i choose you!
nerd!rogue x popular!reader
oneshot (fluff + smut)
14k wc
sum - you could have anyone on campus... but you chose the shy nerd who avoids you like the plague! despite that, you're absolutely determined to make him yours.
cw - slow burn, plot with porn, slight misunderstandings, angst if you squint, FLUFF, teasing, sub rogue, dom reader, virginity loss, handjobs, overstimulation, p in v, creampie, getting together
a/n - omg i've been so hooked on this u guys have no idea. finally done with this tho, hope you guys love it as much as i do! will be finishing up requests now...
you are the it girl on campus.
everyone knows you, and everyone looks at you. your clothes, your hair, your laugh, even the way you walk into a room like it’s your own personal runway. you don’t try to be intimidating, but it happens anyway. you’re all pink, with lip gloss and glitter and confidence,
everyone eats it up.
so when you walk into math class late again, nobody is surprised. a few guys in the back row straighten up like they’re about to bark. a couple girls whisper about how they wish they looked like you.
i mean, how could they not?
you toss your hair, adjust your bag on your shoulder, and scan the room for an empty seat.
and you see him.
rogue cheney.
he’s quiet, pale, hoodie pulled up even though it’s warm. he’s scribbling something in the margins of his notebook. he’s tucked into the corner like he’s trying to blend into the wall, but you spot him instantly.
you always do.
because he’s exactly your type.
your real type—the one nobody knows about. the one you’d never admit to your friends, or the girls in your sorority, or the guys who line up to flirt with you.
nerds.
quiet, shy, soft-spoken boys who look like they’d melt if you touched them. boys who read and game and mind their business.
boys like rogue.
you don’t know much about him. just that he’s a cute guy in your math class who’s always with sting eucliffe—which makes no sense to you, because sting is the hottest frat president here, and rogue looks like he’d rather die than talk to a crowd. he’s even the president of the gaming club or whatever. such a dork.
but they’re always together. always.
you slide into the seat behind him, crossing your legs, flipping open your notebook. you pretend you’re not looking at him, but you are.
you watch the way he pushes his hair back, the way he bites his lip when he’s thinking, the way he taps his pencil is small patterns.
a girl like you, falling in love with a nerd like him? it’s crazy. and it’s your little secret.
the professor starts lecturing, but you barely hear a word. you’re too busy watching rogue’s shoulders tense when he concentrates. too busy noticing the way he leans over his notebook like he’s protecting it. too busy imagining what his voice sounds like when he’s not whispering answers under his breath...
you doodle hearts in the margins of your notes like a young schoolgirl instead of paying attention to class.
it’s ridiculous. it’s the kind of thing people would gossip about for weeks if they ever found out. the it girl falling for the campus nerd? the president of the gaming club? sting eucliffe’s quiet little shadow?
but he’s just sooo cute! the stupid little minecraft pins on his backpack, the pokemon keychains dangling off the zipper, the way he can’t hold eye contact with anyone for more than two seconds...
god, he’s cute.
you’re so lost in your own head that you don’t even notice class ending until chairs scrape and backpacks zip. rogue moves quickly, packing up with that quiet urgency he always has. he slips his notebook into his bag, pulls his hood up a little higher, and stands.
you straighten up instinctively.
he doesn’t look back. he never does. he just walks out of the room, quiet and small and completely unaware that you’ve been staring at him for the past hour like he hung the moon.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
the next day, you walk into class on time.
which is already weird.
a few people glance up, confused, like they’re trying to figure out what forced you to show up early. but you’re not here for math—you could care less—you’re here for one reason. rogue.
he’s already in his usual seat—corner of the room, hoodie up, notebook open and pencil tapping in the patterns you’ve memorized. adorable.
and today, you don’t sit behind him.
you sit next to him.
his pencil freezes mid tap.
you pretend not to notice, flipping open your notebook like this is the most natural thing in the world.
he doesn’t look at you. not at first. he stares at his notebook like it suddenly became the most interesting object on earth.
but you just smile, “hi,” you say softly.
rogue jumps. his head snaps toward you, eyes wide. “h‑hi,” he manages, voice cracking just a little.
“i don’t think we’ve talked before,” you say, leaning your elbow on the desk, chin in your hand. “you’re rogue, right?”
he blinks. once. twice. like his brain is buffering.
“uh— yeah. i mean. yes. i’m— i’m rogue.”
he looks like he wants to crawl under the desk and disappear.
you tilt your head, smiling. “i’m—”
“i know,” he blurts, “i mean— not like— not in a weird way,” he stammers, hands flailing a little. “you’re just— people talk about you. not in a bad way! just— you’re… you’re you.”
you bite back a laugh.
“well,” you say, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow, “now i’m talking to you.”
the professor starts class, but rogue is gone. he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye like he’s trying to make sure you’re real. every time you shift, he straightens up. every time you write something, he pretends to write something too.
why are you suddenly sitting next to him and smiling at him like that!? you were even prettier up close... it did not help that you were wearing one of your short skirts today. your legs look so shiny and soft—
“sooo,” you start, smacking your lips to accentuate the gloss on them, “do you know how to do this? i have no idea what he’s talking about.”
“ah—yeah, you just—do this...” he takes his pencil, about to show you how to solve the problem on his notebook, but he drops it like an idiot.
you lean over to pick it up for him.
he nearly falls out of his chair.
you blink at him, amused. “you okay?”
“y‑yeah,” he squeaks, “sorry. i just— i didn’t— it slipped.”
you hand him the pencil, your fingers brushing his for half a second.
“thanks,” he whispers, staring at the pencil like it personally betrayed him.
you smile to yourself and go back to your notebook, twirling your pen between your fingers. rogue tries to focus on the board, but he keeps glancing at you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he looks away too long.
class drags on, the professor droning about boring stuff. rogue is the real entertainment. he stiffens everytime you do anything.
you’ve never seen someone so flustered in your life.
and you love it.
when class finally ends, rogue practically launches out of his chair. he shoves his notebook into his bag, fumbles with the zipper, almost drops his calculator, mutters something that sounds like “oh god,” and stands so fast his chair screeches.
you open your mouth to say bye, but he’s already halfway to the door.
he doesn’t walk out. he runs. like full‑on speed‑walks with the urgency of someone fleeing a crime scene.
his heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s in his throat. his palms are sweaty. his backpack is half‑unzipped because he didn’t close it properly, and his calculator is probably going to fall out, but he can’t go back.
he can’t face you again! not after… whatever that was.
he turns the corner, practically slams himself against the wall, and drags his hood over his head like it’ll hide the fact that he’s dying inside.
“oh my god,” he whispers to himself, pressing a hand over his face. “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”
you sat next to him.
you. the prettiest girl on campus. the girl everyone talks about. the girl who looks like she stepped out of a magazine. the girl who smells like strawberries and lip gloss.
rogue groans into his hands. he squeezes his eyes shut, replaying the moment in his head—your voice, soft and sweet... your elbow brushing his... your skirt riding up your thigh when you crossed your legs... the way your lip gloss caught the light when you smiled at him.
he feels his face heat up all over again.
“she probably thinks i’m weird,” he mumbles. “or creepy. or— or whatever. i totally screwed it up...”
meanwhile, you gather your things slowly, replaying every second of his flustered panic in your head. the way his voice cracked. the way he couldn’t look at you for more than a second. the way he nearly fell out of his chair because you leaned over.
you’re not done with him.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
but the next few days are... weird.
you walk into math class expecting things to go the same way they did yesterday—rogue sitting in his corner seat, hoodie up, pencil tapping, cheeks pink the second you walk in—and you’re already rehearsing something cute to say when you slide into the seat beside him again.
but the moment you step into the room, you know something’s off.
rogue is in his usual spot, but the seat next to him isn’t empty. his backpack is sitting there, zipped up tight, positioned in the center of the chair like a little “do not disturb” sign. he’s hunched over his notebook, hood pulled so far forward it almost hides his eyes, and he’s tapping his pencil in a frantic, uneven rhythm that doesn’t match anything you’ve ever heard him do before.
you walk toward him anyway, because maybe you’re imagining it. maybe he’s saving the seat for someone? but you’ve never seen him talk to anyone in this class! maybe he didn’t even notice he put his bag there...
he notices you instantly.
his shoulders tense, his pencil freezes mid‑tap, and he stares straight ahead like he’s trying to merge with the whiteboard.
you stop beside the desk, waiting for him to look at you, but he doesn’t. he just sits there, stiff and silent, as if acknowledging your existence might cause him physical harm.
