#interrupting my statistics homework to think because

[saltyground]

oh neil................

[3liza]

don't want to engage in a debate because I agree with the spirit of this post and don't want to pledge any time to having to sort out misunderstandings that will arise from reblogging it directly. i just want to post some data. reading and math scores were improving very slightly since 1980 but then took a hard downturn at the beginning of the pandemic. No Child Left Behind "improved" test scores, but I was actually in school for that the year they made they switch, and can report that it was because they gutted the entire curriculum to force us to spend all day every day borderline cheating on standardized tests so they wouldn't lose their funding. i assume the methods of cheating on these tests improved and became more institutional after I graduated and I also assume all testing after that point has deeply misrepresentative data due to the score manipulation.

also as a personal aside I did not know anyone personally who used SparkNotes, cliffnotes, et al. they existed but we're not part of my school culture at all personally. the ubiquity of open cheating, essay mills, and obviously chatgpt has absolutely increased but I don't think that has anything to do with intellectual ability, I think it has to do with increasing access online and especially homework being increasingly bullshit and also the number of hours of homework assigned continually bloating.

i can't find statistics on hours of homework assigned in the 90s vs now (actually here's a paper from 2003 estimating USA children spent half that amount of time on homework at that point which aligns with my experience and observation) but statistics in the 2010s estimate high schoolers are assigned around 17 hours of homework a week, which is insane. if you have any sort of executive function issues or interruptions at home that could easily double, and then you're essentially holding two full time unpaid jobs age 14-18. this is way more homework than pediatric and education experts have been recommending as healthy or effective, but they also recommend children are not forced to get up at the crack of dawn every day and be shipped to large punitive holding facilities 🤷

anyway in conclusion the data is largely pointing towards the learning gap being real, but the reasons have nothing to do with kids being different, because they aren't. conditions are just a lot worse and kids are doing what they can to survive, like always, and being failed by adults, like always

[jeonfiles]

better left unsaid - jjk

genre: angst, rebounds

pairings: jungkook x reader (ft. namjoon)

warnings: arguing, alcohol, profanity, break ups, light smut, use of drugs, jungkook is a fucking dick, jungkook has major attachment issues, toxic relationships, oc cries a lot, namjoon has a heart of gold, unrequited love

synopsis: you knew you shouldnt have given him that second chance, not the third or the fourth either. no matter how much you try he always slithers his way underneath your sheets, arms wrapped around you.

word count: 2.7k

music: into your arms, so it ends?, you will fade, thinkin bout you, julia, my insecurities not yours, fuck u, goodluck, my dear i will think of you

note: uhh ive never written a y/n fic so bare with me, if u listen to the music you’ll be able to feel the story a lot more so yeah if u have time u should, not proof read

Light coming through the cracks of the blinds, making you squint your eyes when the daylight beams into your eyes, head resting on the kitchen island Looking up, you saw the clock ticking on the wall, 11:32 am.

You had stayed up till 5 am, waiting for him to come home, but seemingly, he never did. Reaching for your phone, you saw 4 missed calls from the one and only,

Jeon Jungkook, saved in your phone as “Koo <3″, Rows of messages too, all from the same contact.

Koo <3 [05:34 am]

baby pkck me up pleseee

im so wsated

Koo <3 [06.46am]

dont be mad at me jsut pick me up

i dont knw hewere the fuck i am

i love you

Koo <3 [07:31 am]

i got a rde home i’ll be home by 12

i need to talk to someone frsit

im sorry if i woke ypu dont be worried

You took a few moments to collect your thoughts, but there wasn’t much to collect. This whole thing, was a routine by now.

Standing up to make yourself a cup of coffee, you could literally not feel your own backside, you were so sore from the barstool you had been sitting on all night, and it made you groan in pain.

Two coffee cups right beside the kitchen sink, which you couldn’t bring yourself to clean up, because it was from the last time you had coffee together, which was 2 weeks ago.

The inside of the cup had a coffee crust at the top, and both your lip tint marks on the outside.

When you finish your cup of coffee while watching a bad telenovela, you go sit in your favorite chair and pull out a few books from the backpack hanging on the chair next to you, getting ready to get some studying done.

For a few seconds you imagine Jungkook hanging over your shoulder laughing at the way you write your A-s and R-s, or the way you always sign your homework at the bottom of the page.

And when you open them, there’s no one there. The only sound is from the refrigerator, making refrigerator noises.

You had met Jungkook 3 years ago, when you were at college orientation, senior year of high school. He also wanted to attend Yonsei, just like you.

And when he whispered to you about how bored he was, you couldn’t help but giggle, and then you got yelled at.

It was worth it though, because everyone was jealous of you afterwards,the  Jeon Jungkook had talked to you.

Jungkook was an all-rounder as they called it; great physique, intelligent, charismatic and great at sports.

And god, he had a beautiful face, and such a filthy mouth, and it didn’t go long before you gave in to his seductive ways and slept with him. The morning after, he wasn’t in bed with you, and your heart sank.

Luckily, he was in the kitchen making you breakfast.

It was all bliss from there, showering you with love, gifts and kisses for two years, and you even ended up moving in together.

And now? You barely remember what he sounds like, smells like and is like.

A distant memory, just as distant as him.

Your train of thought was suddenly interrupted as you heard 3 knocks on your door. The exact same way he had always knocked when he had forgotten (or lost) his keys.

And even though you should have let him suffer a little, you rushed to the door to open it, and in front of you, was your biggest nightmare.

It was your love, crying his eyes out, bleeding from one of many cuts on his face, looking nearly dead. He collapsed into your arms, and you could only utter a few words, along the lines of:

“How could you do this to us?”

As he was laying curled up in a ball on the couch, face plastered up, ice bag on his knee, wrapped up in a blanket, you realized. this was your que to cry.

So, you did. You cried in silence, sitting across the room from him. You weren’t mad at him for coming home late, or getting in another fight, probably the 5th just these past months, you had gotten used to that by now.

There was a whole other reason that made you cry.

He smelled like Victorias Secret Bombshell, you recognized the scent because it used to be your favorite,  however, now you’ve moved onto something less sweet, and more elegant, like Caroline Herrera.

He smelled like someone who wasn’t you, his girlfriend.

He smelled like another girl.

It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. Maybe because the Jungkook that had come home to you that morning wasn’t your Jungkook.

Your Jungkook was varsity jackets, star of the american football team (which your school was known for), selfless and humorous, and he would always take care of you.

Your Jungkook was not ungroomed hair, cigarettes and worsening grades. He was not cold and lifeless, and he would never make you cry.

Despite this, you were carding your fingers though his hair, thumb wiping away the blood on his lips while he was sound asleep as you slowly fell asleep next to him.

Maybe it was time to let him go. 

Maybe.

You woke a few hours later from your phone vibrating.

Kim Namjoon (school) [07:01 pm]

Hey Y/N! Have you started working on the statistics assignment?

If you haven’t, would you be interested in meeting at the library tomorrow? You’re really smart and i’m kinda struggling ://

You [07:03 pm]

i finished it yesterday, but if you buy me coffee i’ll come help you hehe

Kim Namjoon (school) [07:04 pm]

You’re the best, I’ll bring you a machiatto!! :D

Maybe it would be nice for you to get out of the house, even though you hate the thought of it, and you would much rather just swim in your own sorrow.

But you did go out the next day, and you helped Namjoon get a decent grade, enough to pass with good margines, he thanked you by taking you out for ramen at a convenial store not too far away.

You thanked him for the ramen with a trip to the museum, and he thanked you for the museum trip with a picnic in the park at night, which led you to crying over Jungkook in his embrace, telling him every single little detail.

He made you realize it was time to let Jungkook go and make room for new people to enter your life.

You went home that night, and you found Jungkook passed out on the couch, and you could genuienly feel your chest tighten. Soft features which stood out under the moonlight glow, disheveled brown locks which hung down in his eyes.

He was gorgeous, until you saw the credit card on the table next to three bottles of soju and an empty beer can on the floor. And you knew what he had used the credit card for, though you didn’t want to say it out loud.

You cleaned everything up, and you threw the residue of the white powder right in the trash can, and you recycled his bottles and cans before finally, nudging him to wake up.

“Jungkook, wake up.” You spat coldly, or at least you attempted to.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes before opening his eyes, and s huge smile on his face. “Y/N, you’re home!” He reached to kiss you, but you backed away.

“Y/N?” Jungkook questioned, he didn’t quite understand what your intentions were.

“Don’t try anything Jungkook. This was your last chance, and you fucked it up, again.” The room turned ice cold. “I’m getting you help Jungkook, you need help. And then...”

He understood what kind of help you meant, and since he had now sobered up, he agreed, nodding. “And then...?” 

“And then.” Your words were ludged in your throat. “And then I’m leaving you.”

His whole face dropped, smile turned into the frowniest frown you had ever seen, and it was all silent before his lower lip starts trembling, and his eyes start turning glassy.

“It’s alright. Sorry for burdening you.” Was all he could say before tears rushed down his cheeks, and he started shaking.

So you did what you always had done, and you wrapped your arms around him, head resting on your chest as he sobbed.

“Is there anyone else?” he cried out before another wave of sobs hit him.

This exact question made your stomach hurt, and your throat burn. You really had no idea.

Or you did, but you didn’t want to.

You loved Jungkook so much, but you couldn’t be with him in this state. So you did what every rational person would do in this situation.

“Yeah.”

You lied.

“Oh ok. I don’t have the right to be mad do I?”

You shake your head no.

“I love you Y/N. I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”

“It’s ok.” was all he said before he fell asleep in your arms again.

That night you slither your way out of his embrace and you pack your suitcase in the dark, bringing all your essentials, trying to be as quiet as possible so you didn’t wake Jungkook.

Packing enough for two weeks or so, you make the bed and leave your t-shirt “accidentally” in the bathroom, and you make sure all his clothes are folded, and then you sort his pencil case, throwing out old pens and worn out erasers.

You leave a grocery list on the counter, and you tuck him in good under the blankets after you took his jeans and socks off so he could sleep comfortably.

You placed his vitamins and medicine by the refrigerator so he’ll see it when he goes to grab something to eat. 

Puffed up pillows, a pair of sweatpants, t-shirt and underwear is now placed neatly on his bed. Then you walk into the kitchen again, and you see Jungkook still sound asleep, sniffling a little still.

There’s one last thing, and it makes you cry. It makes you sob so loud you cover your mouth and muffle the sound you make. Sinking to the floor, your whole body is in contact with the cold tiles.

Only a year ago you could never imagine yourself even shedding a single tear over something as small as this, but here you were, on the edge of a panic attack.

Two worn out, matching couple mugs still placed by the counter. one if the first things you two had bought together, as well as the necklace hanging around your neck.

Finally, you stopped crying and started cleaning the mugs, lip trembling as you dried them and placed them in the back of the cabinet.

You unhooked your necklace and laid it down on the counter, and the biggest lump formed in your throat.

Actually, there’s a little detail you forget. 

You kiss Jungkook on the forehead and leave a note on the coffee table.

“Dear Jungkook,

If you want to make this up to me (this does not mean a new chance!!) you call the number at the bottom of the page. No matter what happens, I’ll always have room for you in my heart. You even have your own little VIP lobby in there. And - if it’s urgent, call. I still care for you, and I always have. You were the best boyfriend I’ve had, but good things always come to and end, don’t they? Anyways, I’m tired so this letter fucking sucks, but deep down you know how much I love you. Remember to get groceries, shower, get fresh air and study. If I forgot something you can keep it, as long as you call the number and tell them you’re my friend. They’ll help you love. Try and get a part time job too, your student loan and your dad’s money won’t last forever. Good luck Koo. Hwaiting!!

-L/N Y/N <33″

You cringe when you think of the letter’s contents, before you roll out your suitcase out of the front door, whispering a faint “Goodnight Love.” as you close and lock the door behind you.

Standing by the elevator, you cry again. This time, louder, but you still reach for your phone and type out a text to the newly edited contact in your phone.

You [02:13 am]

coming outside now, im a crying mess and im super cold, is your car heated?

sorry for making you wait btw :((

Joonie <3 [02:13 am]

dont worry about the crying part, i’ll hold you. and yeah car is heated, so waiting here wasnt all that bad. you ready for this?

You  [02:14 am]

i have no idea but i cant stay here any longer and i trust you sooo

lets start our new chapter. eh?

4 months later...

He had been good to you, great even.

You had been on expensive dates, picnics, had heart to heart conversations, and he’d been so understanding.

Today, it was your 2 month anniversary, and he had asked you on a magnificent date, which he had planned every second of.

At the end of the day, you told him how you don’t love him. He said it was alright. Namjoon loved you, so much, yet he understood you needed time.

You went to sleep that day, warm in Namjoon’s embrace, wondering how Jungkook was doing. 

You felt bad, but you missed Jungkook.

You were both with someone new now, and you knew he was in good hands with someone stable enough to care for him.

Before your eyes closed shut, you shed a few quiet tears and hoped that you’d fall in love with Namjoon soon, and deep down you knew you would.

[bluesey-182]

We Have To Stop Meeting Like This - Chapter 13

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / ao3

it’s been a very long time, but at last,,, here’s an update. also, the end of this chapter gets NSFW so i will not be tagging anyone in this post, i will however continue to tag everyone that has asked to be tagged in the next chapter.

--------

Jude was tuning out every noise around her in statistics class. The professor, a young man barely out of university himself, looking thoroughly hungover that morning, had divided them up into small groups for some group project, though what that project was Jude had no idea. She kept trying to convince herself to pay attention but her mind was elsewhere. Absentmindedly, she tapped her pencil against the palm of her hand while her feet tapped a different beat under the desk. When she woke up that morning she had considered staying home, given what day it was and the emotions it tended to bring up, but her tenuous grade in this class had ultimately made the decision for her.

“June?” One of her classmates asked, waving his hand in front of her face to get her attention. “Are you even listening?”

She considered biting his hand but settled for swatting it out of her face. “My name is Jude.”

The idiot kept talking but movement at the door in the front of the classroom caught her eye. The door was propped open, the professor unaware given he was facedown on his desk, and standing there, looking like a cruel prince from a wicked storybook, was Cardan. His black jeans ended into his untied high top converse, his matte-black shirt with silky designs on it was unbuttoned at the top and rolled up at the sleeves, and his hair was a glorious mess. He had put on gold eyeliner that morning and Jude felt her stomach tighten pleasantly. As she stared, he finally found her sitting in the back of the room and gave her a wicked smile before indicating with a wave that she should come out into the hallway with him. She made a face that hopefully conveyed that he was an imbecile for expecting her to leave class when there was still half an hour left, and in return he made a face that dared her to do it anyway.

“Well then Jude you still didn’t answer my question,” her classmate continued, ignoring the conversation happening between her and Cardan spoken solely with their faces.

She really wanted to punch this guy. Another look at Cardan showed an amused smile as he eyed the classmate sitting next to her, a knowing look in his eyes that Jude was probably going to murder him in the next minute. 

Maybe the universe had sent Cardan to save this kid's miserable life from her ending it.

“Actually,” Jude said as she scooped her notebook and pen into her backpack, “I have to go, um,” Cardan was laughing silently to himself and it was very distracting, “go water my…. goldfish,” she finished absentmindedly before bolting towards the door. Her professor, popping a handful of ibuprofen into his mouth, didn’t seem to notice.

Once out in the hall, Cardan let the door slide closed behind them before taking her face in his hands and giving her a gentle kiss that made her heart soar. 

“Hey, you,” he said after taking the smallest step away.

“I was in class, what do you want?”

“From the looks of it, you were about to commit a felony on some poor, unexpecting dimwit. I am merely saving you from your least favorite class and, possibly, prison.”

“I can’t afford to fail this class, Cardan,” Jude said with no real heat.

“I’ll help you with the homework.” Jude glared at him, knowing how much of a pain in the ass he was when he “helped” her with her homework. “So why are you dragging me out of class?” 

Cardan’s face lit up like he had almost forgotten and then he started patting down all his pockets while mumbling to himself. Finally he pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and presented it to her like a magician would present a flower. “Because, my dear, I have a very important question for you.”

Feeling confused, Jude took the paper from his open palm and unfolded it. It was almost entirely blank except for the question “do you like me?” with two boxes to check yes or no. Jude rolled her eyes. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.” With a flourish, Cardan produced a pen from his same back pocket and blinked at her innocently. “I’m not answering.” At her words Cardan gave her a sad face that was entirely fake. With a huff, Jude snatched the pen from his hand and checked the box next to yes.

“You make me swoon, Jude,” Cardan teased.

“You really interrupted my class for this?”

“What? Oh, no, I interrupted your class because a little birdy told me,” he sidled up and smoothly pulled her into him, “that today is your birthday.”

Jude’s mood soured ever so slightly. “What little birdy?”

“Mm,” Cardan hummed as he kissed her neck. Goosebumps rose all over her body.

“Nice try,” she said, placing a hand on his chest and gently pushing him and his lips a safe distance away from her. “What little birdy, Cardan.”

He relented, “Your sister.”

“You’ve been talking to Taryn?” Instead of answering her question, Cardan gave Jude a withering look. “Oh. Right. You’re friends with Vivi. But so what if it’s my birthday? I don’t really celebrate.”

“So I was told,” Cardan said lightly as he took her hand in his and started guiding her towards the back exit of the building. “Which is exactly why I’m snatching you out of class to spend the day with me.”

“That sounds more like a birthday treat for you, not me.”

“You wound me Jude, you really do. But I promise I’ll make it worthwhile for you as well.”

It was a surprisingly warm day for mid-November. They were driving with the windows down, Jude’s hand hanging out the window and lazily surfing the breeze, Cardan singing out of time with the music playing on the radio. Despite the depression Jude’s birthday tended to bring on, a wave of peace washed over her as she turned her head to look at Cardan. Instead of wearing his sunglasses to block the bright sun, he was currently using them as a headband to keep his floppy hair out of his face while he drove, though it wasn’t proving to be very effective. The wind swept his hair about and every so often a piece of it would slap him in the face.

“So where are we going?” Jude asked for the fifth time since they had gotten into the car. They had driven out of town and were now on a country road full of trees displaying the last of their leaves before winter washed the world of color. Instead of answering Jude’s question, Cardan gave her a lopsided grin in response and took her hand in his free one. 

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?” Cardan finally said after Jude released a long, drawn out breath.

“I hate surprises,” she mumbled. 

“It’ll be fun,” Cardan insisted.

“I hate you.”

“Liar.”

“Miscreant.”

“Bully.”

“Baby.”

“Yes, darling?” Cardan replied.

“No, I was calling you a baby,” explained Jude. The smirk Cardan tried to suppress showed that Jude had walked right into that one. 

“I do so love it when you call me pet names,” Cardan continued. “Makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. Like a pie left out in the sun.”

“You shouldn’t leave pies out in the sun, birds will eat them.”

“Well I am such a goddamn snack…” Cardan trailed off as Jude began to laugh.

“Says you.”

“Darling, have you seen this ass?”

“Alright,” Jude laughed, “if you’re a snack what does that make me?”

“A four-course meal,” Cardan said as if that were obvious. “Now, if you will direct your attention to your right you will see we have arrived at our destination. Please do not feed the animals and remember the rules of being out in nature: leave no trace and take no prisoners. Sunscreen will not be provided and if a bear attacks you’re on your own.”

Jude looked out the window as Cardan pulled into a mostly empty dirt parking lot in front of a state park. Trees obscured the view beyond the opening of the main path, some of the autumnal colored leaves still clinging to their branches. Stepping out of the car, Jude was greeted by a kind of calming quiet one never got in civilization. The air smelled cleaner than Jude thought should be possible and the shining sun chased away any chills that the season tried to bring on. Birds that hadn’t yet made their migration sang from the trees, different melodies coalescing into a symphony of sounds.

It was beautiful.

The sound of a trunk door closing turned Jude’s attention to where Cardan had just pulled a basket from the trunk of his car. He watched her with a small smile and bright eyes as she took in their surroundings.

“If you brought me out here to murder me,” Jude joked, “I must say I approve of the scenery.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, clearly I brought you out here to paint you nude in nature like a faerie queen.”

“Are you saying you’ll be painting in the nude, or I’ll be nude in the painting?”

With a chuckle, Cardan tapped Jude on the tip of her nose and smiled brightly. “I like the way you think. Perhaps both. Or perhaps we’ll skip the painting entirely and just get naked. Shall we?” Cardan indicated the path with a flourish and they began walking hand in hand through the tree lined path.

“I think we should skip,” Cardan observed. “We don’t skip nearly enough as adults.”

“Skipping implies levity, and how can one be joyous when they’re drowning in college debt?”

“You really know how to ruin my fun, Jude. You can be quite cruel. And yet… I find it turns me on.”

Jude rolled her eyes. Something Cardan had said earlier had just begun to register in her mind. “Hey, what the fuck does leave no trace and take no prisoners mean?”

“What?”

“When we first got here,” Jude explained, “You said ‘leave no trace and take no prisoners.’”

“Oh, right. Leave no trace means that you should leave things how you find it, stay on the trail, yada yada yada.”

“I’m not familiar with ‘yada yada yada.’”

“Hush, my darling,” tutted Cardan before continuing with his explanation. “And ‘take no prisoners’ means that you don’t take anything out of nature. Like a pretty rock or a dead squirrel or a mushroom that has the potential to be psychedelic.” 

“Yes, those are precisely the trinkets I want as souvenirs,” Jude teased. Cardan only shrugged his shoulders and melted her heart with his smile.

“This way,” he said, gently leading her down a narrower path. After almost thirty minutes of walking they emerged into a clearing of grass overlooking a small waterfall flowing down a face of rocks and a pool of water surrounded by blue flowers. Mesmerized, Jude crept up to the bank of forget-me-nots and stared at her reflection mirrored in the pool of water. All sound seemed to be muffled in the little clearing, the perfect circle of grass separating the forest from the little pond. It felt magical and Jude stole a glance at Cardan. 

“How did you find this place?” She asked.

Instead of answering, Cardan set down the basket in his arms and pulled a checkered blanket from its depths. He placed the folded blanket over one arm like a tea towel and held his finger to his face in imitation of a mustache. “Will the lady be dining alone today?” He asked in a horrible french accent.

“Yes. Yes, she will.”

“I’m afraid I must insist on joining you.”

“Mmm. No thanks.”

Cardan laughed and it was warmer than sunlight. “Will you let me join you if I promise never to talk in that accent again?”

Jude pretended to consider this for a moment. “I suppose,” she dragged out, running her eyes along the length of his body. “You would make for rather handsome company.”

With a grin, Cardan whipped open the blanket and laid it out on the grass with a bit of theatrics, indicating with a slight bow and an extended hand that Jude should sit. After joining her on the blanket, Cardan opened the basket once again and peered inside.

“I hope you like the concept of food more than actually eating it because I forgot to actually pack any,” he said seriously. 

“Cardan!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking!” He held his hands up in surrender and laughed as Jude attempted to toss a nearby leaf in his face. “Let’s see what we’ve actually got in here, shall we?” And so he proceeded to produce fresh bread, soft cheeses, fancy meats, a variety of fruits, and chocolate pastries from the basket. After laying out their feast, he then pulled plastic plates, two cups, and a bottle of grape juice from the bottom of the picnic basket.

“Why grape juice?” Jude asked with a laugh.

“Because, darling, I have to drive and I know you’re not big on alcohol. But I still wanted to stick to the spirit of things, hence the grape juice instead of wine.”

“You really thought of everything.”

“Yes, well,” Cardan released a labored breath, faking humility, “I am rather thoughtful.”

Jude rolled her eyes and leaned in to catch Cardan’s mouth with her own. The kiss finally shut him up and he cradled the sides of her face in his hands, gently tugging her closer until she was nearly in his lap. He deepened the kiss, turning it from something soft to something desperate as Jude ran her hands through his hair. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, causing him to release a shaky breath into her mouth. Cardan’s hands slid down to grip her hips and pull her into his lap so she was straddling him as they continued to kiss until they were breathless. Jude knew if she didn’t stop now, they really would both end up naked like Cardan had claimed. Reluctantly, she drew back to look at him. His eyes, already nearly black to begin with, seemed even darker. She felt something pull deep in her abdomen at the sight of him. Maybe…? No, she resolved, not in public. Giving him one last kiss, Jude withdrew back to her spot on the blanket, Cardan’s hand reaching out to her with a look of desperation on his face. Lord help her, he was giving her those puppy dog eyes. 

With a laugh, she playfully swatted his hand away and said, “Later.”

As if to prove her point, the sounds of a family walking nearby with their giggling kids and barking dog drifted into their little nook.

Cardan sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Wouldn’t want to shock that poor family by ravaging each other right here in this very romantic alcove.”

After they finished eating, they ended up taking off their shoes and rolling up their pant legs to dangle their feet in the water. A frog croaked somewhere along the banks and birds flew to the water before darting away again. Beside her, Cardan laid back in the grass with his eyes closed.

“How did you even find this place?” Jude asked again softly.

Cardan opened his eyes and fixed them on Jude. “Sometimes I need to get away.”

“So you run to the woods?” Jude teased.

“Yes, obviously,” Cardan huffed as he sat up and nudged her with his shoulder. “Haven’t you ever wanted to become a forest cryptid after running away from society?”

Jude laughed. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“You should try it sometime. Wailing in the woods is very cathartic.”

By the time they left the park, the sun was beginning to set. They had accidentally fallen asleep while staring up at the clouds and only woke up when Jude began drooling on Cardan’s stomach and he had woken up with a small shriek thinking there was a spider crawling on him. 

The car ride was pleasantly quiet, Jude’s head blissfully free of worries, Cardan’s thumb tracing circles along the back of her hand on the console between them. Jude had to admit it was a good birthday.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Cardan broke the silence. “Why don’t you celebrate your birthday?” The question was hesitant, leaving Jude the space to ignore it should she not want to share this little tidbit of her life. But after everything she’d already shared with Cardan, it seemed silly to hide this. Honestly, it was something she’d bottled up for so many years that she found the prospect of sharing it to be like lifting a weight off her chest.

“It makes me sad,” she replied barely above a whisper. “I miss my parents. Madoc always did something for our birthday but it wasn’t the same, you know? I miss the way my mom would squeeze us in her arms after we blew out the candles, and how my dad would try to take a picture but end up blinding us or himself with the flash. My mom loved those prank candles that would keep relighting after you blew them out and Taryn would shriek and I’d laugh and my dad would say I was going to be an arsonist if I didn’t get my fascination with fire under control.”

Cardan gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “They sound wonderful,” he said very quietly.

“They were.” Jude wiped a stray tear off her face and stared out the window as they lapsed back into silence.

From her back pocket, Jude’s phone started screaming it's ringtone at her, making her jump hard enough to bash her elbow into the car door. “Sonofabi--,” she exclaimed as she dug the phone from her jeans and answered it right before it went to voicemail. “Hello?”

“Where the fuck are you?” Vivi’s frantic voice filtered through the phone.

“What? Why, what’s going on?” Panic was starting to build in Jude’s chest and she saw her same fear reflected in Cardan’s gaze as he looked to her for what she needed from him.

“It’s your birthday!” Vivi said, like this explained everything. The worry in Jude’s chest dissolved into irritation.

“So?” 

“So?!” Vivi repeated. “So Taryn and I are already at Madoc’s for your birthday dinner and you’re nowhere to be found.”

“Oh fuck. Fuck! I totally forgot!” 

“Obviously! Look, I’ll try to stall until you get here. Taryn brought Locke so you might as well bring Cardan too. Get here as fast as you can, dumbass.” With that, Vivi hung up.

Jude turned to Cardan, where he was looking at her expectantly.  “We have to go to my dad’s.”

They barely made it through the front door before Vivi was upon them like a hyena. “Thank god you’re here, Madoc is starting to throw a fit.”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Madoc stepped into the foyer and gave Jude a withering look. “Why aren’t you dressed?” He barked.

Jude was fairly certain her clothes hadn’t fallen off, leaving her standing in the doorway naked, but she still looked down at herself in assessment. She was very clearly dressed. 

“Never mind, some of your old dresses are still in your room, you must get changed before the guests arrive.” He took in Cardan’s attire and made a face like he had just drank spoiled milk. “I suppose you’ll do.”

Jude was feeling a little lost. “Guests?”

“Yes, Jude, guests. This is, afterall, a birthday party. I don’t want you embarrassing me in front of all our family friends and associates, so I suggest you go change out of that ratty sweater before everyone arrives.” Without waiting for a reply, Madoc left the room in the same storm he had entered it with.

“Guests?” Jude asked again, this time directing her attention at Vivi.

Vivi shrugged. “Oh you know dear old dad, he’ll turn everything into a business affair given half the chance. Now go get dressed so I don’t have to bury you on your birthday.”

Jude's childhood bedroom was sparse. Most of her things had been moved to her apartment after leaving Madoc’s, but there were a few things left behind: a bed, a handful of stuffed animals, an old dresser that was long but low with an attached mirror, and a bookcase with children's books still lining it's shelves. It was this last one that Cardan drifted to as Jude shut the door behind her. She drifted to her closet and the few dresses that remained there.

"Alice in Wonderland?" He said, taking a collectors edition off the top shelf. "This was my favorite book as a kid."

"You can have it," Jude said as she walked out of the closet in her chosen dress for the night and leaned against the nightstand after zipping the back up the rest of the way. Cardan raised his eyebrows at her over his shoulder and set the book down on the bed.

"It's your birthday," he purred, coming up to her and running his hands along her hips before shifting them so they were pressed squarely against his. He easily lifted her up and set her down on the dresser for him to settle between her knees. Jude felt her breath catch. "I'm supposed to be the one giving you a gift." 

"Is the gift sex?" Jude breathed as Cardan ran his lips along her throat. 

He chuckled against her collarbone, and lord help her, she felt hot all over. 

"No," he said, his voice low and undeniably sexy. "But the option's always on the table."

He continued to leave a trail of hot kisses along her skin as her almost feverish body continued to get hotter. Cardan was driving her crazy, and if the smile he pressed into her pulse point was any indication, he knew it to.

"God, this dress, Jude…"

"What? Don't like it?" She managed, looking down at the midnight blue fabric that hugged her curves nicely before pooling loosely just above her knees.

"I like you in it, that's for sure. But I'd also like you without it right about now." Cardan's fingers were gently running up the sides of her thighs. 

"Then take it off," she whispered in his ear.

His fingers came to the hem of her underwear and she shimmied out of them as he gently tugged them down. Then his hands were right where she wanted them, teasing her, exploring her, all while he continued to kiss every available inch of her skin. She gasped and, without fully meaning too, dug her nails into Cardan's shoulder as he inserted a finger. He was going too damn slow. She wanted more more more more.

"Cardan," she moaned. He smiled against her skin once more and added another finger. "Fuck, Cardan."

His strokes were reverent, like he was worshipping her. With his free hand he slid the strap of her dress off her right shoulder. Then her left. Her dress pooled around her waist on the dresser and his mouth found her breasts.

More more more more.

"This is all I've been able to think about since we kissed earlier," he said against her mouth.

"Yeah?" 

"Jude…"

She kissed him, the kiss getting more and more desperate as his fingers continued to stroke her. His rhythm was slowly dissolving as his own desire drove him just as crazy. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, and she wanted him bad.

"Do you have a condom?" She asked around her panting.

"Would you hate me if I said I've been carrying one since the first time we had sex?" 

Jude's laugh was low and sultry. "No, I wouldn't hate you. If anything I'd say thank god."

