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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Attached - Pt.3

Words of Filth

Type: (mini)-series, college AU, professor AU (technically)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4200

Summary: Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

The words that started it all. Your dirty fantasy that was never supposed to see the light of day, let alone be read by Professor Barnes or Rogers. Why couldn’t you at least go with less obvious professor name?

Warnings: nsfw, 18+, smut and a bit of filth, hints of dom/sub, oral (male receiving), cock warming, unprotected sex, use of the term ‘babygirl’, praise kink, professor kink (kinda?), brief mention of cumplay, potential age gap (? age not specified; just assumed), swearing (always)

A/N: Special thanks to @kayteewritessteve who read over this chapter and convinced me that it’s okay to post it despite my numerous doubts. She was being her amazing self about it, naturally, and I lowkey fell in

A/N.2: Miss Clark is ‘reader’s’ alter ego in the story she wrote

Story masterlist

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You knew that what you were about to do was risky – but hell, you needed to try. Chances were that it wouldn’t even go that far; Professor Roberts was a respected scholar and just because he was the object of your dirty fantasies, it didn’t mean he would treat your request that way. Though the lingering gazes exchanged in the class told you that it might be exactly the case.

He invited you in instantly after you knocked, smiling slightly from behind his desk as he welcomed you and beckoned you to take a seat, scribbling some note on the paper he had been reading through before you entered.

With your teeth worrying over your red-painted lips, you hesitantly obeyed, dropping your backpack by the chair, adjusting your black pencil skirt.

Professor Roberts pouted slightly, pink lips peeking through his absolutely glorious beard and you decided to use the opportunity of his attention being elsewhere to feast your eyes on him. On his sharp jawline softened by the neatly trimmed beard, on his long eyelashes framing his gorgeous blues, on his dark blonde hair combed to side giving him an aura of a serious man, a gentleman from another time.

Your gaze travelled down his neck and arm – he was wearing one of the cardigans you loved on him just making the image in front of you downright panties-dropping –, stopping at the hand he was holding his pen with, still writing whatever complicated thought had been in his head. Seeing his long fingers, you had to close your eyes, your mind instantly filled with unholy images of where these fingers could go.

You had walked in ready to do whatever was necessary to earn your missing credit, but the truth was that should he ask a particular kind of favour, you’d feel blessed and very happy to oblige. Professor Roberts, to put it simply, was sex on legs – long legs emphasized by the dress pants with slightly higher waist he had a habit of wearing – and you would object to very few of things he might suggest.

“Now, Miss Clark, I understand we had some trouble with your final test. It did not paint you in the best light,” he started finally and you snapped your eyes open, trying your best to ignore the surge of desire when your name rolled off of his tongue so easily as if he was saying it every day… whispering it to your ear, groaning it as he-

“Y-yes, Professor. My nerves, unfortunately, got better of me,” you explained softly, looking into his eyes, feeling your stomach twist. God, his eyes.

“Interesting. From what I saw during my classes, you never seemed to be the studying type in the first place… did you study for the test at all? Honestly, please.”

You gulped, unable to hold his gaze. You shook your head and he sighed, leaning his elbows on the desk.

“That is that I was afraid of. Miss Clark, when you do pay attention in my class, you even display a great capacity for seeing matters in a different light, from unusual angles, posing questions that make me wonder too. That is a very precious quality to possess,” he complimented you unexpectedly, and the surprise of it caused your eyes to meet his, intense blue burning – and for the first time, you discovered a drop of green in them, making your heart nearly stop.

Who gave him the damn right to be so hot and be a professor? How was one supposed to focus in the class in the first place with this specimen standing at the front?

You gulped, realizing you should probably express gratitude.

“Thank you, Professor.”

Professor Roberts nodded contentedly that his message was received.

“However, it is not enough.”

“Is there any chance at all that I might earn the credit?” you asked, defeatedly at first sight, slightly suggestively if he dared to truly look.

His back straightened a bit, his already square shoulders growing in size.

“There might be. I don’t usually give second chances, but for you, I might make an exception,” he hummed thoughtfully. “But I truly need to see some effort on your part, Miss Clark. Are you willing to put effort into your work?”

You licked your lips, the fact that his eyes followed the movement before swiftly returning to meet your gaze not escaping your notice.

There was hope after all.

Slowly rising to your feet, feeling almost shocking slickness between your legs at the prospect of pleasing him in any way he asked, you stood up by his desk, determined.

“I am willing to work very hard, Professor Roberts,” you declared, swallowing your jitters and holding his gaze.

A sweet smile spread on his lips, a plush temptation framed by his well-kept facial hair.

“I am pleased to hear that. How do you suggest you show me your genuine endeavour to earn your credit?”

This time without hesitation, you walked around the table, not averting his gaze once. He spun in the chair so his whole body faced you, his head tilted to side, a smile still playing in the corner of his lips. His eyes grew considerably darker and it only added to the heat in your abdomen. He wanted you too.

You unbuttoned the top of your blouse just to show a bit more cleavage than was considered polite.

“Like you said. I am willing to put a lot of effort into… my work.”

Without any verbal response on his part, he moved the chair a bit backwards and spun back to the table again, leaving just enough space for you to fit there.

“I am glad we have an understanding. Unfortunately, I need to grade these papers. I believe we will have to be multitasking.”

You nodded, falling to your knees and moving to fit between the desk and him, right between his legs. You would be ashamed for the saliva already pooling in your mouth, but he was such a fine man that you couldn’t even try to deny that you in fact wanted to do this.

Silently undoing the buckle on his leather belt – and Christ, was the item giving you ideas – you unzipped his pants and slid them a bit lower with his help.

He shifted in the chair when you looked up at him, one of your hands reaching out and palming his growing erection. You shuddered at the sensation of his warmth on your skin and you knew he noticed. Something flashed in his eyes, but he turned his attention to the papers on his desk, seemingly unbothered by your actions.

He grew perfectly hard in your hand quickly and you freed him from his boxers, revelling at the sight of his erect cock as much as feeling slight worry about being able to handle such a challenge. You had felt him in your hand obviously, but seeing him fully ready, quite big and thick and majestic dare to say, you couldn’t but gulp, already feeling your throat burning.

Smearing the precum forming at the tip, you stroked him several times before taking an inch between your lips.

For a briefest moment, it dawned to you that perhaps you should feel dirty for doing this – but you didn’t. All you felt was need and desire – and if the feeling was mutual, then no matter the power imbalance in play, you couldn’t make yourself feel bad about it.

Not when you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, tasting him, and one of his hands slipped into your hair, encouraging you with a sigh. You sucked lightly before moving on, swallowing more of him and using your hands – one you laid on his thigh for the time being, the other wrapping around his neglected member.

You sucked again and bobbed your head, earning a hiss and a gentle pull on your hair. Not ceasing your movements, you raised your gaze to peek at his face; his jaw clenched, his eyes met yours and you felt him twitch in your mouth, the grip on your hair tightening.

“You look so pretty like that, with my cock in your mouth,” he praised, sending a fresh wave of warmth to your underwear, his appreciation causing your stomach to clench pleasantly. Encouraged, you took more of him and hollowed your cheeks. “Ah, shit- this feels-- you’re doing so good-“

Your hand nearly slipped and went straight to your underwear when he cursed – the nice collected professor falling apart under your hands and mouth, under your spell, that was a turn-on you hadn’t expected. The prove of your power over him was overwhelming as you tasted more of his precum on your tongue, eagerly licking at his shaft, exploring the weight of him, causing his hips to jerk forward.

“Ah, sweetheart-“ he groaned, losing all pretence that he was doing anything but relishing the heat and slickness of your mouth, his irises blown wide as he cupped your jaw with his other hand. You shuddered at both the movement and the pet name sounding so sweet and breathy on his lips.

You hollowed your cheeks again, but to your surprise, he used the grip on you to pull out with a wet pop, drops of drool staining his black pants. Before you could swallow both your saliva and disappointment and ask what you had done wrong, he lifted your chin up, the pad of his thumb brushing your swelled lower lip and the smeared lipstick on it.

Your hurt at his interruption, baffling as he had appeared to be enjoying himself, must have shown on your face, because for a second, something kind appeared in his eyes.

“You were doing great, babygirl, but this isn’t going to work,” he explained gently and his free hand slipped under your arm, hauling you up. “In fact, you were too good, too distracting.”

Reassured and yet confused, you followed his direction and scrambled to your feet. God, that pet name. Babygirl, spoken so softly with an edge of a raspy desire… your panties had been sufficiently ruined already and now... you were sure you must have been dripping down your thighs at this point.

As if he could hear your thoughts, his gaze fell under the cut of your skirt and he frowned, his fingers moving to the redness of your knees.

“And look at that, hurting your knees like that,” he lamented, his gaze trailing up higher along with his hand, solid warmth moving up your inner thigh under your pencil skirt. His eyes flickered up to yours, a wicked smile that caused your heart to beat its way out of your chest painting his lips. “Can’t have you hurting like this, babygirl, less so when you’re wearing a skirt.”

His thumb swept at the sensitive skin of the junction of your thigh and sex and then disappeared altogether, allowing you to release the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. He tugged at your skirt then, his eyes sparkling.

“Off with this. Come sit with me.”

Sit with- oh. OH.

Your thighs clenched at the premise, your walls quivering when you imagined the fulness he would offer.

He raised an expectant eyebrow, challenging even, and you swiftly moved your fingers to undo the zipper on the back of your skirt, allowing the black material pool at your feet. Roberts spared your lower half an appreciative glance, his cock still standing at attention as you raised your leg to try and balance yourself on his chair.

He watched you hungrily through half-lidded eyes, his tongue darting to wet his pink lips, no doubt so soft in contrast to his rough beard. God, what you wouldn’t give to feel that beard and tongue between your thighs… but his thigh would do too, god, you’d ride it into sunset… or better yet, his cock.

“That’s it, get up here, make yourself comfortable,” he instructed you, placing his wide palms on the back of your thighs as you positioned yourself above him, probably looking awkward as you realized you should have discard your underwear as well.

One of his fingers traced your soaked panties, teasing your entrance, causing your breath to hitch, before a satisfied smile appeared on his lips, pushing the useless material aside.

“So pretty and ready for me, sweetheart,” he praised you again in husky voice, guiding you down to sit on his cock and you couldn’t stop the needy mewling sound erupting from your throat when the head of his thick cock nudged at your weeping cunt, stretching you beyond imaginable.

You could feel his heated gaze on you, revelling at how good he made you feel, how he made you crave his cock. A sigh escaped his parted lips as you descended, feeling every inch of him you took deep within your core, so good, but a little too much, the stretch leaving a considerable burn behind.

“Careful now, don’t hurt yourself, babygirl…. God, you’re so tight-- so wet and warm for me, what a good girl,” he hummed, his hands kneading your ass when you finally seated yourself, so full you could cry, and you whimpered at the words falling from his lips, sparking something inside you which you forgot you lived for. You wanted to be such a good girl for him, just to hear him say it. “Comfortable? Because I need you to sit still until I finish these… can’t have you distracting me wiggling around, sweetheart...”

You gulped, shifting just once to adjust to his length and thickness, causing both of you to moan in pleasure.

“I said sit still, babygirl, I have work to finish,” he rasped into your ear, grazing your earlobe with his teeth and your core pulsated at the sensation, sending a shiver down your spine.

You were sitting on top of the most attractive man you ever met, his cock buried inside you and you were supposed to not to move? This was fucking torture.

It was like placing your favourite dessert in front of you, close enough for you to smell it, almost taste it on your tongue, but forbidding you to dig in. Worst even.

“Yes, Professor Rogers,” you whispered, feeling his smile against your neck and then the warmth of his breath disappeared from your skin and he indeed went to grade the damn papers.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you put all of your willpower into not moving a muscle, breathing through the sweet torturous sensation. Your mind wandered, images of him fucking you once he finished his stupid work and you felt yourself clench around him on occasion, earning a gruff warning each time.

You had no clue how much time had passed, but it felt like forever before he put his pen down, moving his hands to the back of your thighs, his lips catching the corner of your mouth, his beard scratching your skin pleasantly. You chased after his mouth on instinct and he chuckled, squeezing your flesh, causing your eyes to snap open.

His pupils were blown impossibly wide, only leaving a thin ring of blue for you to see. You could have drowned in it anyway.

“What a good girl you were, being almost still for me…” he hummed, sounding pleased, the praise going straight to your pussy, his hips snapping up to thrust deeper inside you, making you wince in pain and mewl in pleasure. “Let’s move this somewhere else.”

Before you even had a chance to react, he hauled you up in his arms and you instinctively grabbed at his shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist, the display of strength making you dizzy with desire, the sensation of his flexed muscles under your palms only feeding the flame in your core.

You would let him do anything to you at that moment. Fuck you against a wall, hold you down, tie you up, anything. Just so he let you come because you were this close to reaching the point of insanity. The anticipation was killing you.

He walked you to the couch; it was a miracle that your foot hooked in his pants, preventing him from stepping on the fabric and sending you both to the ground. If that was a miracle though, then the head of his cock hitting just the right spot, as he seated you both on the much more comfortable and stable couch, was divine.

“Oh my God-“ you breathed out, your head falling back and his hand moved to your throat, fingers wrapping around it indulgingly in almost a caress, a stark contrast to the rough thrust of his hips up which hit that spot again.

“So fucking pretty,” he mumbled and then his mouth was on yours, dirty kiss with tongues tangling together, your imagination supplying you with how it would feel in your pussy and you whined into his mouth, nails scratching at his biceps over the cardigan, his own gripping your ass and nape. He withdrew abruptly, leaving you breathless and needing more. “Now show me some real work, babygirl. Ride my cock, take what you need.”

The words struck you like a lightning in your veins, your walls quivering at his request alone. Without needing to be told twice, you gripped his shoulders to brace yourself and begun to fuck yourself on that magnificent cock of his, finding the exact spot you craved to have stimulated.

You could feel him watching you with a grin, broken at the edges with his own pleasure as you rode him, his hands kneading your ass, your breaths over the material of your blouse and bra, clumsy fingers undoing the buttons and slipping it from your shoulders, unclasping the hooks of the last fabric in his way.

“God, such a good girl, so needy, so desperate for my cock- fuck,” he groaned when you undulated your hips in a new way, his fingers suddenly digging into your flesh, your muscles cramping from the strain, but you couldn’t stop, not when you were so close, you had to-- you needed to- “Come for me pretty girl, come on-“

When his fingers moved to dance over your clit, you lost it. You cried out as you felt apart, heat surging through your body, your cunt clenching around his length, sending fresh waves of pleasure into your system. The cramps in your thighs were long forgotten as you rode it out, his finger never ceasing its motions, playing with your clit and sanity.

And then his hand was gone, tearing your panties loose, grabbing you by your hips and thrusting forward, dragging his cock along your oversensitive walls. You winced, gasping at the almost painful sensation. Instinctively, you straightened your elbows, trying to get away, but his hold on you only grew firmer, guiding you to meet his movements.

You felt something in your abdomen twist, a strange sensation, too intense yet pleasant, your arms going limp, uncertain if you wanted to resist it or ask for more. You struggled to remember your own name as he hit a new spot inside you, causing you to see stars, your knees to wobble, your breath to stuck in your lungs.

Too much, this was too much-

“Prof-professor-“ you choked out, once again attempting to get away from the overwhelming knot in your abdomen and his dark eyes met yours, glassy and determined, a wicked greedy glint in them. You realized what he wanted, but you- “I’ve never-- I-I can’t-“

“Oh you can, sweetheart, I know you can,” he opposed in hoarse voice, his cock swelling in you, a breathy sound escaping your mouth at the feeling of insane fulness. His gaze fell on your breasts, bouncing with each snap of his hips and then it moved lower, your own unable to resist and take a peek. You both watched his cock driving into you, glistening with your juices, some running down your thighs.

“Ah, shit, you feel so- look at that, taking my cock so well-“ he muttered, dazzled, and you felt yourself clench around him, causing him to throw his head back. “So wet, squeezing me so tight. You gonna come again? Make a mess for me like the good girl you are?”

You whined, feeling yourself on the verge of something unknown and amazing as his movements got sloppy, his rhythm broken, the wet sound and skin slapping skin filling your ears like cotton, making you deaf to the world around you.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded and you shook your head automatically, just knowing you couldn’t take anything more than this. “Want you to squirt for me, babygirl. Touch that pretty clit for me, right now.”

He worked you like an instrument, one he knew how to play better than yourself. You obeyed with a deep inhale and felt yourself explode with only few circling motions of your finger, vision turning white with searing pleasure, a cry ripped from your throat, core clenching in a steely grip around his length. You barely felt his cum coating your inner walls, too busy fighting for air, for a grasp on any semblance of reality in this heaven and hell aligned.

Your whole body was floating, the pressure in your core slowly easing as you breathed, a distant sensation of fingers threading through your hair.

When your eyes fluttered open, you felt a stray tear running down your cheek, your gaze meeting with an adoring and very much self-satisfied pair of green-blue eyes.

“Told you you could do it,” he whispered, catching the drop of salt water on your skin, his thumb brushing your lips, automatically falling open to take it in.

A grin spread on his lips at that and he pulled out, the warm wetness running down your thighs instantly catching your attention and making you shiver in aftershocks. You could already feel the soreness that would follow you for days, but it was nothing in comparison to the sensation of his fingers tracing your mixed juices on your skin, almost as if painting a picture, a filthy piece of art.

“How long is that skirt of yours, babygirl?” he ruminated, rendering you speechless as his finger left a wet trail down your thigh, stopping just where you knew the hem of your skirt would be. “How far can I go without people noticing what you’ve been you up to, hm?”

Christ, you couldn’t breathe in properly, almost shocked at the fresh wave of desire that surged through you. You went nearly blind with pleasure just minutes ago and your pussy was so fucked out you wouldn’t be able to walk straight, but God, would you let him ravish you all over again. Who knew that Professor Roberts was made of pure filth?

As if wanting to contradict the impression he left – or confirm it – he framed your face with his palms and took your mouth with his in a kiss you felt in your very soul, dirty, but full of unspoken words you could wonder about once your mind cleared enough to form actual thoughts.

He slowly urged you to stand up then, knees wobbly, skin sticky with sweat and proves of pleasure, hair sticking to the back of your neck and your forehead from your efforts. The useless piece of fabric – not in shreds but beyond repair – slid down your legs and you shakily walked to where you discarded your skirt, barely able to slip in on. Your bra was next, then your blouse. Your panties dangled from his finger before landing on his desk, a clear sign that you wouldn’t be wearing them anymore.

Professor Roberts already stood up and made himself presentable, even with a small patch of dampness on his dress pants and a barely-there flush to his face; you could only imagine what a sight you made, sweaty, your make-up running. Grinning at you, he handed you a wet wipe.

You automatically went to bend over to clean the mess you both made, but a hand on your wrist stopped you.

“That’s for your make-up, sweetheart,” he informed you gently, a twinkle in his eye, and you could feel heat rising to your cheeks, your core clenching around nothing once more.

Oh, he’s serious about that. He really wanted you to walk back to your apartment with cum running down your thighs. Well then.

“Of-of course. I’m sorry, Professor,” you stuttered a sweet apology, doing some guesswork as you fixed your face best as you could without a mirror. He gave you a gracious smile, handing you your backpack, tugging a loose strand of your damp hair behind your ear, almost tenderly. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. However, your work isn’t entirely done.” Your heart stopped. What did that mean? “We need to make sure you will start working more consistently. How about you come here next week at the same time?”

A relieved smile found its way to your face, the prospect of this repeating sending a surge of arousal through your veins. You nodded and headed for the door – an unlocked door, you realized for the first time, your heart jumping when you imagined the possible consequences of your sloppiness.

Was it fear of excitement you felt? You couldn’t even tell anymore.

“And Miss Clark?” Professor Roberts called out lowly, causing you to stop in your tracks and look at him. He beckoned to the piece of fabric on his desk. “I don’t want anything in my way next time. We have an understanding, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Professor Roberts.”

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Part 4

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This was way WAY out of my area of expertise and I had no clue what I was doing. So I just hope liked it at least a bit. It got a bit filthy but there was still a tiny piece of sweetness maybe, because it’s me? I don’t even know anymore.

Feedback appreciated, but gosh, please don’t be too harsh, my soul is fragile and condemned to go to hell after writing this. Good news is, I might meet Professor Barnes there, so it’s not entirely bad.

Thank you for reading!

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If anyone wants on the taglist or out, lemme know via DM or an ask :)

Tags:

@scentedsongrebel @patzammit @donutloverxo @annathesillyfriend @orions-nebula @iheartsebastianstan @wxstedhexrt @kayteewritessteve, @pies-writes-and-more, @jessyballet, @chris-evans-indian-fanfic, @marvel-madness, @rainbowkisses31, @marvelous-capsicle, @irepostthingsiwanttoseelater, @thisartemisnevermisses

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thevivaciousvagabond · 4 years

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The Urban Adventure’s EDC

EDC stands for Every Day Carry.

I was going through mine too reorganize and replenish a bit, and I thought I might share with you all what I have with me every day. It’s one of the ways I feel adventurous even when I’m doing simple things, or hardly anything at all.

Here is a few things to keep in mind when your making yours:

The size of the bag(s)

What you want to be prepared for (SHTF vs spontaneous adventures vs miscellaneous everyday issues)

Anything specific to you (think medications, things for school/work, etc.)

Organization

Think compact and think multifunctional!

I actually carry two bags. One goes on a belt on hip, and then I have a back pack. The idea is that I always have the hip bag, and the back pack when needed. I usually carry both, but small trips (around the corner to get the mail, quick run in the store to get one or two things, etc.) I usually don’t bring the back pack.

I used to carry a lot more, but ended up having shoulder problems due to how heavy my back pack would get. So I’ve learned to pare down to just essentials, enough to get my most simple situations until I could get more, and have two bags to lessen the strain on my shoulders.

So here is everything I carry in my hip bag:

Wallet

Compact brush w/ mirror

Lighter

Hand sanitizer

Mini roll of duct tape

Lotion

Tissues

Hard candies

Face mask

Granola bar

Bandages and individually packaged pain meds

Lip balm

Pepper spray

Gum

Peach tea powder

Flashlight

Carabiner with whistle hair tie

Paracord

Roll of dog bags

Safety pins

Bandana

Fruit snacks

Pocket knife

Pliers multitool (not shown)

Pen multitool (not shown)

Here’s how it looks all packed:

And here is everything I carry in my back pack:

Small bottle of water

Sewing kit

Poncho

Mylar blanket

Antibacterial wipes

Notebook

Clear tape

Multicolored pen

Sharpie

Pencil

Tech kit (further detail coming)

Tool+ kit (further detail coming)

First aid kit (further detail coming)

Hygiene kit (further detail coming)

Utencil kit

Sunglasses

I use pencil cases to help me organize smaller items.

Here is what is in my tech kit:

USB type C cable

Micro USB cable

Wall adapter headphones

Headphones adapter

2 AAA batteries

2 AA batteries

Charging brick

Microfiber cloth

Here is what is in my tools+ kit:

3 tea lights

Matches

Plastic bags

Mini roll of duct tape

Binder clip

Zip ties

Super glue

Mini tape measurer

Here is what is in my first aid kit:

Gauze pad

Alcohol pads

Bandages

Antibiotic ointment

Medical tape

Cough drop

Individually packaged pain meds

Antihistamines

Antacids

Small scissors

Tweezers

Here is what is in my hygiene kit:

Magic towel (basically just a wadded up wash cloth

Panty liners

Tampon

Toothbrush

Toothpaste

Stain remover stick

Mini deodorant

Single make up wipe

Pair of socks

All together, my backpack looks like this:

#adventurecore #adventure #rangercore

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

Insurrection (It’s About Time)

→ [4/7] of the Glossary Series

→ summary: If you told Park Jimin he was going to fall in love with a young cult leader, he would've laughed. But honestly, who's laughing now??