“hey,” you say softly, leaning in just enough to make your perfume drift toward him.
he flinches, “h‑hi,” he mutters, voice barely audible.
you gesture toward the seat. “is this taken?”
he grabs the strap of his backpack like he’s afraid you’ll steal it. “yes—i mean— no— i mean— i’m using it,” he blurts, pulling the bag closer to his chest as if it’s a shield.
you stare at him, confused, because yesterday, sure, he was flustered and shy and adorable, but he wasn’t… this. or maybe you’re overthinking things.
“oh,” you say, forcing a smile even though your stomach twists a little. “okay.”
you walk away, choosing a seat a few rows back, and you don’t understand it. you spend the entire class staring at the back of his head, trying to figure out what happened. did you say something wrong? did you come on too strong? did he think you were making fun of him? did he have a girlfriend!?
maybe he was just super nervous today?
when class ends, you try again.
“bye, rogue!” you say, soft and sweet, hoping he’ll at least look at you.
but he doesn’t.
he bolts.
again.
he practically sprints out of the room, hoodie bouncing, backpack half‑unzipped.
you watch him disappear down the hallway with a frown.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
you start seeing him everywhere. maybe on purpose.
in the library, tucked behind a stack of books, headphones on, scribbling notes in that tiny handwriting of his. he looks calm, focused, completely normal—until he glances up and sees you walking by. then he snaps his eyes back to his notebook so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.
in the cafeteria, sitting with sting and yukino, listening to sting talk with that loud, obnoxious fratboy confidence. rogue is smiling, even laughing a little, until his gaze drifts across the room and lands on you. his smile drops instantly, and he becomes very interested in peeling the label off his water bottle.
walking across campus, hoodie up, backpack bouncing, moving with that quiet determination he always has. he looks relaxed, comfortable, like he’s in his own world—until he spots you coming down the path. he freezes for half a second, then abruptly turns around and walks the other way.
you hate it!
because if he were avoiding everyone, you’d understand. but he’s not! he’s only weird around you.
and you have no idea why.
you flop onto your bed that night, staring at the ceiling, kicking your feet in frustration, your lip gloss smudging against your pillowcase as you groan dramatically.
“what is his problem,” you mutter, grabbing your phone and scrolling aimlessly. “did i scare him? did i do something wrong? does he hate me? does he have a secret girlfriend?” you repeat your thoughts.
you groan again, stalking his instagram page for the fifth time tonight, which is completely useless since there’s nothing on there. he barely has any followers, but you can tell it’s him thanks to the profile picture that consisted of him and sting.
maybe stings page...?
you scroll along stings instagram page this time. he has a ton a posts, ones with himself, of his frat, some with rogue, with yukino...
you end up scrolling a few months back—and one completely catches your eye. it’s photos of sting and rogue at the beach together. well, most of them is just sting. but you’re only paying attention to rogue.
and he looks sooo cute! he’s smiling in some of the pictures, playing around with sting, in the water...
but the fact that he’s shirtless is what catches your eye. holy shit! that man is built! since when!? he usually looks so scrawny with his hoodies on. he’s totally the definition of a sleeper build...
you don’t realize it, but you had accidentally liked the photo. on stings page.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
you blink awake, mascara smudged, lip gloss half gone, your screen still open on sting eucliffe’s instagram page. you must’ve passed out mid‑scroll, because the last thing you remember is staring at that beach photo of rogue—the one where he was smiling, shirtless, water dripping down his hair—and definitely thinking something you shouldn’t be.
you rub your eyes and check your notifications.
sting eucliffe started following you.
you sit up so fast your blanket slides off the bed.
“what— why— huh?”
you stare at the notification, confused, but shrug it off. maybe he saw you around campus. maybe he’s just being friendly.
you don’t even consider the real reason.
that you liked accidentally liked a photo from six months ago at one in the morning.
you toss your phone aside and flop back onto your pillows, groaning. you’re getting desperate. rogue is avoiding you like you’re contagious, and you have no idea why. you’ve tried being cute, being subtle, being obvious, being normal—nothing works!
you need a new plan...
and then it hits you.
sting.
sting is always with rogue. sting is his best friend. sting is the frat president, the social butterfly, the guy who knows everyone and everything. if anyone could get you close to rogue… it’s him.
you sit up again, twirling a strand of hair around your finger.
“i mean… it’s not a bad idea,” you mumble to yourself. “sting likes attention. i can give him attention. just a little. just enough.”
you’re not proud of it... but you also don’t care. what can you say? you’re a determined girl! and if playing sting is what gets you what you want, then so be it.
meanwhile, across campus, rogue is sitting on sting’s couch, controller in hand, focusing on his game while sting scrolls through his phone.
“dude,” sting says suddenly, “you’ll never guess who liked one of my old posts.”
rogue barely glances over. “who?”
sting grins. “y/n! the pink one. the one everyone talks about.”
rogue’s heart stops.
“she— she what?”
sting flips his phone around, showing the notification. “look. she liked that beach photo from last summer. the one where we were messing around in the water.”
you liked that photo...? of course he was in it too...
sting nudges him with his elbow. “i’m telling you, man, she’s into me! i mean, look at her. she’s hot as hell. and she’s liking my old pics? classic move.”
rogue swallows hard.
sting is in your league... he’s the type of guy girls like you go for. sting is confident and charming and loud and… everything rogue isn’t.
and suddenly, everything makes sense.
you didn’t sit next to him because you liked him.
you sat next to him because you wanted sting.
“she’s hot, right? and she’s apart of that one sorority. we’d lowkey be like... a power couple or something.
“yeah,” he mutters, eyes glued to the floor. “that… makes sense.”
sting doesn’t notice the way rogue’s voice cracks.
“right!? oh shit man... she just followed me back right now!”
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
the next day, you’re in your class, tapping your pen against your notebook, barely listening to the lecture. your mind is spinning with plans—how to talk to sting, how to get him to talk about rogue, how to get rogue to stop running away from you...
and then you see her.
yukino.
quiet, sweet, always with sting and rogue. she sits two rows ahead of you, taking neat notes, hair tucked behind her ear. she’s the only girl you’ve ever seen rogue talk to comfortably.
you hesitate.
you don’t like asking for help, don’t like admitting you’re confused, don’t like swallowing your pride.
but you like rogue. you’re sure she wouldn’t tell anyone. she seems sweet! and she’s a girl, so it’s like... girls girl rule to not spread secrets, right?
so you gather your courage, wait until class ends, and approach her.
“hey!” you say, tapping her shoulder gently.
she turns, surprised. “oh! hi,” she smiles nervously.
you take a breath. “you’re friends with rogue, right? and sting?”
“yes,” she says slowly, “why?”
you chew your lip, trying to sound casual. “listen, okay—i kinda need help with something...”
“huh? like what?”
“with... rogue. he’s so cute—but he’s been avoiding me!”
yukino blinks, “with…rogue? really?”
“yes! don’t tell anyone—and like... I was totally thinking of talking to sting to get to rogue. but is that too mean? i dunno... does he have a girlfriend or something?” you ramble, not realizing how much info your dumping onto someone you don’t even talk to.
but yukino’s eyes widen in horror.
“oh no,” she says immediately. “no, no, no. don’t do that. that’s a terrible idea.”
you blink. “what? why?”
“because they’re close,” she says, lowering her voice. “like… really close. if you try to use sting to get to rogue, they’ll both hate it. rogue especially.”
you deflate a little. there goes your one plan...
“oh,” you mumble. “okay. so… what do i do?”
yukino hesitates, then brightens. “well… there’s a party this weekend. sting’s frat is hosting. rogue will be there. maybe that’s a better place to talk to him?”
your heart leaps.
“really?”
she nods.
you smile, warm and grateful,
“oh my god girl! you’re the best! thank you sooo much!” you say, running off to plan.
she blushes. “you’re welcome...”
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
sting’s frat house is already buzzing by the time you arrive, the kind of loud, chaotic energy that spills out onto the lawn and vibrates through the porch railing. music thumps from inside, bass heavy enough that you can feel it in your ribs before you even step through the door. people are everywhere—leaning against cars, clustered on the steps, laughing too loudly, drinking too much—but the moment you walk in, the atmosphere shifts.
it always does.
your dress hugs your body in all the right places, short enough to make heads turn but fitted enough to look intentional. your hair is blown out perfectly, soft waves brushing your shoulders, and your makeup is immaculate, lip gloss catching the light every time you move. you walk into the house like you belong there, like you’re the main event, and the reaction is immediate.
guys elbow each other. girls whisper. sting’s frat brothers practically choke on their drinks.
but none of it matters, because you’re not here for any of them.
you’re here for rogue.
you weave through the crowd, ignoring the hands that try to brush your arm, ignoring the guys who lean in to say something flirty, ignoring the girls who compliment your outfit. you check the living room first. not there... the kitchen? just drunk guys arguing about beer pong. what about the backyard? just a group of people dancing around a fire pit, but no rogue. the hallway is crowded, loud, but still no rogue.
you’re starting to get annoyed.
you didn’t spend an almost four hours getting ready and squeezing into this dress for nothing!
you’re about to start checking upstairs when a familiar voice cuts through the noise.
