freckled french bitch

Gif Requests, Fic Requests and Series Requests are all open!!

For gifs you may request: Any movie/show, Any character, Any particular scene/episode!

For fics/series you may request: Any of the following characters. I write Angst, fluff, smut, etc!

Characters I write for:

Outer Banks - JJ MAYBANK, JOHN B, RAFE CAMERON

Fear the Walking Dead - TROY OTTO, NICK CLARK

Teen Wolf - ISAAC LAHEY, STILES STILINKSI

Supernatural - DEAN WINCHESTER, SAM WINCHESTER

We were Liars - JOHNNY SINCLAIR

Hunger Games - GALE, FINNICK ODAIR

Dark Angel - ALEC MCDOWELL

Chapter Six: First Day

The hallways slowly started to empty as I searched for my first class, my schedule folded and creased in my hand from how many times I’d looked at it. Clark had already pointed me in the right direction, but somehow every turn looked the same — rows of lockers, same tiled floors, same fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead.

By the time I found Room 214 – English Literature, the bell had already rung. Perfect.

I took a quiet breath before pushing the door open.

Dozens of faces turned toward me at once. That old familiar feeling — the new girl spotlight — burned in my chest.

“Sorry,” I said quickly to the teacher, a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a tie that looked a decade out of fashion. “I’m new. Got a little lost.”

He smiled softly, waving it off. “No worries. Happens to the best of us. You must be Mikaela Arden?

I nodded.

“Welcome to Smallville High. There’s an open seat near the window.”

I followed his gesture, clutching my notebook to my chest as I slipped past a few desks. Then I froze — because the seat was next to someone I actually recognized.

Lana Lang.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and she was already halfway through writing notes, but she looked up when I approached. For a split second, I expected that same polite-but-distant look she’d given me at the Talon. But instead, she smiled.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Mikaela, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied, surprised that she remembered. “You have a really good memory.”

Lana gave a small shrug. “It’s not hard to remember the only person in town who’s newer than the coffee machine at the Talon.”

I couldn’t help but laugh quietly as I sat down. “Fair point.”

Class went on, but I barely absorbed a word the teacher said. My mind kept wandering — the way the sunlight hit the glass, the sound of pens scratching, the whisper of paper. And then Lana leaned over, whispering, “If he assigns you Pride and Prejudice, just fake being into it. He loves it when people quote Elizabeth Bennet.”

I smiled, whispering back, “Good to know. Any other survival tips?”

“Don’t eat the cafeteria pizza on Fridays,” she said immediately, her expression deadly serious. “It’s a trap.”

That made me laugh, quietly enough that the teacher didn’t notice. It felt strange — laughing here, in a classroom, like I was just another normal girl again.

When the bell finally rang, Lana waited for me as we packed up. “Hey,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Do you have another class now?”

“Yeah, history,” I said, glancing down at my schedule.

“I do too,” she said, then paused before adding, “Do you want to walk together?”

The question caught me off guard. “Sure,” I said quickly, smiling.

As we walked down the hall, I could feel some of the tension leaving my shoulders. Lana was easy to talk to — there was something genuine about her, even if her life looked picture-perfect on the outside.

She must’ve caught me glancing her way, because she said, “You’re thinking something. I can tell.”

I hesitated, but she didn’t seem the type to get offended easily. “I just… wasn’t expecting you to be so nice,” I admitted. “You seemed… different the other day.”

Her expression softened with understanding. “Yeah. I get that. The Talon was a bad time — I was stressed, and Clark showing up with another girl…” She stopped herself, cheeks coloring slightly. “Let’s just say I wasn’t in my best mood.”

“Fair enough,” I said gently.

After a pause, she added, “You know… I heard about your mom. I’m really sorry, Mikaela.”

Something in her voice made me look at her more closely. Not pity — just quiet empathy.

“Thanks,” I said softly. “It’s been… a lot.”

She nodded. “I know what that’s like. My parents died when I was three. I live with my Aunt Nell now.”

For a moment, the noise of the hallway faded away. It was like something invisible shifted between us — a silent understanding neither of us had to explain.

“I live with my uncle,” I said. “He’s great, but… yeah. It’s weird, right? The whole trying-to-start-over thing.”

“Yeah,” Lana said, smiling faintly. “Weird. But… survivable.”

That word stuck with me.

As we reached the door to history class, Lana gave me a little grin. “Hey, maybe we can sit together again. You know, for survival.”

I smiled back. “Deal.”

And as we walked in, for the first time since moving to Smallville, I didn’t feel like I was surviving alone.

By the time first period ended, I’d already realized something — Smallville High wasn’t nearly as intimidating as it looked from the outside. Everyone knew everyone, which was both comforting and terrifying. It was like walking into the middle of a story that had already been going on for years.

When the bell rang, Lana turned to me with that easy, practiced smile. “You did great. Mr. Stevenson can be a little intense, but you’ll get used to him.”

“Thanks,” I said, returning her smile. She really was sweet — softer than I expected.

Just as I was about to ask if she wanted to grab coffee sometime, a tall guy in a letterman jacket appeared in the doorway. His grin was easy, confident — the kind of boy who didn’t even need to try.

“Hey, babe,” he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

Whitney. Lana had told me about him during second period.

Lana’s whole face lit up, and for a second, she forgot I was there. “Hey! How was practice?”

“Good. Coach wants to meet after school. You still coming to the game Friday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said, smiling up at him.

I looked away, pretending to reorganize my notebooks, but part of me couldn’t help noticing the small details — how Whitney kissed her cheek without really looking at her, how she laughed but her eyes flicked briefly toward the hallway. Toward Clark, I realized, who had just passed by the door.

Something in the air shifted — subtle, but enough to make my chest tighten with quiet confusion. Lana and Clark… there was something there. Something unspoken.

And yet here she was, with a boyfriend. It made no sense to me, and for some reason I felt irritation bubbling up inside of me. I ignored it.

Whitney gave me a polite nod before steering Lana toward the hall, his hand still firm on her back. She looked over her shoulder once, giving me a small wave before they disappeared into the crowd.

I exhaled slowly, slinging my bag over my shoulder. This town had layers, that much was clear.

⸻

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of new faces, teachers’ names I instantly forgot, and whispered introductions that blurred together. By the time I reached the hallway outside my next class, I spotted two familiar ones — Chloe and Pete, both leaning against the lockers mid-debate about something.

“—I’m just saying,” Pete was insisting, “you can’t prove aliens don’t exist.”

“Oh please,” Chloe rolled her eyes, “you sound like half the town after the meteor shower.”

“Hey, maybe they’re right.” Pete smirked, spotting me. “Hey, Mikaela!”

Chloe straightened and smiled, genuine this time. “Hey, new girl! How’s Smallville treating you so far?”

“Not bad,” I said, falling into step beside them. “A little less boring than I expected.”

“Give it a week,” Pete teased. “Then we’ll talk.”

Chloe gave him a playful shove. “Don’t listen to him. There’s actually a lot happening here — you just have to look closer. People underestimate small towns.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” I said, amused.

“Oh, she does,” Pete chimed in. “She’s basically the town’s unofficial reporter. If anything weird happens, she’s the first to know.”

Chloe grinned. “Some people collect stamps. I collect secrets.”

That made me laugh, and I didn’t even realize how much I needed to. The conversation flowed so naturally — teasing, light, easy. It felt like slipping into something familiar.

For the first time since moving to Smallville, I didn’t feel like a stranger trying to fit into someone else’s world. I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could belong here.

When the lunch bell rang, Chloe turned to me as we started walking toward the cafeteria. “You should sit with us.”

“Yeah,” Pete added. “We can introduce you to the legendary cafeteria pizza.”

“Legendary because it’s good or because it’s dangerous?” I asked, raising a brow.

