#yeah it was a black student telling her to shut up (just as valid as the laughing if not more so. shooter and all.)

[starlooove]

Ok laughing is a trauma response but laughing during a SHOOTING with 20 other ppl in the room and not shutting the fuck up?

[obsessedwithceleste]

So American

Lorenzo Berkshire x reader

Summary: based on this request🫶🏽 So American by Olivia Rodrigo is ON LOOP💕

word count: 3.4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Pushing open the heavy doors, eyes begin turn and you try to ignore all the chattering and stares directed your way as you make your way into the dimly lit defense against the darks art class room.

You knew people would talk. Transfer students were rare. And transferring during the sixth year? Basically unheard of. So the intrigued whispers were valid you supposed. But that didn’t make them any less annoying, and didn’t make you feel any less self conscious.

“You’re the new student aren’t you?” A voice asks, startling you.

You look to your side to see a girl with pale skin and short, cropped black hair staring up at you from her seat. A slight smirk dancing on her lips as she leans back in her chair.

“Uh yeah, that’s me,” you reply cautiously.

You hadn’t made any friends quite yet, though not for lack of trying. It was all just a bit overwhelming.

The girl tilts her head, looking at you in consideration.

“Sit.” She says, patting the seat next to her. “I’m Pansy. Pansy Parkinson. I want to hear all about wherever it is you came from. I’ll bet Daph and Milly would too. We don’t get new students often.”

"Yeah, I kind of got the sense," you reply, gingerly taking a seat.

The two girls sitting at the desk in front of Pansy look back, offering friendly smiles as you place your bag on the ground beside you.

“So where exactly did you transfer from?” Pansy asks, leaning in.

“I’m from America. I just transferred here from Ilvermorny,” You reply.

“That is so wicked,” Daphne gasps, beginning to look excited.

“Have you ever pet an eagle?” Milly asks.

Pansy turns to the girl, making a face. “Millicent, it’s the American muggles who worship eagles,” she says with an annoyed huff.

You open your mouth to correct them when a voice from behind you interrupts.

“Hey, that’s my spot.”

The four of you turn now to see a boy with platinum blonde hair glowering at you. A rowdy looking group of boys surrounding him.

“Oh bugger off Draco. Haven’t you met the new student? They’re from America,” Pansy says, dismissing the boy with a wave of her hand.

“Yeah? How’d you find yourself on this side of the ocean?” The boy, Draco asks, crossing his arms.

“My mom works for the American ministry, our family got sent over as part of the ambassador program,” you reply easily, not really liking the boy’s tone.

“Ha. Mom. Listen to them, they’re so American!” One of the other boys laughs.

“Oh shut it Lorenzo,” Daphne sighs, giving the boy a light whack on the arm.

“Wow, I'm using American dialect, who would’ve thought? It’s almost like I’m from America. Shocker,” you retort.

Pansy lets out a snort. “Oh I do believe I’m going to like you.” She says, giving you a large smile. “And Draco, for Salazar’s sake, go sit with Enzo. Not everything is about you.”

“You’ll have to excuse the boys, they’re, well- boys. They’ll grow on you,” Daphne tells you with a grimace.

You let out a laugh as the professor appears at the front of the room and a hush falls over the classroom.

You do your best to concentrate on the lesson, not wanting to start the year off with a bad impression, but can’t help but notice the cheeky smiles the brunette boy, Lorenzo, keeps shooting you from a few rows over. No matter how many times you try to refocus, your eyes keep wandering over, meeting his. Pushing him from your mind, you force yourself to once more to focus on the professor at the front. His long, black hair was awfully greasy.

“Professor Binns is a drag. He’s dead, and wants us all to die of boredom so that we suffer with him,” Daphne tells you.

“And Flitwick is a bit of a loon, but at least he’s entertaining,” Pansy adds.

“And course there Snape. Scary as all hell, but won’t bother you long as you’re quiet and mind your business.”

Tapping your glass with your wand, you shake excitedly as it fills to the brim with coffee. You had a particular weakness for iced lattes and hadn’t had a good one in ages. The group of Slytherin girls had once again accosted you, not that you minded, and had taken it upon themselves to give you a full run down of the school. Now, the four of you sat in the Great Hall as it slowly filled with students eager for dinner.

“Hey ‘merica,” a voice greets cheerfully from behind you.

You turn to see Lorenzo grinning down at you as he takes the seat on your open side, the rest of the boys joining as well.

“Havin a cup of coffee?” One of the other boys, Mattheo, asks in what’s probably the worst American accent you’d ever heard. Somehow the teasing was significantly less charming when he did it.

“Bloody hell Lorenzo, Matt, leave the girl alone. Being from America is not her only personality trait.” Pansy says with exasperation.

“Oh come off it Pans, I’m only teasing. Besides, look at her, drinking iced coffee, so American.” Lorenzo laughs.

“Sorry I’m not interested in drinking your dried leaf water,” you reply, rolling your eyes. But you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you.

Lorenzo gives you a satisfied smirk before going to fill his plate with food, and when you turn back to the girls, a huge smile is plastered across Daphne’s face.

He so likes you. She mouths, looking rather giddy.

You choose to ignore the girl however, opting instead to turn back to Pansy.

“What does the rest of your schedule look like tomorrow?” She asks, leaning over to look at the class list you’d placed on the table before you.

“Dunno. Dumbledore just gave me the list when I arrived, didn’t really get a say in picking classes,” you reply with a shrug.

“He clearly has taste, I’ll see you tomorrow in herbology ‘merica,” Enzo butts in, glancing at the page himself.

“Oh shove it pretty boy,” Pansy retorts, not even bothering to look over at the boy who was smiling down at you warmly.

“Don’t worry love, I’ll save you a seat.”

The rest of dinner goes smoothly as you seem to fit right in with the group of Slytherins who had apparently decided to keep you. While a bit of a prick at first, Enzo was growing on you, laughing at all your jokes and over all just making you feel at home.

“I don’t know what you put in that boy’s tea, but it’s working,” Daphne says lightheartedly as the four of you leave the dining hall.

“Sorry?” You ask, caught very much off guard.

“Enzo. I’ve never seen him warm up to someone so fast. He’s usually a right foul git,” Milly explains.

Pansy sighs, “What Millicent means, is Enzo isn’t usually one to be overly friendly to new people,” Pansy says.

“Oh. Well, I don’t know that he’s friendly with me, so much as teasing constantly,” you reply, growing nervous as you’re not quite able to make out the direction of the conversation.

“Oh no. He’s totally into you, he wasn’t being a complete pompous prick tonight” Daphne reassures confidently as you make your way back down the stairs to the dungeon.

“You are so lucky that we’re here to guide you,” Pansy declares.

The next day, you find your way out to the greenhouse and are honestly unsurprised to find that Enzo had stayed true to his word, saving you a seat next to him at one of the creeky, wooden tables covered in greenery.

“Didn’t pick you out to be one for herbology,” you comment idly as you take your seat next to the pretty brunette boy.

Lorenzo smirks over at you. “Think I can’t get my hands dirty?” He asks with a teasing grin.

“Well we wouldn’t want you breaking a nail would we?” You reply, shooting a sly look back at the boy.

“Not to worry love, lucky for you, I’m the best herbologist in the class so you won’t have to worry about my pristine nail beds thank you very much.”

“Lorenzo Berkshire, you are an arrogant prick,” you say with a laugh.

“You like it.”

You feel heat rushing to your cheeks as you turn away, eyes roaming the greenhouse for the Professor. You see the plump old lady waddling up to the front of the room, a cart of strange cactus looking plants following dutifully behind her.

“Well?” She prods, once she’s standing at the front, gazing ahead at the rows of students. “The Mimbulus mimbletonia isn’t going to walk itself to your stations now is it? Come along!” She urges, gesturing for everyone to approach the cart to collect one of the oozy looking plants.

You see Lorenzo’s nose scrunch up in disgust as you both choose a pot from the cart.

“Careful not to touch the boils,” Enzo murmurs to you, gingerly lifting his plant and making his way back to your table.

You follow closely behind, noting the rather putrid smell the plant emitted. You let out a shudder.

“Who can tell me the properties of these lovely specimens?” The Professor, who Lorenzo whispers is called Professor Sprout, asks as students are still moving around to collect their plant. “Mr. Longbottom?”

“It’s known for being rather squirming I think. And if you poke the boils, it squirts out stinknap. My gran used to collect bottles of the stuff,” a timid looking boy answers from the back of the class.

“Excellent! 5 points to Gryffindor!” Sprout exclaims gleefully, clapping her hands with excitement.

Lorenzo scowls at the boy who visibly shrinks back.

“Mr. Longbottom was quite right! We will be extracting the stinknap from our Mimbulus mimbletonia today as it’s a rather rare potion ingredient indeed!”

Professor Sprout goes on to demonstrate the technique used to extract the foul smelling liquid and you force yourself to listen intently, not wanting the rancid smelling odor all over you.

Once Professor Sprout releases the class back to perform the task themselves, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that Lorenzo is able to replicate the process with flawless precision.

You watch in fascination as the boy’s usually soft features harden with concentration as he carefully fills his first vial. You watch him fill a second before moving over to your own plant to copy his process.

“Make sure you keep a consistent pressure, that way it won’t spurt out at random,” the boy tells you as your vial slowly begins to fill. You keep a steady concentration, determined to impress the boy, eyes not leaving the task before you.

The vial is almost full when you suddenly feel yourself being shoved forward. Your concentration broken, the boil spews out the foul smelling liquid, covering your robes in the sticky substance.

Whipping around, you see the tall boy from earlier, Longbottom was it? Looking at you with wide eyes.

“What the bloody hell Longbottom?” Lorenzo snaps, glaring at the boy who’s now visibly shaking.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bump into you! Just almost dropped my plant is all, I’m sorry!” The boy stutters, stumbling over his words under Lorenzo’s piercing stare.

You feel bad for the boy as it was clearly an accident, but can’t help being annoyed that you’re now covered in manure smelling gunk.

“It’s fine,” you sigh, stripping your robe off. Surely Professor Sprout would understand you not wearing your foul smelling robe. You grimace seeing the slimy substance splattered across the fabric. The poor house elves wear going to have one hell of a time getting that stain out.

With a quick nod, Longbottom scurries off without another word.

“He’s always been a bit of a wanker,” Enzo mutters, still glaring at the retreating back of the boy before turning his attention back to you. “Here, take this,” he says, shrugging off his own robe and offering it to you.

“Oh, it’s really fine,” you try to tell him, but he insists. After a bit of back and forth, you finally give in, sliding the still-warm robes on.

“You’re pretty wearing my clothes,” Lorenzo tells you with a satisfied smirk.

“Oh shove off,” you laugh, feeling heat rise in your cheeks once more.

“Oi, shove off,” he mimics with an ever familiar teasing grin. “Your accent is so American.”

“Yeah? You like it.”

It was a windy day for a quidditch match you thought as you brushed your hair away from your face for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Do you have quidditch in America?” Daphne asks from her spot right next to you in the stands.

You, Daphne, Pansy, and Millicent had managed to wade through the crowds of students to the front of the stands, securing a perfect view of the pitch.

“Of course. I used to play for my house at Ilvermorny,” you reply, watching as the two teams enter the field.

“Really? I was never much into quidditch, but Matty always likes when I watch his games. He’s the beater, just there,” Daph chatters, pointing out the curly haired boy on the field below.

“And there’s your lover boy. Lorenzo’s a chaser, long with Theodore and Marcus,” Pansy adds, giving you a playful nudge.

You just roll your eyes at the girl’s playful antics, but can’t help the small smile that forms on your lips as you see Enzo wave up to the stands in your direction. Of course Pansy takes notice, but says nothing, allowing her smug smile to speak for itself.

After your herbology class, Lorenzo just kept popping up everywhere. It probably had something to do with the fact that he was friends the group of girls that had accosted you, but he always seemed to have an eye for you.

Just this morning at breakfast he had taken his usual seat beside you, determined to ensure your presence at his match today. He’d even given you one of his thick green and silver scarves ‘so that you’d fit right in’ he’d said.

You watch contentedly as the match begins, the dark green robes contrasting nicely against yellow. Lorenzo weaves through the air with enviable agility, working seamlessly with Theo and Marcus. It’s not even ten minutes in when Theo is able to make the first goal of the game.

“Slytherin usually has a pretty easy match against Hufflepuff,” Pansy tells you, eyes not leaving Blaise as he and Mattheo wreak havoc on the other team.

Pansy’s words seem to ring true as the match goes on with Slytherin able to take a sixty point lead.

Watching the match it’s easy to begin missing home. Quidditch had been something you looked forward to every school year, and you missed your teammates. Watching Lorenzo, Theo, and Marcus now and the ease with which they worked together to make the game seem effortless felt like a blow to the gut.

It was a fun match to watch, and you couldn’t help but cheer wildly when Lorenzo scored yet another goal. But in the back of your mind, you wished it was you on that pitch. You really hadn’t felt a sense of homesickness since moving, so it surprised you that it was hitting you now of all times.

Still, you continue to smile and cheer, hoping the adrenaline of Slytherin’s win would overtake you as you and the other girls rush down to the field to congratulate the boys on a match well played.

“Hey ‘merica, enjoy the match?” Lorenzo asks, his charismatic smile practically glowing as he steps off the pitch.

You’re about to respond when you get your first real good look at the boy in front of you.

Shit.

His fluffy, brown is tossled from the wind and you can see the sheen of sweat across his forehead. And his uniform. God, his quidditch uniform fit him deliciously.

“It was great,” you finally spit out, horrified by the way your thoughts had spiraled dangerously off course.

Making eye contact with Enzo though, you’re a thousand percent sure the boy knew exactly what you were thinking if his sly smirk was anything to go off of.

Daphne swoops in to unknowlingly save you however, as she sidles up next to you.

“Enz, did you know y/n played quidditch in America?” She asks, resting her arm on your shoulder and cocking her head to the side innocently.

Lorenzo’s eyebrows shoot up at this as he glances down at you in surprise.

“Really? We’ll have to go flying sometime then.” He replies, his smile reverting comfortably on his face.

"Yeah! Today seemed like such a nice day for flying though," Daphne comments.

“‘Fraid I don’t have my broom,” you respond, trying to make out what Daphne was getting at.

“That’s alright, I have mine right here,” he says, thumping his broom lightly on the ground.

Daphne watches the two of you banter with delight.

"You should take her flying Enz. Come on y/n, I saw the way you were looking at those brooms earlier. You totally were thinking about going for a ride," she tells him. You can tell she's egging the two of you on.

"Oh, I don't know if now's the best time-"

"What's Enzo doing now? You're not cutting out of the afterparty now are you?" Mattheo asks, coming over and wrapping a sweaty arm around Daphne. Her nose wrinkles in disgust, but she doesn't say anything.

"Think I'm going to take 'merica here for a spin on the broom, hear she used to play quidditch herself," Lorenzo tells him before you can protest. "We'll be back before the party starts, we'll meet you there."

As though it had already been decided, Lorenzo hops back on his broom, patting the spot in front of him, gesturing for you to get on.

"Go on, we'll catch up with you later," Daphne says, shooing you forward.

Hesitantly, you climb on, hyper aware of the fact that Lorenzo's arms were now wrapped securely around you, his breath tickling the hairs on your neck. He kicks off, and the two of you soar into the sky, your friends getting lost in the distance.

You feel a smile grow on your face as the wind blows wildly through your hair. Leaning forward and closing your eyes you revel in the feeling of freedom that flying brings you. You'd missed the feeling of being on your broom more than you'd realized.

"Having a good time love?" Enzo asks, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Mhmm. Didn't realize how homesick I'd get just watching a quidditch match. Seems so silly," you reply.

"It's not silly," Enzo reassures, "were you any good?" he asks. You can't see his face, but you can practically see the teasing grin in his voice.

"My house won the cup two years in a row," you boost proudly. "I was a chaser too. Maybe I should join the quidditch team here."

"Yeah? Think you could beat me?"

"Why? Afraid of a little competition? It wouldn't be the first time us Americans beat you Brits," you taunt.

"Ha ha, 'merica. Original." Lorenzo responds dryly. You can feel the boy shaking his head at you from behind.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm so American, I know."

"You are though! What kind of psycho puts ice in their water?" He protests.

"Those of us who want cold water! Obviously. But in all seriousness, you wouldn't stand a chance against me on the pitch" you laugh.

When you don't hear Lorenzo laugh with you, you lean back, turning to find your noses brushing as he stares down intently at you. You suddenly realize that your back is now nested contentedly into his chest as his arms tighten around you. It feels as though all thoughts disappear from your brain as you lean in, closing the gap between you.

It starts out gentle at first, as if Lorenzo was shocked that you had actually kissed him. But as soon as realization fully hits him, he takes over with a determined hunger, moving his soft lips eagerly against your own. You find yourself lost in the warmth spreading over you as the whole sensation leaves you buzzing. His lips work against your in a mesmerizing dance, your head spinning as you melt into him.

You don't even realize immediately when your feet touch the ground once more, forgetting that you had previously been soaring over the school grounds just moments ago.

"How?" you ask, your mind still hazy.

Lorenzo just laughs, his hands grasping your waist to steady you.

"What can I say? Maybe I'm just the better flyer."

"Oh as if, you just distracted me," you scoff.

"Yeah? Let me do it again."

I simply do not want to talk about how long it took me to write this okay? Okay.

Anyway, channeled my inner Mean Girls obsession into this one, cry abt it🫶🏽

[emmanelson]

Chapter 2: Nose Rings and Nightcaps

you guys asked for a follow up chapter so here you go

takes place during 2x04: ...Had an Indian Frenemy

Devi tried not to let Aneesa get under her skin. And for most of the day, she was good at faking a smile or a laugh when she needed to. 

“We still on for tutoring this week?” Paxton had caught up to her in the hallway and Devi attempted to send him a smile.

“Yeah. But let’s go to your house. I think my grandmother has a crush on you.”

Paxton was glancing over at Aneesa and Devi saw red. 

“Saw you talking to Neese. She’s dope. You guys friends?” Not you too, Devi thought to herself in horror. Would Paxton call her Devi 2.0 as well?

“Yeah, pretty dope.” Devi muttered under her breath before turning on her heel and walking away with an eye roll. 

Not wanting things to end on such a bad note, Devi slowly walked back up to Paxton and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you want a quickie in the janitor’s closet?”

His pulse sped up as he blinked, staring at her in disbelief. “Aren’t you worried about being late to class?” People had begun to disperse, the hallways emptying as students ran in different direction and they were the only ones left that Devi could see. 

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I’ll see you later then.” Just as she was able to make a dramatic exit and turn back to give him a flirty smile, he had secured her wrist and pulled her back towards him. 

“Five minutes enough time?” 

‘If you can last that long.” The two stared at each other, equally cocky expressions forming as they practically ran towards the vacant closet trying not to laugh. 

“So what subject should we start with?” Paxton inquired as soon as Devi situated herself at his kitchen table. 

“Biology?”

“But with History, all you have to do is rap and suddenly it makes sense. Can you do something like that for me with Bio?”

“Look at biology in terms of swimming.” The look Paxton gave her was one of confusion and incredulous. 

“The last thing I want to think about is swimming while I still have this damn cast.”

Devi’s mouth opened only to close a few seconds later as she tried to change the subject, he made a valid point. 

Devi leaned up to an upper level in the pantry and Paxton was pretty sure he stopped breathing for a good minute or two when he saw her bare skin.  

“Are you good having a snack break? Our brains need food as well.”

He felt like shoving her against the door of the pantry and fuck her until her entire body was shaking, but his mouth felt like cotton so he found himself nodding. 

Devi moved further into the kitchen and made her way towards the fridge. She got out the filtered water, placing it on the counter and filled up two glasses before setting it back where it was prior. When she shut the door, her body jolted in response as two strong arms wrapped around her waist and turned her so she was now facing him.

Within the time that Devi had gotten the Britta back in the fridge, Paxton pressed his body against hers so she was placed between the firmness of his body and the sturdy metal of the fridge door. 

“Shouldn’t this wait until after we get through your assignment?” Devi murmured against his lips, exhaling a shallow breath as she fought to curve into his body and let school be damned. 

“Sex is basic biology isn’t it?” His breath was hot against her ear and her knees threatened to buckle out from under her. “A primal instinct. An animalistic urge.” He nipped at her collarbone, teeth and tongue switching off as his hands went underneath her shirt to cup her breasts. 

“Pheromones are detected through the hippocampus.” She shuddered against him as she spoke, the words coming out slowly as she struggled to level her breathing. 

“How do you make biology sound so sexy?” Her lips parted as he let out a low chuckle. She only buried her face against the fabric of his flannel, trying to hide the blush that now painted her cheeks. With his only good arm he lifted up her body and pushed her against the cool metal, an involuntary squeal slipping past her lips as her legs wrapped around his waist. 

“Say something else.”

“Hormones are produced and secreted by the endocrine glands.”

“Why is this turning me on?” Paxton grunted, his throbbing lower region rubbing against her core, only fueling her desires. 

“What can I say? I know what I’m talking about.” She never thought that being smart would lead to this kind of situation. 

“I need to learn how to apply this stuff right?” His voice dropped to a husky tone as Devi once again gulped, her brain turning to mush as her legs began to shake. 

“Where’s Rebecca? Your mom?”

“Work, and my mom is tending to her garden out back. She usually plays 60’s music or listens to Christian audiobooks.”

