#A friend said I was so generous for making her a stitch and this was my response | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mc-lukanette · 3 months ago

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Luka didn't consider himself particularly stupid, but he probably could've caught on earlier to what was going on. In his (weak) defense, Marinette had always been generous with her gifts.

Their friend group wasn't very large: it was him, Marinette, his sister Juleka, Ivan, and Rose. It was also common for them to give each other gifts even if it wasn't their birthday, just to show they cared.

Ivan, for example, gave him a CD one day. It was from a band he didn't recognize, but he was always open to hearing something new. Ivan had that exact thought, knowing he probably hadn't heard it but figuring he might like it. Luka appreciated it.

Then, only a couple days later, Marinette brought him a set of CDs, all from relatively new bands who'd yet to make a name for themselves. Perhaps that should've been suspicious to him, but they'd initially bonded over music in the first place and she was the designer for his band.

Still, he couldn't help commenting, "You didn't have to spend this much on me, Marinette."

"Oh, this?" She shook her head. "This is nothing! I had extra money from some commissions I did!"

There wasn't any sign of a lie. He smiled, thinking how it would be rude to reject the gift in that case. "Okay. Thanks for thinking about me."

She beamed with pride, and something else he couldn't quite place.

—————

The next gift was from Rose. She'd called his name in a sing-song voice and presented him with a thick, fluffy scarf. It was going to get cold soon and the insulation of the houseboat was only so-so.

She didn't hesitate to point out the absurd length either, which Luka had noticed but thought it polite not to comment on. Pointing at it from end to end when he held it stretched out, she didn't bother hiding the fact that it could be used as a "scarf for two."

Gently, he'd reminded her that he and Marinette were not together, nor was he interested in any sort of scheming to make it so. He was perfectly happy being friends and didn't want to push anything on her that she might not want.

It was that same train of logic making him believe that Marinette giving him a handmade scarf, less than a week later, was probably a coincidence.

Probably.

—————

Juleka made plushies of the five of them during art club: soft, carefully stitched together, and absurdly cute. She handed each friend's matching plush when they were all together and blushed when Rose insisted they trade because she wanted the Juleka plush. Luka, meanwhile, placed his atop the speaker next to his bed, impressed when it sat upright all by itself.

It felt like no time at all before Marinette brought along her own handmade plush to show him: himself in his Kitty Section costume.

"It's merchandise!" she explained excitedly, flipping the mask a few times and wiggling the guitar to show that they weren't stuck on the plush itself. "It's just a prototype, but I wanted you to have the first."

Using him as the prototype made sense. He was the oldest, even if only minutes older than his sister, and there was an unspoken agreement that he was the "leader." Decisions about the band tended to go through him as the final, most important voice, and he often spoke for all of them when in public.

The thing that tipped him off, however, was that Marinette was thorough. He would've expected her to drop a full set in front of him, a plan for how to market them, and a sketch of what the best place to sell them would be whenever they played somewhere, just for good measure.

Of course, he wasn't going to say any of that out loud and he loved it anyway, but something felt strange.

—————

"...Marinette," Luka said patiently.

She was all smiles and innocence, practically hopping in place as she held out the tiny jewelry box to him. "I just thought it'd be nice to have another set of earrings to wear!"

That sounded fine enough on its own. He supposed it'd be boring to play the same song over and over again, but this was her first attempt at making jewelry and she was giving it to him. There was something so obviously special about that, yet she was playing it off casually.

Taking the box and looking at the earrings themselves only made it more apparent. It wasn't just some jewelry she'd done up as a test and barely thought about the design of.

The earrings were simple, but clearly themed: a flower on each, but crotchet rests for leaves and a whole note as the center. There was no reasoning of merchandise or just trying something out this time; these were made with him in mind.

And, going off of the flower design, a little bit of herself too.

"This is a lot," he pointed out, and even that felt like an understatement.

She softened, sympathetic. Raising her hands up, she assured, "You don't have to wear them if you don't want to! I already thought that your earrings might mean something to you, so—"

"No," he cut in immediately, catching the misunderstanding. "I meant that you've been giving me so many gifts. You don't have to."

"Huh? But I do," she began as she straightened her back, glaring with determination and clenching her hands tightly into fists, "if I want to get that best friend spot!"

"What?"

He blinked at her, wide-eyed at the sudden declaration. Marinette herself only realized what she said a second later, her posture turning to a slump as she groaned into her hands.

Part of him thought about letting it go, but he was too invested in how important this was to her. He leaned in, asking softly, "Best friend spot?"

She lowered her hands just enough to look at him, then sighed and dropped them at her sides. "Juleka and Rose are already best friends, and Ivan has Mylene, so..." She flicked her wrist in his direction as if to say, 'well, you know.'

Luka did know now, but it hit him like a truck. He flashed back to times of the group playing video games together and the way Marinette's competitive spirit came out, quite literally, to play.

That expression he couldn't quite place all this time and her giving him so many gifts suddenly made sense: she'd been "competing" to take the role of his best friend. There wasn't even anyone to compete with, and she'd known that, yet something so basic held value to her to the point of seeing it as something to "win."

Luka turned his head away and covered his mouth with a hand. He wanted to laugh, but didn't want to give her the idea that he found her efforts something to laugh at. No, it was simply that it was the cutest thing he'd ever heard and it was taking actual effort not to say that out loud.

"A-ah? Luka!" Marinette called, leaning to try and catch a glimpse of his expression.

He went to speak, but remembered the hand covering his mouth and lowered it. Grinning at her, he replied, "You've already got the part."

"The part?" she repeated, then grew excited when what he meant hit her. "Really?"

Cute. So cute. The absolute cutest. How'd she been friendless for so long before meeting him and the others was beyond his understanding.

"What did it?" she pressed. "The CDs? The scarf? The plush? The earrings? It was the earrings, right?"

He shook his head, unable to stop smiling, and didn't elaborate beyond, "It's you." Then, staring down adoringly at the earrings in their little jewelry box, he added, "But I do want to wear these. Can you put them in for me?"

She was still in shock, but shook herself out of it to answer him. "O-oh, sure..."

She took the jewelry box back and he turned around to take out his earrings. He knew it wasn't like he was getting undressed in front of her or anything, but he was learning quickly that even he had limits for how long he could deal with her pretty face saying pretty things.

He removed both earrings, then heard a tiny pecking noise from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Marinette, turned away from him but not enough that he couldn't see the kiss she gave one of the earrings.

He could hear a pounding in his ears, clutching his earrings tight in his hands to feel them poking into his skin, just to make sure this was real.

—————

Luka honestly - perhaps foolishly - thought things would remain like that: with them being "officially" (whatever that meant) best friends and Marinette not feeling like she had to compete with it. She did take the hints that the gifts weren't necessary, and thus gift giving had returned to their usual back and forth.

He hadn't considered anything further than that.

One day, Juleka and Rose were preparing to go on a long walk together, off to a place they hadn't been before. Luka knew they'd be alright, but gave his sister a cheek kiss in a silent wish for luck and safety.

He felt a pair of eyes on him at that moment, but Rose was busy excitedly putting semi-random objects in her bag for the "trip." Also, what was the sudden sense of foreboding going up his spine?

Juleka and Rose waved goodbye and departed the Liberty, Ivan having already left a while ago to see Mylene. Knowing that left only one possibility, Luka glanced over his shoulder to see Marinette, sitting on an instrument case and looking his way.

Immediately, she dropped her gaze to her lap, pouting.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, walking over to her. "We're best friends. You can tell me anything if you want to."

"I-it's nothing," she insisted when it was clearly not nothing. "It makes sense. She's your sister, so it works differently."

Utterly lost, he merely blinked at her, mind racing to understand what had her sulking like she was. It was only when she brought a hand up, her fingertips idly skimming her cheek, that it registered.

"...You want me to kiss you on the cheek?" He sat down next to her, turning towards her as much as possible without their legs brushing.

She blushed, but answered noncommittally, "If you want?" Her voice lowered as she mumbled more to herself than him. "My skin probably isn't as nice anyway. I bet Juleka uses a lot of moisturizer."

Evasive as it was, her position was clear: he was doing something with Juleka that he wasn't doing with her, and thus she was "losing." She wanted him to do things with her that he'd do with anyone else, and maybe even more than that. In his personal opinion, that wasn't being best friends, but—

Well, point being, he was happy to "prove" that they were best friends if these were the standards to hold to.

He leaned over, pressing a light kiss to her cheek that was slightly longer than the one he'd given Juleka, just to be safe. Marinette still smelled faintly of strawberries and coconut, a scent he'd long grown fond of whenever she'd press herself against him in her eagerness to show him something.

He could also confirm that her skin was actually very nice.

She stiffened, mouth dropping open in surprise that he'd actually done it, then delight. A little giggle-hum came out of her as she rested her hands in her lap, looking absurdly pleased with herself.

Luka wasn't sure how she always did that. She was unpredictable, even when he felt he knew her, and was practically preening from a little kiss on the cheek. It was such an easy thing for him to do, but it meant something to her.

His role in the band as "leader" hadn't been self-designated, as he'd always been fine playing in the background if need be. He had no need for attention, fame, and the like. Marinette was different though, and not at all in a bad way.

She was making him center stage, showing him again how much impact his presence had. He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky.

"Ah," Marinette began even though that wasn't really a word, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She was trying to be "cool" about all this, but that was hard to do when she swayed from side to side, her prior pouting swallowed up in her bliss. "You don't have to worry about the earrings, by the way."

"Hm?"

She pointed at one of his earrings - the ones she made for him - and clarified, "I'll make you another pair if you ever get bored of them."

He'd done such a good job at not chuckling at how cute she was, but that finally made him snort. She raised a brow at the reaction and he grinned, pointing out, "That won't work."

"Why not?" She leaned in, genuinely curious.

He reached up to the earrings, affectionately stroking the delicate lines of the flower she designed. "I won't get bored of them. If you make me another pair, I'll just get my ears pierced again."

"Wh—" She shook her head in disbelief, having expected a more practical answer like 'you shouldn't be making me more earrings on a whim.' "You can't do that!"

He shrugged unapologetically, because he absolutely could do that, and he would. Maybe he could make an appointment sometime soon just to prove it.

Shoulders tense in her defiance, she challenged, "And if I get you another pair after that?"

As if it were obvious - and it was to him - he replied easily, "I'll get them pierced again."

"You'll run out of room eventually!"

"I have other places I could get pierced."

She was looking deadly, comically serious about all of this. She brought a fist up to her mouth, her eyes darting all over him like there might be a big sign hanging on him, saying that he didn't mean it.

He wasn't sure what she was actually looking for, but when she made eye contact again, there was something familiar; something blazing behind her gaze.

With her other hand, she reached out and snagged his sleeve. Her pull was strong, bringing him close enough to where he could feel her little huff against his skin. Then and there, she kissed his skin back, right next to his lips.

It was like a tiny lightning bolt hitting him, sparks spreading out all along his face and down his neck. He couldn't tell if the warmth was from her or his face heating up.

Her hand left his sleeve and pressed against his chest, putting him at arm's length to her. Her own cheeks were red, but that fire in her eyes was still there: her competitiveness.

Looking away from him, she stood up quickly and shouted, "W-we'll see!"

Then she ran off further into the Liberty, as if to flee from the bold move. It didn't serve the purpose of actually running away - he lived there - nor did it clarify on what they would "see" about, but it at least gave him a moment to think.

He'd thought before that she hadn't had any competition to be his best friend, which was still true. He couldn't have imagined anyone who could've taken that place but her, so the only obstacle after that was saying it out loud as far as he was concerned, and they'd done that.

But now there was a second competition he hadn't been aware of, whether that was being the best best friend or whatever else she was aiming for. Regardless, she did have an opponent - him - and he'd seen how merciless she could be when it came to competitions.

One thing was for sure: he was in so much trouble.

#queuekanette #lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

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campgender · 14 days ago

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couldn't find this posted elsewhere so wanted to highlight this excellent article about Coretta Scott King's work & legacy, especially in loving Black queer people & working for queer liberation

image description: two screenshots from the Autostraddle article "How Coretta Scott King Leveraged MLK's Legacy to Fight for Gay Rights." the text reads:

In the mid-1980s, when President Ronald Reagan wouldn’t even acknowledge the disease, Scott King – with the help of her assistant Lynn Cothren, an openly gay man — used the King Center to create a welcoming environment for the LGBT community, especially queer black people who were suffering in the middle of a generational genocide from HIV/AIDS. After the death of a close gay friend, she hosted a day of memorial at the Center and encouraged participants to sew stitches on a panel that would become part of the AIDS memorial quilt.

On March 31st 1998, at the 25th Anniversary luncheon for the Lambda Legal Defense and Education Fund, King spoke out against strands of conservatism in black communities that had kept some members reluctant to join the gay rights movement. She stated, “I still hear people say that I should not be talking about the rights of lesbian and gay people and I should stick to the issue of racial justice… but I hasten to remind that Martin Luther King, Jr. said, ‘Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.’ I appeal to everyone who believes in Martin Luther King, Jr.’s dream to make room at the table of brotherhood and sisterhood for lesbian and gay people.”

end image description.

#coretta scott king #queer history #black history #collective liberation #intersectionality #aids #hiv/aids #aids quilt #civil rights movement #lynn cothren #martin luther king jr #mlk jr #mlk day #mlk jr day #mac.txt #image described #misogynoir #homophobia #mac’s bookshelf

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penkura · 6 months ago

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My friend and I have been talking about the idea of Law ending up with a partner who's scared of Doctors/hospitals. Either as a general fear or they had a past of being used as a lab rat. Think it makes an interesting dynamic

I agree greatly! It would be so very interesting to see Law with an SO who is afraid of doctors or hospitals.

Law would notice something is up when you first join the Heart Pirates and hear that he's a doctor. You suddenly quiet and look worried about it, but he doesn't bring anything up at first. White coat syndrome and fear of doctors in general is common enough, he's not hurt by it or anything. He expects you'll move past it as you spend time with him and the crew, coming to realize they aren't going to hurt you or anything, you'll just have routine check ups when it's time and help you through any illnesses.

But when you start to avoid any check ups, even the most basic ones to just make sure you're doing well, Law knows there's something else and he's almost afraid to ask. His worries for you get worse when you actively fight him and Shachi one day when he's trying to check on a wound you got during a fight against another pirate crew. When he merely mentions possible stitches and sees how your eyes widen, he knows there's something very wrong. The fact you start crying, shoving him and Shachi away, telling them not to touch you. Law's about to tell Shachi you need to be sedated so he can check your wound before the red head takes your wrists gently in his hands and gets eye level with you.

"Shh, it's okay, I promise. Captain won't hurt you, he'd never do anything to cause you pain unless it was absolutely necessary. No one's going to hurt you, I promise."

Shachi keeps talking to you until your eyes start to close and you've slumped forward into his arms, Law wondering for a moment if you've worn yourself out before he sees Penguin’s sedated you like he'd originally wanted. It might make you more upset to know they'd done that without fully asking, but it's better so Law can check your wound and you fight him if you do need stitches.

He doesn't ask anything nor does Shachi tell him what's going on yet, not until he's checked you over and your wound is covered. You made it with no stitches, it wasn't that deep in the end.

"What--"

"She was used for medical experiments by some people who said they were doctors. They weren't, they just lied to her, took her to a fake hospital and all that, but..." Shachi sighs a bit, shaking his head and scratching the back of his neck, "She's trying, Captain, she's just scared--"

"Of doctors," Law nods while Shachi looks down, you're still asleep, and it feels weird to talk about you while you're unconscious, "because people lied to her, she doesn't trust me since I am one."

"But she does, Law, she likes you and she trusts you. She needs more time, and help, to know that everything is okay."

Law stays with you after Shachi leaves to give help Hakugan with something else. His first worry was medical negligence had scared you away from doctors, but knowing you'd been lied to and treated like a science experiment angered him. Not knowing about it until now made him believe you didn't trust him enough to tell him, but he wants to change that.

He'll have to apologize for your sudden sedation after you wake up, but at least you weren't too badly harmed during the fight. He's going to do what he can to help you believe that he won't hurt you just because he's a doctor.

(I might have to come back to this later, who knows. 👀)

#one piece x reader #reader insert #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law thoughts #anon ask #answered

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violetrainbow412-blog · 4 months ago

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Day 19: yarn

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

Upon arriving at the building, the first thing Spencer encountered was a figure skillfully moving their hands, sitting in a lotus position, hunched over the sofa in the common area of the apartments.

The man was renting that apartment. Most of those who rented in that place were young people, some studying at university and others simply too comfortable to find something better. You, however, did not fall into either of those categories.

You were the niece of the elderly landlord and apparently lived with her after some unpleasant family situations. That’s why you were usually around, and seeing you knit had become a habit of his.

“Hello”

“Hi, Spencer! How have you been?” you asked, with a cheerful expression on your face. You weren’t wearing shoes, and there was a basket with a bunch of yarn on the floor, from which you were probably taking for whatever garment you were making.

“Good, a bit… busy, but everything has been fine.”

“I heard that the other day you helped my aunt with some plumbing work that needed doing. I didn’t know you had that kind of knowledge.”

“It was something very basic, nothing out of this world,” he murmured, trying to be modest. “What are you knitting?”

Spencer wasn’t used to talking much with the other tenants, perhaps out of shyness or perhaps because he didn’t want to interact with people in general. But with you, it was different; you always seemed interested in what he said and often showed yourself to be friendly. That’s why he didn’t mind sitting on the other sofa for a while.

“A blouse; I have a rough idea…” you carefully pulled out a simple handmade drawing from the basket and held it out to him. “I still don’t know if those will be the colors; I’m deciding.”

“How do you have so much time to do that?” he asked, genuinely interested.

“Knitting isn’t that hard once you get used to it. It’s all about following patterns, and before you know it, you have something solid to wear.”

You carefully approached him and developed quite an informative chat about the types of stitches, needles, yarn, colors, thickness… you were quite the expert on the subject.

He didn’t know there was so much to know to carry out such an activity, and suddenly, he felt a certain admiration for your work. He was known for his clumsiness when it came to motor skills, so conceiving the idea of being able to do that was something extremely strange for him.

Suddenly, you took out your phone to show him some other pieces you had made: sweaters, blouses, scarves, mittens, hats, dresses…

“Have you ever considered selling your work? They’re beautiful.”

“Oh, no. It’s too personal, you know? That’s why I only knit for myself, my family, and friends.”

“Well, you’re very skilled, to be honest. If you made custom pieces, I’d definitely buy one.”

“What do you like most?” you asked excitedly, moving closer to him “Sweaters? Vests? A scarf, maybe?”

“No! You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. It was just an idea. Don’t worry about it,” he murmured immediately, trying to dismiss the thought from your mind.

However, you were already plotting a plan. You knew from your aunt that his birthday was coming soon, and you thought: what could be better than giving him something?

Although you pretended to let the matter pass, you continued seriously considering what would be the most suitable gift to knit for your friend. Because you were friends, right? You hoped so.

You both continued talking about trivialities after that, and you continued with your work as the conversation flowed. You clearly knew he couldn’t stay with you all afternoon, so when he told you he had to leave to fulfill other obligations, you thanked him for the time he had given you.

From that day on, you kept mulling over the idea of what could be the ideal gift for your aunt’s tenant. For several days, you tried to come up with a pattern, something good enough that would match his personality until you finally hit upon it. You were going to make him a collection of gifts, in fact, simply for the excitement of having someone admire your work so much. Besides, he had suggested it, and of course, you were going to stick to your rule: you only knitted for yourself, family, and friends.

Spencer went weeks without seeing you. He felt somewhat worried about your absence but assumed you were busy with your own life, not daring to ask your landlord about your whereabouts. Sometimes he saw the light in your room late at night and wondered what you might be doing, but he would never commit the imprudence of knocking on your door to look for you. That would be inappropriate because, while you weren’t a child or anything, he was a couple of years older than you, and the idea of someone getting the wrong impression worried him greatly.

He couldn’t see you on his birthday, and he didn’t expect you to know (he hadn’t told anyone in the building, as far as he remembered), but he thought it would have been nice to have your company.

It wasn’t until a week later that Spencer had a clue about you when a note with something he recognized as your handwriting slid under his door.

Come to the living room :)

He was confused by the invitation, which was very unconventional, so he prepared to go where you were asking him. Once there, he was surprised to find you with a huge smile, a piece of cake with a lit candle, and a large box on the coffee table.

“Surprise!”

“How do you know?” he asked, slightly confused but also touched by the show of affection.

“I know it was last week, but your gift wasn’t ready yet, and you weren’t here for your cases, and… well, you know. It’s late, but I hope you like it. Come on! Come, sit down.”

You offered him the plate with the piece of dessert, and he happily blew out the small candle burning on it. After applauding that, you patted the box in front of him and brought it closer.

“Did you buy me a gift?” he asked kindly as he sat down next to you.

The box was nothing more than a cardboard box, with no decoration or flashy papers. It was just a plain, brown, large box.

“Open it and find out.”

You looked anxious for him to see the contents, and he had no heart to refuse your excitement. When he opened it, however, he was surprised by something greater than he expected.

Inside were only knitted items: some strange-colored squares (which he would ask you about) and underneath what seemed to be a beautiful brown cardigan with a beige trim and another shade of brown. When he took it out, he was completely moved by the beauty of the garment and smiled widely when he felt the softness of the yarn.

“I don’t know… I don’t know what to say.”

“I also made you some covers for your books, or your planner, or any notebook you want,” you exclaimed excitedly. Oh, so that’s what the squares were for “Try it on! Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he finally said, genuinely excited. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. I told you, I only knit for people I care about.”

Spencer felt extremely honored by the distinction, and for a second, he also felt embarrassed. He didn’t know you considered him a friend at that level and wished he had something to give you too, even though it was his birthday.

He complied with your request and put the piece over his plaid shirt. It fit perfectly, was quite warm, and matched him very well. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to say, stunned by your attention toward him and your personal gift. You had spent weeks knitting that just for him.

“And there’s one more thing,” you pointed out with a smile, and he peered inside.

It was true; there was a pair of socks. But they weren’t ordinary socks; they were knitted in the same way and had a particularity that made him burst into laughter.

“They’re mismatched!”

“I know you wear them like that. So I thought you’d like them,” you murmured, smiling.

You looked so kind and lovely that Spencer couldn’t help but want to hug you, feeling grateful for what you had just gifted him.

“Let me pay you for your work.”

“Are you crazy?” you exclaimed, sounding offended. “It’s a gift, Spencer. Gifts aren’t for sale. Happy late birthday!”

