frat!rafe and lovebug!reader meeting at uni or sth and he has a minor crush cus he thinks she’s stunning and then they meet at a frat party where everyone is kinda drunk and having fun w her friends and then he approaches her and asks her abt sth like her polaroid camera and they sit outside to get fresh air and talk and after a while reader has to home w her friends and to himself he’s like…im so whipped
how lovebug!reader && frat!rafe met
pairing: frat!rafe cameron x lovebug!reader
genre: college / soft romance / opposites attract
warnings: alcohol, light mention of drugs, fluff, language
wc: ~1.4k
lovebug!reader masterlist
Rafe Cameron had been to a lot of parties. Hell, he threw most of them.
Sticky floors, too-loud speakers, red cups stacked like trophies—yeah, it was all part of the lifestyle. He knew it by heart. And tonight was no different. His frat house was buzzing, bodies pressed together under string lights, someone yelling over the bass that the keg was empty again. Rafe didn’t care. He was drunk enough to not care about much.
Except—
He saw you.
You weren’t supposed to be there. Rafe knew the faces that cycled through these parties, and yours was not one of them. You stood near the back corner of the room, a little bubble of calm in a hurricane of chaos.
You had this soft look about you—floral skirt, a cardigan too cozy for the heat of the room, eyes that looked curious and a little shy. You clutched a red cup like you didn’t quite trust it, scanning the crowd with a polite smile that said you’d rather be anywhere else.
Rafe blinked once. Twice. Topper tapped his shoulder, yelling over the music, “Yo, Cameron, you good? You gonna hit this or what?”
He didn’t answer. He dropped the rolled-up bill and the little mirror like they didn’t exist.
“I’ll be back,” was all he said, ignoring the confused shouts behind him as he cut through the crowd.
⸻
You noticed him long before he got to you. Hard not to, honestly. Rafe Cameron had a reputation that preceded him—loud, careless, trouble wrapped in a smirk. He didn’t belong anywhere near your corner of the world, and yet, there he was, swaggering right toward you with that messy hair and lazy grin.
“You’re new,” he said, voice rough from shouting over the music.
You gave a small shrug, smiling shyly. “Not really. I just… don’t come to these.”
“Yeah, I would’ve noticed you if you did.”
You laughed softly, ducking your head. It wasn’t flirty—not intentionally, at least. But Rafe felt something tighten in his chest anyway.
You didn’t talk like the other girls here. You didn’t bat your lashes or touch his arm or giggle at every word. You were just… you. Calm. Kind. Unbothered.
“Didn’t think this was your scene,” he said, leaning against the wall beside you.
“It’s not,” you admitted. “My friends convinced me. They said I should have the ‘college experience.’”
“And how’s that goin’ for you?”
You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eye. “Sticky floors, deafening music, and questionable drinks. It’s exactly as I imagined.”
Rafe laughed, a real one this time, and it surprised him.
“Wanna get some air?” he asked. “Balcony’s quieter.”
You hesitated only for a second before nodding. “Yeah… that sounds nice.”
⸻
Outside, the air was cool against your skin. You leaned on the balcony railing, looking up at the night sky. Somewhere below, people were shouting, music thumping through the walls. But up here—it was different. Softer.
You stretched your arms, sighing contently as the tension from the crowd melted away. The motion lifted your top just a little, enough to reveal a tiny red-and-black ladybug tattoo on your hip.
Rafe’s eyes caught on it immediately.
“Cute tattoo,” he said before he could stop himself.
You looked down, a little startled, then smiled sheepishly. “Oh. Yeah. My first one.”
“Ladybug?”
“Mhm.” You turned to him, eyes lighting up. “I’ve always loved them. I think they bring luck. My mom used to say they choose special people to land on.”
Rafe grinned. “Guess that makes you one of ‘em, huh, bug?”
You blinked. “Bug?”
He nodded toward your hip. “Nickname suits you.”
“Bug,” you repeated, giggling softly. “That’s new.”
“Get used to it.” He leaned on the railing beside you, his arm brushing yours. “I think I’m gonna stick with it.”
You looked at him—really looked—and for the first time that night, you understood why everyone was so drawn to him. There was something about the way his grin softened around you, how his bravado slipped away little by little.
“You know,” you said quietly, “you’re not what I expected.”
He raised a brow. “Oh yeah? What’d you expect?”
You smirked. “Louder. Cockier. More… frat-boy-ish.”
Rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s fair. I usually am. Guess you caught me off guard, bug.”
The nickname rolled off his tongue so easily now, like it had always been yours.
You ended up talking for what felt like hours—about classes, about how he hated his econ professor, about your favorite coffee spot on campus and how you rescued a ladybug from your dorm bathroom last week. It was strange, how easy it was.
Eventually, your friends found you. They were laughing, tipsy, ready to go. You turned to Rafe, a little reluctant.
“I should probably go.”
“Yeah,” he said, trying not to sound disappointed.
You smiled, biting your lip. “Thanks for… not being what I expected.”
He smirked. “Thanks for crashing my party, bug.”
You waved as you followed your friends down the hallway, disappearing into the blur of lights and music.
⸻
Rafe stayed there on the balcony long after you left, staring at the spot where you’d been standing.
He could still hear your laugh in his head, still see the tiny ladybug on your hip every time he blinked.
And he knew—without question—that he was done for.
Rafe Cameron, the king of frat row, was absolutely, hopelessly whipped.
Imagine #19:"What I wear doesn't determine my intelligence."
(University AU! - slight slow burn - multi part story - fashionista!reader (lot of fashion mentioned) - extroverted!reader - mean!love-interest (at first) - don’t judge a book by its cover concept - opposite attract - 5.5k words)
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ₊ ⊹✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ₊ ⊹✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚
"Focus, please."
"I am!" you groan, slamming your forehead dramatically against the library table.
"No, you’re not," she says flatly. "You are LITERALLY painting your nails."
You blink down at the mini nail polish kit spread out in front of you like a crime scene. With a sigh, you side eye her and start closing the bottles one by one.
She exhales like she’s already exhausted by this whole situation and taps her finger on the page you abandoned twenty minutes ago. "We were on this problem."
