#sophomore year I was confident enough in her class to sit in the very front row

[x-ladydisdain-x]

Maybe I’m delusional or maybe my freshman and sophomore year history teacher is the only person who has ever understood me

#thinking about how I saw in the back corner of her classroom freshman year bc I was shy and she would go out of her way to stand in that #corner and talk to me and ask me about the books I was reading #how she would leave thoughtful notes on my work sometimes even complimenting me about it in person #and during class presentations I would freeze up and panic and choke on my words #and then she’d go it’s okay take you’re time you’re doing great #and then tell me afterwards that she liked my presentation #sophomore year I was confident enough in her class to sit in the very front row #and she would look at me while lecturing and make jokes specifically towards me #and before the ap exam I was standing around after school hours #and she asked me if I had a ride home and offered to wait with me #and she asked how I was feeling about the exam and I was feeling really nervous and not confident at all #and she fully talked me down and convinced me that I could do it and said she believed in me #on the last day I had her class she said quote: #it’s been wonderful watching you blossom the two years I’ve had you I think you’ve really found who you are and you’re owning it and im so #proud of you #and she hugged me #I miss her so much #school fucking sucks without her her class was the highlight of my day #literally just seeing her is the highlight of my day now #she waved to me in the hallway today and I haven’t stopped thinking about it #im gonna cry. I miss her so bad

[joshstambourine]

A Seconds Glance

"Hi I have a request for either Josh or Jake 💛 can I get a story where they see a girl, either at school or they can already be famous in this, and is instantly enamored. I don't know if you've seen The Virgin Suicides, but if you have then something similar to when Trip sees Lux for the first time. I'm interested in how those two would go about getting a girl's attention when they have a crush.💕💕💕" - Anonymous

//Hi Doll! I can’t say I have seen that--- but I will try my best to write something that I feel matches the idea you had. 

I’m gonna be repeating this forever--- but again, I’m so sorry it took me so long to get this request out for you! I decided to go with Josh being in school for this one.//

Warnings: Cursing, awkward beans

Word Count: 1969

Synopsis: Josh had never really believed in love at first sight... but yet....

Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader

The first day of sophomore year. For most this was just the start of another school year; a sudden reminder that a new binder or fun pencil case is exciting for all of 10 minutes when it comes to actual classes and work. But for Josh… this year felt like it was filled with possibilities. It sounds like some sort of stupid thing you'd see on a motivational calendar, but it really truly did.

Josh hadn't imagined for a second that he actually would have a chance in making music his career; and yet, he had spent all summer with his band mates playing for different occasions and pubs. All the while they were working, working hard on writing songs that they could be proud to play for others.

All of that said, Josh was returning to high-school this year with a new found amount of confidence and excitement; it showed in every step Josh took. His one hand held loosely on to the arm of his backpack, walking in time with Jake.

"But what do you think? Would it look good on me?" Jake inquired, fingers lightly playing with the mid-length pieces of hair on his head.

"I mean… I don't know…" Josh lightly starts, glancing at his twin and begins to take a good long look at him.

Jake's eyes widened just a touch, his expression becoming one that said, 'Well…?'

"Uh… honestly I don't really know Jake. I've never seen you with anything else than this." Josh admits, then snickers a little, "Except for that one time when we decided it'd be fun to take those scissors and---"

"No, that's fine, I didn't need to think about that." Jake immediately stopped him, his hand going to take a full dive into his mess of dark brown hair. 

"Cmon, it was really funny though. Ma really lost her shit when she saw your head like that." Josh continued to muse, hands folding into his pockets with the utmost of ease. 

Jake shook his head in a mournful way, "I can say I will never go back to a buzz-cut again… not without a fight."

Josh's smile never faltered, it was his laughter that changed, softening into a bit of a sigh as they reached the double doors at the front of the school. With a swing of the doors they both were making their way down the hallway to their lockers.

"Meet by Mr.Shapiro's class before lunch?" Jake questioned, to which Josh nodded. No matter which school the twins went to the teachers seemed to know that the best course of action was to keep them separated. That said Josh and Jake always had separate homerooms at least, through most of their time in school.

"See ya in a bit." Josh waved, taking a few steps back before turning on his heels and heading to his own locker.

Josh's excitement to be back in class showed on his face more than he probably would have wanted. A few pencils in his hand along with a binder filled with blank paper and tucked away dividers.  

As soon as Josh stepped into the class room his eyes were met with many familiar faces. Some of these people he had been in school with since kindergarten; like Meg, a rather tall blunt faced girl with long kinky black hair. She simply threw a peace sign Josh's way as he stepped through the doors; he eagerly returned it, bringing a small smile to Meg's lips. 

With some brisk steps Josh moved to place himself at the back of the classroom, just behind Meg. He threw his things on his desk without much thought. Despite there being a good number of kids he knew... there seemed to be equally just as many new kids. 

Leaning on his desk Josh moved closer to Meg, "Where the hell did these guys come from?" 

Meg's brow lifted as she leaned back a little, "Know the high-school on the east side?" 

"The one where you can get crack for super cheap?" Josh inquired, 

Meg's head bobbed, "They closed it down, so now we get half the kids that went there." She explains with her head resting on her hand in a bored way. 

"Oh shit really? That's a lot of kids---" Josh was quick to respond, glancing around the room. 

"Oh yeah... way too many in my personal opinion --- not that anyone cares." Meg mutters, beginning to click her mechanical pencil. 

Josh's eyes were still taking in all the new faces as he started to respond, "Wow aren't we positive today." 

Meg sighed, "Eh.... I'm just not excited, Justin and I broke up over the summer and I'll have to see him in history." She began to explain, "Things are just really tense, yknow?" 

She waited a moment for him to give some comforting... but still idiotic response, however none came. It finally got Meg to turn and look at him, as she did she immediately noticed that Josh's eyes had widened just a touch, cheeks dusted a light pink. 

Meg followed the line of his eyes to a beautiful young woman. The expression he wore was more than enough to tell Meg that she should move. 

Josh was so busy just... taking the new girl in that he didn't even notice Meg slip to the free desk to the side of the one she was previously sat in. Josh just couldn't put his finger on it, there was something... something so breathtaking about her. Was it her eyes? Or maybe how her hair fell around her face? He couldn't be sure. What he was absolutely sure of was that he had never had a moment in his life where he could hear music just by looking at someone. 

"Hey... do you know if this desk is free?" A new voice shook Josh. It was her. She was standing at a desk to his left with a bit of an awkward air. 

He was just so shaken. What did she say again? Something about a desk? Josh's lips parted, "Uh--- I uh, what did you--?" 

"No that one isn't open, but the one just in front of my dude Josh is, right Josh?" Meg interrupted, pointing to the desk ahead of him. 

"Oh y-yeah, that one's open! Definitely 100% open! It couldn't be more open even if it tried!" Josh started spouting, he really wasn't even aware that his mouth had moved, and that was clear in the fact that it just kept moving when she had come to sit down. "Do you need any pencils at all?? I have like 20!" He continued, though his hand held one full sized pencil and one shorter than the average person's pinkie... both chewed on. "I mean not on me but--- who needs a pencil right?" 

The girl laughed a little awkwardly, her gaze moving from Josh to Meg and then to the desk. "No, no I'm okay thank you though." She slipped into the chair, keeping her gaze frontwards. 

Meg looks to Josh with a shocked look, 'What was that??' She mouthed, 

Josh responded with an absolutely mortified expression. He would never say he was the smoothest guy on the planet, but he had never been that awkward in his life. 

Meg shook her head before reaching out to tap the girl's shoulder, "I'm Meg!" She introduces, "And that goober is Josh." 

The girl lightly moved to glance over her shoulder at Josh in a shy way. "It's nice to meet you both. I'm (Y/N)." She hummed with a sweet smile. 

"That's a pretty name, isn't it Josh??" Meg quickly said, trying to get him to continue the conversation in a less awkward way.

Josh nodded very enthusiastically, "The prettiest name I've heard in a long time!" He said with a smile, 

(Y/N)'s cheeks began to hold a flush of their own. "Oh! Uh... th-thank you!" She sputtered out. 

'OH FUCK. She's so cute.' Josh thought to himself, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with a shaky swallow. 

Little did Josh know that (Y/N) was thinking something very similar. She might not make it as obvious as he was, but being so much closer now... being able to see the warmth in his brown eyes, seeing how his wavy brown hair came to cup his cheeks --- she couldn't help but continue to stare back at him. 

The only thing that could pull them both out of the little trance they had fallen into was the bell. Both of them quickly looked toward it, followed by a man's voice at the front of the class. 

"Alright everyone, take your seats!" 

(Y/N) was reluctant but she turned herself to look toward the front of the class. A little bit nervous, but mustering an ounce of courage she tore a piece of paper from her notebook quietly and began to scribble something down. 

Josh hardly got anything out of that language arts class, he was way too busy trying to figure out what excuse he could make to talk with (Y/N) again. He was just rattling through every little conversation starter he had ever heard in his life... but none of them felt like they would work. 

Before long the bell had rung overhead once more and everyone was shuffling to grab their things and head to all of their next classes. 

Biting his lip, Josh was determined to catch (Y/N) before she could head off to her own next class. Luckily for him she had a similar idea. Both turning to each other as they stepped out of the classroom, it was painfully quiet at first. It seemed as if they were trying to get their thoughts together really. 

Finally they spoke, 

"Hey would you---" "I was wondering if you'd---" 

At once. 

A small awkward laugh left their lips, "Please, go ahead I was going to say something dumb---" Josh quickly said moving to rub the back of his neck. 

(Y/N)'s lips parted as she let out and unsure chuckle, eyes moving downwards for a moment. "I was just going to ask if you would mind if I joined you for lunch? I just am new and don't really have any---" 

"Yes!" Josh quickly said, "Yes absolutely. You didn't even have to ask, you could have just showed up if you wanted to!" He quickly says to her. 

The speed he seemed to talk at entertained (Y/N) a heck of a lot. A smile creeping across her face, "Okay! Thank you!" She responded. 

"Do you know where the cafeteria is? I can show ya if you want??" Josh quickly continued, "I mean I'm sure you could find it on you're own, you seem very smart and capable. Most women are to be honest; I remember reading an article about how men need to---" 

"That would be really great actually." (Y/N) smiled in a gentle way. 'He's even more nervous than I am.' She thought to herself. 

"Oh-oh! Okay cool! Uh, do you know where Mr.Shapiro's class is?" He asks, 

(Y/N) seemed to think for a minute, "113... right? I have him for chemistry this afternoon I think." She mutters. 

Josh swiftly nods his head, "That's the one!! Meet me there okay?" He says. 

(Y/N) nodded back, understanding the little plan they now had. "I'll see you in a little bit then?" She lightly asks. 

"Yeah absolutely." Josh began to grin, suddenly beyond excited. Even as she began to walk off to her class all he could think about was how sure he was now that this year was going to be fantastic. 

That was until a warning bell played overhead, "Oh shit--" Josh jumped in shock, immediately beginning to run to his next class.

//That's all for now lovely! I do actually have an idea on how to continue this one if anyone would like! Pretty please let me know in the comments if that's something you guys would like 💜//

#greta van fleet #josh kiszka #josh gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #jake gvf #jake kiszka #awkward beans #greta van fic #greta van fleet imagines #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet fluff

[bqstqnbruin]

For blurb weekend, can i request #37 (you smell so nice) with joel farabee? ❤

Happy blurb weekend!

Tagging: @hotgirlhockey @besthockeyfics @glassdanse @airplaneanon @stlbluesbrat21 @dembenchboys @gotpucks @annedub @stars-canucks @beauvibaby

37. "You smell so nice."

Word Count: 1190

_____________________

September, 2018

Freshman weekend meant heading out to the Cape and getting drunk, the unofficial start to the school year that everyone was excited for, one of the only times besides graduation where the entire class would be together. Legend has it that if you kissed someone while the bonfire was burning, you were destined to be with them forever.

You didn’t believe that in the slightest, but your roommate, Charlie, had heard about it from her older brother, who was kissed by a girl when he was sitting by the bonfire and later married her and are now expecting their first child together. Apparently, his best friend also found the love of their life through the kiss at the bonfire, making Charlie believe every word of it.

“It’s just a coincidence,” you tell her, having only heard it from her. You had no reason to assume it was actually a school-wide legend since Charlie was the only one who seemed to know about it. If it really was a true school-wide legend, more people would know.

“I’m telling you, tonight we’re going to meet some guys and we’re going to kiss them, and then we’re going to be in love with them forever.” You sigh, sipping the beer she had thrusted in your hand as she continued to babble, you not listening to her in the slightest.

You looked around the beach, students way more drunk than you, too drunk considering this was an unofficial school event, but who were you to be the fun police and stop everyone from enjoying themselves. Across the fire, you saw a group of boys huddled together, also looking like they were scoping out the crowd of their classmates. You were sure they were the freshmen on the hockey team, following the new signees and the teams standing every year since they last won the national championship when you were 9 years old.

“What about them? Go talk to them,” Charlie encourages you, gesturing over to the hockey players who were apparently already paying attention to you.

“No,” you shake your head, looking into your now almost empty cup. “You can go say hi, I’m going to get more beer.”

The two of you part ways, you heading over to get more alcohol while Charlie goes up to the group of guys, one of them taking immediate interest in her and pulling her off to do what you hoped was something consensual and safe. You didn’t notice another one of them break off from the group and go up to you, however.

“I’m Joel,” he extends his hand out. Judging by the look in his eyes, he was a few drinks in, not too far gone that he wouldn’t remember the night, but just enough that you knew he wasn’t sober in the slightest.

You laugh, shaking his hand and introducing yourself, it feeling weirdly formal considering the state of your surroundings.

“So, uh,” he starts, the two of you walking back over to the bonfire, sitting right where you started with Charlie, “Your friend seems pretty confident.”

“More like desperate,” you say. “She has it in her head that the guy she hooks up with tonight is destined to be her end all, be all man,” you explain.

He looks at you confused, sipping his own drink before he asks, “Do you think that, too?”

“Oh of course!” you tell him, praying that he was catching on to your sarcasm. “Whoever I kiss tonight is going to be planning a wedding with me when we wake up tomorrow.”

He laughs so hard he nearly spits out his beer, both of you unable to control your outburst. You fell into an easy conversation as the night went on. The fire started to die down, Charlie and Joel’s teammate still nowhere in sight, the chill of the sea breeze blowing in and sending a shiver down your spine. Joel notices your shaking, taking off his own jacket and resting it on your shoulders, leaving his arm around and pulling you closer to him for what you had no doubt he would claim was ‘warmth.’ You didn’t mind though. In fact, you liked it.

“You know,” whisper, getting closer to him, “Considering we’ve been sitting by a fire for a few hours, you don’t smell like it. You actually smell really nice.”

“Is that your way of telling me you want me to kiss you? Fulfill your little ‘destiny fantasy?’” he jokes, his forehead pressed against yours as he ghosted your lips.

“Looks like we’ve got a wedding to plan,” you tell him, reaching up to his jaw and cupping his cheek, kissing him. It was soft and sweet at first, feeling him swipe your bottom lip with his tongue, smiling in the kiss.

“I can’t wait.”

January 2020

You didn’t hate BU, but you felt like you were meant to go to Temple, transferring there after your first semester of college and never looking back to Boston. You missed it, though, Boston being very different from Philly, but BU just wasn’t the school for you.

“Wait, so your roommate convinced you to kiss a guy at this bonfire and told you that the two of you would be married in a few years? That’s insane,” Rachel told you when you recounted Freshman Weekend to her. You were out to dinner with some of your friends to ring in the second semester of your sophomore year.

“Oh, I know. I didn’t see Joel the rest of the semester, and something tells me that I’m never going to see him again since, you know, he’s in Boston, I think, and I’m here.”

You go on with your dinner, the restaurant getting more crowded as the night went on. “Hey, don’t look, but there are some really cute guys over there,” Rachel tells you.

Naturally disobeying her, you turn around, gasping when you see who was also looking at you. “Oh, my god,” you mutter to yourself, getting up and going over to him. “Joel, hi,” you greet him, his arms wrapping around you in a warm hug.

“What are you doing here in Philly?” he asks you, pulling away but not letting go of you, searching your face as if the answer to his question was written there.

“I transferred to Temple, like three semesters ago. What are you doing here in Philly?”

“I signed with the Flyers at the beginning of the season.”

You didn’t know what to say. The boy you admittedly been thinking about way too often living in the same city as you, the boy who gave you his jacket during Freshman Weekend that was currently draped along the back of your chair, the boy who, according to legend, was supposed to be the one you ended up spending your life with, was standing in front of you in a different city than the one you met in.

“I guess we really are planning a wedding,” you joke, referencing the night you met.

“How about I take you on a date, first?” he suggests, a sly smile spreading across his face.

“Deal.”

#joel farabee #joel farabee imagines #blurb weekend 521 #philadelphia flyers #philadelphia flyers imagines

[sprnklersplashes]

songwriter!janis fic (unrequited crush, no-very-happy-ending) 

also on ao3

It all started because she loved Taylor Swift when she was in middle school. Who is she kidding, she still loves Taylor Swift, but that’s where all this began. A middle school girl’s obsession with Taylor Swift. A confused, sad girl with a broken heart and smudged black eyeliner, finding refuge in lyrics about loneliness and anger and revenge. They became anthems for her, mantras to mutter when the warzone of middle school became too much for her.

“Someday, I’ll be living in a big old city, and all you’re ever gonna be is mean.”

“Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in.”

“I can still see you, this ain’t the best view.”

It amazes her. It’s honestly as if Taylor Swift has managed to look into her life and given her a bundle of songs for whatever she needs. For when Regina has thrown her one too many snide looks, for when she’s standing at the door of North Shore High on her first day, for when she eats lunch alone, for when her mom is the best mom she could have asked for, for when she and Damian are lying on the grass in her backyard, staring up at the sky, laughing at absolutely nothing. The songs become the soundtrack to her life, the chords and those raw, honest lyrics an emotional outlet she so desperately craves. Taylor, and her songs, become a confidant, almost a close friend who always knows what to say.

With all that in mind, perhaps it was only a matter of time before she asks for a guitar for Christmas. She’s fourteen, braces and a slight lisp, and jumps up and down like a mad woman when she sees it under the tree.

She practices for three days straight, until her fingers bleed, but Should’ve Said No is the first song she learns off by heart. She yells the lyrics with maybe a little too much passion, but her parents applaud her nonetheless.

Like she said, that’s how it all started.

Because that same Christmas, she realises that screaming her feelings while playing guitar actually feels pretty cathartic. And that if it worked for Taylor Swift, it could work for her. So she writes stuff down, plays around with chords and strumming until the beat on the guitar matches the one in her head. She grabs a page and a pencil and writes and re-writes her innermost thoughts and feelings on the page until they sound the way she wants them to. She plays around with rhyme schemes and structure and everything she’s been taught about in English class, and a thrill runs through her as she does so. It’s the same breathless high she feels when she paints or draws, the rush that comes from creating something.

Her parents sit on the other side of her bedroom door, no doubt exchanging worried glances as she repeats the same verse, same chorus, with only a word changed. She watches them when they think she can’t see, peering through the crack in her door. The conclusion they seem to come to is ‘well, as coping mechanisms go, it’s pretty good, and she’s happy, so who are we to stop it?’.

It takes her four days to finish her first song. And it sucks. But she keeps it, writes down the lyrics and chords in one of the few empty notebooks she has, and there’s no going back from it now. She writes, and she writes, and she writes, near enough every day. She likes to think she gets better with each one. She learns more chords, buys a cheap ukulele the summer after freshman year, tries her hand at piano during a particularly difficult few weeks. She doesn’t plan on doing anything with them. They’re just her little pieces to hold on to. Her therapy sessions outside the carpeted office.

No-one knows about it. She has a reputation to keep up, after all. The loner-by-choice, too-cool-for-school, aloof art freak. Everyone has their roles to play in the ecosystem that is high school and, much as she hates the entire system, that is hers to play. And she plays it well, if she may say so. The fact that hardly anyone knows her past that facade suits her just fine. After all, if people think she doesn’t care, she can’t get hurt. No-one needs to know that Janis Sarkisian actually has feelings.

Even less need to know that she writes songs about said feelings.

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time she reaches her junior year, she’s onto her third notebook. She keeps them tucked away in her sock drawer, expertly hidden so only she can find them. Damian teases her about it, calling her “the protagonist of a Disney Channel Original Movie”. She just rolls her eyes and reminds him that “if either of us is gonna be Disney’s first openly gay character, it’ll be you”. He can’t argue with that.

It should be noted that when Janis said that no-one knows about her songwriting, Damian was the obvious exception. He found out just weeks after she started. There’s no keeping secrets from him.

Between all her notebooks, she’s written around forty songs.

Then she meets Cady Heron one day. The human embodiment of a labrador puppy, complete with wide, lost eyes. She likes her instantly, decides to take her under her wing because Lord knows the girl needs it. Cady’s smile is infectious, her laugh like a summer breeze. She has dimples and caramel-coloured hair and really likes maths.

She meets Cady on a Monday.

By that Saturday, song number 41-titled “Dimples and Curls” is more or less complete.

She plays it for Damian, hands only slightly shaking as she changes chords, the strumming short and upbeat, the melody strangely happy for such a bittersweet song.

He applauds her, but the subject of the song hangs in the air even after she’s played the last chord and the music fades. Unsaid, but not unknown. Just like her songwriting, Janis couldn’t keep a crush from Damian if she tried.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, check it out.”

Cady drops onto the seat across from Janis, the whole table shaking as she does so. Like a small meteor just hit Earth. Janis looks up from her lunch, pretending like she had been doing her own thing and not watching the door until Cady came in. Pretending like her stomach doesn’t do little flips at the sight of her crossing the cafeteria. She pulls the flyer towards her and hums in amusement.

“The winter talent show,” she reads before chomping off a carrot stick. “Oh, is it that time of year already?”

“Seems like only yesterday we was welcoming the young’uns into this brave new world during the harvest season,” Damian sighs, putting on a delightfully over the top Southern Belle accent, no doubt influenced by their reading of Streetcar Named Desire in English class. Janis cackles, and nearly chokes on her lunch as she does.

“And now the cold winds of winter are descending upon us,” she replies, her accent equally heavy. She bats her eyes for good measure, because she can and because it makes Cady laugh. “Oh but I pray the children will survive this season, it is often rough for them.”

“I am never showing you two anything winter related ever again,” Cady says.

Janis just shrugs and runs her hand through her hair before her eyes go back to the flyer. Clearly, whatever sophomore they got to design it this year did their best; found the prettiest looking snowflakes on Google Images to put on the cartoon stage, decided to write in some swirling, slanted font rather than the start-studded block lettering they usually went for. It’s still the same as it is every year, meaning just as mockable, but she’ll give them points for tying.

“Well, anyone here going for it?” she asks. She looks from Damian to Cady and back again, a teasing smirk on her lips. “Last year and all that.”

