#Another math notebook doodle

[genderlesssnake]

I haven’t drawn my oc in forever so here they are

[katszumi]

Studying with bakugo is almost NEVER studying with bakugo. The mf can yell at you to pay attention all he wants but a few seconds of it and you’re already back to yapping about the latest drama. Drawing little doodles on your paper (and a few on his) while you tell him about how kuroiro finally confessed to Komori from class 1b, and although he doesn’t like to admit it he’s paying more attention to your yapping then his studying. (Your the only person who can do that)

i hope i did your ask justice😔 this is the first one i’ve done, but thank you sm for requesting. and gosh, i love silly highschool romance sm REQUEST MORE PLS

sorta linked to this but can def be read as a standalone

“did you hear about kuroiro’s confession today?” you asked. you were laid on bakugou’s room floor, your notebook wide open with a few math equations along with a dozen of doodles.

you just asked him another silly question, one of the countless ones that you’ve already made in a hour.

bakugou already knew that you were a sociable person from the way you find a new person to talk to everyday, but he didn’t expect you to be this talkative.

truth be told, you’ve talked more than you have actually studied. which was the main reason why you had come to his room at nearly eight o’clock at night, close to his bedtime.

he only accepted the late study session was because the other reason for you to come was so he could speak with you privately. this was the best way he could do it secretly without being found out.

bakugou looked up from his textbook, directly at you. “no. not that i even care about that stuff anyway.”

your chin rested in the palm of your hand, silently drumming your fingers against your cheek.

“it’s hilarious though, cmon!” you pleaded with a small smile on your face.

“we’re supposed to be studying, y/n. did you forget that you didn’t exactly ace that test?” he rhetorically asked.

you pursed your lips together in a thin line, looking away from bakugou and back onto your textbook. you were dumb enough to even think you could gossip with bakugou.

he offered to help you study, not to bond more as friends clearly.

you picked up your pencil and began to write the equation that was written in the hardbook next to you.

hearing that there was no response from you, bakugou internally began to slightly panic. it was never like you to just shut up so easily. he couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that he came off too rude.

it’s not that he didn’t want to hear you speak, he just didn’t want to make his crush on you so obvious. he was trying so hard to be his normal self which was much harder towards you than he thought.

bakugou placed his textbook down, leaning back into the palm of his hands behind him. “what did that extra do?”

almost immediately, you released the pencil that was in your hand and made eye contact with the ruby eyed male in front of you. a smile tugged on your lips, one that bakugou couldn’t help but think was so fuckin’ cute.

“he made her a bouquet of mushrooms, because you know, her whole mushroom quirk thing. he tried to give it to her discreetly but someone walked past and made it a whole big deal.” you described. “honestly, i feel bad cause i think they’re both kinda shy. they probably didn’t want that attention.”

bakugou unknowingly listened to every word of yours, feeling himself being drawn into you. what was it about your voice that made it so compelling for him?

if it were anyone else like stupid shitty hair or raccoon eyes, he’d shut it down immediately, not caring about a single word they had to say about it.

but, he found it a little more difficult than usual to refuse when it came to you.

he snickered. “public confession? what a romcom move of him.”

you looked back down, noticing bakugou’s blank paper. out of boredom, you grasped onto his notebook. you started to doodle on the small square in the upper left corner; a couple of hearts, stars, dots to make it less bland.

“i think it was sweet. it’s hard to confess already, but to do it in front of an audience? takes guts honestly.”

bakugou watched you draw on his paper. he felt a little jump in his heart, some part of him liking the fact that you took initiative to add your own touch to something of his.

something so stupid. so small. but he couldn’t help but feel a tad giddy.

bakugou sat upright, gulping nothing but his own saliva. “is that something you would like?”

at first, bakugou curses at himself. why would he ask something like that? something that could definitely give away his small crush on you. but he remained his same stone-cold look.

you looked up at bakugou, noticing his eyes softening slightly before returning to their original position.

you thought about it long before responding. “nah. don’t think that’s something i’d really prefer. i’d like a simple confession with just the two of us.” you described.

it seemed a little weird to you that you were casually speaking of your own relationship preference with bakugou, but you tried your hardest not to think too much about it.

you assumed he was only trying to make small talk.

“good.” again, with bakugou’s one worded response. even though he didn’t add more to his sentence, his eyes lingered with yours. as if he was deciding something or carefully analyzing you. but it was a different look. not a competitive, angry look. but rather a tender look. one you have never seen bakugou wear, ever.

suddenly, he looked away, back onto his textbook. you seemingly didn’t mind considering the small tingle you were receiving in your face.

bakugou looked over his shoulder, begging to anyone even the gods above to remove the deep-set blush that was occurring on his face.

the male cleared his throat. “alright, let’s fuckin’ study. gossipin’ and yappin’ won’t help you get a better damn test score.” he chose the defensive route to move on.

you silently agreed with a nod. but, your mind goes back to the thought that you successfully just gossiped with the katsuki bakugou. the one that’s listed to only care about being the number one hero.

you bit the inside of your cheek to hide a smile as you tapped your pencil against your notebook.

just now, a kaleidoscope of butterflies slipped through the cracks of your stone wall, entering your stomach, and began to harvest a life within that had bakugou’s name branded on it.

[aemondsbabe]

Taunt

obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!

summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.

pairing: michael gavey x reader

warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 10.5k (dear lord)

a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)

PRAISE | Taunt Part 2

MAKING AMENDS | Bonus

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!🌟

“Right, so,” Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, “Since we’ve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought I’d go easy on you today.” 

A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks you’ve been in Professor Davies’s class, he’s never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page. 

“D’you think you’ll go to the party this weekend?” Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, “I heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.”

“Like any of Felix’s parties aren’t insane?” You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, “Of course I’ll be there,” you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, “I could really use a break, anyway…I’ve been so stressed recently.”

“Christ…” A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didn’t really know him, this being your only class with him, but you’d seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when you’re on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces. 

He didn’t run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name – Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks you’d been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more. 

It was annoying, you wouldn’t deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes — blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another. 

His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, you’d admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if he’d just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.

You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michael’s head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering. 

“Now, then,” Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, “A bit of review before we really dive in…” He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board. 

“What do you think you’ll wear?” Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, “I was thinking I’d do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?”

“Might still be too cold for strappy,” you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, “I was just thinking I’d do a jumper, probably a skirt and tights–”

Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, “Since you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,” He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, “Would you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?” He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips. 

“I– uhm, well,” you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, “Don’t you need to solve for G first?”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Well, you would…” You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons you’d had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, “I…I don’t recall, professor. I’m sorry.” You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging. 

“Perhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.” Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile. “Yes, Professor.” You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned. 

Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You can’t help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again. 

“Would anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?” Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michael’s hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.

Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, “I have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,” He says pointedly, “Could benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.”

Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead. 

“Mr. Gavey,” he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, “Once more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.” 

“Thank you, Professor,” you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? It’s not like you were exactly an academic threat. 

“Ms. Bickerstaff,” Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, “Not bad, a bit more effort next time and you’re sure to be on track,” he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks. 

Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you can’t help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didn’t come from piles and piles of money and status – your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them. 

As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, “Sorry, yes, Professor?” 

“As I was saying,” Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, “I would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.”

“Yes, sir.” you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade. 

“I’ll see you later, babes,” Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, “Good luck!” She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.

“Thanks!” you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner. 

You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Ah, yes!” He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, “I know this class has been quite the challenge,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “But, I think I’ve found a solution for you.” 

“You have?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“I think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,” he continues, “And I have just the student in mind.” Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, “Mr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.”

You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder. 

Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, “Mr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,” you can’t help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.” You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. “I’ve given it some thought,” the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, “And I’m willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.”

“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”

“However,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, “This will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.”

“Of course, professor. Thank you again.” You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men. 

“Right, well, now that’s sorted,” Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, “I trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. I’ll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.” He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers. 

The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses. 

“So,” you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, “Uh, what time works for you? I really can’t do Saturdays–” you begin, only to be cut off.

“Shame,” Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, “Saturday is the only day that works for me.” 

The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, “Okay, well Saturday’s are the only day I have off,” you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that he’s being a nuisance, “Besides, I super can’t tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends I’d come with them to this party tha–”

“Oh, I know about your little party,” Michael scoffs, “Trust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,” he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, “Oooooh, it’s so cold, can’t wear the fuckin’ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.” He finishes with a final huff of laughter. 

“What is your deal with me?!” You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, “You’ve been a dick all semester and I haven’t done anything to you! I’ve never even talked to you!” Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no one’s in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.

“I might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,” he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.

“What does that even mean?” You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware. 

His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you can’t help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, “Come on,” he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, “Felix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?”

You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, “Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, “But, what does he have to do with anything?”

Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “See, we went to school together, him and I – some of primary, all of secondary,” he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, “And I just don’t fucking like the guy. Can’t stand him, never could’ve.” 

You’re silent for a second, and now it’s your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. “But, what does that have to do with me?” You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.

“Don’t trust the people around him either,” he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, “Weirdos, the whole lot. There’s something…off about the guy. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something dark there, all around him. Like he’s putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.”

The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you – an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly you’re wondering if he can hear it – hell, you’re wondering why you’re reacting this way at all, why you’re so shy and skittish around him. 

“M’not like that,” you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.

He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, “You’re not like that, are you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy. 

You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard you’re blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering. 

But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, it’s broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, “Meet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. There’s hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.” He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.

“But I’m bus–”

“D’you want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?” He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, “S’your call, love.” He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck. 

“Bodleian at five it is,” you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain. 

Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxford’s libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere – from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves. 

Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone – 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie you’d decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.

“Boo!” Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck. 

You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.

“Shh! Hey, relax!” Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michael’s face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. “It’s only me.” He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder. 

“Hi.” Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didn’t hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt. 

“Hi.” He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach. 

Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. “Should we–” He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, “It’ll be quieter up there.”

“Sure!” You chirp, giving him a curt nod, “Lead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.”

“Well,” he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, “S’what happens when you don’t spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.” 

You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister. 

“Sorry.” He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase. 

“What?” You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail. 

“For earlier,” he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, “Scaring you, I mean. Didn’t mean to.”

You’re quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. It’s calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.

Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. “It’s alright,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.” You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.

Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like he’s laughing at a joke you can’t hear, “Maybe it’s all that tension.”

“Wh– tension?” You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place. 

“The stress? That you were meant to be working out at Catton’s?” He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, “Couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.”

“Oh…” You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush. 

The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, “You can’t keep one thought in that head, can you, love?”

You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, And…God, why do I like it?

“Why don’t you like me?” You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice. 

He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, “You don’t take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you don’t fucking listen.” He sits back up, frowning, “I work hard every fucking day in there, for fuck’s sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Davies’s teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.” He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window. 

“Told you, I’m not like that,” you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, “I’m here on scholarship, same as you.” 

His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, “How did you know ab–”

“Like I’m not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?”

“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute. 

Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, “Can we just get this done? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”

“Ah, of course,” he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, “Catton’s big important party. And you’re stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?” 

You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felix’s parties. You wanted to tell him that you’d hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act. 

Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, “I don’t think you’re a loser, Michael,” you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, “Can we just focus on this now, please?” 

He’s quiet for a moment, frozen like you’d said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like he’d come to a decision you weren’t privy to, “Sure,” he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, “S’not like I’m the one failing.” He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something he’d regret saying even as the words left his mouth. 

See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.

It’s barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see you’re only just now halfway done correcting the ones you’d gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping — problems that you’d hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesn’t make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem. 

“Can we take a break?” You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook. 

“What?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, “It’s hardly been an hour and you’re ready to give up?” 

“‘M not giving up,” you mumble, “I just think we could use a little break…” You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesn’t break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, “Just, like, ten minutes, please?” 

You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, “Say please again.” He commands, his voice low. 

“Huh?” You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket. 

“Say please again,” he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, “Beg.” 

“W-why?” You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request. 

He shrugs dismissively, “Makes you squirm,” he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, “I like that.”

“Why?” Your voice is so small you doubt he’d even know you spoke if his eyes weren’t fixed on you. 

He hums, a satisfied noise, like you’ve finally managed to meander into a trap he’d set ages ago, “S’fucking cute,” he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, “Makes you blush and act all dumb.” 

You know you should be offended, but you can’t find it within yourself to care, “You think I’m cute?” 

He chuckles, sighing, “That’s what you choose to focus on?” 

“Do you?” 

“Fine, yes.” 

“Please, Michael,” you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, “Please, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?” You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you don’t see anyone else sitting at the study tables. 

You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he can’t believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, “Ten minutes.” He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes. 

You don’t move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone. 

A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party — a lie, though you can’t find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together. 

“I meant what I said.” You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles. 

“Hm?” Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes. 

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you answer, fidgeting, “I never have. I think you’re…intriguing.”

“Intriguing?” He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, “How so?” 

You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, “You’re smart…you know you’re smart,” you start, voice small and shaky, “I like that.”

“You like that or you like me?” He’s looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows he’s already won a game you don’t even know the two of you are playing. 

“You.” It comes out as a breath. 

He doesn’t answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark. 

Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, “Thank you,” you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, “For helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things you’d rather do on a Saturday.” 

He stays quiet for a few seconds, “I didn’t really have anything better to do,” he smirks, “No parties.” 

“None?” 

“Never,” he shakes his head, shrugging, “Don’t get invited.” 

“Oh,” you answer simply, “Well, still, either way, thank you.” You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. 

“I know a way you could repay me, love,” he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, “Only if you want to, of course.” He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair. 

Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, “H-how do you want me to repay you?” You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his. 

He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, “I can think,” he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, “Of one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.” 

You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger. 

“Yeah?” He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, “”Y’wanna?”

“Yes.” You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands. 

“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling. 

You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing – missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, “Please, Michael.” You practically whine. 

“Ooh,” he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, “I think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.” 

You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, “Please, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.” The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading. 

“How’re you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?” He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but it’s enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, “Ask for what you want, beg properly.” His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump. 

“Please, God, Michael,” you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard you’re surprised they haven’t fused together, “P-please let me suck your cock — to thank you, thank you for helping me.” You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly. 

He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isn’t anyone around, “Alright, alright, love,” he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, “Not God, but I’ll give you what you want.” He teases.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, “Yes, sir.” You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk. 

“Goddammit,” you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, “Keep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.” 

You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.

You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, “Can I…?” You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric. 

“Don’t be shy now, princess,” he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, “Get on with it.”

You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even – long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip. 

You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, “Knew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.” He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath. 

You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat. 

“Jesus!” He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, “Fuck, that’s it,” he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, “Look at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.”

You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, “God, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.” He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you. 

His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand. 

Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, “Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?” He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need. 

You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as you’d suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit. 

Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. “Did I say you could touch your cunt?” 

“N-no,” you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think—“ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl. 

“That’s a pattern with you, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, “You were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?” He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table. 

You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. “I…got distracted.” You answer finally. 

“I got distracted….who?” He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses. 

“I got distracted, sir,” you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s much better, love,” he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, “Now, what could’ve been so fucking distracting, huh?” He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. “Could it be this, I wonder?” He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much you’ve soaked the fabric, 

“Oh,” you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, “Oh my God, fuck.”

“Christ,” he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, “So fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?”

“Yeah,” you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, “Please, sir!”

“Oh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?” He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, “Need your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?”