“So she won’t be able to hear us?” Her fingers toyed with the zipper on his jeans, his hard-on poking through the fabric. 

“Not if you’re quiet enough.” Her eyes widened at the tone his voice now took, it was almost demanding and harsh against her skin, the intensity of his gaze never wavering. 

Paxton almost scoffed at her doe-eyed gaze but then kissed her so he wouldn’t keep feeling like a dick. With that, his jeans dropped and he was pulling her shorts down, her underwear following soon after, the wetness seeping from it was felt on her ankles. 

Soon he was inside her and each time she lifted her hips to meet his, her shirt rode up and the cold hit her back, causing goosebumps to raise on her arms. She didn’t mind this kind of tutoring.

The following Friday, Devi and Paxton were texting back and forth while she sat with Aneesa and Eleanor in her bedroom. 

And they still texted as Devi got to know Aneesa and decided that she wasn’t all that bad after-all. Ben had stomped away from her after she had gotten her nose pierced, Eleanor and Aneesa were probably blocks ahead of her by now and all she wanted to do was sit down on the bench and listen to her dad’s voicemail until the sun came up. She didn’t want to go home, but she knew she couldn’t stay in an abandoned parking lot so she walked until her feet had carried her straight to Paxton’s house.

She had walked, rode by on her bike, and memorized every turn her mom took in the car for so long now that it was basically muscle memory. 

She hesitantly knocked on the door to his garage, and his face came into view as he rubbed his eyes. 

“Were you sleeping? Do you fall asleep in the garage a lot?” She furrowed her eyebrows as she took in his disheveled form. He still looked hot even in a T-shirt and sweats. 

“Nah, I was up playing Fortnite.” The glow from the TV hit Devi’s eyes as soon as she stepped in and he shut the door behind them. “Is that a nose ring?” He took a step closer to her and leaned in, inspecting the new piece of jewelry she was sporting. 

“It looks nice.” Devi was glad it was pitch black outside because she was surely turning beet red. It looked badass actually, but Paxton wasn’t about to be singing her praises just yet. He still felt like he was getting a bucket of ice poured on his chest whenever she came into view. 

“Did you come here for a nightcap or something?” He teased, eyes momentarily leaving hers as he scanned his phone to check the time. It wasn’t too often that she was even out this late, let alone showing up to his place in the middle of the night. 

She slowly leaned up and brushed her lips against his. She kissed him slowly, her lips moving against him as if she was burning and he provided the only source of water available. She wanted to savor it, but at the same time knew she had to stick to their arrangement. 

“Maybe more of a late night booty call?” She cringed at her own use of the word, but it brought a smile out onto Paxton’s face, and she would gladly take the embarrassment if he kept looking at her with that smile, with those eyes. 

“Do you always look this good?” He asked, upon seeing the outline of her skirt, how it was torn at the ends and how he wanted to rip whatever remained so it was off her body. 

“If you’re quiet enough, we won’t wake your parents or sister.” She repeated his words from earlier, a finger coming up to hover over his lips. He was about to ask about school, mention that they usually only fooled around when it had something to do with his grades, but he decided against it. She was here, wanting him, offering up her body to him. In the back of his mind, he briefly wondered if she was having a similar type of arrangement with Ben, but from the cold reception and snarky comments the younger guy was throwing her way, he figured he had gotten the better end of the deal. 

His eyes looking at her up and down, fingers playing with the zipper of her skirt as she pushed his shirt up and over his head. She lightly tugged on his hands, steering him towards the couch and climbing on top of him when they finally landed.  

Paxton was tracing the outline of her jean skirt with his fingers, dipping in and out of her inner thighs and her breath hitched. “Do you this could count as my PE credit?” 

“It does burn a shit ton of calories.” Paxton smirked in reply, moving a piece of hair behind her ear as he kissed any exposed skin he could find and peeled off her tank top. “I’ll write you a note.” Was the only response that he was able to form before flipping them over so she was wiggling underneath him. 

Her name vibrated against her own ear as he came, sweat sticking to their bodies as he slumped against her. He moaned her name in a way that felt like the first time anyone had ever uttered it. She had never heard it sound so beautiful. The tension and anxiety she had been feeling earlier in the evening was gone, replaced with a warmth that spread all throughout her body. 

“I should probably go.” She had checked her phone to see it had blown up with text messages and calls from Eleanor and Aneesa, asking where she was and telling her she needed to come back before her mother woke up. She slid her clothes back on with ease, unlocking her phone to see the full extent of the damage. Paxton only nodded in response as he slipped his boxers back on and stood up. 

“This is what you look like in the morning, after sex might I add?” She gawked, eyes hungrily scanning over his shirtless form. 

“Guess so.” He grinned, he couldn’t help his looks anymore than Devi could help the fact that she was naturally good at embarrassing herself at parties. 

“Not fair.”

“It looks pretty badass by the way.” Paxton complimented, biting his lip as he walked them towards the door. “The nose ring.”

“Thanks.”

“And thank you for the study help today. Or is it yesterday since it’s technically now tomorrow?” A look of confusion set in as Devi let a soft laugh bubble. 

“Thanks for the orgasms.” And before Paxton could search his brain for a reply, Devi had hurried out the door and didn’t even look back to see if he was staring at her retreating form.  

He totally was. 

[sanders-sides-fics]

Domestic Bliss

Hi @lala-the-rebel, I’m your secret santa for @sanderssidesgiftxchange‘s! Hope you enjoy and happy holidays! Thank you to @rubyredsparks for betaing!

Pairing: Logince

Warnings: food mentions, driving, Remus, Janus, and as always let me know if you need something tagged!

Word Count: 3084

Masterlist

AO3 links will be added in a reblog in the future and in my masterlist!

Roman glanced in his rearview mirror and smiled at his sons, one out cold in his car seat and the other excitedly staring back at him from his booster seat. Roman smiled at his older son, Patton, and turned his eyes to the road once more.

“Excited to see Papa?” Roman guessed, smile coiling into a teasing smirk.

Logan didn’t know his family was coming, but Roman knew their intrusion on his workday would be forgiven. His husband could only hold a grudge for so long and it never lasted long when Patton broke out his puppy eyes. Even if it somehow did, Roman had their secret weapon napping in the backseat. A sleepy Virgil wanting his Papa couldn’t be resisted, no matter how recently he had joined their family.

It wasn’t in their plan to adopt a second child, but neither regretted accepting his initial placement with them. And now, Roman couldn’t imagine their lives without their sons.

“Mhm!” Patton exclaimed. “Gonna see Papa working!”

Roman chuckled and turned on his blinker to change into the exit lane. He checked the rearview mirror to ensure Virgil was still asleep and not disturbed by his brother’s excitement. To his relief, the baby slept soundly. Virgil didn’t like being abruptly woken up and would cry nonstop if he were. Roman’s heart couldn’t take seeing those eyes filled with tears.

“We are! And maybe we’ll get lunch with Papa too. He said he wasn’t busy today,” Roman told Patton as he navigated the rest of the way to the university.

Roman was sure Patton would appreciate being able to eat lunch with both of his dads today. The two were going out on a date for dinner and wouldn’t return home until after his uncles had tucked him into bed. Though perhaps Patton would enjoy an evening with Remus and Janus while his fathers were away.

“So, we’re not gonna see his fishies?” Patton pouted.

Roman smiled sympathetically, “I’m sure Papa will let you see them when we get to his office.”

The first time Patton had gone to Logan’s office at the university, he had fallen in love with the large tank Logan kept in his office. Whenever he went to visit, he made sure to say hello to the fish. Roman found Patton’s commitment to making the fish happy endearing.

“Make sure to bat those big old eyes at Papa and he definitely will,” he promised.

“Okay, Daddy!” Patton agreed.

When Roman pulled into the university, he followed the direction signs to the staff parking outside of the building Logan worked with. Logan alternated cars he drove to work, due to weather mostly, so both of their vehicles had valid parking stickers. It made visits easier because Roman didn’t need to worry about paying for their spot while handling both boys on his own.

Roman smiled when he spotted the car Logan drove to work in that day. He parked a few spots away from the car and got out to help Patton out of his booster seat. Patton took his hand and patiently walked with him as he rounded the car to get Virgil.

“Can I carry the bag, Daddy?” Patton asked.

Roman smiled and nodded his head, allowing Patton to pick it up, “Just tell me if it’s too heavy. If it is, I’ll take it until we get to Papa.”

Roman leaned in and started to undo the buckles on Virgil’s car seat. The young boy opened his eyes with a whine and reached his arms up.

“You want to be carried, little guy? Okay, Daddy’s gotcha.”

Roman hefted the nine-month-old into his arms, where Virgil settled back in and rested his head on Roman’s shoulder. Virgil had woken up a bit early from his nap today, which was probably why he fell asleep in the car.

Roman reached down with his free arm and gently took Patton’s hand.

“Let’s go see Papa, yeah?”

“Mhm!”

Roman walked his sons to the building and smiled at the student who held the door open for them. Patton cheerfully thanked her and told her he was going to see his Papa. The student smiled and they continued their walk.

Patton walked at Roman’s side happily, adjusting the diaper bag every now and again. Roman thought that it might be too heavy for him, but Patton never said a word until they were outside of the office. Patton set down the bag with a huff and knocked at the door.

“Paaaaapaaaaa!” he called. “It’s Patty!”

The door opened after a moment and Logan stepped out, a mug of coffee in his hand. He gave Roman a quick amused look and set down his coffee on the table near the door to crouch down and hug his son.

“Salutations, Patton. Did Daddy bring you here?”

“He did! He did!” Patton cheered. “Brought Virgie too but he’s tired!”

Logan looked up from the hug to Roman and Virgil. Roman glanced down to see Virgil’s eyes had shut again.

“Someone skip his nap today?” Logan asked.

“Half of it, Starlight,” Roman answered. “I tried to get him to go back down but he wouldn’t until we were already in the car on the way here. An hour later.”

“Sounds about right,” Logan sighed, standing so that he could pick up their older son. “That’s the fourth time this week?”

“Counting bedtime, I think.”

Patton wrapped his arms around Logan and squeezed happily. Logan adjusted his hold on his son and smiled as Patton settled into his arms. He carried him into the office and sat in the chair behind his desk, next to the fish tank. Patton gasped and waved at the fish.

“Hi, fishies!”

Roman and Logan smiled at the greeting as Roman settled into one of the chairs on the opposite side of Logan’s desk.

“Did you get more fishies?” Patton asked, pointing at the tank. “The black one is new!”

Logan nodded, “Good observation, Patton. I have. The black fish belonged to a student who graduated last semester and couldn’t take the fish on their flight home.”

Patton pouted, “They couldn’t take their fish? Won’t the fish miss them?”

“Maybe, but he also has many new friends in the tank,” Logan promised softly.

Patton smiled, seemingly satisfied with the answer provided.

“Papa wouldn’t let the fish get lonely, Patton,” Roman added. “He’ll make sure they have a good home here.”

“Like Virgie and me?”

Roman smiled, “Just like that, Patty.”

“Papa’s the best,” Patton concluded.

“Daddy helps,” Logan looked across the desk to Roman fondly.

-

Roman fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror, straining his ear to listen for the sound of the doorbell. If it were his twin coming alone, he would be listening for the door to open, but he found that Janus preferred to ring the bell rather than walk right in. Roman appreciated the gesture, especially with two young children in the house.

The doorbell rang and Roman put down his comb.

“I’ve got it,” he called out to Logan, so he could continue getting ready for their evening.

He exited the bathroom and scooped up Patton as the young boy made a beeline for the door. Patton giggled and Roman poked his nose.

“What did Daddy say about answering the door, Pattycake?” he asked gently.

“Only do it with you,” the little boy answered. “Annnnd you’re right here!”

“I guess I am.”

Roman smiled at his son’s cleverness and set him down when they arrived at the door. He motioned for Patton to open the door and Patton swung the door open enthusiastically.

“Uncle Remus! Uncle Janny!”

“Hey, Squirt!” Remus exclaimed, stepping inside.

Roman wasn’t surprised to see Janus dressed in a suit, knowing he had come from the courthouse; just as he wasn’t surprised to see Remus in ripped up jeans and a t-shirt, both splattered in old and new dried paint stains.

“I’d better not find any paint stains on my couch, Rem.”

Remus grinned at his brother, “Don’t worry, Princey Poo, I’ve been done painting since before Jan got out of work.”

“I would’ve made him change if it were wet paint,” Janus promised.

“Thank you, Janus,” Roman said. “I’m just finishing getting ready and then I can run you through Virgil’s bedtime routine. I think Logan’s written it down somewhere though.”

Logan rounded the corner from their living room to the entryway with Virgil in his arms. He looked ready for the evening and Roman suspected he was soaking in a few more minutes with Virgil before they let Janus and Remus watch the boys for the evening.

“It’s on the kitchen counter,” Logan informed them. “I can show them what to do, this way I can get Virgil warmed up to them before we leave.”

Roman nodded, knowing that Virgil took time to get used to new people. It would be best that he felt more comfortable around his uncles before Roman and Logan walked out the door or the evening would be a nightmare for his uncles. It wasn’t that Roman thought Janus and Remus were strange, but he knew Virgil took a few weeks to like Logan too since he left the house to work daily when Virgil first came home with them.

“He’s met us before,” Remus said.

“He’s a baby, dear,” Janus reminded softly. “He’ll be used to us in no time. A few more visits perhaps.”

Roman smiled and took the opportunity to slip away from the door to continue getting ready. It would only take a few minutes to put on his deep crimson dress shirt and pick his cologne for the evening. Perhaps he would go with the cedar one, he knew Logan liked cologne a lot.

“Oh! Papa! Can I smell pretty too?” Patton stuck his head into the bathroom.

Roman smiled, spraying himself with the cologne, “Alright. But only if you promise to still take a bath tonight. Uncle Remus is running a bubble bath for you.”

Patton’s eyes lit up at the promise of a bubble bath and nodded his head, “Yes, please!”

Roman sprayed Patton lightly with the cologne and Patton sniffed his shirt to make sure he could smell it.

“Just like Daddy?” Roman asked.

“Mhm! Thank you!”

With that Patton ran out of the bath and in the distance, Roman heard his son shouting that he wanted to play with Janus. Normally Roman would correct this shouting, but for tonight he would let it go. Janus was working a high-end case and hadn’t been over to see Patton lately.

Roman checked his appearance in the mirror and adjusted the collar of his shirt. He smirked at his reflection and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Logan? Are you still ready?” he called.

Logan called back, voice trailing down the stairs from Virgil’s bedroom, “In a moment, Love.”

Roman went to the coat closet and selected his brown leather jacket to wear later in the evening when it would be colder. He grabbed his dress shoes and slipped them on, before sitting down on the loveseat to wait for his family to come back down the stairs.

It only took a few minutes for them to come down. Roman grinned when he noticed Virgil was in Remus’ arms, relieved and joyful to see Virgil warming up to his twin.

“Virgil likes his Uncle Remus?”

“He does!” Remus affirmed.

“Or he thinks you’re his Dad?” Janus teased, slipping past him with Patton.

Patton ran to the toy chest in the living room and started pulling out different toys. He offered Janus the rubber snake, knowing he preferred to use that toy. Roman knew Patton would be fine for the evening.

Virgil stretched his arms and looked up from Remus’ shoulder, drawing Roman’s attention away from Patton and Janus.

Virgil looked from Remus to Roman with wide eyes, “Dah?”

Roman snorted quietly and walked over, “Hi, Virgie, it’s Daddy.”

“Dah!” Virgil held his arms out.

Janus snickered from the couch as Virgil was transferred from Remus to Roman. Roman hugged Virgil close and gave Remus a sympathetic smile. He pressed a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head and rocked him back and forth.

“Virgil, this is your Uncle Remus. He’s my brother like Patty is yours,” Roman spoke softly. “He’s going to watch you, yeah?”

Virgil glanced up and hesitantly held out his arms to Remus again. Remus took him with care and allowed Virgil to settle back in.

“Finger painting okay?” Remus asked.

Roman nodded, “As long as you remember to clean him up.”

Roman trusted his brother not to paint anything too scary around the boys, despite knowing what his paintings looked like. Remus may not have cared when they were younger and constantly tried to scare Roman and his friends with his creations, but he had never done that with Patton.

“It’s bubble bath night,” Remus promised.

“Which is waiting on the counter for you, next to towels and a set of pajamas for both Patton and Virgil,” Logan said as he descended the stairs.

“Perfect!” Remus exclaimed. “Now, you two lovebugs get out of here!”

“We will, we will,” Roman promised.

Roman leaned in and kissed Virgil’s head again and looked to Patton in the living room, “Daddy and Papa are going now, Patty. You going to be okay?”

“Mhm! Buh bye!”

“No kisses? You won’t see us until tomorrow,” Logan added, knowing Patton would realize it later and become upset.

Patton gasped and set down the stuffed puppy he had, choosing to run over and quickly kiss both of his fathers.

“Have fun, we’ll call if we need help,” Janus stood from where he sat on the floor, stretching out. “Though I think we’ve got this.”

And finally, Logan and Roman were out the door.

-

Roman checked his phone after the waiter walked away from taking their orders. Logan reached across the table and gently lowered Roman’s phone.

“I am sure they are okay,” Logan assured him, offering a small smile. “Even if they weren’t, your phone’s volume is on, we would hear if they called.”

“You’re right,” Roman put the phone down.

Roman couldn’t help but feel nervous about leaving Virgil with a babysitter for the first time. He trusted Janus and Remus greatly, enough to leave them alone with his sons. But they hadn’t left Virgil with someone else since they brought him home.

Logan stroked Roman’s hand with his thumb and brought it to his lips for a brief kiss, “Janus and Remus are very capable. And you need a night to relax. You’re home with those boys all day.”

“Only because I can write from home,” Roman blushed at the feeling of Logan’s lips brushing against his knuckles.

“Meaning you care for them and still manage to find time for your novels, it’s very impressive, Love. And you deserve more breaks,” Logan spoke softly.

Roman looked up and met Logan’s hazel eyes, which were filled with adoration. Roman squeezed Logan’s hand and sighed happily. It had been a while since they went anywhere without either of the kids. He loved his sons but hadn’t realized how much he missed having time alone with Logan that wasn’t the moments before they fell asleep at night.

The waiter came by with their drinks and the mozzarella sticks Roman had talked Logan into. On the promise that he had a lactose tablet in his wallet that he could take before eating any. He looked to Logan and pouted before letting go of Logan’s hand to take out the tablet. He chewed it quickly and Logan smiled.

“Thank you for taking that, I do not like risking your health, even if it is something minor like a stomachache.”

Roman picked up a mozzarella stick and dipped it in the sauce, “You’re welcome, Lo… I wouldn’t worry you like that.”

“Oh, I believe you have before,” Logan teased, taking one himself.

“I didn’t want anything to ruin our time together tonight.”

Roman ate his mozzarella stick and grimaced at the leftover taste from the tablet. It was meant to taste like vanilla, and it sort of did, yet wrong. He swallowed and grabbed his lemon water to wash the taste out of his mouth.

“I hate the aftertaste of those things,” he whined.

“And the taste is already gone?” Logan asked.

“… It is…”

Roman reached for another mozzarella stick and took a small bite to test the taste. He found no hint of the taste or the grainy particles often left behind. He finished the stick and wiped his hands off on the cloth napkin supplied by the restaurant. When he was sure his hands were clean, he reached out to hold Logan’s hand again, at least until their meals arrived.

“I love you,” Roman whispered.

“I love you too,” Logan murmured back.

Their meals arrived and Logan thanked the waiter, briefly tearing himself away from Roman to do so. They let go of each other’s hands and ate their meals. Roman listened as Logan described the latest research from his chemistry lab. He didn’t care much for chemistry but loved the passion in Logan’s eyes when he talked about it.

By the end of the dinner, Roman was entirely lost but his confusion was worth it. He leaned around the table and kissed Logan on the cheek.

“Ready to go home?” Roman asked.

“I am. When our waiter comes back with my card, we’ll go… Perhaps go to the park first? The boys are already in bed.”

Roman smiled.

-

Roman and Logan were sat down at a bench in the park, leaning against one another. Logan shivered at a cold breeze as it blew by.

“Forget your jacket?” Roman teased. He shrugged off his leather jacket and put it around Logan’s shoulders, “Here you go. Can’t have my husband going cold.”

“Thank you, are you sure you don’t need it?”

“If I get cold, I suppose you’ll have to warm me up yourself.”

Logan snorted back a laugh as Roman wiggled his eyebrows in a teasing manner. He leaned forward and placed a hand on Roman’s cheek. Roman shivered under the chilling touch.

“Well… I do suppose I have to warm you up now, don’t I?” Logan teased.

“I guess you do.”

Logan moved forward and brought their lips together, moving to wrap his arms around Roman. Roman slipped his arms around Logan’s neck and kissed him again.

“I love you,” Logan whispered into the kiss.

“And I, you.”

General Taglist (Ask to be added)

@ahoardofsides

@iris-sanders-athena

@evilmuffin

@remythehero

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[out-of-jams]

One Chance || myg

(Amazing, incredibly badass banner made by @kimtaehyunq​ )

↠ One Chance ↞ Min Yoongi was a lot of things.

A musical genius, a guy with a bad reputation, your assigned partner for your final project.

