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maatryoshkaa · 4 years

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between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

3K notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Imagine if Meng Shi begged and bargained and collected favors till she was able to send her A-Yao to education with the Lan Sect, perhaps even become a cultivator with them. Would he take that change? Would he become a rogue cultivator? Would the strict rules help curb his inner muderimpuls or enrage him or teach him to hide better?

A Good Fit - ao3

“The…Lan sect?” Meng Yao said doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” his mother said, her mouth tight. She looked upset, the way she always did these days when he referenced, intentionally or otherwise, the original plan that she had had to send him to join his father, sect leader of Lanling Jin. She’d raised Meng Yao on a steady diet of stories of what his life would be like when his father finally took him back the way he’d promised her he would, stories that had filled his days and nights for years and years and years, and then just last year she’d suddenly stopped talking about it entirely. It was as if the person who’d told those stories had nothing to do with her.

Meng Yao didn’t know what had happened, but he assumed it must have been pretty bad.

“It'll be a good fit,” she added.

“Then I’ll go to the Lan sect,” he said, and pretended not see the way his mother relaxed a little, relieved that he wasn’t asking too many questions. “I’ve heard they are gentlemen there, righteous but gentle; it will be the best match for my personality, I’m sure.”

A lie, of course. ‘Gentlemen’ were just as likely to come to the brothel as brutes, and they were all the same once they had a cup of wine and a beauty in their arms – Meng Yao tried not to have any illusions.

“Can we afford it?” he asked instead, since that was something he was sure his mother would have thought of, would have expected him to ask. “Gusu is so far away…”

“I have obtained a letter from the local sect recommending you to their sect leader, Lan Qiren,” she said. “He’s the one that teaches the classes – the one that sent out the summons asking the subsidiary sects to look for individuals with raw talent to join his classes and offering them an extra seat for their sects for each nameless orphan they find that lives up to Lan sect standards. Only the Heavens know why he’s doing something like that…I assume they’re trying to expand.”

That seemed like the most reasonable explanation. Meng Yao nodded. “So I’ll be traveling with the local sect?”

“That’s right,” his mother said, and raised her chin a little. “At least this much, your mother was able to do for you.”

She’d begged and bargained and traded favors for it, then, Meng Yao thought, and yet taking him along was to their own benefit: if they were looking for inherited cultivation talent sufficient for the Lan sect, then the bastard son of another Great Sect leader would be a better bet than some random nobody. She’d probably humiliated herself for nothing.

“Will you come with me?” he asked, more concerned with that – it was too easy for women of ill repute to disappear into the depths of the city if they didn’t have someone to watch out for them.

Even someone as young as he was. He wished he was older.

“You can come back to visit me during the Spring Festival,” she said, which meant no. “I’ll be all right, A-Yao.”

Meng Yao wasn’t so sure.

Still, not having him around would at least remove a visible reminder of his mother’s age – she’d been kicked out of the better brothels because of him, because no one wanted a woman who was a mother. Leaving would at least do that for her.

“I’ll write,” he finally said. “I’ll write as often as they let me.”

“And I’ll write back,” she promised him, kissing his cheek. “I promise.”

With that, Meng Yao supposed he had to be satisfied.

The Lan sect was both exactly like what Meng Yao expected and absolutely nothing at all like anything he could have dreamt.

For the first, his cynicism was almost immediately confirmed: the boys raised there were snobby as anything, looking down at the rest of them as little better than barbarians, and many of the adults were the same way. It was clear that this whole business of recruiting talented nobodies was a project of the sect leader’s – the interim sect leader, no less, not even the real thing – and nobody else’s; they were only just barely going along with it. Adding to that the fact that there were dozens if not hundreds of rules, and Meng Yao could glumly foresee a future of having his lack of knowledge held over his head as a fault, even with his marvelous memory to act as his backing.

For the second…

Well, there was Lan Xichen, who was – as unbelievable as it seemed – to actually embody all those things that people said about gentlemen, all kindness and gentleness and fierce upright pride, except only for real. There was Lan Wangji, who was basically perfect in every way and kinder than he gave the impression he was, willing to help tutor anyone who asked if only they dared disturb his solitude long enough to do so. There was the boy Meng Yao shared a room with, Su She, who’d punched the boy from the Yunping cultivator clan in the mouth for calling Meng Yao a son of a whore and pretended it was because they weren’t allowed to talk about that sort of thing, when actually it’d been because he hadn’t wanted rumors to get around that might make Meng Yao’s life harder in the future.

There was Lan Qiren, who was strict and a little boring but fair, painfully fair, handing out punishments with an equitable hand no matter that it meant that he was punishing the locals as often if not more often. It’d been his idea to bring people like Meng Yao into the Lan sect, and defending the idea was the only time he truly seemed moved to passion. Now that they’d passed the initial examination and been judged to match Lan sect standards, Lan Qiren announced, as far as he was concerned, they were Lan sect just as if they were born there, as if they’d been children of his own.

And he even seemed to really believe it, too.

Today, Meng Yao’s head was still warm from when the stern Teacher Lan had put his hand there, gentle and approving, and his ears still burning from the murmured “Well done, Meng Yao, as expected.”

“I think I would kill someone for him,” Meng Yao said dreamily to Su She, who snorted.

“You’ve got such father issues,” he said disdainfully, as if he didn’t have entire family issues. That was just Su She’s way, though – he bitched and moaned and complained without end, and he’d probably kill someone for Meng Yao if Meng Yao so much as hinted it was something he’d want. They’d made friends for a reason. “You know the bit about the poor kids being his own children is a lie, right?”

“I know which sect’s leader is my father, thanks,” Meng Yao said, rolling his eyes. “I’m well aware it’s not Teacher Lan. Like he’d ever have kids of his own, anyway.”

“That’d require noticing when someone’s flirting with him,” Su She agreed, all solemn for just a moment, and then he dissolved into sniggering giggles. Meng Yao couldn’t blame him: it was, in fact, extremely funny when women (and sometimes men) tried to flirt with Teacher Lan, mostly because of the way that he very genuinely and completely missed that that was what was happening each and every time.

“Laugh all you like,” Meng Yao said peaceably. “You’d kill for him, too.”

“Probably,” Su She agreed. “But only because of you.”

That was fair enough. After getting the lay of the land, Meng Yao had arranged for them to ‘accidentally’ be overheard by Teacher Lan while talking about the misconduct of one of the teachers who was the most biased against guest disciples, one of the ones that had been harassing Su She in particular for over a year before Meng Yao had arrived, and despite Su She’s initial nervousness about the plan, it had all gone splendidly. Sure, they’d been punished to do five copies of a treatise on upright conduct because they’d breached Talking behind the backs of others is prohibited, but the teacher in question had been sentenced to two hundred strikes with the discipline rod for abusing his position and three months of enforced seclusion to contemplate his misbehavior, and then, Teacher Lan had said, his expression dark and threatening, they could discuss what role would be the best fit in the future.

The other teachers had taken notice and shaped up very quickly, after that.

Comparatively, those five copies made in the nice cool Library Pavilion instead of having to do chores on the hottest days of summer? Practically a pat on the back for bringing it to his attention.

Su She would never have dared to raise anything if it was just him, Meng Yao thought; he had a strange fear of authority figures that combined envy and misery in an explosive combination – he would have just suffered and suffered and suffered until he’d been pushed too far and then it would have all burst out at once. He wasn’t like Meng Yao, who was unwilling to keep to his “proper” place and was more than willing to use his greater-than-average share of brains to get what he wanted, no matter what rules he broke in the process. He was the sort of person who was willing to do whatever it took to obtain his desires – no matter what it took.

Well, maybe not no matter what. He wouldn’t want to disappoint Lan Qiren too much.

(Okay, so maybe Su She was right and he had some unresolved father issues. So what if he did? Whose business was it but his?)

It’d taken Meng Yao a while to fully adjust to the Cloud Recesses.

Some parts he’d figured out right away – the way they all flattered themselves as gentlemen even if they were actually little more than hypocrites (Teacher Lan and his personally taught nephews exempted, of course), which of course meant that Meng Yao’s ability to act pitiful at the drop of a hat and cleverly turn black into white made him a teacher’s pet at once. The vegetarian meals were easy enough to adapt to, given that his mother hadn’t had the money for meat all that often, and the training and cultivation and all that wasn’t any challenge for his excellent powers of retention – he had ambitions of becoming one of Teacher Lan’s aides one day, and worked assiduously towards that goal. Even waking and sleeping early, which was practically the opposite of his schedule at home, was something he could adjust to, given time and incentive.

It was his mentality that took some time to adjust.

Meng Yao had perhaps grown up with too many of his mother’s stories, painting an image of a matchless paradise – at the start, he looked at everything around him, serene and elegant but not quite as rich and shining and thought that it would do, for now. When he’d first arrived, he had had every intention of making a good reputation for himself and using that reputation to get his real father’s attention – he’d liked Teacher Lan from the beginning, despite his best attempts to not let his heart be swayed, but he’d reasoned that if a teacher was like this, then a blood-related father would be even better.

And so, for the first half-year, he’d treated his time at the Cloud Recesses…not lightly, no. He was extremely serious about making sure to get the maximum benefit he could. And yet, at the same time, he still was not really committing himself to the place.

This wasn’t where he was going to live his whole life, he reasoned; it was just a stepping stone to a better future. That meant he would exert himself to point out things that made him look good, to eliminate obstacles in his path, to win himself allies, but not bother with those longer-term problems, the ones that really ought to be fixed but which would take a great deal of effort with little reward other than annoying people.

His feeling of superiority and emotional distance lasted right up until the first discussion conference.

From a distance, Jin Guangshan was everything Meng Yao could have imagined – perhaps a little too similar to the clients that his mother often saw, a little dissolute to pull off the air of a refined scholar he affected, but wearing more gold than Meng Yao had ever seen in his life, with a retinue of servants that dwarfed the other sect’s. Each of those servants were dressed more finely than even main clan cultivators in some of the smaller sects, and though Meng Yao’s Lan sect guest disciple clothing was of such quality that he didn’t need to fear their disdain, he couldn’t help but be secretly impressed.

He'd exerted himself more than usual to trade away all of his chores and duties, freeing himself up to take on patrol duty near the Jin sect. He’d perhaps daydreamed about some sort of encounter – nothing active on his part, of course, but he couldn’t quite resist playing through some fantasy of catching someone’s eye by chance, getting called over, a “You have a familiar set to your chin, who’s your father?”, a shy halting admission, recognition, a joyous reunion…

Instead, his father spent the entire night getting drunk and cursing the Lan sect’s hospitality for not providing him with girls to go with his liquor, calling Lan Qiren a miserable prude with a stick up his ass right in front of the Lan sect disciples that clenched their fists in barely concealed rage. He’d seen Meng Yao all right, ordered him to come forward, but it’d only been to mock him in front of all of his servants – and not even for being his bastard son, no, that would involve bothering to pick him out from the crowd or to ask who he was. No, he’d mocked him simply for being one of the poor disciples that Lan Qiren had taken in, all because his accent was marked with the distinct tones of Yunping rather than the sweetness of Gusu.

“Tell me, boy,” he said, breathing fumes into Meng Yao’s face and making him feel suddenly as if he’d never left the brothel – that the Cloud Recesses had all been a vague dream, and now he’d woken up and lost it all. “How does that old fart Qiren expect you to pay him back for all he’s done for you? I heard the Lan sect includes a pretty face as one of its standard requirements…”

Meng Yao put his gaze above his father’s head and pretended to be deaf.

“It seems like rather a lot of effort,” one of his father’s attendants remarked. “Even if Second Master Lan wanted a boy to warm his bed, couldn’t he just buy one like any normal person?”

“Bah, boys,” his father said, and leaned back, waving his hands in dismissal. “Why would anyone bother with a boy when you could have a soft woman instead? Just as long as they’re stupid enough – you know, there’s nothing worse than a woman who’s talented and knows it, too smart, always trying to get above their station…”

“You’re thinking about that whore in Yunping again, aren’t you? The one that interrupted your dinner and made a scene, claiming you’d promised to take in the son she bore you?” the attendant said, laughing. “I told you, you should’ve just killed her for her impudence rather than just having her beaten and thrown out. That way the matter wouldn’t still be bothering you…”

“Go away, boy,” another servant said to Meng Yao, who was frozen stiff in belated terror, nausea churning in his stomach as he realized his mother could’ve gone out one day and never come back, and he would never have known why – or maybe it was that he’d been spending his considerable time and brain on pleasing someone who would have done that, who nearly had done that. “Your accent’s brought back bad memories, don’t you see?”

Meng Yao left.

No, to be more blunt: he fled. He ran away, hot tears filling his eyes until he couldn’t see – belly full of regret and disappointment, crushed dreams feeling like broken shards of glass in his mouth and throat.

He tried to tell himself that it was better to find out now, when they were still distant, before he'd sold his soul for the futile chance to get that horrible man's affection, but he couldn't quite throw off the shame of knowing that if he hadn't heard such a thing up front, he probably would have done that. Would have humiliated himself like that, and for what? A man who regretted not murdering his mother?

He ran right into Lan Wangji, who was also on patrol.

Lan Wangji took one look at him and grabbed his wrist, dragging him away from the main pathway and all the way to his uncle’s rooms.

Lan Qiren was still awake despite the late hour, writing something at his desk, but he set aside his brush at once. “What’s going on?” he asked, frowning. “Wangji – Meng Yao – one of you report.”

“Meng Yao was on patrol by the Jin sect,” Lan Wangji explained as Meng Yao furiously tried to dash away his tears using his sleeve.

“Who permitted that? First year disciples aren’t permitted to patrol during discussion conferences,” Lan Qiren asked, his frown deepening. “It wouldn’t be proper – ah, but no, I recall now. I suppose it was inevitable. Wangji, well done, and thank you. You are dismissed.”

After Lan Wangji left, he turned his eyes on Meng Yao.

“You volunteered, didn’t you?” he asked.

Meng Yao felt his back go cold: Lan Qiren knew, then. It had never been said out loud by anyone as far as he knew, and yet it was clear that Lan Qiren knew who his father was – and probably his mother, too.

He knew that Meng Yao was – that he wasn’t anything more than –

“You are one of my most promising disciples, Meng Yao,” Lan Qiren told him, and poured him a cup of tea from his own pot, pressing it into his hands. It was finer tea than Meng Yao had ever had in his life, full of smoke and flavor. “The rules say Be loyal and filial, but they also praise reciprocity. You have not been recognized, and have not received your forefathers’ grace. You can fulfill your obligations to chivalry through your respect for the parent that raised you.”

Meng Yao stared down at the teacup. Lan Qiren had completely misunderstood the nature of Meng Yao’s concern – he was disappointed in what his father was, not worried about not living up to his obligations of being a filial child. And yet it was a little nice to hear that as far as Lan Qiren was concerned, the rules said that he could tell his father go hang for all he cared…

And that he ought to honor his mother, which was something no one who knew her had ever said to him.

“Even if she –” His voice stuttered. “Even if she’s a…”

He couldn’t say the word.

“Appreciate the good people is not qualified by class or profession,” Lan Qiren said, and his monotone voice was blissfully without emotion, as if this were just another lesson in class, and not the deepest hurt of Meng Yao’s life. “I have never met your mother, Meng Yao, but you are a good child – diligent, organized, sincere, with good judgment, and you clearly adore her. That tells me everything I need to know.”

Meng Yao burst into tears.

Meng Yao liked Lan Xichen a lot, but he also had to admit that sometimes, the older boy was, well…

“Dumb as a pile of rocks,” Su She announced.

“Do not criticize other people,” Meng Yao said piously, but then chuckled, shaking his head. “Say, rather, that he’s naïve and sheltered, and overly inclined to believe the best in people.”

“Like I said: dumb as rocks. How many times is going to get himself swindled into being someone’s sword or shield before he figures out that the problem is him?”

“Some people don’t have the capacity to understand the depths of humanity’s foulness –”

“Yeah, dumb ones.”

“Su She, please.” Su She held up his hands in surrendered. “At any rate, if Lan-gongzi is going to keep falling for people’s tricks, it’s beholden on us to help protect him.”

“You just don’t want Teacher Lan to be sad about something serious happening to his nephew,” Su She said knowingly, but he was already nodding. “All right, what are we going to do about it? He outranks us. We can’t exactly tell him to his face that he’s being…”

He paused.

Dumb as rocks went unsaid, but then, it didn’t need to be said out loud for the meaning to be clear.

Meng Yao sighed.

“You can only trick someone so many times,” he said. “If we want to keep him from getting tricked by other people, then we have to trick him first. And better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lan-gongzi likes to save people,” Meng Yao explained. “He really sees himself as a chivalrous gentleman – he puts chivalry first, even though Teacher Lan says Learning comes first. That’s why he always sides with whoever he perceives to be the underdog in a given situation, no matter how wrong that impression is. That’s how most of the people who’ve been tricking him have gone for it: playing the victim, appealing to his sense of righteousness, pulling the curtains over his eyes to obscure what’s actually happening.”

“Okay. So?”

“So, we’ve both got miserable backstories – you being taken from your family at a young age and then bullied, me with my mother and, even worse, father. If we get him on our side, early on, he’ll side with us over anyone else – that way we can keep him from getting roped into other people’s private grudges.”

Su She frowned. “That seems a little manipulative.”

“It’s for his own good, and that’s what’s important,” Meng Yao said, and smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Su She jumped, turning around just in time to see Lan Wangji, who had been standing in the shadow of a nearby tree, step out.

He had a serious expression, as always, but a thoughtful one.

Meng Yao waited patiently.

“You cannot take advantage,” Lan Wangji finally said, and Meng Yao knew he’d won the most important ally in the battle to save Lan Xichen from himself. “That would change it from a virtuous act to a selfish one.”

“Like we need anything from him,” Su She said haughtily. “Maintain your own discipline.”

“Arrogance is forbidden.”

“It’s not arrogance if it’s justified! It’s just self-confidence!”

“Do not argue with family,” Meng Yao quoted, and was pleased to see both of them drop it at once. “Listen, we all share the same goal, and we have to start somewhere, don’t we? We’re stronger together than apart. Together, we can do anything, even protect Lan-gongzi.”

That and more, he thought as the other boys nodded, following his lead. Lan Xichen is just the start.

“The Wen sect will make trouble sooner rather than later,” Meng Yao said thoughtfully, one day. His friends turned to look at him. “Yes, I’m serious.”

Lan Wangji nodded, serious as always, but Su She scoffed.

“You can’t even convince that Wei Wuxian boy to leave poor Lan-er-gongzi alone,” he said snidely. “How exactly are you expecting to bring down the Wen sect?”

“I don’t convince Wei Wuxian to leave Lan-er-gongzi alone because Lan-er-gongzi doesn’t want to be left alone,” Meng Yao said. “Obviously. Isn’t that right?”

“You should call me by name,” Lan Wangji said, which wasn’t answering the question and definitely wasn’t denying anything. “You were saying, about the Wen sect?”

Meng Yao smiled.

“What brings one of Teacher Lan’s most promising disciples to the Unclean Realm?” Nie Mingjue said, peering at him thoughtfully. “You’re at the wrong time to be one of the usual messengers.”

Meng Yao smiled at him.

“I think you’ll find that we have similar goals, Sect Leader Nie,” he said. “When it comes to making sure that certain people in our lives don’t get hurt by the bad decisions of others, I mean. In your case, it’s your younger brother, who’s a friend of mine –”

Friend, source of information, it was all about the same thing in the end. Meng Yao didn’t have real friends outside the Lan sect, but he’d been very careful to cultivate good relationships with all his most important peers.

“- and for me, well. A teacher for day, a father for a lifetime. I’m sure Sect Leader Nie can understand the importance of protecting one’s father – right?”

“You don’t need to use any sophistry on me,” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes. “If you have an idea on what we can do to stop the Wen sect before they go and burn someone’s house down, I’m all ears.”

By chance, Meng Yao did.

It was a good plan, too, daring and brave in equal measure. If it worked the way he hoped it would, he’d win enough fame to get Jin Guangshan to beg for him to join the Jin sect – not that he would, of course.

Meng Yao knew what he wanted, and he knew how he was going to get it, too.

“This is a lovely house, A-Yao,” Meng Shi said, running her hand along one of the soft tapestries on the wall. “Truly lovely. Whoever you rented it from has good taste.”

Meng Yao bowed. “Thank you for the compliment, Mother. I put a lot of thought into it.”

“You own it?” she asked, surprised. “But don’t you live up the mountain, with the sect?”

“I do. This is for you.”

“For – me? A-Yao! This is too much – how much must it have cost–”

“I saved the Lan sect’s core texts from being destroyed,” Meng Yao said. “I’m an inner sect disciple now – I could ask for a dozen houses like this, and they’d grant them to me without blinking twice. Teacher Lan would insist on it.”

“Teacher Lan,” his mother murmured. “That’s the one you’ve taken to treating as your own father, isn’t it? You’ve spoken so much of him, in your letters…”

“There’s no need to scheme,” he told her. “He wouldn’t notice your flirtations, anyway.”

His mother arched her eyebrows at him.

“He’s really oblivious.”

“Still…”

“Really no need,” Meng Yao said, and couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Lan Qiren pulling him into a hug when he realized that the books – and Lan Xichen – were all safe from the Wen sect’s attempt to burn down the Cloud Recesses, and, later, again, that Wen Ruohan was dead. He may have deliberately schemed for that second hug, and he might or might not have plans for more. “He already takes me as a son.”

His mother relaxed.

“Good,” she said, and smiled herself. “So, A-Yao, was I right, all those years ago? Was the Lan sect a good fit for you?”

“Yes, Mother,” Meng Yao said. “Yes, it was.”

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #lan qiren #su she #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #a good fit

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zafirosreverie · 3 years

Text

Must be the eyes (Teacher!Agatha x Fem!Student!Reader) part 2

(Part 1)

a/n: this is long, like, really long. Uppsies

- - - - - - - - - - -

Salem ... you were going to Salem !!

Nick laughed at you when you jumped out of happiness, before wrapping your arms around him and spinning him around. You were quite excited.

"I see someone is excited" he laughed as you let him go

"Sorry" you laughed "I just can't believe it! We’re going to Salem, Nick!" you screamed with excitement

"Yes yes, I was in class too, history girl” he laughed again "But it doesn't seem a bit strange to you that just last friday you mentioned that you wanted to go, and today, monday, they tell us that they will take us on a field trip precisely to Salem? Not to mention that Ms Harkness doesn't seem like the kind of teacher who wants to take her students on trips. "

"So?" you asked. You knew exactly what he was implying, but you decided to play innocent "Maybe the universe thought it would be a good time to pay me what it owes me"

"Suuuuure. And Ms Harkness totally wasn't looking at you during the entire announcement" He said

"She wasn't" you agreed, making him roll his eyes.

Except that she totally was. Nick was right. From the moment the older woman had walked into the classroom, you could feel her eyes fixed on you. At first you felt like you were in trouble, but when she started talking about the trip she and professor Maximoff had planned, a part of you (a small and somewhat selfish part) couldn't help but think that maybe she was doing it for you.

It was silly and you knew it, why would a woman like Agatha Harkness go to the trouble of planning a whole field trip, getting a hotel, food and transportation for almost 30 students, just so that you specifically could fulfill one of your dreams? Not to mention, there was no way she knew about it.

But the feeling that you were something special to her, even if it was only in your imagination, was enough for you.

You sighed "Nick, if you're still upset about the project, I'm sorry ok? But don't get me in your business with her"

"Hey! I didn't sleep all weekend to finish it, okay?" he defended himself "I didn't even go to the movies with Dalton, Y/N. Do you know what that means? I missed a date with him!" he pouted, making you laugh

"First of all, you had almost the entire month to do the project, you shouldn't have put it off until the last minute. Second, it wasn't even a date! You haven't been able to confess your feelings to Dalton in two years"

"So? At least I'm making progress with him, you've been drooling over our teacher since the first day of college and all you've done is have these tense discussions with her."

"Shhhhh" you shut him up "shout it out to everyone, would you?"

