#anyways i hate saturdays so much i can never do the right math on when i need to wake the fuck up i fight with myself every single time

[1d1195]

Dolcezza Extra II

Read Dolcezza here | ~2.4k words

From me: something sweet and sexy

Warnings: smut, oral, and nothing else except some fluffy bits

Summary: She's had a long day and Harry wants to make it better.

There was a knock on her door immediately followed by Harry’s key unlocking the door. Harry always knocked even though she assured him it wasn’t necessary. “Jus’ want you t’know s’me,” he shrugged when she told him. She glanced up from her desk to see Harry enter. “Hey Principessa,” he smiled tiredly. A double at the restaurant on a Saturday was brutal. But it was especially brutal during the holiday season when people flitted in and out between shopping for gifts and getting holiday dinners done with extended friends and family.

He looked exhausted.

She knew the feeling.

“Hi baby,” she smiled. Even if he was tired, he was still really pretty and lovely. She didn’t know he was going to come up after his shift. Sometimes after a double, he wanted to go home and shower. But today he seemed to be in need of some snuggles.

She was still working. Which made Harry a bit insane. On a Saturday night. She could see it in his eyes as he crossed the room. His exhaustion slowly replaced by worry for how much she was doing. What did she prioritize today that resulted in her being unable to do something she loved and had to catch up on work at a late hour? Did Emma have a math assignment she needed to look over? James and Ethan needed her help with cleaning? Or did her mom ask her for help booking a hotel for the family wedding in the coming month?

Harry hated his double shifts not only because he couldn’t see her, but because he couldn’t take her control (just a hair) so that she wouldn’t end up working at eleven at night on a Saturday. “Bad day?” She asked.

He rolled his eyes. He was tired, but it wasn’t a bad day. Honestly, he had fun at work. He and Niall worked well together so unless it was busy and understaffed, it never felt much like work. “No, kitten. M’annoyed you’re working.”

She dropped her gaze. “I like working,” she reminded him.

“Shouldn’t be working at eleven at night,” he reminded her.

“Well, I was going to read but then I was really into this plan I’ve created. I wanted to make sure I got it done before I lost my train of thought. The data I’m looking at has this really cool model and I was analyzing it, and it looked like it was trending down, but I think it’s actually trending up—” She stopped mid-sentence, her cheeks turning that beautiful shade of pink that Harry fell in love with. “Sorry, you’re tired.”

He smirked. “M’jus’ glad y’didn’t stress yourself doing stuff for your family.”

She looked at her lap. “Do you want me to be honest?” She sighed softly.

He sighed rubbing his hand over his face. “Principessa,” he tutted.

She frowned, fidgeting her fingers while Harry sat beside her. “They’re just so helpless Harry.”

“I know, kitten. But they’re all adults.”

“Barely,” she grumbled.

Harry sighed, pulling her into his lap and kissing the top of her head. He was glad all that had happened in this apartment didn’t deter her from living in it. Harry loved this apartment. Loved that it was right above him while he worked, that she was never too far away from him. “How much time do y’need?” He asked rubbing the back of his head. He didn't want to give her time. But he wanted her to be happy. Work did make her happy and he knew she would feel guilty if she didn't finish it and it would spiral into her worrying more anyway.

“Twenty minutes.”

“Twenty. I’ll take a shower. Then we can go t’bed, yeah?”

She nodded. “Sounds like a plan,” she pressed her hands on either side of his face and brought her mouth to his. “You made garlic bread and didn’t bring me any,” she frowned licking her lower lip.

He snorted. “Niall told me t’leave,” he shook his head. “He’ll bring some up when he’s done cleaning up.”

She smiled delightedly. “I have the best life,” she sighed dreamily, falling back into her swivel chair dramatically. Harry kissed her forehead.

“Don’t work too hard, Principessa.”

*

Harry enjoyed the warmth of the shower and felt a little more like himself when he returned to her in the living room. Her eyes still focused on her screen; the pinch of her brow puckered in complete concentration. “Um...any chance you’d be okay with like ten more minutes of me working? Emma called me because...well, I don’t want to bug you with the details, but she needed my help and—”

Harry knew whatever it was, she was putty to her younger sister’s request. She was too sweet, his pretty princess. “S’fine, but m’gonna help,” he turned her desk chair, so she spun to face him. She frowned.

“Hey, I was—”

He ignored her protest and lifted her from the chair to the desk lifting underneath her thighs. Harry was glad she was wearing her sleep shorts. The ones with an impractical slit on either side of her hips. A T-shirt that didn’t match swam around her frame. One that she bought because it was easily three sizes too big.

“Harry,” she tried again, steadying herself with hands on his arms as he gently pushed her laptop away from her reach followed by the notebook and pen she used to jot down her notes and to-do list. “I was—”

Harry watched her eyes and slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, through the leg opening, and pressed his fingers right past her underwear, between her folds, and directly onto her clit. Cutting her off with a gasp. “You were what?” He asked softly. Even if she wanted to talk she couldn’t. “M’jus’ going t’take care of you, Principessa. Y’do too much for everyone else. S’only fair.” Her heart rate was flying, and it mirrored the rapid fluttering of her eyelashes as Harry searched gently between the soft sensitive skin between her thighs. “S’that okay?” He asked.

She nodded breathlessly.

“Good,” he sighed. “Love t’take care of you,” he murmured and knelt down so his head was between her thighs. “Y’okay, kitten?”

She nodded again. “Please,” she whispered shyly.

“Aw, y’don’t have t’beg, Principessa. I’ll give y’anything y’want,” he winked, tugged the fabric that was in his way from between her thighs, and then pressed his mouth to her center. She gasped leaning forward, threading her fingers through his hair for balance. His locks were still damp from his shower, and she knew she would mess up the curls and flow from messing with it before it was dried. She hoped she could blame it on bed head.

She supposed in some ways it was bed head.

She moaned quietly as his mouth devoured her. Suckling and licking at her just the way she liked. Harry loved to be between her thighs. It was a regular part of their foreplay, and it never ceased to amaze her how deliriously good it felt. His lips and tongue were sinful. The man was so sweet looking and downright boyish with his cheeky sweet grin. For fucks sake he called her a princess in another language. “Y’can moan louder, baby. Y’know it’s soundproof,” he murmured kissing her thigh as he spoke to her before he wrapped his lips around her clit.

Just like that. Her sweet boyfriend was anything but sweet when he said stuff like that. When he swirled and lapped at her clit the way he was. It was dizzying.

She whined pulling on his hair to press him harder against her core. He moaned against her as she did. The vibration caused her body to react instinctively. Her thighs tightened around his head, and he moaned again. “That’s good, Principessa,” his voice was practically thoughtful. “So good, kitten. S’that feel good?”

She nodded. “Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered the repeated word as if it was all the same syllable.

“You’re so good, Principessa. Jus’ want t’make y’feel good,” he nipped at her inner thighs while he spoke his breath cooling off her wet skin. She was simply soaked between her arousal and Harry’s mouth. “All jealous ‘bout garlic bread," he teased, shaking his head. "Y’taste better than anything we make,” he mumbled and traced his tongue down her slit then back up, running a tantalizing circle around her clit again. Her eyes actually rolled back in her head. She thought that was only in books and for dramatic show in movies. She didn’t know Harry could really make her eyes look for the back of her brain. He sucked hard on her clit making an obscene slurping noise that would have embarrassed her if her place wasn’t soundproofed to near silence. Although she thought the moan she released could have broken the barrier. “Y’make such sexy noises, kitten,” he groaned and continued to torture her with pleasure.

“Harry,” she gasped.

“What Principessa? Y’close? Y’want me t’make y’come?” She nodded shamelessly; wanting it so bad she thought she would cry if he denied her (as if he could ever dream of denying her anything). “M’jus’ going t’touch—”

She cried out as he pressed his finger into her. His lips wrapped around her clit while his tongue continued circling around the sensitive nub. He rubbed his finger against her walls, once more feeling around expertly, the way she liked that made her toes curl.

The smug son of a bitch smiled against her as she clenched lightly around him. “That’s it, Principessa. Want you t’come all over me,” he moved his finger in and out at a faster pace timing it with his licks so that she was nearly worried she was going to pass out from pleasure.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she whimpered, and Harry groaned right against her.

“Keep going, baby,” he hummed fingering her and licking her like it was the only thing he planned on doing. “There it is, good kitten,” he praised which only made her melt into a puddle.

Her orgasm seemed to last way longer than she thought possible. Her thighs kept squeezing around him after it officially stopped. Like she was trying to hold onto the final waves of pleasure. “Do y’want another?” He inquired thoughtfully once more.

Another orgasm, especially of that caliber, would definitely make her pass out.

“No thank you,” she whispered.

He chuckled and kissed the inside of her thigh. He pulled her clothing back into the correct position and he sat in her office chair before he pulled her into his lap. She could feel how hard he was through the shorts he was wearing as she fell into his hold. He kissed her neck, wrapping one arm securely around her waist. The other hand found her inner thigh, slightly sticky with sweat, arousal, and Harry’s saliva. It was hot and messy, but Harry didn’t seem to care. Probably because he was responsible for the mess. Instinctively, she squeezed her thighs again, against his hand. “Y’sure, Principessa? M’happy t’make y’come again,” he offered kissing her cheek. “Y’seem a little turned on still?”

“Just... it felt really good. It’s,” she blushed and smiled at him shyly. “It’s lasting a while,” she mumbled and tucked her face into his neck.

His quiet laugh shook through his chest and her in his embrace. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured. “Especially when y’come.” She shook her head against him, but her thighs betrayed her again. “Let’s go t’bed, Principessa.”

She perked up a bit. Her eyebrows knitting together to meet in the middle of her eyes. “I think it’s your turn—”

“Oh no,” he shook his head. “Some other time. That was purely for you,” he stood, holding her legs around his waist. She blushed, giggled softly.

“Harry, you had such a long day. It’s hardly fair.”

“Not 'bout being fair. Plus going down on you s’by far one of m’favorite things t’do," he shrugged one shoulder.

Her cheeks still felt warm. “You’re pretty good at it,” she nodded in agreement.

Harry chuckled. “Cute.”

He walked to her bedroom, setting her on the bed. “I really needed to finish a few things—”

“It can wait ‘till the morning.”

She sighed. He was right. Harry was good at making sure she was doing more for herself. Although that usually entailed him doing stuff for her. Which didn’t seem like a good trade. Harry opened her main door briefly. He returned to the bedroom holding out the garlic bread immediately to her lips. With his free hand he cupped it below her jaw to catch any crumbs that didn't make it into her mouth.

“I really do have the best life,” she sighed, crunching on the bread. He smirked.

“Do y'want more?”

She shook her head. “I love you,” she sighed dreamily.

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”

Harry put the garlic bread in her kitchen, turned off all the lights, and came back to her bedroom. “Let me brush my teeth. Garlic isn’t pretty.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he assured her, cupped her face and kissed her as passionately as he could. Like it was their first kiss. Or the one they shared the first time they had sex. The kind of kiss she imagined would greet them on their wedding day, whenever that would be. He pulled away briefly, pecked her more softly, then kissed her forehead. “Delicious,” he promised, licking his lips cutely.

Harry went to the other side of the bed and pulled her to his body as soon as he was settled. His arms wrapped tightly around her, his lips on the back of her head, kissing her hair. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do something for you?”

“M’always turned on by you, Principessa. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Jus’ taking care of you.”

“But you had a long day.”

He shrugged. “M’feeling fine. Don’t worry ‘bout me, kitten. I promise.”

“I worry about—”

“I know,” he chuckled, squeezing her closer somehow. His body wrapped around hers like vine. “Go t’sleep, Principessa. Y’can go back t’being an angel tomorrow and taking care of everyone under the sun,” he sighed.

She shook with silent laughter. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, kitten. I get jus’ as much pleasure out of that as you.”

“That can’t possibly be true.”

“If y’let me do it again, I’d definitely come,” he shrugged one shoulder and he kissed the back of her head then tucked his face into the crook of her neck. “I love you,” he reminded her.

“I love you,” she sighed.

“Sleep tight, Principessa.”

For a few moments there was no noise except their quiet breathing. “Harry?”

“Hmm?” She squirmed awkwardly. “Do you want another orgasm, now?”  She shook her head. “More garlic bread?” A swift nod. He chuckled untangling himself from her. “One minute, m’love.”

“God, I am the luckiest girl in the world.”

--

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[hellfireeddiemunson]

W A I T IM SO DUMB OMG

I did the wrong fucking math of when i needed to be at work and i’m actually glad i woke up now bc i need to be awake

i went to bed at like 10pm lastnight bc i was so tired i kept dozing off but also bc i was just soooooo bored i was like why be awake !

the problem now is i’m awake and i don’t actually need to be up for work for another hour and 45 mins. 🧍🏻

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Dry

Hey, A.

I didn't bring the grass seed because it's so damn dry it won't grow. Your grave doesn't even look that strange now because everyone else's grass is so burned out. It's still hot, which sucks.

Anyway the Boy took his first shot at the ACT Saturday. I asked him how it went and he said, "Fine." Of course. And then he went on to casually tell me without an ounce of arrogance or pretension that he 'might have gotten a 36 on the reading section.' He reminds me so much of you sometimes I wonder if somehow you're not some sort of cosmic auxillary dad for him. That's almost exactly shit you'd say and how you'd say it. Except of course your 36 would have been math instead and it'd make me want to shoot you with a rubber band or something. Even though you wouldn't be trying to be smug about it.

We went bike riding with my godfather yesterday through the neighborhood my grandparents and aunt and uncle (his parents) lived in, and all the way along the riverside to Cincinnati right in front of the ballpark. I thought how were never going to get to go to another ballgame together. Thought about getting you a rock off the street but I didn't. I didnt want the Boy to think about why I was picking a rock off the street and I didn't want my godfather to ask me about it, but I'm gonna go back sometime and get you a rock from the ballpark. I brought you the one L sent me from Colorado. She's into crystals and whatever so she says it's got something to do with heart chakras being aligned or I dunno. But I just wanted you to have something from Colorado because she's the friend I've visited the most out of town. Should have been you. You should have been the most visited friend. You are now even though I hate coming to a grave to see you. 💔😥 My car automatically drives here now like going to work or the Boy's school or my mom's house. Shit I'd be here every day if it wasn't a 25 minute drive. I miss you.

J is away and I've wanted to text you about 1000 times. I'm afraid for some reason every time I come here that all the rocks will be gone. Or that you'll be gone. Sometimes I even hope you'll be gone. Like you were never really here. But it's this weird bitter comfort that everything is still here when I get here each time. Christ we're coming up on a year pretty quick now and I still can't believe you're here. It still doesn't feel real. It probably never will.

The grave straight behind yours has a bunch of Happy Birthday stuff on it and it makes me wonder (hope?) that when I come here after your birthday next month if yours will finally have something on it that I didn't put there. I can't stand that I'm gonna have a birthday without you. Yours isn't going to be right behind me. Well it is but you won't be here for me to send you the weirdest birthday meme I can find and have you say, 'Where do you even FIND this shit?! 🤣'. Instead I'll be bringing a rock here.

I didn't cry this time. Maybe I'm feeling the drought too. Or maybe it's because now even though you don't answer me with words and I can't hug you or hear your laugh that you've become my most visited friend. Wish it were under different circumstances but this is right, you know? How it should have always been. That I visit you most. You've always been the most constant. The most helpful. The person I could talk to the easiest. The quickest to respond. The one I could always count on to show up and come back. I'll be back. Maybe even before your birthday. Maybe I'll be here for mine. I love you, my dear friend. ❤️❤️❤️

[quirklessidiot]

title : cigarettes and parfaits [4]  pairing : older!nanami kento x younger!reader [13 year age gap, ft toji fushiguro] Genre: romance, fluff, slice of life, josei, angst, comedy, strangers to lovers au

Summary: you’re pretty sure you’d remember marrying a man 13 years older than you, right? Warnings: alcohol, smoking, mild smut, y/n making stupid decisions, cliche fluff, everyones a human-au so yeh non-canon stuff and everyone’s happy (periODT)

Notes: lil development right there HAHSHSHHS , yes tojis appearing soon guYS hddhdhdh thank u for ur patience ily all and yall stay safe and drink lots and ltos of water!! sorry for the late update!

Masterlist || taglist || [prev ; next] [updates; every saturday!]

You stare at the ring on your hand as you stand next to Nanami Kento in the grocery shop, you and him have agreed to see each other and go out once a week while fixing up the divorce papers. 

Last week you both had gone to a cafe after work but had to end early since Yuuji had fell down the stairs (despite being athletic, the boy was awfully clumsy). This week, you both decided to do something mundane.

Grocery shopping.

“Hm, what does Yuuji think about this?” You asked, showing the man some bars of rice krispies, “He seems to be a sweet-tooth.”

“Sukuna is the sweet-tooth, Yuuji isn’t really picky with food.”

“Huh,” You hummed,  “Sukuna seems so soft despite all the tattoo’s.”

Nanami rolls his eyes at your statement, “He’s just, as kids like to call these days, a nerd.” he retorts, taking the peanut butter off the shelf and carefully placing it in the grocery cart, “He enjoys mathematics and art,”

“Ah, hence the tattoo’s.” you thought out loud.

“I almost lost it when he went home a few months ago looking like that.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair, “It was a sign of rebellion, saying that he didn’t want to move to Tokyo.”

You chuckled, eyes on him, “Must’ve shot up your blood pressure, Kento.”

He clicks his tongue in dismay, the memory still fresh. Nanami Kento    unlike what Gojo Satoru said    was a very easy person to like and accompany. Ever since that ‘mild’ mishap two weeks ago, you’d have calls and little quick meet-ups aside from the once a week dates. 

At times it felt like the little wedding at the Izakaya hadn’t happened, it was as if you were just going out with him.

Nanami Kento didn’t even have to try so hard to make you comfortable, he was just...there and everything just seemed right. He had easily fit right in with your routine.

You continue to watch him and he stops in the middle of his tracks, blinking heavily, “Ah,” he mumbles, placing a hand over his eye.

“Oh,” you paused in your tracks too, “Are you alright, Kento?”

“Just dust,” He mumbles, “It probably got in.”

You hold back a laugh, how mundane, “Here, let me…”

You slowly take his hand away from his face, his eyes shut tight, trying to hold in the pain from the dust getting in his eyes, “Do you mind bending down a bit lower, Kento?” you ask, “I’ll have to blow it out of your eye.”

Nanami follows your orders and bends down. You slowly cup his cheeks and lean in closer to his eyes and softly blow. You notice the slight twinge of his body, the reaction making you inwardly giddy, “Feel better?” you whispered.

The older man opens his eyes and only then do you notice just how close you two were with each other. For a moment, movement around you is slow and you don’t even notice Maki Zen’in standing right in front of you along with Yuta Okkatsu.

“Sensei?”

You finally snap back to reality when you hear that very familiar voice calling you out. It seemed like Nanami had been caught up in the moment too, “Oh,” You cleared your throat, letting go immediately of Nanami’s face and jumping back, “Maki-chan.Yuta-kun. What a surprise.”

The young girl narrowed her eyes while Yuta’s ears were evidently red, signaling that he felt very embarrassed to walk in on that moment, “Hi sensei.” Yuta greets, clearing his throat, “I-uh sorry about that, I told Maki to walk away and-”

“It’s fine, Yuta-kun.” You laugh, a bit nervous. What would happen if she told Yuji and Sukuna about this? You knew how Maki was sort of close with the twins, although she did not know who Nanami was, she may describe him and if the boys were smart enough to catch on with it, you’d be entangled in it pretty quickly and you weren’t ready to meet them as their ‘oji-san’s’ partner. 

You were a bit nervous and it was showing.

Nanami takes quick notice of this and slowly wraps his fingers around yours, a small smile appearing on his lips, “Good afternoon, you must be my partner’s students.” he greets, the man had a way with younger ones, you could only imagine how he was as a father figure to the boys growing up,  “It’s nice to finally put some faces on the kids that Y/N loves to gush about.”

Unlike your nervousness a while ago, this man is calm, cool, and collected. You almost envy him at how good he’s doing this.

“At least you picked someone better than Toji-ojisan.” Maki nods, “This guy looks actually more serious with life than him.”

You feel Nanami’s brow quirk up at what she just said.

“A-Anyways, Sensei…” Yuta clears his throat, “We’ll leave you and your boyfriend together. See you at Math class tomorrow!” He hurriedly grabs Maki’s wrist and zooms away at a speed of light. Leaving you two awkwardly standing there.

“Toji?” Nanami asks, curiously peering at you, “An admirer, I assume?”

“Megumi’s otosan.” You mumbled, embarrassed, “He likes to play jokes and all that. It’s nothing serious.”

“Hm.” he mumbled, a small dismayed look crossed his features and you wonder why, “If he does anything uncomfortable, you can pull my name out. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll be sure to take note of that.” 

You both continue your way down the grocery aisle, not even noticing that he still has his long hand wrapped around yours.

“Y/N-sensei…” Nobara drawled, placing her head on top of the wooden end of the mop, “How come we never knew you had a boyfriend?”

“Oi,” Megumi growled, “You’re supposed to be cleaning.”

“You’re just jealous that Y/N-sensei didn’t get to be your new okaasan.” Nobara bit back, putting her tongue out. You watched as the raven-haired boy chunk the blackboard eraser at her direction, a vein popping in his forehead.

“Stupid,” He replied, “I’d never let Y/N-sensei near the jiji.”

“What’s he like, Y/N-sensei?” Junpei asked, tapping his chin, cutting the argument short,  “I heard Maki-senpai talking about him.”

You watch as Yuuji placed his head on his best friend’s shoulder, “Yeah, she was telling me how older he looked than you.” he exclaimed, you nervously gulped down. Yuuji sure wasn’t helping the situation at all.

“Well,” You chuckled, trying to remain calm and oblivious, “He’s nice and he has kids.”

“Ha.” Sukuna droned, stopping whatever he was doing,  his punishment     despite not being given any by Nitta    was helping the cleaners clean for the whole week, much to his dismay, he had to follow or you’d be giving him a slip, “You’re dating an old man? I thought the reason why you didn’t date the Zen’in-jiji was because he was old and he had kids.”

“Oh.” you looked down on your books on the desk, embarrassed, “I don’t have a problem with kids. In fact, I’d love to meet them.”

“Wah,” Yuuji’s eyes were sparkling now as he hurried in front of you and placed his elbows on top of your table and head on top of his hands, “I hope I really get to meet someone like you, sensei.”

“Stupid, I doubt any sane person would want to go with you.” Nobara said across the room, making Yuuji glare at her and started teasing her.

You chuckled once again at their antics. Meanwhile Sukuna continues to stare at you, eyes narrowing especially at the ring on your ring finger. For some odd reason, it held quite the familiarity.

Yuuji likes to think that Nanamin is the best godfather out there, technically, he was like a father to them already. So he had always wondered why he never got married, he was sure that when they were out a few times, many women would crowd for their ojisan. 

His father’s very close friend, Haibara-ojisan had mentioned one fleeting moment back when he was babysitting them that Nanamin was very secretive on who he liked that even he didn’t know if he’d ever been in a relationship.

But things were different these days, for the past two weeks, he’d have one day wherein he’d go home later than usual. It was odd to say the least    and not like he minded really, they were high school kids after all     since Nanamin hated overtimes.

He mentioned it to Sukuna but his twin just rolled his eyes and said, “Man probably needs to chase the bag or something, he technically is paying for this nice house and two freeloaders here.” 

Yuuji doubted it though! Nanamin earned pretty well and he didn’t really need overtime since he was technically the boss or so he heard from Geto-ojisan a few nights ago.

So while he was making them some katsudon for dinner that night and Yuuji was doing some homework for your class, he decided to ask the question.

“Saaay, nanamin-ojisan…” he drawled, placing his pen down, “You’re coming home a lot later than normal these days…”

The older blonde turns to the younger twin, face still straight-lace and stoic, something that Yuuji was accustomed to, “Work has me by the neck.” he replies shortly.

“Every wednesday’s?” he quips, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes.”

“You aren’t dating anyone?”

Silence erupted between them, the only sound could be heard was the sizzling of the chicken on the pan, “What made you say that?” he asked stiffly and maybe, if Yuuji was ignorant, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight twitch of his brow but he wasn’t.

Yuuji prided himself to be an observant person, someone had said he could pass off to be a detective in the near future, he had the agility and the observation skills (sukuna said otherwise though and said he’d get himself killed if he were to ever enter that field)

“You sometimes have that weird look on your face when you look at your phone.” the boy pointed out, “But Sukuna says you’re just chasing the bag so maybe he’s right, he’s kind of the smarter twin after all.” he mumbles the last part with great disdain.

Nanami lowers the fire on the stove and places his hands on the counter in front of Yuuji, “What if I told you I was sort of seeing someone?” he mused, humoring the young boy. 

“Are you really?” Yuuji’s eyes widened, surprised written all over his features, “What are they like, Nanamin-ojisan? Are they pretty? Do they know about us?”

“Oi what’s the noise about?” Sukuna’s raspy voice cuts through Yuuji’s excited one as he enters the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower and in house clothes with a towel hung on his neck.

“I told you Nanamin-ojisan was seeing someone!” Yuuji yelled, eyes sparkling since he was right this time, he quickly returned his gaze back to the older man, “When do we get to see them? Are they nice? How’d you guys even meet?”

“You’re seeing someone?” Sukuna spat, eyes wide in complete surprise, “How’d you even get someone to stay around with your uptight attitude?”

“Yah!” Yuuji yells, “Nananmin-ojisan is nice with women unlike you, no wonder girls are very scared to approach you!”

“Shut up,” Sukuna grumbles towards his twin then turns towards his godfather, “How the hell did you even meet?”

Nanami just shrugs, telling them they’ll know soon enough as he returns to his cooking. The boys seemed to dislike his answer though and continued to bug him. After cooking dinner and having their fill, he returns to his room and whips out his phone, a text message from you saying, ‘hey, the boys asked me about you earlier. They heard from maki-chan.’

The blonde wonders if he weren’t drunk, would he even consider doing this sort of thing? Dating was really out of the question, he admits he isn’t in the right place to go out with anyone especially with a young person like you. 

He thinks he’s taking advantage of the power-dynamics since he’s older.

He doesn’t even deny how weird it was that you're still hanging around him especially when you had a far richer man as one of your admirers. Satoru may or may not have overhead Yuuji gossiping about you one time and your ‘relation’ with Megumi’s father, it was definitely a small world and judging from the Toji you had mentioned a few days ago, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots that it was actually Toji Zen’in, a member of one of japan’s high business clans.

He shakes his head before pressing the call button, it only takes a few rings until you answered, “Hey kento.” You greeted, “What’s up?”

He hears the sound of a whizzing electric mixer on the other line.

“Boys gave you trouble?”

“No,” he could almost feel the smile on your words, “They were just surprised I liked a man with kids.”

“I reckoned, Yuuji seemed to have caught up too in my side. Been asking why I’m going overtime.” 

Silence settled between you two for a moment and Nanami wonders if you’re scared out of your wits. You might be backing out this deal after testing those waters, “Maybe you should tell me when I could meet them then? We wouldn’t want them to run into us during one of our outings or when we’re fixing up the divorce.” you replied softly.

“Hm,” he mumbled, “I’ll be sure to ask them about that. For a temporary setting, you sure take this matter quite seriously, Y/N.”

“Well, I did say I’d help you out.” 

A small smile reaches his lips as he hears your small and shy voice. It seemed like having people to check up on you by the end of the day wasn’t so bad, after all.

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[maybeimamuppet]

picking teams- chapter 8: cady

helloooo folks happy wednesday!! welcome to the homecoming chapter ooooh. also only next chapter you'll actually get some cadnis finally lol whoops 

tw for 

disordered eating thoughts 

slut shaming 

homophobia

implied SA

and as always if i've missed anything please let me know so i can add it :)

enjoy!

—————

Cady finds herself really enjoying the tutoring sessions she has with Janis. 

Janis is polite. She always says hello and chats briefly with Cady's parents on the rare occasions they're there at the same time. She never leaves messes when Cady offers her something to eat while they work, and she's never pushy during the actual tutoring. 

Cady's also learned that she's much smarter than people give her credit for. Janis' questions may be about things Cady finds simple, but after a more in depth explanation and a few extra practice problems, she picks things up in no time. Not to mention how much she's helped Cady with her English and history homework assignments. 

But, the best part is, Janis is so... sweet. She always seems happy just to make conversation with Cady. She's always interested to hear Cady's Kenya stories. Nobody else in America has been. Except for Karen, but Cady knows she doesn't really understand what she's talking about. Janis tells Cady her own stories, and Cady likes to think they're becoming friends. 

She certainly hopes they are, anyway. 

Janis looks at her in confusion as she stands up towards the end of their session one Saturday, rooting through her closet for something to wear. "You going somewhere?" 

"Hm?" Cady hums, turning around with a short skirt and a tank top in her hands. She grabs a denim jacket, too. It's chilly today, but Regina threatened to burn all her jeans if she wore them in public one more time. "Oh, I'm going homecoming shopping with Regina and Gretchen and Karen after this. It always takes me forever to figure out what to wear." 

"Oh," Janis says. "Sounds fun."

"Yeah, shopping with them usually is," Cady says. "I mean, I always get totally overwhelmed and all the fabrics feel awful, but I like the process." 

"That's about how it goes," Janis chuckles. "I always hated polyester too." 

"It's the worst! It's never comfy," Cady pouts. "But it's all they say I look good in." 

"You look good in anything." 

"Thanks," Cady says with a smile. Janis won't look at her, for whatever reason. Cady shrugs and heads to the restroom to get changed. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," Janis says, her voice a bit squeaky. She must be having a weird day. 

Cady does have to admit that her friends have good taste. As uncomfortable as the clothes are when she puts them on, she does look pretty in them. Regina's taught her that shorter skirts will make her legs look longer and more proportional to the rest of her body. Tighter shirts make her look thinner, and layers are an extra bonus. She tucks the shirt in to highlight her waistline, and sucks her tummy in the slightest bit to zip up her skirt. 

Maybe one of these days she'll recognize herself when she looks in the mirror wearing these clothes. 

Cady heads back into her bedroom after giving her curls a quick fluff. "How's it going?" 

"Fine," Janis murmurs. Cady turns around to look at her and finds Janis staring quite interestedly at her math work. 

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Janis says, barely glancing at Cady. "You look nice."

"Thanks," Cady grins. She swipes on some quick makeup while Janis finishes working, then plops down next to her to look over it. "All right again! I think we can move on next time."

"Thank god," Janis sighs, going totally boneless in her beanbag. "If I had to do one more of those I think my brain would melt out my ears." 

"I mean, you'll probably have to at some point," Cady says. "You do have that test next week."

"Shh. Let me have this moment of peace."

"Okay," Cady giggles. She relaxes on her own beanbag, looking up at her ceiling like Janis is doing next to her. Maybe she should get fairy lights like Regina has on hers. 

"Do you have a date?" Janis murmurs after a couple minutes. 

"Huh?" 

"For homecoming. Are you going with anyone?" 

"Oh," Cady says. "Nobody's asked me. I think we're just going, like, as a friend group."

"That's cool," Janis nods. "It's usually more fun that way." 

"Do you have a date?" Cady asks, looking over at her. 

"Yeah," Janis chuckles. Cady feels her heart squeeze a bit, but she can't figure out why. "Damian and I always go together. Every dance since ninth grade. He always drags me with him. I guess he just wants me to, like... get the 'proper high school experience' or whatever." 

"You don't want to go?" Cady asks sadly. 

"It's not the same for me as it is for you," Janis says quietly. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You're popular. You have a friend group," Janis says. "Everyone at school knows who you are, for a good reason. Everyone at school knows who I am for a bad reason. It's not that I don't want to go, or that he's not a good date, but... I only go with Damian because he's the only option I have. I don't have any other friends I can go with, or... an actual date I could ask." 

"Oh," Cady says. "I'm sorry." 

"It's fine," Janis says. "Damian always makes it fun. I'll have a good time. Don't worry."

"You could come with us, I'm sure," Cady offers. Janis laughs outright at that. Why is that funny? 

"Really not an option," she chuckles sardonically. "But thanks for the offer." 

"Why not?"

"I'm sure Regina's already given you some version of what happened," Janis says softly. "Just... not possible." 

Cady gets the sense that she shouldn't push here, so she just nods sadly. Janis gives her a sad smile in return and gently takes her hand. 

"I promise I'll have fun even if I can't go with you. For your sake, I'll have fun," she promises. Cady giggles and squeezes her hand. 

"I'm holding you to that, Sarkisian." 

"I always keep my promises."

"Good," Cady grins. "Can I ask you something?"

"Maybe," Janis chuckles. 

"Is Damian, um..." Cady says, pausing awkwardly. "Gay?" 

Janis laughs again, much harder this time. "Yes. He's almost too gay to function. You really couldn't tell?" 

"I mean, kinda, but I don't like assuming things," Cady says in embarrassment. She decides to leave out the part about her friends telling her a good bit of Janis and Damian's life story within a few days of meeting them. Something tells her that wouldn't go over very well. Janis nods. 

"That's good, though. And for future reference, Damian is very very gay. But if you want to know about anyone else you should probably ask them directly. It's... the kind of story someone should only tell for themselves, you know?" 

Cady nods eagerly. "Got it." 

"Tits. I'll see you Monday," Janis grins, zipping her backpack shut and standing up. 

Cady's sad she has to go. She wonders what kinds of things Janis would pick to wear to homecoming. Wonders what going shopping with her would be like. 

"Bye. Have a good weekend," Cady says before she can beg her to stay. Janis waves and is out Cady's bedroom door. Cady waves back and heads over to the mirror to make sure her makeup is perfect. Regina said that if even a single eyelash is out of place it ruins the image of their whole group. 

With another coat of mascara she thinks she looks perfect enough for even Regina's standards. She rushes out, trying not to break an ankle on her ridiculously high heels, when she hears Regina laying on the horn outside. She's lucky her neighbors haven't filed a complaint yet. 

"Hi," she says breathlessly as she takes her usual spot in the backseat. 

"Hey," all three of her friends say at the same time. 

"Are you excited, Cady?" Gretchen asks. Cady nods.

"Yeah! I never really wore dresses until I met you guys, I'm excited to get something more... snazzy. I've never had much reason to dress up super fancy before," she says. 

"It's so fun, you'll love homecoming shopping," Karen says. 

"Shopping with you guys is always fun," Cady grins. "I hope I find something."

"Oh, you will," Regina chuckles, almost ominously. 

—-

Cady was expecting to go to the mall again, but apparently dress shopping at the mall is a total fashion faux pas. She looks around at the fancy dress store she's found herself in. They have everything from homecoming dresses to wedding dresses, and most of them seem very far out of her budget. 

Her friends head over to the racks of homecoming outfits in their sizes and start grabbing just about everything they can see. Cady is confused by the tulle tornadoes rushing around her, but she shrugs and follows suit as best she can. 

Once they all have a decent stack of potential dresses, they make their way over towards the changing rooms. One of the stacks of dresses asks, "Who goes first?" 

"Me," another responds, so the other three all waddle over to the benches and plop down. Cady looks to either side now that the dresses aren't covering their faces and sees Karen is the one missing.

They all wait until the curtain opens and Karen comes back out, clad in a bright pink two piece dress. The top has a sort of criss-cross hem, and the skirt falls just above her knee. 

She does a twirl so her friends can see the dress in all of its glory. They all hem and haw over it, showering her in rightfully deserved compliments. 

The process is repeated for about six more dresses, until Karen reaches the last one she grabbed. 

"Which one?" Karen asks, still wearing the last one.

"I think the first one, honestly," Gretchen says. "That one really suited you." 

"Not this one. Makes you look like a cheap slut," Regina says like that's a completely normal thing to say. "Definitely go for the first one." 

Karen nods sadly and goes back into the changing room. She returns in the original bubblegum pink dress just to make super sure this is the one she should choose. Everyone eagerly confirms it, so she changes back into her regular clothes and switches places with Gretchen. 

Cady blinks through dress after dress after dress Gretchen tries on. She compliments every one, because Gretchen does genuinely look great in all of them. 

She's more indecisive than Karen was. Cady thinks she will be too. So many choices. How are you meant to know which one is correct? 

Each of them had a favorite dress that Gretchen tried on, so she goes back to try those three on again. When she has the last one on, she whines an, "I just don't know!" 

"We could all wear pink dresses," Karen offers. "Crown emoji. Then we're, like, matching, but not matching enough to be totally cringe, teeth emoji." 

Was that English?  Cady asks herself desperately as Regina and Gretchen mull that over. Cady decides to pipe up with a, "The pink one did really suit you, Gretchen."

"Really?" Gretchen asks. "It didn't make my stomach too noticeable?"

That's an issue?  Cady wonders. "I didn't think so." 

Gretchen shoots her a thankful smile and goes to try that one yet again. Her friends all nod when she pulls the curtain open and steps out to reveal the tight watermelon pink dress. It has long tulle sleeves, which seems to make Gretchen a bit more comfortable in it as well. 

"You look really pretty, Gretchen," Regina says. Cady and Karen nod in agreement. Gretchen sighs with a smile, the relief visible on her face as her turn is up. "My turn, bitches." 

Cady finds herself bracing as Regina takes her pile of dresses, wondering what circle of hell she's in for now. Regina is always the most demanding when they go shopping. She almost never picks her clothes herself. She leaves that for her lackeys, demanding a certain fashion and quality, and compliments on top of everything. 

Cady's definitely glad she made an exception today. Regina picked all her own dresses to try, so they just get to experience the hurricane of lace and satin they're about to be forced into. 

Hurricane is an understatement. Regina looks fantastic in everything, because of course she does. They quickly run out of compliments to shower her in. Things turn to, "Ooh!" or "Wow!" rather quickly. 

Cady feels like she's woken up from some kind of homecoming coma by the time Regina has tried on the last dress. She shakes her head to clear it when Regina sighs, "So which one?" 

"Uh... that one looks great," Cady says. 

"Yeah, your waist looks, like, so tiny!" Gretchen says eagerly. Karen just nods along like a little bobblehead. 

"Really?" Regina asks haughtily, whipping her blonde hair around to find a mirror. She puts her hands on her hips and does various poses in her fuchsia bodycon dress. 

"The, um... color really brings out your eyes," Cady agrees, trying to sound like she knows what she's talking about. Gretchen and Karen both nod again. "And your... hair." 

Regina looks at the mirror with a thoughtful pout on her face. "Eh, as long as guys are staring at me."

Oh, definitely, Cady thinks to herself. It's oddly reminiscent of the time she watched a snake eat a cow. The snake has more sequins than the one in Kenya did, though. Wait, is that rude?

"Your turn, Cades," Regina says with a wink. She heads to change back into her (arguably fancier) normal clothes, so Cady gathers her mound of dresses. 

"I don't have many pink ones," Cady says anxiously. Gretchen and Karen both take the ones that aren't at least pink-adjacent and give her the ones they have, since they're all close enough to the same size to get away with it. Cady is significantly shorter than the rest of them, but she thinks she'll be able to pull it off with a bit of tailoring if she needs to. 

The first dress she tries is awful. The material is glittery, and it has long sleeves. So itchy. It's so tight Cady can't even reach far enough behind her to zip it up all the way. She settles for zipping it as much as she can and just holding the neckline at the top for the same effect. 

"It's nice!" her friends say when she kicks the curtain open enough to wiggle through and show them. 

"It's really uncomfortable," Cady says, wiggling in a ditch attempt to get the itchy fabric off her skin. 

"Pick a different one, then. Can't have you squirming like you're about to piss yourself the whole night," Regina sighs, waving her back into the changing room. 

Cady can't quite hide how relieved she is as she turns around and practically rips the dress off her body. She stands there in her underwear for a split second to recover from the awful fabric before she grabs the next dress. 

The next few go about the same way, made of too-tight uncomfortable materials that Cady can hardly bear having on her body. Pink is also a tricky color for her to wear with her hair and complexion, so some of the shades simply don't suit her. All this makes for an... interesting homecoming dress shopping experience, to say the very least. 

She's down to the last four or so and getting more and more worried. What if she can't find anything? What will Regina do to her?

The next one she tries on is a tight strappy contraption and turns out to be so complicated that Cady gets tangled in the wrong parts of it for a solid three minutes. She takes it off without even showing her friends and places it firmly in the no pile. 

But the next one has promise.

She can get into it herself, which is a plus. She can even do the zipper up all the way. It's not saying much, since there's not much zipper in the first place, but it definitely helps. 

"This one, I don't even need to see the rest," Regina says when Cady pulls the curtain open to show it off. 

"Really?" Cady grins. All three of them nod eagerly and practically shove her over to the mirror so she can see for herself. Cady looks at herself, spinning from side to side to observe the dress from all angles. She does look beautiful. 

It's a baby pink, one that actually brings out the red of her hair in a nice way, with small gold sequins scattered around. The bodice is tight and dips into her cleavage in a way she's not the most comfortable with, but she decides she's into it. Her back is almost totally bare, so she'll have to figure something out in terms of a bra that won't show, but that's manageable. The skirt flares out and falls to just above her knee. She shakes her hips the slightest bit, and the swish factor is excellent. 

"I like it," Cady nods. "Are we done?" 

"No, it's time for shoes!" Gretchen squeals. 

Ah, hell.