And the last thing you ever would have expected.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings/Genre: College!au. Music producer!Yoongi x Singer!Reader. Fluff. Explicit language. Some angst. Mentions of alcohol. s2l. Oneshot.

A/n: Hey all you cool cats and kittens. Hope you’re all staying safe out there! I wasn’t intending to write this, but I had no other choice.

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

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Min Yoongi.

The name stared up at you in size twelve font, black letters printed onto the white sheeted paper. Every other word on the page blurred around the edges as you tried to place a face to the name. You weren’t good with names, never had been. So with a sigh, you leaned to the side and mumbled to the girl sitting next to you in class.

“Hey, who’s Min Yoongi?”

She--Mira? Mina? something like that--glanced up from her portfolio opened up on the desk and shot you a disbelieving look. You couldn’t blame her, not really. It was nearing the end of the semester and your vocal class had worked with the music production class multiple times throughout the course of the year. Neither class was very big, so you probably should have known the names of all twenty students. Total. Ten in each class.

But hey, in your defense you’d had a lot on your plate, seeing as how you were about to graduate from university and all. Which was a pretty big deal, so memorizing the names of people you only saw a few times ever-so-often wasn’t high up on your list of priorities.

But Min Yoongi.

You recognized him the moment you saw the soft outline of his profile through the glass window of the studio door a day later. He had his attention trained on whatever was on his laptop screen, pale hand sliding across the mousepad. His dark brows were pinched in concentration and you could see the tip of his tongue digging into the side of his cheek.

Even though the overly-bright lights in the room were on, the guy still somehow managed to blend in with the slate grey walls. Hell, his icy blond hair was the only color to stand out amongst all the black clothing. The oversized hoodie and black joggers he wore looked comfortable, and had you glancing down at your own outfit self-consciously. Had the sweater, skirt and high heeled boots combo been too much? Should you have dressed down a little?

Whatever. It was too late now.

Watching him through the door made you feel like some kind of stalking creep, but you couldn’t help it.

You’d seen him around campus a few times and recognized him from whenever your classes joined together and was a little disappointed at yourself for not recognizing his name. Even though you'd never spoken a word to him before, you were a little apprehensive about being partnered together. Min Yoongi had a reputation, and not a very good one. Sure, he was talented at what he did, producing music, to the point where a lot of people in the music department called him a genius. But he was known for being standoffish. Rude. And could cut someone down with a few words from his naturally pouty lips.

You didn’t like to judge a book by its cover, or by the rumors that circulated about them. However, that did nothing for the intimidating aura that bled from the man like cologne the second you stepped foot into the room.

He didn’t even pause in whatever he was doing to spare you a glance. Just announced in a dry, rumbling voice, “You’re late.”

“Uh.” You hesitated halfway into the room, the door swinging shut behind you automatically. Two seconds in and he already hated you. Great. “Sorry. I got lost.”

That made him look up and watch as you pulled the only other rolling chair back from the desk and plopped down. God, his eyes were just as daunting as the rest of him: onyx in color and cat-like in shape, they were bottomless as he blinked at you lazily. And he slowly raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“You got lost.” Yoongi repeated slowly. So sarcastically that you didn’t even hear a question mark at the end of it. “Aren’t you about to graduate? How are you still getting lost on campus?”

Your mouth opened and closed, embarrassed heat blossoming across your cheeks. You were blushing hard and you knew it, but that sure as hell didn’t mean that you had to acknowledge it. So you just sniffed and dug through your backpack for an excuse to break eye contact. “I haven’t been in here before.”

It was true. In a way. The hall of studios that you were in now were for the senior music production students. There was a completely different area for each year, but each student had their own assigned as theirs for the semester. So you weren’t lying when you said you hadn’t been to his exact studio before.

Which he seemed to catch on to, if the way Yoongi’s second eyebrow raised to join the first told you anything. But he let it go and turned back to shut his laptop, which you could now see was opened to a music production app. You weren’t very schooled on how to operate it, but even you could tell that he seemed to be very far into whatever it was he was making.

Though you didn’t get a good enough look at it before he closed it.

“Even though we have a month to do this, we should figure out what kind of song we’re making now instead of later.” Yoongi stated in that gruff voice of his and clicked a few things on his laptop. “Since you’re the one singing, you’ll be setting the tone--”

“Wait.” You interrupted.

Yoongi stopped whatever it was he was about to say to give you a blank look, the corners of his lips turned down. “What?”

Clearing your throat, you continued on despite the way his expression tried to cow you into shutting up. “How’re we splitting this up?”

A valid question. Not every person who created music worked in the same way. Some liked to do things a completely different way than somebody else might’ve. Last time you’d worked with one of the students from the music production class, the two of you had butted heads the whole way. He hadn’t wanted to hear your input at all, and you weren’t about to be shoved off to the side like some kind of un-opinionated mouthpiece again.

Yoongi made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a hum. “I normally make the track and leave the lyrics up to the singer unless they need help.”

He looked at you from out of the corner of his eye as he clicked a few buttons on the keyboard in front of him to bring the giant monitor above the control panel to life. “Can you write?”

“Yes.” The word left your mouth before you could even think about it.

“Good. You’ll take care of that then.” Yoongi slid a blank yellow notepad into the empty space on the control panel between you. “Though we’ll need to do the melody before that.”

The next time the two of you met was almost a week later. It’d been sometime late in the afternoon when you both finally had time in your schedules. Because for some stupid reason, even though both of your classes were combined to work on the project, it had to be done outside of class.

Ugh.

As if you didn’t already have enough things to stress over. Like say, securing a job for after graduation.

During the first meeting between the two of you, you’d already decided on what kind of song you wanted to make. Something upbeat, but not over the top, though not boring either. You weren’t a huge fan of sounding like every other music artist out there and apparently Yoongi had felt the same. So it’d been easy to come up with.

He’d texted over a few ideas for the concept and you’d been pleasantly surprised at how serious he took it. At how complex and layered the ideas he’d come up with were. They were a lot better than anything you could have ever dreamed up and you were beyond astonished.

Especially when he met you outside of his studio door, blond hair was secured back off his forehead by a white headband,  and greeted you with, “I finished the track.”

“Already?” Shock was clear in your voice and you watched open mouthed as he unlocked the door and held it open for you to follow him inside. The lights flickered on overhead, but you were too busy staring at his back to notice. “That was quick, holy shit.”

Yoongi shrugged off your awe and wiggled the mouse to bring his computer to life. “It was no big deal. And now we can work on the melody.”

Still gaping at the blond, you shuffled forward to drop your bag next to your chair. “Okay. Um. Where should we start?”

Pulling out his chair, he sat down and lazily dragged the mouse over to open up his production software. “Listen to it first and let me know if you want to make any changes.”

“Yeah, okay.” You plopped down into your own chair and watched as he pressed play.

The music that poured from the expensive speakers started off slowly until it tapered off into what you assumed would be the first chorus. And you found yourself unconsciously tapping your fingers against your thigh when the bridge finally hit, you had to bite your lip to contain an excited smile. The moment it ended, you twisted in your chair to see that he was already looking at you. Though he kept his face blank, you could literally see question lingering behind those cat-like eyes of his.

“Mm.” You hummed, nodding your head and trying your damnedest to keep the grin from your face.

When you failed to say anything more, Yoongi raised his eyebrows. “Mm?”

“Mm.” You finally let the smile touch your lips. “I really liked it. It’s good.”

“Yeah?” He reached out to stop the track from replaying on a loop. “Any changes?”

“Nah. I like it just the way it is.”

“Alright.” Was what he responded with, but you could tell that he was pleased beneath that hard exterior of his. “The melody then.”

“The melody.” You agreed.

Min Yoongi was extremely anal when it came to anything he attached his name to.

That was probably why he had so many music companies vying for his attention. Not only did he produce nothing short of perfect tracks, but he’d even made some cash on the side selling some of them. Or so you’d heard through the grapevine.

Which was exactly why you were left staring at the blank notebook settled across your crossed legs. The pen in your hand had yet to put ink to the blank pages hours after you’d gotten home. All because some guy intimidated the hell out of you.

Most of the songs you wrote were fine. But that was the problem.  

Min Yoongi didn’t do fine. And you had no doubt in your mind that he’d tear your work to absolute shreds should you present him something lackluster. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so quick to jump the gun and tell him you’d be fine writing by yourself.

It was way too late now.

“How long are you going to stare like that?”

Snapping out of your self-degrading thoughts, you turned to look over your shoulder. Jennie, your ever present roommate, was standing behind the couch shoving spoonfuls of cereal into her mouth. By the lack of makeup on her face and the messy bun her long black hair was thrown up into, she was more than likely about to go to bed.

“Stare like what?” You asked with a poorly concealed pout, pulling out your earbuds that’d been playing the track on a constant loop.

“Like you’re constipated or something.” Jennie waved her spoon at you before dipping it back into the bowl to scoop up more soggy cereal. “Project really giving you that much trouble?”

She didn’t necessarily know exactly what was going on with you, not exactly. Sure, she knew that you were partners with Yoongi and had been spending a lot of time with the man for the project. But she didn’t know just how much pressure you were under. Self-inflicted or not.

“These lyrics are kicking my ass.” Groaning, you leaned to the side until you were sprawled out on the couch.

“Why?” Jennie rested her arms against the back of it, bowl of milk and cereal hovering over you dangerously. “They don’t normally.”

She had a point. It wasn’t usually so difficult to write a damn song, but you also didn’t usually have a perfectionist genius as a partner. Instead of saying that though, you just threw your arms over your face. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this, ‘ya know? I should drop out while I still can.”

“O-kay.” You could hear her exasperated eye roll. “Don’t stress so much about it. You know, whenever you’re done being overdramatic.”

Jennie successfully dodged the couch pillow you chucked after fleeing footsteps. A buzz from your phone had you reaching for it blindly and the text on the screen had you burying your face into the cushions.

Min Yoongi: you free tomorrow?

Y/n: yeah. Same time?

His response came in not even five seconds later.

Min Yoongi: works for me

“So, see you tomorrow?” The question left your lips as you packed your stuff back into your bag. You still hadn’t been able to come up with any lyrics. At least none good enough to show your partner. So while you’d both been in the studio, you’d busied yourself trying to write and Yoongi had been doing whatever it was that he did.

He’d just powered down the computer he’d been working on and shook his head without looking at you. “I can’t tomorrow. I have plans.”

“Oh, really?” That came as a surprise. The fact that there was something or someone out there that could force the Min Yoongi to ditch working on a song. “What kind of plans?”

Ever since you’d showed up with food two weeks ago, he’d been a little more amicable towards you. Not as closed off. Which, of course, only led to you bringing some with you every day. Maybe food being the way to a man’s heart really applied to every man. Nonetheless, with the way the two of you would banter back and forth without heat made you hope that it wasn’t just you who considered him a friend.

Yoongi paused, only for a moment, but he paused all the same in throwing his bag over his shoulder before he answered. “I...have a show.”

“A show?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you stood up. That was the last thing you would have expected to leave his mouth. “What kind of show?”

“It’s not the type of show you’d want to watch.” He headed for the door and you scrambled to follow after him.

Leaning against the wall while he locked up the door, you folded your arms across your chest. “Why? You a stripper or something?”

Yoongi didn’t even spare you a look, just pocketed his keys and started down the hallway, apparently assuming that you’d follow. “You saying I wouldn’t be a good stripper?”

He’d assumed correctly. Your legs raced to catch up. “I never said that. You insinuated that all by yourself.”

An amused scoff passed his lips, but that was all you got in response. You weren’t about to letter the matter drop though. “So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A stripper.”

A pause. And then Yoongi met your sparkling gaze and shook his head with a huffing laugh. “No, I’m not a stripper.”

“Well, if your show isn��t anything rated NC-18, then can I go?”

“Why would you want to go?”

His question had you sending him a hesitant look. “Because we’re friends, aren't we?”

A heavy sigh escaped him. “If I say no, will you stop asking?”

You pretended to think for a minute before clicking your tongue. “Nope.”

He looked over at you, feline eyes squinting in contemplation. As much as Min Yoongi liked to act like he came across as aloof, he was a lot easier to read than he probably thought. And he must have found whatever it was he was looking for, because his thoughtful pout turned into a careless shrug.

“Whatever. Fine.”

“Sweet.” You grinned up at him and finally let him go on his merry way.

It was difficult to find a parking spot. You’d had to loop around the block at least ten times before you were finally able to squeeze your car into a space between two giant SUVs. The spot wasn’t exactly close to where you were supposed to meet Yoongi, but it was the best you could do.

When he’d texted you the address, you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a little apprehensive at first. It was located on the outskirts of downtown where you’d never been before. Because the further out you went from the center of the city, the more dangerous it got.

Y/n: I’m here.

You sent the text off to Yoongi and cut the car engine. Throwing a glance at the clock on the dash, you silently thanked yourself for leaving a bit early in order to get there in time. The sun had long gone down and the moon had taken its place, so the streets were dark. Only lit up by the street lamps and lights that bled from apartment windows. Most of the businesses were closed for the night, the corner store half a block down was the only one still open.

You had about six blocks to walk and was just about to get out of your car when your phone started vibrating in your hand.

“Hello?” You answered the call, voice pitched with barely concealed amusement.

“Where are you?” Yoongi’s voice was even deeper over the phone, if that were possible. And you could hear the sounds of cars driving past him in the background.

You rolled your eyes even though he wasn’t there to see it. “I told you that I’m here.”

He sighed into the phone and you just knew that he was making a face. “Where is ‘here’ exactly?”

“Like, parked a few blocks away.” You popped your car door open, turning back to the passenger seat to grab your bag. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.”

“Stay where you are.” Yoongi demanded and you raised an eyebrow. “I’ll come get you.”

“You don’t have to.” You huffed a laugh. “I have two legs, ‘ya know.”

“Really? Never noticed.” In the background, voices blended in with the sound of cars. “This neighborhood isn’t exactly the safest. So just tell me where you are so I can make sure you don’t get stabbed or something.”

“‘Stabbed or something?’” It was difficult to hide your amusement now, but you obeyed and got back inside your car anyway, letting him know what street you were on. “My knight in shining armor, you say the most romantic things.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. You knew he did. “Nevermind. Maybe I’ll just let you get stabbed while I make my escape.”

The bark of laughter that left you was impossible to contain. “I could run faster than you and you know it. So try me.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Yeah okay. You wouldn't--”

A click told you that yes, he would. And you were left staring down at your phone with open mouthed disbelief. How dare he? You were just about to call him back and tell him as much, when a knock on your car window had you jumping with a small shriek.

Yoongi stood right outside your door with his fist still raised and a gummy grin on his pouty lips. You just stuck your tongue out at him childishly and grabbed your bag before slipping out of your car. “You’re a bully.”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his dark colored jeans and shrugged. “Would a bully walk all the way over here to make sure you don’t get robbed?”

Now it was your turn to shrug, taking him in and pretending not to see his onyx eyes slide down your body. Yoongi was dressed casually like usual. With a plain white t-shirt and a black zip up jacket thrown over it, he pulled it off like he’d just stepped off a magazine cover. How in the hell he always managed to do that was a mystery to you. And you knew you didn’t compare to him, even with your high-waisted white joggers and grey crop top.

Whatever. It wasn’t like it was bright enough outside to matter anyway.

“That sounds exactly like something a robber would say.” You flicked your hair over your shoulder and took off down the cracked sidewalk, making sure to lock your car behind you.

“Not like there’d be much to steal.” Yoongi’s voice caught up to you right as he did, walking side by side with the occasional brushing of his shoulder against yours.

You responded to his playful jab by lightly smacking his arm. “Careful there. Keep saying such poetic words and you’ll make me fall in love with you, Min Yoongi.”

He went quiet, but you could feel him looking at you from the corner of his eye. His gaze was a weight that burned through you, a light shining through the night.

The rest of the walk passed by pretty quickly, especially when nobody jumped out of an alleyway to rob you at knifepoint. Whether or not that was because of the man walking at your side, or something else, it didn’t matter. Not when the building you were headed to for the night popped up in the distance.

It looked like any other building on the street, with rough brick siding and a glowing red and green sign advertising the bar. Situated on the corner, you were just about to head inside when Yoongi’s hand caught your arm.

“It’s this way.” He answered your confused look by tugging you gently down the alleyway right next to the bar.

“But I thought it was inside.” You glanced back behind you before looking back towards the dead ended alley.

Yoongi dropped his hand from your arm. “It is.”

“Ah, makes sense.” You nodded sarcastically, successfully drawing a smile from your escort.

“Be patient and you’ll see.”

True to his word, you saw what he meant when he came to a stop outside of a side door. There weren’t any signs or anything indicated what it led to, but you could take a guess as Yoongi pulled it open and gestured for you to enter first.

It was dark inside and you had to squint in the dim lighting in order to see anything. You were in what appeared to be some kind of entrance that reminded you of one of the speakeasies downtown. Though there wasn’t a soul in sight, just a staircase at the end of the short hall. Unless you counted the loud base of music pounding through your feet and straight to your bones. The door slammed shut behind Yoongi and then he was taking the lead towards the stairs.

The further down you went, the louder the music got until it was all you could hear. And once you got to the bottom of the stairs and turned into the room, you found out why. Bodies were packed wall-to-wall, some moving to the music pouring from the speakers and others nodding their heads with drinks in their hands. Red and purple lights made the room seem bigger than it actually was, made it easier to lose yourself in the crowd.

Yoongi had taken you to an underground club. Which just made you all the more curious about just what kind of show he was going to be performing in.

“Want a drink?” Yoongi’s voice, even though spoken directly in your ear, was barely distinguishable from the lyrics bleeding through the room.

You simply nodded, taking care not to bash your head into his nose from where he was leaning over for you to hear him. He said something you couldn’t hear, words lost to the crowd. But you assumed he wanted you to follow him when he started to merge himself into the throngs of people. Just when you thought that you’d have to try and fight your way through to keep up with him, he was reaching back to grab your hand.

Wrapped his slender fingers around yours without sparing you a second look.

He was just trying to make sure you didn’t get lost in the crowd. Yeah, that was it. There was no other reason for it, so therefore your heart had no reason to speed up. To thump in time with the bass as you followed behind him. Especially when the warmth from his palm slid into yours.

“What do you want?” Yoongi turned back to speak in your ear. Shit, you hadn’t even realized that you’d already reached the packed bar. So you forced yourself to focus on the two bartenders running around behind it, rather than the hand still in yours.

“Tequila.” You answered. Yoongi raised both eyebrows in surprise before turning back to the bar. With his eyes no longer on you, it made breathing a whole lot easier. And you turned your attention away from Yoongi’s slim back and towards the stage.

It was all the way on the other side of the room and you watched as a guy walked across it with a mic in his hands. The music was lowered and his voice cracked to life through the speakers. Whatever announcement he was making went in one ear and out the other because Yoongi turned back around with a plastic cup extended out towards you. His other hand was empty and you sent him a questioning look.

Whether or not he knew what you were silently asking, or was just making a general announcement, he answered your question. “I have to perform soon.”

You made an ‘o’ with your mouth and accepted the drink with a smile in thanks. “You still haven’t told me what you’re gonna be doing.”

You had to stand on your tippy-toes in order for Yoongi to hear you, which didn’t go unnoticed by him if the amused gleam in his eyes was anything to go by. “You’ll see.”

Which was exactly how you found yourself with another drink in your hands and your back leaning against the bar. If you were being completely honest, you hadn’t been sure what to expect. A lot of different things had popped into your mind about what kind of shows your partner liked to put on. Some ranging from completely ridiculous, to weird, to funny.

But none of them had been this.

Min Yoongi was a lot of things. A talented producer, a deep thinker, a musical genius.

Never would you have thought to add “rapper” to the list. You should have known, was a little surprised at yourself for not being able to guess. Like all other things Min Yoongi, he was incredibly good at it. Took to the stage like a natural. And you were completely awestruck, unable to look away the whole time he was up on that stage, letting words flow from his lips like some kind of poetic river.

Calm, yet bubbling over with the effortless way he captured the attention of everyone in the room. The track he rapped over was fast paced, but he had no trouble keeping up and keeping the crowd engaged at the same time. He performed three songs, but it wasn’t enough. And judging by the one last look at the crowd Yoongi took before exiting the stage, it wasn’t enough for him either.

Whoever took his place didn’t have one ounce of your attention. And maybe that was rude or whatever, but you didn’t care. Not when you caught sight of his blond head making its way towards you. He got stopped multiple times along the way by people congratulating him with pats on the back or short conversations.

By the time Yoongi finally made his way back to your side, your second drink was extended out to him with a grin on your face. You’d barely even taken a sip from it, so it was completely full and beginning to sweat water. “That was amazing!”

The performer on stage was loud, but you could tell that Yoongi heard you by the smile he tried and failed to hide behind the rim of the plastic cup. But you weren’t going to leave it at that, grabbing a hold of his shoulders and squeezing to make sure you got your point across. “Like, incredibly amazing! Why didn’t you tell me you could rap like that?”

“You never asked.” He shrugged. Yoongi wasn’t the type of person to feed off of compliments, you knew that. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t appreciate them. The way his onyx colored eyes glittered told as much. And when he tilted the plastic cup back and drained the contents, the confidence that flowed beneath his skin gave it away too. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Where are we going?”

“Patience, young padawan.”

