Ship: Caroline x Jeremy
Rating: Teen (Upbeat fluff, lots of butterflies, and some heavy tension in the library stacks).
Just a cute, upbeat glimpse into Caroline and Jeremy’s secret life at Whitmore. Between dodging midterms in the library stacks and hiding out at campus parties, they’ve perfected the art of dating under the radar.
This one has been sitting in my head for a while! Just a fun, low-stakes oneshot of Caroline and Jeremy being cute and secret in college. I wanted to focus on the vibes and the "butterflies" of them having their own little world away from everyone else. I’m not really sure if this one screams Jeremy and Caroline to everyone else, but I liked the idea of them just being an established couple.
The Whitmore University library was a cathedral of stress. The air was thick with the scent of old paper, floor wax, and the collective desperation of three hundred students fueled by nothing but espresso and the fear of a C-minus. It was the height of midterm season, and the atmosphere was usually enough to make anyone’s skin crawl, but for Caroline Forbes, it was just another environment to be conquered.
She sat at a corner table on the second floor, her territory marked by an array of color-coded highlighters that looked like a neon rainbow exploded across the mahogany surface. Her Sociology textbook was propped open, flanked by a stack of flashcards and a planner so meticulously organized it could have been mistaken for a blueprint for a small city.
Caroline’s pen moved with rhythmic precision, underlining key terms in a shade of pink that signified "highly likely to be on the exam." From an outsider's perspective, she was the picture of academic focus—the perfectionist blonde who probably didn't even know what the word "distraction" meant.
In reality, her heart was doing a frantic little tap-dance against her ribs every time the heavy wooden doors at the end of the aisle creaked open.
She didn't look up when a group of frat brothers stomped past, whispering loudly about a party on Friday. She didn't look up when a girl in the row behind her started crying softly over her Organic Chemistry notes. But when the distinct, slow tread of heavy boots echoed against the linoleum, Caroline’s hand faltered for just a fraction of a second.
Jeremy Gilbert entered the aisle with the casual, slightly detached air of someone who lived in his own head. He looked exactly like the kind of guy who didn't belong in a library on a Tuesday afternoon—dressed in a faded black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a charcoal-smudged sketchbook tucked under one arm. His dark hair was a mess, that effortless "just rolled out of bed" look that Caroline knew for a fact took zero effort on his part, which was both endearing and deeply unfair.
To anyone watching, they were just two people from the same hometown who happened to be at the same college.
Jeremy slowed down as he approached her table, his expression carefully neutral. He scanned the area, his eyes briefly flicking to a nearby table where a couple of girls from Caroline’s sorority were buried in their laptops.
"Oh, hey Jeremy," Caroline said, her voice hitting that perfect pitch of casual, polite recognition. She didn't beam at him the way she wanted to; she didn't jump up and throw her arms around his neck. She just offered a practiced, slightly distracted smile. "Taking a break from the art studio?"
"Something like that," Jeremy replied, his voice low and raspy. He stopped at the edge of her table, shifting his sketchbook. "Just looking for a spot with some decent light. Everywhere else is packed."
"Midterms," Caroline sighed, shaking her head. "It’s a jungle out here. I’ve been here since eight, and I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten what the sun looks like."
"You should probably eat something," he said, and for a fleeting second, the neutrality slipped. His dark eyes softened, holding hers just a beat too long to be 'just friends.' "You get cranky when your blood sugar drops."
Caroline gave a mock-offended gasp, leaning back in her chair. "I do not get cranky. I get *focused*. There’s a difference."
"Right. Focused," Jeremy smirked.
As he shifted his weight, his hand brushed against the edge of her table. To an observer, he was just steadying himself or reaching for a stray pen. In reality, he was executing a maneuver they had practiced a dozen times.
With the flick of his thumb, a small, yellow post-it note fluttered from the underside of his sketchbook and landed directly on Caroline's lap, hidden by the mahogany lip of the desk.
"Anyway," Jeremy said, straightening up and stepping back. "I’ll leave you to your... focus. Good luck with the Sociology stuff."
"Thanks! See you around, Jeremy," she called out, already dipping her head back toward her book as if the conversation was already forgotten.
She waited. She counted to thirty, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her chest. She watched his reflection in the window—he moved further down the aisle, pretending to look at a shelf of encyclopedias before turning toward the stairwell.
Once he disappeared, Caroline carefully lowered her hand beneath the table. She peeled the sticky note off her leggings and brought it up, hiding it behind the bulky cover of her textbook.
The handwriting was messy, hurried, and unmistakably his.
*You’re over-thinking the Durkheim chapter. I can hear your brain whirring from the hallway. I’ve got spicy tuna rolls and those Thai spring rolls you love in my bag. Meet me in the basement stacks—Section 900—in five minutes? I missed you today.*
A warmth that had nothing to do with the library’s overactive heating system flooded through her. She bit her lip to keep from grinning like a lunatic. Section 900 was the History of the Middle East—a place where no one went unless they were lost or doing a very specific thesis. It was their sanctuary.
