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dreaming-of-assclass · 4 years ago

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CURSED MINDS THINK ALIKE BAHDJSNSKS

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone before!” Feat Okajima suddenly Discovering he likes Hayami because of her personality and not bcz of her appearance or whatever

While accepting she won’t like him back and... angst lmao? Or no angst you decide haha :eyes:

If anyone is confused, this came from both me and Nao thinking of a Valentine’s prompt for Hayami/Okajima 😂 aka the ship we love in a serious way and a crack way lmao.

This turned out be more of an introspective character study lol, but I hope I did it justice, bestie <3

Word Count: 1,694 words

In all fairness, Okajima mused to himself, it’s not like any part of this year went like planned.

Getting sent to Class E was a punch in the gut, for sure. There was no denying that, not after the laughter from his former classmates or the yelling he had to hear from his mom once he broke the news to her.

He’d been expecting a year of slacking, if he was going to be truly honest. He’d already reached rock bottom, no use in wasting his time and energy trying to get back into the main campus. Not when he was an average student, at best.

Fooling around during lessons, being labelled the class clown, hanging out with his friends, admiring his female classmates, overall having a good time. That was what he believed would await him in the dingy old building of 3-E.

Instead, their teacher was replaced by a giant yellow octopus who moved at Mach 20 and was gonna destroy the world, and it was up to him and his 25 classmates to save it.

Yeah. Big change of plans.

Okajima found himself actually being motivated to work, more and more everyday. He felt...excited to go to school everyday and feel better about himself, and his academic capabilities. He loved contributing to assassinations and proving himself a valuable member of the class.

But there was one part of him that didn’t quite go away for a while.

He sighed. His inexplicable love of female anatomy. That was the...polite way to put it. His classmates would phrase it as “his insufferable pervertedness.” Which was totally fair.

It was really shameful how he’d acted for a long time. His defining trait had been born from a life of being raised by his father, as well as the tiny voice in himself screaming for attention. To get noticed in some way, even if it earned him ire and scorn.

For a while, Okajima wasn’t sure how to interact with others beyond showing his perverted nature.

And looking back now, that was such a cowardly excuse he used. It had taken him way too long to realize that.

Okajima hated how he used to be, and his eyes were awakened after the girls in his class explained to him what was wrong. How his actions made them feel insulted and uncomfortable.

He painfully recalled the sharp sensation in his chest that formed to a lump in his throat at hearing their words.

It was never his intention to hurt them.

Okajima vowed to change that part of himself, and it was much easier than he thought it’d be. Looking back, it seemed like most of his problems in general came from overthinking.

The year was almost to an end now, and it was early February. Okajima had made a lot of progress, and he was happy to know how much he’s changed. How he had better, more honest relationships with his classmates now.

Well...there was still a bit of an issue...

Hayami.

The issue was Hayami.

Of course, not in a literal sense. Okajima could never think of her as that...not with the way she pushed back her bangs while reading, when he’d catch her watching cat videos in class, or the occasional times she’d laugh at his jokes...

He groaned to himself. I really do have it bad, don’t I?

As shocking as it sounded, he’d never had a crush before. Not on a girl, at least. Since there was that one boy in sixth grade who he-

Back to the topic, lusting after girls didn’t count as crushes, he realized belatedly. All of the objects of his admiration were solely for their looks, really.

But...somehow Hayami was different.

Like yeah, she had a banger body in his opinion, the perfect dancer build. But even before he’d had a change of character, that didn’t quite catch his attention as much as it usually would.

His favorite part of Hayami would always be the core of who she was. How she didn’t take bullshit from anyone. How she worked so hard, more diligent than anyone he’d ever known. How she kept a cool head all the time and was so reliable.

He just loved that she was tough and unapologetic for it.

The first time she’d responded to one of his stupid comments with a sharp, fierce glare, Okajima felt a thrill run through him. Partly out of fear, of course, but mostly out of...curiosity.

She was so different, so mysterious. He wanted to know more about her. And since they were seatmates for the year, that gave him some opportunities.

He was the first to know of her love for cats. He’d caught her looking wistfully at pictures of them on her phone, and he wisely kept that observation to himself. And a few days later, he gifted her with a cute cat-themed stationary set, claiming that his mom mistakenly bought it.

The way Hayami’s eyes lit up as her lips curved up in a small smile, a whisper of “thank you” falling off them was extraordinary and made Okajima’s heart leap.

Hayami’s other quirks soon added to his feelings towards her. He loved seeing her fidget with her pigtails absentmindedly. How she doodled pictures of cats on the side of her notebook. The way her feet created a small rhythm against the wooden floor, counting to a beat. How she looked like a complete badass during P.E class, loading her gun and shooting with it effortlessly.

Okajima sighed, his arms falling atop his face as he lay in bed. These new...romantic feelings were overwhelming, to say the least. He felt like voicing his thoughts, just so someone- anyone could give him advice. His dad and brother were absolutely out of the picture, though. So the most trusted people were...

He reached over and grabbed his phone, dialing a familiar number.

“Alright, dude. You said you were going through a crisis.” Mimura leaned back into his beanbag seat, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. “What’s up?”

Okajima leaned down slightly, his forearms resting onto his knees. “Well...it’s not really a crisis. It’s just...something new that I’m not used to.”

Sugaya raised an eyebrow from his spot on his bed, glancing up from his pencil in his hand he’d been observing. “I swear, if this is puberty-related-”

“It’s not! It’s more like, my feelings towards something has changed and I’m not sure why.”

“Shoot.”