—————

Aaron turns to look at her when she takes her seat behind him on Monday. "Hey."

"Hey," Cady grins. "How was your weekend?" 

"Not bad, not bad. My dad made me spend most of it at a football workshop thing, but it was less tedious than most of them are," Aaron replies. "How about you?"

"Oh, mine was pretty good too. I didn't really do much," Cady says, trying to find an appropriate amount of time to stare into his eyes. So shiny. 

"Uneventful weekends are always the best," Aaron says. Cady giggles and nods. 

"Definitely." 

Aaron chuckles as well. Cady can't help but smile at the sound. "So are you going to homecoming?"

"Yeah, Regina and Gretchen and Karen and I are all going together. Just, like, as friends," Cady says. "Are you?" Please say no, please say no. 

"Yeah," Aaron nods, flipping his swoopy hair out of his eyes. Cady tries not to swoon. "Couple buddies of mine couldn't land any dates, so we're just going as a group too." 

"That's cool," Cady says, squealing internally. He doesn't have a date. "I hope I see you."

"I'll save you a dance if you save one for me," Aaron says with a wink. Cady flushes bright pink and nods eagerly. 

"I will."

"Cool," Aaron grins. Cady tries to stop blushing enough to grin back. 

"Cool," she squeaks.

—————

Janis and Cady agree to push their weekly tutoring session back a week. They've decided to spend twice as long the next Saturday working to make up for it. 

Which means Cady has all day on Saturday to get ready for the dance. 

The dance starts at eight, but Cady's been instructed to be at Regina's house by eleven in the morning at the absolute latest. Apparently getting hot is an all day affair. 

Cady's knocking on the door at 10:45 just to be safe. Mrs. George pulls it open and practically drags Cady along with it. Cady stumbles into the house and gives Mrs. George her usual hug. "I like your tracksuit today, Mrs. Sabrina." 

"You do? Oh, thank you, honey! You're just the sweetest thing," Mrs. George replies. Cady's heart breaks the slightest bit at her eager response to a pretty basic compliment. "Well, I won't keep you too long. Regina's in her room getting everything set up for you guys."

"Thanks," Cady says, lugging her garment bag up the stairs and knocking on Regina's door. 

"What?!" a voice yells from inside. "Kylie, I swear to god!"

"It's Cady!" Cady calls back. 

"Oh," the voice says, quieter. The door opens in front of her, revealing a clearly tense Regina. "You don't have to knock, you know."

"Sorry. I didn't want to, like, barge in or anything. I didn't know if you were getting dressed or something," Cady says sheepishly. 

"Not like it matters. Not like you're some kind of lesbo," Regina shrugs. "Anyway, are you hungry? You should eat now so you won't later and look all bloated in your dress." 

"Oh, um... I guess I could go for some breakfast," Cady says, trying to seem casual about it. She actually hasn't eaten yet, so she's starving. But seeming too interested in eating isn't a good look. "If it's not too much trouble." 

"Yeah, whatever," Regina says. Cady winces as she suddenly shrieks at the top of her lungs. "Mommy!" 

Mrs. George is at the door in record time, slamming it open and stumbling into the room. "What's the matter? Ear piercing incident? Herpes?" 

What kind of family is this? Cady thinks desperately. Regina turns and looks at her mother with that sickly sweet grin Cady has gotten very used to being on the receiving end of. 

"Is there any breakfast left? Cady needs some," Regina coos. Her voice is almost unnaturally high, like she's talking to a young baby and not... her own mother. 

"Oh, of course! Let me whip something up really quick, I'll be right back!" 

"Thank you!" Cady calls as she goes running from the room at the same speed. "So... why do we have to be here so early?" 

"Because we need time to wash and style your hair, do all the skincare we need, do makeup, and last minute touch ups and hemming to our dresses, duh," Regina says. 

"Oh. I didn't think it was that involved," Cady says anxiously. 

"It takes work to look this good, Cady," Regina says. "If we aren't the hottest bitches at the dance, do you have any idea what would happen?" 

We wouldn't be the hottest bitches at the dance, Cady thinks immediately. Out loud, she just says, "Oh." 

"Once Gretch and K get here we can get started," Regina sighs, already primping in the mirror. She already has makeup on, even though her bed hasn't even been made yet. Cady wonders if anyone has ever actually seen her without makeup. "Lazy bitches."

"I'm sure they'll be here soon," Cady replies, almost defensively. 

"They'd better be," Regina huffs. "Where is my mom-"

"I can wait!" Cady interrupts as she sees Regina prepare to shout again. "It's totally fine. I, uh... have a quick metabolism. I shouldn't look too bloated in the dress." 

"I have a spare corset if you need one," Regina says. 

"We'll see," Cady replies. 

—-

Gretchen and Karen arrive about fifteen minutes later, rapidly trailed into the room by Mrs. George returning with Cady's plate. French toast and some mixed fruit.

"Thank you, Mrs. George," Cady says. 

"Oh, of course, honey! If you girls need anything you just let me know, okay?" 

"Okay, Mommy, out!" Regina says desperately. Mrs. George's face falls the slightest bit before she nods and backs out of the room, shutting the door behind her. 

Cady eats her breakfast while Regina starts washing Gretchen and Karen's hair in her shower. Karen comes out first, a shower cap over her hair and some green goop on her face. Gretchen follows after another few minutes, just as Cady is swallowing her last strawberry. 

"So have you seen any guys you think are cute, Cady?" is how Gretchen chooses to open a conversation. 

"What? Uh..." Cady stutters. "There's this guy in my calculus class, he's really cute. Aaron Samuels?" 

Gretchen makes some sort of squawking noise oddly reminiscent of some of the birds Cady got acquainted with in Kenya. "What?! No!"

"What do you mean?"

"Aaron is Regina's ex-boyfriend!" Gretchen says in shock. No. No, no, no! "He just broke up with her this summer."

"I thought she dumped him for Shane Oman," Karen pipes up absentmindedly. Cady feels her core go cold just at the mention of his name. Great taste, there, Regina. 

"Irregardless," Gretchen huffs. "Exes are off limits to friends. That's just, like, the rules of feminism!" 

"Um... okay," Cady says in confusion. No more talking about Aaron in public, got it. 

"Oh, but don't worry. I'll never tell Regina what you said," Gretchen says. "I'm great at keeping secrets. Like, Karen and I are dating and we haven't told anyone!"

"Gretchen!" Karen yelps. Cady's eyes go wide as Gretchen claps her hands over her mouth. 

"Hey, it's okay," Cady soothes as Gretchen's eyes well with tears. "I won't tell anyone, I promise. Secret for a secret. I'm happy for you guys." 

"Really?" Gretchen asks, her voice wobbling. 

"Yeah, of course. I wouldn't do anything like that," Cady promises. "Your secret is safe with me." 

"Thank you," Karen murmurs as she pulls Gretchen into a hug to comfort her, carefully, so the stuff on their faces doesn't smear. 

"Cady! Come on, your turn!" Regina yells from the bathroom. Cady hops up and runs in, leaving Gretchen and Karen to have a moment to themselves. "Bend over."

"Huh?" 

"Did I stutter? Bend over. We gotta wash your hair," Regina huffs. 

"Oh," Cady says. She takes her hair out of the ponytail she had it in and shakes out her curls before she bends over Regina's very nice bathtub. Regina sets the water on and makes sure it's warm, checking it with her hand before she turns it on Cady and starts hosing her down. Cady flinches as the water hits her scalp and starts running down her auburn hair. "Ack." 

"Sorry," Regina says, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "Your hair is really soft."

"Thanks," Cady says. "It smells nice in here." 

"My shampoo," Regina replies. That explains it. 

Regina massages some into Cady's roots and leaves it for a few minutes before rinsing it out, once again with absolutely no warning. She follows it with something in a tub Cady can't read from this angle, raking it through the ends and harshly ripping apart a few tangles. Cady winces and tries not to say anything at the tearing sound of her hair or the harsh pulling at her scalp. Beauty is pain. 

Regina is quick if she's anything. Cady can't have been in for more than two minutes before Regina is twisting her hair around itself, clipping it to the top of her head, and covering the lot in a shower cap. "Hair mask. Holds in the moisture." 

"Cool," Cady says. Regina snorts. 

"Sure. Alright, over here," she says, beckoning her to the sink. Cady looks in the very well-lit mirror and carefully adjusts the shower cap on her head. "Avocado or melon?"

"Hm? Um... melon, I guess," Cady says, thinking she's talking about a snack. She jumps as Regina approaches her face with some pink goop on a silicone brush. 

"What? It's just a face mask, it's not gonna bite you," Regina huffs. 

"Oh," Cady says. "Sorry, I've just never done one before." 

"Oh yeah," Regina says. "It'll make your skin softer. Makeup will go on smoother, blah blah blah. It's an important step. Now don't talk."

Cady listens, shutting her mouth firmly and allowing Regina to brush it over her face. She shuts her eyes when prompted and feels Regina brush more onto her forehead. 

"Okay, you're set. Tell Karen to come do me," Regina says, rinsing the brush off under the tap and screwing the lid back on the face mask. 

"Okay," Cady nods. She heads back out to the bedroom. Gretchen and Karen practically leap apart and put a sensible amount of distance between them. "Sorry, just me. Oh, and Regina wants you to help with her hair and stuff, Karen." 

Gretchen looked like she was about to stand when Cady mentioned Regina wanting someone, and her face falls when she says Karen's name. Karen just shrugs and heads into the bathroom, so Cady takes her spot sitting on Regina's bed. 

"Did Regina seem mad at me?" Gretchen asks as soon as Cady hits the mattress. "I'm always the one who does her hair."

"I don't think so. She's probably just stressed about today," Cady says, trying to comfort her. "I mean, you haven't done anything to upset her. I don't see why she'd be mad at you." 

"It's always something I miss," Gretchen says anxiously. "I'll just buy her something nice."

"I really don't think you have to. And you shouldn't have to, she's your friend," Cady says sadly. "Just try not to worry about it, tonight should be fun." 

"Okay," Gretchen says, her voice a mere squeak. "Yeah, okay." 

Cady gently squeezes her shoulder. "I got your back either way. I'll talk to her if she is mad, you don't have to worry." 

"Thanks, Cady," Gretchen says with a smile. 

"Of course." 

They both jump when Regina slams the bathroom door open and comes strutting out to the bedroom. Karen follows rapidly, returning to her perch on the bed. 

They all jump yet again when Regina's mother suddenly slams the other door open, rushing in with a pink book in one hand and a cocktail in the other. It's eleven thirty in the morning. 

"Regina, baby, before I forget! Look at what I found in the back of your closet the other day," she squeals, doing a weird mix between a dance and a walk over to her daughter. 

"Why were you in my closet?" Regina demands. 

"I was just admiring your dress," her mother says. "Keeps me young. Anyway, I found your... Burn Book!" 

"No way!" Gretchen and Karen squeal. They both rush up to gently take the book from her hand and start flipping through it. 

"Oh, Cady, this was just the funniest thing they did a few ye-"

"Out, Mom!" Regina insists, pointing to the door.

"You got it, baby! Have fun, let me know if you-" Mrs. George says as she scurries back to the door. Regina glares at her, so she jumps straight to a, "Bye." and shuts the door behind her. 

"Cady, come look," Karen says, beckoning her over with a wave. 

"We cut out people's pictures from the yearbook and wrote in comments," Gretchen says. They flip to the first page. "Trang Pak is a grotsky little beeyotch."

Cady's met Trang Pak. They have history class together and she's on the junior varsity cheer squad. She doesn't know what grotsky or beeyotch mean, but it doesn't sound like anything good. Cady frowns. Trang doesn't speak all that much English, but she's really nice. 

"Still true," Regina titters as she's doing something to her eyebrows at her vanity. Gretchen flips to the next page. 

"Dawn Schweitzer is a fat virgin."

"Still half true." 

Cady knows Dawn, too. Dawn is one of her bases in cheer, and she's always nice to her. She's frowning and thinking so hard she almost misses them reading the next page. "Janis Sarkisian, space dyke. Oh my god, I forgot about that!" 

Almost. 

Cady feels her heart skip a beat. What does that mean? 

"Who's that?" Karen asks, pointing to the page. Cady takes the excuse to peek over their shoulders at the photo. 

It's Janis a few years younger, maybe a freshman. Her hair is much blonder, less of the roots having grown in. She's also wearing what Cady recognizes as her infamous army jacket. Janis said she had been working on painting it for a few years, and she can see it as a work in progress in the photo. She has her arm around Damian, smiling at the camera, but Janis' eyes are... empty, almost. 

"That's that kid Damian, remember?" Gretchen says. "He's one of Cady's bases." 

"Yeah, he's almost too gay to function," Cady laughs affectionately, quoting what Janis told her a few weeks ago. She loves Damian. 

Regina whirls around in her chair. "That's really funny." 

"Oh, I didn't mean that in a bad way, I-"

"No, put that in," Gretchen insists, handing over the book. Regina passes her a Sharpie, so Cady hesitantly scrawls the comment with an arrow pointing to Damian. "Oh, and put in that stuff about Ms. Norbury, too! I'll get her picture. The Book is great for venting."

"Karen, we should rinse you out now," Regina says. Karen scrambles to her feet with a nod and runs to the bathroom while Gretchen cuts Ms. Norbury's photo out of the yearbook. 

The moment is over, but Cady stares at the drying ink in the book. She tries not to think too hard about what she's done as she closes it and rests it on the velvet seat at the foot of Regina's bed. 

—-

Before Cady totally knows what's happened, her hair is rinsed and brushed and braided up and her face mask is cleaned off and she's being patted dry with cushy towels. 

"How do you want your makeup?" Regina asks as she dabs some preparatory skincare onto Cady's face.

Cady thinks for a second. Aaron dated Regina at some point. Some point recently. Maybe Regina is the kind of girl he likes. She can't be with him directly, but nothing says she can't try. "I dunno, like yours?" 

"Gotcha," Regina says. Cady braces for another whirlwind as Regina taps varying products over her cheeks and swipes blush on with itchy brushes and puts on more layers of eyeshadow than Cady thinks an average girl would apply in her lifetime. 

Within an hour, she's done, and her spot is vacated to make room for Karen. Gretchen gasps when she gets a good look at her in full glamorous makeup for the first time. "Oh, Cady, you look so pretty!"

"Thanks," Cady smiles. "Is it supposed to itch this much?" 

"Yeah, just don't scratch," Gretchen chuckles. "Look." 

She grabs a handheld mirror from Regina's vanity and holds it out so Cady can check herself out without being in anyone's way. Cady takes it and turns her head from side to side to see herself. 

It's almost reminiscent of her cheerleading makeup, with less blue and other bright colors. Her eyeshadow is gold to match the sequins on her dress. It's packed on so thick Cady can't really open her eyes all the way, which apparently makes her look sexier. Somehow. 

Again, her freckles are totally covered, packed away beneath a thick layer of foundation. Light bronzer makes her look less dead, and blush gives her cheeks an admittedly adorable rosiness. The lipstick is natural looking, which Cady is thankful for. Her lips but better, as Regina explained. 

Her look is very similar to all three of her friends', which Cady supposes really solidifies their whole group motif situation. They look nice, even if they all do look like clones of each other. 

Regina is more okay with her mother taking pictures of them this time. Cady thinks she understands the point of dances now that she's all decked out in her fancy makeup and pretty dress. 

"Look at those fly bitches!" Mrs. George coos as she snaps an unfathomable amount of pictures in just a few seconds. "Oh, you girls look so beautiful!" 

"Thanks, Mrs. George," Gretchen, Karen and Cady all say. Regina just smiles the slightest bit wider in response. 

"Just one more!" Mrs. George says. "Okay, I'll let you go. Cady, honey, do your parents have Facebook? Instagram? Marco Polo?" 

"Uh... I don't think so. But I can give you their phone numbers," Cady replies. 

"That'll work," Mrs. George nods eagerly. She hands over her sequined-cased phone that's almost too big for Cady to hold and lets her enter her parents' numbers. "I'll get those sent off. You girls have fun! And remember to use protection!"

"Mom!" Regina groans. "Bye!"

"Bye!"

"We got a limo?" Cady asks in awe as Regina pulls open the door to the fancy vehicle. 

"You picked the right lunch table, Cady," Regina smirks. 

————-

"Whoa," Cady says when they step into the school. The theme for homecoming this year is loosely based on a casino. One of the PTA parents is working a 'bar' and serving up alcohol free cocktails, with others working blackjack tables and other 'gambling' events. 

"Good evening, ladies, would you care for some gambling money?" Principal Duvall greets, offering little goody bags of Monopoly money and poker chips so they can participate in the events. 

"No, thanks," Regina hums haughtily before any of the others can speak up. They walk further in, making their way to the gym where the main dance is set up. "I'll never understand why they come up with those bullshit themes. People are here to dance and find people to hook up with, not for a cheap impersonation of Vegas." 

"Yeah," Gretchen scoffs. She listens for a second before she squeals, "Oh my god, it's our song!" 

Someone grabs Cady's hand and hauls her towards the dance floor, so Cady runs along so she doesn't roll an ankle on these absurdly high heels.

She's surprised to see Regina dancing too. Regina said she only dances to slow songs so she doesn't sweat. Maybe one song is okay for her. 

Cady doesn't know how she should dance. She danced to the music the people in the villages played in Kenya, or whatever her parents managed to get their hands on in terms of CD's. But the only people around for hundreds of miles back then were her parents and a few isolated villagers, and they're much less judgmental than American high schoolers. 

She tries her best to follow along with her friends' movements. Before she knows it, the song is done. She's slightly out of breath, but she's having fun. 

"Alright, I'm gonna go sit down," Regina says. "Later, bitches." 

"I'm gonna go too, but I'll find you guys in a minute, okay?" Cady asks. 

"Yeah, of course!" Karen says. "Have fun."

"You too! You guys deserve it," Cady says. "I'll be back."

Cady goes to lean against the nearby wall and people watch. For the budget they have, the school is remarkably well decorated. Lots of red streamers and gold confetti scattered around. Cady takes a moment to breathe and try to get used to the thumping bass and blaring music playing through the loudspeakers. The lights are both too dark and too bright at the same time, and Cady's already totally overwhelmed by it all. And her feet already hurt in her shoes.

She screams the slightest bit when someone slides up next to her with a, "Hey."

"Aah! Oh, Aaron! Hi!" she says. "You look so nice!" Hold me 'til the pain goes away, pleasepleaseplease. 

"You do too. This dress looks amazing on you," Aaron replies, looking Cady up and down with a small smile. 

"Thank you," Cady replies. "How are your friends?"

"I dunno, they all abandoned me as soon as we got here," Aaron says, leaning against the wall next to her with a small but adorable pout. 

"That's rude," Cady frowns. "They shouldn't just ditch you like that."

"Nah, they're fine. I get to do my own thing this way," Aaron shrugs. "Like come talk to you." 

"Then I'm glad they ditched you," Cady grins, turning her head to look at him. "God, these shoes are the worst!" 

"They look painful," Aaron acknowledges with a grimace. "I thought you looked taller."

"Four inches taller," Cady grumbles, rubbing the ball of her sore foot. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I never understood why girls wear those," Aaron says with a shake of his head. "Probably best to keep them on, though, god knows what's gonna be on this floor tonight."

"Ew," Cady whimpers. "Thanks for the tip, though."

"Anytime," Aaron chuckles. "Hey, uh... do you wanna dance?" he asks, offering her a hand. Cady grins and smooths down the skirt of her dress before she takes it.

"I would love to." 

Aaron leads her out to the dance floor. Cady wishes she'd had the foresight to request a slow song, but she'll take the upbeat poppy one playing if it means she gets to dance with the boy of her dreams. 

Dancing is a bit of a loose descriptor. They're actually just jumping up and down to the beat of the song, or as close to it as they can be fussed to get. Their hands are still linked, and Cady boldly shifts to twine their fingers together. Aaron pulls her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles, making Cady blush furiously beneath her wide smile. 

They both deflate a bit when the song ends, pausing their dancing and looking at each other. 

"Can I tell you something?" Cady murmurs. 

"Yeah, of course. Anything," Aaron replies gently. "What is it?" 

"I really-"

"What?!" Aaron yells as another song picks up. Cady sighs. Maybe now isn't the right time. 

"Never mind," she says. "I'm gonna go get a drink, do you want anything?"

"Nah, thanks. I'll be here!" Aaron says, starting to dance like a madman once again. Cady giggles at his antics and heads over to the drinks table. 

"I wouldn't drink that," a voice says as she pours herself a cup of punch. Cady whirls around in shock, and smiles when she sees Janis. "Already been spiked. Stick with water if you don't want a wilder night than I think you're expecting." 

"Thanks," Cady replies with a grateful smile, leaving the cup on the table for someone who wants a buzz to take. Janis nods, but when Cady looks up after pouring herself some water, she's gone. 

She finds out why when Regina is there instead. "Why were you talking to her?" 

"I wasn't, she was here when I got here," Cady says. "I think she spiked the punch with something."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Regina hums, leaning casually against the bleachers. "She's probably planning some big lesbian orgy and trying to get everyone drunk."

"Probably," Cady agrees. It never gets easier, talking about one of the only decent people she knows like that.

"So how're things going with Aaron? I saw you two talking earlier," Regina says, a glint of something in her eye. 

"You're not mad?" Cady asks sheepishly. "I know you... I mean, uh... that he just broke up with you. That must've been hard." 

"Oh my god, of course I'm not mad," Regina says, seeming aghast at the mere suggestion. "I'm, like, totally over him. If you want... I could talk to him for you." 

"You'd do that?" Cady asks. 

"Of course! We're friends, aren't we?" 

"Thank you so much, Regina," Cady says, sagging in relief. "Just don't say anything totally embarrassing, please?"

"I gotcha. I'll go right now," Regina hums, pushing off the wall and strutting in Aaron's direction. Cady hastily pours herself another cup of water and chugs it all in one go. 

She tries not to make it too obvious that she's watching them, not wanting to seem like a total creeper. She does give a small, shy wave when both Aaron and Regina look in her direction, but beyond that she doesn't risk anything beyond an occasional glance. 

Cady is confused when they seem to be getting closer together every time she looks their way. 

Her worst fears are realized when she looks up and sees they're no longer there. She looks around the gym, trying to see where they've gone, and finds them on the dance floor. Regina is practically wrapped around Aaron, her arms linked behind his neck and his hands dangerously low on her hips. Regina meets Cady's eyes, a mocking, knowing look in her own before she pulls Aaron down for a kiss. 

Cady blinks back tears that threaten to spill and turns around, dropping her cup behind her. The water splashes onto her shoes, but she doesn't care. All she can think about is getting out. 

She runs out of the gym and out of the building, ending up on a small staircase that's meant to be a fire escape. She leans against the railing and breaks down. 

She should've known. Regina would have never volunteered to do something like that for her without expecting something in return. Without a catch. And what a catch she's gotten. 

Of course Aaron would pick Regina over her. Of course he'd pick the girl he's been with before, the one with experience, the one he knows. The pretty one, the hot one, the tall one, the... everything one. 

Cady is nothing. 

She's not sure how long she's out there, feeling the brisk wind against her bare arms and listening to the birds who have been brave enough to stick around this late into autumn. The one benefit of it being so chilly is that the sky is clearer. 

Cady looks up at it, looking at the billions of stars surrounding her. They're not as comforting, anymore. Now they just make her feel small. Even more insignificant than she already felt. 

It's not like it really matters. She can barely see them through her tears, anyway. 

She about startles out of her skin when the door opens again behind her, whirling around in shock. 

Of course it's Janis. 

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," she says gently. She heads up next to her, leaning on her elbows against the railing and looking up at the sky with Cady. "Nice night."

"Yeah," Cady sighs, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. 

"You okay?" Janis asks lowly. "I know we don't... know each other all that well, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just wanted to check, I guess."

"Regina... Regina took Aaron back," Cady sniffs. "She just took him back." 

Janis gasps gently, but it seems almost like that wasn't too surprising to her. "I'm sorry."

Cady doesn't know how to respond. It's not okay. Cady does care, a lot. She really likes Aaron. She is hurt. 

"It's not-not your fault," is what she settles on after a long beat. 

"Need a hug?" Janis murmurs gently. Cady nods, not even bothering to check for people who might see them before she sinks into an embrace with her... friend. She thinks she can call Janis that now. 

If she couldn't before, she definitely can after this. Janis just holds her close, gently but with the occasional squeeze. She doesn't even mention the tears and snot soaking into the shoulder of her very nice blazer. Janis seems totally unbothered by it. Content just to let Cady do what she needs to do. 

"Sorry," Cady sniffles when she pulls back. "I dunno where that came from. I'll get that dry cleaned for you."

"S'alright," Janis shrugs. "Don't worry about it. Hey, um... Damian and I were gonna ditch early and go get waffles, would you... maybe wanna come?" 

That sounds amazing, getting away from the too-loud music and lights that hurt her head. And away from her, most of all. But... 

"I can't," Cady says apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'd really like to, I just... can't... let her win. I can't let her ruin this night for me." 

"Dangerous game," Janis chuckles lowly. Something about it makes the hair on the back of Cady's neck stand up. It's... a warning. "Well, if you're staying, we should fix your makeup."

"Shit, I didn't bring any," Cady realizes. 

"Gimme two seconds," Janis says, hauling the heavy door back open and running inside. Cady waits, getting colder and more confused by the second. 

Janis returns, as promised, with Damian and a large bag of makeup in tow. Damian coos sadly when he sees Cady's tear-stained face. He gently pulls her into a hug and gives her a squeeze before he pulls her back to observe his canvas. 

"Theatre kid," Janis explains when he pulls out some makeup wipes and gets right to work. Cady lets him gently wipe off her ruined makeup and swipe on a quick replacement look. It looks similar enough to what she started with that she doesn't think anyone will be able to tell the difference. 

"Thanks," Cady says with a sniffle. Damian holds up a mirror so she can see herself. She almost likes this look better. The foundation he used is thinner, so her freckles actually show through, and her eyeshadow compliments her eye shape more than the old makeup did. "I love it." 

"Anytime. You sure you don't wanna come with us?" Damian asks. Cady nods.

"Some other time. But you guys have fun," she replies. She jumps as Damian spritzes her with some setting spray, coughing a bit as she accidentally inhales some. 

"Sorry." 

"It's okay," Cady giggles. "Thank you." 

"We gotcha," Janis says with a wink. "Knock 'em dead, Caddy." 

Cady wraps her in another hug, squeezing her so so tightly in thanks. Janis squeezes her back before she turns her around and sends her back into the gym with a pat to her shoulder. 

Cady heads right back to the drinks table and grabs yet another cup of water. She chugs it, making extra sure not to smudge the very nice lipstick Damian applied. 

Cady feels better once the ice cold water is settled in her stomach. She walks over to Gretchen and Karen, who are taking a break from the dancing to sit on the bleachers and people watch. "Hey!" 

"Hey!" they reply, beckoning her over to sit with them. 

"I saw Regina with Aaron," Gretchen says. "Are you okay?"

"Oh my god, of course!" Cady says like it's obvious. I've never been less okay in my life, Gretchen, but thanks. "She must've, like, really wanted him back if she was willing to take him like that. I'm glad they're working their stuff out. Do you guys wanna go dance?" 

"Uh... sure," Karen agrees. She seems to catch on to Cady's odd demeanor more than Gretchen does, but wisely doesn't bring it up. 

Gretchen and Karen follow her back to the dance floor. Both of them squeal when the next song comes on, some upbeat pop song both of them love but Cady doesn't recognize. She dances along anyway. 

She looks over her shoulder at Regina as she holds hands with Gretchen and Karen and dances around. Regina has a challenging look, almost a glare, in her eyes. Waiting to see Cady's response, what she'll do, what she dares to try. 

So Cady just smiles. 

To anyone else watching, it's a friend smiling at a friend. But Cady knows. Regina knows. A smile can be a threat. 

This one says you may have won the battle, but I will win the war. 

A declaration. 

May the best girl win.

————-

hope you enjoyed!!

here's the links to everyone's dresses! the colors aren't exactly what i was envisioning for most of them but the styles are so just bear that in mind :

regina: https://www.lucyinthesky.com/shop/giulia-square-neck-dress-in-pink-sequins

gretchen: https://www.lucyinthesky.com/shop/doe-power-mesh-long-sleeve-dress-in-purple

karen: https://www.elliewilde.com/ellie-wilde/fall-2020/ew22018s

cady: https://www.promgirl.com/shop/dresses/viewitem-PD2420297

have a lovely day!

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Maeve//i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Request: Could you please do something else with Maeve? Perhaps something where reader works with Maeve on an English project and she's surprised that they have so much in common. She realizes she has feelings for her somehow after that? Sorry that's sort of rubbish, have a swell day/night.

hey! what’s up everybody! i hope everyone is well, and i hope you like this!! title is from ‘the lakes’ by taylor swift! 

- English projects are never fun 

- I mean, who finds constant stress and a deadline that’s always far too close fun?

- Nobody

- That’s who

- Well apart from Mrs Jones

- Your year 9 English teacher who made every minute of her classes a living hell

- And who mysteriously went missing half way through the year after having a screaming match with a fellow English teacher

- When she was supposed to be teaching you Romeo & Juliet. 

- One day she was accusing Miss Newman of being a terrible teacher and purposefully bumping up students grades so she looked better 

- And the next day both her and Miss Newman were gone 

- And you only got a replacement teacher when you moved into year 10

- Right now though 

- Its seems Miss Sands is going through some stuff 

- Because not only did she give you an assignment on Friday with a deadline of Monday 

- She also chose your partners instead of letting you choose your own

- Which is why you’re stood outside of Maeve’s in the pouring rain

- On a frankly miserable Saturday morning 

- It seems the weather knew exactly what sort of weekend you were facing 

- And decided to make it even worse. 

- By the third knock 

- You’re about to give up 

- The curtains are still drawn 

- And you’ve seen more movement in a graveyard 

- Plus

- You kind of already assumed you would be doing the project alone 

- Maeve Wiley was known for being very...

- ...independant 

- And group projects are no different 

- You actually think she may be more independent during group projects

- So as soon as Miss Sands paired you together 

- You knew 

- You were 99% sure that 

- You’d do your thing

- She’d do hers 

- And then five minutes before the presentation 

- You would figure out a way to connect the two.

- Anywayyyy

- While daydreaming about a time when you won’t have any assignments 

- And making awkward, accidental eye contact with Maeve’s neighbours 

- The door in front of you opens 

- Simultaneously giving you a fright and almost knocking you out

- She yawns and scratches the top of her head 

- ‘what are you doing here?’ 

- She sounds both tired and annoyed and you blink at her a few times before answering 

- ‘er - i - the project. for english.’ 

- It takes her a few seconds to process what you’ve said 

- But when she does 

- She looks even more miserable than she did five seconds ago

- And you brace yourself for a long weekend 

- She sighs and rolls her eyes 

- Before slowly opening the door properly and letting you in

- You feel slightly nervous as you walk in 

- But you really have no idea why

- It’s not like she’s a complete stranger 

- But then again 

- She��s not exactly a friend 

- ‘don’t worry, i’ve hidden the drugs. i don’t really like to share anyway.’ 

- ‘what?’ you ask confused and she rolls her eyes again 

- She huffs and crosses her arms before nodding to the slightly messy living room

- ‘i get it. we’re a bunch of benefit fraud chavs that do nothing but drink and smoke all day.’ 

- ‘that’s not what i was thinkin-’ 

- ‘sure it wasn’t.’ she rolls her eyes and you stare down at the floor. ‘i need to get changed so make yourself at home I suppose.’ 

- She walks into what you assume is her bedroom and slams the door behind her 

- Leaving you to stand awkwardly in the middle of the living room

- It’s small and slightly cramped 

- And most people would say that all the stuff makes it look busy 

- But to you 

- It’s wonderful 

- It’s filled with stories and memories 

- Some self explanatory 

- Some slightly more bizarre 

- Like the wonky blue and yellow clay swan living on the coffee table 

- You really want to know the story behind it 

- But decide it might be a little early in your partnership to start asking about her attachment to a half swan, half moth looking ornament

- So instead you pick up a pile of books on the dining table and move them onto the floor 

- You can hear Maeve opening and closing drawers while humming a familiar tune 

- And you feel yourself relax slightly as you place your laptop and books where the books were previously sat 

- Even if it does feel like you’re using all of your braincells to try and figure out where you’ve heard it before 

- ‘wow, do you actually trust me around that?’ 

- ‘what?’ you stop humming and look up at her 

- She looks between you and the laptop, staring at you expectantly 

- ‘oh no. i mean of course i do.’ you blush and she shakes her head before sitting opposite you 

- ‘so what do we know about women in fiction?’ 

- ‘historically they are written as either a femme fatalle type or some sort of innocent angelic being.’ 

- ‘they still are’ 

- ‘true’ you agree and flick through your textbook

- ‘why don’t we write about that then?’ 

- ‘what? how we’re still depressingly far back in the equality movement, despite being told otherwise?’ 

- She stares at you for a few seconds 

- A mixture of shock and surprise 

- Before nodding 

- And smiling 

- An actual genuine smile 

- You didn’t even know she could do that 

- Well you did 

- Of course you did 

- But you just haven’t seen it a lot 

- Usually when you see Maeve 

- She’s either mad, grumpy or very, very, very angry

- But her smiling 

- Puts a smile on your face 

- And this was definitely not where you thought this was going 

- ‘yeah...that’ 

- ‘okay.’ you shrug. ‘you can do classic literature because i know you prefer them and i’ll cover modern works.’

- ‘how do you know i prefer classics?’ 

- ‘the pile of books’ you nod towards the floor and she follows your gaze, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. ‘they’re all ripped and folded. you either love them or really, really hate them’ 

- ‘okay’ she eyes you suspiciously as you focus on your laptop 

- And you can feel your cheeks heat up under her gaze 

- However as quickly as they were there 

- They disappear 

- And the two of you fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence. 

- After about half an hour 

- Maeve stops what she’s doing to stretch 

- ‘is it okay if i play some music?’ 

- ‘sure, it’s your place. do what you want...as long as its not awful’ 

- ‘and what constitutes as awful?’ she asks, a smirk playing on her lips

- ‘well’ 

- And with that one question 

- Your entire day disappears in front of you 

- Laptops and books are closed and long forgotten 

- And instead you talk about music and movies 

- Books and plays 

- Characters that you love and hate 

- And the fact that her favourite character is the one you hate the most 

- She makes you lunch while you debate between movies and books and which adaptations are good

- And which ones should never have been made

- And you clean up and apologise profusely after a stray cushion (possibly thrown by you) ends up knocking the pan over 

- Surprisingly 

- She finds it quite funny 

- And you let out a relieved sigh

- Soon the sun goes down on another day 

- And you’ve barely written two paragraphs done between you

- ‘do you want to stay?’ she asks while your putting your jacket on

- If she’d asked you that this morning 

- You would have thought she had lost it 

- But now it feels almost inevitable 

- And you feel genuinely lucky to be asked 

- Not many people get to know Maeve 

- The real her 

- And that last person she told all of this to broke her heart 

- Very publicly 

- And she told herself she would never let herself be that vulnerable with someone ever again

- But this just feels right 

- For some reason you feel right 

- She feels safe with you 

- And part of her hates herself for it 

- But then again 

- She hates herself for not getting to know you sooner

- She feels far too attached to you 

- And it’s barely been twelve hours 

- You of course agree to stay 

- Shocking yourself and her 

- And while she sorts to sofa out 

- You excuse yourself to the bathroom 

- Under the pretences of telling your parents where you are 

- It takes two seconds to text them 

- And the other 28 to ask yourself 

- What the fuck are you doing? 

- Why are you agreeing to this? 

- Why do you feel like this? 

- What are you feeling?

- Who knows?

- Not you 

- Great 

- Now you’ve been in the bathroom for a suspicious amount of time 

- Just get it together, Y/n

- It’s just a study sleepover 

- Maeve gives you a questioning look as you leave 

- ‘you know how mums are. always worrying about where you are and what you’re doing’ 

- ‘i wouldn’t actually’ she shrugs and your eyes widen 

- ‘oh shit, sorry. i’m so sorry. god, i’m an idiot.’

- ‘it’s fine’ she forces a laugh and you wince. ‘i got you an extra duvet and little women is ready to watch so i can show you that the book is better’ 

- ‘that’s not what i said and you know it’ 

- ‘i’m sorry. i can’t hear you over the sound of me being 100% right and you being 100% wrong.’ 

- ‘you may be good at english, but you suck at maths’ 

- The next day you wake up to the sun shining through the curtains 

- And a clump of Maeve’s hair in your mouth 

- You splutter and cough and wake her up quickly 

- And she jumps away from you and smacks her head of the table 

- The two of you ended up moving the blankets to the floor while watching Pride and Prejudice 

- And neither of you bothered to move back 

- Maeve yawns and scratches her head

- Exposing a small part of her stomach and you feel yourself become a little breathless 

- ‘are you okay?’ 

- ‘ye-yeah’ you nod and she eyes you suspiciously 

- ‘whatever’ she shrugs and starts making breakfast 

- You watch as she pours to bowls of cereal

- Giving you the last of the milk 

- And for a second you’re a little worried as to how she knew you liked it 

- But then you remember that she also likes it and you had a whole discussion about the best and worst types of cereal at 2am 

- And half way through breakfast 

- You remember the original reason you’re here 

- And both of you curse loudly 

- Before rushing to finish eating 

-You get half way through your project 

- When Maeve asks if you want to go out for a bit 

- And well 

- She doesn’t need to ask you twice 

- And by the time you come back 

- The feeling you had last night returns 

- And has settled in your stomach 

- For the foreseeable future it seems 

- It makes you feel both light and heavy at the same time 

- And when you look at her 

- You feel dizzy 

- So you rush to finish the project 

- So you can go home and pretend nothing has changed 

- And yeah 

- With the need to leave 

- You get the rest of the assignment done fairly quickly 

- But you end up leaving feeling more confused about Maeve as you did when you started this 

- Maybe Miss Sands was right about a weekend project 

- Any longer and you would have gone insane trying to figure out whatever the hell this is 

- You just have to get through tomorrow and then you’ll be okay 

- Everything will go back to normal 

- You and Maeve can go back to being neutral to each other

- And you won’t have to deal with all of these confusing feelings that have decided to make an appearance for some reason 

- Wellll

- Turns out Miss Sands was wrong 

- A weekend is not enough time 

- And the first few presentations are awful 

- To put it nicely 

- So you spend the next week in a permanent confused state 

- Confused as to why you start looking for Maeve whenever you enter a room

- Confused as to why your heart skips a beat whenever you hear her laugh 

- Confused as to why you never want her stop talking in class 

- Even if the bell has rung and it’s lunch 

- Confused to why you keep looking for excuses to go over to see her 

- Despite your assignment being long done 

- And even more confused as to why you feel anxious when you’re waiting for her to answer the door

- The next Monday rolls around both painfully slowly and far too quickly 

- And while you wait for Ola and Danny to finish their presentation 

- Your hands shake with anxiety while your grip your papers 

- Maeve reaches over the table and gives them a reassuring squeeze 

- But it just makes them shake more and she slowly pulls back 

- Your turn can’t come quick enough 

- But then it’s over far too quickly 

- And you slump back down in your seat disappointed 

- Despite Miss Sands’ praise 

- Because it’s over 

- You no longer have an excuse to hang out with her 

- You never talked before 

- So why do you care about after 

- But there’s so much about her that you want to know

- Like the weird swan/moth hybrid 

- And the ugly plate that sits on top of the bookshelf 

- You want to be part of these stories 

- You want to be able to point to these things and say

- ‘yeah, i know exactly why that is special to you’ 

- You want to be the reason to add to this random collection of stuff 

- You want her to smile when she looks at them because they’ll remind her of you 

- You want her to smile when she looks at you 

- ‘y/n? are you okay?’ she asks making you jump 

- The classroom is now empty and you didn’t even notice the bell go 

- ‘ye-yeah’ you nod and grab your bag

- ‘are you sure?’ she grabs your arm forcing you turn around 

- ‘whats the weird swan thing on your coffee table?’ you ask and she furrows her eyebrows at you. ‘it’s just i saw it when i first came over and i really want to know the story behind it’ 

- ‘oh. aimee went through a pottery phase last year and that was the only thing she made that didn’t have a hole in it.’

- ‘and the plate?’ 

- ‘birthday present from my neighbours’ 

- ‘they got you a plate?’ 

- ‘yeah, they don’t have any kids’ 

- ‘clearly’ 

- Silence fills the room and you stare at the peeling posters behind her head 

- You can feel Maeve move closer to you and your breath hitches when she stops a few centimetres in front of you 

- She grabs your hand and squeezes it again 

- And your heartbeat increases 

- ‘y/n?’ 

- ‘yeah?’ 

- ‘i’m really, really confused right now. like more confused that i have ever been in my life. but what i do know, is that if i watch you walk out of that door without saying anything first, then i’d regret it for the rest of my life. i’ve only ever felt like this about boys before, but now i feel this and more about you and i have no idea where it’s come from or what i need to do, but i do know i need to tell you. because otherwise, it wouldn’t be fair for either of us’ she whispers and you stare at her wide eyed 

- ‘can i kiss you?’ she asks and you nod your head quickly 

- Slowly she leans in

- Her eye flutter closed and you follow 

- Your lips brush over hers 

- Her hands wrap around you waist to pull you close

- And then your lips connect 

- And you feel everything change 

- She kisses you slowly 

- And when you pull away you both feel breathless 

- Her cheeks are bright red 

- And there’s a shy smile playing on her lips as she looks at you bashfully

- And all of a sudden you feel really grateful for Miss Sands and her personal issues 

- Although you really hope they are resolved now 

- For your sake as well as hers

support my writing! if you want! 

