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lifesaver

✢ genre: highschool au, awkward period moments | fluff

✢ member: nct/wayv lucas x reader

✢ word count: 2,300

✢ summary: periods are already bad, but it’s worse when you’re wearing white shorts and stuck on the bus with the cutest guy at school. maybe you can just die in a hole and he won’t notice. 

miracle workers can’t work to fix this one. 

✢ a/n: pls enjoy because this is based off of irl when this boy offered me his jacket and i was so very touched

Please leave a like or a reblog! Comments and messages are always appreciated! Follow for more! Happy reading ♡

~

If you are to point out what your worst mistake of the week is, it would be; choosing to don on an angelically shimmering, bright, white pair of shorts on a day edging close to the middle of the month. A special gap in the span of four weeks that your boy classmates whom can’t muster up the courage to say period refer to as; that time of the month. 

You’re sitting, squirming, feeling the slosh going on between your legs, urging a tingling fear of what it would look like if you sat up right now back down your throat. Of course, you can’t help curse at the very concept that people would care for a stain on your shorts, but you’re more so angry that you’re bothered by what they’d think. It’s not like this isn’t natural. 

Still, you can’t bring yourself to lift your head, knowing that the travel from the back of the bus to the front would be at least a 2-minute duration—1 minute and 30 seconds too long for your liking. 

You could use your bag, maybe hold it back. But one look to your purse, and you just curse. You’d rather die than get any blood on that Calvin Klein. With a defeated sigh, you rest your head onto the glass with a thump. 

“Hey, stranger. Mind if I sit here?” A husky voice catches your attention, the cheery tone a juxtaposition to the wild noises of the public school bus.

You look up to the owner of that deep voice with eyes similar to a fearful sheep. Lucas Wong. Brown fluffy hair, charming smile, thicc muscles and a jock jacket with the number 99 strapped on the back. The boy isn’t hard to recognize, and neither is his voice, seeing as you’ve heard it almost every day of your life. The boy who picked his nose and glued his boogers onto a paper in kindergarten who’d grown into something much less gross. He’s one of the few ‘popular’ kids that bother to learn peoples name, but even as kind as he is, you can’t imagine letting him get any chance to tease you for having a period stain. Maturity isn’t what he’s known for. 

Your head is screaming NO, don’t EVER let him sit, but the only answer you produce is a short nod and a meek “yeah sure,” followed by a quick dart of your eyes to the floor. If anything goes wrong, your lack of will-power is to blame. 

Without much of a glance, you slide to the left seat, perching your elbows onto the window of the bus, hoping to hell you hadn’t bled through. Lucas responds with a shallow chuckle, and a small thanks. 

You feel a dip in the seat, a thump sound to match his bag plopping onto the floor. For a moment, you’re distracted by the numb sensation of his muscled leg brushing against yours—oh, how touch deprived you’ve become. And then you hear it, a big, “Ummmmmmmmmmm” escaping the broad-shouldered boy’s luscious lips to signify the beginning of a tale. 

He persistently taps your shoulder, and you glue your eyes tight shut. This would be the single most embarrassing moment of your highschool life — if we were being slightly dramatic, and by all means are. If you’re imagining things right, and your heart tells you that is so, on your seat, where you were just before, you should see a reddish stain seeping into the blue of the cover. You peak through half-opened eyes, and your mouth instantly forms a straight line. 

“Oh, why was I even born?” you groan, proceeding to hide your reddening face from his onlooking glance. Maybe this is like that shitty hide n seek you played as kids, where you can be that one kid who said, “If I can’t see you, you can’t see me,” type of shit. 

It was easy to tell he didn’t mean to put you in a spot, it seemed like the words escaped from his mouth before he got the chance to process them. This doesn’t spare you any inch of embarrassment, though.

“I’m so sorry—you shouldn’t, I—you should just sit somewhere else,” you stutter, trying desperately to keep your voice from wavering. 

