Because I am obsessed and can't seem to stop writing these two. A 2 part drabble, but I may be convinced to write more!
Prompt: I sat down in the wrong class and I'm panicking but don't want to get up and leave because the class has started and you think it's hilarious and shut up you dumb fuck you don't know me aahhh
He lifts his head up from his desk, heaving a great sigh. His 2:15 pm class is his least favorite, mostly because those who choose his late afternoon lectures are taking it because they cannot be bothered to wake up before 1 in the afternoon. They don't prioritize history, especially not a class focusing on the intricacies of Anglo-Saxon medieval artifacts.
He grabs his cane and gathers his things. New year, new semester. Perhaps he'll get a surprise or two in this class. Maybe he'll have one stand out student that will shock him, remind him why he teaches. That'd be pleasant, but he doubts that. He eases into the massive lecture hall, looking around with another sigh. A respected professor at a celebrated university. He should be content.
A couple students trickle in, early. He represses a smirk, wondering if they know the fearsome reputation he carries on campus. The beast, they call him. A brutal grader, task maker, and not likely to accept excuses or apologies. He feels no remorse for this. They don't pay him to play nice with some co-ed that reeks of booze. They pay him to educate them.
As the clock ticks closer to 2:15, he shuffles his papers and prepares for his lecture. The class is filling out now, with most of the back seats taken by the stoners who slump over, hoodies up, eyes low. At 2:14, he clears his throat and goes to the chalkboard, making sure every clearly sees the cane and limp. He's barely picked up a piece of chalk when the door bangs open and slams shut.
He turns around in shock, wondering who would dare show up late to his class. A pretty young girl, in sky high heels and a pretty floral wrap dress is clambering down the stairs, aiming for the only open seat- front row, dead center. He watches her, shocked, as she slides in. She brushes her curly hair back, the thick wave of it cascading over her shoulder. Bright blue eyes catch his and the corners crinkle when she smiles. Her lips, lined with something to make them pink and shimmering, part slightly as she tries to catch her breath.
He tears his eyes off of her, trying not to show how off balance he feels. He picks the chalk up again and beings to write on the board in complete silence. 'HIST 3014. Medieval History and the Anglo-Saxon Period Artifacts.' He turns, ready to address the class with his customary tirade against sleeping in class, late or plagiarized work, and slacking in any form.
He stays silent, mostly because his eyes are once again drawn to the latecomer. She's looking at the board then at a paper in her hand, eyes darting back and forth as the crease between her eyebrows deepen. It doesn't take more than a second for him to realize what's happened and when he does, his lips curl into a sneer.
He strides forward and plucks the paper from her grasp. She makes just a tiny noise of protest but otherwise stays quiet, big eyes staring up at him with her lips in a tiny pout. He reads the schedule easily- she's clearly meant to be two lecture halls over- D, not B. She's in the wrong class. He hands the paper back to her and she's going to grab her bag, so he choses to speak, finally.
"You there. Misfit in the back, with your grandmother's blouse on. Yes, you. Lock the door. I don't need anymore latecomers disrupting me. First lesson. You may not be late to my lecture, nor may you leave early." He booms and a mousey girl scurries to lock the massive double doors.
The girl in front of him looks up, lips parting slightly in disbelief as she realizes what he's doing. He's locking her in, keeping her from her actual class. He hopes, for a second, that she'll actually dare argue with him or attempt to leave anyways. But then she squares her shoulders, reaches down into her bag, and emerges with a notebook and pen, flipping to a clean sheet, and looking at him defiantly, as if to say it's his move once more.
He grins despite himself and then quickly schools his features back into something more intimidating. He limps back to the board, pointing to what he's written there.
"Likely, many of you will hope that today will review the syllabus and then I will dismiss you early so you may carry on drinking and cavorting across this esteemed campus. It will not be so. I expect you to come to my class ready to learn. You will be turned away at the door if you do not bring notes, a writing tool, or a laptop. If you do not finish the homework, I will not accept it.