This is not how you imagined your Friday night going.
It’s not like you needed tutoring. You’ve been on the Dean’s List before. Principal’s List once, even. You weren’t dumb, not at all. But when you logged into your student portal last week and saw the giant red C- in your progress report?
Yeah, you gulped.
The truth was, school had slowly slipped to the bottom of your priority list. You’d spent the last year doing everything but studying.
You befriended a few of the Fashion Design students. They were searching for a model, you volunteered, and they adored you. That started the: photoshoots, modeling for class projects, running between club meetings (you’d joined like, eight, just because they were fun), and planning your outfits like you had a stylist. Sometimes Office Siren. Sometimes Coquette. Sometimes Streetwear.
You were kind of one of the IT girls in your campus.
Not that your campus was even that small. Yet, it was small enough for people to notice you. To remember you, especially the students who had back-to-back classes Monday through Friday.
And you... you liked that.
But now you were desperate.
⋆｡♡˚⊹
You noticed her...her!
....during an Environmental Club meeting. One of the many random clubs you signed. She was quiet, leaning back in her chair like she didn’t even want to be there. You remembered her from a gen-ed class your freshman year. A little grungy, always in the same vintage brown jacket and boots.
Kind of stoner-y.
Kind of hot.
Definitely didn’t talk much. But she always turned in perfect papers, lowkey smart. The kind of smart that didn’t feel showy all.
The-- "I didn't study for this." Then gets an A+ and a Nobel Prize.--kind of smart
You tried to talk to her, sat next to her and made a joke. She barely looked at you.
Disinterested.
Still, you were determined. You’d seen her ace math and science. You needed help. And when you noticed her leaving the meeting early, you followed her out of the building. Awkwardly, not creepily (you hoped), trying to catch up.
She caught you following behind her after a block and spun around. "Are you following me?"
You froze, then tried to act nonchalant. "Umm… yeah...Kinda."
She squinted. "Okay. Why?"
"I need a tutor."
She tilted her head. "In what? Stalking?"
"No! Haha" you laughed, flustered, gripping on your navy messanger bag that was overly decorated. "In math. Please. I’m dying."
There was a pause. She looked at you from head to toe, then shrugged. "Sure. Why not."
And now here you are. Tutoring Session #4: nail polish drying, textbook open, brain melting, sitting across from her in the library.
⋆｡♡˚⊹ Session #1
The first session was quiet...awkward.
You showed up five minutes early because you’re trying to be impressive, because first impressions matter….even if it was just for a tutoring thing (with a girl you stalked for 15 minutes)
You always dressed your best. How you felt! So you dressed like you meant business; head to toe ACADEMIA. Down to the fake reading glasses perched on your nose.
You found her already slouched in a chair at the far end of the table, wired earbuds in, jacket draped on the back alongside her bag, hoodie half zipped. She look like just woke up from a nap she didn't want to take.
She looks up and down when you sit.
"Did you come from a job interview at a private school?"
You ignore the comment with a bright smile and slide your notes out of your bag. "'Kay! So, I brought some practice problems, buutt...I seriously don't get any of this so if I sound dumb---"
"You won't," she interrupts, pulling one earbud out. "unless you are dumb, but that's not really my problem."
You look at her, she doesn't laugh. You think she's joking, but its hard to tell.
Nonetheless, once you get into the work, it moves fast. She's focused, maybe surprisingly patient...also a bit sarcastic. She's explains things in short, clear ways, she's sharp. You write things down while sneaking glances at her knuckles, her chipped nail polish, in the state of her nails. The faded tattoos peeking out from under her sleeve.
It's not the worst hour of your life, but it's also not fun.
You thank her at the end . She nods, already putting her earbuds back in.
⋆｡♡˚⊹ Session #2
The night before you were going through the stack of magazines you got at a Thrift Shop in the city. Tutorials and instructions of how to dress and do your make up like you just came out of Tokyo.
You're walking in the library with confidence.
Flipping your Burgundy colored very expensive wig, blown out to perfection. Platform shoes clicking across the library tiles.
She sees you and actually does a double take, blinking like she doesn't recognize you.
Her brows furrowed, "This..." she points at you. "...is the same girl who cosplayed 'academia student' last time?"
"It wasn't cosplay," you say, sweetly. "It was just the look of the day."
"What's the look for today?" She asks in sarcasm. "Monster High Barbie doll?" Her eyes were fixated on your knee high socks and bejeweled pockets of your shorts.
"No, today's look is 'Agejo-Gyaru." You did a 360. "I was going through this magazine and Pinterest..." You could tell she didn't really care so you just sat down.
She leans back in her chair, clearly annoyed before the study session even starts. "Maybe if you focused on math the way you focus on outfits, we wouldn't be here."
You pause. Her tone is dry, casual, but it stings.
You make a soft sound, smiling through it. "Fashion is a state of mind. What I wear doesn't determine my intelligence."
She hums, raising her eyebrows up like she doesn't believe you. "Mm"
You try not to let it ruin your mood. You do the work, answer questions. You mess up and ask her to explain again, and she does; but you can tell her tone.
She thinks she's better than you. You feel it in the way she taps her pencil impatiently. The way she sighs when you get something wrong.
You leave that day with your heels stomping louder than usual, and your heart a little hurt.
⋆｡♡˚⊹ Session #3
You show up determined to keep the peace.
You're tired of her rolling her eyes, tired of her little sarcastic-unwanted comments that feel less like teasing and more like judgement.
So, you go soft, polite, vintage. A little more you but toned down.
You greet her quietly. She nods...like always.
As you work, you try again. "Hey, I just....I wanna say thanks. You're good at this, you know. Like explaining things, I mean"
She doesn't look up. "Mmhmm."
You smile, then don't, then smile again. Why is she even helping you if she didn't like you? Like sure, she WAS actually tutoring you for free. But was it worth all the attitude?
You push past it, "You're like...crazy smart."
"Nah, not that smart," she says with a shrug, not meeting your eyes. "Compared to someone who thinks Brown Lip Liner is a studying tool...maybe."
