#she pulled out her notebook and pencil

[secondbeatsongs]

:D

it's so funny trying to talk to people about Speed Racer (2008), because it's like...what if there was a guy who drove a car so well that he defeated capitalism

[sixeyesonathiel]

yearning nerdjo x shy reader, fluff & humor.

a/n: this is so embarrassing bc this is literally how miserable i am irl.

satoru is down so bad it’s starting to rot his brain. like. visibly. tangibly. his leg’s bouncing under the desk like it’s on fast-forward, the heel of his sneaker thudding rhythmically against the floor tile like a metronome set to desperation. his fingers are drumming nonsense rhythms onto his scratched-up laptop case like he’s trying to decode the algorithm of your absence—tap-tap-tap, pause, tap-tap, like morse code for where is she. his eyes—red-rimmed behind silver-rimmed glasses with one slightly crooked arm—keep flicking to the lab’s entrance like he expects you to materialize in a puff of soft pink mist.

his hoodie’s three days old, and it shows: the sleeves stretched from him pulling them over his hands, the fabric bunched at the elbows. his white t-shirt underneath has a tiny ketchup stain from wednesday’s lunch. the keychain you gave him—blue enamel cat, chipped at the ear—dangles off his pencil pouch like a beacon. his code’s running fine. tabs are hyper-organized. debugging queue nonexistent. he even fixed suguru’s late-night python spiral that nearly bricked the department printer and summoned the wrath of the IT gods.

but it doesn’t matter. because you’re not here.

he’s been looking. he’s always looking.

in the hallway, in the cafeteria, in the reflection of vending machine glass. he leans his stupid giraffe neck around corners like he’s expecting a spontaneous reveal. he scopes out lecture halls he’s not even enrolled in, notebook in hand just in case. every time he hears the soft shuffle of flats in the distance, his head snaps toward it like a bloodhound. he’s started recognizing the rhythm of your steps versus every other pair on campus. your soft-soled shoes tap lighter. more deliberate. his ears practically perk up when he hears a backpack zipper. once he dropped his pen and nearly dislocated his neck looking up, thinking it was you.

and every time it’s not you, his expression glitches—eyes dimming, mouth tightening like his soul just flatlined. it's pathetic. it's art.

he sits sideways in group study like he’s waiting for you to pass by the window. laptop askew. chair half-turned. a ridiculous image—this lanky nerd in a grey hoodie and cargo pants with one pant leg caught in his sock, white wires tangled in his ears and dark under-eyes that make him look like he’s been stress-coding in a cave. (he hasn’t slept. not really. he keeps replaying the way you laughed that one time you dropped your highlighter. it echoes like holy scripture.)

his glasses are smudged. he keeps adjusting them, even when they’re fine. his knuckles are red from resting his chin on them too hard. he keeps fidgeting with your keychain when he’s not typing. thumb brushing over the worn metal, like he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep touching it. a nervous tic disguised as reverence.

“dude,” suguru says, from two monitors over, voice dry, hair tied up in a lazy half-bun. “you haven’t scrolled in thirty minutes.”

suguru’s slouched in his chair, hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows, rings tapping against his thermos. his screen's frozen on a meme. he hasn’t blinked in five minutes.

“maybe she’ll walk by,” satoru murmurs, eyes locked on the frosted glass wall outside the lab, hunched forward with his chin on his palm, as if willing your silhouette into existence.

“you said that an hour ago.”

“maybe she’s shy today. maybe she’s building up the courage. maybe she dropped her student ID and fate’s guiding her back here. what if the universe is lining up our pixels right now, suguru? what if—”

“she’s shy every day.”

“and that’s what makes it beautiful,” satoru sighs, dreamily. he stares out the window like a man in a tragic romance film. “she’s mysterious. like a foggy horizon at sea. you don’t know what she’s thinking, and that’s the best part. she could be plotting world domination. she could be drawing cats in the margins of her notes. it’s art.”

suguru groans into his hoodie sleeve.

and then like a glitch in the matrix. like god reached down and clicked “unmute” on the simulation—you pass by.

no footsteps. no warning. just a blur of your jacket sleeve on his left peripheral, and he flinches so hard he nearly spills his water bottle. the water sloshes. he slaps the bottle upright. you’re so close. the scent of your shampoo—jasmine and something warm, like vanilla and late-night bookstores—floods his senses. his head whips around before he can even think, pupils blown wide behind his crooked glasses, mouth parted like a cartoon character seeing a pie on a windowsill.

your gaze meets his.

not one second.

two.

wide eyes. startled. curious. the slope of your brows twitch upward slightly, and your lashes flutter—a beat too long, like a reflex or a stutter in time. your lips part just slightly, like you meant to say something—but don’t. your fingers tug at your sleeve, pulling it over your knuckles in that way you always do when you’re flustered. a half-step pause. your mouth twitches, just barely, like you might’ve smiled. then your gaze drops, your shoulders stiffening as your pace quickens, like you’re embarrassed to have looked at all. your fingers curl tighter around your binder. there’s a sticker on it he hadn’t noticed before.

and that’s it. you’re gone.

satoru slaps both hands over his face and releases a sound that is one part gasp, one part squeal, one part glitching modem.

“oh my god,” he whispers. “oh my god, she looked at me. TWO SECONDS, suguru. TWO. that’s statistically significant. that’s a scientific breakthrough. that’s… that’s eye contact with depth. it had nuance. it had arcs.”

“you’re not well.”

“no, listen. the way her eyes flickered? like she wasn’t sure if she should look away or say something? and her lashes twitched, just a bit. like she was nervous. did you see her hand? she pulled her sleeve down. she only does that when she’s flustered. i know. i’ve studied her. i’ve got timestamps. i’ve got spreadsheets.”

“you’re insane.”

“i’m in love.”

satoru slumps in his chair, limbs sprawling dramatically, glasses askew. he exhales like he’s just seen god. his knee knocks into the desk. his sock has a hole in the toe. the corner of his laptop screen catches the light and reflects a faint shimmer onto the ceiling, and it feels, to him, like stars. his fingers are still frozen mid-air, clutching the keychain like it’s the only proof the moment happened.

“i’m gonna marry her,” he says. “drop out, become a florist. i’ll propose with baby’s breath and carnations—those are her favorites, don’t ask me how i know. maybe a little lavender tucked in. something gentle. delicate. a bouquet that says ‘i know your soul.’”

“you need help.”

“i’ve named our cats already. ichigo, milky, and toblerone. toblerone’s the shy one. milky’s chaotic evil. ichigo wears a little red bow tie. we’ll live in a little flat above a cafe and drink lavender lattes. she’ll wear soft sweaters. she’ll draw comics on sticky notes. i’ll iron her lab coat. it'll be perfect.”

“she doesn’t even know your name.”

“wrong,” satoru says smugly, lifting a single finger like he’s presenting hard evidence. “she knows me as the guy who always looks left and right like a cracked-out meerkat. that’s recognition. that’s brand awareness.”

“romantic.”

“don’t be jealous just ‘cause she didn’t look at you.”

“she’s cute, i guess.”

“NO.” satoru jolts upright like he’s been electrocuted. “DON’T even THINK about perceiving her. your eyes? shut them. your brain? turn it off. opinions? delete them. she’s too good for this world. if anyone’s going to romanticize her, it’s me. with accuracy. and passion. and nuance. only i’m allowed to think she’s cute. and i do. constantly. it’s my full-time job.”

“fine, jeez.”

“say she’s ugly, then.”

“what?? no??”

“exactly. you can’t. because she’s perfect. ethereal. a goddess walking among midterms and overpriced coffee. and she blinked slow, too, did you notice? it was like… like a signal. maybe morse code. she’s trying to tell me something. she’s reaching out. spiritually. through kinetic energy and eye twitches.”

suguru closes his laptop with the tired resolve of someone preparing for battle.

satoru, still glowing with delusion, goes back to staring at the glass wall, head tilted, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“she looked left,” he murmurs. “that’s my side. she always looks left.”

he swears his hoodie still smells like you.

[boricuasirena25]

cute little painfully nerdy 2000s ellie williams x popular bimbo fem reader part 3

since yall hornballs wanted smut so badly 🙄

cw : smut, public sex in class, degradation, ellie’s horny fantasies, wet dreams, plot twist kinda

the bell rings. you don’t rush to your seat—you never do. you glide in late like always, cherry gum in your mouth, tight hot pink juicy couture velour zip up barley zipped up with your black lacy VS push up bra peeking through. a boy stares. you don’t care. you’re too busy reapplying your gloss with your middle finger.

ellie sees you before you see her, she recognizes your heavy, dreamy scent of the love spell body spray from 5 miles away.

she’s already at her desk, hood up, legs bouncing under the table like she’s got an energy drink in her bloodstream. which, honestly? she probably does. her fingers are smudged with pencil and her notebooks half open, little doodles of swords and boobs peeking through the lined paper. she’s not ready. for anything.

mr. brooks clears his throat.

“alright, students. group projects. DNA replication and genetic variation. pages 94 through 99. picked your partners for you.”

groans ripple across the room. you roll your eyes, zoning out as he goes on to list random pairs of students in the class… “david and rebecca, ashley and karen, adrian and braxton, becky and jared-“ then suddenly.

“y/n and… ellie.”

you look up from your manicured hands in your lap instantly, silence. you make a disgusted look. brows furrowed, lips pouted.

but ellie? she jerks in her seat like someone pulled a string in her back. her eyes snap up and lock on you, wide behind her crooked-ass glasses. her whole face goes red—forehead, ears, even her damn neck. she freezes. then immediately starts fumbling with her the spirals on her notebook, like she thinks if she looks busy enough, maybe you’ll ignore her.

you don’t.

you sigh heavily as you take your time walking over, swinging your hips just enough to make two boys whisper. you drop your bag next to her desk. she looks at it like it’s a bomb.

you sit down.

“so,” you say, voice flat, bored, already annoyed. “you gonna write the whole thing or just f*ck yourself to it?”

she chokes. like physically chokes, hand flying to her chest, eyes bugging out. she tries to answer, fails, tries again, and somehow makes it worse.

“i—i don’t—i wasn’t—f*ck mysel-?—no—what—”

you stare. blow a bubble. let it pop, then giggle in her face.

her face is ruined. her mouth opens and closes like a fish. she looks like she wants to die. and then crawl under the desk. and then die again.

you lean in, just a little, enough for your perfume to hit her nose.

“i still remember that sketchbook from last week by the way.”

ellie flinches.

“i wasn’t—you know.. it’s for anatomy,” she blurts, which makes no sense, and she knows it. “not like, your—i didn’t mean your anatomy, just—like—the concept of anatomy, which, like, technically—f*ck—”

you tilt your head.

ellie covers her face with her hands and groans, long and low, like she’s in pain.

“do you touch yourself to those with your hoodie on, or do you take it off to set the mood?”

“please,” she whispers. “please shut up.”

you giggle again, soft and wicked.

adrian—your adrian—is three rows in front of y’all, hearing the whole thing. you haven’t even acknowledged him since class started either.

ellie peeks through her fingers. she’s twitchy. sweaty. miserable. and when you pull your chair closer, she damn near leaps out of her skin.

“we’re gonna get an A,” you hum, dragging her open textbook toward you. “you’re gonna do all the work. and you’re gonna keep your nasty little sketchbook zipped up tight.”

she nods. small. frail.

“say ‘yes, ma’am.’”

“…yes, ma’am.”

you smile. pop another bubble.

this is gonna be fun.

ellie keeps her eyes locked on the textbook. she hasn’t spoken in five minutes. not since the “yes, ma’am.” her handwriting’s shaking. her cheeks are red. her hoodie sleeves are halfway over her fingers again, clenched tight like she’s praying.

you lean back in your seat, legs spread just a little wider, flipping your hair over your shoulder. her eyes flicker for a second—just a second—to the inside of your thigh under the desk.

you catch it.

“are you even paying attention?” you ask, fake sweet. “or are you too busy trying not to cum in your boxers?”

her pencil snaps in half.

“i’m—i’m paying attention,” she mumbles, head down, the tips of her ears red like she’s been slapped. “mitosis. cell cycle. S-phase. DNA replication. i—i know it.”

you hum. press your knee against hers under the desk. she jerks back like she’s been shocked. you look down at her shaky hand on the table. long, twitchy fingers. drum and guitar callused.

slowly, you reach out. grab her wrist. guide it down.

“wh—what are you—” she tries to pull away, but she’s weak. pathetic. you’re stronger. meaner. so much prettier. you press her hand against your bare thigh, just above the hem of your skirt. warm skin. smooth. soft.

she stops breathing.

“f*ck,” she whispers, wide-eyed, voice cracking. “you—you can’t—i’ll f*cking—”

you don’t let go.

“don’t be a p*ssy,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded. “it’s just a little skin, right? nothing you haven’t seen in your nasty little sketches.”

her fingers twitch.

you push her hand higher. just a little.

the edge of your thong peeks out. she squeezes her eyes shut, like she can block it out. but her fingers stay.

shaking. burning. gripping your thigh like it’s keeping her alive. ellie whimpers.

you smile, slow and wicked and keep her hand right where it is. she doesn’t move at first.

your fingers are still around her wrist, soft but firm, like a leash she doesn’t want to escape. her palm is pressed flat to your thigh, skin burning hot, nails barely grazing you. you’re looking ahead like nothing’s happening. like you’re so fucking bored. like her hand being between your legs is just part of your routine.

ellie’s brain? completely fried. ‘f*ck. f*ck. f*ck’ she thought.

she doesn’t know where to look. her eyes are flicking between the worksheet and your lip gloss and your thigh and the window and the corner of the floor like any of it will help her not lose it.

her face is flushed. her mouth’s dry. her hoodie’s too hot and her fingers are twitching because all she can think about is—

‘she’s soft. she’s so soft. i can’t—f*ck—i can’t.’

you’re right next to her. in the flesh. warm. sighing softly. looking down, pencil in hand while pretending to read the textbook like her hand isn’t right there.

and now?

her fingers start to move.

slow. slight. like she doesn’t even realize at first. like muscle memory. like her horniness has taken over completely.

she slides the tips up, just a little.

then down.

tiny little strokes. featherlight. testing you. seeing what she can get away with.

you shift in your seat.

press your legs together.

you don’t look at her. but you don’t stop her either.

so she keeps going.

and her heart is slamming in her chest.

she’s so wet in her boxers, her clit becoming a rapid beating second heartbeat to the point it’s actually painful. ellie thinks she might cum just from this.

her fingers dip slightly beneath the curve of your thigh. under the edge of your thong. just barely.

her breath stutters.

you’re wet. not soaked. not dripping. just warm and soft and slightly damp and f*ckf*ck—

she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning. her forehead hits the desk. just for a second. to ground herself.

you look at her finally. say nothing. just smirk. and she knows you know exactly what you’re doing.

she doesn’t say a word. she just keeps stroking.

slow, pathetic, desperate.

and no one can see a thing.

yet, her fingers go still when she feels it. the way your c*nt clenches as she pushes past the edge of your soaked thong.

how easy it is to slip in.

how tight you are. how f*cking warm you are.

like you’ve been waiting.

ellie lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding—shaky, low—and stares at your face like it’s the only thing that matters.

you’re still looking at your notes. like this is nothing.

like her fingers aren’t buried inside you right now, moving slow, dragging against that soft spot she’s imagined so many times her body could do it with her eyes closed.

and it kinda is.

her fingers start working in that perfect rhythm she’s practiced—on herself, in the dark, in the shower, during her breakdowns after seeing you in a mini skirt.

she curls them just right.

presses deep.

slides out slick and slow, then back in, faster.

you twitch.

your thighs shift.

but you don’t look at her.

and that’s what makes her lose it.

“f*ck,” she whispers. her head is down, lips barely moving. “you’re gonna make me cum in my f*ckin’ boxers, sh*t.”

you don’t flinch. you just turn the page in the textbook, lip caught between your teeth.

ellie’s eyes flicker to your mouth.

her fingers thrust deeper. faster. the sound is obscene but muffled by the low hum of the class, the hum of the lights, the buzz of old ac.

“this p*ssy’s so f*ckin’ warm,” she whispers, voice cracked. “you’re gonna—geez—you’re gonna ruin me.”

you pulse around her. her legs shake.

she’s gritting her teeth. trying not to grunt. trying not to moan.

“can’t believe i get to finger you in bio,” she breathes, nose brushing your shoulder. “you’re so mean to me—so f*ckin’ mean—and you’re so wet. you like this? letting the loser do this to you?”

your pencil scratches across the paper like nothing’s happening.

you’re breathing harder now. lips parted. eyes still down.

but your hips start moving—tiny little rocks forward against her fingers—and that’s when ellie knows you’re close.

she curves them deep, presses her palm against your clit, and starts pumping harder.

you clamp your thighs.

grip the edge of your worksheet.

swallow a whimper.

“good f*ckin’ girl,” she mutters, barely audible. “take it. just take it. i’ll make you cum so hard you won’t walk to 5th period.”

and you?

you turn your head just slightly.

lips brush her ear.

“then do it, perv.”

ellie’s gone. she’s imagined this so many times. in her sketchbook. in the shower. in her f*cking dreams.

you sitting on her lap, whispering in her ear, your lip gloss smearing on her neck, your tits bouncing while you ride her neon green strap—

you calling her a freak while grinding on her face—

you licking her fingers while sitting on her bed like a brat—

suddenly, she jerks awake with a sharp inhale, eyes wide, hoodie tangled around her arms, face flushed, sheets kicked off the bed.

her room’s still dark, lit only by the faint glow of her lava lamp and the blinking red light of her PS3. her sketchbook’s open next to her—flipped to a half-finished drawing of you sitting on her lap with your thong around one ankle.

her hand’s still in her boxers.

and yeah… they’re soaked.

disgusting. tragic. predictable.

ellie groans. drags her forearm over her face like it’ll wipe the sin away. mutters to herself.

“f*ck”

her voice cracks. she rolls onto her back, staring at the popcorn textured ceiling. her stomach flips. her hips twitch.

and suddenly she’s grinding her hand into her boxers again—again—because the image won’t leave her brain.

your face when you bit your lip.

your whisper in her ear.

your p*ssy squeezing her fingers like it needed her.

it’s too bad this is one of them. just another one of her pathetic dreams.

taglist : @deliciouslydeviantsatan, @valeisaslut, @dollinrehab, @l0veylace, @velvetinkbym, @liztreez, @elliesgffrfr, @sleepingwasp, @brooks-lin, @lovelessswan, @cherrylipsmakerss, @shookkatofthat, @mars4hellokitty, @jaydonisnothere, @ellieslittleslutt, @pussyeatercunt, @livvietalks, @angelsglitch, @robiceps, @lesb4ellie, @sparkle-jump-rope-queen, @sweet-anonyme, @mylettterstoyou, @pinkpigtailedjoy, @pink7princess, @nahcala, @mascspleasegetmepregnant, @sincerlykelsss

lmk if uu wanna be added. :)

[pythonmoth]

cw: anxiety. post-traumatic stress disorder (torture). reader is traumatized. reader is a bit unreliable. military inaccuracies. hurt/comfort (I guess?).

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141..

Part 7

Being home is incredibly boring, especially if you can't move much.

Your brother's been taking care of you, making sure you're eating, that you let your injuries breathe, and soon enough, the cuts on your feet allow you to move around on your own. It takes a whole month for your brother to leave you alone for longer than a few hours. It's a good thing, really, because if you want to spend hours just laying in your bed and crying in silence as you stare at the ceiling, you can. He would only come whenever you needed a ride, anyway.

Despite being able to move around and now even managing to use your sensitive fingers, you dread the idea of going outside. You have to wear sandals and loose pants, because your toes cannot, by any means, be touched by any kind of fabric yet, or else you're grimacing in pain. Feeling defenseless hasn't been a thing ever since you became part of the team. Not even your skills could take down Simon, but you could put up a fight with them all, easily; never won, but you were confident with anyone else on the street.

No doubt you could still beat them up, your skills are still there, but the idea of someone somehow restricting your movements felt like torture all over again. The idea of anyone getting a hold of you makes you want to throw up. Your mind and body betray you, making you remember those awful moments, and you don't realize you're pulling a face.

"You're spacing out".

You look up at the therapist, giving her a little nod as an apology, getting comfortable on the seat. Restless, you can't help but look around for a moment again. The office is incredibly white, clean, filled with mirrors for whatever fucked up reason, and the only thing that isn't grey or white is one of the cushions on the couch on the other side of the room. It's deep purple. It looks awful.

Seemingly realizing you won't be of much help with the question she just asked you, she gives you a smile. "How are your nails? I can see you're using your hands a lot more".

"They're healing" you reply, looking down at your fingers instead of focusing on the cushion. "I can use my hands pretty normally now, but I can't use the stove for long".

"Because of the heat". An affirmation. You've already mention it before, and you're not surprised she remembers that. Probably read it on her notes.

"It hurts, yeah".

"And how are your feet?" she asks, looking down at the way you absentmindedly drag your hands on your pants from your thighs to your calves in slow movements. You only realize what you're doing because you can hear the way her pen drags across the paper, distracting you.

"Well... I can only wear sandals. Doctor said I should be okay to move around with real shoes in three months".

"And what do you think?"

"He's the doctor. I want to believe he knows what he's doing, so I can't really question it. I do hope it heals sooner, though".

The therapist writes down on her notebook. With an uncomfortable feeling, you desperately want to know what she's writing, your eyes drifting to the movement of the pen, but you can't make out a single letter.

"So you trust the doctor, right?" she questions, moving one of her erasers to the other side of her desk. Your eyes are fixed entirely on it, on the little thud the eraser makes when she sets it down.

"He knows best, that's for sure. If he's there, must be a reason" you answer, tilting your head as she keeps moving her things around, making them fit somewhere else on her desk. The pencil goes to the left, then to the right, the eraser from top to bottom of the notebook, as if she's as antsy as you are.

"Do you apply that thought somewhere else? Like... at work? Or if you need help at a store and find an employee, maybe?"

The therapist's eyes are on you all the time, your hands, your anxious feet; your little habits coming to light with a single look. The way you bite the inside of your lower lip, the little double blink you make when she moves something in her desk yet again, even if you don't say anything.

"Of course. If they know their way around, it's only right that I ask for help, and trust that" you answer, frowning. You don't think that question is relevant at all, but she keeps writing, and writing.

"I see. Thank you. Now, you mentioned you've been texting G- Simon. Can you tell me how it makes you feel?"

You go silent for a moment, your fingertips dragging across your arm, so softly you can barely feel it. "It's better now".

During the first three months of being home, Simon would text you nearly every single day. He didn't expect a text back and you knew that, because you told him you wouldn't promise to be responsive. Simon would send you pictures of their plain meals, of Gaz sleeping on your bed, Johnny posing next to Price with their thumbs up, or terrible selfies of himself. Always without a mask.

Tuesday

11:27

"Price scolded Johnny because he had crumbs on his uniform. It was hilarious"

Saturday

03:26

"Just got back. Everyone ok"

Even Johnny would text you from time to time. It was mostly memes, awful stickers or ridiculous, random photos of Gaz mid talking, his face weird, or Price smacking Simon's head, or the entire team posing for a picture, Gaz' arm hovering to the side as if to hug your shoulders. You didn't even need to wonder why Gaz hadn't texted you; that man hated technology with a passion.

Still, you never texted back.

You didn't really pay attention to the texts, or the little voice notes, or the selfies. You didn't feel like reading them properly, always leaving them on seen or just grunting to yourself whenever you heard their distinctive tone. Why you didn't change it in the past few months, you don't know. Maybe that's a question for your therapist.

But then, the texts stop.

Monday

16:49

"Tough job"

"We leave at midnight"

23:42

"Text you when we're back"

Only, Simon doesn't text back. For days. For weeks.

You can't pretend you're not worried. It's impossible, really. You're half-tempted to call him, but you can't, you don't know how it will feel to hear his voice again. He said he'd text you and he hasn't, so he isn't back yet, and you don't want to feel vulnerable by opening up. Yet.

You go through Simon's chat, actually paying attention to whatever he sent you. You realize he sometimes sent you long texts, apologizing, accepting what he did, and even a few voice notes that you didn't notice before. They made your heart race as you listened.

"I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I love you, and you don't have to forgive me"

"Garrick told me to tell you that if you aren't eating he'll go and— shut the hell up, Johnny, I'm talking!"

"Tell her we'll go visit her by the end of the month".

That's Price's voice, you realize.

Feeling incredibly choked up, you check Johnny's chat next. You're expecting to find nothing but memes, as you've seen in passing, but when you see he sent you long, long texts, you finally let yourself cry properly.

He's been apologizing since the day you left, too afraid to face you but his texts are so poorly written you know he was in a rush, or crying, or both. His voice notes, however... they just make you break.

"I'm so sorry. I can't undo what we did. You don't owe me anything, I just... really hope you can at least tolerate me. If not, please know I'll always care for you. I love you. Goodnight".

Something inside of your chest eases, maybe moved to the point of forgiveness, even if just a moment. Your therapist has been helping you unveil whatever you missed during that day— during the torture. It's been a tough process, and she insisted you visited twice a week instead of once, but it helped. You could now understand.

Still, understanding the situation only makes your worry grow.

"Text you when we're back"

For two long weeks, there's nothing, from nobody. Only silence and fear. For the first time since you left, you're scared for them. Scared you'll have to open the door one day and it'll be Price, or maybe not even him, telling you the team is dead.

On the second week, your therapist says you can give them a call, or text them if it's more comfortable. When you say you can't, she advices you to write them letters.

"Tell them whatever you wish to say. If you're angry, write it. If you're worried, write it. There's no good or bad feelings, and it's only right to feel them. Write them for yourself, and then you can choose to give them to your team, or not".

And you did.

A whole notebook of messy writing, some tears staining the paper, and your hate slowly turned to understanding. Real understanding. Not forgiveness, not yet, but it's progress.

By the third week with no news, you just can't handle it anymore. You press call without a second thought and your heart squeezes painfully in your chest when it rings, and rings, and rings.

Hopeless, you lay in your bed, your mind working overtime as you stare at the ceiling.

A muffled dinging sound startles you awake, shifting on the bed to find your phone because that's Simon's tone. Adjusting your vision, you realize it fell from your hands to the ground when you fell asleep. You dive for it, grimacing when your sensitive fingertips brush against the carpet, but to see his name there is enough for you to endure it.

