Pairing: Freflorn Swiftwind (OC) x Alasse Omalar (OC)
Fandom(s): Dungeons and Dragons
Tags: Fluff, Friends/Co-Workers to Lovers, ClichĂ© Fanfic Trope, Awkward Moments, Romantic Tension, Library, Slow Burn, Unacknowledged Feelings, Mentions of Falling off a Ladder, Non-Sexual Touching, Theyâre both Oblivious FOOLS
Authorâs Notes: This is incredibly self-indulgent. Freflorn belongs to @billietherock and she has graciously allowed me to write the silliest of fanfics shipping him with my OC despite him being such an unimportant NPC in her DND campaign. Itâs great. Art by me, book photograph from Pinterest.
Alasse Omalar was not a stupid woman. Sarcastic, yes. Impulsive, at times. Occasionally overconfident when she was wrong, oh absolutely. But stupid? Never. She was well-read and her own anxieties kept her aware of social cues whether she enjoyed it or not. Her decades, if not centuries, of experience helped equip her for most any position she found herself in.
At least, thatâs what she thought.
She buried her head in her hands, the warmth of her cheeks causing moisture to begin to form on them. They tended to grow cold and shaky when she was anxious and were like packs of ice against her cheeks.
Embarrassed. Thatâs what she was. Embarrassed and utterly horrified by what had just transpired. It was an unprecedented situation to find oneself in, the state of being practically pinned under oneâs coworker in a private area of the library.
Oh, goodness, that sounded perverted.
She rapidly shook her head and praised the gods that nobody was within sight of her desk. The students often paid her no mind unless they needed directions or were checking out a book and her coworker was away on lunch. For right now, that was good. Great, even, because if anybody questioned her on how purple her face was she could have exploded.
The smooth metal of her pen tapped against her pointer finger thoughtlessly.
Was it still on his mind? She hoped not. His job required more focus than hers did. Teaching students magic andâŠ
âŠhow did it happen again? Involuntarily, her thoughts were interrupted by the events once again playing over in her mind.
The ladder, the distractions, slipping, papers everywhere.
Ms. Omalar snapped her head up at the expectant elven student. It took her a moment too long to process that she was holding out a book, clearly waiting for her to check it out, and the woman raised a judgmental brow.
She quickly put on a smile. âAh! My apologies, didnât see you there,â she took it and quickly checked the slip for the girlâs name.
âIâve been standing here,â the elven girl whined. âYou should get your glasses checked⊠maâam.â
Backhanded advice aside, Omalar sincerely hoped the student was exaggerating. How mortifying would it be to have been caught daydreaming like that? She wasnât a child who could spend her time lost in another world. Her smile tightened.
âThank you for your patience, then,â Omalar said pleasantly. Bright green ink seeped into the paper as she pressed the stamp next to the girlâs name, leaving behind a juicy copy of the schoolâs seal. She waved the card to dry off the ink then passed the whole thing back over. âGood luck with midterms, Ms. Dryder.â
The girl turned her nose and snatched the book from her hands with a quiet scoff. Without another word, she stamped off to, presumably, study. Now alone again, Ms. Omalar rolled her eyes and sighed. As rude as that Dryder girl had been, that was a sharp reminder to not let herself reminisce in the middle of work. Professor or not, this job required focus.
She ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled slowly. These were things to dwell on at night, when her exhaustion from the day made it too difficult to stay up longer than necessary. Then sheâd have only a moment to focus on it before falling into her usual restless sleep.
She just had to get through the day.
â-and he questioned why I was not a Druid, rather than a Wizard. I am very worried about our modern education system, I learned all about the different classifications of magic users when I was far younger than these students,â Professor Swiftwind lamented. His feathery hand brushed along the book spines lining the shelves as he searched for one on his current focus of study: the mountain ranges of eastern Thista.
Ms. Omalar held a stack of very large books, seemingly the ones heâd already pulled down from the shelf. A vexed look crossed her face.
âIâm certain it hasnât changed much in the decades since Iâve attended. Some people just do not pay attention in their classes. Iâll never understand it, theyâre paying so much to attend,â she complained, to which the Owlin made a noise of agreement.
âFor a school as prestigious as this, one would think there would be more care put into the vetting of its scholars.â He let out a quiet âah!â as he found yet another book of interest and tugged it out of the shelf. The Owlin began to flip through it, his pupils constricting as he rapidly skimmed the pages.
âThe vetting process is fairly complex, from my understanding,â Omalar, very briefly, argued. âBut I do agree. I believe itâs reasonable to assume a student at a magical university would know their basics.â One barely had to crack open a âMagical Fields 101â textbook to catch the list of differences in the prologue.