You had never really talked to Lucas. You’ve known him for as long as you could remember, or maybe even longer, but you guess you’ve never been interesting enough for him to engage in. He had an aura about him that naturally attracted others—funny, kind, witty in the goofiest way, and another upside is he’d never really been on the ugly end of the spectrum. Bottom line is, you couldn’t have chosen a better person for this scenario to go around about. 

If he didn’t remember you then, he would certainly remember you now.

Quickly, you retrieve a handkerchief from your cluttered purse, your hand flying to the stain to conceal the mark underneath. You can’t bear to look him in the eye, or to even fully acknowledge his reaction. Even if you could feel the burn of his smile directed at you from the corner of your vision, your gaze remained planted.

“Why would I?” 

You look up, eyebrow perking at his nonchalant tone. He shrugs, repeating himself once more. “I mean, it’s natural. See? You’ve even covered it up for me, no problem. But, are you comfortable with me sitting here? Cuz if you’re not that’s fine I just thought—” 

His hands reach for his bag straps and your own dive to stop them, earning yourself a satisfied smirk from his end. “No! Of course I’m fine with it,” you semi-shout. 

The gentlest smile twists his lips, and you don’t feel as embarrassed. “Then, it’s settled. I don’t see why I shouldn’t.” Without further ado, he makes himself comfortable, unbothered, something you only wish to achieve if you were being watched by the school population half your time. 

Hmm, he’s pretty…mature, you think to yourself, donning a soft grin of your own as you watch him take a sandwich from his bag, no sign of disgust or discomfort detectable from the way he continues to eat with gusto. 

You relax into the seat, watching the passing houses from the window. There are a couple more stops before yours, and you should think of how the hell to hide the stain you know is there, that thing caressing your butt in a perfect red outline. 

Using your hair is out of the picture, too short. Using your hands would make it plainly obvious. Maybe if you just ran reallllly fast.

“You want to use my jacket?” Lucas’ voice breaks your silence. You meet his completely innocent and serious expression, eyes as round as ever as they pierce through your train of thought. 

No one would blame you for being skeptical and unsure. When in his presence there’s sure to be a joke here and there, class clown is one of his many nicknames. What’s weird is you don’t feel that skeptical. Something in his eyes allude to a truthful care that he genuinely feels. Your eyes fall upon the black, red and white jersey jacket, representative of Hong Kong, cradled in his lap. 

Then you imagine it with a stain with your name written all over it.

You shake your head, embarrassed. “No, no, thank you.”

“Oh, well I was just wondering if you needed to cover up. Your stop isn’t that far off,” he adds, lifting a suggestive brow to prove his point. Your eyes follow his, looking past the scrolling images from the window, recognizing the familiar street names, trees and plants. You almost consider it, enough so that you don’t even question how he knew your stop. 

You pause. “No, I’ll be fine.” 

You give what you think is a reassuring smile, and go back to pursing your lips and tapping your foot on the bus floor. Lucas nods, a small pout adorning his face as he withdraws his jersey. He wouldn’t want a stain on it. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into, you convince yourself. He probably thinks you can control when you release blood, just like your friend Chloe’s brother thought.

The bus halts and you’re forced to eat your words as the ‘bus stop’ sign mockingly looks you in the eye, the aisle looking a lot more intimidating than it did this morning.

Taking in all the courage you can, you lift your head from its drooping state and wrap your purse strap neatly on your shoulder. Some students rush up the aisle, and you have half the mind to make a run for it and push everybody out of the way, but just as you pass Lucas’ legs and make it to the middle of the aisle, you feel a light weight on your shoulders. 

The tender grip on your right shoulder tightens, and when you look, you meet Lucas’ kind eyes, reassuring and bright as he urges you forward. That smile could cure diseases—you’re convinced. 

He leans into your ear, sending chills down your neck to your spine. Softly, he whispers, “I want you to wear it, so just go on and walk.” His fingers find purchase on your waist, making you almost jump at the warm contact.

The jacket itself hangs onto your figure. It’s as big as a drape or a curtain, effectively covering all of your butt, and that horrible stain with it. You do the utmost to avoid letting your backside even graze upon the silky fabric. This shit looks expensive, you can’t let that happen. Not that Lucas’ fingers were making it any easier for you to focus on that. The thought of his hands on your sides repeats itself like a mantra you want to desperately throw out.