→ pairing/rating: jimin x reader | PG-15

→ genre: 90% angst, 9.9% fluff, 0.1% crack | high school!au

→ warnings: death, mentions of suicide, academic dishonesty, cult-like activities, profanity, school threats (bombs & shootings)

→ wordcount: 18.3k

→ a/n: this is a story that is near and dear to my heart. it actually kind of hurt to write because a lot of these scenes are similar to my experiences or the experiences of loved ones. i’ve had this idea for almost two years now and i finally decided to write it out. i hope you enjoy (:

Jimin is punctual. In fact, he is on another level of punctuality. At any given event, he arrives at least fifteen minutes early. For what reason? His answer would be 'just in case.' There are a plethora of events that can go wrong, a multitude of catastrophes that can erupt in his face last-minutely. Jimin's not going to take any chances jeopardizing his own future.

Especially his future in education.

Much accordingly, since he is exceedingly punctual, Jimin can not—for the love of god—stand people who dilly dally. The atrocity of them to dare to be late and waste others' time!

This is the exact reason why he absolutely despises his calculus teacher.

I sacrificed my goddamn lunchtime studying for this exam. And now he decides to be late.

Jimin's hands shake violently as he brings up his notes to his face, eyes boring into the paper filled with equations and example problems. Hands clammy and sticking to the paper, he balances himself on the balls of his feet and rocks in an attempt to try to settle his spiked nerves.

This is definitely not a good way to start off finals weeks.

Jimin has exactly an 88.3% in AP Calculus BC, and a morbid B+ will do no good in his future—at least that's what the school propaganda and his parents say. He'll have to score extremely well on this fall semester's final exam, especially because his teacher refuses to round up the grades.

Goddamn. He's really late. Late to his own final.

Jimin starts biting his nails again. At this point, there isn't much nail to bite left, but he manages to gnaw at the skin around it. It's a small habit that goes far; he does it when he's nervous, but nail-biting always does such little to do away with his gargantuan amount of stress.

In frustration, Jimin lets out a massive sigh, clutching at his chest where his lungs threatened to collapse on him. His stomach feels tight and queasy, which doesn't have much to do with the fact that he hadn't eaten. He is just anxious. Unlike the others around him.

Next to Jimin, Jeon Jungkook, his friend, casually leans against the brick wall, eyes focused on his phone screen as he mumbles nasty profanities under his breath. "That's motherfucking right, die, bitches," he mutters. Jungkook moves his body along with the avatar inside his game. He's so into it that his eyes gleam when he reigns victorious. "Ha!" he screeches, throwing up his hands. "Fuck you, you cowards! I win!"

Jungkook finally looks up from his game and meets eyes with Jimin. He grins. "Hey, bro, wanna log on too?"

Jimin's mouth hangs open with a mixture of complete surprise and utter disapproval. "We have a final this period, Jungkook. Aren't you the tiniest bit worried?"

He regrets asking that because he knows the answer he's going to get.

"No, not really," Jungkook snorts. He looks back at his phone screen and hoots. "Fuck, yeah! He's not here yet! I think I can squeeze in another game."

If Jimin's parents knew that his friend—aside from his straight A's and musical accomplishments—played video games, namely Fortnite, to pass time, they'd probably transfer Jimin to another school. A school that could be worse than this one. Which might as well be a prison.

Jimin shakes his head, harshly gripping his notes and looking away from Jungkook. Jimin doesn't want to admit it, but he's jealous. While he's stuck having a mini internal breakdown over the teacher's tardiness, Jungkook's taking the extra leisure time to play some shitty mobile game.

It's unfair. Jungkook gets his straight A's without moving so much of a goddamn muscle. While Jimin, on the other hand, has to stay up until four in the morning every other day, studying or doing homework from the moment he's awake to the time he goes to bed. He will never understand why, despite his grueling efforts, that he has a fair share of B's in his transcript.

It's a shitty, unfair system. But then again, it was set up to be unfair, anyways. Here at Welton High School, every student has taken a rigorous entrance exam, of which only the top 25% scoring students are accepted. Every student is well above average—they are students from all over the world and have probably never heard the word 'average' spoken to them in their entire lives. Until they faced Welton, of course. Now of the top 25%, only 1% can truly be special.

Jimin sometimes thinks that when he was accepted to Welton, he must've been barely at the cut off line. He speculates that he must've been in the top 24.99%, and was very lucky that he wasn't waitlisted.

He worked twice as hard from freshman year until now, junior year, to be on level with the young, walking Einsteins of Welton. But no matter how hard Jimin tries, he has never been able to outsmart the intellectuals who were born to change the world with their IQ's alone.

Competition is way too fierce.

No, Jimin thinks. Competition is deadly.

And it is. Student suicides, school shooting threats (from the students), student protests... Teenagers crack under pressure. But what can Jimin do about it? The system's shitty, yes, but he has no choice but to follow it, or else the promise of a stable future goes down the drain and into the sewer. For that exact reason, Jimin studies like there's no tomorrow every day.

Wake up. Go to school. Eat. Study. Sleep (if he's lucky). Wake up (sometimes). And do it all over again.

So fine. Jimin's jealous of Jeon Jungkook. Because he doesn't seem to put in the effort for his perfect grades. And it irks Jimin. But it shouldn't. Jungkook's his friend, so Jimin should be happy for him.

It's hard though when the person you're closest to is so far beyond your league that you begin to think yourself inferior to them.

"Sorry, class!" Jimin's calc teacher huffs as he nearly spills over his coffee while skidding to a stop in front of the classroom door. "We've lost time for the final! Get in your seats, take out a pencil, eraser and graphing calculator! Be ready in your seats so I can pass out the exams!" he orders in a frenzy.

How can you be so irresponsible? Jimin thinks, glaring daggers at the back of his teacher's head.

He's almost blinded by rage until he realizes what he's really here for: to take the test. Right. His stomach flips at the thought. Jimin shoves his notes into his backpack, wincing when he hears some of the papers ripping.

Shit, this is the moment. He's been dreading this exact time for weeks now. Each step into the familiar class makes him feel like he's walking the plank, inching closer and closer to his impending doom.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Jimin feels a migraine creeping in already. I don't know if I can do this.

Next to him, Jungkook is still playing Fortnite. Jimin doesn't know if he should spitefully tell his friend to stop or to let him continue. God, it's not fair.

Jimin's teacher is all over the place, holding his cup of coffee while also carrying dozens of test booklets in the other hand. For a split second, Jimin wishes his teacher would spill his coffee on the tests. Maybe that would delay the final. Maybe Jimin would get his first stroke of good luck in the nearly three years of high school he had already faced.

But luck is not on Jimin's side today. It never was.

The test booklets make it out in perfect condition, and Jimin's slightest bit of hope is crushed when his teacher finally sets down his coffee on his desk.

"Get your tests! Come on, pick them up!" his teacher shrills. Jimin breathes in deeply. At this point, he's just going to accept his fate. He might as well accept a B+ in this class. God, I feel faint.

"Don't write on the test," the teacher continues. "The scratch paper is up here if you need it and—"

The loud, blaring fire alarm interrupts him. It echoes deafeningly through the class, the raucous noise piercing through Jimin's ears to such an extent that he covers them with his hands. Jimin shakes in his seat, making eye contact with Jungkook.

For once in his life, Jungkook looks confused in a class setting. 'What the fuck??" he mouths aggressively to Jimin.

What the fuck, indeed.

Sometimes, the administration liked to schedule secret fire drills to get the students and staff better prepared in case of a real emergency. But really, during finals week? When students are already nerve-wracked from exam season? God, they had no shame for fuck's sake.

Jimin's teacher sighs, running his fingers through his head of unkempt hair. "All sorts of things happening today," he mutters to himself. "Must be a mistake," he declares with an affirmative nod of the head. "Class, as I was saying before—"

"Holy fuck, the other classes are evacuating!" Jungkook shrieks, pointing out the classroom window. Sure enough, teachers are already herding their students outside to the evacuation areas on the soccer fields. "I don't think this is a dr—"

Before Jungkook finishes his sentence and the teacher disciplines him for his explicit choice of language, the intercom buzzes, momentarily halting the horrendous fire alarm. Everyone freezes and it goes completely silent. So silent that Jimin can hear his own heartbeat.

A loud crackle and another buzz ring from the intercom, then the principal begins to speak in a hurried voice: "This is not a drill. Please proceed to evacuate out of the buildings. Thank you."

The moment he finishes, the intercom crackles again and the fire alarm carries on.

Jimin's anxiety flies to the roof. Not a drill? What could've possibly happened?

His teacher looks almost as—or even more—shaken as Jimin and he yells panicked directions to the students. "I'll be the last one out! Meet me at our safety corner on the field!"

Jimin quickly finds Jungkook and the two of them walk side by side out of the building. As soon as Jimin can see the sky, he looks up instinctively to check for smoke. But there is none. In fact, the sky looks clearer than normal today.

"Do you even think there's a fire?" Jimin asks his friend. He almost lets out a scoff of disbelief when he sees Jungkook playing his mobile game again.

"No idea," Jungkook replies nonchalantly, jabbing at his screen with his thumb. "Don't think it's anything serious. Probably just a small fire in chem class. Nothing to worry about."

Jimin's still uneasy. "You don't think anyone's hurt, do you?"

At that, Jungkook hums, his forehead creasing slightly as he finally shuts off his phone and pockets it. "There's no ambulance," he points out. Jungkook turns to Jimin fully, grinning at him to Jimin's shock. "Loosen up, Jimin. This is junior year. We might have a chance at canceled finals because of this real evacuation! Now isn't that nice?"

"I guess..." Jimin mumbles. But I need the final to raise my grade...

It's strange to see his peers smiling and laughing as they walk side by side with their friends. It's almost as if the fire alarm isn't threateningly blaring in the background. Do none of them care that this could be a serious matter??

"By the looks of it, we're definitely going to skip the calc final today!" Jungkook shouts victoriously, pumping his fist in the air. "No more fucking math!"

"True..." Jimin admits nervously. "But he might have to take the final after school..." He's almost too embarrassed to say that he needs this final to raise his grade.

Jungkook snorts. "Welton's not allowed to keep us after school with such short notice," he says. "If things go right, we might not have finals for the rest of the day."

When Jungkook puts it that way, the thought sounds heavenly.

"Yo! Bros!" a familiar voice calls, breaking Jimin from his reverie. "Y'all okay? We could've literally died!"

It's Taehyung, Jimin's other friend. The only guy in the whole school who's unafraid to use the word 'y'all' and be judged for it.

"Man, I heard the girl's locker room caught on fire!" Taehyung announces.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. "Unless you were in there, how would you know?" he teases.

Jimin laughs as Taehyung huffs disapprovingly. "Some girls told me. I would never sneak in there," he pouts, crossing his arms.

"Really?" Jimin says. "How would the fire have started in there, though?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised to see what goes down in the girl's locker room," Jungkook says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"What went down so hard to cause a fire??" Jimin asks.

"Nah, don't believe him, Minnie," Taehyung laughs. "Jungkook probably sneaks in there from time to time to be a little perv."

Jungkook shrugs, unfazed by the accusation. He even plays along with it. "Well, I need something interesting to do in my high school career."

At that, Jimin and Taehyung shoot each other a look. Them and a majority of the students at Welton don't have enough hours in the day to study, let alone to seek for 'something interesting to do' in their high school careers. It's so like Jeon Jungkook, the genius, to say shit like this.

"Whatever, y'all," Taehyung says. "I don't even care what happened. We're still alive, you know? I'm just glad I'm missing out on that stupid physics final."

"Lucky," Jimin says. "I'm supposed to take that shit tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, if there even is a tomorrow," Jungkook says, scrolling through his phone. Jimin thinks he's playing some mobile game again, but he soon realizes he's reading something. "It's not a fire in the girl's locker room after all..."

The three boys immediately stop walking, Taehyung and Jimin looking over Jungkook's shoulder to read what was on his screen. It's an email sent from the principal to all attending students and their guardians:

Dear Welton Community,

Today at approximately 12:48 pm, an unidentified caller phoned in a bomb threat to Welton High School. The caller stated seven pipe bombs had been planted on campus and were going to detonate in 25 minutes. The Police Department was called and immediately responded. Along with them, the School Administration decided to evacuate all buildings and bomb-sniffing dogs were called to search the entire school. When they have completed their search, I will send out another message to our community with the all-clear.

Thank you.

Bombs. Bombs?!?! Jimin panics again. Actual bombs! Seven pipe bombs could do serious damage—maybe even decimate half of the population of Welton High. What if they go off? Will this really be the end?

"Well, that explains the excessive amount of helicopters flying above us," Jungkook says, shrugging.

Before Jimin can shoot his friend a look of utter incredulity, he hears the sharp voice of his calc teacher. "Jimin! Jungkook! What are you doing out of line? I'm taking roll!"

"The Grinch is calling," Jungkook snickers. "We'll see you later," he tells Taehyung who salutes the two of you.

"See you guys," Taehyung says before sauntering off to his physics class.

"Text us!" Jimin calls.

Taehyung doesn't turn around but gives two big thumbs up indicating that he had heard Jimin.

Quickly, Jimin and Jungkook get in line while their dratted teacher takes roll. Once they see that their teacher isn't eagle-eyeing them, they slip out their phones, opening their group chat with Taehyung. It looks like Taehyung had already sent them multiple texts. All cries of pity.

Group: dead men + kook

[half-dead cowboy]: y'alls

[half-dead cowboy]: literally save me

[half-dead cowboy]: idk anyone in this class

[half-dead cowboy]: keep me entertained

[half-dead cowboy]: don't leave me hanging

[half-dead cowboy]: guyds

[half-dead cowboy]: guys*

[nO yOu]: serves u right for deciding to take physics ii lmfaoo

[half-dead cowboy]: shut up kook

[half-dead cowboy]: where's my boi minnie when i need him

[lil dead man]: Shit Tae I keep forgetting to tell you not to call me that

[half-dead cowboy]: you know why?

[half-dead cowboy]: because you not-so-secretly lobr it

[half-dead cowboy]: ugh

[half-dead cowboy]: love*

[nO yOu]: how did u even get in welton tae lmfao u can't even spell

[half-dead cowboy]: no

[half-dead cowboy]: i can SPELL i can't TYPE

[half-dead cowboy]: there's a difference you jerky

[half-dead cowboy]: ARE YOU KIDDING ME

[half-dead cowboy]: jerk********

[lil dead man]: AHAHAHAHAHAHAH

[nO yOu]: i feel quite honored to b called a jerky

[half-dead cowboy]: stfu

[nO yOu]: no for real bro

[nO yOu]: thank you

[lil dead man]: Back at it again with the sarcasm Kook

[lil dead man]: Anyways what's the girl's locker room like ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[half-dead cowboy]: not the lenny face

[half-dead cowboy]: please no

[nO yOu]: nO yOu

[lil dead man]: How long have you been waiting to say that

[nO yOu]: months

[nO yOu]: thanks for noticing. u my man

[nO yOu]: also if tae won't say anything bout the girl's locker room i will

[lil dead man]: What the fuck bro I thought you were joking when you say you knew the shit that went down????

[nO yOu]: lmfao i'm still jokin chillax minnie

[half-dead cowboy]: i hate you guys :((((((

[nO yOu]: damn that frowny face has 6 chins holy mothatruckafucka

[half-dead cowboy]: :(

[lil dead man]: That's more like it!!

[half-dead cowboy]: hold up hold up

[half-dead cowboy]: oh shoot y'all hearing this?

[nO yOu]: no?? we're texting? wE hAvE nO vOicE

[half-dead cowboy]: no you illiterate f*cks they just cleared the school the bomb threat as phony

[lil dead man]: Whew

[lil dead man]: I'm happy I won't blow up into smithereens but also pissed off as fuck that we'll have to live to take finals??

[nO yOu]: agreed, minnie

[nO yOu]: k but more importantly

[nO yOu]: tae did you just censor out a fucking cuss word

[half-dead cowboy]: i'm trying not to cuss as much anymore if you haven't noticed. but y'all make it f*cking hard. f*ck

[lil dead man]: We'Re sOrRy wE'Re bAd iNflUenCe

[half-dead cowboy]: :(((((((((((((((

[nO yOu]: 15 chins lets git itttt

[half-dead cowboy]: F*CK Y'ALL

It feels strange. The shortened school day had been so eventful... but also uneventful? Sure, there was a bomb threat, but it had been fake. Jimin thought a full-on Hollywood action scene would've commenced after the bombs detonated, but the bombs were never there in the first place. There weren't any finals either. All of them had been rescheduled to take next week, which was good news for most students.

It wasn't just good news, too. It was great news. Superb news. The best news students have gotten since they began attending Welton High School. Now, students are thanking the bomb threat for its rather impeccable timing. Some are even pissed that it hadn't happened earlier (so more finals could have been missed).

"We need to celebrate this once in a lifetime opportunity!" Taehyung announces as soon as the three boys are reunited. "It's not every day that a bomb threat cancels your finals!"

"We deserve a break, anyways," Jimin says. "I'm down. Kook?"

"Mm..." Jungkook makes an unintelligible sound at the back of his throat as he pauses his video game with the tap of his finger. "Sorry guys. Can't. Have to go somewhere."

"You?" Taehyung gasps dramatically. "Have plans?"

"And without us?" Jimin says, feigning a hurt expression. "Are you ditching us?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "No. I'm just... busy."

"Ha! Busy," Taehyung snorts. "Yeah, busy with that little sophomore girl you've been—cough—seeing."

"What the fuck," Jungkook scoffs. "How do you know about that?"

Taehyung opts not to answer the question, instead, he giggles. "It's a date, isn't it?" he sings.

Jungkook puffs out his cheeks in annoyance. "Fine," he says, slipping his phone inside his back pocket. "It's a date."

"Oh, we are so following you," Taehyung says.

"Don't you dar—"

"No, we're following you," Jimin grins.

"No, I swear to fucking g—"

Jimin and Taehyung are following Jungkook. The boy's surprisingly agile as he zig-zags around stumpy trees, tall bushes and overflowing trash cans. Sometimes, he quickly looks behind him as if to see if someone was trailing his back. Every time, Jimin's heart sinks with the fear of being caught, but Taehyung seems to love the thrill of the adrenaline rush.

At this rate, Jimin feels like an outlaw. But he's only just chasing his rather suspicious-looking friend. Or maybe he really wanted his relationship with the sophomore girl as a secret?

Or maybe there was no sophomore girl in the picture at all. Jimin's not too sure.

"It's as if he doesn't want anyone to know he's dating a teeny weeny 10th grader," Taehyung whispers, a mischievous grin stuck on his lips.

Yeah. If the girl exists. But Jimin doesn't say that. "I wonder who she is," he whispers back. "I mean, who on earth is worthy of dating our Kook?"

"My expectations for this girl are high," Taehyung snorts. "She better be the most intelligent girl I've ever—wait, what the fucK??"

The latter is more of a reaction. Taehyung grabs Jimin's arm, pulling him to take refuge behind a particularly bushy bush. He points at a rather unsettling scene unfolding before them.

Through the leaves of the shrub, Jimin can make out Jungkook, all right. There's also a girl—who might be a sophomore, standing confidently on a tree stump. Jimin doesn't even know if you go to Welton. But what makes the whole situation peculiar is that there are others—including Jungkook—gathered in this little half-forest clearing. And they're gathered around the tree stump in which the girl is standing on.

Jimin tries to make a rough estimate of the number of people—seemingly students because they're all wearing backpacks— in his head. Twelve? Maybe fifteen students? He's confused, furrowing his brows as he squints at them through the bush. "What's this shit for?" he whispers to Taehyung who looks equally confused.

"No idea," Taehyung mutters. "Looks like a cult," he snorts. "But it could be a stupid Fortnite club for all I know."

"I doubt that a club would meet at such a sketchy place," Jimin murmurs to himself.

There is something definitely fishy going on here...

Jungkook blends in way too easily in the crowd of supposed students. The only person that stands out is the girl. The one on the tree stump. She stands casually, favoring her left leg. She's petite, but her posture and stance emit an aura of valiance and authority. Her eyes seem to sparkle with determination and her lips are curled up in a happy smile. A... victorious smile.

"That's her!" Taehyung whispers aggressively. "The girl I've seen our Kook with! The little sophomore!"

Ah... She's a sophomore... Jimin nods, cocking his head as his eyes scan the group of students to see if he recognized anyone other than Jungkook. He sees a few seniors (that he can't quite remember the name of) and finds it weird that they're huddled below the sophomore girl as if waiting for her command.

Whoever she is, she's the leader. The president, maybe? Of whatever club this was? If it even was a club, that is.

Jimin's thoughts are proven when the girl clasps her hands together, taking a deep breath before bellowing out a "Thank you for coming!" She offers a friendly wave to everyone looking up to her (literally) in awe.

Jimin has never seen the genius himself, Jeon Jungkook, respecting an underclassman before. Even the seniors in the crowd look at the girl approvingly. As if she were a queen and not just the president of a small club.

The girl speaks again in her light, lilted voice, turning to a lanky boy with unkempt blonde hair covering his eyes. "Yoongs! Attendance, please?"

"Perfect attendance, Y/N!" the boy deemed as Yoongs reports back to the girl. He winks. And she—Y/N—blushes.

Jimin frowns. What was going on???

You giggle, looking fondly at Yoongs before returning your attention to the rest of the crowd. "So, our experiment worked as expected," you say, shrugging rather casually. "I did feel bad for wasting people's time..." you trail off, unsure.

Experiment? Jimin feels chills run down his spine when he realizes you probably mean the bomb threat.

"It was worth it, babe!" Yoongs calls from the group.

You smile. "It's always worth it," you reply. "I'll make today's meeting short for those of you working on college apps and the others of you participating in competitions."

You're so casual in the way you speak—as if the people you were looking over were your friends. But you're also entrancing. As if everyone else has to be silent to hear what great words you have to say. And apparently, you have a lot on your mind to share.

"As I always say," you start, "never waste your time on your grades. They don't define you. Nor will they shed a light on the person you are inside. Nevertheless, everyone here should have straight A's..." you smile, looking over at Yoongs. "A round of applause for Yoongi's excellent coding skills for which we would've never been able to pull this off without them!"

The crowd erupts in enthusiastic applause, leaving Yoongi beaming from his proud accomplishments.

You wait for the crowd to simmer down before speaking again. "We tricked and cheated the system," you admit. "You might have doubts about that. Morality and integrity may play into your thoughts. But," you take a dramatic pause, "how moral are grades, really? They're tools for adults, which is as far as it goes. Teachers corrupt the system, watch silently as all hell breaks loose from the intense student competition... They make it a game. They know you'll do anything to get the letter grade you want," you take a painful breath. "We're only fighting against something that is as equally as or more morally ambiguous. The world cares about you as a human. They won't care about a robot that spits out impeccable grades but has no soul, no passion, no life. They want you at your best—what you can do that will benefit others. We don't need to take part in something as trivial as our high school grades, do we?" you smile as the students around you cheer.

