#(I say accidentally because it is the 20s and my tutor very loudly hated this book for being sexist)

[themidnightcircusshow]

@heartofstanding tagged me in this meme months ago and unfortunately it took me this long to get to it because I had a mild crisis over how long it's been since I've read a novel, let alone one that I loved 😅 so this is nine of my favourite novels (not books, because if I included manga/short stories/comics/etc this would be giant)

0The Picture of Dorian Gray -- Oscar Wilde// Pyrrhus-- Mark Merlis//The Scarecrow--Ronald Hugh Morrieson//Unnatural History--Kate Osman//Tunnels of Blood--Darren Shan//The Coffin Dancer--Jeffery Deaver//Hero--Perry Moore//Frankenstein--Mary Shelley//One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest-- Ken Kasey

[namjoonchronicles]

Smart | 1

➤ prompt: I am never a fan of studying but you're smart as fuck and I want you, but why won't you tutor me?

You tell yourself ‘what the fuck’ at least 20 times a day. Studying is not your strongest point and to be honest, you almost didn’t enrol in this university with your mediocre result.

A lot of people out there think that only smart ass get to be in this university, and honestly, you don’t know how you were even considered smart amongst all these geniuses. And truth be told, sometimes you feel so out of place, you just want to run home and leave everything behind.

But your mother will disown you, truth be told.

The words are starting to double themselves and you blinked your eyes a few times to see if it’s still look that way. You can’t decide whether you’re actually hungry or making excuses so you won’t have to study. “I am done with your bullshit.” You scolded yourself.

It’s easy to give up. More than easy.

Just get up and leave.

Grab your things, and go. Take the account you have been saving up on and run away. Flee to another country, change your name, start over. Gosh, its so easy.

But if you have to think of another reason why you shouldn’t abandon your study, that person right there could very well be the excuse.

You have been stalking him for almost a year and a half now. All he ever did for you is held the door open, and you’ve been crushing on him since then. You asked him to tutor you last semester and he never got around to reply your note. Maybe he’s not the kind that would tutor. Maybe you should move on.

You should really hate him. But you can’t. He’s everything you ever wanted and if you hate him, you don’t have anyone you like in this huge ass campus.

Foolish heart. Why would a majestic man like him bat an eye on you? A mediocre student with mediocre beauty and mediocre financial stability? Not to mention, how you barely got into this university with your mediocre brain.

Kim. Fucking. Namjoon.

Freakishly tall. Legs for days. Dimples when he smiles. The smartest in the lecture hall, the genius in your batch. He bites his lips a lot when he reads.. The amount of concentration he pours into whatever he is reading, has you perspirate. Sweat running down your back everytime he is within the same area as you are.

“If only I could have him tutor me. Oh the things I’d let him do to me.” You mewled, as you watch him lean to the bookshelves as he reads. You were not alone in gawking over his good looks, oh no. Half of the campus are pursuing him too. The competition is greuling.

All this hair flipping divas, with thick purses, fake lips and fake butts, flock him like hyenas to a good meat. Constantly giving him all the flirtatious, totally fake laugh, and handing him expensive socialites-only gifts and accidental touches on his arms like a crazy malnourished thirsty bitches.

No fair.

It was nice to see him in his own element, undisturbed and not bothered by any male-consuming flock of Medusas. He looks effortlessly charming. Even when he looks up and meet your gaze...

Hold up. Meet my gaze?

Fuck, look away. Now! Pretend to do something. Read. Read that paragraph again. “The light intensity is optimized, hence the Namjoon absorption level—the Namjoon? Fuck, what the fuck am I reading.” You muttered under your breath. Then a pair of long fingers slid next to your forearm. Blinking twice at it, you resumed ‘reading’.

“Excuse me.” Deep voice resonates in your head and it took everything in you not to reply, “Yes, my future baby daddy.” Looking up in your most natural smile, Namjoon’s face was in your sight and your throat went dry. “We’re in class together, right?” He asked, casually sitting opposing you. Is this really happening?