His fingers found a particularly sensitive spot and she bit her lip to contain the last half of a yelp that tore through her. She could feel her hips rocking against him even though she wasn't consciously doing it. When she looked down, she could see cardan hard and straining against his tight jeans.

"Get the condom," she pleaded.

Much to her disappointment, Cardan withdrew the hand inside her to remove his wallet from his back pocket in order withdraw a condom and shuck off his pants. His mouth found hers in a desperate series of kisses as he slid the condom on and then his hands were on her again and oh she was losing her mind. 

"Cardan?"

"Hmm?"

"The bed."

He backed up and sat down on the edge of the bed. Jude hopped off the dresser, her dress falling the rest of the way off her body to collect in a pool at her feet. Steadily, she walked over to Cardan, aware of his gaze taking in every inch of her exposed skin. His eyes seemed to gleam.

"God you're so fucking beautiful," he said. 

Jude settled into his lap. He was looking up at her in a way that made her stomach tumble even more as he leaned back and braced himself with a hand against the mattress behind him. His other hand cradled Jude against his body. And then, finally, he slid into her.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered as Jude began rocking her hips. His hands grabbed hold of her waist, he buried his head against her chest, and his breath came in short, hot gasps as Jude rode him. 

When he began to move his hips beneath her, Jude let out a cry of pleasure, which drew a chuckle out of cardan.

"As much as I love to hear your moans, you might want to try to be quiet, darling," he purred in that way that made Jude want to do very unholy things to him. 

Her mind was struggling for words as she shoved at his chest to push his back against the mattress. Finally, she managed, "Fuck you, Greenbriar."

"I think you already are."

"Then fuck me."

With a laugh he bucked his hips and she threw her head back in pleasure, Cardan's fingers trailing her exposed throat before sliding into her hair. His free hand had a firm hold on her hips as he rocked his and oh my god she was nearing the edge of a cliff. His teeth grazed her collarbone before finding her nipple, his hand slid in the small space between them and began running circles on her and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…

Jude fell off that cliff with a cry as Cardan fell with her.

Trying to catch her breath, Jude collapsed on top of Cardan. Beneath her cheek his chest rose and fell as fast as hers, his heartbeat going a mile a minute. Jude didn't mind the sweat sticking to his skin, or how her own sweaty skin made their stomachs stick together. She just laid with her head on his chest, legs still around his hips, and closed her eyes as his fingers stroked her back, her hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. Jude decided she could live in this moment forever. Being held by Cardan after being loved by him, slowly beginning to doze off as she breathed in the scent of his skin, enveloped in the warmth of it.

"Jude," he said gently.

"Hmm?"

"We should probably make ourselves decent and go back downstairs before someone comes looking for us." This elicited a groan of a different variety than moments before from Jude. Cardan gave a soft laugh and pressed his lips against her sweaty forehead. 

"Come on, Jude. I'd rather not get caught having sex with you by your dad."

"But you're not having sex with me anymore," she teased. This made Cardan smile wickedly. Before she could think about the wisdom behind her own taunt, Cardan had them flipped over so he was on top of her. 

"You're right, my sweet villain," he purred, "but I can still drive you crazy." His fingers grazed down her stomach, millimeters away from where she was once again hot all over, before he pulled away from her and started pulling on his pants.

"I really fucking hate you sometimes, you know that?" Jude said.

With a laugh, Cardan buckled his pants and leaned over the bed so he was propped over Jude again. "Come on," he said, helping her sit up. "We can pick up where we left off once we get back to your apartment." 

That didn't seem soon enough. But Cardan was handing her her dress and she grumpily slipped it on. After both using the bathroom attached to her room, she led the way to her bedroom door and was about to pull it open when Cardan's hand stopped her. Gently, so gently, he spun her around and pressed her back against the door. He kissed her, once, and then he was pulling open the door, his fingers interlocking with hers, and they were going back downstairs.

The party passed in a blur. The guests were there more for Madoc than for Jude and Taryn and the twins seemed to orbit on different axises. Jude saw Taryn in passing but never stopped to talk, and Vivi tried to split her time between the two of them while making sure they both knew how much it irritated her. Throughout the night, Cardan stole kisses in secluded places. The empty kitchen, a corner in the hallway, behind a potted plant by the tables overflowing with food. On the back patio with the stars shining down on them. Jude cherished every kiss, every touch, and felt herself fall a little more each time.

“Happy birthday, Jude,” Cardan whispered against her skin as he settled an opal necklace around her throat.

[blu-joons]

Helping His Daughter With Her Homework ~ Kim Namjoon

The front door slammed shut, your eyes lit up watching Namjoon walk into the kitchen, softly smiling as you slid away from the dining table where you sat with your daughter, leaving her for a few moments, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s a good job you’re here,” you smiled, pulling him away from the table. “That maths homework she has is crazy.”

“Want me to take over?” He proposed.

After a long day you hated to add onto his workload, but if anyone was going to be able to help her, he was. “Only if you don’t mind, I know you’re a busy man Joon.”

“She’s my daughter, of course I don’t mind,” he smiled, “plus, it will be nice to spend some time with her.”

A soft kiss was pressed to the top of your head, as he dropped his bag, taking the seat you’d just sat in at the dining table. “Daddy!” She squealed as her eyes fell on him.

“Hey, you,” he chimed, glancing over the paper, “do you need some help baby girl?”

She nodded, placing her pen down so Namjoon could look over her work and the answers she’d written down. “It’s really hard, even mummy couldn’t do it.”

“That’s because mummy is nowhere near as smart as daddy,” he whispered, tickling her sides sending her into an eruption of loud giggles, her legs kicking about underneath the table.

You glanced across whilst beginning to prepare dinner, flinching at the loud screeches she let go of. The two of them had a magnificent bond, one that at times you were insanely jealous of.

“I didn’t realise maths could be so funny. I hope the two of you are working hard otherwise there will be no dinner for the two of you tonight, and mummy will eat it all!”

“No!” She giggled, turning back to the homework sheet in front of him.

Namjoon smirked, looking over it. “Why don’t we do these equations at the bottom, I think you’ve got everything else right sweetheart, maybe mummy was helpful after all.”

Slowly you tiptoed around the two of them, slapping the back of Namjoon’s head lightly, sending him a warning.

“We’ll have less of that mister; I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m sure you do jagi, really.”

You turned away leaving the two of them to work through the sheet, whilst you focused on dinner. You weren’t sure if it was from guiding the boys for so long but he always had the best of explaining things, even the hardest things in the world just seemed to easy when you had Namjoon there to talk things through with you.

“So, if you then take seven away from twenty, I think you’ll have the answer,” you heard him say, glancing over as your daughter madly scribbled down on the piece of paper.

Just like you, maths wasn’t her strong point, there had been a lot of upsets over her homework, putting herself down, feeling as if she wasn’t good enough.

“Twenty!” She squealed, throwing her arms in the air, giving herself a round of applause.

Namjoon nodded, sitting back as she drew a large two and zero in the answer box, proudly smiling at the fact she’d discovered the right answer.

“See, you are such a clever girl, well done sweetheart,” he grinned.

“Thanks daddy,” she replied, hugging him tightly.

He kissed the top of her head, before looking over at you. “She’s going to ace this homework.”

You walked over seeing it all completed, in much better time than the two of you could have ever done without his help.

Your arm draped around his neck, excusing your daughter from the table to slip the work she’d worked so hard on back into her school bag, reappearing with another piece of paper, handing it to Namjoon with a beaming smile.

His eyes widened as he read through, just as he thought his job was done for the night, there was yet another sheet to guide her through.

“We got science homework too,” she giggled, sitting back on the chair, “will you help me with this too please daddy?”

“Of course. Let’s read through it together.”

You took a step back, kissing the top of Namjoon’s head in gratitude for all that he did. No matter how tired he was, or how much pressure he was under, he always found the time and energy for the two of you, making sure you were always the priorities.

“My teacher told us the symbol for oxygen, but I can’t remember,” she told him.

“Alright, let’s start with this. What letter is at the start of oxygen?”

It took her a few moments to think, being so young, slips in her memory occurred from time to time. Being at school, taking so much in, she could never remember everything.

“O-o?” She questioned.

“That’s right. And what number house do we live at?” He asked, without giving her the answer, but giving her the clues that she needed.

Yet again, she took a few moments, picturing the number just to the left of your front door. “We live at number two, don’t we?”

“Yeah, so put it all together.”

She wrote down the o first, and then the number two beside it, reading it loud and clear as Namjoon congratulated her on the right answer. They worked through a couple more of his inventive exercises, giving her helpful tips to remember them by.

At times, you definitely counted yourself lucky to have such an intelligent husband, his knowledge scared you at times, giving you random facts or statistics when you least expected it, showing off on all the things he knew.

Your daughter knew how to make the most of it too, she had Namjoon wrapped around her little finger, she always took advantage of him, using his interest in the world to drag the answers for most of her homework out of him.

“Please tell me this is finally the end of all of this.”

Her pen was dropped on the table, the sheet of homework was yet again slipped back into her bag. “That’s everything for tonight, but I think I’ll get more tomorrow.”

“I’m sure mummy will help,” he joked, “you’ll have to ask her.”

Before she had chance to get to you, you slipped into the living room, taking a sip from your water bottle, waiting a few moments to return to the kitchen, in the hope that she would have forgotten about it all.

“I guess you two brainboxes are ready for some dinner now, take a seat and I’ll bring some plates over,” you smiled, laying the table for the three of you, serving up dinner for your family.

“She’s really progressing,” Namjoon whispered across to you as you sat to the table, “she perseveres when she can’t do something, and you’re doing a great job helping her. I know homework isn’t your forte, but she does appreciate getting help from the both of us, I can see it in how excited she gets for it.”

“I do try to help, but I always know you’re so much smarter than I am, there’s no way I could have helped with half the stud you went through with her tonight.”

His shoulders shrugged, pecking your cheek. “And there is no way I could have ever cooked the meal you have tonight. We both have our strengths, I guess that is why we really do make such a good team together.”

“Mummy, daddy, your food will go cold,” your daughter interrupted, ruining the small moment between you both. “I hope you weren’t talking about me.”

“Of course, not sweetheart, you just enjoy your tea,” Namjoon smiled.

You leaned across, whispering into his ear, “see, maybe she is as smart as you.”

---

Masterlist

[anxiouslymalicious]

Losers Club Plus One Part 5

A Richie Tozier x daughter!reader series

To read the previous part, click here and for the complete Masterlist, go here.

A/N: I am so sorry this has once more taken so fucking long but things happened and then more things happened and then word and my computer crashed and I had to rewrite like a lot so here we are.

Anyway, thank you guys so much for all the sweet comments and messages and asks, I appreciate them all so much, I appreciate you guys so much. 

This has a word count of 3,000 ish words just for your information and there are descriptions of anxiety, however there is also some fluff in here that’ll hopefully make up for the little kind of angsty parts. 

Enjoy!

A pregnant, solemn silence took over the losers as they held the shower caps in hand, thoughts of Stan flooding each of them uncontrollably. Memories of the first time they admired Ben’s hard work that he told them was nothing. Remembering Richie and Eddie fighting over the hammock, even the smoke-hole ritual didn’t seem nearly as far away anymore.

Ben was sitting with Y/N, animatedly telling her about how much effort he had put into the small club house. Her eyes travelled over the construction, a wondrous gaze raking over the dusty items, the faded posters, the carvings and blemishes that the place had endured over the decades.

“This is fucking incredible.” She breathed. “You’re a genius”

Ben chuckled, tearing his own eyes away from what he had created at such a young age to look at the girl next to him. He, like many of the losers, hadn’t really taken the time to look at her. She didn’t look much like Richie, possibly she took after her mother more look-wise, but the way she talked, the way she acted, the swearing, the messy hair, were so much like her father, it was almost scary. Like a female version of teenager Richie had gotten lost in Derry ages ago, but never aged. Ben’s eyes fell onto a spider in the young girl’s hair, an involuntary grin spreading on his lips.

“What’s up Haystack?” asked Richie suddenly, effectively breaking the comfortable silence.

“Stan really was ahead of his time.” Ben replied, slowly trying to plug the spider away from the mop of hair on the girl. The girl shuddered when she spotted just what he was doing as the other losers chuckled. Those weren’t the happy, almost childlike chuckles Y/N had heard more times than not coming from the members. No. Those sounded broken and, although not watery, they were still thick with unshed tears. Tears they didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not out of disappointment or disrespect towards the man they grew up with, quite the opposite really. Remembering who he was as a kid also made each of them remember what a kind and compassionate soul Stan was. Smart, often acting more like an adult than a child, but the one thing that was crucial about Stanley was that he had reasons for doing what he did. Reasons he carefully thought about. So, although no one dared to speak, they knew that Stan had carefully thought about this and had a reason for doing what he did. They just couldn’t figure out said reason.

“Hey Mike, what are we doing here?” Richie spoke up, finally, diverting the attention, changing the painful topic to another dreadful one. One that scared each of them more than they would like to admit.

“The ritual. It requires a sacrifice.”

“As a sacrifice we can take Eddie.” Richie dryly said, motioning towards the smaller man who now looked at him in a state of shock and something Y/N would almost identify as fear.

“Wait what?” Eddie asked. As Ben, under his breath, mumbled ‘Peep-peep, Richie.’

“You’re little. You fit on a barbeque.” The taller man replied, making his daughter snort in shock. Ben ruffled up her hair at that, a smile on his lips at the sincere reaction of the teen.

“I’m average height in most countries.” Eddie waved Richie off, slightly offended at the comment. “Besides, why are we not sacrificing Y/N? She’s literally my height!”

“Because I still have hopes of growing taller, unlike you.” Y/N fought back, an incredulous smile on her face, trying to hinder the giggles bubbling up inside her from surfacing.

“It’s not that kind of a s-s-sacrifice.” Bill interrupted the bickering, much more serious than Y/N, Eddie and Richie had previously been.

“Your past is buried. But you have to dig it up. Piece by piece. And these pieces, the artefacts, that’s why we’re here. That’s what we have to sacrifice. And since Stan isn’t here to find his, I think that we should all be here together to find his artefact.” Said Mike, his voice dark, rough. Y/N knew that it was taking a toll on everyone to be back. How bad it was the first time around, she still didn’t know, but she was curious to find out. 

Her eyes travelled to Eddie, shower cap in hand, then to the tin can on the ground, next to his feet. She got up from her seat next to Ben and moved to sit next to Eddie instead, following his thought, and fishing one of the caps out of the can.

Both of them pulled the caps onto their heads. They shared a glance. Then, their eyes landed on Mike.

“I think we just did that.” Replied Eddie and Y/N nodded along.

One after another, the losers plus one climbed out of the club house, Y/N being the last, gratefully taking Mike’s hand in support. Hastily, she took a few deep breaths, her airways silently thanking her for finally breathing in fresh, clean air. It wasn’t bad, but she had to admit that breathing in the dusty and musty air was getting quite exhausting and she rarely appreciated the cool air in a forest as much as she did in that moment.

“Okay so where do we find our artefacts?” Eddie asked, nervously pacing over the soft soil. Mike took another second, making sure that the girl he had pulled up was alright on her own before considering Eddie’s anxious figure.

“Yeah, I gotta be honest, man,” Richie started, scratching the back of his head, his lips pressed into a tight line, “all due respect, this is fucking stupid, alright? Why do we need tokens, alright? We remember everything. Saving Bev, defeating IT, I mean we’re caught up.”

“That’s not everything.” Mike tried to calm Richie, get him to admit that he didn’t know as much as he liked to say. There were still things Richie, like the other losers, didn’t want to remember. “We fought. But what happened after that? Before the house at Neibolt?”

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Y/N, not knowing how to feel, stood behind Mike, watching the scene unfold. The group looked dumbfounded for a moment, not even remembering the fight. Slowly, carefully, she strolled a bit away from the group, not wanting to interfere with a moment like that, with a moment as important as that one would be. Once more, she felt like she didn’t belong and she almost started regretting even suggesting as much as following her father to Derry. But what choice did she have? It was in those moments that she felt pitiful for herself, for the lack of a mother, a family. Of course, she was incredibly thankful for her father. She loved Richie dearly, but there were certain moments when she really needed a female adult in her life. Like when she had gotten her first period. Oh lord, how uncomfortable and awkward she felt that day. And how much it hurt to know that her mother had just left her, not wanted her any longer when she was just a baby.

How much it hurt knowing that she didn’t have grandparents like the other kids in class.

How weird she felt when the only family pictures she could bring to primary school while other kids brought pictures of themselves with their grandparents, with their aunts and uncles, cousins, siblings, whatever kind of family they had. She also remembered feeling shy in front of her father that day as she had to ask him about his parents for a homework assignment.

How lost she felt when Richie took her shopping for bras and other clothing. Richie did offer to ask one of his female friends to take her or ask her friends’ mothers to help her out, but Y/N refused. She would have felt even weirder going shopping for underwear with people she barely knew. Hell, she didn’t even want to take her friends in fear of being embarrassed.

The girl felt anxiety building up in her veins, her chest growing tighter, troubling her breathing. With nervous eyes, she searched for her father, who was vigorously shaking his head.

“I’m not letting her alone. I’m going to take my daughter with me.” Richie told Mike before stomping over to her, gently grasping her arms and making her sit down on a tree stump. Richie had noticed that his daughter was breathing unevenly, erratically. He was torn between staying and making a point to his friends and taking his daughter to a quiet place, away from all the trouble that caused her anxiety to skyrocket. The look she gave him was one he understood perfectly though. She didn’t want them to be alone.

“I gotta say… Statistically speaking, if you look at survival scenarios, we’d do much better as a group.” Eddie joined into the conversation, almost anxiously uttering his opinion. From the corner of his eye, he could see Y/N grasping her father’s arm tightly, eyes wide like a young doe, as she was fighting herself. None of the Losers dared to get close to her though, too afraid that Richie might lash out at them.

“Yes. Splitting up would be dumb, man. We gotta go together, alright? We were together that summer, right?” Richie looked to his friends in hopes of them agreeing with him, getting Mike to see how stupid his idea was. Eddie nodded in agreement and Richie got his hopes up. Until Bill spoke up.

“N-no. Not that w-whole s-summer.” And with that, they remembered the fight. They remembered how they physically had to separate Richie and Bill so they wouldn’t smash each other’s heads in, how they spent time separated from each other, each of them too stubborn to face what, deep down, each of them knew would be necessary.

“What happened?” asked Y/N, voice shaky, eyes innocently looking up at her father, then the other Losers. She had managed to calm down enough to speak, but she knew that she was still on the verge of breaking down. No one answered, each of them just let their gaze wander over the greens surrounding them. The trees started losing their leaves and they instead graced the ground, covering the soil in endless shades of red, yellow, orange and even a few brown spots.

“I’ll bring you back to the hotel, then get that stupid token.” Richie finally said, reaching out a hand to help his daughter, who suddenly seemed a lot smaller than she really was, up. Gratefully, she grasped it before sliding her hand up, trying to find some steadiness and comfort in grasping her father’s arm until they were out of what she felt was a danger zone.

The forest made her feel alerted. Something could be lurking behind every tree. 

Behind every bush. 

Behind every tree stump. 

There was room to flee, yes, but at what cost? If they ran and were to be separated, she would easily fall victim to whatever IT was. Y/N didn’t know her way around and Richie wasn’t sure he still knew the place like he did when he was younger and spent almost every day of a whole summer lurking in the shadows, hiding away from the Bowers gang, making plans of how to kill IT and just enjoying the warmth of the summer that took not only his innocence, but also his friends’.

“I’ll join you.” Eddie spoke up, stepping closer to the leaving pair as each of the Losers awoke from their little trance, daring to move now that Richie accepted that he had to find his token on his own. Neither Richie nor Y/N said anything, instead, they started walking, hoping that they were somewhat on the track they had taken earlier to get to the clubhouse. Once they had reached the edge of the Barrens, however, the Losers wordlessly split up and went their own ways. Where to exactly, no one knew. They went wherever their feet, their subconscious brought them. Maybe it wasn’t even that. Maybe something bigger than each of them was leading them, something that they knew existed, but they couldn’t remember yet. It was irking them. Teasing them. Lost somewhere in the back of their minds with the rest of their memories of the last summer. About to burst through that thin layer of blissful ignorance, it just needed a little push to break through to the surface. 

All of the Losers gave in and started their little journey through the place they grew up in. Well, everyone except for Richie, Eddie and Y/N.

“Eds, I appreciate your concern, but Mike said that we all have to do this on our own. You should get a head start, we all know your little legs slow you down.” Richie said, sluggishly joking around. He didn’t have the energy to make fun of his friend now. Not now that his heart was beating restlessly like a kid on Christmas morning and he knew that he had to leave his daughter, the only family he had left, to fend for herself.

“Don’t call me that. I want to be there for you two. She’s your daughter, that makes her a Loser by blood. Besides, I just wanna make sure that you don’t up and leave with her.” Eddie smiled at the pair and, with that, Y/N felt how her chest filled with warmth. She hadn’t ever known a family bigger than her and her father, but knowing that at least one more person, if not the whole Losers Club was right beside her, made her feel like she belonged. Like she had an identity, was a person important to something bigger than being your average high school student.

Y/N gave the man a warm, genuine smile. “I wouldn’t let him leave.”

“I know, little one. I know.” Eddie smiled back at her, laying a hand on her shoulder, not sure how affectionate he could be with the girl without it becoming weird. After all, she was almost like a new addition to the mismatched family of losers and he didn’t want her to feel left out just as much as he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable or suffocated by the affection shown.

“Watch it, I’m going to outgrow you. There is still hope for me.” She smirked as they slowly started making their way to the hotel. Richie scoffed, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“Don’t get your hopes up too high, squirt. I don’t think you’ve grown in the past six months and- “

“Fuck off, dad.”

“Don’t tell me to fuck off, without this smart mouth here, you wouldn’t exist.” Richie reminded both her and Eddie, making the pair cringe.

“Beep-Beep, Richie.” Eddie said as he felt himself shudder against his will. Only moments later, a harsh wind blew their way, sweeping the hair from their faces, creating ripples of shivers on their bodies.

“I think I’m gonna leave you guys alone. It’s not far anymore and I feel like I have to go elsewhere.” Eddie said, awkwardly mustering the father-daughter-duo.

“You’re not gonna make sure that I won’t run off with her?” Richie asked, confused at Eddie’s sudden change of plans.

“I trust you, Richie.” Eddie replied, lips twitching up into a playful yet shy smile. Y/N couldn’t hold back her grin at the gentle exchange between the men and watched happily as Richie stepped closer to the smaller, insecurity-ridden man, wrapping his arms around him in an almost therapeutic hug. Obviously, they hoped to see each other again later that day, but were they sure they actually would?

“Come here, squirt. Group hug.” Richie motioned for her, lifting one of his arms to give the girl room as Eddie nodded encouragingly. Joyfully, she complied and wrapped her arms around the two men, as far as they would reach.

“Stay safe.” Y/N whispered as she felt a sudden pull in her chest. It was unexpected, hit her out of nowhere and coating her in an uncomfortable cold. The uncertainty of the situation, the dangers connected to each of them going their own way finally caught up to her and, as it seemed, not only her. As the men heard the raw concern in her voice, they hugged her just a little closer and a little tighter in hopes of consoling her in some way.

“Don’t worry, I will. I’ll see you later in the library and all of us will be fine, alright?” Eddie replied, knowing that he wasn’t speaking the truth. He knew that splitting up was the most dangerous thing they could do. He knew that they might not all return to the library that day. He knew that IT was after them – and IT was seeking revenge. But he felt that, in that situation, it would be more important sugar-coating the whole situation and not worrying her too much rather than telling her about the actual risks of the situation.

“You two stay safe. I’ll be waiting for you.” Eddie told them as he pulled out of the comfort of their arms, leaving to go his own way, not knowing which horrors would be waiting for him as he would be looking for a simple artefact to sacrifice. Richie smiled, nodding a little, then laid a hand on his daughter’s back, pushing her forward. Not before she could wave to Eddie one last time though. Eddie smiled and nodded in reply.

The Tozier-Duo walked in silence for a bit. Until Y/N decided that she couldn’t stand the tension for another moment and decided to speak up with a question that she had been dying to ask for a bit now.

“What is it with you and Eddie, Dad? Have you always been this close?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags: (Please let me know if you want to be tagged in the next parts! And please forgive me and hit me up again if I forgot to tag you, sometimes things get lost, I am not forgetting you on purpose! ) 

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[agreatperhaps12]

There are a lot of misconceptions about Warren Peace. Five times Layla Williams saw through the bullshit, and one time Warren returned the favor.

happy holidays, @katiewont :) 

Misconception No. 1: Warren Peace loves a good fight.

Warren Peace does not go looking for fights. Fights find him.

See: Stronghold chucking a lunch tray at him the first week of class. Dumb and Dumber challenging them to Save the Citizen. Stronghold’s date going full supervillain at homecoming and nearly dropping a school-size anvil on an unsuspecting suburb.

That’s just the highlight reel for September.

When another villain interrupts Warren’s History of Heroism midterm with another school invasion, Warren’s first thought is: Could everyone around here chill for five fucking seconds.

No. Literally, not ever. See: three weeks later, when Warren is standing in line for lunch with the entourage of freshmen he’s long since given up trying to shake off. It has not even been five minutes since Warren and Stronghold defeated their latest challenger at Save the Citizen, and Zach is already doing a clumsy live-action replay.

To Stronghold, “Did you see his face when you were like?” Zach swings his arm with the spectacular confidence of someone not standing in a very crowded cafeteria. To Warren, “And then you were like—” Zach mimes shooting fireballs from his fists, complete with sound effects. “Totally brutal. You looked scary, bro.”

“He always looks scary,” Ethan says, smiling at Warren like that’s a compliment.

Warren glares down at his tray. He and Stronghold have been defending champions of Save the Citizen for over two months, Hero Team every time. He doesn’t get how people are still managing to make him feel like the bad guy about it.

“How was play-pretend battle?”

Layla has emerged from the crowd to stand beside Warren, with a smirk that makes a stupid something flutter behind his sternum. Layla stopped coming to their Save the Citizen matches after their dozenth victory, because “violence should be the last resort in any hostage situation” and “Save the Citizen completely undermines a valuable opportunity for Sky High students to learn strategic negotiation skills.” Warren doesn’t know what she does with the free period. 

Take me with you, he thinks.

“The match was epic,” Zach says. “Will got to throw a car.”

A bashful smile overtakes Stronghold’s dumb, Labrador face.

“And Warren almost barbequed Evans,” Ethan says.

Jesus, could they shut up about it already.

“Really,” Layla says, eyes on Warren while he pays for his food.

“Yeah,” Warren says, in a deadpan to rival Magenta. “It was epic.”

Layla frowns, but instead of launching into the pacifist manifesto that Warren is expecting, she holds up her bagged lunch says, “Want to eat outside?”

Before Warren can answer, Stronghold says, “Outside?” like he’s never heard of such a place. “It’s freezing out there.”

“It’s almost forty degrees,” Layla says, “and I had to come in early to finish a project, so it’s been over—” She checks the clock. “—five hours since I’ve felt roots under my feet. I’m eating outside.”

“Okay, but like.” Stronghold glances at Warren. “Do… you want me to come?”

“No, you’ll just be a baby about it,” Layla says gently. “Warren doesn’t get cold, do you?”

She looks to Warren for confirmation of a fact that Warren is one hundred percent sure he’s never told her. He shrugs to hide his wrong-footedness.

“Great.” Layla claps a hand on Stronghold’s shoulder and uses it to steer him toward the others, who are already sitting at what used to be Warren’s personal lunch table, once upon a time. She shrugs on her jacket, flips her hair out, and looks to Warren. “Shall we?”

Warren follows her outside warily. Sitting down across from her at the picnic table closest to the edge of school grounds, he says, “So, what is this, exactly?”

Layla pauses in uncurling her lunch bag. “What do you mean?”

Warren shrugs. “We don’t really hang out. Alone.”

They did, a little. Back when Layla was using Warren to make Stronghold jealous. But that pretty much ended with the homecoming debacle—after which Layla and Stronghold spent a few weeks trying to get their romantic relationship off the ground, decided they worked better as friends, and went back to normal.

“What are you talking about?” Layla says. “We hang out at the Paper Lantern all the time.”

It’s true that Layla eats at Warren’s workplace a few nights a week, when her mom is too busy with day-saving to make family dinners at home. But Layla is always doing homework, and Warren is always doing Work work, so, “I don’t think that counts.”

“It does,” Layla says confidently. It’s the kind of confidence that only Layla can pull off, because rather than coming across as arrogant, she gives the air of a mysterious woodland nymph, whose secret knowledge mere mortals wouldn’t understand.

“Okay,” Warren says, because he has precious little personal experience to back up any assertions about how friendship is supposed to work. “But this isn’t the Lantern.”

Layla raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to go back inside?”

“No,” Warren says. He doesn’t want Layla to leave, either. There’s a sureness about her that Warren finds comforting. She’s never been afraid of him—probably because she could kick his ass. Warren likes that about her. But he also likes to know where he stands with people.

By way of explanation, Layla says, “Did you know that when you get stressed out, literal steam comes out of your ears?”

“What?”

“Mm-hmm.” Layla pulls an apple out of her lunch bag. “A little. It’s easier to see when your hair is pulled back.”

Warren brings a self-conscious hand to the rubber band he used to tie his hair up during Mad Science Lab.

“It happens a lot when Zach is doing his Save the Citizen play-by-plays,” Layla observes. “Thought I might spare you an entire lunch of that.”

“Oh.” Warren’s hand drops into his lap, blind-sided by the unexpected kindness. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Layla maintains eye contact while taking a bit of apple. Warren shifts in his seat and drops his eyes to his pizza. “You could tell Coach Boomer to assign Will a different partner,” she says after a moment. “Save the Citizen isn’t mandatory.”

Yeah, except it kind of is. No one’s ever voluntarily stepped back from a winning streak like Warren and Stronghold’s. Benching himself would never be worth all the extra side-eye in the halls. Not to mention the explanation he’d have to give Boomer. What kind of superhero-in-training refuses to fight?

Except for the one Warren is currently sitting across from, of course. Who’s looking at Warren with such doe-eyed earnestness that it almost squeezes a “Yeah, maybe” out of him. But Layla is a difficult person to lie to, so he says, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about Save the Citizen.”

Layla sits up a little straighter. “Right,” she says. “Consider it forgotten.”

“Thanks.”

Not that Warren doesn’t trust Layla, but she is the kind of person to press points she thinks are important. Before her mind can cycle back to Save the Citizen from some other angle, Warren says, “Sorry I dragged you outside in the middle of November.”

Layla tilts her head to the side. “You didn’t drag me. I dragged you.”

“Yeah, but for me,” Warren says, and there’s that stupid fluttering feeling again.

“And for me,” Layla says. “I wasn’t lying about needing to get out for a bit. Being inside all day, with the linoleum and cinderblock.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s creepy quiet, when you’re used to feeling everything alive around you.”

He’s never actually thought about it, before. How Layla has her finger on the pulse of something so vast and intricate, even when she’s not bending it to her will.

“Even in November?” Warren says. “Isn’t everything, like… dead?”

Layla laughs. “No. Just taking a long nap.”

“Huh.” Warren looks around the grey-brown landscape of the schoolyard, with its bare branches and faded grass, with new eyes. It’s a nice idea, that all these lifeless-looking things are just waiting to wake up.