You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, “W-what?” You question, eyes blinking open, “I was so close!” You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child. 

“Told you,” Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, “You’re so fun to tease, love, can’t help myself.”

You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. “P-please, sir, please touch me!” You finally gasp out, knowing he won’t give in until you do.

“Now there’s a good girl,” he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, “Since you asked so nicely…” He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you. 

You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, “Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud. 

You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, love,” he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, “Wouldn’t want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. “Fuck!” You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit. 

“S’fucking tight,” he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, “God, you’re tight.” He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, “That the spot?” He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers. 

“You gonna come?” He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he commands, not stopping his movements, “Want you to watch what I’m doing to you when you fucking cum.”

At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. “Michael, please!” You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open. 

He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. “Fucking come,” he commands, doubling his efforts, “Soak my fucking hand, love.”

The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesn’t let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants – both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you can’t think enough to care at the moment. 

“Goddammit,” he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, he’s lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. You’re practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, “Gonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?” 

You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesn’t make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance. 

Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, “God, knew you’d feel good.” 

Somehow, that remark works it’s way through the fog in your brain, “Hm?” you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, “You thought about me?” You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down. 

He sighs, as if just now realizing what he’d said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, “‘Course I did,” he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. “Looked so damn pretty in class,” he continues, “So cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.” 

His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what he’d said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and it’s like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock. 

“Fuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,” he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, “Y’gonna come?” 

“Yes!” You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock. 

“Hold it,” he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. “Want us to come together,” he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, “Fuck, I’m close just hold on.” The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately. 

“F-fuck, Michael,” you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, “Please! Please I can’t hold it, please!” You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you don’t draw attention, not this close to your release. 

“Where, fuck,” he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, “Tell me where.” He pants, his voice urgent.

“Inside me!” You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.

He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, “Are you s–”

“Yes!” You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, “‘M on the pill.” You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, “Michael, oh, fuck!”

“Fuck,” he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, “Come for daddy, fuck, be good and come.” He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.

Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release. 

The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. “Getting shy on me now?” He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair. 

You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, “Shit,” you whisper, hopping up off his lap, “I cannot believe we just did that!” You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still don’t see anyone.

“Wasn’t in my plan,” Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. “Sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to them, “I should’ve…controlled myself better with that one.” He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin. 

You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although you’re dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, “Getting home is gonna be fun.” You joke, turning to begin gathering your things. 

You’ve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, “Here,” he says softly, waving the sweater at you, “You need it more than I do and it’s my fucking fault anyway.”

You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.

He huffs out a laugh, “You sucked my cock on the floor of a library,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, “S’the least I could do.” 

You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sun’s gone down. 

“I really like them, that band,” you say, nodding to his shirt, “Their last album’s really good.”

“Oh!” He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, “You know them?” He asks, smiling when you nod again, “Their new album is probably my favorite too, actually.” The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. “D’you live close to campus?”

“Half hour on the train,” you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, “I should probably go soon if I’m gonna catch the next one…”

“You could come to mine?” He asks, his voice hopeful, “It’s only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, “If you’re sure,” he nods, “Then, yeah! That would be great.” You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat. 

“Would you maybe want to get lunch sometime?” He asks, glancing down at you.

“I would love that,” you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, “I think I might need more tutoring, too…”

His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, “Will you suck my cock every time?” He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air. 

Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michael’s shoulder.

tagged lovelies: @schniiipsel @arcielee @darlingofvalyria @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog @fan-goddess @drakonflames @helloworldiamnotarobot

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[angelbwrry]

sex for dummies. eren j.

cw 𐙚 kissing, kissing, andddddd more kissing. eren is smart and wants to learn how to fuck, you’re a bimbo cheerleader with experience under your belt who needs help in math!

𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒: 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔

You sit in the stark, colorless classroom, feeling the weight of monotony pressing down on you. The walls are bare, devoid of any inspirational posters or artwork, and the fluorescent lights cast a harsh, uninviting glow over everything. The incessant clicking of a pen behind you riddles you with irritation, each click like a tiny hammer tapping against your skull. You try to focus on the teacher, but his bored voice drones on about the rules of precalculus, and you can't help but tune it out.

Your attention drifts to your pink ringed notebook, its cover already filled with an array of drawings, each one a testament to your boredom. You’ve always been an artist, yet you’ve never had the energy or the opportunity to truly pursue your talents. So here they stay, confined to the pages of this littered notebook. As you sketch, your mind wanders, and you lose yourself in the lines and shapes forming under your pencil.

But the tapping of the pen behind you grows louder, its continuous rhythm grating on your nerves. You try to ignore it, but it becomes impossible, each click pulling you further away from your thoughts. Frustration builds inside you, and you begin to scribble harder, pressing the pencil into the paper with more force than necessary. Suddenly, the lead snaps, breaking the fragile silence you had tried to create.

You whirl around to face the boy behind you, your eyes blazing with anger. "Tap it again and I’ll shove it down your throat," you seethe, your voice low and menacing. The boy looks at you, his eyes wide with terror, and he nods quickly, his hand frozen mid-click. Satisfied, you turn back around.

Mr. Johnson, the math teacher, stands at the front of the classroom, his voice clear as he explained yet another problem. The chalkboard was filled with equations, each symbol meticulously written to illustrate the problems.

"Alright, class," Mr. Johnson said, turning back to face the students, "let's solve this equation together. What do we need to do first?" Hands shot up across the room, but in the back corner, you sat quietly, staring at your notebook. The numbers and letters seemed to blur together, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't make sense of the steps Mr. Johnson was explaining.

"We should rewrite the equation.”

Your ears perked up at the familiar raspy voice. Eren Jaeger, the typical nerd whizz kid. He always wore these rimmed glasses that seemed to be perpetually sliding down his face. You could never get a good look at his face, though, because if his head wasn’t down, his messy raven hair was in his face. He seemed like a shy, reserved nerd.

You’d only spoken to him once or twice, and each time you’d asked to borrow a pencil. Eren effortlessly broke down the problem until it was solved. You envied his brain. Mr. Johnson moved on to the next equation, and your anxiety grew as you found yourself zoning out, probably why your grades were suffering now.

You knew you needed help, but you were too embarrassed to raise your hand and admit you didn't understand. You scribbled in your pink spiraled notebook, trying to make sense of the previous examples, but the more you looked, the more confused you became.

You doodled a picture of Hello Kitty, lip mindlessly caught in your teeth.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and you quickly packed your things, hoping to escape unnoticed. But as you reached the door, Mr. Johnson called out, "Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?"

Shit.

You froze, your heart pounding. You turned slowly and walked back to Mr. Johnson's desk, avoiding eye contact. Your anxiety spiked as you awaited what he was going to say. Would he threaten to call your parents again, threaten to get you taken off the cheer team? Or would he make you stay back for after-hour tutoring again?

"Uh, yeah sure," you stumbled out nervously, fingers pulling at the edge of your uniform skirt as you averted your eyes to him.

"I noticed you drifting off in class. In order for me to help you, I need you to want to be helped," he sighed, pulling his glasses over his tired face. "I know you're on the team and practice can be weighing with classes. I can talk to your coach—"

"No, no. That's not needed, I swear I'll do better, just please don't talk to coach," you pleaded desperately, her last words playing through your head like a broken record.

If your grades drop any lower, I'll have to suspend you.

He gave you a look; you couldn't tell what kind of look seeing as his face was always stoic. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded, folding his arms over his chest."Fine, I would suggest pairing up with someone to study over the weekend. We'll have a pop quiz come early Monday morning."

Shit, Monday. How the fuck did he expect you to cram an entire semester of math equations into your head in two damn days? You wanted to throw a fit, but you kept your composure, lips curled tightly in disdain as you nodded your head before spinning on your heels and leaving.

You walked out into the hallway, your mind racing. You needed help, and fast. Just then, you spotted Eren Jaeger, the nerdy guy from your class, at his locker.

"Hey, Eren," you called out, trying to sound as casual as possible.

He looked up, surprised to see you. "Oh, hey... Y/N, right?"

"Yeah, that's me," you said, forcing a smile. "Listen, I need a favor."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "What kind of favor?"

"I need help with math. Like, desperately," you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

"Mr. Johnson said I need to study with someone this weekend or I'm screwed. And I know you're really good at it..."

Eren sighed, closing his locker. "So, you want me to help you? Why should I? You never even talk to me unless you need something."

You bit your lip, feeling a pang of guilt. "I know, and I'm sorry. But I really need this, Eren. I'll do anything. I'll even pay you if that's what it takes."

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "It's not about the money, Y/N. It's about respect. You think just because you're popular, you can use people like me whenever it's convenient for you."

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I don't think that, I swear. I just... I don't know what else to do. Please, Eren. I'm begging you."

He sighed again, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Fine. I'll help you. But not because of the money. Because everyone deserves a second chance. Just... don't make me regret this.Take my number.”

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you typed your number in his phone. "Thank you, Eren. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, grabbing his backpack.

"Meet me at the library after school. And be on time."

"I will, I promise," you said, smiling genuinely for the first time that day. "Thanks again, Eren." As you walked away, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things would turn around after all.

Eren was going to kill you. Not only were you late for your study session, but you were also on babysitting duty. Your parents had dropped it on you at the last minute that they had to attend a dinner for your dad’s boss, seeing as he was trying to get promoted.

"Mom, Dad, I can't babysit tonight! I have a tutoring session with Eren at the library," you protested, your voice rising in frustration.

"Sweetie, this dinner is very important for your father’s career," your mom replied, barely looking up from her phone. "You can miss one study session."

"Are you serious? I can't just cancel on him last minute! And it’s not just one session, it's important," you argued, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Enough," your dad said sharply. "We provide everything you need. The least you can do is help out when we ask."

"But you never consider my feelings! You just throw money at me and think it solves everything," you shot back, your voice trembling with anger.

"Watch your tone, young lady," your dad warned, his eyes narrowing. "We expect you to handle this responsibly."

Irritation riddled your body as you watched them pull off in the BMW, leaving you with your hyper eight-year-old sister.

"Fuck," You clenched your fists, feeling the weight of your little sister's expectant eyes on you. It wasn’t just the babysitting; it was everything. The constant disregard for your time, your feelings, your life. They never seemed to care unless it was about them.

All they did was throw money at you, thinking it would make up for their absence, their coldness. They were always so distant, so wrapped up in their own world. It was like you were just an afterthought, a responsibility they had to manage rather than a person they cared about.

Deep down, you resented them for it. For always making you feel like you were second place to their careers, their social lives, their needs.

You were tired of being the one who had to pick up the pieces, who had to be responsible because they couldn’t be bothered. They never listen,you thought bitterly. They never care.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as you turned around to face your little sister. Her big, innocent eyes were filled with curiosity and concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her small hand reaching out to touch yours.

You forced a smile, squeezing her hand gently. "Yeah, I'm fine," you lied, not wanting to burden her with your frustrations.

“Come on, it's time for bed."

She nodded, trusting you completely, and you led her upstairs to her room. The soft glow of her pink nightlight cast a warm, comforting light over the room. You helped her into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and tucking her in snugly.

"Why are you stressed?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's nothing, really," you reassured her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Just some grown-up stuff. You don't need to worry about it."

She looked up at you with those big, trusting eyes, and you felt a pang of guilt for not being completely honest. But you knew she was too young to understand the complexities of your feelings.

You leaned down and kissed her forehead, smoothing the covers over her small frame. "Sweet dreams, little one," you whispered. "I'll be right here if you need anything."

She smiled sleepily, her eyes already beginning to close. "Goodnight," she murmured.

You watched her for a moment, making sure she was settled before turning off the main light and leaving the room. As you leave the room, you couldn't help but feel a mix of love and frustration. Your sister was so innocent, so unaware of the burdens you carried. But for her sake, you would carry them all.

Your phone buzzes, and you see Eren's name on the screen. You take a deep breath before answering, knowing he's probably annoyed.

"Hey," you say cautiously.

"Where are you?" Eren's voice is sharp. "I'm at the library, and you're not here."

You feel a pang of guilt. "I'm really sorry, Eren. My parents stuck me on babysitting duty last minute. I couldn't leave my little sister alone."

There's a brief silence on the other end, and you can almost feel Eren's frustration through the phone. "Can I come over?" he finally asks.

You hesitate, then offer, "Yes, please. I can even pay you extra for the trouble."

Eren is quiet for a moment, and you hold your breath. "Alright," he says eventually. "I'll be over in twenty."

"Thank you so much, Eren," you say, relief washing over you.

"Yeah, yeah," he replies, trying to sound indifferent but you can sense the concern in his voice. "See you soon."

You hang up, feeling a bit lighter. You glance at your little sister, who's fast asleep, and crack the door to her room slightly, making sure she's still peacefully resting. At least you have someone who understands and is willing to help out.

Twenty minutes later, you hear a knock on the door. You open it to find Eren standing there, looking around in awe. "Wow," he mutters, stepping inside.

“Your house is huge. It looks like a mansion. I think you could fit my house in here three times." Eren says as he steps in, his eyes widen, taking in the high ceilings and elegant decor.Man, this place is massive. He knew you lived well, but this is next level. He shakes his head slightly, trying to hide his amazement. I could probably get lost in here.

You smile sheepishly, a bit embarrassed by the size of your home. "Yeah, it is pretty big. Thanks for coming over, Eren."

Eren nods, still looking around. This is like something out of a movie. I bet she has her own bathroom too.

“No problem," he says, shaking his head as if trying to process the grandeur of your house. You can’t help but stare at him, you’ve never seen him outside of school uniform and it’s hard not to gawk at the tight red compression shirt he’s wearing. His muscles flex underneath it enticingly, your eyes catching ink under his sleeves.His long hair is pulled back and you’re in awe, he’s beautiful.He’s not wearing his glasses tonight, you wonder why,but decide not to pester him.

You notice you’re staring and pull your eyes away,”we’ll study in my room.”

Eren nods,”lead the way.”

Eren tried to fight the way his erection grew as he walked behind you, your round ass in his face. Damn, you look gorgeous. You always looked gorgeous, but like this? It's almost too much.Your hair was pulled into a ponytail, edges laid neatly. The compression shorts you wore had his mind swirling with unholy thoughts, and your shirt was short enough to see your boobs peeking out. God, control yourself, Eren. This is not the time.

And then there was your scent—a perfect mix of cinnamon and vanilla. It was intoxicating, pulling him deeper into his thoughts. You smell so good. He was pulled from his reverie as you pushed open the door to your room. It was just as luxurious as the rest of your house, pink and white themed. Cozy, with pristine tan carpet. The room smelled amazing, and Eren figured you were probably a clean freak, given how spotless everything was. This place is incredible. How do you keep it so perfect?

Eren took a moment to steady himself, trying to focus on anything other than the way you looked and smelled. Get it together, Eren. You're here to help, not to get distracted.But it was easier said than done, and he couldn't help but silently admire you, hoping you wouldn't notice the effect you had on him.

“Geez, is there anything small in this house.” Eren jokes, taking a seat on the bed.You giggle, shutting the door closed before plopping down beside him, ignoring the way your stomach churns when those green eyes look at you.

“My parents are the materialistic type, as you can see.”

He scoffs, yeah no shit.

“I figured out how you can pay me,” Eren finally speaks up, you quip an eyebrow at him.

“Teach me how to have sex,”

You nearly choke on your spit.

“W-what?”

“Like how to kiss a girl and finger her, y’know.Each time we study you’ll teach me a new thing.” He trails off, his olive skin is bright red.

