#every time someone looks at him weird he scribbles a random note in his notebook so he still has an excuse to be there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

panda-noosh · 4 years

Text

fire and ice {Draco Malfoy x Reader}{pjo x hp crossover}

Words: 21k {:))))}

Summary: Wizards and demigods don’t get along. So what happens when the Malfoys are forced to stay at Camp Half-Blood?

Genre: angst - pjo crossover!!!

Notes: ask me about commissions! - masterlist - AM I SORRY? ABSOLUTELY NOT. this has been brewing in my brain for literal ages and i’ve finally snapped and just done it. might do more. who knows? certainly not me.

----

Lucius Malfoy hates demigods.

Everyone knows it. He doesn't make it a secret. He doesn't listen to the people who tell him – time and time again – that demigods and wizards aren't even meant to mingle, that him bringing their name into every press conference, every public appearance, every meeting, is doing nothing but spurring a fire that should never have been lit in the first place.

He's at it again, though, because of course he is. That man never knows when to leave well enough alone, especially concerning business that has nothing to do with him.

Today, his words are just as harsh as they were yesterday. The newspaper quotes him saying demigods are nothing but scum, mistakes upon the world. He has claimed plenty of times that not a single demigod was a planned child, that no god in their right mind would ever conceive with a Muggle.

“What the fuck is a Muggle?” Percy asks.

You shake your head, eyes narrowed at the black and white words. They jumble together, as they always have done, but you're still capable of making out the bare bones.

Lucius Malfoy really, really hates demigods.

“This guy is on drugs,” Percy continues. “Who's gonna be the one to tell him we're all literally just vibing over here in camp?”

“I think it all comes down to jealousy,” says Annabeth.

“Jealous about what? He's a fully grown wizard – he could wipe us out with one flick of his wrist if he wanted to.”

“You underestimate us.”

Percy scoffs. “I saw Will nearly fall into the fire the other day; there's absolutely nothing here Lucius Malfoy needs to be afraid of.”

And you see his point. Of course you do. Being a demigod yourself, you have the utmost confidence in the fact that Lucius Malfoy could, indeed, probably wipe you out with nothing more than a brief thought. Gods only know he's wanted to for as long as you've heard his name.

Nonetheless, this acceptance doesn't stop you from thinking about what it would be like to really stumble across the man who seems to be all talk and no action. Never once have you heard a story of wizards attacking demigods, nor vise versa. The two clans stay far apart from one another for reasons that have been made abundantly clear in the newspapers; they will just never get along. Two clashes of power like that will leave the world rumbled, and many people hurt, and it's better off to avoid that when you can.

“We should track this Malfoy bloke down.”

The words have fallen from your mouth before you've even fully registered they are what you wanted to say. Both Percy and Annabeth pause mid-argument, Annabeth nearly snapping her spine with how fast she twists in her seat to look at you. You flick your eyes up from your plate of roast beef and give a tiny, timid smile, as if shy that you even made such a suggestion.

“You're joking,” says Percy, before turning to Annabeth. “They're joking, right?”

“They're definitely joking.”

“I'm not.”

“Well, you need to start joking before I bring Will over here to make sure you're not running a fever or something-”

“I'm serious!” You gesture towards the fire, where the newspaper can still be seen curling amongst the flames. “Have you guys not been reading the amount of threats he sends us every time he gets a chance? What if he's serious?” “I doubt he's being serious,” Annabeth says, though there's a wobble in her voice that tells you she perhaps doesn't fully believe her own assurances. “Isn't it a crime in the wizard world to – like – murder innocent things?”

“I'm pretty sure there was an entire space of time over there where people were just murdering each other,” Percy responds.

Annabeth pales.

“See what I mean?” you continue. “Besides, it's getting boring here.”

Percy blinks. “Boring?”

“I'm bored. I just want something to do, for Gods sake. Chiron's keeping such a tight leash on us-”

Percy throws his hands up. “Oh! I wonder why!”

“You two even said a few days ago that you miss being out and about, doing stuff, saving lives-”

“I never said that,” Percy argues. “In my opinion, I've had enough saving lives to last me a lifetime.”

“Weak.”

“Coming from-”

“Okay!” Annabeth snaps. “Enough. This conversation is officially over.”

You pout, folding your arms over your chest like a child having a tantrum. Percy laughs at your expression, giving your nose a playful tap that does nothing but infuriate you further. It's been like this for weeks now – short tempers, boredom, an unease that can only be put to rest when you're out and about, doing what you do best.

Maybe it's the ADHD. Maybe it's the godly blood running through your veins. Maybe you're just too curious for your own good, but you want to find Lucius Malfoy and just talk to him. You want to see if he's as tough in person as he makes himself out to be on paper. You know you're not much to look at, nothing more than a teenager with interesting parentage, but maybe that will be enough to get your questions answered – why do wizards hate demigods so much?

Annabeth cuts the conversation short any time you try bringing it to life again. She's a master at changing the subject, sometimes deciding to just talk over you about a completely different topic. Eventually, Percy's laughter and Annabeth's avoidance is enough to make you shut up, and soon you're just sitting there, listening to Annabeth talk about the recent Athena cabin shenanigans she bore witness to a few nights previous.

Dinner finishes, and the tables split back into their cabins. Annabeth gets lost amongst her sea of siblings, giving you and Percy a wave before she disappears for the night. You and Percy walk in silence for a little while, before you split off to your own respected cabins.

Alone.

Sleeping on your own has never bothered you before. It's all you've ever known. You were born an only child, your mother having lost her mind shortly after giving birth to you, your father never being around due to the complicated fact he was a god.

Is a god.

Sometimes it shakes you to think your own father will undoubtedly outlive you. Hades is sat on his throne somewhere, watching you do all these things in his honour, knowing full well he will one day have to watch you die. He might be by your bedside as your heart beat gradually comes to a halt in your sleep.

More likely, he will be sat amongst his godly brothers and sisters, watching you fight on the battle field, catching the very moment a sword pierces your chest and you bleed out with no one to help you, no one by your side, no one caring.

You shake the thought from your head as you reach your cabin, a large, black painted building with a skull and crossbones over the door. It's a lonely place, but demigods are lonely kids, so it kind of fits, and you've never seen any problem with facing the truth.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you grab your notebook and pen from beneath your pillow. It's been a long time since you wrote anything, considering you've been too tired to even properly function these days, but tonight, your thoughts are heavy, and you need to find some way to let them loose. You sit cross-legged on the uncomfortable camp bed Chiron provided you with all those years ago, and start scribbling.

Just random sentences, things that probably won't even make sense when you wake up tomorrow morning, words that don't even go together, but are just popping in your mind every few seconds. You've always called it poetry, but it's on thin ice. You let nobody read it, considering you know how bad it is, how weird it is. You can honestly imagine someone reading it and immediately expressing concerns for your mental stability.

But it distinguishes that weight in your brain. It makes you see sense for a bit, pouring these words onto paper before closing the notebook and stuffing it beneath your pillow. You won't have to read them again if you don't want to, and that's the best part; it offers a moment of bliss, but there are no strings attached. All is well. All can be ignored if you want it to be.

----

It takes weeks for the subject of Lucius Malfoy to arise at the dinner table again.

Annabeth has been fighting it off. The demigod has known you for far too long; at this point, all she needs to do is take a glimpse of your face, and immediately she knows exactly what is going through your brain. It's like a sixth sense to her, and it gives her the perfect opportunity to change the subject before you can so much as utter the word Wizard.

Percy notices the tension, and finally snaps.

“Are you still thinking about what Lucius Malfoy said?”

Annabeth groans, slapping Percy on the arm. “I told you not to bring it up!” But your attention has already been grabbed. You straighten up in your seat, grinning from ear to ear as you say, “So can we go?”

“Give me a break,” Annabeth grumbles, dropping her head into her hand. “We're not going to visit Lucius Malfoy. We don't know the guy.”

“He doesn't know us.”

“Good.”

You lean across the table to flick Annabeth's forehead. “But he still insists on talking about us to whatever freaky wizard press he has special ties to; I just want to see him, Annabeth! I just want to – like – mess with him a little bit!”

Percy laughs, nudging Annabeth's elbow. When he speaks, it's through a mouthful of noodles. “I actually think our Y/N is on to something.”

“Thank you, Percy.”

Annabeth's head shoots up, a pale spot in the centre of her forehead where you flicked her. “No! No, this isn't even up for debate. Chiron will kill us if he knows we're even talking about it.”

“No he won't,” you reply. “Chiron trusts us. He's seen us do all sorts, and it's not like I'm asking you guys to go and risk your lives for me. We'll go and talk to him, get his side of the story, and then we'll-”

“It's honestly like you think I'm stupid.”

You freeze, fork hovering halfway to your mouth. “Come again?”

Percy laughs, failing to stifle it behind his hand. “You've only gone and woken the beast, Y/N.”

“Shut up.”

Annabeth sighs, running a hand over her ponytail. “I've known you since we were seven years old, Y/N – I know what you're up to. You'll never just talk to Lucius Malfoy. You'll get there, and you'll have to taunt him, and jeer at him, and put a stink bomb in his bathroom-”

“That's the oldest trick in the book – I'm better than that.”

“But you know what I mean!” Annabeth shakes her head. “You'll get carried away, and we know what happens when you get carried away.”

Your stomach dips. Even Percy's bright smile falls, replaced with a grimace the two of you share. It's a low blow, and Annabeth knows that, but she also knows better than to make it out like you and Percy aren't two of the most unpredictable demigods to walk on Camp Half-Blood soil.

When Annabeth next speaks, her voice is softer. “It's just too risky.”

“Since when did you start being scared of a little confrontation?”

Percy's voice startles you from your momentary reverie. Both you and Annabeth snap to attention, turning to look at your friend with raised brows; suddenly, he doesn't look like the happy-go-lucky, always bantering kid he usually is. His expression has darkened, jaw set and eyebrows lowered so his blue eyes look darker than normal. He can't even bring himself to look you both in the eye, instead choosing to keep a firm glare on the noodles and rice in front of him.

“What do you mean?” Annabeth asks. “I'm not afraid of confrontation. My scars can vouch for that.”

“Right, so why is Y/N's suggestion so scary to you?”

You blink; this was certainly not the direction you were expecting the conversation to go. Annabeth and Percy bicker like cat and dog, but there's never been any malice in it. Now, listening to Percy, you can hear the genuine hurt in his voice, and you know her previous comments about getting carried away have actually struck a chord in him.

Annabeth stares with her mouth agape, clearly unsure how to respond. She must sense the tension, too, must realise she has said the wrong thing.

Still without looking up, Percy says, “I agree with Y/N; we need out of this camp for a little while. We need to do something. So why not have a little road trip to visit the man himself, huh? Why not get our questions answered?”

“Percy....” Annabeth flicks a desperate glance in your direction, but you're not inclined to intervene when Percy is like this. As someone who has experienced the difficulty of controlling powers that you have been forced to ignore for a grand number of years, the last thing you want to do is provoke Percy any further than Annabeth has already managed to do.

“I'm bored, too,” he continues. “And, to be honest, I'm getting pretty tired of them wizards thinking they can say whatever they want about us. It's about time we let them know they're not better than anyone just 'cause they wear them stupid robes and have a council.”

“So what are you saying?” you pipe up, excitedly. “You'll go with me?”

Percy shrugs. “I don't see why not. It'll be a bit of fun, won't it?”

You cheer, throwing your hands in the air before catching a glimpse of Annabeth's angered expression. Your cheer immediately drifts away, and you let your hands fall to your sides before mumbling, “You sure? 'Cause, I mean, we don't have to.”

“No, we're going,” says Percy, staring right at Annabeth. He has a death wish. That is the only explanation you can come up with right now. “It'll be fun, as you said.”

Annabeth's nostrils flare. She says nothing else, simply sends one final glare to Percy – as if you're not even present – and stands up, marching away before dinner has finished.

Percy huffs, slumping back in his chair. “Where does she get off telling us we get carried away?”

“I mean, she isn't wrong, Percy.”

Percy scowls. “I don't think that's very fair.”

“You're in denial.” You plunge your fork into his noodles, using his distraction to steal some food for yourself. “But we're going to visit Lucius Malfoy! That'll be fun!”

“I only said that to make Annabeth angry.”

“I know, but a promise is a promise. We're going, and we're gonna have a fantastic time.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Not even two seconds later, Percy squeals and jumps from his seat. “Hey! Don't do that!”

You grin, willing the skeletons hand to let go of Percy's ankle and sink back into the dirt.

-----

You and Percy remember this so well.

It's muscle memory at this point, standing in the Hades cabin in the dark of night, Percy having tip-toed over to your domain to indulge in some illegal shenanigans. When you were younger, this used to be a nightly occurrence, which is one of the main reasons you both share such dramatic memories; neither of you are capable of staying out of trouble for very long, and maybe this is the very reason why.

It's so easy for you to go wherever you want. You could shadow travel out of Camp Half Blood without a second thought, exhaustion be damned, but you never do. You respect Chiron too much to go out of your way to disobey him, but tonight is an exception. Percy stands by your side, hands tucked into an oversized hoodie. He's pulled the hood on over his dark hair, shoving the tangled strands into his eyes, though he does little to fix this. Instead, he keeps his blue gaze on you and says, “How long do you think we'll be?”

“Not long,” you reply. “A few hours. Maybe a little longer if you fancy a stroll around London before we head back.”

Percy scowls, glancing over his shoulder at the window. Nobody is awake. Camp Half Blood has never been so quiet.

“Stop worrying.” You grab the sleeve of his hoodie, ushering his attention back to you. “I know what I'm doing, Perce – you've been with me a thousand times before. You know I can do it.”

“Last time you shadow travelled this far, you nearly died.”

“I was younger then. I've had more practise.”

“Enough to travel to London?”

You grab his hand, the motion so familiar now it's almost second nature. “Let's find out, shall we?”

You don't give life the chance to throw another distraction your way; you inhale in that way you always do before a lengthy jump, and then you let your mind empty of all rational thought. Your mind does not go blank, nor does it settle; for a brief spell, you feel insane. You feel utterly and completely unhinged as the dead cackle in your head, thrashing through your brain like dogs trying to leap a wire fence. Your thoughts are no longer your own, replaced instead by the thoughts of people who are angry at death, angry at their own fate, people who blame your father and all of his offspring for the way their lives turned out.

It hurts. You're forced to watch their faces as they twist into expressions of pure agony, begging for a help you cannot give them, because they are hundreds of years too late.

It stops once your feet hit the ground.

You try to steady yourself just to give off the illusion that you're perfectly fine, but your legs give out and you fall to your knees. Percy grabs your arm, but your body is limp as it slowly restores from the hectic ride that is shadow travel.

“Never gets any better,” Percy grumbles; even he is a little uneasy on his feet, swaying to and fro. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you belch. “Are we in London?”

Percy looks up. You follow his gaze, warmth immediately flooding your stomach at the sight of a job well done, because the two of you are amongst the unmistakeable sights of London.

It's a bit disappointing, you won't lie. Pictures in newspapers always perceive England to be this sophisticated, well-lit place, bustling with people dressed in suits and expensive clothes. Instead, you're greeted by a dark city street, broken street lights flickering overhead, people bustling by with their heads down, wearing track suits.

In the distance, someone yells, “Come on, mate!” and it echoes off the cobbled stone walls.

You and Percy share a glance.

“Maybe we just expected too much,” he says.

“Probably.”

He hauls you to your feet, keeping a hand on your arm just in case you end up toppling over again. Through the darkness, you are just able to make out the peak of a large house in the distance. It's straight from a horror movie in your opinion, made up of dark cobbles, a golden fence adorned with spikes to keep the Muggles from entering; the word itself is nearly enough to make you laugh, though the sight of the house keeps you quiet.

You and Percy approach the gates timidly, his hand still on your arm. “Is this the Malfoy house?”

“I think so,” you whisper. “It looks like the pictures we always see. It's what I was aiming for, anyway.”

“Good job, soldier.”

“Thanks, boss.” You pause, craning your neck to get a better look at the house. “How do we actually get through the gate?”

There are lights on in at least four of the rooms, a shadow passing by a curtain that looks tall and slim, gliding more than walking. You grab Percy's arm and point, whispering urgently, “That must be him! Lucius!”

Percy ducks his head down and laughs. “Okay, okay. Let's just climb the fucking gate and get everything set up.” He glances at you. “You're sure you're up for this?”

“I've never been more prepared for anything in my life.”

Together, the two of you scale the metal gate, using the upper body strength you have gathered from years of training at Camp Half Blood. You're over and in this strangers garden in a number of seconds, sprinting through the grand garden before suspicions can be roused. Around you, white peacocks look up from their grazing, though none of them make a sound to give away the presence of two strangers.

You reach the fountain and duck beneath it; this is where Percy needs to be if he wants to succeed in his part of the plan. He crouches beside you and hovers his hands over the water, not even giving you a warning before he uses his powers to pull the water from the concrete fountain. It sprays across the garden, and that's when the peacocks start to scream.

Water splashes against their feathers, startling them. You can barely hide your laughter at the sight of them springing up from whatever peaceful graze they were involved in beforehand, now darting around the garden like someone has plucked a feather from their flesh.

Percy shoves your arm. “Stop laughing and get on with it before they come out!”

You push past the distractions and focus your energy on your own powers. Your exhaustion makes it all a little bit more difficult, but the image of the final product is enough to have you pushing the exhaustion aside just to reap the benefits of this. Inside yourself, something pulls, and it's familiar, uncomfortable, but it has the effect you want. Almost immediately, a skeletal hand darts from the ground. Just one for now, but you wait patiently before making the next one erupt.

The front door of the Malfoy house bursts open, and standing there is no other than-

“That's not Lucius,” Percy says.

“It definitely is not.”

The person standing in the doorway cannot be much older than you, with snow white hair and a sharp face. His eyes, blue and cold, are wide as they take in the sight before him, his wand clutched in a trembling hand.

“You said you saw Lucius in the window!” Percy hisses, struggling to reel the spray of water back into himself.

“I thought it was!”

“For Gods sake.” Percy grabs your arm and drags you up, no longer caring about being seen. However, you stumble as he runs, dragging you along behind him, because the sight of the boy is distracting; he looks terrified, like he was expecting something completely different, like he thought someone was finally coming to take him away.

You recognise the expression only because you've worn it yourself so many times; growing up as the child of Hades leaves a lot of scars and a lot of fear on a person, considering your father certainly isn't the most liked individual upon the Olympians.

As Percy attempts to drag you back to the gate, you glance over your shoulder. The boys blue eyes glare into your own. He has seen you.

And nothing can really prepare you for what happens next. You don't know enough about the wizarding world to expect this, but the feeling is unlike anything you have ever felt before. Someone yells in your direction, and then something is crashing into your spine, slithering along your neck, giving you not a single chance to react before the world goes still and you drop to the floor, no longer processing a single thing happening around you.

----

“Would you just wake up?”

The voice is posh and annoying. It makes you want to laugh.

The pain in your spine stops you from doing such a thing, however. Instead, you slowly rouse from sleep, met by the blinding lights of a room unfamiliar. You lay on a bed fit for a king, soft pillows engulfing your sore head, thick mattress swaddling your body like a newborn baby.

And standing above you is a boy you remember seeing only vaguely; pale skin, snow white hair, a grimace that shows he perhaps isn't too happy about having you in his home.

You stare at him a moment, willing him to make the first move. Maybe if he starts the conversation, you won't have to go into too much detail about why you're actually here, because despite the glitches in your memory, that is something you remember very, very well.

Running across his lawn, thinking you were clever because you and Percy were finally going to give Lucius Malfoy a piece of his own medicine.

And now Percy is gone, and you're trapped in a strangers house.

The boy stood above you, however, says nothing. He looks almost nervous, eyes flashing between you and the door, like he's planning the easiest way to flee if things reach that point.

Finally, you snap. “Hello.”

He jerks away, nearly stumbling over a stool by the bedside as he does. “Oh,Christ. Hello.”

“I didn't mean to scare you.”

“You didn't – I'm not scared. I just thought you were still Stunned.”

You blink. “Stunned?”

“I Stunned you.” He pauses, biting his lower lip. “It was the only way I could think to get you to stop running.”

“Is that some kind of spell?”

The boy waves a dismissive hand. “The point is, you were in my garden earlier. If my father had been the one to see you, he wouldn't have hesitated to curse you and call it self defence.”

His father.

Something rushes through your stomach, an excitement that doesn't really make sense. All has failed. You're going to go back to Camp Half Blood and be chastised, probably brutally punished, for the choices you made tonight, and yet here you are, overjoyed at the mere mention of Lucius Malfoy, because that's the only person this boy must be talking about.

“You look a lot like him,” you say.

The boy narrows his eyes. “My father?”

“Lucius,” you clarify. “He lives here, doesn't he? He's the one Percy and I came to see.”

The boy slowly leans back in his chair; it's quite cute, actually, that he dragged a chair into this room just so he could sit over your Stunned body. Maybe he was making sure you didn't die. Maybe he just didn't trust leaving you on your own.

“What business could you possibly want with my father?” he asks. “You must be my age. What year are you in at Hogwarts? What House?”

You smile. “I don't go to Hogwarts.”

He reels back. “Really? Are you from a foreign school? Beuxbatons?”

“I don't go to your fancy magic schools. I'm not a wizard.”

The boy blinks. It never ceases to baffle you the pure ignorance of these people – how they can grow up in a world completely detached from everything and everyone, and yet are still unable to fathom the idea of anybody being different.

“If you're not a wizard, how did you make the water fountain do that?”

“I didn't. Percy did that.”

“Who is this Percy bloke you keep going on about?”

“He's my friend, the one you apparently let get away.”

The boy raises a brow, glancing over at the window as if expecting to see Percy just standing there; honestly, you wouldn't even be surprised.

He turns back and says, “So your friend is a wizard? Are you a Muggle?”

He's taking an awfully long time to catch on.

“No,” you reply, exasperated. “Neither of us are wizards. We're from New York – a little place called Camp Half Blood.”

And for a second, the revelation doesn't land. The boy continues staring at you like you have three heads, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed. But then the ball drops, and he jerks back, the chair dragging in the carpet with the speed at which he jumps to his feet. He looks almost horrified.

“Alright,” you mumble. “I'm not going to bring Zeus down here personally. He's a bit busy-”

“How did you even get here?” he hisses. “Are you an assassin? Is that why you were looking for my father – so you could kill him?”

“Oh, don't be so dramatic. I'm a demigod, not a murderer.”

The boy looks at you like he doesn't think there's much difference between the two.

This angers you. Something in your stomach burns, and suddenly, the only thing you want to do is to get away from him. You want to go back home. You want to find Annabeth and hug her, tell her she was right, just as she always is. You don't like being in the company of wizards. You don't like being away from the people who understand you best.

“Look, this was fun,” you say, pushing yourself up from the bed. “But I need to get going. I'm sorry about your fountain-”

“Where are you going?” he demands.

You pause, raising a brow. “Why do you care?”

“Because – Because what if you come back to finish my father off? I can't just let you go!”

He must be completely oblivious. You have fought monsters taken directly out of storybooks, have argued and debated with Gods about things such as ice cream flavours and which way is the right direction to go on a road trip – the last person you have any interest in fighting with is some posh, uptight wizard.

“Look,” you say, “all I wanted to do was mess with the guy. He's been saying some pretty harsh things about demigods lately, and Percy and I just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. I don't want to murder your father.”

The boy stares at you. He's powerful, too. You know he is. You can see his wand sticking out of a deep pocket in his emerald green robes. One flick of that and you're a goner, and yet he chooses to just stand over you, eyes burning holes into your head.

“What's your name, anyway?” you ask.

He tenses. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

“Sounds evil.”

“It's a strong name.”

“Right.” You flick your eyes to the clock hung upon the wall. “Can I go now?”

He sighs and backs away from the bed. “My father would kill me if he found out I was letting you go.”

You stand up, knees trembling from the aftershocks of having a wizards spell slam directly into your spine, but you manage to catch yourself before crumbling completely; Draco does nothing to help stabilise you, instead watching you with a thoughtful gaze, like he's preparing to attack at any moment.

And it's weird. You know it's weird. You should not just be able to walk out of his house without a single consequence to your name. He should be holding you hostage, keeping you pinned to this bed until his grand old father gets home, and he can tell you off for trespassing, scaring the life out of his precious white peacocks.

But Draco doesn't say another word as you slip out the door and barrel downstairs, suddenly desperate to be away from a world like this. It's weird. It's unnatural. They care about blood status, and they learn spells, and it's all just a little bit too weird for your taste.

Even weirder is the fact that Draco is letting you go so easily.

---

You arrive back at Camp Half Blood when it's light outside, and you know you've been caught.

Wherever Percy may be, you do not envy the treatment he must be getting. You clamber up to the pine tree and look down at the camp you call home, not surprised to see people bustling back and forth already, Chiron included. He looks miffed, digging his front hoof into the dirt like a rabid animal ready to charge.

That's kind of what he is.

You hollow out your cheeks and stroll directly into camp, ignoring the startled gasps of the Half-Bloods. You'll deal with Chiron before you deal with them – that seems like the best way forward.

Chiron spots you seconds before you reach him. He turns, dust billowing up around him before he says, “And where do you think you've been?”

Chiron has always been a father-figure to you, Hades be damned. He saw you as a junior demigod, just growing into who you are, unable to fully process the fact that the man you always hated, the man you once believed to be a no good excuse of a father, was actually a Greek God who has spent his time watching you grow – just from the sky instead of on the ground.

He treats you and Percy differently than everybody else. You're both feared for no reason. People shy away from you like you've been on some blood-lust streak your entire life, even though that's far from the case. When you can, you avoid using your powers, purely because you know how much people dislike them. They see them as unnatural. They think it's weird, despite them having abilities, too.

“Hello, Chiron,” you mumble. “I'm very tired, so if you could just-”

“We've had word from the Ministry of Magic.”

You freeze, stomach dropping, certain you heard him wrong. The only wizard you actually made contact with was Draco, and surely he didn't go to the Ministry after letting you run free just like that?

Chiron shakes his head. His disappointed look is more than you can bare. “What were you two thinking, Y/N? What did you think would happen?”

“I – I – I don't know.” You look around desperately. “Is Percy here? Did he make it back safely?”

“Percy's resting. He wanted to go after you, but Grover wouldn't let him, and thankfully so-”

“I was fine. The boy I met – Draco -”

“Draco Malfoy?”

You falter. “Well, yeah. He spotted us and ended up Stunning me-”

“Oh my gods.” Chiron runs a hand through his hair, looking up at the sky, saying whatever prayers he thinks will help right now, like the Gods have ever listened to any of you before. “You do realise that's Lucius Malfoy's son, don't you? The son of the man who wants our kind terminated.”

“Draco wasn't like that,” you reply, even though you don't know why. “He let me go. He didn't even hurt me-”

“You've just said he Stunned you!”

“For, like, an hour! I was fine when I woke up! And look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't do the exact same thing if you could.”

Chiron groans, turning back to the Big House. He starts walking without another word, forcing you to sprint after him.

“Don't be mad,” you say. “It was stupid. I'm sorry. Chiron, I'm sorry. We just got bored-”

“If children put their family's in danger every time they were bored, Y/N, the human race wouldn't exist.”

He really is angry, angrier than you've ever seen him. It takes you back to your childhood when he used to tell you off for staying up too late, or getting out of bed in the middle of the night.

You stumble after him, thankful that he isn't telling you to go away and leave him alone; that's one thing Chiron has always promised he will never do to you or Percy – he'll never just leave you alone.

You walk into the Big House, side-by-side, and it's a mildly unpleasant surprise for you to see Annabeth already sat by Chiron's desk, her head in her hands, blonde curls framing her face. As soon as the door shuts behind you, she jerks up, whirls around and throws a pen in your direction.

You catch it. “I am safe, thank you for asking.”

“You're so stupid!” She groans, picks up another pen and throws it. Chiron is the one to interject this time, snatching the pen from thin air and tucking it into the little pouch hooked to his side.

