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1d1195 · 1 month ago

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Two Negatives

~9.8 k words

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

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

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

Which Harry is an absolute sucker for.

“Hey,” he hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Please! I forgot!”

“You always forget,” she hissed back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey gorgeous.”

Well, one friend.

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

She nodded. “Yeah, how was yours?”

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

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

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

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

“Of course you can, girlfriend.”

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

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

“Regardless,” she shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Orgasms help with stress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t suppose you have my pencil?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You could very much bring your own pencil.”

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

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

She started scribbling on her notebook.

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

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

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

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

Instead, she handed her pencil to him.

“Thanks, Your Majesty.”

She rolled her eyes, anyway, facing forward.

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

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

“What is your deal?” She hissed.

“I need a pencil.”

“Bring your own.”

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

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

But she really did know.

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

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

What a dick.

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

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

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

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

So she tended to Isaac. Kept to herself.

Gave Harry an absurd number of pencils.

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

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

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

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

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

She imagined no one on campus ever felt that way.

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

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

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

Her pencil case was empty.

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

Plus, he wasn’t even there.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t, I forgot my pencil case.”

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

“A brat?” She whispered.

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

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

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

But she was towards the front.

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

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

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

But not then.

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

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

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

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

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

A sniffle. One small, tiny noise.

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

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

Because of him.

He made her cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry had never felt worse about himself.

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

"Come in."

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

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

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

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

She swallowed. "Um..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked.

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

Her cheeks felt warm.

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

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

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

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

“Great work,” he nodded in response.

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

"Ninety-eight."

He tutted. "Too bad," he smirked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay.”

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

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

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

She giggled. "How embarrassing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jus’ wandering around,” he mumbled.

Did he sound disappointed? He felt disappointed.

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

“Her boyfriend.”

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

“Go ahead. Ask.”

“Ask what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was breaking it.

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

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

“What are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell her.”

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

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

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

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

He knocked.

Repeatedly.

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

So, he knocked again.

And again.

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

“Tell me s’not true.”

“What’s not true?”

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

The color drained from her face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think I’m beautiful?”

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

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

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

“Just... my family...” She shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

“Love,” his heart felt achy.

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut. Up.”

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

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

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

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

“Everyone else does it.”

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

She was silent. Finally.

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

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

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

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

“But we were—”

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, always.”

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

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

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

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

“We?”

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

“Please. Thank you.”

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

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

Half are probably for me anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, you don’t want to fuck me?”

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

“I literally just—”

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

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

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

“Tired.”

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

“Who me?”

“Want me t’sing?”

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

Then hummed.

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

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

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

She nodded. “Did you?”

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

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

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

“I guess the teasing—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we dating?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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sematarygirls · 1 month ago

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BOYFRIEND!RAFE x ACADEMIC!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ fem!reader, unconventional study methods, fingering, lots of talking, facts about the nervous system

NOTES .ᐟ boyfriend rafe boyfriend rafe boyfriend rafe. this came to me while i was tediously taking notes for my psych class and wishing that i had a sexy rafe cameron in my bed.

You sat comfortably on your boyfriend's bed, your back pressed against his chest as you typed away on your computer, taking notes for your psychology class. His chin rested on your shoulder as he peered at the screen, reading a bunch of words he didn't quite understand while his hand rested on your thigh, his thumb drawing soft circles.

"What are you doing?" He hummed, his fingers dancing slightly higher. He knew what you were doing, but he wanted to hear you say it. He loved how excited you got and how you rambled on and on when you were telling him something you were passionate about. If he was being honest, it was kind of a major turn on.

"I've got a test tomorrow on the biological bases of behavior, so I'm just refreshing my memory on the endocrine and nervous systems," you explained, too focused on your notes to register that his touch was slowly sliding closer and closer to your clothed core.

"Oh, yeah?" He murmured, dipping his head down, his lips brushing against your skin as he began to pepper soft, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His hand continued upwards, his fingers lightly brushing you over your already damp underwear. "Tell me about it, baby."

"Rafe," you gasped softly, biting your lip. You tilted your head to the side, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to find your resolve and tell him to stop, but you couldn't help the way your legs parted for him. "I told you I have to study."

"You are studying. Cmon, tell me all about the nervous system while I touch you, baby. You can do both," he coaxed you, his long fingers expertly pulling your panties to the side and running along your wet folds. "Tell me everything that's in that beautiful brain of yours."

You let out a breathy moan, your breathing quickening as your head fell back against his shoulder. You racked your brain for any piece of information, his touch making your mind go blank. "The brain is um-" you drew in a sharp breath as his thumb nudged your clit. "The exterior brain structures are the cerebral cortex, cereb-bellum, occipital lobe, temporal lobe, frontal lobe, and parietal lobe," you managed to say.

"Mmhmm, and what about the interior?" He prompted, his fingers slowly pushing inside of you. "Tell me every little detail, baby. I wanna know everything." His voice was low and husky as he encouraged you to keep going, his breath hot against your skin.

"Rafe," you moaned, your lips parting in pleasure as his fingers worked expertly inside you. You couldn't focus when you could feel his long fingers dragging against your tight walls.

"Cmon, my smart girl," he cooed, his other hand snaking around your waist and splaying his large hand across your stomach to keep you in place. "You know it. I know you do." He continued drawing his fingers in and out of you as his thumb rubbed your puffy clit firmly.

You did know it. You'd even forced Rafe to help you make stupid flashcards, so you could memorize the parts and all their functions. But, he had a way of making you forget everything and turning your brain to mush when he had his hands on you.

Your voice was shaky and breathless as you spoke, feeling your orgasm building low in your stomach. "The interior brain structures are the-the amygdala, hippocampus, medulla oblongata-" you gasped, your back arching into his touch when his fingers hit that spot inside you that had you practically seeing stars. You hesitantly kept going, trying to focus because knowing Rafe, if you stopped, he would too. "P-pituitary gland, thalamus, basal ganglia, hypothalamus, midbrain, and pons." You were pretty impressed with yourself that you managed to remember all that while your boyfriend was knuckle deep inside your dripping cunt.

He groaned, feeling himself grow harder as he listened to your breathy voice tell him all about your studies. "You're so fuckin' smart," he found that sensitive spot on your neck, sucking gently. "My brilliant girl."

Your walls fluttered around his fingers at his praising words. He was always so interested in what you had to say, never dismissing you or brushing you off when you started rambling aimlessly and throwing random facts his way. He listened intently, showing genuine interest that made you feel so loved and seen.

"Keep going, baby," he rasped, his fingers speeding up in a way that had you gripping his bicep—needing something, anything to keep you present. "What do all those big words do, hm?"

You let out a breathy laugh, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "Well, the um- the hypothalamus controls the pituitary gland, which releases hormones that regulate bodily functions," you explained, smiling softly at how fitting that fact seemed to be.

"Mm, like the hormones that are rushing through your veins right now, making you all hot and bothered for me?" He asked, his voice low and taunting, his teeth lightly nipping at your neck. He pushed his fingers deeper, curving them up to hit that spot that always made your legs shake.

"Uh huh," you moaned, your nails sinking into his bicep through the soft material of his sweater. His fingers curling inside you as his thumb continued swirling around your sensitive bundle of nerves, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge.

He hummed against your skin, his tongue laving over the spot where his teeth had marked you. "Cmon, pretty girl," he whispered, feeling your body tense up. "You did so good. Let me feel you come apart on my fingers."

Your eyes fluttered shut, back arching into his touch as his words sent you over the edge. A whimper of his name fell past your parted lips amongst a sea of soft moans as you came, your walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers while he continued to drag them in and out of you, prolonging your high.

He groaned as he felt your velvety walls flutter and squeeze around his fingers, your sweet cries of his name spurring him on. He worked you through it, fingers pumping steadily, thumb circling your clit until you were a boneless, panting mess in his arms.

He peppered kisses along your jaw as he carefully pulled away from your weeping core. "Who knew you could make biology sound so sexy,"

"Technically, it's psychology," you corrected him, chest heaving. You turned your head to look at him as he brought his fingers to his lips, sucking your release off of them with a low groan. You bit your lips at the sight, his lips glistening as he pulled his fingers back.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he flashed you a grin before leaning down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to let you taste yourself on his tongue.

You moaned softly into his mouth, reluctantly pulling back after a moment. "If you keep distracting me, I'm never going to finish."

