#they have calculus 1 together

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 5:48

Bakugou’s in his third year of high school when he finally invites you over to his house. The reason? To finish a calculus project.

You’d think that after surviving through the hardships of being a hero-in-training together for three years, saving each other’s lives (more often you were the one being saved than doing the saving, really), and whatnot, he would’ve invited you sooner to his home (one could dream).

But this was Bakugou, after all.

And he knew that something was off the moment he left you to share a conversation with his mom while he went to get his books from his room—the greatest mistake he could have ever done because by the time he’s making his way back, Bakugou could hear you snickering to yourself.

Not a good sign.

“I’m not going to lie; you looked hideous when you were a baby,” you say, reading through Bakugou’s baby album.

Bakugou froze. He had absolutely no idea why his mother would cave in and give you the godforsaken album from when he was young, but of course she would’ve agreed with your request to see it if you did so much as mention it.

He dropped the books he’d grabbed from on top of his desk on top of the living room table before whipping his attention towards you, an indignant scoff escaping through his nose before he took a few slow, but heavy stomps over to you—practically snatching the album from your grasp when he’s within reach.

“Stop looking through those stupid pictures.”

“Hey! I wasn’t finished,” you reply with a frown. “You’re lucky my phone’s battery just died, or else I would’ve taken a billion photos.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched slightly as he grumbled curses under his breath, trying to flip through the album in his hands to make sure you hadn’t managed to sneak a photo out—a small sigh of relief rolling off of his tongue to find that, luckily, it was still how his parents had done it.

He shot a glare over towards you, stuffing the album back into its original spot on one of the bookshelves, his nose crinkling as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t care; tell anyone what you saw, and you’ll drop dead,” he tells you.

“Oh, but how could I not? That photo album’s like hitting the jackpot—so many super ultra rare photocards of you,” you gushed, blatantly disregarding his usual threat. “Come on, I wanna see the rest!”

“Absolutely not.” 

Bakugou knew the damn photos were in the back of the album. There were probably a handful of the ones where he was in the bathtub, butt-naked—a common photo in most photo albums he’s seen, at least. Other photos include when he was three years old and wore an All Might onesie for his birthday, pictures of him during his school recital where he was the prince, him with a bald haircut, and so much more blackmail material. 

It was humiliating, for goodness sake! And he knew you’d just tease him mercilessly if you saw it.

You’ll never let him live it down, so it’s best to deprive you of it.

“Don’t come at me for saying this, but I was the cutest baby in our village back then,” you told him proudly. “Had the roundest cheeks and brightest smile, trust.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, a huff of air forcing itself past his lips. That was one thing about you that he couldn’t stand; you were so full of yourself most of the time—you’d always been like that, and he absolutely loathed it. It could be that it reminds him of himself, so the competitive meter on his head just flares whenever he’s around you.

“I doubt you were even 1% of how adorable I was as a baby.”

“Have you seen me?” you gestured to your face with your hands to emphasize your facial features. 

“I’m still as cute even now. And no offense, Bakugou,” you giggled, “you looked like a wrinkly raisin on your first few days on this Earth.”

Bakugou’s smirk dropped. He’d almost forgotten that you had seen the stupid pictures already.

“Shut the hell up. It wasn’t that bad.” He muttered quietly, his hands balling into frustrated fists. His parents always assured him that he was a cute kid when he was small—but to hear that YOU of all people, are in disagreement with that is just aggravating.

“Fine, fine. Quits it is,” you hum. “Let’s do that calculus project so I can get home before sunset.”

Bakugou grumbled something inaudible under his breath, reluctantly nodding his head in agreement. There was no point in arguing about something so idiotic—after all, both of you were there to get a project done, not to sit around and bicker about his past.

He took a few steps over to the living room table before plopping down on the polished floor ungracefully, yanking out his notes before he gestured his hand over towards the free space next to him.

“Sit down. Let’s just get this thing done and over with already.”

Bakugou had already started working silently by the time you sat down; his hand was writing almost furiously as he copied equations onto his paper. He kept his attention focused on his notes, trying to stay quiet as he focused completely on completing the project.

He eventually stopped writing for a moment, turning his gaze over to glance at what you were doing before clicking his tongue at the sight. Bakugou could already see a few mistakes you’d made with your work.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he says.

“Wait, I’ve barely turned on the calculator, jeez.” You shook your head, solving the equation through your calculator.

“And that’s how I know you’re doing it wrong.” Bakugou huffed, shaking his own head in disappointment. 

“Formula first before adding 1.3.”

He pulled out a pen and began scribbling down on his own paper, glancing at yours every once in a while to compare the work. He knew from his experience that you were decent at math (he’d rather die than tell you that), but this was just pitiful even by your standards.

“Have you been dozing off during Ectoplasm’s class?”

“Ouch. Do you have a personal grudge against keeping the not-so-nice stuff from leaving your mouth?” you sigh. “You’re hurting my feelings— I’m devastated.”

He had a feeling you’d say something like that, and he was prepared to ignore your attempts at gaining sympathy from him.

“Unfortunately, you’ll fucking live,” Bakugou says, scribbling down the last of his work before turning it towards you. “And learn how to solve equations too, while you’re at it.”

“I know how to do it; calm down.” You huff, rewriting your solutions.

Bakugou raised a skeptical eyebrow, his head tilting with a hint of disbelief. Even if he knew you were capable of doing math, you had a bad habit of missing even the smallest details, like the operation to be used in your work, leading to the wrong answers.

His eyes scanned over the work you’d written on your paper before letting out a small huff. “Looks right. Are you done with your half?”

“Yep, yep. Are you going to write it down on our answer sheet, or should I do it?” you offered.

Bakugou glanced down at the answer sheet set to the side before picking it up and nodding. He was already holding a pen while you were still using a pencil, so it would make more sense for him to be the one to write it all down.

He began copying down the answers slowly and carefully, each number being written out with ease as his eyes flicked back and forth from the worksheet to the sheet of answers.

With him busy jotting down the answers, you occupied yourself with taking in the interior of his living room. It was beautiful, neat, and just screamed rich—not really what you expected (you really didn’t know what to expect, honestly). “Y’know,” you mention, glancing around. “You have a nice house.”

Bakugou hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes remaining focused on his task. It kind of took him by surprise to hear you say something out of the blue—about his house, no less. He’d fully expected you to talk about something else, like school or that new show you’ve been begging him to watch.

It went against what Bakugou had originally thought, which led him to look over at you from the corner of his eye, silently raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a nice house,” he said casually, his pen continuing to move over the paper. His penmanship was neat, and Bakugou hears you in awe. 

Bakugou continued to finish writing down the last of the answers, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed you looking around his house. It was obvious what was happening, but he decided to ignore it in favor of just getting the godforsaken project done.

He finished soon enough, his pen rolling back with a click before he leaned back a little and let out a small huff. “We’re done. Finally.”

“Nice, nice.” Glancing at your watch, you concluded, “I should get home.”

Bakugou was silent, rolling his shoulders and neck before glancing out of the nearby window. The sun had already begun to set over the sky, the day quickly slipping away into the night.

“Yeah, whatever. You need me to walk you home or something?” He asks gruffly.

“Nah, I’m good. I need to say goodbye to your parents, too.”

Bakugou watched as you packed up all of your belongings, a scoff rolling off of his tongue. It felt almost weird to be civil with each other, neither of you having taken jabs or making snarky remarks to taunt one another. 

“Alright, fine,” he finally said, standing up from his seat and stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Let’s go find my parents then.”

He led you down the hall and into the kitchen area, his ears vaguely picking up the sounds of his mother and father talking amongst themselves about… something. He couldn’t tell what exactly, and frankly, he barely even cared.

“Mom, Dad.” He spoke up, capturing the attention of his parents. 

Mitsuki looked over at him, a smile spreading across her face. Masaru looked in the same direction, a warm smile forming on his face as well.

“Thank you for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Bakugou,” you said in gratitude. “I’ll be going home now before it gets too late.”

His parents shared a hum in acknowledgment, with his mother being the one to speak up first. She had a knowing grin on her face as she clasped her hands together, her eyes flickering over to her son.

“You’re welcome. You should come over more often,” Mitsuki said enthusiastically, her voice taking on a slightly smug tone.

Masaru laughed as he nodded in agreement. He gave a knowing look to his wife before he looked back over at you. “You should join us for dinner; we already made enough for you to join us.”

“I’d love to, sir, but my folks are waiting for me at home,” you answered sheepishly.

Bakugou noticed the glance his parents exchanged and immediately knew what they were thinking. He almost grumbled in frustration, already knowing that they’d ask him about you later after you left.

His mother spoke up once again, her smug grin growing wider. “You’re always welcome here,” she repeated, her eyes flickering over to her son as her voice came out teasing. “After all, Katsuki’s always in a ‘better’ mood when you’re around.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it, ma'am. I’m a joy to be around, after all,” you lightly joked, though you still maintained a respectful tone.

His parents were easier to get along with than you thought.

Bakugou’s eye twitched in annoyance at your words, almost making him want to quip back at your cocky behavior. However, it was the sound of his mother’s sudden laughter that stopped him from doing so.

Mitsuki mother put her hand up to her mouth briefly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she continued to chuckle. The expression on her face was elated, and it was pissing him off even more, knowing what’s to come. 

“I like this one,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.

Masaru added, “And clearly, so does Ka—“

“All right! They need to get going to catch the shitty train.”

By the time Bakugou accompanied you to the door, he had this obvious scowl on his face. “You’re never comin’ back here again, dipshit.”

“Wha— no fair! Why am I getting banned from the Bakugou residence when this is my first time here?” you replied.

“Shut up,” he grunts. “I could do whatever the hell I want because it’s my house, too.”

“Too bad I have your Mom’s number—“

“Delete that.”

“Hey— wai— no way!”

It was not the last time you were ever invited to the Bakugou residence.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[sargeteen]

𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒂 ! ᶜˡ¹⁶ ᵐᵛ¹

you don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up ⋆˚࿔

𝓬harles leclerc + 𝓶ax verstappen x 𝓶ale reader synopsis: reader was the rookie in the upcoming formula 1 season. his name was in everyone’s mouth and on everyone’s social media page. but, he’s still a person who has homework, feelings, and two nonbiological older brothers—or nonbiological dads, however you want to look at it.

genre: familial, smau and irl, hurt/comfort, fluff warnings: lestappen is shipped but theyre not together, stressed reader, reader replaces liam

author's note: not intended for female readers & not written for female readers. this came to me in a dream.

masterlist.

Y/N WAS A force to be reckoned with on the track. His talented overtakes and passes on the track helped him climb up the ranks easily. He quickly made his way up to Formula 1, skipping over Formula 2, and became the youngest rookie for the upcoming season. It was no surprise that he was all everyone talked about; Red Bull dropping Liam Lawson to pick up an inexperienced rookie who was still in high school.

He was a high school student by day and a Formula 1 driver, also by day. His schedule was the definition of stressful and he had no competition for the most stressed award. Y/n took online classes seeing as there was no way for him to go to a school while flying all over the world for races. It was surprising to the drivers around him that he was able to do everything, including perform well in his car when it really mattered, and not show any signs of stress.

It was surprising to y/n too; he was covered up to his ears in stress and he felt as though he was drowning every second of the day.

liked by f1, redbullracing, charles_leclerc, and others tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1

youruser life recently

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userone god i really need to lock in bros life looks amazing and he's younger than me

usertwo i think we're forgetting the fact that he's a student AND formula 1 driver? like i can barely get through just school but he's a double agent liked by youruser

charles_leclerc why that picture :( ⤷ youruser my parents obviously

maxverstappen1 you couldn't've picked a picture that i took with you? ⤷ youruser of course not :)

redbullracing 🔥🔥 liked by youruser

userthree can't wait to watch you kill it this season! ⤷ userfour alr he aint that good bro ⤷ userthree he skipped f2 and red bull literally dropped liam lawson for him ??????? okay ...

charles_leclerc maxverstappen1 why are you looking at me like that ⤷ maxverstappen1 that's how i look at all of my friends ⤷ youruser you guys don't even follow each other still stop flirting in my comments

userfive red bull check on your driver challenge ⤷ usersix wdym? ⤷ userfive i saw y/n recently with max and charles and he just looked so tired and so out of it. it doesnt look like red bull is doing much to help him out with schooling and his mental health liked by youruser ⤷ usersix nah you're reaching 😭😭 ⤷ userfive y/n literally liked my comment but whatever

Y/N THOUGHT F4 and F3 were bad, but F1 was a whole different rodeo. Their schedule wasn't as hectic during F4 and F3 as it is in F1, but it was still pretty stressful having to do homework on the road when you couldn't talk to anybody about it since most of the drivers dropped out of school. F1 was worse; nobody was in school or they dropped out before they could graduate so nobody understood what he was going through, he was shipped around the world on a weekly basis, he had training day in and day out, and he had to do calculus homework in between practices.

He held his forehead in his hand as he leaned his elbow against the table in front of him. Y/n was currently looking at his math homework like it had 5 heads instead of 0 since it was a piece of paper. The eraser of his pencil tapped against the table that distracted him away from his homework momentarily. The problem he was stuck on stared back at him as he felt almost guilty for not being able to solve this problem.

"You okay?"

Max.

When it was announced that y/n would be taking Liam's spot, y/n had already met with Max multiple times. They were trying to see if the team chemistry would be there between a seasoned driver and an unseasoned one. Their relationship formed quickly as Max became an older brother figure to y/n. Max connected him to Charles, both having some idea what y/n was going through. From there, Max and Charles became y/n's mentor's in Formula 1 and helped him through everything he needed to know.

Y/n turned his head away from the worksheet and he looked over at Max, who was walking over in his race suit as he just got done with his FP2. He wore a worried look as y/n was tucked into the corner of the Red Bull hospitality with a confused and frustrated look on his face.

The rookie sighed as he dropped his pencil and hid his face in his hands. "Not really," he groaned as both his arms and head dropped onto the table; his head laying on his folded arms. "Calculus is going to be the death of me, Max. I can't do this," there was a slight waver to his voice, but he refused to cry in front of his teammate.

Max pursed his lips and sighed. He looked around the room to see if there was anything he could grab that might be of service to the young driver. When nothing came to mind, Max sat in the chair to y/n's right and he turned it so it faced y/n.

"Hey," Max said softly as he nudged y/n's knee with his own. Y/n's head rolled to the side so he could see Max's face and Max could see his. Y/n's eyes were starting to turn red, but Max paid no attention to it because he knew y/n would hate him for it. "If you need help, or a break, just ask, or talk to me or Charles. We care about you, y/n, and it sucks to see that they," he nodded over to the Red Bull team who was working on Max's car, "don't care about your mental health or school work. But, Charles and I do, okay?"

Y/n pursed his lips and nodded, blinking away tears that threatened to fall from his stinging eyes. He cleared his throat as he leaned back in his chair, his arms falling down into his lap as he looked back at the table

"Yeah. I care about you guys too," y/n started, looking down at his hands which were starting to fold his fingers together as a distraction, "but it's hard. I never liked asking for help and it's still a hard thing for me to do, even if you and Charles are trying to tell me it's okay to do so." Y/n rubbed at his nose as that too was starting to sting. He blinked away tears once more. "I just wish people understood. Fans and reporters. I feel like they only see me as the rookie that got picked up, and not as a high school student who happens to be good at racing," he looked up at Max, who was nodding along to what he was saying, paying attention to every word he said.

Max smiled sadly and nodded. "It sucks, it really does. They never understand and they don't even try to. I'm sorry about that, y/n, I really am," his eyes were wide and filled with sadness and sympathy. "They don't have to understand, though. You don't have to care about what they think, alright?" His eyes turned serious as he leaned forward and put a hand on y/n's knee. "You just need to focus on your school work and driving. Your real fans understand and they care about you too."

Y/n nodded along and he sniffed before wiping his nose on his hoodie sleeve. His FP2 was before Max's, so he slipped out of his race suit and into comfy clothes quickly so he could hide himself in the corner he and Max found themselves in now so he wouldn't be bothered.

Max's eyes narrowed at y/n before they glanced at his worksheet. "When is that due?" He asked as he pointed at the worksheet, which was halfway done.

"Um," y/n hummed as he looked over at the worksheet. He wasn't sure, so he had to double check. "One second," he said as he opened up his computer that was previously closed and shut off as he kept trying to look at the answer key. He pulled up Google Classroom and scrolled to his calculus class. He clicked his tongue a couple of times before saying, "Not until Monday." He looked back at Max, who had a smile on his face. "Why?"

"Tomorrow isn't Monday," Max smiled at y/n. They had a qualifying tomorrow, but an idea was brewing in Max's head already for tonight.

Y/n's brows furrowed, "I'm glad you know your days of the week, Max."

Max laughed. "How about we do something tonight? Invite Charles and we just go hang out around town?" He asked with a smile.

It wasn't unusual for Charles, Max, and y/n to do some adventuring in the town they end up having races in, but it was starting to get rare as y/n's midterms were sneaking up in the next month or two.

Y/n went to deny as he wanted to finish the worksheet, but Max held up a hand and leaned forward in his seat. "Don't try and get out of this because of your homework that isn't due until Monday. You're still young, y/n. You deserve to have some fun in your life, yeah?"

The younger driver scoffed a laugh as he leaned back in his seat. He shook his head, "You're unbelievable and I hate you." Max raised a brow and he held out his hands as he waited for a confirmation. "What the hell, sure," y/n shook his head as Max smiled and hit his shoulder.

"Alright!" Max smiled and stood. His hands hit his thighs as he stood. "You can stay in that if you want," he gestured towards y/n's oversized Red Bull hoodie and matching sweat-shorts, "but I'm going to take a very quick shower and change. I'll text Charles as well."

Then, Max left towards his driver room.

A smile formed on y/n's face. Even if he was close to tears just a minute ago, his eyes were dry as he packed up his calculator, pencil case, and tucked his worksheet into his math folder. It felt nice to be liked and to be needed. While he did have a loving family cheering him on from home, it was hard to be away from them during the season. It was nice to have two people who could fill in those roles while they were away.

Y/n made his way to the couch that was in the Red Bull hospitality, but not before grabbing a Red Bull from the mini fridge that was at the end of the couch. It was nearing dinner time and y/n was sure he would fall asleep on the couch he just sat on if he didn't have at least a couple of sips of Red Bull in his system.

As Max showered and changed, y/n played a mindless game on his phone that Charles downloaded a while ago after his own phone had died and was bored. Y/n remembers it vaguely; he doesn't remember where they were or what they were doing, but Charles's phone had died and he asked y/n id he had games on his phone, to which y/n responded no and Charles acted as if he killed Leo. Then, Charles said that it was his favorite game and was convinced that y/n was living under a rock because he didn't have it downloaded.

He played a couple of rounds before Max came out of his driver's room in a surprising pair of sweatpants and one of his classic Red Bull collard shirts. It wasn't common to see Max in sweatpants, he usually wore jeans with his shirts. Max typed on his phone as he walked, and he almost ran into the couch, but he stopped right in front of it before he could.

"You ready?" Max asked once he looked up from his phone. He chuckled at the sight in front of him; y/n holding his red bull can close as he was curled in on himself in the corner of the couch. His phone was close to his face as he played his game.

Y/n looked up and nodded, quickly unfurling himself. "Yep," he said, popping the 'p'. He stood from the couch and adjusted his hoodie. "Charles already outside?" y/n asked as Max started to lead the way to the door of the hospitality. He didn't get an answer from Max, but his confirmation was Charles standing in front of the door once Max opened up the door.