“Enough, Annabeth. We haven't got time to chastise them.”

“I beg to differ,” Annabeth growls, not once taking her eyes off you.

The guilt claws to the surface; she only wanted to protect you, only wanted to give you some decent advice, and neither you nor Percy had listened, both too absorbed in your own boredom to use the common sense Annabeth seems so prone to.

Chiron, however, does not give you a chance to ponder over this gruesome feeling. Instead, he pulls a seat out and gestures for you to sit down, which you do without question; at this point, you know you'd be stupid to disobey him, would only be digging yourself into a deeper hole, one you're not too sure you'll be able to crawl out of.

He takes a seat in front of you as Annabeth hovers by your shoulder, arms folded over her chest, eyes trained dead ahead. You awkwardly shift in your seat, waiting for the scolding to begin.

But instead, Chiron grabs a golden button from a drawer in his desk and presses it without saying anything at all. The room immediately brightens up in all different colours – red, green, blue, strobe lights dancing across the room, taking shape in the centre of the carpet. You have to squint to fully understand the form taking shape, but when it does, your stomach drops.

Made entirely of lights, standing in the middle of the room, is Cornelius Fudge, the jittery little minister of the wizard world.

You've only seen him a few times, and never in person; a few times, he came to meet with Chiron in regards to escaped prisoners, wizards who wanted to harm demigods who were on the run. You never thought too much of him, but he looks angry now, his grubbly little face twisted into an expression of anger and loathing. When he speaks, his voice is loud and harsh, making you flinch with each syllable.

“Chiron!” he exclaims. “I hope this message finds you well; I'm still trying to figure out the communication device you gave to me in our last meeting. It's all very confusing, and every time I press something wrong, thunder and lightening nearly wipe me out.” He coughs into a handkerchief before continuing. “Anyway, I'm here to inform you of a mishap which took place in the Malfoy Manor only a few short hours ago. I've been given word that one of your people tried breaking into Lucius's home to do God only knows what. It's only pure luck that Malfoy's son, Draco, was awake and was able to stop the wicked thing from getting through the door.”

“Wicked thing?” you burst. Chiron raises a silencing hand, still refusing to look at you.

“We as a nation are becoming very paranoid by the loose grip with which you have upon your own people; they are starting to become wild, careless, and I can truly see a murder from one of you in our future, which, as the Minister, I must put a stop to as soon as possible. Therefore, I demand the culprit be punished for his or her crimes, and I will be popping in soon with my witness to go over the details of the night to help you further understand where our fear is coming from.” Again, he coughs into a handkerchief. “Thank you. I hope the camp is well – the strawberries you sent were wonderful, as always! Good day to you, sir!”

The lights blink out. The room is doused in silence. Inside your head, a scream echoes.

You don't even know what to say. Would an apology even suffice? Would an explanation even be worth it? Years it has taken for the wizarding world and the demigod world to live in peace, and by the sounds of it, you've just annihilated all of that for the sake of a prank. You let Lucius Malfoy's hateful words burrow themselves into your head, which is probably exactly what he planned.

Chiron puts the golden button back in his desk. The soft click it makes as it hits the wood echoes off the walls, so loud and gentle, so mocking. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to meet your own and says, “Now you can understand why we're all a little bit angry.”

“A little bit?” You close your eyes, letting Annabeth's outburst ring throughout the room. “Chiron, I warned them! I warned them both! I said – what did I say Y/N? - I said-”

“You said it was stupid, and that we shouldn't do it,” you mumble. “And we didn't listen.”

“No, you didn't, and now you've given the wizard council a reason to think we're out to get them, which gives them a reason to announce open fucking warfare on us-”

“Okay, Annabeth, calm down,” Chiron says. “We're taking this one step at a time. There's no point jumping ahead to things like that.”

“Chiron, this is bad. This is so, so bad. The wizards are going to think we did this on purpose-”

“Why are you saying we?” you ask. “Percy and I did this on our own. We'll take the consequences. We've done it before.” You turn to Chiron, who stands solemnly in the corner, head bowed as if deep in thought. “What are the consequences, may I ask?”

He sighs, nostrils flaring. “We've decided that keeping you in camp for the rest of the summer will suffice for now. The Minister and his witness will be arriving in a few days and I want you to be on your best behaviour.”

You scowl; the punishment is weak. You got off lucky, and you're aware of that, but it doesn't make it any more bearable. You hate being trapped, hate sitting in the Hades cabin with nothing but your own thoughts keeping you company. That's the hardest part about being a child of one of the Big Three – you're alone. It doesn't matter how many campers surround you, you are alone.

But you take the punishment on the chin, giving Chiron a respectful nod before walking from the Big House to continue with the rest of your day. You'll find Percy and talk to him about everything, maybe apologise for dragging him into something so stupid, something so avoidable. If either of you had any flicker of common sense, none of this would have happened.

It's only when you're halfway down the hill do you question anything Chiron has just told you.

You falter, one word lingering in your mind. Witness.

The only witness you can possibly think of is Draco Malfoy.

---

He arrives in the afternoon, already looking so madly out of place.

You spot his white hair, blowing so majestically in the wind Chiron has picked out for the day. His robes billow out around him, his sharp face stuck in an expression of anxiety. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes darting to and fro as he strolls through the centre of Camp Half-Blood with his father at his side and the stout Minister, Cornelius Fudge, strolling behind them.

He looks so out of place. It would almost be humorous if you weren't burning with misplaced anger at the mere sight of him; he told on you. He ran to his father and touted on you, even after making it seem like he was going to let you go with no consequences, and now you're stuck in camp for the rest of the summer with absolutely nothing to do and barely anyone to talk to.

“Dickhead.”

“Is that him?”

You jump at the sound of Annabeth's voice, very nearly dropping the spear you were working with before your distraction walked through the barriers.

“That's him,” you reply. “Draco Malfoy.”

“I meant the other guy. The one you went after.”

“Oh, Lucius. Yeah. He's there, too.”

Annabeth narrows her grey eyes, following the movements of the Malfoy boys. “You know, I can kind of understand why you wanted to put them in their place.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words collapse when Draco's head snaps in your direction, like he somehow sensed your presence. His eyes find yours, his face draining of what little colour it has; something inside you stirs, fingers curling impossibly tighter around the spear.

You remember those eyes so well, shockingly well, strangely well. Waking up to them burning holes into your skull was an experience you don't think you'll forget, considering the shock that coursed through you at the mere sight of him. He was so calm, so curious, not even yelling the slurs his father seems so keen on.

And you might have made it up. You might have just been imagining it, but you're almost certain he flicks his head in the direction of the bandstand set up on the far side of camp, nearly hidden beneath the canopy of trees. You continue to stare at him, too bewildered by the miniscule movement to respond before he disappears over the hill.

“Come on,” Annabeth urges, nudging your arm. “Let's get back to training.”

But you're too distracted now. Knowing that Lucius Malfoy and his son – Draco – are walking around Camp Half-Blood makes your moves sloppy. And then there's the matter of Draco's little signal, like he wants you to meet him somewhere, like he wants to talk to you.

You have nothing to say to him, but that doesn't stop you being curious about what he wants to tell you.

Annabeth swings her sword, very nearly clipping the side of your ear. You yelp, stumbling back. Your foot catches on a rock sticking up from the ground, and before you can react, you're sprawled across the grass with your spear laying in a heap at your side.

Annabeth sighs, kicking the weapon away from your outstretched fingers. “What the hell was that, L/N?”

You prop yourself up on an elbow. “You could have given me some warning.”

“Oh yes, because the monsters will be so generous as to give you some warning.”

You scowl, shoving up from the ground. “Look, I'm just gonna get some water before the next round, okay?”

Annabeth falters, narrowing her eyes. “Just some water?”

“Just some water.” You give her a dazzling smile, hoping to the gods that this is enough to convince her you are telling the truth. You know it's a long shot – Annabeth knows you better than anybody else, but she's learned from her mistakes. Trying to boss you around and tell you what to do will only ever end in disaster, and so she says nothing else as you set your gear back on the rack and head up the hill towards the bandstand, out of sight of Annabeth's suspicious glare.

Draco isn't there when you arrive. The bandstand is deserted, the only sign of life being the tree nymphs poking their heads out of the canopy to see who has arrived on their territory. You shoo them away before slumping down on the bench set in the middle of the stand, gazing around with your heart beating wildly in your chest, and for no reason at all.

He probably won't even show up. He probably hates you. He's probably too scared to face you after what he did, and honestly, you wouldn't even blame him.

After ten minutes, you start losing hope. Chiron will be looking for you shortly, most likely tipped off by Annabeth that you disappeared for no reason instead of finishing your training session. It won't be long for them to add two and two together and realise exactly what you have gone to do-

“I didn't think you'd actually show up. Thought you might have been banned from seeing me.”

Your head snaps up. “Jesus, Draco. You scared the shit out of me!”

There he is, all tall and lanky, white hair blowing away from his forehead, his weird robes billowing out around him. It's weird how a person can make such odd attire look nice, almost like an outfit you'd wear yourself.

“Sorry,” he says, though he doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest; he sounds tired. “I thought you demigods were meant to have superhuman senses or something.”

You raise a brow. “Our parents are gods, not superheroes.”

“Same difference.”

“I'm flattered.”

He sits down beside you, shoulder bumping yours. “Don't be. It wasn't a compliment.”

You fall into silence then, unsure of what to say, how to start the conversation you both know needs to be had. You had so much anger built up inside you only moments before, but the second you looked up and saw his face, it dispelled. You were reminded of them blue eyes gazing down at you when you awoke from your Stunning spell, how soft and worried they were for a complete stranger.

Finally, he inhales deeply and says, “I didn't mean for this to get as big as it did.”

“Everyone's mad at Percy and I. Me especially.”

He tilts his head back, glaring up at the sky. “How badly did they punish you?”

“I can't leave this place for the rest of the summer.”

“Not too bad, then.”

You glare at him. He cracks open an eye, catches your expression and raises a brow.

“It is bad?” Lifting his head, he gestures towards the open stretch of grass in front of you. “This place looks amazing, Y/N. You've got everything you could possibly need, plus you're safe from all those crazy monsters we always get word about.”

“The monsters don't bother me. I'm meant to go out and fight them; that's my purpose.”

Draco glances at you. You feel his blue eyes burning holes into the side of your head, can feel the judgement radiating off him as he takes in what you've just said. You never realise just how strange other people must find statements like that, how backwards it truly is to crave the feel of battle.

“You know, I'd kill to have a place like this.”

You look at him. “Really? Is your mansion not enough?”

He scowls, barrelling on like you haven't said anything. “A place where you feel like you belong.” He glances over. “You may hate being here sometimes, but look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel like this place is home.”

You can't do that. Despite your desire to be free sometimes, your desire to head out on the streets where you don't belong, you know Camp Half Blood will always be home. It will always be the place you turn to when you need comfort, because it is the only place in the world that has ever accepted you and your weird abilities with open arms.

Draco hums. “Exactly. I don't have that. I don't fit in anywhere; I'm not evil enough for my family, not good enough for everyone else. I'm on my own.”

The silence that follows is a heavy one; you're not used to this kind of talk. You relate so strongly to his feelings, but you very rarely express them in quite the same way. At Camp Half-Blood, everyone is in the same boat. It's rude to think you have it worse than somebody else. Every single person here was abandoned by a parent, maybe even both.

But Draco isn't a demigod, so maybe he won't mind.

“I get that.”

He narrows his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You tug at your sleeve, pulling the material over your curled fingers. “I don't exactly come from the most well-loved bloodline in this place. Even other Half-Bloods take one look at me and cower.”

“That blonde girl I saw you with-”

You wave a dismissive hand. “That's Annabeth; she's more like a sister to me, but even she's wary of my powers.”

Draco pauses. “What powers?”

You open your mouth to respond, to go through the long list of the terrifying things you are capable of, but your words are cut short by the sound of a bark in the distance. Your head snaps up immediately, senses sparking to life before you've even fully processed where the noise is coming from. Around you, the tension in the camp is amplified as the other Half-Bloods spring to the same level of alertness.

Draco straightens up, reaching into his back pocket for a wand that you can almost guarantee will be completely useless within the boundaries of Camp Half-Blood. You place a hand on his shoulder as you stand, pushing him back down onto the bench.

“Stay here.”

“Where are you going?” he asks, head darting left and right. “What was that?”

“I don't know, but it didn't sound good.”

“So call someone!”

You raise a brow, shooting him a glance over your shoulder. He looks like a scared little boy, hands balled against his chest, eyes darting to and fro. They join with yours eventually, softening almost immediately.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“We don't just call someone at Camp Half-Blood. We deal with this stuff on our own.”

Draco falters. His eyes narrow, though the expression doesn't last long; suddenly, he cries out and lurches forward, pointing madly to a space just over your shoulder. You spin just in time, yanking your sword from your belt and swinging blindly. Your shoulder smashes against the dirt, giving you a view of the beast that has just tried ripping you to shreds.

A chimera.

You recognise it. Of course you do. The lion head and snake tail are kind of difficult to forget.

“What the hell is that?”

“Draco, go!” you yell, rolling onto your knees and swinging your sword yet again. The chimera dives, talons outstretched, mouth open in a roar.

It's massive paws slam into your shoulders, shoving you back yet again. You cry out, struggling to lift your sword with the weight pressing against your chest, the blood now seeping from two wounds in your shoulders. Over the chimera's massive shoulders, you can see Draco jumping from foot to foot, clearly unsure what to do.

“Why are you still stood there?” you scream.

Your yelling triggers something within the chimera. You watch the gears turn in its head, its red eyes gleaming before it spins, it's tail snapping out and wrapping around your wrist. You cry out, sword clattering to the floor before you're yanked to your feet and thrown carelessly against the bench you were previously sat on.

Draco spins. “Y/N!”

You groan, looking up through bleary eyes; your sword isn't like Percy's. It won't just reappear in your pocket any time you lose connection with it. Where it lies in the grass, feet away from you, it will stay.

That means you only have one way to get this beast away from you and Draco.

It takes all of your strength, and it's never easy, but you push through the pain and the exhaustion and pull on that little trigger within your body. Something surges inside you, a feeling so familiar it almost feels like second nature. The floor rumbles. Draco yelps, clinging desperately to the back of the bench, but you keep your eyes on the chimera. It digs its foot into the dirt, growls low in its throat, and then it dives.

The skeleton's hand bursts from the ground, wraps around the chimera's ankle and pulls it back.

As soon as the chimera's chin hits the dirt, you bounce to your feet and sprint towards your sword. You snatch it from the ground, spin and slash through the air, no longer caring what part of the beast you hit, just as long as you injure it somehow.

It strikes through the goats head that protrudes from the chimera's back.

Black blood oozes from the monsters back end. It splatters up your arms, tiny dots sprinkling your face, but you don't have the time to ponder on that. You swing again, this time going for the neck. The chimera screams, but as soon as your sword makes contact with it's bushy mane, the scream disappears. The chimera bursts into golden powder in front of you, blowing away in the wind.

A pair of hands wraps around your waist, tugging you up before you can fall to your knees.

“Holy shit,” you whisper against Draco's collar. “Are you okay?”

Draco can't speak. Looking up, you see his lower jaw rattling, words fighting to the surface but being unable to push past his wall of fear. He looks everywhere but your face, as if trying to figure out where on earth the chimera disappeared to.

“It's gone for now,” you say, throat dry. “You're safe, Magic Boy.”

“How did that get in here?”

Annabeth's voice echoes up the hill. Glancing over your shoulder, you see her marching in your direction, Chiron and Percy walking by her side. At the bottom of the hill, the other Half-Bloods look up, shocked at the sight in front of them. Your disgruntled form being held up by a wizard is certainly not a normal sight at Camp Half-Blood.

“Y/N,” Percy exclaims. “Are you alright?”

“Just peachy,” you croak out. “I think I might be bleeding out, though.”

“Someone get some ambrosia,” Chiron demands, and it's with gentle hands that he extracts you from Draco's grip and lowers you to the floor. He looks up at Draco and says, “Are you alright, boy?”

“T-the skeletons,” Draco stammers. “They just – they just came out of the floor!”

Chiron smiles gently. “So I see you've been witness to our Y/N's miraculous abilities, hm?”

Draco's eyes widen. “Y/N did that?”

“Yes, you idiot,” Annabeth hisses, shouldering Draco out of the way so she can kneel beside you. She dabs a wet cloth against your shoulder, and you hiss at the contact.

Percy arrives shortly after with an air tight bag of ambrosia, which you eat in about two seconds flat.

“How did that get in here?” Percy asks.

“The barriers were open already,” Chiron replies. “We needed to let the Minister and his men inside the camp, so we had to weaken them a little bit. We must have weakened them too much, and the chimera found a way in.”

“Or this is the gods playing some sick trick on us,” says Annabeth. “Remember when Percy first arrived and they thought it would be funny to let the Minotaur roam free?”

“This isn't the gods,” you mumble. “I haven't done anything to make them mad.”

“So it's the wizards, then.” Annabeth whirls on Draco, folding her arms over her chest. You close your eyes, listening to Percy chuckle lightheartedly at your side. Both of you have given up trying to calm her down at this point. “You and your people just have to come in and ruin everything, don't you?”

Draco blinks. He's barely spoken the entire time, clearly still trying to figure out what the hell he has just witnessed.

Annabeth laughs coldly. “When will you and your people get the hint that we don't want you here. We don't want anything to do with you! It's you lot who have so much to say about us, and the minute we retaliate, you take a little hissy fit and have to get the bloody council involved! Well, goodbye to you. Get out of our camp and stay out or else the next monster to attack you won't be killed by us – you can deal with it on your own with your fancy magic spells.”

She turns back, flicking her curls in Draco's face.

You shyly glance up and mumble, “Sorry about her.”

“And although that speech held a lot of passion,” Chiron cuts in, placing a hand on Annabeth's shoulder, “I'm afraid Mr Malfoy and his people cannot leave the camp until the barriers have been sorted.”

Silence.

Even you're too stunned to speak, staring up at Chiron as if waiting for the punchline of some joke. He simply looks around, examining the invisible barriers surrounding you, most likely seeing every single gap and crack held within them.

Percy is the first to break the silence. “Uh. . . Why not?”

“Well,” Chiron says, “the barriers have been split. If we were to open them any further to let these men out, I fear they might be unsalvageable. We can't risk it.”

“So we're just gonna let them stay here?” Annabeth hisses.

“I can't do that!” Draco exclaims, stumbling forward with wide eyes. “I have school, and my mother-”

“This isn't up for debate,” Chiron says. “I must keep the safety of my people in mind at all times, and this is the only solution that will keep them safe.”

Annabeth scoffs. “I wouldn't say letting the Malfoy's in our space is keeping us safe.”

“That is because you're blinded by your ignorance.”

You and Percy take sharp breaths through your teeth, watching Annabeth's face drop. It would almost be sad if you weren't in agreement with the centaur.

And it's weird because you used to have the exact same thought process as Annabeth; all you read about wizards was how much they despised your kind, how they saw you as unnatural, a mistake, because gods aren't meant to have children with mortals. Mortals – or Muggles – aren't meant to carry such powerful beings.

And yet here you are, looking at Draco and feeling even the tiniest glimmer of excitement at the idea of having him stay with you for a little while.

Chiron turns back to Draco and says, “You can stay in cabin eleven with the Hermes kids. That's where all the newcomers go.”

Draco pales. “I really don't think this is a good idea...”

“It's the only idea we have,” Chiron says. “Now, get ready for the feast. You must be starving.”

---

Draco doesn't go to the feast. Apparently, he isn't as starved as Chiron made him out to be.

Instead, he follows you to the infirmary, despite having no injuries himself. Will Solace feeds you chunks of ambrosia, keeping a narrowed gaze on Draco as he sits by your bedside, saying nothing. He looks thoughtful, head ducked down, hands perched between his legs; he hasn't spoken a single word since the two of you arrived, and his skin is yet to find colour again.

You glance at Will and whisper, “Is he looking okay to you?”

“Absolutely not,” Will replies, pressing a damp cloth to your shoulder blade. “But I'm not one hundred percent sure how wizards are supposed to look in the first place, so I can't really say.”

“Have you got any juice or anything like that you can give him?”

Will hollows out his cheeks, clearly not appreciating the idea of using up resources on a wizard. Nonetheless, the son of Apollo is too kind for his own good and heads into the back room to grab a juice box. He hands it to Draco with a soft smile, one Draco does not return, before Will says he's going to go check on the other campers. He leaves you alone after that, the room empty besides you and Draco.

Draco doesn't look up. He doesn't really need to; even without seeing his face, you know what expression he will be wearing, as it is the same expression so many people have worn after watching you bring the dead up from the ground.

You bite your lip and say, “The food is good here. Are you sure you don't want to go and get some dinner?”

Draco slowly looks up. His eyes are bloodshot, strained, glinting light blue beneath the yellow lights. “Who is your godly parent?”

You pause. “Why do you care?”

“Because what I just saw you do-”

“Hades,” you blurt out, unable to bear hearing him go into detail again, unable to bear the disgust that will surely ring through his voice. “Hades is my father. I'm the kid he was never supposed to have.”

Draco stares at you, waiting for you to continue, but what else is there to say? There's no relationship to describe, no happy memories with your dad you can share. All there is to it, is that you are not meant to be here, and you are.

“And you . . . you have no brothers or sisters? You're all alone?”

Your eyes snap up. “I'm not alone. I have Percy, and Annabeth, and. . . and everyone else. Plus, I have a little brother – Nico.”

Draco perks up, like the idea of you having a little brother is something to be excited about. “Really? Where is he?”

“He's floating around somewhere,” you reply. “He doesn't really like staying in one place for too long; I only really see him when he comes to visit me or his boyfriend.”

Draco withers. “Oh.”

“Why do you care anyway?”

He scowls. “I don't care. I'm just curious. If I'm to stay here for the next few days, I might as well get to know you a little better.”

“It works both ways, Magic Man. Tell me, why is your father such a little bitch?”

“I could ask the same thing about yours.”

“My dad is the god of death. What's your dad's excuse?”

Draco glares. You grin, slowly leaning back on the hospital bed as you wait for his response, because you genuinely want to know. You've spent years reading articles orchestrated by Lucius Malfoy that go into great detail about why he hates demigods so much, why he thinks they're the scum of the earth; now, you have his son at your disposal, and you're determined to find out where these violent opinions have stemmed from.

Draco sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “My father just doesn't like people who are different.”

You pause. “Different?”

“People who aren't pure-blood wizards are basically bottom tier to him. That includes Muggle borns, Squibs, Muggles, demigods.”

“But he doesn't even know anything about demigods.”

Draco shrugs heavily. “He knows you're different. That's all he cares about.”

It makes sense, you suppose. Lucius has never kept his ignorance a secret. It's not just demigods he speaks badly about. You've read it all – his hatred for Muggles, for people who disagree with him, for good people.

People who aren't like him.

“And what about you?” you ask.

Draco flicks his eyes up, still messing with his fingers. “What about me?”

“How do you feel about demigods?” You gesture around the room. “Now that you've seen us in action; what are your thoughts?”

Draco shrugs, looking back down at his intertwined hands. He has nice hands. Muscled, long fingers, expensive rings. “I think it's all quite odd, but I'll get used to it. I'm gonna be stuck here with you for a while, so I don't really have a choice, do I?”

You smile. “No, I don't think so.”

---

The dreams are worse that night.

They always are after you have been injured. Already restless, you aren't strong enough to fight off the nightmares that swarm your mind, and tonight they come for you in full force.

You always call them nightmares, even though they really aren't. More like visions, people visiting you when you least expect it. You've had Poseidon visit your dreams, Athena, even Ares, but tonight, someone new is making an appearance.

You recognise him immediately. He has the same eyes as you.

“Dad.”

He stands waist deep in black mist. Curly black hair frames a chiselled face, dark eyes gazing at you with a look close enough to love that you get a little emotional. By his side is a three-headed dog, and in his hand is a skull, held so casually. Neither of you mention it. Neither of you need to.

The room is dark. Looking down, you see black mist crawling towards you, hiding your legs from view. You should probably be panicking, but something is holding you back.

“Dad,” you repeat. “Where's Nico?”

“Safe,” he responds, voice too calm for a man whose son has been missing for weeks. Voice too calm for a man who is standing in front of the child he abandoned so many years ago. “And how are you, child?”

“Good. Better than ever, actually.”

“Even with the company you have been keeping recently?”

You pause, certain you misheard. Hades raises a brow, tilting his head as if to say Are you going to try and tell me otherwise?

Swallowing, you say, “So this is about Draco.”

“This is about the wizards in general,” Hades corrects. “Don't think I didn't notice you getting comfortable with that boy.”

“I wouldn't exactly say comfortable-”

“He held you up when you fell.”

“And that was very nice of him.”

“That was inappropriate.”

You fall silent, cheeks heating up. You truly cannot believe your dad – your real life father – is stood in front of you giving dating advice. He needs to take one look at his own history with women and sort himself out before he comes running to you.

“Wizards aren't safe around our people, Y/N,” Hades continues. “You aren't meant to mingle with people like him.”

“I think that's a little harsh.”

“His father wants you dead.”

“My father wants everyone dead! You're the god of the underworld, for crying out loud!”

Hades's eyes widen for a moment, clearly shocked at your outburst, but you don't even have the strength to reel it back in. You have felt frustration towards many of the Olympians, all of whom seem to believe they have some sort of control over you, but the one Olympian who makes you angriest the quickest, is the one stood right in front of you, the one who shares your blood, the one who hooked up with your mum one day before abandoning her, along with the kid he always claimed he was never going to have.

You don't even care that he's a god. You don't care that he could kill you in two seconds flat if he so desired.

“Chiron did not raise you to have such a sour attitude,” Hades says after a moment.

You deflate, eyes slipping closed. “There's really no point in trying to get through to you, is there?”

“It is my job as a father-”

You scoff.

“-to keep my kids safe. That's what I'm doing.”

Your eyes pop open. “Keep us safe? Bianca's dead, Dad. Nico's gone rogue. The only reason I haven't been slaughtered is because I never expected you to keep an eye on me – I do everything on my own.”

“That's not true,” Hades growls. “You know that's not true.”

“No? So where's my little brother then, huh? Where's Bianca? Where were you yesterday when a fucking chimera nearly ripped me to shreds, huh? Where were you then?”

“I'm a busy man, Y/N, but I'm serious when I say that wizards are not the kinds of-”

“This isn't about the wizards!” you yell, throwing your hands up. The ground rumbles, but neither you nor Hades acknowledge it. “This is about you coming into my dreams, thinking you can just lay down some fatherly rules after nearly eighteen years of not giving a shit about me!”

His eyes flash. Within the dark irises, you catch a glimpse of a screaming face, and you know exactly what he must be hearing in the back of his mind right now. You hear it sometimes, too, only he must be much more used to it than you are.

“I have always cared for you,” he says. “Even when my brothers and sisters were punishing me for having another demigod child, I cared for you. I kept them from harming you. I made sure you reached Camp Half-Blood safely so that you could be under the protection of people who knew where you came from.”

“And they've been more like family to me than you have ever been.”

Hades closes his eyes. A god dejected. A god not getting what he wants. It's a rare but pleasant sight.

“I'd like to wake up now,” you mumble. “I appreciate you stopping in, but please never do it again.”

Hade's looks at you, and you hate the resemblance. You hate that pull, so mortal and familial. You can't even help it. It's like the genes you got from this man are desperate for you to just make up with him, to just see him as the dad he is.

But you can't.

He argues no further, clicking his fingers to send you out of your sleep. You awake, startled, eyes snapping open to the sight of your dark room, the smell of ash heavy in the air. You flick your eyes over to see your bedside table gone – yet again, you incinerated it in your sleep.

“Fuck sake,” you whisper.

“I put it out.”

You yelp, very nearly falling out of bed in your shock. Your head snaps up, hands grappling for your sword, only to pause when you look over and see Draco standing in the doorway wearing a white dress shirt and black trousers.