Misconception No. 2: Warren Peace doesn’t give a damn about his bad reputation.

Anyone who dyes a single streak of hair, wears fingerless gloves, and walks around like he’s got nothing to prove has something big to prove.

For Warren Peace, that is: I do not give a fuck about my family legacy.

Before starting high school, Warren figured a couple kids might recognize him, by name or by strong family resemblance. But Warren’s dad had already been locked up for a long time. It wasn’t like he made the news anymore. Worse came to worst, Warren thought he might have to field a few awkward questions about it.

Homeschooling did not prepare Warren for how big a household name Barron Battle was.

The first week of school was all open seats around Warren in class and at lunch, cold and curious looks over shoulders on the bus, “Check it out, that’s Barron Battle’s devil spawn” and “I can’t believe they even let supervillain kids in.”

It was treat or be treated like dirt, and Warren chose the former.

Fast-forward to junior year, and Sky High students know Warren Peace for the asshole he is, rather than the asshole his father was. Warren is comfortably back to pretending like his dad doesn’t exist. It mostly works.

Except during a History of Heroism unit on the most notorious villains of the twentieth century, when Warren’s class is staring at a PowerPoint slide that depicts the leveled Brooklyn neighborhood where Barron Battle and the Commander had their final showdown.

Warren ignores his classmates’ not-so-covert glances as Mr. Magnificent rattles of statistics like ‘seven dead and dozens injured’ and ‘nearly one billion dollars in damages.’ Magnificent has to pause his lecture to silence the white noise of whispers that has swelled up, and Warren wants to sink through the floor.

It’s like the first week of freshman year all over again. Warren is projecting I don’t care vibes so hard, there’s a good chance he’ll spontaneously combust.

What feels like an eon later, the classroom lights come up. Warren shoves everything into his backpack and heads for the door before anyone can try to talk to him. As usual, Layla is out of Hero Support early and waiting in the hall to meet Warren for lunch. Her patent sun-bright smile slips as Warren escapes the classroom.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” she says.

“What?” Warren stops up short. “Nowhere. There’s no fire.”

“I was kidding,” Layla says, and winces at herself. “Poor choice of words. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Warren rakes his fingers through his hair. “I can’t come to lunch today. I have to—work on something.”

Normally, when Warren is feeling like shit, there’s nothing he’d rather do than sit with Layla in their little oasis of calm at the schoolyard picnic table. But right now, Warren needs at least thirty minutes to pace around the empty auto shop classroom, literally and figuratively cooling off, before he subjects himself to more human company.

“Okay,” Layla says, hugging her notebook to her chest and looking at him critically. “Are you—”

“Yeah. It’s—whatever. I’ll see you later.” Warren shoulders his way through the crowded hall toward the shop room, head down.

Smooth, he thinks at himself. Very smooth.

Shut up.

Warren assumes the first chance he’ll have to apologize to Layla is the next day at lunch. But when Warren shows up for his shift at the Paper Lantern at five, Layla is already sitting at her usual table. Weird, because Layla usually doesn’t come to the Lantern on Thursdays. Weirder, because when she does come, she typically arrives sometime after eight, when the dinner rush has mostly cleared out.

“What can I get you?” Warren says, drawing his pencil out from behind his ear as he approaches Layla’s table. They do try to maintain some appearances of an employee-customer relationship, to appease Mrs. Zhou.

“Hmm.” Layla examines the menu. “I’d like one kung pao tofu, one green tea, and—” She looks up at him. “—for you to explain why you fled your History of Heroism class today.”

“I didn’t flee,” Warren says. “I stormed out.”

“All right,” Layla agrees easily. “Why did you storm out of History of Heroism?”

Warren crosses his arms. “None of your business.”

“Okay.” Layla holds out her menu.

Warren blinks. “What?”

“You’re right, it’s not my business,” she says. “I just thought you might want to talk about whatever it was.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

Warren squints. “Okay…”

“Okay,” Layla says again, and flaps the menu in her hand.

Warren takes it slowly, waiting for the catch. But Layla just pulls a binder and notebook out of her backpack. “Honey with the tea, please,” she says, and clicks open a pen.

“I know,” Warren says, and leaves Layla to her homework. He spends most of the next half-hour trying to untangle why he feels disappointed rather than relieved.

The thing is, Warren sometimes gets a “What was that about?” or “Dude, what the hell happened back there?” from classmates after he goes nuclear. Like after his cafeteria fight with Stronghold in September. Those questions always feel voyeuristic. Prickly and probing.

With Layla, though, the question feels less invasive and more inviting. For the first time, Warren wants to explain himself. He wants Layla to understand. He doesn’t want her to see him as some moody, unapproachable asshole. But he also doesn’t know how to approach her, or the subject, now that he’s already shut it down.

He’s been talking himself in and out of going back over to Layla’s table for ten minutes when Mrs. Zhou sidles up to the pass-through window where Warren is brooding.

“If you’re going to stand around making eyes at your girlfriend, take your fifteen and go over before the dinner crowd arrives,” she says.

Warren’s face heats, and he looks around to see whether anyone is in earshot, even though he’s pretty sure none of Mrs. Zhou’s whitebread suburban customers understand Mandarin. “She’s not my—never mind.”

Deciding he’d rather be having any other conversation besides this one with Mrs. Zhou, Warren forces himself to walk over to Layla’s table and sit down.

“We learned about the Barron in class today,” he says, abandoning any attempt at preamble, “for a lesson on notable supervillain takedowns.”

If Layla is surprised by Warren’s sudden attempt at conversation, she doesn’t show it. She hooks her pen through the spiral of her notebook, closes it, and waits for him to continue.

“Magnificent was showing pictures from the last time Dad and the Commander fought in New York,” Warren says, “and people were looking at me like I was involved somehow, even though all that shit went down when I was still in diapers, and those people have been in my classes for three years, like—I know, we all know Barron Battle is my dad, why can’t everyone fucking get over it already—”

Layla lays a hand on his forearm, cutting Warren off and drawing his attention to the fact that his clenched fist is smouldering like a hot coal. “Shit. Sorry.” Warren shakes out his hand, and Layla pulls back. He wishes she wouldn’t.

Layla waits for the red glow of Warren’s knuckles to dim and then says, “Mr. Magnificent is an idiot. It was totally inappropriate to include your dad in a presentation, especially without asking you first.”

Warren shrugs. “A lot of people’s parents end up in his presentations,” he says. “They’re just usually on the right side.”

“He still should have asked you,” Layla says. “Also, you helped save the entire school in September. If people still think you’re anything like your dad after that, they’re idiots and you shouldn’t care what they think.”

Warren wants to say “I don’t.” What comes out is, “This is high school. Everyone cares what everyone thinks.”

“I don’t,” Layla says.

Warren wants to contradict her, but from what he can tell, Layla genuinely doesn’t. “You have to care a little,” he says.

Layla raises her eyebrows like oh, yeah? and points to her characteristically Whoville-style twist of braids and glittery clips. “You think these hairdos made me a lot of friends in middle school?”

“I didn’t go to middle school.”

“Well, they didn’t,” Layla says.

“Then why do you wear your hair like that?”

“Because I like it.” Layla twirls a stray piece of hair around her forefinger. “And I don’t need to be one of the pretty girls to feel good about myself.”

“You are pretty,” Warren blurts, and immediately has to suppress the urge to set himself on fire.

Layla’s eyes go wide. The last time Warren saw her blush this deep, he’d just called her out for crushing on Stronghold. But instead of straight-up embarrassed, this time Layla’s blush is weirdly, shyly pleased. “You think so?” Her chin is tilted down so that she’s looking up at him through her eyelashes, which is not fair.

“Me?” Warren points at himself, like an idiot. “I don’t—I mean, I do, but it’s not just—you are pretty. People know that. It’s an objective fact.”

“Really.” Layla’s cheeks are still pink, but her smile has a playful slant now.

“Yeah,” Warren says, more defensively than he intends. Christ, he was so much better at this when they were fake-dating, when none of Warren’s smirks or swagger could mean anything. Now, without the protection of pretense, everything feels altogether too personal. Warren is not good at personal.

“Thank you,” Layla says, and bites her lip in hesitation before tacking on, “you’re pretty, too.”

Whatever that comment is—reflex, or politeness, or something else—it is officially too much. “I have to get back to work,” Warren says, overloud in the quiet restaurant, and bangs his knee on the underside of the table in his haste to stand up.

“Okay,” Layla says, trying to hide a smile behind her hand. Before he can turn away, she adds, “Warren,” and points to either side of her head.

Warren stares at her blankly for a second before he catches her drift, yanks his hair down from his ponytail to hide his surely steaming ears, and practically runs back to the kitchen.

Misconception No. 3: Warren Peace thinks he’s got the best power.

“I feel like I should warn you,” Layla says as she turns the key in her front lock, “my house is kind of crowded.”

Warren frowns. “I thought you were an only child.”

“No siblings,” Layla says. “A lot of roommates. You’ll see.”

What Warren sees is a menagerie that would do Ace Ventura proud.

“Watch out for the—everything,” Layla says, leading him through a flock of peacocks, a few dogs and several cats that slink by too quickly to count.

“Why… is this?” is the only semi-coherent question that Warren can formulate as he shoos a parrot from his shoulder and shakes his pant leg free of a fox’s jaws.

“You’re not the only one who has to live with your parent’s superpower,” Layla says.

Layla’s mom, apparently, is a zoolinguist. The only place in the entire house not overrun by furry or feathered residents is Layla’s room.

“Wow,” Warren says as he crosses the threshold.

Layla’s bedroom is situated on the back corner of the house, and the two external walls and ceiling are all paneled glass. Presumably to usher in maximum sunlight for the greenery that crowds almost every inch of space besides Layla’s bed and desk. Warren has to shed his winter coat immediately to avoid overheating in the humidity.

“Yeah,” Layla says. “Sometimes I forget how weird it is. Will’s the only friend I’ve ever had up here.”

Layla is the only friend Warren has ever had in his room—which she immediately declared “entirely predictable,” on account of the punk rock posters plastered across his walls. Layla’s room is way more predictable, if you ask Warren. Or at least, Warren would have predicted this, if he’d known literal greenhouse was a legitimate option.

“It’s nice,” he says. “Peaceful.”

“Isn’t it?” Layla takes Warren’s coat and hangs it on a hook behind the leaves of an elephant ear plant. “Mom had the place renovated before we moved in. I think she figured, if she was going to let every animal in the neighborhood have the run of our house, it wasn’t fair to exile my plants to the backyard.”

“Do they all live here all the time?” Warren says, pointing at the floor to indicate the veritable petting zoo downstairs.

“Some of them,” Layla says. “Mom is good at finding homes for most. I think donations from her fans are single-handedly keeping every shelter in the city afloat.”

It’s rude to ask about superheroes’ secret identities, but context clues give Warren a pretty good idea who Ms. Williams might be. Charismatic Megafauna is basically a one-woman PETA operation, liberating animals from factory farms and delivering them to free-range pastures as often as she commands her elite squadron of apex predators to take down baddies. She’s a more controversial figure than the Commander and Jetstream, but she does have an extremely dedicated cult following.  

“Her power sounds amazing,” Warren says.

“Most of the time,” Layla says. She collects a watering can from beside her bed and begins to fill it with a knee-high spigot beside the door. “But there’s a lot of animal suffering in the world. It can get exhausting for her to be tapped into it all the time, you know?”

Warren pauses to consider. “Yeah, I guess that would be overwhelming.”

Layla turns off the tap and carries her watering can to the closest table laden with potted plants. “Everyone’s superpower looks spectacular on the news,” she says, with a very un-Layla-like smile. “No one’s around to see it when your power makes you so sad you can’t get out of bed.”

“Except you,” Warren guesses.

Layla drops her not-really-smile. “Except me.”

Warren shuffles along the row of plants beside Layla while she waters them. He waits until she finishes refilling the can and starts a new row before asking, “Does that ever happen to you? Your powers getting you down.”

Layla studiously waters a flower with orange starburst petals. “Plants have more…auras and vibes than thoughts and feelings,” she says, and tickles the flower under one leaf. The plant visibly perks up under her ministrations, and Layla smiles. For real, this time. “Their pain doesn’t feel as sharp to me as animals’ pain does to my mom.”

“But,” Warren prompts.

“But sometimes, yeah,” Layla says, and moves on to the next plant.

Warren casts around for something comforting to say, but comes up with nothing better than, “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” Layla says, “but it’s the exception to the rule. Most of the time, I wouldn’t give up feeling this—” She rubs her fingertips over a browning leaf to paint it green. “—for anything.”

Warren shouldn’t be jealous of Layla’s powers. Especially after she’s just admitted what a burden they can be. But Layla has also just confirmed what Warren has long suspected: Superabilities, even the ostensibly powerful ones, are not created equal. Warren’s pyrokinesis is, fundamentally, a weapon. A blunt tool to wield when the situation calls for violence. Layla’s power, on the other hand, seems more like a sixth sense. A trapdoor to another plane of reality.

How much of Layla Williams’s worldview draws on the alien insight of plants that no other human being, least of all Warren Peace, could ever possibly understand?

Layla interrupts Warren’s inferiority spiral with, “I’ve never talked about this with anyone but my mom.”

Warren watches Layla coax a stem into standing up straighter. “Not even Stronghold?”

He should not take as much pleasure as he does in Layla’s dismissive laugh. “Especially not Will.”

“Why not?”

“For a long time, he didn’t have any powers, and he was so jealous of mine, it seemed mean to complain about them to Will.”

“And now?”

“Now, he’s in the honeymoon phase with his new powers,” Layla says, “and it seems mean to bring him down.”

Not even Warren believes Stronghold can be that fragile. “I’m sure he’d get over it.”

“Maybe, but, you know. The things we do for our best friends,” Layla says, with a what can you do shrug, and returns to the faucet for another refill.

“So, why tell me?”

Layla chews the inside of her cheek. “I guess because you already have a complex about your own powers the size of Texas, thanks to your dad.”

“What?” Warren balks. “I do not.”

Layla squints. “Don’t you, though?”

“No. I—shut up.” Warren looks away, feeling hot all over.

Layla bends down to turn off the tap. A moment later, her hand on Warren’s shoulder startles him into looking back at her. Her big, brown eyes are wide with sympathy. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset,” Warren snaps.

“Okay.” Typical Layla, letting him feel whatever he’s going to feel and say whatever he’s going to say and refuse to throw hands about it.

Warren’s spark of anger sputters and dies. He huffs out an exhale. “It’s not only about my dad,” he admits, quietly, mostly to the floor.

Layla’s hand remains on his shoulder while she waits for an elaboration. Warren very carefully does not acknowledge it in any way, for fear it might stop.

“Fire is...useful,” he says. “But it can only destroy things. I can’t create. Not like…” He waves a hand around Layla’s room. “All I’m good for is fighting, and sometimes I wish—” Warren shoves a hand through his hair. “I dunno. It’s stupid.”

Layla’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “First of all, you are not your power,” she says. “No matter what Boomer or anyone else says. Second, fire is creative. It creates light and warmth.”

“If I’m ever transported back in time to an era before electricity, I’m sure that’ll be extremely handy,” Warren says, aiming for wry and not quite making it, because the tickly feeling that flitters to life in his chest whenever Layla says nice things about him is going wild.

Layla rolls her eyes. “Third of all, you do not need a superpower to create and nurture things.” Before Warren can stop her, Layla has pushed her watering can into his hand.

“What?” he says. “I don’t know anything about plants. I’d probably kill them all.” He holds the watering can out to Layla, who does not take it.

“Don’t act like you don’t have a book of Keats in your backpack right now,” she says. “If you know ‘To Autumn,’ you already know the most important things about plants. Everything else is technicalities.”

Warren gives her a doubtful look.

Layla sighs. “Trust me. Which you should, because I know literally everything about plants, and I’m a very good teacher, and I would not let you hurt any of my babies. Okay?”

Layla holds out her hand, and Warren has to channel all his concentration into keeping his cool enough that he doesn’t burn her when he takes it in his own. Layla grins, and Warren feels a little light-headed with the thrill of it.

“Come on,” she says, and pulls him toward the row of potted flowers where they left off. Warren follows, as helpless as any of the flora around them to resist the benevolent force of nature that is Layla Williams.

Misconception No. 4: Warren Peace doesn’t get scared.

This illusion is at least partly on purpose. Part of the do not fuck with me ethos Warren has been cultivating for the better part of three years.

In reality, plenty of things scare Warren. Like the idea that everyone is right about him after all, and he’ll end up on the Superheroes Guild’s Most Wanted List someday. Or that deep down, a kernel of grudge in his mother resents Warren for taking so closely after his father. But those are more midnight-existential-crisis concerns than acute fears.

Warren gets scared during battles, too. But the initial kick of adrenaline always seems to knock his consciousness clear of his body, such that he spends most of the fight controlling the firestorm of his fists from somewhere above the action. He usually doesn’t realize how freaked out he is until after the fact, when his brain plugs back into his body and he thinks, huh, my hands won’t stop shaking.

It’s rare that Warren feels, in real time, the bass-drum beat of his heart and a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. But that’s exactly what happens every time he gets close to asking Layla out on a date.

He’s come close so many times. He’s had the tickets in his jacket pocket for weeks. But the prospect of actually asking Layla invites the prospect of Layla saying no, and Warren—can’t.

Sometimes, he can almost convince himself that she would say yes, despite the fact that Layla is kind, beautiful, mystical Layla, and Warren is social-pariah, problem-child Warren. Like last Tuesday, when Layla said “you’re such a disaster” with such heart-stopping fondness, while she pulled a rubber band from Warren’s hair to replace it with one of her own, more comfortable fabric hair ties. Or last Friday, while they were watching a movie at Layla’s place, and she tucked her socked toes under Warren’s thigh on the couch. Or yesterday, when she held her hands out over the picnic table for Warren to warm her pink fingertips between his palms.

And always, in the back of Warren’s mind: “You’re pretty, too.”

But whenever Warren opens his mouth to ask, his tongue goes dry and his palms go damp. It’s such a stupid thing to be afraid of, it makes Warren want to close his head in a locker. Worst case scenario, Layla turns him down. They’d still be friends. She wouldn’t be cruel. She’s Layla. But Warren isn’t used to having so much of himself caught up in another person. The idea that Layla isn’t equally caught up in him provokes a strangled, withering feeling in the pit of Warren’s stomach that he can only imagine would intensify tenfold after the actual rejection.

So, Warren’s been procrastinating.

But time is running out.

It does not help that Stronghold’s flock of freshmen is currently obsessing over Winter Formal like a bunch of… well, freshmen.

“You guys asking anyone?” Zach says at lunch, one day when freezing rain is lashing Sky High too hard for even Layla to sit outside. Zach hooks an arm over Magenta’s shoulder, as if to underline the fact that she’s already spoken for. Magenta rolls her eyes but doesn’t shrug him off.

“I would ask Larry,” Ethan says, pushing steamed vegetables around on his plate with his fork. “If I could stop going full-puddle every time he looks at me.”

Layla and Magenta make sympathetic noises.

“I think I’m gonna ask Abby,” Stronghold says, eyes cast over at a table where Warren assumes this Abby must sit. He hasn’t bothered to keep up with Stronghold’s latest romantic fixation. They’re already two—three?—full crush cycles past Layla. Warren can’t believe he ever felt threatened by a kid with the attention span of a housefly.

“She’d totally say yes,” Magenta says. “I overheard her about how hot you are during the Shapeshifting Students Association meeting.”

“Really?” Will says, at the same time Layla goes, “Magenta!”

“What?”

“Gossip.”

“Okay, Mother Williams,” Magenta says. To Will, “We’ll talk later.”

Layla looks intent on pressing the matter, but Ethan says, “Do you have a date, Layla?”

Everyone turns to Layla, except for Stronghold, whose eyes inexplicably flick over to Warren—who glares him into dropping eye contact.

“No,” Layla says, unconcerned.  

“Not yet,” Zach says. “Just a question of who asks first.”

Warren’s heart stutters, and he swallows back a “What?”

Luckily, Stronghold has less restraint. “What?” he says, like he wasn’t ogling another girl 0.2 seconds ago.

Zach looks at Stronghold like, Are you kidding? “Layla’s hot,” he says slowly. Magenta nods in agreement. “Chen, Robinson, and Feinstein are all thinking about asking.”

“And those are just the ones we’ve heard about,” Magenta says.

“Where are you guys getting this intel?” Ethan says. “We’re your only friends.”

“You can hear a lot from the inside of a locker,” Zach says.

“Or from the vents,” Magenta adds.

“Who’s still shoving you in a locker?” Layla says, frowning at Zach.

“Don’t deflect,” Magenta says. “Who are you going to take?”

“I don’t know,” Layla says, very pink and very determinedly acting like she’s not. “I didn’t know I had options until right now.”

Warren didn’t know he had competition until right now. In his defense, he deliberately pays as little attention as possible to rest of the Sky High student body, except for the five freshmen who invaded his space last fall and refused to leave. But of course other guys want to ask Layla.

Fuck.

“What about you, Bucky Barnes?” Zach says, throwing Warren an upward nod. “Got your eye on any hot junior goths we don’t know about?”

Warren scowls. “No.”

“Warren’s too cool for school dances,” Magenta says.

Stronghold frowns. “He took Layla to homecoming.”

“Only to make you jealous,” Layla is quick to correct.

Warren’s eyes snap over to her, but Layla isn’t looking at him. Just stabbing at her salad with her fork and letting her hair partially obscure her still pink cheeks.

An uncomfortable, sour feeling settles in Warren’s stomach. He makes himself look back at Zach. “I don’t do school dances. I have a thing anyway.”

“What thing?” Magenta says.

“A thing,” Warren says, with enough finality that even Zach knows better than to push it.

That is, until Stronghold corners Warren at his locker after final period to ask, “What thing do you have to do instead of Winter Formal?”

Warren continues loading books into his backpack. “A thing.”

Stronghold, in a bid for Warren’s full attention, shuts his locker door. As soon as Warren turns a glare on him, the kid goes bug-eyed.

“I am so sorry!” he says, reaching out to open the locker, only to remember that, duh, it’s Warren’s and he can’t. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Warren must be spending too much time with Layla, because instead of picking Stronghold up by his shirt collar, he merely swats Stronghold’s hand away and unlocks his locker.

“It was only—I know someone who was hoping you’d ask them to Winter Formal,” Stronghold says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Warren fixes Stronghold with a flat expression. “You’re not my type.”

For an aspiring superhero, Stronghold flusters extremely easily. “Wh—not me!” he says, and then leans in and lowers his voice. “You know.”

Warren, who is not in the business of getting his hopes up—no matter how many summersaults his stomach is doing—raises his eyebrows.

“Layla,” Stronghold murmurs, so low that Warren has to read his lips.

Summersaults, cartwheels, handsprings. Warren’s stomach is performing a full-on gymnastics routine. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Stronghold admits, and Warren’s stomach immediately flops. “But I am something of an expert on Layla Williams.”

Warren, who has an entire September’s worth of evidence to the contrary, makes a psh noise.

Stronghold squares his shoulders and ticks off on his fingers: “She hangs out at the Lantern all the time. She eats lunch with you, alone, every other day. The way she talks about you—”

“She talks about me?”

“Dude.” Stronghold lays a hand on Warren’s shoulder, looking so delighted with the irony that it takes everything in Warren not to ignite. “You’re so stupid. She’s totally into you.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Right.” Stronghold’s hand immediately slides off. “Seriously, though. If you don’t ask Layla to the dance, someone else will.”

“Noted,” Warren says, like he isn’t already tying himself into knots over that exact possibility.

“You’re gonna ask her, then?”

Warren heaves a sigh. He can’t believe he’s about to confide in Will Stronghold, of all people, but at this juncture it seems like the path of least resistance. “I have tickets to something that night, and I want to ask Layla to go with me.”

Stronghold has the audacity to look innocently perplexed. “So, why haven’t you?”

“I’m, you know.” Warren pushes back his hair. “Waiting for the right time.”

Stronghold looks dubious. “It’s a date, not a prom-posal.”

“I know that,” Warren snaps.

Stronghold blinks, and something seems to click in his head. His expression goes slightly amused and, even worse, sympathetic. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not,” Warren says, but it sounds like a lie even to his own ears. “I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

“Okay, well.” Stronghold blows out a breath and puts his hands on his hips. “Any chance the right moment might be, like, today? Around now-ish?”

Warren narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Because Magenta texted me five minutes ago that Andrew Chen is standing next to our bus, waiting for Layla.”

Warren’s heart lurches. “You should have led with that, Christ.” Guess he’s doing this now. Is he really doing this now? He has to, so he is. Warren slams his locker and swings his bag over his shoulder. “Where is Layla?”

“Magenta said she stayed after class to talk to Mr. Boy about—oh, okay, then. Bye! Good luck!” Stronghold calls after Warren’s retreating figure as he strides off down the hall.

Warren is so preoccupied with figuring out what he’s going to say to Layla when he finds her that he nearly runs into her as she exits Mr. Boy’s classroom.

“Warren,” she says, blinking up at him in surprise. “Hi.”

Warren, who suddenly feels like he’s stepped on stage with no lines prepared, takes a second to remember how to breathe before he gets out a “Hi.”

Layla stares up at him expectantly. Right. He’s supposed to say more words.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

A pucker forms between Layla’s eyebrows. “Sure. I actually wanted to talk to you, too.”

Warren clenches the tickets between sweat-damp fingers in his pocket. “Okay. Do you want to…” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the mostly empty hallway.

“Okay.”

Layla follows him out into the hall, and they stand in semi-awkward silence until Warren says, “You first.”

“All right.” Layla tucks her hair behind her ears. She already looks embarrassed. Not good. “So, I might be way off base here, but I get the feeling you’ve been working yourself up to asking me to Winter Formal?” Her voice lilts up like a question, but she must find all the confirmation she needs in Warren’s expression, because she immediately continues, “and I just wanted to make it clear that you don’t have to.”

When Warren opens his mouth, “Oh” is all that comes out.

“Yeah.” Layla hooks her thumbs through the straps of her backpack. “I know school dances aren’t really your thing—and they’re not exactly mine, either. So I didn’t want you to think homecoming set some sort of precedent, that you have to ask—”

“I wanted to ask you,” Warren says, finally unsticking his throat.

It’s Layla’s turn for surprised silence. It takes a full two seconds for her to get out, “You did?”

“Yeah, but—not to the dance. Here.” Warren pulls the tickets out of his pocket. His thumb has smudged the ink of the top ticket, so he hands the bottom one to Layla. “Town hall is holding a fundraiser gala next Saturday to raise money to build a park on an empty lot in my neighborhood.”  

Layla takes the ticket in both hands and stares down at it.

“There’s going to be food and music and dancing,” Warren says, heart rate accelerating. “I think they’re going to auction off dedications for benches and flower beds and stuff. There will probably be a couple boring speeches by some government officials, but.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I dunno. It sounded like it could be fun.”

Layla still hasn’t said anything, and Warren’s heart is throwing a fit in his ribcage, so he adds, “It’s the night of Winter Formal, though. So if you wanted to go to the dance with someone else and hang out with your friends, I totally—”

“No,” Layla says, looking up at him with bright eyes and a wide smile. “I’d love to go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Warren says, too overcome by the cold flood of relief pooling in his gut to say anything more substantive than, “Cool.”

Layla carefully slots her gala ticket into the front pocket of her backpack. “Took you long enough,” she says, angling a teasing smile at Warren. “I couldn’t take another week of you opening your mouth like you were going to ask me something and then not saying anything.”

“Thank Stronghold,” Warren says, wondering what his life has come to, that those words just came out of his mouth. Must be the generosity of giddy relief.

Layla’s nose scrunches up in tickled confusion. “Why?”

“He warned me that Chen was gonna ask you to the dance this afternoon,” Warren says. “Sort of lit a fire under my ass.”

“But Andrew—” Layla breaks off with a laugh and shakes her head. “Will.”

“What?”

Layla takes Warren’s hand and starts walking them down the hall. “Andrew Chen’s been sick with the flu all week,” she says. “He’s not even here today.”

Warren’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds. “Stronghold.”

Layla laughs again and swipes her thumb across the back of Warren’s hand, and a great, soft warmth blooms in Warren’s chest.

Well. If he has to be indebted to Will Stronghold for something, this is as good a favor as Warren could have asked for.

Misconception No. 5: Warren Peace is not a touchy-feely person.

Warren himself would have sworn by this one, until a month ago. He has never, in all his life, considered himself a cuddly person. By any stretch.

It turns out that in order to identify as a cuddly person, you need someone to cuddle. Or, more specifically, someone you have permission to cuddle.

Dating Layla Williams finally gives Warren that permission.

He expected it to be harder, weirder, more awkward to transition from being someone who looks at Layla and thinks I want to put my arm around you, to being a person who can actually reach behind her back and curl his fingers over her hip bone.

It’s not hard at all. The first time Layla kisses Warren, up on her toes with her hands fisted in the lapels of his suit, in the dark of her front porch after the fundraiser gala, there’s a shift. A gravitational kick that sends them into closer orbit around one another, so that now it’s routine for Warren to wrap Layla in his jacket and tuck her into his side as they walk. Steal her hand to press her knuckles to his lips. Knock his knee gently against hers under their picnic table.

“Who knew Warren Peace was such a cuddle bug,” Magenta says, tipped back in a papasan chair to peer at Warren upside-down.

Warren is sitting on the shag carpet of Stronghold’s basement with his back against the couch to let Layla play with his hair while they talk over a movie. She’s just tied off an elaborate braid, so now his cheek is resting against her knee while she twirls the fine hairs at the nape of his neck around her fingers.  

“Call me ‘cuddle bug’ ever again and I’ll roast you like a marshmallow,” Warren says, too sleepy and comfortable to put any real heat behind the threat.

Magenta, true to form, doesn’t so much as blink. “Hate to break it to you, but an elegant Dutch braid kind of undermines your whole tough-guy act.”

Warren simply shrugs. It’s an occupational hazard of dating Layla, spending a lot more time around her—their?—friends outside school. Warren resisted at first, but at this point, it’s more exhausting to continue holding them all at arm’s length than to let them have the run of his life.

“Layla, in general, kind of undermines his whole tough-guy act,” Zach says. “You know he wrote her a poem for Valentine’s day.”

“Read her a poem,” Warren says. What else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t very well get Layla clipped flowers.

“That’s still sappy as hell, dude,” Ethan says.

“It was very sweet,” Layla says, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Warren’s forehead.

Warren unsuccessfully tries to bite back a smile.

“He’s preening so hard right now, oh my god,” Magenta says.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t tease him, or he won’t come back,” Layla says, but Warren hears the smile in her voice.

“Please. He’d go anywhere you go,” Magenta says, and as Layla’s fingertip traces the shell of Warren’s ear gently, always gently, Warren doesn’t even attempt to contradict her.

+1 Misconception: Layla Williams is a just happy, go-lucky hippy chick.

Outside Layla’s bedroom window, everything green is tucked under snow and the weight of waiting for spring. On the other side of the world, everything is burning.

Record-setting wildfires have raked Australia for weeks. Neither Layla nor her mom can directly feel what’s happening to the outback. But Layla knows her mom must sense it like she does, every time a singed koala or graveyard of splinterlike tree trunks appears on the news: a gnawing sensation that something on the far edges of her mind is vanishing into smoke.