"If you are late, you will be turned away. I do not accept excuses for missing my class. If you are absent, you best be dead. I will not send you notes. I will not allow you to make things up. I will not extend deadlines. This university has a reputation to uphold. I trust you see it as your duty to do so."
He takes a second to savor the shocked and horrified looks around the room. He likes to see if he can pick those that will drop in the next couple days, before the period closes. Fine by him. Only the strong survive in his class. The mistaken girl, in front of him, carefully finishes her neat notes, then looks up to him, clearly expecting more. A little thrown by the intensity of the blue eyes, he fumbles through his papers.
"This class will be centered on the creation, use, and subsequent discovery of Anglo-Saxon artifacts, specifically those between the era of 450 to 1066. Can anyone tell me why that year marks the end of this period?" He looks around at the scared faces, all desperately trying to avoid his eyes. Except the girl in front, her hand raised high, defiant.
"The norman invasion." She responds, when it becomes clear that no one else will answer him.
"Yes." He struggles to stay on track. She's throwing everything off. "Yes, so we will cover roughly 600 years of history. We will begin with the earliest years. Can anyone tell me how the Angles and Saxons rose to power— Yes?" She's got her hand up again, looking as innocent as possible.
"When the Romans had to pull back to protect their land from invaders such as the Huns and Goths, they saw their opportunity and seized it." She recites and he frowns at her.
"Yes, correct, technically, but, well," He takes a deep breath, then moves on, trying to carry on.
At every turn, she's there to answer every question he has. She even probes his statement about the invasion of the Danes, eyebrows furrowed. But mostly she sits in the front row, attentively taking notes, occasionally lifting her gaze up and watching him. He remains flustered until the clock strikes 3:45 and he dismisses them. Most students scramble for the door, except one.
"I'm Belle, by the way." She introduces herself loudly, once the lecture hall has cleared out and only they remain. He clears his papers, avoiding her gaze. "You're the dark one, aren't you?"
He looks up, surprised at that. It's a new nickname. She smirks, having caught his attention.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Dark one, it's what they call you. Because, you know, your class is on the dark ages and you're always in a bad mood and kind of a hard ass? That's why." She grins sunnily, putting stuff back in her bag. "Interesting class by the way."
"Thank you." Completely taken aback now, he focuses on gathering up his papers and getting out of there.
"For a class I didn't plan on attending today, I learned a lot." She comments, still amused, and he looks at her, wondering if he's going to be cussed at now. She doesn't look upset, not when her eyes are sparkling like the sun glinting off the water.
"Ah, well, yes." He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. "You were certainly more engaging than the dimwits I am forced to teach to."
"Oh?" She quirks an eyebrow and he flinches, having said too much.
"Of course, that's only because you couldn't seem to be bothered to locate your correct lecture hall." He remarks a little cruelly and she's quiet, watching as he gathers up the last of his things and shoves them into his briefcase.
"Lucky mistake." She says simply. "I never thought I'd have a chance to take a class by the notorious Professor Gold, but here I am. I'm assuming there'll be some openings after today."
"What?" He turns to look at her, a little bewildered. "You're switching to my class?"
"I think so." Belle inspects her schedule. "I'll just take Professor Mills's class next semester."
"Mills." He snorts and Belle peers at him over the schedule. "She's a pompous idiot who is usually distracted seeing how miserable she can make herself and those surrounding her. You'll learn nothing."
"Take it up with the university then." Belle says breezily, slinging her bag onto her back. "I'm required to take that class before I graduate in the spring."
So she's a senior then. He doesn't know why that impacts him in any way. She's a student, nothing more. A student with long legs and pretty toes, painted a deep green. A student with perfect curves and a wicked smile that seems to set his heart racing. She's a student, nothing more.
"Then why are you taking my class?" He asks, unable to stop himself and she pauses, folding her schedule so she can tuck it in a dress pocket.
