea!”

Spencer just smiled and pulled his bag strap back over his head, settling it down on a nearby chair as he watched his hyperactive friend begin to push one of the leather chairs forward. He had no idea what she was doing, but whatever it would be he was going to just leave her to it.

*********************************************************“Is your neck hurting too?”

“Yeah. I completely misjudged the size of the blanket, and the distance between the chairs.”

They were both crouched underneath Zuli’s blanket that she had draped over the backs of two chairs; attempting to make a small fort in which they could hide from the cold threatening to creep in. But the blanket was only a small kind of throw, the chairs were absolutely huge and she and Spencer were squeezed so close together they might as well have been fused.

“I’ve got shoulder cramp, how is that even possible?” Zuli chuckled, rolling both shoulders back and wincing. The sudden movement tugged on a part of the blanket dipped behind them, and it soon fell to cover them entirely.

“If a muscle is overused or held in an awkward position over a long period of time, it can spasm. While only temporary, it seems like yours would be in the trapezius muscle, so before it entirely locks up I’d recommend a few stretches.” Spencer spoke, voice muffled by the blanket covering his head.

Bursting out into laughter, Zuli pushed the blanket back off of their heads, letting it sit around their shoulders. Rolling her head around in semi-circles, she sighed as the pain began to drift away. She knew it wasn’t just the way she was sitting, her posture had grown awful. Constantly hunched over books, or telescopes, she barely had time to stand or sit straight.

“Spencer…” Zuli mumbled, her voice coming out in the same way a person would sneak down the hall to the fridge at midnight.

“Mm?”

“May I ask what was so important about your book? Is it a first edition?”

Spencer smiled sadly as he reached for it, the spine poking out of his bag. If only he just told her everything with his mom; she wouldn’t have to ask these things and he wouldn’t have to answer them. He knew she would be kind and considerate - that’s just her in general - but he felt like it was too much to offload to somebody else. He didn’t want a pity party, he didn’t need one. But at the same time, if there was somebody to understand a tiny part of his struggle, it could make it easier. He wasn’t sure what was harder. So he calculated the simplest, vaguest answer possible, so as not to attract any further questions.

“It was a gift from somebody special. My favourite poems, mostly romantic, sonnets etcetera. Those seniors thought it was funny so used their own insecurities to lash out.”

There was a sadness behind his words, Zuli knew he wasn’t saying everything but trusted him enough to know if he wanted to share, he could. Deflecting slightly, her brain held on to the words ‘somebody special’ and ‘romantic’. No, it wouldn’t be something like that, he’d tell her. Surely?

“I feel like I can hear your thoughts, Zuli.” Spencer snapped her out of her thinking, eyebrows furrowed with intrigue, “It’s not what you think at all.”

“No, oh my god, it’s fine, I was just thinking that's all. I want you to feel like you can talk to me if you need to, but also you don’t have to, I just can see that you’re upset by something and I’m here if you-“

“It’s from my mom. She’s um…she’s not well. But she remembered my birthday and sent it to me. I read hundreds of books, but this one means the world to me.”

Zuli watched him with intense eyes. She felt full of adoration, sadness, love and contentment for Spencer. She could see he was hurting, but the lavender book gripped tightly in his fingers clearly brought him fondness. Spencer looked up at Zuli to see why he got no response, to find her smiling with enamour. Two lamplights on the table next to them cast a tuscan glow over the two of them, and he suddenly felt overwhelmingly warm.

“Do you know what?” Zuli sat up quickly, keeping the mood from dipping down and switching it to popping up, “I have something that makes me feel like that.”

Reaching into her own knapsack, she pulled out a medium sized leather book and handed it over to Spencer.

“You can look inside if you want.”

Spencer ran his fingers over the carved outline of a tree on the cover, the flat grain of the leather smooth and cool underneath his fingertips. It was beautifully made, and he could tell from the feel of the leather bindings and the smoothness of the handmade paper. He laid it down in between them both, gesturing for Zuli to open it herself.

She excitedly unravelled the leather strips wound round the outside and opened it up to her cover page. Written in magnificent calligraphy the words;

My Dream Adventures

lazuli aged 6

“It was a gift from my mom too. I’ve written a lot of hopes and dreams here, some of which I’ve achieved and some I’m yet to. She used to say to me that ‘adventure is out there.’” Zuli articulated, flipping the first few pages and pointing at different coloured writings.

“Own a lemonade stand and make fifty dollars.”

“Achieved,” Zuli spoke proudly, “age eleven. Made ninety dollars and bought this new backpack.”

Spencer laughed with true merriment before going back to some of the other scribbles.

“Keep bees and sell my own honey.”

“Yet to.”

“Quite the businesswoman it seems, Zuli.” Spencer giggled at her straightforwardness. Zuli’s smile was wider than the Amazon river, her passion and true self coming out as she expressed herself through her past stories.

“This one looks cool, I like your artwork. To fly a house to Lonesome Bridge and live there forever. Where's the Lonesome Bridge?” Spencer asked, trying to rack his brain and think where this ideal living space was.

“It’s in Utah. I love how you don’t care about how I get there, just where I’m going.” Zuli smiled, looking down at the drawing she’d made as a young kid, a white wooden house with multicoloured balloons poking out of its chimney.

“Not to crush your dreams but how do you expect to fly a house. If I’m not mistaken, Utah is at least six hundred and seventy miles…” Spencer’s voice trailed off as a dark frown dropped over Zuli’s face.

It was replaced with a burst of laughter and an excited flap of Zuli’s hands. “Okay so, I estimated that my dream house would be roughly around one hundred thousand pounds in weight, and if I used balloons that were around six feet in diameter, I’d only need, oh what was it..” She hurried to flip to the next page, covered in scribbles of calculations and more drawings of coloured balloons across the page, “Ah! Thirteen thousand, two hundred and eight balloons.”

Spencer watched as she smiled down at her drawings, continuing to explain how the impossible was actually possible. Although he definitely didn’t have a life threatening disease in which this was a symptom, he felt as if his heart was swelling. Unfamiliar with this feeling, he should’ve been uncomfortable but he couldn’t feel more at ease and peace as he did then.

Zuli felt the same unknowingly to him, her heart pouring out of her mouth within her words as she unravelled her future and shared it all with Spencer. She hoped deep, deep, deep down inside that he would stick around and see these wonderful things with her.

[theguidetocryptids]

Murr had placed down twenty-one glow-lamps so far.