Thursday

01:22

"Safe. Couldn't text you earlier"

01:22

"You called me. Are you hurt?"

01:22

"Safe. Call me"

"Now"

His name pops up not even a moment later, his ringtone filling your ears. When you pick up, he's barely breathing, and you wonder if you're about to be told bad news.

Simon explains they were on a very tough mission, and that that was why he couldn't text you, or communicate with you at all. You could hear him shift, move around. Restless.

They got caught in enemy territory, surviving the best they could for two weeks, Simon tells you. Johnny was shot in the leg and Gaz was the one who helped him out, since Simon was too busy dragging Price, who was bleeding out because someone decided it would be fun to put a bullet through his left shoulder.

"I wasn't any better. Dr. Wilson called me a dick, and then made me lay down because I was shaking. Ridiculous" he grunts, his voice hushed on the other side of the line. "Got shot on my side, I just didn't feel it, but I was better than the other two".

He doesn't seem to expect you to speak, huffing and shuffling. You can tell he's in the clinic room, the echo incredibly familiar by now.

Of course, he doesn't tell you that the reason why he didn't text you the whole past week, is because he's been asleep, drugged out of his mind because of the pain.

"Everyone's okay. No risk. Garrick's the only one who didn't get hurt. I think—"

"I was worried, Simon. I'm glad everyone is okay".

There's silence for a long moment. Simon takes a deep breath from the other side of the phone, sighing deeply. You could hear the smile in his tone. "I wouldn't let myself get killed, luv. I'm sorry I couldn't text you before. We're safe now".

You two spend the rest of the night on the call, with you mostly staying in silence and listening. You can't believe how scared you've been for all of them, for Simon. You know it's gonna be hard to fully forgive them, if at all, but you can't help the way your body relaxes as you hear him breathing against your ear. You can't help the way your arms curl around the pillow, seeking his warmth. As before.

The call goes on for long hours. When your soft hums as he speaks stop coming to his end, Simon goes quiet, realizing you've fallen asleep. He sighs and shifts to look at the ceiling, holding the phone against his ear. Focusing on your soft breathing, he let's himself fall asleep, the gunshot wound completely unimportant if he gets to listen to you sleeping again.

He just wishes you were there.

im so sick y'all, my head hurts, but I obviously couldn't resist! also, you guys like Marina? her new song is so good! mowgli's road's vibes.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

Masterlist | Part 8

Buy me a coffee

the therapist's room I'm describing in the story is actually my therapist's old room. I hated it so BAD. the mirrors were a terrible decision. also, if you can't relate to this type of therapy, that's fine. it's just my experience.

again, styling is fully intentional. can y'all tell how our reader is feeling?~

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird-deactivated202 @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

(we're so many now, wow! thank you all ♡)

[virtual-bunny]

“ HEY NERDY BOY ! ”

random headcannons about nerdjo because he turns me on

pairings: nerd! gojo x chubby fem! reader

WARNINGS: SMUT but not too detailed, some body image issues, probably some writing errors :3

a/n: i might come back every now and then if a new idea pops up in my head hehe

ARTIST CREDS: @/N06ARA ON TWITTER

✧ nerdjo who can almost cry over how beautiful he thinks you are

✧ nerdjo who stammers over his words when you wear shorts that squeeze your thighs just right

✧ nerdjo who clings onto your body and inhales your scent and gets a boner instantly as he grips your love handles

✧ nerdjo who slouches so you can give him a kiss, his glasses slidding down his nose bridge as your lips touch his cheeks, his cheek warm from him being flustered, and when you pull away, nerdjo’s eyes are almost crossed eyed as he sighs deeply

✧ nerdjo who uses your tummy as a stress ball when you sit next to him while he does his physics homework

✧ nerdjo who lays on your tummy as you play with his hair while he sleeps, saliva spilling from the side of his mouth

✧ nerdjo whose so head over heels for you that he begs you to let him carry your books and backpack so he can trail behind you to see the way your ass and thighs jiggle

✧ nerdjo who helps you with your homework and pinches your cheek, side or thighs whenever you get something wrong

✧ nerdjo who holds onto your stomach when you’re riding him, his face flushed and glasses crooked as he looks up at you with drunken eyes

✧ nerdjo who stumbles to catch up to you because he was too caught up watching you walk infront of him

✧ nerdjo who rolls his eyes when his jock friend geto teases him when he sees that gojo isn’t paying attention to lecture “she’s got you wrapped around her finger doesn’t she?” “wrapped around her thighs” nerdjo sighs without a second thought

✧ nerdjo who likes to put his hands around your tummy and gently squeeze it whenever you two are watching tv and you’re sitting between his legs

✧ nerdjo who fivershly pumps his cock at the thought of your round body jiggling when you ride him, or when you laugh, or when you walk

✧ nerdjo who makes snarky comments at you when you try to show him that “you’re way smarter than he is”

✧ nerdjo who reads out his physics notebook out loud just to make you mad because you hate physics

✧ nerdjo who goes all red whenever he brings you gifts on his way to your dorm

✧ nerdjo who doesn’t like going outside and rather stay home watching Teen Titans but still does because he knows you like to go out on dates

✧ nerdjo who used to bite his pencils out of habit but now bites your chubby hands if you’re sitting next to him as he does his homework or helps you with yours

✧ nerdjo who has to assure you he loves you and thinks you’re as beautiful as “The Euler-Lagrange Equation” (you have no idea what this means)

✧ nerdjo who puts his hands under your stomach, thighs and boobs to keep them warm

✧ nerdjo who bores you to death as he talk about quantum physics but you don’t say anything because you find it cute the way he sometimes spits by accident when he rambled and how his glasses slowly fall when’s he’s making movements as he talks

✧ nerdjo who likes to prove you wrong whenever you try to be a “smarty pants”

✧ nerdjo who softens when you go up to him while he was working on a project and tell him you’re worried about him because he looks like he hasn’t slept in three days

✧ nerdjo who mutters to himself in class when a stupid frat guy tries to answer the professors question, obviously saying the wrong answer but clearly only doing it to get laughs out of everyone. “what an idiot.” gojo grits to himself

✧ nerdjo who looks seriously shocked when he’s helping you with your homework and you get the wrong answer even though the right answer is CLEARLY right in front of your eyes “love… you seriously don’t know the answer…?”

✧ nerdjo who spends HOURS in the library to a room all by himself, books, papers, pens and pencils all scattered around the table while trying to get his work done, his hair messy and eyebrows furrowed, but when you text him saying you were gonna drop off food for him, his whole demeanor turns soft and giddy thinking about how he’s gonna be able to see you

✧ nerdjo who if he’s not doing homework or reading, is playing or watching digimon in your dorm, explaining everything he possibly can so you can catch up to the lore (you stopped listening a long time ago)

✧ nerdjo who doesn’t really talk much in class but when he does, the professors have to cut him off because gojo can talk for HOURS

✧ nerdjo who makes you sit on his lap as he codes on his computer

✧ nerdjo who can solve a rubix cube in a minute and always does when you ask him to (for your own entertainment)

✧ nerdjo whos into physics and computer science

✧ nerdjo who awkwardly puts his arm around your shoulder when the two of you are walking back to your dorm (he nearly trips)

✧ nerdjo who when you tell him a fun science fact, crosses his arms, leans back on the couch and goes “well ACTUALY-“ it’s too late to stop him, he’s already yapping to you on how the fact is wrong

✧ nerdjo who starts looking stupid now because you two have a class together when the new semester started and he can’t concentrate at all because he’s too concentrated looking at YOU

✧ nerdjo who tries to be freaky by putting his shaky hand on your upper thigh but you smack it away and he gives you a sad puppy look as he fixes his glasses, you swear you could see tears forming in his eyes

✧ nerdjo who runs to you when he finishes a prototype for whatever sciencey class he has and with full confidence says “you’re looking at the new science prodigy babe!” “uh huh” you say

✧ nerdjo who goes to the library again to study, he’s so stressed but he’s glad you came along, that’s until you went under the desk he was sitting at, undoing his belt and pulling down his pants and boxers JUST barely, hes literally gripping onto the table, face flushed hair messy crooked glasses and chest heaving trying so hard not to make it obvious you have his dick in your mouth

✧ nerdjo who makes you tag along with him to the nearest store to get the newest Digimon cards

✧ nerdjo who makes you gasp when you turn around for one second and look back to see him fighting a literal ten year old for a box set of Digimon cards

✧ nerdjo who doesn’t show you memes, but shows you reddit posts that you have no interest in looking at

✧ nerdjo who makes you sit on his face, but not to eat you out, but so your thighs can squish his face. he says that “it de-stresses him” and when you go to complain he says “it’s scientifically proven that it does”

✧ nerdjo who SOMETIMES is a cocky asshole in class, and when an acquaintance of yours who’s also in gojos’s class tells you how much of an asshole your boyfriend is, you straighten nerdjo up by riding his face nonstop to the point he’s crying because HE’S not getting any action

✧ nerdjo who you convince that overstimulating him will “de-stress him” and “make him focus better” so when you tied him up in your bed with a vibrator wrapped on the head of his cock, he’s whining, crying, squirming, eyes rolled all the way to the back of his head and pleading you to “let him do anything to you” (when you finally let him cum he tells you the next day that his focus is 97.56% better than it was the day before)

✧ nerdjo who’s so competitive when the two of you play video games he forgets you’re his GIRLFRIEND and is brutal with the insults when you loose

✧ nerdjo who’s actually really strong and likes to carry you around your dorm or outside when the two of you go for a walk. and even though you’re protesting and telling him you “don’t wanna hurt him” all nerdjo says is “just cause i’m smart doesn’t mean i’m not strong”

✧ nerdjo who likes to suck your clit while gripping your tummy

✧ nerdjo who likes to grip your fupa cause he’s weird like that

✧ nerdjo who ANALYZES your pussy and your actions whenever he’s fingering you or fucking you so he can make you feel better for the next time you two fuck (you always have a stronger orgasam each time after the other)

✧ nerdjo who bites his nails and gets told off by you (he immediately begs for your forgiveness)

✧ nerdjo who kisses your tummy whenever he lays down on your lap and turns his head so he’s looking up at you and says “you’re the most angelic thing i’ve ever seen, you know that?” he sighs contently while pushing his glasses up and giving you the stupidest toothy smile

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Could you write a Charles Leclerc x child daughter reader (10 years old), where he's at the racetrack, and Charles brings her to the Ferrari garage after school? While in the garage, Charles helps her with her homework and maybe reactions of others on father-daughter moment. I love your fanfics!

Homework in the Paddock

The hum of engines roared through the paddock, a familiar melody to Charles as he walked hand-in-hand with his daughter, Yn. The warmth of the Monaco sun bathed the racetrack in a golden glow, and despite the bustle of team members rushing around, mechanics fine-tuning the cars, and media personnel lingering for interviews, Charles was focused on one thing—Yn.

She was ten years old now, and every bit the light of his life. From the moment she was born, Charles knew his world had changed. It had grown brighter, more meaningful. Every race, every win, every setback—it all mattered more because of her. And he had made sure she could be with him as often as possible, even working out an agreement with her school so she could attend her classes online while traveling with him.

Yn adjusted the straps of her small backpack, shifting it over her shoulders as they walked toward the Ferrari garage. “Papa, what’s on the schedule today?” she asked, glancing up at him with her bright, inquisitive eyes.

Charles squeezed her hand. “I have meetings, media, and then practice, but we have some time before that. I thought we could do your homework together in the garage.”

Yn groaned dramatically, making Charles chuckle. “Papa, I thought I was getting a break from school,” she pouted.

“You promised, ma chérie,” Charles reminded her with a knowing smile. “And I promised your maman I would make sure you did your lessons.”

They stepped into the garage, the smell of fuel and rubber filling the air. The Ferrari team was already busy preparing the car for the next session, but the moment Charles and Yn walked in, heads turned. The entire team had come to adore Yn over the years. She was like a little Ferrari mascot, always there with her father, always bringing an infectious energy that even the most stressful race weekends couldn’t dampen.

“Yn!” Lewis greeted her first, crouching down and holding out his fist for a bump. She grinned and knocked her tiny fist against his. “You keeping your dad in check?”

“I try,” she said dramatically. “But you know how he is.”

Lewis laughed as Charles shook his head. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

Bruno, one of the engineers, came over with a smile. “Doing schoolwork in the garage today, Yn?”

Yn nodded, already pulling out her tablet and notebook. “Papa said we have to,” she said with a sigh, shooting her father a playful look.

Charles pulled up a chair next to the workbench and patted the seat beside him. “Alright, let’s see what we have today.”

Yn sat down, flipping open her notebook. “Math,” she groaned. “Fractions.”

Charles leaned over, scanning the page. “Ah, fractions. The bane of every child’s existence.”

“Did you like math when you were little, Papa?” she asked, pencil poised over the paper.

Charles chuckled. “Not really, but I had to be good at it.”

Yn sighed dramatically, picking up her pencil and staring at the problems. “Okay, if I have three-fourths of a pizza and I eat one-fourth, how much do I have left?” she read aloud.

“Hmm,” Charles said, pretending to think hard. “I don’t know, that’s a tough one.”

Yn rolled her eyes. “Papa.”

He grinned. “Alright, alright. You tell me.”

She tapped her chin before scribbling the answer down. “Two-fourths!”

“Or,” Charles prompted.

“One-half?” she said hesitantly.

He ruffled her hair. “Exactement.”

As they worked through the homework, the Ferrari team continued their preparations, but many couldn’t help but glance over at the duo. It was rare to see such a tender moment in the midst of the high-pressure world of Formula 1, and yet, it felt natural in Charles’ case. He had always been a family man, and everyone knew that Yn was the most important person in his life.

At one point, Lando walked into the garage, talking animatedly to one of his mechanics, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the scene unfolding. He smirked, walking over and leaning against the workbench. “Charles, mate, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this serious before.”

Charles looked up, raising a brow. “I am always serious.”

Lando shook his head. “Not like this. This is next-level focus.”

Yn giggled, looking up at Lando. “He’s just helping me with math.”

“Fractions?” Lando asked, peeking at her notebook. “Oh man, I was terrible at those.”

Yn gasped dramatically. “Even race car drivers are bad at fractions?”

Lando nodded solemnly. “Absolutely. That’s why we have engineers to do all the hard stuff for us.”

Yn turned to Charles. “Papa, can I just get an engineer to do my homework too?”

Lewis, who had been listening, burst into laughter. “Brilliant idea.”

Charles groaned, shaking his head. “Non, non, you do your own work.”

Just then, Fred walked by, taking in the sight of Charles hunched over a notebook with his daughter. He paused, then shook his head with a chuckle. “Maybe we should put you on the strategy team, Charles.”

Yn perked up. “Can I be on the strategy team too?”

Fred smirked. “If you’re better at fractions than your Papa, I’ll consider it.”

Everyone laughed as Charles sighed dramatically. “Why does everyone bully me?”

Yn leaned her head against his arm. “Because we love you, Papa.”

Charles softened immediately, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And I love you, ma chérie.”

As the day went on, Charles balanced being both a driver and a father seamlessly. He would answer engineering questions, discuss race strategy, then turn back to Yn’s homework to explain another problem. It was a side of him that many in the paddock admired—a father who made sure his daughter always knew she was his priority.

By the time the schoolwork was done, Yn stretched her arms above her head. “That was exhausting,” she declared.

Charles smirked. “Now you know how I feel after a race.”

“But you love racing,” she pointed out.

“And you love learning,” he countered.

She gave him a look. “Let’s not go that far.”

Lewis walked over, tossing Yn a Ferrari cap. “Since you worked so hard, I think you deserve a reward.”

Yn grinned, putting it on her head. “Merci, Lewlew!”

Charles smiled as he watched her interact with the team, knowing that no matter how many trophies or podiums he earned, nothing would ever mean more to him than the little girl who made his world brighter every single day.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[mari-positas]

a safe haven | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

chapter summary: After the events in Salt Lake City, Joel and Ellie are back in Jackson, Wyoming to start a brand new life in the safe haven; Ellie has a difficult time fitting in, but she finds a friend in you; Joel meets you for the first time and a foreign feeling instantly takes root.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. AGE GAP (reader is 29 and Joel is 57). minimal physical description of reader, she is shorter than Joel and has longer hair (exact length/type is not specified). reader is married, reader’s husband is mentioned and makes an appearance at the end of the chapter. lightly implied domestic violence. mentions of character death (reader’s father, unspecified illness). tlou2 timeline deviations (maria has only just found out she’s pregnant).

word count: 6.1k

a/n: well, here she is! apologies for the delay. life happened. :( i had this huge nervous ramble-y note planned out, but instead i just want to thank anyone who has shown me kindness for this series. this is for you. <3

His dark eyes linger on you from across the mess hall.

He doesn’t mean to stare.

Though, truthfully, Joel Miller doesn’t even realize he’s staring in the first place.

It’s half past twelve o’ clock in the afternoon, Jackson’s designated lunch hour, and the steadily growing town’s cafeteria is nearly too overcrowded, buzzing loudly with obnoxious, overlapping chatter. He pays no mind to the commotion around him—bitching patrolmen, gossiping women, children running around as if the mess hall was their playground and it’s time for recess. He tunes it all out, much too focused on the prettiest damn thing he’d seen since the world ended two decades ago.

You’re sitting at a small, round table made for two that is tucked away over in the furthest corner of the packed eatery—as far away from the chaos as one can possibly be during midday mealtime.

Craning his neck slightly, Joel squints to get a better look and notices your only company for lunch is a large open book beside your plastic tray that takes up most of the table’s surface. In between bites of Cornish hen and roasted vegetables, you thumb through the book’s pages, occasionally pausing every here and there to scribble something in the notebook on your lap with a pencil.

It’s not the first time Joel’s seen you around. In fact, he still remembers the moment when he’d first laid eyes on you several months ago that cold, winter morning.

He’d been fresh on the heels of a devastating fight with Ellie. She’d confronted him about his plans to hand her off to Tommy—a choice Joel believed to be selfless, the right thing to do, had been mistaken as a selfish act of abandonment, leading to harsh words exchanged and a door slammed in the heartbroken girl’s face. Little had she known that it’d been just as painful for him to walk away from her.

His choice hurt him too, but he couldn’t keep on failing her.

Older, slower, his hearing no longer what it used to be, he feared he would only end up getting Ellie killed if she continued on with him. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen. He would not cradle another child’s dead body in his arms, not again. Not her.

Following a long, sleepless night of tossing and turning, Joel pulled himself out of bed the next morning, quietly slipping past Ellie’s bedroom door and out of the house with his pack in one hand and a map in the other. He’d quickly made his way across town towards the stables, hoping he could escape Jackson without notice from his brother—and more importantly, without notice from Ellie.

It’s not like he wanted to leave without saying goodbye to her, but Joel couldn’t be certain he could find the strength to stand firm on his decision if he saw her face again.

So there he had been, in one of the stalls at the stables saddling up a mare he planned to take off on when you walked by, the loud crunch of your heavy winter boots on the frosted concrete startling him.

“Good morning,” you’d greeted politely, flashing him a friendly smile over the top of the thick, knitted red scarf around your neck.

Silent, Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line, no trace of emotion on his hard, stony face.

“Getting ready to head out on early morning patrol?”

“Yeah,” he’d replied curtly.

Another smile. “Be safe out there.”

He’d almost forgotten about you since then.

Almost.

The next time Joel had seen you was on his second day back in Jackson. While Ellie settled herself at home, he took a trip to the market over on the main street to pick up vegetables for their dinner—it would be the first real, proper meal he cooked in twenty-one years. No more stale jerky, no more old, barely-edible Chef Boyardee.

“Regular potatoes or sweet potatoes?” he’d muttered to himself, hands on his hips as he stood in front of the bins, looking over his options for produce.

“Sweet potatoes aren’t in season yet.”

Eyes widening, Joel looked up only to see you standing one aisle over in front of a cardboard box full of carrots, a woven shopping basket hanging over your arm. Much like that winter morning in the stables, you offered him a friendly smile he didn’t return.

Surely by now you must think he’s an asshole.

He wouldn’t blame you if that’s the case.

“Hellooo?” Tommy waves a hand in front of Joel’s face looking thoroughly amused. “Anyone home?”

“Sorry, you say somethin’?”

“Maybe we should find you a damn camera,” he teases, chuckling when once he finally garners his attention. “Y’know, so you can take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Joel scowls at him, though he says nothing.

He can’t very well deny that he’d been caught gawking.

“Shut up, Tommy,” is all he can come up with before taking a large bite of seasoned carrots. Heat floods his face when he catches the mischievous glimmer in his younger brother’s eyes.

“Hey, I don’t really blame you.” Tommy reaches over for his glass of iced tea and picks it up, gulping half of it down in one swallow. Smacking his lips together, he casually shrugs a shoulder, shooting Joel a knowing smirk over the top the glass as he comments, “She’s certainly a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she, big brother?”

“Watch yourself. Don’t think Maria would appreciate you sayin’ that kinda thing about another woman,” Joel warns, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Much less now that she’s expectin’ your kid. Have a little more respect for your wife, asshole.”

Tommy shrugs again. “Ain’t no harm in just lookin’,” he remarks, although there’s a joking edge to his tone. He sets his glass back down on the table and leans back in his chair, glancing over at you. He lets out a long, low whistle, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh trust me, I get it, Joel—hell, every man ‘round here gets it, fuckin’ single or not. She’s gorgeous. And a real sweetheart, too. But don’t go gettin’ any ideas about her.”

He asks without thinking. “Why not?”

Tommy’s brows raise to his hairline in surprise. “Well for starters, that girl’s damn near half your age, you old fucker. Jesus, what is wrong with you?” Rolling his eyes, he adds, “And besides that, she’s already spoken for.”

“Oh,” Joel clears his throat awkwardly and sits back in his chair. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

“Husband,” Tommy corrects him. “She’s married, Joel. And here’s the real fuckin’ kicker. She’s married to the town’s doctor.”

“Luke?”

“You’ve met him?”

“Heard of him,” Joel clarifies. “Maria keeps on insistin’ I get checked out by him. Ellie too, but—” He glances at his own forearm. “Don’t think that it’d be wise.”

Stiffening in his chair, Tommy’s lips purse together. His one rule?

Ellie’s immunity was not to be mentioned.

Ever.

Joel clears his throat again, shifting gears and steering the conversation back into less sensitive territory. “He legit?” he questions before shoving another forkful of carrots into his mouth. “Luke?”

The younger man’s shoulders relax slightly. “Yeah, he’s legit. Well, as legit as he can be—he was still in medical school when the outbreak happened,” he explains. “Bit on the younger side, but he knows his stuff, Joel. Looks after everyone in town. Delivers the babies, stitches up wounds. Hell, I broke my arm in a ridin’ accident a year ago and he set the bone right back into place. Had me as good as new within a few weeks. It’s a miracle we’ve got someone like him ‘round here, y’know?”

“Mm,” he hums in response, twiddling his fork between his thumb and index finger.

Of course you’re a married woman.

And to a fucking hero doctor nonetheless.

Underneath the table, Tommy lightly kicks his shin with the steel toe of his boot. “Y’know Joel, there are plenty of other single women in the community. If you want, I could introduce you around. In fact, Maria has a friend named Esther, she’s a real cute blonde. I could set you two up if you’re interested—”

“I’m not,” Joel interjects with a tight shake of his head. “I just got got here, Tommy. Besides, I’ve got Ellie that I need to look after. She’s my priority right now—my only priority,” he emphasizes firmly. “Not meetin’ women.”

Knowing better than to push him on it, Tommy changes the subject. “Uh, speakin’ of Ellie, how’s she been doin’ by the way? I haven’t really seen much of her since you two got back. She alright?”

Joel hesitates, averting Tommy’s gaze.

It’d been a couple of weeks since the events that took place in Salt Lake City. 

Since the hospital.

Since the Fireflies.

Tommy’s clueless, had been fed the same bullshit story as Ellie about raiders invading the hospital—he had no idea about what Joel had done. How he ruthlessly killed all of those people. How he shot Marlene dead at point blank range without hesitation, not an ounce of mercy despite her gasping pleas for him to let her go. How he single-handedly prevented the Fireflies from perfoming that operation on Ellie, stopping what might have been humanity’s only chance at potentially finding a cure.

The surgery would have killed her.

So, he had no other choice but to kill them.

Joel doesn’t regret it. If it came down to it, he would do it all over again.

Though he doesn’t carry guilt over having done what he’d done, he does carry the guilt of having lied to Ellie about it after it was all said and done. 

“Swear to me,” she’d said, her eyes looking up into his as they stood atop the mountain overlooking Jackson Hole. “Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.”

“I swear.”

Ellie’s smart—too fucking smart for her own good. She might not have known the extent of it all, but she knew Joel wasn’t being entirely honest about what had gone down in Salt Lake City.

Joel’s chest heaves as he exhales a heavy sigh, finally answering the question. “Not too great,” he admits, quietly. “I’m real worried about her, Tommy. It’s been a couple weeks now since we’ve been back and she still hasn’t made one single friend around here. She doesn’t fuckin’ talk to anyone, hell, she hardly even talks to me these days.” He sighs again, tiredly scrubbing his free hand down the side of his face. “She spends most of her time hidin’ out in the stables with the horses. She would rather be around them than people.”

“Think maybe it’d be a good idea to have her see Gail?” Tommy suggests lightly.

“You’re kiddin’ me, right?” Joel snorts. “Take her to see a fuckin’ shrink?”

“Don’t knock therapy. It’s been pretty helpful for a lot of folks ‘round here, y’know. Gail’s pretty good, she could give Ellie some guidance on how to make friends. Ain’t that what you want for her?”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “And how well do you think it’ll go over when I tell her I’m puttin’ her in therapy?”

“You’d have to sleep with one eye open,” Tommy muses with a laugh. He catches the tick in the muscle of Joel’s jaw and his smile falters. “Just give her time, Joel. After everythin’ she’s been through, it ain’t exactly a surprise that she’s strugglin’ to fit in. I know Ellie means a whole lot to you, and you’re worried about her. I would be too. But it’s only been a couple weeks. Give her some more time to adjust. She’ll get there, I know she will. She’s a strong kid, brother.”

“Yeah, I know she is,” he murmurs in agreement. “Hell of a lot stronger than someone her age should have to be.”

“She’ll be fine,” Tommy reassures him with a confident nod. “She’ll find her place here. You’ll see.”