“Not sure I can,” Damian sighs. “I mean, I’m booked up with Spelling Bee rehearsals and spring cabaret auditions happening next semester.” He drums his fingers against his throat. “Gotta give the little vocal chords some rest, you know?”

Janis’ response is to sing the lowest note she possibly can before turning to Cady and giving her a pointed look, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Who? Me?” Cady’s cheeks turned crimson and she shakes her head so much that the caramel curls bounced around her shoulders. “No way. Damian can take the stage, I’m fine with my calculators and textbooks.”

“You could always solve equations in front of everyone,” Janis says. “I could call out college-level questions from the audience and you solve them in under 30 seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass,” she giggles. She leans forward slightly, eyes glittering, and Janis does her best not to squirm. The effect Cady Heron’s eyes have on her should be studied by scientists. “What about you, Janis?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks back to when she helped on stage crew last year, as well as helping out (or taking over) with the set design. It had been fun, the kind of challenge she needed to keep her mind off the slowly-going-off-the-rails plan. And she was told it looked good on her college applications, because all people can think about apparently is college, college, college. “Maybe. They might need another genius stage manager.”

“And you’ll step in if they can’t find one?” She digs Damian in the ribs for that comment.

“But not performing?” Cady asks, and Janis freezes. Performing had never even crossed her mind before. She’s used to backstage, hell, she likes backstage. It’s not that she has stage fright or anything, and if she had, her stunt at Ms Norbury’s little healing session would have squished it. She had just never thought about it.

But Cady had, apparently.

“I-No, I-I don’t think so,” she stammers out. “Um, I might do backstage again, but not actually doing something, you know, talent related.” She bites her tongue and clamps her lips shut before anything else can come out.

“Okay then,” Cady replies slowly. She gets up from the table, her little empty water bottle in her hands. “I’m going to go for a refill, save my seat.”

“No problem,” Janis says, but Cady’s already jogging away.

She doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that Cady’s known her too long to think of her as cool, and so this kind of awkward babbling isn’t really surprising to her. Instead of thinking about it, she just sets her head on the table and lets Damian rub her back.

“You were nowhere near as bad as you think you were,” he assures her.

“Title of your sex tape,” comes her murmured reply. Damian chuckles and runs his fingers through her hair, like she’s his pet cat. It helps.

“So you’re definitely not going for the talent show then?” he asks.

Her first instinct is to say no, because of course she isn’t, because she never has before and she sees no point in breaking a three-year streak, but the answer catches in her throat. At the same time, something begins forming in her brain, pieces of a melody she’s already known, words filling in blank spots in her brain, and her fingers twitch involuntarily, playing the chords on an invisible guitar. Without a word, she grabs a notepad and pen from her bag and scribbles the words down before she forgets them, quickly becoming breathless just by sitting there. She forgets, for a moment, everything else, the talent show, Cady, even Damian next to her, and just revels in the task and the quick buzz she gets just from writing. Just like that she has one eye on the clock, itching to get home and put her notes into the rest of the song.

But with those notes came an idea, an idea so completely out of left field she almost laughs at it.

“Janis?” Damian asks, just slightly unnerved by her. If anyone else were at this table, even Cady (especially Cady), she would have had to excuse herself and run to the bathroom, or just hope the words stayed in her head long enough for her to get a quiet moment. “Did the Goddess of Music just possess you again?”

“Maybe,” is her response. He doesn’t know it, but she answered both the questions he asked in the past minute.

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She sits on her bed that night, her homework half-done and strewn across the desk, abandoned in favour of the guitar sitting in her lap and notebook open on her bed. She’s been working on his song for the better part of a week, inspiration and motivation seemingly striking and then fading whenever she gets a free moment. Abandoning it has crossed her mind-she’s no stranger to abandoning things that aren’t working-but for some reason she hasn’t quite been able to shake this particular song off.

Maybe it is Euterpe, the Goddess of Music, descending upon her because this song has to be finished, it has to be, Olympus willing it so.

Or maybe it’s because this song is one of the most personal things she’s ever written, a love letter she’ll never send, and the idea of it sitting unfinished drives her crazy.

She plays another chord and sings the line again, changing the ending slightly, and makes the adjustment in her notes.

She’s crazy. This is already crazy, her secret double life as a wannabe T-Swift, but now she’s gone beyond that. Thinking of actually playing it. On a stage. In front of people. She doesn’t care what people think of her, she stopped caring about that a long, long time ago, but holy shit what will people think of her after she does this? Life isn’t like the movies, she knows that much. It won’t be some pretty, softly-lit moment where the crowd sits with teary eyes, Cady runs onstage and kisses her and she’s offered a deal by some big shot producer, and they all live happily ever after the end. What could happen is people think she’s even more of a weirdo than they do now.

Or she gets tomatoes thrown at her head and she’s booed off the stage. That’s a possibility.

She calls Damian, because that’s the only way she sees out of her little thought cul-de-sac. She puts the phone on speaker and props it up against a pillow, keeping her hands free for her guitar and her pen. He picks up on the third ring, just as she’s strumming out a G chord.

“Oh, is someone prepping for her Grammy?” he asks. “You’re still taking me as your date, right?”

“Only if my dog can’t go,” she replies. She taps her nails against the wood, the rhythm too fast and frantic to just be a habit. Yes, she can tell Damian anything, and being nervous in front of him is laughable, but sometimes her body forgets that. “So, I was thinking about the talent show.”

“Oh? You’re going for stage crew again? Cool.”

“No-not exactly.” She knows he can’t see the smile creeping across her face, but she’d wager he can hear it through the phone. A small swarm of butterflies flutters in her chest, leaving her just slightly out of breath. “I… I. think I’m going to try performing in it.”

A burst of laughter comes through the phone, slightly tinged with static, and Janis wishes he were here so she could slap him. Even if it’s not malicious in intent at all, and she’s laughing right along with him. Slapping is kind of a love language for them.

“Okay, okay cool. What’re you going to do?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” she says, and then she plays the opening chords to her latest experiment. She doesn’t add in the lyrics, not yet. Still, she sits back and basks in his applause when she finishes, cackling into her hand. He might be one person, but he’s got enough enthusiasm to match a packed auditorium. “What do you think?”

“I’m into it,” he tells her. “So… that’s the one you’re doing?”

“Think so.” She tosses the pick between her fingers. Like he could feel her smile, she can feel his raised eyebrow through the phone, the elephant in the room poking her with its trunk. “Yes, I know.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it,” she tells him, and he doesn’t deny it. She looks back over the lyrics she’s written and re-written. Despite some adjustments, it’s still in essence the same. Still about a girl with pretty hair who smells like vanilla and cinnamon, who has a boyfriend and is unknowingly breaking the heart of a girl with black eyeliner and paint stained fingers. Because her boyfriend is pretty and clean and smells like soap and can do math, and how is the poor art girl even meant to compare to that?

“Yes,” she says after a while. “It is about Cady.”

“Aw, my poor lovestruck songstress,” he sighs. He shifts then, and the air shifts with him. “You sure that’s the one you want to sing? I mean you have dozens of other non-Cady related songs. I’m sure Mr Duvall would love to hear Angry Teenage Lesbian Anthem.”

“First off, I gave that one a title, it’s called Shattered,” she reminds him. “And-” She freezes, the rest of her sentence catching in her throat. He’s right. She could perform one of her other songs, that are already finished and therefore removing the pressure to have this one finished, polished and stage-ready. And of course, it would mean she wouldn’t be standing in front of her entire grade and telling them all how badly she’s in love with her best friend. Showing her deepest secret to the people who have already driven her out of school once. It’s a far safer, potentially less traumatic option for her.

But…

“No,” she says. “I know it sounds crazy but I feel like… I feel like I need to do this.” She swallows thickly and picks softly at the guitar strings. “It’s like… like this way at least I’m telling her, you know? Even if she doesn’t know it.”

Of course, Damian gets it.

“That’s beautiful, babe,” he tells her. “So you’re actually doing this?”

“I’m actually doing this,” she replies firmly. “And tomorrow, I need you to make sure I don’t chicken out before I sign up.”

“Got it. I’ll just order you to do it as Senior Co-Chair of the Student Activities Committee.”

“That’s an abuse of power.”

“Then consider yourself abused baby.” He laughs and she laughs with him, and then she hears something on Damian’s end. “I have to go. A certain little sister of mine has a princess costume that needs attending to. See you later.”

“See you later,” she replies before he clicks off the call. She looks down at her paper, then at her guitar, and thinks about what she just committed to. “I’ve got some work to do.”

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The song goes through four rewrites in the weeks leading up to the talent show. The whole first verse is changed, the chorus scrapped and replaced with a new one, then that one is scrapped and she goes back to the old one. She sits hunched on her floor with a pencil in her mouth, wondering if what she’s written is too personal or not personal enough. If it’s too obvious that Cady, smart cookie that she is, will work it out and that’ll lead them down a new, scary path. She cuts some lyrics that give the game away, opting to replace one about love for numbers with love for learning, because that opens up the pool to half their grade. She writes about Cady’s blue eyes rather than specifically those double dimples that make her melt. Maybe she’s compromising her artistic vision, but it might be worth it if it’ll keep her crush a secret. She keeps the old lyrics tucked in the back of her notebook, just to have them.

Meanwhile, she’s also dealing with the fact that people know she has signed up for the talent show. That Miss Too Cool For School Loner Art Freak Janis is actually performing at a school event. And she doesn’t even get extra credit for it. They’re surprised, and curious, and none more so than Cady. The other girl appears at her side almost instantly after first period, skinny little arms wrapped around her bicep and blue eyes alight.

Oh, the things those eyes do to her.

“Janis!” she squeaks. “I saw-on the sign up sheet-your name! Oh my God, is this a joke? Did Damian put you up to it?”

“No, no, I signed up of my own accord,” Janis tells her. That only makes Cady bounce more, ponytail bobbing up and down.

“Oh wow, that’s amazing!” she says. She stops then, her mouth freezing in its place and her cheeks turning pink. Slowly, she comes down to Earth, like a balloon that had the air let out of it. Janis can almost hear the wheeze. “I mean um, it’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“It’s pretty grool,” Janis replies, and just like that Cady bounces back up again.

“Oh my gosh, what are you going to do?” she asks. “Or do you want it to be a surprise?”

“You think I have some secret knife-throwing talent?” she grins. She hesitates for a moment, looking down at Cady’s excited face, because even if this isn’t telling her… it’s telling her. “I’m… I’m going to sing.” She pulls on the strap of her backpack and avoids Cady’s eyes. “Something I wrote.”

“Okay,” Cady says. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Hey!” she laughs. “I can write stuff. I can be deep.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about it,” Cady says, bumping her arm against Janis’. “But for real, Janis, I can’t wait to see it. I know you’ll be amazing.”

Warmth spreads across her pale cheeks, a pink blush no doubt colouring her face, and she somehow manages to choke out a “thanks” as her brain turns to static. Her only thought is ‘Cady thinks I’m going to be good’, and it’s written in glitter pen across her brain.

“This is going to be great,” she goes on. “Oh, wait until I tell Aaron. He’s got a break in his schedule that week so he’s coming up to see the talent show! Isn’t that great?”

And just like that, Janis’ good mood falls. Her face stays the same, because she’s trained to do it, but everything behind it crumbles.

“Yeah, that’s great,” she replies. Cady squeezes her hand, oblivious, and drags her along the hallway, chatting away about some lion documentary she had watched last night.

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She finishes the song that night. She arrives home with a heavy chest, so full of complicated, messy feelings, and her conversation with Cady still so fresh in her mind, her ears still ringing from the emotional whiplash. Her parents barely get a ‘hello’ as she enters and bolts up to her room, her hands shaking, the thoughts swirling around her brain desperate to be let out.

And let them out she does. She writes so quickly they look more like smudges than words, her fingers flying over rapidly changing chords, her voice broken and panting as she sings. The words almost write themselves, like the song has taken on a life of its own and she’s just along for the ride. She barely remembers to pause, to breathe, so wrapped up in the storm she’s created with just her guitar and pen.

It’s only when she finishes and falls back on her bed that she notices the tears in her eyes. She blinks them away and pulls herself up, her notebook in her hand. It’s done. The perfect blend of her own honest feelings and just enough smokescreen to keep people from knowing who it’s really about.

There’s no backing out now, she thinks. Her stomach drops, like she’s on the top of a roller coaster about to go down. A laugh bubbles up in her throat and leaves her breathless, her head spinning while she’s still laying there.

If holy shit were am adjective, she'd use it to describe how she feels. Because holy shit.

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Being backstage when she’s not on crew is a strange experience. She stands with her guitar slung around her body, in the middle of a current of students moving around her, half with the clunky microphones and walkie-talkies she’s used so many times before. She asks five of them if she can do anything to help-because they’re her people and she needs to do something to occupy her time-until she finally takes the hint and leaves them to it. Stagehands are the most efficient parts of any production, as she told Damian once. They’re a well-oiled machine at this point.

“Yo!” For a second, Janis thinks she imagined the whisper, just one in a jumble of backstage noises, until Damian appears at her side. A tiny ‘shit’ escapes her mouth, her body jerking. Barely anyone bats an eye at her, except him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Don’t worry. I think at this point a small breeze could knock into me and I’d crumble.”

“The great Janis Sarkisian gets nervous?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Only when she’s doing something incredibly personal and scary in front of her entire grade,” she whispers back. She swallows past the lump in her throat. “Aside from that I’m a beacon of confidence and unshakable will.”

“Hey.” He taps his knuckles against hers. “Remember how scared you were at Norbury’s assembly?”

“You mean after I had my picture all over the school with the d-slur written underneath it?” she mutters. “Yeah, I was shitting myself.”

“And yet, look what you did there,” he reminds her. “You were amazing. And you’re going to be amazing here too. Once you get on that stage, all those butterflies are going to make you fly, kid.”

She smiles, her heart warm, and pressed her face into the crook of Damian’s neck.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky to have him, but she knows better than to tempt fate.

“Janis Sarkisian?” She lifts her head to find a freshman girl with a headset around her neck looking at her. “You’re up next.”

“Okay.” It’s only now she becomes aware that the last minute of Fairytale Of New York is playing, the notes will soon fade out, and that’s her cue. She turns to Damian and lets him straighten her black cardigan and fiddle with the collar of her shirt. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.” He drops a whisper of a kiss to her nose. “But good luck.”

She holds her half-heart necklace as he goes, the twin to the one around his neck. It’s as close as she can get to having him with her. Her chest tightens as she makes her way to the stage and she tries to breathe through it, because the next thign she knows, Mr Duvall is announcing her name, and she’s being greeted by a blinding spotlight that thankfully obscures most of her peers’ faces.

“Uh, hi,” she says into the microphone placed out for her. It’s just people , she reminds herself. Somewhere in that crowd, second row, seat 14, is Damian, and she breathes easier. And next to him is Cady, the girl this song is about, and for some reason that straightens her spine and irons out the shaking in her voice. She takes the pick out of its holder and tosses her hair back. “This is a song I wrote about being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back.” She blinks and hopes no-one sees the tears in her eyes. “So sing along if you get into it, because we all know it’s a shitty ass feeling.”

She plays the first chord, and then any and all doubts she had about this flee her. As cliche as it sounds, the song takes over her, and she blows through the nerves in the first verse. The experience becomes cathartic instead, like releasing a pressure valve on her soul. Even with the little diversions she threw in, she hasn’t felt this open and god damn free since last year, paraded on her peers’ shoulders with both middle fingers up. Except now she’s not flipping anyone off, or proving a point, she’s just finally telling someone how she feels, and holy shit, it’s amazing. Whatever the aftermath of this is, she won’t care, it’s worth it just for this feeling.

As she sings the last word, and that final note rings in the auditorium, her hands are shaking, her cheeks wet with tears and her hair sticky with sweat. She touches beneath her eye and her fingers come away stained black.  She hasn’t cried in front of people since middle school. She doesn’t care.

The cheers of her classmates ring in her ears, Damian’s whooping the loudest of all, and as she takes her bow, she hopes she’ll remember this moment for a long time.

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“Oh my God!” she’s barely into the auditorium when Cady launches herself at her, arms wrapped around her neck and legs circling her waist. Janis nearly topples over, digging her back leg into the ground just in time, and hugs Cady with the same ferocity. “You were amazing!” she yells into her shoulder, the sound muffled by Janis’ hair.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” She sets Cady down, but the other girl keeps a tight grip on both her arms. Janis wonders if it’s to keep herself from flying away, given the amount of bouncing up and down she’s doing. “I can’t believe you wrote that! It was so good! You need to record it, Jan. Do you have any other songs?”

“Just a few,” she says. “And I don’t know if I’m in the business of making an album any time soon.” She swings her guitar case a little. “This might have been a one-time thing.”

“Well, even if it was, it was awesome,” she says.

“Thank you, Caddy,” Janis replies. “That means a lot.”

Her mouth runs dry as Cady smiles, all baby pink lipgloss and sparkling eyes and full cheeks. If this were a movie, she thinks, this would be the part where they kiss. No need for talking, or an explanation. Because Cady would have just known. The music would turn soft and twinkly, and the lighting would match it and it would look like they’re in a dream and they’d just kiss, and it will fix all of Janis’ problems. Maybe a single tear will run down her cheek. And then they’ll run off into their new lives as the end credits roll.

How sweet that would be.

But her life isn’t a movie. If she wants anything, she has to go for it herself.

And that includes-

“Caddy.” Her name is delicate on her lips, handled with care. Cady looks at her, giving a simple ‘mm-hm’ in response, and Janis’ heart beats out of control. “That song I just sang, it-”

“Hey, guys.”

Also if this was a movie, Cady’s sweet, lovely, nice boyfriend would not be barging in right now. He’d either be a douchebag who she doesn’t feel bad about hurting, or he’d be nonexistent.

Unfortunately, this is not a movie, and Aaron Samuels exists and is the human equivalent of a squishmallow.

“Hey Aaron.” He slings his arm around Cady’s shoulders, and she leans into his touch almost instinctively. “Janis, you were great up there. I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“It’s a bit of a new hobby,” she says, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat, and finds a bottle of water being handed to-thrown at-her.

“Hydrate those chords,” is Damian’s greeting.

“This is what I get for being friends with a theatre kid,” she sighs before she takes a drink. She hadn’t realised how dry her throat was until now.

“Okay, so we’re all going for pancakes,” Aaron says. “I take it you two are coming?”

“How can I say no to pancakes?” Janis asks. “Uh, you guys go ahead, I have to get my stuff from the green room.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for you,” Cady says. “Aaron brought his car so he can drive us.”

“Grool.” Cady and Aaron turn around together, Aaron spinning his eyes around his finger and Cady lacing her fingers through his, talking about something she can’t hear. It’s like watching them through a sheet of glass.

Not a movie. Not unless it’s one of those really, really sad movies. Sad homophobic movies.

“You okay?” Damian asks. She snorts at the question. Nothing has changed, so of course she’s okay. But then, nothing has changed, so she’s not really okay.

“I did it,” she sighs. “It’s out there. I told her, unofficially. Whether or not she works it out…” She runs her hand through her tangled hair. “That’s something else entirely.” Damian hums in agreement, a sympathetic look on his face that soon morphs into a grin.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Mom.” They snort, Janis caught between a laugh and a sob, and squeezes Damian’s hand. She’s not optimistic about any romance in her future, at least where Cady is concerned. She and Aaron are still rock-solid and she’s happy for them, whenever she isn’t angsting about it. It’s a weird combination to have.

And at least she’s done this now. Despite a future for her and Cady not being in the cards for now, she’s glad she did it. The secret isn’t out, not entirely. Just written on the walls in invisible ink.

“Come on,” she tells Damian. “I actually do have to get my bag, and you can use this as an opportunity to double check the ghost light is on.”

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Cady and Aaron keep their promise and wait for them, waving off their apologies as they jog across the parking lot. Cady lets Damian take the front seat with Aaron and slides into the back with Janis instead. Janis frowns, confused as to why she isn’t taking her normal seat up front, and Cady rolls her eyes.

“There was a draw on the way here, and we lost,” she explains. “And now Damian has control of the aux chord,” She gestures with her head to the passenger seat, and Janis turns just in time to see him open his Spotify and scroll through his playlists. As the opening notes to Waving Through A Window fill the car, it’s met with three loud groans. Damian only turns it up louder, and adds in his own backing vocals.

“So, that song you sang,” Cady asks, leaning back in the seat. “Was it about anyone in particular?”

Janis looks down, her hands pressed together in her lap. If this is the moment the universe decided to give her, it’s a really terrible moment. Not only is Cady’s whole boyfriend sitting an arm’s length away from her, but she left her nerve back in the auditorium. Clearly, her and fate aren’t on each other’s wavelength.

“You wouldn’t know her,” she says. “She doesn't even go here.”

“Oh,” Cady replies. Her face falls, but she’s not too put out by it. Why would she be? She nudges Janis’ shoulder, a proud smile on her face, and squeezes Janis’ hand. “Well, if she has someone like you into her and she hasn’t taken the chance yet, then she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Janis only thanks her, and quickly changes the subject.

Someday she might tell her for real, but for now she'll stick to the songs.

#mean girls broadway #mean girls fanfic #cadnis #janis sarkisian #cady heron #cadnis ff #cady x janis #space safari #mean girls musical

[a-cupof-jo]

Set Up My Heart Pt. 7

PT. 6 – PT. 7 – PT. 8

College volleyball player!Johnny Suh x reader

Rivals-to-lovers

Fluff and angst

Synopsis: Ever since that fateful day Sophomore year of high school, Johnny Suh had been an insufferable thorn in your side. Once you made it to college you thought the two of you would never have to see each other again. That is, until a sudden school transfer has the entire university buzzing

~~

Your breath caught as you pounded up the steps. The door slammed as you raced into the building and down the hall to your Chemistry lecture. You were very late. Maybe the professor won’t notice. With nearly 200 students crammed into a classroom, it’s a big class. You had stayed up late the night before cramming for a Finance exam you had later today. That means that you slept through your alarm and it wasn’t until Des was leaving for her class that you woke up.

You glanced around the classroom when your eyes settled on a recently familiar seat. Shimmying down the aisle you stepped up to a seat with a backpack sitting in it. The owner of the backpack looked up, “Hey, I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” Taeil tucked his backpack under his seat.

“Slept through my alarm,” you grumbled as you pulled your notes and a pen out.

 Taeil gave a sympathetic head shake but turned back to the professor. You had been surprised when you found out that Taeil was taking this class. The senior had told you the previous week that it was because he had pushed it off until his final year. He claimed he was fighting the system that told him that a science class was required for his music degree. ‘I get it’s a bachelor’s of science, but how is Chemistry going to make me a better musician?’

You couldn’t give him an answer, but then again you are a history major. How does it tie into yours? You glanced beside Taeil looking for Jungwoo’s unmistakable blonde hair. “It’s Wednesday,” Taeil muttered.

You lean back in your chair. That’s right mister mechanical engineering wasn’t actually a student in this class he only came in on Tuesdays and Fridays to make notes for students he tutors.

Taeil tapped your desk making you sit forward and stop pouting. “Focus so you know what you need to go over with Jungwoo tonight."