"Of course... college is a different story. Depending on the college you go, that is..." you trail off. "When you start to learn about things that you have a genuine interest in, that's when grades might matter. But for now, struggling this hard on obscure subjects that you'll never touch again after graduating from Welton? I say it's a good thing we're cheating the system. How great was the system anyway to have contributed to three student suicides in the last two years?"

There's a collective murmur as students nod their heads.

"A moment of silence for Heegyung, Bonsoo and Chaewoon, please," you say, voice barely above a whisper but everyone hears what you say and they all bow their heads down to obey. You, yourself, close your eyes. Your face is etched with pain and actual remorse, which makes Jimin feel a little guilty he wasn't truly mourning the students' deaths.

After a few minutes pass, you clear your throat, blinking your eyes open and waiting for the other students to look up at you again. "Ah, yes," you say. "Thank you for the short mourning period we were able to squeeze into this meeting... But now to get to the purpose of this gathering," you pause for a split second before continuing again. "The finals you will have to take next week shouldn't be as stressful as other school days. Apply our methods and you'll be fine. If you need extra help, text me as soon as possible." You pause again, but this time, it wasn't to gather your thoughts, it was to shift the mood of your speech. A bright grin settles on your face.

"Now, for the moment we've all been waiting for!" you exclaim. "Let's give a special round of applause for Jeon Jungkook and Min Yoongi for their collaboration on this excellent evacuation plan!"

The crowd does more than applaud. Students whoop, yell and chant their names. But Jimin's not in a celebratory mood.

Jungkook did what?? Jimin shoots Taehyung a panicked look. It was one thing to realize that this group of students probably somehow organized the bomb threat, but it was another thing to realize that Jungkook was a large part of it.

"It was extremely difficult to create an automated call that couldn't be traced—" you begin.

"Eh, it wasn't that bad," Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly. "Child's play."

You laugh, eyes twinkling as your turn to Yoongi. "Well, thank you," you say. "Ah, and as for Jungkook, thank you for volunteering to use your voice to record the bomb threat. It must've been so nerve-wracking."

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. "All I really did was speak into a mic. And we totally distorted my voice. Severely fucked up the frequencies and all that."

Jimin's blood runs cold. He looks over at Taehyung with his eyes wide. His friend isn't faring any better with his jaw clenched and fists tightened.

"It took an immense amount of courage to sacrifice your voice for an experiment like this," you say, smiling down at the older boy. "Oh, yeah! How's your album going, by the way?"

Jungkook beams. "It's going great!" he says happily. "I've been having so much fuckin' time to work on it that the whole process has just been insanely smooth."

"Love that!" you say. "Productivity at its finest, right?"

Everyone nods eagerly.

"Well!" you sigh, placing both of your hands on your hips. "The meeting's officially over, now! Please text me your work progresses, guys. They're due before midnight. Thank you so much for coming!"

"Thank you for hosting it, babe!" Yoongi says, rushing over to help you off of the tree stump by offering his hand. You take it gladly, stepping back on the dirt ground.

You start waving at the students who begin to file out of the meeting place. When Jimin sees them start to move towards him and Taehyung, he grabs his friend's arm. "Shit, Tae, we've got to—"

"Hey, Jungkook?" you call. The boy turns around, looking at you expectantly. "Can you please tell your two friends that hiding behind a bush is quite ineffective?" You giggle when Jimin falls to the ground in shock. "Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung, was it?"

Jimin's in shell-shock, unable to move or dust off his pants. How the fuck did you—

"You can come out of hiding, you know," you reassure them with such a honey-like quality to your voice that it's almost impossible to resist. "We don't really bite," you giggle. "But... I mean, Yoongi might," you tease, earning a flirtatious shove from the boy.

At your invitation to quit hiding, Taehyung jumps out from behind the bush, dragging Jimin along with him. "Who the fuck are you and how do you know our names?!" Taehyung roars.

Guess he already gave up his no-cussing streak, Jimin sighs. But he's also glad that he's not the one who has to stand up for both of them.

"Don't be so rude, you ass," Jungkook scoffs. "Motherfucking stalkers. I told you not to follow me."

Stalkers?? We were just looking out for you! Jimin thinks. "We're sorry, Kook," he manages to say. "But you lied to us! And more importantly, you obviously haven't been telling us things."

Jimin's frankly hurt by his friend's lack of honesty, but it seems so that Taehyung is more vocal about it.

"Yeah, Jeon Jungkook, what the fuck?" Taehyung yells. "You're a cheater!" he accuses Jungkook, stepping closer and poking at his chest harshly with his pointer finger. "You're a fake! You're a bomb threatener!!"

"Wait a minute!" you cut in. "Let's not get into accusations like that so early. Jimin, Taehyung, I—"

"How do you know our fucking names?!" Taehyung screams. "We don't even know who you are, you cheater!!"

"Watch it," Yoongi says dangerously. He tries to take a step forward, but you stop him, placing a hand on his arm.

"I'm Y/N," you say. "We're all students of Welton, so there's no reason for the animosity. Besides, I memorized the yearbook." You shrug, but you gesture apologetically to Jimin and Taehyung. "I'm very sorry, but I didn't invite you two to join our little group for a major reason. Of course..." you trail off. "Now you have to join... For safety reasons."

"Little group?" Taehyung snorts. "Where did the specificity go?"

"Hmm," you hum. "What do you think about a school revolt?"

Jimin does not like the idea of a school revolt at all. It sounds stupid. Students would never be able to pull it off. Even Taehyung, who's usually more open-minded than Jimin, seems skeptical.

You ask Jimin and Taehyung to meet up in Panera, later that day with Jungkook, to discuss the specifics. By the time Jimin and Taehyung get there, you and Jungkook have already saved a corner spot in the cafe.

Jungkook's eating pieces of sourdough bread while you sip your frozen lemonade. It looks to Jimin and you and Jungkook are getting along as both of you gesture wildly as you speak. You even let out a large laugh after Jungkook says something funny.

Jimin feels weird interrupting the already happy conversation, but Taehyung seems to have no problem. Taehyung slides into the seat next to Jungkook, leaving Jimin to sit with you. Jimin suddenly feels very self-conscious about himself.

"Glad you two could make it!" you chirp, setting down your frozen lemonade. "Want anything to eat or drink? They have hibiscus lemonade here and it's literally amazing!"

"I'd rather you cut to the chase," Taehyung says, frowning as he folds his arms.

Jimin agrees with a short nod.

"Oh," you say, "sure!"

"You said something about a school revolt," Taehyung says. "Explain."

"God, would it kill you to say please?" Jungkook rolls his eyes. "She's doing you guys a fucking favor. Man, if Yoongi was here, he'd whoop your asses."

"It's fine, Jungkook," you say. "I get how confusing this can be... Our little group has one goal," you start. "I want to help struggling students. You know what Welton is... Ruthless competition. Kids cramming without actually understanding the material. Rote memorization... Wasting time by doing four pages worth of math homework every night... Way too specific reading quizzes that have nothing to do with the storyline of the novels..."

The more you talk, the more Jimin begins to relate.

"It's horrible," you sigh. "That they're making us become a servant to the school. They use the students to boost the credibility of the teachers. They thrive off of our hard work, you know."

"They're bitches," Jungkook snorts. "Never really care for us. Remember Chaewoon? He told his counselor about his suicidal thoughts and she didn't do shit. He might still be alive with us if the counselor cared."

You nod. "Yes, our mental support system at this school amongst the grown-ups is preposterous," you say. "There are too many problems with Welton. And I reach out to deserving students to offer them a solution."

"A solution?" Jimin mutters.

You turn to him, nodding politely. "Yes! A solution. Students have dreams, Jimin. Taehyung, don't you ever wish you could be putting in your time somewhere else instead of studying for a subject you don't care about?"

Taehyung nods. "Who doesn't wish that around here?"

"Exactly," you say. "I'm offering you, Tae, and Jimin a great chance to follow your dreams. High school is when you feel the spark growing inside you. The spark is an extracurricular or a hobby of some sort that you've always loved with your whole heart. You probably had to sacrifice a lot to join Welton's elite debate team, right Taehyung?"

"Never even liked debate that much," he answers. "I had to quit theater for that shit."

"And you couldn't do both because...?" you say.

"Because the debate coach told me theater would interfere with the debate practice schedules," Taehyung says. "And he said that debate is much more intellectual than theater. He said that I won't be able to balance my studies with both debate and theater."

"Exactly," you say. "It's utter bs, don't you think? Why do we have to sacrifice our hobbies, our passionate dreams to do what some adult tells us to do? You do realize that they put down the arts because they want their smartest students participating in their intellectual or STEM-related activities? The more intelligent students that are in these activities, the higher the school rating skyrockets. It's purely selfish reasons."

"That is utter bullshit," Taehyung scoffs. "You're right. That is pretty fucking selfish."

"Right," you say. "I want to teach you, Tae," you say, looking the boy dead in his eyes. "I'll take care of your grades. I'll teach you the best ways to get away with outsmarting the teacher. I'll plan class distractions—like today—and if things still don't go well, my boyfriend—you met Yoongi today, right?—can make a last-ditch effort to hack into the grades system and work his magic. You'll have extra time to do theater—at school and at other professional intern sites. How does that sound?"

"Fuck," Taehyung curses. "That sounds fucking great when you put it that way."

Jimin's not so sure. "What if someone snitches?"

You laugh. "Oh, they wouldn't," you say. "I have eyes and ears everywhere."

"She does," Jungkook says. "There's no one she doesn't know. C'mon she's the first sophomore Editor-in-Chief of the school newspaper. You'll be safe if you join."

"You're juniors as well," you say. "There's a lot of pressure to do perfectly in school now. And you'll be in college before you know it. I reckon that you want to know your ride-or-die interest before you attend university."

Jimin looks down at his hands. This is wrong, he tells himself. But it'll do so much good. Not moral good, of course. But still.

Taehyung already seems sold on the idea, a fast grin spreading across his face as he nods his head enthusiastically.

You notice Jimin's skeptical look. "Hey, I'm gonna run to the bathroom," you say. Jimin gets out of the seat to let you through, and as soon as you're out of sight, he collapses on the seat and groans.

"Great, she's fucking gone," Jimin says. "Tae, you can't possibly think this is a good idea."

"What do you mean? It's a fucking fantastic idea!" Taehyung says. "Dude, don't you understand? I'll get to do what I love without sacrificing my grades! Once in a lifetime opportunity, bro."

Jungkook snorts. "Yeah, well, I have my music and you have your acting shit, Taehyung, but Jimin doesn't know anything other than the pages of a stupid fucking textbook."

It hurts because it's brutally true. Jimin bites his lip and shakes his head.

"Fifteen people is awfully small for a cult," Jimin grumbles.

"It is not a cult," Jungkook argues, crossing his arms over his chest. "And no one knows how many students are actually involved except for Y/N. She figured it'll be safer that way."

"Bro, I'm in," Taehyung says. "I was in like seven minutes ago."

"Good choice, man," Jungkook says, slapping Taehyung's back approvingly. "And honestly? Jimin? You don't exactly have a choice. You have to join."

Jimin scoffs. "Why?"

"Because you know this group exists and it's likely you'd snitch on us if you don't get anything out of it," Jungkook says, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "Y/N's being really generous with you right now. You're basically going to freeload."

"Freeload?" Jimin says, glaring at the man with intense ferocity. "I didn't ask for any of this!"

"Hey, it's okay!" Taehyung says. "You can just find some hobby or something. So you're still following protocol."

"Um, easier said than done," Jimin mutters.

It's silent after that as Jimin sulks in his seat and Jungkook and Taehyung awkwardly watch him do so. You come back from the "bathroom" (you were gone for much longer, so Jimin suspects you were just giving them time to discuss) only to see the three boys sitting in complete silence.

You cock your head. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Taehyung says. "It's final. Jimin and I are joining!"

"Great!" you say, smiling as you clasp your hands together. "Oh, you'll have to get started on your theater process right away," you tell Taehyung. "And Jimin, it's fine that you don't know what you like now. You can hang tight until you find something, all right?"

Jimin lets out a grumbling, "Yeah, sure."

"It's set, then!" you say, sipping your not-so-frozen lemonade drink. "Thank you, Jungkook. I owe you."

"No, it's fine, really," Jungkook laughs, shaking his head. "Just doing my job."

You smile at him fondly before turning to Jimin and Taehyung. "I'll text you the details pertaining to each of you, okay?" You glance down at your watch and gasp. "Oh, shoot, I'm late for my date! Um, I'll see you three at our next meeting? Or at school. Bye, guys!!" With that, you grab your drink and practically fly out of Panera, never looking back once.

Jimin and Taehyung are a bit dumbfounded.

"I gotta go work on producing my album," Jungkook says. "See you guys, too?"

"Yeah, duh," Taehyung grins as Jungkook slides out of the seat. "You basically saved our lives."

Jungkook snorts. "Sorry I didn't say anything about it earlier, by the way," he says. "We're not allowed to talk about it to anyone. Mostly because we don't really know who's involved."

"Nah, it's fine, man," Taehyung says, shaking his head. "At least we know now, right?"

Jimin stays quiet.

"Well, see you," Jungkook sighs as he glances at Jimin but doesn't say anything further. He leaves quickly.

"God, Jimin, he's your friend," Taehyung says as soon as Jungkook turns a corner and is no longer in view. "You shouldn't be that cold."

"Oh, really?" Jimin says. "He was living lavishly all this time and didn't bother saying anything!"

"He just said he didn't have a choice, Jimin!"

"God!" Jimin says, running his hand through his hair. "Now how are we any different from the motherfucking cheaters out there?"

Taehyung frowns. "I don't mind cheating. Y/N didn't even call it cheating. She called it 'outsmarting the teachers.' And besides, we have a reason for it too."

Jimin shrugs. "Yeah, whatever..."

"You'll come around," Taehyung smiles, shaking his head. "But what the heck do you think Jungkook meant by saying no one knows who's in the group??"

"No idea."

But it soon becomes quite obvious when Jungkook escorts Jimin and Taehyung to their first official meeting. Jimin and Taehyung gape as they realize no one they saw last time was here. You must hold several of the same meetings. All with different people.

Now it's for sure that nobody knows how many people are in the goddamn cult except for you. It dawns on Jimin that he's getting himself into something much, much larger than he had previously believed.

You've created quite an advanced system. So advanced that it took Jimin a while to get used to. It was a cheating plot so elaborate and well-planned that it almost didn't feel like cheating. Instead, it was like embarking on an evil heist in the adult world.

You had a master plan behind every single class in Welton. Jungkook said you harbored hundreds of paper documents (not digital, or they could be hacked) that had information about every teacher, every subject in the school. From there, you would investigate each subject and find the students who were genuinely interested in pursuing it in the future—the experts. Those students would then be in charge of making and organizing all of the class lecture notes; it would be their responsibility to fully learn the material and redistribute it to the other students who, more or less, didn't give two fucks about the class.

Homework was rotated amongst the "expert" students, and they'd send the other students the answers. (But, of course, there were always different versions of the homework so teachers would never suspect.)

Tests weren't a problem either. Somehow, you'd get a copy of every test or quiz before the exam date and distribute it to the experts. In a day's time, the rest of the students would obtain the answers (and work, if it was a math-based test). But to ensure that not everyone got the same exact score, you'd implemented quite a simple but complex system.

Test grades were higher for experts (especially experts who were able to make large progress on their personal projects). From there, the non-expert students were given scores solely based on how well they have updated their progress to you, and how much they have advanced in their extracurriculars.

The hardest questions on every exam were hand-picked by the experts themselves. And only the experts were allowed to answer the question correctly.

Essays were different. Not everyone read the given book, but the experts would always be ready for all kinds of topics—the holy grail was definitely the database of all past Welton essays that you handled yourself.

In that way, you had every single class in the whole school covered for the students in your group. (Which was ultimately a huge bummer for the students who had no idea of the behind-the-scenes 'outsmarting' that was going on.)

Jimin thinks the system is good. Could be better, but it works.

He's just pissed that he never has any progress to report back to you, so he always ends up scoring a high B on exams. It happens to be a pretty good deal, though, factoring in the fact that he didn't study for them. Scoring B+'s on exams was enough to keep his grades at an A.

But sometimes, it just feels wrong. Especially on his physics tests (where the class average is 60%, but he ends up with a raw score of 88% without having to put in the minimal effort). No matter how many times you call the action 'outsmarting the teachers,' Jimin thinks he's just plain cheating.

He's been wanting to report it for a while... Just because the little angel sitting by his shoulder is telling him that this is unfair to all the other students who were truly trying but weren't even getting close to the scores that Jimin was getting just by copying others' answers. Jimin remembers when he had been in that unfortunate position. When he'd watched students do suspiciously well on certain subjects while having time to do other activities, while he, himself, had to study for eight hours straight to get a C on the test.

But Jimin's not part of that unfortunate group of students. He's now pretty damn fortunate.

And he can't stay fortunate if he reports the cheating. Jimin's desperate. He's desperate to obtain decent grades without spilling countless tears and studying from early morning to the next morning after. It's the only reason that he hasn't reported your little group yet.

Besides, Taehyung is seemingly adapting better to this non-student-like lifestyle. He's already joined two theater productions and is applying to work as extras in films and such. And Jungkook's been continuing to work on his album too.

Jimin's friends seem to love being a part of the group.

Maybe Jimin's just salty because he hasn't found his passion yet. Though he doesn't know everyone in your little school cult, it seems like everyone involved in it has a passion, a dream they want to reach for, except for him.

A part of him wants to find a hobby just to say he has one when someone asks. But another, larger, part of him wants a hobby because of greed. Finding a passion and pursuing it meant Jimin would get a higher chance of getting better test grades for texting you about his progress. But Jimin can't just latch on to any existing hobby... He needs some advice.

Well, you'd told him that he should come to you if he needed advice... It's weird to think that he, a junior, has to ask advice from a sophomore. But maybe he's that desperate.

You're usually in your own little private newspaper office (as the Editor-in-Chief). So Jimin decides to give you a visit. But when he walks into the room after school, he sees you comforting a crying girl. Whether she's part of the cult is unclear, but Jimin immediately discerns her as one of those band girls—with frizzy hair, leggings and a boxy t-shirt. The girl's crying so hysterically that Jimin feels uncomfortable intruding. He leaves without another look.

Crying girls are not a good sign; he'll just come back tomorrow.

When tomorrow comes and Jimin walks into your private newspaper room, there is no crying girl to his relief. You're on your computer, probably reading or editing some student-written articles. Jimin feels awkward disrupting you being so focused on your work, but the longer time he spends just waiting for you to finish, the more time he wastes.

So: "Um, hi... Uh, Y/N?" Jimin says. He grabs a chair and pulls it up next to you.

"Oh! Jimin!" you greet him, turning from your computer to face the boy in front of you.

"I came yesterday," Jimin says, shrugging, "but you were busy with someone else... I came back today."

"Ah, you mean Chunseo," you say, nodding. "She was having a hard time yesterday."

Jimin's silent, waiting for you to elaborate, but you don't. It becomes quite clear to him that you don't like to talk about others behind their backs.

"So, what are you here for today?" you chirp. "Advice? Questions? I know everything must be new to you, so I just hope you feel comfortable with the whole system."

"Oh, uh..." Jimin would like to tell you that you're doing a great job and that everything's going fucking great, but that's unfortunately not what comes out of his mouth. "I still don't know what to pursue. I mean, I have so much extra time on my hands now, but I'm just spending it on my phone. My friends have been advancing in their passions, but I have nothing... I was just wondering if you could um, help me? Help me find a passion, maybe? I don't know."

"Hm," you say, looking thoughtfully at Jimin. "I can definitely help you with that..." you trail off, looking Jimin up and down and cocking your head. Jimin thinks you're analyzing him—not just his physical qualities but his personality as well. He feels almost vulnerable under your gaze.

"Have you ever had any hobbies, Jimin?" you ask him.

"That's the thing," he sighs. "No, I haven't."

He looks so miserable that you have to place a comforting hand on his arm. "Hey, it'll be fine, Jimin," you say. "I'm sure it'll come to you one day. A hobby isn't something you should necessarily force out of yourself. When you feel a connection with an activity—when you aren't exactly looking for one—then that meets you've found your hobby. And if you really love this hobby, then it can grow to be your passion. You just need to be patient. Don't worry," you smile, "you'll find something."

Jimin glances at your hand on his arm and then glances up at your face. God, you have a way with words. He feels much better, even though you didn't exactly offer him a cut-out solution.

"Thanks," he says. "I needed that."

"No problem, Jimin," you beam. "I know not having a personal project to work on leaves you with the lower grades, but you're probably only at the A- ranges, right? That's not too bad," you say. "Hm, how about this?"

Oh? It looks like you're going to offer him a plan. So Jimin scoots closer to you on his chair and listens intently for your next words.

"You're a junior, and before you know it, you'll have to write your college apps. Maybe instead of spending time on your phone, you can start with your college essays now? Is that all right to suggest?" you say, cautiously. "It never hurts to get a head start, you know."

You're right. Jimin should probably be productive, just like everyone else in the group. "Yeah," he says. "That's a good idea, actually."

"Great!" you say, clasping your hands together. "And I really appreciate you coming here to tell me the truth. You'd be surprised that a lot of others don't do the same as you."

"Oh..."

"Yeah," you giggle. "Hey, what about this? We'll compromise. I'll ask my boyfriend to change something for you as a thanks from me to you for being open and honest."

"Really??" Jimin says, his eyes growing wide and a small smile appearing on his face. "Thank you!"

You shake your head. "No problem, Jimin. Good luck on your college apps!" you call to him as he leaves the room.

"Thanks!"

Wow.

Jimin's heard a lot of great things about you from his friends, but now he realizes they really weren't kidding. You're a leader, all right. But a balanced one too.

Not only did you offer him emotional support with your words of affirmation but also you showed him a solution—at least a temporary solution to his problem. And you're also incredibly generous as well.

Hm. Now Jimin can't possibly think to report your little cult. Of course, it's still half wrong, what you're doing... But after talking to you, after receiving your feedback and help, there's no way Jimin would be able to double-cross you. As weird as it sounds, you kind of have a nice smile, and he doesn't want to cause you stress or grievances that you're actively trying to avoid with your group. In other words, he doesn't want to be the cause of your frowning.

Jimin's never seen you frown before, but he doesn't exactly want to see it in the future.

"Damn, I was such a bad procrastinator before joining the student group! The study group? The group? I don't even know what to call it," Taehyung laughs. He takes a large gulp of his boba drink and continues, "I feel like being a part of this community is improving my lifestyle. Like seriously, though. I haven't had a normal or healthy lifestyle since eighth grade!"

Jungkook nods vigorously. "Dude, I know! I've never been this productive before I met Y/N! Doesn't it feel so nice to be able to dedicate time to your strongest fucking passions?"

"Duh!" Taehyung says. "Man, what if this makes me peak in happiness in high school?"

Jungkook throws his head back to laugh, but Jimin doesn't find it so amusing.

Instead, he feels a bit left out. While his friends were diving deep into their passions, Jimin had yet to find a hobby. "Why doesn't the group have a name, anyway?" he asks. "Seems kind of inconvenient."

Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at Jimin teasingly. "Because..." he trails off spookily. "A name can always be traced back to the source. Haven't you thought of that?"

"Apparently Y/N did," Taehyung snorts. "Sometimes I wonder how she's so big-brained. God has favorites, I'm telling you."

"She's a fucking legend," Jungkook says. "I would worship her if I wasn't so stubborn about holding onto my dignity."

Jimin laughs, nearly choking on a tapioca pearl doing so. "Too bad she has a boyfriend, huh?" he jokes. "Jungkook sounds like he'd totally hit her up."