They both laughed.

Chloe smiled, looping her arm through mine in a way that made my chest tighten with warmth. “You’ll see. But seriously — I’m glad you’re here, Mikaela. It’s nice having another girl around who’s not trying to make the cheer squad.”

I smiled back, genuinely. “Yeah… it’s nice to have that too.”

And it was.

Because somewhere between classes and sarcasm, between laughter and gentle kindness, I realized how important this was — girl friends. The kind that made the world a little softer. The kind that made it possible to start healing.

The cafeteria smelled like french fries and something suspiciously resembling chili — a combination that probably hadn’t changed since the ’80s. The noise hit me the second we walked in — chatter, laughter, the scrape of trays and sneakers against tile.

Chloe and Pete navigated the chaos with ease, weaving through tables full of football players and cheerleaders like they’d done it a thousand times.

“Come on,” Chloe called over her shoulder, waving me forward. “We have a spot.”

The “spot” turned out to be a corner table near the window, half in the sunlight, half in shadow. The moment I saw who was sitting there, my stomach did a weird little flip.

Clark.

He looked up as we approached, his face lighting up in that quiet, unassuming way of his. “Hey. You made it.”

I smiled, trying not to sound like a total idiot. “Wouldn’t miss it. I hear the food’s legendary.”

Pete snorted. “Legendary’s one word for it. Toxic’s another.”

“Don’t scare her off,” Chloe said, dropping her tray across from Clark. “Smallville High cuisine builds character.”

“Or shortens your lifespan,” Pete muttered, earning a glare from Chloe that made me laugh.

I slid into the seat beside Chloe, across from Clark, feeling oddly… at ease. It surprised me how quickly that had started to happen.

“So,” Chloe said, leaning forward, eyes bright. “First official morning. Give me your brutally honest review of Smallville High.”

I hesitated, poking at the unidentifiable lump on my tray. “It’s… not as bad as I expected. People are nicer. Or at least they pretend to be.”

“Hey, that’s Smallville’s motto,” Pete said. “‘We pretend to be nice while secretly gossiping about everyone else.’”

I laughed again, shaking my head. “Yeah, I’m definitely picking up on that.”

Clark smiled faintly, resting his elbow on the table. “They’ll get used to you. It’s a small town — everyone’s curious about new people, but it dies down fast.”

Chloe leaned in, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret. “Especially when someone as gorgeous as you shows up from California. New girl, tragic backstory, killer outfit — you’re basically headline material.”

I raised an eyebrow, half amused, half horrified. “Wow. You make it sound so dramatic.”

Pete grinned. “Trust me, that’s Chloe’s favorite genre.”

Chloe swatted at him. “Don’t listen to him. I’m just observant.”

I smiled, shaking my head — but the truth was, I didn’t mind it. There was something refreshing about Chloe’s honesty. She wasn’t afraid to say what she thought, and it made me feel like I didn’t have to be afraid either.

For a while, the four of us just talked. About classes, teachers, Pete’s terrible sense of humor, Chloe’s obsession with journalism. They were… fun. Easy. Real.

At one point, I caught Clark looking at me from across the table, just briefly. He smiled — small, gentle, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it — before glancing away when Chloe started talking about the latest meteor-related weirdness.

I tried to focus on her story, but that look stuck with me. There was something about Clark that pulled me in without trying — quiet, steady, almost protective in the way he listened. Like he carried everyone’s weight without complaint.

And for the first time since I’d moved here, I felt something I hadn’t in months.

I felt seen.

⸻

After lunch, Chloe walked with me to my next class. The hallways were crowded, voices echoing off the lockers, but it didn’t feel overwhelming this time.

“I’m really glad you decided to sit with us,” she said as we stopped outside my classroom. “Pete’s great, but he’s not exactly the best company when Clark’s not around.”

I smiled. “You mean when you’re not busy investigating aliens?”

Her grin widened. “Exactly. I like you, Mikaela. You’re different.”

Different. I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an observation, but either way, it made me smile.

“Thanks, Chloe. I like you too.”

And I meant it.

Chapter Five: School

Mikaela's POV

The first thing I noticed that morning was the light.

It slipped through the curtains in thin, golden ribbons, soft and quiet — the kind of light that made everything look gentler than it really was. The air in the room still smelled faintly of sawdust from Clark's project the day before, mixed with lavender detergent and the faintest trace of the coffee I hadn't finished last night.

For a few seconds, I just laid there. Listening. To the soft hum of the farm waking up — the distant whir of the tractor, the rhythmic creak of the barn doors, birds chattering somewhere near the window. It was... peaceful. Something I hadn't felt in a long time.

I pulled the thin blanket off, padding barefoot toward the balcony doors. The air outside was cool and clean, brushing against my skin like a whisper. And there it was — the little reading nook Clark had built. The cushions, the shelves, the small imperfections in the wood where he'd clearly rushed or used too much force with the nails.

It wasn't perfect. But somehow that made it feel more like mine.

I sat down, curling my legs beneath me, running my fingers along the spine of one of my books. There was something grounding about it — like, no matter how lost I was, I could still come back to this small corner of quiet and know it would stay the same.

"Knock knock," Mike's voice came from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, holding two mugs of coffee, one clearly more cream than actual coffee. He handed it to me with a faint smile. "I wasn't sure how you liked it."

"This is perfect, thank you," I said, taking it carefully.

He hesitated a moment before sitting on the small bench near the balcony door. "I was thinking I could take you into town today. Show you around, introduce you to a few people. It'll make starting school next week a little less..."

"Awkward?" I offered.

He chuckled softly. "That's one word for it."

I wasn't sure how I felt about it — part of me wanted to hide here forever. But another part, the one that still wanted to be normal, to live, to try, told me I should go. "Yeah... okay," I said finally.

⸻

Later that morning

Smallville looked exactly how I'd imagined it — and not at all like it, somehow.

The main street was lined with small shops, each with big front windows and handwritten signs. People waved at each other from across the street, stopped to talk about crops and weather, things that felt so far from my old life it was almost surreal.

Mike parked in front of a flower shop and pointed across the street. "That's the Talon — you've already been there, I think?"

I smiled faintly. "Yeah. Clark introduced me to their coffee."

He nodded. "Good kid, that one. Reminds me a little of your mom, actually. Always finding ways to help people, even when they don't ask."

I didn't respond, but the comment made something warm settle in my chest.

Mike walked ahead to drop off some paperwork, leaving me a few minutes to wander. I found myself drawn to a bookstore tucked between two other shops. The bell above the door chimed softly when I stepped in.

It smelled like dust and paper and something faintly sweet — like cinnamon. Rows of shelves towered above me, filled with everything from old novels to local history books. I traced my hand along a few of the spines, letting the familiar comfort of stories fill the quiet.

"Hey."

I turned around to find Clark leaning in the doorway, that same easy grin on his face. "You stalking me, Kent?"

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe just lucky timing. Mom sent me into town for feed, and I saw Mike's truck."

"Uh huh," I said, smiling despite myself.

He looked around the shop, then back at me. "How's the reading nook holding up?"

"It's perfect," I admitted. "I sat out there this morning. It's the first place that actually feels like mine."

Clark's smile softened. "Good. That's what I wanted."

For a moment, we just stood there in the quiet hum of the bookstore, surrounded by words and dust motes floating in the light. Something about it felt... safe.

"Hey," he said finally, voice low and almost shy. "You're gonna like it here, Mikaela. I know it doesn't feel like it yet, but... Smallville has a way of growing on people."

"I'll believe it when I see it," I said with a quiet laugh.

He tilted his head, that teasing smirk tugging at his mouth again. "Challenge accepted."

