#not spiteful or mean at all but more like oh what if the new roommate is a dick and now i cant do my butt workouts in the open anymore :(

[crystallinemoonlight]

So I'm wondering, did Pete have a roommate before Porsche? Sharing rooms seems to be a normal thing (room layout is clearly for multiple people), but Pete didn't have one when Porsche came. Was he just always alone (could explain the no-pants workout, since Pete is shy about it), or did his roommate like,,, die, and didn't get replaced until Porsche joined??

Quitting isn't a thing to the family, and the person never came back so it wasn't a vacation either. Did the minor family buy them maybe? Unless Pete just never had a roommate, which I find kinda sad but also congrats dude you got a suite to yourself that's pretty cool

[twilightmalachite]

Raison d'être - Prologue

Author: Akira

Characters: Shu, Mika

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Congratulations, Pinnochio! It’s great to be human, isn’t it!?"

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Winter

Location: Apartment in France

During ES’ first year of establishment. Mid-March, at the house in Paris Shu is boarding at…

Shu: So, how do I put it? I still feel I am being derided for using a string phone, you see!

Mika: What does “derided” mean again? What a pretty-soundin’ word~. ♪

Shu: So I feel I am being ridiculed, you see! How am I supposed to tell vulgar snobs that way back when I was a student, I had not yet become accustomed to civilization?

Mika: Nnah~, ain’t that a bit different from bein’ looked down on? Doesn’t he just find it amusin’?

Shu: Oh-ho, do you find a difference between the two? You consider the former to be slander and the latter to be well-intentioned?

Mika: I-I don’t really think into it that much…

What's got ya so upset, Oshi-san? Weren’t we just havin’ a fun talk over the rules we have in my room at Starmony Dorms? Just small talk?

Y’know~, how I’d put a put a string telephone out from my room, and my roommate would be thoughtful and say, “Ah, so Kagehira’s talking to his Oshi-san today, huh?”

Shouldn’t ya feel grateful or happy hearin’ somethin’ like that?

Shu: And I resent the fact that a string phone is automatically being associated with me.

I know for a fact that in the minds of those spiteful people back in Japan, I am still nothing but a picky, old-fashioned senior citizen requiring special care.

Hah! The fact they can’t update their personal judgment of me is proof that they are the ones aging!

Mika: That has nothin’ to do with me~? I don’t know what ya want me to say, Oshi-san!

What’s the matter? Did ya have a bad day at university?

Shu: Hmph. Nothing went wrong, it was uneventful and peaceful. Who do you think I am?

Mika: I’m worried ‘cause you’re you, Oshi-san!

Shu: Are you in a position to worry about others? Have you become someone so distinguished?

That’s right!! You are your own person now! You can walk around on your own without me always taking care of you, can’t you?

Congratulations, Pinnochio! It’s great to be human, isn’t it!?

Mika: (Nnah~… Oshi-san really is always irritated~… Whenever I get excited or get in a good mood, Oshi-san seems to get angry in turn.)

(But, what is it he’s really angry at, then? Well, it’s possible it might actually be my fault…)

(I don’t got any clue…)

(I even came all the way to Paris ‘cause Oshi-san told me “I want to take an occasion to talk about the future”, despite bein’ so busy at the end of the school year.)

(Not only did I not get praised, but he started gettin’ all irritated the moment I told him I wanted to continue livin’ at Starmony Dorms fer the next year.)

(I wonder why. I guess it’s not what Oshi-san had in mind fer me?)

(But y’know, Valkyrie basically only has work in Japan, so it’s more efficient to stay in the area.)

(I’m not like Oshi-san, I don’t have anythin’ in particular I wanna study abroad. And I wouldn’t be able t’get into the same university as Oshi-san with a brain like mine.)

(But if I go and say I wanna live with Oshi-san, it’d just be selfish, wouldn’t it?

(I’d end up bein’ a nuisance to those at the house Oshi-san’s boardin’ at, and I wouldn’t have anythin’ to do even if I live here, y’know?)

(It is lonely, but… It’s a pain t’have someone nestle up with ya just ‘cause they’re lonely, right, Oshi-san?)

Shu: Non! How come your hands have stopped moving, Kagehira-kuuun? Have I forgotten to wind up the mainspring?

Mika: Nnaaah, why’re ya callin’ me by “kun”? It makes it feel like we’ve grown apart, it makes me sad!

Shu: It’s about right, isn’t it? Aren’t you always being overly-familiar? Thanks to that, I’ve even misjudged the distance between you and I!

I had been so deluded from that, I even had been preparing a new life for you and everything, in earnest! I’d even bowed my head to the landlady, secured you a room, and even furnished it! Everything was in order, kakaka!

Well, it all was done for naught! I’ve jumped to conclusions and rashly did something so excessive, laugh at my foolishness!

Mika: Nnah~…? I-If it’s what ya want, Oshi-san, I’ll get started on the moving procedures, then?

Shu: No, not necessary! I don’t know what I was doing, take the furniture and everything else I’ve prepared for you back to Japan, sell it, and use that money to fund Valkyrie’s activities!

While you’re at it, take back the work I’ve made in the past year and sell those off too! I’m confident that they’ll be sold for a reasonable price!

Our performance at SS, the war between worlds, was not very satisfactory, after all…

To think I was made to engage in a slapstick we were not accustomed to, if anything our reputations have been tarnished.

In order to wipe away these defects, we shall use the funds from selling everything off to develop a new artistic venture!

Practically, this is no time to get carried away with a new life!

Mika: My bad… I had no idea ya were lookin’ forward to livin’ with me so much, Oshi-san…

Shu: Me!? To what?! What was I looking forward to!?

Don’t go acting too cocky! You know, it’s because of you always leading me on that I’ve misunderstood—

Hm?

Mika: W-What is it? Oshi-san…?

Shu: Stop acting so jittery like you’re some small animal! It’s irritating!

—My phone is going off. Usually the landlady is very considerate to not call me while guests are over… Is it something urgent, perhaps?

Mika: The phone? Ahh, well I’ll be quiet, then~. ♪

(I-If anythin’, this might’ve saved me… This’ll help break up the strange atmosphere.)

Shu: Hello? Why it’s Nii-sama, isn’t that rare. What is it you need?

Yeah, yeah, aren’t you a bother? I’m doing just fine! Hadn’t I asked you to leave me alone? Why is it that you’re—

—…What?

… … …Understood.

Yes… I’ll return home soon.

Mika: W-What is it? That call was from yer big brother, wasn’t it—How come?

Shu: It’s my Grandfather…

Mika: Hm?

Shu: …It appears early this morning, my grandfather passed away.

[ ☆ ]

story directory | next →

[occult-roommates]

A new beginning to an old story

Around five days after their walk in the park, Athena felt ready to invite Akva to her new apartment. The reason it took so long is mostly because she needed to clean it first, and also for Akva to have some free time in between her retail job and flying lessons, but now it was time.

Athena: Tadah! Akva: Oh wow, congratulation on getting your own place. It's actually pretty decent. Athena: Why are you surprised by that? Akva: Cause like, have you seen my apartment? I live with six grown adults and one baby, but we only have two bedrooms but Charlie refuses to share hers except with the baby. We barely have enough space, privacy is like a foreign concept to me now after living like this for more than three years. Athena: I mean, I'm just saying, I only have one bedroom, but I think it's spacious enough I could get at least one roommates. Akva: Also, I was about to ask how you can afford it, but I mean, it's the spice district, most people in the area don't make that much money in the first place. Athena: That's because Paisley pays me good. Like I said, I could have a roommate to make it easier but I don't absolutely need one. Especially since in college I had one that must be from Hell. Like imagine a dude who refuses to shower more than once a week in spite of being a gym rat, would leave his dirty dishes everywhere to the point we had bugs infestation multiple times, and would punch holes into walls on a regular basis. Even had to bail him out of jail after a DUI with the money I needed to pay for a new computer. Oh and also he'd let his used condoms around the apartment as a way to assert dominance over my "beta" ass. Akva: Cause this guy was getting laid???!!!

Anyway, Athena kept showing Akva around the place. It wasn't that decorated to her personality yet, 50% because she couldn't afford it yet, 50% because the landlord wouldn't let her repaint that sickly green or move the furnitures around that much.

Then, the two women sat down on the couch to continue their little chat.

Athena: Fun fact, you can see by the window the exact place where that plane landed in the Myshun river a few years ago. Akva: Oh wow, that's cool. I remember recently, Ralf and I went to an aviation museum that's in southern New York in hope of seeing part of that plane, but turns out it's in North Carolina. We still had fun though, after the museum we went to eat at the shadiest roadside dinner known to man. Athena: Who are you talking about? Akva: Ralf is my new father figure, you should meet him, he is really nice.

Akva then leaned in for a hug. It felt good to finally have a close friend back in town. It felt even more special now that she knew Athena was actually happy and not just pretending. Though, it did messed her up that she literally had no idea what she was going through. Then again, in her defense, she was living on the other side of the country, even if Athena was visibly unhappy, she couldn't have known. Yeah, they did saw each other from time to time, like when they briefly dated which caused Akva to get pregnant, but still, she could have very well hid how she felt.

Akva: And you know, it would feel even more special if instead of introducing you to him as my friend...

Akva tapped her laps and told Athena to sit here, so she did. Now that they were in a more intimade position, step 2.

Akva: I'd introduce you as my girlfriend.

Athena looked at her all red and then, they made out on the couch, as the cameraman panned away as to not creep on them. Maybe their first attempt at dating did not ended up super well, and let's be real, ruined Akva's life for a year, but this time is the right time. Round 2 will be different, round 2 will have a happy ending.

Prev - Next

[softprettything]

late bloomer, ch 9

AO3 | Previous | Next

Fandom: OHSHC

Pairing: Kyoya/Reader

Tags: 18+, A/B/O Dynamics, College AU, Fake Dating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slice of Life, Eventual Smut

Summary: Nobody ever said falling in love with your best friend would be easy.

Taglist (new!): @silverhetdanes @lampalooza

late bloomer, ch 9

You feel like you’ve just been electrocuted. Looking at him, you meet a gaze that is more personal than you’d anticipated. “What—I—sorry, what?”

He swallows, puts the glass back down. “You do have feelings for her, right?” His tone is completely casual, as though he didn’t just read you for filth in less than five words. “I’m impressed you’ve managed to make it work as roommates in spite of that. You dated, what, in high school? Or—”

“No, we never dated. I mean, she was my first kiss, but, like…not in a serious way. Just like. Sometimes you practice kissing with a friend, you know?” You can feel yourself babbling, but you have no idea how to make it stop. “And I don’t—there’s no in spite of, because there’s no…”

“So you’ve never talked about it, then.”

You shake your head. ”Nothing to talk about.”

“I think we both know that’s not true. Anyone in the same room as you two for more than five minutes would be able to—”

“Okay, okay!” Your cheeks are warm and the room feels somehow even smaller than before, and he won’t stop looking at you with those damn eyes. “Enough about me—how about you and Tamaki? What’s the story there? You meet at Ouran, or what?”

He purses his lips, clearly weighing whether or not to give up his line of questioning. You bite the inside of your cheek. “Junior high,” he finally says, and you sigh, relieved. “He was a new student. My father wanted to get to know his father, and asked me to show Tamaki around.”

“Similar circumstances to Olivia?”

“Only this time, it stuck.” He chuckles. “I got stuck. With him. Every class, every lunch period; every day after school.”

The idea of it brings a smile to your face: tiny, stoic Kyoya being trailed around all day by tiny, histrionic Tamaki. “Talk about opposites attracting.”

“That’s magnets. Tamara’s more like superglue.” That gets a full snort out of you. “You’ve met him. He’s…bubbly. And persistent. Once he’s decided he’s fond of someone, he clings to them for life.”

“So I’ve heard,” you murmur, remembering what the twins said the other day.

“Well.” He shrugs. “I just happened to be exceptionally lucky that he decided he was fond of me.”

Something changes with this last sentence; something about his voice, his expression, is overall demeanor. A softness that you haven’t yet seen in him.

But a softness you recognize nonetheless.

“Oh.” You clap a hand over your mouth, and fully stand up. “Oh. My. God.”

“What?”

“You. You’ve got it bad.”

“I—”

“I’ve seen that look. I invented that look. You love him, don’t you?”

He scoffs, not quite convincingly. “Everyone loves Tamaki.”

“Not romantically. But you do. Oh my God! No wonder why you looked like you couldn’t wait to get away from Olivia at that party.”

No mistaking it now; he is one hundred percent, unmistakably blushing. “I think you were too drunk that night to remember much of anything.”

You shake your head, delighted. “Not this. I remember this, crystal clear. What is she, like, a beard? But Tamara’s an omega, so that shouldn’t matter—”

“Olivia isn’t my beard,” he says sharply. You shut up immediately. Clearly you’ve struck a sore spot. He takes a deep breath, and continues. “I have nothing to hide, thank you. Yes. Yes, Tamaki and I have had a long friendship, and there were points where I maybe wanted something more, but…”

He doesn’t finish the thought. “But?” you prompt him.

A long moment passes. “I waited too long.” He smiles. Fully this time. It’s the saddest smile you’ve ever seen. “Just like you.”

That hangs heavy in the air. Mostly because you don’t want to agree with him, but you also can’t protest.

Although— “I mean. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s been a couple of weeks; they’re hardly getting married.”

“You don’t hear the way he talks about her,” he says glumly. “I mean, I’ve seen Tamaki through dozens of relationships, long and short. He always falls head over heels. But there’s something different about this. She…grounds him. They’re incredibly balanced.”

“I know what you mean.” And you do. You’ve seen Haruhi off on every date she’s gone on since middle school; you can’t recall ever seeing her smile the way she does now.

Except in pictures, maybe.

From before her mom died.

“It’s just…fuck.” You shake your head. “Fuck.”

“Pretty much.”

You purse your lips. “Do you drink?”

He gives you an odd look. “You really don’t remember anything about that night? Friday, a few weeks back?”

“I remember exactly as much as I’d like to, which is pretty much nothing.”

“Except that you thought I was…dating Olivia to conceal some hypothetical feelings for Tamaki.”

“I never claimed to be right one hundred percent of the time.” You pull out some wine from the cabinet. “Fair warning, this is probably going to wreck your rich-boy tastebuds. But it’s great for taking the edge off of heartbreak.”

“Heartbreak feels a touch overdramatic.” You turn to him with the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, your expression a question. He signs. “I’ll take an extra heavy pour.”

“Greedy.” You give him his extra heavy pour, and a slightly less heavy pour for yourself. You clink glasses.

*********************

“M’dad.” All of the earlier decorum is gone; Kyoya is all but sprawled across the bed. “He doesn’t approve of Tamaki’s pearntige. Parentage. Pa-ren-tage.”

“What?” You sit up, knocking the second empty wine bottle onto the floor. When did you move to your bedroom, again? “You’re both fancy-schmancy prep school kids. What’s to disapprove of?”

“Tamaki’s mom wasn’t married to his dad. “Probably they’d’ve gotten rid of the baby, but his wife-wife couldn’t have kids of their own, so they figured might as well…” He waves his hand. “Might as well…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. And my dad doesn’t want those genes in his grandchildren.”

“Aren’t you the second kid, though? Doesn’t that matter?” He looks at you quizzically. “Sorry. I hate-Googled you yesterday. After I finished hate-Googling Tamaki. There’s nothing bad about that asshole anywhere.”

“It’s ridiculous,” he agrees. “He’s ridiculous. Yes, I’m the spare, not the heir. But I’m still part of the family. It’s part of, um…part of being born into the dynasty.”

“So you find someone you like, they’re in the right social circles, they follow arbi…arbital…arbitrary presentation-based mating traditions from, like, the fifth century or whatever, and he decides it’s a no-go just because Tamaki’s dad decided to cheat?” He nods. You let out a long breath, slumping back down on the bed. “What the fuck.”

“I mean, we could’ve dated. Probably. But it would’ve ended when I had to get engaged.”

You shake your head. “Backwards.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Wouldn’t it be worth it? Still? Better to have loved and lost, something something…”

”Maybe. But I doubt he was ever even interested.”

”You never tried, though.”

He shrugs. “Too late now.”

“So. Okay. Do you just…not date, then?”

“I date.” He shrugs. “Not seriously. Not too casually, either—you have to be careful who you fuck at Ouran, because everyone’s hungry for money and everyone’s eager to kiss and tell. But I have friends.”

You laugh. “Friends.”

“Friends help each other out with cycles, sometimes,” he insists. “It’s normal. And better than most alternatives.”

“Well.” You let your head loll back. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Obviously.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on something?”

“Yeah.” It slips out before you can think twice.

“Really?

He sounds…almost surprised.

“I mean, not always.” You’re not sure why you’re being so honest. You’ve never even told Haruhi this before. “Not even most of the time. But I’ve wondered.” You look at him. That piercing gaze, back on you again. Even drunk, you’re bewildered by how deep his eyes seem to cut you, and you turn away, suddenly embarrassed. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Such a shame. Olivia would have a field day with that one.”

You giggle. He joins in, and you realize that, whether you want to or not…you like Kyoya Ootori. You like being around him.

You want to be his friend, even.

“You’ve got to stop leading her on,” you tell him between fits of laughter. “At the very least, for fuck’s sake, argue with me a little less in class? Every time you acknowledge my existence, she gives me this look like…I don’t know. Like she wants to burn a hole in my skull.”

“She does not.”

“She does! I swear. I don’t care if you use a fake girlfriend to make Tamaki jealous.”

“It’s not—”

“I know, I know,” you cut him off with a hand on his arm. At least, you aim for his arm, but somehow miss and hit his face instead. You pull your hand away like he’s a hot stovetop. “Sorry.”

“I was going to say, I’m not trying to lead her on. Jus’ got to tolerate her for business’ sake.” He sighs. “At this point, I could use a fake girlfriend to get her off my back.”

“And make Tamaki jealous.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t protest immediately. Instead, he shrugs. “It wouldn’t hurt. Has that ever worked for you and Haruhi?”

“As if. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since…god, since undergrad at least. So who knows?”

“Well. You give it a try, and if it works you let me know.”

You settle into a comfortable silence. You know he’s joking, but some gear has been set off deep in the drunken recesses of your brain. “We should date.”

He stiffens next to you. “What?”

"To make ‘em jealous." You roll over on your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Two birds, one stone. I’m a genius.”

You weren't prepared to have your face this close to his. He isn't wearing his glasses. Pale skin; dark brows, finely arched. The wrought-iron line of his lips. Your pulse quickens. His eyes flicker down and up, taking stock of your expression, and he opens his mouth. For a second, you think he might be considering it.

But then he laughs. “You’re wasted.”

“Yes, and I’m a genius.”

He shakes his head, pressing his hands to his eyes. “I’m going to get you some water.” He stands up, and heads for the kitchen. You fall back on the bed, giggling uncontrollably at your own stupid idea. Thank God he didn’t take it seriously.

You roll over, burying your face in the pillow and inhaling deeply. Fuck, you can’t remember the last time something smelled this good. Maybe Haruhi bought a different detergent. You’ll have to ask her in the morning. Whatever it is, you feel warmer and fuzzier and sleepier than ever. You’re dimly aware of Kyoya moving around in the kitchen. It’s a comforting soundscape. Footsteps. Cabinets opening and shutting. Water running from the tap.

By the time the water turns off, and the footsteps start back down the hall, you’re already drifting off to sleep.

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION “Living Memory” [ 4.11 ]♮PART 2, half 1

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - DAY

Yindra is apprehensive when she receives an invitation of her own. Aleena has texted her, suggesting they meet up for coffee to discuss.

Is she going to forfeit, or corner Yindra into backing down?

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGEL’S BEDROOM - DAY

Back from class, Nigel is at his desk on his computer. He’s still lingering on the UK school webpages, so he clearly hasn’t let go of the idea in spite of the friction. It all depends on whether he can find some bridge between his dreams and the reality of his parents…

LEONA CHEY pokes her head into his doorway, reading over his shoulder. She startles him when she speaks.

Leona: So, are you still gonna try to hop continents, or -- Nigel: God -- hell, Leona. Don’t scare me like that. Leona: [ not sorry ] You’re still looking at the websites. Nigel: I’m still looking at a lot of things. Nothing’s been decided. Leona: Okay then. [ a beat ] Does that mean you’re done being all grumpy now too? Nigel: [ rolling his eyes ] Also undecided. You’re not helping the case for it.

Wah wah. Leona makes a face, sneering and starting to walk away. But she seems to think better of it, turning around and offering one more comment.

Leona: I think you could do it, by the way. Nigel, surprised: What? Leona: I think you’re good enough. To go be a British actor or whatever. And it would be pretty cool. [ a beat ] Plus it would get you thousands of miles away from here, which is the biggest victory of all.

Petty teenager swipe aside, the compliment is sincere. Sincere, and absolutely unexpected coming from his bratty sister. If she’s willing to say it, to drop her aloof facade and give it to him straight, then she must really mean it. And it must be important enough to vocalize it.

So even though she leaves it on that less-than-kind note, Nigel finds himself smiling after she’s disappeared from his doorframe.

Maybe there’s still hope for this yet…

INT. GRACE’S DORM ROOM - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

Grace is back at her dorm for spring semester, having unpacked and survived the first couple of days of classes. There’s a new heaviness to her expression that seems permanently etched in though, try as she might to soften it with make-up and her pleasant Southern belle smile.

While she’s chatting with her roommate that evening -- more like letting her roommate ramble while she says nothing and nods along -- they’re interrupted by a knock at the door. Grace shrugs, indicating she wasn’t expecting anyone.

But it’s for her. When the roommate pulls open the door, Kenneth is on the other side, slightly sheepish but eyes shining when he sees Grace again. He offers the roommate a smile as charming as ever, before turning a more tempered one towards Grace.

Kenneth: Hey. Grace: … hi.

The roommate looks back and forth between them, then declares she’s going to the lounge to see who else is around. She’ll give them space to talk. Grace looks as though she isn’t sure she wants that or not, but before either of them know it, they’re alone.

Kenneth: Can we? Talk?

Grace clasps her hands together in front of her, feeling an edge of nervousness that she never felt around him before. But she nods.

He steps into the room, gently shutting the door behind him. Grace eyes him uncertainly.

Kenneth: I’m sorry I couldn’t catch you before we got back to school. I tried.

Sort of by design, Kenneth. Grace says nothing.

Kenneth: Uh, I brought you a little something. I know it won’t make up for what happened, but…

He reaches into his pocket, retrieving a trinket and holding it out for Grace to take. She does, delicately, letting the chain pool into her palm.

Her horseshoe. Well, a piece of it, anyway. One shard of the marble blue artwork, now encased forever as the jewel on the end of a silver necklace.

Grace: Oh… Kenneth: I salvaged what I could. Tried to find the best piece of it -- I went with this bit, because it reminds me of your eyes. My mama knows a friend who does jewelry design as a part-time gig, so she was able to put this together for me. Grace: Oh. Thanks.

Her short answers don’t do justice to how hard this hits. How much it means to her, that he picked up the broken pieces and still gave her something to hold onto in spite of it. He tried.

Kenneth: I’m so sorry about how it all went down, Grace. Really, I am. I didn’t… I didn’t handle myself right. I was just so caught by surprise, and it was all too much -- but I never meant to hurt you. All I want to do is make this work, to do right by you.

Grace keeps her eyes on the necklace, rubbing her thumb over the ornament. With her head down, she has a better chance of concealing the way her eyes are welling up.

Kenneth: I can’t lose you. I love you, and I will do whatever it takes to keep you. Anything. If that means… if it means starting our family, getting a jumpstart early, or… or helping with the aftermath of… of what you needed to do, then -- Grace: I didn’t get the procedure.

Kenneth pauses, holding his breath. Is she serious? Grace seems much more burdened by this news than him, choking on it as she admits it.

Grace: I couldn’t go through with it. I was -- I was too chicken.

Not alone, at least. If he had been there to assure her it would be okay, to hold her hand, then maybe… but she couldn’t stomach it on her own. 

So their fate hasn’t been settled either way just yet. If he means what he says, and he’s willing to do anything, then the world is really theirs to decide how to face. If he can be there for her and accompany her to the clinic, then they can end this rabbit hole before it even really starts -- or goes any further than it already has.

But that’s not the route Kenneth seems intent on taking. He seems relieved by her confession, lightly taking her arms.

Kenneth: That’s okay. Darlin’, that’s great. Grace: [ voice cracking ] How? How is it remotely great? Kenneth: Because I knew that wasn’t the kind of girl you are. Your heart is too big for that. You wouldn’t turn your back on us like that. Grace: Us?

Kenneth hesitates… then nods, the slightest edge of excitement in his voice.

Kenneth: I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve thought about it a lot. The whole drive back here, before I got to you, I kept thinking about how it could all go down… and Grace, call me fucking crazy, but I think we can do it. We could really be something.

Grace stares at him, bewildered but slightly mesmerized by his impassioned delivery. He can’t be serious.

Oh, but he is. He makes his grand appeal, raising his hands to cup her face.

Kenneth: I love you so much. You are my whole world, the only thing I’ve ever gotten right. So maybe… maybe this is a sign. You know? Maybe this is how it’s meant to be. God just ushered it all along a bit faster than expected. Grace: Are you serious? Kenneth: So we start our future a little earlier than expected. Fine. Bring it on. [ to her stomach ] Bring it on, baby, whatever you’ve got.

Grace laughs incredulously, overwhelmed and feeling slightly delirious. Is he saying what she thinks he’s saying, really and truly? Is this happening?

Kenneth: I can’t live without you. And if this is part of the package, then I’m all in. Grace Kinsley, I want to be your family. I want to have your family. I want you to be mine forever. [ breathless ] Marry me. Please, marry me.

It’s dizzying. Like she’s back in a dream again. But Kenneth is holding her close, looking at her with those damn eyes, and he clearly means every word he’s saying right now. He believes they can do this. He wants her. Even if she isn’t convinced she can, or that it’s what she wants, can’t that be enough?

If they do it together, who knows, maybe they’ll get it right after all.

So she nods, tearing up for too many reasons now as she wraps her arms around his neck.

Grace: Okay. Kenneth: Okay? Grace: Okay. Yeah. I’ll marry you.

Kenneth grins, and Grace absolutely melts. He scoops her up into a hug and spins her around, before they fall into a heated, emotional kiss.

INT. FUNERAL HOME - CEREMONY HALL - DAY

In the present, that necklace is still around Grace’s neck, all these years later. She listens plaintively in her seat in the front row as a mourner, one of Kenneth’s colleagues, gives a tearful speech to how beloved he was and what a great man he was.

Mourner: A true role model to us all. He will be missed.

Amen… or whatever… as he steps down from the podium, the funeral director returns to it, thanking him for his heartfelt words. As it stands, he was the last planned speaker in the program, so in theory, they should be wrapping up the ceremony very shortly.

From his seat next to Grace, Lucas focuses on his breathing, keeping his eyes to the floor. Riley gives him a gentle smile, placing her hand over his on his knee. Almost there…

Only not quite. Because the funeral director, seemingly so in tune with how everyone is feeling, suggests one more set of words. He looks to the front row at Grace and Lucas, asking in front of everyone if they’d like the chance to say a few words. After hearing all the wonderful things other people said, surely there is some final say they’d like to share before they lay the good man to rest?

This clearly was not discussed beforehand, and neither Lucas nor Grace are prepared. Let alone to be addressed so publicly, with all eyes on them. From their seats further back, JACK HUNTER and Eric exchange a tense look -- one that Dylan and Asher almost mirror exactly in the row behind them.

Lucas’s one advantage here is that given he is presumed to be the grieving, albeit troubled, son, there’s a plausible reason for the way he totally clams up. Panic consumes him at the mere thought of having to speak on his father, eyes glossing over and hand clamping tighter on Riley’s. He’s frozen like prey.

Grace sees this, how he’s basically shutting down next to her. She sees his fear, and even though she too would love to escape this afternoon without having to touch her complex feelings on her late husband, she finds herself opening her mouth.

Grace: I can speak.

She’s answering the director’s question, but her eyes are on Lucas. He lifts his gaze to look at her, stunned by her volunteering, but she keeps her expression even. It’s a reassurance as much as an agreement, a promise to him that she can take the pressure this time.

So she follows through, clearing her throat and getting to her feet. She exchanges an awkward smile with the director, who cedes the podium to her with condescending delight that she’s decided to speak. Guess this is who you end up with when you plan stuff so last minute…

Grace: Kenneth… Kenneth was…

Grace takes a deep breath, willing herself to be brave as she looks out at the crowd. Dozens of people, all assembled even with short notice, to grieve the man she’s supposed to love. That she did love, even when it was complicated, in spite of how she probably shouldn’t have. The love she stopped speaking about years ago, by choice and by suggestion, because it had just become too twisted to verbalize.

Now, she has no choice. If this is her last form of penance, so be it.

Grace: Kenneth Friar was a force unto himself.

A vague sentiment loaded with truths, the depths of which most people there will never comprehend. This is how Grace chooses to proceed, keeping it simple for the masses.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “See I’m Smiling” as performed by The Last Five Years Original Off-Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus

In her memory, and her heart, it’s another story. Her words in the present fade away as we drift back in time, the delicate piano intro kicking up…

INT. FRIAR HOME - GUEST BEDROOM - FLASHBACK - DAY

The performance serves as a montage, showing us glimpses of the partnership Grace and Kenneth thought they were forming. Once they decided to commit, to embark on the journey of building their unexpected family.

At first, it started with hopeful optimism. Grace has moved in full-time to Kenneth’s parents home, taking up occupancy in the guest bedroom after her parents kicked her out. They’re not pictured in the wedding photo she has hanging over her bed, though she looks lovely and believably pleased to be Kenneth’s bride.

And for now, that is true. She looks exhausted as she sits on her bed folding laundry, having dropped out of A&M to focus on this new life she’s chosen. It’s tiring, and sometimes depressing, but then she looks over at Kenneth -- who is around right now from school, currently trying to cheer up a sobbing infant Lucas as he holds him in his arms and bounces him around.

Apparently, Kenneth wasn’t lying about how he cried all the time. But here, at the start, he’s taking it in stride. He shakes his head at his relentless crying and then gives Grace a sheepish grin, shrugging.

Grace returns it. The baby wasn’t something she asked for, but as long as he’s doing it with her, maybe she can learn to love it. She already knows she loves him.

See I’m smiling That means I’m happy that you’re here

INT. USC - THEATER - NIGHT

At the same time, the montage is intercut with the present, where Farkle is performing the song as Cathy on stage. Now that he’s experienced a complicated relationship of his own, he delivers the rollercoaster of emotion with even more oomph. The hopeful start, the denialism, the slow descent into frustration and despair… it’s so palpable for him, you almost wish you’d see a less visceral performance so he could’ve been spared the knowledge.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - FLASHBACK - DAY

We see the transition in a couple of years from Texas to New York, Kenneth having gotten a job there a couple years out of college. The move is chaotic but taken with good intentions, both of them hoping the change of scenery will help solidify their faltering family dynamic. Tension and spats have become more and more frequent, but maybe being away from Kenneth’s parents will help that. Maybe Grace will have time to go back to school. Who knows?

Grace tries to keep this perspective as she stands in the center of their new, empty apartment -- in better shape then than the dinged-up version we know now -- holding a toddler Lucas in her arms who doesn’t seem pleased to be there.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - FLASHBACK - DAY

But things are already looking up. Kenneth seems energized by the change of pace, excited about his new job, and in much better spirits. He makes Grace laugh as they take one of their first walks through Central Park together, Kenneth wearing Lucas like a backpack on his back.

As if he’s not even there, really -- extra weight. With that detail out of sight, it’s like they can pretend things are less complicated. Grace beams as Kenneth eagerly tells her about his new role.

And you’re mine We’re doing fine

INT. USC - THEATER - NIGHT

Farkle takes the focus for the next verse at around 2:00, reflecting that nature to assume the problem is with him rather than the partner. Trying to convince himself that things will work out, that with a little extra effort, it’ll all come together how he wants.

Which also gives us the chance to see his facial expression as he conveys that facade crumbling. When he realizes that Jamie has to “go so soon,” and maybe things aren’t going to change. He tries to brush it off, finding the dull silver lining left…

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S BEDROOM - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

Which Grace is also trying to do as the weeks drag on, and she finds herself feeling more alone than ever. Kenneth is spending more time escaping through work rather than being at home with them, and she’s stuck taking care of Lucas. It’s hard not to feel terribly alone, cramped in the small room they’ve converted into a nursery, a barely-twenty-something woman in a city where she has no connections but her husband who can’t ever seem to be around.

Still, she tries to convince herself it’ll work. It’s going to work. She swipes the tears from her cheeks and forces a smile, giving it to a drowsy Lucas dozing in his crib even if it’s entirely hollow.

It won’t last. As the tone of the piano takes on a harder edge --

INT. USC - THEATER - NIGHT

Farkle embodies this loss of patience, reaching his breaking point as Cathy and musically breaking into argument with Jamie.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

At the same time, Grace has reached a breaking point with Kenneth, cornering him one of the few times he’s home at a reasonable hour to call him on his bullshit. Wondering why they’re always having the same arguments, why he can’t seem to commit to the changes he claims he’ll make, when the only reason they’re in this situation is because Kenneth claimed he wanted it.

You could be here with me or be there with them As usual guess which you pick!

Kenneth, of course, is on defense, claiming Grace is always on his ass and never gives him a break. Someone has to keep them afloat financially, since she’s a dropout and they can barely afford this shitty apartment as it is. This argument feels more volatile than usual, with all the extra pressure, as we see in flashes of their fight. Both of them are raising their voices, reaching the end of their rope.

INT. USC - THEATER - NIGHT

Throughout, the cuts between the past and the present start to feel suffocating, erratic and at the same fever pitch as the fights they’re depicting. However, certain lines belong squarely to Farkle, such as “you could stay with your wife on her fucking birthday” and the increasing sense of hysteria as he emphasizes how selfish Jamie is.

You, and you, and nothing but you, Marvelous novelist you, Isn’t he wonderful, just twenty-eight, the savior of writing?!

Then we’re back to fierce intercuts, each argument reaching it’s climax -- all the more intense with Farkle’s one-of-a-kind theatrical belting…

En route to sky And I -- !

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

Until everything comes to an abrupt, screeching halt when Kenneth hits Grace, smacking her hard across the face with enough force to send her stumbling.

For a moment, it’s silent. Dead silent as Grace crumbles to the floor, the surrealism and horror of what just happened for the first time echoing with resounding impact.

Grace seems to absorb it in slow motion, bringing a hand up to tenderly cup her cheek as the piano cautiously reenters the soundscape. 

INT. USC - THEATER - NIGHT

We’re back with Farkle as he takes the last shaky verse, allowed to be more emotive on the stage than Grace ever could be in reality. He stammers through the final lyrics, eyes glassy.

I swear to God I’ll never understand How you can stand there, straight and tall

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - FLASHBACK - DAY

Behind Grace, now just a shadow over us, Kenneth reacts to what he’s just done. He’s pacing, seemingly apologetic, immediately diving into love-bombing to make up for what he just did. Making her promises, more emotional than she is, terrified that she’s going to leave.

But Grace isn’t going anywhere. She’s frozen, trapped in the realization of what her life truly has become. What she married, who she chose to fall in love with, the extremes to which he’s capable of. The sinking feeling that nothing is sacred, nothing can protect her. Not really.