The professor hummed, seemingly satisfied by his chosen book, and mindlessly leaned over to place it upon his stack. âThat is exactly what I am saying! I would be less upset if heâd confused, sayâŠâ his wings flicked out in annoyance. â...a cleric and a warlock, if only for their religious connections.â
Her stance shifted upon the carpet as she readjusted the books in her arms. The stack was beginning to get to be a bit much, especially for her (admittedly) weaker physique. âVery different, agh, connections,â she grunted. âIs this the last one?â
âLast-? Oh!â Swiftwindâs head spun around to look at her and he finally saw the stackâs growing height. His pupils dilated in shock and a frown crossed his beak. âI hadnât realized Iâd grabbed so many.â
That nearly made her laugh. He always had tunnel vision at the most inopportune times. âIâm not one to complain about such a passionate pursuit of knowledge, but for the sake of my arms Iâm going to have to cut you off.â
He often became dramatically crestfallen when she did this, whining about how he might miss crucial information if he didnât grab enough until she reprimanded him. If she didnât know any better, she might have thought he liked it. But this time, surprisingly, he took it in stride.
âMy apologies,â he shook out his wings, small feathers drifting down to the ground, and began to climb down the ladder. âThose are not too heavy, are they?â
âMy bones are breaking as we speak.â
His head twisted around to shoot her an unimpressed look. âHardy-har har.â
âI am allowed to be disgruntled. After all, you were too âin the zoneâ to notice my discomfort,â Omalar let out a mock sigh and tilted her head back. âIâm offended.â
âI was not-! Wait.â He paused his pursuit and pointed aggressively at her. The librarian bit her cheek to fight back her laugh. He was so easy to egg on. âYouâre teasing me.â
âTeasing? Me? I would never,â She readjusted her grip on the books, attempting to reaffirm her hold on the stack.
âHalf of your brainpower is used to tease me every day,â Swiftwind argued. She watched as he continued down the ladder. It wasnât a very tall one, though heâd gone several feet up higher than usual in order to reach the upper shelves. Not many students went up there unless they were desperate, so the wood polish still gleamed on those upper rungs.
âAnd all of your brainpower is being used to not fall,â she replied earnestly. âOr it better be.â
Sheâd warned him it was too high. No, Professor Swiftwind had argued, nothing was too âhigh upâ in the pursuit of knowledge, and who knew how much was hiding up there? She was sure the only reason he wasnât afraid of slipping from that height was that he hadnât actually thought that far ahead.
âI am perfectly capable of climbing a ladder, Ms. Omalar,â the Professor replied, a crotchety edge to his tone. She watched his talons keenly.
âI am aware, I just want to make sure youâre paying attention,â the librarian said carefully.
âI can assure you, I will be fine,â he sighed. He brought his foot down, his claws just barely missing the step below.
âWait, watch that last step-â
Before she could warn him, the Owlinâs talon missed the rung. A surprised hoot squeezed out of him as he tumbled back, too slow to catch himself. His wings sprung out and he uselessly flapped them, in a manner that was clearly meant to steady him in some way. Ms. Omalar didnât even have a moment to think a snarky âI told you soâ before processing that he was, in fact, about to fall right into her.
A crash echoed out from the isle as all one-hundred pounds of a man toppled backwards into the elven woman. Books and loose papers, tucked inside the books from former students no doubt, flew across the floor. Omalar felt her backside hit the carpeted floor and just barely managed to avoid smacking her head against the bookshelf behind her. Her mind was so scrambled that she almost didnât register the light weight of the man currently crumpled atop her.
No thoughts of his warmth nor the softness of his feathers passed through her mind. Her immediate thought was, in fact, panic for her friend.
âFreflorn!? Are you alright?â Omalar pulled herself up as much as she could, sitting up against the bookshelf. She didnât even have to hold her breath for a response. Professor Swiftwind let out a groan and began muttering many undignified curses beneath his breath. She exhaled slowly, relieved he hadnât hit his head on the way down. For his own benefit, Omalar elected to pretend she didnât hear his curses. He was always very sensitive about the âlanguageâ he used around her, something she may have found amusing in any other situation.
âUgh- yes, I am fine,â he grumbled. He began to shift his weight, using his arms to hastily attempt to roll himself over. He lifted his gaze and suddenly registered both what heâd landed on, and how heâd landed on it. A gasp tore from his beak and he scrambled forward. âMy goodness! Are you alright?!â
As nice as it was to see him as concerned like this, the distracting nature of his hand suddenly grasping her knee gave the woman pause. Never had somebody done that before, less so in a context such as this. She wasnât sure how to feel about the slight pressure applied to it as he leaned towards her.