“For a year and a half, yes.” You blurted, nervously. “Well, I’m sure you don’t remember me but I was the one who completely fail that equation Professor Lee told me to solve on the board and then you came and solve them for me, yeah. I’m the idiot.” You raised your hand briefly and retracted it down while slapping it on the table very loudly, on accident. Earning a concerned ‘Ooh’ from Namjoon.

“Ow.” You whispered, gawking away. Namjoon half raised himself from the seat to see if you’re okay and you aggressively replied, “I’m fine please don’t stand so close to me, I’m having trouble breathing. I have asthma.” No, you don’t.

“Asthma, whenever you’re around that is.” You thought.

Namjoon was taken aback. But shrug it off like a gentlemen. “I saw your note.” He suddenly say. “Oh yeah that. Let’s pretend it never happened.” You said, shaking your head. “...done.” He spat. And if you thought he would right after, you were wrong. He stayed awhile,

Reading.

You, on the other hand, are about to have a cardiac arrest. Maybe you should leave if he isn’t going to. Standing up, as quietly as you can, Namjoon started to speak.

“Aren’t you curious?” “About what.” “Why I won’t tutor you?”

.. .. ..

“Not really, no.” You lied. Namjoon didn’t stop you. He let you leave. He watched you grab your bag from the side and tapped out of the library. He wasn’t going to follow you, but shortly after you left, he did too. He borrowed one book and on his way out, he shoved them in his bag and go.

He was going to make a quick stop by the vending machine to get a bar of chocolate and he did. Inserting the syillings in the slot and chose a Mars. He punches the button and let the machine does it’s work. He stepped back and took the purchased bar but before he gets to open them, he heard someone from the side asking him,

“Was it because I was too stupid that I can’t be tutored?”

Namjoon snapped his head to the direction of the voice. And you were standing there with your hair down, and your voice sounded nasally, although Namjoon didn’t think too much about it. “Sorry what?” He scrunches his face. “I said, am I too stupid for you to teach me.” Your voice dropped an octave lower.

“Of course no—“”—must be nice being a genius and all ha.”

“This has nothing to do with tha—“”—you think I’m stupid! Well, I’m doing the best I can. I know I’m not gifted or as smart as everyone in class, but fuck! I’m trying.” You let out a dry chuckle.

“And if you won’t tutor, that’s fine. Hope you do well in life, being stingy with the knowledge you learn. I don’t know why I even have a crush on you. Guess love do make people blind and a fucking retard.”

Namjoon blinked at you, still holding the wrapped Mars up on his chest level.. You marched at him and he froze, you grumbled, “For not replying my notes graciously,” you snatched the Mars out of his hand, unwraps it and shove a good half of it in your mouth.

Then you look at him, mouthful of chocolate before shoving the half-eaten chocolate back to his solid chest, and sputtered a, “Fuck you.” Before you took off, munching angrily.

Namjoon held the half eaten Mars and stuck his gaze on your back that’s getting smaller and smaller as you walk away with hearts in his eyes. “By all means, please.” He said to himself while watching your hair flew at every strike of the wind, before shoving the Mars into his own mouth.

That’s an indirect kiss, no?

Next→

[scriptaed]

misplaced

genre: fluff and second hand embarrassment; high school!au; drabble

pairing: namjoon x reader

length: 2.6k

summary: confessing to the smartest boy in the school shouldn’t be too hard, right? all goes well when you slip your letter of confession into his locker… or at least what you thought was his locker and not your arch enemy’s. since when did 151021 even slightly resemble 151020?

prompts:  “you may be an idiot, but you’re my idiot.”

“15… 10… 20…”

Skimming down the end of the hall, numbers subconsciously leave your mumbling lips as your finger traces along the cold, red paint that coats the series of lockers and marks a path invisible to the bare human eye. Every now and then, your footsteps would come to a stop, along with the stiffening of your body, awaiting for the whip of your head to check both ends of the hall; and once the coast is clear, a signal to proceed the risky journey you had embarked on would transmit through the shakiness of your breath and the hesitance of your following steps.