You cross your arms over your shoulder,”what makes you think I’m not a virgin?”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing,”Just the schools drama page has a photo of you folded in the back of Connie’s truck.”

You roll your eyes, God, how embarrassing.Connie was your ex, typical football player, dumber than a damn rock.You really need to pass, and Eren is really cute, you don’t mind taking his virginity. You sigh after a few minutes,”Fine.but don’t go around running your mouth about this.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He's sitting right in front of you, looking a bit unsure but eager to learn. You smile softly, wanting to make this moment as sweet and memorable as possible.

"Alright, first things first," you say gently, placing your hands on his shoulders. "It's important to relax and just be in the moment. Kissing should feel natural and comfortable." You look into his eyes, trying to convey your confidence and warmth. "Let's start with something simple. Just lean in slowly."

He mirrors your actions, leaning in slightly. You can feel his breath on your lips, and it makes your heart race a little.

"Close your eyes," you whisper, and he does. You do the same, letting the moment envelop you both. The world around you fades, and it's just the two of you, sharing this intimate space.

"Now, just a gentle touch," you instruct, your voice barely above a whisper. You press your lips softly against his, just a light, tender kiss. It's sweet and innocent, and you can feel him relax a bit. You pull back slightly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his.

"See? That's not so hard," you giggle, a playful smile dancing on your lips. He smiles back, looking more confident now.

"Let's try it again, but this time, add a little more pressure," you say, leaning in once more.

As your lips meet again, you guide him with gentle pressure, showing him how to move in sync with you. "Tilt your head a bit," you murmur against his lips, and he follows your lead. The kiss deepens, becoming more natural and fluid. You can feel the connection growing, the rhythm of your movements syncing perfectly.

"Perfect," you say, breaking the kiss and smiling up at him.

"You're a quick learner."

He chuckles, looking both relieved and happy. "Just remember, it's all about the connection. Feel the moment and let it guide you."

You decide to show him a bit more. "Now, let's try something a little different," you say, your voice soft and encouraging.

"When you kiss, you can also use your hands to express how you feel." You gently take his hand and place it on your waist. "See? This can make the kiss feel more intimate."

He nods, his touch tentative but growing bolder. You lean in again, this time letting your hands slide up to his neck, your fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape. The kiss is deeper now, more passionate, yet still tender. You can feel his confidence building with each moment.

"That's it," you whisper as you pull away for a breath. "You're doing amazing." He smiles, his eyes sparkling with newfound assurance.

"One last thing," you add, your tone playful. "Don't be afraid to explore a bit. Kissing can be fun and playful too."

You lean in for one more kiss, this time letting it linger a bit longer. Your lips move together in a dance, sometimes slow and sweet, other times more eager and passionate. It's a perfect blend of emotions, and you can feel the bond between you.

As you pull away, you see the sparkle in his eyes, and you know he's got it. "Thank you," he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. You smile, feeling a warm glow inside.

"Anytime," you reply, knowing that this is just the beginning.

His face is bright red, dick pressing uncomfortably in his pants.You’d be lying if you said the heat between your legs wasn’t there.He scratches his eyebrow nervously,”we should probably get studying.”

reblogs, comments and likes are highly appreciated! bye🫧

part 2

[midnightbluebells03]

Ellie x easily distracted reader ><

DISTRACTED

Ellie pic from here

CW - oral (r receving)

WC - about 1.3k

Readers physical appearance isn't described (I think)

I think this went a lil left field, so sorry about that!! Leave me any Abby or Ellie requests x

I wrote this super quick cause I've got a concert to get ready for but hope yall like it

When you had asked Ellie to come over and help you study you were fully convinced that it would be a good idea. Afterall she was the smartest person you knew, majoring in astrophysics and being genuinely good with math. But now it seems like it was anything but.

Your girlfriend is sitting so close to you, your thighs are grazing together, those glasses you love perched on her nose and her veiny hands point to the pages in your text book.

How were you supposed to pay attention?

"So just take x, which in this case is 57" she starts to walk you through another question. Even though just ten minutes ago she had to pause because you had lost focus. Starting to doodle on the margins of your notebook and look around your room. Hands restleslly fidgeting with the sheets underneath you. Now your focus was on the textbook. Well on the hands running across the text book anyway. Close enough right?

You had to fight every urge to trace your fingers over her tattoo, to pull two of her fingers into your mouth and just-

"Hey" Ellie's voice snaps you out your trace. "Babe are you listening?" Her eyebrows furrowed slightly and you can't help but feel guilty. The heat rushing to your cheeks as you nod timidly, knowing full well you have no idea how to do this. "What's the answer then?".

"Umm...12?" Ellie shakes her head and closes the book over.

"39" she sounds defeated and you sigh softly, covering your face with your hands. A frustrated groan leaves your lips.

"I'm sorry Els I just...I don't get it"

Ellie's hands come to your wrists, pulling them down softly. You look at her and she just smiles. You're a little shocked. You had expected her to be at least a little annoyed, you two had been at it for hours and you still couldn't keep focused. But no she's as soft as ever.

"Think you're just distracted baby" her eyes dart down from your own to your chest, making you swallow hard. Your tight tanktop letting her see a peak of your cleavage, your skin that's just begging for her to mark it. "Want me to make it better?" Her tone has switched, to that cocky, teasing one that makes you weak. You nod and reach for her cheeks but she stops you. "Words babe"

"Please?" You say quietly, Ellie moves closer to you. Cupping one of your cheeks in her hand as she starts to close the gap between you two. Only pausing when she's an inch away from your lips.

"But right after-"

"I'll keep studying, promise" you inturput, running your hands up her thighs. Feeling the rough denim of her jeans under your fingertips. Your lips connect and your melt into her touch. Your hand coming to the back of her head to deepen the kiss. When you two pull back her glasses fall onto the bed and make you giggle. Picking them up to place them on your bedside. "Don't wanna break them again"

One of the first times you had made out Ellie's glasses were an unfortunate victim. Ending with her needing to tape them together until she could buy a new pair, refusing to let you help her pay.

But once you place the glasses down you can't help but glance at your phone. Noticing all the notifications that had been piling up since you started studying. "Baby?" Ellie's hand on your thigh makes you whip your head back around.

"Hmm?"

She tilts her head towards your desk just across the room. "Go sit" you open your mouth to question her but she cuts you off with a peck. "Just do it"

You do as she asks and seat yourself down on your desk chair. Swiveling in at as you watch Ellie move your notebook, pen and textbook infront of you. "Els I thought we were gonna....yknow" you pout, feeling her hand rest on your shoulder.

"We are baby" she picks up the pen and scribbles down some numbers, you watch as she does and frown when you reliase shes writing you an equation. "Just need you to solve this problem okay?" You groan but nod, watching as Ellie drops to her knees infront of you. Her hands spreading your thighs apart. "I'm just gonna go down here" she plucks at the waistband of your sleep shorts. Signaling you to pull them off, along with your panties. You feel your face get hot as she pulls you closer. "Once you solve it, then you can cum"

You look at the problem and you just sigh. "Els I cant"

"Yes you can baby" she starts to trail soft kisses up your inner thighs. "Cmon you know this" she licks a strip from your hole to your clit. Making you grip the desk hard. You can practically feel her smiling into you as her tounge starts to circle your clit in slow circles.

Instead of fighting it you pick up your pen and try to tackle the problem. Hoping to get it done soon because all you want is to grab onto Ellie's hair and grinding yourself down onto her. But you know better than to test her. She was soft sure but she could be mean when she wanted.

It's almost painful how slow her tounge is moving, purposely not trying to distract you. Just enough to make you drip. Your eyebrows are knitted as you stare at the mess of numbers infront of you but after a few more minutes you give up. Scribbling down the answer you got to before tapping Ellie's head. "Done" you say softly, chewing on your lip as Ellie moves back. Sticking her hand out for you to give her the paper. You can't help but pick at your nails as you watch her read it over.

"Babe"

"I know it's wrong but Ellie plea-"

"You got it" she cuts you off, looking up at you with a huge smile. "X equals 16" the paper gets dropped to the floor as Ellie wraps her arms around your thighs. Burrying herself in your pussy like she was the one being teased. She always did treat it like her last meal. "So fucking smart baby" she mumbles between borderline making out with your pussy. Making you moan loudly as your back arches off the chair.

"Fuck Ellie" your hand gets wrapped in her hair. Messing up the bun she had thrown it into this morning. You hadn't realised how close you were, how worked up her teasing had gotten you. Not until your thighs were shaking around her head and threaning to close. Only stopped by her strong grip keeping you open. "Can I cum? Ellie please?" You start to whine, hips jerking up when she pulls back. Trying to chase her mouth.

"Yeah baby make a fucking mess on my face" she kisses your clit "you earned it, such a good girl for me". She barley gives you time to thank her before diving back between your legs. Tounge swirling around you clit when her nails dig into your thighs. Making you moan so loud you're worried about your neighbours. But the knot in your stomach is building, your eyes starting to roll back.

"Ellie!" You moan loudly as your orgasm rushes through you. Nothing but the sounds of you babbling her name echoing in the room. She let's you ride it out. Only stopping when you slump back into the chair with heavy breaths.

"Think you can go again baby?" Ellie looks up at you, your cum dripping down her chin "we gotta get you prepared for the test"

After a few seconds of catching your breath you nod, watching her scribble another problem down. You were going to past this test, even if it meant you were going to be so fucked out you can't think straight.

[chuulyssa]

​🇭​​ 🇴 ​​🇲 ​​🇪​​ 🇼​​ 🇴 ​​🇷 ​​🇰​ .

ʟɪɢʜᴛ ʏᴀɢᴀᴍɪ !

↷ A/N ─ the long-awaited full ver of this drabble is here! will proofread this tomorrow oml it's 3am here again

★ COUNT ─ 1.3k

!! TAGS ─ light x reader, pre-kira!light, gn!reader, oral (m receiving), deep throating, slight (?) exhibitionism

★ PROLOGUE ─ giving your boyfriend head under the desk while he studies

SMUT, 18+, MDNI

The two of you were walking back home after school, neither of you speaking a word as you went on in silence. It was like a silent agreement that you would go to his house today instead of yours. After all, pissed as you were, academic stress did not help in uplifting your mood. Luckily, you knew just the way to relieve your worries while also getting your assignments done - and so did Light.

"Hello, dear," his mother greeted you warmly. "I assume he's tutoring you again? I sure hope he isn't too harsh on you."

"It's alright, Mrs Yagami," you smiled back at her, inwardly elated at the fact that some day the title you called her would belong to you.

"I don't understand, dear," she continued, "why do you need tutions from him in the first place? I mean, you do quite well as it is."

"I don't mind it," Light interrupted her before going up to his room.

You took off your shoes and shot her another kind smile before following your boyfriend. Behind you, you could hear Mrs Yagami mumble, "Kids these days."

The door shut behind you. Light immediately kept his bag in a corner and sat down on his chair. You looked at him with a bored expression.

"Already? You're not taking the 'tutoring' part seriously, now, are you?"

"Well, I have to," he said, taking out his Maths notebook and pen. "Your mother-in-law has entrusted me with this task."

You rolled your eyes.

"I don't study."

"I do," he shrugged. "And so, you must too."

"Nah," you flopped on his bed in a starfish position. "I'm going to catch some sleep."

"No, you aren't," Light said firmly and got up to hold you by your arms. He dragged you towards the table, pulling out a chair for you to sit near the desk so that you could keep up with his lessons.

"I'm not studying with you," you scoffed.

Light stared at you for some time before muttering, "Fine. You know what? Fine. Go to hell."

You chuckled and he shot you a petty glare. Opening his notebook, he started solving questions rapidly, not sparing you even a single glance and pretending as if you were as good as part of the wall.

You sat there doodling on a spare book you found. Your chin was on the table, and you were rethinking your decision to come to his house. With a sigh, you realized that you'd have been sleeping soundly in your cozy bed right now had you gone to your own house.

After a few minutes, you saw Light's pen slow down a little and an irritable look on his face.

"Y/N, look, if you can't make yourself useful, then you might as well go home. Seriously."

"What?"

"I said go home."

You blinked in confusion. Useful? Like how? You looked out of the window thinking of excuses to stay in his room. It may not have occurred to you then, but you really did want to stay in his company after all.

And then you got a brilliant idea. Of course! It'd help both you and him destress, and probably leave him flustered enough to do your homework as well. You could-

"Give you a blowjob," you repeated your suggestion to him while he looked at you with wide eyes.

"...Y/N-"

But you cut him off by pushing the chair you were sitting on away and dropping to your knees. He looked at you with a bewildered expression as you fumbled with his belt, desperate to free his obviously strained erection.

"Really, now?" you said in a mocking tone. "Already? I didn't even do anything yet!"

"Well, if you're gonna sit there looking like that, this is bound to happen."

"You could've been subtle about it though," you pushed the chair away to get a clear view and comfortable access to his cock.

"Wait, you're serious about this?"

"Um, yeah?"

"But what if someone heard us?" He protested. "My parents are down there. Heck, Sayu is down there! This is not a sound proof room, we're gonna get c- ah!"

You cut him off with a little lick to the top of his cock. With your right hand you gripped his base and lowered yourself to him.

"Say it again," you said with an amused smile on your face, lips pressed against his dick. "Let me hear your pretty voice."

He was silent for a moment. Then, he slowly reached out to dig his fingers inside your hair giving you the consent you were looking for.

"Thats a good boy," you whispered, making him shiver as your warm breath breezed his cock.

Your grip on his dick tightened ever so slightly as you got ready to suck him. His fingers were tangled in your hair while his other hand tried it's best to solve the math equations for his assignments.

You licked the tip again. Light's hips jerked upwards but you pushed him down with all your might.

"Stop teasing," he breathed, looking away as if to hide his fluster.

You rolled your eyes before finally taking him, inch by inch, inside your mouth. You felt your lips stretching to accommodate his thick dick. It was an uncomfortable experience, but the little grunts that escaped your boyfriend made it worth the pain.

As your lips hit his base, you felt your saliva drooling over his cock, and immediately lifted your head back up, just to take him entirely again.

Light groaned. You tried to smile, but your work was more important. You bobbed your head up and down his dick, occasionally tracing his balls with the tips of your fingers.

"Oh god, no, what if someone sees us," Light said between moans of pleasure. "But, baby, please don't stop now."

You lifted your head completely to look him in the eye. He whined at the lost contact, and tried to push you back.

"Did you lock the door?" You said with an annoyed huff.

"Fuck, no, let me-"

You gave his dick a few pumps to stop him.

"Too late now. I guess everyone's watching Light Yagami groan and come all over his study table."

Light widened his eyes, which was a struggle considering your soft hands manipulating his movements.

You laughed at his pathetic state before taking him in again. You bobbed your head up and down, tapping his inner thigh in a rhythm.

Under your touch, meanwhile, Light was a whimpering, moaning mess. One hand was still in your hair while the other hand completely abandoned his futile efforts of doing his assignment and now lay scratching his table.

"Oh, oh god, oh fuck, yout ake me in so well," he threw his head back with pleasure. "More, more. God, i think I'm coming already."

At this, you gave him a smug look and pushed your head down on his cock until it hit your throat. Your eyes watered, but you didn't let it ruin the moment. Light almost let out a loud cry, both his hands attempting to muffle his voice as if on cue.