A snort of amusement from the passenger side of your car had you throwing Yoongi a wink. He completely ignored you in favor of thumbing through the playlist on your phone. It was hooked up to the radio via bluetooth and ever since you’d left the underground club, he’d been focused on silently judging you for your music choices.

When Yoongi had suggested bailing on the club, he hadn’t really had a particular place in mind. Which you’d soon figured out the moment you stepped out the door. He’d taken the subway to the place, so you’d all but shoved him into your car before he had a chance to say no.

“You really have Ariana Grande on here?” He wiggled your phone in your peripheral and you would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t too busy merging off the freeway.

“What’s wrong with Ari?” You huffed in mock offense.

“Nothing.”

“I can literally hear the judgement in your voice.”

“Maybe you should focus on the road then.”

Now you really did roll your eyes. Though the bark of laughter that accompanied it showed your lack of annoyance. “I would if we weren’t already here.”

Yoongi looked up from your phone just as you were putting the car into park. His eyes squinted into the dark with a furrow of his eyebrows. “We’re at the beach?”

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ and turned off your car, quickly hopping out before you could fall victim to his flatline stare.

The scent of sea salt lingered in the semi-humid air and you paused for a moment to inhale deeply. There was nothing quite like the smell of the ocean, and when the passenger side door opened and closed, you rounded the car to wave Yoongi along. He caught up to you right as your shoe hit the wooden planks of the boardwalk. You’d had to park way back in one of the lots far away from the beach for whatever godforsaken reason.

Shopfronts, closed and shuttered by metal grates due to the late hour, greeted you as you walked down the path. And Yoongi’s presence at your side was calming. Hell, everything about that man was. Never would you have thought that about him, not at first. Not with the rocky way your friendship had started.

Neither would you have expected the warmth that bloomed in your chest everytime he looked at you with those pretty eyes of his. Or flashed you one of his patented gummy smiles. He’d somehow wormed a place into your heart with that sarcastic wit of his. No, the last thing you would have expected from your final project was this.

But you didn’t mind. Even if he didn’t feel the same way, only looked at you like a friend, you didn’t mind. Because you’d take anything he offered you. And if a friendship was all he was willing to give, that was okay too.

“Where are we going exactly?” Yoongi’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you glanced up at him to see that he was already looking at you.

“Do we need to have a destination?” You shot back with a wiggle of your eyebrows. “It’s all in the journey.”

He rolled his eyes skyward as if silently asking why me, but let a smile touch his lips anyway “And this journey leads to the beach I’m guessing?”

“Maybe.” You dragged out the syllables, nudging your shoulder with his playfully. “Don’t tell me you don’t like the beach.”

“Who doesn’t like the beach?”

“That’s exactly what I’m--whoa.” Your feet came to a halt right as you stepped out from between two shops, where the boardwalk met the beach. Yoongi stopped at your side, but you didn’t even notice.

Because you were too busy staring at the apparent concert that was being held further down the beach. Apparently the loud music you’d heard from the parking lot wasn’t from one of the many speakers placed throughout the boardwalk. Well, that would explain the lack of parking at least.

Even from where the two of you stood, you could tell that the crowd was huge. They took up a big chunk of the beach, bodies nothing but a dark mass in the distance as they danced to the music from the stage. You couldn’t tell who it was, not that far away. But the multicolored lights flashed into the sky like a beacon.

“I wonder who’s performing.” Yoongi’s mumble had you bending down to unlace your shoes. “What’re you doing?”

“You wanna know who’s performing?” Slipping off your socks, you threw both those and your shoes into your bag. Once it was closed up, you sent Yoongi a conspiratorial wink. “Let’s go find out.”

He didn’t move, just gave you a look before realization dawned on his face. “You want to sneak in.”

It was a statement, not a question, but you nodded your head anyway. “Come on, when will you ever have the chance to do something like this again. Don’t tell me you’re scared we’ll get caught.”

Yoongi scoffed, but leaned down to slip off his shoes in an uncharacteristic move. You knew he wasn’t much of a partier and didn’t do things like this very often. So the fact that he was caving to your suggestion had your mind whirling. “I’m just surprised, is all.”

“At what?”

A smirk was thrown your way as he stood back up, but that was all the answer you got. After all the time you’ve spent with the man, you’d like to consider yourself a Yoongi Whisperer. So that smirk probably meant something along the lines of: I’m surprised that you’re a super awesome badass.

Or something.

“Just come on.” You grabbed his hand without thinking, dragging him behind you onto the sand. When he failed to complain, you took that as a greenlight to continue doing so.

When his fingers linked themselves with yours, it took all you had to not falter in your steps. To pretend like you weren’t affected by such a thoughtless action. To calm the rapid beating of your heart.

The closer you got to the concert, the louder the music got, until you could hear the roar of the crowd over the artist on stage. It was EDM, or at least sounded like it. Of course, as soon as you got closer, you spotted your first hurdle. One you’d been unable to see from far away.

A chain link fence stood between the two of you and a night of fun. It had your shoulders deflating before you even realized it, and you turned to the blond at your side. “Should we climb it or something?”

Biting your lip, you eyed just how far up it was. Even if the two of you managed to climb it, there was no way that you wouldn’t be spotted by security. And being arrested was the last thing on your to-do list.

“Or.” Yoongi crossed over to the fence and wrapped his hands along the bottom of it. With a quick glance around to make sure that no one was looking, he lifted it up and back, bending it backwards with just enough space left at the bottom for someone to squeeze underneath.

There was no way that he would have been strong enough on his own to lift it, and a closer look had you snorting a laugh. Apparently the two of you weren’t the only ones who’d had the idea to sneak in.

“You going?” He questioned and you started forward before a smartass remark could leave his mouth.

The sand was cool beneath your body as you shimmied underneath the space between the fence and the ground. And once you were on the other side, you crouched down and grabbed the fence from Yoongi to pull back towards your side. “I’m surprised that you’re going along with this, to be honest. Don’t you hate music like this?”

He grunted as he crawled across the sand towards you. “You wanted to.”

“So?” Your voice was soft, but he was still able to hear you over the pounding bass. The fence dropped from your fingers once he was on your side, but you didn’t move, just stared up at him as he stood.

“So.” Yoongi started, extending a hand down to help you up. “Are you coming?”

His answer had warmth blossoming in your chest and a tiny smile blooming on your face. Had you reaching out to let him help you up off the sand. He didn’t let go while you brushed yourself off, but he did guide the both of you towards the writhing crowd, if only to avoid being spotted by security.

It was a good thing that Yoongi was a slim man, because it made slipping through the numerous dancing bodies closer towards the stage a whole lot easier. You’d made it to about the middle when he stopped and tugged you closer to join him in a pocket of space between two different groups of people. The scent of marijuana mixed in with sea salt from the ocean in a cocktail that usually accompanied things like that.

“Dance with me.” You spoke into Yoongi’s ear, ignoring the excited flush you felt at being so close to him.

“I can’t dance.” He stated, despite the hand he slipped around your waist and pressed into your back. Whether or not to move you out of the range of the group of girls dancing wildly behind you, or something else, you didn’t know.

Chest to chest, you’d be surprised if he couldn’t feel how fast your heart was beating. “Mm. I don’t believe you. Everyone can dance.”

“That’s a lie.” Yoongi’s lips were titled up at the corners and his gaze on you was soft. Gentle.

The flashing lights on the stage flickered through his dark colored eyes. Turned those once pools of onyx into a glittering galaxy that you couldn’t look away from. That hypnotized you like the beat that pulsed beneath your skin and drowned your ears.

“That’s not true.” Your mumble was lost to the crowd. Buried somewhere underneath the music as he moved closer. And the butterflies nestled deep in your gut fluttered their wings when his other hand cupped the side of your face.

Your eyes fluttered closed when his nose brushed yours and his breath fanned across your cheek. That was the only warning you got before his mouth was on yours. His lips were soft and he tasted like the strawberry chapstick he liked to wear. And the kiss, like everything Min Yoongi, was slow. Not in a lazy way. More like he was taking the time to savor it. To remember what your hair felt like as he slid his hand into it.

Or the way you involuntarily sighed into his mouth when his teeth caught your bottom lip. How your fingers found their way into the short hairs at the nape of his neck when you pulled him closer. How he’d had to hold back a laugh at the way you were standing on your tippy-toes in order to reach him.

You probably wouldn’t have pulled away and neither would he, if it weren’t for the rain that suddenly tore from the sky like an opened dam. Drenching anything and everything around it faster than you could blink. It had you forcing yourself away from the magnetizing pull of Yoongi’s lips to give him an eye crinkling smile.

“What was that for?” You didn’t care if you were getting wet.

Neither did he apparently, because he ran a thumb over the lips he’d just kissed, sending shivers down your spine. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No. Break it down for me.”

He met your imploring gaze almost bashfully, eyes squinting from the rain. “I’ve liked you since practically the beginning of the semester.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “What? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Yoongi shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t know how.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you let out a small laugh. “I can’t believe you, Min Yoongi.”

He opened his mouth to respond when he was cut off by a loud clap of thunder. Both of you glanced up at the dark sky at the same time.

Everyone around you was either ignoring the torrential downpour or shrieking and attempting to use anything to shield themselves from getting wet. Once the sound of thunder echoed a streak of lightning, you knew what was about to happen next and turned to meet Yoongi’s eyes. He, like everyone else, was drenched and his blond hair stuck to the damp skin of his face. It had you grinning at the pout on his mouth and you leaned forward to press your lips to his one final time before pulling away.

“We should get out of here before everyone else decides to do the same.” You had to shout to be heard over both the rain and the noise from everything else. It was only a matter of time before the concert got either canceled or postponed due to the thunderstorm and you didn’t want to be caught in the middle.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Yoongi wiped water from his eyes and grabbed your hand to start navigating the hell out of there.

And as your eyes trained themselves to his slim back and your fingers interlocked themselves with his, you smiled. The lyrics that you’d been struggling so hard to write came to life beneath the fire in your chest. You had no one but the man in front of you to thank for the inspiration.

Min Yoongi was a lot of things.

A musical genius, a poet, a light in a sea of darkness.

Min Yoongi was nothing if not beautiful.

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #5: for the birthday boy (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles]

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: For Taehyung’s birthday, you’ve planned a special surprise-filled evening just for him as his best friend by day, fuck buddy by night. But especially after a few drinks, he finds it difficult keeping his hands off you, which isn’t a good thing in front of all your friends.

Genre: drabble, smut, fwb au, roommate au, f2l

Warnings: teacher/student roleplay (if you’re not into that, just skip to the next scene, it’s meant to be slightly sarcastic anyway), brief lap dance, oral (m&f), overstimulation (m&f), unprotected sex (your girl finally invested in the pill yay), cum dumpster, facial, cum play and consumption, squirting, basically filth, light BDSM like spanking, handcuffs, choking, the usual, daddy kink (you know HW!Tae)

Word count: 11.3k yikes

A/N: Happy early birthday to the best boy! Why do I call these drabbles when it’s basically a series at this point smh -_- Enjoy this filthy monster~

.

“Surprise! Happy Birthday!”

Taehyung jumps beside you as you switch on the lights to your flat, illuminating the room full of people leap out from their hiding place at his arrival. The last syllable of their celebratory chant hangs in the air for an awkward moment as he takes in everything you put together for his birthday surprise.

Shiny party streamers decorating the walls, black and gold balloons bobbing against the ceiling, printed photos of your best memories together hanging from shelf to shelf, all his and your closest friends gathered to greet him. And of course, the impeccable two-layered strawberry chocolate sponge cake sitting on a platter that you know would excite him the most.

A smile spreads his mouth wide and square as he turns to you, his cheeks bundling up like rising bread in sheer elation.

“No you didn’t, Y/N.”

Then you’re being suffocated in a bone-crushing hug, your ribs almost cracking under his snake-like squeeze. His chest rumbles in the most boyish giggle.

“Hap-pee-burf-day-” You manage to utter as you move your arms between two to create some space for you to breathe.

Seeing Taehyung this happy, especially knowing you’re the cause of it, is truly a feeling matched by no other. You don’t have a massive squadron of friends, you are more the type to carefully select those you actually like and get along with. To put it badly, you’re picky, judgy and quite a bitch when it comes to making friends. But the few you actually care about, you love ferociously and passionately, willing to cut off your own limb for them. And Taehyung is at the top of that list.

“You’re actually the best, I love you.” When he finally lets you go from his painful but appreciated embrace, his hands rest on your waist, lingering.

You had just treated him to a birthday dinner at his favourite steakhouse, roommate to roommate, in order to enable this surprise party. A few pints might have been downed for the occasion, which explains his excessive touching. Taehyung has never been able to hold his liquor, always a lightweight. The number of times you’ve had to half-carry half-drag him out of a club and stick your fingers down his throat in a dark alley is truly embarrassing for him.

“I am the best. You’re lucky I love you too, dork.” With his nostrils flaring from excitement, you can’t help but pinch his nose before turning to the guests and properly starting the party.

To be honest, you wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without the help of anyone else. His parents have come to town to visit him during the day, so off he went to show them around the food market, the park and his favourite vintage stores. Which gave you plenty of time to set up the house, prepare the refreshments, and buy the birthday cake. But keeping him from returning home was a feat that you had to enlist his parents’ aid in, and ever the obedient son, Taehyung of course did not argue when his folks disagreed with his suggestion to go back to the apartment. Then, it was a matter of taking him to dinner, deftly urging him to meet you there rather than going together from the flat so not to miss your reservation. The rounds of alcohol and your tiny bladder slyly masked the many bathroom runs you took in order to text Lotta to gather everyone to your place. And when everything was set, you headed back with the clueless Taehyung, giddy with a belly full of Michelin star food.

It was purely out of your headstrong resistance that you two didn’t stumble into the apartment making out, exposing your on-going debauchery to all your unaware friends. He had begun to feel you up on the way home, grabbing your ass one too many times for it to be merely playful. Honestly, it’s never easy rejecting his advances, not with your nymphomaniac track record anyway. But tonight was especially difficult, knowing what you have planned for him after the party…

From the corner of your eye you see Taehyung chattering away with friends from his class, and from the way he’s waving his hands around, you can tell it’s about the latest Christmas horror story of the two of you trying to stuff a turkey.

The memory of you yelling at each other to grab-this-grab-that warms your chest more than the white wine you’re sipping on. It’s always these stupid anecdotes that mean the most.

“Looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

Lotta’s voice startles you from your thoughts. Hands held behind her shyly, she smiles at the sight of the outburst of laughter from the guests at his story.

Aside from Taehyung, you would say she’s your best friend, having gone to the same highschool together and now the same university. You knew you would be close the moment she told you her star sign - there isn’t a more iconic duo than an Aries and a Leo. She puts up with a lot of your shit but also isn’t afraid to scream some sense into you whenever you pull something rogue, which you guess is very often.

“Yep. He should probably stop drinking though.” You say as you watch him tip the contents of his glass down his throat. “I swear to god if he throws up on the couch, I’ll chop his dick off.” Of course you wouldn’t, how could you ever bring yourself to hurt that godsent meatstick that fuck tears out of you? You both giggle nonetheless.

“You’re funny with him.” Lotta is wearing a smug expression that you distinctly dislike.

“What do you mean?”

“You act like he’s some annoying brother who you hate, but then you go and take him to this boujee-ass steakhouse, throw him a surprise party and splash out on his birthday gift. You beat him up when he uses your shampoo, kick him when he accidentally scrunches up your notes, and threaten to emasculate him if he spills alcohol on your favourite couch that you treat like your newborn child. But you secretly care so much about him that I know you’d give him your kidney if he needed one.”

You blink at her.

Not quite sure what to say.

“Well, yeah, of course I care about him. Like you said, he’s a brother to me.” Okay, but do you let someone who’s just a brother to you cum on your face? “You don’t live with him so you don’t know what a useless brat he is. He burns pasta, Lotta. Pasta. Seriously, he’s such a dipshit, but of course I care about him. What’s funny about that?” Lying straight through your teeth is a Y/N specialty. As long as you say it with enough confidence, you can sell any bullshit.

But maybe you’re sounding a little defensive.

Lotta is clever, it is why you’re friends. Where this observation of hers is headed, you’re unsure of. She could turn this into a lecture about your abrasive personality, or suspect that something else is going on between you and Taehyung other than sharing rent.

“Nothing, I just said it was funny. The way you are.” Her smile tells you that it’s probably the former of the two possibilities.

“What can I say, I’m a funny person.” Not entirely buying it though, you shrug and play along.

Another bout of laughter breaks out from Taehyung and his friends, catching both your attentions. He thrives in social situations like these, good at entertaining people with his odd humour. You watch the flash of his teeth, the crinkle of his amused eyes, tongue flicking out to wet his lips every other sentence.

“You know, he actually is really hot.” Now, that you didn’t expect at all. Your head whips to face your best friend, whose eyes fixes back on yours but not before you catch her checking him out.

“Um, what?”

“I’m just saying. You can’t deny that he’s gorgeous, charming too.” Brows raised, Lotta lifts both hands up in defense when she see the arrows your glare is shooting at her. “Definitely the best looking guy I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re drunk. Since when did you admit that Taehyung is ‘hot’?” In complete ridicule, you scoff at her. Though, her point is completely 100% valid and true.

“Do you see me with a drink? I’m sober tonight, got an early shift tomorrow.”

“Why are you suddenly saying this? Weren’t you the one who wouldn’t shut up when I went to Mykonos with him because you thought I was too blinded by his looks to even know if he’s a serial killer?” Never has Lotta expressed the slightest, most remote of interest in Taehyung, not once properly acknowledging his attractiveness.

“I’m just saying. It’s a shame that you can’t see him that way anymore after spending so much time together.” It’s her turn to shrug, again with the annoying cocky expression.

Yes, after spending so much time sleeping together, more like.

“Yeah, no. That’s gross. You won’t get it because you don’t have a guy best friend. But trust me, no way would I ever go there with him.” Go ahead and call you a pathological liar, you don’t care. You’d never hear the end of it if Lotta finds out you and your ‘guy best friend’ have been knocking boots for over half a year.

You catch Taehyung glancing over to you, eyes twinkling with amusement, signalling for you to come over and join his crowd. Telepathy is one of your secret talents nowadays, you just know each other so well that spoken words are not a necessity for communication.

Taehyung watches you manoeuvre past those chattering bodies from across the room, making your way towards him with Lotta trailing behind. He knows he is definitely drunk, so it might just be the alcohol getting to his head but something looks a little different about you tonight. By that, he doesn’t mean your curled hair, or that new red dress you’re wearing that introduces your cleavage to the entire world. You’re kind of… glowing. There is a permanent smile on your face, even while resting the corners of your lips are turned up. And when you’re in a good mood, you are so transparent about it that you basically radiate like a disco ball in the room.

His chest feels warm. Maybe it’s the wine.

“Fuck, she’s so fit.”

For a second, Taehyung is worried that he thought out loud, but then realised that the voice belonged to Seojoon. He turns to his friend to find him ogling at your figure.

He doesn’t know what to say. It’s weird if he agrees. But he also doesn’t trust his inebriated state to execute a flat out lie that convincingly.

“You don’t know how lucky you are to have Y/N as your roommate, man. If it were me, I would’ve tapped that on the first night.” Seojoon continues, taking a swig of his beer.

“As if you could.” Taehyung snorts, unable to help himself. “She’s out of your league, ass.”

“Fair point. I heard she is a freak in bed, too. Do you ever hear, like, sex noises?” A freak indeed.

“Sometimes…” It’s true, even now. Occasionally he will stumble home with a girl he picked up at the bar only to hear the bed creaking furiously or breathy moans sounding from your room. Walls are thin. Sometimes it turned him on, other times it pissed him off.

“Bet you wank to it, eh? Taehyungie?” Seojoon ruffles his hair just as you and Lotta come within earshot. Liquor-brazen, he is suddenly overcome with an urge to announce to the whole room: Y/N and I are fucking. Yeah, that’s right. She’s my fuck buddy, so you can stop trying to hit on her right now because I’m gonna be the one she’s riding tonight. Seojoon, fucking suck on that. I don’t need to wank to her sex noises when I’m the one coaxing them from her.

However, a small sober part of his conscience tells him that he really shouldn’t do that; if he does, he probably won’t get any riding tonight. So he clamps his mouth shut.

You arrive amidst them in that sinful dress that reduces Taehyung to a teenage boy, and you take your turn giving them brief hugs as formalities, your best friend beside you mirroring your action. When you reach Taehyung, he pulls you in roughly by the waist, wine sloshing in his hand. From his careless force and lazy grin, you can tell he is almost completely gone. Taehyung is a wine-killer, but wine is also a Taehyung-killer.

Highly conscious of the presence of all your mates while he clearly isn’t, you pretend to roll your eyes and pry his hand off the small of your back. It doesn’t budge. So, awkwardly, with your midriff locked in Taehyung’s arm, you lean over to hug his last friend Woosik who gives you a shy pat on your shoulder.

The conversation resumes, morphing into Lotta telling everyone the most embarrassing stories of you during high school - back when you had braces and had the biggest crush on the captain of the football team. You don’t even try to deny it, laughing along at your pathetic 14 year old self. Though, you’re only half paying attention, the other half is keenly aware of the way Taehyung’s thumb is rubbing gentle circles on your pelvic bone. When you peek up at him, you find him already staring at you with eyes you know too well.

The ‘I’m gonna eat you out until you squirt’ eyes.

Fuck.