He had placed them down every one-hundred-and-fifty taillengths.

Which meant he was a little bit well over three-thousand taillengths from the main camp.

Which, if this tunnel was dug in the right direction, would place him smack-dab in the middle of the M-section of the Library.

Snuffling his nose excitedly, brushing a bit of sand out of his whiskers, the mouse burrowed upwards, at an angle, to leave the rest of his packed-sand tunnel intact. It would only be a few whiskerlengths until he—

Yes! Yes! Hopping out into a surprisingly open area, bookshelves towering away at his every side, Murr hopped around excitedly, kicking up dust with every jump, and not even caring.

Checking a nearby plaque that detailed the contents of the aisle, Murr felt his whiskers trembling at the thought. Here he was, one of the least renowned borrowers, and he had found it! The M-section! The most important part of the library!

Magic!

Metal!

Machines!

He could hardly contain himself, even after a few moments, but there was no time to waste. Anything found here would be priceless, even if it wasn’t one of the big three topics—books from this section were rare as anything could be, in the Library! He was basically swimming in gold, now! Scrambling his way up a nearby ladder, which squeaked its protest rather ominously, the mouse would pull out a book at random.

Back home, the Warren was positively flooded with books from the nearest sections—A in particular. They knew practically everything that the ancients had to say about agriculture, animal husbandry, and aquifers—their main sources of food and water—but then again, the A section was in pristine condition. It hadn’t been affected all that much by the weight of the underground above it, as the Warren members had taken care to preserve what they could once they realized the volatility of the Library’s structure. (Architecture—a newly valued skill.)

But this! The later sections! These books were rarely found fragmented, much less whole and well preserved! Only the odd misplaced textbook had made its way to the earlier sections—and very few contained useful information—but some made mention of magic and metal, and some of technology and machinery. And how wonderful they had been! If the Warren of old had simply realized that the ceiling of the Library was failing in time! Alas!

Then again, that didn’t matter now. Murr had found it! The lost section!

Magic! And metal!

Flipping through the first object of his bounty—a book well preserved, but missing its title-sleeve—he came across something . . . unexpected.

There was what seemed to be a map of their world—of “Maroon,” the title said. The Ancients had used that to reference their planet a few times—and although vast swathes of the “Astronomy” section was lost to a great fire, enough survived for the Warren to know that there were planets, spheres, in which they lived on.

But there was something . . . else. There was a map of the land of Maroon, yes, but next to it was a different type of map. An . . . astrological chart?

Murr felt his whiskers shiver with surprise. Every chart in the A-section had been moved centuries again—lost to the Warren, who had only found the Library after the Ancients abandoned it—but there was this! an astrologer's chart! a map!

And, next to Maroon, painted a soft blue, was the Moon. Hung high in the sky, amidst a field of stars and stellar dust.

Murr was a very easily excitable mouse, to be certain, but he fell still at this. There was . . . a moon? Above Maroon? One that he had—no, one that no one in the Warren had seen? Above-ground? Not submerged in the sands?

If . . .

If they lived after what the Ancients left for them, then wouldn’t it be right to see this “moon?” Murr reasoned. Clearly, it was important enough to note in their texts. And one had taken the time to effort to draw it—a rare commodity in most of the Library’s texts.

He had to see it. He had already found the M-section, after all, and that had been thought to be lost forever. How hard could it be to reach the surface? To see the moon?

Just a quick trip. Up, to appreciate the object of the Ancient’s admirations, and then down, to share his findings, and the rest of the bounty of the M-section.

How hard could it be?

[cursebreaker-lilith]

I said I was gonna do this like a month ago and I’m late as usual lolol Anyways, have Fiona~

BASICS

Name: Fiona Fraser

Nicknames: TBD

Name Meaning: Anglicization of the Gaelic word meaning white or fair.

Gender: Cis Female

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 15

Birthday: August 20, 1875 (? Year depending on when the game is set)

Zodiac: Leo

Blood Status: Half-blood

Ethnicity/Nationality: Brazilian-Scottish

Sexuality: TBD

Appearance

Body:

Height: 158cm / 5′2

Build: Lean with light muscles

Eyes: Dark brown

Hair: Dark brown, slightly curly. Long and usually held back in a messy braid.

Skin: Light brown with freckles

Misc: Several small and mostly unnoticeable scars across her hands and ankles from dealing with animals

Material Items:

Clothing: Generally wears clothing meant for sports or plain trousers. Uncaring of most conventions for women’s clothing, considers them more guidelines than rules. Really only wears them because she’ll get in trouble with the school or because her sister wants her to.

Accessories: Not fond of wearing anything that could be easily yanked off of her body.

In their school bag: Wand, journal, animal treats, encyclopedia of common Scottish plants, another journal, textbooks, medical book, some rocks that she thinks are cool, at least have a dozen quills (she loses them frequently)

Reference:

Face Claim: TBD

Voice Claim: TBD

Personality

Traits:

+  friendly, observant, quick learner, athletic, extroverted, courteous

+/— independent, curious, quirky, blunt, impulsive, idealistic

— selfish, withdrawn, thoughtless, unreliable, flighty, forgetful

Description:

Fiona has always wanted to do things her way, and clashed with her grandfather because of this. Loves to go off on her own.

Loves learning. Mainly of the natural world, but she loves any fun trivia. Not great at learning in the usual classroom setting however.

She may not be the best at making friends, but she definitely puts her all into being cheerful and courteous.

Other:

Likes: Animals, nature, exploring, puzzles and logic, cool rocks or leaves or bugs

Dislikes: Being told what to do, sitting still, being inside, not receiving an explanation for why she can or can’t do something

MBTI: ENTP

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Hogwarts

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

OWL Classes:

Astronomy: 4/10 (A)

Charms: 7/10 (E)

DADA: 5/10 (A)

Flying: 5/10 (A)

Herbology: 8/10 (O)

History of Magic: 2/10 (P)

Potions: 6/10 (P)

Transfiguration: 6/10 (E)

OWL Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures: 10/10 (O)

Divination: 2/10 (P)

NEWT Classes:

Care of Magical Creatures: 10/10 (O)

Charms: 8/10 (E)

Herbology: 9/10 (O)

Extracurriculars:

Clubs: TBD

Quidditch: Doesn’t play Quidditch, but thinks it looks fun

Prefect or Head Boy/Girl: TBD

Best Classes:

Care of Magical Creatures Fiona has always had a fascination for the natural world and a gift in dealing with it, so it’s no surprise she immediately takes to the class.