"Hey you two," Charles smiled at them as y/n and Max bent down to slip on the quickest shoes they could (sneakers for Max and Birkenstock clogs for y/n). Charles wore a red hoodie with a small black Ferrari horse on the heart with white sweatpants and creme Puma suede shoes. "Let's go, yeah?" He nodded his head toward the car park where all of the drivers kept their cars during race weekend.

Max and y/n stepped out of the Red Bull hospitality with smiles on their faces, happy that their trio was back together. Sometimes it's hard for the Red Bull duo to get together with Charles, seeing as their teams want to make sure their secrets aren't being shared with their opponent.

"Where are we going?" Y/n asked as the trio started to walk toward the car park; y/n was in the middle with Max to his right and Charles to his left. He looked from Max and then to Charles, both having smiles on their faces as they looked at each other past y/n's head.

"Seriously guys, where are we going?"

liked by oscarpiastri, redbullracing, maxverstappen1, and others tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1

youruser had to buy a swimsuit at the store cause they didn't tell me i needed one when we left

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charles_leclerc do people not go streaking anymore? ⤷ youruser you are NASTY! NASTY i tell you

userseven did you get your homework done

usereight alright ..

maxverstappen1 at least you got a new swimsuit out of it, i just got sandy pizza ⤷ charles_leclerc that was your own fault ⤷ youruser maxverstappen1 free protein for quali!!

oscarpiastri whore behavior on main is crazy ⤷ youruser leave me and my whoreiness alone 💔

usernine i wish i had a relationship like y/n and lestappen ⤷ userten so..parents? ⤷ usernine that was unnecessary

usereleven YOU'RE GOING TO GET POLE POSITION TOMORROW Y/N I BELIEVE IN YOU!! ⤷ usertwelve nah he's washed ⤷ userthirteen it's literally his first season 😭😭??????????

lando high school senior & f1 driver by day WHORE by night ⤷ youruser what's up with the mclaren teammates calling me a whore just say you want me and move on ⤷ lando woah alright i touched a nerve there my bad

TURNS OUT WHERE they were going was a beach—actually, first a clothing store, then a pizza restaurant, and then the beach. Charles and Max only told y/n they were going to the beach after pulling out of the car park in Charles's white Ferrari, so he whined and forced them to stop at a clothing store nearby so he could run in and buy a new pair of trunks and even a cover shirt.

Y/n leaned back on the blanket that Charles pulled out of his trunk when they pulled up to the beach. His elbows and heels dig into the sand as he laid back relaxed. He watched as Max and Charles played in the water like children. They had tried to pull him to the water with them, but he just denied and wanted to stay dry. He pulled on his Red Bull sweatshirt from before as the sun was starting to set and it was starting to get windy on the beach.

He must've zoned out, because suddenly both Max and Charles were laughing right next to him and falling down onto towels that they brought. They were sighing and laughing through breaths as they sat on either side of y/n, Max to y/n right and Charles to his left like before.

"You guys have fun?" Y/n asked, a smile on his face as he looked from Max to Charles, and then back to Max, and repeated that a couple of times before he got an answer.

Charles laughed and nodded, "Yeah. It's been so long since I've had fun in the water at a beach. I usually go on my boat, but I haven't been on a beach in so long."

Silence fell onto the three as they watched the sun slowly set and listened to the crashing of the waves and the chatter of birds that were further down the shoreline.

Suddenly, after a beat of staring at y/n and questioning whether he should actually speak up or not, Max asked, "Are you okay, now?" Y/n turned to Max while Charles turned to watch y/n like Max.

Y/n took a breath and looked back out towards the water. He pursed his lips and after a beat, he nodded. "Yeah," he breathed out with a smile on his face. "Yeah, I am. Sometimes I get too caught up in my own head and I act like I never have enough time for a break, and my life is always go, go, go. While it is that way sometimes, I feel like I never ask for help, or for a break." He took a deep breath in, smelling and taking in the smell of the salt water. Y/n looked to Max and then to Charles with a smile, "Thank you guys. Really. This was really nice, and definitely needed."

Charles smiled back at y/n and he glanced to Max quickly before looking back at y/n. "We're always here for you, y/n. Whether it's for school help, driving help, mental help, or even to kill someone," they all let out a chuckle, "we're here for you, okay? You're special, y/n, and we don't want you to lose your young spark just because you're stressed, alright?"

Y/n smiled, teary-eyed. He nodded, "Alright. I love you guys."

"We love you too, but," Max stood and he bent down to pull off y/n hoodie, which went willingly as y/n rolled his eyes, "it's time to get you in the water."

"Maaaax," y/n whined, but they weren't heard as Charles laughed and joined Max in standing. He helped grab y/n and drag him towards the water. Y/n's yells were helpless as he laughed and squirmed in their grip. "I hate you guys!" Y/n yelled before he was tossed into the cold water.

He came back up with a scowl as Charles and Max laughed with each other at y/n. "I know where you sleep."

liked by youruser, maxverstappen1, f1, and others tagged: youruser, maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc much needed quality time before quali 🌊❤️

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userfourteen bro theyre so cute 😭😭

userfifteen they don't want us to ship lestappen then they post pictures of them playing in the water like alright mate

youruser don't be fooled by the smile on my back, i was NOT happy ⤷ charles_leclerc i don't know i remember you telling us you loved us ⤷ maxverstappen1 you know i remember that too ⤷ youruser i told you guys i hated you actually

usersixteen the only family in formula 1

userseventeen can't decide if y/n is their kid or brother ⤷ usereighteen if we're shipping lestappen, kid. if we're not, brother.

maxverstappen1 ❤️ ⤷ charles_leclerc literally just a heart? damn what the hell ⤷ youruser my parents are fighting 💔

oscarpiastri um where was my invite????? ⤷ youruser you can come when you have a mental breakdown over homework ❤️ ⤷ oscarpiastri oh.. hope you're doing okay ⤷ youruser this made me giggle yes i am doing okay thank you oscar 😭😭

lando BAN family's from formula 1 next thing we know they're going to get 1-2-3 positions for the rest of the season ⤷ charles_leclerc no need to be salty lando nowins ⤷ lando I WILL SLASH YOUR TYRES

usernineteen im living for this family we have in f1 like y/n is literally lestappen's son

[paceprompting]

Do What You Can

written for ‘rose’ wc: 367 # | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: secret relationship, steve being sweet, and nervous, gift giving, steve's POV for once in this series

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@steddiemicrofic

Steve has no idea what he’s doing.

Well, he knows what he’s doing, like, physically. He’s using the locker combination he snuck out of the front office to unlock Eddie’s locker and leave a rose before the bell rings for the end of class.

So, really, he’s panicking.

If he was a better secret-sort of-boyfriend, he would give it to Eddie in person. In private, like they have to do everything else.

But fucking Tommy gets to give Carol flowers and chocolates in the hallway, and this is the best Steve can do.

So he opens Eddie’s locker and takes the fresh rose out of his backpack, unwrapping it from silk scarf of his mother’s to place it carefully amongst the chaos of Eddie’s locker.

He bites at his lower lip and then shuts the door, turning to leave.

Only to find Eddie rounding the hall corner, clearly escaping his second period calculus class. Shit.

He sees Steve immediately, coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway and raising his brows in question.

“Hey,” Steve says.

“Hey, Steve,” he echoed. Not Harrington, because they’re the only ones in the hallway. “What’cha doing?”

“Um, just…” He doesn’t have an answer. So he chickens out. “Ditching class.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, suspicious but without any evidence. He comes closer, taking Steve’s hand to run his thumb over his knuckles. Steve returns it, his thumb grazing Eddie’s rings before their hands fall away.

He risks a kiss to Eddie’s temple, because fuck it, it’s Valentine’s Day and asks, “See you later?”

Eddie blinks, but says, “Yeah.”

Steve leaves.

He doesn’t see Eddie until lunch. They don’t have classes together, and Steve knows that Eddie has to have seen the rose by now. He scans the lunchroom, sees Eddie’s wild curls from behind. Doesn’t see his face until he sits.

It seemed Eddie had been searching for him too. Wanted Steve to know he saw him.

Because…he has the rose, twirling it between his fingers in clear view for anyone to see. Steve sits straighter, swallowing hard with brows raised.

Thank you, Eddie mouths across the room, a smile on his lips as he presses them to the rose.

Tag List: @estrellami-1 @here4thetrama @tillystealeaves @th30ra3k3n @fairytalesreality @rabidhungryrat

[latenightreadingpdf]

Hidden in Plain Sight (3) - Dave Lizewski

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖⋆ Part 1 ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Part 2 ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: When Y/S/N saves Kick-Ass from a dangerous situation, he becomes obsessed with trying to uncover her true identity. Little does he know, Y/S/N is a girl from his school who secretly has a crush on him as well. As they patrol together, their worlds collide in ways neither expected, leading to a surprising revelation about who's really behind the mask.

Y/S/N - Your superhero name

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Y/N strolled through the neighborhood, her mind buzzing with ways to tease Dave. She was endlessly entertained by how adorably flustered he got under that mask—especially when she pushed the limits, gushing over him like he wasn’t the same guy beside her, trying desperately to stay composed. She knew he tried to be respectful, but she often caught him sneaking glances at her chest, and every time she called him out on it, he’d blush furiously under the mask.

Lost in her thoughts, she was pulled back to reality by a quiet cough from behind. Turning, she saw Kick-Ass himself standing there, adjusting his mask nervously.

“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to show up,” she teased.

“I–uh, sorry I’m late,” he replied, still slightly out of breath.

She smirked, nudging him lightly as they began walking. “Oh, don’t worry about it! I just wanted to tell you all about Dave. I finally talked to him yesterday, and it went so well! I asked him to tutor me in calc, and he said yes. Now we’re going to spend all this time together.” She glanced at him, watching his hands start to fidget as she kept going. “I’m just worried, you know? I’ll be trying to learn, but I don’t think I can focus when he’s around. God, he’s so hot. And those hands…” She trailed off dreamily. “I always wonder what they’d feel like on my—”

Suddenly, Kick-Ass stumbled over his own feet, nearly tripping into the street. Y/N pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud, but she couldn’t stop herself entirely.

“Sorry,” she giggled. “I know I’m rambling. What about you? Got anything spicy going on in your love life?”

Kick-Ass cleared his throat, clearly flustered. “Uh, yeah. It’s, um… good.”

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, you have to give me more than that! I’m basically pouring my heart out here, and I get ‘yeah, it’s good’? Spill!”

“Okay, okay, fine,” he relented, clearly trying to think of a way to answer without giving too much away. “There’s this girl, and she’s—”

CRASH.

Oh thank god, Dave thought.

A loud noise cut him off, followed by shouting around the corner. Instinctively, he snapped to attention. “I’ll tell you later,” he said, as the two of them took off, sprinting towards the sound to see how they could help.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The next day, both Dave and Y/N stepped up their game a bit. Dave put extra effort into picking a shirt that didn’t smell like his closet floor, even making sure his hair didn’t look like he’d just rolled out of bed. Meanwhile, Y/N chose a lower-cut shirt and wore that perfume she knew drove him crazy, adding just a hint more makeup for that extra polished look.

As calculus neared, Dave practically power-walked to the classroom, heart pounding, and took his seat, eyes glued to the door. When Y/N entered, she caught his gaze, offering a warm smile and a wave.

“Hey, Dave,” she greeted, walking up to his desk. “Are you still free to tutor me after school?”

“Of course!” he replied, perhaps a bit too eagerly, but she just smiled, and he watched as she headed to her seat.

For the rest of the day, Dave’s mind was nowhere near his classes. The only thing that seemed to register in his brain was the thought of his upcoming study session with Y/N.

When the final bell rang, Dave wasted no time heading to the library. Halfway there, his phone buzzed with a text:

Y/N: At the table near the back of the library :)

He found her easily, smiling as she waved him over. “Hey, Y/N. Are you ready to start?” he asked, taking the seat beside her.

“Yup! I was hoping we could go over the first unit,” she replied. “I think missing that might be why everything else isn’t making sense.”

“Sure, let’s start there,” he said, pulling out his textbook. He walked her through some basic concepts, then pulled out a sheet of paper to work through a few examples. As he began writing, Y/N scooted her chair closer to get a better view, leaning in, and he felt his mind go blank for a second.

“Uh, so, um,” he stuttered, nearly forgetting what he was supposed to be teaching.

With every example, Y/N seemed to get closer, her shoulder brushing his every so often, her perfume making it impossible for him to concentrate. By the end of the session, Dave was practically melting, trying to keep his focus.

“Thanks so much,” Y/N said as they stood up, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. “You’re a great teacher, Dave.”

He barely managed to stammer out a reply, feeling like he’d floated to another dimension. As they walked toward the library doors, she mentioned she was planning to walk home.

Dave felt a surge of courage. “I could, um, walk you home if you want?”

She smiled and nodded. “I’d like that.”

The walk was relaxed, conversation flowing easily. They talked about comics, giving each other recommendations, Dave told stupid stories about Todd and Marty, Y/N talked about a party she went to, and just learned more about each other. Every minute of it felt more natural than anything he’d experienced, like the superhero masks weren’t necessary anymore.

When they finally reached her house, Y/N turned to him, eyes warm. “Thanks for walking me home, Dave. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded, practically grinning from ear to ear. “Definitely. See you.”

As he walked back to his own house, he couldn’t stop smiling, mind whirling with every little moment he’d just spent with her.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Between superhero patrols and calculus tutoring, Y/N and Dave had been seeing a lot of each other lately. They texted all the time, and Dave had been noticing her texts popping up at any time of day, which made him grin even at the simplest “Hey, what’s up?”

Saturday afternoon brought him a new message:

Y/N: Dave, pleeease save me! I’m so boooored. :( Dave: I’m about to walk to Atomic Comics to meet Todd and Marty. Wanna hang out with us? Y/N: YES, THANK YOU. Dave: I’ll stop by your place on my way.

He set off for her place, nerves jangling. As she joined him on the walk to the store, he tried to keep his cool but couldn’t stop himself from blurting, “Just a heads-up: my friends are, uh… really weird.”

She laughed, nudging his arm. “They can’t be that weird. I bet they’re just like you—maybe a little shy.”

Dave only chuckled in response, inwardly wincing at how little she knew about Todd and Marty’s lack of social skills.

They slid into a booth across from Todd and Marty, who were already seated. As Dave introduced Y/N, both of his friends seemed frozen, eyes wide, staring at her like she was from another planet. Five silent, awkward seconds passed.

“Guys… Really?” Dave whispered, giving them each a nudge under the table. “Don’t act so… I don’t know… weird?”

That seemed to do the trick. Todd cleared his throat and muttered a barely audible “Hi,” while Marty attempted a smile and a wave.

Y/N just smiled back, unphased, and Dave jumped into conversation about a new Spider-Man x Wolverine crossover he’d been obsessed with lately. As he pulled the comic out from his bag, Y/N scooted closer to look, her shoulder pressing against his. Dave tried to keep his focus on the comic’s cover, but it was hard with her so close, leaning over to see. He felt his face flush and prayed that Todd and Marty wouldn’t say anything embarrassing.

From across the table, they exchanged looks, clearly unable to believe that Dave was sitting that close to Y/N.

Eventually, Dave got up to go to the bathroom, leaving Y/N with his friends. She looked across at them with a smile. “So, guys, I’ve gotta know—what are the best comics here? I’m kind of new to this whole thing.”

The question seemed to break through the last of Todd and Marty’s reservations. Todd’s eyes lit up, and he immediately launched into an enthusiastic explanation of his favorite series, going so far as to pull up comic covers on his phone and explaining key plot points. Marty joined in, pointing out his personal favorites on a nearby rack.

Y/N listened, nodding along and laughing at their side tangents. It didn’t take long before she was laughing along with them, chiming in with questions and responding to their recommendations with genuine curiosity. Soon, Todd was leading her around the store, showing her the most underrated comics and detailing why certain storylines were, in his words, “the best character arcs of all time.”

By the time Dave came back, Y/N was chatting with them comfortably. “So, okay, this whole series is a must-read,” she was saying, holding up a copy of Saga that Todd had practically forced into her hands. “Where should I start?”

“Volume one!” Marty and Todd chorused. Todd gave her a detailed breakdown of how she could get up to speed in no time.

Dave sat down, unable to keep from smiling at the way she fit in with his friends. “Making converts?” he asked with a grin.

“Oh, totally,” Y/N said, scooting back beside him. “I’m basically a comic expert now.”

The four of them ended up lingering at the shop, laughing over various comics and obscure references, until the store started dimming its lights to close up. When they got up to leave, Dave offered to walk Y/N home.

They talked the whole way, chatting about the evening, laughing about Todd and Marty’s passion for comics, and revisiting her new reading list.

“Your friends are funny,” Y/N said as they stopped at her door, smiling.

He laughed. “Funny? That’s new. Usually, they’re terrible.”

She laughed too, eyes twinkling, and then, without warning, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Goodnight, Dave.”

For a moment, he just stood there, his cheeks tingling where her lips had brushed his skin. “Uh—goodnight,” he managed weakly as she turned and slipped inside.

Walking home, his head was all fuzzy. As excited as he was about how close he and Y/N were getting, there was that nagging thought in the back of his mind—could he really get close to her without ever telling her he was Kick-Ass? It made him wonder if he could ever have a real chance with her if he kept hiding half his life.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

After school one day, Dave was hanging out at Atomic Comics, flipping through the latest issues with Todd and Marty, when he heard the bell above the door chime. He glanced up from his comic just in time to see Y/N practically sprinting into the store, her face lit up with excitement. She beelined straight toward him, holding up a crinkled piece of paper with a big red “92%” circled at the top.

“Dave!” she almost shouted, her grin so wide it looked like her face might split in two. “Look! 92! I got a 92 on my calculus test!” Before he knew what was happening, she threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly and burying her face in his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said, her words muffled but still bursting with enthusiasm.

Dave’s brain went into overdrive, his senses zeroing in on the warmth of her arms around him, her hair brushing against his cheek, and the soft, citrusy scent of her perfume. Somehow, he managed to wrap his arms around her, gently squeezing her back.

“I knew you could do it,” he murmured, grinning ear to ear.

When she finally pulled back, her hands still rested on his shoulders. She looked up at him, eyes gleaming with excitement. “We have to celebrate. You should come over tonight. We’ll watch a movie, and I’ll buy a ton of your favorite snacks. What do you say?”

Dave’s heart pounded so loudly he was sure she could hear it. “Uh… yeah, sure,” he stammered, doing his best to sound casual, though the idea of spending an evening alone with her made him feel anything but.

“Great!” she said, her smile widening even more—if that was possible. With a final wave, she turned and headed for the door, throwing a quick “Bye, guys!” over her shoulder to Todd and Marty.

The door closed, and the three of them watched her leave, stunned into silence. Todd was the first to break it. He nudged Dave with his elbow, eyes wide. “Dude,” he said, barely able to contain his excitement. “This is it. Tonight’s the perfect night to tell her how you feel. You’ve gotta do it!”

Marty nodded enthusiastically, his expression a mix of excitement and impatience. “Seriously, man. She invited you over for a movie night. She wants to celebrate with you. You can’t just ignore that!”

Dave looked between his two friends, his excitement battling with nerves. “You think so?” he asked, even though he could barely contain his own excitement at the thought.

Todd clapped him on the back. “You’ve got this, Dave. Just be honest with her.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Dave thought he might actually pass out.

As soon as you opened the door, he had to fight to keep his mouth from hanging open—you were in the cutest pair of fluffy pajama pants and a tiny tank top that showed just a hint of midriff. It was unfair, honestly. Before he could even fully process it, you grabbed his arm, and with a warm smile, pulled him inside, leading him up the stairs and straight to your room.