"Hm, that's weird because I'm pretty sure you just did," he hummed, feigning confusion as a cocky smirk tugged at his lips.

"Oh, shut up," you laughed, feeling your cheeks heat up at his innuendo. His hand slid up your arm, tracing soft shapes on your bare skin. You looked up at him, seeing the way his pupils dilated and feeling the evidence of arousal digging into you from behind. "Five more minutes and then I'm all yours, deal?" You raised a brow. You figured you had studied enough over the last couple days, and your oh so patient boyfriend deserved some of your attention.

A sly grin settled on his lips. "Deal, but don't think that I'll be keeping my hands to myself during these five minutes," he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

You turned back to your computer, giggling as he dipped his head back into your neck, already kissing and sucking at your delicate skin. His hands started to roam your body, and as you tried to focus, you found yourself wondering if you would make it five minutes before you surrendered to him.

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academic-vampire · 4 months ago

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ℌ𝔬𝔤𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔡𝔞𝔶𝔰, 𝔱𝔬𝔬.

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zyafics · 7 months ago

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PROOFS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (drabble) | x Academic Weapon!Female Reader

Summary — When you're at a party instead of finishing a math assignment due tomorrow, the answer suddenly comes to you and you need Rafe's help to finish it. Word Count — 1.6k.

Content — established relationship, fluff, suggestive tone (implicit), and Rafe being a frat bro. Reader is an academic weapon and nicknamed "Ace" by Rafe's frat brothers.

Dedication — to @winterrrnight because of her comments on my initial post and dedicated to the anon who has to take the 3-hour test in a couple of days, i know ur gonna do great!

You should definitely be studying.

Instead, you're at a white lies party hosted by Rafe's fraternity. The Greek letters shining in white neon lights behind the DJ booth, which is blasting 2000s throwbacks.

The air is electrifying with a drunken buzz from the copious amounts of free alcohol from the kitchen. You were one of them. While you didn't have much, other than the red solo cup that Rafe got for you when you first arrived, it was enough to send a thrill through your system and loosen you up.

You're dancing with a random group of girl friends you found upon arrival, swaying your hips to the music with your head tilted back and a smile gleaming from your lips.

Rafe is watching you. Despite being with his frat brothers, off on the edge of the room and talking about the most random shit, his eyes always search for you from a distance. Making sure you're okay. Making sure no guy is messing with his girl.

When his gaze connects with yours, he tips his head to his direction, gesturing for you to come over. You, in your docile state from the singular beer, listen and pardon from your drunken pack of new friendships.

Rafe's arm wraps around your waist as you approach, dipping his head to deliver a greeting kiss. When you pull back, you’re a bit breathless.

"Hi, baby." He says through the loud volume of the party, the resonance of the speaker blasting the music is pumping through your body and matching your heart rate. "How's the party?"

You shrug. He knows you're still worried about your math assignment due tomorrow. It's the same paper you spent the past fourteen hours camped out in the library trying to solve. Rafe took one look at it and couldn't offer any assistance but neither was coping up in the study room till your brain is fried helping either. So, he invited you out, hoping some alcohol and music would relax you.

It works. Sort of. You are having fun, but the lingering reminder of your assignment sits in the back of your head. Edging your brain, trying to piece together the answers when you know it's there. It's a matter of time.

"Hey, Ace." One of Rafe's frat brothers, Lucas, greets. "How you been?"

You turn to him, blinking through a bit of your haze to recognize the face. "Could be better," you answer, grabbing the red solo from Rafe's hand and taking a sip for yourself. "Do you guys have anything other than beer?"

"Slow down," Lucas chuckles. "You barely attend any of our parties and you wanna start off on something hard?"

"I already drank the beer." You retort. "I gotta get something stronger. Make me forget about all my responsibilities for the night."

Rafe shakes his head, taking the cup back out of your hand and downing the rest. "You're gonna figure it out," he affirms, low enough for only you to hear, to calm your doubts and worries about getting the problem set done. "Just give yourself a break."

You frown but don't say anything else. Rafe returns into an easy conversation with the rest of his brothers, talking about an upcoming event or some random sorority girl one of them hooked up with, and you tune out. Your eyes glaze over to the dance floor in thoughts.

Your mind falls back to your mathematics. The problem flashes through your head, in perfect memory, as you recount the instructions. You consider what you were missing. Since you've been away from the assignment for the entire evening, your mind is clear from all the symbols and equations that were melting into the page.

Now, it comes fresh.

And suddenly, it all... clicks.

"Oh my god." You mutter to yourself. The shock reverberates to the rest of your body. "Oh my fucking god."

Rafe catches the end of your sentence and glances over to you. You don't look at him, pulling away from his grasp and making a direct beeline to the exit. You don't leave—no, you have no time to go back to your dorm and write this down—instead, you go to the front door where a couple of freshman brothers are acting as in-house bouncers for the party.

You tap their shoulders, and when they turn, grab the marker off the table. You don't bother to tell them, immediately uncapping and begin scribbling the problem onto your arm.

Just a few lines in, you realize it won't be enough space. The proof is too big.

Your mind is spinning. You can't go home. You won't have time before the answer flees your drunken brain. But you can't write it down. You don't have space.

Then, an idea crosses your mind.

You rush back to the dance floor, searching for Rafe. He remains at the same spot as he was last time, and when he sees you approach him, frantic and hurried, his brows pull together in concern.

"What's wrong—"

"Come on," you grab his hand and pull him away from his brothers. You don't bother apologizing for interrupting their conversations. Since you are well-acquainted with the house, you pull him to the back where you know there won't be many people.

You were right. Saved for a few drunken make-out sessions spread across the lounge, no one was there. You pull off to a quiet corner, mimicking the couples, and release your hold on him.

"Take off your shirt."

"What?" Rafe thinks he heard you wrong. You were always more conservative when it comes to sex—at least, the location—that the command seems like an auditory hallucination in his ears. "You wanna fuck?"

Normally, you would flush at such crude remarks, but you found none of that today. Too concentrated on saving your work on physical evidence, trying to remember your answers before they fade away.

He doesn't do it. He thinks you're joking.

Since he isn't complying, you start clawing at his shirt, trying to pull it off of him yourself.

He chuckles to himself. He thinks you're drunk and horny. A nice combo he has not seen from you so far. "Really, baby? Right here? I mean, I don't mind—"

"Shut up." You shush with a mumble and Rafe pushes your hands away, finally taking off his shirt for you. The white lie scribbled in his handwriting: I said I don't hate you, is thrown on his arm.

"Happy?"

You didn't even get the chance to admire him. The tone muscles. The perfect planes of his chest. Instead, you say, "turn around."

"New position?"

"Shut. Up!"

All he does is laugh, catching the attention of a couple of college students who pull away from amorous kisses to spare a glance in your direction. While there's a faint heat tinting your cheeks, from your boyfriend's words, you don't care. You were in a feverish state.

Rafe does what you say. He turns and you uncap the marker, starting at the edge of his shoulder blades and begin writing down your proof. Your assignment requires you to prove an equation for being true, utilizing implicit differentiation, trigonometry identities and partial derivatives. You've been stuck on it for the past three days.

Now, it's coming in waves. Of course you would shift it around. Of course you would have to cut the variables in half and move them to the other side. Of course you would forgo the x for the z, and vice versa. Of course, of course, of course.

Rafe feels the tip of the marker moving against his skin quickly, in rapid succession, trying to get everything down. At the rate you're going, you could be smearing the answers across his back instead of getting to your solution.

When you finish, your hand aching from how fast you were going, his entire back is covered in mathematical symbols and equations. Your eyes check through your proof, descending down until you get to his waist, and clears it's correct. "Done."

Rafe turns back around, raising a brow.

"What did you just write?"

You beam in pride. "I just finished my homework."

"On my back?"

You laugh, your lips pulled together in a genuine smile. Something he's glad you're showing off, after seeing how stressed you were with figuring out the puzzle. He’s proud of you. "I told you you'll get it. My brothers call you Ace for a reason."

You roll your eyes at the nickname. Since Rafe goes off and always brags about how smart you are—how you are the first one in your class to raise your hand, how you graduated valedictorian from your high school, and how you've been on the Dean's List for the past two consecutive years—his fraternity brothers has declared you a clear winner. An Ace, if you will.

Rafe glances down at you, at your white lie written across your short top, and licks his bottom lip.

"What?" You ask.

"I find it unfair you get to write shit on me but I can't do the same."

"What do you want to do? Sign my tits?"