Herbology See above. She also would frequently help her sister with gardening.

Worst Classes:

History of Magic Anything with book learning is hard for her.

Astronomy See above. She thinks it’s much more interesting than History of Magic though and at least tries to do well.

Divination She thought it would be fun but turned out to be about as poor of a Seer as possible.

Favorite Professors:

TBD

Least Favorite Professors:

TBD

Magic

1st Wand: Chestnut, Phoenix feather, 11 ½ in, springy

This is a most curious, multi-faceted wood, which varies greatly in its character depending on the wand core, and takes a great deal of colour from the personality that possesses it. The wand of chestnut is attracted to witches and wizards who are skilled tamers of magical beasts, those who possess great gifts in Herbology, and those who are natural fliers. However, when paired with dragon heartstring, it may find its best match among those who are overfond of luxury and material things, and less scrupulous than they should be about how they are obtained. Conversely, three successive heads of the Wizengamot have possessed chestnut and unicorn wands, for this combination shows a predilection for those concerned with all manner of justice.

Special Abilities: Able to see Ancient Magic

Boggart

Form: Herself, stuck to the floor and unable to move (representing being stuck in one place and unable to explore)

Riddikulus: Her plain gown turns into something ridiculous and she unsticks a foot only to fall on her butt

Amortentia

What they smell: TBD

What they smell like to others: Citrus, petrichor, lavender

Patronus

Form: Leopard

Memory: The first time she successfully healed a wounded animal and released it into the wild.

What they see in the Mirror of Erised: Her with her mother, father, and sister travelling the world

FAMILY

Sister: Fenella Fraser

Her identical twin sister. The two are very different, but very close due to the fact that they only had each other growing up. Fiona is very protective of her sister, but is also interested in seeing how things will go now that they don’t live in the same room anymore.

Grandfather: Alasdair Fraser

Fenella and Fiona were raised by their grandfather on a rural and isolated farm in Scotland since they were a baby. He was very strict and very paranoid and refused to let the girls go to Hogwarts, homeschooling them with help from Isla, who their grandfather barely tolerated. He died suddenly from illness when they were 15.

Father:  Thiago Gonçalves

A Brazilian Muggle-born who was fond of travelling and adventure. Went to Castelobruxo and was an eager student. Currently missing.

Mother: Catrìona Fraser

A Scottish pureblood raised by her strict father. Never went to Hogwarts and homeschooled by him. Left his house the second she was old enough and ran off to find an adventure. Currently missing.

Guardian: Isla MacLean

A pureblood witch who lives nearby to the Fraser farm and one of the few aware of its location. Alasdair would (begrudgingly) invite her over every two weeks or so to help teach Fenella and Fiona as Isla worked as a tutor to younger wizarding children at the nearby town. Not knowing anyone else, when their grandfather died, the two girls went to her to help deal with his death and what comes after. She has reluctantly become their caretaker/guardian for when they aren’t at Hogwarts.

Pets:

Angel An angry old tomcat that they used as a rat catcher on their farm.

Has always been fond of taking care of wounded animals, or any that live on her grandfather’s farm and considered all of them her pets too.

FRIENDS

Best Friends:

Fenella Fraser Her sister, see above.

Good Friends:

TBD

Friends:

TBD

It’s Complicated:

TBD

Love Interests:

TBD

Dormmates:

TBD

Doesn’t Interact:

TBD

Enemies:

TBD

Story

Childhood:

Homeschooled by her strict grandfather and a neighbour before his death. After that, they went to live with the neighbour for several months and she became Fenella and Fiona’s caretaker and guardian before shuffling them off to Hogwarts.

Fiona was always in trouble with her grandfather. She didn’t like being told no without a reason why and frequently broke his rules to go off exploring on her own. She still loved him and was sad when he died, but was excited to be able to properly learn things at a school.

Hogwarts:

Was also quite shocked to be separated from her sister when they were Sorted into different Houses. She took it much better than Fenella however and quickly tried to make friends in Ravenclaw. Turned out to be not great at school, but always had fun with the Ravenclaw door’s riddles.

Adulthood:

TBD

Miscellaneous

Has ADHD but it’s undiagnosed because 1800s

Decent at art, at least when it comes to drawing animals or plants.

Has her own family curse related to Ancient Magic that I will probably expand more on when the games comes out lol

[wonderweasley]

Close for Comfort

Harry Potter x Reader

Plot: You and Harry comfort each other after Moody demonstrates the Unforgivable Curses in class. 

Warnings: none per se, use of Unforgivable Curses/mentions of death may be uncomfortable for some

(This will be based off of the book more than the movie, for anyone wondering. Also, didn’t have a lot of time to proofread this so...oops? Feedback is welcome as always! Enjoy!)

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

All fourth years were beyond excited to attend their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Moody, what with the older students (especially the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan) ranting and raving over the class. Naturally, you were curious about what Moody could possibly do to get the twins actually interested in a class. 

You definitely did not expect to witness the use of the Unforgivable Curses.

The class chatted excitedly until a distinctive ‘clunk clunk clunk’ could be heard echoing down the corridor.

“You can put those away,” Professor Moody grumbled. All at once, the class shoved their textbooks back into their bags. He took attendance, his magical eye rolling around to look at each student, and minutes later pulled a glass jar from his desk. Inside, three large spiders scurried around, seemingly in terror of what was to befall them. 

“Imperio!” he cried. The entire class watched with bated breath as the spider Moody had placed in the palm of his hand began doing all sorts of flips and tricks. The classroom filled with laughter. 

All but yours.

“Think it’s funny, do you? You’d like it if I did it to you?” Moody growled. “Only one person in this bloody classroom with any common sense,” he muttered, his bright magic eye landing on you. 

You’d never had the displeasure of witnessing any of the Unforgivable Curses before today, and frankly, you were quite glad. The Imperius Curse made you uncomfortable; you weren’t by any means fond of spiders, but you couldn’t help but pity the poor creature. Certainly no one would enjoy losing complete control of their mind and body and being forced into acting as a show pony. 

And it only got worse from there. 

Neville, surprising the entire class, and undeniably himself as well, raised his hand and offered Moody the next curse - “the Cruciatus Curse,” he all but whispered. 

Moody lifted the next spider from the jar, enlarged it using Engorgio, and then cast “Crucio!” 