He didn’t expect something like that from you, and just for that, he felt even happier. Throughout the winter season, he made sure to wear your cardigan as much as he could, proud to recount that you had knitted it every time someone complimented the design.

At some point during the winter, he realized that, both literally and figuratively, you had brought unparalleled warmth to his life. First with that cardigan, and of course, then with your friendship.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x you #flufftober 2024 #prompt list #writing challenge #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble

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rafecamerons-national-anthem · 2 months ago

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𝒰𝒩𝐸𝒳𝒫𝐸𝒞𝒯𝐸𝒟 𝐸𝒩𝒞𝒪𝒰𝒩𝒯𝐸𝑅𝒮-𝒩𝐼𝒞𝐻𝒪𝐿𝒜𝒮 𝒜𝐿𝐸𝒳𝒜𝒩𝒟𝐸𝑅 𝒞𝐻𝒜𝒱𝐸𝒵

𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 621

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 @nicholaschavezslut69

Nicholas hadn’t planned on spending his evening in an ER, but plans went out the window when a clumsy moment on set landed him with a nasty gash on his arm. His assistant had insisted he go to the hospital, despite his protests that it “wasn’t a big deal.”

Now, he sat in an exam room, wincing at the sharp sting radiating from the cut while absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. The door opened suddenly, and he looked up, expecting another nurse.

Instead, Y/N walked in, wearing scrubs and a professional expression, clipboard in hand.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Y/L/N-” she started, her voice trailing off as her eyes met his. She froze for a moment before recovering quickly. “And I’ll be your doctor today.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well, that’s a surprise. Didn’t think my emergency visit would come with a familiar face.”

Y/N blinked, then recognition dawned. “Wait. Nicholas? From high school?”

“That’s me,” he said, chuckling. “Though I like to think I’ve improved since then.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “You’re the same Nicholas I remember, always making jokes at the worst possible times. What happened?”

He gestured to his arm, where blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage. “Let’s just say props and I had a disagreement on set.”

Y/N stepped closer, pulling on gloves as she examined the wound. “Looks like a deep laceration. You’ll probably need a few stitches, but it’s not too bad. Lucky for you, you’ve got me tonight.”

“Lucky indeed,” Nicholas quipped, watching her with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

As she worked, cleaning the wound and preparing the stitches, they fell into an easy rhythm of conversation.

“So, a doctor, huh?” Nicholas said, wincing slightly as the antiseptic stung. “That’s impressive.”

Y/N smiled, focused on her task. “And you’re an actor now. Equally impressive. I’ve seen you on General Hospital. You’re really good.”

He grinned, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Thanks. Though right now, I feel less like a leading man and more like an idiot who can’t handle a prop knife.”

“Well, I can confirm you’re not the worst patient I’ve had today,” she teased, threading the needle.

“High praise,” he said with a dramatic sigh of relief, making her laugh.

As she carefully stitched his arm, they reminisced about their high school days, awkward dances, mutual friends, and how neither of them could have predicted their current lives.

“I always thought you’d end up doing something amazing,” Nicholas admitted as she applied the final bandage. “You were always so driven.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And you? I distinctly remember you being the class clown.”

“Hey, class clowns can have dreams too,” he said, feigning offense. “Besides, you always laughed at my jokes.”

“Because I was being polite,” Y/N shot back, smirking.

When she finished, she stepped back, tossing her gloves into the bin. “Alright, you’re all set. Keep the wound clean and dry, and come back in a week to get the stitches out.”

Nicholas stood, flexing his arm carefully. “Thanks, Doc. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Just doing my job,” she said, though her smile lingered a little longer than usual.

As he walked toward the door, Nicholas hesitated. “Hey, Y/N…since I clearly owe you one, how about I buy you a coffee sometime? You know, for old times’ sake.”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Are you asking your doctor out? That’s kind of unprofessional.”

He laughed, leaning against the doorframe. “Maybe. But it’s worth a shot.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, Nicholas. Coffee it is. Just no more ER visits, okay?”

“No promises,” he said with a wink before disappearing down the hallway, leaving her smiling to herself.

#nicholas alexander chavez x reader #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas alexander chavez smut #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez fluff #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #nicholas alexander chaves fluff #fluff #x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

The Dollhouse 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Ann and Lulu. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.

Note: It's thirstday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖

You’ve been waiting all summer to come back. Campus is like paradise to you. Sure, it’s fun to party but there’s also all the clubs and the general sense of community. You always manage to find your way right into the heart of it all.

You’re a bit disappointed to not be living on campus itself but you found an alternative not too far away, and in a nice neighbourhood too. Not to mention, your best friend ever, Polly, will be living with you!

The uber pulls up to the front of the idyllic building and your cheeks bloom with excitement. You spent the extra money to haul all your bags from the station, and it was worth it. You couldn’t have dragged it all that way, even on the bus.

The driver helps you get everything onto the curb. You thank him and tip him on the app. He looks at you with that fogginess that a lot of guys get. He asks if you need anything else and you assure him you’re just fine. He seems almost reluctant to go. His spindly fingers twiddle at his side as he slinks around the hood.

You stand with your bags and take out your phone. Polly said she was on her way. You don’t want to go in without her. You send her a message asking how close she is.

“Hey, what’re ya standing in the middle of the sidewalk for, bitch?”

You wince as you spin to face the grizzly snarl. You harrumph and scowl at Polly as she cackles. It’s funny to think she could do such a scary voice considering she always looks so dainty and perfect. Even then, she wears a blouse and skirt, with a scarf that reminds you of an Audrey classic. Never a stitch out of place with her.

“You sure are dressed for moving day,” you remark dryly.

“Mm, don’t talk to me Barbie Doll,” she tosses the derisive nickname at you, “I see you have on the classic Mattel shade today.”

You pout your pinkened lips at her and roll your eyes, “whatever! Pol! We’re gonna be roommates!”

You squeal together and she lifts her bag over the lip of the pavement, “hell yeah.”

You giggle and look up at the house. You went there once before for the walkthrough and it’s even more perfect than you remember. You bend to take your smallest bag and Polly shakes her head.

“Really? You brought all that? I hope you don’t think I’m gonna be your personal camel and carry it.”

“Don’t be such a downer,” you stick your tongue out.

“Excuse me,” a deep timbre rolls over as the front gate squeaks. You and Polly share a startled look then turn to the large blond man as he steps through. That isn’t Jonathan... “Are you girls here for moving day?”

“Uhhhhh,” you drone out and once more glance at your BFF, “we are.”

“Oh, let me explain, Jonathan can’t make it. He has an emergency at another property. He left your keys with me to deliver,” he stirs around in the pocket of his blazers as he stands across the pavement.

He's taller than the building manager you met in July, broader too. He’s bigger in every way and just as blond. He wears a pair of square glasses and only a plain tee under his suit jacket. He fishes out two key rings and shakes them.

“Here we are,” he grins. He steps forward and offers you one of the fobs. “Front door is a censor. All new system.” He gives Polly the other dongle. “By the way, I’m Steve. I help Jonathan with security. I’ll be popping in for routine measures but I shouldn’t bother you too much.”

“Oh thanks. I’m Barbie, this is Polly,” you squeeze the fob and smile at the grand facade of the building. “Awesome.”

Polly toys with her keyring and stays quiet. She’s usually a riot but around men, you’ve noticed she gets a bit shy. You don’t blame her. Steve is a big guy and his gaze doesn’t falter for a single second.

“Well, that’s great,” you continue, “good to be safe.”

“Yeah, especially with a house full of girls. You never know,” he says.

You blink at the subtlety of his suggestion. Obviously, there’s always those who will have the worst intentions but you try not to think of that. Besides, you’ve been around the block and it all looks very ordinary to you.

“Anyway, let me show you inside. You’ve already got a roommate waiting on your girls,” he announces and claps his hands. “Can I help you with some of this?”

He nods to your bags and you shimmy as you laugh at yourself, “oh, yeah, aha. I wanted to make sure I had everything.”

“No problem, think I can handle it,” he bends and picks up your two largest bags. He doesn’t struggle at all. You gather up the three smaller ones and Polly rolls her suitcase with her.

He stands inside the gate as he waits for you to enter. You lead the way up the walk as Polly clicks behind you. You climb the steps and strut across the porch.

“Go on in,” Steve calls from behind.

You do as he says and set your bags to the side of the entryway. You pause to take off your shoes as you see another pair on the mat. A pair of round-toed flats with bows.

“You two are upstairs,” Steve says, “at the top, rooms at the end of the hall. Do you want me to bring your bags up?”

“Oh, no, you can leave them at the door,” you face him again. “This is so lovely. Will you let Jonathan know we got here or should I call him?”

“I can take care of it,” he says. “I’ll be headed to him once the rest of you show up. My partner’s out of town so we’re short right now.”

“Your partner?”

“Like I said, security.”

“Ah, right, ha,” you rock your shoulders and he puts your bags down lightly.

“Sure you don’t want some help,” he peers upstairs.

“Really, we’re all good, right Polly?”

“Mhmm,” she nods and looks past him.

“Right, I’ll be outside. There's three more coming.” He nods and turns to go.

You wait until he’s out the door to proceed upstairs. As you do, Polly sighs.

“He was nice,” you say.

“I guess,” she agrees dully.

“He’s just doing his job.”

“I know, it’s just, boys, guys, or whatever, standing next to you with them is like being invisible sometimes,” she mutters. “Not your fault but... yeah.”

“Whatever. He’s a bit old for me,” you scoff as you get to the second-floor hall. You forgot how wide it was. Probably a good thing knowing it will be a full house.

As you come to the end of the hall, a door opens and you see a single eye peer out. You stop short and Polly hits your back. The girl shifts the door and sticks her head out.

“Uh, hi,” she squeaks, “I’m Lulu.”

“Hey, uh, we’re... Barbie,” you point to yourself, “and Polly.”

Polly leans around to wave with her free hands, “hi, Lulu.”

Lulu lets the door go and steps out, “it’s been so quiet around here. I got here last week. It’s so nice to have people around.”

“Oh, really?” You wonder.

“I’m on exchange so... yeah, had to fly in,” she smiles sheepishly. “Anyway, sorry to bug you. Just wanted to say hi.”

“You’re not bugging us at all! We were just chatting with Steve--”

“Steve?” She frowns, “oh, the big bald guy? That’s Sy.”

You frown and look at Polly, “no, Steve. Blond hair. Big.” You make yourself wide as you say the last word.

“Ohhhh, sorry, I haven’t been out of my room. I’ve been so nervous,” she giggles and it sounds like a tinkling bell.

“He’s the security guy or something,” Polly says.

“Right,” Lulu’s lips tremble, “cool. Um, anyway, if you need me to show you around...”

“Um, sure. We’ll drop out things off then I want to have a look at the kitchen. I was thinking of having some drinks once the rest got here. Maybe we can do a housewarming,” you chirp.

“Oh, that sounds fun,” Lulu laughs again and it seems to clog her throat. She clears it and blinks, “sorry. Nervous.”

You smile. You like meeting new people and the most exciting part for you, is all the different personalities coming together. And there’s still three more girls on the way.

New things are always scary. For you, even the familiar is frightening. Sometimes what you know is the most dangerous. Like the bullies you went to school with for years.

Transferring to a new college is enough stress on its own but moving to a whole new city, that’s another beast on its own. Just like a dragon on its hoard. You clutch your worn novel to your chest as you walk down the street, your bag bouncing on the cracks in the sidewalk.

You should’ve written this down. You think you’re going in the right direction. After the greyhound, you counter the city transit into the core and from there, you’ve been walking in circles. Finally, you recognise a street name and stop to turn on your data and spend a few MBs on confirming your destination. Just at the end. Phew.

That gate was in the photos, those hedges too. Wow, it looks so much better IRL. You slow down in disbelief as you stare up at the siding. This can’t be. For the price you’re paying, you have to have taken a wrong turn.

“Moving in?” A chipper voice asks as a shadow skews over the pavement next to yours.

You blanch and look over at a boy about your age with reddish brown hair and warm amber eyes. He grins as you lower your chin then turn back to the house, “uh, yeah?”

“Me too,” he says. “Peter. It’s a pretty cool building, huh? My aunt knows the owner.”

“Mr. Pine,” you murmur.

“I call him Jonathan but, yeah,” he chuckles. “You’re a Thrones fan?”

You furrow your brow and glance over again. Then you check the book in your hand.

“I’ve only read the books,” you say.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly,” you answer and sniff. You stare up at the house as it sinks in. You’ll be sharing a space with him. Not only him, but four others.

“Should we go in together?” He offers.

“Sure, why not,” you clutch your phone against the book and drag your bag forward. “Um, Mr. Pine said we should call--”

“Yeah, that’s whatever. Like I said, I know him,” he insists as he goes ahead of you and unlatches the gate. “Come on.”

You come forward as he hitches up his duffle bag. Your suitcase rattles over the threshold as another figure appears from the porch, “Pete, didn’t say you were bringing your girlfriend.”

A large blond man, built like a warrior in a fantasy novel, descends the steps, “don’t think the roommates will be very happy about that.” “Whatever, Steve. She’s one of them. We just met.”

“Ah, another one,” the man says, “great, just one more then.” The man digs in his pocket, “Jonathan left the keys.” He takes out two fobs and doles them out between you and Peter, “I’m Steve. Security.” He explains.

“Oh, uh, nice to meet you,” you eke out.

“This is Molly,” Peter intones and you give a bashful look. Oops, you forgot that.

“Right, you two are on the first floor,” Steve says, “you wanna show her around, Pete?”

Peter clucks, “Peter,” he corrects, “Steven.”

The large man chortles and nods at you, “let me know if he gives you any trouble. It is my job to deal with the rabble.”

You smile tightly and Peter waves off the other man, “come on. I’m sure you don’t wanna stand out in the sun with this lump head.”

You show your teeth apologetically before you follow Peter. He strides down the walk and up the steps. You’re a few feet behind him.

As you enter the house, you hear voices. They hush and you listen for them as they seem to do the same. Peter stands on the mat as you unlace your sneakers.

“Hello?” He calls out, “anybody here?”

There’s some noise before footsteps come from somewhere deep in the house. You look up to the top of the stairs as a figure appears above. The girl bounds down as two others loom behind her.

“Helloooooo!” She trills, “I’m Barbie!”

“Barbie,” Peter says, “hey. I love your lipstick.”

“It’s gloss, actually, honey,” she winks, “you two are moving in? You’re friends too?”

“Oh, uh no,” you shake your head, “we just...”

“Good timing,” Peter says, “Peter, Molly.” He points in tandem with his introductions.

“So cute, Molly, well up there is Polly. That rhymes! Polly and Molly, and that’s Lulu,” she gestures up behind her as the girls wave, “think there’s only one room left.”

“What are we thinking?” Peter asks. “Party tonight? Ice breakers?”

“Something like that. Drinks?” Barbie suggests.

“You’re my kinda girl, Barbs.”

“Barbie, hon,” she chides with a wag of her finger, “anywho, I’ll let you two get cozy while we wait on the last one.”

“I hope it’s a dude,” Peter mutters as he turns away.

You smile at Barbie then follow him. You’re not sure where your room is but he seems to know exactly where he’s going. You wouldn’t mind a door to hide behind.

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abbysimsfun · 1 month ago

Text

Dating Deanna Entry: Nicola Moody-McMillan for @changingplumbob

Hey everyone! I've never done anything like this before so I don't know exactly how to introduce myself. But I'm a schoolteacher in Henford-on-Bagley, the same small town where I was born and raised.

I'm currently living in my childhood home in the Bramblewood with my mother, Kim, and my younger brother, Dominic. Our relationship is pretty good even though my mom can be a bit of a problem at parties, but I'm a family-oriented sim! My mother and brother mean the world to me, and we've been especially close since my dad passed away not that long ago.

Apart from my job, which I love, I like doing Henford things - offering favours to people in need, cross-stitching, gardening, and talking to birds! I haven't really travelled much, but I'm ready to get out of my comfort zone!

I think. I really love comfort, and I've heard these bachelor shows can get a little wild. My friends said not to worry about my manicure - but honestly, I'll probably always worry about my manicure.

The big elephant in the room is my marital status - divorced. At 24! I married my high school sweetheart but she turned out to be less sweetheart, more heartless...sorry, that's a boring story! We grew apart.

Some days it feels like we divorced just yesterday. But some time has passed, I really believe in counseling, and I'm ready to try dating for, really, the first time in my life. That's kind of embarrassing to say out loud!

My friends said don't be negative. But some days can feel like the worst day ever, you know? Maybe you don't know. I don't know. I'm not always great at first impressions and I can be a little high maintenance, but I'm excited about this experience!

I can't wait to meet Deanna. Joey can flirt with me if he wants, but I'm a high maintenance lesbian who wants a family, so he'd be wasting a good line on the wrong gal! Even though I can be a pretty competitive teacher on School Sports Days, I'm really looking forward to getting to know the other contestants, too. People who don't know Hazel. Who isn't important.

More about Nicola, housekeeping, etc...

Nicola Kimberly Moody-McMillan (she/her), daughter of Henford townie Kim Goldbloom, and granddaughter of townies Ian McMillan and Derek Moody, who adopted Kim. Nicola's father was a very blond randomly-generated sim named Eddie Harmon (RIP!). She has a younger brother named Dominic.

She's grown up from a wee sprite in my Sims In Bloom legacy challenge as a best friend and then girlfriend/later wife of my Gen 2 heir's little sister (until it all fell apart).

Nicola is a cis lesbian who is exclusively attracted to women, both romantically and sexually. She is a monogamous sim, but Henford is a small town. Whether her interests include non-binary or trans women remains to be discovered, actually.

Goes By: Miss Moody-McMillan (in class), Nicola, Nic, but not Nicki Hometown: Henford-on-Bagley Traits: High Maintenance, Family Oriented, Good (originally she had one of @maplebellsmods's More Traits - Spoiled - in addition to the last two, and I figured High Maintenance was closest to that one). She had a fourth bonus trait, Childish, which I lost when I switched out Spoiled, but feel free to add it back in for the sake of keeping her canon if you have the extra slots! Fears Being Cheated On (I think this should carry over into the Gallery-saved version but I'm actually not sure...) Likes: Bowling, Gardening, Handiness, Research & Debate, Cross-Stitch, Fitness, Wellness, Physical Intimacy, Flirtation, Deep Thoughts, Compliments, Stories, Small Talk, Discussing Interests, Discussing Hobbies, and has a more upbeat, poppy, or catchy singer-songwriter driven music taste Dislikes: Dancing, Fishing, Programming, Arguments (they make her feel bad even though she can be combative), Deception Favourite Colours: Blue, Grey, Purple, White

Open to flirt/get intimate with other contestants? She's there for Deanna and to build a future with her, but she's also spreading her wings for the first time so yes.

Open to polyamory? As much as marriage sucked for Nicola the first time around, she still believes in soulmates and true love and monogamous commitment.

Open to woohoo? She would be if it feels right.

Doesn't vibe with pessimistic, argumentative, and ambitionless sims. And yes, with her traits and Henford origins she's definitely grown up to be a little fairytale princess-coded. Maybe she's a little like The Princess and the Pea, so we'll see how she does with the challenges and her high maintenance mood swings.

Now that introductions are out of the way, she and her Watcher are All In.

Download Available: On the Sims 4 Gallery under userID simcann, 'Nicola for DatingDeanna.'

cc used? The submitted version of Nicola has EA eyebrows in a shade darker than her hair colour, but normally she has TwistedCat's Lush eyebrows which are Maxis-friendly. Even though they look darker on her, they're the same shade of blonde as her hair. Most of the above photos were taken with her new eyebrows, except the portrait with her mother and brother, which shows her OG cc brows.

For anyone curious to see her dear departed dad, Eddie, here he is with Nic's mom, Kim, in their younger years, next to a shot of kid Nicola because I'm shamelessly buying affection for her:

And recently, Nicola randomly dressed for Spooky Day as The Final Girl. Just saying:

WCIFs: The picture of Kim, Nicola, and Dominic is from @simmireen's amazing Ultimate Family Portrait posepack, a perpetual favourite of mine! The classroom is just a room, but I found it on the Gallery by Jmadyson1030 - I love the aesthetic, the hamster cage, and the cushy extra seating along the walls. Felt like a classroom I'd almost want to be in myself!

#datingdeanna #sims in bloom #gen 2 #bachelor challenge #kim goldbloom

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scriptnoir · 8 months ago

Text

SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN.

you develop a strange friendship with the pretty college girl who visits your library.

pairing. olivia hayes (jessica alexander) × female reader

length. 12.9k words

themes. smut, uni student!olivia, librarian!reader, legal age gap, praise kink, pet names (princess, ma'am), fluff, angst

warnings. homophobic and blackmailing antagonist, age gap, smoking, get even spoilers, maybe ooc olivia but NO ONE GETS HER LIKE I DO DON'T @ ME

author's note. HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!!! yall dont know how special this fic is to me. i started this in september, continued writing it in february (!!!) after being down bad for jess then, after watching get even, revised it to be for my baby olivia hayes :) also my first fic on this blog ! olivia hayes and get even in general are pretty niché in fics, but i hope you'll give this a chance </3 also, i will be writing for more female celebs so stay tuned !!

There was a library - a nice, wide place located in the smaller parts of the university. It’s where the students seldom went to study for their exams, perhaps find a little reprieve from all the youthful stress that curled around them. They’d lounge on the sofas with a textbook in their laps, or hide behind an aisle of novels to make out. That didn’t matter to you - what you cared about was that your second home was a safe space for them, just like it was to you, where nothing else was out to get them but the smell of new books.

That’s where it all started.

It was all supposed to go so normally, but then she came in.

Suddenly you weren’t so safe anymore.

Oh, but could she do any naught? You heard and dismissed rumors, but she was just a schoolgirl - well, the better and more guiltless term was perhaps college student. Still, you're a handful of years older than her with a degree she's using the end of her teens to fight for. She was young. Innocent too, with those bright, casual eyes that passed around the library fascinatedly. But it was far from easy to remember that when those long legs strode confidently in your vicinity, underneath that short skirt which ought to get her in trouble with the dress code. But why? It was standard uniform - it wasn’t her fault she was beautiful. Ah, and one couldn’t forget the socks, simple white ones yet looked painfully beautiful on her with how they wrapped around her thighs like a present.

When she looked at you and smiled, it was a cut straight to the bone. No remedy here. Stitches couldn’t save you.

In the second minute since she arrived here, you realized that she was familiar. That was the kind of face you never forgot - engendered into the ripples of your brain forever, a flame of memory kept alive. Because she was just a college student - many years your junior - but she was so goddamned beautiful that it ached your tongue and left it numb.