Then you notice Lotta’s sharp eyes on Taehyung’s hand gripping your waist. The ‘hold up, what could be happening over here?’ eyes.

Double fuck.

Tipping your toes, you whisper into your roommate’s clueless ear. “Let go, people are watching.” You almost allow your lips to graze his skin because you know how much it turns him on, but you remember to behave. But this close, his warm familiar scent tingles your nose in a way that makes you want to hug him.

Taehyung pulls away to look at your face, clearly displeased, then regards everyone in the circle. When he notices Lotta’s focus on the two of you, he slowly withdraws his paw, but not without purposely brushing past your ass.

.

“Strawberry-flavoured lube?”

Taehyung audibly gasps in disbelief as he tears open his poorly wrapped present.

“Yeah, you like strawberries right?” Seojoon chuckles and claps his back so violently that he falls forwards. On the other side of him, you haul him back up onto the sofa.

Everyone is gathered around the pile of birthday gifts on the coffee table, but not before witnessing you scold Woosik for not leaving his drink on the kitchen island from which the couch is a safe distance to prevent any spillage. Lotta just laughed at your fixation.

So far, the array of presents Taehyung has received ranges from Amazon vouchers, to expensive whiskey, to a funky tie. Yours sit furthest away from him, which he practically leapt in excitement when he saw the size of, only to be forced to open it last because you insist it’s going to be the best one.

“You’re insufferable, Seojoon.” Taehyung rolls his eyes yet fails to suppress his grin. Oh, you’re definitely trying out the lube at some point.

After ripping into a couple more, he finally arrives at your present for him. It spans an entire arm’s length; you know every guest must be wondering to themselves what it could possibly be. Taehyung drops onto his knees before it and carefully peels away the tape this time, knowing it probably took you awhile to wrap it up this neatly. You watch his long cautious fingers reveal the gift you had spent weeks raking your head for.

“Stop…” His eyes light up at the polished cedar easel that he caresses over as gentle as he would your skin. But as he continues to unwrap the present, a box of oil paints, a wooden palette and a set of 16 expensive natural fibre brushes are unveiled. “Oh my god, there’s more?”

Ceasing in action, he looks up at you, jaw so slack you bet you can throw a pea into his mouth even with your bad aim. The surprise on his face, almost a replica of his expression when everyone jumped out at him and yelled ‘Happy Birthday’ an hour ago. Except this time there is something more tender about how his wide pupils bore into yours. It makes you squirm.

Then without warning, he dives onto you, crushing you in the most fatal of embraces; you swear something in your spine cracked as you fall back onto the cushions, suffocated. People let out a sound of amusement at your struggle, but with his warm breath fanning your neck, you don’t even hear them.

After allowing this sweet painful moment for a few seconds more, you shove Taehyung’s heavy body off you, harder than you need so he slumps onto Seojoon.

“You’re actually the best, I love you.” He squeals like a boy on Christmas day before examining the paintbrushes with the utmost careful touch, as if afraid he would bend the bristles the wrong way.

What is he so cute for?

You kind of really want to pat his head and kiss his cheek right now. But there’s an audience obstructing.

Looking up, you lock eyes with Lotta. She is smiling, endeared by the purity of his reaction as well. See, not even she is immune his stupid cuteness. How are you supposed to?

Taehyung’s heart is constricting as he strokes the fine wooden edge of the giant disassembled easel. Of course, you know him better than any of his other friends. He has recently expressed an interest in painting, though his love for art and sophistication has been harbouring for a while now. He has only ever made subtle comments about wanting to properly get into it but not having the proper equipment to and not knowing the best brand to purchase. Yet you had picked up on it nevertheless. Everything combined must have costed you a significant portion of your allowance. Even he would not have splashed out this much on himself.

He turns back to you again from where he kneels in front of the coffee table. You are observing him with a thing he wishes to be adoration, a glimmer in your smile that wears more beautiful than any dress on you. For a second, there’s a flutter in his stomach and it confuses him because it feels an awful lot like butterflies.

But then you kick his back with the heel of your foot to get him to stand and Taehyung remembers that you are best friends. He’s not supposed to be thinking like that.

.

After cutting the cake, with food being a major satisfaction factor of any party, everyone sort of just hovers, huddled in their little groups with their plate of dessert in one hand, while they resume their conversation. The music is turned up loud so they all have to half-yell; some don’t even bother talking as they dig in, you included.

Being a quiet eater that you are, you stand by the island counter, sipping your wine in between bites of that chocolate decadence. Taehyung approaches you with his already empty plate; you haven’t even made it through half your slice yet. Judging by the lethargy in his step and that icing-slathered grin he has worn the entire night, you can tell he was the one who finished the second bottle of wine you opened.

“Hey.” Your fingers do a weird little wave that is so completely uncharacteristic, but tipsy-Y/N is sort of that friendly and laid back.

“Hey, pretty.” His hand trails around the corner of the counter surface and traps you between it and his body as he comes up behind you. Immediately you stiffen, looking around to see if anyone, especially Lotta, is looking. But when you find everyone preoccupied either with each other or the cake, your shoulders relax.

“What’s up? You having a good time?” Twisting to face him, you edge back until the counter digs into your back. Taehyung’s face is a dangerous proximity to yours.

The anticipation for the night you have planned for him in your bedroom thrums in your core. Patience has never been one of your strengths, and right now it is testing your very limit. You could kick everyone out right now if you really wanted to. But you won’t. You’ll wait.

You wipe the chocolate off the corner of his mouth with a swipe, the gesture you can’t tell if motherly or romantic. And just because Taehyung is peering down at you so longingly, you flick your tongue out and suck the sweetness on your thumb.

His breath hitches.

“Uh- I…” For a second, all thought is scattered in his brain, and you almost laugh aloud at how susceptible he is to your attacks. “Yeah, of course. I’m having the best time.”

“Am I the best roommate ever or what?” You watch his eyes trained on your mouth. From his alcohol scent, you don’t trust him to have enough restraint not to kiss you right now so you turn your back to him and rest your elbows upon the island top, leaning over to finish your cake.

In your peripheral vision, you spy his hands crawling towards your sides to cinch around your waist, his front pressing into you as he holds you from behind. The warmth of his body seeps into your back, and you swear you can feel the beating of his chest against your shoulder blades. A tingle shoots straight down your spine when he plants a soft, brief kiss on the shell of your ear.

Good thing you turned around then, your intuition was right. Taehyung has never been able to suppress his overt affection after a few drinks, and certainly not after this many. And no matter how much you want to just turn around and pull him into your lips, you fight it.

“Babe...” He groans into your ear and though it was barely audible even to you, you quickly glance up to see if anyone has heard. Of course, no one heard, they are all stood far enough that even without the music, they’d have to strain their ears to hear his whisper. Paranoia is eating your head away.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, Taehyung.” Your heart is racing, which is weird because you swear you used to be completely immune to his charms. “You’re being too obvious, babe.”

“You don’t ‘babe’ me. I can’t control myself when you call me that.” The warmth of his breath fans all over the back of your neck, sending a convulsion of shivers down your spine.

One of his hands stretches for your wine glass, but knowing him well enough to predict it, you draw it away from his reach. “Stop drinking, you’re literally about to pass out.”

“No, you’re about to pass out. On my-” hiccup, “dick.” You keep your eyes locked on the crowd, ready to shove Taehyung away if anyone looks your way. But still, you can’t help but lean back into him.

“That made no sense.” You chuckle, fingers brushing over the smooth thin skin of this hand.

“Just one sip.”

“Taehyung. Stop. Drinking.” You grab his hand that tries to make a run for the wine again.

“But, Y/N…” He whines and slumps onto you, knowing that whining has gotten him what he wanted before.

You turn around, grab his face and pull him towards you until your mouth is brushing his earlobe. “Be a good boy and stop drinking if you want the best birthday sex of your life after this party. You better not get whiskey dick because a have a lot planned for you.”

At that, Taehyung stops breathing, stops resisting. Against your shoulder, you feel his chest jump. “Oh. Um. Okay, yup, no more drinking. Got it, ma’am.”

He sighs, completely at your disposal, as your touch trails from the sensitive side of his neck down to his torso. “Good.” After looking around again to check that no one is looking, you press your alcohol-infused lips onto his hastily, savouring his softness for no longer than a few seconds before pulling away. God, is it difficult to pull away. You’re aching for him. “Go entertain the guests while you sober up.”

Satisfied grin from the kiss stretched across his face, he nods obediently and scampers over to his friends.

.

“Are you ready yet?” Taehyung calls, impatient and giddy, the music that you’ve put on playing softly in the background.

“Give me one more second.” You reply from the bathroom, doing up your last button and regarding yourself in the mirror. Hm, not bad. You’re pleased with how this turned out, if you do say so yourself. Taehyung is going to lose his mind.

Sheer black stockings stretched thin over your legs, you strut into his room where he is seated on a chair in nothing but his boxers, wrists shackled to the back. When his eyes land on you, a strangled noise emits from his throat.

“Holy. Fuck. Holy fuck. Holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck.” He chokes out.

The checkered material of your school skirt flies up at your every step teasingly, not high enough for him to peek your panties, but enough for your thighs to be flaunted.The clip of your stockings sit cool and beguiling on your quads. First two buttons of your white blouse undone, the matching red tartan tie hangs loosely around your neck between your exposed, pushed up cleavage. Your hair is tied into two school-girl braids, decorated in ribbons.

You’re Taehyung’s walking talking fantasy.

Innocent, chaste, ready for him to defile.

“Sir.” You address him, committing to your character, as you bow your head in courtesy.

Taehyung doesn’t appear capable of words, Adam’s apple wobbling in awe. So you continue your approach, making sure to regard him with large, demure eyes. As you sink down onto your knees between his widespread trembling legs, you notice a prominence already erecting in his boxers. You try not to smirk.

“What can I do for you, sir?” You put on your sweetest, most virgin of voices and bat your lashes once at him.

Chest rising quickly, Taehyung gulps as he realises that he’s most definitely going about to have the best sex of his life. “Um. Uh. Um.”

Smiling at his malfunctioning cognition, no thanks to you, you decide to help him out a little. “I’ve been sent to you for being a bad girl, sir.”

Do you find this slightly humiliating and degrading? Yes, you’re a woman of pride and a feminist. But does Taehyung’s birthday outweigh your morals? Yes, if only just for this night.

“What… What did you do, baby girl?” Voice dangerously deep, Taehyung watches you from his handcuffed posture, watches you twirl your braids in your fingers before they move sensual down your front, curving over your breasts and travelling to your core.

“It’s embarrassing to say but…” You look down in feign shame. “I touched myself.”

His whole frame tenses, arms straining to be freed from the cuffs so he can throw you onto the bed and fuck you mercilessly. His lips are parted, breath unsteady, cheeks still slightly stained from the alcohol but you made sure that he’s mostly sober by now. “Why did you touch yourself?”

“I was thinking about you, sir, and I just couldn’t help myself. Something started tickling down there and it felt so good to touch it.” Biting your lip, your fingers reach your clit over your skirt and start rubbing. The other hand traces swirls slowly up his thighs, higher and higher, until he’s buckling his hips.

“Wait, pause.” He says, your touch ceasing at his command. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m not going to last if you do this to me. I might even cum my pants.”

Usual smugness returning as you smirk up at him, your teeth digs deeper into your lower lip, refusing to break character. “Well, it’s a good thing we have all night then, sir. A water hose doesn’t just fire once does it?”

“Fuck.” Shutting his eyes, his head falls back to reveal his gulping jugular. Already so malleable? Yeah, he’s definitely not going to last. The first round. “Okay, okay. Resume.”

Your fingers reach the hem of his boxers, skimming through his tan, lustrous inner thighs. He jerks, his hard member jabbing out the soft cotton, begging to be freed. “So I was wondering if there is any way I could get out of this punishment, sir. My parents can’t find out that I’ve been a bad girl. I’ll do anything you want me to do, sir.”

“I see, Miss Y/L/N… How about, you warm up my lap for me first? I’m feeling slightly cold.” He wets his lips and bounces on his toes, his hard length jolting along with his legs.

“Oh, of course, sir.” When you stand up, you make sure to do it slowly, curving your body towards him to give him a good look at your breasts. He doesn’t miss the chance to devour them with his eyes.

Your hips begin to sway in the rhythm of the slow sensual music while you turn until your back faces him. You feel his glare immediate follow your ass, skirt sloshing side to side to reveal your plush cheeks. But rather than falling onto his lap as he wants, you stride over his leg, hand trailing across his chest as you begin to walk around him.

Massaging up his bicep, your hand arrives at his collar as you lick a thin strip up his neck. Taehyung shudders, struggling against his handcuffs again, cursing. “I can do anything you want me to, sir.” He shivers as you whisper into his ear, teeth grazing his skin. Your own heart is racing from excitement. Maybe you should do this more often. It’s selfish of you to do so since it’s meant to be his birthday sex after all, but you enjoy having him helt under you, seconds away from whimpering, gone be his natural preference for dominance.

As you walk around him, his head turns with you, not wishing for his sight to miss a second of this private show. Patience isn’t something he’s born with, he is a man who’s used to ceasing everything he wants. You know what must be going through his head right now, the anticipation, the hunger. So finally, when you’ve done a full circle around, hands not once missing the opportunity to feather his chest, you decide to ease him a little.

Deliberately unrushed, you sit inch by inch down onto his lap until his dick is burrowed between your warm cheeks underneath your skirt.

“Baby…” Taehyung immediately sits up, mouth arriving at the back of your neck, exhaling his hot fervour. The feeling of his skin pressed on the strip of yours between your skirt and cropped blouse has you craving for him to pound into you right now. Nothing can describe the flash of desire you get when you feel the touch of his naked body.

Then you begin to roll your hips, drawing loops of infinity with your ass to the beat of the song. The groan you elicit makes your cunt pulse. Taehyung’s stiff length jerks between your wiggling ass. His head falls onto your shoulder in a huff, metallic sound of his chains ringing as his arms clench.

“Sir, is that warm enough?” Your hips are merciless, rock back and forth, providing him with the friction he so craves. Hell, maybe you should start doing this for a living.

“Y… Yeah.” There is defeat in his voice, a croak that tells you that you’re the only woman to ever put him in his place like this. The only he’d ever submit to.

Slowly, you peel yourself off his lap, delighting in the small stained spot on his boxers, evidence of his drooling dick. You sink onto your knees before him again, fingers crawling playfully up his thighs. “You seem a little stiff, sir. Do you want me to ease some tension in your muscles for you?”

“Please be a dear.” The fervour in his eyes as he gazes down at you is pure, undiluted. It stirs something beastly inside you.

You’ve sucked Taehyung off a hundred times before, but something about the fact that he’s handcuffed to a chair on his birthday, almost cumming his pants, makes you especially eager this time.

A string of precum greets you as you take his lividly throbbing cock out of its restraints. You spare it a few pumps before you enclose the warm wet cave of your mouth around it. It’s perhaps evil of you, but you cut to the chase and go straight to deep-throating. He lets out a yelp of surprise when his tip slides smoothly through and hits the back of your throat. He’s going to cum soon, might as well give him your all, right?

Your mouth has gotten used to resisting the gag reflexes by now, engulfing him like a strawberry ice lolly during the summer heat. The occasional scrape of your teeth, just the way he loves, has him shiver beneath you. If he likes it rough, he should be able to take it rough. And when your tongue begins its inexorable attack at the pinch of skin where his tip ties to his shaft, Taehyung lets out a throaty cry. Not even a moan, a cry.

“Fuck, I’m losing my mind. Y/N, oh my god, keep going.” Through your curled lashes, you gaze up at him. His brows furrowed, guzzling up his favourite view in the world, maybe second to you riding him. Jaw unscrewed, he heaves at your large feign-innocent eyes, wrists dying to be freed so he could fuck your mouth.

Two throbs at the base of his cock, and he’s cumming right down your throat. It’s a larger load that either of you’d expected, telling of his obscene concupiscence. There’s so much cum that you can’t swallow, so you have no choice but to let it flow down his cock. With you still staring at him, he watches his white hot fluid dribble out your mouth and onto him, his features screwed tight in pleasure.

“Lick it off, baby.” Taehyung rasps, half his mind completely gone, dilapidated.

You hum as you spread his liquid around his tip and along his shaft, lips now glossy, before you slowly lap it all up. You know he is particularly sensitive after cumming, so you wallow in teasing his head a bit more, watching him writhe on his seat, whining your name. “Sir, how was that?”

Taehyung’s head is tossed back, eyes shut to recover from that post-orgasm intensity. He doesn’t speak at first, still trying to piece back together his mind. “I… That was… You deserve a worse punishment for doing that to me.”

Your core twists in excitement.

Briskly, you fish out the key to his handcuffs and unlock him, thrumming from the molten fury in his eyes. “What did I do wrong, sir?”

As soon as his wrists are free from their shackles, Taehyung stands and throws you over his shoulders. Smack. He hits your ass, your skirt doing little to soften the blow. You never knew yourself to be a masochist until it comes to Taehyung; his are the only hands you’d allow to spank you.

Then he tosses you onto the bed, your skirt flying up to reveal your peachy ass as you land on your front. “You just love it when I’m under your control, don’t you? Even this innocent school-girl roleplay is just a disguise to get me to beg for you, isn’t it?”

Twisting your head back, a smirk plays at your lips as you regard his frustrated yet immensely pleased expression. His fingers glide up your silky stockings enticingly, sending shivers coursing up your legs. “Sir, I have no idea what you mean.”

“Look at your fucking ass in this skirt, holy fuck.” He begins to knead the supple flesh of your behind, pushing up the skirt until it sit on your lower back.

Another smack.

He’s such an ass man through and through.

“Do you like my uniform, sir?” You moan between his smacks. Nothing really is compelling you to continue with this roleplay, but something tells you that Taehyung is bursting from it.

“I fucking love it, baby girl.” Smack. You can practically hear him grinning in satisfaction. His palm massages the redness he inflicted like smearing paint, touch growing closer and closer to your core.

Then with one push at your inner thighs, he spreads your legs wide open.

“Fucking hell. Crotchless? You’re really spoiling me tonight.” Like a little boy on Christmas Day, he marvels at your glistening slit, gaping at him in anticipation. Another small surprise for him.

“Of course- ahh!” You break into a moan when he runs two fingers down your folds, all the way to your bulging clit. “For the birthday boy.”

“Okay, now you definitely deserve the best head.” He lies on his front and grips onto your thighs to pull himself up to face level with your cunt.

You won’t tell him to prevent further ego inflation but every head he gives is the best head.

“Wait, Taehyung, it’s your birthday. Just let me-” You squirm in his clutch, trying to flip around, but he holds you still.

“Exactly. My birthday. I get to eat you out if I want to. It’s what my baby girl deserves.” For some reason, you blush. Who are you to resist head, especially from Taehyung?

Heat of his breath tickling your entrance, you plant your face onto the pillow and clamp down on your lip, preparing for that mind-twisting sensation that has a way of robbing you of sanity. His mouth finds your thighs first, kissing, sucking, blooming roses of his affection. You let him mark you - you are completely his tonight. Then his breath arrives at the sensitive crevice where your folds begin, a slow seduction towards your tingling bud. When he finally latches onto your clit, your eyes roll to the back of your empty head, a whimper ensuing.

His tongue is a predatory serpent, ceaselessly rolling your bud in his mouth. He’s rough, generous with the waves of pleasure he sends. You wish you aren’t lying on your front right now, just so you can look down at his concentrated face and pull on his wavy mop of hair.

With every flick of his tongue, you swim closer to your orgasm. His fingers are digging to your thighs, his breath quickening with his face buried in you. When he adds his long slender digits, you know your demise is round the corner.

“Fuck, daddy.” You yell into the pillow, that name coming so naturally to you that it requires zero brain processing to leave you.

Taehyung hums in response, those baritone vibrations shaking into your core until your leg involuntarily kicks back. Gripping onto the sheets, a string of profanities expel from you as that euphoric current comes crashing onto you, drowning your surroundings so that all you feel is his face, his tongue, his teeth, still mercilessly going despite your state.

“Fuck!” A tear slips from the violent stimulation at your clit continuing past your orgasm. You guess it’s payback.

Not one minute later, a second climax hits you, this time stronger than the last as it rides on the residual pleasure. The orgasm disperses into tension down your thighs, dying for more friction to relieve your cunt of the blissful ache. Warm tears stain the pillowcase your face is buried in, your cries muffled.

His pace gradually decelerates into soft kisses on your flower, fingers withdrawing to massage your folds. You are motionless, completely depleted after the dopaminergic release. Delicately, his lips travel up to your ass, where he sucks more colours as he awaits your recovery.

“How was that, baby girl?” Taehyung slowly turns you over onto your back, a lazy grin on his glistening mouth, your wetness slathered all over his nose. It views in your eyes as a display of your possession. You don’t miss the triumph in his gaze; you wonder if he likes making you cum more than cumming himself.

“Your mouth is fucking incredible.” You bask in the post-orgasm high, pulling him atop you, hand locking in his curls. You taste yourself as you kiss him, slowly and lethargically, your energy ebbing back to you.

“Yeah?” He smiles against your lips. “You know what’s incredible? You in this fucking uniform.” Pulling away, he scans your body top to bottom. And as you follow his gaze, you notice his hardened cock, once again ready for another round. You surprise yourself with how ready you are to take him, exhaustion not yet settled in from his overstimulation.