Walking into your room felt like stepping into another world, one that was undeniably and entirely you. Posters lined the walls, your desk was organized in a way that was both chaotic and charming, and there were little knick-knacks on your shelves that seemed to tell a story all their own. It was exactly how he’d imagined it… Not that he imagined your room or anything like that. That would be weird, right? Totally weird. Totally not him. He definitely did not imagine your room all the time… though, looking around, it was kind of uncanny how close he’d gotten it.

"Go ahead and get comfortable! I’m just grabbing more candy from the kitchen," you said, heading out the door.

He nodded, sitting on the edge of your bed, still taking everything in. Then he noticed a plush bunny sitting at the top of your pillow. Grinning, he reached over and picked it up, giving it a little squeeze, admiring its big, floppy ears. He was caught red-handed when you came back, and his eyes widened slightly when he saw you laughing at him.

“Oh my god, you’re one of those people, huh?” he teased, holding the bunny up like a prized possession.

You put a hand on your hip, rolling your eyes playfully. “Yes, I am, and it’s cute, okay?”

He chuckled, flipping the bunny around in his hands. “What’s his name?”

You groaned, blushing. “Come on, Dave… do you really need to know?”

He put on a serious face, hugging the bunny dramatically. “Absolutely. His name is—”

You bit back a smile, rolling your eyes. “… it’s Mr. Floppy.”

He choked back a laugh. “Mr. Floppy? Well Mr. Floppy is my new best friend now.”

“Oh no, how will I ever survive,” you replied in a mockingly dramatic tone, unable to hide your grin. Within seconds, the two of you broke out in a fit of laughter, your voices mingling in a way that made your room feel like the safest, happiest place in the world.

Settling down, you handed him a bowl of candy and flopped onto the bed next to him, pulling up the movie. As it started, you shifted closer, so much so that Dave could feel the warmth radiating from you. By the time you were twenty minutes in, you were nestled against his chest, his arm resting around you almost instinctively. He didn’t dare move—this was the closest he’d ever been to you, and he could feel his heart racing, every nerve on edge. Every thirty seconds or so, he couldn’t help himself; he’d glance down at you, admiring the way the glow from the screen softened your features.

After a while, you must’ve felt him looking at you because you shifted, turning to meet his eyes. The two of you were so close that your breaths mingled, and the tension between you was thick enough to cut. In a quiet voice, you tilted your head and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Dave swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing, it’s just… you look really pretty.”

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you offered a shy smile, thanking him softly as you continued to gaze into his eyes. The movie was entirely forgotten now.

“Y/N, I… uh, I really like you,” he stammered, finally gathering the courage to say what he’d been holding back. “You’re so smart, beautiful, and… way out of my league, but I can’t help it. I really want to be more than friends.”

For a moment, you simply looked at him, and his heart felt like it might stop entirely. “Say something… please,” he whispered, his voice laced with nervousness.

Finally, a smile spread across your face, and with a glance down at his lips, you leaned in, closing the gap with a gentle, sweet kiss. When you pulled back, you whispered, “I like you too, Dave.”

A grin broke across his face, and he could hardly believe this was happening. “Can I… can I kiss you again?” he asked, breathless, as if he were asking permission for a once-in-a-lifetime privilege.

Laughing softly, you replied, “You can kiss me whenever you want.”

This time, he kissed you deeper, pouring every ounce of his feelings into it, savoring every second. The kiss grew more passionate, and his heart pounded in his chest, but when you finally pulled back, he couldn’t help but let out a soft, disappointed whine, not wanting the moment to end.

You bit your lip, an amused smile on your face. “I actually have something to confess, too,” you said, your voice softer now.

Sitting up straighter, he looked at you with wide eyes, a slight furrow in his brow. “What is it?”

You took a breath, meeting his gaze. “I know you’re Kick-Ass.”

For a moment, he froze, his mind scrambling. “W-What?” he spluttered, immediately trying to backtrack. “I—Kick-Ass? No, that’s—that’s not me! I’m, uh—”

You held up a hand to stop him, laughing softly. “And I know you know that I’m Y/S/N.”

His eyes widened even further, and he seemed completely thrown off. “But… you always talked about ‘Dave’ to me when we were out, you know, fighting crime together. I thought… I thought I had you fooled.”

You shrugged, grinning. “I just liked teasing you. It was… kind of adorable to see you get all flustered.”

“Oh,” he breathed, the realization dawning on him as his face flushed a deep red. He couldn’t help but laugh, feeling both relieved and slightly embarrassed. The two of you settled back into the bed, and a grin spread across his face as a new thought occurred to him.

“Just think about it, though—we’d make the most amazing superhero couple ever,” he said, his voice bubbling with excitement at the idea. “Kick-Ass and Y/S/N, taking down bad guys together? We’d be unstoppable!”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow as you poked his chest. “Not so fast, Kick-Ass. Before we start planning our crime-fighting future, you’ve gotta take me on a proper date first.”

He grinned sheepishly, nodding as he took your hand in his, squeezing it gently. “Right. Totally. Consider it done.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ and that concludes this story! thank you all for reading <3 I’ll probably go back through this another time and edit it a bit. If anyone has any Kick-ass fic recs or ideas please send them my way pretty please :)))

[andromydagalaxy]

Satisfaction - Part Two

~ NSFW, teacher x student ~

Reader is falling for their teacher.

Hey, yall. Hope you enjoy this getting turned into a full story with a plot as much as I am. I plan on making this four parts :3

pt. 1

pt. 3

~~~

Nothing has changed since you hooked up Schlatt. It’s like nothing had happened between you two, and it was all just a crazy, vivid dream. The past couple weeks of calculus class have been him avoiding your gaze, not talking to you, and treating you like all of your peers. There’s so much uncertainty in the air, at least for you; Schlatt’s air seems unaffected. The daydreams about him feel neverending, it’s like an addiction, they haven’t stopped since then. When you try to stop the scenarios of suggestive glances during class, horny texts during school, late-night rendezvous at his house, dates on the other side of town, they break back into your mind like an intruder. They aren’t all sexual, they’ve shifted romantically. You’re falling for him, or at least an idea of him you’ve been messing around with in your head. The subconscious part of you that expected more after hooking up with him was wondering where it all was, and the strangest part is this isn’t typical for you. No one has ever made you feel so giddy and delusional. But now you're stuck, quietly sitting in the back of his class, dreaming away like before.

“Alright, you devils, be quiet and look up here.” Schlatt walks briskly through the door and throws his stuff on his desk. His hair is shaggier than ever, he’s at his most disheveled by the end of the week. Fridays are your favorite not because of the weekend but because this man is at his most sarcastic and messy. “Gotta get you dumbasses ready for the final, so we’re gonna solve this problem together.” He writes on the board and you drift off, disinterested in learning the same fucking shit you’ve been learning from him the past year. It’s more fun daydreaming about him doing what you want. 

He asks you to stay after school. While he grades homework, you can’t help but be a distraction. Climbing into his lap, running your hands all over his body, kissing him, grinding on him. He pulls out his cock for you to bounce on in your little skirt, while he continues working. But you want his eyes piercing into yours, his hands controlling the thrusts, his moans carrying around the room. You want all of his attention.

“Adin, that’s not even something you could do with this problem.” 

You trace your lips against his ear. “Schlatt.” He squirms, his cock growing inside of you. 

“Baby.” He rubs his hand across your back, pulling you closer. “I need to finish my work.” 

“Daddy.” You’re breathing heavy in his ear, whispering your words. Your fingers comb through his curls, lightly tugging as you move your body up and down his length. 

“Fuck.” He throws his pen on the desk, grabbing your waist and lifting you up and down. “Such a whore can’t even wait to get yourself off.”

“Morgan put the damn phone away!”

He lifts you on his desk on top of all the homework, standing over you and sliding his cock back in. He stares down at your pussy, listening to the sounds you're making from the pressure and speed of his thumb on your clit while stuffing his entire length inside you and dragging it out to the very tip. It’s slow and conscious; he wants you to cum. 

“Please don’t stop, that feels so good.” You pull your legs up higher.

Schlatt hums, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I’m not stopping until you cum so hard you can’t even think.”

“You’re on the right track, but you missed a step.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair, leaning in closer to you. “I want your sweat dripping all over your classmates' homework.” Your gut twists and your breathing grows heavier. You lock eyes with him. “Yeah?” Desperate for him to say more, you nod your head and mouth out a yeah. “You wanna cum on top of all their work?” 

You moan and whine, writhing against him, wanting him to go faster. Talk more. Grab every part of your body. “Dirty little slut, what would they think?” You feel that familiar tightness in your legs. 

“Daddy, keep talking, I’m so close.”

“That’s it baby. Want you to soak my thick dick with your wetness. Make a mess all over your teacher’s cock.” 

“No, that’s not.” Schlatt’s real voice pulls you back into your surroundings. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, holding the marker over the equation. “Y/N.” Your ears perk up as his voice echoes in your head. You haven’t heard your name come out of his mouth in so long. “You know what to do next?” Your eyes meet his, the explicit images fading out of your mind. You realize how warm your face feels and how tense your legs are from squeezing your thighs together.

“Uhhh.” You look at the board behind him, trying to take it all in. Everyone is quiet, waiting for your answer. Schlatt is waiting for his best student to show your incompetent peers how it’s done. But he rarely calls for your help on the spot like this and you can’t get your brain to work.

“You back there daydreaming again?” 

Oh, my fucking god. Your stomach drops to your butt, swallowing as your throat tightens. Your gaze moves down, away from Schlatt’s judgemental eyes, your body moving with it, slumping into your seat. You want to sink into yourself. His comment hit your soul like he’s trying to target you, rub salt in the wound, and subliminally tell you this isn’t happening again. This is all a mistake that needs to be swept under the rug. 

It isn’t uncommon for Schlatt to poke fun at his students; a month ago, you might not have minded, but now you’re overwhelmed with embarrassment, sadness, and rejection. 

Your eyes dampen as you count down the minutes until you can leave.

~~~

You sit in the bathroom stall, wiping away the few tears that quietly fell down your cheeks. Graduation is in a few weeks, and you’ve been mentally done with school for a while now. The time spent with your school friends has been lackluster; you didn’t want to tell them you fucked your teacher because they would probably just freak out. Being in an empty house is boring you to death. Everything is uninteresting, except him. You’re craving his attention and praise. Nothing else matters.

You take a deep breath, grab your bag off the bathroom floor, and walk out of the stall into the hallway. His classroom door is closed and empty. Praying he hasn’t left yet, you go to the first floor to search for him. Checking the library, you see him sitting with a student, pointing at some papers on the table. You debate walking in and sitting down to watch them, but the longer you stare through the window, the more your feet feel glued to the ground.

“Who are we staring at?” You jump at the voice, seeing your friend standing and staring into the library next to you.

“Fucking hell.” You keep Schlatt in your peripheral, not wanting him to get away. “I don’t know, I’m just people watching.” Your friend squints at the few groups of people seated, noticing nothing particularly intriguing. 

“Okay, weirdo. Are we hanging at your place tonight?” You swallow, looking back at Schlatt, noticing him laugh a bit. What is he laughing at? What did she say to him? She can’t be that funny. Not enough to make him laugh.

“Um.” You look back over at your friend, waiting for your response. “I’m not really feeling it tonight dude, sorry.” She nods her head.

“It’s chill, don’t worry about it.” You quickly focus your attention back to Schlatt. Your friend is still standing there, observing your strange behavoir. “You know, I’m always here if you need to talk about anything.” Your shoulders soften. “You don’t have to go through shit alone. It worries me when you isolate yourself ‘cause you always come back telling me all the impulsive shit you did.” Your gaze softens, as you turn to give her a thankful smile. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.” She raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing a word your saying but regardless, chooses to butt out 

“Just don’t get into some dumb shit, okay?” She pulls you in for a hug. “I’ll see ya.” And walks away. You watch her walk for a moment, wondering if she had a point, if you were acting maybe a little irrational. Or impulsive. You look back at Schlatt, now alone and collecting his things. You fix your hair up, watching him walk towards the door. He turns towards you out the door. 

“Hey.” Schlatt jumps back, genuinely scared of your presence. “Oops, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Jesus, Y/N.” He straightens himself out, clears his throat, and checks around the hallway before turning back to you. “Why are you standing here?”

“What, I can’t stand here?” He stares at you, unimpressed.

“Come on, Hon.” This fucker. “What do you want?” You feel rage bubbling up by him treating you like you’re just a random person.

“You know what I want.” Schlatt looks over at the library, growing nervous.

“Can we not talk about this here?” His voice is low, not trying to draw attention. You feel your ears burning. 

“Where then? I don’t wanna wait any longer.” You raise your voice, feeling like causing a scene, embarrassing him like he embarrassed you. He grabs your wrist, pulling you away from the open door and the windows of the library, towards the end of the hall. 

“Listen.” He leans down, his face close to yours, not letting go of your wrist. “We’re not doing that again.” He continues keeping it vague. 

“Doing what again?” You play dumb, wanting to tease him, get him to verbally say what you two did. Maybe it will make something snap in his brain. Remind him how good it felt. 

He looks at you sternly, not wanting to budge. “You know what.”

“Sir.” You smirk. “I really don’t know. Can you remind me, please?” Schlatt is visibly irritated, brows furrowing and lips pressing together.

“I’m not having sex with you again.” You cringe at his words, layered with the scent of alcohol on his breath. He has to have a stash somewhere in his desk for him to be smelling so strongly of alcohol at the end of the school day. Is this why he sweats so much? Or why he’s so mean sometimes? 

“Bet you would if you were as drunk as last time.” He tightens his grip on your wrist, panic now forming in his eyes.

“We’re keeping all of this between us. You understand, Toots?” You don’t fight his grip, missing the way his hands handled your body. You bite your lip, moving your face closer to his. 

“What’s in it for me?” You notice a silver cross dangling around his neck and use your free hand to slip the chain through your fingers. Schlatt lets out a long sigh.

“What’d you want, extra credit?” You stare at him silently, continuing to play with his necklace, twirling it around your fingers. “I told you, I’m not fucking you again.” You pull your wrist out of his grasp and back away from him, looking behind you at two students’ backs walking towards the other end of the hall, wondering if they saw anything. You turn back to Schlatt.

“I want whatever you're drinking.” 

Schlatt rolls his eyes. “Sure, I’ll buy you a bottl–”

“No. I want a drink now.” You cross your arms. “With you.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re not slick at all.”

“I’m not trying to be.” He stares at you, his body relaxing, finally taking your bait. 

“Fine, just gimme like five minutes, and you can come upstairs. I don’t want you following me.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause that’d look so weird.” You roll your eyes, watching him walk away, a smile growing under your rosy cheeks. You walk to the bathroom, throwing your bag into the handicap stall and jumping up and down like you're on a mini trampoline. You could sprint a marathon on the energy rushing through your body. You can’t recall a time someone, or even something, has made you this enthusiastic. 