You pick up your pen and attempt to follow along with the professor. She was going too fast and instead of understanding what she was saying you sat there just trying to write down the calorimetry problems.

When the class ended you threw down your pen. Taeil reached over to pat your hand. "Rough morning?”

“Understatement of the century,” you shove your pen in your pencil case. “Woke up too late and I have no idea what’s going on in class. Plus I have a finance exam later today that I’m still not entirely ready for.”

“Well would coffee or lunch make you feel better, I have two hours before my next class. Or we could go to the library or a study lounge and we could try to get you feeling more confident?” Taeil waited for you to stand up from your seat. He watched as the next class started to trickle in.

You step out of the aisle and up to the classroom door, “What about both, we can grab something from the union and study there?”

Taeil grins, “That sounds great. You’re paying though.” You give a light shove as you both race out of the building. For a moment, you felt yourself relaxed as you chased Taeil through the quad.

“Watch where you’re going,” you heard a voice yell out panic laced through it. You glanced back at the voice coming from behind you before slamming into something hard. You felt your elbow catch as you tumbled to the ground.

You heard another voice grumble, “Dammit, how hard is it to pay attention to where you’re going. I have an expensive camera- of course.” An unmistakable voice scoffed, “Are you trying to cause problems, Y/n?” Johnny glowered as you turned to glare back. You hadn’t seen him in almost a week. You couldn’t say he was looking great. His eyes had bags and his hair was slightly greasy.

“Are you guys okay,” a taller male with pink hair skidded to a stop in front of you two.

Johnny brushed off his jeans, “No thanks to her.” He jerked his head toward you.

“Look here mister, I don’t know why you feel like you have to-” you were cut off as Taeil rushed into your eyesight.

“Y/n! I’m so sorry I didn’t realize that I had left you behind,” he grabbed your hands and pulled you up. You brushed off your shoulders as Taeil fretted over your state, “What happened? You were beside me just a minute ago?"

You nod to the two standing behind him, "I accidentally ran into Johnny."

Taeil glanced behind him and smiled when he caught eyes with the second man, "Hey, Taeyong, how’s it going?” You watched as the two exchanged pleasantries. Johnny shifted looking back down at his camera pushing several buttons before sighing. “We were just about to grab lunch at the union. You should come with us!” You watched as Johnny’s shoulders bunched up tight.

“Sure! Johnny and I were just finishing up here, so we could definitely join you,” Taeyong grabbed a bag that sat on a nearby bench. “Come on, Johnny!"

Johnny looked like he was going to protest. Taeyong grabbed the camera from Johnny’s neck and put it in the bag. Johnny sighed obviously not able to get out of this.

Taeyong grabbed a hold of Taeil’s arm before dragging him towards the union, "So you know I was thinking,” you heard Taeyong start talking about a piece of music with Taeil.

Johnny stepped up next to you, “Look,” he ran a hand through his hair, his face pinched. “I just wanted to say.”

“I’m not happy about this either so why don’t we just get this over with so we both can be on our merry way,” you snapped.

Johnny’s face morphed his eyes narrowed and his lips tightened, “Glad we’re on the same page.” He turned away from you and you finished your journey in silence.

~~

“We’re really happy with the track you made for us,” Taeyong smiled at Taeil from across the table. “Seriously I could never thank you enough."

Taeil waved him off, "I’m using it for my composition class. I’m just glad you guys are able to use it."

You turned to the book you had laid out on the table in from of you. The notebook sitting on top of it showing recent notes you had taken. You clicked your pen as you attempted to solve a math equation. The paper crinkled as you scribbled across it.

"You have to make sure you add in the overhead cost,” your head snapped up to Johnny who had sat across from you. “Then you can take it from annual costs. You’ve got the rest of it right."

You frowned at him before writing down what he said, "It’s correct.” You stared at him wide eyed.

“Woah, Johnny knows finance,” Taeil and Taeyong turned from their conversation to you two. “I didn’t think you were in Finance though?” Taeyong eyebrows pinched together.

Johnny shook his head, his dark hair flying in all different directions, “I was. I took a couple of business classes before switching to journalism. Finance just happened to be one.” Johnny turned back to you slightly, “Just thought I’d try to be some help. You seemed like you were struggling with that problem."

You wanted to glare at him. To tell him that you don’t need any help, especially not his. Who was he to decide that you needed help. Even if he did get you to the right answer he didn’t need to step in. He never had before. You gave him a tense smile, "Thank you, I have an exam today that I’m cramming for."

Johnny smiled back. His less tense and closer to genuine, "No problem, let me know if I can try to help you with something else."

You gave him a slight nod as you went back to your work. "So is that why you transferred here? I didn’t think NCU’s journalism program was that good. Actually, isn’t SMU’s the top program in the region.” Taeyong dipped a french fry in ketchup.

Johnny shrugged as he played with the food still on his plate, “I had no choice, well that’s not completely true, but on a sports team when a player gets injured they become a money hole. It was either stay at SMU and be off the volleyball team or go through PT, transfer, and maybe have a chance of playing again. NCU was just one of the universities that was willing to put me on the roster."

You kept your head ducked as you listened to their conversation. Taeyong had leaned forward, his head now sitting on the table, "So, why NCU? I mean you said this was just one of the options.”

Johnny nodded, “Yeah, it was between here, UofE, and RCU. A guy I knew at SMU said he had a friend that goes here and got me hooked up with him. Just so happens that guy,Jaehyun, was looking for another roommate. Plus, NCU doesn’t have an awful journalism program so I ended up here. To be honest, I like it here much more than SMU."

Taeil nudged your elbow catching your attention. You hummed as you resumed your studying, "You doing okay there?” He peered over you shoulder attempting to read your handwriting.

“Yeah, I think that I should do fine,” you grinned lightly. “I think I was more stressed out about it than I should have been."

He nodded at you before turning back to Johnny, “So you’re here. Now how do you know Taeyong?”

“We met in a photography class! I need it for my electives and Johnny’s specialization is photojournalism,” Taeyong perked up. “We sat by each other Johnny’s first day.” That intrigued you. A memory of Johnny standing in front of you camera flashing and pencil scratching danced around your head.

Johnny hummed as he pushed buttons on his camera, “We have an assignment for still life photography and I asked Tae if he could be my model.”

“You liked photography in High School also,” you hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but you had watched as Johnny lit up with talking about his class. The stares that the table gave you told you that you shouldn’t have said that. “Although, your skills as a journalist were shit.” You pulled your backpack from under the table. The book you had open slid closed and into the waiting bag as you panicked. You shouldn’t have said anything.

Johnny fixed you with a look that begged for understanding, “You know that we had a lot of restrictions on what we could write and publish. It all went through the teacher and principals.”

“That didn’t stop you from publishing that article about me now did it,” you hissed. The chair scraped the ground as you stood up. “I bet you loved getting to destroy my name. ‘Volleyball Prodigy Turns Out to be a Fraud’. First article on the sports page.”

Johnny stood up across from you, “Y/n I did not have any-”

“You were the one that interviewed me and used that in the article. Were you not?” You held up a hand to stop him from coming around the table. Johnny opened his mouth to speak, “I don’t want to hear it. You used my pain for your own personal gain. You don’t get to say anything.” You glance up at the ceiling urging the stinging in your eyes to go away. “Taeil, Taeyong thank you for lunch. We’ll have to do this again.” You turned and fled from the table. You had to stop letting him get to you.

Johnny sat heavily on his chair. He ran his hands down his face as he tried to compose yourself. Taeil and Taeyong glared at him from their seats. “I guess I should explain to you how Y/n and I know each other.” Taeil raised an eyebrow at him, “It started in Y/n and my sophomore year of high school.”

~~

tag list: @beyond-gethsemane , @lanadreamie @michplusb @jaxminskale @qianinterprises @stayctday @nanascupid @sadgirlroo

~~

*Reposted from previous blog*

#nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #johnny scenarios #johnny x reader #johnny fluff #johnny angst #johnny suh

[missjanjie]

Better Than Revenge | Chapter 3

Title: Better Than Revenge Summary: Karma Inc.’s business structure is simple - clients hire them when they’ve been grievously wronged and they send one of their revenge mercenaries to right them. As painstaking as their efforts to remain ethical may be, that may be tested when former detective, Rosé, enlists the squad to pick up where she couldn’t on a much higher scale, with potentially greater consequences. Word Count: ~2.7k (this chapter) | ~8k (total) Relationship(s): Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx), Jankie (Jackie Cox/Jan Sport), Halldoll (Nicky Doll/Jaida Essence Hall), Gimone (Gigi Goode/Symone), Gottlux (Gottmik/Olivia Lux) Rating: T

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Rosé learns Gigi, Symone, and Denali's revenge origin stories

-

Woodstock, IL — 2016

Gigi took a deep breath as she stared at herself in the mirror. She could do this, it was fine. Every time her suspicions or confusion would bubble up, she forced them back down. Hannah was nice, she was different from the other popular girls. She didn’t see the ‘weird art lesbian’ with the braces and thick-rimmed glasses, who rarely got pop culture references post-1989, at least, that’s how she made her feel.

“I’ll text you in the morning,” she assured her mother as she threw her bag over her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, I’m just hanging out with a friend.” She was out to her mom, of course, that was her biggest ally. But she wasn’t ready to tell her that the head cheerleader had taken an interest in her. Maybe when and if they became official. Until then, she shook off the last of her nerves and drove to her house, only pulled from her thoughts by the time she was sitting on Hannah’s bed.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Hannah cooed, batting her lashes and resting her hand on Gigi’s thigh.

If Gigi hadn’t been so blinded by her crush, she might’ve thought Hannah was laying it on a little thick, but she couldn’t act like she didn’t enjoy the attention. “Me too, a-about you, I mean. Sorry, I’m just nervous…”

“How come? I didn’t come on too strong over text, did I?”

“No, no I liked it, it’s just… I’m a virgin, like, I’ve only ever kissed before,” she confessed, her cheeks flushing rosy pink. She had talked a big game over text, but being faced with the chance of starting a physical relationship brought her back to reality.

Hannah pouted, rubbing Gigi’s thigh as she thought, letting her hand inch higher. “Well, you’ve got fantasies, don’t you? I know you’ve masturbated before. What do you think about while you touch yourself?”

Gigi hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. The other girl wasn’t wrong, she did know what she liked, could conjure up vivid imagery to get herself aroused, but she had never said any of it out loud. “I like powerful, confident women. I guess that’s something that drew me to you,” she started, “I wanna just… give up control, be dominated.”

“Really? Tell me more,” Hannah prompted, kissing along her neck and jaw and slowly tugging Gigi’s shirt off in an attempt to coax her to continue.

When Hannah didn’t seem deterred by her confession, Gigi started to relax. “It’s just, I don’t know, I always feel the need to be in control of my life and with sex, I just wanna let go and give up that power.”

“So like, what would you want someone to do to you?” she asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

She bit down on her lip. “Um… tie me up, spank me, choke me, and I know it’s kind of intense but maybe something like cnc or—” the incessant buzzing of her phone distracted her and, concerned it might be an urgent call or text from home, she took her phone out. “Sorry, one sec.”

It wasn’t from home, she had two missed calls from her best friend, Crystal, followed by several texts.

Crystal: GIGI STOP Crystal: SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! Crystal: She’s broadcasting you on IG live! Crystal: We can see and hear everything…

Gigi’s face fell, her first instinct to pull her shirt back on. Then she slowly looked up and in front of her, that’s when she saw it, nestled between stuffed animals — Hannah’s phone with an instagram live going. She didn’t say anything, just ran out of the house as fast as her legs would take her and through her tears drove right to Crystal’s house. That was when the two of them formed their plot.

In and of itself, it was simple. Gigi waited one day until Hannah was away for a cheer competition and went to her house. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Andrews, but I think I left some of my homework in Hannah’s room, she just said to let you know so I can run in and grab it.” Once inside, she found exactly what she was looking for, sliding Hannah’s diary into her backpack and went right back out.

“This feels very Mean Girls, I love it,” Crystal remarked as they taped page after page of the diary on lockers, walls, anywhere they could.

“Well, plan B was to go the Heathers route, so let’s just hope it works.”

And to say it worked was an understatement. As it turned out, Hannah had written things far more incriminating, and because it came from someone of her social ranking, it made everyone immediately lose interest in Gigi’s livestream scandal, and she graduated with the anonymity she needed for survival.

Present Day

“I’ll be honest with you,” Rosé remarked, “it’s kinda hard to picture you as an ugly duckling, especially the way you described it.” Gigi was too pretty, too perfect. Something didn’t add up.

Gigi got out her phone and scrolled through her photos until she found one from her senior year. “Believe it, doll,” she said as she held her phone up. She watched with an amused expression as Rosé looked from her phone, to her, and back with her eyes wide and mouth agape. “Braces off, lasik, learned a lot about how to dress while going to FIDM, which is where I met Symone, who helped fill in the blanks.”

“And made sure she got to do all them things she listed to that bitch without feeling ashamed about it,” Symone added with a smirk, draping her arm around Gigi and pulling her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Why don’t you tell her your story next, baby?” Gigi prompted.

Conway, AR — 2014

Symone watched her sister throw her bag over her shoulder and start to sneak out the window. “Look, I ain’t snitching or nothing, but I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

She and her sister, Lala, were close, sometimes referring to themselves as twins – they were only ten months apart, in the same grade at school. And until the summer after sophomore year, they had the same group of friends. But the crowd Lala ran with now just rubbed her the wrong way.

“You worry too much,” Lala brushed it off. “I’ll be fine, in bed by morning like nothing happened.”

But when Symone got a collect call two hours later, she found out things were far from fine. She drove down to the county jail as fast as she could without getting pulled over herself. Luckily bail was a mere fifty dollars, but once she got her sister back in the car, she looked at her incredulously. “What the fuck happened?”

“One of ‘em brought weed, another brought booze, but when the cops rolled up on us, they said it all was mine. And who was they gonna believe, me or three white kids?” Lala sniffled, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me,” she whispered.

“I don’t either,” Symone admitted quietly, frustrated at her inability to come up with an immediate solution. “But we’re gonna do our best to get you out of this, okay?”

The best they could do wasn’t easy. It involved a lot of legal maneuvering, meetings with one person in a suit after another. The end result wasn’t ideal, but it was far better than what could have been. Lala was fined three hundred dollars and put on thirty days of probation. In and of itself, it didn’t seem so bad, but the residual consequences took their toll.

“I lost my scholarship, ‘mone. That was my ticket into college,” Lala sighed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m getting off with a slap on the wrist, but I really ain’t thrilled about taking out student loans,” she sat down on the floor beside the bed, head leaning against it. “Or maybe I’ll start with community college, I dunno. It just fucking sucks that they all got off with warnings.”

Symone’s brows knitted together, her lips pressed into a fine line. “Don’t you worry baby,” she said after a moment, “they gon’ face consequences one way or another.”

It had taken most of spring break, but Symone finally had all of the pieces for her plan. “Not the most convoluted thing in the world, but it’ll get the job done,” she mused.

Lala looked at her sister, then at her desk and back. “Do I even wanna know where the hell you got coke from?”

“No, you do not.”

Getting the drugs was the hard part. Getting into school early to plant the drugs in the lockers of Lala’s former friends was far easier, as was leaving an ‘anonymous tip’ from a ‘concerned student’ on the principal’s desk.

“God, I wish I could’ve seen them get hauled off in cop cars,” Lala remarked as she and Symone drove home from school. The three students were quietly escorted out of class and arrested, the school wanting to bring as little attention as possible. “Shame that they rich daddies will still get them off lightly.”

Symone sighed and nodded. “Sure, but they’re still gonna get something, which is more than what they got when they threw you under the bus. Bet they’re gonna think twice before they let someone else take the fall for them.”

Her sister smiled softly and shook her head. “You really ain’t gotta do all that for me, you know?”

“I know,” she hummed, “not gonna stop me, though.”

Present Day

“Wow, that’s both selfless and hardcore,” Rosé remarked with an impressed nod. “Did she ever find out where you got the coke from?”

Symone laughed and shook her head. “Nah, that secret I’m taking to the grave.”

Rosé jokingly put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, fair enough,” she chuckled. After a moment, she turned her attention to Denali. “That just leaves you, princess,” she remarked, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “What’s your claim to infamy?”

Denali tossed her hair off her shoulder and grinned softly. “Who, me?” she cooed, fluttering her lashes. “Well, it is kind of an interesting story…”

Nicky rolled her eyes and tossed one of the couch pillows at her head. “Stop flirting and get on with it already.”

Fairbanks, AK — 2011

Denali groaned when the sound of loud footsteps racing up the stairs pulled her from her quasi-asleep state, then pulled a pillow over her head when the door swung open.

“What the hell are you still doing in bed when the qualifiers are in two hours?” her friend, Kahmora, asked with incredulous horror. She yanked the covers off of her, but stepped back in concern when she finally caught sight of Denali’s face. “Oh god, you look like shit.”

She frowned and rolled over to face away from her. “I feel like I died and was in the process of being reanimated, then killed again,” she lamented. “It’s probably food poisoning… or maybe swine flu came back, I dunno.”

“Did you eat anything unusual?”

Denali furrowed her brows as she wracked her brain. “I mean, Tara gave me those brownies and I had one, but when she said they were ‘special’, I just thought she meant they had weed in them, but that sure as hell isn’t it.” With as much energy as she could muster, she sat upright. “Oh my god, do you think she poisoned me?”

Kahmora arched her brow. “I think that’s a bit much, even for her. Do I think she put something like a laxative in there so it’d take you out long enough that you couldn’t beat her out in the international qualifiers? Yeah, probably. She’s a cunt.”

The skater scowled, her jaw clenched. “She’s a dead cunt,” she corrected, then suddenly shot out of bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered as she raced to the bathroom yet again.

There wasn’t an obvious revenge plan for Denali. She knew that nothing she did would get her spot in the competition, and she wondered if it was even worth it. But her pettiness and spite won out and she began planning out her course of action.

“Remember,” she was saying, “if all else fails, we go the Tonya Harding route.”

Kahmora sighed. “For the last time, you are not whacking Tara’s kneecaps, now let’s go.” Despite some pouting from Denali, they went to get the gears turning in their plan. They got to the ice rink and slipped into the locker room without being noticed by Tara, who was in the middle of practice.

Denali picked the lock and took out Tara’s change of clothes. Then she reached into her own bag and pulled on latex gloves and a plastic bag containing several leaves of poison ivy. She turned the shirt, pants, and socks inside out and firmly rubbed the leaves against the fabric, making sure she left as little fabric uncovered as possible. “She’s lucky I’m merciful or I’d rub it on her panties too,” she remarked offhandedly.

Kahmora tilted her head as she watched her. “Do you actually think it’ll take her out of the competition?” she asked as her friend put the leaves and gloves into the ziploc bag.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s possible, probable really, that the constant itching might make it too difficult for her to skate. But this is more about getting even with her. I might not ever get another chance to compete for internationals. She’s lucky the only retribution she’s getting is a few weeks of itchy blisters.”

“Otherwise you’d Tonya Harding her?”

Denali nodded brightly. “Exactly! Now come on, we have to get rid of the evidence.” And with that, they scurried out of the locker room as inconspicuously as they’d entered it and threw out the evidence in a trash can several blocks over.

When the news broke that Tara had withdrawn from the competition due to ‘unexpected physical problems’, Denali did her best to feign shock and didn’t celebrate until she and Kahmora were alone.

“So, what do you wanna do now?” Kahmora asked.

Denali tilted her head in thought, then smirked. “Let’s go get brownies.”

Present Day

“Personally, I still think you should’ve busted her knees,” Mik mused offhandedly. “Like, I bet you would’ve figured out a way to get away with it, you conniving bitch,” he teased.

Denali shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s not very original and it’d look a lot more suspicious on my end.”

“I think it was pretty badass,” Rosé offered, making the other woman smile which, in turn, made her heart flutter — something she chose to actively ignore. Instead, she let all of their stories sink in. None of their reasons for revenge were out of line, none of their victims undeserving. And none of the consequences were as severe as some of the things she had seen in her time. “You all really know what you’re doing, huh?”

“We wouldn’t have been able to keep this up for three years if we didn’t,” Jan replied. “We had all of the potential on our own, but we make a difference together, and then we added Jackie to tie up the loose ends. It’s been smooth sailing from there.”

“Yeah, and now Jackie ties you up instead,” Nicky teased, earning an eye roll in response.

Rosé watched the group interact with a fond smile. She had assumed they all got along to be working together for as long as they have been, but she hadn’t anticipated them truly behaving like a family. It was a stark contrast to the constant coldness and curtness she had grown accustomed to, both in her previous career and in the environment she grew up in. She only hoped it would make the tasks ahead that much easier for them.

#gimone #rosnali #rpdr rpf #i promise everything else will be present day unless its something important lol

[villainousshakespeare]

Learning a Lesson Chapter 1

Young Actor Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Rated E - Eventual Smut, Angst, Complicated Relationship - Teacher/Actor Posing as Student, Feels, Flirting, Fluff

Summary: It's your first day as a teacher and things are going well. That is, until a tall, gorgeous boy with blond curls and dramatic ways saunters into your last class. When he ignores all the swooning girls to flirt outrageously with you, it is secretly thrilling. Even more so is when he tries to steal a kiss after class ends. How long will you be able to keep your defenses up?

Up and Coming actor Tom is under cover in high school for  research for a movie, but the pretty drama teacher is making the long assignment so much more enjoyable!

This was inspired by a dream I had. I opted to turn the main character into a young teacher instead of a student, just due to my own neurosis. Will probably be in a bout 4 parts... we shall see...

@arch-venus25​, @caffiend-queen​ @ciaodarknessmyheart​ @frostbitten-written​ @just-the-hiddles​ @kellatron55​ @myoxisbroken​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @poetic-fiasco​ @shiningloki​ @shae-annelore​ @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy​ @hiddlesholic​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @wolfsmom1​ @tom-hlover​ @toozmanykids​

The day had been going surprisingly well, if Emily did say so herself. All of her classes had seemed engaged in the material to some extent, and no one jumped out at her as an obvious juvenile delinquent bent on disrupting things. Of course, it was the first day of the school year and things could change, but with just one class to go she was feeling pretty satisfied with herself.

That was all about to change.

It was her first official day as a teacher. She had student taught, of course, but this was different. These kids were hers to mold and teach. It helped that most of the morning classes had been freshmen and sophomores. She had always looked young for her age, and she had already been asked once for a hall pass that afternoon between classes. It was embarrassing, but hardly unexpected. Soon she hoped that everyone would realize that she was faculty and not, in fact, attending herself.

Her last class was the one she had been both dreading and excited about all day. Senior Elective - Drama. It was her one chance to teach the subject that she loved the most. American and World literature were fine, of course, but she was a theater geek at heart. Teaching students who chose to study some of the most important plays in history, what could be better? She just hoped that they didn't all tower over her and decide that she couldn't possibly be the boss of them at her age.