“You like it that much?” You press your lips together, and as used to Taehyung’s constant flattery as you should be, you still feel proud.

Taehyung nestles his face onto your neck. “If we went to high school together, I would 100% have been your bitch. Not a single doubt. Whipped.”

Your heart squeezes. Whipped.

You kiss his hair, resisting the urge to make a comment about what he said. “Haha. I would not have noticed you, I was obsessed with the captain of the football team.”

Taehyung lifts his head up, frowning at you with a playful annoyance. “Are you sure you want to mention another man in front of me right now?” For emphasis of his possessive mood, he grinds his member into your thigh. You can’t help but push back to feel him digging into you. Possessive Taehyung toys with your strings.

“Yeah, what are you going to do about it?” You taunt further, pulling on his locks. Taehyung’s competitiveness is an easy target for manipulation; everytime he starts to go soft and sappy on you, all you have to do is tug on his jealousy and the bull will come charging back full force.

Surely enough, he growls into your ear. “Don’t forget who you’re speaking to, miss. You wouldn’t want your parents knowing the naughty things you’ve been up to, would you?” So he does love the roleplay. His tone slightly sarcastic, but also not really. But before you can hiss a witty response, he silences you with his teeth on your neck. As he sucks on your tender skin, your nails rake across his back in pleasure. He’s growing bolder with his territory.

“More hickeys?” You purr, not exactly in the complaining tone you’d wished it would come out in.

“Yeah, what are you going to do about it?” He mocks, leaving a wet purple trail across your throat.

You allow it for the sole reason that it’s his birthday. Otherwise, you’d be kicking off.

You’ve never liked the idea of hickeys, the notion that someone feels entitled to mark your skin as theirs. You don’t belong to anyone. This is your own skin, and no one else’s. Yet - right now, as Taehyung nips at your neck, hand yanking on your uniform’s tie to pull you closer to him, you feel like you do belong…

You don’t finish that thought.

Reaching down, you begin stroking his patiently awaiting cock. “You’re brave for someone who’s dick is in my hands.”

Taehyung breaks away from your neck and reviews his work of art. The wolfish grin an indication of his pride. “You’re going to kill me tomorrow.” He says without the fear that should come with such statement.

Yes, you’re definitely going to.

“Then fuck me until I forgive you.” You challenge, unbuttoning the first button of your shirt while your stroking quickens.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Fingers scrambling to undo the rest of your shirt, his mouth finds yours again, sucking on your bottom lip until it’s sure to swell later. Your bra falls loose with a dexterous flick, a gesture he can do in his sleep. Yet, he makes no move to remove your checkered tie at all.

When you try to loosen it yourself, he grabs your hand and pins it against the pillow. “That stays on tonight, along with the skirt and the stockings.” Voice laced with carnality, there’s a feral glint in his glare.

“Yes, sir.” Smile unstifled, you fall back into obedience.

Taehyung dares to plant more bitemarks down your chest before taking your nipple in his mouth, tormenting the sensitive bud relentlessly. Patience wearing thin, you line his tip with your slit, dallying it around to coat it with your dampness.

“Wait, grab a condom.” He mutters.

“Don’t need one.”

He looks up, confused. “What? Why?”

“I started taking the pill. Surprise.”

The look of pure shock and delight that usurps his face, for the third? fourth? time tonight, sows a seed of joy in your core.

“Wait, seriously?” You swear you feel his cock twitch happily in your hand. That stupid boxy grin that makes him look like a kid again… You want to kiss him dizzy.

“Yes, seriously.” You would never admit that you started taking contraception solely for Taehyung, because that would be weird, you absolutely did not do it for Taehyung. You’d always wanted to start contraception anyway. This was your own decision, influenced by no one else.

Certainly. No one else. Of course.

“Holy fucking shit. Y/N, you’re amazing.” Taehyung cannot contain his glee despite its juxtaposition with his pulsating cock about to enter you any moment now. “All this for me?” He asks, still in disbelief, as if the answer isn’t already written in big bold black letters.

“For the birthday boy, and the birthday boy only.” Your nose grazes his. These are the very words you’d be embarrassed to be caught saying to any guy, yet you’re currently too fuelled by the desire to please him to berate yourself.

Without another second gone to waste, Taehyung pushes his girthy member into your heat. Though it glides in with ease, your walls are stretched so wide that your inside stir, a sore pressure squeezing around him with each thrust. You always seem to forget how well he fits into you, and so each time comes as an eye-rolling surprise - the way he fills you so completely and entirely with his hefty cock.

“Oh fuck, you feel so-” He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence, too caught up in the raw unobstructed sensation of your slick walls.

Lifting your leg over his shoulder, the cavernous angle allows him to jolt deeper into you, his tip violently punching through you. While one hand remains on your ankle, the other twists your tie around his wrist and pulls as if it were a leash. “Sir…” You choke out at the constriction around your throat.

“Are you going to bad girl again?” He grunts, sweat beading on his forehead while he continues to ram his hips.

“No, sir. I won’t touch myself again,” you moan under him, “unless you are watching.”

“Fuck, Y/N.” One eye shut, Taehyung sticks his thumb into your mouth to suckle on. Your tongue swirls around his finger, biting down every time you need to shriek in pleasure.

After a while, he flips your bodies over so that you are riding him, watching, mesmerised, as your breasts bounce freely each time you spring on his dick. Your body falls back at the rippling coil inside you, hands braced on the mattress to keep you upright.

Taehyung could watch you ride him for the rest of his life. Hell, if he has a heart attack and dies this very moment, he would die the happiest man.

Sometimes, while you’re fucking, Taehyung gets a sudden rush of jealousy. Jealous that he wasn’t the one to ruin your innocence. Jealous that someone else other than him got to, or still gets to, fuck you like this.

He pulls on your tie so that you fall over him, lips colliding to remind himself that he’s the one fucking you right now, the rest shouldn’t matter. The way you moan into him reassures that no one has ever, or can ever, fuck you the way he does.

Then a messy whimper leaves you like a symphony, and for the third time tonight, you come undone, unravelled.

“Fu-u-u-uckkk.” You cry, arms looping around Taehyung’s neck, holding on as if he’s your lifeline because you yourself are unsure how much of this you can take before you drown.

“Baby, you’re so good, cumming for me again.” He sings, knowing that words like these thrums something in your core. You lap up his praise, smiling against his teeth despite yourself. It’s honestly a miracle how your usual brusque controlling self is suddenly transformed into his docile little girl, especially after a round of orgasms. “I’m going to cum again too.”

“Daddy, fuck, please. Cum inside me.” You pant, hips bouncing as fast as your aching muscles allow. Truth be told, no one has ever finished inside you before. And you are dying to find out how it feels.

Taehyung seems to know this. He grabs onto your waist, holding you in place, and plunges unforgivingly into you, penetrating your walls so ardently that you are shoved near the brink of yet another orgasm.

A grumble rippling through the room, finally, you feel a hot jet shoot into you, squirt after squirt of his thick cum filling you up. He frowns, a hoarse cry from the immense pleasure arriving at his cock, taking over him. Fucking hell, this is hot.

And kind of really intimate.

However, you notice that his pace has yet to slacken.

“I’m not done with you yet.” His eyes open to reveal pupils glowing with vehemence. Your clit throbs.

Still inside you, he turns you over so that you are both on your sides spooning, one of your legs hoisted up by his rough grip. The slap of your skin rings crisp and clear as he continues to fuck you. You lean back into him, ignoring the sticky coat of sweat coalescing your skins. His cum lubricates each thrust as you feel some spill out of you. His fingers start to stimulate your clit to help you reach your ultimate climax, viciously rubbing your sensitive swollen bud so much that you begin to see stars.

For him to keep fucking you even after cumming despite his tremendous sensitivity… Taehyung is going wild tonight.

“Are you going to cum one last time for me, baby girl?” He pants heavily in your ear.

“Yes, daddy.” Your own cunt is leaking profusely its tears of joy; you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet before.

In a few more thrusts, Taehyung is cumming inside you again, this time naturally less than the last, yet from his loud coarse groan, you deduce is much more intense. He pounds slowly yet robustly, milking every last drop into you. Due to the sheer oversensitivity, he has no choice but to pull out of you immediately after, leaving a spurt of his cum surging out of you.

“Oh my god.” He moans into your neck, both your heads spinning from the vigour of your intercourse.

But he knows you’re still a minute away from your orgasm. And never one to disappoint, he quickly sits up and spreads your legs open.

“Holy fuck.” Taehyung freezes at the sight of his cum slowly trickling out of you. To him, it’s a sign of possession, ownership. Apart from his ex, he has never fucked without protection, certainly not those random one night stands. To him, it’s a sign of intimacy.

Catching his white liquid in two fingers, he inserts it into your already gaping mouth, smearing it all over your tongue. In your cute little braids, you swallow it willingly, and Taehyung swears that he could fuck you again right then and there.

“You like that?” He asks, sticky fingers entering your core, feeling how clenched you are due to the pent up pressure.

“Mhmm.” You nod, hips lifting off the bed so that he can reach deeper. His thumb massages your clit, long digits moving in a come hither motion, stretching your walls in cusps that his cock did not have the ductility to reach. “Ahh, shit.”

Determination worn on his face despite his tiring limbs, Taehyung fucks you with his finger as you thrash beneath him. Your clit is already exploding with sensitivity from the previous rounds, and on top of that, with his thick knuckles push into you again and again, you are clawing at him while your whole body convulses.

The coil within your finally snaps. The ecstatic sensation exploding within you, flooding your every fibre until tears spring out your eyes. A clear liquid shoots out of you to both your surprises, and sprays its droplets towards Taehyung. His eyes widen, marvelling at your beauty as you cum not only on his fingers but all over him.

“Jesus Christ!” Chuffed with himself evidently, he leans in to kiss you, deep and desperate, while his fingers slow their steady thrusts to let you ride out the remainder of your high. His mouth is warm, a familiar taste as you regain your sense of self and surrounding that you tend to lose during sex.

As your brain begins to function again, the first thought you register is how much you don’t want to stop kissing Taehyung, how much you don’t want to let go of him.

“Taehyung…” You whine, bottom lip in the possession of his teeth.

“Feeling good?” He lets go of his bite, but lips remain dearly magnetised to yours. Dragging out his fingers, the wet noises of your clenched walls ring. Taehyung sucks on his dripping digits as you push his sweat-dampened fringe out of his face to survey his eyes. Full of yearning. And the way he is sucking… appears almost as a last display of submission after completely ruining you. A last shred of I’m yours.

“So.” You peck him. “Fucking.” Another. “Good.” Peck. Your bodies naked, your skirt creased and skin claggy, you refuse to release each other from your embrace. “But Taehyung…”

“What it is, my baby?” From on top of you, he is looking down at you as if you’re some delicate little buttercup in a barren field, a ray of joy radiating from his smile.

You tense. My baby.

You two might be kind of screwed...

But you’ll think about that another time. Right now, you just want to be held and kissed and looked after.

“It’s not fair. This was meant for you, but you made it about me.” You don’t know what’s taken over you but you pout at him, the same way he would do to you when he wanted something. But why, of course, it’s just like Taehyung to make you come four times despite it being his birthday sex. You don’t even know what to expect for your own birthday.

His own hair dishevelled, he tucks your loose braids behind your ears, a gesture of affection. “Nothing gets me off more than making you feel good. This was about me. This was everything I wanted. Best sex I’ve ever had. But in what world would my best sex not include making you squirt?”

Your don’t know why but you feel incredibly vulnerable right now, your hard edges softening. It’s the after-sex glow that you’re seeing everything in. You feel warm, bubbly, tender.

And now your chest feels weird, like something itching to rupture out of your ribcage. You want it to stop, yet also don’t.

“Taehyung…” You whine his name again. “No fair… You can’t be like this.” Your brain offers no explanation as to why you’ve adopted his usual saccharine manner, other than the fact that he has fucked you completely senseless.

“Like what?” He asks, egging the rare words of sweetness out of you.

“Like… You know… So giving and nice and perf…” Your voice trails off when you notice his excited smirk. God, what the fuck are you saying? You flush in embarrassment.

“Perf…? His smug grin only grows at your shyness.

“Stop. You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Stop teasing me.” Taehyung chuckles at your frustration, taking the chance to kiss the tip of your nose before you try to squirm out of his arms like a cat.

“No, go on. You need to be better with your words. Tell me how you feel.”

Your entire face is heated.

“I… You’re just… You treat me so well. How am I supposed to sleep with anyone else anymore?” You immediately wish you didn’t say it out loud. Because your phrasing implies that you want monogamy, commitment. It’s not what you meant at all, you don’t think. You just meant… You don’t know what you just meant.

You search his eyes frantically, in fear that he’s thinking the same, only to find them calm, content. “I mean, I guess I’m pretty fucking awesome. Thanks.”

Rolling your eyes, you’re grateful for his childish humour obstructing any serious consideration of your words.

“Don’t make me take it back, moron.” You scoff, pinching his round cheek between your knuckles.

“Too bad, it’s my birthday, everything I say is the law.” Still hovering over you, he presses gentle kisses all over your face, delighting in the way you pretend to hate it even though you can’t suppress the smile. When he stops, his face is sincere, the playfulness gone. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“Thank you so much, honestly, from the bottom of my heart. This was… the best birthday I’ve ever had. Not just the sex, but the whole time with you, the dinner, the party, everything.” Your heartbeat quickens, unable to hold his gaze so you focus on the curve of his collarbone instead. “Even better than the pirate-themed birthday party my parents threw me when I turned eight.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Honoured. It was my pleasure.”

“Seriously, I lov-”

Taehyung catches himself before he could finish that sentence. Those unspoken words hang over your heads like a puppet.

Because for some reason, although you’ve said ‘I love you’ to each other a plethora of times in the past, this time feels like a different connotation is implicated. The line between platonic love and romantic love feels blurred. And neither of you know which love is meant.

Taehyung is a sentimental guy, you tell yourself. Of course he means he loves you as his best friend. And that’s surely what you mean too when your eyes are pleading him to keep kissing you.

There’s a moment of silence, for you both to gather your scattered thoughts, staring at each other, unsure what to say.

You clear your throat, dispelling the tension in the air.

“Lets go clean up.”

“Yeah.” Taehyung rolls off you, avoiding your eye as much as you are avoiding his.

The clean up is wordless, both pretending to be too preoccupied to spare the unspoken words any thought.

Except they’re all that’s playing at your mind.

Taehyung didn’t mean it like that. Taehyung doesn’t love you like that. You’re just overthinking. And he’s overthinking about you overthinking. You two are fine, you’re normal.

Examining the purple clouds he had imprinted on you, a stream down your neck, a cluster around your breasts, then the large ones between your thighs, you’re surprised to find not one drip of annoyance. A scary thought dawns on you. What if you like them? What if you like being marked by Taehyung?

What the fuck is happening?

You wait for him to crack a joke to ease up the awkwardness, glancing up at him in the mirror as you dry your hands on the towel by the sink. He doesn’t. Instead, he’s perched on the edge of the bath tube. Zoned out.

Have you finally taken it too far? Finally overstepped that hazy nebulous line that you perhaps should have set more clear?

“Hey, Taehyung.” His head snaps up at you, eyes large with uncertainty. “You okay?”

You want to reach out to touch him, brush his cheek, kiss his forehead. But you hold back. Not wanting to fuel the fire of confusion. But then he tugs you towards him by the hem of your skirt, corner of his lips turning up, imbuing you with a gust of relief.

“Just thinking.” His fingers crawl up your legs, holding onto your hips like his hands belong to nowhere else. “Come here.”

Chest pounding, you walk towards him, let him sit you down on his lap. Though you wish not to look at him with his face so close to yours, your eyes cannot pull away from his striking beauty. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but Taehyung’s feel more like the front door to your home. When you look into them, no matter how you’re feeling, whether you’d been fighting or kissing, you just feel embraced in a cloud of clarity, security.

You don’t want to think about the complication between you two at the moment. You just want to be looking at him, touching him, holding him.

You watch him glance at your lips, hesitancy playing at his mind. You know he’s thinking the same.

“We’re okay, right?” Throat tight, you ask, rather pointlessly.

“Of course. We’re great, same old us.” His arm around your waist feels warm and safe, and when your mirror his growing smile, you almost believe him.

But when your lips gently press against his, you know it’s a lie.

You’re not the same old you.

Taehyung feels different. Skin smoother, tastes sweeter, mouth softer. The roughness of his usual kisses is gone, replaced by an inexplicable tenderness that makes you feel things in your gut. You swat those feelings away.

Something is changing. And as much as you don’t want to acknowledge it, you don’t think you can ignore its booming presence.

You don’t dare make a sound as he carries you back to his room. You don’t protest when he throws one of his t-shirts over your head. Nor when he holds you into his chest, lips tracing your forehead with a soft sleepy smile.

Noting that you’re being uncharacteristically quiet, he pokes the nub of your nose. “Who stole your tongue?”

Act normal. Just be your loud annoying self.

“Uh… You.” You murmur, unable to meet his eye even with strenuous effort

Well, fuck.

“Okay, let me give it back to you.” Before you can protest, he is kissing you again. And you want to push him away because you feel your heart lurching to your throat, and you don’t think it is healthy. But your feeble hand that was meant to shove him off lands weakly on his pec, and somehow with a mind of its own, snakes up to his neck and pulls him in. His tongue unfurls onto yours, gently sweeping away any logic.

When his lips finally leave yours, you’re out of breath.

You don’t know what’s happened to you. Since when did you react like this to Taehyung?

Forcing your usual smirk, you try to wear a convincing facade that you feel nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m expecting great things for my birthday, though to be honest this is going to be hard to beat.” The underlying dishonesty tastes sour. You’ve never had to put on a front with Taehyung, and doing so now feels… alien.

“I’ll start planning it tomorrow, don’t you worry, your highness.” Taehyung pretends to roll his eyes at your demand, though the circles he’s rubbing down your back is telling of his genuinity. He isn’t an classically romantic guy, not one for flowers and chocolate, but more a sentimental gift that leaves a deep meaning. You know you’ll love whatever he plans. It worries you that you’ll perhaps love it too much. “But seriously, thank you for everything. The easel? How much did that cost you? I’ve looked at that brand before and there’s no way it was cheap.”

“It doesn’t matter how much it costed.” Warmth is creeping up on your cheeks again. You try to excuse it as Taehyung’s radiant body heat. “Let’s just say I had to resort to prostitution to pay for it, okay?”

Bodies shuddering in laughter, some tension in the air is thankfully alleviated by your humour, filling you with hope that things should and will return to normal in no time. You just need to stop overthinking.

“Hey, can you sleep here tonight?”

You freeze at his request. Because despite your constant fucking around with each other, one clear boundary has been that you don’t physically sleep with each other after sex. If you do sleep over, it is always just a completely platonic gesture. No kissing or fondling. Something about falling asleep in each other’s naked bodies is too mushy and couple-like. The type of thing that make you puke.

“Why?” You frown defiantly at him. “It’s not even your birthday anymore, it’s past midnight. So technically, I don’t have to treat you like royalty anymore.”

“Why not?” Taehyung rebuts, that cocky expression making you want to nipple-cripple him. This difficult son of a bitch, does he not know that the line is going hazy between you two?

“It’s weird, we just had sex.”

“So? What do you have against sleeping together after sex? Scared that you’ll fall in love with me?”

Your chest sinks to your stomach. You swear to god, Kim Taehyung is going to be the fucking death of you, stupid shit. How could he even say something like that so casually?

“In your fucking dreams, prick. If anything, you’d be the one to fall in love with me first, I just made you cum three times.” Taehyung chuckles at the flash of fury in your eyes, amused by how easy it is to strike a nerve in you.

“Do you want me to fall in love with you?” Though his tone is playful, and the wiggle of his brows suggests his mockery, you don’t know if he is completely joking anymore. And suddenly, everywhere that you’re touching - your entangled legs, his hands on the small of your back, your chests pressed on each other - everywhere starts to burn.

“Shut up, I’ll fucking sleep here, okay?”

And so this night, for the first time in the seven months you’ve been on-and-off fornicating alongside your unwavering friendship, you rest in Taehyung’s bed, your frame tucked snugly in his, his arm reposed on your waist. And despite your fatigue, it takes too long for sleep to find you as you watch his shoulders rise and fall in the dark, lips slightly parted, beckoning you to kiss them.

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26/12/19

© Copyright 2019

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@taexxxiiaa @shookpreme @taetaeobsessed @tangledsparkles @nonexistentfucks @evilkookie @nbiased95 @taehyungmakesmeoof @itscalledgayhoney @tahaing @deliciouslydisturbed365 @expensive-bangtan-girl @jwlmnbt @herakimkim @dnyad @kaepjjang365 @expensive-bangtan-girl@gingerpeachtae @spring2787 @askingtheimportantthingshere @casualminiaturetimemachine @xblackclover13x @vasysauce @deadinsidebitch2412 @emiyooa @i-dont-even-know-fck @chimycthulhu @gixanjos @hisunshiine @xtaeyi @softjellyjimin @bluemooncnblue @malfeitofeitto @bangtanfancamp @keopitae @out-of-jams

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

[3zun fixit extra #2 - I have to stress right away that this has spoilers for upcoming plot points, as in you’ll be able to kind of know where I’m planning to go with at least one aspect of the story. If you want to avoid spoiling the main story for yourself, read part 9 before you read this extra.]