"It's interesting." She says, as though it should be obvious. "I'm sure your office is covered in artifacts. I'm sure you've visited all the best digs, since you are the leading authority on it. And since I'm a history nerd, I hope that if I annoy you relentlessly enough about it, you'll let me see them."
"You want to see them?" He frowns at her.
"Of course!" Belle's eyes light up. "I'm sure you've got a treasure trove of stuff here. It must be fascinating. Weren't you called to the British Museum to authenticate a piece last year?"
"Yes." He looks at her as if he's never seen anything like her. "Yes, a helmet they thought may have belonged to—" She hangs on his every word as he tells her the story of his travels, of the piece, of how he was able to hold it and touch it, a tangible link to their history.
"Wow." Belle sighs. "That's amazing. I've always wanted to go see that exhibit— Or go to Oxford, I know their collection is amazing as well— but you know, poor university student." She shrugs.
"Yes." He hesitates, torn between maintaining the facade of the big scary professor and opening up his world to a student who seems interested in it. Genuinely interested. "Would you like to see my small collection here? It's not much."
"I'd love to." Belle jumps up, grinning. He tries not to notice how close to him she walks, skirt brushing him, the smell of lavender radiating off of her. He tries not to notice how she stands shorter than him, even with the heels, and how she glances at him out of the corner of her eyes, grinning widely.
When he pushes the door of his office open, she gasps, tossing her bag in a chair and instantly heading for the wall of shelves that are covered with books, trinkets, artifacts, and more. She keeps at her hands carefully clasped behind her back, as if to keep herself from touching the precious items. He sits in his chair, watching her.
"Feel free to pick them up." He offers, when he sees how her fingers twitch at the rudimentary spear.
"Are you sure?" She turns to look at him and when he nods, her eyes glimmer with wholesome, childlike joy. She turns and picks up the spear, gently turning it over in her hands.
"Likely belonging a lowly solider, killed in battle." He explains. "I found it at one of my first digs. Nothing special, really. But I was allowed to take it. It holds more sentimental value than historical, I'm afraid."
"I think it holds a lot of value." Belle breathes, still staring at it, fascinated. "A man trusted this to protect him. He may have died with it his hands. It may have slain other men. Someone built this, used it, and died with it. A whole life, separated from ours by centuries, and we're here, staring at it now."
"Yes." He says, surprised once again. "Yes, I've always thought that it's breathtaking, to hold something that has survived the rush of time. 'Forðon sceall gar wesan monig morgenceald mindum bewunden hæfan on handa'."
"Quoting Beowulf to me?" Belle grins. "I like it. Words and weapons are all that survive. Something revealing in human nature about that." She smiles at his astonished look then carefully sets the spear down and moves to the little knife. "This one?"
"Again, less valuable. See how there's no engraving or inscription of an owner or maker?" He points out and she turns it in her hands. "Probably an early attempt by a beginner."
"Why have it then?" She questions and he's at loss for words.
"It was found by someone close to me." He settles on and Belle takes that at face value, moving to finger the collection of boxes.
"I would have to submit a background check to get some of these from the library and here you have them, in your office." She says a little sadly.
"You're welcome to borrow them." The offer rushes out before he can stop it again.
"Really?" Belle turns to look at him, jaw dropped.
"For your schoolwork." He bluffs. "I expect top marks from you, Miss…"
"Belle." She grins cheekily. "You're calling me Belle."
"Ah." He grimaces. "That feels terribly improper."
"Deal with it." Belle doesn't miss a beat. "Well, I should run. The Registrar's office closes at 4:30 and I need to switch classes. I'll see you on Friday, professor."
"Alright." He says lamely, not sure what to do otherwise. With a grin, Belle wiggles her fingers and disappears out the door, leaving him with spinning thoughts and a vague sense of dread.
"You're getting pretty dressed up for an afternoon class." Ruby observes, sitting on Belle's bed. She's surrounded by a mountain of clothes on each side, as Belle frantically digs through a dresser.
"Did you take my white bra?" She demands and Ruby briefly glances down her shirt.