"Hey, you started"

"It's different and you know it Nick" you sighed "You're only a year older than Dalton. There are at least 10 years between me and Ms Harkness, not to mention that she is our teacher!"

"Pfff, 10 years? Come on Y/N, we both know she's probably twice your age" Nick scoffed

"She's not that old" you blushed "And that's not the point anyway"

"Right" he nodded "the point is that your girlfriend is going to take us all to a haunted town just to make you happy" he smirked.

"My what- she’s not-" you stuttered.

Nick laughed and you flushed with both embarrassment and anger. You ran after him to try to hit him, not noticing the pair of blue eyes staring at you from a window.

________

Agatha sighed to herself as she watched you walk away with that little friend of yours. She had watched all the interaction and when she saw you blush she wished she could listen, but you were too far away.

However, what she did hear were your screams of excitement and she couldn't help but notice that her heart leapt a little at the thought that it was she who had made you so happy.

Again, she would never tell anyone, but the only reason she had agreed to accompany Wanda was because of the conversation she had overheard, when you told Nicholas that you didn't have money for two trips.

At first, it had been easy to lie to herself, saying that she was simply killing two birds with one stone: Wanda could have her field trip and you could visit Salem at no expense, that way you could save up to go elsewhere in summer.

However, when Wanda asked why she had specifically chosen your class, she hadn't known what to answer. She wanted to see you happy, she felt you deserved everything in the world, but she couldn't say that to the redhead, so she had given a bad excuse that your group was the least problematic. Wanda hadn't believed it, but at least she had the decency not to comment on anything.

She told herself that she had to be more careful. She couldn’t let anyone, student or teacher, find out that perhaps it was no longer simple affection what she felt for you.

When she walked into your classroom, however, she couldn't help staring at you from the get-go. She didn't want to miss your reaction to the news. From the sparkle in your eyes, the way the corner of your mouth lifted, how your nose wrinkled, the way your shoulders tensed, and how you clenched your hands to avoid showing your emotion.

She wanted to see all of that.

But that had made her look at you the whole time. She never once had she taken her eyes off you, almost forgetting that it was supposed to be a school trip, for all of her students, not a surprise gift specifically for you.

Even if that's what it really was. As she had told Wanda, she was more than capable of teaching Salem's history without having to take you there, but she did it for you. And a small part of her wanted to tell you, she wanted you to know what she had done, she wanted you to understand how much you meant to her, without having to use her words.

She wasn't sure if she'd made it, but your excitement was enough for her. She just wished she could be the one receiving that crushing hug, instead of Nicholas.

"Earth to Agatha" said a voice behind her, making her jump

"Maximoff" she sighed "No one told you it's rude to approach people like this" she crossed her arms and frowned.

"In my defense, I've been here for about 15 minutes, it's not my fault that you get lost in your thoughts so quickly" the redhead teased as she handed her a coffee "It must be age"

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you called me old, just because of the coffee" the brunette growled, taking it.

"Lucky me" the youngest smiled "So, ready for the trip?" she asked

"There's still a whole month to go, cutie" she said

"Don't even remind me, I was hoping they'd let us go sooner" sighed the redhead.

"Wanda, I know they are university students, but not all of them have the income, no matter how little the school charges them. We have to pay for transportation, meals and hotel, not to mention that many of them will want to buy souvenirs or do another activities" Agatha reminded her

"It's a field trip, Aggs, not a vacation."

"Try to convince 30 students of that" scoffed the older woman

"... fair enough" sighed Wanda "and we still need another chaperone"

"What do you mean?" Agatha frowned "Isn't that why I'm going?"

"Yes, but as we also take male students, by law we must bring a male teacher too"

"That’s bullshit"

"I know, but I'm not going to complain and risk losing my permit."

The brunette thought about it for a moment before sighing. Wanda was right. And she wouldn't risk having the trip canceled either, not after seeing how happy it made you.

___________

It was the longest month of your life! You were too excited, you could hardly think of anything other than the trip. You had worried a bit that it was too expensive, but were pleasantly surprised when you realized that it was less than half of what the trip would cost you alone.

Besides, Nick had told you that he could lend you money if necessary. It wasn't that you were broke, far from it, but being a college student, living alone in a rental department and with a part-time job, was difficult.

However, you had managed to save enough money to pay for the trip and still be able to even spend a little on souvenirs or other things, which would be necessary to thank your boss for giving you permission to be absent for two weeks and your friend Alisha for covering you.

"Hello" you smiled at the secretary

"Good afternoon" she replied, a little serious but at least she smiled back at you "can I help you miss?"

"Yeah, uhm, I'm here to pay for the trip to Salem, group 203" you said

"One moment please" she nodded and pulled out a couple of lists "Your name, queen?" she asked kindly

"Y/N Y/L/N"

The woman scanned the names with her eyes, searching for the letter of your last name, but you felt your stomach drop a little when she frowned before looking at you.

"Are you sure, dear?" she asked

You blinked in surprise before nodding.

"How strange" she said "it appears that it is already paid"

"W-what?" now you frowned "It must be a mistake"

"No, Y/N Y/L/N, paid. Are you sure you didn't forget? It usually happens" she assured you, smiling at you.

But you knew that was not the case. You hadn't paid before because you didn't have the money. Damn, you were sure you were the last to pay! You were supposed to leave in three days!

"No" you said softly "I'm sure I didn't pay for it"

The woman was about to say something when you heard a rather familiar pair of heels coming up behind you. You didn't even have to turn around to find out who she was.

Agatha smiled as she stood right next to you, her hand pressed to your lower back. She smiled at the secretary before speaking.

"Good afternoon, Lu" she said to the woman

"Good afternoon, Ms Harkness"

"Is something wrong? Or why the long face, Miss Y/L/N?" she asked, smiling at you

It took you a moment to answer, too stunned by the warm touch of her hand on your back and the smell of her perfume filling your air.

"Someone paid for my trip" you said simply

"Excuse me?" she asked confused

"Someone paid for my trip" you repeated "it wasn't me, miss"

"Well, I still don't see the problem" she smiled at you "maybe that little friend of yours paid for you, or someone is trying to win your heart" she winked

The way she said the last part sent a chill down your spine. It felt too intimate for some reason.

"Either way, I wouldn't worry about it" she said, pulling you out of your thoughts "take advantage of it, Miss Y/L/N, not all of us are lucky enough to be given a free trip, right Lu?"

"Absolutely Ms Harkness"

You weren't so convinced, but you weren't in a position to argue with a teacher and a secretary, they were two against one. That and the hand on your back was too much of a distraction to think properly.

You nodded and thanked them before turning on your heel to go find Nick, hoping it was really him who paid for you. You immediately missed the warmth of the hand on your back.

____________

Well shit.

You cursed yourself while running around your apartment. You were sure you had set the alarm, but it hadn't gone on. If it weren't for the fact that you had left the window open and the sun hit you in the face, you wouldn’t have woken up.

When you looked at the clock on your desk, you jumped up. You noticed that your phone had not charged at all and was, in fact, turned off. Double shit.

You tossed it along with the charger in your backpack, after getting out of a quick shower and bouncing around the room as you put on your floral dress and a pair of tennis shoes. You did not care about the mess you left, you would fix it when you returned.

You had 20 minutes to get to school or you were saying goodbye to Salem.

_____________

Agatha tried to appear neutral as Wanda took roll and Jimmy helped the students put their bags onto the bus as they arrived.

She supposed it could have been worse. Of all the male teachers in the school, Jimmy Woo, the chemistry teacher, was the most educated and one of the few that Agatha actually liked a little. At least the students listened to him.

Not that she was really paying attention to that, if she was honest.

Actually, the only thing on her mind was you. Nothing new, but this was different. You hadn't arrived yet and they were 15 minutes away from leaving. She was beginning to worry.

She didn't understand what was happening, you were the most excited about the trip, she had paid for you, and yet you weren't here? She had thought you would be the first to arrive. Have you regretted it? No, you would have told her or Wanda. Something happened to you? Surely Nicholas would have said something when he arrived.

So why was there no sign of your precious face? The brunette could convince Wanda to wait for you a little longer, but she wasn't even sure you were going to come. That made her sulk quickly.

She had agreed to take this trip, for you. If you didn't show up, she would have done everything in vain! She didn't even want to go to Salem to babysit! So you had better arrive in the next 10 minutes or you would be in serious trouble when they come back in two weeks.

"Smile Harkness" Wanda laughed, seeing her partner with her arms crossed and a frown "We're almost gone"

"Good, because we still have five hours of travel and I'm already starting to get tired of the voices of these children" she growled.

She really did hope her concern wasn't so noticeable.

____________

You sighed in relief when the taxi finally arrived at the school, seeing that the bus was still there. You did it!

You walked quickly, smiling at Professor Woo, who kindly put your suitcase on the underside of the truck.

"We were waiting for you, miss Y/L/N" he said kindly, helping you up the steps.

"Oh no, am I the last one?" you asked, blushing with shame.

"That's right" said Professor Maximoff, smiling at you as you went upstairs.

Well, at least no one had noticed. The rest of your classmates were all talking to each other, laughing and some flirting, not paying attention to the fact that you had just arrived. Excellent.

Except ... oh no.

You looked for Nick, to go sit with him. Sadly, it looks like Dalton was ahead of you and your best friend was too busy flirting to have saved you a spot.

"Take a seat please Y/N" Wanda told you

"Uhm ... where?" you asked, pointing to your companions.

The red-haired woman followed your gaze and realized that you were right. All the seats were taken. That made her frown. They were supposed to have all seats counted, so she, Jimmy, and Agatha had taken the liberty of using two seats each. But it seems they had miscounted.

"Well, I suppose you will have to sit with one of us" she told you.

You nodded, but didn't move, not knowing exactly which of the three to sit next to.

Fortunately for you, you didn't have to make the decision.

Agatha had kept a sigh of relief from escaping her lips when she saw you and Jimmy getting on the bus. She had been biting her nails nervously.

Your choice of clothes had not gone unnoticed and she, taking care that neither Wanda nor Jimmy caught her, let her eyes roam your body. The dress fit too well on you, hugging all the right parts, and ended just above the knees, allowing her to observe your beautiful legs.

She was so busy scanning you with her gaze that she almost missed Wanda's comment. "I suppose you will have to sit down with one of us." Her reaction was almost automatic.

She got up and motioned for you to sit in the window seat. "Take a seat, miss Y/L/N" she said, a little anxious, but with a frown so that the others would think that she was simply desperate to leave.

You blinked before nodding and scooting into the seat. You tried not to show any emotion when the older woman sat next to you and her thigh brushed yours.

You didn't know if you wanted to curse Nick for abandoning you in favor of flirting, or if you wanted to kiss him. You had five hours to think about it from here to Salem.

Wait. Five hours. Five hours trapped between Agatha Harkness and the window and without the possibility of distracting yourself with your cell phone. Oh shit.

___________

"It's not as bad as I thought" said Wanda "You were right Aggs, it's the least troublesome group" she laughed

The older woman rolled her eyes without answering. Her friend was right, most of the students were behaving quite well. There was no excessive yelling, no one was getting up from their seats or causing trouble, everyone seemed more interested in catching up on gossip.

But that didn't mean she liked being there. Her head was already spinning and there were still another three hours to go. The only good thing she had was that you were next to her.

Sure, she had to act nonchalant with you, just trying to get you talking a few times (which didn't work, but at least you had smiled at her and that was enough for her), but she couldn't help stealing glances from you every now and then.

She had given you the place by the window with the excuse that she needed to be in the hallway so she could throw death glares at others and make sure everything was in order, but the truth was, she just wanted you to be able to see everything. So that you don't miss even the entrance to the town.

It had worked for a while, because you looked quite entertained. Until that moment.

When the brunette looked at you sideways, she could see that your eyelids seemed to weigh and how you were starting to nod. Agatha had to admit that a sleepy Y/N was probably the cutest thing she had seen in a long time.

You struggled to stay awake, but after two hours of staring out the window (you were definitely not looking at your teacher through the reflection, thank you very much) your eyes felt tired. Maybe, you could sleep for a while, and hopefully when you woke up, you would be arriving in Salem and you wouldn't have to deal with the blush on your cheeks caused by the mere presence of your crush by your side.

It seemed like a good plan.

Sighing and careful not to kick the older woman, you settled into the seat better, closing your eyes and blocking out the noise around you. It didn't take you long to fall asleep.

Agatha knew the exact moment you had been lost from the world of the living, when your head began to tilt a little. She inwardly cursed you for being so cute.

However, she froze when she realized that little by little, you were sticking closer to her.

At first it was just your head leaning in her direction, but then you were leaning on her shoulder. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling (actually, it was perfect), but it did make her pulse race, especially when you kept falling more and more on her, until you ended up with your head on her chest and basically using her breasts as a pillow.

"Ok, okay, don't panic, everything is fine" she thought "act normal, you are a teacher taking care of her student, nothing to see here"

But she could feel her heart racing at a thousand kilometers per hour and as much as she didn't want to wake you up, she doubted you couldn't hear it, you had your hearing just above it!

She was too busy trying not to move, not to bother you, that she didn't notice the knowing looks and smiles that her two colleagues shared.

When Wanda stood up to supervise the students in the background, she raised an eyebrow, smirking at Agatha. The older woman rolled her eyes and mumbled something about not wanting to wake you up out of mere politeness, but the truth was that her arms burned with the need to hold you and pull you closer to her.

____________

Wanda giggled and motioned for Jimmy to take a look at Agatha's seat. When the man did, he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

At some point during the trip, the brunette had fallen asleep too, probably bored of not moving so as not to wake you up. However, it seemed like her precautions weren't working on autopilot, because the moment she fell asleep, she leaned on you, portraying a cute scene with you on the older woman's chest and Agatha's head on top of yours.

Wanda took out her cell phone and quickly took a photo of you two.

"This is gold" she whispered to Jimmy "this is valuable blackmail material, Harkness will have to do what I ask for at least a month"

"I guess I owe you 10 dollars" said the man.

When they were discussing the details of the trip, the redhead had told him her theory about how the brunette felt about you. Surprisingly, Jimmy hadn't been shocked, he didn't think the other woman had a crush on her student, but he wouldn't look down on Agatha if that was the case. They had both gambled on how long it would take for the woman to start being more obvious.

"And a coffee when we get to Salem" Wanda reminded him.

_____________

Agatha woke up when a particularly loud sound from the movie they were playing in the bus sounded from the speaker above her head. The woman blinked several times, before looking around her.

Jimmy seemed absorbed in the movie and Wanda was asleep. And God knew what the students were doing behind her.

But that was not the important thing. What mattered was the bulge in her arms.

Your hair had fallen over your face, so the older woman gently brushed it away, letting her fingers brush against your skin. You were a beautiful sight. You always were, sure, but just like that, asleep and vulnerable, you were just breathtaking.

Looking at the clock, Agatha knew that they were about to arrive in town, and although she didn't want to wake you up, really enjoying having you like this, she also wanted you to see everything. So she gently started shaking you to wake you up.

You groaned a bit at the annoyance, but in a few more moments your eyes began to open. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the light, but when they did, you frowned.

Why were you so low? You remembered falling asleep almost glued to the window, so why weren't you there? And why did you have a pillow? You hadn't brought a pillow with you.

It wasn't until you caught a familiar scent that you realized you weren't on a pillow. You were on top of your teacher. More specifically, on her chest. Shit.

You got up quickly, muttering an apology and trying desperately not to look at her. You just used Agatha Harkness as a pillow! What an idiot! She sure hates you now.

The older woman was a bit surprised when you jumped up, almost hitting her in the process. If it wasn't because you looked adorable with a red face, she would have tried to comfort you. Besides, she couldn't risk any of her colleagues finding out about her feelings for you.

So she didn't say anything, as if nothing had happened. But she was loving the nervous version of you more and more.

_______________

When you entered the city, you completely forgot the whole incident. Your mind quickly entertained with the landscape and you could see how all those witch tales came to life in front of your eyes. Definitely better than Disneyland.

Agatha couldn't help the pang of pride she felt when she saw your excited face. It was a good choice to sit you by the window. If anyone deserved to have the best possible experience in Salem, it was you.

She just hoped the rest of the trip would go without incidents. Not that she thought falling asleep on her was a bad thing, it was just that she trusted herself less and less to keep herself under control.

- - - - - - - - - - -

tags: @midnight-lestrange @everythingmarvelsherlockspn (tag not working) @amethyst-bitch @juliejules-089 @powerfulmagicalgirl (tag not working) @novohyde @annie-mit-ie @agentbrownierso

#x reader #reader insert #imagine #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x y/n #agatha harkness x you #agnes x reader #request #must be the eyes #please tell me if i did the tag list thing right #;-;

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engie-ivy · 4 years

Text

The girls have a bet, the boys eavesdrop

“Merlin, Mary,” Marlene says. “You hadn’t noticed that until now? He’s been looking at Lupin like love sick puppy since third year.”

Remus eyes widen, but he doesn’t dare to turn his head to look at Sirius.

Stupid ideas and dumb bets

Boys cannot go up to the girls’ dormitory. Animals, however, have no trouble walking up those stairs, and once upstairs, his Animagii friends managed to pull Remus up as well. Which is how Remus finds himself crouched under the Invisibility Cloak with his three friends in the corner of Lily, Marlene, Mary and Emmeline’s dorm.

James had overheard Marlene tell Dorcas and Amelia that they were all to meet in their dorm that evening, to discuss dates for the upcoming Yule Ball. James had immediately decided that this was a conversation he needed to hear, as he was particularly interested in Lily’s thoughts on the matter. Remus was against the whole scheme, and had lectured his friends on breaching the girls’ privacy, but to no avail. Remus only decided to join to prevent his friends from being creepy, or at least more creepy than they’re already being. Not that Remus actually thinks his friends would do something like peek at the girls. He actually tested James. They had decided that Remus should look into the dorm first to check if all the girls were properly dressed, as Remus is as innocent and unassuming as can be, and he had said that Lily was standing in her bra. James passed his test with flying colours, as instead of immediately looking himself, he pulled Remus back and scolded him for not averting his eyes.

So now Remus is huddled under the Invisibility Cloak, where they only fit if Peter remains in his rat form, on the cold floor of Lily’s dorm besides her bed. He only refrains from complaining about his current predicament because Sirius is pressed against him so close he can feel the warmth of his body and his hair tickling his face.

In the middle of the room, Lily is sitting on her bed, knees tucked underneath her, wearing pyjamas and her hair in a messy bun on top of her head. Dorcas and Marlene are sitting on the edge of Marlene’s bed, Mary is lying upside down on a pillow on the floor, and on some other pillows scattered around, Emmeline, Hestia and Amelia are sitting.

“He’s going to ask you!” Dorcas says.

Lily brushes a hair from her face. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“Any sensible person wouldn’t, but Snivellus…”

“Don’t call him that childish nickname Potter and Black came up with.”

“He’s called you a lot worse,” Dorcas replies.

“Exactly,” Lily says. “And you don’t really think that after calling me the m-word in front of the entire school he’ll have the nerve to ask me to the Yule Ball?”

“You know what would really piss him off?” Mary says with a grin. “If you’d go to the ball with James Potter!”

Remus glances over at James, but he doesn’t look as pleased with this as Remus would expect.

Lily huffs. “I don’t care enough about Sniv- Snape to choose my date purely based on his feelings.”

“Besides,” Marlene adds. “That wouldn’t be fair to Potter. He really cares about you.”

“Potter only cares about himself,” Lily mutters.

“Lils, you know that’s not true,” Emmeline says. “He deserves more credit than that.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “You just like him because he’s the great Quidditch hero with good abs.”

Marlene leans forward with a sly smile “So you have been noticing Potter’s abs.”

Lily blushes and throws a pillow at her face. “Shut up.”

Remus sees James practically beaming. What Remus hopes he’ll learn from this is that he should show Lily his caring side more, and let her know how his feelings for her are sincere. What Remus fears he’ll learn from this is to show his abs more around Lily.

“So what’s the current status?” Dorcas asks. “We have Mary going with Peter, Emmeline going with Gideon, Marlene going with me-”

“Oh?” Marlene asks. “I don’t believe you have asked me yet?”

“Too bad, McKinnon,” Dorcas says, while pulling Marlene in and kissing her temple. “That was part of the deal when you agreed to be my girlfriend.”

Marlene chuckles. “I’m glad I don’t have to go through the trouble of getting one of those obnoxious boys as my date.”

“Who would you pick from the guys if you had to?” Hestia asks.

“Who would you pick from the girls if you had to?”

“Lily.”

“Lily, for sure.”

“Yeah, Lily.”

“Aaaw, you girls!”

“Now Marlene, who would it be?”

“Sirius Black,” Marlene says. Lily rolls her eyes, but Marlene just shrugs. “If I have to, I might as well go with the fittest bloke.”

Remus can agree with her there, and is suddenly very glad for Dorcas. Next to him, Sirius has a smug smile on his face.

“You’d just do that to meddle with the bet!”

Remus frowns. The bet?

“Oh, you’d know all about meddling with the bet, won’t you, Emmeline?” Amelia says. “I heard you talk to Lupin the other day when Potter and Black entered the common room!”

Emmeline flips her hair over her shoulder. “Why, Amelia, I don’t know what you mean.”

“You kept talking about ‘how broad Black’s shoulders have become since he has started playing Quidditch’.”

“I was just making conversation.”

“You were putting ideas in his head!”

“Mia, please,” Lily says. “I hardly think Remus Lupin needs Emmeline to put the idea of Sirius Black’s broad shoulders in his head. I’m pretty sure they’re well-represented there already.”

The girls giggle, and Remus feels his cheeks burn. He feels said broad shoulders pressed against him, and the owner glance curiously at him.

“Can I still change my answer?” Mary asks. “I had no, but I was sitting across of Lupin and Black in the library, and Lupin was enthusiastic telling Black about this book he had read, and Black was looking at him so fondly!”

“Merlin, Mary,” Marlene says. “You hadn’t noticed that until now? He’s been looking at Lupin like love sick puppy since third year.”

Remus eyes widen, but he doesn’t dare to turn his head to look at Sirius.

“There’s no changing your answer based on new insights anyway.” Amelia takes a piece of parchment out of her pocket. “It stays as follows,” she says, before she starts reading out loud. “Official bets on the matter of whether Sirius Black and Remus Lupin will get their shite together in time for the Yule Ball and be each other’s date: Lily, Emmeline, Alice, Hestia: yes. Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Amelia: no.”

Remus still can’t look at Sirius. He doesn’t know what to feel. Mortification that he’s apparently been so obvious, for sure, but also hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, the girls are onto something and Sirius is into him as well?

“I don’t want to be pessimistic,” Marlene says. “But honestly, I think it’ll take more time for Sirius Black to get his head out of his arse. We’ll be lucky if they figure it out before next year’s ball.”

“Lupin won’t be much better,” Emmeline says. “He’s a super smart guy, but when it comes to Sirius Black, his IQ drops like twenty points. I was working on a Potions essay with him the other day, and Black was standing behind us throwing the Quaffle back and forth with Potter. I pretended like everything was fine, but he didn’t hear two-third of the questions I was asking!”

Mary chuckles. “Oh Emmeline, you can’t expect Lupin to focus on Potions when Black’s arse is in view!”

Now mortification definitely takes over.

“I can’t handle another year of this, though!” Lily groans. “Every time I’m in a room with the two of them together I wish I brought a knife to cut the sexual tension.”

“I’m surprised you’re all for it, Lily,” Dorcas says. “I know how much you like Lupin, but honestly, I thought you saw Black as an annoying, arrogant and loud prat?”

“Nah,” Lily says. “I’ve discovered there’s more to him than that long ago. And even if he acts brash half of the time, he’s so thoughtful and caring when it comes to Lupin! I’d hardly recognize him.”

“I know!” Mary gushes. “Like, normally he can’t pay attention in class for longer than five minutes, but when Remus is ill and can’t come to class, he takes notes of every word the teacher says, even during History of Magic, just in case Lupin wants to know something. And when does anyone ever wants to know anything about History of Magic?”