"I do not!"

"Sure, bro," Taehyung snickers. "When you talk to her, your pupils dilate."

"They fucking don't!" Jungkook says. "I have my interests elsewhere. Thank you very much!"

"Another girl?" Jimin gasps, placing a hand to his chest in shock. "Who?"

"Not a fucking girl, you bimbo," Jungkook says exasperatedly. "My music! I have interests in music. You guys fucking suck."

Jimin and Taehyung spiral into a fit of laughter. And the teasing and back-and-forth passive-aggressive remarks continued until the boba cups were empty and the three friends realized they talked up enough of a storm.

It used to be rare to meet up like this—because Jimin and Taehyung would always be overwhelmed in schoolwork—but now that their academic life was taken care of by you, they've been able to give themselves healthy breaks.

Jimin feels refreshed albeit a bit tired after parting with his two friends. He decides to walk home because his mother would kill him if she had to pick him up from the boba place when he should be studying at home.

The outside air feels nice against his cheeks, and Jimin finds himself becoming much more attentive to his surroundings. Back when he was a full-time serious Welton student, he couldn't ever spare to look at the intricacies of the vicinity—he always had to jump straight to the point, skipping the little moments to shove his face into his textbooks. It's a nice change.

Jimin notices a whole bunch of stores and studios on his walk home and he takes the time to admire each logo and memorize each name.

Damn. I never even knew some of these places existed...

There's even a dance studio called Hart's Dance Studio that Jimin swears he's never seen. The logo is an eye-catching red with a silhouette of a ballerina jumping over the 'Dance.' Jimin finds himself staring at it. Then, his eyes gravitate to the glass walls where he can see the dancers just... dancing.

And a lot of them are good. Like dancing is as easy as walking to them. But an unmoving figure amongst the active dancers catches Jimin's eyes. When he squints to get a better look, he realizes the stationary figure is you.

You're furiously typing on a laptop, occasionally looking up to watch the dancers once in a while.

What are you doing there? From your skinny jeans and lace top, it doesn't quite look like you're there to dance. Maybe you have a sibling in dance class?

But then again, Jimin remembers that Jungkook had once told him in a hushed whisper that you are definitely an only child... only after you lost your older sister to suicide, that is.

So really, what are you doing there?

Jimin cocks his head at you but realizes how weird it is to stand in front of the studio and stare. So finally, he just walks away.

But you're quite the mysterious figure. You're the exact type of person who makes others want to get to know you. You have an open quality where everyone feels welcome to talk to you, but you're also enigmatic, refusing to tell people a lot about yourself. Jimin sometimes even wonders if he's ever seen you at school with the same friend group. It looks like you're always jumping around.

Maybe you don't like to get to know people in a deep way. It's possible that you're a fan of shallow relationships, which there is nothing wrong with, of course. But then again, you have a boyfriend, whom you seem to really like. You're very hard to crack.

And even when winter break comes, Jimin's still been wondering what you've been doing at the dance studio, typing on your laptop. He's run all kinds of scenarios in his head. Maybe your mom works there? Or your friend dances there? But something inside him tells him whatever reasons he came up with are incorrect.

Meanwhile, Jimin's still waiting to find a hobby. He's already been to Taehyung's play and listened to the rough draft of Jungkook's album. But nothing seems to give him the inspiration that he needs.

Jimin just decides to go on a walk. The cold winter air nips at his skin, so he tightens his coat around himself, breathing steadily as he looks around at his surroundings. It's then when he finds himself stopped in front of Hart's Dance Studio.

He walks a bit closer to get a better look into the glass windows. And he smiles when he sees you. There is no one else around you, but you don't seem to mind. This time, however, you're not vigorously typing on your keyboard. You're... dancing.

Jimin doesn't know what prompted him to enter the dance studio, but the next thing he knows, he's inside.

You don't see him because your eyes are closed. Jimin takes the time to notice that you're wearing a simple black outfit consisting of a tank top and leggings. Your feet are left completely bare.

But the strangest part—you're not dancing with music. It explains your rather awkward movements. As if you can see yourself dance freely in your head, but you can't quite execute it in reality. Still, no matter how awkward you look, you radiate a majestic aura. So much so that from far away, you could look like a professional dancer.

Jimin doesn't realize he's staring until you startle him.

"Hey! Jimin!" you say. Your eyes are bright and wide open now and you wave at Jimin, motioning him over to you. "Hi!"

"Hi," Jimin agrees as he walks closer to you. "I didn't know you danced. Is that your passion?"

"Oh, god no," you giggle, shaking your head. "God forbid, no. It's for this book I'm writing!"

It finally makes sense. She's part of the school newspaper, and I'd seen her typing on her laptop.

"What kind of book?" Jimin asks curiously as he sits down on one of the metal benches in the dance room.

You take a sip of water from your water bottle before smiling. "It's this fictional book about a broken dancer. I'm an aspiring author! I've really been trying to get into my character and experience dancing so I can write her more realistically!"

"Oh, wow," Jimin laughs. "That's dedication."

"It's what I do to try to get good content," you say. "How's your winter break been going, by the way?"

"Pretty uneventful," Jimin says, leaning back on the bench. "I wrote and rewrote five drafts of my college essays. I don't think writing's my thing."

You laugh. "Well, we can rule that out in the list of possible hobbies you can partake in."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees. "I'm still trying to find—but not actively look for—a hobby."

"It's hard," you shrug. "You shouldn't stress too much about it, Jimin. I'm telling you, it's gonna come. I can see you be so dedicated. You just have to wait until the time's right."

"Sometimes I feel like my time will never come," Jimin admits. "Taehyung's already been writing, directing and filming his own short film these days and Jungkook's adding four more tracks to his album. I don't know whether I should feel inspired or pressured."

You shake your head. "You need to get out of your competitive mindset, Jimin," you say. "Realize that you should be doing things on your own time. Everyone has different paces, you know. Maybe you should take your mind off of everything you've been thinking of these days. Wanna dance with me?"

Your question catches Jimin off guard. "Sorry, what?"

"Would you like to dance with me?" you repeat, giggling. "Sorry, it was kinda abrupt but my character needs to experience partner dancing and so do I to write that scene. I've already asked Yoongi, but he won't budge! That boy hates dancing! So maybe you can dance with me?"

"Uh," Jimin awkwardly fidgets his fingers. "I've never exactly danced before."

You snort. "Well, honestly me too. I suck. But whatever, you know? We're going to try."

"What kind of dance?" Jimin says. "I think the only dance steps I've ever learned were the square dancing steps from fourth grade."

"We could try waltzing," you say. "It's pretty simple, I think. C'mon!"

You drag Jimin to the dance floor, guiding his right hand to lay on your back and taking his left hand in yours. Jimin feels awkwardly close to you, but when you laugh and joke about how preposterous the two of you must look, he feels a little more comfortable.

"This might end up with me stepping on your feet constantly," you say apologetically, "but I'm trying to capture the feeling of dancing with a partner. So essentially, it's the emotions that count, not the physical steps."

Jimin laughs. "I'll try not to step on your feet."

"No way," you say. "How are you better at this than I am right now? I thought you said you didn't know how to dance!"

"I don't!" Jimin protests.

But something feels right. Something kind of clicks. And the moment Jimin parts from you and rushes home, he watches dance videos online. He finds out that there are many genres, and the ones he finds the most moving are contemporary and lyrical. There has never been something that has enamored him more.

Jimin irrevocably and quite willingly falls into the rabbit hole of dance.

It's been two weeks since Jimin danced a simple waltz with you at Hart's Dance Studio, but the time seems to have flown by too quickly. The next time Jimin passes by the studio, you're still trying to dance. And when he walks in to greet you, he's met by music. You're dancing to music this time!

"Hi, Y/N," Jimin speaks over the music, breaking you from your reverie.

"Oh, gosh! Jimin! Hi!" you say, immediately turning to pause the song. "Long time no see! How's school?"

"Great," he answers. "Um, just thought I would visit the studio. Do you still need a dancing partner?"

You grin. "Well, kind of," you say. "I need to see an amateur dancer do a little improv routine. Do you mind? I tried doing it myself and recording it, but it's just not fun seeing myself be a fool on camera."

Jimin laughs. "I don't mind at all."

You gesture to the dance floor. "It's all yours."

"Thank you."

Jimin stares curiously at the dance floor, the bright lights flooding the whole room. He feels like he's on stage, but he likes that feeling. He closes his eyes and sees the hundreds of dance videos he binge-watched every day for hours. And then he dances.

Somewhere along the way, you turned the music back on, which makes it even easier for Jimin to dance. He moves instinctively, fluidly like he's water. And he stops only when he finds himself out of breath.

Your jaw is dropped open when Jimin opens his eyes.

"Jimin!" you exclaim, hands thrown in the air. "You're a natural! How did you do that? What the heck??"

Jimin shrugs bashfully, shrugging. He doesn't mention the hours and hours of stretching and practicing he had done before coming here. There would've been no way he would have agreed to improv dance for you if he hadn't felt so confident. And it's funny. Dancing is the only thing Jimin's found in his life that makes him feel self-confident so far. He would've never expected it.

"You should enroll in this studio!" you say. "With some training... You could do great things, Jimin, I mean it!"

Jimin's not too sure about that. Yes, he likes to dance, and maybe it was a hobby. But enrolling in the studio meant full-time commitment. He isn't so sure if he is ready for that. He isn't sure his parents are ready for that.

"Okay," Jimin says. "I'll um, think about it." But not really.

It's like you can see right through his lie, though. "Oh, okay," you say. "Then maybe you can practice dancing in this studio by yourself. I'm friends with the owner so she lets me swing by whenever I want. Wanna meet here every Friday? I could use a beginning dancer like you to really write a story about a dancer's progression."

Jimin's face lights up. Getting to dance one day a week in an actual dance studio?? "Yeah, sure!" Jimin says. "I'd really love to." Now I have an excuse to go to the studio and dance.

This could be the start of something great.

The start of something great it was. Fridays quickly become Jimin's favorite day of the week. After school, he rushes to the studio to meet you and work on learning the basics of dance by watching tutorial videos on the internet. Usually, he works in silence—except for the clicking sounds of your laptop, but today, when he strides onto the dance floor, you're waiting for him in the middle.

"Do you have music requests?" you ask him, scrolling through your phone as if you are deep in thought. "I always feel like it's easier to express yourself with the music you actually like."

"Music?" Jimin frowns. "I, um, don't listen to music that much."

Your jaw drops. "What??"

"I don't even have earphones," he laughs awkwardly.

"You don't have what??"

And that was all it took for you to teach Jimin music for the whole day. You went through the hundreds of songs in your playlists, putting Jimin on the dance floor and making him dance to the songs he likes best. By the end of the session, Jimin still feels like he's soaring. His heart in his chest beats to the rhythm of the music. When he steps out of the dance studio and parts ways with you, he can't help but wish it were next Friday.

But at least he has a whole week to go music hunting. Jimin's never been much of a music man, but he's found that certain songs make him want to dance. He'll search them out and practice with them in the following days.

At school, Jimin feels like a mindless machine. He's still on the fence about cheating the system that's supposed to help him; the ethical part of Jimin wants him to stop—of course it's nothing against you. Jimin just thinks that if the system to help the students exists, every student should be involved. Even he was invited into the group much later (and technically, at first, he was forced to join for catching a meeting in progress).

Yet at the same time, Jimin owes it to you and your group that he's able to do what makes him happy. And he can't bear the thought of betraying you.

At home, Jimin lies on his bed, listening to all of the songs you showed him on repeat. His family doesn't have any music streaming services so he secretly started a three month free trial on iTunes. But he knew his parents wouldn't approve of his music taste (they usually don't approve of anything too teenager-y, so Jimin borrows his father's pair of earbuds.

Jimin didn't know, but earbuds bring a whole new dimension to music. He lies face up, closing his eyes as he pictures himself jumping, dancing, moving to the sweet rhythms of the songs. It's like he's been introduced to a whole new world.

Friday rolls around way too slowly for Jimin's taste, but when he's finally there, talking to you and dancing upon your request, it feels like he's on cloud nine. Today, you ask Jimin to describe what it feels to dance.

Jimin's not exactly very good with his words but he tries his best.

"I don't know," he says at first, blushing as he looks down at the brightly lit dance floor. "It makes me feel like... how do I say it? Like I'm just in a vast room with no one but myself? The moment I hear a good song, I just get this heavy gut feeling to move, I guess. And then I see the colors and the movements... And I dance."

"A vast room?" you say in awe as you unceasingly type across the expanse of your keyboard. "Elaborate, please."

"I guess it feels like I'm on my own stage. And it's a good thing because it feels like no one's watching me," Jimin says. "Uh, kinda like I'm dancing for myself. I'm dancing to express how I feel. And if there's someone watching, I don't really feel it because I'm so uh... I'm so..."

"Enraptured by your own world?" you finish for him.

"Exactly!"

You smile. "Thank you, Jimin! You meeting me here every Friday is so helpful. I really don't know how to thank you properly."

"Oh," Jimin shakes his head. "You've helped me so much already. There's nothing you could possibly do to help me better."

After exchanging a few more words with Jimin, you deem that you have to go home early to celebrate your mother's birthday. Jimin bids you farewell, but he remains in the studio. It feels empty without you, but it doesn't really matter. He's always by himself when he dances, anyway.

Jimin turns on his music, which echoes across the dance room, ringing against the walls and thumping in his chest. He can't stop himself from moving. His body twists graciously and he leaps across the dance floor as the synths in the song sing their melodious tones. He's so into the dance that he doesn't notice a tall woman watching him in the background.

Jimin finishes off his improv dance by striking a majestic pose he had come up with himself a few days ago. He didn't expect anyone to clap when he had finished, but there was this sharp-looking woman who was applauding and smiling at him approvingly.

"O-Oh," Jimin stutters. "I'm so sorry. Uh, Y/N left a bit earlier so I just thought it was okay to stay..."

"You're Jimin!" the lady says. "I'm Miss Hart. I run this dance studio. Y/N's told me how talented you are."

Jimin blushes. "I don't know about talented."

Miss Hart shakes her head, walking closer to Jimin in graceful strides akin to that of a ballerina. "I want to offer you a spot in my dance studio. This is a personal offer."

"I-I, uh," Jimin stutters. He's caught off guard by this sudden invitation and he looks left to right in a very panicked manner. "I-I don't think my parents will allow it... Um, sorry... I have to, um, go..."

He flees before Miss Hart can get another word out of him.

It's the sad truth. Jimin's parents would likely never approve of his current hobby—even listening to music while he studied was a stretch for them. But the more Jimin thinks about Miss Hart's offer, the more he realizes how great of an opportunity that is for him to progress in the path to find his true passion.

As nerve-wracking as is it, during dinner, Jimin asks his parents if it would be okay if he started taking dance lessons. Their reactions aren't as severe as he had expected, but his parents still seem pretty surprised.

"Isn't it too late to start something new?" his mother says. "You're a junior now, Jimin. You should already know what you're good at."

"I agree with your mother," his father says. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I don't know," Jimin answers truthfully. "It just happened. I really, really like it though..."

Jimin's father raises his eyebrows. "Really?" he sighs. "I don't think so, Jimin. Think about it. I know your grades are good right now, but now you should be busy with getting ready for college, shouldn't you?"

Jimin had expected this. "Oh..."

"And have you been taking my earbuds?" his father says.

"Oh, yeah... sorry," Jimin winces. "I'll give them back right now." He trudges up the stairs, feeling dejected and miserable at the same time. He decides to give the earbuds one last listen, plugging them into his phone and placing the buds in his ears. The familiar light-hearted, serene music floods into his head. Jimin can't help it. His eyes close, his mouth parts and he begins to move. His feet take him across his room, leaping over textbooks and dirty socks as his arms move fluidly to support his upper body.

Time has a mind of its own when Jimin enters the dancing world.

He doesn't notice an audience member at the entrance of his room. Jimin's father stares at his son, taken aback by the pure emotion and passion put into such a performance. He cannot hear Jimin's music, but he is able to feel it through Jimin's movements. Jimin's father watches the dance a bit longer, then leaves. When Jimin tries to return the earbuds to his father, he rejects them. "Keep the earbuds," he tells his son. "I don't need them anymore."

On Saturday morning, Jimin's surprised when his father calls him downstairs to talk. Truth be told, Jimin's a little nervous to have a serious one-on-one talk with his father. But his anxiousness melts away when his father asks:

"Have you been learning dance by yourself?"

Jimin perks up. "Uh, yeah! Um, well, kind of. I just saw YouTube videos... And I go to a dance studio every Friday with a friend to um, practice..."

"What studio?"

Jimin freezes. "H-Hart's dance studio?"

Jimin's father nods. "All right. Here's the deal. The moment your grades slip, you're going to have to quit, okay? Let's go enroll you right now."

Jimin almost faints from the sheer amount of happiness.

It is official. Jimin is to have private dance lessons (to make up for being such a late starter) once a week. This was a bit like a trial run; Jimin might get more lessons per week if he really decided to pursue dance.

And now that Jimin's actually a student at the studio, he can come in to practice anytime he wants! Which was every day after school for three hours.

When Jimin tells you the good news on Friday, you insist that you ditch today's dance-writing sessions and get some celebratory boba.

It's the first time Jimin's with you, alone, outside of school, without being in the confines of the dance studio. If he didn't know any better, this felt like more than two friends meeting up on a Friday afternoon. It felt like a date.

You're rather chatty with Jimin, making him feel comfortable and trying to get to know him better. But it comes to the point that Jimin wants to get to know you. So he finally asks the question he had been dying to know the answer to since he'd first met you in the dance studio.

"Do you mind if I ask what your book is about?"

"Oh, I don't mind at all!" you say, aggressively sipping your boba as you think. "Hm, okay, well, I kind of changed the plot halfway through... So now instead of a broken dancer, the story's about this newborn dancer who realizes her talents rather late in her life, but she throws all of her doubts—and others' doubts—away because she realizes if she's passionate about something, it doesn't really matter how long she's been pursuing it. What matters is that she is pursuing it in the present."

"Wow," Jimin breathes.

"Yeah," you giggle, tucking back a strand of your hair behind your ear. "It's a coming of age story. I want it to be heartbreaking, bittersweet and heart-wrenching." You sip your boba. "But I might have to rewrite a lot of scenes because I'm thinking about changing the gender of the main character from female to male. I think it feels more right."

"Oh, that's gonna be a lot of work," Jimin says.

"But it's going to be worth it."

Jimin nods. Of course it will be. You put your best effort into everything. "Do you know what your title is going to be yet?"

"Eh," you laugh, shrugging goofily. "I'll think of it one day."

The light-hearted conversation takes a twist as the outside of the boba place gets darker and the afternoon morphs into the night. Jimin finds himself talking about his personal struggles as an "average" Welton student. He reflects vocally upon the times in which he had to beg to receive an A in his classes. The times in which he despised himself and didn't understand the exact point of life. The times when he was existing and not living.

It's then when you reveal your own darkest moments. And what lies beneath the smiling curtains was a murky past.

Your freshman year at Welton hit you like a bomb—it was the same year that Jimin had been suffering in the depths of sophomore year's turmoil. You became miserable, competing for first place in your classes in subject matters that you had no interest in. The tests contained little material about understanding and more about the nitty-gritty details (that were barely significant). You used to write your stories the moment you came home from school until you had to go to bed. But now, you would be lucky if you could even get a few paragraphs down before being pressured into studying something tediously and frankly, useless. It drove you nuts.

To the point that you were tempted to be pulled under into the dark world of self-hatred and suicidal thoughts. Your older sister had jumped off a building when you were only eight; you watched her stuck in a coma in the hospital with twelve broken bones until she died in her sleep. So you figured if your sister did it, so could you.

But slowly, gradually, rationality took charge of your head, driving out the demons. You garnered your anger and self-hatred towards Welton and not yourself. And during the last few weeks of school in your freshman year, you decided that you were going to make a system to help every student in need—for those with big dreams but little time.

Jimin watches and listens in awe as you continue to tell your story.

"I met Yoongi in freshman year when I was interviewing him for winning first place in a tech comp so I could write about him in the school newspaper," you explain. "He was the first person I told my idea to. And then from the summer between freshman and sophomore year, I planned the whole system. Yoongi assisted me a bit, too, but I didn't want him to be burdened."

Or, Jimin thinks, you don't trust other people.

"Yeah, and then we really kicked off," you say.

"Wait, you and Yoongi? Or the whole system you created?"

"Both," you grin. "Yoongi and I started dating during the summer. And as you can tell, our whole group flourished too. Now you're here!"

"The group's relatively new then," Jimin says. "So um, I don't know if I can ask but, how many people are really involved?"

You smile, shaking your head and denying Jimin an answer. "The trick that I use to run this system is to never trust anyone."

"Oh... wow. Not even your boyfriend?"

"Oh, it's the people you're closest to that end up failing you. Just ask my sister," you shrug. "And you never know. You aren't still thinking of reporting me, are you? I know you were contemplating that for a while..."

"O-Oh!" Jimin stutters. "Oh, shit. No, uh, definitely no. Not anymore. God, I didn't know you knew. I'm sorry."

"It's really no matter," you tell him, giving him a reassuring smile. "I think it was really nice talking to you. When we usually meet up, you're dancing and I'm taking notes or writing so this is a really nice change."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees. "I had a lot of fun, getting to know you." He glances at his watch for a split second and his eyes turn huge. "Shit, Y/N, it's almost 10 p.m.!"

That's when Jimin's able to notice that there is no one else in the boba place except you and him. The store must be closing soon. And the outside is nearly pitch black.

"Oh, wow, we've been talking for a long time," you laugh. "I guess that means we'll have to leave, huh?"

Jimin wants to be in your company for longer, but he nods, agreeing with you. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "I'll see you on Monday?"

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Goodnight, then, Jimin."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

Jimin's now been getting dance lessons three times a week now, and according to Miss Hart, he's improving at an alarming rate. Miss Hart proudly tells Jimin and his parents that he would be able to compete in local dance comps in three months and easily place.

"The boy's born to dance," Jimin overhears his teacher tell his father. He repeats those words over and over again to himself until he falls asleep that night.

His parents took his success in dance a whole different way. Immediately, Jimin was to train his muscles and stretch every day to accommodate three days' worth of hardcore lessons. And he was also ordered to join the school dance team—even though Jimin tried to tell his parents that tryouts had already been held ages ago.

But when Jimin expresses his problems to you, you bring a solution the very next day. Apparently, you had some inside sources in the dance team; you just had to pull a few strings, and the next thing he knew, Jimin was in Welton's elite dance team.

For the first time in the cult, no, group meetings, Jimin has something to show. He's able to track his progress by videos and live performances that you watch on Fridays. With all the advancement in his newfound passion, you reward Jimin with the second-highest scores on every exam (because the highest scores were reserved for the "experts").

Jimin's now sitting at the peak of a figurative mountain. His grades are soaring. His passion is soaring. He feels like his whole life has become a never-ending, high-velocity dance.

And he loves it.

There are no more meetings left after this one, you explain to all of the students. It's the last meeting for it's the week before finals. The school year will end soon, which is a huge relief to every Welton student.

You claim that outsmarting the teachers with the finals would be easy, especially with your advanced system, so there was really no need to worry. The meeting is short, concise and sweet. You douse everyone with your love and passion and thoroughly thank each and every individual for allowing another wonderful school year.

The meeting ends on a great note. You tell everyone that you have great plans for next year. Something that'll top the bomb threat. Something that'll effectively help the students and put the teachers and administrative staff to shame.