He looks exceptionally smart.

Exceptionally smart.

Your heart jumps as you push yourself up, running a self conscious hand through your bed head. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Chiron asked me to wake you. He said you have training today.”

You groan, flopping back into your pillows. Draco chuckles, and before you can tell him to stop, he strolls right over to your window and pulls the black out curtains open.

“Noooo,” you moan, rolling onto your stomach and stuffing your head in the pillows.

Draco chuckles. “Come on. It's already nine am. The climbing wall is gonna be packed if you don't wake up now.”

You peek an eye out of your pillow and glare at him. “How do you even know about the climbing wall?”

“Poseidon's son gave me a little tour after I left the infirmary yesterday; quite a nice little place you've got here, I must say. I'm quite fond of it all.”

“Oh, happy days. As long as you're happy.”

He grins, sharp as knives. “I feel like I'm on holiday.”

You swing your legs out of bed. “You're digging yourself into a deeper hole, Malfoy.”

“I can just sit back, kick my feet up, watch you lot fight a bunch of mythical creatures-”

You lob a sock at him. “Get out while I get changed.”

Draco grins before bowing out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

And so you get ready for the day, getting dressed in your usual Camp Half-Blood shirt and a pair of comfortable jogging bottoms. The sun is bright this morning, a clear indicator that Chiron and the gods are in a bit of a better mood than they were yesterday, when rain was breaking through the already damaged seals of the camps barriers.

As promised, the climbing wall is set up and booming with Half-Bloods. People from all the different cabins take turns going up against one another, clambering up one side of the wall, racing each other to the top as lava pours down from nowhere, lightening strikes zap through the centre of the wooden beam, as random hands appear out of nowhere and make swipes for legs and arms and faces.

You spot Draco sat by himself in the stands, wand twirling in his fingers. It could very well be an intimidation tactic, but you stroll up beside him anyway, taking a seat to watch the scene before you unfold; someone from the Ares cabin has gone up against someone from the Athena cabin, a deadly pairing when put together.

Draco doesn't budge when you sit down. Instead, he points and says, “I think the one with the spear is going to win.”

“Clarisse?” you say. “Yeah, probably. She's a stubborn bitch.”

“Daughter of...”

“Ares.”

“God of...”

You roll your eyes. “Have you ever actually looked into the Greek myths?”

Draco shrugs, leaning back in his seat. He stretches his long limbs out in front and says, “I was educated more in the ways of Dark Magic than Greek myths.”

“Boring.”

“Necessary, I think.”

“Tell me how that all works.”

Draco glances over. “Magic?”

“The world of magic. It sounds. . . confusing.”

Draco pauses for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. As he ponders, the two of you watch Clarisse make her way to the top of the climbing wall, where she pulls the ring loose of it's confines and holds it up to the sound of applause and cheers from the people on the ground. She hops off, landing in a crouch on the ground; her brothers and sisters swarm her, all but lifting her off her feet in celebration.

Finally, Draco speaks. “It really is just a whole different world. Different to. . . any other world, I guess. We dress differently-”

“Yes.”

“The structure of the whole thing is different. You get used to it after a while, but I guess being here is making me realise just how weird the way things are run back home really are.”

“But it's what you're used to, isn't it?” you say. “You must have thought the way we did things was weird when you first arrived.”

Draco scoffs. “Skeletons coming up from the floor? Definitely weird.”

Your cheeks heat up, despite the lack of malice in his voice. Your powers are still – and forever will be – a sensitive topic for you; you've had far too many bad experiences with them to ever be comfortable flaunting them around like the other Half-Bloods are capable of doing. Even now, you watch the Hephaestus kids make fire sprout from their fingertips without so much as a flicker of hesitation – you've never been able to do that, because people take one look at what you're capable of and immediately think you're some kind of devil spawn, there just to drag them into the pits of hell or something.

Draco nudges you, pulling you from your trance. When you look over, he gestures towards the climbing wall. You follow his gaze to see Percy standing in the centre, waving up at you, arms wild above his head, that goofy grin on his stupid face.

“I think he wants you to join him,” Draco mumbles.

You glance over. “You don't mind?”

“I'll stay here and cheer you on. How about that?”

You stare at him a second longer, the wand twirling between his nimble fingers; oh, it would be so easy to hate him. That cocky smirk, the subtle hostility to everything he says. You weren't made to like wizards, but Draco Malfoy is starting to grow on you.

You give him a smile before hopping from your seat and jogging down into the grounds. People cheer at your arrival, because this is the match they have all been waiting for; scared as they may be to face your powers on their own, they would never give up the opportunity to watch two kids of the Big Three go head to head against one another. This is truly the only time you feel comfortable using your powers.

Percy shakes your hand when you reach him, dragging you close so he can whisper in your ear. “You and Dynamo getting a little close up there?”

You shove him away, not even giving him an answer before you hop up onto the first ring of the climbing wall. “You coming, Seaweed Brain?”

Percy rolls his eyes, taking position on the other side of the climbing wall. In the stands, a whistle blows, and immediately the two of you start.

Percy's quick. Percy has always been quick. From the day he strolled into camp, dragging Grover along with him, he has proven how powerful he is.

But you're also pretty quick, pretty lithe, just as capable as him.

You don't even fully process where he is, much too focused on avoiding the downfall of lava dribbling down the side of the climbing wall. The heat singes your hand as you pull yourself up, and you have to grit your teeth to stop the cry of panic that always wants to make it's way to the surface when this happens.

Percy has the advantage, of course; he just summons some water from thin air, and the lava is immediately overpowered. He laughs at your scowl, pulling himself further along the climbing wall.

��Okay, Mr Jackson,” you mutter. “If that's really how you want to play it.”

You pull on something within your stomach, a trick your sister Hazel was able to teach you when you visited her in the Roman camp all those months ago. You reach a hand out, grabbing the iron ore before it soars above your head after being ripped from the ground by your powers. It's not much – you're much better with a sword – but you throw it, using your powers to push it away from your body, straight towards Percy's face. It smacks him in the nose, making him cry and stumble. He slips from the ring he is hanging onto, dropping a few feet before finally latching onto another; blood oozes from his nose, and he glares up at you as you quicken your pace, hoping to put as much distance between you both as humanly possible.

“That wasn't very fair, you know!” Percy yells up.

“Gotta do what you gotta do!” you yell back, which of course prompts Percy to shoot a blast of water straight at your legs. You yelp, grip loosening on the ring you have grip on.

But then you're falling, because the thing about water is that it makes surfaces extremely slippery, and not even a child of Hades can overpower that. You desperately try latching onto something – anything – that can soften your fall, but your moving too quick, and the rings are zooming past, out of reach, and you know this is it. You're going to fall to the floor and break some bones and be out of commission for weeks, because that's what always happens when Percy gets competitive. You're starting to get real-

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

Another yelp is ripped from your throat, this one more a yelp of surprise as you suddenly become light as a feather. The wind stops whistling in your ears, replaced now by the gasps coming from the ground, and the sound of Percy yelling, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” over and over again.

Ever so gently, you are lowered onto the floor. As soon as your feet hit solid ground, you are engulfed by a crowd of Half-Bloods, all coming to make sure you're okay, have not been harmed despite that being the way of things in this place.

Percy clambers off the climbing wall and dashes to your side, wrapping you in a brotherly hug as soon as he reaches you. “Fuck, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit you that hard-”

“'Course you didn't.”

“You had it coming!” He points to his nose, still dripping blood. “Look what you did to me!”

You roll your eyes before craning your neck to get a better view over the heads of your fellow campers. You catch sight of him immediately, leaning against the stands with his wand still twirling in his fingers, the tiniest of smirks present on his pale face.

Your stomach turns; he had used his magic, cast some sort of spell to stop you from hitting the floor.

You probably need to thank him for that.

However, as soon as he meets your eyes, he does nothing but wink and turn on his heel, strolling oh-so-casually towards cabin eleven.

----

“So are you going to tell me what that was?”

You scream. Your hands fly above your head, knocking the low hung lamp shade dangling from the roof of the Hades cabin.

Spinning, you catch sight of your father stood in the corner of your room, shrunken down to the size of a normal human being. He likes playing pretend, apparently, but you see right through it. His dark eyes are narrowed, and leaning against the wall beside him is the scythe he so often carries around with him.

“That's an intimidation tactic,” you pant, motioning to the scythe. “It's not gonna work me on, Big Guy.”

“Don't ignore my question,” he snaps. “What did that boy do to you when you were falling?”

You slowly straighten up. “You saw that?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why do you think I have an answer?” you exclaim. “I know just as much about the wizarding world as you do! I don't know what he did, but I'm not dead, so I'm not gonna bother questioning it.” You grab a pomegranate seed from the bowl beside your bed, popping it into your mouth before you point a stern finger at the god standing in your room. “And you shouldn't either; he saved your child's life.”

“My children are capable of protecting themselves. That's how you were raised.”

You roll your eyes, flopping down on your bed. “This again? Where do you get off talking about raising kids?”

For a brief second, Hades pauses. You savour it, the moment his face twists into one of uncertainty, as if only just then realising where he has messed up; he can talk all he wants about his children and how you're all just like him, but he can never claim to have made you into the people you are today.

You hum, smirking. “That's what I thought.”

Hades snatches the bowl of seeds out of your hand and slams them back onto the bedside table. The room rattles much more than necessary, but you spare the trembling walls only a single glance before turning your attention back on your father. He glares down at you, no longer justifying your attitude with words. He's waiting patiently for you to just open up and tell him exactly what happened, waiting for you to just admit that what happened out there was messed up, and unnatural, and you will never see Draco ever again if you can help it-

“He saved my life.”

You believe it, even though it takes every fibre of your willpower to admit such a thing. Demigods don't just get saved. They do the saving. They live their lives getting trained to protect themselves, because they know nobody else will. Today, all those years of training disappeared, and you should have died. You should have fallen to the ground as punishment for your lack of concentration, but Draco had stepped in and given you a second chance.

And maybe that's dramatic. Maybe looking at it as a second chance was taking it a step too far, but he had done something, and you can't just sit back and pretend otherwise.

Hades straightens up. In mortal form, his full height is only around five foot nine, but he still manages to look intimidating. It's the eyes. You wonder if people think the same thing about you when you look at them.

“My brothers and sisters have been voicing their concerns about you getting too close to the Malfoys,” he says, voice softer now. “I told them not to worry, that no child of mine would ever fraternise with people like them. And yet here we are.”

You pause. “Here we are, yeah.”

“Lucius won't be happy to hear his son has helped save the life of a Half-Blood.”

“Lucius Malfoy won't be happy, period. Plus, I haven't even spoken to him the entire time he's been here.”You push yourself up into a sitting position. “Draco isn't like Lucius, Dad. They are two separate people, just like me and you.”

Hades clenches his jaw. You've hit a nerve. You always do when you bring up just how desperately you want to be separated from your father, just how much you despise being told you look like him, or you do something like him.

He looks at you with those dark eyes and says, “You're stubborn, you know. That's a trait you get from me, not your mother.”

“You're grasping at straws now.”

“You're more like me than you'll ever be willing to admit, but everyone sees it. Nico and Bianca. . . they had little traits of me within them, but not as much as you. You really are my child.”

Your stomach clenches, and it's confusing. It's so, so confusing, and so painful, because there's a part of you that basks in these comments. He's your dad. No matter how much you try denying it, there has always been a part of you that wants to know you're a little bit like your dad, and yet there's that hostility that begs and clambers for any excuse you can use to go against such a thing.

You look away, fighting the urge to cry that always seems to rise to the surface when Hades is in your vicinity. “Can you just leave, please? I'm not going to stop talking to Draco just because you lot upstairs have a grudge against his family.”

Hades sighs. “I know you won't. But you can't say I didn't warn you.”

“Get out, Dad!”

When you next look up, the room is empty. Nico and Bianca's beds are desolate, pushed against the wall, suffering from years of neglect. Once again, you are alone. Outside, Draco's shadow passes the window, accompanied by Lucius.

----

Draco seems to be getting comfortable in camp.

Your father doesn't like this.

You see, Hades has a very annoying way of making his anger obvious, especially when the anger is pointed towards his children. You will be sat talking to Draco, having a seemingly normal conversation about whatever the days endeavours are holding, when suddenly a scream will plunge right through the centre of your brain, impossible to ignore.

It's painful sometimes. The headaches that often follow are the kind that leaves you sweating, unable to look into any form of light lest you make it worse. Hades doesn't take this into consideration, however, as he continues giving you these flashes throughout the next week and a half.

It's another one of his stupid fear tactics. You know it is. He wants to make you suffer so you'll be on his side through intimidation, and you're not willing to give in to him like that. Gods don't always get what they want. That's something they need to learn.

And so, you continue talking to Draco, and honestly, he's starting to become a friend. He's still a little drawn back, and you can only imagine the reasoning behind that is because Lucius is breathing down his neck every two seconds. Whilst Draco is taking the moral high ground and getting used to life at Camp Half-Blood, Lucius refuses to do such a thing. He spends his days brooding away in the Big House, getting angry when Chiron or any of the other Half-Bloods step foot in what he has now claimed as his domain. The Big House has basically become Out of Bounds whilst the Malfoys are in your presence, because Lucius throws a tantrum any time anyone besides him and his fellow wizards step foot inside of it.

It's on day twelve that you and Draco sit together in the grass upon the hill. In your lap is a colouring book that Percy stole for you a few years back, one you haven't touched because you very rarely have the time to just sit down and colour something in. He said it got rid of stress or something like that. You wonder if it works.

Draco lays down beside you, gazing up at the baby blue sky. He has one hand cupped across his forehead, the other resting on his stomach. His ice blue eyes are a little lighter when the sun hits them, and you can see some golden streaks in his silver hair.

You colour in a picture of Poseidon, already excited to show Percy the final product.

“Look at this picture a second,” you say after too many minutes of silence. “Tell me if that guy looks like Percy.”

Draco flicks his gaze over, lifting his head just slightly to get a better view. “Percy?”

“The son of Poseidon,” you confirm. “The annoying one who blew up your fountain.”

“Oh, him.” Draco scowls, dropping his head back to the grass. “I suppose it looks a little bit like him, yes. Why?”

You tilt the colouring book back and forth, humming as you inspect the drawing; it's badly done, of course, with the image probably taken from Google Images, drawn by some human who didn't know any better. For example, they drew him wearing some fancy toga-looking thing instead of his usual khaki shorts and Hawaiian button-up. You've also known Poseidon to enjoy getting his hair permed, but his hair is dead straight in the colouring book.

“I just think Percy looks a lot like his dad,” you reply. “Not in this picture, obviously – Poseidon wouldn't be caught dead with his eyebrows looking like that. But in real life, I swear, they're the picture of each other.”

Draco grunts. Not exactly the response you were looking for.

You glance down at him, raising a brow. “Not gonna add anything helpful to the conversation?”

“What could I possibly add? I don't know the Greek gods personally.”

“Really?”

Draco glares at you. “Forgive me for not fraternising with mythological gods, Y/N. I don't have quite the same relationship with them as you do.”

You hold up your hands in faux surrender, recognising his angry tone. “Alright, fair enough. No need to get grumpy.”

“You and Percy are really close.”

It isn't a question, and you suppose it doesn't have to be. Anyone who has known you for more than two seconds will be able to see that you and Percy are close, having been through so much together. “Yeah, we are. What's wrong with that?”

Draco slips his hand from his forehead over his eyes and mumbles, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” But his heart isn't in it, and you're not exactly convinced he's telling the truth. You haven't known Draco all that long, but you're pretty confident now in your abilities to pick up when he's angry, or frustrated, as you have seen it more often than any other emotion.

You glance at him, raising a brow. “You sure about that?”

“Yes. Why would I think there was something wrong with you having a friend?” He pauses a moment before adding, “He is just a friend, isn't he?”

It clicks.

Your cheeks heat up with the realisation. You're thankful that Draco is covering his eyes, because otherwise he would have surely been able to see your shocked expression, and that isn't the look you want to give off right now; you need to remain calm and collected, make sure you're reading this right before you go and lose your cool.

Awkwardly, you push the colouring book onto the grass and turn your attention fully on Draco. He stiffens when he feels you move, though he doesn't look at you. He doesn't even move his hand away from his face. You wonder if perhaps he doesn't want to show you his true expression, either.

“Yes,” you say. “Percy is just a friend. He's never been anything more than that.”

“Oh right. Nice.”

“Would...” You inhale, glancing down into camp. You're not used to this. Actual emotions, they're scary things. You've never been able to properly handle them. “Would that be an issue if he was?”

This time, Draco is unable to hide his embarrassment. Beneath his hands, his pale cheeks flush red, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallows and says, “No. It's none of my business.”

“Well, it's just 'cause, like, you asked, and I just thought-”

“Thought what?” Finally he looks at you, eyes narrowed. “Thought I cared about what you got up to when I'm not around?”

You reel back at his tone. “What? No! Well – yeah, I guess, because clearly some part of you cares-”

“You and Percy can do whatever you want.” He stands, wiping the grass from the elbows of his fancy black blazer. “I honestly couldn't care less. It's not like I'm sticking around much longer, anyway.”

You raise a brow. “Are you mad? How the hell did that happen? I didn't even say anything!”

“I'm not bloody mad.” He groans, spinning on his heel as he runs his hands through his hair. You don't even go after him, too stunned to even move. Instead, you just watch his retreating form, only for him to stop a few feet away, turn back and say, “Do you just forget the fact that he was about to let you fall to your death?”

You freeze. This was not the turn you were expecting the conversation to make. “Come again?”

“On that climbing wall,” Draco exclaims. “He watched you fall, Y/N! He didn't do anything to stop it from happening, and I refuse to believe he wasn't able to, because from what I've heard, he's one of the most powerful things in this bloody camp!”

“Things?”

“Oh, you know what I meant!”

You shoot up then, anger flooding your system. This is happening too often. You're losing your grip on the control you have trained so hard to gather, and it's all Draco's fault. “No, Draco, I don't actually know what you mean. In case you've forgotten, you're in our home, so don't you dare come in here claiming to know what we see is right and wrong. Percy might be one of the stronger demigods, but so am I. I can handle myself, and Percy knows that! That's the only reason he didn't do anything-”

“That's his excuse, is it?” Draco laughs, a bitter noise that makes your blood boil. “I wonder how long it took for him to brainwash you into believing that.”

That's what does it.

You remember all those times Percy has saved your life. You remember spending weeks by his side, on the run from the worlds most terrifying monsters. You remember crying with your belief that he was dead, imagining a life without your best friend, your companion.

And here Draco is, acting like he knows Percy better than you, deeming him a bad person just because of a single mishap he happened to witness, a mishap he doesn't even fully understand.

Behind you, the black cloud arises from the ground. Without even looking, you know it's there, consuming you in tendrils of darkness. Draco's eyes widen, a cry of surprise escaping him before he stumbles back.

The cloud follows him.

In your head, you listen to the screams of the souls that make up that cloud, the souls you can control with nothing more than a brief thought nowadays. Draco cries out, nearly falling over his feet. Soon, you can no longer see him as he disappears behind the black curtain.

You stay exactly where you are, watching him run down the hill, being chased by this power you have total control over. It's fuelled by anger, and you know you're going to get in trouble for doing it, but in this moment, you don't even care. You'll deal with the repercussions later, so long as Draco learns his lesson now.

It's once the young wizard has disappeared round the corner that you let the souls drop. They sink back into the floor, a rush of energy slamming back into your body now that the strenuous work is over. The hill you are standing on goes silent bar the sound of the snickering tree nymphs.

And then, just by your left ear, your fathers voice whispers, “Good job, Y/N. Definitely my child.”

----

Percy always knows when something is wrong with you.

There's something in the air, he says, a buzzing that he recognises as something he too possesses when he's angry. It's like the children of the Big Three communicate their anger through this weird little hum that only the other mistakes can hear.

He must notice it now.

He sits across from you at the lake, his toes dipping in the water as you keep your knees drawn to your chest, fingers sunk in the dirt. You keep your eyes on the tide as it sways in and out, but Percy keeps his eyes on you, waiting for the moment you will turn and look at him.

But you don't.

You don't want to answer his questions right now. You don't want to go into detail about what Draco said, about what you did to him, about how guilty you feel even though you know you shouldn't. You have used that scare tactic on so many people in the past, and it's always been for good reason – not once have you ever felt guilty about it.

Not until now.

Finally, Percy sighs and says, “So you're just gonna sit there and not tell me what's up?”

Leave it to him to be blunt.

You glance over and shrug, unsure where to even begin. You want to tell him the truth, of course; he's like a brother to you. The world always feels a little off when you're not telling him every little detail of your life. But gods, how do you explain this without sounding crazy?

“Do you want me to guess?” Percy continues, shuffling a little closer to you. “'Cause I'm good at that. Especially with you.”

“Try it.”

He hums, leaning back. “It definitely has something to do with the wizard boy.”

Your eyes snap up. “How did you know?”

“It's always about the wizard boy; you two have been joined at the hip since Chiron declared his residency here.” Again, he hums, continuing his analysis. His sea green eyes are narrowed, his lower lip protruding in a pout. “Did you two get into an argument?”

“Kind of.”

“Was he taking his fathers side?”

“No.”

“Was he insulting one of us?”

“...Kind of.”

Percy raises a brow. “So I'm getting warmer.”

You sigh, closing your eyes in exasperation. “He thought you and I were a couple.”

Percy pauses. It's now an awkward pause, especially considering he bursts into laughter not three seconds after. His shoulders jolt, eyes widening as he claps a hand to leg as if to stabalise himself. “You're kidding.”

“Alright, Seaweed Brain, hands off.” You push him away and fold your arms over your chest. “But yes, he thought you and I were a couple.”

“And that bothered you so much that you got into an argument with him and now you're huffing?”

You glare. “You're really enjoying this, huh?”

Percy nudges your shoulder light-heartedly. “I'm just messing. Tell me what happened.”

And so, as Percy gets comfortable, you begin your retelling, going into the details about Draco's little tantrum, and your retaliation to said tantrum. Percy interjects with a little “Aww” when you talk about defending him, to which you push his arm to get him to pipe down.

You feel even worse once the story has been spilled and you are able to see everything in hindsight; should you still be mad? Did Draco deserve that kind of torment?

Percy is silent for a moment once the story has been told. He looks off into the sea, as if calling to the waves for an answer, a piece of advice he can give you.

Finally, his wise mind comes up with, “That sounds shitty.”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “It was.”

“Sounds like he fancies you.”

Your cheeks heat up. “I don't think so. Not any more, anyway.”

“And you're disappointed about that?”

You shrug, because you really don't know. It would be much less hassle if you weren't disappointed about it, but you can't deny that you don't enjoy the feeling of Draco being mad at you. It feels off. It feels like you've done something wrong, even though you don't think you have.

“You know,” Percy continues, “I feel a little guilty being the reason you two have fallen out. I wasn't even there and I'm still causing trouble.”

You scoff. “Yeah. You have a habit of doing that, don't you?”

“I can't help it.” He leans forward, nudging your arm. “What if I have a little chat with Draco?”

You perk up, stomach turning at the mere suggestion. “Oh Percy, no. . .”

“What do you think I'm gonna do?”

“Bully him. Make him hate me even more.”

“The fact that that thought bothers you so much just proves to me how much I need to step in and offer my expertise. Annabeth didn't fall in love with me for no reason, and you know that.”

You open your mouth to object, but the words fall short, because he has a point; out of everyone you've ever known, Percy is the one who has been able to keep up a healthy relationship the longest. He and Annabeth argue like cat and dog, yet they still give off the aura of two young people who are truly in love with another.

That's rare.

You slump back against a tree. “Just don't say anything stupid to him. Please.”

He's already standing up, brushing dirt off the seat of his trousers. “Of course not. Give me ten minutes. I'll have him seeing sense in no time.” ----

Draco tries his best to stop the panic.

It's an old habit, one he hasn't been able to kick. He sees a demigod, and immediately his heart starts beating really fast, and his stomach drops, and his fingers twitch in the direction of his wand. It's a self defence reflex, one that has been built into him from day one, but he's amongst them now, and he needs to stop it.

But seeing Percy Jackson walking towards him is never going to be a sight he's going to get used to.

Draco remembers that picture you were colouring in the grass the day previous. You said Percy looked just like his father, and Draco can see the resemblance now. From what little he knows about the true Greek god of the sea, he can tell just where that analysis came from; Percy's black hair, his sea green eyes, even the way he carries himself like he owns the place.

It screams My dad is a god.

Draco pulls his shoulders back and gives Percy his best game face, trying desperately to look like he knows what he's doing, like he hasn't been lost in his own thoughts from the moment you looked at him with that anger on your face. He hates that it affected him so much, that he can't get the image out of his head, that he wants nothing more than to storm over to the Hades cabin and apologise for ever upsetting you.

“Draco, my man!” Percy exclaims, though his heart clearly isn't in it. “How are you? Good?”

“Fine.”

Percy clicks his fingers, giving awkward finger guns. “That's good. So good.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks around. Then, out of nowhere, he snaps his gaze down to Draco's and says, “So, I've been told there's a bit of trouble in paradise.”

Draco pauses. “Paradise? I'd hardly call this place paradise, Jackson.”

Percy raises a brow; it infuriates Draco, who is so used to his comments making people angry. Percy just seems amused. “Your accent really doesn't do my last name justice when you say it like that.”

Draco scowls. “What do you want from me, Percy? I've got nothing to say to you.”

“Well, no. You don't. Technically, I have nothing to say to you, either, but I'm a nosy little shit head, so here we are.”

“What makes you think I'll tell you anything?”

Percy grins and takes an abrupt seat next to Draco, shoving his shoulder like they've been best friends for years. “If you tell me what I want to know, I'll tell you what you-” He prods a finger into Draco's chest. “-want to know.”

Draco's heart hammers. He stares at the grinning demigod, debating whether or not to just jinx him here and now rather than let this absurd conversation go any further.

But then the options come into his head.

He has questions about you. Of course he does. You're just. . . a force to be reckoned with. You're such an individual, unlike any Draco has ever encountered in his life, and he wants to know more. Percy could be the key to having those questions answered.

He coughs into his hand before saying, “I suppose I can talk a little bit.”

Percy perks up. “Oh, really? Great! So what makes you think Y/N and I are a couple?”

Draco's cheeks heat up. “Y/N told you about that?”

“Y/N tells me everything. It's part of the whole being best friends thing.”

Draco shrugs, awkwardly glancing down at his hands knotted upon his knees. “It was a stupid assumption to make. I know that now. Just. . . at the time, with how close you both are, it seemed the most plausible thing to think.”

“Well, it was stupid.”

“Yes-”

“And did this assumption-” He says this with a snooty British accent that makes Draco glare even harder. “-piss you off?”

Draco pauses; here is where he could very easily trip up. He needs to choose his words carefully.

“Yes.”

Percy tilts his head. “Because you. . . love Y/N?”

“Love?”

Percy raises his hands in faux surrender, though there is a grin flashing across his face. “Sorry, sorry. Do you fancy Y/N?”

Draco swallows the golf ball sized lump in his throat; he wants to die. He literally wants to throw himself into the lake and never resurface. How has Percy managed to butter him up in less than fifteen minutes?

“I suppose,” Draco mutters. “They are very – um – attractive.”

“Big brain,” Percy says, nodding. “I get it, man. Smart people are hot.”

“Uh, yes. Yes, they are also very smart-”

“And scary.” Percy hollows out his cheeks, shaking his head at nothing. Draco is starting to get annoyed. “Y/N is terrifying, and let me tell you, when a person can intimidate me? Wow. Marry me on the spot, is what I say.”

“Why don't you just ask Y/N out then?”

The words come out harsher than Draco planned, but he can't help it. Percy is sat there, basically drooling over you, and it's driving him mad. It's been driving him mad from the instant he got that stupid thought stuck in his brain that maybe – just maybe – you and Percy were something a little more than just the best of friends.

Percy is grinning, though.

Draco scowls. “What's so funny?”

“You really like them, don't you?”