Your smile completely dropped, you stopped. Stare at her and she doesn't seem to give a fuck. Just scribbles something down on the lines of your worksheet, still not looking at you.
Something inside you tightens. You stack your notes, quietly. Close your notebook, softly.
She finally looks up when you stand. "Where you going?"
You slide your bag over your shoulder. "I'll figure it out myself."
"Wait--" she starts, but you're already walking towards the stairs. You wasted a perfectly good 70s inspired
She on the other hand, sits there for a while after you're gone. Not working, nor chilling. Just staring at your empty chair.
"Fuck." She huffs.
She feels it, the guilt, the realization; running her fingers through her hair.
You weren't just some airhead, you were actually trying. Trying to study, get your grades up. Trying to be kind to her. And she was kind of a bitch.
⋆｡♡˚⊹ Session #4
The club meeting's almost over when you feel someone slide into the seat next to you. You don't have to look, the faint smell of weed clinging to her jacket is a dead giveaway.
You keep doodling on the corner of your notebook.
"Hey," she says low, like she's not sure you'll even answer.
You hum in response, not caring.
"I, uh..." she pauses, her fingers tapping the edge of the desk. "Wanted to say sorry...for last time."
You glance at her, she's not looking at you. Her gaze is fixed on the whiteboard across the room like the apology is physically painful to say.
So, you nod once, a bit unsure. "'Kay."
"I was being an ass."
You smile a little at that, only half bitter. "You were."
There's a second of silence. She shifts in her seat, clears her throat. "Would it be...uh cool if we tried again? Like...start over with the whole...tutoring?"
You don't answer immediately. You glance down at your Apple- necklace brushing your collarbone. Your mood wasn't soft, your outfit was though.
You speak slowly. "You don't even like me...you hate me or something..."
"I don't hate you," she blurts out hella quickly. Then adds quieter, "I never did."
You stare at her for a second longer, searching for sarcasm, but it's not there. Discomfort only, seems like she doesn't know how to be honest without choking on it.
You nod gently, "Okay."
You meet at the same table, you don't say much at first. She doesn't either.
This time you don't pretend to be 'super-ultra-studious.' Your notebook is open, but your hands are busy with something else, a tiny brush, a red nail polish bottle. You're painting your nails while she reads out loud from the textbook.
⋆｡♡˚⊹
She watches you put your nail polish away. “You can’t be serious.”
“I can multitask,” you say calmly, the kit already in your bag.
She snorts a little, shaking her head, but there’s no bitterness or attitude in her voice. “Of course you can.”
You glance at her, she’s not frowning, neither is she judging. She just stares at your nails, then you. Kind of amused.
“Thanks…For apologizing.” You gently blow on your nails to finish the drying process. Your voice soft.
She shrugs, “Yea, I shouldn’t have said that shit. You’re not stupid. I was just being…”
“Mean?” You input.
“Yeah haha, that.” She chuckles.
A second of silence.
“I like your bracelets.” She mutters, it’s awkward but it’s something. Something better than the last sessions.
“What’s the uh, look of the day?”
You smile, a real small one. “Thank you. Today’s look is Apple-core.”
She nods, then slides your worksheet back towards you, “Alright, Apple Dumpling. Let’s see if you remember what Cosine is.”
You groan, dramatically. Smirking at her, impressed she would even be aware of the character.
Despite your unmotivated feelings, your heart feels lighter than it has, since the days you’ve started.
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘
You start meeting at the library after Environmental Club (So twice a week)
She stopped being so bitchy and you stopped trying so hard to win her over. Things felt more even now. Not warm or cozy, but comfortable in that slowly kind of way.
You don't always talk when you meet up. Sometimes she's already there when you walk in, half asleep, sweater zipped up with the hood drawn halfway over her face. Sometimes you get there first and spread your little pencil case, snacks, highlighter, and lip gloss like it's a sleepover.
You still dress up. Every time. She never comments anymore (well not as much.) Doesn't say much, but she notices. You catch her glancing when she thinks you're not paying attention. Watches you settle in like it's mandatory, your drink, lip balm, notebook with more doodles than notes in the margins.
You either arrive 5 minutes early or 5 minutes later, no in between. You always forget a pencil despite having a whole case. And every time she sighs and hands you one of hers, it's starting to sound more fond than annoyed.
Studying is weirdly kind of working. You're not acing the subject, not yet. But you're not crying, either. Every time she walks you through a formula or a theory, something about the way she breaks it down just makes sense. Her voice is calm, steady, a little bore; never condescending anymore.
"Ok," she says. "Next one. Simplify this expression."
You squint at the paper. "I JUST did the last one."
"That was two minutes ago."
You slouch dramatically. "My brain is hungry, I need a break. This isn't fair."
"It's mathematics, not a hostage situation."
You sigh and pull out a granola bar out your bag. She rolls her eyes but waits while you unwrap it and take two unnecessarily slow bites.
"You get distracted every ten seconds."
"I don't...its every twenty seconds but who's counting?" You put the bar down and sit up.
She stares at you blankly.
"...What?"
"I just realized," she says slowly, "you look like you're about to demand a duel on a cobblestone street."
You beam. "Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"It felt like one."
She rolls her eyes, yet when you catch her smirking a little behind her drink, your stomach does something it absolutely should not do during a tutoring session.
⋆｡♡˚⊹
Mid-terms were approaching. "Sooner than you think," said with a terrifying smile by your club president, and now, here you are: textbooks cracked open, caffeinated drinks between you, and an unnecessary pile of highlighters spilling across the table.
The pressure's on, this time you don't feel hopeless or alone.
Your brain has been scattered the past week. A few sessions has turned into morning ones to help you more.
You walk into the library on a Tuesday, slightly out of breath, cardigan slipping off your shoulders, holding a banana and a Red Bull. You drop into your seat--the one across from her and whisper, "We're gonna ace this shit."
She gives you a look. "That's breakfast?"
"It's all I could grab."
"Amazing food for the brain," she deadpans. "Potassium and adrenaline."
You grin, wiggle your brows. "What can I say? I am fueled by vibes."