“well, well, well… look who decided to bless my party.”
sting.
he’s leaning against the counter like he’s posing for a magazine, drink in hand, wearing a grin that’s way too confident. he looks you up and down slowly, shamelessly, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.
“damn,” he says, “you look incredible tonight.”
you force a polite smile, because you’re not here for him. “thanks. have you—”
before you can finish, sting’s arm slips around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his hand settling just above your hip with a confidence that makes half the room glance over. he smells like expensive cologne and cheap beer, and he leans in close enough that you can feel his breath against your cheek.
“you look unreal tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and smug, like he’s already decided you’re here for him. “seriously, you’re kind of stealing the whole party.”
you stiffen slightly, but he pulls just you a little closer, guiding you toward him like he’s posing for a photo, his grin widening when he sees how many people are watching.
“if i knew you were coming,” he says, “i would’ve rolled out a red carpet or something. maybe fireworks. something worthy of you.”
you laugh. “sting…”
he doesn’t let you finish. “what? i’m just saying. you show up looking like that, and i’m supposed to act normal?”
you gently place a hand on his chest, pushing just enough to create space. “sting, i actually wanted to talk to you about—”
“me?” he interrupts, eyes lighting up. “i mean, i get it. i’m a great topic.”
you inhale slowly, reminding yourself that you came here with a mission. “no! not you. i wanted to talk to you about ro—”
that’s when the stairs creak.
sting’s arm is still on your waist when rogue is halfway down the staircase, holding a nintendo switch like he’s been hiding in a bedroom playing games this whole time. his hair is messy, wearing a cute band t-shirt, and he looks adorably out of place in a house full of drunk frat boys. he blinks at the crowd, clearly overwhelmed, “sting,” he says quietly, “where’s the charger for the switch? i can’t find—”
and then his eyes land on you.
he freezes.
his grip tightens on the controller. his face goes pink instantly. his mouth opens like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.
he stops again, eyes flicking between you and sting, taking in how close you’re standing, how sting is leaning toward you, how you look like you belong in a perfume commercial...
but sting’s arm is around you. you must’ve came here for sting.
sting doesn’t move his arm. “drawer by the tv.”
rogue nods, but he doesn’t leave. he just stands there, frozen halfway down the stairs, staring at you like he’s trying to figure out why you’re here, why you’re dressed like that, why sting is touching you.
you take a step toward him, slipping out of sting’s hold. “hi, rogue!”
he swallows hard, eyes darting between you and sting again. “um— i— sorry— i have to—”
and then he turns and practically bolts back up the stairs, disappearing so fast you barely had the time to blink!
sting watches him go and laughs, “wow. he’s really in rare form tonight.”
you glare at him. “sting, you scared him off!”
“me?” sting raises a brow. “you’re the one who walked in here looking like a fantasy. poor guy probably forgot how to breathe.”
you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “sting, i need to talk to you...”
he smirks. “finally. i was wondering when you’d admit it.”
“not like that!” you snap, then soften your tone. “i want to talk about rogue.”
sting blinks, genuinely thrown. “rogue? seriously?”
“yes,” you say, exasperated. “does he… have a type?”
sting leans back, studying you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “rogue? a type? i mean… he barely talks to girls. or anyone. he’s weird like that.”
you perk up. “so he’s not seeing anyone?”
sting snorts. “rogue? dating? absolutely not. trust me.”
you exhale, relieved.
sting watches you for a moment, then his grin returns, slow and wicked. “wait. hold on. are you into rogue?”
you freeze.
sting’s grin widens like he’s just discovered the best gossip of his life. it hits him now. the picture you liked months back. they weren’t just of him, but of rogue too. “oh my god. you are!? seriously!?”
you groan. “sting, please—”
“this is incredible,” he says, laughing. “the hottest girl on campus has a crush on my little gremlin friend.”
you shove his shoulder lightly. “shut up. are you going to help me or not?”
sting raises his hands in surrender. “fine, fine. i guess i’ll help. i’ll talk to him. i’ll—”
“sting!”
a girl grabs his arm, practically dragging him away. sting shoots you an apologetic look over his shoulder.
“duty calls,” he says. “i’ll find you later!”
and then he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd.
and rogue? he never wanted to come downstairs.
he was perfectly content hiding in sting’s room, sitting cross‑legged on the floor with his switch in his lap, wearing his favorite black band t‑shirt. the one with the faded logo from a group no one else on campus listens to. it’s soft, worn, comfortable.
he only came down because the switch battery died.
he just needed the charger. that’s it. in and out. no socializing. no eye contact. no chaos.
but the second he steps onto the staircase, he hears the music, the shouting, the laughter, the clinking of drinks—and he already regrets it. he grips the controller a little tighter, trying to steady himself.
then he sees you.
you’re standing with sting, looking like you stepped out of a dream—dress hugging your body, hair perfect, lip gloss shining under the dim lights. you look so good it almost hurts to look directly at you.
and sting’s arm is around your waist.
rogue’s stomach drops.
he freezes halfway down the stairs, fingers tightening around the switch until his knuckles go white. sting is leaning in close, talking to you like he’s known you forever, and you’re smiling—but the soft, warm one rogue saw when you sat next to him that day.
“sting,” rogue manages, voice barely steady, “where’s the charger for the switch?”
sting doesn’t even move his arm off you. “drawer by the tv.”
rogue nods, but he can’t look away from you. you’re staring at him with those bright eyes, looking hopeful, like you actually want to talk to him.
but sting’s hand is still on your waist.
and rogue knows what that means.
you’re here for sting. you liked sting’s photo. you followed sting back. you’re talking to sting. you’re dressed up for sting.
he’s just the awkward friend in the background.
you take a step toward him. “hi, rogue!”
he wants to say hi back. he wants to ask why you’re here. he wants to ask why you’re looking at him like that.
but his throat closes up.
“um— i— sorry— i have to—” he stammers, then turns and practically bolts back up the stairs, heat crawling up his neck.
he hates himself for it.
but he can’t stand there and watch sting flirt with you. he can’t stand there and pretend it doesn’t bother him. shuts sting’s bedroom door behind him and sinks onto the floor, controller forgotten beside him.
“of course,” he mutters to himself. “of course she likes sting. why wouldn’t she?”
he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to push away the sting of embarrassment.
“i’m such an idiot.” he mutters. you sat next to him once. it didn’t mean anything! he was the one who screwed it up. he’s so weird and awkward... you’d never be into someone like him.
he doesn’t even know why it bothers him so much. maybe it was your pretty smile. the fact it looked like you wanted to talk to him. or maybe he’s just fantasizing.
he stays upstairs the rest of the night.
he doesn’t come back down.
not even once.
meanwhile, you stand there alone, surrounded by loud music and drunk frat boys, feeling your hope deflate. you spend the rest of the night wandering through the house, checking every room, hoping rogue will come back downstairs. instead, you get hit on by guys who think they’re charming, guys who think you’re here for them, guys who don’t hold your attention for more than a second.
and sting totally disappeared for the whole night!
by the time you leave, your feet ache, your lip gloss is fading, and your mood is ruined. you kick off your heels the second you get to your room, and collapse onto your bed with a dramatic groan.
but even as you close your eyes, exhausted and annoyed, one thing is clear:
you’re not giving up yet.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
the frat house looks like a battlefield by the time the last guests stumble out. the music has finally stopped, leaving behind a heavy, ringing silence that makes the whole place feel strangely hollow.
empty cups are scattered across every flat surface, sticky puddles cling to the floor in patches, and someone has left a half‑eaten slice of pizza on top of the microwave. the air smells like a mixture of cheap beer, sweat, and the faintest trace of perfume from the crowd that had packed the house only an hour ago.
rogue steps out of sting’s room cautiously, still wearing his black band t‑shirt. his hair is a mess from running his hands through it all night, and his eyes are tired from staring at the same spot on the carpet while replaying the moment he saw you downstairs. he had stayed hidden for the rest of the party, refusing to risk another encounter that would make him feel even more stupid than he already did.
he expected to find sting passed out somewhere, maybe on the couch or on the floor or draped over a piece of furniture like a discarded jacket. instead, he finds him sitting upright on the couch, blinking slowly, clearly drunk, and covered in hickies. not one or two—several, scattered across his neck and collarbone like someone had used him as a practice canvas.
rogue stops in the doorway, staring. “what happened to you?”
sting grins, eyes half‑closed, head lolling back against the cushions. “i had a good night.”
rogue raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “you look like you got mauled...”
sting laughs, a lazy, satisfied sound. “jealous?”