The worst part is knowing there’s nothing Layla can do. Even if she had the means to get to Australia, there’s no way to salvage the aftermath of a forest fire. Layla wields incredible power over living organisms. But it’s like conducting an orchestra. Not much to be done if the entire ensemble is already dead when she takes the stage.

Actually, the real worst part is knowing that the inferno currently eating up Australia isn’t an outlier. The warming world is parching landscapes and revving up hurricanes, and every weather-related threat to her beloved biosphere is only going to get much, much worse. It makes Layla feel horribly, inescapably small.

To avoid sitting around the house and chewing her nails down, Layla takes on more volunteer shifts at the animal shelter. Helps Magenta with outreach for the Shapeshifting Students Association. Spends a couple Saturdays with the local river cleanup volunteer crew. Cooks dinner on the nights her mom is actually home. Overstudies for an exam in Hero Support.

It’s all a good distraction, but at the price of exhaustion. Layla feels emotionally sore. Like she’s been doing the psychological equivalent of running springs.

Case in point: “Layla?”

Layla blinks herself out of her middle-space-stare at the picnic table. “Hmm?”

Warren frowns. “I said, are you coming to the Lantern tonight?”

“Oh, no,” Layla says, and winces her apology. “Will’s coming over to study for Hero Support.”

“Why? You’re gonna ace that thing.”

“I promised Will I’d help him review.”

Warren’s frown deepens.

“What?”

“You should take a break,” he says.

Layla hides a yawn behind one hand and waves the other dismissively. “I’m fine.”

Warren gives her a flat look. Most of his expressions are pretty flat, but Layla has gotten good at reading the subtleties. This one says, quit your bullshit.

“What?” she says.

“You—” Warren spends a couple seconds struggling to find the right words. “Your hair is in a ponytail.”

Layla replays that in her overtired mind, wondering whether she heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“No sparkly clip things. No scrunchies. You didn’t even do the thing where you wrap a little piece of hair around the elastic to hide it,” Warren says, as though that clarifies anything. When Layla’s expression makes clear that it does not, Warren sighs. “Babe. You’re exhausted.”

“Am not,” Layla says, and feels totally betrayed by her own body when the words are stretched out by a yawn. “Coincidence,” she says, in response to Warren’s unimpressed eyebrow-raise.

“Layla.”

“It’s fine,” she insists.

“Take a break,” Warren says, more insistently. “Stronghold can survive cramming for one exam on his own. Let baby bird learn to fly.”

“He’ll drop like a rock,” Layla says mournfully.

“Probably,” Warren says. “But you don’t have to be there for everyone all the time.”

Layla studies her bitten nails. “It makes me feel better.”

Warren’s ever-warm hands take hold of Layla’s, making her look up. But whatever he has in mind to say is interrupted by the bell. Warren gives her fingers a brief squeeze before releasing them, so that they can collect their things.

“Tell Stronghold to find himself another tutor so you can have a night off,” Warren says, hooking an arm over Layla’s shoulders as they head for the front doors. “Please.”

Layla does not. Which is why, when she says “come in” to the soft knock on her bedroom door at eight o’clock, she expects Will. Instead, she gets Warren, hovering on the threshold with his usual carefully concealed uncertainty, like he’s a vampire who has to wait to be invited in.

“What are you doing here?” Layla says, sliding off her bed. “I thought you had work.”

“Got someone to cover my shift,” Warren says. He’s holding what looks like a magazine. “This was more important.”

“What is… this?” Layla says. “You know Will’s going to be here any minute.”

“No, he’s not,” Warren says. “He’s at Magenta’s”

Layla narrows her eyes. “What did you do?”

“Told him to go find another study partner,” Warren says. “Since you’re already prepared.”

Layla crosses her arms and sinks her weight into one hip. “I told you, I want to help.”

Warren adjusts his grip on the magazine. Layla hears the paper stick to the sweat on his fingertips, but his determined expression doesn’t change. “Then help me.”

Layla blinks. “With what?”

Warren holds up what turns out to be a gardening catalog. “I want to get my mom a couple of indoor plants for her birthday,” he says. “Something pretty but doesn’t require a lot of attention, because she’s gone so much. I thought maybe you could help.”

Layla stares at him. “I love shopping for potted plants,” she says slowly.

Warren exhales a short laugh. “Uh, yeah, I know. And you are a good teacher, so.”

He rolls the catalog up between his hands and looks at Layla with guarded hope that shoots a bolt of affection like heat lightning straight through her stomach. She needs to sit down.

“Come in, then,” she says, and ushers him through the door. While Warren is taking off his shoes, “Just so we’re clear, you are not going to make a habit of rearranging my schedule behind my back.”

Warren stands up straight, dead serious. “Got it.”

Layla indulges a smile and leans up to kiss him. “I’ll forgive you this time, though.”

They sit on Layla’s bed, flipping through Warren’s catalog, as well as a stack of magazines that Layla has pulled out from under her desk. Warren loops his arms around her waist and hooks his chin over her shoulder, listening intently while she explains the care and keeping of flowers. It’s comfortable and easy and requires just enough idle attention to avoid falling into a slump. Layla could do this forever, she thinks.

Not an hour later, Layla is lying with her chin propped on her hands, which are folded over Warren’s chest, struggling to keep up conversation through yawns of increasing frequency.

“You can go to bed, you know,” Warren says, dryly amused, and tucks a strand of hair that has fallen out of Layla’s loose ponytail behind her ear.

“I might fall asleep right here on top of you, if you keep talking about it,” Layla says, closing her eyes and pillowing her cheek on her hands.

She feels, rather than hears Warren’s hitched inhale, and suddenly feels more acutely awake than she has all week.

Three seconds pass before Warren murmurs, “You can. If you want.”

Layla very carefully keeps her body relaxed and does not open her eyes to avoid breaking the fragile moment. “Mmm-kay,” she says, and adjusts to find a slightly more comfortable position. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Warren says, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, his other thumb smoothing the hair back at her temple.

Layla is so keenly aware of every point of contact that she thinks she might stay awake after all. But within minutes, the soft touch pulls her down into sleep.

[logicalbookthief]

will you take this babe to be your only

"It’s all yours, Eds," he says, batting his eyes at Eddie’s glare. "On one condition."

He drops to his knee, just like they do in the movies. His lips make a wet, smacking sound as he kisses the back of Eddie’s hand, grin unrepentant.

"Make me the happiest man in the seventh grade?"

OR: Five times Richie proposed to Eddie as a joke and the one time he was serious. Based on THIS amazing, adorable reddie art by @faiyx. Title from “Let’s Get Married” by Bleachers.

Link to ao3

Richie saunters over to friends – specifically over to Eddie, who’s giving Stan and Bill a wide berth as they fiddle with Bill’s bike. But Eddie catches the glint of his ringpop in the sun and crowds him instantly.

"Hey! Where’s mine?"

"Sorry, Eds. Only one left." He is sorry for that; Richie meant to buy one for Eddie, too. He is decidedly less sorry for the reaction he knows his counter-offer will induce. "Tell you what, I’ll share."

"Gross!" Eddie reddens with his signature disgust. "I don’t want your spit. Who knows what germs you’re carrying! Flu, strep, halitosis–"

"You can’t spread halitosis," Stan interrupts. Eddie shoots him a look that is both confused and scathing.

It’s kind of cute, actually. The furrowed brow, the tightening around his lips. Everything Eddie does is at least kind of cute. Even when he’s trying to connive Richie out of his candy.

"C’mon, Rich. Red’s my favorite flavor."

"Red isn’t a flavor."

"You know what I mean, dipshit."

"Eds, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Richie tuts. "Or does she save all the lip-action for me?"

"Shut up! You’re so fucking gross.” Eddie scowls, making a lunge for Richie’s arm. He’s got a couple inches on Eddie, and it’s way too easy to hold the ring out of reach, so Eddie has to jump for it.

Richie could tease Eddie like this all day, but an idea strikes, and oh, he can’t resist.

"Okay, you’ve convinced me. It’s all yours, Eds," he says, batting his eyes at Eddie’s glare. "On one condition."

He drops to his knee, just liken they do in the movies. His lips make a wet, smacking sound as he kisses the back of Eddie’s hand, grin unrepentant.

"Make me the happiest man in seventh grade?"

Eddie sputters, his cheeks a hot, fluorescent pink. Too deer-in-the-headlights to even freak over the germs from Richie’s saliva.

"Our Eddie could do better," Stan shouts. Richie yelps in offense.

"Take that back, Stanflakes!"

While he’s distracted, Eddie swipes the ringpop and sticks it in mouth. All smug, completely unrepentant. Richie would be annoyed, if his stomach wasn’t twisted in  fluttery knots all of a sudden.

Weird. Maybe he should lay off the candy, after all.

*

*

*

*

"Expert quarry-diver, Richard Tozier, will now attempt his triple back-splash bellyflop." Richie clears his throat of the British voice, the tips of his toes dangling over the edge of the cliff. He bends to a diving pose, sticking his butt towards his audience.

"Would you be careful?" Eddie nags. "Do you know the statistics of water-related injury among kids our age?"

"Do you know the statistics of virgins who quote statistics all the time?" Richie mimics Eddie’s high-pitched tone, chuckling at how huffy he gets. "Lighten up, Eds."

Mike peers over his shoulder. "It is a pretty big fall."

Richie snorts. "Not as big as my–"

His foot slips, careening back into nothing. The last thing he sees before he plummets is Eddie, seized by terror.

As far as last sights go, it isn’t so bad.

He slams against the water, hard. The impact punches the air out of his lungs. He sinks for a bit, dazed by pain, until the tightness in his chest becomes almost unbearable.

Disoriented, Richie flails his arms, aiming for the surface but going nowhere. His lungs have started to ache with urgency when he’s grabbed under the arms. They breach the surface, gulping in a glorious burst of oxygen, and finally, he’s set on land. He gasps, water sluicing past his lips, tasting all the nasty shit Eddie claims is in there.

Eddie.

"Eddie," he croaks, his vision blurry. He must’ve lost his glasses.

"You idiot," Eddie screeches. Wetness clings to his lashes. Richie suspects it isn’t from the quarry yet doesn’t dare voice this aloud. “I told you, I told you to be careful, and what did you do!? You could’ve broken your neck!"

"Or my huge dick,” Richie coughs, as his glasses are shoved back onto his face. He looks up to see Stan rolling his eyes.

"Besides his brain, is anything broken?”

"Dr. K doesn’t think so," says Ben, smiling in relief. "He jumped in after you, then Bill and I, and we swam you to shore."

"My hero," Richie sing-songs. He grins at his savior. "Marry me, Eds?"

"Pull that shit again and I'll let you drown," Eddie promises, though it's sort of undermined by how he's still hovering over Richie. Clingy Eddie is a worried Eddie, and selfishly, Richie likes it.

"You’ll have a helluva bruise," Bev remarks, poking at his skin.

"I’ve only seen people fall that way in cartoons," Mike exclaims.

Stan guffaws. "You dropped like Wile E. Coyote."

"Idiot," Eddie repeats. He hasn’t let go of Richie’s wrist, the point of contact burning so hot it may as well be imprinted on his skin. “Next time, you better listen to me.”

Richie beams. "Of course. What would I do without you, Eds?"

"Die, apparently," says Bill, and Richie laughs so hard water spurts out of his nose.

*

*

*

*

It’s the dead of night when Richie climbs through Eddie’s window, but the motions are so familiar, he could probably do it blind. He’s walked the distance from his house to the Kaspbrak’s so many times he could tell you the exact amount of steps it takes from his room to Eddie’s front door.

The excursions used to be a necessity, considering how frequently his mom would keep him home from school, and how she refused to let any of them visit Eddie when they brought his homework. Ever since Eddie put his foot down over the gazebos, he hadn’t missed nearly as much, until about a week ago.

A few days of absence is tolerable, though by no means enjoyable for Richie. A week is his absolute limit.

He slides the window open and slips inside. The room’s empty, except for a nest of blankets on the bed. Richie frowns, scanning for signs of life. Then the nest shifts, and he hears a sniffle.

"Rich?" Eddie pokes his head out of the cocoon. "What’re you doing here?"

Maybe it’s that he figured this was a case of Mrs. K’s smothering, but he isn’t prepared for the sight of Eddie: cheeks flushed, hair rumpled, his voice a sore-sounding whisper. "You really are sick, huh," says Richie, dumbly.

Eddie scoffs, a cough wracking his whole body. "No, I quarantined myself for fun! I love the smell of stale air and Vicks vapor rub."

"Geez, if you’re gonna be a dick, I’ll take my care-package and go," Richie turns on his heel, as if to leave.

Fingers curl around his arm, stronger than he expected. Richie cuts to Eddie’s eyes, wide and vulnerable. "Please don’t go."

"Eds, hey," Richie says gently. He cards his fingers through his sweaty hair, feeling like an ass. "I was kidding."

Shakily, Eddie nods. "No, it’s okay... I forgot how it was, you know? Being hold up in my room, all by myself, because I’m sick." He swallows, drawing out a wince. "It’s..."

Lonely. Eddie doesn’t have to say it for Richie to read him loud and clear. And who wouldn’t be, trapped in a dark house with only Mrs. K and her soaps for company?

If he wasn’t just some punk teen with two bucks to his name, he’d take Eddie away from this – this prison of a room, with his mom as warden; this shithole town, with all its shake and secrets – in a heartbeat.

"Marry me," he blurts. Eddie blinks at him.

So you’ll never be alone, is what he means. What he says is, "That way if you die, I’ll get your comics."

"Fuck you," Eddie rasps. It sounds more like fug you. Richie snickers.

"You’re cute when you’re congested. I can’t take anything you say seriously."

"Why don’t you put your mouth to good use for once," Eddie grumbles, and slaps a comic into Richie’s palm. "My eyes are too watery to read."

Richie grins and does as he’s told. Probably the only instance Eddie doesn’t complain about his voices are when he reads aloud; even when they were little kids, Eddie would sit entranced, saying he was the best storyteller.. He attempts to keep the volume low, even though there’s a 90% percent chance Mrs. Kaspbrak is already passed out with a bottle of Chardonnay.

After a while, Eddie starts to doze against his shoulder, and even Richie can’t hold his eyes open much longer. He may as well spend the night; as long as he skedaddles before breakfast, Mrs. K will be none-the-wiser.

"Move over," Richie orders, slipping under the covers. They’re all elbows and knees, yet still skinny enough to fit together in the bed. It’s narrow, though. The fit is tight. His heart’s fluttering so loudly he hopes Eddie’s ears are congested, too.

"I’ll get you sick," Eddie frets. A tidal wave of affection rushes over Richie, because the concern is I’m infectious stay away, not ew, get away from me, you fag.

He dreads the day they’ll be too old, or it’ll be too gay, for Richie to sneak into his room and share his bed. So he savors it while he has it, this closeness. Shuffles their positions until his chin is tucked over Eddie’s shoulder, his chest pressed against Richie’s front.

"There," he says, grateful they’re no longer facing each other, so Eddie can’t see the flush on his cheeks. "Now you can’t breathe on me."

Eddie shivers against the cool gust of air over his neck, or maybe he’s feverish, curling back against Richie in search of warmth. Emboldened, Richie throws an arm over his middle, slotting them together. For Richie, it’s like a piece of himself falling into place.

Tomorrow he’ll complain about Eddie’s hideous morning breath and be kicked for his trouble. Tonight he drifts off to the hiss of Eddie’s breaths and is thankful for every wheeze.

*

*

*

*

"Jesus, Rich. Those things will rot your lungs before you’re forty."

Eddie grunts when he spies Richie, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. The glow is unmistakable in the low-lighting of Derry’s school halls.

Richie takes a long, exaggerated drag. "Yeah, yeah, so you’ve told me. A gazillion times."

"You survived an evil sewer clown just to kill yourself with cigarettes?" Eddie makes his bitchiest face.

"When you put it that way," Richie mutters, stubbing it out. Doesn’t want to give Eddie a reason to leave, anyway.

He slinks over to Richie, nose wrinkling at the smell. "Why aren’t you with Becky?"

"Who?"

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Your date, dumbass."

Of course Richie remembers. Becky “B-Cup” Wilkins. She sits by him in physics, where they copy each other’s work (usually with mutually devastating results). This was the first year of high school she had her braces off, and with the metal gone, she was keen to practice her kissing. Richie was more than happy to oblige.

He was a little floored when she asked him to the dance, though. Him and the Losers generally had a pact to go together, but that may have more to do with the lack of invitations from anyone else. They all encouraged Richie to accept the invite “before she realizes what she’s getting into,” as Stan so eloquently put it.

Becky was pretty, overbite or no, and she ran with a crowd of girls that were way out of his league. She had a mean streak to her, too, and apparently he liked that in a girl.

(And apparently in boys, too.)

Her friends were nice to him the whole night, even laughed at his jokes. Whether they thought he was charming in an off-beat kind of way, or simply being considerate of Becky, he wasn’t sure, nor did he particularly care.

Until he returned from the punch bowl to the girls in a cluster, giggling.

"Come on, if you had to pick a loser, who’d it be?" asks Liz Maloney.

"The short one, I guess," another girl answers. Curious, Richie follows her gaze, heart sinking at the sight of Eddie, standing off to the side with Ben and Stan, while Bev and Bill dance. His hair’s combed for once, shiny with gel, and the sweater that looks soft to the touch. Not as soft as his skin, yet it isn’t a fair comparison, since Richie’s imagined touching that for far longer.

"God, Kris, you know he’s gay, right?" Liz jeers. His stomach lurches at the disdain in her voice. "He’s never so much as looked at a girl."

"So what, he’s gay and can’t be cute?" Kris puts a hand on her hip. "Better gay than fat."

"At least Hanscom isn’t allergic to pussy."

They crack up at that, and in the mix, he hears Becky’s little snigger, the one he found so charming. Not anymore.

"You know who I’d pick?" Richie bursts in obnoxiously, startling Kris so bad she yelps. "All of them, over you."

Becky shot him a look as he left, like he was the weirdo upset over nothing, and Richie decided he was a better off a loser.

"Oh! Her." He snaps his fingers. "Yeah, we weren’t compatible, you could say. Turns out, her B-Cup was mostly tissue."

"She dumped you," Eddie surmises.

"Yeah," says Richie, because it’s easier than the truth.

His expression dims, sympathy bleeding from every pore. Eddie bumps his shoulder. "I’m sorry, dude."

Richie shrugs. "Bev is saving me a dance as we speak. I’m sure she’s got one saved for you, too."

"No thanks, I’m good." Eddie shudders. "All the sweat, the touching, the–"

"–the bacteria?" Richie finishes knowingly. "Fuck. Can’t you let loose for one night, Eds?"

"Don’t call me that," he snaps. "And what’re you doing?"

"Crossing it off your bucket list," Richie says cheerily, yanking Eddie to his feet. "C’mon, man. What if you wake up with a staff infection tomorrow? Do you wanna die without dancing at your senior homecoming?"

"Shit for brains, that isn’t how staff infect–" At his unfaltering grin, Eddie relents. "You know what, fine! Whatever it takes to shut you up."

"That’s the spirit!"

It’s obvious Eddie doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. Richie knows exactly where he wants to put his, yet he’s too much of a coward.

"You can barely hear the music," Eddie complains. "We look like idiots."

"Nobody’s watching," Richie presses, holding Eddie a bit tighter, the fear he’ll pull away worse than the fear they’ll be caught. "I could hum, if you prefer."

Eddie snorts, ducking his head, chin brushing Richie’s chest. "I don’t really know what I’m doing," he admits, self-consciously.

"Relax, you’re fine." Richie twists him into an awkward twirl, then does the same to himself, cackling at Eddie’s reluctant smile. "I’ll show you some moves when we go camping at Mike’s next weekend."

Immediately, the smile disappears. "My mom won’t let me."

"Eds,"  Richie groans. "You’re killing me."

"I tried!" Eddie cries miserably. "I tried to ask if I could visit my aunt in Chamberlain, and sneak out with you guys instead, even though it was a long-shot. But she wouldn’t go for that, either!"

"Well, there is no way you’re missing Ben’s triple-layer s’mores or your dancing lessons. Let’s brainstorm." Richie spends a second wracking his brain. "Option one, we fake your death."

"Be serious, Rich."

"Okay, okay. Option two." He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie, the words briefly catching in his throat. "We get married, run away together. As your husband, I’d totally overrule your mom."

"Where’s my ring?" Eddie asks, smirking.

Richie surprises him with a dip, just to hear his squawk. "You got to admit, Eddie Tozier has quite the ring to it," he jokes, his mouth so close to Eddie’s he feels light-headed.

"Sounds like a bad cologne brand." Eddie stares up at him, dark eyes imploring. Like he truly believes in Richie, trusts him to fix anything. "What’s option number three?"

"I stop living in sin and make it official with your mom," Richie blurts, wriggling his eyebrows. "As your stepdad, I could persuade Sonia to let our darling boy have fun with his friends."

He should’ve predicted the smack, but it jolts him enough that he drops Eddie on his ass, collapsing into a fit of giggles next to him on the floor.

"You’re sick," Eddie hisses, with no real bite. "No wonder your date left you."

Richie yanks him into a noogie. "Good thing I’ll always have you, Eddie Spaghetti."

*

*

*

*

He has Eddie, wholly, unconditionally. Until he doesn’t.

Until the memories fade, day by day, month by month, and he forgets every lingering touch, every averted glance, every painstaking swipe of his father’s pocketknife as he carved their initials into the kissing bridge. He loses Eddie, only to find him twenty-seven years later, and then only to lose him again.

Almost. Richie sighs, savoring the steady beep of the monitor beside him. He almost loses Eddie.

They narrowly escaped being crushed to death under the Neibolt, mostly because Richie, in his desperate certainty that Eddie was alive, refused to leave him behind. How could he leave him to die in that cold, dark chasm – Eddie would’ve hated it, he was afraid of the dark, kept a night-light well into his teens, and Richie couldn’t tell the others, not only ‘cause he was sobbing too harsh to make any sense, but ‘cause he promised Eds he’d never tell a soul – when he could barely pry himself from Eddie at the hospital, while the doctors insisted they take him into surgery, now.

So Richie waits, his hands quaking at the memory of Eddie’s skin, gone cold with shock. He waits, helpless, while the doctors try to shove Eddie’s innards back in and stitch up the hole in his chest.

By some miracle, they manage to do it with, and with him only flatlining once, the nurse informs him proudly. Like Richie should be ecstatic that Eddie had to be physically resuscitated, even after they brought him to safety, after killing that fucking clown.

"I’m sorry. Until he’s moved to a room, only family are allowed in the ICU," she explains to the six losers standing vigil. Richie is more than a bit bewildered when she motions him forward regardless. "Sir, you can come with me."

Still a little dazed, he follows without question, lest this privilege be revoked.

"Your husband is heavily sedated, so if he wakes he’ll likely be disoriented. I’ll be good to have a familiar face." She nods to the chair at Eddie’s bedside. "Make sure to keep him calm and comfortable."

With a final, warm smile, she leaves them alone. Richie staggers into the seat, fumbling for Eddie’s hand, where it lies limp against the starch white sheets. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the fat drops of tears are sliding down the bridge of his nose and into the bed. His chest swells, full of all the regrets he’s carried, all the shame he’s hidden. All the love that’s interwoven into the two.

And Eddie has no idea.

No idea that Richie would fight a million fucking clowns if doing so would keep Eddie safe, let him smile, bright and buoyant, like he had at Richie when he thought he’d killed It for real.

Hell, the nurse from middle-of-fucking-nowhere Derry could tell he was head-over-heels in love, yet he couldn’t find the balls to confess to the one guy in the world who deserved to know.

Richie isn’t sure how long he’s slumped over, their fingers intertwined, before Eddie stirs.

"You’re okay, Eds. It’s Richie, I’m here," he says softly, clutching his hand tighter. "Not leaving you, buddy. Not ever again."

His brow pinches, bewildered. "When did you...?"

"Never mind," snorts Richie. His smile hardly wavers, and it’s hopelessly adoring. Eddie has that effect on him, it seems. "Just running my mouth."

"Per usual," Eddie huffs, weakly. "Did we... It, did we...?"

The monitor speeds up, signaling his distress. Richie acts on instinct, standing up, using his body to shield him from the room, the world. It’s only them, just Richie with his palm over Eddie’s cheek, thumb caressing his scar, his dimples.

"It’s dead," he assures. "Everyone made it out, we’re safe. You’re safe now."

Eddie turns into the touch, nose brushing against his fingertips. Richie sucks in a breath, his heart a jackhammer in his throat. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone like he wants to kiss Eddie right now.

Talking. Talking will distract him from that dangerous line of thought. "We carried you out. You’re in the hospital, attached to no less than a thousand wires, that I'm afraid to poke in case you explode."

A groggy smile tugs at the corners of Eddie's mouth.

"Oh, and the staff thinks I’m your incredibly devoted husband," Richie adds wryly. "What do ya say, Eds? Don’t want to get accused of hospital fraud."

Eddie hums dreamily. "I have to divorce my wife first."

Richie nearly swallows his tongue.

He could blame it on the drugs. Hell, it's probably a joke. Like his half-hearted attempt to startle a laugh out of Richie, his chin smeared with blood, the "I fucked your mom" comment followed by a streak of red.

Except it isn't a joke. This is something else entirely.

"Wha– What are you saying?"

His eyes open to slits, glaring at Richie through his lashes. "I’m trying to be brave."

Richie chokes out a laugh. "Eds, you’re braver than anybody I’ve ever met."

"Hmm." Eddie exhales, eyes slipping closed. Richie stifles the pinprick of panic begging for Eddie to keep your eyes open, stay awake, please, look at me. "Brave. Not happy."

And if that doesn’t fucking break his heart.

"We can fix that," Richie whispers, the words unbidden but earnest. He talks a lot of shit, but this, this is as vulnerable as he's ever allowed himself to be. "You and me, Eds. I want–I want you to be happy."

Happy with me.

There’s no answer. Snores drift from Eddie’s slackened lips. Richie laughs, wobbly and tear-laced, as he nuzzles his hair.

"You rest, Eddie Spaghetti. I’ll be here when you wake up." He strokes his knuckles over his forehead, and then kisses him there, just below his hairline. Fuck it, he’s tired of fearing the worst, hiding the truth.

If Eddie wasn’t afraid, neither was Richie.

*

*

*

*

"Did I ever tell you guys I proposed to my boyfriend when we were twelve-years-old? With a ringpop?"

He garners a couple of hollers and a few scattered ’awws’.

"Let me finish!" Richie shushes. "I proposed to Eddie when we were kids, and, while our friend Stan was dunking on me, he stole the ring off my hand and stuck it in his mouth. He was all: haha, got ya bitch! The lil’ shit."

The crowd titters. Besotted, Richie lays a hand over his heart and sighs.

"Proposed with a ringpop. That is the height of romance – but only if you’re a twelve-year-old. If I pulled that stunt a a grown man, you wouldn’t be waking up to a Buzzfeed article titled: 42-year-old Comedian Ties Knot with Childhood Sweetheart. You’d be reading a news report claiming: 42-year-old Comedian Justifiably Murdered By His Boyfriend."

Cheers ring out, despite him yelling, "Don't cheer for my death!"

"You know what’s really pathetic? Besides the fact my romance game peaked before puberty." He pauses, allowing the chuckles to peter out before he continues, "The worst part is, it was a joke . Yup. I didn’t know I was gay, let alone in love with my best friend! I did it solely to get a rise out of him, and boy, did he get cute when he was mad."

In a thoughtful tone, Richie reflects, "In retrospect, the gay thing should’ve been clear sooner."

At the crowd's glee, a grin splits his cheeks.

"Speaking of my gay awakening, he’s in the audience tonight." He locks eyes with Eddie in the front row, sandwiched between Ben and Mike. "Eddie, my love. Light of my life. Fire in my loins. Won’t you join me on stage, so the adoring fans can get a look at you?"

The crowd claps in thunderous agreement. Eddie shakes his head, vehemently at first, losing gusto as the Losers gently (forcibly) encourage him toward the stage. He flashes a quick, uncomfortable grin at the audience before leaning into Richie, whispering "The hell are you doing, asshole?" which, for all his tact, the mic catches anyway.

Richie tucks a now blushing Eddie against his side, showing off his gorgeous boyfriend. "Am I the luckiest guy in the world or what?" he shouts to raucous wolf-whistles. "Okay, that was maybe too enthusiastic. He's spoken for!"

He runs his palm over Eddie's shoulder, soothing the discomfort centered in the tendons of his neck. Once he relaxes, Richie trails it down his arm, skirting across his lower back. "I know you all paid good money – frankly too much money – to hear me joke on this stage tonight. But if you don’t mind, I am going to be serious for a minute."

Performative groans echo here and there, but for the most part, everyone's listening attentively.

"Twelve-year-old me was too afraid to be serious about things. The gay thing, the in love with my best friend thing. God, a lot of things." He turns to Eddie, his throat bobbing with nerves. "I’m not afraid anymore."

He’s thirty years older, his joints a lot creakier, but it’s the simplest thing in the world to drop to his knee and reach for the tiny velvet box in his pocket.

"Sorry it isn’t red-flavored," he says dryly, unclasping it to reveal the gold band inside. "Or edible."

In addition to the spotlights, there’s a dozen camera flashes going off. None of it matters, his sole focus on Eddie's deer-in-the-headlights expression.

"Rich," Eddie wheezes. It isn't an asthma attack, though it sounds like one. "What are you doing?"

"About to be shitting my pants on stage." Eddie snorts out a laugh, an effortless reminder of how in love with him Richie is. "But you make me brave."

The creases of his mouth loosen, his eyes wet around the edges. After a year, Eddie still tends to get that look – that look of utter awe. Less now than before, yet it seems that no matter how much or how often he's told, Eddie is awed by being so loved. Luckily, Richie never tires of telling him.

"Eds, I love you more than anything on earth. Will you marry me?"

He barely asks the question before Eddie hauls him to his feet, down into a kiss so hot his glasses fog up.

The audience erupts into deafening applause. Richie doesn't need to hear anything besides the frantic "yes, yes, yes, I love you, you idiot" Eddie’s pressing against his lips. Parting with a firm, wet smack of lips, Richie pulls away before he jumps him there on stage.

"You’ve been a lovely audience, folks!" he exclaims into the mic. "But if you'll excuse us, I've got a proposal to consummate. "

With a wink, Richie bustles Eddie off-stage. They make it past the curtain before he’s got Eddie hiked up against the wall.

Eddie paws at his shirt, while Richie’s slide towards the swell of his ass. "Can’t wait to get you out of these clothes, God, Eds," he moans reverently, raking his eyes over his fiancé – hang on. "Is that my shirt?"

"Is that my ring?" Eddie fires back. He’s smirking, though, and oh, without a shadow of a doubt, he was getting laid after the show, proposal or no.

"All yours, baby." Richie takes the hint nonetheless, slipping the ring on Eddie’s finger, where it belongs. He can’t resist another kiss, this one longer, sweeter.

"I was always yours," Eddie murmurs once they’ve parted, cheeks pleasantly flushed. "All you had to do was ask."

And it’s shit like that, confessions of love spoken so plainly, without the conflict that’s ruled most of their lives, that reminds Richie how lucky they are to have each other.

They are also a huge pain in each other’s ass, so, "Does that mean I should return the ring?"

"Fuck no," Eddie scoffs. "I’m wearing it forever. And tonight, for sure."

"It’ll be the only thing I wear tonight," he adds, a sultry whisper against in Richie’s ear.

