#nerdy!reader

In high school, he would fill your locker with helium filled, pink and red metallic, heart shaped balloons that would attack you when you pulled open the metal door. A metal door with a note taped to its inside. A love note to distract you while he ran up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting your feet off the ground. You spun around in his hold — unimpressed — to begin lecturing him how he shouldn't have done any of this. He couldn't make a lot of it out since his lips were interfering with your lips' formation and absorbing a lot of your voice.

"Yeah, yeah, I know — did you see your main present?" he asked, continuing his kissing down your neck. Your brows knitted and you turned back to your locker. Steve tucked his chin over your shoulder as you picked up the velvet lined jewellery box, side eyeing him beside your head, and popped it open.

"Steve..."

"You don't have to wear it — I just thought it was nice." Of course you'd wear it; a S pendant on a dainty chain wasn't an offence, but it was the fact he disregarded your wish of zero Valentine's Day fuss. Even though you admitted that night it was sweet (and you were never seen without the S atop the valley between your breasts again), you insisted he not engage with the celebrations in years following.

But this year he didn't.

After years of him getting you the flowers and the chocolate anyway, note reading "Just felt like it. Nothing to do with the day..." shoved between the roses, you came to expect he wouldn't listen. Still, here you sat, mid afternoon on a Saturday, February fourteenth, Valentine's Day, alone. Steve hadn't done so much as mention it — didn't spare the store decorations a glance. You weren't being afforded his sappy persistence anymore. Not a single ring shook your phone the entire day. Steve called to tell you how his lunch was (especially if you made it for him); something was wrong — more than wrong. He'd given up trying. You didn't know Steve was capable of that. He was a lot of things: handsome, endearingly stupid, a hopeless romantic, bad fighter, privileged, fiercely loyal — quitter wasn't one of them. If he was going to do something, he might as well do it right was his mentally with your relationship. And you'd taken it all for granted. All the kissing and the touching and the gifts and patience. Had he got tired of you not reciprocating? He didn't ask you for much. Just this one day to be ridiculously lovey dovey and you wouldn't shut up about the sacrificed goats' hides? You knew dating the Steve Harrington was too good to be true. He would get bored of you — he had got bored of you. Was nothing on Valentine's Day sliding into a break up?

Knocks at the front door interrupt your spiral.

You swing open the wooden door — to Steve; flowers and chocolates in hand, smug grin, hair perfect as always.

It's the first deep breath you've been able to take all day.

"Miss me?" he teases, and you know he knows the answer to that, so you don't say it, throwing yourself around him and forcing his lips to yours instead. "Jeez, I'm not that easy, say hi to me first," he jokes, murmur vibrating the kiss. You laugh. You missed him so much you laugh out loud at something you'd usually just smile at.

It had been a singular day.

Standing back on your own in the doorway, you tip your head down as you clean your lips of his and your saliva.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he smiles, extending the flowers you'd semi squished in your embrace. You wanted to ramble, but decide to save it. He can feel guilty later.

"Lesson learnt, asshole, but if you do this again, I'm filleting you," you threaten, snatching your tacky flowers and chocolates from him with an entitlement. He finds it cute. "And get in here! And to my bed; I'm not letting you leave again."

✎﹏chapter one  ‪‪‪‪chapter two chapter three chapter four

✎﹏chapter five  chapter six chapter seven chapter eight 

✎﹏chapter nine chapter ten chapter eleven chapter twelve

✎﹏chapter thirteen chapter fourteen chapter fifteen chapter sixteen

✎﹏chapter seventeen chapter eighteen chapter nineteen chapter twenty

✐ epilogue ✐

‪‪chapter one 

i think there were supposed to be more but they never came out or got deleted :((

✐ just the smut ✐

destress.

no need to be jealous        

better than studying

✐ etc ✐

visuals

You needed another extracurricular as your school advisor put it. Which was irritating considering you'd spent all your free time volunteering this year and your social life had taken a drastic nosedive because of it and you picked up a sport you couldn't care less about just to appear "well rounded" to potential colleges. Your grades were there, straight A's and that one B in sophomore year that haunted you, but you just needed those additional credits to excel.

"What can I do for extra credits? preferably something that will give me a lot," you inquire and your counsellor chuckles, understanding your view. You knew that wasn't meant to be why you did something that gave you extra credit, but Jesus Christ, why would any student offer to clean the cafeteria "just because they care?"