You choked and gagged, while he groaned and kicked his legs in the air.

"Fuck, fuck, shit, shit, I'm coming."

Your nails dug into his thighs to form crescent moons as he emptied his cum into your throat, careful not to let any of it spill on the ground or on the chair - anywhere his mom or sister could examine and catch him red handed. After making sure to take all of it in, you finally lifted your head up, licking his entire dick in one, long stroke before licking your lips and winking at him.

Light groaned at the smirk on your face.

"You're such a bad influence. Bad influence on the perfect Light Yagami."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

tagging: @zharickmedrano

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Holy shit, y’all are insane. My tag list is over a HUNDRED (wtf y’all I’m kissing every single one of you on the forehead it was EIGHT before this) and the first part got over 800 notes in 24 hours. I love y’all 😂 With that being said though, Tumblr only allows for 50 mentions per post. So I’m drafting another post with the other 50-odd mentions that I’ll link this to. Unfortunately I’m not willing to make more than two posts, meaning my tag list is officially CLOSED. I’m so sorry, y’all, please know I love every single one of you SO much!! If you’d like to follow along and didn’t make it onto the taglist, go ahead and follow the ‘#if I should stay’ tag. I’ll make sure to use this tag for every update! Thank you all SO SO MUCH!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ and if you want to be dropped from the taglist, that’s fine too; just let me know! ❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Steve is terrified.

Honestly, after the Russians and the Upside Down and everything else, Steve thought he’d never be scared again.

Then he woke up in school in 1984.

He looks around, wide-eyed, only to stop when Tommy and Carol look at him weirdly. “Uh, Steve?” Carol asks. “You look like you’re about to puke.”

Full of tact, just like always. He shakes off the feeling of wrong crawling on his skin and smiles at her. “I’m fine,” he says, when nothing could be further from the truth.

She opens her mouth to respond. Steve breathes a sigh of relief when the bell goes off, only for him to realize he has no idea where he’s going.

Thank God for Carol, apparently, because she throws her head back with a groan. “Math,” she complains. “I hate math.”

Steve feels a zing of recognition dart through him. He had English while she was in math. They used to complain about it between classes.

He feels excited when he realizes Robin will be in this class, then just as suddenly excitement turns to nausea when he realizes she might not remember him.

He walks into class, trying to keep his hopes down, and briefly makes eye contact with her.

She’s doodling in a notebook, looking around the room. Their eyes meet.

Robin’s pencil lead snaps.

Steve freezes.

He opens his mouth, he’s not sure for what, but she shakes her head slightly.

She stands and makes her way towards him before her eyes flutter back in her head and she drops.

She would’ve fallen on the ground if he hadn’t caught her. Whispers start up, enough to get the teacher to look up. “Mr. Harrington,” she says. “I’m not sure what dance moves you think you’re trying, but I will remind you this is an English classroom.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says. “Um. She passed out. I think I should probably take her to the nurse.”

She leans over her desk to peer first at Steve, then at Robin, who still has her eyes closed. “Very well,” she says. “I’ll give you a hall pass. Please ensure she returns once her little spell has worn off.”

He nods, shifts Robin completely into his arms, and walks out of the classroom.

He walks down the hallway and stops by an empty classroom, darting in when nobody’s looking. “Robs,” he chokes, and her arms are around his neck and now he’s choking for an entirely different reason.

She’s shaking, and he feels hot tears land on his shoulder, and he knows she feels the same from his tears. “I thought-”

“I know,” Steve whispers. “I thought the same. I woke up and I was with Tommy and Carol again and I didn’t know what was going on and I was terrified you weren’t gonna remember me.”

“Jesus,” she says. She’s laughing a little, through her tears. “Imagine how I felt, waking up in Mrs. Click’s class. Thought I’d had a weird fever dream. Then you walked in, and…”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Jesus, Robs, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Right back atcha, Dingus,” she whispers, which really just makes his tears start all over again. “Who else do you think knows?”

Steve sighs. “I don’t know. And other than asking them, and risking getting sent to a padded room…”

“Yeah.” Robin sighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says, tensing up.

“What?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m still with Nancy.”

I tried to tag everyone who wanted it… I’m so sorry if I missed you! Once again I’m so sorry about closing the taglist. Thank you for understanding! ❤️

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Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @little-gae-shit

Me @ all of you:

[hairmetal666]

It starts in Eddie's second senior year, close to the beginning of the semester. Eddie's in trig (again). He's good at math, but Mundy fucking sucks, always giving Eddie shit for breathing, or his shoes squeaking on the linoleum, or whatever, and he ends up with detention most days. So, he hardly ever shows and can't be bothered to do the homework, even though he knows the answers more often than not.

On this particular day, Mundy is in a bad mood, on Eddie's case way more than normal. In the heat of frustration, Eddie scrawls, "I fucking hate this class" on a scrap of notebook paper, and for reasons he can't begin to explain, leaves it folded on the window ledge. He doesn't think anyone will answer; fully expects the paper to be gone come morning with maybe another detention slip under his belt to show for it. He's a little flabbergasted, the next day, when the note is still there, and loses his mind a little when he sees the words "tell me about it" underneath his first message. He doesn't recognize the handwriting, sloping and a little looped, and for most of the class period, he's too bemused to respond. Right before the final bell rings he scrawls, "trig. You?" He leaves the paper on the ledge again. "Algebra 2 :(" is the response.

They keep it up, just a few words at first, before Eddie accidentally doodles on the page, and the other guy scribbles a hasty formula, the math spectacularly wrong. There's a little arrow leading to the words, "this shit sucks." Eddie re-writes the formula with the correct math, leaving careful notations of how and why. The next day he sees, "Shit, dude, I totally get this now. Mundy should retire and let you take over." Which pleases Eddie down to his core.

The messages get longer, nothing super personal, but complaints about life, math help, Eddie's silly little doodles, bad jokes, the slightly lewd drawings typical of teen boys. Eddie's never had a better attendance record in his life, but there are some days where his notes are left unopened. Most remarkably a couple week period before Thanksgiving, where he goes unanswered for so long he figures whatever thing they had going is done. But after the holiday, the notes start up again, with no acknowledgement they ever stopped. Eddie doesn't bother questioning it.

They keep it up almost all year, and they're definitely friends, even though they're totally anonymous. And that wouldn't have changed, except it's the day before spring break and Eddie's vibrating out of his skin with anticipation of the time off, so he forgets his dnd notebook in Mundy's class. He makes it all the way to Click's before he realizes, then sprints back across the school. He crashes through Mundy's door, tripping a little over his own feet.

"Sorry," he pants. "I just left--" he looks over to his desk, far corner right by the window, and then forgets every word he's ever known because Steve Harrington Steve Harrington King Steve, stares right back at him. And he just. He stops and fucking laughs, because all this time--this whole goddamn year--it's been Harrington he exchanged notes with. And sure, the jock's star has fallen in the last few months, with the breakup with Nancy and all that shit with Hargrove, but it's still Steve Harrington. With his big house and his fancy car and his girls. It's pretty Steve Harrington, the focus of Eddie's most hopeless daydreams.

He has a few seconds to see Harrington's hazel eyes go wide, before Eddie spins on his heel and makes a hasty exit. He absolutely doesn't spend the break thinking about the notes, matching what Harrington wrote with the gossip Eddie heard on him from the past few months.

Once break ends, he doesn't bother going to Mundy's class at all.

The Friday of the first week back, Eddie walks out to his van, only to find King Steve leaning up against it. He's doing that obnoxious thing where he has one leg bent, foot resting against the side panel, arms crossed over his chest, stupid hair falling in glorious cascades around his face. It's ridiculously, unfairly attractive.

"What do you want?" Eddie asks. He opens his front door without fully looking at Steve.

"Can we talk?"

Eddie snorts, "what could you and I possibly have to talk about."

Steve narrows his eyes. It's so bitchy and so fucking cute it makes Eddie queasy. "You know what."

"Enlighten me, Harrington."

"C'mon, man, the notes!"

"What about them?

"Don't be stupid, Munson, you know what. Why'd you stop?"

Eddie pulls a pack of camels and his lighter out of his jacket pocket. "Lost its appeal once I knew who was on the other side. Surprised you even want to keep it up now that you know you've been writing to the freak."

He pointedly ignores the little jolt Harrington gives at that, like the words hurt. Which is pretty rich from Steve Harrington, former #1 bully of Hawkins High.

"I've always known it was you," he says.

"You don't--wait what?"

I've known since, like, the first week, Munson."

"How??"

"What do you mean 'how,' dude, you're always drawing little pentagrams and d20's. Writing the word "Slayer" over and over. Who else would it be?"

And he can't even deal with the fact that Harrington knows what a d20 is (what the fuck) with everything else the other boy just said.

"I gotta go," is his only response. He ducks into his van, slamming the door basically in Harrington's face, before peeling out of the parking lot.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

It's the last day of school. Eddie's failed again. His grades, which weren't great to begin with, took a sharp nosedive after spring break, and he just can't wait to be done with this place for a few months. Harrington hasn't spoken to him again, and Eddie tries his hardest to ignore the other boy (aside from seeing him hanging out with Robin Buckley, a junior and a band geek, besides, and he forcibly has to remind himself that he doesn't care what Harrington does).

He slouches into his last math class of the year, slumping over in his seat. He rests his head on his desk, eyes blankly staring out the window as Mundy talks about what a joy most of them were to have in class. His eyes are unfocused, he contemplates a nap, and then he sees it. The tightly folded piece of paper resting on the window ledge.

Eddie almost doesn't take it. He almost ignores it, but he physically can't stop himself for reaching for it, unfolding it, staring at Harrington's now familiar handwriting.

Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me. Buckley helped me see how that maybe freaked you out a little. I know I used to be a piece of shit. But I'm better--or I'm trying to be. And I'm so fucking sorry for the shit I did to you before and the things I didn't bother to stop. You don't owe me forgiveness, but you should know that I regret all of it. I liked passing notes with you. You made me laugh, and I don't know. It was nice to think someone liked me for reasons other than that I'm Steve Harrington, or whatever. I'd really like it if we could be friends. I get if you can't do that or don't want to.

Whatever the note actually ended with is scribbled out in pen so thick Eddie can't make it out.

All day he thinks about the note, the apology, all of it. Eddie thinks, if he's smart, he won't forgive Harrington. That he knows better than to trust him. But Eddie's never actually been that smart in this way, so he's not totally surprised to find himself walking to Steve's car after the last bell rings.

This time, Eddie's the one with his foot resting on the side panel of Steve's BMW, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't have to wait long before Harrington makes his way to the car, chestnut hair dancing in the breeze, biceps on display in a short-sleeve polo. A little smile dances across his lips when he spots Eddie.

"So, you gonna tell me how you know what a d20 is, Harrington, or do I have to guess?" Eddie offers the other boy a cigarette.

"Babysitting?

"Babys--Are you serious??" Eddie splutters. Steve Harrington babysits. Steve Harrington babysits little dnd playing nerds. Steve Harrington wants to be his friend.

A full grin spreads across Steve's perfect face and Eddie is absolutely, 100%, fucked.

(Part 2)

(Steddie Notes is now posted in full on ao3!)

[riordanness]

fictional — [p.jackson]

pairing: percy jackson x reader

wordcount: 2.1K

warnings: none

‘i put myself in another world, where i can be any other girl, cause i don’t really wanna face it. cause if it isn’t real you can pretend all you want…’

I sigh as the lyrics of ‘Fictional’ by Khloe Rose filter through my headphones. My head leans against the cool glass window of the bus, bumping my forehead every time the driver goes over a pothole.

Hey, call me crazy, but this is probably the most relatable song in existence. At least to me. Falling in love with boys from books and movies was basically my job at this point.

I had one, though, that meant more than all my other ‘fictional boyfriends’.

Percy Jackson.

I’d grown up with this character, laughed with him, cried with him, held fast and braved the storm with him. I’d adopted his personality, tried to be like his girlfriend, acted as if we were best friends, talked to him, dreamt about him, read and written fanfiction about him, anything you can think of. I am obsessed, and no, I’m not ashamed of that fact.

I’m five years running with this crush now, and it’s not going anytime soon. I let out another sigh as I realise, yet again, that this is impossible. He’s fictional, as much as it hurts to admit. He isn’t real, and I can’t live my whole life pretending to date and marry a fictional character. Life just doesn’t work like that. Sadly.

The bus pulls up at school, and I climb off, slipping my headphones into my pocket. I’ll probably get them back out during a boring lecture in one of my classes, but for now I’ll just keep the daydreaming at a minimum.

“Hey, girl.” Andie sidles up to me, nudging me with her shoulder. “What’s kicking?”

“Nothing,” I deadpan. “Unless you’re a goat, like Grover Underwood.”

Andie laughs, my sarcastic comment going right over her head. I love her to death, seriously, but the girl hasn’t got an ounce of sarcasm in her. She’s the most literal and honest person ever, but she’s also super sweet and sincere. So, sarcasm isn’t even a word she knows.

“I’m not a goat, silly,” she giggles. “But guess what?!”

“Yeah?” I am actually kind of interested. Andie usually has all the gossip (somehow), so her news tends to be pretty good.

“There’s a new guy in our class today,” she squeals. “Apparently he just moved here from New York.”

“New York is where Percy Jackson lives,” I say automatically. “I wanna visit there someday so bad.”

Andie rolls her pretty eyes. She likes Percy Jackson. I made her read the books, and she did, but just so that she knows what I’m talking about most of the time. “You and your fictional boys, I swear. This is a real boy, y/n! You need to get your head out of a book for once if you ever wanna meet somebody.”

I shrug. “Real boys suck though.”

And even Andie can’t argue with that.

I’m doodling in my notebook, half listening to Mr Mintar explain something about geometry. I’m not terrible at maths, so I figure I’ll just catch up if I need to. My brain doesn’t want to pay attention today.

I perk up, though, when I hear something new.

“Students,” Mrs May, our principal, announces. “We have a new student joining us today. Please be kind to Mr Jackson and show him around. Remember, you were once a new student yourself.”

Jackson? Like Percy Jackson? How cool is that, I thought to myself. I yank my headphones out of my ears and glance up.

A boy is talking quietly with Mr Mintar; who is probably explaining what we’re learning and where he’ll sit. We have assigned seats in basically every class, because a few boys in our grade are idiots, so I sit alone in every class. Apparently, other students are very likely to copy my work if they’re sitting with me, so the teachers decided to make me sit alone all the time. It’s kind of okay, though. Means I can do whatever I want with no one to tell on me for listening to music.

I watch as Mr Mintar talks with his hands, waving them a lot. The boy has his back to me. He has messy black hair, and he’s wearing jeans, converse and a blue hoodie.

Mr Mintar gestures at me, and I sit up straight. The boy glances quickly, nods at Mr Mintar, and I realise what’s happening. He’s being assigned to sit with me, which probably means I'll also be assigned his personal ‘welcome-to-our-school’ guide. Which means I’ll be forced to be this guy’s friend for the next few weeks. Yay.

The boy turns to face me, and I swear my heart literally skipped a beat. Now, this wasn’t like those dumb fanfics where a girl’s celebrity crush just so happens to turn up at her school for some stupid reason, and they fall in love blah blah blah.

This was an honest-to-goodness ‘what the hell is happening’ moment. The boy now walking towards me looks exactly how I’ve always pictured Percy Jackson in my mind. The same crazily messy black hair, loose and slightly curled at the edges, twisting around his ears and falling in his eyes a little bit. He has the same smattering of freckles on his nose, the same tan skin, troublemaker grin, the same glint of determination in his eyes.