Okajima took a breath then released everything in one go.

“I have a crush on Hayami and it’s not just for her appearance. I really like her personality. I think she’s a total badass who can step on me and I’d love it. But I also think she’s adorable and I wish I could get closer to her. But I know there’s no way in hell she’d ever like me back, so I’m just accepting that and...yeah.”

His friends’ eyes widened simultaneously, as Sugaya dropped his pencil and Mimura paused, holding his candy mid-air. The look they exchanged was almost comical, so Okajima let out a shaky laugh. “Uh...guys?”

Mimura snapped back to reality. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just...surprised.”

The artist hummed. “Yeah...I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you’d fall in love or whatever someday. But your crush is what surprises me...”

“Yeah, why Hayami?” Mimura chimed in.

Okajima frowned slightly. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean...she’s pretty scary,” Sugaya replied.

“And emotionally unavailable,” Mimura added.

“She’s super reserved.”

“Kind of...bitchy on her worst days-”

“Okay!” Okajima raised his voice, irritably. “Are you two done? Did you even hear what I said earlier?”

“No because you said it all really fast in one breath.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, smartass, there’s so much more to her that I really adore. And I don’t think it’s right to...when you like someone, you accept every part of who they are. You shouldn’t pick and choose what you like about them.”

His friends glanced at each other again. “I guess you have a point,” Sugaya admitted.

Okajima sat back with a sigh. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Like...all I wanna do is see her smile and be happy. I wanna make her laugh. Seeing her every morning is enough to make my day. I know it sounds dramatic but...”

Mimura frowned at him. “Would you ever confess? Maybe there’s a chance that she-”

The photographer cut him off. “There isn’t.”

“Dude, you don’t-”

“Even if she did, I wouldn’t want us to be together,” Okajima replied. He gave his friends a thin smile.

“She deserves so much better than someone like me.”

Okajima stopped in front of the door, his hand hovering above the knob. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the thundering sound of his own heartbeat.

It was just another typical day. Or, as typical as a day could be given the circumstances of their class.

And yet, voicing his ambivalent feelings last night gave way to a heaviness that settled deep into his chest. It weighed him down and brought a crushing sensation to his throat as well, like it was hard to breath.

“It’s just in my head,” he muttered to himself, finally turning the doorknob.

Stepping into the classroom almost felt like a dream. He stood briefly as if in a daze, holding his bag. A second passed and he moved mechanically towards his seat.

All around him, his classmates were getting ready for the day. Setting up their desks, gathering around to chat, some were eating a quick breakfast. It didn’t matter: everything just blurred around him anyways.

He set his bag down and began pulling out his supplies. The words fell from his lips in an excited greeting, a grin automatically forming on his lips.

“Good morning, Hayami!”

She turned in his direction, her hand resting elegantly under her chin. Her lips quirked up into a small smile as she returned his greeting. Her tone was casual yet genuine and it sent electricity through him.

“Morning, Okajima.”

Yeah. She deserved only the best.

And it wasn’t him.

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ruakichan · 4 years ago

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Self-vent ahead!

I hate being “a creative.”

I’ve been drawing for about thirty years, most of that in fandom, and it’s utterly, hopelessly de-motivating to see that nothing has actually come from all that time. (Is this my mid-life crisis lol?) No improvement, no following, I couldn’t even make money off my work if I tried (still living off my savings right now, for those that are aware I quit my job during the rona shutdown), no sense of lingering pride or accomplishment when I manage to squash down the loathing enough to finish a piece. I’ve watched my artist friends rightfully gain traction and blossom, while I shrivel.

All those pretty little puff pieces you see about how “work hard to improve!” have absolutely no idea what it’s like to be in the stratum known as complete banal mediocrity. You hit a wall that no amount of “working hard” can overcome: the wall that separates the talented from the hacks.

And squished right against that wall are the mediocre: good but not good enough. Only noticed because maybe they fill some niche until someone better comes along. They throw themselves against that wall in hopes of overcoming it, but never look up to see how high it really is.

A bad artist will always improve. A mediocre one just suffers diminishing returns.

My best friend, with good intentions, got me a very nice Cintiq for Christmas. He spent a lot of money he really shouldn’t have. He’s a “creative” too, so he understood some of what I was going through, and thought this would cheer me up, give me a boost. Thought maybe it was my outdated tools (over a decade old) was holding me back.

I accepted it because he was very proud of his grand gesture, but I wish he didn’t. I feel obligated to use it, to draw, to be continually disappointed, to continue to disappoint others. And on the rare occasion I do something I am pleased with the final product of, I hate it so, so very much the next day, and the masses agree, as the reception is silent.

Being an artist inherently has a streak of exhibitionism: what you draw is a reflection of your thoughts and perception of the subject matter, and when you post it publicly, you are asking for validation of that image. Being able to appeal to a broad spectrum of people is a talent on its own: any popular meme or illustration becomes that way because people go, “yes, I can relate!” in some fashion. Empathy is incredibly important in any creative work.

But when the reception is silent, it’s hard to tell where it is you failed: the subject matter? the appeal? the skill level? everything? Do I fail at connecting with people despite being able to do it very well IRL? Is my art style just that unattractive? Is it my skill level, flat and uninspiring?

I know what I hate about my work (everything), but I don’t know what causes others to recoil from it, except to maybe give a pitying glance over but not enough to go ‘yes, I can relate!” and share it with others. So I can only assume it’s for the same reasons why I hate it: everything.