“I never said-”

“Personally, I wouldn't touch Y/N with a six foot pole,” Percy continues, which just makes Draco even angrier, and he no longer knows just what he wants. “I'm talking about my girlfriend, Annabeth. The blonde girl. Daughter of Athena.”

It takes a moment for Draco to remember who Annabeth is. But then it dawns on him, and suddenly everything is making sense.

His cheeks warm again. “Oh. Right.”

“Yep. So that's that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Nah, don't be. It's not me you need to apologise to.”

Draco bites his lower lip, understanding that Percy is right; he said some awful things, and he put you on the spot when you really didn't deserve it. You were doing nothing more than talking about your best friend, and Draco let his own jealousy push to the forefront.

He looks over at Percy to see the demigod grinning again, an expression he often seems to have. Draco wonders why you don't like him, why you decided to spend all those hours with him instead of Percy.

And as if Percy can read his mind, he says, “Y/N likes you too, you know. Like, properly likes you.”

Draco pushes up from the grass, gives Percy a grateful smile before heading out on his mission – to apologise.

----

You run into Lucius Malfoy shortly after Percy storms off.

It's quite a chance meeting, though part of you can't help but feel that maybe Lucius had it all planned out from the beginning. He holds himself like a man who knows exactly what he wants, like a man who doesn't understand what a chance meeting is.

You pause in the grass, watching him wade towards you. In your hand, you hold your sword, but that clearly isn't enough of an intimidation tactic against the tall, pale wizard. He stops only when he's feet in front of you, and with his posh accent, he says, “Y/N.”

“Mr Malfoy.”

“Where is Draco?”

“Beats me. He isn't my son.”

Lucius's nostrils flare. “Can you put that sword down whilst talking to me, please? It's disrespectful.”

You look at the celestial bronze blade and tilt it back and forth. The sun hits off the hilt, illuminating the Greek words inscribed upon it. “No. I quite like it in my hand.” You look back at Lucius and smile pleasantly. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr Malfoy? Are you lost?”

Lucius grits his teeth. Something throbs in his jaw, and honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if he were to draw back now and punch you square in the face.

Or he could just cast a spell, or whatever it is wizards do.

“You know, Y/N, Draco has told me an awful lot about you,” he growls.

“Oh?”

“Yes. And quite frankly, the details he has given me only further prove my theory that your kind are just unnatural.”

He's only trying to wind you up. You keep that in mind as you stand before him, listening to him spew such hatred; you could so easily just chop him to pieces right now. You could end this for everybody, but you think of Draco and how he would react and that thought alone is enough to silence the violent thoughts before you lose grip on your powers.

“I'm sorry you think that,” you mumble. “Hopefully you'll be out of camp soon enough and won't have to bother with my kind for much longer.”

Lucius laughs. There's no humour in it. It makes you ill just listening to it. “He told me about your little parlour trick – raising the dead, is it?”

“Controlling the dead.”

“That's Dark Magic, dear. That's the devils work if I've ever heard of it.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the chance is ripped away by the sound of someone else's voice ringing in your ear.

“I don't really enjoy being called the devil. He and I are two very different legends.”

You close your eyes. “Dad, go home.”

He doesn't listen to you. Of course he doesn't. Instead, he steps up to your side and places a warm hand on your shoulder. When you look up, he's smiling at Lucius with the same pleasant smile you gave him only seconds before – the pleasant smile that hides the fact you're on the verge of murdering someone.

“Is there a problem here?” Hades asks.

“Who are you?” Lucius demands, and you very nearly laugh at his stupidity.

Hades actually does laugh at his stupidity as he motions between you. “Surely you notice the family resemblance?”

Lucius stares, and then it all clicks into place. His eyes widen, mouth dropping open in a look you can only label horror. He stumbles back and says, “Hades?”

“A god,” you pipe up. “So watch what you say. I can't hold this one back.” You turn to Hades with an exasperated look. “Who let you crawl out of Tartarus again?”

“Nobody lets me do anything, dear,” Hades replies, keeping his eyes on the horrified Lucius Malfoy. “I just heard what our little friend here was saying to you, and I thought I'd come and put him in his place. Can't have someone insulting my dear child, can I?”

“You've never intervened before.”

Hades pushes you backwards, ignoring what you've just said. “So, Lucius; would you like a little duel beforehand, or are you just going to let me end your life, plain and simple?” He pauses, and when Lucius doesn't reply, he adds, “There's no shame in taking the easy way out.”

“Dad-”

“Stay out of this, Y/N. This is between me and-”

“Dad? What's wrong?”

Your head snaps up. Draco is stumbling down the hill, eyebrows raised as he glances between Hades and his father. Your heart jumps at the sight of him.

“Draco, pack up your things,” Lucius demands, staring at Hades as if afraid to look away lest your dad make any sudden movements. “We're leaving.”

“Oh, happy days!” You rush forward and grab your fathers elbow, dragging him back as much as you can. “Did you hear that, Dad? They're leaving!”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

You whirl on Draco. “What do you mean you're not going anywhere? Can't you see the predicament we're in right now?”

Draco raises his brow, clearly still confused as to what the hell he has just walked in on. “Who is this?”

“This is my dad.”

Draco's skin pales even more, if that is even possible. Hades turns, gives the young boy a pleasant little wave before he starts rolling up his sleeves, eyeing Lucius up again.

“Oh, right,” Draco squeaks.

You turn your attention back to Hades, latching onto his arm yet again. “Come on, Dad. This is pointless. They're leaving camp-”

“Y/N, I'm not going anywhere before we talk.”

“Draco, this really isn't the time-”

“Make up your mind, Lucius. . .” Hades sing-songs. “Quick and easy, or slow and painful? I can do both.”

Your heart hammers in your chest; this is not how you wanted things to go, not at all. You wish to every other god listening that Draco will just agree to go with his father, that he will leave and never return.

But you don't really want that, do you?

“Curse you, Zeus, you mind-reading bitch,” you hiss beneath your breath.

Draco glances at you. “What?”

“Never mind.” You grab Draco's shoulders and shove him back. “Just go, Draco, please. My dad is going to-”

But you never get to tell Draco what your dad is going to do, not before Lucius Malfoy cries out, “Avada Kadavra!”

You don't understand what's happened; the words just yelled by the Malfoy man are unfamiliar to you, jibberish if you've ever heard it, but Draco cries out and dashes forward. A blinding flash of light slams makes you stumble before Draco's arms wrap around your waist, throwing you to the ground with him hovering over you. When you open your eyes, his face is inches from your own, but neither of you get to bask in each others closeness, because all hell has suddenly broken loose.

Hades is so powerful. Sometimes you forget that. You've read the stories, and you know he's a god, but sometimes, all he is to you is your annoying dad who shows up every now and then to be annoying, and then he leaves. Sometimes you forget he can literally raise the dead in two point six seconds.

And judging by the corpses now stumbling around you, that's exactly what he has done.

“Oh my god,” Draco mumbles.

You push him away and clamber to your feet. “Dad, stop!”

The wind is billowing, however, and your words fall on deaf ears. Lucius has fallen to the floor, staring up at your father with a look of pure, unfiltered horror. Hades stands over him, now in full god form, and the sight is breathtaking. He's at his full height now, standing over everyone with his arms outstretched. Dirt billows around him, and a black light emanates from his body, blinding if you weren't his child. Draco has fallen to the floor, covering his head with his arms, and you are so, so happy he has the common sense to look away.

You stumble forward, latching onto your fathers clothes. “Dad, stop this now! Please!”

“How dare you?” Hades's voice shakes the trees. His eyes are pitch black. He is a god. “How dare you use your filthy wizard spells against my child?”

“I'm fine!” you cry. “Dad, I'm fine! Draco saved me! Look!” You helplessly wave your arms over your head. Beside you, a corpse laughs a high pitched laugh. You glare at it and say, “Shut up.”

The wind only grows stronger as Hades continues to bellow his threats and his curses. Lucius is too stunned to even move. Behind you, Draco cries out your name, tries reaching for your sleeve, but you pull away and continue yelling up at your father, trying to make him see sense.

“Dad, I'm fine! If you kill him, I'll never forgive you!” You grapple for something else, some other excuse you can use. “I'll – I'll never come back to Camp Half-Blood! I'll stay in the mortal world forever and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it!”

Hades falters. He glances down at you with those dark, sunken eyes and he says, “You know you're not safe there, Y/N. Don't joke about such things.”

“Then let him go,” you beg. “Please, Dad. I never ask you for anything, but I'm asking – begging – you for this. Just let him go.”

Hades tilts his head. “You're standing up for this piece of dirt?”

“Draco,” you pant, as if that is enough explanation. “Draco just saved my life, Dad. The least you can do is spare his fathers life.”

The wind dies down. Dirt topples back to the floor. The walking corpses drop to their knees before the soil reaches around them and drags them back into their graves, where hopefully they will remain for another few years. Slowly, your father shrinks back down to his usual five seven stature, his eyes gaining their normal dark colouring again. He continues staring.

You stare back for only a second before you spin on your heel and march towards Draco. You yank him up by his collar and shove him back, hissing, “Go grab your stuff and get out of here. This is the shit you're gonna get wound up in if you stay. You don't deserve that.”

Draco, flustered, grabs your shoulders and pushes back, keeping himself rooted to the ground. You want to cry. You need him to leave. You need him to be safe. You can't let him witness something like that ever again.

“Please, Draco,” you croak out. “Save yourself the bother-”

“You're crying.”

You groan, quickly swiping beneath your eyes to rid yourself of the tears you didn't even realise were falling. “No, I'm not.”

Draco wraps his arms around you and drags you into his shoulder. You don't really know why you melt into him in the way you do; it just kind of happens. Feeling the fabric of his shirt against your cheek, his arms around your shoulders, his body against yours – it's as if all the stresses of the evening flood out of you in a single swoop, replaced by a relief you didn't even know you were in such dire need of.

It's like Hades and Lucius don't even exist any more. It's just you and Draco, swaying back and forth in the darkness, saying nothing and that being enough.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he whispers. “Not until you know.”

You pause, but don't pull away. “Until I know what?”

“That – That you're special.”

You look up, raising a brow. “Is that a demigod joke?”

Draco groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “No. That's not what I meant. I meant – like – you're special to me.”

“Okay...”

He squeezes his eyes closed. “What I'm saying is, I don't want to leave you. I don't want to go back to the wizarding world and pretend I never met you. I want this – whatever this is – to last a long, long time.”

Your heart thunders in your chest. Beneath you, the ground rumbles, like the floor is hungry. “Draco...”

“I don't care what my father thinks of it,” he says, voice lower now. “I haven't been this happy in forever. I haven't met anyone like you before, and I'm so, so grateful you don't hate me.” He blinks. “Percy told me that, by the way – that you don't hate me. He wasn't lying, was he?”

You laugh. “No, he wasn't lying.”

“Oh, great.” He pulls you closer. “So, as I was saying-”

“Oh, for the love of me!” Hades claps his hands impatiently. “Just kiss them already, you idiot! Why do mortals take so long to get to the point?”

Draco looks over your shoulder, face going red. “Are you giving me permission to kiss Y/N?”

Hades rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes. Just get on with it. I'm ageing.”

“You're immortal, old man.”

“Watch your mouth, little one, or you're grounded.”

Your laugh is broken by Draco's kiss.

In the background, Lucius yells in frustration, but he quietens as soon as he looks at Hades. You don't even care, though, because once again, it's like neither of them are really there. It's just you and Draco. There is no world separating you, there is no problems, you are the same. His hands trail along your jawline before crawling over the back of your neck, holding you in place, as if you would ever willingly pull away.

Beneath you, the ground continues to growl. You imagine it's the dead people giving you a round of applause.

---

“Lumos.”

You crack an eye open. Beside you, Draco shifts, lifting the covers further over his head. Through the thin material of the quilt, you can make out a dim yellow glow coming from Draco's wand.

You roll onto your back, nudging his arm with your elbow. He pauses, taking a few seconds before he pulls the covers back down, revealing his messy bed head and bare torso. He gives you a grin and says, “What are you doing awake?”

“You woke me,” you reply, before nodding towards the book resting on his lap. “What's that?”

“Oh, this? Nothing. Just a little book I picked up from the library the last time I was at Hogwarts.”

You raise a brow; you haven't seen Draco casually read in quite a while. Any time he has his head stuck in a book, it's usually to learn some new potion, or some new spell that he can show the harpies to impress them when they ask for a magic show. However, looking down at the book currently perched on his knees, you can see this isn't just some simple recipe book for wizards – the pages are filled with text, with very little pictures to accompany them.

“Can I read it with you?” you ask.

Draco's cheeks light up. “Maybe you should just go back to sleep. It's pretty late-”

He goes quiet when you rest your drowsy head on his chest, tugging the quilt up to your chin. You hear him sigh, a noise of content before he looks down at the page and places his wand beneath the words. In bold at the top is the title Hades and Persephone.

“Oh, my mum hated her,” you say.

Draco chuckles. “I can imagine.”

You trace your eyes over the words. You can't really make them out with your dyslexia, but Draco reads them for you, because he knows. He reads the story of your father and his true wife, pausing to ask you your opinions, or if you know anything about any of it. You tell him you don't, but you want him to keep reading, so he does, and together you learn about your father and his ways.

Finally, when Draco reaches the end of that particular story, you look up at him and say, “Why are you reading this?”

He shrugs. You don't buy it, though, and continue waiting for his response. He rolls his eyes at your patient silence and says, “Remember when you asked me if I'd ever read any of the Greek myths?”

You raise a brow. “Yes...”

“I hadn't read any of them. But I realised it's kind of part of your history, isn't it? These myths, the people and things you talk about. If I really want to understand you, I have to get familiar with a few of these terms, don't I?”

A lump forms in your throat. “You're reading these for me?”

“Of course.” He slams the book closed and says, “Quiz me. I can tell you who Demeter is right now.”

You stare at him a moment longer, overwhelmed beyond words. Instead of giving Draco a pop quiz on all things Greece, you reach up and press your lips to his own, whispering the unknown words of “I love you,” against his mouth.

Draco chuckles, the sound like music to your ears. “I love you, too.”

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somuchbetterthanthat · 4 years

Text

Probably too long for tumblr, un-betaed, written in one rush, utterly and completely self-indulgent. Have a little bit of touch-adverse/kiss-adverse Martin (with a good deal of denial and internalize prejudice to boot, so warning) for Aspec Martin Week.

It’s been a week, and they haven’t kissed.

It makes sense, Martin insists to tell himself, eager to find excuses for that one little discordant note in his otherwise perfect fairytale. What they shared in the Lonely had been -- much more powerful than that, for starters. And afterwards, there’d been the rush of getting somewhere safe, first to Martin’s flat, then to Scotland. They’d gone from stuttering at each other, exhausted and soft, blatantly trying to get over months of separation, to falling back in each other’s orbit with an easiness that made Martin light-headed when he thought about it too long.

So they hadn’t kissed. It just hadn’t -- came up yet. They’d gone so fast, so suddenly, it was nice to have that little thrill of anticipation. They were building towards something. They were building something, right now. There was no rush, was there?

After all, they’d hold hands, a few times. In the train to Scotland, fingers loosely intertwined, when Martin was still shivering from a coldness that had nothing to do with the rain pouring outside, and everything with the pervasive attraction of the sea that was still trying to drown out the beating of his own heart. They’d hold hands and it was warm and good and -- and well, sweaty, sometimes, when they kept at it for too long, but Martin had daydreamed of holding Jon’s hand for so long he could never make himself let go (and if there was an odd drop of relief wherever Jon let go first, at last, well, that was -- that was --)

Jon was affectionate, the way Martin had seen cats be when he fell into YouTube spirals, before. He hovered in Martin’s physical space, nuzzle his shoulder when he was sleepy, put his legs on Martin’s lap when they sat on the couch, and downright beamed and melted into his arms the first time Martin, filled with abrupt courage and stubbornness had decided to hug him, and every single time after that (this chased away the sound of the sea; if he kept Jon’s close enough, all he could hear was Jon’s voice and Jon’s heart and Jon’s breathing --)

(And if it get too much, sometimes, if he had to bite his tongue not to flinch when Jon’s hand brushed over his arms, his neck, his back, suddenly and without any apparent pattern, well, that was --)

They slept in the same bed, for heaven’s sake. They hadn’t even talked about it. The first night, tiredness had won over any potential flustering. Afterwards, it’d been easy, like everything else between them. Martin adored the intimacy of it in a way that was hard to describe properly. He loved it most in the morning, when the sun came in and he woke up before Jon, liked going to prepare breakfast knowing that he could come back whenever he wanted, and Jon would be there still, comfortable and vulnerable and in their bed, probably curled on Martin’s side, nose pressed against Martin’s pillow. He loved it most when they spent the evening there, still dressed, Jon’s reading, Martin scribbling in the small notebook Jon had bought for him at the London train station, cheeks flushed and eyes hopeful.

(They slept in the same bed, and Jon’s pajamas were too short, and his legs hairy, and his feet cold, and when he fell asleep he had a tendency to roll over and lean his legs against Martin’s, and Martin closed his hands into fists and breathed, breathed, and tried not to feel like he was trapped between suffocating in the bed, or disappearing into the fog to escape it all together. It was intimate. It was intimacy. It was what normal couples did, sharing a bed, and why couldn’t he enjoy it, he who’d dreamed of this his whole life? Intimacy. A relationship. Someone to love and to hold and fall asleep with, he who had been craving gentle, casual, loving touches his whole life, why couldn’t he ----)

So they hadn’t kissed; it didn’t matter, because Martin knew they would anyway. It was just that, out of everything, he had dreamed of kissing the most his whole life. When he was very young, the person hadn’t even had a face; he’d thought this would happen very officially, at his wedding. As a teenager, it’d slowly dawned on him he had no desire to kiss girls. Harder, he’d thought, but that would happen, he knew it could, Mr Anders had a boyfriend, everybody knew he had. Martin had imagined his first kiss with Louis who was two years older and played Rugby. Then it’d been with Tom, and Samir, and -- and then, there hadn’t been school anymore, but that was fine; he’d imagined his first kiss to be with an half stranger in a café, or in this bar where they hosted poetry nights.

It’d never happened, of course, but that was fine. That was fine. Who needed a relationship, anyway? Lots of people were single, and didn’t kiss people all the time, and if Martin sometimes felt icy envy when Tim used to speak of how easily he seduced people, well, that was easily pushed back down. (Martin had thought, once or twice, that he could ask Tim. Warm, friendly, easy-going Tim, who would never judge him for being inexperienced. He could have, but Martin didn’t want to kiss Tim. There was no pull, no attraction, no matter how charming Tim’s smile was. He wasn’t in love --)

And then there was Jon. The first time he’d daydreamed about kissing Jon, he was sleeping in his cot, and it smelled like his awful-but-not-quite-boss and safety-safety-safe-. Afterwards, there’d been million of other occasions. God, how much he’d craved, this past months, to go down the Archives, the hell with Peter, and to cup Jon’s face and to -- (and then he hadn’t wanted to anymore, and that was fine, too, it was easier, to stare at Jon and care in a pragmatic way instead of like a pathetic, lovesick fool. One of us should, he’d thought in his worst moment, and he loathed the man he’d been for those weeks so much -- there was a quiet dread in him that liked to murmur back to him Daisy’s words, that the entities didn’t force anything on them, just exacerbated what was already inside them, and every time, inevitably, he felt so cold again--)

So they hadn’t kissed. It was fine. They were going to. They were building to it. They just needed the perfect moment. First kisses weren’t just about the right person. They were about the right place, at the right time. Martin had wanted this for so long --

Tonight, Jon’s scowling at their puzzle like it personally insulted him, has been for the past ten minutes, and the light of the fire is reflecting in his eyes; he’s wearing Martin’s jumper and his hair is still wet from his earlier shower and Martin’s heart jumps at his throat as he thinks now. It has to be now.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he blurts out, filled with a sudden urgency. “Please? If -- If that’s -- if you want to.”

Jon looks up, startled, and it’s magic, the way his scowl disappears under his sudden flush and shy, happy smile. “Ah, yes,” he says, like he’s surprised. “Yes, I want -- I thought you might not --”

“No,” Martin says, “No I really really do --” “Well, then.” Jon’s lips curled into something that’s full of mischief, and Martin didn’t know it was possible to adore someone just as much as he adores Jon. “Come here, Mr Blackwood.”

“Oh I’ve got to work for it, have I?” Martin retorts, but he’s grinning, and already moving to Jon. They push the puzzle away, and Martin’s whole body is thrumming with nervous energy, abruptly, as Jon looks up to him, eyes dark and beautiful and soft. “I haven’t -- I haven’t actually ever done this,” he says, and is surprised to find he’s not embarrassed to say.

“There’s really not much to it,” Jon tells him, but he cups Martin’s face, tender as ever, and Martin thinks -- non sense, what is there more intense and intimate in the world than this? What else embodies love as much as kissing? -- and then Jon’s lips gently brush against his

-- and it’s good; for a few seconds, Martin feels electrified and so happy he could float; and then Jon’s lips are pressing back a little more insistently, and they’re a bit dry, and chapped, and his breath is hot against Martin’s face, and Martin’s knees are not wobbly, and the electricity has passed and all there is left is two bodies, pressed awkwardly against each other, skin and flesh and that odd, wet noise, and he wants to run, he wants to run so badly, this is ---

Jon moves away. Blinks worriedly, smile gone. “Martin?”

“No,” Martin says, his voice too tight, his hands trembling. “No, come back it’s -- sorry, i’m going to -- I’m just, i’m new to this? It’s got to -- It’s just -- I need --”

“Martin, breathe,” Jon snaps (he’s not angry, Martin has learnt to recognize the different ways Jon snaps over the years. He’s worried, and anxious, and probably thinking he’s done something wrong, the beautiful idiot --)

Martin breathes.

“Let me try again,” he stammers, after a minute.

“...Are you sure?” Jon tentatively asks. He’s so far away, careful not to lean too close while clearly yearning for it, and Martin forbids himself to start crying.

“Please,” he says instead.

“Okay,” Jon says. This time, he is so much more hesitant, so Martin is the one who crosses the distance between them, heart racing desperately in his chest. He tries to think of every movie, every story he’s ever watched or read or listen to; he puts one hand on Jon’s shoulder, and one hand on Jon’s hair, and Jon sighs, and their lips met and this time it’s right except, except it’s --

it’s all wrong, everything is wrong, and all that Martin manages to be aware of is how awkward and weird it all is; just like the hand-holding, when they do it too long, just like those little unexpected touches Jon offer at random moments, just like Jon’s legs in bed, and his damn cold feet;

Martin doesn’t remember breaking off the kiss; suddenly he is sobbing angrily -- at the lonely, at himself, at his childhood self who’s probably dreamed of this so much he’s ruined the reality of it all for themselves as an adult, -- and hides his face in Jon’s shoulder, apologizing like an idiot; he doesn’t even know what he babblers on. Stupid stuff, properly, because he’s an idiot, because he’s doing this horribly wrong, all of this, because he’s not feeling anything of what he should feel right now, because there is something ugly in him that refuses to be tamed even by love, and so what now? What now?

(Jon holds him. Jon murmurs it’s okay, it’s okay, we don’t have to, it’s okay, I love you, breathe for me, Martin, it’s okay, you’re okay -- and how is it, that Martin can love him so much and yet not be able to --)

“I want to,” he manages to say. “I’ve wanted to. All my life I just --”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, as if he is in any way responsible for this disaster. “Kisses are very much overstated, if you want my opinion.”

“But it’s not,” Martin argues, clinging to him harder. “It’s how you, you show love --”

“Is it? I never thought so. I like kissing just fine, I suppose, but It does get boring, especially if you do it for too long. Assuming we’re speaking of mouth kissing, of course.”

“How can you -- How can you say that?” Martin sputters, tearing himself away from Jon’s arms to stare at him. Jon is frowning, but he also looks so calm, it’s baffling.

“Easily,” Jon said, shrugging, a bit defensively. “Look, Martin, I told you four days ago I didn’t have sex. Ever. And you said it was fine, that you didn’t mind.”

“Well, yes, but --”

“How is that in any way different than kissing?”

“It’s, it’s -- I don’t know but --” Martin can feel himself tearing up again. Jon’s eyes soften, and he gently squeezes Martin’s hand.

“If you want to try again, at some point, we can,” he tells him, and it’s so impossibly gentle. “But it’s alright if it’s not -- something you enjoy. If we don’t kiss, ever, I won’t love you any less for it.”

“Maybe I just -- I just need to practice,” Martin says, quieter now.

“Maybe,” Jon admits. “But if it makes you this distressed every time, I might be the one who has to say no, here.”

Martin wants to argue some more, but something in Jon’s expression, stubborn and worried still, stopped him from doing so. “I love you,” he says instead, because that part is true, that part he trust; if he cannot control his body, at least he has mastered his heart;

Jon smiles. “I love you,” he says back, and he brings Martin’s hand to his mouth and kisses it gently.

Martin’s heart stops; his cheeks warm up abruptly; a shiver runs down his spine. He feels his breath hitch up his throat.

“Do that again?” he tries, voice trembling.

Jon raises his eyebrows. “This?” his lips linger on Martin’s knuckles, this time. Martin’s knees feel weak. Jon’s smile gets wider; warmer. “Oh, I can do this,” he nods, seriously. “Tell me if it’s get boring.” and he kisses Martin’s hand again; each finger, with a tenderness that makes Martin feel dizzy.

“I love you,” he repeats, because he thinks, he’s starting to understand what Jon was saying. “I love you so much.”

Jon kisses his wrist; his lips are a bit chapped and it’s slightly wet and Martin’s pulse is loud in his ears.

This. this is perfect.

There is no but; there is no quiet, shameful parentheses; Martin thinks he might have to talk to Jon about the bed, maybe, tomorrow; for now, his eyes fall back on Jon’s hand. He wonders what it’ll be like, to kiss it. He’s got a feeling it might be very pleasant, indeed.

#the magnus archives #aspecmartinweek #tw: internalized prejudice #i /guess/ it can vaguely fit the prompt #exploration #?#or together #but mmh #tma stories #sorry there is an actual story i'm working on properly that ought to arrive hopefully next week or so

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The marriage pact - Island folk

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 6 | Part 7 Island folk | Part 8 >

Disclaimer: mention of late motherhood worries

Author’s note: This story is just so much fun to write. I set a scene and *BOOM* it just kind of writes itself. Now, I don’t know how long this writing craze will continue, but so far you can expect an update every day. You read that right; every day!

Word count: 1.525

(Link to my Masterlist)

[ Alice.in.writing.land ]

Dear readers,

Dark are the abysses of my heart sometimes, and I know that keeping those thoughts under lock and key only make things worse. And so, for the first time on this blog, I’d like to share something really, truly personal with you. A little snippet of my thoughts for a tender of your time, I’d like to come clean about my most recent Google search which I did late last night, after hours of laying awake.

Late motherhood.

Why? You may wonder. Well, with my relationships continuously failing and the years - and candles - slowly adding up to my birthday cakes, I feel the increasing unease in my heart whenever I come to think of having a family of my own. Will it happen? And if so, am I not too late already? All my friends and family members had their first children in their late 20s, yet here I am, the oddball, single Pringling through life at 37.

It was about 3 AM late last night when I found myself quelling my nerves by looking at pictures of older female celebrities having kids at the “ripe old age of 35”, which in my book is still super young, but of course we are looking at Hollywood standards here. And, to be quite frank, I’m not sure if it helped me, but at least it did offer me the slightest sliver of hope as I found that I’ll probably just need a little luck, good preparation..and perhaps a donor, to make my wishes come true.

Research is required.

But, let’s not get carried away just yet. I know what I want, now all I need to give myself is time. Time to listen to my heart and learn if this is truly it, time to investigate my options a little more and time to sleep. Because honestly, Google is one hell of a click-through trap when you can’t sleep - I may or may not have ended up falling asleep to videos of laughing foxes, which are truly..the cutest. In case you want to look it up and dare to delve into the time consuming trap that is watching random Youtube videos, then search for: “Finnegan fox”.