The spider’s legs curled into its body and it began to twitch and rock back in forth, gradually shuddering more and more violently. Tears filled your eyes as you imagined how much pain the poor thing was in. You felt sobs ready to escape your body and you watched the spider, and even more so once you realized poor Neville was visibly distraught as well. You were ready to put an end to this when- 

“Stop it!” cried Hermione. Moody raised his gnarled hand from the spider, reduced it to its normal size, and placed it back into the jar. 

The time came for the final curse. The Killing Curse. 

Professor Moody raised his wand and the entire class hushed in an equal mix of anticipation and horror. You closed your eyes, unable to watch the scene unfold. “Avada Kedavra!” 

Green light flashed, signaling to you that the deed was done; though you still dreading opening your eyes to witness the aftermath. Ron had nearly fallen out of his chair, and Moody proceeded to swipe the spider’s lifeless body onto the floor. Tears filled your eyes once again; death in general upset you more than you could explain.

“Not pleasant. And there’s no counter-curse, no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he’s sitting right in front of me.” Everyone turned to look at Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Sitting at the desk to his left, you could see him squirm under the watch of so many eyes. And you could see the pain behind his own. You could only imagine the pain he felt, having watched his parents die trying to protect him. Even though he was so young when it happened, you were sure he had some recollection of it all. 

Once class had ended, you rushed to meet him in the hallway. “Harry!” you called after him. He motioned for Ron and Hermione to continue on without him and turned to you.

“Oh, (Y/N),” he uttered. “Um, is everything okay?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you actually. I know watching all that couldn’t have brought up good memories, so I just wanted to check on you.” Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He’d only talked to you a few times before, nothing major, so this was rather unexpected. Although, if he knew one thing about you, it was that you had a kind heart; you were even kind to Slytherins. Well, most of them. 

“Well...if I’m being honest, I am a little shaken, I suppose. Seeing the Killing Curse in person definitely isn’t my idea of fun,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Would you like to join me in the Astronomy Tower after dinner? With Halloween coming up my parents sent me some sweets a little early and I won’t be able to eat it all on my own,” you offered, smiling as sweetly as the candy stashed in your nightstand. “Plus, I could use a little pick-me-up as well.”

Harry thought for a second, then nodded. “That sounds lovely, (Y/N). I’ll see you then.”

Roughly an hour later, as you sat in the Astronomy Tower wrapped in your favorite blanket, Harry made his way up to join you. You spent hours together- talking, reminiscing, joking around with each other, and stuffing yourselves full of candy. Harry, at some point, found his way under your blanket as well, and from time to time you would brush hands or bump knees (not that either of you were complaining; you found a strange sense of comfort in each other). After yawning for about the thousandth time each, you realized it was probably time for the two of you to go your separate ways. 

“I had a wonderful time, Harry,” you told him. “It was nice to get to know you better.”

“I had a great time too,” he smiled. “We should do this more often; especially if there’s sweets involved.” Both of you laughed at his response. You bid each other good night, watching Harry as he made his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room. From that night on, he was not only the Boy Who Lived- he was the Boy Who Lived in your dreams. 

[yungidreamer]

Sick Day

Summary: The trio gets an unfortunate start to their weekend when she wakes up sick on Saturday morning. The boys do everything they can to make sure she gets well.

Wordcount: 2.8k

Content warnings: None really, its mostly just sappy fluff of the boys pampering and taking care of their girl when she isn’t feeling well.

A wave of nausea pulled her from her sleep, churning her stomach. She needed to get up and she needed to get up right now. Throwing off the tangle of arms and legs, she crawled off the foot of the bed as fast as she could, stumbling slightly as her feet hit the floor. She made it to the toilet before she actually threw up, but barely. It was a small miracle she remarked to herself as she knelt there heaving again. No extra clean up, at least. God, why did everything hurt, she wondered. The tiles felt so cold against her legs, making her shiver.

“Babe, you okay?” Yunho’s voice came from behind her. She just groaned in response, leaning her head against her arm that was resting on the seat of the toilet.

“I’ll go get some water,” Mingi offered from behind the other boy, also having come to investigate.

“Can I touch your forehead, love?” Yunho asked, crouching beside her. “I just want to check if you have a fever.” She nodded, turning her head to the side to allow him to reach it. Placing his palm on the center of her forehead, holding it there long enough to tell that she did indeed have a fever.

“Oh love,” he sighed, looking at her bleary eyes and sallow complexion.

“Just let me die,” she groaned with hyperbolic drama, though she felt a little bit like that is exactly what she wanted to do.

“I would really rather you didn’t,” Yunho smiled at her, gently stroking her head. “Let’s start with getting that fever down first.”

“Here,” Mingi handed her the glass of water before reaching into the cabinet to get some aspirin for her. She swished some water in her mouth, spitting it out, before taking a drink and then swallowing the pills. With a groan, she rested her head on her arm, not yet positive the pills would stay down.

“Can we get you in a bath to get your temperature down a little?” Mingi suggested, crouching beside her.

“Ugh, it’s gonna feel cold,” she whined.

“We won’t make it too cold,” Yunho promised, already testing the water for the bath. “But you’ll feel better faster if you take one.” She grumbled but leaned back and started fumbling with her pajamas. Mingi stilled her hands, giving her a sympathetic smile as he started to help her undress. She could have done it herself but really, her hands felt sort of numb and tired and it probably would have taken her longer to do. Both the boys had plenty of experience taking things off her and Mingi managed to get her undressed and in the tub quickly. She sucked in her breath at the feel of the room temperature water filling in around her legs.

“I know it doesn’t feel great but just give it a little time,” Mingi cupped her cheek as she made a face. “Can I start something for breakfast for you?”

“Uuuugggghhhhh,” she groaned at the mention of food.

“Nothing too big or too heavy,” he promised. “But you need to eat, babe.”

“Food is a good idea,” Yunho agreed, sitting on the edge of the tub beside her. She huffed and sunk down lower in the water. “When you get out we’ll have everything ready for you. Just relax for a while, we’ll take care of everything today.”

She nodded and let the water surround her. If she didn’t move it didn’t feel as cold. Eventually she let herself sink under the waterline, wetting her hair and her face. The water was starting to feel less chilly, which probably meant her fever was going down. At least when she was floating in the water her skin didn’t really hurt.