Caroline didn't move immediately. She was a professional, after all. She spent exactly three minutes meticulously highlighting one more paragraph and tucking her pens into her pencil case. She checked her reflection in her phone’s black screen, smoothing a stray hair back into her ponytail.
She stood up, slung her designer tote over her shoulder, and nodded a polite goodbye to the sorority sisters at the next table.
"Heading out, Care?" one of them asked, looking up from her screen.
"Coffee run," Caroline lied effortlessly, her voice bright and bubbly. "If I look at another flashcard, I think my eyes might actually fall out of my head. See you guys later!"
She walked toward the elevators, but the moment the doors closed and she was alone, the "perfect student" mask shattered into a radiant, genuine beam. She hit the button for the basement, the mechanical hum of the elevator feeling like an upbeat soundtrack to her own private movie.
The secret was the best part. In Mystic Falls, their relationship would have been a "thing"—subject to the opinions of brothers, best friends, and the ghosts of their pasts. But here at Whitmore, in the quiet, dusty corners of the library, they were just Jeremy and Caroline. And as the elevator dinked at the basement level, she realized she wouldn't trade this secret for anything in the world.
Caroline rounded the corner of a shelf dedicated to Ancient Persian history, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She saw him immediately. Jeremy was leaning against a heavy metal upright, his sketchbook discarded on a nearby stool. The second he saw her, the guarded, neutral expression he wore in the quad vanished, replaced by a look of pure, hungry relief.
"You’re late," he rasped, his voice echoing slightly in the narrow aisle.
"I had to make sure the coast was clear!" Caroline whispered, though she was already moving toward him. "Elena was right by the printers, and I had to do this whole 'I’m just looking for a coffee' routine—"
She didn't get to finish. Jeremy reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around her waist and pulling her into the shadows between the shelves. The impact of her body hitting his chest knocked the breath out of her, replaced instantly by the frantic flutter of butterflies so intense they felt like a physical ache.
"Jeremy," she breathed, her hands flying up to his chest, bunching the fabric of his hoodie.
He didn't say a word. He leaned down, his mouth finding hers with a sudden, desperate heat. This wasn't a "secret's out" kiss; it was a "I haven't touched you in twelve hours" kiss. It was deep and demanding, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made Caroline’s knees go weak. She let out a soft, broken sound into his mouth, her fingers sliding up into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.
The kiss grew more erotic as Jeremy backed her up against the cold metal of the bookshelf. The contrast of the freezing shelf against her back and the searing heat of his body pressed against her front made her head spin. His hands migrated from her waist, one sliding up to cup her jaw, his thumb dragging across her cheekbone, while the other moved lower, his palm pressing flat against the small of her back to arch her into him.
Caroline’s breath came in ragged hitches. She felt hyper-aware of every point of contact—the way his denim brushed against her legs, the solid muscle of his arms, the scent of his skin that always reminded her of charcoal and rain.
Jeremy pulled back just an inch, his lips ghosting over hers, his eyes dark and hooded. "I’ve been thinking about this since the moment I woke up," he murmured, his voice dropping into a register that made her toes curl.
"Me too," she admitted, her voice trembling. "It’s getting harder, Jer. Pretending I don't want to jump you every time you walk into the library."
He chuckled, a low vibration she felt in her own chest, before he dropped his head to the crook of her neck. He nipped at the sensitive cord of her throat, and Caroline’s eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back against the spines of the books. A soft groan escaped her as he left a trail of wet, hot kisses down to her collarbone.
"We have to stop," she whispered, even as she pulled him back in for another kiss. "Someone could come down for a research paper."
"No one researches the Crusades at 2:00 PM on a Tuesday," Jeremy countered, his thumb grazing the corner of her mouth. He reached into his bag, pulling out the container of spring rolls he’d promised, but he didn't hand them over. Instead, he leaned back against the opposite shelf, watching her with a playful, smoldering grin. "But if you're worried, I guess I could just eat these myself."
Caroline laughed, the tension breaking just enough for her to breathe. She reached out, swiping a spring roll and taking a bite, her eyes never leaving his. "You wouldn't dare. I’m a very hangry person when I’m studying."
"I know exactly how you are," Jeremy said, his gaze softening as he reached out to brush a stray crumb from her lip, his fingers lingering just a second too long to be casual. "And I like every single version of you."
The scent of woodsmoke and cheap beer hung heavy over the backyard of the off-campus house, mingling with the crisp autumn air of a Whitmore Friday night. A massive bonfire crackled in a stone pit at the center of the yard, sending orange sparks dancing toward the stars. It was exactly the kind of party where it was easy to get lost in the crowd—and exactly the kind of party where Caroline Forbes felt most in her element.