He really is the luckiest man, ever.

[fridayfirefly]

Lost and Found [Part Four]

Masterlist | Ao3

Marinette definitely knew more about Soulmates that the average person. Her years of research led her to every statistic and testimonial she could get her eyes on. That was why she knew that 67% of all Soulmate pairs were born within 100 miles of each other. That was why she knew that 17.5 years old was the average age for two Soulmates to meet in real life, because of largely cultural factors. In most places, it was considered taboo to purposefully meet your Soulmate before the age of sixteen. The only problem with her research was that while it was helpful, it wasn't able to give her the whole story. So Marinette called in some help, specifically, her three best friends.

"Marinette," her Mom called from downstairs. "Your friends are here. I'm sending them up now with some cookies."

"Thanks, Maman," Marinette replied. A moment later, the trapdoor slammed against her floor as Alix burst into the room. Kim followed her up, then came Nino, who was carrying a plate of snickerdoodle cookies. "What's the emergency?" Alix asked. "Why did you call us all over? Did you spill grape juice on your sketchbook again?" Marinette shook her head. "It's sort of complicated. I wanted to tell you guys months ago, but I still barely understood what was happening until yesterday." "Is something wrong? Are you sick?" Kim asked. Her three friends all looked so concerned, Marinette felt bad for worrying them. "I'm not sick. I just have something to tell you all." Marinette took a deep breath, "I've been finding things. Soulmate things."

For a brief moment, Marinette's bedroom was silent. Then, Alix let out an excited squeal, before wrapping Marinette up in a hug. "That's great!" Kim grinned widely. "I knew that you had a Soulmate!" Marinette understood why Alix and Kim's first instincts upon learning that she had a Soulmate would be to cheer. It was because the two of them were Soulmates themselves, part of a triad bond with a French-Japanese girl named Kagami. While Alix and Kim had yet to meet Kagami in person, they communicated through the bond easily enough that the three had a bond stronger than steel. Nino, on the other hand, understood that bonds could be difficult. Nino's bond was still in its flexible early stages. Nino had never met his Soulmate, an American boy named Jon, in person. The two had immense trouble communicating with each other, as Jon was solely English-speaking and Nino spoke only French and Arabic. "Is something wrong, Mari?" Nino asked. "I don't know if I can trust my Soulmate," Marinette blurted out. "And I've wanted to tell you guys ever since I found the first thing but I was too scared. I was scared that if I said it out loud it would make it real. But now I've actually talked to my Soulmate and they're so much better than I expected. And now I'm just confused." "What happened?" Nino asked. Marinette pulled a shoebox out from under her bed and opened it, revealing the shiny silver knife. "I found their knife two and a half months ago. It was the first thing I found." Three pairs of wide eyes stared at her. "Holy hell, Marinette. That's a knife knife," Kim said, his voice half-awe, half-fear. "Two weeks ago, they lost a really nice, probably expensive, engraved pen and didn't even ask for it back. Then yesterday, when I lost my sketchbook, they lost it back and sent a note along with it saying that they thought it must be important to me. When I send a note back telling them that it was my birthday, they sent me a present." Marinette grabbed the box of pens and the bracelet off her desk. "These are the exact same brand that you normally use," Nino noted. Marinette nodded. "I've probably lost about fifty pens by now because they roll behind my desk. But the pens my Soulmate got me, they have little clips on the caps to keep them from rolling. They must have special ordered it." Marinette resisted the urge to grin at the thought. "This bracelet is pretty nice," said Alix, twisting it in her hands as she inspected it. "I would wear it and I hate pretty much all jewelry. Your Soulmate has good taste. Much better taste than Kim has." Alix made sure to very carefully set the bracelet down on Marinette's desk before launching herself onto her Soulmate's back. Kim grunted in faux pain and shook Alix off so she landed on the bed. Marinette laughed. She was accustomed to the comical wrestling Alix and Kim participated in. "So what are you gonna do Mari?" Alix asked, lifting her head up from the pillow she landed face first in. Marinette shrugged, her mirth fading into the deep chasm of confusion that made up her mindset of the past few months. “I don’t know if I should confront them or just ignore it.”

"I think you should confront them," said Kim."Yeah, you definitely can't just ignore the problem," Alix agreed.

"But what if I regret it?" asked Marinette, "What if I ask them and they start ignoring me again? I've only known for sure that I've had a Soulmate for less than three months. I don't want to lose them before I get to talk to them in real life."

"What if you compromised," Nino suggested. "You could wait until you meet them in real life to ask them about the knife. That way, they'll be able to explain everything in person."

Marinette nodded. It was a good idea. "I think that's what I'll do," she decided. "I'm sure my Soulmate has a perfectly reasonable explanation, even if I can't fathom one right now." Marinette put the knife back under her bed and put the expensive pen back into her desk drawer. The gels pens, Marinette left on top of her desk for a project she planned on doing later that day. And after a brief moment of deliberation, Marinette put the bracelet on. 

After a silent pause, Alix piped up. "Can we eat the cookies now? I've been craving snickerdoodles all week."

Marinette laughed and passed the snickerdoodle plate around to her friends. She didn't know what she did to deserve such great friends. She could never ask for better ones. Nino, Kim, and Alix were perfect.

——————————————————————

"Marinette, can I speak with you after class?" Marinette glanced up from her sketchbook to see Chloé Bourgeois standing in front of her school desk. The blonde was giving Marinette an impatient look, as if Marinette was somehow interrupting her, instead of the other way around.

"Why?" Marinette asked. It was a confusing request, after all. Chloé and Marinette rarely ever talked, and when they did it was because Chloé was teasing Marinette and Marinette was defending herself.

A brief flash of emotion flickered across Chloé's face before she quietly said, "It's important."

Marinette and Chloé weren't friends, that was for sure. Chloé was an arrogant and stuck-up, and Marinette could barely stand her. But as much as Marinette disliked the blonde, she knew she couldn't say no. That look on Chloé's face, that look of sadness and fear, Marinette couldn't just ignore. "Fine. You can meet me at my parent's bakery after school."

The rest of the school day passed in a blur as Marinette tried to figure out what was bothering Chloé so much. Could it be a problem with her parents (Marinette knew that Audrey Bourgeois was almost entirely absent from her daughter's life)?  Or perhaps Sabrina finally snapped and decided that she could no longer put up with Chloé's near-constant bad moods, so Chloé needed Marinette's help winning her friend back (that couldn't be it since Marinette saw Sabrina fawning over Chloé's new designer sunglasses during lunch).

When school finally let out, Marinette hurried home to the bakery, but not before sending a quick text to the groupchat, which was made up of her, Nino, Kim, and Alix.

Marinette: Chloé coming over to the bakery after school to "talk"

Alix: Text us if you need reinforcements

Kim: We can bring water balloons if Chloé starts getting mean

Nino: I'll tell her that I saw a pair of sunglasses that looked just like hers in the clearance section of Walmart

Marinette: Don't worry, I can defend myself. If you want to come over after dinner to work on homework, there will be freshly baked cupcakes. Maman and Papa are trying out a new recipe so they'll be making a couple different test batches

Nino: Can't wait

Once she got home Marinette grabbed a plate of macaroons and sat down at a table by the window to wait for Chloé. Her classmate came in only a few moments later, looking rather uncomfortable.

“Hello, Marinette,” Chloé greeted her, her tone of voice quiet and slightly anxious.

“Hi, Chloé. I got macaroons for us to share. The pink ones are raspberry, the yellow ones are lemon, and the green ones are green tea.”

“Thanks…” Chloé seemed stunned by Marinette’s display of kindness. She picked up a lemon cookie and took a bite. “I overheard Alix and Kim talking about your Soulmate. Congratulations.”

Marinette tensed up. “How much did you hear?”

“Just that they gave you a bracelet or something.” Chloé shrugged. “I was wondering… I know you’ve done a lot of research about Soulmate bonds. I was hoping that maybe you would understand what’s going on with my Soulmate bond.

Marinette was confused. Chloé was part of the 19% that didn’t have a Soulmate. In the many years that Marinette and Chloé had been in the same claws together, Marinette had seen Chloé misplace things in class and find them herself later. Chloé didn’t have a Soulmate for her missing things to go to, so they stayed with her. "I thought you didn’t have a Soulmate?”

"When I was younger I thought I didn’t either,“ Chloé admitted. "Then, almost three years ago, I started to lose things. At first, I thought that maybe my Soulmate was just born, but then they lost things no infant or toddler would ever have. Fast food wrappers and cigarettes and-" Chloé flinched. "Condoms." After a deep breath, Chloé continued. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

Marinette though back to all of the research she had done. "I've never encountered anything identical to what's happened to you. There were a few reported cases where when someone's heart stopped completely and restarted, they realized that they lost their Soulmate bond in the process. Maybe what's happening to you is similar to that, but instead of losing their bond, maybe your Soulmate gained a bond."

Chloé shrugged. "Maybe that's it." She picked up another macaroon and started picking it apart bit by bit, letting the crumbs fall back onto the plate. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I just don't want to talk to Sabrina about it because her Soulmate bond has always been perfect. Sabrina's perfect Soulmate from Quebec video chats with her every other weekend. All I have is a ridiculous, seemingly sex-obsessed Soulmate I never even wanted in the first place because I'm asexual." Chloé blurted out, her face flushed.

"You can be asexual and have a Soulmate, Chloé," Marinette assured her classmate. "It's actually a very common occurrence in the asexual community. Romantic and platonic Soulmates are becoming more and more accepted in society."

Chloé shook her head. "We aren't going to be romantic Soulmates. I could never be romantic Soulmates with someone who loses condoms for their underage Soulmate to find. However... I suppose we could be platonic Soulmates, if he learns to be a little more cautious over what he loses." Chloé looked lost in thought. "I guess I never really considered that we could just be platonic Soulmates..." Chloé mused. "I don't know anyone with a platonic Soulmate."

"I'm sure if you asked around on the school forum you could get connected with other students with Platonic Soulmates."

Chloé gave Marinette a genuine smile. "That's really good advice Marinette." Grabbing one last macaroon off of the plate Chloé stood up. "I have to go home, but thanks for talking with me. And I'm sorry for all the times I've been unkind to you. It wasn't fair, and I apologize."

"I forgive you, Chloé," said Marinette. It was the truth. Marinette wasn't one to hold a grudge, even against stuck-up Chloé. Marinette's empathy, her ability to be understanding no matter how much easier it would be to hold a grudge instead: that was what made her perfect for her Soulmate. Now all she had to do was meet him.

Taglist: @fanboy7794 @mikantsume @hetalia-lover-is-here @howtoshuckatlife @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @redscarlet95 @derpingrainbow  @friedchickening @melicmusicmagic @beautym3 @kunstner1 @shizukiryuu @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @crazylittlemunchkin @black-streak @darkshadowguardian @mystery-5-5 @trubel43 @fandomfan315 @vincentvangoose @constancetruggle @royalchaoticfangirl @mooshoon @drama-queen-supreme @kae690 @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @zoerayne2426 @littleredrobinhoodlum @lunar-wolf-warrior @dani-ari @bookreader20003 @sam-spectra @be-happy-every-day-please @kandi-pie

[adverb-slut]

Empty Wallets and Empty Stomachs (Fanfiction)

Hiiiii, another AO3 repost from me, mainly ‘cause I’m trying to spread out my stuff on both platforms.  This is a short four-chapter story that I’m going to post all in one go (that’s why it’s so long) since I think it’s hard to navigate between different chapters on Tumblr.  If you’d like to read this story on AO3, click here.  I apologize in advance for the really bad title; I just couldn’t think of anything better at the time.

Title: 

Empty Wallets and Empty Stomachs

Summary: 

No summary, really.  Just chilling with Mammon and Beel and MC  and being dumb.  Mostly just MC and Mammon go shoppin’ and you cook with Beel.  Other shenanigans ensue.

Genre: 

Humor/Fluff/Slice of Life

Rating:

T

Word Count:

6645

Additional Note: 

Sorry to take too much of your time up with the super long stores, but again, on AO3, this is formatted and was originally meant to be a four-chapter story! :)

-

Chapter 1

“ … and that, class, is the true nature of the Twin Paradox.  As you can see—” Your professor, a gangly demon with round glasses and a haircut that reminds you vaguely of the Backstreet Boys, is promptly interrupted by the low gong of the school bell, signaling that class is over.  

Upon hearing this, you whip out your D.D.D and make your way to the door as your teacher calls, “Don’t forget to read Chapter Seven, Section Nine through Twelve of your Physics IV: Mind Over Matter textbook for class on Wednesday!”  

You scroll through the messages on your Chat app, doing your best to keep one eye on your D.D.D and one eye on the sea of demons bustling to get to their next class.

Lucky for you, Physics is your last class of the day.  As you make your way to the House of Lamentation, you notice that you have a missed call dating back an hour ago from Mammon.

Feeling it’s too late to call back, you decide to send a text instead.

Mammon MC:  You called?

MC:  What’s up?

You see an ellipse bubble pop up immediately, indicating that Mammon is typing.

Mammon:  MC HOW DARE YOU MISS MY CALL

Mammon: You can miss everyone else’s calls, but not *mine*, got it?

Mammon:  I have important things to say, y’know!

You feel a smile grow on your face and shake your head.

MC:  Important things?  Like what?

Mammon:  WELL, it just so happens that I get paid today!

You stare at the message in confusion.  Paid?  Before you can question his statement, you remember that Mammon frequently did various modeling jobs to make cash.  It was supposed to be a way to earn a little spending money and pay off his debts, but unfortunately for his creditors, the latter very rarely happened.

However, you are still unsure as to why Mammon is telling you this.  You send a confused-looking sticker.

Mammon, surprisingly, doesn’t respond right away.  You close out of the Chat app and begin to put your D.D.D away.  As you fumble around for a pocket to put it in, you crash headfirst into someone.

Oh, crap, you think.  The demons at R.A.D normally don’t bother you, but that’s because you usually don’t headbutt them accidentally.

“I’m so sorry—” you start, but your apology is cut short as the demon turns around.  “Beel! I apologize; I didn’t see you there!”

Beelzebub pivots to face you.  “Oh, hi, MC,” he says, greeting you with a melancholy nod. 

You cock your head curiously.  The sixth-born demon’s face is set into a sorrowful frown, and the five-pound bag of Scummy Bears that he’s holding is only half empty.  “Is something wrong?”    

He looks down and shakes his head.  “Nothing you need to worry about.” Beel looks back at you.  “Are you going back to the House of Lamentation?”

You want to ask him some more questions, but at the same time, don’t want to pry.  “Yep!”

“Let’s walk together, then.”  He flashes you an unconvincing smile as the two of you begin to make your way down the R.A.D halls.  

Unsure of what to say, you keep silent, smiling internally as Beel walks slower than his usual long strides so that you can keep up with him.  By now, most students have either gone to their dorms or have made it to their last few classes; the only sounds that echo through the hallway are you and Beel’s footsteps.

You keep your silence until the two of you near a trash can in the hall, where Beel dumps what remains of his bag of Scummy Bears into the garbage.

You gasp and your eyes widen.  What in the Devildom just happened?

Beel puts a hand over his taut stomach in response to your astonished look.  He peers at his feet as he explains, “My stomach feels queasy. I can’t eat right now.”

In the few months that you have known Beel, you can hardly remember a time where he has turned down food, let alone thrown it in the trash.  Whatever problem Beel is facing, you wager it has to be serious.  

Beel turns away and continues to walk down the corridor.  You want to grab his hand and get him to stop, but knowing Beel’s strength, you know that there’s no way that you could physically do that.  Instead, you run in front of him and put your hands out, causing him to halt and tilt his head in confusion.

Furrowing your brow, you poke Beel in the chest.  “Tell me what’s bothering you, Beel.  It’s not good to keep things bottled up.”

Beelzebub still won’t meet your eyes.  “I know.” He sighs, as he glances up and notices that you still haven’t left his path.  “I’ll tell you later.”

You don’t want to push the soft-spoken demon and step to the side.  “I hope you do.”

As before, you and Beel continue to the House of Lamentation in silence.  Once you two arrive, Beel heads directly to him and Belphegor's room without his usual stop to the kitchen.  You shake your head and make your way over to your own room.

Dumping your backpack onto the floor, you head over to your downy bed, breathing in the floral scent of jasmine and roses.  Only Asmodeus uses that scent of detergent, so he must be on laundry duty this week. You mentally thank him for using such a pleasant scent, unlike the strange musk of the sandalwood and papyrus fabric softener that Satan had used two weeks earlier.  

Your laundry-related musings are interrupted by rapid, deafening knocking on your door.  You hope it is Beel, finally ready to talk about whatever is bothering him, but you know better than that.  Beel, for all his muscled glory, has a very quiet, almost timid knock. The only demon in the House of Lamentation that has a knock so boisterous, so cacophonous, so incessant is … 

“How come you’re not dressed yet?” Mammon demands, walking straight into your room as soon as you open the door.  “Didn’t you get my messages?”

“I haven’t checked my D.D.D in a bit,” you admit, pulling the device out of the pocket of your uniform.  You open the Chat app, noticing that you indeed have some message notifications from Mammon.

Mammon Mammon:  HUH?  How’re you confused by *that*?

Mammon:  Getting paid means I’m going shopping!  And you’re comin’ with me!

Mammon:  Be dressed by the time I get home from *barf* tutoring!

Mammon:  Curse Lucifer and Satan for making me go to that crap, by the way.

Mammon:  I mean, who *cares* if I have a D- in Statistics?

“I don’t think I can go shopping today, Mammon,” you sigh.  Grabbing your backpack from off the ground, you begin to rifle through it until you find your Physics IV textbook.  “I have a lot of homework due soon.”

“Homework, shmomework,” Mammon chides, yanking the book from your hands.  “There ain’ t nothing wrong with not doing it once in a while.”

You give him a look.  No wonder he has a D- in Statistics.  

Mammon grabs your hand, leads you off the bed, and pushes you over to the closet.  “Tell ya what, if you come with me, I’ll be super generous and buy you anything you want from the store—only something super cheap, though, but still!”

You want to protest, but figure Mammon won’t let this go.  Instead, you get dressed into something more casual than your uniform and step out of your closet.

The second-born, who was absentmindedly flipping through your Physics textbook as you changed, immediately sits erect once as you appear.  “I swear that I wasn’t going through your things,” he claims. “Much.”  He gives your outfit a once-over and two thumbs-up.  “I always forget how nice you clean up for a human, MC!  You’re officially fashionable enough to stand by my side!”

You blush ever so slightly, but before Mammon can notice, you busy yourself by emptying your backpack of any school-related content.  That way, you have an empty bag to carry as you go shopping.  “And if I don’t want to stand by your side, Mammon?” you tease.  

The demon’s face flushes with a blush even deeper than yours.  “O—of course, you want to be by my side! I’m the Great Mammon, don’t you forget that!”

You smile as you take out your last notebook from your bag.  “Okay, I’m ready to go shopping with you,” you say, putting your backpack on.  “Let’s go.”

“Say it with a little more enthusiasm, will ya?” Mammon complains as he opens the door to let you through. 

You shake your head, smile, and decide to tease him some more.  “Fine. Let's go!”

“That’s not the part I said to be more enthusiastic about!”

-

Chapter 2

“Are you serious, Mammon?” Leviathan growls. “I already checked ahead—the Ruri-chan figurine, if you buy it in the Majolish collectibles department, is only four hundred and fifty thousand Grimm. I’m not paying you a cent more.”

Mammon waves his hand nonchalantly. “And if I ain’t mistaken, Levi, ya want this figure today, right?”

Levi grinds his teeth. “Right.”

“Well, then! Ya want me to go buy it for you today, you pay me my two hundred and twenty-five thousand Grimm labor fee!”

“I’m not paying you that much Grimm extra.”

“Then go buy it yourself!”

“I can’t. I have to finish this gaming campaign today. I already put it off long enough, and it’s not my fault that the Ruri-chan neko maid figure releases today, too!  It's gonna sell out, fast!”

“Then pay me my damn labor fee!”

“You just made that up, and I already told you—I’m not paying you that much, you ass!”

And on they go.  

You’ve been listening to the two brothers argue for the past fifteen minutes. You had thought by now maybe Mammon and you would have gotten a start on his shopping, but no, he had insisted on barging into Levi’s room to see if he could make a little extra Grimm off of his younger brother before the two of you left.  

“You’re scum, Mammon, you know that?” Levi growls. He turns to you, pouting. “What about you, MC? Will you buy my precious Ruri-chan figurine for me?”

You sigh. “Give me the money, Levi. If I see the figure, I’ll buy it.”

The third-born demon grins. “Thanks! I knew I could count on you.”  

He rummages through the pocket of his coat and begins to count out the right amount of Grimm. Once he has enough bills, he hands the stack to you, but before you can grab it, the money is intercepted by Mammon.

“I’ll hold onto that for you, MC,” Mammon assures, a coy smile lighting his face. “You don’t have any pockets in that sweatshirt.”

You smile sardonically and pull Levi’s money back. You know better than to trust Mammon, the Avatar of Greed with money of all things. Secrets? Maybe. Schemes? Definitely. Being a tsundere idiot? There was no one more capable. But money? You’d be rivaling him in idiocy if you did that.  

“It’s fine; I got it,” you promise, sliding the money into the deepest pocket in your backpack.

Levi scowls at Mammon as you two leave. “Please die.”

-

“Here we are, MC!” Mammon grins, waving his hand for you to take in all the scenery. “The most expensive shopping district in all of the Devildom!”

You look around at your surroundings; it was a horribly gaudy site. There are huge building complexes, studded with stores selling items from the most famous brands in the world. What really brings out the garishness of the location is that every store seems to be covered in gold.

There’s a gilded Ralph Goren shop, a Chanhell showroom that sparkles with a yellow brighter than the sun, and even a Burbury emporium that glitters with a fine flaxen coating.  

“Why … why does everything look like this?” you can’t help but ask.

Mammon, who had been staring lovingly at the lurid buildings, looks over at you, pulled out of his reverie. “What? Oh, the gold? It’s just to show how expensive everything is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, MC,” Mammon explains, suddenly grabbing your hand as he leads you further into the shining abyss. “All this stuff—” He gestures toward all the name-brand stores. “You can find in any of the regular couture shopping districts in the Devildom. However, the stuff sold here specifically—the very same stuff in all the other stores—is more expensive.  The buildings are all covered in gold to represent that.  It’s great, huh?”

You dig your heels in the ground. “Wait … you mean … you’re only shopping here … because it’s expensive?”

“Duh! Things that cost more make ya look cool.” He yanks your hand harder to get you moving again. “Not that I need help looking cool or anythin.’”

“Of course.”

Wow, you realize. He really lives up to his title of the Avatar of Greed.

“Oh! Look over there! Silver-plated spurs! Let’s go see if they have ‘em in bronze or somethin’—silver kinda clashes with my look, y’know? And holy crap, they’re selling diamond insoles for your slippers in that store! Can’t imagine they’d be comfortable, but still, why wouldn’t you want ‘em?”

Before you know it, you and Mammon are standing in line for the register at Versucky, with the second-born demon holding at least seven or eight different, high-end items, all of which you wonder if he has any use for.  

“I know what you’re thinking, MC,” Mammon says, looking at your confused expression. “How much money does the Great Mammon make from modeling if he can afford to buy this much stuff?”

You want to point out that that was not in fact, what you were wondering, but he barrels on ahead.

“Well, a lot, of course, ‘cause y’know, I got all this.” He gestures toward his body sensuously. “But still, even if it’s not enough, I got my beloved Goldie!” Mammon shuffles all his desired items to one hand, and with the other, whips out a shiny black credit card from his pocket.

Your eyes widen. “Didn’t Lucifer confiscate that from you two days ago?”

“Yeah,” Mammon admits. “But I found it. He left it in one of the oysters in Levi’s aquarium—don’t ask how I figured it out.”

You shake your head and can’t help but smile at his rebelliousness. You wonder how Lucifer is going to punish Mammon for his craftiness this time.

As you and he reach the front of the line, Mammon suddenly drops everything he’s holding. “Oh, crap.”

You reach to pick up all the items that had tumbled to the ground. “What?”

“Well … “ Mammon scratches the back of his neck, a slight blush coming over his tan skin. “I just realized that I promised I’d buy ya somethin’ if you came with me, and heh, here you are.”

“It’s okay, Mammon; you don't need to get me anything,” you reassure him. You hadn’t really expected him to keep his end of the bargain, and honestly, you didn’t really care. You hadn’t actually needed anything from the store, and in fact, the only reason you had tagged along was, well, for the company … and the fact that Mammon wouldn’t have shut up if you hadn’t.  

“No, it’s not,” he says. He grabs your wrist and leads you out of Versucky. “I said I’d buy ya somethin’ and that’s what I’m gonna do. Here, we’ll buy whatever you want first, so then I’ll know how much Grimm I have left to spend.”

“But you don’t have to worry about how much money you can spend,” you remind him. “You have Goldie.”

Mammon’s blush deepens. “W—well, yeah, I know!” He looks down, grinding his heel into the ground. “But I just remembered that Lucifer put a control lock on her that notifies him every time she’s being used, and then he’ll know I took her back.” His head whips up immediately. “And just so y’know, it ain’t like I’m afraid of him, or anythin;’ I just figured not using her would be the smarter thing to do, that’s all!” 

You smile at his display. “If you say so.”

“Wh—what! Ya don’t believe me?”

“No, no, of course, I do.” 

“You—you better!” He coughs and tries to regain his composure. “Now, where do you wanna go? Unless ya wanted to shop at Versucky, ‘cause I guess we could go back in there.” 

“I’m not really sure,” you admit. Even in the human world, you weren’t very familiar with couture brands, and you’re even more lost in the Devildom. Your eyes scan the apparently endless miles of gilded shops until you spot a strange blip of steel gray in the sea of gold. “What’s that?”

Mammon squints in the direction you point. “Never seen that store before in my life. Kinda gross, though. The whole ashy color scheme really clashes with the rest of the buildings here.”

To be honest, you find the dull color of the edifice somewhat soothing compared to the sheer gaudiness of its surroundings. You begin to make your way over to it, Mammon in tow.

“Thrifty’s Cheap Finds,” Mammon reads as you near the building. He dry heaves. “Cheap finds? What is this? Some kind of lame way to attract broke-ass degenerates like …” He trails off when he sees your raised eyebrow and blushes. “I wasn’t gonna end that sentence with ‘you,’ I swear! Calm down!”

You shake your head and don’t respond as you enter the store. As you begin to wander around the shop, not even Mammon can keep his jaw from falling open in wonder. Inside Thrifty’s Cheap Finds is everything from hairspray to mattresses to books to cookie sheets—all of them branded with human company labels.  

“No wonder everything here is so cheap,” Mammon realizes. “No one in the Devildom wants human stuff. Well, unless you’re Satan and Lucifer and like all that antique crap.”

You resist the desire to glare at him and instead pore through everything in the shop, your eyes never failing to examine each item. It’s been months since you’ve been home and seen any of these types of knickknacks.  

A wave of homesickness washes over you as you finger a timeless gingham tablecloth, as Mammon ambles off to the electronics section, which is filled with ancient-looking cellphones and computers. 

You swallow the feeling away before it can cause a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes. You wander farther down, realizing that all the mismatched pots and pans mean that this is the cooking aisle.  

You pause in the section of this aisle that displays cookbooks and remember the miserable look on Beelzebub’s face earlier today. Perhaps, you wonder, there is something in here that would cheer him up.

The cookbooks are all in disarray, and you shuffle through the many stacks of them several times before you find a book that you think Beel would like. You flip through the cookbook and nod in approval; the pictures are large and detailed and the human recipes are quick, simple and hearty—perfect for the always hungry Avatar of Gluttony.  

You flip the book over and read the price tag. “Nine thousand Grimm.”  

You worry that that’s too much, especially since you remember Satan once mentioning that books from the human world usually weren’t economical. You haven’t really gotten the idea of how much a single Grimm is worth yet, and you keep hearing Mammon’s voice in your head, insisting that whatever you buy today be cheap.  

“Hey, what’cha got there, MC?” Mammon asks, materializing as if on cue. “This what you want?” He grabs the book from your hands and gives it a mildly disgusted look. “A cookbook?”

“It’s for Beel,” you say, defensively.

Mammon raises an eyebrow. “The only demon ya should be buying stuff for is me, but I’ll let it slide this time.” He too flips the book over. You grimace nervously as his eyes widen when he sees the price.

“I’ll put it back if it’s too expens—” you begin, pulling it away.

Mammon blushes. “Ar—are you kidding, MC? When I said to buy something cheap earlier, I didn’t actually mean it! Hell, I’m willing to splurge on ya if you really want somethin!’ You didn’t actually have to go find something this dirt-cheap!”

Huh, so nine thousand Grimm is considered inexpensive, you note. You smile at Mammon’s uncharacteristic generosity. “It’s okay, I really do want this.”

He runs a hand through his hair and tries to regain his composure, but to no avail. “Y—you sure? I mean—if ya wanna get somethin’ from Ralph Goren or somethin,’ I’m cool with that!”

You hold the cookbook to your chest and nod. “I’m sure.” You grab his hand and lead him to the register.

As Mammon pays the nine thousand Grimm to the lanky demon clerk, he shakes his head and looks at you. “You really are something else, y’know that, MC?”

-

Chapter 3

As soon as you and Mammon return home, you walk over to Leviathan’s room and knock on his door.  Hung on your wrist is a bag from a store called, Look At Me, I’m a Stupid Otaku (or at least, that’s what Mammon had told you the building sign had said.  You don’t know how to read Japanese.), which held a Ruri-chan figurine. “Levi? It’s me, MC.”

“Come in,” the third-born demon calls. 

You open the door, only to see Levi slouched over on his computer.  You take the figurine out of the bag. “Where do you want this?”

“Oh, is that my darling Ruri-chan?” he asks, his eyes never leaving the screen.  “You can bring it here. Sorry, I’d come over and get it myself, but there are only two minutes left on this boss stage, and he still has half of his HP left.”

You bring the figure to his desk and leave it next to what looks like a box of granola bars.  “Super high-energy chocolate-covered cricket snacks,” you read. “Now with extra protein.” You blanch because despite living in the Devildom for a while, you still have yet to become accustomed to the food.  

“Yeah, sometimes when I’m really in the gaming zone, I don’t leave my room for days, not even to get meals and stuff lololol, so I keep those here if I get hungry.”

“Can I have one?”  You are planning to check in on Beel after making this stop to Levi’s room, and realize that it would be better to show up with food.

His eyes glued to his computer, Levi nods.  “Go for it.”  

As you reach into the box to take one, Levi suddenly turns toward you, even though you can see the timer counting down on his game.  “Better take the whole box. Beel’s not gonna be satisfied with just one.” He sighs. “Everyone’s been kinda worried about him, you know?  He’s been down all day, but he’s not saying anything to anyone, not even Belphie.” He perks up. “But! If there is someone who can make him feel better, it’s you, MC!”

You smile at his worry for his brother.  “Thanks, Leviathan.” You stuff the box into your backpack.

He nods, before turning back to his game, frowning when he realizes that the onscreen timer read 00:00 and he hadn’t been able to finish off the boss.  “He’s in the gym.”

“Of course,” you say, as you leave his room.

-

Just as Levi had said, you find Beel in the House of Lamentation’s fully-equipped gym. 

The sixth-born demon is sitting cross-legged in front of an elliptical, a towel slung across his shoulders.  Unsurprisingly, his twin—Belphegor—is with him, napping with his head resting on Beel’s lap.  