And gosh, I’d know those sea-green eyes anywhere.

The boy slides into the seat beside me. “Hi,” he says softly. “You’re y/n?”

I can’t do anything but nod, and I try to not stare at him too hard.

“You’re supposed to be my guide, or something, I think.” The boy sounds apologetic, like he knows how annoying being forced to be a school guide is. “And I’m supposed to sit with you in all my classes.”

I nod again, a little dazed. Even his voice is Percy Jackson-coded. A slight rasp, a little accented, ugh.

I find my voice. “That’s cool. I’d be happy to show you around and get you into the groove of things here at East High.”

The boy smiles, and he has little crinkles at the side of his pretty eyes, as if he smiles a whole lot.

“Awesome. I’m Percy by the way.”

I blink at him, absolutely sure he’s pulling my leg somehow. “What do you mean?” I ask.

Percy frowns. “Like… my name? The thing that people call me? It’s Percy. Percy Jackson.”

I just stare at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“Your name is Percy Jackson?”

“Yeah?”

“Like the book character,” I add, surprising myself with the calm in my voice. Inside my head, though, I was screaming.

Percy’s brow furrows. “A book character? I dunno. Never heard of a book character called Percy, but there probably is. I don’t read that much. Dyslexia.”

I nod slowly. “Of course.”

Percy frowns again, then chuckles a little. “You’re weird. I like you.”

My tongue feels like someone’s deep fried it in the microwave. I try to swallow, and it’s nearly impossible. “So you’re not messing with me right now? You’re really called Percy Jackson, and you have dyslexia and probably ADHD, and sea-green eyes, and your hair isn’t dyed, and…”

Percy laughs again. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. What’s this about?”

I shake my head. “You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”

Percy raises his eyebrow. “Try me.”

It’s been a week since Percy’s arrival, and I’m still about 89% sure I’m dreaming. Not that I usually dream like this, but still.

I’ve spent basically all my school hours with Percy, as well as half my bus rides home, as his mum lives nearby to us.

The longer I know him, the more I’m sure that he’s real, that he’s actually here, and that he’s really, truly, Perseus Jackson, the not-so-fictional boy I’ve been in love with forever.

The weirdest thing, though, is the night after he arrived, I got home and all my Percy Jackson books and merch were gone. Mysteriously vanished. Even Andie doesn’t know what I’m talking about when I bring up PJO.

It’s like that movie, Yesterday, where everyone forgets about the Beatles. It’s like that, but with Percy Jackson. Oh, and obviously I have a real Percy to replace it; whereas Jack in that movie didn’t really have that.

Anyway, it’s crazy, it’s probably a hallucination, and it’s absolutely incredible. I’m spending every single day with my absolute favourite person in the universe, and he’s real.

The boy I’ve cried over, laughed over, loved for years… He’s here. He’s real. And he’s my friend.

“Marshmallows are not designed to be eaten alone,” I argue, pouting a french fry at Percy. “They aren’t even that nice anyway, but especially not when you eat them dry. All the powder, like, clogs up your throat and it’s disgusting. If you eat them on their own, you’re crazy.”

Percy laughs. “I hate them in my hot chocolates. They get all gooey and mushy, and… ugh.” He makes a face.

I roll my eyes. “You’re insane.”

Percy shrugs. “At least I don’t hate rice.”

“Hey!” I protest. “I have sensory issues! It’s not my fault the feeling of rice in my mouth makes me feel sick.”

“Hey, I know,” Percy says. “I was just kidding. I’m sorry.”

I relax. “It’s okay.”

I stare at him a moment, realising once again that this is really happening to me. That his pretty sea-green eyes are actually looking at me.

“What are you thinking about, love?”

“Huh?” I snap out of my trance, sitting up straighter. “What did you say?”

Percy smirks. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

To be honest, I barely remember. “Uh—nothing. Trying to think of what to do this afternoon after school.”

“You don’t have plans?” he asks.

I shake my head, and sip my chocolate milk. It tastes terrible.

“You’re going on a date with me, dummy,” Percy says, so casually I almost miss it. He leans his head back and throws a grape in the air, catching it in his mouth. It’s surprisingly attractive.

“Wait,” I say. “What?”

“You.” Percy points his finger at me, then himself. “Me.” He makes a swirling motion with his finger. “That new waterpark by the beach.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re asking me to go on a date with you?”

“You aren’t saying no.”

“No,” I reply, my voice soft, “I’m not.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s an epic waterpark.”

Percy grins down at me, his eyes looking extra pretty in the afternoon sunlight. “You wanna race to the gate?”

I pretend to think about it for a second, then begin sprinting as fast as I can. I hear Percy gasp in laughter, then start after me. He catches me easily, his legs much longer than mine, but as he does, he scoops me up into a hug.

“Hey!” I shriek. “Put me down!”

I can tell he isn’t taking me seriously though, because we’re both laughing too hard. Percy eventually drops me gently on the ground. I can’t help but suddenly miss the feeling of his bare chest against me. I blink, and instantly shake those thoughts away.

“Buy me an ice cream and I’ll let you win all our races from now on,” I tease.

Percy scoffs. “Darlin’, you couldn’t win if you had a jetpack on.”

I try to ignore the flutter in my chest and roll my eyes. “Could so, and I don’t need any old jetpack.” I flex my nonexistent muscles. “You see these? I’m perfectly fine on my own, thank you.”

“Oh, oh yeah of course. Sorry, your majesty.” Percy has a stupid grin on his face, and I have an urge to kiss him right then and there.

And so I do. I grab hold of his shoulders, pull myself up onto tiptoe, and press my mouth to his. “I love you, Seaweed Brain,” I whisper into his lips.

Percy wraps his arms around my waist, causing the flutter to return, more greatly this time. He deepens the kiss, his head tilting downwards to accommodate my shorter height. His lips taste of the jellybeans we were eating earlier together. He had insisted on eating only the blue ones, of course.

The world around me blurs, and fades, and I’m left with only him, only Percy Jackson. His fingers on my waist, his mouth on mine, my heart in his hands. I am completely and totally his, as I’ve been forever, but now? He’s completely and totally mine too. My not-so-fictional boy.

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me | Issue #7

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.

Word count: 5,700 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.

The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.

He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.

"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.

Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption. 

"Yes?"

"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"

"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."

Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.

You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.

"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.

"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”

Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying. 

It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation. 

Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over. 

And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"

"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"

He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.

“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains. 

"Who am I to you?"

Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.

You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all. 

"So I was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.

‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe. 

Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is. 

"What happened to me?" you ask.

His eyes are glued to the table,  not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."

"Oh."

The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise. 

Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.

Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.

"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"

"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."

He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.

"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.

"Until, what?" you prompt.

"Until your dimension collapses."

The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"

"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."

You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?

"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.

"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."

The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.

There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.

"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence. 

You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.

"Why are you giving me your watch?"

"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!

"This is Lyla," he introduces.

Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye. 

The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.

"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."

"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."

"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."

"Lyla, go back to sleep."

The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.

"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"

"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."

He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.

Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?

"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.

He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."

You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.

Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"

“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"

“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”

“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”

It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth. 

You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"

"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."

It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks you.

It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.

"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.

You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.

"Deal?"

Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.

"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.

The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them. 

No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.

You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.

The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.

It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.

Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.

"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks. 

It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.

But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air. 

"You okay?" Miguel asks.

He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.

"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly. 

You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.

"Why did you have a nanny cam?"

You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw. 

From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.

"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.

"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.

"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"

Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.

Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.

Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you. 

"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."

You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.

"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."

When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.

You didn't expect this.

Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.

It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.

You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.

"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.

But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.

Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.

And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.

To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both. 

"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."

She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card. 

When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this? 

"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time. 

Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.

"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"

He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.

"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.

"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.

You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!

You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask. 

He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.

The room upstairs is massive. 

It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest. 

Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on. 

In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.

You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?

Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again. 

Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open. 

"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room. 

“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that. 

“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”

"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.” 

You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest. 

I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can. 

The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again. 

You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time. 

You want him to stay. 

“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question. 

Please stay. 

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.

“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”

His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.” 

He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet. 

You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before. 

It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service. 

Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down. 

Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.

3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.

That’s all the time you have left. 

That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you. 

The Universe. 

An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds? 

You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you. 

You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors. 

You really wished he had stayed with you. 

Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you. 

Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found. 

Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream. 

"Miguel!” 

At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you. 

“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.

“What’s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"

“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for. 

He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.

God, it’s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more. 

You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?" 

His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other. 

"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit. 

“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.  

“I can’t see you out here.”

The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."

You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as  he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork. 

Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.

“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment. 

Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 

Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing. 

Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.

The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying? 

Fuck! 

You can’t sleep. 

You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is. 

Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.

In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.

Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside.  It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.

'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.

‘Something like that,’ huh?

Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.

Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.

Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost.  You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.

Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!

[oizysian]

An Eggcellent Boy | Elizabeth Olsen

Summary: Y/N has a school project that she’s deemed stupid, but her partner might just change her perspective on the whole thing.

Word count: 3k

AN: Happy birthday to my number one fan! Thanks for always supporting me ❤️

“Now, listen up, students! Today is a very important day! Today we’ll be giving each senior a sophomore to partner up with for a week to take care of your egg babies.”

A collective groan came from the crowd of high schoolers listening to the announcement. Yet another way to torture the students, I thought as I leafed through the little pamphlet they handed out.

“‘Your baby and you.’ This is so dumb.” I mumbled to myself, stuffing the leaflet into my backpack.

“When you meet with your partner, you must take care of your baby, make a plan for your baby’s care, and log it all in your journals.”

I rolled my eyes and continued to doodle in my notebook, not the slightest bit interested in the project. Who even cared about babies?

“You will meet with your partners and get your eggs today …”

As the Health teacher droned on about the specifics of the project, I zoned out. I had too many other things to worry about other than stressing over some egg. I was failing math and all I wanted was for Tom Sullivan to finally ask me out.

The bell rang and I packed up my things and got ready to head to my next class. I threw my bag over my shoulder and trudged out, nearly bumping into a group of girls walking in the other direction.

I growled under my breath and looked back at them, a blonde girl doing the same and looking back at me. I couldn’t deny the fact that she was beautiful, probably one of those preppy cheerleaders, not someone I’d ever be friends with.

I huffed and continued walking, pretending to be unbothered by the group of girls that no doubt thought they were better than me. I opened the door to my next class and took a seat in the back, not really wanting to be bothered with this class either. I just wasn’t in the mood to be in school.

I took out my notebook and started doodling again, thoroughly done with school for the day. While the English teacher spoke about Shakespeare and the complexities of his work, there was a knock at the door. An aide came in, looked down at her notes, and then called out one name.

“Y/N Y/L/N?”

I looked up from my book, hesitating before slipping my notebook into my bag and getting up and following the aide out. She was silent for a moment as we walked before clearing her throat and speaking.

“I’m taking you to meet your project partner and to get your egg.”

It took all my self control to not roll my eyes at her words. This stupid egg thing was getting out of hand.

We walked until we made it to the Health room and she opened the door for me, waiting for me to enter before entering herself. Inside was the girl I saw earlier; the preppy cheerleader. Oh, great, I thought to myself, THIS was going to be my partner?

“Y/N, this is Elizabeth, the senior that’s going to partner up with you for this project.”

“Hi.” I managed to bite out, trying to not sound as disinterested as I actually was.

“Hi!” She greeted me with a bright smile.

Goddamn her, she was beautiful and she was nice.

“Choose your egg, and follow all the guidelines in the pamphlet handed out earlier and you’ll both do fine.”

I looked from Elizabeth to the eggs, which were in cartons on the table. They were literally just … eggs. There was nothing special about them.

“You wanna choose?” I asked her and she nodded, walking over to the table and looking over the eggs before finally picking one from the back.

“What should we name him?”

I blinked at her, my eyes moving from her to the egg in her hands, and shrugged.

“I, uh, I don’t know. Why don’t you choose?”

“We should choose together. ‘Cos it’s our baby.” She said with a smile and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“How about … James?”

“James? I like it. Little James.” She gave the egg a tickle and my heart melted at the sight.

“Okay, girls, you can go now.” The Health teacher said and we walked out together, standing in the hallway awkwardly.

“I already know what we can put our baby in.” She said proudly, looking down at the egg in her hands.

“Oh yeah? What?”

“Let me take him tonight. I’ll bring him in tomorrow and then you can have him, okay?”

I looked at her for a moment before nodding.

“Alright. Do you want my number just in case James has an accident?” I teased and she nodded excitedly.

“Of course! I’ll call you if something happens.”

I sighed, waiting for her to get out a piece of paper and a pen so she could write down my number. I didn’t think she’d actually take me up on my offer.

She handed me one of her notebooks and a pen and I flipped it open to a blank page, jotting down my name and number and then handing it back to her.

“Great.” She said as she looked over the page. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N!”

She smiled at me then turned to walk away before turning back.

“When do you have lunch?”

“Fourth period.”

“Perfect, me too. I’ll see you then.”

She gave me a small wave then walked away with James, leaving me in the hallway, staring at her retreating back. What was I getting into?

•

The next day at school almost everyone was paired up or carrying around one of those damned eggs. I had pretty much forgotten all about it since Elizabeth had taken James - the egg. It was an egg, not a baby.

When lunch rolled around, I was pretty exhausted by my previous classes and the idea of working on this egg project. I had Health third period and all we talked about was our eggs.

I grabbed my tray of food and sat down at a table far in the back of the room. I just wasn’t in the mood to socialize.

“Hey!” A cheerful voice greeted me and I looked up to see Elizabeth with a lunchbox of sorts.

“Hey.” I greeted back, poking at my food with my plastic fork.

“I brought James.” She placed the lunchbox on the table and sat down. “You can take him tonight. He’ll be okay.”

I looked at her expectantly, blinking wordlessly.

“Where is he?”

She gently tapped the box and slid it over to me.

“You put it in a lunchbox?”

“It’s a mini cooler!”

I pulled the cooler towards myself and opened it. Inside James was nestled in what looked like a nest, surrounded by little handmade decorations. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She had put so much effort into this and I barely wanted to be bothered.

“It looks great.” I complimented it, closing the cooler over so James could keep cool.

“Thanks.” She smiled. “I thought that a cooler would be the best place for him. I’ve already heard some people had their eggs crack because they just put them in a regular old box with no cushions.”

“Guess they already failed the project.”

She nodded, placing her chin in her hand and watched me eat.

“How about we get together after school to work on our paper?”

“We’ve only had him for a day.” I said softly.

“Yeah, but we’re supposed to keep track of him every day for a week.”

“How much can we track? He’s just an egg.”

She giggled and shrugged. She probably thought this project was just as ridiculous as I did. She reached for her bag, unzipping it and pulling out the project pamphlet.

“We still have to give him a face. I figured you could do that tonight. Or we can do it after school together.”

“Together sounds nice.” Why did I say that?

Her cheeks flushed a slight pink hue and she continued to read.

“Then after the week is up, we have to reflect on the project; say if we were good parents or not, and if our feelings about the project changed from beginning to end.”

“This is so dumb.” I let out a chuckle and she nodded.

“I know, but this counts for more than half of our grade.”

I rolled my eyes and put my fork down. At least my partner wasn’t a complete idiot.

“They just want to torture us, forcing us to carry around an egg. An egg.”