You doll yourself up, fixing your hair, smearing on your lip gloss, and spraying your perfume. Crazy that it’s happening again, your daydreams molding your reality. It almost doesn’t feel real, but you’re ending up at his place one way or another.

~~~

“Can’t believe I’m getting blackmailed by you,” Schlatt mutters as you walk into his classroom. He’s leaning back in his chair, filling a large, fancy shot glass to the top. He holds the glass out for you. “This is my favorite glass. If you break it, I’ll kill you.” 

You smirk, walk over to his desk, and grab the glass. Schlatt stares at you as you slowly throw back the shot. You lock eyes with him as you swallow, a few drops dripping down your neck. The burn runs down your throat, but you don’t let your face constrict. He raises an eyebrow, grabs the glass from you, and pours himself a shot.

“You like Bénédictine?” He throws his shot back, face constricting. 

“No, I prefer vodka.” You pull your bag out and grab your weed pen. “Actually, I prefer weed.” Schlatt glares at you. 

“A stoner, great, just like all of your dumbass peers.” You cough out a cloud of smoke. A faint skunky smell filling your nose. “You shouldn’t be hitting that in here.”

You ignore his suggestion. “Don’t compare me to them.” He laughs. 

“Aww, you think you're special?”

You feel your heart thumping in your chest as you take another hit of your pen, your body sinking into the buzz. You know he’s just teasing, joking around. But you are special. He fucked you on this desk. The same one he uses every day. He’s giving you shots of his private stash of alcohol in school. Letting you hang out with him and getting you inebriated, despite saying this should never happen again. Sure, it’s technically blackmail, but there’s no way he thinks you’d tell his colleagues what happened. You’d never get to see him again. 

You make yourself comfortable on top of his desk. He pauses the typing on his laptop, looking you up and down, reminding you of the last time you were here. 

“Special enough for you to fuck me and give me alcohol.” His face falls, as he turns his chair slowly towards you. You’re both silent, challenging him to a clever response. He pours himself another shot, filling it right to the brim and throwing it back. He shakes his head at the burn. “What, no rebuttal?” He scrunches his face up, letting out a painful breath.

“Do you have anything better to do with your Friday than steal my liquor?” You glare at him. “You should be stealing it from your parents and doing drugs with your friends.” He continues typing aggressively. The liquor is starting to flow through your veins.

“I do that shit literally all the time. Like every Friday.” You walk to the open window, watching a man drive the mower over the soccer field under the warm spring sun. “I’m tired of being in that house.” 

“What are you avoiding your parents?” A lump forms in your throat, and your eyes grow damp. You bring your pen to your lips, taking in a deep breath of smoke and coughing it up to hide the water in your eyes. 

“Feels like they’re avoiding me. They’re never home.” You scoff. “Pour me another.” You hear him open the bottle and pour a shot as you lean against the glass, staring at the fields. 

“Why the fuck are you here when you could be home alone? That sounds like a teenager's dream.” Everything around you starts drifting away like it's being covered behind a glass box. Your house is always the spot for your friends. A two story, suburban with a nice backyard and a forest to explore. Fully furnished with comfortable seats and the newest electronics. You can do anything there: smoke, drink, snort. Not that you do snort, but you could. You could throw an entire party and invite everyone in your class, and they wouldn’t care, as long as they don’t come back to the house burnt down. You can do whatever. You can eat whatever. You can sleep whenever. You can fuck wherever. It’s like you have a free house, with landlords that visit a few times a month and buy all your food and supplies. It has its perks, and anytime you tell someone about it, they wish their parents were like that. But after a while, the silence and loneliness become unbearable.

“I don’t know.” You walk over to take your shot. “Just hate being there. It's boring.” You blow a long breath out, adjusting to the burn. “But, I guess it’s nice to have parents that don’t care to keep tabs on me.” You climb over Schlatt’s chair into his lap, wrapping your hands around his neck.

“AY–” 

“Because it gets me into situations like this.” You go in for a sloppy kiss as he grabs your waist, halfheartedly trying to push you off, but moving his lips against yours. He hums. You taste the alcohol on his breath, as he moves his hands to your shoulders, pushing your lips away. 

“What did I say?” He squeezes your shoulders, staring deep into your eyes.

“I don’t remember, sir. Can you remind me?” He pushes you off his lap.

“You’re much cuter when you’re not acting like a clueless brat.” You stand next to him, eyeing the bottle of Bénédictine on his desk. This man is getting a brat whether he likes it or not. You know, deep down, he enjoys it. You grab the bottle off the desk and start chugging, getting a shot or two's worth in your mouth.

“Y/N!” Schlatt gets up from his chair, reaching for the bottle. You pull it away from his grasp. “Bitch, I swear to God!”

“What did you just call me?” You giggle, holding the bottle behind your back. He towers over you, clenching his fists. 

“A bitch, 'cause that’s what you are! Now, give me my fucking bottle!” He holds his hand out as he backs you into a corner. Your face feels warm and your breathing grows faster as his smell fills your senses. You love the way he calls you bitch. Pushing the boundaries and thinking with your throbbing clit, you quickly take another swig, keeping your eyes locked with his. He breathes out his nose like a bull ready to charge. 

“Give me that!” He grabs the bottom of the bottle, pulling it from your mouth, spilling some on your shirt. You swallow what's in your mouth, pulling the damp spot of your shirt away from your skin. 

“Now I’m gonna smell!” He walks away, putting the bottle in the bottom drawer. 

“You still need to drive home.” That is not happening. “I don’t wanna be responsible for your dumbass ending up in a ditch.” You walk over to your bag and pull out your perfume, getting an idea. You casually pull your shirt off, revealing your lacey, beige bra. Schlatt stares up at you, mouth slightly agape. You pretend to ignore him, spraying your perfume all over your chest. “Can you not strip in my classroom?”

You furrow your brows at him, genuinely taken aback. “You didn’t seem to mind last time.”

“If someone sees you–”

“Again, you didn’t give a fuck last time.” You shake your head. “Do you have a clean shirt I can wear?” He looks away from your chest

“Uh, yeah.” He opens the top drawer. “I actually do.” You take the t-shirt from him and throw it on. It smells like it’s been sitting in that drawer for months, with a hint of his pheromones. You smile, feeling yourself calm down. You hug yourself and plop your ass back down on his desk. Schlatt goes back to typing. The room falls quiet, just the sounds of keyboard typing, the wall clock ticking, and the nature outside. 

“Is this all you wanted? To sit here and steal my alcohol while I try to do my job?” The liquor is flowing heavily through your veins now, your body is warming up like an angel came down and wrapped a soft blanket around you.

“Why don’t you just hush and enjoy the company.” You feel lightheaded and slightly nauseous, your inhibitions lowering. He places his hand on his chest, pretending to act taken aback by your typical bratty attitude. “What are you typing anyway?”

“Just some emails.” You didn’t care, you just wanted to fill the silence and keep his attention on you. “Are you ready for your final?” You roll your eyes.

“Girl, I’m the best in the class, you’re words.”

“Well, you should probably be studying since you lack the attention during class.” A fire burns in your belly, remembering the events of today. 

“Not my fault your class is so fucking boring.” You cross your arms. Schlatt smiles, not looking away from the laptop screen.

“What were you daydreaming about?” You both already know he knows the answer, but you don’t want to give it to him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Mmm, I think I already do.” He glances at you. “But you should tell me anyway. I wanna see if I’m right.”

You stare at his fingers, typing away on the keyboard. “I thought that wasn’t happening again.” 

“We’re not doing anything.” He looks you in the eyes, with a small mischievous smile. “We’re just talking, Toots.” Your breath hitches. His eyes are so pretty and soft, his hair is so sexy and messy, and his shirt is partially unbuttoned. You feel high and hot. The mix of weed and alcohol is hitting a peak, pushing you towards the edge.

“The room is spinning.” You feel yourself losing control, slight panic mixing with the horniness. 

“Okay, I think it’s time for you to go home.”

“I can’t drive, I took like five shots,” you slur out. Schlatt rubs his forehead. 

“Shit.” Stressing under his breath, he stares off into space for a moment, before letting out a loud groan. “Okay, fine, I’ll drive you home.” 

Fuck you’re so close.

“But what about my car?” You whine. “How will I get it home?”

“I don’t fucking know, that’s not my problem.” 

“But it literally is your problem, you gave me alcohol.”

“You took it from me and drank way more than I wanted you to.” He starts packing his bag. “Can you get a friend to drive you? Don’t you have other family–”

“Let me stay at your place.” He drops his bag, pausing and staring at you like you have three heads.

“Y/N, no–”

“Please, then you can drive me back tomorrow.” You fall into him, his arms catching you and holding you in place. He’s so warm. “I promise I’ll stop bothering you. Please, I don’t wanna be alone.” Tears start flowing. 

“Okay, okay. Fucking hell. Fine!” He pushes you into a standing position away from him. “But I’m serious, first thing tomorrow morning, I’m driving you back. No more messing around.”

Bingo.

You both grab your stuff and walk out into the hallway.

“You need to walk soberly,” he whispers, grabbing your arm and trying to straighten your wobbling body. You giggle, your attention moving to his big, veiny hand controlling you.

“Can’t really focus when you’re grabbing me like this.” You lean into his touch.

“Y/N, Stop!” He pushes you off him, releasing his warm hand from your arm. You flop your arms at him, wanting his body back near yours. He turns out the door of the stairway.

“Charlie, Hello!” You fix your posture and walk into the hallway to see the Principal walking towards Schlatt.

“Hello, John.” Mr. Cicle looks over at you with a raised eyebrow. “Hi, Y/N. What are you still doing here?” 

You feel yourself swaying a bit, or maybe everything around you is swaying. You hope your face and eyes aren’t too obviously red. Everything is lagging. 

“Um, yeah. I’m just–” You point your thumb sideways at Schlatt, looking at him stare you down worryingly. “Getting extra help from him–uh Schlatt–Mr. Schlatt.” He nods his head not fully convinced.

“Well, that's great to hear. Just get home safe.” He pats Schlatt’s back and continues down the hall.

Schlatt glares down at you, shoulders tense. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he mouths as you both walk the opposite way towards the entrance.

“Good thing he doesn't give a shit about any of us.” Schlatt ignores you, speed walking to his car, an old, blue toyota corolla. “Probably wouldn't even cross his mind to think you’re on some weird predatory shit.”

He pushes you up against the passenger side of his car, leaning his body into yours, trapping you. “You don’t seem to mind.” You stare at his lips, wishing for a kiss.

“No, duh! I’m getting what I want.” He grabs your cheeks with his hand, smirking at your eyes widen. He moves your head back and forth and you follow, with no fight. You’re so willing to let him move you around and touch you. No matter how embarrassing it looks. 

You both forgot where you still are. 

“You wanna be my bitch?” You nod your head, your heart beating in your ear and your stomach falling deeper into a bottomless pit. He lets your head go. “That’s so pathetic.” Schlatt pushes you, walking around his car to the driver's seat and getting in without another word. You gulp, looking around at a thankfully empty parking lot, and quickly join.

[mads-hemmo]

Too Sweet - Jschlatt part 1

baseball coach Schlatt x math teacher reader

Reader is a math teacher who finds her computer science teacher coworker an asshole. Schlatt finds his algebra/geometry coworker very annoying. What happens when they are forced to be around each other and get along?

You knew you wanted to be a teacher from a very young age. At first you thought you wanted to teach at the elementary level, but you found a love for math. After graduating with a math degree, you accepted a job at a high school in New York. Although you wanted to teach AP Statistics and Calculus, you got a job as the general algebra and geometry. This means that the majority of your classes are full of athletes and kids who do not care about their education.

You watch as a group of baseball boys walk into the classroom. “Josh, Drew, Sawyer did you do your homework?” You ask the boys.

Sawyer grabs a crumpled piece of paper out of his backpack and hands it to you. The other two boys look at you in shock. “We had an away game last night. We weren’t able to complete it,” Drew finally says.

“How did Sawyer get his done, but you two did not?” You ask the boys with a look of disbelief.

“I did mine on the bus.”

“Coach Schlatt told us not to worry about it as focusing on the game is the most important,” Josh tells you.

“I guess I’ll be having a conversation with Coach Schlatt later. Go take a seat, we are learning a new concept,” you tell the boys. You turn around to take a deep breath. Of course, Coach Schlatt, the baseball coach and computer science teacher would tell his players to not do your homework. You both have had an issue with each other since you started working here. All Schlatt cares about is baseball and his players being the best. Which sometimes means that he doesn’t expect them to do your assignments or if they fall asleep in class. He claims that they probably needed the sleep.

At the end of class, you decide to pay Coach Schlatt a visit during your prep time. As you both worked in the math and computer department, you had the same prep period. You knock on his open door and he looks up from his phone. “Ms. (Y/L/N), can I help you?” He asks you.

“Yes I needed to speak with you about a few of your players,” you tell him, walking up to his desk.

“What did they do this time?”

“Well Drew and Josh did not do their homework. Sawyer completed him, but the other two didn’t. They claimed that they weren’t able to because you had a game last night and also you told them it didn’t matter.”

He sighs and looks directly at you. “I told them to focus on the game. But have you read the research that shows that homework isn’t an effective way of teaching?”

You narrow your eyes at him, slightly. “Yes, I have. The only reason they had homework is because they felt my class time was time to play around.”

He nods a bit. “I’ll talk to them. Though you may need to work on your classroom management and also I’m sure they needed your help.”

“Thank you for your time. I’ll leave you alone.” You turn around to walk back to your classroom. “What an asshole,” you mutter under your breath.

You go back to your class to get some work done, hopefully working off your stress. How could someone be so bluntly rude? Did he really insult your teaching and your classroom management? You felt that you did your job well. Your admin seems to think so, but maybe you aren’t.

At lunchtime, you walk into your best friend’s classroom in the fine arts building. Ted or Mr. Nivision is the drama teacher and the two of you quickly became kids. As you have the same lunch period, you eat together every day. You grab your premade lunch from the mini fridge in his room. After you grab it, you slam the door. “Woah what’s wrong with you?”

You put your lunch in the microwave and slam that door too. “Coach Schlatt is what’s wrong! He’s such a douchebag.”

“What did he do this time?” Ted asks, eating his salad.

“He told his players that my homework was not important. When I went to talk to him about it, he brought up research about how homework is unnecessary. Obviously I know that. They only have homework because they refused to do it in my class. I told him that and he insulted my teaching and my classroom management,” you vent to him.

“I’m so glad I don’t teach a core content class. I think I would choke a kid out.” You laugh slightly at him. “That’s stupid of him. He’s usually a pretty good guy, but that was just uncalled for.”

You grab your lunch from the microwave and take a seat beside Ted. “I know he’s your friend or whatever, but he’s an asshole. I don’t know what I did to make him hate me so much.”

Before Ted can say anything, you hear footsteps walking into his room. You look up to see Schlatt walking in. You turn to look at Ted in disbelief. “Oh yeah (Y/N), I forgot to tell you that Schlatt is going to start joining us for lunch.”

“Awesome,” you mutter with a forced smile. “Glad that you are joining us,” are the words that came out. You wanted to tell him to fuck off and choke on his lunch. However, you decide to stay civil and give him your best smile. Hopefully Coach Schlatt will do the same.

A/N: new series!! I am so excited to write some enemies to lovers and teacherxteacher ! I hope you guys enjoy it!! Let me know what you think!!

Masterlist

[angellily920]

Sideline Hearts (Ch.1)

Pairing: John Walker x reader (College AU)

Word Count: About 1k

Warnings: None

A/n: I'm actually SO excited to write this series. Hope you like it!

Chapter 1

The shower head sputtered, a few drops of water shooting out before just giving up. You groaned and fiddled with the knob, hoping, praying the shower head would work. Nothing. You groaned and leaned against the wall. You really needed a shower before going to your photography interview. Taking a deep breath, you decided your best bet would be to ask your neighbor, though you haven't actually met them yet, you hoped they would be nice. You couldn't exactly score the best housing while in college, but it was better than living on campus. Throwing some things into a bag, you went over to ask your neighbor if you could use their shower...Nothings's awkward unless you make it awkward, right?

Nah, it was totally awkward, because when the weathered blue door of your neighbor opened, you would have never expected it to be John. Freaking. Walker. He looked tired. His dirty blonde hair was a mess, as if someone had run their fingers through it a little too much. And knowing Walker, it definitely wasn't his hands. His blue eyes fell on you, and you wanted to make a run for it, but his smooth voice came out before you could.

"Hey...we have calculus together, right?"

"Yup, we do." You tighten your grip on the bag strap slung over your shoulder.

He hums and leans against the door. "Thought I recognized you. And what did I do to receive the honor of your presence?"

"Oh, I was just..." You huff and decide to just go for it. "My shower isn't working and I was wondering if I could use your shower real quick."

John's eyebrows raise for a moment before his lips twitch and he starts to smirk. "So you wanna use my shower, huh?"

It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. "Yes, that's exactly it."

"Okay princess." He stands up straight and opens the door more. "Be my guest."

When you entered his apartment, you expected it to be a mess, but it wasn't. Everything was neatly organized, and even the books on his shelf were color-coded. Neat freak? You didn't care to mention it and followed him to the bathroom. He told you how everything worked before stepping outside the door.

"If you need any help, don't hesitate to call my name." He winked, and you threw him a fake smile and two thumbs up before shutting the door.

~~~~~

You exited the bathroom just as John exited his bedroom, sporting a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt that seemed a size too small, causing you to stare at his chest a moment longer than you intended.

"You coming to the game this weekend?" He asked as you quickly shook your head.

"I wouldn't be caught dead at one of the games."

A soft chuckle rumbled through his chest, and his eyes seemed to sparkle. "Oh really? And why's that? Afraid you'll enjoy it too much?"

That elicits a scoff from you. "I have no intention of watching a bunch of guys get sweaty and tackle each other for some leather ball."

He hums and steps closer to you. "So you'd rather guys get sweaty and tackle people for other reasons?"

"No thanks." You make your way toward the door. "But thank you for letting me use your shower. I seriously appreciate it."

"Anytime princess." He walks you to the door and opens it. "You really wouldn't be caught dead at a game? Even just once?"

"Not my style."

John stands there for a moment, his eyes studying your face. He taps the door frame and lets out a breath of air. "Well, I think if you came to a game, you'd change your mind."

"Don't you have like a hundred fangirls in the stand already?"

That causes him to smile. "I am pretty popular. But the more the merrier, right?"

"Dream on, Walker."

His tongue juts out to wet his lips, and he hums again, soft and melodic. "Oh, I will. See ya around, princess."