“Hi,” she said softly. From one word you could tell that curled preppy accent - something that teetered between an heiress’s and a sweet friend - was natural. From one word you were left breathless.

“Olivia Hayes.” You mentioned her name without thinking and with too much a realization, and now it sounded as if you didn’t know her, and oh, how rude that was. How dare you be rude to a girl like her, known and adored by everyone, a princess? You wanted to say you just recognized her, that you knew her already - which wasn’t false - but she’s already smiling.

Her smile, sweet with tender full lips and her eyelids reaching for their other halves, was something you could swim in forever. Oh, you’d drink from her, too - she was a saltless sea that tasted of nectar instead.

“That’s me,” said Olivia, beaming. “I’m the president of the student council. I think that’s where you remember me?”

Of course. She was the pretty face that always led a group of giggling schoolgirls to the hallway; the pretty voice that spoke at auditoriums for the school’s events; the pretty body that flexed as it twisted to send a ball that’s just as small as her head over the net. While you weren’t a professor by any means (you had tried to be, but that dream was whisked away quickly), you were a frequent presence for the student activities. The one who always, always stood out to you was her.

You suddenly found it very, very hard to gulp down another rough bout. She was beautiful in a way that was impossible to perceive without falling for her. When she had that relatively tall yet slender form all compact and tight in her uniform, with lips that became her brand - (because the other girls would always gossip and say how they wanted lips that full, and maybe you were jealous too) - and had their glossed signature, it forged a path that only led to wanting her.

“Yes, you’re right.” You collected yourself. “Anything I can help you with Ms. Hayes?”

“Do you have anything about Greek mythology?”

That was the lilt of tone she used with her close circle of friends, fondly. Were you a friend to her now? Oh, but you had just met. Not just, perhaps, but this was the first time you actually talked to her lengthily. But she knew you - she’d said your name, and she, with the allowance of you basking in her sweet voice, considered you as someone trustworthy.

But you were far from that. A trustworthy individual did not reach desperately after a kempt schoolgirl like her, or fantasize about doing away with that skirt and scheme to watch all that royal composure dissolve from the princess that she was.

It was only now that you came to the realization that you had always, after all this time, wanted Olivia Hayes.

“Ma’am?” she asked, and all you could think was, oh, it’s the end. It was the beginning of the end the moment she was a polite girl and called you a name that was as innocent as her. It was of no ill intent when she called you that - she was merely asking for your help - but your fist curled up and your throat was tight.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

You had to act before you did anything stupid, like make her use those perfect lips on you, put them to good use; get your hand all up in that golden-brown hair. Instead of acting upon all those sinful fantasies, you placed a book she might like, the one you recommended for her only, and brushed the old crumbs of bookshelf dust from its cover. Because you’d hate to see those long, pretty fingers get stained.

As you handed her the book, which she accepted with a smile, you asked, “You read a lot I presume?”

She giggled. “I try to,” she said. “Haven’t got time for it lately. But I have to.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re excellent,” you told her, not being able to help yourself. It wasn’t like it was a lie - Olivia Hayes had a lot of potential in her. A great leader, having watched her create the rules to keep the students in line; a great actress, having seen her perform at the theater with emotions that shook you to the core; a great person in general.

“Oh.” Olivia’s cheeks filled with pink. And you found out that when she got shy, her ears flushed too. You ought to smile. “You think so?”

And this was the kind of schoolgirl sweet you pictured her as. She found everywhere but your eyes to look at, and her legs began to sway to and fro, shifting her weight from here to there to stabilize herself. Olivia Hayes - president of various important clubs, prom queen and honor student - could also be . . . adorable?

The rumor mill claimed she wasn’t such a sweetheart. A real fucking snob, a boy claimed after leaving her classroom with tears on his face. Stuck-up bitch. Too arrogant for her own pretty good.

You never believed them. You . . . .did, perhaps? But it was not a belief you held to defame her.

You actually found the roll of her eyes, the snide of her scoffs and checking of her perfect nails a little hot.

But the pink on her face was how you realized that she’s the type of girl who’d melt if called anything remotely complimenting. It’s what she was used to; what revolved her world.

“I know so.”

“Ah,” she mumbled, nodding thoughtfully as she looked down at her black Mary Jane shoes. “Thank you.”

Quietness settled into your humble library. It was what you insisted upon hearing, but there was something about Olivia - how she rolled her words, giggled when she was nervous, spoke softly but easily - that made you want to break your own rules. And several others.

“You have a library card?”

“I don’t.” You envied how she managed to recollect herself before she melted more. You could never say the same thing about yourself. Suddenly her chin was up again, and a small smile played on her lips. “Is it alright if I read here for a while Ma’am?”

What else could your answer be?

The day became night, the moon stark in the sky from behind your library windows. All the students had filed out. It was time to close.

You looked at your log book. Plenty of people came in today. You were happy about that. As a librarian (you taught too if that meant anything), you were naturally passionate about books. Having a job related to them was a dream right from the start. When you were young, you wanted to be a librarian. When you entered high school, you wanted to be a librarian. When you finished college, you became one. The pay was nothing close to meager which was enough for you. You wanted this job and not one day passed that had you upset about it.

Mostly, people came here to hang out or hide. That didn’t matter to you, but what struck you was Olivia. Ever since dismissal time, she was in that corner reading. A pile of books sat on the table with her. All of them were about mythology, whether novels or retellings or anecdotes.

You pretended not to notice her as you rearranged books and disposed of unattended belongings. It kept you busy. Sometimes nobody cared about the system you ordered your books in, or the tidiness overall of your little place. So it took a while, one you were pleased about, until you walked over to Olivia.

She was on the four-hundredth page of the novel. Her thumb pressed above the high number on the foot of the page. Didn’t she just start that? And she was still going.

“You’re a fast reader,” you remarked, fascinated.

She looked up in surprise. A sense of calm passed over her features when she realized it was you. “Y-yes I am. Other days I finish books in like a year, but I guess this isn’t one of those days.”

“Same here.” You liked how you had that in common with her. She was pretty already, but a voracious reader? That was the key to your heart.

You picked up her bag beside her chair and placed it on the table. She returned to scanning the book, the pages crisp between her manicured nails and eyes bright and thoughtful. In her lap was a notepad. Her writing was tidy and smooth. Small letters spelled details about Odysseus, gods, and fables.

“You have a quiz about Greek mythology?”

“Oh no.” She shook her head. “I’m doing research since I got the part in a play about this stuff.”

“Let me guess: Aphrodite?”

It was a basic line - so easy, actually, so obvious. But it fit so well and her ears started to color again. She covered her mouth to giggle, then sat up straighter. The form of her back was like a duchess's: composed, slant, smooth. But she wasn’t a duchess. No - perfect lips, eyes shimmering; she was something more. Something else.

Olivia pursed her lips before smiling softly. “If I were naïve Ma’am” - there was that word again, sweet and faultless but making you pent up, as she considered you with a serious gaze - “I’d think you’re trying to flirt with me.”

“Too quick for that, don’t you think?” you backtracked. You had to be appropriate. Yet you reeled forward again: “But you’re a beautiful girl, fitting for the part.”

You normally didn’t go for the model-in-the-making girls, much less ones who were younger than you. But she had this different aura about her. She was quiet, sweet, and incredibly polite while maintaining her popularity and schoolwork. She was each one of those but people still chose to put her down. You wondered how she dealt with everything. What was behind that pretty, pretty face?

“Unfortunately, being pretty doesn’t free you from my rules.” You pointed at the clock. Regret filled your heart as you informed her. “It’s 7 PM. According to school regulations, I was supposed to close twenty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you close then?” A smile creased the corners of her eyes and emphasized her lips. “I thought being beautiful didn’t exempt me?”

There it was. She knew how to reply, how to send back a maimed question with a bigger bullet. This was why people liked to deem her an intimidation.

She was smart, cunningly sweet. You never doubted Olivia’s intelligence but it still surprised you. She looked at you knowingly while you flustered. You searched for an answer when all you searched for was the hike of her skirt up her thighs. She knew your game, and she was not afraid to play it.

Olivia was a tactful, patient pupil. She sat with her hands folded in her lap - like a good fucking girl - and waited for your response. You mustered nothing. It felt stupid to stand there and wordlessly admit you got cornered by a nineteen-year-old.

“It . . . does now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Fuck.

“You know you can take these books back to your dorm? All you need is a library card.”

“Oh!” Delighted, she stood up and beamed with a light that always was with her, even in the night. “When can I get one?”

“Here tomorrow. Like I said, library hours are done.”

Olivia didn’t take your sternness to heart. She picked up her bag and slung it on her shoulders. She began to leave.

She was simply following orders but you hated to see her go. You were already yearning for her. You would have wanted to like her in a purely pure way, but you weren’t a good woman. You yearned for the slip of her stockings down her knees, the prop of her neck, the flight of her hair as the wind pushed past her.

She turned to you at the doorway. Did she read your thoughts? Did she forget something?

“Well,” she said, “if here’s where you want me to be.”

Then, in a low voice and the final smile of the day, “Ma’am.”

Plenty of students came in after her. They were either the ones who didn’t have friends to eat lunch with (you didn’t enforce the no food rule for them) and the ones who were rowdy, using your sanctuary as a place to yell and make jokes (you tapped the silence rule taped to your desk.) Everyone signed their names in your log book, but the words flew past your notice. All those days gone and your eyes still remained on Olivia.

Everyday she sat on the loveseat with her legs crossed. She didn’t speak one word. Olivia simply read and read and read, occasionally pausing to rest and take notes. Her nose was buried in the book, but you could see her brilliant eyes above its edges. They disseminated, observed, analyzed. The rest of her face was covered and you still found her beautiful.

“Ma’am,” spoke a student nearing your desk, “can I get a library card?”

The background blurred. You looked at the student and realized you were staring at Olivia for too many an hour. You had to focus. Ogling at a student was inappropriate, and not what the private university paid you for.

Also, the title didn’t sound as nice as it did if it came from someone who wasn’t Olivia Hayes.

“Of course.” You rose from your chair as you took his ID.

“It’s free, right?”

“Yes, no charge.”

You typed in his name. It wasn’t long or a unique one but you had to read it several times over to ensure its correctness. Typical procedure. Ronny. Soon, his library card was laminated and printed. You placed it on your desk for him to take.

Thanking you, Ronny picked behind his ear. “I couldn’t help but notice,” he began, “you were looking at Olivia for a bit there.”

You swallowed. Were you that obvious? You hated to think so. The last thing you wanted was your ogling at the girl to be something controversial. (It was.) You were doing it for days, ever since her initial visit.

What did you say to him? What did you do?

“Oh, uh. No. I just space out a lot.”

He saw through your lie. His easy grin made you uncomfortable. Why? He was just making conversation. “I mean, I understand. She’s really pretty and popular, but she doesn’t have many friends.”

You turned to look at Olivia. She was still reading. The whole time she was quiet and preserved, not taking time to speak to others. She liked to keep to herself for a girl who was the talk of the campus.

“Doesn’t she?”

“She needs someone to talk to,” he told you. His words were overly friendly, like he was lulling you into a drunken false sense of security. “I think you’d be perfect. She’s just getting into reading.”

“I-I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He gave you a smirk of knowledge and left. Shit. Why did you have to be so indiscreet? You quickly collected yourself and returned to your book. You had to forget about it.

The characters in your book fought against dragons and fell in love and fell apart and passed on. Chapters became nothing like the minutes. There were rare moments when you had to look up and assist someone, but aside from that, the day was relatively uneventful.

Night arrived, slowly like it always did. You were a dedicated reader, but the story was uninteresting compared to the pretty girl lounging across you. She was the only one there now.

Before you could return your eyes to the book and stop watching at how she flicked her hair back and checked her phone, she caught you. Her attractive smile was full of awareness of your plight. You quickly looked down at the pages. It was too late.

School shoes tapped a rhythm on the floor as she approached you. She leaned down on your desk. You tried to ignore her and pretend she wasn’t there. But Olivia had a face people would never forget. She was most likely someone’s first love, who, even when along came a girl who filled their life, was not erased from memory. No, she was too precious to let go.

“You know,” stated Olivia, her tongue curved upwards at the side of her lips, “you could just talk to me. I’m not scary, am I?”

You lowered the story. She was so good to look at. Her hair was tossed over the side and she wore a carefree smile that invited you to close the book.

Was she scary? Yeah - her exclusiveness, tight-knit friendships and beautiful wit - you’d call that scary.

But the fear always turned into a yearning - please notice me when I walk past; please say my name again; please ruin me- let me ruin you-

“Sure.” You gave in. “What do you wanna talk about?”

She thought for a while. “Anything that’ll make us friends. I like you. It’s gonna be easy.”

Being friends didn’t sound dangerous. What could happen? It’s not as if the moment you bonded you would suddenly grab the small of her back and let your lips meet.

“Wanna get out of here?’’ She framed her cheek with her fingers. “I’ll put on a jacket. Nobody will know.”

You’d love nothing more. But was it alright? There were lines being crossed here: the relationship between a student and a mentor; the rules; the propriety.

She looked you up and down, taking note of everything, then cocked an eyebrow. Oh, it was a challenge. Would you give in?

You found yourself buttoning your coat and walking out with her. The library had to close early. She grinned and looped an arm through yours. You made an excuse that your sudden freezing up was due to the night air.

Well, it was chilly. The breeze puffed Olivia’s hair into the night. She always made herself look like a femme fatale from a fan favorite watch - red lips; smoky eyes; and a tendency to make anyone want her. Ah, not a tendency - she was a natural heartstealer. She broke it even if you weren’t a thing when you saw her with boys, with girls, with anyone looking to tear her uniform down in pieces when you felt the exact same thing.

The school looked more serene in the darkness. It was so grand but looked just like home. Old bricks built themselves up into pillars that resembled castles. Dim light illuminated from dorm windows.

“It’s nice to get out of that place for once,” Olivia said. She tilted her head to the school and sighed humorously. But the smoke of air that left her mouth shook a little too. “It’s kind of suffocating in there, honestly.”

The branches reached for her hair. Your shoes were torn by growing roots. But through everything, you kept walking. You wanted to know: what was more to this forest? What was more to her?

“Let me guess,” you said. “It’s the popularity contests? Friends? Math?”

She rolled her eyes, a confirmation. “Ugh, math.”

“You’ll get through it,” you assured her. It was cliché to say, but everything would eventually come to pass. You were on a planet in a galaxy in a galaxy in a galaxy, or whatever. It didn’t matter. “I mean, I did. If anyone could do it, it’s you.”

“I was gonna say you did excellent getting through it, but I don’t know you that well.”

“So get to know me.”

You talked, and Olivia was surprisingly easy to connect with. She listened with attentively creased brows and an occasional laugh. You narrated the basics: “read” was your first word. You did your classmates’ homework in exchange for candies. Reading was your foundation. If you had to go without it, you died.

You thought that she would make a joke about the cheesiness, or worse, laugh at you. But she didn’t. She kept listening. She sometimes threw you a few interesting questions that kept the drain of conversation going. The thoughtful, caring energy in her face was solid and you felt undeserving to bask in it.

“What I like to say is I’m a reader before a woman,” you told her anyway. The depths of the forest came up and for some reason you weren’t scared. It was the rumor mill for ghosts and hookups, but you were with Olivia. Why would you be scared? “That’s how I wound up here in a uni, letting them read what I have.”

Olivia nodded, hands on opposite elbows. The trees towered over you and made horrific shadows on the dust. Fear didn’t get to you. “Do they pay you well?”

“They do.”

“Must be fun.” She bit on the inside of her cheek, making the soft skin hollow. “Doing something you love.”

There was a wistfulness in her voice. Her expression was dreamy as she thoughtfully stepped over the roots and twigs.

“Well,” you began, carefully, “what do you love?”

Olivia smiled self-assuredly. “Me.”

She told her story. She was born rich, lived rich, and would die rich. Her mother was an heiress whose love was a businessman, and the wealth would go on for the next ten or more generations. She wanted to be an active and proper student, behaving well enough so as not to take advantage of her father buying her out of any situation. She participated in many clubs and, according to this year’s paper, was the school’s Actress of The Year.

You didn’t think you had too much coffee today but you thought that it wasn’t illusion she had inched closer. Olivia’s knee was beside yours, and she was speaking and chuckling like you weren’t close to being insane about how smooth her skin felt.

Was this the “bitch” who supposedly broke hearts and ruined lives? She flipped her hair and giggled like she had all the time in the world. She didn’t seem so terrifying.

“I try not to be so stuck up. I want people to leave me alone, but only when I need them to.”

You shrugged. “That explains why . . . ”

“Yeah?” She was not going to let that obvious halt pass.

You blinked. “Oh, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” she dismissed, continuing the path down the forest. Olivia studied her fingernails. “It’s not like I don’t know people think I’m a bitch.”

So she knew. She had that admirable composure steadying her, but how did she deal with the falsehood? There was everything to cope with - the pressure of her parents; school; and friends who expected a lot from her. What was her method?

“For the record, I don’t think you’re a . . . ”

“Say it.” Olivia’s eyes flicked up from her nails and shot you with a cheekiness that made you feel lightheaded. “Call me a bitch.”

She slipped her hand in yours. The textures of your skin were vastly different. Hers was as soft as a baby’s cheek. Smooth and blemishless too.

“Actually,” she added coyly, “call me whatever you want . . . Ma’am.”

You stared back at her. What did you just start? She winked at you then continued talking like she didn’t almost cause a heart attack.

The moon was stark and sent bursts of wind whipping you around. Sometimes you felt her grip tighten around the slots of your fingers to keep her balance. You hoped your palm wasn’t sweaty.

“They’re right though.” She giggled, fixing the blazer of her uniform. “I need a little redefining. So I’m doing some self-improvement, working on my habit of rolling my eyes.”

“You’re a perfect student,” you joked, but you meant it. Every word was genuine. “You’re intelligent, pretty, studious, and committed. Who do I have to fight to be you?”

As expected, she rolled her eyes with a stifled simper. You both burst out laughing and for a few seconds it was all you knew. The lines of her smile, the shrink of her eyes as she chuckled - it was all so beautiful.

“Seriously! You’re a beautiful girl. And that hair is lethally gorgeous.”

“Thank you. It’s smooth too. I guess combing like ninety times a day helps.” She scooted closer, as if close weren’t close enough, and turned her head. Golden-brown locks showed themselves to you. “See for yourself.”

Was she bold or just friendly? You gingerly ran your fingers through them. No knots blocked your way. Each thread was silky and clean. This was the kind of soft you’d feel on pillows in hotels you couldn’t afford. You were pretty sure she had well-paid, adoring women who attended to her for this.

It felt intimate. Too intimate. There was hesitance as she observed you, like she wanted to do something but had to think twice. You were getting so comfortable in the familiarity of her features that you had to remember she was a student and you were . . . you. This was like busting yourself out of the closet and getting yourself a case of being improper with a student, although she wasn’t a child by any means.

You put your hand back down. “What color is it?” you asked.

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “Brown? Blonde? Somewhere in between?”

Whatever it was, it looked good on her. Everything looked good on her. She was the only student you saw who never looked stuffy in the hot uniform. The British air was hot in the morning but not one drop of sweat stuck to her skin. Her mane of somewhere-in-between was articulately brushed and straightened.

Footprints of athletes still were visible on the ground. You stamped your foot over a mark of a rubber one. She followed suit. With that, you left a sign you were here. It might be the only sign that you ever lived.

Books and shelves faded over time, but the earth would always remember your mark. It was sort of sentimental. This would be the first and only time you live, and you were glad to spend it enjoying a night with a girl you liked and getting to know quickly. Maybe you knew her all along.

“If you really think I’m all that,” Olivia said, toying with the zipper of her jacket, “you should come to the play. I’ll prove my worth. It’s next week.”

“I’ll be there,” you instantly replied.

You’d love to see her act again. Plays weren’t your thing but it would be good to see Olivia onstage, reciting her lines with deep emotion and twirling from prop to prop. You knew she wouldn’t disappoint.

Her eyes lit up, and that response told you, without overassumption, of a mother who was too busy to come to her activities, of a father who wasn’t there. Never was. “You promise?”

She was holding you to it, you could tell. It was a promise you were willing to keep. You’d never break it if the circumstances tested you.

“If that’s where you want me to be.”

“That’s my line,” she objected. She pulled the end of her skirt down to her knees. The waistband sank and unveiled modest skin. It was so devoid of ill intention that it was just right to make you feel guilty for looking. “If you use it, you need to have a nickname for me too.”

She turned to you. The crescent moon refracted in her pupils. Olivia was dead serious. You stopped in your tracks and tried to think. But she was there - so gorgeous, so put together and so lovely - that it made your thoughts go static.

Right from the start, you yearned. You thought it began when she visited your library for the first time. But now you thought that it dated back to watching her act, watching her and her group of friends, watching her be herself in a midst of elites. You wanted her since the moment she stepped in the university and it was difficult to deal with.

Why? Because you wanted to call her a lot of things. Each would be sweet or sour, whichever she chose, as she sank between your legs and/or sat in your lap and/or just kept being the tantalizingly beautiful thing she was.

“What’s something people call you?” you offered weakly.

“Uh. Ollie and um, Hayes-Are-For-Horses” - you laughed and she had to explain it was back in primary, when she used to be bullied by the people who desired her now - “Liv, Livvie, Livia, Princess-”

“Princess?”

She looked down, a little embarrassed. “My friends call me that. It’s my code name.”

She was a princess, truly. Olivia was everything a princess should be. That’s why her peers loved her. That’s why her peers hated her. She was royalty, and people didn’t know if they wanted to lust for her or reject her just to say they had the opportunity to.

You nodded approvingly. “Very fitting.”

“That’s it then,” she said, satisfied. “You’re Ma’am, and I’m Princess.”

Saying the name felt like sinning - you realized this when you thought it over. But she was smiling again, so of course you’d do it without penance.

The play was beautiful. The props were crafted diligently and all actors quoted with diction and importance. You sat at the front as staff should and kept searching for your favorite student. She came in a white dress and hair styled in endless curls, and delivered a performance deserving of whatever Oscar there was for college plays. She was an excellent actress. All bias melted when you believed she was the best out of the whole drama club. Even her fellow actors said so.

While Olivia performed her nuances, she looked at the crowd, as if willing them to come onstage and save her. The fourth wall was broken through. You were too. She saw you at the front, went out of character with a smile, and got away with it. Her slip-up was so unnoticeable that at the end of the play, you thought you would have signed up for drama club if you were a student. She made it all look so easy.

“You came!” she said, bouncing off the stage stairs and wrapping you in an unexpected hug.

