Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] Come By My Office Later

(From the original version of That Cliche Book Where Patrick Loses His Kid, originally titled "That Hopefully Not-So-Classic Teacher/Student Scenario - Part One")

(L/N) = Your Last Name

As you walk down the hallway, you can feel every eye on you. What do you expect when you're wearing a shirt that shows off your cleavage and your hair and makeup are done to perfection? You hold your head high and continue your way to your classroom. You walk in and flick the light switch up, illuminating the large room that has your name on the door.

You make your way over to the desk in the front of the seminar hall and sit down, looking at all the empty desk-chairs before you that will soon be filled with college students. And all the way in the back will be Patrick Stump, a young rising musician who's recently caught your eye.

A smirk crawls onto your face as you go into a daze, wondering what he'll be wearing today, when there's a knock on your door. You sit up and look up, seeing the dean of the college standing in the classroom doorway.

"Ahh, Miss (L/N), I see you've found your way to your room," He greets as he enters the room and walks down the steps. You rise to your feet and straighten out the front of your skirt that hits just above your knee.

"Yes, I can't help but thank a few students who helped me," You retort uneasily.

"Our students are some of the friendliest," He boasts about his university, "I have no doubt in my mind that the students will warm right up to you. The previous university you worked at had nothing but good things to say about you."

You blush.

The dean glances down at his watch and sighs, "Well, your first class will be starting soon." He meets your gaze and grins, "I hope everything goes well. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to come see me."

"Of course," You reply, returning the gesture. As soon as the dean leaves the room, the smile on your face fades away and you turn around, walking up to the board and grabbing a piece of chalk, writing your name on the board.

You take a step back and admire the way the white chalk letters look against the dark green surface. The corner of your dark red lips curls up into a smirk.

This is going to be fun.

The class begins and you immediately spot Patrick. You can't resist the smile that appears on your face. However, the smile doesn't last long, when you notice the girl sitting behind him lean forward and tap him on the shoulder. She has dark brown, curly hair, and a face that seems like it'll never age, giving off the "popular bitch" kind of vibe.

He looks back and she whispers something into his ear, something that makes the corner of the singer's lips perk up into a smile. Jealousy and anger boils up inside of you and you clench your fists by your sides tightly. You loudly clear your throat and all attention is directed towards you.

"I don't tolerate talking in my class, Miss..." Your voice trails off, as you realize you don't know her name. In fact, you don't know any of your students' names, other than Patrick's.

"Yao," She answers confidently, "My name's Elisa Yao."

"Well, Miss Yao..." You clasp your hands behind your back and make your way up to where the two students are sitting, Patrick's cheeks growing redder with each step you take, "...I may be new here, and I may be younger and less experienced than most of the teachers here, but that doesn't mean I deserve any less respect. Tell me, Miss Yao, what do other teachers do when you talk in their class?"

The girl crosses her arms and tilts her head to the side, "They usually kick you out."

"Well then that's what I'll do," You threaten, your emotions motivating you and giving you your edge. You point to the clock on the opposite wall, "The minute that hand reaches the twelve, I want you in your seat, your notebook out, and writing utensil in hand. And if I see you talking to Mr. Stump again, I won't hesitate one second to kick you out of this classroom. And unlike your other teachers, I won't let you back in. Understood?"

She chuckles, throwing you off, "You can try, Miss (L/N), but my daddy's put so much money into this school that even if I was found with drugs, I wouldn't get kicked out."

"Well...I hate to break the news to you, but Daddy's not always going to be there for you, sweetheart," You sneer before turning on your heel, being sure to catch a quick glimpse of Patrick who looks like he's ready to disappear, and making your way back to the front of the classroom. You stand behind your desk and pull out a few folders from your bag, "Okay, class, today..." You flick through the papers you have, looking for something to give your students to do, "Let's...let's pull out our books and go to page...page one."

To your surprise and relief, they all do as you say with no questions. At least none that are verbalized. Elisa has a lot of questions, her suspicion radar going off. She doesn't like you, and she has a feeling that something's not right.

The class goes by quicker than you expected, and it's not until one of your other female students tells you that she has to go to her next class that you realize class has run over by a good thirty, forty-five minutes. How were you to know when no one said anything? They were all too hypnotized by your good looks and charm to notice the time go by, something that wasn't common in classes here.

The students begin to hurriedly file out when you call out, "Oh, Mr. Stump!" He stops in his tracks and meets your gaze. "Can you please come down here for a moment?"

He bids farewell to Elisa who was engaged in a conversation with him (you can see the anger in her eyes before she storms out of the room) and makes his way down the steps towards you, pushing past all of the students scrambling to get to their next classes. He approaches your desk and adjusts the strap on his backpack, "Yeah, Miss (L/N)?"

"I was wondering if you could come by office later today..." You sit back on your desk and cross your leg over the other, placing your hands on your knee, "We need to talk about...your..."

His eyes grow wide, "Oh god, please tell me it's not about my grades. My mom's going to kill me if my grades are bad."

You start to panic, not expecting that to be his response. "N-N-No, it's not about your grades. It's, um, about..." You look around the room and bite your lip, "...it's about...you know what?" You smirk, "You'll just have to find out when you come by."

He can't hide the blush that finds its way up into his cheeks and nods his head, "Okay, Miss (L/N). I'll see you later." He turns around and runs out of the classroom.

"See you later, Patrick," You murmur, the corner of your lip slowly curling up into a devious smirk.

To Be Continued...?