chronicyurning

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If you want to request something but aren't sure how to, here's a little guide of what you can include:

Ship (romantic or platonic) - If it's an x reader, specify what gender the reader is (male, female, transmasc, transfem, gender-neutral, etc.) - If you don't list the gender of the reader, I'm simply going to make them gender-neutral - If there is no ship (like in character headcanon posts, for example) just skip this step.

General idea / prompt

What type of writing you want (headcanon, imagine, ficlet/oneshot, etc.) - I'm not taking any requests for long-fics right now.

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Life, as of late, was good. You have a job you (mostly) like, a partner you adore, and a schedule that suits your needs.

   You work in the attendance office at Grover Cleveland Middle, often hiding behind a cubicle unless a parent needs a visitor's pass or a kid is to be signed out. It's easy enough work, so much so that you've been hired as a permanent staff member. You've even managed to snag some of the advantages that come with the title; with one such advantage being getting to see your partner everyday: Ryland Grace.

   Your relationship isn't secret per se, but neither of you are shouting it out from the rooftops; much less when the other teachers seem to distance themselves from Grace. It's easier that way. No questions, no prying eyes, just you two existing together.

   Lunch was often when you two reunited, given the fact that students weren't allowed anywhere other than the cafeteria or courtyard during that time (liability issues). As a result, Grace's classroom was always a safe haven; somewhere you could get away from everyone else and simply relax with your partner, just as you currently are.

It's been about ten minutes since the bell rang, the echo of children talking muffled due to the distance between the classroom and cafeteria. You both enjoy the lapse in chaos as you usually do.

   You're sitting on Grace's desk, Tupperware in your lap as he lets out a laugh at something you said. That's when you see it. There's a figure standing in the doorway, peeking around the corner. It's like something out of a horror movie: quick and with enough silhouette that it feels creepy. Surprised, the food that you're half-done chewing catches in your throat. Grace, in turn, pauses his eating, curiously looking at you; and when you tilt your head in the general direction of the student, the blond follows, perking up.

   You watch in real time as his demeanor changes. When interacting with students, there's a small, yet visual switch to his character. It's like he's held higher, giving himself a sense of authority while simultaneously seeming non-threatening. The goal is to instill respect, not fear, as he's explained before.

   "Rebeka!" Grace turns his chair toward her. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

   Rebeka. She's a quiet one, or so Grace says. Retreats into her shell a lot. She reminds him of himself as a kid, only she doesn't have the fiery attitude and mean words that sometimes came out.

   You avert your eyes, looking down at your Tupperware to give them some semblance of privacy. If it's important, you know Grace will ask you to wait outside. That, or he'll lead Rebeka to the front office to talk to someone.

   The not-so-hushed whispers of your partner and a teenager with too-little volume control shine through, the conversation humming in your ears like tinnitus.

   Eventually, words fall short, their frequency lessening the more the conversation goes on. It ends with Grace giving a nod before he swiftly speed-walks out of the class. And now you're here. Alone. With Rebeka, whom you know of but have never personally met.

   You raise your head, chancing a glance to her general direction, and are startled to see that she's already looking at you. She's got stars in her eyes, her whole body trembling a bit like she's trying to hide it. Excitement, maybe. You don't think you're scary enough to make her shake.

   You wave to her, she waves back, and Grace interrupts the moment by speeding back into the room just seconds later.

   Nothing will come out of it, surely.

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   Something comes out of it.

   Grace's day starts out just as any other: with a half-decent coffee, baggy eyes, and almost getting hit on his bike to work. All things considered, he would say that, so far, things were a success. That is, up until his third period class.

   They're playing a game of The Beanbag is Lava™ when it happens. He's smiling to himself as the mini Earth flies through the air, landing in the unique hands of those with even more unique questions. In some ways, it was nice to have a diverse group of kids. It meant that a large range of asks could be answered in a short amount of time, ergo, more bona fide learning took place. It also meant that surprises were bound to come up.

   Rebeka is the one who the bag lands on, the girl stuttering before she answers what percent of our ocean is discovered. She then passes it to Grace, and suddenly everything gets fudged up.

   "Are you married?" She quietly asks. It catches him so off guard the bean-bag makes it nowhere near his hands, plopping onto the ground with a sad hiss of air. The other students all look to Rebeka, then back to Grace, curious eyes eager to find out more like they only now realized that could be a possibility.

   "Hah, e-excuse me?" Grace asks as he picks the beanbag up off the ground. It's covered in dust on one side, practically caked with it. Ew. He lightly blows on it. These kids have survived worse.

   "Are you married?" She repeats, swallowing thickly. Okay. He heard that right. It feels ironic, the way that she's standing her ground on the one issue Grace would rather go unaddressed. What was he supposed to respond with? Was it even appropriate to tell students about his personal life? Did other people do that? Was that legal?

   "No. No, I am not married," Grace coughs out, tossing the bean-bag to someone else and asking them what's Newton's third law. They answer, then give it back to Rebeka instead of to Grace. Those little instigators. She looks slightly flustered, eyes darting around with the realization that they've unionized and she's their leader.

   "Why did you ask that?" the student that tossed her the bag questions. She stares back at him, eyes wide like an owl. He's one of the more popular kids—the sporty, loud type—likely intimidating to someone as meek as Rebeka. She takes a good couple of seconds to answer, shrinking further and further into her chair.

   Grace pointedly doesn't mention how her hands would've burned off if the lava were real.

   "I-I saw Mr. Grace with someone during lunch," Rebeka hesitantly murmurs.