You fought back your giddiness. She was just being friendly. You returned the embrace like a good friend should. “Of course.”

The purple dress swayed around her like water, the little details and seams the seashells that fit the siren that she was, born from foam. You saw it hug her waist and flow around her legs and - despite everything: your promises to remain professional, a good senior, a good friend - you couldn’t deny she looked insanely good.

She ushered you backstage as the curtains closed. The cheers erupted for her, and you could picture her making it really big out there. She was gorgeous, talented, and excessively charming - a director would ditch screenplays to cast her. The coach was sure to die if they watched her rehearse. And anyone’s going to fall in love with her, really.

“Beautiful,” you remarked, and it could mean either way: the performance or the pretty little thing in front of you.

“You liked the yelp I did when Paris dragged me?” asked Olivia. Her eyes contained all the stars in the galaxy. She made a wish to each of them, asking for an eager attendee to her play. “I strained my voice, but I did good, right?”

Never did you ask about the black wig, or the smoky makeup, or the way she was almost in tears - almost like she never expected you to come. Or anyone for that matter.

All you said, squeezing her forearm where you could feel the beat of her excitement, was: “The Princess was more than great.”

She never got that library card. Olivia chose to stay in your library for hours at a time rather than take them back to her dorm. The play was done but she began reading for fun instead of necessity. You recommended her thrillers and romance. Your heart grew bigger. She was actually very easy to be fond of.

Now she took a seat near your desk where she occasionally asked questions - what does this word mean? what language is this? have you read this? - and left you biscuits in your lunch break. You enjoyed her company. You were insecure about a lot of things but one: she did back.

“Coffee.” Olivia brought a cup of steam to your desk. She pulled a chair to your desk and sat on it, crossing her legs. “Nobody’s here. The rules don’t exist.”

Your heart did a little offbeat thump. She was a generous girl. You forgot to thank her upon seeing that her strawberry blonde hair was tucked into a bun on her head. The strong curve of her jaw and her swan’s neck were just out there.

Olivia’s full lips closed on the straw of her iced coffee. You couldn’t stop watching her. You could help her out with her lessons - there’s her opened textbook, her reviewers - but you had eyes only for her. What a cliché. But you’re a reader. You liked your fair share of clichés. You could give this one a pass.

“Thanks Princess,” you said. You took the coffee and blew its smoke out. “You’re really kind.”

She was the kindest girl you ever met. These past few months, she did nothing but keep you company and spoil you. Olivia was a generous princess - she stepped out to meet the populace, give them food worthy of a royal, and kept them company. That was why you liked her.

You stopped there. You didn’t want things to go too far. Not yet. These feelings you had for Olivia were inappropriate and deserved hindering. But she was just so beautiful and lovable that blocking the thoughts from your head felt like torture.

“It’s no problem.”

She was smiling again. You really wondered how her peers carved her out to be an alleged pain. She was so thoughtful that you were beginning to think if anyone had chosen to befriend you this way. Were you even deserving?

“What are you studying?” you asked her. You had to make conversation before you slipped up again.

Olivia’s simper melted. “Math.”

You looked over at the formulas, fractions and calculations. It already made your head hurt. “Can’t help you with that,” you said regretfully. “It’s either I don’t know it or I forgot that thing a long time ago.”

“Can you help me with something else?”

After you nodded, she began to speak. Well, tried to. She trailed off, looking blankly at her textbook. Her face wore a blue little look that was a break of character from the serious one she always had. Olivia Hayes, as far as you knew, was not once lonesome.

“It’s been . . . really hard these days. I’m sorry, I know it’s completely out of topic but-”

“You can tell me anything.”

Hope crossed her features. She didn’t really have anyone to trust with her feelings. Her mother was too busy. Her friends would use them against her. The guidance counselor would just tell her to pray. Would you listen to her without bias?

“I don’t know if I’m hanging with the right people. I don’t know if I’m even that good. I don’t know if I-” Olivia stopped and made complicated gestures with her hands. A defeated sigh sounded from her slim throat. “-am.”

Self-doubt. It was your accurate diagnosis. You were surprised that a girl like her would experience it, but even the most confident people went through that. It would be easy to assume from the way she walked, talked, and acted that she had all the assurance for herself.

Olivia sighed at her textbook and shut it. Her shoulders were trembling. Was she sulking? Nearly crying? You couldn’t bear to see it.

“I don’t think I know myself at all.” She swallowed, then without looking at you, asked, “Do you ever feel that way Ma’am?”

She was too young and too pretty to be going through this dilemma. You couldn’t say you didn’t go through the exact same thing yourself in the younger years of your life. But seeing the look of pride and strength disappear from her face was a death to your own self-pity.

You looked at your hand close to her. The pins you gifted for her bag. The jacket you let her borrow after she lost it. Foolish to think, but maybe you finally found someone you could care about more than you did yourself.

“Every day of my life,” you said quietly.

“Oh,” she whispered, nodding. She said nothing more. Olivia’s view was focused on the cover of her textbook, which boasted happy students reading from it. It wasn’t the case for her. Revising this subject, being in this school? It didn’t make her happy.

Well, one thing did.

It hurt to see her like this. Had anyone ever considered what she felt? Or did she put up a front, being pretty and kind?

“I just feel like I’m wasting borrowed time,” Olivia muttered. Each fragment of her broken sentences grew heavier. “I want- I need-”

Before she could burst into tears, you tilted her face up. The water in her eyes remained there. What held them back besides your gentle hand was the tight frown of her lips. She was trying very, very hard not to break down.

“Hey. Chin up Princess,” you told her. You offered her an encouraging smile. “I know you. You’re a strong girl, aren’t you?”

Her eyelids were still puffy in their fight to keep her tears back. She didn’t quite believe that. But you would make her.

“Look at you. You’re smart, studious and sensitive. Nothing would make me think otherwise.”

Her gaze lingered on you, thoughtful. Did you really think that? Were you this sweet to anyone else? She chuckled and looked down shyly. “Alliteration.”

Smart girl. “That’s right,” you said. “I’m rubbing off on you.”

“I guess that makes me okay.”

“You’re doing great. I promise.”

Light coffee stained the end of her mouth. You wiped it away with your thumb. A bit of her lipstick smudged your skin. An indirect kiss?

When you retracted your touch, you thought the coffee was doing something to your head again. You could have sworn that Olivia leaned in.

And just when you thought lines couldn’t be crossed further:

People like to believe in things that they can see. Why trust in ideas that aren’t visible to the naked eye - it’s a lie for sure, right? Thus, the concept of atheism. Thus, the need for eye witnesses in court, primary sources, the like. Thus, the school not believing that the odor of cigarettes from behind the library could possibly be from you.

Well, they’d be damned.

Gray floated from your mouth like a lost dream. Vices aged along with your soul. See, you weren’t a bad kid. You stayed in school, did your homework, only tried a few prohibitions. But the smoking stuck to you - it reminded you of a more youthful time. It also made you feel a little light on your feet.

The thing was: the school couldn’t know. So you sank into the wall of the back of your library, fingers twined between a cigarette. You may not know yourself but you weren’t depressed or anything - it’s just a thing you do, like drinking coffee in the morning and writing. People often got that wrong.

The forest was just close by. Naturally you mistook the crunches of leaves for the usual PE class. Then they grew louder, and when you turned your head, there was-

“Ma’am? Oh!” Olivia stopped in her tracks and gasped sharply. It was a sound only an actress could make - sweet, tiny. “I’m sorry, am I-”

You waved your wrist. “Not at all,” you said. If there was anyone in the school you trusted with this secret, it was her. “It’s just smoking. I’m not committing a felony.”

She nodded. Her eyes remained doe-wide.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it time for your classes?” you asked.

It was the middle of the afternoon. She should be having English at this hour. Would they be surprised to find out that the top student was absent? The reason being . . . you?

Olivia swept her hair back. Time slowed down and made permanent the flight of her mane and the pride that stayed. “I’m cutting. I know, I’m a very bad girl.”

She was skipping classes for you. You didn’t want to assume, but was your friendship really that strong? It felt like you knew everything about her. She knew you too, like a book. She read you from cover to cover and annotated your pages. Olivia was a significant part of your life now.

“Oh, what have I done to you.” You played into it as if you were an actress as good as her. What she didn’t know was that you were enjoying it.

Her nose wrinkled at the smell of your cigar. Still, she stepped closer, albeit cautiously. “Can I-”

“Leave?” You nodded. “Sure. Secondhand smoke’s cancerous.”

Yet if there’s anything you would hate, it would be for her to go.

Olivia shook her head. “I-I’d like to try, Ma’am.”

Your brows were furrowed. You took one look at your cigar then at the student. She was looking down shyly, her side fringes hanging from her face. It was obvious she was trying to prove something. But what else did she have to make worthy to you?

“I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Please?” she said, a pout stretching on her pretty mouth.

“Princess.”

Your sharp tone didn’t hold her back. It seemed to drill her on. Olivia slipped beside you with a look in her eyes that you didn’t know if you liked. Her lashes sat low and her smile - god help me. Like that wasn’t enough, she wore a low ponytail with a few specks of hair left untied. She was too beautiful, and you weren’t strong enough to handle it.

She let a finger twist through the smoke. “It’s just smoking,” Olivia echoed. “I’m not committing a felony.”

Her character was hard to read sometimes. She could be sweet and innocent to you then switch to being a coy serpent that told you to do all the wrong things. Her breath next to your ear didn’t help your hypocritical case. The fight in you yelled to be the bigger person, to tell her it wasn’t right. It was anything but easy when she had a face that you’d die to hold.

“I don’t have more on me,” you excused. It was the truth - your pockets were empty, this was the only one you got.

“Wouldn’t mind using yours.” Olivia was almost whining at this point. The desperate look on her face was one you chased after, and you wanted to make her beg more. She sounded pretty that way. “I’m not a child, am I?”

She had a point. It wasn’t like you were giving away and teaching vices to an impressionable little girl. It didn’t feel right.

“Please, Ma’am?”

You found yourself giving it to her - not only this, but your everything. Your future, your job, your morals.

Your main takeaway from that moment wasn’t to never do that again, or remind yourself that you could easily say no to a pretty girl (you couldn’t.) It was this:

Olivia Hayes’s lips looked gorgeous wrapped around a cigarette.

She was made for the part. Her mouth fluttered around it while her stare was distant, piecing something together. She lowered it down and blew a ring of smoke in the air, just like in the movies. Olivia was an old Hollywood actress - a blonde bombshell; the main lead.

“It feels . . . ” She struggled for a word. “Good.”

You took the cigar away from her. “Don’t get attached,” you said. It was genuine advice. “We all know how that ends.”

She was smiling. You were too.

She rested her head on the brick wall, facing you. Not quite - her gaze was fixated on your lips. “You look beautiful today Ma’am.”

You leaned forward. It was a dare for her to be audacious enough to prove it right. “Really now?”

The bump of her neck bobbed. You realized that your faces were too close to each other. Her lips were so full that it would take a small stumble to accidentally kiss her, to accidentally pin her to the rusty wall of this building. Those wide, princess eyes stared back at you in fear.

It was your signal to back up. This wasn’t right. No matter how beautiful she was or how close you were, flirting with a girl years younger than you wasn’t right.

Even in the silence that carried guilt, the universe didn’t take kindly to your offense. It brought about a punishment you would remember: the snap of a camera flash.

You jolted. Who was that?

Privy to your conversation, there was the man who asked for a library card. He was smirking. You knew and tried to avoid him because it was an open secret: he was bad news. He blackmailed, lied, used-

Ronny Kent was his name, and he was not a good person.

There was Mika, whose reputation was solidly ruined after he leaked a picture of her. The rumors were too loud to keep secret. Then the janitor who only wanted a private moment with his partner. Ronny turned everyone inside out and it wasn’t pretty.

“Chainsmoker and a slut,” he said to Olivia, lowering the camera. “You play every game, even your friends. Gotta respect you for it.”

“Shut up,” said Olivia. Her jaw was tight. She spoke very softly that the insult bore no real bullet. “Please.”

But she meant this one. You hadn’t seen her this uncomfortable. There was real fire in her eyes but a downness in them too. This was not the first time Ronny had seized her dignity and smashed it beneath his feet. You could tell from the sudden rigidness of her body, the loss of her stability.

You couldn’t speak. He was so close to her, and you were afraid you would shove him if he came closer. Maybe you should.

“I don’t think so.” Ronny’s mouth sat next to Olivia’s ear. She cringed in spite of trying to remain nonchalant. Hot odored breath huffed on her face. “Get out of my way.”

Olivia stared down at her socks. Nothing else existed to her. She felt cornered, afraid and humiliated.

“Mr. Kent.” Your authoritative voice was no match to a teenage rebel. You glared at him and crossed your arms, but he took none of the signs. “It’s not your place. I’ll kindly ask-”

“When I told you to be her friend,” he said, completely ignoring you as he stroked the camera lens, “I didn’t mean to try hooking up with her. What would her boyfriend think?”

Boyfriend?

Olivia lifted her head with a short-lived defiance. “He broke up with me, Ronny.”

“Of course, because he found out she kissed me.” He was proud of it too. “She took me on a date. Ice cream and coffee.”

Olivia had just cut things loose with Donté. She never told you why. But this couldn’t be true. That wasn’t the girl you held close to your heart. Anger was clear in her face but she didn’t move. She took each word to heart as tears welled up.

You had never seen Olivia Hayes cry before. This might be the first time.

“Everyone knows what you did to Mika,” she said, slowly and sourly. The end of her sleeve brushed at her eyelid. “You can’t hurt people anymore.”

“Oh, you don’t know that, Princess.” Ronny squeezed her shoulder. Each move he made stenched of bad luck. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

Olivia was trembling so bad you had to step forward to hold her. You had to defend her and set a boundary with Ronny, who had crossed anything you could have made. To your shock, she left before you could speak up. Her shoes clicked angrily to her exit.

And there was Ronny’s cruel smile that told you nothing good was going to come out of this.

And there was her somewhere-in-between hair: soaring in the wind, like a closing curtain.

You finished several good reads and Olivia was still not visiting you. She hadn’t been for the past three days. It was beginning to concern you.

You watched the campus from outside of your library. It was full of rushing, bustling students, but you couldn’t spot Olivia. Your heart ached. She was a face you could spot in a crowd miles away but she wasn’t showing up in one or alone.

Was that her friend? A pretty girl with hooded eyes and an atmosphere around her that reminded you of Olivia. “Excuse me?” you asked. “Amber, right?”

She looked almost irritated to entertain you. She always wore that bored expression anyway. “Yes?”

“Have you seen Olivia? Olivia Hayes?”

“She’s probably here. Or there.” Amber lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“Well, if you see her, please tell-”

“I don’t want you looking for her,” interrupted Amber seriously. The little once-over she did told you that she knew something, and everyone did too. She wasn’t afraid to be upfront about it. “If what they say about you is true, you shouldn’t be allowed near her.”

She left without another word. That was the end of it.

Now you knew why less and less pupils logged in. Ronny had done the job: spread the rumor, took the reins, rendered you completely of your power.

It was your fault. If he had crossed a line, you crossed thousands with Olivia. From your thoughts to your gestures to the bond you had - none of it was supposed to happen. None of it.

You brought this upon yourself.

You didn’t want to seem suspicious by asking around. Anyone who visited your library knew you and Olivia were close. You didn’t want to ruin the girl’s reputation.

Maybe someone already did.

The days felt empty without her. No biscuits, no fun conversations, no Olivia. You missed her coquettish laugh and lean posture and thoughtful little gestures. The desk across yours was devoid of a girl who became important to you. Everytime someone entered, you hoped it was her tall and pretty self coming to check in on you. Much to your dismay, faceless pupils were the only people logging in.

It hurt. You didn’t want to make this about you. But it hurt.

You had to quit being selfish. She probably needed space. Space? She wasn’t your girlfriend. She couldn’t be.

You were finishing up for the night. The screen of your computer was bright. It reflected in your tired eyes an Excel sheet. It was a record of late fees and damage compensation. Someone had missed their return date and as much as you didn’t want to charge anything, you had to. Generosity wasn’t a skill they hired you for.

Calculus. It was exam season; you expected that.

What you didn't expect was the loud banging on your door.

“Jesus-” You flung out of your seat, clutching your chest. The clock said it was past 7 PM. Didn’t they have a watch? Elite heirs usually had watches whose prices skyrocketed past your salary. So who was it?

You ignored it, sitting back down. It wasn’t your fault they couldn’t read the rules.

The rummage of the knocks grew louder than the typing sounds. Along with the darkness and otherwise complete silence, it was beginning to terrify you. Words didn’t make sense for the first time ever. You had to tell them to cut it out.

You stood, paced to the entrance and opened the door.

“Ma’am?”

It was Olivia.

She was crying.

Tears streaked her face. Sniffling, she threw her arms around you. Her back rose and rested to the tempo of her sobs, an unwelcome rhythm. The redness in her eyes and the desperation in them - full of need to be comforted, to be held - you ached seeing it.

Something was wrong. You closed the door and hugged her. She was shaking like she had escaped a rainstorm. The only rainstorm here was the flood of sobs that stained her cheeks. Now they spotted your collar.

“Ma’am,” she murmured. Her lips were on your neck, vibrating her cries into your skin. Oh, if you could, you’d take that with her pain. “I thought I lost you. Ma’am-”

Olivia’s voice was broken. She said your nickname not only to call you, but almost like a reminder that you were here. She had nobody else.

You held her tight and let her cry it out. It was alright, you told her. You were here. Your hours were done but you had and would add more if it was for her.

“I’m here. Hi Princess.”

Your Princess.

Olivia didn’t let go. She was suffocating you with her arms knotted behind you, and a mouth that muffled her pain into your shirt. The pain that bubbled in her chest killed you. but you’d die a thousand times if it were for her.

Olivia shivered when you let go. You led her behind your desk, her safe place. She leaned against it and tried to control the tears dropping from her red eyes. But the rainstorm was inevitable. The whole day poured down on her ruthlessly.

The familiarity of everything seemed to calm her down a bit. Hands on her hips, you gently pushed her down her usual box. She didn’t sit alone. You were there for her this time.

“Hey,” you repeated.

You wanted to call her your girl, your baby, your Princess - anything that would comfort her. You wanted to take care of her. You’d wrap a blanket around her and take her out to eat. You’d kiss her and tell her you were here. You’d say: hey little dove, you don’t have to soar all the time. You could just sit here with me.

All you could do was hold her waist and try to control the shudders. “What’s wrong?”

She whined and placed her face into her hands. “I’m sorry.”

What was she apologizing for? She did nothing wrong. She couldn’t do anything wrong. She was so frail and weak as she supported herself at the end of your table that you wrapped her in an embrace again. You knew she needed it.

“Sorry for what?”

Her words trembled, regretful too. “He . . . he leaked the photos . . . ” Olivia stammered.

Your heart dropped. You didn’t need to ask to know what photos or who did it. Ronny’s visit was a revelation of the end. “Oh baby-”

It was one of a girl’s worst nightmares. There came a deceptive boy whose threats held bite to them, who deceived and lied and manipulated. Nothing could ever be given to them without the fear of the tables turning.

That was why you couldn’t find her like you always did. That was why she didn’t visit. The world was against her, and she couldn’t keep her resilience anymore.

Her breaths kept tying around her neck and choking her. You kept a hand on her back so she could at least catch them. Her shaking was knives to your chest.

“I was looking for you. I thought they . . . they took you away.” The thought got to her and she looked at you with begging written all over her face. Her frowned lips uttered the words you didn’t think would hurt you this way: “Ma’am, please don’t go away, please don’t go away-”

You pulled her close. Her hair stuck to her cheek, glued with teardrops.

“I’m not going anywhere Princess,” you told her.

She didn’t quite believe that. Sniffling, she pushed you off.

“I lied to you Ma’am,” she laughed sourly. Her thumb soothed a teardrop at the end of her mouth as she stood up. “All this time. Did you know that?”

What was she talking about? Was Ronny right? You denied it with all your heart.

Olivia looked villainous. The rage was new. She’d contained it all these years, keeping it together, keeping pretty. But this was the end of it.

“He’s spreading it around too so I think you know already. I’m not an heiress. Fuck, I’m not even rich. My dad’s been gone for years. My mom would rather die than go to my shit. But I thought that everyone would love me if I was just like them.”

“Olivia-”

“I’m sorry for lying to you!” She broke down again. She was the victim and the villain - crying, laughing; hurting, hitting. She was hysterical, hands together as she pleaded for your forgiveness. “You like me so much and I like you so much but you won’t trust me ever again. So I’m sorry-”

“Olivia.”

She beat her wrist on the counter in frustration. “What?”

Her scream deafened you. The feedback ringing was so high yet it didn’t cut out her frantic crying. It couldn’t save you from the pain of hearing her tear herself down.

You took the red trunk of her wrist and held it close. She wasn’t going to hurt herself. Not when you were around. “Olivia,” you repeated, “I don’t care if you’re rich or not. I want you anyway.”

She tossed her head back, trying to keep the water in her eyes. It pooled and overflowed. Olivia couldn’t hide anything anymore.

You squeezed her forearm. “I still wait for your gifts.”

She glanced down at your touch enveloping her. Slowly, there was a realization that sank into her.

She swallowed. “I still look if they have your favorite on the menu,” Olivia said softly.

“I still read the notes you leave.”

“I still want you to call me Princess to get through the day.”

You pulled her in. It was an unconscious decision but you didn’t regret it. Her skirt swished against your legs. You were chest to chest and stomach to stomach. No boundaries. Just her skin against your skin. Her eyes connecting with yours.

“I still pray you never get a library card,” you confessed softly, “so you can read with me everyday.”

Olivia was silent. Her glimmering eyes pierced through your soul and saw what you didn’t need to say. Actually, she would have said something herself, had she not chosen to kiss you.

She was whimpering as she devoured your lips. She held your cheek and let the passion infect you too. It was like in these little kisses, these little touches, she found a promise that it would all be okay.

(It would be - in all due time.)

You closed your eyes. Shock melted into passion, passion melted into the need to carry her to the edge of your table. Everything about her was perfect. You believed that until now.

It never stopped. Your fingers laced into her golden brown hair to lead her face closer. You would burn if she left you. Your mouth trailed hotly down her neck anyway. Even here, in the little space where her skin flexed and sweat, she was delicious.

You noticed her ragged breathing and stopped. Was it alright if you tore away the line that put you apart?

You couldn’t say anything. Were you really doing this? To a student? To a girl that you adored?

Olivia’s legs were spread open. Her chin below yours, she blinked up at you. “Ma’am?”