The first few students to enter gave her hope. Three girls, giggling together in hushed voices, entered the room. She sized them up instantly - smart, a bit nerdy, and certain to turn into stunners in a few years' time. They smiled shyly at her as one, and Emily grinned in return, instructing them to sit anywhere they liked. As the others trickled in,  began to breath easy. A few of the honor society kids, a couple who bore the stamp of musical theater unmistakably, and one or two who obviously were there simply because it sounded like an easy A that they could sleep through. Well, they would learn soon enough. Theater was a participatory activity in her mind. Still, the ten girls and three boys seated before her were hardly the type to strike fear into her heart, even if some of them did have several inches on her. She could do this!

The bell was still ringing when the door opened again and a tall, lanky boy backed in, calling jovially to some person still in the hallway. His voice was surprisingly deep, and contained a laughter that sounded infectious. Emily waited impatiently for him to conclude his conversation, foot tapping and lips pursed. When he finally turned around, she felt as though she had been punched in the gut.

He was certainly tall, easily topping 6 feet as he slouched against the door frame, insouciant smile on his face. A halo of wild, noodle like blonde curls framed his face, artlessly falling across his forehead in a manner designed to make one want to reach out and brush them back. His eyes, a stunning blue that ought to be illegal, were framed by obscenely long eyelashes and, if she were not mistaken, a light touch of eyeliner to make them all the worse. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut were hidden beneath just the right amount of residual baby fat to make him appear mischievous rather than outright dangerous, but she was not certain she should trust that assumption. A black t shirt and baggy black pants draped over his long, lean lines, accessorized with black and silver jewelry at his his wrist, waist, and neck, and a silver bar through the top of one ear.

Good lord above, her high school fantasy had just sauntered into the class she was supposed to be teaching! And Emily was not entirely sure that she had surrendered that fantasy as completely as she had hoped! Certainly her confidence, riding high just seconds before, was suddenly plummeting as the young stud slowly surveyed the class, enjoying the obvious attention his late entrance and stunning looks had provoked.

"Take a seat please, you're late," Emily said stridently, hating how forced her voice sounded.

"Apologies, I got turned around. Luckily some girls were nice enough to show me the way."

No doubt, she thought as he loped to the front of the class and sat in the desk immediately in front of her. And god almighty, was that an English accent? From the way most of the girls and two of the three boys in the class were twittering behind him she was certain she had heard correctly. He looked up at her with a cocksure smile on his face and she felt an absurd wave of embarrassment, as though he could read exactly what she had been thinking about him.

"So," he asked, extending his long legs out from under the desk until the toe of one booted foot almost touched hers, "when does the teacher get here?"

"I am the teacher," Emily tried to keep the consternation from her voice as she retreated behind her desk, hoping for some sort of barrier between her and the living temptation seated before her. Blindly she pointed to where "Miss Temple" was written on the chalk board, as though that would prove something.

"Impossible. You're far too young and attractive to be the teacher," he pronounced, openly giving her a once over as the rest of the class snickered.

Emily clenched her hands to keep from tugging down her skirt to make it longer. It hit a respectable length at just above her knee, but the way he looked speculatively at her legs she wished it hit the floor. Still, she was not about to let this smug little (or, well, not so little) popinjay rattle her.

"I am old enough. And you will find that there are no rules about a teacher's appearance," she told him. "But thank you all the same Mr -"

"Martinsson," he told you. "But you can call me Tom. And you are?"

"Very well, Tom," she sighed, ignoring the question. "Now, if I may begin the class?"

He waved his hand in a magnanimous gesture that left her unsure whether to laugh or roll her eyes or smack his smug, pretty face. She settled for turning on her heal and pulling her copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare out of her tote bag, wishing she couldn't feel his eyes on her backside as she bent over. Pants. She would definitely be wearing pants from now on.

"Shakespeare?" one of the musical theater kids groaned. "I thought this class was going to be fun!"

"Kiss me Kate is Shakespeare," the aptly named Kate, one of the honors girls, shot back, "and so is West Side Story!"

"It's less boring with songs," the boy muttered, making most of the others laugh in agreement.

"Dude, Shakespeare isn't boring!" Emily's heretofore nemesis said, turning to look disgustedly at the poor boy behind him. "Not if you have a thought in your head, at any rate!"

"See," Kate preened, trying to catch Tom's eye as the other boy squirmed.

"It's just stuffy old men shouting made up words at each other," one of the suspected lazy kids argued.

"Not if you do it right!" Tom insisted.

Before Emily could think to move, he unfolded his body from beneath the little wooden desk and dropped to his knees on the floor directly in front of her and began speaking with dramatic flourish.

"Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom."

As a gasp went through the class, Tom yanked up his shirt to bare a chest more well defined than she would have imagined. Not, of course, that she had any business imagining anything at all. He thrust a pencil into her hand and held it against the naked skin, continuing his soliloquy:

"And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Take up the sword again, or take up me."

Emily stared, mouth gaping at the young man on his knees before her, pressing her hand to his flesh, and felt a wild urge to pull him up and kiss him senseless. The raw passion that he had infused his words with echoed in the room, impossible to miss. The lines had been rushed, and he stumbled once over the wording, but there was no faulting the fervor with which they were delivered.

After a moment of silent awe, the class erupted in spontaneous applause as he smirked and pulled himself to his feet, bringing Emily's hand to his mouth to kiss it in a ridiculous show of stage chivalry that made the class giggle but sent electricity coursing through her body. She snatched her hand back took a step away from him as he turned to bow to his cheering classmates.

"Was that Romeo?" one of the girls asked fatuously.

"No," he said disdainfully. "Romeo was a twat too stupid to think through a plan or trust his woman. That was Richard the Third."

"And does she take him?" the girl asked giggling.

"Oh, she does alright," he said with a wink. "Then he uses her to secure his kingdom, kills her, and moves on the next princess. But still, you can feel his seduction in the words."

Emily watched the girl struggle to come to terms with that information and felt a pang of sympathy for her. She had the sense that this was a man, a boy she reminded herself, who often had that effect on people.

"That was, er, quite the performance Mr. Martinsson," she attempted to wrench the class back. "And I agree, Shakespeare is far from boring. We will not, however, be reading Richard III right now. I thought we would start with something a bit more light. Much Ado About Nothing. Now, if you would all take out your books, I will assign parts."

"I'm afraid I don't have a book," it was Tom, of course. "We didn't move here in time for me to pick one up from the library."

"Very well, you can use mine," she sighed, glad she knew all the characters from memory.

Tom got up again, Emily wondered if he was capable of sitting still, and walked around her desk. He towered over her as he crossed behind her, and his arm casually and quite inappropriately draped around her shoulders as he passed. She twitched to dislodge him, and he shot her a guilty but hardly repentant grin in response.

"The book, Mr. Martinsson," Emily all but hissed.

"Thanks," he said, hand grazing over hers as he lifted the big tome and walked back to the desk.

"Now," she said, struggling to push down the effect he had had on her when standing so close in her space, "who wants to be Beatrice, the female lead?"

All of the female hands shot up instantly. She could hardly blame them. There was only one choice to read Benedick, and everyone knew it. Briefly she considered casting him as Claudio, or better yet, Dogberry, just to spite them all. For some reason the thought of him flirting in verse with one of these cloying little girls made her irritable. For better or worse though, her love of the play won out over her misplaced jealousy. Tom was Benedick, and Jamie, a quiet, studious girl Emily liked on sight was Beatrice. A ripple of resentment made Jamie shrink back a bit, but Emily still thought she was pleased with being cast. Who wouldn't be?

"Mr. Martinsson," Emily said as the closing bell rang, signaling the end of the class and the day, "please stay behind. I would like a word with you."

Rather than looking at all put out, Tom's face broke into that smug smile she were beginning to realize was a habitual look for him. She waited for the mob of loitering girls to finally take the hint and reluctantly leave before shutting the door behind him and turning to see him perched on the edge of her desk.

"I was hoping you'd keep me," he said confidently. "I thought you might."

"Yes well," Emily found her mouth was dry and suddenly regretted closing the door. It would look foolish to open it again though, so she tried to pull herself together. "I think we need to talk about your behavior."

"My behavior?" he asked, looking amused.

"Yes, it was highly inappropriate for class," she scolded.

"What was? My pointing out that you were attractive?"

"Among other things. Flirting with me, kissing my hand," somehow when she listed his crimes they didn't sound nearly as bad as they had seemed at the time. If any other student had acted in such a way, she realized, she would have laughed it off and set them in their place. It was only because it was him, so attractive and utterly beyond her touch, that it was a problem.

"I apologize if I embarrassed you," he said, which wasn't really the point. "But you must know that you are very attractive. Very desirable. I would have to be blind not to notice it."

"Tom - I just said -"

"That it was inappropriate for class. We're not in class now. And you can't tell me you're not attracted to me as well. I can tell."

"That's not the point. You are a student. A child."

"I'm 18 last week," he corrected, sounding offended. "And you can't be older than 25. That's hardly enough of a difference to matter."

"There are plenty of attractive girls your own age," she said, hating them all.

"Stupid, vapid girls," he muttered.

"I'm your teacher," she said again, wondering who she was trying to convince.

"Then you don't want me to kiss you?" he asked, hopping off the desk and suddenly standing very close and towering over her.

"It's not appropriate," Emily gulped out, repeating herself.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Look, I'm not saying you're not attractive," she licked her lips and struggled to keep her thoughts together as he took another step towards he.

"You think I'm attractive?"

"You know you are, that is not the point."

"And what is the point?"

"The point is, it's wrong!"

"The point is, you want me to kiss you."

"Tom. Mr. Martinsson -"

"Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me, and I'll stop."

His hand had circled around her and was somehow at the back of her neck, forcing her to look up at him. He was enveloping her. His scent, his body heat, his bright, accented eyes, all clouded her mind and made it hard to think. His head was moving towards hers, and she knew it would be a kiss to make her toes curl.

"You're wrong," Emily gasped, closing her eyes and waiting for his lips to meet hers.

"Liar," he whispered, a mere breath away from her lips.

Dropping his hand, Tom stepped away and smiled down at her with something close to scorn in his eyes.

"I expected more from you," he told her. "I hope next time you can be honest with us both."

As she struggled to return her breathing to normal, he turned and walked out of the classroom, leaving Emily reeling.

***

"How'd it go?" his director Jonesy asked him again, making his teeth clench.

"As I said," he repeated. "Just the never ending tedium of high school. God, the U.S. version is even worse than ours was!"

"Beginning to regret asking for this?" Jonesy chuckled.

Tom considered it. He had been excited when he was cast in the new film being directed by an up and coming indie director. He was young, and what few jobs he had been given had been in period pieces of the waistcoat and ascot variety. Playing a troubled teenager in a gritty coming of age story was not something he wanted to let pass him by.

Still, considering that his own education had been at the posh British public school of Eton, proverbial School of Kings, he had been feeling ill prepared for the role. To rectify the problem, he had asked to be placed in an American school for a month. The first day had certainly been an eyeopener, that was certain.

"No," he said. "Regretting the homework though."

"I thought you were supposed to be a troubled kid," Jonesy laughed. "Blow it off!"

He agreed with a laugh, but knew it wasn't quite true. There was one assignment he planned to do to the best of his ability. Shakespeare deserved no less, and neither did she. Miss Temple of the lovely legs and expressive eyes.

He had thought her a student at first, and was disgusted with himself for how attracted he was to her. The pretty skirt was just short enough to show her knee, and the blouse hinted at enticing curves that he couldn't help noticing. When he realized she was in fact the teacher, and a Shakespeare teacher at that, he couldn't resist. He was supposed to be a dramatic kid, very well. He would use it to his advantage. It had almost killed him to flub the line near the end, but he didn't want to show his hand as an actor on the first day and ruin all the work the studio had done to arrange this for him.

He hadn't really expected her to respond to him. When she did, even though she tried to fight it, he could feel the electricity. He had not been so drawn to a woman in ages. Damn the stupid disguise!

He had wanted to kiss her desperately. Added a year to the age he was meant to be playing in an attempt to convince her it was not the worst idea in the world. He knew she had wanted it too. It was only his strict code that had made him pull back at the last minute. She said no, even if they both knew she didn't mean it. Very well, he would just have to try harder next time. It would lend some excitement to what had so far been a less than thrilling assignment. He would learn about American high school life, and she would be his sweet reward. It was only a matter of time.

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston rpf #Young!Tom Hiddleston #YoungActor!Tom #teacher/student #but not really #he is in disguise for a role #eventual smut #fluff #angst #forbidden relationship #shameless flirting #Tom does not play fair #dream inspired

[bitchapalooza]

More hetalia highschool AU, 🌟magic team🌟 edition :)

Under the cut bc it is long ❤️

Vladimir is that one kid obsessed with Twilight but only for the vampires; it was his first ever exposure to vampires thanks to his dad thinking Twilight was an appropriate book for a 11 year old. Team Edward going strong for five years, he'd proudly declare like it actually mattered. He tries his best to dress goth at school even though his uniform gets in the way. Fake ear piercings(his parents won't let him pierce them yet), over the top makeup, he's dyed the top half of his shoes black because his parents were concerned about his obsession with black and wouldn't buy him the black tennies he wanted— "mom look, these are marked down for back to school! Can I pleeeease get them???" "....may I know why the black ones specifically?" "They match the ever nothingness of my soul." "Yep! The white ones it is then!" "Mooooooooooom!"— Vladimir has been dubbed the cringy vampire kid of course.

Lukas is into pretty much anything concerning cryptids and magical creatures because they can't be proven to be fake or real, which intrigues him. He carries a book about mushrooms at all times and info dumps on pretty much anyone about identifying poisonous mushrooms and which mushrooms are safe to eat. His backpack is covered in buttons and pins to show off his interests. He keeps an amethyst in the front pocket of his backpack, reason unknown other than to just randomly pull it out and let Mikkel look at it. He's that kid that always wears his hoodie no matter the season, he never takes it off. Under his hoodie is always a crude worded t-shirt that the school would not approve of, much less his parents. He's relatively quiet and because he's quiet he's considered a weird kid.

Arthur can't decide if punk is his style or if goth is. Either way, his way of self expression at school in addition to the uniform is horrible. Checkered black/red shoes his grandma got him with his older brother's hand me down worn out greying socks—"can I PLEASE just have my own clothes???" "we have perfectly good clothes for you in the garage! I can fix them up to fit you better and everything!" "but I want cool NEW clothes!" "those are cool clothes and as far as the other kids know, they're also new. Now get your transformer backpack and get to the car. I put a new patch on it last night so that should hold it for the rest of the year."— Old Pierce the veil shirt, with holes chewed into the collar from his older brother Dillan, peeking out from under his white polo. A black and red choker to match his black and red slowly tearing apart too big flannel on top of a black pull over. A deep blue beanie, the hoodie of his pull over almost constantly on top when outside the school. He dyes a part of his hair a different color every month. He spikes his hair using too much gel and is convinced he looks good. He talks too much about bands and always gets Vlad and Lukas going on and on about fictional creatures he does not FULLY believe in himself. He does, however, believe in magic and loves Harry Potter, more specifically the Weaselys, to bits.

Natalya is a sophomore, a year behind the boys, and she just kinda pushed her way into the friend group until they eventually accepted her into it. They were the only three she knew who liked occult related topics. She's on the baseball team because she wanted an excuse to hit things with another thing and NOT get detention because of it. She wears the khaki uniform skirt and takes full advantage over being able to wear any kind of tights underneath; skull pattern, plain black, blood splatter pattern, fire pattern. Anything that makes her feel like a badass. She's always talking about antiques and forging weapons, more specifically knives. She has a whole collection of fidget toys but her favorite is this pea pod keychain her father gave her. She's always talking about how she'd like to be a medical examiner and to just prove that she's serious, she'll bring up a picture of a human model and point out the difference between a self inflicted fatal wound and a homicide. She puts up a charade of being able to see and talk to ghosts to freak out Alfred, her extended friend first met through Tolys.

They collectively believe they're cool and that other people know this. They're genuinely blind to the obvious snickers sent their way, being called losers and nerds. They're really knowm for like really pathetic things like; Natalya is Ivan's, tallest and most intimidating member of the wrestling team, weird younger sister by a year. Lukas is just the weird quiet kid that reads by the courtyard garden during lunch. Vladimir is not only the vampire goth kid but the kid who's parents believe the teachers are giving his son low grades on purpose and will yell at them for it. And Arthur is just. He's another Kirkland, immediately assumed to be a massive trouble maker because of his now graduated brother Alistair and one grade above him brother Dillan. Everyone loved his eldest brother Darick and sometimes compare him to Darick.

Compared to what others THINK they do, such as witch craft for some odd reason, the four of them do pretty typical teen activities. Like hang out at the mall. Do their honework together. Play video games and D&D when they have the chance. The boys do have sleepovers still as they have since meeting each other in middle school, Nat not really being a fan of sleeping where she doesn't live but comfortable enough to go to their houses and just chill for the day. They have become friends because of their related interests but thats not what they're ALL ABOUT.

Fun facts/stories about these losers I thought about while bored as fuck:

• Lukas, in his freshman year, went on a nature hike field trip with his lit class after reading Into The Wild. And he brought his mushroom book of course. They walked around, looking at the sights, talked about the book. Lukas just stops at one point, falling behind the class. He picks up a mushroom, goes to the teacher and is like "You see this? Its not poisonous." And straight up fucking eats it without warning. The teacher called an ambulance even though Lukas kept telling him he was fine and that that mushroom was 100% okay to eat raw, but for sure better off cooked. Lukas calmly shows the paramedics his book and they're like "yeah that actually was safe to eat, we don't need the book to confirm that, but um. Please don't ever pick something off the ground and eat it again. Just. Please don't do that, son." .....he did it again before leaving to go back to school but this time he didn't tell anyone.

• In elementary school, Natalya brought in a model of the human brain she asked her dad to borrow. He had to say yes because she was his only child genuinely interested, not bored of, his medical profession and he found it very cute and honoring. So she's at show and tell, its her turn right, and she silently goes up to the front of the class and pulls out the model brain. Teacher tries to step in because, hey, these are 6 year olds—AND WHY DOES THIS 6 YEAR OLD HAVE A PLASTIC BRAIN??? But Nat just shooshes her. In surprised shock, the teacher is just quiet as Nat begins to explain parts of the brain and their function— which was all wrong actually. She knew the words and everything but she didn't get the locations right. She sounded confident and smart and she was telling this to a bunch of 6 year olds so they believed her of course. End of the school day, her dad is having a hilarious conference with his youngest's teacher about the brain incident.

• Vladimir loves reading. He's loved it since he began to learn how, even if his dyslexia gives him grief along the way. So since he loves to read he'll always get excited and read ahead in class or in the public library reading club. One summer, the reading club was reading The Giver and it was getting really good. Vlad was loving the story, so much so that Vlad began to read ahead in his own time when he really wasn't supposed to be, the club was reading it together out loud and discussing it. Now he's read enough and worked hard enough to figure out how to help himself focus better and understand each word and sentence without having to reread it all multiple times over or get stuck. But sometimes the meaning and context to what he's reading doesn't ALWAYS process with the words as he's too focused on reading the words right and it passes right over his head. So Vlad is reading ahead and he's getting to the part where The Giver has given Jonas the memory of the sled again. And Vlad just sits there after reading that paragraph. He rereads it. And rereads it again. And then he leaves his book on his bed, goes to the the hall closet and takes out the ironing board. He grabs a plastic container to use as an ill attempt of a helmet and he just. Rockets down the staircase and hits the wall. He screams and cries and his parents rush in from the livingroom. When asked what happened he just says "I wanted to understand the sled scene better! Now I do and I feel really bad for Jonas!" He just couldn't quite grasp WHY the sled accident hurt, never had a broken bone nor sled afterall, and needed to find out. And that's how Vlad got his first broken arm at the age of 12.

• When Alfred and Matthew moved in with Arthur's family, Arthur didn't like it. He was a moody young teen but he was also just tired of the full house. His cousins were loud and nosey. He had to share a room with his four older brothers already and now with Matthew while Kathleen and Alfred got a room to themselves. Arthur thought this was so unfair. So his solution was to run away. He was 13, he needed a place to have some peace and quiet for once. So he texts Francis and Lukas, the only two of his friends living in his neighnorhood. Francis is not on board with helping him run away at first but then Lukas brings literally all his camping gear for Arthur's use and then Francis is on board because he had the feeling Arthur was going to get himself killed somehow. So as the elder one of the group he accompanied Arthur and Lukas out to the short stretch of woods behind the last street of their neighborhood, intending to go to the big clearing before hitting the roads leading to the airport and whatever else buildings. They're out there setting everything up together and they're done by like 4 pm. They sit down and talk, munch on oreos and other snacks Arthur deemed as essential survival foods. Then Francis looks at his cell and remarks "wow its already 6! Ah, Lukas, we should get home. Afterall, neither of us ran away so we still have supper to eat. Come on Lukas, let's go before our parents come looking for us." They exchange goodbyes, Francis trying his best to hide his cocky smirk. So Lukas and Francis start walking off, Arthur crawls into the tent and eats half a cookie before frowning and feeling too alone. He didn't expect to feel alone because all he wanted was to BE ALONE. Before he knows it, he's running out of the tent yelling after his friends to stop and wait up. "Oh whats wrong, Arthur? I thought you wanted to run away." "I— I forgot I hadn't fed my rabbit is all! I'll run away tomorrow! I'm not... Feeling lonely if.. If that's what you think...." Arthur did not run away the next day. Buuuuuut the three plus Vlad made a tree house together in the Kirkland backyard that they still use today!

#if you thought these four would be cool kids in this au then you thought wrong #hetalia #hetalia au #hetalia england #hetalia belarus #hetalia norway #hetalia romania #hetalia magic team #there should be more content of the magic losers + belarus tbh magic team is a bad group name but so fits their collective vibes so well

[kisskissbanggang]

What You Don’t Know

[15Min Read/4.5K Words - College AU - Jisung x Female Reader - NSFW/Smut, 1/3 Plot - Femdom, Dom/Sub, Finding Kinks, Hair Pulling, Sub Awakening, Drinking Buddies, Friends to Lovers(?)]

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It's not like you hated Jisung when you met him. It wasn't like you liked him, either. Really, you didn't anything Jisung the first time your friends invited their new roommate out for drinks. All Minho had mentioned was he was a bit of a nerd and a bit of an introvert, but he definitely didn't seem that way when you got to the bar after work. Jisung was slamming a shot with your friends and laughing in only the way you can when it's not your first of the night, and you were already vastly indifferent to him. 

The only person who showed any extraneous interest in him was Stephanie, the group’s very own groupie. She'd slept her way through their whole house, starting with Felix back when they still lived in the dorms, and now they could never really shake her. Stephanie was fine, she was pretty and smart, but she didn't bring much else to the table and she certainly never made any efforts of her own to become friends with you as the guys suggested you try yourself at multiple points. Lately, she'd had her eyes set once again on her original goal: Chan, the name on the house’s lease and the first of them to graduate -- but to perpetually no avail. You had to applaud the arrogance in such a venture. Chan would be too busy with work for the foreseeable future to humor a girl like Stephanie, but she tried nonetheless. 