Remus blinks. Of course, Sirius can be very considerate, and Remus’s circumstances may make him more in need of his kindness, but it can’t have anything to do with Remus himself, right?

Suddenly, Alice bursts through the door. “Frank just asked me for the Yule Ball!” She squeals.

Immediately, the girls jump to their feet and hug her in excited exclamations of delight. In the consternation, James grabs Sirius and Remus’s arms and drags them to their feet and out of the room.

Nobody says anything until they’re back in their own dorm. Remus sits down on the edge of his bed and becomes extremely interested in the floor.

“Ehm,” James says. “I think Wormtail and I should go to… Ehm, well, not be here.”

After they’ve left, Remus hears Sirius scrape his throat. He jumps, as Sirius is standing much closer than he had expected. He looks up in Sirius’s eyes, and sees his nervousness.

“So,” Sirius says. “It seems like the girls are betting whether we’re going to the Yule Ball together?”

“So it seems indeed,” Remus replies with a nervous laugh.

Sirius runs a hand through his hair. “After McKinnon called me an arrogant twat during Quidditch practice, I’d hate to have her win the bet.”

“Do you now?” Remus asks with a smile. “You’d ask me to be your date just to spite McKinnon?”

“That,” Sirius says. “And also because I’ve allegedly been looking at you like a love sick puppy for years, and taking History of Magic notes, as it turns out, is not the best way to woo you. So what do you say?”

A happy, warm feeling spreads through Remus’s chest and he’s suddenly very glad for James and his stupid ideas and the girls and their dumb bets.

“If you don’t mind having a date whose IQ drops twenty points around you and who prioritizes ogling you over Potions essays?”

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #marauders era #james potter #lily evans #jily #my tumblr writing

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zawasdarkcirclez · 4 years

Text

How Bakusquad Asks You to Prom

Mina Ashido:

-Mina’s definitely got something really pretty planned

-She’s most likely a little dressed up with a cute little dress on

-This is all taking place in the common area

-Everybody besides you knew what was happening and were hiding in the corners of the room and against the wall

-Aizawa was even there claiming that he felt most comfortable if there was a teacher and adult present with all of these candles burning Mina, Denki, and Sero filled him in one day when he was trying to grade papers

-In reality though, he just wanted to be there to see how it would play out after hearing all the talk about it

-Y’all do be his kids after all

-You keep getting texts from Mina and everyone telling you Aizawa is calling everybody to the commons right now and that you’re late as hell

-You’re out of breath running to the room and realize you don’t see the lights on from where you stand

- Walking in however, you’re greeted with soft jazz music

-Mina standing in the middle of the room with a bouquet of flowers

-In front of her on the floor are candles spelling out “Prom?”

-Not gonna lie she’s a little nervous

-Fingers fiddling for sure

“HEY-uh Y/n.. PROM??“

-You said yes no doubt. Sorry I don’t make the rules

-You were literally stunned, she looked amazing, everything looked so cute, the effort was there. CONGRATULATIONS you won

-Everybody of course had to then hop out from the darkness of the room cheering and recording as you and Mina hug

-Queue Denki + Sero dapping each other up

-Midoriya tearing up

-Mineta full on crying because Mina is now taken

-Todoroki still standing by the wall 🧍‍♂️

-You and Mina definetly had some of the best prom fits

Katsuki Bakugo:

-You were already dating Katsuki, leading him to believe you were well aware that you were going to prom with him

-So when he overheard Momo ask you about plans for prom and you responded saying

-”Oh, prom? ...I’m not really sure I’m doing all that.”

-He was STOMP.ING over and Momo was tiptoeing away not wanting to get caught in another one of his outbursts

-”What the hell do you mean you’re not doing that?!”

-”You don’t want to go with me or what?!”

-”Did I do something? If I made you upset, you should have said something, Dumbass!!”

-”Actually, you know what, I don’t care! You’re going.”

-”With me!”

-You rolled your eyes jokingly

-”Well that sure is one way to ask.” you chuckled and patted his side walking away to go back to your desk

-You were not complaining by any means, but with the intensity of Katsuki’s ability to read behind your words, he knew he was picking up on something else

-Thinking back, he did notice the little way your eyes would glow as your friends were getting asked left and right

-Even when Bakugo mumbles beside you about “Why the hell’s he doing all this like she’s not already his girlfriend.”

-You’ve seen posters, candies, gifts etc.

-But all you truly wanted was for Bakugo to possibly let down a wall of his and utter the same words to you

-But you would never ever push him to do it, in fear of overstepping a boundary

-This in mind though, and with Bakugo being as invested and in love with you as he is, and not willing to admit, he plans something little so you can have a little moment to blab to your friends about too or whatever 🙄

-He’ll be damned if its in public though

-For sure expect to be woken up late at night, leaving you surprised considering yk his bedtime and all

-He’s shaking your shoulder and grumbling to you to “Wake your ass up, or I’ll leave.”

-You turn seeing Bakugo with a candle he over burnt a little bit with his quirk, your favorite snack, a teddy bear, and a little jewelry box

-“Will you uhh..” his eyes dart away from you and he hears you giggle

-”Shut up!! ... ”

-”Will you go to prom with me, Y/n?” he asks shoving the snacks and bear a little in your direction

-”Of course Katsu.”

-He smirked, opening the jewelry box

-”And you make sure to wear this little beauty around that neck of yours at this damn dance, okay?”

Denki Kaminari:

-I’m sorry but you completely spoiled Denki’s surprise

-Well it was a team effort

-He had already accidentally said too much one day without realizing so you knew he most definitely had “Something exciting to ask you”

-But bbbbruh

-The panic everyone screamed in when you randomly walked into Denki’s room while him and the rest of the Bakusquad decorated

-He jumped off the little ladder he was standing on in the corner and turned you around by your shoulders ushering you out

-”ahHa ha...”

-It’s silent for a couple second while you both plan what to say now

Simultaneously:

-“Denki I am SOOO sorry“

and

-”A little earlier than planned”

-Everyone has an ear pressed against the door at this point to listen

-”Well..surprise! I’ll tell you what though,”

-His hands reached for yours

-”I’m a liiittle busy right now.. You know what for, but let’s pretend you don’t.”

-He turns speed walking and dragging you with him

-”So you go relax for a little bit, do some studying or something. Put on one of your cute little outfits, and I’ll be by later to come get you because you’ve got a hot date in my room say around..8:30?”

-You nod, catching your breath and realized he has delivered you all the way back to your own dorm

-Before you could turn and ask any other questions, that boy is booking it around the corner to get back to his room

-Upon walking in he is greeted with bunches of “what happened?”s from his friends and a slap to the back of his head from Bakugo

-Yes they somehow got Bakugo to help

-”Guys! Guys! We’re good, why did nobody keep decorating? Come on people we have until 8:25 and then you all have got to go!”

-Fast forward to 8:30, he’s opening the door for you and guiding you inside with a hand on your back

-He’s cheesing like a fool I promise you

-Sure you already saw part of it but not nearly the end result

-”So, will you go to prom with me?”

-”Uhm, YES!”

-Y’all can hear Sero and Kiri hooting and cheering from Bakugo’s room across the hall followed by a

-”Shut up or get out you idiots!!”

-You and Denki definitely won the top spots in the Prom Court

Eijiro Kirishima:

-Kiri definitely has a little cliche possibly cringe idea he saw online

-But it’s still cute as hell because I mean hello it’s Kirishima

-All his friends were struggling planning things while he was sitting there CHILLEN

-Denki turned like “Uhhh..Bro, you all set or something? You’re looking mighty not-busy over here.”

-”Yeah man. This was eeasyy. I found exactly what I wanted to do. They’ll love it.”

-By this point everyone had been listening, and then he was bombarded with several voices asking for ideas and inspiration from him

-All voices went silent though when he whipped out his phone to show them

-”Dude.”

-”You’re joking.”

-”Tch. Dumbass..”

-He’s not even a little worried about their reactions

-If there’s one thing he knows it’s YOU

-And YOU love anything Kirishima does

-Let’s not lie we’re all whipped

-And y’all are just some chill ass individuals and cornballs with the same humor

-He spends the entire evening that day drawing out his sign and gathering things he needs and whatnot

-When you walk into class greeted with some yummy food and cheesy saying on your desk, you smirked knowing it was the one and only

-”Surprisee!” he would sing wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing your cheek

-”Pretty manly, huh?”

-When the rest of the class sees how it actually turned out in comparison to the picture he showed, they kinda regretted trying to get on him

-Especially since you were right in front of them enjoying it

-Shit was kinda sweet

-Ya know, seeing y’all be all perfect for each other and all

-”Ah, you’re so cute. It’s great!” your face was lighting up as you plopped down in your seat

-The rest of class everyone was still stressing between lessons about their own prom situations

-And cutting their eyes at you and Kiri

-The two of you are now sitting side by side, his arm around you shoulders and both of your mouths full of sushi

-Prom is literally a dream with this man

-I feel like he would dress with the most casually classy look

-Velcro shoes acquired 😎

-Y’all are so in love you don’t even realize how visible it is

-The whole night is you two soo lost in each other uhghh

Hanta Sero:

-Sero is cool as fuck

-I just had to say that first sorreh

-He’d definitely do something real low-key and cute

-It’s not anything public or in front of everybody and their mother

-The two of you hang out by yourselves and have little ~dates~ and what not kind of often

-So him knocking at your dorm door telling you to get ready to go in 30 minutes was nothing suspicious

-After a light walk from campus y’all reached a point where he told you to close your eyes and let him guide you

-Considers covering your eyes with his tape but doesn't want to end up literally yanking off your eyebrows when he takes it off

-You settle for one hand over your eyes, and one hand in his

-Sero almost knocks you into stuff on purpose and you know it

-But eventually he’s telling you to open your eyes and

- 🥲

-A literal gasp

-”Ohh my gosh! Sero!? What is this!?”

-You’re literally bouncin up and down

-A whole little picnic has been set up in the middle of some random park by the school just for the two of you

-He’s just smiling and rubbing at the back of his neck

-He’s cool, but he can’t lie, especially when it comes to you, he’s a liiittle bit of a uhh wreck?

-Just hides it like an expert

-”Have a seat”

-He’ll take your hand as you sit to help you wibudfverkfcj;e

-Y’all are snacking and chatting, snacking and chatting

-Everything is literally perfect with him, genuinely so nice to be around

-Around when the sun is almost getting ready to set and the two of you are thinking about heading back to the dorms he stops you for a second

-”Uhm, Y/n. I’m just gonna cut straight to it.”

-”You wanna go to prom with me?”

-He’s looking straight into your soul I swear

-You tell him you’d love too and boooy oh boy the weight off this man’s shoulders

-Everyone wonders what went down when the two of you walk back into the building hand in hand and giggling and smiling with each other

-Of course the two of you nonchalantly fill them in when they ask, but the best details stayed between the two of you

293 notes · View notes

sulphuryasecretcloset · 3 years

Text

What if...? Part 6

Again, this one goes out to you beautiful enablers! You who comment, reblog and are along for this journey through AU land! I see you, I appreciate you and you make my day :D

So, uh, a quick question: Which do you, read readers, prefer; either one giant part 7 or more regular sized part 7 + a part 8... What’s your vote?

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if…

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

“I want you to train me. Teach me how to fight.” Dulsissia blurts it out as she settles herself down next to where Davarax is sitting on the floor with his blaster meticulously laid out in pieces on a blanket in front of him to do maintenance on the different parts.

Davarax freezes for several seconds and then he cautiously puts the pieces he was holding down and he looks over at her. “I, uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Dulsissia frowns. He doesn’t think she can handle it?

“I’m sure we can ask Decco to train you.” Davarax offers.

“Bee-cause you don’t want to.” Dulsissia draws out the word, not entirely sure whether to be hurt or offended, but right now she’s leaning towards both.

Davarax lifts a placating hand, sighing. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

Had it been any other man, Dulsissia would have gone on a rant by now, but she knows Davarax wouldn’t say no if he didn’t have a good reason. “Would you mind telling why not?”

His hand slowly sinks down again and he makes a couple of efforts at starting a sentence, but in the end; Davarax’ shoulders sag slightly with defeat. “It’s just… not.”

“Why not.” She insists. Fine, Dulsissia can ask Decco, but she will at least know why the most skilled fighter in the Covert refuses to train her. He’d even called her Mandokarla once. “You don’t think I’m Mandokarla any more?”

When had she broken his faith in her? When she’d panicked over that storm trooper? Was that it? Mandalorians aren’t allowed to show fear?

“You are!” Davarax blurts out. “You definitely are. Mandokarla. You are.” He then sighs again and gestures faintly towards himself. “It’s me, okay? I’m the problem.”

“You?” She narrows her eyes suspiciously. How can he be the problem? He’s their best fighter.

“I’m too…” Davarax searches for the right word. “...invested.” He finishes, somewhat lamely, and his hand just drops to his lap.

Dulsissia snorts. “You’re training my son, your own kids, but you can’t train me?”

“You’re different.” Davarax mumbles, sounding awkward.

“Nonsense.” Dulsissia inches closer. “I want to learn and I want to learn from the best. Please? I’ll be a good girl and do everything the teacher says.”

Davarax makes an odd sound deep in his throat.

“I know you are busy and you’ve already helped me so much and it is incredibly selfish of me to put another burden on your shoulders,” Dulsissia confesses, feeling the taste of shame again, “but I trust you. And… I like spending time with you. No offense to Decco, she has been wonderful, but she’s not exactly… cheerful. Or especially fond of conversing. She threatened to glue my mouth shut yesterday and I honestly think she wasn’t joking.”

Davarax chuckles, sounding both resigned and fondly amused. “She wasn’t.” Then he hangs his helmet low for a moment or two before sighing yet again and looking over at Dulsissia. “Okay.”

Letting out a low squeal of delight, Dulsissia bumps her shoulder against his. “Thank you! You won’t regret this.”

Davarax makes a sound as if he’s not entirely convinced about that before he picks up the blaster pieces again and continues his work. “Tomorrow. Thirty minutes before I teach the kids.”

“Thirty minutes?” The man pushes the children far harder than that. “That’s it?”

“One, it’s your first lesson. We’ll be going over basics. Two,” Davarax’ t-visor turns to look at her, “I thought you were going to do what the teacher told you to do?”

Dulsissia puts on her sweetest smile and nods. “Thirty minutes. Before the kids. Yes, sir!”

Davarax sighs, how many times is that now in such a short while, and turns back to his blaster.

She meets up a little early, eager and wearing her finest skirt, ready to impress and become the best student Davarax has ever had. Dulsissia straightens her spine and gives him a bright smile when Davarax enters the training room.

He comes to a halt when he sees her, then clears his throat and continues to walk over to her. “You’re early. Good.”

Dulsissia tilts her head, still smiling. “Ready for training. As you can see.”

Davarax makes a non-committing hum.

She can’t keep it up any longer. Dulsissia reaches down, undoes the two buttons and lets her skirt fall to the floor to reveal the far more practical pants she’s wearing underneath. “Ha! Got you!”

He does the Davaraxian huff of a laugh and rewards her with a faint nod. “Funny. Very funny.”

Stepping out of the skirt before picking it up to fold it, Dulsissia rubs her successful prank in with a smug cackle. “I can’t believe you weren’t going to say anything. You’re so sweet.”

“I can’t believe that you don’t think I won’t get back at you for calling me out on it.” Davarax replies, crossing his arms and tilting his helmet in a challenging way.

Dulsissia grins, puts the folded skirt by the wall and trots over to stand in front of him without a hint of fear. “Whatever you got, my good Lord Davarax, I can take it.”

Davarax just looks down at her, breathes, and for some reason; Dulsissia’s heart does a flip.

Then the Mandalorian suddenly unfolds his arms, clears his throat and steps away to take up a position she’s seen the children start the day with.

“We’ll start with the basics. Just the basics. It’s going to be harder for you than the children because you’ve grown accustomed to your body in a way they haven’t had the time to yet, and you’re going to have to unlearn a bit of that plus replace some old reflexes with new ones.” Davarax says.

Dulsissia forces herself to focus and tries to copy the stance. “I’m ready to sweat. Show me.”

Davarax glances over at her, she can feel his gaze slide over her, then he nods.

Yeah, okay, Dulsissia is starting to understand why he’d been hesitant to agree to teach her. He’s an excellent teacher, explains things so well, but she’d failed to take into consideration how every single touch of his hands on her, despite the gloves, despite the layer of clothing, results in flares of heat, moments of complete distraction and a flush to her face that has nothing to do with the strain of the exercises.

She had complained about thirty minutes not being long enough, but after twenty five of them; Dulsissia resolutely sits down and lets out a loud, unladylike groan at the ceiling. Who could have known copying moves that Davarax makes seem easy would be this hard? And while Dulsissia had not considered herself to be out of shape, this has left her completely exhausted.

“Still five minutes left.” Davarax points out, standing next to her, sounding smug.

Dulsissia decides to wipe that smugness off his face. Fast as lightning, she flings herself over and grabs a hold of his lower leg with both of her hands, aiming to bring him down to her level, and she yanks with all of her might.

Nothing. It’s like trying to pull at an AT-AT. And Davarax just looks down at her.

Groaning, Dulsissia lets go and flops over to lie on her back. “It was worth a shot.”

Laughing, a low, warm sound, Davarax eases himself down to sit next to her. “It was cute.”

Cute? Dulsissia glares over at him. And before he realizes his mistake, she launches herself at him, climbs into his lap and shoves at his shoulders. Maybe she couldn’t topple him over on his feet, but surely she can knock him over like this?

No.

She’s not entirely sure how he does it, he moves too fast, he’s too strong, but suddenly she’s on her back on the floor and he’s hovering over her. His hands are pinning her wrists to the floor and a quick tug tells her she has absolutely no chance of getting loose. Dulsissia grins. “Also worth a shot.”

Davarax hums, deliberately not to touching her with anything but his grip on her wrists. “Be careful with your shots, Dulcy. You don’t want to end up like this with the enemy.”

Her face burns. She’s suddenly so very aware of him. “It doesn’t feel all that bad, to be honest.”

It feels like all of the oxygen in the room abruptly disappears, gravity gives up and the temperature sky-rockets. Neither of them move. The tension keeps growing and then…

Davarax looks over at the door and scrambles away from her half a second before the children come stomping into the room, chattering and eagerly anticipating today’s lesson.

Dulsissia closes her eyes and let out a long exhale, just as she hears;

“Mom…?”

It’s Din’s birthday. Dulsissia had overheard it by accident when Din had been talking to her son and he’d mentioned how he was counting down the years to when he would finally be allowed to put on the helmet.

She’d asked when he was having his birthday celebration so she could get a present for her son to give him and felt no small amount of horror when Din said there wasn’t going to be one. His parents had said there was no point so he assumed that meant no celebration.

Well, he was wrong about that.

As Din is more comfortable there, she arranges the birthday celebration in her and Corin’s room and invites the rest of Davarax’ children, plus the man himself. It’s a small thing, compared to the parties she used to throw, but it is a huge deal to Din. He shies a bit away from being the centre of attention, but with Davarax and Corin both encouraging him; Din ends up actually enjoying it a little.

And it is all worth it when a red-faced and awkward Din gives Dulsissia by his own free will a quick hug at the end of the day.

Dulsissia then has to hide a smile when Paz ‘innocently’ mentions how he has his birthday exactly one standard week after Din’s while they are seated at the table and devouring the sweets she’s made. (She’s getting pretty good at this baking thing. The fighting? Less so, but she’s improving.)

Paz’ father has a big celebration for his day, but while Dulsissia mostly observes it from the outside, she can’t help but to notice how, while it is in his name, very little is focused on Paz himself. It’s mostly about his father, adult food and strong spirits. Not much for a twelve year old to enjoy.

So she throws him a party in her quarters with the other children and their teacher like she’d done for Din. And Dulsissia feels her heart break yet again when, at the end of the day, Paz hugs her so tight he almost squeezes the air out of her.

Standing next to her, Davarax sighs as he watches Paz leave with the other kids in tow. “I didn’t really celebrate my own birthday much so I never thought about theirs. I let them down.”

“From what I’ve seen,” Dulsissia replies with a bittersweet feeling, “you are the only person in this place who hasn’t let them down.”

Davarax shakes his head. “Not entirely true, but thank you.”

She turns to face him, places her hand on the breastplate where she’d feel his heart if not for the armor. “You took them under your wings when everyone had given up on them. You didn’t just give them the abilities to survive that they are going to need, but your attention and kindness as well. You are those children’s entire world. And I don’t think they could have chosen a better man.”

Davarax reaches up and covers her hand with his. “Dulcy… Do you know what a kov’nyn is?”

She shakes her head. Her heart is going faster and faster.

“Find out.”

“How?”

Davarax does his trademark huff-laughter. “You’re a clever girl. You can do it.” He then lets go, says his goodbye to Corin, who sits on the bed and watches them with a far-too-knowing grin on his face, and gives a final bow to Dulsissia before leaving as well.

Flustered and a little breathless, Dulsissia walks over to clean up the last traces of the dinner.

“Mom.” Corin says.

“Mmh?” She replies, wondering if she can ask Decco what a kov’nyn is or maybe just try to find some sort of dictionary so she won’t have to trouble her all the time.

“Can we ask Din to stay here with us?”

Dulsissia gathers up the plates. “Baby, I don’t think Din’s parents would like that.” Unfortunately.

“He says they wouldn’t mind.” Corin replies. “Also, when you and Davarax become girlfriend and boyfriend, can I call him ‘dad’?”

Dulsissia straightens with a jolt and her face flares up so badly it hurts. “Go brush your teeth, baby.”

“But-”

“Go brush your teeth!”

The Tribe doesn’t have an abundance of datapads or old fashioned books. Most of their teachings are done verbally, but Decco is kind enough to ask around and two days later, a Mandalorian in an orange armor agrees to borrow Dulsissia something similar to a dictionary.

Too curious to wait until she is back in her room where Corin is getting ready for bed while she rushed out to get the book, Dulsissia stops in the middle of a hallway to look up the word. She’s dying to know what Davarax had hinted at, what he was trying to tell her and wanted her to know.

Turning the pages, Dulsissia finally finds the word. ‘Kov’nyn’! There it is!

A headbutt.

Dulsissia blinks. What? Excuse…? She vividly remembers the sight and not to mention the sound of Davarax headbutting that poor Mandalorian during his training and her eyes widen with startled surprise. What?! Was he going to do that to her during their next training? Oh, nonono, no way.

Just as she’s about to slam the book shut and declare that Davarax had been right; Decco might be a better teacher after all, Dulsissia almost accidentally reads more of the text.

Or: A kiss between couples when wearing armor.

Now she does slam the book shut and she’s finding it a bit hard to catch her breath.

Oh.

“I heard you were looking for a book on Mando’a.” A voice says behind her.

Making a startled sound, clutching the book close, Dulsissia spins around and is even more startled when she sees the golden armor and fur cloak.

It’s her. The leader.

“Yes. I, uhm,” Dulsissia awkwardly pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, “I thought it was about time I learned a little more about… Mando’a. You have all been so kind to me.”

The leader looks at her and her body language is as impossible to read as her facial expression hidden by her helmet.

Dulsissia tries to smile.

“I also hear your son is making good progress in his training.”

Nodding, Dulsissia tries to hide how nervous she’s feeling.

“On his travels, Davarax has brought back many Foundlings. That is his Way and that is The Way.” The leader says. “But he has never brought back an outsider.”

Dulsissia loses the smile and she feels her shoulders sagging a little under the heavy weight of shame. “He… He was kind enough to save me from some horrible men.”

“Mmh.” Is the flat reply. “Are you going to take the Creed?”

Surprised, Dulsissia struggles to find the right answer. She’s been so busy trying to deal with the present that she hasn’t really planned her future. “I… I don’t know.”

That does not seem to impress the leader of the Mandalorians. “Then find your Way. Before you ruin his.”