[Masterpost]

[Extra #1]

Nie Huaisang sweeps into Cloud Recesses with little fanfare.

He’s brought a few junior disciples with him who need to get used to traveling as well as two experienced, more seasoned cultivators as a sort of ‘guard’, but other than that he travels lightly. Times are peaceful, after all. He and his two guards can handle anything that might accost them on the way, and they have nothing to be wary of in Cloud Recesses proper.

They’re greeted at the gates by Wei Wuxian, looking cheerful as ever.

“Nie-xiong!” he cries, flinging his arms wide with a grin and Nie Huaisang is quick to snap his fan open to hide his pleased smile. The disciples he’s brought along haven’t yet had a chance to meet anyone who would treat him so flippantly - not that many exist - and he can feel their scandalized glares at Wei Wuxian over his shoulders.

“You can’t greet Sect leaders like that, Wei-gongzi,” Nie Sizhen sighs from her spot just behind his left shoulder, long-suffering as ever, and Wei Wuxian throws his head back to laugh, thoroughly undaunted by her looming presence despite the fact that she’s fully capable of snapping him in half without breaking a sweat.

“I can when your Sect leader is my childhood friend, don’t be so stuffy! Come in, come in! I’ve asked for the best guest rooms to be prepared for you. How was the trip?”

Nie Huaisang steps forward into Wei Wuxian’s one-armed embrace, the other Nie cultivators falling into step behind them as Nie Sizhen begins outlining the few interesting details of their trip. Nothing terribly alarming - reports of a yao, a few hauntings, a water ghoul that they were able to quickly dispatch of on their way; nothing that the Nie couldn’t handle - and Wei Wuxian nods along as he listens.

The conversation lasts them long enough that by the time the report is over and Wei Wuxian’s few questions for more details have been answered, they’re in position to disperse into their separate guest quarters and relax from the trip for the afternoon.

“Oh no no, not you Nie-xiong. You’re coming with me,” Wei Wuxian says easily enough when Nie Huaisang begins to pull away but there’s a glint in his eye hinting at something further below the surface.

“Aiyo Wei-xiong,” he whines - his first words since setting foot in Cloud Recesses. He would never admit to the cause being a desire to escape Wei Wuxian’s immediate attention, but, well...it wasn’t not that reason either. “I’m tired, can’t it wait until after I’ve had a nice nap?”

“Nope! Come on, come on,” Wei Wuxian teases, ushering him down the hall with ease. “I’ve got wine, you know, and some of those osthmanthus cakes you like.”

“Bribery,” Nie Huaisang replies in open approval with another smile behind his fan. “Alright fine, but you don’t get to eat any of the cakes.”

“We’ll see about that!” Wei Wuxian’s laugh rings through Cloud Recesses as they take the quickest path to the Jingshi, the one that cuts straight through the pavilions of classrooms full of students. None of the adults walking serenely through their home even flinch at the sudden disruption of the quiet atmosphere. Wei Wuxian babbles about nothing much at all as they walk through his home, his chatter loud and familiar.

Anyone who didn’t know him well would miss the edge of tension underneath it without missing a beat.

They reach the Jingshi but Wei Wuxian only stops to pick up a basket from the porch before gesturing for him to follow again to lead him to a path - the entrance of which is tucked away at the side of the house - that stretches back into the forest behind it. He eyes it a bit warily and distracts the eye away from studying his face too closely with an artful snap of his fan to shut it and gesture in the direction of the path.

“Does this go all the way to the back hill?” he asks, not really caring about the answer, just aiming to stall. What’s alarming is that a couple of days ago he had received a letter from Wei Wuxian entirely out of the blue. A letter full of thinly veiled threats, to his surprise, and now the author of said threatening letter is taking him into the woods while Nie Huaisang’s own cultivators are all the way back in the guest pavilion resting. Not that he can’t defend himself, of course, but Wei Wuxian is of a completely different caliber than...well, anybody but the Twin Jades. He feels it’s perfectly valid to feel a bit alarmed.

“Nah, just a little ways into the forest where we keep the rabbit hutches. A-Xiao is in bed with a bit of a fever going through the student dormitories and Lan Zhan and Madam Lan are tending to him, I don’t want to disturb his rest. Picnic?”

Nie Huaisang taps his fan once on his palm and then takes a confident step forward to fall into step next to his friend. The silence as they walk is all the more stark for Wei Wuxian’s talkativeness on the way to the Jingshi.

“This is supposed to be the part where you tell me why I’m here,” Nie Huaisang observes once they’re stepping into the little clearing teeming with soft white, black, and spotted rabbits. Wei Wuxian’s sharp look at him has him twitching his fan open again to wave it lazily under his own chin to add to his air of innocent nonchalance.

“I wanted to see you, do I need another reason?” Wei Wuxian asks with convincing sincerity.

“Your letter made it seem more urgent than an excuse to see my pretty face,” he teases with another flutter of the fan.

“How dare you accuse me of having ulterior motives, Nie-xiong.” Wei Wuxian’s pout as he steps further into the clearing to plop down with the basket and start pulling things out is almost believable. Nie Huaisang watches him out of the corner of his eye as he ostensibly looks around at the rabbits going about their little lives, hopping around and snuggling together, a few of them munching on grass.

“Come on, sit down. I know you’re tired,” Wei Wuxian calls once he has everything laid out and Nie Huaisang obliges with a quiet sigh behind his fan. At least they’ll be getting this out of the way soon, whatever it is.

“Do you really expect me to believe that you didn’t have a specific reason for wanting to see me, Wei-xiong?” He reaches his free hand out to pluck a cake off the dish and he hides the bite he takes behind his fan, eyes dark and wide as he watches Wei Wuxian over the edge of the silk. “You forget I know you so well.”

“So direct! Where’s the famed delicate touch of Nie-Zongzhu? Is this what you teach all your spies to do? For shame, Nie-xiong, if this is the best you can do it’s a wonder any of your cultivators can actually be at all sneaky.”

“Aiyo! Why shouldn’t I be direct? You know I don’t hide anything from you, Wei-xiong.”

“Don’t you?”

Even the rabbits go momentarily still as tension suddenly blankets the clearing. Nie Huaisang stops the gentle fluttering of his fan and his gaze goes equally sharp as the two childhood friends study each other across the hodge-podge picnic spread between them.

Wei Wuxian breaks it first, shaking out his shoulders a bit before lounging back in the grass to rest on one elbow, a jar of wine in his other hand.

“Er-ge’s not feeling well,” he says idly as if commenting on the weather, the seeming non-sequitur making Nie Huaisang frown ever so slightly.

“Did something happen? Da-ge and san-ge haven’t said anything.” Not that they’re his only sources of information on what’s going on in Cloud Recesses, of course, but they’re his most reliable sources for the relationship between the two of them and Lan Xichen.

“We’re keeping it pretty quiet. But this is where I think you can help.”

“Me? Lan Sect has the best healers out of all of us, and you’ve got Wen Qing near enough to send to for help as well. Why me?”

“He’s being treated by the healers too, don’t worry about that. You don’t even have to see him if you don’t want to, but I’ve got some questions for you. Actually -” Wei Wuxian’s gaze becomes, if possible, even sharper, “I’ll tell the story, and if it makes you recall something you can tell me.”

Nie Huaisang freezes. It’s been a long time since anyone has been able to make him feel like prey, and he certainly doesn’t appreciate the feeling now. But - what he considers one of his greatest virtues is to know when to accept defeat gracefully.

“Oh...I don’t know.” Despite the words and the way he’s ‘shyly’ ducking behind his fan, his tone is sly and he watches triumph flare, bright and hot, across his friend’s face. “I really don’t know.”

“I knew it,” Wei Wuxian breathes and then he laughs, loud and genuine with his head thrown back until his laughter echoes off the bamboo around them like the peals of a bell. It’s...a far cry from the reaction he had expected based on the tone of Wei Wuxian’s letter and his behavior leading up to this point, but he also knows his friend uncommonly well and he knows that there’s truly nothing else to be done in such a situation. So after a moment he joins in, laughing quietly as he collapses the fan to set it on his lap and then leans forward to snag another cake. He breaks a piece off just to have something else to do with his hands.

“Alright, you’ve finally caught me. Be open with me now Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang hedges when Wei Wuxian has calmed again and is back to watching him like a hawk. “What’s wrong with er-ge? Why are you so sure I can help?”

“He’s like us.”

Nie Huaisang snorts and makes a joke like he would have in their youth before the reality of that statement sinks in.

“Yeah that’s not news, we all like a good dicking down, what - oh! When did that happen? He certainly hasn’t been like us before now, I would have noticed while he was courting da-ge and san-ge. They’ve all three been blissfully unaware so far.”

“A couple of days before I wrote to you. I sent for you when he started feeling unwell. We can talk about it in a moment though, it’s not an emergency and he’s being very well attended. I want to know when you got here. You were a child when Lan Zhan and I got here, I met you. Even a skilled liar like you can’t pretend to be a four year old that convincingly.”

That draws him up short and he blinks for a long moment as he does the math.

“You came back when you were five? That must have been miserable. Dealing with puberty twice was enough for me, I didn’t need to relive my entire childhood.”

“So when exactly did you come back?”

“The summer we all studied here. I woke up in the middle of the night and I was just..here. 15 years old again, in the guest dormitories.”

“We had already been studying for a while? It was around this time of year?”

“Yes, we were well into our classes. You said er-ge began feeling unwell after a couple of days?” he suddenly asks - it’s been a while since he had ruminated on how his life had suddenly changed one night, or the weeks that had followed, but as he thinks on it it comes back all at once in a burst of clarity.

“Yes. Why?”

“Is he seeing things? Nightmares?”

“Okay, this is going to keep us going in circles. Why don’t you tell me the story and I’ll compare it to what I already know.”

It’s a fair enough request so Nie Huaisang nods and finishes off the little cake in his hands as he gathers his thoughts.

“Before, in our first life - your second life, I guess -, I came to Cloud Recesses to talk to Hanguang-Jun. I wanted...I wanted his advice on Sect business, and I wanted to see if I could see er-ge. I just wanted to talk to him, Wei-xiong, I swear. I knew he was still in seclusion and..not that I think I could have helped, but I figured if he’d been in seclusion for so long then I probably couldn’t hurt him any more than I already had, you know? And maybe I could have helped, I don’t know. Anyway - I was in Caiyi Town, I was going to come up the mountain the next day for my visit, but when I woke up in the middle of the night that night I was already here. It was so strange, but not as strange as waking again in the morning and watching you and Lan Zhan go walking by hand-in-hand as teenagers. I thought I was going mad - you were both so young but he wasn’t keeping you at a distance like when we were actually young, he was already letting you hang all over him. I watched you for half a day and it was like seeing you married as teenagers and I figured you had done...well I didn’t know what exactly, but clearly you had done something.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? This whole time and you’ve known Lan Zhan and I have been..as we are.”

Nie Huaisang picks up his fan again to flick it open to start fanning himself, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knee as he watches Wei Wuxian.

“It’s not my business,” he replies and he has the pleasure of watching Wei Wuxian’s lips twist in the way that means he’s secretly annoyed but determined not to show it. “I wanted to watch and see what was going on, and after a few months it was clear you had it all well in hand. Though I do appreciate you letting me decide how to handle da-ge and my sect. That was thoughtful of you.”

Wei Wuxian snorts, shakes his head, and chugs a few more mouthfuls of wine.

“It was just supposed to be me and Lan Zhan. This is getting out of hand,” he mutters to himself and Nie Huaisang wonders - as he’s sure Wei Wuxian is wondering as well - if he and Lan Xichen have come along on this...whatever this is, how many others are there out there that they don’t know about yet? “Well go on then, keep going. Tell me what happened that means you know what er-ge is experiencing.”

“It started a few days in,” he says softly, his fan going still as he looks over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder towards the forest. “Nightmares from our old life. I kept dreaming of the night da-ge died. Everything I had to do to take Jin Guangyao down. The world turning on you. Watching A-Cheng become angry and bitter as he withdrew from everyone but Jin Ling. They were so vivid...they weren’t just idle dreams, Wei-xiong. They were memories, and I started having them while I was awake as well. Visions, I suppose. I looked at er-ge one morning at breakfast and he was fine one moment, a happy teenager..and then the next moment he had san-ge’s blood all over him and he was looking at me in horror, like at the temple. He was normal again a moment later and he wasn’t even looking at me but I couldn’t stop it, everything just kept flickering like that. This life, the old one, then back.”

“When did it stop?”

“I really don’t know. Genuinely!” he protests when Wei Wuxian gives him a skeptical look. “I don’t! It was slow, and gradual. I started getting flashes of memories of this life instead, things I had never seen before but they were vivid like the others. And then one day I realized I hadn’t had a vision of any kind in months, and then years, and then I realized when I needed to I could recall anything from this life, and anything from the other as well. It’s like I’ve lived twice, even from before I was 15, though both childhoods are still sort of..murky, I suppose. Equally so, though. I remember da-ge having to take over raising me, and take over the sect, all of that. But this time er-ge came to visit us a lot and he and da-ge would sit close together and flirt, and that didn’t happen last time. I remember both.”

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath in and another long pull on his wine. “What a mess,” he mutters with a sigh once he’s finished, swiping his sleeve across his mouth.

“Wei-xiong?”

“Mhm?”

“Thank you.” Wei Wuxian looks up at him and Nie Huaisang drops his fan, his pretenses, his walls. He lets Wei Wuxian see the relief in his eyes, and the affection that he has for him as well, this dear friend of his that he’s lost and found again far too many times even for two lifetimes.

“Ah?”

“You gave me da-ge back. A chance to do it again. It might be a mess, but it’s the good kind, and we’ll get it figured it out. We’ve already cleaned up one much larger mess rather thoroughly together, haven’t we? We’ll clean this one up too, if it goes beyond me and er-ge. As it is, I’ve already long settled into it, and I did it without letting on to anybody. Er-ge will be alright.”

“He’s just..he’s been so lost.”

“And I wasn’t?” Nie Huaisang allows a bit of irritation to snap in the back of his voice and that makes Wei Wuxian pause, the jar of wine pressed against his lips for another sip he hasn’t taken yet. “Not all of us had the luxury of disappearing from the world after we all helped Jin Guangyao tear it down around our ears. Some of us were just as lost and alone we had to pick up and carry on anyway. Without revenge, without a target, knowing I’d been neglecting my people for years for a scheme, you think I wasn’t lost when it was all over? My...My brothers, Wei-xiong. I lost all three of my brothers, years apart in a slow torture that I forced myself to have a hand in. You never truly trusted me again. A-Cheng wouldn’t come near me. You think I wasn’t lost?”

“Okay thank gods, that’s better than being thanked,” Wei Wuxian chuckles around the mouth of the jar as he takes another sip. “I know you were lost, Nie-xiong. We all were to varying degrees, that’s why Lan Zhan and I did this in the first place. But you have to understand, we never expected anyone else to be part of it. The fact that you’re here, and Zewu-Jun…”

“Give him some credit. He’s stronger than he seems, and he has plenty of support. It’ll be better when he starts remembering this life, too, don’t forget. Things will settle.”

“Aiyah. Since when do you offer such good reassurance, Nie-xiong? You should visit more.” Wei Wuxian grumbles and Nie Huaisang has to laugh at that, snapping his fan up to cover his face as his eyes perhaps water quite a bit more than the situation outwardly calls for as relief floods through him. He composes himself quickly and lowers the fan again to stop hiding, though he keeps it open just in case.

“You should come see me, Wei-xiong. I do actually run a Sect this time you know, even if da-ge and san-ge help me. You can take some time off from terrorizing the Lans to come terrorize my disciples instead.”

“Hm...I think I’d like that,” Wei Wuxian muses with a bemused sort of smile as he looks up at the clouds scudding their way across the patch of sky visible amongst the bamboo. “The little ducklings you brought with you today looked as scandalized as Lans when I called you Nie-xiong. If they’re all that easy to tease I’ll have lots of fun with them.”

“It’s because they’re terrified of me,” Nie Huaisang says flippantly as he leans forward to take another cake and nibble on it as daintily as he can manage. “And even A-Cheng doesn’t call me anything so familiar in public, you know.”

“Well that’s just because he’s a coward who cares about propriety,” Wei Wuxian replies with a grin. “Not my fault your own husband can’t bear to call you anything but ‘Zhugong’ where others can hear. You’re my Nie-xiong, you always have been, and I’ll address you as such.”

Nie Huaisang has the urge to hide his pleased smile behind his hand, but instead he forces himself to let it show and in doing so earns himself a wink and a toast from Wei Wuxian in response.

[uchihacore]

newton’s third law

PAIRING: keishin ukai x reader SUMMARY: every action has an equal and opposite reaction WARNINGS: nsfw, pegging, blowjobs

You frown at your reflection in the tiny rearview mirror, rubbing at the edge of a purple mark peeking out of your shirt collar. You hadn’t noticed it last night, but then again, you hadn’t really noticed much outside of Keishin calling you ‘Princess’ as he sat you in his lap and pressed a vibrator between your legs. And really, can you fault yourself for that?

Lucky for you (or rather for lucky for Keishin), you always carry a tube concealer in your purse, just for these types of situations. You pull out the tube and dab some concealer onto your tender neck, gently patting away the cream until it blends with the rest of your skin.

“Sorry 'bout that,” Keishin says from the passenger seat. You can see him from the corner of your eye, and he’s grinning like an idiot, which makes sense because he is an idiot.

“No, you aren’t,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. You need to get him out of your car before he makes you late for work, or worse, a student sees you with him. You pack the tube away, pulling out your lipgloss as Keishin shrugs unapologetically.

“Nope, not even a little bit. But really,” he says, leaning in closer until you can feel his breath on your ear, “can you blame me? Seeing you all marked up, having to hide my hickeys at school, it’s so hot.”

“Nice to know you’re turning into a caveman, Keishin,” you say. And blush because the heater is on and not because of how close he is, the bruise on your neck tingling, “but not everyone gets the luxury of working for our mommy. Some of us have real jobs.”

(Which, admittedly, is a low blow. Especially considering he coaches the boys’ volleyball team for practically nothing, and gives Karasuno students discounts on like half his inventory.) You purse your lips together to rub in the lipgloss, fighting back an apology.

“And yet, here you are,” Keishin notes, seemingly unruffled. “Hiding my artful love-bites under a layer of makeup. Real job and all.”

“Get lost, Keishin,” you say, rolling your eyes. You toss your lipgloss into your makeup bag and turn to him. “I have classes to teach.”

“Of course you do. Have a good day at work, Princess.” he says, and the ballsy bastard actually kisses you before getting out of your car. You give him your best-unimpressed glare, and his smile widens when he turns and sees your expression before heading into the store.

And okay, yeah, maybe you a part of you is blushing and giggling on the inside like some idiot schoolgirl, but only because you’ve been treated like many things in your lifetime, from bitch to queen to child, but no one had ever made you feel like the Keishin does, like an actual, honest to God, princess.

But the other part is trying to figure out when he got so cocky, and how you’d allowed that to happen. Before you can contemplate further, a group of third-year students passes your car, and you put the car back into drive. Suddenly self-aware of how strange you must look mooning after the Sakanoshita Store guy, of all people.

You ponder it on the walk to your classroom, your sex life, or whatever it’s called, with Keishin Ukai is excellent, you’ll be the first to admit. He’s the first man ever to make your voice hoarse from moaning. But the last thing you want is for him to get a big head over it. He’s annoying enough as it is, thanks.

No, you need to get Keishin back down to Earth, somehow. He needs to be taught a lesson, taken down a peg.

And just like that, it hits you. Throwing a glance at your class, who are all too busy with morning pleasantries to notice, you pull out your phone and do a quick google search, you find the article you’re looking for and skim it. You’ll need to do some after-school shopping, but you’ll gladly sacrifice that cute skirt from H&M for this. You put your phone away and neatly write a line of notes about the kinematics on the chalkboard, drawing a smug little smiley face in the corner. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Your next 'meeting’ (because what the fuck else are you supposed to call it?) with Keishin is on Friday, and today is Tuesday. If you stop at the sex shop tonight and get the supplies, you’ll have two nights to figure them out. Which is essential because the last thing you want is to be unskilled in front of Keishin. He’d never shut up about it.

The school day passes by in a blur. You faintly remember scolding Nishinoya for using Tanaka as a springboard and a brief conversation with Hinata about the ‘epic highs and lows of high school volleyball’. Also, the concept of mitochondrial DNA had been clunking around your headspace for most of the day which was odd because you don’t even teach biology. Still, mostly you were just focused on the tantalizing idea of giving Keishin a taste of his own medicine.

You drive to the sex shop two towns over, as opposed to the one just off the highway, partly because it’s cleaner, but mostly because there’s less of a risk of seeing someone you know. You’d hate to have a student catching you buying a strap-on. Oh, the rumors.

The salesperson is a heavily tattooed girl with electric blue hair and a black heart stamped on each freckled cheekbone. She’s really helpful, though. She takes her time explaining just how all the buckles work, and which dildo to buy to fit into which harness, so do your best not to judge her too harshly. She also recommends buying silicone-based lube over water-based lube, because apparently it lasts longer and isn’t harmful in anal sex the way it is in vaginal sex.

So you give her a five-dollar tip for her troubles, to which she responds by giving you the toothiest smile you’ve seen in your entire life and telling you your boyfriend has no idea how lucky he is.