“of what?” rogue replies, grabbing a trash bag from the kitchen counter. “your questionable life choices?”
sting snorts, rubbing his face with both hands. “you’re such a nerd, man. party ends and you immediately start cleaning. you don’t even give yourself five minutes.”
“someone has to clean,” rogue says, bending down to pick up a pile of crushed cups. “and it’s definitely not going to be you.”
sting watches him for a moment, eyes narrowing in amusement. “you know, you’ll never get girls if you keep hiding upstairs at my parties. you gotta actually talk to people.”
rogue stiffens slightly, but he keeps his back turned, focusing on the trash bag. “i’m not trying to ‘get girls.’”
“yeah, that’s the problem,” sting says, stretching his arms over his head. “you don’t even try. you hide in my room like a scared little cat. how are you ever going to get anywhere if you keep doing that?”
rogue rolls his eyes, though sting can’t see it. “i’m fine.”
sting leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying him with a look that’s far too perceptive for someone as drunk as he is. “you sure? because one girl was definitely looking for you tonight,” he whistles.
rogue freezes.
his hands stop moving. his breath catches.
“what?” he says, voice low.
sting yawns, rubbing his eyes again. “y/n! the pink one. she wasn’t here for me.”
rogue’s pulse spikes so fast he feels lightheaded.
sting continues, oblivious to the way rogue’s entire world has just tilted. “she asked about you. she wanted to talk to you. she even asked if you had a type.”
rogue turns slowly, like he’s afraid the movement will break whatever fragile reality sting is describing. “you’re lying.”
sting scoffs. “why would i lie? i’m too drunk to lie. she’s into you, dude.”
rogue’s mind goes blank.
the girl he thought was way out of his league. the girl he thought was flirting with sting. the girl he ran away from because he assumed she couldn’t possibly want him. the girl he hasn’t stopped thinking about since the moment she sat next to him in class.
she was looking for him.
sting flops back against the couch, stretching his legs out. “told you you should’ve stayed downstairs. maybe you’d have gotten a hickey too.”
rogue ignores the jab entirely. he’s too busy replaying every moment—you sitting next to him, you smiling at him, you leaning close enough that he could smell your perfume, you stepping away from sting to talk to him, you saying his name like it meant something. every time you tried to talk to him and he just avoided you like an idiot—
he presses a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thrum beneath his palm, fast and uneven.
“she… likes me?” he whispers, barely audible.
sting groans, waving a hand dismissively. “yes, idiot. now help me up! i’m gonna puke!”
rogue doesn’t move.
he’s still standing in the middle of the living room, trash bag forgotten at his feet, eyes wide, mind spinning, heart racing.
you like him!?
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
you wake up with a headache and the overwhelming urge to scream into your pillow. the party was a disaster—rogue vanished, sting was useless, and you spent the night dodging guys who thought “you look lonely” was a good pickup line.
and yet, instead of feeling defeated, something stubborn and bright sparks in your chest. you sit up slowly, stretching your arms above your head, letting out a long breath as determination settles over you like a second skin. rogue may have run from you last night, but you’re not the type to give up because a boy is shy.
if anything, it makes you want him more!
you swing your legs out of bed and start your morning routine with a level of focus that would impress your professors if you ever applied it to actual schoolwork. you wash your face, redo your makeup carefully, choosing a soft pink gloss that makes your lips look shiny and sweet. you brush out your hair until it falls perfectly around your shoulders, then pick out an outfit that’s cute but not too obvious.
you walk into math class late, gum popping between your teeth, hair perfect, outfit perfect, confidence radiating off you like perfume. the room reacts the way it always does—a few guys straighten up, a couple girls whisper, the professor barely glances up—but none of that matters because your eyes go straight to rogue.
and something is different.
he’s sitting in his usual corner seat, but he’s not hunched over his notebook or hiding behind his hair. he’s not staring at the wall like it’s the only safe place in the room. he’s looking at you.
actually looking.
you slow your steps, confused, waiting for him to panic, to look away, to pretend he didn’t see you.
but he doesn’t.
instead, he lifts his hand—a tiny, hesitant wave—and then, unbelievably, gestures to the seat next to him.
you blink.
he’s… calling you over?
you recover quickly, smoothing your expression into something calm and collected even though your heart is doing cartwheels. you walk toward him, heels clicking softly, and slide into the seat beside him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
he shifts nervously, “um,” he says quietly, “you can… sit here. if you want.”
you smile, warm and bright. “i want.”
rogue’s ears turn pink, and he looks down at his notebook like it suddenly became fascinating.
you bite back a grin.
oh my gosh! you’re totally back on track! you don’t know what happened, but you’re absolutely not complaining.
you chew your gum slowly, watching him from the corner of your eye. he keeps glancing at you, quick little flicks of his eyes that he tries to hide by pretending to read the board. it’s adorable. painfully adorable.
“you’re early today,” you say casually, leaning your elbow on the desk.
rogue clears his throat, the sound small and nervous. “yeah. i, um… woke up early.”
you smile. “lucky me.”
he goes pink immediately, eyes darting down to his notebook like it suddenly became the most fascinating object in the universe. he taps his pencil twice, stops, taps again, then forces himself to put it down like he’s afraid you’ll notice how jittery he is.
you notice everything.
halfway through class, you lean toward him, close enough that your perfume drifts over his shoulder like the day you first sat next to him. “do you get this part?” you whisper, pointing at the problem on your page.
rogue looks at your notebook, then at you, then at your notebook again, like he’s trying to decide which one is more dangerous.
“um… yeah,” he says, voice soft. “it’s… it’s not that bad once you see the pattern.”
he takes your pen—carefully, like it might burn him—and writes out a few steps. his handwriting is small and neat, the kind of handwriting that makes you want to trace the letters with your finger just to see if they feel as soft as they look.
you lean closer, watching him work.
he swallows and keeps writing anyway.
“thanks,” you say softly.
“y‑yeah,” he murmurs, staring straight ahead.
when the lecture finally ends, you expect rogue to do what he always does—pack up at lightning speed and sprint out the door like he’s escaping a crime scene.
but he doesn’t.
he closes his notebook slowly, tucks his pencil into the spiral, and waits. he stands up only after you do, slinging his backpack over one shoulder and hovering awkwardly beside you like he’s not sure what to do next.
you start walking toward the hallway, and he falls into step beside you, matching your pace, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders tense but determined.
you glance at him. “you’re walking with me?”
he nods, eyes fixed on the floor. “i, um… i can walk you—if that’s okay with you of course!”
you just smile, warm and slow. “that’s sweet.”
rogue’s cheeks flush pink. he keeps walking, quiet but present, and the silence between you feels comfortable in a way it never has before. every few steps, he glances at you—quick, shy looks that he tries to hide but fails miserably at.
when you reach the building, he stops, shifting awkwardly. “um… so… i’ll see you tomorrow?”
you bite back a grin. “you better.”
rogue nods, shoulders a little straighter than before.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
the next few days slip into a rhythm you didn’t expect, a quiet shift that settles into your routine before you even realize it’s happening. it starts the morning after rogue walked you to your next class, a moment so small and soft that you replay it in your head while brushing your teeth, curling your hair, and picking out your outfit. you don’t know what changed in him, but something did, and you’re not about to let the momentum die.
you take your time getting ready, smoothing your skirt, reapplying your gloss, brushing out your hair until it falls perfectly around your shoulders. you chew gum as you walk across campus, the sun warm on your skin, your bag swinging at your side. you’re late again, but you don’t rush. you know exactly where he’ll be.
and when you walk into math class, there he is.
rogue cheney, in another band t‑shirt, sitting in his usual corner seat—but he’s not hiding behind his notebook or staring at the wall like it’s the only safe place in the room. he’s sitting upright, tapping his pencil in a slow, steady rhythm, eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds like he’s waiting for something.
like he’s waiting for you.
the moment he sees you, his shoulders relax just a little. he nudges his backpack off the seat next to him, clearing the space without looking directly at you. it’s subtle, almost shy, but unmistakably intentional.
you slide into the seat beside him, crossing your legs and letting your perfume drift between you. rogue stiffens, but he doesn’t flinch away. he glances at you, quick and nervous, then looks down at his notebook as if he needs a second to gather himself.