Watching the Mandalorian walk away, Dulsissia isn’t entirely sure how she feels about this conversation. She’s getting the distinct feeling that this was a message for her to stay away from Davarax, but why? Surely the leader of a warrior tribe does not care about the love life of one of her soldiers? And what gives her the right? Rude.

Frowning, Dulsissia starts walking back to her room while the thoughts keep churning in her brain.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to do, not even when she walks over to Davarax’ door instead of her own and finds herself knocking on it. Dulsissia waits until he opens the door, says her name in a slightly confused tone, and then… she drops the book, reaches up with both hands to take a hold of the top of his breastplate and promptly pulls him down to thump her forehead to his helmet.

Ow.

Letting go, Dulsissia takes a step back and rubs her forehead. One eye closed, she stares at him in confusion. “I think you people got kissing a bit wrong. It’s not supposed to hurt, you know?”

Stunned, Davarax finally straightens back up and reaches out a hand to take a hold of her upper arm in case she falls over. “I don’t… That’s not how…” The Davaraxian laughter huff appears before he urges her to take the step back to him. “Can I show you?”

Dulsissia moves closer to him willingly enough, but she keeps rubbing her forehead and hesitates. “I’m not sure if I want another concussion.” Maybe she isn’t Mandokarla after all? She prefers softer things than headbutts from her date.

“Trust me?” Davarax asks in a quiet tone.

Sighing, Dulsissia lowers her arm. “Fine. But if I am knocked unconscious, you’re in charge of making breakfast to Corin tomorrow as an apology.”

“Deal.” Davarax murmurs, but in an absent way. His hands are already sliding up to cup her face and she shivers at the memory of them without gloves. “Close your eyes, Dulcy.”

Swallowing hard, she does. Suddenly she doesn’t care if he headbutts her into tomorrow as long as he doesn’t take his hands off her or stop talking.

“It’s mean to be gentle…” Davarax says, so soft and smooth, his hands tilting her head backwards, just a little, but enough so her body automatically arches against his. “It’s meant to be warm…” One hand moves to cup the back of her head, the other slides down to her lower back. “It’s longing…” Smooth beskar gently meets her now very warm skin and he eases her body close, so very close, until she’s firmly up against him with a very strong arm around her waist. “and it’s giving.” He tightens his grip around her.

Reaching up, Dulsissia’s fingers dig into the fabric on his upper arms, desperate to hold on to something so she doesn’t just swoon in his arms like a bad theatre actress.

Davarax lets out a soft exhale, it’s sounds almost like relief, and she can feel the muscles in his arm tightening a little more, his hand cupping her head and holding her there, as if she still isn’t close enough for him.

Time stands still. All she feels is heat, him and her own frantic pulse.

Breathless, far too warm for any decent explanation, Dulsissia reluctantly opens her eyes when he pulls away and shivers with disappointment when he lets go of everything but her hand.

“That’s what it’s meant to be like.” Davarax says.

“Oh.” Dulsissia manages. Okay, maybe everyone else had something to learn from Mandalorians.

It takes a visible effort for Davarax to make himself let go of her hand, for a second she can see the twitch in his shoulders when he stops himself from pulling her close again, but he lets go and now he is the one to take a step away. “Good night, Dulcy.”

“Good night.” She whispers, and it takes a visible effort for her to turn around, pick up the book with numb fingers and go over to her own room.

Stupid Mandalorians and their stupid headbutt kissing! Now Dulsissia can’t even look over at Davarax without feeling her face burn or be near him without having her heart to backflips all around her ribcage. This is making her life very frustrating!

And her only comfort is suspecting that Davarax isn’t faring much better either. Judging from how he walked into that table yesterday when she stretched out.

The training? Oh, it’s the sweetest torture ever.

She’s on her way to pick up Corin at Din’s room when a familiar piercing way of screaming catches her attention and Dulsissia doesn’t hesitate to run towards the sound.

Inside what looks to be school room with several pillows on the floor placed around a larger one. A group of scared children are huddled together in one corner while a Mandalorian who looks to be the teacher is restraining a fully feral Raga, with one big hand gripping her arm and the other hand is locked around her neck and preventing her from moving her head.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dulsissia shouts, stalking in and shoving the Mandalorian away.

Once again surprise is on her side and the Mandalorian stumbles away, releasing the little girl and Dulsissia does not hesitate to crouch down and wrap her arms protectively around the flailing child. Pain flares when sharp teeth dig into Dulsissia’s arm and latch on.

“She’s completely feral!” The teacher shouts, pointing at Raga. “I’ve taught children, youngsters and foundlings alike, for decades and I’ve never met a child that feral! She’s hopeless!”

“What do you expect when you restrain her like a rancor? I’d bite you too!” Dulsissia shouts back at him. She gets up, hoists Raga in her arms, ignores the pain of the teeth still digging into her and marches out of the room with her.

She’s halfway to her quarters, Raga still hasn’t let go but at least she has stopped flailing and screaming and is just quietly twitching so that’s something, when a Mandalorian comes trotting with Davarax on his tail. They both come to a halt when they see Dulsissia carrying Raga.

“I was just coming to…” Davarax points helplessly in the direction of the classroom. “They said she…” He sighs at the sight and reaches out towards Dulsissia’s arm. “Here, I’ll try to-”

“No.” Dulsissia snaps, turning away to shield her arm and Raga from him. “I got her. I’m taking her to my room. You go tell Corin, he’s with Din, that I’m going to be late, and then you go get us Paz.”

Davarax seems a little surprised, but eventually he gives a nod and Dulsissia continues her march back to her room, giving a quick couple of pets to Raga’s back as she’s still twitching.

Once they are inside in the safety of her and Corin’s room, Dulsissia walks over to sit down on the bed. Raga is a bit larger than Corin, her thin frame doesn’t make her much heavier, but she’s taller and it takes a little arranging of her skinny legs and arms. Once they are settled, Dulsissia continues to run her hand up and down Raga’s back and just waits.

To her surprise, Raga lets go of her arm. And a few seconds after that, the girl quietly mumbles; “M’ sorry…”

Smiling, Dulsissia continues to stroke her back. “It’s okay, baby. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“He said I had to sit in the corner because I threw some thing at him.” Raga mumbles. “But I didn’t. It wasn’t me!” She starts to get agitated again. “I told him it wasn’t me and he said he was going to tell my parents I was a liar and have them punish me!”

Forcing her own anger away, Dulsissia strokes the girl’s back again. “I’m sorry he did that to you, sweetie. I’m sorry he didn’t believe you. That was wrong of him.”

“It wasn’t me…” Raga whispers.

“I believe you.” Dulsissia reassures her. And for the next ten minutes, she just holds her close, strokes her back and pets her hair. And anger quietly simmers inside.

Finally Davarax arrives and in his footsteps, Paz follows. He instantly darts by his teacher at the sight of Raga and the girl doesn’t hesitate to twist around to reach out to him.

Dulsissia gets up from the bed and watches Paz take her seat, pulling Raga close and lets her curl up on his lap. She almost disappears in his embrace. That boy is going to end up a giant if he doesn’t stop growing soon and yet he treats his friend with such mesmerizing gentleness.

“Your arm…” Davarax asks quietly, looking over.

“It’s fine.” Dulsissia replies. It aches like crazy and there will definitely be bruising, but that is not what is important right now. She looks over at him. “They called her a liar. They were holding her down like a rabid loth-cat. And they are surprised she bites?”

Davarax shakes his head. “I know…” He sounds pained and resigned. “The four of them are marked as troublemakers. If something goes wrong, if something could have gone wrong, they’re always blamed. And I can’t stop it.”

Dulsissia’s eyes narrow. “Stay here with the kids.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to talk to someone.”

Dulsissia raps on the door with urgent haste and this time she doesn’t wait for the drowsy Mandalorian to speak before she asks; “Is he in?”

He is.

She knocks and then barges in to the room, startling Barthor into a defensive stance. Dulsissia ignores the tiny fists. “What I’m about to ask you can never be repeated. Do you understand?”

Barthor stares at her, slowly lowering his fists. “What?”

Dulsissia stalks closer and he backs up a step so she crouches down for them to be the same height. “I need you to do something for me and no one can ever find out.”

Barthor’s dark eyes slide from side to side, as if checking for hidden cameras. “Do… what?”

“I want you to make me a stink bomb.”

Snorting a laugh, Barthor shakes his head and walks over to sit on his bed. “I don’t know how to-”

“You know.” Dulsissia interrupts him. “Will you make me one?”

Barthor frowns, now suspicious. “Why? What are you going to do with it?”

Dulsissia raises an eyebrow. “I want to place it in the room belonging to man who teaches Raga’s class.”

That seems to make Barthor even more suspicious. “Why?”

“Because he’s a bully to Raga.”

Something flickers in Barthor’s eyes. “He was mean to Raga again?”

Again. The word hurts Dulsissia’s soul. If that man had been mean to her son, he wouldn’t have had the chance to do it ‘again’. She nods.

Barthor stares down at that floor for a little while, then he jumps to his feet and sighs. “Okay, give me ten minutes.”

It takes him eight to finish it. But he insists on joining her when she goes to plant the contraption.

“You might do it wrong.” Barthor informs her, gingerly easing it into a small bag.

Dulsissia rolls her eyes but follows him when he marches off towards their unsuspecting victim.

Once there, it’s clear it won’t be as easy as they hoped. The man is in his room.

“You distract him, I’ll plant it.” Barthor declares.

Dulsissia nods. “Be careful.”

Barthor smirks. And they go to work.

Knocking on the door, Dulsissia waits for the man to open it and then begins lecturing him on all the wrong ways to handle a sensitive child, not letting the man get a word in, and she barely catches the shadow of little Barthor sneaking by them and into the room.

She keeps her rant going, the man is too surprised and startled to do much than come with feeble objections, and the second Dulsissia sees the shadow sneak out by the man’s legs again, she finishes her speech.

“Good day to you, sir!”

Marching down the hallway, she rounds a corner and finds Barthor there. He looks up at her with a hint of respect.

“Not bad.” He says with grudging respect.

“You too.” Dulsissia replies, reaching out a hand and shakes his when he takes it. “But remember, no one can know.”

Barthor grins. “Don’t worry. No one is going to be able to to prove anything.” “Good.”

When the stink spreads in the man’s room, Dulsissia and Barthor has picked up Corin, and somehow Din ends up tagging along, and they are all safely in Dulsissia and Corin’s room, along with Paz, Raga and Davarax. Eating cookies.

And Barthor was right; nobody is ever able to prove who was behind it.

“Mom, are you sure we can’t ask Din to stay here?” Corin asks one morning.

Sighing, Dulsissia looks over at her sweet son. “I told you, baby. I don’t think his parents will like that. Is there something wrong? Is that why you keep asking?”

Corin, sitting on her bed, shrugs and looks down. “He doesn’t like it there.”

Clearly, as the child spends most of his time with them rather than his parents, but Dulsissia isn’t sure how Mandalorian adoption works. She’s fairly certain it would be frowned upon if she just started hoarding children from them. Otherwise, she would probably have had bunk beds and five children in this room. “I’m sorry to hear that, Corin. Has he tried to talk to his parents?”

Corin shakes his head. “He doesn’t like talking to them.”

Dulsissia has a sneaking suspicion that Din doesn’t like much, except Davarax and her son. At least he has excellent taste. “Do you think he’d like me to talk to them?”

Corin shakes his head again. “He won’t like it if he knew I’d told you.”

Figures. Dulsissia sighs. “Then I don’t know what we can do, baby. They are his parents. We are guests here.”

“Well,” Corin looks over at her, “at least he can come and visit as much as he likes?”

“Absolutely.” Dulsissia confirms. “And I’ll ask if he can stay over some time. Would that help?”

Her beautiful boy lights up with delight. “Really? You’re the best, mom!”

“Remember you said that when I tell you to clean up your toys.” Dulsissia declares.

Corin laughs.

It’s such a wonderful sound. He never used to laugh. He’s always been such a silent child, like Din, but the longer they have stayed here at the Covert; the more Corin has come out of his shell.

He no longer cowers behind her leg when they are in the common room with the other Mandalorians. He still flinches when someone raises their voice, but at least he doesn’t go pale and look like he’s about to pass out. He has friends. And there is a father figure whom Corin greets with joy and looks forward to spending time with, unlike his biological father.

Losing her dresses and servants is a price she’s more than willing to pay to see her son this happy.

There is just thing that could ruin everything. And considering it’s not just harmless flirting any more, Dulsissia decides it is time to tell Davarax.

She asks Decco to look after her son, which she grudgingly agrees to despite meaning the boy is old enough to look after himself, and then Dulsissia asks Davarax to meet her in Din’s hiding space.

“Well,” Davarax say as he steps over a piece of engine and barely manages to make his way over to where she’s sitting on a sofa pillow without falling or knocking himself unconscious against some metal part sticking out amidst the debris they are surrounded by, “this is romantic.”

“Sorry.” Dulsissia says, too nervous to be amused by the graceless way he tumbles down on the pillow next to hers. “I just wanted us to be able to talk in private.”

The tone of her voice makes him sit up and pay attention. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to tell you something.” Dulsissia says, sighing. “And I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”

“You can tell me anything.”

Oh, how she hopes that is true. Dulsissia takes a deep breath, looks down at her own hands as she wrings them nervously in her lap. She smiles a little when his hand moves over to cover them and stops her from hurting herself. Okay. Here goes. “I told you my name is Dulcy.”

“Yes?”

“It’s not.” She glances over at him. “Well, it kind of is. It used to be my nickname. My name is Dulsissia.”

Davarax gives a faint shrug. “Okay?”

“Dulsissia Motti. The man looking for me, his name is Macero Valentis. He is Corin’s father.” Dulsissia braces herself, turns her gaze down to his gloved hand over both of hers and dreads the moment it will withdraw.

Davarax’ voice is carefully neutral. “If you’re a Motti, surely your family will help you get rid of Valentis?”

Dulsissia’s smile is bitter and it hurts. “No. I stupidly defied them to marry him and I’ve been told that I have to lie in the bed I made.”

Davarax hesitates. “Would you like to go back your family?”

Looking over at the man by her side, unable to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes, Dulsissia shakes her head. “No. And they’re not my family. They don’t know what the words means.”

Davarax’ hand withdraws from hers, but only so he can gently cup the side of her face. “Mottis and Valentis, they don’t scare me if that’s what you were worried about.”

“Kind of.” Dulsissia admits, a tear slipping from her eye. “I have seen the destruction they can cause. I don’t want to bring it here.”

“We’re Mandalorians.” Davarax says, a slight grin in his voice. “We thrive on battle. It’s in our blood. And they would find us a lot more dangerous than any other opponent they’ve been up against in the past.” His thumb caresses her skin, wiping away her tear, and his voice softens. “They don’t matter. They’re in the past. You are here now. You’re Dulcy. And Corin is safe. You both are.”

It might not be Mandokarla, but Dulsissia doesn’t care; she leans over and he wraps his arms around her.

“As long as I breathe,” Davarax mumbles, holding her close, “you and Corin will always be safe.”

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Baby Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #What if

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artemis-fowl-angst · 3 years

Text

Chapter three of the fic I’ve been posting lately

TW: Ed mention, sleep deprivation, obsession, paranoid thoughts, this is an Atlantis complex fic

—————————-_________________

Classroom 224E st. Bartleby's school for young boys

Fourth period, eventually a teacher had spotted him at the cafe’ and reported him to the principal. Ever since they’re meeting in the commons, principal Jones had been going easier on him. Which was stupid, nothing could break Artemis fowl so why was the man acting as if he would shatter if a strong wind blew his way? But he still made him start attending 4th period again.

Fourth period, on the fourth floor, in room 2+2=4 and 4. Atleast E wasn’t the fourth letter of the alphabet, if it had been room 224D then someone would probably die. It was the letter E, that one outlying letting that prevented death from taking hold. It provided security, 5, the 5th letter of the alphabet; something bad was still bound to happen though. There were four fours and only one five, there was no way that it could be held at bay for that long, he had to get out of here by 4 o clock. No doubt that would be when it would stri-

“Artemis fowl?”

He looked up

“What?”

“Please answer the question on the board”

He looked at the board, and quickly read all the information

“Approximately 0.65 meters”

“Correct, and do pay attention”

Artemis rolled his eyes before stealing a glance at his watch. 3:47, he was running out of time. Everyone knew professor James had a strict no-restroom policy, asking to go to the library would yield the same resounding “no” faking a headache wouldn’t work he’d just be told to suck it up until the end of class, and he couldn’t just walk out of the lecture hall, some teachers pet would inevitably stop him. He had to leave, he had to get out of the room. Time was ticking but he was trapped.

His watch beeped 4:00

He waited, anticipating building. Then the fire alarms went off. Everyone stood , forming a single file line and leaving the classroom. He overheard that there was a fire in the cafeteria. Of course, he had had his doubts before, but no, this couldn’t be coincidence. There was a connection between the numbers and actual events. He didn’t know how it worked, but it was real, and he needed to figure it out.

It was obvious now, he was right about the numbers. a simple chance proving to him that a delusion was real.

—————————————————————-

“To Principal H. Jones and whomever else it may concern,

I’d like to remove my son Artemis from his fourth period class, advanced particle physics under professor William A. James. Both me and my husband have received calls from our son complaining about how boring the class is and how the teacher only lectures them for hours before leaving them to do homework. We are both aware of my son's intelligence, and that I only sent him to St. Bartleby's institute to try and get him to socialise. That is clearly not happening. I expect that class off of his schedule by Wednesday.

-Angeline Fowl”

He typed the last word on the email and hit send before closing the window that allowed him to access his mother’s account.

Wednesday was a good deadline, the 3rd day of the week. No one wanted to face angeline fowl's wrath.

Not an hour later Dr. Po approached him with a slip of paper that detailed his new schedule. However, he did not leave after that. He then sat down at the table, opposite to Artemis.

“Can I help you, Po?”

“I need to schedule a meeting with you sometime this week”

“If you have something to say, say it here and now”

The good doctor hesitated.

“Principal James is concerned about you, and he asked me to address it”

“He’s still on about that?”

Artemis scoffed

“He’s not the only one”

Artemis looked up from his work.

“Mrs. Harding, professed James, Mr. Thomas, pretty much all of your teachers have said in one way or another that they’re concerned about you”

“Okay, and? Their inability to mind their own business is no issue to me, so long as they continue finding no truth.”

“What do you mean by ‘truth’”

“Did what I just say not insinuate That I do not want people knowing that? Or are you just really that thick?”

“Still, I’d like to do a check in with you soon.”

“Wonderful.” He said, with a sarcastic finality that should have ended the conversation.

Alas, it did not.

“You do know you can talk to me?”

“Just because I can, does not mean that I will.”

“But maybe you should”

“Maybe I don’t need to”

“I- fine” He clearly had more to say on the subject but he let it drop. He did not leave though, so after a few minutes of silence, Artemis decided he had had enough and got up, walking out of the doors to the commons. And heading in the direction of the cafe’.

He had made it about ⅓ of the way there before he felt someone, or thing, watching him, tailing him. He pulled out his cellphone and looked at the reflection on the screen. There was definitely someone following him but it was too dim to make out facial features. He looked at the street lights in accordance to their height, a little under ¾ of the 8ft tall lamp. Around 5’11 then. Dammit, why’d it have to be the most Average height- relatively average weight too, this could be anyone of his teachers, the large majority of his classmates, or just some random guy. Were they going to mug him? Did someone send them? Jon spiro got out of prison recently right? Was he trying to do good on the revenge he swore last time they met? Or were they even following him? We’re they just going the same direction? Was he going crazy?

Calm down. You just need to get to the cafe’ you’re what? A tenth of a mile away? Pull yourself together, you’re going to get there where there will be witnesses and then you’re going to call Butler if they actually follow you in.

Wait, he hesitated for a step before continuing forward. If Spiro was behind this, who's to say he wouldn’t pull a stunt like he did at En Finn? Would guns be pointed at him the moment he walked through the doors?

What about the baristas who cut him off when he was reaching the caffeine overdose limit? Would they betray him like that? Of course they would, why wouldn’t they, he had snapped at them. On Thursday about a month ago he snapped at the young lady working the counter. The paranoia subsided slightly, only to be replaced by a crushing guilt. The type that wormed its way under your skin and nestled in your head.

He was in the right part of town now, one more corner turned and he’d be faced with the little cafe’. He glanced at his phone again to see that the person was still following him… his hands were shaking. He could confront them, but if they just happened to be going to the same place he’d seem crazy.

One more turn, steady your nerves, walk into the cafe’ and everything will be fine.

“Large iced au lait?” The barista asked when she spotted him enter.

“Yes, thank you”

He sat down and pulled his laptop and phone out of his bag. When someone walked through the door. It-it was Dr. Po? 5’11, average body proportions, why was Dr. Po following him? He dialed Butler's number but didn’t press call, just having it at the ready.

“Artemis” Po sat down across from him on the circular table.

“I heard that you always go to this cafe’ from Ms.Kerr in the staff room”

“Hm”

“I’ve been meaning to try it out”

“And why exactly am I a topic of your conversation?” Artemis retorted, a fake grin plastered across his face

The good doctor sighed before deciding to change the subject

“What do you usually get?”

Five words, good.

“We are not friends Po.”

The barista approached with his cup. Artemis thanked her, she took the bill he had left on the table and left.

Dr Po looked taken aback

“What?”

“Oh nothing, I just don’t think I’ve overheard you… say thank you before…”

“Well, of course, you’ve only seen me at school.”

The counsellor said nothing so Artemis continued.

“Those baristas do me a valuable service, mind their own business, and are drastically underpaid.”

“You get a paycheck from a school where Rich parents send their rich kids when they don’t want to deal with them, you get that paycheck for providing mental health services to some and being a nuisance to others. I don’t say thank you to you or most of the other teachers because the large majority of you are annoying and quite frankly, assholes.”

“I-“

“Now in saying that, you specifically are not an ‘asshole.’ Mental health is important to many, it’s a delicate practice that takes time to master and is generally overlooked in the scientific and medical community. Despite the fact that it is a necessity. I think you are good at your job with other students, but you fail to recognize time and time again that, with me, it is a job that doesn’t need to be done.”

He took a breath

“Now that that tirade’s over, please let me actually work.”

“Uhh, sorry”

“Don’t apologize, what are you apologetic for? You were trying to do good, and you didn’t hurt anyone. You do good routinely, you just need to recognize that you can’t help everyone because some people don’t want your help. You’re good at your chosen profession, you just overdo it sometimes. And now shut up because I’m all out of compliments for the day.”

“Thanks…so, not as friends, but what do you usually get?”

Artemis did not look up from his work, but still replied “Iced au lait with two shots of espresso and Carmel syrup, that or Earl grey”

“Thanks for the suggestions.”

“Whatever”

Dr. Po then went up to the register and ordered a macchiato with mocha drizzle.

————————————————————

Endnotes:

1.) I’m still pending on a name, so if you have any suggestions or ideas leave them in my ask box. Idc if it’s “stupid” or “cringey” don’t listen to your own self doubt, I wanna hear it

2.) if anyone wants to be a beta reader, message me. I’ve never worked with a beta reader before and

3.) I made an ao3, but I have not posted anything on it yet. I want this to be the first fic I post but I don’t have a name for it so ye

Okay have a wonderful day, make good choices, bye!! =)

#artemis fowl #artemis fowl ii #artemis fowl books #domovoi butler #angst #artemis fowl angst #dr po #tw ed talk #tw paranoia #tw cursing #tw ed mention #tw ed shit #tw calories #tw obsessive thoughts #atlantis complex #fic

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the-purity-pen · 4 years

Text

PTC: part v

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader

gif by @pascalsky

Word Count: 2,312

Rating: PG

Warnings: sweet moments, little bit of angst.

A/N: here’s the next part! some reveals. did you guess correctly? @creativekat and i are having a blast writing this and we really do love this story and these characters!