Joel sighs in defeat. “I sure hope you’re right.”

You relish the feeling of warm sunlight on your skin.

Summer’s arrived in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and after a particularly long, brutal winter that swept the western state last year, you couldn’t have been more thrilled to see warmer weather well on its way. Sure, summer heat can be just as unforgiving as bitter winter cold, but at least now, you’re not walking around ankles-deep in the snow or rubbing icicles out of your nostrils.

Clutching the thick strap of your old, but sturdy leather satchel, you leave the town mess hall and hastily make your way toward the horse stables. It’s after lunch, and there’s still plenty of work to be done before the end of the day rolls around—most of it which would without a doubt trickle into the next day, as it usually does.

You hold your together fairly well, bear the brunt of your stressful job without making too much of a fuss. But on those rare occasions where you feel completely in over your head, you wonder if maybe you’d made the wrong decision taking such an enormous responsibility in your hands. Then again, the more you think about it, it’s not like you had been given much of a choice. In a way, this had been expected of you.

Prior to his passing two summers ago, your father had been the town’s equine veterinarian. He had offered to begin teaching you to care for the horses, knowing one day, eventually, someone would have to take his place. Not long after you started joining him at the stables, he became ill, and over the course of a year, your father’s health began rapidly deteriorating, his sickness one you both knew couldn’t be treated, much less cured, not in the post-outbreak world. Even as he wasted away, he’d used every ounce of strength he had left to teach you. He spent countless hours in the stables with you, until he lost most of his mobility—when he became bound to his bed in the final weeks of his life, you curled up at his side, the ache in your heart growing more painful as you watched him scribble notes in the margins of his copy of Horseman’s Veterinary Encyclopedia with a weak, trembling hand.

“My body might be failing me,” he’d rasped. “But I still have my brain.”

Your father prepared you to the best of his knowledge and ability, and while you certainly know a thing or two, it’s still so daunting. Horses are how everyone travels when in search of supplies, how patrolmen and women get around while protecting the community against the dangers that lurk outside the gates. Horses are one of the most important, most precious resources Jackson possesses—they keep everyone moving, everything going, and you’d be lying if you said that being the sole person in charge of caring for them doesn’t put a tremendous amount of pressure on your shoulders.

“You need to stop doubting yourself,” Maria would tell you. “He believed in you. Everyone believes in you. It’s about damn time you start doing the same and believe in yourself.”

You rush inside the stables, already going through your mental checklist of all the horses that still need to be looked over for the day, including the group of horses that had just arrived back from that morning’s patrol.

But first, you decide stop in and see your favorite girl.

“Hi there, Stella,” you coo sweetly, walking into a stall housing a beautiful, chestnut-brown pregnant mare. “Hi, gorgeous. How are you doing today?”

“I’d be a hell of a lot better if I could have one of those apples I know you’ve got in your bag,” a voice answers, startling you.

Peering around Stella’s body, you find Ellie laying on a small bed of hay in the furthest corner of the stall, her head resting on her backpack as she flips through her favorite superhero comic book for the hundredth time.

“Ellie,” you sigh her name softly.

She offers you a silly, lopsided grin. “Howdy.”

“What in the world are you doing in here?”

“Keeping ol’ Stella girl here company,” she shrugs. “What else does it look like I’m doing?”

“Ellie,” you say her name again. “You can’t just hide out in here with the horses every single day, you know,” you point out, dropping your satchel onto the ground. Stella lowers her head and gives it a sniff, no doubt smelling those aforementioned apples.

“Wanna bet?” The teenager quips with a smirk as she sits up, tossing her comic book to the side. Bits of hay stick out of her brown hair and to her clothes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school with the other kids? Until you’re sixteen, that’s the rule isn’t it?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “I already went to school. Back in Boston. FEDRA’s finest, man.”

You don’t know much about Ellie Williams—nor about the brooding older man that she’s here with, Joel Miller. The only thing you do know is that Joel happens to be Tommy Miller’s older brother, and he acted as Ellie’s guardian. Initially, you’d thought he was her father, and when Maria informed you he had no familial relation to the girl, you had been completely taken aback.

“I don’t believe it. They’re really not related?”

“I know, those two even walk the same. But nope, no relation.”

Their arrival in Jackson in the winter had caused a bit of commotion and had the entire town talking—but by the following morning, the pair were gone, not to be seen again for several months until their return towards the end of spring. Rumors flew once the word of their return had gone around, but in reality, no one had the slightest clue about where they had been, or why they decided to leave the safe haven in the first place.

Much like everyone else, you’re curious about Ellie, and you’re especially curious about Joel. You’ve seen him around, had a couple close encounters with him where your pleasantries had not been returned—a man of few words, he keeps to himself for the most part, seems to have no interest in getting to know the townsfolk.

Ellie’s just as reserved. She spends most of her days in the stables with the horses while she reads her comics or listens to tapes on the old Walkman she’d borrowed���stolen, rather—from Tommy. Having taken notice of the young girl hanging around your place of work, you began carving out some time in your hectic schedule to talk to her. You’d tested the waters with casual chatter about the most trivial of things, such as the weather or what had been served in the mess hall for lunch that day.

Although Ellie seemed annoyed at first, she’d quickly warmed up to you, and by the end of the week, you had yourself a little foul-mouthed shadow following you around.

You walk over to her. “Listen Ellie, as much as I really enjoy having you around me all the time, you really do need to make friends.”

She blinks. “But you’re my friend.”

“Friends your own age,” you rephrase yourself, biting back a smile. “My husband has a niece about your age. Her name is Dina. I could introduce you to each other if you’d like?”

Ellie furiously shakes her head. “No.”

“Ellie—”

“Everybody around here looks at me like I’ve got two fucking heads or something. She probably fucking will too,” she mumbles. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “Fuck that.”

Sighing softly, you squat and lower yourself to her eye level. “I know how hard it is when you don’t fit in with others,” you emphasize. “It’s tough.”

“You? Not fit in?” Ellie scoffs and rolls her eyes in reply. “I don’t believe that for one second, sweet cheeks.”

“Hey, I was fifteen once too,” you chuckle. “When I was your age, I was living in one of the quarantine zones. In Albuquerque. My mom was a nurse there, so she had the privilege of enrolling me and my little brother into their best school—a preparatory school. She hoped he and I would become officers, have a chance at a decent life. She didn’t want us working in the sewers.” There’s a, strange glimmer in Ellie’s eyes, but she says nothing.“So, as you can imagine, I went to school with a bunch of kids whose parents were officers and other higher-ups in the zone.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And it was the worst three years of my life,” you tell her. “The world may have ended, but teenagers are still fucking assholes.”

Ellie laughs loudly. “Jesus, I thought you were too prim and proper to curse!”

“I’m not all that prim and proper,” you counter, winking playfully. “Besides, I think you might be starting to rub off on me a little bit.”

You grin, but upon meeting her gaze, it falters.

Ellie certainly isn’t the only child refugee who has lived a life outside these gates. Yet, there is something about her that sets her apart from the others.

She’s different.

There’s no telling what unspeakable things this girl has survived, but one thing is for certain, the haunting look in her eyes confirms your suspicion that she has been through a horrific kind of hell.

“So,” Ellie finally says after a minute. “Is it okay if I keep coming to the stables to spend time with you and the horses?”

“Of course it’s okay.” Rising to your feet, you glance at Stella. “But on one condition. You have to help me out with the grooming. I’ve been really short-handed lately and I could use the extra help. Plus, if you aren’t going to school, then you need to pitch in around here. Do we have a deal?”

She jumps up, nodding eagerly. “Deal.”

Joel dumps his plastic tray and used dishware into the designated dirty dish bin before shoving through mess hall’s double doors. He steps outside and starts toward the horse stables to find Ellie, who had skipped lunch.

He keeps his sights set straight ahead of him, trying his hardest to avoid eye contact with anyone who so much as even throws a glimpse in his direction. People seem to be getting used to him, but they’re still wary, and he feels like something of a pariah.

He can handle it, though.

Stares, whispers, pointed fingers.

Being an outcast.

It’s his Ellie he’s worried about. Between her survivor’s guilt and her struggle to fit in, Joel feared for her well-being. He can only hope Tommy’s right, and all that she needs is time—that she’ll find will find her place here.

Joel walks into the horse stables. “Ellie?” He calls her name, peeking into each stall. “Ellie? You in here?”

“Wait, what?”

He hears her voice.

“Stella’s pregnant? I didn’t fucking know that!”

Rounding the corner into the very last stall, Joel finds Ellie standing there, her hand resting on the muzzle of a brown horse. In her opposite hand, she holds a mane brush.

She’s not alone.

You stand in front of her, one hand planted on your hip, the other resting on the animal’s back. Joel takes in the sight of you, your lower body clad in a pair of well-worn blue jeans, the legs tucked into weathered black riding boots whose soles are caked in muck. He recalls you in a long-sleeve red, flannel shirt, but it’s now tied around your waist, leaving you in a white cotton tank top—the material fits snug on your frame, and his eyes wander, settling on the patch of smooth skin peeking between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your jeans for a brief moment before trailing back up to your face.

“She sure is,” you reply to her question with a wide grin. “We just found out about a week ago and believe she’s about a few weeks along. We’ll have a sweet new baby in a year.”

Bewildered, Ellie glances at the horse. “Really? They’re pregnant for a whole year? That’s fucking insane!”

“Well, eleven months,” you clarify for her, giving Stella a gentle, but firm pat. “This is Stella’s first. I’m hoping to see her pregnancy reach its full term, but sometimes babies decide to come sooner than expected.”

Joel’s lips part slightly.

He almost can’t believe it.

Ellie hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in two weeks and yet there she is, engaging with you so effortlessly. His gaze flits over to her just in time to see her crack what had to be the first real, genuine smile he’d seen since they had fed the giraffe in Salt Lake City. Ellie is being herself, cursing up a storm and all, and you don’t seem the slightest bit bothered by it, not like the other adults whose jaws dropped in utter horror at her use of such foul language.

Joel wills himself to move and steps inside of the stall. He lightly clears his throat. “Ellie.”

Simultaneously, you and Ellie both whip around in his direction.

“Joel? What are you doing here?” Her smile falters as he approaches her.

“Lookin’ for you. It’s lunchtime. Y’need to eat, kiddo.”

She holds up the brush in her hand. “But we were just about to—”

He stops her with a stern glare. “Lunch. Now. Go.”

“Fine,” Ellie huffs and rolls her eyes at him. Picking up her backpack, she hands you the brush and stomps out of the stall, roughly shoving into Joel’s shoulder as she pushes past him without another word.

Suddenly, the stall feels much too small, and just as he opens his mouth to excuse himself and leave, you say, “You’re Tommy’s older brother, right? Joel?”

He nods. “Yeah. I am.”

Stepping away from Stella, you walk over to Joel and introduce yourself, extending a hand for him to shake. Your name is just as beautiful as you are—he repeats it, and it rolls smoothly off his tongue. He takes your hand in his own; it’s small and soft in his large and rough, a stark contrast but perfect fit.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Joel.” Your eyes find his, meeting them in a way that makes something inside of him that had been sleeping for decades stir.

Realizing he’s been holding onto your hand longer than necessary, he drops it and takes two steps back, lightly bumping his back against the stall door. “I’m—uh, I’m sorry about Ellie,” Joel apologizes to you after a minute. “I know she’s been spendin’ a lot of time in here. I hope she hasn’t been botherin’ you or gettin’ in the way of things. If she is, I can have a talk with her.”

“She hasn’t been bothering me at all,” you assure him, shaking your head. “It’s been nice having her around. I enjoy her company very much.”

“You do?”

You toss him a puzzled, but amused look. “Yes. Is that strange for me to say?”

Joel places his hands on his hips and leans back against the stall door. “Ellie’s been havin’ a little trouble,” he confesses. “Adjustin’ to her new life here. Meetin’ people and things like that. She, uh—she ain’t like all the other kids around here, y’know?”

“I know.”

His raises his eyebrows.

“I was just talking to her a little while ago. I told her I know how hard it is being a teenager and trying to fit it in with the crowd, even in a world like this one.” You let out a humorless laugh and shake your head. “It’s even harder when you’re just so different.” You seem to pick up on the way that your statement triggers something of a negative response from Joel—the way his eyes darken in a flash of anger and his nostrils flare slightly warn you he doesn’t take all too kindly to anyone talking negatively about Ellie. Her being different is something he already knows, of course, but hearing it from someone else isn’t easy for him, and it certainly isn’t welcome. You hold your hands up and reassure him, “There’s nothing wrong with being different, by the way.”

Joel sees the sincerity in your eyes that go hand in hand with your words and his defenses switch off almost as quickly as they’d switched on. “There isn’t,” he agrees with a careful nod of his head. “Nothin’ wrong with it at all.” He clears his throat. “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just that I don’t really like it when people start runnin’ their mouths ‘bout my kid, that’s all.”

Waving a hand, you assure him, “No need to apologize, Joel.”

Little by little, he starts to relax. Taut and tense muscles that have been wound up for years and years are suddenly beginning to loosen, and all it is taking is being in your presence for him to understand why Ellie’s taken such a quick liking to you. 

You’re bright, and radiate such warmth—a different kind of warmth Joel hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

He glances around the stall. “So, uh—what’s the deal? You one of the stable hands around here or somethin’ like that?”

“Something like that,” you repeat after him, a tiny grin tugging at the corners of your mouth at the way he speaks with a heavy, but still incredibly charming Southern drawl. “I’m the equine veterinarian here in Jackson.”

He chuckles. “Veterinarian? Y’mean, those still exist?”

“Sort of. My father used to be the veterinarian here,” you explain to him. “That was what he did for a living before the outbreak happened. When we got here a few years ago from one of the quarantine zones, he told Maria what he had done for a living before this and he was asked to care for the horses in exchange for our place here.”

“And you?” Joel can’t help but wonder out loud. You seem quite young, can’t be older than your late twenties or early thirties at most, which would still have made you a child when the outbreak happened. “No offense darlin’, but you seem a little bit too young to have gone to vet school before shit hit the fan.”

Darlin’.

He doesn’t mean to call you that. But it’s too late—and you don’t appear bothered by it.

Instead, you laugh, and the sound is like a gorgeous melody he could listen to on repeat for the rest of his life if given the chance. “No, I definitely did not go to veterinary school. Actually, my dad taught me everything I know.” You speak fondly of him as you continue to say, “He educated me. Well, as best as he could considering the circumstances and all. He tried to teach me all that he could before he died a couple of years ago.”

Joel frowns. “Oh. M’sorry to hear about your dad.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be sorry.”

He peers at you, unable to mask his curiosity.

“He died of illness,” you tell him, as if having read his mind. “And before you say it again, you don’t have to be sorry.” You cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head at him as you change the subject and ask, “So, how are you settling in?”

“S’been alright, I reckon. Real different from what I’m used to—from what we’re both used to,” Joel answers, referring to Ellie.

“I can imagine it is. It took me a while to get used to this place when I first got here too. It’s such a different way of life,” you empathize with him, sighing as you drop your arms back down at your sides. “You stay just a couple of houses down from Tommy and Maria, right?”

“Yeah, we’re two doors down in the brown and greenish lookin’ unit.”

“I’m in the light blue and white house right across from them,” you inform him, your pretty eyes twinkling as you give him a smile. “I guess that kind of makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

Joel’s stomach somersaults. “It does,” he manages to say. Remembering Tommy’s warning from earlier, he decides it's time for him to leave—and the quicker, the better because he’s beginning to notice how easy it is to fall under your spell. He pushes himself away from the stall door. “I should probably get goin’ now. Got some stuff to take care of before evenin’ patrol,” he says. “Listen, uh, I really appreciate you spendin’ time with Ellie and bein’ so kind to her. Thank you for that.” He gives you a small grateful nod and turns on the heel of his boot to leave the stall.

“Joel?”

He stops dead in his tracks, his back stiffening slightly.

The sound of your soft voice saying his name is sweet like pure, raw honey.

If he isn’t careful, he’ll become addicted to it—he fears he already is.

Swallowing harshly, Joel turns back around to face you. “Yeah?”

“We’re having this big get together on Saturday night in the barn that’s right across the way,” you say, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder, towards the open window. “We do it every single year on the first day of summer. It’s for the kids more than anything, but everyone comes out.” There’s a subtle hint of shyness to your tone. “I’m not sure if Tommy or Maria have mentioned it to you yet, but there’s going to be a big cookout, drinks, and even a band to play live music. The whole nine yards.”

Joel has to bite back a small scoff of disbelief. “You serious?”

“People still know how to party,” you joke. You observe the genuinely perplexed look that crosses his face and giggle. “I know, it must sound really bizarre. But it’s a lot of fun and it’s a great way to really get to know the folks around here. I think it would be great if you and Ellie both came.”

“Ain’t too sure if it’d be Ellie’s thing. Or mine,” he admits, raking a hand nervously through his hair at the thought.

“You won’t know unless you give it a shot, Joel.” You gift him with another brilliant smile that just about makes his heart stop inside his chest. “Please?”

Joel hardly knows you. Hell, up until five minutes ago, he hadn’t even known your fucking name—how is it possible that he can’t say no to you?

He mulls over it in his mind for a moment. He doesn’t like the idea of having to interact with anyone outside of patrol duty, but if going to the thing means seeing you again, then he’s willing to at the very least give it a shot. 

“Maybe we’ll both stop by for a bit and check it out,” he finally replies, exhaling a small sigh of defeat.

“Great!” You beam happily. “I’ll see you both on Friday night, then.”

“I’ll see you Friday night,” Joel repeats, giving you one last nod before turning and leaving the stall.

As he leaves the stables and heads home, he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards at the mere thought of seeing you again.

Shit.

He’s in fucking trouble. 

His fork scrapes against the plate a little too loudly, the noise echoing throughout the kitchen. Your fingers curl tightly around your own silverware, and you flinch—it’s been a calm, quiet, and uneventful few weeks between you and your husband, but it’s a knee-jerk reaction you can’t control when you’re alone with him.

He doesn’t seem to notice, thankfully.

Loosening your grip around your knife and fork, you let your shoulders drop and force yourself to relax. You eat slowly and in small, measured bites, every move careful and contained, purely out of habit—because as tranquil as things have been, his moods are unpredictable, and you never know which version of your husband will be coming home to you.

Your marriage to Luke hadn’t always been a nightmare—in fact there was a time where you could have sworn there was love. Somewhere along the way, he began to resent you, and now anger and control fills the space where affection once lived.

Nights like this one, where it is silent and hollow, you’re almost grateful for it. His coldness can be painful, but his fists hurt even worse.

Luke abruptly pushes back from the table, the chair’s wooden legs scraping harshly against the tile.

You flinch again, your stomach twisting.

“I’m going to bed,” he murmurs. “I have a long day at the hospital tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You bring yourself to meet his dark green eyes, giving him the best smile you can muster. “Goodnight.”

He doesn’t say it back, simply nods and disappears out of the kitchen.

It’s not until you hear the door close upstairs that you exhale a small sigh of relief.

After finishing your dinner, you bring both plates to the sink. You run the water but make no move to wash them, and instead you stand there, hands braced on the counter.

Your wedding band gleams under the bright, overhead lights, catching your eye, and all you can do is wonder when—or even if—he will ever let you go.

i do not have a taglist, for fic updates, please check out my notifs blog, @mari-positasupdates!

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤍

[1d1195]

Two Negatives

~9.8 k words

From me: I promise it’s not going to be about math that much. This is an academic rivals sort of thing. It’s going to have at least two follow ups but this is the whole story overall. I think there are parts of it that are kind of hand-wavy and whatnot. Not completely connected or explained.

Warnings: Maybe if you read this the right way you may notice that Harry's a little bit of a sugar-daddy. Low self-esteem, cheating, mentions of sex stuff.

Summary: Harry loves annoying the girl in his classes. She's an easy target. And more often than not, she teases him right back.

Which Harry is an absolute sucker for.

“Hey,” he hissed.

She ignored him. Instead, her gaze bounced back between the board where Professor Charles was writing on the whiteboard and the paper in front of her alongside her notebook, dated and titled ready to jot down any issues she had as they worked through the new material.

Something hit the back of her head. Nothing that hurt. But she felt it in her hair. Probably a gum wrapper. Or maybe the actual piece of gum. She wouldn’t have been surprised. She reached behind her head without looking, grateful it wasn’t a piece of gum, and she dropped the wrapper in her bag beside her to dispose of later.

He dropped his calculator off his desk (flung it was more accurate) so it landed right by her foot. She didn’t flinch as it clattered and ignored the curious peeks of others looking at her like she was the one causing the noise.

“Give me a pencil,” he was right next to her, grabbing his calculator.

“Go fuck yourself,” she whispered so quietly she wondered if Harry could even hear her.

“Please! I forgot!”

“You always forget,” she hissed back.

Professor Charles cleared his throat. She glared at her paper as her cheeks burned with embarrassment. How dare Harry embarrass her in front of her professor because he was too stupid to bring his own pencil again. She placed dots on her graph as her professor did, stabbing at her paper a little too hard. Pretending it was Harry’s Voo Doo doll. Just so it would stop. So he would stop. But no. He was still knelt beside her.

“Mr. Styles, is everything alright?” Professor Charles asked.

“Yup, just tying m’shoe,” he said and stood up with a grin. That grin probably got Harry out of a speeding ticket, especially if he was pulled over by a female officer. Probably got him out of homework when he was in school because he knew how to make anyone feel flattered and good about themselves.

That stupid, pretty smile of his with the most adorable dimples probably melted any woman that looked his way.

Professor Charles rolled his eyes as he turned back to the whiteboard. At the same time Harry plucked her pencil from her grip mid stroke of the number eight she was writing. Before she could protest or even fully grasp that her writing utensil was stolen, Harry was back in his seat... right behind her. She took a deep breath and tilted her head to the ceiling trying to keep herself calm so she wouldn’t scream at him in front of everyone. So, she wouldn’t look like a lunatic. Why did he have to sit behind her? She reached into her bag and pulled out her pencil case and continued writing as if Harry hadn’t interrupted her at all.

*

She didn’t have a class following her lecture so she would have a second to breathe and eat, which wasn’t the case most days. Fortunately, she was head tutor at the academic center in the library which wasn’t far from the dining hall. It was also pretty easy going at the center, so she could eat while working. But it was always nice to pretend and be a regular student and eat in the hall. She listened to music and read her book. The only hour she got to read much these days. After tutoring, she would be headed to one more class before she was back to work at the college bar in the center of town.

Her schedule was mapped out to the minute. Her days filled to the brim with school and work. Because she didn’t have a choice. It was the same way every penny of her budget was scheduled and allotted for other things as well. It didn’t leave time for friends.

“Hey gorgeous.”

Well, one friend.

He pecked her cheek before sitting across from her. “Class good?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, how was yours?”

He reached over the table, held her hand, and skimmed his thumb along her knuckles. It was sweet. If it wasn’t so forced. “Good,” he smiled.

Isaac was an extremely handsome guy. He was popular, smart, and funny. His family had big plans for him and that was why he was on this prestigious college campus.

“Hi Isaac,” a flirtatious call sounded from across the room. He turned to find the culprit but came up short.

“By the door,” she said. Isaac turned releasing her hand as he did and waved at the girl who dissolved into giggles. After greeting the masses, he turned his attention back to her. “Can I suggest something?”

“Of course you can, girlfriend.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you really want to be with the kind of girl who will openly flirt with someone in a relationship?”

“I think everyone knows it’s a fake relationship.”

“Regardless,” she shrugged.

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, my love,” he winked. He grunted when she tossed one leg over the other beneath the table and perhaps overshot just a hair.

She met Isaac on the first day of college. She was bringing her own stuff into her dorm room alone. His parents caught sight of her. Recognized her as she looked like her mom’s twin from way back when they all roamed this campus themselves. But unlike them, she was there under very different circumstances. She greeted them politely, smiled, and chatted as she knew best.

But Isaac approached her later that evening. She was sweaty from unpacking all alone. Her saving grace was a dorm room to herself. Perhaps the only lucky thing about her freshman year. This place screamed money. Money that she didn’t have anymore.

Isaac screamed money. “I need your help.” So, Isaac made sure she didn’t die of hunger and didn’t become a complete social pariah. Made sure she was taken seriously because of course this campus was littered with people who didn’t believe smarts could come without money.

In return, she was to be a doting girlfriend. When his parents were around, she was to be a fixture on his arm. Would it last forever? Probably not. But at least she would be okay for four years. She was kind, lovely, the exact kind of girl they expected their son to find and help keep him stable to take over his father’s company.

The kind of girl that would let Isaac be with whoever. Of course they had their moments. Like the lunch breaks such as the current one. Making appearances so that if anyone asked it wouldn’t be unheard of that they were together.

But she was no stranger to the whispers. That poor girl has no idea her boyfriend is cheating on her.

Fortunately, she didn’t have time for a boyfriend. Especially not one like Isaac. So, if her fake boyfriend was cheating on her, then at least she didn’t have to deal with it. Each time his parents came to town it wrecked her schedule. Wreaked havoc on her study time. Her work time. After three years, it was starting to feel like more of a give and less of a take in comparison to him.

But Isaac was nice enough. He still thanked her profusely—especially when his parents were in town. He didn’t use a lot of tongue when he kissed her in effort to keep up appearances. Knowing where his tongue had been, she was grateful.

“I’m not jealous,” she told him. “I care about you enough that I don’t want your heart to get broken.”

“You know I don’t have one of those.” She rolled her eyes. “You know, I’d be happy to throw you a bone, my love,” he leaned toward her, his eyes flirty and his smile lascivious.

She snorted. “Not even if you boiled it in disinfectant.”

“Orgasms help with stress.”

“I’m not lacking in orgasms. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Kinky, baby,” he winked. “You actually got me hard,” he told her. He wasn’t trying to sleep with her so much as he was willing to sleep with her. When they first arrived at college there were several firsts that both needed to accomplish and well, the fake dating wasn’t the only thing they were able to help each other out with. But after three years of rumors and knowing what Isaac was like outside their fake relationship, she was glad she got to him before all of the rumors swarmed around her.

“I have to go to work,” she told him getting up from the table.

Isaac really was a nice friend. Lovely even. But only if they were really alone. As time wore on, he got cocky and annoying—especially in public. It seemed like he was doing more of a favor for her than she was for him (even though she stopped asking him for things almost a month into their arrangement—shortly after she heard a rumor of a threesome).