He gives you a look that says that isn't a bad idea and you roll your eyes at your boyfriend. Of course.

You uncap the marker, handing it to him. He takes it, leaning forward and tugging down your white top to reveal your bra and begins scribbling his signature across your breasts. You giggle at the sensation.

When he finishes, you glance down to see he did sign it. Alongside with another message.

Not Rafe Cameron's Property.

"God, you're a caveman," you declare with a laugh, knowing this follows along with the white lie protocol.

"And you're mine."

He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. He doesn't even bother to throw his shirt back on; displaying the intelligence of your scribbles on his back in full glory.

"Now, let's rejoin the party and celebrate."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

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moonstruckme · 5 months ago

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Haloooo!!! I wanted to request something but I jus wanna say how much i adore your workkksss😭 not to shade other writers but youre probably my fave out of them, theres just something about your writings thats so comforting and I love it!! Can I request a academic rival trope for Remus and reader??🥹 Im excited to read it!! Thank you!!🫶

I'm so glad you enjoy them my love!! Thank you for requesting <3

cw: mention of skipping meals (never fear it is remedied)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Remus is the only other person in the library. You’ve been hopelessly aware of him since he’d sat down four tables away from you an hour ago, and you’re positive he’s being distracting on purpose, because no one really eats chocolate like that.

It’s abominable and should be punishable by death, honestly, the way he’s getting brown smudges all over the pages of his book. He’ll pop a chocolate in his mouth, let it get all melty in there, then slowly suck the remnants off each of his fingers, the movement distracted and tantalizing. Brow furrowed and eyes sharp, he looks entirely absorbed by his studies.

You wish you could say the same.

You’ve read the same page four times now, and the information keeps bouncing off your brain like someone’s put an invisible shield around it. Your eyes burn slightly, your back aches from too long spent in this wooden chair, but you need to know this stuff by tomorrow. Somehow, you need to make yourself retain it.

“Do you mind?”

You stop tapping the end of your pencil on the table, looking over at Remus. Your eyes narrow on instinct.

“Do you?”

He raises a brow. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are. You keep smacking your lips, it’s irritating.” It’s not, really, it’s…it’s something else. It’s not conducive to a distraction-free study environment, that’s what it is. “Are you even allowed to have those in here?”

Remus sighs heavily. “Alright.”

Before you can figure out what he means by that, he’s pushing back his chair, walking over to join you at your table. He holds your gaze as he sits down and then pushes his chocolates towards you, seemingly expectant.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re clearly jealous. Go on, have a few.”

“I am not jealous.” You glare at him, arms folding over your book. It’s a habit, to hide the answers from him, but when you notice his gaze drop to the protective motion you feel silly. “And I’m not eating those. You’ve been licking your fingers and reaching in there, it’s gross.”

“Oh.” Remus retreats slightly, cheeks pinkening. “I didn’t realize I was, sorry.”

It’s gratifying to see him embarrassed. He’s the shyest of his group of friends (which is to say, he won’t automatically go and talk the ear off anyone within ten yards of him), but he goes about his day with their same unshakeable confidence, earned by social status and, admittedly, an intimidating academic prowess. Though you’ve always met each other head on in class, you’ve never felt up to par with him in any other respect. It’s nice to feel on a similar playing field. A bit endearing to see this tentative, boyish side to him, too.

It doesn’t last long enough.

There’s the barest shift in his expression, but you note with dread that familiar twinkle in Remus’ eyes. “Seems like you’ve been paying more attention to me than your book, hm?”

Yup, the endearment is gone.

“I’m basically done studying for the night anyway,” you lie through your teeth. “I was just finishing up.”

Remus’ brow lifts. He clearly doesn’t believe you. “Good for you. How long have you been here?”

“Since five.” It’s the truth this time, and you say it proudly. You want to show him that you work harder than him, are better, but your smugness fizzles out when he frowns.

“That long?” Remus asks, looking less defeated and more…troubled. “You must be exhausted. I was only going to put a couple of hours in.”

It nettles you, the implication that he can do better than you by studying half the time. You shrug with feigned insouciance. “I guess we’ll see who does better tomorrow.”

“Did you miss dinner?” He breezes right by the challenge, leaning forward as his brows come down. “You must have taken a break then.”

You cross your arms, appraising him as he does you. What is he playing at?

“I don’t take breaks, Remus.” I work hard. I play to win.

Remus hums, eyes still on you. It’s a struggle not to squirm under his gaze. After a minute, he sighs.

“Okay,” he says, starting to pack up his things. He puts his chocolates back in his bag. “I would offer you some of these, but you’ve made your thoughts about that known. I guess all that’s left is to go to the kitchens.”

You look up at him as he stands. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t just not eat before the exam, love. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“To who?”

“To either of us. You need to do well, and I need to know you can do well so that I do well.” He leans against the table, a soft curve to his bottom lip. Like you’re friends. “Come on, grab your things.”

“I can’t just—” You shake your head incredulously. “I still have to study.”

“I thought you were done studying.”

“I—not—not all the way done,” you hedge, cheeks warming. Remus smiles like you’re funny.

“Let’s be done for tonight,” he says in a gentle tone. It’s not so different from his usual voice, and yet the sound of it caresses your nerves, lulling them to rest. “There’ll be time before the exam tomorrow. You’ve put in plenty of hours already, and those won’t do you any good without food and sleep.”

You bite the inside of your lip, considering this. Though you’ve tried to ignore it, you are tired. The bone-deep, heavy kind, from a week of exams that have left you nearly in tatters. You’re afraid that if you take to your bed now, getting out again may seem more trouble than it’s worth.

“And,” Remus adds offhandedly, “if beating my score is your goal, I like your odds. You’ve been studying all night, and I hardly opened my book a half hour ago.”

You blink up at him. Remus seems to realize you’re not going to start packing up yourself and, with a long-suffering sigh, begins doing it for you. “Why aren’t you staying to study?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t mind going to the kitchens with you. And would you really go if I stayed here and studied?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

He gives you a wry, knowing look. “Then I suppose it’s a small price to pay.”

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firemenenthusiast · 7 months ago

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"WAIT THIS IS- WAIT we should get farleigh to fuck reader thinking he’ll get anything he wants, the whole sexgod privilege just cuz youre the one who asked for it but when hes about to cum you go “oh no no”. but farleigh turns into goo under your orders so"

OK SO I HAVE AN IDEA!! their academic rivals and have a bet going on that he gets to fuck you if he got a higher score on a test or smth?!?!? IDK I JUST HAVE A THING FOR ENEMIES FUCKING 😞😞 SUE ME

the day hath come. thank you for your request anon ! <3

—“me or you”

academic rival! farleigh start! x fem!reader

summary: when farleigh decided that your rivalry isn’t fun enough for him, he proposes a deal

warnings: 18+, enemies to lovers, academic rivals, smut in the second half of it, sub!farleigh, porn with plot, unprotected p in v (wrap it guys), sub! farleigh, soft dom! reader, size kink, whiny whimpery farleigh, praise kink, cunnilingus, blow job, teabagging, creampie, plot twist and fluff at the end

a/n: sorry if i took too long, enjoy !

academic validation is everything to you. you believe you’re nothing if not an overachiever. but for farleigh, it’s just an excuse for him to be contemptous towards you. everyone else in the class is obviously displeased with your feud with him, but it’s mostly just farleigh spewing vulgar insults at you. that’s just how he presents himself. you could go and ask around the campus about him-

most would comment on his attitude that he thinks he could get away with- just because he’s smart. academically smart. no one knows how he does it. its not like he spends his afternoons in the library or catching up on his studies in his free time. hell, he does the exact opposite of those things. the term party animal is a downgrade for him. the owner of the nearest pub knows him. the most elite parties on campus are known to be thrown by him.

weirdly enough, when it comes to tests and exams, he excels them like nobody else. whatever he has to do for the class doesn’t faze him. you’re pretty confident that he doesn’t even study yet somehow, he’s at the top of his class. you on the other hand, put a lot of effort to achieve your exceptionally high scores. seeing farleigh being absent for most of his class pains you, it reminds you of how bad you have to struggle while he get to trash himself. enjoy the uni life. what irks you even more is the fact that everytime he scores higher than you, he’ll make sure to flaunt it all over your face. every single time. you roll your eyes when you spot the dark curly headed figure towering almost everyone across the hall, a couple books in his hand. how pretentious. it’s not like he even reads them.

flashing a quick smirk towards you, he swiftly skips to get in front to hold the lecture hall door open. he gave everyone else before you a small smile, trying to convince them of the pure intention of his nice little gesture. “goodluck guys” his head tilted upwards for a bit, nodding at each of the students. you cant help but crack a little smile watching the boy. as you were about to step into the hall, he swings the door closed behind him.