Clark shifted his weight against one of the bookshelves, the corner of his mouth still lifted in that quiet, boyish grin. "Isn't your first day of school tomorrow?"

I exhaled softly through my nose, the reality of it sinking in like a slow, dull weight. "Yeah," I said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "Mike's been hyping it up like it's some grand event, but honestly, I'm just trying not to think about it."

Clark chuckled. "I get that. First days can be rough... even without half the school whispering about the new girl."

I raised a brow. "Wow, thanks for the pep talk."

He winced, laughing. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just—Smallville High is... small. People notice things. But they're not bad people, I promise."

"I'm not worried about them being bad," I said, my voice softer now. "I just don't want to be the sad story everyone already knows."

That made him pause. His smile faltered a little, replaced by something gentler — understanding. "They won't see you that way. You'll change their minds pretty quick."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." His voice was firm, like it wasn't up for debate. "You're not exactly easy to ignore."

That earned him a skeptical look from me. "Is that a compliment or a warning?"

He smirked. "Guess you'll have to find out tomorrow."

I couldn't help the small laugh that slipped out, shaking my head. "You're impossible."

"Persistent," he corrected, eyes glinting with amusement. "There's a difference."

He pushed off the shelf and glanced toward the door. "Hey, I can swing by tomorrow morning before class, if you want. Walk with you. Might make it a little less awkward."

The offer caught me off guard. It was simple, but something about the way he said it — like he actually meant it — made my chest tighten in a way I didn't expect.

"You don't have to do that," I said, trying to sound casual.

"I know," he said, his smile softening again. "That's why I'm offering."

For a second, I didn't know what to say. So I just nodded. "Okay. Yeah. That'd be nice."

"Cool." He started backing toward the door, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. "And, uh, try not to psych yourself out too much. It's just school. You'll survive."

"Wow. Inspirational and optimistic," I teased.

"Don't get used to it," he shot back, his grin widening as the bell above the door chimed behind him.

When he was gone, I stood there for a moment, staring at the space where he'd been. It was strange how easy he made things feel — how, for a few minutes, I'd forgotten about everything else.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I would survive tomorrow.

Maybe Smallville wasn't such a bad place to start over after all.

•

Mikaela's POV

The morning came too soon.

For a second, when I opened my eyes, I almost forgot where I was. The ceiling above me wasn't my old one — no faint cracks from water damage, no glow from the city lights bleeding through the blinds. Just soft sunlight spilling across clean white walls and the sound of roosters somewhere far off in the distance.

Smallville.

It hit me again — this was home now.

I sat up slowly, brushing a curl from my face and letting my feet find the cool wooden floor. The light in my room was warm and hazy, golden in that way that made everything feel softer, like maybe the world was giving me a chance to start over.

Today was the first day of school. My first real step back into the world since... everything changed.

I walked into the bathroom, letting the water run while I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a mess — dark waves tangled and wild from sleep — but my eyes looked steadier than they had in weeks. Tired, sure. But steadier.

Piece by piece, I started to put myself together.

I slipped into a white denim skirt, paired with a simple white tank. Over it, I added a light blue denim vest, the soft worn fabric fitting comfortably over my shoulders. I wasn't sure if it matched the "farm girl chic" aesthetic of Smallville, but it made me feel... like me.

For the first time since I'd moved here, I plugged in my curling iron. Big, loose curls fell over my shoulders, the kind that used to take me forever to get right, but today came easier — maybe because it felt good to care again.

A light touch of mascara, a bit of blush, a soft shimmer on my lips. I hesitated before reaching for my perfume — the one my mom used to love. The scent was warm and sweet, like sugared fruit and sunshine, and for a second I almost put it back down. But then I pressed the nozzle, once, and watched the mist hang in the air before settling on my skin.

When I finally looked back in the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back.

She looked alive again.

I took a deep breath, grabbed my bag, and stepped out onto the balcony for just a second — my little nook, glowing in the early light. The cushions were still where Clark had left them, and the faint scent of wood and morning dew mixed with my perfume in the air.

It was small. Simple. But it was mine.

"Mikaela?" Mike's voice called from downstairs. "Clark's here!"

I froze for a second, a strange flutter in my chest. Of course he was. He'd said he'd walk with me — and the fact that he'd actually shown up shouldn't have surprised me, but somehow, it did.

"Coming!" I called back, grabbing my backpack from the chair.

My heart thudded a little too fast as I headed down the stairs, the soft creak of each step grounding me in the moment. When I reached the door, Clark was there — leaning against the porch railing in his red jacket, sunlight catching in his hair.

He turned when he saw me, his expression shifting from casual to something a little... stunned.

"Wow," he said before he could stop himself. Then he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he got flustered. "You, uh... clean up nice."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, but I smiled anyway. "Thanks. I figured I should try to look like I belong here."

"You do," he said simply. And something about the way he said it — like it was an undeniable fact — made my stomach twist in that confusing, dangerous way again.

Mike stepped onto the porch behind me, breaking the moment. "You two have fun. And, Clark—"

"I'll make sure she gets there in one piece," Clark said quickly, already anticipating it.

Mike smirked. "Good answer."

As we started down the driveway, the morning air was crisp and full of the smell of hay and sunshine. Clark walked beside me, his stride easy, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he'd done this a thousand times before.

"Ready for your big debut?" he asked, glancing over at me.

"Not even close," I said.

He grinned. "You'll do fine. Trust me, I survived Smallville High — and if I can do that, anyone can."

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "I'll keep that in mind.

We reached the end of the dirt road, the world ahead of me opening wide — a small-town skyline and a future I wasn't sure I was ready for. But as Clark nudged my shoulder playfully and the morning sun warmed my skin, I realized something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Hope.

Smallville might not be where I thought I'd end up...

But maybe, just maybe, it was where I was supposed to be.

The closer we got to town, the tighter the knot in my stomach grew. The streets were waking up — cars pulling out of driveways, kids carrying backpacks, the faint hum of morning radio drifting from open windows. Smallville had that kind of quiet rhythm you could feel in your chest, the kind that made even the smallest things seem like they mattered.

When Clark parked in the student lot, I just sat there for a moment, my hand resting on the door handle, frozen. The sight of the red brick building, the clusters of students laughing and waving, the sound of lockers slamming through open doors — it was all... too normal.

Normal used to be my thing. I used to know how to do this — smile, talk, blend in. But now it felt like stepping into someone else's life.

"You okay?" Clark asked, turning toward me, his voice low.

"Yeah," I lied. "Just... first-day nerves, I guess."

He gave a small, reassuring smile. "You'll be fine. Come on — I'll introduce you to a few people."

As we walked toward the entrance, I noticed how everyone seemed to know Clark. They waved, smiled, called out his name. He was easy here — comfortable, like he belonged. It made sense. Everything about him seemed to fit this place.

And then there was me. The new girl with a California license plate and too much perfume and a face everyone probably already knew something about.

Inside, the hallways buzzed with life. The smell of floor wax and coffee, the chatter bouncing off the walls, the scuff of sneakers on tile. I tried not to let my nerves show as I adjusted my bag over my shoulder and followed Clark past a few bulletin boards covered in flyers for football games and school dances.

"Clark!" a bright voice called out.

A blonde girl with sharp eyes and a confident stride appeared from a corner, holding a camera in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Her energy hit me instantly — smart, bold, curious.

"Hey, Chloe," Clark greeted. "This is Mikaela. She just moved here — she's staying with her uncle, Mike Montgomery."

Chloe's eyes flicked to me, quick and observant. "Ah, new girl. The one from California, right?"

I nodded, managing a polite smile. "Yeah. That's me."

"Welcome to Smallville," she said with an almost conspiratorial grin. "It's not exactly L.A., but we've got our own brand of weird here. If you ever want to know what's really going on, I'm your girl." She tapped her temple, then gestured toward the newspaper room. "I run The Torch — the school paper."