Blinking, she only just managed to stutter out, âI believe Iâm fine-â
âYou didnât hit your head, did you?â The next thing the elven woman knew, the Owlinâs hand was right beside her head. She could feel his fingers hesitantly touching the side of her head, looking for any bumps. The action caused her to let slip a quiet, confused noise from her lips. âI should get you to the infirmary at once, I cannot fathom what would happen if we lost our best librarian.â
She didnât reply, her attention all but focused on the feeling of his arm lingering so close to her face. When he didnât find any bumps, Swiftwind had taken to resting his hand on the shelf beside her head. She sucked in a breath as he cut into the already limited space between them. Had he called her the âbestâ librarian? Surely that had to have been her imagination. It was difficult to focus on one thing, after all. Perhaps she was overreacting. Yes, yes that was it. She was just overreacting-
â-Miss Omalar?â She caught him saying, very nervously. âYou arenât responding. You donât have a concussion, do you?!â
She had to find her voice again, and fast. Or else he would quickly go from concern to full blown panic, as he already was beginning to.
A stone was stuck in her throat and wouldnât dislodge no matter how much she tried to clear it. Sheâd already said her head was okay, hadnât she? Maybe she didnât. Her thoughts were a bit of a blur. His hand was firm. Much firmer than sheâd expected.
What she meant to say next was âIâm okay, please get off of me.â But her brain and her mouth didnât appear to be connected at this time.
Instead, in a very hoarse voice, she stammered, âYou- you are very close.â
That statement seemed to stop the Professor right in his tracks. His pupils slowly began to constrict as he held her gaze, and his look of concern turned to something far more mortified. Her face grew only warmer as she realized he was only now processing the position the pair had found themselves in.
âAh.â Swiftwind cleared his throat. His eyes flickered around, possibly taking in her face. Omalar was never great at hiding how she felt, especially not in her expressions. This scene had enough evidence to prove that: her lips were pulled down into a deeply exaggerated frown, her ears drooped down like a drowâs, color enveloped her cheeks far more than sheâd like. It wasnât a look she wore often, if ever, and it made her feel all the more vulnerable in this already excruciating moment.
The feathers on Swiftwindâs head- plumicorns, she foolishly remembered them being called- pressed flat against his head as the rest of his neck feathers puffed out around his neck. He cleared his throat again and lightly clicked his beak.
ââŠah,â was all he managed again, much to her chagrin.
Ms. Omalar had a decision to make here. He wasnât moving, despite his equally shocked face and his wings fluttering behind him.
And with the commotion theyâd just made, somebody may come to check on them. They were in a more secluded space of the library, but it was still a mortifying risk. Should she shove him away? Tell him off? Something?!
Her eyes drifted down, towards his beak and then further, eyeing his hand on her leg and the knee heâd propped himself up with. Their legs were tangled, and she was uncomfortably conscious of how much her thighs reminded her of the weight sheâd like to lose. Hopefully he didnât notice.
Despite everything, the situation did not feel sensual to her. No, no this was her friend. She couldnât see him like⊠like that.
But it did feel intimate. Far more intimate than sheâd ever been with any of her friends, let alone Swiftwind. They were close enough, but physical âaffectionâ (if one could even call this that) was something that only she attempted to give between them. This was unfamiliar.
Her greenish gold gaze snapped back up. Fast enough that she managed to catch him, too, scrutinizing her with those narrowed, focused pupils of his. The sight nearly made her squeak out another sound of surprise.
âFreflorn?â She managed to choke out, and her utterance of his name seemed to be enough for his attention to snap back to her face. He blinked harshly several times before letting out a stunned chirp.
âOh my goodness!â He shouted as he scrambled back from her, his hand pressed tight against his chest. A dull thump sounded out as his back made contact with the ladder. âMy deepest, most sincerest apologies Ms. Omalar- how utterly inappropriate of me!â
She slowly but surely drew in a deep breath. She was finally able to focus on something other than proximity, and began to fix herself as much as she could. One of the extra lenses on her glasses had flipped down, leaving her vision somewhat wonky. Perhaps that had influenced her perception of the situation, and it wasnât as bad as sheâd thought. She quickly flicked the glass up.
âIt isâŠâ Fine? She didnât feel fine. She didnât feel fine at all. ââŠI understand it wasnât on purpose. Donât worry.â That was at least honest, she thought as she attempted to offer him a smile. He hardly seemed reassured, but quickly became too distracted to mind her troubles for very long. Heâd promptly switched gears as he noticed all of the books that had spilled to the ground.