She rolls her eyes, slides your workbook over. "Then let's turn those vibes into Vector Components."
And you try. You really do. You forget to reapply lip balm. You write notes in messy caps instead of cursive. You ask questions without being afraid of sounding dumb.
And when you actually teach her a trick you figured out on your own, she looks at you like she's seeing you fully for the first time. Almost smiling she says, "Look at you, a real math girl now."
You smirk, leaning back in your chair. "Genius and I have amazing fashion sense."
"You're still dramatic."
"Obviously."
She nudges your shoulder with her pen. "But you're doing better. Way better."
You smile down at your notes. The doodles and scribbles of hearts in the corner look less silly now.
⋆｡♡˚⊹
The library closes at midnight, but you both have already claimed the farthest table on the second floor, the one with the outlet that barely works and the window that overlooks the quad, wash on that warm, hazy glow from the campus lamps. The sun had set hours ago, and now the only light on your table comes from her laptop screen and your star-shaped desk lamp you insisted on brining.
It's your last study session before the big exam. You've both been here since five.
Her jacket is thrown over the back of her chair, hair tied up now: messy and half-falling out. You're in some matching-vintage-Juicy Couture-tracksuit, the sweater hanging off your elbows.
Your most comfortable look she has seen you in.
You've gone through flashcards, review packets, cheat sheets, past quizzes, even made a fake mini quiz for yourself. You're now sitting cross-legged in your chair, sipping a Matcha iced drink, that's mostly melted, while she explains a concept for the second - third - hell even fifth time.
"You're overthinking it," she points to your notes. "You're not supposed to plug x into both equations. Just isolate it here then substitute."
You stare at the page, then at her. "'Kay, but like when I did that last time the answer came out to a literal decimal disaster."
She snorts, low. "That's 'cause you forgot to distribute the negative, pretty genius."
You blink and amusingly raise an eyebrow, "Did you just call me Pretty Genius? Pretty AND Genius?"
She looks up from your notes, trying to act casual. "Maybe"
The lamp flickers slightly, you both ignore it.
You go back to work. She yawns and stretches, your eyes trail the movements--just for a second. You're too focused now, too determined. You NEED to pass this exam. You feel it in your bones.
You're about to ask another question when you realize she's staring at you...again.
You tilt your head, "What?"
She hesitates, fingers still tapping her pencil. Then: "You're kinda...surprising."
You squint, "I'm hoping that was a compliment."
"It is," she says quickly. "Just...not how I thought this would go."
You shift a little in your seat, softening. "How did you think this would go?"
"I dunno," her voice is quieter now, her postures less guarded. "I almost said no when you asked me to tutor you. I figured you were just another..." She stops, chewing the inside of her cheek, "One of those girls."
"One of what girls?"
"Y'know," she mumbles. "The ones who'd laugh if I like drop something. Or whisper behind my back in class. The ones who...looked like you."
You're quiet. She continues, slower. "Back in High School...girls like that were the worst. Perfect hair, perfect outfits, perfect...everything. Mean and straight and shallow. Scary."
You giggle. "Scary?"
She gives you a small smile. "A little. I don't know, you're just...Pretty. Loud. Confident. And people like me usually don't get along with people like you."
You glance down at your bracelets and then back at her. "But we do?"
She nods, just once. "Yeah, you're nothing like them. And I judged you too quickly." She sighs. "You're sweet. And actually funny. Kind. Smart too...even if you forget to distribute."
You feel your cheeks warm. "I don't think anyone's ever called me smart and meant it...apart from old teachers."
"I mean it."
Your heart does a tiny flip. You offer her a soft smile and after a second, she returns it. You tap your pen against your notebook and say, quietly, "So...friends?"
She rolls her eyes but reaches across the table and pinky swears without hesitation.
"Friends," she says.
You grin and link your pinky with hers. "Even if I forget pencils and call everything 'so cute'?"
She chuckles. "Even then."
"Even if you still wear that same jacket every other day, and pretend you're not secretly a sweetheart?"
She sighs dramatically. "Alright, let's not push it."
You both laugh.
"You ever just, like...do nothing?" she asks.
You glance at her, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"Like not plan out a whole look. Not go to five clubs. Or wear earrings that could probably stab a man."
"You saying you wanna see me in sweats?"
"No, not saying that," she says, and there's the faintest flush in her cheeks. "Just wonderin'."
You stretch your arms over your head, spine popping. "No, I like dressing up. It makes me feel like myself."
She nods, as if she's still trying to understand you.
You are a puzzle she can't solve with equations
You bite your lip. "You ever not try to act like you don't care about anything?"
Her eyes flick up to yours, she pauses--then smiles, small and real. "Ok, fair point."
And then, you study. For real. Like, deep focus. You quiz her back. She lets you explain a concept to her like she’s the student for once. She doesn’t correct you once. You work until your brain is buzzing and your shoulders ache from sitting so long.
By the time you finally part ways, after a long, sleepy hug outside the library steps and a promise to text her as soon as the test is over...you feel okay. Nervous, but ready.
It takes three business days for your grade to post.
You refresh the page twelve times. Maybe more. You bite off your new polish coat and accidentally close the tab once, just from pure jittery nerves. The number stares back at you:
Trigonometry 101 : 85%
Eighty. Five. Percent!
You nearly cry when the grade pops up on your student portal. You take a screenshot, send it to her. All caps--Ten exclamation points.
You take her to this tiny diner off campus, nothing fancy, just cozy, with string lights and plastic menus and the best milkshakes on Earth.
She says you're over dressed when you show up in a strapless summery dress with a flower clip. You say just jealous of your outfit since she's wearing jeans and a clean tee. "First time you're wearing something clean."
Over dinner, she teases you about the panic attacks you had during study sessions, and you roast her for the way she still types with two fingers like a dad. You both eat too much and laugh until your stomachs hurt.
"You passed," she says, lifting her milkshake toward you.
You clink your against it. You grin, wide and proud. "We've passed."
She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling too.
You're opposites, sunshine with too much energy and sarcastic know it all. Accessories matched to perfection and chipped nail polish. Sparkly pen toppers and blunt pencils.