[rwprincess]

Midnight Sun'd Prologue (Brian Johnson x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Word Count: 10.5K (She like...20 pages long. Sorry).

Synopsis: My movie/Canon Prologue, but from Brian’s POV. That’s right, I’m Midnight Sun-ing this b*tch.

CW: Underage marijuana smoking, suicidal ideation, self-deprecating thoughts/self-doubt, low self-esteem, swearing, child abuse, parents being terrible, sexuality (since this is based on the movie, nothing is really outside the scope of the movie in terms of content).

Saturday, March 24th, 1984

Shermer High School, Shermer Illinois

Brian knew why he was here. In fact, he thanked his lucky stars that Saturday school, or detention, rather, had been his punishment. If this hadn’t been an extremely out-of-character first offense for him, he surely would have been suspended, or even expelled. His family had made their disappointment clear, especially when his mother told him to find a way to study and make amends today, even if he was asked to just sit in a room with strangers and reflect on what he did. When he arrived in the library, he was surprised to see Claire Standish already sitting there. She, of course, did not look up or make eye contact with him, but he chose to sit at the table behind her nonetheless. Before he could gather the courage to ask her what a popular, polished girl like herself could possibly be doing here, another two figures approached the doorway. Andrew Clark’s large, stocky frame loomed there for a moment before excitedly spying Claire. Again, no attempt was made to include Brian; he was practically invisible at this school, which was a big part of his underlying problems and self esteem here at Shermer High. It wasn’t so much that Brian wanted or needed popular people like Claire or Andrew to notice him. He didn’t really look up to them or desire their attention. It was just that, sometimes, it felt like everyone looked through him, as though he wasn’t even there. Adults acknowledged him, sure. He was polite and an overachiever, the perfect student. But his peers didn’t take much stock in him. He had a few loyal, true friends, but rarely did anyone outside of his particular interest groups reach out to him.

As Brian settled into a seat behind Claire, he took note of the second figure who had entered, the one who came in shortly after Andrew. It was her. Brian had to restrain himself from gawking when she entered the library, as she was one of the absolute last people he could ever picture earning a detention. Brian knew her from his English class last year; he had been stunned by her beauty the moment she entered the room that first day of high school and felt the same nervous, heart-pounding sensation he felt now, seeing her enter the library. He lamentably had zero classes with her this year, but he would see her in the hallways sometimes and that old familiar feeling would come rushing back to him, reminding him of the crush he had on her all last year. Back then, he had sat behind her, across the room and would catch himself staring at her or admiring her answers and volunteered opinions. His strong suit was in the more concrete subjects: science, math, that sort of thing. So the insightful analyses she would give always impressed him, and through them he got the sense that she was smart but also kind. This was precisely why he was shocked to see her here now, having earned the same consequence he had for bringing a weapon into school. But he couldn’t imagine her doing anything like that, anything to warrant this. He not-so-discreetly watched her as she hurried across the room and took a seat in the front row opposite to him. She, like Claire and Andrew, had not made eye contact or acknowledged him. Her seeing right through him hurt more, though.

Brian had sat down, but had not quite unpacked as he was still reeling from the revelation of Y/N being in the same detention as him, and that meant he would be in the same room as her for nine hours. He hadn’t even noticed John Bender stalk into the library, surveying the landscape that he was clearly king of. That is, until Bender stopped in front of him and snapped his fingers to get his attention and indicated for him to move out of his seat. Even if Brian weren’t the type to try to accommodate someone, a people pleaser, he would have followed John Bender’s instructions. Everyone in school knew of his reputation, and while some things were probably a lie (like throwing flaming toilet paper over Mrs. Applebaum’s house), some were definitely true, including his penchant for getting into fights. Brian had never had to fight someone before and he was pretty sure he lacked the capability to do so. Simply put: he would get his ass kicked. So he got up immediately and moved to the next seat over...right behind Y/N. He noticed that she stiffened, sat up straighter, as he slid into the seat behind her. So she had noticed his existence. But from her body language, he assumed that she didn’t particularly enjoy his presence. ‘Great. Perfect way to start this whole shitty day,’ he thought. At one point, Brian would have fancied himself an optimist, but lately that attitude was all but gone...not that his current situation helped much.

He also noticed the girl with black clothes, heavy makeup, and messy hair quickly walk along the outside of the tables and sit behind him, facing away from not only himself, but the entire group. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, ‘Should be an interesting time,’ he thought while taking stock of her, Bender, the populars, and...Y/N. It still puzzled him that she could be here. Bender made total sense. Everyone knew that he practically lived here in detention. Based on how she looked and seemed to make herself comfortable, Brian guessed that the girl behind him also was a regular here. While he didn’t exactly expect Claire or Andy to be here, he wasn’t hugely shocked by it. Claire probably skipped school or was rude to a teacher or something and Andrew was an asshole anyway. He fit into the jock stereotype pretty well, all brawn and no brains, picking on those that he saw as weaker than him. Maybe that’s why he was here.

Vice Principal Vernon walked haughtily in, looking down on each and every one of them; a lord surveying his fiefdom. Brian’s posture stiffened as he both tried to show respect and unconsciously showed his fear of the man. The last conversation with him had also involved his parents and that was abhorrent, a total disaster. The recollection of the event made him nauseous. Right after he spoke, Claire raised her hand, “Excuse me sir, I think there’s been a mistake. I know it’s detention, but, um...I don’t think I belong in here.” Internally, Brian rolled his eyes. He didn’t really know Claire (he suspected that no one really truly did), but he had always been under the impression that she was full of herself. All of the popular clique seemed to be that way, just full of arrogance. And here she was announcing how she was better than all of them in front of them. Vernon completely ignored her statement and told them it was 7:06, on the dot. Brian quickly looked down at his watch and aligned it to Vernon’s time. He was very particular about organization and precision.

As Vernon started his speech about rules, Brian tried to shift slightly over, get comfortable. But Vernon looked right into him and Brian could swear he saw into the depths of his soul as he said, “You will not move from these seats,” and pointed right at him. He froze like a deer in the headlights and quickly moved back. Brian had almost always blindly followed authority and now was definitely not the time to change that. Vernon continued and Brian only half-listened, looking around to gauge how the rest of the group was reacting, until he heard him say, “Good. So, maybe you’ll decide whether or not you care to return-” He saw this as the perfect time to redeem himself and started to stand up, raising his hand.

“Um, you know, I can answer that right now, sir. And that would be a no for me-”

“Sit down, Johnson.”

“Thank you, sir.” Brian sat back down, gulping. His embarrassment was only made worse noticing that Y/N had turned around to look at him when he started speaking. He wasn’t so invisible now, just his luck.

*~~~~*

There was little to no surprise that Bender antagonized the group. His main targets seemed to be Claire and Andrew, but he was making snide or crude remarks to everyone, and this made Brian very uneasy. He hated conflict and confrontation, which was probably why he had brought a flare gun to school rather than talk to his Shop teacher about replacing his failing grade or talk to his parents about how much he was truly struggling. He tried to take his mom’s advice about just doing work. He tried to convince the others to just write their assigned essays and not end up in a fight, but it didn’t work. He reasoned that he could at least do the right thing, but he couldn’t help but keep getting drawn into their conversations. It was almost like watching a trashy soap opera...or a staged wrestling match. “Go to hell!” Claire screamed at Bender, and Brian looked nervously to the door. Vernon surely heard that and would come storming back in, right?

But he didn’t, so Andy continued their conversation and got in a new dig at Bender, “You know, Bender, you don’t even count. If you disappeared forever it wouldn’t make any difference. You may as well not even exist anymore.” Brian gulped, thinking about his recent and frequent thoughts about how he himself ‘may as well not even exist anymore.’ He was doing...okay since the day he had had a semi-plan to take his own life, but the feelings didn’t just stop. He was still failing Shop, of all classes. He was still a disappointment and burden to his parents. He was still invisible at school, to Y/N. None of that went away when Mr. Ryan found the gun in his locker. Bender turned Andrew’s comment around and said he’d go out and join some clubs.

Now, Brian saw his opportunity to be less invisible, maybe. “I’m in a math club!” He blurted out. No dice. Bender and Claire just continued bickering, ignoring him completely. But he couldn’t help it when he stated “I’m in the Physics Club, too,” in their direction just hoping, praying that someone would acknowledge him. He hadn’t counted on that person being Y/N, though. She’d turned slightly towards him and his blue eyes flickered to hers and he froze. Having been lost in the argument between the others, he had almost forgotten that she was there. She gave him a gentle smile and a nod that made him gulp. He’d suddenly failed to remember how to breathe, how to function and his mind was only filled with a channel of ‘Oh shit. She’s looking at me.’

But then she added, “I’m in the Drama Club.” Of course, he knew that, but it was still nice for her, of all people, to be making conversation with him. He was immediately forced to snap out of it, though, when Bender addressed him.

“Excuse me a sec. What are you babbling about?” While Brian hated the look John gave him (it was much too similar to his parents’ frustrated looks when he was clearly ‘bothering’ them with something), Brian felt compelled to answer. He had wanted to be noticed, to be involved in the conversation, right?

“Well, what I’d said was, I’m in the Math Club, the Latin Club, uh, and the Physics Clu-Physics Club,” he stumbled through his words nervously. He felt regret instantly as Bender turned it around as a slight on Claire, and also managed to insult him by calling him a dork in the process. Still, he yearned for his attention and approval, so he eagerly answered John’s follow up questions. He just wanted to get along with everyone and have them accept him, and even though John was just using his input as ammunition against Claire, he liked that he was at least being included.

*~~~~*

It was a long, dragging morning. It was only around 10AM and topics of conversation seemed to already run out. Everyone was now more or less keeping to themselves. At first, Brian thought about writing his essay, as he said he planned to, but why bother? There were still many hours to fill, and how was he possibly supposed to answer the prompt of Who Am I? He truly did not know. He’d actually been pondering that a lot lately. All of his life he was praised for his smarts, but the ‘real world’ was showing him that that didn’t mean jack shit. Sure, he could understand difficult concepts and dissect complex equations, but that meant nothing if he couldn’t apply it. He thought he was taking the easy way out with Shop. It was meant to be a class he didn’t have to worry about; a stress-free A to keep his GPA up while juggling various clubs and volunteer opportunities to put on his college applications next year. But it ended up being a total nightmare. He was absolutely terrible at it, and he had never failed at anything before. Now the burn-outs and underachievers had the upper hand and were able to make their projects work and look good and he had...nothing. He failed so miserably that it tanked his self-esteem and now he was stuck in an identity crisis. It was much too early on a Saturday to confront those demons, so instead he chose to sit and daydream. And subconsciously, as with many teenage boys, his attention fell to girls. As much as he thought Claire was self-centered and spoiled, he had to admit that she was attractive. She carefully curated herself to be so. She had perfect, beautiful red hair that was never out of place, flawless makeup, perfectly fitting chic clothes...and she was staring into space licking and biting her lip, which had him completely flustered. Y/N only added to it by adjusting and stretching in her seat. Her beauty was more effortless than Claire’s, or at least seemed less...intentional. She did not have the designer clothes and her hair was more natural than trendy but alluring in her own right, and the way she was pushing her chest out was not helping. He could feel the shift and tightness in his khakis and tried to nonchalantly clear his throat, but now Y/N was turned three-quarters around and could clearly see him, so he tried to sneak his hat into his lap and acted like nothing was going on by setting his head on the desk. ‘Oh shit. Oh fuck.’ were the chorus of his thoughts as he could see her quickly turn back around and face forward. ‘I’m sure she thinks I’m a creep now. Great going, Johnson,’ he chastised himself.

Vernon was almost a welcome sight when he strode into the library at 10:20 to allow them to use the “lavatory.” Brian almost let out a sigh of relief. Almost. When they returned to the library and it was clear that Vernon wouldn’t return for a while, Bender started ripping up a book and when he threw it at Brian, the latter took that as his cue to walk away. He spotted Y/N looking through the catalogue of books and approached her. “Hey.” He nodded in her direction, trying to play it cool and seem neutral. ‘Smooth. Great opening,’ he thought. But to his surprise, she actually said ‘Hi’ back and smiled. He had no idea what to talk about and didn’t really think this through, but the black-clad girl let out a startling, “HA!” that made them both jump.

Brain looked back to the others and heard Andrew sarcastically say, “Oh, you’re breaking my heart,” to Claire.

“Sporto?” Bender asked, “Do you get along with your parents?” Brian started to look between the two of them nervously.

“Well, if I say yes I’m an idiot right?” Andrew responded. Bender leapt over the ramp’s banister and started at the other boy.

“You’re an idiot anyway. But if you say you get along with your parents, then you’re a liar too.” Not only did Brian not like being involved in confrontation, he also hated being witness to it. As Andrew followed Bender, he felt compelled to go break it up, put a stop to this.

“You want me to turn it up?” Bender asked, flipping off Andrew as Brian stepped between them, placing a hand on one of each of their shoulders. They smacked his hands away, almost in sync and he withdrew, but he knew words could be just as powerful as actions.

“I, I don’t like my parents either. I don’t know. Their idea of parental compassion is just...whacko.” Brian confessed.

“Dork? You are a parent’s wet dream, okay?” Bender replied, clapping him on his shoulder. It was a friendly enough gesture, but it actually dealt a devastating blow. Brian knew he was a disappointment to his parents. He was being open and honest with the group and was shut down immediately anyway. “...face it, you're a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. What would you be out doing if you weren’t making yourself a better citizen?” Another hit. This one made Brian sink against one of the tables. He hung his head and didn’t even notice Y/N approach him until she softly placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” She offered, gazing into his eyes. He was terrified that she would be able to read him and to see the truth, to see the sad and scared kid he truly was inside. Instead, he stiffened up and sat rigidly, clearing his throat of emotion.

“Yeah, thanks.” He also tried his best to ignore that she was touching him. If he weren’t in detention being told he was the epitome of geek by John Bender, he’d have sworn this were a dream. Bender now moved his disdain to Claire, asking if she were a virgin. Y/N shifted uncomfortably away from Brian and crossed her arms over her chest, but still stood next to him, watching the same drama unfold. Bender and Andrew soon stood in front of them, fully in a heated argument and Bender took a swing. Brian didn’t think twice and reflexively shot his arm up to shield Y/N. Sure, his crush on her might be stupid or silly, but he was not about to let her get caught in this crossfire and get hurt. He watched as Andrew wrestled Bender to the floor and Bender said, “I don’t want to get into this with you, man...cuz I’d kill you.” Andrew let him up and they seemed to separate and cool down, so Brian finally moved his arm back down, assuming the danger towards Y/N was gone but he was on-guard still, ready to move again if he needed to. “It’s real simple. I’d kill you and then your fucking parents would sue me and it would be a big mess, and I don’t care about you enough to bother.” For some reason, this hit Brian hard and he had to look away, look down to escape. But then he heard a click and his head shot up. Bender had pulled out a switchblade. His eyes went wide and he looked cautiously at Y/N who looked just as shocked. They all relaxed a little when he stabbed it into a chair instead of Andrew’s flesh, but immediately panicked again when the door audibly unlatched and opened. They scrambled to get to their seats, Bender quickly striding to the front and sitting far away from Andy so as not to implicate himself. But that meant that he had stolen Y/N’s seat. On her original route to it, she diverted and sat quickly and silently next to Brian. He swallowed hard in response.

Instead of Vernon, Carl the janitor walked in. They collectively sighed with relief and he addressed Brian. “Brian, how ya doin’?” Brian quickly averted his eyes, both embarrassed to be seen here by Carl (he stayed late in many clubs and had built up a good rapport with the man and didn’t need him thinking less of him for being in detention) and by being seen as associated with him by his peers. Carl was a great guy, really funny and nice; accommodated every need each one of his clubs had...but Brian was still a teenager and image was everything and being thought of as ‘dweeb who is friends with the janitor’ was not how he wanted to be seen.

“Your dad work here?” Bender inquired, smirking deviously. Brian just shook his head in response and didn’t answer Carl, either. “Carl, can I ask you a question? How does one become a janitor?” Bender continued.

“You want to become a janitor?” Carl asked, knowing that Bender didn’t really want to know.

“No, I just want to know how one becomes one. Andrew here is very interested in pursuing a career in the custodial arts.” Bender glanced over at Andrew and smirked again, pleased with his implied put-down.

“Oh really? You guys think I’m some untouchable peasant, serf, peon? Maybe so. But following a broom around after shitheads like you for the last eight years, I’ve learned a couple of things.” Carl looked towards Brian and Y/N, “I look through your letters.” Brian thought he saw her stiffen and freeze, just a little bit, as if Carl were addressing her. She suddenly shifted away from Brian and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. “...I am the eyes and the ears of this institution, my friend.” Carl stopped and smiled, “By the way. That clock is twenty minutes fast.” Brian looked at it and then his watch, noting that he was right. He wasn’t sure if he should adjust his wrist piece or not; to go with the time on the wall or the time Vernon was keeping. But he couldn’t be bothered with the choice when Bender stood up and faced his table. He was afraid of what he might do or say to them, but he simply nodded towards Y/N’s seat, indicating that she could have it back.

“I’m good for now,” she said, surprising Brian. He assumed she would have moved back, a moment ago she moved away from him, but now she was looking at him out of the corner of her eye before glancing back up at John, who was raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Thanks for not dicking with my stuff though,” she said.

“Oh, shit.” Bender said “Do you think I should steal something or has the moment passed?” The tension seemed to drop and they all smiled as he went back to his seat, but he turned his attention back their way. “So, you’ve been pretty quiet, what’s your name?” Brian had a bad habit of blurting out. He liked answering questions as it was, showing his knowledge. A lot of the time, it didn’t matter if he was being asked or not. So, without thinking, he responded to Bender’s question and told him Y/N’s name. It was a reflex, but one he instantly regretted, feeling like he just shot himself in the foot. Bender gave him a look and he steeled himself for his worst, for the mockery sure to come, but instead he just looked at her and followed up with “Is that true? Is that your name?”

She didn’t acknowledge his weirdness either. She simply nodded and told John, “Yeah, (Y/N). Or, I guess you could call me (Y/N/N) if you want,” and Brian let out a quiet shaky exhale in relief. That could have been...disastrous. After a moment, while Bender was otherwise occupied, she turned to him and said, “Thank you, for earlier. I mean, blocking me when those two were getting into it.” He felt his heart race; he wasn’t sure she had even noticed that earlier, even though he wasn’t exactly subtle.

“N-no problem.” He responded, trying to restrain the smile creeping up onto his face. He wanted to play it cool, like it was no big deal, like that’s just what manly men such as himself do: put themselves in harm’s way for others.

Vernon came in to dismiss them for lunch much too early for his liking. He didn’t really have much of a chance to talk to Y/N while she was sitting next to him, and as soon as they were allowed to mill about like the caged animals they currently were, the remaining members of their detention gravitated towards Bender near the center of the library. Brian was slightly disappointed when she wandered off into the stacks as Bender looked through books and Claire continued her daydreaming. Not really sure what to do with himself, Brian folded his long legs over one of the ramp railings and sat atop it, hunched over. He looked up when Bender called out, “Hey, Peachy!” There were a few moments of silence before Y/N looked back over in their direction and Brian froze, immediately disliking Bender addressing her as such and worrying what uncouth thing he might say to her. But he just asked her what she could be in detention for, because she didn’t seem the type, which Brian wholeheartedly agreed with. He waited intently for the answer, as every interaction he had with her (or every observation, rather), she seemed so...sweet.

“Oh. Well, you know how in Biology they dissect like, frogs and shit every year?” She looked a little defeated and a blush crept up her cheeks as she continued, “I---sort of stole and freed the frogs.” Brian couldn’t help but laugh. That seemed like something you shouldn’t get detention for, anyway, but it was definitely on-par with the personality he knew her for. He felt relieved that the reason aligned with how he thought of her. She was in here for something nice, and debatably, the right thing. His heart melted a little when she told Bender that she had researched enough to let the frogs go responsibly; that she would have adopted them if they wouldn’t have made it on their own and he couldn’t help but smile in her direction. Bender, of course, moved on quickly, scanning one of the books in his stack to find new material to talk about, to bother the girls with, but Brian’s gaze was still fixated on Y/N. She was running her fingers along spines of books, seemingly in her own world. He felt like maybe it was fated that they were both here, like he was getting a second chance. He still hadn’t really conjured up the courage to talk to her yet, but they were only half-way through their day; there was still time.

“Claire? Y/N? You wanna see a picture of a guy with elephantitis of the nuts?” Bender asked, “Pretty tasty. How do you think he rides a bike? Oh Claire, would you ever consider dating a guy like this?”

“Wait,” Y/N’s eyes lit up and she looked their way again. “Elephantiasis? Like the movie The Elephant Man? Great movie! Really sad though.” Brian grinned at the way she scrunched her eyebrows together in remembering the emotion from the movie. He had seen it, too. It was really good...and touching. Maybe that could be his ice-breaker. Movies were normal things that normal teenagers talked about, right? He didn’t really notice that Bender and Claire were still conversing until it implicated him, though.

“Oh! Watch what you say. Brian here is a cherry.” Brian looked at him, startled.

“A cherry?” He asked, indignantly, cheeks flaring up with a red hue. “I am not a cherry.” He didn’t need Bender calling him out like this, embarrassing him. He didn’t need the obvious association that the nerd was a virgin. Especially in front of beautiful girls, particularly Y/N. She didn’t need to know that he was an inexperienced loser.

“When have you ever gotten laid?” Bender asked, doubtfully

“I’ve laid lots of times.”

“Name ONE.” Bender said, sarcastically, hoping to catch him in a trap.

“She lives in Canada. Met her at Niagara Falls; You wouldn’t know her.” Brian said, prepared with this answer from previous conversations about this topic. It wasn’t the first time he’d been involved in a conversation about virginity that he couldn’t be entirely honest about, nor was it the first time he had been mocked for being a virgin or doubted about the non-existent relations that he didn’t have. Even though part of his brain felt like it was glaringly obvious to the outside world and must have been stamped on his forehead that girls did not typically talk to him, nor had he even kissed a girl before, but he still lied about it anyway. He knew he didn’t precisely have an ‘image’ to protect, but he didn’t want to seem like a total lost cause or dweeby stereotype.

Bender, however, wasn’t having it. “You ever lay anyone around here?” He scoffed and Brian panicked. He had noticed that Y/N had turned back to the aisle of books and was praying she wasn’t listening, and Claire didn’t seem to be paying attention, so he tried to gesture to Bender to keep it down, to let him off the hook before either girl noticed him or this conversation. Bender immediately twisted it around and attacked him with it, though. Brian felt his heart being squeezed and felt overwhelmed, instantly, as Bender said, “Oh. You and Claire did it.”

“Oh, uh I-Let’s just drop it, okay? We’ll talk about it later,” Brian attempted to get out of it again, praying that John would have one ounce of mercy on him. However, Brian was never really very lucky.

“Well, Brian is trying to tell me that in addition to the number of girls in the Niagara Falls area, that presently you and he are riding the hobby horse.” Brian’s eyes slammed shut in embarrassment.

“You little pig,” Claire growled at him and his eyes shot back open wide. He scrambled to defend himself.

“No! I’m not! John said I was a cherry and I said I wasn’t. That’s it. That’s all I said.”

“Well then what were you motioning to Claire for?” Bender followed up, not giving Brian any wiggle room.

“You know, I don’t appreciate this very much, Brian.” Claire sounded more disappointed and hurt than anything, which made Brian feel like a slug, instantly. He didn’t mean to implicate her or to bring her down. He was just trying to hide his embarrassment from John and the girls.

“He is lying!” Brian tried one last attempt to deflect.

“Oh, you weren’t motioning to Claire?”

“You know he’s lying, right?”

“Were you, or were you not motioning to Claire?” Brian hated this. He’d been stuffed in lockers before and yearned for that over the torture Bender was inflicting now. He couldn’t save face; either he was a disgusting creep saying he had had sex with Claire when he didn’t, or he’d have to tell them the truth and feel humiliated at telling everyone he was a virgin. He grit his teeth and chose to go with the latter.

“Yeah, but it was only- it was only because I didn’t want her to know I was a virgin, okay?” They looked almost...shocked by his response, which he wasn’t expecting. He thought it would be a ‘Well, duh, you’re a virgin, Johnson! Who would want to touch you?’ But Claire and Y/N looked surprised. “Excuse me for being a virgin, I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you want me to know you were a virgin?” Claire asked honestly, like it was no big deal. If she only knew...

“Because it’s personal business. It’s my personal, private business.”

“Well, Brian, it doesn’t sound like you’re doing any business,” Bender snuck in another jab and Brian was brought down to what he knew all along, that they were just going to laugh at him.

“I think it’s okay for a guy to be a virgin.” Claire’s unexpected response gave him instant relief. She was taking his side and Bender had no more ammo. Brian perked up even more when Y/N agreed with her. It wasn’t an embarrassing secret for him now because they didn’t mind. They almost seemed to admire him for it. The thought caused his lips to twitch and he hid his smile by leaning his head against his knee.

*~~~~*

During lunch, Bender didn’t have any food, so his appetite turned to targeting the rest of the detainees again. He started in on Claire for a bit, but then came over to taunt Brian. It seemed like it could be friendly, at first, as John just examined his lunch. But as he drew out each item, his tone became more and more sarcastic. “Here’s my impression of life at Big Bri’s house.” Bender went on to mock him, painting his life like it was some episode of Leave It To Beaver where the family would all hug it out at the end. Brian’s throat became dry and he could feel eyes on both Bender and himself, trying to judge his reactions to John’s farce. He hated being such an easy target. He hadn’t done anything towards John personally, but he was still constantly in the hot seat because John could get away with it and the others would laugh and enjoy it. At least Andy fought back...even Claire did. And Bender didn’t even really bother to mess with Allison. She had an aura of ‘don’t fuck with me,’ and he didn’t even touch her as a subject, even though she was just as odd and out of place as Brian. Not to mention, he was wrong. It wasn’t all peachy-keen happy endings at Brian’s house. If it were, Brian wouldn’t be here today.

Still, it was hard not to be drawn in by John, and he watched his next dramatic retelling of his own home life in stunned horror. John’s dad called him terrible names in this act and hit him. “Is that for real?” Brian asked, brows furrowed. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe John, it was just that...well, the situation sucked and he needed to be told it wasn’t true. Like a kid hearing that a ghost story was made up and there was nothing to fear. But he knew by John’s pained expression that it was, even before he spoke.

“Wanna come over some time?” Bender asked him and he flinched away. Andrew didn’t believe him though, and questioned it so John revealed to them all his very real cigar burn scar on his arm, claiming he got it from spilling paint in the garage. The group collectively flinched and no one moved for a few moments while Bender said, “I don’t need to sit with you fuckin’ dildos anymore,” and raged through the library.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Claire admonished Andrew.

“How would I know? I mean he lies about everything anyway.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Y/N snapped at him and looked back towards Bender as though she wanted to follow him. Brian tried to will her silently not to; he didn’t really trust that Bender would control his emotions and she might get hurt. He felt relieved when she turned around, but then his heart began pounding once more as she gathered her lunch into the sack and stood up. ‘No, don’t do it, Y/N.’ He stared at her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she cautiously walked past and crept up the library stairs to where Bender was and sat next to him. Brian felt a little calmed when Bender didn’t lash out; he just rolled his eyes but stayed rooted to the spot. Meanwhile, the rest of the group at their lunch in silence.

*~~~~*

Brian felt guilty for leaving Bender behind, for allowing him to sacrifice himself for the group. Hell, they all did. Especially when Vernon started shoving him around and saying he was going to be in jail. Brian couldn’t help but wonder if he could become like John. It’s not like he was born into that life. But he had it tough at home, struggled at school, and had problems with authority (particularly when they lied). Brian could see some parallels. He, too, was unhappy at home. While his parents didn’t beat him like John’s did him, or berate him to the same degree, he couldn’t help but feel like a disappointment. And he felt like he was just slipping. Now he had broken school rules, brought a gun to school, watched as others destroyed school property, and was gaining a healthy distrust of authority by seeing how Vernon acted today. He’d even corrected him once, when counting Bender’s detentions, not that the truth seemed to matter to Vernon anyway. What if he continued down this path? What if things just kept getting worse at home? Would it really be that bad to be like Bender? Despite being a total jerkwad, he had the charisma to draw people in. He’d even had Y/N eat lunch with him! It just didn’t seem like the deal was all bad when he looked at it that way. ‘What’s next? Are you going to take up smoking?’ His brain scolded him, even though he had completely forgotten that he had drugs stashed in his pants right now...until Bender fell through the ceiling and asked for them back. He dug them uncomfortably out of his underwear and handed the bag over. Bender took off to smoke in the library and Brian realized he had a choice to make. Boy, was he tempted. ‘What’s one more rule broken today?’ He felt more emboldened when Claire stood up and followed John. Andrew tried to talk him out of it, shaking his head. Brian drummed his hands on the desk. He wasn’t sure he’d have another opportunity. Most of his friends and acquaintances didn’t do drugs...to his knowledge, anyway. He thought momentarily about his cousin Kendall, and how he started smoking pot and didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere. ‘You already don’t feel like you belong anywhere,’ His mind reminded him, and with that, the decision was made; what did he have to lose? So he slunk off to join Bender and Claire.

It was...definitely a different experience. Brian didn’t care for the way his thoughts seemed so disjointed, that he couldn’t keep one train of thought going. For someone who was known for his intelligence and felt like his brain was his one good quality, it was a little scary to have that slip away. But, there was a sort of numbness that came with the drug that made him worry less about that. He felt less worried and anxious in general, actually. His focus was being pulled in too many directions to wonder what his parents would think or if he was saying the right thing, or if this could even be a mistake. He felt relaxed and oddly open. He was even making Bender and Claire laugh, which he hadn’t expected. It was like there was a new persona underneath that was unlocked. He didn’t know what he was doing, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever. He was, however, surprised by how long the effects lasted. It was a little more than an hour later and the whole group was sitting in a circle (Y/N and Allison never seemed to have joined them in the marijuana. Not that he had noticed, anyway) and Allison was telling the group that she was a nymphomaniac, which was exciting. Particularly to someone with zero experience, to hear someone claim she’d done ‘almost everything’ was utterly fascinating. However, his head was still swimming and he seemed to have a lack of filter between his brain and his mouth. He couldn’t catch his words fast enough, which was often a problem for him sober, but now it wasn’t just supplying corrections or information, the more cruel thoughts slipped through, too.

“Obviously she’s crazy if she’s screwing her shrink,” he added to the group without even thinking. Y/N was sitting to his right and promptly hit him on the arm with the back of her hand.

“Brian!” She hissed and gave him a glare. ‘Oh shit. Did I say that out loud?’ He thought, looking at her with wide-eyed fear. The realization sobered him up pretty quickly and he was much more in control of his thoughts and words after that. Despite the weed taking away most of his worries, he still cared how she perceived him. From then on, he was more focused on the conversations in front of him and how he added to them, but it was harder to control his emotions when Andrew began telling them about why he was here today.

“You guys know what I did to get in here today? I taped Larry Lester’s buns together.” Andy said, with a hint of a smile. ‘How can he just smirk like that? He has to know it was a shitty thing to do and that he hurt Larry.’ Brian thought. He knew Larry had been attacked this week by one of the sports, but he didn’t know who. Larry didn’t even know the kid’s name, had never talked to him, but still got jumped anyway. An experience that Brian was all too familiar with.

“That was you?” Brian asked, somewhat surprised, but started to get angry.

“You know him?”

“Yeah, I know him.” He said quietly, trying not to let the anger bubble past the surface.

He had to bite his tongue when Andy made Larry into a joke, “Then you know how hairy he is right?” Bender and Claire chuckled at his joke, at him bullying one of Brian’s friends. ‘I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything different,’ Brian thought dejectedly. But he was hoping that they were all better people than...this. The realization that they weren’t better than that, coupled with Andrew expressing his feelings about his father got Brian thinking. “I...hate him. He’s like this mindless machine that I can’t even relate to anymore.” Brian felt so disconnected from his parents, too, even though the rest of the group thought they lived in a fairytale. He was their pride and joy once, but it felt like ever since he started high school, he just wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t a good enough student, he didn’t do his chores right, he wasn’t setting himself up for college correctly, he wasn’t a good role model or brother to his sister...it all just added up and weighed on him immensely. He covered his face with one of his hands to hide his emotion and expression from the group. He didn’t even react when Andrew started screaming what his father had told him, but when everything settled down, he took the chance to speak.

“That’s like me, you know, with my grades. Like, when I step outside myself. A-and I look in on myself...and-and I see me, I don’t like what I see,” it was a difficult thing to admit but after what Allison and Andrew shared, he felt like maybe this could be the space to do so, too.

“What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you like yourself?” Claire asked. He knew it was meant to be nice, encouraging even, but it just made him feel worse. This beautiful, popular, and rich girl asking someone why they weren’t happy with themselves? Like she could have any sort of clue. No wonder it baffled her; she had everything. But he could also see Y/N nodding vigorously, agreeing with Claire. He didn’t want to put her on the same plane as Claire, he felt like she would be above that. But she clearly didn’t understand the way he felt, either. That just made him feel more alone.

“It’s stupid, but,” Brian said, “because I’m failing shop. We had this assignment to make this, uh, ceramic elephant. Anyways we were supposed to-it was, it was a lamp. When you pulled the trunk, the light was supposed to go on. But my light didn’t go on. I got an F on it. I’ve never got an F in my life. When I signed up, y’know, for the course, I thought I was playing it smart. I was, uh, ‘I’ll take Shop, it’s an easy way to maintain my grade point average.’”

“Why’d you think it would be easy?” Bender chimed in, not making eye contact. Brian had been lost in his own thoughts and his story and not looking at the group either, really. He had wanted to be honest, but he was also embarrassed. Honesty would have been hard to maintain if he was looking at them and seeing their judgments in real time.

“Have you seen some of the dopes that take Shop?” Brian asked, not realizing it would strike a nerve.

“I take Shop.” Bender responded, now turning his eyes to him, “You must be a fucking idiot.”

“I’m a fucking idiot because I can’t make a lamp?” Brian snapped defensively. He should have known it would be a mistake to put himself on the line like this, to open himself up to their judgement. He knew Bender was lashing out because he was insulted, but that didn’t make his jibes hurt any less.

“No, you’re a genius because you can’t make a lamp.” Bender shot back, sarcastically.

“What do you know about Trigonometry?” Brian fought back.

“I could care less about Trigonometry.”

“Bender, there’s no engineering without trigonometry.”

“Without lamps, there’d be no light.” Bender replied grumpily, grasping at straws for a fair comparison.

“Okay, so neither one of you is any better than the other one,” Claire jumped in. Before either of them responded, Allison added her own odd addition.

“I can write with my toes!” Both Bender and Brian looked at her incredulously, but she did calm the two of them down and add levity to the moment.

“I can make spaghetti!” Brian said cheerfully after a moment. Y/N smiled at him and his heart fluttered. He returned the smile and for a moment, forgot all about his blunder. Maybe that smile had given him the courage to participate again, to be open and vulnerable. Claire and Bender began fighting again, which wasn’t a surprise, but it opened a door for Brian to ask what had been weighing on his mind since their circle began. He felt like they had all bonded. They had told each other some of their deepest secrets and biggest pains, but did that really make them friends? “I know it’s kind of a weird time, but you know, I was just wondering...what’s going to happen to us on Monday? I mean, I consider you guys my friends,” he continued, looking around the circle, “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No,” Andy reassured him. So, he wasn’t imagining it, they felt like friends, too.

“So on Monday, what happens?”

“Are we still friends, you mean? If we’re friends now?” Claire asked.

“Yeah.”

“You want the truth?” Claire couldn’t meet his eye, and Brian knew from the question she posed, he really didn’t want the truth. He knew what was coming, but he continued anyway.

“Yeah, I want the truth.”

“I don’t think so.” Claire responded and he somehow still wasn’t prepared for the blow. It still hit him hard, causing a squeezing pain in his chest and he looked away, clenching his jaw to hold the tears back that were welling in his eyes.

“With all of us,” Allison asked, “or just John?”

“With all of you,” Claire confirmed, looking away from the group.

“That’s a real nice attitude, Claire,” Andrew said gruffly.

“Oh, be honest, Andy,” Claire groaned, “If Brian came up to you in the hall on Monday, what would you do? Picture it, you’re with all the sports.” Brian glanced up at his name and looked at Andy hopefully. In his heart, he knew Claire was probably right, but he wanted to believe that Andrew was really his friend, that they all were. “You know exactly what you’d do. You’d say hi to him and then you’d laugh and cut him all up so your friends wouldn’t think you actually like him.”

“No way.” Andy denied, and that gave Brian a glimmer of hope, one he so desperately wanted to believe.

“What if I came up to you?” Allison asked.

“Same exact thing.”

“You are a bitch!” Bender yelled at Claire.

“Why?! Because I’m telling the truth? That makes me a bitch?”

“No. Cuz you know how shitty that is to do to someone and you don’t have the balls to stand up to your friends and tell them you’re gonna like who you wanna like…” Bender continued berating Claire, but Brian now started to fail to hold back the tears that had been threatening so long to fall. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone in the group and tried to quickly wipe the tear away, hoping no one was paying attention to him; that they couldn’t see how they had impacted him. But he still felt eyes on him, particularly when he wiped the next tear away. He let Claire and Bender’s argument surround him. They called each other out, that neither would associate with him or Allison, that their image was too important to protect to reach out. It was a story that Brian had lived all of his life. ‘How could I think that one day would change everything?’ He thought, pitifully.

“So I assume Allison, Y/N, and I are better people than you? Us weirdos?” Brian interjected when Claire and Bender were silently fuming from their spat. “You, would you do that to me?” He asked Allison.

“I don’t have any friends,” she replied, which made Brian smile a little, even though he rolled his eyes some.

“Okay, but if you did?” He let out a light chuckle, urging her to answer.

“No. I don’t think the kind of friends that I’d have would mind,” Allison replied and Brian nodded, then steeled himself to turn to Y/N and ask the same question. He saw her quickly swipe at her face with her sleeves and realized, suddenly, that she had been crying too. He wasn’t sure why; she had been very quiet through this whole exchange, but maybe that was because it hit home hard for her, too. He felt a painful pang in his chest, both from seeing her tears and from fearing the possibility of her answer. He had spent the day hoping that this was a second chance, that he could get to know her. This was a bold move and would tell him if there was even a chance or not; and he feared the ‘not.' She locked eyes with him and he gulped, petrified to dive in but knowing he had to.

“What about you, Y/N?” He asked, quietly. It felt like the question hung in the air for an agonizing eternity, even though she answered right away. Time worked differently when you were waiting to hear if your world was going to be shattered.

“I would be honored to be your friend,” she replied with a shaking voice. Even though it was strained, it filled him with instant relief. He believed her as he had believed Allison and nodded, biting his lip.

“I just want to tell, each of you, that I wouldn’t do that,” he turned to the group,” I wouldn’t and I will not. Because I think it’s real shitty.”

“Your friends wouldn’t mind because they look up to us.” Claire told him and he couldn’t help but laugh derisively in response. Next to him, he heard Y/N give a sort of squeak but figured that it carried the same disbelief towards Claire as his gesture did.

“You’re so conceited, Claire. You’re so conceited. You’re like, so full of yourself. Why are you like that?” Brian noticed the tears falling again and swiped them away. He didn’t want Claire to think she wounded him, that she had the upper hand. While it stung to have all of his beliefs about how the popular kids perceived him and his friends confirmed, that wasn’t what really was bothering him. It was more that it reminded him that he was invisible, he didn’t matter, which was exactly why he was here today.

“I’m not saying that to be conceited. I hate it. I hate having to go along with everything my friends say.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” Claire sighed, and Brian noticed that she was drying her own tears. He didn’t necessarily like having caused them, but it was nice to know she was still human, that she was feeling the way he was, too. “You don’t understand, You’re not friends with the same kind of people Andy and I are friends with, you know? You just don’t understand the kind of pressure that they can put on you.” That, however, lit a fire within Brian. ‘Pressure from other assholes is so important? Try your own parents, Claire.’

“I don’t understand what?” Brian began, gesturing towards himself and planting his fingers into his chest. It relieved some of the dull ache there. “You think I don’t understand pressure, Claire? Well, fuck you! Fuck you!” ‘Also, fuck ‘bravery’ or saving face,’ Brian broke down into sobs in his elbow before calling out from his hiding spot, “do you know why I’m here today? Do you?!” He sat up to look at the group, the people he considered friends, to share his pain with them. “I’m here...because Mr. Ryan found a gun in my locker.” The words turned thick as they left his mouth and took on a life of their own. His eyes darted quickly around the circle, noting Claire’s dropped jaw, Allison’s tearful eyes that couldn’t meet his own, the way Andrew looked away and Bender seemed to know how he had felt, but also how he was surprised that Brian had the balls to do such a thing, and finally...tears silently and consistently slipping down Y/N’s face.