Beel frowns nervously when he sees you.  “Oh, hi, MC.” He sighs. “ I guess you’re not here to tell Belphie how cute he looks sleeping like this. ”

You cock your head curiously.  “I can if you want me to.”

Beel shakes his head.  “I was just checking to see if he's awake.”

“Ah,” you realize, sitting down next to him.  “Is there something that you don’t want Belphie to hear?”

Beel nods but doesn’t say anything more.  Instead, he fiddles with the hem of his rather tight-fitting tank top.  You try not to stare at the bulging silhouette of his abs that show through.  “It’s funny,” he begins. “When either of us is upset, I get less hungry, but Belphie becomes more sleepy.”  

You remember learning of the twins’ connection a few days earlier.  The two had a bond so strong that they sometimes shared each other’s feelings, and if one had an extreme emotion, the other would often experience it, too.  You put a hand on his arm. “What are you so upset about, Beel?”

He groans.  “It’s nothing, really.”

You decide to try a different tactic.  “You’re worrying your brothers,” you admit gently.

“I know.”  Beel takes a deep breath.  Twisting around, he pulls out his navy backpack from behind the elliptical.  After rummaging through it for a moment, he pulls out a telltale Physics IV: Mind Over Matter textbook.  He flips to the end of the book and releases a packet of paper, which he hands to you.

You examine it for a moment, surprised to see in obnoxious red ink, the phrase F - sprawled across the front.  Maybe stick to lifting weights, meathead is written underneath it.  Although the words cause your blood to boil, you swallow your anger and calmly move your hand up to Beel’s shoulder.  “You’re upset because you did bad on a test?”

Beel slouches, his back sliding down one of the supports of the elliptical.  He continues to fiddle with his shirt and doesn’t meet your eyes. “It’s not just that,” he confesses.  “If I fail another one, my professor is going to make me repeat the subject.” He sighs. “Belphie’s always helped me study in Physics; we almost always have the same class schedule—except I take Weights and he takes regular P.E—and he always made sure I knew the material.”

“But Belphie doesn’t go to R.A.D this year,” you realize.  “He’s supposed to be enrolled in a human school for the exchange program.”

“Yeah,” Beel sighs.  “I can’t ask him to learn the information at home with me—I know he would if I asked—he’s already been through so much this year.”  He gulps. “Lucifer is going to be so mad when he finds out I’m failing.”

“Why can’t you just get a tutor, like Mammon does?”

“You see how everyone makes fun of him because of that.”

You want to point out that Mammon usually brought the teasing upon himself  and justified it with his unrelenting moronness, but an idea strikes you instead.  “Hey, I 'm in Physics IV, too.  Why don’t we study together?”

Beel’s face lights up.  “Really, MC? You’d do that?” 

You laugh as you hear his stomach growl in excitement.  “Of course!” You remember the cricket snacks you took from Levi’s room and begin to take the box out of your backpack.  You see the cookbook you bought for him and take that out, too. “You’re hungry, now?”

He grins sheepishly.  “Yes, I’m famished!”

“Look here, I brought you snacks,” you say, handing the box to him.  “Thank Levi next time you see him.”

Beel immediately rips open a package and begins to eat.  “Hi wroh.” He swallows, and repeats, “I will. Thanks to you, too.”  He looks at the cookbook in your hand curiously. “What’s that?”

You place the book in his lap, balancing it precariously on Belphegor’s head.  “It’s a cookbook from the human world. I bet it has all kinds of recipes for foods you haven’t tried before.”

Beel grabs another cricket snack as his eyes widen.  “I haven’t eaten many human foods before.  Let’s look at it together.”

You nod, opening the book and flipping the page as Beel munches.  

“Haha,” he laughs.  “Angel Food Cake. Maybe we should make some for Simeon and Luke.”  

You smile and turn to the following page.  The next recipe is for Devil’s Food Cake. “Or maybe you can make this one for dessert someday.  Or this one—look—Deviled Eggs.”

“Those look good.”  Opening another snack, Beel suggests, “Hey, MC, I’m on dinner duty tomorrow.  Want to help me cook some of these foods? Or maybe, I can cook and you can help me study?”

“That sounds like a good idea, Beel,” you muse.  “What do you think we should make, then?”

“Well, Satan won’t eat animals, Leviathan refuses to eat seafood, and Belphie—” He pats his brother on the head.  “—doesn’t like to eat beef or veal. If we use any of those, we probably have to substitute the meat with other things.”

You and Beel pore through the cookbook for several hours, finally deciding on Deviled Eggs as appetizers, Garlic Parmesan Risotto and Savory Mashed Potatoes for the main course, and Black Forest Cake for dessert.  

“This will be fun,” Beel promised, yawning.  “I’ll pick up the ingredients after school tomorrow.”

You curse the contagiousness of yawns as you yawn, too, feeling your eyes grow heavy.  You can feel Beel’s head rest on your shoulder as he begins to snore lightly. Without thinking, you lean your head to the right, feeling Beel’s under you.  You promise yourself that you won’t fall asleep as you close your eyes and mutter, “Sounds … like a … plan.”

-

Chapter 4

“I’m gonna kill him,” Mammon whispers, his voice low and colder than ice as you, him, and Beel huddle over your D.D.D.  “I’m really gonna kill him.”

Beel frowns at his elder brother.  “Why are you so upset? You’re not even in the picture.”

“Yeah, if anyone should be mad, it’s me, Beel, or Belphie,” you comment, zooming in on the photo, which had been taken yesterday.  

It was from when you and Beel had fallen asleep together as you two pored over the cookbook you had bought for him.  Strangely enough, Asmodeus—who had both taken and posted the photo—was in the picture, as well; he was posing as if he had been napping sweetly on your shoulder the whole time.  To everyone’s surprise, the only one “awake” in the photo appeared to be Belphie, who had wriggled his way from lying in Beel’s lap to having his legs rest on his brother while his torso and head were sprawled all over your lap.  He was too deeply engrossed in reading Beel’s new cookbook to notice his brother taking the picture. Asmodeus captioned the photo, Just getting a bit of beauty sleep with my babes 😘. 

“Yes, you should!”  Mammon says. “ Why aren’t you, by the way?  This photo is a total invasion of your privacy!”  He whirls toward Beel, his eyebrows downturned in anger.  “And what’s the big idea, Beel? Sleepin’ on MC’s shoulder like that?”  He puts a hand on your head patronizingly. “You shouldn’t touch anyone like that without their permission!”

Beel smiles.  “Well, I think MC looks cute in this photo!  And it’s not my fault that we fell asleep like that.”

Mammon rolls his eyes.  “Well, I’m still gonna kill Asmo for postin’ it.”  He taps on your Devilgram feed to unlike the photo.  “Anyway, why’d ya call me here?” he asks, gesturing toward the Hall of Lamentation’s kitchen.  

“No one called you here,” you remind him, taking a seat at the kitchen table.  You reach down, grab your backpack and pull out the cookbook you had bought for Beel, as well as your copy of Physics IV: Mind Over Matter.

“Yeah,” Beel agrees, his mouth downturned in a frown.  “You just heard that MC was going to be in the kitchen helping me cook and decided to come along.”

Blushing, Mammon takes a seat next to you.  “Maybe I just wanted to help ya cook, Beel.”

“No way.”  Beel sticks out his arms, barring him from entering the kitchen.  “You’re not helping me cook. If you cook, I won’t eat it.”

“Okay, okay, fine, jeez.”

As you flip through the cookbook to find the recipes that you and Beel had decided to make yesterday, Mammon grabs your Physics textbook, whipping through it boredly.  “Why’d ya bring your textbook to the kitchen? You having trouble in Physics and want to study here or somethin’? ‘Cause if you are, never fear—The Mammon is here!”

You look at Beel—who glances at you nervously—from the corner of your eyes.  You yank the textbook away from Mammon. “You’re not even taking Physics.”

“Yeah, I’m taking Chemistry, and have a C in it, so I’m still passing—so what?”

“How are you supposed to teach me Physics when you’re not even in it?”

“MC!  Don’t doubt the Great Mammon’s abilities!”

“Oh yeah?  Does the Great Mammon know the formula for … angular acceleration?”

“The change in angular speed divided by the change in time,” Beel pipes up, as he hovers over the stove, checking for the water to boil for his Deviled Eggs.

Mammon laughs and waves his hand at his brother.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Beel.” He turns to you. “C’mon, MC, don’t mess around with me.  I know ‘angular acceleration’ isn’t even a real word.”  

You turn to the glossary in the back of your book and point to the term with the formula next to it, which Beel had recited.  “Seems like the Great Mammon’s abilities have failed him.” You watch Mammon blush furiously and smile. “And besides, Beel and I are having a Physics study session, since we’re both in the class.”

“And we’re not getting much studying done with you here,” Beel quips.  He retrieves four dozen eggs from the refrigerator and begins to carefully drop them into the boiling water on the stove with a ladle.

You do a double-take and glance at the cookbook.  “Beel, the serving information here says that to serve eight people you only need sixteen eggs, at the most.”

Mammon and Beel shake their heads.  

“If my brothers are going to get a chance to eat anything, we’re going to have to make this many,” Beel decides.  He hoists up a giant pot of potatoes that had been already boiling on the stove and plops it in front of Mammon, handing him a potato masher.  “Mash these.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to cook anything,” Mammon whines.  

“Yes, because whatever you make tastes gross.  Mashing the potatoes isn’t cooking anything, so you can do just that.”

Mammon grumbles something that sounds curse word-y, but stands up and begins to work the masher into the potatoes.  “Just for that, I’m making ‘em creamy. No lumps.” He whispers to you, “Beel loves lumpy potatoes.”

“Fine, Belphie will like it smooth, anyway,” Beel assures.  He walks over to the refrigerator and yanks out an entire wheel of parmesan cheese.  He sets it in front of you and hands you a cheese grater. “Can you shred this cheese, MC?  I’m about to start getting the arborio rice for the risotto ready and the whole process is going to take a while.”

Your eyes widen.  He wants me to grate the entire wheel of parmesan.  “Sure, but what about our … you know, study session?”  You had promised to help Beel with Physics, and you were by no means going to forget about it.

“Ask me questions as we go?  Sorry, I didn’t realize how much there was to do,” he says sheepishly.  

You nod, laying your Physics textbook flat open to Chapter Seven, which was your assigned reading for your next class.  

You cut off a block of cheese and begin to run it against the serrated surface of the cheese grater for several hours, asking Beel problem after problem from the book.  He stumbles on quite a few of them, but you correct him only if you know how to—after all, you yourself aren't a master in Physics. The ones you don’t are questions that you skip, mentally circling them to come back to later.  

Every so often, Beel grabs a scoop of the mound of grated parmesan that you have shredded and adds it to his pot of risotto.  Surprisingly, Mammon also throws several handfuls of cheese into his potatoes, as he mashes them until they are so smooth that you were sure that not even an ant would be able to find the tiniest lump.

Beel doesn’t notice that Mammon adds the rest of the ingredients in the recipe to the potatoes—copious amounts of cream, whole stalks of herbs, salt, and more butter than you have ever seen in your life, and stirs them together.  

“Beel says he won’t eat anythin’ I make ‘cause he’ll hate it,” Mammon explains to you when you stare at him for disobeying his brother’s explicit orders of doing nothing but mashing the potatoes.  He smirks. “But wait ‘till he gets a load of these.  They’re gonna be great.”

You roll your eyes at the mischievous demon, wondering how his little fling with deviancy is going to bite him this time. 

“Okay, time to assemble the cake,” Beel announces, plopping all forty-eight freshly-piped Deviled Eggs onto the table, along with a steaming casserole filled with Garlic Parmesan Risotto.  “MC, can you sprinkle the rest of the cheese on top?”  

As you begin to do just that, he brings over three round German chocolate cakes, a bowl of whipped cream, and a dish filled with cherries macerated in sugar.  One of the three cakes is already topped with a layer of cream and cherries.  

“I hate cherries,” Mammon grumbles.

As if on cue, Asmodeus walks by.  “That’s why you’ve never popped one.”

You stifle your laughter as Mammon’s face turns a very unbecoming shade of red.  “Asmo!”  He sprints after his brother, leaving you and Beel alone in the kitchen.  “I was already gonna kill you once, but now I’m gonna kill you twice! C’mere, you bastard!”

You turn towards Beel, who is putting the third layer of cake onto the growing tower and covering it with whipped cream.  

Putting his spatula down, Beel looks at you.  “MC, thanks so much for helping me today—with the food, with the studying, with everything.”  He looks down. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

You smile at him.  “It’s no problem, Beel!”

“No, really,” Beel insists, staring into your eyes with an intensity that sends shivers all the way down to your toes and causes you to flush pink.  “I feel so much more confident now in Physics. I think if I took a quiz today, I’d at least know enough to pass.”

“I’m just glad I could help,” you say honestly.  

Beel grins and carefully lifts the Black Forest Cake by its base and puts it on a cake pedestal.  “It’s time to put all this food in the dining room,” he says. He then notices Mammon’s mashed potatoes.  He frowns as he sees the green herb fragments, signifying that his brother had done something other to the potatoes than simply mash them as he had told him to.  He dips a spoon into the pot and tastes them.  Beel’s face becomes a blazing inferno. “I’m going to eat him.”

“What?” you ask, noticing the sudden shift in his mood.

“Sugar.”

“Sugar?”

“He put … sugar … in the Savory Mashed Potatoes.” 

THE END   

[spicykoreantatertots]

roadtrip - part two

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: angst, fluff, and eventually smut; high school au, friends to lovers au

warnings: hospital, medical stuff, anxiety, angsty high schoolers being angsty high schoolers

word count: 3.5k

summary: After your friend and long time crush, Min Yoongi, has a near death experience, you realize that your friend group is starting to grow apart. A cross country road trip brings adventure, bonding, tourist attractions, and romance. But will it be enough to salvage your friendships?

part one - part two - part three

The final bell rings at school and everyone excitedly spills out into the hallways. Most people are headed to club meetings, sports practice, or to meet up with friends. You rush to the main office to pick up Yoongi’s homework packets. He’ll be missing another two weeks of class and with finals coming up, you and Namjoon promised to help him stay caught up. 

You stop short of the office when you see Hoseok and Ami walking toward the gym for tennis practice. You take a deep breath, planning to call out to them, but something stops you. An uneasy feeling rising in your chest. You don’t want to interrupt the conversation they seem to be enjoying so much. Ami is laughing pretty hard... Instead, you continue into the office and pick up the hefty envelope with Yoongi’s name scrawled across it. 

The band hall is the last stop before heading to your car and driving the now familiar route to the hospital. After mulling over the day’s less-than-exciting events you turn your attention to the French Horn case carefully placed in the passenger seat. It’s staring back at you, making you feel a bit guilty. Since Yoongi’s accident five days ago, you had visited him in the hospital everyday. Spending hours at the hospital with him (and usually at least two or three other friends) meant less time spent practicing. 

You had been enjoying the time you’ve spent at the hospital, helping Yoongi with his homework between card games and planning movie nights you had all agreed to have in the summer. Remembering the time spent with your friends over the past few days brings an uncontrollable smile to your face as you step off the elevator and walk to Yoongi’s room. You feel really happy for the first time in a while. 

Lightly knocking on the door, you poke your head into the room before entering. Yoongi is laying in the bed as per usual, but the doctor and a nurse are standing over him. Yoongi gives you a small wave as you walk in. His mother sitting next to the bed, frantically typing on her laptop. She hadn’t been here in a few days, work is surely keeping her busy.

“Go ahead and lift your shirt for me.” The doctor instructs Yoongi. You intended to look away, but you catch a glimpse of his form and your eyes can’t help but linger. Under the harsh lighting of the hospital room, his body looks even more thin and pale than ever. The next thing you notice are the bruises that are finally becoming slightly less purple and more yellow. The doctor then reaches down to pull back the bandaging across your friend’s abdomen. This is when you decide to avert your eyes. 

“It actually looks like you’re healing well. What’s your pain level today?” You are looking out the window, but you can tell the nurse is now putting fresh bandages on the wound. 

“Maybe a three?” Yoongi responds before he sharply inhales. You look up to see the doctor pressing firmly on his stomach. 

“Mr. Min, I know you’re ready to go home but I think you need to stay at least another day or two.” The doctor continues to tell the nurse to add this or reduce that, lots of medical terms you can’t quite wrap your brain around.

“Hey.” Yoongi smiles over at you when they finally leave. He pushes himself up into a sitting position.

“Hi. How are you feeling?” You move your chair to the side of his bed opposite from his mother. The three of you make small talk for a few minutes before Mrs. Min quickly puts her laptop away and stands. 

“Well I’ve got to run a few errands. I’ll leave you two alone.” The look on her face causes you to blush against your will. The crush you’ve had on Yoongi over the years has come and gone many times, so it’s not surprising that she seems to know about it. 

Mrs. Min squeezes Yoongi’s hand before leaving the room. You pull today’s work out of your backpack and hand it to Yoongi.

“Should we start with English today or Stats?” You’re hoping he will wait until Namjoon or Ami stop by to work on his Statistics homework because you still aren’t sure if you fully understand the lesson yourself. 

“Well...” he starts, looking thoughtfully at you, “there may or may not be a Harry Potter marathon on ABC right now.” He reaches for the remote, scooting over in the upright hospital bed. He knows you can’t resist a Harry Potter marathon. Without hesitation you join him on the narrow bed, your side flush with his. As the two of you settle in, he grabs your hand and laces your fingers together. Skinship amongst friends isn’t new to you, but skinship coming from Yoongi is. You feel the blush returning to your cheeks. 

Yoongi turns on the tv and you can see that third Harry Potter movie was just starting. The movie is entertaining enough, but soon Yoongi is asking you about your day, wanting even the mundane details. Apparently he’s been very bored within the walls of the hospital. 

“Oh and I ran into Hoseok and Ami on their way to Tennis practice.”

“The gym is a long way from the band hall.” He laughs when you roll your eyes. “Well what did they say?”

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to them, actually.”

“I thought you said you ran into them?” he questioned.

“Well they were busy so I didn’t want to bother them.” You let out a sigh.

“So I guess things haven’t changed that much then.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You sit up slightly from the bed and look back at him. He’s looking at the TV.

“Ever since my accident you’ve been here talking about how you missed your friends and you’re planning movie nights, trying to get everyone together, but you won’t even talk to Hoseok at school.”

“It’s different there...” You begin to chew on your bottom lip. 

“He would have been happy to see you. Anyone would be happy to see you outside of a practice room.” Yoongi continued. “I guess... I thought you... I thought things would really be different.” You pull your hand from his grip to rub your face. 

“Well you’re one to talk.” You half mumble. Who is he to say these things when I pretty much haven’t heard from him since his last basketball game?

The awkward silence between the two of you only lasts for a moment because there’s a knock on the door. You look over to see Namjoon standing in the doorway. How long has he been standing there? The look on his face shows that he heard at least some of the conversation. 

“Hey. Oh, Harry Potter marathon, nice.” He takes a seat at the small table on the other side of the room. You stand from the bed and pick up the envelope of homework. 

“We’ve got English and Statistics today.” You say as you hand the work to Namjoon. He opens the packet and starts to pull out the worksheets. 

The night progresses slowly as the three of you work on your assignments together. The three of you huddled around the small table. The movie marathon still playing in the background. After giving up on the statistics homework you begin to think of ideas for your English assignment. It’s the weekly creative writing assignment. 

Write one page about the last thing that made you smile.

You look over at Yoongi, he was the last thing that made you smile and also the last thing that upset you. His brows are furrowed, he’s clearly thinking about something. You realize he’s also started the English assignment. He’s got about a quarter of a page so far. You can’t quite make out the words on his page, but you can’t help but wish they are about you. 

“I don’t know what to write about. What are you writing about?” You ask, looking down at your own blank page.

“I’m writing about the last thing that made me smile.” A smirk creeps across Yoongi’s face. He doesn’t even look up from the page. Before you can respond Namjoon chimes in.

“I’m writing about Monie.” He smiles brightly, his dimples coming into view. You suppose you could just make something up. Creative writing has never been easy for you, but you probably could write a few pages about Min Yoongi... 

After about an hour, you manage to bullshit a decent paper about how successfully playing a difficult piece of music made your chest swell with pride and a smile shine brightly across your face. Yoongi and Namjoon finished a while ago. They were picking at the food tray that was dropped off for Yoongi’s dinner. 

“Well...” You stand and stretch your arms over your head. “I should probably get home so I can practice before bed. Do you want us to go get you some real food first?” You point at the mushy looking meal in front of Yoongi, but he shakes his head.

“Jimin and Jungkook are on their way with pizza if you want to stay, though.” Yoongi says, but you shake your head.   

“I’ll go with you.” Namjoon reaches for his bag. “My shift starts in an hour.”

You walk over to the bed that Yoongi has settled back into. You place your hand over his and give him a small smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

“Thanks for coming.” His eyes meet yours for the first time in a while. He looks tired. 

~~~~~~~

“I heard the... argument? What was that about?” Namjoon turned to you in the elevator. You were hoping he wouldn’t bring it up. You try to think for a moment, not really sure where to start. You try to briefly explain the situation.

“So he basically called me a hypocrite for not talking to Ami and Hoseok at school.” You finish quickly when the elevator doors open on the ground floor. “I guess he’s right.”

“No, that’s not totally fair.” Namjoon quickly responds. “He knows about your anxiety. It’s not that simple.” 

“I just... I hate disappointing Yoongi.” You pause as you reach your car and look up at your friend. 

“Are your feelings for him coming back?” Namjoon looks down at you, already knowing the answer. He’s been there for you through several bouts of being love struck by Yoongi. There have been other crushes and a couple of boyfriends, but Yoongi was different.

You lean your forehead against Namjoon’s chest and sigh as he wraps his arms around you. “Joonie... I’ve loved that boy since I first laid eyes on him.”

~~~~~~~

After an hour of mediocre practice, you decide to get ready for bed. While brushing your teeth, you absentmindedly cycle through the social media platforms to see various celebrities living it up and acquaintances from school posting thirsty selfies. A message pops up in your notifications. An Instagram direct message from @lilmeowmeow. 

You chuckle to yourself. It was the nickname your friends called Yoongi back in the day. You tap the notification to see what he sent. 

Yoongi: I’m sorry about earlier today...