But his parents loved her. They didn’t ask questions about his schooling or dating life because of her sweet nature. Originally, she felt guilty over their lie. But now, she was resenting that part of him more and more. He was a pretty good friend. But he was a dick of a boyfriend. “Are y’hungry, baby?” He asked.

She shook her head, cheeks blushing, and anger tingling in her blood. She hated the way he spoke to her in public; he sounded so condescending. Not at all like the kind and caring boyfriend he was supposed to pretend to be or even the kind and sweet friend he was behind closed doors. “Shut up, Isaac,” she sighed. His ego played a massive part in their friendship. He was rich and popular. She was not. “You sound like a douchebag.”

He pressed his lips to her ear, wrapped his arm around her waist. If she was looking in from the outside, she was sure it looked cute and romantic. “Mm,” he hummed ignoring her insult. “Can feed you something later,” he winked.

She knew people were watching so she smiled, leaned toward his ear. “If you’re going to feed me, I need a full meal.”

He chuckled, rolled his eyes and pecked her lips. “See you later, baby,” he kissed her softly again as he said it. “Gonna make sure you’re nice and full,” he promised loudly as he walked away. Not so loudly, that everyone would hear. But certainly loud enough for Harry Styles, who walked into the dining hall at that precise moment, to hear.

“Wow, bit extra for the dining hall,” Harry smirked. She glared at him, her cheeks warming.

“Don’t suppose you have my pencil?”

“Hmm,” he tapped his hands over his pockets. “Sorry Your Majesty,” he bowed in his over-the-top kind of way. “Clean out.” She rolled her eyes, grabbed her stuff, and made her way for the exit. Harry grabbed her hand at the last second pulling her back to look at him. “Y’okay?” He asked. “Y’look tired.”

She snatched her hand away. She was tired. But it didn’t feel good for it to be pointed out that she looked tired. “Thanks, I guess,” she rolled her eyes again. “I’m going to go now before you have a chance to insult me again.”

“Hey,” he frowned and called after her again as she continued walking away. “M’serious. Y’look like you’re getting sick.”

It was extremely unfair that Harry noticed that. “Are you concerned about me, Styles?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“Someone has t’remember t’bring me a pencil.”

“You could very much bring your own pencil.”

“Well, then I wouldn’t get t’have these lovely conversations every day, would I, Your Majesty?” She shook her head and ignored him as he continued speaking to her. “Hope he fucks y’good and full or whatever,” he called. She glared but refused to look back at him.

*

Harry appeared in one of her classes on the first day of her second year. A transfer from another school. His smile was panty-melting. Truly. Even she could recognize that. But regardless of how pretty he was, it was obvious how annoying he was going to be. He slid into the seat right behind her. “Hi,” he smiled. She ignored him, focusing on her professor starting class syllabus stuff. Besides, it seemed unlikely that someone like Harry was talking to her. “M’Harry,” he whispered.

She started scribbling on her notebook.

“He hasn’t even started yet,” he mumbled.

“Can I help you?” She turned around to look at him.

His smile was breathtaking. It really felt like he stole the breath from her lungs. “Sorry, Your Majesty. Didn’t mean t’interrupt y’doodle. Do y’have an extra pencil?” He asked.

She stared at the twenty-year-old man in his second year of college unprepared for his first day of classes. Perhaps if she rolled her eyes and ignored him, the trajectory of her life might have been something else entirely.

Instead, she handed her pencil to him.

“Thanks, Your Majesty.”

She rolled her eyes, anyway, facing forward.

*

In her Abstract Algebra class Harry was right behind her once more. “Psst.”

She ignored him. But his body was closer, his voice was closer. “Your Majesty,” he practically sang.

“What is your deal?” She hissed.

“I need a pencil.”

“Bring your own.”

“I like the one y’gave me. It wrote so smooth.”

She doesn’t know why she gave him a pencil.

But she really did know.

Harry was obviously handsome and from the way he chuckled under his breath over the lame jokes their professors made, he was quick and probably funny in his own way. But moreover, he had to be intelligent. Really intelligent to understand a pun about probability theory. The way others in the class fawned over him (guys and girls alike) it was apparent he was popular. Maybe popular like Isaac which made her dislike him just a bit.

It went that way every class. Harry was in four out of five of her classes both the fall and spring semester. Every class he needed a pencil. Each day he thanked her in his ridiculously attractive accent. Your Majesty.

What a dick.

But Harry talked to her. Even if it was just asking for a pencil. Or a picture of the notes he missed from when he went to the bathroom. He didn’t care that her family was broke. That she was broke. That she worked three jobs and hardly slept. He didn’t make her feel like she didn’t deserve to be on that campus.

“Did y’get the answer t’number nine?” It wasn’t a trick; he wanted her answer. Her opinion. “I got two different answers three different ways. There was no judgment that she couldn’t afford the extravagant lifestyle that her peers did. She had one winter coat. Not six to match her outfits. She didn’t have a car. She didn’t go out to eat and she made her own coffee except for on Saturdays when she splurged and treated herself to her favorite bagel and her favorite coffee.

Maybe it was because she saw him at a party. A girl at his side, smiling at him. Twirling her hair and touching his pretty chest. It was effortless. She didn’t have to try to flirt with Harry. It was a given. Rich, popular, perfectly pretty. The same as Harry.

Everything she wasn’t. Everything Harry would never want.

So she tended to Isaac. Kept to herself.

Gave Harry an absurd number of pencils.

Which continued into their third year. Where things got busier, harder, and more overwhelming.

But Harry was always right behind her. Asking for a pencil. Making her cranky.

But always making her feel normal when no one else did.

*

It was obvious Harry had money. The key on his ring had a symbol for a car that would never be in her price range. His clothes were pretty, the latest trends. Even his sweatpants looked like they were designer.

Maybe it could have been that way for her. Maybe if her dad hadn’t embezzled all their money. Hadn’t gone to jail and left her and her mother with anything more than a penny. Growing up she didn’t feel rich, but she never wanted. But right as she was applying to colleges, with only one college campus that made her heart happy, it was the first time in her life she thought about and hated money.

She imagined no one on campus ever felt that way.

But even if Harry had the nicest clothes and the nicest car, he never flaunted what he had. Not even to his friends. He didn’t show off or act like he had a ton of money. He was just there.

Which is why perhaps, when he annoyed her to pieces, she didn’t mind giving him a pencil in the end.

*

It was a bad day. She missed her mom. She was exhausted. Didn’t have time to make herself a coffee which just felt criminal. The test on her mind nearly brought her to tears as she sat down in her seat, seconds before her professor walked in.

Her pencil case was empty.

Part of her felt sad she wouldn’t have a pencil for Harry. Would he ask someone else? Would he stop asking her because of it? God, why did she even care? It was a blessing. He would stop asking her. She wouldn’t have to keep wasting money she didn’t have on pencils.

Plus, he wasn’t even there.

The test landed on her table. Her brain felt weary. Was she getting sick? Probably. Stress did a number on her immune system. It was a miracle she wasn’t sick all the time.

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes she tried to calm her mind. It wasn’t the time to think about the reading she needed to complete, the shift she was covering at the academic center, or the dinner she was really looking forward to splurging on. It had been ages since she had chicken in her pasta dish.

“Hey,” how long were her eyes closed? How did she miss him coming to his seat.

“I don’t have a pencil, Harry,” she hissed back.

“Of course, y’do,” she could hear his eye roll.

“I don’t, I forgot my pencil case.”

He snorted. Her eyes flicked to Professor Charles who didn’t look up from his own paper at the front of the room. “C’mon, quit being a brat.”

“A brat?” She whispered.

“Quiet,” Professor Charles still didn’t look up.

“Sorry Your Majesty, jus’ give me a pencil and—”

“I don’t have one!” Her voice was quiet and maybe if she wasn’t only two rows from the front of the room, it wouldn’t have been a big deal when he pulled it out of her grip.

But she was towards the front.

Professor Charles stood beside their desks. “You’re both excused.”

Her face felt hot and pale at the same time. She felt like she was going to throw up. The feeling of eyes on her made her more embarrassed than the time she tripped and fell at her third-grade band concert. “Professor Charles,” she started.

“Enough,” he snagged her paper from her desk. Her throat felt tight, her eyes prickled, and she thought that maybe in a different life she could have been friends with Harry. Liked him, even.

But not then.

She bit on her lip to keep from crying as she packed her stuff into her bag and marched out of the room, head held high, and ignoring everyone’s stare. Especially the guy following her out of the classroom.

*

She slapped the door to the building as Harry continued following her. She was fuming. Practically steaming from his perspective. Yet he couldn’t help but think she looked absolutely adorable. “Quit fucking following me!” She snapped.

“My God, you’re so uptight,” he rolled his eyes.

“Harry Styles, you’re an absolute dick. Just leave me the fuck alone, for God’s sake.”

It garnered the attention of a few onlookers. But their path to the dining hall was quiet given it was the middle of class time. "Jesus Christ, do y’ever jus’ take a break? S’one fuckingtest, Your Majesty. For fuck’s sake. He’ll probably drop it. Quit being a baby."

A sniffle. One small, tiny noise.

"You don't get it do you?" She snapped. She didn’t want to. But she couldn’t hold it in anymore. It was too much. The final straw.

In the entire time Harry had known her he had never seen her this upset. Not like this. Not to the point where she was crying.

Because of him.

He made her cry.

"I have a squeaky-clean record. I have to be perfect all the time. I can't let one hair be out of place. I can't get one bad grade. If I do, then everyone around me makes comments and they assume it’s because I have no money. The poor girl can’t hack it here. It's this massive pressure on me all the time. I can't get caught doing normal party things. I can't get caught cheating on a test, Harry. I can’t. I lose my scholarship if I don't maintain my GPA. I can hardly afford to be here, Harry. I have to work three jobs. I have to budget every minute of my time as much as every dollar of my bank account. Do you know I haven't been home in three years? I miss my mom so much and I can’t even afford to go see her and I just pretend because—” she covered her mouth and Harry swallowed hard, willing himself to not cry as well. This wasn’t about him. This was all about her right now. “And now,” she croaked. “I’m going to have to skip dinner because I need to buy new pencils because I have been giving them to someone who’s too fucking inconsiderate to even fucking return them after annoying me for no better reason that for kicks.”

Her sniffles turned into sobs and Harry had never felt like more of an ass. He thought she was annoying at worst, but he never wanted her to cry.

Her crying, all her tears, they were all his fault.

"I study so hard. I have to. But I want to. I want to make enough money to support my mom, and I can’t do one thing wrong because if I do then I’ll lose everything. I have to study. I’m not like you, Harry. You just know everything and that's amazing, Harry, it really is,” and for the first time since he started interacting with her, Harry felt horrible for the way he had treated her. The compliment she gave was so thoughtful. The kindness in her voice was unmissable. He was practically shocked it even came from her mouth. “But not all of us are gifted with insane intelligence like you. Not all of us are God's gift to women and can go out and party and not be judged for kissing someone I like. Not all of us can afford to be here without help."

Harry kept his lip between his teeth to keep from speaking.

“I’ll get over it,” she sniffed. “Sorry for being so uptight.” She wiped her face and stalked off toward her dorm.

Harry had never felt worse about himself.

*

She wore her best interview dress. Her hair was pinned precisely so that the pieces that constantly flew away were at bay. She swallowed the rock that formed in her throat as she knocked on her professor's office door.

"Come in."

"Professor Charles," she was grateful he didn't look up because she was worried, she was going to curtsey or something equally ridiculous. "I wanted to apologize—"

"Your boyfriend already came to tell me he's at fault for the fiasco in class. He took full responsibility and said it was extremely unfair of me to refuse you the exam."

Her heart skipped a beat. "M-my boyfriend?" She whispered.

"Mr. Styles is very bold and I suppose I was a bit harsh. You are a brilliant young woman and role model to your peers," he praised. "Would you like to take the test now or schedule another time?" He asked looking up from his work.

She swallowed. "Um..."

"I would appreciate it, if you took it now. I need an answer key to grade the rest of them," his voice was steady, but she felt the compliment down to her bones. "I have a class in two hours, and I was hoping to check grading off my to-do list before it started," he explained.

She felt uneasy, overwhelmed, but not like she did when she sat down the first time to take the same exam. "I can do it now," she whispered and dropped her bag at her feet and situated herself at the table on the side of his office below the window. She got to work and completed the test as if all it asked was for her to write the alphabet down. She was checking over her work when she glanced out the window and saw the sprawling campus. There were people walking by at fast clips. Eager to get to the dining halls and rushing to make it to their classes on time.

But in the midst of all the people running by, there was Harry, sitting on a bench. His arm stretched across the back of it, while the other held his phone. He crossed his feet at his ankles and looked like a model for relaxation.

He took the complete blame for the test. She felt her heart aching and she stood from the table and went over to her professor's desk. "Is... Mr. Styles able to retake the exam as well?"

"I wasn't planning on it," he looked up at her. "Why?"

She bit her lip, looked at her feet. "I could have just given him a pencil."

"Mr. Styles should be prepared for his own education," he said knowingly. There was no way she was going to explain her relationship with Harry to her professor. Plus, she wasn't sure she'd be able to. She dropped her gaze and handed off her exam. "You can tell Mr. Styles he can come up and take the test," he said simply. "I have the answer key now."

She blinked.

"He'll probably ace it as well, but your handwriting is neater," he shrugged, tipped his glasses further down his nose and silently read her answers. She stood still, like she was waiting for the danger to pass. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?" He asked glancing back up. She shook her head, pinned to her spot. The strangeness of it all was overwhelming. "Men like Mr. Styles are going to have it a lot easier than you. The field you’ve selected is male-dominated and many will sell you short because of your gender," he said. "That doesn't mean you need to worry about your worth," he assured her. "You are a brilliant, hardworking, and talented individual. Mr. Styles should be bringing you pencils to class."

Her cheeks felt warm.

"Also, to be fair, it's nice to know you're not cheating off of each other because it was getting a little suspicious," he turned her exam back across his desk and wrote her score at the top of her page, upside down—98%. "Missed a negative."

"If Harry misses it, can you knock off more points?" She asked before she could stop herself then felt herself blush at how ready she was to throw him under the bus. She looked down shyly and covered her mouth before she looked up at him again.

Her strict professor made a face that resembled somewhat of a smile. "Of course."

“Thank you,” she hoped she sounded as gracious as she felt.

“Great work,” he nodded in response.

She headed out of the office and walked toward the bench. She sat beside him and faced forward. Harry put his phone back in his pocket and turned only his head toward her. "How'd y’do?" He asked.

"Ninety-eight."

He tutted. "Too bad," he smirked.

A smile twitched at her lips. She looked up at the sky briefly. "He said you can go on up and take it now," she told him.

He blinked. Surprise coloring his pretty features. Harry rarely seemed stunned, especially because of her. It was cute and also exciting that he was surprised by her. "What?"

She looked at her lap, trying to focus on her nails but not for too long because she was worried that she would gnaw on them if she let the nerves overtake her. "That was... the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," she whispered. "Especially for Professor Charles' class," she continued. Taking a deep breath, she looked at him. "I was obnoxious. Bad day or whatever... it wasn't your fault and I’m sorry I made a big deal of it."

"I just wanted you to stop crying. You look ridiculous when you cry."

She smiled. A genuine one. Not a forced one that Harry had seen her give everyone under the sun. Not the one that she plastered on her face during presentations. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. “Y’had every right t’be mad at me. I was a complete dick.”

She shrugged. “I... I should have just given you a pencil... it turned out there was one at the bottom of my bag and... I kind of... like giving you a pencil. You just caught me at a really bad moment.”

“I know. M’sorry. I knew y’looked off.”

She tilted her head at him. “You knew I looked off?”

“M’pretty good at memorizing all your different looks,” he had a smile that made her melt. “Like right now, s’one of m’favorites. Y’look relaxed. It happens once, roughly, every three weeks, I think. Lasts maybe four minutes if m’lucky,” he winked. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. But Harry noticed how her cheeks turned red. It made him want to continue flirting with her. She was fun to flirt with. Her sarcastic comments were funny, even when directed at him, and it only amplified how smart he knew she was.

As much as Harry wanted to stay on that bench for as long as she did, he finally stood. Then rubbed the back of his head squinting at her, one eye closed. "Do you have a pencil?" He asked shyly.

She snorted, plucked hers from her pocket, and held it out to him. "I'd like it back," she reminded him. Even if he didn't, it was their thing now.

He rolled his eyes. "Wait here. It'll only take me half the time it took you." She rolled her eyes but pulled out a book from her bag and opened it to the page she was previously reading. "Hey kitten?" He asked. She didn't look up and Harry realized he never called her anything other than Your Majesty. He nudged her foot to make her look up. "Who did y’think I was talking to?" He chuckled.

"Who me?" She asked, but Harry noted the way her cheeks turned red. He rolled his eyes. "Sorry," she shook her head. "Did you need something else?"

His expression softened and he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you," her voice was so gentle. "I'm sorry too."

"There's nothing y'need t'apologize for,” he shook his head quickly. “I was a complete ass," he admitted. She shrugged.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he said seriously. “Please don’t let anyone treat you that way.” She nodded silently. Knowing that she couldn’t promise that. Nor did she expect Harry to make her keep such a promise, but it made her heart squeeze with disappointment in herself. “Be right back,” he nudged her foot again as he headed back to the math building. She returned to her book and tried not to think about how Harry was probably right. This was the most relaxed she felt in months.

About forty minutes later Harry exited the building, walking at a leisurely pace. He sat on the bench once more. She didn't look up as he did but the butterflies in her stomach reminded her that he was there. Harry draped an arm across the back of the bench and then presented her pencil to her as if it were a bouquet of flowers. "How'd you do?" She asked gently.

He sighed, clucked his tongue. "Ninety-five,” she smiled but tried and failed to hide it from him. "I missed two negatives."

She giggled. "How embarrassing."

"How embarrassing," he mocked in a voice that was meant to sound like her. "You're so annoying. Do y’know he uses your work as the answer key?"

It had to be a record. The longest time they had been together without bickering. The number of times she smiled because of him.

The fastest someone had ever fallen for someone she was supposed to hate.

*

When Harry saw her boyfriend, he started looking for her. He was clearly busy with his friends and the women they were entertaining. But she wasn’t amongst them. He did a loop around the party. Looking for her even if he shouldn’t have. He stopped and chatted during his search so it wouldn’t be obvious. But even when he did stop and leaned against the wall, or grabbed another drink, he kept scanning for her.

When his loop came up empty of the pretty girl he liked to annoy, he wondered where she was and how he could ask without it being weird.

“Hey stranger,” Eleanor smiled and kissed his cheek. “Where’ve you been?”

Louis gave a polite wave to his best friend from across the way, a knowing smile on his lips, grateful that someone he trusted could keep an extra eye on his lady.

“Jus’ wandering around,” he mumbled.

Did he sound disappointed? He felt disappointed.

She stared at him and stood on her toes to reach his ear so she could speak to him directly over the loud music. “She’s not here.”

“What?” Harry pulled back like she slapped him. Was it that obvious? It couldn’t have been. He was just… wandering. Like a lost, lovesick puppy wondering where she was and hoping he would find her to make the weird feeling in his chest go away. Eleanor cocked an eyebrow at him. Silently telling him that hewas not fooling her. “Fuck,” he mumbled sipping his drink. It was pathetic and obvious.

“She doesn’t come to these things,” Eleanor shrugged.

“Why?”

She sighed, rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t want her here.”

Harry felt like the words Eleanor said were spoken in a language he didn’t know. “Who doesn’t want her here?”

“Her boyfriend.”

The grip on the bottle Harry was holding tightened. “Oh.”

“Go ahead. Ask.”

“Ask what?”

“Harry.” He closed his eyes and looked around to find him. It was like he already knew it was going to break him. He didn’t want El to continue even though he knew he needed to hear it. “What he told her to keep her away? She dotes on him too much. Worries too much about her reputation and everyone else’s. She doesn’t have fun. So, he doesn’t want her here. At these kinds of things.”

Honestly, a party didn’t seem like her vibe. She was more of a game night kind of girl. Someone you could take to a family cookout or a pool party with kids. But calling her not fun? Because frankly, Harry realized he hadn’t liked a single party he’d been to in months and it’s because her banter wasn’t there to keep him company.

“Oh,” he murmured. Trying to feign indifference.

“Don’t you want to ask what I think?” Harry didn’t look at his friend. His eyes finally landing on the man that didn’t deserve the sweet, intelligent, and beautiful girl he didn’t invite. He followed his path up the stairs to the second floor. Right as Eleanor told him the worst thing he had ever heard. “He hooks up with other girls and he has the common decency to do it behind her back,” she shrugged.

“What?!” He spit his eyes dropping to Eleanor again. How could she be so casual about this?

“She knows…or I would imagine she suspects,” she shrugged. “But she’s good for his family. They adore her. And he helps her reputation. She’s trying so hard to dig her family—”

It was like he knew. Everything. All of it made sense. Every tiny fiber of her being was made for someone else—whether it was her family who she adored and helped as much as possible, Isaac who didn’t deserve her at all, or even Harry, who honestly wasn’t sure he was much better than Isaac. “Does she know he sleeps with them?”

Eleanor looked at him suspiciously. “I don’t know if they sleep with him. I’m assuming. But I think it’s a pretty good assumption. He’s probably—”

Harry slammed his bottle on the ground shattering it and drawing the attention of those around him. He took the stairs two at a time and opened every door to every room—an unspoken party rule: never open a closed door.

He was breaking it.

A girl shrieked and he just knew he had found the right room. He didn’t pay any attention to her scrambling to cover up her naked chest and instead yanked him clean off the bed. “What the fuck!?” Harry shoved him back into the hall. He was only in his boxers. Piece of shit. Someone whistled and Harry shoved him harder as he tried to push him back and make his way for the bedroom again. “What the fuck, Styles?!”

“Call her,” he snarled. Shoving him against the wall again when he tried to continue escaping. “End it. Now.”

“What are you—”

“You’re going t’cheat on her?” Harry’s voice was venomous. “Her?” He repeated. Like that was really all he needed to say. Everyone was staring now. Harry kept going. “Call her and end it. Or I’m going over and telling her you’re done.”

The stupid prick tilted his head at Harry almost condescendingly. “Do you want her? She’s not like us.”

Harry didn’t like the way he said us. There wasn’t a single connection he wanted to be associated with in context of the vile piece of trash in front of him. Other than he managed to pick the sweetest girl he had ever met. But simultaneously, the very wrong girl to fuck with, because Harry also picked her. Unlike the moron in front of him, he was going to do everything he could to protect her and her heart.

“She’s doesn’t have money. She won’t understand—”

Harry punched him across the cheek before he could stop it and someone else watching groaned at the impact and Harry continued talking. “Tell her now.”

“Christ, Styles! What the fuck!” He rubbed his jaw.

“Tell her.”

“I’m not telling her shit. She knows she needs me more.” Harry jerked back like he had punched him back. “What? You don’t think she’d give up the reputation I have, do you?”

Harry watched him silently for only a moment longer. Without a word, he headed back into the bedroom grabbing the stray clothes. Before anyone could rationalize exactly what he was doing, he was sprinting down the steps and outside.

He threw them in the pool without thinking, ignoring the laughter and shouts from him as he hurried around the side of the house. He continued running and didn’t look back.

*

Harry was in her dorm. On her floor. Stopped in front of her door.

He knocked.

Repeatedly.

There was no answer, but he knew she was there.

So, he knocked again.

And again.

Eventually there was a click of her lock despite the fact it couldn’t be opened without her key card. Of course she was all about safety. Finally, he heard her voice starting to speak as she opened the door. “I’m off duty if you have an emergency, you’re supposed to see the RA on duty and—” The door was open and out of the way before she finished talking. Harry pressed himself inside. “Harry! What are you—”

“Tell me s’not true.”

“What’s not true?”

“Y’know he hooks up with other women?” He glared at her.

The color drained from her face.

Harry rubbed his hand across his face. “What is the matter with you?! Are you so desperate for a scrap of affection you’ll open yourself up t’diseases and shit because you—”

“Shut the fuck up,” she hissed tears stinging her eyes instantly.

“—need him? You don’t need him. You’re a thousand times better than him. A million! Y’could have any guy y’want, and they would still want t’grovel at your feet. Why would y’pick the one Goddamn asshole who—”

“You don’t know shit. Harry Styles. Stop pretending like you know me because —”

“Then explain it t’me because I can’t think of one fucking reason someone as intelligent, kind, beautiful, and hilarious as you would—”

A weird noise left her throat. Almost a squeak. It was adorable. If Harry wasn’t so mad. He would have told her such. Would have reveled in it because she was so fucking sweet and cute. But instead, she asked the most heartbreaking question known to man.

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Her question was so soft. So unbelievably shocked. Innocent. All the words left his head. It was too quiet. His shoulders were rising and falling too hard and too fast. “What?” He shook his head.

She looked at her feet. Harry scanned her. Her shirt was too big. It didn’t look like she was wearing pants. Maybe she wasn’t. Harry hoped she wasn’t. She only wore one sock. Like she lost the other in her sheets or maybe she only purposefully put one on because only that foot was cold. Those pretty eyes looked at him, anxiety, frustration, sadness, all staring back at him from the depth of her soul. “No one has ever said I’m beautiful before.”

Harry felt something die in his chest. He really thought he would start groveling on his knees for her because he was one of millions of guys who wanted to grovel at her feet. He wanted to be better. As soon as he made her cry over missing a test, he wanted nothing more than to be better for her. “No one?”

“Just... my family...” She shrugged.

“Kitten,” he rolled his eyes. “You’re… you’re really beautiful,” he rubbed a hand over his mouth, pinching his lower lip, as he scanned her. “In a way that probably makes a lot of girls jealous,” she snorted. He sighed. “Seriously. Your hair, kitten. It’s... so silky and shiny and your eyes,” he shook his head. “And your brain, my God,” he smiled softly. “M’not even going t’mention your body. Because you’re more than your appearance, but m’really...” he nearly sighed like a lovesick teenager. Maybe part of him still was. “You’re stunning, kitten.”

She blushed. Really blushed. So hard that Harry could see it in the dim light of her room cast from the twinkly lights she had strung around the window. Her cheeks were so red and utterly beautiful. For a second Harry thought it would be easy. All of it. Getting her to like him. Trust him.