On the tips of your toes, you cautiously approach the specific number—or to be more precise, locker—you’re looking for. The bustling crowds in the cafeteria which bellows of constant chattering signals the start of lunch, and even though this isn’t exactly the best time nor method to deliver your confession written on this flimsy piece of paper held between your trembling hands, you find yourself left with no better choice.

You’ve been wanting to convey the true feelings you’ve held for a fellow classmate and friend, Kim Namjoon, but of course, none of those attempts ever works. English literature happens to be the only class you share with Namjoon, and somehow, throughout the entirety of the course, the seating arrangements and group projects had helped your casual acquaintance of a relationship with the supposed “know it all” blossom into more than that.

You fell in love with the small dimples that adorns his cheeks and accompanies his childlike grin that often stretches from ear to ear-one that largely contrasts his wise and experienced mien akin to one that belongs to a man much beyond his years- and even if the entire class often groans at his constant participation which earns him the title of the teacher’s favorite, you come to cherish each and every second of his deep, velvety, and sophisticated voice resonating like music to your ears.

But of course, each bashful smile he gives you and every stifled laugh of his in response to your constant raving tells you he’s too humble to accept such high praise—and that’s exactly why you adore him—but they’re all true. He’s the smartest in the class, and if it weren’t for him lending you a helping hand as your very own personal tutor, you would’ve pulled consecutive all nighters by now. And yet, each time you deeply inhale, gulp, and muster up all your courage to confess, the mere aversion of his eyes locking with yours accompanied by the quirk of a brow and a dimple flashing by his pressed lips is enough to still you.

And so here you are, hiding behind the mask of a paper only to reveal your identity once he checks his locker and a small, rectangular piece of blue paper falls from his stack of books. Quickly, you check both ends of the hall for any signs of outsiders before swiftly slipping the nearly crumpled note into the bottom slit of the locker—

“If it isn’t my favorite girl, you ready to cram some essays tonight, Y/N?” a familiar voice belonging to the one and only Namjoon calls out to you. Whipping your head to your right, you find him standing just a few feet away with a pair of shifty eyes as he glances between your suspiciously widened eyes and the lockers. A smirk creeps along his plump lips as he watches your cheeks flush a bright red, every inch of your skin scorching from the thought that maybe Namjoon had just caught you red handed; so much for confessing through paper. “So… what’re you doing there?”

“What?” you panic and gulp, your hands fidgeting with the ends of your tee. “N-nothing?”

He raises a brow at your wavering voice.

“Just… getting some books from my locker,” you force out a laugh.

Namjoon only chortles at your remark, rolling his eyes and leaning against the lockers, “well, first off, your locker isn’t even in this building. And second, my locker number isn’t 151021… it’s 151020.”

151021…?

A sharp intake of breath gets caught within the knot of your throat as your eyes pop open and a painful shiver runs down your spine. Darting your line of sight to the locker you had just slipped your letter of confession into, your heart nearly stops, but not before a final hammering against your constricted chest, when you subconsciously read aloud your woe of numbers branded across the locker.

“151021…”

Namjoon cackles at your reaction, hands burying into his pockets and a giddy smile stretching from ear to ear. “Yup. 15. 10. 21. What’re you doing with Tae’s locker anyways?”

“This is Taehyung’s locker?!” you shrill in horror. There’s no way you just delivered a letter with your entire heart spilled into ink—a letter meant for your crush, Namjoon— to the most despicable student of all, Kim Taehyung.

However, to be fair, to say despicable is quite the exaggeration; you don’t exactly hate him, in fact you actually find him quirky in his own way, but his habit of teasing you to the point that he nearly crosses the line every time doesn’t exactly spell out for the best friendship overall. To put it simply, the two of you had started calling each other arch enemies as some sort of joke started by the entire class and teacher.

“Indeed it is,” Namjoon nods and laughs at the drop of your jaw. He taps his foot against the ground, looking around for any signs of inspectors before raising both brows and parting his lips as if an idea had just sparked through his mind. “Ah… are you confessing to Tae? So that’s what this is about. After bickering and chasing him every single day during class, you’re finally coming to admit your true feelings—”

“No!” you cut in; you don’t want your crush to think you’re smitten with someone else, especially not your arch enemy. “I’d never like someone like Taehyung!”