Hi-la-ri-ous.

Also; apparently chocolate cakes have internet access. So, aherm, hello and welcome to my little writing den, oh mysterious chocolate cake of mine!

A very sleepy, but glad to have this off her chest,

Ali

The waves broke softly onto the shoreline as the wind tugged gently on my hair, my pen scribbling away on the paper notebook on my lap. For some odd reason I found it much more comfortable to write by hand, and so whenever the mood struck and I found the time, I snuck out to my little beach hide-out and started to write. This time it was for work, but sometimes I also worked on smaller fictional stories, the very act of writing calming my nerves considerably.

I looked up when I heard the sound of slushing feet through the fine sand, the distinct vibrations telling me someone was approaching me with slow, dragging feet. And.. it appeared to be not just anyone.

Henry.

So very suddenly I felt terrible about posting that blog this morning. Had he read it? Would he start a conversation about it? I wasn’t quite sure if I wanted to have that conversation with him right now. We were at best just dating, our newly rekindled friendship slash relationship only a few days young.

He stifled a yawn as he plopped down beside me on the picnic blanket, his eyes sporting large dark circles beneath them, his shoulders slumping slightly as he looked me over. I sniffled, shaking my head at the fact that we both had barely slept - obviously.

‘Mornin’.’ He grumbled, a gentle smile reaching his lips, his body leaning forward, but halting mid-morning kiss. Almost automatically I closed the distance, my hand moving aside my notebook so I could lean in, lips brushing over his, which apparently was just what he needed, his lips curling up in a full smile. ‘Hi.’ I whispered into his lips, then leaned back, tucking some rogue curl behind his ear before studying him better. Once more he wore a blue shirt - he had a gazillion of those, didn’t he? - and some dark jeans, his hair fresh and messy straight out of bed.

’So…no sleep then?’ I inquired, watching him as he slowly moved his gaze towards the rolling waves before us. ‘Nope.’ ‘How come?’ ‘Hmm..’ He thought aloud. ‘..I suppose it is difficult to just stop my life right dead in its tracks.’ He sighed.

‘What’s up Hen?’ I scooted closer to him, fingering a hand through his curls, his eyes closing as he revelled into the simpleness of my touch.

‘I have to fly back to London for the weekend. There’s this event that my manager can’t seem to cancel without serious repercussions and..’ He sighed again. ‘You don’t want to go.’ ‘Not really no. But I will have to. The fox videos helped by the way.’

My heart summersaulted at his words - not only because he apparently read my blog, which wasn’t entirely surprising, but also because he was showing so much vulnerability. This large bear of a man was being honest about the things that frustrated him, something I had never experienced with previous partners. They’d always just burst out in flames all of a sudden, without giving me any fair warning before hand.

‘Hmm..’ I hummed, thinking. His eyes were still staring out to the sea, soft waves cascading in similar shades to his cerulean irises. He truly seemed to be a bit done with it all.

‘I’ve got some swimming pig videos at the ready too.’ I added, laying my head onto his shoulder and wrapping both my arms around his large chest, wishing to comfort him a little. ‘Hehe..swimming pigs.’ He chuckled, his chest vibrating with near silent mirth. ’Yea..can you imagine? Those tiny, tiny legs kicking through aquamarine water, their noses sticking out the water like living, breathing, skin coloured electricity points. Oink oink!’

Henry’s chuckle turned into rumbling laughter, his shoulders shaking until he finally looked back at me, my head still resting on his shoulder. ‘Ali..I ..eh..know this is maybe a bit weird, but, would you perhaps like to join me? To London? Leaving Friday night, back Sunday morning?’

I sat up, my brown eyes staring into his deep blues. Tender, hopeful blues. ‘Hmm.’ I hummed, blinking for a moment as I mulled over his words.

‘I know it’s all going fast and I don’t want to pressure you.’ He added.

‘No, it’s okay. It’s ehm..okay. Yea, sure, I’ll come. I haven’t been to London in ages and don’t have weekend plans anyways.’

‘Ages?’ ‘Naa..okay..maybe not ages. More like months.’ I snorted. We both laughed until finally my eyebrow quirked up. ‘So..what kind of event are you ..or we..going to?’ Henry smiled, leaning in to kiss me, the sound of my fluttering heart drowning out all else around us.

The answer to my question didn’t matter, I was simply very happy that I could join him and finally get a sneak peek of his usual life. Henry’s life.

—

‘I’m still amazed at the fact that you managed to pack all your things in that one backpack.’ Henry grinned, pushing my backpack in the overhead storage locker in First Class. I grinned in turn, shrugging my shoulders as I sat back in my seat. ‘Oh you know. I don’t mock about. No need to bring the unnecessary.’

‘You’d make for a fine traveller.’ He admitted, plopping down in his seat, right next to me, his hand quite instantaneously interlacing with mine - he didn’t even seem to think about it -, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips as he watched two business men enter, taking their seats a few rows ahead, leaving us plenty of privacy.

Slowly, he cast me a curious glance. ‘What is it, dear?’ He asked, noticing my studious look, his smile growing and his blue eyes sparkling.

‘Mmm..just wondering. You probably thought about this far better than I have thus far. But if you’d start a family..how would that..go? Like..-‘ ‘The travelling and stuff?’ ‘Yea.’

Henry leaned into the headrest, his head tilting up slightly as he licked his lips. ‘It’s going to take some back-and-forthing with my partner. And it won’t be easy. It will not only be my children that will give you broken nights, you see.’ He grinned and my heart fluttered at his words - children! -, yet my mouth remained sealed, waiting for him to continue. He sighed. ‘I..would definitely slow down my career. For the longest time I didn’t even think of that as a possibility. But like you wrote quite perfectly; all my friends and family members had their children young and here I am..the oddball. I know I should not press my luck by demanding my partner to give up everything for me. That is just not fair.’

‘Give and take.’ I added.

‘Yes, give and take.’ He smiled at me, his large warm hand squeezing mine gently. It felt nice. ‘Okay..so another question. You live in London right?’ ‘Mostly, yes.’ He nodded, making me grin. ‘Yea yea..Superman has several mansions and a jet setting career that makes you quiver right back into your 2-bedroom flat.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘But all joking aside..why did you chose to stay with your parents, now you requested a “time-out”?’

Henry shifted in his seat, his smiling face turning to one holding a more serious expression. ‘I’m from the island baby. And I will always, ALWAYS return to the island. It is my one true home after all.’

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fruitylibrarian · 3 years

Text

quest of the spear live rewatch!

i already spewed my pre call to adventure flynn thoughts all over a text post but I would like to repeat: pre-canon flynn my beloved <3

yes he is a bit of a bastard but he just loves his books and he’s so genuinely just like. passionate and like…. Big? does that make sense? like i mean inside. not literally. bright

flynn’s mom is so fucking funny

and she’s Trying Her Best

you know one thing I don’t understand, I assume that flynn could afford to keep going to college because of like grants and scholarships since he’s all smart and like, even if his mom is well off, no one below the morally bankrupt millionaire line can pay for 22 degrees and not die of no-money-itis otherwise known as Starving

but like. why not become a professor or some other academia position?

you’d be incredibly overqualified and you’re a white dude, so while academia isn’t exactly bursting with new spaces to fill I’m sure you could find something???? and like. a professor in particular, while baby flynn might not be great at the connection part, seems like a natural progression to at least try for considering it keeps you in that comfort zone and familiar space just in a different albeit familiar role, and allows you to go on long lectures people can’t interrupt. and like, professors literally like, part of their job is research and to continue learning, so like. it seems like the natural choice for him to go for?

don’t get me wrong, baby flynn in particular might not be extremely well suited considering his lack of people skills, but plenty of professors are brilliant slightly odd smarties who give long, super engaging theatrical lectures (sounds like him!) but suck at one on one meetings and talking to people or may be accidentally insulting, but like, their class is genuinely interesting and they grade decently so like, I think he could get past that hurdle is what I’m saying

obviously he’d have to work at it and get the skills necessary but you know what that means? MORE SCHOOL, BABY! just in a different direction! like just? it seems like the obvious choice for his situation

ah yes!!! magic letter!!! it’s kind of funny they do this, it’s a great hook and way to make applicants go Uh Excuse Me and want to know more but also like, there’s no proof magic happened either?

although you’d think some people would get obsessive like let me tell you if i encountered real ass magic like that i wouldn’t stop until i had an answer

ah the Incredibly Long Interview Line. it’s kinda how funny how like. Not Special he is but at the same time he is?

“never been treated so badly in my entire life!” what did you say to him charlene

i’m sure he deserved it i just want to know

wait oh no i just realized

all these people are dead

every single one of them got murdered in the first episode of the series

jesus that’s dark

not gonna be able to stop thinking about that one huh

also love how it’s pretty evenly men and women

although it’s still mostly white

fuck that lady just left crying I know they’re doing this to turn up the drama but DAMN, charlene

god he almost gave up. remember the timeline episode where he never became the librarian? weird.

Gkjlfkgjhfglh Where Do You Think You’re Going? (weak gesture like “me?”) Yes You. Get In Here amazing how can she even see him she’s around the CORNER. camera? magical surveillance? why? just to freak people out? amazing.

i do so love charlene, it’s a shame she wasn’t in the show more

also she literally never explains shit. What Makes You Think You Can Be The Librarian he doesn’t even know what that means, charlene

He Doesn’t Even Have A Library Science Degree

oh wow he does actually have librarian qualifications lmao

why did i not remember that

DLKFGJDFG I did remember him sherlocking her tho

wait her MARRIAGE? to WHO?

i thought her and judson were a thing despite jenkins being into her or something?

huh

also why does this qualify him to be The Librarian™ like oh he can sherlock? ok?

maybe it’s just bc he had the balls to do it

well, the sherlock thing is also not completely unhelpful it just doesn’t seem central to his skills, or at least, not the way he uses it (do we see him use it like this again? he usually applies more obscure knowledge then ye classic deduction sherlockian skills if I remember correctly which I may not because my brain is smooth)

judson is such a fucking drama queen

LKDJFGLKDJFGLDKFJG I FUCKING FORGOT HE LITERALLY JUST FUCKING REPEATED HIS MOM’S LITTLE PHRASE AMAZING

also why did he seem to think her sending everyone home meant he didn’t get it why would she stop all interviews because you fucked up

he just fucking walked out of a wall judson you are so dramatic

also warehouse 13 vibes huh. welcome to a world of endless wonder

I could do a whole fucking thesis on warehouse 13 and the librarians or—well that’s a whole other tangent

anYWYA

this interview was remarkably easy tho, it’s not like he wasn’t impressive but it wasn’t mindblowing either????? this coming from a big fan of flynn

the big shiny wonderous eyes as the library lights up……flynn my beloved

also his floofy hair ldkfgjdlkfgj

he’s like this is too good am I being prank’d

why the mona lisa?????iIs the mona lisa magic??? It only became famous because it got stolen why would it be magic??? Is this one of those we make it magic by believing it or some shit things???

Flynn Do Not Open The Random Box In The Library Of Incredibly Dangerous Artifacts

oh hello excalibur !!

oh rip flynn immediately being like “oh im not worthy, trust me” with 100 percent certainty im hurt oof

KSJFLGKDJGLKDJG THE APPLE “the apple from the garden of eden…….” *judson takes a bite* “actually I just left this here”

excalibur hello properly!!!!

judson is such a fucking DRAMA QUEEN he’s so casual!! and cal you too you slippery bitch!

ah the jetpack.

DLFKGJDLKFGJ “it usually takes a new librarian four hours to find the jetpack. you did it in three! congratulations” love the implication that every librarian (at least since it was added to the library) has done this no matter how serious like the bad guy of this movie… *checks notes* edware wilde? jetpack. darrington dare, probably? jetpack. i like to think jenkins did it too (not technically a librarian, but you know)

flynn thinking of himself as embarrassing… ☹

HIS MOM IS SO PROUD OF HIM

part sweet, part funny, part rip

I don’t know what she was expecting when he said librarian tho like. originally he literally looked at shit for FRY COOk degrees don’t always mean shit you know

and librarian is up there with professor in Perfect Jobs For Flynn like what did you expect??? Like even if he’d become an archaeologist (a “cool” job) it’s not like that pays super well either as far as I know??

he was never going to be Traditionally Successful

he’s still the same person he still has the same strengths and passions of course he would go into academia and do something like librarian like????? her reaction saddens me.

just be happy for him!! look at him!!!

ok first of all even normal non magic librarians don’t just put books on shelves and that’s a condescending reduction of the job, and second of all, he is so happy!! he has a job, he’s taking responsibility, he’s meeting people, isn’t that enough??? isn’t that literally what you wanted??? even if it WERE what you think it is why couldn’t it just be a good first step??? like??? fuck??? you did been know that he was doing all those fancy degrees because he loved them not because they’d get him some super fancy job??? I mean egyptology is not the most profitable field you know this isn’t med school or whatever

god.

flynn’s mom, visibly not proud and very upset: of course im proud of you!

ok im being a little unfair, she’s trying and clearly she’s been supportive of him, if not straight up enabling of him, but like this is clearly being presented as like. normal person who is normal forced to take care of freakish strange son who is so nerdy and strange and a loser and she is so tired of his shenanigans and all that WORK she put in and he’s NOT FANCY AND CHANGING TO CONFORM TO HER IDEALS OF A GOOD SUCCESSFUL SON/MAN?

and that’s just all very. sigh.

the snake brotherhood are such obnoxiously cheesy villainous villains they’re even called the snake brotherhood

also I think we’re supposed to recognize him as the previous librarian from the painting but if I didn’t already know that I for sure would not know that

smartass flynn is a smartass

I never got people bringing someone coffee to impress them unless they knew their order like there’s no way you know who she likes her coffee so you could so easily get it wrong—like even if you don’t know exactly how much sugar she wants, you could also just get it entirely wrong like assume she likes black coffee but she likes it super sweet, or vice versa, or whatever. it can go wrong so easily!

or she could go “I Hate A Kiss Ass”

she did take it anyway tho so.

ah i did forget (or just not actively think about) how much like… christian mythology there is in this show :/ I mean we did been knew (excalibur and arthurian legend are pretty important to the mythology)

not that christian mythology is inherently bad it just gets a) annoying, b) boring, and c) y’know, very western centric and all

but then trying to reconcile di—you know what that’s a tangent for another time

then again I do assume no one is going to read this

the library really does just throw new librarians into death and go “hope this is fine!” huh

did they just imply god is canon in the “the librarian” universe

you were so cryptic with the no one thing!! just say NOONE

he’s scribbling in his notebook and mumbling out loud what a mood and I love him. what a nerd

ldfkgjdlkjg god sexy jazz music and a breeze this is so dumb

I do hate the forced love interests in all these movies it’s always like Some Hot Girl Is There And They Get It On!

like he really had chemistry with eve and banter but here it kinda feels like that wish fulfilment and then the nerd gets the hot chick the end and im saying that as the nerd

it doesn’t help that each movie has a different one who immediately is dropped as if she never existed afterwards

maybe it’s not as bad as I remember but. sigh

my instant impression of her is to not like her sorry nicole :/

she’s just so rude? she’s like. hot (derogatory)

i get there’s gender politics here with like. she’s used to being treated like a piece of meat and generally like, why not reap the benefits when you are going to get the creeps too, but like, also she’s just so unnecessarily rude—I mean rejecting his clumsy flirting is one thing but you know—ok I won’t even get into that the point is I just don’t really like her that much even tho I don’t think she’s necessarily a bad person or anything you know

but to be fair I think she got better and I remember her being compelling in her return to the show

and like. I do like how the trend in this franchise is “smart little nerd librarian and badass lady guardian kicks ass” but I do wish that it turned around occasionally. we do get cassandra but like. more lady librarians

wow an air marshal? aren’t they rarely even on flights?

sorry im being nitpicky there for sure lmao. please delete the cinamasins ding my words probably summoned from your brain

I get why shoving him out was necessary but also Wow

Gjklhkjfgh imagine sitting next to some mumbling nerd the whole flight and then you see him fly past the windows

LFKGJDLKJDFG he brilliantly lowers our expectations then jumps without a chute! remarkable!

hilarious or commentary on men getting credit for womens’ competency? why not both

i really thought that she was going to be a lying liar the first time I watched this

ah naïve boy. “uh that’s against the law”

flynn’s greatest strength isn’t just his knowledge but his like. breadth of different topics, just like, passion for learning of any time, and like. the ability to not just know a lot of different things but cross-reference and apply them to each other and use them in tandem to understand a greater whole

and we love that for him!

ah flynn therapizing himself lmao

why would she take him going “this bridge is rotting and physically cant support our weight” as a challenge

or him being cowardly like THE STRUCTURAL SUPPORTS ARE ROTTING

YEAH WHAT DID YOU EXPECT OF COURSE HE FUCKING FELL

ok i lied i like nicole i just don’t love their dynamic

i get what they’re going for i just. not my thing

like with eve there was still a clear mutual respect? i guess? idk

maybe it’s just because i’m more sensitive to mean banter? i don’t like mean banter, even when it’s like, def 100 percent well meaning and not mean spirited and no one is actually offended or hurt

although despite not liking their Thing I do a) think it’s very cute how he looks at her, b) their vibe as they start to get to know each other is Better, c) the end of the movie scene where she rides in for maximum drama? now that was good shit.

oh he’s sherlocking her in a shy attempt to impress her but it’s only going to piss her off, right?

oh she’s just sherlocking him back

KSGFJLDKFGJ LMAO “nerd” and that’s it. fair

Cutting Off His Head damn that’s hardcore

hmmmm cringe,

and more cringe

and cringe.

her waking up to him gone right after telling that story about waking up to her librarian gone and then killed—oof

love the serpent brotherhood lady being like wow!! he’s SO COMPETENT!! (cuts to him screaming)

do these ancient traps just have infinite arrows?

also I do love the whole waltzing across trope what can I say im a sucker

DFLKGLDKFGJLDKJG fucking CHUCKS SOMETHING AT IT and immediately where he would be standing is crushed by a huge rock amazing

he literally just chucked a rock at it and it fell over

ah the classic “let the hero get it for us” move

oh there he is! rip

why does he look like macpherson

not really but kind of

also contrast between the lady always being like “omg the librarian is so smart” and him assuming nicole is the one who did the smart thing

“your tears were perfect” how much more of an asshole can you get

They really could have played him as more sympathetic—“oh, we’re always around these powerful artifacts but we never use them for good! I had to do it, I was sick of sitting back and doing nothing” or like “all those years of danger and guarding powerful things and what good did it ever do me? what do I get for my service?” or anything but nah hes just like “mm power good babes. anyway I love sex and being mean”

to be fair flynn he was the librarian too—a real librarian? I mean yeah edward was corrupted and ultimately failed his duties but he had to have been qualified and actually got the job for a reason

flynn I know you think you sound badass but you really don’t

god not shangri-la again. everything the show did with that was. Bad. yikes

why is—god, I should really learn her name [checks notes] lana fangirling so much?

also following the lamia tradition of “serpent brotherhood second in command who is more interesting than the main evil white guy and also a pretty woc” huh

never got like “this is literally impossible” “well do it or I [generic bad guy threat]” like usually that means nothing lmao

LDFKGJLDKFJLDKFGJ ok first of all god is me? bitch?

second of all. me in english? on this fucking ancient very much not english thing? I mean I guess a) it might not be literal, even though he did say “m, e” by letters, b) it is a christian myth so maybe planted later??? but like?????

dude. giving the super powerful artifact to your prisoner? bad idea. if you’re worried about booby traps have a minion do it.

oh yes your gun is so scary in the face of a temple collapsing

why do heroes always think the whatever is safer with them than the temple that’s guarded it for a thousand years

I get it’s been discovered but like. fuck. still

You Are Going To Crash This Helicopter

SLKGJ HORRIBLE HIGH VELOCITY PIE OF DEATH

flynn and judson…..wholesome

oh here comes more forced romance

just let them be friends who grow to mutually respect each other blease

it is very fucking funny that the mom is like ….. oh my god…. oh my god,,, a WOMAN AJUST ANSEWREDM Y SDONGS PHONE?????????OH MY GOFD?????

he is bisexual. but it’s good he’s getting out

ah floofy hair

cahooting,

Yes You Do Need Clothes

that’s a teleporter sir

god eddie wild is such a boring fucking villain and person

and his plan SUCKS

also the serpent brotherhood (why BROTHERhood?) sucks and hates the library why would they just let this guy, a librarian, literally be their new leader

wow he just stabbed a guy on his OWN TEAM for no reason

great going asshole

love how lana is just like…. O-O

we stan lana. she hasn’t done much and she’s technically a bad guy i just love her

“at last we can be one” what does that even mean

why would lana or any of them want to help him he just killed one of their own for no reason hes clearly tripping on power and leaving yall to die

lfkgjdlkfgj flynn dodging so hard while the others is fight and then PUNCHING A GUY

dfglkjdflgkj wait it’s the professor dude why is that so funny

is he WITH THEM??? I think I just missed something

hold on a sec

yeah I think he just appears??? And flynn just fucking broke his nose iconic

wait so was he with them or is he just here going WHY ARE THERE RANDOM PEOPLE IN MY PYRAMID????????????

oh right he built the—ok I got it

Wait what

I mean I did think lana was neat and she seemed impressed with flynn but what shes just like, in love with him now? that makes zero fucking sense why would she want them to Be Together

Is it just so there can be a catfight between the two hot chicks?

seriously tho? morally pure blonde blue eyed girl versus Evil Asian Chick? really?

for the record NOT THAT IT MATTERS but lana is way cuter im just saying

ah badass judson

THE COMEDY OF THE CAPSTONE CRUSHING HIM DLFKGJDLKFGJ

oh………….pulling out excalibur…. predicable but so good

oh the painting….the very Parenty way of revealing it…… wholesome

oh did NOT like that transition

oh here comes the badass fucking entrance with his gf busting in on his mom trying to set him up with girls

HER ENTRANCE IS SO UNNECESSARAILY DRAMATIC I LOVE THEM

I just love the mom’s face ldfkgjldfkgjdlkfgjdlkfjgd shes like WHAT THEGUFVCJK

again I don’t love the vibes of “oh my weird loser son is finally normal!” but to be fair im exaggerating a bit from just facial expressions it’s just. sigh

but ngl the vindication of him being able to be like. yeah that’s right im a badass now and my gf is cool as fuck is still good

him and nicole do have not terrible vibes at the end but if I remember correctly that mission (time travelling ninjas and hg wells’s time machine) is the one that separated them so rip I guess

overall: good movie! as cringe as I remember but I still love flynn so much

#flynn carsen #the librarian: quest for the spear #going to bed now. perhaps the others tomorrow

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rhubarbbaby · 4 years

Text

Strawberries and Art 1

Jihoon x Y/N

Genre: College AU, Fluff Word Count: 2k Summary: Like every passionate art student, you spend most of your time immersed in your drawings and paintings. The day you meet Jihoon, your everyday life suddenly gets a lot more exciting…

All chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Chapter 1

Changing the song that was currently playing on your phone, while at the same time trying very hard not to reduce your walking speed was definitely (much) harder than you thought. Twenty minutes ago you had still been asleep in your comfy bed while dreaming about... dreaming about what?

The memories of your dream had slipped away the second your alarm went off. The excessively shrill, piercing tone you had set for your alarm used to get you into a lot of fights with your brother when you were still living at home, because “What the fuck is that sound? Can´t you just use that weird guitar riff like any other fucking normal person?” Although you did always feel a tiny bit of pity for your brother and knew that he had a point (you would of course never admit that), you never changed the sound. You surely were not fond of it yourself but you needed something to pull you out of your sleep.

Even before you started attending university you were used to staying up late. Undeniably, staying up late was and will never be a healthy way to treat your body, you are very much aware of that. Your body wanting to sleep for seven maybe even eight hours was something you have always considered the cruelest inconvenience, the most ridiculous joke, the crudest rule the universe has set for you. Late at night was the time it was the easiest for you to pour all your thoughts, all the inspirations you had collected during the day into your drawings. How were you supposed to bend all your whirls of ideas into drawings if your body was basically screaming at you to finally go to bed? How presumptuous of your body to expect you to fulfill his basic needs.

But no matter how tired you were you nearly never managed to fall asleep before one in the morning which made you resort to the drastic measure of changing your alarm sound to said very shrill tone. After sometimes only four hours of sleep, your body was not willing to let you jump out of bed as simple as that. One could say the fatigue almost holds you captive every morning until around nine am when you normally start to free yourself from the clutches of your own tired body.

Yesterday you unintentionally set the aforementioned alarm an hour too late which had led to you now having to rush to the lecture hall. Your art history class would be starting in three minutes and you needed at least another five to even get to the entrance door. Despite having had to open the music app on your phone just to select a completely different album until you could finally pick your desired song, you were sure you didn´t lose more than a few seconds. Now accompanied by an uplifting song (not too uplifting though because it was still only eight in the morning which was definitively too early for upbeat music) and the tapping of your shoes on the asphalt you were practically running to your destination.

The moment you finally reached the entrance door a wave of relieve swept over you. Your lecture had only started two minutes ago, which wasn´t too bad. You hurried down the hallway and slipped quickly through the door. Your eyes darted to the front to see if the professor had already started the class. Luckily for you she was still setting up the projector for her visual presentation. While you tried to breathe calmly, which turned out to be quite a challenge after you had just crossed the entire campus in record time; you were looking for a free seat in the back. But this was an art history class. At eight in the morning. Nothing like an art history class before ten guarantees such an absurdly small amount of participating students. It was not difficult for you to find a free seat. (To be precise: you caught sight of more than twenty free seats.)

Seeing how many of your fellow students had deemed this class as “not worthy waking up for” you suddenly felt a bit insecure and ridiculous. You hated to miss class, even if it was art history. You knew that by simply listening to the professor you would already internalize some of the information. That meant you wouldn´t have to study as much at home anymore which meant you had more time for your drawings. Simple equation. Nevertheless you were feeling like the biggest nerd sitting in a half empty lecture hall with five other students.

Shaking your head slightly as if to get those unnecessary thoughts out of your brain you decided that it wouldn´t do you any good to continue thinking about your situation, so you simply took out your notebook and a pen to prepare yourself for the lecture. Four minutes after the professor had started speaking, your thoughts were already drifting off and your notebook got slowly filled with small doodles instead of the notes you were supposed to be taking.

Putting your things back into your bag you looked at your phone to check the time. It was 10 am. The professor´s voice long condemned to a pleasant background noise, you had spent the last two hours dozing and scribbling in your notebook. You hadn´t had breakfast and you were not hungry but you knew that giving your body some fuel in form of food would be the right thing to do right now. It was Friday and you knew your friend Jo did have morning classes just like you, so you decided to shoot her a message.

You: Hey wanna get breakfast?

You already felt your phone buzz after you left the lecture hall.

Jo: Sure! I´ll wait at the cafeteria.

Happy that you wouldn´t have to eat alone you grinned at your phone and started walking towards your friend. Entering the cafeteria you saw Jo waving while sitting at one of those big tables on the side. You shot her a smile and made your way over. With an overdramatic sigh you slumped down in the chair opposite of her.

“Was art history that bad?” she chuckled. “Honestly? I was just too tired to pay attention. I will never understand why classes that early even exist... It´s inhuman.” you retorted while shaking your head to emphasize your point. “Pretty sure some really sick sadistic psychopath invented morning classes.” She laughed but you knew she hated to get up early just as much as you. “Does Hansol not have class this morning?”

Hansol had been Jo´s boyfriend for a few months now. It´s definitely not that you are one of those girls who are obsessed with finding a boyfriend, haunted by the mission to find a pretty boy to post pretty Instagram pictures with, but Jo and Hansol´s relationship was kind of perfect, or so it seemed to the public eye and even though you (most certainly) were not one those girls, you couldn´t help but feel a bit jealous. Jo was one of your best friends and you were aware that their relationship wasn´t always ideal. They had smaller and sometimes bigger fights, like any other couple but they both were as happy as you had ever seen them and they supported each other unconditionally. When they got together you were scared you´d feel excluded when the three of you would hang out but Hansol turned out to be a total sweetheart (there really was no other way to describe him) who made sure you never felt left out.