Her face morphed into one of utter distrust. “That’s mean,” she whispered. “You’re... that’s mean to...” she shook her head.

“Kitten,” he frowned. Unable to believe she could think like that. He didn’t even know where to begin. Everyone had to like her. She was lovely, beautiful, so intelligent it took his breath away.

But she mistook his hesitation for the worst. She shook her head. “Forget it. You’re just... being nice to me because... because you feel bad or something,” she sniffled. The poor thing couldn’t even take his compliment. Harry wanted to cry. “Just the way everyone else does,” she laughed bitterly. “Thank you for being nice. Or whatever. For wanting to protect me. I don’t need it,” her voice cracked. “You can go back to your party or... whatever it is that—”

“Love,” his heart felt achy.

“No seriously. I get it. I’m too nice. I’m stupid to let him walk all over me but you don’t know the kind of reputation my family has in comparison to everyone here. So yeah. I let him use me as a prop—”

“Stop it,” he snapped and shook his head.

“—because I’m good for his image, too. Even if it makes me miserable and—”

“Kitten, I’m serious. Stop it,” his voice was almost raw. Like he had been screaming for hours. Maybe it was the combination of anxiety and frustration rushing through him. Like adrenaline but worse. He wanted to cry.

“—it’s pathetic that when people see me with him, they see this innocent—”

“Shut. Up.”

“—intelligent girl who doesn’t know anything because her family is poor and broken—”

“Stop it!” His voice took on a new octave. It made her words fall away.

They were both seething with anger and frustration. The tears in her eyes made him sick. Like when he made her cry because she couldn’t take her test. It was only the second time, but he quickly realized he hated it when she cried. “Stop what, Harry?”

“Stop minimizing who you are,” he practically growled.

“Everyone else does it.”

“Oh yeah? Name one time I’ve done that. If everyone has done it; tell me, kitten. When have I. Ever. Made you feel like less?”

She was silent. Finally.

Harry never made her feel like less. He annoyed the shit out of her. Pissed her off and made her sad. But he never made her feel like she didn’t deserve to be on that campus. Never made her feel inferior.

“M’going t’kiss you,” he warned stepping closer to her now that he made his point.

Her brain restarted. Her cheeks flushed again. “Harry, we can’t I’m... in a relation—”

He glared at her as her back pressed to her bed frame. Cornering her in her open room that was suddenly infinitesimally smaller than it was seconds before. “S’not a fucking relationship,” he snarled. “M’not sure what y’were doing. But you’re not doing it anymore. Not with him. Never again.”

“But we were—”

“Y’don’t need him,” he assured her. “Trust me.”

“But—”

“Y’have me, kitten. M’gonna do whatever y’need,” he cupped the back of her neck, making the words stop on the tip of her tongue and put one hand on the small of her back, pulling her to him swiftly and devouring her lips. She moaned instantly, seconds into the kiss. His lips felt like warm little pillows. Cushioning her own. It was intoxicating. Unfairly, he pulled away almost as quickly as it started. “Oh s’nice, kitten,” he praised. “Moaning already,” he pulled back and peppered kisses along her jaw. She whimpered softly, making him groan. “Y’make pretty little noises like that, kitten. M’not gonna be responsible for what comes next,” he warned pressing his lips back to hers.

Her fingers tangled in his hair at the back of her head. Harry leaned forward arching her backward and wrapping his arms around her tightly. He didn’t want to be aggressive, but there was something in the way her mouth tasted, the way her body felt, that he couldn’t stop kissing her. Hardly breathing, or maybe he was trying to breathe all of her in, he continued pulling her lips into his mouth. Hoping that somewhere along the way, they would get stuck like that. Destined to spend eternity attached by their kiss like a Greek punishment. Except the endless touch of her mouth wouldn’t be punishment. Because he wanted it to be endless. Wanted to spend forever showering her with affection because she deserved that and so much more.

“Can I stay the night, kitten? I’ll sleep on the floor if y’want,” his voice was practically ragged. His forehead pressed to hers. “I jus’ don’t want t’leave you. Please don’t make me leave.”

“You can stay,” she whispered, her voice breathless and airy. “Not on the floor, though.”

“M’not a bat, kitten. Can’t hang from your ceiling,” he joked.

She snorted. “C’mon,” she tugged him to her bed and pulled her in right behind her beneath her covers.

There weren’t many times Harry felt peace. “Harry?” She asked, as she settled into his embrace. His lips skimmed along her face, pressing every so often to whatever he could reach. Like he couldn’t stop himself.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

He squeezed her. “You’re welcome, beautiful.”

She sighed. “Your mouth is pretty nice when you’re not talking,” she said quietly.

He chuckled. “Just you wait and see, kitten.”

*

As lovely as the night before was, she tried to maintain a semblance of her routine between replaying the kiss(es) and the angry confession over and over in her head. At the moment, she was grabbing lunch for herself. It was probably going to set her back a bit since she’d need to buy more pencils since Harry stole them all, but she was a little too tired to go without supplying herself with more energy. She pulled her wallet out as the cashier rang her up. “It’s all set, love,” she said sweetly. Tilting her head, she gazed at the woman as if it were a joke.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s all set,” she repeated. “Your food’s been paid for already.”

She blinked, glanced around, looking for someone that fit the description of Good Samaritan. “Who...?”

“I’m not sure. I was just told that if you came through the line to tell you it’s been taken care of. You can get whatever you want,” she shrugged.

Blinking again she glanced around again. A line formed rapidly behind her. She gathered her items and headed for a seat. The one where Isaac usually joined her. But there was no Isaac. She read her book and listened to her music in silence. It was peaceful. When the hour was up, she headed back to the kitchen area to grab another snack, lining up behind the others waiting to check out as well. “Your food’s paid for.”

She felt like she was being pranked. “Again?”

“No, always.”

She felt like her mind was short circuiting. “What?”

“Your meals. All have been paid for. For the year.”

The snack she got was going to be uneaten because she felt like it was a prank. “I don’t understand.”

“I really don’t have more details than that. We were just told your food was paid for.”

“We?”

“My boss left, but I can have him reach out and explain it.”

“Please. Thank you.”

Stunned, she left with her snack. She headed to the library academic center. The tutors on her shift all waved to her. “That gift is for you,” Gabby said. At the front table was a fairly large giftbag. The kind you get for a kid’s birthday and put a board game in it. She looked at it curiously and pulled the tissue paper out of the way. She swallowed the lump in her throat realizing she didn’t need the dining hall manager to reach out to her after all.

She plucked the card from the slot on the side of the bag.

Half are probably for me anyway.

The bag was filled with packages of her favorite pencils. More than she would need for the rest of her undergraduate degree. Maybe even graduate. Or even the rest of her life.

She took a deep breath and pulled out her laptop and opened her email. She typed in Harry’s address, because she still didn’t have Harry’s phone number. Even after making out with him for hours. After waking up in his arms later than she was supposed to and letting his lips linger on her skin.

She wrote her message and pressed send before she could overthink it.

You didn’t have to do that. It’s way too much, actually. I’m a little uncomfortable imagining you spending THAT much money on food and pencils.

Well. If you died of starvation, I wouldn’t have anyone to bother. Kind of a boring way to suffer through the last two years of college—we have Real Analysis I and II next year. I can’t do that alone.

Thank you. That was... very nice of you.

You’re welcome, kitten. Coffee is free too; I went to every shop within walking distance and left your picture. An old ugly one from your mom’s Facebook page, don’t worry. Didn’t want you to get a big head about all of this. It’s not a big deal.

Help yourself to whatever you need and if you need something else let me know.

And this is my phone number so you can stop emailing me like it’s 2003.

She smiled fondly at the message. Closed her laptop and felt happier to be at work than she had in weeks.

*

Harry didn’t force anything. She was lying against his chest in her small room, on her small bed. “I’m sorry it’s so cramped,” she whispered.

“S’better for snuggling,” he shrugged and kissed the top of her head. “Go t’sleep, please, kitten.”

“Don’t you want to... I don’t know, fuck or something?”

“Well, when y’propose it so romantically like that,” he murmured.

She pouted. “I don’t know... I just assumed that...”

“That m’like Isaac? Please don’t make that assumption anymore.”

“So, you don’t want to fuck me?”

“Oh, more than anything,” he tilted her head up and brushed his finger on her warm cheek. “But not until you’re ready.”

“I literally just—”

“No. Y’think s’because we’re supposed to. Not because y’want to,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll wait,” he promised and kissed the tip of her nose, and it was the lamest kind of kiss imaginable. Being twenty-one and melting over a kiss on the nose.

Yet it made her want a thousand more of them. Made her want to cry with how adored she felt. Harry didn’t care that she worked a thousand hours. He didn’t expect her to make out with him. Or blow him. Or anything sexual. No, he practically begged her to sleep in his arms.

It was unfair how sweet he was wrapped up in the body of someone that made her infuriated for the last year and a half. Right as she was about to pass out, she jerked herself awake involuntarily. “Y’okay, love?” He hummed as if she so much as coughed and not nearly punched Harry in the face with her movement.

“Tired.”

“I know, baby. M’trying t’make y’sleep,” he combed her hair down. Traced her spine in the same movement. “Surprise, surprise, you’re a bit stubborn.”

“Who me?”

“Want me t’sing?”

“Don’t want my ears to bleed, no.” Harry chuckled softly. Ignored her.

Then hummed.

It was so warm, so soft, it felt like magic. Harry could sing. That wasn’t on any Bingo cards when she thought about Harry. She didn’t even know what song he was singing. But it lulled her right to sleep.

*

Harry was wrapped around her in the small bed, his head tucked below her chin, his face smushed into the front of her shirt. If she wore a lower cut shirt, Harry would have been drooling on her boobs. “You’re able to breathe in there?” She whispered, threading her fingers through his hair.

“S’the only way I want t’go,” he promised, his voice muffled with sleep and the fabric on her body. “Or with y’legs wrapped around m’head,” he shrugged one shoulder. If Isaac said that to her, she would have punched him. When Harry said it, it made her want to wrap her legs around his head. Made her squeeze her legs together. “Felt that,” he mumbled. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, so he had no choice but to feel it. “Did y’sleep okay?”

She nodded. “Did you?”

“Extremely. Wrapped up in m’favorite girl.”

Her heart fluttered and she kissed the top of his head. Never would she have imagined Harry being so sweet and lovely like this. “Are you... going to be mean in public to me?”

“I hope not,” he pulled away and rubbed his eye. He looked sleepy and boyish. A devilish combination for her skeptical heart. “Have I been mean t’you?” He asked. “I know I tease, but mean?” She supposed he wasn’t mean. Maybe the teasing tricked her.

“I guess the teasing—”

“M’so sorry love,” he frowned and cupped her cheeks, kissed her softly on the lips. “No more teasing,” he promised.

“Well,” she laughed softly. “I kind of like teasing you.”

He smirked. “I don’t want you to think m’mean,” his eyebrows pinched together.

“Can I ask you a question without making fun of me?”

“I think that depends on the question, kitten. If y’ask me some basic math problem like what’s the indefinite integral of x-squared times cosine x or what’s a negative times a negative—”

“Are we dating?”

He stopped his joke and cupped her face. Dropped his forehead to hers and brushed his thumb along her cheek. “I would fucking hope so, kitten.”

She swallowed. “You don’t care that I’m broke? Or that I work a lot and I’m crazy and—”

“No, I don’t care ‘bout any of that. You’re m’favorite person to annoy. The person I look forward t’seeing most in class. You’re the entire reason ‘ve never skipped class.”

Her heart fluttered. “You can’t pay for everything, Harry. It was a sweet sentiment but—”

“M’not letting m’girlfriend starve,” he rolled his eyes.

Her heart definitely fluttered. He was sweet. Harry was sweet. What a revelation. Or maybe she always knew that.

She looked into those beautiful green eyes that made her feel overwhelmed in the best way. “Why do you call me Your Majesty?” She whispered quietly. Almost scared to hear the answer.

He rolled his eyes again. A favorite past time of his. “Because kitten,” he pressed his lips over hers briefly, then kissed her forehead, and finally the tip of her nose. He met her gaze and made sure she was focusing when he spoke again. In a few minutes she would be busy, overwhelmed, and stressed. For the moment, Harry wanted to make sure she knew just how important she was to him. “I think you’re a queen.”

--

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If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[plethorawrites]

can I request Damian x reader but reader is like the opposite she’s clumsy and messy (NOT DIRTY SHES JUST NOT REALLY ORGANIZED) and at first Damian is like no way I could ever like someone like that but then he’s like oh shit I think I like her you don’t have to do it but it was just an idea

(A/N- This has been sitting in my drafts for a bit because people are STILL calling me racist, so I've seriously considered wiping Damian from my page completely. But I love him as a character way too much to do that, so here we are!) (Requests are open again, btw!)

---

Despite being rather pretentious because of his upbringing, I think anytime Damian Wayne is assigned to do a group project, he'd want to go to someone else's house. They usually live in squalor (Middle class) but he deals with it for a few hours because it beats having his classmates fawning over his older brother's or asking his dad if he really used to date Harvey Dent or if that's just a rumor.

Usually, despite the condition of the house (Aka having a dish rack on the counter.) the room they'd work in was pretty clean. But you? Oh, no, no, no. He almost had a heart attack when he saw the state of catastrophe your study room was in.

Books on the ground instead of on the shelves, chair pulled out from the desk instead of tucked in, tons of sticky notes scattered on the walls and reminders pinned up. No one could have that short of a memory, could they? You seemed to.

The number of loose papers on the desk, the open notebooks with illegible writing, fidget toys to relieve stress or increase your focus, cups from when you needed coffee for a late-night study session that hadn't made it all the way to the dishwasher yet. (But it was on the sticky note! Right under the reminder to check your email.

Was that a thing people needed to remember to do?

He was utterly perplexed by the chaos you seemed so comfortable in. What he found most odd though, was how you never made any effort to fix it. He had been to your house three times thus far, trying to make a dent in the project that would take at least another week and each time, your room was the same. He even offered to help you organize (For his own sanity) but you turned him down, claiming you liked it how it was.

"How could anyone possibly like studying like this?" he questioned.

You shrugged. "I find having a pristine desk makes me uncomfortable, like I'm not actually doing work in a space I can relax in," you explained. "Plus, research shows environments like this increase brain productivity."

Damian wasn't sure if he believed that for a single second. But you clearly seemed to.

"But it's so messy," he muttered, motioning to your desk, so covered in God knows what that he couldn't even see what color the wood was.

"It's disorganized, not messy," you retorted. "And I know where everything is. Pencil sharper is by the white out because I use both rarely, erasers are where all the pencils are because I stab the led into them when I'm bored, highlighters are the ruler, which is.... under the syllabus I printed at the start of the year."

You pointed at everything as you said it and he slowly came to the realization that you weren't lying when you said you weren't messy. You kind of, in some weird way, had a system that worked.

Still, it felt uncomfortable for him. For a while. He'd watch you chew on your pencil and reach for tape that came from he didn't even know where, seemingly materializing things out of thin air. You barely even sat in the chair, he realized. He was always the one sitting in it, watching you sit or lay on the floor.

The only time Damian was ever on the floor was when Titus knocked him down or he got beat by his brothers during sparring. (Not that it ever happened..psh, no, don't be absurd.)

He slowly got a bit more accustomed to your room, even starting to find a bit of comfort whenever he stepped into it. It was welcoming, in a way, he'd come to think. When had that happened?

"Aren't you supposed to leave by eight?" you asked him, stretching your arms over your head as you sat on the floor across from him.

Damian frowned, looking at the time. He realized it was already 7:55. Had it already been four hours? It seemed like he just sat down on your rug, which, was surprisingly comfortable.

He hated to admit how much more productive he felt sitting on the floor than at a desk. "Uh, yes, right," he nodded, standing up and stretching as well. "I think we can probably get this finished by Tuesday," he added, feeling a weird pang of disappointment by the thought.

You nodded. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow at four, then," you told him, watching as he packed up his books neatly, the pages fitting back in the nice folder perfectly. "Unless you wanna stay," you suddenly found yourself offering. "For dinner, I mean. If...if you want to. No pressure."

Damian paused, caught off guard by invitation. He stared at you for a few minutes, lips parting but words not leaving his mouth. Dinner? That was probably going to last at least an hour or two. Longer if your parents were the kind to serve dessert or chat a lot. He might not get home until ten or later.

"Sure," he agreed abruptly, though logically he knew he should refuse. He was supposed to be asleep by nine so he could get some rest before patrol. "I'd love to stay for dinner," he remarked, setting his bag back down for what wasn't one or two hours like planned, but four and a half.

How he would explain getting home past midnight to his father, he wasn't sure yet. But he'd find a reasonable excuse. After all, his dad was the one who told him to find normal friends and he was just doing what he asked.

...You were just his friend, right?

[xoxolaw]

+ TUTORING TROUBLE

in which she's failing math and Si-Eun is forced to tutor her. But she's not stupid - just distracted by him.

Yeon Si-Eun x reader

fluff

The red circle on her math paper bled through the page.

30/100.

It stared at her like a personal betrayal, like all the formulas she half-memorized had come together to laugh behind her back.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew that. But numbers swam on the page when her thoughts wandered—and lately, her thoughts wandered often. Especially in one direction.

Toward the boy who sat a few rows ahead of her. The boy who always had a pen in hand and a plan in mind.

Yeon Si Eun.

So when her teacher sighed after class and said, “You’ll need tutoring,” she braced for the worst.

“Yeon Si Eun, stay back. You’ll be helping her.”

Worse arrived quickly.

---

The first tutoring session was quiet. Not awkward quiet, not even peaceful quiet—just Si Eun quiet. Cold, clinical, calculated.

He sat across from her in the empty library study room, barely acknowledging her beyond a single nod and the click of his pen. His eyes were sharper in private. No distractions. No classroom chatter to buffer the weight of his stare.

“Start with page seventy-four,” he said, sliding the textbook toward her. “Functions.”

She pulled the book closer and tried to focus, but the silence thickened between them. Even her pen sounded too loud on the paper.

“You're holding the pen wrong,” he said, suddenly.

She blinked. “What?”

He reached out and adjusted her fingers gently. Just a brush, the pads of his fingers against her knuckles, but her pulse jumped.

“There,” he said, retreating like nothing happened.

She stared at his hand when he pulled it back. Long fingers, smooth movements. Quiet confidence. He didn’t look at her—eyes on the book again—but her cheeks were already warming.

---

Days blurred into routine. School ended. She stayed behind. Si Eun waited with the same unreadable expression. They studied.

But she started to notice things.

He was always early. Never looked annoyed. Never rushed her.

When she asked questions—even stupid ones—he explained them thoroughly. And when she messed up the same problem twice, he never rolled his eyes.

She once mumbled, “Sorry, I’m just not good at this.”

He didn’t blink. “You’re not bad at math.”

She tilted her head. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re distracted,” he said.

Her throat went dry. “By what?”

“You tell me,” he replied without looking at her.

The air grew heavy. She looked down at her paper. Her heart felt loud.

---

The following week, they sat closer. Not intentionally. The table was just smaller. That’s what she told herself.

He leaned in to explain a graph. His shoulder brushed hers. He didn’t move away.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Sharp jawline, furrowed brows, eyes moving across the page with surgical precision.

She blinked down at her notebook again, completely missing his explanation.

“You’re not listening,” he said.

“I am,” she lied.

He turned slightly, and now she had to look at him. The room felt too still.

Then came the moment she’d replay later a hundred times—her hand moved for her pencil, and so did his. Skin brushed skin. A feather-light touch, knuckle to knuckle. She froze.

So did he.

Neither pulled back.

Her fingers twitched. He looked at her, gaze unreadable, but it lingered. Held.

She exhaled, barely a sound.

Si Eun’s voice was soft. “Why is your face red?”

Her heart stopped.

“Because…” she whispered, eyes not leaving his. “You’re looking at me like that.”

A beat passed.

He didn’t respond. Just blinked slowly, then returned to the textbook. But the tip of his ear flushed a deep, unmistakable red.

---

That night, she couldn’t sleep. She stared at the ceiling and thought about the way he looked at her—not cold, not robotic, not superior.

Just… curious. Like he was studying her now, too.

---

Later that week, as they left the study room, a group of boys passed by. She heard one of them laugh and whisper something.

“Still failing, huh?” one of them muttered loud enough for her to hear. “No amount of tutoring’s gonna fix that.”

She stiffened. Kept walking.

Si Eun stopped walking.

“Hey,” he said flatly, turning back.

The boys paused.

Si Eun didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “If you’re done failing your own grades, you can stop projecting onto other people.”

The boy blinked, confused.

Si Eun’s tone didn’t change. “She’s doing fine. Better than any of you.”

She stared at him.

The boys mumbled and left.

He turned back to her. “Don’t listen to them.”

She didn’t know what to say.

So she just walked beside him in silence, but her fingers itched to reach out. Just once.

---

The night before her retake, he stayed late with her—later than usual. The sun dipped behind the classroom windows, leaving them in soft gold light and long shadows.

She was tired. He looked tired, too.

Her head dropped forward, forehead pressing against the open textbook. “I think I’m dead.”

“You’re not,” he said.

“Then I’m close.”

He didn’t answer. She peeked up.

Si Eun was watching her, his face unreadable—but softer than usual. His eyes moved from her face to her notes, then back.

“You’ll pass,” he said.

“You sound sure.”

“I am.”

She smiled. “What if I fail?”

“You won’t,” he replied. “But even if you did…”

He paused. That pause stretched.

“I’d keep helping.”

Her heart did something stupid.

She sat up, trying to mask the flutter in her chest with a forced stretch. “You’re a very dedicated tutor.”

He nodded once. “It’s not about that.”

“What is it about?”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.

Her breath caught.

They both stared. The classroom was silent but charged. A quiet humming beneath everything.

Her hand moved without thinking. Rested on top of his.

This time, he didn’t flinch.

Instead, his fingers turned, slowly, until they laced between hers.

He looked down at their hands like he was still learning how they fit.

Then, gently, he stood.

She followed, and somehow, standing made the space between them smaller.

Her breath was shallow.

And then—carefully, like he wasn’t sure it was allowed—he leaned forward.

Foreheads met.

Not lips. Not yet.

Just skin to skin, her head tilted slightly up, his tilted down. His hand still holding hers. His other hand barely brushing the side of her face.

The contact was feather-light, but it grounded her. Like he was saying everything he couldn’t out loud.

When he pulled back, his eyes stayed closed for a second longer than they needed to.

“You’ll do fine tomorrow,” he said quietly.

She nodded.

“I’ll walk you home,” he added.

She didn’t argue.

---

The next day, she passed the test.

Si Eun didn’t say congratulations. He just handed her a pen—hers now—and said, “Told you.”

But his fingers lingered on hers when he gave it to her. And that said more than enough.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

I hope you enjoyed reading this!!!

TAGLIST

@yeon103 @hikaerys @mizxuqii @jihooneyluv @l5byrinth @inom17 @sunnyophelia @dna-black-and-blue @cayrelyra @maxinehufflepuffprincess

[nhmkhnh]

PAIRINGS: VI X FEM!READER

PREFACE: she ran every calculation, analyzed every outcome— but still couldn’t predict how fucking wrecked you’d make her feel.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: haha i'm back, but nah i remake that loser!vi draft into this thang, yeah.

TAGS: nsfw content · nerd!vi · loser!vi · pervert!vi · possessive!vi · subtext turned explicit · sexual tension · lap sitting · wet dreams · public horniness · accidental touching · strap-on use · vi has zero chill · dirty thoughts and dumber reactions · from moans to mayhem · reader teasing turns vi feral · first time breaking point · horny academic breakdown · dom!vi activation · glasses stay ON · vi says “fuck it” and fucks you.

vi always volunteers to help you review for finals—not because she’s a genius, but because she wants an excuse to sit close. she's that type of nerd who prints out a whole custom cheat sheet in color-coded tabs, highlights things that "might come up," and lowkey loses her train of thought every time your hand brushes hers while reaching for a pencil.

you don’t even notice what she’s doing half the time—but vi? vi is dying quietly.

she’s perched on the edge of her bed, glasses slipping down her nose, hoodie sleeves half-pulled over her fingers as she tries to explain the difference between two formulas. but you lean over to look at her notes, and your shirt slips just an inch. just enough to show your collarbone.

her mouth goes dry.

her voice cracks halfway through a sentence.