Everybody is excited.

The first time Jimin meets you during the summer is in the dance studio. He'd dressed in his workout clothes but still had enough self-dignity to spritz some cologne and put on some deodorant before seeing you.

But when he walks into the studio, he finds that you're not alone—you're with your boyfriend. Laughing. Joking. Touching. Yoongi has his arm around you and you have a casual hand placed on his thigh, leaning into him as you talk animatedly to your boyfriend.

Yikes. Jimin thinks it's going to be awkward before he actually feels awkward.

You and Yoongi really seem to like the time you're spending together and Jimin doesn't exactly want to interrupt. And there's something about the way that Yoongi tugs you closer and looks at you with sparkling mirth in his eyes that sets Jimin off.

He quickly recognizes the feeling as jealousy. It confuses Jimin even more.

Oh, fuck it.

"Hi, Y/N!" he says, waving at you. "Hey, Yoongi."

You stand up immediately rushing to greet Jimin as Yoongi stays in his spot, nodding his salutations to Jimin. "Yoongi just wanted to know what I was doing every Friday after I said no to a fifth Friday night date," you giggle. "Is it okay if he joins us today?"

"Of course," Jimin says. "I don't mind."

I kind of do.

Meeting at the dance studio was an activity exclusive to you and Jimin only... It's weird to see Yoongi butt in.

"Okay, great. Thanks!" you say. "Just do your thing, and I'll be taking notes as usual!"

Jimin nods, bracing himself to dance after he turns on the song he'd been listening endlessly these days. But today, he feels stiff. Rigid. Something's not quite right.

Today, he doesn't feel like he's on a stage alone. He feels someone watching him from the audience with scrutiny. Suddenly, Jimin can't move. He feels trapped in his own world. When he turns to look at you, he finds that you and Yoongi are immersed in a deep conversation. You're usually watching his every move.

Jimin tries to focus again, closing his eyes to immerse himself into the music. But he can't do it. Not when you and Yoongi are talking like that. Shit. Why is that so distracting?

Jimin figures one day of giving up practice wouldn't kill him. He turns off the music and walks over to you and Yoongi and plops down on the bench.

You smile but Jimin watches as Yoongi flinches just slightly, and a disgruntled look flashes across his face just briefly. Jimin ignores him.

"Yoongi and I were just talking about legacy," you explain to Jimin. "You know, what we'll leave at Welton High School."

"Oh, wow. You'll be leaving a whole elaborate system," Jimin says. "But what's going to happen to it when you've graduated?"

You shrug. "We'll have to wait and see," you say teasingly.

"I'll already be gone by that time," Jimin huffs.

"We'll keep in contact," you say. "I promise."

It's a small promise but Jimin's heart skips a beat. He wonders if you'd still be dating Yoongi then.

Why am I like this? This definitely isn't the right time.

Maybe Yoongi senses Jimin's thoughts because he tugs you closer to him. "Come on, babe, do we have to stay here forever? I want to take you out on a date..."

"Aw, Yoongs," you coo. "I don't know... Maybe the three of us can go get boba or something?"

"Babe..." Yoongi whines softly, intertwining your hand with his.

Jimin watches the movement and another pang of jealousy hits his chest, this time larger than the last. He couldn't possibly have feelings for you. Jimin concludes that he's not jealous because Yoongi is your boyfriend, he is jealous because he's stealing you away when he and you should be hanging out.

But he doesn't exactly want to get in the way of Yoongi, who already seems to dislike Jimin for hanging around his girlfriend.

So Jimin shrugs. "I don't want to intrude on a date. It's fine, Y/N, enjoy your date night."

Yoongi shoots Jimin a grateful look and even lets out a beaming smile. "Really, Jimin? Thanks!" you say.

Jimin has to admit, seeing you skip away with Yoongi arm in arm makes him happier. Fuck, no. He's starting to mirror your emotions.

This isn't a very good sign.

Jimin's right. It isn't a very good sign. He's starting to feel weird around you—emotions that he can't quite explain or justify with words.

The more he hangs out with you, the more he notices little things about you—your little habits, your speech patterns, your dimples when you smile...

It comes to the point, you confess to him one day, "You know, Jimin, I've been hanging out with you more than my boyfriend."

Jimin feels honored by that, "Well, I've been hanging out with you more than my own to friends."

And it's true. Taehyung's been busy with his theater things and has picked up a girl along the way—the girl who was notorious for spilling tears arbitrarily. Jungkook's got his eye on some shy girl Jimin doesn't really know. So the friend group's already pretty split up. But Jimin doesn't really mind as much as he should. He and his friends are happy and have split to pursue their interests. There are no regrets.

Sometimes, when Jimin notices the blush on your cheeks after he teases you, he wonders how you truly feel about him. If all the time you spent around him was doing any good.

"I guess we've become quite the team?" you smile, nudging Jimin's shoulder. "I would've never been able to come up with a revamped idea for my book without you."

"I don't think I would've come this far in dance without you."

"No, it's your pure talent," you say. "I didn't do anything." You giggle, admiring the ruffles on Jimin's dance costume. "Break a leg out there, Jimin. I know you'll kill it in the solo division."

"Thanks, Y/N. I swear, I'm not even that nervous."

That's a lie. Jimin's so nervous he's been feeling like he needed to use the bathroom for two hours now. What if I forget a step? What if I'm offbeat for a split second? What if I trip on my costume? What if the wrong song plays?

There's absolutely no pressure that you've offered to come to watch Jimin dance to write about a dance competition in your book. Jimin has to get his routine down perfectly unless he wants to wind up embarrassing himself and disappointing his eager parents. He needs to be perfect. Maybe to impress you.

But this will be the first time that Jimin will be on stage with a true audience. Even though he will dance like he's the only one in the world, he will have hundreds of watchers and a panel of judges who will scrutinize his every move.

Jimin tugs at the ruffles of his white blouse and looks to the stage nervously.

"Hey, you've got this," you whisper to him, patting his shoulder. "What matters is dancing. It doesn't matter what place you get."

You're right. Jimin's here to dance. He is not here to flaunt his talents to others; he is here to make his own progress for himself, for his passion. What matters is that he has fun on stage.

Jimin keeps that in mind when he walks on the platform. The lights shine down on him, and his ears ring incessantly. But as soon as the cello begins to let out its low, elegant sound, he dances. The music envelops his body, and he sees nothing but colors. There is no need to think of which step is next when it comes to him naturally. He twists and turns accordingly to the rueful tones of the oboe, leaps at the entrance of the violins and finishes the dance with a grand pose in the middle of the stage.

He doesn't hear the clapping when he shakily gets off the platform.

Jimin's numb. He can't remember the performance, nor can he remember if he had gotten all of his steps right. But when you lunge at him with open arms and a bouquet of flowers (that you hadn't had before) in your hands, none of his performance matters anymore.

"JIMIN!" you screech at him, almost knocking him over with the force of your hug. "YOU WERE AMAZING!"

He's so taken aback, he can't answer, just holding you to his chest as you laugh happily in his arms.

"I hope you don't mind that I recorded the performance," you tell him. "It was just... wow. I can't even think of words to describe it because... wow."

Jimin pulls away from you, grinning wildly and his heart thumping in his chest—from post-dancing or from hugging you, he doesn't really know.

"Was it that good?"

"Yes!" you say. "Come on, we just have to wait to see how you placed. Not that it matters."

And it really didn't. Even though Jimin took home silver, otherwise known as second place, everyone—his parents, Miss Hart, you—was proud of him. No one could argue that his dancing was the most emotional—the most beautiful. The dance competition was only the beginning of Jimin's journey.

Now it's even more normal for you and him to hang out. Even outside the dance studio to just talk and keep each other's company. Anyone can find you typing on your laptop and Jimin dancing and think it's a normal occurrence. Especially with the two of you on summer break, it became insanely frequent to spend a whole day out together.

Sometimes it seems as though you're flirting with him, but Jimin just tells himself that it's his imagination. You have Yoongi, for fuck's sake. You would never go after Jimin because you've said it yourself—you and he are best friends.

Yet it's socially unacceptable, apparently, to only be friends with the opposite gender (especially a younger opposite gender in Jimin's case) and expect the relationship to be purely platonic. Jimin's been noticing you stealing a couple of extra glances at him when he stretches before he dances. And he's been guilty of staring at you when you write because he likes how focused you can get in your typing sprees.

A couple of times, Jimin swears he could've leaned in to kiss you. But being rejected scares him away to ever take the chance. Besides, he doesn't want to come between you and Yoongi. That would be unfair and immature of him.

God, Jimin's mind is mixed up and his feelings are confused. He's not ready to admit it to himself yet, though. So he stays confused until a new school year comes around.

Being a senior opens up Jimin's eyes, and he realizes he had been just plain stupid—and blind. He likes you.

Fuck.

It's not a question of when these feelings had developed, but a question of why. You have a boyfriend. Jimin's already a senior, which means he'll be gone next year. You're the leader of a group—that's practically a cult, according to Google—and you keep secrets from everyone no matter how much you love them. It's just not going to happen.

And if it did happen, then what about Yoongi? He's an essential member of your group. If you break up with him to be with Jimin, assuming that you even feel the same way, then what might Yoongi do? Would he ditch your group and let it fall to the ground? Would he report you and your system to administration? Would he get revenge on Jimin?

No way is Jimin going to get involved.

He should've seen it coming. He should've prevented himself from completely falling for you the moment you started caring for him, hanging out with him, helping him... But he didn't and now he doesn't know what to do.

Well, actually, he does.

Jimin's just going to simply get rid of his feelings for you for his own sake and yours. He just won't see you for a couple of months, and by then, his feelings for you would be gone, vanished into thin air. At least, that's what he hopes.

So, Jimin creates an elaborate plan of his own to avoid you for several months, max. He secretly changes his dance lesson times and tells Miss Hart to keep his schedule from you. And when his teacher inquires why, Jimin makes up a bullshitted lie that he wants to surprise you with his next performance. Then, he skips all of his individual practices and dances at home instead so you won't be able to find him. He even misses scheduled group meetings, texting you that he was sick (when he was only lovesick).

She's just using me to write her story, Jimin tells himself. I'm nothing but a character for her.

Deep down inside, Jimin knows that's false, but he makes himself believe it. Maybe it'll help him dislike you—which isn't exactly possible—but it could at least help him stop liking you.

But it turns out that maybe you never liked Jimin the way he liked you. All too soon, Jimin finds out from Miss Hart that you haven't been coming to the dance studio, so he switches his lessons back to his normal time. You've stopped texting him about coming to group meetings too. Which was strange because Jimin was still given homework copies and test answers when he needed them.

Maybe you took the hint that Jimin didn't want anything to do with you? Jimin doesn't know.

He does know that still, every time he thinks of you, he thinks of a generous, beautiful, mature, thoughtful person who chases after her own dreams and encourages others to do the same. It's hard to stop liking you, in other words.

Already, finals week is around the corner. Jimin has a few suspicions that you're going to hatch a complex plan again to put an end to student stress altogether, but he wouldn't know because he hasn't been attending the meetings. But whatever you were planning, it would be better than the last bomb threat for sure. Because you were always looking to improve, to better yourself to help others.

God, fucking shit. Jimin can't seem to think of one bad thing about you.

His days are spent dancing mostly as he'd submitted his college apps early (thanks to your suggestion), but he also can't get you out of his mind. Your absence makes him grieve for your presence. But he can't give up now. He doesn't want to show up in front of you one day and have to explain why he avoided you for months.

So he continues with his plan.

It's the Friday before finals week.

Jimin sits around in the corner of his school's dance room as the rest of his teammates go over the routine for the winter dance competition. He'd told the captain that he was getting a bad migraine, so he was allowed to sit out for the rest of the practice.

In reality, Jimin can't stop thinking about you. He knows you're here, after school, in your newspaper room, finishing up your last edits before publishing the paper on Saturday. He wonders if you'll welcome him if he meets you. He wonders if he should apologize for avoiding you. Maybe he can get rid of his feelings by hanging out with you more. Or he'll just act like the two of you are best friends and pretend he doesn't want anything more than a platonic relationship.

Jimin doesn't know what courses through his veins to make him stand up.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he murmurs, trudging out of the dance room and outside. He'll have to cross the quad to reach the newspaper room. Jimin nervously checks his watch. 4:42 p.m., it reads. You usually leave by 4:45 p.m., so Jimin doesn't have much time.

Or maybe he shouldn't go to you at all? He hesitates, lurching forward but taking a step back.

He sees another girl, not that far away from him, walking across the quad. There's a boy behind her, yelling "Wait up!" as he tries to catch up with her while holding a stack of heavy textbooks. The girl looks back around and laughs, taking half of the boy's stack and nudging his shoulder. They continue to walk across the quad, side by side. They must be dating.

Jimin quickly recognizes the tall boy to be Namjoon, his acquaintance, and as soon as he's about to wave, there's a loud bang!

Jimin flinches. Was that a...? He can't quite believe it. But there's a lot he didn't believe but still has come true at Welton High School. Or maybe this was another one of your plans. Fake a school shooting to cancel finals. He wouldn't know. He didn't attend the meetings.

But the blood rushes out of his face and it dawns on him that this is reality as he watches Namjoon's girlfriend fall to the ground in slow motion. His own breath quickens and his eyes are alert but he's almost frozen. No. This has to be fake. This has to be a trick. There's another bang! and this time, Namjoon lurches forward, hitting the ground with a resonating thump.

Jimin's frantic, trying to find the source of the loud bangs. Maybe Namjoon and his girlfriend are part of the group. Maybe it's all a plan. Time flies too quickly and slowly at the same time. Jimin sees blood leaking from the girl as she lay face down on the cement. Namjoon is knocked unconscious. That has to be fake. You can buy fake blood, right?

But deep down inside, Jimin knows the truth. He panics. It's hard to breathe.

Then there's another bang. Jimin feels searing heat engulf his chest. He feels himself fall backward, and he clutches his wet chest—not in pain but in shock.

He tilts upwards, and his last view is of the soft gray clouds in the darkened sky.

Then everything becomes black.

Two students, two seniors are reported to be dead. One shot in the head, another in the heart. One has miraculously survived a gunshot wound and is being treated in the hospital.

"Do you know them?" you say in a shaky breath.

Your boyfriend hugs you. "You know one of them..."

"Oh, god," you whimper. You can hear the police and see the bright flashing red and blue lights from afar. "The shooter was targeting students involved in after school activities. How cowardly. When there would be fewer adults around. They were looking to attack the students."

"I know, babe," Yoongi says. "The girl... she was part of the volleyball team. Her boyfriend is the one who survived, apparently. And the other boy... He... He was on the dance team."

Your eyes turn wide as you pull away from your boyfriend. "H-He..."

"Jimin, Y/N. It was Jimin."

You feel like you're falling down a pitch-black abyss with no one to catch you or help you. "A-Are you sure it was him?" you manage to whisper. "What was he doing outside the dance room?" you sob, throwing yourself into Yoongi's chest as your boyfriend tries to comfort you.

"Park Jimin, yeah... It was him," Yoongi says, petting your back. "I heard from the dance captain that he was having a bad day. Something about migraines..."

You can't speak. Nor can you even think straight.

"Jimin's body was found significantly away from the other two," Yoongi says. "He could've run away."

A heavy weight tugs at your heart and you let out another sob of despair. "Yoongi, he could've thought it was fake."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you get it?? He thought it was like the bomb threat!—fake! Planned! God!" you shriek, pushing Yoongi away and standing up, starting to walk around in frantic circles. "I killed him, Yoongi! I fucking killed him!"

You collapse on the ground with your hands on your head. "I killed him..."

"You didn't kill him, Y/N," Yoongi says. He crouches down with you. "Hey, it wasn't your fault. He's the one who wasn't coming to your meetings. If he did, he would've known we weren't going to pull off a stunt like that until next year's finals."

You shake your head, hitting your forehead repeatedly with your palm. "It doesn't matter, Yoongi! I should've never faked such a serious ordeal!"

"Y/N..."

"I deserved to be out there in the quad."

"You're the students' hero, babe... Don't think otherwise."

"Oh? Really?" you scream. "If I really were a hero, then why the hell was the school shooter a student from our school, huh? I obviously wasn’t keeping everyone happy!"

Yoongi falls silent.

"I don't care what you say, Yoongi," you say, your voice shaking from anger and devastation. "I failed. I tried making a system, but it didn't work... And now, people are dead... And I never got to say goodbye..." And he was avoiding me for months. I never got to know why...

"Hey, hey. Your system is perfect, baby," Yoongi answers. "It just doesn't work on psycho murderers."

That makes sense, too.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi," you say. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess. Thank you. For comforting me. God, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," he says. "Things will be fine." He pauses. "You know, on the bright side, they might cancel finals."

[2 years later]

The moment you graduated out of the hellhole of a school, you discontinued your idea of a school revolt, and your system collapsed without you nurturing it.

Welton High School went under investigation after hundreds of parents and students protested. Counselors were fired and replaced. Administration was put on probation. It didn't take until two students' murders to fix things.

Funny.

Three student suicides weren't enough for them to realize something was wrong with the school.

You're bitter, but you try not to let it get in your way. Jimin will never get full justice because he will never get the life he deserved back. He was supposed to win hundreds of dance competitions. He was supposed to get to the end of the path of his dreams. But his life cut him short.

You dedicate your debut novel to him.

Now, when you walk around a supermarket, a library, a bookstore, you see your book on the stands or stacked up on tables. The white cover contrasts from the title inked in a black font: To Jimin (It's About Time I Told You I Love You).

The book tells the tale of Jimin. A newborn dancer who becomes tangled in the depths of a rigorous high school. There's one twist, though.

The story is told from a girl's perspective. A girl who loves Jimin, but never admits her feelings until it's too late. She watches him grow, blossom and become a star. But she isn't there for him when he dies.

She is you.

And you think it's about time you admit to yourself that you loved Jimin. Except he probably never loved you.

—masterpost

—masterlist

#ficswithluv #btswritersnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanfairygarden #btswritingcafe #jimin #park jimin #jimin imagine #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction #insurrection #this story just makes me so 😭😭#sometimes when i envision the scenes i just get so eMoTionAl

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anothercupofstudying · 5 years

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What to keep in your bag: University edition

Alright, sit down youngin's and let me tell you what to keep in your bag for university (and why). First things first, get a backpack that's going to hold up. Your bag is going to get abused and you don't want to have to replace it in the middle of the semester.

Reusable water bottle/coffee cup: firstly, it's good for the environment. Secondly, you might get discounts for having it.

Pencils, pens, writing utensils: basically, get a pencil case. Fill it. Never trust a single pencil or pen. I once had to write half a calculus exam in bright pink pilot frixon because my mechanical pencil died. Trust nothing.

Mini stapler: put it in the pencil case. You'll need it, or someone else will need it and you don't really want to have to hunt around the library for one.

Washi/normal tape: have you ever tried making a poster without tape? Keep spare tape with you, the library might charge for it.

Notebook: listen, maybe you're going to take notes on your laptop. That's great unless you forget to plug it in the night before and it dies in the middle of your lecture. Have a back up.

Laptop: you only need to bring this if you're actually going to use it. Don't bring it just in case, we both know whatever you want to do can probably be done on your phone. That thing takes up precious backpack space, and this isn't highschool where you get to put things in a locker.

Wireless mouse: Excel on a laptop scroll pad. Not the worst, but it's not fun either. Bring a mouse. (Only if you're bringing your laptop though)

Earbuds: the bus sucks without them. Mine only break on midterm days

Lab coat/manual/safety glasses: if you're in science, you have labs. You don't want to be the kid who can't get into their lab because they forgot their coat/glasses. You also don't want to be the kid who doesn't know what they're doing because they don't have a manual.

Planner: listen, I don't care how you do this. I have an ongoing to-do list with dates for every course on Google docs, as well as a physical planner. Do whatever works for you, but keep track somehow.

Hand sanitizer: Germs. Germs everywhere. Everyone is sick. You don't want to be sick (writing a physics midterm with strep throat isn't fun guys). Sanitize yourself.

A small hand moisturizer: so you've sanitized your hands 5 times a day for a week and now your hands are dry. Have a small moisturizer with you. I find LUSH samples are really good for this.

Kleenex: you got sick (s a n i t i z e). It's cold. Your nose is running. It's awful. Have Kleenex.

Tylonel/Ibuprofen/antihistamine: headaches, cramps, sore throat, allergies. We both know you're probably going to that lecture anyway. Have the drugs that will help you.

Tea bags: this may sound funny, but campus coffee shops will probably let you have free hot water and milk. This is cheaper than buying tea everytime you want some.

Lunch/snacks: campus food is expensive, need I say more?

Sweater/hoodie/cardigan/jacket: I know it's a summer course, but you know what's freezing? The lecture hall. The lecture hall is freezing.

Gloves: winter. Snow. Rain. Cold. Gloves. Especially if you're bussing.

Plastic bag: line the inside of your big backpack pocket with a plastic bag. It might look funny, but it'll protect your stuff from puddles and spills

Tampons/pads: uterus bearing humans make sure you are equipped at all times.

Those are the main things. Don't bring textbooks unless you're for sure going to use them because those are heavy. I'm not listing things like your keys and wallet here because I hope you have both of those.

Good luck,

@anothercupofstudying

#university #college #studyblr #students #study #bag #what to keep in your bag #homework #highschool #helpful #study tips #tips

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butterbeeryuta · 4 years

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐲

teacher!sicheng x single parent!reader | 2.9 k

summary: the moment a new teacher becomes your 6-year old son’s homeroom teacher, the more he talks about this infamous ‘Mr. Dong.’ Who the fuck is this Mr. Dong, and most importantly, why is your son calling him dad?

warnings: cursing, reader is not really in their best state

note: a few chinese terms are used throughout the oneshot. i think most of you will get it, but to be on the safe side: mama means mum, and baba means dad.

Mother knows best. Mother knows best. Mother knows best. That’s what you thought at least. Having to raise your own child after your ex-boyfriend left you because he couldn’t take the idea of him being a father, that’s when you decided to raise your son independently and to make him smart and learn sympathy. That obviously meant having to work twice as hard to ensure he goes to a good school with quality education, and to also have bread and butter on the table, as well as to pay for the unnecessarily expensive rent in Beijing. And of course, gender inequality and misogyny is still a thing— so that’s great. You were just glad your son, Weimin, is just a naturally happy and curious boy. At times he can ask too many question to a point where you just want to pull your own hair out, but it also means that his brain is functioning and will most likely have a natural attraction towards learning. Or so you hope.

‘Weimin, we’ve got to go to school, let’s go!’ You shouted for your son who was probably deciding which type of pencils to bring to school. You were definitely not the reason to why he has become overly organised at the age of 6. Please note the sarcasm.

And there he was, running towards you with his bright orange backpack with his jet black hair neatly fixed—thanks to you— smiling widely at his mother. Weimin’s smile was similar to the way he used to smile, his dimple exactly on the same spot as him. You had a beautiful kid, and he had the warmest heart for a 6-year old. But he also looked so much like him, and you weren’t exactly sure how you felt about it.

He hurt you. He said he’ll always be by your side. He said no matter what happens to you, he’ll be there to catch you and hold you. He lied. He fucking lied.

‘Māmī let’s go to school, I arranged all of pencils by height in my pencil case this morning!’ Snapping out of your thoughts, your boy was looking up at you, his small hands wrapping three of your fingers in his, pulling you towards the door. Following your son immediately, you tried to shake your thoughts off about him, knowing it is not the best for your mental health, and definitely not for your kid.