“He does. He just was too lazy to get up today.” She shrugged. “You want pancakes? I´ll go get the food.” “Sure!” Fifteen minutes later both of you were not hungry anymore. “I didn´t even realize how hungry I was.” “I only ever realize how hungry I am when I start eating.” you agreed. “I totally forgot to ask you but did you already start drawing that portrait assignment?” “Don´t even remind me. I still have no idea who I´m going to draw. I don´t just want to draw some random celebrity. Everyone is going to do that and I really want it to be good.” “Yeah…but not everyone will be doing it as good as you. But like, have you thought about asking someone to model for you?” “Jo, are you indicating you want to be my muse?” you laughed with her tuning in right away. The mental image of her posing for you was more than just ridiculous. Just as she was about to answer, a boy interrupted the two of you. “You´re Hansol´s girlfriend right?” he asked her.

You had seen him passing you on the hallway before but until now he had never caught your eye. One look was enough for you to realize how pretty he actually was. Just like a mathematician who recognizes numbers everywhere with which they can explain mundane processes, just like a linguist who notices every subtlety of every single word and could distinguish the hidden delicate messages between each syllable, just like that you saw lines, strokes, patterns in the most varied and vivid colors that joined together in your imagination to form drawings and paintings in every place. You could be looking at any flower and the way the petals bent, the way the leaves curled around the stem would just make sense to you. That´s how you were looking at that boy´s face right now. His face seemed to consist out of tender drawn lines that intervened at the perfect spots. His eyes, his nose, his mouth that was slightly twisted upwards into a smile, everything just fit so wonderfully together you inevitably had to think about how amazing it would be to draw him.

“Yup, that´s me.” Jo´s voice had yanked you back out of your thoughts. “Me and Hansol have a class together. I forgot I still had one of his books and I think he needs it to study for that exam next week. Can I just leave it with you?” He was holding out a book to her. “Sure! That´s really sweet of you, looking out for him like that.” With a comically exaggerated gesture he bowed before us. “The pleasure was all mine,” He grinned. “I´m Jihoon by the way.” “I´m Jo and this is Y/N.” Only now he turned his upper body and finally looked at you. You felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Maybe it was just your imagination, caused by the desire to be noticed by this undoubtedly (really fucking) attractive boy, but his gaze seemed to have remained on you for a tiny second too long for it to be considered normal.

“Delighted to meet you guys.” he stated with a childlike smile on his face which made his eyes disappear. “There´s this party tomorrow. Hansol said he´s coming. You two should come as well.” “We´ll think about it! Sounds like fun though.” Jo answered for the both of you. “Perfect! I should get going. I have class in a bit.” His gaze was turned back onto you. “You´re still going to eat that?” “Wha…What?” “That strawberry. You´re not going to eat that?” Only then you realized you had left a single strawberry on your plate. “No..you can have it.” You stuttered your reply, your eyes wide from embarrassment because you hadn´t immediately figured what he had meant. He picked up the strawberry and took a bite. “Thanks!” he grinned. And then he winked at you. Just like that. Without warning. Promptly you could feel your cheeks turn slightly red and you wanted nothing more than to hide your face in your hands but at the same time you could still not stop staring at his face. In that moment you would´ve sworn that wink was the cutest (but somehow also hottest) thing you had ever seen in your life. “See you at the party!” with that he turned away from you and made his way over to the exit.

Only now your cheeks slowly lost color and your breath seemed to slow down again. You looked at Jo. She looked at you. You didn´t have to say anything , she had already deciphered you. “So you think he´s hot?” she beamed. “So fucking hot.”

What you couldn´t have seen, of course, was the smile with which Jihoon had left the room. What else was he supposed to do when you were that damn cute?

Hi! It´s me, Jo. I´d like to thank you for reading my stuff! I really hope you enjoyed it. If you have any feedback, comments, requests, questions please let me know!

#jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen ff #seventeen fluff #jihoon fluff #woozi fluff #kpop ff #seventeen #rhubarbbabywrites

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liberty-barnes · 4 years

Text

Switching Things Up

Louis Tomlinson x Female!Reader

University AU / Non-Famous AU

Summary: Five times Louis almost asked you out and the one time you asked him.

Warnings: cursing, fluffffff, bit of angst, misunderstandings, and Louis pining.

Word Count: 5k words

ERT: 20 minutes

A/N: i'm so in love with Louis it's not even funny anymore. also, it's finally out!!!!!!!

Inspired by: "Kiss You" "18" "Infinity" by One Direction, that one scene in the This Is Us movie.

Masterlist | Taglist

Louis's First

It was just another usual day for Louis. Wake up at six o'clock, drink his tea, go to class, pick up the girls from school, have lunch all together, and start his shift at Toys 'R' Us.

He genuinely liked working there. He loved kids, it was fun to be surrounded by toys, and they were quite respectful of his uni hours, so overall, it was quite a nice gig.

He was working on the floor today, greeting costumers, seeing if they need help with anything, trying to keep the shelves tidy. It was quite a slow day so since he was done with all his homework he took some time to play with the toys a bit.

"Okay, they've got to be here somewhere. Don't worry, we'll find you one just like it."

He lifted his head from where it was bowed over one of the pianos in the lower shelves, giving up on trying to get it to be straight and cracking his knuckles a bit.

The woman sounded pretty young and her voice was very nice so he started playing a random tune on the piano that was a bit more level with him (and sounded better too), just waiting for her to round the corner and spot him.

"Auntie, look, it's right there!"

The girl that passed right by him was absolutely divine. He'd never seen anyone as gorgeous as her and if the way his heart stuttered in his chest was any indication, his body seemed to agree. He straightened his shirt and ran his hands through his hair before turning around, ready to offer his help and maybe get her number after.

And if he pouted when she walked right past him with not the smallest reaction, nobody will ever know.

Louis's Second

He sat on a wooden bench as he waited in front of his youngest sisters' primary school. He was among parents and nannies, waiting for the bell to go off and the children to leave. His fingers tapped a random beat on his thigh while he hummed a melody that's been floating in his brain for a few minutes, trying to match some words to it.

So tell me, girl, if every time we touch

You get this kind of rush

He was about to take out his phone to write it down when a girl sat on the other side of the bench, taking out her headphones and putting them neatly into her bag.

But it wasn't just any girl.

It was the one he'd dubbed 'Future Mrs. Tommo', the girl from Toys 'R' Us. He refused to let her go this time, but he had no idea how to start the conversation.

That is, until she took out a familiar-looking binder, flipping it until she reached her desired page and started filling it out. It had been a mere thirty seconds before she started frowning.

He's never been so grateful to have chosen music as his minor.

"Are you in Charlton's class?"

The girl looked at him and he momentarily froze in place as his blue eyes met her (y/e/c) ones.

"Yeah, are you in his class?"

"Not anymore, I had him last year, though, he's a prick."

She huffed out a laugh and leaned back on the bench.

"Tell me about it, we've been talking about the Renaissance Era for two months and he still hasn't gotten to the interesting part."

"I thanked every deity imaginable that I got Natalie this year, I don't think I could do another year of that old man."

She turned to him and cocked her head.

"I've never heard of a 'Natalie' before."

"Natalie Dubois, she's a new teacher from France. Got a bit of a weird accent but she's a hell of a good teacher, and fun too, she gives us a bit more freedom, nothing like Charlton."

"What year are you?"

"Third, you?"

"Second."

He nodded and she tapped her pen against her binder.

"What're you studying?"

He was quite happy that she kept the conversation going.

"Drama major, music minor."

"Very artistic."

"I live to entertain. What about you?"

"Psychology major, music minor."

"Ooh, a brain doctor, I've always wondered if Psych majors could identify psychopaths from a single conversation."

She laughed at that and he felt his heart wanting to beat out of his chest. He wanted to record that sound so he could listen to it all the time. Use it as a ringtone, a melody for his next song, his alarm in the morning. He was positive he'd wake up in a much better mood if that's what brought him out of his slumber.

Unfortunately, he was interrupted before he could even ask for her number, or name, mind you, by the children's excited cheers.

Sooner than he would have liked, a little black-haired boy came running out and into her arms, Phoebe and Daisy only a couple steps behind.

"It was nice talking to you, I'll see you around!"

He could only wish her luck with that idiot teacher before she was gone and he had to care for his two little girls.

Louis's Third

The music room was quiet as he sat in front of the piano. He took out his notebook and started to play, following the notes messily scribbled on it.

I got a heart, and I got a soul, believe me, I will use them both

We made a start, be it a false one, I know

Baby I don't want to feel alone

He tried out, but something felt off. He tried a different note for the end, content with the way it sounded and scribbling it onto the notebook right after.

So kiss me where I lay down, my hands pressed to your cheeks

A long way from the playground

He frowned, changing a few notes here and there.

It sounded better, but there was still something missing.

"Try a key higher, it might sound better."

He heard her voice from the doorway, heart almost beating out of his chest for two entirely different reasons, though he chose to focus on the "I was startled" one instead of the "My dream girl is here" one.

He did as she told him though, and it did sound better.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She looked entirely too pretty when she smiled. He wondered if the sun was really necessary given that she smiled bright enough to light up this galaxy and the next. He busied himself with writing the changes in his notebook while she went from table to table, searching up and down for something he wasn't aware of. He secretly hoped she wouldn't find it, just so he could stare at her for a bit longer.

"How're classes with Charlton going? Still a prick?"

"The day that man stops being a prick, angels will be falling from the sky."

He didn't see her fall, but he was pretty sure she was an angel.

"A-ha!"

He saw her lift a blue journal, the word 'Songs' beautifully calligraphed on it in gold. She put it back in her bag and approached him so she was standing right behind him, reading the words in his notebook.

He felt her shoulder grazing his and smelled her perfume. It was fruity and sweet. Peaches, maybe?

"That's a beautiful song, you're very talented."

He felt his cheeks heat up at the praise.

"Thanks."

He took a deep breath. This is it. He's gonna do it. He's gonna ask her out.

"Hey, I was wondering-"

"Shit!"

She got up in a flash and took her backpack from where she had put it down next to the seat.

"I'm gonna be late for my appointment but hold that thought 'til we meet again?"

She looked so sorry that he couldn't bear to tell her no.

Louis's Fourth

"I'm telling you, Niall, she's the most perfect girl to have ever walked this Earth."

He sighed as he faceplanted onto the couch, the blonde still strumming his guitar as if Louis wasn't having an existential crisis a mere six inched away from him.

"You don't even know her name."

"I'll just call her mine."

The punch that landed on his arm was deserved, he'll admit it.

"The way I'm seeing it, you just need to find out who she is and ask her out, it's really not that hard."

"But I don't know where to find her."

"Wrong, you know that she picks up her nephew at midday. A nephew that goes to the same school as your little sisters. Just figure out the kid's name, find the school records, and trace it back to her. Easy."

He lifted his head from the pillow and glared at Niall.

"That's illegal."

He shrugged.

"Most importantly, though, I'm awful with computers so we'd need to find someone to do it for us."

"I know a guy."

He nodded, that would be plan B, assuming they find a plan A first.

The door opened to the sound of Harry's amazing rendition of Juice, and Louis smiled unconsciously.

"Nialler, you home?"

"Living room!"

The brunette walked into the room and fist-bumped them, lifting Louis's legs so he could slide under them and sit.

"Why do you look like a kicked puppy?"

"I met the girl of my dreams but I don't know her name and have no idea how to contact her."

Unlike Niall, Harry was much more the romantic type. He believed in fate, love at first sight, and all that stupid shit in the books he read his sisters every night. It was no surprise when he gave him the most poetic, love-filled piece of advice Louis had ever heard.

"You just need to have faith, Lou. If she's the one for you then the universe will find a way to get your paths to cross again. Before you know it you'll be married with four kids and a cat, living on a little farm with a giant trampoline in your backyard."

"How did I end up with you two as my best friends? I either get a 'break into a primary school' or 'trust the universe', there is no in-between."

Niall laughed loudly and Harry patted his calves reassuringly before they heard the door open and their friends' voices echoing in the small flat.

"Hey, boys?"

"Living room!"

Liam came in with a couple of packs of beer, followed by Zayn and a third person whose footsteps he didn't recognize.

(Because yes, he'd memorized the sound of his friends' footsteps, sue him.)

"Lou, stop sulking, it's time to drink beers and be happy."

"I'm deeply sorry if my existential crisis is bothering you, Zayn, I'll try to suffer silently."

The laugh he heard made his breath hitch and his heart stutter in his chest.

He knew that laugh.

That laugh had been playing on a loop in Louis' brain for two weeks now.

He tried (read: failed miserably) to sit up naturally, though it looked a bit more forced than he wanted it to.

"Mystery Boy!"

She pointed at him with a gleeful expression on his face and if his soul hadn't left his body before, it sure had now.

"Hey."

Really? 'Hey'? That's the best he can do?

"I never caught your name."

She cocked her head to the side adorably, arm stretched over her knee from her place on the floor, leaning against the armchair.

"I never threw it."

It was stronger than him, he didn't even register his comment until she started laughing and he felt his cheeks burn up, the overwhelming sense of having fucked everything up taking over him.

"Drama majors, always clowning around."

He let out a relieved breath and smiled when she didn't seem to take any offense to it.

"You guys know each other?"

Liam, lovely Liam, looking like a confused puppy but bless his soul for asking because it made her speak and Louis loved hearing her voice so much, it sounded better than any music the world could provide.

"We've kind of met. I'm (Y/n), by the way."

(Y/n).

(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).

(Y/n) Tomlinson.

That had a nice ring to it.

A really nice ring to it.

Mrs. (Y/n) Tomlinson.

Perfect.

"Usually, this is the part where you tell me your name. I can't keep referring to you as 'Mystery Boy'."

She giggled and his cheeks heated up again, though he didn't mind embarrassing himself if it earned him a laugh from her every time.

"I'm Louis. Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson."

"Nice to formally meet you, Louis."

He smiled and thanked the sun, moon, and stars for this opportunity. Because really, there wasn't a better opportunity than this one.

She's here.

With him.

(And his friends, but who cares about them?)

And he finally knew her name.

He could ask her out.

No fear.

No time-clock.

No hesitation.

"Here's your juice, love."

"Thanks, babe."

She threw Zayn a kiss and he felt his heart break.

Oh no.

"Guys, I have to tell you about this girl I met."

Louis sat down properly on the couch so he had a clear view of Zayn's face.

"Ooh, gossip."

The younger boy swatted him before letting out a dreamy sigh.

"She's just- She's so pretty and kind, and her laugh, she has the most beautiful laugh I've ever heard. She's a psych major so she always has something interesting to say and her friends are so cool. She's... She's just perfect."

Louis's Fifth

And perfect she is.

Louis left the flat right after he realized that the girl he'd been pining over was the same girl Zayn had been seeing, muttering about homework and essays and studying or whatever.

Now here he was, working the register at Toys 'R' Us, his usually bright and genuine smile replaced by an incredibly awkward and forced one, trying not to let the heartbreak eat him alive.

"Tommo!"

His coworker came over to him.

"Switch with me, James asked to see you."

Great, and now he was probably gonna get sacked from the only job he ever liked.

He walked with a frown on his face to his manager's office and sat down on the chair, waiting for him to finish what looked like a very intense phone call about... mechanical kittens?

He hung up a couple of minutes later and turned to Louis, resting his elbows on the desk.

"Louis. Louis, Louis, Louis. D'you mind telling me why my best worker's been sulking all day?"

He shrunk down a bit on the chair, suddenly feeling very small. Toys 'R' Us is a magical place, workers are supposed to be happy all the time.

"Just... Stuff."

"It's okay to be sad, but we worry about you. I mean, some of our regular costumers asked if you were alright cause you weren't jumping and joking. Just tell me what's wrong so I can try to help."

He let out a breath and let his head fall onto the desk.

"I met this girl and she's amazing, and kind, and funny, and just overall perfect."

"So you're sulking because you met the love of your life?"

"No! I'm sulking because the love of my life is dating one of my best mates."

He froze for a while, definitely not expecting that.

"What?"

"Zayn's dating her. I found out yesterday."

Jame took a deep breath and got up from his chair so he could get closer to Louis.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"Not a Jimmy Hug."

"Shut up, you deserve one right now, no matter how much you like to pretend you hate them."

When he came out of his boss's office, more relaxed and with a small smile on his face, he immediately spotted you next to the pianos.

He took his break at that moment and only returned when he saw you leave through his place in the alleyway right next to the parking lot.

Your First

You took a deep breath and tightened your grip on your nephew's hand, steeling yourself before entering the store.

"We have to get one with brown fur, just like Summer!"

You promised little Lucas that if he behaved at the doctor's you'd get him get a new plushie, a German Shepherd, just like your parents' dog.

"Okay, they've got to be here somewhere. Don't worry, we'll find you one just like it."

You looked up and down aisles, trying to find the plushies but not knowing where to look. You could hear someone playing the piano a couple of feet away and let yourself be lulled by the sound of the song, you'd always loved Tchaikovsky.

"Auntie, look, it's right there!"

Your nephew pointed at the shelves just on the other side of the piano (and the beautiful pianist standing in front of it). You let Lucas pull you towards the shelves and search carefully for the perfect plushie while you tried to not let the man get to you.

He was gorgeous. Like, model tier, plaster his face on your walls gorgeous.

And you were shy.

So you dragged the time out and mentally asked him to approach you, pouting when you realized he couldn't read your thoughts and your nephew was asking to leave.

Your Second

You speed-walked to the school, still riled up because of your class with bloody Charlton.

You wanted nothing more than to sit down on the bench, listen to your music, and people-watch until your nephew got out.

But you weren't expecting him to be there.

You were still too shy to approach him so you just took out your headphones and sat on the other side of the bench, taking out your binder and filling out a few things before purposely stopping somewhere and tapping your pen on the paper, pouting and wishing that he'd 'save you' from your boredom.

"Are you in Charlton's class?"

Bingpot!

You looked at him and were temporarily taken aback by just how blue his eyes were, but forced yourself to speak. You weren't gonna get anywhere by keeping quiet.

"Yeah, are you in his class?"

"Not anymore, I had him last year, though, he's a prick."

You huffed out a laugh and leaned back on the bench, trying to look nonchalant.

"Tell me about it, we've been talking about the Renaissance Era for two months and he still hasn't gotten to the interesting part."

"I thanked every deity imaginable that I got Natalie this year, I don't think I could do another year of that old man."

You turned to him and cocked your head.

"I've never heard of a 'Natalie' before."

That's a lie, you knew who she was, you'd even interacted with her.

"Natalie Dubois, she's a new teacher from France. Got a bit of a weird accent but she's a hell of a good teacher, and fun too, she gives us a bit more freedom, nothing like Charlton."

"What year are you?"

"Third, you?"

"Second."

He nodded and you tapped your pen against your binder.

"What're you studying?"

"Drama major, music minor."

"Very artistic."

"I live to entertain. What about you?"

"Psychology major, music minor."

"Oh, a brain doctor, I've always wondered if Psych majors could identify psychopaths from a single conversation."

You laughed at that. Usually, you hated when people were that shallow about your job but when he said it, it didn't sound shallow or mock-ish. It sounded like a legitimate concern, like those things you think of at three in the morning when you can't sleep.

You were interrupted by the school bell and cursed mentally to not have gotten here earlier so you could talk to him more. Your nephew came running towards you and two little girls followed, walking towards Louis. He looked so good with children clinging to him that you had to physically extract yourself from that situation before you said or did something embarrassing.

"It was nice talking to you, I'll see you around!"

Your Third

You walked to the music room, praying that your song notebook was left behind there. You don't know what you'd do without it. It has every single one of your creations there.

You heard someone play the piano and groaned. You were way too sleep-deprived to deal with human interaction.

But this wasn't just any human interaction now, was it? Because Mystery Boy was there.

(He's been dubbed Mystery Boy in your head since you have no idea what his actual name is.)

You stood in the doorway for a while, notebook be damned, just watching him play, then frown, then play again, and light up like a happy little puppy once he found the right melody. Until he reached a complicated part and couldn't find the right combination.

"Try a key higher, it might sound better."

He jumped a bit and you felt bad for scaring him, but the way he blushed after was cute. He didn't answer, just did as you advised and smiled once he found that it sounded like he wanted it to.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

You smiled and the blush on his face was entirely too adorable and you went from table to table, pretending you didn't remember exactly where you were sitting that morning just so you could spend a bit longer than necessary in his presence.

"How're classes with Charlton going? Still a prick?"

"The day that man stops being a prick, angels will be falling from the sky."

You couldn't stall anymore, it would just be awkward at this point.

"A-ha!"

You showed off your journal before putting it back in your bag and going down the stairs of the auditorium so you could stand right next to him.

Deciding to be subtle but a little more daring than usual, you stood next to him, shoulders grazing while you read the words on his journal.

He smelled heavenly, like cologne and deodorant, and something that had to be entirely him. You wanted to bury yourself in that scent.

"That's a beautiful song, you're very talented."

You'd never get tired of watching him blush.

"Thanks."

You heard him take a deep breath just as your eyes went to the clock and you remembered your doctor's appointment with Lucas, he had to get the second dose for his shots and you were the only one who could get him to quiet down.

"Hey, I was wondering-"

"Shit!"

You got up in a flash and took the backpack from where you had put it down next to the seat.

"I'm gonna be late for my appointment but hold that thought 'til we meet again?"

He answered a small yes and you dashed out of the room.

Your Fourth

You followed Zayn to his friend's flat off-campus. You had met him a couple of months ago through Gigi, your best friend. Those two had been flirting for ages and it honestly made you sick, but Zayn was an easy-going person and you got along great, so when you mentioned that you had plans of getting drunk alone tonight, he offered to take you to his friend's house so you could get drunk with some company.

You entered the flat with Zayn and who you now knew to be Liam, saying hello to the two men in the room and tilting your head in questioning at the man lying face down on the couch.

"Lou, stop sulking, it's time to drink beers and be happy."

"I'm deeply sorry if my existential crisis is bothering you, Zayn, I'll try to suffer silently."

You couldn't stop the laugh bubbling from your chest as you sat down next to the armrest.

He sat up way too quickly to be safe and you smiled brightly once you realized who it was.

"Mystery Boy!"

It was fate, it had to be. This was the universe's way of telling you that you belonged together.

"Hey."

You giggled at his awkward greeting.

"I never caught your name."

"I never threw it."

You started laughing at his sassiness. If you weren't completely smitten before you sure were now.

"Drama majors, always clowning around."

"You guys know each other?"

Liam asked and you jumped into an explanation.

"We've kind of met. I'm (Y/n), by the way."

He said nothing for a couple of seconds and you worried you were being too forward.

"Usually, this is the part where you tell me your name. I can't keep referring to you as 'Mystery Boy'."

He blushed again, he seemed to be doing that a lot and you wondered if that was as unusual for him as it was for you to be this confident.

"I'm Louis. Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson."

(Y/n) Tomlinson.

That had a nice ring to it.

A really nice ring to it.

Mrs. (Y/n) Tomlinson.

Perfect.

"Nice to formally meet you, Louis."

He smiled and you wanted to yell at the sun to hide because it was stopping you from seeing the true brightness of Louis's eyes.

"Here's your juice, love."

"Thanks, babe."

You threw Zayn a kiss and he rolled his eyes, already used to the fact that you were kind of nickname-addicted and very endearing.

And also kind of drunk, which is why he brought you the juice.

On second thought, that might be why you were being this confident.

You thought everything was going well, but as suddenly as it started, the object of your affection was out the door, muttering about appointments, or homework, or something you didn't understand, but that sure made you frown for the rest of the evening.

Your Fifth

You walked into Toys 'R' Us for two reasons that day.

The first is to get your nephew a birthday present.

The second is to (hopefully) see Louis.

You wanted to talk to him, the way he left the flat was strange, so you took advantage of the fact that you needed to get something from the store to try and see him.

You saw him go to the back as soon as you got here and decided to wait a bit for him to come back, looking at everything slower than you needed even though you knew exactly what to get. After fifteen minutes, you were pretty sure he wasn't going to come back. Maybe his shift ended already?

You took your present and left the store, looking around to see if you found him, to no avail.

The One

You marched to the door with only one goal in mind: ask Louis Tomlinson out on a date. It's been a week of him ignoring you, running away as soon as he saw you, barely answering your greetings and you were more than done.

If he wanted to turn you down, then it at least he would do it to your face, none of this ghosting nonsense. You don't want to spend the rest of your life thinking what might have been if you'd just reached out.

So, you talked to Niall, who gave you Louis's address and his schedule. You knew he was home and he had no way to escape you. He was babysitting his sisters, after all, so there was no way he could just run away.

You rang the doorbell and nervously wrang your hands in front of you, taking deep breaths and mentally going over what you wanted to say.

"I'll be right there! No, Daisy!"

His voice rang through the door and you smiled fondly at the sound, imagining him taking care of his sisters did something to you for some reason.

"Hi, sorry for the-"

He froze when he saw you, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open.

"Hi."

You said, and that seemed to bring him out of his stupor.

"(Y/n)."

"Yep."

"(Y/n)."

It seemed like he couldn't quite believe you were here.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out, though."

He shook his head and started stuttering his way through a response, trying to ask what you were doing here, at his house.

"Um, Niall told me where you lived. I had something I wanted to ask you."

When he didn't answer, you went for it.

"So, um, you've kind of been avoiding me lately which is quite unfortunate because I happen to like you... a lot... and so I-"

"Does Zayn know that?"

You were cut off in the middle of your rant and tilted your head confusingly at him.

"What?"

"Does Zayn know you 'like me a lot'?"

He looked angry, jaw clenched shut and arms crossed in front of his chest, which was no help to the attraction you felt towards him, that shirt did wonders for his biceps.

"Why should Zayn know about it?"

"Well, he's your boyfriend after all."

Wait, what?

"Well if he's my boyfriend then I should probably let Gigi know he's cheating."

He seemed to blanch at that.

"Gigi."

"Yeah. Gigi. You know, the girl he's been pining over since the beginning of the semester, they got together officially two weeks ago."

Only his sisters' voices could be heard.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So, um... you and Zayn... you're not..."

"Together? No."

You laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear nervously.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?"

You snapped your head up and grinned devilishly.

"I believe I asked you first."

He laughed and took a step forward.

"Then I will most certainly go out with you, as long as you let me pay. Take it as an apology for how stupid I was."

"I guess that could be arranged."

He was so close you could smell his cologne. Still so, so tasty. Still so, so wonderful.

"Do I have to wait until the end of our first date to kiss you?"

"I think you've done enough waiting already."

"I think so too."

And he kissed you.

And you were happy.

here it is babes! finally out!

i hope you liked it and if you do, don’t forget to comment, reblog, like and stuff

have a nice day/morning/afternoon/night/whatever

-Love, Libby

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Taglists: (if your name is striked through it means for some reason tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

PERMA TAG

@jeezkiddo @beananacake @yoinkyourheart @averyfosterthoughts @onebigolemess @samoney69 @agirlwithpointlessideas @ddaawwssoonn @inhumanwithpowers @imagineshere-forall @stiles-banshees @orowit @spideynut @deathofmissjackson @parkersbliss @ephemeral-limerences @write-from-the-heart @cardboard-ben @my-alignment-is-bisexual @mendes-marvel @shawnsnovel @inthecornerchair @lovelynerdytraveler @niallssweetheart22 @incorrect-things @lost-in-the-stars03 @harishaanne

ACTORS/RPF TAG

@bubblegumbarnes @sofiaconlaz @hyluas

ONE DIRECTION

@hhighlydisfunctional1

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tsukaramachi · 4 years

Text

Valentine Dilemma (Yuuto x reader)

Ah the month of love or loneliness, February. The time where partners celebrate their love, the time when it’s the best chance to convey hidden feelings, and also the worst time to be alone. But for a young boy named Yuuto, it’s one of the most stressful things in his life. Not because he has to plan how to confess his feelings, but the dread that someone else might do it before him. After going online to look for inspiration on how to make the month special for (Y/N), he came across a thread that focused on valentines from the past.