Perhaps my loathing for my art comes through in the image, which in turn elicits a similar reaction in others. I feel ‘this is ugly’ and others pick up on that and react in kind. There’s something to be said about how people can pick up on your body language and confidence in face-to-face conversation; perhaps this is the same with art. But what about the work I do that I’m proud of, which gets even less reception?

During the initial drawing process, I do very much love art. I do like the act of ‘creating.’ I’m happiest during this point; I like brainstorming or daydreaming, doodling and laughing at my own bad jokes. But the longer I stay with a piece of work, the more critically I look at it, and the more ashamed I am of wasting my time with something that no one can love, not even me. There’s a lot of work I just never finished; there’s a lot of work I just flat out deleted from existence. I’ve been trying not to do this; try to at least post something, finish something, acknowledge that even flawed things have merit, but holy hell, it gets so depressing seeing these malformed things out there in the wild, even if no one else sees them.

When I was first starting out, I didn’t have these sort of thoughts, eagerly, lovingly drawing, proud of every single doodle, sharing them with anyone that would cast a glance my way. When you’re fresh and naive, you don’t realize how personal art is until you get rejected enough to start to become self-aware of your own flaws: like how children can be so unabashedly carefree while adults are acutely self-conscious.

Lately, I hate admitting I draw. I don’t like sharing my art freely. Even the brief moment I got validated—being a winner in some contest for some game—I immediately wished I could take that image away so people wouldn’t see it cause I threw it together to get the participation prize. “This isn’t representative of what I can do!” ... but maybe it is. After all, it won, where others I labored over haven’t.

Social media definitely hasn’t helped in this day and age, where you’re aggressively bombarded with how well you succeeded or failed. I shut down my Twitter for this reason; it was absolutely soul-crushing to see anything I do die in the ether, because I wasn’t good enough. All these followers, but no response? It’s better just to hide them under the bed, than look at your own failures.

So now I spend a lot of time going “why bother” when it comes to creative endeavors as I try to come to some final acceptance of my own mediocrity.

Why bother?

The images are prettier in my head. They don’t need to be realized because I can’t convey them in a worthy manner that people would want to see. If after nearly 3 decades, I haven’t been able to surmount that wall, I need to accept that this is the end of the road.

Why bother indeed? There are many more talented, able artists to provide beautiful works. I want to freely consume them without thinking about where I failed. I can only look at art in areas I don’t draw in; it’s the only way I don’t immediately want to break my own hands.

Anyway, long vent, but it’s been building up since I got that Cintiq. I don’t talk about this much because people hate hearing about it. They don’t want to see your anxieties. You have to be *~strong~* and *~confident~* as an artist, and it’s “”””””cringe””””””” to have any doubts about yourself. They don’t want to see “I’m not happy with this, but here it is” attached to something you did. They call it “fishing for compliments,” without realizing there’s a lot of baggage attached to a lot of artwork that they, as the viewer, don’t see.

That when artists post art, they are literally putting themselves up on display. They wonder where they can improve in their work, they wonder about the reaction to their art. These things don’t exist in a vacuum, independent of each other. Art is inherently exhibitionist.

It’s why I’m the least suited for it, and I wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self to go collect stamps or something. What a waste of a life.

#personal

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daisahi · 5 years ago

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uh well you see... | koshi sugawara x reader

Pairing: Koshi Sugawara x f!reader

Summary: it just so happens that after working together on an assignment you both accidentally grabbed each other's notebooks by mistake and now you’re trying to get it back.

Words: 2,017

Warning(s): embarrassment, fluff,

You lightly kept tapping your pencil on the desk up and down as you reread the assignment you had finished. It was currently lunchtime, everybody around you was chatting with their friends as they ate. While you sat alone at your desk double-checking the work before turning it in after lunch. Your heart was still beating, spending time with Sugaawara was hard he was always busy and never alone. It surprised you that he even decided to ask to work on it together nevertheless, your heart was jumping with joy at the idea.

Having a crush on him was exciting yet a bit difficult he was naturally kind to those around him so it was troublesome to know if he liked you or not. Sighing you dug around in your bag to grab your notebook, it always helped to write down how you felt at least that’s what Kiyoko suggested.

“Where is it?!” you mumbled taking your bag and placing it on the desk to look better. To your horror, the notebook that was there wasn’t yours instead it was Suga’s.

‘I’m dead...I’m officially dead...he’s going to think of me as a weirdo.’

It felt as if your spirit had left your body and all that was left was your human corpse that laid there still horrified about what just happened. “Hey, are you alright?” your head turned to see Kiyoko and Yachi there “What’s wrong?” Kiyoko asked.

“I think I just asked for death...” they looked at you confused and your hand extended out towards them as you held his notebook. However, they didn’t catch on as to why you were having a mid-life crisis. “How come you have Suga’s notebook?” Yachi asked.

“We worked on an assignment together...then we accidentally grabbed each other’s notebooks by mistake...” you spoke and they both nodded still wondering what the problem was “So...the one that I use to write my assignment down is where I have my doodles and his name is written on it...”

“How did that happen?” Yachi asked, “Well you see...” you chuckled slightly feeling like an idiot.

You bit your lip in concentration as you tried to figure out the next question. The door then slid open to reveal Sugawara, “Hey (y/n)!” he yelled out making your head turn towards the doorway. Your eyes widened seeing how adorable his messy hair looked! “Oh boy...he is making it hard for me,” you muttered.

He smiled softly as he walked over to your desk “Sorry I was late.” he scratched the back of his head as his perfect teeth showed. “We had volleyball practice before lunch and some of them weren’t making it easier for me to come early.”