“Mmmhm,” he teases with a hum. “Then what’s that blue paper you had?”

“Nothing. Just reminding him of our rivalry,” you quip.

“Uhuh,” Namjoon laughs. “Well, if you don’t want him reading that note in front of class, I suggest you piclock his locker somehow or something.”

“You know I can’t do that!” you sigh in frustration and reach over to grab his arm only to have him dodge your grasp with a simple step backwards. “Joon, please help me stop Taehyung from seeing that note!”

“Do I get to read it then?”

“No!”

“Ciao,” he waves you goodbye before walking backwards towards class, chuckling when he notices the scowl of despair and spite written all over your face. “Alright fine, I’ll see what I can do… but are you sure you don’t want to confess?”

No, the only person I want to confess to us you!

The frustration of having to keep yourself from sorting out the misunderstanding and hiding the true motives behind your letter bottles up inside your heated, twisted chest until it exerts through your next shout which echoes through the empty halls.

“Joon!”

He laughs at your loud huff, wrinkled nose, and furrowed brows, before giving you one last wave and gesturing for you to join him on his way to literature class.

And even though you’re redder than ever walking by his side, and you don’t think it’s even possible for any human kind to be as embarrassed as you are, the worst is still yet to come. Because when lunch ends and class starts, that’s when your darkest nightmares become reality.

“Hey, Y/N, guess what I got in my locker today,” Taehyung sing-song, plopping into his seat beside you as the rest of your classmates settle in.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, looking away to the front of the class.

“Oh, c’mon, guess! I bet you didn’t get any notes today!” Taehyung teases only to pout when you fail to splurge him with your attention.

“Alright, fine, I’ll guess. It’s probably a mistake. Maybe someone really stupid accidentally slipped it into your locker,” you mutter while technically dissing yourself.

Eyeing the familiar blue sticky note, you make a leap for it; leaning over and struggling with all your might to grasp at the paper, Taehyung is quick enough to raise his hand into the air, and in effect, the paper becomes out of your reach. Plopping back down into your seat, you sigh. There goes your last hope. The only dignity you have left in the fate of this airhead of a boy.

“Whoa there, hold your horses. Did you write this note for me or what?” he laughs, trying to suppress a smile.

“No,” you mumble and cross your arms. “I just feel really bad for whoever wrote that, because who would like someone like you?”

“Are you sure that person isn’t you?” he wiggles his brows and nudges your elbow. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I love teasing you, but I’d also love getting a handwritten letter from you!”

You narrow your eyes at him, “…no, but you wish.”

“Alright then, I guess we’ll just have to find out now!” he giggles at the widening of your eyes when he loudly scoots his chair back and stands upright. You’re just about to tell him the truth, to beg him to sit down because you don’t want your confession exposed for the entire class to hear, but the clearing of his throat tells you there’s no escape from the start of your doom. The throaty cough of his manages to easily garner other’s attention like always, your classmates turning their heads to glance at the beaming boxy smile of his. “Afternoon everyone! I just wanted to read this lovely note I received from,” he coughs, ”someone during lunch in my locker.”

In the corner of your eyes, you spot Namjoon lifting his eyes from the desk to glimpse between you and Taehyung. Locking your eyes with his, you’re internally begging for him to do something, but all Namjoon responds your pleas with is a suppressed laugh.

Ugh, he’s the worst.

“Dear, no, that’s too cheesy, hey,” Taehyung begins with a giddy grin, every now and then glimpsing at you to check on your reaction which only consists of a head buried into your arms and desk. Your face burns an even brighter shade of red with each familiar word he recites aloud, especially when Taehyung cinches his brows at the odd introduction you had written. But when his eyes come to find the next words written on paper, his smile fades and is replaced by a crestfallen pout, “dear… Namjoon. Hm, I could’ve sworn it was in my locker…”

“Alright, lunch is over, Tae. Stop pretending you have a secret admirer of some sort and open your textbook or something,” Namjoon’s voice resonates like an angel— or rather, a savior—who had graced upon you.