One person expressed their sorrow about them planning too much to the point that their surprise ended in vain when they found the person of their affection being confessed to by another. Sadly accepting the other person’s feelings and leaving the poster to spend a sad night alone. Another had planned too little and had been outdone by another with a more grand display of love. Someone else even ranted about how their love letter ended up in the wrong locker and having to deal with an awkward misunderstanding.

After spending a night filling his head with horrific and sad stories of unrequited love, the white haired boy’s head filled up with a thousand responsibilities on how his surprise could end up a failure.

A sigh left the boy’s lips as he twirled the light pink mechanical pencil in between his fingers. A clean sheet of paper in front of him, it mocked him with it’s blank state. Wanting to make a very special surprise for you, Yuuto had to leave right after school and sacrifice his time with you to come up for an idea for Valentine’s day. He had many ideas on what he could do, but the reason why he didn’t jot any of them down is due to the fear of them ending up a disaster.

First, he came up with the idea of making you homemade chocolates. He thought it would be nice to decorate a big heart with different designs with the words “Will you be mine?�� but the idea seemed too cliche. The idea had also made him flush a deep red for how embarrassing the idea was. So, he scrapped it and thought up of another. A date with just the both of you at the movies, it’s a casual idea and he thought it would be a good way to just be able to sit next to you. But the only available movies in theaters were…not really romantic. They’re anything but romantic and he wasn’t so sure on inviting you to a movie about a talking blue hedgehog.

Making an album full of photos containing you was a good idea at first, but he realized that he had none of himself to pair with yours. He had only taken photos of you during school on his digital camera or phone, but only of you. He never took any of himself because he isn’t the most handsome guy. Also, whenever you would want to take a photo with him, the closeness of the both of you would make him blush and love around. Ruining the photo and him cropping himself out of it. He would never delete them though. You’re very photogenic and whatever picture he took of you came out amazing, but if he was in it… it would become blurred or it the camera had caught him making a weird face. While he would love another album full of your smiles, he knew that you wouldn’t really want an album full of just you without any friends or family.

Bringing you to a nice dinner was another, but he wasn’t sure on what restaurant to go to. Taking you to the local lookout to see the stars with you under the night sky was a close one. But when he had checked the weather forecast for the 14th, it was going to be too cloudy. Whatever idea he came up with, every single one of them had a flaw. So, he came up with a plan. Not wanting you to suspect him of anything. Yuuto decided to help out with the school’s Valentine’s day event to figure out the best gift for you.

——————————–

Walking into school, you sigh at the sight of the various red, pink, and white decorations that cover the halls. It’s your senior year and you’re still single. Hanging your head down low, you trudge across the floor. Where ever you look, students are carrying balloons, roses, stuffed animals, and even one kid is carrying around a giant poster with a blowed up picture of some girl.

As you go over to your locker, a small red card with the words “Happy Valentine’s day!” is scribbled across it, but you’re unfazed by it for how all the other lockers around you have the exact same card or something similar taped to their lockers. The same thing happens every year and you know this because it’s your senior year in high school. You experienced the same thing every Valentine’s Day and you even used to help out the student council by making some. cards for students.

Taking the piece of paper, you open it up to find it containing a valentines pun. It’s not really special so you toss it into your locker and you notice how empty it is. A gasp comes from your right, shifting your eyes to the right, a girl that looks to be younger than you has her hands up to her mouth.

A pile of cards is stacked inside her locker and a couple fall out from how unstable the stack it. A small pang of pain hits your heart as you envy her. Not because she got a lot of cards-well yes that’s one of the reasons, but also because of how she also received cards from her friends. As she closes her locker, you can see that it’s decorated with small post-it notes with cute small messages signed from her friends.

“Happy Valentine’s Day stinky >:)” and “You’re my butter half” with a drawing of a stick of butter cut in two are just a couple of the things you see on her locker. You find it sweet that her friends did that for her and it doesn’t mean that you don’t have friends. You just know that they’re lazy about doing stuff for the holiday, but it would’ve been nice to at least have a greeting from them. But you didn’t prepare anything special either so you can’t really complain.

You take your notebooks out for your classes for the day. When you close your locker, you turn to leave but you abruptly bump your head into a pink mass. Taking a step back, you rub your forehead to soothe the sore area. The thing, animal, or whoever it is waves their hands frantically. Trying to figure out whoever is in front of you. You take a step back to fully see who it is since they’re taller than you.

“Ha?” You furrow your brows at the thing before you. Someone dressed up in a pink bear suit holding heart shaped balloons.

The person tenses up and gives you a robotic wave. They seem nervous.

You wave back to them and excuse yourself as you awkwardly walk around them to go to your first class. While you focus on making your way through the obstacles of couples standing annoyingly in the middle of the hallway, the pink mascot watches you leave their vision.

Throughout the rest of the day, something strange keeps happening to you. Where ever you go, you would find that same pink bear. When you went to your first period. It was there to help with someone confessing their love by holding up a sign as a guy gave his crush a bouquet of roses. In your second period, it was handing out valentine’s day cards from anonymous senders addressed to their valentine’s. During your free period, you would find it peeking behind the corner and you could clearly see it. Everyone could, but some people would run up to it asking for its assistance in summing up the courage to confess to their special someone. While you were walking to your next class orto the bathroom, you could see it being dragged around the school. But every single time, it would always be looking at you.

When lunch came, you found out that that the bear was actually something the student council came up with. A mascot for the holiday to help promote events and students to express their feelings. Anyone could send in a request to ask for help from the pink friend. Some teachers who are married even had its help in sending gifts to their partners on the other side of the campus or to the office. You think I it’s a cute idea, but you’re more curious about who would take up such a role.

Running around the school in a big pink suit must be exhausting and it seems like only the same person is wearing the suit. Maybe one of the more athletic kids are doing it? They would be better suited to do such a thing, but you’re just guessing. It’s not one of the janitors since you could clearly see them going around the school fixing up decorations and brushing away excess confetti and trash littering the hallways. The members in the student council are certainly not it because they’re too busy doing the requests and there’s not that much for them. You do have hunch though as to whom it might be. You haven’t seen any of your close friends and you know that o e of them has a crush on one of the SC members. So you have a feeling that they might’ve offered their help. Which is nice of them, but it left you alone during lunch since your other friends seem to be missing as well.

——————————–

As everyone rushes to get home, you put away your things in your locker. While the day had been hectic, it was interesting to see the different surprises everyone did. Though you just wished that someone would’ve at least greeted you. Some teachers did, but they don’t count in your book.

Slamming your locker shut, you’re about to head out to leave but you once again find the pink mascot peeking over a corner while facing your direction. But instead of ducking out of view from you, they signal you to come closer. Feeling bored, you do so and walk over to it. They offer you their hand or paw, you aren’t sure since it looks just like a big mitten but you take it. As you’re led away, you’re taken to small random destinations throughout the school. The first spot is your homeroom. No one is inside, but on your desk is a small pink rabbit plush with a red ribbon tied around its neck.

The person in the costume walks over to it and hands it to you. You take it and give it a small squeeze. Its soft plush fur rubs against your cheek and it’s pleasant to the touch. You admire how cute and huggable it is, but the bear offers you their paw again. Now with a small stuffed animal in your other hand, you take their paw again to be led to another place.

In the cafeteria you found a big heart shaped sign with sweet messages from your friends. Near the girl’s bathroom, you found a gift basket with face masks, shampoos, scented candles, and other toiletries for you to use. In the hallway in front of your locker, a bouquet of pink, red, and white roses and carnations laid waiting for you. Everywhere you went, something was waiting for you and with every gift. You’re surprised everytime with something different. Cards, more stuffed animals, keychains, chocolates, and other gifts were scattered around the school waiting for you.

In the areas that had more people, they would actually not touch the gifts because a member from the student council would watch over it until you and the bear arrived. At one point there were too many gifts so the person in the suit had to bring over a red wagon so your arms would be free from the various gifts you received.

The last place you were lead to was the roof, which made you really surprised since no one is really allowed on the roof except staff and the janitors when they need to throw back down stray volleyballs and baseballs for the sports teams.

While you’re carefully lead to the side of the building facing the open free area in the middle of your school, the bear faces towards you. They take off the head of the costume, and you can’t really tell who it is. Panting heavily from exhaustion with fogged up goggles, a white surgical mask, and messy white hair in all directions. You try to hold in your laughter as the person struggles to take off the equipment. Their hair bad gotten tangled to their goggles and you had to help free them, but they would try and still you for some reason.

You persist in trying to take if off of them while they stutter over how sweaty they are and how you’ll feel icky after touching their hair. But you do it anyway. As you take off the surgical mask, you can see their lips had gotten a dry. Telling them to wait a moment, you take out a chap stick you got in one of the gifts that you received and put it over their lips. You smile as you hear them nervously stutter out a small “Thank you” When you take off their goggles, you can see the red ruby eyes you love so much.

White strands of hair cling to Yuuto’s face as you help wipe off the sweat that accumulated underneath his bangs all the while as a deep blush scatters across his cheeks.

“Ah I’m so sorry (Y/N)…” Yuuto says, you brush a strand of his hear behind his ear as you wipe the side of his cheek with a clean napkin, “I didn’t expect that to happen and I was going to take off all that stuff before hand before bringing you up here but uhm, I forgot to do it earlier…”

“What’re you apologizing for? I don’t mind helping you at all especially since you’ve been running around school all day. Also,” you pinch his cheek slightly, “You need to rely on others more! You’re crazy for not taking any breaks! I even saw you help the janitors clean up that huge chocolate cake that someone dropped in the hallway!”

“B-But they needed my help…and I couldn’t take a break!”

You quick a brow at his statement, “Hm and why is that?”

With a small sigh, Yuuto takes off the mittens covering his hands. Taking a hold of yours into his, “I-I wanted to make this day special for you, but I couldn’t come up with the right surprise for you…so I asked the student council if they could help me with any ideas and they proposed that I should be the helper mascot on Valentines day to get some inspiration. I got carried away though and no one else could do it so…”

“You got stuck in helping out all day?”

He let’s out a small nervous laugh, “Yeah…but you know. You mean so much to me and…” his hold tightens a bit, “And I have so much love for you but there’s not enough ways that I can express just how much you’re always on my mind. So I ordered a bunch of gifts for you and your friends helped me out too! Each place we visited, are places I have found memories of you (Y/N).”

You feel a bit confused, “But we went went through the whole school.”

“Ah haha… that’s because I got carried away. Every time I see you, hear your voice, and feel your touch is special to me. That’s why I took you all around the school and I even got extra gifts for you for all the people that I helped…but I want you to know that, I love you (Y/N)! You always cloud up my thoughts and I can never stop thinking about you and I-”

Before Yuuto finishes his sentence, you plant a kiss on his lips. It was quick, but it was enough to leave the boy left in awe and you smile.

“I’m thankful that you think of me that way, but next time don’t overwork yourself okay?”

“O-Okay, I promise!”

Yuuto engulfs you into a hug and you almost stumble over. You laugh as you feel him nuzzle his face into your neck, but you’re startled by the sound of cheering from down below. Looking towards the opening area, you can see other people cheering and your friends int he center giving you a thumbs up. You can see that a bunch of them have their phones out. They recorded the whole thing…

You can feel your cheeks heat up as you hide your face into Yuuto’s shoulder from the crowd. You feel embarrassed that that the whole exchange was recorded, but you’re also happy that someone would go this far for you.

#yandere #yandere male #male yandere #writing #reader insert #x reader #my writing #oc #yuuto latham #my art

75 notes · View notes

poptod · 4 years

Text

Baby, My Love is Yours (Kenny x Reader)

Description: His words make your heart ache, and you put the entirety of your trust in him.

Notes: Male coded/MLM. I’m a huge fan of gender neutral fics (as shown by my AO3) but, when it comes to gay characters, I don’t like taking that away from them.

Words: 3.5k, sorry it’s so short

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086324

Based off this song (I wrote and sung it)

In all honesty you haven’t known him for very long - at most, a few months, though your grasp on how time works is rather weak. If only you could pinpoint the exact date when you met. Of course, when you first met him, there wasn’t exactly a spark, or a flame, between the two of you; not even within you alone. He spoke anxious but excited, every topic lighting an excitement in his eyes, but you didn’t notice. Not until your fifth meeting.

You’d moved back to your hometown after a long trip of moving around the world, and found yourself not fitting in at all like you had before. At the age of seven, close to every kid had the same interests - having fun, playing, simply burning away the energy till that joy couldn’t come so easily. Nearly ten years later you find yourself in a place you know so well but would never again understand. You were probably the only family in town that had left the state, and that difference cut a deep separation between you and your classmates. You saw the world, and every person in it as entirely different and wonderfully unique from yourself, while many others only knew the people they’d known all their life.

Luckily, there was one person who welcomed you back rather warmly - your old friend, one of your best friends: Larry Gold. An enthusiastic boy too deep in fiction to see that the world didn’t revolve around the stories he knew, but the best shot you had at having any sort of friendships in your old, unfamiliar town. Second day back at the school he came up to you, frowning somewhat.

“You look sorta… familiar. Did we - did - were you here a few years ago?” He asks, gesturing vaguely with his hands at the mostly empty classroom, the students having long gone with the ring of the bell. “Sorry, if not,” he adds. “I just can’t shake the feeling.”

“No, uh, yeah. I was here, like ten years ago? I dunno. I’m (Y/N), you’re…” you blank for a second, before remembering his name. “Larry, right?”

“Yeah! Wow, I… wow. It’s been a while. Where’d you go?”

You catch him up on the way to the lunchroom - Montana, then to Switzerland, then to Korea, to Scotland, before moving to Italy - then Germany, and finally back to the States.

“Holy shit,” he laughs, filling his tray up with the horrid looking lunch ‘meat’.

“It was a bit tough, to be honest. How do you fare?”

“Could be better, could be worse,” he admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “I got a best friend at least, he’s probably sitting over…” he looks over the crowd, before settling on a boy sitting alone in a corner, “there. That’s Kenny.”

You nod, not really seeing who exactly he’s looking at till he’s leading you over, and you sit across from him and Kenny.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you start out with - simple enough. “I used to live here.”

Kenny doesn’t seem much for words, sitting straight up and stock still, before Larry nudges him with his elbow and whispers something indistinguishable above the raucous crowd. Stuttering he offers his hand, which you shake with a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” you say.

“I’m - Kenny.”

Lunch runs smoothly, and when it finishes Larry pulls you to the side of the rushing students.

“He’s usually not like that. But he is a weird guy, just a heads up.”

Chuckling you nod, not taking his advice. Weird never bothered you, as long as it didn’t harm anybody. In fact, it’d probably do you good - befriending someone unlike the other teenagers around you. Even if you weren’t ‘new,’ you still stick out like a plant amongst rubble, or a snowstorm in summer. Abnormally tall, with clothes too expensive for the school you attend and a very clear ‘Pridefully Gay’ patch on your jacket. Doesn’t bother Larry, that or he can’t see past the end of his nose; you went with the latter.

Kenny ended up being a joy to have around once he actually gained the nerve to start talking. The two of you bonded, rather unsurprisingly for you. A ‘gaydar’ wasn’t something you put much stock in, but there were obvious signs when someone was gay, and Kenny emitted near every sign of a boy so deep in the closet he’d find shoes from 1987. You didn’t bring it up, though, ever one for chivalry. If he wanted to come out, he could do it on his own time, and you certainly didn’t feel the need to talk to Larry about it - he’d asked about your patch, and expressed a decent amount of discomfort about homosexuality.

“I get it if you don’t want to be friends anymore, but that’s a dick move,” you told him, to which he quickly agreed.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be friends, it’s just… you aren’t gonna get, like, a crush on me or anything… right?”

“No. I only like attractive men,” you told him, sparking a snort from Kenny, whom you hadn’t realized was listening.

It wasn’t until the fifth time the three of you had decided to hang out outside of school that you suddenly fell under a charm you’d previously believed didn’t exist. Sitting in the middle of Larry’s living room (your house was too far away, and Kenny’s house was apparently too strict), you were simply doing homework, you working on English, Kenny on math, and Larry on history. Fiddling with his pencil, Kenny sits next to you, and across from the both of you sits Larry.

“Why do we have to write a poem for English? Isn’t it enough that we have to do presentations on friggin’ Jane Eyre?” You grumble, running your hands through your hair.

“Having trouble?” Kenny asks, leaning to look over your shoulder.

“Everything I write sounds stupid,” you mumble, your head falling from the grip of your hands and landing with a dull thud on the table.

“Then just write something stupid,” Larry adds, helpfully, but still engrossed in his own homework.

“Here, I, uh,” he looks at you, blushing (as usual; you’d gotten used to it) before digging into his backpack and pulling out a journal. “You can use one of mine.”

“What? No. That’s cheating,” you insist, turning back to your empty paper. Kenny and Larry share a glance, but his attention comes quickly back to you.

“At least take one of my ideas? They’re on the back page,” he says softly, pushing the notebook into your line of sight, giggling slightly as it comes to cover up the entirety of your own blank journal. With a sigh and a chuckle, you relent.

“Fine, but I owe you,” you mutter, looking over the ideas. Kenny just shrugs, and turns back to his math. You’re horrid at math, and the equations he’s completing in his head send you for a whirl. If you ever start failing that class, you know exactly who’d be the best tutor.

Notes made mostly of scribbles and vague definitions litter the back page - “Made of glass,” one corner says, but it’s missing the last s. ‘Mold and melt ‘neath such wretched hands,’ ‘searching for endless trivialities,’ ‘raised on masochism.’ It’s all rather dark, and when you’re sure Kenny is fully absorbed in his work, you flip through the pages to his poems. Not to steal them, that goes against your moral code; just to read. The poems are in an even messier fashion than the jotted notes - they’re put into blocks, numbered and unnamed. Arrows point to which part connects to which, and some have notes to the side, brackets combining them, and pencil scratches blurring out the wrong words. On a few pages he clearly attempted to write about women. There are scribbles about their beauty, but it’s so vague it could be about anything. Some of the fragments are simply fragments - unconnected lines of poetry.

‘I was love, helpless love,’ you read in your head. ‘And though I do care for you, I cannot put my shame on you, and I’ve lost all that matters.’ Helplessly you search for a clean poem, something you don’t need to piece together like a million letter puzzle. Continuing your search for an idea, an inspiration, or perhaps a glimpse into the elusive personality of your new friend, you find a poem that’s definitely about boys, and it’s more loving than any other that you’d read so far. In the first part of it, he describes the boy he pines for, but it’s not incredibly specific - it mentions hair color, eye color, some skin imperfections, but not enough to pinpoint who it’s about. Then, it gets dark.

‘How bold of me to dream, to wonder. I beg you to let me waste your time, and let me burn away in your light -‘ there’s a scribbled out part - ‘I thought by know’ (it’s misspelled) ‘I might hold you, like endless apologies of existence - feel my heat as your own. But as the sky descends in heaps of empty meanings, I found I said nothing to you at all.’ The last bit is hard to read - it either says ‘empty meanings’ and ‘I found,’ or ‘endless apologies,’ and ‘I fear.’ Either way, you’d seen enough - enough to make your heart race when he looks back up at you with a smile softer than anything you’d ever known, even in the entirety of all you’d travelled through. Your mind stutters, continuing to blank even as Kenny turns away. Had you just wandered through his soul? It felt a very private notebook. Turning back to the last page, you chose a random idea, ending up with, ‘I pray to thee, sweet love’s a parasite.’

From that moment on, your life continues on as normal, with one massive disruption - you’ve got a hideously thumping crush on one of your best friends. That brings us to the present; he’s sitting far too close to you, emotionally ripe from getting kicked out of his house that afternoon, and he’s practically begging you for solace. Not with his words, thank God, but every movement he makes is needy and his chest weighs heavily against your own as he breathes softly. He’s barely touching you, but his heat manages to reach you, crowding your space without allowing himself the comfort of your touch. Larry’s mom had called you, rather late that evening, and explained the situation to you.

“I think he’s crying. I don’t want Larry helping him, I don’t think he’d help that much. Can I trust you?” She asked, and you agreed, taking your father’s pickup truck and driving it down from the mountains and into town. Once you made it to the basement, you saw the extent of his ruin.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, his eyes red and blotchy, matching his flushed cheeks. He’s still leaning over you on the basement couch.

“Just keep breathing,” you tell him, though you really don’t know what to do either. Your parents weren’t thrilled when you came out, but they certainly didn’t kick you out of the house. “Live day by day, hour by hour… minute by minute, if you have to.”

“They’re gonna take me back, right?” He says, practically pleading with you, as though you have any pull on what happens.

“I think they will,” you murmur, your eyes flickering down to his lips before meeting his eyes again. Truth wouldn’t help either of you in this situation, so you decide your soft lie would work best.

“Maybe I was wrong,” his head hangs low between his shoulders, “maybe I’m straight. I don’t wanna be gay. I - it’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Kenny…” did you really have to come out to him? You had made no effort to hide it. Maybe he’d forgotten? “I’m gay, remember?”

“You’re not wrong, though, like I am,” his words start to come out choked, and he strains to keep talking through the tears burning his thoughts away. “Your parents still love you. Mine - I don’t want to… I don’t…” He doesn’t blink, hoping desperately that the gathering tears will recede but they fall nonetheless, one from each eye till he’s sniffing, cheeks burning as he tries to stop crying in front of you.

“Your parents still love you. Give them time,” you settle on. It’s a precarious situation, and you can’t tell what’s the right thing to say, or if saying anything at all will help.

At last he collapses, the strength of his arms giving out as he falls into you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck he hides away from the world, from his self-hating thoughts, from everything besides you. In a moment you’re all that exists to him, your arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him up so he doesn’t slide away. His warmth burns you, electrifying every nerve you have but you ignore it. There’s more important things to tend to. His breathing is uneven, so you slow your own breathing, instructing him to follow you. Half shivering he attempts to follow your lead, slowly calming from sobbing to napping away the mental exhaustion of the evening.

As he sleeps on top of you, you kiss his temple, running your hands through his hair in a fashion you hope is comforting. When your freezing fingers touch the back of his neck he shivers, so you try to keep away from his bare skin, till you fall asleep. the weight of his body lulling you into a doze.

He wakes up around 4AM, which you only know because when he wakes he jostles you, stuttering and mumbling to himself as he crawls off of you. With a deep breath you open your eyes, looking up at him, still sitting in your lap, but clearly embarrassed.

“Oh jeez. I’m, uh, really sorry for, um.. sleeping on top of you. Oh god,” he grumbles, switching between covering the lower and upper halves of his face.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, still drowsy with sleep. Unsure of what exactly you’re doing you reach for him, grasping his wrist and pulling him close as you sit up. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright, I guess,” he says, just as soft as you, his expression falling. “I’m… glad you’re here. Less lonely.”

“’S what I’m here for. Did I tell you Valerius called me? She thought you liked me more than Larry,” you chuckled, the words escaping your mind before you gave them any thought.

“Who’s Valerius?”

“Larry’s mom.”

“You mean Victoria?”

“Mm… yeah.”

“I like both of you plenty,” he says, indignantly, a slight frown on his face that you can’t help but find adorable. It shows on your face, too, a smile too wide cracking open. He notices, and it only furthers his confusion. “What? I’m telling the truth.”

“I know. You’re just so adorable,” you admit, and when his eyes widen and he pales, you come back into yourself, and realize what you’d just said. “Oh, uh, you know what I, uh, mean. You know?” You stutter a lame excuse.

“I’m not adorable,” he whispers, staring straight into your eyes.

“No, handsome,” you correct yourself, making the situation infinitely worse.

“Handsome?” He practically wheezes out, losing his words and coherent thought.

You keep a firm hold on his wrist, making sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Instead he wraps his fingers round yours, and, staring at where you meet, he holds your hand. As enthralling as it is for you it soothes him, breath instantly slowing as the pressure of his fingers trills against the back of your hand. For the moment, you put away your anxieties, and let him relish in a comfort unknown. It wasn’t illogical to assume he’d never held hands, never kissed anyone, and certainly not a boy. You had experience with this - Europe was pretty gay, and Italy awarded you your first kiss. Yet somehow, your roles had reversed; the experienced a blushing mess, as the virgin held the others’ hand in a warm composure.

His eyes close slowly as he leans in, heading for a kiss you knew would be heart wrenchingly beautiful, but you pull away.

“You’re - no. I adore you but… I can’t complicate your life. Not now,” you murmur, pressing your hand against his chest and pushing him from you. In an instant, he thinks he’s entirely at fault, and he unwinds himself till the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch, neither of you touching the other in any way.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and you can tell he’s about to cry again.

“It’s not your fault,” you rush out, scooting closer to him, but he curls into himself, and you relent. “Kenny…”

He hides his face in his hands, and he’s definitely crying now. You wait a moment before you continue, waiting for the worst of it to be over, but seeing him in any kind of pain twists your gut.

“Kenny…” you slowly move his hands away from his face, and with a soft touch, you direct him to look at you. “I just don’t want to hurt you. You understand that… right?” He nods, and looks away. “There’s so much going on in your life. I don’t want to add to that.”

“But you make everything better,” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his knees raised to his chest, hiding his face again.

“I’m flattered you think that,” you reply quietly, at a loss for words. “I… how about.. I sit here, and you can do what you want, or make me do anything you want. For tonight.”

“What?” He sniffs, and looks back up at you.

“I’ll do anything you want. Anytime you ask. Starting tonight, my love is yours in any way you want it,” you tell him, eyes darting nervously around his face for any sign of agreement or disgust.

“Anything?”

“Yeah. Anytime.”

You’re trusting him with a lot, you both know that - but truly you do trust him, more than you trust yourself. He graces your cheek with his fingers, trailing across your imperfections as you close your eyes, melting into his touch. Shifting, he moves closer, till he’s once more sat in your lap, and you can feel his hot breath against your skin, electrifying you in the same way you keep ignoring. It’s about him, don’t ruin this with your anxiety, you tell yourself, but it gets harder to listen to that voice in your head when he begins to kiss at your bare neck. Your hands shoot up, grasping at his waist as he does this, dotting your skin, up to your jawline until he lands a peck at the side of your lips, so loving, as though you give him the only reason to breathe. At this time, he pulls away, and you open your eyes.

He’s examining you - just as you had done to him, waiting for any sign of renunciation of your promise. But you just sit there, gazing into his eyes like they hold the universe, every answer to be asked for swirling in the gold round his pupil. So he leans in, and at first it’s just a touch; you’re pressing your lips together, still and quiet. The time passes so slowly it might’ve not been passing at all, till he leans in, and you feel the pressure so intensely that a fire could be raging around you and you wouldn’t’ve noticed. You copy the feel of his adoration with just as much tenderness, and a tiny whimper escapes him. He pulls away blushing, leaving you with a dumbstruck smile on your face.

He does a lot more to you that night, and in every second of it you swear you’re in heaven. The memory of it trails you, constantly at the forefront of your thoughts at any given moment. When you meet in school again, he holds your hand like a comfort in a world of pain, and to him it is. You exist, and that’s enough to soothe the ache of rejection, but it doesn’t fully heal, not until his parents finally take him back.

On that day, he asks, “Are… is… are you.. still mine?” He worries, needlessly, if your trust was only to comfort him in a hard time.

“I’ll be yours as long as you want me,” you tell him, and it ends up being a lot longer than you ever would have anticipated. You’re not that stupid, you know the statistics for high school relationships, but your love persists so long there’s no other word for your relationship other than soulmates. Life deals softer blows by his side, and love adores each of your imperfections till the days die away.

Baby, my love is yours

longer than words we adore -

So trust the tremor in my touch

Cause baby, my love is yours.