Until Jisung moved in. Now she had her sights set on him, and none of the guys interfered as this near rite of passage took place. Presently, she was sitting hip to hip with him in the booth, completely oblivious to his discomfort and trying hard to crack through his inhibitions enough to do anything resembling flirting. You and Minho had simply watched, amused, judging from the other side of the booth and sipping your drinks. 

What wasn't nearly as amusing was catching sight of your professor's new TA when you walked into the first class of your last college course. Jisung definitely made eye contact with you, but froze in a way that convinced you that he either didn't remember your name or desperately didn't want to socialize with you, both options suiting you just fine. Jisung didn’t say anything during class, he barely interacted with students, and he mostly kept to himself as Professor Brown droned. 

For the first three days. 

Finally, once Friday hit, the boys invited you back to the bar and you knew you shouldn't be surprised to see Jisung there. You and Minho watched as Stephanie tried and tried and tried to get Jisung to dance with her, until she finally gave up and cajoled Felix into doing it. And, once Minho left to get you a second round, you found yourself sitting next to the mousiest, quietest boy you’d ever met. That stumped you, seeing as he was just fine with the guys. You didn't feel jealous because, of course, you didn’t anything Jisung since you knew next to nothing about him, but it was interesting to watch him switch gears from friends to strangers. 

“I liked your outline.”

“What?” You asked, whipping your head around to find Jisung quickly averting his gaze back into his beer. He coughed up a little more confidence. 

“I liked your outline that you turned in.”

You blinked, impressed that he could actually make a move to just be nice to you. “Thanks,” you smiled genuinely, “it’s something I've been thinking of writing for the last year or so.”

“I look forward to reading your draft,” he said with a small grin. You were able to prod him after that, really pick his brain over the better parts of your outline and how to best represent that in your draft. “So,” he began one more beer later, now much more loosened up and relaxing back into the booth seat, “how do you even know these guys?”

“I met Chan in sophomore year,” you thought back, “and we almost got together, but you know Chan. He’s too busy for anything, even then he still was.” Jisung choked on his beer for a second but motioned for you to continue despite his quiet coughing. “So Chan and I are friends, and I sort of just became friends with everyone else, but especially Minho.”

“They’re good guys,” Jisung nodded into his drink. 

“What about you? You just moved in but aren’t you graduating soon, too? How does that work?”

Jisung shrugged. “Tired of the campus apartments and finally had enough money to move out. It’s like a nice transition from college to the real world.”

“So you're enjoying it?”

“Yeah,” Jisung smiled his small smile as he looked at you, “I'm loving living off campus. And it’s great opening up my circle of friends.”

Becoming friends with Jisung was incredibly easy. So now you liked Jisung, but not much else. He was friendly now to the point of occasional annoyance, but who didn’t have their moments? He waved hello during class and would sometimes hand you back assignments with little non sequiturs or drawings scribbled on post-its stuck to the back. Every once in a while, he could be convinced to hang out in the cafe on campus if you caught him walking by. 

It was really easy to be friends with Jisung, until Stephanie decided she was tired of just being friends and wanted to begin her conquest. Now you had to deal with her tagging along everywhere, constantly cooing over Jisung and dressing him up and parading him around. The first time he showed up to the bar with a scarf, you knew better. It was March. You stood up, grandly asking the boys to give you their attention as you made Jisung face you in all his confusion until you whipped his scarf off, revealing a giant hickey the hue of black cherries. The boys all groaned in unison and proceeded to razz Jisung for joining their de facto club all night until, of course, Stephanie showed up. You and Minho grimaced as the night went on and, sure enough, three beers later Stephanie had climbed into Jisung’s lap in the booth and proceeded to make out for twenty minutes. 

You weren’t jealous, of course. You just missed when Stephanie wouldn’t constantly be around. She didn’t even really know how to be with Jisung. Every time he reached his arm under hers to hold her hand, she shuffled him around to put his arm around her shoulder. Every time he went to kiss her cheek, she insisted that he kiss her lips. She was always getting him to hold her by the hips or waist when they were out at the bar or at parties, but he always seemed so compliant, so bored, so underutilized. 

One night at your usual booth, you were squished in between Minho and Jisung, fighting with Min over how you were very much a switch, and he was a liar for insisting he wasn't as well. 

“I’m a bottom,” Minho shook his head defiantly. 

“No, you’re not! What about the cute guy from your art class in sophomore year?”

“A phase,” he shrugged. 

“What about the tall girl from the volleyball team last summer?”

“A different phase,” he insisted. 

“You’re a liar and a fiend,” you laughed. “You’re a switch through and through.”

“What’s a switch?” Came Jisung from your other shoulder. 

“What?”

“What's a switch?” He laughed, practically pushing off Stephanie who was still trying to steal all his attention. 

“You know,” you searched for the words in the bottom of your beer, “there’s tops, and bottoms, and switches. Where they can be either.”

“Well Jisung is absolutely a top,” Stephanie insisted, stunned as you laughed out loud. 

“Jisung?! A top?!” 

“Babe,” Minho jokingly warned behind you, trying to calm you down before you got too rowdy. You patted his hand off of you. 

“Jisung is not a top,” you shook your head firmly. “Jisung is a switch, too, and a total sub to boot.”

“Oh, come on!” Jisung laughed boisterously, “And a sub?!” 

“Jisung is not a sub,” Stephanie whined. 

“You’re too busy telling him what to do to notice,” you guffawed, “Jisung is a sub. Watch.”

You curiously watched your own hand move before you even thought, outside yourself as your fingers ran up the back of Jisung’s neck and into his hair to firmly grip him at the root before manhandling him around to look into your eyes as he leaned into you. And you would've been mortified that you made such a rash decision, if Jisung didn’t compound this whole thing by his surprised yelp coming out sounding a lot more like a moan. His bright eyes drank you in as you both sat in the booth, your fingers still tangled in his hair until Minho grabbed your hand. 

“Beer,” Minho grumbled behind you. 

“Beer?”

“Beer, come get more beer with me.” Minho tugged you out of the booth and right into Chan as he finally entered the bar, his work bag still slung over his shoulder. 

“Hey!” He smiled wide as he clapped a hand on Minho’s shoulder. Chan looked at you now, eyebrow raised as he noticed something. “You’re red. What happened?”

“Caligula here just dommed Jisung in the fucking booth, in front of Stephanie.”

Chan blinked and he immediately grabbed your hand. “That’s not great. That means it’s time to get you home.”

You stubbornly shook your head, “No, no no, you just got here.”

“Good. I'll take you home before I start drinking.”

Chan marched you out and expectantly held open the door of his dumpy little commuter car, waiting for you to give up and get in. 

“So you did what now?” He asked as he revved the engine. 

“I don't know!” You insisted. “I was just playing around but I, you know, pulled Jisung’s hair.”

“Hot,” Chan smirked, “but I'm sure Stephanie hates you now.”

“Oh,” you rolled your eyes, “like she didn’t already.” 

“She doesn’t, but you and Jisung are just friends, and you’ve been known to make trouble like this.”

“That was one time!”

“Yes,” Chan nodded exaggeratedly, “and we almost slept together.”

You slouched in the passenger seat, watching streetlights as they passed overhead. 

“You’re right, of course.” Chan remarked offhandedly. 

“What?”

“Jisung is such a sub.”

It was pretty easy to avoid Jisung outside of class, but you did, admittedly, miss him. You kind of missed talking about movies, or sitting and watching dumb videos online, or sharing music back and forth. You sort of missed how he brought you snacks and complimented your outfits and always tried to mind your feelings even when he was critiquing your work. So it sort of sucked when Minho asked you to run to the house before coming to the bar because he forgot his wallet. 

You prayed and prayed and prayed that Jisung was already at the bar, but of course he was the one to open the door. 

“Hey,” he greeted awkwardly.

“Hey,” you stiffly returned his nod, “Minho forgot his wallet.”

Jisung stepped aside to let you into the old house, and was a couple steps behind you as you made your way up the creaky stairs. “Following me?” You laughed. 

“Oh, excuse me,” Jisung giggled, “I’m just trying to get back to my room to finish cleaning.”

“You? Cleaning? Lies.”

Jisung jokingly scoffed and passed you to head into the door opposite Minho’s. You set about looking for the lost wallet, finally finding it having fallen off his nightstand and almost under the bed. You stood up, dusting yourself off and cracking your back before you turned, gasping to see Jisung in the doorway. 

“Is it dumb if I say I missed you?” He admitted, almost shy with his small smile. 

You jokingly gasped. “How dare you have emotions?”

“Because I did,” he shrugged. “I've missed you. Just thought you should know.”

“Oh, Jisung,” you grinned affectionately, “I missed you, too. Hurry up with your cleaning and we can go to the bar together.” You squeezed his hand as you passed him in the doorway, taking a quick second to toss your arms around his shoulders and give him a quick hug. 

The hug lingered, just a beat longer than usual to not surprise you when you noticed Jisung breathing you in from the crook of your neck. You let yourself pet his hair for a moment before you began to pull away, but Jisung caught you, his hand snaking back to yours on his hair. Even as he stood a little taller than you, Jisung’s eyes were bright as they silently implored you, and you couldn’t keep resisting the curious urge you were feeling. 

Your fingers wove into Jisung’s hair, letting him feel everything before you firmly gripped him by the root again and pulled him in, making him have to hold back where he was, leaning in from the door frame and his lips hovering moments away from yours. And then you came back to your senses. 

“Wait,” you croaked, quickly relinquishing him and dipping away, “wait wait wait, I’m sorry, this is great, I want to, but Stephanie -- and you know -- I’ll see you at the bar.”

You spun on your heel to get downstairs and get the hell out, wishing more than anything your racing heart would calm down. 

“I broke up with Stephanie on Tuesday,” Jisung piped up behind you. 

“What?” You stopped in your tracks, your hand still on the railing. 

“I said I broke up with Stephanie on Tuesday.”

You slowly turned to look at Jisung at the top of the stairs. “No one ‘breaks up’ with Stephanie.”

Jisung sighed defeatedly. “I know. I told her I don’t want to fool around anymore and then she said whatever and implied I don’t know how to use my dick.”

“So you chased off Stephanie on Tuesday, but you didn’t tell me?”

“No. None of the guys know. I mean, except for Minho. Stephanie is fine, she’s pretty but talking to her is like trying to make a bonfire out of toothpicks.”

You stared at Jisung’s obliviousness. “You chased off Stephanie on Tuesday,” you emphasized, “and you didn’t tell me?”

Jisung shook his head, big eyes still curiously watching for your reaction, and widening as you stormed back up the stairs. You picked up right where you left off, only now hopping up to wrap your legs around his waist as you tangled your fingers back into his hair and finally kissed him. 

“Should I have told you?” He meekly chuckled against your lips. 

“You should've told me. Bedroom, now.”

“Bedroom? Why the --”

“Bedroom or else I'm going to fuck you right here in the hallway.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Jisung fell back against his bedroom door with you in tow, your fingers gently tugging on his hair as you kissed him hard. Your tongue provoked his own to respond in kind, Jisung hungrily licking into your mouth and his moans sounding more like whines in your ear. He pushed open the bedroom door, sending you both stumbling in as he carried you to bed. You were set down softly and you caught your breath for a moment. You briefly took in the sight of Jisung’s side of the room, smirking at the piles of books and CD’s heavily contrasting with Felix’s much tidier side. 

“This is clean?”

“Well,” Jisung floundered despite (or in light of) your devilish grin, “it’s cleaner.”

Jisung leaned down to join you in bed before you pushed him back off of you. He stood up straight and waited, patiently wondering what you were up to. 

“Strip.”

“What?” 

“Don't pretend like you didn’t hear me,” you laughed, “take off something, and I’ll do the same. Got it?”

Jisung nodded, eyes wide again for a moment before he decided to first kick off his shoes and socks, waiting to see if you followed through. He watched intently as you did the same. Next, he looked you both over before sliding off his jacket and letting it drop to the floor. His Adam's apple bobbed as you did this as well, dropping your jacket off the side of the bed. You watched as Jisung openly switched between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of his jeans, unable to decide just what to do here before settling on his shirt. It was nice seeing him like this, not seeing his body like this for the first time in bed, but playing around in the dimly warm light of his bedroom. His chest was smooth, not sculpted but still defined, and the faint lines of his hips leading your eyes down to his jeans before you remembered how the game was supposed to work and to slip your top off as well. Jisung watched, caught up in the way you undressed, in the way you looked as you unclipped your bra for him and dropped that off the side of the bed, too. He gulped, almost comically, before he unbuttoned his jeans and dropped them. You didn’t hide how you stared at the growing bulge tenting his briefs as you unbuttoned and slid off your jeans as well. Jisung’s fingers wavered as he went to tug his underwear down over his erection, standing tall and blushing against his neatly trimmed hair. You crooked a finger to him, beckoning him closer as he stood naked before you in the room. 

“You do this part,” you smiled sweetly, laying back on his bed. Jisung nodded and leaned down to slide his warm hands up your thighs and pull your panties down. You gently cupped his face before you couldn't resist tugging on his hair again, loving the soft whines it made him produce, how it made him wince and shiver just a little when you were less intense. Your lips met again as you brazenly reached for Jisung’s rigid cock, massaging his length in your hand as you finally pulled him into bed with you. “So you’re already plenty good at listening,” you teased, “what else are you good at?”

“Whatever you want me to be,” Jisung smiled breathlessly. 

“What did I tell you,” you giggled, “you’re such a sub. Now lie down and call me ma’am again.”

“Yes ma'am.” Jisung eagerly lay down beside you, surprised yet again as you climbed on top of him, the heat of your bodies enough to blanket you in his cozy bedroom. You softly kissed his lips and he watched patiently, obediently, as you kissed his forehead next and moved up to ultimately perch yourself on his chest, your exposed pussy on full display in front of his parted lips. A smirk preceded you pushing Jisung’s head back as he instinctively leaned forward to lick you. 

“Ask first,” you gently warned him. 

Jisung licked his lips, his throat dry from how much he’d already whined for you. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I lick your pussy?” 

“I don’t know,” you cracked a mean smile, “can you?”

Jisung threw his head back in the pillow with a laugh. “Come on, please, may I lick your pussy?”

“Yes, baby, lick my pussy.” 

“Yes ma'am.” You stroked your fingers into Jisung’s hair as he closed his eyes and dove into your glistening folds. He more than deserved some encouragement from just how eager he was, moaning as he tasted you and laved at your clit. In fact, he was good enough that you predicted you would have to be careful to not cum too fast. You lightly pulled Jisung off of you, standing up over him and giving him quite the view as you turned around to reposition yourself to face his feet instead. “May I continue?” Jisung breathed, and you were impressed. He just wanted to please you and play by your rules. You couldn’t see a disobedient bone in his body, and if he had one he didn’t give any hints of it. 

“Yes, baby, you can continue.”

Jisung hummed contentedly as he began licking you again, his hands pulling at your thighs as he moaned against your pussy. He jumped as your hand closed around his hard cock again, lightly stroking his length that had the smallest curve upwards. His moans against your clit drove you wild, and it provoked you to stroke him harder until you could hardly stand it. You finally dipped his length into your mouth, stroking his cock as you sucked on him as well. Jisung apparently couldn't control his small thrusts into your mouth until you spanked his thigh to calm him down, and his hushed whimpers were an amazing undercurrent to the room. The faint taste of precum was coating your tongue. All of it -- Jisung’s licking, his whines, his cock in your mouth -- was serving to create an orgasm that you refused to have yet. You dipped Jisung’s hard length deeper into your mouth, almost into your throat, and loving how he had to stop licking you for a moment from the force of his moan before you rolled off of him. 

The both of you caught your breath for a second, chests heaving as Jisung absently reached his hand under yours to interlace your fingers together. You smiled softly, leaving over to kiss his brow. 

“Are you good to keep going?” You asked quietly, almost proud of Jisung’s eager nod. You climbed back on top of him, the entrance of your pussy set right on the head of Jisung’s cock. You could've sworn Jisung held his breath as you firmly mounted him and took his length inside you. He watched, rapt as you took your time rocking your hips on his. “Why aren't you touching me?” You teasingly purred. 

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” Jisung rasped, and quickly set to stroking your clit while intermittently fondling your breasts as you rode him. 

“Is it good, baby?”

“So good,” Jisung choked out between moans. 

“Be grateful,” you gently reminded him. 

“Thank you, ma'am,” Jisung whimpered as your tight depths massaged his length, “thank you for letting me fuck you.”

“Of course,” you smiled warmly. “Now do you think you can make me cum?”

Jisung let out a loud groan at your words, his thumb on your clit becoming a little more earnest. 

“Say it,” you lightly chided as you pinched his hand currently on your tit. You lit up at his small yelp from the pain. 

“Yes ma'am,” Jisung struggled. 

“Louder,” you encouraged. 

“Yes ma'am!” Jisung moaned louder now, his hips now also rolling along with yours to drive his length harder against your spot. 

“Good, baby. Now remember it’s not your turn yet, alright?”

“Yes ma'am,” Jisung groaned, fully wrecked by now as your moans grew a bit more desperate. 

“Fuck me, Jisung,” you mewled, “fuck me and make me cum.”

“Yes ma'am,” Jisung breathed, his other hand now holding onto your thigh as he bounced you hard on his cock in tandem with his stroking thumb. He watched, enraptured, as you threw your head back and came with a cry, your pussy clenching and shuddering around his throbbing cock. 

You took a moment to breathe and come back to earth, the thin sheen of sweat on your brow likely matching Jisung’s as you collapsed onto his chest. “Ready to keep going?” You panted. 

“Are you?” Jisung chuckled. “You just orgasmed, after all.”

“That’s when it’s best,” you assured him with a grin as you absently stroked his chin. “You’re doing so good. I feel so good. I need you to finish.”

“Yes ma'am,” Jisung nodded gravely. “How do you want me?”

You leaned over to kiss his cheek as you reached for his hand and pulled him over to face you, ultimately pulling him up and between your legs on the bed. “What a quick learner,” you praised, “you’re so well-behaved. Now fuck me. I bet you're cute when you cum.”

Jisung shivered at the condescension as he buried his leaking cock inside you. He already filled you out so well, so satisfyingly, but you wanted to see how far he could be pushed. 

“Come on,” you taunted, “don’t be afraid to get a good angle. Actually fuck me.”

“Yes ma'am,” Jisung groaned, invigorated to hoist one of your legs up to drive into you deeper. Actually, after a few thrusts like this, Jisung paused, grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed, and gently manhandled you to slide it under your ass. With this improved angle, Jisung got your leg back up and easily slid back inside you, the proudest grin on his exhausted face as you cried out and gripped the sheets from the way he filled you up now. In fact, he was hitting your spot in a way you hadn’t encountered much, in a way that could maybe make you cum again if you weren’t so worn out. “Please ma'am,” Jisung begged sweetly, “may I cum?”

“Yes, baby,” you pleaded, “please cum.”

“Yes ma'am--!” Jisung grunted out a strangled groan as he clutched onto you, bucking hard into you and screwing his eyes shut as he came. 

It was Jisung’s turn to collapse onto you and suck in lungfuls of air, his cock still throbbing deep inside you with your legs finally easing back against the bed as you held him close. 

“That was so good,” you softly praised, kissing the top of his head where he lay on top of you. “Have you ever done anything like that before?”

“Never,” Jisung exhaled a chuckle onto your chest, his breath lightly tickling your skin. “Never eaten pussy before, either.”

“What?!” You blurted. “You had me fooled. Was it good?”

“So good,” Jisung laughed softly against you. “You taste amazing.”

“And how was it? Letting someone have control?”

“Everything I didn’t realize I'd been daydreaming about for years. I expected you to be rougher, honestly.”

“You should take it slow,” you shook your head. “Besides, there's always next time.”

“Next time?”

You patted Jisung's shoulder to signal you wanted to sit up and he let you, rolling onto your side. “Yeah, next time. If that’s what you want?”

“Of course I do,” Jisung smiled giddily as he finally rolled out of bed to get dressed again. He threw you your jacket and clothes. “By the way, jog my memory: what did you originally come here for anyway?”

“Minho’s wallet,” you shrugged, pulling it out of your jacket pocket to show him. Jisung blinked hard at it. 

“That’s not Minho’s wallet.”

“It isn't?”

“Not his new one, anyway. I saw him put his new one in his pocket on his way out to the bar.”

You thought hard about it before sighing out a laugh. “He's waiting for me to say something, then. Do me a favor and don't mention this at all when we go to the bar.”

Jisung cracked a sly grin for you. “Yes ma'am.”

#skzsmutnet #kprose-net #han jisung x reader #han jisung x you #stray kids fanfiction #han jisung #stray kids jisung #SO UH. this is my first 24 hour turnaround #like created the doc and posted #GO ME

[bittywitches]

How do you think Grayson would act when meeting your younger sibling (like toddler)?

This is such a cute concept ok I wrote this with the thought of like,, 17 year old y/n and Grayson and 6 year old sister

I think before he’d even end up meeting her he’d be so nervous? Like of course he’s excited but he has so many hopes for when he meets her and he’s scared it’s not gonna go how he’s imagining it

You guys are still so young, you both met and became friends as freshmen, and only started dating at the end of sophomore year, but you already knew how much of a baby fanatic he is. He’d mentioned how excited he was to have a kid of his own, and he was always just so fun and loveable around kids. There’s been a few times where you’d gone to the elementary school nearby to volunteer, and Grayson had become best friends with almost every kid in the class you were helping with. It was easy, the kids were naturally attracted to him, and he was just so soft and tender with them. It made your heart swell, sometimes making you think about what it’d be like to have kids of your own with him someday... but you’d of course get embarrassed as soon as the though entered your mind.

Either way, it was safe to say that you were confident that your sister Oviya and your boyfriend would get along.

He, however, was incredibly frantic on the trip over, you having to drive because you didn’t trust him to with his bundle of nerves.

“But what if she doesn’t like me?”

“For the billionth time Gray, she’s going to love you.”

“How do you know? There’s a very big chance she’s gonna hate my guts.”

“You do know she’s a six-year old girl and not a high school cheerleader, right?”

“Y/N seriously! What am I gonna do if she doesn’t like me?” He looks away from the street his eyes have been following and looks at you. “I’m literally already in love with her, she’s the cutest thing ever all the photos you’ve shown me are so adorable and I just want to hug her and be best friendsss” He whines, falling back into the car seat as he brings his hands up to rub his face. “And oh my god that photo you showed me of her in that little blue dress and tiara? The one from her birthday? UGH-” He claps a hand onto his chest and clutches his shirt, groaning. “She owns my heart babe I will be BROKEN if she doesn’t like me, do you hear me? BROKEN!” 

You can’t help but try and stifle a laugh, trying to shield your giggles from him as you turn into your street.

He scoffs. “I can’t believe you find this funny.”

“I’m sorry but it is!” You shake your head. “Besides I told you already, it’s not like this is the first first time she’s meeting you, she’s talked to you on the phone before and she loved you then!”