“What’s the gun for?” Andrew asked, interrupting Brian’s thoughts.

“I tried. You pull the fuckin’--trunk and the light’s supposed to go on and it didn’t go on, you know?” ‘You’ve said too much. They all thought you were a weirdo, now they think you’re a psychotic weirdo.’ “Forget it. Just--forget it,” he said in an attempt to brush it off, as if everything could go back to normal with the bombshell he just dropped on them.

“You brought it up, man,” Andrew insisted.

“I can’t have an F. I can’t have it and I know my parents can’t. Even if I aced the rest of the semester, it would only be a B. I’m ruined.”

“Brian…” Claire started, but there was nothing she could say to make this alright. ‘You’re a failure, Brian, and now you’ve become a freakshow. Look at her pity,’ his brain taunted him and he lashed out to hit the stool on his right, not even thinking about it until Y/N jumped up in her seated position, startled. The last thing he would want to do is hurt or scare her. ‘Shit, great. Another fuck up.’

“Sorry,” he mumbled in her direction before setting his head on his knee and continuing with his story from before, “Just considering my options, you know?”

“No, killing yourself is never an option!” Claire yelled at him, which made him scoff.

“Well I didn’t do it, did I? No, I didn’t think so.” ‘She really just doesn’t get it, does she? She still can’t picture why I’d want to--’

“It was a handgun?” Allison asked

“A flare gun. It blew up in my locker.” Brian sighed, but then he heard Andrew start to laugh. “It’s not funny.” Brian asserted. Andrew tried to clear his throat to stop laughing, but he couldn’t and Brian bit his lip and smiled in realization, “Yeah, it is.” The laughter was contagious...and better than crying. “Fucking elephant was destroyed.”

“You know what I did to get in here?” Allison asked the group, and Brian almost feared her answer. “Nothing. I didn’t have anything better to do.” That completely brightened the mood and Brian fell over laughing. It seemed like he was forgiven and that no one here was judging him for the failed lamp or the gun nor would they tell anybody about it. They...they had accepted him in the end after all.

*~~~~*

“...we trust you.” Claire was trying to talk him into writing one essay to cover all of them, and she was using flattery. Lucky for her, it worked. He looked down the row to seek approval from the others and they all nodded. But he liked knowing that they thought he was the smartest and the most capable, that they trusted his words would win over Vernon in a way that they wouldn’t be punished for not doing their own essays. It was a big task and a lot to entrust to him, so he took pride in fulfilling it. Claire took the other girls with her somewhere and it was just Andrew and him sitting silently in the library, so he decided to get to work. Andrew was just lurking about, playing with his jewelry, but he wasn’t a distraction. However, Allison passing by looking completely different was. Brian looked up, shocked that this was the same person he had spent all day with. Her hair was away from her face and he could actually see her brown eyes and she was wearing...white, the opposite of all of the layers of black before. He caught her glare at him staring at her so he tried to give her a reassuring smile, that it was a good look for her. She said, “thank you,” and moved on toward Andrew. Brian turned back to his essay and finished the last couple of lines, not noticing Y/N approaching behind him. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have kissed the essay or given himself a ‘good job’ punch in the arm.

He sat up in startled revelation when she spoke, “That good, huh?” He realized she had just seen everything. He had never felt more like a dork in his life and a blush crept up into his cheeks.

“Uh...yeah, I-I guess. I mean, do you want to read it?” He asked as she started to pull back the chair next to him to sit down.

“If you want me to, but I trust you.” She took her seat and placed her arm gently on his forearm. ‘Holy shit. She is touching me! She’s looking at me. What do I even say? Do I acknowledge the touch or do I just--’ “I’m impressed that you came up with something so quickly though.” Brian felt pride bubble up within him, knowing that she noticed...no, she was impressed by him. He cocked his head and looked at her sideways, trying to figure her out. She quickly looked away and pulled her hand back, now fiddling with her sleeves. ‘Is she...nervous?’ He thought, trying to decode her reaction. “So, um…you said earlier that you were in the Math Club? Um, I mean, if you have the time, do you think you could tutor me? I’m like totally lost in Clarkson’s class.”

He blinked. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t exactly that. Not that he would say no to spending more time with her. He had wanted that second chance, after all. “Yeah, no, I could do that,” he told her and watched as she twisted away and looked behind her, grabbing paper off of Allison’s desk. She leaned back forward and reached for his pen in front of him. She was actually close enough now that he could smell her shampoo and his body threatened to turn into jello on the spot.

“Here...is...my...phone number.” She said as she wrote it out on the paper and handed it to him. “Call me so we can set something up?” She looked up at him and knocked the breath right out of his lungs.

“You--You want me to call you?” He asked with raised eyebrows, wholly surprised by the request. He’d not only not kissed a girl, but one had never given him her phone number before.

“Yeah.” She smiled at him and his heartbeat picked up even faster, if that was possible. She cleared her throat and nodded towards Andrew and Allison. “So, those two, huh? Unexpected, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He was suddenly hurtled back to Earth, to reality. “Definitely. Wait, where’s Claire?”

“She...she said she was going to go ‘check on’ Bender.”

“Wow. So them, too.” ‘Everyone is coupling up maybe we should--’ he interrupted his own thought and shot it down. All he could say was, “That’s really...weird.”

*~~~~*

After they were finally released and Brian left his essay on the desk for Vernon to collect, and hopefully reflect upon, they all walked out together. It made sense as they all had to go to the main entrance, but there was a feeling of solidarity within it that made Brian think that the members of what he dubbed The Breakfast Club would continue their friendship come Monday.

Allison and Andrew branched off together, as did Claire and John. Brian looked quickly at Y/N as she walked down the steps with him. His dad was there to pick him up, which he was thankful for. His mom would definitely notice him walking with a girl and have a million questions and a lengthy lecture lined up, but his dad would barely notice, much less think anything of it. He reached for the door handle as Y/N was about to depart, but then she called his name, “Hey Brian,” he looked up, not sure what else she could possibly have to say, especially since they had been silent while the couples had veered off. “See you Monday.” She reminded him and gave him a small smile. He gave a grin in return.

“Yeah. I���ll talk to you on Monday.” He replied, beginning to get into the car, her phone number burning a hole in his pocket. For the first time in a long time, he was actually looking forward to another week school.

Tags:

@criminalwipes

[gohyuck]

hometown (lee jeno) teaser

pairing: jeno lee x reader

genre: smut, angst

teaser word count: 1.5k

fic word count: 7k+ (it looks like it may end up being, like, 11-12k? i’m unsure)

teaser warnings: wet dream, one-sided emotional affair, jerking off into a shared bathroom sink, some discussion of math, general hatred of “the System”, mentions of depression

general plot warnings for the fic: infidelity: reader cheats on yuta and jeno cheats on his original character gf and neither of their partners find out so there isn’t even a nice little revenge scene at the end... it’s literally just them getting away with cheating, leftist thought points/philosophies discussed even if they aren’t outright stated as leftist, both implicit and explicit discussion of mental illnesses (mostly depression and suicidal ideation but like it isn’t explicit ideation and they don’t actually want to die they kind of just don’t want to exist), general disillusionment with the system, jeno and the reader are not very happy people and are actually full of a lot of hopelessness about society and the future of the planet as a whole, explicit mentions of American politics/legislation/etc. and implicit criticization of them, mentions of drugs (weed), the characters are so self-aware that it hurts me to write them because i feel bad for them and feel even worse for their significant others

A brief taste of hair in his mouth - he doesn’t like it, he decides then and there - before you pull yourself away from him, laughing softly at the way you’d accidentally shifted just as he’d leaned in to press a kiss against your forehead. You reach up to smooth the wrinkle between his eyebrows, a gesture more symbolic than anything, and he straightens his face out himself, trading the hair-in-mouth disgust in for the gentle smile he’d had just before being so rudely assaulted. It’s as you start to move your hand away from his face that the two of you meet eyes, and a corner of Jeno’s mouth turns up as he circles his hand around your wrist to stop it mid-air.

“Kiss?” He asks, one of his brows arched now. You can’t look at it too long, knowing that the urge to pluck away at his stray hairs will overcome you. Instead, you train your gaze on his cupid’s bow, thinner upper lip giving way to the kind of full lower lip you love to sink your teeth into. Jeno makes the prettiest noise when you do so.

“Mhm,” You respond, sounding noncommittal to the world but absolutely sure to the boy you’re straddling. He grins fully now, right before leaning up to capture your lips in his. The first touch is just a little clumsy, just slightly awkward, but after the initial meeting it’s only up from there. It’s easy, natural, the way you dissolve into each other, a mess of tongue and teeth as his hands grip the cloth across your back that much harder, as you grind the apex of your thighs down into his with that much more force. Time progresses at the speed of light. Time doesn’t progress at all.

It’s only a matter of seconds before Jeno cums in his pants, but it’s only a matter of seconds before you do, too. He knows it. It’s what happened when he’d actually lived through this, and it’s what happens now, over and over again, a moment preserved in time with a delicacy only minds can make. The stuff of dreams, literally.

Jeno wakes up right before it happens. It isn’t jarring only because he’s used to it. His fourth alarm of the morning is blaring, and he uses one hand to haphazardly wipe the sleep out of his eyes while extracting his other arm out from underneath his girlfriend in order to reach his phone. She’s sound asleep - she always is - and he envies her for a moment before turning the alarm off and, for good measure, turning his goddamn phone off too.

It’s a bit fucked, he realizes once he’s properly come to, for him to have a wet dream about you when Minhee is right there, still sleeping off the way he’d fucked her into the bed last night. He’s had this revelation twelve nights and days in a row now. For a split second he feels bad, feels as if he’s the worst person on Earth, but it’s easily overshadowed by the way his cock is straining in his boxers. This has happened for the past 12 days too.

Jeno’s always wanted to have a daily routine.

He slides out of bed, careful not to wake Minhee, before slipping the nearest shoes on - gold Nike slides, a birthday gift from Jaemin who’d insisted that Jeno wear colorful things even if it’s just in their dorm room - and making his way to the bathroom him and Jaemin share with Renjun and Donghyuck. They’re the best suitemates he could possibly have, but he’s even more glad in this moment: none of them will be awake ‘til noon. It’s a Saturday.

He can jerk off in peace.

Just in case, Jeno locks both the bathroom doors and double checks to make sure that they’re locked before he finally, finally slips a thumb under his waistband, forcing it down with almost gratuitous speed. He can’t help the soft grunt that bubbles up from the back of his throat as he wraps one hand around his dick. He braces the other against the mirror for balance, just in case.

Jeno swipes across the base of his tip with his thumb, his eyes sliding shut at the feeling. He moves his wrist up once, lets precum drool over his own fingers for a second before sliding his hand back down with purpose, slicking himself up to make the slide between his cock and his calloused palm easier. It isn’t Minhee’s face or body that sear themselves into the inside of his eyelids as he strokes himself, bottom lip folded in between his teeth. You’d love to bite it, tug on it. He imagines your face as you’d cum from grinding against him that one time.

He tightens his grip.

He’d never actually fucked you: you hadn’t wanted to lose your virginity to someone who was so starry-eyed, so untarnished by the ways of the world. You didn’t want to take the virginity of someone like that either. It felt wrong on every level somehow. You’d made sure to tell him so, never one to mince words, not even as a 16 year old. The breakup hadn’t come long after the singular time he had (in his pants, he remembers with a wince… always with a wince when he isn’t dreaming of it) and although it didn’t work out romantically between the two of you, you’d stayed friends for the rest of your high school careers. Even now, both in different parts of the country for college, the two of you keep up, more or less, with each other. It’s friendly in a way it wasn’t before.

You’d been having your manic pixie dream girl arc the year you’d dated him, Jeno supposes now. Cynical, hopeless, bitter at the world and hating everything and everyone. The world was and is awful, and you were too aware of it, or so you said. Jeno wants to laugh so badly at that old version of you, the one that had broken his heart, but he finds that he can’t anymore. A too-big part of him thinks you might’ve been right about everything.

You’d slept with YangYang Liu in senior year, had called Jeno afterwards to see if he’d go with you to get Plan B at 3 a.m. on a Friday. It’d been hardly a week after he’d cum embarrassingly early while sleeping with someone - a girl from his third period class - for the first time. He’d swallowed his suddenly resurfacing heartbreak to pick you up and drive you to the nearest CVS in the same car you’d made out with him so many times before. He’d swallowed his moans later that night as he lay in bed, fisting his cock tightly at the thought of gripping your thighs so hard they bruised, at sinking into you, at how warm, how wet, how tight - fuck!, he’d hissed to himself then, having bitten so hard into the hand he’d used to quiet himself that blood bloomed from broken skin.

Jeno had cum hard then, and he cums just as hard now, canine splitting the flesh of his lip as he muffles his long, drawn out groans. The metallic taste of blood is enough to push him further over the edge, and he practically hunches in on himself as spurts of opaque white liquid land in the bathroom sink. He’s satiated for now. He remembers all the work he has to do - midterms are upcoming - and his post-orgasm glory fades as soon as it’d come.

After an earth-shattering orgasm to properly wake him up, everything else feels twice as mundane as usual. Jeno’s quick to run hot water in the sink, making sure all evidence of his one-sided emotional affair is gone, before brushing his teeth and pissing. He’d shower, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to. Sometimes, he can’t bring himself to for two days, or three. Deodorant and Minhee’s perfume are his best friends now. Donghyuck, psych major that he is, calls it depression. Jeno, hellbent on never letting Hyuck be correct, calls it ‘finally experiencing ego death’.

He thinks Hyuck is right, though. He won’t say so.

Jeno’d come in as a mechanical engineering major, though he thinks he might switch to computer science. If he’s going to be a corporate shill - he’s realized, quite quickly, that there’s not much else to be - he may as well do it as efficiently as possible. He’d started college with the firm belief that the world is easy to change, and that he can help to do so. He’d dispelled this concept less than three weeks in.

He has midterms to study for, and corporate shill-dom to look forward to for it. Jeno should open the blinds - Jaemin isn’t here right now anyways, and Minhee’ll sleep through that, too - and sit down at his messy desk and get to work. He should study up on eigenvectors and eigenvalues - they’re easy, but they’re comfortable, and Jeno has started to like comfortable - or work through his solids textbook. He should, he should, he should.

Jeno doesn’t even pause between leaving the bathroom and climbing back into bed. Minhee shifts, and he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before settling in beside her.

He has this moment, so he takes it. He doesn’t feel like he has many moments to himself anymore.

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[study-coffee-chicago]

Seasons of PD: Season 3: Jay’s Missing (A Halstead Brothers + Halstead Sister! Imagine)

As always, I don't own any quotes from the episode that happen to be in here!

Your age: 14

Jay's age: 28

Will's age: 30

"C'mon Jay," you muttered as you called him for the third time in an hour.

It was the one night a month where you and your brother would go out to dinner together and if there was a hockey game on, you'd finish watching it at his apartment. Then, he'd take you home. He was skeptical about doing it tonight since you had end-of-the-year exams next week, but you reassured him that you'd be fine; taking a break for a few hours never hurt anybody. And, you had all Saturday, Sunday, and Monday night after school to study since exams didn't start until Tuesday.

"You've reached Jay Halstead--" You quickly ended the call and began texting Ruzek. Hopefully, he'd cave and tell you what was going on.

But, when the read sign popped up seven minutes later, you knew something was up. If Jay was going to be late, he would've called you, or at least texted.

Since it was late May, the sun was out later than in the winter, which meant that it wouldn't be dark for another couple of hours. So, you grabbed a light sweatshirt and pulled it on, grabbed your phone and a few dollars and put them in your pocket, shouting a "bye Dad" on the way out...not that he cared what you did anyway.

You walked a few blocks to the El train stop, put your dollar in for your ticket, and hopped on. While you were on there, you were sure to have Ruzek's number pulled up on your phone and were ready to hit the call button in case something happened to you.

You looked at the map. The 21st District was just a few stops away. Soon, you'd know why Jay wasn't answering you. Hopefully, he was just out on a raid, handcuffing the bad guys.

***

"Kim," you said as you rushed into the district and saw the officer. "Do you know where my--"

You were cut off by the faint sound of a scream.

"Do I know where who is, Y/N?" she asked, completely ignoring what she had just heard.

"Jay, but that sounded like him screaming!"

You ran up the stairs to Intelligence, tugging on the gate even though you knew it wouldn't open without a member scanning their palm or Platt buzzing you up.

"Was that Jay? Is he there?" you yelled.

"Y/N, we can't let you up there right now," Kim explained.

"Why not? Jay told me we'd go out for dinner tonight and he always calls if he's gonna be late."

You looked up to see Ruzek coming towards the door.

"Would it kill you to answer a text?" you asked.

"Sorry, been busy."

"At least let me upstairs and then you can tell me where Jay is and I'll be out of your hair."

Ruzek sighed and allowed you to go up, Kim following you as well.

"Or Detective Halstead winds up as fertilizer in some cornfield in Indiana. We understand each other, Sergeant?"

"What'd he want?" Antonio asked, everyone totally unaware that you were now in the room.

"Halstead's life for all our CI files."

"H- His life?" you asked, frozen on the top step to the bullpen.

"Shit," Kevin muttered.

"Is he in trouble? Is he dead? Is that why he didn't answer my calls?" Your bottom lip started to tremble.

Antonio took a deep breath. He knew that if Gabby was in trouble that he'd want as much detail about what was happening as possible. "Something uh, something went wrong earlier," he supplied. "And then, because of that, some dealers took your brother."

"They took him? Took him where?"

"We don't know yet, kid," Al said. "But, that's what we're trying to find out."

When you heard that they didn't know where he was, you ran off towards the locker room. Ruzek tried to put his foot between the wall and the door to stop you from closing it and locking yourself in, but you were too fast for him.

You pulled out your phone and dialed a number you knew you probably should've called earlier when you first thought that Jay was in trouble.

"Erin? Jay's missing. You gotta find him. You're his partner."

***

Erin blearily reached for the phone, still trying to get over her hangover from last night--which lasted well into this morning--to go out for another night of non-stop partying, drinking, and drugs. She furrowed her eyebrows when she saw your name pop up.

"Hell--"

"Erin? Jay's missing. You gotta find him. You're his partner."

"He's--" She cleared her throat. "He's missing? What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. I- I called him because we had a dinner and he didn't pick up, so eventually I just- I came down to the district and I heard someone on the phone say they're going to turn him into fertilizer, Erin."

"Do you know who it was?" she asked as she grabbed her service weapon and slid it into the waistband of her jeans...the same clothes she had been wearing since last night. A call that her boyfriend was missing was definitely curing her hangover fast.

"I don't know. It was- It was some dealer. But, you gotta come here and help them find him. You're his partner. Please." Your voice cracked on the last word.

"Okay, okay, I'll call Will to come pick you up and explain the situation. I'm leaving my apartment right now. I'll be there soon."

"Please don't call Will," you urged. "He's gonna be mad at me."

"Why's he gonna be mad at you?"

"Because I took the El and I'm not supposed to take the El by myself."

"Y/N, you taking the El by yourself is the least of his problems at the moment. Just sit tight and I should be there in about ten minutes."

***

"Y/N, c'mon open this door. Please?" you heard your oldest brother's voice on the other side of the door. "I know you're worried about Jay, but it's not gonna help at all if you just lock yourself in here all night."

You sniffled and then walked over to the door and unlocked it. "Will!" you cried, rushing into his arms. "He's gone, he's gone, he's gone."

"Hey, hey it's okay. You're okay. They're gonna find him and then you can have two dinners with him next month because you missed yours this month."

The number of times Jay had been shot or hurt on the job had caused Will to basically be immune to hearing bad news about his little brother. But, if Jay didn't come back or flatlined, then he'd be freaking out. And, despite Will wanting to scream at all of Intelligence to go find him, he knew he couldn't do that. He couldn't lash out right now because it'd only make it worse for you.

Your stomach growled, making Will go into even more protective brother mode. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Lunch," you answered.

"Y/N, it's 7:30. We gotta get some food in you."

"But, but what if he comes back? I wanna see him when he comes back."

"I'm gonna be honest with you. When he comes back, he's probably gonna need to go to the hospital just as a precaution. And, I know you have exams soon and your algebra one is stressing you out. I don't think Jay would want you to fail an exam just because you were worried about him."

"I hate math," you grumbled.

"I know. That's why you need to make sure you study."

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna end up liking it because I have to work on it."

Will didn't know what to say to that because he knew that you were right. So, he reiterated his previous point. "Let's go get you some food."

"Can-Can we just eat at home?" you asked. "I don't wanna not be home and hear bad news about Jay."

Will knew what you were getting at: you didn't want to break down in public.

"Yeah, we can do that. Still got a bunch of mac n cheese at home?"

"A few boxes," you answered, remembering how bare the cupboards were at your and your dad's house.

"We'll just grab something on the way home. C'mon."

"Can Erin come, too?" you asked.

"Go ask her. And, don't take the El by yourself. That's dangerous."

You rolled your eyes and followed him out of the locker room and into the bullpen.

"Erin," you started as you walked up to her desk. She had her head in her hands.

"Hmmm?" she asked looking up.

"Do you wanna come back to my house and eat dinner with me and Will?"

"I don't know if--"

"She'll come," Voight answered before she could finish.

"Hank!"

"Erin, we'll still be here working when you're done with dinner. Lord knows you could use some food in you."

"Fine." She stood up and grabbed her coat. "Not like you're letting me help with the case anyway," she muttered. But, no one heard that part.

Since she had quit Intelligence in Bunny's bar a few weeks ago, Voight was right in having her not work the case...not that she'd admit that. But this was her boyfriend, her partner, that was in trouble and she'd be damned if she didn't help get him out of this mess.

***

"Dad's not home?" Will asked as he let them into the house using the spare key that was hidden under a layer of dirt in the flower pot.

"He never is," you mumbled.

"What? What do you mean he's never home?"

"I mean, he's never home on Friday nights because he always goes out to the bar with some old friends," you told him. That was at least true. He did go out to the bar with some old friends...but it wasn't just Friday nights anymore, it was Friday, Saturday, and sometimes Thursday and Sunday, too. Because of this, he ate out a lot and didn't cook. Therefore, he had no reason to buy a lot of groceries, which was why there wasn't a lot of dinner food left in the cupboard...not that there was a lot of breakfast or lunch food here either, though. There was just enough for you to play it off that your dad just needed to go to the store. There was just enough for your brothers not to worry.

"Okay."  Will started to grab the Olive Garden you had ordered out of the bag. You said you weren't hungry--you didn't want to eat when you were this nervous-- and had only wanted to get some minestrone soup. But, Will insisted that you needed more than that so you compromised: minestrone soup and half an order of fettuccine alfredo...plus the breadsticks and the salad that came with the meal obviously.

A while later, Will was almost done with his food and was grabbing another breadstick and Erin was putting more salad onto her plate. You, on the other hand, had barely managed to finish your minestrone.

"Y/N, can you please eat a bit more? How about a breadstick? I know you love those," Will said.

"I'm not that hungry," you said quietly.

Will was about to say something when Erin stepped in. "How about you work on some of your homework? Maybe that'll make your appetite come back since you're using a lot of energy to focus. And, Jay mentioned that you have exams next week."

"He did?" you asked. You didn't think that Jay would mention stuff that you had going on in your life, like exams, to Erin.

"He always says how proud of you he is for working so hard in school...because he says that he was never as good in school as you."

"He really says he's proud of me?"

"He sure does."

"You guys mind if I do it out here? It's a lot easier to write stuff down when I'm writing in my notebook on the table instead of balancing it in my lap on my bed."

"Sure, kiddo," Will said.

You went to your room and grabbed your backpack and then started to work on your homework.

As you were working on it, your brain wandered back to the first time Jay had helped you with your math homework, all the way back in kindergarten, at this very kitchen table, when both of your parents had been working and Will was all the way in New York for his first year of med school.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, trying not to crumple up your math homework sheet and throw it across the room. It was only five subtraction problems, but subtraction was hard! You had only just started understanding addition!

You threw your pencil across the kitchen, where it narrowly missed the wall. It clattered to the floor, causing Jay to look up from where he was reading a book in the living room, the chair he had been sitting in was facing the kitchen, so he could keep an eye on you.

"Did you throw that?" he asked as he walked towards you.

"No," you lied.

He picked up the pencil. "If you lie, you get nine minutes in time out instead of six."

You didn't want to go in time out that long!

"I throwed it," you admitted, looking down at your math homework.

"It's threw, but thank you for being honest. Can you tell me why you threw the pencil?"

That was something his mom always did with him when he was younger: asked him why he did something and then, possibly put him in time out. Sometimes, he just needed to talk it out, and if that was the case, he didn't have to go into time out.

"I don't get sub-trac-shun!" you complained. "It's stupid!"

"Hey, we don't use that word."

"But it's hard."

"I know, but what if I help you? Would that help you to get it?"

"But Will said you not good at math," you pointed out, remembering something your oldest brother had said.

Jay chuckled. "I'm not good at big kid math. This stuff is easy for me."

"It's easy?"

"Oh, yeah. And, I think I might have something that can help you."

He walked over to the cupboard and reached up to the top shelf where he grabbed a bag of chocolate chips. He poured some into a small bowl and then walked back to the table and sat down next to you.

"We gonna eat chocolate?" you asked. "Even though I throwed-- I threw my pencil?"

"This is gonna help you learn subtraction."

"How?"

"Just watch." He paused and looked at the paper in front of you. "So, this one says five minus two."

"I know that," you told him proudly. "I know it says five minus two. I dunno what the an- the answer is though."

"Okay, well, take five chocolate chips out of here."

He held the bag out to you while you took five out, counting each one out loud. "What do I do now?"

"Now, if I eat two--" he popped two in his mouth. "--how many do you have now?"

You looked down at the chocolate chips. "One...Two...Three. I have three choc-chips!"

"That's right! So, five minus two is...?"

You scrunched up your face, trying to piece together what he had done. "I dunno."

"We had five chocolate chips. I ate two. How many did you say we have left?"

"Three!"

"Yeah. Five minus two is the same thing...just without me adding chocolate chips to the end."

"Huh?"

"Here." He took your paper from you and on the first three problems, he wrote chocolate chips after each number. "Five chocolate chips minus two chocolate chips is...?"

"Three!"

"Yeah! Good job! Now, write three down as your answer."

The next problem was three chocolate chips minus one chocolate chip and you did the same thing this time. Except, you got to eat the chocolate instead of Jay. You had two chocolate chips left this time.

Then, when you got to the last two problems that didn't say chocolate chips after the numbers, Jay showed you on your fingers how to figure out the answer.

Then, since you did such a good job, he let you watch Dora and eat some more chocolate chips.

"Y/N? Y/N? You good?" You were snapped out of your thoughts by Will saying your name.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine." You reached over the table to grab your pencil that had rolled towards Will. But, as you were reaching for it, your elbow knocked the two-liter of pop. "No!" you cried out as it spilled. It didn't just spill anywhere though...it spilled right on top of your algebra notebook. "Fuck this! I can't do this!"

You threw your pop-covered and sticky notebook on the ground and sprinted to the bathroom, ignoring Will and Erin's calls for you to come back.

You locked the door and slumped down against it. God, you needed that notebook. That had your entire exam review in it. And, if you didn't finish the exam review, you couldn't take the exam.

You only had 25 more problems left out of the 220 you had to do, hence why the review was given to you a month before you actually had to take the exam, so you had time to do it. And, some kids would wait until the last minute, but you figured you'd start early and do a certain number of problems a day so you didn't have to stress out and had time to ask your teacher questions if you had any.

But now, now you had a matter of days to do all 220 problems...and you had other exams to study for...and your big brother was missing...and...

Shit, here comes the Olive Garden.

You jumped up and lifted the lid of the toilet, quickly emptying the minestrone soup from your stomach.

"Y/N? Y/N! Open this door!" Will yelled as he banged on the door.

You leaned back against the bathtub and took a few deep breaths, willing yourself not to throw up again. You groaned as you felt the liquid rise in your throat and were back above the toilet in a matter of seconds.

You were panting at this point and trying to take a few breaths before more came out. Because you were so focused on making sure you didn't inhale your own vomit (ew) you didn't hear Will pick the lock and enter the bathroom.

When all that was left for you to throw up was bile and you were finished, you closed your eyes and leaned back against the bathtub once more, and took deep breaths.

"So that's why you didn't want to eat any more than you did," Will said.

"Will? How'd you get in here?"

"I picked the lock, Jay's not the only person in this family who knows how to do that, you know."

"I hate this," you mumbled, eyes still closed. "It happened last semester with exams too, but it wasn't this bad."

"Kid, you're stressing yourself out too much. You have to take a chill pill."

"I c-can't!"

"Okay," Will started as he crouched down next to you. "Why can't you relax?"

"I spilled pop all over my notebook!"

"So? You already practiced those problems. You know you don't need to practice them again, so just do the ones you need to practice."

"You don't get it!" You frantically rubbed the heels of your hands over your eyes as tears started to stream from them. "I needed that notebook! If I don't turn in the entire exam review I c-can't take the exam." You sighed and just put your head in your hands. This night seriously could not get any worse at this point. "And, Jay's miss- Jay's missing!"

"Y/N, I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? Just take one."

"O-Okay." You took a deep, yet shaky breath.

"Now another."

You took another deep, yet shaky breath. And, you continued this cycle until Will deemed your breathing to be back to normal.

"How about you brush your teeth and then we'll figure out what to do for the homework once you do that. Sound good?" You nodded and stood up to go to the sink. "I'll be in the kitchen with Erin."

Then, Will exited the bathroom to go back into the kitchen like he told you.

"How is she?" Erin asked when she saw him come in. She had started cleaning up their take-out containers while Will had been busy trying to calm you down. "Sounded like she was puking."

"Because she was."

"Is she sick?"

"Not in the technical sense. But, she is what I like to call stress sick."

"Stress sick?"

"Exams are stressing her out, so add on top of the fact that Jay's missing, and she got so stressed out that she threw up."

"Poor kid," Erin sympathized. Then, her phone buzzed. "I gotta get back to the district. Tell her to feel better from me."

"Will do." He started to walk Erin towards the door, but stopped when they were almost to it. "And Erin? Bring my little brother back. Even though he's a pain in my ass half the time, I can't lose him. And, I know Y/N would take it really hard."

"Will, he's got the best unit in all of Chicago looking for him. We'll bring him back."

A few minutes after Erin had left, you walked into the kitchen, with clean teeth and the gross taste of vomit now out of your mouth, to see Will sitting at the table, staring at your notebook with a roll of paper towel next to him. "What are you doing?" you asked as you sat down.

"Trying to get the stain out," he replied.

"How? It's like the entire notebook, not just one page."

"You're talking to the king of spilled coffee on homework. And, lucky for you, pop and coffee are both water-based. So, I think I know how to get this out. You're gonna need to rewrite it in a new notebook, though."

"Okay. Need any help?"

"Can you just get me a bowl filled with water?"

"The paper's already wet. Why do you want to make it wetter?"

"Just trust me on this one." You yawned. "After you grab that for me, maybe you should go to bed. It's been a long day."

"Will you stay here?"

"Of course. I can just sleep in my old bedroom...unless Dad did something to it. Speaking of Dad, is he usually out this late? Does he usually leave you home alone this late at night?"

You were filling up a bowl with water and turned to look at Will. You shrugged. "Sometimes. It's okay, though." That was a lie. Most nights he didn't get home until two or three in the morning...but, Will didn't need to know that.

"I'm going to have a chat with Dad about that. He shouldn't be leaving you home alone this late at night."

"Will, it's not even that late. I'm fine." You placed the bowl of water on the table.

"Fine. But if it hits midnight and he's not home yet, then I will be talking with him about this."

You nodded. "Well, I'm gonna go to bed. 'Night Will. Sorry about getting sick."

"You don't have to apologize for that." He stood up and pulled you into a hug. "Goodnight."

You started to walk towards your bedroom when you remembered something and turned back to Will. "Will?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think Jay's okay? He's gotta be okay, right?"

"Y/N, he's got the best unit in the city looking for him."

"And Erin."

"And Erin," he confirmed. "He'll be okay." But, in that moment he didn't know who he was trying to reassure more: you or himself.

***

"You wanna go somewhere today?" Will asked as you were both sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal the next morning.

"I have homework to do...a lot more than I thought I'd have, too. Did Erin give you any updates on Jay?" you asked.

He shook his head. "But, he's gonna be okay. And, you don't have a ton of homework to do. You have a ton of homework to copy."

"What do you mean?"

At this, he placed the notebook on the table. "I told you I knew what I was doing."

You flipped open the notebook to see that Will was right: he did in fact know what he was doing. Even though the pages were all still tinted a light brown from the pop, the writing from you doing all the practice problems was still legible. "How did you...?" you trailed off as you continued to flip through your algebra notebook.

"Like I told you, I spilled coffee on one too many notebooks in college. Now all you need to do is copy the problems down into a clean notebook. Save you some brainpower."

"Thank you."

"Now, I suggest we got to CCU's library so you can get a change of scenery while doing that."

"CCU? Why? And, you're not a student there anymore. How are we gonna get in?"

Will scoffed. "They don't check student IDs when you go in. And, a change in my workspace always helped me to focus when I was studying, so maybe it'll help you."

"Workspace," you mocked. "So professional. But, yeah, let's do that. Can we keep our phones on though in case Erin calls?"

Will nodded. "Of course."

***

Getting into CCU wasn't actually that hard. All Will had to do was pay $10 for a day pass to park and then you walked into the library, no student ID necessary.

"Okay kiddo, where are we sitting?" he asked.

"I don't know. I've never been here before. Where did you normally sit?"

"Second floor. It's generally quieter up there and the tables are big, so I could throw my books all over it. But, I'd come back down here for coffee a lot, too."

"There's a coffee shop?" you asked as you widened your eyes. "In the library?"

"Well, tuition is out of this world. So, at least we get something out of it."

"Can we go? I think I have $5 somewhere in my backpack."

"If prices haven't gone up since I was here when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, then I can get a muffin and a large coffee for $5. I'll have the coffee and you can have the muffin. I'll pay," Will told you.

"Okay, thank you! And, you're not that old, Will."

You got your triple chocolate muffin and Will got his large coffee. Then, you found one of the big tables that he had mentioned and started copying your algebra review into another notebook.

"What are you going to do? Sit here and stare off into space?" you asked your brother. "Wait," you began as you started to rummage around in your backpack for an eraser, "What's this?"

You set a big book on the table. And it's definitely not something you'd read because it was called "How We Learn", which you assumed meant that the book was nonfiction and went into the science of learning.

"I found it in my room. Must've left it there from Christmas last year and I haven't had a chance to read it, so I figured I'd bring it to read now."

"Fair enough."

***

"Did Jay ever want to go to college?" you asked a few hours later. "Or, did he know it just wasn't right for him?"

"I think he always knew he wanted to do something involving being on the front lines and being in all the action," Will answered, dog-earing the page in his book and setting it down. "Why? You don't want to go to college either?"

"No, I do," you said quickly. "It's just- I just want to know things that I've never asked him if we...you know..."

Will nodded. "I know you're worried about him, but if Hank Voight's anything like Jay's told me, he won't let anything happen to one of his own."

"But he let it happen to Jules," you said. What if Jay was the next Jules?

"Jules? Who's Jules?"

"She was Antonio's partner. Antonio's the reason Jay got into Intelligence. And one day, he said we were going to go see a movie. Like, he just randomly picked me up from school and everything. I could tell he was sad after the movie, and it wasn't a sad movie, and he told me that someone he worked with died. A little later, we were walking by the memorial wall by the district and he showed me her name."

"I see," Will said, drawing on his talking-to-patient skills because what else was he going to say?

Luckily, he was saved by his phone ringing.

"Hello? Erin?" Pause. "He's at Med?" Pause. "Okay, yeah, we'll be there in ten minutes."

"He's okay?" you asked as soon as Will ended the call. "Jay's okay? They found him?"

Will nodded. "He's at Med. Erin said he's a little bruised, but he was conscious, so that's good."

You took Will's book and shoved it in your backpack along with your schoolwork. "Let's go."

***

"Nat, really, my ribs don't need to be wrapped. I'm fine," Jay protested as he sat in a treatment room at Chicago Med, Erin standing next to him in some clean clothes that Natalie had let her borrow.

"Jay, your ribs are badly bruised. They need to be wrapped. If you're more comfortable with a guy wrapping them, I can easily call in a male nurse for help," Natalie suggested.

"No, it's not that. I don't care who does it."

"My little brother just doesn't want to bruise his big ego, that's what's going on, Nat," Will said as he entered the treatment room with you by his side.

You jumped when Jay turned and you saw his face and his chest: a black eye that went from the inside corner of his right eye to his right temple, a gash on the top right of his forehead, another gash on the left side of his forehead which was diagonal and above the outside portion of his left eyebrow, a jagged cut that went down his left temple starting at eye level, a split lip, and purple, blue, and red bruises along with some cuts and welts that littered his ribs and chest.

"You're okay?" you asked as your lips pulled into a frown and tears stung your eyes.

"I'm okay. Just a little beat up right now. Nothing to worry about."

Without thinking, you ran to his bed and gave him a hug. He let out a groan as you squeezed a bit too tight, irritating his ribs.

You pulled away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay, my ribs are just gonna be a little sore for a few days."

"I thought you were going to be turned into fertilizer."

"Fertilizer?" Jay furrowed his eyebrows. "Who told you that?"

"When you didn't call me back about dinner, I tried calling Adam, but he didn't pick up either, so I went to the district. I heard some guy on the phone saying he was going to turn you into- into fertilizer. I was so scar- so scared."

Tears rolled down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away.

Jay stood up with a grimace and walked the few paces over to you, wrapping you in a hug. "Hey, I'm okay now. That's all that matters. And, you did a really good job calling Erin."

"I did?"

"You sure did. She told me all about how you told her that I was gone and that she'd be able to get me out because we're partners." He paused. "She also told me that you took the El by yourself."

"Erin," you whined. "You weren't supposed to tell him that."

"It's okay," Jay said. "I won't tell Dad as long as you don't do it again."

"I won't," you replied. Not like Dad would do anything anyway, you thought to yourself.

"Jay," Will started, "You need to get back into bed."

"It's just bruised ribs, Will. I'm fine," Jay argued.

"It's just bruised ribs, Will. I'm fine," Will mocked. "Yeah, tell me that tomorrow when you can barely walk because of how sore they are. Bed. Now."

"Fine." Jay sat down with a huff and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I swear, you're such a child, Halstead," Erin said.

***

You walked out of school a few days later feeling free. Summer was here and you were no longer a middle-schooler. You were now a high schooler.

You started to walk out of campus, the way you took to walk home every day, when you heard the thundering of footsteps behind you, causing you to jump and turn around.

"Jay." You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw it was your brother.

"Hey, figured I'd pick you up. My text must not have gone through."

"Oh, I turned my phone off because of exams. Sorry."

"No problem. C'mon, we're going out to lunch and then we'll stop home to grab your swimsuit."

"Swimsuit? Why?"

"Mom would always take us to Navy Pier on the first day of summer to go swimming. And, since Will's shift ends at 1:00 and I'm on leave because of injury, it's the first year we can actually do this all together."

You nodded, trying to hold back tears at the mention of your mom.

"Hey, let me take your backpack. That thing looks like it's gonna make you topple over." You took it off and handed it to him. "Whoa! What's in here? Rocks?"

You laughed. "Nope, end of the year locker cleanout. Everything that was shoved in my locker is now in there."

"No rotten food I hope," Jay joked.

"No," you laughed. "Why? Did you or Will leave food in your locker?"

"No, we knew better than that. But the kid next to me left a milk carton in there over spring break and that smelled funky when we got back. I started bringing my backpack around with me just so I didn't have to go back to my locker because it smelled so bad."

"We can't do that. Teachers say it's for our safety because of bombs."

Jay opened the door to the backseat and put your backpack in there while you got into the passenger seat. Then, he got in the driver's seat all the while thinking how you knew that that was the reasoning behind that rule. He knew the reasoning because he was a detective. But he thought that most of the time, kids just thought it was some stupid rule.

"How do you know about that?" he asked once he started his truck.

"One of my teachers told us. She was mad at a kid who kept bringing his backpack to class even though she told him not to, so he went off on her and called it a stupid rule and asked why we even had the rule. She told him it was because if there's a bomb threat then she has to check every single backpack. That's why."

"Oh," was all Jay said. He really didn't want to be having this conversation with you, but here he was.

"Is it different?" you asked.

"Is what different?"

"Like, is high school different now than when you were in high school? And how different is middle school from high school?"

"Are you nervous for high school already, kiddo? You just finished eighth grade like fifteen minutes ago!"

You shrugged. "I'm just curious is all." Jay quirked an eyebrow at you while he took his eyes off the road for a split second and then returned them back to the road. "Okay, fine. I'm a little nervous."

"Let's talk about this over brunch, okay?"

"Okay."

***

Of course, Jay knew that you wanted to go to iHOP because breakfast was good at any time of the day. Jay thought differently though and ordered a sandwich instead of breakfast food like you. You had gotten their cinnamon roll pancakes with bacon, sausage, and hashbrowns on the side.