   All Hell breaks loose. The volume level is worse than when they have assembly, he swears.

   Grace raises his hand, ringing the bell at his desk multiple times in quick succession.

   "Hey, hey! My hand is up." He waits until all of them also raise their hands, silenced by the rule. "Now, I understand you may all be excited to learn about my personal life, but there are private things that we don't talk about in the classroom. I don't want anymore questions about this." It's straight-forward. Blunt. Good job him.

   For a few seconds, the air conditioner humming is the only tangible sound as the students take in the words.

   "Is it a situationship?" someone suddenly asks.

   "What? No. How do you even know what that is—"

   "It's okay if it's a situationship, Mr. Grace—" A few other students nod in agreement.

   "It's not!" They all look at him, disbelieving. He's left floundering, hands lagging in the air as he tries to find what the frick he's supposed to say. Unbelievable. Bested by a bunch of 13-year-olds. He eventually stands up straight, adjusts his tie, and tells them that it's none of their business. They practically explode into chatter, teasing him for his red face which he does not have. The bell gets rung more times that day than he thinks he's ever had in his whole career.

   After that, whenever you go to his classroom for lunch, he makes you hide in the bathroom while he confirms the coast is clear. It works for a while. That is, until the students start lagging behind when the lunch bell rings, waiting as long as they can to possibly catch a sneak peak at you. He has to shoo them out, closing the door and pulling down the flimsy little curtain he made to cover the rectangular window.

   It baffles him. Kids willingly running late to lunch is unheard of. You tell him they're just curious. You don't really see the extent of such curiosity until you're caught again.

   It's been about a month since the incident. You've brought up one of the larger stools to Grace's desk, eating what you made for the day quietly. Grace, inversely, has taken the time to run out and refill his water bottle. You wait for him patiently, thinking about nothing and everything as you chew on your food.

   A knock shatters the quiet atmosphere, reverberating through the room and bouncing off all the decorations. You look to the door.

   It's Rebeka. She stands there with the general awkwardness that teenagers her age have, lagging in the entrance like she's not sure whether or not to come into the lion's den. You put your utensil down, wiping your mouth off with a napkin you stole from the staff lounge.

   "Rebeka," you start. She looks surprised that you know her name. "Are you here to see Mr. Grace?" She nods, vaguely lifting up the pass the lunch monitor gave her in lieu of response. "You can wait in here if you'd like. He'll be back in a few minutes." You don't want her wandering around without supervision—that's a recipe for disaster. She hesitantly takes a seat near the door.

   The silence stretches between the pair of you.

   "I'm supposed to pick up homework for Cecilia. She's absent," Rebeka suddenly speaks up.

   "Oh, that's nice of you."

   "She's my neighbor. So…" You hum in response, taking a bite of your food. Before you can even think of whatever small talk to come up with, Rebeka beats you to it. "Are you in love with Mr. Grace?" Oh wow. He wasn't joking, they really are nosy. You finish chewing, thinking back on all the training you've been forced to take to deal with children correctly—especially teens. The type of language you use, the gentleness, the understanding: all of it can come in hand.

   "Mr. Grace and I are friends," you mutter after a moment.

   "But are you dating?"

   "Why do you want to know?" She pauses, then shrugs, frowning. You hold back a laugh. "We're friends." Rebeka huffs a breath, taking the hint that you're not going to elaborate. It's amusing, watching her try to scheme up a plan to get you to spill. It won't work, you know, but the effort is appreciated.

   Rebeka goes on to talk with you about different things, mainly school related. You learn that she's in the science club—when did they add that?—and that her favorite class is Mr. Grace's. It's heartwarming, so much so that you become entrenched in the conversation, not even registering that Grace has come back.

   Rebeka perks up the moment he steps into the room, grabbing her hall pass as she stands up and greets him. He jumps a little, having not seen her, but otherwise is ready to help. After, when he sends her off, homework in tow, you grin, looking down at your food.

   "What are you smiling about?" Grace mirrors your expression, smiling just a bit like he couldn't help it as he closes the door.

   "She's funny," you respond. Grace pauses, hand lingering on the doorknob.

   "…Did she say something?" he questions, carefully evening out his tone.

   "Mhm." It's slightly amusing, the way he struts up to you with a suspicious look.

   "…What did she say?"

   "She asked if you and I were dating."

   "Seriously?" You nod, being able to find the humor in it. Grace, on the other hand, looks distraught. "I forgot she was coming in." He puts his palms to his face, running his hands down the expanse of his skin with a quiet groan. "I'm sorry. I should've told you. This wouldn't have happened otherwise."

   You furrow your brows. It was meant to be funny, but clearly Grace has been thinking about it far too much.

   "It's all right." You reach for his hands and take them off his face, squeezing them in your own. "No harm done."

   "No harm? She asked you if we were dating."

   "Okay. Well…" you trail off. He was right. You stare at Grace. He stares at you.

   "I don't want you to get in trouble," he huffs through a sigh.

   "All the kids know about Mr. and Mrs. Petrov being married. Why would we be any different?"

   "I dunno. They might think it's weird."

   "Oh, please. Rebeka was practically fangirling." Grace doesn't have any reasonable response to that, so he stays quiet (a skill he's had to learn after the many impulsive remarks of his past). He tries to level with himself. It would be alright, surely. The questions would die down, and the next big topic would roll around.

   Even near the year's end, he still gets one or two remarks about your relationship. He's confused on why. And if you subtly feed the students crumbs when you and Grace interact, that's no one's business but your own.