Series Masterlist

You looked around the large rented ballroom and shook your head nervously. You had brought up the idea of taking the kids out on field trips to facilitate their learning and the Heroics school board had decided to hold a fundraiser to help take this from an idea to reality. You hadn’t imagined that they might opt to raise said funds by auctioning off dates with the Heroics themselves. Since the event would be opened to the public, it couldn’t be held at HQ (a logistical nightmare) so a local Events Center had been the next best option. Now, as you watched the room beginning to fill with people you could see why. This was, apparently, the event of the century.

Soft classical music was being piped in from speakers in the corners of the room as people mingled, getting drinks from the bar. Your students were all wearing black outfits and acting as greeters and coat-checkers so the gathering masses would see just who their money would be helping. You quickly realized, for some here, it wouldn’t matter where the money was going. A night on the town with one of the Heroics was a hot commodity.

Glancing over at Marcus, surrounded by half a dozen women, you understood the appeal. The urge to go over and rescue him from his adoring fans was strong, but you couldn’t do that. For one thing, as the teacher of his daughter and the other Heroics’ kids it was inappropriate. For another thing, you’d spotted your brother in the crowd and you just knew he’d have an opinion on your feelings for Marcus Moreno and you just didn’t want to hear it.

Wearing a suit and tie was really nothing new but wearing it that evening made Marcus super uncomfortable. Not that the women who were flocked to him would have complained. A few of them tried chatting him up casually but there were a few making comments about what their ideal date night would consist of. One of them even tried slipping him actual cash to try to rig the auction.

Marcus shook his head with a forced polite smile as he got more uncomfortable until his gaze looked out and found you. “Ladies, I have to go do my part in helping set up,” he explained with a slight lie as he gently pushed through them and walked over to you. His smile changed from forced to nervous as he approached you and leaned in to speak to you.

“What else is left to set up? Please tell me there’s something so I can keep myself busy,” he added with a soft chuckle as his eyes did a very quick, brief scan over your scan to take in your outfit. “You look beautiful by the way,” he commented quietly as he attempted a smile at you.

At his compliment you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face. You didn’t feel beautiful most of the time. Cute, sure. But beautiful? No. But, if Marcus Moreno was saying it maybe you needed to believe it. You shook off the exhilaration of the moment to focus on what he was asking. “Ummm, do you want to add the raspberry sorbet to the punch?”

The two of you walked to the end of the table where several pints of fruit-flavored frozen goodness had been softening and you handed him an ice cream scoop with a smile, “Thank you.” You giggled before adding quietly, “You look really good yourself. I’m sure you’ll bring in a lot of money.” You were surprised when Marcus blushed. A little thrill shocked your spine realizing you were the cause.

Missy cleared her throat getting the attention of you and her father, “We’re done getting all the coats hung up. We were wondering if we could get some snacks?” Marcus looked at you for the answer since you were the one in charge for this event. Nodding, you said, “You guys have done more than enough. You’ve earned a break.”

As she walked away, Marcus leaned closer, asking, “Are you going to bid on me?” His smile nearly melted you.

With a nervous laugh, you replied, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Marcus’ brows knit together in a frown as he scooped some of the sorbet into the punch bowl, watching it fizz as the softened dessert melted more into the liquid.

“Why’s that?” he asked, trying to conceal the slight disappointment in his voice. He was excited to participate in something that would help raise money for Missy and her friends and the school but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t see this as an opportunity to finally have you on a date night with him.

Just then, a clearing of a throat and a slap to Marcus’ shoulder caused both of your attention to break from one another. “Well, well, well,” Miracle Guy’s voice broke your concentration on Marcus and caused you to turn to look at him. You forced a smile as the blond male continued talking, “Looks like we’ll be in some pretty heavy competition tonight huh Marcus?”

The question seemed playful in nature but Marcus, and you, knew better. Any chance that Steven could show up Marcus, he would absolutely try to. You shook your head slightly and went to the other end of the table, suddenly feeling tension in your shoulders.

You absent-mindedly straightened a stack of napkins that were already pristine and watched as the two men finished their conversation. Was it too much to hope Steven wouldn’t press the subject with you? You watched as Marcus handled the other Heroic smoothly, then Miracle Guy, also known as your older brother Steven, approached you. Again, you molded a wobbly smile onto your face.

“How’ve you been?” The question was ignored as Steve glanced around before casting his imperious gaze on you.

“So, are you and Marcus Moreno going out now?” He said the other man’s name through clenched teeth.

With a shrug you replied, “No. What gave you that idea? Why would you think that?” Inwardly you cringed. You were never very good at hiding your feelings.

Steven picked up a small plate and helped himself to a couple slices of cheese, “I overheard the kids talking. Wheels seemed to think you were interested.” He popped some gouda into his mouth and then, “I just don’t want you to get hurt… and getting your hopes up that a Heroic like Marcus would… well, I’m just worried he’ll get bored, that’s all. I’m looking out for you.”

You scoffed. The way your fists clenched around the napkin you were currently holding, crumpling it should have been a sign that you wanted to punch your brother for being so rude. The guy hadn’t even had a serious relationship and yet he still managed to have a son by a woman he so-called loved. What did he know about love or relationships or even what it was like to be with you in a relationship? He had no right.

His name was called across the room and he gave you a pitiful smile. Your nostrils flared, trying to calm yourself before Miranda came up to remind you that it was just about time to start. You nodded, thankful that she had broken your frustration towards your brother. You walked with her towards one of the front tables as she kept walking to get onto the stage and welcome everyone to the event.

Marcus had watched as you and Miracle Guy talked, narrowing his eyes when you clearly got agitated. But, then Miranda had interrupted and the blonde hero had walked toward the stage. He yearned to go to you and take your hand, to make sure you were okay, but the event was starting and he had to join the other Heroics at the table reserved for them.

Miranda introduced the emcee for the evening, a local newscaster, and joined you at your table while the rules of the date auction were explained. Reaching across the table, she grabbed an open bottle of red wine pouring two glasses, “You look like you could use a drink.” She knew your family history, since she’d been on the interview committee when you’d gotten hired and you appreciated her support now.

Taking the glass, you smiled, “I shouldn’t let him get to me. I’ll be fine.” You glanced over at the Heroics table and saw Marcus looking at you. He smiled and you couldn’t help but smile in return, your heart fluttering in your chest. Your attention was again diverted when you heard the emcee announcing that Miracle Guy had pulled in $870 for the school and then Marcus’ name was being announced. Your stomach turned while the women around you all cheered wildly. You felt jealous of whoever won this date and watched Marcus walk up to the stage.

Marcus fiddled with his tie as he made his way onto the stage. His face felt hot even before he stepped under the hot stage lights. The cheering and hollering didn’t quiet down until the emcee shushed the crowd at least four more times. Marcus was smiling but he felt his palms get a bit sweaty. For a man who was constantly in the news saving the world, being in front of a crowd to be auctioned off for a date seemed to make him nervous.

His eyes squinted as he adjusted to the light and when he scanned the room, his eyes landed on you for a long moment. His breath caught in his throat, secretly hoping that you would bet on a date with him. Everything in his mind was trying to telepathically tell you to bid.

The emcee barely got his words out to start the bidding before the first few hands rose up, shouting $100, then $150 and $200 in rapid succession. There was a murmur of giggles and whistles as the emcee shouted out the bid numbers and kept trying to explain what a date night with Marcus would entail.

Your eyes couldn’t leave Marcus even after he had caught your gaze a few times. Your heart was hammering as you thought about the real possibility of someone else going on a date with him. The bids had gotten up to $700 and it was down to two people. Both of the women in question had been acting especially thirsty when talking to Marcus earlier.

Throwing caution to the wind, you raised your hand, “$750!” Every eye in the room seemed to turn in your direction with varying reactions. Miranda’s eyebrows shot up, but she grinned at you. The two other bidders glared in your direction. Your students all shared happy grins (especially Missy and Wheels). Steven looked disappointed and aggrieved. But, the only person who mattered to you in that moment was Marcus and he looked relieved and happy, a wide grin forming on his face.

There was some more bidding back and forth while you did math in your head trying to figure out how much you could actually afford. You really didn’t want to lose this. Finally, you bid $1390 and everyone in the room waited to see if either of the other two women would raise the stakes yet again. Finally, the emcee announced, “At $1390, the highest bid of the night so far, a date with Marcus Moreno to the lady at Table 4!”

Breathlessly you leaned back in your seat then gasped, “Oh my God… what did I do?” Marcus was just as breathless as he heard the applause and watched your face as he finally stepped down from the stage.

As he approached your table all eyes were on him and subsequently, you. He stood in front of you, towering over your sitting frame and you audibly gulped at the impressive broadness of him. "So a date it is," he said quietly as he sat down in the chair next to you.

His heart was hammering as he placed his hand over yours and patted it gently before looking back to the stage to see Mrs. Vox coming onto the stage to be bid on.

Off to the side, Steven was furrowing his brow at you and Marcus, trying to see if he could study what your lips were saying to each other. His nostrils flared slightly as seeing how relaxed and comfortable Marcus was around you. Almost as if you had been together already.

You could feel your brother’s eyes on you, and you were sure he suspected you’d lied to him about your relationship with Marcus earlier, but you ignored his glares. You had bigger things to worry about right now. Like the fact that you’d just paid an overwhelming amount of money to go on a date with the parent of one of your students. You’d never crossed the line like that before and the fact that you’d done it this time had you reeling.

Not to mention the fact that he was a Heroic! Growing up powerless in a family full of superpowered people had always made you feel like an outsider in your own home. And they hadn’t done anything to dissuade you of that notion. If anything they’d made it worse, amplifying the sense of inadequacy you’d experienced.

Glancing over at Missy, who was trying to hide an enormous grin, you remembered the talk you’d had with Marcus at the Parent/Teacher Conference. She was, essentially in the same place you’d been back then. But, Marcus made her feel loved and accepted for who she was. As you moved your gaze away from your students your eyes met Steven’s and you gave him a determined tilt of your chin before turning back to Marcus.

Leaning forward you whispered, “I can’t wait.” Then kissed him on the cheek.

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malfoys-demigod · 4 years

Text

Tutor, Tea, and Truth

draco malfoy x reader

summary: Reader spends her Saturday mornings tutoring lower classmen by the library. Draco was intrigued with your enthusiasm and love for tutoring that he began watching you. When you finally noticed, he tried lying, saying that he never had the guts to ask you for help in the subjects he was having trouble with. Knowing that he was the second smartest wizard of your year, you didn’t buy his lie, catching him off guard. Being defeated, Draco begins a conversation with you and eventually asks you on a date.

a/n: i was really planning to continue this, and finally i have!

word count: 6.1k

tag list: @the--queen-of-hell @bbeauttyybbx

If there was one thing you could do effortlessly, it was giving a hand to help others. It could be through any way and it would still be considered helping someone out.

Whether it be the simple things such as lending an extra quill, picking up the things that a person has dropped in the corridor, to much more complex things that required more will power such as being a third-wheeler at a date at Hogsmeade, walking someone back to the common room at night, and your favorite favorite thing which was tutoring.

The act of tutoring either your batchmates or lowerclassmen was the most favorite thing of all the things you could do as help. There were so many advantages of being a tutor to students. It could help gain you more friendships with people around year-levels and houses, train your brain to remember new and old information, and strengthen your reputation as a helpful person.

With these many advantages, your favorite reason was the idea of being able to see the smiles of people at the end of the session or seeing them come back to you, thanking you that they raised their scores, giving you all the credit when you tell them that it was them, that did it all.

Helping other people made you the happiest person in Hogwarts. You were a smart wizard of your year, certainly not levelling Hermione Granger, but enough to help other people out. It didn’t bother you that there was the possibility of getting drowned with your own work because you could use this advantage and call on other students from your year to form a study group with you, doing the work together and helping each other.

If they declined the offer due to many reasonable excuses, you still used this advantage to finish the work as quick as possible, with quality of course, so that when your classmates finally have the time to do their work, they can come to you and you could teach them what you learned, helping your brain remember more of what you had recently taught yourself.

It was a way of boosting your knowledge and grades, making you one successful student.

Tutoring was something you had gotten from former upperclassmen when you were still in your first year. As a newcomer to Hogwarts, you were very much nervous of failing classes at such a prestigious school.

So one day at the end of your first week of classes as a first year, you decided to head to the library, hoping to seek a quiet time to celebrate that classes of your first week had ended. But what you arrived at was a study group led by seventh years.

Not being intimidated by large and older students, you walked towards them, asking them if they could help you with school work. They surprisingly agreed to help you, also giving you the idea of becoming a tutor just like them. They showed you the ropes and shaped you into the person you were today. You were very thankful for them.

Years later, you became a respectful tutor, just like the seventh years in your first year.

From starting a group only for students in your year, you built your reputation over the years as word passed by, telling other students of lower years that you were a tutor that could be of service for all lowerclassmen.

Having word passed by from some students of their year, lowerclassmen were more encouraged to find the famous you, and grab seats in the library to circle around you. With more students now coming to see you on a daily basis, you started to treat them like friends rather than pretend clients who you were offering your services to.

Today was the first week back from the winter holidays.

Everyone was still acting as if they'd forgotten to switch off their mindsets from “Vacation Mode”, as all they could think and talk about was the holidays. This year’s holidays were somehow excellent for almost everyone where they were spending it in Hogwarts or outside of the castle. Wherever you went, people were smiling, daydreaming about possibly what gifts they received, which meals they enjoyed, and everything you could name.

The fact that people were still thinking of the holidays meant that it was hard to return focusing on academics. People were so used to waking up late and doing anything they pleased during the holidays that it was quite difficult for them to continue keeping up their grades in school. Worse, if they were taught by the teachers who planned on giving them tests and quizzes a week or two after their first week back, to jog up their memories on the things they have learned from the month before the break.

You yourself may have had a slight relatable feeling with most of the students at Hogwarts, but you were more lucky than them as you still managed to read a book or two about lessons you were had recently learned and lessons you will be learning when the holiday ended. This action wasn’t done frequently during the break but it was enough to feel more confident when it came to returning to school after the holidays ended. Your little tutoring business would also be booming as others would beg for your time, asking if you could help teach them the things they’ve forgotten and need to remember.

Usually, people spent their Friday’s after classes anywhere but the library. It was their way of removing their mindset of school and into their weekend freedom. For you on the other hand, your next place right after your last class was the library, the place you happily held your tutoring sessions. You didn’t need to be asked if you could spare time for people as they assumed that you would already be there in the library, waiting for people to come and be helped.

Their assumptions today were right. You had finished setting up your things by one of the long tables at the library, opening your notebook and bringing out your quill when all of a sudden, a massive group of second years were quietly rushing around your table, huffing and puffing tiredness.

“Hello, Y/N!”

“Good afternoon, Y/N!”

“Good to see you, Y/N!”

Were some of the small greetings that your second year students greeted you as they were relieved to see you. You waved at them, giving them a warm smile as you greeted them back. You fixed your posture, straightening your back as you made yourself ready to teach them.

“Now, my dear little friends,” you spoke, “What are we learning today?”

“History of Magic,” they all groaned, looking so distressed.

You giggled, trying to show a sympathetic pout at them, “Ah, yes, let me guess,” you placed a finger on your chin, “Binns expected you to study over the break, which you all didn’t, and announced a test next week?”

“Exactly!” One complained, “The mad ghost is holding it on Monday, Monday! Can you believe him?”

You nodded, smiling at the memories when you were required to take History of Magic, “I do, that’s how Binns handles his classes,” you sighed, “But not to worry, when you’re older, his class wouldn’t be required any longer, you could choose something else if you’d like.”

“What did you choose, Y/N?” They all asked, giving curious eyes.

“I chose to have a free period,” you admitted, watching them gasp with big eyes, “I know, a ‘smart’ cookie like me should be taking up the extra classes for the sake of landing that dream job or simply showing that you're an excellent student, right? But the classes I’m taking already have me set with the many choices I have with whatever dream jobs I have in mind to be honest. Besides, there are many things I could do during my free time, such as studying and doing my schoolwork so I could use this time to help you desperate kids in need. Now come on, let’s head onto the most vile lessons in your class,” you said, encouraging them to open their books.

—

“The last breach you should remember was in 1790 when an American witch named Dorcus Twelvetrees made a serious breach when she confided secret information to a muggle, or what Americans call it, a ‘No-Maj’ named Bartholomew Barebone. She told him not only about the existence of MACUSA and the International Confederation of Wizards, but also the location of their wizarding school named Ilvermorny School. Barebone stole her wand and showed it off to the press and called for No-Maj persecution of magical folks like us. Due to this, President Emily Rappaport of MACUSA instated “Rappaport's Law” which completely segregated witches and wizards from the No-Majs, and remained the law of the land until repealed in 1965.”

All your second year students were slightly dazed, looking as if their brains had stopped processing the information you had been teaching them. Understanding what they’re going through, you closed their books with the use of your wand, closing yours and using the magic to pack up. “Alright, you kiddos,” you said, “It’s time for you to rethink about the things I’ve taught you today, I wish you luck in your test next week, and advise you to possibly not pick this subject as an elective when you’re older,” you joked.

“She’s right,” said a new voice, “I completely welcome you to pick Astronomy or Potions. As a successful student from those classes, think of it as a recommendation from another top student like me.”

You looked to your left, seeing that Draco Malfoy was nonchalantly leaning by the bookshelves, crossing his arms with a smirk on his face.

“Was it just a coincidence that you overheard the conversation and used the opportunity to lure my second years into your favorite subjects? Or were you here the whole time I tutored them and waited for the right timing to give us a grand entrance, because you look like you’ve been here for quite some time,” you asked, imitating your batchmate by crossing your arms out of curiosity.

Catching Draco off guard, he tried recovering by placing a hand on his chest, appearing so offended by your words, “Heavens, Y/L/N, big with questions aren’t you?” he slightly chuckled, walking towards your table, “On you go kiddos, time to relax from all this young lady has been bombarding you with!” he joked, earning a laugh from the second years who were not aware of you, rolling your eyes at Draco.

Draco shrugged, playing innocent as he dropped his sling bag as he pulled a seat, sitting down casually. He interlocked both his hands, placing them on the table as he gave you a small wink, “Y/L/N,” he formally greeted, nodding at you, “You come here often?”

“Of course I do, Malfoy, everyone should know by now that I tutor people here,” you said, standing up from your table, “Shouldn’t you be elsewhere spending your Friday afternoon?”

Draco may or may have not been lurking around the library, waiting for you to end your tutoring session for the day. He had been waiting ever since classes ended for him and had been wandering around the library in order to be caught stalking you endlessly for the entire hour as you taught your second years.

During the last twenty minutes of your session, he positioned himself by the nearest bookshelf on the other side in order not to be seen, as he was pulling out some books, peeping and watching you happily teach second years.

When people passed by, Draco pretended to open the book he pulled, seeming ‘curious’ with the contents he was reading and if some gave him suspicious looks, he would quietly snap the book in front of them, eyeing them coldly and twitching his nose in a scary manner, causing them to walk away, looking anywhere but at Draco.

“Is there something wrong with me being here, Y/N?” Draco asked, sounding so innocent, “It’s not like you own the place, dear.” he taunted, tilting his head for approval.

“You’re right, I don’t but it’s just highly unlikely for me to see you here, that’s all.”

“Would it be highly unlikely of me to ask if you could perhaps tutor me?”

You shook your head slightly in amusement, looking at Draco who seemed so casual with the question he had just asked you. “You?” you pointed at him, “You need a tutor?”

“Is there something wrong with that?” he wondered.

“Well, yes,” you replied, “You’re a top student of our year, for Merlin’s sake, I doubt I’m even smarter than you!” you exclaimed, raising your hands in amusement. “You really have to be kidding me if you wanted a tutor.”

“What if I’m not kidding?”

“Okay, then, what do you need help with, Malfoy?”

Draco paused for a slight second, surprised he got far with this, a lightbulb went up quickly, so did his eyes when he looked at you and quickly said, “History of Magic!”

“Uh-huh, just like my second years?”, you asked, as he nodded in response.

“I don’t remember you taking Binn’s class this year?”

Draco clenched his hands as his heart started beating quickly, “And who are you to say that? I don’t suppose you’re in his class as well? Correct me if I’m wrong but I remember hearing you advise your second years not to take his class.”

“Right,” you said, with a raised eyebrow. He was correct, and you couldn’t say he wasn’t in Binn’s class, you wouldn’t know since you weren’t in his class. So you sat back down, placing your bag on the table as you removed your old History of Magic book and opened it. “So, what do you need help with?”

“Erm, Giant wars?” he asked, hoping to himself that was something people were learning this year.

“Oh, okay, well you’re in luck because I happened to be reading that out of curiosity during the break. And well, my friends who were doing advance reading for his class were telling me all about it this week.” you said, looking for the page that had giant wars.

When you found the page, you pointed at the chapter, “Ah, there we are, let’s start, shall we?”

“We shall,” he replied.

“And remember, the conflicts between the giants and the wizards that had historical significance took place around the nineteenth century, alright?”

Draco calmly nodded, using his quill to write down the last thing he needed to remember for his class. Finished, he placed his parchment back in his bag and extended his hand, “Lovely,” he said, as you extended your hand, shaking his, “You truly are the best and by the way-

“Y/N!” said a new voice.

Both you and Draco turned to the side of the open hall of the library to see Neville and Luna waving at you with beaming smiles. As Draco groaned to himself, Neville and Luna walked towards you, seeing that Draco was there as well.

“Tutoring him?” Neville asked, looking at Draco who wanted to be elsewhere.

“Surprisingly, yes,” you nodded, “Apparently he needs help with History of Magic and that’s understandable. It would have been more beneficial if you two were here with me, you could have taught him too considering that you three are in the same class.”

Neville looked at Luna with a puzzled look, then to Draco with a highly raised eyebrow. “That would have been beneficial indeed,” Neville said, as Draco gulped with a hint of fear, “If he actually took the class.”

“W-what do you mean?” you confusingly chuckled, looking now at Draco for reassurance, “Are you not taking History of Magic, Malfoy?”

“Nonsense,” he quickly replied, tightening his tie, “You’re confused, I’m probably in another period of Binn’s class, Longbottom.”

“There is no other class,” Luna innocently added, “Since there were only a few left interested in his class, we could only manage to create one class.”

You crossed your arms, giving Draco an open mouth, “Right,” you said, “Excuse us Neville and Luna, I think I can handle the interrogation from here.”

“Alright, see ya Y/N!” Neville said as Luna warmly waved goodbye, walking away from the scene to leave you, looking at Draco who was nervously chuckling to himself as he started packing up his things.

Before he could stand up, you stopped him with a raise of your hand, commanding him to sit, “Don’t think you can just leave so quickly, Malfoy.”

He turned back to you, giving a small quick smile, “Right, I suppose you’re expecting a couple of galleons for your service.” He began getting coins from his bag, only for you to zip it shut with the wave of your wand.

“Was there a reason for you to lie and waste, let’s see,” you looked at your pocket watch, “Hm, an hour of my time?”

He shrugged, smiling guiltily, “I don’t suppose it’s a waste of time, especially when you’re with me,” he said, trying to display a smirk in his mouth, which ended up looking as if he was giving his all for it.

“Nice try, Malfoy, but really, why would you go all out and pretend you took Binn’s class?”

Draco exhaled, giving up the act of lying as he let out a small laugh, feeling ever so humiliated with himself as he looked at you and said, “Maybe I had something planned and things went too far that I wasn’t able to go back to the right track.” he shrugged, waiting for your response.

Clueless yet interested, you leaned forward and asked, “Care to explain what your plans were?”

Malfoy smiled at himself, nervous yet ready to tell you the truth.

“My initial plan was to wait till you were finished tutoring those little gits and ask you on a date, after all, I have been wanting to for awhile, figured it was time to make a move. I might have gone off script and used the opportunity of your tutoring sessions to… spend time with me.”

You were vastly staggered as it was news to hear that Draco Lucius Malfoy was first, waiting for you in the library for Merlin knows how long, second, planning to ask you on a date, and third, has been wanting to ask you on a date! It wasn’t like you were head over heels for with such passion, but it filled your heart, discovering that one of the most outstanding students of your year was highly interested in you. Why you of all people?