âMy books!â He hooted out in distress. He began to crawl around in an effort to grab them all, stacking them half-hazardly in his arms. A twinge of something like annoyance hit the woman. He was more worried about those books than helping her up?
Omalar offered him a bemused smile. âAre you more concerned about those things than me?â Heâd asked if she was alright, she reminded herself, so she shouldnât feel jealous towards books of all things for receiving proper attention. Still, for a self-proclaimed gentleman she expected more from him.
He paused his scrambling, several books pressed at awkward angles against his chest. âI- no,â the professor spluttered out. One of the books began to slip out from under his arm, and he rapidly shifted himself to a different angle in order to catch it. âI would never-! Why-! I am of course more worried about you than⊠these.â
His near-sheepish tone made the irritation ebb away slightly, but her pettiness still held strong. âIâd have believed you if youâd offered to help me up before doing all of⊠that.â
ââŠoh.â Swiftwind deadpanned. He glanced between her and the books for a moment. âI, ahâŠâ
âLet me help,â she sighed. The librarian began to help him clean up the spilled papers and books, much to the manâs very apparent relief. She may properly chew him out later for it, but for now having an argument was the least of her concern. Ridding herself of that uncomfortably tight feeling in her chest was a higher priority.
The pair picked up the spilled textbooks and papers in a tense silence. A part of her was thankful nobody had tried to run over and check on them- imagine the awkward explanations- but another part of her was more worried about the apparent lack of care from the students. Empathy, it seemed, was also a part of the curriculum that had been shelved.
And then there was one left, which she reached out to grab just as Swiftwind did. She noticed at the very last second and, with the subtlety of a falling hammer in a glass factory, shot her hand back so as to not touch him. The professorâs hand lingered atop the book, his eyes on her with a surprised look of near-offense. In an attempt to play the botched action off, she brushed her hair back over her ear and glanced around.
âHow is your body feeling?â Sheâd already asked if he was alright, but for an Owlin he was on the older side and the adrenaline would surely be wearing off by now. âI doubt Iâm much of a, uh, comfortable landing place.â
âOh please, you were a very soft landing place.â Swiftwind stated matter-of-factly, before suddenly seeming to understand the weight of those words. The feathers atop his head stuck straight up with alarm as he quickly added, âAnd of course what I MEAN by that is, do not worry! As I said, I am fine. More shaken by the suddenness than anything.â
She nodded stiffly at that, doing her best to ignore that âsoftâ comment. Was that a good thing? âIâm glad,â she said, only half-joking. âI donât want you gettingâŠâ
Her eyes drifted down to how tightly he clutched his books to his chest, unconsciously tracing his fingers before quickly snapping her gaze back up. His pupils had constricted once again, very clearly noticing her moment of weakness, and his wings ruffled out behind him.
ââŠhurt.â Omalar finally finished.
âAre those all the books?â She feigned looking around, though she knew they were all definitely in his arms. Anything to avoid looking him in the eyes.
He blinked out of his stupor. âAh- affirmative. Yes. This is all.â
âLetâs get those checked out for you,â Omalar pulled herself to her feet. Now that she was standing, she could definitely feel her lower back becoming sore. She massaged it as she walked ahead of him towards her desk.
The rest of the interaction was far more awkward than any others that she and Swiftwind had had in a very long time. He signed the books one by one while she stamped them, the entire process feeling as if it was dragging on for hours. She normally offered to carry the books back with him, but before she could even consider he had bolted with the stack in his arms.
Leaving her alone to dwell on the incident, until hopefully she had banished it from her thoughts for the rest of her shift.
Freflorn wasnât fairing much better. That had been a horribly heinous situation to find himself in. Not only had his books spilled to the floor, wrinkling several pages (heâd skimmed them once heâd made it back to his office), but heâd utterly embarrassed himself by not only falling off that wretched ladder, but heâd fallen RIGHT ON TOP OF his friend whoâd just been insisting that very thing would happen if he wasnât careful.
The humiliation of it! He was lucky she hadnât been hurt, he had already run through dozens of scenarios where that landing hadnât been so graceful. Or, perhaps worse, scenarios where one of them had landed on the library books and ruined them.
And that lingering concern was certainly the only thing on his mind about that situation. Not how improper of a position theyâd found themselves in, nor how purple her face had become. Did she have stars in her skin? Heâd never been close enough to see, but he swore when she blushed it was like a miniature galaxy spread across her face. The phrase âmoon elfâ would suddenly make sense if that were the case; what other name could more properly describe such a fascinatingly beautiful sight?