Your cheeks betray you almost instantly after imagining yourself now, turning increasingly red as you imagine yourself planted in a scenario billions of girls have wished for. For a moment, you look up to Lucas, staring in awe at his full stature, your ears growing deaf to your surroundings and all you focus is on that kind smile that holds more than just warmth. For a moment, it felt like it was only the two of you there. 

But, just like with anything Lucas does, all eyes fall directly on you, and you’re in it for more attention than you’d bargained for. Eyes dart to your directions like prowling predators, both filled with curiosity and envy. 

Still, you stride through the passage trying to go unnoticed. Not that that helps in anyway, because Lucas stands broadly with a piercing glare hiding behind his rounded eyes. 

“Wait, that’s his favourite jersey. Why’s he letting her use it?”

“Are they dating?”

“Dude, look.”

You pass shocked, confused, and slightly-angered faces with great hurry, all the while with Lucas’ hand firm on your side keeping you going. If you didn’t know any better about the subtle line between kindness and interest, your heart would’ve skipped a beat. Scratch that—your heart can’t keep still anyways.

Dashing through the frantic and nosy eyes of even the bus driver named Sam, you manage to leave the premises of the bus with your face as pink as a peach, just as confused as all the passerbys. You haven’t felt that thankful for the ground in a while. 

You turn to Lucas, staring at him in his glory. Golden hour really suits him well. You’re almost staring; your gaze outlining his brow arch, eyelashes, honeydew skin, noticing all the little pieces you’ve never been close enough to take notice of before.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver,” you say, slowly pulling the cloth off to return it to him. His arm stops you once again, and if it weren’t Lucas, you would’ve happily flicked his hand away. 

You pause, eyebrow furrowing as your busmates grow silent in the background.  They stare from the boxed windows, clawing to the back as the bus starts to pick up. 

You can’t read what the meaning is behind those wrinkling eyes. It kind of looks like he’s shy(?). Lucas’s hand finds his nape and a cute, goofy laugh escapes his lips. 

“Keep it,” his deep voice almost commands you as he holds the collar on, the wind dusting your cheeks in another shade of pink. With him this close you can’t even think, so instead of trying to mutter anything coherent, you just nod. 

You snap out of it, shake your head, despite your mind easily agreeing with the handsome boy. It would be a lie to say you wouldn’t want this in your closet. “I can’t possibly. This is the Lucas Wong’s jacket, I can’t—” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “And the Lucas Wong is telling you to keep it,” he closes in slowly, tilting his head just enough for only you to hear, “Tell me, what were you planning to do? Walk home with that on your shorts?” 

It honestly didn’t occur to you. 

“Yeah, well—” 

There goes his firm hand again, accompanied with a heart-fluttering wink. “Besides, it looks good on you.”

“Well, thanks.”

“Mhm, but don’t think I don’t want to see my jacket anymore,” he pauses, putting his hand on your head, “because I do. I want it to be just as close to me as it is when I wear it, so you better make sure I see you in that often.

“Bye, Y/L/N.” 

He steps back, and picks his bag up, shooting you a grin before twirling around in the other direction. Walking with his back facing you, his bare black t-shirt clinging to his body, you can still imagine the goofy smirk on his lips.

You’d be lying if you say you don’t feel goofy and mushy too.

A chilly wind passes you by and your hands unknowingly cling on tighter to the jacket, cautiously slipping your hands into the sleeves, tucking them into the pockets. Your fingers come across a paper, flimsy in your hands with a rushed blue scribble barely legible on it. 

You smile at the small crumpled on paper, eyes wrinkling as you read out a slightly more unkempt version of Gravity Falls Mabel’s:

Looking back to his fleeting figure, your smile reaches your eyes and you tuck the paper back in the pocket. You aren’t quite sure which one to cross out.

~

a/n: i couldn’t say goodbye without one last lucas appreciation post :) 

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