CAMERON MONAGHAN IMAGINES

Pranking Revenge. (Ian)

A/N: Sorry, the grammar may be shit rn, I just don't feel like editing at the moment. I'm way too tired and I need to sleep XD

It's been 7 days of waiting, stirring in mischievous thoughts. Finally, you give up and choose the generic route of revenge.

One week ago was April Fools day. The lousiest day of the year for someone who figures pranks to be childish. Like yes, living in fear is what you want to do for 24 hour. NOT.

Anyways, Ian thought the best thing to fulfill his duty would be to concoct a special mix of red food color and somethingorother, spread it on your chair in math, and wait for spectacular results.

For him, it was a field day. He laughed until tears while you cried until...you went home, mortified. Your pristine white pants were drenched in what classmates were led to believe to be period blood. Your uncautious self will never be so defenseless again.

"Ian, you think Johnny Wilmore's dick reaches 8 inches?" You spy on the sophomore, racing 10 feet ahead of you two.

Ian's foul thoughts exude through his skull. "Definitely."

It's coming.

"You think other people know what you're packing?" The creatures hopping around your stomach need to be contained. Acting like there's no motive behind your speech is immensely hard.

"N-no?" He loosens the grip on his textbooks, furrowing his eyebrows. He must've gave it further though because he shifted slightly. "Maybe. If they wanted to know they'd just look at my feet. Then they'll know."

They are rather large. You smirk at his confidence.

"You want them to know?" You gain excitement. The time is near.

The hallways roar with insecure teens, spreading their virus', be it an STD, or embarrassing rumors. This will be something for them to chatter about for weeks.

Ian scratches the back of his neck, displaying his rounded muscles. "Maybe the gay ones, yeah."

It's go time.

Time slows when you take action. Switching lanes to be behind him, you must work quick enough for him not to turn around and ruin it. You pinpoint two places for your fingertips to grasp.

"What are you-" Ian swerves his head around, immobile by the feet since your looking him down by the waistline of his khakis.

You knees crack as you crouch down, butt level. There can't be any mistakes made at this point. "Now they can!" You shout, yanking his pants and underwear to his knees.

His pearly cheeks face you, appearing as smooth as a fleece blanket. You brand the surface with a bright red print and the bouncy flesh ripples.

"Y-y-y/n." He stumbles into the lockers.

Your classmates slam on their brakes, rubbernecking the scene. Their scrunched faces and breathless lungs made the period-prank situation all okay.

"For April Fools day, mate." You pat Ian's frantically moving body on the back.

Whenever you're stressed, completing tasks rapidly is always a problem. You stutter, hesitate, mess up more often. This is how Ian was. Covering himself back up was like watching dog try to walk on two legs; it just wasn't going to happen.

Ian knew that too.

Accomplishment ruled over your veins. You don't want to let your victory be displayed through bragging so you lean back on the lockers and try to laugh while he struggles.

His embarrassment snaps into rage, a steaming face beaming at you as people snap pictures.

"Come here." He contains his anger, in the way that any dad would when you'd do something wrong so he'd speak softly, but just hard enough to let you know he was at his breaking point.

"Fuck no." You like the power of watching a helpless Ian.

Then it dawned on you.

Run away now, it will give you a head start before he pulls his pants up.

You pivot and start your engine, pushing past all of your viewer. Hard textbooks smothered in backpacks scrape along your sides.

Glancing back, you see an orange head weaving through trail you'd just made.

Breaking free outside, the freedom is too exposing. You dart to the left, turning the corner at the community garden. Your backpack feels to be tying you to the ground, but you don't dare ditch it. The garden is sad. The shriveled vegetables, harvesting two cucumber a month maybe. Other than that, the peeling wood that holds the dry soil is falling apart. No ones seems to care, because the leaves are shriveled and cracking.

Ian's always been quick on his feet, literally. He's beat you in every foot race since your memory begins.

Hopping over the one small box after the next, you gradually trekked across the grid. Each step gets heavier from the textbooks.

In one movement, you're flung back, spine bending in two.

It's frightening being in free air, not knowing when the ground will greet you, but when it does, it hits hard, knocking the wind out of you.

"Got ya!" Ian seems happy to have taken you down with one pull of the fabric.

"Am I..in a planter box?" You grab a handful of whatever rocks you'd dug your hands in. Yep, the dry soil. "You beat me. Yet again."

"Yes. I always do. And by the way, fuck you."

"Whatever, I guess we're even." You weakly punch his bicep.

"No, we'll never be even after that." He gazes at you through his light eyelashes.

"I'll always be expecting the worst then." 

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Hi it's me and I haven't posted in a while. It's honestly because I'm getting burnt out on writing in the second person. I want to write "i" because it's easier to convey feelings/motives about the main character (you) to make the story more interesting rather than it being all physical. 

Idk, would anyone be okay with that? Changing to 1st person? Or should I continue in 2nd for this book and go to 1st person on exclusively Poppy (which would be a separate book). HELP PLEASE COMMENT. 

I love you, bye. 

-Bambi ;)