“what the fuck ?” you blurt out, head tilted trying to look at him. “goodluck” he grins, eyebrows raised with a smug look on his face. “for the test” he continues. “for what else dumbass?” insufferable, you think. he winces mockingly at your words

the test. the one that is particularly of the toughest subject out of your course. one that you had studied your ass off for. one that farleigh couldn’t give a single fuck about and still gonna ace it. gifted son of a bitch. and you’re gonna have to sit through him making fun of you for the 2 marks difference. it’s been like this for a couple semesters now. you struggling to keep your scores high, while farleigh tease you about it. just because you give him a challenge for the top position everytime there’s a test. the first semester of the course, he scored the best in the class for the first assessment. that gave him extra unneeded ego for the next couple weeks until you beat him in other tests after. he’d acknowledged you since. he loves a pretty face that challenges him.

“yes whatever farleigh now move” you try to pay no attention to him, reaching out to pull the door yourself. he quickly adjusts his stance against the door “okay! okay-”his arms reach out to his sides, protecting the entrance.

“-i have a proposition for you”

“i dont have time for this farleigh” you really dont, the tests starting anytime now.

“hear me out first”. one of his arm is held up to convince you. you sigh, the most uninterested expression staring back at him. “you know how you always excel these tests and i always do better than you-?”. “if youre keeping me here just to ridicule me save it for after the test” you begin to move before he continues

“—so you admit i always do better ? i mean, who’s keeping the score anyways” he chuckles. your patience is getting thin. before you could move again he steps closer, towering over you. hot breath fanning over your face as he grabs your arm.

“why dont we make it more fun ?” he begins, emphasizing the last part, almost whispering into your ear. “if you score better, you get all the bragging rights and mocking pass until the next test” you begin to soften your expression, intrigued. you look up at him, eyes searching into his. he stares into you before leaning down to continue

“—and if i score better, i get to fuck you”

you ball your palms into fists at his stupid idea before shoving him to the side and storming into the lecture hall. your jaws clenching with your lips pursed shut. he’s getting out of hand if he thinks you’re just another bet felix can set him up upon. you hear him follow you before he settles in a seat rows away from you. you glance at him to see he’s already looking at you, grinning.

as you’re finishing up the final answers and re-checking the paper you’re brought back to farleigh’s proposition earlier. somehow you’re fueled with a newfound confidence that you’re gonna beat him. the test wasn’t that bad, you studied and all and there wasn’t any questions that you didn’t answer confidently. suddenly those bragging rights sound tempting. usually when you score higher than him you’d just keep it to yourself cuz whenever you do try to belittle him how he does you, he’s quicker with sharp insults that leaves you dumbfounded. a classmate once tried standing up for you after one of his rude remarks and got a disgusted look from him in return. his exact words were “who are you again ?” so you decided long ago not to indulge in his childish behaviour. but you’re getting sick of him. at this point you’d do anything to shut the raging ego of his. even if it means risking yourself

the loud sound of papers rustling and the creaking of the hall’s seats marks the end of the test, everyone’s getting up and walking towards the exit. you found yourself pushed into a corner by the crowd that seems to be chasing a leaving train. there’s no opening for you to squeeze yourself in so you decide to wait until they’re all gone. suddenly the crowd stopped and you feel a hand pulling you forward, safely getting you out of the exit with his body close behind yours. he brings you further to the nearest turn, making sure you’re out of the crowd. you look up at him, knowing it was him. you shoot him a serious look before saying,

“deal”

“wait-“ he scoffs in disbelief “really ?” he has a whole confused, disbelief look on his face. “yeah, there’s no way you’re gonna score higher, you’ve been doing what, coke all week ?” you say. “true, but i’ll come by. i always do” he shrugs before saying, “no take backs” you give him a small smile before starting to walk away. “you should smile more baby !” you hear him say from afar. his usual smug look entering your mind

the rest of next week is filled with him trying to get you flustered and nervous waiting for the result. there’s no actual reason for you to be this nervous, he’s got no chance against you this time. every class with him feels a lot longer than usual as he teases you about the deal every chance he could. telling jokes that centers you being smarter than him to the whole class got you rethinking about your decision. while you’re confident, he seems to be composed. in the class of the subject you guys had the test for, there’s a time when the professor brought up that the paper will be returned next week and you cant help but glance at farleigh. he smiles before bringing up a peace sign to his mouth, his tongue darting forward between his fingers before moving it in a licking motion. he chuckles at your reaction as you roll your eyes

your professor offers a smile to your classmate reaching her hand out to take the paper from him. “good job, keep it up” he steps down from the last flight of stairs with his hands clasped together. “congratulations to all of you regardless of your scores, theres still time and room for improvement so keep your chin up” he positively encouraged before dismissing the class. you look down at the paper in your hands, a proud smile forcing itself onto your lips as you beam at the circled number in red at the top of it. a whopping 98 for the toughest subject you’ve ever took. satisfied is the least you’re feeling right now as the familiar busy sound of students getting ready to hit the exit floods your ears, you hear the professor calling a name. “farleigh ? please see me after class” your eyebrows furrowed seeing him mouth a “yea” while picking up his books. thats the most plain you’ve ever seen him. no smug look thrown towards you either.

from his expressions you could assume that maybe he’s dissatisfied with his score but just how bad can it be ? knowing him he could’ve taken the test drunk and still be able to score atleast an A. your eyes follow him walking towards the exit, his messenger hanging low against his hips. you were waiting for some officialization from him, saying that you won, and that you get to mock him all you want yet you’re left with nothing. i mean, you certainly won right ? he could only beat you if he scored 99 or a 100. maybe you’ll try him tomorrow.

rubbing your eyebrows, your eyes scan the lesson material that you had just printed out for today. words stacked above another forming a paragraph that you’re hoping to find the point of. sound of footsteps entering fills the class when you feel someone tapping at the back of your seat. you turn your head back and to the front again to see farleigh walking past slowly to say, “your clock starts now nerd, next tests on the second week next month” as he points his finger at you

“heard you got a new daddy farleigh, got him to up your score ?” you’re near yelling at him who’s getting away. he pays you no attention as he flips you off. a smile appears on your face. no nasty remarks in return. so it begins. for the rest of the class you get to shut his sarcastic jokes with your own. the class is suprised to say the least that farleigh is the receiving end now. something must’ve happened they think, and most have their money on that you guys fucked. you shrug at your efforts on utitilising the mockery pass. you’d manage to catch him after class just to offer him another teasing “you know i can tutor you if you want. a one on one so maybe you can retire from being a boytoy” you beam at him. he gives you an unamused look, lips shut to hold himself from shooting a response to the joke. “maybe you should” he says, raising both his arms to quickly drop them before turning his heels and walking away. you watch him strut down the hall with a grin plastered across your face. until something hits you that the grin slowly wears off. you feel empty that he’s not shooting sarcasms back at you. you get it that this will only last until the next test and it’s part of the deal but you cant help feeling like, ‘this is it ?’. suddenly a part of you think that it would be better if he responded back. you’re used to that. you want him to banter.

so when you end up standing infront of his door you have no one else to blame but yourself.

you had asked students around the dorm halls and they all pointed to this door. sighing, you try to justify yourself for whats about to happen. “what are you doing here ?” you lower the knuckles that were about to knock, heels automatically turning to the source of the voice. he quirks an eyebrow at seeing you infront of his dorm. unfamiliar with the image cuz he’s never seen you around the building. “what are YOU doing here” youre quick to answer before realising how stupid it is. “i kinda need to be here. i live in the room just behind you” you scoff at his answer. he squints his eyes before saying, “wow, youre determined”.

“what ?”