Yunho returned to find her floating with just her face and her feet, which were dangling over the other end of the tub, above water. She looked cute and peaceful, almost enough so to let her stay there like that. However, he was quite sure that she would much rather be somewhere that she could rest without the risk of getting water up her nose. He drew up beside her, leaning his chin on his arms while they rested on the curve of the side of the large porcelain tub. It took a moment for her to open her eyes and see him. A weak smile spread over her face and she sat up in the water.

“Let’s put you to bed,” Yunho suggested, pulling the drain and letting the water escape. He helped her up and dried her off with a big fluffy towel before dressing her in the practical pieces of the silky silver pajama set she had gotten over the holidays. Yunho then used the towel to wring out her hair before picking her up to carry her back to bed.

While she had been soaking, the boys had changed the sheets and filled a hot water bottle to warm up her spot. Yunho tucked her in and moved the bottle to her feet to keep the bed warm and to keep her toes from feeling cold. Mingi came back to the room with a tray holding a bowl of rice porridge, a mug of hot tea, and a little fake flower he had fished from somewhere. Carefully placing it on her lap, he cuddled up beside her to make sure she ate something, even if she didn’t end up finishing it.

“What do we want to watch?” Yunho asked, getting in on his side with the remote in hand.

“You guys don’t have to waste your Saturday with me,” she sniffled though her stuffy nose. “I’m probably just going to sleep most of the day anyway.”

“It’s okay,” Mingi assured her. “I’d rather be here with you anyway.”

“Yeah, no place I’d rather be unless we’re bothering you,” Yunho slipped an arm around her shoulder. “So what are we watching?”

“What about Stranger Things?” She suggested. “They have a new season but maybe we could start at the beginning?”

“That sounds fun,” Mingi agreed. “I’ll make some popcorn later for us, but for now, just work on eating that. Do you want the lights turned down and the curtains closed?”

“Yeah it’s sort of a dark show so maybe a dark room is good.” She decided, taking a small bite. Mingi popped up to turn down the lights and close the thick curtains over the window. He joined them back in bed and Yunho started the first episode for them as she slowly downed little bites of the porridge. 

The boys kept their eyes on her as much as the show, checking on her each time she moved or sighed just in case. She kept the food down, thanks to their work getting her temperature down first. When she set down her spoon and declared that she had had enough, Mingi happily took the tray and put it down out of the way for her. He cuddled down under the covers with her, keeping a warm hand on her stomach making small circles as he watched the show they had on. Yunho took one of her hands in his and interlaced their fingers, holding it in his lap. Before long she did fall asleep and the boys paused the show, putting something else on while she took a nap between them.

“Did you want to work on some homework while she is out?” Mingi suggested.

“Yeah, better to get it done now so we can take care of her when she is up and around,” Yunho agreed.

“What did you need?” Mingi asked as he slipped away from her sleeping body.

“Bring my laptop and my astronomy textbook for now,” Yunho replied. “I don’t think she’ll sleep that long. We should also have more aspirin ready for her to take in a few hours.”

“Okay,” Mingi nodded and headed to bring back their books and the aspirin. They spent the next couple of hours watching some reality something about cooking while trying to finish a bit of the homework they had for the weekend. Between them she still slept but shifted fitfully and Mingi put his hand to her forehead, feeling that her fever was coming back.

“Should we wake her up?” He asked Yunho.

“Better to take care of it before she gets sick again,” Yunho was worried. “Maybe we should make more food for her too.”

“I can do that, but what would be good?” Mingi closed his books and moved them further down on the bed.

“Soup maybe,” Yunho guessed. “Something light… she did keep the porridge down so we could do more of that.”

“What about mashed potatoes?” Mingi suggested after a moment’s thought. “She really likes those and it wouldn’t be heavy.”

“That’s a good idea,” Yunho nodded. “Are you hungry too? I’m getting pretty hungry now, at least.”

“Yeah,” Mingi agreed. “What do you want to have?”

“A couple of sandwiches would be fine,” Yunho shrugged. “I don’t need something fancy, just filling. I’ll wake her up and get her to take the aspirin and see if that takes care of the fever again. If not, I’ll help her get back in the bath again.”

“Do you think we should take her to the doctor?” Mingi said, biting his lip as he looked down at her.

“If she isn’t better tomorrow we can take her to the clinic on campus,” Yunho agreed. “That’s closest.”

“Okay,” Mingi ran his fingers over the back of her hand with a half smile. “I’ll start working on food.”

“Thanks, love,” Yunho told him. “You take such good care of us.”

“You both do the same for me, so I’m glad I can do the same sometimes,” Mingi smiled. “She does so much for us, it really is nice to be able to do something for her, too.”

“How does she always manage to do the most thoughtful things for us?” Yunho shook his head as he looked down at her. “Maybe we can do something that’s a surprise for her on Valentine’s Day.”

“That’s a good idea,” a tinge of excitement filled Mingi’s voice. “We’ll think of something great.”

Mingi headed to the kitchen and Yunho gently roused their girl. His heart hurt at the grimace that covered her face as she woke up, obviously hurting as she came around. He coaxed her into taking the aspirin and wet a washcloth in the bathroom to put on her feverish forehead. She flinched slightly as the cool cloth touched her.

“Love, do you think you need to take another bath?” He asked, putting one of his large hands on the side of her neck and feeling the heat there.

“Maybe but I don’t want to,” she groaned, her teeth chattering slightly.

“If it hasn’t come down in half an hour I’ll hop in a bath with you, okay,” He offered, flipping the cloth over on her forehead again. She nodded in agreement and closed her eyes. Yunho slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in against his chest. He hummed gently as he rocked with her against him, hoping to get her to relax a little while they waited for Mingi to come back with food.

When Mingi got back with food, her fever was still high and Yunho decided it was time for another bath. Mingi set the food on the chest of drawers and went to start the water for them while Yunho got her undressed again and put her hair up in a messy bun with the silver comb to keep it from getting wet again. He stripped himself and carried her into the bath, settling down with her in his lap. With him there she could close her eyes and relax with no worries. The water felt cool even to him and he was sure it felt like an icy bath for her with her fever. She whined a little as they sunk down but didn’t protest more than that.

“I’m sorry love,” he apologized, rocking her slightly in his arms.

“I just wish everything didn’t hurt,” she shuttered.

“Do you think you can keep something down?” He asked when he saw Mingi poke his head in the bathroom door.