Still staring into the unknown, Draco’s spirits slightly started falling down as he had not received an answer yet from you. He wanted to make sure you had an answer, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make himself feel bad if he pressured you with time into giving him one.

“You’re going to have to answer me verbally dear, contrary to popular belief, I can’t read minds.” he joked.

You snapped back from all your lingering thoughts, chuckling to yourself out of embarrassment, as you saw that Draco gave you a faint smile. “Right,” you spoke, “I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?” he said, probing.

“Yes, uhm, first of all, my second years are not gits,” you said, pointing at him, then you looked back down, placing a hand on your chest, “Second, I’m flattered, and third-”

“You’re going to reject me?” he suggested, feeling defeat in his voice.

You shot him a worried look, shaking your head, “Goodness no,” you opposed as you waved your hands in front of him, “I’m extremely flattered because I never thought you’d be interested in me, actually.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, walking around the table to come closer to you.

“I always thought you were too good for me.” you laughed at yourself, looking down at the ground.

Draco placed his hands on your shoulders, rubbing you sympathetically as he gave a small, exalted smile, “You have no right to say that, Y/L/N for I should be the one saying that.” he removed his hands from you, straightening his robe and announced, “This time, I offer you my time as I’d like you to spend tomorrow with me at Hogsmeade. We will have the most excellent first date, should you choose to accept.” he confidently said.

You slung your back onto your shoulder, smiling at the invitation you were given. “Alright, Malfoy, you got yourself a date tomorrow. Should I feel free to dress to impress?”

He shrugged, appearing as if it didn’t matter, “To me, you’d look ravishing with or without the need to do that. But if you wish,” he said, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, “See you, Malfoy,” waving him goodbye as you left the scene.

You were waiting outside by the gates of the castle, sitting down on the stairs, patiently and calmly waiting for Draco, who happened to be your surprising date as you were still processing the fact you were about to go on a date with him.

You hadn’t really thought about the possibility of dating Draco. You were just a simple girl in Hogwarts, being always on the sidelines of everyone’s story. To you, you were always someone not worthy of a demanding person such as Draco.

Why would someone important like him want to go out with you? That was something you would have to find out sooner or later in your life, and maybe this date would be the perfect opportunity to ask Draco about this, hopefully he would answer truthfully.

All of a sudden, the doors behind you opened slowly, causing you to turn around and stand up as you saw your date, eyeing you with a smile. “Y/N, for a minute there, I thought you were going to bail. Looks like I was wrong,” he said, still smiling.

You let out a small laugh, “Now why would I do that?”

“I was waiting for you by your dorm room, like the gentleman I am, until when the doors opened, I was greeted by your roommate, who seemed very flustered by my gesture.”

“What gesture?”

Draco confidently pulled up a bouquet of flowers from his back, presenting it to you with such pride in his face, “Then I asked where you were, and she said you weren’t there, leaving me to think, ‘Did she either bail, or was she already outside?’ so here I am.”

Still presenting the bouquet, you received it, smelling the freshness of the flowers with a smile on your face, “Gosh, you’re one kind of gentleman. Thank you for the flowers.”

“A pretty girl should always have a pretty bouquet.”

You grinned, hoping your blush wasn’t evident. Draco placed his arm up, “Now, shall we?”

“We shall,” you agreed, taking his arm as you started walking away from Hogwarts.

To your surprise, Draco brought you to Madam Pudifoot’s Tea Shop. It was the place people brought their dates to, for a more intimate time with them. This was your first time inside the place, and you now understood why it was a place for intimate dates.

The teashop was a very quiet and tranquil place that had walls and floors of pink shades, screaming ‘Love,’ in the air as the different scents of teas gave a relaxing aura around the shop. Aside from a serene and silent touch to the shop, there were barely people inside, making things more private and affectionate for dates.

Draco again to your surprise, held your hand as he made his way to an exact table, which Madam Pudifoot reserved for the two of you. It seemed as if Draco already made reservations beforehand, and it was weird because you haven’t really recalled establishments in Hogsmeade accepting reservations.

When the two of you sat down, Draco surprisingly gave a warm smile to Madam Pudifoot, who handed the two of you her menus. “Take all the time you need, lovebirds.” she chuckled, then turned around, leaving Draco with a flustered you.

“Um, Draco?” you brought down your menu to give your attention to Draco, who had his menu up, as he was still scanning for the right tea.

“Ready to order already, Y/N?” he asked in a nervous yet playful tone which made him chuckle after, “I thought this was your first time here!”

“No, actually I haven’t even looked at the menu,” you admitted embarrassingly, “I was just curious.”

“About?” His face was still covered by the menu, but fortunately, he seemed interested in what you had to bring up.

“Why do I have the feeling that you secretly went all out with this date and got the chance to persuade Madam Pudifoot a table for us?” you blurted everything out awkwardly, which made you feel like jumping off a cliff.

Draco pulled the menu down from his face, flashing a smirk, chuckling, “Because it’s true?”

You laughed in relief for not feeling like the craziest person in the entire town of Hogsmeade, “Oh, brilliant,” you replied. Then you shook your head, but still smiling cheekily, “But why?”

Draco tilted his head with a raised eyebrow, “Why what?”

“Why would you go all out for me?”

Draco narrowed his eyes and mouth, trying to contain his laughter, “Darling, have you not heard of Draco Lucius Malfoy? I’d go all out for you.”

You scoffed, playing with the fabric of the table’s smooth cloth. “I think we barely know each other though. This is clearly our first time actually interacting with each other properly.”

After clasping his hands, he pulled his hands away, tilting his palms to face each other, “Alright, why don’t we get to know each other then?” he suggested. You nodded, which made him speak again, “Okay, let me start.”

“What do you want to know, Draco?”

“What do you want to do after Hogwarts?” he prompted.

Your eyes drifted away from the boy in front of you as you pondered on the many occupational choices when Hogwarts ended.

“Either a Hit-Witch or an Auror,” you shrugged, “I haven’t given much thought about it but the last time I did, I was looking into those two.”

“Intriguing,” he acknowledged, sounding highly surprised and in awe, “I never imagined you as either of those, but I know you’d be one of the best that I can feel safe at night.”

“Oh, please,” you waved off the flattery in embarrassment, “Neither did I see myself as one of those jobs. But, their job descriptions really do call me. What about you, Draco?”

Draco shrugged as well, “Possibly an Auror as well. Father thinks I can make my way to the top easily and become the Minister of Magic later on.”

“Right, and then I can TOTALLY feel safe at night with you as Minister.” you teased, earning a grin from his face.

“Oh, shut it, Y/N, you better take that back or else when I become Minister, I’d gladly remove you from your job.”

“Has your mother ever taught you how to threaten a lady?”

“Now, now, Y/N, we mustn’t go there,” he playfully warned you.

“You’re right, we actually should order something before Madam Pudifoot thinks we’re using her place just to have a thrilling conversation.”

Draco scoffed, smiling cheekily at himself as he enjoyed being with you. After taking a quick look from the menu, he raised his hand, signaling Madam Pudifoot to come by your table. Once she saw Draco’s hand, she quickly hurried by.

“I was suspecting to think you two lovelies were having a good time and forgot about the tea,” she teased the two of you.

Draco smirked, looking at her confidently, “What can I say?” he shrugged, “Once you enjoy the company of someone as enthralling as her, you just forget that time passes by. I could spend the whole day talking to her, and I wouldn’t take notice of time going by. What do you think, Y/N?” he now looked at you, grinning.

Madam Pudifoot, interested by the action going on between you two, looked rapidly to you now, wanting to know what you’d say.

“I think we should order,” you pointed out the obvious sarcastically, to hold yourself from melting over Draco’s words.

“Hiding how you feel now, are we?” he checked on you, still grinning with pleasure.

You playfully rolled your eyes, finally in defeat, “Okay, so I agree with what you say,” you replied and shrugged, “And I possibly have a mindfulness of you as a wholebeing. Now, can we order?”

Draco opened his mouth in agreement, his mouth was open, but it was with a big smile, “Ah,” he said, pointing at you, “Careful darling, you’re starting to sound as if you care. It would be... unwise, of you to lead on, something such as I.”

“Alright,” you sarcastically shrugged. You now looked up to Madam Pudifoot, who seemed to be gushing over what she was witnessing. You ended her gushing by deciding to order, “Okay, Madam, I’ll have a warm chamomile tea. And you, Draco?” you asked, now looking back at Draco.

“I think I’ll have the same,” he nodded at her.

“Excellent!” Madam Pudifoot said, closing her notepad, which had her magical quill inside it, “Right away, you two!” then she turned around, briskly walking away.

This left you and Draco once again, together alone. He leaned onto the table, placing his folded hands on the edge of the table as he let his body lean over to you slightly. “So,” he whispered, “So you do like me?”

“I think I said I possibly have a mindfulness of you.” you smirked.

“It’s another way of saying that you care for me, and thus, that leads to liking me.” he reasoned out.

“Pansy and Daphne care for you, but do they like you?” you pointed that fact out. He shook his head, rolling his eyes, “That’s different. They’re not here with me on a date, are they?”

“True,” you said, eyeing and receiving the tea that Madam Pudifoot had given the two of you just now. “I guess I’m the lucky girl who's about to take sudden interest in me,” you half-jokingly said.

Draco beamed, silently sipping from his warm cup of tea. After a good sip, he shook his head, patting a cloth of napkin on his lips softly, as his eyes were back onto you. “I’m afraid you’re far too late my dear, you already have me thoroughly captivated.”

Your eyes smiled affectedly, highlighting the sudden blush you had on your face. It felt as if you skipped a heartbeat, surprised with his words as you gulped the sip you were about to swallow. After swallowing carefully, you slowly placed the cup back on the table, leaving the warmth from your fingers.

Chuckling lightly at yourself, you said, “That fast?”

“Don’t think you had me captivated just today, dear Y/N,” he pointed out, “I may or may not have had eyes for you for quite some time.”

“You couldn’t have possibly, Draco,” you narrowed your eyebrows, light-heartedly denying his statement.

“Oh, but I have!” he admitted confidently. He fixed his sitting position, causing him to enthusiastically lean towards you, “You my darling, are one unique girl.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve never met another girl who could be so patient and loving to tutor anyone. I would be vastly impatient and non-committal to such things. I couldn’t possibly handle dealing with those… children. And of course the low-brains of our year.”

You were extremely flattered by what Draco had said, causing you to simply flash a warm smile at him, bringing back the tea in your hands as you started sipping your chamomile tea once again.

The date you had at Madam Puddifoot had unfortunately come to an end. Once the teacups were empty and your stomachs were full, Draco had paid for the expenses of the teas like the gentleman he was and pulled you up from your seat, waving goodbye to a happy Madam Pudifoot.

Now, you and Draco were walking together around Hogsmeade. While you were looking around the shops passing by you, Draco’s eyes were taking a few glances at his hand and yours, wishing he had the courage to hold your hand.

Somewhere under his nervous thoughts, his confident aura had started picking up again, reminding him of the smooth person he had in himself. There was a small smirk in his face as he perfectly knew what to do.

“Y/N?” he asked, sounding curious.

“Yes, Draco?” you asked, looking at him now.

“It came to my attention that it seems your hand looks heavy.”

“Heavy?”

“Yes, in fact, would you like me to hold it for you?” he nonchalantly asked, giving himself an innocent tone to such a smooth question. This leads you to widen your eyes with such flattery in your face. Aside from blushing madly, you chuckled in embarrassment, feeling so unprepared with words to reply to him.

“Oh,” was all you could say at first, “I’d love that, they do awfully look heavy don’t they?”

“Indeed, I’m surprised myself. Lucky for you I’m here to address the issue.”

“What if you weren’t, though?”

“From now on, expect me to always be around. I doubt there would be another soul at school who could point out that issue. They’re too blind to see the little things such as that.”

You smiled at yourself, taking in the compliment that Draco had bestowed upon you, waving your hand with his, back and forth merrily.

“Draco?”

“Yes, Y/N?” he asked, imitating your voice from earlier, causing you to roll your eyes playfully.

“Did you really mean it back at the tea shop?”

“Mean what?” He asked, stopping you and him from walking any further.

“How you were captivated by me? Have you really been fancying me for some time?”

“I know it sounds bizarre, you know, for me to come out suddenly to tell you how I feel but I do, I do have fancied you for some time. I-I like you.”

“That’s good then,” you truthfully told him, “Because I like you too.” you courageously admitted to him.

Draco flashed the biggest smile he had ever shown in his facial expression. This smile may have had a smirk in his mouth, but it was also filled with genuine happiness, something he rarely felt and gave out.

Without hesitating, he grabbed you by the face, cupping your soft, smooth face with his hands as he shot a kiss on your lips. It was a short but whole-hearted kiss, which he had been dreaming about ever since he took interest in you. You were a little surprised that it was a short one, this was because he felt that he might have been overstepping his ‘first date boundaries’, so he was making his way on ending the kiss by slowly pulling himself from you.

It was like you instantly read his mind, knowing that he was scared of overstepping his boundaries, but you answered his issue by pulling him back in, finishing the kiss with a much longer time given. Once you were done, the two of you synchronously pulled away from each other, looking at each other with such care in your eyes.

Your eyes widened with realization, “Merlin’s beard!” you exclaimed, causing Draco to feel terror in his body.

“W-what? Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No! I did!”

Draco frowned, assuming you felt the kiss was a mistake. “Oh, I see,” he said, only for you to wave your hands in front of him.

“Heavens no! I mean, I should have kissed you first!”

Draco raised an eyebrow, deeply confused, “You? Why? That’s not the right way to go, it should be the gentleman first.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter if I could have got you back with a pick up line!”

Draco laughed, exhaling a wave of relief to hear your explanation, “Bloody hell, Y/N, all for a pick up line?”

“Yes! I thought of a good one which came well with the situation right now!”

“Alright,” Draco chuckled, “Let’s have a go with it, then.”

You composed yourself, breathing in to say, “Draco, do these smiles come with kisses?”

Draco nodding in agreement that your pick up line was a good one said, “Of course they do. Would you like them now?”

“Without a doubt,” you replied, knowing that Draco was about to lean in and kiss you.

#Draco Malfoy #Draco Malfoy x Reader #Draco Malfoy Imagines #Harry Potter #Harry Potter x Reader #Harry Potter Imagines #Tom Felton x Reader #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #ron weasley x reader #cedric diggory x reader

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Nie Huaisang too has a list of requirements for his future spouse. This eventually comes to bite him in the ass in an unexpected way.

also on AO3

The first time Nie Huaisang hears someone say that he'll be hard to marry, he's eight. It's the first time he gets to accompany his father and brother to a conference, and while he's desperately trying to be good, he gets bored pretty quickly and disappears to explore a bit. Nightless City and the Wen's palace aren't fun places, and he's too worried about getting lost to go very far, but there's still a few interesting things to look at.

Not far from the main halls where the conference is happening, he almost stumbles upon two adults whom he recognises as friends of his father. Well, friends might be pushing it. But Father tries to be polite to them to their face, and that's not an effort he makes with everyone. So, Nie Huaisang counts them as his father's friends, and knows they have the power to scold him if they spot him somewhere he shouldn't be. As they approach, Nie Huaisang finds a curtain to hide behind, and waits.

"And that second son of his is a disgrace," the man in red says as they pass by him. 'Wen Bastard', Father used to call him when chatting with mother, which always made her roll her eyes. "That's what happens when blood weakens."

"Only a fool marries a woman like that," says the other one, 'that greasy Jin merchant'. "A dancer… That's just what you call a prostitute who can't live without making extra efforts. With a mother like that and how weak he's said to be, they'll never secure a match for that boy."

"Qinghe Nie isn't what it used to be. And that saber of his…"

Nie Huaisang doesn't hear the rest, because the men are already gone. He doesn’t want to hear more, anyway. Just that bit about his mother upsets him. It’s not news to him that his mother didn’t have the most respectable of lives before meeting his father, and he’s vaguely aware that some people looked down on their marriage for that, but hearing it put in such crude words hurts.

As he returns to his father’s side, Nie Huaisang slowly realises that those comments he overheard won’t leave his mind. He can’t say anything, though. Father gets too upset whenever something reminds him of mother. Nie Mingjue isn’t an option either, because he’s so hot-tempered, and even Nie Huaisang can tell that those words were pretty strong insults that the men would never have dared to say in public. It could lead to bad things if he were to repeat what he heard.

So Nie Huaisang remains silent until they all go to bed. They’ve been given a nice bedroom for their stay in Nightless City, but there was a misunderstanding and Nie Huaisang himself wasn’t expected to be there, so he doesn’t have his own bed. Nie Mingjue refuses to share his, because he’s too old for that apparently. Good. He kicks and steals the blankets, so Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have wanted to share either. Of course they could have asked for another bed to be brought to their room, but Father decided it would be too much of a bother. Instead, Nie Huaisang gets to sleep with him, which is nice. Father is always so warm at night, and doesn’t mind that he moves too much.

Cuddled against his father, safe and warm in the darkness of their room, Nie Huaisang would be perfectly happy if not for that conversation he heard earlier. It still nags at him. The thing against his mother is bad enough, but the other comment they made, the one about him…

"Father, will I get married someday?" he asks when he figures that he can’t fall asleep without figuring that out.

His father huffs, an amused smile visible on his lips even in the low light.

"You're too young for that!" Nie Mingjue grumbles from his bed. "I get to have someone first!"

That remark gets a short laugh out of their father, which in turn makes Nie Huaisang giggle. Nie Mingjue is always complaining about this or that lately, which apparently is a normal side effect of being fifteen.

"You can both get married if it pleases you," their father announces. "The order doesn’t matter much, either. You'll find someone. You're both handsome, clever boys, with the fame of our clan to make you seem even more handsome. And if you don't find it on your own, I'll try to find it for you."

"I want a pretty girl," Nie Mingjue quickly says. "With a gentle personality, but who is still my equal in a fight, and…"

Father groans.

"It's too late for this, Mingjue. Make a list and give it to me later. You too, Huaisang, if it worries you so much."

Nie Huaisang nods, relieved that this gives him time to think about the problem, and shuffles closer to his father. Sect leader Nie pulls him against his side, one arm wrapped over his son's shoulders in a protective gesture. It feels so safe to be like this, and Nie Huaisang soon falls asleep.

In the morning, still bored at that conference, Nie Huaisang starts a list of what his future spouse ought to be. He decides, pretty quickly, that he'd rather marry a man. His own mother has just died with the baby she carried, and Nie Huaisang doesn't want to feel that pain again.

So, it will be a man. He must be handsome, the most handsome in the world. Intelligent, too. And… he has to get along with Nie Mingjue, of course.

He doesn't dare show the list to his father, feeling it is not yet complete, but it is nice to have it.

Some weeks later, Father's sabre breaks during a hunt.

The months that follow are rough.

Nie Huaisang adds 'kind' and 'patient' and 'just' to his list.

Nie Mingjue says, several times, that he shouldn't judge their father based on those last few months, because he was unwell and that's not who he really was. He’s right of course, because until then Father has always been good to both of them and to everyone around. He just got sick. So sick he died.

Nie Huaisang also adds 'calm mind' to the list, just in case.

If things were rough while Father was ill, they become worse after he dies.

For one thing, Nie Mingjue gets very busy. Of course he’d started getting more responsibilities in the sect since forming his golden core, and again during Father’s sickness, but now Nie Huaisang hardly ever sees him except at meals or during training, when Nie Mingjue mostly shouts at him for not doing better.

It’s funny. Nie Mingjue never used to care too much that Nie Huaisang can barely hold his sabre, but suddenly it’s absolutely essential that he becomes as tough as everyone else in the sect and that his cultivation improves.

At least Nie Mingjue does that because he’s worried. Nie Huaisang knows his brother enough to see that. But the rest, the elders, pick on him over everything just because they don’t like him. It comes as a shock to realise that, but his father’s cousins and uncles hate that their former sect leader had married a dancer, that he’d disgraced the clan like that. They never dared to say anything while Father was alive because he wouldn’t have allowed it, but Father isn’t there anymore, and Nie Mingjue is too busy to notice.

When Nie Huaisang tries to complain to his brother that the elders are mean to him, Nie Mingjue tells him to work harder to prove them wrong, like he’s doing whenever someone says he’s too young to lead their sect. It sounds like good advice, but Nie Huaisang’s efforts bring no results with regard to his cultivation or to the elders' opinion of him, so he just ends up giving up.

Meanwhile, his list gets a little longer. Now his future husband must love him (he never thought of that until one day he had a bad argument with his brother and wondered if anyone cared for him at all). He must also be accepting of Nie Huaisang’s weaknesses, and value his strength, whatever they are. Hopefully, this perfect husband will help him find them. He must also be honest, because Nie Huaisang still hurts from the fact that all his uncles have just lied for years about liking him and his mother. And it won’t hurt if he is skilled in all the arts, and if he has great cultivation and even greater fighting skills, so that nobody ever dares to pick on Nie Huaisang again.

It was planned to send Nie Huaisang to study in the Cloud Recesses at the same time as all the other young masters of the Great Sects, but something happens with the Wens, and Nie Mingjue hurriedly decides to send him there one year early.

It’s not the worst.

Sure the food is bad, the lessons are tedious, and Lan Qiren is a horrible teacher… but the scenery is nice, and most people don’t really pay attention to Nie Huaisang, which is a nice change from home where everyone always watches what he does.

And also, there’s Lan Wangji.

The two of them have been encouraged to try and spend time together, since there used to be a friendship between their fathers. Well, there’s a friendship between them as well now. It surprises a few people, because they’re so different, Lan Wangji so quiet and studious, Nie Huaisang so chatty and careless, but that’s because people only look at the surface. After all, Lan Wangji doesn’t mind chatter too much if it’s from the right person and on the right subjects, while Nie Huaisang can make himself very quiet when he finds something worthy of his attention. They often go on walk together, admiring the mountains around the Cloud Recesses, painting a little, chatting about things.

They have a lot they can chat about.

Lan Wangji, just like Nie Huaisang, has lost his mother when he was young, and it left a deep impression on him. They also both have complicated feelings about their fathers, and that’s… such a relief to finally have someone who can understand that.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t have very close friends at home, and Nie Mingjue refuses to hear anything about those last few months of their father's life, acting as if because their father wouldn’t normally have done those things, then it doesn’t matter that he still actually did them. And Lan Wangji seems glad that someone will listen when he says that he just wishes his father would see him sometimes, that he’s working so hard to be worthy of his attention.

Lan Wangji doesn’t like to be touched, but they hug a few times, and cry as well.

So maybe, just maybe, Nie Huaisang puts even less effort in his studies than he would have, just so he fails his years. Nie Mingjue has told him he’d stay in Gusu until he passes when his grades started reaching him, and Nie Huaisang isn’t above using that to his advantage.

While he is in the Cloud Recesses, his list of requirements for a husband continues getting longer.

It’d be nice to marry someone from the Lan clan, Nie Huaisang figures. Someone who is trustworthy. Someone who is a good listener. Someone serious but with a surprising sense of humour when you know him. Someone with a face that looks carved out of marble, with eyes that look almost golden in the right light. Someone tall, with the manners of a scholar and the posture of an emperor. Someone who maybe is next in line to lead his sect.

Nie Huaisang might have a bit of a crush. He knows it’s one sided, though, and he doesn’t mind too much. His list is a fun thing to think about, but he’s starting to realise that maybe Jin Guangshan and Wen Ruohan were right that day: he’s not exactly the most marriageable person in the world.

Well, he’ll just have to stay at his brother’s side and help him once he’s old enough for that. It’s not a bad fate.

Still, that list is getting a little too specific. Just for the sake of plausible deniability, Nie Huaisang also adds ‘smiles a lot’ on it.

Later, Nie Huaisang can’t even remember what the argument with Nie Mingjue was about. His grades and failure in Gusu, maybe. Or the fact that his golden core is really little more than a slightly tinted dustball. Possibly, it was because Nie Huaisang blew so much of his allowance into buying paper and a pretty new fan. But really, it might have been something else entirely. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that the argument blew up into a huge fight, with Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue shouting at each other for what feels like hours, until Nie Mingjue says that he never wanted to have a brother anyway, to which Nie Huaisang replies that good, because he doesn’t have one anymore now, right before storming off to his room.