“That doesn’t count.” He crosses his arms. “Some random person on the phone she can forget about isn’t gonna be her best friend.” He mumbles under his breath.

You laugh. “Babe, it is hard enough trying to keep that girl’s attention. The fact that you were able to keep her on the phone for like, 20 minutes, that’s enough to earn you a medal or something.” 

He sighs. “I just really want her to fuckin like me.”

You look over at him, his solemn eyes staring out the window, and you can’t help but feel a bit soft for him. “God, you’re adorable.” You say, pulling into your house’s driveway. You park, turn the engine off, and twist in your seat to look at Grayson. “She’s going to adore you. So much.” You take his face and give him a quick peck on the lips, then turn around and step out of the car. “Now come oooon, I’m sure she’ll be-”

“Y/N!!!” You hear that familiar high pitched voice behind you, and you turn to see Oviya standing in the doorway, her hair in two little pigtails and the biggest grin on her face.

You sigh, smiling at her. “-waiting for you.” You finish.

Grayson steps out of the car on the other side, walking around and up to stand beside you, and the second his eyes fall on to the sweet little girl now standing on the porch in her little denim shorts and flashing sneakers, his eyes soften, the smile on his face growing so wide.

"Hey Vi, when’d you get home from school?” You shut the car door and scurry up the steps, bending down to give your sister a hug.

“Just a lil while ago.” Grayson made his way up the steps behind you. Oviya looked up at the boy, and he smiled at her, almost too giddily. 

“Hi Oviya, I’m Grayson!” He crouched down next to her, so he was eye level with her. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“You’ve met me already!” She exclaimed, giggling. Grayson smiled, laughing in return.

“Okay, I guess I have. But I’m happy I get to meet you in person! I love your shoes!” He looks down at them, and she grins at him.

“Thank you! Look, I can do a trick-“ she stomps both her feet on the ground one by one, making them flash pink and blue again.

Grayson gasps. “Oh my gosh, that’s so cool! Where’d you get them? You think they’d have a pair in my size?”

She bursts out laughing at that, and Grayson can’t help but stare at the way her tiny hands come up to cover her face.

You, watching all this, once again feel that familiar warm fuzzy feeling in your chest, the same one you felt when Grayson had talked with Oviya on the phone.

“Oh! Oviya, I’ve got a little surprise for you.” He stands up and slings his knapsack off of his back. You look at him questioningly. What was he up to?

Oviya’s eyes widen. “Ooh! What is it?”

He sticks his hand into his bag, then pulls it back out to reveal a colourful box around the size of one of your school binders.

“Well, Y/N told me that you really like drawing and making art so...” he hands it to Oviya, and she grabs it with wide eyes. You lean over, curious to see what it is he’s giving her, and you eyes widen as well.

“No way did you get her-“

“An art kit??!” She rejoices, her mouth agape as she runs her fingers over the pictures of all the supplies she’d find inside, ranging from pencils to crayons to markers to paints, oh and all the colours and types and papers and—

“Do you like it?” Grayson asks, crouching down again, her silence unnerving him a little bit.

“Oh my gosh yes, thank you!” She places the box on the ground before throwing her arms over his shoulders, hugging him so tight. “Thank you thank you thank you!!”

Grayson grins from ear to ear, wrapping his arms around the small girl. “Of course,” he says, then pulls away from her. “Wanna go try it out?”

“Holy crap yes!!!”

“Hey, language.” You finally speak up, still a bit mesmerized yourself at the gift.

“Sorryy,” she said hastily, picking the box up off the ground and rushing into the house, eager to start using the supplies.

Grayson gets up to follow her, but you grab his arm to stop him.

“Gray, how did you even know she wanted that kit?”

“I saw it in your camera roll, remember? When you were showing me pictures of her? You said she wanted it.”

“So you just got it for her? Gray this thing is like fifty dollars.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been saving up.”

“For what? Like six months??”

“Hey!”

“I know what your allowance is like Dolan.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Does it matter? Look how happy she looks.” He peaked into the house and saw her sitting at the kitchen island, looking through the different patterned papers with stars in her eyes.

You can’t help but feel your heart triple in size. “Fuck, how are you the sweetest boy in the world?” He turns back to face you, smiling again. You return it, almost feeling like there may be tears prickling your eyes. You chuckle, cupping his face in your hands and pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

“I love you.”

He grins. “Yea, I know.”

“Grayson, what’s your favourite colour?” You hear Oviya yell from inside, and Grayson pulls away from you, grabbing your hand to pull you inside the house.

“Why do you ask?”

“I wanna draw you!”

He turns to you again, covering his mouth with his hands. “She’s so fucking cute I’m gonna die.” He whispers to you, and you laugh, closing your front door behind you.

#I'm so frickin SOFT #grayson dolan #grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan concept #dolan twins #dad!grayson #grayson dolan fluff #anon #ask

[baggochipps]

‘Everything’s still the same, nothing changes. Except now, I get to hold you and kiss you, and show you much I love you.”

AN: Hello Readersss and @stellarboystyles, this is my first piece that I’ve ever posted of mine and for that I’d like to thank @stellarboystyles for creating a great way for newbies like me to get our writing out there and gain recognition(experienced writings as well🥰). I am entering this challenge with a friends to lovers piece so yeah I had fun with this. Now without further ado I present to you beautiful people:

‘Our moment’

Ever since you and Harry have been sat in front of one another at the age of 5, you guys have been inseparable. You guys went through what friends go through of course; the arguments and the infamous drift between friends due to the want to fit in and society’s placements, however as soon as y’all got over that and realized that society’s standards shouldn’t be the blueprint to life, you both began strengthening the bond between the two of you in high school despite the fact that Harry, to everyone, was the charming jock and you were only merely thought.

You both still continued to go on though ignoring the wandering eyes and the gasps of air from stuck up popular kids when they saw you both crackling in the hall at the jokes you’ve both shot at each other and the times when you both were caught skipping school together. So by the time you and Harry were at the end of senior year and prom was just a few hours away, Harry planned to go to prom just to hang with those he more than likely won’t ever speak too again and then you would both find yourselves at the end of that night in his car, but as all plans go, it didn’t fail, but it definitely wasn’t what you expected. Yes, you guys left. Yes, you’ve got to hangout, but he leaned in and you kissed him only to laugh it off and never speak of it or bring it up ever again because you’ve already told yourself it was the alcohol you’ve both consumed prior to getting in the car with him, but Harry couldn’t help, but remember your soft pinkish lips against his as he lays down only to get lost in the sight of his ceiling on restless nights. You didn’t know that though because when you asked him he said he didn’t remember that night at all, you laughing it off after that.

Even after that event, you were both officially back to together, as friends. Harry was there for you through the booboos, the mood swings, and family troubles as you were for him, but as things began to get back to the way things were, You were there for the endless amount of girls that he talked to you about even after you’ve expressed that you didn’t wish to hear about his sexapades that left envy in your heart, you were there for his darkest moments and he was there for yours especially when you called him over late at night to hold you because you’ve gave all of yourself away to someone who didn’t deserve any of you.

You guys carried each other through the end of high school to sophomore year of college avoiding another recap of high school prom again and to say it was easy would not be the truth. Along the way there were many college parties or days alone that got cut short due to one look, one bite of the lip and or one lengthy staring contest that would’ve resulted in jeopardizing a great friendship. Conversations of what could be if you and him decided to take that leap surfaced. All in all you’ve both managed to not take it to that point despite the fact that you and Harry shared a room and a very strong bond.

“Har, I don’t think I wanna go to that party tonight.” You sigh as you reminisce about what your mom talked to you about a few days ago, the word ‘separation’ drowning your thoughts. You wanted your parents to be happy, but to think that you had it all wrong, they weren’t always as happy as you thought, makes you question everything.

Harry stopped his search for an shirt just to knell beside your bed and rub your back. You lean into his touch and continue to look at the wall in front of you.

“Who would I get drunk and make Trevor uncomfortable with,” He says as a smile begins forming upon his lips. “ You know, I can’t do that with anyone else. You remember that Annalisa bit ?”

The “Annalisa bit” occurred when You were sick, which doesn’t happen often, and making it to class and college parties wasn’t really an option so Harry went to seek an understudy and Annalisa was his pick. “I found her in the tub of the bathroom asleep after one winecooler” He told you once he got back before plopping right beside you and letting it be known that if you can’t make it too a party he won’t go either because it just wasn’t the same without you.

You didn’t respond yet as you were looking for the strength to just get up “ Or we can always watch a gameplay or a movie or whatever until we feel better, yeah ?” Harry says patiently waiting for your answer. You turn to meet Harry’s emerald green eyes,furrowed brows and small smile in the dimly lit room. Harry searched your eyes as you searched his until you part your lips to speak with a worn expression on your face with a warming smile upon your lips.

“Can we just stay ?” You ask cautiously to which he nods. It takes only a second for Harry to get up and search for a few snacks to pair with some drinks he saved for occasions like these. He never believed in watching a movie without snacks and neither did you. With the snacks in his hand, he goes to sit them on the floor for easy access to then catch with your head bowed as you play with your fingers.

“What’s on your mind, bug ?” He asks, going over to knell beside you again.

“Nothing. Just glad you’re by my side.” Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes get watery. Harry’s faces drops as he notices yours contorting. You clear your throat to speak again until you’re interrupted by his soft voice.

“Come ‘ere.” He gets up and pulls you into an embrace and as though your face against his chest was a trigger you find yourself sobbing.

You couldn’t think about anything except for that day, you felt like you couldn’t even function that day. Harry walked in on you just sitting on the edge of your bed with confusion clouding your mind. The last time you’ve talked to your parents they seemed fine, happier.

Harry rubs your back gently holding you tight enough that you could hear his heart beat and every breathe he takes. It’s almost soothing only you can’t stop thinking about your parents. Harry knew that and it was breaking his heart. He placed a kiss to your forehead as his eyes began to water, that familiar feeling coming about as he remembers the first time he heard his parents were separating.

“I don’t know how I didn’t figure it out,” You choke out and remove your head from under Harry’s chin to look up at him. “I wish I was enough to keep them together.”

“Hey, hey,” Harry says. He takes your face in his hands .”You will always be their girl.”

“But why ?,” you say in a despondent tone. “Why would they just end it ?” His heart sinks again for the hundredth time.” I knew their relationship wasn’t perfect, but why ?”

He hated this so much. He hated to see you look so defeated because you were always so strong despite what you went through, but as though this situation drained all the energy you had, your eyes are low and puffy, and your posture is no longer accentuating confident anymore. He lets the tears that he’s tried to repress fall.

“Maybe they just don’t feel the same way they did around each other anymore ,” Harry speaks honestly, “ When you’re around someone that you love, their smile brightens your day, their laugh is contagious, but even when their not so bubbly or warm you want to experience that with them and the only thing you want to change about the experience is how they felt. I’m sure they had similar feelings towards one another, but feelings fade.” You could only nod as more tears fall and your heart sinks. You knew what he was saying was right, things change and as much you didn’t want things change, things will always change with or without you.

You pull Harry into a tight hug and he can’t help, but hug you just as tight. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Im here, bug.” Harry says. It take a few moments for you both to let go and get ready for the movie. Coraline is always the go-to movie you’d watch when you’d be going through something or nothing, it is definitely your favorite and Harry didn’t mind watching it because of that same reason.

As the movie played, the energy in the room began to settle, you stealing a few glances at Harry while he steals some at you. Neither of you can stop what Harry said just a few moments ago about your parents from flooding his and your mind. As those words flew from his mouth he felt so much emotion behind it as he looked in your eyes and he just knew you felt it too which you did, however anxiety consumed you. You wished to experience him as yours just as much as he did, but your worst fear is losing your best friend so never experiencing Harry in a different light is something you’ve come to terms with. Pulling you out of your thoughts, Harry leans towards you to get your attention.

“Shh you’re making me miss my favorite part.” You lightly push his face away as a light laugh erupts from your mouth.

“The part you’ve seen a million times,” Harry says taking your hand in his, a pout forming upon his lips,” I just want to lay in your lap.”

This was what watching a movie with H is for you and in all honesty it only made you love him more because that’s how he is, always distracting you despite the fact that all you wanted to do was watch the movie. You sigh and clear your lap of your phone for him to lay down.

“Are you happy now ?” You ask as you look down at a very content Harry Styles with his prominent dimples. He nods and focuses on the movie once again.

When the movie finally reaches the end your eyes feel as heavy as Harry’s. Harry raises his head from your lap to look at you.” Feeling any better, bug ?” He asks to which you nod and take in his reassuring smile.

“I’m okay, H, you could head to bed. I might just watch this again.”

“Well I can always stay up with you.”

“No. I just want to say thank. You have been there through everything and I’m sorry if this brought up anything from when your parents were going through it. I just think if I figured this out before they told me I might’ve been able to accept this better,” you shake off the haunting thought before continuing ,” either way, thank you.”

” I will always be there no matter what. You will never have to endure anything alone, y/n y/l/n.” He kisses the top of your head and positions you in between his legs. He pulls you to his chest and lets you lean against him while you shut your eyes.

“When we were young you were such a fashionista, man, with your rainbow shorts and off brand snea-“, you rise up from his chest and turn around swiftly to meet his eyes in amazement. “ You know how much those sneakers meant to me, Styles. Don’t get beat up.”

“Oh ? so you think you could beat me up ?” He returns your expression, straightening his posture. You give him challenging look.

“Oh for fu- we were only playing !” He exclaims. “ And you hit me hard-“ you add.

“And a punch to the gut was your way of solving it, I know.” He laughs aloud at the memory for a moment while you break into a smile. Silence surrounds you both as you and Harry keep your eyes on each other, the smiles fading.

Harry always loved you and the day he pressed his lips against yours only for you to lean into it, you’ve confirmed that you’ve felt the same way. Your tongues brushed each other with such ease and passion, but as soon as you both let go you became hesitant about every move you’ve made because you didn’t know if he really meant to kiss you. I mean he didn’t mean to kiss a lot of girls so you didn’t feel the need to even jeopardize a great friendship for one kiss while he was under the influence.

You break the silence first once a wave of realization washes over you. “ We should get to bed, H.” And with those words you’re getting up with his hand wrapped around your wrist.

“We should talk about this.” Harry gives you a suggesting look. “About what, Harry ?.” You ask as you silently hope it isn’t about you and him.

“About the night we kissed. I mean I kissed you, but you leaned in, love.” The words that leave his mouth makes your lips tingle as they wish to indulge in his taste again.

“And ever since that night, that memory is engraved in my mind and it won’t let up. I can’t sleep because of you so how do you sleep at night ?” You shrug before speaking.

“ I thought I was just another girl, Harry, that you were just doing what you usually do.” You watch him shake his head and disbelief take over his expression. He lets his hand drop from your wrist. “ You told me you didn’t remember so maybe I am just another girl.”

“You’re not.”

“ But you know where I stand on this topic, Harry, so why do you insist on having this conversation ?” You fold your arms as you become slightly frustrated. “When I said all that stuff about your parents and how they must’ve felt towards one another I thought about how I feel abo-“

“Don’t finish that sentence. I just don’t want to talk about this right now.” Before you get the chance walk away Harry’s hand is attached to your wrist again. “ But I do, y/n. I do because I like you a lot and I hate that you won’t even consider being with me despite your list of what-ifs.” Harry says as you pout. You weren’t looking to talk about this, but you didn’t want push this away anymore. If you were going to nip this in the bud you wanted to give him a chance to talk. “If I have this conversation with you and I say no to being with you, do not pester me again okay ?”

“I can’t promise that,”Harry says causing a groan to erupt from your mouth, “Just talk to me.” You take a breathe before obliging.

“I like you too, but my list of what-ifs are very important to me.”

“So enlighten me.”

“Well what-if we don’t work out ?-“

“We will,” Harry replies all to quickly, no doubt detected in his voice,” but if we don’t please hold off on telling me ‘I told you so’.”

“Welp that wasn’t reassuring at all, Styles.” You say as you chuckle. You watch him get up from his seated position and smile down at you.” That’s because I’m not from the future, but when you bunk with Styles,” Harry leans in to place a kiss on your cheek,” I’ll guarantee it will be for awhile.” Your smile brightens and his follows.

“I’m making you smile is that a good sign ?” Harry asks, using his thumb to trace your lips. “I’m scared.” You say lowly to which Harry mouths an ‘I know’. Harry wasn’t oblivious to the fact that you were uncertain about this shift in direction of his and your relationship, however he wasn’t going to let up because he knew why you didn’t want to partake in a relationship with him.

“I’m scared that we won’t get married or have kids-“

“So you started planning beforehand ?-“

“Shut up,” Harry continues as he smirks,” or even just enjoy a few years before those things happen, but I can’t say that I wouldn’t risk it, bug. I want to hold you and not just on days where you feel alone or sad, but days I just want to hold you. I want to kiss your lips and every inch of that pretty little face of yours and tell you everyday how much you mean to me.”

“And on days you don’t want too do that ?” You ask as you began to feel overwhelmed with emotion. Your eyes get watery again and your heart beat quickens. Harry wipes the tears before they fall.

“I’ll do it anyway and if I don’t or I do something wrong I want you to tell me. I want you to tell me if I’m being a jerk or an ass or if I just pissed you off. I take criticism very well.” You stifle a laugh.

“No, you don’t.” You say and Harry gives you an amusing look. “ I do so ,y/l/n.” Harry replies to which you shake your head. You remember a time where this art teacher you both had assigned a project which instructed you, Harry and your peers too draw a portrait of a person among the class. Harry picked me as said person to draw, however the person on the paper looked nothing like me and our teacher was sure to point that out. Harry just let that go after so many years. You blink just a few times before Harry moves on with a ‘fine’ and goes on about the task at hand.

“ A penny for more of your thoughts ?” Harry asks. “ What if we don’t work out and stop being friends ?” Your breathe is shaky as this question comes out of your mouth. You are scared of losing him in anyway shape or form and Harry senses that, his playfulness gone as he allows you to set the tone. He drags you over to your bed and sits down beside you as his thumb caresses the back of your hand. “ Then we don’t,” you interrupt him with a sigh dripping in disappointment,”But look I just want to enjoy you while you enjoy me. I want to sit and watch movies with you all day, go on cute dates maybe even pick out a few outfits for you to wear on them. I want you to love yourself while I love myself while we work on loving each other. No expectations, no talks of the future. I want you here with me right now.” He places your hand against his lips. “Okay ?” Harry asks, but you pause taking in everything before you respond.

You’ve always wanted to say yes and just live in the moment, but you knew you couldn’t because that just wasn’t you, however that was Harry. He balanced you out and made you feel comfortable, stop you from overthinking and has made everything that has mentally held you back no longer do that anymore. It is going to take time to adjust, but you nod your head slowly, confirming that you understand. You don’t want to give up this opportunity and you aren’t going too. As your nodding that shit eating grin takes over his once neutral expression. You return the smile with a small one, one of slight caution, but excitement of how this will go.

“So ask me.” You say to which Harry improves his posture and takes a deep breathe.” Will you, y/n y/l/n, be my girlfriend ?” Harry stares at you in such awe. “Yes, Harry Styles, I do.” You say and in one swift move Harry is picking you up and expelling words of joy all at the same time. You squeal in his arms and wrap yours around him. The moment is over once he puts you down to take in your face, feeling of adoration overcoming both of you, but the look on your face fails to hide your uncertainty.

“I don’t like change, Harold.”

“Everything’s still the same, nothing changes. Except now, I get to hold you, and kiss you, and show you much I love you.” You pull Harry into an embrace and silently hope for the best.

#stellarboystyles3years #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #stellarboystyles

[pianogal]

Flirting Lessons

Summary: Just as Dan was about to give up on love, Dan becomes Phil's tutor. (University AU)

Word Count: 2k

This phanfic is a gift to @phanetixs from @phandomgiftexchange !! I hope you like it!!

꧁꧂

In an attempt to cheer me up, Pj has offered his vast knowledge in the art of flirting. He's convinced me that a good distraction will occupy my mind. As Pj and I walk down the hallway to the cafeteria, we rehearse this week's lines.

"You're cute, wanna bang?" I say sarcastically.

"C'mon Dan! If you really want to be back in business, you have to take it seriously!" Pj complains.

I know exactly why he urges me to 'get back in business.' Deep down we all know that I haven't gotten over my breakup. Although it's been 4 months, the thought of Charlie churns my stomach. It's not that I miss the guy, it's the way he chose to dump me. It wasn't the typical: "It's not you, It's me." He went ahead and said: "It's definitely you."

I always thought flirting was stupid. And the reason for it is because I really have no idea how to flirt. People make it look so easy, but to me it's worse than math. It's my fault for asking Pj to teach me how to flirt.

The cafeteria is a wide open space filled with round and square tables circulating the area. From the direction of our dorms, the smoothie bar is positioned to our left, right next to a group of fairly attractive college students. Although Pj made me practice my lines, I was not ready to put them in practice.

"Do you remember what to say?" Pj asks.

I look at him and widen my eyes. I realized what little confidence I have in walking up to random guys, let alone flirt. "I think this is a bad idea," I admit.

"No it's not! I say you should walk up to them and ask them to marry you," Pj encourages. Before I could protest, Pj began pushing me towards their direction.

As I walked to my doom, I realized a pair of eyes staring at me. I see Charlie to my right watching as Pj forces me to interact with the group of guys. Pj notices where my attention is and whispers behind my ear, "Show Charlie how much these guys would kill to date you."

Pj stops pushing me just a few feet in front of the group. All 4 guys notice my sudden appearance and look side to side as if silently questioning which of them knew me. I turn back to see Pj heading to the smoothie bar while Charlie patiently waits for my failure to sink in.

"Uh, do you guys take Literature with Professor Starch?" Was the only sentence I could come up with.

Each guy looks at their group before saying anything. The tall brunette on the left answers, "None of us do. Sorry." After his response, they all began to walk the opposite direction of me. I then turn to see Charlie walking towards me while laughing at my misery.

"Did you really think you could find a rebound?" Charlie chuckles.

"Yeah I was hoping to do the same thing you did," I harshly replied.

Charlie straightens his posture so as to stand taller than me. He pushes his dirty blonde hair from his face and relaxes his devious grin. "You wish you could find a rebound like I did," Charlie walks away after saying what I thought to be the worst thing I needed to hear at that moment.

"What the hell happened?" Pj rushes to me while holding his newly purchased strawberry and banana smoothie. "What did that jerk say to you?"

Although Charlie meant nothing to me, his words would always take a toll on me. Probably because he knew exactly what my biggest insecurities are. He used every single one to taunt me. In this case, he made it very clear that I would never be good enough to earn love.

"I need to go. Class starts in 15 minutes and I need to talk to my professor about an assignment," without waiting for her response, I walk away and head to class.

I lied to Pj about speaking to my professor before class started. It was just an excuse to get away from everyone. I needed time to process all the events that went down. I sit on the far end of the room. No one is here yet, but soon enough students will start rolling in.