"Duly noted," I said, amused despite myself.

Before Clark could respond, another voice chimed in from behind Chloe.

"Yo, Clark! You ditching me again, man?"

A shorter guy with an easy smile and an old basketball jersey under his jacket walked up, glancing between the three of us.

"Pete," Clark said, shaking his head. "You ditch yourself, I was helping Mikaela find her first class."

Pete grinned at me. "Ah, the new girl. You're the one that's been keeping Clark busy, huh?"

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms just slightly. "Busy? He broke into my house and built me furniture, so... yeah, I guess you could say that."

Chloe choked on her coffee, bursting out laughing. "Oh, this I have to hear about."

Clark groaned softly beside me, his ears turning red. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Not a chance," I said, grinning now.

And for the first time since I'd arrived in Smallville, I didn't feel like an outsider.

The bell rang, echoing down the hall.

Chloe checked her watch. "Alright, Clark, I'll catch you later. Mikaela — welcome to the madness. And good luck surviving third period biology, the frogs are no joke."

Pete gave a mock salute and jogged off, and just like that, it was me and Clark again.

He tilted his head toward the next hallway. "You ready?"

"No," I said honestly, pulling in a deep breath. Clark waited a moment before repeating himself. "You ready?"

"Yes."

He smiled, and something about the look in his eyes made it easier to move forward.

As we stepped into the crowded hallway, surrounded by laughter and movement and life, I realized that maybe this — the awkward conversations, the stares, the newness of it all — was exactly what I needed.

Not to forget the past.

Cursed Waters.

𝚖𝚒𝚔𝚊𝚎𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗 | 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 | 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 ♋︎

𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚔𝚎𝚗𝚝 | 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 | 𝚝𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚞𝚜 ♉︎

Chapter One: introduction

Chapter Two: Home Sweet Home

Chapter Three: Don’t Be Sorry

Chapter Four: Brand New

It was Clark's idea to help me with my room.

Something about "making it your own," he'd said — "a space you can go to when everything feels too loud." He told me about his loft in the Kent family's barn, how it was the only place he felt like himself. A quiet space to think, to breathe. I wasn't sure he realized how much that idea stuck with me.

The room itself was... nice. Bigger than anything I'd ever had before. Tall white walls that caught the light from the big window, a small closet that barely fit my clothes, and an attached bathroom that actually had decent water pressure — which, according to Uncle Mike, was a miracle out here.

But my favorite part, hands down, was the small balcony.

It wasn't much, but it felt like a secret — framed by tall glass doors with sheer white curtains that swayed whenever the wind came through. I told Clark that I wanted to turn it into a reading corner. Somewhere I could write, think, and maybe just... exist quietly. Somewhere that was mine.

Apparently, he took that to heart.

The morning after our little coffee outing, while Mike and I were out by the barn so he could give me "the lay of the land," Clark snuck into the house. The boy literally broke in.

Well — "broke in" might be dramatic. He didn't pick a lock or anything. The door was unlocked, and it's Smallville — apparently no one locks anything here.

Still, breaking and entering definitely hadn't been on Clark Kent's to-do list that morning.

He came armed with a few old wooden planter crates left over from when Martha Kent had tried to fix up her garden last summer. Clark worked quickly, stacking three planters on top of each other and nailing them down in place. Then, because he couldn't help himself, he threw some cream-colored cushions over the top, added a few mismatched pillows, and started unpacking one of my boxes labeled BOOKS.

He'd built me a little corner nook.

By the time I got back to the house and climbed the stairs, he was kneeling by the shelf, hammer still in hand, completely unaware that I'd walked in.

"Clark?"

He jumped like he'd been caught stealing. The hammer slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor and landing squarely on his foot. He winced, pretending it hurt — but it clearly didn't.

"Shit, sorry," he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck with that sheepish smile of his.

I blinked, taking in the scene — the crates, the cushions, my books already lined neatly along the shelf. "You... did this?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I mean — you said you wanted a space out here, so I figured I'd surprise you. I, uh... I thought about putting up a hammock, but I wasn't sure if motion sickness was a thing for you or not, and I didn't want to mess up, so I just used my mom's old planters and some cushions from the barn. They're clean, I swear. Oh, and I unpacked your books, but you can totally move them if—"

"Clark!"

He froze, mid-ramble.

Something shifted in the air between us then — that strange, magnetic pull that had been growing since the first day we met. Not physical, but deeper. Something emotional. Familiar and new all at once.

"This is... unbelievable," I said softly. "No one's ever done something like this for me before. I can't believe you actually— it's perfect. Beyond perfect. Thank you."

He smiled — the kind that started slow and unsure but spread until it lit up his whole face. "What're friends for... if not manual labor?"

I laughed, a real laugh, just as a voice came from the doorway.

"Clark?"

We both turned. Uncle Mike stood there, hands on his hips, eyes flicking between the two of us. His tone wasn't angry, just... cautious.

"Hey... Mike," Clark said, standing a little too straight, like he'd been caught red-handed.

Mike's jaw tightened, though there was something gentle behind his expression. "Look, it's fine if you two want to hang out — I'm glad you're making friends, Mikaela. And Clark, I've known you since the day Jonathan and Martha adopted you. Just... maybe let me know next time before you're in the house."

Clark nodded immediately. "It's my fault. I didn't tell Mikaela I was coming over. I just... wanted to surprise her. Housewarming gift."

Mike sighed, his features softening. "Alright. It's thoughtful, Clark. Really." Then he gave me a faint smile before heading downstairs.

When he was gone, I turned back to Clark, my voice quieter now. "I really do appreciate this. It's... really, really sweet."

His cheeks turned pink, and I had to look away before I smiled too hard. "I don't want to be rude," I said finally, pointing my thumb toward the door. "I'm supposed to go hand out resumes today."

"Oh, right," Clark said, instantly flustered. "Yeah, I, uh— I have school anyway. I should— yeah." He practically tripped over his words as he rushed out the door, his footsteps fading quickly down the stairs.

The second he was gone, the air felt heavy again.

I wasn't even sure what to think. Were we friends? Or were we just two people orbiting each other because the universe thought it would be poetic? Clark was kind — almost too kind. And that scared me.

I didn't need a boyfriend. I didn't even need... whatever this was. The idea of someone getting close to me again felt suffocating. I told myself it wasn't him — it was me. I was overwhelmed, raw, broken in places I didn't even know existed.

But the truth?

It wasn't that I didn't want him to get attached.

It was that I didn't trust myself not to.

Self-sabotage, it turns out, is a stubborn, familiar companion.

•

Later that evening, I sat on the old swing seat on Mike's porch, my guitar resting on my knee. I'd been there for nearly two hours, plucking at strings without actually playing. The sky was shifting from pink to deep indigo, and the air smelled like grass and smoke from the nearby fields.

I didn't notice Mike until he sat down beside me. His movements were slow, tired. His eyes were red-rimmed, like he'd been crying, though he tried to hide it. His hands pressed firmly to his knees, as if grounding himself.

We'd never really talked — not really. Not about Mom. Not about what came next. It was like there was this invisible wall between us, built out of grief and things unsaid.

"Your mother used to play that guitar every day," he said quietly, his voice rough. "Your grandparents hated it. She'd sit right here until they had to drag her in for dinner." He gave a short laugh that sounded more like a sigh. "I want you to know that I'm here for you, Mikaela. For anything. I'm sorry we didn't have a relationship before this, but I'd like to change that — if you'll let me."

I looked down, my throat tightening. It hit me then — how hard this must've been for him too. He lost her too.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Mike continued. "I never had kids. I watched your mom raise you like it was second nature, and now—" His voice cracked slightly. "Now I'm just trying to figure it out. I don't want to parent you. You're seventeen. I just want us to be a family."