“…so if you, um… you d-derive it here…” she coughs and violently turns her face away, pretending to look for her water bottle. “shit. uh. sorry. lost my place.”

you giggle. "you're so red right now."

vi literally cannot breathe. she’s gripping her pen like it’s a lifeline and trying not to imagine things she should not be imagining while you sit there looking like that in her room.

if only you knew the shit she writes in her private notebook later. like how she described your laugh as "effortless dopamine" and rated the way you chew gum a 9.5 on the vi-can’t-focus scale.

oh, and every time you call her smart?

she walks into a wall within the next 15 minutes. without fail.

okay no, listen—vi's not a total creep (or so she tells herself). she’s just… a victim. a victim of your instagram story from last summer, when you were lounging poolside in that sinfully tight two-piece, sipping iced tea with your sunglasses slid low on your nose.

she screenshotted it. without hesitation. then panicked and threw her phone across the room like it burned her fingers.

then… she picked it up. opened it again. zoomed in. cropped out the background. stared for like, a solid minute.

and renamed the file “notes3.pdf” to hide it in her study folder.

vi knows it’s wrong. she knows it’s bad. but gods, it’s 2am and she’s lying in bed, sweaty and flushed and biting the edge of her pillow because that picture of you won’t leave her head. she’s got one hand shoved under the waistband of her sleep shorts, muffling her whimpers with her hoodie sleeve like you’ll hear her through the walls.

the image is so burned into her brain she doesn’t even need to open the folder anymore. all she has to do is close her eyes and pretend your thighs are around her head, your voice breathy and teasing: "what would your little nerd friends say if they saw you like this, huh?"

and every time she comes? she whispers your name into the dark like a secret. like a prayer. then immediately opens a new tab to delete the image. (but she never does.)

she swears she didn’t mean to do it.

you left it behind one day—just a little pink tube, tossed at the bottom of her bag after study group. you’d even said, “you can keep it, i’ve got like five.” but vi didn’t throw it out. she didn’t return it. she just… looked at it. a lot. thumbed the cap. rolled it up to see the worn-down curve of the balm where your lips had pressed.

then she opened it.

took a deep breath.

it smelled like strawberry and sin.

the first time she tried it, she was alone in her room, curled up in her hoodie, laptop on her thighs—but she couldn’t stop staring at the tube. like it dared her. so she twisted it up and dragged it across her lips, slow. pretending it was you doing it. pretending you were leaning down, whispering, “hold still, baby, let me take care of you…”

she got so worked up from just that thought, she had to shove her laptop off her legs and grind into her pillow like a desperate, useless virgin who’d never been touched before. and let’s be honest—she kinda hasn’t.

now it’s routine. every night. lights off. chapstick on. fingers in. you in her head.

sometimes she gets bold—leans back in her desk chair, spreads her legs, one hand down her sweats and the other gripping the damn chapstick like she’ll die if she drops it. whimpering out “fuck—fuck, please, please—“ to no one but the air.

when she comes, her thighs shake. and the chapstick’s still there. resting on her chest like a trophy. like it owns her.

and it kind of does.

vi thought she was being quiet. thought the pillow stuffed against her mouth and the gentle whirr of her desk fan would cover it. she was wrong.

it was just another night—2:43am, hoodie halfway stripped, the room dim and warm, the air tasting like sweat and shame. she was on her back, legs bent, one hand down her sleep shorts, the other gripping the edge of her blanket like it could keep her from falling apart.

you’d texted her earlier: “sleep tight, nerd 💛” and that was it. that was all it took.

now every time her fingers slip against her clit, her brain plays out imaginary scenes of you calling her that—“nerd”—but in a voice all breathy and mean and teasing. like you’re on top of her, straddling her, watching her fall apart.

and this time?

this time she just… lost control.

she was so close, she didn’t even realize her voice was rising— didn’t even catch it when her lips parted and she moaned, "f-fuck—… please—don’t stop—"

then a cough. a loud-ass, unmistakable cough from the other side of the room.

her whole body locked up. wide-eyed. palm still buried between her legs.

roommate: “…you good, dude?”

vi: "…yep. just—bad dream."

the silence that followed was biblical.

she didn’t move for ten minutes. just laid there, hand still wet, face on fire, heart slamming so hard against her ribs she thought she might throw up.

next morning? roommate didn’t say a word. but vi swears she caught them smirking when you came over later, all sunshine and oblivious charm, giving vi a hug while she stood stiff and red and sweating.

it started off innocent—summer heat, library ac busted, both of you sweating through your shirts after walking across campus. you stopped by a corner shop, bought two cones, handed one to vi without a second thought.

she didn’t even lick hers.

because the second she turned to look at you, you were already dragging your tongue up the side of yours, slow and absent-minded, eyes somewhere off in the distance, lips parted slightly like you didn’t even notice what you were doing.

vi did.

she noticed everything.

your lips wrapping around the tip. the way the ice cream melted and slid down your wrist. how you licked it off with one long stroke, then sucked your finger clean like it was nothing.

her cone melted in her fist. she didn’t take a single bite.

she just stood there in stunned, boner-deep silence, heat flooding her body in places that had nothing to do with the weather. her thighs clenched. her ears burned. her heart was punching holes in her ribs.

all she could think— that could be me. fuck, that should be me.

she walked into a street pole two minutes later. didn’t even notice until you gasped and ran over. she blamed the sun. you bought her a new cone.

later that night, she stared at her ceiling with a hand between her legs, moaning your name into the darkness while whispering, “just like that. just like that—f-fuck, yeah, eat me like you ate that cone—”

it happened while you two were packing for a weekend trip—just a casual little beach getaway with friends, nothing serious. vi was helping you toss stuff into your duffel bag while pretending not to stare every time you bent over in your shorts.

and then— you flung a whole handful of clothes her way and said, "can you fold those for me real quick? thanks, babe!"

her brain short-circuited at “babe” alone, but then her hands sank into the pile— and wrapped around something soft, thin, lacy.

it took her half a second to realize what she was holding. another half second to look down and see— your panties. your favorite black lace pair.

vi didn’t move. didn’t breathe. just stared.

they were still warm.

she went rigid, every single muscle in her loser nerd body locking up like a corrupted file. her ears turned red. her lips parted. and before she could stop it— a tiny whimper escaped.

just—“ah.” soft. pitiful. broken. like she’d just been stabbed by horny.

and then?

she bolted.

mumbled something like “gotta pee real quick!” and sprinted to the bathroom like her life depended on it. the door slammed. the lock clicked.

and she collapsed against the sink, clutching your underwear in both hands like it was a sacred object, forehead pressed to the mirror, whispering— “you’re so fucked up, violet. so fucking sick. but gods, they smell like her. fuck—”

she didn’t even make it to the toilet. dropped to her knees right there on the bathroom rug, panties clutched in one hand, the other between her legs, hoodie sleeves rolled up and teeth biting down on the fabric to keep quiet.

came fast. came hard. tried to wash her face like nothing happened. came out five minutes later looking destroyed.

you: “you okay?”

vi: “yep. super good. hydrated. thriving.”

you: “…why are your ears red?”

vi: “sunburn. shut up.”

the lecture was boring. the lights were dim. the professor was talking about something vi didn’t care about—maybe economic theory, maybe planetary motion. who knows.

because in front of her? you were chewing your pen.

and not like a normal person. no. you had your lips wrapped around the end of it—slowly. you’d suck for a second, then bite gently. then drag your teeth down the plastic shaft like it owed you money.

vi’s entire consciousness evacuated her body.

she blinked. once. twice. and then just… froze. pen halfway in her mouth, tongue poking the inside of her cheek— you looked like a whole fucking wet dream and didn’t even know it.

vi’s thighs clenched under the desk. her grip on her notes turned deathly. her glasses started fogging up and she swiped them off, pressing her face into her sleeve, “fuckfuckfuck—” under her breath, shaking like a damn leaf.

every time you twirled the pen or bit it harder, she swore she could feel it. in her stomach. in her chest. between her legs.

and then you stretched.

arms over your head. shirt riding up. vi saw a sliver of bare back and nearly came on the spot.

she had to excuse herself.

muttered something about needing to print slides, rushed out of the lecture hall and into the first empty bathroom, slammed the stall door, and buried two fingers into her soaked panties with the desperate grace of someone not okay.

panting, head back, she came whispering your name and the word “pen” like it was a sin she couldn’t stop committing.

she went back to class 20 minutes later with shaky legs and didn’t remember a single word of the lesson.

vi was halfway through a ranked match—keyboard clacking, headphones on, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. she didn’t even notice you approach until you laughed and said:

"ugh, i’m tired. let me sit here for a sec."

and before she could ask what “here” meant—

you sat. right on her lap. facing the screen. wiggling to get comfy.

vi flatlined.

like, physically short-circuited. her hands froze. her headset slid crooked on her head. every neuron in her brain screamed what the fuck while her body screamed don’t move or you’ll die.

because you weren’t just sitting. you were squirming. and you had no fucking clue you were grinding down onto her lap like a tease with zero self-awareness.

her thighs tensed. her breath stuttered. and her dick— (her strap, tucked under sweats because she was feeling a lil fruity that day) shifted. pressed. throbbed.

right beneath you.

her voice cracked.

“uh—fuck—b-babe, wh-what are you—”

you shushed her. “you’re playing, right? don’t mind me.”

and you leaned back. all the way into her chest. let your arms rest on hers. melted into her like you didn’t just turn her into a human vibrator.

she didn’t even finish the match.

dropped the mouse. let out this pathetic little moan in your ear— and grabbed your waist with both hands, fingers digging in.

“i—i can’t fucking take this,” she whispered.

you froze. and felt it. the outline of the strap. rock hard under you. the way she was breathing—so heavy, so fucking desperate.

her voice rasped, low and ruined: “you’re gonna sit here and be good, yeah? or i’m fucking this into you. right now. on this chair. don’t care if the door’s open.”

the skies opened without warning. vi was already seated when you burst in—out of breath, soaked to the skin, laughing.

“fuck,” you huffed, brushing hair out of your face. “i didn’t bring an umbrella.”

and that’s when she saw it.

the white shirt. soaked. transparent. clinging to your chest like a second skin. every. damn. curve. the lace of your bra outlined in full definition. drops of water trailing down your collarbones. your thighs shining with rain and sweat.

and vi?

vi died.

her eyes went wide. her mouth dropped open. she blinked so hard her glasses fogged up just from body heat. her throat went dry. her brain emptied like a deleted word doc.

you waved at her.

she waved back. missed. hit the edge of her chair.

you sat beside her. legs crossed. shirt still soaked. and every time you shifted in your seat, the fabric pulled across your chest just enough to make her pulse spike.

she couldn’t think. couldn’t breathe. couldn’t stop imagining things.

how your skin would feel under her hands. how that soaked shirt would peel off with a sticky sound. how her tongue would follow every drop down your stomach until—

"vi."

she jumped. looked up. the professor was calling on her.

vi stammered. “i—i didn’t—um—sorry, could you repeat the—yeah. just—sorry. my brain’s��um—rain.” everyone laughed. you leaned over and whispered: “you okay, nerd?”

her legs clenched so tight under the desk she might’ve bruised herself. and then, after class, she disappeared into the bathroom for a solid twenty minutes.

no one asked.

no one needed to.

the sigh she let out behind that locked stall door said it all: “holy fuck, i’m gonna die for this girl.”

it started slow.

just a dream. warm, hazy, too good to be real.

you were on top of her, hips grinding into hers, thighs caging her in, hair messy, lips parted. you were panting. desperate. fucking gorgeous.

and you were saying her name. over and over. "vi. vi. god, vi—right there, right there—don’t stop—"

her hands were on your ass. your nails were clawing down her chest. her strap was buried deep in you and your walls were so tight and you were so wet and— fuck. she couldn’t hold it.

in the dream, she grabbed your hips, slammed up into you, and came with a broken, ragged moan.

and in real life?

she came too.

in her fucking sleep.

body shuddering. thighs trembling. sweat slick on her forehead. hand still in her panties. your name slipping from her lips in a soft, gasping whisper: "fuck—"

and her roommate heard it. of course they did.

“…vi? dude, you good?”

vi jolted upright like she’d been electrocuted. soaked through. blanket kicked off. hair a mess. pussy still pulsing.

she couldn’t even lie. just sat there like a broken sim with her hand still halfway in her sweats.

"…yeah," she croaked. "i'm great."

BONUS: BREAKING POINT

you were sitting on her lap again. like nothing. like you didn’t know what you were doing.

your ass—warm and soft—pressed snug against her thighs. you giggled, wiggled, threw your arms around her shoulders, and leaned in like this was just another game. "hey, cutie nerd."

vi gripped your thighs. tight.

her jaw tensed. her glasses slid just a little down her nose. you were facing away, oblivious, the hem of your skirt brushing her knees, your scent everywhere—like sunscreen and body lotion and danger. vi had been keeping it together. she’d tried. gods, had she tried. all those months of being your sweet little nerd—tutoring you, stammering when you bent over, blushing when you called her pretty.

but today?

today you fucking whispered:

"does sitting on you turn you on, vi?"

right into her ear.

click. that was the sound of something inside her snapping. a line that had been stretched way too thin—too many nights of your casual teasing, too many dreams soaked through with your name on her tongue.

she stood up. lifted you. just—grabbed your waist like it was nothing and hauled you into her arms, like you didn’t weigh a thing.

“vi—?”

you barely got the word out before she dropped you onto her bed. sheets soft beneath your back, knees still apart, skirt pushed up.

vi was on top of you in a second. breathing hard. glasses still on. eyes wild. voice low and dangerous.

“you wanna tease me, baby?” her hands were on either side of your head now. “call me a nerd? sit on my lap like you don’t know what you’re doing?”

you blinked up at her. wide-eyed. silent.

that look broke her too.

she grabbed your wrists. pinned them to the mattress. her breath came out sharp, heated. her thigh slotted between yours and pushed—firm, slow, right up into your center.

you gasped.

she grinned.

“then fucking take it.”

her mouth slammed into yours. nothing sweet. all teeth and heat and desperation. her tongue curled against yours, hands squeezing your wrists so hard you whined into the kiss. and vi— vi moaned like she’d been starving for this.

like she needed you to breathe.

“gods,” she muttered, lips against your cheek, then your jaw, then your throat. “you don’t know what you do to me. you think i’m stupid, don’t you? think i didn’t notice when you bent over in that skirt on purpose? you think i didn’t see that lacy shit you wore yesterday?”

she bit your neck. not enough to mark. but enough to make you gasp.

“you really want me to snap, huh?” she growled the words as her hand slid up your thigh. fingers dragging your panties down, slow and messy. “you want your pervy little nerd to go feral on you?”

you didn’t even get the chance to answer. her fingers dipped between your folds—just once, slick and lazy—and she groaned.

“fucking soaked,” she breathed. “you sat on me like this? fuck—”

she pulled back. stripped her hoodie and shirt in one movement, still panting. you saw the strap—thick, already strapped in tight beneath her sweats—and your whole body arched.

vi saw the way you looked at it.

“yeah?” she murmured. “want it?” she climbed back over you, grinding the strap against your bare cunt. “beg.”

you whimpered. “please…”

“please what, baby?” her hand was back on your neck now, not choking—just firm. just reminding you who was on top. “say it. say you want me to fuck you.”

you swallowed. “i want you to fuck me, vi—please, i need it, i’ve been teasing you because i—fuck, i want this—”

she didn’t wait. didn’t give you another chance to speak.

she grabbed your thigh. hooked it over her arm. lined up the strap and slammed in.

you screamed.

in the best way.

it was deep. unforgiving. her hips snapped forward, again, again, her hand covering your mouth to muffle the way you were falling apart.

she leaned down, forehead against yours, fucking you harder than you ever imagined this awkward, stammering nerd could.

“you’re so tight,” she groaned. “so fucking good—fuck—why didn’t i do this sooner? you wanted this. you needed this.”

you nodded desperately under her. legs shaking.

she pulled out halfway—then slammed in again, harder. you cried out, body clenching, back arching.

vi snapped her hips again. “was this what you wanted, huh? your little nerd to break and ruin you?”

you whimpered into her palm.

“then don’t you dare fucking tap out, pretty girl.” her rhythm got faster. rougher. “i’m not done with you yet.”

your orgasm hit so fast it shattered you.

she didn’t even slow down.

kept fucking you through it—eyes locked on your face, watching the way you fell apart under her, shaking and sobbing and trying to breathe.

when you moaned her name—broken, pleading—vi moaned back. whispered, “i love it when you say it like that…”

then she kissed you. deep. slow.

and started fucking you all over again.

[wandaslittleweirdo]

A/N: she’s so sweet and momma I can’t :(((. I want to do a part 2 of this with some more smutty stuff or lactation kink, tehe . — masterlist.

tw: age gap > reader is 20 wanda is 36, pet names (sweet girl, dear, angel), a lot of fluffs & wanda spoiling reader !1!1!1!!!!!1!

milfy!librarian!wanda ༝༝ fem!reader

ೀ “You finding everything okay, dear?” She asked softly.

Her eyes had found you from the far side of the room, where you were looking through the reference and special collections section, a notebook and mechanical pencil clutched tightly in your hands.

You wandered back and forth in that same category for almost an hour searching for something of interest. Each time you paused to pull out a book or crouched down to examine the titles on the lower shelves, Wanda’s gaze followed you. When you finally found a book you liked and went to check out, you saw her behind the counter, already watching with small smile on her face.

You had never seen a woman so beautiful in your entire life, and when she offered a little finger wave, the book slipped right out of your hands and hit the floor with a loud thud.

Upon first meeting, you were shy and couldn’t understand why this sophisticated and incredibly attractive older woman would be drawn to a somewhat directionless twenty-year-old girl like yourself. But despite your initial hesitation, her gentle demeanor and effortless charm put you at ease, even as you struggled to speak and stand up properly.

She always made time to ask about your school life, wondering how you were progressing with your studies. She loved the days when you burst through the library doors just as she was about to close up, watching as you would leap into the room with such enthusiasm, practically bouncing on your feet as you proudly announced your latest achievement—an A on a difficult test or a perfect score of 100% on an assignment. Her praises filled the air, and she would beam with pride, celebrating your success as if it were her own.

You could hardly contain your excitement as the soft creak of the library doors would mark your arrival, your heart swelling at the sight of Wanda behind the counter, bathed in the warm, dim glow of a single reading lamp. The library would be empty, and soon you'd hear her sweet, soft voice calling you over, a warm smile on both your faces, knowing a small treat awaited you.

With a twinkle in her eye, she’d reach into her pocket and pull out a small, shiny wrapper that glimmered under the light—a crinkled piece of gold foil. Inside lay a special chocolate, the fancy ones with an intricate swirl design and a tangy raspberry center. It was a little reward for your dedication to studying, calling you ‘her good girl’ as she stroked your cheek or your hair.

She would lean in, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she motioned for you to come behind the counter. "Come here and open your mouth nice and wide for me, sweet girl,"

You never hesitated, eager to hear Wanda hum softly in satisfaction as you obeyed her orders without a second thought. She’d place the chocolate on your tongue, her fingers grazing your lips.

When you would dress up all nice, you would discreetly glance out of the corner of your eye and watch as she left her spot behind the counter, completely forgetting about her duties just to come over and compliment you.

“You look even more beautiful than usual, angel. Did you do something to your hair?”

“Yes! I just styled it a bit.” You said, voice shaking slightly as she reached out to pick up a few of the soft strands.

“Who exactly are you dressing up for, then?” she asked, the words almost biting as they left her lips.

“…You.”

A mix of surprise and delight flashed across her face as she processed your answer. That was the first time you had said something even slightly bold towards her. She let out a soft, nervous chuckle, her cheeks tinged with a delicate blush.

“Oh, that’s great then! I was worried that you had plans for a date after this or something,” she confessed, and your smile grew.

“I promise, I’m only going home after this. I just wanted to look nice for you…”

She would keep the library doors open long into the evening just for you, took a genuine interest in the projects you did on the library computers and often stopped by with encouragement and guidance. She even took the time to understand your reading preferences, carefully selecting books that matched your interests. Whenever new titles arrived, she’d set aside the ones she knew you'd enjoy, creating a special collection just for you.

You once mentioned that you didn’t have your own computer—the second reason you spent so much time at the library. You barely had enough money for college; affording a personal computer was out of the question when the library computers were free and accessible to anyone. In that same conversation, you had also mentioned that your birthday was tomorrow.

The next day, she stopped you with a knowing grin. “I left something for you upstairs,” she said, gesturing toward the far corner of the second floor—your favorite study spot.

When you arrived, your usual table was overflowing with balloons, confetti, and piled with surprises: a brand-new computer wrapped perfectly with a ribbon, a letter stuffed with cash, and three rare, expensive books you’d been wanting for years. And perched at the very top of it all was a single cupcake.

Beside it sat a small note. You took it between your fingers, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. And then, as your eyes moved over the elegant curves of her handwriting, your heart nearly melted.

“…and a little treat for my favourite girl. Happy birthday—W.M. ♡”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[slutzforbueckers]

sidelines

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: fluff(maybe a little angst)

synopsis: in which paige works her way into your life and you have a hard time letting her in. based on sidelines by phoebe bridgers.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you used to live on the edges of everything—emotionally bulletproof, untouchable in that numb, untethered way people envy until they realize how lonely it is. you didn’t care how people perceived you, if they did at all. you threw on your hoodies and sweats, your hair a mess on your head, because you didn’t care, because you had nothing to prove.

you weren’t afraid of anything. not really. not the slow leak of time, not being broke, not even failure. you’d already done that dance—started college once, flunked out, moved home, drifted. life was just something that happened around you while you stood there, hands in your pockets, watching the waves crash. you watched life from the sidelines, watching everyone fall in and out of love, smile like the world was made of candy and rainbows.

none of it interested you, the fake smiles and relationships that never lasted. you liked being alone for the most part, but sometimes you wished you could step into the real world, have someone admire you like you were the most perfect thing to ever walk planet earth.

but you were too caught up in watching everyone else that you didn’t notice her watching you. paige noticed you even with your hoodie pulled over your head, eyes trained to the ground to avoid eye contact with anyone, she noticed you. you intrigued her for some reason, she wanted to know you, wanted to know your mind, your thoughts, why you walked like there was a grey cloud hanging over your head.

she noticed you, and she couldn’t stop noticing.

you always sat in the very back of class, headphones in until the professor started, backpack still zipped, notebook barely touched. that’s when she came in, you watched her stumble through the heavy doors and scan the room like it was her first time being here. the professor gave her a shake of his head and turned back to the chalkboard.

paige made her way up the stairs and took a seat next to you. your eyes met hers for a brief moment before you turned away, and for the first time paige’s heart skipped a beat. as the lesson dragged on she stole quick glances your way, watching as you doodled rather than write down what was being said. you noticed her watching, could feel it when her eyes darted to the side of your face, but you didn’t say anything. it was new, being watched the way you watch others, but it was sort of nice.

you pressed down on the paper with too much force and your led snapped. a frown tugged at the corners of your mouth as you shook your pencil and it didn’t make noise, signaling there was no more led. that was your only pencil and maybe paige knew that because she slid hers towards you without thinking twice. you looked up at her, longer this time, but you didn’t take it—not yet.

“im sure you need that.” you muttered, looking down at the pencil then back to her.

“nah, i’ll just get the notes from you later.” she shrugged. she knew you hadn’t been writing anything down, nothing important anyway, but she was making conversation, opening the door into your life.

“good luck with that.” you snickered, taking the pencil and going back to your drawing.

paige smiled at that—an actual, lopsided smile that made her cheeks flush just a little. it wasn’t much, but it was the first time you’d said more than two words to anyone in that class, and it was to her. that meant something. at least, she hoped it did.

you twirled the pencil between your fingers, more focused on that than the diagram the professor was explaining on the board. your eyes flicked to paige once more, catching her mid-glance. her face didn’t falter. she didn’t look away, didn’t pretend she hadn’t been watching you again. instead, she leaned back in her seat and gave you the smallest nod, like she was silently saying, yeah, i’m looking. so what?

it disarmed you more than you wanted to admit.

after class, you packed up slower than usual. headphones looped around your neck instead of blasting your ears, and you were hyper-aware of the way paige stood up and didn’t rush off. she lingered, waiting. maybe for you, maybe not, but something in you wanted to believe it was for you.

“we should—“ she stopped herself, rethinking her choices, but then you looked up at her—eyes curious and cautious all at once. “we should study together. maybe we can figure things out together—this class, i mean.”

you should’ve said no, everything in your body told you to say no. that letting people in only ever led to disappointment, that golden girls like paige didn’t talk to people like you unless it was for a bet or a laugh or a project grade but something in her voice—steady, casual, not forced—sounded like truth and you agreed.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

the library smelled like paper and quiet and that faint, sterile cold of too much air conditioning. you hated it here—too bright, too clean, too many people pretending they had their shit together. but you were sitting across from her at a small table, tucked away in the back corner, pretending to read the same paragraph of your textbook for the third time in a row.

she hadn’t said much since you sat down, just smiled at you when you arrived, asked how your day was, then went back to highlighting with the kind of focus that made you feel like you were the one being studied.

you couldn’t stop staring at her, the way she kept tucking her hair behind her ear, even though it never stayed, the soft way she chewed the corner of her pen cap when she was deep in thought, the subtle creases between her brows when she squinted at something on the page. you wondered if she was actually confused, or if she was pretending to be just to spend time with you.

the thought made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t have a name for.

“so,” she said suddenly, sitting back and stretching, arms over her head, hoodie lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of her waist. “are you actually following this, or are you just good at pretending?”

you blinked. “i’m following like… sixty percent of it.”

she laughed—this soft, genuine sound that made your chest ache. “that’s about fifty-nine percent more than me.”

you let out a breath of a laugh, more surprise than amusement but the sound brought a smile to her face anyway. “didn’t realize you struggled with anything.”

she raised a brow. “wow. you think I’m good at everything?”

“don’t get cocky,” you said before you could stop yourself, eyes flicking down to your textbook. “just figured the school golden girl would’ve figured out how to cheat the system by now.”

she was quiet for a beat. you glanced up, immediately regretting it—but she was smiling. not offended, not smug, just smiling at you like you’d said something honest and interesting and worth hearing.

“you know, most people try really hard to impress me,” she said, voice light, but her gaze sharp.

you shrugged. “maybe that’s your problem.”

her smile widened, but she didn’t fire back. just leaned in a little, elbow on the table, chin in her palm. you looked down at your notes, suddenly aware of how much your hand was shaking. she didn’t say anything else, just let the silence settle between you. you tried to focus after that, you really did, but her presence—her attention—was louder than any textbook could compete with. and somewhere between reviewing your notes and listening to the scratch of her pen, something in your chest cracked open, just a little.

“why me?” you asked suddenly, not looking up. “out of everyone in that class, why’d you wanna study with me?”

she didn’t answer right away, just sat there, still and quiet.

“because you’re different.”

she said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it didn’t mean everything. you didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything. just nodded once, small, and flipped the page in your book even though you hadn’t finished the last one. paige didn’t push, didn’t tease, but she stayed.

and for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

the rain had started sometime after sunset, soft and steady against your apartment windows, the kind of sound that made silence feel safer. you hadn’t meant for her to come over—not really. it was one of those “we should study later” things, tossed out casually at the end of class like it didn’t matter, like you hadn’t been thinking about her every other minute since the library.

but now she was here, sitting on your bed with her hoodie sleeves pushed up, thumb absently scrolling through her notes while you paced your tiny bedroom like the walls were closing in. you couldn’t sit still, not with her here in your space, not with the way her presence filled the room so easily, like she belonged.

you ran a hand through your hair, messy and unbrushed, same hoodie you’d thrown on this morning still clinging to your frame. “sorry it’s not, like… pinterest-worthy in here.”

paige glanced up, her lips quirking. “i like it. it’s real.”

you scoffed under your breath, tugging at your sleeve. “that just means it’s messy.”

she didn’t respond, just kept looking at you, and you hated how that made you feel—exposed, soft, like she could see every thought bleeding through your skin. you moved onto your bed, kneeling beside her and studying her face. things had gotten real between you two, too real for your liking, it scared you.

“i don’t get it,” you said quietly. “why you keep showing up. why you… like me.” the room stopped spinning for a moment. paige closed her laptop and set it aside, reaching out and pulling you into her lap, you let her. “i mean,” you laughed, but it came out hollow, “i’m not exactly a prize. i’m a little fucked up, if you haven’t noticed.”