You mock salute and shake your head as you turn around to head back to your apartment. Who would have thought you'd have a run in with the campus's hotshot football player? Well, you'd have to make a mental note to avoid him because you'd heard nothing but trouble where he was concerned. Best not to interact with him. You sighed and went inside to go finish up getting ready for your interview.

~~~~~

"Well, we do have an opening."

"Really? That's great!" You sat a bot more forward in your chair. "When can I get started?"

The woman behind the desk clinked a few things on her keyboard. "Well, it looks like they need a photographer for the football team this season. They have a game this weekend. You could start then."

You tried to hide your disappointment. "The football team? But I thought this interview was for the theater photographer position?"

"Do you want a job or not?" The woman didn't make eye contact and typed away on her computer.

"I...yes. I do."

"Perfect. I'll put you down as the football teams offical photographer."

"Great." You slumped a bit in your chair as she finalized it. Though it wasn't what you wanted, you did need the money, and a job was better than no job. Even if it was taking pictures of the sweaty football team. Now, all you had to do was think of something to say when John would inevitably comment on you being at a football game. You got this. What could possibly happen?

A/n: I'm used to writing Bucky so go easy on me! But I hope I can do John some justice.

Chapter 2

[mortalscience]

top 5 garvez episodes! (or moments if you'd prefer)

oooh this was actually SO hard to decide. there's so many good moments and episodes.

first off honorable mention:

the Night Lights housewarming party flirting scene, god damnnn, it's just hot the way they're looking at each other, like GET A ROOM.

(5) Collision Course - I talk about this episode so much, I can't help it, they're just so fucking cute in this episode. Luke being charmed by Penelope the whole episode and he helps Penelope down off a curb and calls her hotshot and tells her nobody else is as good as her and he supports her when Spencer gets denied bail. !!!!! We get lots of good Garvez scenes throughout the show but this is one of the consistently Garvez episodes from beginning to end.

(4) Saturday - A classic!! Luke sacrifices his whole day for Penelope just because she asked him to because she wanted to help this rando and Luke is like I will do whatever you ask me to because I love you and acts of service are my love language. So Luke spends his whole Saturday being Penelope's Emotional Support Crimefighter and he fucking loves every minute of it and then he swears his sword to her when he finds out about her stalker. Luke worrying over Penelope is catnip to me ;_; And they manage to get some cute flirting in too even though it's kind of a more serious angle for their story in this episode because it's personal for Penelope.

(3) In the Dark - Luke finds Penelope crying and refuses to walk away when she tells him to and he is like I WILL BE YOUR SUPPORT SYSTEM AND THAT IS A THREAT and decides then and there he has to fix whatever is making her cry and it's Spencer being in jail and then he's like okay protecting Spencer in jail is now my whole personality because it will make Penelope feel better and he calls in favors and acts all hot and threatening just to make it happen all the while in the back of his mind he's like THIS IS FOR PENELOPEEE. And then at the end he gives her a present of a squeaky kitty because he's specifically thinking about her when he's away from her and wanted to get her something just to see a smile on her face because she's been so sad and he HATES IT WHEN PENELOPE IS SAD. *takes breath* OH this episode. SO GOOD.

(2) Swimmer's Calculus - This one is so fresh so maybe I'm grading on a curve here but I honestly love the Garvez scene in this soooo much, even when I objectively think about it, it's just SO GOOD. Luke hearing Penelope out about her empathetic streak towards Voit, and supporting her, and through the whole time they're talking they're just touching each other, so casually and intimately and it's CRAZY WORK. LIKE??? Luke just has his hand on Penelope's knee for like their entire conversation ajskldjskflds. It's so small and simple but gesture like that is so crazy intimate. Knees knocking and hands on each other's legs like, damn. It really did something to me and I love it because it also shows just how far their relationship has progressed, how close they are to one another now. My heart's melting talking about it. And of course the heartburn crack and the fact that Luke can't walk away from such a heavy conversation with Penelope without touching her one more time and making her smile so he knows she's good because her emotional wellbeing is like his number one priority. D:

(1) Dead End - Luke is Once Again acting as Penelope's emotional support in this episode (something of a theme going on here) and the main scene between them fucking kills me. Penelope is panicking about Tyler and Rossi maybe both dying and Luke fucking throws his whole self into being there for her. MAYBE IF WE LEAN ON EACH OTHER WE'LL HAVE THE STRENGTH TO GET THROUGH THIS TOGETHER. excuse me luke????? *faints and dies* And they are literally physically ONCE AGAIN hanging on to each other through that scene while Luke wipes away her tears and they make that "ME AND YOU" dedication to each other like WHAT THE HELLY. It's WILD. Characters declaring allegiance to each other mind body and soul are just. holy shit. It's definitely my favorite scene between them because it just shows the level of attachment and dedication to each other (especially Luke to Penelope lbr) and it KILLS MEEEEEE.

[strawbrryvyy]

hello dearest ivy (lmao) upon seeing that you do write about infidelity, i have something in mindddddd

cheating on bf wonbin for anton 👀👀

- 🐛 anon

His bestfriend -lcy

Pairings - Anton lee x fem!reader

genre-smut, angst

warnings- infidelity, reader is NOT the nicest

 His smile 

His smile illuminated the skyline below you , as you gazed holes into him. His posture, so straight, reminded you of the wall between the two of you and the rest of the world as the moon glowed so brightly.

His lips were soft. Softer than any you had every felt before.They were so plush and reminded you of home.

Home by definition is the place one resides permanently,Anton was your home.

You were constantly thinking about him,him and him only.His lips, his smile, his voice all paraded your head so freely that at this point “I wonder whats Anton doing’ wasnt a foreign thought.

“Doll?”his sweet sachharine voice broke your thoughts as you yelped slightly and looked up

“Yeah..?”

“You okay? Your quiet?” He was right. You were quiet. You were never quiet around him. Not when the only sounds ever heard when you two were together were the moans and groans of two people lost in the kind of pleasure that only felt real when it was just the two of you.

His gaze softened as he watched you, his eyes filled with a concern that melted your heart. The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comforting, like a warm embrace that didn’t need words to speak its truth.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as you lifted a hand to rest gently on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. It was the only sound you needed to hear, grounding you in the present.

But Anton’s expression didn’t waver. He tilted his head, studying you like he could read every hidden thought behind your eyes, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch light but electrifying. “You sure? You’re acting distant,” he said, his tone soft but insistent.

You exhaled, a small smile playing on your lips. "I just… got lost in my thoughts," you admitted, feeling the weight of your emotions spill out before you could stop them. "I was thinking about us. About how perfect this moment is… how perfect you are."

His eyes flickered, and the intensity in his gaze deepened. Without a word, he leaned in, pressing his lips gently against your forehead, lingering there for a moment as if to reassure you that everything was okay.

“You don’t ever need to be distant from me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m here. Always.”

“I-” Riiiiiing!Riiiiiing!Riiiiiing!

Fuck.

“Is it?”

“Yeah, it’s Wonbin…I’m sorry, I gotta take this.”

You tried your best to settle the nerves.Breathe in…Breathe out….Breathe in

“Just pick up the phone”Anton scoffed, his hair blowing in the hair that just made you stop for a minute before realising that in this reality Anton was not your boyfriend , he was the Bestfriend of your boyfriend who was currently probably batshit crazy about where you were resulting in the numerous calls.

“Hello?” you whispered into the device, hoping that by some miracle wonbin would get that your not alone and end the call.

“Baby…Baby its 1 am where the actual fuck are you?”his weary voice echoed , causing you to tense and flinch for a second before shakingly responding.

“God Wonbin, I’m just out”

“I know but-” 

You let out an annoyed grunt.Why the fuck did he have to act like Mother teresa, being all worried and shit.Why the fuck couldn’t he be rude and cruel and ugly and fuck…you were spiralling.He wasnt any of that.He was Park wonbin , the guy who tutored you in calculus when you were failing and was so shy asking you on a date because “you would never date a loser like him”

“Just….fuck sorry , dont worry …ill catch a bus or some shit” Anton laughed in the background.MAking you turn and raise your brows.

Shut the fuck up

“Oh…wait who was…baby was there someone-”

“Oh my God! Wonbin , can you stop and hear yourself ? We’ve been over this shit…It was Minjeong for your information …and shes calling me so”

“but…I thought Minjeong was at her-”

“Bye Wonbin!” Beep!Beep!Beep! The phone hung up as you tossed it into your purse.

 Anton’s laugh lingered in the air, a soft, teasing sound that seemed to echo louder than the silence that followed. You turned back to him, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the call, but it wasn’t easy.

"Minjeong, huh?" Anton teased, arching an eyebrow. "Guess I’m a girl with short blonde hair now ."

You rolled your eyes, still feeling the prickling annoyance from the conversation with Wonbin. "It’s just… I don't know. Why does he have to act like that? Always so worried, like I’m some kid he needs to babysit."

Anton’s expression softened as he closed the small gap between you two. His hand, warm and reassuring, found yours. "He cares about you," Anton said simply, his voice low and comforting. "Maybe a little too much, but it’s only because he doesn’t want to lose you.”

“Hes already lost me..to you toni”you let out a small whine as you began to press up against his chest.His toned muscles were so obvious, Thank the lord for swim practice.

Anton’s chest tightened as your words hit him like a quiet storm, but he didn’t move. Instead, he let out a soft breath, pulling you closer, if that was even possible. He could feel the heat of your body pressing against his, the way your hands seemed to gravitate to him like gravity itself.

“Doll,” his voice was hushed, as if he was afraid of saying something that might shatter the fragile moment. “I’m not trying to take anything from you, but I just want you to know... You don’t have to be trapped between us. I won’t make you choose.”

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. Anton’s presence, his touch, felt like the most natural thing in the world. The pull you felt toward him wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper, something that resonated in your soul. But you couldn’t ignore the fact that there was a life you had with Wonbin, a life that felt so different from the one you had with Anton.

Yet, as Anton’s thumb gently brushed over the back of your hand, all of that seemed to blur.

“You know,” Anton continued, his lips curling into that teasing smile you loved so much, “he’s probably losing his mind right now, isn’t he?”

You scoffed, leaning into his chest as you tried to quiet the churn of emotions that seemed to amplify every time he was near. "Wonbin’s always like this. He’s either worried or jealous. It’s exhausting."

Anton chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your ear. “Yeah, well… maybe he’s got a good reason to be jealous.” His words were gentle but packed with something that made you freeze. Was it possessiveness? Concern? You couldn’t tell, but it made your pulse spike.

You looked up at him, your heart pounding faster now. “What do you mean by that?”

He met your gaze, his smile gone, replaced by something much more serious, even if it was just a flicker in his eyes. “I mean…” He paused, hesitating just long enough for you to catch the change in the air, as if he wasn’t sure if he should say it. But then, as if the moment demanded it, his hand found the back of your neck, pulling you in just a bit closer, his breath mingling with yours. 

His lips pressed against yours, soft and warm, and everything else in the world seemed to fade away. The tension that had coiled between you two, the weight of your thoughts, the endless back-and-forth with Wonbin, it all vanished in that single, electrifying kiss.

Anton’s hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, his body a solid, grounding presence against yours. You could feel the muscles in his arms flex as he held you, his lips moving against yours with a quiet intensity that made your heart race. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind as his kiss deepened, slow and measured, but full of unspoken emotion.

You broke the kiss, breathless, your forehead resting against his. The silence between you was thick with meaning. Your heart pounded in your chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to truly feel it—everything.

“Anton…” you whispered, your voice shaky as your hands traced the lines of his jaw, feeling the sharpness of his features. “N-need you..” you let out, embarrassment crawling up your skin as you batted your lashes at him.

Anton’s heart stirred at the sight.His (not his) girl wanted him , and he understood the craving.He was left with stars everytime you spent the night with him instead of his bestefriend , which to be honest happened WAY too often.

“Fuck..okay get inside” he whispered against you ears, the feeling of want consuming him entirely.

As you entered the living room from the balcony, he took a deep breath and stood, his cock twitched in his pants, straining against the fabric. Your smile grew wider as you laid on the leather sofa. The sofa Wonbin picked out. This was usually when alara,s started blaring, sirens started echoing pushing you to the cliff of “shit…what am I doing. 

You pushed the thought aside and shimmied out your shorts before spreading your legs slightly, giving him a glimpse of the wetness between your thighs. 

The sight was intoxicating, and he found himself moving towards you almost against his will, drawn by the promise of what was to come. You were a siren, luring him to his fate, and he was more than willing to follow.

When he reached ,  you  didn't say a word. Instead, You  leaned back in the sofa , offering yourself  up to him. He dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he reached for your legs .

He slid them down h, taking his time to appreciate the smoothness of your skin, the way your hips curved into her thighs. When you  were naked before him, he couldn't help but stare at the beauty of your  cunt, already glistening with slickl. You were a delicate, pink flower begging to be plucked and enjoyed.

With trembling fingers, he reached out and traced the length of your slit, feeling the warmth and wetness of your desire. Your eyes fluttering shut, and she let out a soft moan, her body responding to his touch. He felt a thrill of power, knowing that he could make you feel this way, that he could reduce this strong, confident woman to a quivering mess of need. He slid one digit into you, watching as you arched your back, breath hitching in your throat.

Your walls were  tight, clenching around his finger, and he knew you  were  close to the edge. But he didn't want to rush this. He wanted to savor every moment, to draw out your pleasure until you were left  begging for release. So he added a second, then a third, moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had your hips rocking against his hand. In out.In out.In out.

“Ohh…fuck” you mewlwed trying to close your legs signalling  beginnings of your  orgasm.

“Fuck fuck fuck…ngh…toni..toni..fuck”

“I know baby…shhh…just my fingers” 

Your muscles tensed and breathing grew ragged. He leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste the  sweetness engulffing your pussy.

Your moans grew louder, body writhing in the chair, and he knew he had you right where he wanted . He picked up the pace, his fingers moving faster, pressing deeper. He could feel your wetness coating his hand,  warm  juices mixing with the slickness of his saliva. Her breath was coming in short gasps now, her eyes squeezed shut, and he knew she was about to cum.

With a final, desperate thrust, he felt you  clench around his digits,  body tightening as you  rode the wave of pleasure. You  let out a cry that was almost a scream, back arching off the couch , breasts thrusting upward. He watched, fascinated, as you  came, pussy spasming around his fingers, your creamy essence spilling out to coat his hand.

“O-oh fuck”

“So pretty Doll…so fucking pretty” he smirked.You looked up with a pout, still dazy as you eyed him, waiting for his next actions.

He leaned back and licked his fingers clean. The taste of you no matter how disgusting in relation,  was like nothing he'd ever experienced before: sweet and salty, a taste of pure, unbridled passion. 

He looked at you  in awe , his cock throbbing, and reached for his own pants, ready to show you just how much he appreciated you not just your cunt.

Ring!Ring!Ring!

“Fuck!” he  groaned .It was his phone this time.The ringtone depriving him of the pleasure he so greatly desired.The feeling of being buried deep inside your gummy tight walls felt so far so foreign as they slipped away with the ring of his phone.

‘Wonbin’ blurred into his eyes.Right. Your boyfriend, his best friend.

[ultimateswag]

𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝙼𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜- Study Sesh

Paring : Steven Meeks x fem reader

TW : (brief) mentions of biblical studies and Pythagorean Identities.

[this is my first imagines by the way, so please excuse any mistake or poor writing (I tried to not mention any racial aspects, but lmk what I can improve)]

Latin was always a subject you mastered. It got much easier once you began to assimilate Latin with French, which, by the way, you were also pretty good at. One was a dead language, not spoken nowadays, but really useful when doing biblical studies, and then the other was the language of romance, the one people thought of when asked to say the most romantic and sexy language there is.

Though, besides languages and the occasional English, you weren’t really exceptional in any other subject, especially Trigonometry. It's not like you were failing, not at all actually, but you simply couldn't excel it like, by example, literature. That's why you’re pushing yourself to the edge, so you can get better at the calculus assimilated subjects, and that's why you asked Steven Meeks for help.

The two of you have always been friends, talking to each other in the corridors, of course being together in study groups, and also being a part of the same secret society. But apart from those friendly interactions, you didn't stand out as actually being friends, so much so, that few people actually believed that you even knew who Steven was. Being the only girl at Welton preparatory school due to your high intellectual level ( and family history) made you quite popular, so why would you, willingly, hang out with Steven Meeks? That's what they all thought, though, no one dared to say it out loud.

"I still don't understand this." You said, a loud sigh leaving your mouth quickly after as you stared at the problem filled paper in front of you.

Steven let out a small low chuckle, though it was clear he didn't mean it in an offensive way. "This is actually simpler than it looks" he begins, moving the paper a bit closer to him, and scooting lightly closer to you. "Once you understand the concept, it'll all make sense." And to that, you nods, gaze switching from the paper to his face, admiring his soft freckles, beautiful eyes and- and how he begins to explain Pythagorean Identities.

"Alright. So. Pythagorean identities. The most important one is kind of like the golden rule of trig: sin?0 + cos 0 = 1. That's the foundation, everything else branches from this." He explains.

You leaned in, the scent of your sweet raspberry perfume just barely brushing the air between them. "But why does that even work?"

Steven looked at you not just any glance, but the kind of look that says I see you struggling, and I want to help you out of it. "Because it comes from the Pythagorean Theorem." He says, but swing the confusion linger on your face, he grabs a piece of blank paper and a pencil and begins to draw." Picture this: a right triangle inside the unit circle. The hypotenuse is 1. The x-value is cose, the y-value is sine. So when you square both and add them up... it just always equals 1."

You blinked, eyes narrowing slightly in concentration as they switch from the homework, to Steven's drawing. "So it's not just a random formula-they actually mean something."

He nodded, a little too pleased you were catching on. "Exactly. And the other two identities are built off this one. Like, if you divide everything by cos?0, you get: 1 + tan?0 = sec?0. And if you divide by sin'® instead, it becomes: cot?0 + 1 = cscª0. It's like a family of truths that are all connected."

You bit your lip, scribbling it down, then looked sideways at him. "Do you always talk about math like it's poetry?" You ask with a small smile. Steven, just like you, has always taken a special liking to poetry, and just like everyone else, after just a few classes with Mr. Keating, it became a bigger, more important part of his life, so of course it was no surprise to see him romanticizing trigonometry.

Steven smiled, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. "It makes it easier to understand, does it not?" he tilts his head lightly at you, seeing as you wrote the problem's answer down on the paper, with your perfect calligraphy, while your beautiful, hair fell next to you. Your eyes seemed to shine as you understood each problem, they looked beautiful, you looked so beautiful. At least that's what he thought.

"I suppose it does" A soft laughter is heard leaving your mouth. There was a beat of silence-just the hush of pages turning in the distance and the soft tapping of your pen again. "You know," you said, not looking at him this time, "I usually hate asking for help."

"I know," he replied, glancing at her-noticing the tension in your jaw softening a little. "But I kind of like that you asked me.

Their eyes met. Just for a second. A heartbeat.

“I do too.” She said softly, turning to look at her notes once again. Her cheeks were feeling hotter, she didn’t want to look up.

“Do you need help with anything els-“ Before he could finish his frase, Aurora began speaking once again, mustering up enough courage to glance at him.

“Would you like to hang out? Outside of school?” She asks, cheeks getting hotter and hotter .

“That’d be pretty nice, actually.” Steven’s now held held a crimson tint, although he tried to act like he wasn’t about to jump out of happiness.

“Cool” she says, attempting to act nonchalant, but giving him a shy smile.

“Cool.” He answers back, returning her smile.

[cognacdelights]

play wicked games, win wicked prizes [1]

gif by @spacedean.

my supernatural masterlist

summary: she craves male validation. he's the best high she's ever gotten. now they're both stuck in a sick and twisted game of foreplay that neither are willing to lose.

warnings: daddy issues — daddy issues galore. self-esteem issues. i am well aware that this is not a healthy relationship and is for entertainment purposes only. sexual content and themes. swearing. alcohol use. religious undertones. small age gap romance.

author's note: this will be in two parts as it's looking like it's going to be around 15k words in total. second part will be released soon. minors have been warned. do not interact.

It was hard to define her relationship with The Winchester Brothers.

There was Sam; and he was just Sam. He was a year older than her, and the epitome of the dorky, older brother that she never had. He played board games with her and helped her with her Calculus homework. They shared book recommendations and did research together. She forced him to play Princesses with her and hold tea parties against his will.

But most importantly he was a friend. She’d never had a friend before. Not until the day that rusted, old Impala pulled up outside Bobby’s shop and John Winchester had all but begged Bobby to take his boys in for just a couple of nights. She remembered it like it was just yesterday — hiding behind the over stacked bookshelf, listening as the two older men argued back and forth. Bobby eventually gave in, as Bobby always did, and waved John off with a stern look and a handful of colourful curse words.

Up until that day, it had always been just her. And Bobby. Bobby did the best that he could, but he wasn’t her father, and he never got a break from the job. There was always a phone going off here, then a bloodied and injured hunter turning up at the door there, or the local Sherrif Department snooping around here, there, and everywhere.