“Maybe,” she kept her eyes closed as she answered. “I know I should eat even if it doesn’t sound good right now.” Mingi grabbed the tray of food and brought it to the side of the tub. Sitting as close as he could, he picked up a spoon full of potatoes and brought it to her lips. She took it, smacking the soft food slowly before swallowing it. After a pause, she opened her mouth again to accept another bite.

“That’s my trooper,” Mingi praised as he gave her a third bite. “How about something to drink?”

“Okay,” she nodded.

“Here,” he gave her a sip from a straw in a cup. “I thought some juice would be good. A little sugar for your energy.”

“Thank you,” she sighed. “You two are so sweet.”

“Our girl needed us,” Yunho soothed. “We’ll always be here with you when you need us.”

“Thank you,” she relaxed against him and accepted another bite from Mingi.

“You still look pretty, even like this,” Mingi said, giving her a big smile.

“Pfft, I look and feel like shit,” she scoffed, flicking a little water in his face. “You’re a liar, but it's sweet so I forgive you.”

“No, no lies, love,” Yunho said from behind her. “You’re pretty no matter what.”

“As long as you think so,” She sighed, putting a damp hand on Mingi’s where it rested on the edge of the tub. “I guess that’s all that matters.”

“You’re going to be cute when you’re old and grey,” Mingi told her, envisioning her in seventy years. “Cute, tiny, and maybe a little grumpy to the neighborhood kids.”

“No, she’ll be the grandma that gives everyone cookies whenever someone comes and visits,” Yunho decided with a grin.

“And we’ll sneak them water balloons and nerf guns for battles,” Mingi added with a laugh. 

“I’m glad to know you all have such long term plans for us,” she laughed, feeling a little better again. 

“You’re not getting rid of us anytime soon, love,” Yunho promised. “Ready to get back to our show?”

“Yeah, but I should do my homework while I feel good enough,” she sighed.

“What homework do you have?” Mingi asked, pulling the towel off the rack to wrap around her.

“Reading for history and an essay for English,” she grimaced. “I need to do them by Monday.”

“The reading is for the class we have together, right?” Mingi asked, wrapping her in the towel as Yunho helped her step out.

“Yeah,” she nodded, letting him pat the moisture from her body.

“Let’s do it together then,” Mingi suggested. “And we can help with the essay too.”

“Good idea, Mingles,” Yunho told him with a quick kiss to his cheek. “You are the best.”

“Thanks, Yuyu,” Mingi grinned back. “Let’s get back in bed and eat something before we work on homework for our girl.” Mingi picked her up and got her dressed and back in bed while Yunho followed, bringing the rest of the food with him. Sitting down in the bed, Mingi drew her into his lap and took the bowl of potatoes to feed her. Yunho downed his sandwiches and went to get the history text book for the other two to study with. It didn’t take long for the two of them to make it through the reading together while Yunho worked on the last of his own homework.

The boys let her dictate the essay to them so she could lie down while getting the work done. With their help it didn’t take long at all for them to finish their work even with her not feeling well. She cuddled down under the covers and the boys curled around her as they started the show again where it had left off. They spent the rest of the day in bed, only leaving for food and other necessary trips, making sure she always had someone with her. By Sunday morning she was feeling a little better, her fever had faded and she was able to stay awake the whole day, letting them finish the old episodes by the end of the day.

“Sorry we didn’t get to the new stuff,” she sighed, tucking her head on Yunho’s shoulder as Mingi spooned her from behind. “I guess we could have just jumped into the newest season to start with.”

“Nah,” Mingi said as he pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder. “We can watch it this week. You can hold my hand during the scary parts.”

“Always,” she laughed until it melted into a sigh and she closed her eyes. Even sick, there wasn’t anyone she would trade lives with.

Masterlist

[sxvxrxssnape]

Accio Sleep: The Wizard’s Guide To Battling Insomnia 

aka Snapetober 2020: Day 1

The Years Between Severus Snape & Minerva McGonagall 2424 words / gen / no content warnings apply

The pages of his book rustled softly. 

He wasn’t really reading, not in the way he usually did. He wasn’t paying careful attention to the words printed on parchment, wasn’t getting lost in the miniature infinities as the story came to life. He was only skimming, glancing through the text in hopes of tiring his eyes enough that they might finally choose to close.

It had been days since he had last been able to truly sleep, days since he could lay down without feeling his anxieties gnawing at him more than usual. It had been days of carrying this weight, this pit in his stomach.

The fire crackled.

Severus Snape sighed and put the book aside. He stared into the fireplace, watched the flames flicker and dance. He stood up, felt the chill of stone underneath bare feet, and padded into the kitchenette of his quarters.

He didn’t bother with more candlelight and made a cup of tea in the glow of the fireplace. He stared at the milky chamomile as if it held the answers to all the questions he couldn’t dare ask. He stared so long, that when he eventually took a sip, the tea had gone cold. 

He sighed again.

It only took a quick flick of his wand for gentle ribbons of steam to rise from the cup once more. He sipped slowly as he stared blankly at the walls of where he now called home, and willed sleep to come.

Perhaps it was futile.

Perhaps it was what he deserved.

He stared bitterly at the textbook sitting on the kitchen table. It was a different book from the one he had been paging through only moments ago; no, this book he had found in the library two nights before when the restlessness of the last week first began to take its toll. He twirled his wand between absentminded fingers and wondered briefly if Madame Pince would mind too much if he were to report the book as incinerated.

Accio Sleep; he scoffed at the title. 

He had tried everything the book suggested and nothing had helped. He was growing frustrated at his inability to do what his body needed. He’d tried laying in the silent darkness of his bedchamber for hours, turning this way and that, but no matter how hard he tried to clear his mind, tried to get comfortable and relax, sleep was determined to evade him. 

Or maybe you’re determined to evade sleep, his mind snarked at him.

He stood up abruptly and grabbed his cloak. Suddenly, he could see it very clearly in his mind - if he were to keep the useless book in his possession any longer, he would destroy it in his sleep-deprived anger. He pinned the black fabric in place, fingers lingering on the silver cloak pin Lucius Malfoy had gifted him when he had first joined...he shook his head. 

He was moving in a new direction now - a direction he should have gone since the beginning of it all, but dwelling on that was pointless and all he could do now was put one foot in front of the other and do what he could.

Right now, that entailed returning this wretched self-help book before he tossed it in the fireplace and got himself banned from the library. 