“morning,” you say, voice soft and warm.
he swallows, nodding. “morning.”
the professor starts lecturing, but neither of you are paying attention. rogue keeps glancing at you—not in the terrified way he used to, but in this curious, almost hopeful way that makes your stomach flutter.
you lean closer when you ask questions, and he actually answers them this time, stumbling over his words but trying so hard it’s adorable. every time your knee brushes his, he freezes for a moment, then forces himself to breathe normally, like he’s determined not to run again.
you pretend not to notice, but you’re smiling inside.
when class ends, he doesn’t bolt. he waits for you to pack your things, hovering awkwardly beside your desk, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. he walks with you again, matching your pace even though you know this hallway isn’t on his route. he doesn’t say much, but he’s there, and that alone feels like a victory.
“you’re walking me again?” you tease lightly, glancing at him.
rogue’s ears turn pink. “i… don’t mind.”
you smile, warm and slow. “good.”
he looks down, but you catch the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
and everything changes the way you’ve wanted it to.
the next morning, he’s already waiting outside the building when you arrive—leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, pretending to scroll through his phone even though he keeps glancing up every few seconds. when he spots you, he straightens immediately, pushing his hair back in that nervous little gesture you’ve grown obsessed with.
“hey,” you say, popping your gum.
“hey,” he echoes, voice soft but steady.
you walk in together, and he holds the door open for you without thinking. you brush past him, close enough that your shoulder grazes his chest, and he goes rigid for half a second before recovering.
“thanks,” you say, smiling up at him.
“yeah. of course.”
you sit next to each other again, and this time he doesn’t pretend it’s an accident. he angles his notebook slightly toward you, like he wants you to see what he’s writing. halfway through class, you lean over and whisper, “you always take such neat notes. it’s cute.”
rogue’s pencil slips, leaving a crooked line across the page. “i— it’s just… how i write.”
“i like it,” you murmur.
he doesn’t recover for a full minute.
after class, he walks you again—but this time, he talks more. not a lot, but enough to make your chest warm.
“you, um… always smell nice,” he says suddenly, eyes fixed on the floor.
you blink, surprised. “really?”
he nods quickly. “yeah. like… strawberries. or something.”
you grin. “that’s my lip gloss.”
“oh.” he swallows. “it’s… nice.”
you don’t tease him for it. you just let the moment sit between you, warm and sweet.
later that week, you “accidentally” run into him in the library. he’s tucked into a corner table, headphones around his neck, notebook open, pencil tapping in that familiar rhythm. he looks calm, focused, completely in his element—until he glances up and sees you.
his pencil stops mid‑tap.
“hey,” you say, leaning against the table. “fancy seeing you here.”
rogue blinks, startled. “i… i always study here.”
“i know,” you say, smiling. “that’s why i came.”
his face goes pink instantly.
you slide into the seat across from him, setting your bag down. “what are you working on?”
“just… notes,” he says, flipping a page like he’s trying to hide something embarrassing. “you can sit here. if you want.”
“i want!” you giggle, and you mean it.
you pretend to study, but you’re mostly watching him. rogue tries to focus, but every time you shift, every time you twirl your pen, every time you chew your gum, he glances up like he can’t help himself.
after a few minutes, you lean forward. “hey, rogue?”
he looks up, eyes wide. “yeah?”
“you look cute when you concentrate.”
he chokes on air.
you smile sweetly and go back to your notes.
the next day, you spot him in the cafeteria, sitting with sting and yukino. normally, he sits in the middle of the bench, tucked between them like a shy little shadow. today, he’s at the end—leaving space beside him.
you don’t hesitate.
you slide into the empty spot, setting your tray down. “hi, guys.”
sting grins. “well, well, well. look who decided to join us.”
yukino smiles politely. rogue freezes, fork halfway to his mouth.
“is this seat taken?” you ask, even though you’re already sitting.
rogue shakes his head quickly. “no. it’s… it’s fine.”
you bump your knee against his under the table. he stiffens, then relaxes—barely, but enough.
“you always get the same thing,” you say, glancing at his tray.
rogue shrugs. “i like it.”
“cute,” you say, taking a sip of your drink.
sting raises a brow. “cute, huh?”
you kick him under the table. “shut up.”
rogue nearly drops his fork.
the first time he holds your hand happens without planning, without thinking, without either of you realizing it’s happening until it already is. you’re walking across campus after class, talking about something stupid—a professor you hate, a girl in your sorority who won’t stop asking to borrow your clothes—and rogue is listening, nodding along, smiling in that small, shy way he does when he’s comfortable.
you’re gesturing with your hands, animated, and he’s watching you with this soft, fascinated look like he can’t believe he gets to be here with you. you swing your arm a little too close to his, and somehow your fingers brush.
you don’t pull away.
neither does he.
a moment later, your hands just… fit together. his palm warm, his fingers long and careful, his grip hesitant at first, then firmer when he realizes you’re not letting go.
you keep talking like nothing happened, but your heart is pounding.
rogue’s voice is a little quieter than usual. “is this… okay?”
you squeeze his hand. “yeah. it’s perfect.”
he looks down at your intertwined fingers like he’s trying to memorize the sight.
a sweet kiss on the cheek happens a few days later, after he walks you to your dorm. you’re standing outside the building, the evening light soft and warm, your hand still in his because neither of you bothered to let go. rogue is staring at the ground, kicking at a leaf with the toe of his shoe, clearly trying to work up the courage to say something.
“i had fun today,” you say, stepping a little closer.
he nods. “me too.”
you tilt your head. “you’re getting better at talking to me.”
rogue groans quietly. “don’t say it like that.”
“why not?” you tease. “it’s true.”
he pushes his hair back, flustered. “i’m trying.”
“i know,” you say softly. “i love it.”
before he can overthink it, you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek—warm, and slow. rogue goes completely still, like his brain short‑circuited. when you pull back, his face is bright red, eyes wide, lips parted like he forgot how to breathe.
“goodnight, rogue,” you whisper.
he swallows hard. “g‑goodnight.”
you walk inside, smiling to yourself, and he stands there for a full minute before remembering how to move.
a shopping trip happens on a saturday, when rogue texts you—something he never used to do—asking if you’re free. you say yes immediately, and he shows up outside your dorm wearing another band t‑shirt and looking like he spent twenty minutes psyching himself up.
“so,” you say, locking your door behind you, “what’s the plan?”
rogue shifts awkwardly. “i thought… maybe… we could go to the mall? you said you like shopping.”
your heart melts. “you remembered?”
he nods. “yeah. i… pay attention.”
you grab his hand. “let’s go.”
he lets you drag him through stores he’d never step foot in alone—makeup counters, clothing boutiques, places filled with pink and glitter and things he doesn’t understand. but he watches you pick out outfits, holds your bags without complaining, gives shy little opinions when you ask, and blushes every time you model something for him.
at one point, you come out of a dressing room wearing a skirt that hugs your hips perfectly, and rogue’s jaw actually drops.
“well?” you ask, spinning slowly. “what do you think?”
he swallows hard. “i… uh… it looks… really good.”
you grin. “yay! buying it.”
rogue looks like he needs to sit down.
later, you end up back in his dorm, sitting cross‑legged on his bed while he shows you one of his games. he’s nervous at first, explaining the controls like he thinks you’ll get bored, but you lean against his shoulder, listening intently, asking questions, laughing when he gets flustered.
“you’re actually good at this,” he says, watching you navigate the game.
“i’m good at everything,” you reply, nudging him.
he smiles—a real one, soft and warm and a little disbelieving.
you rest your head on his shoulder. “i like being here with you.”
rogue goes still for a moment, then relaxes, leaning into you just enough that you feel it.
“me too,” he says quietly.
you’re supposed to be learning the game, but all you can think about is how close you are, how warm he is, how his thigh is pressed against yours, how his shoulder fits perfectly under your cheek.
“so if you dodge here,” he says, tapping the screen, “you can—”
“rogue.”
he stops mid‑sentence, blinking. “yeah?”
you shift slightly, turning your head so you can see him better. he’s so close you can see the tiny freckles on his nose, the faint pink on his cheeks, the way his breath catches when he realizes you’re looking at him like that.
“you’re not even paying attention,” he says, but his voice is soft, almost shy.
“i am,” you say, smiling. “just… not to the game.”
rogue swallows, eyes flicking down to your lips for half a second before he looks away again. “oh.”
you slide your hand over his, slow and deliberate. he freezes, but he doesn’t pull away. his fingers twitch under yours, like he’s fighting the urge to hold on tighter.
“you’re so cute,” you murmur.