"Well, we're always looking for more student tutors, but I know you don't necessarily work well with the less intelligent-" they answer lightheartedly, teasing your well documented history of breaking down when you were paired with the less academically gifted. But you were desperate.

"I'll do it," you interrupt, hands planting on the desk, causing your advisor to raise their eyebrows. You'd end up in a fit every time you had to even work with someone of a lower mental calibre than you, let alone teach them. It'd been that way since elementary school and had just gotten worse in recent years with the prospect of universities seeing a bad grade on a school project you'd done. Your counsellor picks up a piece of paper, names printed down it. Their eyes look over the list of to be tutored students.

"Are you sure? because the students on this list are to the likes of Gregory Wilson," they start listing and you groan at the first mention of a name, head dropping to the table edge and landing on crossed arms. Gregory Wilson, 'class clown' since second grade and still yet to make anyone laugh. And, from what you'd heard through the grapevine, yet to make anyone do anything but groan in annoyance.

"Please tell me I get to pick who I tutor," you mutter, making them chuckle and put the list aside.

"You don't have to tutor, y/n. You could-" they try to console you, assuring you of other options as they place a comforting hand on your upper arm.

"But do they give the most credits?" you ask, cutting them off once again, which wasn't your best manners but they excused it, lifting your face up from your forearms.

"Well, no, but-"

"Who else is on the list?" you question, peeking over to get a look.

"Well, let me see," they say, picking the list back up and reading down it. "William Abrams?"

"No" you grumble.

"Marcus Eaton?"

"No"

"Nicole Jackson?"

"God no"

"Magnolia Nelly?"

"no"

"Jonathan Sinclair?"

"N-" you start to boredly mumble again, but your ears perk up. Johnny Sinclair? The tennis boy? Sure, he could be kind of douchey sometimes, but he wasn't creepy or incompetent, or a girl who bullied you into being insecure for the first time at age 7, but overall he was kind, fairly good at listening. Tutoring him wouldn't feel like a hopeless case. "Johnny Sinclair?" you clarify, to which your advisor nods. "Is it possible for me to tutor him?"

"Well, the system doesn't quite involve picking but, if you're sure about this, I can put in a few good words and try to make some arrangements," your counsellor offers and you jumped in your seat at the opportunity.

"Yes! Thank you! I'm serious about this, please," you respond, practically begging them to take pity on your in need self.

"Alright! Next meeting about it is this Thursday, I can catch up with you after that," they say, "but, in the meantime, please find another office to have lunch in, I'm doing you a favour, it can be a trade."

"Fine," you jokingly groan as you roll your eyes playfully, picking up your bag from beside the chair and slinging it over your shoulder. You understood. They wanted one lunch free of your problems as well. "I'll leave you to eat in peace," you say as you exit.

"Thank you!" they call out as you shut the door behind you.

Friday morning, you were in your advisor's office. You arrived before they did and impatiently waited outside the door for 15 minutes but you were pretty sure no one noticed.

"I want a thank you in your valedictorian speech," they say half jokingly as they spin a paper around flat on their desk and push it over to you. You snatch it up and read.

"Yes!" You squeal, jumping up as it confirms you were set to tutor Johnny Sinclair every Tuesday from 3:20 pm to 4:30 pm. Your counsellor chuckles at your excitement. They'd heard things. It was no secret Johnny Sinclair was a well sought after guy. Your advisor just assumed you were trying to find some in and was happy you got it.

"But hey, tutoring, no funny business," they jokingly remind you, making your brows furrow in confusion. If the guy needed tutoring, he clearly wasn't smart enough to be with you anyway, so why would you entertain that?

First session, you quickly found out why you'd entertain that. Johnny was kind and funny and charming and smart! in his own way. He just wasn't applying himself. You met out front of the school's library. Johnny was ten minutes late. Which, initially pissed you off a little, but his joke as he arrived showed enough self awareness, and just a hint of shyness, that made him seem human.

"Sorry, I'm late, I've uh never been to the library before," he said with a slight chuckle, hand rubbing the back of his neck like flush ran up it. You excused it and found a table, quickly getting started on schooling him through this semester's English work. Macbeth.