And it works.
Somewhere between the fries and the check, you catch her staring. Not annoyed, not surprised..… but soft.
She smiles when she realizes you noticed. You don’t say anything. You just smile back.
⋆｡♡˚⊹
You can talk anyone into anything if you smile wide enough, and flutter your lashes. That’s how you found yourself paired with her again for the Environmental Club’s Semester-End Volunteer Campaign.
It’s a sunny Saturday, warm enough for sunburn, breezy enough to wear sleeves. The kind of weather that makes people smile with their eyes closed, like the whole sky was in a good moods and iced lemonades.
You’re wearing denim overalls today, faded and soft, a tank top underneath. Less lace, less bows: more farmer's market. More grounded and comfortable. The kind of outfit that makes you want to plant something or buy a jar of honey or jam.
You catch a few people glancing at you as you walk across the community center lawn, clipboard in one hand and a little woven tote on your shoulder, but you’re used to it by now. It’s not the outfit...they’re looking because you’re you.
She’s already there, sitting on the low wall that borders the garden, chewing gum and squinting at her phone. Her hair is pulled back today, little wisps sticking to her cheeks, and she’s wearing cargo pants and a graphic tee.
She looks up when she sees you, and for once, she doesn’t have a smart ass comment.
"You look like you belong in a peach farm," she says instead. Looking at the red bandana tied loosely in your hair.
"That's the look of the day," you smile, doing one of your famous 360s.
She hops off the wall, brushing her hands on her thighs. "Where’s your partner?"
"Ditched him. Forced a trade. You’re mine now."
She blinks. "You bullied your way into working with me?"
You shrug, innocent. "I’m just..... persuasive." She scoffs under her breath but doesn’t look mad. If anything, there’s a hint of something else behind her gaze. Something soft, warm.
You’ve been volunteering for this local green initiative through Environmental Club, door-to-door, awareness stuff, passing out flyers, helping run booths at farmers markets and donation drives.
Today’s task is a small campaign to collect signatures for a community compost expansion project.
She grumbles at first, but she sticks with you. You charm the couples and families; she talks to the skeptics. It's smoother than you expected. At one point, you both end up sitting in the shade of a big tree near the sidewalk, sharing a lemonade you bought from a little stand run by a kid with glitter all over their face.
"So," you say, watching the breeze flutter the edges of a leafs above you. "I think I’m ready."
She raises an eyebrow. "For what? Making compost for vegetables?"
You laugh, "The final exam."
"Oh. That."
You nod, grinning. "I’m gonna pass. I can feel it in my bones. And the best part is....after this? No more math classes. Ever again!"
"Never?"
"Nope! Never, it's my last required one. I double checked my degree audit three times." You lean back on your elbows, face tilted toward the dappled light through the branches.
"I’ve got an 88 average going in. I just need a passing score and I’ll be done. Done done. No more math. No more numbers...unless I go to grad school."
You open one eye and glance over at her. "I won’t need tutoring anymore."
She goes quiet. Not heavy quiet, just… thoughtful. She takes the cup from you and drinks, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
"So that’s it then?" she says. "We stop meeting up after this?"
You tilt your head. "What do you mean?"
"The study dates," she mutters. "Well....not dates. You know. Whatever they were. Tutoring. Library lunches. Snacks and glamming up and me being forced to accept compliments."
You smirk. "Aw. Gonna miss me?"
She shrugs, but there’s a little upward curve tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I mean… yeah. Kinda."
"I mean unless you are offering to tutor me in English Monarchy next semester?"
She sits up straighter, looking suddenly nervous. You watch her chest rise and fall, a little quicker than normal, like she’s thinking something through before she says it.
"I, uh… I like hanging out with you," she says finally, avoiding your gaze. "More than I thought I would. Like, not just the studying part. The you part."
Your heart skips a beat, in that quiet, tight way. "Oh," you say, a little breathless. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
She rubs the back of her neck, then laughs once: soft and self-deprecating. "God, I suck at this. I was gonna text you, but I figured if I messed it up in person at least you could throw your drink at me or something."
You smile, warmth spreading under your skin like sun.
"Mess what up?"
She finally looks at you.
"I wanna take you out," she says. "Like… out out. Like on-a date. There’s this really stupid arcade downtown that has DDR and Skee Ball and those pizza that taste amazing after ten p.m. Thought it’d be fun."
You stare at her for a second, stunned. Shes so nervous it’s cute.
You smile, slow and wide and stupid. "Are you asking me on a date to play air hockey and eat greasy pizza?"
"I’m asking you on a date to kick your ass in Skee ball," she corrects, her smirk returning. "But yea."
You pretend to think about it for dramatic effect. Cross your legs, tilt your head, hum to yourself. She groans beside you.
"Oh my god, just say no if it’s a no--"
"It’s a yes," you cut in.
She stops. "What?"
You nudge her with your shoulder. "I said yes. You smart-ass."
She grins. Like, really grins. It’s rare, and it’s a little crooked, and it makes something in your chest twist. "Cool," she says. "Okay. Cool."
You lean your head on her shoulder.
"I’m gonna beat you at Skee ball," you say.
"You wish."
And just like that, you’re not just a volunteer duo, or an unlikely study pair, or even just friends
⋆｡♡˚⊹
It's Friday night, two days after your Final Exam. You don't know what you expected from an arcade date, maybe something corny or awkward. But this isn't that, it's easy, exciting, bright, like stepping into a different universe made entirely of neon lights, blasting music, and the smell of greasy pizza crust.
You wore jean, old ones, the type to be loose around your calfs--tight around your thighs- and perfect around your waist. A brown hat that matches your jacket with fur on the collar, and your purse. You look amazing in the camisole as well...you just pray the jeans are long and flare enough to not show the old Converses you had on.
The second she saw you waiting outside, she whistled. "Didn't realize I was dating a Bratz Doll."
You smiled and flipped your hair, "Didn't realize you knew what a Bratz doll was."
"Cousins," she muttered, holding the door open for you. "Growing up they were obsessed...so was i--not gonna lie. You kinda remind me of Yasmin."