“At least he can’t move.”

I nodded in agreement, tapping my fingers on the top of the cooler.

“What else do we have to do?”

“Didn’t you read the pamphlet?” She asked with a smirk and I shook my head.

“I barely even looked at it.”

She smiled and shook her head, looking over the paper in her hand.

“We also need a birth certificate. Do you wanna do that?”

“Sure.” I paused. “In that case, he needs a full name, right? I chose his first name so you can choose the middle.”

She nodded.

“Whose last name should he have? Mine or yours?”

“Why not hyphenate it?”

“That’s a good idea!” She seemed pleased.

The bell rang and she stuffed the paper back into her bag, zipping it up and putting it on her back.

“So, I’ll see you after school? We can meet by the gym.”

“Sure. I’ll see you then.”

She smiled and waved, getting up from the table and leaving. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and looked down at the cooler. Why did she have to be so nice and pretty and smart? Why was this affecting me the way it was? I was straight and she was just my partner for this stupid project.

The rest of the day went by quickly and I couldn’t wait to go home. That was, until I remembered I was going to meet Elizabeth by the gym. Shit.

I trudged over there, James in hand, and waited. It wasn’t long before I realized someone was still inside the gym and I peeked in.

Elizabeth was playing volleyball with another girl. I watched quietly as she confidently struck the ball, making the other girl run and fall trying to hit it back.

She cheered, jumping up and down as the girl got back up.

“You beat me again.” The other girl spoke and Elizabeth nodded happily.

“I have to be competitive. I have three older siblings.”

I smiled, watching her do something she clearly enjoyed and was obviously good at. After she had calmed down, she noticed me, smiling and waving as she made her way over.

“Hey, Y/N. Sorry, I got caught up in the game.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “I didn’t know you played.”

“Only for fun.” She looked down at the cooler in my right hand. “How was James today?”

“Good?” I was unsure if she was being serious or not. “He’s an eggcellent little angel.”

She slapped my arm playfully, giggling at my awful attempt at a joke.

“I’m gonna go get changed, I’ll be back in five minutes.”

I watched as she walked back into the gym, heading into the locker rooms. Something about her was captivating and I couldn’t deny it. She was kind, beautiful, athletic …

Wait, I was straight. Why was I getting starry eyed over a girl?

“Hey, you okay?” Elizabeth asked and I shook myself out of my head, nodding at her.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I raised up the cooler. “Wanna get started on the paper?”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go to the library.”

“Okay,” I gestured for her to walk ahead of me. “Lead the way.”

She walked ahead of me, excitedly making her way down the hall towards the library. I watched as her hips swayed, her backpack hung low on her back, her hair tied in a loose ponytail - just every little detail had me hooked. I did not have a crush. I did not.

She looked back at me and smiled, holding the door open for me to enter first. Admittedly, I had only been in the library once or twice, and never for more than a few minutes. I walked in and waited for her, and she led me towards the back where we sat in a secluded corner.

“Okay. James.” I placed him on the table and she reached over to open his top. “What kind of face should we give you?”

“A happy face. With a blush.”

“That sounds cute.”

She dug around in her bag and pulled out a sharpie.

“Do you wanna do it?” She held out the sharpie to me.

“Sure!”

I took it from her and picked up James carefully, popping off the top, I scribbled on his face, doodling a little happy face with a blush. When I was done, I turned him around so she could see him and she covered her mouth in happiness.

“He’s beautiful!” She carefully took him from my hands and I put the cap back on the sharpie. “Our beautiful son.”

It was my turn to blush. Her words heat up my cheeks, the use of ‘our’ instead of ‘my’ really got to me. I placed the sharpie down and unzipped my backpack, pulling out some paper and a pen.

“Okay, his name. James …”

“Liam.”

“James Liam Y/L/N …” I looked at her expectantly.

“Olsen.

“Olsen. Done. He was born October 26th and his parents are Y/N Y/L/N and Elizabeth Olsen.”

She smiled and nodded excitedly.

“This is perfect. We’ll meet up every day and take notes on James and by the end of the week, we’ll be pro parents.”

We met up every single day at lunchtime and after school, dressing James, taking photos of us and James, and almost acting like a married couple. After a while, we would just talk about ourselves and we got closer and closer as each day went by.

I hated to admit it, but I was definitely developing a crush on Elizabeth. It wasn’t hard. She was perfect. Sometimes I found myself just staring at her as she spoke about her day with James or her family life or the different sporting events she was attending. I knew she couldn’t feel the same way about me, so I just fantasized and kept my feelings to myself. It was just a crush, it would pass.

We were working on our final paper when our hands touched as we both reached for the same pen. We stared at each other for a moment before giggling. I let her take it and dug around in my bag for a spare.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” I hummed as I looked over my notes, flipping through the various pages of actual notes and just doodles.

“I think you’re really funny and really nice.”

“I think you are too.” My brain decided at that moment to malfunction, leaving that as the only response I could muster up.

She smiled and returned her attention to her paper. Did I just reject her? Was she coming onto me? I bit my lip in thought, staring down at the blank page I had flipped to.

“Must be interesting.” She teased and I snapped out of it, looking up at her confused.

“What?”

“Your paper. You’re staring so intently at it.”

I looked from her to the paper and chuckled nervously.

“Ah, yeah, that. Real riveting stuff.”

She shot me one of her dazzling smiles and I felt myself getting deeper and deeper into trouble with her.

I watched as she wrote in her notebook, her tongue pursed between her lips in concentration, her brow furrowed as she scribbled and jotted down her notes.

“Elizabeth …” I said softly, getting her attention.

She looked up at me expectantly and I froze.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“N-nothing. I was just gonna ask how your paper is going.”

“It’s going okay. I’m up to the part where I have to write what I liked most about the project.”

“What did you like the most?” I was curious.

“Working with you.” She said bashfully.

My eyes shined with hope as she looked across the table at me.

“That was my favorite part too.”

“Yeah?” She asked shyly, smiling brightly.

“Yeah. I really like you, Elizabeth.”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and gnawed at it gently before speaking again.

“Would you … do you wanna get ice cream? After all this?”

Did she just … ask me out? I stared at her for a moment before nodding vigorously.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

She looked at the clock on the wall and sighed.

“I guess it’s time to go.”

“Already?” I whined, looking at the clock myself.

“Yeah, I know how you feel.” She chuckled as she packed her things up and I did the same, but slowly; I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.

“You can take James.” I said softly, putting my bag on my back. “I know you wanna spend time with him before they take him away.”

“I do.” She smiled and approached me.

I looked up at her and licked my lips nervously. Why was I so nervous? She put her hand on the cooler that was sitting on the table in front of me and then bent her head down, pressing her lips to mine ever so slightly.

It was shock that hit me first. I couldn’t believe it was actually happening! Forget about Tom Sullivan - I had Elizabeth Olsen.

I took her face in my hands and kissed her back, smiling when she realized I reciprocated.

We pulled away after a moment and I couldn’t stop the goofy smile that was now plastered on my face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow? After school?”

I nodded, “Definitely. After school.”

She took my hand and James and we walked out of the library. This project was probably the best thing that ever happened to me, despite my distaste for it at first.

We walked to the front of the school, hand in hand, and only parted when we had to go our separate ways.

“Tomorrow?” She asked again, nervously and I nodded.

“Tomorrow.”

I gave her a peck on the lips and she lit up, giving me one back before letting go of my hand and walking off towards where she lived. I watched her retreating back and I smiled to myself.

“All because of an egg.”

[lunawagner]

Couples of Linkon High School

Freshmen: Rafayel x MC

MC is the class president, with Rafayel as her deputy. He calls out, "Miss Class President!" throughout the day.

MC has good grades, —not the top student, but definitely in the top ten.

Of course, Rafayel draws and doodles during classes. But his grades are not bad either thanks to his drive to outperform his possible rivals in love.

His notebooks are filled with sketches of MC.

MC teaches math to Rafayel and Rafayel teaches English to MC.

They are both bad at physics and spend class time drawing short comics together. However, if nobody listens and the teacher seems down, they would listen and nod along even though they don't understand a word.

The chemistry teacher is unsure if they like or fear Rafayel.

Overall, teachers love them 'cause they treat their teachers as real people and genuinely care about them.

Sometimes they lock their pinky fingers under the desk and keep them that way until the class is over, even though they both get a bit embarrassed.

Rafayel is determined not to kiss her on the lips until both become adults.

Their music teacher is Rafayel's aunt. MC loves her classes and is learning to play piano. Rafayel always complains but still can play at least one decent piece on every instrument you have in the music room.

The art teacher is Thomas. He and Rafayel always argue as Rafayel doesn’t want his art to be just another mass product produced for exhibitions and competitions

MC grew up in a government institution. Although she doesn't remember, she met Rafayel when he was placed there after losing his parents. His relatives quickly took him in, but MC looked out for him, saving him from the bigger kids who tried to bully him. Eventually, they became friends.

MC is tomboy-ish and can't process her emotions properly.

MC's fashion sense is minimal, so Rafayel goes to shopping with her on weekends. Thanks to that they have some matching couple clothes.

Sophomores: Xavier x MC

They have average grades but excel in sports, making them the school's hidden assets in tournaments.

The school coach would love to have them join every team if he could.

Xavier is popular among other boys and has a considerable number of fans.

They nap together during lunch breaks.

They are members of the literature club and student librarians. So they regularly visit the library to read books or organize shelves and help others.

Literature teacher loves them.

Xavier tends to sleep through STEM classes, so MC shares her notes with him later in exchange for snacks or chocolate milk.

When Xavier gets bored during lectures or breaks, he secretly plays with MC's hair.

Despite skipping classes for extracurricular activities, they absorb information quickly, allowing them to pull all-nighters before exams and still perform well.

Some boys claim they got beaten up in the dark when they went down to the basement. Everyone's suspicious of Sylus, but it’s actually Xavier who’s taking care of anyone who messes with MC.

They hang out with a large friend group that includes Tara, Jenna, Jeremiah, and Bella.

Tara enjoys styling MC’s and Bella’s hair with cute hairpins to see how Xavier and Jeremiah will react.

Xavier wears one of MC's hair ties as a bracelet, believing it brings him luck.

They use all of their stationery together, so their pencils and erasers frequently end up in each other’s pencil cases.

MC's dad is a police officer and her mom is a nurse. Xavier's parents are both politicians.

Xavier doesn't get along with his own father but they are on good terms with MC's dad. They play board games, go fishing, or jog on weekends. MC doesn't have the foggiest idea of how it happened.

Juniors: Zayne x MC

Zayne is the top student and MC is right behind him in second place.

People often think MC is just an airhead who gets good grades just because she’s dating Zayne.

But while she is cheerful and active, she’s also super diligent. She pays attention in class, reviews her notes, and makes new ones before exams to make sure she’s on top of things.

She doesn't want to fall behind Zayne and secretly worries about how he would react in case she fails and gets bad grades.

All the teachers are fond of them with some even treating them like their own kids.

MC’s family trusts Zayne more than they trust her, so they’re quicker to say yes to events if they know Zayne will be there with her.

MC has a cute habit of drawing little hearts on the random pages of Zayne's textbooks. Once Zayne noticed it, he started drawing jasmine flowers on hers.

They tend to avoid skinship at school, except for the times MC is sick. During those times, Zayne stays close to her all day, ensuring she is hydrated and consuming warm drinks. He hugs MC and lets her rest on his chest, and he holds her hand during classes.

Seniors: Sylus x MC

One word: Trouble

But no they're not your typical troublemaker brats. They are also top-notch in nearly every class, so teachers don't know what to do with them.

At first, they were pretty low-key about their relationship, keeping it a secret. But once they went public, they became all about PDA with Sylus' hand always around MC's waist whenever they managed to take a break from holding hands.

Science teachers would love to exempt Sylus from taking their classes so that he can never ever set foot in their labs.

Chemistry, physics, and biology teachers change their way when they see Sylus in corridors, lest he ask them about things that would lead to a global catastrophe.

The music teacher gets goosebumps whenever they see Sylus.

Most of the girls don't like MC and there is always gossip and slander surrounding her. But for some, she is like a protective big sis.

MC and Sylus's families have been business partners since the time of MC's grandma.

Sylus' family makes huge donations to the school, so the administration is unusually lenient with him.

They play truant regularly. For what? Nobody knows.

It’s hard for others to actually mess with MC. But, when they do, Luke and Kieran are quick to pull pranks on them even before MC or Sylus can react.

Luke and Kieran look so similar that teachers often can’t figure out who’s at fault. Their innocent expressions after causing trouble don’t make things any easier.

Sylus and MC are chosen school representatives. They are intimidating and cunning so it is easier for them to negotiate with and win over teachers and the local student union.

People come to them with problems to be solved. MC is willing to help them without any immediate material return but Sylus always turns it into a business deal with specific terms.

MC doesn't have many close friends, but she occasionally lunches with the MCs of Xavier, Zayne, and Rafayel.

[budsofrose]

Okay uhh im having brainrot so bare with me

Modern au!Sanemi leaving the office, having finished up grading paperwork and having to rush home since he promised Genya he’d help with math.

He walks home so he could save up on money, and as he walks down the and passes by the halls he notices you in the school courtyard, sketchbook and pen in hand, doodling while simultaneously trying to focus on schoolwork.

He decides to walk up to you and ask what you’re doing out here since school hours have ended, but before he does he sees your pen drop and roll over near his foot. Abashed seeing him come into view as you try to pick up the pen, as he crouches down and gets up to give it to you. The pen looked like itd seen better days. Beat up with scratches, teeth marks, and the paint chipping off.

“Here.” He gestures, and you gratefully take it. Fingers brushing up against one another contrasting from his rough overworked fingers to your soft and delicate ones, eliciting a shiver from him.

“Im so sorry sensei, I hadn’t seen you were there.” You bow apologetically, your shirt showing cleavage and seeing it mushed up together in the process, being painfully flashed by sanemi.

He tisks with pink dusting his cheeks, he states “Well obviously. Why are you still here? Class hours ended a while ago, and the school’s closin up.”

You stammer, “Ah, well I usually stay a bit and study with friends, but they left a while earlier.” Looking down at your notebook and closing it off, as you start to pack your things.

“I’ll walk you home, its not safe for a student to be out for so long.” He offers. You try to protest but he’s already walking away, expecting you to follow him as you hastily pack your things.

As his figure slowly shrinks the farther he goes, you decided to just shove your items in your bag rather than put it in order. You can organize it later on right? Holding your bulky pencilcase in hand as you jog your way to catch up.

He glances at you for brief moment looking down at your shirt before slowing his pace so you could catch up to him.

“Thank you for offering to walk me home sensei, I really lost track of time today.” ‘Lost track of time daydreaming about you’ you internally thought.

He grunts out a ‘no problem’ before you two continue on your walk. Tension is seeping through the both of you, but its not long before the silence is broken again, but this time its surprisingly by Sanemi asking you a question.

“Whats up with your pen? Why’s it all fuck’- why’s it all beat up like that? Dont ya got other pens or something?” You chuckle at his little slip up, him having to withdraw from cursing since it wasn’t really professional, inside or outside of school campus, especially around a student.

“Oh? My pen? Well its my favorite pen ive had as a goodluck charm. I always try and stock up on refills since I like to write and draw a lot.” You say, gesturing to your pencilcase in hand.