You smiled lovingly at him and nodded “It’s okay I understand.” Suga then moved the desk and placed it in front of yours so he could face you. “Did you get started on it?” he asked, you quickly straighten yourself up.

“Yeah, I have three questions down.” you answered “Already?”

You nodded “Can I take a look?”

“Sure.” you slid your notebook closer to him, “I kinda...had a bit of trouble with it so I apologize for it just being...three questions.”

“Don’t worry you’ve done more than I have. I know you’re trying hard.” he spoke looking at you “I’ve seen you staying late after school with Mr. Fujiwara.”

“Oh...y-you know?...” you mumbled looking away “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, (y/n).”

“I-It’s not that...” you said “Then?” he asked you looked down at your lap not meeting his gaze. “I-I...just I’m the only one in class who still has trouble with English...it’s not my first language...I feel stupid...sometimes I guess...”

“I don’t think you’re stupid nor does our teacher and your friends (y/n). I have trouble with science sometimes that doesn’t make me stupid does it?”

“Of course not! I-I’ve...never thought about you...that way. I think you’re really smart Suga.”

“Then don’t think that way about yourself everyone needs help sometimes. Without help, we wouldn’t know how to get better, think about it like this.” he continued “Each time you ask for help you’re closer to getting better little by little as if you were running an obstacle course.”

The thumps in your heart became louder as he leaned in closer, he chuckled making you blush in return. “R-right!”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to finish it in time for tomorrow. Why don’t we meet after school?” he suggested “J-just the two of us?” he nodded “W-what about...p-practice?” you stuttered. “Today we’re just practicing our spikes. I can ask coach Ukai if I can stay for an hour and then leave.”

“I see, then s-sure let me know what he says then?” he got his phone out and then so did you. “I’ll give you my phone number so I can message you.”��

A wide smile spread on your face feeling excited about getting his phone number. Once you traded phone numbers the bell rang, “I gotta go I’ll text you.” he said grabbing the left notebook. You nodded resting your chin on your hand not caring about anything else, only Suga. “Bye Sugawara!” you exclaimed bravely waving goodbye. He waved goodbye as well and gave you a smile.

“Oh...” was all they said before they realized what had occurred, “Just ask him for your notebook back.” Kiyoko said, “I would...but if he saw what I wrote in it and asked me about it I wouldn’t know what to say!” you exclaimed, “I’m dead.”

‘I rather just crawl in a hole and die before asking for my notebook...my chances are ruined...’

“I got an idea! Why don’t you come to practice with us? That way while he plays you could sneak into his bag and get it back!” your eyes widened at the idea of retrieving your notebook back. “Yachi! I love you!” you exclaimed making everyone turn around and look at you two. Your arms went around her neck hugging her tightly she was a blushing mess and people’s stares didn’t help.

“I still have a chance!” you spoke with such happiness, “Now I just have to wait till practice and hope he's not there."

"Don't worry I'll keep him distracted!" Yachi exclaimed.

After school you waited a few feet away from the gym, Yachi and Kiyoko arrived a few minutes later. “Are you ready?” Kiyoko asked “No...” you groaned feeling your stomach full of butterflies “I-I don’t want to get caught.”

“We’ll keep him distracted, right now they should be getting changed,” Yachi said pointing to the club room. “It’s the second door.” on cue the guys then walked out, “Hide.”

You hid behind the vending machines “Hey what are you doing out here?” Daichi asked, “We were discussing something about the assignment we were about to head inside.” Kiyoko answered while Yachi seemed a bit nervous.

“Are you alright?” Sugawara asked looking at Yachi, “Y-Yeah! Let’s get the practice started shall we?!”

Hinata then took off running, “HEY! NO FAIR YOU GOT A HEAD START!” Kageyama yelled and went after him. “I swear they’re such idiots,” Tsukishima commented while Yamaguchi laughed.

Once they finally started moving Kiyoko gave you the signal and you quickly dashed to the club room. You walked inside, looking around frantically for Sugawara’s bag. “Where is his bag? All I know for sure if Daichi’s bag is around then his has got to be next to it.

“Let’s begin stretching,” Daichi called out, everyone got in line and started counting after him. “2, 2, 3, 4.”

“1, 2, 2, 3, 4,” Sugawara said stretching his right arm and pulling it across his chest with his right hand. Coach Ukai looked around, “Hey specs.” he said, “Yeah?” Takeda replied.

“Have you seen the clipboard that has the moves listed?” Mr. Takeda looked around but shook his head “I don’t see them anywhere Sir.”

“That’s weird...I distinctly remember leaving it here.” he mumbled, “Maybe you left it back at the club room, we did have that meeting two days ago after practice.”

“Right...” Coach Ukai said rubbing the back of his neck “Crap...” he turned to look at the team “I’ll be right back guys keep stretching and then start warming up.”

“Where are you going coach?” Hinata asked, “I forgot the clipboard back at the club room.” Yachi’s hairs then stood up “W-wait! I-I can g-get it m-myself! Coach you don’t have to go!” she spoke.

“Don’t worry I can go get it myself.” he smiled softly “Yachi! Can you come and toss us some volleyballs please?” Hinata asked “O-oh! U-uh...”

“I can go no worries.” Sugawara said, “Plus I was going to go back to get my sweater.”

“Thanks, Sugawara.” Coach Ukai responded, he then left and Yachi immediately texted you.

“Where can it be?!” you yelled in frustration. Your phone then vibrated in your back pocket. However, you ignored it and let out a small yay of happiness that you found his bag.