“you came all the way here to brag about the test ?—”

“no” you stop him before continuing, “its weird that you didnt return any of my insults today” you begin. he slows down his steps, pacing around before stopping infront of you. he examines the knitted material of your cardigan, his eyes trailing to find yours. “well for one, they’re mediocre at best-“ you scoff before lightly shoving him, “fuck you”. he shrugs, eyes wandering across the hall before continuing, “—and its part of the deal sweetheart” you look down at your shoes, nodding slightly. exactly, that was the deal, you admit to yourself, ignoring the pet name. you take a deep breath as he runs his hand across the back of his neck, carefully adjusting the stray curls at the side of his head. “well if you dont have anything else, im just gonna-“ his hand moves to the side of you to grab the doorknob.

you look up at him, searching into his eyes before he notices. “unless youre here for that tutoring-“ you grab at the fabric on his chest, pulling him against you before crashing your lips onto his dark red ones. kissing at his bottom lip, he returns the kiss deeper, nose bumping against each other. he pulls away slightly, puffing hot breath before pulling you closer by your lower back. his forehead rests against yours as his mouth chases your lips, returning a deeper and more eager kiss. his hands resting low at your hips as his impatient kiss pushes you back against the door. you pull away for a moment to catch your breath when a small whine escapes his lips, his eyes still closed. he’s leaning forward trying to catch your lips to which you lean into once more. his hand move from your waist to the doorknob, twisting it before catching you from falling backwards. next thing you know you’re placed on his strangely clear study with him leaving sloppy kisses down your stomach, moving towards your clothed pussy. your cardigan and shorts lying on the floor

he looks at you through his long lashes, his large hands sprawled over your hips, smoothing over the skin. “may i ?” you nearly moan at his low voice. you nod as he mouths at your clothed cunt, nose nudging against your clit, panties almost transluscent with your wetness. you let out a breathy moan as he peppers small kisses all over the thighs caging him, slowly biting at the skin. he trails kisses until he reaches where you want him the most before pushing your panties to the side. his breath hitched as he does so, timidly licking your wet folds to have a taste. you hear him moan, your hands running through his hair to pull back the parts covering his face so you can watch him sucking at your sex. his eyes shut close savouring your taste as you hear him mumble against your folds, sending shivers down your spine. “mhm- s’good…so pretty” his hands roam from the low of your back to your stomach before trailing down to rub your clit. he pulls away for a moment to run his thumb between your folds, eyes dark as he watches your pussy clench around nothing. his bottom lip between his teeth. he dives back in with half lidded eyes before laying his tongue flat against your folds. you let out a small moan as you pull at his hair, earning a groan from him. you could feel the knot in your lower stomach getting tighter.

you push him from your pussy before getting off of his study. he follows you, getting up from the floor, cock painfully hard in his sweats forming a tent with a dark patch at the top. you curse in your head seeing the view before pushing him down onto his bed. he scoots back to lean against the wall as you climb onto his lap, pulling your shirt off you. his eyes trail downwards to look at your hardened nipples, his eyes darkened with a full blown lust before reaching up to knead at them. he kisses your nipples before putting them in his hot mouth at which you arch your back slightly, your hands pushing him forwards from the back of his head. you start to grind at his hard clothed cock as you feel the wet patch you saw earlier. he moans loudly at you grinding down especially harder on the base of his cock, sitting on his balls. steadying yourself, you grab his shoulders as you lean in to nip at his earlobes. his hand moves to grab at your hips as you rub your wet panties against his bulge while kissing at his neck, slightly biting and sucking at the skin, leaving marks. he whimpers with a slight pout when you start to slow down

“please,,”

“please what farleigh ?”

“anything- fuck! please,, take it off”

you smile at his pleas, continuing to grind on his cock, the wet patch at his tip getting bigger, spreading to the base of his cock. you arch your back slightly while moving, placing your tits at his mouth which he latches on obediently. his cock twitches as he bucks his hips upwards from the pressure. he pulls away to rest his head on your chest, head tilted downwards to watch your pussy getting his sweats wetter before throwing his head back with a long moan. “feels- feel so good- wan’ you faster” he starts stuttering words between begging you to go faster and to go slower, confused to decide what he actually wants. “does this feel good farleigh ?” you grind faster as he nods rapidly in return “dont stop- fuck, please dont stop” you could feel his cock jumping slightly and twitching, threatening to spill his load in his pants before you do just what he tells you not to. “no- baby,,” he throws his head back, strained whimper escapes his lips in defeat as you giggle. his knee buckles up involuntarily. you get off his lap, removing his hands from your hips to settle on the floor, tits pressed against the edge of the bed.

you look up at him who has the back of his hand pressed against his forehead as you graze your fingers on the outline of his cock, now completely wet with his precum and your wetness. your touches making him buck his hips, his eyes shut close as he throws his head back. you pull at his waistband slowly, pressing it down so it grazes along his achingly hard cock, earning a wince from him. “slow- slower, please,,” his hand reach yours trying to get you to be careful. you nod at him giving him what he wants, not wanting him to cum just yet. as soon as the waistband’s off his thick hard cock springs upwards, slapping his lower stomach. he’s thick, and it curves slightly upwards. placing your hand at the base, you’re suprised to see the size of him. batting your lashes at him with his cock in your hand, he gives you a smug smile

“big?”

“—average” you respond, receiving a chuckle from him

he’s the biggest you’ve had.

you swipe your thumb across his tip, collecting the precum to spread on his cock. switching hands, you begin to pump his length, your fingers barely closing around his cock. you reach down your panties with your free hand to collect your wetness before using it as lube to stroke his cock. “fuck that’s so hot-” you hear him say before letting out a loud moan when you suddenly start sucking at his tip. maintaining eye contact through your lashes, you make sure to make him watch you lay your tongue flat at the base of his length, slowly dragging it upwards. you have both your hands and your mouth working on the aching tip, slobbering his cock with your wetness, saliva and precum. stroking his cock at a steady pace you adjust your position to arch downwards, your mouth leaning into the base of his cock to lick under his balls. “ah— fuck-! mhm“ his hand fisting the sheets under him, chest heaving breathlessly. he let out a whine when you put his balls into your mouth, the warmth sending him into pure bliss. sucking at the skin, you make sure to twist at his raging red tip as you do so. you pull off with a pop to collect saliva in your mouth before spitting on his balls. just as the spit starting to trickle down you catch it with your mouth to bring it to his length. he tries to contain his moan by pursing his lips yet a weak whimper leaves his lips. he shoots you a puppy look as you continue sucking him off. you can feel his already tight balls getting tighter as his cock jumps against his lower stomach. he’s painfully hard to the point that one more lick and he’ll be cumming.

so you stop working on his cock to get on your feet. his eyes filled with tears threatening to spill down his tinted cheeks. his pretty long lashes wet from the tears pooling in his eyes, making them glossy. he looks up at you, your knees pressing against his bed before you climb onto him, your hands reaching his face to cup his cheeks. the tears in his eyes that were threatening to fall trickles down as you wipe them with your thumb. “you wanna cum farleigh ?” you ask. “yes please” “you dont look it” he blinks to clear his eyes from tears, “i want to, please- let me cum please” his hands slowly creep up your body to pull you close in his embrace. his eyes pleads into yours before you pull his head towards you letting him rest on your breast. “okay” you promise. he takes the chance to mouth at your tits. throwing your head back, you feel him suck at one of your nipple and squeezing the other with his large hand making you moan. you pull at his hair to look at him, he offers you a soft smile. probably too delirious from the pleasure to even think.

you pull him off you to quickly get off the bed, taking off your wet panties before climbing back holding it. you lean down to kiss him, his head tilted upwards to return your kiss. his sucks at your tongue until he feels your lips being replaced by a wet fabric. he moans realising that you had stuffed his mouth with your panties, aiming the wet patch directly onto his tongue before kissing the top of his head. he always has his free hands to take out the panties if he wants to. he looks down at his hard weeping cock just inches away from your pussy. he buckles his hips forward in a pathetic attempt to rub his cock against your pussy. you giggle at his action before steadying your hands on hus shoulder, looking down as you lower yourself on his cock, rubbing the tip against your clit and the length between your folds. you hear him make some mumbled sound before you pull out the panties from his mouth. strings of saliva connected to the fabric as he puffs out, catching his breath.

“just fuck me,, cant anymore-“

“you cant ?” he shakes his head

“but i thought you’re the mighty farleigh start ?” you tease him. he swallows his saliva at your words.

