Pairing: Eugene Ottinger x Fem!Reader
CW: Slow burn, mild teasing, light angst, eventual fluff, friends-to-lovers
A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be patient with me
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You didn’t set out to make Eugene Ottinger your favorite target.
But on your first week at Nevermore Academy, you found him in the quad wearing oversized goggles, holding a jar of bees, and mumbling something about “hive harmony.” It was… weird. And you, still figuring out where you fit among the werewolves, sirens, and psychics, decided “weird” was safer to laugh at than understand.
So you made little digs. Nothing cruel — just comments, delivered with a smirk.
“Careful, Ottinger, one day those bees are gonna unionize and take you out.”
“Is this a club or a cult?”
“Do you talk to actual people, or just the bees?”
He never seemed to take offense. He’d just push his glasses up and say something equally bizarre in return, as if you’d just joined in on a joke only he fully understood.
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That all changed the day of the beekeeping mishap.
It was late autumn, the air sharp with the scent of damp leaves. You were crossing the courtyard when you heard a commotion near the hives. There was Eugene, flailing — not because of an attack, but because he’d dropped a whole frame of honeycomb onto his boot.
You couldn’t help yourself. “That’s one way to get stuck here.”
Instead of bristling, Eugene grinned. “Want to help me before my foot becomes part of the hive?”
You hesitated. And then, for reasons you couldn’t explain, you crouched down and pried the honeycomb off his boot. It was sticky, warm, and oddly heavy.
“Thanks,” he said, brushing himself off. “You’ve got a steady hand. Ever considered joining the club?”
You rolled your eyes. “Pretty sure bees and I wouldn’t mix.”
“They might surprise you.”
That was the first time he’d looked at you like you weren’t just some sarcastic voice in the background. And it was unsettling.
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Over the next few weeks, you found yourself lingering near the hives more often. Not to join, of course — just… watching.
Eugene had this bizarre way of talking to his bees, narrating their “daily gossip” like a soap opera. And you realized something: he wasn’t just eccentric. He was genuinely happy doing what he loved. In a place like Nevermore — where most people guarded themselves behind sharp edges and whispered alliances — that was rare.
One day, you even accepted his offer to help check the frames. The two of you worked in companionable silence, the hum of the bees filling the air. At one point, Eugene glanced at you and said, “You know, you’re not as scary as you try to be.”
You arched an eyebrow. “And you’re not as hopeless as you look.”
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By the time spring rolled around, you’d somehow become… friends.
You shared lunch on the quad sometimes. You partnered on the occasional group project. You even sat with him in the library during a particularly bad thunderstorm, distracting him from the noise with whispered commentary on other students’ fashion choices.
It wasn’t dramatic, but it was steady.
And then came summer break.
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When you returned to Nevermore in the fall, Eugene was… different.
Still Eugene — still bee-obsessed, still prone to tripping over nothing — but taller. Broader in the shoulders. His curls were a little longer, brushing the tops of his glasses, and his voice had settled into something warmer.
The first time you saw him was outside the hive shed. You almost didn’t recognize him.
“Hey,” he said, smiling like no time had passed at all.
Your brain, traitor that it was, noticed the way the sun caught in his hair. The way he’d filled out the sleeves of his sweater. The way your pulse skipped when his gaze lingered on you a fraction longer than usual.
“Hey,” you managed. “Did you… grow over the summer?”
He shrugged. “Maybe a little. Bees said it was about time.”
You laughed — maybe too quickly.
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From then on, things felt… different.
You’d be working together at the hives, and your arm would brush his — and you’d feel it. In class, you’d catch him leaning closer to explain something, his voice low, and it would send a shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore it, chalking it up to nostalgia or the novelty of his growth spurt.
But then came the Poe Cup preparations.
You’d agreed — reluctantly — to help him with the beekeeping club’s float. It was supposed to be a quick job: decorate, add props, done. Instead, you ended up spending hours together in the workshop, covered in glitter and honey.
At one point, you climbed a ladder to adjust the “Queen Bee” sign. You felt it wobble under you, but before you could steady yourself, Eugene’s hands were at your waist, steadying you.
“You okay?” he asked, voice softer than usual.
You looked down at him — those warm brown eyes, the faint flush on his cheeks — and your heart stuttered.
“Yeah,” you said, a little too quickly.
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That night, lying in bed, you admitted the truth to yourself: you’d fallen for him.
The realization was terrifying. This was Eugene Ottinger — the boy you’d once teased for talking to insects, the one person at Nevermore who’d never treated you with suspicion or guarded politeness. You didn’t want to ruin that.
But the way he was looking at you lately… maybe he felt it too.
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The moment that nearly broke your resolve came after the Poe Cup race. Your team hadn’t won, but the beekeeping float had survived the whole course without tipping — a first. Eugene was buzzing (figuratively and literally), grinning ear to ear as he handed you a cup of cider.
“You were awesome out there,” he said. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
You laughed. “You’d have been fine. You’ve got your army of winged minions.”
He tilted his head, studying you. “Yeah, but… I like having you around anyway.”
Something about the way he said it — like it was the most natural thing in the world — made your heart feel too big for your chest.
You didn’t say anything right then. You just sipped your cider, trying not to let him see how much you were smiling.
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It was a slow burn, still smoldering. But in the quiet moments — brushing past him in the hallway, laughing together over something no one else would understand, watching him work in the golden hum of the hives — you knew gravity had finally caught you.
And you weren’t in any hurry to get back up.
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A/n:should i write part 2?
Pt2: https://www.tumblr.com/chars4u/792798736697917440/trip-and-fall-for-you-pt2