"We are a family," I whispered.

He smiled faintly, eyes soft but tired.

"I'm sorry I've been... hard to reach," I said after a moment. "Ever since you came to get me in LA, I've been trying, I just— I don't feel like a person right now. It's hard to remember who I am without her."

He reached over, his hand closing around mine. And that simple gesture was enough to make my shoulders fall, my chest unclench.

"It's hard to remember who I am when it feels like such a big part of me died with her," I said, voice trembling. "But I know I'm not the only one who lost her. I'll try to let you in more. And... you can talk to me too, if you need."

Mike gave a slow nod, like he was trying to steady himself. He stood after a moment, pausing in the doorway before glancing back.

"I'm not gonna make a bunch of rules about your life, or boys, or whatever else," he said softly. "You've been through enough. I trust you to make your own choices — just be honest, okay? And if something ever happens, if you need anything — call me. Always."

And then he disappeared inside, leaving me with the quiet hum of the night.

As if on cue, footsteps approached the porch. Clark. Backpack slung over one shoulder, hair slightly messy, smile as gentle as ever.

"I didn't know you played," he said, his voice low, careful not to intrude.

I smiled faintly. Every time I thought I should push him away, he'd say something like that — soft, simple, kind — and all the walls I'd built would start to crumble.

"My mom taught me," I said. "When I was eight. It was hers. Playing helps me feel close to her, I guess. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," he said.

Silence stretched between us again. It wasn't awkward, not really. Just heavy. Familiar.

Finally, he spoke. "I wanted to apologize — for this morning. I know I overstepped. We just met, and I... snuck into your house to build you something. That's weird. I'm sorry."

I set the guitar down beside me and turned toward him, forcing myself to meet his eyes. My chest ached, but I needed to say this.

"Clark, you don't need to apologize. What you did was unbelievably kind. You listened — really listened — and you built something for me when you didn't have to. You barely even know me."

I swallowed hard. "I like you, Clark. I like how I feel when I'm around you. Better than I've felt in a long time. But... I can't be anything more than a friend right now. I need to find myself again first."

He didn't say anything at first. I braced myself — for the sigh, the eye roll, the subtle rejection that usually followed honesty like that.

Instead, he just smiled. That soft, genuine Clark Kent smile that could probably melt steel if he wanted it to.

Chapter Three: Don’t be Sorry

Mikaela's POV

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of my new room, staring at the small chip on the wooden frame—a reminder of how I'd accidentally knocked it against the moving truck last night. The imperfection felt symbolic somehow. Like me.

My reflection stared back, pale and drawn, hair knotted from sleep and stress. I didn't look like myself. My eyes were dull, my lips chapped, my skin blotchy from crying too much and sleeping too little.

How was I supposed to start over like this?

"MIKAELA, YOUR CAR'S HERE!"

Uncle Mike's voice echoed up the stairs, muffled but clear. For the first time in a long time, something almost resembling good news.

I exhaled slowly. I felt gross. Lifeless. Like someone had drained the color out of me. Every part of me screamed exhaustion. Bless Uncle Mike, honestly, for not making me start school until next week. Senior year could wait.

I grabbed my wallet from the top of a box I hadn't unpacked yet, gripping it a little too tight—as if it were the only thing tethering me to reality. When I came down the stairs, Mike was waiting at the bottom, dangling my new keys in the air with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. Probably trying to make me laugh.

I gave him one small, forced laugh out of guilt more than humor. "Need any help with chores today?"

His smile faltered. Pity flashed across his face before he looked away, pretending to inspect the floorboards. "Not yet. I'll give you the lay of the land tomorrow. For now, why don't you go check on the horses for a bit?"

"Sure." I forced a small nod, took the keys, and hooked them onto my belt loop as I headed out the door.

The sunlight was warm but too bright. It made everything sharp and too real. I squinted against it as I stepped onto the porch, the faint smell of hay and dust filling the air.

It only took about two seconds before I saw him.

"Hey, Mikaela!"

Clark Kent—my new next-door neighbor—was walking toward me across the gravel drive, a shy smile already forming.

He was so effortlessly kind, and that was almost worse. I didn't have the bandwidth to handle kindness right now. My brain was too scattered, my emotions too numb. It was like everything around me was moving in fast-forward while I stood still, watching life happen without being a part of it.

"I was just coming over to bring you this," he said, holding something out. "My mom made it."

I took the small bracelet from his hand—a simple string of pink and black beads. "She made this for me? Why?"

There was a small ping in my chest, not sharp like pain, but warm—something I hadn't felt in weeks. How could someone be so thoughtful to a girl she didn't even know? It didn't matter if it was out of pity or genuine kindness. I didn't care. Not this time.

"She's just like that," Clark said, rubbing the back of his neck. "All mom mode... all the time."

The second the words left his mouth, his eyes widened. "Oh—wow. I didn't mean that like—"

"It's okay," I interrupted softly. "Really. I wasn't even thinking about it like that. Your mom's sweet."

He let out a nervous laugh, running a hand down his face. His smile was small but real, the kind that made something in my chest unclench just a little.

"Actually," I said, "I should apologize to you."

He blinked, surprised. His brow furrowed slightly, that confused half-smile returning. I couldn't help but notice the way one corner of his mouth turned up naturally, the faint crease it left on his cheek.

"I was rude yesterday," I admitted. "To you and your parents. I was just... overwhelmed. The drive from California was, like, twenty-nine hours, and I hadn't eaten or slept and—"

"Mikaela." His voice was gentle but firm. "Please relax. You weren't rude, okay? And even if you had been, we'd understand. You've been through a lot. No one's judging you."

I exhaled, a little laugh slipping out before I could stop it. "You're kind. But I was definitely rude. I think everyone's just been subconsciously cutting me some slack."

He smiled—just slightly—and I found myself mirroring it.

"I just..." I hesitated. "I'm not usually like this. So quiet. It's just strange. Moving here to live with an uncle I barely know, in this tiny town where everyone already knows who I am—and why I'm here—it's... a lot. I just need some time to adjust."

He nodded slowly. "For what it's worth, first days suck for everyone. But... you've got a friend here. And not because I feel bad for you, or anything like that." His voice softened, earnest. "I'm here."

Something about the way he said it—the slight tilt of his head, the steady sincerity—made me believe him.

He cleared his throat, then added, "Actually, I was about to go grab a coffee. Do you like coffee? Could use some company."

Getting out of the house sounded like the best idea I'd heard in weeks. Mike was kind, but every time he looked at me, I saw it—the ghost of my mom in his expression.

"Lead the way," I said.

•

The Talon was small and warm, filled with the smell of espresso and cinnamon. The chatter of locals buzzed softly in the background as Clark handed me a mug.

"It's good," I said after a sip, catching his sideways glance. "If that's what you're wondering."

He smiled, just about to respond, when a girl with dark brown hair walked up. She was pretty, confident, and the look she gave Clark was sharp enough to cut glass. Then she turned to me with a polite, forced smile.

"Hey, Clark. Who's this?"

Clark smiled, oblivious—or pretending to be. "Lana, this is Mikaela. She just moved in next door. Mike's niece."

"Oh, cool," Lana said brightly, though her eyes said otherwise. "Mike's great—he's worked with my aunt a few times. I'm Lana."

"Mikaela," I said, shaking her hand. Her skin was warm, her grip too firm.

After a few pleasantries, she excused herself with a quick smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

I turned to Clark, arching a brow. "So... girlfriend?"

He nearly choked on his coffee. "No. No, no, no. Lana's just a friend."

"Uh-huh."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck again—apparently a nervous habit. "Okay, fine. I used to like her. A lot. For a long time. But she's kind of been stringing me along, and I'm... tired of it. I still care about her, just not in that way anymore. At least, I'm trying not to."