You tried not to blush.
Inside, the arcade is loud and glowing, nostalgic. There are little kids running around, older teens clumped around machines, and couples tucked into old racing games with flashing screens and plastic wheels. The two of you exchange your cash for a fat handful of token and immediately lose half of them trying to beat each other at 'who can knock down the most clowns.'
She wins...barely. But you win at air hockey, "Fast hands baby," you brag. She makes a scene when you score the winning point.
Skee-Ball? You win.
"That's cheating," she says, watching your ball smoothly arc into the 50 Points hole again.
You glance back, lashes fluttering. "No, it's natural talent."
By the time you make it to the claw machines, you’re both breathless and sticky with soda syrup and cheap perfume. You’re holding a shared slice of pizza, one hand each, taking bites between giggles.
Two cups of slushies, hers is blue raspberry, yours is cherry lime. Your knees knock under the table. Her fingers are stained red from the slushie, and she keeps stealing glances at you like she can’t believe this is real.
You’ve already won one rubber bracelet, a sticky hand toy, and a plush keychain shaped like a frog. She’s wearing it on a belt loop now, very seriously.
You point at the machine. "Get me the pink bunny."
She narrows her eyes. "You think I got arcade god powers or something?"
"I’ve seen your hands." You say it too smoothly, and she pauses, then cocks her head with the slowest smile you’ve ever seen.
"Yea?"
You nod, innocent but not really. "Yeah."
She drops a token in. The claw shakes to life, clunky and unpredictable, but she lines it up with precision. On the third try, it finally grips a floppy ear and drags the bunny up and out. You squeal. She bows like it’s a victory parade.
"Hand it over," you say, already reaching.
She doesn’t. Instead, she holds it above your head. "Kiss first."
You blink. "Ah s'cuse me?"
She shrugs. "Fair’s fair. I got a you bunny. You owe me one tiny, non-legally-binding kiss."
You take a step forward, face tilted up, smiling with your eyes half lidded.
"Like this?" you ask, lips barely an inch from hers. She freezes for half a heartbeat, and then you snatch the bunny right out of her hand and spin away laughing.
"You’re evil," she groans.
"You like it," you shoot back. And she does. God, she does.
The night winds down with a final stop at the photo booth tucked in the back corner, near the DDR machine. It’s barely big enough for two people and smells like cherry chapstick and dust. You feed in your last few quarters, and the countdown begins on the screen.
She hesitates for the first photo. You smile wide.
Second was more silly from your end.
Third photo you gave her a side hug pressing your cheeks against hers.
In the last photo, she leans in and kisses your cheek. You're not ready for it, you blink in the final flash, heart pounding.
When the strip prints out, it’s awkward and perfect. The first photo is just cute. The second is silly. The third was sweet. And the last is you, shocked and flustered, grinning like an idiot. She pockets one copy. You keep the other.
Outside, waiting for your ride, the night's finally quiet. She stands a little too close to you, hands in her pockets, the tips of her sneakers grazing yours. You're not sure who leans in first, but it's natural...like breathing.
Her lips brush yours, gently, softly. She pulls back all smiley and shy. "Best tutoring gig I've ever had."
You bump her should. "Best date I've ever been on."
And you mean it.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ₊ ⊹✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ₊ ⊹✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚
Part 2: “I can see your friends, they don’t like me.”
⊹✧˚ thank you @2heartsbecoming1 for proofreading <:3
wolfstar thrives as a couple because sirius absolutely loathes anything remotely sweet, and remus is a candy junkie who eats his own weight in sugar every day just to function. i don’t make the rules. they’re just too compatible.
Summary: When the Pogues start noticing Pope skipping out on late-night hangouts, disappearing without explanation, and constantly checking his phone with a grin he tries way too hard to hide, curiosity quickly turns into suspicion. At first, they assume he’s caught up in school or family stuff, though what they find out is probably the last thing any of them expected.
Contents: no mentions of y/n, fluff, pope being a cutie, secret relationship, reader is described as female, sarah and john b are together in this, a bit suggestive, making out, jj being invasive, reader is sarah and rafe's sister, mentions of underage drinking (I don't support it but it's in the show so wtv), and that's it I think
The Pogues were scattered around the beach house construction site that overlooked the water, the sound of waves crashing against the shore filling the air around them. Kiara wandered through the unfinished house, curiously glancing around as a breeze drifted inside. Nearby, Sarah and John b sat together against the railing, quietly talking while watching the sun reflect off the water. A few feet away, JJ sat on the edge of one of the platforms with his legs dangling over the side, lazily holding a beer in his hand as he looked out toward the water.
"It's weird that Pope's not here." Kiara spoke up as she walked over to the others, sitting against a wooden bench.
"He's been bailing on us a lot lately, or he comes late." John b stated, taking a dri k of his own beer.
"He's probably studying and being all nerdy." Jj joked leaning back on his hands.
"It's summer, who studies in the summer?" Sarah quietly questioned, leaning into John b's side.
"Pope." The three immediately said in unison, sharing a look.
As if on cue, Pope walked up the steps of the beach house, his expression falling sheepish when they all looked at him.
"Ah, they're he is," Jj mused. "Lose track of time studying." He teased.
"Something like that." Pope muttered sitting against the rail.
Kiara's brow furrowed slightly at Pope, usually when Jj or one of the others teased him for studying or reading he would just roll his eyes and laugh it off, now he seemed shy almost. She glanced over at John b, who shared the same look she did.
The silence didn't last long as Jj started to talk about how he had a run in with the kooks yesterday at the beach, which most of them halfway listened. "And Rafe and Topper were there too, it was some four on one kook bullshit."
"Damn, and you left with barely even a scratch." Sarah commented, she knew how her brother and his friends minions could be.
"Well, uh your sister actually told them off and they surprisingly listened." Jj informed Sarah, none of them noticing the way Pope hid a small smile.
"My sister? Huh..." Sarah spoke in surprise.
"Okay, enough of kook talk, what are we doing tomorrow?" Kiara asked leaning forward.
"There's a party at the boneyard tomorrow." Jj said, turning to face the others better.