And see I’m crying And not do anything at all…

And yet, even then, that she still loves him. That’s the worst part. Her expression is blank as this hits her, the certainty that she isn’t going anywhere.

INT. FUNERAL HOME - CEREMONY HALL - DAY

The final repetitions of the piano take us out as Grace finishes her sentiments, clearly still grappling with those sinking, complex feelings all these years later.

Josh, pre-lap: [ weakly ] Oh my God.

EXT. NORTH HOLLYWOOD PARK - DAY

Based on the heavy silence that hangs over them, it’s clear that Maya has finished telling Josh the truth. All of it. The grim true colors of his employers, and the real reason she’s been M.I.A. since the retreat.

And it wasn’t easy to tell. Maya’s cheeks are tear-stained, and she’s folded herself up as small as she can manage on the park bench next to him. Josh, on the contrary, is folded over, cradling his head in his hands while he leans forward on his knees.

Josh: [ under his breath ] God, I’m gonna be sick.

Maya knows the feeling. She closes her eyes, willing no more tears to come. The ones she already spilled against her will were humiliating enough.

Josh exhales heavily and pushes himself upright, leaning back against the bench and tilting his head towards the sun. Trying to get the nausea to pass, urging the shock to wear off faster so he can think.

Josh: I can’t believe it. [ a beat ] Or actually, I can. Maybe that’s the worse part. Maya: I’m sorry. For dumping it on you. I shouldn’t have -- Josh: No, no. Don’t apologize. You of all people don’t need to be apologizing. I’m glad you told me. That you felt like you could. [ feebly ] Better to know, anyway.

Maya offers a weak nod of agreement. Though she sure wishes she never had to find out personally.

Josh: Did you tell Melissa? She should know, working so closely with him. If anyone -- Maya: I did. She -- [ swallowing hard ] She wasn’t interested in what I had to say. Josh: Seriously? [ off her nod ] What the fuck? Maya: In some ways, I get it. They’re close. Like… if someone tried to tell me that, I don’t know, Farkle or Zay -- Josh: No. No, don’t rationalize it. You don’t have to do that. It’s shitty as fuck, and there’s no excuse. I can’t believe you told her and she did nothing.

It stings to remember. Maya screws her eyes shut again, pressing a hand to them to stem any returning waterworks. Josh shakes his head, still trying to wrap his mind around it all.

Josh: I’m sorry. I’m -- fuck, I’m sorry. [ frustrated ] I wish I had better ideas for what to do. If you want to tell the label, or file a report, I’m behind you -- Maya, sharply: No.

Josh looks at her, surprised. He knows it’s a sensitive subject, but he didn’t expect such reticence from her. He tries to push back, pointing out that Justin might not get any consequences otherwise, and she’s fully within her rights to drag him to hell and back. And if she just needs some help --

Maya: No. No, I can’t. I don’t want -- I just want to move on. Like it never happened.

But it did. She can’t just erase it, no matter how badly she wishes she could. Josh seems reluctant to let it drop, feeling strong in his gut that there should be consequences…

But it’s Maya’s choice. Only she can decide how this moves forward, if at all. If she doesn’t want to say anything, or wants to shout about it from the rooftops, he has to respect that. Right now, respect is about the only thing he can offer her in light of something so awful.

Even so, even if no one else ever hears a whisper about this, he wants to make one thing crystal clear.

Josh: Justin is fucked. All right? He’s a creep, and it’s fucked what he did to you. Not just the -- but all of it. The way he treated you, from beginning to end. Like his… little fucking baby doll rather than one of the most talented new artists Global Beat has come across in years. [ fiercely ] You have talent, okay, the real thing, and he is a piece of shit for downplaying that just so he can have his way with you. Both of them are full of shit. And you don’t need them.

Amen. Maya listens to his tirade with wide eyes, moved by how worked up he is on her behalf. Suppose any decent guy would be, given the circumstances, but there’s something deeper to it. There’s an indignation for the sake of the work, for the sake of the music, that burns just as brightly as her fire often does.

Although it might be hard to explain to someone else, Josh understands intrinsically that this violation is about more than just her body. It’s her voice, too -- and that hurts just as much.

They settle into plaintive quiet for a moment, Josh taking a second to catch his breath and cool his anger.

Maya: I’m sorry. Josh, confused: For me? What for? Maya: For both of us. I should’ve listened to you the first time. When we first met. [ clearing her throat ] If I hadn’t been so stubborn, up my own ass, then…

Who knows? Maybe this whole thing could’ve been avoided. Maybe it could’ve been them on the same team from the get-go, and Maya never would’ve ended up in the lion’s den.

But then, who knows how much longer neither of them would’ve known the truth. How much longer they’d be walking blind, lying down with the snakes with no sense of where the venomous ones slither. Josh slouches back, shrugging in exhaustion.

Josh: Don’t give me that much credit. Truth is, I could say the same. I barely know what I’m doing most of the time either.

This reckoning surely proves that well enough. After another beat of thoughtful silence, Maya glances at him again.

Maya: What are you going to do?

Good question. Now that he knows, what is his next step? That question darkens Josh’s features, lingering unanswered…

EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY

The sky is just starting to shift from cloudy blue to rosy pink as Zay jogs up the few steps to Charlie’s apartment building. He’s dressed fashionably sharp as usual for an event such as this, with well-fitted dark pants and a statement suit jacket that represents his bold personality.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - LOBBY - DAY

Zay waits impatiently in the lobby, pacing the floor and ignoring the watchful eye of the desk attendant as he loiters. He checks his watch, not sure whether he wants time to speed up or slow down. The sooner he can get through this shitshow the better, but at the same time, he kind of doesn’t want to have to actually face it in the first place.

Zay: [ under his breath ] Again, couldn’t this have just been an email…

Complaints notwithstanding, all of his nervous energy falls out of his brain the moment Charlie steps out of the elevator.

Strangely, it feels like being thrown back in time. Even though they’re older, maybe (feels like barely) wiser, the moment shoots Zay back to how it felt to be standing outside a crowded theater in the heat of August. Watching Charlie Gardner approach, nicely dressed for an important evening and giving him that endearing bashful smile. Another time he was constantly battling the depth of his own feelings, when the label of “friends” felt accurate yet horribly insufficient, but he didn’t know if there was any hope for them to truly be considered anything else.

Only maximize all of the above times a million, considering Zay knows damn well what it feels like to be something more with him now, and those memories haunt him more and more by the day. That, and he looks so unfairly good with his well-earned glow-up -- stupid set-free wavy hair and European tan -- it should be a federal crime.

And now nix all of that and pretend it didn’t happen, because Charlie is in front of him and he has to be normal again. Charlie’s smile brightens as he greets him, getting a good look for himself.

Charlie: Hi. Zay: Hi. As usual, you’re late. Charlie: I know, sorry. Only by a minute though. You look great, by the way. Not that that’s breaking news. Kind of has me worried I’m underdressed -- Zay: No, you’re not. You look epic. [ a beat ] Like, epically appropriate. Not underdressed. Or overdressed. You’re… dressed.

Sure is. Smooth. Charlie raises his eyebrows, not sure whether he should laugh or not. Either way, Zay being flustered is damningly cute, even if he can just chalk it up to Turner nerves.

Speaking of, they are on the clock… Charlie clasps his hands together.

Charlie: So. You ready? Zay: Ready to get this fucking over with? Yes. [ as they start to walk out ] Hey, just so we’re clear, you don’t have to do this. Like I said. If you’d rather not, with everything going on -- Charlie: Zay.

Charlie stops them, pausing until Zay faces him. He braves the act of taking his shoulders, looking him in the eyes and not wavering.

Charlie: I’m fine. I will survive. And I want to be there for you. Okay?

If he says so… Zay holds his gaze, mostly just because he can’t help himself, but then he relents.

Zay, softer: Yeah, okay.

Charlie smiles, nodding and lightly nudging him to lead the way. As he follows him out…

INT. JOHNSON HOME - VANESSA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Vanessa is finishing up getting ready for the gala herself, slipping on a couple of bracelets before touching up her appearance in the mirror. Her ensemble is an off-white jumpsuit paired with an off-the-shoulder jacket, and she’s braided and pinned back one side of her hair while the rest falls over her opposite shoulder. She looks fierce and formidable, which is a good thing, because it’ll disguise how nervous she is about tonight.

Her eyes widen in surprise when she spots someone in her doorway through the mirror. ALEXIS JOHNSON.

Alexis: Hi.

Suddenly, they’re speaking again? Vanessa turns uncertainly to face her.

Vanessa: … hi. Alexis: I was hoping I’d catch you before you left. [ looking her over ] You look beautiful.

There’s nothing backhanded about the compliment. Vanessa is still guarded, but she opens up a little to further engagement.

Vanessa: The look isn’t quite finished. I still need to pick earrings. Do you want to help?

Completing a look, Alexis can confidently contribute. She brightens and comes over to join her, sifting lightly through the jewelry box on Vanessa’s dresser.

Alexis: You’ve had most of these since you were in middle school, haven’t you? I remember this one from the semi-formal. Vanessa: Yeah. Alexis: We’ll have to go shopping sometime soon. Freshen up your repertoire. Been a while since we did a mother-daughter shopping trip.

Alexis holds up one earring, comparing it thoughtfully to Vanessa’s ensemble, then decides against it. She does it a couple more times, before landing on the right one.

Alexis: This one. This is the one.

Vanessa seems unsure, far from an expert in these things, but she lets her mom pin the earrings in for her. Then she turns to face the mirror again, her mom beaming over her shoulder.

She was right. Those are just the right ones.

Vanessa: Cool. Thanks. Alexis: Excellent. Ready to be a finalist, for certain.

Again, Vanessa doesn’t look nearly as sure about that as she’d like to be. She faces her mother again and lets her adjust her hair.

Vanessa: All I can say is I hope you’re right. Otherwise I have spent a lot of time and effort blowing things up for nothing. Alexis: It wasn’t for nothing. And I have no doubt in my mind. Vanessa: You have to say that. You’re my mom. And you wouldn’t even know -- Alexis: Actually, I do.

Vanessa frowns slightly, confused. After a moment, Alexis meets her eyes, confessing.

Alexis: I went to your audition. I saw your performance. Vanessa: … you did? Alexis: Yes. Yes, and baby, you were incredible. I know you’ve always been a good dancer, and that you cared about it, but actually seeing it like that on stage… it radiates. You say something when you move, Vanessa. It’s remarkable.

Hearing that her mom was there is stunning enough -- processing the effusive praise for something her parents have mostly brushed off or pretended wasn’t happening is going to take a bit.

Vanessa: You didn’t tell me you were going to be there. Alexis: I couldn’t have. I didn’t know I would be. Vanessa: Then why were you? Why did you go? Alexis: I don’t know… it was strange. Just this feeling, I suppose. With how cold things have been, between all of us… I thought maybe I should see what all the fuss was about. At least try to see it, the way you’ve always seen it. [ choked up ] And I did. Nessie, I saw what you see.

So yes, she knows they have to admit her to the program. They’d be crazy not to. And Alexis will be cheering her on, every step of the way, wherever life and her career takes her. She wishes she had said so sooner, but better late than never.

Sure would be nice to have such strong support in her corner tonight… in fact, Vanessa finds herself blurting out the request before she can think it through.

Vanessa: Do you want to come with me?

She does get a plus-one, after all… Alexis contemplates the surprise invitation, holding her daughter’s cautiously hopeful gaze.

INT. FUNERAL HOME - RECEPTION HALL - NIGHT

Now that the sun has set and the main program of the funeral has passed, the guests and mourners mingle in the reception hall to commiserate and celebrate Kenneth’s life. It’s packed with folks from Quincy High School and the youth football community, along with old friends of Kenneth who traveled in for the affair.

Amidst all the shared loss and grieving, Riley sticks out like a sore thumb. She’s keeping to the sidelines with Dylan and Asher, observing rather than participating, but it’s near impossible for her to hide her apathy about the deceased. She’s a good actress, but faking grief for the man who made Lucas’s life so hellish might just cause her to drop dead too.

Asher seems equally disgruntled. He watches all of the mourners around them with a critical eye, unable to contain his frustration.

Asher: I don’t get it. All of the… Riley: Love. [ flatly ] They loved him.

And that fact is incomprehensible to them. Dylan shrugs.

Dylan: They knew a different person. Besides, we’re not here for him.

True. They’re there for Lucas. Asher huffs but nods, taking a sip of his drink. Riley nods as well, crossing her arms tighter across her chest.

Isa is experiencing a similar dissonance, compounded on top of triggers from their own experience with parental funerals. Packed full of mixed feelings and bittersweet thoughts… it’s a bit too much to take after listening to all the gushing over a man they despise. They make for the side door to get some fresh air.

Across the room, Jack notices them make their hurried exit.

EXT. FUNERAL HOME - RECEPTION HALL - NIGHT

Isa escapes into the dusk, exhaling a deep breath and shaking their head. They lean back against the bricks and pull their cardigan sleeves over their palms, wrapping themselves into a hug like armor.

Jack steps through the side door moments later, not having to go far to find Isa. They exchange a look.

Jack: I saw you leave. Everything okay? Isa: Okay? No. Am I dying? Also no. But at least I’m in the right place if so.

Jack lets out a scoff, then glances back over his shoulder through the door.

Jack: Mind if I join you for a minute? Think I could use the breather.

Isa shrugs, as good as a yes. Jack shuts the door and comes to stand beside them, stuffing his hands into his pockets and releasing an exhale of his own. For a long moment, they just stand in the quiet…

Isa: It’s fucked up. Jack: Hm? Isa: All… that. The way they talked about him, how sad they are. He doesn’t… he doesn’t deserve their praise. They have no idea who they’re really missing.

On principle, Jack doesn’t disagree. There’s certainly no love lost on his end.

Jack: It’s disorienting, when you know the reality of things. Yes. But you can’t fault them for that. Isa: Actually, I can, and I will.

Jack laughs lightly, allowing the stubborn comment to grant them a dose of humor on an otherwise heavy evening. Even so, there’s more to be said.

Jack: I get the feeling. For the most part, I feel that way, too. I’m guessing it doesn’t feel all that dissimilar to how Valerie’s ceremony went either. Obviously not to the same degree, or the same sins, but that same disconnect. Isa: … maybe. Jack: Death does weird things to us. Grief, too. It’s like in the shadow of it, nuance evaporates, and we can’t see the shades of grey anymore. It’s only black or white. That’s why so many people are heralded and mourned in their passing, regardless of how they lived. Something human about that, the… desire to let the dead rest. To not have to dig up all of the hatchets we did or didn’t bury. Isa: Stupid. Jack: Alas, human. With this, though, it’s a different beast entirely. These people can lionize him so easily, because the man they knew was worth lionizing. He was a pillar of the Quincy community. He coached a lot of the young men in there. They looked up to him. He was probably like a father to some of them. Isa: Pretty sick, considering what a shitty one he was to Lucas. Jack: I agree. But that’s the narrative they know. In their world, Lucas was the problematic child. Kenneth was a resilient and charming mentor doing the best he could. It all depends on what story you’ve been told, and which you believe. [ a beat ] And the fact is, most people in there don’t even realize there is a story. That’s the real crux of it. Every person we meet in life is an iceberg, and we’re only ever seeing the tip of it. Until they show us more, or we dive deeper to discover it. We can’t expect people to just sense things, or magically know the truth.

Frustrating as it is. Jack tilts his head back against the wall.

Jack: If you want someone to know something, you have to tell them. It has to be shared.

For better or worse. For whatever reason, that sentiment seems to hit Isa harder than they expected. Just another thought flurrying through their currently chaotic mind.

Jack glances back towards the door, knowing he should go back into the fray. He sighs.

Jack: Sometimes, though, it’s just not worth the effort of trying to say it.

In this case, it’s better to let the mourners share their grief, and move on without ever having to know the truth. At this point, saves trouble for everyone involved, particularly Grace and Lucas.

Jack lightly pats Isa’s shoulder and tells them he’ll see them back in there, before leaving them alone.

INT. FUNERAL HOME - ENTRANCE HALL - NIGHT

Grace and Lucas are stationed by the doors, giving themselves a much-needed break from constant socializing. It’s easier to be by the exit, only fielding well-meant sympathies when people on already on their way out. They mostly stand in plaintive silence, managing nods and brief thank yous when people wish them well or share their condolences. Grace offers a gentle smile, too, but Lucas stays solemn.

As a reprieve of no guests passes, Lucas quietly speaks.

Lucas: Thanks. For taking the podium earlier. Grace: Of course. [ a beat ] I wasn’t expecting the director to ask us for words. We hadn’t discussed that. But I suppose when you throw something together so quickly… Lucas: I’m sorry you had to do that. In front of all those people. Make shit up on the spot.

Grace pauses, considering that.

Grace: I wouldn’t call it that.

Before they can continue, they’re accosted by another set of mourners leaving the reception. This one appears to be a former football player and his parents, all of whom have nothing but high regards for Kenneth and take care to tell them so.

Footballer: He was like a second dad to me. Seriously, one of the best there ever was.

Lucas keeps his eyes to the floor. Grace fields the warm compliment instead, doing her best to receive it with an open mind.

Grace: Thank you. He really cared about the team.

The mother of the football player has clearly spent her tears this afternoon, and she still isn’t done. She’s still choked up and emotional as she echoes her son’s sentiments.

Football Mother: He was so good to the team. To all of us, really. He was such a wonderful man. I wish you both every happiness as you work through his loss. Oh, and…

She turns her loud sympathy on Lucas, nearly breaking into tears again as she takes him in. She reaches out and touches his arm, which makes him snap his head up in surprise. Caught in her glassy stare, there’s no avoiding the next blubbering statement to come out of her mouth.

Football Mother: You are so much like him.

The father gently pries his wife away from Lucas and offers one more round of condolences. They set off down the steps and on their way, totally unaware of how easily they’ve just clocked Lucas. He stands frozen for a long moment, pale and shaky, before he regains the ability to move. He clears his throat.

Lucas: [ barely audible ] Excuse me.

Lucas steps away from the doors, disappearing back into the halls of the funeral home. Grace watches him go, concerned but clueless how to help. She always has been, she knows.

She’s distracted anyway when another group of mourners come to pay their respects, trapping her in conversation.

A whimsical, faraway orchestration floats in, building as we transition away --

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - GALA VENUE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Dance at the Gym” as performed by West Side Story Original Movie Soundtrack || Instrumental (from 00:16 to 02:09)

The Turner gala is in full swing, the banquet hall it’s being held in full of attendees. It’s a mix of faculty and staff at NYCA, current Turner students and alumni -- including SIMONE WILSON, laughing and chatting with her peers -- and of course, the current transfer cohort and their guests. Beyond just the reveal of the current transfer finalists, this gala also includes announces of scholarships, alumni recognition, etc., so there’s at least some justification for all the fanfare.

As for the set-up, it does feel a bit like a school formal. A large space is cleared at the center of the hall to act as a dance floor -- these are members of a dance community, after all, and it’s been a long year -- and the outer edge of the floor is lined with tables for food, drinks, information, and raffle prizes. Up on the small stage, a microphone stands front and center for important announcements of the evening and any performances. Behind it is a small but mighty orchestra, who is providing the swanky accompaniment and jazzy music for the evening.

Currently, Zay and Charlie have found company with HENRIK VON FELDT and a couple of other current Turner students. Despite the tension of the evening, and what news awaits, the vibe is decently upbeat.

Student: Well, for what it’s worth, man, I hope you make it. Zay: Thanks. Charlie: He will. Henrik: Yeah, and even if he doesn’t, don’t worry about Zayby. He’s been busy doing all these insane audition runs in the meantime. Student 2: Oh, no shit? Zay: I wouldn’t phrase it like that, but -- Student: That’s dope. You heard from any of them yet?

Zay shakes his head. Henrik points out that this has been Zay’s M.O. basically since they met -- he goes overboard on everything, outshining everyone else and tossing all his chances into the air, and usually things land in a way that works out for him.

Henrik: He’s a try-hard, but that is why we love him.

Well, Henrik isn’t wrong. Zay glares at Henrik, while Charlie does his absolute best not to laugh.

Student 2: Dude, I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with all this then. If I had the goods to be booking Broadway shows -- Henrik, helpfully: Off-Broadway. Charlie: Yindra thanks you. That’s usually her job. Student 2: I wouldn’t be banking so hard on this. Like, take the money and run, lol.

And maybe you have a point, random Turner student, but Zay does not want to hear more of this. He’s focused on this plan right now, which still remains up in the air, and he doesn’t need yet another person to echo this criticism on tonight of all nights. He clears his throat and manages a tight smile, before turning to Charlie and finding an exit.

Zay: I’m gonna grab a drink. You want anything?

Charlie claims he’s good, but he can sense Zay’s shift in demeanor. Before he can ask him about it, or check that he’s okay, Henrik chimes in and pulls Charlie back into the chatter as the longest-running observer of Zay’s antics.

Henrik: Oh, oh, Charlie. Tell them about the Kossal audition stuff. This guy spends weeks obsessing over his routine, and then bam, he rips it all up and just wings it night of. No joke.

Yeah, Zay doesn’t need to hear this story again -- not to mention, thinking about Kossal audition night kind of feels like dangerous territory for some reason. He excuses himself, smoothly slipping into the crowd. Charlie watches him go, then musters back up a smile as he tunes into Henrik’s regaling of his friend’s unconventional approach to his passion.

Zay exhales shortly and tries to shake off the tension in his limbs as he makes his way through the crowd. He doesn’t know why he feels so wound up, aside from the obvious. He usually isn’t this sensitive, let alone about opportunities like this. And Henrik is right -- he does have potential avenues beyond this if tonight doesn’t go as planned. So why is he so locked up? Why all the static in his brain and strain in his shoulders?

Why does everything these days feel like the end of the world?

If this is just young adulthood, he will pass. Once he makes it to the drinks, he finds himself reaching for the ladle to the punch bowl at the exact same time as someone else.

Vanessa. Because naturally. They lock eyes, both uncertainly backing off…

Until they manage to shake off the initial shock. They’re not going to be weird about this. Neither of them want to be weird about it.

Zay: Hey. Vanessa: Hi. [ gesturing to the punch ] Can I?

Zay nods, gesturing for her to go on. She does, pouring herself a cup before going ahead and getting one for him too. Unexpectedly nice move. Zay takes it.

Zay: You look good. Vanessa: Thanks. Are we supposed to say shit like that to each other, though? Given… Zay: Hey, I’m just stating a fact. No ulterior motive behind it. But if you’d rather I not acknowledge your hotness, that is fine by me. Vanessa: No, you’re more than welcome. I’ll take facts. Zay: Cool. [ a beat ] You can return the favor, you know.

Vanessa raises her eyebrows, subtly making a face as she takes a long sip of her drink. No comment. Cheeky… Zay rolls his eyes, but honestly, he doesn’t mind the sass. It feels familiar -- it feels normal.

Zay: So how are you feeling? About tonight? Vanessa: [ with a shrug ] Like my stomach is going to fall out of my ass? Like I need a giant pair of scissors to snip my spine in half and let me go limp? So you know, the usual. Zay: Yeah. Do you think it’s ever gonna stop feeling that way? Vanessa: We’re trying to be entertainers, Babineaux. Sources say no.

Figures. Well, at least there’s solidarity in the struggle… Vanessa glances over his shoulder towards the crowd, where she catches a glimpse of Henrik…

Vanessa: I see you’ve brought a plus-one.

Zay glances back over his shoulder as well, just as Charlie laughs at something the students said. His gaze lingers for a moment before he remembers to look away, meeting Vanessa’s eyes again.

Vanessa: That didn’t take long. Zay: It’s… it’s not like that. He’s just here as my friend.

Uh huh. Right… Vanessa does nothing to hide her skepticism, taking another pointed sip. Not like she’s all that surprised, though, nor especially stung to see it. There was a reason she broke things off.

Zay isn’t ready to address that, though, so he searches for a change in topic.

Zay: How about you? Summer? Vanessa: No, actually. [ a beat ] My mom is here.

That is surprising. Zay raises his eyebrows.

Zay: For real? Is that a good thing? Vanessa: I don’t know. It’s… new. Suppose we’ll see what happens.

If things don’t go the way she wants tonight, it’ll be a pointless development anyway. Can’t support her career if there’s no career.

Speaking of, it’s Vanessa’s turn to go on stage. An organizer for the gala finds them by the drink table and quietly informs her that she’s next on the roster, so they’d like her to head to the stage. Vanessa nods, giving Zay a look before starting to head in that direction.

Zay: Vanessa.

Vanessa stops, looking at him over her shoulder. Zay isn’t sure why he called after her, but the words slip out of him moments later.

Zay: I don’t know a lot of people who can keep up with me. They’re a rare breed. [ a beat ] I’d really like to not lose the ones I do find. Regardless of what happens.

It’s an unexpectedly vulnerable confession on a night so high in stakes for them both. Sure, their romance didn’t pan out -- for many reasons -- but there’s something between them worth keeping alive. Something that Zay, for whatever reason, seems certain that he doesn’t want to lose even they’re no longer involved.

They’re twin fire signs, and they feed each other’s flames. They make one another better. If there’s any chance of holding onto that, in a form that is healthier for both of them, then Zay wants to make it clear that he’s open to it.

Which is not usually how break-ups go, at least as far as Vanessa knows, but then again, she doesn’t have a lot of experience. And Zay has never played by everyone else’s rules.

Could they, really and truly, be friends?

Right now, Vanessa doesn’t have time to decide. She accepts his declaration with a simple nod, then makes her way towards the stage. Zay lets her go. He said his piece; he made his point. If she wants to take him up on the offer, she knows how to reach him.

But for now, it’s showtime. One of the other faculty members takes the microphone and makes a few miscellaneous comments, before introducing the next transfer hopeful of the evening.

Faculty: Folks, please give a warm Turner welcome to Vanessa Johnson.

The crowd does so, Vanessa giving the faculty an awkward smile as she crosses the stage to arrive at the mic. Alexis watches excitedly from her spot in the crowd, a bit awkward herself as she’s never been at an event like this without playing perfect wife, but happy to be there.

Zay rejoins Charlie and Henrik just as Vanessa finishes adjusting the microphone.

Vanessa: Hi. Like they said, I’m Vanessa, and… here’s to the future.

Whatever it holds. She turns behind her and takes a deep breath, nodding to the orchestra director.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “my future” as performed by Billie Eilish || Performed by Vanessa Johnson

Vanessa’s rendition of the Billie Eilish self-serenade is a bit more stacked than the original, as she has the full backing of an orchestra to elevate the piece. The instrumentation is still muted, but sounds a bit more like this big band version, giving it more of her spitfire spirit.

Either way, it’s her vocals that are the standout. The song is perfectly suited to her alto register, but more than that, the lyrics speak truth to where she finds herself.

I’m not here I’m just a mirror

For so long, she upheld the standards of others, allowing herself to become invisible and lose whoever rested at her core. But she’s not doing that anymore. She’s not putting her sense of self or happiness on her parents, or a partner, or anyone else who thinks they can tell her how to be.

Whatever the future holds, Turner or no Turner, she isn’t going to let go of this clarity. Vanessa is putting Vanessa first.

And if she’s lucky, she’ll fall in love with her too.

EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - ROOFTOP - NIGHT

Reyna is spending a cool evening in her wicker chair, soaking up the brief glimpse she can of the starry evening before the storm clouds roll in again. With the relentlessly poor weather, she hasn’t had much of a chance to enjoy the views.

That, and the rooftop is an excellent place to think. Nigel seems to have absorbed that lesson as well, opening the door to the roof and spotting his lola.

He comes over to join her. She peeks at him with one eye open, pretending to be disdainful at the disruption of her peace… but the small smile on her face indicates she knew he’d show up eventually.

Nigel: Nice night. For once. Reyna: Mm, not for long. Rain within the next hour or so. Nigel: Guess you better enjoy it while it lasts. Reyna: What do you think I was doing before you came up here and started blabbering at me?

Nigel rolls his eyes, but he knows she’s just picking on him. He settles down on the concrete by her feet, sitting cross-legged and following her gaze out towards the city.

Reyna: It’s okay. The sun will be back. It’s always when you think you can’t take any more, that the clouds will never part again, that it likes to make its reappearance.

It just likes to make you wait, every now and then. Keeps us humble. Nigel admits that he likes rain, so it hasn’t been much of a bother to him.

Reyna: Tsk, I know. You are just like your mother in that way. [ a beat ] In more ways than that, I think.

Nice segue, Reyna… Nigel sighs, looking up at her.

Nigel: Do you think she’ll be upset with me forever? Reyna: I don’t think she is upset with you now. I think she worries the opposite! Nigel: I’m not… it’s not that I’m mad at her. Or that I think her reaction was… it’s not like I don’t get it. Objectively. It just feels like…

He’s confused, and uncertain. He always walked towards the future with this stable foundation, this idea that even if things didn’t come easy, or it took him time to figure it out, his family would be in his corner. He took that for granted, maybe expected too much. Now he doesn’t know how to adjust his expectations, or the way he views their relationship.

Reyna: Liezel is in your corner. She loves you. Nigel: I know. At least, I think I do. But then I think about how that conversation went, and the way she looked at me --

All that doubt in her expression. Proof that her belief in him has limitations. Reyna shakes her head.

Reyna: It’s not in you that she lacks faith. She just wants what is best for you. That’s the problem. Nigel: How can that be a problem? Reyna: You can’t see this because of your age, but the world you live in is not the one she knows. That she or Ernesto know -- that I know, for that matter. When your tatang and I came here, all those years ago, the world was a very different place. Our world had different expectations. Ernesto and Liezel, they had a little more to work with than I did, but it was still a big hill to climb.

Nigel has a fundamentally different experience, as a second generation Chey, than they did. His parents worked hard to make it that way.

Reyna: Your mama especially sees a much different world. She had ambitions too -- enrolled at a good school, studying engineering. But when her parents got sick, before you were even here, she had to change plans. She had to give all of that up, take up a more straightforward line of work. Learn trade skills, help keep things afloat. That is her lived reality. Nigel: She never told me about the engineering degree. She just said school didn’t work for her. Reyna: Circumstantially, that is true. But not by choice. She and Ernesto, they worked to build up a stronger foundation for you. They wanted you to have the room to dream bigger. The trick is, it is their success that has brought us here -- they set you all up so well, with such a pretty view, that you can’t even see one another anymore.

Essentially, it’s hard for Liezel and Ernesto to grasp such a bold change, because it never would’ve occurred to them to consider it. Nigel didn’t just throw them a curveball -- he flipped the whole field over, and in their lack of preparation, he got the strongest possible panic response.

Now, the dust has settled, giving both of them plenty of time to think. Whether Nigel can forgive the words said, or see their point of view, that is entirely up to him. But if he’s open to bridging the gap…

Reyna: Give your ma a little bit of grace. Try to keep her world in mind as she tries to comprehend yours. That is the only way you will truly be able to hear each other.

Nigel processes that, nodding. He thanks Reyna for the advice.

Nigel: If you’re a whole other world apart from mine, then how do you always know exactly what to say? Reyna: Hmph, my wisdom exceeds such meaningless boundaries. Time has no power over me!

Nigel laughs, shaking his head. He accepts an affectionate pat on the head from her, then the two of them settle back into enjoying the temporary calm before the storm.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

The work day is winding down, and by some miracle, Josh has managed to avoid his bosses. Not entirely unfounded, since higher-ups often don’t even bother to come into the office, but still a relief.

Even so, he can’t shake off a foreboding feeling. He’s been holding himself tight all day, stiff and uncomfortable, like he can’t relax. He glances around the Global Beat offices, a place he’s occupied for years now, but it’s like he’s been transported to another universe. The shadows seem longer; the veneer has dulled.

He doesn’t think he can stomach much more today. He gets up and starts packing his bag, ROWAN PHELPS giving him a look.

Phelps: Going somewhere? Josh: I’m not feeling well. I’m calling it. Phelps: Damn.  Josh: What? Phelps: Nothing. Just never thought I’d hear you say you’re leaving early. Is that you in there, Josh Matthews? Have you been body-snatched?

Honestly, he isn’t sure he is the same person anymore, no. But he doesn’t want to get into it. He manages a smile to brush off the playful jab, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Just as he’s walking away from his desk and heading towards the elevators, his luck runs out.

Justin: Joshie!

Justin and Melissa have returned to the office, stopping by before an evening networking event. They’re cheerful, but equally surprised to see Josh walking out of the building before 6 P.M. Where does he think he’s going?

Justin: You can’t already be leaving.

Josh is practically gritting his teeth. His voice comes out unnaturally tight.

Josh: I did my stuff for today. I’m not feeling well. Melissa: Oh, no. Okay, well, feel better. Let us know if you need anything. Justin: Yeah, you know we’ve got your back, dude. Nothing more important than your health, and all that.

Right. Josh doesn’t say anything, continuing his walk towards the elevator. Every muscle in his body is on edge, but he’s almost out of there. He just has to make it home…

Justin: By the way, remind me tomorrow that we want you to listen to the new girl’s samples. She is sick, man, you’re gonna love her! Not to mention hot as hell.

Once you open your eyes, you can’t close them. You can’t ignore the obvious. The objectifying comments jump out like they’re in red ink, burning Josh’s ears pink as anger rises in his chest.

Justin: If Maya never crawls out from under the rock she’s apparently taken up residence in, at least we’ve got a solid back-up, lol.

That’s it. The faux innocence is the last straw. Josh snaps, whipping back around. Before he knows what he’s doing, he shoves Justin as hard as he can, knocking him backwards towards the wall and startling absolutely everyone in the office. BRIAN HARRIS leaps up from his seat with wide eyes, Phelps dropping their jaw.

Melissa: Holy shit -- Brian: Hello?! Justin: Man, what the fuck --

Justin starts to instinctively push back, but Josh is quicker with the upperhand. He keeps Justin off balance and slams him back against the wall, full of disgust.

Josh: You’re sick. You’re fucking sick. Justin: What the hell, Josh?! Get the fuck off me!

The chatter grows loud enough to gather the attention of other high-level producers and executives, who emerge from their offices to inquire as to what exactly is going on. Phelps stares in disbelief, watching them all converge on Josh.

Melissa: Josh. Let go of him.

Her voice is stern… but calm. Almost understanding. She’s not an idiot, so she has a good suspicion what prompted this outburst. It’s plain as day on Josh’s face -- the flushed cheeks, the teary eyes in spite of his palpable rage. The utter sense of betrayal.

But to everyone else, it just seems like he’s officially lost the plot. And if he knows what’s good for him, with all those high-level eyes on him, he’ll let go.

So he does. Josh backs off and releases Justin, who despite his bravado appears visibly shaken by the encounter. Other male employees surge forward to intervene, but Josh doesn’t let them touch him, shaking off their hands and insisting that he’s on his way out. No need to direct him.

Josh: I’m already gone.

He marches towards the elevators, pushing through the door to the stairs instead. Justin does his best to regain his composure, forcing out an easy-going laugh and adjusting his shirt.

Justin: Don’t know what he’s on, but I’m sure I don’t want any of it. Ha ha.

Phelps watches Josh go, expression uncharacteristically flustered.

EXT. GLOBAL BEAT - DAY

Josh pushes through the revolving doors and into the Los Angeles sunset, releasing a monumental exhale that cracks at the end. He doesn’t know what came over him, but he doesn’t think he could’ve fought it either. He wasn’t going to be able to keep all his emotion over this in much longer.

Phelps exits the building moments later, having chased him down.

Phelps: Dude, what the absolute fuck was that?! 