“Im still finding a replica of it, since its really worn down now, it holds a special place in my heart. Not as special as my other pens though.” You fiddle with your pencil case, opening it up to showcase your pen.

“Didn’t know it meant that much to you.” He says before coming to an abrupt stop causing you to also stop just a few steps ahead of him.

“Why dont you tell me all about your pens, hm?” He says as he comes closer to you.

You didn’t know how long its been, but it felt like hours. God knows where you are, having to painstakingly explain to Sanemi about each an ever one of the pens you own as he slowly slides it inside you when finished doing so. Sobbing, as overstimulation hits you as he trys to bully one more pen inside your cunt from your bulky pencil case' as he rubs circles on your clit to sooth you.

You don’t know how you allowed yourselt to get roped into this, but you’re not complaining. as Sanemi strokes the insides of your thigh coaxing you to open up more.

“Good girl, such a good girl. how about just one more pen, just one more, alright? Maybe then ill take them out and give you something a bit bigger. Hows that sound?"

Genya never really got that help in the end.

I am by NO means a writer, like kudos to anyone (ao3 rizz) that writes at all, I just though abt this and said why not 🤷‍♂️

[hugsandchaos]

He’s In The Walls!

Summary: Uhh, I did the writing version of doodling last night and forgot to post it. Once again, the ranch hand tries to trick Danny into getting some sleep. Key word: tries.

Word count: 1,235

Twilight peered into the room and internally let out a mixture of a sigh and a groan. Just like he saw earlier, Danny was still awake, sitting by the fireplace, still reviewing and studying the same textbook over and over. His red notebook was left open and folded in half next to the small, but rather thick book with blue and black colors wide open. Danny called it “Algebra Two”, which was something he was supposed to start learning in over two months from the day he ended up tagging along with them.

He was determined to use any free time he had while on this adventure to get a head start, though, because according to him, math wasn’t his strong suit and Algebra is apparently part of math. It made sense, but at the same time, it frustrated Twilight a bit that it was his first thing to do when he had free time.

Unless it was nighttime. He’d instead be found outside stargazing. Except tonight.

Tonight, Danny had been reading and doing practice problems since before the sunset, right after he finished helping around with chores and dinner. It was as if he didn’t notice day had already passed by. Twilight wouldn’t be too surprised. The young teen could get pretty deep in the zone if he was left to it for long enough.

Danny reached for the mug placed on the carpet next to him and lifted it up to take a sip of the contents, but then he paused and looked inside.”Huh, must’ve drank faster than I thought.” He muttered to himself. Twilight’s mood was lifted and a smile briefly appeared on his face when he heard that. Before he could try to put his plan into motion, however, Danny stood up. He yawned and turned to go into the kitchen. There was the sound of water and movement before he came back to sit down next to the books again.

He lifted both arms up and groaned a little before letting his arms fall back down. Danny just sat there for another few seconds, eyes staring at the fire in a tired daze, then looked back at the books. Twilight decided now was the time to make his move.

The ranch hand wordlessly entered the room and began walking towards Danny. Surprisingly, he went unnoticed until he came close enough to kneel down and put the blanket around Danny’s shoulder.”Twilight? I appreciate it, but I’m not cold—“ Danny stopped his response when he noticed that the ranch hand had actually wrapped it around his shoulders. Twilight lightly pushed him down and reached one arm down so he could get his legs, too.

“Hey, what are you going?!” Danny asked, a little irritated. He moved his legs around and tried to worm out the arms that were now pinned against his sides, but he was tired after everything that transpired over the last few days.

It affected all of the members, really. Twilight had just gotten up for some water, but when he saw Danny, he went and got a spare blanket. Now he was going to use it to wrap around him and finally ensure he’d get his sleep.

Danny wriggled around in protest, but his movements didn’t have even half as much strength as usual. When Twilight successfully managed to wrap his entire body in the blanket, Danny had finally stopped fighting, but the glare he shot Twilight’s way had a small fire that wasn’t extinguished yet. The ranch hand wrapped his left arm around Danny and picked him up. As he left the room and took a turn to the right, the kid’s irritation grew with his stuff now left behind.

“Are you going to explain?” Danny asked.

“Kid, you’re falling asleep at the books and it’s midnight. You’re going to bed.” Twilight said. He turned his body and maneuvered through the doorway meant for one person, not one person plus another wrapped in a blanket.” ‘N don’t bother tryin’ to get free anymore. I know that your strength’s spent, ‘n that tea you were given actually helps with sleep, not stayin’ awake.” He added.

The hallway itself was luckily wide enough for three people, so the ranch hand was able to carry Danny without worrying about hitting him against the wall. The long window following down half of it allowed faint moonlight from the unseen moon to paint the hallway in a very dim, calming white light. It was a little quiet for a few more seconds, and Twilight had allowed himself to hope that the cozy cargo he was carrying had fallen asleep already.

“Smart move, cowboy.” Danny said. He said it in that kind of note where it’s half spite, half genuine respect. Twilight breathed out a very brief laugh from his nose as he crossed the hall towards the door on the other side, which had an unclaimed bed inside.“You know what the only problem is?” Danny asked.

Feeling a little smug about how things turned out, Twilight couldn’t help but think that whatever he was about to say or do wouldn’t be an actual problem. Sure, the kid was stronger than he looked, but any sudden bursts of fighting energy had likely already been spent. Still, he wanted to know what he was going to say for the sole purpose of seeing him when it didn’t work.”What’s that?” Twilight asked confidently. While he was focused on opening the door, he failed to notice the white light coming from Danny.

“I’m already gone.”

As soon as he started speaking, Twilight noticed the lack of weight where Danny once was. He could no longer feel the young teenager against his body and the blanket that he’d previously used to secure him fell from his arm and onto the floor. The ranch hand looked down bewildered to see nothing but empty space where Danny was supposed to be. Twilight’s eyes widened in shock as he looked around almost frantically, genuinely concerned about how the kid had disappeared and where to.

As he glanced around, his enhanced hearing picked up on a small laugh coming from the right. When he turned, he couldn’t see Danny, but something told Twilight that some kind of presence he didn’t notice before had just left the narrow room through the wall right in front of him.“He’s in the walls...” He muttered. He then picked up the blanket again and held either side in both hands. He readied himself and relied on the very odd sensation his wolf senses picked up as he ran back down the hall. He already knew that the books were probably already gone.”He’s in the goddessdamn walls!” Twilight repeated, but kept his voice down to a whisper.

When Time looked out his window to see Twilight running across the field and out of view of the window, his first thought was that something was incredibly wrong and sat up. Then, just as quickly, he saw the ranch hand return carrying a sleeping Danny into the house. He smiled a little and laid back down to go back to sleep.

The next day, he’d confirm with Twilight that Danny stayed up late studying again, and Malon would hear them and swear to have a word with him.

“Hylia help him.” Twilight joked.

“Oh, pup, Hylia would only be able to stall her for a few minutes.” Time said

[hajiimes]

purple hydrangeas

pairing: suna rintarou x gn!reader tags: angst, hurt/no comfort, hanahaki au warnings: mentions of blood, surgery, and hospitals word count: 1.4k author's note: if this looks familiar at all that's cuz it's a repost from my previous blog (also hajiimes) from like 2-3 years ago lolol !! i revamped it and am reposting it here :D i'm sorry i was gone for so long it's been a wild time lol

masterlist

There’s a tickle in your throat and pain in your lungs. It’s been there for quite a while, so long that you’ve already forgotten what it felt like without the petals clogging up your lungs. You look at him, so unreadable, so unreachable . No one had told you that falling in love would hurt so much. 

It’s silly, you tell yourself. Childish. Dumb. Foolish. First love, a deadly fate. 

Suna Rintarou sits to your left in school and you cast glances at him whenever you’re sure that he’s paying more attention to doodling in his notebook than you. In your observations, you learn that Suna Rintarou dog-ears the pages of his textbooks to save his spot. You learn that he chews on the eraser at the end of his pencil when he thinks, leaving small indents in it when he pulls away to write. You learn that more often than not, Suna spends class time drumming his fingers on his desk, idly staring out the window instead of paying attention to the board. 

Suna isn’t the type to forget any pens or pencils, but he always forgets to bring extra paper. You couldn’t count the number of times he’d leaned over the aisle separating the two of you to ask for a sheet of paper, to which you’d happily obliged every time—always willing to lend a helping hand. Those reluctant smiles he sent you out of gratitude always seemed to brighten your day.

Honestly, it’s no surprise that you developed Hanahaki. 

He makes small jokes under his breath about classwork, little quips he doesn’t think anyone can hear. He offers you a pen whenever you forget one, accompanied with a small note stating ‘Give it back when you’re done’ wrapped around it. You end up keeping those notes, stuffing them between spare pages of your textbooks and notebooks. 

Suna is a boy of few words, but when he speaks you find yourself hooked on every one of them. Your friends call it puppy love. They call it a little kid’s crush. They tell you that in a month you’ll forget all about it and move on to some other guy. 

You don’t tell them that you probably won’t make it another month. 

The coughing fits become more and more frequent, each one right after the other. They get worse during school, during those hours when you’re near him. Purple petals litter your desk and pile into your hands, but you just discard them into your school bag with reckless abandon. 

Your friends approach you to ask if you’re okay. An easy, practiced smile stretches across your face and you wave them off like nothing is wrong. You tell them as much, you just have bad allergies! Nobody mentions that it’s not allergy season. You think it’s either out of mercy or pity that they leave you alone after that. 

Sometimes you think you can see Suna looking at you during class when you’re trying to discretely spit petals in cupped hands, but you always brush it off as a trick of the light. You think you can feel his eyes on you when you’re talking to your friends, watching as you carefully place your hands over the stray petals you forgot to brush off the desk. You smile and wave off your friends’ concerns like you always do. 

He never speaks up, never says anything about how your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

Suna goes on with his life like nothing is wrong, pretending he doesn’t see you cough up purple petals into your hands out of the corner of his eye during third-period math. He pretends that he doesn’t see you each day in his peripherals, too preoccupied with your own impending demise to worry about the functions written out on the whiteboard. 

Even though things have changed so drastically for you, Suna stays the same.

You learn that he mumbles out the words when he’s reading something. You learns that he bounces his leg underneath the desk when you’re taking a test. You learns that he’s quiet, but that doesn’t mean he’s shy. When his friend—Miya Osamu, from the volleyball team—is around, he’s much more talkative than usual. You learn that he drops his bag on his desk loudly every day to wake himself up in the morning, the slamming of the books in the bag waking you up in turn.

It’s cruel, you think to yourself in those selfish moments you allow yourself to consider him between the last toll of the school bell and the beginning of club activities, watching as Suna packs his schoolbag and slings it carelessly over his shoulder. He spares you one single glance, his lips a flat line as he makes a beeline past his peers lingering at their desks and heads out the classroom door. You watch Suna walk away like he always does, sparing you a single merciful glance as you dump the last of the school day’s purple hydrangeas into the trash. It’s cruel that he doesn’t know the effect he has on you.

It’s getting worse. 

Your parents beg you to tell them who it is, and how they can stop it from happening. They offer to switch your school, to pull you from club activities, to move prefectures if it helps. Your mom begs you to consider surgery; she pleads that you’re too young to die like this. You don’t care—you would rather die in love than live without it. 

Each day you live with the disease is a day your body grows weaker and weaker. Your body runs cold and your head feels heavy every moment you has to hold it up. Your teachers, luckily, are merciful. They don’t say anything when you rest your head in class—they know your situation all too well. You can feel the pitying glances they send you during breaks and passing periods, their stares burning into the back of your head. 

It comes upon you suddenly, like a summer storm, during history class. Bile and flowers rest in your throat and, without a word, you excuse youself to the bathroom—just barely making it there in time.

Flowers bloom in your lungs, growing more and more until the petals fill your throat and spill out of your mouth. It hurts, you want to scream out, It hurts so much, but when you opens your mouth to speak, petals fall out in red, bloody clumps in lieu of words. You clutch at your throat and squeeze, hard, in a futile attempt to force the flowers out. 

It doesn’t work.

They find you in the second-floor school bathroom three minutes later. Petals surround you like a halo and, if it weren’t for the blood on your lips and the odd placement, one might think it’s some sort of art project. 

You remember what happened in flashes. You’re rushed to the hospital. The doctors call your parents. You’re rushed into the operating room. You fall asleep, Suna’s name on his lips. 

The flowers inside of your lungs are gone when you wakes, but a dull throbbing sits in their place. There are no flowers in the hospital room, no bouquets—something you find yourself grateful for. It’s funny somehow, the caution in which the people around you treat those silly little blossoms. It’s almost laughable, the way your family acts like you’ll break at the mere sight of a petal. Like you’re fragile.

It’s not long before you’re cleared to return to school, cleared to return to your fifth-row seat. People crowd you before class, each one asking if you’re okay, how the surgery was, and what it was like to have the disease. You wave them off with an easy smile, only saying that you’re glad to be back. 

There’s a boy who sits to your left. He holds his pencil tightly in his hand, plump pink lips wrapped around the end as he chews lightly on the eraser. His leg bounces with deep-rooted anxiety whenever you glance over at him. 

In the transition between second and third period, he passes a note with the words ‘Welcome Back’ written on it in hurried chicken scratch. You think it’s meant to be a joke. 

When you look up at the boy, you finally notice that his gray-brown eyes are watching you. You raise your eyebrows, watching as the corners of his lips turn upwards—an offering of the smallest of smiles. This classmate is familiar somehow, a creeping presence in the back of your mind. A gap in memory that should be filled, a cavity in your heart. You know that you’ve met before—it’s obvious in the way he’s looking at you. 

For some reason, you can’t remember his name.

[train-wrecc]

Lover of Mine

marcus baker x female!reader flangst!

word count: 3.5k

warnings!: mentions of cheating, ginny slander?, cussing, unedited writing… gif credit: uknown/ google

Y/n and Marcus had been in an exclusive relationship for around 10 months now, almost a year. Before they had gotten into a relationship they had been flirting back and forth for a few months, neither of them wanting to make the first move until Y/n finally got tired of the cat-and-mouse game they seemed to be playing. 

The pair sat desks away from each other in their math class (both were terrible at math) which happened to be the only class they shared. Y/n was bored out of her mind taking notes that she didn’t even understand, as her teacher's monotone voice droned on and on. The tick of the clock marks the slow strenuous minutes that passed. 

Yn flipped her notebook to another page that was blank, grabbing her mechanical pencil and doodling on the page. She turned glancing to her side Marcus caught her eye. The boy sat drawing on his paper, his bottom lip between his teeth, in concentration. 

Marcus felt a gaze searing into his skin. Looking up his brown eyes immediately met Y/n’s, and a smirk grew on his face, before he winked at the girl, his eyes focusing back on his drawing. Which happened to be the girl which had captured his attention and heart from the moment he had begun to get to know her.

Y/n returned to her doodling in an attempt to hide her embarrassment from being caught staring at the boy. It randomly occurred to her, just do it, ask him, and be done with this phase. 

She began writing the question onto the page, she knew it was a very child-like thin n to do however she thought it’d be a funny way to ask.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” 

Following the question, three boxes, one marked “Yes” above it, the other “Is that even a question, yes” and the last one read, “I’m a dumb skater boy :P…”. 

Y/n folded the paper in half, writing the boy’s name on the lined paper. She passed it to the person next to her, “Can you pass this to Marcus for me?” She questioned receiving a nod from the boy in the seat to her right.