Sessions flew by, and you became friendlier and friendlier with the kid you never even assumed you'd wave to. He was sick one Tuesday, nothing too wrong, but enough to not want to get out of bed and attend classes. So, you came to him. He sent you his address, and you headed over, assuming a nice place, considering you had heard his family was loaded with a capital L, but you were still shocked. It wasn't just a nice apartment; it was a penthouse. Like one of those ones rich characters live in in shows. After expressing your awe at the place, Johnny jokingly about his exorbitant wealth, you focused back on studying. With a more comfortable atmosphere, you could see Johnny absorbing more of the information, and soon enough, every session was at his place.

Johnny was improving massively. After every test or time papers would be handed back with a grade, Johnny would thank you. Sincerely. Carrie arrived home earlier than expected one afternoon and gushed over how amazing you were helping her Johnny and oh! you're just such a gift, darling! while Johnny awkwardly stood aside.

"She's a good girl you know," Carrie mentioned to Johnny one night, fingers knitting away as they watched TV past Will's bedtime.

"What?" Johnny inquired, brows furrowed at the out of the blue comment.

"That girl that's tutoring you," she specified, lighting tapping his knee as if to jog his memory.

"y/n? yeah, she is," he agreed, trying to focus back on the TV, feeling squirmish in place discussing you like this.

"She's being looked at by school like Yale and Harvard, did you know?"

"Yes, mom, I know, it's like all she talks about," Johnny answered, seeming even a bit agitated at the topic. He didn't know why. It's not like you spoke it to death and he was more than happy to listen to you talk for hours even if you did, just, the idea of you being so much smarter, having such a bright future, was intimidating. He felt...nervous around you, and he'd never felt that before. Carrie's lips tug into a smirk at the corner as she glances over to her son.

"you like her, don't you?" she questions.

"She's my tutor, mom, please don't make this weird"

"how would it be weird?! she's your age, she's a lovely girl, pretty, smart, she's a real catch, Johnny!"

"I know, mom, and I'm an idiot she'd never date! so yeah! thanks for reminding me!" he snaps, leaving with a huff. Carrie was utterly confused where all of that came from but gave him time to cool off. Or just go to bed for the night. He chose the latter.

Johnny had approved so much with your help. He'd not only finished Macbeth's curriculum and smashed it but moved on to Romeo and Juliet for some extra credit.

After another successful study session, you were on your way out when Johnny finally made an attempt at a move.

"I'm uh having a party, this Saturday, you should come!" Johnny called out as you moved towards the exit, standing up from his seat at the table where you'd left. You lightly chuckled to yourself. A party? yeah, sure! you could go! it's not like Saturday night was your one night of rest with the rest of the week swamped.

"I'll be there!" you sarcastically call back, and you thought it was clear, but still, like a dog at the sound of the treats bag, Johnny perked up.

"Yeah?" he asked with so much hoped it killed you to bring him back to reality.

"No, Johnny," you reply, tone lower as you turn back around. "Listen, I'd love to go, I'm sure you throw a great party, but I can't exactly not rest on my only opportunity," you explain.

"You don't have to stay all night! you can come, we could hang out for a little bit, and you can leave!" he tries to bargain. Sure, he wanted a night with you, but he'd settle for an hour if it meant hanging out with you and not having to discuss two dead, fictional, in love teenagers. "Still make it home in time for that 11 pm bedtime," he adds teasingly, nudging you with his elbow, which makes you smile a bit.

"I can't, Johnny," you insist.

"You can!" he persists. "I promise, on everything, you'll come in about seevveenn??? pm, and I'll get you out before ten-"

"Nine"

"Nine pm. Please. You're really cool and I'd like to hang out with you and not talk about a guy who really wants to be a bird on a balcony," he says and his reference to Romeo is amusing, as well as his comment on you supposedly being cool, and proof he had been learning, so, you give in.

"Fine! but, that's it, there at seven sharp and out by nine," you say, firm on the arrangement, and he nods eagerly, not wanting to mess this up.

It wasn't a date. You don't know why you were anxious like it was one. But also, you'd never been on one either, so you just assumed this is what it was like. Your everything shower the morning of was military from the intensity to strict order. It wasn't like it was romantic, but you shaved the peach fuzz off your upper lip. And it definitely wouldn't get intimate, but you shaved above your knee. You needed to look perfect. You didn't have the excuse of a full day of school. So you blew out your hair, the ends bouncing in soft curls, did your makeup, you felt clownish with too much so something simple was best, and picked your best dress that didn't say "I'm trying too hard" but also didn't say "I don't care about this." Finally, it was 6:40 pm and you were on your way.