I feel stupid. I don't want to tell anyone about how I feel because they'll probably think I can't get over a breakup. It's not that I still love Charlie. It's the fact that Charlie dumped me because he wasn't happy with me. 4 months ago, Charlie said he preferred to be single than to be with me. 

I loved him and for a while I thought he loved me too. I couldn't understand why someone that loved me would dump me out of nowhere. And I wonder if I wasn't good enough for Charlie, who the hell is going to love me? I'm not attractive, my personality sucks, I'm not outstanding in any way, and I don't even have my shit together.

"Is this seat taken?" A tall, well built guy broke me away from my train of thought. I look at him for a second to take in his completion. Fair skin, black hair to match with his pair of blue eyes. He wears a plain white t-shirt along with black jeans. I stopped myself from drooling.

I look down at the seat and look back to his eyes. It's been two weeks since class started. The only person who sat next to me dropped out the second day of class. With a sly smile, I say, "Nope, you can sit here."

"Thank you," he smiles back. He pulls the chair away from the table and relaxes into his new seat, "My name is Philip, but you can call me Phil. I've been absent for the past few weeks due to illness. Have I missed anything important?"

"Well, uh… I’m Dan." I'm dumbfounded. I couldn't believe how someone this attractive is sitting next to me. Then again, I'm sure the only reason he's hanging out is just to pass the class. Even so, I already failed flirting this morning. I was not planning at all to fail again.

"We had several assignments due each week, but they're not worth much. Probably ten points each. Maybe if you talk to Professor Starch he can give you an extension for them," I smile politely once more.

Phil sighs and leans back into his chair. Our gazes turn over to Professor Starch waltzing into the classrooms as he hurriedly reaches his desk. He logs on to the monitor and turns on the projector screen. I steer my attention away from our Professor and redirect it to my notes to hide my face. As much as I'd love to get to know Phil more, I can't stand but feel like it's a waste of his time to speak to me.

"Good afternoon everyone!" Professor Starch greets. "I hope everyone is doing well. I apologize for being late, I was deciding if I wanted to come to work today." Light chuckles fill the room. "Today we will be discussing ‘Don Quijote.’"

As I flipped through my notes, Phil lays his hand on my wrist. I look over to see him staring straight at me. "I know this is sudden, but do you think after class we can meet up and go over what I've missed?"

I really want to, but I don't know how Pj would feel if I bailed out our study session for a cute guy. "I don't know if I can after class. But I'm sure if you talk to the professor he'd be cool. He's really nice and-"

Phil moves closer to me and says, "I don’t have anyone else who can help. Can we please meet after class, Dan?"

"Of course," I immediately reply.

I have absolutely no idea why those words came out of my mouth. It is almost as if I had no control on what I said. I didn't even think about my answer. I realized my eyes are still trained on Phil. I can feel my face heating up and quickly look away. I didn't want him to think I was desperate to meet with him. There goes my last bit of dignity.

"I really appreciate your help, Dan," he smirks and turns to look at what Professor Starch has written on the board.

I sigh and reply, "No problem." 

꧁꧂

"The reason Don Quijote turns into a knight is because..." It's been an hour of nonstop tutoring. Although I'm grateful for the view, it is time consuming to be teaching two weeks worth of Literature. 

"Because of the books he’s read?" Phil almost asks.

"Yep! We just have to finish chapter five and then you'll be all caught up," I say to him, but also with the intent of reassuring myself.

We are seated in the right corner of Amy's Baking Company. We chose this spot because it's quiet and has comfy chairs. Not many people are here today. A couple of students spread across the Bakery, but other than that, it's pretty dead today.

"Do you mind if we take a little break," Phil asks.

"Yeah sure," I was hoping he'd feel as tired as I was. I close my notebook and focus on my new assignment that popped up on my computer screen.

"Tell me about yourself," Phil speaks up. I stare at him for a second. I'm trying to decide if there's any possible chance that Phil could be interested in me. Now I think about all the things I could say to sell myself.

"Well, I'm 20, I'm in my sophomore year, I'm a Political Science major and..." How do I make a move?

"And?" Phil leans forward against the table, as if intrigued by what my last response could be.

"I'm single…” My response of the year. 

Phil chuckles. I couldn't read him at all. I wasn't sure if he was ready to walk out the door and drop out of class or go along with my answer/question. I thought I'd had enough earlier, but I guess I came back for round 2.

"I'm 24, I took a gap year to figure out what I wanted to study. I'm now an English major and I'm single too," he then winks and smirks at me. "Why are you single?"

"I'm not good at flirting," I admit. "What about you?"

"No reason," he says without blinking.

"Why not?" I press for more information. 

"There’s no one that interests me,” Phil deadpans. 

"That sucks," is the only thing I could muster. By this point, I couldn't look at him directly. I tried to avoid his gaze by looking at my laptop's screen.

Part of me was hoping Phil would ask me out. Guys never ask me out for anything. The fact that Phil wanted to study with me after class is news to me. Curiosity washed over me. I want to know why he wasn’t interested in anyone. 

"How come?" I ask, now returning my full attention to Phil.

Phil then tilts his head. I suppose my question must've caught him off guard. "Well, you don’t know how to flirt.” 

“That I… what?” I ask. 

“I’m not interested in you yet because you haven’t flirted with me,” Phil smirks. 

My eyes widened. I feel my cheeks heat up once more. “Why would I flirt with you?” 

“I guess I thought you liked me,” he smiles cheekily. 

“What makes you think that?” I ask while my cheeks readen.

“Just a hunch.”

I sigh and say, “You seem to like me then.”   

"Tell you what," Phil pulls out his cell and unlocks it. He hands me over his phone with the 'New Contact' screen laid out. "Let's exchange phone numbers. When you learn how to flirt, give me a call."

“For what reason would I tell you?” I ask knowing his response. 

“So you can ask me out,” Phil stands from his seat and winks before he turns and leaves the bakery. I suppose I’ll have to beg Pj for more lessons.

[stareyedplanet]

Rivalry [p.p.]

pairing: peter parker x reader

word count: 3034

warnings: fluff, a failing grade

summary: a rivalry between you and peter parker unfolds when you receive your first failing grade.

note: this was originally an oc one shot for a challenge on instagram, so if you see any illusions to that, that is why. i went through and did my best to change everything over. i may also post the oc version. i tried to go through and get rid of any mentions of blushing and other descriptors, so hopefully this can be read as pretty gender neutral. if you find anything though, please pm me or send an ask!

——

MIDTOWN HIGH SCHOOL WAS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE PLACE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. Then again, no one really ever truly liked going to school, not when they could be home doing various activities that were much more interesting than hours filled with boring facts and equations. Sure you were really good at it, and practically coasted along the entire time, but that didn't mean you enjoyed it being upwards of nine hours of your day, the seven hour school day combined with at least two hours of studying and homework.

But the learning wasn't the only thing you disliked about school. Peter Parker was another mark for the minus side.

Most people didn't have rivals, but you did. And his name was Peter. From day one you had been the top two kids in the class with the highest GPA's in the school. You had every class together. Every. Single. One. Which meant every test you both took was a competition, each of you hoping to break that tie you had held for over a year and a half.

You hadn't always gone to Midtown. You was a transfer your Sophomore year, moving from Brooklyn to Queens. It had been hard at first, and you had felt like an outcast, even going to a school full of kids whose smarts rivaled your own. Well, one did. And he was absolutely infuriating in your eyes.

The bell rang, signaling the final warning for all students to get to class. You shot him a glare as you moved to sit at your desk, which of course was right next to his.

"Parker," you bit out as you dropped your bag beside your seat.

"Y/N." Peter greeted, though his tone was much more friendly than hers had been.

The truth was, Peter had few problems with you. He appreciated the academic challenge you offered him. You kept his mind sharper because you puyoud him to be better than he was. He needed someone like that to remind him to do well in school—to remind him that being Spider-Man wasn't his whole life.

"So, you ready for the test?" Peter asked conversationally, trying to make small talk with you.

"Of course I am." You said shortly, shooting him a look. You had studied for hours. Chemistry had never been your best subject, and therefore you always needed more focused study time on it.

You wouldn't admit it to anyone, especially not Peter, but you were nervous. This unit was especially hard for you, and you were worried that you hadn't studied enough. But you couldn't get a bad grade on this test. If you did it would push Peter into first place. You couldn't let that happen.

You took a deep breath as your teacher handed out your tests, placing the packet on the desk in front of you. But the second you looked at the first question, your mind went blank.

"You have an hour. No additional time will be given for this test." Your teacher explained quickly.

You took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm your racing heart. You could do this. You knew you had the information in your head. It was there somewhere.

The time clicked passed and you kept glancing at the clock, watching as the hand moved closer to the end of class. You were screwed. So screwed because you had eight out of forty questions answered with only twenty minutes left in class.

At one point Peter had glanced over at you and noticed your expression. You looked worried, something he had never seen on your face while you were taking a test. To him the test was a breeze, but he could tell you were struggling more than usual.

When class came to an end, you were hesitant to turn yours in. Your hand was shaking and you just knew you had failed. The last five minutes had been spent rushing through and circling random answers, hoping for the best, but even still you didn't get the last page done. Which meant you definitely had seven questions wrong. And based on the way the questions you had actually taken her time on were looking, you had a feeling you had failed the test. It was a feeling deep in your gut that you just couldn't shake and you despised it.

The two days between getting the test back and the day you took it were excruciatingly long. You were glad you had no tests in that time because you felt like you had lost your head. Nothing felt right anymore. School became harder and you found herself spacing out a lot more than usual. You knew it was because you had lost confidence in yourself, but you couldn't help it. Not until you got your test back.

Finally, it was grade day. you sat at your desk as Mr. Turner talked. He always waited until the end of the period to have the students pick up their grades. It kept them from interrupting as much with questions or some nonsense about disagreements with grades. If there was anything wrong it was much easier for them to talk to him about it after class, or even after school.

You startled when the bell rang through. you had spaced out yet again and become lost in your thoughts. With uncertainty, you approached Mr. Turner, waiting to be in the back of the line so no one else would hear or see your grade.

"Y/N, I have to say, I'm a bit disappointed with your test grade. You are one of my best students." Mr. Turner said with a sigh as he handed over your paper once you stood in front of him.

There was a big fat 'F' written at the top. You had gotten a score of sixteen. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes at the sight. You had never gotten such a terrible grade before.

"I know you have been struggling with this part of our class. So I will make you a deal. I want you to be tutored by Mr. Parker, and in exchange I will let you retake this test. I've already talked this over with him, and he said he had no problems tutoring a peer." Mr. Turner explained as he leaned against his desk.

"With Peter? Please Mr. Turner, anyone but him." you groaned. The last thing you wanted to do was admit to Peter that there was actually something he was better than you at.

"He had the highest score on this test. And you know Peter is very good at science. I want you to succeed. And being tutored by Peter is how you can do that. So do we have a deal, Y/N?" Mr. Turner asked pointedly.

You knew you had little choice if you wanted to retake the test. But of all people, of course it had to be Peter Parker. The one person you wished it wasn't.

"Yes. I guess so, Mr. Turner." you sighed eventually.

"Good. I suggest you talk to Mr. Parker. I'll let you retake the test Friday. That gives you two days to study." He said. He believed it was only fair. Typically he didn't allow retakes of his tests, but he hated to see a normally good student struggle so much.

"Okay. Thank you for giving me another chance." you told him. You were very appreciative. But you just did not want to be tutored by Peter. You knew he would probably hold it over her head for the rest of your high school careers.

You winded her way through the halls as you headed to her math class. You and Peter shared that class as well, except the difference was math was like breathing to you. It was something you didn't even have to think about to do. And that was exactly how you liked things.

It wasn't hard to spot the curly haired boy sitting at his desk. You had the momentary thought to just ignore him and study on your own, but you couldn't risk Peter reporting back and saying you had never studied together and ruin your chances of retaking your test. So you headed over to him, stopping in front of his desk.

"Mr. Turner said you would tutor me so I can retake our last test." you said, getting straight to business.

Peter lifted his head from where he had been laying it on the desk. He nodded as he looked at you with wide eyes. When Mr. Turner had said there was a student who he wanted the boy to tutor, he never in a million years imagined that you were the one who needed help. That, and he didn't think you would ever accept his help due to your feud.

"Uh, y–yeah." He stuttered, clearly surprised to see you. "I didn't think you'd be the one who needed tutoring."

"You gonna back out on me?" you asked. Maybe if he did you could convince Mr. Turner to let you be tutored by someone else.

"What? No! Of course not." Peter said quickly. He hadn't meant it to come off that way. He had only meant it had never crossed his mind that you were the one who needed help. Really his heart jumped at the idea of getting to spend time alone with the girl he had a hopeless crush on. "So... So when do you want to study?"

"Well, I have two days. So after school?" you asked, your books held tightly to your chest.

"Yeah. That works for me. Do you... Do you want to come over to my place?" Peter asked. "To study, I mean."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Sounds fine with me. I'll just text my parents and let them know. What's your address?" you asked, seeming very unbothered and bored.

"Oh... I figured we could just walk to my place together after school. It would be easier because I could show you how to get there and we wouldn't have to worry about you getting lost." Peter said quietly, dropping his gaze down. Did you really dislike him enough to not even want to walk with him after school?

You sighed, making a face at the idea. You could lie and say that you had to run by your place to grab something, but knowing Peter he would just offer to come with you there. And you really needed all the study time you could get, so you found yourself agreeing, albeit reluctantly.

"Fine. I guess I can just walk with you after school. How does five-thirty sound for pickup? My dad gets off work at five, so he should be able to come get me then." you explained quickly, glancing up at the clock that would cut your conversation short.

"Five-thirty sounds fine by me. I think we'll be home alone because my Aunt May has work too." Peter admitted, hoping that wouldn't freak you out or anything.

"Okay." you said before moving to your seat across the room, not seeing how deflated Peter got when the conversation ended so suddenly. You also didn't see Peter's continuous longing stares at you across the room. The boy resembled a puppy who was yearning for the attention of someone, only he only wanted the attention of the one who apparently wanted to be nothing more than his rival. Peter didn't even want to be your rival. He just wanted to be your friend, and he didn't understand why you both couldn't have a friendship, and a rivalry that pushed each other to be better. It had nothing to do with his hopeless crush on you. Nothing at all.

The hours seemed to tick by so slowly for him, and while normally he was focused on school being over so he could go one patrol, today he was just excited to get to spend time with the person of his dreams. Or, more accurately, the person who appeared in his dreams.

Finally that last bell of the day wrung, and not wanting to seem too desperate, Peter waited for you by the door of the classroom. The person in question eventually wandered over to him after saying goodbye to one of your friends. You had plenty of friends. So many that Peter was sure that you couldn't possibly actually be friends with them all. But you seemed to be. No matter who you were talking to, you knew their name in a heartbeat and was always referring back to previous conversations about what was happening in their lives.

"You ready to go, Parker?" you asked him with a sigh.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm ready. Are you?" Peter replied awkwardly. He had been fine all day, but suddenly he was realizing this was really happening.

"Yeah. Otherwise I wouldn't be standing in front of you." you pointed out with an eye roll.

Peter flushed and nodded. "Oh, yeah. Right. Of course." He stuttered, shaking his head at himself as they walked out of the building.

The entire walk was nothing but awkward, neither teenager really making a move to talk to the other. Peter was too socially awkward to easily make conversation with his crush, and you just had no desire to actually attempt to talk to Peter. It was already bad enough that Peter knew you had failed at something.

You walked from the school to the subway station where Peter pulled out his phone and shot a text to someone. Once that ride was over, you finished up your journey by walking to his apartment. You were both silent as Peter fumbled for his keys, save for the occasional quiet curse from the boy as he struggled.

Finally the door was unlocked and you went inside, and you looked around in curiosity. You were getting to see how Peter lived. You couldn't help but be interested.

"So this is where you live, huh?" you asked as you looked around.

"Uh, yeah. We used to live in a bigger place, but then my Uncle Ben died and we couldn't afford it anymore." Peter explained quietly, his mood dropping at the mention of his Uncle Ben.

"Oh. I'm sorry." you said quietly. "So, uh, ready to get started?"

"Yeah. Let me just grab a snack. If you want to go settle in my room or something that's fine. All of my books are in there." He explained. "Unless you aren't comfortable with that. Then we can just sit on the couch." He said quickly.

You raised an eyebrow at how nervous he was before eventually shaking your head and moving towards the hallway, poking your head into the room that you could easily tell was his based on all the Star Wars stuff.

You took a seat on the floor and pulled your backpack off your back and set it in front of you, pulling out your Science supplies. You glanced up at Peter when he finally came into the room.

"I didn't know what you liked. So I got you a Capri-Sun and lots of different chips." Peter explained to you with a smile. His arms were full of different snack items. He wanted you to have the opportunity to pick for yourself.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that. Thanks, I guess." you said, feeling your cheeks get warm. Why was he being so considerate? It was weird. But it made your heart skip a beat.

Peter sat on the floor beside her, dropping the snacks everywhere. He pulled out his phone, frowning and huffing at it.

"What's wrong?" you decided to ask.

"Nothing. It's just—" he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "I do this Stark Internship thing. And recently Mr. Stark hasn't needed my help. Which really sucks because I want to do more, you know? And I can't do that because no one ever replies to my texts so I never know what's going on until it is too late. And then I get behind on stuff and am not where I need to be when I need to be there. And it's really annoying because it wouldn't be hard to keep me updated. And it just really sucks because I want to do more and no one ever lets me, and I jus—"

Peter was cut off suddenly when you surged forward and pressed your lips to his. It was a short kiss, nothing more than a peck, but it was clear it had shocked both of you.

"Did you just kiss me?" Peter asked, his cheeks red and his eyes wide as he looked at her.

If he was surprised, you were absolutely floored by her actions. Her eyes were wide and you was frozen a bit away from him, resembling a deer in headlights.

"I–I think so." you said quietly after a large lapse of silence.

"Why?"

"I don't know." you replied, completely stumped on a good answer.

Peter looked at you strangely as you sat there on the floor, just staring at each other, both trying to comprehend what had just occurred. Peter had never expected for anyone to kiss him, and you had never expected to kiss Peter. But it had happened, and now you had to figure out what to do about it.

"That... That was a really nice way of shutting me up." Peter said, sure his entire face resembled a tomato. But it was comforting to see that you were flustered in your own way.

"Sorry. I don't know why I did that. I–I can leave if you want me to." you said quietly, finally dropping your gaze to the ground. You were mentally scolding yourself, worried you had just ruined your chances of getting to retake that test Friday.

"No!" Peter said quickly, wincing at how loud he was. "No, uh, do you, do you maybe wanna do it again?"

He was stumbling over his words as he looked at you, and Peter was prepared for your rejection. He knew it was a shot in the dark, but he hoped maybe you liked the first one.

"S–Sure." you stuttered. "I think I'd like that."

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x yn #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman x yn #peter parker one shot

[n0-eyedtaissa]

“Let’s go for a walk.“ “Its 2 am!” The gang

It was homecoming week at Southside high school and that meant that students and staff alike were preparing for the big football game against Riverdale high. Now, Southside high school wasn't always run-down chemistry labs used to cook jingle jangle or fizzle rocks. In fact, when Ruthie Soh-Peterson, Dante Fogarty, CD Rhodes, and Spyder De La Cruz were in attendance, the school was actually pretty decent. Sure the books were tattered and graffitied and the computers were slow, but there were no metal detectors that students needed to pass through, nor were there students freebasing in the bathrooms during passing periods. It wasn’t a bad school, it was just underfunded, but that didn’t mean much to the original Southside Four.

It’s Ruthie’s senior year and she doesn’t want to go to the homecoming dance, but she makes Dante pinky swear that he’ll take her to the prom. He agrees, somewhat begrudgingly at the prospect of having to wear a tie for longer than a Sunday church service, but makes Ruthie agree to go to the big game that evening. 

It wasn't necessarily because Dante was a sports fan; when he, Ruthie, CD, and Spyder walked up to the football field at Riverdale High, they duck under the bleachers and are met with the thick, welcoming smell of smoke. They don’t go for the overpriced concessions, they don’t cross to the big set of bleachers to revel in the hot white stadium lights and the joys of high school football. They came to party.

And party they did! 

Ruthie hits her head on one of the low rungs of metal bleachers and suddenly CD is thrusting an cold beer into her hand to use as a makeshift icepack. She feels a blush creep up her neck and she mutters out an embarrassed-sounding thanks and flicks the water droplets of condensation off her already cold hands. Some guys Ruthie didn’t recognize slap Dante on the shoulder and she notices how much he tenses up at their presence as he follows closely behind them. Serpents, probably. There’s a sour taste in Ruthie’s mouth that she can’t place and she knows it’s not from the beer. Spyder finds the weed like he always does and tucks himself into a corner, sitting on his black backpack that was covered with paint marker and sharpie from when he got bored in class. Some younger, expectant looking sophomores sat down by him knowing that Spyder always brought the best weed to the parties often thrown at the quarry on the weekends. CD’s nowhere to be found and that’s not really a surprise to anyone, more often than not he’d be the first one to wander off and the last one to find the group again at the end of the night. Sometimes they wouldn’t find him and give up after awhile, just to have CD end up finding his own way home anyways.

Ruthie looks up to say something about the smears of red and black faceprint under people’s eyes, but her friends are nowhere to be found. Dante ducked off somewhere with those sketchy-looking Serpents, Spyder was smoking a thick-looking blunt with his eyes closed (trying very hard to zone out hard enough that those greedy looking underclassmen disappeared), and she really didn’t expect to find CD anyways.

Realizing that she was alone, Ruthie sits down with her back against one of the cold metal poles that were holding up the bleachers above her, pulling her jacket tighter around her skinny frame and cursing herself for not wearing more layers. She strains her ears to listen to the football game announcers, Riverdale was ahead by a handful of points but Southside just scored a touchdown. Pulling her green canvas book bag onto her lap, she roots around for the little film canister filled with weed and starts breaking up the scraggly leaves on top of her composition book full of notes and halfhearted doodles. Her eyebrows crease in concentration as she tries to twist the thin, rice-like paper into something that resembled a joint. She sets it down carefully on her notebook and pats down her coat pockets before rooting around in her bag to find a lighter, coming up empty.

“Well, shit...” Ruthie sighs, tucking the joint behind her ear like Dante does for ‘safe keeping’

“Need a light?” A still-standing voice asks from above Ruthie. She’s eye-level with a skinny pair of knees clad in black jeans covered with safety pins and patches reading off names of bands Ruthie couldn’t even begin to decode. The voice flicks open a silver zippo lighter with the kind of finesse that gave off the idea that this was something he did all the time, walk up to lonely girls for a smoke and a conversation. 

“Thanks” Ruthie leans into his hand, sucking in a mouthful of smoke as the paper ignited. She looks up at the stranger through her eyelashes, pushes a chunk of her hair out of her face in order to see him better. 