Your thighs squirmed together. The word eternally had this meaning, this double-edged sword that killed you. “Yes?” you asked.

“Wh-What do you think of me?” Olivia asked weakly. The vulnerability in her question was painfully sweet.

You kissed down her chest and opened her blouse. Little gasps coming from her pulsing throat sounded like heaven. Her pretty bra cupped her breasts and she was just singing these tiny moans - begging you to take it off, begging you get your hand all up under her skirt; make the lines of her mouth twist with shock and pleasure; change the color of her face to red. Oh, she needed you to do a lot of things to her - you knew you wanted to do each one of those when you saw her walk in through that door.

Your tongue played with her stiff nipple. She began to move around, afraid to moan yet afraid to leave you hanging.

“I think,” you said, before giving a final peck to the sensitive chest that came up to your mouth, “you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Pretty face, pretty soul. Eyes as big as the heart everyone thought was ice cold. Lashes as long as her patience, her understanding. The beat of her heart matching the loudness of her need to feel good, just for one night.

“Oh.” She sighed. A familiar pink settled over her cheeks. “I really like hearing that from you.”

“Want me to keep talking to you?” It was impossible how every scape of her flesh was appetizing. You licked behind her ear, where she could hear every word. “Want me to tell you how pretty my Princess is, what a good girl she is for me?”

Her thighs clamping around you was enough answer. She was nodding and nodding, the desperate little thing. She was just coming undone. The student, who was so confident and collected, sat on your desk with her uniform tor and lips swollen from kissing.

Her lips.

You pressed a kiss to your fingertips before tracing them to her mouth. Olivia’s lips were cushiony soft. When you slipped your digits past them, she rolled her eyes back.

Your fingers were the source where she drank and drank. Small moans fought their way out of her. She was enjoying this too much. The angry heat left in her body changed to one she enjoyed. This one made her feel giddy, made the little hairs on her skin rise. And Olivia had to voice it out in tiny sighs which provoked something in you.

It wasn’t right, but weren’t you entitled to a little sin?

You freed her mouth and instead imprisoned her chin with your hand, letting them float around her face. “You know where these are going Princess?”

Olivia shook her head. Behind that innocent look, you had a feeling she knew.

A path forged down to her skirt. It was unfair that the uniform fit her so perfectly. Under the blazer, the blouse, the curve of her body slanted beneath your touch. There came the hourglass line of her waist then the flare of her hips, full around your palms.

Olivia was getting an idea now. No sound needed to leave her mouth when it could all be read from her face. The puppy dog eyes, the quiver of her lips, the red of her cheeks.

“These are slipping right under this skirt,” you continued. You did as you said. Her slim thigh was held by a long, white stocking. It would stay on. “Right between your legs, through this pretty white underwear. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. Oh god.” She shut her eyes. “Take it off, take it off-”

Olivia gasped sharply as you touched her. You weren’t in her - not yet. But she was already this sensitive. She squirmed around at how you cupped her core, felt how she was cleanly trimmed through the thin undershorts, how the heat was unbearable. You had to do something about it.

Not yet. You clicked your tongue, continuing to feel her. You would take your sweet time with this princess, make her feel good, make her remember this night.

“You can’t boss me around, Sweetheart.” Sweet talk never truly left your conversations despite the scolding. Punishing a poor little girl who keened and sighed to your touches was cruel enough. It was like wielding an upside-down cross to an angel. “Play nice. What do you say when you want something?”

Olivia kept shimmying her hips into your palm. Her fingers struggled on the desk to keep her stable, and her mind struggled as well to do the same.

“P-Please.”

“Yes?”

“Please . . . ” Olivia breathed, “please fuck me, Ma’am.”

Shit.

You wasted no time. She was true to being a princess - her panties were lace, frilled and white, a bow on the top. Perhaps it was simply you admiring Olivia like you always had, but it was making you so pent up: seeing her with her skirt lifted, the front of her blouse unbuttoned, her long legs embroiled in a fight not to close.

Olivia whined in response to your thumb caressing her clit over the fabric. The rhythm had her chest tightening while her breathing abruptly lost itself. She was done with the teasing.

So were you.

You hooked on the sides of the fabric and gently pulled them down. And God - if her panties were pretty, her pussy was even more so. Her wetness glistened, as if telling you it would look better coating your fingers. Filling your mouth. Sheening your thigh.

You pushed first, not pulled.

“Oh . . . oh.” Olivia lowered her head with her eyes squeezed shut. She was throbbing like crazy. She lifted her head and you could see the gratification written (no, scrawled) all over her face. “Ma’am, I- oh . . . ”

You let yourself curl inside her for a moment. The texture of her walls slid over your skin and the wetness satiated your thirst. Slowly, she took over you. And it was the same on your end - you slid yourself deeper and felt for her sensitivity. It was everywhere, taking from the whines she let out and the frown on her lips.

“Princess,” you said. ”You are so fucking tight.”

You couldn’t even start thrusting. What if you hurt her?

“Just clenching around me, yeah?” You caressed her nub in slow circles. “So damned wet too. Fuck-”

One hand on the small of her back, you buried yourself inside her. Her gasps were shorter and blunter as you fixed yourself inside her. The only thing that made it easier was her wetness, sticking to you and allowing faster movements.

You smoothed her hair as she threw her head back. Her collarbone stood out from beneath the fabric. You pressed your lips there with a nibble gentle enough to increase the sensitivity that set her skin on fire. As her jawline grazed your mouth, you felt her moans vibrate below it. You wondered if she knew how pretty she sounded.

She lost everything once you sucked on that spot. Olivia sounded prettier.

“Ma’am, Ma’am, please-” Olivia thrashed around as if she were a wild animal. What if she were? And not the royal she made herself out to be? She rode your fingers with a fury that beat the angriest of hearts, but she was whimpering - lips pursed; sweet little sounds barely escaping their soft prison. No, this girl was too angelic, too fragile to be feral - but the ferocity of her hips and the grip she had on your wrist said otherwise.

Maybe it was fate that she took you so well. All the little conversations, all that twisted yearning pinned the thread right to this moment wherein you got lost immediately upon sinking inside her cunt. She was so tight, almost too tight, but her wetness let you finger her without having to be careful. You had a feeling she didn’t want you to be careful at all.

And the thing between you and this pretty girl you had literally wrapped around your fingers? The intuition was always right.

Yes, she wanted you to nip at her beautiful shoulder so she moaned louder. Yes, she wanted you to keep a hand firm around her ass so she wouldn’t collapse against the wood. Yes, she wanted all of this - and it’s not in you to say no.

Neither was it in Olivia. The pitiable girl was tearful. Turns out it wasn’t the cigarettes that would eat away at her cleverness, the breath leaving her weak lungs - it was the pleasure. “Yes yes, oh my God, I need them, I need it, need you to ruin me-”

Her words were an invitation to add another finger, and perhaps fuck her harder on this desk. No one had to know. Not the school, not the students - it was just you and Olivia, in your own world, kissing and touching.

It was, too, an invitation you accepted.

Her chin tipped back. “M-mmm, oh!” Olivia cried. Those long lashes carried big tears that fell down her cheeks, as if she were a mystical saint, the monarch of monarchs, a girl worth worshiping. Saint Olivia Hayes, martyred by a want that blossomed in her chest for far too long. Drink from the nectar between her legs and she’d grant a miracle as good as an orgasm. “It’s just- it’s- oh-”

You thumbed at her clit fast. It was so easy to get her moaning and whining but you still felt that you had to work hard. You had to make love to her in a way that she’d forget everything. You had to drive yourself in her like you were trying to start the engine of her insanity. Oh, come on - whose approval were you trying to gain? Olivia’s?

Plausible. Because the ache of your wrist you would trade over and over for the shiver of her body and those big blue eyes staring at you with this subtext that said if you give it to her harder, she might just be yours.

“More.” You felt her twitch around you, your fingers wrapped by the heavenly feel of her pussy. “Oh fuck me now, faster. I deserve it, I’ve been so good.”

“Of course you have.” You lifted her face and looked at her with the gaze of a doting teacher, almost making this moment justifiable. You were only taking care of her. This was nothing out of the ordinary, teacher and student. “You deserve everything, Princess. Oh, you don’t even have to ask for anything. I’ll give it all to you, baby, I promise.”

And this was around the time, or perhaps exactly when, Olivia melted. Her cheeks flushed and her pout ran deeper. As queen bee and campus celebrity, she carried herself as if she didn’t need anything, not even a compliment. But the need throbbed and screamed inside her. This was the true Olivia, wanting to be petted and praised and kissed. You were the one to satiate it.

You rubbed the tips of your fingers along her weak spots while thrusting quickly. The marriage of your eyes obligating her to meet them, the curl of your fingers, the thumb at her chin - it was too much. She was pushed to the edge and she could fall at any moment.

“Don’t-” Olivia shook her head. Tears ran freely. She didn’t know what she was feeling anymore. The lust was overwhelming and there were too many things she wanted you to do to her. “Fuck… oh God, please!”

Your thumb worked on her swollen clit; meanwhile, you’d spread her legs and instantly slid your tongue through her slit. It’s fucking crazy - when her flavor pooled in your mouth and you drank her freely, she tasted like a memory. You’re already missing her. She was a habit you wouldn’t think to kill off and she’d grow within you and become part of you.

And you would lose her. Just like that.

But you would never, ever, forget her.

You lapped her up. You savored her because the repercussions would catch up and you had to save every last bit of her until you could. Oh, she was screaming, loud and raw - you heard her despite her soft thighs clamping around your head. You kept them there. You wanted to stay in her forever.

“Too much,” Olivia implored, but not for you to stop. She had a fist around your scalp and another around your heart. “Ma’am please, you’re going too fast!”

This was the first time in her life she liked being overwhelmed. Her novel plot of an expression twisted and turned - (it would end like this: beautifully, yet not the way you wanted.) She pouted, she smiled in spite of, she gaped. She did everything and showed you how good you were being to her. But nothing quite prepared her for the feel of your lips tight around her clit.

Her river flowed and flowed. She arched her back and screamed for what all of it was worth. She fell in love with you and you let her dance on the tip of your tongue. You fell in love with her and she let you quench your thirst with her taste. You - two women, from two different lives - fell in love with each other, and you weren’t quite sure how to end that.

You secured her clit in your mouth and sucked as hard as you can. She burst into tears, trying and crying and swearing that she couldn’t handle more but she’d chew off more than what she can stomach, for when the orgasm bubbled in the pit of her stomach, she knew that it was going to be difficult.

“Ma’am, please, I don’t think I can handle it.”

You were sure you were going to suffocate. The hold of her thighs around your neck was deadly.

“No, please make me cum, it’s too much!” She sobbed and rode you harder. “I can’t I can’t I can’t, Ma’am, Mommy-”

And there it ended. With the sudden drumming of your heart you didn’t know how to do it. But it finished itself with your Princess finishing on your face, static shock running through her blood and looking quite lost in her own world.

It happened. The expectation of it did not make it easier. Ronny’s photos reached the school authorities and the students. Every detail was out there in the spotlight. It included how you met, how you admired her from afar, how you were caught smoking suspiciously alone with her.

You were brought in and quietly dismissed. Nobody wanted attention brought to the school already gained by the murders happening. It was an unsafe place, for both your heart and soul. It was just right to leave.

You didn’t get to have a last conversation with Olivia. Afterwards, she simply sat there on the desk with her eyes closed and exhausted. Her head rested on your heart. You could still feel it now, as you sat at home, looking for another job. There was no use tearing up about it. It was wrong from the start and it was wrong now.

A few tears did end up on the black and white ink of the classifieds.

Not a day went by that you didn’t think of Olivia. How was she doing? Was your Princess coping? To be outed like that to what she saw as her world, to be named a slut and villain by her peers . . . it couldn’t be easy. You wanted to apologize to her in some sort of way. It would be to pay back all the good things she’d done for you. She was a good listener, a good student, a good girl. She deserved to be okay.

But how?

The answer came to you one day in the form of an email, from an unknown address but a familiar name:

We broke the rules. How about we and some good friends of mine break more to get even?

You in? ;)

Yours,

Princess

113 notes · View notes

jtl07 · 1 month ago

Note

Did someone mention something about "breaking" shenanigans and trying new things? 👀 Let's see: sword, kitchen, pride & prejudice

i've said it once and i'll say it again: YOU TRAITOR. j/k ily bc you also put in a sword and swords are cool; ty for being my cool friend <3 (i also took some liberties because *technically* pride & prejudice isn't exactly a genre plus i am horrible with this time period in general and this came out short so. don't hate me? )

Ava hears Beatrice far before she sees her. The stately, composed gait nearly a run, heavy and Ava can't help but wince when Beatrice turns the corner to the kitchen because she's exactly as Ava had feared she'd be: brow furrowed in concern, body tight with tense worry, eyes flashing with anger.

"Keep still, Ava," Camila murmurs as she continues cleaning the wound on Ava's arm, not bothered in the least by their new arrival.

"Leave us, Camila."

"I will not, Ava needs stitches -"

"- and yours always come out crooked. I can handle it." But then, out of the corner of her eye, Ava sees Beatrice falter. "That is, if Ava will allow it."

Ava blinks at the deference in Beatrice's voice. She turns from where she'd been studying the wall to study instead the stiffness across Beatrice's shoulders, the now unreadable expression. Ava nods slowly.

Camila glances between them and sighs. She wraps Ava's arm and gathers her things, leaving the medical equipment on the table, all the while muttering to herself in a mix of Spanish and English that likely would have amused Ava if it were any other day. Any other day where she hadn't royally offended Beatrice yet again. Ava grimaces to herself, goes back to studying the wall when Camila stands and leaves the two of them alone in a stilted silence.

She's not sure what she expects when Beatrice approaches - a lie; she expects many things: anger, disappointment, sharp critique - but she certainly doesn't expect to hear a soft, "May I?" from her side.

It's the quiet tremor in those two words that make Ava pause. Nearly gasps when she finds Beatrice on one knee. There's a pained expression on Beatrice's face, pleading even. It unsettles Ava, having Beatrice so close, so intent. "You don't have to," Ava blurts out.

Beatrice gives her a look. "You didn't have to take up a sword and duel Crimson."

Ava feels her own anger flare. "She had no right -" then remembers who she's talking to. "I'm sorry. I know you - you don't need any help defending your honor." Sighs. "Especially from someone like me." She hadn't meant for the last to come out but as always whenever she's in Beatrice's general proximity, words escape her mouth without forethought; rushed truth, unchecked feelings - unmannered, uncouth -

A warmth tight around her hand stops her spiral. Brings her eyes up to Beatrice's gaze, sad and fierce and something more, something Ava can't bring herself to hope. "No," Beatrice breathes, "I'm sorry. For everything." She looks away and her hair falls across her face in a way that makes Ava want to reach out to brush it back, to feel the strands between her fingers, to feel Beatrice's eyes back on her.

She gets her wish - Beatrice takes a breath and meets her eyes once more. "I've spent my whole life alone. It's been quite the adjustment to realize that ... that maybe things can change."

Ava's breath stutters as she recognizes the words - half-finished, yet changed. Feels hope rise up into her throat; takes a chance: "When you realize that ... some things can be about you?"

Beatrice's smile is all the answer she needs. It softens everything about Beatrice, her face, her touch, the lips she presses to the back of Ava's hand. "And you," Beatrice murmurs. "If you'll allow it?"

Ava laughs, the pain at her arm overshadowed by the joy filling her chest, filling her from head to toe. "Yes, Bea. Always."

#writing shenanigans with jt #avatrice #idk what kind of au this is lol bc i hesitate to call it any sort of period piece bc i suck at it #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#daskum i triedddddddd

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yvqip · 9 months ago

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in honor of ch 261

The passing of the torch. The inability to grieve. A duty to kill protect. Is this what it means to be a sorcerer?

CW: angst, mentions of gore and death, just about what you’d expect, wip(?) bc i couldn’t bring myself to write anymore,

A collection of Yuta’s thoughts during the possession (+a bit of Suguru’s as he watches in the afterlife.)

The moment you died, something in the air changed. It was as if all that tension keeping everybody upright suddenly released into this all consuming dread. Lying there on the ground, split in two, was more than enough proof you really were closer to mortal than the god jujutsu society claimed you to be.

I’m sorry it took losing your humanity to make people realize you had any.

I’m sorry I have to do this to you.

If I could do it any other way, I would. I’m sure you understand that though, better than anyone else. You died on his anniversary too. I was only able to take a peak at who you were under the guise of ‘the strongest’, I don’t understand you nearly enough as he did but I’ve seen enough to know the burdens you carry. I know you missed him, I saw it in your face a year ago and I saw it again before your fight with Sukuna. I’m sorry you two didn’t get the peace you deserved even after death. I’m sorry you had to lose the only one who saw you as Satoru.

Standing there, facing that monstrosity, instilled a carnal fear into my bones, one that I couldn’t show in front of the audience you taught and guided. The audience I have to lead in your place as the new ‘strongest’.

Is this how you felt? A sacrificial lamb pushed to the forefront of battle for the reason of powers you had no role in choosing?

I do my best to hide the tremble in my hands as Shoko slices me open. I’m doing this for the others, to give them a better fighting chance, to honor the sacrifice you made for us- stealing away the fire from the heavens and granting us the opportunity to grow even more- offering yourself on a silver platter in exchange of our youth. You were chained to humanity, reduced to a weapon intended for us.

Were you able to see yourself as anything else after he died?

Although the fire is dwindling despite your efforts to maintain it, I understand you now, giving yourself as tinder to spark the next generation. I’ll become it in your stead. After all, I’m the strongest now too, and I’ll take care of the 1st and 2nd years just like you said.

Shoko finishes the last of the stitching.

I wonder how she feels witnessing her two best friends turned into husks, bodies desecrated by both sides of jujutsu society.

I’m back on the battlefield.

5 minutes to make this count.

I’ll make sure you and your best friend rest together soon. It’s the least I could do for you.

The scene before me is sickening. I can feel the bile build in the back of my throat despite my lack of a physical body.

How could they do this to you?

I had spent this time waiting patiently for you to arrive, only to be taken from me the moment you do. I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High, this was what they needed to do, and yet it disgusted me all the same.

Are you Satoru Gojo because you’re the strongest or are you the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo?

I recall saying those very words that shook the foundation of your identity. I said it because I knew it would hurt you. I said it because I knew I was the only one who had ever held your heart in the palm of my hands. I said it knowing my existence was the only proof you were anything other than ‘the strongest’. I said it not believing it was true. Yet, as I witness your body be used as a puppet, I question if anybody else ever felt the same.

Did you die with me, Satoru?

Does any body else see you as just that? Did you exist to the world of jujutsu outside of your power? You’re still far ahead in terms of that, but you chose well with your students, especially that boy, Yuta Okkotsu. He’s like you, more so now than ever since he’s taken your place. They’ll eventually catch up to you.

We’ve failed to protect the youth again.

Seeing your corpse on the table as Shoko performed the operation brought me back to the day I lost part of you. You stood there, Riko’s body in your arms, your eyes devoid of the usual light within it just like now.

‘Suguru.. should we kill these guys?’

Thinking back on it, perhaps I should’ve said yes. We would’ve been on the run together- but we’d be together all the same. You would’ve never had to be Jujutsu society’s scapegoat, you would’ve never had to fight Sukuna.

It wouldn’t have had to end this way

Maybe I shouldn’t have left. My lofty goals were of near impossible height, one that only you could reach. But I had to try, damn it. If it took rebelling against the gods to do it, I’d have gladly held the weight of the world as punishment if it earned you freedom from being chained to the mountain of Jujutsu, forced to protect non-sorcerer scum. Those damned creatures don’t deserve our sacrifices- the effort we put in just to keep them safe while they unknowingly go through life not even knowing about the hell we went through for their sake.

But in the end, you were still my undoing. The reason my body is being used by that thing, the same reason it fought back against him. It was always you, wasn't it? I don't blame you, though. If it were the other way around, I wouldn't have been able to burn you either.

#jjk #gojo satoru #satosugu #yuta okkotsu #jjk angst #jjk chapter 261 #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #gojo sensei #major character death

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pearl-star · 11 months ago

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It's Not My Job

I had written and had this story finished back in August of last year, but just never got around to posting it. I revisited it again yesterday and decided to just go ahead and post it. It's crossed posted to my AO3 if if you would prefer reading it there, here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54107548. (Also, fair warning, this fic is 10K words long. I didn't feel like dividing it up into different chapters so here it is in its entirely.

Summary: After becoming too stressed out from her class rep duties, Marinette talks to the other class reps about the work she’s been doing, hoping for some help. In a few moments, she discovers that none of the work she’s been assigned to do is what she should be doing as class rep. And when she goes to Miss Bustier only for her teacher to threaten her, her friends and family finally decide that enough is enough and take the issue to the higher ups.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette was on her last legs. The swell of akumas over the past month was bad enough, but the extra work that came with it just made her life so much harder. On top of her regular school work and make-up work from missed classes, she had to handle her class rep duties as well. She had to be an example, help her classmates when Chloe acted up, check essays and homework, and do her other general class rep tasks.

Not only that, but she had to hatch out a whole plan for the class trip. Not just a general idea but the specifics of where they would stay, the exact activities they would do, how they would get there and travel around, and so on. She also had to plan out the fundraising activities, and had to do enough of them otherwise she would have to put in the rest of the money herself. Chloe had no issues with that in the past, but she was also rich. Marinette couldn’t exactly use her parent’s credit card to get it all situated.

Alya, by her sense of duty as both her friend and class deputy, tried helping her out but for some reason wasn’t allowed. She could help instruct people once the plans were made, but she couldn’t be a part of the planning process. Otherwise, according to Miss Bustier, the plans would have to be redone completely. The blogger had suggested working on it together secretly, but Marinette was hesitant. She didn’t want to risk Miss Bustier finding out and for her to demand that the plans had to be redone. So for now, the bluenette was working on her own.

Everyone in class had noticed the toll the extra work was doing on her. She barely made it to class on time and was always the last to leave. Her bookbag was stuffed with papers with notes and plans. She always had her shoulders slumped, like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and her eye bags were barely being covered by her makeup. She never smiled unless Miss Bustier told her to be a better example, in which case she would stitch on a mechanical smile similar to that of Adrien’s model smile.

The model, for his part, was freaking out over the fact that the sweetest and most happy girl in class (besides Rose, who is just a sparkling ball of pink, glittery sunshine) was struggling. He went so far as to get her coffee order from Alya and made sure to bring one in daily, as well as leave a thermos of heavily sugared black tea on her desk after lunch. The fact that Marinette wasn’t reacting to Adrien’s actions with anything more than a thank you, with no stuttering or blush in sight, proved how tired she really was.