“i’ve noticed,” paige said, and your heart stumbled. “but that doesn’t scare me.”

“i spent most of my life feeling like I wasn’t in it,” you said, voice low, like you were confessing something sacred and she listened to every word. “like I was watching through a glass wall. everyone else just… fit. and I was the weird one. quiet, detached, too much or not enough at the same time. i never really belonged anywhere.”

paige’s hands found their way around your waist and you let her, you didn’t move away. “so when you say things, when you look at me like i’m something worth noticing—i don’t know what to do with that.”

paige didn’t speak right away, she just held you tighter, arms wrapping around you with a kind of gentleness that made your chest ache. her forehead pressed lightly against yours, her breath mingling with yours in that narrow space between.

“you don’t have to do anything with it,” she murmured. “you just have to believe it’s real.”

you closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry, not to crack open right there in her lap—but you felt the way her thumb moved along your back, slow and grounding, like she knew you were on the edge of unraveling.

“it’s just hard,” you whispered. “letting someone in when you’ve spent your whole life thinking no one would stay.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” she said, like it was the easiest promise in the world. “you can try to push me away, and yeah, maybe you will sometimes. but i’ll still come back.”

you looked at her then, really looked—at the soft pink of her lips, the raw honesty in her eyes, the slight wrinkle between her brows when she was being serious. she wasn’t just saying it, she meant it.

your fingers curled into the front of her hoodie, tugging her in closer before you could stop yourself. “what if I don’t know how to do this?”

“then let me show you,” she whispered. “let me show you how it feels to be wanted.”

and then she kissed you. not like it was something casual or curious, but like it mattered. like she’d been waiting for this, like she’d been ready for you—every rough edge, every broken part, every wall you hadn’t known how to tear down.

her lips were warm and patient against yours, and you kissed her back with something that felt a little like hunger and a little like surrender. your hands slid up her chest, burying in her hoodie as she held you steady in her lap, her fingers curling into your sides like she never wanted to let go.

the kiss deepened slowly, rhythm lazy and full of unspoken things—hope, longing, the quiet fear that maybe this was too good to last. but for now, in the soft lamplight of your bedroom with the rain still falling outside, it felt safe.

you pulled away just enough to breathe, eyes fluttering open to find hers already on you.

“i don’t know how to be someone’s person,” you confessed, voice raw.

“you don’t have to be,” paige whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “just be you. that’s the only person I came here for.”

and that was when it hit you—not all at once, but in small, sharp pieces: she wasn’t trying to fix you. she wasn’t afraid of what scared everyone else away, she just wanted to know you. you leaned in again, kissed her softer this time—slow and grateful and full of the weight you’d carried for too long. and when her arms closed around you again, you let them.

you let her because for the first time, maybe ever, someone wasn’t asking you to change.

“don’t push me away.”

she was asking to stay.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

watching the world from the sidelines

had nothing to prove

til you came into my life

gave me something to lose

[punkitt-is-here]

Had to write a three-page screenplay script for a "Discovery" for class. Didn't have any further instructions. It's super off-the-cuff, but I wanted to share it. Happy pride <3

INT. COLLEGE DORM - NIGHT.

A college student sits at his desk, sketching. It's a one room apartment, and his roommate is sound asleep. He's sketching in the light of a single lamp, being quiet. The student, GABE (male, 19) is drawing a cartoon version of himself. He's studying outfits from a fashion catalogue, drawing himself in different ones. He bites the tip of his pencil, not feeling the piece he's working on. He rolls his chair back, reeling away from the desk. Gabe puts his hands in his hair, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. He lets out a long exhale. It's late.

After a moment, he rolls back to the desk. Tapping the pencil to his head, he flips through the pages. It's an unremarkable task, stopping on a random page. Oh, the women's fashion section. It has simple, practical outfits for girls, including a jean skirt. Gabe peers at it. Fuck it, it's late. He erases the pants of one of his drawings and pencils in a skirt instead.

He pauses.

He stares at it.

Something here is weird.

He goes to erase it, but once he does, he just draws it in again. This time with more care. More detail. He stares at it again.

Tears well up in his eyes.

GABE

(whispering)

…what the fuck?

Gabe, confused, touches his hand to his eye. He looks at the tear on his finger. Huh? He stares at the drawing again. He looks back at his roommate, sound asleep. He's having some sort of moment, but he has to be quiet. He frantically looks back at his sketchbook.

GABE

(whispering)

Uh…

A beat.

Gabe starts drawing himself again. In the women's fashion this time. It's like a whole different world. He's drawing like crazy. It's all flowing out of him. He draws another.

And another. Slowly, details start to adjust in his art.

Longer hair. Longer eyelashes. Daintier poses. More smiles.

He's got tears running down his face, but he's not wearing any emotion. He's not sure what to think.

CUT TO

An indeterminate amount of time later. Gabe stares at his notebook. It's full. It's lots of drawings of him.

As…well, he guesses as a girl. But he's not one. He flips through the book again, then turns towards the dark window his desk resides next to. He looks at himself. Patchy facial hair and a shaggy haircut.

CUT TO

INT. DORM HALLWAY - NIGHT

Gabe rushes down the hallway, looking frantic. He's carrying a bag.

INT. DORM BATHROOM - NIGHT

It's quiet inside the bathroom. No one else occupies the space. It's just him and his reflection. His reflection? Maybe their reflection. Her reflection? No, that's not right. Is it right? Gabe stares at himself intently. The whirring of a trimmer cuts through the silence. He brings it up to his facial hair, shearing away a week's worth of fuzz.

He looks at himself like it's not him in the mirror. He holds a hand up to his face, feeling it.

It's not enough. Not yet. He has to know.

He gets out his phone and starts typing.

HOW TO SHAVE FACIAL HAIR OFHG

He frantically types, misspelling. He backspaces like his life depends on it.

HOW TO SHAVE FACIAL HAIR OFF ALL

THE WAY

He quickly scans an article and then gets to work, pulling some miscellaneous bathroom supplies out of his bag. Shaving cream. A razor. Gifts for cleaning up at college. He wets his face. Applies the shaving cream. Does careful strokes down his cheeks and neck. Slowly, someone reveals themselves.

They lean down, splashing themselves with water. They look up, and it's a different person. She's completely shaved her facial hair off. Gabe hasn't seen herself like this since she was in freshman year of high school, before facial hair was even an option. She reaches up and touches her face, smooth to the touch. She stares, enamored. A moment. She grabs a towel and dries her face off, and then looks again. She's so…different. But that's her! That's Gabe! Is it Gabe? She doesn't know anymore. A close up to her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. Her neck. It's all so new. She starts laughing. She laughs, and tears well up in her eyes a little. She laughs some more. In moments, she's full on crying tears of joy. She doesn't know why. But she is! That's her!

CUT TO

INT. SECONDHAND - DAY

Gabe is at a clothing rack, searching for something. She looks around, a little embarrassed. She browses for a moment before finding what she wants. She passes by some more racks carefully, trying not to be too obvious. She slips into the changing room, then locks the door.

GABE

…okay.

Gabe unbuckles her belt. In a moment, she's wearing black leggings. She hikes them up, then unclips a gaudy skirt from the clothes-hanger. She stares at it, a little scared of it and what it represents. She bites her lip. She stretches it out and then steps in. She looks up at the mirror.

Oh shit, that's her! That's her!

Gabe is wearing a long, patterned skirt and a tee-shirt. The colors don't match at all, and the patterns don't either.

She looks a bit like a yard sale of a person. But it's her!

She spins around, watching the fabric flow out from her hips in a whirlwind of stripes and insignia. She laughs again.

This is her! This is her!

This is her!

[nemisuki]

A Special Day

Dating AU | You never felt the need to celebrate this 'special' day every year. But time it's different, the first year with your explosive boyfriend. And seems like he thinks differently.

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, no angst, aged up, oneshot, bkg is a softie, gift giving, 1.3k word count

"So do you have any plans tomorrow?"

The sound of his voice breaks the silence between you two. The only other noise being the scribbles of her pencil and flipping of paper.

Her eyes don't break away from the math problem in her notebook, the source of her misery for the past 10 minutes.

In response to his question, the girl exhales a short hum while erasing her failed attempt of multiplication, "Not really."

A small pout begins to form on her face as she concentrates on the equation.

What sane person puts letters in math?

Listening to her reply, his eyebrows furrow with slight confusion, his hand pausing from completing the assignment in front of him.

He takes this opportunity to pause his studies, leaning back in his chair to stretch his limbs.

A small sigh exiting his mouth as he stands up to lift his arms over his head to give relief to his aching muscles.

"It's your birthday, don't ya want a party or go out to eat?"

At his movement, she takes a peek in his direction.

Her gaze roaming his backside - noticing the outline of his back muscles from that tank top he's wearing.

The combination of his shirt and the grey sweatpants loosely hanging on his waist was deadly.

It's even worse that he is completely unaware of the effect it has on her.

Seeing him take a break gave her an excuse to do the same.

She props herself off his bed with her elbows, now sitting up on the edge of his mattress with a small yawn, "Not really. I don't usually celebrate it."

"Like at all?" he turns back to look at her, noting the aloof expression on her face.

"I mean maybe when I was younger but not anymore.”

He examines her body language intensely, only to find no signs of discomfort.

So she really doesn’t want to celebrate huh.

I mean he understands, he wasn’t one to care about his own birthday either.

He steps closer to plop down beside her, looking at the alarm clock on his bedside table, “we should call it a night.”

“Yeah I should head back to my dorm now” she smiles, looking at how the moonlight accentuates his features, only enhancing the vision beside her.

“Just sleep over” he mumbles, already moving to lay down on his bed. Making room for her as he scoots towards the wall.

“And your roommate?”

“Shitty hair said he’s crashing at Raccoon eyes dorm. So turn off the lamp and come over here yeah?”

She couldn’t help but to laugh at his blunt demands, reaching over to shut off the lamp then resting beside him in an instant.

There's no way she'll let an opportunity like this go to waste.

With that, the blonde drapes the blanket over the two, looking almost offended that she didn't wrap her hands around him like she always does.

He isn't one for physical touch but he's gotten used to hers.

She seems to feel his stare and immediately scoots closer to curl up beside him, leaning her face into his chest.

Thankfully dismissing all his dramatic thoughts in an instant.

He wraps his arms around her torso to hold her close, "Real tired. Gonna sleep now, night."

"Mhm good night 'suki. I love you" she whispers back, closing her eyes to relish in his warmth.

A feeling she loves all too well.

"....love you too" he replies after a few seconds. Before his eyes fall close, allowing himself to drown in the feeling of her presence.

Already knowing what he must do tomorrow.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ     ⎯⎯ ✦

Her eyes squint in response to the distant sound of raining pattering outside the window.

The once dark room is now filled with morning light peeking through cracks in the curtain.

A groan escaping her as she rubs her eyes awake, attempting to fight the invisible force that's trying to pull her back to eternal sleep.

Though under the covers, she shivers at the chilly room she's woken up too. Expecting to be tangled under the covers with her favorite blonde, yet is only faced with an imposter - a pillow taking his place.

It takes her a few minutes of mindlessly staring at the ceiling for her to sit up, but only due to the sound of the door slowly creaking open.

His figure comes into view as he closes the door behind him, placing a mysterious bag on his desk as he takes off his coat and tucks his umbrella away, "You just woke up?"

"Yeah just now. Where'd you go?" she tilts her head, ruling out the option that he had class since he doesn't have his bag.

She stands up and begins approaching him but he holds his hand up, making her pause in her tracks.

"Close your eyes for a minute" he mumbles quietly, all of a sudden avoiding her questioning gaze.

Despite her confusion, she doesn't ask to investigate further as her eyes flutter shut.

"Don't peek or I'll kill ya."

An amused smile appears on her face at his snarky comment, "I won't but if you don't hurry up I might fall back asleep."

The sound of rustling was heard in the room, as well as a small clicking sound shortly after.

"Can I look now?"

"No."

"What about now?"

"I told you already, not yet!"

Laughter escapes her as she impatiently waits, fidgeting her fingers as she hears him step closer.

"...Alright you can open them now."

She hums and her eyes slowly open, slightly squinting to adjust to the light of the room once again.

Once done, she looks ahead of her and is met with an overwhelming sight. Complete shock taking over her face.

Bakugo is standing there, holding up a small birthday cake with lit candles on top.

Her heart thumps louder in her chest, so much so that it almost drowns out the noise of rain happening outside the room.

And she wonders if he can hear it too.

"I uh... know what you said yesterday but it just-" he holds the cake closer to her face, "didn't feel right to me."

Her gaze roams across the cake, pretty cursive letters in frosting spelling out 'Happy Birthday Y/N' on the surface. Along with her favorite pieces of fruit scattered around the edges.

"You didn't have to" she mumbles, a thankful smile taking over her face the more she stares at the cake.

"Well I wanted to. Now blow out the candles, nerd."

Holding back a laugh, she takes a moment to look at him, "Not gonna sing for me?"

"Hah! In your dreams maybe. Hurry up would ya? My arms getting tired here" he rolls his eyes at her teasing, the tip of his ears turning a soft pink from embarrassment.

She holds back a wide smile and blows out the candles before he grows more shy.

"What flavor is it?"

"You're favorite one, obviously" he huffs, stepping away to set the cake down on his desk.

As her gaze lingered on him, a sudden feeling took over her whole body.

She notices the small puddle forming under his wet shoes, a mini bouquet of her favorite flowers resting in a vase he must've bought earlier and a gift bag carefully placed on the sidelines.

Katsuki Bakugo hates the rain. Avoids it at all costs.

Yet he willingly went out in this downpour to buy her these things.

Ah....

"Oi do you want a one slice or-"

His words falter when her hands suddenly wrap around his waist from behind. Her face resting against his back, not wanting him to see as silent tears trickle down her cheeks.

"Thank you Katsuki."

He stays silent, feeling the back of his shirt grow damp from her quiet cries.

A sigh exits his mouth as he prys her hands away, spinning around to hold her close to his chest. Rubbing her back in gentle circles and whispering rare words of reassurance.

"Yeah yeah let it all out. I got ya" he mumbles, knowing exactly how to calm her down.

She just needs him there to hold her as he always does.

And he'll stick around - for her.

"Happy Birthday Y/N."

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

A/N ||| hey hey everyone! It's actually my birthday today so I quickly wrote this up hehe. Sorry if it's a bit choppy, this was rushed. Anywaysss I finally made a taglist - so if you want to get tagged in my bakugo fics then click on this link!

[withwritersblock]

Do You Think About Me?

`~Noah by Megan Moroney~

Author's Note: requested! so sorry it took forever to get out lol Summary: Sweet high school romance lol Word count: 8,749 Warnings: nothing too serious

Remember how we’d skip class? We were all that and in love.

She sat in the front row of her third period math class. Mr. Nicholson was lecturing directly in front of her. His back was turned towards the students as he was writing out the formula he wanted his students to learn. 

Dragging the eraser of her pencil against the paper slowly tracing absentmindedly along the corners of the paper. It was impossible for her to focus. It was the Friday before prom and she couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect tomorrow needed to be. 

After prom, all of their friends were staying at the local hotel. Jack’s parents booked the presidential suite with several rooms for everyone.

Tomorrow was going to be perfect, needed to be perfect. The room was hot and muggy with the sun glaring through the dirty windows. The class was full of muffled conversations between each of the students. She was the only quiet one as she lifted her gaze to see Mr. Nicholson awkwardly shifts in front of the class.

Brushing her hair away from her face she glanced towards the door that was propped open. Her heart jumped into her throat as she saw Jack leaning against the wall directly across the doorway. Her posture straightened as a small grin instantly formed to her lips.

A smirk fell on Jack’s lips as he raised his finger up towards his lips. Tilting his head to the side as he slowly walked backwards away from the view of the door. His bag was on his back. Clearing her throat, she looked towards Mr. Nicholson who was fully spinning around to face the students again.

Y/N raised her hand up and he instantly called on her.”Can I go to Mrs. Hanson’s office please?” she asked through a cracking voice.

“Yes, grab your stuff. Come see me during your study hall,” he stated before he looked towards the other side of the classroom. Without hesitation, she began to shove every notebook and piece of paper into her bag. She glanced down the hallway to see it was empty.

She knew Jack was hiding a few feet away from the door. Every once in a while he would sneak over to her classroom, wanting to see her for a few minutes. It wasn’t often but if he was hovering outside of the classroom, she knew he wanted to see her. 

It didn’t take long for her to gather all of her things before she stepped away from her desk. She tossed her bag over her shoulder as she took fast steps out of the room. Fighting the smirk forming to her lips. She turned left and instantly began walking down towards the hallway. It was dead silent as she walked down the hallway towards their usual meeting spot. There was an empty closet they would hang out in that was on the opposite side of the floor. 

She glanced behind her to see that no one was following her as she rounded the corner towards the closet. Suddenly, she felt hands take a hold of her waist. A gasp fell from her lips while she felt her bag slide from her shoulders.

Looking up, she saw Jack standing directly in front of her with a wide grin on his lips. “Took you long enough, Gorgeous,” Jack mumbled as he reached behind him to pull the closet door open.

“You have to stop hovering during Nicholson’s class, he’s starting to catch on,” she mumbled as he guided her inside by her waist. He chuckled as he reached towards the backpack against her shoulder. Quickly, he dropped the bag towards the floor. He pushed her back against the door. 

He brushed her hair behind her ear as he leaned towards her. “This is the only time I get to see you during the day,” he whispered against her ear. Slowly, he took a hold of her chin to tilt her head to the side. Leaning towards her, delicately pressing his lips against the side of her neck. 

Biting her bottom lip as she tilted her head to the side. He took a hold of the lock and twisted it. He glided his hand along her jawline as he began to suck the skin beneath her ear. Teasingly biting the skin as she raised her hand up and started sliding her fingers through his hair.

“Jack,” she mumbled out as she leaned her head back against the door. He hummed against her neck before he began to pepper kisses along her jawline.

“We only have so much time left together before you aban–”

“Baby, please don’t bring this up right now,” she mumbled as she took a hold of his cheeks, pulling his head back.

“Okay,” he let out breathily before he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers urgently.

The king to my prom queen, voted most likely to make out. That was us.

She stood in front of the mirror running her hands along her sides. A sigh fell from her lips as she turned to the side to look at her side profile. She ran her hand along her stomach while she continued to scan her frame. The dress was tighter than her normal wardrobe.

It was a satin red dress, with a tight sweetheart neckline with thin straps. The dress was tight right above her hips before it began to be more flowy. There was a high slit that stopped high up on her thigh.

Prom is meant to be the last hurrah of high school. She needed tonight to be perfect. Their future together was left completely uncertain. She needed it to be everything she wanted and more.

She brushed her hair away from her shoulder as she let out a huff of air. She took a few steps away from the mirror, pulling the dress up as she walked away. There was a soft knock against her door. Clenching her jaw, she took a shaky breath. 

Jack poked his head into the bedroom, his eyes were shut, “Can I come in?” he asked softly. Her body straightened as his voice rang through the tiny room. A wide grin formed to her lips as she slowly spun around to face the door.

“Yes,” she mumbled as she shyly rested her hands onto her hips.

Quickly, he shuffled inside, his eyes opening instantly. His mouth fell open as a blush instantly spread across his cheeks.  He raised his hand up as he covered his mouth, trying to hide the wide grin on his lips.

“Wow,” he muttered as he shook his head slightly. His eyes continued to scan her features, admiring every curve along her frame. She tilted her head to the side as her arms rounded over her stomach. He shook his head as he reached behind him to twist the lock towards the door. 

“Let me see you,” he mumbled as he took a hold of her arms and dropped them to her side. Carefully, he began to trail his fingertips along her frame. The satin fabric against his fingertips sent shivers down his frame. 

Her lips curled upward slowly as she tilted her head to the side, scanning his frame. Jack rested his hands on her lower back pulling her closer to him. Her hands rested on the base of his neck, his frame was covered in a black undershirt and a matching pair of slick black dress pants. His hair was styled perfectly, messy but on purpose. She took a few pieces of his hair between her fingertips. Looking into his light eyes she saw them widen.

“What?” she questioned breathlessly. He smirked as he raised his hand up and took a hold of her cheek. He dragged his thumb across her cheek as he looked over her features. He pouted his bottom lip for a second before he leaned towards her. 

Leaning towards her, he pressed his lips against hers softly. A hum fell from her lips as she leaned into him. Slowly, she ran her fingers through his hair as he pulled her closer to him.

After a few seconds he pulled back, “So beautiful,” he whispered against her lips, slowly her lips curled upward as her eyes flickered open. “And all mine,” he whispered as he leaned down, taking a hold of her waist and lifting her up off of the ground. 

“Jack!” she scolded through a fit of laughter as she tightened her grip around his neck. He rested his hand onto the curve off her ass as her chest was pressed aganist his shoulder. “Jack, oh my god!” she said as Jack swung the door open. 

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” he shouted as he reluctantly allowed her to slide down his frame and land on her feet again. Her hands rested on his chest as she stared towards the top button of the shirt. Fighting a smirk forming on her lips as she reached towards it and unbuttoned it.

“Baby?” he questioned barely above a whisper as she adjusted the shirt for him, showing off more of his chest. The silver chain on his neck became more apparent. She took a hold of it in her hand as she looked up towards him, meeting his gaze. “What’s on your mind?” he asked teasingly. 

She shook her head slowly as she dragged her hand along his chest. Dropping her hand, allowing him to interlock their fingers together. He tilted his head back while biting his bottom lip. Y/N began to climb down the steps, Jack shamelessly watched each sway of her hips.

They rounded down the steps to see both of their families scattered all over her living room.

“There they are!” her mother shouted as they continued down the steps. Jack’s eyes instantly widened as he lifted his head up. He pursed his lips forward as he tried to hide the grin on his lips; or the fact that he was staring at her ass.

“Can we get some photos now please?” his mom begged, getting the room to laugh. She nodded dramatically as they began walking towards their backyard where there would be beautiful areas to take photos. Jack looped his arm around her waist as they continued through the sea of people in the house.

~

It had been several hours since they arrived at prom, the food was amazing, the music was shockingly good and the dancing was incredible. Jack didn’t leave her side the entire night. She was half expecting to see him disappear with his friends but he stuck around. They would dance in the sea of people or sit down to relax for a while.

It was a dreamy night, not perfect but dreamy enough. Jack’s appearance alone was enough to make the whole night dreamy for them. 

The only part that seemed to bother her was the amount of girls that would still approach him and flirt. Rumors were going around school that the NHL was ringing him and his career was around the corner too. Girls were obsessed with the idea of becoming one of his groupies, hoping that one day they’ll get picked to be the one.

Even though Jack already had the one. He was completely oblivious to what the girls’ intention were as he only had eyes for Y/N. 

Right now, they were swaying along to the slow song that was playing loudly in the ballroom their school rented out. The class president was on stage, fumbling with the microphone in her hand as she was staring towards the paper in her hand. 

Y/N rested her head onto Jack’s shoulder as she shifted her gaze towards the stage. Jack’s hands were gliding along her back soothingly.

The class president was standing on the stage, spewing out a speech about how important prom is to everyone and how this is the last big moment before the graduation ceremony.

The words didn’t matter as she shut her eyes as she continued to sway along to the music with Jack pressed against her body.

The words didn’t matter until, “Welcome to the stage your prom king and queen, Jack Hughes and Y/N Y/L/N!” Her eyes widened as she lifted her head up from his shoulder. A wide grin was plastered to his lips as he quickly began to guide her towards the stage. 

He wrapped his arm around her waist while leaning towards her, whispering, “Just smile and wear the crown, my love,” he pressed his lips against her cheek. A small chuckle fell from her lips.

Walking onto the stage, the ballroom erupted into cheers. Many of the cheers were dedicated towards Jack but her friend group was cheering loudly for her in the back of the group of people.

She was dissociating while she was on the stage, there was loud music as a tiny crown was placed onto her head. The only thing keeping her within reality was Jack’s arm around her waist.

There was a small smile on her face but she never liked having attention on her; that didn’t matter when she was dating Jack Hughes. 

“Smile, my love,” he whispered in her ear as the class president stood in front of them with a camera. A soft laugh fell from her lips as she began smiling widely. She leaned her head towards Jack as they smiled for the picture. Glancing down, she saw the sash across her frame. She doesn’t remember that being covered over her frame.

Jack took a hold of her waist, forcing her gaze towards him. A small smile fell to her lips as she looked up towards him to meet his gaze. “So stunning,” he whispered before he leaned towards her pecking her lips briefly.

Smiling up towards him she reached towards him and took a hold of his hand as she guided him off the stage to the sound of cheers surrounding them. Quickly, she guided him away from the stage towards a secluded area of the ballroom. There were plenty of eyes watching their movements, watching them walk away from the crowd.

“Woah, baby, what’s happening?” he let out while letting out a nervous laugh.

She spun on her heel, turning to meet his gaze through the dark dimly lit room. “Do you want everyone to watch?” she asked teasingly.

“Watch what?” he shot back, a smirk toying to his lips.

She rolled her eyes without replying as she continued to guide him towards the secluded hallway barely hidden enough from the crowd of their classmates. But for once, she didn’t care. 

Y/N continued to guide him towards the hallway, instantly pressing her back against the cold wall. Without hesitation he pressed his body against hers, pinning her against the wall. He reached over to take a delicate hold of her chin.

“I love you,” he whispered. She smiled softly as she leaned towards him pressing her lips against his softly.

Her lips parted allowing him to deepen the kiss. His hands began to roam her frame while he pressed her body against the wall. His fingertips glided along the exposed skin of her thigh from her dress. He hummed against her lips as he lifted her leg to wrap around his waist. 

A giggle fell from her lips as she took a hold of his cheeks with her hands. “Never wear a normal dress again,” he mumbled against her lips, a low hum falling from his lips in the process.

“Yeah?” she questioned teasingly.

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled before he devoured her lips once more.

I remember you saying I’d sound good with your last name

She was hesitant to be here, almost worried that her presence would ruin the biggest day of Jack’s life. She sat beside him on the inside, his mother was sat beside him. The rest of his family followed.

It was a conversation they have had repeatedly about if she should be here or not. Jack wanted her here, rather needed her here. She was afraid that if one day they broke up and she would be a part of this huge moment forever. Jack didn’t care about that, he needed her to be there beside him.