"Yeah, I'm wearing it, why?"
"I need it." Exasperated, Belle extends her hand. "Give it."
"Do you have a date afterwards or what?" Ruby questions, sliding the bra out from under her shirt. Belle clasps it around her stomach, then twists and yanks it, pulling the straps up.
"Uh, sure." Belle darts into her closet, trying to find the white ruffled blouse that offers a tasteful hint of her cleavage.
"With who? Don't tell me it's the stupid oaf Garrett. Belle, he is a jerk." Ruby says passionately.
"It's not him." Belle rolls her eyes as she slips the top on and pulls it lower than it normally sits.
"Is it that hot guy, the one guy who owns that motorcycle, the roguishly handsome one?"
"Don't you have a girlfriend?" Belle demands, as she pulled on a skirt and shoves her shirt into the waistband.
"I admire everyone equally." Ruby says fairly and Belle rolls her eyes, diving under her bed to find the correct shoes. "Belle, who is it?"
"You don't know him." Belle mutters, flinging booties out.
"Wait." Ruby scrambles off the bed and pulls open Belle's bag. Belle pops up, looking at her. "You're going to the dark one's class, professor beast. Belle, do not tell me you're getting dressed up for him."
"I'm not." Belle insists, but her cheeks are flaming. Ruby's jaw drops. "I'm not, honestly, I'm—"
"You are too!" Ruby shrieks and Belle ducks into the bathroom. "Oh my god, is that why you've got your fuck me panties on?"
"They are not!" Belle protests and Ruby yanks up her skirt to show a lacy white thong that matches the bra.
"Oh yes they are." Ruby states and Belle swipes mascara on defiantly. "Please tell me he has a hot TA or something. There's a hot guy you sit next to. Belle, come on. Belle, please."
"No." Belle smacks her lips with fresh lipstick. "No, it's him, ok? It's him. I have a massive crush on him. He's never once treated me with anything other than the utmost respect, ok? Christ, man studies the couple centuries before chivalry, but seems hell bent on carrying that out."
"Ok, I don't really understand what that means." Ruby declares. "But I know enough that he's like twice your age, and an asshole to boot! No one takes his classes if they can avoid them. Are you crazy? Who hurt you when you were young? Why do you like pain?"
"No one hurt me." Belle rolls her eyes. "But he's actually traveled the world, studied things. He can hold an intelligent conversation. In fact, half the time, I'm the one trying to keep up with him. He's interesting. Age doesn't matter."
"It does when he can't get it up." Ruby snorts and Belle shoves past her. "You're crazy, do you know that?"
"Of course." Belle sighs, picking through her tights until she finds the right pair, a deep brown that will set off the reds and greens in her skirt. "But let me have my little fantasy ok? It's been the entire semester and I've only managed to work my way into having tea in his office after lectures to talk about history. At this rate I'll be an old lady and we'll have a first kiss."
"And he'll be dead." Ruby remarks and Belle throws a shoe at her. "Well, he will!"
"Don't you have homework?" Belle remarks and Ruby sighs.
"Yeah, but I'm putting it off." She broods. "Dorothy and I are fighting about where we're going to move after school. I feel like we're from two different worlds sometimes."
"You'll figure it out." Belle pulls Ruby in for a hug, pressing her cheek to Ruby's forehead. "You two love each other. You break up, my belief in happy endings is ruined."
"No pressure." Ruby grumbles as Belle grins and grabs her backpack. "Have fun with your sexy professor fantasy!"
"I will!" Belle yells, heading for her car. She arrives at the lecture hall and heads inside, glancing at her watch. 2:07. She'll never be late again, she thinks with a smile. She enters the lecture hall, smiling when she realizes she's even beat him. She slides into her customary seat, taking out her most recent notes. She's rereading them when Gold walks in.