You were waiting for the comment about it being a lot of food, but that never came...which you were thankful for. You didn't know how you were supposed to explain to your very perceptive brother that the reason that you were eating a lot here was that you only had about 3/4 cups of dry cereal this morning before school because you were out of milk. You were out of milk and your dad didn't go grocery shopping. And, it's not like you had enough money to buy groceries or that you knew where your dad kept the money so you could take $20 just to buy food and hide it in your room so that you had something to eat.

"So, what do you want to know about high school?" Jay asked. "Did you get your schedule yet?"

If you were going to Central Chicago High School after going to their middle school, you had the option to schedule your classes the month prior and then you'd see if you'd get those classes. Of course, it might not be possible to get every class with every teacher you want, but it was cool that you got to know right when you finished eighth grade. And, in high school, it was the same thing: on the last day of ninth grade, if you were staying for tenth grade, then you'd get your schedule on the last day of ninth grade. It was sort of weird to you, but you got used to it.

"Is Eva going to be at the beach, too?" you asked. You knew it was her's and Diego's last day of school along with Jordan's and Vanessa's, so you wanted Jordan and Eva to be there when you told everyone your schedule so they could tell you everything they knew about the teachers you had next year.

"I can text Antonio. Why?" Jay asked.

"I just wanted to see if Eva and maybe Jordan would be there because they could tell me everything about the teachers I have."

"I can text Antonio and Kevin. You know what, I'll text Ruz and Burgess too."

"And Mouse."

"And Mouse. Can't forget about him now, can we?"

"What about Erin? Is she coming, too?"

"Uh, I don't know about that. She's had a rough couple of days."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Why?"

"You know how Voight took her in?" You nodded. "Well, after Nadia died, she was backsliding. Badly. And now, she's detoxing and it's kinda hard on a person's body."

"Okay, but seeing you would make her feel better. She's always happy when she's around you. And you always have this big, dopey grin on your face whenever you're around her."

"I do not," Jay protested. You raised your eyebrows at him. "Okay fine, maybe I do that occasionally. I'll text some people and then we can talk about high school."

Jay sent the texts while you continued to eat. He took a few bites of his sandwich and then broached the topic of high school once more by saying, "So, what do you want to know about high school?"

"I dunno. How's it different from when you went to school like twenty years ago."

"Hey! It was not twenty years ago. I'll have you know it was ten years ago!"

"Same thing."

Jay rolled his eyes. "Well, shootings happened, but not as much as they do now." You opened your mouth to ask if Jay had ever responded to one, when he stopped you. "And I know what you're going to ask. No, I didn't respond to one and I wouldn't tell you if I did. What do I always tell you?"

"I'm trying to keep you innocent and sheltered from all the bad stuff in the world," you said verbatim of what he had told you dozens of times when you asked for details of what he was doing at work.

"Word for word. So, we got to carry our backpacks around and it was an open campus."

"It used to be an open campus?" you asked, shocked.

"Yup, we rarely even had to sign out."

"Lucky! I wanna leave school and go to Mcdonald's for lunch!"

"Too bad you weren't born like fifteen years earlier and that could've happened."

"Oh, and we could eat lunch on the roof. There was a way to climb through the ceiling above the indoor track. It's closed now, though."

"Why'd they close it?"

"Yeah, you might want to wait until we're at the beach for me to tell that story since I'm sure everybody else would find it funny."

"Okay..." you trailed off, drawing out the "y". You didn't know why everyone would find a story of a hole in the ceiling being closed funny, but you figured it was best to let Jay have his way...with this one at least. "What's the difference between middle school and high school?"

"Now, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret: nobody cares in high school."

"What do you mean?"

"Just ask Eva when we get to the beach."

"She's coming?"

"Her, Diego, Antonio, Kev, Adam, Kim, Jordan, Vanessa, Mouse, Erin, and of course Will are all coming."

***

Luckily, Jay decided to stay in the car while you ran inside your house and changed into a swimsuit, slipping your clothes over top of it so it would be easier when you got to the pier.

"Dawson!" Jay yelled as he walked up the beach, bag in hand filled with his swim trunks, water bottles, and a few bags of chips. Typically, he would've brought beer to the beach, but he had to drive home, with you in the car no less, so no drinking for him.

"Halstead!" Antonio yelled back.

Once you got up close enough, you saw that Gabby was there, too.

"Bring Gabby to be your DD, Antonio?" Jay jokingly asked.

"I mean, I'm sure Ruzek's bringing beer, so I might be able to get away with one."

"Uh uh," Gabby said. "If Kim brings some fruity drinks, you're driving home."

"So, if she brings regular drinks I can have a few beers?"

"Your cap is two, Antonio. You've got these two to take care of." She gestured to Eva and Diego. Diego was already jumping the waves and Eva was laying down on a beach towel starting to get a tan.

"Eva!" Antonio yelled. "Y/N's here!"

"Oh thank God," she said and walked up to you. "Girl, come sit your towel down next to mine and then we can look at your schedule."

"Yeah, I wanna see that, too!" Jay exclaimed.

"Should we wait for Will? And Jordan? Maybe Jordan has some input about the teachers. And, Jay said he has a story to tell about a hole in the ceiling of the high school and he wants to be sure everyone is around to hear it."

Ten minutes later, everyone had arrived and was in their swimming gear. "Okay, what's this story about the ceiling, Jay?" you asked.

"Oh, that story," Will joked.

"Yeah, that one. What other one would there be?"

Will rolled his eyes.

"Okay, before I start, I am going to preface this by saying that I was young and I was very stupid."

"He's stupid every day," Will dramatically leaned over Jay and whispered to Erin.

"Man, would you shut up and let me tell the story?" Will sat in silence for a few seconds. "Thank you.

"We all know about senior pranks. Well, it was my senior year and a few of us from the soccer team decided to pool our money together and buy some live chickens--"

"Did you say chickens? As in chickens with feathers? That squawk?" Kevin asked.

"Yes, real chickens. What other ones would there be?"

"Maybe they were chicken nuggets," Adam suggested.

Jay dramatically sighed. "Antonio, did you miss having me in the unit this week? You and Erin had to put up with these two bozos all by yourself."

"Hey!" Adam and Kevin yelled in unison.

"Anyway, as I was saying, some of us from the soccer team pooled our money together to buy chickens. Real live chickens, not chicken nuggets, Ruz. Then, we chose a Sunday night to get into the school--they always left this one back door unlocked--and we climbed onto the roof from the stairs/hole thingy in the ceiling right above the indoor track.

"Once we got to the roof, we dropped the chickens off of it. But, our stupid lookout got caught and then the cops came."

"You got arrested?" Adam laughed. "This is priceless."

"Didn't get arrested. Just had to do community service to be able to walk at graduation. But, nowadays, yeah, I'd have probably gotten arrested."

"So, that's why they closed it? Because you and your friends decided to drop chickens from the roof?" you asked.

"Exactly."

"Were Mom and Dad mad?" you asked. "I was little. I don't remember."

"They weren't thrilled, I'll tell you that much. I think if I would've gotten arrested it would've been a lot worse."

"He's downplaying it," Will said. "Mom grounded him from everything. Car keys, those crappy Motorola phones we had back then, GameBoy, dates with Allie. He couldn't do anything."

"Does not sound fun. I won't be trying that." You pulled your schedule out of the bag Jay had brought and passed it to your brother first.

"Aw, man, you got Cunningham for history," Jay groaned. "Or should I say Cuntingham."

"Jay!" you yelled.

"That old hag is still teaching? Damn," Will added.

"Okay, what's the issue with her? Eva? Jordan? Anything about this Cunningham lady?"

"She just hates freshman," Eva supplied. "When you become a sophomore it gets better."

"And she hates when you tip back in your chair," Jordan added. "She'll make you pay her 25 cents if she sees you do it in her class."

"Okay, no tipping in chairs, and I have to deal with her for a year, noted." You turned to your brothers. "How do you know of her?"

"I didn't have a problem with her other than the fact that she's a crappy teacher," Will said. "But  Jay, on the other hand, he's a different story."

"What'd you do?"

"So, I was a freshman when you were born and Mom went into labor the night before I had a test. And, because everyone hates tests, I went to the hospital with Will that morning and we waited for Mom to you know, be done giving birth to you.

"And, I went to school the next day and this old hag said that because there wasn't a doctor's note that I couldn't take the test--"

"He was this close--" Will pinched his pointer finger and thumb together so that they were almost touching. "--to taking you to school one day just to show you to Cunningham and saying is this a good enough doctor's note for you?"

"But Mom wouldn't let me do that...for obvious reasons. And then, because I couldn't take that one stupid test, I did not do well in that class."

"Just say you're related to me," Will said. "Don't mention Jay's name at all and you'll be fine."

"Got it. I'm gonna go in the water now."

You started to go in the water when you heard Erin and Will trying to convince Jay to go in.

"Dude, I can't roughhouse because of my ribs, you know this!" Jay told Will. "And, I am not going in the water with you again, not after what happened last time."

"Jay, that was twelve years ago, give it rest."

At this, your ears perked up. "What'd Will do?" you asked, walking back up to your brothers and Erin.

"He tried to drown me."

"Did not! I just wanted to see how long you could hold your breath."

"Yeah, see how long it would take me to drown!"

"He tried to drown you?" Erin asked.

"Yeah," Jay answered. "Me and Will were playing in the water. I was like 16 and Will was like 18. Y/N was a little toddler and was playing with her shovel on the beach. Then, Mom had to go to the bathroom, so she left me and Will in charge."

"Bad idea number one," Will said.

"There's more bad ideas. So, Y/N's playing in the sand, me and Will are playing in the water, and then next thing I know, Will's practically on top of me and holding my head underwater."

"And the minute I let you up was the minute Mom came back."

"Yup, perfect timing."

"And then you have Y/N who's sitting on the beach and decided to watch us and was just clapping her hands and chanting again, again!"

"Really?" you asked, as you tried to hold back your laughter. "I did that?" Will nodded and you shrugged. "Sounds pretty accurate to me."

"And then I didn't get ice cream after."

"Yeah, you didn't get ice cream after." Jay took a deep breath. "You almost killed me!"

You rolled your eyes. "I'm going in the water to cool off. Maybe it is best that you guys stay here. But, I mean, Gabby's here and I hope to God Will knows CPR because he's a doctor and that you cops do, too."

Once Will saw that you weren't focused on him and Jay anymore, he turned to his little brother. "Hey, how old was dad when he kinda, you know, clocked out on parenting us?"

"Early high school," Jay answered. "Why are you...oh shit, Y/N."

"Yeah, Y/N," Will reiterated. "And, we had Mom, so it wasn't that bad. But, she doesn't have that."

"She's got us," Jay said. "That's gotta count for something."

A/N: I was going to post this last night, but I almost fell asleep while editing, so it's coming out now. Anyway, not sure how I feel about this one, but I got it done, so that's all that matters. Thank you for reading! Please vlike/reblog and comment and tell me what you think! As always, if you want to be added to the taglist, just comment that you want to be added down below. PS: That story about chickens being dropped into the courtyard at school, yeah my older cousin did that for his senior prank and the lookout got caught and they had to do community service to walk at graduation.

taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07 @thexplosivegirl @dreamingwithlens @xoxmariaxox @onechicago18 @iamasimpingh0e 

[happyandticklish]

Tickletober Day Five - Tickle Hug

Notes: This ended up being a biiiit longer than I meant it to be, but oh well. I said 1,000 words at the maximum for these because I needed to focus on other writing as well, but I have no self control and they keep ending up longer on accident. 

Summary: Surprises are hard when your boyfriend’s a superhero.

Caleb had memorized a variety of different feelings from Adam. He knew when he was frustrated, and how to distinguish whether he was frustrated over a math problem or his own personal dilemma. He knew the exact feeling Adam got when he needed a hug but was too afraid to ask. He could recognize Adam’s pain and suffering like the back of his hand, and though Caleb couldn’t always figure out what he needed in that moment, he was getting better at it. He also knew what it was like when Adam was bursting with joy, and it was one of his favorites to experience, like sparks firing off in his brain.

Sometimes, though, he would experience new feelings, and whenever he did he had to add them to the quickly growing list of them he had built in his head. That day he felt a very particular feeling from Adam, a mischievous spark so present that he didn’t even have to turn around and see Adam to know it was him.

Caleb could also tell the mischief was directed at him, which made him instantly tense. By then it was too late, however, as fingers suddenly slid under his shirt, blunt nails scribbling across his skin and surprising a snort out of him.

“Ahahadam!” he protested, curling in on himself. “W-Whahat are y-you dohoing?”

“You are ticklish,” Adam exclaimed, a note of triumph in his voice. “Alice told me you were, but I wanted to see it for myself.”

Alice. Of course. One of the downfalls of introducing Adam to his family was the unexpected friendship that had resulted between his boyfriend and his sister. At first Caleb had been relieved by it, until he realized Adam was benefitting from the friendship by discovering all the best ways to mess with Caleb.

“Ohohof cohohourse Ihihi a-aham!” Caleb’s knees were growing weak, his ability to support himself quickly failing. He batted weakly at Adam’s hands, his protests coming out far gigglier than he intended them too. “Cuhuhut ihihit ohohout!”

“Okay, okay.” Adam pulled his hands away, sidling around to face him with a cheeky smile. Caleb could feel the giddy pride radiating off him, and he rolled his eyes, feeling a reluctant smile slide onto his face in response.

“That was uncalled for,” Caleb said, pointing accusingly at him. “You are never allowed to talk to my sister about me again. I’m banning it. No more Alice time for you.”

“But I like Alice,” Adam protested, leaning in to meet Caleb’s brief kiss before the latter grabbed the kettle off the stove. “She’s funny. Besides, you tickle me all the time.”

“Yes, but that’s different. You like it when I tickle you,” Caleb pointed out, turning on the sink and filling the kettle. He could feel the embarrassment from the other at his words, curling and squirming in his stomach, but it was a good kind, the kind that let Caleb knew he didn’t really mind it.

Adam blushed, biting his lip nervously as he suddenly became very interested in the hem of his hoodie. “Maybe so. But still. I think some revenge is in order.”

“For something you enjoy?” Caleb asked, glancing back with a wry grin.

“I’m just saying,” Adam persisted, stubborn till the end. He paused for a moment, giving the other a considering look. “Do you not like it? Being tickled, that is?”

Caleb shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t hate it. It can be pretty intense though. But I suppose I don’t mind it, really, if it’s with someone I know and trust.”

“Like me,” Adam suggested.

Now it was Caleb’s turn to be embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess. Like you.”

Adam was silent behind him, but Caleb could practically sense the gears in his brain turning. Not only that, but a combination of determination and excitement, that Caleb had come to recognize by now as the beginnings of a new project, was practically glowing off of him. Often it would come about during class or when he was brainstorming during an essay assignment while Caleb sat on his phone nearby. This time however, it was directed towards Caleb.

The next day, he discovered the meaning behind it. Caleb was sitting on the couch, a book held in his hands that he was supposed to be reading for English. He skimmed the pages dutifully, words flying in one ear and out the other. He didn’t understand why they had to read Shakespeare anyway. By the time he got through the language, he had completely lost his place in the plot.

His thoughts were distracted suddenly when he heard Adam come in the room. No, not heard. Felt. There were no footsteps signaling his presence, yet Caleb could sense the familiar emotions, already slotting comfortably into place against his own. Super familiar, actually. It was the same as yesterday, playful anticipation reaching out eagerly. And suddenly, Caleb realized his game.

He jerked forward just in time, so that Adam fell into the back of the couch in surprise, his fingers curled in midair. He straightened up quickly, tugging his shirt down and fixing the other with a glare. “What the hell? I was being so quiet!”

“Emotions boy, remember?” Caleb offered him a sheepish smile. “Sorry for ruining your revenge.”

Adam groaned, letting his face fall into his hands. “Dammit. I forgot you had literal superpowers. How am I supposed to sneak up on you when you’re basically a human metal detector for emotions?”

Caleb stood up, coming around and patting him on the shoulder. “I have faith in you. You always figure things out in the end.”

“I can’t help but feel you’re condescending to me,” Adam muttered, side-eying him though his fingers.

“I will neither confirm nor deny.” Caleb kissed the side of his head, reaching around and retrieving his book. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go attempt to figure out what the hell a ‘bisson rheum’ is.”

For the next week, the days followed in much the same way. Adam coming up with strange and inventive ways to surprise him, and Caleb dodging him each and every time. Caleb considered just letting Adam think he had won and giving in, but he had a feeling the other would want his victory to be real.

Their little game ended on a Saturday evening, with Caleb standing outside Adam’s door as he waited for him to get ready for their date. It was late September at the time, and he could feel the chill creeping in underneath his jacket as the seconds ticked by. They had planned to meet for a quick coffee at their usual place—not that it was usually a “quick” coffee with them.

The door opened with a bang, flinging forward as Adam came rushing out of it. He grinned when he saw Caleb, who had taken several steps back to avoid the path of the door, and threw his arms around him suddenly.

“Oh!” Caleb exclaimed, surprised, but not unpleasantly so. “Hey. You’re energetic today. What’s the occas—ah! Hehehey!”

He giggled as cold fingers dug suddenly into his sides, squeezing and scribbling over the skin. “A-Ahahadam!” He tried to squirm away, but found himself held in place by Adam’s arms, the hug serving as an excellent trap for the unexpected tickling. “Shit! Wahahait!”

“I got you,” Adam proclaimed, leaning back a little to smirk at him. “I figured out the perfect way to catch you off guard.”

Caleb had to admit he was right. By the time he had even registered Adam’s feelings, it was already too late. His laughter rose several octaves as Adam moved to his ribs next, scratching against them in a way that was unfairly ticklish. He hugged the other tighter, unsure what else to do in the face of the tickling. “Ahahahahadam!”

“Caleb.”

“Ihihihit tihihihickles!”

“Well I should hope so. I am tickling you, after all.”

Adam tickled him for another minute, leaving the other a gasping, giggling mess in his arms. He didn’t want to go too far, however, and so finally he relented, allowing his hands to rest at his lower back. “I think it’s safe to say I won.”

Caleb didn’t answer for a moment, regaining his breath from the sudden fit of laughter. When he did, his cheeks were flushed and there was a leftover grin on his face, which quickly transformed into a confident smirk. “I think you’re forgetting something here.”

“Oh?” Adam raised an eyebrow. “And just what is that?”

“You’re ticklish too.”

The two were understandably late to their date, but as Caleb held Adam’s hand afterwards, basking in the high of Adam’s happiness, he decided it was worth it.

[hongism]

liquorice and ivories - k.hongjoong

➻ pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader ➻ wc: 16.5k ➻ genre: smut, tad angsty, fluff, e2l, pianist!hongjoong, pianist!reader ➻ rating: M, 18+ ➻ warnings: public sex, semi-public sex, explicit smut, oral sex: m & f, fingering, handjobs, choking, lowkey hate sex at first, sex on a piano, degradation, praise, marking, biting, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing, creampie, unprotected sex ➻ summary: you and hongjoong are competitors, of course. two people, one dream - there’s never room for two in this industry. neither of you care who you have to step on to get to the top.

​​​

Your fingers hit the ivories with a thud. The sound echoes through the practice room, reverberating against the walls and sending the sickeningly sweet sounds to the ears of all the people in the room. You sit back, satisfied with the performance, and glance over at your small audience. The professor is the first to clap, and he sends a small smile your way before standing up. Five of your classmates mimic his movements, but the sixth remains stony and cold, unmoving except for the slight curl of his lips that echoes his disgust with your performance.

Kim Hongjoong.

The two of you have never cared for each other; both are so competitive that you can’t stand to be around one another for more than five seconds. You are arrogant to a degree, but only because you think about how far you’ve come and how much you’ve developed over the years. Hongjoong, on the other hand, is just arrogant. There’s no need to beat around the bush and think harder about it. You’ve known the man for about two years now – you both joined the university at the same time and now are in your junior years together. Given the minimal size of your program though, it means that you have to share every single class with Hongjoong.

When you started your journey in the program, you didn’t notice Hongjoong. He’s a short-statured man – still taller than you yes, but small compared to your other male classmate – and he was relatively quiet during the first year of school. A fashionable student, even with the awkward uniform you’re all required to wear, but he always manages to style it in a way like no one else. Whether it’s a beret on his head or a sudden change of hair color, Hongjoong always adds a new flair to his outfits. Once he even had a mullet, which you had never seen before in person, but as much as you hate to admit it, it actually suited him quite nicely. Now, however, his hair is bright blue and parted right down the middle. His bangs frame his forehead, exposing just enough skin to entice, and if you didn’t hate his guts so much, you would understand why all the girls at this school want to get in his pants.

As you said, you didn’t notice him during your first year at university because he was so quiet and kept to himself. That all flipped during the second year though. Hongjoong became bold all of a sudden; the bright-eyed boy of freshman year was long gone and replaced by a cynical man who sought to tear everyone down. You became his primary target of attack. You weren’t sure why at first, but it became glaringly obvious once your professor admitted that you and Hongjoong were the top two students of your generation. It is a competition, in which you are his biggest competitor.

Exchanged insults, glares and scowls sent in each other’s direction, attempts to outdo one another in practices and recitals and competitions. You fight each other tooth and nail. Your professor seems totally unbothered by the hatred you bear for one another; he claims that it’s a healthy way to challenge each other, even though everyone knows that it is the opposite of healthy.

All that to say – you are not surprised in the slightest to see his disdain. Your professor on the other hand cannot stop grinning after your performance.

“Fantastic job, Y/N. Really stunning. I think you’re doing better than ever with this piece. I have no doubt that you can win the next competition if you continue practicing hard and performing at this level.”

You push the piano bench back just enough to step out, bowing to your professor at his kind words.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Mr. Kim, you’re up next.” Hongjoong stands as he’s called forward. The two of you pass without sparing so much as a glance in the other’s direction. You take his now empty seat, one leg crossing over the other as you lean against the back. Hongjoong sits on the bench, fiddling with the adjustments and distance from the keys a bit. “Remind me of your piece?”

“Chopin’s Nocturne, Opus 48, number 1.”

“Ah yes. Start whenever you’re ready.”

As soon as Hongjoong’s fingers hit the keys, you’re reminded of why you hate the man so much. It’s not because he’s arrogant and egotistical for no reason. No, he’s sickenly good at playing the piano. That infuriates you even more. If he was bad and full of ungodly rage, you might be able to rectify his attitude, but no. He’s the best pianist you’ve ever met, ever heard, better than some professionals that you’ve gone and seen in concert. He plays the piano as though it’s an extension of himself. The ivories are like his muscle and bone, he treats each one like it’s a part of him, and he knows how to recreate a piece of music in a way that is so authentically original yet completely his own. Yea, you fucking despise it.

Over the years, the biggest complaint you’ve received from teachers and judges is that you cannot properly express the music. You can play it perfectly, recreate the notes as they were written, and copy them to perfection. But that’s not what the judges or teachers want. They want you to be unique and diverse. They don’t want a perfect replica. They want you to take the piece of music and make it your own, create something flawless and make it even better by putting your own heart and soul into the notes. Hongjoong does that with such ease that he makes it look effortless.

This piece he plays now gives him the perfect playing ground to do that again. The way his fingers dance across the keys, a feather-light touch that brings the slightest notes out and the hard-hitting chords that resound in your ears. His performance is as flawless as ever, he has no trouble making the song his own. You hate it. The perfection under his fingers nearly makes you sick to your stomach because the player behind the keys is nothing but a self-righteous asshole.

You honestly want to smack some sense into Hongjoong, maybe rough him up a little and try to make him less of an asshole, but you doubt that would work. You settle for glaring at the side of his head throughout the performance, despising each perfect note he plays until he finishes the song. You return the favor of not clapping when he finishes the piece, six long minutes of torture, but everyone else in the room applauds his performance with fervor. He stands up and steps around the piano bench, bowing to the professor then turning to look right at you. A smug smile spreads across his lips. He knows how well he did, and he knows how much you enjoyed the piece. You don’t give him the pleasure of returning the glare any longer and glance away to stare at the floor instead.

“Fantastic job, Mr. Kim. Near perfection, I would say. Be sure to watch the tempo as you play. Otherwise, I have no advice for you.”

“Thank you, professor.” Hongjoong’s voice mimics the sickly sweet tone of his playing, a melodious sound that grates against your ears despite how pretty it is. He rubs at his wrists as he pulls away from the piano, and his expression is blank when you look back up at his face.

“Alright, that’s all for today. You all did well with your performances. Be sure to keep practicing. I’ll see you at the competition on Saturday. Watch your emails as I’ll be sending out information about the bus ride to the concert hall. Dismissed!”

You waste no time in standing up, snatching up the bag at your feet and slinging it over your shoulder without thinking twice. You’re out the door within seconds. It would be a wise idea to drop by a practice room and work on your piece some more seeing as there are only a few days left until the competition, but too much rage boils in your gut. You want nothing more than to go home and stew in fury on the couch while watching some awful drama. So, that’s exactly what you do.

The bus ride back to your apartment is quick and easy, as is the walk up the stairs to your room. When you step inside, a small black cat darts out from under the couch to greet you. You stoop down to scratch at his chin, cooing as he rubs against you with a happy purr.

“Hi, Victor. Did you have a good day?” The response you get is a quiet meow. “Yea, I had a good day up until practice. Fucking Kim Hongjoong.”

You step around the small cat to plop down on the couch, dropping your bag to the floor with a thud. Digging around in your pockets, you pull your phone out to find a littering of texts across the screen as well as two missed calls. With a sigh, you tap the screen to return the call, immediately greeted with a loud scream in your ear.

“Y/N!”

“Yea, hi, Woo. Why’d you call?”

“I can’t just call my best friend out of nowhere?”

“No, because you never call unless you want something,” you sigh into the receiver. Wooyoung replies with a dissatisfied click of his tongue.

“Wow, I see how it is. I get absolutely no respect. None! You hear that, Seonghwa? No respect!” You hear Wooyoung’s roommate hum quietly over the phone, and Wooyoung grumbles at his nonchalant response. “Anyways, you’re right. I called because I want something.”

“I fucking knew it.” You sit straight on the couch, elbows coming to rest against your knees. “What is it this time? Calculus homework? You know I’m not a math major…”

“No! No, if I wanted help with Calculus, I would just ask Hwa.”

“Okay, so what is it?”

“I’m having a party tonight and–”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear me out!”

“The answer is no.”

“Come on, Y/N! You never go out!”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s a chill party!”

“You say that every time then the cops get called and suddenly it’s no longer a ‘chill party’.”

“Okay, but this time it really is.”

“How so?”

“It’s small. Only seven or eight people are coming. Including you, maybe?”

“More always end up showing up, Woo.”

“Not this time. I’ve limited it. Mingi and San are not allowed to bring anyone over, I’ve made it glaringly clear. So please? Pretty please? Seonghwa and I will buy you dinner for a whole week!”

“Um, when did I agree to that?” Seonghwa’s voice carries over the phone against, his tone full of protest as Wooyoung makes the offer.

“Make it two weeks and you have a deal,” you respond, voice flat.

“What? No! That’s way too much. One week.”

“One and a half.”

“I’ll give you one week and Hwa will buy a whole bag of cat food for Victor.”

“Deal.”

“What?” Seonghwa’s shout of protest resounds again. “I did not agree to this!”

“Too bad, so sad, Hwa! She’s coming!” Wooyoung cheers, voice quieter as he pulls away from the phone for a moment. He comes back right after to talk to you again. “Okay, be here by eight. That’s when people will start showing up. Seonghwa’s getting us some good good alcohol so we’re really going to have fun. I promise!”

Wooyoung doesn’t give you the opportunity to respond; instead, he hangs up the phone and leaves you in silence again. You drop the phone to the couch with a sigh, glancing over at where Victor is now perched on the armrest.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

He meows back at you, amber eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yea, that’s what I thought.”

…

The house is already booming with music when you arrive at the front door. Wooyoung is lucky to live with Seonghwa because the man is filthy rich and can afford to rent out a whole house to live in for the school year. It allows for loud parties like these, although the house is relatively small and the other houses around it are very close, they can at least have the luxury of not sharing a whole apartment building with hundreds of other people.

You don’t bother knocking, twisting the knob and stepping into the noise. Wooyoung is there to greet you at the door, two cups in hand, and he grins when he sees you.

“Y/N! Let’s get this shit started! Rum and coke?”

“Yea, yea.” You snatch one of the cups from his hand and start sipping at it without a second thought.

“Hey, that was mine!”

“Well, it’s mine now!”

“You little shit.” Wooyoung scrunches his nose up, then drops a hand to your back. “Okay almost everyone is here. San is in the middle of dragging Jongho over by the ear, then we’re gonna be in full party mode.”

“I can’t wait to make a speedy getaway.”

“You say that every time. Then you stay all night. Make up your mind, woman.” Wooyoung elbows you in the side. He catches sight of Seonghwa a moment later, rushing off to go stand with the older man. You watch him go with a small shake of your head. As much as Wooyoung doesn’t want to admit it, he is absolutely infatuated with his roommate. Every time they have a party like this, Wooyoung ends up in Seonghwa’s bed, and they wake up as though nothing happened. Part of you wishes you could have a relationship like that – fuck and move on without a care in the world. The two won’t admit that it’s something exclusive but you know Wooyoung wouldn’t dare sleep with anyone else, and Seonghwa doesn’t bring anyone to the house or spend the night elsewhere. They have an unspoken agreement, an undefined relationship. Still, it bothers Wooyoung that Seonghwa won’t speak up about his feelings, and you’ve had to console the man through drunk tears on occasion. The only action you get, on the other hand, is hearing Wooyoung’s stories about how they fucked and getting gross details of all the positions Seonghwa put him in throughout the night.

You shake your head at the thought, downing some more of your drink to expel the image from your mind. You glance around the living room, searching the faces of the people who are already here. Wooyoung was at least telling the truth, and there are only three people talking in a small circle. All are faces you recognize: Wooyoung’s friend Mingi, Seonghwa’s old flame and best friend Yeosang, and Yeosang’s current boyfriend Yunho. All people you know well enough to be friends with, so you approach them without any hesitation. It’s only when you step past Mingi’s outrageously tall form that you catch sight of a much smaller form, one with bright blue hair that you recognize in an instant.

“He fucking didn’t…” You mutter to yourself as you drag your gaze over the man’s form. “Jung Wooyoung, I swear…”

You spin on your heel just before going to where the group is standing. You make a beeline for Seonghwa and Wooyoung, catching the younger man by surprise when you grab hold of his shoulder and yank him back.

“Woah! What? What happened?”

“You fucking invited Kim Hongjoong?” You ask, tone incredulous as you glare at your best friend.

“I-I – oh shit. I forgot! I forgot you weren’t friends!”

“How did you fucking forget, Wooyoung? I tell you how much I had him on the daily!”

“Mingi asked if he could bring his roommate! I didn’t know that his roommate was Hongjoong, I swear. I’ve never met him before, I just assumed it was some random person. Please don’t hit me!” Wooyoung flinches away from you as you raise a hand to smack him across the back of the head.

“I can’t believe you,” you grumble as Wooyoung yelps. Seonghwa laughs at your exchange with Wooyoung, eyes forming soft crescents as he smiles. “You didn’t think to ask?”

“Why would I need to ask? We’re friends, I just assumed his roommate would be chill like he is!”

“No, it’s Kim fucking Hongjoong, the least chill person in the fucking universe. I’m leaving.”

“Woah, woah, woah! Please don’t, Y/N. You just got here, come on. Stay for just a little bit. You don’t even have to talk to him, okay? Just stay with me or Seonghwa. Or San when he gets here! I know you like him!”

“Shut up!” You turn away at the accusation, cheeks heating up as he points out your minor crush.

“I’m just stating facts,” Wooyoung huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest and sticks his tongue out at you.

“I’ll stay as long as I don’t have to breathe near Hongjoong.” You send a glare at the blue-haired man’s back even though he can’t see you. You don’t even know if he’s seen you yet; he’s still glued to Mingi’s side without a care in the world.

“What’s the deal with you two anyway?” Seonghwa asks as he brings his drink up to his lips.

“He’s a self-righteous fucking asshole who tears people down so he can feel better about himself,” you grumble back. Seonghwa’s eyebrows shoot up, and Wooyoung shakes his head.

“Competition. They’re both good at piano. Thus… they’re competition to each other.”

“Yea, yea… it would help if he wasn’t such a fuckwad.”

“Ooh, fuckwad. That’s a new one. Hey, Hwa, how kinky would it be to call you fuckwad during sex?”

“I – what?”

“Please spare me! I did not come here to hear about that again.”

“Oh, fuckwad, harder!” Wooyoung cries out, leaning closer to you. You try to swat him away with weak hands.

“Not as kinky or hot as you think,” Seonghwa chimes in, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Maybe we can try it tonight and see if I change your mind.”

“I hate it here,” you chime in, trying to hide behind your drink.

“Sure you do.”

“No, I really hate it here. This is disgusting, I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I mean, you can watch if you want–”

“No! Oh my god, no. Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung cackles as he pulls away from the two of you, moving over to where the others stand with their drinks, and leaves you and Seonghwa to stand at the edge of the kitchen.

“What am I going to do with him?” Seonghwa asks as he watches the short brunette walk away.

“Marry him?”

Seonghwa releases a small laugh. “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

You smile at the taller man, glancing at his love-stricken expression out the corner of your eye before downing the rest of your drink. Casting another glance over at Hongjoong’s back, you spin on your heel and enter the kitchen to make yourself another drink. The amount of rum you put in is almost shameful, and it’s a good thing that your recital is on Saturday and not tomorrow because you know you will end up absolutely wasted before the night is over. You don’t even bother to put soda in this time either, just leaving the liquor and a few cubes of ice.

The alcohol burns as it sears down your throat. Seonghwa has moved forward to join Wooyoung with the others. You know you’re going to have to go over there eventually, but Hongjoong’s lurking form is deterring you from doing so for now. Just your luck too because the doorbell rings as you step out of the kitchen.

“I’ll get it!” You call out over your shoulder, making your way over to the door. You already have an inkling as to who it might be, and that is only confirmed when you crack the door open. San and Jongho stand behind it, bright smiles on both their faces. You bite down hard on your lower lip at the sight of the former and try not to let your gaze rake over his body as he steps over the threshold.

“Oh, Y/N! I didn’t know you were going to come too. What a pleasant surprise!” San says. His hand finds your waist as he pulls you in for a warm hug. Your heart does small cartwheels as he presses against you, and you feel the need to down a whole bottle of rum to expel the feelings.

“Yea, I-I, uh, Wooyoung convinced me to come,” you stammer out, glancing away from San’s face. Jongho smiles at you but says nothing, and he looks a lot less excited to be here than San. You understand the feeling at least and pass a sympathetic smile in his direction.

“I’m glad he did. I don’t see you nearly enough.”

“Oh shut up. You’re just one building over, you can always visit me in the practice rooms.”

“And risk seeing asshole supreme? I’ll pass.” San laughs as he shuts the front door, and you know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Don’t speak too soon. He’s here with Mingi.”

“Oh fuck. Where’s the alcohol? I’m gonna need it.”

“Kitchen.”

“Bless you.”

“Mhm,” you hum over the rim of your cup. Your eyes shift back over to where the others are standing. Your heart plummets in an instant as you see Hongjoong’s gaze on your form. That familiar hatred is lingering in his stare, and you return it immediately with an equal amount of fury. Rather than staying any longer to see him, you move to follow San into the kitchen, downing a good amount of alcohol along the way.

“You know, I should’ve brought my girlfriend with me,” San says as you step into the kitchen. You freeze in your tracks, mouth falling agape as your brain processes the words. It’s almost a physical pain that spreads across your chest when you realize what he’s saying. You don’t let it show on your face though; the pain is covered with a shaky smile and laugh.

“W-What do you mean?”

“You’re always the only girl at these parties. It must suck to not, I don’t know, have another girl to talk to, you know?” San brings a cup to his lips, sipping at it quietly as he looks at you. You swallow roughly.

“Right, yea. Of course. I… Honestly, I barely notice. I have Wooyoung.”

“Good point, good point. I’ll be sure to bring her to the next one though. I think the two of you would get along! Hell, you might even know her. She’s in the piano program.”

“O-Oh, wow! Wow. Wow. What a coincidence!”

“I know right? Her name is Minnie if you talk to her at all.”

You nearly choke on your drink as San says the name. Not only do you know the girl in question, she is one of your closest friends – if not your closest friend in the piano program. Not once did she ever let it slip that she was dating your crush. The crush you have mentioned to her on multiple occasions. Nice. Fuck, this nice just keeps getting better and better.

“I-I, no. No, uh, I’ve not talked to her too much!” You lie with another weak smile. “But I’ll be sure to introduce myself soon. I’d love to chat with her about music and stuff.”

“Yea, absolutely. I can give you her number if you’d like?”

“No, no! It’s okay! I’ll see her tomorrow in class. You don’t need to do that.”

“Oh yea, I forgot you guys have practice together every day. She speaks highly of your playing, by the way.”

Your smile is beginning to hurt your cheeks as you strain to keep it going.

“Oh please, I’m not that good. Nothing special.”

“Humble words for the best in the program,” San replies with a lilt to his tone. Your cheeks feel like they might collapse if you maintain the grin any longer. Thankfully, San steps away from the counter and motions towards the living room a moment later.

“I’m gonna go say hi to the others.”

“Yea, go ahead. I’m just gonna get a refill on my drink!” You don’t need another refill, you still have half a cup left. You throw it back when San disappears though in the hopes that it’ll take the sting in the corners of your eyes away. It wasn’t even a straight-up rejection. Still, you’ve spent months pining after San and trying to get close to him, only for this to happen. One of your closest friends to up and date him behind your back? Yea, that hurts a lot more than you’d like to admit. Once the alcohol is fully down, you drop your cup to the counter and begin to pour another glass of straight rum. You don’t even notice when someone else steps into the kitchen with a drink in hand.

“Even at a random party, you manage to annoy me.”

Hongjoong. As though your night couldn’t get any worse, he decides to come and bother you. How perfect. You should’ve said no to Wooyoung.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” You slam the bottle of rum against the counter and bring your cup back to your lips. Hongjoong comes closer to the counter, shaking his head at your behavior.

“Such a model student you are.”

“You’re one to fucking talk.”

“The mouth on you is absolutely foul.”

“I didn’t realize we weren’t allowed to cuss.”

“It’s not pretty for a lady to cuss.”

You nearly toss your drink in his face but somehow you manage to hold back from doing so.

“My patience is already minimal.”

“Rejection ruin your night?” Hongjoong reaches across the counter to pick up the bottle of alcohol. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you think you’ll draw blood. “Everyone in class knows that Minnie’s dating San. How did you manage to miss that? Especially seeing as you’re the one who talks with her the most?”

“She neglected to tell me.”

“Probably didn’t want to crush your dreams.”

Your grip on the cup in your hand tightens. Hongjoong’s words shouldn’t get to you – they normally don’t, but right now you’re already in a bit of a fragile mindstate, so the stinging in the corners of your eyes returns in a rush. You inhale sharply. Hongjoong glances up at you as he hears the sound. His fingers pause on the bottle of rum.

“Are you crying?” He asks. You squeeze your eyes shut as though it will hide the evidence of your tears, but it only serves to cause them to run down your cheeks. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry. I di-didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hongjoong’s apology is quite the shocker. You half-expected him to laugh in your face and call you all sorts of names. When you glance over at him again, his expression is one full of regret and guilt. You wipe furiously at your cheeks with one hand, keeping the other on your cup of alcohol.

“Shut the fuck up,” you say again, albeit with a much shakier tone this time. All the remorse on Hongjoong’s expression melts away in an instant. He glares at you in response and returns to pouring himself another cup of alcohol. You turn away and move towards one of the counters, hopping up on it and mulling over your drink in silence.

“You’re really going to sit there and mope all night? I should’ve known you were boring as fuck just from hearing your performance quality.”

It didn’t even take a minute for Hongjoong to return to insulting you. The temptation of chucking your drink at him returns, but once again you manage not to do that.

“What do you get out of being mean to me? Does it make you feel better? Is that it?”

“No. You’re just so easy to rile up. Makes you worse at playing the piano too, which means it makes me that much better than you. Eliminating the competition, love. That’s all.”

“Don’t fucking call me ‘love’.”

“Why? Does it get you going?”

“I hate you so much, I swear. Don’t you have a line of girls you can fuck around with whenever you’re bored?” You hiss the question at Hongjoong. He laughs a little, one corner of his lips curling up as he takes in your questions. He hums and pushes the bottle of alcohol away again, then brings his cup up to his lips. After a long and slow drag of the drink, he pushes it back down to the counter. You watch his movements with wary eyes as he steps around the counter and moves closer to where you’re perched.

“What’s the fun in that?” He asks, head tilting to the side as he draws closer to you. “Why not play a little game of cat and mouse? Tease, poke fun, see how much it takes for someone to give in. That’s real fun.”

“So I’m a game to you?” You spit out as Hongjoong closes in on you. He pauses in his tracks, only a few feet away from you now.

“A game? You aren’t the game itself. You’re just a piece in the game. The true game is getting under your skin.”

Hongjoong continues to move forward until he hits your knees. Despite his short stature, he’s just tall enough to be eye level with you at this angle. You lean back, head thudding against the cabinet behind you. There’s nowhere for you to go, and you stare back at Hongjoong with narrowed eyes. You bring your cup up, effectively blocking him from coming any closer, and down some more alcohol in the hopes that it’ll drive away the sudden warmth in your gut that arises when Hongjoong grins at you.