Josh grimaces, spinning away from them and hiding his head in his hands. He can’t do this right now.

Phelps: Seriously, are you cracked? When you said you weren’t feeling well, was that your way of telling me you’re having a mental snap or something? You realize they could fire your ass for something like that, right? Josh: Whatever. Good, whatever, I don’t care.

That’s what really stops Phelps dead in their tracks. Josh, Josh Matthews, doesn’t care about his job? The one thing he’s lived for in the entire time they’ve known him? Either he really is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and they should call health services, or…

The revelation washes over Phelps, expression growing grim. Their voice is hollow when they speak again.

Phelps: Something happened. Didn’t it?

They don’t have to elaborate what they mean by that. It goes without saying, an unspoken language all Hollywood dwellers learn to translate. To communicate without specifics, to say things without saying them. To discuss the open secrets that riddle their industry without ever having to address them head on.

They both always knew there was a possibility it would brush them too. Everyone does, when you join this business. You accept the potential poison every time you drink from the career chalice, when you commit to creating within the confines of the La La Land machine.

Still, as demonstrated by their reactions, it’s never quite possible to be prepared for the reality.

Phelps: Josh.

Josh stays facing away from them, unable to look at them. Eyes rimmed red with unshed tears, limbs shaky under the weight of the secret Maya entrusted him to carry. Phelps knows, instinctively -- they’re asking him to know. To confirm it.

But it’s not his story to tell. It’s not his place. Thankfully, Phelps isn’t the one in danger to Justin’s antics. Although they’re tangential to it, under the same roof and adjacent to his power, it’s not actually their problem. They don’t have anything to do with it.

And they love this job too. Josh knows they do, even with their cool aloofness. If something has to take that excitement and purpose away from Phelps, if it’s bound to happen to all of them eventually, Josh doesn’t want to be the one to do it.

He half-turns to look at them, bittersweet but resigned.

Josh: Good luck, Phelps. I hope it happens for you.

There’s a heaviness to the exchange, in the avoidance of his response. This isn’t just an off-day. Things won’t go back to the same old, same old come tomorrow. Both of them sense that. And in this industry, when you’re no longer on the same projects or stuck at adjoining desks, those connections have a pretty habit of evaporating into nothing until there’s a convenient transaction needed again.

This feels like a goodbye.

Phelps doesn’t seem happy about that, but they realize they aren’t going to get any more out of Josh. Whatever happened, it fundamentally changed things, and now they have to deal with that. They keep their emotions in check, clenching their jaw, and give him a nod.

Phelps: You too.

Josh accepts that with one of his own. Then, Phelps lets him go, turning back to Global Beat. They hesitate for a moment, as if they sense they should second-guess the choice to walk back through those golden doors… but for now, they do, stepping back inside and disappearing.

Josh blinks back his tears and makes the opposite choice, stuffing his trembling hands in his pockets and heading down the street.

INT. FUNERAL HOME - RECEPTION HALL - NIGHT

At the funeral, Lucas’s absence has not gone unnoticed. Riley is scanning the reception for him, concern building the longer he remains out of sight.

She manages to find Jack, at least, who greets her with a muted smile.

Riley: Have you seen Lucas? I can’t find him. I’ve looked everywhere. Jack: Not recently, no. [ a beat ] I think I saw him leave about twenty minutes ago.

He left? That makes the scope of where he could’ve possibly disappeared to dauntingly wider. Riley curses under her breath, but Jack reaches out and comfortingly touches her shoulder.

Jack: Give him some space, Riley. It’s been a hard day. Riley: I know. I just -- Jack: You want to be there for him. And you already have, leagues beyond what he expected. It’s amazing that you were able to be here today, even if he acted like you didn’t need to be. [ a beat ] But you know how he is. After a day like this, sometimes… you just need to let him be.

He’s right. Riley hates that he’s right, but he is. She acknowledges that with a nod, and a weary sigh, before giving Jack a smile and thanks. He returns it.

Jack: You can go too. You’ve more than done your part, and he was the only reason you were here anyway. I know today was difficult for you too. Riley, hesitant: … I should help Grace -- Jack: I can handle that. I mean it, you’re free to go.

That is a relief. Riley accepts the freedom, thanking Jack once more before he lets her slip away.

She finds Isa instead, meeting her in a corner of the room. Isa looks about as exhausted and over it as she does, which is all Riley needs to see.

Riley: Let’s get out of here. I need a fucking drink. Isa: You had me at “get out,” but hell yes to all of that. Fuck this.

They head out together, wasting no time to get away from all the Kenneth.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - GALA VENUE - NIGHT

Vanessa is wandering the hall with her mom, introducing her whenever they find themselves pulled into conversation. In the middle of chatter with some of her classmates, ROSARIO GAO passes them by, catching Vanessa’s eye and greeting her cordially.

Rosario: Miss Johnson. You look well. Vanessa: Thank you. It feels good to be here. Rosario: Fittingly. Congratulations for making it this far.

Whether that continues past tonight, well… Gao shifts her eyes to Alexis, raising her eyebrows in interest. Vanessa quickly clears her throat.

Vanessa: Um, this is my mom. Alexis: [ holding out a hand ] Alexis. It’s wonderful to meet you. Vanessa has spoken very highly of you.

At this, Gao seems mildly amused. She has no trouble believing her students talk about her outside of class, but “highly” is worth a bit of skepticism… even so, she’ll let the schmoozing slide.

Rosario: Vanessa is one of the stronger in the cohort, so that doesn’t surprise me. Your daughter works very hard. You have much to be proud of.

Nothing about her talent, or her prospects, but something about the straightforward compliment almost means more. Gao isn’t one for attitude, or ego, and she respects showing up and doing the work above all else. If that’s what she has to say about Vanessa, then that’s not the worst thing to hear.

Alexis absorbs that, glancing at Vanessa next to her. She smiles.

Alexis: Yes. Yes, certainly.

With that, Gao lets them go, wishing Vanessa luck. Betraying nothing, even though she absolutely knows who the three finalists are… Vanessa exhales once she’s gone, exchanging a look with her mother that bubbles into an awkward laugh. Getting a little taste of the semesters-long tension on the house!

Meanwhile, the time has come for Zay’s turn up on stage. He disappeared a few minutes ago, leaving Charlie with Henrik.

Henrik: Did he tell you what he was doing for his thing? He wouldn’t give me any deets. Charlie: Not really. I was supposed to help him figure it out, but… we didn’t get all that far.

Henrik seems intrigued by that vague comment, but he doesn’t get the chance to be nosy. The faculty takes the stage and tees up another introduction, inviting Zay onto the stage.

So whatever he’s about to do, he came up with it all on his own. Zay approaches the microphone and exchanges niceties with the faculty, back in well-rehearsed charm mode as he’s back to performing. He adjusts the microphone and then slides his six-string guitar around from behind his back, having stowed it backstage in the wings.

Zay: Hey y’all. As mentioned, I’m Zay Babineaux, and as was probably predictable, I’m annoyingly passionate about dance. But since we all are here, and I’ve done enough dancing this year to probably last anyone else a lifetime, I thought I would do something a bit different for my five seconds of spotlight tonight. To prove that I actually do have other talents beyond all this.

The crowd chuckles. Charlie smiles lightly, knowing that truth all too well.

Zay takes a couple moments of quiet to tune his guitar, mentally preparing himself. Then he takes a deep breath, addressing the room again.

Zay: I had a lot of ideas for what I could’ve done tonight. Ways to make myself standout, or intimidate my peers, or just act above all this stuff… but then I figured, what’s the point? We already auditioned. We’ve already put everything out there. Bravado isn’t going to do me much good now. [ a beat ] So instead, I thought I’d just play something I like. A tribute to something that was part of what got me so into dance in the first place… so if this career works out for me and I become more insufferable than I already am, you can blame Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan. Thank you very much.

For a room full of dance students, that’s basically all he needed to say. He clears his throat, taking one last moment to find Charlie in the crowd…

Zay: Anyway. If you get it, you get it. Thanks.

With that, Zay starts to play.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Dear Life” as performed by Anthony Hamilton || Performed by Zay Babineaux

The true credit is that Zay managed to find the one remotely sentimental and acoustic song on the Step Up soundtrack to run with, but honestly, it’s refreshing. It’s a nice change of pace to just hear him sing again, to strip down the star power and play from something more authentic. It more than demonstrates that he’s more than just killer choreography and a big ego, so mission accomplished.

Then there’s the subtext. Another kind of secret language, one that goes unheard by most people in attendance that don’t know anything about Zay. Who don’t know his history, who don’t have his full context, who probably aren’t paying attention to the words he’s singing or the meaning they carry. To them, he’s just another transfer hopeful, singing a song from one of his favorite movies.

Sometimes in life, you run across a love unknown Without a reason, it feels like you belong

But Charlie does know. He knows every word, because he also spent hours as a kid listening to this album and even more hours in the recent years. When this film and soundtrack were part of the foundation that bonded them together. He knows the history -- he is the context.

He gets it. And like always, as he has been since the start, he’s absolutely captivated by Zay’s performance.

Zay meets his eyes again as he reaches the final repetition of the chorus, suddenly unable to look away.

Hold on, dear life, don't go off running from what's new I became somebody through loving you

The final few notes peter out, Zay’s fingers releasing the strings, and quiet settles over the room. For a brief second, it feels like it’s just the two of them, as if any other context has ceased to matter.

Then the applause from the audience snaps them out of it, reminding Zay of where he is and that he’s presenting. He nods a thank you and takes his exit as the faculty steps back up to the stage. Charlie is shaken out of his daze and the way his heart is pounding when Henrik playfully elbows him. Not bad for their bestie, huh?

Yep. That’s all it is. Just another good performance from Zay, his good friend.

Totally, completely normal.

INT. JOSH’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Josh makes it back home, and that’s for the better, because he can’t hold it in anymore. Once he steps back inside the safe haven of his apartment, he has one beat of stunned quiet…

And then it all comes crumbling down. He hides his head in his hands.

Josh: Fuck!

It’s genuine anguish. He drops his bag on the floor and removes his beanie, throwing it to the side. He runs his hands through his hair, a few tears starting to fall as Andrew emerges from his room to see what all the fuss is about.

Andrew: Damn, dude, what’s --

His tone is teasing at first, but once he sees the state Josh is in, he knows it’s serious. He switches tone instantly, approaching Josh to get him to stop frantically pacing.

Andrew: Man, what’s wrong? What happened? [ a beat ] What fucked up thing did Global Beat do now?

Josh scoffs out a laugh, screwing his eyes shut and letting more tears fall. Because that says everything, doesn’t it? The fact that Andrew just knew the problem would be Global Beat -- he’s been telling him for ages he was wasting his time. That he was killing himself over nothing. Only now, it’s even worse.

Now, he’s been killing himself for something he can’t stand. That makes him sick, goes against everything he thought he stood for.

Andrew manages to direct Josh to the couch, settling them both down as he tries to get him to talk about it. Josh simply shakes his head, unable to give him anything. It’s not his secret to share, even with someone he knows would never tell.

But his grief is evident enough regardless. He’s lost something, something major, and Andrew can figure that out without details the same way Phelps intrinsically sensed the worst hiding in plain sight. He’s empathetic, choking up a bit himself to see his best friend in such a state.

Andrew: Fuck, man. I’m sorry. Josh: I just --

His voice cracks, causing him to shake his head again. He can’t find the words -- he can’t bring himself to say them.

Josh: It’s all a joke. It; me. Everything I thought I knew, what I believed --

The thing he’s devoted the last half-decade to obsessively has turned out to be a house of cards, built on the most corrupt of foundations. It’s like losing his religion.

Josh: I’ve wasted my life on… it’s sick. And I’m part of it. I’m part of the problem. Andrew: Josh, no. Come on. Whatever happened, it wasn’t you.

But isn’t it? He was there the whole time. He played the games; he participated in the machinery. He was another willing cog, looking out for himself to get what he wanted. How is he so different from Melissa, or Justin?

Andrew, despite knowing zero facts, knows enough to vehemently reject this thinking.

Andrew: Look, man. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what happened to make you reach this point -- though, if I’m being candid, I’m kind of glad you’ve made it here. Like, I hate to see you like this, and I wish I could make it better. But this is your chance to do something about it. This is your chance to change the shitshow.

Josh lets out a sob, pressing his palms to his eyes. Andrew braces his shoulder, waiting for him to look him in the eyes.

Andrew: Whatever shit was going on, you didn’t know about it. You can’t be faulted for something you didn’t know. True ignorance isn’t a crime, even if it hurts like a bitch when it ends. What matters now, what you have the power to decide, is what you do now that you do know. You can make your next step with eyes wide open, whatever it is.

And knowing him the way he does, Andrew has little doubt Josh will figure out the right thing to do. Josh lets out an exhale, wiping his eyes and trying to process the advice.

Andrew: All I’ll say is what I’ve been telling you the whole time -- know who you are, man. Because I know him, and he is one of my favorite fucking people in the world. He’s a try-hard, and he has no work-life balance because he’s all up his passion’s ass, but he’s a good dude. He’s got the best heart there is. Whatever happened, whatever you have to decide to do next, just… think about him. The guy you really are. Because all this -- the bullshit, the exploitation, the grind -- is it worth giving up that guy?

Is it worth his soul? Josh has been battling that question his entire adult life, trying to justify the less-than-stellar aspects of his job in his head.

Now, whether he’s ready or not, the time has come to choose. As the melancholic guitar line floats in…

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DREAMSCAPE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Everybody Loves You” as performed by The Chicks || Performed by Asher Garcia & Dylan Orlando

Similar to the imaginary Adams stage of last episode, Dylan and Asher occupy a fictional version of the technician’s booth in this figmental performance. Although the setting appears about the same as we remember it -- the way someone remembers it, as a safe haven and recluse from the monsters lurking in his own home -- the lighting is done more like a stage. Warm light illuminates Dylan and Asher in their places on the table that holds the lighting and sound boards, while the rest of the booth around them is cast in shadow.

Dylan sits by the lighting board, guitar propped on his thigh as he performs the accompaniment and backing harmonies. Asher takes the vocal lead, perched on the other side by the sound board and hugging his knees to make himself smaller.

The song itself is emblematic of emotions not their own, once again returning to their former roles of musically translating another’s thoughts. In the aftermath of the funeral, and given precedent, it doesn’t take much to understand how.

Try not to talk about it I'm too mad, I'm too late, I'm too gentle It's too hard to explain, I'm not helpful

EXT. FUNERAL HOME - GRAVEYARD - FLASHBACK - DAY

At the same time, we’re given a glimpse of the moment when Kenneth’s cremated ashes were lowered into the ground and buried. Surrounded by mourners filled with sorrow, respectfully somber, what feels like too many admirers for a man so filled with cruelty.

At the center of it, Grace and Lucas watch him disappear into the ground, expressions stony by comparison.

It's my body, and it hates you Why does everybody love you?

INT. DYLAN’S CAR - NIGHT

In the present, while their imaginary counterparts continue the serenade, Dylan and Asher have taken up Riley’s mission in finding Lucas. They’re driving around the city, scanning the usual spots, not having much luck.

Until they end up at the only place there is left to look.

EXT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

They emerge from Dylan’s car, looking up at the shabby apartment building. The one they were nearly never allowed to visit, that Lucas spent so much time and effort avoiding at all costs.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The door is unlocked when Dylan and Asher step inside, cautiously proceeding through the living area. They still move with trepidation, as if the potential threat lurking in the shadows might still be there. It’ll take time to unlearn those habits -- the ones they quickly picked up from their best friend.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Dylan slowly pushes open the bedroom door, poking his head in. Once the coast appears to be clear, he steps inside, Asher following after him. As far as they can tell, still no sign of Lucas.

Dylan goes and peers out the open window, checking the usual hiding spot of the fire escape. No dice. Perhaps he really isn’t here. Dylan turns back to Asher, about to suggest as much --

Only Asher has noticed something different. He catches Dylan’s eye, then turns his gaze back towards the closet…

Where the door is cracked open just a hair. The two of them exchange a look.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - CLOSET - NIGHT

As the music flows into its final pensive moments, Dylan and Asher find what they’re looking for.

Buried back in the depths of the closet, protectively shielded by clutter, Lucas has sought refuge in the darkness and the quiet. The place he always went when it all became too much, where his tears would be muffled and his pain could be kept secret.

Even though the danger of emoting so openly is no longer present, the habit remains. Lucas is curled up as small as he can possibly make himself, chin propped on his forearm and tear-stained cheeks just perceptible in the thin light from the bedroom.

After a moment, Asher enters the closet, settling into the darkness with him. Sitting opposite him without a word. Dylan follows seconds later, joining them on the floor.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DREAMSCAPE - NIGHT

Asher leans into the final lines, vocals soft and conflicted.

Why does everybody love you? They don't know enough about you

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - CLOSET - NIGHT

It’s a cramped squeeze, three full-grown boys just on the cusp of adulthood, but they make it work. Lucas doesn’t complain. Although he doesn’t acknowledge their arrival, his lack of a response is more telling. 

Do they know that I regret you? Do they know I shouldn't have to?

Dylan scoots closer and rests his head on Lucas’s shoulder. Lucas doesn’t push him away.

Even if they just sit in silence, with the two of them, there’s comfort in company.

EXT. NORTH HOLLYWOOD CAFE - NIGHT

Aleena is already waiting at a table outside the cafe when Yindra arrives, looking up from her phone when she sees her approach. She doesn’t get up to greet her -- not deferential by any means -- but she doesn’t seem antagonistic either.

Aleena: Hey. Yindra: Hi.

There’s no point in trying not to make this awkward. Aleena gestures for Yindra to sit if she pleases, which she does.

Yindra: So… you come to this place often? Aleena: Look, let’s not beat around the bush. All right? I’d rather just get it over with, if that’s cool with you.

Fair enough. Yindra nods, ceasing the stilted niceties. Aleena taps the tabletop with her nails, shaded a shimmery evergreen color.

Aleena: I’ve done some thinking about this whole thing. I assume you have too. Yindra: Yeah. Yeah, I have. Aleena: Cool. Mind if I say my piece first?

Yindra is already failing at the whole being assertive thing, as she nods without argument. God, where did her Adams diva bravado go? It’s like Los Angeles soaked it all up with the dry air… 

Lucky for her, in this moment, it’s not such a bad thing.

Aleena: I’ll do the name change.

Wow. Not what she was expecting. Yindra fails to hide her surprise, eyebrows shooting up.

Yindra: Seriously? Just like that? Aleena: Just like that. [ crossing her arms ] I’ve just been thinking… did you look me up? After the retreat? Yindra: … no. I honestly was trying to block that whole thing out. Aleena: Valid. And TBH, impressive. I don’t know if I should consider you grounded and wise or self-concerned for not even contemplating digging into the competition. [ a beat ] Anyway, if you had tried to look me up, you may not have had a lot of luck. I have credits, but you wouldn’t have found them so easily from Googling.

She spins her phone around to show her current IMDb page, with her handful of credits. It’s her photo, recognizable enough, but that’s where the obvious similarity ends. The entry only has “Aleena Sayyid” buried in the biography section, usually after the “read more” if you’re on certain devices.

Instead, the page reads “Allie Sawyer.”

Aleena: I’ve been around here a bit longer than you. Already got half a foot in the door -- maybe a toe, if we’re being generous. But early on, like way early on, my first manager suggested I use this on my resume instead. Americanized nickname, nondescript surname. Used the same B.S. “stage name” phrasing, too, guaranteeing me it would get me more gigs. [ closing the app ] I don’t work with her anymore, obviously, but…

She’s already done this thing once. She made that strategic decision, and if she could, she’d take it back. So she’s not going to expect Yindra to start her career that way.

Yindra: You’re sure? I don’t think you should have to keep… severing your identity, or -- Aleena: I mean, I agree. Do I want to? No. But you heard the producer. One of us has to take one for the team to maintain both our odds. And hey, I’ve already done the legwork for them. I’m going to negotiate using my actual surname this time, considering no one ever mentions them when discussing girl group members anyway, but… [ with a shrug ] Besides, I tried to think of some, but there really is no good cutesy nickname for Yindra.

At that, Yindra can’t help but laugh. She should see the list they sent her.

Yindra: Well, thanks. For being willing to take this one. Aleena: It’s no biggie. If we both end up making this gig, hey, I’m sure there’ll be times you’ll be able to return the favor. And I’m not really into the whole cutthroat vibe, least of all with my fellow girls. Everyone else does enough of that for us. Yindra: Same. Yeah, that’s how I feel too.

Maybe they’re not too far off from an ally in the madness after all.

That is, provided they both make the cut…

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - GALA VENUE - NIGHT

Most of the fanfare for the evening has worn away, counting down the final minutes of the event until the finalists are announced. The crowd has transitioned into comfortable chatter and, fittingly, dancing, as the swing band keeps the night chugging along with their jazz renditions of popular and classic tunes.

Which means all there is left to do is wait. One of Vanessa’s least favorite things. She’s doing her best to remain calm, but her palms are starting to sweat, and she can’t shake the sensation that all eyes are on her even when they aren’t.

Thankfully, she isn’t there alone. Alexis returns from the restroom to Vanessa’s side, commenting cheerfully on whatever the song the band is currently in the middle of since she actually recognizes it. She notices the tension in her daughter’s features, so she tries to distract her.

Alexis: Will you spare a dance for your late-to-the-party mother? Show me how it’s done.

This isn’t exactly Vanessa’s preferred form of dance… but she’s trying. Vanessa manages a smile, sheepishly agreeing. She accepts her mom’s hand and lets her lead her more towards the center of the room, the two of them settling into an easy, loose sort of foxtrot. Alexis isn’t a natural, but she makes Vanessa laugh as she tries to walk her through the steps.

Alexis: So long as this makes you smile like that, then it’s gotta be worth it.

Finally, one of them is starting to get it. Vanessa’s smile brightens, albeit shyly.

If there’s someone who has even less patience than Vanessa, though, it’s Zay. On the opposite end of the hall, he’s getting restless, scanning the room for signs of movement towards the podium. He shuffles lightly on his feet subconsciously, dress shoes tapping against the hardwood, energy itching to get out somehow.

Charlie: You’re off tempo.

Zay jumps slightly, shaken out of his hyperfocus when Charlie rejoins him with a drink.

Zay: What? Charlie: [ nodding to his feet ] You’re a few steps too fast. This sounds like a ¾. You’re moving at like, a 5/4 -- to whatever amped up track you’ve got playing in your head.

Well… okay then, know-it-all. Notice everything about him, why don’t you? My, how the being-known-too-well turntables… Zay tries to act aloof, like he didn’t just read him like a Psalm, but it’s not very convincing. Charlie simply raises his eyebrows, taking a long sip of his water.

Zay: Oh, whatever. I’m fine. I’m chill. [ a beat ] Shut up.

Charlie almost chokes on his water from chuckling. Lucky for Zay, the band moves onto the next song -- unlucky for his case, it’s even slower than the last. Not doing his frantic energy any favors.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Maria” as performed by Canadian Brass || Instrumental

Once Charlie has made sure he isn’t going to spit up all over the banquet hall, he tosses his cup in the nearby trash bin and turns back to Zay.

Charlie: Let’s dance.

Now Zay is antsy for a different reason. Those words sound so uncanny, coming from him, when they used to be so painfully familiar. He stares at him.

Zay: Huh? Charlie: Let’s dance. It’ll give your feet something to do, and it’ll do you a lot better than just standing here locked up waiting for the inevitable. [ with a light nudge ] Don’t worry, I’ll keep us on the beat.

So he was serious. He emphasizes it a second later when he extends a hand, inviting Zay to take it.

He’s just doing it to distract him. He’s doing him a favor, being the best friend Zay knows he is. There’s no harm in it. Nothing to lose.

After a moment, Zay sighs, relenting and placing his hand in Charlie’s.

For all his theatrical resignation, internally Zay is having a very different experience. As he lets Charlie drag him by the hand onto the dance floor and pull him into a casual dance, his tension certainly isn’t ebbing. It’s just morphing into a different kind -- adrenaline from the surrealism, and a familiar tingle in his limbs he always gets when their hands touch. The one that makes him want to get closer, even in spite of the unavoidable dangers and guaranteed hurt.

That hurt seems less threatening now, though, when they’re swaying together in public. Where anyone can, and does, see them. When Charlie was the one who brought them here, who took the first step.

Charlie can tell Zay is still going down a rabbit hole in his head -- albeit a very different one than before -- so he gets him talking.

Charlie: What’s the worst that could happen?

Zay is on another planet mentally at the moment, so he takes a second to come back down to Earth.

Zay: What? Charlie: If you don’t get picked as a finalist.

Right. That thing. Zay lightly shakes his head, both to dissuade the notion and to shake off the daze of being so unexpectedly close to him again. They’re not even that close, actually, a comfortable, friendly amount of space between them, but even that is leagues more than they’ve been in the last few months.

Charlie: If somehow, against all odds and probability, you don’t get in. Would that really be so terrible? Zay: Wow, your confidence is really inspiring. What are you trying to brace me for? What insider knowledge do you have that I don’t? Charlie: [ with an eye roll ] You know I have nothing but confidence in you. I’m just trying to give the wait less power. Zay: Is that therapy talk? It sounds like Matthews-level counselor drivel. Charlie: Maybe. It’s at least psychological. I read about it this summer -- Zay: Of course you did. Charlie: But it makes sense. You know, rationalizing the catastrophizing before it can do it on its own. And the thing is, it actually works. As in, things are always way worse in your head, before something actually happens, than it is in reality. [ a beat ] I mean, I had what I thought was one of my worst nightmares come true --

The Eleanor of it all. Zay frowns slightly, but it’s a good sign that Charlie is even acknowledging it.

Charlie: And the sky didn’t collapse on me. I’m still standing. Life is going on. [ with a shrug ] Wonder if I had known that, years ago…

If it all would’ve been so hard. If he would’ve been so paralyzed. As opposed to now, where it aches, but he knows he’ll survive. He can dance with his best friend in public, hands touching and pretenses dropped, and not have to tie himself up in knots about it.

Charlie: So if tonight doesn’t go the way you want, God forbid, will it really be so bad? What’s the worst that could happen? Zay: Well, I’d never be able to show my face in this neighborhood again.  Charlie: And would that be such a problem? There’s a lot of neighborhoods in New York. Zay: That’s true. And it wouldn’t be too much of a loss -- [ lowering his voice ] between us, half of the people here are insufferable.

Charlie laughs, shaking his head.

Zay: But okay, fair enough. I take your point. [ a beat ] I suppose if this method works well enough to get you dancing in public again, then it’s a noble effort. Charlie: Well, I mean, how could we not? It’s West Side Story. Who am I to pass up the chance to dance with the Riff-slash-understudy-Tony of Off-Broadway fame? To “Maria” of all songs? Zay: Please. And I don’t know if you can boast about that, considering you didn’t even see me in the role. Charlie: What? Of course I did.

Um, hold up. Zay blinks, confused.

Zay: You weren’t there. I never saw you. And my Tony night, Clarissa said -- Charlie: I saw you, Zay. I saw it more than once. You seriously think I would’ve missed it?

Yes, he may have left the Tony night a bit early, but he didn’t skip it. He wouldn’t have missed Zay’s debut for anything -- regardless of what state the two of them were in.

Always full of surprises. Always cheering him on, albeit quietly; always there even when Zay couldn’t see him. So bewildering, so unpredictable, so effortlessly kind and damningly Charlie.

Suddenly, being this close feels precarious again. But not in the way it used to. Zay clears his throat.

Zay: Well, in that case, fuck you. The least you could’ve done would be show your face so I could begrudgingly thank you. Charlie: Even when you were pissed at me? Zay: Especially then. [ off his grin ] Plus, if I had known you were there, I could’ve done even better just to spite you. Charlie: Oh, wow. Didn’t realize you were capable of doing better. Don’t tell me you were holding back because of me? Zay: It’s a very special effect you have. Whether for the boost, or so I know who to blame for throwing me off.

Charlie rolls his eyes. But Zay’s just bluster now, trying to cover for how his heart is pounding. He hopes Charlie can’t feel it through his hands. Or just from their proximity, as they do seem to have magically drifted closer together… very normally and casually…

Zay: Case in point, I like knowing you’re there. Charlie: As the scapegoat. Got it. Zay: Or the opposite… Charlie: “Good luck charm?” Zay: Something like that. [ with an exhale ] Let’s hope it worked.

The clock is ticking down, after all, as effective as this distraction is…

Charlie: I meant to ask you about that, actually. I didn’t get to, since I had to bolt, but I was wondering how you came up with your answers to the interview questions. Zay: What, like, how much time I spend rehearsing? It’s pretty easy. I use this thing called a clock that has the time on it -- Charlie: Not that part. Bastard. [ off his cheeky beam ] The personalized question, when Professor Gao asked you about what you think is most important for a dancer. And you said support. Zay: … was that a bad answer? Charlie: No. No, it was perfect. It was right, and you said it all… just, totally right. At least, in my opinion. Zay: You’re biased, but I’ll take it. Thanks. Charlie: But I was wondering where that came from. Because I don’t think I would’ve ever come up with something like that. Let alone on the spot. It did exactly what it needed to do, and spoke so well to who you are, but I was just curious how you landed on that response. Like, did you practice potential questions beforehand, or --

Zay hesitates, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Not because he doesn’t know how to answer, but because he knows exactly how, and the answer is currently in his hands and perilously close.

Just his luck, he’s given a pass. They’re pulled out of their conversation when Professor Gao herself takes the stage, approaching the microphone and instantly commanding attentive quiet. All of them have been waiting for her.

The atmosphere in the room takes on a definite shift. Both Vanessa and Zay immediately stop what they’re doing, turning to face the stage.

Rosario: Good evening, everyone. I hope you’ve enjoyed this celebration of all your hard work, and another year of study and performance at Turner Academy. [ pausing for applause ] It is my honor to announce the three finalists from the transfer cohort. There was plenty of fierce competition this year, and everyone who persevered through the last two semesters has demonstrated strong discipline and ability. I have no doubt that all of you will find success wherever your path takes you, and hope that you’re proud of what you’ve already accomplished.

Which is a nice way of saying thanks, but best of luck anywhere but here. Only three of them are allowed to proceed. You could hear a pin drop in that banquet hall.

Rosario: Without further ado, I extend my warm congratulations to…

Alexis holds her breath, clasping her hands together in front of her. Vanessa is glad she doesn’t try to comfort her -- she doesn’t think she could stomach touch right now.

Rosario: Georgia Valdez --

Oh, of course. GIA VALDEZ erupts into enthusiastic squeals, earning applause from some upperclassmen she’s befriended and accepting a twirl hug from her boyfriend. Yeah, guess that little strategic break-up of hers didn’t last long -- if it was ever real at all and not just an elaborate mind game.

Anyway, two to go. Rosario continues without waiting for Gia to finish her victory dance. Next…

Rosario: Vanessa Johnson.

It’s real. She said her name. Vanessa is speechless, only breaking into a breathless smile when her mother excitedly braces her shoulders from behind her. That’s her! She made it!

Zay watches Vanessa’s moment of relief, trying not to feel jealous. He knows she earned this chance. He swallows his nerves, looking away from her and back towards Gao while trying to remember how to breathe.

He stops breathing regardless when he feels Charlie’s hand find his again, stilling his trembling fingers and squeezing them reassuringly. Zay glances down at them, then back up at him, once again caught off-guard by the casual intimacy.

Charlie isn’t looking at him though. He’s glued to the stage, also holding his breath as Gao prepares to reveal the last finalist. Only one more…

It’s a second that feels like a lifetime. Then, she speaks.

Rosario: And Isaiah Babineaux.

There it is. He’s still in this. He’s still got his shot.

Zay feels all the cold drain from his body, exhaling in relief as Charlie turns and excitedly jostles his shoulder. For a second, it looks like he might go for an embrace -- and Zay would have no complaints about that -- but Henrik beats him to it, rushing over and barreling into Zay from behind with a triumphant hug and lifting him off the ground.

Rosario concludes by explaining that these three finalists will enter into final deliberations amidst the Turner faculty as they weigh which two will be members of the sophomore class as transfers. They will find out by the end of the semester. In the meantime, she sincerely wishes all of her students the best in all of their future endeavors.

So the competition isn’t quite over yet. Zay and Vanessa catch each other’s eye from across the room in the midst of their mini circles of celebration, tacitly acknowledging that reality.

Hopefully, at the end of all this, they’ll both end up exactly where they need to be.

Isa, pre-lap: Let’s go, cheers bitch!

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

Riley and Isa are having a celebration of their own as promised, raising their drinks. They’re cozy on opposite ends of the couch in their PJs and each nursing a wine bottle of their own, very happily getting wine drunk. No better way to end a mindfuck of a day.

Riley: Mm, say that. Eternal rest for the wicked. Isa: So not sorry for the loss. Riley: Sayonara. Isa: Ding dong, the bitch is dead!

Both of them erupt into cackles, knocking their bottles together and then knocking back another swig. Even with her palpable gratitude that Kenneth is finally out of their lives, the polite side of Riley is putting up a good fight despite the alcohol.

Riley: I agree. To be clear. But is it fucked for us to be cheering someone’s death? Isa: Absolutely the fuck not. He doesn’t deserve that much humanizing. He was a monster. Riley: Touché. You’re so very right and correct and have never said a wrong thing in your life. Don’t let me second guess that ever again. Isa: This is righteous revelry. Enjoy it. I wish the fucker had dropped dead sooner. Riley: Amen. Rest in pieces, evil man.

Preach. Neither of them would’ve ever said this in public earlier, out of respect for others -- well, Isa may have at a push -- but here in the safe space of just the two of them, all bets are off. They can be honest, and the honest truth is, Kenneth deserves none of their sympathy.

After another sip from her wine, Riley admits that she is so relieved. Like, she was expecting most of how they feel about it, but she didn’t expect how liberating this feels.

Riley: I know it’s silly, because it’s not like it was my… I wasn’t the one trapped in it. I hope Grace and Lucas feel the same way, they deserve it way more than I do. Isa: It’s fresh now, but they will. Riley: But it was… it was really hard. Watching Lucas go through this. [ a beat ] I mean, obviously it was hard before, too. When it was just bad, end of sentence. But all the confusion, and the grief, and seeing Lucas trying to balance it all… and he really, really was trying… it hurt. It physically hurt, like, I felt it in my chest. Every single day.

She feels like she’s not making much sense, but in her drunken state, the words are just begging to be said. Isa nods along, sympathetic. Although there’s a slight slur to her delivery, it’s crystal clear how genuine Riley’s emotion is.

Riley: I just… [ almost pained ] I love him. So much. And if I could’ve spared him all this, if I could’ve taken that pain, I would’ve done it in a second. I’d do anything. Isa: I know. I know you would. Riley: I love him. I fucking love him. [ getting choked up ] And it’s so stupid how like, everyone was getting on my case about how I had focus elsewhere, how I wanted to be there for him rather than in the musical. I get that it’s a commitment, but like, sorry not sorry, being there for someone I love in a difficult time is always going to be more important than putting on a silly show? Maybe that makes me a bad theater kid or whatever, but it’s the truth. There are more important things in life than a fucking musical. Isa: Cheers, I’ll drink to that. Riley: I know I’m lucky to have gotten the role I did, and I’ve had fun with it. But this was like… it’s a no-fucking-brainer. I wanted to be there for Lucas. I know what my priorities are. And I’m not gonna apologize for that. [ a beat ] The truth is, like… NYU has always been a question mark. I wasn’t even gonna get in at first, with the waitlist and everything, and even being there and doing this year and having a fine time with it… it’s not a must. I’m not like gripped with conviction that this is where I’m supposed to be.