She was currently a blur of motion, weaving through the clusters of students with a stack of red solo cups in one hand and her phone in the other, expertly managing the Bluetooth connection to the outdoor speakers. Tonight, however, there was an extra spring in her step and a dangerous glint in her eye.
Caroline had spent two hours getting ready, justifying the effort as "staying on brand" for a social committee chair, but her true audience was much more specific. She was wearing a pair of dark, form-fitting skinny jeans and a cream-colored off-the-shoulder sweater that looked soft enough to melt into. It showed off just the right amount of skin—enough to be alluring, but casual enough to avoid suspicion. Her blonde hair fell in perfect, effortless waves, and she’d applied a touch of shimmering highlighter to her collarbones that caught the firelight every time she turned.
She looked like the quintessential college hostess, but every time she adjusted the volume on the speakers or smoothed the tablecloth over the drink station, her internal compass was locked on a single coordinate.
Jeremy.
He was leaning against a weathered wooden fence near the edge of the fire’s glow, looking devastatingly handsome in a simple denim jacket over a black tee. He wasn't doing much—just nursing a drink and talking to a few guys from his architecture studio—but he was watching her. He didn't make it obvious; he didn't stare. But every time Caroline looked up, she caught the tail end of his gaze, a smoldering, heavy look that made the butterflies in her stomach do a frantic, chaotic dance.
The heat she felt wasn't just from the bonfire. It was the thrill of being the most noticed girl in the yard while knowing that the only person whose opinion mattered was the one person she wasn't supposed to be talking to.
"Caroline! The playlist is literally saving this party," Bonnie said, walking up with Elena in tow. Both of them looked relaxed, enjoying the rare break from their own heavy course loads.
"Of course it is! I spent three days curating the transition from 'indie chill' to 'late-night dance,'" Caroline beamed, her voice bright and bubbly. She didn't let her eyes wander toward the fence, even though she could feel Jeremy’s attention shift toward their group the moment Elena appeared.
"Have you seen Jeremy?" Elena asked, scanning the crowd. "He said he was coming, but he’s probably tucked away in a corner sketching a tree or something."
"He's over by the fire," Caroline said quickly—too quickly. She immediately softened her tone. "Or at least, I think I saw him over there earlier. You know how he is, very 'man of mystery.'"
They migrated toward the fire pit, and for a brief, agonizing minute, the group merged. Caroline stood just two feet away from Jeremy. The proximity was electric. She could smell the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the woodsmoke clinging to his jacket. Her skin tingled, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She wanted to reach out and hook her finger into his belt loop; she wanted to lean her head against his shoulder and tell him how much she’d missed him since the library basement.
Instead, she offered him a polite, slightly distant nod. "Hey, Jeremy. Glad you made it out of the studio."
"Wouldn't miss a Forbes-sanctioned event," Jeremy replied, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent a fresh wave of butterflies through her. His eyes dropped to the curve of her exposed shoulder for a fraction of a second—a look so hot and possessive that Caroline nearly dropped her drink.
"Seriously, Jer," Elena teased, bumping her brother’s arm. "You've been so MIA lately. I called you three times on Wednesday and you didn't pick up."
"I was at the lake," Jeremy said simply, taking a sip of his drink. "Working on a perspective drawing. The light was good."
That’s when Matt, who had been standing nearby, chimed in with a grin. "Wait, was that Wednesday? Man, I thought I saw you down by the boathouse. I was going to shout, but you looked... occupied. I’m pretty sure there was a mysterious blonde with you."
The air in Caroline’s lungs vanished. The butterflies in her stomach turned into lead. Elena’s eyebrows shot up. "A blonde? Jeremy Gilbert, are you keeping secrets from your big sister?"
The "near miss" was suddenly very, very close. Caroline felt the heat of the fire on her face, but she didn't panic. She had spent years perfecting the art of the social pivot.
"Wait, Matt, was it a girl with a blue backpack?" Caroline interrupted, her voice a masterclass in casual interruption. She didn't look at Jeremy. She looked directly at Matt, her eyes wide and curious. "Because if it was, that was probably Sarah from my Art History class. She’s been hounding Jeremy for weeks to help her with her shading techniques. Poor girl is failing, and Jeremy is way too nice to say no."
Jeremy hid a sudden, genuine grin behind the rim of his red solo cup. He didn't say a word, letting Caroline weave the cover story with the precision of a seasoned pro.
"Oh," Matt said, scratching his head. "Yeah, maybe. It was kind of far away. I just saw the blonde hair."
"Well, speaking of hair," Caroline pivoted again, turning the group away from Jeremy entirely, "did you guys see that the playlist just transitioned into the 2000s throwbacks? Bonnie, this is our song! We have to go dance before the frat guys ruin the vibe."