“Cat got your tongue all of a sudden, princess?”

“No,” you rush to answer. Hongjoong’s smile persists, and he places his hands down on the counter. They close you in, dropped on either side of your form. He’s putting an awful amount of trust that you won’t knee him in the balls like this, because you’re at the perfect angle to do so.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Hongjoong says. Your breath catches in your throat when you hear his words, and you panic, shoulders tensing up in an instant. Hongjoong hesitates, watching your movements with careful eyes. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

“N-No, I… I…” You can’t finish the sentence. Your gaze travels down the slope of Hongjoong’s nose to his plush lips, their dark red color enticing you to lean forward. It’s the alcohol in your system, it really must be, because otherwise you wouldn’t even dream of kissing him. Hongjoong leans even closer, his breath mixing with yours. It smells like alcohol, and as he gets closer, you can see a faint blush across his nose and cheeks. He must be feeling the effects of the drinks as well, which should be a sign for you to stop and know that you’ll regret this in the morning. Hell, you aren’t even drunk yet. You’re barely tipsy. So why the fuck do you want to Hongjoong to pin you to the bed and fuck you senseless?

You don’t think any longer than that. You drape your arms around Hongjoong’s neck and close the distance between your lips. His lips are soft and warm when they hit yours, slotting together like puzzle pieces. He sighs into the kiss. He pushes against you as his hands shift to grip your hips. Despite the smell of alcohol on his breath, his lips taste sickenly sweet, almost like liquorice candy. Strangely, you can’t get enough of you. His tongue prods at your lower lips, swiping across the skin in a way that causes shivers to run down your spine.

A slight gasp escapes you, and Hongjoong uses that to his advantage. He presses his tongue between your lips with ease. It hits yours in an instant battle for dominance, and that sweet liquorice taste is on his tongue as well as though he’s been eating the candy for hours.

He pulls back for a moment, letting the two of you catch your breath. Your eyelids flutter as he moves, and your head falls back against the cabinet behind you. Hongjoong takes advantage of the motion. He leans forward and presses his lips to the column of your throat, tongue dragging over the skin there. Small gasps of air leave you as he sucks gently at the skin as well, and you know you should stop him because he’ll leave marks. Marks that won’t be gone within two days for the competition. Yet you don’t mind it too much ask his tongue lavishes your neck. What you do mind is the fact that the two of you are still in the kitchen. Which has no doors. So anyone could walk in and see the two of you going at it like this at any second.

You nudge Hongjoong’s shoulder, and he pulls off within an instant.

“What’s up?” He asks in the most nonchalant and casual tone ever.

“Upstairs bedroom. First door on the left. I’ll meet you up there in five minutes,” you say through a series of gasps. Hongjoong arches a brow, your confident tone catching him off-guard as well as the confirmation that the two of you are taking this further. He pulls away from you. His hands slide down your thighs as he moves in a teasing manner, and the gleam in his eyes tells you that he knows exactly what he is doing. You wait until he’s completely gone from the kitchen to release the breath you were holding, eyes falling shut. You take another chug of alcohol and finish off the rest of your glass. It’s just enough liquid courage for you to hop off the counter and pace around the kitchen, hands pressed together as though in prayer.

Now that Hongjoong is gone, you’re suddenly second-guessing this whole… situation. The two of you hate each other, that fact hasn’t changed in the slightest, you know that he still hates you as much as you hate him. It’s just the alcohol. It’s just the alcohol, it has to be. You’re still thinking straight and clearly though. It’s the arousal in your gut then. That was not there before Hongjoong kissed you or when you pulled him into said kiss. Then… perhaps the rejection that wasn’t really rejection from San. Maybe it’s that. Surely it’s that. Or maybe the two of you just need to fuck this out of your systems and carry on with hating each other.

Thinking is getting you nowhere. You don’t wait any longer, dipping out of the kitchen and taking the stairs up to the second floor without a second thought. The door you mentioned to Hongjoong belongs to Wooyoung, and he may not be happy about you using his bedroom to fuck your sworn enemy, but he’ll be wasted and distracted with Seonghwa within an hour anyway. You push into the bedroom with a sudden burst of confidence, but that dissipates the second you step in and lay your eyes on Hongjoong.

He’s stripped the leather jacket he was wearing off, leaving him in black pants that are far too tight, and a tucked-in tee that looks so effortlessly good on him that you hate it. You hate how damn perfect he is without even trying. He barely gives you time to shut the door before he’s approaching you, pressing you up against the wood. Your lips find each other again, and you moan out of surprise. The sound spurs Hongjoong on; he grabs hold of one of your legs and hikes it around his waist. The show of strength sends a surge of arousal to your core. He presses his tongue between your lips again, and you eat that sickly sweet taste of liquorice up as though starved.

“Are you sure?” Hongjoong asks, pulling away for a brief moment to look you in the eye.

“Yes,” you respond without any hesitation. “Yes, so fuck me.”

“Fuck…” Hongjoong mutters. He pulls you off the wall, and you press your other leg around his waist as he moves for the bed. You’re glad Wooyoung at least didn’t leave his room a complete mess otherwise Hongjoong would be tripping over clothes and shoes. He makes it to the bed with ease, however, dropping you to the mattress. The air leaves your lungs in a huff. You sit up on your elbows. Hongjoong stays back for a few moments, tugging at his belt until it’s completely gone, then his shirt follows quickly. You barely noticed the obvious tent in his pants prior to this but in all honesty, your eyes were looking anywhere except for his groin. His stripping encourages you to do the same, pulling at your own t-shirt and discarding of it on Wooyoung’s floor. Your shorts are harder to inch off, but as you tug at the zipper, Hongjoong’s hands land on your hips.

He doesn’t say a word, yanking your pants down with such ease that you nearly melt at the sight. Now he’s the one overdressed though, tight pants still clinging to his form, while you’re left in the black set of lingerie that you wore without thinking you were going to end up like this. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to mind one bit, bending down over you and dropping his hands on either side of your body. You welcome him with a kiss full of teeth and saliva.

“Fuck you’re hot,” Hongjoong says as he pulls off your lips for a second. He reaches around your torso and unhooks your bra, yanking it off you. Cold air hits your chest, and you suddenly feel very embarrassed at the exposure. Hongjoong’s eyes rake over you. He brings a hand to drag over your chest, pinching your nipple without warning. You gasp at the sensation, and your back arches off the bed under his fingers. Your reaction encourages him to repeat the motion, and he dips down to latch around your other nipple with his lips. You cry out from the sudden stimulation, Hongjoong’s teeth grazing over your breast lightly, and your hands reach down to find purchase in his bright blue hair.

He doesn’t waste much time though, lips quickly leaving your breast and trailing wet kisses down your bare abdomen until he reaches the band of your underwear. A grin spreads across his lips, eyes twinkling with mischief as he snags the material with his fingers and pulls it down with ease. You don’t even have time to think before he reaches between your folds and flattens his tongue against your clit. Another startled yelp escapes your, legs jerking, and Hongjoong hooks his arm around your leg and grasps at your opposite hip with the same hand. The other hand lingers at your core, teasing your dripping folds while his tongue goes to work at your clit.

“Fuck, you taste so good, princess,” Hongjoong purrs against your lower lips. You glance down at him, making eye contact as he drags his tongue through your arousal. You can see your juices on his lips. The dirty sight causes you to writhe against him. He stills you by pressing two fingers into your heat.

“Ah! Ho-Hongjoong, oh my god,” you stammer out as he immediately curls those two fingers inside you and nips gently at your sensitive bud. “F-Fuck, fuck.”

“Such a dirty mouth for a dirty little slut, huh?” You can’t respond with words this time, but his statement draws a high-pitched whine out of you and your walls tighten around his fingers. Hongjoong teases the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue. “Dirty talk then? Or degradation?”

You answer by squeezing around his fingers again, and the sensation is so tight that Hongjoong grits his teeth.

“You’re gonna be so good around my cock,” he hisses out. He squeezes a third finger into your heat, scissoring you open with relative ease. That damn tongue continues to tease your clit. He flicks over the small bead and draws small circles around it. It edges you closer and closer to an orgasm, but Hongjoong senses that and pulls away within an instant. He drags his tongue lower instead and pushes the wet muscle into your heat with his fingers. The added stimulation makes you cry out, and your hand grips Hongjoong’s hair and tugs at the strands. He nearly growls, the vibrations of the sound reverberating through your core in just the right way. It causes your orgasm to hit all of a sudden, back arching off the bed and body going slack as the intense waves wash over you.

Hongjoong guides you through the orgasm, fingers still curled inside you as he pulls his tongue back to lick the juices off his lips.

“Ready to take my cock in that dirty little cunt?”

“Yes, fuck – fuck, yes. Please fuck me.”

“Since you asked so nicely, I suppose I can do that.”

Hongjoong pulls back from your core, hands going straight to his pants. He has to stand up to tug them down, and he yanks his underwear down in the same motion. You’re surprised by his size in all honesty. He’s rather short compared to the other men you’ve been with so you weren’t expecting much in that department, but he’s much larger than you expected him to be. He doesn’t give you time to gape any longer though, kneeling back on the bed and pulling your legs up around his waist. He guides his member to your entrance. You swallow in anticipation and watch him slowly enter you. He continues moving forward until he bottoms out, a low groan leaving his lips when you instinctively clench around his cock.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he grunts out, leaning down over you again.

“Just fuck me already,” you say in response. You curl your fingers around his neck and bring his head down to yours. Your lips connect as he pulls out, and the sharp thrust of his hips against the back of your thighs breaks the kiss. You throw your head back at the sensation, the curve of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot at just the right angle. You can’t keep the moans from slipping out; the feeling is far too good for you to keep quiet, and it spurs Hongjoong to thrust faster. He picks up a relentless pace, hips slamming against your thighs at an almost bruising pace.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans. You tilt your head to the side and press your lips against your bicep, biting down on the flesh in attempts to quiet your moans. Hongjoong must not like that because his fingers close around the base of your throat. “Eyes on me.”

You follow the order without thinking twice, snapping your head back to look Hongjoong in the eye. Your quick obedience brings a stutter to his thrusts. He dips down to capture your lips in his own. Despite the fact that you just hit one orgasm, the drag of his member inside your walls is already spurring you to another one in a short amount of time. Your sporadic clenches around Hongjoong’s cock signal that oncoming orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum again, slut?” He growls against your lips. You nod a few times, tongue darting out to taste his liquorice tasting ones. He pulls just out of your reach and leans back. “Do it yourself.” His words draw a surprised gasp from your mouth. You can’t tell whether he’s being serious or not until he pulls his still hard member out of your heat. You swallow roughly, eyes trailing over him in disbelief, before pulling yourself up to be eye level with him again.

“T-Then let me ride you,” you say. Hongjoong arches a brow and bites his lower lip. Still, he doesn’t move. You blink at him. You don’t know what he’s wanting you to do or expecting you to do, so you do the only thing you can think of. Pin him down against the bed, throw a leg over his hips, and grip his member by the base. He groans at the action, watching you guide his cock back to your drenched folds with a cocky grin. You wipe the smile off his lips with a sudden drop of your hips. You take his whole length in again and don’t waste any time in picking up your pace until it matches his previous one. Even as you bounce on his member, he doesn’t grip your hips or guide your movements, just laying back and watching you do all the work. It reminds you of how much you hate the man, even in the throes of pleasure, he’s still an arrogant and self-righteous asshole. That thought doesn’t keep your orgasm from approaching quickly. Your bounces slow down as you grow ever closer to your high. When it hits, you release a loud cry, freezing on top of him with pulsing walls as the strength leaves your body. You stay like that for a few seconds, unable to move because of the intense orgasm, then pull off slowly.

He watches you with a narrowed gaze as you lower your mouth to his cock. You lap at his member, collecting the juices and precum from it, then take half of him into your mouth. He nearly bucks up into your mouth. You have to comb a few strands of hair back when they fall over his member. Hongjoong releases a wanton moan. You bob your head up and down along his cock in efforts to make him cum faster, and the plan works in your favor. Moments later, he is spilling hot cum down your throat. You swallow every last drop. When you pull off his softening member, you wipe at your lower lip with a satisfied grin.

“You fuck better than I thought,” Hongjoong says through a deep sigh.

“You’re not half bad yourself,” you answer as you fall back against the bed. Your whole body aches and burns from the sex, but you feel extremely satisfied as well. Hongjoong moves with you, head hitting the pillow at the same time yours does.

The two of you refuse to look at each other even in the afterglow of your sex. You don’t know what to say to him, or if you should say anything for that matter. All you can do is stare at the ceiling. Based on the noise that resounds from across the hall, Seonghwa and Wooyoung are already getting down to business. If you hadn’t just fucked Hongjoong, you might find this predicament awkward.

“I’m going to shower,” Hongjoong announces after the silence drags on for a few minutes.

“Y-Yea, yea, go ahead. Help yourself to a towel and stuff. Wooyoung won’t mind.” You watch the man get up and head into the bathroom. The awkwardness is now setting in, and you aren’t sure what this means for the two of you. Perhaps it was just hate sex, but it certainly wasn’t drunk sex because the two of you were surprisingly sober before you even started fucking. It shouldn’t change anything at all.

At least, that’s what you have to keep telling yourself. As Hongjoong passes you on his way out of the bathroom, he doesn’t even spare you so much as a glance. You take a shower of your own in complete and utter silence, mostly spending your time staring at the wall with a blank stare. It’s only when you step out of the shower and look at yourself in the mirror that you say something

“God, how fucking dumb can you be, Y/N?” You towel your body dry and reach down to snatch one of Wooyoung’s spare shirts off the floor, not caring that it might be dirty as you tug it over your head.

When you step back into the bedroom, Hongjoong is long gone. You shouldn’t be surprised. You really shouldn’t. You knew he wasn’t going to stay, and you knew that this was nothing more than a quick fuck for him. However, you are not the type to just have a quick fuck and go. So when you slide under the covers of Wooyoung’s bed, you only feel cold and dejected. Sleeps doesn’t come for quite some time, and you refuse to admit that there were tears on your cheeks at any point in the night. It was just a quick fuck and nothing more. You really have to keep reminding yourself of that fact.

…

“Come on, ladies! Quit moving so slowly! We’re on a schedule.”

You release a huff. The bus seat under your ass is wildly uncomfortable, and even though two days have passed, you aren’t any less sore from your little sex escapade with Hongjoong the other night. It’s the morning of the piano competition now, and you have managed to fully avoid Hongjoong in every way up until now. Because for some unknown and dumb reason, your professor decided that he needed a seating chart for the bus. And he thus decided that putting you and Hongjoong next to each other was a brilliant idea. You can only be glad that you arrived before he did, taking the window seat and pressing your headphones in so that you don’t even have to interact with him in the slightest.

It feels like some bad karma is against you at the moment, the same bad karma that perhaps caused you to fuck Hongjoong in the first place. Being forced to sit next to him is a punch in the gut. You thumb through your music on your phone to find the piece you’ll be playing for the competition today, letting the chords and notes resound through your ears and take over your thoughts. You don’t even notice when Hongjoong climbs onto the bus and sits down beside you, but the sudden lurching of the vehicle causes your eyes to snap open. You glance around in surprise, the music completely distracting you from what was going on around you. When your eyes fall on Hongjoong, you taste liquorice on your tongue. More than that, you fucking smell the candy.

You understand why after a moment, Hongjoong’s fingers toying with a small cube of the black candy. He pops it between his lips, tongue darting out to drag over his lips and collect the rest of the sweet treat’s taste. Then, he glances at you out the corner of his eye and catches your lingering stare.

“What the fuck do you want?”

You were right about one thing. Nothing has changed between the two of you. You opt not to respond and turn away from him with a huff. You return to your music, trying your best to only focus on the notes and all the notes you got from your professor over the past few weeks. Thankfully, Hongjoong doesn’t bother you any longer and actually lets you have some damn peace and quiet. However, you blame him for the fact that your mind keeps drifting back to him, thinking about everything from his body to the way he fucked you the other night and how good it felt. With each intruding thought, you crank your volume up higher and higher. It does nothing to expel the thoughts but at least it gives you some peace of mind.

That is, until Hongjoong elbows you harshly in the side. You yank one of your earbuds out and whip to look at him.

“What?” You spit out with venom in your tone.

“Turn your fucking music down. I can barely think with how loud it is.���

“That’s not my fault.”

“It’s your damn music,” Hongjoong hisses back with an equal amount of anger to his voice.

“Fucking deal with it.”

Hongjoong’s hand darts out and closes around your thigh. You choke on your saliva, coughing as he squeezes your leg. His fingers are dangerously close to your core, and due to your surprise, you pressed your thighs together and effectively trapped his hand between your legs. Hongjoong leans closer to you, and you pull away in response.

“Turn your damn music down.”

You can smell the candy on his breath, and it reminds you of the taste of his tongue and feel of his lips. You almost want to lean in and revisit the taste, but you resist that burning urge. Instead, you manage to plug your earbud back in and turn the volume down a few notches. It’s enough to satiate Hongjoong for the time being. His grip on your thigh disappears, giving you a chance to breathe again but it’s much harder to breathe now that he’s gotten you a bit worked up like this. You curl further against the window and glare at the passing scenery as the music continues to play in your ears. At some point, you fall asleep to the rhythmic beats of your piece. You don’t even realize it, head still pressed to the cool glass of the window as the bus rumbles onto your destination.

You wake up once the bus comes to a halt, and you wake up with a jolt. However, it’s not because of the bus’ sudden stop; no, it’s because your head has somehow managed to come to rest on Hongjoong’s shoulder as you were sleeping. How that happened, you have absolutely no clue because you were angled towards the window and you’ve never been one to move much in your sleep. Hongjoong must have fallen asleep as well, because as soon as you jolt upwards, your head smacks against his and he wakes with a start.

“What the fuck?” He cusses, bringing a hand to rub at his temple where you hit him. You rub at the sleep in your eyes in attempts to hide the evidence of your tiredness before your professor catches sight.

“Wake up, shithead,” you mutter as you shove his shoulder. “I need to get past.”

“Your fault for choosing the damn window seat.”

“And it’s your fault for falling asleep.”

“Were you not just sleeping yourself?”

“I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Hongjoong spits back, eyes narrowed at you. He gets up regardless and steps away, and you take the chance to leave the bus with your bag in tow.

The one thing you hate the most about these recitals and competitions is the fact that you have to dress up nicely for them. It would be nice to show up and perform just the music, hell maybe even just play behind a curtain. But no, the judges need to see you and you have to be immaculate in every way. It’s not cheap in the slightest, but you’ve opted to reuse one of your previous recital dresses in the hopes that none of the judges will be faces you recognize.

Your professor leads the way into the concert hall, and you linger at Minnie’s side, as ironic as it is. Despite still being madly angry at her for not telling you that she was fucking dating Choi San behind your fucking back, she is still your closest friend in the program. That and she can’t seem to shut up about some movie she watched the other day. Her noise at least distracts you for the time being, especially as Hongjoong slips past you and runs a hand through his blue locks. The action is far too enticing and attractive for your liking. Again you’re left to blame it on horniness.

As you walk through the concert hall, those familiar gnawings of anxiety bite at your heels. Minnie is chattering away in your ear but you can’t hear a word she’s saying. Your hands grow cold quickly, and you tighten your grasp on your bag. You only relax a little once you get backstage and settle into a small dressing room.

“Alright, get ready quickly! Y/N, you’re the opener for the competition so you should get ready first.”

You respond with a few shaky nods before ducking into one of the bathrooms in the room. You change with haste, tugging the dark blue dress over your form until it rests comfortably on your body. You took care of your hair and makeup before coming; that was the first thing you did in the morning. All that’s left it to put on your shoes and get warmed up for the performance.

“Y/N, the room across the hall is where you can warm up,” your professor says when you step back out of the bathroom. You answer with another set of nods, moving for your bag to put your casual clothes back inside and replace your shoes.

“You’re gonna kill it!” Minnie drops a hand to your shoulder, squeezing you tightly.

“Thanks,” you mutter back as you fasten the straps of your shoes. When you stand up, you catch sight of Hongjoong staring at you. Your immediate response is to glare at him, which he returns just as quickly. “What?”

“Don’t fuck up too much. I don’t wanna have to clean up our reputation for you.”

You puff your cheeks full of air and stomp out of the room, not bothering to fight back at Hongjoong’s insult. You head straight for the practice room across the hall. It takes a few adjustments of the bench and your shoes, but you manage to get seated comfortably at the piano.

“Emotions. You need to show the emotions, Y/N,” you murmur to yourself as your fingers touch the ivories. It isn’t even the real thing, you should just be warming up and practicing the parts you had troubles with, but you still put your all into it as though it is the real thing. By the time you conclude the last notes of the song, you aren't even sure that you did what you needed to do. You can’t hear the emotion in the notes, you can only play them and hope for the best.

How Hongjoong does it is a mystery to you. He plays each note like it’s his very blood and bones, his life story laid bare before the keys. For someone so full of hatred and anger, it seems even more confusing to you, and as much as you try to reconcile it, you can’t.

“L/N Y/N to the stage. L/N Y/N to the stage.” You glance up with a start, eyeing the small speaker in the corner of the room. There’s a growing lump in your throat, and it only grows larger as you walk out of the room. Your professor is waiting there for you, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder as the two of you begin to walk towards the stage.

“Remember the time signature and tempo. Watch your crescendos. And emotion! Put feeling into it!” He says as you walk ever closer to the front. You can’t respond due to the lump in your throat. Your attempts to swallow it down and dispel it do nothing either. As you reach the curtains, you catch sight of a certain blue-haired man at the edge of the stage. Your gaze hardens on him. Hongjoong never comes to stand by the stage and watch you perform. He’s toying with another black liquorice candy when you walk up to him, popping the candy between his lips before dropping his hand to mess with his cufflinks.

“Our first performer of the day, Miss Y/N L/N. She will be performing Franz Liszt’s Etude Opus 161, Number 3, La Campenella,” the announcer says, his voice booming through the hall. You don’t have time to think before your professor is pushing you forward onto the stage, and you nearly suffer the embarrassment of tripping over your feet on the way to the piano.

You reach the instrument without any issue, by luck of a miracle. The lump in your throat subsides as you sink onto the piano bench, and your fingers dance over the knobs on the bench to adjust it to your liking. Lift your left hand high, right one at the ready on the keys for the cue from your left. You drop your left hand to the keyboard and begin playing your piece to the best of your ability.

All your focus becomes consumed by the keys and music in your ears. You can’t even glance up to watch your professor or Hongjoong’s expression, too enraptured with your playing to think about anything other than the piano. Your whole body follows the tempo of the piece. You sway back and forth, following the movements of your hands as they dance across the ivory keys, and your heart leaps a little in your chest with each successful chord and note. Even if you aren’t able to fully capture the emotions behind a song, you can at least perform. And performing is what you do best. Replicating the notes, decrescendos, crescendos, chords, octaves and leaps, your runs and arpeggios all executed to absolute perfection. The entire performance is full of the excitement in the piece up until your last note after the five and a half minutes of playing.

Your fingers hover over that final note, letting it ring out and coat the ears of your listeners, and when you pull back, your foot slips off the pedal to let the music die out into silence. Applause greets you as you rise from the bench and bow towards the judges. You leave the stage the way you came, joining your professor and Hongjoong at the edge just behind the curtains.

“That was better than ever!” Your teacher cheers as you reach his side. He beams from ear to ear, eyes hidden behind the smile of his eyelids, but you don’t pay him any attention. Rather you look to Hongjoong in attempts to gauge his expression. If he’s impressed in the slightest, he does well to conceal it.

“Following Miss Y/N L/N, we have Mr. Kim Hongjoong, playing Chopin’s Nocturne, Opus 48, number 1.” The announcer’s voice rings out again, calling Hongjoong onto the stage. He glances away from you as he steps out from behind the curtain.

“They put us back to back?” You mutter the question to your professor, who just looks down at you with a glint in his dark eyes.

“The judges requested that you two play back to back,” he explains, maintaining his grin.

“Oh…” You exhale and turn back to watch Hongjoong sit down at the piano. His performance is always a thing of beauty, but you know exactly why the judges would want the two of you back to back. Whilst you exude perfection in every note, Hongjoong does more. More with the piece, he plays with the rhythms and tempos, creating music that sounds wholly his. He plays as though he is the sole creator of the piece and no one else. Each piano he plays becomes part of him. You are polar opposites when it comes to performing. And that’s what they want to see. They want to see the two of your challenge each other with your differing play styles.

The lump in your throat returns as Hongjoong begins to play. Something feels off in the very first note. A spring of anxiety pops up in your gut as you hear it. It isn’t the same as usual, something in the way Hongjoong’s fingers glide over the ivories is not right. The professor still looks quite pleased though, almost like he doesn’t even notice the difference. When you glance out over the panel of judges, they bear similar expressions. It’s a mystery to you how they don’t notice the difference because in your ears, it is so stark and unable to be missed.

The next six minutes carry on with that same vibe. You can’t place what is going wrong until Hongjoong presses his fingers to the final note. The wrong note.

You lurch forward. Hongjoong freezes. The chord echoes through the whole hall, the glaringly obvious mistake resounding without stop even as Hongjoong pulls his fingers off the keys. He stands. Bows to the judges. Heads back towards where you’re standing without a word. It’s not like Hongjoong to make a mistake, not like him at all. You don’t think he’s ever made a mistake, even in practices he is always meticulous and perfect.

Hongjoong’s hands are trembling when he comes off stage. He strides past you without sparing you a glance. He doesn’t look at anything in fact, his eyes are unfocused as he moves forward. You can only stay rooted to the spot and watch him move away without a word. It happens in a millisecond, and if you blinked you would have missed it for certain. Hongjoong’s legs give out and he begins to collapse. Your professor rushes to his side as fast as possible. He grips the blue-haired man’s arm and pulls him back up, draping his arm over a shoulder and rushing down the hall. He’s calling for a medic and an ambulance, and as soon as those words process in your head, you choke on air.

Your feet move before your thoughts do. You chase after the pair, hiking your dress up a bit as you run. The old man carries Hongjoong back to your shared dressing room. Your fellow students dash out of the room as he brings Hongjoong in. You pause in the door frame, watching the scene unfold before you with a plummeting heart. An emergency nurse pushes past you to get in and effectively blocks your line of sight. All you can see is the blue strands of hair atop Hongjoong’s head and nothing more.

Someone catches hold of your arm. It’s Minnie, and she tugs on your wrist as she spews words in your direction. However, you don’t hear a thing. Your ears still ring with that final wrong note Hongjoong played, eyes unfocused as you try to look at Minnie. She’s pulling you to the aside, away from the hustle of bustle of the other people in the hall, and trying to catch your attention. You refuse to look at her, however, and opt to stare back at the room where Hongjoong is with wide eyes. The shock hasn’t drifted from your bones in the slightest.

You don’t get any form of relief until the emergency nurses file out of the dressing room. They don’t carry Hongjoong out on a gurney which is a small relief in and of itself. Your professor appears in the doorway next, sweat on his brow and glasses in one hand. The other runs through his hair – the minimal amount that’s left, that is – and he addresses the other students first.

“You all are to wait at the stage for your performances. You can go into that room across the hall if you need some more practice time, but you are not to enter the dressing room again until the end of the competition. Understood?”

You watch the students share a chorus on nods. Minnie releases your arm to move away with the rest of the students, but she sends one final look your way, one that seeks answers you do not have. Once all your classmates have filed away, you are left to stand across from your professor with bated breath. He doesn’t say anything at first, and neither do you, so the two of you just exchange forlorn stares without speaking. The silence drags on for so long that you think you might pass out; you’ve been holding your breath the entire time as well and it’s really starting to make you feel a bit lightheaded.

“What happened to him, professor?” You ask when the silence grows unbearable.

“He’s fine. Just a small accident.” The answer is spoken with haste, and his tone is flat. The way he says it almost implies that the words are rehearsed.

“A small accident wouldn’t warrant such a reaction from you though,” you reason, lifting a hand to scratch at your scalp.

“I need to go up to the stage to be with the other students, Miss L/N.” Your professor speaks with such finality that you don’t dare press the subject any further. Instead, you watch him walk back to the edge of the stage, waiting until he’s completely out of sight before pressing into the dressing room where Hongjoong is yourself.

You don’t see him immediately, which surprises you to a certain extent, but then you notice that the unisex bathroom in the back corner has an open door and the lights are on. Hongjoong must be in there, but it seems odd for him to have left the door open when anyone could walk in. You’re tempted to call out to him and ask if he’s alright. Something prevents you from doing so, however, and you merely creep closer to the room with quiet steps.

Whatever you might have been expecting goes out the window as you catch sight of Hongjoong’s blue head of hair. He is hunched over the toilet, an awful retching sound leaving his form every few seconds, and you can’t believe that the nurses and your professor dared to leave him alone in a state like this. Hongjoong hasn’t caught sight of you yet, but you certainly make your presence known as you stumble back. Your heel catches on the short train of your dress, you throw your hands back to brace yourself for a fall, but instead catch hold of a table and manage to stay on your feet.

Hongjoong whips his head towards you as you stumble, however, and all of his attention is suddenly directed at you. There is a small excess of vomit lingering on the corner of his mouth, and he wipes at it with the back of his hand as he looks towards you. There’s no explanation that would be suitable enough to explain what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, because frankly, you don’t even understand why yourself. That fact alone is slightly more terrifying than you would like to admit.

“What the hell do you want?” Hongjoong spits out. He slowly stands up straight, legs a bit wobbly as he moves, and moves for the sink to wash his hands and face. “Come to see me suffer? Does that get you going?”

Your jaw stutters as you fumble to come up with some sort of response. Nothing comes out for a few seconds and you’re left to just stare dumbly at Hongjoong with nothing but a blank expression.

“Figures…” Hongjoong mutters. He leaves the bathroom and heads for his small travel bag. You watch him move without saying anything, eyes tracking each of his movements with scrutiny. As he bends down to open the bag, Hongjoong winces. His arms jerk, back straightening for a brief moment, then his body returns to normal as though nothing happened. Hongjoong hisses, teeth gritted as he continues to push down and get whatever he was looking for. When he stands back up, you catch sight of a toothbrush and toothpaste in his hands. It’s strange, because those aren’t items he would typically bring to a competition like this one which lasts less than a day. The behavior makes it seem like he almost knew that this was going to happen.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask out of the blue. Hongjoong all but ignores you in favor of walking towards the bathroom again, this time with toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. “I mean – what happened to you?”

“You’re going to have to elaborate because there’s plenty wrong with me.”

“On the stage, Hongjoong. You fucked up and missed the last note. You never do that.”

“Yea, well, I did this time. What do you want me to say?”

“You collapsed as soon as you were backstage. Something is obviously bothering you now since you puked. What the hell is going on with you?”

“Why do you care all of a sudden? Wanna know why your competition is getting worse? Get used to it.”

“No…” You trail off, unsure of what to say next. Hongjoong brushes his teeth with ferocity, and his gaze remains on the mirror rather than looking to you while you speak. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

You aren’t sure where the desire came from. It’s foreign to you, as it the worry that bubbles in your gut as you look over Hongjoong’s form. He seems frail all of a sudden, and that’s just so unlike him in every way that you can’t get past it. He doesn’t respond right away – probably due to the fact that his currently scrapping his toothbrush over the expanse of his tongue. You wait for a reply in silence for two minutes, then Hongjoong spits in the sink and washes his mouth out again.

“Parsonage-Turner Syndrome,” he says. His eyes find yours, still as void of emotion as ever, but you blink back in shock. “Do you know what that is?”

“N-No, I’ve never heard of it,” you answer honestly. Hongjoong sighs and returns to his duffel bag, pushing his toothbrush and toothpaste back inside. He digs around a bit more in the bag before standing up straight again. A small wrapped candy lingers between his fingers. He undoes the wrapper with quick motions, then pops the black liquorice between his lips.

“Idiopathic brachial plexopathy or neuralgic amyotrophy,” Hongjoong recites the words as though he’s heard them thousands of times. You don’t doubt that he has based upon the look in his eyes. “A rare disorder consisting of a complex constellation of symptoms with abrupt onset of shoulder pain, followed by progressive neurologic deficits of motor weakness, dysesthesias, and numbness.”

Hongjoong pauses and purses his lips. He looks away from you, but the way his eyes well up with crystalline tears doesn’t escape your notice. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek in silence. If there’s anything to be said, you certainly don’t know what it is.

“In short, I’m losing the function of my arms. Eventually, I won’t be able to use them at all. The more I play the piano, the bigger risk I run of destroying them further. How ironic, huh?” Hongjoong releases a dry laugh, but the humor is gone from his tone. As his words sink it, your heart sinks further and further. You dare to glance up at his face from across the room. The tears in his eyes have fallen down his cheeks. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen Hongjoong, but you also can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him. “How fucking ironic…”

Hongjoong’s voice dies off a little, cracking as he finishes his sentence. A moment of silence passes. You debate saying something but every time you try to speak, your voice dies in your throat. A scream of anguish leaves Hongjoong’s throat. He swings for the wall with his left hand, fingers clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles are white. He hits the wall with such force that the sound echoes in your ears, and you flinch away from the table you’re leaning against. Hongjoong sinks to the floor, knees hitting the ground with a thud. His fist never quits its rhythm against the wall; he continues slamming his hand at the surface. You’re frozen in place, watching his fist hit the wall over and over until red flecks begin to spread across the pristine surface of the wall.

“Hongjoong–” You start towards him, a sudden urgency rushes to your bones, and you hurry to keep him from abusing his hand any more than he already has. “Hongjoong, stop. Stop it, Hongjoong, stop.”

You snatch him by the wrist, and he relaxes into your touch within an instant. He slumps forward until his forehead hits the wall. It takes a few seconds of silence, then a strangled sob escapes his slacked body. You catch him before he completely falls over and drag his weight in your direction instead. He doesn’t even complain, fingers finding the material of your dress and balling around it without a word. He cries against you. You can’t imagine how long he’s been holding it in, how long he’s known that this was his fate, that the thing he loves the most will lead to his destruction. It’s heartbreaking and horrible to think about. The fear of even spraining a finger haunts you sometimes, but Hongjoong has to live with the knowledge that his fate is to lose his ability to play forever.

“It’s okay, Hongjoong,” you mutter against his hairline. A laugh leaves his lips, but it’s wet and full of mucus. He nearly chokes as he continues to laugh.

“How the fuck is this okay? In what world is this okay? Answer me that.”

“I-I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Everyone is always fucking sorry. Yea, come say sorry again when you have your only passion stolen from you.”

“Ho-Hongjoong. No, I-I – stop. It’s not been taken away from you yet. You still have tim–”

“How much time? How long until I fuck my arms up to the point of no return?”

“Can’t they do anything?” Your question is spoken in such a quiet tone that you fear that Hongjoong might not hear it.

“There’s no cure. Just fucking physical therapy and acupuncture to slow the muscle denervation. Electrotherapy. Nothing that fixes it.”

“But it would slow it?”

“For a time.”

“Isn’t that worth it then? Even to just… try? The hope that maybe it will fix things enough to let you play is worth it isn’t it?”

“Worth it to what? I’ll never be able to play at the level I want to. I’ll never get to achieve my dreams, not in this condition. Not with this disease. I’m doomed no matter what. Physical therapy won’t do shit. If I’m gonna lose my arms, then I’m gonna do what I love until I can’t anymore.”

Hongjoong’s resolve is strong, even through the weakness he’s showing right now, and you can’t blame him. His behavior makes sense now. The hatred and disdain for you, the ego and arrogant nature about him, the flaunting of his skills – it was all just an attempt to hide the fact that he was breaking inside.

“Then you’re robbing yourself of an opportunity… you never know if something is going to work unless you try, Hongjoong. Even if you’re not a miracle patient who gets cured out of the blue, just trying could give you the ability to play longer. Not because you need to be the best or play better than everyone else or even play at a high level. But because it’s something that you love. And at least having the ability to do something you love is better than losing it altogether.”

Hongjoong doesn’t respond to your words. His tears aren’t slowing down, and you wonder if he’s in any pain in this very moment. His shoulders tremble but because of the sobs that wrack his hunched form. As you cradle him against your chest, you can’t help but look down at your own hands. Your fingers are trembling against Hongjoong’s back. In that brief moment, you imagine yourself in his shoes.

The first sear of pain through your arms. The continued abuse over weeks. Finally going to see a doctor. Being told that it’s a disease. That the longer you play, the worse it will get. That eventually you’ll lose the use of your arms completely. The dream you’ve had since you were a child – you wonder if it was Hongjoong’s dream too, before he was given the news. You wonder if Hongjoong had the same bright eyes and hopeful dreams of becoming something great, someone great. You imagine that dream being wrenched from your grasps. It hurts. Just the thought of it hurts more than a thousand knives in your chest.

All you can do is pull Hongjoong closer. There is nothing to say, nothing you can say or do that would make this any easier or better. You settle for this and press your cheek against his head.

…

The time has escaped you yet again, and you glance up from the keyboard to see that the clock reads six o’clock already. You wanted to get some rest in your apartment before nightfall hit because Wooyoung somehow managed to drag your ass out for another party even after what happened last time.

You push the bench back and close the lid of the keyboard. Your fingers linger on the wood, however, and you look at the instrument with a strange tightness in your chest.

It’s been three weeks since that competition. Three weeks since you’ve seen Hongjoong. He hasn’t attended class, you haven’t seen him in the practice hall or rooms at any point in time, it’s almost as though he disappeared off the face of the planet. You hate it. Class is too silent. It’s boring. Without Hongjoong, you have nothing to do except think about when the class is going to be over. It’s almost funny how only now that he’s gone do you realize how much time you spent slaving over the mere thought of him.

During the first week, you watched the door and waited for Hongjoong’s blue head of hair to step through. You always had your snide remark at the ready: “Late for class? At least you bothered to show up this time.” Hongjoong never came though.

The second week you guessed where he might be. Thought about what happened in the aftermath of his meltdown at the competition. They took him to the hospital, forcibly prying him from your arms, and that was the last you saw of him.

And then the third week passed by, and you began to wonder if the damage to his arms had already been done. Even now as your thoughts are occupied by the thought of him and him alone, you wonder if that’s the case.

As you get to your feet, the door behind you slides open. The sound is almost silent, and if you had still been playing you wouldn’t have heard a thing. You whip around to face the intruder. You nearly don’t recognize the form standing before you. Formerly blue hair has been replaced with a bright red, and it’s only when you look at the man’s features that you recognize him. Your darting gaze flits down to his left hand. It’s wrapped in a white gauze, fingers loose and flexing in the wrap. A good sign, perhaps. At least the damage isn’t fully done yet.

“Ew, it’s you,” you say, trying to contain the smile that threatens to overtake your lips when you see Hongjoong.

“Wow.” Hongjoong glances around the practice room. There is something sad and longing in his eyes as he looks around. You open your mouth to say more, but he continues speaking without you having to ask. “I, uh, I dropped out.”

“You what?” You just about fall over upon hearing the news. It catches you so off-guard that you choke on the saliva lingering on the back of your tongue.

“I dropped out of the program.”

“Yo-You – but, but the program – you were one, you were one of the only ones to get – what?”

“I thought about what you said. I, um… Yea, I dropped out. Started doing general studies instead. Think I’m gonna go for a teaching degree. Maybe try to be a piano teacher one day.”

“Why?” You aren’t being very eloquent, but the shock is too strong for you to even think about putting together a coherent thought.

“I kept thinking about what you said. Robbing myself of an opportunity… losing something I love. I love the piano, and I love playing the piano more than anything. I can’t lose the ability to play it. That’s – That’s taking away a part of me I can’t lose. Without piano… I would be nothing. I’m not ready to lose it because of some stupid fucking disease that can kiss my ass.”

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s the last thing you expected to hear from Hongjoong, especially since he resolve to be the best regardless of what happens to him was so strong. He saves you the trouble of coming up with a reply.

“I started going to physical therapy. They started me out on some acupuncture treatments, then worked me up to doing strengthening exercises and range of motion exercises. We’re going to try some electrotherapy next but the doctor said I’m making really good progress.”

“R-Really? Hongjoong, that’s amazing. Honestly. That’s truly incredible. I’m so ha–”

“Thank you,” he interrupts. His gaze is on the floor, fist clenching here and there, and his tone is quiet. “Thank you for giving me my dream back.”

You don’t have time to think before Hongjoong is walking towards you. He catches you by surprise, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you against his chest without hesitation.

“You don’t need to thank me,” you murmur in response. Your arms drape over him, and hesitance fills your motions unlike his hasty ones. He is warm and soft under your touch, so unlike how he was that day of the competition – cold and stiff.

“I do. Please, I-I…”

Hongjoong doesn’t need to finish the thought, but you don’t need him to. You can guess what he might be trying to say. You aren’t sure you need to hear it or if you can handle it. Instead, you settle for this comfortable embrace. Hongjoong’s breath is hot against your throat, and curse you for thinking about it because it leads your thoughts in a bad direction. Hongjoong shifts his head closer to your neck, lips caressing the skin there that barely peaks out from under your collar.

“C-Can I…?”