"I'm in."
"When am I not in?"
"Sounds fun."
All eyes went to Pope who had yet to answer. "Uh, I might be able to go, I'll probably be late though." He said quietly.
"'Might be able to go'?" Kiara questioned, usually Pope always tagged along with them to a party even if he got dragged into it.
"Ugh, why are you always late to everything now?" Jj complained, taking a drink.
"Uh... my pops is making me clean fish tomorrow so.." Pope spoke.
"Really?" Kiara questioned skepticaly.
"Yeah."
———
It was the night of the boneyard, yet Pope was far from the chaos, hidden away inside a pristine white house where the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the quiet. Pale blue sheets were tangled around him as he laid beside a you, his face buried gently in the curve of your neck while he pressed slow, kisses down your skin.
You gently lifted his head before softly pressing your lips against his, the sudden closeness catching Pope off guard for only a second before he completely melted into the kiss, his hands instinctively slid around your waist, pulling you a little closer. You smiled slightly against his lips, your fingers tangled in the ends of his hair before he pulled you closer and onto his lap, your legs straddling him.
Your arms rested around his bare shoulders since he had already had his shirt off from earlier, your lips trailed down along Pope's jaw and to his neck, causing his eyes to flutter shut.
Pope's fluttered open for a moment, his eyes catching sight of the time and he was late. "Shit," He muttered, his hands still resting on your waist.
You pulled away, your eyes searching his. "What's wrong?"
"There's a party at the boneyard tonight, I promise my friends I would be there." Pope told you, his grip on your waist warm. "Though I really wanna continue this."
"Pope, it's okay, I get it," You softly spoke, your hand warm on his cheek. "I was gonna go too anyways." You informed, climbing of his lap.
Pope let his hands fall to his sides as he watched the you, missing the warmth of you against him. You grabbed his shirt the was in the corner and tossed it at him, it landing on his shoulder.
Pope got up from the bed with a sigh. "Wish we didn't have to hide from everyone." He muttered as you slipped on your shirt as well.
You frowned slightly at his disappointed tone, stepping infront of him. "Hey, it won't always be like this, just for a little while,"
Pope nodded softly as he pulled his shirt over his head. "I know, at least I can enjoy you in private." He spoke slipping his hand in yours.
———
The two arrived at the edge of the boneyard, the air growing cooler and quieter as the last traces of daylight faded behind them. You let go of Pope’s hand, taking a small step back, before Pope gently pulled you back toward him, his hand catching yours again before you could fully turn away he leaned in and kissed you— deep and passionately.
When the two of you pulled away, you were just about to tell him the subtle pale pink lipstick smudge he had from your lips, before he walked away. "Well, shit."
Pope strolled over to where his friends were sitting around with a few tourons, as they noticed him walking over.
"Ah, nice of you to join the party." Jj cheered, looking at him from where he was talking to some blonde girl.
Pope settled down next to Kiara, as hours past by, they falling into easy conversations, laughter came in bursts between stories and teasing comments. JJ, suddenly jumped up announcing a “party trick” no one asked for, drawing skeptical looks from the group. He tried to build up the moment with confidence but it all ended almost immediately when he lost his balance and went crashing face first into the sand causing them all to laugh and earn a few weird looks from kooks.
Pope looked around the boneyard, his eyes catching sight you, who he was looking at all night, you were dancing with one of your friends by a small fire the kooks made to some upbeat song, which caused a small smile to play at his lips.
"Ugh, kooks are so loud." Some other pogue complained earning a few nods in agreement.
"Pope," Kiara's voice broke him out of his stare and he looked at her, his brow furrowed curiously. "What's on your face?"
Pope's confusion deepened before he felt his face and felt the slight stickiness of lipstick at the very corner of his lip causing him to inwardly curse knowing it was your lipstick from earlier. He racked his brain for some kind of excuse as the others noticed.
"Is that lipstick?" Sarah questioned, her eyebrow raised.
John b's eyes widened when he heard. " You hooked up with someone?" He questioned surprised.
Jj laughed at John b's words. "Since when does Pope hook up with anyone? It's probably just pink frosting from those cupcakes that were brought."
"Yeah, it was that." Pope spoke with a awkward laugh, thankful to whoever brought those cupcakes, as he desperately rubbed the pink off the corner of his lip.
As the party started to slow down, the Pogues eventually packed up and headed to the chateau, the energy of the night fading into a comfortable, sleepy silence. Laughter and music were replaced by the soft chirping of crickets and slow conversations. When the chateau finally came into view, it felt like a safe landing after a long flight, its warm lights glowing faintly against the dark.
One by one, they slipped inside. John b and Sarah headed straight to the room they claimed as theirs, settling in without hesitation. JJ dropped onto the couch with a lazy thud, insisting the other bedroom was 'too far away', Kiara took the spot beside him, making herself comfortable, while Pope chose the remaining room, quietly settling in as the place finally grew still.
Just as he closed the door behind him, a soft tap on the window caused him to jump before he saw it was you and opened the window. "What are you doing here?" He hissed quietly as you stepped in, shutting the window behind you.
"I heard your friends found out about the lipstick, I was gonna tell you before you left me, but I didn't get a chance." You explained.
Pope's eyes darted to the door, it wasn't the first time you had been there, but it was the first time you were there when the place wasn't empty besides you two. "You knew?" He asked as he locked the door to the bedroom.
"I told you, I was going to tell you not my fault you walked away." You spoke wrapped your arms loosely around his neck.
Pope let out a small sigh, his hands instinctively going to your waist. "You're lucky I love you."
"Hm, yeah I am." You hummed before pressing you lips to his. "You wanna finish what we started later?"
"Baby, my friends are literally here too." Pope deadpanned against your lips.
"Yeah, but I know you can be quiet." You whispered, tugging on his shirt lightly.
"I'm gonna regret this." Pope murmured before the two of you went to the nearby bed.