“not with you, no- please, just make me cum baby” the tip of his nose dusted red, his lips swollen and redder than ever. his eyes glossy with some of the remaining tears at the corner of his eyes, searching into yours as he pleads

you finally give in, grabbing his cock to position it at your sex earning a loud guttural moan from him. you let out a high pitched whine from the stretch, the slide of his cock into your pussy easy thanks to all the wetness from before. you move back and forth, grinding your clit against his pelvis before starting to ride his cock. he bites his bottom lip watching you bounce on his length, fucking yourself. the pace of your hips steady with his hands grabbing at them to guide you. farleigh throws his head back from the pleasure, his mouth hanging agape. you feel the knot in your lower stomach getting tighter, feeling waves threatening to crash down. “you close ?” he asks as he feels your pussy clench around him making it harder for him to hold back. you nod at him, trying to focus on chasing your orgasm. you feel him suddenly buckle his hips into you before you let out a high pitched moan, screaming his name. he helps you ride out your high before you hear a string of curses falling from his lips, his thrust getting sloppy. “inside, farleigh”. he looks at you to make sure he heard you right as you nod at him. you let him move your hips as he wants, using you like a fleshlight before you hear him let out a loud moan. “ah-ahh—! fuck, fuck, fuck- fuuuck,,”. the curses falling from his lips gets dragged out as you feel warm ropes of thick cum shooting inside your pussy, hitting your cervix.

he struggles to catch his breath as he carefully gets you off his lap, placing your head on his pillow before joining you. sighing, his eyes blown wife while looking up at the ceiling. he props himself on his elbow to look at you, admiring your glow. you cant help but slowly let out a laugh at what the two of you just did. he shakes his head low, also laughing before leaning down to kiss you. the kiss is more passionate and sensual, unlike before. he crawls down to look at your pussy, his cum trickling down to his sheets before he wastes no time collecting and pushing them back into you. “all good” he informs before climbing back to lie beside you as you two finish catching your breaths.

you look around, scanning his room before turning your head to look at his bedside table. you notice a familiar paper, slightly crumpled. propping yourself on your elbow, you take a closer look at it. it’s the test that makes your deal, with a circled score in red at the top of it. a 62. you quickly turn to him, he’s already looking at you, a cig in his hand and a lighter in another, ready to light it. he looks at the paper in your hand and raises his eyebrow

“what ?”

“a 62, farleigh ? seriously ?”

“yeah i purposely put the wrong answers, atleast for some part of it”

he answers you, unbothered. he purses his lips around the cig, almost lighting it as he notices that you’re still waiting for some sort of explanation. he sighs before letting his head fall back onto the pillow

“i wanted you to win” he admits. your eyebrows furrowed, clearly confused

“so you can atleast see some good in me, when im not bullying you” to which you respond,

“you could’ve just stop insulting me like a normal person”

“but then everyone will realise that i was falling for you”

your face softens at his words. his eyes roam across the ceiling, trying to avoid your eyes before he continues, “—everyone knows i dont just ‘fall’ for people” you search his face for some sort of indicator that he’s trolling you but to no avail. you both sit in silence for a moment before you lean in to kiss him. his hands reach up to your face, pushing the hair covering the side of your face away. your hand reach up to cup his face, deepening the kiss. you pull away smiling at him to which he rolls his eyes playfully.“great now you have something to tease me about”. “i like you too farleigh” you quickly cut him. he cant help the smile creeping on his face. you both continue to sit in silence drinking in each others presence.

“study date ?” you suggest

“i dont study, sweetheart”

taglist: @june-ebgert @radioloom @fuckshitslover @szapizzapanda @themoonchildwhofell @love-me-pls

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cute-sucker · 7 months ago

Text

three mistakes

words: 880 tags: kook!pope x reader note: thank you @princessbrunette for reading the draft !! love u <3

when pope first met you he didn't think much.

after all he was the smartest kid in the grade, so of course you were insignificant. you may have been a scholarship kid, a nice one at that. that was your number one mistake, and there were three that you committed that first week you arrived at kook academy.

two. you were a little too sweet on him, he thought because you always smiled brightly at him, and wore those cute little skirts. last week you had given him a brownie that you said you, "made." but then you dropped the napkin and leaned down to get it for him it was the school uniform, but you sure knew how to lay it sweet.

so what? you were pretty, but pope didn't fall for that sort of thing. nah, he had seen enough pretty bimbos, and after you were new. you couldn't change anything.

three. that was until science class. it was one of his easier subject but then again what subject was hard for him? and then he was laughing to his friends, the desk pushed back, and a smirk on his face. you were sitting in front of him, head bowed down and deep in thought. you were still thinking even after the teacher had left for a few minutes.

he had a sudden thought, just a small comment might tip you off. he'd experienced this with other girls. they liked it to argue, or teasingly fight, and you were there in front of him, just waiting to be messed with.

but what to say to you? pope had to be sly with these comments, just something to make your cheeks go red without causing your smile to wilt. it was art what pope could do with his sweet mouth, and pretty soft eyes. some said that his dick was the size of his ego, and some put it a little nicer — that he was charming. but that didn't matter because when he looked at you he knew he had to say something sweet but scandalous enough to cause you to giggle. he would never admit this—but he wanted to hear your laugh.

suddenly he remembered the butterfly necklace you always had on. it was silver, and so shiny on you. he swore that there was some sort of school regulation about jelewy, but you had managed to pass by with that cute necklace. it was little dangly thing that lay before your chest. it had dainty wings, and glittery in the sun. it reminded him of you.

"y'know i always thought butterflies were like cockroaches with wings. ugly you know?" pope muttered to his friend. but he couldn't help but gesture at you in a sly moment, and his friends got it. they sniggered, and pope knew in another life he would ditch the bastards for how stupid they were. antoni was the smartest of the bunch.

it was almost as if that piqued your interest. you turned around, doe eyes wide almost as if you were shocked and taken aback.

"i think butterflies are beautiful," you whispered outraged, tightly holding onto your necklace. pope could barely keep in his laughter at your dumbstruck expression. he leaned in to take a full look at your face before looking back at his friends with a mock surprised face.

"yea' you think?" he whispered crudely. "can a dumb little bunny like you think?"

suddenly, you seemed to coil in, biting your lip, hot tears welting up in your eyes. he could see the way your hands shook beneath the desk as you furiously turned around to face him. "butterflies can see ultraviolet colors that are invisible to the human eye," you cried out.

pope found him stopping in his tracks because he swore there were tears in your eyes when you whispered out the fact. yet, he couldn't find himself to care, somehow he found himself enjoying the look on your face. almost wonderstruck, he found himself taking in your pretty face.

what he wanted to say to you was, "so what?" but he found grinning at you like you were a child.

his friends were laughing behind his back, and but he could feel the stinging sensation that what you had said had mattered a lot more than the stupid conversations that he had.

and somewhere in the middle of this, you were glaring at him, and then sniffed before turning away from him.

but he shrugged it off. what could you do anyways? huh? cry to your parents about how pope heyward couldn't take you seriously. for all you knew, if your parents did complain, the dean of kook academy probably shrug you off because pope heyward was an asset to their school. but there was something inside of him, something soft and nice said that knew he should say sorry, yet when the bell rung he watched you leave the room in a rush only leaving him with a dirty glare.

so he forgot about it. you were just another dirt poor scholorship kid? the last one had to leave because they couldn't take the academics. funny. maybe the same would happen to you.

⊹˚. ♡

you ran home crying, mascara running down your face, as you pulled your tiny skirt down. you had tried to be nice, you had tried to kind and most of all you had tried your best to be friends with everyone. goddamn it you had even given heyward a brownie! he clearly didn't like you.

what was it? what was so wrong with you that he felt the need to be mean to you? all you had done was tried. you had always tried, as your head felt empty and studied till your hands were sore from highlighting and your eyes felt bleary from scanning pages. until it all paid off and you were off to kook academy.

your cousin kiara had told you to wear your butterfly charm, and the two of you made brownies. she had yelled bye to you that first day, and now you sat next to her crying your eyes out.

"what went wrong?" she asked you quietly, as you burrowed your head into your pillow. you groaned, and shook your head furiously.

"don't wanna talk about it," you whispered looking up at her. she looked at you sternly, and you finally let out a soft sigh, "it's pope heyward," at this she rolled her eyes, tilting her head as she thought of a plan. you hoped that somehow she would find an answer - a solution to your problem

"i think you should get back at heyward. be smarter than him. that's how assholes like him work. they have crazy big egos but that's all he has. he looks wimpy to me," she scoffed looking at the previous yearbook where you had furiously crossed out pope's face.

"yeah right," you huffed at her, crossing your arms as your eyebrows were knit together. "he's ten times smarter than me."