“Yes,” you exhale when Hongjoong inches closer to your lips. He brushes over your skin with such a gentle touch that you wonder if it is actually real. He deepens the kiss a moment later, however, and presses against you with more fervor. Your lips slot together, warm filling your chest and gut. He guides you backwards as his hands find your hips. You gasp into Hongjoong’s mouth when your ass hits the lid of the piano. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to mind though. He uses it as an opportunity to press his tongue between your lips. That familiar taste of liquorice lingers there, and you smile into the kiss.

You let him take over, his tongue exploring your mouth with a newfound interest. It’s so different from your first time together; that time was filled with fervor and passion and arousal. This is slow, gentle, almost romantic. You can’t get enough of it. Each kiss leaves you wanting more, each lingering touch makes you want to take more, and when Hongjoong’s fingers hook around the back of your thighs, you moan into his open mouth. He lifts you with ease although you do worry for a split second about straining his arms. He dispels that worry with haste, propping you up on the lid of the piano without a care in the world.

His lips attack your neck next, pulling away from your mouth to leave a saccharine trail down your skin until he stops at the base of your throat. You bring a hand to his freshly red locks as he sucks at the skin there and roll your head to the side to give him better access. Your gaze flits down to the door he entered through, and the lock on the handle isn’t turned. You should be worried because being caught having sex on a damn Steinway would be atrocious, but Hongjoong pushes that to the side as well. Deft fingers work the buttons on your blouse apart and push the material back until you’re stripped of the shirt. He pops the clasp of your bra next and drops the lingerie to the floor. You bare your chest to him, ready for him to dive in and mark up your breasts in a similar manner but he doesn’t.

His hands instead go to the waistband of your skirt. He unhooks that button and zipper, tugging the material off of you as quickly as possible. All of a sudden you’re left only in your underwear. Hongjoong doesn’t let you stay nearly naked alone for long. He leans back to tug his own shirt off, then his pants are quick to follow. As the material drops, you catch sight of the prominent bulge in his underwear. Without thinking, you reach out and grab hold of his constrained member. He groans into your touch, hips automatically bucking forward from even the slightest touch. You don’t wait to dip your hand past the band of the underwear and take hold of his semihard member.

“Y-You’re the devil,” Hongjoong hisses out as you pump his cock ever so slowly. In response, you drag your thumb over his slit, collecting the precum there and using it to help you pump his cock with more ease. You release a small laugh as his hips thrust into your touch. The laugh is cut short when Hongjoong presses the palm of his hand against your core. “Something funny, princess?”

You can do nothing except gasp in response, back arching off the lip of the piano. Hongjoong must enjoy the sight before him because a low moan slips through. His free hand darts around your back and collapses the music stand atop the piano. He seems ready to move you up even higher on the piano, but you stop him with your hand.

“N-No, wait – I just, I want you to fuck me. That’s all.” Your hand slides across Hongjoong’s bare chest, leaving goosebumps in your wake, and Hongjoong nearly shivers. Your words seem incentive enough for him, however, and he dips down between your legs to tug your underwear off. His follow soon after; hardened cock finding freedom at last. You slide a bit further down the lid of the piano in efforts to get more comfortable. Hongjoong braces your hip with his left hand and the other goes to your dripping folds. You’re nearly wet enough to drip all over the floor, positioned carefully so that you don’t sully the piano any more than you are already.

He works you open with deft fingers, two pushing into with ease thanks to your wetness. He uses those fingers to scissor your heat open and stretch you. You moan under the touch. The loudness of your moans is a bit worrisome considering you’re still in public, so you try to conceal them at least with the back of your hand. The moment you try to cover your lips however, Hongjoong reaches up and tugs your hand back down to the piano. He covers your lips with his. The position lets you moan freely into his mouth until his fingers disappear from your heat altogether.

“F-Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” Hongjoong hisses. He uses the juices of your arousal on his fingers to pump his cock a few more times before lining up with your tight hole. The stretch isn’t painful; quite the opposite really, but a high-pitched whine breaches your lips. Hongjoong hesitates halfway, eyes tracking your expression for any sign of discomfort. He only moves again when you nod. Once he’s completely buried in you, you expect hasty thrusts but they never come. You blink at Hongjoong, eyes wide in expectation.

He stares back at you with an unreadable expression. His brow has furrowed and he almost squints as he looks into your eyes. You open your mouth to ask if something is wrong, but he speaks before you get the chance.

“I wanna try… us.”

“You want to what?” You ask, taken aback by the sudden statement. It’s hardly a proper time to bring up a serious subject, but maybe it’s the best timing in the world. How are you supposed to know? It’s not as though you fuck people on the daily in a practice room atop a piano like this.

“I wanna take you out. Spend time with you. Go on dates. Be in a relationship. With you and only you.”

“You’re asking after you’ve fucked me twice now?”

“Haven’t fucked you the second time yet, actually.” Hongjoong winks at you, a smirk curling across his lips. “Is that a yes or no?”

“It’s a ‘ask me again after you’ve fucked me senseless’.”

“I’d rather have your senses intact when I ask you.”

“Yes, Kim Hongjoong. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a bit more than interested in you.”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell when I was… you know, in you.”

“Shut up and fuck me already!” You protest, slapping his chest with the back of your hand. Hongjoong pulls his hips back and snaps them back against you without warning. You release a strangled moan that quickly evolves into a whine at the sudden thrust.

“I’ll make the rules, princess.”

You nod hastily in reply and brace yourself against the pillow for Hongjoong’s next thrust. He goes slower this time though, taking his time with each thrust, and you know he’s only doing it to rile you up because of the cheeky grin on his face. You want to either kiss or slap it off him, but he makes you choose the former by pushing forward. Your lips slot together with ease. It’s comfortable, easy, relaxed – like you’ve done it a thousand times and will do it a thousand more.

His thrusts do pick up in pace after that, his tongue entering the mix as well as he pries your lips open with the wet muscle. You allow yourself just let go under Hongjoong’s touch. You drape an arm over Hongjoong’s shoulder, nails raking down his back as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The angle is near magical because each thrust seems to hit deeper than the last, and your moans are borderline shouts of pleasure. Hongjoong doesn’t let up once. You’re glad for it because you’re pretty certain that if he does stop, you’ll slip off the piano entirely.  

Your head falls back, lips disconnecting from Hongjoong’s, and you struggle to stay upright with the way his cock rams against your sensitive g-spot. An orgasm is approaching quickly. You can’t manage to get any words out, but Hongjoong seems to understand when you drag a hand to his shoulder and squeeze tightly. Your walls clench around his member without warning. Hongjoong’s thrusts stutter as you squeeze his cock, then he reaches up to pull your face back to his.

“Ca-Can I cum in you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes. Please. Please, Hongjoong.” The man presses his lips against yours after you get the words out. You can’t hold the orgasm back any longer, and it washes over you with a sudden intensity that leaves you trembling in Hongjoong’s arms. He joins you not long after, hot seed spilling into you, and you moan at the sensation of his cum filling you up. He hunches forward and his head hits your shoulder. Both your chests heave from the exertion; you can’t seem to get enough air in your lungs. Gently you bring a hand to Hongjoong’s hair again and comb through the red locks with light fingers. Hongjoong sighs into the touch, shivering as your nails brush over his scalp.

“So… is this when I take you to dinner or?” Hongjoong lifts his chin to look you in the eye. You roll your eyes ever so slightly as he grins. The hand in his hair moves to smack him upside the head.

“You’re supposed to do that before you fuck me.”

“Eh, I’ve never been one to do things in order like that.”

“Good thing you can fuck well then or else I might not want a date at all.” Hongjoong’s smirk morphs into a wide smile, and his nose scrunches up as he looks at you. You smile back at him then press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll take that date now though.”

“One specialty Kim Hongjoong date coming right up. Though you better be prepared to stay up late tonight.”

“And you better be able to keep up with me. Hopefully all those exercises they’re making you do can help.”

Hongjoong grumbles at your comment, pulling back from you with a pout on his lips.

“I’ve got great stamina, thank you very much.” Hongjoong pauses his sulking for a moment to wear a serious expression on his features. “I’m serious about this, you know. You aren’t just some… some quick fuck to me. You didn’t have to be nice to me or give me a chance or anything, especially with the way I’ve been treating you over the past two years. So, uh, yea. Yea, I’m serious.”

You cup Hongjoong’s cheek gently and pass him a small smile before leaning your forehead against his.

“I believe you. And it’s not like I was any kinder to you. But if this is a chance to make things right, then let’s do it.”

“Y-Yea, yea, you’re right.”

“Now let’s get dressed before someone walks in on us like this. Then you can take me to dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hongjoong pulls away with a grin still on his lips. For a moment, you just sit there on the lid of the keyboard and watch him move around collecting articles of clothing. The warmth in your chest is foreign and unknown, but comfortable nonetheless. You never would have expected things to play out the way they did, but it was a happy accident and you want to bask in it for as long as possible. You slip off the lid of the ivories. The taste of liquorice is still on your tongue.

​​​☽     ☾

➻ requested by: @atinyinwonderland ➻ prompts:

“Ew, it’s you.” “Wow.”

“Eyes on me.”

this highkey turned into a Thing and idek how that happened but here we are aosidjfosijdfo also i did some research into PTS (parsonage-tanser syndrome) and it’s a rather rare disease apparently but this kinda issue with no longer being able to play piano and being forced to give up your dream kinda stemmed from my personal life and my sister and how i saw it impact her so it’s very real emotions and reader’s thoughts about being in hongjoong’s shoes are thoughts i’ve had myself and it truly is hard for me to even think about especially since music means so much to me but yea i cried while writing this, i hope you all enjoyed im going through it imma head out

[newtonsheffield]

Hello, my dearest Kathony friend and fan! It’s been a while since I sent in something, but I feel like giving you an assignment 😂 I mean, you know how much I love Bridgerton & Sons and that Family is one of my favorites, especially the Hyacinth bit. Could you please give us some more Hyacinth/Anthony HCs or drabbles? Would love just anything with my favorite Bridgerton sibling duo! ♥️♥️♥️

Oh Heyyyyyyy to the woman who forced me to relive my old tweets about the Bachelor Australia (Some were funny as hell if you were watching in real time!). On the Off chance anyone here watched the Bachelor Australia last year pour one out for Zoe Clare! If you didn’t, one of the girls got so drunk on the first night she went on an ICONIC™️ rant for a solid 5 minutes of air time about how everyone else hated her because she was a red head (which no one brought up at all just btw.)  

But anyway, Anthony + Hyacinth? For You? But of course   

Hyacinth Bridgerton had never understood why people thought youngest child syndrome was thing. As far as she could see being the youngest of 8 children, was pretty shite actually especially when you were the youngest by such a long way. She was nearly 7 years younger than Gregory (the closest sibling in age) and nearly a full 20 years younger than Anthony. And she couldn’t help but feel a little left out. When everyone else was playing sports or video games, or learning to dance, Hyacinth was too young. And by the time she was ready to do these things, everyone was too old. (Well, Gregory would never be too old to play Mario but still). And she hadn’t even known her father, which was an odd sort of sting. The kind of sting that you’re not even sure why you feel, How can you miss someone you’ve never known? But God Anthony tried. He showed up to her father’s day events in primary school, and walked with her to school, and took her to the movies and taught her how to ride a bike, and he tried and tried and tired. But it wasn’t the same, and they both knew it. And perhaps that made her sadder than anything else. But in the end, Hyacinth Bridgerton wasn’t as sad on the anniversary of her father’s death as she should be. And that’s what made her sad.

Anthony had dreaded going to Hyacinth’s preschool father’s day morning tea. And desperately tried to avoid it, hadn’t planned on attending at all. Their Mother was more than happy to go, and really could Hyacinth really not be the only person there without a Dad? And then Hyacinth had thrown a tantrum. Her little 5 year old face practically purple when she screamed I don’t want you to come! You can’t come! You’re a girl!  at their mother, no idea how hurtful her words were, how much they stung at Anthony, how tears glistened in their mum’s eyes. And then Hyacinth had clung to his leg and said Can’t Anthony come? He’s a boy and no one will have to know then.  And she may as well has reached into his chest and torn his heart out but he found himself nodding anyway. And so now here he was, a good 10 years younger than the youngest Man there at 22 years old, attending a father’s day luncheon while everyone practically gawked at him. He could see their eyes flitting between himself and Hyacinth trying to comprehend to do the maths. And then an annoying little boy marched right up to them at the cupcake table and said That’s not your Dad! And Anthony, trying to stay as calm as possible, while gripping Hyacinth’s hand tightly said No Mate, I’m her big brother, Our Dad couldn’t make it today. Quietly pleading with the child’s father to take him away before a true scene started, and Anthony could hear a buzzing in his ears like he always could in situations like these, and the boy just kept staring right at them when he said My Dad says your Dad’s Dead! And that was how Anthony came to be in the head teacher’s office due to a fight started by Hyacinth. But it certainly wasn’t the last time.

When Anthony had first started dating Kate he’d unfairly assumed that she would resent the time he spent with his family, just as everyone had before her, but by the time Hyacinth had dragged him to Kate’s door and introduced herself, he had known he was a world class idiot. Even so, he had been very worried about Hyacinth thinking he no longer had time for her, and at the same time not wanting to push Kate away. It was all just very stressful, and he was trying to muddle through as best he could so of course, in true Anthony Bridgerton fashion he’d all but yelled at her while they shared a bowl of Ice Cream one night I have to go to Hyacinth’s debate on Saturday! And Kate had frozen for a second, startled by either his panic over something relatively mundane or the topic itself he couldn’t tell. Okay, It’s nice of you, to support her. She’d said settling herself back against his chest a little more comfortably and his heart had leapt and the next words had sprung forth before he had a chance to filter them out Do you want to come with me? And she’d frozen again, as Anthony cursed himself. Of course she didn’t want to come to his sister’s debate meeting, she was just being polite. And then, in such a quiet voice, she barely heard her she said I’d like to support Hyacinth as well. And when he saw Kate and Hyacinth on Saturday afternoon, sitting across his Kitchen table from one another, going over her performance, Kate genuinely engaged in what his sister was saying He thought maybe he truly was the world’s biggest idiot. And when Hyacinth sidled up to him later and said If you don’t marry her you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought Anthony couldn’t do anything but agree.

Thanks for putting up with me! 😎    

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//general dating headcannons//

Characters: Daishou Suguru/ Kita Shinsuke/ Yamaguchi Tadashi

Warnings: i don’t think any??

Word Count: 2K (~650 a piece)

Notes: i am soft for kita shinsuke. that is all.

Daishou Suguru

He’s a top tier boyfriend and no one is allowed to tell me otherwise

He is a first-class WEENIE for his s/o and would genuinely do anything for them

But noooo y’all hate him smh

Daishou is the kind of person who puts every important date of your relationship in his phone.  He is never missing your anniversary or your birthday or any other important relationship dates.  

He’s a good morning/good night texter too.  I know that everyone thinks he’s an asshole, but after being broken up with for focusing too much on a club, he doesn’t want you to feel like he only cares about volleyball.  If he’s going to be busy for a few hours, he’s going to tell you so you don’t think he’s just flat out ignoring you

I promise, he will let you do anything to him if you just ask.  Want to try to curl his hair?  Cool, just please don’t burn him.  You want to pluck his eyebrows?  Go ahead.  He doesn’t mind.  Did you see this really cute nail design that you want to try? Suguru already has his hand held out towards you so you can practice.

He’s not telling anyone that he does all of this so willingly though.  He has to maintain some essence of coolness

Literally the whole volleyball team knows that he’s a total simp, so idk who the hell he thinks he’s hiding it from

His love language is quality time, so as long as he’s with you, he’s perfectly content.  Daishou will happily just sit next to you for hours, sending each other memes or stupid tiktoks.

When it comes to actually going out on dates, he’s really simple.  He likes picnics in the park or taking hikes or going stargazing.  It feels very intimate to him and allows a certain degree of vulnerability that can’t be found anywhere else.

You guys went stargazing on your first date and he brought you flowers and the two of you shared snacks it was all very cute and there was no way that you weren’t going to go on a second date with him

Speaking of flowers-

One time you made him mad over something really stupid and he brought you some flowers as a partial apology for him being overdramatic, but the card just said “fuck you” in really pretty lettering, but there was a really small, “but also, I love you” on the other side.

The two of you pick up random hobbies together?  For no other reason than the two of you spend an awful lot of time just sitting at each other's house?  So, you decided to do something other than just sit on your phones for h o u r s

You’ve made those giant arm-knitted blankets together.  One time, you tried to make soap, but it didn’t smell good so that hobby got scrapped.  You’ve tried to learn how to roller skate together, but Daishou almost broke his arm so you thought maybe something less dangerous like puzzles.  But, those got old really fast.

Please for the love of god run your hand over his arms.  He will be putty in your hands.  He loves it so much.

Better yet?  Put your hands on his biceps when he kisses you and he’s a happy boy.  His arms are the feature that he’s most proud of, so knowing that you like them too is a big boost to his ego.

He has two main nicknames for you smh.  When he’s teasing or just being a little shit, he calls you sweetheart.  If he actually wants to be affectionate, Daishou calls you babygirl.

He’ll pull you into his lap and pepper your face in kisses while telling you, “I love you, babygirl, you know that?”

If you call him ‘Sugu’ or just ‘ru’ he may actually die right there.   It just plucks something in his heart that sends him to cloud-9.  

Suguru really is a fantastic boyfriend who just wants you to be happy ;-; He wants you to smile and laugh and be comfortable around him, because he’s here for the long-haul.  When Daishou falls in love, he falls hard

Kita Shinsuke

An absolute sweetheart

He’s going to take care of you so good

Kita for sure walked straight up to you and asked you on a date.  He gave zero fucks.  Nerves?  Kita has never heard of them before. If you reject him, you reject him.  It’s not like it’s the end of the world.

You met his grandmother really early into the relationship because she’s really important to Kita, so he needed to know that she approved of you before fully committing to a relationship with you.

But, I promise, she loves you and now that Kita is finally dating someone, she’s going to pester him about wedding plans once he comes home from your date.  She doesn’t care that this is only the second date.  She wants to see her grandson married.

Kita genuinely loves domestic life?  Please please please come over and cook with him.  If you offer to help him with the dishes, he may propose right there.  Okay not literally but you know what i mean.  Come over on Saturdays for laundry and gardening.

I should mention that dating Kita isn’t always chores and housework, but even when it is, it really doesn’t feel like it?  The two of you joke around, definitely throwing dirt at one another while you’re pulling weeds in the garden or flicking water at him while doing the dishes.  

He’s an “acts of service” kind of person.  Little things like having your favorite snacks in the cabinets for when you come over or turning the heat up before you get there so it’ll be warm because he knows you get gold. You left your math binder at his house once, so he took the time to put all of the loose papers where he knew you would’ve wanted them.

If you’re a person who gets periods, he has pads and extra painkillers stocked in the bathroom cabinet.

Please note that Kita has zero shame in buying you period products.  You need tampons?  Okay.  What size and what brand?  Do you want anything else?  He can get some snacks while he’s at the store too.  You can say no and he’s going to pick up a package of pizza rolls anyway.  He knows you well enough that you’ll say no, but only tell him that you're hungry the minute he gets home.  He’s played this game before.  He knows. 

It makes his grandmother so proud, seeing him love and care so wholeheartedly for another person that isn’t related to him.  She just knows that he’ll make an excellent husband to you one day

She cares about you just as much as he does.  Kita mentioned that you weren’t feeling well once, and she packed up a bunch of leftovers and some tea for him to take over to you, pretty much telling him not to come back until you were feeling well again.

Kita doesn’t beat around the bush, so if he has something he wants to tell you, he’s just going to say it.  Communication is really important to him and he believes that it’s the key to a healthy and happy relationship.

But, because of this, it took him a while to say I love you.  He didn’t want to just say it, you know?  He wanted to genuinely mean it. He believes that that phrase gets tossed around too easily. So, it was a few months before he actually said it, but you knew that he was serious when he did.

He likes to kiss the top of your head.  If you’re tall, he enjoys kisses to your temple just as much.

I 10/10 recommend a Kita.  He would love you wholeheartedly and, don’t tell his grandmother, he really does want to spend the rest of his life with you.

Yamaguchi Tadashi

Another absolute sweetheart of a boyfriend oml

But, I promise that you’re probably going to have to make the first move if you want anything to come from this.  

He’s just so shy and nervous when talking to people that he finds cute ;-;

Although, there is a chance that Tsukishima told him to get over himself and just ask you out.  

“It’s not that big of a deal.  If they say no, you move on.” 

Shut up, Tsukki.

Yamaguchi really likes to hold your hand.  It’s really grounding for him, so if he’s ever starting to get panicked, he’ll reach for your hand.

Before every game, he has to hold your hand and he’ll squeeze it three times before he has to go.  So, if he starts to panic during the game, he has a fresh memory of the feeling of your hand in his.

Yamaguchi lets you wear his jacket during games ;-;  He didn’t even think about it as something to show you off as his, he was just worried that you might get chilly in the stands, so he offered for you to take it.

But, now he’s obsessed with how cute you look with his jacket around your shoulders that he’s letting you hold onto it whenever he gets the opportunity.  

Study dates study dates study dates

The two of you will either go to a cafe or a library and claim a table and just hang out and do homework together.  If you’re struggling with something, he’ll walk you through it.  He moved his chair close to yours so that your knees just barely brushed against one another.  

He loves to bring you little gifts.  If he sees something in a shop that reminds him of you or if he thinks you might like it, he’ll buy it and give it to you the next time he sees you.

He usually doesn’t like nicknames?  He'd rather just be called by his actual name, but something about you calling him ‘dashi’ just feels right and he really likes it.

Tadashi has a lot of insecurities, especially in the start of your relationship with him.  He doesn’t understand why you’re so willing to be with him?? He’s just a bundle of nerves and he’s convinced that you could do so much better than him, but yet you still stay with him?  

It took him a really long time to get comfortable with the idea of being in a relationship and realize that you weren’t going to just dump him because you really got to know him, but when he does get comfortable, it’s like he’s a totally new person.  His nervous laughter actually becomes more full and free and he smiles a lot wider.  He isn’t afraid to tease you and he’s a lot more open about his emotions.

Tsukki is the first one to really notice just how good you are for Yamaguchi.  Tadashi isn’t super open with anyone but him, at least, until you came along and gave Tadashi another person that he could connect with and feel comfortable around.

Tadashi loves it when you play with the hair at the base of his neck.  It feels so comforting and he would love to just fall asleep right there with your fingers in his hair.  Everytime you play with his hair, his head immediately goes to your shoulder and he’ll wrap his arms around your midsection and tell you that he loves you.

You will never go a day without Tadashi telling you that he loves you and that you’re absolutely incredible.  He finds something to compliment you on every single day because he just wants you to know that you’re loved and, while yes, he does find you absolutely beautiful, sometimes it’s nice to be complimented on things other than physical appearance and that’s where Yamaguchi really shines.

{Taglist: @moncymonce @nicka-nell @celosiiaa @lovinnoya  and my fellow daishou suguru simp @kuronekomama​}

[goshiki-kun]

invading your inbox with a matchup req😎

i’m a minor, my pronouns are she/her, female, 5”2 *sobs* idk if this helps but libra sun aqua moon idk rising i’ll have to check snapchat for that. i’m and INTP with a 5w4.

personality: i only loud over text; kinda quiet in person. like the lesser the people around me, the more i’ll interact. for my sake we’ll say i’m funny. i’m the therapist friend if the group and fluent in sarcasm.

hobbies: playing the guitar and keyboard, reading, painting, reading and writing poems, making fb memes, math (i’m gonna get hated for this bye)

other random stuff

i’m fluent in three languages

love oversized clothing

love dogs

listen to music 24/7

make playlists every two days

i have tarot cards😎

i need my space at times

i’m sorry if that’s too much anyways hope you have a great day <33

oh hell yeah!!! you're my first request ever so congratulations and thank you! also, tbh, there is never too much when it comes to this! more makes it a lot easier for me!

okay so, since i'm split on who exactly i would match you with, you get two characters! lucky!!

my first pairing for you is....

SUNA RINTARŌ!

────────────────────

HOW YOU MET

✦ You two didn't actually meet in person; and didn't even see each other until you were already friends for a couple of months.

✦ That's right– you're internet friends with everyone's favorite terminally online e-boy!

✦ Like I'm gonna be honest here, he saw your memes and really liked them. That's just how you two became friends: he messaged you on a whim, and you two meshed really well together!

✦ He really loved your sarcastic bantering, and has laughed himself to tears more than once from your jokes and memes– something which is pretty rare for him! That's kind of when he realized that you were going to be someone really, really special to him. But like, in a best friend way. ...unless? 👀

HOW YOU STARTED DATING

+ more first impression shenanigans

✦ Honestly, you two didn't start dating until after you've met in real life.

✦ He was kind of surprised at how quiet you were in person, compared to how bombastic you were online– not that he thinks it's a bad thing! Suna definitely thought it was interesting at just how different you were, while still retaining all the same qualities that made you his friend in the first place.

✦ Also, he really finds it cute that you wear very oversized clothing when you're already so small– it just accentuates how adorable you are and- oh shit. That was when Suna really, truly, definitely knew he had a thing for you.

✦ About eight months into your friendship, you're both hanging out together. You both have made it routine to take the one-and-a-half hour train ride to each other's prefecture every Saturday; on odd-numbered days, he'll come to yours, and visa versa on even days. It's nothing out of the ordinary for you guys, until Suna says something completely out of the blue while you opine about your mutually lackluster relationship experience: “Y'know, I definitely wouldn't mind dating a girl like you.”

✦ Before he could even regret the phrase that just came out of his mouth, you agreed with your own similar sentiments. As is typical for Suna, there's no fireworks or anything too over-the-top; i was just the two of you, and he wouldn't have changed it for the world.

WHAT HE THINKS ABOUT YOU

✦ You're his little pogchamp.

✦ Okay, seriously though, he really can't wrap his head around just how lucky he was to have stumbled across you. He's really, really glad that you're a part of his life.

✦ Conversation just comes so naturally to the two of you? And you can even just communicate entirely through memes and references? And it doesn't feel awkward or forced? Just god, he is whipped.

✦ He thinks it's kind of weird how you like doing math for fun, but hey, who's he to judge? Maybe you'll let him cheat off of your homework, too.

✦ Will listen to every single playlist you make, and will make playlists for you, too. Not even romantic ones, either, just songs that he likes, or that he thinks you would like, or that just remind him of you.

DATE IDEAS AND OTHER HEADCANONS

✦ Y'all go on really chill dates, and they often consist of you two just hanging out in proximity to each other; he's just happy enjoying your company, no matter the context.

✦ High-key, you're both gonna end up raiding a convenience store at, like, 2 AM for snacks, and then loitering around outside to scarf them all down. And, just for good measure, he's gonna hit you with that: “Tsuki ga kirei desu ne?” even though he's just looking over at you.

✦ Not only will he let you steal his clothes, he'll just sometimes give them to you. If he sees that you're cold, you are getting his jacket, and whoops– looks like he forgot to ask for it back! Guess it's yours now! 🤷‍♀️

────────────────────────────

But, that was just the second of the two I was split about– and now, it's onto my main choice for you, which is....

────────────────────────────

KUROO TETSURŌ!

────────────────────

HOW YOU MET

✦ You two were seated next to each other in your homeroom class when you were both first years in high school, and you just stuck together ever since then.

✦ He just kind of introduced himself to you– in like, the way any kid does when they're in a class without anyone they know. Like, Kuroo didn't expect to be friends with you for so long, and he definitely didn't expect to actually catch feelings for you.

✦ At first, he noticed that you were both the student closest to him, and just how quiet you were; you didn't approach anybody, nor did they approach you. It kind of reminded him how Kenma was when they first met, so he just naturally gravitated towards you.

✦ Congratulations! You're now under the wings of Kuroo Tetsurō, resident extrovert and rooster-haired smartass. Good luck.

HOW YOU STARTED DATING

✦ I'm sorry, but this is a slow-burn friends to lovers situation that you've found yourself in. It's gonna take a good, long while of mutual pining for him to actually ask you out.

✦ Kuroo being Kuroo, though, he's gonna flirt with you so much– mostly in the form of shitty jokes and "intentionally" cheesy pick-up lines (he actually thought they were good, but he'll never admit it).

✦ He passes you notes like: “Are you made up of C12H22O11? 'Cause you're really sweet!” and he thinks he's so clever. Even if he elicits just a light chuckle from you, he'll still count that as a victory in his books.

✦ You both have this sort of tongue-in-cheek relationship, where your feelings are always spoken in at least three layers of irony, sarcasm, and inside jokes that neither of you can really tell if the other is serious or not. You've got the type of friendship where it's painfully obvious to everyone else that you like each other but, for some reason, you guys can't put two and two together.

✦ Like honestly, y'all were already dating four months before you even made it official– but like, ironically, as friends. Just two besties going on purely platonic dates. Nobody believes you, but they humor it anyways; by the start of your second year, Morisuke and Kai have both started making bets about it.

✦ Finally, though, near the tail end of summer break, Kuroo decided that he had had enough– it was gonna be now, or never, and he needed to put the months of tiptoeing around you to an end.

✦ “Hey, do you that one time, back in Japanese last year?” he mused into the warm, lazy breeze, eyes trained firmly at the emptiness in front of you.

✦ “...You mean the required fives hours each week for an entire year? Yeah, totally.”

✦ “No, that's not–! You know, that one time where we got caught passing notes and you had to read it out loud– but, you lied about what it said. That time.”

✦ Of course you remembered it. Given what was actually in the note, it was hard to forget.

✦ It was such a simple note, really, but one that made your heart do summersaults within your ribcage whenever you even thought about it; all from just three simple words.

✦ “I like you.”

✦ Written in red ink, the same red he used to emphasize important words whenever he was taking notes– he never used that pen for anything else. It was that ink that made you question whether or not he really was serious about all the little jokes you two made.

✦ “Well– yeah, of course I remember,” you replied, slightly more hastily than you would've liked. “What about it?”

✦ He paused, just for a moment– taking a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. He looked just as he would before he made a decisive serve during a tough match: focused, invigorated, and nervous. This is the first time you've really seen him nervous around another person like this.

✦ “I meant every word of it: liking you, I mean.”

WHAT HE THINKS ABOUT YOU

✦ You're amazing. Plain and simple: not just to him, but as a whole. You're amazing.

✦ Like, wow. You're smart, funny, and kind? You're just a triple threat, aren't you?

✦ He thinks it's really cool that you can speak not just two, but three different languages! He will ask you to teach him at least one of them, so you can have your own secret language that no one around you guys can understand. He's a quick learner, and, within a week, he's already learned the worst pick-up lines you've ever heard in your life.

✦ At least his pronunciation is pretty alright.

✦ Kuroo kind of thinks the whole tarot card thing is a bit silly, but he isn't gonna think any less of you because you're into that stuff. He'll give an off-handed mention about it not being scientific, but that he'll give it a shot– after all, if it's something you believe in, maybe it is worth giving a second glance.

✦ He still does admire how smart and witty you are! He loves that you can keep up his bantering energy with your own retorts, and that you guys can keep riffing like that before one of you inevitably breaks.

✦ And, if you need space, he's willing to give it to you. Kuroo is good at reading people, and he can usually pick up on when you need some time alone. He'll still check in on you every couple of hours, just to see how you're doing.

DATE IDEAS AND OTHER HEADCANONS

✦ Study dates? Study dates.

✦ Like, you two just spending an afternoon cramming the last couple of chapters of a textbook you really should've read, cracking jokes about just how bland it really is. Helping each other understand concepts they didn't quite get the first time over. Swapping and comparing notes. These are usually either at home or at a café.

✦ Also: museum dates. Please take this nerd to the museum. These dates are so chaotic, honestly? It's just you two being public nuisances while also kind of learning about science. He especially loves it if they have really immersive and interactive exhibits!

✦ He buys you the absolute largest hoodie they have in the gift shop. It completely dwarfs you, but he thinks it's really cute.

✦ If you thought his shitty puns and double entendres would get any better now that you guys are official– you're wrong. They're 1000% worse.

✦ Whenever you're at one of his matches, he looks into the crowd and gives you this wild grin after he scores a point. His hair is all messed up and his eyes are bright, and he looks so proud of himself when he hears you cheering him on.

✦ To be honest, I headcanon Kuroo as a dog person, so like.. y'all text each other pictures of dogs all the time. Whenever he goes out jogging, he snaps quick pictures of each one he sees: your favorite regular is the dopey Shiba Inu who always manages to trip as soon as Kuroo gets his phone out.

✦ In summary: chaos nerds. Goblins of entropy and harbingers of mischief. Why are y'all so cute together 😭😭😭

────────────────────────────

— vince.

hoo boy! this was a lot longer than i expected it to be, but i think i'm pretty happy with the results! i hope you enjoy your match-ups as much as i enjoyed writing them!

my requests are open!

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @doilycoffin donated $100, and requested Liam & Cordell Walker. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

One of Liam's earliest memories is the time Cordell dropped him on his head. Not actually accurate at all to the way it went but that's how it's told in the family mythology. He was really little, three maybe or four—for some reason that part's indeterminate—and Cordell was climbing the stable and playing adventurer, or maybe just showing off and the adventurer part was a good excuse. Liam was following Cordell around like he always did and he tried to climb up, too, on the fence that kept in the horses when they were let out for their run, and Cordell told him no and that he was too little but Liam was determined to try. Cordell climbed back down and tried to steady him where he'd made it up to the top rung of the fence, and Liam lost his balance anyway, and fell straight backwards and landed headfirst on the dirt. There was a little rock and then a lot of blood, and then stitches, and Mama fussing and their dad ripping Cordi a new one—Liam doesn't even remember that it hurt—but the part that sticks it as a memory is how they all rode together in the truck back and forth from the doctor and Cordell held his hand in the backseat and he was crying, the whole way home, a silent seeping kind of crying that made his face a shiny mess. Liam thinks about that weirdly often. Cordi looking out the window and crying.

When the story gets retold for new friends, or the kids, or Cordell's buddies from the Rangers come around for coffee and Mama's pecan pie, they tell it that Cordell's so clumsy he dropped his baby brother on his head. Liam sort of hates it, every time. Cordell laughs and does the aw shucks routine he's so good at, relaxed with his beer and shrugging embarrassed apology. When Liam was about to head off to college, his eighteenth birthday dinner, Daddy told the story again as a kind of miracle survival, and Liam got up from the table real fast and went out onto the porch, annoyed for some reason beyond measure. It was Cordi who got up and came after him and said, a little cautious, "What's up, Stinker?" and Liam said to him, mad, "Why don't you ever tell people it was me? I was the one climbing up after you. It's not like you did it on purpose."

Cordell just blinked at him. "What does it matter?" he said. "You were the baby and I was a dumbass kid. So what?" He hooked his arm around Liam's neck and he smelled like sweat and Old Spice and that laundry detergent Emily bought that wasn't anything like the one they used at home. Liam pushed at his side but didn't try hard to get away. Not that it would've worked. "It's how we figured out how hard that head was, right? Come on. Mama's gonna wonder if you didn't like the brisket."

Liam let himself be dragged back into the house, and Cordi pushed him down into his chair right between him and Emily, and Emily smiled at him easy, and passed him the potatoes. "One month 'til the dorms," she said, very quiet so no one else could hear under Cordell telling some awful lie about Liam having gas, and Liam laughed, surprised, and it just happened that it was the same time everyone else laughed so that was okay. He always liked Emily. Cordell punched his thigh lightly on his other side, and gave him a warmer more real smile, and Liam dropped it, and he didn't complain about the story again.

*

Seven years between them. Liam always wondered if he was an accident, even if Mama said that with Cordell going to school she was ready to have another baby around the house. Cordell was always the one who was getting into trouble. Rambunctious, loud, falling headfirst into things and getting dragged out covered in mud. Liam learned from his example what not to do. Do not: run along the bleachers at the football stadium and vault the handrails until your foot gets caught and you fall and snap your wrist clean in two. Do not: get caught drinking beer with your high school girlfriend behind the horsebarn, and make Daddy give the most mortifying sex talk in the world afterward. Do not: make friends with the most delinquent-ass kid in the whole hill country and wind up explaining every other week why, really, he wasn't that bad, give him a chance—

Somehow even then he was the golden child. Not the best grades, not the most obedient. That wasn't what their dad cared about. Cordell was good on a horse, good on his feet. Respectful when it mattered and devil-may-care when it didn't. In high school he was the quarterback, of course he was, and Liam was right there in the stands with their parents every Friday night, cheering his lungs out. Weirdly boastful with his fourth-grade friends: his older brother was the star of the football team. His older brother could ride a bull for ten seconds and get off hardly winded. Bookish, kind of short, he needed the borrowed glory of Cordell's success to be proud of. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it got him pushed over on the soccer field while some bigger boy went, gawd, William, who cares?

Liam never got in trouble. Never broke a bone. After bringing Cordell back from the hospital with a fresh new cast on his ankle and a dopey slightly-drugged smile on his face, Mama settled him in bed with Liam's help and turned off the light and then, in the kitchen, sighed and said, "Liam, you are a real relief to the mind, do you know that?" He was proud of that, too, in that moment. It wasn't until later that it nagged at him. A therapist asked him, much later in a sleek Manhattan office that smelled faintly of sage, "Do you think your predilection for being contrarian results from that time?" He went home annoyed with her, and was more annoyed when he told Bret the story and Bret didn't even turn around from the carbonara he was making and said, "Babe, you're the most contrary person I know."

He wasn't. He didn't—think he was. He… was, he realized, after a week of sitting with it, and a week after that it made sense. He didn't pick fights, and he didn't make waves. His rebellion was quiet. His hard head, forcing him to make his own space in the world. Not able to live up to Cordell and knowing instinctively that it would be awful even to try—and so taking the opposite turn, every time. It was better than being compared, even if he knew there was no chance but to be compared.

He studied hard. He read, all the time. He liked math and literature equally and did equally well in both. He hated P.E. but he did what he could there, too, and he learned to ride even if he didn't actually love horses the way the rest of the family did, and when Daddy asked if he wanted to join up with the little league baseball Liam asked to play soccer, instead, and Daddy frowned but Mama said, "Why not, I've seen enough boys drop foul balls for a lifetime." So, soccer, and most of his games were during the day or on Saturday mornings, but Cordi came to a lot of them anyway, and when Liam's team won Cordi would jump down onto the field and grab him up by the waist and crow David Beckham, right here! Little David Beckham for sale! Liam would struggle and then he'd be slung headfirst over Cordell's shoulder like a potato sack and his face would get so red from laughing that it hurt.

*

On September 12, 2001, Mama and Daddy were gone from the house when Liam got home from school and he was glad for it. That was a Wednesday. He was in sixth grade. The teachers weren't even trying to hold normal lessons and everyone was talking about what had happened the day before. Melissa Kettering was out that day and the rumor was that her dad had been on a business trip in New York. Liam had raised his hand and asked the social studies teacher if there was going to be a war, like there was after Pearl Harbor, and she sat down on her desk and shook her head and didn't answer.

He was trying to read his book for English when the phone rang. Cordell, calling from his apartment in town. Hey, buddy, he said, over the line, and Liam sat down on the floor by the phone table and closed his eyes, unaccountably almost about to cry. Is Daddy there? Liam told him he was home alone. Lucky, Cordi said, you can totally throw a rager, and Liam didn't laugh, and neither did Cordell, even though he always laughed at his own stupid jokes. Hey, um. I shouldn't—I don't know if I should tell you this but I've gotta tell someone, and Em's in class, and I just have to—I did something, and I need to—

He interrupted himself and Liam could hear him breathing over the line. He didn't want Cordell to say anything. If he didn't say anything then Liam could pretend that he was going to tell a story about some party they'd gone to at Emily's sorority, or that Hoyt had come back into town and they'd seen a show at ACL, or that he was gonna come stay that weekend, and maybe he and Liam would go riding. Anything but what he was about to say. Liam could hear it, in his head. He could hear it like it had already been said and it was echoing, now, inside, like a verse from a song he'd always, always remember.

Cordell graduated from the Marine boot camp on a Saturday in the middle of December. Liam went along even if he wasn't allowed to attend the actual ceremony and Daddy complained about the cost of the plane tickets until Mama told him to shut up. Liam sat between them on the flight and it was the first time he was ever in the air. Over the top of Mama's crossword book he watched the clouds go by over New Mexico, Arizona, with complete wonder. San Diego, then, different to Austin—palm trees, and the air so wet, and even the parking lot at their hotel smelling like warm flowers.

Mama gave him fifty dollars before they left for the graduation. They were bringing Cordell back, after, because they got one night with him before they had to give him back to the military. "Order a pizza," she said, "at 4:30 exactly, and we should get back at the same time the pizza comes so we can all eat together." Liam watched American Pie on the hotel tv while he waited, something he would never have been allowed at home. He made the call when he was supposed to, and when the girl on the phone asked him what toppings his mind went completely blank because he was never allowed to make that decision. Cordi liked ham and pineapple and none of the rest of them did. Liam ordered it with extra pineapple.

When a knock came on the hotel room door Liam jumped up to open it, cash in hand. The one holding the pizzas was Cordell, grinning at him with Mama and Daddy standing behind. "Pizza delivery," Cordell said, and Liam crashed into him for a hug so hard that Cordi almost dropped the boxes and said whoa, Stinker, soft and laughing.

