𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐈 ─ 𝐌𝐂𝐑. 𝐏!𝐀𝐓𝐃. 𝐅𝐎𝐁. 𝐓Ø𝐏.

𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐨𝐥𝐚. (𝐆. 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

╔.★. .═════════════╗

For: @thrill_kill
Request: can you make one where
the reader is new to a school
and gerard is like the "punk
boy" of the school, and they
have to work together on something,
and it can either smut or fluff
(whatever you're comfortable
with tbh)

╚═════════════. .★.╝

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Note: Kinda put my own, unconventional spin on the whole 'high school bad boy' character. Because let's face it, not all bad boys are hard-faced, emotionless, brooding males with eyes the colour of rich chocolate and lips so puffy you wanna kiss them forever and ever and a body so perfect that you just-

wait, what was my point, again?

Oh, yes! Not your typical bad boy. A bit different. Hope you like. x

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The nice part about switching schools? It was a chance to start over, re-invent yourself and begin an entirely new chapter.

The bad part? For some undetermined, totally unwarranted reason, virtually every class you attended housed a bothersome teacher who insisted on subjecting you to the worst form of public humiliation known to mankind – standing up in front of the classroom for the customary 'new kid' introduction.

Now, you'd gotten through most of the day virtually unscathed, since the kids in your first couple classes were thoughtful enough to completely ignore you during the introductory speech – something that you thanked your lucky stars for – and all in all seemed like pretty chilled people. They hadn't immediately made you feel like you didn't belong by cross-examining you, or staring at you like you were some kind of alien species, at least.

And then you got to Chemistry class.

That feeling you get when someone is staring at you? Yeah. That. Right from the second your feet crossed the threshold and entered the classroom.

You did the obvious thing, of course – kept your gaze lowered as you walked and focused it anywhere that wasn't someone's face when you stood up front. All was going well, until you slipped up and accidently locked gazes with someone.

And it wasn't just anyone.

It was clear that he was the resident bad boy; leather jacket, combat boots, all black everything... well, all black everything except his hair. Red. Quite possibly the brightest red you'd ever seen; a shade that could only be accurately compared to a Crayola marker.