“Now I can rest in peace,” you spoke smiling widely holding his bag tightly against your chest and hugging it.

“What...um...are you doing with my bag?...” the happiness didn’t last long and now you were fearful.

Sugawara walked closer and saw your notebook, “I was going to return it to you...I-I accidentally grabbed yours instead of mine. I guess I don’t need to do that anymore.”

“I-I’m sorry...” you mumbled quietly as strands of hair covered your titled downward face. “It’s okay.”

However you never once looked at him you felt embarrassed. He examined your face and saw it was red. He was a bit overwhelmed with the situation not knowing how to decipher it all he knew was that you looked into his bag.

“I-I...um I-I know this looks bad! A-and I have no right to even look through your belongings! M-more or less when you’re about to have practice b-but I-I couldn’t wait...I-I...” you sighed looking at him with watery eyes “I-I’m sorry...”

Sugawara frowned and took a step forward “Was there something important?”

“M-more...like embarrassing.” you mumbled, “I doubt it was anything that bad.”

“Oh trust me...you’d be running towards the hills...”

He chuckled lightly and took the notebook, once you had let go he took it as a sign to look.

Sugawara...he’s the best!

He may be number two on the court but he’ll always be number one in my heart <3

Sugawara was surprised but happy to see that his crush liked him back. His smile grew wider reading all the messages that the notebook had. Even doodles like flowers and hearts, his jersey number was drawn big.

I know how much he is driven to play volleyball and wishes to be on that court. His determination to become better and take care of his teammates but most importantly his friends...is admirable.

KOSHI SUGAWARA <3 <3

(y/n) Sugawara <3

“You must think...I’m a freak.” he shook his head and handed you back the notebook. “I’ve never had someone written anything about me, it’s definitely different but at least now...”

His gaze then connected with yours making your cheeks turn red “I know you feel the same way.”

“H-huh?...” the realization then dawned on you, your heart went wild and it felt like you were on cloud 9. “W-wow...I-I um didn’t expect this to go good.”

“Me...neither but I’m glad it did.”

“Same here.”

You smiled softly feeling a lot more calmed down, he then closed the gap between you both and leaned in. Your eyes closed on their own, butterflies fill your stomach again.

His lips connected with your cheeks as his hands held your own.

“So this is why you took so long.” a voice suddenly spoke, Suga stood next to you holding your hand. “D-Daichi!”

It wasn’t just him the whole team showed up! “FINALLY!” Tanaka and Nishnoya exclaimed, “After a year you finally did it.” Asahi commented “N-Not cool guys!” Sugawara exclaimed, “We’re just happy for you two.” Coach Ukai smirked looking down at you.

“This is going to be talked about forever...” you muttered, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” they sang “First comes love then comes to kiss...”

“Yup.”

#koshi sugawara x reader #koshi sugawara #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu blog #haikyuu sugawara #haikyuu x reader #hq!!#sugawara x reader #fanfiction

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irish-nlessing · 8 years ago

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Making the Grade - Ch. 1

The only sound Poppy Miller could hear was the pounding of her heart in her ears. The words were swimming in front of her eyes. “Clerical error...unable to complete graduation application...missing credits.” Reaching up with a trembling hand, she pulled her laptop closed with a quiet click. “No no no no no. This is not how this is supposed to go. This is not how this is supposed to happen.” Her voice was thick, the words tinged with panic. She rolled away from the small desk in her cramped office and dropped her head between her knees and started counting. “100...99...98...97…” The numbers had always soothed Poppy, even when she was a small girl. They never changed, there was always order, and they never faltered. Saying them out loud made her feel like she was in control and centered, even when things in her world were spinning into chaos.

“25...24...23...22...21...20.” Poppy took a deep breath, feeling her heart rate slowly return to normal. Her ears were no longer ringing and making her feel as though she was listening to the sounds of the bustling newspaper office from under water. Sitting up, she smoothed her hair and opened her laptop back up with a purposeful flick of her wrist. She grabbed the phone from it’s cradle on her desk and punched in the direct extension to her academic advisor’s office. For the past three years Poppy had spent countless hours in Professor Williams’ office, pouring over class schedules and timelines. He’d always been supportive, if not a little bemused, by Poppy’s fervent need to graduate early. Early on he’d tried to figure out why she was so focused on it, but he’d given up quickly after realizing that once Poppy had made a decision, it was done - never to be altered. Her drive and stubbornness had helped propel her to the top of the Dean’s List and had made her the youngest Editor in Chief of The Monitor, the weekly newspaper of her small liberal arts college. On the third ring, Professor Williams finally picked up. “Ms. Miller. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Poppy scowled - she forgot about the caller ID function. She hated not getting to lead conversations. “Professor Williams. I’m currently looking at very disturbing email which seems to indicate that my application for graduation confirmation has been denied due to an unfulfilled credit requirement.” She heard a sigh through the receiver and then Professor Williams’ deep timbred voice speak soothingly into the phone. “Poppy, this is not a crisis. I promise. There is time to fix it.”

“This semester?” Poppy demanded. She could hear her advisor carefully mulling over his words. Her belly filled with dread as she waited for him to respond.

“Poppy, I’m so sorry. But, barring some extraordinary solution, I just don’t see how we can fix it this semester.”

“No.” Poppy said, simply.

“Poppy, I’m not sur-” Professor Williams was mid sentence before he was cut off, unceremoniously.