His hair was cut off, an inch on top and shorter on the sides, so he looked like those pictures of their grandpa when he was in Korea. He was skinny, too, which Liam didn't get, because he thought boot camp was all about building up muscles. "Mostly running," Cordi said. He was tired, dark circles under his eyes. He was stretched out on one bed with his strange starched blue pants and the awful khaki shirt that made him look washed-out pale even if he'd been running around San Diego for thirteen weeks, and Mama was sat next to him squeezing his arm like he'd evaporate if she looked away for a minute, and even Daddy was hovering. Proud but worried. Liam sat by Cordell's boots and tugged on the laces, wanting to ask more questions but not daring to.

Cordi fell asleep before six o'clock. Daddy turned on the television real quiet to the news. More stuff about the invasion. Liam hoped it'd be all over by the time Cordi got there. Mama boxed up the remaining pizza, shaking her head. "Don't know why you picked pineapple, kiddo," she said, and Liam shrugged, sitting at the table, watching Cordell's face, turned away a little on the pillow. Liam wanted to shake him awake but of course he didn't. For his whole life, after, he gets a little sick to his stomach when he smells pineapple.

While Cordell was in Afghanistan Mama and Daddy had Emily over to the house a lot. She was sweet. Respectful of Mama, calling her ma'am half the time, and charming to their dad even though Liam knew that she and Daddy probably disagreed on more than things than not. She liked that Liam played soccer and asked if he ever watched the Premiere League. Liam didn't even know what that was. She helped Mama cook supper and went out and took pictures of the horses which made Daddy smile, and one time when Liam went outside after dinner to read she was there crying, on the porch, quiet with her hand over her mouth, and Liam hung back and didn't know what to say. "Sorry," she said, dashing at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She licked her lips and nodded at his book, sniffing. "That's a good one. You should read the sequel, too." He did, and told her about it, and she smiled like a sunrise, the way she always did, and he felt like—he didn't even know, what he felt like.

Liam was the best man at their wedding. He felt and looked ridiculous. Fifteen in a tux and he didn't know how to tie a bow-tie, but Cordi didn't either, so Daddy had to do it for both of them, grumbling the whole time that they should've learned this by now. "Not a lot of bowties in Kandahar, Daddy," Cordell said, winking at Liam, and Liam—blushed. Ridiculous, and embarrassing, the way the whole affair and the lead-up had felt, but Cordell didn't seem to care or notice, so—there was Liam, blushing in a bowtie.

Cordell had only been back for a year and somehow things were off. He was serving the rest of his contract out in the reserves but he wasn't finishing up his degree like he'd told Mama he would. He'd entered the training program for the state troopers and was set up to be a highway cop, of all things. He'd rented a house in Austin with Emily and they lived together the whole year before the wedding—an argument with Daddy about that one, which Liam listened to from the hallway with his heart pounding—and they weren't even going to be married in the church because Emily didn't want a wedding mass and, Liam suspected, Cordell didn't either. Daddy lost that argument, too.

The wedding was tiny. Liam the best man, Geri the maid of honor. Emily's aunt that raised her on one side and Daddy and Mama on the other, and a handful of Cordell and Emily's friends making up the numbers in the little rented hall. Afterward they had a bigger barbecue out at the ranch and in front of the crowd Emily fed Cordell a dainty forkful of the lemon cake and Cordell responded by dotting a tiny bit of frosting on her nose and kissing it off, and Mama's best friend Sue-Ellen sighed and said to Mama, where Liam could hear, "Well, Abilene, maybe they're atheists but I daresay you raised that boy right every other way," and Mama said something dry back but Liam was watching how Cordell cupped Emily's cheek in his hand, smiling down at her like she hung the moon, and he thought, yeah. Yeah, Cordell was just about perfect, wasn't he.

"High school in the fall, right?" Emily's aunt said, later. "Emily says you play soccer. Going to try out for the team?"

Cordell and Emily were dancing, swaying in the grass, the bonfire leaping up behind them. His hand still on her cheek. "I'm quitting soccer," Liam said, without even realizing he was going to. "I'm going to try out for wrestling, instead."

*

He figured out he was gay relatively early. His friends at school got hold of a Playboy in fifth grade and didn't really know what to do with it beyond blustering. This was before anyone but nerds was on the internet, and Liam was a nerd but did a decent job of hiding it. Scott beckoned Liam over while they were waiting for the buses and showed him the top of the magazine, the bold logo and the girl with her boobs pushing up out of her bra—the group of them snickering, saying how hot she was—and that they were going to look at it at Scott's house later if Liam wanted to come over—and Liam said, "No, my mom's making me go to the store with her." The lie came out effortlessly.

They did have a computer at home, and dial-up internet it had been very, very hard to argue Daddy into. He hardly knew how to find anything but he did some careful searches while Daddy was out with the horses and Mama was cooking, singing bad over the stove like she tended to. Made Liam's face hot to see some of what he was seeing. Hoyt came over, once, while Cordi was away in the war, and he helped Liam and Mama dig out a bunch of tomatoes that hadn't grown in right, and afterward they sat on the porch drinking lemonade while Mama asked Hoyt all about the oil field he said he'd been working in and Liam watched how Hoyt's legs sprawled out on the porch, how his jeans hugged up against his calf muscle and how the sweat had made his white shirt nearly transparent, and he had to sit very careful on the bench with his knees drawn up to hide the effect it had on him.

When Cordell came home from Afghanistan they threw a huge party. Everyone came, Daddy's friends and Mama's, and Emily and their friends from college, and even Hoyt, magicked up out of somewhere (for the promise of free beer, Daddy said), and then Liam, the youngest person there, watching from the corner of the porch as always. Cordi was very tan and finally bulky with muscle and his hair had grown out, just a little, from that military buzz, and he barely detached himself from Emily the whole time, his arm always around her shoulders or hers around his waist, and when they did step apart his eyes followed her and she watched him right back, smiling at the most random times. Liam was fourteen and a little more aware of the world and he wondered abruptly if they'd had sex yet. Cordi had only been home one day and he'd slept at the ranch and not at Emily's apartment. How would they have found the time?

He was chewing his thumbnail over it when a sweaty weight crashed down on his shoulders, arms trapping his in. Hoyt. "Hey there, Stinker," Hoyt said, and Liam shrugged fretfully and said, "Don't call me that," and Hoyt laughed at him but stood up and ruffled Liam's hair completely backwards instead.

"Still pretty shrimpy," he said. He was grinning, like he had some big secret. "You planning on growing up anytime soon, champ?"

"Don't you have a sketchy job to get to?" Liam said, annoyed. He tried to fix his hair and gave it up as a lost cause the second Hoyt's grin got bigger. Asshole.

Hoyt sipped his beer. Twenty-one—he was allowed, although Liam had noticed that Mama was being a little free with handing out drinks to Emily's college friends. "Glad big bro's home, I bet," Hoyt said.

Liam didn't dignify that with a response. Hoyt laughed, under his breath, and held out the beer for Liam to take, which he did because he didn't know what else to do. "Go on," Hoyt said, nodding at it. "I won't tell your mama. Not fair that everyone else gets to celebrate while little Liam's sober. And boring."

"I'm not boring," Liam said, although he knew he was because half the kids at school clearly thought so. He took a sip of the beer, anyway, not knowing if Hoyt would snatch it away. Nasty, and he made a face that made Hoyt hoot, and then he took a bigger gulp, determined at least to get something out of it.

"There he goes," Hoyt said, weirdly delighted, and he clapped Liam on the shoulder the same way he would Cordi when they were in high school, and the bit of warm in Liam's belly went lower. "That's a welcome home."

Liam kept the beer, curled against his chest. He felt dumb holding it and also weirdly adult. "He's not even here," he said. Sort of scoffing. "Doesn't matter."

Hoyt curled his arm around Liam's shoulders again and ignored how he went stiff, and nodded out at the party. Music playing from a radio Daddy had set up on a truck-bed. Emily and Cordell, dancing in the firelight. Same as it would be for the wedding reception a year from then, although of course Liam didn't know that at the time. "Aw, he's here," Hoyt said. He squeezed Liam's shoulders. He smelled strange, like—skunk, and Mama's compost bin. It was gross but also kind of appealing and Liam shifted, hoping his dumb body wouldn't react. "He's just with his girl, and who could blame him. No call for getting jealous."

He wasn't jealous. Not—exactly. That night after Mama and Daddy went to bed the party kept on, and Liam went to his room and watched from the dark window, the bonfire still going and all the college kids still going, too. When he finally fell asleep he had a strange, blurry dream about Hoyt—building a bonfire together, and Hoyt smiling at him and being a jackass and then touching his face, the same way Cordell touched Emily's face, and then Hoyt touching his stomach, low—and then the dream shifted, the weird way dreams shift, and it was Cordell, touching his stomach, and smiling at him, and leaning in close—with his hair longer like it was before he enlisted—but wearing for some reason the dumb khaki shirt of his uniform—and then Cordell's hand—

When he woke up he was soaked and it was bright morning. He washed his underwear out in the sink, feeling like his head was screwed on to someone else's body, and then he hid the underwear in the hamper, and showered, and tried not to think about it. He had that dream or one like it on and off for years, until he finally lost his virginity to Michael in college and it went away. He never told his therapist about it, or Bret, or anyone. He could rationalize it but he couldn't ever acknowledge it out loud because of what it—felt like, to think about it. To make it real in a place that wasn't just his stupid, crazy, dreaming head.

He had the dream again the night before he came out to his parents. January 2nd, trying out his new year's resolution of honesty. He figured in a ruthless sort of way that if his parents kicked him out or hated him or tried to change him then at least he had early acceptance at UT for the fall and a full scholarship and it was just eight months where his life would be completely over.

Cordell was at home on the ranch and Liam figured that's what triggered it. A couple days of vacation, since he'd worked over Christmas, and he and Emily and baby Stella had stayed up for ringing in the new year, and everyone had taken turns kissing Stella's forehead when midnight struck. Liam had been allowed a glass of champagne, Mama not even fussing about it since it was a holiday and the house was full—so he had two glasses—and when he went to bed he could still hear Cordell laughing from the front room, telling Daddy some story about a bust on the highway, something about stolen Santa suits, something light.

He dreamed they were swimming, up at the lake, and Cordell was naked. Laughing, that same too-loud booming laugh, but just because he was happy and not like he was making fun. Being kind to Liam. Holding him from behind with his arms around Liam's chest, their legs slipping together in the water. Liam could imagine what it would be like for a man to do something to him, he'd seen porn by that point, and he'd seen Cordell naked too because of the vagaries of living in an old house without a lock on the bathroom door, but somehow there was still a disconnect in his head. He was turned on beyond belief but nothing—happened, just the vagueness of Cordell behind him. His big hands.

Mama took Emily and the baby in to town, that day, for shopping. Daddy said they'd just bought half of Macy's and Mama shushed him so Daddy was up at the barn, checking over the new foal. Liam sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched birds come to the new feeder Mama had got from Emily and he tried to rehearse it, in his head. What to say. He'd seen it in movies but it didn't feel possible to come out of his mouth.

Cordell sat by him, on the bench swing. "Since when do you drink coffee?" he said. Then, less casual: "Is that my mug?"

"Yes," Liam said, and didn't protest when Cordell took it out of his hands. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. He had a hard time talking to Cordi after he had one of those dreams and so it was a relief that most of the time Cordell wasn't around, that he was in town at the house he shared with his wife. With his wife, Liam reminded himself, as though that could help. Another thing to make Liam different. Wrestling instead of football, reading books instead of riding, and now—this, on top of everything.

"Whatever's going on," Cordell said. Liam blinked, came back to the world. The cold, and the swing barely rocking from how Cordi had set his boot on the porch and pushed, and Cordell looking at him very steadily. "You know you can tell me, right?"

Liam swallowed. "Even if it's—" Bad is what came to his mouth and he shook his head. He prayed about this, he resolved. It's not bad. "Weird?"

"If it weren't weird you probably wouldn't be being so weird about it," Cordi said, frank, and Liam shoved his shoulder. The dream dissipated just like that. How could he possibly be crushing on his brother when his brother is this much of a jerk. Cordell swayed, grinning, letting Liam push him even if Cordell outweighed him then by fifty pounds, but then he set his hand on the back of Liam's neck, more serious. "Whatever it is. We can figure it out."

Liam licked his lips, and nodded. He knew then that was going to tell Cordell the one secret, if not the whole of it, before they left the porch that morning, and Cordi would—back him up, with Mama and Daddy, even if he didn't get it. "Give me back the coffee," he said, and Cordell raised his eyebrows but passed it back, so Liam could take a gulp. The caffeine probably wouldn't help but maybe it wouldn't hurt, and it felt nice to hold the mug. "Promise you won't freak," Liam said then, even if he was—mostly, ninety percent, pretty sure—and Cordell said, immediately, "I promise," and Liam believed him. That was the thing, with Cordell, in those days. It was easy to believe him.

*

It's Mama who calls, when Emily dies. Liam's already in bed because he's got court in the morning and Bret shoves at his shoulder, says, "Oh my god answer it and then change your ringtone, I hate that song," and Liam's still fuzzy from sleep and doesn't quite process that there's no good reason Mama would be calling him after nine o'clock in Texas because she always thought that was bad manners, it had been drilled into him all his life, and he says, mumbly, still waking up, "Hey, Mama," and there's a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line before she says, Honey, I'm sorry, but I have real bad news.

He flies out the next day. Bret tries to dissuade him. "There's nothing you can do right now," he says, as though that's the point. JFK to Austin-Bergstrom is four and a half hours and he spends the whole time with his chest this weird achy knot. It doesn't feel real but it is. He texted Mama his flight plan and she says that Daddy will pick him up at the airport, and when he gets into the truck Daddy shakes his head and says, "Good to see you, son," but without any truth to it. Liam doesn't take it personally.

Cordell's not at the ranch when they get there but the kids are. "Hi, Uncle Liam," Stella says, remarkably clear, until he hugs her, and then she curls his hands into his shirt and cries silently, her shoulders shaking. August doesn't get up from the couch, sitting there with one arm crossed over his chest and the other over his mouth, and he looks—Liam's always shocked by it—so exactly like his mother. Stella's a copy of her grandmother, to the point that Mama set her prom picture side by side with Stella's first dance photo and the only real difference was the dress—but Auggie always took after Emily, from coloring to temperament to those long straight eyebrows, that mouth that curves up into a wide, easy smile. Not smiling now, and not for a while, and when Stella pulls away and wipes her eyes Liam sits down next to Auggie and sets his hand on the back of his neck and Auggie just folds over, quiet, like whatever was holding him up just isn't there anymore.

"Where is he?" Liam asks Mama, in the kitchen later. The sun's going down. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

Mama's eyes are red-rimmed. "Where do you think?" she says.

Liam takes the truck. Lady Bird Lake is officially closed at night but of course that makes no difference. He parks and walks, up to the lookout, and Cordell doesn't hear him coming. He's sitting on the steps to the gazebo, his elbows braced on his knees. The light hitting his hair. Long again. Liam doesn't know how he's always skirting regs and getting away with it, except of course Cordi gets away with everything. Golden child.

He regrets the thought as soon as he has it. "Cordi," he says, and Cordell looks up in complete surprise. Liam smiles at him, as much as he can, and comes and sits on the step. He tries to think of what to say and can't come up with anything.

"Aren't you in court tomorrow?" Cordell says, after they sit there for thirty seconds. His voice sounds thick and distant.

Liam shakes his head. "Today," he says, and Cordell nods and huffs and says, "Right," and then looks down at his hands again. They're twisted together, his thumb rubbing hard and repeatedly at the mount of his other palm. Liam reaches over and puts his hand over the knot of Cordell's fingers and Cordell's jaw flexes but he lets Liam do it. "I'm sorry," Liam says.

"Everyone is," Cordell says, halfway bitter. Liam squeezes his hands and Cordell makes a rough low noise, some sound Liam has never heard him make. "Jesus. They won't let me go in to work."

"Of course they won't," Liam says, and Cordell pulls his hands away, pushes them into his hair. "Cordi, they have to—they're going to be looking for who did it and it has to be by the books so it'll stick. They're not going to risk screwing it up."

"I just want to—" Cordell cuts himself off but Liam can imagine what goes there. He touches Cordell's back instead and the muscle flinches. Set to fly off the handle any second. Fight or flight, but Cordell never used to run from anything and Liam can't imagine he's going to start now.

He stands up. "Wrestle me," he says.

Cordell looks up. "What?"

Genuine surprise. At least it's not misery. "Come on," Liam says. "See if you can pin me." These jeans are nice, were a gift from Bret, but he'll sacrifice them. He holds out a hand and Cordell lets himself be pulled upright, and it's a shock like it always is when Liam's been too long away, how much taller Cordi still is. Liam always was the shrimp. He pushes Cordell's chest, lightly, and Cordell slaps his hands away. "Cordi," Liam says, coaxing, and pulls at Cordell's wrist. "Let me take your mind off it."

Stupid thing to say and he knows it as soon as he says it. Cordell gives him an ugly look and shoves him for real. "Take my mind off it?" he says, while Liam's staggering backwards. Liam sets his boots in the dirt and braces, and when Cordell pushes him again Liam grapples, and they are wrestling, then. It's sloppy, bad holds, both of them in too-slick boots for this ground. Liam manages to swing Cordell around and get his back on the ground but Cordi's always been stronger and shoves him off, and then they're just—flat-out scrambling, Liam's hand sinking into a patch of mud and both of them breathing hard, Cordell twisting out of his grip and getting an arm over his chest, tight, before Liam eels over and flips them—gets Cordell on his back on the dirt—his leg over Cordell's—and then Cordi drops his head back against the ground and taps out, panting.

"You been practicing?" Cordell says. His eyes are closed.

Liam sits up, says, "Class at my gym." Cordi nods and Liam gets off him, kneels next to him in the dirt. The gazebo's bright and the skyline's pretty, on the other side of the lake. Liam looks at that instead of at his brother, so he won't have to see the tears seeping down Cordell's temples, wetting his hair.

"It's not okay," Liam says. He sets a hand on Cordell's chest. At the DA's office in Manhattan he's comforted widows, widowers, orphans. Some of them seeking justice but most of them knowing it won't really be found. Cordell, he thinks, is one of the latter type, but Liam tries out the lines he's learned anyway. "It's not okay and it's not fair. I can't pretend I know what you're going through but I'm sorry." He swallows, his throat trying to close without his say-so. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Cordi."

"Yeah," Cordell says, rough, and grips Liam's wrist. When Liam looks down Cordell's eyes are still closed. They stay there for a while, by the lake, long past when it's uncomfortable.

When they finally get up, Liam's knees creak like an old man's but Cordell doesn't make the joke he should. He leaves Cordell's truck and drives them both back into town, and gets drive-through Whataburger that Cordell picks at instead of eating, and says, "Do you want to go back to the ranch?" and isn't surprised when Cordell shakes his head, no. They get a hotel instead, two queens and a respectable mini-bar, and Liam calls Mama from next to the ice machine in the hall and says that he's got Cordell, and they're fine, and they'll be back in the morning. She clearly wants to object but doesn't know how and Liam hangs up before she can figure it out.

He gets back, with the ice. Cordell's sitting on the end of the bed watching the news like it's the Superbowl. "I was thinking about the funeral," Cordell says, when the door closes behind Liam. "I have to plan the funeral and I don't even have her body."

Liam sets the bucket on the bar and sits on the other bed. "We'll help," Liam says. Cordell's cheek sucks in on one side. "You don't have to do any of this alone."

"Yeah," Cordell says, remote, and Liam looks at him. Weird hollowness in his stomach and he realizes only after a second why: it's the first time, all his life, that he can remember Cordell lying to him.

*

The Rodeo Kings operation is supposed to be quick. Three months, is the estimate: to get in, to learn the operation, to get out. They need an agent who can be convincingly skilled as a traveling rider, who knows a ranch operation, who can act. There's a depressingly short list and one name at the top of it. Everyone thinks it's a bad idea except for Graves, and Cordell.

"It'll give me something to think about that's not this," Cordell says, when Liam's trying to talk him out of it. They're on the back patio of his and Emily's house in town. The kids are still staying out at the ranch. It's two weeks after the funeral and they haven't gone back to school. Cordell hasn't shaved in a few days and the sound as he scratches his jaw is loud. There's no music playing from the kitchen window, like there used to be. The plants out here are already dying. Liam wants to grip Cordell's shoulders, get in his face and yell, but doesn't dare to. He gets a deep sigh, instead, and Cordell flipping a poker chip between his fingers like a restless card shark, and then a smile, fake as fake. "Anyway, who do you know who can ride a bull better than me?"

"No one," Liam says, and Cordell nods, like damn straight, and in the morning Liam goes in to the Travis County DA and announces he'd like to transfer offices, due to a family emergency that's going to keep him here in Texas, and it's only afterward when some calls are made and the paperwork's signed that he calls Bret, back in Manhattan, and leaves a voicemail that he's going to be staying a lot longer than he thought.

It isn't three months. As the operation drags on, Liam sweet-talks his way into being one of the assistant attorneys on the case and he tries to alleviate how Graves is getting more and more suspicious. Cordell's old partner James gets promoted to captain, six months in, and he vouches for Cordell, too, not that it seems to matter either way. Cordell's the one who's embedded with the rodeo and he'll either finish the job or he won't. They don't have another agent to send in, not without compromising the work that's been done so far, and nothing else will do but to wait.

The kids ask Liam for updates every week when he comes for dinner at the ranch. "I can't tell you everything," he says, like he does every time, and Daddy's quiet at the head of the table, and Mama quieter on the opposite side. Cordell has a rendezvous every Monday when the rodeo takes the day off with a burner cell phone and an agent waiting impatiently for his call, and his reports are terse: still trying to get them to trust me. They're suspicious of newcomers. The ring seems really tight and I can't figure out an opening. Give me time. He's allowed to call Liam the same day and Liam answers every unknown number on Mondays, giving hope to spam callers nationwide. Cordell usually sounds tired but he still calls and they have a dumb, simple conversation—about how the Rangers beat the Angels, how he's breaking in some new boots and has a blister the size of Indiana, how he's craving, inexplicably, sushi. "Sushi?" Liam asks, trying to imagine when Cordell ever tried it, and Cordi says, with rare humor, "Hey, I'm not a big fancy New York lawyer but I've had my share of raw fish," and when Liam hands the phone over to the kids they lean over the speakerphone and talk over the top of each other about a class project Stella did, and a history paper Auggie got an A+ on, and Liam watches with his hand over his mouth for the moment when Cordell has to interrupt and say, tired-sounding still, "Sorry, guys, I have to go," and the goodbyes have to be quick, and then that's it, for another week.

The first time Liam sees him when he's Duke it's a shock to the system. Seven months in and the reporting agent says that Walker missed his check-in. Walker—that's what they all call him, even when Liam's in the room with them. There's a small frenzy in the operation office. Graves calls for Cordell's head, predictably at this point. James, trying again to calm her down, but looking a little like he agrees. Liam leaves the office unnoticed and walks outside to feel cold air on his face and feel less—how he feels—and there's a text, on his phone, from an unknown number. The Alibi, Driskill ST, thirty minutes. Come alone.

Ridiculously illicit. Liam takes off his suit-jacket and tie and ruffles his hair into something unprofessional and goes. It's hard to park—Monday night football—and inside is the opposite of his scene but he finds a seat at the bar. A girl in a too-tight orange t-shirt gives him a once-over and he smiles tightly, ignores her, drinks a watery beer, and almost exactly on the thirty-minute mark someone sits down next to him and it's—not his brother.

Duke Culpepper was the fake name they picked. Originally from Texas but had some misdemeanors that made Texas unfriendly so he'd been hiding out in Tucson for a few years, working the rodeo there. Not dangerous but willing to get up to something that was, and he looks the part. He smells like sweat and horse manure and hay and some shitty, awful aftershave, and there's a bruise on his jaw like someone suckerpunched him, and he doesn't look at Liam but smiles sweet at the bartender and says, with a fake low drawl, "Darlin', I wouldn't mind a shot of bourbon, when you have a chance."

Jesus, Liam thinks. The bartender has an expression like Cordell slid a hand down the front of her jeans and made her the happiest woman alive—the shot takes about ten seconds to arrive, when Liam's been waiting for a second beer for five minutes. Cordell knocks it back in one motion and says, "Again, and—" and he turns, like he noticed Liam for the first time, "another round for my friend, here. We're celebratin'."

She blinks, notices Liam's empty glass. While the next round's being prepared Liam raises his eyebrows and plays his part. "What are we celebrating?"

"Got a new job," Cordell says—but no—it's Duke, who's saying it, Duke who's drawling lazy and has his hat cocked at an off-angle and who's got a bandana tied around his wrist which for some goddamn reason is working the whole, hot-ass look.

"Congrats," the bartender says, and Duke grins wide and winks at her and downs the second shot, letting out a little whoop. "Another?"

"Better make it a double this time, sweetheart," Duke says, and Liam puts his hand on the warm lean stretch of thigh knocking against his under the bar and squeezes, very lightly, a warning, and sees Cordell's eyes tighten just slightly, and sees how his shoulders round out, like he's ready to get in a fight. Cordell takes a deep breath and toasts the bartender, but turns to look at Liam, face a grinning glad mask. "Got a new girl, too. Real pretty."

The bartender's disappointment would be funny, any other time. "Your lucky day, then, huh?" Liam says. Cordell's knee presses hard into his under the bar. "Girl got a name?"

"Miss Twyla Jean," Cordell says, almost crooning it, and Liam raises his eyebrows—he thought they had embarrassing Texas names—and then Cordell downs the double-shot, grimacing at the sting, and then says, much quieter so that only Liam can hear: "All it took was me making it eleven seconds on a bull and she took me straight to bed."

Liam takes a deep breath. Cordell's jaw flexes, in the silence, and he puts the empty shot glass on the bar. "Thanks for celebrating with me," he says, and slides off the barstool, backwards. He grips Liam's shoulder so hard that it actually hurts. "Gotta get back. Job won't do itself."

"Godspeed," Liam says, toasting with his beer, and Cordell gives him a tight smile and tugs his cap and walks out of the bar, taking with him the smell of the stables and his too-tight jeans and this sensation under Liam's gut that's murky and dangerous, unsettled. His shoulder hurts. It's only after he's written down Twyla Jean's name and texted it to James, and gone home to the apartment where Bret's still bitching about the décor, and taken a shower, and pressed his forehead against the cold tile, that he realizes that Cordell was wearing a fucking Texas Rangers cap. The absolute bastard.

*

The night he hears from Cordell again he has a fight with Bret. The same fight, worked over the same way. Bret hates Texas. He hates being away from his friends. He hates the politics and the food and how Liam's always with his family. He doesn't want to go to family dinner at the ranch because he's sure Liam's dad hates him. "He doesn't hate you," Liam says, for the fifth time, but to be honest he's not sure. Daddy never seems to like Bret that much, either. Cordi's never met him and Liam wonders, like he's wondered many times, if they'd get along, at all. Wonders if that'd be a dealbreaker and then wonders, washing dishes while Bret watches MSNBC in chilly silence, if the fact that he's wondering if it would be a dealbreaker makes it a dealbreaker, after all.

The text comes as a relief. Annunziata's. He dresses down more carefully than the first time. It's a weird spot, on the outskirts of town where it feels less like Austin than like a suburb. Karaoke and Italian food and mostly-fake cowboys slapping their knees to the absolutely horrific song being sung—very suburb. And there, at a table right by what passes for a stage: Cordell. But, no: Duke, Duke Culpepper, with his arm slung around the shoulders of Twyla Jean and his lips on her ear, grinning, wild. It catches Liam's breath like it did the first time. Duke, confident in his body and happy and having a good time, easy. Hot. Jesus, Liam doesn't get how it's so hot.

He waits in the backroom and watches Cordell shoves his face into the water. It's disturbing how panicked he is, once he's Cordell again and not Duke. "You have to," he's saying—babbling—"You have to tell them, they're going to kill people, you can't let them go through with it—" but of course that's not either of their decision and Liam can't help. It's awful, an awful awful feeling. His big brother looking to him for an answer he can't give. Cordell pushes his hair back from his face and puts his hat back on and looks miserable but he goes back, he sits right back down with that girl and lets her slide her hand down his thigh up the inseam of his jeans and Liam watches from the corner of the bar, where he won't be seen, drinking a beer he doesn't want, seeing his brother be someone who's not his brother. Maybe someone his brother could have been. They're going to sleep together, tonight. Liam knows it. They've been fucking for three months. Is it easy, he wonders. It shouldn't be, for Cordell, but maybe for Duke it is.

He goes home to Bret and wakes him up, and apologizes for the earlier fight, and kisses him, and gets Bret on his belly, and fucks him that way, a little hard, kissing the back of his neck, making Bret gasp and flinch and groan, delighted. "Where did that come from," Bret says, lazy and satisfied, and when he falls asleep Liam takes a shower and then only then calls James, from the hall outside their apartment door, leaning with his forehead against the wall. The bank location has been obvious since Cordell reported about Twyla Jean; the only thing that wasn't certain was the time. It'll be fine, James says, firm, and hangs up on Liam to coordinate with the rest of the team now that Agent Walker has finally come back in from the cold, and Liam stands there with his eyes closed in the hall and thinks, yes. Yes, it'll be fine.

After the bank—after the clean-up—Graves debriefs Cordell for a long time. It borders on unlawful interrogation at a certain point but Liam doesn't dare intervene when she's this furious—he can't risk being taken off the case. It takes James making a call to her supervisor at the field office, who then calls her and pulls her out of the room, for Cordell to be given a reprieve, and Liam goes in to the conference room and finds Cordell still in the stupid black hoodie stained with Crystal West's blood, his head in his hands, breathing with his mouth open like he can't get enough air.

"Cordi," Liam says, and Cordell shakes his head. Liam licks his lips and checks the hall. No one's guarding them—they wouldn't, because Walker's one of their own—and he says, "Get up." Cordell looks up at him, finally. "Come on, quick before she gets back. Come with me."

Cordell follows him. Down the hall, left to go through the atrium instead of the bullpen, then through the glass doors to the hall to, at last, the men's room, and Cordell stands in the middle of the tile blinking until Liam nods at the sinks and says, "Do it."

He's sloppier about it, this time. His hair hangs dripping in front of his face. He pushes it off his forehead and looks up at himself, in the mirror, panting a little. Water drips off his nose.

Liam brings him paper towels and he dries his face. "You should take that off," Liam says, and Cordell looks down at his clothes like he has no idea what he's wearing and only just realized, and tears off the hoodie in an awkward tangle. Underneath his t-shirt is black so Liam can't tell if it's stained. The big silver cross swings from his neck.

"What happened," Cordell says. A croak.

"Graves didn't tell you?" Liam says, and then bites his tongue. Obviously not. "Clint and Crystal are both dead. Clint at the bank. Crystal crashed the car. They think she passed out. Blood loss." Cordell nods, tight, looking away. These are his friends, Liam reminds himself. These are the people he knew, the only people he really talked to, for almost a year. "Two more people died at the bank. Twyla wasn't there and we don't have information to tie her to the job. I don't know where Jaxon is but we have people looking. They're still trying to recover the stolen money."

"Graves did tell me that much," Cordell says, and turns around, leaning his ass against the sink. It's slowly draining, behind him. "I think she wants to arrest me since she can't arrest them."

"I think so, too," Liam says, and Cordell smiles a little. He looks like he hasn't slept all year. "You did your job. It's over."

"It's not over," Cordell says, immediately. He drags his hand through his hair. "Graves made that clear. The money's still missing and Twyla and Jax are in the wind."

"And Duke's being sent to jail," Liam says. "So his part in the Rodeo Kings gang is over."

Cordell wipes his fingers over his mouth. He's still wearing that bandana around his wrist. Liam wants to take it off of him. Throw it away, burn it. "Duke Culpepper, common criminal," Cordell says, drawling it a little.

"Never liked him anyway," Liam says, and Cordell smiles, dropping his head. Liam touches his shoulder, grips his neck. "Hey. Means you get to come home. The kids will be over the moon."

"Yeah," Cordell says. He brackets a loose hand around Liam's wrist and nods. "Yeah. Can't wait."

His smile faded, as soon as Liam said it. Liam thinks about that, for that whole night, and for the whole next day, after, when James tells him that Cordell put in for one week's leave. "You talked to him?" Liam says, and James shakes his head, says, "He called Connie. I think he still doesn't even know I'm the captain."

He tells Mama and Daddy that Cordell will be home next Wednesday. Stella's frowning, not eating her dinner. "I saw that bank robbery on the news," she says. Auggie's big-eyed, watching, next to her. "Was that Dad's big case?"

"It was," Liam says, and Auggie's eyes get bigger. "But there's a debriefing period. We need to make sure his undercover identity doesn't have any loose ends that'll tie him back to his real one."

Daddy's eyes narrow and Mama's quiet. Liam got pretty good at lying, over the years, but he never was quite able to fool them.

He calls Cordell the next day. "Tell me where you are," he says, and Cordell doesn't answer for a long moment, letting the silence stretch out over the cell line. Liam considers it a victory that he even answered the phone.

He has a room at the Fairmont, on the fifteenth floor. Liam knocks and it's a minute before the door opens. Cordell's in bare feet, jeans, an ACL t-shirt. Liam follows him in and the room is—nicer than Liam's current apartment, that's for sure. King bed, outstanding view. "Wow," Liam says, and Cordell says, "Better than the Super 8 in Kermit," sort of sarcastic, and then sits down on the bed like he can't stand up anymore.

Liam doesn't sit. He doesn't think he's really invited, even if Cordell let him in the door. "I told them next Wednesday," he said. "Mom and Dad, and the kids. A week. Do you think that'll be enough time?"

"Honestly?" Cordell says, and doesn't elaborate.

There's a table, with four chairs, like a dining area. On it a box, like one of the evidence boxes from the office. Liam walks over and tips back the lid and: there's Duke Culpepper. The striped shirt he wore when Liam met him at Annunziata's. That was—god, only three days ago. A plastic bottle of aftershave. The cross necklace. The gun. Liam picks it up and checks the revolving chamber—that one bullet, still ready. It makes him nauseous just like it did the first time.

"I know you're probably not okay," Liam says. Understatement, he thinks, of the century. He closes the box and pushes it away, toward the center of the table. When he turns around Cordell's holding the beer in one hand and playing with a poker chip, in the other. "I know you're going to need some time. But when you're done, we need you back. The kids, and Mom and Dad. And me."

"C'mon, you don't need anybody, Stinker," Cordell says, with the barest thread of levity. "You climb right up to the top of the barn all by yourself, when no one's around to stop you."

Liam pauses, confused by the subject change. Surprised, then. "You were there for that?" he says, and Cordell shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting.

When Liam was eleven, and Cordell was at college, and the world hadn't yet turned over on its head. It was early August and his school hadn't started, and Daddy and Mama had gone over to the feed store to pick up a truckload for the horses. He was bored, and tired of reading, and he'd gone out to the barn and looked up at it and thought about how Cordell had done it, at his age or maybe even younger, and if Cordell could then Liam could, too, if he set his mind to it. It wasn't even all that hard, once he was looking careful for the places to set his feet. He sat down on the top of the barn and looked out over the ranch—and further, over the where the road into the ranch pushed out into the hills, down toward the town. He wondered how far he could really see, to the horizon.

"Swung by to pick up my football stuff," Cordell says, now. "Em parked on the other side of the house and I didn't think anyone was home, until I looked out the back. You were up there just—taller than anything." He shrugs. "See? Didn't need my help after all."

"I wouldn't have climbed it if you hadn't dropped me on my head," Liam says, and Cordell snorts, shakes his head. Liam bites the inside of his cheek and crouches, and Cordell's forced to look at him or be ridiculous and so Cordell looks at him. Liam reaches out and gets his hand, the hand with the poker chip, and squeezes it, and Cordell swallows and squeezes back. The edges of the plastic bite into Liam's hand. "Come back," he says.

Cordell takes a deep breath. "I will," he says. "I promise, Liam."

Liam stands up and hugs him, around the shoulders, and walks out of the room. He takes the elevator back to the lobby and steps out into the sunshine, and takes a deep breath, and calls Bret to arrange lunch. Cordell's promises.  Fifty-fifty, anymore, that it ends up being true. Liam decides to believe him. He's hardheaded. He might as well be hardheaded and optimistic about it.

[pretty-setters]

Hello love 💜 Could I please get headcanons for Kageyama, Iwaizumi and Kuroo confessing to their crush 💜 love your work btw!

Aww, thank you so much! Hope you’ll enjoy this one <3

KAGEYAMA

☁ He keeps his crush a secret for a very long time, because chances are he’s still in denial about having feelings for anyone. But he’s completely smitten after you’ve done one nice thing for him, and he continuously plays the scene in his mind like a broken record player because it’s one of his better memories. You probably offered your milk juice box to him without knowing it was his favorite and that’s how he fell for you.

☁ Kageyama confessing to his crush isn’t likely to happen unless something warrants it. He’s the kind of person to admire someone from afar because he doesn’t have the time to invest in a relationship. He feels like he’s going to have to choose between volleyball and the person that he likes. Although he’s getting a little ahead of himself since he’s not in a position to choose anyway (calm down tobio, you guys aren’t even dating yet!!)

☁ In a conversation where suddenly Kageyama is being teased by someone saying something along the lines of “Oh, are you two together?” or “(Name) and Kageyama would make a cute couple” would push him in the right direction to making his confession even though it feels like it doesn’t start out that way.

“Wh-what? Shut up, I don’t like them like that!”

“Wait, you don’t like me?”

“H-huh? No, I didn’t say that.”

“You did, Tobio.” *sad uwu*

☁ He becomes so flustered and needs to escape the peering eyes from everyone around him and ends up grabbing your hand and running off somewhere secluded. He doesn’t want you to misunderstand especially since the situation got the better of him (and he hates being put on the spot like that), so he starts off by saying, “I need you to know I didn’t mean it like that. Because well... I do actually... like you.” He couldn’t say the word ‘like’ any quieter because he’s shy baby and doesn’t know how you’d respond to it. But then ends up blurting that he likes you aloud because you couldn’t hear him the first couple of times.

IWAIZUMI

☁ For some reason, he noticed that whenever he starts to develop a crush on someone he starts seeing them almost everywhere he goes—sometimes outside of school too and he’d haphazardly seek shelter because he doesn’t want to be seen by you. Oikawa never lets him live it down if he happens to be with Iwa at the moment, and his best friend is going to receive a lifetime of teasing because “Iwa-chan~ I didn’t know you like (name)” *evil snickers*

☁ Ever since then, Oikawa designated himself as the wing man to help none other than Iwa-chan to score a date with his crush, because who better to ask than someone with experience? Although Iwa swears he’s going to kick his ass if he does something stupid and keeps butting in on his personal affairs. Still, that doesn’t stop Oikawa from asking him things like “Have you talked to (name) today, lover boy *cough* Iwa-chan~?” or “You should loosen up a bit, you don’t want to scare away (name) now do you?”

☁ However, Oikawa did something right when he invited you to watch the volleyball match because that’s Iwa’s golden ticket to having an excuse to talk to you (in retrospect, it was the other way around). Iwa initially protested because what if he messes up and looks like a total dumbass on the court?? But he’s also ecstatic because you’re going to be watching him so he’ll hype himself up to bring his A game. He’s sure to flex his powerful spikes to impress you and score as many points so you’d cheer for him.

☁ He was surprised that you were the one to approach him after his team won the match against the other school, and he seriously can’t help the blush reaching his cheeks when you praised how cool he looked. He murmurs a “thanks” as he rubs the back on his neck and decides to shoot his shot because he can feel Oikawa’s glare burning holes through him a few feet away that gives off the energy ‘ask them out already!!!’ And he does, because he wants to keep seeing you at his games.

"Hey, do you wanna hang out sometime, just you and me?"

KUROO

☁ You being in the same class as him is more than he could ever ask for because 1). There’s someone cute he gets to stare at all day, and 2). It provides him so many excuses to come talk to you and hopefully get to know you better. You definitely get more brownie points for being smart because then he’ll never stop bothering you for help with chemistry or calculus even though he’s already a smart cookie himself. You eventually find this out later but he explains that he wants to “confirm his answers” for just in case purposes.

☁ Eventually, you both turned it into a bet where the winner who achieves the highest mark on the next math exam is rewarded with a free ticket and gets to choose a movie at the theater no matter how sappy it is while the loser paid for the expenses. Kuroo ended up with a 105 because he got the bonus question right and you scored a 97 (although you thought there’s no way Kuroo could beat you because it was a pretty high score).

☁ You definitely wanted to punch the smug smirk off his cringey face as he points to the bold, underlined red numbers on his exam, indicating that he’s the clear winner but decided to take you out anyways (his treat) because “I’m always this kind.” You both were scheduled on Saturday night to head out to the movies, and he’s kind of nervous because it feels like a date even without the labels. This also marks the first time you two are hanging out outside of school and studying so he’s crossing his fingers that no funny business is going to happen during his outing with you.

☁ He bought popcorn and drinks for the movie, and you can expect him to execute the yawn and arm over the shoulder move because he’s so cheesy but you let him get away with it. There’s a spark between you and him and you both can feel it since your shy glances and his winks gave it away. So, after the movie ended and he walks you home, he decides that it’s now or never and leans down to kiss your soft lips. And surprise, surprise you kissed him back.

“So, what do you say to being mine?”