He was afraid that at the last minute the Devils would pick Kaapo Kakko over him. There was talk that closer the draft came that he was the better choice than Jack. Jack had something to prove. Maybe being picked first meant that he would prove it to himself that he does belong in the league.

Jack had his arm draped across her shoulder as she rested her hand low on his knee. Slowly, she dragged her thumb soothingly along the checkered suit. “All this waiting is for show right?” Jack leaned towards his mom, whispering. His heart was racing dramatically as he looked over the New Jersey Devils themed screens. 

Y/N didn’t hear what his mother was whispering to him, but she continued to slowly run her hand along his leg. He wouldn’t admit it but he was nervous, everyone knew it. Jack instantly leaned towards Y/N, delicately pressing his lips against her jawline.

“What was that for?” she asked softly. He looked over her features while taking a deep breath. He shook his head as they all lined up towards the microphone. The entire space instantly simmered down and started paying close attention. He dropped his hand from her shoulder, reaching over towards her furthest thigh.

He squeezed the skin of her leg repeatedly, calming himself down. She rested her hand on top of his as she ran her thumb across the skin. He shut his eyes for a moment but he couldn’t not watch everything that was unfolding in front of him. His heart was slamming against his chest, cascading shivers all over his frame as he stared towards the stage. His hand was squeezing her leg repeatedly.

“With the first pick overall, the New Jersey Devils are proud to select from the US program, Jack Hughes,” 

Jack dropped his head as he squeezed her thigh for a second. Quickly, he stood up from his seat, turning towards her, waiting to embrace her. Instantly, wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her tightly to his chest. 

“I’m so proud of you, my love,” she whispered as she pulled back. He smiled widely as he mouthed I love you towards her before he spun around and began making his rounds to hug his family.

She stood on the outskirts of it and watched the light in Jack’s eyes erupt. He was so happy, so proud of himself now too. He was allowed to enjoy this moment, expectations were going to follow but right now he was allowed to savor every second of crossing that stage and putting on that Devils jersey. 

She brought her hands towards her mouth, covering her quivering lips as she watched him cover his frame with the jersey. The red jersey covered his frame beautifully, it fit like a glove.

Ellen inched over and wrapped her arms around Y/N’s body. A giggle fell from Ellen’s lips, covering a happy cry that fell from her lips. “I’m so glad you joined us,” she muttered against Y/N’s hair. 

Pulling back, she looked up towards Ellen, the tears that were brimming Y/N’s eyes were starting to fall slightly. “Really?” she asked softly. Ellen’s lips fell into a pout as she instantly pulled Y/N tighter to her chest. 

“Of course honey, he’s so in love with you. And we adore you,” she whispered into her ear. 

They hugged for a few more seconds before they were all escorted to the back of the stage. Jack had to do several interviews while they were waiting for him in the back.

~

Several hours after the draft day ended, there was a party that was supposed to happen in one of the hotel suites. Jack’s family was already there but Jack was emotionally and physically exhausted.

He was standing at the foot of the bed staring towards the jersey laid out on the bed. The Devils logo front and center, it made his heart race. She was laying on her stomach, kicking her legs back and forth in the air slowly. She watched him admire the jersey for a few seconds. He smirked as he looked up towards her. 

Their eyes instantly connected and he smiled widely toward her. She tilted her head to the side, pursing her lips forward. He forced his gaze back down towards the jersey, an idea circling his mind. 

“What?” she asked breathily as she watched him round the bed. He shook his head slowly as she rolled onto her back. Leaning back on her elbows, she watched him stand in front of her. Teasingly, he took a hold of her knees, gliding his fingertips along her skin. Slowly, gliding his hands down her thighs.

The corner of her lips curled upward as she continued to look into his eyes. “What are you thinking, pretty girl?” he asked as he pushed her legs apart teasingly. A dry chuckle fell from her lips as he continued to glide his hands along her skin 

“I’m thinking that we should go to that party before your parents start asking questions,” she explained as she looked into his light eyes. He bit his bottom lip as he reached towards the jersey laying beside them. 

“I’m thinking you should put this on right now,” he mumbled while reaching over and sliding it over towards them.

“It doesn’t belong to me,” she teased as she took a hold of the jersey sleeve.

“Just wait till our last name is on the back,” he said while pulling her body towards the edge of the bed. Slowly, she sat up while keeping eye contact with him. He reached towards her, dragging his fingertips beneath her shirt.

“Our last name?” she asked while she took a hold of the jersey, dragging it over her lap. Jack smiled softly as he leaned back, keeping his hands to himself. Slowly, she pulled the jersey over her body. Jack’s eyes lit up at the sight of the Devils jersey covering her frame. 

“Y/N Hughes, doesn’t it sound so perfect?” he questioned as he stepped back and admired her frame with the jersey drowning her frame. She leaned back on her hands as she watched Jack shamelessly scan her frame.

His Devils jersey looked as though it was made for her frame. It was better than he could’ve ever imagined, seeing her in his NHL jersey. He never wanted to see her in anything else. It was exactly what he wanted, maybe more. The soft smile on her lips, teasing him with a singular look.

“It’s got a nice ring to it,” she let out teasingly as he slowly climbed on top of her forcing her on her back. She giggled as she rested her hands onto his cheeks as he instantly leaned down and pressed his lips against hers urgently. A soft hum fell from her lips as he continued to kiss her as if it was the last thing he’ll ever do. 

Her fingers ran through his hair as he reached down and took a hold of her thigh, wrapping her leg around his waist. They stayed in that position for a while, their lips moving perfectly insync. 

After a few seconds, he rolled onto his back. He was biting his bottom lip as he watched her eyes squint slightly. 

She smirked as she straddled his lap, running her hands across his chest. A smile spread across his lips as he dragged his hands up and down the backs of her thighs. Teasingly pushing her dress higher and higher on her frame. Smirking, she brushed her hair over her shoulder.

“Can’t wait to see you wear it with our last name, baby,” he mumbled as he continued to glide his hand along her frame. Slowly, tugging at the fabric of the jersey. 

“Can’t wait,” she whispered as she leaned down, kissing him so delicately. He squeezed her thighs delicately as he parted his lips; for once letting her take control of the moment.

“Yeah?” he mumbled against her lips. She nodded as she ran her thumb across the skin of his cheek. “Y/N Hughes,” he let out a soft smirk on his lips before he leaned down and kissed her slowly. 

They stayed in that position for several minutes. Neither caring how late they were going to be for the party. Jack never wanted to get the image of her in his jersey on top of him out of his mind. She was beautiful, red was absolutely perfect on her. 

Time seemed to fly by, the longer they were together like this. Their clothed bodies grinding against one another as they were desperate to shed clothing. The lingering thought of the people waiting on them in the back of their minds.

Jack seemingly didn’t care, all he knew was that his girl was in his NHL jersey. That’s all he wanted, that’s all he needed.

At least he thought so before there was a loud knock against their door. She instantly leaned back, her hands covering her mouth as she stared down towards Jack. He simply had a cocking grin on his lips as he massaged the skin of her thighs for a second. She quickly climbed off of his lap, taking a hold of his jersey and pulling it over her head.

“Hey, hey, keep it on,” he let out with a pout on his lips. 

“Jack,” she scolded while laughing as she dropped it onto his lap. She climbed off the bed, adjusting the ends of her dress. Quickly, she walked towards the bathroom to adjust her frame. 

Jack rolled his eyes playfully as he jogged towards the door. He didn’t check who it was before he swung the door open. Trevor and Cole were both outside of his door. Smirks were evident on their lips.

Cole swallowed harshly as he glanced towards the bathroom that was lit up, “Your mother is wondering where you and your girlfriend are. We offered to search for you, in case it wasn’t a pretty sight,” Cole teased.

Jack shoved him back as a wide grin fell to his lips. “Shut up, man,” he let out while laughing, “Get in here,” he offered while laughing.

The two boys snuck inside of the hotel room, they were both still wearing their jerseys. “Did we have a good reason?” Trevor asked teasingly. Jack didn’t respond as he simply chuckled nervously. “Where’s your jersey?” Trevor continued while pointing towards the sweat stains on his chest.

“I was hot,” Jack mumbled, avoiding both of their eyes. 

“Bet you were,” Cole teased.

We were counting on forever till forever never came.

They were laying in her bed, facing one another. One of his hands was looped around her waist. His hand rested beneath her shirt, gliding his fingertips along the skin of her lower back. His other hand rested beneath his head. Their faces were only an inch apart. 

Her hand rested on his cheek, running her thumb across the apple of his cheek. His eyes were shut, simply savoring each passing moment. Long distance started tonight. He needed to leave for the airport in two hours. 

“Baby,” Jack mumbled out as he continued to run his hand along the skin of her lower back. She hummed as a reply as she took in a deep breath while she dragged her thumb along his cheek. “Have you changed your mind yet?” he asked somewhat as a joke. A breathay laugh fell from his lips as he opened his eyes slowly.

Their eyes connected as she squinted her own eyes. A pout fell onto his lips as he rolled onto his back, his hand gliding away from her frame. A huff fell from his lips as he stared towards the ceiling.

“Jack,” she muttered as she inched towards him. She reached for his cheek, pulling his gaze back towards her. His lips slowly curled up into a smirk. “Do you really want to have this conversation again?” she asked softly while watching his eyes lit up. He shrugged while looking up towards her.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you,” he muttered. Slowly, she leaned down pressing her lips against his for a few seconds. A hum fell from his lips as he reached towards her, taking a hold of her hip. 

“We’re not breaking up, Jack,” she mumbled against his lip, she dragged her finger across his bottom lip teasingly. He smirked as he rolled his eyes playfully. 

“I know baby, but I won’t see you for-like-ever,” he mumbled as he pushed her onto her back. A giggle fell from her lips as he laid on top of her frame. He wrapped his arms around her center as he rested his head into the crook of her neck. Their legs instantly entangled as he pressed his lips against the side of her neck.

“We’ll make it work,” she whispered softly as she dragged her hand slowly along his back. He let out a small sigh of relief as she continued to run her hand along his back. Carefully, she glided her fingers through the short ends of his hair.

“Can you transfer to Rutgers next semester, I mean–only if you hate it at Michigan State. I would hate it there too,” Jack mumbled jokingly. His question if she could transfer has been a topic of discussion between them since the draft. 

She would be lying if she didn’t consider it. Michigan State was her plan since she was a kid. Her parents both went there and so did each of her older siblings. There was no other plan, there couldn’t be another plan.

Her mom used to always tell her to never go to college with a boyfriend. Life was meant to start new at college. But Jack was different. They’ve been together since they were fourteen. She didn’t know life without him. He didn’t know life without her.

She always had the fear that they would break up, he would find someone better. Yet he always made her a priority, no matter what. He’s so in love with her, he didn’t know how he could be without her.

“We’ll talk about it later in the semester, you know that my love,” she explained as she continued to trail her fingertips along his back. He squeezed her sides for a few seconds while he pressed his lips against the skin of her neck.

“You’ll think about it though right?” he asked quietly as he lifted his head up, looking down towards her.

“I promise,” she muttered.

“Yeah?” he asked with a soft smile on his lips. She nodded. “Good,” he said before he leaned down and began to kiss her slowly. She hummed against his lips as she glided her hands through his hair. 

“We’ll be okay,” she mumbled against his lips. He nodded before he propped himself up, hovering on top of her. Parting her lips, she allowed him to deepen the kiss. Their tongues instantly connected, creating an instant wave of heat over her frame.

The kiss was slow and desperate as they were savoring every last second, every movement. Leaning back, he took a hold of the ends of his shirt. Instantly pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor.

A smirk formed to her lips as her gaze dipped towards his toned abs. A cocky grin fell to his lips as he felt her glide her fingertips across his muscles. She could feel his muscles tense under her delicate touch. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers delicately as she ran her hands across his upper back. His body erupted in goosebumps as her hands glided along his hot skin. Jack felt intoxicated with the way her lips moved against his. Her vanilla perfume engulfed his senses, a smell he could never get tired of. 

~three months later~

She sat on the half broken couch inside of the fraternity party. Her roommate was sitting beside her, drunk out of her mind. Y/N not so much. She was tipsy, sure, but she was definitely more self aware than Chloe. 

The music was slowly getting quieter as she was staring towards the group of people across from her. She knew almost everyone in the party. Her dorm floor had half of the fraternity brothers on it; so eventually it became easy for her to be friends with them. 

Jack would be lying if he said that he was okay with it. Most of her friends were guys and he wasn’t a huge fan of it. Especially since they would flirt with her constantly. She always claimed that they were being nice, but Jack knows when guys have different intentions.

She saw the group of guys dancing together, a few girls were in the mix. It was late, late enough that she should be making her way back to her dorm. But Chloe was in no shape to walk a quarter mile back to their room.

This wouldn’t be the first time that she would have to stay the night in the basement because of Chloe. Getting drunk like this was her way of coping with the fact that Owen, her friends with benefits that loved to flirt and dance with other girls. Y/N had a lot of cleaning up to do. 

Her phone started vibrating in her pocket and she quickly began to pull it out. It was Jack calling her. A small smile formed to her lips as she stared towards the contact photo. It was a mirror picture on his draft day. She was wearing his Devils jersey as he was pressing his lips against her neck while fighting off a grin. She brought the phone towards her ear. 

“Hey pretty boy,” she let out, a sigh of content leaving her lips. 

“Hey baby, are you busy?” he asked softly. 

Her lips fell into a small pout for a second before she pursed her lips forward. “I’m at a party making sure Chloe doesn’t swallow her tongue. But I can step outside for a second,” she offered while standing up from the couch. She pointed to her friend Kyle who was on the outskirts of the circle. 

“Yeah, I miss your voice, baby,” he let out, his voice was raspy as he spoke.

“I miss you too,” she let out as her voice broke as she spoke. Kyle wandered towards the couch and sat down on the opposite end of where Chloe was laid out. “How are you feeling?” she asked quietly.

She nodded towards him as she climbed the stairs out of the basement, there was another collection of party goers on the main level of the house. She shoved her way through the crowd, bumping into a few people in the process. 

“I’m so exhausted, my body hurts. Wish you were here, the usual,” Jack explained with a dry laugh leaving his throat. 

She stepped out of the house onto the back patio. There were a few people smoking on the patio, nodding towards her while she walked away. She stepped down the patio and began to pace back and forth along the gravel driveway. 

“I’m sorry, my love, I wish I was there too,” she mumbled.

“But you won’t transfer to Rutgers, right,” he said, a scoff falling from his lips.

She stopped dead in her tracks as she tossed her head back, “Did you call me just to have a fight, Jack? If that’s the case then I’m just going to fucking hang up, I’m not in the mood,” she shot back, rolling her eyes as she looked back towards the small group of people that were leaving the house. 

“I just don’t understand how you can be comfortable being so miserable away from one another,” he said, a crack in his voice was evident. She dragged her tongue across her bottom lip while dropping her gaze towards the gravel beneath her feet. 

“I am not comfortable with it! I miss you with everything that I have, Jack. How do you not understand that?” she explained with a sob climbing in her throat. “All I want is to be with you!” 

“Then be with me!” Jack shot back.

“Jack, I’m not in the mood to have this conversation again,”

“You cannot tell me you are happy there,” Jack let out, evidently holding back tears as he spoke.

“I can be happy here and still want to be with you, J,” she let out while wiping the sudden tear that fell on her cheek.

For a while, he didn’t reply. She wasn’t even sure that he was still on the phone with her anymore. He hated that she was happy without him, he hated that it was even an option for her. Yet, all he wanted was for her to be happy. He simply wished that her being happy was with him and not hundreds of miles away.

“Jack?” she let out quietly. 

“I want you to be happy, baby.” he let out as he tilted his head back against the headboard. Her body straightened as the words left his lips. She had no idea what he meant by that. A small gasp fell from her lips as she watched another group of people walk out of the house and start walking towards the main street. 

“I want you to be happy too, J,” she mumbled. Jack took in a deep breath as he shifted his gaze towards the ceiling. “I want to be with you, Jack, but I love it here,” she said as a sob rose in her throat.

He squinted his eyes shut as he stared towards the ceiling, “I know, love,” he muttered before he began to chew on his bottom lip for a few seconds. “I just wish you could love it here with me,” he let out while swallowing harshly. 

“I want to, Jack,” she said as she glanced behind her to see Timothy, Kyle’s roommate, standing on the back patio. He was leaning against the railing watching her. “I need you to know that I wish I could just drop everything and move to Jersey. But I can’t drop every dream I have for your dream,” she expressed as a sob fell from her lips.

He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip as he looked towards the framed photo on his nightstand table. It was a photo of them before prom. Her sister took a photo of them while they were still at her house. Jack had his arms around her waist as he was swaying their bodies back and forth. 

“Why don’t you call me tomorrow? Get some sleep, beautiful,” Jack let out after a sudden deep breath. She sniffled as she looked towards Timothy. He was patiently waiting for her to get off of the phone. 

“Can I call you when I get back to my room? I don’t know if I wanna sleep alone tonight,” she asked softly. 

“Absolutely baby, FaceTime me, yeah?” he question quietly before clearing his throat.

“I will, love you,” she mumbled.

“Love you more, baby,” Jack said as he hung up the phone. 

She kept the phone near her ear for a second as she heard it disconnect. She knew what was coming. They were crumbling as the days went on. She could feel it. He could feel it. Neither of them wanted to hate each other at the end. She was still in love with him. He was madly in love with her.

Distance was destroying them. She has visited several times over the last three months. But a weekend every three weeks can only do so much for a relationship. Especially since Jack was so emotionally exhausted and he wasn’t even halfway into the season yet.

Carefully, she brought her phone back down from her ear and into her pocket. She looked behind her towards Timothy. “Destiny is with Chloe now, if you want I can walk you back towards your dorm,” Timothy called out. She nodded while she instantly turned on her heel to start walking away from the party. “Are you crying?” he asked as he jogged after her.

“Not a big deal,” she mumbled as she kept her head low, she watched her feet carefully at each step.

“Did your hotshot boyfriend make you sad? I dont’ care if he’s good at hockey, I’ll beat his ass,” Timothy jokes. She let out a small laugh while rolling her eyes. 

“He’s not good at hockey, he’s amazing at hockey. Stop calling him hotshot,” she let out as she met Timothy’s gaze for a second, “And let’s be real, you wouldn’t stand a chance against him,” 

“Seriously though, are you guys alright?” he questioned while they were walking side by side.

“I think we’re breaking up tomorrow,” she let out softly.

“What?”

“Long distance is killing us. He wants me in Jersey, I want to be here. It’s just going to make us hate each other,” she said as a sob fell from her lips. 

Timothy reached over towards her, politely wrapping his arm over his shoulder. He swayed their bodies back and forth a few times. “Fall break is coming up, why don’t you visit him and mend things?” he offered.

“He’s on a roadtrip during the long weekend, can’t even see him,” she explained while she still kept her gaze low.

“Maybe you two just need a little mental break and you’ll be back to normal,” 

“Maybe,” she mumbled.

~~~

They’ve been avoiding the topic for nearly an hour. It was never deliberately implied that this is what they were going to be talking about. But with how everything has been going for several months, it was the most likely topic of conversation.

For a while, she talked about the party last night. She would rant about the music, her friends, and her roommate who has yet to make an appearance at it was almost ten in the morning. She received texts from Kyle and Destiny saying that Chloe was alive and being taken care of. 

It just meant that she had enough time to talk with Jack without any interruptions. 

Although, Jack had his fair share of avoiding the topic discussions. For a while, he talked about his morning skate. How his coach pushed them an extra mile even though they had a game this afternoon. He talked about how great his teammates were and how he was trying his best to be hopeful about the rest of his season. He was wearing his suit, his hair was already done. 

For the first time since he answered the call, there was a long moment of silence. She kept her gaze low, staring towards the promise ring on her finger. She spun it slowly before she pulled it from her finger to see what it would feel like. The only time she didn’t have it on was when she showered. Even when she slept, she kept it on. 

It felt wrong to not have it on. It was as if it was a part of her. It’s been a part of her for years. Years that were amazingly cut short by a difficult few months. Distance was destroying them. They knew that.

“Y/N,” Jack let out softly as his voice cracked. He wouldn’t look away from her and she wouldn’t look up. He watched as a tear fell on her cheek. She raised her hand up and wiped it away, with the hand that had the ring. His body erupted with heat as he saw the ring no longer on her finger. 

His own eyes began to get watery as it dawned on him. He wasn’t making her happy anymore. He knew that if she was with him in Jersey and if he was there in Michigan they could be happy and be okay. 

But that’s not how things panned out for them. She was his right person, wrong time. He knew that. 

“Are you happy?” Jack asked as he tilted his head to the side. She raised her hands up and brushed her hair away from her face. The ring was back on her hand. His heart was slamming hard against his chest. 

“I’m in love with you, Jack,” she let out while shaking her head. 

“That’s not what I asked, baby,” he let out before he covered his face with his hands for a second. “Do you think we can beat this?”

“I don’t know, J,” she mumbled while shaking her head.

Silence fell between them. That was the answer. Neither of them knew if they could say the words. Admit it out loud that they were ending. She covered her face with her hands, a sob falling from her lips. Jack tilted his head back, a tear falling onto his cheek. 

Jack watched her cry. The thought of booking a flight to go see her crossed his mind. Maybe it’ll fix it, seeing her one more time and just looking at one another and maybe fixing things. 

“I love you so much, Y/N. I’m sorry that this–” he began as he had to stop himself or he would let out a sob. She shook her head as their eyes connected through the screen. 

“D-Don’t apologize,” she muttered with a sad smile on her lips. He nodded as he chewed on his bottom lip. 

There was an echo of the doorbell through his apartment. He switched his gaze towards the door. He knew that Nico was here to drive them both to the arena. Jack tilted his head back for a second before he looked back towards the screen. His lips parted, seeking out something to say.

“Go be great,” she mumbled to him as she wiped another tear off of her cheek. Jack saw the ring still on her finger and nodded to himself for a second.

“You too,” he muttered before he ended the call. He stared towards his laptop screen, waiting for her to call back; maybe to change their minds. 

He stood up from the couch, wiping his hands across his cheeks as he walked towards the door. He pulled it open and instantly spun on his heel and started walking away. 

“Hey man, you ready?” Nico asked as he awkwardly stepped into the apartment. His eyes were dancing around the apartment. 

“Yeah, just give me a second,” he mumbled. It was obvious he was holding back tears. He slammed his laptop screen shut. He quickly switched his gaze down towards his phone screen.

It was a photo of him and Y/N. He took a deep breath as he instantly opened the settings app. He can’t keep looking at that, it would shatter his heart more.

“You alright?” Nico asked while he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Jack shook his head while avoiding Nico’s gaze. He walked towards the door while shoving his phone into his pocket. He switched the background to one of the generic onces that Apple provides.

“Wanna talk about it?” Nico questioned. Jack didn’t reply at first as he walked towards the door. He pulled it open, letting Nico walk out first.

“Y//N and I broke up and no I don’t want to talk about it,” he let out quickly so that he didn’t have to think about it too hard. He needed to play, that’s all he knew at that moment.

Jack, did you know at night I think of you and me?

It has been five years since they last saw one another in person or even spoke. Jack’s career continued to grow exponentially. He was confident in his game and he was playing with his younger brother. He was happy. Everything seemed to be perfect.

She graduated college a semester early. After college, she began to post content on TikTok. She was successful on the app, but it was only a side hobby. She moved to New York around two months after she turned twenty-three. The job she got was perfect and she was living the most perfect life in New York.

Being in New York, Jack’s name was thrown around a lot. She would do her best to ignore it, try not to think about him. They’ve been broken up for as long as they’ve been together. It didn’t make sense for her to still care about him. Let alone think about him as much as she does. It didn’t feel right. Especially after she found her boyfriend that she's with now. He was kind and caring. There was no spark or thrill. It was easy. 

Maybe she needed easy after everything that happened with Jack and after him. She lost plenty of friends after that. The second their relationship had ended, her friends all tried to make a move. As if she wanted to be with them, even though she was so madly in love with Jack It never crossed her mind to want to be with anyone else.

She was scrolling through her Twitter feed to see a clip of Jack playing against the Golden Knights. It didn’t look right. Everything about his movements after the play didn’t look right. He appeared to be in so much pain that she almost could feel it in her own shoulder.

The game happened last night and she saw that the team announced that he was out indefinitely. It shattered her heart. She’s watched him from afar, dealing with the injuries. Her boyfriend was lying beside her, dead asleep. She was wide awake, contemplating on hitting the button.

What’s one little conversation with him going to do? It’s been years without speaking to one another. Years of moving on, it was going to be fine. Nothing could happen that could make this ruin what she has with Riley. Nothing could ruin that.

A sigh fell from her lips as she tossed the comforter from her frame. She tiptoed out of the bedroom, delicately shutting the door behind her. She stared towards the contact that no longer had a photo. All it read was his name and nothing else. 

She squinted her eyes shut as she brought the phone towards her ear. The ringing sent a shock to her frame as she tried to decide if it would be better to just hang up. But instead she continued to let it ring. It seemed to take forever but in reality it only rang four times before he answered.

“Hi,” she let out breathily, almost as if something was restricting her voice. She could hear his smile as a small laugh left his lips.

“Hey,” he muttered out.

“I was thinking about you and I wanted to call and see how you were doing…with everything,” she said while her eyes were still shut. It was as if she was trying to picture him on the other line.

She wondered if he would havea cocky grin on his lips or if he would be blushing. She landed on it would be a combination of both, it was always a combination of both.

“I was thinking about you too actually,” he said with another small laugh.

“Oh yeah?” she asked while chuckling.

“Yeah, you popped up on my for you page, didn’t realize you moved out here,” he expressed.

“About two months ago,” she mumbled. He hummed.

“I mean, I’m out for the season so if you want to get lunch or something we should–we should catch up,” Jack offered.

She tilted her head to the side, staring towards the bedroom door. Tilting her head to the side as the vision of Jack sitting across from her again crossed her mind. She tried to hide the fact that the idea was exciting. Maybe this was her sign. Forcing a relationship doens’t mean that happiness will happen. She wanted to be happy but forcing it was obviously not working. 

“Yeah, sometime–yeah,” she muttered while tilting her head back. She began to pace back and forth while she contemplated on bringing it up. “Just let me know once your feeling better,” 

“Will do, hun,”