‘Y-you’re pregnant?’ Yixing asks, eyes wider than usual. Well of course you got pregnant, you two were drunk off your asses, and had sex without protection, and he came inside you.

‘Yes Yixing, for the nth time, I am pregnant! We can’t do anything about it, we have to tell our parents and—‘

‘Abort the baby.’ What?

‘E-excuse me? You don’t have the right to tell me what to do with the baby, it’s in my body’ you retorted, not clearly understanding why your boyfriend would say that. You were thinking of keeping the baby; sure the two of you were young, but it wasn’t that you had no money or such to raise the baby. Your parents and friends may be surprised, and maybe disappointed, but you knew that your real friends will support you no matter what, and so will Yixing.

‘You don’t understand ________, taking care of a baby is a huge responsibility. We’re just 21 years old, what do we know about parenting? And what will our parents say? They’ll also force you to abort the kid, and it’ll just take a toll on your mentality, do you want to go through that?’

‘Y-you always said y-you’ll have my back Yixing…’

‘That’s because a baby wasn’t on the pla—’

‘Earth to _______?’ What?

It was your colleague, Kyulkyung. She looked concerned and confused, but mostly concerned. ‘Babe, I think you’re doing it again’ she says, leaning against your table.

‘I don’t know why I just can’t stop thinking about it, but I swear I’m fine. Is there anything you want me to do?’ You ask, avoiding the subject. She was going to the say the exact same thing as before: go get psychiatric help. You don’t undermine psychiatrists or anything, they’re amazing and do help people get better. But you didn’t think that yours was that big of an issue. It happened 6 years ago; sure your mind naturally goes back to the scene, but it’s not like it affects your life with your son is affected because of it.

‘_______, why is it hard to ask for help? If it’s because nobody will take care of Weimin, I’ll do it.’

‘Kyulkyung you hate children’

‘Yes, but I can learn to love them starting with your adorable, lovely, sweet, intelligent Weimi—‘

‘Kyulkyung you called children mini monsters that rips its way out of a vagina to contaminate the world’

‘—and way to ruin the mood. But seriously, it happened 6 years ago and if you’re still spacing out like this and stopping you from doing shit, it won’t harm going for help’ she says, looking directly at your eyes. You could tell she meant every word, and that she actually cares for your wellbeing. You sighed at her, resting your back flat against the office chair.

‘Exactly, it happened 6 years ago. I don’t want to bother them with something that happened 6 years ago. They’ll ask questions which I can’t even remember because I was too busy being sad and pissed, but I’m raising my son pretty well now. He is happy and healthy. So, did you need me for something or were you here to persuade me for the 4th time this month?’ You asked, looking up at her face. She took a deep breath, knowing that you weren’t going to give in anytime soon.

‘Okay fine, I’ll try again next week. But someone named Mr. Dee called, and wants you to come to school because your ‘happy and healthy’ son keeps calling his homeroom teacher dad and it’s been happening for 2 weeks.’ What the fuck—

The last thing you wanted to do today was to be in the principal’s office with your son playing in the back, his new homeroom teacher, and the principal to talk about your worst nightmare— daddy issues. Weimin did ask where his father was when he was 4, and you just laid out the truth on him that, ‘baba is not coming back because he decided to go somewhere else.’ A 6-year old wouldn’t be able to understand how shit people can be and just go against their word. So yes, he went somewhere.

‘Ms. _________, as you would’ve known Mr. Dong is your son’s new homeroom teacher, and he has been called ‘baba’ many times for the past 2 weeks,’ Mr. Dee, the old balding guy in front of you explains, pointing his stubby fingers towards the rather young good-looking man standing on the side of the room. You gave him a small nod, unsure of how exactly to approach the fact that your son is calling this random hottie ‘baba.’ And no, you will not admit that you just used the H-word to describe a teacher you’ve never met before. The man on the side cleared his throat, uncrossing his arms.

‘Good afternoon Ms. ________, I am Mr. Dong, and I am your son’s homeroom teacher’

‘Yes, we got that clear thank you.’ What did your son see in him?

‘Uh, yes. It’s completely normal for kids to accidentally call their teacher ‘baba’ or ‘mama,’ but this has been happening for a period of 2 weeks, and I was wondering if there are some problems that are happening at home? I know it is not my right to interfere in family matters as a teacher, but Weimin is just a young boy and correcting him to calling me Mr. Dong is taking longer than expected’ he says, talking to you in the calmest tone you’ve ever heard coming for a man. Then again, he just said something about your home life. It wasn’t as if Mr. Dee didn’t know your circumstances, and he did looked quite a bit surprised once the teacher guy began talking. Such a fucking waste for a pretty face.

‘Mr. Dong, actually—‘ you interrupted him before he could continue. If you were about to tell your personal circumstances to this newbie, might as well do it from your own mouth. ‘It’s okay Principal Dee, I can explain to my son’s homeroom teacher—‘

‘Māmī I rearranged my pencils by the height of the erasers at the butt of the pencil!’ Your son shouted from the back in nothing but excitement, only to earn a chuckle from the man you are about to inform.

‘Good job Weimin, and don’t say butt ever again please, it’s a very ugly word.’

‘Okay!’

‘Anyways, I am a single mother who got impregnated by a trashy man so yes, he grew up without a father Mr. Dong.’ Every word you said only made his eyes wider and wider. God did you love seeing that whenever you explained your story to someone who has no idea of who you are. ‘I am sorry that my kid has been calling you “baba,” so don’t worry, I’ll tell him to stop once we’re both at home and ensure that he’ll call you Mr. Dong from tomorrow onwards. Will that be alright Mr. Dong?’

‘I-I’m so sorry Ms. _________ I d-didn’t know, I sincerely ap-poligise. And yes, anytime is fine.’ And it was just apologies after apologies from both the principal and Mr. Dong. Well, that’s over with the adults, and now it’s time for your kid.

Weimin usually stays in the daycare service provided by the school until you were done with work which is about 6 in the afternoon. Well 5:30 pm actually, but you needed a good amount of time to yourself too because it’s not easy being a working single mother. You wanted nothing but happiness for your kid. He likes going to school, he enjoys playing with the toy Genie you got him for his 4th birthday, and he also likes organising writing materials in whatever order he is thinking of. Though, you do blame yourself for the last one considering how strict you were with making sure everything is organised wherever you walk. One thing you could not understand was Weimin calling his new teacher ‘baba.’

Your son knew his father went somewhere, and it wasn’t a lie. You also had no pictures of that man around your apartment, and even if you did, Yixing looked nothing like that teacher guy. Sitting on the couch, you see your boy taking out his diary, reading the assignments he has due tomorrow, as if he really can when he’s just in the first grade. And there goes that smile— it looked exactly like him.

‘That’s because a baby wasn’t on the plan _________. You’re not thinking straight, and I’m sorry but if you’re going to keep that thing, I can’t help you.’ Everything was going too fast, you couldn’t understand anything. Why was he so against you? Why did he lie to you about having your back at all times? Why does he have to be like this now?

‘B-but Yixing, let’s t-talk out for a bit. A baby isn’t a bad idea, and we can work this out. T-trust me on this, I have the funds, a-and—‘

‘We’re done _________. I’m sorry.’ Even after 6 years, those 5 words stuck with you as you and your child grow older. You knew you needed help. You knew you needed it.

You couldn’t do it. You didn’t him to talk about his father problem. Is he being bullied in school since he has no dad? Is father’s day coming up? Why didn’t you come up with this earlier when you were called in by the school? Why are you always so slow with everything _________?

You picked up your phone, texting Kyulkyung to watch over your son for a bit, despite knowing that she absolutely hates children. But hey, she called your son lovely— that deserves a bit of trust. You needed fresh air. You needed to be alone and think properly without hurting your son. You were already hurt enough, and your boy doesn’t deserve to be hurt.

Lights reflected against the river, creating a gorgeous blend of yellows, pinks, and blues dancing to the soft ripples caused by the wind. There’s just a naturally calming vibe with rivers; the soft breeze, the slow movements of the water— it’s a shame that rivers are continuously being polluted.

‘Ms. ______?’ What the fuck?

It was Dong Sicheng. Or perhaps your son’s ‘baba.’ He was a handsome man, and the lights shining gently on his skin definitely did not help increase your expected annoyance and hatred towards this man. Was he following you?

‘Mr. Dong, or I guess my husband since my son calls you “baba.” What are the odds to see you on this fine evening…’ you sarcastically answered, leaning your forearms against the metal rail. You only earned a chuckle from him, his footsteps coming closer to you, eventually mimicking your current position.

‘I come here for a daily walk. Teaching primary students isn’t really easy, and it doesn’t hurt to have some fresh air. And if I may, what brings you here on this fine evening?’ He asks, imitating the exact tone of your response earlier.

‘Just thinking about what I did wrong raising my son… this just never happened before’ you quietly said, shortly followed by a laugh coming from you. You weren’t sure why you were laughing; you know it wasn’t an appropriate time to laugh considering how his face dropped as soon as you opened your mouth.

‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Weimin is a great kid. It’s my fault.’ Well this better be good. ‘It was my first day, and I asked the kids to draw the people they looked up the most. And just like any kid, I expected them to draw their parents, but Weimin only drew you—‘

‘As expected,’

‘—well yes, now I understand. So I asked him where his dad was, and he told me that he’s not at home. For some stupid ass reason, I thought Weimin meant that he goes to work so he doesn’t get see his dad as often so—‘

‘That is one fucking stupid reason, damn Mr. Dong, I expected better from you.’

‘Let’s have another time to talk about how shit of a person I am another time, and I’ll make sure to bring receipts for proof. Anyway, I didn’t want him to feel left out in the class since everyone, and literally everyone, drew both parents. Well, except one kid. She drew a polar bear, and I do not know why. Anyway, before anything could happen, he suggested that you know…’

‘That you could be his paternal figure in the picture, and you let him do it.’ Sicheng nodded at you as you finished his sentence, which only made you inhaled sharply. You barely know this man, and you feel that you need to tell him everything.

‘Zhang Yixing. That dirty son of a bitch left me once I got pregnant as 21, which is young I know but, there are younger mothers—‘

‘Not the point Ms. _______—‘

‘Shut the fuck up Sicheng, and stop the last name basis thing we’re not under school conditions for fuck’s sake. The only reason I didn’t want to do an abortion is because I have an ovulation disorder. I was too scared to tell anyone before that I had it because I didn’t want whoever my partner is to leave me because well, it’s not easy for me to get pregnant. And I also didn’t want to abort the baby because what if I never will have the chance again. I wanted to experience what it’s like to be a mother, and I did get that opportunity. Just not under the best circumstances,’ you said, your voice going lower and lower as you explained your story. There were medication to increase your fertility, but you didn’t know much before even if you were 21 that time. You were thinking of too many things then, you weren’t sure what you were doing for the most part.

‘I-I’m so sorry that happened to you… ________. I do not know what you are going through, but I can tell you do work very hard and want nothing but love for your son. You’re a great mother, and your hard work pays off. I do hope though that once Weimin is older, you have the courage to tell him the truth even if it will break his heart. Weimin is a happy and bright kid, though I am not sure how he so organised at such a young age, but so far, he grew up well. As his homeroom teacher, I just want you to know as a parent tha— are you crying?’ Yes I am, what else will you call heavy ass tears rolling off my face?

’N-no.’ Well that was a fail in trying to keep your voice stable.

He grabbed your shoulders, turning you to face him as he adjusts to your height. His warm brown eyes meeting yours; it was as if everything around you stopped. What the flipping fuck is happening.

‘You’re a great mother _______. Weimin is more than lucky to have you,’ Sicheng whispers as you tried to control your tears. Maybe, just maybe, you do not mind your son calling Sicheng baba anymore.

a/n: THIS BECAME MUCH MORE ANGSTY THAN I THOUGHT WEEEEEEEEE

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awkwardplant · 3 years

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Sci-fi/Misc Short Story: Diorama

Weary travellers entered a building to escape from the zombies that had been chasing them. Night-time drew closer and only a little bit of sunlight filtered through the large dusty windows at either side of the room. Despite the dust, everything here looked pristine, unsurprising as it didn't seem the materials here were much use to survivalists.

"Is that an easel?" Johnny the Veterinarian wandered over to the contraption, lifting away a greyed cloth covering it, revealing a canvas with a few marks of brown oil pastels.

A younger member of the team who refered to himself as the Tailor (everyone else called him Ed, or the Cosplay Guy, or That Teenager) dove into some drawers and boxes. "Please tell me there's a non electrical sewing machine, or fabrics, ooh I'll even take sequins at this point! Anything I don't have to make from scratch."

"Don't think this type of place will have those kinda things, Ed. Looks like a kindergarten's arts and crafts room." said Johnny. "Might have glitter though."

Paul the Farmer rolled his eyes at his group. "No point lookin round 'ere, let's settle down, find somethin soft, and kip for the night." He shrugged off his backpack which carried the all the bare essentials it could hold, and popped his spine with a groan. "Food chain these days is all outta whack I tell ye."

At the entrance, Melissa the Engineer boarded up the door with some convenient planks of wood, nails, and a hammer she carried everywhere. "Oughta keep them out. Phew. Bit cold in here isn't it?"

Melissa's daughter, Isla the six year old, stood in the middle of the art studio, eyes filled with wonder at all the creations. Clay sculptures of graceful torsos, pencil drawings of still lifes that looked more or less exactly like the sketches, completed oil paintings of landscapes hung on the wall next to colorful, abstract ones.

Isla spied a light still on behind a door to another room left slightly ajar. "I see a light, do you think someone lives here?"

All the adults tensed and raised their weapons, eyes peering in the direction Isla curiously tiptoed towards. Paul hissed at her to slow down, firmly grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back behind him as he stared ahead. The air was silent aside from the floorboard's weak groans that sounded like a sigh of relief at the return of humans gracing its surface.

Johnny tapped lightly on the door which opened without any creaks or spooky noises, and revealed a warm orange glow of a desk lamp. The desk was cluttered with tiny objects you would expect to see at much bigger sizes such as doors and furniture. Several drawers of multiple sizes surrounded and sat on the desk filled to the brim with paints, glue, craft knives and other materials. A single mug rested on a green cutting board with some stale coffee inside.

Isla squeaked in delight as she darted across the room. "Mommy! There's dollhouses here!"

Melissa strode towards her daughter, blinking in surprise when seeing there was in fact what appeared to be multiple dollhouses meticulously displayed in glass cases on many shelves.

"Some strange looking dollhouses," Ed said. "Why would a kid want to play with a dollhouse that looks like a swamp?" He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the minature shack on stilts that sat atop fake greenery and resin water.

Paul chuckled. "And this ane's even got tiny critters from my farm! Now tell me that isnae just the spittin image of my wee goat." He tapped the glass of a mini farm with toy animals placed in the field.

"I think, uh..." Johnny clicked his fingers, brow furrowing. "I swear I remember... Ah well, I don't know the proper name of them but I've seen train sets that have these kind of things, do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah!" Melissa chirped. "This is how they used to make movie sets isn't it? Because back then they didn't have CGI to make places they couldn't afford to go to when filming."

"And humanity has reverted back to that time period." sighed Ed, who greatly missed his Friday night Star Wars rewatches with his friends. "Maybe even further back than that. Losing the internet was like losing the Library of Alexandria."

All of them wandered around the shelves to look at all the miniature sets. Mountains formed purely by plastic foam, a landscape of a picnic inside an open altoid tin, a greenhouse cluttered with plants no bigger than a pinkie finger. Some miniatures sat on the floor, the ones that were massive compared to the other sets yet still very tiny versions of medieval castles and gothic architecture.

Melissa stopped in front of a small library room that had holes in the ceiling with trees growing beneath them, books and furniture meticulously littered everywhere. Flashbacks to her days studying in her hometown's library filled her mind.

"This is what they thought the apocalypse would look like." she said, with tears welling up in her eyes. "They thought- they- they made art of stuff like this because they imagined it would look beautiful. How could they romanticise such disaster?"

Johnny walked up next to her, crouching down to see inside the library. "Hauntingly beautiful, maybe. I do remember certain types of people were fascinated with the idea of nature reclaiming the lands that humans built on."

"And that idea was dumb," said Paul. "Because now the deer are overpopulated and they destroyed the forests, and who knows what other animals are causing chaos without conservationists."

"There are pros and cons to everything that happens." Johnny replied. "But yes, it doesn't help that the handful of humans that are left don't know how to handle this... resurgence of nature."

Isla looked around, peering back through the door to the main room of the art studio. "This library dollhouse looks just like real life doesn't it? It's like we're little dolls too."

Melissa smiled sadly, stroking her daughter's hair. "It does put things in perspective." She hoped things would settle down enough for her to be able to teach Isla things she had learned in school at her age.

"The Earth is the size of a pinprick compared to the sun and we're all just ants in the grand scheme of things." Ed said, and one could guess he was trying to imagine how small he was compared to the Starkiller base.

Paul snorted. "But bigger than regular old ants and smart enough to put together nicknacks that make ladies cry." He nudged Melissa teasingly.

Eventually, the group finally realized that the lamp was connected to a solar powered generator with a back up of energy reserved and they attempted to recharge their walkie talkies. After a few near-electrocutions, they finally connected to a radio station broadcasting a rather laid back distress signal.

"This is DJ Smooth calling out to anyone, God, just anyone out there, from the abandoned military base in Alconbury. Been out here for uh, 3 months now, there's not been any zombie sightings for a while and I have been sooo bored. Come find me and we can hang out, maybe fight over my remaining supplies so I can remember how to feel something that isn't dissociation. Stay tuned after this music break for the co-ordinates to my location, and my heart. See ya soon cuties. Over."

Later that night everyone created some makeshift beds out of the cloths that had covered some artworks and easels, which Ed would repurpose at some point during their travels to make some new socks. They all lay on their backs in the dark, close to each other to conserve warmth. If there were any zombies outside they didn't hear them, only the rush of wind and rain pattering on the windows.

"Mommy," Isla whispered. "I liked the song that the man on the radio played."

"Yeah sweetie, I liked it too. It was... something from the 90's? I think? Probably not age appropriate but you didn't understand it so it's fine, I guess. Something funny to look back on one day."

Isla rolled over onto her stomach to look at her mom. "When we go back to Paul's farm I want to play the guitar we found."

"We can't go... Tell you what Isla, we'll go see the music man from the radio, and he'll help us cure the zombies, and then we can get everyone an instrument and all make music together."

"Yes! That's a good idea!"

"And we can do plays in theatres and make movies again." Ed added shyly.

"Movies that don't involve zombies and will make us forget this shitshow ever happened." Johnny sighed, unable to close his eyes and dreading the nightmares.

Paul growled and hushed the others, but then he said "Doesnae matter if zombies are out for us and we've got no artsy stuff, we can still sing."

They all sang Country Roads quietly (Isla could only sing the chorus yet sang with such sincerity), with gentle echoes of their melody bouncing off the walls of the art studio until they fell asleep.

The next day they left to find the military base and made up new songs along the way, with renewed and desperate hope that they might find a cure for the zombies someday soon.

The end.

#zombie apocalypse #writing #vignette #original fiction #short story #drabble #science fiction #slice of life

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deathstakes · 3 years

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How to be Buffy Summers — A Slayer How-To Guide: Tips, tricks and wood chips.

PREFACE: So you want to be the Slayer, huh? Well, newsflash. Everyone wants to be the hero. In the movies, it is flashy and cool. Well, here is a newsflash. Slaying isn’t exactly glam-o-rama. The movies really pump up the whole what it is like to be a hero, and let me tell you, it isn’t as cute.

Disclaimer: You might have heard a lot from the fang-population. They like to spread their gossip faster than a bunch of ladies sipping their afternoon tea. I’m here to clear the rumours and give you the insiders scoop.

I am more than just the Slayer. I am also Buffy. They go hand in hand like…. Hands going in hand. I like my weapons as much as I love a good sale. There’s nothing wrong with liking pink, dressing cute and also being able to kick some major ass, and trust me, if you ever doubt it, I can show you what a Slayer really is.

TIPS, TRICKS AND WOODCHIPS

1. There is nothing fashionable about eye bags. Concealer is your best friend.

Patrol usually ends around 3 a.m, if the vampires aren’t biting much. If I am lucky, I get about four hours of sleep a night, and if I am even luckier those four hours are free of nightmares or weird, cryptic-y apocalyptic messages. Most of the time, I am not, and my dreams aren’t steamy with Swayze but the uglies, but we never go past second base because they always seem to die when they try to handle my stake.

Those sleepless nights are going to make you want to wear a caffeine drip. Speaking of, coffee will be your other best friend. Thank me later.

Oh, and you’re also going to need a concealer for the bruises. Trust me on this, you’re going to find bruises in places you didn’t even know you could have bruises. Those rough tumbles aren’t without consequence. Sure, they’ll go away in a bit, but in the meantime, do what Elsa said. Conceal, don’t feel. Cover it with translucent powder to really set it in and don’t forget to colour correct! This works for both bruises and for those vampire bites. Totally hickey-proof.

2. Sisterly duties.

Make sure Dawn is up for the school day. I used to get up much easier, in my opinion. Also, remember to pack a stake in her lunch and some holy water, just in case. You never know when she is going to need them considering she has a habit of getting kidnapped every other Tuesday. Replenish the supply every so often and get your witchy best friend to put in protection trinkets that you can slip into her backpack.

IMPORTANT: When it comes to her safety, nothing is off limits, at all. Monsters will play dirty if they have to, and the ones closest to you are the most susceptible. It’s a hard knock life.

3. Because this gig isn’t really big on the paying front, you also need a day job. Glamorous.

Remember that thing about how being a superhero isn’t like how it is in the movies. I was being dead serious about that. There isn’t a batmobile or really cool headquarters, unless you want to count the Magic Shop, and oh, that thing about getting paid? Hah. Yeah, you’re not really going to be rolling in the dough unless it is cookie dough. It is a whole, long-winded thing, so just make sure you have some resistance to temptation when you see a really, really good shoe sale. I am talkin’ goes with everything, cute but also practical heel. Don’t do it.

You might have to play pool shark, might need to flip some burgers and learn how to give your Buffy best smile while being dead inside, or you might need to bust an undercover demon black market. Get creative. Just don’t rob a bank. Morals still apply, you know.

TIP: Having a boyfriend who is good at forging credit cards is really helpful. Though, sometimes, he gets too crafty with the aliases.

4. Unchipped manicures? Puh-lease.

I’m going to give it to you straight, so it doesn’t get hard later on. You know that feeling of freshly painted nails? Don’t get used to it. There has yet to be a patrol that I go on that doesn’t end up with me chipping my polish.You’d think someone would get into the market for this stuff and break the bank, but nope. Well, considering I would probably be their only customer... Don’t even think about acrylics, who has the time and also, not great for grip. Gel? You’d think it would hold, but let me tell you, not even the best formula can stand against the roughest of tumbles.

Having pretty, polished nails was nice while it lasted. That isn’t to say I don’t do my nails, now, because I do. I’m not letting fangs take that away from me. They already took away my sleep.

5. Healing.

So, right about now, you might be starting to realize that being a superhero isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. So, let me throw in a decent thing. This isn’t to get recruits or anything. This job position is filled until further notice (or until I get the axe.) One of the good things about the gig is that you heal faster. That isn’t to say you don’t get hurt, because oh boy, do you get hurt. The pain aspect is still there, but you’ll heal a broken bone in days compared to weeks only to break it again. I’ve made with the stabby, and gotten out of the hospital the same night because I was healing quickly. Other than the limping, the bruises that go away in a day or two and the scars are barely there scars, you’re golden.