Marinette’s sole goal was to catch up with all of this work as fast as she could, otherwise she would get behind again and be stuck in this loop forever. So when she was asked to attend a lunch out with the other class reps, she hesitated. She didn’t really have time to do much of anything. Even patrols had been cut down, something her partner had insisted on when she almost fell off a building when she zoned out mid jump. Still, maybe they could help her.

Miss Bustier had said that planning the class trip and all that was only the job of the class rep, so her getting advice from the other class reps shouldn’t be against the rules. So Marinette found herself that Friday walking to the cafe where Aurora said to meet. Once she got there, the weather girl waved her over to an open chair next to her.

As she walked over, she looked at the group. Marinette knew who most of the class reps were, but never got the chance to talk to any of them. Some were in the art club with her, but they tended not to discuss class rep duties there.

“Sorry I’m late.” The bluenette apologized, sliding into the empty chair. “I had to show Miss Bustier my progress for the class trip.”

There was silence, and then.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, my plans for the class trip. I’ve narrowed it down to a place and found a hotel that we could stay at, but I still need to figure out travel plans and the exact activities.” Marinette looked at the confused faces around her. Then a thought came to mind. “Am I late on this too?! Miss Bustier only brought it up to me at the end of last month, so I thought that I had plenty of time still but-”

“No it’s not that.” Kimberly said, cutting Marinette off from her panic. “It’s just that… class reps don’t plan out their class trips.”

Marinette blinked at the news. She had been class rep for the past two years. The first year, she didn’t have to be as in depth with the class trip. She proposed a general trip idea, fundraising ideas, and helped coordinate the fundraisers, but this year Miss Bustier said that class reps had to be more hands-on with the trip. The teacher had even given her a packet on the new rules.

“What do you mean? Yes they do. It’s in the newest handbook.”

“What handbook?”

Marinette dug in her book bag before pulling out the packet and handing it to Claude. He flipped through the pages, scanning them while a few other class reps looked over his shoulders. As he read, his frown deepened.

“This isn’t right. The handbook has been updated last year, but not in this way. It actually had deputies taking on more of the load to help lessen the stress of class reps, as well as a newly added duty to help plan out relaxation days throughout the year to try and lessen the chance of akumas during testing weeks. Where did you get this from?”

“Miss Bustier gave it to me and explained it all. She did say how class reps were now responsible for helping to lower the class’s stress.”

All of the class reps looked at each other, before Aurora finally spoke up.

“Marinette… I don’t know why Miss Bustier gave this to you, but it isn’t right. I don’t have the handbook on me right now but there is one in Ms. Meedeveli’s classroom that I can show you once we get back to the school.”

Marinette paused, before nodding and thanking the weather girl. Slowly the conservation changed to something else, but the bluenette’s mind couldn’t stop from drifting. Why would Miss Bustier give her the wrong packet? Maybe the school had made this version and then changed it, but didn’t inform the teacher of the change. Marinette did become class rep for the first time last year, so it is possible that Miss Bustier went and asked for the newest handbook early so that she could have it at the start of her role.

The pigtailed girl was finally able to relax. That had to be it. Miss Bustier thought that this was the correct version and just didn’t know. Once she gets the new copy, they can figure out how planning for the school trip should really go.

After lunch she walked back to school with all of the reps, and then split off from the group as she followed Aurora to Ms. Meedeveli’s room. The science teacher was already in the room, working on writing something on the board for the lesson later on.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Meedeveli. Do you have a copy of the class rep handbook?”

“Good afternoon to you too, and yes I do. It’s over on the wall next to the classroom rules.”

“Do you think Marinette can borrow it for the afternoon? There was a bit of a mix-up with the handbook in her homeroom.”

The teacher stiffened at that, and Marinette was worried that she would say no. Instead, once the woman realized the bluenette’s eyes on her, she shook her head.

“Go ahead. And feel free to keep it in your homeroom, Marinette. I can pick up another copy later. Just let me know if you need anything else.”

Once Aurora handed her a packet, a by far smaller one than the previous one, Marinette nodded.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Meedeveli. I’ll see you later in class.”

She gave her thanks to the blonde as well before walking out of the room, looking over the packet. She was in such a rush that she didn’t notice the usually strict teacher give her a look of pity.

As Marinette read through the packet, she felt less and less stressed already. It was definitely much different than the one she was given, and would absolutely help her catch up on all her other activities. Without having to plan the class trip, she would have so much more freetime. All she would have to do is tell Miss Bustier of the mix up and then she’ll be good.

She decided to wait until after school though, since class was about to start and she didn’t want to be the reason they had more makeup work. However, once class was over and she talked to Miss Bustier, she got a rude surprise.

“What do you mean this packet is wrong? I got this from Ms. Meedeveli’s room. All the other class reps said that the handbook you gave me was the wrong one.”

“Yes, the other class reps have a different handbook, but you need to follow the one I gave you. You’re my star student, Marinette. You can handle more work.”

“I can’t though.” Marinette nearly cried, before composing herself. “I’m really struggling with just homework with all the akumas interrupting class time. And the handbook you gave me said that Alya can’t even help me with all of these extra duties. I’m gonna fall behind at this rate.”

“Now Marinette, that would be your own fault. You need to manage your time better. Also you do need to help prevent akumas. That thing in the other handbook we can include in ours. I want you to plan a destressing activity for the class to do by the end of next week. We can do a different one every week to keep things different.”

Upon hearing that more work was being put onto her, she opened her mouth to refuse before being silenced.

“I really wouldn’t want to have a talk with your parents about you becoming a problem to our classroom, so make sure to keep up your good job as class rep okay?”

Miss Bustier was… threatening her? The bluenette was so shocked that she could only nod, numbly leaving the classroom. As soon as she turned the corner, she bumped into Alya.

“Oh. Hi, Alya.”

“Marinette… did Miss Bustier really say that?”

It was then that Marinette realized how shaken up her friend was.

“What do you mean?”

“She really-” Alya started, before looking at the direction to the classroom door in contemplation. It seemed like she made a decision, as she pulled Marinette away.

“We’re telling your parents. I can’t believe she said that to you.”

The bluenette got a sense of dread with Alya’s suggestion, realizing that Alya had heard some if not all of the conversation she just had. The reminder of Miss Bustier’s earlier threat rang in her mind.

“No. Miss Bustier-”

“She’s forcing you to do more work. Quite frankly, I was about to ‘accidentally’ hide some of the work I’ve been doing for the class trip in with your notes so that you’d actually be able to get some sleep. But now? I can’t just sit by and let this happen to my best friend.”

“But my parents won’t believe me.”

“Don’t you have both packets? Show that to your parents. Besides, it's the entire class’s words against Miss Bustier. Your parents will believe us.”

Marinette still didn’t like the sound of it. She’d never gone against her teacher before. But Alya was hard to stop once she got an idea in her head, so the bluenette was dragged to the bakery.

Her mom was handling the counter, and was finishing up checking out a customer. Once they left, she finally noticed them.

“Good afternoon girls. Feel free to take a pastry on your way up.”

“Actually Mlle. Cheng, we need to speak to you about something.”

“What is it?”

Alya nudged Marinette forward, but when it was clear that she wasn’t going to talk, Alya took charge. She grabbed the two different class rep handbooks, walking forward and giving them to the women.

“Miss Bustier has been forcing Marinette to take on more work as class rep. When Marinette asked her about it, she threatened to call you two up and tell you that she’s causing issues.”

Sabine blinked at Alya’s words, before her confusion was swapped for a blank stare. Her eyes shifted from the packets in her hands to her daughter.

“Marinette, is this true?”

“We-Well I mean, I’m sure Miss Bustier didn’t really mean-”

“Marinette. Please tell me the truth.”

Yep. Her mom was definitely mad at her. She sighed and decided to just take the bullet.

“It’s true, but I-”

“What has she been making you do?”

Marinette flinched at the anger sounding clearly in her mother’s tone. She looked down at her hands. Alya kept a hand on her shoulder to try and calm her. When it was clear that the bluenette had no intention of speaking, the blogger took over.

“She’s been forced to plan the whole class trip by herself. Where we’re going, the hotel we’re staying in, activities we’re doing, the exact travel plans, fundraising, all of that. I wasn’t even allowed to do any of the planning process with her.”

“Anything else?”

“I had to help with grading some things.” Marinette finally added, sighing in defeat. “I also had to help when Chloe acted up.” She leaned back into Alya’s touch, causing the redhead to wrap her arm around her and give her a tight squeeze.

Sabine looked between the two girls and then back at the packets in her hands. She frowned in thought at the clear size difference between the two.

“I’d take it that this is the real one?” She asked, holding up the smaller packet.

“That’s the one that the other class reps use. I got it from Ms. Meedevelei this afternoon.”

“I’m gonna look these over during my break. That will be in… thirty minutes. For now I think you two should grab a treat and relax upstairs. Would you two be okay staying here in case I need to ask you something else?”

The two girls nodded, grabbing a pastry and heading back and up to the apartment. Marinette fiddled with the hem of her jacket, thinking about what had just happened. Alya sighed and pulled her towards the chaise.

“Don’t worry, let your parents handle this.”

“But what if I get in trouble in school? Miss Bustier could do to Principal Damcoles and say that I’m not cooperating and-”

“And then everyone will tell him off if he tries to punish you. Miss Bustier threatened you. That’s a whole other thing to consider, above her dumping a bunch of work onto you and making you do it by yourself.” Alya scowled. “I don’t understand that part. Why did she not want me to help with anything?”

Marinette didn’t have an answer to that. If Miss Bustier truly wanted her to do all of these things, then having Alya help her would have made life so much easier. Why not let someone else who was willing to help take some work off her shoulders do it? The redhead shrugged and reached in her bookbag.

“I guess it doesn’t matter right now. I know your mom said to relax, but I also know you can’t do physics for the life of you so let me help you out while I can.”

The bluenette felt tears prick up at the offer of receiving help, but she quickly wiped those away before her friend could notice. They were so distracted with the work that they didn’t hear the muffled shouts from below.

“That woman did what?!”

“She threatened our daughter. All because Marinette asked her why the manual she was given as class rep was different from every other class reps’ handbook.”

The two adults were hard to anger. Their life was full of simple joys, being able to live peaceful lives despite running a business and being in a time when a magical terrorist was in their city. But let it not be said that they could never get angry. Because right now, the only other thought in their minds besides concern for their daughter was the anger towards the girl’s teacher.

“I want to talk to Miss Bustier today. I know that Alya can be dramatic sometimes, but Marinette would never lie. Especially with something like this.”

“We can close the bakery. I want to be there as well.��

Sabine thought about it for a moment before shaking her head.

“No. I’m just gonna do a phone call for now. Besides, we can’t just close the bakery today. I’ll update you once I’m done talking to her.”

She thought that it would be a fifteen minute phone call max. Just her asking to confirm things and then asking for them to be changed to how they should be. She didn’t expect Miss Bustier to try and defend herself. Yes, Marinette was a bright kid and an excellent student, but that didn’t mean that she should be doing the work of her teacher. The more she tried to defend her daughter, the more the teacher defended her own actions. Sabine ended the call more frustrated than before, and she decided to instead talk to Mr. Damocles. Because surely he would be able to correct the teacher? After all, what Ms. Bustier was doing was an abuse of her power.

Alas, Sabine ended her night early. Both adults saw it best to just close the bakery early. Heaven forbid if that principal or teacher decided to pay them a visit. The cup of chamomile tea was not helping her to calm down in the slightest, and her husband paced around as he ranted. The woman herself, while not outwardly expressing her thoughts, did silently stew on the issue.

How dare those people do this to her child. It wasn’t a big deal? It absolutely was. Neither parent had missed the way Marinette was getting more sluggish and tired. It was part of the reason why they had stopped making her work in the bakery as of late. All that extra work was affecting her studies and normal life, and neither of those adults cared? It was an outrage! But who else could she turn to?

It was then that an idea struck her. Sabine grinned, leaving her half finished tea on the table and walking off.

“Calling them back is not going to do anything. I think we need to go in person and demand that they stop this.”

“Oh, I’m not calling them. I have a better idea.”

If those two wouldn’t listen to her, then she would have to get someone who would make them see the error of their ways. Sabine sat down at the computer, typing out a very detailed email before sending it off. She continued to check her inbox throughout the weekend, waiting for a response, but there wasn’t one. Not until Sunday afternoon.

Dear Madame Cheng,

We have reviewed your complaints regarding Madame Bustier and Mister Damocles, and have officially filed for an investigation to take place. We will begin the investigation starting tomorrow, Monday XX/XXXX, and will inform you of any updates as well as the results. If you are worried about any misaction towards your daughter by Madame Bustier because of this investigation, please let us know. We will be happy to make arrangements for her to be situated in a different homeroom both during and after the course of this investigation.

We ask that you and your husband be available during some point this week for a meeting to discuss the problem more in depth. We will try our best to be courteous and inform you ahead of time when we will be paying you a visit. If you have anything urgent to report before our meeting, please do not hesitate to reach out either through email or using the phone number listed below. We promise you that your concerns will be taken seriously, and the investigation will not end until a solution is made.

Jon Garnier, Dupont School Board Member

Sabine smiled at the email once she finished reading it. It was done. With the school board involved, Miss Bustier would be forced to take off the workload from her daughter. She sent a response email to him, thanking him and informing him that he could come to the bakery at any time and she would be sure to be available to talk to him.

There were some other things, some very concerning things, that Alya had filled her and Tom in on Friday before the girl went home, but Sabine didn’t add those in. As awful as they were, they could wait to be discussed once she was face to face with someone.

Marinette was told that things were being handled, but the girl still seemed worried. She was given a choice to switch homerooms temporarily or even just stay home for a day or two, but she rejected both. Not only was Marinette behind on classwork, but she still needed to continue her class rep duties, even if her parents didn’t seem happy when she said that. Reluctantly, her parents sent her off to school on Monday.

Alya made sure to pick her up, trying to offer her support and then try to distract her with little success. It was very clear to anyone that Marinette had not gotten any rest, despite the reassurance from her parents and Alya. She was told not to do any of the class rep work and instead just relax and focus on her other school work, but she wasn’t able to feel calm. Her anxiety at what would happen now that her parents had talked to Miss Bustier and Mr. Damcoles kept her from sleeping. So she worked on not just all the extra class work, but also her guardian work. Tikki was not happy with her, but there was only so much that the kwami could do to stop her.

The two girls slowed down a bit as they approached their friends by the steps. Both boys eyed the bluenette with great concern with one of them being… a bit more dramatic about it.

“Marientte! What happened? Why do you look more tired now?”

The blond fretted, handing the cup of coffee he had to Nino to hold as he examined the girl, holding onto her face with one hand as he lightly touched the bags until her eyes with his finger.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Couldn’t sleep? You look more tired than I do when I have a night and morning shoot back to back. Maybe you should go home and rest for the day?”

“I can’t. I’m already behind on all my work. Besides, as class president it’s my duty to show up.”

The pigtailed girl couldn’t say it with as much conviction as she once might have, due to how much energy that would have taken. Even talking was just wearing her out. How she would be able to handle Chole’s inevitable fits, she didn’t know, or really care about right now. None of the trio were happy to hear that, and even the students who fluttered around looked at the girl with a mix of concern and pity.

Adrien had always wanted to be able to have a straight conversation with the budding designer. One where she wouldn’t be so flustered that she would have to run off. But if she would have to be like this for him to get that? He would have never wished for it. For now he turned and took the coffee cup back from Nino to hand it to the girl.

“Here you go. If you refuse to go home then at least have this.”

The small smile she gave him was genuine, and Adrien only wished that it had come at a time when she wasn’t so tired.

“Thank you. I need to get some things done before class starts.” Before anyone could stop her, Marinette started her walk up the stairs. Alya was immediately on her trail.

“She’s wearing herself out. I want to be able to help her more but…” The blond murmured, wishing that he knew what was happening to her. He knew that she was stressed out, but surely there had to be something else he could do besides keeping her caffeinated. Nino patted his shoulder, still looking at where the girls disappeared off to.

“You’re doing what you can. Besides, Alya’s figured things out.”

“Figured what out? Marinette is still… like that.”

“She didn’t tell you? With the way Alya went off in the group chat and then to me, I thought for sure you would have known.”

Alya did what? Adrien had been on his phone, and he hadn’t noticed any messages coming in at all. Checking his texts, the last message from the class chat had been someone commenting on Marinette’s behavior, but it was just a message of concern from Rose. Nothing from Alya. Nino looked over his shoulder and let out an oh.

“You must not have been added to the chat. Here, let me do that real quick.”

In a few seconds, a request to join a group chat came in. Clicking accept, he quickly scrolled to the top of the conversation before pausing. He blinked once, twice, then screamed.

“She did WHAT to Marinette?!”

“Yeah, it happened on Friday. Alya overheard it and went to Marinette’s parents. They-” Nino went on, but Adrien drowned him out.

He couldn’t believe it. He knew that Marinette was stressed out about her class rep position and he saw how Miss Bustier treated Marinette sometimes, but this? That woman just decided to threaten her? A growl sounded out, and it barely registered in his mind that it came from him.

“That’s it. I don’t care what I have to do, I’m-”

“Adrien.” Nino said, grabbing onto his shoulders and snapping him out of his thoughts. “You need to calm down. Trust me, everyone is upset about this, but you can’t get akumatized.”

He tried to calm himself, but it was hard. This whole time this was happening without him knowing. He was a failure to his princess, his everyday Ladybug. Did his partner have something like this happening in her life and he was failing her too? He knew that she was more tired lately, due to having more work in her civilian life on top of guardian work but she didn’t give specifics. He had tried offering to do some of the guardian work too, but she had declined citing how it would be too dangerous to do it in the open and they had nowhere private to go. Maybe he should have pushed more?

“Dude, calm down.” He instructed again, once again jostling him from his thoughts. “Alya already told Marinette’s parents. They have things covered.”

The question of “how” popped into his mind, but before he could voice it he spotted two adults walking up the steps. Adults who he did not recognize, but felt like they held an air of authority to them.

“Trust me,” Nino said, and it was then that the blonde noticed his friend’s knowing look. “They have things covered.”

Adrien knew that there was something else to Nino’s words, but decided against asking exactly what. For now he would simply keep a closer eye on both Marinette and Miss Bustier. No one would be allowed to hurt his princess on his watch.

Inside the school, whispers had already begun. There had already been some talk about the bluenette before. With her being one of the only two people in the akuma class who hasn’t gotten akumatized yet, they figured that the noticeable stress she was under would due her in.

But now the whispers were revolving around the reason for the two adults who entered the building. A man and a woman, both dressed in business attire and wearing the same stern expression. They came in to get answers, and they would get just that.

Walking straight to Mr. Damocles' office, they gave a sharp knock before letting themselves in. The man, for his part, seemed confused by someone bursting into his office. His confusion quickly turned to concern as he recognized the people standing before him.

“We’re here from the school board. There’s been a recent complaint filed and we will be investigating it.” The woman’s tone left no room for an argument. “I’ll be discussing this issue with you while Mr. Garnier does an observation in one of your classrooms. Depending on what happens, we may have to pull some students out of class to ask them a few questions.”

Mr. Damocles only had enough time to realize what the recent complaint was before the man walked out. The woman sat down in the chair across his desk, setting a file in front of him.

“So, tell me about your response to the mistreatment of one Miss Marinette Dupain Cheng?”

There would be no use lying. As required with all staff members, their school issued phones recorded every phone call that took place on them. It was meant to protect them if a parent tries to deny something that they said over the call, but in this case it would be used against him. He cleared his throat, trying to figure out a way to save himself. He remembered that last time these people came in they said that then was his final warning, but surely he would be fine. He was an excellent principal, and this issue wasn’t big enough for him to be fired, surely. So he began his defense.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Gariner walked through the hallway, trusting that Mrs. Monet would be able to handle things. She was slightly biased in this case, as she had a soft spot for the victims in cases like this, but she was a professional above all else so she should be able to prove well into finding out exactly what Mr. Damocles’ thoughts were.

Truthfully, they should have done an investigation at this school sooner. They had seen the news reports about the students in this class, but since Hawkmoth was a new thing they had waited. He took his victims by using their emotions against them, and since uncontrolled emotions tended to run higher among adolescents they didn’t push investigating directly as their top priority.

They had simply decided to send an email and request that something was done within the classrooms to allow for some form of relaxation or meditation to be done. That had gotten accepted without any issues, and they foolishly had allowed their attention to relax from the school. But now they noticed the repeated pattern of akumas forming from one specific class, and something had to be done.

Even without Madame Cheng’s email, they would have been investigating Miss Bustier and her class anyways. Of course, what was said in that email worried them. From what it sounded like, it seemed like Miss Bustier was fostering her work onto a student. That would be bad enough, but threatening said student to continue doing the work was an extra layer that they would have to address.

For now he tried to clear his thoughts, knocking once on the classroom door before walking in. The students were all whispering to themselves, but stopped once they saw his presence. He simply ignored them, turning to the confused teacher.

“My apologies for interrupting your classroom, Madame. The school board sent me to do your regular classroom observation.” It wasn’t true, but it would at least help to make her not mask her true behavior as much. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be showing off her real behavior though. She seemed a bit flustered, but nodded nonetheless. “I’ll just be sitting in the back. Please just go on with your lessons as you normally would.”

Without another word, he walked up the stairs and took a seat in the very back. The woman eyed him wearily, but called the class to attention anyways. Throughout the morning, he noticed all the students at some point or another looking back at him.

The one that caught his attention though was one blonde student in the front. Not because he was looking at him, but because he was turning around to look at another student. Marinette Dupain Cheng, he had to presume. He did see her photo when looking into her file, but even without that he could tell that she was the student whose parents had made the complaint. The amount of papers that were on her desk, as well as how the other students occasionally looked over to her in concern was enough of an indicator.

There were no major issues that had popped up, but there were a few times when he noticed Miss Bustier looking at Marinette. The first came when another student (Chloe Bourgeois, he remembered her from numerous reports before) made an insult to the girl. Instead of calling the student out, Miss Bustier looked over to Marinette and waited. When nothing happened, she opened her mouth before looking back at him and closing it again. Whatever she was going to say was instead replaced with her continuing the lesson as if nothing had happened.

There were a few other times, when she mentioned the graded homework and a quiz and she looked over to the girl, only to quickly say that she would be passing them back tomorrow. He caught her looking back at him then too. It happened several other times, one notable one being when she mentioned the class’s end of the year trip. The way Marinette’s body stiffened when the teacher commented that all plans would be finished and presented on Friday was noticeable to everyone but the teacher.