You arrived and Johnny quickly swerved through the crowd to greet you. He tried to hide it, being a gentleman and all, but you caught his up down look of you. And you could tell he enjoyed the sight.

"You look amazing," he told you and you were grateful for the lighting hiding your blush.

"Thank you, you do too!" you replied, suddenly nervous and speechless when you always had so much to say. Johnny joked you were a walking dictionary with your vocabulary but Johnny Sinclair had rendered you speechless.

"Uh, there's um punch over there if you want any, or we just have water! just yeah, um, have what you like!" Johnny fumbled over his words, making you smile at its endearing quality. "I swear your tutoring is working, just um the punch is strong," he excuses, taking another drink from his solo cup with looking at you over the rim. You nod understandingly.

"Uh huh, and you've already had a few cups?" you lightheartedly question. He shakes his head, a few curls being jostled atop his head, both hands coming to wrap around his cup as he lowers it from his lips again.

"No, just this one," he says, lifting the cup in gesture as he mentions it. You're both so awkward in this setting. Which was understandable for you, but Johnny? This was his natural habitat. So what was his excuse? "Come to my bedroom," Johnny invited and your eyes sped through many blinks as you look to him, puzzled by the sudden suggestion. "No! no! not like that, just, uh, I can see you're not comfortable here and it's quieter in my room," he reasons, doing that same awkward chuckle he did the first time you spoke. You felt stupid for even thinking the first thing. Of course he didn't mean that, but part of you kind of wanted him to. And a part of him was holding back a "unless you want that."

Tennis rackets on the walls with various posters and photos. Trophies and medals on a shelf glimmer in comparison to his bland navy and grey bedding.

"Sit anywhere you like, I don't mind," Johnny says, closing the door behind you both. There was only really the bed to sit unless you counted the floor, so you sat on his unmade bed's side edge. "oh, I'm sorry, let me just-" he says, quickly untangling his quilt and tossing it to every corner of his bed in an attempt to half make it. Your head tilts down to your lap, hands resting on top of your skirt covered thighs, with a smile on your lips at his efforts. "Our maid clearly didn't get to my room before she clocked off," he says and, no matter how many times you'd been over, having a maid still didn't seem like a real thing to you. He comes to sit next to you, placing his cup on the shelf across from him before plopping down beside you. "So," he starts, clapping his hands on his laps, not knowing where to begin and nervous under your gaze.

"So," you repeat, also not knowing what to say, which makes you both laugh in the awkwardness. "How come you're nervous? A party is basically your home," you remark.

"yeah, but this isn't a party, is it?" He sheepishly responds, gesturing to his bedroom.

"What? Don't you have girls in here like all the time?" you jokingly assume and he dramatically gasps at the accusation, hand covering his heart.

"No!" he defends. "I mostly go to their places," he adds smugly and you roll your eyes. It goes silent again as you look around.

"So you have slept with girls?" you only half heartedly question, not expecting him to answer. But his eyes widen and he reaches over for his drink, taking a gulp before nodding.

"Yeah, well, girl," he corrects. "It was a disaster, I don't know if it even counts, like we were going to and everything but her mom walked in and yeah..." he trails off recalling the memory, his recounting of the events making you laugh.

"I'm sorry, it's not funny, that must have been terrifying," you apologise through giggles, "But thats your only sex story?" you ask, finding it hard to believe.

"Well, what's your wrap sheet?" he asks back almost defensively.

"Oh, no one, but that's because I'm waiting for the right person," you reply, going to continue but you catch his rolling eyes. "What's that for?"

"You're one of those," he proclaims half jokingly.

"One of what?" you inquire.

"One of those people who take sex way too seriously," he answers.

"Oh, so you think sex is casual?" you ask back, bit more attitude at where you think his beliefs are going. He shakes his head.

"No, like, not saying you should do anything you're uncomfortable with, but don't you ever want to let loose? Sleep with someone you shouldn't? Kiss someone you shouldn't?" Johnny question, internally, selfishly, hoping you'd say yes. You shrug.

"Not really," you answer, and Johnny takes another drink from his cup.

"Great," he mutters under his breath.

"Why?" you inquire, wanting to know why he wanted to know and why he was seemingly upset with your answer.

"So I'd have a chance," he answers, joking tone, but sincere. You laugh. The idea was preposterous. Him? Liking you? Romantically? This wasn't a comedy club. "What’s so funny?"