But that doesn’t mean that I am invincible.

If Slayers were invincible, I wouldn’t be here.

I still have my scars (the ones that can be seen) on my neck. From the Master, from Angel and those couple rounds with Dracula that I went, but that’s for another time. The naked eye can’t really see them, but get me under some great selfie taking lighting and it's there, just a sheen paler than my skin tone.

TIP: If you are trying to hide fresh ones, try scarves. Fashionable, but practical. Ascots if you’re into looking like Fred Jones, hubba hubba.

6. The weapon of the tongue. No, not that weapon.

Anyone can learn high kicks and how to throw a punch. Well, most anyone, anyways. But if you really want to know the inner workings of how to be Buffy, try me on for size. I only come in a small, though. When I do my rounds, I like to provide a double feature slayer combo, you know? Throw in a pun or two between my punches, give them a real show. You know why? It gets them going. It drives them crazy, and they get angry. That anger helps fuel the whole show. Also, I am great at talking circles, so sometimes, you just keep going and going and watch their undead brains try to scramble it together, and while they are doing that?

PRESTO-POOF-O.

It really is a Buffy skill, even if Giles doesn’t think so.

Well, except when it gets me in trouble because part of being me is realizing that my mouth speaks faster than my brain tends to comprehend and then it just becomes a whole intangible tangent that really shouldn’t even be called a tangent, because really, who---

7. Sacrificing fashion for slayage.

This one hurts me to write. This one hurts me because it is still something I struggle with, but what can I say? I’m a lifelong learner, dedicated to becoming the best. Nerd alert. There was a time when I used to dress cute. You know, the minis and the halters? The to-die-for booties? Well, guess what? Long gone are those days. Now, I aim for pr… for… prac… for practical. Sorry, it is still a touchy thing.

That doesn’t mean you still can’t dress cute, because you totally can. Have I given up my style? Nope, not a chance, and hey, sometimes my halters still see the life of patrol because I believe when we look and feel our best, we slay the best (Can I get an amen?) I wear booties all the time, but it’s because I know how to run in heels.

Body con dresses and tight skirts? Save them for a day you aren’t slaying, because otherwise, you’ll be sitting in a bank and suddenly be faced with a bank-robbing demon and you’ll have to slit your favorite pencil skirt with shears so you have enough leg room to fly-kick that ugly.

That was a nice skirt, it was.

8. Accessorizing is important.

It is no secret that accessorizing can make an outfit go from nay to yay. Come on, that is a given. But, being the Slayer, there are some accessories I have to make sure that I am wearing at all times. Keeping a cross on you all the time would be too bulky, and it isn’t for the religious aspect of things, so what do I do? Cross necklaces, chokers, rings or little dangly earrings can be the perfect way of making a vampire weak in the knees. Also, punching with rings really hits differently. For them, not me.

Keep some scarves on you, too, because well, it isn’t any of my business what happens to your necks, fangy or not.

TIP: Scrunchies? Make great face flingers if you need a real quick distraction to get out of a fangy situation. Just some tricks of the trade, you are welcome.

9. That appetite.

Let’s get personal, here. You think that you’re going to do all that cardio and vamp-ass slayage and not feel like you could eat a horse? Oh, it’s bad. Sometimes, the first thing I do when I am done patrol is hit whatever place is open or go straight for the fridge. It’s never cravings for a salad, either, nope. It’s 3 a.m, and all you want is a stack of double chocolate chip pancakes, some sunny side up eggs, hash and extra greased up bacon, maybe even some triple scoop chocolate shakes.

Dawn says she always feels like she is interrupting the fridge and I when she walks in on us, because my head is just always sticking inside it, but what do kids know, huh?

Also… there is another kind of appetite. This is why this book isn’t in the kids section. We’re all grown ups here. Sometimes, all you need is to get rid of that tickle that seems to always find a place. It’s explosive until you give in and have to do something about it. It’s kind of why I prefer solo-slaying, it gets real intimate.

A low-fat yogurt does the trick, too.

10. Weapons, ooh.

So, we talked about the power of words, but here comes the good stuff. Let me tell you, nothing feels good as the first poof after a freshly shaven stake. I never thought I would ever admit to that, but here we are. It is important to always keep your weapons ready to fight like it was the end of the world, because most times? It is.

Try to keep a knife in your boots. Pockets are important because you can slip in stakes discreetly enough, but don’t make them too bulky. Keep important spells on your phone because you’re not carrying around books everywhere you go. Never forget your phone, your gloss, crosses and holy water. You know, the essentials.

My favourite weapon? My precious baby. My scythe. It looks sweet and is just as killer. I like it for its double functionality because it does both the beheading mucho smoothly and the point of the stake? Talk about hot.

…. Yes, we all get attached to our weapons.

As for guns, they are still pointless.

Keep your weapons hidden. Somewhere they won’t be found. I went through storing them in places I knew my mom wouldn’t bother looking (crosses and holy water vials between the bookshelves, stakes in the closet…) Maybe build a trunk for it, for all your storage needs. This is where I plug Xander Harris. He built me a beautiful trunk on my 21st birthday. Give him a call.

11. Do NOT sleep with vampires.

So, here’s the thing. I don’t want to be a hypocrite but, sometimes, I just have to say it. Do not sleep with the enemy. Here’s the thing. I get it. I know. There’s this whole mysterious aspect to it, and sometimes at the end of it all, you just want to knock your boots with someone, BUT DO NOT SLEEP WITH THE UNDEAD. It never works out good for anyone. There are too many complications, like the loss of souls and dignity. The only shaft they should be getting worked is the stake.

There are plenty of living, breathing, normal human fish in the sea.

Seriously, screw vampires. By that, I mean don’t.

This message was brought to you in part by the Learn from Buffy’s Mistakes Association, because clearly she never did.

12. Don’t let it turn you into stone.

I’m going to get real with you. Being the Slayer… it is so easy to cut yourself off. From the world and everyone around you, because you think that it is easier that way. That it’ll hurt less if you keep this unbudging wall between you and the people you care about. Somewhere along the way, the hard heartens from all the losses that turn you into a ghost of who you were. Somewhere along the way, you stop wearing your heart on your sleeve because you’re not that innocent or naive girl anymore.

Being the slayer… it makes me different. It makes me different in a way that I don’t think anyone will ever truly understand, even when they say they do. I’m not saying that because I think highly of myself or I am trying to keep people at bay. It is just the way it is. This is a fight that belongs to the Chosen One, even when she didn’t ask to be Chosen.

It is about trying to find that balance. For a long time, I cut myself off, and sometimes I still find myself having a hard time letting other people in because I tend to swallow in myself when things get hard. I don’t like putting that on other people… they deal with enough just by slayer association. Now, I try.

I try to embrace the way my emotions give me power, the way they make me feel, even when I feel the most vulnerable - even more than I am mid-battle.

13. Don’t fight it, just accept it. - stop being so hard on yourself, you’re one girl.

One girl in all the world...

I used to hate it. I used to despise Destiny and wanted to give it the finger. For a long time, I hated this life. Hell, there are still times when I wish I wasn’t ‘the One.’ Being the one sucks, sometimes. The losses, the sacrifices, the constant worrying about everyone around you?

It hits harder when I think about the ones I couldn’t save. Yeah, I saved a bunch of people, but what about the ones I couldn’t? That is on me and only me. This is the heavy, so-not-star spangled stuff that sleeps with me every night. The guilt. The could-haves, the should-haves…

I have grown from not accepting this role to embracing what I bring as the Slayer. I know I am damn good at it, total humble-brag. Hey, longest lived for a reason, okay. My stats are impressive.

Sure, there are days where my bones are downright tired. There’s an ache I can’t really explain, and hurt that never goes away and sits in my chest. I have to remind myself that if it is not me, then it is some other girl and I want to save that girl and have her live a normal life for just a little bit longer, you know? She might have something important to get to. She might be Dawn’s age. I could never do that to her.

Every day, I am doing the best I can. There’s only me, and sometimes, only me needs to cut herself a break. Just like most everyone needs to cut themselves a break, sometimes. Have a break, have a Kit-Kat.

*** BONUS TIP: Practice safe necks. Just, please, people. We live in Sunnydale, this should be obvious. Don’t give into Sunnydale Syndrome, have a little awareness.*

CONCLUSION: There you have it, folks. A little intel about the oh so (not) glamorous life of a Slayer. Not coming to a theatre nowhere near you because books on my life are enough, thank you very much. If you have any questions, please contact your local library or that idiot named Carver Edlund. Spam him, spam him good, maybe even send him some hate-mail while you are at it.

END NOTE: If Giles finds this, I repeat, I did not write this. This was written by someone else who knows way too much about me. Probably Dawn because she reads my diary all the time.

A Buffy Summers Publication ™

#✞ :: | ✦ ❛ Drabbles of the Chosen One

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zukuthehero · 4 years

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Chapter three- Izuku gets a care package

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || AO3

“I’m home mom!” I slipped into the house, closing the door gently behind me.

I juggled the bags from my shopping trip and toed my shoes off before moving heading towards my room to drop it all off.

“Oh, Izuku honey,” my mom called from the kitchen, “You dad sent a package for you!”

I perked up, “Dad sent a package?”

“Yes, it’s here in the kitchen dear.”

I grinned and hurried to my room to drop my stuff off. I know my dad doesn’t really like me. He started leaving a lot for business trips after my diagnosis. And now hasn’t been home in six years. But I did like it when he pretended to care for mom. It’s been awhile since he sent anything too.

I dropped my bags on my bed to put up later, then rushed back to the kitchen. I grinned as I noticed the open package on the table, a package for mom I assume. I peaked in and noticed a few wine bottles and something fabric, maybe some new clothes?

“Here’s your package dear.”

I turned to see mom holding out a package to me, my name written neatly on the top in Dad’s handwriting.

“Thanks Mom.” I scooped it up, it was rather heavy, and moved to my room to open it.

I placed the box on my bed and dug around for some scissors to open it. Finding them, I carefully cut the tape and pulled open the top.

At the very top was a box that said Bath and Body Works in English lettering. I quickly reached in and pulled it out, these are always so cool. I opened the box to see little all might themed bath bombs! They were yellow, blue, and red like his outfit and had stars decorating them. They even had the bangs sticking up in yellow! I adore them and I’m definitely using them immediately.

There were also two small candles! These were Endeavor themed. How cool! The candle wick is where his hair would be. That’s so fun.

I put the mini box aside to pull out the next thing. Ooh, new video games. He always sends at least one new game each time. !!!!! THAT’S THE NEW POKEMON GAME! I love Pokemon, I was gonna save up to get Pokemon Freedom, but this is awesome. It’s for the new console that dad sent last time too.

Pokemon Freedom has a cool plot from what I’ve been reading. Criminals have been imprisoning Pokemon to try and lure the legendary Pokemon Teluno, the legendary of freedom, to them. The player must fight them while beating the gyms. The cool twist is that you go through the areas the Pokemon are imprisoned in along the way and catch new Pokemon that can’t be caught outside them. There’s also still the normal wild Pokemon but I’m super excited for this game.

Ooh, also the new Zelda game, A Link in Time. I don’t know nearly as much about this one’s plot but I do know that the villain that kidnaps Princess Zelda is on that can travel through time, so I can’t wait to find out how the game lets you deal with it. Plus, I love doing the side quests. Even if the timeline is a bit confusing, maybe they got rid of that annoying fairy that says “Hey! Listen.” Ten million times.

I quickly put the games into my game draw, which has basically every Pokemon game ever, and a lot of other role play games.

Turning back to the box I found a pile of comics! My dad has been sending them to me forever, even before he stopped coming home he’d still get them for me. Said my uncle liked them I think. Spiderman is my favorite for sure, Batman being a close second. They’re classics. I’ve read the first 500 comics so far, dad sends a few new ones every time. I don’t know how he finds them all though. Some of them are worth a lot of money from what I’ve seen online.

I cheerfully put them on the shelf with the other more recent ones. I have the older ones in a box in the closet, I ran out of room on the shelf.

Next in the box were new notebooks, ooh waterproof ones. And the covers are all cool! One is black with red lightning designs, another has an interesting rocky texture, a third has dragons decorating it, and the last one has a green cover with my name embedded on it in gold! They’re so pretty.

I carefully put them on my notebook shelf. I would definitely be using those soon. They’re so nice.

Beside those were two pencil cases. One green, one red. I opened the green on to find it filled with pencils and, oh, a note on them says they’re waterproof. Checking the red one reveals waterproof pens. That’s brilliant! I noticed some clear film tucked against the side of the box and pulled it out. It had a backing with writing that I read quickly. Fireproof covers! That’s amazing, that’ll be good to keep on my notebook. I wish I had those before, but at least I don’t have to worry about Kacchan destroying anymore notebooks.

At the bottom of the box were four books, and some sodas and snacks tucked to the side. Picking up the books I saw that one was on anatomy, advanced anatomy it looks like. That’ll be useful. There was also one on basic first aid and one on advanced first aid. The final book was one titled “The Achievements and Failures of Heroes through the Ages”. It looked interesting at least. Maybe dad wants me to learn from previous heroes mistakes? Ooh! Maybe previous OFA users are in here! I can use it for my research too.

I grinned as I started to open the book on heroes before pausing. I reluctantly stacked the books on my desk. I needed to read through all of them, but that would have to wait just a little while, I have training to do.

I noticed something poking out of the hero book and picked up the book again. Opening the book to that page I found it marking a page about a hero’s failure to help a woman who warned him about a villain that then caused a big disaster that ended in a lot of death. I frowned, that’s sad, before realizing the page marker was an envelope.

Dear Izuku,

Inko told me you got into UA, I’m very proud of you. I know it has always been your dream school.

I’m very sorry that I haven’t sent anything in a while, work has been very busy but that is no excuse. I am glad that I finally had the chance to check my messages to see that you got in. Inko also told me your quirk has manifested. I hope you are practicing hard with it. Quirks are difficult enough to handle when you have a lifetime to learn them, you have only had a few weeks.

I’m very proud of you regardless, remember, a quirk is not everything. You’re extremely smart so be sure to train your brain just as much as your body. I am sure you could become an amazing hero with or without a quirk.

I hope you enjoy the games I sent, they were once again recommended by a coworker. And I hope the books are useful to you in your training to be a hero. Remember to take care of yourself and get plenty of rest. Overworking yourself won’t help anyone, least of all you.

I hope you enjoy your school Izuku, stay safe and do well. I love and miss you a lot.

Lots of Love,

Your father, Hisashi

I couldn’t help but sniff as I read it, tears burning in my eyes. He sounded like he really cares. But was that only because I have a quirk now? He said he didn’t care but then why did he leave?

I shook my head, putting the letter in my desks drawer, I saved all of his letters. As I did I noticed something on the back. I blinked looking, a stick figure drawing with three figures, one with blue hair, one with white (Like dad’s), and one with green. A little note to the side said to enjoy the games.

I smiled, was that the coworker he mentioned?

I gently placed the note in the drawer.

Okay, so now I need to put up what I bought.

First things first, notebooks on the unused notebook shelf. With the new ones dad just got me too. I just got some more of the basic ones, but I always love when dad sends nice ones.

Next my new book on codes, I need to read that first so leaving that out, and I need to put the first aid kit in a good place. Plus, the mini one for my backpack. I don’t want to frustrate Recovery Girl too much with needing to heal me.

I stuck the first aid kit under the bed for now, easy access but not in the way.

Okay! I really really want to play the new Pokemon game… I shook my head. “No Izuku, you need to work first. You can play Pokemon before bed.” I nodded. “Time to get to work.”

The coding book was filled with helpful pictures and practice pages for known codes. But I can’t use a known code, I need to make my own to be fully protected. I can’t risk one-for-all getting known to the public, and it will help me do analysis! Maybe I can try writing a letter in code to dad?

I shook my head again. No best not to annoy him. I don’t want to make him upset when he seems so pleased right now.

After reading through most of the book I decided to start working on my code.

I want to use hiragana I think, it’ll be easier then making a new symbol for each word, so my key can be smaller. But I can also make symbols for the more common words, that’ll shorten the time frame for it. And maybe make some symbols similar? Different combinations can mean different words entirely too.

I pulled out one of my new notebooks and to get to work. I need this code to be perfect!

Oh… but I also need to work on One-for-all. And I don’t have much time. Maybe I can practice calling it to my hands, just channel the power to both hands… oh spreading it out might make it a bit easier to use. So I’ll channel it to my hands for now while I write the code.

I focused hard, closing my eyes and breathing slowly, I pulled at the power I’ve felt so few times. A vast well of energy that seemed never ending flooded my senses after a minute of work. I gasped, and lost track of it again.

Okay, try again. The flood, too much, I lost it again.

Again, and again, and again.

The flood again, don’t drown, just sit there, hold it, don’t lose it. Okay, now, carefully scoop a little bit into my hands, and just let it sit there.

I blinked my eyes open after a minute, staring at my hands, which had red lines winding over them and green light practically pouring off them. Okay, I can do this.

I broke the first pencil I picked up. And the second, and the third. I managed to only crack the fourth until I wrote the first line, then it broke as well.

Control, I can do this.

I took forever, I have a pile of broken pencils by my desk, but I finally managed to hold the pencil and write carefully without breaking it.

I went to work carefully designing the code while holding one for all in my very glowy hands. I had to stop to call one for all back up a few times but it was working well.

So now working on the code, maybe I can mix in some shorthand for a few of the words. I’ll have to remember when I add drawings I’ll have to be careful about labels.

My pencil broke again. With a sigh I grabbed another.

Labeling the drawings could be something that would give away my code if I’m not careful though. Maybe I should add multiple symbols for one word, so it won’t be obvious, that would be good. Quirk, strength, ooh things like dashes will need new symbols too. I’ll have to make multiple for those too.

I scribbled out the words I needed code for, plus the punctuation. I had to pause to replace my pencil again, then started designing the symbols for them.

I blinked when my stomach growled, oh, how long was I working?

I put my pencil down and realized that my hands were aching, nothing broken but it did hurt. I slowly let one for all fade out, the glow fading slowly before fading to sparks, then nothing at all as the red lines slid away.

I blinked, the sparks were new. I’ll have to try with that again later. Maybe try to get one for all called to the level just below the sparks? Or maybe the sparks are a good spot to aim for? They’re a bit showy, but at least it seems like a much lower level of one for all, and I might be able to use it without hurting there.

I hummed, staring at my hands. I should practice the level I’m calling out now, I can now call it without trouble, but less energy would be better.

I headed out for food, checking the clock in the living room I realized it was ten pm! I’d spent a lot more time working than I’d meant to.

I quickly made a sandwich and grabbed two rice balls from the fridge. Taking it back to my room I considered how to best train to lower the levels of one for all.

I can now feel the energy when I call it if I focus, I should try to speed up that process, which means doing it over and over. Knowing what the energy feels like is theoretically the first step, after that I should be able to draw the energy up and learn how to moderate it.

Right now, I’m focusing the flood straight into my hands, it’s too much for me. I can’t understand how All Might can do it, it’s so much power!

I need to lower the amount. Maybe scoop up a handful of the power and place it in my hands? It took a lot of focus to put the power in both hands simultaneously. How do All Might switch around the power so… so… …. …

“OH!”

“Of course, that’s just silly, he can’t switch the power around that fast he must have all the power focused all throughout his body, and could he really have the power going at all times? Even with control he’d probably break everything around him every time he moved at full power. Not to mention hitting someone at full power would kill them. That means that he must lower the power he has active on average, and full power is for big stuff. Even then he still wouldn’t be able to move where he’s holding the power around fast enough for all the things he does, which means he must focus the power throughout his body!”

I beamed, reaching for one of my new notebooks (the cool lightning one dad got me), I have ideas to write down.

“It all makes so much more sense now! I was being so dumb before but of course he has to put it through his whole body, that’s the only way to boost everything at once. I’ve just been putting it in one spot, of course it breaks my bones if it’s meant to power everywhere!”

I quickly grabbed my code key to make sure I wrote it write, glancing at it as I scribbled down my ideas on the third page.

“And he called it a stockpile quirk, didn’t he? That means that it should be stronger for me than it was for him, and with how strong he is he no doubt strengthened it a lot. But can he access the strengthened level? Or do I make the new level myself? I don’t have a quirk, so I have nothing to contribute there. While All Might has a quirk that allows him to bulk his body up again despite his injury, maybe some sort of quirk that allows him to return to a previous form? If it’s a stockpile quirk what all is it stockpiling anyways?”

I frowned at the thought, it can’t just be stockpiling strength, what all does it take from previous users? If it can be passed down, can other things be passed down? Could it stockpile knowledge? Experience? Energy or power is the obvious start of what it’s passing down, but that can’t be all. Power alone wouldn’t give me the boost I have. The quirk is only so strong because it gains power with each generation.

“Could it stockpile quirks?”

That… that would be incredible. If one quirk lets you have access to the abilities of other quirks, the possibilities are endless! I really need to research previous users now. What all could they have passed down?

And is the well of energy I felt the only thing there? If I dig deep enough could I find memories from previous holders? Maybe their knowledge? Experience?

And if this quirk can stockpile so much are there other quirks that could do similar? What does this quirk take when it passes on?

Could it stockpile souls?

It makes sense if it passes down from person to person, I don’t know the limits of what it passes on. Maybe I should learn meditation? I can probably find videos on that. I really have a lot to learn about one for all.

I finished scribbling out all my theories for now. Some of them seem a bit out there, stockpiling souls? But still, I don’t know the limits and I’m wondering if All Might does either.

I stretched frowning. There’s so much to learn, and so little time. I have two and a half weeks until the tournament if I remember correctly. Assuming we still have it. I need to be able to use one for all without hurting myself by then. Or I’ll be a liability.

I will master this quirk, it’s mine now. All Might gave it to me. I won’t let him down

### Tomura’s POV ###

I hate All Might so much.

Thinks he’s so great. Ass Might can go rot.

I rolled over in bed. Sensei ordered me to rest and recover for now. The healing quirks he used did a lot to help me but I’m still miserable.

The bullet holes hurt, what kind of hero shoots people?

And All Might just allows it, HA, people act like he’s the paragon of light and goodness. Completely ignoring how he beats people into the ground and ignores the pain of those lower than him.

My poor Otouto has no idea.

Speaking of Otouto, I wonder if he’s opened the care package yet? Sensei had Kurogiri deliver it so he’s definitely received it. I hope he likes the games I picked. Sensei says that Otouto’s mom said he loved all the previous versions I’ve sent.

“Ugh”

I don’t like Otouto with those filthy heroes. They think they’re soooo great. Otouto could be a good hero, unlike the rest. But they’ll try to corrupt him. Won’t let him be the true angel that he is.

He shouldn’t be involved in all that. The hero world is filled with darkness, Otouto is too bright to be there. They’ll snuff out his light.

I can’t allow that.

The heroes will put Otouto in danger, but I’ll kill them all before that. I won’t let them harm him.

I frowned, “Of course there’s also his quirk.”

Some sort of strength or enhancement quirk. But it broke him to use it.

I shook my head. It’s okay, it’s too dangerous for him, but Sensei will take it from him and give him a better one. One that won’t hurt him, then Otouto can use a nice strong quirk to help people if he wants, or we’ll tuck him away. He really shouldn’t be out in the world. It’d be better for us to keep him safe.

I frowned, we can keep him safe.

The main problem would be his love of heroes, and, ugh, All Might.

