Summary: You remember memories of your childhood with Xavier, hoping to get some courage from it to talk things out with him. Wednesday starts to suspect something, and Principal Weems isn't happy with either of you.
Warnings: angst, mention of blood, underage drinking, swearing.
Xavier had been your first kiss. You doubted he remembered it but you definitely did. When your aunt had dropped you at the Thorpe manor for the first time, you were just turning 6 and had that funny haircut that almost hid your eyes. Your aunt Cordelia wasn't so fond of this hairstyle, but things had been hard for you since your mom's passing less than six months ago; taking care of the birdnest you were calling hair could wait for the situation to settle down.
Aunt Cordelia had explained to you that you were going to live with a dear friend of hers for some time because she couldn't take you with her to an upcoming witch congress on the other side of the world. Couldn't or wouldn't you didn't know, to you the only thing that mattered was that you were going to a foreign place, and your mom wasn't here anymore to comfort you.
"You'll be fine here," had assured your aunt while your luggage was taken out of a car by the butler.
"Can't I come with you?" you had asked again with a wobbling lip and watery eyes.
"You know you can't pumpkin," said Aunt Cordelia. "Mr.Thorpe has a son about your age, I'm sure you'll become friends very fast."
And just like that, she left, and you found yourself alone in a manor you didn't know.
Mr.Thorpe had been intimidating but the good thing was he hadn't more time for you than your aunt did, and as soon he introduced himself to you he left too. So you had fled to your new room and hidden in the closet to cry. You didn't want to be here, you didn't even want to be raised by Aunt Cordelia ; you wanted your mom, but that was impossible now.
Then, you had heard the creak of the closet's door being opened and you had timidly peaked up from behind your hand. A little boy was crouching down to your level, looking at you curiously with his big hazel eyes.
"Why are you sad?" he had asked with his childish voice.
Taken aback by his question, you had wiped the tears on your cheeks, "I'm not sad, I'm just lonely."
He had looked at you curiously; then he had raised his little hand to brush away the hair that was obstructing your face. The gesture had made you flinch a bit, but he was gentle and somehow, you had felt like you could trust this boy. He had beamed, exposing the gap left by a missing tooth.
"You have pretty eyes!" he had exclaimed.
"Thanks?" you had said unsure, still sniffling.
He nodded vigorously, his smile plastered on his chubby face. Then he extended his hand to you. "Wanna get out of here? I know where the cookies are hidden, we can search for them together, it'll be fun!"
This brought a small smile to your face for the first time in weeks, and you had taken his hand. Within the next few days, you had your hair cut. That's how you met Xavier Thorpe.
From there, your friendship bloomed. Aunt Cordelia tried to spend at least six months a year with you, and you lived at her house for that time. Well, she tried, and sometimes you found yourself dropped by the Thorpe manor more than intended. This didn't bother you, you enjoyed Xavier's company, and you were best friends after all. And considering his own father was also absent frequently, he loved when you were there.
When you turned 12, your aunt brought you along on her trips to make a sort of pilgrimage around all the important sites of witchcraft around the world. According to her, it was time for you to learn more about your history and soak up their energy. The trip was so long, you didn't see Xavier for two whole years. And when you came back to the Thorpe manor at 14, the both of you had changed a lot. Gone was the little boy with scraped knees and round cheeks, the teenager you met at the door was lanky and definitely taller than you now.
YOU ARE READING
Xavier Thorpe x reader oneshots
Fanfiction!no smut! Only fluff and angst Got these from tumblr so all credits go to the people who wrote them