They’ve always had arguments. It’s in their temperament. Back when father was alive, it wasn’t too much of a problem because he always found ways to make them reconcile within the day. The fights they’ve had since his death have been nastier, brought on by Nie Mingjue’s exhaustion from working so much and Nie Huaisang’s frustration at never being enough. They’ve been vicious sometimes, but never like that day. That day, it feels like something broke.

As soon as he reaches his room, Nie Huaisang grabs the largest qiankun bag he can find, and shoves inside all his most precious possessions. Fans, robes, brushes, books… some jewellery and money too, because he’s not stupid no matter what some people seem to think. If he’s running away to Gusu, then he’ll need to pay for inns and food… and for a horse as well, because he’s certainly not going to fly there. Nie Mingjue can keep that stupid sabre.

Figuring that the guards might stop him if he tries to leave through the front door, Nie Huaisang decides to go through the back of the Unclean Realm and take the mountain path. Surveillance there is lesser, and he is quite capable of using his cultivation to quickly climb the high walls, thanks. After that, it's only a matter of finding his way back toward the road to Qinghe, and from there he'll have no trouble going toward Gusu.

At least, that's the plan.

The truth is, those mountains around the Unclean Realm are rough and hard to navigate, with heavy fogs making it hard to find one's way. It doesn't take long for Nie Huaisang to get lost. He gets a brief moment of hope when the fog lifts after a few hours, until he realises that's only because it has started raining. It soon turns into a downpour and Nie Huaisang, who isn't dressed for that weather, starts getting very cold.

Desperately trying to find a place to hide from the rain, Nie Huaisang would have missed that little cavern if he hadn't tripped face first right in front of it. He thinks, later, that it might have been fate. For now though, it's just a dry place where he happily takes refuge.

As bad as he is at cultivation and Night Hunts, Nie Huaisang has suffered through enough lessons to know what to do in this situation. He removes all of his drenched clothes, and puts on one of the robes he brought, the thickest one he can find. The wet clothes are laid flat on the floor to help them dry, Nie Huaisang eats one snack, and then sets out to explore his refuge and make sure that nothing there is dangerous.

One slow burning flame talisman in hand, Nie Huaisang discovers that he isn't in an ordinary cave, but in an abandoned temple. He'd be hard pressed to say who the temple is dedicated to. Time has erased names and signs, and the divinity's statue has suffered so much that he can't even decide if it's a man or a woman. Still, Nie Huaisang isn't one to take unnecessary risks, so he bows before that statue, and offers thanks for the refuge.

Kneeling before that forgotten god, Nie Huaisang feels something poking at him inside his sleeve. He almost laughs when he discovers that stupid list of his, and then nearly cries instead.

The list, which for years has brought him comfort, suddenly feels like the physical manifestation of how stupid he is. Did he really think anyone would love him, let alone a person as perfect as the one he's described? And what was he thinking, trying to run away? Even if Lan Wangji somewhat puts up with him, the instant he steps into the Cloud Recesses, Lan Qiren will send him back to Qinghe. That's if he even makes it to Gusu, though, which seems unlikely when he is so badly lost in those inhospitable mountains. He can't even fly up to find his way, because he's a stubborn, talentless little idiot who left his sabre at home. He's probably going to die here, and no one will miss him. If anything they'll be glad he's gone, one less problem to bother them.

Nie Huaisang does cry in the end. He doesn't want to die, and he's tired of never being good enough for anyone.

He wonders if that forgotten god would understand the feeling, left behind in this old temple, without anyone praying to them. If that was the god's only temple, then they must have faded away long ago, just like Nie Huaisang might die if he's not rescued. At least, he'll die in a fitting place.

Outside, night falls. Inside, Nie Huaisang is shivering, no matter how many robes he puts on. He vaguely wonders if he might have a fever, but his head feels too fuzzy to really care. Bored and cold and burning, he starts chatting with that faceless god, almost as if they were old friends.

"We will be if I die here," Nie Huaisang points out as he meticulously divides his snacks so half of them will go to this unknown god. "I hope you don't mind chatter. I'm told I talk too much sometimes."

When his task is finished, he puts the snacks on the dusty altar, and bows again to the deity. It feels like a pitiful offering, but he dares not put his money and jewellery there.

"I'll need them to have a road built to this place if I survive," he explains. "And then I'll come whenever I can, and encourage others to come too. I think that's a good deal, right?"

There is no answer. He's not quite feverish enough to expect one. Still, it doesn't feel like he's giving enough. Biscuits and a promise… But it's all he had. That and a stupid list about all the things he'll never have, all the things he'll never be.

"Do you want this as well?" he asks, unfolding the list and laying it on the altar. "Listen, I just want for things to get better. It's all, you know ? Make sure it gets better, and I swear I'll get people to come pray to you again."

The hidden temple remains silent, save for the sound of heavy rains outside. Growing tired of this one sided conversation, and just tired in general, Nie Huaisang curls up before the altar, wrapped as comfortably in his many robes, and closes his eyes.

He wonders if Nie Mingjue has even noticed yet that he's gone. Probably not, he figures before losing consciousness, and even if he has, he most likely doesn't care.

When Nie Huaisang wakes up, it is to the familiar comfort of his own bedroom in the Unclean Realm. He’s tempted, at first, to think that everything was just a bad dream, that he never ran away and found that little temple. It sounds like the sort of stupid dreams he’d have. Quickly though, he figures that something is slightly wrong. First of all, there’s a chair next to his bed. It is empty at the moment, but Nie Huaisang finds vague memories coming back to him, telling him that it has been occupied for a long time. Then, there’s the fact that Nie Huaisang is very thirsty and positively starving, something that rarely happens to him. He never goes for long without snacks of some sort, unless he’s ill.

He thinks back of the temple, how cold and hot he was. Uh. So he really got a fever from all that rain then. It’s embarrassing, and Nie Huaisang is sure that as soon as it’s clear he’s healthy again, he’ll be scolded for his low cultivation that allowed this to happen.

That’s a problem for later. For now, Nie Huaisang’s only worry is that he’s starving. Scoldings he can deal with, but he can’t bear to have an empty stomach. With great effort he rises from his bed, finds a robe to throw on, and leaves his room. He hasn’t taken two steps into the corridor that he finds himself in front of Nie Zonghui and a servant carrying on a tray a bowl of what smells like broth.

“Nie er-gongzi, I’m glad to see you’re well,” Nie Zonghui says, and quite amazingly he seems to mean it. “We were all very worried about you.”

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes before glancing toward the bowl of broth. He’s salivating already, it’s disgraceful.

“You were so worried that I woke up alone,” Nie Huaisang teases. Then, unable to resist a second longer, he grabs the broth and starts greedily drinking it, manners be damned. He almost chokes on it a few times, but it doesn’t matter, he’s just too hungry to care.

“Slow down!” Nie Zonghui orders him, only to be ignored. “And I had to drag your brother out so he’d have a look at his mail instead, but you can’t have been alone more than five minutes, so don’t complain.”

The bowl emptied, Nie Huaisang puts it back on the tray and thanks the servant. Maybe Nie Zonghui had it right about going slow, because he feels a little nauseous now, but… no way he’ll admit to that.

“Nie zongzhu has been at your side the whole time,” Nie Zonghui insists. “He’s the one who found you, too. Nie gongzi, we really thought we had lost you. What were you thinking, going to such an isolated place? If your brother hadn’t found you when he did…”

Something in his cousin’s tone makes Nie Huaisang shiver. In all honesty, now that he’s not upset about whatever argument he had with Nie Mingjue, he does realise that it was stupid of him to run away like this. He knows the mountains are dangerous, he’s grown on tales of people getting lost or falling to their death. And that’s without getting into the spirits and demons that live there, waiting for whoever will be foolish enough to enter their territory.

“I didn’t mean to worry anyone,” he mutters. “I just wanted to go out without being seen. I was just going to…”

“Tell that to your brother,” Nie Zonghui cuts him. “He’ll be happy to see you’re well enough to be running around. Although you might want to dress a bit more, because…”

Nie Huaisang dashes off without listening. He feels a bit wobbly on his legs, which tells him he might have been out for at least a day or two, but it doesn’t matter. If he looks a little pitiful, Nie Mingjue will be less angry at him for being such a mess of things.

When he enters his brother’s office, Nie Huaisang has the surprise to find that Nie Mingjue isn’t alone in there. There’s a stranger with him, the two of them chatting quite amicably. It must be what Nie Zonghui tried to warn him about. For a moment Nie Huaisang feels rather embarrassed to be seen like this by that very handsome stranger, his hair unkempt, wearing nothing but underwear and a hastily put on robe… but he doesn’t get a lot of time to worry. In an instant Nie Mingjue jumps from his chair and crosses the distance between them to hug him so tight it almost hurts.

“You little idiot,” Nie Mingjue huffs, sounding as if he’s fighting tears. “What are you doing up? Did the healer say you can?”

“I was bored and hungry and I wanted to see you,” Nie Huaisang retorts, glancing toward the stranger and wishing he’d go away. He has apologies to make, but he can’t do that in front of an audience. In fact, he expects his brother to make the young man leave. Their fights are always awful, but they’ve never not reconciled before, and they both get so tearful over it, which Nie Mingjue doesn’t want anyone to know because he has a reputation.

It’s a shock when Nie Mingjue doesn’t say anything to that stranger, and starts apologising anyway.

“I’m sorry we had that fight,” he grumbles. “I was tired, I shouldn’t have said that… A-Sang, are you ok? You had such a bad fever, I really thought… don’t run away like that again, you hear me?”

Nie Huaisang nods. He wants to return the apology, but there’s still that young man, looking at them with a fond smile, and it’s starting to make him very uncomfortable. He’d like some privacy, thanks.

“Who’s that?” he asks, nodding toward the stranger.

The young man frowns at the question, while Nie Mingjue pulls away from the hug to give his brother a concerned look. He even goes so far as to put his hand on Nie Huaisang’s forehead.

“No, the fever’s gone,” he says. “Huaisang, is this a joke?”

“Why would I be joking?”

Nie Mingjue glances behind at the man who looks just as puzzled as him, and frowns.

“Huaisang… that’s Xichen.”

His tone of voice makes it clear that the identity of the young man is very obvious to him, and should be obvious to Nie Huaisang as well. Intrigued, Nie Huaisang looks more closely at the young man, trying to remember if they’ve met before.

“Lan Xichen?” he hazards, judging by the embroidered ribbon and the pale robes, to which his brother nods.

It doesn’t ring any bells. If there’s a Lan Xichen in the inner Lan clan, then Nie Huaisang has never met him, never heard of him… which is very odd, because this young man seems barely older than him, so they should have been introduced when Nie Huaisang went to study in the Cloud Recesses. Besides, he’s sure he would have remembered someone that handsome, with features so similar to Lan Wangji’s that they could be twins. Not only that, but the quality of his sword and the jade token hanging from his belt mark him as being very high in the hierarchy of Gusu Lan, so really Nie Huaisang can’t imagine how he wouldn’t have taken notice of such a person.

“I was in the area and I thought I should say hi to Mingjue,” Lan Xichen explains with a warm smile, his voice gentle and pleasant to the ear. “I was told you had been unwell, but I’m glad you are getting better.”

“I don’t know how much better he is if he doesn’t remember you,” Nie Mingjue grumbles. “You’ve only been visiting me every other month for the last four years, and spent a whole damn year tutoring him in Gusu. Damn brat left his bed too soon. I’m taking him back and then we can chat some more, Xichen.”

Nie Huaisang blinks a few times, and takes a step back.

Something is wrong.

Something is very wrong.

His brother never speaks so casually to people outside their sect. In fact, even inside their sect, there’s only a few people he’ll talk to like this, mostly Nie Huaisang, Nie Zonghui, and a few other cousins close in age. Nie Mingjue doesn’t trust anyone outside of Qinghe Nie, and he does his best to keep his distance from others so nobody forgets to treat him as a full sect leader in spite of his youth.

Aside from that, Nie Huaisang might have somehow missed a Lan Xichen while he was in Gusu, but he would have noticed if the Unclean Realm had gotten such a frequent visitor for this long, and he certainly would remember if anyone had tried to tutor him last year.

“With your permission, I’d like to stay here until your brother gets better,” Lan Xichen offers. “My uncle’s business is dealt with so there’s no emergency, and that way we could travel back to Gusu together so I keep an eye on him. I know Wangji wouldn’t forgive me if I let his friend go alone after such an ordeal.”

Nie Huaisang tenses, his eyes going wide.

Nobody calls Lan Wangji like this except his uncle. Everyone else gives him a very polite Lan Wangji, or more likely calls him Lan gongzi, to show the proper respect and deference due to a future sect leader.

“Still can’t believe your brother took a shine to that brat of mine,” Nie Mingjue huffs. “Opposites attract can only go so far.”

Lan Xichen laughs, and it’s the most pleasant sound Nie Huaisang has ever heard in his life, but he barely notices it because he’s panicking.

Lan Wangji doesn’t have a brother. Nie Huaisang knows this for sure because it’d be kind of a big detail to miss about his friend.

Lan Wangji doesn’t have a brother, but Nie Mingjue apparently thinks he does, and that it’s this young man in front of them.

A young man who does look like Lan Wangji, down to the golden flakes in his eyes, but smiles as if the whole world makes him happy.

A young man who apparently gets along very well with Nie Mingjue, who is kind and considerate and who, judging by the way he keeps glancing toward Nie Huaisang, might have some fondness for him as well.

A young man who looks right out of Nie Huaisang’s wildest fantasy, but is apparently real and standing right before him.

Nie Huaisang feels his legs go weak under him, and has to grab his brother’s arm to avoid collapsing.

Make sure it gets better, he asked that forgotten god, handing them a list full of his wildest dreams. It certainly wasn’t what Nie Huaisang meant. All he’d wanted was to not die and go home and maybe not be scolded too hard, not this.

“Huaisang, what’s wrong?” Nie Mingjue shouts.

“His pulse is too fast,” Lan Xichen says, having come closer and grabbed his wrist. “He must not have been as well healed as it seemed… Mingjue, you have to make him lay down, I’ll got get the healers.”

In a daze and feeling darkness creep upon his mind, Nie Huaisang almost wants to laugh.

This is such a mess.

Also, apparently, he has a debt toward a god now.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #based on a discussion on the xisang discord that I couldn't stop thinking about :D #jau writes #xisang wishes au

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rabbitrah · 3 years

Text

Treasured Hatred

When I moved to a new town when I was 11, I had never really experienced bullying. I was a weird kid and had experienced people saying mean stuff to me, but my elementary school had a cohesive anti-bullying plan, so it was never a real issue.

Then I went to a new school. These kids were fresh from an elementary school that definitely did not have a cohesive anti-bullying program. They existed in an iron-clad social hierarchy with clearly marked Undesirables at the bottom who were routinely tortured and humiliated by the Social Elites. Talk about culture shock.

I was quickly sized up by my peers and shuffled towards the bottom of the social ranks. There were about 4-5 kids beneath me, but I was still quite a ways from the middle. I observed my classmates carefully, trying to understand this sixth grade dystopia I had just landed in.

There was one girl who was the unquestionable leader and the biggest bully. She had a circle of friends, and beneath them were the kids who weren't her friends, but who had their own clout and she didn't pick on. Then there were those on the bottom of the pile. Generally they either looked or acted differently from others. Most were ND, I'm sure. These kids formed a loose friend group, but I avoided them, sensing that it was safer to eat alone rather than join them.

When the Social Leader started to pick on someone, often out of nowhere, her peers were quick to back her up. Often the middle-rung kids would also pitch in, until almost the entire class would single out to taunt one particular person. I became one of her targets as well, for a time. I wasn't attacked as persistently as some others, but she'd routinely pick something arbitrary about me to mock. I remember one day she made me cry because I said my favorite color was purple.

Others didn't have it so easy. Once, during a game of dodgeball, one of the lowest-rung kids made the mistake of complaining about something the Social Leader had done. One of the middle-crust kids overheard and went over to report this like they were a member of the secret police or something. She immediately stormed over to confront him. She called him names and told him what a terrible person he was. Her friends backed her up. The middle crust kids backed her up. He started to cry. She said, "Why are you crying? I'm the one who should he crying! YOU did this!"

Later in the girl's locker room, they continued to talk about what a terrible person he was, how dare he, what a cry baby, etc. The thing that shocked me most of all was that one of the bottom crust girls, a favorite target of the Elites and someone who I had thought was his friend, joined in. The Social Leader was delighted by her contribution. The girl didn't earn a higher ranking in the hierarchy, but she did get a brief spotlight of approval, and basked in it. I felt nauseous.

My own social salvation came when I made a friend in the other sixth grade class. She was a star soccer player with social skills and thus had full immunity from bullying. This girl, who would later become my best friend, was tough as nails. At the age of eleven she had learned to stare down and scare off anyone who approached her with even slightly taunting energy. For many years after I would be almost embarrassingly grateful to her from rescuing me from being an eternal outcast.

My new friendship gave me something to hold onto, but she was in another class and couldn't protect me most of the time. A memorable event included the Social Leader leading our warm-ups in PE. (Literally, where was our gym teacher?) She made us run laps in the gym basement with the lights off. I found it extremely scary and asked if she'd turn them on. She laughed at me for being afraid of the dark and taunted me for the rest of class. Eventually I cried, which she also found funny. Still, having a friend meant that I wasn't alone in the universe. I had someone I could talk to after school who would nod knowingly and then talk ask if I wanted to watch X-men.

Things were much better in the seventh grade. My best friend was in the same class as me. So was social leader, but she couldn't get near me anymore. When I stood by my best friend, I imagined that there was a forcefield emanating from her. I was protected. We had a few other friends as well, book worms who were less concerned about seeming cool. The social hierarchy was changing.

Close to the end of the year I had to work on a group project with my old bully, one of her friends, and the most bullied kid in our grade. While we were working, he said something innocuous, and she started mocking him and saying it was stupid. Her friend started to laugh along with her. Their target was getting red in the face. I remembered the way she'd made so many kids cry for no reason, confident that everyone around her would either join in or stay silent. I hated her so much, and in that moment, even without my best friend's forcefield to protect me, I wasn't afraid.

I looked her straight in the eye with my coldest stare and said "That's not funny." The energy shifted dramatically. I defended what their target had said. There was silence. Pure loathing flowed from her to me and I sent it right back. She wanted to put me back in my place, I know she did, but I hadn't been a target of hers in a year. She looked over at her friend, who wasn't laughing anymore. He said, "Oh, yeah. I guess I can see that now." My old bully was mortified.

I don't remember what happened after that, just the roar of victory in my ears. I finally understood it. She was still a miserable little sadist, but the source of her power was the people around her, and I was one of those people. When I saw her edging in for the kill, I had the power to knock the knife out of her hand, and now I knew that none of her friends would jump in to stop me.

By the eighth grade the social dynamic had completely shifted into three distinct camps: Hers, mine, and the boys, who had segregated themselves for some reason and owed allegiance no one. Happily, there didn't seem to be any more outcasts. The boys who had been bullied were now a member of the Boys. The girls who had been outcasts were absorbed into our group. Looking a certain way, dressing a certain way, and social awkwardness weren't grounds for alienation any longer. I don't know if she was even the leader of her group anymore.

None of this felt as tangible or serious by the time we were in high school. There were easily four times as many people and we all started to exist in nebulous, overlapping friend groups. My old bully wasn't particularly popular or noteworthy anymore, but I never stopped hating her. I kept the memories of the fear and emotional pain she'd inflicted in my pocket and I was careful not to lose them.

The last time I saw her, we were 21. I was having a drink in our town's pub with my roommate, someone who I went to our high school but I'd gotten close to only later. My old bully walked in and saw my roommate. They'd been on a team together, gone to a few parties together. She made a beeline for our table with a "Hey girl!" eager to catch up. She only recognized me afterwards. We acknowledged each other and she went back to chatting with my roommate. When she said goodbye, she moved in to give me a hug. I hugged her back.

I wonder if she ever remembers the things she used to do and say as a child. Does she remember it at all?I can remember how much I hated her, but now my anger has a different target. Where were the adults in our lives for all of this? Why did her family fail to teach her how to be kind? Where were her teachers in grades k-8 who failed to notice this behavior and create a plan to combat it in a healthy way? Why didn't any adults step in when kids were being tormented for their appearance and neurodivergences?

I don't know why I'm writing about this now. I was rummaging through my pockets and found that old hate, I guess. I never did lose it. But I'm casting it out now. It's easy to say that children are cruel, but more accurate to say that they don't have to be, not when the adults in their lives show them how to forge a kinder road. I hope my old bully, an adult woman now, found that road at some point. I hope she's walking it, and I hope that she has people with her who love her. If she remembers any of it at all, I hope she forgives herself.

You were a child, and someone should have been looking after you too.

#fuck it!#oversharring on tumblr dot com #I made it slightly shorter believe it or not #longpost #txt

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years

Text

the way it was - chapter 30

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1914

i can't live in a fairytale of lies

and i can't hide from the feeling cause it's right

Tensions were high in the Mustang household.

Roy spent more time in his work office after hours than was usual. He was planning, organising an attack, for what, Riza wasn’t privy to just yet. Her main focus was keeping Mia distracted and entertained so Roy could work in some semblance of peace, however even that was becoming more of a struggle for her nowadays. Her lower back was almost in constant pain by the time they were sitting down to dinner. Riza fatigued more quickly and her brain was frazzled. Headaches pestered her throughout the day, completely unwelcome, from two different fronts.

On one hand, she was nearing the end of her pregnancy, which was a blessing. According to the doctor yesterday, the child was at full term and could come at any time, even though she still had a few weeks until her due date. Riza would welcome that wholeheartedly. The aches and pains were a lot worse this time around than they were with Mia.

On the other hand, her final teaching exam had been looming. Throughout the day she had notes spread across every surface as she studied and crammed for it. Looking after Mia while Roy ‘unofficially’ worked in the evening was nothing Riza would ever complain about, however it would have been nice to have had the extra energy afterwards to at least look over some notes while in bed. By the time her head hit the pillow she was asleep.

After taking the exam, a huge weight was lifted off Riza’s shoulders. Then the nerves kicked in, waiting for results. The professor had advised it would take a few weeks to get back to them all, but Riza just wanted to know. She wanted to be successful. After years of work, she wanted it to pay off. It had been two weeks since the exam.

Despite working harder, Roy was as attentive as ever. He was worrying about her. Riza reassured she was fine, just exhausted. Roy thought she was stressed. Admittedly, Riza did think that was true as well. She was aware that would be bad for the baby but with everything hitting at once, and them not being able to do anything about the timing, it didn’t leave Riza with much choice. Powering through as best she could, Riza managed to juggle everything. Roy still fought to get away from his home office to help with Mia, however the ringing phone would draw him back to plan. With a defeated aura, he’d trudge back through and continue working.

Riza was incredibly curious. Roy would tell her when he was ready what was going on, but every day that passed and with every overheard snippet of conversation, the desire to know didn’t let up. It was so mysterious. She’d barely been awake enough recently for him to get a chance.

The ringing phone dragged Riza’s attention away from cooking dinner.

“I’ll get it,” Roy’s disembodied voice called through from the direction of his office. Followed by a muffled thump and a quiet curse as he tripped over or banged into something.

Snorting, Riza nodded and left him to it, rolling her sore shoulders. The stretching of the skin brought quick relief as she stirred the pot in front of her. A wave of heat washed over her, prickling sweat on her brow which was hastily swiped away with the back of her hand.

“Riza, it’s for you,” Roy called through.

That stumped her. She wasn’t expecting a call –

Was it her results?

“Mia, stay away from the oven, okay?” Riza turned the heat down low as her heart thudded inside her chest. It battered against her ribcage relentlessly as she entered the hall. Even more so when Roy shot her a grin and a thumbs up. He knew just how much she was waiting on the call from her professor.