She watched as the note made its way onto Marcus’s desk. The boy looked up recognizing the girl's handwriting, eyebrows raised in curiosity at the girl's actions. To which she returned his smirk from minutes before, nodding at the note.

Marcus unfolded the paper, taking in the doodles at first before his eyes fell upon the question leaving him in a stupor at the words. His jaw left slack, before returning his gaze back to the girl shaking his head, a small smile gracing his face. 

He checked the box labeled “I’m a dumb skater boy :P…” a smile on his face before creating another box checking and labeling it “hell yeah, I thought you’d never ask”. The note was passed back to Y/n, a gargantuan grin on her face as she opened the note, viewing the boy's response.

。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

It was their 10-month anniversary, and Marcus decide what better way to celebrate his and Y/n’s relationship than shooting each other with paintballs. “You’re going down, Baker,” Y/n smirked at the boy. “We’ll see about that, Y/l/n. You’re all bark, no bite.” He let out a chuckle at the girl, who shook her head in response. 

The couple arrived at their destination, where they were welcomed by one of the workers, who helped the pair prepare for their battle. Y/n and Marcus were now fitted in their protective attire and standing in front of the course, which had various hiding points, and objects to use to their advantage. Marcus leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his girlfriend's soft lips, Y/n reciprocated the kiss, before they both pulled away. “May the best paintballer win,” Marcus said causing Y/n to laugh, and a smile to grow on his face before the pair saluted each other. The worker brought Y/n to the opposite end of the course, a high-pitched ring signaling the start of the battle.

The pair made their way to the opposite side of the course from which they started, crouching at various spots, hiding behind different objects that filled the course. It only took 5 minutes before Y/n had been hit with the first paintball, ending the first round. This resulted in Y/n deciding to use a different tactic. The second round started and Marcus and Y/n were nearing each other, when Y/n caught sight of Marcus' position she decided it was time. 

Y/n fell to the floor letting out a cry, grasping her ankle. It wasn’t even a second before Marcus called out to the girl, “Bub, are you okay? What happened?” The boy questioned from where he was. “I-I think I twisted my ankle, babe, it hurts really bad,” The girl whined in false pain. “Where are you, baby?”

“Behind this stupid blue barrel!” Y/n called out, aiming her paint gun in the direction she heard Marcus’s footsteps coming from. As soon as she saw Marcus's figure, the girl fired the paintballs hitting her boyfriend's chest, who stood in shock. “Oh, you beautiful little conniving snake,” Marcus shook his head in pretend anger. Gaining nothing but a victorious yet devious giggle from his girlfriend who was still sat on the floor.  

“You’re gonna regret that,” He told the girl, reaching his hand toward her, helping her onto her feet. 

It was the final round, which would decide who won. Y/n had let her guard down, feeling confident after her previous victory. Marcus popped out of nowhere causing the girl to jump in fright before she began running from him. “Marcus please,” The girl begged her boyfriend, laughter escaping her lips, as she continued to run away from Marcus, weaving through the objects which filled the area. 

Y/n was tackled to the ground by Marcus, however, he quickly maneuvered them, breaking her fall with his body. Y/n landed on top of him, her pain gun laid a few feet away from them, Marcus’s pointed at her. “Bub, please,” Y/n pleaded with a pout on her lips. The boy let out a sigh, “You’re lucky I love you,” he grinned, dropping his paint gun. Y/n’s eyes widened at his words, did he just say what she thought he said? Marcus's eyes matched his girlfriend's at the realization of his words. “Shit, did I say that out loud-” 

Y/n cut the boy off, her lips pressed against his harshly, fervor filling the kiss, as the pair poured their love for each other into the kiss. Y/n pulled away, slightly heaving, “I love you too, Marcus.” She grinned at him, caressing his cheek. “I love you more,” He murmured.

Who loved each other more and who won? Neither, it was decided it was a tie.

。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

Marcus and Y/n sat on the soft blanket having cleaned up after the paintball battle and were now surrounded by their love for each other as well as their favorite foods. The couple basked in their shared love, and in each other's company. 

“You know, I still can’t believe you beat me to asking you to be my girlfriend.” Marcus laughed.

“Seriously, bub, it’s not that hard to believe especially you being you, I swear if it weren’t for me,” The girl gestured toward herself, “we’d still be just friends.” The girl smirked, making air quotes while saying ‘just friends’.

Marcus shook his head, “Nope, I swear I was gonna do it, you just weren’t patient enough and couldn’t resist me.” He laughed, causing Y/n to scoff at him. 

“Yeah right,” She laughed.

The couple continued to speak of various fond memories, “You know I even remember what you wearing that day, because of how attentive I am.” Marcus nodded, as the sarcasm soaked his words. 

“Oh really, and what was I wearing?” 

“That terrible cardigan you crotched yourself,” He laughed, resulting in a slap to his chest. 

“Hey! You are a bully, Marcus Baker.” Y/n responded jokingly.

“A bully that loves you and you’re superb fashion sense.” A wide grin played on Marcus’s face. 

“See, I knew it, you’re just jealous of my amazing fashion sense, and sensational hand-made cardigan. Which is why, I have this for you,” Y/n handed the boy a wrapped gift box.

“I thought we said we wouldn’t get each other anything,” Marcus shook his head at the girl, eyebrows raised,  “Well, I lied,” Y/n said with no remorse.

“So did I,” Marcus smiled knowingly at Y/n, grabbing his very own gift for her and placing it in her curious hands.

They both gently began to unwrap their presents, Marcus bursting out in laughter as he held up the crotched cardigan that matched his girlfriend’s very own cardigan. Marcus quieted down as he noticed Y/n had yet to say anything. Before he could speak up, Y/n sniffled, “Do you not like it bub?” He questioned, attempting to hide the sadness in his voice. He had spent months working on the painting of the girl that sat in front of him. Trying to capture all the beauty she radiated in the strokes he painted on the canvas. 

“No, I-I love it, Marcus,” She shook her head, not being able to contain her giddy smile or joy-filled tears, “I love you, so, so much.” She jumped on the boy, her arms locked him in a tight embrace, leaving a kiss on his jaw. 

She pulled away, Marcus drying her tears with his thumbs, “I love you so, so, much too.” He grinned.  “Wow, my gift for you sucks compared to this,” Y/n pouted. “Hey, don’t disrespect my lovely cardigan like that,” Marcus said, pulling the cardigan on. 

“For your information, my girlfriend made this for me, with love, okay.” He told Y/n causing her to laugh in amusement at her boyfriend, “She did.” She smiled.

。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

The pair were now laid underneath Marcus’s warm comforter, snuggled together in their matching cardigans, watching Scooby-Doo. The tranquility and quiet they had settled into was interrupted by none other than Ginny Miller. “Hey Y/n, I think Max needed your help with something,” Ginny said with a gesture. 

Y/n looked up at the girl, her eyes returning to meet Marcus in confusion, who responded with a shrug. “Alright, I’ll go see what she wants,” Y/n walked out of the room going to find Max, to see what she needed help with. “Max?” Y/n questioned looking for the girl downstairs. 

“I'm in here!” Y/n heard from the kitchen.

“Hey, Ginny said you needed help with something?”

“Oh yeah, I was trying to bake these cookies, but the first batch came out really bad… and mom’s even worse at baking, do you think you could help me, pretty please?”

“Yeah, of course, let me see,” Y/n replied and grabbed the bowl of batter.

Once Y/n told Max what to do, and helped her place the batter onto the cookie sheet she returned to Marcus's room. “Hey, bub, are you gonna want some-” Y/n stopped mid-sentence, silenced by what was happening. 

Marcus and Ginny. Kissing. 

Marcus pulled away, “Ginny, what-” 

“Oh my god…” Y/n said, her hand clasped to her mouth.

“Y/n, babe, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Really, Marcus? That’s the best you’ve got? You know what I-I can’t deal with this right now,” Y/n muttered, arms flailing, before grabbing her bag. 

“Y/n, wait!” Marcus called after his girlfriend as she swiftly made her way downstairs and out of the house. Marcus was hot on her tail, “Y/n just give me a chance to-” 

Y/n’s eyes were scintillating with unshed tears, hand clutched to the handle of her car door. “To explain how you were kissing Ginny Miller, Marcus, really? I- I don’t wanna hear it right now, okay, Marcus, please…” 

“Y/n you know me better than I even know myself, okay? I wouldn’t do this to you, you know that.” Marcus said, reaching for Y/n’s hands. “I’m not so sure about that anymore,” Y/n dropped his hands, Marcus watched as a tear fell from her eyes. His own eyes welled up with tears, unsure of what to do as he watched his girlfriend- ex girlfriend?- leave him.

Marcus returned to his room yelling at Ginny to get the hell out among other things, “I can’t believe that you would force yourself on me knowing damn well my girlfriend is downstairs, 

you need fucking help, Ginny.” Marcus told the girl off through gritted teeth, his face expressing nothing but anger. 

“Marcus please, I love you, Y/n doesn’t love you like I do. You deserve better than her-”

“Shut the fuck up Ginny, you know nothing about me, Y/n, or our relationship, either way, it’s none of your fucking business. When will you get that I don’t give a shit about you! I don’t love you! If you really loved me, you’d be happy that I’m happy in my relationship, but you don’t. I don’t ever wanna see you again Ginny, get that through your thick fucking skull.” He shouted at her. 

“Marcus I’m sorry-” 

“Quit lying Ginny,” Marcus sighed, before once again telling the tear-stricken girl to get out of his room and house. 

Ginny fled from the house, Max noticing the girl. She decided to go check on her brother, “Marcus, what happened?” She said knocking on her twin brother's bedroom door.

“Nothing, Max, just go away.” 

Max sighed, opening the door anyways and entering the room. Marcus lay on his bed, staring out his bedroom window in an attempt to hide his red bloodshot eyes which carved shiny wet pathways down his blushed cheeks. “I said go away Max, I don’t wanna talk,” 

“Are you sure, I brought you a burnt cookie…?” This caused Marcus to roll his eyes. 

“Ginny’s a bitch, and a homewrecker. I don’t even know why you’re friends with her.” 

“Alright, what’d she do?”

“She basically fucking forced herself onto me, and Y/n walked in and now I don’t even know if I still have a girlfriend.” He brought his hands up to his face, dragging them down, still facing the window.

“You’re fucking with me, right? I was in my own world I guess, I didn’t even see Y/n leave… I’m so, so, sorry Marcus, I knew she had a crush on you but I didn’t think she’d do this. Do you want me to slap her? I’ll slap her and more, just give me the word.” 

“I think that would actually make me feel a little better… have Abby record it if you do.” 

“You got it, and I’m sure everything will be fine Marcus, I mean Y/n knows you’d never cheat on her right? I mean she’s like the only girl you’ve ever actually loved.”

“She said she wasn’t even sure if she knew me anymore,” He whispered with a shake of his head. 

“Everything was going so well today, and of course Ginny would pull this shit on our anniversary…” 

Marcus finally turned to face his sister, Max finally being able to see the emotion on his face. This was the first time she’d seen him cry since his best friend had passed. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay Marcus, trust me, Y/n’s just hurt, but she knows you.”

。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

A few days passed and Y/n wasn’t sure what to do. Would Marcus be mad at her for not believing him? Not trusting him? Were they still even together? Did he still want to be with her? She knew he’d never hurt her intentionally, never cheat on her but seeing his lips on another girl’s brought forth all her insecurities. They tainted her mind and made her believe that maybe he actually was capable of cheating on her. She couldn’t deny Ginny’s beauty, either. 

But no matter what, she should’ve believed Marcus, because trust is one of the most important parts of a relationship. She knew she had to apologize, for leaving him, and not hearing him out. Marcus had texted Y/n but she had decided not to respond, and just allow herself to think for a few days. Marcus had been giving Y/n space figuring she needed it however, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to know if she was okay, where they stood, and just apologize to her for not kicking Ginny out of his room the second she stood outside his door. To tell her how much he loved her and how much she means to him.

Almost simultaneously both Marcus and Y/n left their houses, each heading to the other’s house. They both unknowingly passed each other on their way. When they arrived at the other’s house, both were met with the same response, she left, and he left. 

Both left disappointed, returning to their houses. As Y/n was driving back to her house some idiot was skating in the middle of the road. Y/n honked at the person, scaring them and causing them to fall off their skateboard. Y/n pulled to the side, to make sure the person wasn’t injured.

“Are you okay?” She called out to the person, who was removing their earbuds. They turned to face her. Her y/e/c eyes are met with familiar brown eyes. Marcus. 

They said each other’s names in unison, Y/n throwing herself into the boy’s arms, clinging to him. The silence only lasted for a few moments before Y/n began to apologize, “I’m so sorry bub, I should have believed you, I trust you, I don’t know what came over me, I just-” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for baby, I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I should’ve shown you how much I loved you, so you wouldn’t have a reason to doubt my love for you. Y/n you are one of the most important people in my life, if not the most important person. I love you so much, and I never want to hurt you. Please believe me, I promise you I didn’t initiate the kiss, I didn’t return it, Ginny just forced herself on me, I would never ever cheat on you, bub, I love you so, so, much.”

“I know, honey, I know, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you or even hear you out, I should have. I love you too and I should have trusted you, I’m sorry” 

“Are you okay, did you get hurt when you fell?” 

“No, yeah I’m fine either way it doesn’t matter, as long as we're good, that’s all that matters.” He murmured, his hands gently rubbing Y/n’s back.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Y/n nodded. 

“I love you,” Y/n said, tucking her head into the crook of  Marcus's neck, the scent of his cologne, calming her and bringing her comfort. She had missed him so much, and she couldn’t believe she had almost lost him due to some stupid kiss. 

“I love you too, baby, I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You won’t, and I’m gonna beat Ginny’s ass for touching you,” Y/n muttered angrily which caused Marcus to laugh.

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, Max has that covered.”

“I can’t believe her, that’s literally sexual assault, Marcus.”

“Really?” 

“Yes, she kissed you without your consent, ugh, I swear I’m gonna-”

“Honey, let’s just try and move past this, and forget about her, let’s focus on us.” Marcus continued to rub soothing circles on Y/n’s back with one hand, his other repeating the same motion on her hip.

Y/n nodded silently, before looking up at Marcus, her hands wrapping around his neck, pulling him into a gentle, loving kiss. Marcus returned it, kissing Y/n with more fervor than he ever thought he had, his hands reaching up to gently cup her face, pouring all his love for her into the kiss. Desperately wanting to show Y/n how much he truly loved her.  

They both pulled away, slightly panting, “Let’s go home, I just wanna cuddle with you,” Y/n murmured to the boy. “Yeah, let’s go, I was having withdrawals from being away from you,” Marcus responded which caused a giggle to escape Y/n’s lips.

As the couple drove home, they both knew they’d be okay. Their love for each other was all they needed, knowing they’d be able to overcome any obstacles that came their way.

。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

A/N: this was inspired by lover of mine, by 5sos, also this is the most I’ve posted in like, ever… and please somebody else post some Marcus fics I can’t read my own writing it’s not the same as reading someone else’s work 😭

As the couple drove home, they both knew they’d be okay. Their love for each other was all they needed, knowing they’d be able to overcome any obstacles that came their way.

。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

A/N: this was inspired by lover of mine, by 5sos, also this is the most I’ve posted in like, ever… y'all somebody else needs to write for Marcus, i can't read my own writing, it's not the same as reading somebody else's 😭