"no, i think your underestimating yourself. just wait and see, and don't you dare lose the butterfly charm."

so you listened to her, and the next day you had little pink bows with butterfly imprints. in fact you strutted up to pope and gave him a dirty look, and you saw the way his eyes got wide before he opted for his all-knowing smirk.

"looking like a really pretty bunny. did you wear those bows for me?" he snickered, nudging his friends when he said that. you gritted your teeth and just walked the other way.

you were going to beat him. you knew you were going to. today the class was getting their results back for the major english assignments. you were hoping to get something high enough to throw in his face, and you knew you would relish the look on his face.

"class, we'll be handing out test scores now for the written passage. ," your teacher droned before stopping before your test and handing you yours with a smile. you felt happiness bloom in your heart-it had to be good right?

quickly you turned it around, and looked at the circled number. 100, a pristine number that was circled along with a "distinct voice." you felt yourself beaming, until you felt a tap on your back. it was heyward, yet he looked uneasy. he was glancing at your hidden paper.

"what did you get?"

of course he'd want to know. he'd want to know what you got so he could average it himself. after all this was your first test of the year, and he was checking if you really were the scholarship kid that could get the best grades. you found yourself smiling secretly, biting your lip.

finally he gave you a pointed look, "do i need to clarify? what did you get on your test?" he asked exasperated.

you bit your lip from beaming too hard, and shrugged in a nonchalant manner. "full marks, i guess."

"what does that mean?" he grinned, "is that a 60% for you? would make sense, bunny," he muttered, his brown eyes glinting with humour. now you would have been sadder, but instead there was a venomous bite to your speech.

"do i need to clarify? it's a hundred percent."

he shut up, glaring at you, "you're lying."

"yeah, what did you get?" you bit back.

he shook his head, "none of your business."

so that was it. you let it go and turned away looking pleased. the last went by easier, and the golden hundred was still shining in the paper. it was a triumph. a win that pope heyward understood.

it was here that pope realised that he had made one mistake.

he had underestimated you.

#pope heyward #pope heyward prompt #kook!pope #academic rivals #academic weapon #scholarshipbunny!reader #shy!reader #angst #fluff #drabble #obx fic #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward fanfiction

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ellecdc · 4 days ago

Note

Hey! Congrats on 5k elle!! <3

Can I ask a baby it's cold outside with the prompt "did you really put a blanket over me while i was sleeping." with Regulus? Maybe he fell asleep talking with Reader and she put the blanket so he isn't cold?

— 🎵

thank you love! also, for some reason this became an academic rivals fic, but it felt right for our Reggie! hahaha thanks for the prompt <3

Regulus Black x fem!reader who did not stupefy him [539 words]

CW: could be considered gn!reader - the only gendered marker for reader is the term 'witch', rivals, haters to....?, open ended, banter and fluff

Regulus woke with a start, which wasn’t unusual.

What was unusual was that he woke up in the library, or, rather, that he fell asleep in the library. Perhaps even more unusual was the throw blanket carefully draped over his shoulders.

“Merlin, you’re wound tight; who wakes up like that?” Your voice sounded from somewhere to his right; Regulus was sitting up board straight already, and he had no time to be concerned with whether or not he had crease lines criss crossing on the side of his face that had been resting on his jumper clad arm, nor whether his curls had taken on a mind of their own when he turned his attention to you.

“What did you do?” Regulus hissed. Your eyebrows furrowed near comically where they were pointed down at your textbook before your curious eyes moved up to consider him.

“Are you quite alright, Black?”

“You…you stupefied me or something. I’m sure of it.” He insisted as primly as he could muster, only having to pause once to clear the sound of sleep from his voice.

“I did not stupefy you, you git.” You hissed right back.

He realised then that it was a little peculiar; the two of you had the entire library to yourselves, seeing as most students went home for the the holidays, and those who remained at the school over the holidays didn’t exactly spend their time haunting the library of all places, yet the two of you were somehow sitting at the same group of tables.

Peculiar, still, because the two of you didn’t much care for each other.

It’s not that Regulus particularly disliked you or what not, but rather that you were an annoying pain in his arse and constantly trying to best him in your shared classes.

He had hoped to get a chance to get ahead of his course work over the break - put a little space between the two of you in terms of grades - but it appeared that you had shared the same idea.

Meddlesome witch.

“Then you must have put a sleeping potion in my tea.” He deduced as he vanished what remained in his cup with a flippant flick of his wrist. You rolled your eyes.

“You’re impossible. Why would I have done that?”

“You’re trying to best me in classes.”

You let out a rather inelegant snort as the corner of your lips turned upwards into a smirk. “I don’t have to try to best you, Black, I am the best.”

Regulus let out a derisive laugh. “Right, so, what? You just put a blanket over my shoulders out of the kindness of your heart?”

If Regulus wasn’t mistaken, he thought perhaps he noticed a look of bashfulness cross your features as you started to pack up your things.

“You were shaking like a jar of billywigs, Black; it was impossible to get any work done with the thunk, thunk, thunking of your chair legs. Besides, it’s not like I was going to waste my magic casting a warming charm over you.”

And, if Regulus wasn’t mistaken, he thought he felt the telltale tingling of a warming charm fading as the door to the library closed behind you.

How peculiar.

#elle's cold #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #marauders fandom #regulus black fluff #regulus black fic #regulus black ficlet #regulus black blurb #regulus black drabble #regulus black imagine #academic rivals #ellecdc fics

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yurozo · 2 months ago

Text

the monomyth, (leon kennedy x reader)

the exodus, also aptly known as retirement, has been sending leon for a loop. you are there to pull him back down to earth. (smut/fluff/overuse of greek references)

a/n: 18+ readers only! anyone under eighteen will be personally chased by me at full running speed. i am very much a classics nerd, as will be glaringly obvious in about three seconds. i love you nerd leon, no one understands you like i do.

shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet who was forced to listen to me ramble about this fic for three entire days

a single structure repeats itself in an endless loop of tragedy and non-tragedy, operating through the cycles of aristotle’s poetics in order to create a universal narrative of the roman hero. prologue, parados, episode, stasimon, and exodus– recycled and reused to form the endless configurations of misfortunes that befall the heroes. what is pervasive, and often tragic, about these heroes is not their moral struggles against the physical evils, but instead an internal and divine battle against a common enemy– time.

ultimately, what defines the perfect tragedian hero is the prevailing feeling of inescapability. they cannot run from the ties of fate that rely on them as a catharsis for conflict, and instead must emotionally resolve themselves to their social positions as a weapon for the gods, regardless of the institution’s ideology. this priori of obligation forced by an infinite and perfect consciousness is what makes the tragic hero tragic; this life is not one that they choose for themselves, but one they are forced to live until that last grain of sand slips through the hourglass.

leon’s eyes had started to burn thirty minutes ago, long ignored in favour of another jstor binge at a truly ungodly hour of the night. he, at least, had the chivalry of keeping his phone brightness on the lowest setting, screen carefully tilted away from your resting eyes.

this whirlwind of information had started with the myth of perseus, followed by odysseus, and then a countless amount of papers analyzing the hubris of the tragedian heroes. supplementary material for tomorrow’s breakfast conversation, so that he can talk at length over eggs and coffee across from your bright eyes and eager expression.

that’s what always killed him, just how genuinely interested you were in whatever he said. god knows that was especially rare, particularly from the other women in his life. claire was always half-listening whenever he lost himself on a tangent, and don’t get him started on trying to get ada interested in anything he had to say.

but ada was long gone, and claire was always delighted on your talent of getting leon off her back.

how contentedly boring his life has gotten that the most exciting part of his day is your opinion on his recent fixation, just to listen to you fill in all the missing pieces he never realized were absent. you were like that in almost every aspect of his life, the golden glue that slowly puts poor humpty dumpty back together again.

wrong type of mythology. regardless, you were something he never realized he desperately needed until that warm feeling of being content started filling his chest. a passing comment on his resemblance to a greek god had established this whole spiral– a form delicately cut in marble and praised over the centuries for the countless deeds committed in a long war to protect his people.

perseus, maybe. or odysseus, but that was too easy. too cliche. leon was never one for divine glory, instead preferring the silent type of satisfaction that came from finally putting some good back in this world. or preventing more terrible things from happening, more like. a careful balancing act, another stupid cycle of finally feeling like a person again until he can get home and stop the dreams of people screaming in your ever-so-loving arms.

bellerophon is the final choice. a figure riding into battle against the monstrous chimeric beast with only a tamed ally and a lead-tipped weapon. a hero that was never satisfied, choosing bigger and bigger fights until he falls from the heavens and into the dirt below. a god angered at his success, a product of an institution that brought him into a war he never asked for as a weapon, and left him crippled to wander the world alone when he ascended too far.

maybe retirement really was getting to him. this so-called period of exodus, a final parting song and the materialization of the final crisis.

you stir in your sleep then, arm sliding across his chest until your head is tucked against his bicep. he moves to rest his arm underneath your head instead, which instead of achieving its original purpose of comforting you, only causes your eyes to blink blearily up at him.