“No. There has to be a way. The email said I was short four credit hours in a political science elective. There has to be a class you can get me into.” Her voice had lost some of it’s authoritative edge. Fear and desperation were starting to creep in, softening her plea into a whimper.

After an agonizing silence, Professor Williams finally spoke. “We’re two weeks into the semester. But, let me see what I can come up with. I’ll call you as soon as I have some answers. Ok?”

Poppy let out the breath she’d been holding. Her lungs burned with relief as she blew the air out across her lips. “Thank you. I’ll speak with you soon.”

Across campus, Niall Horan sat in the tiny graduate student office he shared with two other graduate student assistants. It was little more than a glorified closet with harsh overhead lighting, a tiny desk and two old tattered chairs. The walls were littered with schedules, post it notes, and memos from the university. Niall knew each crack in the wall, every pin hole and knick in the heavy wooden door. This tiny place had become his home, almost more familiar than the narrow streets that wound through the tiny hamlet in Ireland where he grew up.

Niall sighed and slumped back in his desk chair, rubbing his huge hands across the two day stubble on his jaw. The past two years of his Ph.D. program had been a whirlwind and he had jumped in head first to his studies, almost to the complete detriment of his personal life. Only his flatmate, Harry, had managed to pull him from the brink of complete social suicide by insisting Niall join him once a week for pints at the dodgy bar just off campus. But even Harry, with all his charm and joie de vivre, couldn’t help Niall land a date. In fact, in the two years Niall had been working on his Ph.D. he'd been on exactly one date. It was such an epic disaster that it had almost become Niall’s claim to fame among the other doctoral candidates, who had gone so far as to affectionately refer to it as “the negative date”. Every time Niall brought it up, Harry couldn't stop himself from cringing at the secondhand embarrassment. Looking back, Niall realized that maybe taking a girl he met in a bar to a student documentary screening wasn’t the best idea. It also may have been a bad move since the documentary was an expose about the recent plight of a newly-discovered South American tribe and their disastrous exposure to twentieth century technology. Turns out, watching a native healer try to treat a snake bite with a makeshift surgical kit wasn't really a turn on for most people. The girl had fled ten minutes in, muttering “you’re hot, but you’re not that hot”, leaving Niall perplexed. All in all, it wasn’t a total loss. Niall thought the film was a fascinating anthropological look at indigenous politics.

Niall shook his head at the memory and pushed back the fringe of his bleached blond hair. It was starting to grow out a bit and he'd been toying with the idea of just letting it go. His older brother, Greg, had insisted it would help him with girls back home. It didn’t work when he was fifteen and it was not helping now almost a decade later. Now it’s mostly out of habit. He tugged on the ends and wondered if anyone would notice if he showed up to class one day a brunette. He was startled out of his day dreaming by a sharp rap on the door. “Oi! Professor Horan, hard at work I see!” Niall snorted and rolled his chair back further into the office so Harry could come in and sit. Harry always seemed to take up as much available space as possible - and not because he was a few inches taller than Niall. Niall envied the way he seems to effortlessly occupy any space he’s in, spreading his calming aura to everyone around him. Niall had never been able to command space like that, always preferring to stay at the peripheral and ease his way into situations. Niall motioned for Harry to sit and leaned back with his long fingers laced behind his head. “Mr. Styles, slummin’ it in the political science wing today?”

Harry picked up a stack of papers and plopped them on his lap as he made himself comfortable. “Well, there’s only so many freshman papers on Phoenician pottery I can read before my eyes start bleeding. Thought I’d pop over and see what you’re up to.” Niall shrugged and sucked a breath in over his teeth. “Not much, I’m afraid. I’ve only got the two sections of senior political theory and my dissertation meetings. M’actually not sure what I’m gonna do with all the spare time.” Harry was only half listening, he was flipping through the stack of papers on his lap. They were quizzes from Niall’s classes and he was perplexed at what he saw.

“Niall?”

Niall hummed in response, but didn't look up from where he was absentmindedly scrolling through emails on his laptop.

“Why are there phone numbers on these quizzes?” Harry’s shuffled through most of the pages to make sure he was seeing correctly. Sure enough, on more than a handful of pages there were phone numbers inked neatly underneath names. Some had a smiley face doodled next to them, some had tiny hearts. “Looks like they’re all next to girls...wait, nope here’s a couple guys too.”

Niall spun in his chair and glanced at what Harry had in his hands. “What d’ya mean? I always get phone numbers on papers. Have since I started teachin’. Do ya not get those as well?”

Harry huffed out a laugh and raised his eyebrows. “Only from the students I end up shagging.”

Niall missed the last part of Harry’s response when his office phone rang. “Niall Horan here. Professor Williams, how are ya sir?” He tucked the receiver into the crook of his shoulder and motioned to Harry that he needed to take the call. Harry nodded and dropped the stack of quizzes back on the seat. Before turning to leave he tapped at his watch and stage whispered, “Eight o’clock, Griffin’s Lair, don’t forget!” Niall nodded and shooed him off, a silent promise to meet up at their usual spot.