#rami malek #kenny al bahir #kenny al bahir x reader #war at home

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rynhaswritersblock · 4 years

Text

gross (hc) | p.p.

summary: chaotic mess in which you pull a Dumb Bitch Move and write a song for peter while relying on the hope that he never sees it

warnings: i've already cussed. that speaks for itself ALSO FLUFF THIS IS VERY CUTE IM PROUD OF IT

+ + +

- HEADCANON TIMEEEEEEEEEEEE

- yeahyeah!!

- you guys i cannot stop saying "yeahyeah" i do not know why i just... it's a part of me now

- i think i got it from bigballerclaire on tiktok LMAO

- ANYWAYS

- BY THE WAY THIS IMAGINE IS KINDA A REVERSE ONE OF "camera"

- speaking of, why the Fuck did i call that one "camera". that's the most boring name??? did i forget to change it before publishing????? i need to go change that name (so if you can't find an imagine called camera by the time you're reading this IT'S BECAUSE I CHANGED THE NAME LMAO)

- OKAY! LETSGETIT

- so it's late at night

- like midnight or something

- and ur in ur FEELS okay?

- (we all know that feeling when you've been reading fanfic for like hours and then it's one am and you finally look away from your screen and stare at the ceiling and you're like. holy fuck. and then your brain drifts and ur like I WANT PETER RN!!!!!!!!!)

- yeah that type of FEELS

- and guess who's a musical genius in this imagine?

- bitch it ain't me!

- it's YOU!

- YEAHYEAH!

- so you're like a hella songwriter

- think joshua bassett and olivia rodrigo on instagram iykyk

- keep an eye out (for selener.. jkjk) for olivia's song later in this imagine

- so OBVIOUSLY you're like::

- i need to get out my feelings

- i like writing songs

- ... 0_0

- To The Journal!

- so basically YOU WRITE A SONG

- ABOUT PETER

- BECAUSE HE'S YOUR BEST FRIEND AND YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HIM AND CAN'T HANDLE ALL THE PENT UP EMOTION YOU'RE FEELING

- YEAH

- okay so i am stealing this song from olivia rodrigo because it deadass fits PERFECTLY

youtube

- this song goes SO HARD

- pro tip if you play guitar/uke the chords are on ultimate guitar it's VERY FUN TO PLAY

- anyways i most DEFINITELY recommend listening to this song while reading this because like...

- ??????????????

- yeah you get it

- i'm putting the lyrics in because i Feel Like It and it Adds To the Imagine

- i don't think i'm capable of writing a sentence without randomly capitalizing shit good god

- so HERE ARE THE LYRICS

Not long ago when I saw you there With your brown eyed grin and your messy hair And every girl at the party was looking at you I wonder what I'd say if I knew back then That the brown eyed boy'd be my best friend And the one I'd give my heart to (ooh, ooh, ooh) Now everything reminds me of you Your pictures framed all over my room And if I hate someone you'll hate them too As long as I'm your darling angel I don't need anything in the world 'Cause I feel like the luckiest every second that I'm your girl I wanna do everything with you Take the highs, I'll take the lows I'll keep you close Give you the most, oh baby I like you so much it's kinda gross Yeah, I like you so much it's kinda gross

- thank u genius.com da Real Plug

- so YEAH

- you've got those lyrics scribbled in ur notebook

- WHICH BTW

- this is one of those shitty cliches where she WritesSongs! and carries her journal with her everywhere because it's Special!

- and ur stupid cause ur like "im just writing this for myself! to get out my feelings! he will Never see this Haha!"

...

- so obviously

- you can see where this is going

- some SHIT about to go down

- you and peter are at the library doing homework because yeah(yeah)

- and you finish all your work so you just decide to get out your journal and start doodling bc.. like fuck it why not

- and then peter's stomach growls

- this bitch and his fucking Metabolism get the fuck out

- you look over at him and he just looks at you like 0_0

- IM LITERALLY LAUGHING AS I WRITE THIS RN WHY IS IT SO FUNNY TO ME

- you're like Fine Okay Bitch i'll Get You A Snack

- so you get ur wallet and peter already knows what you're doing because this aint the first time

"what do you want, pete"

"a snickers, please"

- he says it all innocently and like imsosorryigetobnoxiouslyhungryeverytimewehangoutipromiseillpayyouback

- cause he's BABIE

- is it babey or babie. i forget. oh well

- you nod and go to the vending machines to get his snickers (and one for you too because snickers go HARD damn i want one rn)

- MEANWHILE

- ha

- peter's trying not to focus on the fact that your journal is Lit Rally (literally) sitting Right There

- it's like bro relax i am literally just Vibing

- cause you keep that lil shit CLOSE TO UR HEART

- AINT NOBODY GONNA LOOK THROUGH YOUR JOURNAL

- until today

- yeah

- he keeps eyeing the front lobby doors by the vending machines

- and just slowly pulls the journal to him and starts quickly flipping through it like a madman

- gotta go FAST

- i'm about to pee my pants i crack myself up sometimes

- it's mainly just little doodles and random notes and thoughts and stuff

- peter sees a drawing of spiderman and Deadass goes "awe" OUT LOUD

- a few people look at him and his face gets all hot (Hot Hot! Hot Chocolate!)

- rt if you agree that the polar express has SUCH weird vibes

- that movie is a fever dream ANYWAYS

- and THEN

- ladies and gents this is the moment you've waited for

- (OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH stomp. stomp stomp. OHHHHHHHHHHH!)

- i need to rewatch the greatest showman OKAY

- PETER GETS TO THE PAGE WHERE YOU WROTE THE SONG ABOUT HIM

- HIS GODDAMN NAME IS LITERALLY AT THE TOP OF THIS PAGE THIS IS LITERALLY THE TITLE:

a song about peter because i'm fed up right now

(and then the lyrics right underneath ofc)

- moment of silence

- peter just stares at the page like 0_0

- but the inside of his head is like AHHHHHHHHHHFDNGDFKJGNEKLFNFDJBVDJHF

- then he gets all warm inside he's like holyshitholyshitholyshity/nlikesmetoofuckfuckfuckyeahyeah!

- and then he hears footsteps

- Oh No!

- he looks up and the look on your face is just

- 🅱eter what the Fuck are you doing

"you wrote a song about me?"

graphic design is my passion

- anyways you just stand there for a second before shaking your head

"nope"

"but it says my name right h-"

"different peter"

- peter squints at you like are you sure wait really and you sit down, sliding him his snickers

- you Refuse to look at him so you're just like Staring Off as you take a bite out of your snickers a bit too aggressively

- peter clears his throat and you finally look over

- the Second you meet his eyes you just BREAK and lean forward, burying your face into the crook of his neck with an awkward laugh

- peter lets out his Signature Boyish Laugh (the sound you hear when you enter heaven) and he wraps his arms around you

"it's not gross"

"what?"

"your song says, and i quote 'i like you so much it's kinda gross' and what i'm saying is that it's not gross"

"i hate you"

"but i was just about to tell you that i like you too!"

+ + +

cuties

i swear i either write an imagine in like two hours or a whole ass week there is no in between

anyways i want this to happen to me

#peter parker #tom holland #peter parker imagines #marvel #mcu #spiderman #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #fanfic #fluff #writing #peter #parker #thomas holland

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hhunjins · 5 years

Text

Pairing: Changbin x gender neutral reader (with housemate Minho)

Genre: college!au, fluff, lowkey strangers to lovers

Word Count: ~4,600

Warnings: Alcohol, language

Notes: I started this almost three weeks in advance but I still ended up posting late so…oops. Hope you guys enjoy it nevertheless! Happy 20th to the buffest smol boy I know! You deserve all the happiness!

Summary: Changbin was nothing like you thought he was, and maybe, just maybe this party might not turn out so bad.

Every moment that passes by is another one spent in regret. Minho is currently getting shitfaced on the other side of the room and having the time of his life, so you’re stuck sitting in a spinning barstool as tipsy college students continue to yell around you.

Listening to Minho is always a hit or miss, mostly misses, but your housemate was so adamant about dragging you to his frat’s party that you felt like you had to indulge him this once. You regretted it the moment you heard the party from a block away. Minho’s gleeful expression as he pulled up to the curb and dragged you out of the car with a firm hand wrapped around your wrist eased the swirling in your stomach a bit but then he ditched you for his friends and now you’re lonely.

While you knew everyone here, it wasn’t like you could hold a conversation with them. They were Minho’s friends, and you were Minho’s other friend. Two different worlds that didn’t mix. But at least they were nice and offered you drinks.

You make another rotation in your seat, using your feet to spin yourself around in the chair as you fiddle with your phone. The air is hot and somewhat sticky from how many people there are packed into this house, even spilling out into the front and back yard. You’re surprised the cops haven’t been called but living in a college town where the majority of the residents were students has its perks. After all, Saturday nights are the best time to drink to forget. If only you dared, of course. Minho called you a wholesome child but, in your defense, if you went as far as Minho, there would be no one to get him into bed and deal with his whiny ass when he wakes up the next day with a massive hangover. It was more of a favor for him than anything, but Minho would beg to differ.

“Hello!”

You flinch when you feel an arm sling itself over your shoulders and a head press against your shoulder. “Hi, Felix,” you say when you recognize the familiar weight of the boy who loves to cling onto you whenever possible.

Felix grins lazily, leaning even more into your personal space and draping his entire body over your back like a cat. “I didn’t know you were into this life.” He speaks slowly, like he’s processing his words as they come from his mouth. His cheeks are warm, and his cheeks are dusted pink. “Why are you sitting here being lonely?”

“Minho dragged me here,” you say, as if it answers anything.

But it seems to suffice since Felix lets out a low hum. He swivels you side to side on the chair, twisting his body just enough to create movement. “I’m going to get something to drink,” he mumbles after a while.

“Okay.”

And then Felix’s warmth is gone from your back.

You make another round on your chair, daring to swing your legs back and forth just a bit to give yourself something to focus on. The way the zippers on your jeans reflect the dim light when you sit at the perfect angle. The way your hands are clammy as they grip your phone because you want to leave but Minho has the keys to his car and he’s not going to let you go without a fight.

Though you’re slumped over in your seat, Felix’s blond head catches your eye as it bobs around in the sea of dark hair. He appears a few moments later, walking slowly and holding his cup with two hands like he’s cradling something precious. His eyes are trained on it, to the point where he’s almost cross eyed, as he inches closer and closer to you as if walking faster than snail’s pace would spill his drink.

At this point, you’re sure Felix is at least halfway gone because normal Felix is kind of an idiot, but not like this. He looks up when he’s about two (large) steps away from you and gives you a look like a child during Christmas. “This is for you!” he says.

It’s kind of like a movie, how everything seems to move as fast as Felix did in the next few seconds. Like someone slow-moed this exact moment just to make you suffer. It takes a simple elbow to his back to knock him off balance and Felix’s drink goes flying right into your white shirt. If life were a comedy, there would be the corny recorded laugh track going off in the background because you’re stunned into silence as Felix stares at this cup on the floor.

You knew you shouldn’t have come.

Apparently all the money Minho pays for his dues doesn’t go towards decent toilet paper because your shirt is still soaked and there are flecks of it stuck to the fabric where it rubbed off with your incessant dabbing. Felix is groaning right outside, probably slumped against the wall beside the door as he mumbles apologies through sniffles. You’re not sure if it’s the alc that’s getting to him or if he’s actually so sad about the drink that he’s crying, but your desperation to go home is too high to be thinking about Felix’s hurt feelings.

It takes a moment to process Felix’s slow “hey” and the door to the bathroom suddenly opening with a loud slam against the wall, but then you’re face to face with Seo Changbin, who looks surprisingly sober as he stares back.

“Oh. Sorry, but I really need to use the bathroom.”

You wince. “Okay.” You roll out a handful of toilet paper around your hand and slip out the door.

“Ah, wait.” Changbin’s hand is warm as it wraps around your wrist and you stare at the hand for a moment before looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Changbin seems to be surprised himself at the touch but he immediately lets go of your wrist and begins shrugging off his hoodie jacket. “To cover your,” he gestures vaguely at the wet stain on your shirt and gives you a pitying look as he says, “I’ll find you some paper towels that might help better.” Then he nudges you into the dim hallway by swatting the air like he’s shooing a fly.

The hoodie in your hand is soft and still has his body heat clinging onto its fibers. You’re not sure if you’re more shocked that Seo Changbin is here out of all places, that he talked to you, or that he gave you his hoodie like you were close friends.

“Y/n?” Felix tugs at your pant leg. “I’m sorry,” he says, eyes wide and pouty like that one Puss in Boots meme floating around on the internet.

“Felix, it’s fine.”

“I tried to stop him,” Felix continues. His fist is still holding onto your jeans. “He walked in anyway.”

“It’s really fine, Felix. I think we need to get you to bed though.” The words come out with a little soulless laugh. You can’t really believe your luck. Dragged to a frat party you didn’t really want to go to and now you’re going to be D.D. for your economics seatmate because he can’t even walk straight. What a night. You squat so you’re eye to eye and put a both hands on either sides of his cheeks, wad of toilet paper forgotten. “Did you drive here?”

Light spills out from the bathroom when the door opens again and you flinch a little at the sudden brightness.

“Uh, am I interrupting something?” Changbin questions. He raises his hands in mock surrender when you raise an eyebrow. “Okay. Nothing. Sorry,” he says quickly. “Lix, you okay?”

Felix lets out a sleepy mumble and promptly slumps forward into your shoulder. Out like a fucking light.

“Umm, would you happen to have somewhere to let him sleep?” you ask as you maneuver Felix into a position where his head isn’t digging into your collarbone.

“Do you know where he lives? I’ll just take him home.” Changbin gives you a hesitant smile, just a little tug of the corner of his lip, as he squats down beside you to poke Felix’s cheek. “I don’t think leaving him here would be a good idea.”

In all the years you’ve known Changbin, this is probably the most you’ve ever talked to him since…ever. He was always kind of untouchable, but not because he was way out of your league or popular at any point from elementary to high school. Actually, he was that weird kid everyone kind of avoided because he was always wearing black, even in sweltering hot, humid summers and hunched over a desk or any hard surface while scribbling into his barely-held-together notebook.

And that was why it was so weird to see him at 11 a.m. at a party because you never would have taken awkward, quiet Seo Changbin to be a frat boy. College changes people you guess.

You let out a small noise of assent as you struggle to stand while balancing Felix’s weight against you. Your still damp shirt presses against your skin again and makes you cringe all over again at the feeling.

Without a word, Changbin lifts Felix from your grip. “Help him onto my back. My car’s just down the block.”

All the times you’ve compared Felix to a cat is nothing compared to the way he is curled up in the backseat with his head on your lap…like a cat. Your pat his head mindlessly as you watch Changbin’s eyes flitter occasionally to check his mirrors through the rearview mirror.

Changbin drives consistently, carefully, unlike Minho’s random bursts of speed and quick braking. You’re not sure if he’s purposefully going slow so Felix doesn’t throw up all over his car but you’re thankful for a smooth ride nevertheless.

“Make a right. It’s the third building. You can probably just park in the street. I’ll call his roommate.” How you seem to know everyone in Minho’s circle of friends will always be a miracle, and for once you’re thankful that he’s a social butterfly that somehow snagged every useful phone number out there.

Changbin drums his fingers against the wheel as he changes lanes and follows your directions.

To say Jeongin is annoyed when he picks up is putting it lightly, but he grumbles that he’ll be out to collect his “lightweight bother of a friend” after he finishes this round of Smash.

Changbin has found a parking spot during your lengthy call with Jeongin and has the windows rolled down. The crisp night air is refreshing to inhale and you roll up the sleeves of Changbin’s hoodie so your arms can feel it too.

“He’s here.” Changbin’s voice breaks the silence and you look to see Jeongin walking towards the car with an angry pout. It would be great teasing material if his roommate wasn’t passed out on your lap. Poor boy.

You open the door and scoot out first, letting Changbin carefully coax Felix out of the backseat when he appears by your side. “Alright, Lix. Time for bed okay? Be good to Jeongin.”

Felix’s incoherent babbling might be an indicator that he still has some consciousness but, judging from the way Jeongin has to shift his weight to balance, that might just be him sleep-talking.

“Watch my car? I think Jeongin needs help.”

You nod and cross your arms over your chest. “Okay.”

When Changbin returns ten minutes later, he finds you sitting on the curb in front of his car, bright light from your phone illuminating your face. “Do you want to go home or back to the–”

“Home. Please.” The part of you that isn’t super drained shudders at the prospect of returning to that place. Instead, you flap your arms so the sleeves of Changbin’s hoodies are unrolled and then pull them to cover your hands. “I don’t think I’d ever go back.”

Changbin laughs a little at that, offering you a hand and pulling you upwards. “Actually do you want ice cream before I take you back? I’m craving.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Somehow, ice cream ends up being sitting on the trunk of Changbin’s 2010 Civic in your driveway as you hold your half of a twin popsicle while pointing out tiny, flickering stars in the sky. Changbin has long finished it, biting through it like the heathen he is, and is leaning back on the back window with a little cup of vanilla ice cream while sucking on the wooden stick used to scoop it.

For some reason, this doesn’t feel awkward. You would expect it to be with how much, or rather little, history you share. Maybe it was because neither of you tried to force conversation and just let comfortable silence blanket the two of you. It’s nice. You would go to parties more often if it meant doing stuff like this afterwards with Changbin.

Wait. No. Scratch that last bit. Why did that even become a thought anyway?

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“When was the last time you visited home?”

The list of weird things that have happened between you and Changbin in the span of two hours just keeps getting longer and longer.

“Home?” You shrug. “A month ago or so.” Glancing over at him, you ask, “What about you?”

“I haven’t come back since we went off to college,” he confesses. “There isn’t much to come back to, really.”

“Oh.” The words could be taken as passive aggressive, but his tone doesn’t sound so.

Another glance to Changbin results in eye contact, which he breaks first to scoop his ice cream. “You know, I was surprised to see you at the party.” He nudges your shoulder with his arm and tilts his head to the side. There’s a little smile that’s threatening to form. You can tell by the way the corner of his lips twitch and how his eyes seem to glitter like the faint stars you were supposed to be looking at.

You laugh a little, finally biting a chunk out of your popsicle since you sucked out all the flavor from the end of it. “Wasn’t really my choice.”

“I’m glad you went though. Even if you ended up having to deal with drunk Lix and a dirty shirt.” He nudges you again, but there’s a smile this time.

Your heart kind of maybe flutters a bit. “Yeah. I’m glad too.”

Silence blankets you again, but this time your heart is beating a little bit faster since Changbin is that much closer. In all the years you’ve known him, he was always background noise, but now when he’s the only person you’re with and the only remnant of home, there’s something different when you look at him. It wasn’t just the physical changes from skinny, lanky Changbin to toned arms and fuller cheeks. Nor was it the slit in his eyebrow that made him look almost completely different from the boy you knew since you were in grade school. It was the confident glint in his eyes and the way he carried himself that made him feel untouchable this time.

Maybe it would be an overstatement to say that you may or may not have a little thing for this new changed Changbin, but there’s something definitely there that makes your cheeks warm and your heart palpitate.

“You little shit, you left me last night!”

You are rudely awaken by a pillow to your face as Minho smacks you roughly with it again. “What the–”

“You left me! I was looking all over for you! You didn’t even bother to check your phone!” Minho smacks you one last time for good measure and huffs. Crossing his arms on his chest, he musters up the meanest looking glare he can and watches you rub sleep out of your eyes. When the world is in focus, you find that Minho is still in the clothes from last night, though his hair is a little messy. “When did you get back? Or better, how did you get back?”

“You sound like my mom,” you grumble, pulling your blanket over your face to block him from view. “I told you I didn’t want to come and I had to take care of Felix and I got a ride home around 2 a.m.” “From who?”

Minho’s eyes scan the room and zero in on a hoodie that definitely isn’t yours draped over your chair. “Oh my god. Whose jacket is that?”

Before you can untangle yourself from your blanket and tell Minho to mind his own business, he’s already swiping the hoodie off the chair. He ignores the weird look you give him when he sniffs it and then lets out a bark of laughter. “Seo Changbin?”

“What the fu–” You wonder exactly what frat boys do that lead them into knowing who is who based on their smell, but that might be Minho? You’re not sure, but at this point you’re too flustered – and scared – to ask.

“Changbin drove you home?”

“Yes?”

“He gave you his hoodie?”

“To borrow,” you clarify. Your mind immediately thinks back to his sweet smile after bidding you goodnight.

Minho’s narrowed eyes remind you of what his cats look like when they’re sleepy. “How do you know Changbin? And exactly what did you do last night after leaving a party I took you to with another dude?” he interrogates.

“He’s from home. And we took Felix home and got ice cream. That’s literally it.” You’re going to leave out the part where Changbin gave you a playful wink after leaving you with a promise of meeting up again hanging in the air. You’re also going to neglect to mention how it totally sounded flirty and how he wrote his number on your wrist after telling you to hold onto his jacket for the time being.

“It gives us a reason to meet up again,” he said. And it totally didn’t make you go a little weak at the knees. You’re not in love with Seo Changbin. You’ve known (of) each other for far too long to fall so easily. Nope. Definitely not.

You soon find that Changbin is a fervent emoji user and meme connoisseur. He double (honestly, quadruple texts) like a monster but he never fails to leave a smile on your face. It’s gotten to the point where Minho is seriously doubting that you “just got ice cream” last week but he won’t – can’t – say anything in case you decide to suffocate him in his sleep. It’s irritating to have him peek over your shoulder whenever you walk into the room while on your phone and ask, “what’cha doing?” like the nosy shit he is. And If you answer with anything other than “texting Changbin” he’ll go on a lecture about hiding things from your housemate when you’re supposed to be best friends, and you’ve heard that spiel too many times you’ve basically memorized it by heart. So you reply with, “texting Changbin” and disregard the smug grin and eyebrow quirk on his face.

Life is good. Peaceful for the most part. And a little bit warmer now with a new hoodie and friend.

“I never would have thought this day would come.”

Changbin looks up from his bowl of jjajangmyun and blinks. “Huh?” he says through his full mouth. For anyone else (namely Minho), you would have called it obnoxious and told them off but Changbin looks kind of cute with his cheeks full.

“I didn’t think I would befriend you at all, even though I knew we were going to the same college,” you explain. “You were really different back home.”

Changbin slurps up his noodles and takes a bite of picked radish before going back to scribbling notes into his tablet. “I guess? I didn’t really have the chance to change back home. There’s no one here to stop me from doing what I want.” He finishes off the rest of his radish slice.

“What does that mean?”

“Everyone kind of deemed me the weirdo at home and I was okay with it, I guess. At least there wasn’t bullying or anything. We all had our respective groups and I did better on my own.”

It all sounds so nonchalant, but you can’t help but feel guilty for not even trying to reach out.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Changbin says, like he can read your thoughts. “It’s really nothing. I’m here now and living my life.” He smiles to reassure you. “But if it makes you feel better, you get the title of being my first friend from home.”

The words make your heart to a tumble in your chest. Your ears are tingling, probably turning the same shade of pink your cheeks have taken. “Oh. Cool.”

You rearrange your legs so you’re sitting cross-legged on your chair and resume your work. There is the occasional clinking of your chopsticks against the bowl when you eat, but no words are exchanged as you continue with your studying. It isn’t until you hear the front door open and Minho’s loud voice announcing his entrance that you realize that hours have passed since Changbin came over.

“Y/n, you won’t believe– oh hello Changbin.”

Changbin looks up and gives a little wave. “Hello.”

Minho’s eyes flicker to you, back to Changbin, and then to the mess scattered on the kitchen table. “Studying?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly, recognizing the glint in his eyes. “You can join us, Minho.”

Minh grins, almost evilly, and shakes his head. “That’s okay. Have fun on your little study date.” He leaves after making fake kissy faces at you and ignoring your “it’s not a date.”

Honestly you don’t even know if it is because you migrated here after meeting up somewhere on campus and grabbing boba. And this isn’t the first time either. It’s the fifth, in fact, but it’s not like you’re keeping track of how many times Changbin has planned a rendezvous and bought you food. You’re also not keeping track of how many times you check your phone in hopes that the recent notification is a text from Changbin (at least once every ten minutes). And you’re definitely not keeping track of how many nights you’ve fallen asleep with a smile on your face after texting Changbin (every night since you texted him back the morning you were rudely awakened by your dear housemate).

Changbin watches your roommate leave and only turns back when the coast is clear. “So if this isn’t a date,” he says.

“Huh?”

Changbin tilts his head to the side and sucks in his lower lip between his teeth to bite. His eyebrows furrow in concentration. “Since this isn’t a date, do you want to go on one with me?”

What.

The word apparently gets spoken out loud in that exact, dead tone and Changbin looks amused before he shrugs and goes back to scrolling through his fancy touchscreen device. “Just a question. No is an option.”

Your heart is doing a gymnastics routine that you didn’t know it could ever do just because a boy asked you out on a date. But this isn’t just any boy. This is Seo Changbin! your mind screams. So you flounder like a fish out of water.

“What,” you repeat.

Changbin smiles to himself, ducking his head and resting his chin on a fist on the table.

Changbin’s hooded jacket has made itself at home in your closet, along with his sweater with his fraternity’s name on it and three of his t-shirts because you like oversized t-shirts but have no money of your own to buy them. He indulges you in raiding his closet every once in a while and secretly loves the fact that you wear his clothes around on lazy days and even to class if you’re really feeling lazy. What’s even better is that some of the clothes he wears himself finds a home in a special section of your closet.

It’s quite frightening how fast your lives intertwine and how he has become a constant. The first person you text good morning and the last you text goodnight. The first person to come to mind when you see something new to eat around campus. The first person you call when something funny happens and you need to let someone else hear about it. He’s just the first for anything and everything.

Changbin jokes sometimes about this being part of his lifetime master plan to make you fall for him after learning about the mere exposure effect in his psychology class, but you think it’s more than just history and proximity that pulls you to him.

There are times you wish you knew this Changbin before, because then college wouldn’t have been so terrifying. He is everything you need, even if it’s cheesy as hell to admit. Minho has hinted at (more like shoved down your throat with his unceasing lectures) how Changbin never seems to shut up about you and it’s getting annoying and how “you should get your lovesick boyfriend to stop so I don’t have to see and hear about you every moment of my life.” You pay no mind every time just to spite him.

It just feels surreal sometimes, like when you’re sitting on the passenger’s side in his car and his right hand just tugs your left one from your phone to slot his fingers between yours. Or when you wake up from a nap and find him still seated next to you on the bed while working on his homework. Or even when you brush your teeth together in your tiny bathroom with matching toothbrushes distinguished by the names you’ve stuck onto them after you got your hands on Minho’s label maker.

“Oh my god, you still have that thing?”

Changbin jerks upwards, slamming the cover to his notebook closed and pressing both hands on the cover before he realizes that you’ve finished your shower and currently have a towel over your head. “Oh, yeah. I’ve had it since forever,” he says.

“I know.” You plop down at the edge of his bed and begin to towel your hair dry. “It’s falling apart.”

It doesn’t take long for Changbin to put away this things and scooch over to you. His hands stop your movement, taking the towel from your grip, and begin to gently dry your hair. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” he chuckles when you slowly lean forward after being lulled to sleep with his ministrations.

“Feels nice,” you mumble.

It’s back to being quiet again until Changbin begins to hum lowly, like he’s trying not to make it obvious.

“I’ve never heard of that song before,” you comment as you turn your head just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye.

Changbin looks thoughtful, biting his lower lip before letting it loose. It’s shiny with saliva and just a tad more pink and you kind of want to kiss him.

“I wrote it for you.”

Changbin leaves the towel on your head and disappears from your side before you can even process what he means. He makes a loud noise when you reach to lift it so you sit with obscured vision until he returns to the edge of the bed. From under the towel, you can see his laptop and his finger tap the spacebar. The same song he was humming begins to play, and while it’s kind of rough on the edges (you can tell he recorded with his phone mic) it sounds like a masterpiece.

“What is this?” you ask.

“For you.” Changbin lifts the towel before capturing your lips in a soft kiss.

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