“i—” he clears his throat, flustered. “i don’t… i mean… you’re…”
you lean in a little closer. “yeah?”
he looks at you again, really looks, and something shifts in his expression—a mix of nerves and wanting and disbelief, like he’s trying to convince himself this is actually happening.
“you’re really pretty,” he says quietly, almost like he’s confessing a secret he’s been holding onto for too long.
your heart flips.
“come here,” you whisper.
he doesn’t move at first. he just stares at you, wide‑eyed, like he’s waiting for permission he already has. so you close the distance yourself, slow enough that he can pull back if he wants to.
he doesn’t.
your nose brushes his. his breath hitches. his fingers tighten around yours.
and then he leans in—just barely—meeting you halfway.
the kiss is soft at first, a gentle press of lips that feels more like a question than an answer. rogue’s hand trembles where it rests against your thigh, but he doesn’t pull away. he kisses you like he’s afraid to break you, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to want this as much as he does.
you smile against his mouth and kiss him again, deeper this time, your free hand sliding up to cup his jaw. he makes a tiny sound—surprised, breathy—and it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever heard.
when you finally pull back, his face is flushed, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted like he’s still processing what just happened.
“wow,” he whispers.
you laugh softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek.
rogue blinks a few times, then says, “can… can i do that again?”
you lean in, lips brushing his. “anytime you want,” you giggle.
and he does—this time with a little more confidence, a little more certainty, a little more of that quiet bravery you’ve been watching grow in him day by day.
you kiss him until he forgets how to be shy, until his hand finds your waist, until he’s smiling into your mouth like he can’t believe you’re real.
and when you finally pull away, breathless and warm, he rests his forehead against yours and whispers your name like it’s something precious.
and just like that, without either of you saying it out loud, you’re a thing.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
sting’s next party isn’t supposed to be a big deal, but the second rogue mentions it to you after class, you can tell he’s already nervous.
“you’re going, right?” you ask, bumping his shoulder lightly as you walk across campus together.
rogue hesitates, pushing his hair back. “i mean… sting always wants me there. so… yeah. i guess.”
“guess?” you tease. “you’re going with me.”
he stops walking for a second, blinking at you like he misheard. “with… you?”
“obviously,” you say, grabbing his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “you won’t be hiding upstairs again.”
rogue’s cheeks flush, but he squeezes your hand back. “i wasn’t hiding.”
“you were absolutely hiding.”
“okay, maybe a little.”
you laugh, and he looks at you like he’d follow you anywhere.
so when friday night comes, you meet him outside your dorm, both of you dressed up in your own ways—you in something cute and attention‑grabbing, him in a clean black t‑shirt and jeans that fit him way better than he realizes. he’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt when you walk out, but the second he sees you, he freezes.
“you look…” he trails off, eyes wide.
“pretty?” you offer, stepping closer.
“yeah,” he breathes. “really pretty.”
you grin and loop your arm through his. “let’s go show you off.”
he makes a strangled noise, but he doesn’t pull away.
you walk into the frat house together, and the reaction is immediate. people look. people whisper. sting’s brothers elbow each other like they’re witnessing a celebrity sighting. sting himself spots you from across the room and does a double take so dramatic it’s almost comical.
but rogue doesn’t notice any of it.
he’s too focused on staying close to you.
the music is loud, the lights are bright, and the crowd is thick, but rogue stays downstairs this time—overwhelmed, yes, but grounded by the fact that your hand is in his. you guide him through the living room, weaving between people, and he follows you like you’re the only thing keeping him steady.
“you okay?” you ask, leaning up so he can hear you over the music.
rogue nods, though his shoulders are tense. “yeah. it’s just… a lot.”
you slide your hand up his arm, slow and reassuring. “i’m right here.”
he exhales, the tension easing just a little. “i know.”
sting appears out of nowhere, grinning like he’s been waiting for this moment all night. “look who finally decided to show his face downstairs.”
rogue glares at him. “shut up.”
sting laughs, clapping him on the back. “i’m proud of you, man. and damn, y/n, you two look—”
“don’t finish that sentence,” you warn.
sting raises his hands in surrender and disappears back into the crowd, leaving rogue pink‑faced and flustered.
you tug him toward the center of the room. “dance with me!”
rogue stiffens. “i don’t… dance.”
“you don’t have to be good,” you say, pulling him closer. “just stay with me.”
he lets you guide his hands to your waist, his touch hesitant but warm. you sway together, slow and easy, even though the music is anything but. rogue keeps his eyes on you, like looking anywhere else might make him lose his balance.
“you’re doing fine,” you murmur.
“i’m really not,” he says, voice low, “but you’re… close, so it’s okay.”
you smile, leaning in until your lips brush his ear. “you like me close?”
rogue’s breath stutters. “yeah. i do.”
you slide your hands up his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up under your palms. he swallows hard, eyes flicking down to your mouth before darting away again.
“you’re the cutest,” you say.
“please don’t say that,” he mutters, flustered.
“why not?”
“because you always say it like you mean it...”
you tilt your head. “i do mean it.”
he looks at you then—really looks—and something softens in his expression, something warm and unguarded that makes your stomach flip.
but after a few more minutes, you feel him tense again. the crowd presses in, the music gets louder, and rogue’s fingers tighten on your waist like he’s trying to stay grounded.
you lean up, lips brushing his jaw. “want to go somewhere quieter?”
he nods immediately, relief flashing across his face.
you take his hand and lead him upstairs, weaving through the crowd until you find an empty room—one of the random guest rooms sting never uses. you close the door behind you, muffling the noise, and rogue exhales like he’s been holding his breath for an hour.
“better?” you ask.
“yeah,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “a lot.”
you sit beside him, close enough that your knees touch. he glances at the contact, then at you, and you can practically see the thoughts racing behind his eyes.
“you did good downstairs though,” you say, nudging him gently. “i’m proud of you!”
rogue laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “i was terrible.”
“you weren’t! you were the greatest!”
he groans. “don’t say that.”
“why not? it’s true.”
“you’re just hyping me up…” he mutters, eyes darting away.
you shift closer, letting your thigh press against his. “i do mean it. i always mean it when it comes to you.”
rogue’s breath stutters, and he looks at you like he’s not sure if you’re teasing him or confessing something dangerous. you tilt your head, studying him, the way his shoulders tense, the way his fingers twist in the sheets like he needs something to hold onto.
“you know,” you say, voice low and warm, “you get this little crease right here when you’re nervous.” you reach up and brush your thumb over the spot between his brows. he freezes under your touch.
“you’re doing that on purpose,” he whispers.
“doing what?”
“this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at you—your closeness, your touch, your voice. “you’re… being like this.”
you smile, “i’m flirting with you, rogue.”
he swallows hard. “yeah. i noticed.”
“good,” you murmur, leaning in until your lips graze his jaw. “i was worried you’d miss it.”
rogue inhales sharply, his hand tightening on the sheets. “i didn’t.”
“then why are you acting like you don’t like it?”
his eyes flick to yours, wide and earnest. “i do like it. i just… don’t know what to do with it.”
you slide your hand down his chest, feeling his heartbeat jump under your palm. “you don’t have to do anything. just let me.”
he lets out a shaky breath, and you can feel the tension in him—not fear or discomfort, just the overwhelming rush of wanting something he’s never let himself want before.
you lean in and kiss him, soft at first, then deeper when he responds. rogue still kisses like he’s learning in real time, like he’s trying to match your pace, like he’s terrified of messing up but too caught up in you to stop. you guide him gently, your fingers sliding into his hair, and he melts into you, his hands finding your waist with hesitant pressure.
you pull back just enough to speak against his lips, “you taste like that drink sting forced on you,” you giggle.
“sorry,” he whispers.
“don’t be. you always taste good.”
he groans again. “you’re killing me.”
“good,” you say, smiling as you kiss him again.
you shift, swinging one leg over his lap, settling onto him with slow, deliberate pressure. rogue goes completely still, his hands hovering awkwardly at your hips like he’s afraid to grab you too hard.
“you can touch me,” you purr, guiding his hands where you want them. “i want you to.”
he exhales shakily, fingers tightening on your waist. “i’ve never… done this.”
“done what?” you ask, rolling your hips just enough to make him gasp.
“this,” he says, voice cracking. “any of this. i haven’t… i mean… i’ve never had someone in my lap. or kissed someone like this. or—”
you soften immediately, your teasing melting into something warmer. you cup his jaw, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “hey. look at me.”
he does, eyes wide and vulnerable.
“it’s okay,” you say gently. “you don’t have to know anything. you don’t have to pretend. i like that you’re new to this.”
rogue’s breath catches. “you do?”
“yeah,” you whisper, leaning in until your lips brush his. “because it means i get to be your first.”
his hands tighten on your waist, not in fear but in something closer to need.
