☹ Studying (not)

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Your POV

Patrick Hockstetter, aka the boy who groped my ass in the seventh grade, was now staring at me. Intently.

"Mr. Hockstetter?" the teacher, Mr. Gudles calls out, but Patrick keeps his eyes on mine. I shift around in my chair and look at the ceiling nervously. "Something about Ms. Y/L/N that you'd like to share with us?"

"She's got a killer ass and tits," Patrick replies, leaning back in his chair with a smirk and staring at the outraged man.

"She's got a killer ass and tits," Patrick replies, leaning back in his chair with a smirk and staring at the outraged man

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"How dare you, you little punk! Principals office, NOW!"

Patrick rises from his chair and walks right over to mine, Mr. Gudles rushing over to me and telling Patrick not to take another step. "Hasta luego mi amor," he whispers into my ear, winking and slamming the classroom door as he leaves. My face feels like it's on fire as the other students start to stare at me, a majority of the boys' eyes on my boobs.

"I'm sorry for that interruption. Ms. Y/L/N, my deepest apologies for that student," Mr. Gudles says quickly, clapping his hands and continuing with the lesson.

...

Soon enough the bell rings and we all rise from our seats. I'm the first one out, rushing straight to the girl's bathroom. "Wondered when you'd get here," a voice says from the stall. I look at the stall door as it opens, Greta walking out.

"Geez, is that how you greet everyone?" I laugh, splashing some colder water on my face.

"No. Look, I wouldn't normally associate myself with you but a buddy of mine asked me to do them a favor".

"I'm two grades above you, kid, so show some respect. You gonna give me a wedgie?" I taunt, pulling the rubber band out of my hair.

"I wish," she grunts, poking me in the back to hand me a letter.

"What's this?" I flip around the piece of paper in my fingers.

"A letter, obvs". And with that the little brat leaves the bathroom.

"There's no writing," I mumble to myself, opening it. My loud shriek can be heard from the halls as I drop the paper and the dead wasps. "Ugh, you have to be kidding me," I cry, picking up the dead bugs and throwing them in the trash.

"You get my present?" someone says as I leave the bathroom, their arm wrapping around my shoulders. I shove them off of me before seeing it's Patrick, his body now pressed against the wall. "She's kinky too, looks like I've got myself a winner".

"Were those dead bugs from you?!" I shout and he laughs, enjoying the attention we were drawing

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"Were those dead bugs from you?!" I shout and he laughs, enjoying the attention we were drawing.

"Chillax, it was just a symbol of my affection," he answers smugly.

"Good to know you plan on killing me and sticking me in a piece of paper too. Real romantic," I shudder at the thought and walk down the hall.

"Actually my romantic gesture, thanks for noticing by the way, was aimed towards the idea of no matter how many times you sting me, I won't die and you'll live. You know cause only bees die after they've stung you," he explains, walking backwards.

"Ugh," I roll my eyes and he snakes his arm around my waist, swinging me gently until my back is pressed against a wall, his arms caging me in.

"Most girls would drop their panties at this point," he says, kissing my neck. I gasp and slap his face, his head turning with the force of the blow. "That's hot," he chuckles, looking at me again. He wiggles his jaw, as though recovering from the slap.

"You are on sick fuck," I breathe out, ducking under one of his arms and walking away.

"Hey, I'm supposed to tell you something!" he yells. When I don't turn around, he shouts even louder, "Y/N, you got assigned to be my tutor this week!!"


...


"Tell me how I get this hot little number again," Patrick grumbles, laying with his head propped up on his hand.

"Which number?" I look at the book and run my finger over a couple options. Patrick puts his hand on my thigh and inches it upward, me actively trying to ignore it.

"I mean this one," he reaches dangerously close to my inner thigh when I slap his hand away

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"I mean this one," he reaches dangerously close to my inner thigh when I slap his hand away.

"Don't you know what we're supposed to be doing right now?" I question, staring at him angrily.

"Studying," he responds, smiling at my annoyed face.

"And what are you doing?" I ask him as though he's a child. Patrick looks up at the sky as though he's thinking.

"Studying..." he trails off, making me sigh.

"No you're not-" I interrupt, immediately being cut off by him.

"You. I'm studying you".


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