Another thing he noticed was the same blonde boy from before making to stand up, only for his desk mate to pull him back down and shake his head. It was easy enough to tell why he did that when they both looked back at him. He didn’t know if it was out of fear that they would be punished or if they were hoping he would do something.

He was going to do something, of course, Mr. Gariner would never allow for this kind of treatment to continue past today, but he was required to wait until the students left before talking to Miss Bustier directly about these issues. Of course, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t doing anything right now.

A few quick emails and texts got sent out and exchanged. Another member of the school board would be coming to help with asking the students and other teachers some questions regarding both Miss Bustier and Mr. Damocles. The principal had been warned not even a few months ago that he needed to have better control on his students and staff members.

Those issues had all stemmed from one Miss Bourgeois who had caused issues and hurt students all while never facing any consequences. He was warned to not let a student get out of trouble by threatening to call her father. He was even told that if the mayor tried to actually follow through on the threats his daughter made, that he would be abusing his power and would be kicked out of his position.

They hadn’t received any complaints since then, but it was a wonder if students had been making them and they never got received. That thought was also troubling. Not all people would consider turning to the school board for issues, not at first anyways. Contacting the teacher or principal was what families were encouraged to do. The issue needed to first be, or at least, attempted to be, dealt with at the school level before going up to the school board after all.

It was meant to stop unneeded cases from clogging up and stopping them from being able to work on more pressing issues, but it could be possible that people didn’t bother trying to contact them. It could be that they were promised that everything would be settled, or even that the school board wouldn’t be able to help out anyways. Another thought was that they could have been threatened as well. If Miss Bustier made a threat to her one student without a second thought, was it possible that other students were coerced into keeping quiet?

Once the bell rang for lunch, all the students were packing up and Miss Bustier said one final thing.

“Marinette, please stay behind for a few minutes.”

Those words caused everyone in the class to stop what they were doing and look between the two. The tension was noticeable, and Mr. Gariner decided to settle things. Walking down the steps and towards the front, he addressed the teacher, not even having to raise his voice to be heard by the rest of the students in the pressing silence.

“Actually, Miss Bustier, I need to discuss some things with you.” When she opened her mouth to refute, he pressed on. “You can discuss whatever it is with your student later on.”

Seeing how he wasn’t going to budge, Miss Bustier nodded. Marinette quickly walked out, the rest of the students following right behind her. Closing the door after the last student walked out he waited a few moments just to make sure that no one else was going to come in before turning to address the teacher.

“Please take a seat. This will be a long discussion.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette was freaking out. Not only did she not get the chance to hand Miss Bustier the homework and quizzes she helped to grade and would be getting in trouble for that, but she also would need to finalize everything for the class trip before Friday. Even with all the work she did over the weekend, she still wasn’t close to done.

She hadn’t been able to book anything since she wasn’t an adult, and even if she could bug her parents to help she wouldn’t be able to since they wouldn’t be going on the trip and whoever booked things had to be in attendance.

That left the only choice being Miss Bustier. She debated sending her an email, but Tikki had actually been able to stop her from doing that, unplugging the computer and causing enough commotion that her parents came up and brought her downstairs to get away from the work laid out on her desk. Her hope was to ask the teacher before class but then she didn’t come into class until the start time. And she wasn’t able to meet with Miss Bustier during lunch since then the man from the school board needed to talk to her, so she would have to put it off until after school.

Right now Alya was dragging her off outside the school and towards her house. She didn’t register the conversation that Nino and Adrien were having behind them. It was when she almost stumbled and felt arms wrapping around her body to keep her upright, while she could see Alya bending down to pick up her dropped items, that she realized they were outside the bakery’s doors.

“Okay. You’re eating lunch and then you’re gonna relax. Maybe you should take a nap too.”

“Adrien?” She tried to turn to look at him, but his arms pulling her back to be flushed with his chest prevented her from being able to do more than glance at him from the corner of her vision.

“You need to let her go dude. Unless you want to carry her inside.”

There was a pause, and it seemed for a second like he was actually going to do it. As he was adjusting his arms, Alya stopped him.

“Let’s just let Marinette walk. We’re here anyway.”

Adrien did let her go enough for her to walk forward, but kept his hand ghosting her back. The four walked in and headed up into the main part of the house. Marinette was sat down on the couch, held down by Adrien when she tried to grab the papers Alya was still holding.

“I need to work on the rest of the arrangements for the class trip.”

“Nope. That’s not your job.” Alya said, leaving no room for argument. Before Marinette could try though, the blogger walked out of the room with Nino in tow.

“Everything will be okay.” She turned and blinked at Adrien, who was still holding her. “I won’t let Miss Bustier hurt you again. I promise.”

“What do you-”

“I heard about Miss Bustier threatening you. I don’t care how I do it, I promise you I won’t let her get away with that.”

Marinette turned to better face him. Half of her brain was trying to mentally arrange things for the class trip while the other half was too tired to fully comprehend what all was happening. It still hadn’t even processed the fact that Adrien was going to carry her earlier. Before she could even attempt to understand what he was telling her now and how he knew, Alya and Nino walked back in with a bunch of food.

“You’re going to eat then you’re gonna take a nap until lunch is over.”

“But I need to get back to school before lunch is over.” If she was lucky, Miss Bustier would be done talking to the man from the school board. Then she could try and get things figured out in time for Friday.

“Eat. Then sleep.”

Alya pushed the plate of food onto her lap. Deciding that she could just sneak out after she got done eating, Marinette began to eat the sandwich Alya had made. During the whole time they ate, their eyes kept drifting back to Marinette. As soon as she was done eating and made to stand, they acted.

Marinette’s brain was able to conjure up the question of if all her friends were physic or if they had discussed this plan in front of her and she just didn’t realize it, because they all acted in sync. Nino grabbed her plate and cup from her hands, moving out of the way while Adrien pulled her down to lay on the couch. Alya threw a blanket over her body and adjusted it as a pillow got placed under her head.

“Nap time.”

“But-”

“You will be stuck here until the end of lunch either way. You might as well just sleep.”

Marinette let out a huff, making to move only for a hand to press her down. She looked up at Adrien’s face as he loomed over her.

“I will lay on you if you try to resist Marinette.”

That reminded her of Chat Noir. Even though he had canceled group patrols, and he took over her solo ones, she had decided to go out for one last weekend. She couldn’t help herself. She was anxious and just wanted to go out for a little bit. Still, once he realized she was out and hadn’t slept at all, he ran off before returning with a pillow and blankets. Somehow she ended up wrapped up in what she could only refer to as a blanket burrito with a pillow under her head and Chat Noir laying on top of her. She had fallen asleep to the sound of his purring.

Of course there was no way that Adrien would do that. But he did. As soon as she tried to sit up again, he laid his chest on top of her’s. He was still kneeling on the ground, so it wasn’t all of his body on top of her, but it was enough weight that it kept her from moving.

“Sleep.” He said, turning his head to look at her. His breathing began to slow, and her body mimicked it without thinking. Soon she was out like a light. He didn’t want to move, but slowly lifted himself off her.

“How did you do that?” Nino asked, his voice in a whisper to keep the girl asleep.

“I read that if you are with someone you both subconsciously match your breathing to theirs.”

He didn’t say it, but he had specifically looked it up on the off chance that he would have to help Ladybug fall asleep without being transformed. His purring only happened in suit, after all. Before anything else could be said, Madame Cheng walked into the room. Adrien quickly leaned back, hoping that she didn’t notice him laying on top of her daughter. She opened her mouth to speak, but the three teens shushed her and waved her off. The woman smiled to see her daughter asleep, but the expression slowly dropped.

“You three are wanted downstairs.”

“For what?”

Adrien resisted the urge to lay back down on top of Marinette and hold onto her. She was finally sleeping, and he wasn’t about to let her have any chance of waking up from her nap too soon.

“There’s someone from the school board who is interviewing the students in your class. She was interviewing me and Tom, but when I mentioned the four of you being here she said she wanted to interview you all now.”

“At the same time?”

“No. Tom and I went separately, so I imagine it would be the same for you three.”

“You two go down. I’ll wait here until one of you gets done.”

Even if Adrien wasn’t the one to watch over Marinette the whole time, he could at least make sure she stayed asleep while Alya and Nino got interviewed. They nodded, and soon Adrien was left alone. He waited a few seconds before laying his head back onto the girl’s chest, smiling as he closed his eyes.

“Oh Plagg, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Marinette is just a very good friend.”

Adrien let out a huff before looking up and glaring at his kwami. He really didn’t want to argue today, so he tried to close his eyes and ignore the god.

“If you think that will stop me, kid, you’re wrong. I-” Whatever Plagg was about to say was cut off. Adrien opened his eyes and looked up, to see him sporting a look of worry. Slowly lifting his head off Marinette’s chest and turned to look off where the kwami was starring. Nothing was there.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, turning back around. What Adrien did not realize was that Tikki was floating right behind him, giving Plagg her signature death glare.

My bug has had no rest at all. Her eyes said. If you stop her from being able to sleep because you’re too busy teasing your kitten and wake her up then I won’t hesitate to end you.

“Nothing.” Plagg said out loud, not wanting to unleash Tikki’s wrath. He was concerned for her bug too, which was why he was trying to get his oblivious holder to realize his feelings so that she would be cared for on both sides of the mask. Of course, he could do that later when he wasn’t at risk of being destroyed.

Confused, but deciding not to question it, Adrien laid his head back down and shut his eyes, falling asleep to the sounds of her gentle breaths.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing that Marinette noticed when she woke up, was the voices drifting into the room. She sat up and looked around, confused as to what she was doing in her living room. She turned around and looked over the couch in time to see her papa coming into the room with another woman.

“I guess she woke up.” Her papa said, before addressing her. “Marinette, this is Mrs. Blanchet. She’s from the school board and is here to ask you some questions.”

Marinette was immediately confused and also worried. She noticed the woman’s professional attire and immediately went to smooth out her messy hair. Mrs. Blanchet didn’t seem to care though, as she walked over and took a seat on the chair across from the couch, not once giving any judgemental looks.

“Sorry about my appearance.” Marinette muttered.

“It’s quite alright. I’ve heard from your friends that you haven’t been able to rest, so it’s good that you got some sleep at least.”

She had spoken to her friends? The questions continued to build up. She knew that there was a man from the school board who was speaking to Miss Bustier, but that didn’t explain why there was this woman here and why she would speak to her friends. The answer finally snapped into place with the next thing she said.

“So, Ms. Dupain Cheng, please tell me about your experience with Mlle. Bustier. And please, be honest.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is she okay?”

“Relax, dude, her parents are with her.”

“But she should have been done by now.”

The trio had long finished their interviews with Mrs. Blanchet and were sent back to school. Miss Bustier wasn’t in class, but a sub was brought in to cover for her. Mr. Fournier was allowing them to work quietly together on the assignment, or really was just letting them have some time to discuss what was going on.

He knew that there would be whispering and notes being passed anyways, so it was better to simply let them go ahead with it so they could not feel so anxious about things. Besides, a few students were still out doing their interviews. It wouldn’t be fair to teach with several students missing due to the investigation.

“Should we call her?”

“Adrien, she is fine. We asked her parents to call us if something bad happens, remember?”

It was the only way they were able to get Adrien to leave the bakery. Even telling him that his father would be upset to find him skipping out on class didn’t get him moving. The two bespeckled teens tried to keep Adrien distracted with the worksheet they were giving, but his eyes kept snapping to the door each time it opened.

More students returned, none of them being Marinette, and Adrien was at the point of considering if he could run out of the room and to the bakery without being pulled back by Nino. So far the only three students out of the room were the bluenette, Chloe, and Sabrina.

But then Sabrina came back, and quietly explained to Mr. Fournier that Chloe wouldn’t be returning to class today. Adrien assumed that it was because Chloe didn’t want to bother returning to class, but if he was paying attention he might have noticed Sabrina’s wide eyes and flustered tone. As if she was just exposed to some harsh truth and still trying to comprehend it.

By the time the door came open again, Adrien was standing up to run to the bakery. As soon as he spotted the familiar pigtails, he got in front of the girl and hugged her as quickly as he could.

“Is everything okay? Are you feeling a bit better now?”

Marinette, for her part, did get enough rest to comprehend some things. Not enough for her to be flustered around Adrien yet, but enough to realize how he got to her so quickly.

“Did you just… jump over your desk?”

“Dude.” Nino muttered, head in his hands.

“Um… no?” It was more of a question, because Adrien truly didn’t know if he did that or not.

“Please sit down. I need to make an announcement to the class.”

It was then that Adrien realized that Marinette wasn’t walking in alone. Behind her was another woman, one who he hadn’t seen before. It also registered in his mind that if he really did jump over a desk, not only did this woman see it but the rest of the class also did. He quietly went back to his seat, but not before making sure Marinette got seated in hers.

“My name is Mrs. Monet and I am a member of the school board. As you know, we have been asking you questions regarding your teacher and your time here at Francoise Dupont. The school board doesn’t like to make rushed decisions, but we feel like this decision will be best for the students and other members of this school’s safety.” She took a pause before continuing. “Miss Bustier will no longer be your teacher.”

Before, if someone were to say that to the class, they would all be devastated and demand answers. However they had seen how she’s been to Marinette over the past couple weeks. Not just that, but once they heard about her threatening Marinette a lot of the love and respect they felt towards the teacher was burned out. Mrs. Monet had been expecting them not to be upset, and continued on with her speech.

“I am sure you might be confused as to what is happening, but I assure you that the school board makes all of its decisions with the school’s wellbeing in mind. We will be ensuring that this choice doesn’t harmfully impact your education. Mr. Fournier will be taking over as your sub for the rest of the school year. I do ask you to please be patient with getting answers to the questions that I’m sure all of you have.

“We cannot give out full details of an investigation without permission from several people, and that only can happen after the investigation is fully finished. Of course, if you do have questions you need answered you may contact me and any of the other two school board members who you’ve seen today with the emails we’ve provided you. We will be happy to answer your questions if we are able to.

“It is also decided that since the decision to remove Miss Bustier as a teacher here is affecting multiple classes, that tomorrow will be an optional school day. Students may come in to work on school work or just hang out. However you will be required to come within the first hour of school and stay the whole day if you do wish to come here. It is to ensure all of your safety. Your parents have already been notified and told that they will receive a call just to confirm that you aren’t coming to school. If you have any more questions regarding that, you can ask Mr. Fournier for more details.

“Another change that is taking place is that your principal is also being removed.” This caused whispers of confusion to sprout up, but they quickly died down when the woman raised her hand. “We unfortunately cannot say much about this other than he was breaking some rules and had to be terminated. An official announcement regarding that will be made once the investigation is finished. I wish you all a good rest of your day, and if you have anything else you need to ask or have to tell us please reach out to any of the members you have seen today.”

With that, Mrs. Monet walked out and allowed the class to finally speak what was on everyone’s mind.

“This is my fault.”

Well, clearly one student didn’t share the same thoughts as everyone else. All eyes immediately turned towards Marinette, who looked very upset at the current news. Which didn’t make sense given what had happened to her just last week.

“Marinette, no it’s not.”

“But, Miss Bustier-”

“Did you ask to have all that work dumped on you? To be threatened?” Adrien said, eye flashing with rage. A pat from within his pocket, unknown to anyone else in class, reminded him to take a deep breath and calm down.

“But what about the class trip? I still needed to get things booked.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Dupain Cheng. As your current homeroom teacher, I’ll be handling things. Everything will be fine. As for you, I think that it would be a good idea for you to take a break being class representative so that you can focus on your school work and your other activities. Your class deputy can take over for a few weeks, and can appoint someone to help her temporarily as well.”

In the back of her mind, Marinette knew that what the man was saying was supposed to lift a burden off her shoulders. After all, she had been wanting a break for weeks now. But right now it felt like all the work she had done up to this point was all for nothing.

“But, what about the plans I’ve already made? All that was left was to book things and get them approved?”

Mr. Fournier paused in consideration. It would be wrong to use work that a child was forced to do, but it was clear that it could cause the bluenette more distress if all of her work was for not.

“See me on Wednesday. I’ll have to reach out to the school board to ensure that it is okay, but if you wish we can take your plans and implement them without you having to do all of the work. For now you all can just finish up on the worksheet I gave you and then have quiet conversations. If you need anything feel free to ask.”

Alya handed Marinetted a worksheet but less for the reason of working on it and more just so she wouldn’t forget about grabbing one later. Right now she wanted to check in on her.

“Miss Bustier had this coming to her.” Alya didn’t let Marinette try and defend that woman. “She was the one who purposely dumped her work onto you. Not just that, but she refused to let anyone else help you out. Then she decided to threaten you whenever you were politely trying to figure out the truth. Whatever happens to her is on her.”

Adrien and Nino nodded, and the rest of the class would have agreed but were pretending that they weren’t eavesdropping to try and give her some privacy. Marinette didn’t seem so sure, and the rest of the class all came to the silent collective decision that they would make sure Marinette wasn’t hurt from this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Before the end of the week they found out that Chloe got expelled. Turns out all the threats she gave to both staff and students alike was enough to seal her fate. Her father tried to fight it, but there wasn’t a lot that could be done with all the evidence. In fact, he was too busy trying to save himself from being exposed of him abusing his power at the school to worry about abusing it even more.

Another two weeks passed before they found out why Mr. Damocles was fired. Besides just ignoring Chloe’s behavior and Miss Bustier’s abuse, he had also been stealing the school’s money. Turns out the pay of being a principal alone couldn’t afford him all the comic books and fancy gadgets he wanted to become The Owl.

It took a few weeks for Marinette to feel okay about things. Tikki adamantly went through, relaying out what responsibility meant for her to ensure that Marinette would take care of herself. Adrien, Alya, and Nino all distracted her when she got doubt that it was her fault more than Miss Bustier’s, and all made sure that she got plenty of rest.

With all the rest she was getting she was finally able to go on patrols again with Chat’s approval. That still didn’t mean that he didn’t wrap her up in a blanket and make her take a nap instead of patrolling some days, but Marinette found that falling asleep to his purrs made her feel more relaxed so she was okay with it.

It was two months after the whole debacle, when Marinette was made to nap before a study session with her three friends only to wake up to the purring coming from a different blonde boy, that she realized something else. A quick freak out, the two hiding in the bathroom whilst Alya and Nino looked at each other confused from their spots in the living room, and Adrien decided that he really wasn’t going to let Marinette go. Like, literally.

“Adrien.”

“No.”

Marinette sighed, deciding to just lean back into him. He immediately burrowed his face into the crook of her neck, and it was only due to her slowly slipping out her exhausted mindstate and being able to be calm around him during that time that she wasn’t a completely flustered mess. Oh, she was still blushing hardcore, but at least she wasn’t squealing like a kettle.

Alya and Nino could only stare at the two, who had emerged from the bathroom with Adrien carrying Marinette before the blond sat her down between his legs. After a few moments, Alya was able to speak.

“So… are you two dating now or?”

“Engaged, actually.”

“I don’t remember you proposing.”

“I would say married, but just because we act like a married couple doesn’t mean that we are legally married yet.”

“We’re fourteen.”

“... I can wait.”

#miraculous fanfiction #miraculous ladybug fanfic #mlb marinette #marinette dupain cheng #Ms. Bustier Salt #mlb salt #Alya sugar #protective adrien agreste

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immabitqueer · 1 year ago

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Watching House MD for the first time in 2024 full SEASON 1 Review-

- I had learned from his Wiki page before I even started the show that he had a couple of divorces, but Wilson is really bad at marriage, isn't he? His wife is having company and she makes dinner. House calls once and he totally abandons those plans to meet him at a bar. Wilson lies to his wife and says he's working on christmas and then he goes to Houses apartment instead. House continuously implies that wilson is having affairs around the hospital. He's very funny, he's clever, and he can be sweet, but I would NOT want that man as a partner. That being said, whenever House and Cameron were going on a date and he goes to Cameron to tell her not to hurt House was crazy. Everyone is just so worried about Cameron getting hurt and he does NOT care about her. He's like "huh?? why would I care about you i'm here about house??"

- Cameron's crush on House hit me like a ton of bricks. Even before it was revealed that she had a crush. I thought that they were so good as friends. It seems that now at the end of the season. It's kind of been packed up? And i'm glad for that I hope they can go back to being just besties. You kind of begin to see some of the more flawed parts of Cameron in the latter half of this season, which I appreciate. Such as her need to fix things or people. It makes her feel a bit more human and not just a very angelic being.

- Chase also has a lot of flaws shown in the latter half of the season, and a lot more than Cameron. Don't get me wrong, I still love him, but he was one sidedly enemies with a ten year old girl because she was overweight? Also I picked up on a consistent habit that Chase seems to have where in general he's a pretty nice guy, but when things start to go wrong for him, he will say the most out of pocket things to patients. It's a writing quirk that showed up early in the season with the nuns and has been a constant part of his character since. Also, I made a post about this when I watched the episode. But canonically has seen a dominatrix???? More and more ragged pieces of fabric are stitching themselves together to show me a quilt of Chase.

- I hope in the future we get more focus on Foreman as a character. I would like to know everything about this man. And I know that it was a joke at the beginning, but this man really does try to tie every case back to neurology. Him stepping in to tell House not to hurt Cameron by being nice and giving her hope was nice.

- Time for Mister Gregory House himself. Noticing a pattern of him very much being good with children and having no room for idiot parents who are hurting their kids or are weary of medicine. Love to see it. He has a very distinct relationship with everyone on screen. Every person he interacts with, he interacts with the differently. He's pretty hard on Chase, especially after the Vogler incident. He is continuously hard on Foreman as well with an unhealthy dose of micro-aggression mixed in. Generally, he's hard on Chase in a fatherly way and hard on Foreman in a motherly way, if that makes any sense. He is much softer with Cameron. He and Wilson are co-dependent and at the same time can be very cruel to each other, while also supporting each other. It's very interesting to see these dynamics play out.

- Stacy is complicated. Her trying to convince House to do a treatment her husband doesn't want him to do, mirroring how Housebecame disabled was painful. I can see why she would want the treatment for them in both scenarios and I can also see why it can be selfish or wrong. She found someone that doesn't make her feel alone and is willing to forgive her, so in the end I guess she found her way to a happier life. I still think House has the right to be angry, of course and she isn't owed House's forgiveness but she's at least understandable.

Random extra thoughts and things I've noticed:

- THE KID FROM SPY KIDS WAS IN AN EPISODE??