The castle was silent at night and a part of him found it comforting to wander about without the bustle of students and their inane chatter. He didn’t bother with wandlight - maybe he had been elsewhere the last three years, but the memory of walking these halls for seven was still ingrained in him, and with the dim light of occasional torches, the path  from the dungeons to the library was familiar. 

He was only two corridors away when he heard soft footfalls approaching. For a second, his heart stuttered and he looked around for a place to hide before he remembered he was no longer a student attending Hogwarts, but a professor. 

“Who’s there?”

“I-it’s me.” Severus winced at the stutter in his answer. How was he supposed to command respect from students who had once been classmates when he couldn’t even address the stern voice of Professor McGonagall without faltering? 

A wand light turned the corner and approached him, and soon enough, he could make out the scowling face of the deputy headmistress and Gryffindor Head of House. She was still dressed in the same blue robes she had been wearing earlier, but her greying brown hair was coming undone from her usual bun.

“Oh, Professor Snape,” she greeted and he tried not to react to the level of contempt she put into his title, “where are you headed at this hour?”

He could hear the accusation in her tone and frankly, he didn’t blame her. What reason did she have to trust him other than Dumbledore’s word? Still, it irked him deeply and he tried to keep the malice out of his voice as he replied, “The library.”

She arched an eyebrow and looked at the book in his hands. “Ah, having trouble sleeping are we?”

“Quite.”

They stood there for several minutes, neither willing to walk away first. McGonagall was studying him carefully and he wondered what it was she saw. Did she see the exhaustion that lined his face, the fear and guilt that weighed him down? Did she see his mistakes trailing him like ghosts? Or did she see the Death Eater his marked arm would never allow himself to forget he was, the deserving victim to her precious Gryffindor’s past endeavors?

He didn’t deserve her trust, her sympathy, her respect. 

He was a Death Eater, plain and simple.

He had denounced their ways, begged Dumbledore for help and forgiveness, taken up the mantle of double agent and spy, and now kept a foot on either side. He refused to acknowledge it because he knew what he had to do - there was no second choice - but at the end of the day, he had agency. He had both the leader of the Light and Dark thinking him loyal to their cause, could choose which side benefited him most, and McGonagall knew that. 

He wondered if she knew it was his fault.

“Severus?”

He blinked and focused his attention back on her. He would need to work on that; he couldn’t afford to make mistakes like that, not anymore.

“Pardon?”

“You’re the Potions Master, yes?” she asked, still scowling but he swore he could see something gentle in her eyes. “Brew a sleeping draught.”

He tried for a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Quite right, Minerva. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get right on that. How silly of me, to forget the basis of what my job is.” 

A pause. "You don’t want to sleep.”

He didn’t know what it was that possessed him to answer. He wanted to sleep, there was no doubt in his mind of that, but he just couldn’t. No matter how dark, how quiet, how still the room, no matter if he tried to tire out his mind, his eyes, his body, sleep would just not come. And despite knowing all that to be true, the word that he spoke so softly into the near empty corridor was a singular, “No.”

“May I ask why?”

He blinked, unsure of her intentions. Her face had lost some of its severity, and the curious gentleness remained in her eyes, but there wasn’t enough to determine what her angle was just yet. He wondered if his unintentional honesty, the sliver of vulnerability, had lessened some of her defenses. 

What had she seen when he had been lost in thought?

“This book is overdue.” he snarked.

A faint smile, the barest pull on the corner of her lips. “How are your classes going?” she asked, rather unexpectedly. “Come, I still have patrol of the castle to do and perhaps the activity will tire you out.” She started to walk away, in the same direction she had come.

He watched her idly, contemplating his options before ultimately deciding to follow. “Classes are fine.” he struggled to get out. In reality, classes felt like a disaster but he didn’t want to say it aloud because that felt like admitting defeat.

“Are they?” Minerva asked, side-eyeing him. Her eyebrow was raised in disbelief and there was a glimmer of amusement mixed with the gentleness. “The students are listening to you, then?”

He sighed. “The first and second years are.”

Minerva smirked and gestured vaguely to the book return slot outside the library. He rid himself of the book and they continued their stroll of the castle.

“A Hogwarts professor at twenty-one.” Minerva mused. “I believe you might be the youngest one we’ve had to date.”

“Yes, well.”

“I’m not surprised the older students are being difficult. They don’t see you as an authority figure, they see you as their equal, Severus. You have to learn how to carry yourself better. Stand up straight, for one.”

He scowled, but did as told. 

“It’s barely been a month and a half of term - you’ll get better at this.” She stopped at the door that would lead them to the Astronomy Tower and looked him over. “Are you warm enough to go up?” she asked and he blanked at the sudden concern for his well-being. He wrapped the long cloak tighter around himself in response; how had he forgotten until this very moment that he had pulled the garment on over a nightshirt? He wasn’t even wearing shoes. How Dumbledore trusted him to lie to the Dark Lord was beyond him; the lack of sleep was turning his brain to soup. 

Minerva’s soft exhale of breath was the closest to a laugh he had heard anyone direct towards him since he’d arrived at the castle. It made something in him ache as the realization hit: she didn’t know it was his fault, that his eagerness to please and mean something, was what forced the Potters into hiding over a year ago.

He wondered now if he could keep that fact from her forever. 

Their conversation remained pleasant and Severus drank up the positive attention that eased the knot his stomach had become ever since he had returned from a Death Eater meeting days ago and reported his findings to Dumbledore. Nothing had really changed, except now the Dark Lord seemed giddy. He refused to think why that was.

For all he hated Sirius Black with every fiber of his being, the one thing he knew to be fact, was that Black would sooner die than give up James and Lily Potter. As long as he was Secret Keeper, they were safe. She was safe. 

Still, sleep did not come easily.

Ever since Lily’s name had fallen from the Dark Lord's lips, time had stopped. He wondered how the world kept turning when he was still frozen in that moment when the Dark Lord had confirmed Harry Potter’s birth and decided he was the prophesied one over the Longbottom boy, who had escaped that fate by only a handful of hours. 

He wondered if maybe he was meant to be a Death Eater. If not for him, they would have never learned the Dark Lord planned to target the Potters. Then again, if not for him...the prophecy may have never been relayed to (and he forced himself to say the name) Voldemort in the first place.

“Try a sleeping draught.” Minerva’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts once more and then she walked away. 

He looked around himself and realized they had returned to the corridor where his personal chambers were located. He surpassed the wards and took off his cloak, letting it fall to the ground as he stared into the fireplace once more.