Isa raises their eyebrows, surprised. This is the first they’re hearing of this, even though Riley has clearly been contemplating it for a while. For all the uncertainty she has about NYU, though, one thing has never given her pause.

Riley: That’s not how it is with Lucas. Lucas is not a question mark to me. I know what we are, how I feel, what we’re meant to be. It’s good; it’s right. He is the thing I am most certain about, and way, way more important than a starring role.

Or being at the prestigious Tisch school for that matter… which is why, more and more, she’s been thinking about next year. Where she’ll end up. She hasn’t brought it up to Lucas yet, but…

Riley: I want to be with him. I love him, and he’s my conviction. The rest, I can figure out as I go. [ with tipsy fortitude ] I want to go to California with him.

The whole confession slips out unprompted and unpolished, spurred by the emotion of the day and the slippery slope of wine. Isa processes that, the enormous change Riley just spoke into possibility.

Riley eventually seems to recognize the bomb she just dropped. She frowns, already preemptively doing damage control.

Riley: Shit. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you. I’m not -- I didn’t think it through. Isa, I didn’t mean to just -- Isa: No. No, you’re… you’re good. It’s… good.

… it is? Riley is apprehensive, surprised by Isa’s measured response.

Riley: You think so? [ a beat ] It’s not that I’d want to leave you, or this situation. I love this situation. I just -- Isa: Belong with Lucas. No, yeah. I get it. [ with a shrug ] Maybe it’s the alcohol totally numbing me out, or something, but I get it. I was a little shocked, but then I thought about it as you were saying it, and it just kinda clicked. Like, oh, no duh, you should be where Lucas is. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Why would I have a problem with that?

Obviously, there’s a lot to figure out on both their parts if this ends up being the case, but Isa isn’t upset. Not in the slightest. Somehow, in spite of their track record and instinctive reluctance towards change, their brain has no trouble processing this one.

It’s Riley and Lucas. It’s meant to be. Who are they to argue that?

Riley: Okay… okay. Thanks. Isa: For sure. I’ll probably have a freak out about it later when I’m sober, but I swear, I’ll be fine. I will get over it. Don’t let me convince you otherwise. I’m good. [ more serious ] You and Lucas are good for each other. You have made him better in more ways than I can count. And the way you feel about each other… like, I don’t know shit about anything as we know, but it’s real. I know it is. I don’t have to understand it to see it. Fact is, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And he knows it.

Riley smiles, touched and a bit teary.

Riley: It’s mutual. Isa: I know, and that’s the even crazier part. But that’s why it makes sense. You two are just… yeah. That’s how it is. [ a beat ] And like, I know Lucas is tough. He’s been through a lot, and he’s made of steel, and I’d fight anyone who claims otherwise. But if you weren’t here… I don’t know if he could’ve done it. Gotten through this whole thing. I don’t think he would’ve endured it without you.

It was challenging enough even with her there. But thankfully, finally, it’s over. They can move on; they can move forward. Riley and Isa raise their drinks in another toast.

To the ones still standing…

[ ← Last (Part 1, half 2) ] [ 411 Hub ] [ Next (Part 2, half 2) → ]

[slightlymore]

oh no, mr suh, please don't spank me

johnny x fem reader

cameo: taeyong

genre: !!smut!!, roommates au, fake enemies to lovers, a little tiny fluffy angst bc it's my brand apparently

warnings: a lot of mutual teasing, finger sucking, sexting, solo f and m, spanking, marking, dry humping, hand job, fingering, slight cum play, not protected, overstimulation f and m, multiple orgasms, penetration, manhandling, oral m and f, tiny degradation (sparse use of ‘little slut’), rough

words: 7K

it’s finally here!! this one is very juicy haha good luck I guess :) keep your panties dry challenge

taglist: @comically-sleep-deprived​ @strawberrymilkandcigarettes​ @theworld-accordingtocasey​ @kibumingi​

_____

"Johnny, get lost." 

You raised your eyes to meet Johnny's peaceful face in the middle of the corridor, one of them still twitching for waking up so early. 

He smirked and didn't move. 

You made a step on the right. 

He did the same. 

"John," you made a step on the left. 

His body kept blocking your way. 

"Why? Are you busy?" His voice was deep and thick like honey and in other circumstances you would have wanted to listen to it forever. But that morning you woke up without a single ounce of patience. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. "Yes, unlike you." 

"I'm also busy."

"Oh yeah? Doing what?" 

"Getting between your legs."

In spite of everything, you couldn't help but snort once. 

He has been playing that game for weeks now. A little touch here, a little compliment there, but it was the first time to see him this pushy. 

"I told you that I don't want to sleep with my roommates," you walked around him, teasingly hitting his shoulder with yours. 

You weren't surprised to feel his fingers wrap your arm and turn you around. 

"You don't have to sleep with me. I can sleep well on my own. I need you awake."

Johnny let his palm dance on your skin until it got to your throat, his thumb rising slowly and caressing your lips. You gulped and looked down at his hand before locking eyes with him again. 

"You know what I mean," your breath and moving mouth tickled his finger and the twinkle in the man's eyes amused you. You were about to add something else but decided to do something instead - giving him new ideas to continue jerking off to later, since his dick will still be dry for a long time. 

But when you softly pulled his thumb into your mouth, you didn't expect to be the first to get that excited. 

Johnny let out the ghost of a sigh, staring at the way your pursed lips dragged around his skin, the softness of your tongue licking the tip after giving it a good suck. 

"Hm. Knew you were a little slut." 

You chuckled and raised your hands to press them on his chest and push him away before turning around with the intent of leaving him hot and bothered. 

But he was quicker. In a second your wrists were blocked by his strong fingers and his head was shaking. 

"No touching."

You narrowed your eyes amused. 

"Oh yeah? And what should I do for you to let me touch you?" 

His fingers intertwined with yours and if he didn't have that lustful expression on, the gesture would have been almost sweet. 

"Beg?" 

You opened your mouth in a slightly surprised o. 

"Me? Beg? I don't beg." 

Johnny let go of your hands with a smirk and ghosted your chest until getting to the hem of the oversized t-shirt you wore to bed. 

"Stop me," he whispered but all of a sudden you couldn't concentrate on forming words and frankly, you realized you didn’t want to either. 

So he knelt in front of you and slipped his fingers underneath the fabric, revealing your thighs and underwear, pushing it up until exposing your stomach. His breath tickled your skin first then you felt his lips, and when he placed the first kiss you got goosebumps all over your body. Johnny chuckled slowly and palmed your legs as if getting rid of the bumps but it only added to the heightening sensation his mouth was building up. And when he took out the tongue, circling your belly button, you breathed in deeply and grabbed his hair. He liked it since a pleasant grunt formed on his lips, which were going down until meeting the cotton of the underwear, then on one side, tackling your hip with slow kisses. 

Right when you were about to close your eyes and moan, you suddenly couldn't feel Johnny's lips on you anymore. You stared down just to see his annoying smirk, his locks still in your hand and his eyebrow raised upon seeing the little wet patch formed on your panties. 

He got up with a swift movement as if he had finished with all of his to-do list for the day and smiled. 

"I'll go make breakfast," he announced and walked around you whistling.

_____

Said breakfast was being consumed in silence. 

You had to change your underwear because the situation between your legs got too much out of control and when you came back Johnny already made coffee and pancakes. With little glances at his face you wondered how come he was that calm and, the most important thing, how come there was no tent in his gray sweatpants. 

Did he really think he could start a war and win? You scoffed while angrily munching on the last pieces of pancakes. 

"You okay?" he licked his lips after finishing his coffee. 

"Of course," you replied dryly, standing up and grabbing your plate directed towards the kitchen like a tornado. 

"Your vibes are kinda dark though?" he raised his voice for you to be able to hear over the clanging of dishes. 

"Mind your own business," you came back, the violent shift of air as you passed near him almost making his hair swoosh. 

_____

Tight clothes? No, more. Lingerie? Uh uh, more. Naked? Maybe too much. Towel? Fuck yeah, towel. 

Lips juicy, eyes glowing, and the plan was rolling as you stood inside the bathroom, grinning at yourself in the mirror, hands virtually rubbing against each other while physically they were wrapping your damp skin with the towel. 

Hidden behind a corner like a predator about to attack its prey, you waited to hear Johnny's steps coming towards the bedrooms. A little noise, calm and deep, arrived to your ears first. One step forward and the collusion was perfect. 

"Oh, sorry!" you bumped into him, the fabric shifting on your breasts, your fingers prudishly trying to cover yourself and - oops - failing. With hands pressed on your chest, the swell of it was even more visible now, the last drops of water shining on the skin and falling slowly inside the cleavage. 

Johnny remained silent, not even a tiny ‘sorry’ escaping his lips, his eyes completely trained on your body. Then, when you were already tasting the victory on your tongue, he suddenly looked behind you as if not wanting to look anymore. 

You shifted your weight from one foot to another, waiting for a more grand reaction but Johnny kept on a composed face. 

After a few seconds of silence, you were about to leave, lower lip between your teeth as your plan didn't make him go rogue. 

But then he whispered something under his breath and when you least expected it, he pushed you against the wall. The air got knocked out of your lungs making you breathless.  "You like dangerous games?" 

His tone was delicious, lips so close to yours, and you absolutely wanted to drink it all in. And he was right. You did like dangerous games and you also liked to win. 

"Yeah. And revenge as well." You finally smiled as one of your fingers slowly dragged on his chest, smoothing the creases of his white t-shirt. "Am I making you feel some type of way, John?" 

The man scoffed, staring you down. "Not really." 

"You can't even look at me in the eyes though.”

"Eyes? Something else requires my attention now, baby girl." 

The instant delicious burst of pleasure of his hands cupping your now nude breasts and his thumbs circling your hard nipples made your knees buckle. The towel, slowly falling until stopping around your waist, was dangerously close to getting to your feet if Johnny's hips weren't pressed against yours. 

One step back and you'd be naked in front of him and that wasn't your plan at all. 

No, no, wait. You were supposed to make him feel things, not the contrary. 

Then why were you letting him touch you like that? 

"Are you sure you're doing this for me and not for yourself?" Johnny smiled at your light panting and twitching fingers, pressed on his arms. 

"Enough," you whined, mind already blurry, so close to beg him to take you like that against that same wall. 

Johnny stopped and took a step back, his hands quickly going to your hips preventing the towel from falling any further. 

"I don't have to say it since it's obvious. But I've won. Again." 

You pulled the white fluffy fabric from his fingers with a huff and stormed into your room, the echo of Johnny's chuckle ringing in the whole corridor. 

_____

Disastrous. 

You couldn't believe that you got that hot and bothered when Johnny should have been the one salivating and losing his mind inside his room. 

Throwing away the towel you looked around for your clothes when a buzz from the bed made your head turn. 

"Are you touching yourself?" read Johnny's text. You snorted. Unbelievable. 

You weren't going to touch yourself. No, sir. You already lost a second time. You weren't about to give Johnny that satisfaction as well. 

From You: and if I were?

From Johnny: thinking about me?

From You: you wish.

You laid down, face illuminated from the phone and fingers hovering over the screen, somewhat invested in the conversation. But just a little. 

From Johnny: come on. do it.

You rolled your eyes amused and changed his display name. 

From You: you first 

From Evil dick: hm, I love winning though.

From You: you talk a lot for someone that's fucking his fist right now :)

From Evil dick: is this what you're imagining?

From You: yeah 

Johnny read the text and didn't reply anymore. You could not prove that he was taking care of his stiffy but the thought of him doing so made you feel triumphant. Perhaps it wasn't a full win but you could give yourself half a point. Only half. 

Because when you put your phone down, you couldn't stop your hand from sliding between your legs either. 

_____

You needed at least one win. 

Just once, only once, you wanted to see Johnny's honey eyes tremble under your touch. 

And the corridor was your arena apparently since the next day another opportunity arose. Short and quick. 

You smiled at him exiting his room and he smiled back. His lips were about to part and probably ask if you enjoyed yourself the previous night but no sound came out of them as your fingertip gently caressed his chest. It was barely there, a slight touch going slowly down. 

His jaw muscles tightened when you reached his pants and he jolted when you pulled his belt towards you. 

"It was a little crooked," you feigned innocence, your knuckles definitely brushing something that made him inhale silently. 

"I'm making breakfast." You smiled and walked around him, leaving Johnny alone in the middle of the corridor just like he did the day before. 

_____ “That’s not a win.”

You threw your head back on the couch arm, looking at Johnny upside down, the popcorn kernel you were currently about to eat stopped against your lips. 

“That was a win,” you replied. 

The man put his hands on his hips. “You just touched my belt.” 

You chuckled. “Yeah. Apparently that’s enough for you to cum, baby boy.” 

Johnny’s cheeks rose in a tight smile as you licked the salt and butter from your fingers. The look in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed to you and you loved it. His gaze caressed your face and open lips, then your exposed throat and low cut t-shirt. You knew he loved that angle. Could you possibly get two wins on the same day? 

“Want some popcorn?” you asked, handing him one kernel. Johnny put his hands on the couch’s arm, bending his frame down and taking it with his teeth. You looked away nonchalantly as his lips touched your fingers, and you grabbed another kernel for yourself. 

But Johnny was quicker. 

One hand on your jaw, pushing your head back even more, he took it from between your lips in a spiderman kiss. 

You couldn’t breathe for a few seconds, mouth open and skin burning from where his lips touched it. 

When you locked eyes again, you noticed him munching with a little smile. Still hovering over you, a few strands of hair covering his eyes, he swallowed and whispered. 

“I win.” 

_____

“Oh, no, I’m not drinking.”

Taeyong looked at you with the cocktail glass in his hand as if you grew two heads. “Y/N not drinking?” 

“I can’t drink. I’m on duty.”

You were still sitting on the couch in a ball, eyebrows furrowed and concentrated eyes. 

Taeyong took a sip from his drink then shrugged and took a sip from the one he prepared for you too. 

“On duty for what?” he plopped near you making you wobble slightly to the side. 

“War.” 

“On Johnny?” Your head snapped towards his innocent eyes. “You know about it?” 

The boy chuckled. “Want me to give you a few tips?”

He smacked his lips and shifted his weight to be more comfortable, his lids dropping as if about to share some juicy secrets. 

You imitated his position and leaned in to hear better.

“Make him jealous with me.” You blinked in silence a few times then sighed, pushing Taeyong away. “Are you trying to get between my legs too, now?” 

The other continued chuckling. “It was worth the shot. You can try stuff like touching him randomly, then.” You huffed. “You think I’m a newbie?” 

Taeyong sipped from both of his drinks again. “Then what about making him believe he got you so you can attack when he feels powerful?” 

_____

"Oh, no. I have flour on my clothes."

The dough you were working was still sticky so you got a handful of flour that accidentally went on your bottoms right when Johnny made his appearance in the kitchen. 

He looked down and, indeed, noticed a light layer of dust covering your black leggings. 

“Could you please clean them up for me? These are my favourites,” you pouted at him.  

Johnny smiled and sighed, getting closer and slapping your butt once, then twice, then again, until all the flour was cleaned up. 

"There's no reason to be this aggressive, you know?” you bit your lower lip. 

"But you like it this way. Don't you?" 

Another spank and you mewled, the sound making Johnny hum in appreciation. 

“You’re all clean now.” He stepped back and presumably stared at your ass with the excuse of checking for some more flour. 

“I didn’t say you could stop,” you whispered and almost regretted - key word ‘almost’ - saying it as your flatmate approached you again, his sudden dark aura making your skin crawl. 

“You want me to continue?” his voice caressed your ear, his tone highly amused.  

You acted as if gathering the courage to confess that, yes, you wanted him to spank you but, oh no, you were so shy and he was so strong, you couldn’t do it like that and in public!!? oh no, you couldn’t take it. 

“N-no, it’s better if we stop here. I- I don’t think I can handle it. It will make me go crazy.”

Even if not seeing him in the face, you could almost physically sense Johnny’s puzzled aura. Laughing to yourself you wondered what kind of reaction he would come up with this time. 

He didn’t say anything for a few moments and when you were about to turn your head to check on him, you felt his chest on your back and he engulfed your body with his arms as he pressed his hands on the counter in front of you. 

“Okay,” he whispered into your ear. “I’m giving this one to you.” 

_____

From Evil Dick: I can hear your vibrator from the kitchen

From You: I’m not using any vibrator right now From You: maybe it’s taeyong lol 

From Evil Dick: lol From Evil Dick: it’s definitely coming from your room tho

From You: you’re imagining things you wish were true

From Evil Dick: I don’t imagine you getting off on vibrators From Evil Dick: I like to be included in my fantasies :)

You: typing You: deleting You: typing You: deleting

From You: fuck you

From Evil Dick: fuck me yourself From Evil Dick: 4-2 for me

Johnny smiled brightly when you barged into his room. 

He was laying down in the dark, with only the phone illuminating his face. 

“Are you already done?” he asked teasingly. 

You stopped at the feet of his bed with crossed arms. 

“I’m here to fuck,” you announced. 

Johnny remained with his mouth open as his brain processed the information then laughed. 

“I don’t think you will,” he sat up, resting his back on the bed frame. The movement lifted his t-shirt a little, exposing the waistband of his boxers above the sweatpants and his lower stomach skin. 

You didn’t add anything and got on your knees on the bed instead, slowly crawling towards him until getting between his legs. Then you sat on your heels and took away your shirt. 

Johnny followed your frame and his eyes grew wide seeing you naked underneath the falling fabric. You smiled and his loss of words and you imitated his position, sitting in front of him and opening your legs to drape over his. 

“Holy shit, Y/N,” he whispered, eyes trained to where you slowly dragged your fingers. 

Inhaling deeply you closed your eyes and threw your head back, gently drawing circles around your clit before pushing two fingers inside of you. 

“Shit,” Johnny repeated and you whined, the wet sound telling him how you felt. 

“I didn’t say I’m here to fuck you. You can’t touch me nor can you touch yourself. If you do, you lose,” you instructed breathless and Johnny dug his fingers in the mattress underneath him. 

You smiled and bit your lower lip, fully enjoying his expression, his eyes looking as if drinking you in and were making you go crazy. 

But then he smiled too and it threw you off. 

In a second his hands were on your thighs as he pulled you towards him from underneath your knees until reaching the hand between your legs. He grabbed your wrists and blocked them in an iron grip. 

“You can’t touch yourself either.” 

You were breathing heavily, naked and so close to Johnny that you could almost feel the warmth of his body on your skin. 

“What’s with that face, baby girl? You wanted to cum?” he cooed at you. 

You bit your lower lip and shook your head. 

Johnny pouted. “Hm, baby girl can’t even lie well. Are you sure you don’t want to feel my fingers inside of you?”

You closed your eyes. “I don’t.” 

The other pulled you towards him by the wrists again until being able to whisper on your lips. 

“What about my tongue?” 

“Fuck, John, plea-” you interrupted yourself. 

Johnny smirked. “What was that? Please?”

You shook your head again. “No.” 

“I definitely heard you say please just now.” 

Panting and on the edge you considered just not caring about anything and fuck that man on the spot. 

“Truce,” you whispered. Johnny tilted his head to the side. 

“It’s not over and no one wins or loses this time,” you explained. 

“That’s convenient for you,” he teased. 

You huffed and fully sat on his lap, rolling your hips once on his hard cock. 

“I think it’s convenient for you too,” you commented after Johnny’s trembling sigh. 

His eyes grew darker and his hands grabbed your ass, pressing you on himself even harder. Your arms wrapped his neck and you hid your face into the crook of it, trying to conceal your whimpers. 

The rough material of his sweatpants did wonders to your sensitive clit and you didn’t need a lot to start shaking in Johnny’s arms. Your hips stopped as you moaned, digging your fingers into his shoulders but his hands on your waist forced you to go on. The overstimulation felt delicious and you didn’t care what words you mumbled into his ear, jolting every time his cock rubbed on your raw clit again and again. A few deep grunts and Johnny’s erratic movements told you that he was close too. You kissed his jaw then the skin next to it, then the corner of his lips, breathing in the air he breathed out then moaning once as he took his cock out and pumped it in his hand, spurts of warm cum coating your lower stomach. You looked down at the way it dripped between your legs and felt dizzy from pleasure. Johnny read your mind and quickly collected the drops fallen on your clit, drawing circles around it quicker and quicker until he had you shaking for the second time, head fallen on his shoulder and teeth digging into his neck skin. 

You remained like that, breathless and fucked out until you finally could manage to raise your head again. “This never happened,” you whispered and Johnny nodded amused.

_____

You yelped as Johnny’s wide palm slapped your butt unannounced. "John! I'm near the stove!" 

"Good morning," he smiled sweetly as he retrieved two coffee mugs from the cupboard. 

"What if I burnt myself?" you accused him even if you both knew it was highly improbable. 

"I would have kissed the bruise until the pain disappeared," he placed the mugs down and walked around you, positioning himself behind you and trapping you with his arms. One hand turned the stove off and the other danced on your stomach pulling you against him. 

"When will you stop?" you tried to steady your voice since your ass rubbing on your roommate's crotch wasn't exactly calming. 

"When you'll beg," he whispered in your ear with his playful tone. "But I'm not trying to do anything now. You were so caught up into staring at me that you didn't notice the eggs and I'm here to save them." 

You put your tongue inside your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling. Johnny breathed in as if trying to add something else but the sound of a voice made you both jolt. 

"What are you guys doing so early in the morning?"

You almost forgot you had other roommates besides your sworn enemy poking at your back with his cock. 

"Teaching Y/N how to make good eggs."

Taeyong raised one eyebrow at the scene in front of himself. "Yeah. Adding a sausage does make your eggs taste better." 

"Oh my God," you mumbled, turning around and pushing a chuckling Johnny away. 

"Do you want to know my recipe?" Taeyong raised his voice since you were already leaving the kitchen. 

"Two sausages--," then a smack and a fit of laughter as Taeyong promptly apologized for even daring to assume he could add himself into the equation. 

“Come on. I thought you were in a good mood this morning by the looks of that bright red hickey.”

“Yes and I don’t share what’s mine.” You almost stumbled on our own feet in the corridor.  

"I'm out of town this weekend, by the way. If you want to go all out…" was the last thing you heard and the one giving you the best idea for your new plan. 

_____

It was almost two in the morning and Johnny was nowhere to be seen. 

You rolled over on the bed with a huff then kicked the blanket staring at the lingerie you were wearing with sudden disgust. 

It was the weekend and the house was empty - the perfect occasion for you to play with Johnny. And where was he? Probably fucking somebody else. 

You were sick with anger. 

Getting out of the bed - his bed where you waited for him - you stripped out of the sexy lace and grabbed the first t-shirt you found. It was one of his and even though it was clean, it still smelled like Johnny. 

You got back under the covers and crossed your arms on your chest, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed. 

It wasn’t jealousy. You didn’t care if Johnny fucked other people. It’s not like you even fucked properly in the first place. You were just irritated that your plan didn’t work as you wanted it to. 

With an argh you turned on your side and hugged the other pillow, Johnny’s scent engulfing you all again. 

God, he made you so mad. 

_____

The first thing you realized as you woke up was the fact that your room didn’t have a black accent wall. 

The second one was Johnny’s arms around you - one behind your head and the other one thrown around your waist. 

You were sleeping on your back, one hand placed on top of his and the other one on the veiny forearm. With one finger you followed one of them until reaching the bicep then you slowly turned your head to look at him in the face. 

He didn’t close the blinds when he came home last night so the sun was shining brightly behind him, making him look like an angel. 

You smiled for a moment, staring at his calm expression and listening to his regular breath before widening your eyes in horror and snapping out of your sweet thoughts. 

What was that? 

You didn’t care about John Suh and you definitely didn’t care about the way his caramel hair was draping on his forehead. 

“Mm,” his raspy voice accompanied his strong arms pulling you towards him as you tried to slip out of the bed. “Where are you going?” he mumbled, eyes still closed and very much half asleep. 

You sighed and relaxed on your back again without a word and when Johnny rolled you over to face him you didn’t resist it. 

“Did you sleep well?”  “Where have you been?” you spoke on top of him. 

The words, or maybe your tone, made Johnny’s eyes open in an instant. 

You weren’t looking at him, your eyes were low on his chest instead. He raised one hand to cup your cheek with the intent to make you look at him but you flinched. 

“What’s going on?” he questioned. 

You sighed again and shook your head. “Nothing. I’ll make breakfast.”

As you tried to get out of the bed again, Johnny’s arms didn’t want to leave your body. “Y/N. Wait. Stay.” 

His hand got to your face a second time and this time you locked eyes with him. 

“I was out. Like most weekends,” he explained. 

You gulped and nodded. “Good.” 

“No, it’s not good. You don’t seem to like that.” 

You didn’t add anything, neither denying nor confirming it.

Johnny’s eyebrows met in the middle. “You’ve never had a problem with that.” 

“I don’t have a problem with that,” you finally managed to get out of bed and Johnny let you go this time. 

“I didn’t fuck anyone, if you’re wondering,” you heard him say as you walked the few steps towards the door. 

“I don’t care if you fuck people, Johnny.” 

“You do.”

Your feet stopped in place. “I don’t.” 

“You’ve just made the same expression you put on when you claim that you don’t want me to touch you and we both know that’s a lie.” His voice was calm but stern. “Just admit it.” 

You just resumed walking and exited the room. 

_____

It was weird and not something familiar to your gut, but every time you saw Johnny, you felt the urge to either kiss his lips, cry on the floor, punch his face or run away. 

The first was understandable, even if weird; the second one was absolutely weird and you had no idea what the fuck was going on with you; the third was also highly understandable. 

But it was the last one that you chose. 

So when Johnny entered the kitchen you got out. When he opened the door to his bedroom you closed yours. When he sat on the couch, you got up. 

Until he couldn’t take it anymore and barged into your room unannounced. 

“Hey! Knocking maybe?” 

You were on the bed, scrolling through your phone and looking absolutely impresentable. 

“Talk to me.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not in the mood to play right now, John.” 

He walked over and sat on your bed. 

“I don’t want to play. You’re avoiding me.” 

“Look, it was fun for a while, but I don’t feel like continuing the little game we had going on. Let’s go back to how it was before.” Y

ou hoped you sounded convincing to him because you didn’t sound convincing to your own ears. 

Your words did make Johnny put on a sour expression though and you pretended to not notice. 

“Okay,” he said after a moment and you retrieved your phone from the bed, expecting the conversation to be over. 

Yet, when he placed his palm on your thigh your hand stopped in mid-air. 

“What are you doing?” 

He looked down to where his finger slowly caressed your skin, creating little goosebumps all over it. Then Johnny looked up and whatever expression you had on, it was enough for him as he suddenly got up and left the room. 

_____

“Brr, this house is colder than the heart of my elementary crush after he refused to share his food with me.” 

Both you and Johnny ignored Taeyong’s words, busy rolling your peas into your own plates. 

“What happened while I was away?” 

“Nothing happened,” you mumbled. 

“Hm,” the boy commented, munching on his food. “Wait,” he stopped, struck by realization, “ you mean like - nothing - happened? This is why you’re both mad? You didn’t fuck?” 

You rolled your eyes and got up with the plate in your hands. 

“She’s mad because she doesn’t want to admit that she has feelings for me.” 

The bomb that Johnny threw made both Taeyong and you shake in your places.

“What?” you asked incredulously. “I don’t have feelings for you.” 

Johnny calmly put down his fork and looked up at you. 

“Well, I do.” 

You opened your mouth in a silent shock while Taeyong initially gasped then soon after shrugged, whispering under his breath. “I mean, it was kinda obvious in his case.”

“And I don’t like the fact that you think I have space in my mind for other people besides you,” he continued. “Because it’s not true.” 

“Woah,” Taeyong rested his back on the chair as if watching a soap opera. 

“Did you really have to do this in the living room at dinner time?” you asked him after a few seconds of opening and closing your mouth like a fish. 

“Oh?” Johnny raised his eyebrows. “You want to take this to the bedroom instead? Let’s go,” he got up suddenly. 

“Aw, guys, come on. You always hide the funniest stuff from me!” whined Taeyong seeing you leave. 

“You know what I mean!” you replied to Johnny but still followed his quickly moving frame inside his room. He closed the door behind him and crossed his arms on his chest as if waiting for you to talk. 

“What?” you imitated his position. 

“Say something?” 

“I don’t know what to say! What does one say after all of that?” you questioned. 

“Do something? I just said I am in love with-” 

In the end you did something and that something was wrapping his neck with your arms and kissing him deeply. 

Johnny remained still for a moment as if shocked before finally relaxing his arms and tightly pulling your body towards his. 

Your mind was empty and you had no idea what was going on but after a few seconds of tasting Johnny’s tongue you were already thrown on the bed. It creaked under Johnny’s force and you jolted at the way he dragged your pajama pants down. No sexy outfit and no lace lingerie to meet his eyes, yet they were full of such intensity and lust that you realized it didn’t matter at all. Hands in his hair, you raised your bust to connect your lips again. 

“I was so fucking mad you weren’t home that night. I thought I was about to go crazy,” you breathed out while Johnny was palming your torso, lifting up your t-shirt and cupping your breasts. 

“I know. Punish me then. Show me your anger,” he joked.  But his reply turned a switch into your body and you managed to push his chest away from you. He smiled at your reaction and rolled over on his back, letting you straddle his lap. 

“I’m going to tease you so much until you’ll be the one begging me to touch you.”  

Johnny caressed your thighs. “Hm. I don’t need any teasing. You’re breaking me with your mere presence. Please, please, touch me.” 

Your breath got stuck in your throat and you couldn’t see anymore. The grunts leaving Johnny’s throat as you bit into his neck were so hot that you wondered what stopped you from letting yourself hear them before. And when you moved to his chest, then stomach, littering his skin with love bites his muscles twitched under your touch. 

You had no words to describe how it felt to have him inside your mouth. Heavy, hot and so present, you choked only on a third of it. 

“Shit,” you mumbled, taking it out and pumping it instead with your hand. 

Johnny loved it anyways and he looked at you with such intensity that you wondered if you could make him cum with only a few kitty licks. 

“It’s alright. You don’t have to,” he breathed out. 

“It’s alright. I know I have a monster cock and you don’t have to suck on it if you can’t handle being deepthroated,” you mocked him trying to imitate his tone. “Well, I want to and I will.”

And so you listened to Johnny’s airy chuckle, broken by the feeling of your mouth on him again, this time deeper than before. 

“You love a challenge, huh?” 

You would have said that, yes, you loved it and you loved to win, if it weren’t for his cock sliding down your throat making it difficult to talk. 

“Fuck, baby, that’s- oh shit-,” he grabbed your head as you bobbed your head up and down a few times before you couldn’t take it anymore and let it out with a lewd plop. 

“Baby?” you raised one eyebrow at him. 

“You don’t like it?” 

“Do I look like a baby to you?” you smiled with wet lips, your hand restlessly pumping his cock hard and fast. 

Johnny grunted again, his hips rising to meet your touch even more. 

“Hm, no, you look like a little slut right now,” he agreed with a smirk before his expression changed again into, you realized in that moment, the best view you’ve ever seen in your whole life. Head thrown back and completely at your mercy, Johnny came hard, his whole body twitching as his cum spurted on your hand and face. 

“I think I won this time,” you pumped him a few more times before letting him go. “Hm, you drink so much coffee,” you smacked your lips after licking his cum off your fingers. 

“This wasn’t part of the game.” 

“Yeah, well, I’ve just decided that it was,” you shrugged. 

Johnny grabbed his discarded t-shirt and cleaned his stomach. “So, are we playing now?”

His tone got dangerous and his expression made your wet pussy even drippier but you had no time to worry or form a single thought about it since you suddenly found yourself with the face on the mattress instead. 

You turned your head sideways to be able to breathe and Johnny’s hands didn’t even try to be gentle when they pulled your panties down. 

The loud smack arrived before the sensation of his big palm on your asschecks could. When you finally felt the burning sensation, another slap added to that. 

Your fingers grabbed Johnny’s blanket, preparing yourself for the third spank, absolutely not expecting his tongue inside of you instead. 

“Fuckfuckfuck-” you mewled but your sounds only made Johnny more ferocious, hands opening you up, eating you out as if he’d been dying to do so for a long time. And it was true for yourself too, but no imagination of yours could have realistically portrayed the way he was making you feel and no fingers of yours could reach as deep as his did, fingering you fast, tongue not stopping for a second, not even when you violently went over the edge with the loudest moans you’ve ever heard yourself emit. 

“You win, you win-,” your rough throat tried to stop him from torturing your overstimulated clit and you heard him suck on his fingers after he let you go. 

“Okay, I’ll take it. But this is just the beginning. Are you going to let me fuck you, baby?” he caressed your ass, going down to your waist and cupping your breasts. 

The movement made his cock poke at your entrance and you imperceptibly opened your legs even more. 

“Yes, please,” you whispered back, turning your head to meet his lips as he lifted your chin. 

“Hm? Say that again?” 

“Please.” 

His tip easily slipped inside but the stretch still made you hiss through your teeth. Johnny shushed you, kissing your shoulder and neck until he bottomed out. “You can handle it, right baby?” You tried to nod but his first thrust knocked the air out of your lungs and you let your head fall down again with a whine. 

Johnny moved again and again then stopped with a grunt. “Beg a little for me again.” 

You bit your lower lip, his tip pressing right when you needed it to and you wanted him to do it non stop. 

“I don’t think I will beg again,” you whispered with a smile and started to move your hips instead. It was a sloppy and slow job, nowhere sharp and quick as Johnny’s, but you had to win again. 

The man let your ass bounce on his stomach a few times, staring at the way you were stretched around him then he grabbed your waist and left you all empty. 

You whined, clenching yet nothing being inside of you anymore. 

“I said beg.” 

His breath was now on your spine, his wet mouth placing kisses on your skin, making it shiver and taking some of it in his teeth, sucking on it until he was satisfied. 

But you remained silent and he clicked his tongue at your stubbornness. In a single go he filled you up again and this time he never stopped. 

He was breaking you in half and if you hadn’t already had tears in your eyes, this would have been the time to start crying from pleasure. 

“Holy fucking shit--John-” you cried out, breath rhytmically broken by his deep thrusts and when he added his slaps again, you just lost it all, cumming so hard that the neighbors were probably ready to call an ambulance. 

Johnny stopped balls deep inside of you, feeling the way you clenched around him. And when you thought it was over, when you barely started to hear again, he moved as hard as before, shushing you and pressing his fingers roughly into your skin. 

“You can handle another round, right baby? You’re such a pretty little slut with a bigger attitude than she can carry. This is nothing for you.” 

Fucked dumb, you could only nod and Johnny started to lose control himself, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, some drops falling from his collabones to his chest. And when you felt his cum spurt inside of you, you finally begged, repeating it again and again. Johnny didn’t stop and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to move at all the next day when your muscles contracted for the nth time in so little time, collapsing completely after Johnny slowly slipped out of you. 

His breath felt wet and boiling on your face when he dropped beside you. 

He swallowed a few times trying to catch his breath. “Fucking finally. I knew it was going to be epic. Why did you refuse me for so long? Look what you missed.” 

You would have snorted if you had the force so you resorted to just let out a whine. “I refused so I couldn’t see this. I have a big attitude? Well, you have the biggest ego in the world.” 