Sam was shy at first. Quiet and introverted. He always had his head stuck in a book. She quickly learned that wasn’t entirely the case, he just took a little while to warm up to you. But once that match was lit, there was no stopping the fully-fledged campfire that burned. They were friends. Best friends, even, at times. They understood each other and found solace in knowing that they weren’t alone anymore. They were two peas in a pod.

Her relationship with Dean was far more complex.

He was older; five years older than her to be precise.

Dean didn’t pay her any attention at first. In fact, he barely even acknowledged her presence. He was hyper focused on Sam; always making sure that he ate his breakfast and brushed his teeth before bed. He was more of a parental figure to Sam than Bobby was. Between looking after Sam and helping Bobby research cases, he didn’t seem to have much time for her at all.

It wasn’t until the day of her eighth birthday that she really seemed to turn a corner with Dean. She spent the day sat on the windowsill, peering longingly out and waiting for her father to arrive. She was dressed head to toe in her best outfit; a white, frilly dress with a matching silk ribbon, tied around her plaited ponytail. Her perfectly polished shoes swung back and forth in anticipation as her chestnut eyes lit up with a hopeful glint at every swoosh of the trees and roar of an engine. She was so damned sure that he would come. Why wouldn’t he? He was her father. It was her birthday.

Dean knew that he wasn’t coming. He’d been around the block enough times to know how this played out, and it was never a happy ending. When the sky began to darken, he eventually sat beside her on the old, flattened cushions — a slice of cherry pie, topped with a singular lit candle, in his hand. He caught the saddened look that dimmed her eyes as the realisation began to set in.

Her father didn’t come that day, or the next day, or even the day after that. There wasn’t even so much as a phone call. He pulled up six weeks later with a broken arm and unrecognisable letters etched into a torn and bloodied piece of paper. The only reason Andrew Lawson had returned was to seek out Bobby’s help in translating the words. There was no big, shiny make-up gift, no birthday card, no apology. Just yet another rejection; he shooed her away so the adults could talk.

Dean, once again, saw the flash of hurt that glazed over her eyes. It pained him, because he saw so much of himself in her. He too had forgotten birthdays, and excitedly watched out of windows for his father to never arrive and had been banished from rooms so that the adults could talk. He too had been shoved to the very bottom of the priority list, and the knew the weight of the anguish that came along with that. He knew what that did to a child’s self-esteem.

As they grew older, they became closer.

Dean was a big part of her life. He taught her how to play soccer, including all the dirty plays to win the ball without the referee noticing. He taught her how to fight, and how to shoot a gun. He taught her how to drive — albeit illegally in a stolen, clapped-out banger that they joy rode around the backroads of Souix Falls. He gave the Lawson girl her first cigarette when she was just fifteen, much to Bobby’s dismay. He smoked up her first joint with her on the hood of The Impala. He bought her a four-pack of beer to take to her first high school party and drove her home, so she was safe. He took her to her first bar. He took her on her first hunt. He patched up her wounds. He bailed her out of jail after her first arrest.

They fought like cat and dog, and as only they could. Over anything and everything; the TV remote, supernatural lore, the rules of Monopoly. Whether she was ready for The Hunt. They used to drive Bobby insane with their bickering — with all the door slamming, and flipping off, and the countless “Son of a Bitch” curses that would echo through the house.

As she’d reached her twenties, they’d become the epitome of comfortable with each other. Perhaps too comfortable at times. They’d shared beds together and slept beside each other in the backseat of The Impala. She’d wear his clothes — his flannel shirts as jackets to keep herself warm, or his old, logo-printed t-shirts to bed. She was open about her sex life, as he was too. She’d brush her teeth whilst he was in the shower, and vice versa. She’d flitter through their motel rooms in nothing but a skimpy towel. She’d sit in his lap if there wasn’t a seat, or sometimes even if there was, and lay her head on his shoulder when she needed some soft, human contact. He’d run his fingers through her hair. He’d tug her jeans up by the belt loops, over the strings of her thong, and pull the hem of her skirt down as she drifted past him.

Somewhere — somehow — along the line, they had found themselves locked in this sick and twisted game of foreplay. Teasing. Taunting. Toying. It never went further than some light touching, but their mouths were nasty, and their thoughts were downright vulgar. They got a perverse kick out of it, especially her. In all the rejection from her father, she had turned to seeking out male validation to fill the void and Dean Winchester was the ultimate high; the random, slick-jawed man at a bar would give her a five-minute high at most before the shame would set in, but Dean would have her orbital for days. One look, one touch, one quick-witted comment would have her floating amongst the constellations.

And then, he died. Well, so she had assumed. Sam had explained that he was gone. Just gone. Nobody knew where, or how. He was just: gone.

Her world turned upside down. There were no more Orion-level highs, just five-minute boosts to her ego before the guilt-ridden shame would drag her back down into a pit of self-loathing. She swept her way through The South — hitting bar after bar, bedding man after man, destroying monster after monster. She drank and she smoked until she didn’t even recognise herself in the mirror anymore.

Until her phone rang — a number that had once been disconnected flashing across the screen. Sam Winchester.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Maggie May’s Flower Shop. How may we help you today?” she put on her best Southern Belle accent. Even though she knew damned well who was on the other end of the phone, she still turned out her spiel. She would be damned to the darkest corners of Hell if she didn’t put him through the ringer after almost a year of no contact.

“Maggie—” a timid voice sounded throughout the speaker, “—it’s Sam.” He waited anxiously for her to respond but when she remained silent, he was forced to continue. “We need your help.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know a Sam. Have you placed an order with us?” Maggie shot back with a sickly sweetness to her tone.

There was a heavy breath on the opposite end of the phone. “Come on, Mags. We’re working a case, and we could really use your help… It’s rough out here.”

“May I suggest our apology bouquets,” she continued, standing her ground, “they’re just divine. Will smooth over almost any of your wrongdoings.”

“Apology bouquets—” a deeper, gruffer voice chuckled, “—what did you do?”

Maggie instantly dropped the Southern Belle façade. “Dean?” she questioned, voice dripping with surprise.

An uncouth melody of noises permeated from the phone. A whack. A loud groan. A grumble of curse words. “You didn’t tell her, Dumbass?”. Followed by rustling and shuffling. Then mumbling. They were arguing. Maggie couldn’t comprehend exactly what they were arguing over — the line was too crackly, and she was too hungover to concentrate — but they were most certainly at each other’s throats.

“Hello?” she huffed impatiently.

“Maggie May,” Dean’s husky voice filled her ears, “how you been?”

“Uh—” she didn’t know how to answer that question. The honest answer was far too much more than she was willing to give away to anyone, but to say that she had been just peachy would have been a downright lie. Both Dean and Sam would have seen right through it. “I’ve been more Sober in my life—” she bit her lip, despite the two brothers being unable to see, “—and I don’t remember getting back to my motel room. But I’m alone, so I think that counts for something.”

“How quickly can you get to Stillwater, Oklahoma? We’re working a job and could use you right about now.”

She rolled herself over under the quilted comforter until she teetered on the very edge of the bed, her dark locks falling into her face. “I don’t think I should be driving right now,” she admitted, vision blurry as she peeled herself out of the warmth and stumbled her way towards the bathroom. She pulled on the string for the light and was immediately met with harsh, white lighting. Her head throbbed as she let out an involuntary groan.

“Jesus, girl, how much did you drink?” he asked — his face scrunching up at the lethargic pads of her feet and the uncomfortable groans that echoed through the speaker.

“Enough to drown a fish,” Maggie mumbled back.

She stared at herself in the mirror; her eyes were bloodshot, and a dark, mauve bruise painted her cheek an unsightly manner. She hissed quietly as she ever so gently reached her fingers up to touch it. Bad idea. It pulsed with pain. On further inspection, she had a busted lip — dried blood coating the thin cut.

“Atta girl, I suppose.”

“I can be in Oklahoma in a day—” she answered, running the tap, “—but you’re gonna have to give me a few hours before the single vision kicks back in.” She splashed the cool water over her face and instantly regretted it. “What’s the case?” she asked.

“Two deaths at an all-girls Catholic boarding school,” Sam cut in.

“We can’t get close enough to figure out what’s going on,” Dean added.

“I guess I’ll start practicing my Hail Marys then.” Swiping the towel over her freckled features, she left the phone balancing on the edge of the porcelain sink.

“No amount of Hail Marys are gonna save you.”

She spat a response, “bite me, Winchester.”

“I’m sure you’d love that, sweetheart—” Dean chuckled, “—but we’ve got a couple of civvy deaths to deal with first.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

It had been a long twelve hours on the road, and by the time Maggie’s old, beat-up pick-up truck pulled into the motel parking lot it was pushing midnight. The red, neon light of the sign cast down onto the black asphalt, dimly lighting up a path to the several motel room doors, and the few wall lamps flickered every couple of seconds. The walls were peeling their beige paint — as if shedding all their unspoken sins away — and rusted, metal chairs lined the tiled walkway. It couldn’t have looked any shadier if it had tried.

Maggie killed the engine, watching as the warm lamps of her headlights faded into the darkness. She stepped out, the thick soles of her boots hitting solid ground for the first time in what felt like forever. The midnight air ran bitter, but it was a welcomed reprieve from the humid temperatures of New Orleans. A chill crept along her spine like two gentle fingertips — however, not a patch on Dean’s. She tugged the sleeves of her over-sized flannel over her fingers and proceeded down the walkway, leather duffle bag in hand.

If she hadn’t had it drilled into her that you always pick the motel room closest to the exit — in case the need for a quick getaway ever arose — the sleek, black Chevrolet Impala parked outside would have given which room they were staying in away. Well, that and the gruff sounds of their arguing. The curtains were pushed closed, but there was a light on in the room; two tall silhouettes appeared in front of the window as what she could only assume was the TV flashed advertisement after advertisement in the background.

“I’m not a child anymore, Dean—” Sam’s husky tone echoed through the courtyard, “—you don’t get to make decisions for me. If I say I’m good, then I’m good.”

Maggie stuffed a hand into the pocket of her flannel and retrieved a credit card; it was and old one in an alias that she no longer went by — most likely maxed out and with a red flag marked against it on the system.

“No, you don’t get to make these kinds of decisions when you take a year out,” Dean shot back. His voice was deep and gravelly, a sure sign that he’d been drinking. “You’re out of practice.”

She slid the credit card between the mouldy, wooden door and its frame and pressed her weight against it.

“This isn’t about me being ‘out of practice’,” Sam deduced — his words turning more accusatory than defensive, “why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Get it all out in the damn open.”

It was a tough lock, which was surprising for such a run-down, old motel; they were usually a lot easier than this to crack open. Maggie persevered, forcing the credit card into the gap with a masterful wiggle.

Dean argued back, “you’re slow, and you’re weak, and you’re not thinking ten steps ahead. You’re a freaking liability right now and I don’t have the time to be playing search and rescue every time something goes down.”

She found the sweet spot, and with a glorious click, the motel room door opened. She stepped inside, a satisfied grin curling the corners of her full lips upwards. Who needed a key card?

Within a matter of milliseconds, Maggie was staring down the barrels of two handguns — locked and loaded with two ring-cladded fingers hovering over the triggers. Two mean glares stared her down. Sam and Dean. She merely cocked her head to the side as a lopsided smirk swept across her fair features. She teased, “don’t you boys know it’s rude to point your gun at a lady?”

“Yeah?” Dean shot back with a surly attitude, “let me know when you find one.” He stood down, easily slipping the gun back into the waistband of his scuffed-up jeans.

She pouted playfully in response.

“Maggie,” Sam addressed her. His voice was significantly softer, almost breath-like, as he raked over her with guilt-ridden eyes. He followed suit and stood down. He nonchalantly threw his loaded weapon onto the half-made bed before looking back at the petite brunette before him. Sam wasn’t sure what else to say; in fact, he wasn’t sure that there was anything he could say to make the tension dissipate. Maggie May was going to hold a grudge for as long as Maggie May pleased.

“Sam.” Her chestnut eyes scoured over him in return. They started at the very top — taking in his long, mahogany locks. They were longer, but more kempt. He was wearing a new flannel shirt; she’d never seen him in a flannel of that colour. He still wore the worn, leather watch that his dad had given him, but it was set ever so slightly fast. The jeans were new too. There were no scuffs or rips, but the boots were worn in and old. She returned her gaze upwards and met his eyes for a brief second.

Then, she looked away. Her eyes caught the elder Winchester brother and immediately illuminated with a spark of relief. She let go of the leather handles and let her duffle bag drop to the floor with a soft thud. She took a step towards him, and then another, before wrapping her arms around his neck. Maggie held him tight, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck as she stood on the tips of her toes.

“Dean.” His name was quiet and mumbled, almost as if she didn’t quite believe that he was there. She took a long breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his deep amber cologne. God, she had missed that smell.

A reticent laugh slipped from between his chapped lips. He placed a gentle kiss into her messy wisps and mumbled — the words quiet, as if they were ever only meant for her to hear, “Maggie Mayhem.” His burly arms wrapped around her slender figure and held her into his body just as tight. The palm of his hand laid flat against the bottom of her back, slipped beneath the hem of her leather jacket, and the pad of his thumb carefully stroked back and forth.

Realising the vulnerability that had clouded her voice, she steeled herself and mocked, “when are you finally going to stay dead? This is what— the third time now? Obituaries are expensive, you know.”

“I’ll write you a cheque for your losses,” another husky chuckle rumbled through his chest, unphased by her teasing.

Maggie felt Dean’s grip loosen around her and him begin to pull away. She wasn’t quite ready to let him go just yet, and instinctively held him tighter. She’d missed him — she’d missed that orbital high that came with his attention, his touch; and her damaged soul most definitely needed the recharge. It had been a long, emotional rollercoaster of a year without him. A few more seconds wouldn’t hurt. “Not yet,” she told him.

Dean simply relaxed — resting his chin atop her head and allowing her to melt into the warmth of their embrace. His hand dropped to her hip and leisurely hooked itself into the beltloop of her fitted jeans. He gave it a tender tug, covering the black string of her thong. He felt the tickling brushes of her eyelashes against his neck as she rolled her eyes in typical Maggie May fashion.

Sam merely watched on awkwardly. Him and Maggie were as close as two best friends could be, but they never quite reached the level that Maggie and Dean had; they were something different. What, he had no idea. It wasn’t his business, and neither of them were vulnerable enough to divulge anything like that to him. He’d never expected to receive the same greeting as Dean, but the frost-like look and the forced out of the weird uncomfortableness that hung over their friendship half-smiles made him feel a thousand miles away. He felt defeated, and tired.

Eventually, she retreated from his embrace feeling suitably secure. She left a small gap between their bodies and peered up at him, taking him in. His features were ever so slightly more weathered — framed by a dark but well-kept stubble. His lips were still full but dehydrated and his eyebrows untamed.

Dean frowned as he finally noticed the bruise that painted her cheek an unsightly shade of plum. “What happened to your face?” he questioned — his finger propping her chin upwards for him to gage a better look, and his thumb securing her in place.

Maggie rolled her eyes once more at the protective undertones, pulling out of his grip and turning her back to him. “It was just some stupid girl whose boyfriend couldn’t control his wandering eye, that’s all,” she shrugged her shoulders at the half-truth and retrieved her duffle bag from the floor, “she caught me off guard.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in response — not entirely believing her; Maggie May had a knack for finding trouble.

“So, uh—” Sam shoved a hand into the depths of his jean pockets, “—the case?”

Maggie stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, her chestnut eyes settling on her bare features. Her eyes were tired and heavy after the long drive to Oklahoma, and surrounded by two cushions of dark circles. Her skin was dull and fair, more than likely from the lack of natural sunlight that she had seen in the last God-knows-how-many months of crawling through bars and spending her days sleeping off hangovers in shady motel rooms. The mauve bruise that tarnished her cheek looked angry and painful — deepening as the blood settled and the tissue began to repair. Her busted lip was sore, aggravated by every slight movement she made. She looked like a ghost — physically and metaphorically; her vessel was very much present but there was no light behind her eyes, and no spark in her soul.

She continued to stare into her own reflection, meeting her own gaze in an intense battle under the harsh bathroom light; she was a mess, in every sense of the word. If she were to stand before her younger self, she wouldn’t have the slightest indication of who she was. Hell, she wouldn’t even recognise herself if she bumped into her from a year ago. All the years of being on the road, all the losses that she had felt, and all the rejection that she had faced had finally caught up to her — and it wasn’t a pretty sight, to say the least.

There came the ever-familiar waves of no self-worth again, hitting the solitude rocks of her self-esteem at full force.

She pulled a tube of antiseptic cream from the makeshift first aid kit. Squeezing a small dot onto her finger, she then dabbed it against the crusty cut on her lip, careful and tender with her touches. A quiet hiss involuntarily slipped between her lips as her dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown. The ointment burned as it seeped deeper into the cut.

Maggie turned her head and peered out of the open bathroom door. Dean was sat in the leather armchair — jean-clad legs manspread, a police report in one hand and a freshly-cracked bottle of beer in the other.  There was a pensive aura that surrounded him. His fingers gripped the beer bottle with a tightened grasp, and his jaw had locked, almost as if it was holding back a barrage of thoughts. He stared intently at the words printed on the page, yet never turned to the next. There was something on his mind.

She saw it as an in. A reason. An excuse.

Letting the half-used tube of ointment fall into the sink, Maggie wandered back into the bedroom space. She was quiet and soft in her movements — almost timid — until she reached Dean. His eyes remained fixed on the police report, and a pang of upset coursed through her; Maggie was used to commanding his attention — his heavy-lidded eyes falling naturally on her and feeling the heat of his stare.

Her bare knees fell either side of his body as she straddled his lap, the hem of the over-sized t-shirt exposing the glorious lengths of her thighs. With one swift motion, she’d stolen the freshly cracked bottle of beer from his grasp. Her lips twitched upwards into a smug, but angelic, smile as Dean raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. The bottle ghosted her full lips — the very tip of her tongue tracing the rim in an enticing circle as her chestnut eyes locked with his, before taking a long swing.

Dean watched attentively as Maggie had her fun, his eyes glued to her. She was so effortlessly seductive; everything about her — from the way her delectable thighs spread open in his lap, to the way her tongue ever so slowly traced around the bottle rim, and the way the thin fabric settled over her taut nipples and the piercing bars — exuded lust. Piercings? That was new.

His tongue dragged along his bottom lip in an effort to quench the thirst that had been awakened in him. Although, it barely scratched the surface. It had been a hell of a long time since his engines had been roaring, nevertheless had been taken for a test drive; he’d spent the last year wandering purgatory in survival mode, where he rarely ever found a second to breathe. Maggie May was well and truly testing his patience in that moment. And boy, did she know it…

He reached for the bottle, but it was promptly moved from his grasp.

Maggie stretched upwards, holding the half-empty bottle above her head, and peered down at him with a taunting glint in her eye. He reached once more — shifting himself into the most compromising position. He reached upwards once more, unintentionally pushing his crotch further against Maggie. Big mistake. She rolled her hips in a flirtatious retaliation, arching her back and pressing her clothed pussy against his lap.

It took every ounce of strength not to give in to her, but he did it. Dean remained steeled — the deep, husky groans that begged to be released begrudgingly shoved down into the very pit of his stomach, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He was semi-hard beneath her, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, as he placed his firm hand on her thigh. It was a gentle but commanding hold as his ring-cladded fingers slipped beneath the over-sized t-shirt and gripped the skin, his thumb rubbing tender back and forth patterns against the inside of her thigh.

“Maggie May,” he warned.

“Yes?” she cocked her head to the side innocently.

“Don’t start something we can’t finish.”

“Aw, cute—” she taunted with another leisurely roll of her hips, “—you don’t think you can make me cum.”

A fervent groan slipped from between his lips as his dick grew harder against the constraints of his jeans. His jaw tightened as his fingernails pressed crescent shapes into her skin, forcing her to be still. Choosing to ignore her teasing, he sent her a deathly glare — one that dared her to try that move again; it appeared to have worked as she relaxed her posture, sitting herself innocently on his erection and keeping still.

Placing the police report down on the wooden table, he gestured with his finger for her to return his beer.

Reluctantly, she handed it back, but not before she took another large gulp.

Dean took a swig of the now half-empty beer and allowed his fingertips to wander. His hand moved further up her thigh, his fingers catching and tangling themselves in the string of her thong. His thumb dragged ever so tenderly over the crease in her hips where legs bent, tracing back and forth motions. It was so instinctual, as though his hand gravitated towards there — like the soft dips in her skin were made for the palms of his hands.

Maggie stared down at him with sensual, umber eyes. Heavy-lidded and burning with a heat fuelled by the dopamine that coursed through her veins. This was it. This was Maggie in her element; enriched by the power of holding every last drop of his attention, alive and awakened by the electricity of his touch, and riding a high so orbital that her soul was one with the solar flares of the sun. She felt like herself again — full of confidence, and full of life.