Poppy’s phone blared from her desk, drowning out the chatter in the small office. She and her assistant editor, Sabrina were in the middle of a layout meeting for next week’s issue. There were mock ups and articles strewn everywhere, with clippings and glue sticks littering every surface. Poppy groaned and shuffled papers around finally grabbing it panting out a greeting. “Poppy. Glad I caught you! I have good news.” Professor Williams filled her in on how he’d been able to pull some strings for her. He’d managed to get her into a senior seminar political theory class. Poppy collapsed into her desk chair with relief as he told her. But before she could launch into thanking him a hundred times, he gently stopped her. “Poppy, listen. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park. This is a senior seminar. Technically it’s for political theory majors only, but I happen to know one of the graduate assistants that’s teaching it this semester. He’s agreed to override your enrollment status and let you in. It’s the only way you can earn the credits you need this semester. It’s going to be tough. I’m just warning you.” Poppy waved off his cautious tone and tried to reassure him. “I’m sure I’m up to the challenge. I’ll just have to put in some extra work at first to get caught up. I’m just so relieved, honestly. Thank you so much!” Poppy scribbled down the class information on a scrap of paper, silently cursing that she was going to have to cut the layout meeting short if she was going to make it to this new class on time. Sabrina stood and peeked over her shoulder, plucking the paper off the desk to read it. Poppy dropped the phone back in its cradle and spun to face Sabrina. “It’s a goddamn miracle! I’m going to graduate this semester if it kills me Sabrina.” Poppy started shoving notebooks, pencils, and her laptop in her messenger bag, while Sabrina’s eyes darted back and forth from the scrap of paper to her phone. “What? Why’re you staring at your phone? Did you hear me? Williams got me into another class - I’m going to get my credits!”

A smirk spread across Sabrina’s face and she turned the phone to face Poppy. “Poppy Miller, you lucky son of a bitch.” Poppy was wrestling with her jacket and threw a glance at Sabrina’s phone. “What am I looking at?” She was struggling to get the zipper to catch and was only halfway listening.

Sabrina groaned and pushed the phone closer to Poppy’s face. “How dense are you? Niall Horan. You ended up in Niall Horan’s class, Poppy! Look at him! Every undergrad who’s even thought of taking a poli sci class has tried to get him as their teacher. He’s fucking gorgeous, and he has an accent. AN IRISH ACCENT!” Poppy was staring at her friend in sheer bewilderment. Sabrina’s face was flushed and her chest is heaving with each breath she took.

Poppy took the scrap of paper out of Sabrina’s clutches and squinted at her carefully. “Are you gonna be ok?” Sabrina growled and threw her hands up. “You’re hopeless, Miller! You’re graduating this semester, you need to live a little! And here’s the perfect chance! Dazzle him with your wit and intellect!” Poppy laughed and shook her head at her friend’s desperate pleas. “He’s hot, I’ll give you that. But I hate to break it to you, I’m not using this class as some sort of twisted speed date. I just need the A.” Sabrina dropped back down to the floor to finish the layout, waving Poppy off without another glance. Before the door clicked shut, Poppy heard her friend sigh heavily and mutter, “She’s a lost cause.”

Sweat prickled the back of Poppy’s neck as she trudged across campus. It was only the second week of the term and the weather hadn’t yet cooled down from the summer doldrums. Despite Poppy’s tendency to be pulled together and in control with almost every aspect of her life, her appearance was usually the first thing to go to pot. It wasn’t as if she was slovenly by any means, and she cleaned up when the occasion called for it. She actually had a whole closet filled with beautiful suits, flowing summer dresses, and piles of expensive shoes her mother insisted she needed, and refused to stop sending to her. But for days filled with classes, and nights filled with her duties at the paper and studying, Poppy was most often found in flip flops, old chuck taylors, running shorts and whatever college t-shirt or hoodie that happened to be clean. She kept her long, wavy hair meticulously washed, deep conditioned, and trimmed, but you’d never know it since she almost always had it thrown up into a messy knot on her head. Sabrina often referred to Poppy’s outfits as “athletic hobo chic”, which Poppy insisted was a compliment since it contained the word “chic”.

Weaving through the late afternoon throngs of students, Poppy passed through the center of campus. There were groups of students huddled on the steps of the library, talking and sipping on coffee. A few guys that looked a little younger were tossing a frisbee back and forth across a grassy lawn while a few girls sprawled out on a blanket to watch. Dodging a couple walking hand in hand, Poppy stopped to hoist her bag back onto her shoulder. She tucked a few loose pieces of hair back into her hair tie and sighed. For all of her success, Poppy had never quite mastered the art of “college life”. She’d gone to one or two parties freshman year (waste of time really), had a few sour dates and hookups (not all it’s cracked up to be, if she’s honest), and a few close friends (better than a lot of fair weather acquaintances, she’d told herself). It wasn’t exactly that she harbored any regrets really, but on sunny afternoons surrounded by carefree laughter and people actually living in the moment, she couldn’t help but feel like she’d missed out. She shook her head and glanced at her watch, silently cursing herself for getting distracted. “Nice, now you’re gonna be late because of a stupid frisbee. Way to go, Poppy.” She muttered to herself tersely while she jogged down the path to the small brick building tucked behind the graduate library wing. Taking the stairs two at a time, she slid into the classroom with the last few stragglers. Since this was technically a senior seminar, there were only about twenty students milling about. Poppy spied an empty desk in the front row, but off to the side of the room. She hoped it would give her a good view of the board, without drawing too much attention to herself.