Johnny turned his head towards you. “And cock.” 

You rolled your eyes and accepted his hands pulling you towards his chest. 

“Ew, you’re sweaty,” you mumbled. He kissed your forehead. “And you love it.” “No,” you denied it, “butIloveyou,” you added quickly. 

Johnny shook your body in a hug. “Hm?? Say that again.” 

“I didn’t say anything!” 

That grown man pouted at you making his eyes wide and glossy. “Please?” 

“Whoa,” you smiled, “are you acting cute at me right now? After killing me with your monster cock?” 

Johnny nodded cutely and repeated the plea. 

“Okay, okay. I-- love you.” 

He chuckled happily and tightened his arms around you again, squeezing you in an almost mortal hug. 

“Again.”

You sighed realizing that you were suddenly dealing with a child. 

“I love you.” 

And you repeated it again and again until you were sure that he finally fell asleep. 

With one hand to caress his face you finally indulged in staring at him, fully realizing what that weird sensation in your gut was. 

“I really love you.” 

Your whisper was tiny and barely audible but Johnny smiled. 

“I know. And I love you too.”

[fbfh]

I think you've horribly misread the situation [shitty roommate pt 2] - leo x reader

wc: 2.3k

genre: contemporary drama, you're definitly going to get second hand embarrassment, cozy fluff

pairing: leo x reader, attempted isabella x leo

reader: gender neutral, they/them

requested: hell yeah

warnings: mild swearing, roommate tries to steal your man once again, mentions of various mainstream vampire media (twilight, the vampire diaries etc.), brief mention of castlevania (even though i haven't seen it yet lol), breif mention of videogames and assassins creed, very mild delusion (roommate is secretly convinced leo is a vampire that's in love with her), attempted age gap relationship (she's 17 and leo's 19, he shuts that down real fast), very bad poetry

summary: You and Leo are both looking foward to spending a long weekend together, and Leo is determined not to let anything interrupt it, even if it means turning down your roommate's attempts to seduce him in the kitchen.

a/n: absolutley no hate or shade or judgement to anyone who has the same or similar traits as isabella!!!!!! at her core she's annoying because she's the antagonist, not bc of any isolated trait or traits

also she's shitty cause she keeps trying to steal your boyfriend?????

Edit: I forgot to mention before, but this is a college au where you're both still demigods, so you went to camp and on quests and stuff together

This weekend is going to be all about recharging. Recharging from the ridiculous back to back closing and opening shifts at work, recharging from having to redo that stupid project twice because your professor couldn’t decide on a clear way to define the criteria, and recharging from Isabella having her townie friend Regan over almost non stop to “completely shake up her look” as she put it.

Between the constant presence of someone you’d barely consider an acquaintance and Big Time Rush’s self titled album blasting on repeat out of her giant airpod shaped speaker, it’s been harder than usual to get in some effective self care. You have no idea how many more times you can hear the phrase “I’m going for Jade West meets Elena Gilbert, with just a little Buffy Summers” before you lose your fucking mind.

Thankfully, the hard part is almost over. There’s some minor holiday tomorrow on friday, so you and Leo both have a three day weekend ahead of you, which you intend to spend entirely together. You planned ahead, frontloading homework, chores, errands, and everything you could think of to remove anything that isn’t cuddling or playing video games and watching netflix together from your horizon.

This includes going straight from work to the grocery store to stock the fridge and get any snacks you and Leo want. You had texted him a while ago asking for anything he was craving, and head into the store with a concrete list. After a while, you circle around some aisles, avoiding the check out.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you muse, knowing it’s untrue, but hoping to trigger a memory anyway. You can’t put it off any longer, finally checking out and heading back to your apartment. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t avoiding Isabella just a little.

You know bringing in all these groceries would be way easier with Isabella and possibly Regan’s help, but you just don’t have the social energy to talk to anyone, much less her, right now. By some miracle, you bring everything in yourself, and hope to get it put away before you see Isabella.

You turn to the freezer, putting away the ice cream. When you turn back around, you’re suddenly met face to face with Isabella, who has opened one of the boxes and is picking at a pastry.

“Hey girlie,” she says, elongating the hey.

“Hey,” you reply lethargically, putting the last of the groceries away. She looks at the pastry in her hand like she’s just noticing it.

“Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m italian.” She smiles, endeared by her own behavior. You have no idea what being italian has to do with asking before you open a box of your roommate’s food, but this really isn’t out of character for her. She brings up the fact that she’s half italian more than Lele Pons blames her behavior on being latina.

She’s wearing sweatpants that say chaser on the leg in red and gold varsity font, and a tight tee shirt that says “it’s okay to love them both” with silhouettes of the male love interests from one of the vampire shows she always watches. You collect the plastic bags to put in recycling, and see a piece of paper on the counter.

It reads as follows:

Drowning in my mind

No one hears me cry

Who was I before society

Before society put me in a pink dress

And handed me blonde hair dye

And told me to lose ten pounds or be labeled a freak?

The happiest people cry the most

Let the lyrics be your story

But I’m not like the other skinny blonde pretty girls

I’m

Different

-b.g. xox

You hold back a sigh.

“I think this is yours.” you say, handing it to her.

“Oh, it’s just some of my poetry I left lying around, that’s so embarrassing.”

I know, you think, you do that all the time.

“Did you read it?” She asks, hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Thank god, that would have been so embarrassing. My poetry is something really… deep, and personal to me.”

“Uh huh. Hey, I’m going to be doing a lot of self care this weekend, so-”

“Oh!” she interjects, eerily similar to Phoebe Buffay - you guess she’s been watching friends again - “I wanted to ask… is Leo coming over later?” Her voice is riddled with subtext, the expression on her face a little too invested in your answer.

“Uh, yeah. I told you the other day we’re spending the weekend together…”

She cuts you off again, a sudden, intense look on her face.

“When will he be here?”

You check your phone, scrolling through your recent texts.

“By 7 at the latest.” It’s around 6:40 now.

“Oh my god, I have to change,” she rushes back to her room, presumably digging through her recent additions to her closet.

You’re frozen for a minute after the interaction, left with a furrowed brow and the beginnings of a headache. You blink, then choose to reschedule processing why she feels the need to change for your boyfriend to a more convenient time. That’s enough of that for today. You don’t care what else happens, you’re not talking to anyone besides Leo for at least the rest of the day. You retreat to your room to finally shower and change into something comfy. As you pass by Isabella’s room, you hear her talking to Regan.

“...There’s something almost… supernatural about him.”

You bite back a laugh.

“Do you think he’s a…” Regan begins, ending the sentence with something too quiet to hear, but you’d bet almost any organ she said vampire.

So close. So, so close, and yet… here you are.

Not much later, Leo texts you to let you know he’s here. You read his text, and run out to hug him in the living room before even typing a reply. He picks you up, and spins you around. The embrace is warm and fulfilling and familiar, and you wish it would last forever.

“Hi, Sparky.” you murmur into his neck.

“Estrella…” he says, rocking you back and forth gently and pressing a kiss into your jawline, “I missed you so much.” He punctuates the sentence with another kiss, this one to your lips, and you smile more genuinely than you have all day. You’re about to agree when you remember the good news you’ve been saving to tell him in person.

“Guess what I got on sale for like, half off,” you start, excitedly, continuing at his invested expression, “the Assassin’s Creed bundle I showed you!”

“No way,” he starts, and you nod.

“I’ll go get everything set up, drinks are in the kitchen!” He watches you retreat into your room, disbelieving how he could possibly get someone as perfect as you to fall for him. He’s not going to question his luck. He grabs a couple caffeinated sparkling ices, and meets you in your room, setting down his bag and grabbing some comfy clothes to change into.

As you both get settled in, you fill each other in on all the ridiculous shit you’ve been through this week. You finally conclude the bizarre - yet somehow standard - Isabella escapades.

“So I will be avoiding all contact as much as possible,” you laugh.

“Yeah, no shit,” he agrees, “Consider me your human buffer.” You thank him, hugging him again and pressing a kiss to his lips.

The next couple hours are spent cuddling and finishing season 4 of Castlevania. Both reeling from the season finale, you agree this is a good place to take a break, get some food, and decide what game you should start with. It’s already 10pm, which most people would consider too late for dinner, but you have all weekend to fuck up your sleep schedules.

“Let’s review,” Isabella says, holding up two red lipsticks. She turns to Regan. “Which one?”

“That one,” Regan says, pointing to the one on the left, then turns to her list, and continues. “Here’s what we know; we’ve never seen him eat, and he never seems tired. He’s really smart-”

“Almost too smart,” Isabella adds, selecting black rose dangle earrings from her jewelry. Regan agrees, and continues.

“He’s almost hypnotically attractive, and his smile is a little too dazzling.”

“There’s something… supernatural about him. Like he’s not… all human.”

Regan writes this down.

“Plus he’s always wearing black and red, and those flowy button up shirts? It’s all adding up, Ree. That dream that someone was outside my window, the ring, everything…” She says, referencing the black and red cocktail ring she’d found with her stuff when she’d first moved, “I’m not saying it’s definite, just that… there’s a chance.”

“What about…” Regan says hesitantly, nodding toward your room.

“Please,” she scoffs, “he’s only with them to get close to me, like Damon and Caroline. Edward couldn’t have just approached Bella out of the blue, he had to infiltrate her friend group first, to seem less suspicious. Not to sound mean or anything, but they really don’t seem like the type someone… like him… would choose.” her voice gets dreamy when she mentions him.

In spite of having seen most mainstream vampire media almost as many times as Isabella, Regan still considers her the expert on these things, and decides not to point out that Edward didn’t infiltrate Bella’s friend group. Maybe it comes up in one of the retellings she hasn’t read yet.

“So, what now?”

Isabella sets down her lipstick, and turns to her friend.

“I tell him.”

Regan’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to tell him you know?”

“No… not yet. It’s too soon, we don’t have enough evidence. I’m going to tell him I know he’s in love with me, then once he’s secure in our relationship... we’ll see where it goes.”

She stands up, assessing herself in the mirror. She chose her outfit carefully; short red dress with black roses and black mesh collar, black rose bracelet to match her earrings, snug faux leather jacket, and black stiletto ankle booties with a very skinny heel, the zipper on the outside gold, not silver. She fluffs her wavy hair and turns towards the door. She looks back one more time, holding onto the doorway.

“Wish me luck.”

Leo enters the kitchen, seeing Isabella already there, leaning against the counter seductively. She’s wearing an outfit and jewelry this late at night that makes Leo wonder if she’s going to an emo tea party. He puts the takeout in the microwave. She’s still staring at him.

“Uh… hey.”

She lets out a dainty giggle, looking him up and down.

“... Hi.”

At a loss for words, and really wanting the awkward silence to be over, he continues, “Did you need something?”

“What I need,” she walks closer to him, tracing her finger over his collar, “is you.”

What the fuck?

His brain seems to stall for a moment, and she uses this opportunity to continue.

“I know why you’re here. I know that you’re only using them to get closer to me. I know-”

“Woah-”

“That you’re in love with me.”

Okay, double what the fuck.

She takes his stunned silence as shyness, and steps closer, putting her arms around his shoulders.

“You don’t need to play so coy, I-”

This time she’s the one that gets cut off. He grabs her arms and gently steps away, trying to make it abundantly clear that he’s not into this.

“Woah, okay, slow down. First of all, you’re 17 and I’m turning 20 in a couple months, so that’s a hard no. Second, I don’t know where you got this idea, but I am not dating them to get closer to you. We’ve known each other since we were like, 15, and have been through everything together. I’ve only known you for a couple months. I love them. Probably more than I’ve loved anything ever. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

He doesn’t want to be mean, he really doesn’t, but he can tell from the look on her face that she still thinks this is all part of some game.

“So why don’t I ever see you eat? Why are you so smart, and always up at night? I know what you are.”

He has to physically hold back a laugh. He takes a step back, and places his hands on the counter.

“Isabella, I have adhd. And I’m literally an engineering student. Why wouldn’t I be smart and have a shitty sleep schedule?”

She starts to protest, and he pulls out the reheated take out from the microwave.

“And for the record, I do eat.”

Exiting the kitchen quickly and retreating back to your room, he hands you your food.

“I got the game set up!” you say excitedly.

“Nice!”

You take one look at his face and can tell something happened. He sees this, and continues.

“I just had a very… interesting interaction with Isabella,” before he finishes the sentence, your head is already in your hands. You let out a groan.

“What did she do?” you mutter from behind your hands.

He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back.

“I’m not totally sure,” you laugh, “but I think she thinks I’m secretly in love with her…” you’re both laughing before he can even finish the sentence.

“No…” you laugh, “no fucking way…”

“Believe me, I put an end to that as soon as it started.”

“Oh, I do.”

He runs his hand over your back, and you’re quiet for a moment.

“You know,” he continues, “I think getting our own place has definitely moved up the priority list.”

You couldn’t agree more.

[maybe-your-left]

ASK FRIDAY - CREATE A SCENARIO: roommates trope with Kylo

Due to some last minute room swapping and late registering Reader and Kylo end up in the same dorm but they're mad about it and hate each other (cue intense sexual tension)

Dorm room, Snowed in, evening time like 6

The heater/power has just gone out and Kylo knows a few ways to get warm...only if Readers up for it...

been working on this for FOREVER ANON. 

I loved it! 

Crushed

TW: NSFW, dirty talk, dom/sub vibes, exhibitionism, kinda fluff, Kylos not that nice and is an entitled man.

Oh yeah, you fuckin’ slut. 

Yes-Yes-Yes! 

‘M gonna cum all over your fucking tits.

You slapped the wall next to your bed, hard. 

“Can you guys keep it down! It’s 1 in the morning!” 

Muffled voices came through the paper-thin wall, sounding like bodies moving to the floor. Good, you thought, at least he will get rug burn from the shitty carpet, might keep him from fucking everything that moves. 

A hard knock on the wall pulled you from that thought. 

“Go read your fucking Bible! I’m trying to get my dick wet!” 

“Please!” 

“Why don’t you go get fucked!?” 

Some giggled came through next, followed by more muffled whispering. You whined loudly, trying to ignore the sounds of him fucking whatever bimbo your dormmate had in his lair. Shoving your face into your pillow, muffling your tears and wails. 

You turned on your TV, drowning out the final act of his performance. Fingers poised over your keyboard to file another noise complaint with the RA… not like they ever helped you. The last time they intervened they left with a black eye and broken nose, shrugging for you to sort it out yourselves. 

A door slammed shut, you let out a sigh of relief. 

At least he wasn’t a cuddler. 

You climbed out of bed, tip-toeing to your door to take a peek of whatever slut found her way into his room this evening. The special lady was a new cinderella every fucking week, he didn’t even try to know their names. You heard him admit it once in class to his friends, saying he called them all ‘baby’ so he wouldn’t have to learn. 

You peeked out the door, blinking from the harsh fluorescent lighting of your dingy dorm halls. The walls were a screaming white, yellowing from years of shoddy cleaning. You tried to clean your room when you first came to school, but it was too disgusting. 

A non-smoking dorm, ha. Everyone smoked, especially your neighbor. 

“Shouldn’t you be in bed creeper?” 

You jumped at his voice, exhaling harshly through your nose. You steeled your features, caught red-handed looking for his latest prey. Crossing your arms defensively, not that there was anything to hide. You were in your ratty pj’s, they were on sale at Old Navy a few years ago and you never threw them away even though they barely fit anymore. 

“If you’re so interested in being a cuck,” he grinned at you, flashing his crooked teeth, “I would love to have you over for an encore, I’m sure you’d love to watch me in action.” 

“Buzz off, Ren.” 

“Ooo, angry tonight,” he smirked, now stepping out of his door frame. You choked a little at his appearance, no shirt on, basketball shorts barely hanging off his hips. Dangerously low, seriously, if he took one wrong move they would be on the floor. His chest was covered in fresh scratch marks, no doubt from his latest victim, a sheen of sweat glistening under the lights. 

Fuck, he was good-looking. 

But he was terrible. 

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, daring you to stare back at him. 

You gulped, caught again. You were better than that, you were just tired from being kept up since ten with his version of ‘love-making’. 

“My eyes are up here cupcake,” he stepped forward. Pushing you back into your doorframe, almost inside your sanctuary. “If you ever decide you want to break your vow of chastity, I’m right next door.” 

“Step away from me, Kylo.” 

He cocked his brow, “I love when you’re mean, come on. Let’s see if kitty has claws.” 

You bared your teeth, fists balling under your underarms, “Not even if you were the last man on Earth.” 

He shrugged, backing away from you. 

“Deal, bitch.” 

You moved to shut your door on him, “Go away.” 

“See you in class, bright and early.” 

------ 

When you imagined leaving for college, it was different. 

Saying goodbye to your parents, packing your car with whatever small valuables you owned. Determined to make a name for yourself all the way across the country, no friends or family, truly on your own. You imagined everything would be different, the dorm would be filled with new and friendly faces. 

RA’s greeting you as you parked outside, giving you a tour and maybe a group lunch with all your floormates. Getting to know each other, maybe even going to some new-student orientation event they planned for the newbies. 

Classes were smooth, acing all your major requirements. Professors were kind and ready to help you at any moment, letting your artistic vision flow through your body every morning with your 8 AM yoga class. 

But no. 

Instead, you registered late. 

Your classes all at the worst times, bright and early. 

Second rate dorm, COED even… smelly dudes between your single bedroom which would be better defined as a broom closet. Burping and fucking on both sides of you while you tried to study. Your major requirement classes were boring and filled with pretentious art students who thought they were the next Picasso. 

Professors didn’t care if you lived or died, only focusing on the bell schedule because they couldn’t control what the freshmen did in their classes. 

Your options for clubs were limited, either join a sport or a cult. 

And worst of all. 

Kylo Ren. 

He was your neighbor, signed up late just like you. You actually arrived at the same time, he pushed you down on your ass in the lobby so he could be checked in first. Calling you a clumsy bitch, only for you both to be handed keys to the same floor. Right next to each other, sharing a flimsy wall. 

On top of that, he was an art major like you. 

And since he registered late, he was in almost every class. 

Even yoga! 

He took your mat the first day, leaving you in tears in the hallway. He apologized afterward, handing it back to you before storming off to be with his beefy upper-class friends. Any moment he could, Ren would humiliate you. Trying to push your buttons, whistling at you when you had to cross the hallway to the showers. Tripping you when you had your hands full, making fun of you for hanging out with your sparse group of friends. 

And when he found out you were annoyed with him making noise, he latched onto it. 

One week he decided to recite the entire Phantom of the Opera, just because you mentioned in class that you loved that play. 

He did every part, even the musical scores, you could’ve sworn he did it with a megaphone on the wall, just to spite you. 

Your parents told you ‘he just likes you, he’s a boy.’ 

No! 

That’s not how people express feelings, at least not healthy people. 

Your alarm clock blared on your nightstand, you didn’t sleep so it didn’t bother you. Letting out a heavy sigh of defeat, Ren ruined another night for you, a night you’d never get back. Of precious, precious sleep that you desperately deserved. 

Slipping on some plum leggings and a sports bra. No one gave a fuck about your outfit in your early morning class, as long as you went with clothes on. You popped on your headphones, trying to drone out the noise of Ren’s music through the wall. He liked to blast some god-awful music every morning. 

Today, it was an old Black Veil Brides album! 

You made it out of the dining hall, snatching a muffin for breakfast. Smiling at some guys you knew, waving at your friend Rose as you stormed off to the gym. The cold chill of Winter biting at your nose, it was too cold to not wear a full outfit. But there was no time, with Ren keeping you up all night and classes back to back, you didn’t have time to fuck around with dressing up. 

Ren ran in after you, laughing with his friends. Big nose all red from the frost, his hair looked frozen to his scalp, probably showered beforehand. You rolled out your mat, trying to stretch while he bragged about the pussy he got last night. Making a big show of your complaining, saying you were desperate to fuck him based on your whining. 

You rolled your eyes when he planted next to you, “Good morning, you ran out in a hurry.” 

“I didn’t want to be late,” you sneered, not giving him the time of day, still stretching your back into child's-pose. 

“How are we supposed to walk together if you run away from me, cupcake?” 

You scoffed, shooting him an icy glare. Despite him grinning at you like the happiest man on Earth, god, you needed to stop giving him a reaction. That would shut him up if you didn’t give him the attention he is clearly lacking from his parental figures. 

“Good morning class,” your teacher greeted you calmly, “I hope you’re all doing well. As you all know, this next week is finals week, I’m offering makeup classes to those of you who need to make up some credit hours. We are also hosting some meditation if you need time to relax between classes.” 

Next to you, Ren leaned towards your mat, setting his hand right behind your back. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was hovering. Ready to devour you like a piece of meat.

“Hey,” he chuckled. 

You stayed quiet, pushing back into his arm so he would move. Ren stayed put, purring in your ear, “Did you sleep well?” 

“Move off my mat, Ren.” 

He smirked down at you, “You seem stressed, do you want me to help by fucking your brains out.” 

You shot off your mat, effectively knocking him onto his back. Laughing loudly in a relatively silent room of students trying to center themselves. He grinned from the floor, hands up in the air in defense, “I’m just offering to help you, Jesus!” 

“Just,” you pointed in his face, hair falling out of your ponytail. Everyone was staring at you, even your instructor. Shocked you were yelling, you barely spoke in class, at the scariest person in your class. 

“Just, leave me alone.” 

------

Ren avoided you for the rest of the week, mostly. 

Still had his nightly fuck-more subdued though, you had on noise-canceling headphones to try and focus on studying. There were still so many classes to get to, and you wouldn’t be finished until the day before Winter break… you were desperate to get this over with. 

You missed your family, the plane ticket itself cost you a whole month of meals. 

Of course, you would do fine in your classes, it was just the motivation to get there. Every morning you glared at Ren when he greeted you in yoga, still standing next to you like a menacing shadow. 

This morning was no different, only you skipped class to study in the library. Bundled up in your winter coat, long black scarf, hair in a lazy braid, and thermal leggings on. The wind had picked up last night, bringing on an ice storm that wasn’t expected until late next week. You walked on treacherous sidewalks, dodging all the other students who were seeking the warmth of the library. 

You settled inside, sprawling your books and laptop on an old desk. Grabbing out a few sketch pads so you could finish up some pieces that were due in a couple hours. Most of your finals in art were ‘unconventional’ which meant the professor wanted to see what you were motivated to work on during the year. 

For yours, you had decided to draw the people you saw on campus. 

Studying their faces, mannerisms, languages while they were in an organic environment. It was a great piece, and one of your professors was very interested in showcasing it in a show. You were proud, it wasn’t large but it was important for you and you wanted it to be perfect before turning it in. 

Your pastels were spread out, fingertips smudged and stained from charcoal, a few lines on your face and brow from forgetting about the streaks. There was this one person you couldn’t finish, it was one of your friends from last week. She was laughing and holding a drink, the expression wide and full of emotion but it was hard for you to capture without her being there. 

But you steeled yourself, you weren’t leaving this spot until you finished her. 

“You smudged that dude's face,” a low voice rumbled behind you. A finger pointing down at the top left corner, “Stop-don’t touch it.” 

You moved to swat the hand away, not wanting some random guy to ruin your piece with their grubby fingers. Recentering yourself, he wasn’t smudged, he was just in the corner so it looked like it wasn’t finished… what did he know, anyway? 

“You didn’t draw me?” 

Now you stopped, why you didn’t recognize the timbre of his voice was ridiculous. 

You let out a long sigh, “Please, don’t touch the canvas, Kylo. It’s not ready, yet.” 

The chair that housed your backpack slid out next to you, your things tossed on the ground carelessly before Ren sat. You scooted away from him, he smelled like he just showered. Judging by his wet hair you were probably right… “What are you doing?” 

He shrugged, fiddling with one of your notebooks. Flipping through pages carelessly, “I don’t know-you weren’t in yoga so.” 

“So,” you gave him a weird look, “You stalked me to the library?” 

“There’s no reason to go to yoga if I can’t bother you,” he flashed a smile, dropping it slightly when he saw you weren’t playing back with him. 

Silence fell over you both, the only noises the heat kicking in around the scuffling of boots and shoes to face the weather again. 

“I like your piece,” he gestured to your work, “For drawing, right?” 

You nodded stiffly, not enjoying his friendly tone. Like he wasn’t your demon neighbor who made it his job to annoy you and had for the past four months of your life. Ren shifted again, now leaning on the table with his cheek resting on his forearm. Looking at you with wide eyes, you never took the time to look at his face. 

He had very large eyes that betrayed his emotions. Swimming with flecks of auburn, gold, and some streaks of green, blinking slowly as he studied your canvas. You looked away from him, trying to ignore the urge to draw them, how his long lashes rivaled your own. How his skin was freckled with beauty marks, creases from frowning lined his forehead and nose. You could even make out his stubble, some pieces he must’ve missed the last time he shaved. 

You went back to drawing, no longer focusing on it. Just trying to understand what was happening, your tormentor was a foot away from you. Breathing calmly like a cat laying in a patch of sun. Hunched over the edge, torso too long to rest like a normally proportioned human being, had he always been this big? 

“Wanna get coffee before class?” 

“Huh?” 

You blinked slowly, not registering that he spoke to you. 

Ren leaned off, letting out a big yawn and scratching the back of his neck. 

Yes, definitely a cat. 

“Do you want to get coffee,” he stared blankly, “Before we head to English?” 

You looked down at your mess, then back up at him. Shaking your head softly, voice quiet as a mouse, “No-thank you.” 

He exhaled harshly, “I’m not gonna burn you with it, it’s just coffee.” 

“No, I’m fine,” you said firmer, “I wanna work on this some more.” 

Ren stayed still, probably trying to think of a way to get you to agree with him. You had known him long enough to know he doesn’t like people disagreeing with him. Didn’t have to be a college graduate to see that the man had issues with control, hence terrorizing you all semester. You didn’t want to offer him an olive branch, because he was just doing it as a joke. Probably, waiting until you were calm around him to do something cruel. 

You went back to drawing, listening to him get up and leave you. Mumbling something under his breath about ‘trying to be nice’ before walking out. You shook off the awkwardness, not willing to break down and let him do something nice for you, just because he didn’t ruin your final piece didn’t mean he wouldn’t do something in the future. 

The day was still young. 

------

Oddly enough, Ren didn’t bother you that evening. 

Not even a door slam! 

You almost thought he was dead, but you saw him in the hallway when you were walking to the bathroom. Wrapped in your robe, caddy in hand, he didn’t whistle or try to touch your ass like he normally did. Just a stale smile before closing himself back in his room. 

Not to waste the precious quiet, you went to work packing your bags for your trip tomorrow. Deciding to do a quick load of laundry, your hall was almost empty, so no one would be down there while you waited. 

Piling up your hamper, you threw your pj's and slippers on. Remembering to grab a blanket and your laptop so you could hang out down there while you waited. 

Your friends back home were all excited to see you, ready to hear all about your time away. The boys you met, friends you made, classes, all that. So excited to get home and see your cat, Gremlin, he was all alone without you. Your mom sent you pictures earlier of him curled in your blankets, saying that he knew you were coming home soon. 

Maybe next Fall you could get an apartment, you didn’t want to leave him for another year. 

A washing machine door slammed shut next to you, causing you to jump from your perch atop your own. Faced with Ren, who was doing his laundry in his pjs, or his version of pjs. Giving you another tight-lipped smile before leaning against the far wall. Yawning loudly before sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. 

You ignored him, turning back to your laptop that was playing a crime documentary. Texting some friends to keep your mind from wandering to Ren and why he was in such a mood. 

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” Ren called from his wall. 

You pretended to not hear him, refocusing on the documentary, there was something very interesting happening and you weren’t about to miss how they found the killer's shoe prints in the mud just because Ren was trying to talk to you. 

Then something was thrown at you, and it smelled awful. 

“Oh-my-god!” 

You shot off the washing machine, throwing down the offending garment. Ren was laughing loudly, “Chill out! It was just an old shirt!” 

“How old was it?!” 

He smiled at you from the ground, propping an elbow on his kneecap. One leg stretched out on the tile, you tried to regain a sense of calm, he was just messing with you again. Just take some deep breaths… in-out-in

“Are you leaving tomorrow, after our final?” 

You let out your deep breath, sitting back on the washer. “Yeah,” you paused your show since mister meanie wanted to have a tea party. “I have to get to the airport right after.” 

He hummed, “Same.” 

The washer beeped loudly, echoing in the otherwise empty room. Ren watched you hop off, fixing your shorts which definitely rode up too much. Trying to not flash him your underwear as you bent to move your clothes to a dryer. You cursed when a sock fell from your pile, great.  

“How come we’ve never fucked?” 

Now all your clothes were on the floor. 

Along with Ren, who was staring at you like you were an art exhibit. 

You dragged your clothes back to the washer. There was no way you were finishing now that they touched the dirty floor, no one cleaned down here and just because it looked clean didn’t mean-

A whistle, “You good over there?” 

“Yup.” 

“Okay,” you heard him stretch, popping his joints as he lifted off the floor. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he closed in. Almost touching you, no escape, “As I was saying, how come you’ve never let me steal your virginity?” 

You scoffed, “I am not a virgin.” 

Ren pressed into you, pushing you against the washer now. Grinding his hips into your own, you squirmed, trying to dispel every fantasy flooding your brain. Every night you spent listening to him through the wall, imagining just once that it was you. If he weren’t such a monster, you would have gladly laid on your back and let him do whatever he wanted. 

“Nothing?” 

You took a deep breath, placing both palms on the top of the washer. Biting your lip as you silently pleaded for him to let you go, but also continue. You could smell his cologne from this close, how it complimented him so well. Mixing in with his dark aura, you wanted nothing more than to spin around and…

Soon you were doing just that, but not on your own violation. 

Ren had his hands grasping your hips, thumbs slipping under the fabric of your t-shirt to caress your soft skin. Lips capturing your own, you froze in his hold. Unsure of what to do, a part of you wanted to scream and smack him, but the other part loved the smell of his toothpaste. 

He relaxed when you relaxed, your lips still awkwardly locked together. Not opening and allowing for more, but not moving away either. You stared at him, startled to see him looking back at you. Pulling back slightly, you watched his face chase yours. Bringing your lips together a few more times, kissing at the seam. 

You felt his tongue flick for entry, trying to pry your mouth open so he could explore. When you didn’t move he finally huffed in annoyance, “I know it’s your first kiss, but you’re supposed to open your mouth.” 

You groaned, bringing both hands to cradle his cheeks. There was no way he was going to make fun of you, he initiated this so. 

Ren made a muffled noise when you pressed your lips back together. Probably of shock and surprise, because, no. This was not your first kiss, not even your fourth or fifth kiss. Working your tongue skillfully into his mouth, you moaned softly at his taste. Just like you imagined… not that you put much stock into this but… it was wonderful. 

Bringing your fingers to the nape of his neck, tugging on his dark brown hair. Just like you always wanted to, whenever he walked past you with it tied in a bun you dreamt of tearing through it. Ren returned your affection in kind, his left hand moving to the small of your back. Fingers dancing under the waistband of your pajama bottoms. 

You heard him swear when he felt the lace underneath, nestled between your cheeks. Ren slid a hand over the globes of your ass, moving his hips in time with his tongue. Tasting every inch of your mouth, even growling in approval when you sunk your teeth into his bottom lip. 

Petting and groping each other against the washing machines, the sound of you swapping spit barely heard over the rumble of your clothes. Ren had gotten sick of grinding against your hip bone, pulling away from you for a moment. Shushing your pathetic whimpers, he hooked the hand not cupping your ass behind your left knee. 

Hiking it over his hip, opening your legs up. Allowing him to assault your center with his straining erection, oh you could picture it now. How easy it would be to just let him slip inside you. 

Right here, in the laundry room. 

*Beep* 

You pulled back roughly, barely able to unsuction your lips from Rens' own. A string of spit connecting your kiss-bitten lips, he looked at you with pleading eyes. Grinding himself against you harder, pulling a few soft mewls from your throat. 

“I need to switch my clothes,” you croaked.

He nodded, shakily setting your limb back on the floor and backing away. You watched through your own lust-filled state as he trembled. Walking back to his far wall, a hand cupping his cock through his sweats. Your throat clicked as you took in a much-needed breath, doing what you said you would. 

Setting them in the dryer, all the more aware of his eyes watching your every move. 

Not sparing him a glance when you sat back on the washer. 

Turning on your laptop once again to watch your crime documentary. 

Ignoring the throbbing between your legs, his deep breaths, and your shaking limbs. 

------

The TV’s at the airport all said the same thing, “Record snowfall this winter, right before the holidays! Experts say that we will be lucky to keep power until it passes. Our friends on the west coast are enjoying a white Christmas, while we’re stuck in the North Pole.” 

All flights have been grounded until further notice. 

Stuck. 

You could barely make it back to your dorm without crashing. 

Bursting into tears several times when you realized you wouldn’t be home until it was over. Wouldn't be able to safely leave your dorm room until it passed, leaving you utterly alone. 

You had emailed your RA letting him know your bad luck, he let the staff know you’d be there so they would have food and water running still. 

But other than that, this was your holiday. 

You slipped on the walk up to your room, sobbing loudly in the halls as you clutched your luggage. No going home, no seeing your friends or family, no Christmas dinner, no personal shower, no Gremlin to sleep on your face. 

Collapsing on your bed, curling yourself in the multitude of pillows and blankets that adorned it. The room had shitty heating, the entire building had shitty heating. The entire month of December you’d been freezing, and no amount of personal heaters could fix this kind of cold. 

You drifted off to sleep after crying for a few hours, letting your parents know what was happening. Setting alerts for earlier flights, anything you could do to get home. You were so tired in fact, that you slept through a power outage. Leaving the entire building to shut down, no backup generators. 

And no heat. 

It wasn’t until you felt yourself being lifted that you woke up to the commotion. 

Squirming in the kidnappers' arms, limbs aching from freezing for a time in your bedroom. The window must’ve cracked open because it was much colder than when you arrived. Your attacker didn’t let you go, growling in your ear to be still. 

Dragging you out of the building, towards a car you didn’t notice when you pulled in. With the snow swirling all around, it was a miracle they could see their own vehicle. You were thrown in the front seat, followed by your luggage tossed in the back. You stayed still, every time you moved it hurt, hypothermia. Common in the New England storms if you were foolish enough to be outside… 

You about passed out when the driver's side door opened, Ren climbed in. Looking just as frozen as you, slamming the door shut and mumbling something as he started his car. You could’ve cried when the engine turned, heat blasting between the both of you. 

“Hands,” his teeth chattered, holding his own out. He nodded for you to do the same, grasping your pink fingers between his own and blowing on them. “Power went out,” Ren took a shallow breath, “I was leaving and I saw your car. You were almost frozen to your bed, the window broke.” 

“Th-thank you-u-u.” 

Ren cringed at your fingers, slowly gaining back their normal color. “I tried to grab everything I could, like your backpack and luggage. But we can’t stay there, we’ll fucking freeze.” 

You nodded, tugging your hands away to curl into your chest. Thankful that Ren had enough sense to grab blankets, stuffing them in your lap from the backseat. You thought about grabbing your phone, but you could barely make a fist so it would do you no good. 

“My plane g-g-got ground-d-ed.” 

Ren shivered, nodding sharply, “Mine too, my mom got me a hotel room not far from here to stay until the storm passes. So, I’m taking us there.” 

“Okay.” 