She doesn't look up, playing the little game they've settled into. She'll watch him through her eyelashes as he avoids her gaze, shuffling through papers and getting ready for the lecture. When he's got everything done, he glances up and Belle looks down at her neat handwriting, pretending to study the words from the last lecture. In the margins, she's been doodling lines from Beowulf, some in the Old English Gold is fond of, but mostly in modern english, which she can understand.
She knows his eyes are on her, however, because she can feel it. She can feel his gaze like it's the rays of the hottest sun, burning into her skin even in a drafty lecture hall. Electricity passes between them and Belle doesn't understand how the other students don't feel it, don't feel the chemistry and tension between them. She can almost taste how bad she wants him and unbidden, she licks her lips.
"Door." He booms, the second it's 2:15 and the girl in the back corner locks it, as is the habit. "Alright, today we're going to pick up where we left off, on the excavation of Bedale Hoard. Who can tell me the significance of the materials found, and if Miss French has to answer, I'll add another essay to the final. Oh, yes, you there in the back, welcome to participation. Please, attempt to enlighten us."
He carries on with the lecture and Belle takes good notes, even noting questions she wants to ask him later. She tries to hide her smile when he remarks and ridicules her fellow classmates for their stupid questions, trying to remain impassive. And a couple times, he'll roll his eyes, heave a great sigh, and then turn to her.
She'll answer whatever question he'd posed and then avoid the dirty looks of her classmates. She's got the top grade in the class. Half them think she's sleeping with him to get such a score. They all don't know she would sleep with him without needing a better grade.
When class is finally done, they all pack up. Belle lingers, pretending to be meticulously organizing her notes, until finally everyone trickles out and leaves her with him. Then she waits until he's packed everything up, erased his markings on the board, and turned to her.
"Tea?" He offers, as is customary.
"Please." She gives her typical answer with a grin and follows him back to his office. There, he makes tea and Belle pursues the shelf, deciding what object he'll tell a story about today. She picks a replica of a carved cross, palming it as he pours their tea.
"Good pick." He remarks. "I've always found the conversion to Christianity fascinating."
"Are you Christian?" She asks and he snorts.
"I tend to take after my pagan ancestors. No belief whatsoever mostly."
"Oh." Belle sits and takes her tea. "That shouldn't surprise me, but it does, a little."
"Thought me to be a god-fearing man?" He questions, smiling.
"No." Belle shakes her head and sips her tea. "I guess not. You're still pretty much a mystery to me."
"That's part of my appeal." He tells her, but he's got a hint of a smile. "Would you like me half as much if I spilled my secrets?"
"I think I'd like you twice as much." Belle says stoutly and that startles him into laughter.
"I'll keep a couple back for my sanity then." He grins and she does too, then turns her gaze back to the books.
They talk in a friendly manner for a long while and eventually the tea goes cold, but neither seems to mind. Belle listens enraptured as he tells stories about traveling all over Great Britain, assisting at digs and inspecting pieces. He's got a wonderful voice, and Belle listens to it, letting it lull her into relaxation.
"Thank you for the tea and letting me pick your brain." Belle says, a little sadly, when she knows their time is coming to an end. He smiles, cleaning up their mess.
"I hope to see some of the points you made this afternoon reflected back in your final essay." He remarks. "Have you narrowed down your focus to begin your research?"
"Sure." Belle grins, feeling bold. "I think I'll study the most elusive character of them all. A professor entrenched in the history of the period. I'll research his background and story, and provide my analysis on why he likes to be perceived as so intimidating."
The change the comes over him is nearly instantaneous. His face turns cloudy and closed, smile dropping off his face and hand clenching around his cane. His eyes, usually a warm whiskey color, are suddenly dark as a moonless night.
"I think it best you leave." He says shortly, opening the door and showing her out. She's getting a door slammed in her face before she even has a chance to figure out what she said wrong. She stares at it in disbelief, with half a mind to barge it down. Then she turns on her heel and storms away, swiping at the angry tears, feeling like she's done something very, very serious.
AN: Second half up this time next week! Let me know thoughts, and if there's other scenes you'd like, I'm more than happy to write them!