I tilted my head, smiling softly. "I get it. There was this guy back in LA. I was so focused on my grades I barely noticed anyone, but he... I don't know. I thought maybe he liked me back. He didn't."

Clark frowned. "People suck sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I asked, smirking.

He laughed, and it was such an easy, genuine sound that it surprised me. There was something different about him—something unpretentious.

For the first time since my mom died, I felt like I could breathe again.

Clark was nice. Not pity-nice. Not small-town polite. Just real.

And in that moment, I realized how badly I needed real.

•

The drive back to the farm was quiet. Not in that awkward, heavy way, but peaceful. The kind of silence that doesn't need filling.

The sun was starting to set over the fields, painting the sky in shades of soft gold and dusky pink. The windows were rolled down, the warm Kansas wind tangling my hair as Clark hummed along to a song on the radio—something old, something easy.

I caught myself glancing at him a few times. He looked like he belonged here—the sunlight catching in his hair, his hand relaxed on the steering wheel, that easy calm he seemed to carry everywhere he went.

"Thanks for the coffee," I said finally, just to break the quiet before it swallowed me.

He glanced at me with that boyish half-smile of his. "Anytime. You looked like you could use a change of scenery."

"Yeah," I admitted. "I think I forgot what fresh air feels like."

He laughed softly. "California air doesn't count?"

"Not the kind you can breathe."

That earned a real laugh from him this time. Warm. Unfiltered. The kind of sound that made the air in the truck feel lighter somehow.

We pulled into the driveway a few minutes later. The house looked smaller in the fading light, but softer too—like it belonged in a painting. Mike's truck was parked by the barn, his shadow moving in the distance as he finished feeding the horses.

Clark put the truck in park but didn't move right away. "Hey," he said, glancing toward me. "If you ever want to hang out again—no pressure, obviously—but... it'd be nice to have someone new around."

Something in my chest tightened, in a good way this time. "I'd like that," I said.

He smiled, and for a brief second, I almost forgot that my life had been shattered a month ago.

"See you, Mikaela."

"See you, Clark."

I stepped out of the truck, the gravel crunching under my boots, and watched him drive off until his tail lights disappeared down the road.

The quiet that followed wasn't heavy anymore—it just was.

I took the long way back to the house, circling behind the barn. The air was cooler now, the sky fading into deep violet, fireflies starting to blink along the fence line. I rested my hands on the wooden rail, staring out at the horses as they grazed. One of them—a light gray mare—lifted her head and looked at me, ears twitching like she was trying to decide if I was a friend.

"Hey," I whispered, my voice catching. "Guess we're both new here."

The horse blinked at me, slow and curious, and for some reason that simple gesture made something in me crack open.

When I went inside, Mike had left a plate of dinner on the counter, covered with foil, and a sticky note written in neat block letters:

Went to check the north fence. Don't wait up. Proud of you for getting out today. — M

I stared at the note for a long moment, the words blurring just a little.

Upstairs, the room smelled faintly like lavender detergent and cardboard boxes. My mirror was still in the corner, the chip catching the dim light from my lamp. I looked at myself again—same girl, same hollow eyes—but there was something softer in them now.

Maybe it was the coffee. Maybe it was Clark. Maybe it was just breathing air that didn't hurt for the first time in weeks.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and let the silence fill the space around me. It wasn't comforting, but it wasn't suffocating either.

Progress, I guess.

Before turning off the light, I slipped the beaded bracelet off my wrist and set it on the nightstand beside me. The pink and black beads caught the lamplight—tiny, ordinary, and somehow... hopeful.

"Goodnight, Mom," I whispered into the stillness.

Chapter Two: Home Sweet Home

Kansas. California. Kansas? California?

The words looped in Mikaela's head like a broken record as the pickup truck rolled down another endless stretch of two-lane highway. The world outside her window had changed from sun-bleached city blocks and congested freeways to open fields and sky that went on forever.

She'd never liked the city, not really. LA was too loud, too crowded, too restless. But going from that—to this—felt like being dropped onto another planet. The horizon looked empty, the air too still. Even the colors seemed quieter here.

Mikaela had only met her uncle Mike a handful of times before. Family holidays, mostly. A polite smile at Christmas, a hug that felt practiced, maybe a few stories about her mom and their childhood. That was the extent of their relationship. And now, he was her legal guardian.

Life had changed in a matter of weeks—no, days.

Losing her mom had been unexpected, the kind of thing that didn't feel real even when you were staring right at it. But one thing she'd known instantly, with a kind of cold certainty, was that she wasn't going to live with her father. That man had forfeited the right to be called "Dad" a long time ago.

So when Uncle Mike called and said he'd take her in, she'd been surprised—but relieved. The custody hearing barely lasted half an hour. Her father didn't even show up. And just like that, two weeks after the funeral, she was in the passenger seat of a dusty blue pickup truck, the city of angels fading in the rearview mirror as a "Welcome to Smallville, Kansas" sign passed by.

"Your car should be delivered tomorrow," Mike said, glancing over from the driver's seat as they turned onto a gravel driveway. "If you need to borrow the truck before then, I'll leave the keys on the counter."

"Thanks," Mikaela murmured, her voice flat.

The farmhouse came into view—a small, weathered home with paint peeling from the porch railings, the kind of place that looked lived-in and loved for decades. Beyond it, a barn leaned into the wind, red paint faded to rust, and a few horses grazed lazily in a nearby paddock. The air smelled like earth and hay and something achingly unfamiliar.

When Mikaela found her mom that day, something in her had broken—and stayed that way. It was like a switch flipped. The bubbly, outgoing girl who filled rooms with chatter and laughter had gone silent. In her place was someone she barely recognized—timid, cautious, and afraid of her own shadow.

Grief does strange things to people.

Mike got out of the truck first, walking around to grab her boxes from the back. Mikaela stayed where she was for a moment, watching the horizon instead of helping. The quiet pressed against her ears. Back in LA, you could always hear something—sirens, car horns, chatter, music from passing cars. Here, the loudest sound was the wind rustling through the grass.

She sighed and stepped out, gravel crunching beneath her sneakers. By the time she reached the porch, Mike was already carrying three boxes inside, chatting with someone she couldn't see.

She didn't care who it was. Honestly, she didn't have the energy to care about anything anymore.

"Hey, Mikaela!" Mike called, his voice carrying that soft Kansas drawl. "Come over here, there's some people I'd like you to meet!"

Perfect.

She dragged her feet toward the porch, tugging her sweatshirt sleeves over her hands. A polite smile—that was all she could manage. Keep it small, keep it simple, keep it together.

When she finally looked up, she found herself facing a family—a man, a woman, and a boy around her age.

"Mikaela, these are the Kents," Mike said. "They own the property next door. This is my niece."

Mr. and Mrs. Kent were warm and sturdy-looking, like people who had built their lives with their own hands. Their smiles were kind but careful, the kind people wear when they don't know how fragile someone else might be. They shook her hand instead of hugging her, and she was silently grateful for that mercy.

Then she met him.

Clark Kent.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with sun-bronzed skin and dark hair that curled slightly at the ends. His eyes—blue-green and impossibly sincere—met hers instantly, and for a second, it almost startled her how earnest he looked. There was a softness in his expression that felt unfamiliar, like someone seeing her instead of the story that followed her.

"If you ever need someone to show you around," he said, voice smooth and a little shy, "I'm happy to."

Normally, Mikaela would've blushed or stammered or said something witty back. But she wasn't herself anymore. She just didn't have it in her.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.

Mr. Kent cleared his throat gently. "Mikaela, I went to high school with your mom," he said, his tone dipping with empathy. "She was... extraordinary. I'm so sorry for your loss."