With shaking hands, she took the phone from him. Roy winked and skirted around her, walking through to the kitchen to check on their dinner.

“Hello?”

“Riza,” a warm voice greeted her. “It’s Professor Stevenson.”

This is it.

“Hello, Professor.”

“I come bearing good news,” he chuckled, “although I knew before even grading your test you would pass with flying colours. My assumptions were correct. Congratulations, Riza! You passed!”

A light blush warmed her cheeks upon hearing the compliment, before elation completely overtook her entire being.

She’d passed.

“I passed?” She had to make sure.

“You did, yes,” the Professor confirmed, an amused lilt in his voice.

She’d passed.

“Thank you…” Riza trailed off. She wasn’t sure what else to say, too relieved just to finally know. Shoulders sagged as her posture slouched. A light laugh left her, happy and content that she no longer needed to worry and wait on the verdict. She felt free from it. Finally.

“I will be sending your certification over to Central University today,” Professor Stevenson announced. “It should arrive within a few days, but I will call you and inform you once it has been delivered, if that would suit you?”

“That would be very appreciative, thank you.” Riza tried not to gush but it was hard. She couldn’t wait to tell Roy.

“Not a problem, Riza. Any questions please do not hesitate to give my office a call. I’ll be back in touch in the next week or so about your next steps now that you’re a fully certified teacher. Congratulations.”

Riza quickly bid him farewell and hung up the phone. She rushed through to the kitchen, the hot flush from earlier hitting again as the wall of heat from the cooking food curled around her skin. Riza didn’t care that sweat was gathering on her brow or in her hands. Her eyes found Roy’s and everything else melted away, now that her results were finally sinking in.

“Well?” He was grinning expectantly. Given that Riza could not keep the beaming smile off her face no matter how hard she tried, he still waited for her to announce her news.

“I passed!”

Roy whooped loudly, causing Mia and Hayate to jump in fright at the volume. His arms wrapped around her shoulders tightly with a laugh as he rocked her side to side in his pride.

“Yes! I’m so proud of you,” he laughed in her ear. “I told you you’d nail it!”

“You did,” she laughed as her smile wobbled. Tears sprang to her eyes and she sniffed.

“Are you crying?” He laughed in disbelief, swiping away a tear with his thumb as he cooed softly, pulling her tightly into his embrace. “Oh, Riza!”

“Shut up,” she mumbled petulantly, burying her face into his chest with a laugh.

“Are you unhappy, Mummy?” Mia bit her lip hard, her knuckles white as she gripped the arm of her chair.

“No, Mia, she’s not unhappy,” Roy answered for her. “She’s extremely happy! They’re happy tears.”

Riza was grateful. Another laugh left her, remembering how prone to crying she’d been right after Mia was born. Groaning internally, she hoped that didn’t happen again. Rebecca had teased her about it but this time Roy would never let her live it down.

“Happy tears? Like when you told me you were having another baby?”

“Yes, just like that,” Roy answered as his hands rubbed up and down Riza’s arms. “Mummy passed her big exam so now she’s a teacher!”

Mia gasped and clapped together, eyes twinkling with glee. “Does that mean she’ll become my teacher? That would be so cool!”

“Not right now, Mia,” Roy laughed at her enthusiasm. “She has to wait a little bit but one day soon Mum will be teaching in a school just like yours.”

“Oh, wow!”

Riza pulled away from Roy, seeing his grin and the pride on his face. He pecked her on the nose, cupping her cheeks in his hands firmly.

“Congratulations, love,” he murmured. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah, proud of you Mum!” Mia called to her from her chair at the table. Looking over Roy’s shoulder, she saw the bright smile on Mia’s face.

“Thank you,” Riza breathed, her eyes meeting Roy’s again.

He flashed her a grin. “We must celebrate!”

* * *

Riza walked through the streets of Central at sunset. The air was cold but at least there was no wind to chill her completely. Still, the winter jacket was pulled tighter around her neck, ensuring it was buttoned right up to the top. Readjusting her scarf, she picked up the pace to walk to Central University. Fingers flexed inside gloves, trying to move some heat to the cooler tips.

The university wasn’t far from home. The main campus was a few streets over, barely a ten minute walk. Roy had offered to drive her to the university, however Mia had homework that needed to be completed for tomorrow. So, after not venturing too far out of the house in recent weeks due to their hectic home life, Riza wanted to get out and go for a walk. It was easily manageable, even with her aches and pains, however they weren’t as ailing today as they had been recently.

Sucking in a deep breath, Riza enjoyed the light burn it left in her airways, smelling the cold in the air and the aftermath of the rain from earlier in the afternoon.

He hovered of course, as Riza slipped on her shoes, but she felt fine and wanted to go out and get some fresh air. The peace of the walk would do her good after what felt like running around after everyone at home for the past few days. Pouting, Roy had relented, easing up. A flash of irritation spiked within her chest at the assumption that she needed an escort to go anywhere, but Riza calmed herself. He just cared, that was all. Aftering being starved of it throughout childhood, Riza reminded herself that it was a nice feeling to experience, despite how worried he could be about the little things. Shaking her head fondly as she walked, Riza felt a warmth spread across her chest. Roy loved her and cared about her, that’s why he hovered.

As directed, Riza asked for her certification from the front desk. Idle wandering left her scanning the notice boards in the reception area while the receptionist exited into a room behind her to pick out Riza’s post. There was nothing interesting, some flyers for events that had already passed, but their posters forgotten about and neglected to be removed.

“Mrs. Mustang!”

Turning, confused, Riza stopped dead when she spotted who’d called her name.

Fuhrer Bradley was smiling broadly at her underneath his moustache, his one eye closed with happy cheer. A woman was standing next to him, her fair brown hair falling past her shoulders and pale pink dress skimming the bottom of the ground. A white jacket covered her shoulders, along with a scarf in the same blue as the Amestrian Military uniform. That was Mrs. Bradley, Riza realised in shock. And the small boy who’d shot her a smile was their son, Selim.

“What a coincidence running into you here,” Bradley chuckled in amusement as he approached.

Riza didn’t trust him one bit.

“Hello, Sir,” she greeted with respect.

This man, after all Roy had told her about his treatment of him and the threats that had been made upon her, deserved none of her reverence, however she couldn’t make things worse for Roy. She’d continue to play along and play oblivious to it all. That was the smart thing to do.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine, Sir.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” His expression was nothing but open and friendly. A ploy. “I trust your husband is recovering well from his injury?”

“He is, yes. Thank you for asking.”

“Good. I have not had the chance to drop in on him recently to ask personally. Could I ask you to pass on my regards?” His pointed stare felt like a message. Instead of the fear Riza had experienced initially, all she felt now was disgust and irritation.

“Of course, Sir,” Riza replied smoothly. Roy would definitely hear she’d run into Fuhrer Bradley tonight. “I know he will appreciate that from you.”

“Marvellous,” the Fuhrer beamed. “And I have been incredibly rude, I apologise.” Turning to his left, he motioned towards his wife and child. “This is my wife, Clarisse Bradley, and my son, Selim.”

“A pleasure,” Mrs. Bradley greeted warmly, so different from the hidden identity of her husband. As Riza took her offered hand and shook it, she quietly wondered if Mrs. Bradley was aware of what her husband was, or if she was unfortunate enough to be oblivious to it all.

“It’s very good to meet you, Ma’am,” Selim beamed. “I’ve heard all about your husband! He’s a hero!”

Riza almost flinched but caught herself. That was not a title Roy liked to go by in the slightest.

“Thank you,” Riza smiled politely, offering the child no more than that.

“Selim,” the Fuhrer admonished lightly for his enthusiasm.

“Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly.

“It’s all right,” Bradley assured. “We must be going. We have a private tour of the premises scheduled for this evening. Mrs. Mustang, it was lovely to see you again.”

His single eye flashed as his wife and son offered Riza the same sentiment. It was a warning. For what, Riza didn’t know. She just hoped she would never run into him ever again. With every look he gave her it made her skin crawl.

They left the reception area, walking down a hallway further into the University. Riza watched them leave as Selim excitedly whispered about meeting a family member of the Flame Alchemist. Patiently, his father tried to calm him as Mrs. Bradley smiled fondly.

“Riza Mustang?” The receptionist called to her quietly, probably wondering if she raised her voice to a normal level, it would startle Riza. It was certainly a possibility.

Giving herself a shake, Riza shelved the surprise meeting for the moment and shook off the uncomfortable feeling it left her with. Smiling, she thanked the receptionist and took the manila envelope from her hands. Inside was her teaching certification.

The receptionist sat back down in her chair and returned her attention to the notes on the desk, Riza already forgotten as she continued to work.

With shaking hands, Riza unsealed the envelope and opened it up, extracting the certificate inside slowly and carefully. Unsettling conversation forgotten, Riza smiled and felt some relief as she read the paper, citing her as a teacher. Finally. Nestled between shining gold leaf and beautiful swirls of black ink, Riza’s name was printed proudly on the dotted line.

Stepping back into the cold autumn night, Riza shivered, tucking the envelope underneath her arm. Winter was almost here. After being inside, the chill tugged at the exposed skin of her face, nipping painfully, as it fought to invade through her layers. Soon, frost would cover the concrete and the grass, creating a delightful crunch underfoot as everyone walked through it.

The campus was empty as she walked across it. In the night, the long, bare branches on the trees would look menacing to a child if they were to come across them. Like something from a scary story. They reached tall into the sky, often silhouetted by the lamps lining the walkway underneath Riza. Clouds hid away the moon in sporadic intervals, darkening the sky for a long bout once she reached the other end of the campus. A gentle breeze had kicked up, so she ducked underneath a sheltered walkway, glancing up at the sky to see the moon hidden from view once more. Walking here would mean a slightly longer walk home, but Riza decided she felt physically able enough to handle it, so relished in her extra time to herself. Heading in the opposite direction of home, Riza took her time and enjoyed it.

Suddenly, as she neared the road she had to cross to reach home, something felt… off. Riza couldn’t place it, and her brow furrowed as she approached the crossing, still underneath the shelter of the walkway. It felt like she was being watched. Subtly glancing around, she saw no one. Opening up her ears and focussing on that sense more so than her others, she heard no footsteps either.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have taken the small detour...

“Mrs. Mustang.”

Riza stuttered to a stop. She froze in place, fear seizing every muscle in her body. She recognised that voice from a short while ago, but there was an otherworldly quality to it. It echoed, like it was multiple voices speaking at once, but that was impossible. Only Selim Bradley spoke with a voice as innocent as that… However, this was anything but innocent. It sounded evil. The hair on the back of Riza’s neck stuck up in a warning, her instincts screaming at her to run. Trying to take a step, her feet were stuck, glued to the concrete beneath her feet.

“Please, remain still,” the boy commanded gently. “Things will be much easier for you if you did.”

Her heels relaxed and lowered back onto the ground, ankles succumbing to a sudden pressure, like someone was gripping them tightly. A breath was sucked into her lungs and she let it go slowly. Her free hand formed a fist, clenched tightly by her side.

“Selim?” Her eyes darted ahead, searching every crevice for where the boy may be hiding, but there was no sign of him. The cars in the distance continued to pass by, oblivious to what was happening under the darkened shelter.

“That’s right,” he answered, that voice echoing in the suddenly deathly silent night. Riza focussed, determining he was behind her, hidden out of view. “Although Pride is another name I go by. The First Homunculus. That’s the more preferable one, actually.”

Homunculus.

Suddenly, the shadows elongated in front of where she was standing with a darkness that was not natural. A large eye appeared, staring up at her. It was so unsettling, Riza shifted and wanted to turn and run. It was horrifying to look at, leaving her feeling violated as it stared relentlessly, unblinking.

Despite being urged to remain still, her flight response kicked in. Still unable to move, a pressure surrounded Riza’s wrists while another crawled up her ankles and calves, rooting her. Something tightened around her neck, shifting the fabric of her scarf gently, but not constricting enough to cause any pain. Just discomfort. Eyes widening, Riza felt true fear and a sweat broke out over her entire body.

“Please tell your husband that we say hello,” Selim purred.

The pressure around her wrists tightened and Riza felt warmth. Something bit into her skin, cutting into her flesh cleanly. She was sure he’d somehow managed to draw blood, but with what? The restrictions on her neck reminded her not to move to look down and examine the fresh wound. If it could cut into flesh that easily then she wouldn’t risk it.

“I told you it would be easier if you remained still,” Selim snickered as the pressure disappeared from her wrists.

Riza felt she could breathe easier as it did so, however, suddenly the pressure around her neck increased the smallest amount. Choking on her breath, Selim shushed her violently. Out the corner of her eye, Riza saw a black tendril of… of something appear, moving towards her cheek. It flicked towards her, like one would do to an irritation, and Riza felt it swipe at the skin of her cheek. Biting her lip, Riza squeezed her eyes tightly closed as she fought to remain as still as she could. Angering whatever this thing was would do her no favours at all.

“What do you want?” She pushed the words out of her throat, focussing on getting as much information out of the boy as she possibly could. But this was no boy. This… thing was something else entirely.

“Just to say hello. And now, it is time for me to leave.”

The restraints on Riza tightened for the tiniest second, all doing so together, cutting off her airway. Another choked breath left her, then the restraints disappeared. The shadows and the enormous eye disappeared in a flash, muting into nothingness.

“Tell him we say hello,” the boy whispered into the evening air. “And nothing else. We will be watching,” it threatened, fading out completely into silence.

Riza stumbled, spinning in place on shaky legs as she frantically searched for the sweet young boy she’d met only a short while ago. He was nowhere to be seen.

Just like his father, Selim Bradley was not as he seemed.

Rubbing the muscles of her sore neck, Riza panted for breath, eyes wide.

What just happened?

Her knees trembled as she struggled to catch her breath. Finally able to flee, she blindly walked to the road, electing not to cross but just to get away from the university campus. Riza didn’t even notice she was walking in the direction away from home. The hairs on her neck still refused to flatten down and her stomach roiled with unease.

Something trickled down her cheek gently, the smarting pain finally registering in her startled brain. Lifting a hand, she swiped at the wetness, feeling a slick liquid coat her fingers. In the lamplight above, Riza saw blood.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #the way it was #emma writes #👀👀👀

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another-snape-story · 5 years

Text

Start of Term Banquet

Chapter IX

The day when school was to open its gates for the students has come, and with it came a strange uneasy feeling, which made you doubt whether you should ever sign up for this.

Wrapped in a blanket, you shielded yourself from the sunlight, which started seeping through a narrow slit between fringed heavy curtains, wishing you could stay in bed till next week – or better till next year – and skip this whole procedure of meeting children and – what seemed even more frightening – running your first class. You grabbed a pillow and pulled it over your face, letting out a loud groan of displeasure. A moment later the pillow landed back on a mattress with a hard flop and rolled across the bed, in your opinion – prohibitively wide for one person. After a split second of balancing on its edge, it fell on the floor. You didn’t care. Staring at the ceiling, you regretted staying at Snape’s for too long last night, but once this thought crossed your mind, your lips stretched in a contented smile. No, this was definitely not something you should ever regret.

One of your feet touched the rug, and soon the other one joined it, when you finally found strength to sit upright. Getting out of bed has never been an easy task for you, especially on days like this. The only thing that made you up was a chance to meet your fellow Professor, who could probably give you a piece of advice on how to survive your first day of teaching. You didn’t feel like acting all thorny and standoffish around him; you already trusted him enough to share some of your insecurities. It just happens sometimes: you meet a person, and on a level deeper than human perception allows, you somehow realize you fit together, even though you might know not much about each other or even nothing at all.

“He’s certainly not there,” you told yourself, turning the handle on the staff room door, but still hoping he was. The more space of the room the opening door revealed, the less of a hope there left within your heart, which was replaced with bitter disappointment, once you stepped inside and didn’t find him. Regrettably, there was a short stature of Professor Flitwick instead. Not that you didn’t like him – otherwise, he managed to combine intelligence with sense of humor in such a pleasingly ingenious and simple manner, you couldn’t resist his captivating charm – but at the moment you just didn’t feel enthusiastic about any abstract conversation.

“A little nervous, ain’t you?” he smiled from above the armrest of a couch.

“I am…” taken aback, you admitted hesitantly. “How did you…?”

“I always feel nervous on the first day of the term, even after all these years,” he replied in a squeaky voice.

Later you thought it was even good you met no other than this tiny man. He definitely was a better person to discuss the issue which bothered the both of you, him – clearly – to a much lesser extent. He persuaded you that there was nothing to worry about and, considering indifference the worst of vices, expressed his approval of taking things close to one’s heart.

As much as Professor Flitwick helped you overcome excitement, there still remained something that gave you no peace. It was getting dark; the students were about to arrive. Busy with start of term banquet preparations, seemingly each of your colleagues scurried through the castle making sure everything was ready; even school ghosts gathered in the Entrance Hall to greet newcomers, but Snape never showed up. Neither actually did Dumbledore, yet his absence didn’t upset you in a slightest. Hoping to chase annoying thought away, you roamed the Great Hall, admiring the view of the floating candles under the ceiling enchanted to look like the sky above.

“Enjoying yourself?” a voice you had no trouble recognizing asked from behind your back.

“Just loitering around,” you turned to face the man wearing his regular black suit and impassive expression. No matter how hard you tried not to smile, the corners of your lips raised up slightly, and so – unable to resist – did his.

“Take your place, the students are already here.”

“Are they?” This news surprised you, since nothing betrayed someone’s presence.

“Come on,” Professor Snape hurried you, heading for the High Table. “You don’t want the crowd to trample you down,” his hand leisurely reached for your waist and froze mere inches to the small of your back, never venturing to come in contact with your body.

As the last word was spoken, children broke through huge oak doors floating the Hall and filling the air with cheerful buzz of excited voices. Amazed, you watched their chaotic maneuvers between benches in attempt to get a better place at the table, realizing how close you were to being engulfed in this swirling mass.

“I swear, Professor, if you appeared a minute later…”

“Save your gratitude for occasion more suitable in the circumstances,” he interrupted you in his typical monotonous manner, scanning the crowd with the look of anthracite eyes, which now seemed even darker than usual.

Attention switched from the man’s face, you noticed your other colleagues joining in. Headmaster was smiling broader than ever. Professor Quirrell caught his foot on the ends of his robe and almost ran into Professor Hooch, who was forced to grab him – overbearing enough – to jolt him back to balance. Aurora Sinistra, Astronomy Professor you got along quite well, happened to find her place on the other side of the table, so you had no choice but to stay where you stood, moreover, you had no reason for complaining – the company this evening prepared for you was more than acceptable.

“I can’t spot Professor McGonagall,” you whispered, leaning closer to Snape’s ear, as if it was a confidential matter.

“Of course, you can’t, because she’s not here,” was his plain answer.

Before you could open your mouth to ask for more details, the oak doors swung open again, and a line of paired up first-years entered the Hall, escorted by the one you were just talking about. Professor McGonagall led them up the teacher’s table, where the Sorting Hat was already awaiting to put children in their Houses.

“L-look at t-that young m-man in round g-glasses,” Quirinus perked up. “This is Harry P-P-Potter! I m-met him in the L-leaky C-C-Cauldron on the 31st of July! H-he was…”

“What were you doing in the Leaky Cauldron, Quirrell? You said you had some business in the Ministry,” Snape cut him short, focused on identifying the legend among other children. It wasn’t hard – he was the only one wearing round glasses. This very moment, rubbing his forehead, the boy looked in your direction. He seemed lost and confused, just like his peers waiting for their turn to be sorted.

“I d-did,” he confirmed, “it was earlier t-that d-day.”

“Don’t mind a glass of sherry before meeting authorities? You never stop surprising me,” Snape snapped disapprovingly.

“N-no, I just…”

“Harry Potter!” McGonagall called the boy’s name, and all the people – students and teachers – stared at him in at once settled silence. While the Hat took its time to decide in which House Harry belonged, Quirinus stuttered something under his breath, probably, trying to find an excuse, but no one was interested.

“Shut up, Quirrell!” you heard Snape’s annoyed hissing, and he stopped half-word, his face – paler than before – contrasting with purple of his huge turban.

“Not Slytherin, eh?” asked the Sorting Hat from the boy’s head, which almost disappeared in its shabby depth, and the man beside you grunted contemptuously, drawing your attention. But once Harry Potter was announced to be a Gryffindor, unimpressed, he pursed his lips, while the rest loudly cheered the little wizard, who walked toward his table looking like fainting from excitement.

“Wanted to have him in Slytherin?” you teased your gloomy colleague.

“Why would I even care?” Professor’s face twisted in disgust, and you giggled.

“So, you said, 31st of July. Wasn’t it that very day when Gringotts break-in took place?” you addressed Quirrell, when the last student was sorted and the feast began.

Snape, who was sitting between the two of you, frowned. “Indeed,” he confirmed.

“Did you see something strange?” your bent over the table trying to get a better view of the man’s face from behind tall black figure.

“S-strange?” he muttered, avoiding your curious glance. “I d-don’t think s-s-so. It was j-just as us-sual.”

“Just – as – usual,” Snape recited thoughtfully. “And how often do you drop in there, Quirrell… to judge about commonness of that place?”

“W-well I’ve b-been there a c-couple of t-times when I needed to f-find another b-book for my w-w-werewolves’ r-research and…”

“I thought you were studying vampires?” Snape clarified in a bored tone.

“I always t-try to l-learn something n-new, to k-keep abreast, you know…” Quirrell returned to his meal.

“So you must’ve heard they procreated a new dragon as a result of crossbreeding!” you exclaimed delightedly.

Snape’s brow arched in astonishment, as he slowly turned his head with ‘oh really?’ expression on his face to check if you’ve suddenly gone insane, or he just overheard something. Leaning on the carved backrest of your chair, you gave him a sign not to dispute, so that Quirrell couldn’t see it.

“Romanian Longhorn and Swedish Short-Snout,” curious what you were up to, Snape played along, naming first two species that came to his mind.

“Exactly! They called it Snout-Horn, but still can’t come to an agreement about its belonging to one of the countries. The argument maxed out recently! Taking into account that the dragon hatched in Slovakia, it’s quite a hot topic!”

“N-no m-matter, h-how they c-call it – it’s a b-b-breakthrough anyway!” Quirrell acknowledged, without showing much interest.

“Its horn grew way too long – and therefore too heavy – so the creature barely holds its head,” you continued vigorously. “Can you imagine!”

A master of self-control, Snape couldn’t help letting out a short snort, not believing he participated in this nonsense.

“What for was all that dragon thing?” he asked you after the feast, on the way back to your chambers.

“He never gives comprehensive answers,” you shared your assumption. “Just wanted to find out, whether he’s a fool or just pretends.”

Snape walked silently beside you.

“I got the same apprehension,” he admitted finally.

“You think he knows the one who did it? I mean… Gringotts break-in?”

“Too fast with conclusions, ain’t we?” a ghost of smile crossed the man’s face and vanished as fast as it appeared.

He was pretending too. You knew this question bothered him even more than yourself, but he wasn’t going to discuss it with you. Why? Didn’t he trust you? Did he consider it not your business? You felt hurt. You really cared about the Stone and the safety of the whole school, but no one seemed to appreciate it.

“Perhaps… Good night, Professor,” disappointed, you gave him a harsh nod.

Snape realized he’s just pushed you away – which was the last thing he wanted – but being not ready for such outcome, he couldn’t find words to fix this stupid situation.

“Good night, Professor,” he answered stiffly, surpassing your formality, and headed down the corridor to his private rooms, scolding himself for being too wary; and you remained standing where he left you – upset, frustrated.

Before offence could squeeze your heart and poison your soul with sadness and misery, Snape stopped in his tracks.

“Don’t let him become aware of your suspicions,” he said quietly, his head just half a turn in your direction.

“Professor?” you called him softly. Desperate notes in your tone prompted him raise his glance on you, and what he saw made him feel relieved at once. You were smiling.

“Rest,” he smiled back. “Your next day’s going to be full of impressions.”

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