“get off wikipedia,” you mumble, shifting the blankets until it sufficiently covers the both of you. another thing he never noticed, how cold his legs were, sprawled uncovered on the mattress. this kind of comfortable routine is where you and leon thrived, so used to each other’s presence that accommodation was natural. “you should be sleeping, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“i’m on jstor. totally different site.” he supplies unhelpfully, earning a stern glare in return. his lips peck your forehead a moment after in apology. his version of proskynesis, a gesture of reverence towards his god that showed him admiration instead of ire.

“i was thinking of taking the bike,” the change in subject is nonchalant, like it’s not three thirty in the morning and you’re definitely functioning enough for idle conversation.

“hell no,” you grumble, sinking further into the mattress. “i’m not getting on that thing with you.”

leon shifts until he’s on top of you, now wide awake and grinning slyly down. “not a fan of my chariot?”

“while i usually do love riding you, that thing is a death machine.” the glimmer of amusement in your eyes now match his own. finally, you’re actually awake. an unspoken question, a command, given from the divine to its mortal instrument. “and i’ve seen the way you drive it. i very much value my life.”

“that’s different. i can’t exactly go slow on those things when there’s rabid dogs chasing me.” he alleviates his statement with a slow string of kisses down your neck, soft and gentle like he can’t snap someone’s neck with his bare hands. “and i’ll be careful. promise.”

“like you promised not to get hurt in alcatraz?” your rebuttal doesn’t phase him, his mouth still preoccupied with tracing down your neck until his fingers start to pull the collar of your shirt down.

“extenuating circumstances,” he mutters, lowering himself down the blankets until his mouth is in line with your hips. divine fate, maybe, or some other twisted machination of a higher being that decrees his near-death every six months. it’s hard to stare up and curse at the gods when they brought you to him, his own piece of olympus pliant in his hands.

your hips lift off the mattress as he pulls at your shorts, another directive he is all too happy to follow. hunnigan would be furious at his obedience, like a dog all too happy to head the leash.

“besides,” he continues, lips brushing against the frail skin of your upper thighs. “i’m officially a retired man. long past my prime.”

why does tragedy exist? is it purely to show the power of the gods, that they so fiercely defend the threads of fate that control every aspect of their existence? is it simply a consequence of the endless cycle of war invited by a world whose very frame requires an institution to desire it? regardless of its source, a world born of this mindset cannot escape an endless cycle of war that legitimizes a world-destroying violence, with no true winner other than the institution that began it.

his clothes are pulled off quickly, following yours. scraps of fabric thrown haphazardly around the room, ignored in favour of hands tracing along the contours of your body. gentle, reverent. nails tracing down every scar, every piece of evidence that you are real, that you are alive, and there’s nothing within these four walls that can take this away from him too.

“not too far past to not be horny in the middle of the night.” you huff, curling your hand in his hair to pull him back down to you. his breath ghosts over your thighs, his tongue darting out instinctively to wet his lips.

“i’m a simple man,” he lowers his mouth to you, licking a premeditative stripe up your folds. “got a beautiful wife in my bed. just can’t help myself.”

the hand in his hair pulls him closer, and leon understands the simple action for what it is. a cue to stop talking and get to work, to use his mouth for something other than popping off one-liners at inopportune moments. a man’s place is on his knees, and all that.

where leon is rough in every aspect of his life, he is always careful with you. he eats you out like it’s somehow the last time he’s ever going to do it, and the first time he’s ever tasted anything so divine. equal parts eager and careful, even as his fingers prod at your entrance.

you jut your hips up again, and he slips two in easily. every part of you is familiar with every part of him. his tongue and hands start a rhythm, a soft push and pull that slowly eases you to the peak. a peaceful trek to that coiled tension starting in your legs, thighs squeezing around his head in the way you know he likes.

that one took a while for him to admit; that he liked the feeling of being crushed between you. it was a long-drawn experiment on how far on the pain threshold he could bear before it got too much for him, until it started to push past pleasure and more into the drowning in the too-high waters of a lab territory. years of experience has taught you where to stop, his secret little tells that no one else knew about burrowed deep into your memory for safekeeping.

that furrow between his brow deepens, and you know to ease off a little. he kisses your clit in a silent thanks, before his rhythm resumes. while leon may not feel the decreased stamina of age yet, you are too aware of your limits to handle two orgasms, so you have the mind to pull him off before that point of no return.

leon sprawls on the mattress next to you, hands gently easing you up until your knees are bracketing his hips. not usually his preferred position, considering his penchant for control.

“my back hurts,” he mumbles softly, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss along your knuckles. “want you to ride me.”

“if you make another chariot joke, i’m seriously going to hit you.”

“ye’ of little faith,” his hand drops yours to line himself up with you, and a gentle push of his hips drives the tip of him into you. “i never make the same joke twice.”

your only answer is a shuddering gasp until you gain your bearings enough to sink down onto him fully. he lays still for a few seconds, letting you get used to the intrusion. his breath stutters in his chest as your hands lay flat onto it, right palm splayed right over his heart.

an uneven thump, beating so fast in his chest that its a god-given miracle he hasn’t keeled over yet.

there’s a unique type of mythmaking when it comes to the tragic heroine. it is a story of fear; innocence; fall from innocence; catharsis; being desired by the right people; being desired by the wrong people; by dangerous people; by excitingly dangerous people. revision is a privilege given to so few who desire it, and to be tender-hearted in a world defined by tragedy is to die.

and yet, the fruit of consideration when it comes to tragedy is not the moral resignation that comes with that acceptance. instead, it is a revealing of the self’s utter dependency on others. the reason that tragedy works is that character is built through this adversity. just as the nature of goodness appears in the face of moral evil, tragedy shows what is fragile and ultimately human about us.

but you are not a god, and he is not a myth. there is no divine fate here, only a random calculation of ethereal and clunky moments that controls so much of his life that he just has to live it. that dependence is the one good thing that has come from all the fighting, and the aching, and the loneliness. a perverted sort of serendipity that leon thanks the heavens for every waking moment.

he is real, and you are real, and that’s enough for him.

both of you are moving in tandem, chasing the upcoming release with a soft desperation. his hands are firmly grasping at your hips, kneading the flesh there like its the only thing tethering him to this reality. that heat of pleasure starts to coil in your gut, and judging by the twisted expression on leon’s face, he’s not too far behind.

“please,” he gasps, shoving you down until your chest is pressed against his. “i need-”

“i know,” you answer softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that delightfully juxtapose the depraved way his hips are slamming against yours.

it’s like falling down from the heavens, except this time there’s no splatter of a body onto the earth. only a light feeling crawling through his limbs, like that final moment of peace before succumbing to the darkness. if the gods had asked him now for a sacrifice, he would have gotten on his knees all over again to keep you. when tranquility was once the bane of his existence, now it is the center of it.

you tense above him, like a goddess struck in stone until you are returned to the flesh, crumpling on top of him. a soft cough escapes him, a wheezing sound that signifies that you are most definitely crushing his lungs. the forces that be roll the both of you to the side until you’re facing each other, his hand unconsciously reaching for yours under the mattress. happy, warm, and sated– leon’s husbandly duties have officially been achieved.

“i love you,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even realize the tear escaping his eye until you gently wipe it away. every part of him now is soft and malleable, even the parts so carefully hidden from everyone else.

“love you too, old man.”

a final kiss to your forehead before he tucks you into his chest, “we’ll take the car tomorrow.”

two more hours until he can eat eggs and drink slightly shitty coffee, and finally fill you in on his newfound epiphany. his arms wrap around your half-conscious figure, body curling around you like something to protect. you hug him tightly in return, bare skin soft on your cheek. your arms hold him like he is sacred too.

#top academic of the police academy would absolutely go on random academic tangents and no one can fight me on that #thank you vaaaaaiolet for listening to the nonstop writing process #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy fanfiction #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy/reader #resident evil imagines #ali writes #leon kennedy smut

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