She grabbed Bonnie and Elena’s hands, pulling them toward the makeshift dance floor on the patio. As she turned, she finally allowed herself one look back.
Jeremy was still standing by the fence, but he had lowered his cup. He was looking at her with a mix of amusement and pure, unadulterated adoration. He mouthed two words—Nice save—before turning back to his conversation.
The party was finally a fading echo behind them, the thump of the bass replaced by the rhythmic chirping of crickets and the soft crunch of gravel under their feet. The Whitmore campus was draped in midnight velvet, the streetlamps casting long, amber pools of light across the empty walkways.
Caroline walked a few paces ahead, her arms wrapped around herself. The autumn air had turned sharp, and the off-the-shoulder sweater that had looked so good under the glow of the bonfire was now doing very little to protect her from the chill. She was still buzzing from the adrenaline of the "near miss" with Matt and Elena, her mind replaying the way Jeremy had looked at her over the rim of his cup.
Suddenly, a heavy, warm weight settled over her shoulders. She didn't jump; she knew the scent of woodsmoke and charcoal too well.
"You're shivering," Jeremy murmured, stepping up beside her and pulling the lapels of his denim jacket tight around her front.
Caroline immediately melted into the warmth, her nose dipping into the collar of the jacket. It was oversized on her, the sleeves swallowing her hands, making her feel small and protected in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. "I was maintaining the aesthetic, Jeremy. Being the 'Life of the Party' requires certain sacrifices, like body heat."
"Well, the party is over," he said, his hand sliding down her arm until his fingers interlaced with hers.
The contact was like a low-voltage shock. Now that they were away from the prying eyes of their friends, the butterflies in Caroline’s stomach didn't just flutter—they felt like they were glowing. She squeezed his hand, pulling him closer until their shoulders brushed.
"That was a close one tonight," she whispered, looking around the deserted quad just to be sure. "Matt actually saw us at the lake. I thought Elena was going to start a full-scale interrogation. My heart was beating so fast I thought she’d hear it."
Jeremy laughed, a low, melodic sound that made Caroline’s chest tighten with affection. "You handled it like a pro. 'Sarah from Art History'? I don't even think there is a Sarah in my class."
"There isn't. I made her up on the spot," Caroline admitted, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "But it worked. And it was worth it. That afternoon at the lake was... it was my favorite part of the week."
They reached the steps of her dorm, a brick building draped in ivy that looked almost magical under the moonlight. The "secret" act had been fun, a thrilling game they played against the world, but here in the silence, the weight of it felt different. It felt like they were in their own private universe where the labels of "little brother" or "best friend" didn't exist.
Jeremy stepped onto the first stair, putting them at eye level. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, his touch light but searing. "You looked incredible tonight, by the way. I know you did the hair and the sweater for me. I noticed."
Caroline felt the heat rise to her cheeks, a genuine flush that had nothing to do with the cold. "Was it that obvious?"
"Only to me," he whispered.
He leaned in, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the blonde waves he’d been wanting to touch all night. When his lips met hers, it wasn't hurried or frantic like it had been in the library basement. This was slow, sweet, and deep. It was a kiss that tasted like a promise—a lingering acknowledgement of everything they had to hide during the day.
Caroline groaned softly, her hands moving up to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him flush against her. The butterflies in her stomach settled into a deep, heavy warmth that radiated through her entire body. She loved the way he tasted, the way he moved, the way he seemed to know exactly how much pressure to apply to make her head swim.
Jeremy broke the kiss just an inch, his forehead resting against hers. His breath was warm against her lips, and his eyes were dark with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "I hate having to let you go up those stairs alone."
"Me too," Caroline whispered, her fingers tracing the hem of his hoodie. "But think about it this way... if everyone knew, we wouldn't get these moments. No one would be looking for us, no one would be wondering. There’s something about the secret that makes this feel... more ours."
Jeremy smiled, a soft, private expression that he only ever saved for her. He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Just yours, Care. Always."
He gave her one last, lingering kiss—a soft press of lips that felt like a "goodnight" and a "see you tomorrow" all at once.
"Go on," he teased, gently nudging her toward the door. "Before I change my mind and whisk you away to the lake again."
Caroline skipped up the remaining steps, clutching his jacket around her like a shield. She paused at the door, looking back to see him standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching her with that smoldering, protective gaze. She blew him a kiss, which he "caught" with a grin, before she slipped inside.
As she leaned her back against the heavy dorm door, her heart was still doing that frantic, happy dance. She pulled her phone out and saw a message already waiting for her.
"I don't know how you do it, but you're amazing. Sweet dreams, Care."
Caroline beamed, hugging the phone to her chest. The secret was definitely the best part.