“You finally got ‘em pierced then?” Dean mused with a questioning raise of his eyebrows and his gaze trained on her taut nipples. They pressed against the thin fabric of her over-sized t-shirt, practically on show for the whole world to see.

For a brief second, her eyes dropped to her breasts — following his. Then, she responded with an audacious smirk. “I sure did,” a low laugh slipped from between her lips, “wanna see?”

Dean tilted his head backwards as he repositioned himself in the chair. His hips shifted forwards and his shoulders slouched into the cushioned back of his chair. He tipped the bottle downwards and emptied it’s remaining contents in a slow and tactical swig. Of course he wanted to see. He was steeling himself; it truly had been a long time since he’d had any sexual gratification and the immediate flashes of her naked body above him — pierced tits bouncing playfully as she rode him under the warm, orange glows of the motel sconces — had sent him into an oblivion. Maggie May was becoming harder and harder to resist.

He somehow managed to remain calm, dowsing the fire in the pit of his stomach with his beer and plastering an unfaltering poker face across his features. That was until he felt his dick harden and strain against his zipper, giving him away.

Maggie felt it too and responded with another leisurely roll of her hips. A devilish glint occupied her eyes as her smirk grew wider. Damn, that girl would be the death of him one way or another.

“Those daddy issues got you well and good, haven’t they?” Dean retorted. He placed the empty beer bottle on the table.

“Uh huh—” she agreed with a sardonic grit to her words, “—my daddy didn’t love me enough so now I need men twice my age to tell me how good my tits look to get me through the day.” She leant forwards, back arched, and pouted her full lips. “Either tell me how good my tits look or take it up with Andrew. If you can find him.”

Hooking his finger beneath the hem of her shirt, his beer-soaked breath fanned against her face. “You’re every therapist’s wet dream.”

“Glass houses, Winchester.” She paused for a second as the pad of her finger traced his jawline. The coarse hairs of his stubble sent a shiver running down her spine. “I’ll book a couples session—” she dropped her hand, “—and we can both hash out our Daddy demons. Maybe then we’ll finally stop playing this silly, little game with each other and fuck for real.”

She wasn’t far wrong. In fact, she’d hit the nail flat on its head. Whilst Maggie’s father was an absentee who had rejected her in every possible way that he could find, Dean’s father had placed unrealistic expectations and responsibilities on him from a young age. Both carried the burdens of their father’s parenting styles, or lack thereof; both would very much benefit from a professional listening ear and some advice on how to form healthy adult relationships. But, alas, they were here.

“Now, hold up—” Dean’s tone was thick and gravelly as he began lifting the hem of her shirt with his finger, “—let’s not fix what ain’t broke. Show me them pretty, pierced titties.”

Maggie pulled her t-shirt up, holding it in place and revealing her bare breasts. Her nipples were a delicious rose colour and tightened into little buds as the silver bars pierced between them.

He dragged his tongue along the length of his bottom lip again, admiring the sight before him. And what a sight she was. His finger ran slowly underneath the waistband of her baby pink thong. Yes, baby pink thong with a sweet, satin bow in the very middle of the waistband. That had surprised him; Dean had never pinned her down as being a pink and frilly bows type of woman. He’d always thought of her as red and black lace. Nevertheless, the way the fabric fit her body so perfectly still made his skin burn and his mouth run dry.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the string up over her hipbone and let it sit. He then traced her skin upwards — lackadaisical with his movements. The calloused pad of his finger brushed over a scar that tainted her stomach. An old, healed over stab wound. His touch was tender as he sketched the outline of her silhouette, until eventually landing on her breasts. He cupped her boob with his warm palm and allowed his thumb to ghost over her poised nipple.

She let out a jagged breath at the contact.

Dean found his rhythm, circling his thumb over her sensitive bud and rolling it between his fingers.

“Ohhhh.” Maggie let out a breathy moan as she rolled her head backwards. It was an involuntary reaction that she couldn’t stop even when channelling every ounce of might that she had; it was carnal and deep-rooted within her. As was rocking her hips back and forth in a slow and salacious cadence. She was acting on pure instinct and throwing absolute caution to the wind — acutely aware that neither had dared to venture this far with one another.

Dean sat forwards, his now moist lips almost instantly finding her other nipple. His tongue traced a slow circuit around her sensitive bud before his teeth nibbled ever so gently. He sucked, and licked, and nipped to his heart’s content — spurred on by the lustful whines and breathy moans that spilled, one after the other, from between her lips.

She reached her hands between them, her voluptuous hips coming to a gradual stop, and fiddled with the button of his jeans. It was hard to undo them one-handed — the angle was awkward and the old, metal button was stiff — but she managed. Her dainty fingers slipped inside, palming his erection through his boxers until his rugged breaths didn’t send shivers jolting down her spine. She wanted more; she wanted to hear the strangled, husky moans that crawled from the very depths of his throat as they made skin on skin contact.

Maggie pulled his hardened dick from the constraints of his boxers and curled her fingers around his length. She pumped him up and down, revelling in his grunts and groans. They vibrated against her delicate skin and sent shockwaves of electricity through her body — right down to the very tips of her fingers and toes. This was it. This was Maggie at the very peak of her orbital high; she was sat atop the world, spinning aimlessly with the constellations and soaking in the vibrant solar flares of the sun. She was as high as she had ever been, and she wasn’t sure she was ever going to come down from this point. She was lost to the cosmos.

She peeled back the fabric of her damp thong and positioned herself above him. The tip of his dick leaked with pre-cum as it ghosted over her folds — coating himself in her slick.

Then, as he found her entrance, the unmistakable roar of his 1967 Chevy Impala engine sounded throughout the motel room. Maggie whipped her head towards the window — the blaring headlights blinding her, even through the old, dust-covered curtains. It was Sam. With almighty impeccable timing.

She swiftly turned back to face Dean, who had begrudgingly detached himself from her breasts, and looked down at him. A pained expression contorted her blush-tinged features as she let her panties go and stood from the chair. She took a step backwards, then another, and another, until she found the cheap quilt of the bed. She sat down and clamped her thighs together — eyes dazed and her core utterly aching for the man before her.

Dean stood from the chair and tucked himself back into his boxers. His jeans remained unbuttoned and loose around his hips. He dragged a hand through his dishevelled hair as his chest heaved up and down. “I’m gonna…” he nodded towards the bathroom as his words fizzled out, his sentence incomplete.

All Maggie could do was nod in understanding and watch as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing swiftly behind him. Her breaths remained heavy as she struggled to calm herself down — her cheeks still stained vermillion and her temperature almost feverous. The sound of the water running flooded the motel room.

Shit. There came that rapid descent back down to Earth.

[mentalknot]

Sharing of Proof Between Friends

After spending over nearly eight hours of each day in a mathematics department for two years straight, I’m shocked that many high schoolers believe math is a solitary pursuit.

In reality, this community seems to be one of most welcoming and collaborative academic communities I’ve found. Let me share some moments:

“Hey! How’s it going?”

“Alright, been stuck on this interesting question my friend emailed me the other day… he said the first part of the proof is pretty easy, but I’ve been at it for 10 hours…”

“Never trust a mathematician who throws around the word ‘easy,’ c’mon let’s try it together at the board.”

Thirty minutes later, they had completed the proof, and sat back with wide smiles to admire their work. In truth, there was rarely a conversation that didn’t eventually turn to math in that department…

“Yeah, and I heard that the guy cheated with his best friend’s sister… wild right?”

“Yeah… not to interject, but I have this representation theory question… would you all be willing to take a look?”

The conversation took an immediate turn with collective enthusiasm. I have been lucky to have my own “collaborative math” moments since returning to my undergraduate studies, and do my best to share this part of “math culture” with younger students curious about the major.

“So that’s the proof that motivates our paper! It’s quite short, but there’s something about it I love.”

“Wait… but you’ve only done half, and this is a biconditional statement, let’s try it together.”

There was a reason my mentor never encouraged me to look at the other side of the proof… it was far more “ugly,” but tons of fun to piece together with a fiend. We looked back at our work after forty minutes with satisfaction before returning to our neglected problem sets…

And finally, I tried to assist a student with a calculus question using the “process of questioning” the research world had taught me:

“I need to find a closed-form equation for this geometric series… but I can’t seem to get the alteration sign?”

“Try writing out the first six terms, do you see anything that you could simplify? Look at the denominator specifically…”

“Well, they’re all multiples of three…”

“Try pulling that three out, any more similarities?”

“The numbers multiplying the threes are powers of two! But I still need that alternating sign…”

“Remind me, what happens when you raise a negative number to an odd/even power? Try it with (-1)^n”

“If it’s odd, the number stays negative, and positive if even… so if I add this to the denominator, the sign is alternating depending on the index n!”

“YES! This little (-1)^n trick comes up everywhere, it’s a nice ‘tool’ to hold on to if you decide to take more math.”

The exchange was wonderful… and motivated me to review the calculus I’d excitedly ran past when I was younger. I wish this type of discourse was taught more expansively.

[whatbigotspost]

You can really tell that ya gurl is unemployed by the volume of my posting lately 😅

I've got 1 month remaining of financial runway before this becomes a true BIG issue for me...so trying to keep my shit together and have patience and work the process. I'm in several interview pipelines presently so not w/o opportunity. Just not at the point of offers yet.

One of the roles I'm most excited about I interviewed for 2 weeks ago was the first (and so far only) time I felt it was appropriate and germane to the convo to openly disclose my new AuDHD diagnosis to someone who doesn't know me already very well. It was both terrifying and empowering. Ultimately because it made sense in context I took a leap of faith and answered the question 100% truthfully/transparently. I don't want to work someplace where I wouldn't be accepted as my full self, so I figured I'd roll the dice. But since then, I'd been feeling like maybe I shot myself in the foot doing so.......but I just got notified that I've advanced again. So yay??!

The kind of roles I'm qualified and applying for are by in large ones that hire "executive search firms" and they are combing through hundreds of applicants for a single position. The nonprofit sector is on fire and it's a very "candidate rich" environment...any "small" difference to count against you can be the difference between finding a role at all or not.

When I run the mental calculus of the risk of being an "openly AuDHD" candidate, it's scary. My field (nonprofit fundraising) is vastly a job of being The Actual Best At Human Relationships, which isn't exactly what us AuDHD folks are known for in sweeping generalizations. But for me, my AuDHD is at the heart of why I'm great at this work (other human beings and relationships are my #1 most truest most valued special interest) and I don't want to pretend anything else.

Like I said, I don't have any offers yet and I may be finding myself moving swiftly toward regretting any and all of my choices, but being met with "we want to proceed w/ you in the process" after making a BIG leap of professional faith like I did is huge.

There's another org I'm interviewing with next week that specifically works with adults with developmental delays and disabilities. I'm going to be this transparent w/ them as I was this other org bc it's so germane to the lived experience of their target population, but even then, it's a risk. Ableism generally and specifically anti-autistic animus is no joke, even among people who purport to be "there for" autistic folks.

I'm so hopeful the right offer will come my way, but only time will tell now, I suppose.

[study-diaries]

Math Tips

(Pictures are not mine)

Well, let me tell you, we all have this love-hate relationship with this subject, right? The worst part is that when you don't know what the heck is going on, so, as a girl who studied maths (2 Volumes/textbooks) on her own during the year she was homeschooled, here are some tips and tricks that I did to get an A+ in my math finals!

Get your syllabus together

In the beginning I had no damn idea what was going on and it was just confusing. I had to do the first thing I did was taken my index/table of contents and mark the chapters which i knew very well and the ones I had no clue about. And then i arranged them with the marking scheme, like which one carries the most marks etc etc and study accordingly.

Complete lessons/chapters that you already know

When you finish off the things you already know then that's gonna give you the confidence you need even if you know only 1-2 chapters, learn it throughout and make sure that you'll get the answer no matter how twisted the sum is. If you're doubtful about the whole textbook like any normal person.... Start with the easy ones. (I know there are literally really no "easy" chapters, spare me)

Harder chapters need hard work

Most chapters like Trigonometry proofs, Geometry proofs, Algebra, Graphs, Mensuration and Calculus etc need more than minimum effort but here's a trick, what is the common thing in this? Yes, they're all formulae and theorem based which goes to my next point. These chapters are completely based on how much you've understood your basics.

Formulae and theorem cheatsheets

Make a list of all formulae and the theorem used in the book, write them chapter wise and no printouts or digital notes. Take a paper and write it down, no excuses. It helps you while you're practicing, revising and in the last minute review, it helped me damn much. Remember, maths is a sport. The basic formulae must come to you like reflexes.

YouTube is your best friend.

For every single chapter, go and watch the basics and how a sum is done step by step. A recommendation for this is Organic Chemistry Tutor who literally is one of the reasons i passed. He has videos from basic geometry, trigonometry, statistics to calculus. Search for your own YouTubers and be clear with concepts.

Math is fully memorization

Memorize formulae and theorems with the back of your hand, you should be able to recall them within seconds. Be thorough.

Memorize basic math values (if calculator isn't allowed)

Do this if you have a majority of chapters like Statistics, Mensuration, Profit/loss calculation etc, where large numbers are concerned. Memorize the first 10 square, cube, decimal and multiplication values. It may be dry but there are literally songs available for these things, I'm serious, i learnt the first 10 cube roots by listening to Senorita xD Search for rhymes and they'll definitely be many!!

Work it out!!!!!!

Can't stress this enough, atleast 30-40 mins is the minimum for maths. I'm serious, work out each sum, don't ever think it's a waste, you'll see the results. Practice makes perfect. Work out every single sum, from examples to exercise ones cause let's be honest, our examiners love to take problems from every nook and cranny of the book.

Whiteboard method

So, I made this up and it actually works, if you have a whiteboard or anything else, once you completed a chapter, take a random page and whatever sums you have on those two pages, you need to complete within a given time limit. It helps you to identify your weak points and where the hell you're losing both time and effort and not to mention that it gives you confidence boost up.

Hope this helps :))

[vhstown]

ain't no love; pt. 1

"ain't no love in the heart of the city"

— miles g morales x gn!reader series

SUMMARY: Miles Morales is just a kid without a father; the Prowler is just a "rotten" vigilante. Both of them start coming into your life — one in the middle of the semester, and the other by total accident.

SERIES MASTERLIST 📼 PART 1 / PART 2 →

chapter summary: [READER POV] The one day you decide to skip breakfast, your deskmate comes in. AP Calc has never been more unbearable — and interesting.

content/warnings: brief mentions of death, depictions of hunger, a little bullying </3

word count: 4.8k

a/n: first series idk what im doing BUT WE ROLL (criticisms accepted lmao) proofread courtesy of @qiuweyballs you're a real one

You were starving. In AP Calc, no less, with probably the least talkative bunch of students in the whole school, the period before lunch. Whoever made your schedule was a monster, and whoever put this class together was even more of a monster. Everyone was dead silent, which was usually fine, but not when your stomach was threatening to detonate a nuclear grumble. Maybe it’d even echo given how big the classroom was. It was too early in the year to have a mental breakdown, though — you’d save that for midterms.

Even the teacher found the silence awkward, muttering to himself as you walked into the dreary classroom. He was a bit of a pushover, Mr. Wellston — a newbie who really had no idea what he was doing besides fixing his unevenly cut hair every two seconds while everyone pretended to know what was going on. God bless AP Calculus; you didn’t even know how to do the starter activity on the board.

But your teacher’s ridiculous inadequacy didn’t matter right now. The most important decision you had to make was what poor soul you were going to look at sideways when everyone turned to the source of the growl. Being nice wasn’t exactly an option when you were 3 seconds away from dying of starvation.

Thankfully, you were at the back, and the only seat next to you was empty. It wasn’t so bad, you tried convincing yourself as other students started to fill up the seats in front of you. Maybe you'd even forget about how hungry you were if you engrossed yourself in "one of the most riveting fields of mathematics", as advertised by your freshman year math teacher. Just one hour. You could hold back your hunger for one hour.

"Attendance..." Wellston murmured, looking around the room without much attention. It was reasonable to assume was here as usual, except for one kid who'd been absent since the first week. "Morales" — you didn't know his first name, not like you had the chance to learn it.

Scribbling down whatever activity there was, a part of you was glad this kid wasn't here today. It was one less person to hear the result of your unfortunate choice to not have breakfast this morning. You'd never spoken to the kid, but everyone knew why he wasn’t here. The renowed "hero", PC Davis had passed away — his dad. It was all over the news: "PDNY OFFICER DIES SAVING A CHILD", around mid-freshman year. You couldn't guess what was going on with the kid almost 2 whole months into sophomore year, but you couldn’t exactly think too hard when your pen had barely touched the page, and your other hand was clawing into the side of your shirt.

You were sure your stomach was going to growl, and loud. And your teacher was looking at you. Pretty much every muscle in your face was straining. You probably looked insane, which you’d actually rather be right now. The worst he would make was a bad joke, but the sheer panic that rose in your chest when Mr. Wellston started to walk towards you made your heels dig into the ground, ready to bolt out the class. You were exhausted, anxious, praying to anything you could think of that your teacher would just turn around and stop looking at you and—

Creak... Everyone's eyes, including Mr. Wellston's, turned to the door. You could make out someone with a black jacket — teacher? They wouldn’t let you wear jackets inside. Not important. Water.

"Nice seeing you here, Morales," Wellston said, his expression as unamused as he could attempt. The pushover was feeling confident today.

You drank so much water that it got stuck in your throat for a moment, making you scrunch up your face. "I'd take off that jacket if I were you,” Wellston continued.

The boy obliged with an incoherent mumble, stepping into the classroom and slipping off his jacket. His eyes landed on the seat right next to you. Even if he wasn't looking at you, something about his gaze made you look away immediately. Great. 53 minutes until lunch. Why did he have to show up today? Why did you wake up late and skip breakfast? A part of you was telling you it’d be better to not blame it on this guy either — maybe it was your gut. Ha-ha. Maybe you were insane.

Screeech! The slap of a notebook next to you snapped you out of your mini-spiral. You were now all the more aware of the boy next to you. His attendance was so low that it competed with your will to live, so you couldn’t help but look. His hair was in two braids slipping just past his collar, but that’s all you dared to notice. They were kind of cool, you admitted to yourself. The muttering was quickly shut down by a grating "Focus!" from Wellston, and you tried to get back to your work.

Calculus, calculus... When was the last time you’d gotten a question right? All you could do was keep uselessly pressing the fraction button on your calculator, watching the empty boxes stack up. It felt like he was staring at you. Math, come on, you know math. What was the probability he was looking at you? What if he was just glancing at you? What was his eye colour? Black or dark brown, probably. You could check — if he was staring, of course. Not his eye colour. That'd be weird.

That tight feeling built up in your stomach like the foreshock of an earthquake. You pictured yourself slamming your head into the desk, far too vividly to be normal — like an insane person. No need to traumatise the “new” kid on his first day back.

"Alright class, considering we have a full house now," You stopped yourself from imagining Wellston’s head slammed into a desk. "I suggest you all try to solve this problem. It's the hardest question that's ever come up on Calc BC, and you're getting secret access to it."

Yeah, like you cared. This man did not have a lesson plan, as usual. Now you had to fight the urge to look at the kind of cool kid next to you, fight your hunger like a famished Victorian child and fight the stupid calculations forming a jumbled mess in your brain. You were fighting a lot of things, and losing miserably. Just looking at the question made your brain hurt, and you could see it in the rest of your class too. All Calc BC nerds who were just now realising their mistake in taking this class with this particular teacher, probably. Visions was a scam.

"Does anyone have an answer?" It hadn't even been two minutes; it was like the man just wanted to feel smarter than everyone else. Something about him today was even more annoying than the pitiful jokes he usually came up with ― just because a "new" kid came in? Maybe this was to make up for the first day of class where he totally embarrassed himself mumbling all lesson, the bell ringing overtop of him.

The awkward silence and the slight cocky curl to the corner of Mr. Wellston's mouth made you question why they hired someone who was fresh out of college to teach you the classes that were supposed to get you into college. Your frustration only grew when you were going in circles with your attempt.

"No? Guys, you that you have a midterm soon." Helpful.

"This is more simple than you think." Explain it, then?

"Nobody? Really? Okay, you really should start paying attention, the―"

"Six." You almost forgot about the kid next to you until he spoke up. He put down his pen, giving Wellston an expectant look while the whole class was silent.

"…Six what?"

"Litres per hour."

The man quickly shuffled to his computer. Of course he didn't know the answer either.

"Six litres per hour," Wellston confirmed. No other kid had a chance to retort. Wellston seemed surprised for once. A part of you was surprised too at how simple the answer sounded when it came out of the "new" kid's mouth. You noticed that the boy didn't even have a calculator.

"Well, it looks like you all have something to learn from Morales here," he continued, something almost like contempt in his words. "Do you want to explain how you got that?"