Busying herself with pulling out her laptop and getting ready to take notes, Poppy noticed about four or five girls huddled around a desk at the front of the room. Each girl had a reverent sort of look on their faces, and Poppy snorted and rolled her eyes. Looking more closely, Poppy could just make out a pair of long, lanky legs poking out from the desk clad in skinny jeans and trendy hipster chukka boots. One of the girls turned to head back to her her desk and Poppy was suddenly staring into the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Poppy felt the air sucked from her lungs and every cell of her body burned as if they were on fire. His bleached blonde fringe fell flat against his brow, with his thin pink lips parted just enough for Poppy to get a peek at a row of perfectly straight, immaculately white teeth. The moment was shattered seconds late when another student cleared her throat loudly, finally prompting Niall to look away. “Sorry, wha?” Poppy could hear the timbre of his accent carry over the chatter of the the other students. He pulled the pair of round framed glasses from the collar of his shirt and slid them on, trying to see what the other student was showing him in her textbook. Poppy let out the breath she’d been holding and tried to get a hold of herself. She wasn’t here to ogle at the TA, she was here to pass this class and graduate early. Silently chastising herself for letting her hormones get the best of her, she refocused and pulled up a fresh word doc to start taking notes.

Niall cleared his throat and shuffled some papers around on his desk. His throat felt dry and constricted, like he was starving for a full breath of oxygen. He tried swilling water from his green Nalgene bottle and focused on the peeling sticker of the Irish flag plastered to the side. This girl had completely captivated him and he had absolutely no idea why. He assumed she was the last minute addition Professor Williams had phoned him about, but she hadn’t said a word to him yet. For all he knew, she could just be in the wrong room. He became conscious of the room falling silent, signaling the actual start of class. Running his long fingers through his hair he passed out the sign in sheet and went up to the board to start his lesson. “Ok, so last week we talked a bit about how politics interacts with economics. Today we’re going to start our discussion on how that interaction affects relations between industrialized nations in the West.” Niall continued through his bullet points, citing examples from the assigned readings and asking for the students to contribute their own thoughts. For the first time since he started teaching, he found himself drawn to one student. And, as luck would have it, he was drawn to the one student who hadn’t said a word the entire hour. He desperately wanted to hear her voice, but she could hardly be expected to contribute on her first day after the rest of the students had over a week’s worth of lectures. Every few minutes he would allow himself a quick glance to her desk, watching her delicate hands fly across the keyboard of her laptop. She seemed completely focused on the task at hand, looking back and forth from the board to her screen. Niall realized that she seemed hell bent on not making eye contact with him.

With ten minutes left in the class, Niall announced a pop quiz. He was met with a few scattered groans, which made him laugh. He saw the girl’s head pop up over her screen at the sound of his throaty chuckle flowing into the room. She looked a little dazed, like she couldn’t reconcile the sound he was making with his physical appearance. Harry had once told him something similar, that his laugh “sounds like a bunch of angels havin’ a group orgy”. Niall had curled his lip at his friend’s crass description, hoping the mental image it gave him would fade quickly after a few more pints. Niall passed out the quizzes, going over last minute instructions. “Ya got ten minutes to finish this up, you’re free to head out when you’re done.” As he passed Poppy’s desk he placed the paper in front of her carefully, holding his breath so he could hear her whisper a tiny “thank you”. He sat back down and chewed on his nail thoughtfully, watching the her hem and haw over the questions. He silently cursed at himself for giving it to her, it covered material they had discussed last week and he should’ve made an exception for her. “Stupid Niall.” His eyes widened as he looked over and saw her tip her head to the side at him. He thought he’d muttered that under his breath, but apparently he was a little louder than he wanted. He felt his cheeks go hot in embarrassment and stared back down at his hands.

Students started filing out of the class, dropping their quiz on Niall’s desk. Poppy was feeling hot and her palms were damp. She knew exactly three of the questions on this quiz. For the first time she was unprepared for something and she hated the feeling. She closed her eyes and quietly started to count. “10...9...8...7…” When she got down to “1” she took a breath and filled in the rest of her answers. She stood up and gathered her things, suddenly noticing she was the only student left in the room. “Oh. Oh, um, sorry….I’m probably over the time, but I um, didn’t know some of the - well anyway. Here.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and thrust the paper towards Niall. His mouth was open, and he was searching her face, seemingly struck speechless. She tipped the paper a little closer to him and that seemed to shake him out of his silence.

“Oh, right, sorry. Yeah, don’t worry about this one, I’ll give you the points for it. Shoulda told ya that earlier ‘cause ya know, you’re new and I’m sure ya haven’t gotten the text yet.” He swallowed heavily, his eyes never leaving hers. Poppy picked at her cuticle, not sure what to do. The silence was awkward but she didn’t want to look away. He seemed genuinely kind and sweet and a little naïve. He smiled at her and nodded, and she ducked her head and turned to walk out.

“Oh! Poppy, wait!” Poppy spun and walked the few steps back over to Niall. He pushed her quiz back towards her and handed her a pen. “You forgot to leave your phone number at the top.” Poppy’s smile faded and her stomach suddenly turned sour. Of course. He’s trying to hit on her. She glared at him, her eyes trailing from his clear blue eyes down to his thick fingers gingerly offering her the pen. She leaned back and jutted out her hip, crossing her arms in defiance. The placid expression on Niall’s face started to falter and he limply dropped his hand away from her. Confusion was written across his features, and his brows began to pull in slightly. “What’s the mat-.”

“You know, everyone said you were hot. But nobody said you’d be sleazy. If you wanted to ask me out, you could’ve been a gentleman about it.” Without another word, she spun on her heel and stalked out of the room, leaving Niall a little red in the face and a lot confused.

He slunk down into his seat and stared after her. Running his hand through his hair he breathed out, “What the fuck just happened?”

A/N: This would not be possible without the help, support, and encouragement of my dear friends and betas, @dibsonthat1d / @lucyvanpelt78 / @squirrely83. Massive thanks to you!

#making the grade #my writing #Niall and Poppy #Niall fic #niall au #uni niall

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