@lilmeowmeow sent a post

You can’t help but laugh (and almost choke on spit and toothpaste) at the video of a kitten chasing a laser pointer. Yoongi knows that cute animal videos are the quickest way to earn your forgiveness. You double tap his message to let him know all is well.

~~~~~~~

The new after school routine continues the next day. Pick up Yoongi’s homework, grab your French Horn, and head to the hospital. Upon your arrival, you notice Jin is standing outside the room. 

“Hey, what’s up?” You nod toward the closed door to Yoongi’s room. Jin notices the flash of worry that crosses your face momentarily. 

“Nothing, the doctor wanted to talk to Yoongi and his mom alone.” You let out a quiet sigh of relief and lean against the wall next to Jin. “Does he have a lot of work today?” 

“I think it’s just statistics. I swear she’s trying to drown us. I mean we’ve got three weeks left of school and she’s the only one still giving real assignments.” Jin nods along to your complaints absentmindedly. “What’s going on with you, Jinnie?” You bump him lightly with your shoulder. 

“Oh, I’m just tired.” he leans his head back against the wall. You look tired, Jinnie. When did we all start looking so tired all the time? “I’ve been staying up here until they kick me out around one or two.”

“Oh my gosh. And don’t you have theater practice at seven?”

“Only for a few more days. The play is on Friday. You’re still coming, right?” He looks over at you expectantly.

“Of course I am.” Oh shit I almost forgot. Mental note: pick up some flowers for Jin, Jimin, and Taehyung on Friday. “Why have you been staying so late?”

“Well, Yoongi hasn’t been sleeping well in the hospital and I hate to leave him alone at night.” Jin responds. 

“If you want to take the night off, I’ll stay late tonight.” You look over at Jin who has now closed his eyes.

“What about practicing?” He asks, eyes remaining closed.

“Yoongi did say I should spend less time practicing and more time with friends.” Jin lets out a small chuckle.

“I’m sure he did say that. He’s missed you.” Your heart skips a beat. It’s nothing. You’ve missed your friends too. 

“Oh?” You try to hide the surprise in your voice. Jin laughs. He’s known you just as long as Namjoon and Yoongi and he knows about your feelings toward Yoongi. He turns to you when he stops laughing. 

“Of course, Y/N. We all have.” See he didn’t mean anything by it. “Well maybe Yoongi’s missed you a bit more.” The wink Jin gives you sends your heart a flutter again. Your friends have often hinted that your feelings may not be totally unrequited, but you’ve never been bold enough to make a move. Just the thought of admitting your feelings to Yoongi knots your stomach. Before you can prod for more information from Jin, the door finally opens. 

A doctor you don’t recognize leaves and he is followed by Mrs. Min. The doctor is dressed in a suit rather than the usual scrubs and white coat; you can’t help but eye him suspiciously. Mrs. Min gives you a small wave before heading off to the elevator. Jin heads into the room and you follow behind him.

“How did it go?” Jin takes a seat at the end of the bed, and you take the seat next to the bed. Yoongi looks so defeated. His only response is to shake his head. “How much longer do they want to keep you?” Yoongi shakes his head again, looking like he might be close to tears. Your heart drops at the sight and your hand instinctively finds his. 

“How bad is the homework today?” Yoongi asks as he blinks back the tears that have formed in his eyes. 

“Just another page or two of stats...” you answer softly, with your head bowed. “You know, I could just do it for you today. It doesn’t look that bad.” You look over at Yoongi again, he’s smiling now. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I would like to pass the class.” A small wave of relief crashes over you as your friends begin to laugh. 

“You really are terrible at math, Y/N.” Jin adds. Jin lets out a big sigh and flops his body across the foot of the bed. You all sit in silence for a few moments before Yoongi speaks again. 

“Jin you’re already falling asleep. Just go home dude.” Jin’s eyes remained closed. “Jimin promised to bring tacos for dinner so you don’t have to stay. I’m sure he’ll bring Tae or Mina with him.”

“Oh well I told Jin I would stay late tonight so he could get some rest anyway.” Yoongi looks surprised.

“You did?” 

“She did.” A small smile spreads across Jin’s face.

“But only if you want me to.” 

“Of course I want you to.” Yoongi responds quickly and you try not to smile.

It seems as though Jin is trying to fall asleep. Yoongi lets go of your hand and moves to get up from the bed. You try not to notice how his dark gray sweatpants hug his hips in just the right place. 

“Let’s go for a walk. I think he needs a nap.” Without hesitation Jin takes over the bed without opening his eyes. You hold back a laugh as you follow Yoongi out of the room. “God I’ve been in that bed all fucking day.” He stretches his arms above his head as you walk down the hallway and you finally realize that he’s been disconnected from all his machinery. 

“So if they unhooked you from all the stuff, why do they want you to stay longer?” Yoongi hesitates to respond as you round a corner. 

“It’s complicated.” He pauses for a moment as though he’s trying to think of a response.  “Can we talk about literally anything else?” He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, so you drop the topic. 

The cold and sterile hallway soon gives way to the bustling nurse’s station. A series of large counters connect to form a circle at the junction of several different hallways. About a dozen men and women dressed in brightly colored scrubs are working at different stations. Yoongi briefly introduces you to a few of the ones he’s come to know over the past few days.

“Hey there handsome. Good to see you walking around.” A beautiful young nurse smiles at Yoongi as the two of you approach her station. Is he blushing? You try to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“Hey Rachel, this is Y/N.” She’s smiling brightly at you. 

“Oh I’ve heard a lot about you.” Did she just wink at me? Suddenly the lump in your throat vanishes.

“Oh really?” You giggle. Yoongi clears his throat and grabs your wrist to pull you away from Rachel’s station. “Nice to meet you!” You call back to her, still laughing. Yoongi leads you to the elevator and presses the button for the second floor, the cafeteria. 

“So you talk about me to the nurses?” You prod.

“I also talk to them about the rashes I got from the steroids they gave me, so don’t feel too special.” He laughs, his cheeks still a rosy color. 

A mixture of mostly pleasant smells hit you as the elevator door opens. 

“Wow...” Is all you can manage to say. The large space was filled with tables and chairs and a variety of stations from soups and salads to burgers and pasta. Most of the tables were full of people eating dinner. Some hospital staff, but mostly people who looked like visitors. You look around for a moment before your eyes land on the dessert station. Your eyes widen as you survey the plates full of cake, brownies, cookies and finally, the soft serve machine. 

“And that’s why we’re here.” You are brought back to reality only to notice Yoongi smiling down at you and the dumb look on your face. “They’ve got chocolate and vanilla swirl.” Your slack jaw quickly turns to a wide smile.

“You know me so well, Min Yoongi.” You grab his hand and carefully lead him to the ice cream machine. After making two too-big ice cream cones, Yoongi leads you to a table next to a large window that looks out into a small courtyard area where a group of five boys are passing a soccer ball back and forth. 

Your conversation about soccer doesn’t last very long, but your conversation about the courtyard’s questionable landscaping lasts surprisingly long. The overgrown shrubs and lack of biodiversity really seem to annoy Yoongi. Your gaze falls from the window and meets his dark eyes. You feel the blood running to your cheeks again. 

“I’ve really enjoyed spending so much time with you these past few days.” Your thoughts seem to be spilling out of your mouth rather than staying inside your head. “I really have missed you.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi smirks. “I have too.” His eyes drop to his hands. He’s fiddling with a napkin. 

“Yoongi, I love you.” Words continue to fall out of your mouth before you can stop them. But it’s not a confession of romantic feelings. You reach over a squeeze Yoongi’s hand. His eyes find yours again.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Your heart is beating fast, but try not to analyze his words or tone or the way he’s looking at you. You just accept this platonic love from your friend and for now, it’s enough.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! I know we didn’t see much of the maknae line in this chapter, but they’ll be back! I welcome all questions and comments about this fic! Always need feedback! I’ve got lots planned for this fic and we are just getting started! 

I’m just getting started in the fan fic community, so let’s be friends! Need beta readers and more than happy to be a beta reader! Let’s collab or just chat for a bit! :)

Big thanks to @maptoyoongi​ for proof reading for me. Love you! <3

[bored-fan-bs-thoughts]

Tyrus Fic: Fake Dating

I know this has been done a thousand times, but I had this written and I didn’t want it to go to waste. T.J. and Cyrus “dating” to convince Cyrus’s Aunt Ruthie that he has a boyfriend. Enjoy!

Cyrus asks Aunt Ruthie if he can bring his friend Buffy to their annual family party, but she’s more interested in whether or not she’s his girlfriend. Cyrus sighs. Sometimes he wishes he could just have a giant sign across him that says ‘I’m gay,’ but he knows social stigmas would make that not very safe for someone with his considerable lack of physical strength.

“Why can’t you get a girlfriend already?” Aunt Ruthie asks.

Cyrus doesn’t know what compels him to respond in the way he does, but he’s just tired of hiding. He doesn’t question if she’ll respond negatively. He just says, “Maybe because I’m gay.” He immediately regrets saying it. His Aunt’s face morphs into a look of confusion…and Cyrus almost thinks there’s a little bit of disgust. Cyrus is mistaken though 

“Okay,” she says, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“I do, actually,” Cyrus lies.

“Oh, really?” she says, cocking an eyebrow. “What’s his name?”

“Uh, T.J.” Cyrus immediately regrets that answer. He knows it’s not smart. He knows T.J.’s not homophobic, but he assumes the guy is uncomfortable with acting gay, especially around Cyrus’s entire family. He’s bracing himself for the next statement he knows is sure to come out of his Aunt’s mouth.

“Are you bringing him to the family picnic next week?”

“I don’t know,” Cyrus says, “I haven’t asked him yet.” Meaning, I haven’t even asked him to be my boyfriend yet and he’s probably straight, like statistically speaking. She doesn’t need to know that part, though.

------------

A couple days later, Cyrus finds himself hanging out with T.J. in his own room. He needs to tell T.J. for him to pretend to be in a relationship with him for a day, but he can’t quite get the words out. His friendship with T.J. has seemed so effortless in the past couple weeks. He doesn’t need his weird request to make everything different between them. He decides that it’s now or never. He’s beginning to realize that this conversation is not really going to arise naturally out of their study hang-out, so he just decides to bring it up out of the blue.

“So I may have told my Aunt that I have a boyfriend,” Cyrus says interrupting T.J. from his math homework.

“Okay?” he responds, “You don’t, right?”

“Correct,” Cyrus responds. T.J. nods his head as if to tell him to go on with his explanation. “I just got annoyed with her constant questioning of when I was going to get a girlfriend and it just slipped out.”

“Well, I don’t really know what to say,” T.J. says.

“The thing is, she thinks his name is T.J. and wants to meet him,” Cyrus says cautiously. T.J. doesn’t know how to respond. “Sorry, you were the first boy that popped into my head!”

“I’m the first boy you think of when you think of a boyfriend?” T.J. says. He has a typical confident grin plastered on his face. Of course he’s using this as an opportunity to boost his own ego.

Cyrus freezes, and a blush makes its way onto his cheeks. He stutters to make a coherent excuse even though the truth is exactly what T.J. is hinting at.

“It was a joke,” T.J. assures him. “So do you need me to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?”

“Yeah. There’s a big family party next weekend. It’s totally cool if you don’t want to—“

“Cyrus, I’ll do it,” he says, cutting Cyrus off. Cyrus just smiles. “Do I just have to hold your hand and give you cheek kisses or something?”

“Oh, yeah,” Cyrus responds, a bit too quickly for his liking. “That’s good.” T.J. nods. “I mean it’s like neutral. I guess.”

“Don’t get too excited,” T.J. mumbles. It’s clearly meant to be a joke, but Cyrus can’t help but notice that T.J. looks genuinely hurt.

“No. I mean, at least I’ll have someone to hang out with,” Cyrus reasons. “We need a story, though. Like how we started dating, how long it’s been, et cetera.”

T.J. pulls an extra sheet of notebook paper out of his spiral and grabs his pencil. “Let’s get to work.”

“You have homework,” Cyrus says, gesturing to the textbook sitting between them.

“This is much better than homework,” T.J. says with a teasing grin.

Great, Cyrus thinks, I’ve opened myself up to a whole new world of teasing.

“What should I wear?” T.J. asks first, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Well, it’s a picnic, but it’s sort of a fancy picnic,” Cyrus says. “Although, people usually dress pretty casually. No hoodies.”

“Hey,” T.J. says in mock offense, “I thought you liked my all hoodie wardrobe.”

“I do,” Cyrus says, “But it’s not the greatest way to make a good impression on my extended family. They can be somewhat traditional.”

T.J. laughs in understanding.

—————

Cyrus was on FaceTime with Andi and Buffy the entire morning leading up to the party. He knows it’s not real, but he’s afraid his true desires will be revealed tonight. He spent forever picking out the right shirt and styling his hair. His friends yelled at him to calm down many times, but it did nothing to ease his nerves. 

When T.J. arrives at his house with flowers, Cyrus knows he’s in a for a wild ride. There is a cheesy, seemingly lovesick look in his eyes as he leans forward to give him a kiss on his cheek.

“Hi, babe,” T.J. whispers to him. It crosses Cyrus’s mind that he really doesn’t have to do that when it’s just them and his parents can’t hear him, but he is not about to complain. Before he can respond, Cyrus hears steps from behind him signaling the arrival of his parents.

“Dad and Sharon,” Cyrus says, “You both know T.J.”

“It’s nice to see you again,” his dad says, extending his hand to shake T.J.’s. “You’re dating my son?”

T.J. nods as he grasps Cyrus’s hand. “Yeah, it’s been about three months.”

His parents nod. Smiles are plastered on their faces, but he can tell there’s something more quizzical. It’s as if they’re assessing whether or not to actually trust the tale they’ve created.

Nevertheless, They both nod and invite T.J. in, explaining that they’ll be leaving in about twenty minutes. T.J. hands Sharon the flowers which certainly seem to win her over a little bit. Cyrus makes a mental note to thank him for that later.

—————

T.J. seems surprisingly at ease with their dating scheme. He is amazing at being polite (when he wants to), and he keeps the PDA to a level that is believable but not overwhelming. Cyrus finds himself just going along with what T.J. does because he’s too nervous to initiate anything himself. Cyrus can’t lie. He very much likes “having a boyfriend,” especially when that boyfriend is T.J.

They are about an hour into socializing when they’re approached by his Aunt Ruthie. Cyrus instinctively grabs onto T.J.’s hand in a slight panic. Aunt Ruthie isn’t scary per se, but she often makes snap judgements about people and she holds onto grudges for far longer than anyone ever should. She looks T.J. up and down with a critical eye.

“Aunt Ruthie, this is my boyfriend, T.J.,” Cyrus says nervously.

T.J. gives his hand a reassuring squeeze before smiling and greeting his Aunt.

“He doesn’t look Jewish,” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth.

Cyrus freezes and attempts to speak, but he stumbles over his words.

“My family’s not really religious,” T.J. explains, “But I would be willing to convert for Cyrus.”

Cyrus’s heart flutters for a second before he reminds himself that this is not real. It’s all for the sake of their scheme. And T.J.’s statement seems to have served its purpose because his Aunt smiles and lets out a small laugh.

The rest of the party is easeful. Cyrus grows more comfortable with the casual touches between them and even begins to initiate his own. Getting the approval of his Aunt was truly an accomplishment, and Cyrus knows the comfortable swag of his best friend is enough to win anyone over when he’s not terrorizing people.

—————

When the party is dying down, T.J. and Cyrus find a quiet spot to get away from the crowd. They sit on a bench in a part of the backyard that isn’t infested with flies. When they sit down, T.J. rests his arm across the bench behind him. Cyrus doesn’t think it’s necessary when there’s no one around, but he is definitely not going to complain.

“You are a fantastic fake boyfriend,” Cyrus says. “You even won over Aunt Ruthie! She doesn’t like anyone.”

“What can I say?” T.J. says with a smug smile. “No one can resist my undeniable charm.”

Cyrus smiles, but he definitely agrees with the boy’s statement. A thick silence passes over them. T.J. shifts in his seat. He removes his hand from behind Cyrus, who tries not to be too disappointed by that, and begins to fumble with his hands.

“Cy,” T.J. says. His voice is soft and unsure. He can’t seem to look up from his hands in his lap. “Today was a really nice day.”

“I thought so, too,” Cyrus says with a smile. His heart flutters from T.J.’s vulnerability. T.J. removes his hand from behind Cyrus and places it in his lap. Cyrus notices a shift in his mood. He seems nervous. Unsettled. Cyrus is about to ask if he’s okay before T.J. speaks.

“Am I crazy to, maybe, want to do it for real?” T.J. whispers. Cyrus’s heart nearly stops. He looks over at T.J. who’s eyes are focused only on his hands. He smiles, frozen with surprise.

“No,” he says, “Because then we’d both be crazy.”

T.J.’s eyes slowly meet Cyrus’s to search for any sign of deception. When he finds sincerity, T.J.’s face breaks into a wide, bashful smile. His eyes full of love and joy.

“Can I kiss you?” T.J. asks.

Cyrus answers with a nod before leaning forward to connect his lips with T.J.’s. It’s a short kiss, but it’s already a hundred times better than the two he shared with Iris. His eyes meet T.J.’s, who looks like his whole life was made. Cyrus finds it intoxicating that he can have this effect on others, especially on T.J. His cheeks heat up and he ducks his head to burrow it into T.J.’s chest. He feels T.J.’s arm wrap around him.

“We have to leave soon,” Cyrus says, his voice muffled by T.J.’s shirt.

“I don’t want this night to end,” T.J. says, tightening his grip on Cyrus.

“Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty more nights like this,” Cyrus promises.

The smile that overtakes T.J.’s face is the most brilliant sight that Cyrus has ever seen, and Cyrus can’t believe he gets to kiss that face now.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Fifty-Six: Don’t Go There ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Hiashi, Uchiha Itachi, Tsunade, Hyūga Hanabi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Well, this...isn’t at all how she thought this would go.

This morning, Hinata was driven to the hospital by her father for a rather rudimentary procedure. Once a person turns sixteen, they’re of the legal age to have a piece of technology implanted into their wrist. Said to be a strange mix of science, astrology, and other...interesting methods, it’s proclaimed to be able to count down to the moment a person will meet the one they’re the most compatible with.

In other words...a soulmate.

Hinata, personally, has never put much stock in it. While records do show that divorce rates have fallen in the past few decades the devices have been around, it’s not shown to be perfect, either. Though she’s a romantic at heart (and part of her really does want it to be real), the skeptic in her just can’t quite accept that something based on such questionable evidence could ever be accurate.

But her father insisted she have the surgery done. And so, the morning of her sixteenth birthday, she had it implanted.

She’s now on her way home, the tech wrapped and hidden under gauze. And much to her chagrin, she’s being escorted out via wheelchair. Something about the anesthetic making it possible she could fall. Which is silly. She feels fine!

But it’s when she, her father, and the nurse pushing her chair make to step up to the elevator that the unexpected happens.

Barely in a handful of hours...her timer begins to beep.

And beyond the lift doors, so does someone else’s.

Everyone involved has frozen, save for one. A man in a wheelchair much like herself just seems lightly amused, smiling as the teen boy behind him and pushing his ride gawks at his blaring timer.

Beyond him, it’s Hiashi that reacts first. Though she really has no idea what she expected him to do, given how absolutely unexpected this is...getting angry isn’t what she’d have guessed.

Bristling, the man steps out in front of his daughter, the nurse wheeling her back in surprise. “What is the meaning of this?!”

The chair-bound man blinks. “...I believe this is the function of timers, is it not? To count down to a person’s supposed fated meeting of a soulmate?”

“My daughter just had hers implanted -!”

“Then I suppose that makes her a bit of a statistical miracle. From what I understand, that’s a very rare occurrence.”

As though mulling that over, Hiashi then rounds on the nurse. “Explain this!”

“Sir, I...I have no idea. In all my years working here, we’ve never had something like this happen! It’s...certainly possible. But very unlikely. It seems the young lady and young man are -”

“Don’t...go there,” he cuts in, tone icy. “My daughter is sixteen. That’s far too young to be entertaining the idea of a soulmate.”

Behind him, the seated man perks a brow. “...and yet you knew it was a possibility, given that she’s had it implanted at said age. Sasuke too is only sixteen. Has been only for a few months. But there’s no written rule saying they must now immediately wed. It’s just a knowing.”

“That is...not my point!” Hiashi stutters, clearly unsure how to make his argument, given his conflicting ideals.

“Dad, I -”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“Sir, I think maybe we should all go sit, and -”

“No! I am taking my daughter home. And you -” he then spits, pointing at the one previously called Sasuke, “are to stay far away from her!”

“Dad!” Hinata cuts in, unable to take his attitude any longer, timid or not. “Don’t t-talk to him that way, you don’t even know him!”

“Don’t you talk back to me, young lady -!”

“What on earth is going on?!”

Storming down the hall, a blond woman of short and stout stature glares amber daggers at Hiashi. “I won’t have this nonsense in my hospital!”

The nurse tries to explain. “Doctor Senju, I’m so sorry - we had a bit of an incident, and -?”

“My daughter hasn’t had her timer for three hours, and she’s already been declared a match!” Hiashi cuts in, clearly trying to intimidate said doctor with his taller height.

Hinata just does her best to shrink in her chair, utterly ashamed at his behavior.

Hands on her hips, Senju doesn’t bat an eye at his posturing. “That’s not my problem, my nurse’s problem, or my hospital’s problem. If you want to make a ruckus, take it outside! I’ll throw you out myself before I let your conduct ruin the calm in this place of healing, am I understood?!”

Looking ready to explode, Hiashi demands, “Then let us go. Your nurse can entrust the chair to me. We are leaving.”

“But Dad -!”

“No buts!”

Meanwhile, the pair in the elevator have nowhere to go. Sasuke just stares, dumbfounded. His brother now looks wholly unamused.

“Excuse us,” Hiashi growls, pushing Hinata in as Sasuke scrambles to get out.

Heart racing and feeling desperate, Hinata calls, “I’m Hinata Hyūga! What’s your name?”

“Hinata, don’t -!”

“...Sasuke Uchiha!” he manages to reply, a bit too shocked for a moment.

The doors then close, and Hiashi rails on his daughter. “What are you doing?!”

“I w-wanted to know his name!” she retorts. “I should at l-least get that much, since you’re being so, so...obstinate!”

“Obstinate?!”

“The nurse was right! It’s always a possibility, and s-some people meet their soulmate even younger, before they can get the timer! Getting mad at me because y-you don’t like it, despite forcing me into it, is ridiculous!”

Hiashi goes deathly quiet. Neither of his daughters have ever dared spoken back to him like this...let alone in a way that proves he’s in the wrong.

His pride won’t stand for it.

“...I forbid you from seeing that boy,” he then demands. “Not until you’re eighteen.”

“Fine! The o-only reason I know is because you m-made me do this!”

“One more word with that tone out of your mouth, and the consequences will be dire, Hinata. Not another sound.”

Though hardly the sort to get mad, Hinata seethes, completely at a loss of how unfair this all is. Sasuke getting yelled at when he had no idea what was going on...her father being a raging hypocrite...and she never even wanted this in the first place! Now she’s in trouble because Hiashi refused to consider the very real possibilities?!

...still, she reins in her temper. As upset as she is, she doesn’t want to risk having anything taken away...especially her phone or her computer.

She knows his name. Knows what he looks like. Her father is just dated enough he doesn’t yet realize that she has ways to work around his ‘no meeting Sasuke’ rule. She doesn’t have to see him face to face to text him, or facetime him.

So long as she plays it cool...she can still make this work.

The car ride home is spent in bitter silence, Hinata staring out the window and doing her best to still act sore to hide her intentions. If he puzzles out that she has a plan, he’ll stop her.

“Go to your room, and remain there until dinner is ready. I want you to think about how you disrespected me, and ensure you never do so again. Am I understood?”

“...yes, Dad.”

Hanabi is lounging on a couch when they come in, watching awkwardly as she immediately notices the tension. As Hiashi starts banging things around in the kitchen, she sneaks around to the upstairs where her and her sister’s rooms are located.

“...‘nata…?”

“Come in, Hanabi.”

Peering through a crack, the younger sister then bounds in, confusion written all over her face. “What the hell happened?”

“Language, Hanabi…”

“I haven’t seen Dad that mad in...in...forever!”

Sighing, Hinata explains as briefly as she can, shushing her sister as she gasps.

“That fast?!”

“Yeah. And Dad was furious.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m too young.”

Brow furrowed and eyes flickering between Hinata’s, Hanabi considers that for a long moment. “...but you’re of age to get it.”

“That’s what I said, and he got mad. I guess he never expected it, but...it can happen. And now he’s mad at m-me for his own miscalculation. I didn’t even w-want the stupid thing…”

“Wow...man, Hinata I’m sorry.”

“...it’s fine. He’ll get over it.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Mhm.”

“...sooo…?”

Hinata glances to her door, wary of being overheard and her plan ousted. “...don’t mention anything to him, okay?”

“I won’t, I won’t!”

“Thank you.”

Hanabi then sighs, glancing aside and clearly thinking. “...I’m sorry, Hinata.”

“Don’t be. It’s n-not your fault.”

“I know, but...jeez!”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll just keep pretending, and...he doesn’t have to be the wiser. Just remember, don’t say anything.”

“Dude, I’m the best at keeping secrets, don’t worry!”

“All right...well, you better leave before he gets any angrier.”

“Are you gonna try to message him today?”

“After dinner.”

“Man, I hope he’s cool…”

Hinata can’t help a short snort. “Yeah...m-me too.”

Half an hour later, Hiashi calls them both down for a rather tense and awkward dinner, no one really talking. Even Hanabi chews quietly, eyes flickering between her father and sister.

“...do you have any homework to do tonight?” Hiashi eventually asks.

“No...I got it all done early.”

“Good. Back to school for you tomorrow.”

“...yes, Dad.”

Once dishes are done and everyone retreated to their corners, Hinata begins her digging. Social media is her first stop. He doesn’t have a Facebook, or at least not one she can find. But she finds him on Twitter.

“...all right, Sasuke...time to say a proper hello,” she murmurs, clicking to follow him.

To her surprise, it takes all of five minutes for him to do so back. And less than a minute after that to DM her.

“Hey...are you really the girl from the hospital this morning?”

“Yeah...that’s me. Look, um...I’m so sorry about my dad. He was so rude to you…”

“I mean...yeah. But hey, it was a really weird situation. You okay?”

“I’m fine. Got yelled at but otherwise fine.”

“Does he know you’re talking to me…?”

“Oh gosh, no. He’d ground me into the next century. I just...wanted to say a proper hello. This is...weird, isn’t it?”

“...kinda, yeah. To be honest, I haven’t really been thinking about my timer. I knew I only had a few months when I got it, but...I lost track of time helping take care of my brother.”

“Oh, that was your brother?”

“Yeah...he has an autoimmune condition.”

“...I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right. He’s doing pretty well with medication and stuff. We were on our way for an infusion when we uh...ran into you guys.”

“And then my dad ruined it...I’m so sorry. I hope you weren’t late?”

“A little. Man, that doctor was PISSED.”

“I bet…”

“She got it all ironed out though, and my bro got his meds. We’re home now and just kinda chilling. It’s always a rough few days after an infusion.”

“Oh...well, tell him I hope he feels better soon. What’s his name?”

“I will. And it’s Itachi.”

For another hour, Hinata just...talks to him. It’s funny. They’re strangers, and she’s usually so shy, but...for some reason, she feels totally comfortable. Part of her blames the timers, but...well, maybe there is something to it.

“Well, I better head off and get my homework done. But hey, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay! Good luck with your work.”

“Thanks. Maybe after a while we could like...meet up or something? Since uh...our first run-in wasn’t very...great.”

At that, she bites her lip. “...maybe. Not that I’m against it! I mean I’d like to talk a lot more first, but...my dad said I couldn’t see you.”

“Oh...well, shit.”

“...let’s just...give it a while. Let him cool off, and get to know each other more. Then maybe I can have my friends help sneak me out. You know, just so happen to run into you while we’re like...at the mall or something.”

“Ooh, sneaky...I like it. Sounds good. But yeah, I don’t mean to come off as an eager freak. My bad.”

“Oh, no no! I know what you mean, I’m really curious too. And I feel bad about today...but best to just like...take things slow and easy, right?”

“Yeah, cool. Guess I’ll chat with you tomorrow, then.”

“Mhm! Goodnight, Sasuke.”

“Night.”

Glancing to her clock, Hinata finds it rather late...and after almost no sleep last night, she decides to call it a day. Readying for bed and bidding the others goodnight, she slips into bed, mind once again full...but in a good way this time. She doesn’t want to rely too much on the notion of a soulmate. After all, she still has no idea who this Sasuke is, what he’s like...best to be careful. Just in case.

...but for now, she’ll let herself dream about when they’ll meet. Properly this time.

                                                            .oOo.

     Okay, more of the soulmate AU! This one kinda blew up compared to normal, so I wanted to get another part out as soon as I could! I might also be able to do ANOTHER part tomorrow, looking at my prompt list...I guess if you guys want that, let me know? xD      I am very quickly liking this AU, lol - as I said, never done a soulmate AU before. It's neat! While I don't like this one QUITE as much as yesterday's (mostly, I will admit, because of Itachi's line at the end xD), it makes for a good segue, and has Hiashi's jerk reaction. Some verses I like to redeem his behavior. This is not one of those times, haha!      Anyway, I gotta head to bed now, so that's all for now. Thanks so much for reading!

[wydmariana]

well hellooooo beautiful people !!  my name’s dani, i’m one of the admins on the main! i’m 20, i’m from toronto & i also play the hailey fc alanna !! i’m so fkn excited to have wealthy back up & running and to bring my baby mariana back ! she’s the same old girl and if you don’t know anything about her...everything u need is under the read more ! i rly need all the connections rn so like this & i’ll hit you up for plots !!!!

❛ new york’s very own mariana cavello was spotted on broadway street in  christian louboutin’s. your resemblance to selena gomez is unreal. according to tmz, you just had your twenty-third birthday bash. while living in new york, you’ve been labeled as being reticent, but also quixotic. i guess being a gemini explains that. three things that would paint a better picture of you would be fishnets, tequila shots, notebooks filled with lyrics. & ( cisfemale & she/her ) + ( dani, 20, she/her, est )

☇   ❪    ˚･ﾟ ❛ STATISTICS :

full name: mariana marisol cavello

nickname(s): mari

age: twenty three

date of birth: june 4th

hometown: new york city

current location: upper east side, new york city

ethnicity: half mexican

nationality: american

gender: cisfemale

pronouns: she/her

parents names: tanner hastings, liliana cavello

orientation: pansexual but she doesn’t like labels

religion: grew up catholic, undecided

political affiliation: democrat

occupation: singer/songwriter

living arrangements: lives in her own mansion in the upper east side

language(s) spoken: english, spanish

accent: american

face claim: selena gomez

hair colour: x (most basic/accurate/but it changes)

eye colour: brown

height: 5″5

weight: 120lbs

build: petite

tattoos: mostly selena’s canon, but x instead of the music note

piercings: x (both ears)

drugs/alcohol/sex: yes/yes/yes

pets: one cat, 5 years old, named sergio - x

astrological chart: gemini sun, cancer moon, scorpio rising

☇   ❪    ˚･ﾟ ❛  BACKSTORY/CURRENT :

mariana was born to tanner cavello (famous hotel owner, entrepreneur, multimillionaire, been on forbes, think bart bass) & lilliana cavello (hispanic model/socialite)

her parents marriage was very much settling, the two of them cared about each other & were excited to start their life together in effort to please their parents and keep their images pristine

they were quick to fall out of love though, if you could say they were even ever in it

once mariana and her brother became teenagers, their dad started having affairs with his employes, the hot, young ones of course. & their mom found out, but confided in a 16 year old mariana about her father’s actions

( sexual abuse tw ) this infuriated mariana, especially considering the hours she would spend waiting outside her father’s office doing homework while his business partners molested her in the empty conference room starting at the age of 14

she never told anyone about it, although she knew her father had known the whole time, remembering how many times he’d interrupt it by summoning his partners for work or a meeting

mariana began absolutely hating her father, while still yearning for his approval, & this went on for 4 years until she turned 18 and got revenge by sleeping with one of her dad’s business partners & allowing his wife to find out

so his wife threatened to tell the media about this little scandal, unless mari’s dad paid them off, which is exactly what he did but not before taking his anger out on mariana & blaming her for the whole mess

she has barely talked to her dad since & moved out right as that whole situation went down. she does her best to avoid family gatherings, doesn’t visit the house to see her parents too often. she does have weekly phone calls with her mom & tries to see her as often as she can, no matter how much she resents her

she got into the party scene around 17/18 as well, and became new york’s resident “wild child rich kid/socialite” in her teen years, so she has that reputation in the media still to this day

her parents have been rich as fuck since the day she was born, so she’s definitely a spoiled brat, never worked a day in her life, had daddy’s credit card whenever she needed it

music had always been a passion of hers though, being her favorite class in school(on days when she would actually attend)

so when she was 20, she started getting back into writing, sold a couple of her songs to artists like zendaya, the weeknd, etc

when she turned 21 she released her first single & album within the same year, began touring, and got to the top of the charts almost right away & gained a huge fanbase, whom she loves

she’s now 23 and has two studio albums out !! she’s v successful and happy w her music <3 she releases things very sporadically & im probs gonna  release random selena songs along with other voice claims maybe IDKDKKD hope yall dont mind  my  messy ass kskffsk

she works hard though, & loves writing and releasing music now and never wants to stop. it’s truly the thing that makes her most happy in the entire world and keeps her sane

☇   ❪    ˚･ﾟ ❛  PERSONALITY  :

mariana can be a brat, to put it simply. she thinks she’s always right about everything & it’s rare you’re ever gonna get an apology from her when she’s done something wrong (unless she really cares about you which….)

she’s lowkey a softie, bc of her cancer moon tbh. she tends to get herself into relationships and then mess them up for the sake of it or because she stops trusting herself to be in the relationship at all

but when she loves someone, she LOVES them, like w every fibre in her body u know?

and she cares fiercely about people, it ends up being a problem for her a lot of the time

she hasn’t worked through her trauma & probably never will, she bottles that shit up tight & doesn’t let anybody know it’s there. the only way she’s ever opening up is if she’s writing, cause she wants that shit to be real

but she’s still gonna hoe it up, catch her in the club trying to get some dick for the night, u know what i mean?

super depressed if we’re being real here. she’s sad, and she has abandonment issues because of her dad. so her mindset is- there’s no forming attachments, because everyone leaves me anyway

( drugs tw ) she loves cocaine, is most definitely an addict (but who isn’t in this city), tequila is her alcohol of choice, but she’ll drink anything you give her & weed is her creative saving grace

she started popping pain pills on her 21st birthday, opioids occasionally & mostly xanax, stuff like that, is most definitely also addicted to those

we love a bitch who doesn’t care about her health!

her management team frowns upon it, but she does smoke cigarettes pretty often, but mostly only when she’s stressed

mariana’s the type of bitch to call the paparazzi on herself, she loves attention. but with her music career now it’s been 10x harder for her to keep her life private, not that she cares. but at least she doesn’t have to call the paps on herself anymore lol

she thinks it’s important to treat people w kindness and respect, but no doubt she’ll be ready to fight a b*tch if she has to…

catch her at any protest that involves saying “fuck you trump”

her instagram is a big mix of stories of her cat, dumb selfies, ig model posts, her friends, career stuff & political posts. she’s very active on the gram & snapchat lol

honestly thank U for reading this trash if u didnt…i understand. catch her pinterest board for more here & i have a wanted connections page here ! ok bye i love u, plot w me <3

[lukescaboose]

Best Friend’s Brother (Nerdy Calum)

Gif isn’t mine. This is based off of this request . Hope I got this right for you! Hope you guys enjoy this super long fic!! xx

Warnings: Smut

Word count: 6462

I tapped my pencil against the desk, boredom overcoming me even though the lecture had just started. Something about physics just seemed to lull me to sleep. The talk of velocities and forces made me want to wring my neck. Val, my best friend, kicks my leg under the table when the tapping becomes incessant, visibly annoying my peers around me. I stopped, though I couldn’t care less if they were annoyed or not, and began to doodle on through my notebook, where my physics notes should be.

“Come over later.” Val whispered beside me and I nodded without even bothering to think about all the shit I had to do later. I could put it off for her, I’d much rather be doing nothing with her than doing any type of actual work. My priorities were seriously slipping this semester. The lecture dragged on, the hall becoming colder and colder the longer we sat here. You’d think that they’d cut the air conditioning off in the middle of February, but apparently not.