———
JJ strolled into the bedroom where Pope was sleeping, looking for the lighter he’d left behind. Pope lay quietly on one side of the bed, still asleep, while JJ, distracted, didn’t notice the rumpled sheets or the pale blue bikini top scattered on the floor near the edge of the bed. He grabbed his lighter from the table and turned to leave, when Pope's phone rang from the table.
Jj hesitated, his eyes flicking between Pope still half-asleep and the phone ringing on the table. Just as he took a curious step forward , the sound seemed to cut through the room a little too sharply, and Pope shifted, stirring awake at the noise of his own phone. "What are you doing?" Pope asked Jj.
"I- uh, forgot my lighter." Jj spoke as Pope's phone stop ringing.
Pope glanced over to the space beside him, slightly thankful that you didn't stay, but he noticed the bikini top that was left on the floor and he was hoping Jj didn't see it.
"What are you two doing?" Kiara asked now standing in the door, see the two boys just silently in the room.
"Nothing." Jj said with a simple shrug of his shoulders, while Pope nodded in agreement before grabbing his phone and following Kiara out forgetting about the clothes on the floor, Jj behind followed them.
A few hours later, they were hanging out on the couch, the room settling into a comfortable kind of quiet that only comes after a long day. A music player Sarah had bought in the background, mostly ignored, as they sat around, Jj had disappeared a few moments ago, probably off doing something stupid they could only guess.
A few moments later, Jj walked in looking all too pleased with himself, which the others noticed. "What'd you do?" John b immediately asked.
"What? I didn't do anything, but I did find something in the other room..." Jj trailed off, holding a bikini top in his hand, more specifically the one Pope forgot to move earlier.
Pope almost coughed on his drink at the sight off it as Kiara looked at it. "It's not mine, I don't own a blue one." She stated.
"Yeah, most of mine are multi color or pink." Sarah spoke up. "Though.... it does look like one of my sister's bikinis, she has a fixation with blue."
"Your sister?" John b questioned confused. "When would your sister be here?" He asked.
As silence fell, everyone looked at Pope since he was the one who slept in there and he was failing to not look guilty. "Uh," Pope couldn't manage to get any words out, they had been careful for months.
Before anyone could say anything else, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Sarah paused for a moment before opening it, only to find her sister standing on the other side. "I-" You started before realizing it was Sarah who answered the door, you didn't know the others would still be here and your eyes caught Pope's guilty looking eyes.
"You're hooking up with Pope?" Kiara asked walking over standing by Sarah.
"What?" You spoke confused as to how they knew before you eyes landed on the bikini top still in Jj's hand. "Shit."
Sarah opened the door a little wider for you to step in, and she closed it behind you.
"I've gotta say, I have so many questions right now." Jj spoke up, earning a disapproving look for John b.
"When did this happen?" Sarah ased softly, looking between you and Pope.
"Since the middle of last school year." You mumbled, taking a seat on the couch.
"So what you two have just been fuck buddies for months?" Kiara asked you, her tone slightly raised.
"Don't talk to her like that." Pope finally spoke up, his tone matching Kiara's, making most of them raises their eyebrows.
"Wow, who knew Pope would get with a Cameron." Jj mused under his breath, earning another look from John b.
"Okay, fine! Yes, she's a kook, yes, most of her family hates us, yes she may have more many than most of us combined, but she's my girlfriend and I'm in love with her, and if hear something from one of you about not falling for a kook when there's already two kooks in our group, I'm gonna lose my shit." Pope snapped in one breath standing up from the couch, causing all of them to fall silent.
You looked up at Pope from your spot on the couch, eyes glossy at his words, as a small smile tugged at your face as you. Pope let out a breath, before his eyes landed on you and he slipped his hand into yours reassuringly.
John b let out a small cough, before speaking up. "We're happy for you two, really surprised too." He told you two.
"I am too, I'm glad you're with a good guy like Pope." Sarah said looking at you, causing you to give her a small smile.
"I... I guess I'm happy for you guys too," Kiara spoke letting a smile come on her face.
You leaned slightly into Pope as the tension melted away in the air, leaving a comfortable silence that settled between the group like something soft.
"Can I just say, I'm surprised that Pope managed to pull her."
He swallowed the breath he held and approached the receptionist desk, “Hello ma’am. my name is William Austen, i was a transfer here?.” he choked out “William? Austen? You’re about….3 hours late?.” she stated, she flipped through her desk until she landed on a folder with the initials W.A “It’s rather rude to be tardy but i digress, your dorm is 156, here's everything you need to know.” She hands a folder over to William with the school emblem plastered on it and the key to his dorm. He sighed as he grabs it and turns back to her “Thank you ma’am.” He uttered.
He doesn't wait for a response, he just makes his way to his dorm, heading to the second floor, he squeezed past rowdy students rolling his eyes at them, “Heirs are supposed to act proper not like animals.” He thought.
He shuffled to his dorm door opening it groggily, he muttered about the kids in the hall before stopping, his gaze landed on a man leaning against his window tiredly, “Who the fuck are you?.” He demands as he raises an eyebrow. The man lazily turns his head to William "I'm rather disappointed in how you treat people, Mr. Austen.” He pushes himself off the window, putting his hands in his pockets. “That’s not something your parents would like now would they?.” William finally recognizes him as Evan Theodore, The lab teacher at the school and a close family friend, Makes sense his parents had hired him as his mentor.
“Hello Mr. Theodore, my apologies I guess I’m just not feeling well.” He mutters out as he grips the folder. “It’s a new environment with the expectations of your parents weighing on you, I understand. But only to a certain degree, I expect you won’t slip up again Mr. Austen.” Mr. Theodore stated. William takes a deep breath “I won’t do it again Mr. Theodore.” He uttered out as he released his breath, Mr. Theodore smiled and walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know you won’t, now we have a lot to discuss. Why don’t you get your room done and head down to the cafeteria? Then come and see me at my lab” Mr. Theodore suggests, without waiting for a response he walks out of the room.
William noticed he felt better talking to Mr. Theodore, maybe it's because he's someone familiar in a new setting or the fact that Mr. Theodore was like a father to him, nonetheless he puts his folder down and grabs the key to his dorm. Opening his door and leaving, letting someone else deal with his mess of a room.