“If it’s not mine and Y/N didn’t write it, then who did…?” Taehyung looks at you with clueless, soft eyes, but it takes everything in you not to smack him in the head for assuming those two went together.

Walking over to your desk, he swiftly snatches the letter from Taehyung, “I don’t know, but I’ll be taking that from you as it is rightfully mine.”

The entire class cackles at whatever had just played out right before then, turning their heads back around to enjoy the remaining minutes of lunch without another question, for something as odd as this isn’t irregular when Taehyung is in your class.

Thankfully, the rest of the class passes by within the blink of an eye. And even though the flush red in your cheeks never fully subside throughout the lecture, especially when Namjoon catches you glancing at him and smirks when you panic and look away, Taehyung proceeds to pretend as if nothing had happened in the first place. And just like that, you find yourself shuffling across the room and exiting the class… but of course, not without yet another unexpected, and probably dreaded, event.

But when a hand tugs at your elbow and pulls you off to the side and away from the crowd, you find yourself standing before Namjoon.

“So, can you explain this to me now?” He raises your letter in between his two fingers with a smug smile.

“It’s not for you and I didn’t write it…” you mumble, trying to snatch it from him only to have him raise it higher into the air and out of your reach.

“Are you sure? Because I don’t think there’s any other Y/Ns I know of, and I certainly don’t like two Y/Ns,” he smirks at the way your eyes dart to him and your heart skips in flutter and shock.

“L-like?”

“Yeah, but I guess since you didn’t write it, I’ll just ask someone else out on a date,” he shrugs, shooting you a suspecting gaze.

“A date?” you can barely utter when your throat becomes dry and your mind can barely comprehend the implications of his statements. Namjoon… likes… you? Someone actually likes you? Your crush likes you?

“Mhm,” he chimes, “but not for you—”

“Okay, I wrote it,” you glue your eyes to the ground and reach a hand out. Taking a deep breath and sighing, you take a quick peek at him only to avert your eyes when you find his warm, dark eyes gazing back at yours in amusement. “Can you please give me it back now? It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?” he chuckles. “I think it’s awfully cute. Maybe not grammatically correct, but it’s cute. Plus, it says it’s written for me. See? Nam-joon. I think I’ll be keeping this for future reads.”

“…fine,” you grit your teeth, turning around and ready to storm off into the other direction.

“Are you free later tonight? Maybe seven?” Namjoon calls out to you, chuckling when you turn around with a raised brow.

“Aren’t we supposed to be editing each other’s essays tonight?”

“We can do that another day, especially now that we’ll be seeing each other more often,” he chuckles. “In fact, I’ll edit all your essays for free if you agree to go out with me.”

You frown, trying to suppress a smile, “you already do, idiot.”

“You might be an idiot, but you’re my idiot,” he quips with the wink of an eye.

“I said you’re the idiot,” you snort.

“Same thing.”

“So… are we dating now?”

“I don’t know, depends on you, my clumsy idiot,” he chuckles, shifting his weight between each leg.

Rolling your eyes, you whirl around and walk down the halls before bidding him a temporary goodbye, “I’ll see you later at seven then, idiot.”

Prior to Namjoon’s confrontation, all you wanted to do was abandon your entire identity and transfer out to another school before Taehyung could even discover the misplacement of your letter.

But none of that could even compare to the utter dread you felt during class, when Taehyung teased you unknowingly and Namjoon only watched from afar—probably already figuring out that you had written him that note in Taehyung’s hands.

And now that the aftermath of your little incident has passed, you can’t help but believe that maybe your misplaced letter isn’t so bad after all, especially when you glance over your shoulder to find Namjoon cheering “yes” several times and jumping into the air with glee; maybe, the misplacement of a letter was meant to be a deliberate plan crafted by fate and the final push for your relationship with Namjoon—or to be more precise, your idiot of a boyfriend.