And there it was.

The pity. The past. The reminder that everyone here probably knew exactly who she was—the girl who lost her mother.

"Thank you, Mr. Kent."

"Please, call me Jonathan," he said kindly.

Mrs. Kent—Martha—offered a sympathetic smile. "Mike tells us you love horses. Do you ride?" Her voice was soft, almost melodic, and for a brief second it reminded Mikaela of her mom's.

"Not really," Mikaela admitted with a small laugh that wasn't entirely real. "But I'd like to learn someday."

Before she could retreat back into silence, Clark jumped in, a little too eagerly. "Well, I could teach you sometime. If you want."

His words came out fast, awkward. His hand rubbed the back of his neck, his smile twitching with embarrassment.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Mikaela's smile wasn't forced. It was small, but real.

"That's really sweet," she said quietly. "Thank you, Clark."

He grinned, and for a moment, the air didn't feel so heavy.

Still, as she looked out over the wide Kansas fields, the weight in her chest returned.

Chapter One: Introduction.

Fourteen minutes.

That’s how late Mikaela already was for her English exam. Fourteen minutes.

It was in moments like this that she mentally cursed her sixteen-year-old self for begging her mom to let her get her license the moment she could. Because now—seventeen, allegedly responsible, and proudly independent—she was sitting in a gridlocked line of cars on the 405, watching the clock on her dashboard mock her dreams of academic perfection.

LA traffic was ruining her life.

Okay, maybe that was dramatic. But right now, with the sun glaring through her windshield, the air conditioner sputtering warm air, and a pit of dread curling in her stomach, it felt true. If she hadn’t been so desperate for “freedom,” she’d still be taking the school bus. And if she were still on the bus, she wouldn’t be fifteen minutes late for the most important test of the semester.

You know what Harvard didn’t accept? Stupid girls who showed up fifteen minutes late to their English exams.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shitttt.”

The words left her mouth like second nature as she swung her car into a crooked parking spot, grabbed her bag, and bolted toward the school entrance. Her sneakers slapped the pavement, her heart thrumming against her ribs like a countdown clock.

“Morning, Mikaela,” the security guard said wearily as she thrust her backpack at him for the mandatory check.

“Morning,” she panted. “Sorry, I’m—late.”

The metal detector beeped halfheartedly as she slipped through, mumbling a thank-you before sprinting down the hall. Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck, her sweater sliding off one shoulder, and she could already feel Mrs. Harper’s judgment radiating from Room 204.

“You’re late, Ms. Arden.”

No kidding.

“Sorry, Mrs. Harper. Won’t happen again,” she said breathlessly, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace.

The teacher’s lips pursed into a thin line as she set the exam down with enough force to rattle Mikaela’s desk. Still, Mikaela could’ve kissed her for not locking her out entirely.

Once the test began, everything quieted. The panic faded, replaced by muscle memory—the rhythm of her pencil, the neat loops of her handwriting, the steady inhale and exhale she’d trained herself to maintain during tests. She finished with time to spare, and by the time she handed it in, her heartbeat had almost returned to normal.

Almost.

Because today wasn’t just any day.

Today was the day.

The day she’d been waiting for since she was old enough to spell “Harvard.” Every sleepless night, every scholarship essay, every honors class and anxiety-fueled meltdown—all of it had been leading here.

She drove home with trembling hands on the steering wheel, adrenaline still running wild in her veins. Every stoplight felt like an obstacle. Every second, her mind drifted to that envelope.

Would it be thin? Thick? Red stamp? Gold seal?

Would it be enough?

When she finally pulled into the driveway, her pulse was thundering so loudly she barely heard the car door slam behind her. The air was heavy, hot—the kind of dry LA afternoon where everything shimmered. She jogged to the mailbox, breath catching in anticipation.

And then—nothing.

No envelope. No Harvard letter. Just a couple of bills and a grocery coupon for a store they didn’t even shop at.

Her throat went dry.

Maybe it was delayed. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe—

“MOM?” she called as she pushed through the front door, expecting to find her mother at the kitchen counter, half-listening to one of her rambles about test scores or future dorms. Maybe she’d even laugh at her for checking the mail so early.

But the sound that came out next wasn’t laughter.

“MOM?”

The word cracked this time.

Her mother was on the floor, motionless.

And in that moment—Harvard didn’t matter. Nothing did.

JJ Maybank

John B

Pope Heyward

Rafe Cameron

Kiara Carrera

Sarah Cameron

Paring: JJ Maybank x bsf!reader

Summary: You had been thinking of asking your best friend JJ to take your virginity for months, turns out words didn’t even really need to be exchanged on the matter.

Warnings: SMUT, oral!fem, fingering, dirty talk, etc. OVER 18 ONLY. Prolly typos also (sorry)

Authors Note: While I do make my own GIFS usually, this one is not mine! Credit to the owner ◡̈

It all started with a text. A simple little text.

Y/n - Are you crashing at mine tonight?

JJ - Sure, off work @9.

It wasn’t rare for JJ to spend the night, not rare at all actually. Whether it was both of you crashing at John B’s or him crashing at your place, sleepovers had been common amongst you two for years. This one however, was different.

You were lying in your bed, watching the second Hunger Games movie. Dad had left a few years ago, and Mom worked night shifts so the house had been left empty. Your head was already on his chest, so you didn’t think much of it as you lifted your leg and placed it over JJ’s lap, trying to get more comfortable. That is until his hand all but flew to your thigh, squeezing it tightly, before slowly trailing down just a tad, and squeezing there as well. Your eyes widened.

It was normal for you and JJ to cuddle, but that was new. You were sure he was doing it absentmindedly, and he was. JJ was experienced with girls to say the least, you always told yourself that little movements like that meant more to you than they did to him, because of how used to it he was with other girls. That thought however didn’t stop the growing warmth between your legs and the distant thoughts racing through your head.

As your bottom lip slipped between your teeth, you decided to test the waters. Trying to make it seem nonchalant and unintentional, you shifted your body slightly, slipping your hand under his shirt in the process. You moved it up and down his abdomen twice, slowly. Pausing right above the waistline of his sweatpants, you waited a moment.

While his chest did begin lifting and dropping slightly faster with his breathing, he gave no sudden reaction. Smiling slightly, teeth still gripping your bottom lip, you let your index finger slip just barely into the waistband of his sweats, tracing the skin there slowly. About fifteen seconds in, he began tightly squeezing your thigh again. You were silently reveling in your success for only a moment, before the blonde boy surprised you yet again.

You had been wearing a tight low V-necked top. It was more like a bra. The material cotton and ribbed. It only covered half of your tits, it was a top you wore around the boys often in the summer heat, no one ever said anything about it.

The arm that had been wrapped around your shoulder suddenly traveled from its respectable place on your arm, to the top of your right tit. JJ brought all of his fingers together in a point, and delicately placed them on top of your nipple, before slowly separating them until his hand was palming your entire boob, then dragging them back up into a point. He repeated this motion over and over again, his fingers hardly touching your skin at all, and yet it felt so good.

It wasn’t until now that you realized he was half-hard under your leg, his other hand still tightly gripping the fat on your thighs. You felt faint and began moving your finger in his waistband again. You've been so distracted with his hand on your tit that you hadn’t even noticed you stopped moving yours. It remained silent, neither one of you daring to say a word.

It began feeling like a silent competition, of who could tease the other more without cracking. You genuinely didn’t even know what was happening anymore. This was your best friend. You met when you were six, and you’d thought about this happening so many times, but you didn’t think it ever actually would. You always knew JJ was attracted to you, he never tried to hide it, but for some reason, this always felt so impossible. You had no idea how wrong you were.