“i don’t want to mess it up,” he says quietly.
“you won’t,” you promise. “just follow me.”
you kiss him again, slow and deep, and he responds with a soft, desperate sound that goes straight through you. his hands slide up your back, hesitant but wanting, and you feel him relax under you, giving in, letting you take the lead.
you smile, kissing him deeper, tongues clashing while you began grinding into his hips. he whined, hips bucking up into yours involuntarily.
“yeah, jus’ like that,” you whispered, and he whined again, shaky breaths leaving his lips when you trail kisses from his cheek down to his neck. rogue is so hard already that it’s embarrassing. he holds you by the waist again,
“are— are you sure you want to— ngh.. with me?”
you just respond by licking and marking his neck, grinding into him with more pressure. his hands squeeze your waist, his eyes squeezing, soft moans filling the air.
“doing so good baby,” you whisper, placing a final kiss onto his neck when you feel satisfied marking him up.
his heart jumps at the nickname, “b-baby?”, he gasps, opening his eyes to look at you.
“yeaah, you’re my baby, right?” you bat your eyelashes at him, fingers slipping into his pretty black hair.
he nods, cheeks pink, whining when you lean in to kiss him again. your hips are still grinding into him—more teasing than anything—and he swears he’s about to cum right now.
but he can’t—he would look like such a loser!
“you can touch me ya know…” you mumble into the kiss, one hand leaving his hair to grab his hand, guiding it right to curve of your chest.
he could die right now.
he touches you hesitantly, like you were fragile, squeezing lightly through your dress, “you’re… so soft.”
“says you,” you chuckle, reluctantly pulling back from his lips, you encourage him to touch you more, like he means it, but he just stares at you like you were a goddess.
because you are. lips glossed with his saliva, lashes batting up at him, teasing hands forcing him to grope your breasts—all while you were grinding into him like you were in a porn movie.
“touch me,” you pout, and he finally breaks out of his little daze. one of his hands slowly move back to the zipper of your dress, still checking if you were okay with it, even though you’ve given him the green light multiple times.
and finally, he slowly zips it down, breasts spilling out, you’re not wearing a bra, and it kills him.
“y/n…” he moans, hands quickly moving to your pretty nipples, teasing hesitantly.
“ahh.. rogue—“
“does that… feel good?”
you nod, grinding into him, leaning into his touch. you were so fucking hot without even trying. how did he pull someone like you?
he gains a little bit of confidence, grinding back into you again, hands fondling and playing with your nipples, all while he leaned in to mark your neck.
“hah— roguee..”
“i want you to feel good…” he mumbles against your neck. he’s a lot gentler than you are, but it still drives you over the edge.
“you are— ah! making me feel so good..”
“...yeah?” he hums, kissing your neck with a little more fervor.
“mmmh… rogue… take off your shirt.”
and he listens, detaching from you to take off his shirt. you giggle at how fast he listened to you, hands now roaming his body. he had no idea just how hot he was. he was so fit… even more so that you’re actually seeing it. you’ve eyed his biceps, his v-line when his top lifts up a little, but this?
so much better.
“you’re so sexy, you know that?”
“i-i don’t know about sexy—“ he’s cut off as you trace his abs teasingly, letting out a small whine.
“you seriously are,” you moan, hands tracing his abs allll the way down to his v-line, stopping right above the waistband of his jeans.
“y/n—“ he chokes.
“can i, baby?”
he nods so quickly it makes him dizzy.
“good boy.”
he moans, pathetically.
your hands tug his pants off, fishing for his cock… and holy shit, you could already tell it was fucking big just by palming him through his boxers. you finally whip it out, and you’re seriously drooling at the sight.
his dick was already covered in pre-cum, tip flushed red like it was angry, perfect in both girth and length.
“did you cum already?” you softly laugh, hand wrapping around him, jerking him off without warning.
“aangh—! y/n— n—no! i didn’t—“ he’s already a moaning mess, hips involuntarily bucking into your hand, eyes closed shut, desperately trying not to cum, head turning from side to side as if it were helping.
“so sensitive already, huh?”
“please—i.. i can’t—i’m gonna… cum already!”
“you can. you won’t cum yet, right? gonna be a good boy, right?” you pout.
he moans louder than he ever has so far, tears already prickling at the corner of his eyes. he nods, because he definitely doesn’t trust himself to talk…
it felt so so good! too good to be true—an absolute seductress sitting on his lap and jerking him off like crazy. he whines pathetically, hands gripping onto your waist, now shaking his head because his poor virgin cock can’t take it!
“y/n… please—ahn.. ahhnn! i.. i can’t—“
you softly laugh, speeding up instead, thumb rubbing over his flushed tip, you spit onto his dick, “hehe, you’re such a slut rogue… moaning while everyone’s downstairs. what would they think?” you hum, and you have no idea what you’re doing to him.
he moans loudly again, hips bucking up into your hand despite the overstimulation, he holds onto you like an anchor, “d-don’t say… that..! y/n—please please.. i.. i..!”
his eyes are closed shut again, heart pounding, moaning and whining loudly as white-hot ropes of his cum shoot out onto your hand.
“i’m sorry— sorry—!” he babbles, not knowing how cute and hot that was to you. and he’s panting, laying against the headboard of the bed as he tries to compose himself, not realizing you took this opportunity to fully undress yourself.
he opens his eyes, not noticing the tears that felt down from his eyes at the pleasure. he looks at you, and your cheeks are pink, licking the cum he just shot out onto your hands while you only wore pink laced panties.
“y-y/n! don’t.. do that..” he softly huffs, still panting, cheeks hot as his dick slowly comes back to life as he watches you, almost bare, looking back at him with dilated eyes.
“hah.. you’re so cute, rogue. that was so hot..” you mumble, moving up his lap to close the gap. his hands quickly come to your hips, but your suddenly lifting yourself up, slowly pulling your panties off…
“next time… you shouldn’t waste anything,” you coo, settling back onto his lap. he could see your pussy glistening with your juices. you gently grab his cock from the base, rubbing it against your folds,
“it should alll go in here, ‘kay?” is all you say when you sink onto his cock, eliciting another loud pathetic moan from rogue.
holy fucking shit.
he looks at you all wide-eyed, flushed, sweaty, mouth agape as you slowly ride him. his hands come to your hips again, guiding, but he knows you’re the one doing all the work.
“ffu-… y/n… hahh—you feel so good!”
“yeah? ahhn..! you’re so bigg rogue—“ you moan in response, arms wrapping around his neck as you bounce up and down his length.
“you’re so tight…! i—ngh!—i don’t know if i c-can last..” he whines, head thrown back, slowly fucking into you too.
“it’s— it’s okay—angh..! hah..! want you to cum inside me—“
how has he lasted this far? you were so tight and warm and wet, pussy clenching around his dick perfectly. but he can’t cum right now… that’s too fast. he wants to make you feel good too.
he grips onto your hips, planting his feet onto his bed, and starts fucking up into you.
“oh shit..! rogue!”
“y/n.. you’re so pretty—you feel so good..” he repeats, “please—are you close? i wanna— make… you c…cum!”
you nod, leaning in for a kiss that is beyond messy, “yes— yes! hah..making me feel so good rogue…” you whine.
after a few more thrusts, moans, and the sounds of wet plaps filling the room, you both cum together. his cum is so hot, filling up your greedy pussy while it gushes all around rogue.
he’s panting, holding you like nothing else mattered. because it didn’t. not the party downstairs, not the music, not the people, not the world outside this room. just you—warm, shaking, wrapped around him—and rogue, still trying to understand how any of this is real.
you collapse against his chest, both of you breathless, your cheek pressed to the warm skin of his shoulder. rogue’s arms tighten around you instinctively.
his heart is pounding so hard you can feel it against your ribs.
you kiss the spot right above it.
rogue shivers.
“you okay?” you whisper, brushing your fingers through his hair.
he nods, but it’s slow, dazed, like he’s still floating somewhere above his own body. “i… yeah. i think so. i just—” he swallows, voice cracking, “i didn’t know it could feel like that...”
you smile, soft and wicked all at once, “that’s because it was with me.”
he groans, burying his face in your neck. “don’t say things like that.”
“why not?”
“because i’ll die.”
you laugh quietly, kissing his head. he’s still inside you, still warm and thick and twitching every few seconds like his body hasn’t caught up to the fact that he already came. you shift slightly, and rogue gasps, fingers digging into your hips.
“s‑sorry,” he breathes. “i’m… sensitive.”