He’s tall, (taller than any of the guys Ruthie spent time with, anyway) and skinny, but he carried himself with a surprising amount of confidence. He had thick unruly curls that shined black in the lowlight. His black denim jacket was covered in metal studs and spikes, so much metal that it made noise with every one of his footsteps. Malachai Martinez. He was in Ruthie’s grade but they didn’t have any classes together, the only time she really saw him was in the lunchroom when him and his friends would play their music too loud and fling cafeteria food back and forth while laughing maniacally. Malachai’s knees crack as he sits down next to Ruthie and she can smell his thick, too-fancy cologne. She didn’t invite him to sit down with her and she really wasn’t planning on it, but she guessed it was the price to pay given. Wordlessly she hands over the joint and Malachai takes a gracious inhale, tilting his head back and blowing out thick, symmetrical rings.

They don’t talk much besides the casual exchange of small talk about teachers and funny things that happened at the parties they were both sometimes at. He brings up Dante once or twice and it seems odd but not worth pushing. Malachai has a certain quality to him that Ruthie can’t quite place her finger on. Everything he did seemed calculated...not calculated, but rehearsed. His machinations were that of someone who was trying too hard but somehow actually managing to pull it off. Ruthie laughs out loud at the thought and Malachai raises a pierced eyebrow at her.

“What?” He smirks at her, leaning closer and knocking his shoulder against Ruthie’s own. 

“Nothin’” She knocks back, hair obscuring her eyes. 

Malachai jams into her shoulder again, a little bit harder this time. There’s a certain malice in his eyes, in his small, unwavering smile when he looks at her. Just as Ruthie’s about to scowl and call him out, she doesn’t have too. 

“Everything alright here?” Dante asks seriously, his two Serpent friends only a few paces behind him. They’re all three wrapped up in their leather jackets now that the sun’s gone down. Halftime is over and people in the bleachers over their heads seem a lot less enthusiastic about whatever was happening on the football field. Dante holds out his hand to Ruthie to help her up but she doesn’t take it.

Malachai stands up suddenly as well, the joint that Ruthie rolled still tucked between his ring-clad fingers. “Just fine, isn’t that right, Ruthless?” He sends her another cheshire cat grin and Ruthie can feel the blood pumping in her ears. 

“Shit’s dead anyways, lets go...” It’s not up for debate and Ruthie knows it. But before Dante can drag her away to gather the rest of the troops, Malachai ceases Ruthie by the hand for one last second. 

Ruthie stops dead and her tracks and by default so does Dante, so he’s watching carefully as Malachai runs a painted thumb over the flesh of Ruthie’s hand. “There’s sort of an after-party happening over at the House of the Dead tonight, gonna really get the party going. You should drop by...”

“She’ll have to take a raincheck” Dante says suddenly, barreling past Malachai to duck out from under the bleachers and whistling to signal Spyder and CD that it was time to go. 

“Another time, perhaps” Malachai smirks.

Dante doesn’t talk the entire walk back to the car, and he makes it all the way to the gates of the trailer park before cracking. “The fuck was all that?” He raises his eyebrow and looks at Ruthie in the rearview mirror from her spot in the backseat. 

“Nothin’” Ruthie mumbles, not liking the feeling of being scolded like a child. If Dante didn’t run off on one of his “business ventures”, she probably wouldn’t have ended up talking to Malachai in the first place. 

“It’s never just nothin’ with that crazy fuck, there’s always something.” Dante shakes his head and kills his headlights as he turns the corner to park in front of Ruthie’s house. CD’s half passed-out with his head thumping against the backseat window and Spyder’s too stoned to even recognize that his two friends were currently having a conversation. “Him and his creepy-ass friends are always up to no good and I ignore them at all costs...and I implore you to do the same”

Ruthie scoffs. “Implore? Wow, what a two-point vocabulary word, D. Good to know you’ve still been paying attention in English” She can’t help but chuckle a little as she grabbed her house keys out of her bag to go unlock the front door. 

She can be a little bit louder knowing that Sweet Pea was over at Toni’s for a movie night with Fangs, so the older kids had full reign of the Soh-Peterson living room. Dante helps CD up the front steps and Spyder immediately makes his way to the refrigerator, knowing that there were always lots of leftovers he was welcome to eat. It was only a little after eleven but Ruthie wasn’t feeling all that social anymore. The weed was making her feel paranoid, like she could still feel Malachai’s bloodshot eyes tracking her as she rounded the corner from the kitchen down the hallway and into her dimly lit bedroom. 

The night ends calmly and easily. Ruthie changes into her pajamas and tries to ignore the feeling of the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Dante seemed to have loosened up a little, both CD & Spyder seemed to have sobered up a little. They watch some shitty comedy movie on cable tv and mute the volume during all of the commercials. Ruthie smokes two cigarettes while perched on the armrest of the big green couch. She sneaks off to her bedroom when she thinks no one would notice or care, knowing that she needed to sleep off the anxiety the best she could. Luckily for her, the THC that was promptly coursing through her system was a great sleep aide, so it came easily to her. Ruthie falls into a deep, soundless sleep with her bedside lamp still on. An unknown amount of time later she stirs at the sound of the doorknob moving. 

A voice whispers out to her, clumsily treading around the strewn shoes and clothes that littered Ruthie’s bedroom floor. “Ruthless wake upppp...” The voice whines, shaking her shoulder and soon she’s squinting one eye open. 

“Get your greasy little hands off of me” She mutters, already knowing that it was CD who was up at this hour, having slept off the handful of drinks he had at the game earlier that evening.

“But I’m not tired and I’m bored...” CD drones on again, lifting up the corner of Ruthie’s blankets to slide next to her in bed.

“And what makes you think I can help you with that?” Ruthie questions, closing both her eyes again and rolling over away from her friend. 

“Let’s go on a walk!” CD suggests with too much enthusiasm. He was always the one suggesting some random late night excursion, like a late night walk, or streaking through the sprinklers at Pickens Park. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up to a missed call from CD and a text about him maybe seeing aliens but being too far away to know for sure. Lately, CD’s late-night activities included walking all the way to the grocery store  over in midtown now that Ignacio permanently banned him from the bodega. 

Squinting open one eye again, Ruthie paws blindly at her bedside table trying to find the clock radio. “It’s 2am!” Sh groans, pushing the glowing red numbers away from her drowsy eyes and going to switch off the lamp.

“So?! I bet it’s popping’ over at that freaky funeral home where all the Ghoulies hang out.” CD folds his hands behind his bed, talking much too loudly for Ruthie who just wanted to go back to bed. “What was up with that by the way? You into guys like that now?” He tries to poke her playfully but Ruthie swats his hand away. 

“Jeez, you’re mean when you’re tired.” CD mumbles, slipping out from the corner of Ruthie’s duvet and making his way back up the hallway without even nothing to close her bedroom door. He puts his shoes on one at a time and silently walks out of the front door, unbeknownst to his sleeping friends. 

He’d sure have a story to tell tomorrow. 

[a-cupof-jo]

Set Up My Heart Pt. 8

PT. 7 – PT. 8 – PT.9

College volleyball player!Johnny Suh x reader

Rivals-to-lovers

Fluff and angst

Synopsis: Ever since that fateful day Sophomore year of high school, Johnny Suh had been an insufferable thorn in your side. Once you made it to college you thought the two of you would never have to see each other again. That is, until a sudden school transfer has the entire university buzzing

~~

We’ve been seeing Y/n’s story in college, but how did she and Johnny become so combative with each other? Will Johnny’s high school story tell all?

First part to Johnny’s side of the story.

~~

Johnny looked up as the door swung open, “There’s no way that the team will win.” Two girls walked in front of his seat as the bell ran for the start of class, “They haven’t done anything decent in 5 years.”

“Isn’t there that new girl on the team,” the second girl asked. “I heard someone say that she transferred here from across town. What was her name?”

“Class,” the teacher stood from behind his desk. Johnny noticed a girl standing next to him. Her eyes were slightly narrowed and her shoulders were pulled back tight. He recognized her immediately. Y/n L/n, recent transfer from RVHS, sophomore who was the youngest starter for RVHS’s volleyball team and who had helped bring her previous team to a state championship. Based on what he had seen, she was full of herself too and reports from her former teammates stated that she claimed all the glory for herself. Johnny didn’t get along well with people who weren’t team players, “I’d like you all to meet your new peer, Y/n.”

Johnny watched as the girl gave a slight wave the small smile on her face disappearing as she looked into blank eyes and empty faces. Johnny gave a light scoff. She couldn’t have expected to be welcomed with a parade. While she may have been a big deal at RVHS, nobody cared at SJHS. She didn’t get to parade in here as if she was going to make a difference in the high school.

“Okay,” the science teacher coughed. “Why don’t you go sit by Mr. Suh?” Johnny startled as the teacher motioned to the empty seat next to him. Johnny frowned as he pulled his backpack off the seat. There were plenty of other tables for Y/n to sit at. Why did he have to give up his empty seat? He watched as she set her bag under the table and moved to sit on the raised chair.

His eyes widened as he watched the chair slide back and she gasped. Next thing he knew she was on the ground, the chair she had been sitting on lay in pieces. He heard a mocking gasp before small laughs echoed around the room. He glanced at the two girls from earlier laughing and pointing to the now splintered wood. “Are you okay?” he extended an arm towards her.

“I’m fine,” Y/n said curtly, embarrassment heating up her cheeks. She ignored his hand pushing to stand. The hand she had held to her chest came down and wiped dust off her pants. She scowled with a glance around the classroom. Laughs had turned into titters and pointing fingers turned to grab pencils.

Mr. Byun stood hands hanging by his side. He coughed, “Well, just leave that for now.” He motioned to a chair on the other side of the classroom. “You can sit by Mr. Nakamoto instead.” Yuta didn’t look up from the playbook in his lap. Soccer season was starting soon and he was already preparing. “Okay,” Byun clapped his hands as he turned back to the board. “Let’s get started. Can anyone tell me what noble gases are?”

Johnny leaned his head on his hand zoning the teacher out. He caught her eye as she glanced worriedly back at the broken chair. The intimidating look on her face from earlier had turned into a concerned, almost sad, look. Johnny raised an eyebrow at Y/n. He wondered why she kept looking back here. The chair wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe she was scared the school was going to make her pay for it. Which is ridiculous when they have probably close to 100 sitting in storage that haven’t seen the light of day in 40 years. He watched as she turned toward him again. This time her eyes narrowed and glared at him. Johnny was confused to say the least. What was with the sudden hostility? Johnny shrugged, his chin jutting out.  She rolled her eyes before looking forward again.  He let his eyes slide away from her and back over to the front of the classroom, Byun had moved on to explaining the periodic table.

“Under extreme pressure these gases will not react well,” Byun pointed out on the table. “Which is why we must be cautious. If we aren’t careful, these gases will turn against us and once they do that, they are not very forgiving.” Johnny rolled his eyes. He barely caught the look Y/n sent him. He sighed as he looked to the clock, only 20 minutes had passed.

~~

The camera shutter clicked before Johnny pulled it down to his chest. “I heard there’s a new girl on the volleyball team,” a boy sitting across from him slightly twisted the lens on his camera. “She’s supposed to be good too. I heard one of the seniors talking about her though. They said that she’s not very personable.”

Kun sat next to Johnny, his hands clanking away on a keyboard, “So she’s not meshing well.” He hummed as he continued to stare at the screen. As a co-editor for the school newspaper Kun tried to stay in the know about all school affairs. “She will eventually. They still have a couple of weeks before the first tournament of the season. That’s really gonna help us know whether or not Y/n’s addition to the team is going to be beneficial or not.”

Johnny fiddled with his camera again. Obviously, Y/n had left a big enough impact on the local sports community that everyone knew about her. How could they not? Last year she started out on varsity as a Freshman. Her team had gone to the State Championships and won. She was the prodigy child, but that doesn’t answer Johnny’s biggest question. Why did she come here? RVHS had a respectable sports program and academics, SJHS’s girls volleyball team was less than respectable. “I don’t know. Y/n is a good player. We can see that from her stats, but if she can’t get along with the team then they’re going to have problems.”

“It’s her first week,” Kun gave a kind grin. “Give her some slack. We won’t come to a consensus about the team until we can watch them actually play.” He turned back to the screen he was editing. Kun was right. Johnny knew this, but he couldn’t help but remember her glare at him as she sat next to Yuta in Chemistry that morning. Can’t she get along with anybody? He didn’t even move, but she was acting like the chair breaking was his fault.

“I wouldn’t be optimistic,” Johnny shrugged and stood from his chair. Kun gave him a confused look. “I have some pictures to take. I’ll be back before class ends.” Escaping the classroom and the questioning looks of his peers, Johnny sighed before wandering away from the journalism room.

~~

To be fair, he probably should have been paying attention in class, but all he could think about was the bomb Kun dropped on him. How was he supposed to know that Kun was going to want him to go with him to the girls volleyball team to their first tournament? They had never done that before.

“We want to be able to track how the team is doing with their new superstar,” Kun had told him. Apparently, Kun was trying to feed into all of the school drama surrounding, Y/n L/n. “You’re the best person for the job. Think of it as a resume booster, Traveling Reporter.” Johnny had rolled his eyes at Kun, but ultimately agreed, if he wanted to be editor next year, he was going to have to make some sacrifices.

“Mr. Suh, can you please tell me the answer to question 2,” Mr. Byun had a hand resting on the whiteboard and an eyebrow raised. Johnny had glanced down to the textbook. Calorimetry. Great, he spaced out on one of the most important lectures of Chemistry.

Johnny glared at the page. “Umm 8.23 to the power of 10.”

The teacher shook his head, a disappointed look on his face, “Please be paying attention, Johnny. Y/n?”

“8.314 J mol -1 K -1,” Y/n glanced up, her voice pitched in a panic.

“Correct,” Byun scribbled on the board. “Next, we are going to see if-”

Johnny couldn’t help but send a small glare to the back of her head. He didn’t understand how she could continually have no self confidence in the classroom, but be cocky and egotistical outside of that. He scoffed lightly rolling his eyes as he watched her smile at Yuta.

She turned slightly towards him. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye she gave Johnny a sour look. Johnny tried to ignore her as the class continued on, and succeeded, until a group of guys from the boy’s volleyball team met him at the door. They all spoke to each other as they tried to get closer to Johnny. “Hey guys,” he grinned as they walked out of the doorway. He glanced away from the group to see Y/n running into an open locker door as she tried to push around the group. He tried to stifle a laugh as he saw her apologize to a kid and rub the growing spot on her forehead. Johnny watched as she sent a withering look to the group before moving on to her next class.

~~

He had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that this year’s girl’s volleyball team was good, shockingly good. It took two tournaments for Johnny to decide that Y/n was a vital part of the team and their success.

Now he watched as Y/n passed the ball up to the setter and the team made a kill. SJHS was in the lead. They had won the first set and the third set, now, all they needed to do was lock in the 4th and they would be on to the state championships. How they got there? Johnny had no good answer except that Y/n were on the team.

While his admiration for her on the court had grown, he could not say the same for in the classroom. Week after week he watched as she floundered through Chemistry and supposedly thrived in the rest of her classes. Not only that, but Y/n seemed to have a clumsy streak. It seemed like every time Johnny saw her, she was running into lockers, doors, or shelves. He could still picture the look on her face when an ice cream she was eating for lunch flew out of her hand and landed on the shirt of the girl sitting across from her.

“Game point,” the up referee called before motioning for SJHS to serve. Johnny took out his notepad jotting down the server and the point difference. 24-21, not a bad lead, but if the team messed up here their chances for state champion finals could be over. The server sent the ball floating over the net. Johnny knew that the libero’s float serve would throw any team. It was an almost surefire way of winning. Almost. The ball bounced off a hand laying flat on the court. SJHS cannot allow them to make a play off the ball. Johnny watched as the opposing them was able to get the ball to the middle hitter. His breath caught as you dived for the ball screaming toward the floor. Y/n scooped it up and gave it to the setter. The opposite side rushed to the net and before Johnny knew it the ball hit the floor on the other side of the net. SJHS had taken the point and were now on their way to the State Championship game tomorrow.

He stepped down the bleachers as the team made their way back to the locker room. His notepad crinkled as he stood down the hall from the room he watched the team go into. He needed to speak with a few members for a post he was going to write on tonight’s game and, if he’s optimistic, the state championship game. Johnny looked up as the door swung open and several of the team members came out. Y/n came into his view first, hair hanging down by her shoulders and a smile on her face.

“Hey,” he greeted the group. “Could I get a quick comment from a couple of you about tonight’s game?”

“Sure,” the girl he recognized as the varsity setter grinned a hand resting on her hip. “But please make it short and if you need a picture get my good side.”

Johnny snorted as she turned to the left, “I don’t think I want a sweaty volleyball player as the picture for my article.” He laughed as the girl swatted at him. “Great I need, you,” he pointed to the setter. “J. Lim, and.” He glanced around the group, his eyes settled on Y/n’s, “and M. Lee.” Y/n rolled her eyes and he raised an eyebrow at her, “and this should just take a few minutes. We’ll worry about longer comments after you win the state champs tomorrow.”

~~

tag list: @beyond-gethsemane , @lanadreamie , @michplusb @qianinterprises @jaxminskale @stayctday @nanascupid

~~

*Reposted from previous blog*

#johnny fluff #johnny angst #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #johnny x reader #johnny suh

[bipercabeth]

The Light That Shines When Things End

after Iain S. Thomas

You are at your fifth-grade graduation hugging Maya Barry and rocking her back and forth, your knobby knees shaking as she cries into your shoulder. Tears stain the collared shirt your mother wrangled you into, but you don’t have the heart to care.

“We’ll write letters,” you promise, voice dripping with young confidence. “And when I’m sixteen, I’ll drive all the way to California to see you.” Your birthday is midsummer, a whole three months before Maya’s. It’s manageable.

Only then does Maya look up at you. Your mother taught you to never pull away from a hug first. She would hold your hand, lock her eyes on yours, and say, “You never know how bad they need it.”

“You promise?” Maya asks, the flecks of gold in her big brown eyes particularly bright.

It’s then that you realize the shadows on her face are too short to come from the chandelier. You don’t need to look to your left to know the light is there, shining brightly.

Eyes fixed on Maya, you swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you lie. “I promise.”

During your junior year of high school, Mr. Kennedy drones on about the speed of light in that same monotonous voice that told you to look into careers outside of STEM, and you don’t listen to a word. It’s not like you’ll pass the test anyway; your textbook sits on the floor of your room at your dad’s, so you won’t see it for another week. Your mom asks if any friends can loan you their books. You don’t answer.

Exam day comes and passes, and when Mr. Kennedy slides your graded test face down on your desk, you only check the first question.

When a star implodes, for a few days,

     A. less dense      B. in the “red giant” phase      C. a result of a lack of matter      D. brighter than an entire galaxy

C, the answer you picked, is crossed out with red pen. D is circled in its place.

You shove the test in your backpack and march out of the room. Though dimmed now, the light follows dutifully, hovering where your shoulders sway with each stomping footstep. It has always been a stable presence, consistent despite bouncing between houses, schools, and friendships.

The windowsill at your favorite coffee shop is speckled with drops of molten sunlight despite the stormy sky.

“Your order?” the barista reminds you gently. You have ordered the same thing every school day since getting your license, but he still takes the time to ask.

You clear your throat and take an extra moment to pour over the menu, resolving to finally try the drink your mother swears by that you refuse to try. It’s bitter, and you regret not ordering your sugary, caffeinated monstrosity for just a moment, but it’s an acquired taste.

When you return the next day, a foreclosure sign greets you instead of the smell of coffee.

In the next school year, the light seems to flicker more than glow. It brightens and dims with every person you pass in the halls. The girl with the long braids casts you a friendly smile in passing—as she has for the past four years—and you’re so blinded that you nearly forget to smile back. One last chord rings out in the chorus concert hall (the warm harmonies of Omnia Sol) accompanied by that golden glow. At graduation, your English teacher presents you with a department award with tears of gold in his eyes.

The light calms during freshman year of college. In fact, it’s the furthest thing from your mind when Veronica drags you to your first college party, which the two of you spend nearly an hour of in the bathroom. You are eighteen and have the same knobby knees, but they are steady as Veronica throws her arm around your shoulder to smack a kiss on your cheek. You are eighteen and surely life will feel this good forever.

It doesn’t shine in sophomore year when Matt finds you crying over the dark keyboard of your laptop, tears illuminated only by the blue light of a blank word document. Instead, Matt turns on the desk lamp and closes the computer, whispering soothing words as he texts Veronica for backup.

The world turns on its head junior year, but the light stays dim. There are other, more distracting constants in your life now. Veronica and her gap-toothed smile. Matt and his round, kind eyes. You send a silent fuck you to Mr. Kennedy when you receive your very first A in a STEM class. Veronica smiles and notes that spite is one hell of a motivator. Matt takes his nose out of a book to grin in agreement.

By senior year, you’ve nearly forgotten that little thing in your periphery. It announces itself at graduation, but it doesn’t intrude. You and Veronica rent an apartment together and get real adult jobs. Matt lives three floors below with a trumpet playing roommate, so he’s nearly always with you.

It’s comfortable for years until you get a letter from the other side of the country containing your dream job offer. Matt is the one to get the mail that day, and he presses it into your hand excitedly. Veronica asks about the commotion from over your shoulder, her voice rumbling against your back.

You pour over the words on the page before asking Matt to read them aloud, not trusting your eyes. He does, but not without his voice breaking on the section about relocating.

As always, Veronica is the one to break the quiet. “I thought the point of writing was that you could do it from anywhere.”

The words have no sooner left her mouth when it appears. There in the center of the room, casting shadows on the life you’ve built, is a small sun. You are stuck in the gravity of what it means for this moment, unmoving as Veronica shifts to look at it.

“No,” she whispers. “This was good. This is so fucking good. I’m not done with you yet.”

Matt shifts to sit beside you, wrapping his arms around you and Veronica both. You take note of the way he looks soft in the light. There is a story there, if you’re brave enough to find the words, about the way light lays itself on you before it disappears.

Together they hold you, and the three of you breathe the same air. Nobody moves to pull away, so you keep holding on.

Approaching an end is worse than being at it, when you think about it. When you’re at an end, you’re also at a beginning. Approaching an end is just approaching an end.

Your heart beats like it’s trying to break through your rib cage to sit in the curve of Veronica’s palm just above. Matt’s tears fall on the shoulder of your sweatshirt. You think back on all the bouncing around; the homes, the schools, the friends. How you’ve found homes in your time, but never stayed there long enough to recognize what you found.

You know now, with the press of your friends—your family—surrounding you on all sides, that these two have given you that.

You want to step back from this moment, to hold it in your hands. Instead, your chest heaves a heavy sigh, shaking Veronica and Matt where they curl around you. You know better than to make promises you can’t keep.

So, this is the end. Or the beginning. Not quite the beginning, you think. It’s far too sorrowful for that. There is no sense of adventure or excitement, no aching realization that you are someone new. There is only this moment in front of you with your friends on either side. And it is approaching an end.

#okay y'all said yes to short stories so here is one of my favorites #bro how do i tag this it isn't fic #my fic #fuck it #ofic #originally it didn't have a title #and i lowkey liked it better that way #but for the sake of formatting... it is titled #emma yells