My day carried on much like this morning, drab and cold. I only perked up when it was time for my art class, a class I could tolerate. I loved to draw and paint, but doing it for a grade was a completely different story. I was in my element nonetheless, working on a piece that was due by the end of the semester. I was more focused on hanging out with Val later than my project itself, my mind wandering to all the things I needed to spill to her about Jacob, the guy I’ve been eyeing for a while. He’d caught my eye in my statistics class a few months back, and then again in my journalism elective. I’d never had the balls to properly talk to him about anything besides class, but I was getting there. I’d heard some things about him over the weekend though and I could wait to tell Val.

The day followed as it had started and I didn’t bother to look for Val on campus after my last class. I found my car, fighting against the cold weather, and drove to her house. She wasn’t home when I got there, I sigh and exit my car hoping that someone would let me in. I knocked feverishly, my legs shaking with the cold. The cold air nips unforgivingly at my skin as I wait. Just when I’m about the head back to my car, the door swings open and I walk inside, saving the greeting for when I’m warm. Calum, Val’s adopted brother, cocks his head to the side at the sight of me, his glasses dropping low on his nose as he does so. “Val isn’t here.” He mumbles, hands curled up in his sweater. I nodded. “I know, but she will be soon so I’ll just wait for her.” I say, making my way to the couch. He shuts the door without another word and disappears up the stairs, probably to bury his nose in a book or something.

I watched him climb the stairs from my position on the couch, his shoulders seeming broader under his sweater. I’d never shared much conversation with Calum, he was always reading or playing a video game. When he did talk it was more of a stammer, getting the words out quickly so he could leave. As long as I’ve known him he’s had one girlfriend, which didn’t last more than three months. He was quiet, only talking to her, but she was not. I’d talked to her on occasion when she was around, and Calum would let us see her, she mostly stayed cooped in his room. I found myself wondering why they broke it off. Calum was cute, really cute. He had a soft smile and kind eyes, and was practically harmless. He loved dogs, Val’s dog only stayed by his side. From what I could gather Cal was a cool guy, just super quiet and rather nerdy. He was the same age as Val and I, Val’s parents wanted her to have a sibling after finding out they couldn’t bare anymore children naturally.

I hadn’t even noticed Val walking into the room, throwing her backpack down and plopping down onto the couch with a huff. “Y/N!” She said loudly, pulling me out of my gaze of the stairs. I jumped, turning to her quickly, taking in her appearance as she stared at me. Her hair was frazzled from the wind, her cheeks tinged pink from the cold. She looked like some sort of ice princess, just disheveled. “H-Hey! I didn’t hear you come in.” I stuttered, clutching my heart from the fright she’d given me. Her laugh was visible in her chest, the booming sound instantly bringing a smile to my face. “I know, you were totally spaced. What’d you have to spill to me?” She questions, excitement filling her eyes. My eyes light up as well, every ounce of juicy gossip floods into my mind at once.

I turned my bottom so I’m facing her, my legs under me and my hand on her knees. “I heard he -“ I started, but was interrupted by the sound of Calum walking down the stairs. His footsteps were heavier than normal, purposeful. Val and I’s heads turned in the direction of the sound. He had on the same hoodie as before, but with sneakers this time.

“Where are you going?” Val asked. Cal’s head shot up, his eyes locking with hers. “Did I interrupt something?” He questions back. His brown eyes wander over to mine, my mouth is agape, the words I was ready to say still on the tip of my tongue. “No. I mean kinda - but it’s fine.” I fumbled, my expression bewildered. The awkward boy fiddled with his fingers, and Val cocks her head when he turns to leave again. “So, you’re not gonna tell me where you’re going?” She asks again and he stops, his hand on the doorknob. “We’re the same age Val, I never ask you where you’re going.” He mumbles, kicking at the floor out of nervousness. I hit Val’s knee in response, Calum’s shyness suddenly making me protective of him. “Leave him be.” I hiss even though I too was curious to know where he was going. Calum looks at me then, an appreciative smirk tugging at his lips. I smile softly in return and he’s out the door without another word.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Val says annoyed. I bite at my lip nervously, moving away from her slightly. “I’m just saying Val, it’s not like he’s your little brother or anything. You guys are the same age, it’s-“ I stammer. “He’s still my brother. My nerdy, socially inept brother.” She huffs, running her fingers through her messy hair. I didn’t say anything else after that. Val furiously typed on her phone, and I picked at my fingernails. All the things I had to tell her about Jacob seemed unimportant now. She was upset about Calum for some reason. To me, he was perfectly capable of leaving the house when he pleased. He wasn’t an idiot, smartest person I’ve met actually. He has a license and a car. And trouble really didn’t seem to be Calum’s thing. Val was harder on him than her parents were and it always amazed me. Calum was more capable than Val in my eyes.

“He’s not gonna answer you.” I muttered as she typed more messages to Calum, each of them on the lines of ‘where are you’ and ‘come home’. “You text him, he’ll answer you.” She pleaded, her eyes filled with worry. “What’s wrong, Val? Why are you so worried about this?” I shrugged, moving my phone out of her reach. She waved me off with a grumble, her eyes on her phone again. I sighed and found Calum’s contact that I had for a paper I needed back in high school. Assuming it hadn’t changed a typed the message. Hey Cal, its Y/N. Val is worried about you, where’d you go? I felt so weird, texting him something like that. He wasn’t a kid and quite frankly, it wasn’t any of my business. He answered almost immediately, much to my surprise. Don’t tell her, she’s such a snoop. I’ll be home in 15. It was vague, but enough for me, I couldn’t be bothered either way. “He’s fine, Val.” I sighed, gathering my things. Her head swiveled towards me, watching as I shoved my charger back into my bag. “Where are you going now, I thought we were hanging out? And did he say where he went?” She groaned. “I’m going to your room, and no he didn't say.” I lugged my things up the stairs, leaving Val on the couch typing at her phone still. I sighed and laid across her bed, which had become mine as well over the years.

I flicked through the channels for a while, watching bits and pieces of rerun episodes that were airing. Val never came up but I didn’t mind, especially since she was in such a mood about Calum. Calum came back in fifteen minutes, like he’d promised, but that didn’t make Val feel any better. I could hear them arguing downstairs for a while. And then I heard footsteps come up the stairs. I’d been praying they weren’t Val’s, I wasn’t in the mood to hear her complain. I was relieved when I heard the door across the hall slam, Calum behind it. But then, I heard the front door slam and I guessed Val had left to cool off. That was about twenty minutes ago, and Val had texted me to not wait for her. She’d said she was going to James’ and I could sleep in her bed if I wanted because she wasn’t coming home. I didn’t mind staying here without her, I actually preferred it. Her bed was larger and much more comfortable than my own.

I sighed and grabbed some of my books out of my bag. I figured I might as well do some homework while I’m here. I looked hard at physics problems, wishing I had paid attention and taken down some notes. I groaned loudly in frustration, pushing the book away from me after a while of staring and contemplating how to do the stupid problems. The more I tried, the less I understood. All the numbers were jumbled in my head along with the formulas, none of them making any sense. There was a soft knock on the door then, it opened slightly, Calum poking his brown hair through. “Are you alright? I heard you from across the hall.” He softly spoke, his eyes wandering over the mess of books and crumpled paper on his sister’s bed. I ran my hands over my face in exhaustion as I shook my head. “It’s physics, can’t understand it for the life of me. And my professor is so boring, I couldn’t listen if I tried.” I huffed. Calum chuckled, pushing the door open more to come inside. He leaned against the dresser that was adjacent to the bed, and crossed his arms over his chest. His hoodie was gone now, he wore a black t-shirt and I couldn’t help but admire how nice his arms looked, especially his tattoos. “I could help if you want, I’m rather good. Ahead in the course and everything.” He offered, his voice teetering off into a whisper at the end. He was extremely smart, but modest about his studies. He didn’t like to boast or brag, but he was well aware of his capabilities. I nodded frantically, shoving the books in his direction. “Would you please. I mean, if it wouldn’t be too much. It’s just, I’m not gonna pass this class without some sort of help.” My voice sounds desperate as I plead, and a small smile adorns Calum’s handsome face as he nods in agreement. He moves the papers and books and makes room for himself next to me on his sister’s bed. “So you’re doing forces I see.” He mutters to himself. I nod. I can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and his scent is somewhat intoxicating. A part of me wants to move closer to him, feel him, but then I remember that this is Calum and that’ll never happen. I found myself wondering what’d it be like to be with Calum instead of listening to him talk about velocities and directions. I couldn’t help but watch his plump lips as he spoke, slowly now, confident in what he was talking about. I nodded along as he pointed out different formulas and shortcuts on the reference table I’d been too dumb to look at. Calum was captivating to watch and it had just become that much harder to learn anything about physics.

“You’re pretty good at this.” I remarked after he’d walked me through yet another problem. He shrugs in response, writing down some more notes for me to read later in my notebook. I tried the next problem by myself, getting stuck a lot less than before, but Calum was quick to correct my mistakes. He was patient and super kind. He didn’t make me feel like an idiot for not understanding the stuff that seemed so easy to him. “You’re getting better at this. Some more practice and you’ll ace this semester.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the sides. I smiled back widely, unable to keep it from growing once I saw his. “Let’s just focus on this unit for now.” I chuckled. He nods in agreement a small laugh tumbling from his lips.

“Why’d Val get so upset earlier?” I ask moments later. My pen cap is in my mouth as I await his answer. I didn’t know if I could talk about things like this with Calum, but I really wanted to know. And besides, I could only talk about physics for so long. “I don’t know, she gets like that sometimes.” He shrugs and I sigh. “She gets like that alot lately.” I flip the page of the textbook and I can feel Calum’s eyes watching me as I write down some notes. “She’s Val.” He concludes, moving a bit closer to me to reach for a book. I close my eyes, my skin warming as he touches me slightly. “I’m quite bored of this. Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I offer, partly because I am sick of doing homework and also because I need an excuse to get closer to Calum. He nods, closing the book in his lap and stacking it with the ones in front of him. “Would you mind if we went in my room though? My TV is bigger.”  He proposes and I nod, a flutter in my stomach makes me weary, but I ignore it. Calum was cool and his company was refreshing. We didn’t have to talk about friends and gossip. We could just sit in silence with the occasional question and it was fine. Talking too much was exhausting.

I clean my things off Val’s bed with Calum’s help. I shoved everything back into my backpack before following Calum into his room, a place I’d never been before. In all the years I’ve known them, 14 to be exact, I’d only seen Calums room from the door of Val’s. I looked around as I sat on the large bed that was pushed against the wall. The room was decorated with band posters, and a couple of bass guitar’s lined a wall. I’d heard him play through the walls a couple of times, he was pretty good. Stacks of video games lined the shelves of his entertainment center, beneath the TV. He was right, his Tv was considerably larger than Val’s - probably to enhance his videogame experience and such. Overall his room was neat and smelled like him. His bedspread was plain, and a little disheveled from him laying on it. He sat against the wall and I followed suit, pulling his throw blanket over my legs. “So, what do you wanna watch?” He asks, flicking through the selection with his remote. I shrug in indifference. “You choose, we’ll be here all day if you let me.” I laugh shortly, pulling my legs closer to my chest. He moved closer to me then, tugging the blanket over his long legs. 

My head was dizzy as his shoulder brushes against mine. He flicks through the romance category before settling on a title I didn’t recognize, “Oh, you’ll love this.” He smiles, clicking the screen for it to play. He reaches up the wall to flick off his bedroom light and the darkness surrounds us.  I lean slightly into him and he doesn’t seem to mind, his dark eyes are fixed in the screen. I can’t seem to focus on the movie with Calum sitting so close to me. I could only focus on how his muscles strained under his shirt, and the steadiness of his breathing. I admired how he laughed when something would happen in the movie. The more we sat there, the more I wanted to climb on top of him and make out with him. My eyes discreetly travel to his jaw, enticed by the sharpness of his features.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asks. My face heats in embarrassment and I nod swiftly. A chuckle leaves his lips and he shakes his head. “What?” I question, my defensive side rising. “Nothing.” He shrugs, his lips still tugged in a smirk. I frown at him, wanting to know what the hell he was thinking about. This was odd for Calum to be so smug, usually he was the one with rosy cheeks. I couldn’t tell if he was beginning to be more comfortable with me, or if the whole nervous boy thing was an act. Either way I was fine with him loosening up around me, I really do think we could be friends. He pulls more of the blanket toward him, sliding it off of my legs. The cold air bites at my skin, Val’s sleep shorts were the only thing I could find that were big enough to fit me. “Cal, don’t be a such a hog.” I groan, pulling the blanket back towards me. He laughs again, the sound is teasing and playful, I instantly want to hear it again. “Come closer then.” He chides. My stomach twists as I move closer, his arm wrapping around my body nonchalantly. I can see a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, how slick. Calum isn’t as innocent as I thought.

Playing along, I rest my hand on his stomach, feeling his muscles tighten at my touch. I feel as if I’m on fire, my head is snuggled into his chest, his arm around me. It felt so wrong. This was Calum. Val’s brother, who she was so protective over. If she knew about this she’d flip out, as harmless as it was. “Is it okay that were so close?” He hums, his chest rising and falling with each breath. I can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s fine.” I reply, gently rubbing my hand over his abdomen. “Good.” His fingers run up my back lightly, and my breath hitches which only makes him chuckle. Shy Calum Hood was making me nervous, something I’d thought could never happen. My head stays tucked under his chin for the remainder of the movie and all I can think about is kissing at his jaw, and leaving hickies down his throat. I imagine his hand that’s at my side, gripping my ass through Val’s shorts as I suck at his neck. Boldly, I slip my hand underneath his shirt, feeling at his taut muscles. His skin is hot and he doesn’t stop me as I feel him. His hand grips at my side in response, fingers toying at the hem of my shirt. He groans lowly when I graze over a specific spot, adjusting his position and then clearing his throat. “Are you alright?” I ask, moving my head away from his neck to meet his eyes innocently.

He nods curtly, his head tilting down to mine. Our faces are close, his forehead barely pressed against my own. “Are you alright?” He breathes. “Uh huh.” I respond, my eyes gazing over his face. The light from the Tv washes over his face, casting a glow in the darkness. His lips are plump and irresistibly close to my own, making it extremely difficult to keep my eyes on his. He moves in closer, his nose brushing against mine slightly. His eyes are still locked on mine and mine on his, “What would you do if I kissed you?” His words startled me, my head was focused on his next move. “What?” I stuttered. “I don’t know, Cal. Why don’t you find out?” I propose, quickly recovering from his — rather odd — question. He smiles then, a breathy laugh tumbling from his lips. Lips that I wanted to feel on my own. “Just had to ask, love.” He hums and closes the space between us.

His kiss is soft at first, slow, and new. His hand that isn’t on my waist cups my face, holding me to him, as if he’s afraid that I’ll stop him. I tilt my head and he’s slightly hovering over me, pulling me into his chest. My fingers, still under his shirt, scratch at his skin. He moans into my mouth, his grip on me tightening. My mouth opens wider against his, my head spinning from the feeling of his lips on my own. He sucks at my bottom lip, causing me to moan, before pulling away breathlessly. His forehead rests on my own and I open my eyes to see his still closed. His lips curve up in a smile, his nose brushing against mine. “You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” He whispers. My mind is confused at his words, how long had it been? I would’ve caught that Cal liked me, wouldn’t I? I was always staring at him so when could he have had the time to look back. He was always stammering through sentences and locking himself in his room.

“Really?” I ask, my tone showing my confusion. He nods and pushes his lips to mine again. “Felt like forever.” He hums, kissing at the side of my mouth and to my jaw. “Even when I was dating Lena. Kept thinking I could get over you.” My breath hitches when he sucks right under my chin, my mind whirling with this new information. “W-Why didn’t you say anything?” The words are breathy as they fall from my lips. I wanted nothing more than to just succumb to his touch, but I needed to know. “Thought you thought I was just ‘Val’s nerdy brother’. But today, when she left and you stuck up for me...I just had to go for it.” He smiles softly at the end. I smile back at him, wishing I knew this information earlier. I was always wishing that he would just talk to me, notice me. But he never did so my crush for him kind of died when we left high school. I just figured that I was nothing more than Val’s friend to him.

I press my lips back to his, my hands holding his face close to my own. His grasp at my hips, pulling me impossibly closer to him. The blanket is lost between us as I straddle his waist, our chests pressed together. “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this.” He whispers against my lips. A fire ignites in my stomach at his words, I want to know. I want to know how many times he’s thought of me, how many times he wished I was with him. “Tell me, Cal.” I murmur and pressed small kisses to his warm cheeks. “When you’re across the hall in Val’s room, I think about going in there, making you come to bed with me, holding you till you fall asleep in my arms.” His fingers laced through my hair, pulling slightly, making me gasp. “Tell me more.” I gush. I can feel him stirring in his sweats beneath me and I want to please him, I want to fulfill every fantasy he’s ever had about me. “I think about kissing you, and my name name tumbling from your lips when I do something you like. I think about...touching you.” He trails off, his fingers tracing hot marks across my skin.

I lick a bold stripe up his neck before sucking underneath his jaw, making him moan. “Tell me, Cal. Do you think about me to get off?” I hotly whisper when my lips reach his again. He shifts beneath me, his erection growing. I can feel his chest rising and falling quicker against mine, and I’m almost giddy as I wait for his answer. “Always, babygirl.” His voice is deeper, strained. I look into his dark eyes then, the Tv light casting against his features. His eyes search mine as he pushes himself up against me, the thin fabric of my shorts not doing much to keep me from feeling the outline of his cock. My breathing is labored as I push back against him, grinding harder than he could. He pulls in a breath through his teeth, his grip on my waist tightening. “Tell me what you want.” I rasp against the shell of his ear, kissing at the skin. His hands are under my shirt now, goosebumps crawl on my skin at his touch. “I want you naked underneath me, moaning my name as I fuck you. I want to feel your mouth around my cock, taking me as deep as you can.” He confesses and my breath hitches. I wasn’t mentally prepared for him to say that, but wetness pools in my panties nonetheless. His large hands are on my ass, and his tongue on my neck, kissing feverishly. I couldn’t help the whimpers that fell from my lips as he held my hips down and fiercely ground his erection into my core. “Show me, Cal.” I moan, my fingers tangling though his thick hair.

He’s rolling over me suddenly, my head pressed to his pillows and him in between my legs. He lifts himself to his knees, sitting back and crossing his arms at the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. My eyes wander over his bare chest, the tattoos on his skin prominent. I’d only seen glimpses of them before, but they were much nicer up close. I run my hands over his shoulders when he’s over me again, his lips moving over my own. My panties are soaked as he rolls his hips against mine, my hips arching off the bed to meet him as he does so. Boldly, my hand reaches between us at his clothed length. He felt heavy in my hands. My mouth watered at the possibilities of what he could do to me with his cock. I wanted to taste him, to feel him, to touch him. He’s groaning above me as I grope him over his sweats, his boxers becoming tighter. “Take em off.” He huffs, the words coming out in short breaths. I reach my fingers into the waistband, tugging down both his garments. My jaw is slack when I see his length slap against the skin of his stomach, standing up proudly. He rolls himself over my clothed center and it dawns on me how naked he is above me. I pull my shirt off, wanting to match him. He stops me when I reach behind to take off my bra, “Just wait, my love.” He hums against my jaw, kissing at the skin tenderly.

My heart wraps against my rib cage and I’m afraid he can hear. His hand is brought between my legs, brushing gently at my center. I raise my hips slightly off the bed to increase the friction and my eyes are rolling back into my head from the small touch. “Cal,” I groan, wanting more of his touch. More friction is added to my heat and I thrust my head back in pleasure. It’s been a long time since I’ve been touched like this and I can’t remember it feeling this good. I was so turned on by the small amounts of pleasure Calum was giving me, more than ready to feel his cock inside of me. I’m reaching for him again, slipping his length between my fingers, swiping at the precum built up on his head. Incomprehensible noises tumble from his lips. He presses his head into the crook of my neck, relaxing at my touch. His fingers fumble with the waistband of my shorts, and I lift my hips to help him tug them and my underwear off. “Calum!” I yelp when one of his fingers slips between my lips and into my hole, pumping relentlessly. My lip is brought between my teeth as I fight back my moans. “You’re so tight, Y/N. Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock. He curls his finger, twisting around making my legs tremble. My hands don’t stop their movements on his dick, and I silently wish it were my mouth on his cock.

I push at his chest gently and his hands fall from me. He’s on his knees now and I join him, unhooking my bra as I scramble to my knees. His lips are tugged in a soft smile as press my lips to his, tangling my fingers in his hair. His kiss is messy and lustful, leaving my my mind frayed. “Lay back.” I coax and run my hands over his toned chest. He complies, laying on his back and I hover over him this time. I waste no time taking his cock into my mouth, his weight heavy on my tongue. His taste is something I never want to forget as I lick eagerly around his tip, sucking slowly over the skin there. He hisses above me, his chest rising and falling quickly. His strong hands tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to look in his eyes. I lower my head, taking him deeper, all the while staring into his dark eyes. His jaw hangs open as I continue to please him, gagging on his thick cock. I use my hand to palm at his balls. I fondle the twins in my hands watching his response above me. The only sounds in the room are those of Calum’s moans and the suckling sounds makes by my mouth and hand, and I continue wanting to feel him come undone in my mouth.

Calum, however, has different plans as he pulls me to him, his cock slipping past my lips. I pout at him and he chuckles, pushing back the hair that has fallen over my forehead. “Baby girl, I would’ve came down your throat if I hadn’t stopped you.” He breathes, moving his face closer to my own. “And I would’ve loved every second of it.” I hum, placing my lips over his. His hands find my bare ass, slapping at the flesh. My mouth hangs open as he repeats the action, the stinging of my skin making me impossibly hornier. “Fuck, Calum.” I whimpered. He hoists my hips up as I straddle him, I can feel the tip of his cock poking at my entrance and it takes everything in me to not lower myself into him. “Condom?” He breathes against the shell of my ear. I shake my head vehemently, I wanted to feel him. I wanted to feel every inch, every ridge, every curve of his cock inside of me. “Are you sure?” He asks. “I’m on the pill.” He fills me at once before my sentence finishes, and my mouth is hanging open at his size.He completely fills me and in this position it feels as if he’s in my stomach. “Oh my- “ The words are caught in my throat as he thrusts his hips upwards from beneath me, his hands taking purchase on my ass. Goosebumps litter my skin at the pleasure of him inside me and the cold air nipping at my skin. Calum knowingly throws the blanket over us and I rest my head in the crook of his shoulder, complete content.

Our hips rock together for a while and I can feel my orgasm rising in my stomach. “Cal I’m gonna,” I start not being able to find it in me to finish the sentence. He slams into me harder now, the clapping sounds filling the room along with our moans and whimpers. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you.” He coaxes. I lean backwards at his words. They’re somewhat like a catapult as I begin to rock my hips on my own, throwing off Calum’s rhythm. His hands grab at my chest, feeling the weight of my breasts in his hands.I rest my hands on his thighs as I thrust my hips quickly over his cock. “Fuck, baby, you’re so sexy riding my cock like that.” He moans, his hips thrusting upwards at his words, stroking a part of me I didn’t know existed. A yelp leaves my lips as my orgasm crashes over me, my chest colliding with his and his arms wrap around me, fucking me through it.

He rolls us over so he’s in between my legs now, chasing his own orgasm with his forearms above my head. He brings one hand down the grip my hip for leverage. He holds on tightly and I know there’ll be marks tomorrow but I don’t mind. His thrusts are untimely but steady, nearing close to his end. “Are you gonna cum, Cal?” I moan in his ear. He nods, his hair tickling at the side of my face. “Come on, let me feel you.” I tempt him, wrapping my legs around his waist in reassurance. He let’s go with a groan, his thrusts stiffening and short, driving my legs closer to my chest with each one. His body lumps on top of me and I hold him in my arms, our mouths moving slowly over one another’s, completely spent. His tongue laps over my own and he doesn’t move, his hand on my hip while the other is in my hair, the weight of his body on my chest. I don’t mind because I feel closer to him than ever, even when he slips his cock from me with a moan that I’ll be replaying in my head later on.

He cuddles me to his chest in his dark room, the Tv playing whatever now. His lips place soft kisses at my shoulder and I close my eyes. “Stay with me, gorgeous.” He hums at my ear, placing a tantalizing kiss to the space below it. I hold him tighter in response and I can feel his smile against my skin as he tugs the cover back over us. “Let me just use the bathroom first.” I sigh, pulling away from his touch. He kissed my lips swiftly before letting me go. I pull his shirt over my head before leaving the room, the feeling of Cal’s lips still on my own. I open Val’s door quietly, stepping inside to use her bathroom.

“Hey where - what the fuck!?”

I jump at the sound of Val’s voice, turning swiftly to see her laying in her bed. “V-Val, what’re you doing here?” I’m suddenly all too aware of what I’m wearing and I tug the fabric. “Is that Cal’s shirt?” She questions and as if on cue, Cal is at the door. I stare at him with a panicked expression, now was not the time for him to show up, only in his boxers. Even if he did look so fucking good. “Is that where you were?!” She’s shouting now, her face red. Calum steps into the room, coming to my side, only making this look worse for us. I struggle to find the words to say as she gets off her bed, stalking closer to us. “Val, it’s not what you think -“ I stammer. “Of course it is! How long has this been going on? Are you seriously fucking my brother behind my back?!” I cower at the sound of her voice. I felt incredibly small in the face of Val’s wrath, I never thought I could be on the receiving end of it.

“Valerie enough!” Calum’s voice booms. I jump at the sound, having never heard him speak so loudly before. Val’s quiet now, her face still red and she’s staring at me, a look of what can only be described as disgust in her eyes. Tears prick at my own and as much as I didn’t regret anything that Calum and I did, I wished it hadn’t made Val so mad. “Val, I-I...I don’t know what to say.” The tears fall and Calum’s arms are around me instantly. I pushed him off, although all I wanted was to be curled into his chest right now. My hand reaches out to Val and she backs away. “Val.” I whine. Calum’s hand brushes through his hair violently, “Valarie, I’m not a child. I can make decisions for myself and my decision is Y/N, whether you like it or not.” He huffs grabbing me to his chest, not giving me the option to pull away. As uncomfortable as I am standing here in Calum’s t-shirt, my ass practically hanging out the bottom, I’m grateful for him sticking up for...us - whatever we were.

“We’re going to bed, you should do the same.” He’s pulling me out the door quickly and I do nothing to stop him. When we’re back in his room, I lay in his bed, a thousand thoughts running through my mind. I want to be with Calum, I really do. But, Val’s feelings are also super important to me. Are they more important than my own happiness? Calum’s arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me close to his chest. “It’s going to be fine. I’m not letting you go that easy either, so you can try if you want, but I can’t promise that I’ll let you leave.” He hums into my neck and his hand wanders under my shirt, pressing to my stomach. I smile softly when his lips press against my cheek. Calum is what I want and I’m not sure if even Val can stop me from that.

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Masterlist

4.30.18

[noona-clock]

Why Do You Like Him?

Helloo~ Can I have something super fluffy with Nam Joo Hyuk? Admin B, you gave me too many feels for him in the last one w/ him and I can't stop :( Thank you so so so much!!! 💗

YAY @wonholdmyheart !!!! Thank you for requesting my boyfriend! I will GLADLY do something super fluffy with him! (Although I’m not going to lie, this didn’t turn out as fluffy as I thought? Let me know if you want another scenario that’s ACTUALLY super fluffy!!!)

Genre: High School!AU/Fluff

Pairing: Nam Joo Hyuk x You

By Admin B

"Hey, you’re best friends with Jisoo, right?” 

You clutched the straps of your backpack as you stood next to Joo Hyuk’s locker, biting your lip and awaiting his answer. 

You and Joo Hyuk were certainly acquaintances (you had a few classes together), but you wouldn’t necessarily say you were friends. 

...Yet.

“Yeah,” he replied, taking his physics textbook out of his locker and sliding it into his backpack. “Why?”

“Well... I was just wondering... He’s not dating anyone, is he?”

You’d had a crush on Jisoo for months now, and you decided today was the day you were finally going to kind of do something about it.

Joo Hyuk froze for just a second, but then he reached up to close his locker door, avoiding your gaze somewhat.

“No, he’s not,” he told you as he slung one strap of his backpack over his shoulder.

You rocked back and forth on your toes, barely able to hold back your excitement at his answer. “Do you think he’d be interested in me?”

Joo Hyuk quirked an eyebrow at you before starting to head to his next class, one he shared with you. So you simply followed him.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re his best friend! You know him well enough,” you explained. “I thought maybe... you could give me some inside information or something?”

Joo Hyuk stopped walking, abruptly enough so you almost ran into him.

You watched as he very obviously thought about your idea, but you couldn’t gauge his reaction. His expression didn’t seem to give anything away, so you just... waited. Anxiously.

He finally turned toward you and nodded. “Sure.”

A smile immediately came to your lips, and you had to physically stop yourself from squealing with excitement.

It took everything in your power to stop yourself from talking to him or writing him a note during class, but you were able to manage to wait until the end of the school day to start bugging him.

“I have basketball practice with him in half an hour,” he told you as you stood at his locker. “I’ll talk to him and see what he says.”

“You won’t bring up my name, will you?” you asked nervously, brow furrowed.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Joo Hyuk shrugged.

You nodded and let out a little sigh of relief. But then you realized you didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to hear what Jisoo had said, so you got out your phone. “Here, give me your number so I can text you later.”

Joo Hyuk quietly told you the ten digits, leaning in just a bit so anyone passing by wouldn’t hear. “Send me a message so I have yours, too,” he murmured once you’d made his contact.

You hummed in response before typing out a ‘hey it’s me’ with a smiley face emoji and sending it to him.

“All right, I’ll let you know how it goes,” he assured you with a little smile as he closed his locker.

“Thank you,” you replied, unable to keep yourself from clapping your hands softly with excitement. “Have fun at practice.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled. “See you tomorrow.”

You started on your homework almost immediately after arriving home, wanting to get as much done as possible before Joo Hyuk messaged you about his mission. 

Your heart was racing the whole time you were reading Beowulf, but not because the book was exciting. (It sucked, actually.) You kept glancing at your phone as you completed your physics review for your test on Friday. And then finally, just as you were about to finish your last statistics problem, your phone lit up with a notification.

You grabbed it in a flash, opening the message from Joo Hyuk and reading it. Apparently, Jisoo was most attracted to athletes. But he also knew who you were.

...Well, great. You were far from an athlete.

Wait, hold on.

You pressed the ‘call’ button next to Joo Hyuk’s name, bringing your phone up to your ear.

“Did you say he knows who I am?” you asked, confused.

“Yes.”

“I thought you weren’t going to bring up my name!”

“I didn’t! He saw us talking and just asked about it.”

“Wait, he asked about me? For real?”

“I mean, kind of...”

Your heart started hammering inside your chest, and you couldn’t for the life of you stop a smile from springing to your lips. Okay, this was good. Even though you weren’t an athlete, he still knew who you were. And he asked about you.

You were still too shy and nervous to talk to him, though, so you begged Joo Hyuk to keep giving you information and dropping hints to Jisoo.

The next three weeks were like a fun, but very nerve-wracking game of chess. For you, at least. You strategized your moves - Joo Hyuk’s moves, actually - and you waited with bated breath for what Jisoo would say or do.

You were gradually gathering up the nerve to talk to him, and one Friday, you decided you would do it. There was a basketball game that evening, and you planned to go. You wanted to support your new good friend, Joo Hyuk, of course, but you also were going to find Jisoo after the game and talk to him.

As you took your spot in the bleachers just after the game had started, your eyes scanned the court for Jisoo. You happened to find Joo Hyuk first, though, and he was already looking at you. He smiled and waved, and you wiggled your fingers excitedly back at him. You really did owe him so much; he’d helped you learn more about Jisoo the past few weeks, but he’d also become a really good friend. He made you laugh, and he was probably one of the sweetest guys you’d ever met.

But then you spotted Jisoo, and your heartbeat sped up.

You completely missed the look of disappointment on Joo Hyuk’s face when he noticed.

Even though you had no knowledge of basketball whatsoever, you still found the game exciting, and you had a little too much fun cheering on your friend and your crush. (Plus, Jisoo looked so good in those shorts, oh my god.)

As the timer counted down the minutes, you got more and more anxious. Your heartbeat got quicker by the second, and the butterflies in your stomach grew increasingly larger.

Then when the buzzer sounded, you let out a deep breath.

This was it.

You watched as the team celebrated their win, and you began to slowly make your way toward the parking lot. Joo Hyuk had told you earlier he would make sure Jisoo came out that way, so that’s where you planned to “run into him” and introduce yourself.

You paced back and forth once you got outside, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. But when the doors opened and some of the players started filing out, you honestly felt like you might throw up. Why was talking to a guy so nerve-wracking?!

You bit your lip when you saw Jisoo exit through the door, and you took a deep breath as you began to step toward him.

But then a hand came to rest on your elbow, stopping you from going any farther.

You jumped a little, startled by the sudden touch, and you turned to see Joo Hyuk.

“Hey,” you said a bit hurriedly. “I was just about to --”

“Why do you like him?” he blurted out.

“...What?”

“I mean, I’m not saying he’s a bad guy, obviously. He’s my best friend. But... Why do you like him?”

You stared at him, extremely befuddled. “Uh... He’s really cute? And funny?”

“...Am I not cute and funny?”

You jerked your head back in surprise, now even more confused. “Well, yeah, but --”

“Then why don’t you like me?”

You just stared at him as he gazed at you, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Like... you? I do like you, you’re my friend --”

“Not like that,” he shook his head. “I like you, okay? I’ve liked you since before you asked me about Jisoo. And I know I should’ve told you earlier. Or maybe I shouldn’t even be telling you at all, but I just...”

He shrugged, finally letting go of your elbow.

“Are you serious?” you asked, now a bit breathless.

He only nodded.

Your gaze flitted over to Jisoo’s retreating form then back to Joo Hyuk. Wait, why was your heart fluttering? Was it because you’d just looked at Jisoo... or because you were now looking at Joo Hyuk?

And suddenly you felt like a horrible person for making Joo Hyuk be your middle man. All this time, he’d been talking to Jisoo for you when he himself had a crush on you.

Your brow furrowed and you pressed your lips together to hide your frown. “I’m so sorry,” you murmured.

Joo Hyuk’s expression immediately fell. “It’s okay -- I didn’t expect you to --”

“No, not that,” you interrupted, taking a step closer to him. “I’m sorry I made you talk to him for me. That... must have sucked.”

“I mean... yeah.”

You weren’t sure why but you had the strongest urge to hug him right now. So you did. You took the few steps toward him to close the gap between you two, sliding your arms around his middle and hugging him tightly.

You felt Joo Hyuk’s hesitation, but he eventually hugged you back.

You smiled to yourself, your heart fluttering and racing like crazy. And those butterflies you’d had earlier? You realized they’d never left. Maybe... it hadn’t been Jisoo who gave you butterflies all this time?

You weren’t sure, but what you were sure about was Joo Hyuk was a beautiful person inside and out. And hugging him right now made you feel happier and lovelier and safer than anything else in the world.

Your mom had always told you the best relationships grew from friendships, and now... you were starting to think maybe she was right.

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