You slowly removed your hand from his sweatpants and grabbed his, the one that had been playing with your tits. You brought it up in your hand, close to your mouth, and began playing with his fingers. You had a plan, you were just trying to work up the courage to do it, and right now your mind was too fogged with how good his grip on your thigh felt.

Slowly, you moved his thumb to the front of your mouth, using it to play with your lips. You felt him gasp underneath you, not expecting such an outright dirty act from you. It was hardly audible, but it was there.

You ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it into your mouth just barely and biting the tip of it. You reached your tongue out and gently traced the very tip of his thumb, but about two seconds in JJ took power back into his own hands and shoved his thumb the rest of the way into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around it immediately and began tracing your tongue all around. You could feel him finally looking down at you, mouth open, breathing heavy, and eyes locked on your mouth around his finger.

Before you could take another into your mouth, he tilted your chin upwards to look at him and removed his thumb. You knew he was doing it to get you to look at him, but you didn’t care, immediately connecting your lips to his. Everything felt so close after that.

It took about .2 seconds for him to kiss you back. It was sloppy and intense, and his tongue was in your mouth in a matter of seconds. Since your leg was already over his waist, it didn’t take much effort to move on top of him, straddling his lap. Immediately, you felt his hardened dick press into your core. If your eyes weren’t closed you swore they would’ve rolled to the back of your head. Both of his hands moved to your ass, one of yours slipping into his messy blonde hair as you rolled your hips deliciously into his. You both moaned into each other's mouths at the same time, your grasp on his hair turning aggressive as he gripped your ass hard.

You’d imagined this many times, but you never imagined it feeling this good.

“Baby, fuck.”

JJ broke the kiss to moan out, and you could’ve sworn you almost came just at the nickname itself. Hearing it come out of his mouth, like this, it was perfect. You began rolling your hips faster. “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum in my pants baby fuck.”

The pair of you began breathing into each other's mouths, as he grabbed your hips and began rutting up into you. Your hand flew to the headboard above his head, eyes rolling back and the first true moan slipping out of your mouth. It felt so good. JJ came in his sweats right then and there at the sight and sound of you, but you didn’t even notice.

He flipped the pair of you over, kissing you deeply. You wrapped your legs around his waist immediately, eagerly pulling him back down to your core. “Please, Jay”

You hardly mustered it out, and he paused to look at you. You could see it on his face, how proud he was of his girl for using her words. “Please what, baby? Say it. What do you need?” He whispered into your open mouth, hips still grinding into yours. Everything felt so fuzzy, felt so good. Your hands began clawing at his back, trying to figure out what you even wanted. You didn’t even know anymore. “Talk to me love, use your words.”

God he was good at talking.

“Need you.”

JJ was fighting an internal battle, of whether to be nice and not make you say in detail exactly what you wanted him to do to you, or to be JJ and force the words out of his shy best friend before he would touch her. His dick was already hard again, and he began thinking about how all it took to make him cum was hearing you moan for the first time. Just one. One moan, that was all it took and he was creaming all over his sweats.

Deciding he was a nice boy, JJ kept his eyes locked on yours as he slowly let one hand slide downward. Your breathing quickens as he moves under your shorts and into your panties. “JJ..”

He couldn’t believe this was happening. His untouchable best friend underneath him, begging him to play with her. He had literally dreamed about this. “Is this what you need, baby?” He whispered. You nodded your head rapidly, waiting patiently as he traced the inner part of your thigh. “Words.”

You moaned softly, your voice delicate as you mustered up a small ‘yes, Jay.’ He smiled softly.

“Good fucking girl.”

His head dipped down and began biting at your neck as his fingers moved to your clit. He rubbed slow circles along it, gawking at how drenched you were. He swore he’d never felt a pussy so wet in his entire life, it was dripping down his fingers as they played with you. You gripped the back of his hair tightly, letting out soft moans as he continued his teethy assault on your neck. “Feels so good, Jay.” You gasped out, feeling his fingers begin to rub harder and quicker on your clit. “Yeah? That feel good baby?”

He knew he was the first person to ever touch you, and god did he love it. “You like that, huh? Like being dirty for me? Yeah?”

Your heart began pounding out of your chest at his words. You just nodded your head quickly. He removed his head from your neck, grabbing your chin with his free hand and forcing you to look at him as he touched you. “You want me to eat you out?”

Your mouth dropped at his words, another loud moan escaping. JJ took this opportunity to move his free hand from your chin and place his middle and index fingers into your open mouth. He almost came at the dirty smile that took over your face, before wrapping your lip around his fingers and holding eye contact through your lashes as you sucked on them. “Fuck me, you’re such a dirty girl huh? You love this.” He said, moving his hand from your clit down to your entrance, immediately pushing two fingers into you. You moaned around his fingers, as he slammed in and out of you at a quick pace.

He watched your eyes roll to the back of your head as you sucked on his fingers. “You love having somethin’ in your mouth don’t you? Dirty girl, fuck you’re so good for me. So fucking good. You like being a good little girl for me don’t you?”

His fingers began pumping in and out of you at a relentless pace and you gripped at his biceps as hard as you could. “Don’t you?”

You released his fingers from your mouth, screaming out. “Yes, daddy.”

You didn’t even know what you were saying anymore, but JJ did. Something switched in him the moment those words came out of your mouth. He wanted to ruin you, but gently take care of you all at the same time. He removed his fingers from inside you and ripped your shorts and panties down your legs all at once. He didn’t say anything, quickly tossing both your legs over his shoulders and yanking you down towards him.

He didn’t waste even a second, licking a long stripe from your entrance up to your clit, before taking it into his mouth and sucking harshly. You moaned out so loud that your hand flew over your mouth, but JJ didn’t like that. He softly bit your clit, reaching up and smacking your hand away from your mouth. He wanted to hear you, and you knew it.

Both of your hands flew down to his hair as he continued flicking your clit on his tongue, before sucking it back into his mouth. You pulled him up by his hair, back to your eye level. His lips were red and swollen, and he was about to ask why you didn’t let him make you cum, but you pushed him by his shoulders onto his back. Getting onto his lap again, you made sure he was watching as you lifted your top over your head, your tits bouncing out. JJ swore he almost came right then and there. JJ always joked about wanting you to flash him. Your mom had blessed you with a particularly large chest, and you knew JJ had a thing for your tits. He honestly never thought he’d see them.

“Holy fucking fuck.”

You gripped his shirt, pulling him upward to kiss you. It only took about two seconds before he was ripping his own shirt off. You’d seen JJ shirtless many times, but this was different. You wanted to get on your knees and lick up his abs for hours, he was so fucking perfect. Your gawking was cut short, as JJ wrapped his mouth around your right nipple, sucking on it harshly. You threw your head back, gripping his hair and moaning loudly. “JJ, fuck..yes.”

He flicked your nipple back and forth with his tongue, and it shocked you how amazing it felt. “Holy fuck.” You gasped out, gripping his hair tighter as you looked down at him. His pretty blue eyes were staring right back up at you, loving every moment of this. It didn’t take long before he grabbed the back of your thighs and flipped you back onto your back. He softly bit your nipple, before once again throwing your legs over his shoulders and continuing his assault between your legs.

You let out a deep sigh, speaking softly as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Can’t believe this is happening…”

You felt JJ nod into you, continuing to circle your clit with his tongue. He slowly slid two fingers back inside of you, sucking harshly on your clit as he slammed his fingers in and out of you at a relentless pace.

It only took about 2 minutes before you were cumming on his tongue. As JJ crawled back up to meet your lips, you began to claw at his sweatpants. The only thing you’d ever done before was give head, and JJ knew that. You wanted to show him that you could make him feel good too. “I wanna touch you.”

Much to your surprise, JJ stopped you. “No.”

Your heart to dropped.