The boy went about explaining it pretty simply, almost like he was reading off of a script. It was concise, different to what you'd learnt. Something about chain rule, which you truthfully had no idea how to actually use because someone didn't bother to go through it properly. Even if you were still somewhat unsure, it sounded easy enough.

"Interesting method..." Wellston murmured, trailing off for a moment. "Well, that settles it then. Do you guys understand how we got six?"

We? This guy... Aside from the fact that he was looking at you a little too much for comfort (probably because you were still clutching your stomach like you’d been shot) you had another reason to be annoyed by this teacher and his stupid hair. Everyone just returned his question with silent nods and mumbles, people taking opportunities to actually look at the calc-wiz.

You took a chance too, looking over at his seemingly unbothered face. You were almost right about the brown eyes. They were more coppery than anything, maybe even a little green. If he was staring before, you couldn't tell, his gaze trailing his desk with disinterest. Why did his eye colour even matter?

Forty minutes of class to go. You felt like you could eat your calculator at this point. The mystery kid didn't seem to need one anyway, and you weren’t getting much use out of it.

BRIIIIIIIIIING!

"The bell doesn't―" The screeching of chairs cut him off.

Like that would work this far into the semester. The Morales kid was already gone by the time you'd stood up. Letting out a drawn-out sigh, you debated between your tiredness and hunger. Would you try to fight to the death to get to the front of the lunch queue? All you wanted was food, maybe a nap afterwards, definitely no more calculus.

That couldn't happen, of course. For some reason, you were the only one left in class. You heard your name, wincing a little as you stopped in your journey out of the door.

"I just want to speak for a moment, spare me a few minutes?" You figured this was coming. It looked like he wanted to speak to you about something all class; his expressions weren’t exactly mysterious like that new kid. You wanted nothing more than to strangle him with his ugly patterned tie as you walked over to him.

Mr. Wellston leaned on his desk by his elbows, lowering his voice as if he was about to tell you something serious.

"You're not doing very well in this class." Okay… not that serious. "It’s the longer questions, I think. FRQs.”

Your grogginess made it impossible to focus on Wellston’s rant, but what you did pick up on was his weird accent. You guessed he wasn’t from Brooklyn, but the way he was talking right now let you pick up on the strange intonation in his voice you otherwise wouldn’t care to notice. Almost European-sounding. First that kid's eye colour and now your teacher's accent... what was it with you and random details today?

"So..." he continued, looking up at you with his head still low. "I'm going to start an extra class after school. I want you to come to it." Okay, this is worse. You couldn't have lunch, and now you couldn't even have after school.

"When is it?" It better not be some unreasonable time.

"Well, I've only got Friday afternoon free. You know how it is, meetings..." If he was trying to be apologetic, or convincing, he was failing at both. "I'll call you in later to discuss it further."

You just nodded, the grip on your backpack tightening. "Okay."

"It's important that you come!”

His voice was drowned out by the flood of students in the hall as you shut the door, turning on your heel to head to the cafeteria. The line was probably impossibly long by now. You couldn't care less about that extra Friday class. Forget college. You'd be a bum, or work at a WcDonalds. You'd probably make more money than Mr. Wellston there anyway. Forget Visions.

Forget that Morales kid who was standing outside the door all that time while you were too frustrated to notice.

You slumped down onto an empty table as you tried to rid your mind of him.

The probability that he'd show up to class with his cool braids and coppery-green eyes again was too low for you to care anyway.

"Soy Miles. Miles Morales."

Calc-wiz, or Miles as you just found out, was also in your Spanish class, and was also sitting directly behind you. It seemed like he was coming into more classes than he had been all semester — good for him?

"Morales… ¿Eres hispano, Miles?" (Are you Hispanic, Miles?) Miles simply nodded while Mrs Hernández flicked through the worksheets, licking her finger to set them down on individual desks. Spanish was one of the classes you actually liked. Apart from your classmates, Mrs Hernández was funny, and a good teacher, even if she was a little strict.

She paused for a moment to look at Miles again, eyebrow raised. "¿Guatemala?"

"Puerto Rico." The woman's raised eyebrow fell along with the rest of her expression, eyes narrowing in disappointment. She was always talking about where she was from, Guatemala. You found it kind of endearing, though you weren't sure if she'd get any teaching done if there was another kid from there.

"All these years y nadie de Guatemala..." (and nobody from Guatemala...) She simply frowned, cracking her knuckles while making her way back to the front. Most of the people taking AP Spanish were Hispanic, just trying to get extra credits, but it seemed like Mrs. Hernández was out of luck when it came to finding her natural favourite. "Vale clase, quiero que miren este articulo sobre―" (Okay class, I want you to look at this article about―)

All that class you felt like Miles was staring at the back of your head, of course. If he wasn't uncomfortably silent, he was conversing with Mrs Hernández, and she came over more than once to talk to him behind you. As much as you wanted to overhear, they were talking too quietly and quickly — and in Spanish. What they were talking about wasn't your business — most likely about his absence. You had also no idea what this article was talking about. It was something about art, but most of the words you were reading were unfamiliar as your highlighter hovered uselessly over the paper.

It had almost been a week since Miles first came in. You constantly saw him get pulled out of class or talking to teachers — except in AP Calc; it seemed like he was doing just fine there. He could speak Spanish fine too, but was behind on everything else. Other than teachers, he never really talked to anyone. You occasionally saw him with his earbuds on in the hallways, but more often his jacket was what got him chased down by teachers; the kid didn’t really seem to care. Good for him. He was probably more ahead of you anyway given the way your studies were going.

“Oye, look a little alive!” You noticed Mrs Hernandéz standing over you, and that your highlighter bleeding through the paper from pressing too long. A half-hearted “lo siento” (sorry) is all you could offer. “Extraño (strange) — What's different today, chicos? Is it because you’ve got a new friend here?” She crossed her arms, eyeing everyone with her brows knitted together.

The atmosphere around Miles was strange. Not only was he known for being missing since freshman year, but also for his late father. It wasn’t a secret, as much as he didn’t talk about it. Everyone could tell from the way teachers whispered to him and how he disappeared to the counsellor’s office that he wasn’t treated like any other student here. In fact, he didn’t even live in the dorms according to what you’d heard. He was quiet, but the rumours were undeniably loud. You tried not to involve yourself — you hadn’t even spoken to him yourself, anyway.

“He’s not the only Puerto Rican. You gonna forget about us, Señora?” The voice made you hold back a sigh. When Rafael started speaking there was no stopping him. You figured it was time; no matter how far he was moved from his friends, he always found a way to talk to them from the other side of the classroom. He was also right next to you. You had a few reasons to want to drop this class, and each of them were all going “yeah” in agreement to what Rafael had to say.

“I think you’ve forgotten that you have an article in front of you, Rafa.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at your teacher’s words, and nickname. To your dismay, Rafael noticed you immediately.

“You makin’ fun of me, bro?” He turned his head to stare at you.

“Rafael,” Hernandéz warned.

“Nah, Señora, you don’t get it, I should be sitting over there.”

She wasn’t amused by the way he was gesturing to his friends. “I’ll kick you out.”

“Come on man…” He just threw up his hands and sunk into his far too tiny chair. You prayed he wouldn't start rocking on it and make that god-awful creaking sound. Mrs. Hernández simply turned to ignore him and continue with class.

“Why’s he special anyway?” Rafael mumbled to himself. “Famous cause of his dad?”

Tension – it was so thick you could cut it. The only thing that was cutting through it, apart from your Spanish teacher’s rant, was Miles’ gaze. You could feel it burning right through you. It seemed like Rafael, the moron, for some twisted reason, wanted Miles to hear that.

If you had anything to say at all, it was too late to give Rafael a piece of your mind. Considering how quickly he'd shut you down, it would be useless to stick up for some kid you barely knew. Nobody else heard Rafael anyway; it'd just pit everyone against you. Still, a part of you felt bad. Even though you didn’t really know Miles, he was in a lot of your classes. You’d gotten used to his presence over the past week: moving out of the way so he could get to his seat, occasionally picking up each other’s fallen pens, giving unshared glances to see how the other was doing on the work.

He seemed nice enough despite the lack of words you'd exchanged, but when you turned a little to fix your chair, the expression you caught was anything but. It was almost scary, if you could make out anything from his darkened features. There was a strange sense of focus in his eyes, like he was calculating something – deliberating. You didn't try to guess what, keeping silent and trying to listen to Mrs. Hernández talk about the article while ignoring the deadly gaze simmering behind you.

If you were stronger, scarier, more influential, maybe you’d punch one through Rafael right now. Just looking at him was irritating, and it's not like you hadn't thought of it before. Maybe you wouldn’t have to, though, because it seemed like Miles was thinking the exact same thing. As much as you wanted to learn Spanish and not have a fight happen right next to you, it’d be nice if he was able to teach Rafael to shut up instead of the material he didn't seem to care about.

Miles didn’t look particularly strong — he was kind of scary-looking right now, but that didn’t mean he could take on a 6ft tall football player, no matter how pissed off said football player made him. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but Miles stayed put for the rest of class; it felt like a sniper was right behind you.

The all-too-familiar creak of the chair made you automatically grit your teeth.

“Oy, mi pana, you got gum?” Rafael murmured to you in his worst friendly voice. It was 10 minutes till the end of class, and he was asking now? You still had no idea what pana meant since he moved next to you, but the way he said it always made you feel icky regardless.

You quickly shook your head, getting a sigh out of him. You hoped he’d give up, but he just leaned over to whisper to you. “What do you think of that dude, huh?

“What?”

“Strange, yeah?”

“He’s okay.” Your defence was quiet, but it was the most you could do as you heard Miles scribbling right behind you.

“He’s drawing, dude.”

You looked at him almost incredulously. Rafael just rolled his eyes.

“Why do you care?” Your voice came out louder than you wanted.

“¡Silencio!” You gave Mrs. Fernandez, another one of your muffled “lo siento”s, shrinking into your seat as her eyes locked onto you. Snickering from Rafael’s friends only fuelled the embarrassment surging through your cheeks. Miles shuffled in his seat behind you, followed by the sound of paper being crumpled up. You wanted to crumple up the smug expression plastered on Rafael's face right now.

Class ended with another stack of homework in your backpack, and you were more than happy to leave. Free period — you could get a start on the homework. Or talk to Wellston about that extra class. The thought made you wince, but you didn’t exactly have a choice. You had to see him by the end of the day.

“Ay, Milo!” You turned to see Rafael and his little group approaching Miles’ desk. “What’s good?”

“Nothing.” He kept his voice low, pushing his chair under the desk. The boys just laughed as he got up, a grating mix of malice and mirth.

“Right, right. Puerto Rican, eh?” It sounded like Rafael was just talking for the sake of talking. You were also standing for the sake of standing too, of course.

Miles let out a mumble as a confirmation of sorts. Heading for the door, he was blocked by Rafael.

“Ay, where you goin’? Let’s talk, huh? Got a free period?” You could see Miles’ eyes narrow, a flash of impatience in his demeanour before he let out a breath. Rafael was trying to get a kick out of this. A kick out of some kid with a dead dad.

“Someone’s waiting for me.”

“Huh? What’d you say? You got friends?” The start of more laughs were already forming around Miles.

You didn’t know what came over you. Maybe it was the regret of not saying anything earlier, or the strange intrigue you’d felt since a week ago. Peeking your head through the door, you took a step back into the classroom. “Miles, c’mon.”

The gnawing feeling only intensified as you felt four sets of eyes on you at the same time. You’d rather it be hunger than the anxiety coursing through you at that moment.

“Comin',” he murmured, shoving past the three boys towards the door.

The two of you left the classroom, hearing a faint “what the hell man?” as the door fell shut. Miles lingered behind you as you approached the next turn in the hallway.

“What’s your name?” He’d already stepped in front of you.

No thanks or anything? Well, he didn't really owe you anything. It was "the right thing to do", like the many anti-bullying posters around the school encouraged you to do. God damn Visions.

“You uh… know my name.”

“Wanna hear it from you.” His voice had a little twinge of an accent that you hadn’t noticed before. You tried not to think too hard on it. Too many details for too little of an interaction.

“You’ve gotta introduce yourself first — pretty sure that’s how it works,” you tried to joke, something like embarrassment replacing the lingering anxiety in your stomach.

“I did — in class.” Miles’ face was unreadable, but there was something like amusement in his voice.

“Not to me specifically, though.”

The two of you stood in the hallway as people ushered past you. A freshman almost hit you running past, making the two of you retreat to stand beside some lockers. Damn freshmen. You were a freshman only last year, but shoving past them in the cafeteria wasn’t exactly fun. Miles seemed unbothered, as he usually did.

“You seriously don’t know my name?” you continued, almost frowning a little.

“Let’s say I don’t.” He leaned back against the cold blue metal of the lockers, tilting his head at you. The tiny mannerism only made your embarrassment grow. “What’s your name, pana?”

“…I still don’t know what that means.” The frustrated sigh you let out made the corner of his mouth curl up.

“And I still don’t know your name, pana.” No wonder you didn’t bother to talk to anyone. It seemed like you never had the upper hand, first with Rafael and now with Miles. Truthfully, though, you knew which you’d rather talk to.

“Sounds like a food,” you continued, shrugging.

“Could be,” he pretended to muse. And to think you thought he was nice. You hadn’t decided to be annoyed yet, though.

“You know my name, Miles.” You must’ve looked funny the way you crossed your arms and furrowed your eyebrows, because that got an entertained breath out of him.

“Who’s Miles? Haven’t introduced myself yet.” His smirk wrote guilty all over his face.

“Milo, then?” It was a bit harsh, but his cockiness made you say it without much thought. The apology was written on your face already, and you unfolded your arms, deciding you couldn’t have Mrs. Hernandéz’s sass today.

“You wanna be called pana forever?” He slipped an earbud into one of his ears, the blue light flickering into life. At least you didn’t tick him off.

“Not like I care,” you murmured, trying to take a step away.

“Seems like you do.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you asked, trying to keep your tone in check as you glanced down the hallway.

“Do you?” You felt like you were talking into a mirror, one that reflected back a person that got all the more mysterious and annoying when you did.

“Yeah, actually.” Mr. Wellston’s class. The thought made your eyes narrow, probably in exhaustion, most likely in irritation. “Need to speak to a teacher.”

His brow raised in mild interest. “You in trouble?”

“I wish. It’s about some extra class I have to take.”

“Calc?” You turned to look at him again, and his expression was more knowing than curious now.

“How’d you guess…?” It sounded more like a statement, your tone more disappointed than surprised. Were you really that bad at Calculus? Maybe you did need this class, especially if calc-wiz thought so.

“…You have lunch today?” he thought to ask instead. For a moment, you were confused, until you remembered calc last week.

“Shut up.” Your cheeks burned, hand balling up the fabric of your uniform. God. Damn it. All.

“Aight, sorry.”

More silence. You should’ve blamed the growling on him.

“Why the class though? You failing?”

“I’m not failing… Just need some help, I guess” Your shrug wasn’t very reassuring.

“Anyone else goin’?” The longer he kept inquiring, the more you figured Mr. Wellston’s attitude was building up.

“No clue. Bet everyone else is gonna join, though. He’ll probably tell everyone anyway.” The people in your class were quiet, but desperate to out-do each other. Maybe the problem wasn’t you, but the fact that everyone else was trying so hard.

“He didn’t ask me.” The corner of his mouth dimpled into his cheek in thought.

“You’re good at calc anyway.”

“Haven’t been here a while, so I gotta catch up, right? Lemme come with.”

You tried to think of what to say as your hand found the back of your neck, but he was already walking past you. Miles looked back at you to see if you were following.

If he had somewhere to be, it didn’t seem to matter. You noted the slight rhythm to his step, wondering what he was listening to, and if his eyes were green or brown. Ripping away your gaze from him before you could chase that thought, you tried to dodge all the freshmen running around as the bell went for next period.

You had more questions than answers so far — both in your backpack to do this period and in your mind. Aside from Miles, you wondered what that extra class would be like, and what Wellston would say. A part of you hoped that Miles would be in that class with you, despite your less than favourable introduction. Maybe you’d figure out why the answer was six litres an hour. Maybe you could be friends.

What was the probability of that? Some questions couldn’t be solved with a calculator. But Miles didn’t need one, after all.

thank you for reading. im so tired of looking at this but its okay part 1 !!! hooray !!! next chapter is miles pov .... need more Substances in my Bloodstream before i post that though LMAO

reblogs appreciated!!!! go back to the series masterlist here or to my atsv masterlist here :)

[laurynjc-art]

Trial Separation: A BMC One-Shot

I watch as Jeremy hoists the box into his arms and shoves it into the back of his car with the other piles of junk he’s lugging out to college. I’m honestly a little surprised that he’s kept up the whole “impure thoughts = push-ups” thing his squip forced him into last year, but old habits do die hard. I don’t mind. He can finally be useful when we’re at my place and I get a sudden desire to rearrange my bedroom in the middle of the night. And his girlfriend Christine certainly doesn’t mind, either. I have plenty of blackmail from knowing Jeremy for thirteen years, but I’m sure he’ll do anything I ask if I ever threaten to tell Christine why Jeremy wound up a beefcake overnight.

I wish I could say I was part of the junk Jeremy was bringing up to college, but earlier in the year, it was made pretty clear that Jeremy was flying out in the world solo. This was an upsetting realization for both of us- “Jeremy, I don’t think I even know what I want to do with my life.” I’d told him at some point after we took the SATs.

“What do you mean?” He asked. “You’re not going to kill yourself, are you?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know what I want to do with my life.” It was some decision paralysis, mostly; I could do just about anything. Math, science, coding, I know computers inside and out. But the question was: what skills needed more refinement? What could I get by on? Like how I was already taking Calculus 1 as a junior, which is a lot more than some people can say. And what if I wanted to try and learn about something completely new? I’m not much of an artist, my writing is abysmal by Jeremy’s standards… I got to a point where thinking about it for too long made me want to start screaming.

But then at some point I remembered: oh yeah, high schoolers aren’t legally mandated to be shipped off to college as soon as they graduate. And my decisions began to clear up.

I thought about staying home for another year or so to work, bulk up my savings, maybe take some community college classes if I’m really bored. And school blows, maybe breaking up my theoretical sixteen consecutive years of education and giving myself a break would be better for me.

We had a really long discussion one night about this, Jeremy and I. About our lives and what the future might look like. Which sucked for him, I know I was the one hyping him up about college, and now I’m the one having second thoughts and backing out. There was a lot of weed and a lot more crying, all the while my Wii’s menu music served as the background track to our bout of vulnerability.

Eventually, after a good while of silence, Jeremy lit up a roll and said, “You can do whatever you want.” His phrasing and tone scared me, as did the fact he took a long drag on his joint without saying anything else. I worried this was going to be Jake’s Halloween Party all over again, but then Jeremy grinned and looked back at me with more tears in his eyes. I’m not sure if they were genuine or a result of him getting too high. “I’ll always be behind you. And hey, maybe a trial separation is a good thing.”

“You were the one who made me swear that we’d be going together,” I joked.

“Because I’d miss you!” Jeremy wailed. I chuckled, he was definitely too high. “I can’t stand it when you’re home sick from school, what am I supposed to do when we’re actually God knows how far away from each other?”

“Hey. Hey.” I put my arm around his shoulders. “We’ll figure it out. No matter where we end up.”

And finally, I cleared my decision with my moms, who were more than thrilled to let me stay a basement dweller for another year or so.

Jeremy slams the trunk of his car shut and leans on it, looking at me like he’s expecting me to say something.

“Is that all?” I ask.

“Mm-hm.” Jeremy nods, but his lips are pursed in his “I’m sad but don’t want to talk about it so I’m going to just run away and cry” way. Like he thinks I can’t see right through him.

“Do you want to talk?” I ask him.

“No,” is all he says.

“Do you want me to leave so you can cry into your porn?”

“Shut up.” Jeremy takes a swing at me, but I catch his arm and pull him into an embrace. He hugs me back just as hard.

“It’ll only be a few months, Jer,” I say.

“I know,” he replies. I could hear that he was crying, and I might’ve accidentally made it worse by rubbing his back. He sobs, then says, “I’ll just miss you, man.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Jeremy lets me go so he can wipe his face, and a thought crosses my mind that I worry is a bit too coupley, but hey, who decided articles of clothing were only supposed to be exchanged with a significant other, anyway?

So, as if I’d been planning it all day, I untie my jacket from my waist and hand it to Jeremy.

“Here. Now I’ll be going up with you,” I say. Jeremy gasps.

“B-but Michael, this is your favorite!” He objects.

“Well, you’re my favorite.”

Jeremy laughs in a way that’s more like another sob, then says, “What are we, dating in middle school?”

“Good point,” I joke along. “I wouldn’t wear that around Christine, she might get jealous.” Jeremy laughs, really laughs, which makes me laugh, and then I get this pang in my heart because I don’t think it actually registered until now that oh, yeah, we’re not going out into the world together. I don’t know the next time I’ll get a moment like this. I start tearing up a bit and pray that Jeremy doesn’t notice, but of course he does.

“No no, stop,” Jeremy cries, throwing his arms around my neck. I cannot resist picking him up and spinning him around, and we could have stayed locked in our embrace all night if a cold evening wind hadn’t started cutting through us.

“I guess I better go,” I tell him. “Don't… do anything stupid.”

“I’m pretty sure I already cashed in my stupid,” Jeremy smirks, “but yeah. Obviously.”

One more hug, then I’m in my car and waving goodbye to Jeremy through my rear-view window. For a moment, a pit in my stomach forms at the fear that this might be the beginning of the end for us, but I banish it. We’ve separated under worse circumstances and came back together regardless. It’s just a year. He won’t be that far away. And besides, doesn’t distance make the heart grow fonder?