“i know,” you murmur, kissing his jaw. “you were so good for me.”
rogue’s breath stutters again. “i… i wanted to be.”
you pull back just enough to see his face—flushed, sweaty, pupils blown wide, lips kiss‑swollen. he looks ruined.
perfect.
you cup his cheek, thumb brushing the tear track he didn’t even realize he left behind.
“hey,” you whisper, “look at me.”
he does, eyes soft and overwhelmed.
“you did amazing.”
rogue’s throat works around a swallow. “i didn’t last long.”
“baby,” you say, leaning in to kiss him slow and deep, “lasted long enough to make me cum with you. that’s all that matters.”
he blushes so hard you feel the heat against your palm.
you kiss him again, slower this time, your lips moving lazily against his. rogue kisses back like he’s learning your mouth all over again, like he’s memorizing you piece by piece.
when you finally pull away, he’s staring at you like you’re something holy.
“can we…” he starts, voice small, “stay like this? just for a minute?”
you smile and settle against him, your head on his chest, “soo... you want me to cockwarm you?” you tease.
rogue makes a sound that sounds like half‑whine and half‑choke.
“y/n…” he whispers, like your name alone might kill him.
you tilt your head up, lips brushing his jaw. “what? you asked to stay like this.”
“i didn’t— i mean— i didn’t mean it like—” he stammers, face burning, hands tightening on your hips like he’s trying to keep himself from combusting.
“i’m just kidding,” you laugh, “yes, we can stay like this.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
you wake up first.
the room is dim, quiet, and still smells faintly like cheap beer and whatever cologne rogue uses that somehow always lingers on his shirts. you’re warm, and it takes you a second to realize you’re not in your dorm.
and rogue is wrapped around you.
one arm under your neck, the other around your waist, his face tucked into your shoulder like he’s trying to hide from the morning light. his hair is a mess, his breathing soft and even, and he looks so peaceful you almost don’t want to move.
you shift slightly, and he stirs, blinking awake with the slow confusion of someone who doesn’t usually wake up next to anyone.
“mmmh... good morning,” he mumbles, voice rough and sleepy.
you smile, “morningg.”
he freezes for half a second, like he’s remembering everything at once, then relaxes again, cheeks warming.
“you’re still here...” he says quietly.
“of course i am.”
he smiles into your shoulder, shy and soft.
you sit up eventually, stretching, and rogue immediately moves to help you—handing you your dress, smoothing the straps, brushing your hair out of your face like he’s afraid to mess anything up.
“you don’t have to fuss over me,” you tease.
“i’m not fussing,” he lies, adjusting the zipper for you. “i’m just… helping.”
you kiss his cheek, and he goes pink all over again.
once you’re dressed, he pulls on his hoodie and runs a hand through his hair, already looking like the responsible one again.
“i have to stay...” he says, glancing toward the hallway. “sting always leaves the cleanup to me and a couple of the guys.”
you shrug, fixing your lip gloss in the mirror. “that’s fine. we can hang out later.”
rogue brightens instantly. “yeah. i’d like that,” he pulls out his phone. “i’ll call you an uber.”
you raise a brow, “aw, spoiling me?”
“i just want you to get home safe,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
the uber arrives a few minutes later, and rogue walks you to the door of the frat house. he peeks out first, checking the hallway, the stairs, the living room, making sure no one’s around.
“okay,” he whispers, “coast is clear.”
you laugh. “rogue, you’re ridiculous.”
“i just—” he hesitates, “i don’t want people staring at you. or… us.”
you step out into the hall, and he follows, guiding you with a hand on your back. the morning air is cool, quiet, and the uber is waiting at the curb.
you turn to him, smiling, “come here.”
he does, and you kiss him, and he melts into it, hands hovering like he’s still not sure where he’s allowed to touch.
when you pull back, he looks absolutely gone for you.
“i’ll text you,” he says, breathless.
“you better.”
you turn to walk toward the car—and rogue turns around to head back inside.
but then he sees sting.
standing in the doorway, hair a mess, shirt half buttoned, clearly hungover, holding a red solo cup like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
he’s grinning. that stupid smug grin.
“good morning, lover boy.” sting drawls, voice hoarse.
rogue goes pale.
sting points at his neck. “nice marks, by the way.”
rogue slaps a hand over his throat, mortified. “sting—”
“can’t believe you finally got laid! never thought I’d see the day... congrats!” sting adds, raising his cup in a toast.
“shut the hell up...” rogue groans.
sting laughs so hard he nearly spills his drink. “dude, i’m so proud of you.”
rogue covers his face with both hands. “i hate you.”
sting slings an arm around him. “no you don’t. now come on, we’ve got a house to clean.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
the two weeks after the party feel unreal in the softest, most addictive way.
you and rogue fall into that easy rhythm again without even trying—meeting between classes, sitting together in math, walking across campus with your hand in his hoodie pocket, hanging out in his dorm until way too late. he’s still shy, still flustered, still pink every time you tease him, but he’s also… braver.
he texts you good morning. he sends you his stupid, dorky memes. he lets you steal his hoodies. he kisses you in quiet corners of campus like he’s learning how to want things out loud.
and every day, he looks at you like he’s falling a little harder.
sting notices immediately.
“you’re disgusting,” sting says one afternoon, watching rogue stare at his phone with a stupid smile.
rogue nearly throws the phone across the room. “i’m not— shut up.”
“you so are,” sting grins. “you’re actually cooked man, it’s insane.”
“please stop talking.”
sting doesn’t.
yukino notices too—she giggles every time she sees you two together, whispering “you guys are so cute” under her breath like she can’t help it.
and you’re having the time of your life.
rogue is sweet and awkward and gentle and so easy to tease. he still blushes when you hold his hand. he stammers when you compliment him. he melts when you kiss him.
he’s everything you didn’t know you wanted.
but you’re not official yet... and rogue thinks about it constantly—in class, in the shower, while brushing his teeth, while staring at the ceiling at night. he wants to. he really, really wants to. he just wants to do it right.
so he plans something, and he’s nervous the entire day.
you notice immediately.
“you’re weird today,” you say, nudging him as you walk across campus.
“i’m not weird.”
“you’re weirder than usual.”
he groans, dragging a hand over his face. “you make this so hard.”
“i make everything hard,” you wink, leaning in until your lips brush his jaw.
rogue makes a strangled noise. “please don’t say that right now.”
“why not?”
“because i’m trying to be serious,” he mutters, cheeks bright red.
you soften, brushing your fingers through his hair. “okay. i’ll behave. tell me.”
he swallows, then takes your hand.
“come with me.”
he leads you across campus, toward the parking lot where he always parks his slightly beat-up car. the sun is setting, painting everything pink and gold, and rogue keeps glancing at you like he’s terrified and determined at the same time.
“rogue,” you say, smiling, “you’re acting like you’re about to confess to a crime.”
“i might,” he mutters.
“oh my god.”
he stops beside his car, takes a deep breath, then walks around to the trunk.
“wait here,” he says quietly.
you raise a brow. “what are you doing?”
“just—wait.”
he opens the trunk.
and your breath catches.
inside are three gift bags—pink, of course—a bouquet of roses wrapped in soft tissue paper, and a hand‑painted sign propped against the back wall of the trunk.
may i be your boyfriend?
your hand flies to your mouth.
“rogue!” you whisper.
he’s standing there like he might pass out, hands twisting nervously, eyes glued to the pavement.
“i, um… i didn’t know how to say it,” he says, voice small. “or when. or if i should. but i wanted to do it right. for you.”
you walk toward him slowly, your heart pounding.
“rogue,” you say again, softer this time.
he finally looks up—and he looks terrified.
“you don’t have to say yes!” he blurts. “i just… i really like you. and i want to be with you. officially. not just… whatever we’ve been doing. i want to be your boyfriend. i want you to be my girlfriend. but if it’s too much or too soon or—”
you grab his face and kiss him.
it’s slow, deep, warm—the kind of kiss that answers every question he didn’t know how to ask. rogue melts into it instantly, hands finding your waist, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
when you finally pull back, you rest your forehead against his.
“yes,” you whisper. “yes, rogue. i’m your girlfriend!”
he exhales like he’s been holding that breath for weeks, pulling you into his chest, burying his face in your neck.
you laugh into his chest, “oh my gosh! I can’t believe you actually asked me. this is the cutest thing ever!”
“what do you mean actually?” he whines.
“i dunno... i thought you were gonna chicken out or something. maybe I would’ve had to ask you...”
“what!? i’m not that much of a scaredy cat— am i!?”
you laugh, looking up at him with bright eyes, pretty lashes, lips glossed pink like they always are, he smiles, laughing with you, completely yours.
and that’s how you, the girl everyone wanted, chose the boy who never thought he had a chance.