"You liking me," you answer, figuring that was his joke. His anxious hands rubbing up and down his thighs before coming together to fidget with his fingers was your indicator he wasn't joking about it. He felt like an idiot now. He already knew what his boys would say about, well, liking a girl at all, but you of all girls too. You weren't bad. Not an embarrassment. But, not exactly the type a group of boys found cool. "Oh, you're not kidding," you realise and he shakes his head, looking down to his thumb tapping against his palm. You didn't know what to do. You liked him too, you were pretty sure that's what this was, but you didn't know where to go from there.

Impulsively, you don't know where you got the confidence, you say his name so he'll look at you. "Johnny?"

"hm?" he hums as he looks back up to you beside him before your hands hold his face and you press your lips to his. His eyes widen for a moment before reciprocating the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle the side of your neck.

Only five seconds in you realise what you're doing and pull back.

"I'm sor-"

"No, keep going," he cuts you off, diving back into the kiss. You're not sure if your short breath is from the kiss or your nerves but either way, you know your exhales are audible.

It's like this for a few minutes. At some point, his tongue meets yours and you're certain you're drunk off him. Maybe the punch really was that strong. But when his hand starts sliding up your thigh, just the outside under your dress skirt, his bedroom door opens.

"Yoo! Johnny, get out here!" Kyle or Nate or some other future frat boy name yells as he barges in and you practically fly back from him. "Yo, isn't that that tutor gir-" his friend starts to question before Johnny is up and closing the door on him.

"I should go!" you say as you stand and pat down your skirt.

"No, no, it's okay, I can lock the door," Johnny insists, wanting to continue more than he even wanted a drink.

"Johnny, really, I should go," you repeat again, more stern as you start to leave.

"It's not even nine yet," Johnny points out, but you're already slipping out of his room and swiftly making your way towards the exit.

That Tuesday was awkward. It was back at the library again, which it hadn't been for weeks and weeks. His place felt too intimate. There was no friendly banter on your way there together, just you seated at a table and he joined you.

"Hey!-" Johnny greeted as he came to the chair across from you, but you got straight to the point.

"I don't think I should be your tutor anymore," you state. Johnny's eyes widen and he quickly pulled his chair out and sat.

"No, no, you're an amazing tutor, you're the only person who's actually ever made schoolwork make sense to me," he says, which was true, but you were trying to get out of this anyway you could.

"Yeah, but there's much better out there and besides, you're not doing that much better than before," you downplay everything you'd actually done for him. He shakes his head, opening his bag and reaching in to grab his copy of Romeo and Juliet and graded papers.

"Yes, yes, I am, my grades on my Macbeth work," he says, pushing the crumpled up papers over to you, all marked with consistent B's, "and this! I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for you," he says, holding up his copy of Romeo and Juliet.

"Yeah, but are you really understanding any of it?" you question, trying so hard to escape this commitment that tied you to him.

"Yes! I am! you know I am! like," he answers, flipping to a random page. "give me my sin again! after Romeo kissed Juliet and she declares it a sin and he's like "well if that's a sin, I'll sin again"-" he explains before recognising the parallels. "okay, on the nose, but still! y/n, you can't just abandon this because, why? do you regret kissing me?" Johnny rambles, so confused and just wanting some clarity on the situation.

"No! I don't regret it, I just don't want things to get messy," you reason.

"Then we won't let them!" he declares.

"We have nothing in common!" you state, once again, trying to pull up anything to make up an excuse.

"I'll learn! What are your favourite books?" Johnny offers, and you realise you can't fight it, your head falling into your hands, elbows on the desk edge. "Please, y/n, please, I really like you. Just, one date, one chance, and if I fuck up, you can throw me away and never speak to me again but please, give me a chance" Johnny negotiates, head ducking to try and meet your gaze. You look back up to him, chin propped on your palms, fingers wrapping around your cheeks. You had to give it to him. He was persistent.

"Give me my sin again?" he quotes like a question, offering a wry smile and you can't help but smile too.

"Fine," you agree and his mouth shoots into a smile before leaning over to peck a kiss on your lips.

"Yes! Thank you! You won't regret it!" he promises you as he jumps up. "That was okay, right?" he inquires quietly about the kiss and you nod.

"Yes, it was okay, Johnny," you assure him, genuine smile tugging at your lips.