- So was the girl from mean girls, les mis, mama mia, and Jennifer's body, can you tell I don't know peoples names?

- House has the saddest little eyes but they also pierce my soul and make me feel horrible for him, almost like I did something

- House has an array of toys all over his desk, and he plays with his cane or rubber bands all the time

- I could not STAND Vogler. I'm glad they wrapped up his arch this season because I was getting tired of him

Some context:

I'm watching the show mostly because my Twitter and Tumblr were very adamant that I do, but also because I have a running thing where I very rarely finish a show that I start. I've started several shows and finished very few of them. I started watching House on New Year's Eve The day before the first day of 2024 and plan to finish it before the first day of 2025. This is actually a big deal for me because usually I can't finish a show over 3 seasons and the farthest I've gotten is five seasons. I will be posting as I go and also doing a halfway point and a full season review of all 8 seasons.

#house md #hate crimes md #please interact and tell me what you think but no MAJOR spoilers #gregory house #james wilson #allison cameron #robert chase #eric foreman #season review #character study #kind of #house md season 1

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mangoisms · 2 years ago

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circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter two: it’s getting late | read chapter one

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.5k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: would be lying if i said this was for tim's birthday tmrw. it was rlly just because the reception to chapter 1 was so lovely and i also did this with my other tim fic—posting chapter 2 early, i mean. but we'll just have to work with this. happy early birthday tim you are annoying and i want to study you under a microscope <3

You expect Red Robin’s appearance to be a one-off thing.

It is not.

Instead, the next day, you get Black Bat.

It jolts you from the phone call you’re having.

“—understand the temptation to tell them to screw off but I really don’t want to get… shot…”

You trail off, watching, wide-eyed as your newest vigilante customer steps into Circle K.

Black Bat cuts an imposing figure, her suit made up mostly of inky black material, with a few accents of gold, the Bat symbol on her chest standing out the most. Her black cape flutters behind her, moving like a shadow. She looks the most like Batman, you think, with the cowl and the pointed ears. Except the eyes of the mask are black and the bottom of her face is completely covered—stitched closed. Considerably more creepy, you think, goosebumps breaking out over your skin. Though that could be the fan you have on, fluttering your hair as it makes a slow rotation.

“Hey, did you die or something?”

“No,” you mutter, watching, your heart starting to pick up as Black Bat comes up to the counter.

You aren’t sure what you expect, but it’s not—

“Do you have Red Bull?” Her voice is low and melodic. Not befitting of her… general aura.

Wordlessly, you point to the refrigerators at the back.

“Thanks,” she says, then she turns and walks away. You can only see the top of her head and the pointed ears of her cowl. A second later, you hear the suction-y sound of the refrigerator door being opened.

A voice calls your name from the other end of the line.

Your best friend, Stephanie Brown, who gave you a call to see how your summer break has been treating you.

“Sorry,” you say, clearing your throat. “Just got distracted by something outside.”

“Something outside? That’s not reassuring. At all.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Like I was saying, I’m not gonna tell them that. It’s tempting but like I said, I don’t want to get arrested or some shit.”

“The charges wouldn’t even hold. It’s a free country. I can tell a cop to fuck off if I want to. That’s my god-given right.”

“I appreciate the spirit, but I don’t think the GCPD would agree with you.”

“Well, the GCPD can kiss my ass.”

“You and me both, Stephie. You and me both. So, how’s, uh, Metropolis?”

“Metropolis is Metropolis. Brainiac nearly took control of the city yesterday but what’s new? Mom’s having a good time, though. Even if things are way overpriced over here. I mean, seriously. Eight bucks for a cup of coffee at this place we went to today. They’re crazy.”

Steph babbles in your ear for a few more minutes. Long enough for Black Bat to reemerge from the aisle, two cans of Red Bull and a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms in hand. You wonder who the second person is. Red Robin, maybe?

He’d been odd about the hot chocolates. Odd in general. But that’s what you get with these vigilante types.

No matter. You quickly focus on your current situation, giving Black Bat a small, embarrassed smile and pointing at the phone crammed between your shoulder and ear, mouthing Sorry.

You shouldn’t be doing this on the job and you should’ve told Steph you had to go but quite frankly, you need the assurance of another person with you. Even if said person can’t do anything and is across the harbor in Metropolis on a mini-vacation with her mom.

Black Bat shouldn’t give you trouble about it. You hope. She just scares you a little more than Red Robin. Which is silly because he’s a guy and probably more potentially dangerous but. You know. Her suit is just… too similar to Batman’s, and he’s the one who scares you the most.

Still, Black Bat just shrugs and waves a hand. “It’s fine.”

You nod your thanks, then scan everything and bag it. She pulls out a twenty dollar bill from her utility belt and you give her the change, which she promptly puts in the tip jar. A kind gesture, really, considering the twenty is a bit of an overshoot for her total, leaving you with a nice tip.

You guess that if anything else, at least it’s nice that these vigilantes tip.

After dropping the receipt into the bag, she takes it and waves at you.

Mystified, you wave back.

Then she steps out, cape fluttering behind her.

“Anyway,” Steph says on the other end as you focus on her voice again. “It’s pretty fun but I miss home. Can’t wait to be back in the city. We’re hanging out as soon as I do, by the way. How are things with you?”

Oh, you can’t keep it in. You have to tell her.

“I saw the Flash two days ago.”

But she misunderstands.

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “I saw that in the news. ‘Cause of Trickster, right? Bet Batman wasn’t happy about that.”

“No,” you say. “I’m saying I saw him. Here. At Circle K. He dropped in to grab a bite to eat. I know you and Tim absolutely refuse to believe me when I say he visited me and that we’re friends—which, by the way, he totally reaffirmed when I saw him—but he was here.”

“We’re jealous, that’s all,” she says. “Just don’t want you running off with the Flash thinking he’s cooler than we are. Which, to be clear, he isn’t. Not me, anyway. Tim is up for debate.”

“Well, you’re about to be a little more jealous.”

“And why is that?”

“Because since he visited, weird shit has started happening.”

“Weird shit is always happening in Gotham. What is so special about this weird shit in particular?”

“Oh, he said something stupid to Red Robin—Red Robin came in a little while after he did, I guess they were working together to track down Trickster—anyway, he was talking about how I’m… scared of the Bats—”

“Are you scared of the Bats?”

You throw up a hand, though she can’t see it. “I have a healthy amount of fear and respect for them—and on that note, please don’t tell anyone else I’m telling you this.”

“Of course.”

“Right, well, Flash was just ragging him, you know? About how he has a better relationship with me, someone who doesn’t even live in Keystone or Central, than the Bats do.”

“So?”

“So,” you blow out a big breath, “Red Robin showed up yesterday to get some hot chocolate—”

“Hot chocolate?” Steph asks, disbelieving.

“Yeah. He said it was a better alternative to coffee. Guess he’s not into energy drinks. Weirdo. The whole thing about it—weird. Like… I don’t know. He was just acting weird when he was asking if we had any.”

“… That is weird,” she says, an odd note to her voice. She clears her throat. “And then?”

“I knew why he was doing it so I told him he didn’t have to come around ‘cause he and the others obviously need to uphold a specific perception, right? Then he was all, Well, what does a civilian like you know about it? Can you believe they unironically call us that?”

Steph laughs. She laughs hard.

You wait it out, not entirely sure what or why she is laughing so hard but it’s not the first time she’s ever done that, so you can just let it go.

“Okay,” she giggles. “Sorry. Keep going. What else happened?”

“He left. But then, y’wanna guess who just showed up right now?”

“Who? Batman?”

“God, no. It was Black Bat. She was nice enough. Gave me a big tip. Creepy suit, though.”

“What’d she’d get?”

“Two Red Bulls, a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms. Wonder who that second Red Bull is for. And the snacks. Red Robin realizing hot chocolate in June is weird? Hard to imagine him eating Takis, though. He’s probably like Tim, saying they’re ‘too hot’.”

Steph laughs again for a while.

“Oh, god, you’re killing me,” she gasps out when she calms.

You shake your head, rubbing your finger over a scratch mark in the counter. “I don’t know what is so funny but sure.”

“So, then, what? You think you’re just gonna some more vigilantes? ‘Cause it’s only been two so far.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you grumble. “But it’s two. When previously, this has never happened.”

“True! Well… any preferences? For who comes next?”

“Anyone but Batman, thanks.”

Your next visitor is not Batman.

It is, in a turn of events that makes a little more sense, the Signal.

A few days after your call with Steph, things are fine, until your manager posts to the team group chat about wanting someone for an afternoon shift, saying someone quit unexpectedly. Not one to say no to some extra cash, you latch onto the opportunity—even if it’s an admittedly questionable idea. You try not to work weekends to let yourself recuperate from sustaining your not-so-great sleep schedule.

Anyway, you feel and look like a zombie, but you get your work done.

“I can help the next person in line,” you call.

A tall, broad-shouldered stocky older man with long blonde hair and blue eyes behind coke-bottle glasses steps up, armed with two large cups of coffee. The scrubs he wears clues you into some kind of healthcare position.

“Hi, did you find everything—”

The door opens, your eyes automatically flickering to the movement, and your voice cuts out sharply as you realize who it is.

The Signal stands there a bit awkwardly for a moment as all of you look—the blonde man at the counter and the other man waiting in line.

“Hey, you!”

You flinch, tensing, already fearing a confrontation as the other man steps forward, pointing at the Signal. The one in question tenses, shoulders rising, like he’s preparing to fight. You hope not. That would be a lot of paperwork for you. It’s the manager’s, technically, to report any damage done by vigilantes, but they always give it to you or the other employees on the floor.

But it is not as you feared. Instead of picking a fight, the man… thanks him?

“You’re the Signal, right? Right? You saved my son a few months ago from some muggers following him home from school. Thank you, man. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough. He wouldn’t be here with me if it weren’t for you,” the man says, holding out a hand.

“Hey, man,” Signal says, reaching out to shake his hand. “It was nothing. I’m glad I was there to help.”

“Are you here to buy something? Let me cover you. Please. It’s the least I can do—”

“Oh, you really don’t need to—”

“That went better than expected.”

The soft-spoken voice brings you out of your thoughts and you belatedly realize you still have a customer to take care of. But when you look at him, he is watching the Signal try to tell the other man that he doesn’t have to pay for him, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” you say. “Good thing. Signal’s a good guy.”

He turns back to you as you scan the cups of coffee, pulling out a wallet.

“He is,” he agrees easily—meaning his words, too, a genuine conviction you don’t hear often associated with the vigilantes of the city.

Signal manages to hold firm on not needing the man to pay, repeating that he was just doing his job, and thankfully, the man accepts it with good graces.

You quickly get your current customer wrapped up while the Signal steps into the chip aisle.

You pass him the receipt. “Thank you, have a good day.”

He sends you a small, handsome smile, picking up the cups of coffee. “Thank you, you, too.”

The one after him steps up to pay, talking jovially with you, spirits still apparently lifted at seeing Signal and being able to thank him. It’s a nice moment, you think, and you make sure to respond in kind.

The door swings shut behind him just as Signal re-emerges from the chip aisle, holding a can of Monster Energy and a bag of chile picante Cornnuts. The combination is… surely something. You let yourself slip with it, too, because you’ve personally heard a lot of good things about him. The fact that he works during the day helps his case, too.

“I need the energy,” Signal says, seeing that thought in your face; he doesn’t sound mad, though, just vaguely amused. His suit is filled with more yellow tones, still intimidating but not as much in the daylight, a helmet of sorts leaving only his mouth exposed.

“It’ll definitely give you… something,” you say, chuckling as you scan both.

He pats his stomach. “I have guts of steel. Don’t worry about it.”

“Not a problem as long as I never have to hear ‘guts of steel’ ever again. Jesus. Is that just a natural thing of your biology or is it evolutionary-based?”

“This life isn’t for the faint of heart or stomach,” he agrees, passing you a five dollar bill. “Adaptation is key.”

“I bet.”

Signal laughs, taking his change and dropping it into the tip jar. You smile, too, shaking your head slightly.

“Have a good day.”

He tips his Red Bull at you. “You, too.”

Guts of steel. You nearly can’t believe it.

You pick up your phone, finding your conversation with Tim. You and Steph are hanging out tomorrow, so you’ll tell her about it, then. She asked him, though, and he said he was busy. Too bad. But that doesn’t mean he gets out of being subjected to those words, either.

no joke signal came in to buy a monster energy and cornnuts (a questionable combo) and when he saw me judging he said he has guts of steel

meta related do you think???

makes sense to me. you have a gene inside you that gives you literal powers i think they shouldn’t be having digestive issues/ibs like us common folk do

Your three texts, sent in quick succession, deliver. You bite the inside of your cheek as you see your previous ones still unanswered. It’s been like that for the past few weeks. Not him ignoring you but a bit of a dry spell going on in your messages that was only broken when you told Steph what happened and decided you had to tell him, too.

It’s not his fault. The dry spell from before or the lack of responses going on now.

You started the first thing. So, it’s more your fault than anything for all of that. Steph’s talked to him, though, and she’s never let up on anything amiss…

You groan quietly, dropping your phone on the counter and burying your face in your hands.

Too complicated. Too much.

It never used to be like that but… things changed recently.

You, mostly.

You met Stephanie Brown your second semester at Gotham University.

Taking your required elective, you chose Intro to Psych. She was doing the same. Though, being a social work major, psychology was practically a cousin to it.

The professor for the class turned out to be a total dud. Rambled during lecture, refused to give out study guides, and while he would give out hints as to what material might show up on exams, his questions were trick ones. When people complained, he said some crap about being in a higher ed setting and needing to do better because of it. Like his class was some 300 or 400 level course and not a literal intro course to a large and burgeoning field of study.

But classes are expensive, so, you couldn’t drop it. Refused to, really, knowing you would face much more difficult classes later on, ones you knew you might need to drop and try again. So, you weren’t going to waste the money on this type of class.

Steph was of the same thought.

She sat next to you in the lecture hall. You two didn’t talk until after the first exam and everyone was upset about their grades, the exams having been handed back at the end of class. Your shared frustration brought you together, mostly as you two were ranting about it, you packed up and wound up leaving class together, the both of you just too caught up in your anger to realize you both needed to go in opposite directions for your next class.

You initially agreed to be study partners, to cover more ground that way. But Steph managed to worm her way to your heart by the end of that semester.

Your astounding lack of friends helped, too. Even if things had been that way since your junior year of high school, even if you wanted things to remain that way to protect what little remained of your heart, the loneliness hit you harder than you thought it would when you started college.

And Steph was nice and funny and listened to you and paid attention to you and you… were so very deprived of those things, so it was nice in the beginning, but then you realized, to your own horror, that you actually wanted her to stick her around, that just as she knew nearly everything about you by the end of the semester, you knew nearly everything about her, too, and you wanted to know more, wanted to be there for her like she always was for you.

You have that and more now and you are so very lucky because of it.

Tim, though?

Tim was something else.

Steph told you she had a friend visiting.

Just that—that she had a friend visiting campus and she ‘hoped he could find his way to the computer workstation on the fourth floor because as soon as I sit down, I’m not leaving for anything other than to use the bathroom or some kind of world-ending event.’

It was a particularly grueling paper she had to churn out—twenty pages, heavily research-based with the kind of statistics that made your head spin.

Working at the front desk of the Martha Kane Library at the time, you humored her. Told her good luck and that you’d keep an eye out. The second part was a joke, of course, because she never said who was visiting her and how could you know if she never said anything?

You and Tim Drake wound up finding each other, anyway.

Well, more like he found you.

It sounds sort of romantic, right?

It’s… well, it’s certainly something.

“I’m just saying,” you’re telling him, totally neglecting your homework and the other duties you have at the front desk (you know this last part is especially true by the way your coworker, also at the front desk, is side-eyeing you but come on, there’s no one in line, so it’s fine!). “It’s a solid movie.”

Tim Drake gives you a comically disbelieving look. “A solid movie? It’s—it’s gaseous.”

“Did… you just make a physics joke? About the three states of matter?”

Tim turns an attractive shade of pink. “It’s four, actually, and, uh… yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Steph is right. You really are a geek. Anyway. Cloverfield still sucks.”

“Your opinion is automatically negated by the fact that you think the Final Destination movies have any kind of substance to them.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I just think they’re good ‘cause of Mary Elizabeth Winstead. You probably think the Transformers movies are actually good, don’t you?”

He looks offended. “Don’t insult me. We hate Michael Bay in this house.”

“Sure.”

“But I do think Bumblebee—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Bumblebee is good for a change, we all know it. You’re probably one of those Nolan stans, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think any of what you just said are real words.”

“Oh, they’re real alright. Nolan stans are constantly on his dick, they’re all like, ‘Nolan is so deep and thoughtful and there is no one else like him.’ Wrong. I could find ten of him in the movie industry.”

Tim narrows his eyes accusingly at you. “Steph said Interstellar is your favorite movie.”

“It’s his only good movie.”

“Don’t count out Inception like that.”

“Never seen it.”

“Wow.”

“You know what you sounded like just now? A Nolan stan.”

Tim actually grins at you and your stomach flutters at the sight of it. It’s that that had drawn your eyes to him. The cute but confused looking guy loitering around nearby, systematically checking his phone and glancing around—presumably for a map of the confusing and ancient library. With dark hair, pale skin, and pretty blue eyes that make you feel unbearably seen, Tim Drake is a sight for sore eyes. Your eyes, to be certain.

Of course, you also know he’s here for Steph. That he is the friend she spoke of. And also the ex-boyfriend. That reminder sobers you considerably.

Kind of funny, really.

Much can be said about Tim Drake.

The adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. The kid who snuck into No Man’s Land on a dare and had to be extracted by the US military after his father made a fuss about it. Then later, became controlling shareholder at Wayne Enterprises for whatever reason, boosting him into a very powerful position. Then he got engaged. Then he was shot—he was meant to be killed but obviously, it hadn’t gone that way. All this at seventeen.

But eventually it petered out. He stepped down. Engagement broke off. He recovered. Now? He does some work for WE. That’s all that’s known to the press, anyway.

It’s like you said. Much can be said about Tim Drake.

But most of your impression is from Steph. He plays Warlocks and Warriors sometimes. Is a bit of a computer geek and has built his own PC for gaming. Hits the skatepark every now and then. Likes to spend time tinkering on his car. And… has strong opinions on movies.

Above it all?

He is her ex. A good friend now! But still. That fact remains.

“Anyway,” you say, adjusting your notebook, textbook, and bag of pens just to do something. “You’re here for Steph, right?”

“She told you?”

“Well, she’s obviously told you stuff about me.”

“Steph won’t shut up about you,” he says, seeming more amused than annoyed by that fact. “I can’t imagine it’s the same with me.”

“I know enough.” Like the fact that he is her literal ex-boyfriend. Even if Steph says their relationship wasn’t the greatest, had some very questionable decisions on both their parts, and ended a bit dramatically… he’s still the first person she ever fell in love with. She told you that much. “She’s upstairs on the fourth floor. Hit the elevators over there, then when you get to the fourth floor, turn left, then another left, and the computer workstations are on your right. Can’t miss them.”

“You should watch Inception,” he says, instead of acknowledging literally anything you just said.

You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “You should watch Interstellar.”

He taps a finger on the counter. “We should do both. You, me, and Steph one of these days.”

“I hate to say it, but that sounds like a good idea.”

Steph’s voice scares the shit out of you. You bang your knee on the desk, cursing.

Tim looks unruffled as she comes from the side—the direction of the elevators, joining him at the counter and nudging his shoulder as she goes. He nudges back. They keep the contact.

“Sorry, Stephie,” you say. “We got preoccupied.”

“Arguing,” she corrects, but she doesn’t look upset about it. Instead, her cobalt blue eyes twinkle with something you can’t quite identify as she drops her chin into her palm.

“We weren’t arguing,” Tim says next. “We were lightly debating.”

“Of course. My cute little movie geeks. I think Duckboy’s right, though—” Tim groans slightly and mutters her name in annoyance; she ignores it “—we should get together and see them.”

You scratch your cheek. “I don’t know. Finals—”

“—are not for another month. I say let’s do it.” She looks at Tim and jabs a thumb at you. “She needs more friends.”

“Stephanie, please.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Timothy needs more friends, too. Friends from, say, the other half.” She smiles mischievously, a joke known only by the two of them.

Tim, for his part, rolls his eyes but says nothing in protest.

You don’t need more friends. More friends is actually a very bad idea. Letting one person get close was bad enough. Another person? Hell, no…

But the look on Steph’s face tells you that you, quite frankly, have no say in the matter. And the way you and Tim ‘lightly debated’ movies for a solid half hour tells you, too, that it’ll be too easy for you and he to become friends.

You decide to shelve the issue for now as Steph tugs him away, promising you that she’ll arrange for things.

Maybe it won’t pan out. Maybe he’s actually horribly arrogant and conceited. (Though, if he’s friends with Steph, the likelihood of that is admittedly low.)

You don’t know. All you know is it’s dangerous to let yourself get close to someone else.

But that’s all rather dramatic, isn’t it?

And it didn’t turn out how you wanted—you met Tim in the first semester of your sophomore year; your junior year just ended this May. You’ve been friends with him for a year and half. Steph for two. No end appears to be in sight. But you’ve compartmentalized. It’s just two people. That’s fine.

It’s totally fine.

Even if it’s two people to match the two others you lost when you were fifteen. Like a repayment for the pain.

(Or a way to double it.)

But you lost your parents in the earthquake.

Scientists called that a once-in-a-lifetime event.

There are plenty of things going on in this city that could cost your friends their lives but… it’ll never be as devastating as the earthquake.

The earthquake where you nearly died after a piece of metal pierced your thigh, barely missing your femoral artery, and you spent the entire time from after the earthquake, when they dug your body out of the rubble, and to when they decided to exile the city, in a coma from the infection.

By the time you stabilized, you were on a helicopter to Blüdhaven, the rest of the city in a panic to leave, and your parents were officially gone by that point.

They couldn’t even find their bodies in time.

It took almost three years before they did. The year in which the government turned a blind eye to the city and cast it away, then another two years to rebuild, to sift through the ruin and destruction, to find the bones of the ones left behind since they were decomposed by then, and identifying them was an even more arduous task.

You only managed to receive the catharsis of burying them when you turned eighteen.

You might tempt fate by saying this but even if you lost either of them, the fallout would never beat that. A blessing, in that way.

But even you hate to consider the possibilities of them leaving you. For anything.

They won’t.

Everything will be fine.

It has to be.

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taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers

[if you'd like to be added to the taglist (or removed), let me know here or in my inbox! ^_^]

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x you #red robin x y/n #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n

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