You didn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract him from the treacherous roads. Thank god he had a Jeep, or else you would’ve died. You couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, less than that when you were on the highway out of the city. 

Ren kept mumbling things like it’s okay, I’m sorry, I know it's cold, whenever you shivered and took in sharp breaths. You must’ve been out for a while, to get this bad. A quick look at the clock in his car said you’d been asleep for three hours, who knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t noticed your car… 

He helped you out, more carried you, towards the check-in desk. Too worried you would pass out in the car if he left you for too long, the front desk lady was quick and sweet. Making sure to send up extra blankets and pillows to your suite. Ren had you walk up with him, so he wouldn’t have to carry you and the luggage on separate trips. 

You clutched his hand like a child, tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. But he was so warm, it’s all you could think about. All you wanted was to be warm, nodding blindly to whatever Ren said to do. 

Plug your phone in, check. 

Let him talk to your mom, check. 

Draw a bath for you, check. 

Climb in the bath with you, double-check. 

It wasn’t until you were defrosted in the clawfoot tub that you realized you were naked with him. 

Rens chest against your back, holding you like his life depended on it. Judging by his shaking, you both were probably suffering from acute hypothermia. You had been silent for so long your voice spooked him a little, “Thank you.” 

He hummed into your hair, which was sitting on top of your head in a messy bun. “Are you okay?” 

You nodded slowly, “Can we go lay down?” 

“Yeah,” Ren hastily got out of the tub, draining it and wrapping you in plush towels. You were still too cold to blush from your nakedness, not how you pictured this going. You imagined you would finally give into him on some drunken party night, barely remembering his reaction to seeing you nude. 

But now he had seen you half-frozen, forced to cradle you back to life. 

------

You squinted from your cocoon, greeted by a dimly lit room. 

One spare lamp on a dingy-looking nightstand, well it wasn’t terrible. It was better than your nightstand in your dorm room… where was your dorm room anyway? 

Something vibrated behind you, followed by a heavyweight sprawling against your back. 

You held your breath, you were in a hotel. 

With a stranger. 

“Shit,” you whispered. 

Okay, you could wiggle out of here. You took a moment to study the room, there was the lamp from before, and some curtains on a metal rod in the far corner. If you managed to get out without being detected you could knock out the assailant. 

“You smell so good.” 

More weight settled on you, now you were trapped. This bear was closing in, who knows what happened while you were asleep! All you could remember was falling asleep at your dorm after the upsetting trip to the airport, then being dragged away. 

Your fingers burning when you tried to use them, being shoved in a car… 

Kylo. 

“Kylo?!” 

“Mhm.” 

You threw your arms up, successfully throwing him off you and the covers. Your limbs screaming at the sudden movement, you were still suffering from the cold. Next to you, curled in a ball, totally catlike, was Ren. 

A sleepy smile gracing his lips, hands curled under his cheek, and legs moving towards his chest, Like a child under a blanket. You gasped when you saw he was naked, “Fuck!” 

You were too. 

“What the fuck, Ren!?” 

“Stop yelling,” you watched his hand bat his nose like an animal, “Come back, you were warm.” 

You huffed, flailing off the bed in search of your bags. 

Memories flooding back to you, he took you here after saving your life. 

The bath. 

Ugh, bad time to remember your kiss the night before. 

Ren sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and blinking slowly. You flushed red when you looked between his legs, shit. How does he walk around with that? Is that why he has bad posture? You choked on your spit when he spread his legs out. 

Sprawling completely on the mattress like he wasn’t in a room with a stranger. 

“Snow hasn’t stopped,” Ren yawned, snapping a hand and pointing between his legs, “Come back.” 

“I’m not doing anything until you have clothes on.” 

He rolled his eyes, now looking you up and down. Focusing on your bare tits, swinging around with your erratic movements. You watched him lick his lips, wagging his eyebrows, “Come on, don’t you want to sit back on the bed?”

You shook your head, crouching down to your bag. Trying to not flash him more of your goods, but that didn’t work. Not with him leaning to the side of the bed to make a show of him peeping on you. 

A wolfish grin splitting his face, “You have a nice ass.” 

“Can you stop,” you huffed, tugging on some sweats you found. 

Ren made a pouting noise when you stood, pushing his bottom lip out while you threaded your arms through a t-shirt. You shivered a little-it was still freezing in the room. Probably from the weather, it sounded like it got worse… hopefully this place would keep power. 

You looked back at the bed, Ren was still manspreading. One of his large paws crawling towards his cock, watching you with the same smirk. He let out a soft sigh when he touched himself, eyes momentarily shutting in bliss. 

“Do you have to do that with me here?” 

He cracked an eye open, “Do you have to be that far away?” 

You scoffed, moving to the corner of the room. Shivering since you were near the window, you plopped down in the cheap armchair. Ignoring the sounds of his fist gliding along his cock, you tucked your feet under your body. Humming a tune to ignore the arousal growing between your legs, there was no way you were caving to him. 

What kind of man does that with a complete stranger present!? 

More importantly, why was it turning you on? 

“Come here,” he whistled, you spared a glance at him. Blushing profusely at the sight, his cock was now fully erect. Standing tall and proud, tip flushed almost purple from want. You quickly looked away, trying to swallow down the drool that gathered in your mouth. 

What would happen if you gave in? 

Not like it would hurt you… he looked so delicious. 

“If I come over there, what's gonna happen,” you whispered, determined to stay put.

With a deep breath, the mattress groaned under his weight, probably leaning back to get comfortable. He seemed to love you being there, watching him, or trying not to. Ren made a small non-committal scoff, “Whatever you want to happen, baby.” 

“Don’t call me that, you know my name.” 

“Meow.” 

Your head snapped towards him, met with his grin. “Come on-you really want me to do this by myself?” he waved his cock, fist tight around the base. You rolled your eyes, training your eyes to focus on the least attractive part about him. 

You were coming up empty, all you could stare at was his cock. 

The prominent vein along the underside thrumming in time with his heartbeat. You could practically feel it along your tongue, rigid and stiff. Slowly, you stood from the chair, met with a soft whine from Ren. Eying your hungrily as you sauntered over, you planted a knee in the mattress. 

Between his legs, which were spread obscenely wide, he licked his lips in anticipation. 

“If I help you, are you going to be nicer to me?” 

He nodded, chest taking in sharp breaths. You slowly leaned back on your heels, stripping your top off, despite him seeing you naked earlier. Surprised when he bit his bottom lip, watching you play with your tits, rolling them in the palm of your hand. Just to make him squirm a bit, “I’ll be nicer, whatever you want.” 

“I’m really cold still,” you spoke softly, making sure to lean in close enough to graze his lips with your own before pulling away, “Can you help warm me up?” 

“Yes,” Ren's hands shot out, kneading your flesh a few times. Debating to grasp your tits or the small of your waist, like a kid in a candy store. So many options, but you didn’t want to wait. If you were doing this, it would be about you.

“Eat me out.” 

He stilled, cocking a brow, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” you exhaled on his neck, being sure to drag your kitty claws along his chest. Briefly grazing his nipples, savoring the way he gasped. “Eat me out, if you make me cum, I’ll let you fuck me. Like the desperate slut you are.” 

Ren scowled for a moment, nudging your face from his neck. Eyes dancing across your face before capturing your lips, moaning softly in your mouth, “I can make you cum so hard you’ll never want another man again.” 

You placed a soft kiss, rolling onto your back dramatically. Splaying your legs wide, “If that's true, why do you fuck a different girl every week?” 

He growled at you, actually growled. 

Hands no longer soft in their quest to memorize your skin, instead Ren pinned your legs hard enough for them to pop. Making you squeal from the stretch, “How fast do you think I can make you cum? Hm?” 

Before you could answer, he dove in. 

Lips wrapping around your clit and suckling fast, tongue flicking out every few seconds. You were already bucking up to meet him, but his firm hold kept you flush. While his tongue began to lap thick stripes along the seam of your pussy. Briefly hooking the tip into your entrance, both of you moaning when he tasted your wetness. 

“Shit-Kylo!” 

“Mm,” his voice vibrated against your clit, continuing his assault until you choked on your spit. You buried your fingers in his hair, keeping him in that right spot. “I’m so fucking close,” you cried out, pleading his name over and over and over. 

“You know,” he popped off, smacking his lips that were glistening with your cum, “I’d rather you cum on my cock.” 

“Wait-” 

Ren flipped you onto your chest, yanking your hips into the air. You barely had time to take a breath before he shoved his cock inside you. His breath hitched as he sank to the hilt, you groaned at the stretch. Now this, this you could get used to.

He pulled out slowly, you heard him swear under his breath. Leaving just the tip of his cock inside and ramming his hips into yours. Pulling a loud scream from your lungs, Ren chuckled at that. Pumping his cock at a rough pace, “Shh-you’re going to upset our neighbors.” 

You huffed, cheap shot, angling your hips a little so his cock would rub up against your front wall. Moaning when he picked up the pace, skin slapping skin. Ren leaned over your form, planting a hand on the headboard to keep it from knocking. You weakly lifted your head, clenching at the sight of his knuckles turning white. 

All you could do was sit and take it, revealing in the bliss you’d denied yourself for four months. 

-------

Ren dropped you both off at the airport two days later. 

You spent three days together, fucking each other's brains out. 

Choking on his cock while he was brushing his teeth, eating you out while you read through your newsfeed. Bouncing on his cock while he fed you breakfast, you didn’t need to change clothes the entire vacation. 

But you wanted to go home and were thankful for the storm ending so you could head home. It was a little awkward, Ren wasn’t very excited about the snow stopping. It felt like he was trying to stall you leaving but reluctantly listened to your desire to fly home. 

“Got everything?” he mumbled, hitching his backpack over his shoulder. The two of you were waiting in the TSA line, about to part ways to head home. You nodded, giving him a tight smile before stepping up on your own. 

Ignoring the feeling of his eyes on the back of your head. 

Both of you stood awkwardly after making it through, “Well-my gates over here,” you pointed behind you. Ren hummed in acknowledgment, kicking at the ground instead of looking at you. 

“Thanks for letting me crash with you,” you tried again, still nothing. 

You groaned, spinning on your heel. Back to being an asshole, you were kicking yourself for thinking he would be nicer. All he wanted was some pussy, and you willingly gave into him when you should’ve remained strong. 

Your parents picked you up back at home, lots of tears and laughs were shared. Thankful that you made it home without freezing, your mom was grateful for your friend who saved your life. She wanted to call him and tell him how much she appreciated it but you shrugged it off, he was just being nice. He wasn’t your boyfriend or anything, you left out the part that he was the neighbor you always complained about. 

Collapsing on your bed felt surreal like you would wake up and be back in the hotel room at any moment. It was odd not sleeping next to him, you had grown accustomed to his clingy arms. Circling you in the middle of the night when he thought you were dead asleep, smelling your hair before tucking you into his naked chest. 

You tossed and turned all night, groaning when you were woken by your siblings to get up the next morning. Barely sleeping a wink, you resolved to take a nap later to try and not spoil your trip back home. 

At breakfast, your mom yelled at you from the kitchen. 

“Hey hon, someone’s calling you!” 

“Just answer it,” you groaned through a mouthful of cereal. Briefly hearing your mother answer in a typical chipper tone, stalling mid-sentence before she yelled again, “It’s someone named Kyle?” 

Shit, you shot to the kitchen. 

Snatching the phone and escaping to the living room where no one was hiding. 

“Kylo?” 

Hey, didn’t think you’d answer.

“How’d you get my number?” 

Took it while you were napping the other day, I knew you wouldn’t give it to me willingly.

You rolled your eyes, “Alright creeper, what’s up?” 

Just wanted to talk or whatever, felt weird not to. 

Silence. 

Are you gonna let me buy you coffee when we are back?

“You were being serious about that?” 

A scoff. 

Yeah-or we could just fuck again if that’s all you want from this. 

“Coffee sounds good.” 

Cool. Cool. 

It’s a date. 

-------

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads @onlykyloscenes @candycanes19 @historyandfandoms50 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @ghoulian13 @mrs-kylo-ren @millenialcatlady @relationshipwithmybed @dancingmicrobes @wayward-rose  @contesa-lui-alucard @daydreamsofren @insufferablelust @ohdamnadamm @mariesackler @caillea @safarigirlsp @jalexunderthestars @shesakillerkween @glassythoughts @zimmermansbrat @not-the-teen-witch @jynzandtonic @roanniom @celestiasin @glassbxttless @cornmousequeen @driversmutbucket @blowthatpieceofjunk

[barnibumblr]

Coffee Run - Part One

Pairing: Ina x Bea

Summary: Tensions are high after Bea is paired with Poppy on a project.

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, but mostly fluff!

Word count: 2045

Tagging: @ikingsley @kaitlynliaofanxx @kwaj115 @sheepmomther-personal @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @domakir @veenast @hellyeah90sbaby

***

“How do I look?”, Bea asked, walking into the common area like it was her own personal catwalk. Arms in the air, the brunette paused ahead of the kitchen island, adding a twirl for flair. Hiding her mouthful, Zoey threw her an exaggerated wink whilst she finished chewing her food. “Twit twoo Babe! You look pure fire!” She reached out to touch Bea, hissing and pulling her hand away at the ‘burn’.

When their laughter died down, Zoey shot a look at her watch “oh shit Bea, you’ve got five minutes to get across campus! And we both know this is a class you do not want to be late for”. Bea ran over to the door, slipping on her shoes and throwing her bag over her shoulder. The girl was right though, every minute Bea was late, was one less minute she could spend observing her beloved professor. As she stood up, Zoey was already holding the door open, half a slice of toast in the other hand. Bea rushed past, stopping to steal the toast with her teeth and leaving before her roommate could stop her.

Zoey stepped out into the corridor behind her, “yeah have my toast Bea, what’s mine is yours!” she called out across the bustling hallway. “Oh and say hi to Ms Candice for me” she added, purposely poking for a reaction. Shaking her head, Bea spun around to blow her second favourite New Yorker a kiss. Still moving with the crowd, she turned again to face the direction she was heading, trying to ignore the somersaults in her stomach as she recalled the impromptu book club reading with Ina. ‘I can’t believe I actually straddled my professor’ she taunted herself, mentally facepalming at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

Bea hurried her steps as she crossed the quad. All jokes aside, she was still desperately trying to impress Ina as her newly appointed TA and being late would not help her case. She was relieved to say the least, when she entered the lecture hall and the Professor was still unpacking her laptop.

The relief was short lived when she glanced around the room and found the only free seat was beside Chloe St James. Bea grunted under her breath, ‘great, just great’ she thought before taking her place next to the blonde. Her behind had barely touched the chair when Chloe threw her first look of disgust, “do you have to Hughes? My day was going just fine”. Bea narrowed her eyes, “it’s not exactly my first choice either Chloe, so how about we both just pretend I’m not really here?”. Along with her retort, she produced the most sarcastic and insincere smile she could summon.

“I’ve got a better idea” Chloe countered, “how about I act like you don’t exist?”. Bea paused, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, all while Chloe stared at her like she was the stupid one.

Ina cleared her throat pointedly and quiet swept across the room, immediately drawing Bea’s attention back to the front. She couldn’t help but think how incredibly sexy it was to watch Ina command the room, how easily she captured everyone’s interest and just kept it.

“Okay, so today we will be heading in a slightly different direction, a bit of a change from the last four weeks. We are going to start covering some elements of linguistic anthropology. I’ve got a short presentation to run through, you’ll have some time to note your key points, and then I would like to open the subject up to debate”.

The professor was just about to continue when a voice called out from the back, “are we going to mass debate Miss Kingsley?”. Ina rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Real smooth Craig. Tell me, how long have you been waiting to use that one?” she challenged. For a guy easily clearing 6ft, Craig almost disappeared in his chair. “Oh and it’s Professor Kingsley, thank you” she added as she launched her powerpoint.

“If everyone could please take out your textbooks and find page 356”, Ina instructed. Whilst everyone started to shuffle and organise themselves, Bea watched how Ina seemed to be searching the room. When her gaze finally settled on Bea, her eyes softened and a small smile graced her lips before she looked away. The eye contact was brief, but long enough for Bea to know Ina had just found what she was looking for.

The class were set to work after the presentation and Bea busied herself, trying her damnedest not to keep staring at the perfect specimen of a woman, currently seated on her desk at the front of the class. Bea’s swooning was cut short when she realised the sniggering she could hear was coming from beside her.

When Ina had finally agreed for Bea to be her TA, it was on the understanding that no drama would be brought into her classroom. It was for that reason Bea inhaled slowly as she turned to the blonde beside her, internally begging for patience. “Can I help you Chloe?” She asked, keeping her tone as neutral as humanly possible. The eye roll she received in reply was already pushing her to the limit, “I don’t know Farmsville, can you?”. Chloe’s tone dripped sarcasm, it took everything Bea had in her not to flip her desk there and then, instead she just calmly replied. “Chloe, if you have something to say, just come out and say it already?”.

Before Chloe could respond, Bea already regretted asking. People in the row in front started to turn their way, aware that it could go off any minute now, some with their phones at the ready.

“Well Bea, I actually wanted to ask you what perfume you were wearing?”, Chloe paused with her hand over her mouth but the brunette wasn’t about to answer. Bea clamped her jaw tightly shut, the muscles twitching in an effort to keep her cool. To make matters worse, Bea could see Ina now watching over her glasses. “Let me guess, is it pig de eurghhh? Chloe laughed excessively, looking over each shoulder to bask in the glory of her own joke.

‘Okay that was actually pretty funny’ Bea thought, taking a moment to appreciate Chloe’s attempt before correcting her. Remembering her voice, she kept it low as she spoke. “I think you meant Eau de Pig, but you know what Chloe… I’m just impressed you came up with that all by yourself!” Bea appraised.

The blonde’s eyes screwed up so tight they almost closed, Bea knew whatever was coming next would be spiteful. Thankfully Ina’s voice rang out across the classroom, “is there a problem ladies?”. Chloe plastered on a well rehearsed smile before responding. “Not now thank you professor, I was just trying to help Bea”, still facing forward her smile dropped to something resembling false pity. “It smells really bad up here, so I was just suggesting she shower more often… To wash away all the pig poo”. As she finished, she gestured at Bea, screwing her nose up.

“That’s quite enough Ms St James. I will absolutely not tolerate any attempt of bullying during my lectures, thank you” Ina reprimanded, her tone much firmer than the class had ever seen. Having Ina defend her should have been everything Bea wanted but instead she covered her face with her hand, trying to hide the embarrassment flooding her cheeks. ‘Oh great’ she thought, ‘ now everyone thinks I’m being bullied’.

Chloe sat back in her seat looking like the cat that got the cream. “See Farmsville, you don’t belong here. Belvoire is a way of life, you can’t just buy your way in and be accepted”. Bea was starting to wonder if Chloe had a point, was she in over her head? “I’m surprised Kingsley even offered you the TA position, I mean what does she even see in you? Maybe she just feels sorry for you, yeah that’s probably it”.

That was the final straw. Bea slammed her laptop closed and started to make her way towards the exit.

“Ms Hughes, is everything okay?” Ina asked, her brows furrowed in concern as Bea raced past her. Bea could only wave her away as the tears prickling her eyes threatened to fall. Ina followed her out into the hall, once she was clear of the classroom she called out to the brunette, who hadn’t even looked back. “Bea? Please stop, are you okay?”.

Ina was relieved when Bea finally halted at the end of the corridor, chasing her across campus would certainly arouse some unwanted attention. Keeping her back to the professor, Bea sighed “I just need to be alone Ina”. And with that she was gone, leaving Ina behind.

Later that afternoon, Bea was still hiding in her bed when her phone pinged.

———————————————————-

1 New Email

From: ikingsley@belvoire.edu

Afternoon Ms Hughes.

Sorry to contact you on such short notice, however I require your assistance as a matter of urgency. If you are available this evening, please could you stop by my office. My evening lecture will be finished at 19:30, so I can meet you there shortly after.

Best,

Professor Ina Kingsley

————————————————————

By the time Bea needed to leave, the campus was fairly quiet, only the odd student passing here and there. Bea wasn’t sure what she would say when she got to Ina’s office, she just knew she needed to apologise. Although she felt bad for walking away from Ina that morning, the last thing she wanted was for her to see just how much Belvoire was really affecting her.

When she arrived the door was already slightly ajar. Bea peered around it, to find the professor sitting in one of the armchairs. Ina hadn’t noticed her yet, so she took the liberty of just watching her for a moment, absorbing her beauty.

The older woman was sat back in her chair, one hand in her lap, the other propping up her chin on the arm of the chair. She seemed to be deep in thought as she stared out the office window, so Bea approached her slowly. At first Ina appeared perfectly still, but as she got closer, Bea could see her furiously jigging her leg. Ina’s aura of calm was not quite reflected from the waist down.

Despite the slow approach, Ina still startled when her visitor came into view. “Oh, Bea!” she laughed nervously, hand to her chest. Bea awkwardly returned a smile as she took the other seat, “Ina, I…” she started. Ina leant forward to listen, her elbows now resting on her knees. Opening her mouth to talk, Bea didn’t quite know where to begin or how to excuse her behaviour, instead her eyes dropped to the floor.

Sensing Bea’s discomfort, Ina knew it was time to put her plan into action. “Right” she said, standing up and straightening out her skirt. Bea watched her move across the room, waiting for the wholesome stack of quizzes she thought were coming her way. Instead Ina picked up and put on her coat.

“We’ve got a lot to get through, so I was thinking we could go grab a coffee first?” she asked, untucking her hair from the collar.

“Are you sure another date’s a good idea?” Bea questioned with a smirk. Although she was upset, she still had it in her to make the other woman blush and she got exactly the response she was going for. Ina grinned, shaking her head at the floor as the tips of her ears turned red.

Ina paused at the door, openly pondering. “I’m not sure of much when it comes to you Bea, but… What I do know is that coffee is never a bad idea”.

Regardless of how bad her day had been, Bea loved how she could bring Ina’s walls down, even if only temporarily. “You’re not really selling it to me, Ina” she teased.

“Miss Hughes, please will you allow me the pleasure of your company and join me on a brief walk to the coffee shop?”. Despite the flutter she felt in her stomach, Bea laughed at Ina’s formality. She made her way to the door, giggling again as the professor held it open with a bow.

***

[interact-if]

Day 4 of A/PI Heritage Month featured authors interview! Give it up for the amazing Salty!

Salty, author of Love & Friendship

A/PI Heritage Month Featured Author

Do contracted nuptial arrangements fire up your loins? Have you ever wanted to experience the high-highs and low-lows of a lady in the prime of her marriage market days? Have you ever lain awake at night lamenting your birth in a time where divorce is readily available and women no longer need to marry as their only economic means of survival?

Why not come find your happiness in the Regency world of balls, debauchery, and a surprising amount of paperwork. Become an accomplished lady of many talents and impress gentle society or use your feminine wiles and wicked wit to flirt your way into scandal and, perhaps even, ruin. Play matchmaker and decide the fate of the ladies in your acquaintance. Pursue your choice of suitor; a dear childhood friend, a lord of dubious reputation, a wealthy widow with a heart of stone, or even, the coveted gentleman with 15,000 pound a year. After all, if you can’t find love, you may as well marry rich.

Author's Ko-fi

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: First of all, introduce us to your project! What is it about?

Love and Friendship is a regency rom-com, a mostly light-hearted romp through the regency with plenty of opportunities for fun, friendship, and of course, love <3

Q2: If it’s not too spoilery, what are you most excited about your project?

I'm excited to introduce more of Miss Merritt's London friend circle and write more group settings. I've focused on one-on-one scenes with the ROs but I think my favorite kinds of scenes to write are ones with group dynamics, which is something this update will be bringing to the table!

Q3: What inspired the current project you’re working on?

Honestly, I just wanted more interactive regency content. When I started drafting LaF, I think I could count the if set in the regency on one hand lol. There's a bunch of new stuff out now and I'm eating it up!

Q4: Do you pull from your own identity for inspiration? How has that been reflected in your work?

Yes and no? I do put a lot of myself into the characters and world I write but I think that comes with the territory of writing. We can't help but inject bits of ourselves into our work.

I will say that I really craved queer relationships set in the regency and decided to include more female romantic options than males ones. I, also, really wanted to explore male and female platonic friendships, which is why Hugh is a platonic relationship option. I don't know if that's my identity influencing my writing or just me creating the stuff I wanted to read lmao

On the topic of identity and race, I have run into the issue of the actual regency's influence on the slightly fantastical version I'm using as a base of LaF. The British Regency was at the height of colonialism and the wealth that allowed for much of the fashion, leisure, and society in the period were the direct result of enslavement across the globe, including the country I come from. There's some irony in my obsession with the period and the oppression of my homeland. This sucks. Obviously, I don't want to excuse the horrible practices that made such a lifestyle for the British aristocracy possible. But also the fun dresses, dances, and interesting(if overly-complicated/sexist) gender politics are appealing.

I'm still parsing that one out and using a fantastical layer to reduce any trauma on my end. But writing in this time period, doing the research, and using elements in hopefully fresh fun, has been very rewarding and a small way of reclaiming that history of harm and exploitation that usually goes unmentioned in regency media.

Q5: What’s been your experience so far? With writing, with the if community...

It's been amazing! I've been so lucky to meet incredible folks and find such a welcoming community of IF writers and readers.

Q6: Do you have any future projects in the works?

I do! Just one, an Eldritch slice-of-life, partly to spite the memory of HP Lovecraft, also because I just really wanted to play something like that and couldn't find it. It's called Stygian: The Abyssal Lighthouse and the demo is currently on the back-burner while I work on LaF's update.

Here's the pitch: You just landed a sweet job as a lighthouse keeper–no rent, no utility bills, no food costs. Sounds too good to be true, yes? Perhaps the only slightly homicidal eldritch roommate might change your tune. Oh! and if keeping the emotions of alternate dimensional being isn’t time-consuming enough, strange happenings–missing townies, creeping shadows, & b҈҇͜l̸͜͡o̷͢͡o̵̡͝d̴͢͡y̸̢͝ t҉̨͡r҈̨͠a̸̢͝ç̴҇k̶̡͝s̵̨̕-you know your average Tuesday–seem to assail your new home.

Anyways, have fun fetching groceries, tinkering with the beacon, hanging with the locals, & fighting for your life :)

Q7: Finally, what piece of advice would you give to fellow authors?

Just do the thing! If you're even slightly thinking about writing if, writing just in general, go for it! Write the thing! Jump into learning twine or choicescript or whatever! I promise you there's someone out there who will see your wip and go, "YES, finally!"

[harryimaginedstories]

on your side

genre: au (while I don’t like the term ‘au-fic’ at all imagine the two characters are in college together and in their early twenties.) angst and some fluff as well.

about 5k words

it’s entirely different than anything I have ever published and I really love it. please let me know what you think and stay safe during these wild and often scary times. 

read more here: my stories

photo: taken from instagram, previously taken by somebody from the movie AWC, which also inspired me (kinda) to even write this.

They started arguing pretty much the second the car door fell shut behind them and even ten traffic lights, countless of turns and getting honked at twice, didn’t stop their heated exchange of words. Harry’s hands held on to the seat tightly, an attempt not to touch her thigh like he normally would, while hers curled around the steering wheel until the white of her knuckles showed. It wasn’t uncommon for them to fight. They had never been one of those couples who didn’t call each other out on their bullshit or who tried hide anger when there was reason to feel it. However, this was the first time that they weren’t on their way home, where their argument could be settled in private. Instead, Harry and Y/N, both infuriated with each other, were on their way to a party. With one generous rotation of the wheel, Y/N parked Harry’s black car in the last free niche on the street of the frat house. The vehicle gave an unpleasant sound and Harry closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. Before he got the chance to complain, Y/N swung open the door, stepped out and threw it shut hard enough to know it would set him off. 

“Jesus fuck!” Harry shouted, opening the passenger door and stepping out, too. 

She waited long enough to press ‘lock’ on the keys once he was out, then she walked away. With quick strides he caught up with her, and had he not been as angry as could be he would have probably felt hurt at her for not waiting up like she would have any other day.  Walking next to her he turned to look at her profile, trying to catch her eyes, but she refused. 

“Would you mind not taking your crazy out on my fucking car?”

“Oh, so you do care about that then. Good to know,” she snapped back. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N halted and so did he. They were standing on the pavement, one house away from where there could already be heard the dull sound of music blaring and a good meter of distance between them.  Any other night they would be standing there, too. Only not to deliver a few more blows before pretending to be alright while their friends were around. On any other night, Harry would have taken advantage of the warm weather, by letting his hands roam across Y/N’s bare arms. She would have given him a kiss or two and made him a laugh at least as much. He would have reminded her for the fifth time (at least) that she looked beautiful. There wouldn’t be any distance between them, let alone one entire meter.

“There is one thing I’ve been hearing clearly through all of the bullshit you’ve said today,” Y/N hissed, her lips barely moving and her hands curling into tight fists by her side, “which is that you don’t give a fuck about me.”

“Oh my god.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his head falling back before snapping forward quickly, “You’re being such a lunatic!”

Wind picked up some of her hair and pushed the loose strands into her eyes, breaking the angry stare she’d held with him and for a moment, Harry could have sworn she appeared to be younger. Then she brushed the hair off with shaky hands and back she was, angry and exhausted. 

“You’re a dick!” Y/N squealed, 

“Well, clearly we could go on,” he snapped and rolled his eyes, “but our fucking friends are waiting for us so do you think you can manage to avoid me for the next few hours so we can at least settle this at home?” 

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her cleavage which he had tried not to stare ever since she’d put on the blue dress. That damn dress. Focusing on it now it only irked him further. She knew how much he loved it when she wore this particular piece of clothing. It had spent the night on the floor of his bedroom or over the back of a chair often enough. He was certain she’d put it on specifically to spite him. 

“Fine, let’s go. But since you’re unhappy with my parking,” Y/N stepped forward and reached up, pressing the hard metal of Harry’s car keys into his chest, “you get to be the designated driver tonight.” 

Her fist lingered on the fabric of his black T-shirt. Feeling her touch him momentarily paused his thoughts. All anger was forgotten, as if the wind had picked it up, too, and carried it far away. Harry whimpered and her lips parted, their eyes connecting without any trace of hurt in them. Then his hand found hers and she dropped the set of keys into his palm, snapping them both out of their brief moment of peace. 

“I don’t want to see you right now,” Y/N stuttered, blinking rapidly until her eyes turned darker again.

“Don’t come look for me later when you’re drunk and feeling sorry,” Harry replied, before he stepped around her and walked towards the frat building.

Y/N lost sight of him the second he stepped inside. Despite still feeling angry with him, she couldn’t stop herself from briefly wishing he wouldn’t have left her alone. She didn’t like being left alone at a party. Neither did he, for the matter, but she refused to feel guilty for sending him away. Y/N drew a shaky breath and stepped inside, instantly greeted by the smell of alcohol, smoke and pot. A big banner had been hung from one side of the hall to the other, wishing everybody a cheerful start to the new semester. Underneath mingled numerous students, all of which held drinks in their hands. Already Y/N recognized a few of them from some of her classes, she didn’t feel like talking to them however. To her luck she spotted a few friends of her in the first room she entered and was quickly greeted with hugs and kisses to her cheek. 

Dena, a girl Y/N had grown close with through sharing an equal distain for their econ teacher, pressed a drink into her hand and smiled. “You look like you need at least two of these.”

Y/N smiled sadly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, you didn’t cheer in delight upon seeing us like you should have so,” said Clara, another friend Y/N had made whilst talking badly about her teacher.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” 

Dena nudged her. “Also, your boyfriend stormed past us earlier so we expected something was up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clara asked.

Y/N shook her head and took a long sip from her drink. It tasted of a mixture of beer and vodka, which on any other day she would have refused to drink. “I really don’t.”

“Great. Then let’s just cheer to us.”

The two girls raised their own cups and waited expectantly for Y/N to do the same. Dena grinned at her and cleared her throat. 

“To us, the coming semester, which we will fucking ace. And-” she paused, looking at Y/N, “to knowing when to kick your boyfriend’s ass. Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

Harry stood by the unlit fire pit in the lounge area, where the chairs had been pushed aside to create a dance floor. A scowl was deeply etched onto his face and he had yet to smile genuinely. He blamed the alcohol he wasn’t allowed to consume for how poorly he was feeling, but he knew even if he had drowned his veins in liquor, it wouldn’t be until he’d feel her touch him that he would be in a better mood. He stood back watching with a few of his mates, who were all except one, very drunk, as some freshmen clumsily turned the dinner table into a bear pong station. Matt, the only sober one left, had tried to get him to talk about why his mood was so sour three times already, receiving no answer each time. Harry rolled his eyes upon feeling him nudge his shoulder again.

“Where’s your girl?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t know.”

He’d been cursing her short height since turning around and looking for her in the crowded hallway thirty minutes ago. She’d slipped past him without him noticing, and while he was too proud to go look for her properly, it annoyed him that he wasn’t able to casually spot her whenever he scanned one of the many rooms that had been turned into a club. He especially didn’t like it since he knew that she was drinking. Blindly he felt for his phone in his pocket, ensuring for the tenth time that its volume was turned up. Should she call him, he wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t miss it.

“Didn’t she come with you?” Matt pressed on, either oblivious to Harry’s annoyance or simply indifferent to it.

“Doesn’t mean she can’t wander off on her own, does it?” Harry replied, his voice rough. 

He’d never really liked Matt. Actually, he’d liked him a lot once. They’d even considered becoming roommates in their second year. He’d liked him, up until he’d gotten together with Y/N and noticed the gleam in Matt’s eyes the first time he’d introduced her to him. Their friendship dissolved fast after.

“I’m sure she can. She’s always been good at enjoying parties, hasn’t she?”

Harry didn’t reply. Once more his eyes scanned the room frantically, detecting every single face in hopes of recognizing the eyes to the one he loved.

“Dude!” Eric, a tall and broad looking bloke who’d just become team captain to the football team, stumbled into Harry’s side, knocking him back. 

“Sorry! Shit,” Eric laughed, doubling over, revealing that he was clearly drunker than he should have been, “I’m sorry, mate. Wow, I need to lay off a little.”

“No kidding,” Harry replied, but smiled when Eric slung a heavy arm around his shoulders. The unmistakable smell of alcohol fanned over his face as Eric talked, and his nose scrunched up. 

“You’ve been wearing a look as depressing as Matt’s sex life-”

“Hey, fuck you, Eric!” Matt snapped, unamused.

“-and I intend to fix that. C’mon.”

Harry didn’t fight it as the taller guy dragged him away, out of the lounge and into another room further down the hall. He certainly didn’t mind getting away form Matt. Regardless of them having been friends once, Matt was the last person he wanted to be around when he was having a rough time with Y/N. The smoke was thicker in this room and the music a little quieter. There were less people dancing and more sitting around on the couches and chairs. A few stood by the wall in small groups and some, the ones Eric was walking towards, were standing opposite a dart board. They cheered upon seeing the two guys approach, making more noise than anybody else in the room.

“You’re on my team and you’re gonna help me win, yeah? M’taking advantage of you being sober as a stone. Your aim is probably better than any of theirs.”

Harry laughed and nodded, accepting to be involved. “I’ll try my best.”