Goodness, no, why would he be thinking any of that? Thatâd be incredibly unprofessional and downright scandalous. He would never dwell on such things.
Getting back to his office with all of the books by himself had proved to be far more difficult than heâd initially anticipated, to the point that heâd had to employ the help of a pair of students heâd recognized to complete the task. Doing his usual routine of walking back with Ms. Omalar after such an incident had just seemed rather inappropriate, especially since she was clearly more sore than sheâd have preferred to admit. Heâd seen her hands go to her back when sheâd stood- not that he was watching, of course. Sheâd just made it quite obvious.
And now he sat alone, raring to return home in just under an hour. His office hours were open, of course, but none of his students seemed to have noticed or were in need of assistance. That left him to fiddle awkwardly with his pen as he desperately tried to gather the drive to grade his studentsâ papers. He hadnât even found the will to get the carefully filed essays out of their desk drawer.
It shouldnât be this⊠difficult to banish these shameful ideas from his mind. He was more than capable of it, heâd done so before with other embarrassing situations. Perhaps it was because this was a friend of his that he felt more ashamed than usual. Sheâd undoubtedly feel the same if she had fallen atop him. The amount of grace sheâd given him was more than he deserved, even if it was an accident.
He tapped his pen against the wood of his desk, mindless to the dots of ink it was leaving behind. He was overthinking things here, he had to be. It wasnât a big deal. Heâd gotten his books. She wasnât hurt- much- and neither was he (though he could tell his hip may be developing a bit of a bruise). Theyâd cleaned up the mess.
Admittedly, he was most worried she was mad at him. Perhaps that was what was causing him so much grief. Sheâd been rather snippy afterwards, heâd noticed, especially after heâd begun to pick up the books. Was she offended? He wasnât sure why thatâd be the case. If sheâd fallen on him, he wouldnât have been offended if sheâd opted to quickly clean up the area first.
âŠHow would he have reacted if sheâd fallen on him?
His tapping ceased immediately as the long feathers on his head snapped up. His beak clenched shut as he felt heat creep up along his neck. If his skin had been at all visible, one would have been able to see heâd gone completely crimson in the face. Imagining Ms. Omalar in the position theyâd been in, only reversed, did many odd things to his stomach.
And now that he thought about that, about how heâd practically jostled her leg as heâd near-straddled her, he realized.
Not at her, of course not it would have been an accident just as it was with him, but at himself for how much heâd enjoy it.
What an utterly humiliating thought. He was a full grown man, for goodness sakes, and a GENTLEMAN at that. The thought of a woman holding his leg in place, leaning over him, with her hand pinned beside his head- my gods that was enough of that.
A sudden SPLURT brought him back to reality, and he finally saw that his poor penâs tip had snapped off. Ink had spurted out onto the desk top, creating a large pool of ink that had already partially clung to the feathers on his hand. It soiled the cuff of his sleeve and dripped steadily onto his rug. He yelped and quickly stood, rushing out to fetch a rag and somebody to clean this mess.
Thankfully, the janitor was not very far and he was able to get a majority of the ink from his desk cleaned up before it soiled everything. Heâd have to invest in a new shirt and rug, though. He couldnât be keeping something here that had all sorts of black smudges on it. He let out a deep sigh as the janitor wheeled his cart and the rolled up rug away.
Heâd have his maid throw out the shirt once heâd returned home. Keeping an extra shirt at work in case of situations like this would be a good idea, he decided. Why hadnât he thought of that in the first place? He worked with dirt quite a bit due to the different plant forms he brought in for his classes. This could be a good thing.
If only his pen and dignity hadnât been sacrificed for this realization. Heâd washed as much ink from his feathers as he could, but the feathers were stained black in spots that he knew would take days to come out. He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. What a way to top off an already embarrassing day. If Omalar had to see him like thisâŠ
He needed to get a grip on himself immediately, he thought as he packed up his things. It wasnât conducive to a productive environment to be as distracted as he currently was.
An apology gift was in order, he ultimately decided. Perhaps a new blouse? Hm⊠but he didnât know her size⊠a book? She had been eyeing a few at the bookshop, sheâd mentioned to him. But would that be an appropriate gift for an incident that occurred at a library?
Perhaps heâd pay for her lunch sometime this week. Yes, they could walk somewhere (a nearby cafe?) and heâd pay for her lunch. That would be a worthy compensation for this.
It didnât occur to him even once how such an act might look to an outside observer. After all, the pair were just friends whoâd found themselves in an awkward situation.
Why would either be concerned about looking like they were on a date?