The flames had died down and only fragile embers remained. 

He cast a tempus charm and sighed as he learned it was past three in the morning. He climbed into bed, fervently hoping the weariness he could feel down to his bones would finally, finally let him sleep. Still, the voice in his head mocked him. 

You cannot sleep because you are refusing to let it happen.

He groaned, because as much as he wished to deny it, that blasted voice in his head was right. He wanted to sleep, he wanted to forget existence for as long as the world granted him, but he just couldn’t stop thinking about Voldemort’s sudden giddiness. 

They were safe, he reminded himself.

She was safe. 

He knew how it would all end though, he knew someone had to die. 

There was no use denying the third thing of the night he knew to be absolutely true: the Dark Lord would never stop trying to kill the boy he saw as a threat. If somehow, and oh Merlin, how he hoped with everything within him that this never happened, the Dark Lord learned of the Potter’s whereabouts, he knew Lily Potter would not step aside and let her son be killed. 

He wouldn’t dare ask that of her.

If the Dark Lord found them, there would be three casualties that night. He couldn’t bear the thought of falling asleep and waking up to a world without Lily Potter. He couldn’t even stomach the idea of waking up to a world where James Potter no longer existed because he knew when that happened, it would have been his doing. 

If turned to when because he knew and accepted what everyone else refused to see: the Dark Lord would not be defeated, not when the bringer of his decimation was barely a toddler. They had already been in hiding for a year; how many more would there be before they decided they would hide no longer and take their chances?

He wondered how much longer he would have to suffer these restless nights before he could finally ease his thoughts enough to fall asleep or if he had to wait for his questions to be answered, for the future to be decided, for someone to die before he could rest. He wondered if he would still be alive to see it all play out or if the deprivation would kill him instead. Maybe the Dark Lord would discover his deceit and kill him first. He idly wondered which ending he preferred. 

He sighed and spent yet another hour for yet another night laying silently in the darkness.

--- A/N: insomnia? did you mean: overthinking? and day one is live! i wasn’t sure what direction i was going in when i started writing, but it chose itself. i also wasnt expecting to write more than 1k oh no, ive set expectations of myself

anyway, im so excited to see what everyone else has created!! ty so much for taking the time to read this!!

[amphxtrite]

BESTIE HI!!

ok a bit about myself. i’m a ravenclaw, into hobbies such as painting (a lot) , writing fanfic duh, reading classic literature / terribly cheesy romance novels !!

i’m overall a very friendly and passionate person. i get excited a LOT and tend to talk a lot about the things and people i love.

i love astronomy and herbology, my favorite professor is flitwick, mcgonnagall or sprout :) i love to learn new things and tell people about them, as well as make gifts and bake things for my loved ones <3 anyways!!

i literally love you - ev

You already know who I’m bout a ship you with ev, but I promise I’ll make it fun to read.

I ship you with...

Cedric Diggory.

how you would meet.

Cedric saw you in herbology class, watering a sapling and smiling to yourself as professor Sprout began the lesson. Being in separate houses he hasn’t seen you before, but as soon as he saw you in the greenhouse he thanked whatever deity there was for letting him see you today.

As the class progressed he kept glancing up to subtly catch a glimpse of your smile. It wasn’t until the short profeser called his name that he finally got snapped out of his thoughts.

“Cedric Diggory, you will be paired with Ev.” She smiles, motioning over to the ravenclaw who had captured his attention. With a pounding heart he moves his book bag to the seat beside you and smiles.

“For this project you will create a presentation on a plant of your choice, explaining it’s magical properties and how it grows. If the plant is accessible from the school you may have a sapling to present with. You may begin.”

Cedric turns to face you again with a grin on his face. “Well we better get to work, what did you have in mind?” He pulls out his textbook.

“Well I’ve always been fascinated by gillyweed.” You shrug, a large grin growing on your face as you point to its picture in your text.

“That sounds perfect Ev.”

You work on your project spending countless nights together in the library.

The two of you grow really close and often times forget the presentation just to skim the library shelves for your favourite books.

You introduce Cedric to some muggle literature and he loves it, often reading it aloud to you as you doodle on a piece of paper.

He finds it adorable when your face lights up when you talk about something you’re passionate about, and how you get excited over the most small things.

“You brought chocolate?!” You squeal, bringing Cedric into a tight hug as you snatch the bar from Cedric’s hand.

“Yes Ev, is that a surprise? I do it almost every week.” Cedric chuckles, sitting down in your booth in the library.

You spoil him with baked treats and he always looks forward to his next little snack.

You write poems for him while he draws little pencil sketches of you, and you exchange them after you finish.

You keep every sketch in your book bag to admire whenever you could.

He calls you darling and love often, but never acknowledges it as anything romantic for a while.

“Darling could you pass me that pen?”

“This tastes fantastic love!”

“Good morning, how did you sleep darling?”

You blushed every time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

When Cedric found out your love for astronomy, he brought you up the tower with him late after curfew and set up a blanket for the two of you to sit on.

“If you look closely you can see cancer, that’s my zodiac constellation.” You smirk, pointing up to a shape in the stars.

Cedric doesn’t quite understand, but he nods his head, watching as your eyes seem to brighten in the starlight and your smile grows.

“Look there’s sirius!” You point out, but Cedric’s eyes are only trained on you.

“It’s the brightest star in the sky.”

“You’re the brightest star in my sky.”

Cedric immediately starts blushing at his unconscious comment, but it was already said and he couldn’t do anything about it.

You pause and turn to face him, a smirk growing on your face.

“Did the golden boy Cedric Diggory just confess he has a crush on me?”

“Well that depends on how you’d react.” Cedric stammers shyly.

“Cedric, I would love to be your star.” You grin sheepishly, scooting closer to the blushing hufflepuff.

Cedric could have fainted right there. Your eyes held so much adoration and honesty and your cheeks flashed an adorable pink. He couldn’t help but stare down at your lips before hesitantly leaning in. Pausing for a moment to glance back into your eyes before connecting your lips.

Your stomach floods with butterflies as Cedric deepens the kiss and you can’t help but giggle when the two of you pull back and Cedric bears a look of joy and shock.

You spend the rest of the night cuddled in each other’s arms. Pressing kisses to each other’s cheeks as the stars shone and the moon basked you in a romantic white glow.

HOPE YOU LIKE IT BESTIE 🤍🤍

@mullthingsoverinthehotwater