The first dart arrow was thrust into his hand by a guy named Kyle who appeared to be on the same team. Half an hour later and Eric was grinning from ear to ear, writing their leading score numbers onto a makeshift writing board that was really just the coffee table. Something the guys living in this house would be happy to find in the morning.  Y/N watched him. Despite being intoxicated, or perhaps because of how intoxicated she was, she noticed every muscle of his back move each time he raised his arm. Her heart fluttered whenever he laughed and she felt a heat grow at the pit of her stomach whenever he leaned his head to the side, revealing the back of his neck to her. And above his neck was his ear, which hid a spot right under his hairline where he liked to be kissed. Y/N’s lips parted at the thought and her toes curled.  He hadn’t noticed her when entering the room. She didn’t blame him though, since she’d successfully hid herself behind Dena and Eric’s big body also worked wonderfully as a shield. Despite anything she’d said before the party, she was immensely relieved to see him. The vodka-beer mixture which she’d learned had been invented by Clara, was disgusting but also got her drunk faster than she had expected. Or intended. Another round of cheers erupted as Harry scored another point for his team. 

“Not fair. You won’t give them as much as a chance to win.” 

A chill rushed down Harry’s back at the sound of the honey sweet female voice behind him, and Y/N, too, froze in place. Slender fingers touched Harry’s arm, caressing the skin despite being less than welcome to. Upon turning around he was met with Silja, who’s face wore a smile equally sweet as her sly voice. Though standing by the opposite wall, Y/N swore she could hear Silja as if she were standing next to her. She would always be able to detect her voice, especially if the words she spoke were directed to Harry. 

Dena followed her friend’s gaze and raised her brows. “Haven’t seen her in a while. I thought she dropped out.”

“Would have been too nice,” Y/N growled. 

She’d never actually talked to Silja herself and she surely didn’t intend to. Before getting together with him, Y/N had been mostly oblivious to who was genuinely interested in him and who she imagining to be. Only with Silja there had never been any doubt. Even before Harry had become hers, she’d felt a bitter taste collect in the middle of her tongue whenever the pretty brunette girl tried to talk to him. Once her claim on him had become justified, she disliked Silja and her upfront behaviour all the more.

“Hey, you know you don’t have to worry about her, right?” Dena said quietly, reading Y/N’s expression, “Harry has rejected her what, three times already? Even before he was with you. He’s not interested in her.”

“I know. I’m not worried about that,” Y/N said quickly, stepping around Dena to get a better look at her boyfriend and the girl that had yet to remove her hand from his arm, “I trust him.”

“Doesn’t make her less of a bitch,” Clara grumbled, also staring at them intently. 

The three girls watched Harry turn to look at Silja. He gave her a tight lip smile before he stepped away to make room for the next player, conveniently shrugging off her hand in process. To their dismay, Silja followed him.

“I haven’t seen you this summer,” she complained in an uncomfortably high voice, that was laced with feigned displeasure, “Where were you hiding?” 

Harry sighed, wishing Y/N would find him already, and rested his back against the wall. The last thing he needed for this party to become worse were the advances of the woman standing before him. “I wasn’t.”

Their summer had been great. They spent it looking for a flat to move into together. One weekend they’d taken the train out to the ocean and spent two days in a pretty bed and breakfast, where nothing distracted them from each other and everything, even their sheets, held the faint smell of sea salt. He wasn’t about to tell any of that to Silja though. 

The girl pouted, smudging her lilac lipstick at the corners. “Didn’t you miss me at all? Not even a little bit?” 

“No.”

She smiled. Her neck moved to the side as her eyes mustering him. “You and your attitude. I really missed that.”

Harry let his head fall back and for a moment Y/N forgot to eye the girl hitting on her boyfriend and instead stared at his throat. She longed to kiss him there, too. The darkened expression taking over his relaxed face quickly brought her attention back. Thinking about kissing him had made her miss the words Silja had said to upset him. 

“You’re wasting your time missing me.”

At last, Silja’s smile dropped. “You’re still with her, then?”

“Yep,” he replied shortly. 

 “Fine,” Silja pushed the long brown locks off her shoulder and crossed her arms, “maybe if she fucked you right you wouldn’t be such an asshole all the time.” 

“Fuck off, Silja,” Harry snapped, pushing himself off the wall to instantly tower over her.

“Harry! Your turn again, mate.”

Without giving her as much as a second look, Harry turned away and followed Eric’s call. Dena’s hand rested on Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing her gently whilst smiling at her. Y/N exhaled loudly and relaxed. She didn’t doubt Harry’s capability of getting rid of Silja. She’d also truly meant it when she’d said that she trusted him. But after their argument she wasn’t so sure that he didn’t want to receive some affection tonight, be it from anybody. While she would have hated it, simply entertaining Silja’s flirting wouldn’t have been cheating. A warm feeling overtook any worry left in her body upon watching him turn Silja away. He didn’t bother look at her again but walked back to his friends to resume the game, treating her like she wasn’t even there. He didn’t even give Silja the satisfaction of remaining angered by her words. Giving up her attempts, Silja walked away and left the room quickly, her cheeks slightly rosy in embarrassment. 

“Remind me to kiss him later for that,” Y/N said, her voice holding more love for him than she would usually let on whilst angry. 

Clara laughed. “So you’re not mad at him anymore.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me that I was or I might still be.”

“What were you two fighting about anyway?” Dena asked. 

Y/N took another long sip from her drink, before remembering that she’d wanted to not drink any more for the night. Oh well. 

“He didn’t come home last night. Without notifying me. He fell asleep at stupid Rick’s place and neither of them bothered shooting me a text or ringing me about it. I spent all night worried sick.”

Y/N’s expression hardened at the thought of waiting up for him. She’d paced around the living room of their new flat before settling on the couch, vowing to stay awake until he returned. She’d had half a mind not to call his mother or sister, not quite worried enough to ask them. 

“I didn’t see him until an hour before coming here ‘cause I had to work today. So we didn’t have time to properly fight about it.”

“Didn’t he say he was sorry?”

“Sure he did, as well as stating that I was overreacting and not his mother.”

“Ugh, men,” Dena grumbled, then she changed the subject, “Let’s get refills in the kitchen!”

Harry got bored of the game after the fifth round, but stayed to play until the team he’d joined won by a margin. Then he politely excused himself from playing another round. Though she’d told him she didn’t want to see him, Harry really wanted to see Y/N and he figured over an hour of distance sufficed for her to calm down. Maybe she would even allow herself to be happy about him finding her. He strolled around the room, then went looking in the hall and finally searched the lounge. If only she were a little taller, he thought once more. All of sudden he heard a loud shout. It wasn’t one of the usual party hollers, it was one that held no joy at all. With swift strides Harry crossed the room, turned left in the hallway and entered the kitchen. This time he didn’t have to search to see her. Y/N was sitting on the counter, her legs dangling down and her hands curling around the stone surface. Across from her was the kitchen table on which all of the different liquor bottles had been placed. It was also where the single shout turned into several. A guy Harry hadn’t ever seen around campus before stood next to a broken bottle of vodka. His hand curled into a fist and his face was red. Opposite him stood Dena, a girl Harry barely knew beyond her being a friend of Y/N. Next to Dena was a guy named Dylan, his face painted with guilt and worry. 

“You fucking broke my shit!” the stranger shouted. 

Y/N flinched. It wasn’t Dena who’d pissed off the wrong guy, but Dylan who had tried to make a drink for them. She didn’t feel any less involved if the guy were to be shouting at her. The second the bottle had broken and the tall stranger exclaimed that it’d been his, Y/N had felt fear curse through her. She hated it. She hated how a man shouting was so scary that she froze in place.  Just like she always did when afraid, her eyes began to search for Harry. Heavy like a wave and equally overwhelming was the relief when she saw him lingering in the doorway.  Their eyes met. Y/N visibly relaxed. She could read the question in the look he was giving her and she eagerly nodded. There were so few people scattered around the small place, Harry had no trouble reaching the counter.  Once in arms reach she held out her right hand, whimpering when his fingers slotted through hers and holding on tight. Any anger towards each other was forgotten the moment their skin touched. Y/N gave a determined pull until he stood next to where she was sitting, her legs touching his waist. Harry didn’t say anything, but he allowed her to let go of his hand to instead hold on to his shoulder. His own settled heavily on her thigh, relishing the feeling of her bare skin. He didn’t complain when her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his shirt, nor did she mind how intimate it felt to have his hand on her naked thigh. His eyes quickly scanned her face, waiting for her nod, confirming that she was alright. Y/N smiled gently, relief mirroring in her eyes. Harry returned her smile. His heart clenching when he noticed the faint veil of alcohol before her eyes. Ever so slightly, their heads leaned towards each other, then his nose softly touched her forehead.

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Dena said defensively, “and these bottles are for everybody to use.”

Harry shifted closer to Y/N but removed his nose form her hairline. Unwillingly he turned his attention back to where the argument grew. The stranger’s head, figuratively doubling in size by the minute, was red and looming over Dena like a balloon hovering in the sky. He had to admit it was impressive that Dena, equally short as Y/N, refused to back off.

“I wasn’t asking you! You and your friend better figure out how to replace my drink and you better do it fast!”

“Mate, lay off a bit, will ya? They didn’t do anything on purpose,” Harry interrupted, his voice calm and steady, “Why don’t you just grab one of the ten other bottles and leave ‘em alone?” 

The stranger, slightly shorter than Harry, turned to look at them. Y/N tightened her hold on his shoulder. She was mentally preparing herself to jump off the counter and at the stranger’s throat instead, should he as much as try to pick a fight with Harry. Noticing her shift beside him, Harry’s hold on her intensified.

“Leave them alone?” the tall guy snapped, “that was twenty fucking quid he broke!” 

“Bit embarrassing that you’re whining about twenty quid,” Harry said, wearing a smug grin, “and picking a fight like some kind of neanderthals who found out somebody’s pissed into his cave.” 

Dena giggled and so did Y/N, along with some bystanders who’d gathered to watch. The bloke narrowed his eyes, first at Harry, then at the girl sitting beside him. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N interrupted him. “Quit looking at me and spare me any sexist bullshit you’re about to say.” 

The guy rolled his eyes, then smiled. “You’re pretty for a bitch.”

Y/N’s hand yanked Harry back by his shoulder equally fast as he’d pushed off the counter to lunge forward and at the guy. The movement caused him to knock against the counter uncomfortably. She didn’t let go and didn’t move, despite Harry’s enraged breathing getting louder.  

“Fuck you!” Harry shouted, eyes wide. 

Anger oozed out of his pores and heat settled in the small kitchen. Calm and collected only a moment ago, he was all the more scarier now that he was enraged. Scary enough to make the stranger take back a step. Y/N loosened her hold on Harry’s shoulder, sliding her hand down to press against his back instead. She rubbed his spine gently, hoping to ease him by letting him know she was okay. 

"You need to leave,” Y/N stated, her voice calm.

“Definitely,” Dena agreed, her eyes trained on her friend before finding Harry.

He didn’t return her gaze, his eyes remained on the tall blonde. They stayed put until the guy lowered his empty cup to the table, the movement slow and deliberate. He clearly didn’t want it to look like he was leaving because he was told to, so he took his time. But finally he turned away, before at last leaving the kitchen and hopefully the party all together. 

Harry shuddered upon feeling Y/N’s nose against the shell of his ear. “I’m fine, Harry.”

“What a wanker.”

“A fucking wanker,” Y/N replied, her smile practically audible in her voice. 

Harry turned around to face her, all of his attention returning to where it belonged: her. His eyes looked into hers intently, reading every answer to all of his unspoken questions.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Are you?”

He nodded. “Did he try anything before I came?”

“I noticed him about zero-point-five seconds before you arrived, Harry. I’m fine, I promise.”

Her hands gently took hold of his face. The fingers of her left hand traced along his jawline as tenderly as one would the rim of a glass in hopes of eliciting a sound. That’s how Harry sometimes felt when she touched him. Like she was being as tender as she could possibly fathom to be. 

“Does that mean you’re gonna go back to being mad at me?” As he spoke, Harry moved closer. His hands rested on each side of her hips, allowing his body to get closer to hers as he leaned forward.

Y/N laughed and shook her head, their faces so close they almost touched. She enjoyed the warmth of his breath fanning against her throat. 

“Are you? You were at least as pissed off as I was.”

He shrugged, then playfully nudged her nose with his. “No.”

“Then I think I’ll let it go, too,” she answered, faking to be coy, “For now, you still owe me an apology later.”

Harry laughed. “That’s fair. Promise to mean it this time, too.” 

Her eyes narrowed. She took hold of his chin, holding him still so she could kiss him without giving him the chance to deepen it. The feeling of his mouth slotting with hers, be it as briefly as it was, ignited her like nothing else could. Any remaining worry was pulled from the corners in her body where it had hidden, and was thrown out not to return. Harry took over. All of the space inside her that could belong to an emotion, now belonged to him.

“I knew you didn’t mean it earlier,” she breathed accusingly against his lips. 

“I meant it a little,” he said, curling his hand around her wrist to pull away the hold she’d taken and he kissed her a second time before she could complain. 

Despite their desperation their teeth didn’t clash together, nor did their noses unintentionally bump. They’d kissed too many times not to blindly meet each other without missing. His tongue glided along her bottom lip, hers pushed his aside so it could trespass into his mouth. Frantic hands held on to her hips and her thigh, eager fingers remembered to be gentle as they settled on the back of his neck. Harry moaned and Y/N pulled away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, just enough space between them so she could speak. 

Harry’s kisses trailed down from the corner of her mouth to her cheek and her jaw, his lips warm, wet and determined. He allowed one kiss to last a little longer, followed by a small lick to her earlobe.

As satisfied as could be as long as they weren’t alone, he raised his head to look at her again. “What for?”

“Being on my side even when we’re fighting.” 

The smile gracing her features was so genuine he could have melted, just like her words were spoken with more love behind them than he could detect. He smiled and willingly moved his head to the side, so she could kiss below his ear. The heat in his belly grew and he let her know by squeezing her hips.

“Ditto.”

[quirklessidiot]

Title: filthy rich [2/3]  Pairing: millionare!sakusa kiyoomi x y/n [filthy capitalist au] Genre: mild romance themes, major angst ahead, a bit of mystery, mafia!au-ish

Synopsis: He was perfect, maybe too damn perfect.

Warnings: mild sexual content, yandere themes, toxic relationships, violence, shady business, class differences, mentions of rape, and sakusa being a manipulative bastard [this fic does not in any way glorify these types of relationships!!!] Notes: Happy 605 followers guys! Decided to change this into a three part fic since it would be too damn long....I know this is a long overdue chapter hnnng i fucking hate college i cant wait to see sakusa in the new season, how was it guys? I was absolutely thrown off by akaashi even if he only had like a minute or so screentime hnnng...

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Sakusa Kiyoomi reminded you of an onion.

Over the past three years of going out with him, you seem to find a new layer to him. No longer was he the asshole from that day, he was the sweetest boyfriend, hands down. You were both a bit awkward in terms of affection since you two were treading on unfamiliar territory (much to your surprise, a man like Sakusa Kiyoomi has never been seriously intimate with anyone) but like every other couple out there, you surpassed it. You were now in the receiving end of his soft smiles, warm gaze, and affection.

Although you had your worries like your residency and his company growing bigger and bigger by the day, you started to wonder if you’d last long but the man casted your doubts aside and continued to be faithful to you and everyday you seem to fall deeper and deeper in the rabbit hole.

“...and for the last time, stop buying me expensive things and offering to pay my student loans.” you frowned, stirring the Butajiru for your boyfriend who was coming by today for dinner. Out of spite, early on in the relationship, you had to learn how to cook since Sakusa demanded you to when he learned that you lived a lot on canned foods and unhealthy take-outs. Much to your despise, he even volunteers to pay for your weekly groceries and even got you a ‘for sale’ stove that he apparently can’t return because he misplaced the receipt.

“I don’t get it, don’t partners like it when they’re given gifts all the time?” his brows are upturned, making you scoff. “From past experiences-”

“Are you sure that those weren’t sugar babies?” you cut him off, pointing the wooden spoon on your hand at him, “Because from your description you sound like a sugar daddy.”

“Hey.” He grumbled, walking up to you from behind to envelope you on a hug, “I’m not old enough to be a sugar daddy.”

You shut the stove off and turn to him, placing a brief kiss on the jaw, “You yell at teenagers and complain when it’s too noisy. I think you qualify for a senior discount and a sugar daddy title.” You joked, escaping his grip to grab some bowls so you both could start eating.

“You’re only four years younger than me.”

“Mhm.” You hummed, sticking your tongue out, “Also, aren’t you supposed to be at a party tonight?”

“You weren’t there.” 

“Aren’t you required to go?” You frowned, placing the bowl in front of him, “You know I’m not a big fan of those things and you can’t keep handing it over to Komori-san…”

“And you know I hate it when you aren’t there.” He softly repeated.

You roll your eyes and place your own bowl as you sit in front of him, “Always the smooth talker since we met three years ago.” you shake your head.

“Three years, huh.” Sakusa paused, “Speaking of three years, I was thinking…”

You stopped eating and looked up to face him, his face dead serious, “Move in with me.” He asked out of the blue. Your eyes widen and you let down a gulp, your stomach flipping at his words.

“I-” You paused, “I...I can’t…”

Sakusa tilted his head, confused, “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong…” You started, eyes looking at your food, seemingly nervous, “I-I wanna move in with you, my lease is almost up...but…”

“But what?”

“It’s not like I wasn’t going to tell you any sooner but….but i’m moving.”

Silence filled the room that you could almost hear the pin drop, “What do you mean you’re moving?” Sakusa’s voice was void of emotion and it made you scared for the first time. The man wishes you were wrong, wishing that you were just moving someplace nearby but the next words stun him.

“I got accepted for a huge humanitarian work in Medaide.” You gulped, carefully choosing your words as you slither your hands to his, trying to distract him, “We'll be travelling around third world countries, like the dream I've always told you about. I thought, well, I didn't got accepted since I didn't hear from them but it seems like I did.”

“How many months?”

“It’s- It’s a permanent job, I go back once a year…”

Silence enveloped the room, the only thing that could be heard was the faint sound of the bustling city outside. The world seems to have stopped for Sakusa that time.

“Congrats.” Sakusa smiled softly, breaking the silence, “I’m proud of you, bunny.”

Your eyes widen as you immediately leap out the chair and run to your boyfriend’s side, “Thank god!” you exclaimed, sitting on his lap to envelope him in a hug, “I was afraid you’d break up with me.”

You stare at him in the eye, hands on his cheeks, “Now why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, we’d only be seeing each other once a year if i accepted it.” You murmured, kissing him on the temple, “Thanks for being so supportive.”

You don’t notice how his grip tightens a bit on your waist nor the darken look looming over his features, “I’d never let you go, bunny. Never.” he hummed.

You continue on with your little happy bubble with your ever supportive boyfriend, you start shopping for some goodies for your trip that you were scheduled to leave next month. You should’ve known everything was too good to be true. 

A week before your trip, the company had called you in and said that you were cut off from the team and that apparently your experience wasn’t enough.

You vividly remember Sakusa rushing to your side mid-day when he should be swamped with work, whispering soothing words in your ear. You were absolutely devastated, the dream job you wanted felt like it slipped away, it took you a month to get back to your feet and actually go out. Despite getting over it, you were discouraged, the words they said echoed on your head, thoughts on how you weren’t performing well back  in med school and how your record on residency wasn’t enough.

“Y/N?”

“Oh.” you blinked, looking up to your boyfriend, “Sorry, I spaced out.”

“It’s alright.”

It seemed like the only constant thing in your life now was Sakusa, your friends were busy and they had come and gone, you didn’t want to worry your very busy parents so you didn’t call them about your dilemma. You didn’t want to call your aunt or Hinata about it too since you know they’d tell your parents.

Kiyoomi was the only person who stayed.

He was the only one you trusted.

“Is that roommate thing with you still open?” you suddenly asked, making Sakusa paused mid-movement.

“Of course it is,” He dropped the cutlery he was holding and strode to your side to caress your cheek, “It always is for you.”

“Guess I’ll be able to use my duplicate more often.”

Maybe being a humanitarian doctor wasn’t how it was going to be for you, it took another month for you to actually go and find a permanent job. Sakusa points out that you can take all the time out that you need but you don't want to lounge around and do nothing, you need a good distraction.

So you ended up working for a prestigious hospital as an ER doctor, for a moment, you forgot about Medaide with the help of your new job and your boyfriend.

You were happy.

Really happy.

The idea of staying in Tokyo didn’t actually seem like a bad idea now, you were going to bring it up to your parents and tell them that you wanted to stay here permanently with your boyfriend. They’d probably be happy, Sakusa Kiyoomi is a perfect man.

Until you come to the very sudden realization that he wasn’t.

Kiyoomi hated going out on long distance trips, he always wanted to be next to you or take you with him but this one was apparently too important to skip out so you greet him goodbye and wait for him to come home. Being the good partner you are, you decided to clean the house for your boyfriend. Kiyoomi was an incredibly clean person so you tried to keep your sloppiness to yourself when you moved in a few months ago.

Getting rid of the small dust here and there and throwing some unimportant things on the side, you prepare to throw out the collected garbage but ultimately freeze on your tracks when you find a ripped paper on the garbage dump.

Normally, you don’t do garbage dives.

Why would you?

Yet the name on top along with your boyfriend’s name caught your attention. It was Medaide’s logo, you grabbed the ripped piece of paper and started looking through the garbage dump, it did start to smell but curiosity always got the best of you.

Nervously biting your lower lip, you don’t find all the papers but you find one dated the same week you had broken the news to your boyfriend and the words, “Thank you for your donation and for sending us a group of more competent doctors for this batch.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stood there, shaking, the surge of panic and anxiety bubbling within you made the bile rose on your throat.

What was going on?

Was this really your perfect boyfriend?

Maybe it was all a big misunderstanding, why would your boyfriend do that? What would he even gain? You bite on your fingernails as you walk back and forth in front of the front desk, “Y/N-san?”

You jump on the spot.

“K-Kenjiro-san.” 

“You alright there?” Shirabu Kenjiro asked, tilting his head to the side, “You’re not looking very good these days.”

“Y-Yeah…” You gulped, “J-Just thinking about some things.”

“Well, your shift is about to be over. Maybe you can go home earlier? ER’s pretty much dead right now.”  Your fellow doctor shrugged, you turned around and let out a sigh, maybe you should request to go home earlier. You needed to rest. All this thinking was getting to your head that you had almost misdiagnosed a patient this afternoon.

“Hey Kenjiro-san.” you ask your workmate, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“I have a friend.” You gulped down, “They’ve got this perfect relationship and he’s a super great guy...then-then they realize that he did something bad…”

Kenjiro looks up from his paperwork and shoots you his usual upturned brow, “Can you specify what he did?”

“He got in the way of their dreams.”

Kenjiro is silent for a moment as if he was thinking of something deep, “Well if I were that person, I’d leave him. What kind of asshat doesn’t support their partner’s dreams?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips, “Tell your friend that they deserve better and not some asshat who is holding them back.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, he had a very good point, “Yeah, that’s right.”

Kenjiro had a good point there, maybe confronting Sakusa would be a wise choice but as of right now you decided against it, you needed to gather the courage to actually talk to him about it. The thing that scared you the most was how much you loved and trusted the guy too much.

He went through such lengths to get you to stay around, who knows what else he could’ve done?

You shake your head, you were being paranoid yet at the same time you couldn’t help it. Your anxiety towards the situation wasn’t helpful at all and it was spiking up and down.

On your way home, you decided to pass by a local pharmacy because your head hadn’t been feeling very well, “Do you have any pain killers?” you weakly asked the man on the front counter, after giving you your medication, you also decided to buy some extra vitamins because you recalled almost running out of them.

“Oh, we ran out of that brand yesterday.” The pharmacist replied, scrunching his brow in wonder, “Would you like another one? It’s not a generic brand but it’s  pretty much the same.”

“Yeah, that’ll do too.” You nodded, after paying for your purchase, you headed home. Fixing up your medicine in your cabinet, you freeze mid-action when you notice how familiar the vitamin looked. Shakily raising your hand to grab your birth-control pills in the medicine cabinet, you almost topple down when you pop it open next to the vitamin you bought.

It was the same.

It was exactly the same.

Before you knew it you were vomiting in the basin, your headache was worsening and the shaking wouldn’t stop.

The idea of the perfect boyfriend was completely erased in your head.

You didn’t look well these past few days, Kiyoomi noticed it because you didn’t even dared to hide it anymore, you wanted to leave him. Not only did he get in the way of whatever you worked hard for but he was trying to get you pregnant without your consent.

You felt utterly disgusted.

You sat at the tub, completely drained from all the events that transpired this past two weeks. The three year perfect streak that he tried to maintain was reduced to nothing but shambles. You wanted to blame yourself for being too stupid and caught up in this sham, your boyfriend was messed up, you wanted to get away but how?

You inwardly sighed, you were stupid. Too stupidly in love and intoo deep the rabbit hole that you hadn't even noticed.

“Y/N?”

Your gaze snapped to find him standing there with an expensive bouquet of flowers, you try to let out a weak smile, “Hey.”

“You’re not looking well.” He commented, placing the flowers on the side as he approached your naked figure on the tub, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, “Just work.”

“I told you not to overstrain yourself.” He mumbled, bending down to your level, “You might get sick.”

You wanted to cringe away in disgust as he kissed your bare shoulders but you maintained yourself, “It’s fine.” You softly said, “I just have to do my best. I still want to try out for humanitarian work if I get a good recommendation from the hospital.”

You notice the quick shift of expression in his eyes, making you tighten your lips, so there it was.

“Again? I thought-”

“It’s my dream.” You began, trying to give him a smile, maybe, just maybe you can let him see through it, “You know how much I want this.”

“Maybe it’s not meant for you.”

“Excuse me?”

Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eyes widen at the new reaction, your smile turning to a grimace. Over the course of your relationship, you had never been this angry, “Y/N, you know that’s not-”

“Get out.” You shakily say.

“Y/N.”

“I said, Get out, Sakusa.” You yell again, eyes seeing red, the bastard had the audacity to keep pulling you back and doing these things to you. You were downright disgusted at him and everything he was doing, what more would you find? The mere fact that he destroyed your dreams and switched out your birth control had you on edge at the moment and you didn’t want to try to find out anymore, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle it.

He lets out a sigh, “You don’t have to leave the room. I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

You watch him leave and close the bathroom door yet his eyes don’t fool you anymore. 

You didn’t feel safe here.

You needed to get out.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is no fool towards your shift of attitude, he knows something is up when you snap at him when you were usually the calmer one (yes, you may be a bundle of energy and spitfire but you were relatively calm in the most part) so he calls the head of your hospital and sits him down, the head is shaking and on his knees, begging him to spare his life and his job for he did not know that you were overworked at all in your department.

“...I watch over her, sir…” the chief shakily exclaimed, “I always do…”

“So, you’re telling me… that my Y/N is a liar?”

The chief immediately freezes up on the spot, “Good lord, of course not! Doctor Y/N would never-”

“What would it be?”

“E-excuse me?”

“Your hands or your life?”

The man immediately cries out, begging him for mercy for he was innocent but Sakusa didn’t care. 

He didn’t care at all.

Yes, Sakusa Kiyoomi would do anything for you. If someone were to make you sad, tired, weary, or any negative emotion, he’d strike them down, just like how he paid your friends to stay away, just like how he had subtly shifted your parents work conditions that prevented them from returning to you.

You were his and his only.

No one could get in your ways.

“My name is Doctor Sato, I’ll be your new chief...”

You stare at the new head of the hospital blankly, apparently the previous chief, Doctor Yamomoto, had to retire due to some matters with his family. It was a shame, you really liked him since he was awfully nice to you and everyone in the ward, “...L/N-san?” the older man calls out as soon as the meeting was over.

Your gaze snapped towards him as he tilted his head slightly, you’re completely bewildered by the sudden attention from your new boss, “Are your working conditions alright?”

“Yes, chief.” 

“If you have any problem, “ his tight lip turns into a big smile as he places his hand on your shoulder, “Please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You blink at his uncharacteristic request and immediately move back to get away from his grasp, a rather uncomfortable smile made its way to your lips as you nodded, “I’ll take note of that, Chief.” 

Thankfully nothing odd happened anymore after the day ended and as you patched up your things, getting ready to go home, you find your one and only boyfriend standing there with another bouquet of flowers in his hands. The sense of familiar dread sinked in once again.

How would you end this all?

The perfect man was a liar and he got in the way but why couldn’t you end things with him quickly? Why couldn’t you cut him off? You were so angry at him yet at the same time you were so lost, where did it go wrong?

“Y/N…” He greets, “How was work?”

“It was fine.” You quietly replied, turning your gaze  at the expensive bouquet on his hands once again. Ever since you guys fought, he had been buying you flowers and expensive things but you remained the same, you just didn’t know how to act anymore around him.

“How was your new chief?”

You immediately tense up, as far as you recalled you had only met the chief today and no one knew about this outside the hospital. How the hell did this bastard know?

Sakusa notices you’ve gone too quiet, “Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Word travels fast, huh?” you blinked, regaining your composure quickly, something wasn’t right now, you knew that something went deeper than that little Medaide charade he did and switching your pills to get you pregnant, “He’s alright and please stop buying me stuff, didn’t I tell you that we were fine already?”

“Y/N-”

You sighed and leaned in closer, pulling down his mask so that you could give him a peck on his lips. Inside, you felt disgusted but this was the only way now, “Stop acting all cringey and lovey-dovey. I forgive you. Let’s not fight again.” You consoled the tall man.

You notice how soft his eyes became.

Yes, two can play a game. 

From stopping you from moving to trying to get you pregnant, it was those things that made you come towards a conclusion that Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t wanted you to leave his side. The man probably wouldn’t stop at anything, if he was willing to go to such lengths, what more could he do? You let out a tight smile as your boyfriend kisses your temple.

You needed to find a way and quick because the Sakusa Kiyoomi you thought you knew for the past three years was nothing like the Sakusa Kiyoomi in front of you.

taglist [send me an ask if you want to be tagged for the last chapter and as always if i forget to tag, just send me an ask]

@maraudusk ;; @iamnotobsessed  ;;  @ssuna ;; @weebartistinc ;; @aomineavenue ;; @tsukkismamagucci ;; @onlyshinji ;; @ichiraku-verse ;; @watevermelon ;; @victoriasee ;;  @caramelcandescence ;; @n-nara ;; @bloody-bella ;; @ricefarmerkita ;; @paripedia ;; @srhlsx ;; @craftyfawns ;; @kepchups ;; @soggycardboardd​ ;;  @vinnieluv​ ;; @dinablossom​

@kn0xiousnight  @newfriendjen

[can’t tag you guys uwu just make sure ur tags are open :<]

[annabethy]

can you write a percabeth tiktoker fic

im pretty sure you sent this prompt to many people but yolo,, percabeth

Annabeth doesn’t get a lot of sleep. She’s simply a mess, constantly fretting over things she can’t control, and that makes it hard for her to really relax enough to actually doze off.

That, and she may have an issue with tiktok.

She’s so busy with school all the time that any chance she gets to do something for herself, she uses it. And that time usually comes at night around two in the morning which is precisely how she finds herself up at six in the morning with a class only an hour later.

That is also exactly how she stumbled upon his account.

Percy Jackson was a pretty popular account. He has a couple million of followers and after a bit of stalking, she finds that he was just recently verified.

Normally, she wouldn’t get so distracted by an account that she’s up so long without any concept of time, but Percy did it for her. It wasn’t that he was attractive (which he was so so attractive) but he was just funny. He’d make videos of pretty much any nature, but he always manages to bring a smile to Annabeth face.

So Annabeth’s basically become a zombie on her feet all day because she can’t get off of tiktok long enough to actually make it to the REM stage of sleep.

As Annabeth stares at her phone, she has no idea how this happened. She swears that she only made one video in the midnight hazed inspiration, but that one video turned into five and then ten and now she is suddenly at two million followers and she is absolutely lost.

“Wow,” Piper says, peeking over her shoulder. “That’s a lot of followers.”

“I just—” Annabeth gestures vaguely, clearly overwhelmed. “I don’t understand how this happened.”

“You’re funny and also hot. Also you have a fat ass.”

Annabeth blinks. “I have a... big? Butt?”

“No,” Piper stresses, leaning back against the chair. “I said you have a fat ass.”

Annabeth preens, but only slightly. She carries on making videos, though she doesn’t have the slightest clue as to what’s going on. That two million becomes five million in only two months. It all has Annabeth feeling a little lightheaded.

It’s kind of fun, she has to admit. Not that she gets much time to actually make tiktoks, but apparently that’s what makes her good to watch because whatever she does end up posting is usually her half asleep rambling on about whatever crosses her mind. She doesn’t think it’s quite healthy, and her comments let her know that but also demand that she doesn’t stop.

She’s having too much fun to stop anyways. It’s fine. She’s fine.

She continues to watch Percy’s tiktoks, and he’s grown to over twenty million. It’s insane in her opinion that so many people could follow someone, and she almost doubts it, but then all she has to do is take a look at her account.

People begin to recognize her too. It’s not often, and it always catches her off guard, but it does happen. She tries to look at least somewhat presentable, which basically means she at least redoes a messy bun before leaving, but today’s luck has clearly run out.

Annabeth is running around through the city, just trying to find the specific pasta noodles that her roommate had asked for. She’s sure she looks like a hazardous mess, wearing plain grey sweatpants and a red Cornell hoodie just to spite Columbia kids, but she forgot until she was out the door and it was too late. She finally manages to find the pasta and she snatches the last package off the shelf, ready to fend it with her life. She checks out quickly before she’s back outside, running down the New York sidewalk. She’s not looking up at all, instead staring straight at her phone, but so was the other person, so what happens next is really not entirely her fault.

She slams directly into someone, and her box of noodles go flying to the floor, hitting the pavement with a thump that matches the sudden anger in her heart.

She looks up, wanting to scold the person, and then—

“Annabeth?”

Just her luck, Percy Jackson is staring back at her, a kind smile on his face. He takes one look at her scowl and his smile falls as he takes a subtle step away from her.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He ends up picking the box up for her, and she takes it from him with hesitant fingers. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, so it’s my bad.”

Annabeth just smiled painfully.

“Pasta?” he asks kindly. “Sounds good.”

“Yeah.”

Percy is beginning to look mildly uncomfortable as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his own hoodie. “Well, I guess I’ll just be going. Sorry to bother you, but it was nice meeting you.”

She has enough decency to mutter out a “You too,” as he turns to leave. It’s not until he takes a few steps away that it dawns on her that he knew her name.

“Wait a second,” she says more to herself, but Percy still stops. “You know who I am?”

“I mean... yeah.”

“But you’re you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m me. Thank you.”

“You watch my tiktoks?”

“I have for a while,” he says, a slight smirk. “I didn’t think someone with millions of followers would be so surprised that I know their name.”

“You’re a lot bigger than me.”

He shrugs. “We’re both up there, I guess.”

She takes a step closer to him this time. “Modest.”

“I try,” he says. “So now that you look less ready to stab me, I can say that I love your videos.”

“I wasn’t going to stab you,” she says dismissingly. “But thanks. Yours are pretty cool too.”

He snorts. “Thanks.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been watching you.”

“That sounds vaguely creepy.”

“So is running into you on the streets of New York.”

Percy smiles again, and she could drown in him. “It’s cool though. A sign from above.”

“What could this possibly be a sign of?”

“That we should do a collab.”

Annabeth pauses. “What?”

“No?”

“Why would you work with me of all people?”

“For starters, you’re here right now, but also because I like you. I think you’d be so fun to do something with.”