I don’t understand how he could still like All Might! All Might was so rude to Otouto at the USJ. Acting like he knew everything when Otouto is so smart and was trying to help him. He spoke to Otouto like he’s some kind of helpless child.

Yes, he’s a child, and he does need to be protected, but All Might knows nothing about him. And Otouto is very smart, he could out think his opponents any day! All Might himself wouldn’t stand a chance against Otouto with a plan.

I hate that All Might is being seen as some sort of idol to Otouto, he has no idea. After what Ass Might did to Sensei, I wouldn’t ever trust him around Otouto. I’ll have to kill him soon so Otouto can be safe.

I should probably do something about those kids that were with Otouto too.

None of them are good enough. Especially not that blonde haired menace. Throwing his quirk around willy nilly, just trying to show off. Otouto only used his to protect the other kids and All Might.

The rest of the kids were nearly as bad, focusing on looking cool and gaining popularity. Idiots. They’re not worthy of being around Otouto. They’re prime examples of everything that’s wrong with heroes these days.

But right now, I can’t go get Otouto, or go check on him to make sure he’s alright.

I need to make sure he’s alright, he’s my Otouto, Sensei’s son. I won’t allow him to be hurt.

Maybe I can get Sensei to send more stuff to Otouto? He likes games. Maybe some game guides?

I’ll have to think of the best things to get him.

I looked at the picture of Otouto that Sensei had let me keep, my Otouto, he’s too small, too innocent. This world is cruel to people like him. I won’t let it break him.

I’ve only just gotten to meet Otouto, but if anything happened to him I’d kill everyone in this city then myself

#Little Brother of Mine #Chapter three #Izuku midoriya #Izuku has one for all #Dad for one #Dad Might #Older brother Tomura #BNHA #BNHA fanfic #good dad for one #all for one is midoriya hisashi #All for one #Tomura Shigaraki #genius izuku #smart izuku #seriously this kid is amazing #Also on ao3

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bujokookie · 4 years

Note

For Study asks: 22 and 23

22) what do you carry in your backpack?

My journal, keys, notebook, Muji clear pencil case, laptop, chargers, earphones, lip balm, hand cream, hand sanitizer, water bottle. Other essentials like: mini lotion to avoid looking ashy lol, spare earrings, umbrella, tampons & pads cause I like to leave them in random bathroom for cuties who might need it *the student union leaves a lil basket for anyone who wants to donate*.

23) what’s your backpack look like?

I have two school bags one of them is a structured black faux leather satchel with a gold clasp. The other one I use often is a dark grey Herschel backpack with two side pockets, one side for my water bottle - other side for my umbrella. I have some mental health workshop pins to decorate & I also hook my baby BT21 RJ mini plushie on it 🥺

Study Asks

#thanks for the ask 😙😙#study asks #asks #answered #anonymous #my bag #whats in my backpack #bt21 rj #no textbooks cause they expensive 🤧#or i use online textbooks since theyre much cheaper

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spideyspoods · 5 years

Text

Foolproof (FFH Spoilers!)

Pairing: Peter Parker X F!Reader

A/N: Here is the finished product! Thank y’all so much for all the love on the sneak peek :”)

Warnings: FFH Spoilers! Some cursing and depictions of action sequences. Word Count: 4k (sorry)

Masterlist!

Peter tapped his pencil rapidly against the surface of the wooden desk. “I got it!” he exclaimed loudly enough to catch the attention of essentially everyone in the art room. Ned jolted in his seat, trying to see what his best friend had written. “Okay I think I have a plan to get Y/N to like me!” Peter whispered. For months, he had been completely enamored by her. It was hard to not see her, seeing as if she’s class president after all. It seemed like she could do anything, and he didn’t doubt it for a second. They had talked a few times, but not as much as he had hoped. “There are five steps-”

“Dude. I support you, I really do, but shouldn’t this all happen naturally?” Peter raised an eyebrow and sat a little bit straighter, “You don’t understand, I have to follow this step by step! It’s pretty much foolproof!”

“Peter, nothing is foolproof.” Before he could talk back, he spotted Y/N walking their direction and tucked the paper that held his master plan into the side pocket of his backpack. With the same sunny smile he adored, she stepped up and waved. “Are you guys excited for tomorrow?” Knowing that Peter would be tongue-tied, Ned answered for him. “You know it! Peter over here is,” uh oh “thinking of a perfect souvenir to bring back to May.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet!” The bell rang, and Peter practically bolted out of his chair, slinging his backpack onto his shoulders. Y/N turned, “Well I’ll see you tomorrow!” With a quick wave, Peter could feel his cheeks burn. “Oh wait, Peter! You dropped this!” His eyes widened at the sheet of paper she held in her hand. “My bad! Sorry about that.” He reached to grab it, accidentally brushing her fingers.

“It’s all good. That the infamous souvenir list?” she spoke with air quotes.

“Um yeah, it is.”

“Let me know which ones are the best, I’ll have to get some for myself.” She winked and walked to her next class, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts.

Step One: Talk to Her

Y/N stood at her locker, pulling out the notebook she needed for her next class. Peter watched her from across the hall. Despite MJ’s protest calling it, “creepy” and that “she’ll probably think you’re a stalker,” he took deep breaths and put his hands in his pocket, clearing his throat. “Hey, Y/N!” but it wasn’t coming from him. A tall guy with black hair and charming smile waved at her before Peter could. Brad Davis. From what he’s heard, Brad seemed like a fairly nice guy, but he was everything Peter wasn’t. Brad was popular, one of the star players on the basketball team; someone who was invited to every party every weekend. He had something to offer Y/N and Peter knew he couldn’t ever beat that. The nervous tight-lipped smile on his face morphed into a frown as Y/N laughed at something he had said. The bell rung and the crowds thinned out. Maybe this was harder than it looked.

Step Two: Spend Time With Her

“How’s it going on the Y/N front?” May questioned, leaning against his door frame. Peter merely huffed, throwing things into his suitcase. “Could be better.”

“What happened?”

“I just can’t do it, May!” he exclaimed, “I really like her, but I don’t think I even have the chance to talk! I tried to today, but nothing happened! Not to mention that Brad’s been getting close to her.”

May frowned, “Well you just have to show her that Peter Parker charm! You’re the Spider-Man! You’ve done scarier things before!” He couldn’t help but laugh, May had a way of doing that. She was right after all, though he didn’t want to admit it. “I can do this.”

“Damn right you can!”

At the airport, everyone filed into a neat line waiting for the security check. Y/N was way ahead of him, towards the front chatting with Betty. Looking back to an unamused MJ and a smirking Ned, Peter proposed the next part of his plan. “Okay so here’s what’s going to happen-.”

Once they started boarding, students dashed to claim seats near their best friends. Peter & Ned took seats next to each other, while Y/N sat between Betty & MJ. “Okay, remember the plan?” Ned smiled, throwing a thumbs up before stepping into the aisles. “Hey, is it okay if Peter switches with one of you?” Peter watched from behind, pretending to look busy. “Why?”

“There’s this lady next to him with a seriously strong perfume and he’s kind of allergic-” before he could finish, Y/N stood up. “Here, he can take my seat.” Ned’s eyes widened, and he shook his head, “Uh no! You can’t!” This wasn’t the plan! The girl looked at him confused, “Why not?”

“Did I hear allergy?” Mr. Harrington exclaimed. Betty raised her hand, “Yeah, Peter has a perfume allergy.” The teacher’s eyes bulged out of his head. He started to shake, and stopped what he was doing; letting a carry on fall to the aisle. “Oh no. Not again. We’ll need to take some drastic measures let’s see,” he tried resolving the solution in his head, “Ned switch with MJ, Daniel take Peter’s spot.” The teacher looked at Y/N.

“Mr. Harrington I have a spot over here if that’ll work,” said Brad as he pointed to an aisle seat right next to him. Peter pinched himself and huffed.

“That’s perfect! Great thinking, Brad. Y/N take that seat over there. Parker, you’re coming with me.” Defeated, Peter tentatively took the seat between the two teachers. As the one on his right started to drone about his love life, he saw Brad & Y/N two rows over. Peter tried to sleep, to get her off his mind but failed; seeing her head on his shoulder.

During their peaceful stroll in Venice, Peter peered into a souvenir shop. What Ned had told her the other day wasn’t entirely fake. It wasn’t for May, all she wanted was for the two to get together, but it was for none other than Y/N.

He looked closer into a display case that held delicate necklaces, accented with Murano glass. His eyes were drawn to a three small, deep red beads strung on a black thread. After attempting to speak Italian, which didn’t go as smoothly as he wanted, he bought it and carried it in the small bag. Turning to the exit, his shoulder crashed into someone’s forearm.

“Oh! Sorry about that, Peter!” Shit. Y/N gave him her classic smile, before pointing towards the bag. “Looks like you went souvenir shopping without me.” Should I give it to her now? He thought, contemplating his choices. No. Well, yes? Peter, stop talking to yourself! She’ll think it’s weird-

“Peter, you okay there?”

“Um,” here goes nothing “actually-” he felt a chill down his spine and rushed outside to see a giant figure that seemed to be made out of water? Running to the canals, he saw Ned and Betty trapped with no escape. Quickly, he pulled them out and made his best friend face him. “Ned I’m going to need you to bring everyone inside and away from the canals! I can’t have anyone seeing who I am.” Nodding, he gestured everyone to follow while Peter started to fight.

Y/N was utterly baffled and took people into safety. “Has anyone seen Peter?”

“Who cares about Peter? We’re all about to die!” Flash shrieked, holding out his phone with a shaky hand to show all of his five viewers on the stream. With a surge of confidence, she swung the creaky door open to face the water monster. “Come at me!” Immediately, she regret saying that. It seemed to bubble up and shove a wave in her direction. Without thinking, she picked up a wooden oar and threw it. Great move, L/N. She was thrown against the stucco wall, gasping for air. “Damn it.” Needless to say it hurt...a lot.

“Y/N!” Brad picked her up and sat her down in the hotel lobby. “Are you okay?”

“Well for being thrown into a wall by a mini tsunami,” she grimaced “I’m feeling pretty great.” He chuckled. “I didn’t know you were a doctor, Davis.”

“I picked up a few things here and there. Sometimes TV shows are more helpful than they seem.”

“Tell me about it. I probably don’t know how to pay taxes, but I know how to make a killer baked alaska.” There was a brief silence before he spoke again, “Looks like your back took it hard. Is it okay if I check?” Y/N nodded, lifting her shirt up enough for him to see the hues of purple and blue.

Ned sighed, opening the lobby door and looked upon something that he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to see. Y/N’s shirt was only somewhat on, Brad’s hands on her back. He gasped and bolted out, only stopping to see MJ block his path. “What’s going on?”

“Brad and Y/N! They’re-,” he frowned “I need to get some air.” MJ rolled her eyes and peered through the glass.

“Nothing life-threatening, I’ll go get some ice real quick.” Her clothes were still very much soaked, and at this point she was shivering. Brad quirked a brow and without hesitation took off his beige hoodie before handing to her with a dazzling smile. “You can use this for now.”

“Thanks.” He did a small salute before heading upstairs to the ice machine. Pulling the hoodie over her head, the first thing she saw was MJ.

“I’d know that look anywhere, something the matter?” she pulled up a chair.

“You and Brad seem to be getting close there.”

“He’s just doing the right thing. Besides, we’re just friends.” she shrugged.

“Riiiiight. Just friends, my ass.”

“Would I ever lie to you?”

“No, but you might start now-”

“We survived!” yelled Flash. Behind him, the rest of the class gathered around the TV screen to rewatch the battle. The rusted welcome bell dinged, bringing her attention to the door. “Peter where were you?” He looked tired and out of breath, but kept his spirits up anyways. “I got caught up with the others, yeah.” He hoped that was convincing enough. “Good to know you’re all in one piece, Parker.” Brad emerged from the hallway with the bag of ice and handed it to Y/N. Peter’s eyes shot down to her clothes, she definitely wasn’t wearing that before. It all clicked into place when he realized whose it was.

The TV showed clips and commentary of the disaster that happened not even an hour ago. “Looks like they’re calling him Mysterio, man of mystery in Italian.” Flash scoffed, “Yeah, but he’s no Spider-Man.”

“What is it with you and Spider-Man?” Thinking that no one would notice, Ned exaggeratedly winked at Peter, who smirked.

“He’s a great role model and has helped me become a better person.” Flash turned around and saw Peter with his arms crossed, “’Sup, dickwad.”

Step Three: Show Her How Much You Care

After a slight detour, the class made a quick change of plans and embarked on a road trip to Prague. The entire trip, Peter searched for a Plan B, now that Paris was out of the picture. In a small town square, the charter bus came to one last pit stop. Dimitri, the ominous driver, directed him towards a shop where an agent waited for him. After some explaining, it seemed that she simply made him a new suit to try on. To say that he was uncomfortable was an understatement. He slowly took off his pants to hear a door open. “Oh my god!” Brad recoiled, and Peter felt his heart drop. Out of all the people. “I thought this was the bathroom-”

“It’s not what it looks like, I promise!” He hurriedly snapped a photo and left as fast as he could. Frantically, Peter put his clothes back on and caught up. “Wait! I promise what you saw wasn’t what you thought you saw.”

“Hey if you want to hook up with hot European girls on this trip, it’s not my business.”

“That’s not what was happening!”

“Look, Peter. I know you like Y/N and I do too, but she deserves to know the truth.” He tucks the phone into his pocket before going to the actual restroom. Frustrated, Peter puts his head in his hands. Of course Brad liked Y/N; he obviously knew why. She was ridiculously smart and one of the most confident people he had ever known. He thought about giving up on the plan he had so desperately wanted to use. He could hear May nagging at him in the back of his head. Maybe- just maybe -for one night; he’d be able to set it aside.

“So due to safety precautions and a generous donor, we won’t be going to the light festival! We’ll be watching a riveting opera instead!” said Mr. Harrington, desperately trying to keep his job. A collective groan of protest echoed through the marble floors of the upscale hotel. “Well I think that this is a great idea to experience the cultural roots of what this city has to offer.” Ned spoke, to which the frazzled teacher gave him a relieved look. “See? Thank you, Ned. Aren’t you glad we made you pack a formal outfit? We’ll look ravishing for a whole four hours!”

“Four hours?”

Mr. Dell made it very obvious that it wasn’t his idea. He didn’t even know why he was here himself, if he was being honest. The teachers looked at the grand clock on the wall, “Looks like we’ll meet back here in thirty minutes!”

The opera house was empty aside from the four couples in the balcony seat. “Looks like we beat the rush, am I right?” Y/N’s classmates picked the orchestra seats and wished with all their heart that they were partying instead. Peter stood back, hands in his pockets waiting for an opening to leave and get in position. “Hey there, stranger. You look good.” He turned to his right to see Y/N looking at him. He wore a simple black tux and his white dress shirt looked a little crumpled. His heart practically stopped at the sight of her. Her dress was the exact same shade as the bold, red necklace he had got her. The same eyes he had fawned over dazzled as he noticed the small smirk on her face. “Thank you,” he coughed “you look really pretty.”

“Thanks, Parker. I haven’t caught up with you in a while, do you want to sit together?” This was his chance.

“Parker, are you in position?” Fury whispered in his ear. Not again.

“No.”

“Oh,” Y/N was taken aback and he wished that he didn’t see the hurt in her eyes “that’s fine. I’ll just-”

“Wait! I meant yes!”

“You just said no, didn’t you?”

“No! Well, yes.” He was digging himself into a deeper hole by the second, “I’ll meet you there in a second. Save my spot?”

“Don’t be late.”

Ned and Betty picked up golden opera glasses as Peter turned to tap Ned’s shoulder. “I have to go. Tell Y/N I’m sorry, I just didn’t feel good.” He sighed, hating to be the messenger. “Okay, but you owe her. Stay safe, alright?” He nodded and caught a glimpse of Brad taking the seat next to her. Not so subtly, he flipped him off. Peter was ready to run down the aisles, but Fury protested yet again.

Peter was without a doubt hiding something, she just didn’t know what. As the orchestra started tuning, she saw MJ slip out of her seat. At first, she thought nothing of it until Ned & Betty did the same. Something urged her to follow and she found herself wandering the cobble pathways. After a few minutes, she was met with flames that flickered and danced as chaos erupted once again.

It wasn’t long until she heard someone she knew all too well.

“Tell everyone to get back inside!” The voice coming from a guy dressed in all black, flipping through the sky. At once, all the pieces clicked together.

Step Four: Admit How You Feel

Peter was absolutely not okay. He’s seen better days, and definitely better encounters with her. How could he complete the plan if it never started in the first place? His head hung low as he exited the elevators in the hotel, looking for Ned’s room.

Y/N heard three sharp knocks on her door, but she didn’t remember asking for room service. “Peter? What are you doing here?” She took notice of the cut on his hand.

“Oh, I thought this was Ned’s room. I’ll go-”

“No wait, I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about this whole,” she waved her hands around “situation. Where did you go earlier?” Y/N questioned, although she knew exactly where he went earlier. He frowned and fumbled with the watch on his wrist, “Is it okay if we talk about this outside?”

There was an awkward silence between them as they decided that a bridge near the hotel would be a good place. “Peter, are you alright? You’ve been acting a little strange the entire trip. If you want to talk about it with someone, I’m all ears.” She smoothed out her skirt as she sat on the ledge, fiddling with a bracelet.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be? You’re Spider-Man and the world needs saving. I can’t blame you for doing your job.” His brain short-circuited once again. She knows. Of course she knows.

“Woah, I’m not Spider-Man! Wh-where’d you get that from? That’s crazy and it makes no sense at all!” With a newfound confidence, Y/N got back onto her feet, “It makes perfect sense. That’s why we’re outside where no one can hear you admit it. Plus, you made it kind of obvious. Subtly is not your strong suit, Parker.” Oh if only she knew.

“But I meant to tell you something different-” The door swung open to reveal MJ looking upon the duo only a few steps apart. “Peter we found something from the battle- am I interrupting something?” The boy looked between both of them before shaking his head, “It’s fine, she knows.”

“Relax, he’ll be fine. Just breathe.” MJ sat on the bed, watching Y/N look out the window where Peter just slipped out of. With sheer panic in her eyes, she faced her friend. “How do you know? If what we’ve encountered are just holograms, imagine what the real deal would be like! He’s just a kid.” Y/N exclaimed. Typically, she would be able to keep an open mind, but it seemed that chaos took a big jab to her lungs, leaving her out of breath. Peter, someone she knew, was going to single handedly fight some sort of evil villain. “Y/N take a deep breath. If he sees you stressed out like this-”

“That’s a big if.”

“I’m just saying, he’s done this before. It’ll all work out. Now, you’re a little worked up about this more than we are.” Defeated, Y/N sprawls on the bed.

“It’s because I care about him, okay?” she blurted out, before backtracking. “As a friend! I care about him as a friend!”

“You’re both helpless. Get some sleep, we’re headed to London tomorrow and I don’t want to see the cranky side of you.”

“Love you too, MJ.” the door shut as Y/N closed her eyes, seeking for answers in her dreams.

Step Five: Kiss Her- If She’s Okay With That

Radio silence. She’s heard absolutely nothing from Peter, which only made matters worse. Y/N found herself worrying about his well being even more, finally coming to terms with how she felt. The class piled onto a double decker bus, slowly rolling towards the Tower Bridge. Not long after, ominous clouds rolled in, as she looked back to Ned and MJ, the only other people that knew of his secret. “Is this what I think it is?” A monster, the Elemental Fusion, loomed over the city and roared loud enough to send chills down everyone’s spine. “It’s not real, it’s not real.” Ned whispered to himself, staring in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? That’s as real as a demon gets! Flash mob, are you seeing this?” He points his phone, yet again. Mr. Harrington motioned for the students to follow him, “Come on, let’s get out of here!” The fusion sent an explosion hurling towards their pack. Y/N ran faster, barely missing the fire. She didn’t care where she was going, as long as it was far away. A man in a crisp suit and a distressed expression stopped them. “Y/N, Ned, MJ! I work with Spider-Man-”

“You work for Spider-Man?!” Flash interrupted, obviously pissing him off even further.

“I work with Spider-Man, not for Spider-Man! Follow me!” He stumbled, and headed for a sleek jet right as a ball of fire caused it to shatter into flaming shards.

“Backup plan!” The Elemental Fusion disappeared, revealing itself to be a horde of drones. Dangerous drones. Four of them started to zoom in their direction. Shit.

The man led them into the Crown Jewels room, deeming it safe. As they ran for cover, a white drone followed them inside. MJ started eyeing a mace, carefully plucking it out of the knight’s hand. It screeched, drawing the attention towards her. Quickly, Betty knocked over a statue, where the drone unleashed its fury upon it before powering down after MJ’s swift hit. “Badass,” Y/N stated. Right when they thought it was all over, one more crashed through the windows; aiming straight for them. The man closed the door as everyone caught their breath inside.

Bullet after bullet, the wooden door grew weak. “I spent my entire life playing video games and now we’re about to die!” Ned confessed, clutching Betty’s hand who spoke up next. “I have a fake ID! But I never even used it!” MJ followed suit, holding onto the mace for her life. “I have the need to tell the truth even if it hurts people!” Flash put his phone down for once and yelled in despair, “I only make these useless livestreams for likes and clout!”

“I’m in love with Spider-Man’s Aunt!” The man gasped, with his eyes closed. Y/N’s heart pounded and she confessed without hesitation, “I have a crush on Peter and I never got to tell him!” Ned squealed a shrill ‘yes’ as the door split in half. Grabbing a sword from the ground, Y/N prepared to fight.

In an instant, the drone powered down and clattered to the floor. With a skeptic look, she carefully left the room and saw the rest of the machines do the exact same.

“Peter?” she yelled, crossing the bridge littered in rubble. She saw a blur of red and black, standing amongst the ruins. She ran, pulling him in for a hug. “Y/N you’re okay, thank god.” he panted.

She pulled back realizing just how badly he got hurt. His knuckles were bruised and a cut slashed through his cheek. She placed her hands on his shoulders and Peter’s knees grew weak, possibly from her and the fatigue. He managed to pull out a small drawstring bag, tugging it open. “Y/N I had this whole plan to get closer to you on this trip, and one of the steps involved giving you this when the time was right but it never happened.” He carefully took the chain into his hand, showing her the necklace however one of the beads were shattered.

“Oh no, Y/N I’m so sorry it must have-”

“Peter, it’s okay. It’s beautiful.” Y/N took a closer look. She felt touched, no one had ever done such a thing for her.

“Can you help me put it on, please?” She turned around as he clasped it around her neck. “Thank you, again.” Peter studied her face, vision darting between her lips and eyes. With a smile, she cupped his cheeks, taking him in for a soft kiss. Both of their hearts raced, the sensation getting the best of themselves. It felt good.

It felt right.

Peter pulled away, a rosy tint to his face. He reached for her hands, “Wait so you like me? I thought you were with Brad.”

She chuckled, “He’s just a friend, but he stands no chance against you. Besides, you’re not the only one who can keep a secret, Peter Parker.” she nudged his shoulder. He was a little dazed, and stood a bit straighter. “Well I should probably fix this all up.” He bent down to get his mask, pulling it over his face.

“I’ll be waiting for you.” She waved goodbye and joined the rest of her friends. Y/N looked back and swore she saw him high five himself in glee.

What a dork, she thought with a lovesick grin.

Thank you for reading! Hopefully it was alright! Feedback is appreciated, but not required! My taglist is open and so are my requests! :)

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