Annabeth feels like screaming, but then she remembers that she is supposedly also cool and keeps her calm. “I would do it.”

“You look like you’re going to explode.”

“I feel like I’m going to explode. Percy Jackson? Wanting to do tiktoks with me?”

“It’s not as impossible as you think,” he says. “You’re cute.”

“Oh?” Annabeth did not expect that to be the next thing out of his mouth, but she can’t say it doesn’t make her beam. “Boosting my ego over here.”

“Good.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, “so let’s exchange numbers and I’ll take you out sometime and we can make some tiktoks.”

Annabeth grabs his phone to put her number in. “Is this going out a part of the tiktoks or something extra?”

“Whichever you want.” Percy takes his phone back, flashed her the prettiest look that makes her weak. “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she says. Percy ends up stepping forwards to give her a hug, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she notes how he’s the perfect height for her.

He leaves with a goodbye and another promise of calling. Annabeth turns away too so she can head towards her apartment, and she feels that her breath has been taken away.

Her and Percy Jackson?

More possible than she would think, apparently.

(Works much better than she would’ve imagined, too.)

[rizlowwritessortof]

Meant To Be - Chapter 8

Dean and Jordan are each trying to escape their painful pasts. Their chance meeting and a dangerous encounter begins a relationship that may give them both a new start.

Pairing: Police Detective Dean Winchester/Jordan Taylor

Word Count: 3085

Warnings: None

Aesthetic by @editsbymichele on Instagram; Dividers by @firefly-graphics​ 

Jordan regained consciousness with a groan at the throbbing pain in her head. She tried to move, to hold her head in her hands, but they were securely bound behind her back – duct tape, it felt like, and she opened her eyes slowly, remembering what had happened and wondering where she was.

The masked man in front of her shoved at the shoulder of the larger man beside him. “Hey – bitch is awake.”

She squinted up at the man who had spoken, defiance in her eyes. “Fuck you.”

He took a step towards her, but his apparent boss grabbed his arm. “Knock it the fuck off. Take a walk.”

Douche-bag flunky stalked away in a huff, and the man in charge hunkered down in front of her. “Sorry things have to be like this, but it’ll be over soon. Just keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told, and you’ll be fine.”

Jordan just glared back at him, then turned her head, letting her eyes scan the room. She was in some sort of garage, or storage building, she wasn’t sure. The windows were painted over, so no view to the outside. She winced as she moved, her jaw aching and her head pounding with every beat of her heart. Oh, God… Sam…

“What about the guy you beat half to death. Will he be fine?”

Her captor tilted his head. “They hauled him off to the hospital. I’m sure he’ll live.”

She stared back at him, venom in her gaze. “He’d better.”

He chuckled quietly. “Listen, all you need to worry about is that your boyfriend does what he’s told. Then everybody can go home, nobody else needs to get hurt.”

“Right. Except him.”

He shook his head. “As long as he does his job, he’s good.”

“I thought this was all about revenge for the shooting.”

“I want one thing, and one thing only, and a cop is the only one who can get it for me. Speaking of… it’s about time to make a call. Since you’re awake and so chatty. Because I’m sure he’s gonna want to talk to you.” He stood back up, pulling a phone from his pocket – it was hers. He placed the call and put it on speaker, waiting silently for an answer.

“Jordan?”

“Wrong. I am Jordan-adjacent, though.”

“She’d better be in perfect health, you dick, or...”

“She’s fine. Just shut up and listen. Remember a couple of months ago, the big drug bust, made all the papers?”

Dean was silent for a moment, and Jordan pictured him closing his eyes, dreading what was coming next. “Yeah.”

“Well, Detective – all that cocaine? That was mine. You’re gonna go to the evidence lock-up, take it all out, and bring it to me. Three duffle bags, no tricks.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Crazy or not, it’s mine – and I want it back. I don’t care how you do it – not my problem. You get me that coke, and your little spitfire here gets to live.”

“I’m not doing shit until I talk to Jordan. I need to know she’s okay.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” The masked man knelt down in front of her and held the phone closer to her.  “Go ahead, talk.”

“Dean?” Her voice quavered as she fought tears for the first time since her ordeal had begun.

“Jordan, are you hurt?”

“I’m okay. Dean, is Sam...”

“Sam’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.”

Her captor rose to his feet again. “Okay, that’s enough for now. I’ll call you in one hour with instructions.”

Jordan swallowed a sob, tears slowly trailing down her cheeks as he ended the call. “You’re insane. How is he supposed to steal drugs from the police lockup?”

“He’ll figure it out. He’d better.” He turned and reached to grab her by the arm, pulling her to her feet. “And now, since our little phone call is done – you can go into the storage closet so we can take off these fucking masks. Hope you appreciate how careful I’ve been to make sure you can survive this little transaction.”

She shot him a glance full of spite. “I’ll send you a fruit basket.”

He laughed. “You know, different circumstances, I think I could really like you.” He unlocked and opened the door to a large walk-in closet, windowless and dark except for vents high up near the ceiling that let scant light in from the room outside. He moved farther into the room, lowering her down next to the wall. A blonde sat across from her, arms held close against her body. “Brought you a roommate. Play nice.” He turned and left the room, locking the door with a loud click and walking away.

The girl looked up at Jordan, her expression stoic. “So you’re the one.”

“The one what?”

“The one I was supposed to grab the first time.”

Jordan leaned her head back against the wall. “You’re Megan? What are you doing in here? I thought you were working with these assholes.”

Megan looked away. “I was supposed to do their dirty work for them. Didn’t work out so well.”

“Sucks when you piss off the boss,” Jordan muttered resentfully, and the blonde’s head raised back up, her blue eyes angry.

“Look, I didn’t… I mean, I knew what I was doing, but I just – I wanted justice for my brother. They lied to me. I found out, after… I tracked down a couple of people that were there that night, people that are still hiding because they’re afraid of these fuckers. They told me what happened. That your cop boyfriend didn’t have any choice. And I was pissed, I called these asshats and told them I wanted to meet.”

“I take it they didn’t like what you had to say.”

“I told them I didn’t like being lied to and used, and that I was done. And they told me that was too bad, because they couldn’t let me go since I knew too much. And I tried to get away, but they broke my fucking arm and knocked me out, locked me up in here.”

Jordan was silent for a moment, the only sound the other girl’s agitated breathing as she fought to control herself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I assumed… Do you know who they are?”

Megan shook her head. “No. They wore masks when I met them, before that it was just phone contact.”

After a few seconds of silence, Jordan spoke softly. “They want Dean to steal cocaine from the evidence lockup and bring it to them. Supposedly, if they get what they want, they’ll let us go.”

Megan let out a derisive snort. “I’ll believe that when it happens. They’re already on the hook for murder, I doubt if they give a shit about a couple more.”

Resting her aching head against the wall, Jordan let out a sigh. “I know.”

Dean gripped his phone so hard that his hand shook, and Donna put a firm hand on his forearm. “Calm down. Losing it right now isn’t going to help anybody, Dean.”

He looked at the technician sitting behind the monitor, and she shook her head before dropping her eyes. “No trace. Damn it, Donna, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Cap’s office, now - brainstorm. We’ll figure it out.”

After a quick knock, the partners were invited to enter, and they both plopped down into the chairs in front of the Captain’s desk. “So what are we dealing with?”

Dean filled him in on the ransom call, and the Captain leaned back in his chair, looking Dean in the eye. “You know we can’t just give them the coke, Detective.”

“There’s got to be something we can do. He’s calling in one hour to give us the drop instructions,” Donna said, forcing herself to remain calm. “Can we put dye packs...”

“They said no tricks. They’ll check for that. We can’t risk it.” Dean bit back, and she took a breath before trying again.

“Okay, they demanded we bring the drugs in three duffle bags. We put a tracker in them.”

The Captain spoke up. “In all probability, they’ll expect that and switch to their own bags when we make the drop.”

Dean moved forward, his forearms braced on his knees. “Okay, so we put a tracker in the coke. Let forensics open one up, put it in the middle so it can’t be seen, and seal it back up exactly like it was before. Then we can track it to their destination.” The Captain narrowed his eyes, considering, and Dean continued. “Sir,  I swear on my life I won’t let them get away with those drugs. But you have to let us do this.”

The Captain thought for a few moments before sitting upright and blowing out a loud breath. He nodded, then said reluctantly, “Okay, I’ll sign the order. I’m holding you to your word.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief. “We won’t let you down, Cap.”

The older man’s words followed them out the door. “You damn well better not.”

Jordan looked up as the door rattled, then swung inward. Her captor knelt down in front of her, setting a bottle of water nearby. “Lean up, I’ll cut your hands loose. Can’t do anything in here, anyway.”

She did as she was told, relieved to be able to move her arms, and gratefully accepted the water. “Thanks,” she muttered grudgingly, and he moved over to set water down near her fellow prisoner. “She needs a doctor, you know.”

He rose to his feet and turned, moving back towards the door. “After I have my property, she can see all the doctors she wants.”

Megan looked down at the bottle, shaking her head as the door closed and locked again. “And how the hell does he think I’m gonna open this?”

Jordan stood up, stretching her aching shoulders, and walked over, kneeling down to open the bottle. Megan’s face looked flushed, her eyes glazed over a little, and Jordan laid a hand on her forehead. “You’re feverish. Maybe they’ll at least give us some aspirin.”

Megan huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t count on it.”

Jordan went to the door and pounded, shouting. “Hey! Anybody out there? Can we get some aspirin?”

A loud bang on the other side of the door startled her back a step. “Shut the fuck up in there! Be glad you got water.”

Megan gave her a half-smile. “Told you. But thanks for trying.”

“Assholes,” Jordan said under her breath, stripping off the button-down she was wearing over her tank top and kneeling back down in front of Megan.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, watching Jordan fold and re-fold the shirt until she was satisfied with the results.

“You have to be exhausted trying to hold your arm like that. I thought maybe a sling would help.” She carefully slipped the makeshift sling under Megan’s injured forearm, taking the sleeves behind her neck and tying them into a knot. The girl sighed with relief as she relaxed her shoulder, letting the shirt cradle her arm.

“Thank you.” Jordan smiled at her and headed back to her spot against the wall.

“You’re welcome.”

Dean ended his call and stuffed his phone back into his pocket, turning to Donna. “Sam’s out of surgery, everything’s good.”

His partner sighed with relief and smiled. “Thank God. One of the guys from forensics just finished up with the tracker. Everything’s ready to go.”

As if on cue, Dean’s phone rang, and he grabbed it from his pocket, nodding towards the tech who would be trying to trace the call. When the officer signaled, Dean answered. “Yeah.”

“I assume that you’ve got my coke ready to deliver?”

“Yeah. Just tell me where and when so we can get this over with.” The man rattled off an address, and Dean repeated it. “I want to talk to Jordan. Make sure she’s still okay.”

“No more time for socializing right now. She’s fine. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Like hell I will.”

“You don’t have a choice. Meet me at that address in 45 minutes, come alone, and I’ll give you her location so you can have a nice, long chat with your girl.” The call ended abruptly, and Dean swore, his teeth clenched together in frustrated anger.

Donna put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. We’re gonna nail these bastards.”

He took a breath, his expression taut and determined. “Fuckin’ right. And she’d better be okay, or I swear to God...”

“She’ll be okay. She’s smart, and she’s tough, and you’re gonna get her back.”

Dean pulled into the parking lot, eyes scanning the area. “You can still hear me?” he asked, and a tinny affirmative reply came through his earpiece. Donna and two other squad cars were parked a couple of blocks away, and the SWAT van was another block over and north, their tracking equipment set up to follow the cocaine after the drop.

A dark, nondescript SUV pulled into the lot and parked a couple of car lengths away. Dean exited the car, tugging his vest down and taking a couple of steps to the front of the car. His contact climbed out of his vehicle, mask in place, moving forward a few steps and then taking a wide-legged stance, his arms folded over his chest. “Okay, let’s get this party started.” Dean nodded, opening the trunk and grabbing the bags, walking forward until the man shouted for him to stop. “Drop the bags right there.”

“Where is she?” Dean responded, still holding them, challenge in his eyes.

“When we conclude our business, I’ll tell you. Now drop the bags.”

He did as he was told, muttering under his breath, “I’m gonna kill this fucker.”

Donna’s voice came back, “No, you’re not. Just take a breath, partner.”

At a motion from the man in charge, a couple of masked men exited the vehicle, empty duffle bags in hand. They knelt on the ground and began to transfer the cocaine to their own bags, and Dean walked back to close the trunk on his cruiser. “What’s the matter, don’t trust me?”

“Oh, come on, Detective. Like I don’t know they’d put some kind of tracker in those bags. I don’t blame you, don’t worry. I’m sure your commanding officer insisted.” His men finished loading the coke and retreated back to the SUV, tossing their prize into the back before getting back inside. The driver pulled a phone from his pocket, dialing and speaking a few quiet words before looking towards Dean and speaking.

“All right. Well done, Detective. You’ll find your little spitfire in a storage building two blocks north of here.” Dean moved quickly towards his door, but the man called out again. “Also, you have a choice – you can have your backup try to follow us – or you can get to that storage building and save those girls. Seems a fire got started in there somehow. Your choice. Better hurry, though.”

Dean was in his car, engine roaring to life, as he spoke to Donna. “Did you hear that? Meet me there, let SWAT track the coke!”

“You got it!” the answer came back, and Dean squealed the tires, heading north.  His foot to the floor, his eyes scanned frantically for smoke as he approached the two-block area, and he screeched to a halt in front of the building, smoke already pouring from a broken window on the side. His backup pulled in a few seconds later as he reached the door, placing a palm against it to test for heat.

“Bring the battering ram!” He shouted, knowing it was futile to try to kick in the steel-reinforced door, and two officers came at a run with the tool in hand. “Call fire!” he shouted over his shoulder as the third slam into the door sent it flying inward, the frame splintering. Donna and two other officers entered right behind him, skirting the fire and searching the building.

Dean headed straight for the closet, hearing Jordan pounding on the door and calling out. “Help! We’re in here!”

“Stand back from the door!” he shouted, waited a few seconds, and let the battering ram do its work. “Jordan!” He rushed into the room, letting his relief wash over him for a split second before taking her arm and shoving her towards an officer. “Get her out of here!”

“Dean! Megan needs help, she’s sick, and her arm is broken,” Jordan called out to him, then let the officer lead her out.

He nodded, heading Megan’s direction. “Okay, Megan, I’m just going to pick you up and carry you out. Can you get your good arm around my neck?” The girl nodded, and Dean bent to pick her up, as careful as he could be not to jostle her arm.

Fire and Rescue were just pulling in, and Dean carried Megan directly to the ambulance, waiting for the EMTs to ready the gurney before laying her down. “You okay?” he asked, and she nodded, and he stepped back to allow the paramedics to do their job. He turned, eyes searching until he spotted Jordan being hugged by Donna, and in a few long strides, he was there, pulling her into his arms.

He held her tight, letting her sob softly into his chest until she quieted down. “Thank you,” she whispered as he pulled back, looking down into her eyes. He touched her face, barely brushing over her bruised jaw and gently touching the cut over her eyebrow, beautifully framing her black eye.

“Got quite a shiner, there,” he said, and she nodded, wincing.

“Yeah, they, uh – they slammed my head into the steering wheel.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault. Sam...”

“Sam’s okay. He’s out of surgery, he’ll be fine, hospital called me.” Another ambulance pulled in, and he brushed his knuckles over her uninjured cheek. “I’m sorry, Jordan, but you need to go in and get checked out.” She looked into his eyes, watching the guilty struggle there, and put her hand over his.

“Dean – go. Catch those assholes. They’ll take care of me.”

After a moment’s pause, he finally nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you in the ambulance, then Donna and I will go help SWAT take out the trash.”

Chapter 9

[sicjimin]

A.N : Ok i hope you haven't felt sick about mpreg story ..

TW : emeto, mpreg

Hoseok is on his wits with this.. He’s already lost count of how many times he’d run out of the room to hurl in the bathroom sink, like right now. It's only 6 AM, not even an hour passed after he wake up with overwhelming nausea and dizziness, like a roller coaster ride. His stomach hurts so bad, it feels like it will come right back up. It's getting harder by the minute to keep down anything, it’s all just a bitter taste in his mouth. The urge to puke is becoming more and more prominent each second that passes.

He feels guilty for Yoongi that now rubbing circles on his back, yawning once in a while. "You can go to sleep again, baby", Hoseok managed to mumble after he gulped down a wave of nausea.

"I know but... I wanna stay with you"

Hoseok smile at that, turning his gaze to the clear sink again, hoping that this nausea could go away without him having to throw up. But that's all only a hope when his stomach clenched, making him open his mouth wide for a gag to come out, soon followed with a mouthful of lumpy vomit. He didn't stop there, he threw all his food in the sink, feeling his stomach tossing and turning. He heard the other sigh before he feels hand massaging softly on his nape.

"There, there, it's okay", Yoongi cooed in a soothing voice, "It's alright, you will feel better soon"

Hoseok didn't respond to that as another surge of vomit left his mouth. It felt like forever, or so he thought, before finally stopping throwing up what was left in his system. He looked up from the sink, seeing a worried look plastered on the elder's face.

"Better?", Yoongi asks as he wipes Hoseok's shaky lips. Hoseok could only nod, turning on the tap to drain the mess on it and rinse his bland mouth.

"Seok-ah, it's been 3 days, and you keep throwing up. You sure you didn't want to check up?" Yoongi questions again.

The raven-haired male shakes his head slightly, giving Yoongi a weak smile. "I'm fine, don't worry. I'll be good in a little while," He whispers and kissed the older, earning a chuckle from him and then pulling him closer into a hug.

"Are you good enough to go to the studio? The others will understand if you stay in", Yoongi pulls away from the hug, tucked the younger male hair back.

Hoseok nodded, smiling, "Yeah! I'll be okay," He assures as he nibbles on crackers and takes a sip of warm tea Yoongi already prepared beforehand.

--

Hoseok thought his vomiting spell already end that one time in the morning. But today is not on his luck, as he is now busy buried his head in a plastic bag, with Yoongi beside him full of worry after he asks to pull over and puking his stomach content up. He retches harshly, sending more liquid slides from his throat and filling the bag at a rapid pace.

"Hyung, can you get me another bag?", Hoseok asks through heavy breaths. Yoongi nods, opened the compartment in front of the sick male, and retrieved another plastic bag, giving it to Hoseok that quickly opened it with shaky hands, trading the already filled one to Yoongi. The older tied and disposed of it outside. He winces when he could hear Hoseok's new round of retches from outside the car. Yoongi quickly runs back inside, rubbed his back gently again. Hoseok was still puking, he was now curled onto himself with his knees raised, his arms wrapped around them, trying to keep himself upright as much as possible, while his throat constricts again and again with every thick liquid that poured out. The bag was already filled with vomit.

" Oh gosh, Seok-ah, you're throwing up a lot, lets go to the doctor?" Yoongi suggested carefully as he rubs Hoseok's back lightly.

Hoseok shook his head no immediately. "I'm fine, it's nothing serious", he assures, as he spites the last string of saliva and leaned away from the bag. His stomach is definitely empty now.

" What fine? You've been throwing up twice, Seok-ah, and it's barely 12 PM!", Yoongi was starting to lose patience, the way Hoseok keeps repeating 'fine' made it hard to believe what the younger actually means. "I'm worried about you, baby. Is just a check-up okay? So we might have clue about what's going on. I can't bear looking at you sick and nothing that I could do to help"

Hoseok sighs and closed his eyes briefly. He's feeling bad, and the older is make sense. He's also tired of keep throwing his food out, but he didn't want to go to the doctor yet, not when they have packed schedule today, "I'll be fine hyung .. let's just go tomorrow if i didn't get better by tonight"

"Gosh, you're so stubborn, Seok-ah", Yoongi brush his hair back, " Okay, if you're throwing up once again, i'm dragging you to the doctor immediately"

Hoseok chuckles, "Fine. Now lets go, we are almost late"

--

"Jin-hyung, when you're pregnant .. how do you know?", Hoseok breaks the silence between them as they lounging in the meeting room. They accidentally come earlier than others. Seokjin snaps his head from the paper, " You're pregnant?"

"No!", Hoseok exclaims, before he gives up and running his fingers to his hair, " I dont know yet. But i have a feeling since i keep throwing up for 3 days now, and i just feel nausea not a fever or something else"

"Why dont you check up to the doctor?", Seokjin asks, gaining a groan from the younger, "No wonder you and Yoongi-hyung are roommates for long"

Seokjin laughs, "That makes sense though? But i feel the same like you when i figured out i was pregnant. So who knows? Just take a test"

Hoseok hums, "Okay, thank you hyung"

"Don't forget to invite me for a celebration if you're right"

"And if i'm not?"

"Then go to the doctor", Seokjin shrugs, gaining a slap from the younger as he grunts.

--

" So," Yoongi breaks the silence between them. They are both still trying to grasp the situation when Hoseok comes out of the bathroom, handing him a test pack with a positive sign on it, shutting Yoongi's rants about him not wanting to go to the doctor when he found Hoseok keep gagging and whining for feeling queasy when they arrived at their apartment.

"I'm pregnant", Hoseok murmured and stares ahead, unable to hide his excitement, "We're gonna be parents".

" Oh shit...", Yoongi breathed out, shocked and overwhelmed.

"Oh yeah", Hoseok said grinning.

"We're gonna be parents"

Yoongi's brain still trying to grasp the situation as he stays still, unfazed, flipping the testpack upside down, even shaking it, as if by doing that the result will change, "Is this real?"

Hoseok chuckles, flicking his fingers to the older forehead—screw respect for the elder—, "Yes it is, Min Yoongi. You're gonna have a little Min in few months"

"We're gonna be parents", Yoongi mutters once again, before his lips turning into a wide smile, the one that shows his gums completely, " Seok-ah, we're gonna be parents"

Hoseok laughs again, stealing a kiss from the older before he walks out of the room, letting Yoongi to reminiscing the testpack as long as he wants because he's hungry and he needs dinner after the whole day vomiting, "Yes we are, baby. Now i want to get dinner, you can join me or stare at it as long as you want hyung"

--

"I'm taking my excitement back if this is what gonna happen for me the next few months", Hoseok grunts after he spits out a mouthful of his dinner the next morning. Yoongi chuckles beside him, patting his back gently.

" That's the charm of pregnancy baby", Yoongi grins.

Hoseok slaps him lightly before he groans and pulled himself closer to the bowl again, emptying all that contents from his stomach yet again.

"Hyung, i hate this", Hoseok whined in defeat, feeling utterly disgusted and frustrated after he finished another round of vomiting.

"I'm sorry, baby", Yoongi coos and kisses the crown of his head lovingly, " Take this as a sign that our baby is very healthy, okay?"

"Can the baby take another method to show us that they are healthy?"

"That's not how it works, sweetheart"

[hermannsthumb]

If you’re still doing summer prompts, could you do graduation for newmann?

15. Graduation

from (the very old) summer prompts meme here

enjoy some awkward pre-canon jaeger academy ~ROOMMATES~!! also I am pretty sure this message/prompt is from at least a year ago (if not TWO) but it was only today that I really thought about what I wanted to write for it and wrote in like a FRENZY. content warning for alcohol (no like intoxication tho)

--------

It was hardly to be expected that Newton would be mature over the whole thing, but Hermann finds himself in a perpetual state of agitation the final weeks of their enrollment at the Jaeger Academy anyway. Newton was very young, Hermann knows, when he graduated from university (at least he was young the first time he graduated), and he can only assume the man took it rather hard that he didn’t get to have the proper send-off he thought he deserved—all-night parties with kegerators and beer pong, one-dollar shots at dive bars, trips to the seaside with classmates. One wasn’t likely to invite someone who’d barely breached his teens and still had braces to those sorts of things, after all. It’s the only reason Hermann can think of as to why Newton has spent the month—the whole month—popping open champagne at all hours and organizing spin-the-bottle in the base rec room and generally being a great bloody nuisance to everyone they have the misfortune of sharing their graduating class with. Over-compensation is what it is.

Having Newton as his bunkmate adds a special level of unbearableness to it all. At least—and Hermann does thank the stars above for this—tomorrow marks the end of a very miserable month. A very miserable two years.

“Everyone is going to be there,” Newton says. He’s wearing an oversized pair of neon sunglasses over his regular glasses, for some reason, those abhorrently dated kind with the slatted lenses, and dangling from his left hand are two bottles of pink champagne. A bag of plastic cups dangles in the other. “Everyone. Not even just the k-scientists—the techs, the ranger trainees, the—”

“That all sounds very thrilling,” Hermann says, hefting a stack of button-ups into a cardboard box he’s labeled Clothing – Gottlieb. “You’re aware, I assume, that we’re meant to be moving out tomorrow, and you’ve not touched anything on your side of the room?”

“Dude, I have sooo much time,” Newton says. Hermann realizes now the seal on one of the champagne bottles is broken—which might explain some of Newton’s suspiciously carefree mood. “Besides, I barely even have that much shit here.”

This is patently untrue. Newton’s clothing is overflowing from his dresser; manga and monster action figures and vinyl records clutter up every inch of its top surface; there’s laundry under his bed, on his bed, his guitar picks on Hermann’s bedside table, dirty mugs on his own, half-finished reports and articles scattered over his desk… “Fine,” Hermann says. “But I haven’t finished, at any rate, so I won’t be joining you.”

Newton flops down next to him on his bed; the stopper on the opened champagne bottle wobbles dangerously, and Hermann moves quickly to push it in more firmly so he doesn’t have to add a load of bed linens to his To-Do list. “I think you need to unwind, roomie,” Newton says, grinning up at him. Both pairs of his glasses have slipped off his nose and onto Hermann’s bedspread. “We’ll have all day tomorrow after the dumb ceremony to pack, and you haven’t taken a break in, like, seven years. You’ve earned one.”

Hermann doesn’t want to take a break, or at least not in the way Newton is suggesting. Hermann wants to finish packing up his half of the room, then his designated workspace in the large k-science laboratory, and then take a shower to wash himself of the experience of being Newton Geiszler’s roommate and labmate for two years too many. Noticing his reticence, Newton adds, pleadingly, “Come for one hour? Just to do two shots with me? One shot?” He blinks, half-blind without his glasses, as if trying to discern whether or not Hermann looks likely to give in. “No shots? C’mon, Hermann, you owe me.”

“Owe you?” Hermann says, frowning.

Newton nudges him with the stack of plastic cups. “Y’know—for the sake of your ol’ penpal,” he says.

The reference to their letter-writing days jars Hermann, and despite his best efforts not to show it to Newton, his hand trembles as he deposits an unopened pack of white socks into his laundry box. He thinks it may be the first time either of them have brought it up in the entirety of their time at the Academy. It’s certainly the first time either of them have admitted to even the slightest notion of a shared history since—a week into their first year here, at an ice-breaking event for their kaiju-science peers—Newton had rolled his eyes exaggeratedly when someone attempted to introduce him to Hermann and said “Yeah, Dr. Gottlieb and I go wayyyy back.” Hermann did not admit so at the time, but the use of the honorific in place of his first name had been unexpectedly wounding—ridiculous of him, considering he made a point of referring to Newton in precisely the same way. Perhaps that little slip of the tongue had been why they were assigned as roommates scarcely a week later. An assumed friendship.

Hermann picks up Newton’s thick eyeglasses and carefully slips them back onto Newton’s upside-down face. Newton wrinkles his nose when Hermann’s thumb accidentally brushes against its tip. “I just don’t like parties very much, Newton,” he says. He’s not sure when Dr. Geiszler became Newton to him, or rather, became Newton to him again.

“Then we can do something together here,” Newton says.

He sits up and pushes the sealed champagne bottle at Hermann’s chest. “This is for you, anyway. Graduation present. Bury the hatchet, you know—odds are pretty fucking high we’re never gonna see each other again, so there’s no use hating each other forever.”

In spite of his better judgement, Hermann takes the champagne bottle. One drink won’t hurt him. And anyway, it might be a little relaxing—so long as it’s one drink only, because he still has an entire two years’ worth of research to pack away in his laboratory desk. “Do you know where you’re being assigned already, then?” he says. He was under the impression they wouldn’t find out until after the ceremony tomorrow—bit last minute, he supposes, but it’s not as if they’re making their own travel arrangements, and nearly all of their colleagues have already brought their families along with them to the Academy base.

“Nah,” Newton says, “but I wrote down a lot on my request form.” He motions for Hermann to hand him back the bottle, and he begins unscrewing the wire holding down the cork. “Tokyo—Peru—" He moves the bottle away from the bed as he pops it open with a grunt of effort, and a small bit of foam spills to the cement floor. Hermann grits his teeth and tries not to worry about cleaning it up later. “—Los Angeles. I worked on one of my PhDs in California, you know, a few weeks one July. Sea sponges. I learned how to scuba dive, I loved it—I think that’s one of the first things I’m gonna do if—once this is all over.”

He looks strangely maudlin as Hermann pours himself some champagne into one of the plastic cups and suffers through a sip. Too sweet. Hermann’s never liked sweet wines—bloody awful hangovers the next day, if one isn’t careful.

“Their entire ecosystem would be destroyed now, I guess,” Newton says. “Kaiju blue poisoning.”

“Whose?” Hermann says.

“The sea sponges’,” Newton says.

Hermann sips more of the champagne so he won’t have to respond. “I requested Anchorage,” he offers. Among plenty others, but he knows Newton will get a kick out of ribbing him for the dreary Alaskan climate. It seems to work—Newton lights up at once with a loud snort.

“Of course you did, ya weirdo,” he says. “Have fun freezing your ass off.” He takes a sip right from his bottle, then holds it out to Hermann. “Well, Hermann—you were an annoying lab partner, an even more annoying roommate, but a decent penpal, and I’m—well, I’m not gonna miss you, but I guess I can’t say I hate everything about you. Good luck with the jaegers. Good luck to whoever gets stuck with you next, actually, yikes, don’t envy them! Here’s to never seeing each other again.”

Hermann rolls his eyes, but knocks his plastic cup against Newton’s bottle. “Best of luck to you, as well,” he says. “And here’s to—well, surviving.”

“That’s cheerful,” Newton says.

They drink to their toast. Down the hall, someone puts on loud music to a chorus of equally loud cheers. Hermann reckons that’ll be Newton’s party. “You ought to head over there,” he says, turning briefly to glance at their door, which Newton has left cracked open. “Otherwise, they’ll miss—”

Newton kisses him.

Hermann doesn’t necessarily kiss back, but he doesn’t push Newton away, either. He’s more bewildered than anything. He might’ve expected this sort of thing to happen years ago—years, and years ago, before that dreadful first meeting in some dingy little Berlin coffee shop, back when a new letter from Dr. Geiszler slipped through his mail slot could make his heart thud like nothing else—but they’ve hardly been anything to each other but colleagues these past two years. Not even quite colleagues—that implies a civility they don’t possess. Professional academic rivals. He was under the impression that the man hated him, that the data when they underwent standard tests for drift compatibility was merely a fluke.

His empty cup falls from his hand and clatters to the floor. Newton slides a hand up Hermann’s jaw and keeps kissing him; he makes a small, needy noise into Hermann’s mouth.

“Newton,” Hermann finally mumbles. “What are you doing?”

Newton pulls back. A brilliant red flush is creeping steadily across his face, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before anything comes out. “Oh, shit,” he says. “I didn’t mean—”

He stumbles to his feet. “Shit, dude, I’m sorry, I like—”

“Newton?” Hermann repeats. He feels about as dazed as Newton looks; he’s not quite sure what he’s meant to say. His lips are tingling from the kiss. “I—?”

“I’m gonna go to the party,” Newton stammers. “Sorry, dude, I—misread signals? I guess? Um—” He steps on Hermann’s forgotten cup and skids slightly, catching and righting himself on one of Hermann’s bed posts. The movement knocks Hermann’s cane (hooked there) to the floor, and Newton must bend down twice before he succeeds in picking it up. “Just—um—okay, bye.”

Hermann stares at the door for a long time after Newton leaves. Tomorrow marks the end of their two years cohabitating and working together—as Newton said, odds are high their paths will never cross again. Hermann had been counting down the days to their graduation in a little calendar he keeps pinned neatly to his wall, daydreaming endlessly of the first thing he would do once he was free from the suffocating cloud of Newton Geiszler’s presence—daydreaming of the like-minded non-Geiszlerian colleagues he would meet at his Shatterdome assignment, of a neat and orderly laboratory devoid of kaiju residue over every communal surface, of his own living quarters. He should be excited. He should be ecstatic.

Hermann touches his mouth and feels nothing but strange sort of hollowness in his chest—a black hole enveloping all else.

---

He doesn’t see Newton until their graduation ceremony the next day, an affair made all the more awkward by the seating chart’s alphabetical arrangement ensuring Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb will be knocking elbows for the full two hours. Newton is late by nearly twenty minutes, and rushes in with badly unkempt hair and a backwards tie: Hermann has a feeling he’d been lurking outside their quarters and waiting for Hermann to leave before he dared dart in to get himself ready. He wonders where Newton spent the night. He wonders why he even cares. Likely passed out on the rec room floor after the party, judging from the confetti stuck to his left cheek—or perhaps he’d finally made a move on the fellow kaiju-biologist Hermann recalls him extolling the physicality of on more than one occasion, and spent the night with him—or perhaps he did neither, and merely wandered the base for hours, sleep evading him as it’d so entirely evaded Hermann. They don’t acknowledge each other for the whole of the ceremony.

Hermann is summoned to the office of the jaeger science program head (a severe woman with short hair) later that evening, shortly after he finishes taping up his very last box of papers in the vacant laboratory. He’s handed a small manila folder containing the details of his Shatterdome assignment: Hong Kong, as it turns out. One of his requests. “Since you and Dr. Newton Geiszler have displayed a strong work ethic when partnered together,” the woman begins, “as well as a very high level of drift compatibility—”

Hermann’s eyes snap up from his folder to her face.

“—we’ll be assigning him to Hong Kong’s kaiju science division along with you, under the assumption that together you will only continue to produce positive results.”

“Pardon?” Hermann says, weakly.

Newton has finished boxing up a majority of his belongings when Hermann drags himself through the door to their quarters an hour later. He glances at Hermann briefly, embarrassedly, and says, in a small voice, “Hey, Hermann.”

“Newton,” Hermann says.

He walks over and sits down heavily atop the pile of sheets on his stripped bed. Something pokes at his thigh, and he sets aside his cane to fumble through the sheet bundle to discover what: Newton’s forgotten neon shuttered shades. The sight of them sends his stomach twisting up in knots. “Oh, hey,” Newton says, as he wraps a Godzilla action figure with bubble wrap. He nods at the manila envelope clenched between Hermann’s fingers. “Where are they shipping you off to? I’m going to Hong Kong—should be cool. I’ve never been before.” He places the little Godzilla in a carboard box. Newt - Junk! the side says in purple Sharpie. “My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon—you’re right, I definitely should’ve started packing earlier, I have no idea how I’m gonna get this all done by then.”

Hermann stares at Newton in poorly-concealed amazement as he continues to ramble on about how to pack up his instruments and whether or not they’ll let him bring his first-ever kaiju sample with him (he’s attached to it, even though he knows it’s technically the academy’s property, but maybe he can find a way to smuggle it out in his checked bags or something). Does he not know? Did they not tell him? How could they let this fall on Hermann? “Newton,” he says, slowly. “I’ve been assigned to Hong Kong, too.”

Newton freezes. “No fucking way,” he says.