Which you give her another three dollars for because she’s completely right.

(About Keishin not knowing how lucky he is to have you. Not about him being your boyfriend, because he’s fucking not, okay?)

You bring your goodies home, feeling like you always feel after shopping: like you’ve just gotten a load of Christmas presents, and they’re waiting to be unwrapped. You have the presence of mind to hide the black and red bag in your oversized purse before entering your building. Just in case you happen to share the elevator with one of the old ladies on your floor.

Once you get into your apartment, you lock your door and layout your purchases on your dining room table, immediately picking up the dildo to test its weight. You’d picked a sparkly ribbed one, not because you particularly like it, but because you can’t wait to see Keishin’s face when he saw it. You’re pretty sure it’ll end up somewhere between shock, reproach, and begrudging amusement.

It’s the same abrasive yellow as Keishin’s bleached hair, average-sized, chosen more for entertainment value than anything else. You slot it into place then give the shaft an experimental tug to see just how well the metal ring in the harness holds it in place. Satisfied with the result, you examine the nubby, double-pronged vibrator on the opposite end of the harness. It’s supposed to go inside you when everything’s in place, so you get something out of it while you fuck Keishin senseless.

Though you’re reasonably sure that the very act itself of fucking Keishin senseless would have you curling your toes, you’re not about to deny yourself some extra stimulation.

You test the silicone lube between your fingertips. It feels weird, like the silicone-based face primer you’d used in high school, though this was less powdery and more expensive. You test on the skin above your knee, curious to see how long it takes to dry off.

While you wait, you take all of your clothes off, hanging up your blazer and throwing the rest in the hamper. You examine the harness, it’s an intimidating contraption of black nylon and silvery buckles, but that doesn’t deter you. You’re a high school science teacher, thank you very much. You explain physics to teenagers all day. This is nothing compared to that.

And actually, when you fit it onto your hips, it’s not too bad. A strap goes around each thigh, like a bikini, and one loops around your waist. You tighten the straps and peer down at the yellow, glittery penis now hanging heavily at the apex of your thighs. Huh. So this is what penises are like?

You grip the base and stroke up, grimacing at the sensation of your hand skidding over the rubber. Oh. Lube. Right. You squeeze some lube onto the dildo and start stroking again, much smoother this time. You hate how good the angle is; no wonder guys get so picky about handjobs. You fist it for a few minutes, feeling the vibrator bump against your clit. Which, considering its not even on, has no right to feel that good.

Once you get used to the way the dildo moves within its ring and how to compensate for the way the straps shift on your hips, you take the strap-on off and clean the dildo of lube. The stuff is way better than water-based lube, and you can’t wait to see it in action. You pack the strap-on and the lube back into the bag and leave it in your bedroom. Then you take a seat at your dining room table, pulling out a stack of ungraded papers instead. Time to spend some quality time with Marie Curie.

The next two days are validating, if nothing else. Keishin’s decided to go full little shit and keeps sexting you in the middle of your lectures like you’re supposed to just be able to explain oxygen theory of combustion after receiving a text detailing just how hard his cock is. You’d given him your best glare and sent a lengthy email telling him to fuck off, but to no avail. Plus, yesterday, he showed up at your office hours after practice, covered in sweat, and looking ridiculously hot, “just to say hi.” You won’t let it bother you, though. He’ll get what he deserves soon enough.

By Friday afternoon, you’re a mass of nerves and vindictive anticipation. Keishin’s been shooting you heated smirks all day. At lunch, he purposefully spills a packet soy sauce all over his hand just to seductively lick it off each of his fingers. You think it really speaks to your libido that, under the righteous indignation, you were actually pretty turned on by that. Stupid fucking Keishin, getting you hot and bothered with convenience store dumplings, of all things.

You’re practically vibrating when you open the door to your apartment at seven sharp, tamping down on your anxiety. You give Keishin your most relaxed, most expectant smile, and he responds by giving you that stupid(ly sexy) smirk and thrusting a bottle of cheap wine your way.

“Hey, Princess,” he says, bending down to peck you on the cheek. “How was your week?”

“Um,” you blink at him owlishly, thrown, “fine?”

“Really?” Keishin asks, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind himself. As soon as the lock clicks into place, he’s on you like a starfish, head tucked into your neck. “Because mine’s been torture. All I can think about is how gorgeous you look under me. Over me. Everywhere. God, you drive me nuts.”

You feel something heavy in your chest. You bring your hands up to card through his hair. “I know the feeling.” Because all jokes and exasperation aside, Keishin’s under your skin in a big way, pumping you full of something that tastes like burnt, thick sugar and smells like Valentine’s Day chocolates. You’re drowning in Keishin Ukai, and you fucking love it.

“Do you now?” Keishin stills, then his hands change directions on your back, one scooping down to you ass and the other up into your hair. “And how does it feel, Princess?”

Oh, and there’s the smarmy little imp that’s been harassing you in school. Your lips curl into a devilish smile, out of Keishin’s line of sight, and you lean your weight into his hold. “Oh, I’m not sure I can even explain it, Keishin,” you sigh woefully. “Maybe I should just show you instead.”

“I think I could get behind that,” he agrees, pulling back. “Maybe even literally.” He leers down at you, eyes dancing with mirth.

“Classy, Ukai.” You snort despite yourself. “Remind me why I ever agreed to have sex with you?”

“Is that a request or an invitation?” His hands fall to your hips, thumbs rubbing lazy circles into your hipbones, “I accept both.”

You purse your lips, whether to fight a grin or a scowl, you’re unsure. “Let’s take this to the bedroom,” you suggest. “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Keishin grins. “Lead the way.”

You set the wine bottle on the table and lead him by the hand to your room, hips swaying, nerves were forgotten. This is going to be so much fun. You open the door to your room, watching Keishin leap onto the bed. “Close your eyes and take off your clothes,” you order, unbuttoning your blouse. Keishin inhales sharply, eyes falling shut as he peels off his shirts and wiggles free from his pants. He’s already half-hard, boxers just beginning to tent.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Not yet, no,” you replied, opening the drawer and pulling out your bag of tricks. you slid the strap-on into place, tightening the buckles with confident, practiced accuracy. “I thought we’d try something different today. Just the thought of it has kept me wet all week.”

Keishin twitches in his boxers, fists clenching on the edge of the bed. “Now, I’ve got to know. ”

“Open your eyes.”

Keishin blinks them open, freezing when they land on the dildo. You stroke it slowly, delighting in the way a ruddy blush works up his toned chest.

“Oh,” he says, sounding faintly disappointed. “I thought….”

“You thought you could tease me all week at school and get away with it,” you supply, baring your teeth when he flinches. “Newsflash asshole, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. So, what do you think of my cock, Keishin? I picked it out special, just for you.”

Keishin shudders, bowing his head in supplication. “Tell me what to do,” he says, voice gone hoarse.

“Answer the question.”

“It’s, uh,” Keishin stammers, glancing up at it, “it’s very… pretty?”

“Damn straight, it is,” you growl, striding toward the bed in long, slow steps. “What are you going to do with such a pretty cock, Keishin?” And wow, where is this coming from? You’re just supposed to fuck him and get it over with. This aggression is all-new, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel good. And, judging by how hard Keishin is, you assume the feeling is mutual.

“Can I suck it?” he asks meekly, eyes pointedly not meeting yours. A total display of submission. You approve. You move to stand in front of him, positioning the cock at his lips, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Keishin groans, reaching out to suck the head into his mouth. He bobs his head, working deeper down your shaft each time. You bite your lip, feeling a hot wave of arousal work down your spine. He’s beautiful like this, cheeks hollowed around the length of yellow, sparkly rubber. Your hand leaves the base to cup the back of his head, and his hand takes its place. He pulls back to suckle at the head, eyes looking up at you heatedly.

Fuck.

“So pretty,” you sigh, hand petting the dark hair on the nape of his neck. “I can see why guys like this so much.” Keishin’s eyes flutter shut, lashes long against his cheekbones. “What do you think, Keishin? Do you like sucking cock?”

Keishin moans, sucking as deep as he can go. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re desperate. His free hand moves to his own cock, pulling it out of the gape of his underwear.

You freeze, pulling his head back by the grip in his hair. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” Keishin shoots you a pleading look, but you’re already pulling out of his mouth, dildo shiny with spit. “Take them off, get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

He stumbles to do your bidding, cock dark red and angry-looking. You pick up the lube from where you’d placed it on the nightstand and kneel behind him. The lube opens with a wet click that makes Keishin jerk in surprise. You spread the lube liberally on your fingers, reaching out to trace one over his hole, teasing. Keishin mewls and pushes back, eagerly. You feel another gush of heat between your legs, pushing the finger in slowly. You work the finger in and out, curling it down to find his prostate. You find it on the fourth try, judging by the way he keens and clenches around you.

The second finger is met with a little resistance, and Keishin takes in a deep breath to relax his muscles. You kiss the small of his back in praise, scissoring the fingers once you’re able. This is a lot more intimate than you’d expected it to be, working Keishin open like this. It fills you with a strange sense of responsibility, you want to do this right, you want to make it good for him.

“Just relax, Keishin,” you whisper, as he whines and clenches around your third finger, “you can do this. We can stop anytime you want.”

Keishin heaves a great, shivering breath, but he relaxes. You work as slowly as you can, pushing against his rim more than thrusting in until he’s loose enough to take you. You squirt more lube onto your fingers, pushing them slowly into him until he takes them all the way to the knuckle. You make sure to graze his prostate every few thrusts, only content when he’s moving back to meet you thrust-for-thrust.

“M'ready,” he whispers, sounding wrecked. You pressed a kiss his hipbone in sympathy. “Want you.”

“Okay,” you say softly, pulling your lube-slick fingers out of him. You lube up your cock quickly, pressing the tip to his rim. “You sure?”

“Do it, Princess,” he says, wriggling his hips, “or I’ll start bringing bananas for lunch.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Idiot.” You hold the cock firmly in one hand, pressing it carefully into him. His breath hitches and stops, and he leans into the intrusion. You press a wet kiss to the back of his neck when the head slides in. “How’s that?” You ask, moving slowly until the base of the dildo is pressed against his ass.

“Gimme a minute,” he manages, shoulders locked with tension. You hold your position, rubbing soothingly over his back and down his flanks. After a minute, he moves, shoulders relaxing. “Go slow, okay?”

You murmur an “okay” and pull out an inch. You move back in, starting a rhythm of tiny thrusts. You only lengthen them when he grows impatient and flails a hand at you. You pull out almost all the way, then shove back in, gasping when the vibrator buzzes to life over your clit.

You begin moving in earnest, grinding into him to feel the vibrator flutter against your clit. God, it felt good. You shift to the right a little, and Keishin moans, all high and whimpery and divine. You move to hit that spot again, grinning when he chokes out another moan. You angle yourself so that all of your thrusts will meet that spot, draping yourself over his back to work a hand on his cock. He’s hard as a rock and dripping pre-cum as he twitches under your touch.

Keishin makes a broken sound and works his hips, thrusting back onto your fake cock and forward into your fist. You feel the world spin around you; this was by far the hottest thing you ever done with anyone.

And you think Keishin might agree because thirty seconds later he starts babbling:“ fuck, I’m gonna cum. Shit, feel so perfect inside me, please, let me cum, tell me I can cum, please. I need you to say yes, please.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth. He wants you to give him permission? Oh, fuck, yes. “Cum for me, Keishin, wanna see you cum around my cock,” you command, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. Keishin whimpers, and he’s cumming, hips spasming. You watch his hole clench around your cock and feel yet another gush of heat, this one dripping down your thighs. You continue to move inside him until he gasps and pulls away. You pull out slowly, groaning at the way his skin tugs around the length of you.

He flips onto his back as soon as he’s free, fingers racing to undo the buckles of your harness. “You didn’t come.” He huffs, tugging at the straps, “I wanna make you come. Please let me.”

You shove the strap-on away, throwing it half-way across the room. “How do you want me, Keishin?”

Keishin collapses, rubbery, on the bed. “Sit on my face, Princess.”

Fuck. You can do that. You move up until your knees bracket his head and hold yourself over his face. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispers, kissing the dampness from your thighs, working up to your center.

He licks into you delicately, mopping up all of your juices. You’re hypersensitive already and gasp into his teasing touches. Keishin slides his tongue inside you, curling it upwards. You keen, grinding down onto his mouth before you can stop yourself. You move to pull off to apologize, but Keishin holds your hips down, face more blissful than you’ve ever seen it. You run your fingers through his hair, swiveling your hips over his mouth.

“Need you on my clit,” you gasp and Keishin hums (which, okay, wow) and sucks your clit between his lips, sliding two thick fingers into you. He licks and sucks at you, pushing you farther and farther closer to the edge, but it’s the gentle nibble that finally pushes you over it. You scream soundlessly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the bed. His hands keep you from falling off his mouth as he licks you down from your orgasm. When you mewl in discomfort, he presses one last kiss to you clit before pulling away.

You collapse next to him, thighs sore and blissed out.

“Learn your lesson?” you asked him sleepily, eyes closing.

“No wonder none of the boys are failing physics. You’re quite the teacher,” Keishin nods, still panting slightly. “Though, I think you may have to go over it again sometime.”

You laugh and turn to look at him. He’s smiling back at you, eyes soft and happy. The heavy feeling in your chest returns, and you feel like you can’t breathe. You lean in and kiss him, ignoring the way he tastes like you. His own flavor was much sweeter. “I think we can manage that,” you whisper against his glistening lips.

He lazily tangles his hand in yours and brings it up to kiss you knuckles. “Good.”

When you wake the next morning with muscular forearms wrapped around you, you panic for a moment before remembering who it is and relax into Keishin’s embrace.

[baby-grayson]

Sweet Enigma: Part 1

The year is 2023.

The date is January 1, 2023.

Kathleen Walker is sitting at her desk, in her lab. She is biting the nail of her right thumb while scrolling through a massive spreadsheet of data with her left hand. Above her, fifty-year-old fluorescent lights beam down with a gentle hum. She is alone, working through the New Year’s holiday to wrap up a project that will eventually change her career.

Behind her, mounted in the corner of the room, is a small box TV—maybe 13 inches wide at maximum. That TV was usually reserved for either mundane things, like the weather report, or extremely special occasions, like presidential inaugurations. On that night, Kate had flipped it to a random channel, E!News, providing her some comforting background noise in the dark and eerie laboratory. She grunts softly to herself, feeling as though she is thinking in circles.

The black of night had just fallen on the skyline of LA. Outside her small window, Kate could hear the consistent drumming of rain beating against the pavement. Kate despised the amount of rain LA got in the winter; it was a meek imitation of the wonderful snowfall in her beloved Philadelphia. The pouring rain only adds to her negative feelings about working through the night.

Her bad mood only worsened when the next E!News segment came on. Usually, when something crossed her path about Grayson Dolan, Kate was quick to change the channel or shut off her phone. Not because she harbored negative feelings towards Grayson, but because it wasn’t fair to hear about the life of her ex-boyfriend from third-party news sources, without an avenue to ask him herself or tell him about her new life. When the Dolan Twins would get themselves involved in the rare scandal or controversy, Kate would silently support them, remembering in her heart that they were good people.

And that’s all Grayson Dolan was, a memory. The kind of memory that Kate sometimes wondered if she was glamorizing in her mind, or if Grayson was truly as dreamy as she remembered him.

But Kate’s frustrations only grew when the peppy host on E!News started her latest segment from the small box TV.  

“It has been two weeks since Grayson Dolan announced his engagement to fitness designer and model Sherry Maddox—”  this is usually when Kate would roughly grab the remote and change the channel before any of the report’s words traveled to her brain. However, this time Kate slowly spun in her desk chair to see what Grayson’s new fiancé looked like.

Kate is greeted with the image of curvy, busty, blonde who looks something like a cross between Marilyn Monroe and a Disney Princess. She had bouncy blonde curls and a beauty mark on her upper lip. The TV showed a clip of her hanging onto Grayson’s arm at some event. Kate is struck by Grayson’s image: he really is as every bit of gorgeous as she remembered him. 

Kate brusquely turned around—disinterested, a bit bitter, and ready to get back to her work. She quickly grabbed the remote and muted the TV after hearing the words, “Grayson Dolan is scheduled to celebrate his new engagement to fitness designer and model Sherry Maddox tonight. The pair are reported to be planning their wedding in Califor—” Kate stopped the sound before the reporter could continue.

Kate took a deep breath before returning to her computer. She tried to get back to work. She sincerely tried to grab her calculator and punch in some numbers. Her own brain betrayed her. She dropped the calculator on the surface of her desk and sighed. She huffed and puffed, unsatisfied with her own performance that night.

Her head lifted when she heard a drumming noise coming from the hallway. She thought she was the only person working late on New Years’ day.

Before she can stand from her chair to investigate, a man barrels through the door. She freezes in fear, suddenly acutely aware of the dangers that working alone harbors. In an instant, her pulse quickens to a dangerous rhythm. If she were calm, she would grab her work phone and quickly dial campus police. She is too frozen in fear to move. But her fear fades into awe as she recognizes the sharp jawline of his face and the gold flecks in his eyes—he looked as if he was pulled straight out of her memories from Summer 2020.

Grayson’s eyes hold a veil of panic as he stares back at Kate. He lost his breath for a moment.

This gives Kate the opportunity to peer down and see Grayson dressed in button down shirt and printed, velvet suit pants. A much more formal outfit than anything she had ever seen him in.

Grayson’s mind finds an air bubble of clarity as he drowns in Kate’s big brown eyes, plush round mouth, and the wisps of hair escaping from her ponytail to frame her face. “I’m sorry,” his voice sounded as frantic as that moment felt, “I didn’t know what to do, “He ran his fingers through his hair, clearly disturbing his hair sprayed droop. He took in a hard breath and licked his lips, “I don’t know what I’m doing. But I know what I’m doing,” he nodded softly with wide eyes, “I needed to see you. Now. With everything that’s happening. I needed to see you. To see you like here to like in person. Sherry’s been going crazy since…well she flew her sister Coral out for tonight and was mad when I gave my mom the guest room and not Coral, even though she’s pregnant,  and my mom kept complaining that our colors were dark for an engagement party and we needed more flowers but Sherry doesn’t like any of the florists in LA and Ethan kept telling me to hold it together this is just the energy of the moment but it’s not the energy of the moment it’s the energy of everyday and this is going to be the everyday for the rest of my life and I—well I—” Grayson was breathing as if he had just run a marathon.

“Gray—son” Kate finished, not being comfortable using his nickname when he was basically a stranger. “What are you doing here?” Grayson inhaled deeply and looked down at her. He met her eyes. His gaze lost its wild veil for a moment as he said surely, “Two and a half years ago, I said goodbye to you because I knew I wasn’t ready for the kind of love you brought into my life. Well today, I’m ready for that kind of love but I’m engaged to someone who reminds that I will never get back everything I lost when I gave you up.”

“What are you talking about?” Kate gaped, looking from Grayson’s shoes and back to his face, as if she could find the answer on his body. Grayson took in a few ragged breaths while she folded her face in confusion. A million questions ran through Kate’s mind in that moment, but the one that made its way to her lips was “How did you even find me?”

Grayson licked his lips, which were dry from hoarding hot breaths “The school was closer than your apartment,” he strategically avoiding noting that his memories placed Kate’s apartment on the more hostile side of LA, “Google gave me your office number,” he exhaled and held his palms out, “I just hoped you were here.”

“What would you have done if I wasn’t?” Kate’s brown eyes looked up wide, her voice was low and grounded.

Grayson closed his mouth into a tight line, “I—I don’t know.”

Kate had a valid question. If Grayson hadn’t found her working late on New Year’s Day, would he have returned to his engagement part, and his life with Sherry? Truthfully, he really didn’t know the answer. In choosing to escape from his ensnared life, he let his heart make decisions over his mind. His heart didn’t think things through, it only sought out the last person to make him truly happy: Kate.

Kate broke their silence first. “What do you want to do now?”

“I don’t know.” Grayson’s voice was more breath than sound.

Kate’s eyes locked on Grayson’s, for the first time in two and a half years they shared each other’s gaze. Kate’s heart dove into her body, suddenly remembering the feeling of Grayson’s fingertips tracing her naked skin on Sunday mornings, his lips finding comfort on hers for the first time in his van, and the vision of the sunlight dancing off of his bone structure in the early morning on the beach. The emotional unrest of the moment took hold in her mind. No matter where he had been, Grayson was once the other half of her heart: he was clearly hurting, and she wanted to fix it.

Kate stood up and abruptly started shoving her computer and things into her backpack, “Where are you parked?” She held a sense of urgency in her voice.

Grayson shook his head quickly, “I ran.” Kate stopped packing to look up at him, bewildered, “You ran?”

Grayson nodded, “Yeah I ran,” he passed a hand from his forehead to his hair. It was then that Kate noticed the his damp hair, and the drops of water falling from the collar of his button down shirt. Kate wanted to ask how far he had come but decided that his disshelved look was enough of an answer. She opened her desk drawer to grab her keys and told him, “We’ll take my car” Grayson’s eyes held a sort of innocent uncertainty, “Where are we going?”

Kate looked at the ground, her backpack slung around one shoulder and her keys in her palm. She sucked her lips in quickly, and exhaled. That was a great question, where were they going?  Where would they go? Where do an exhausted PhD student and her wayward, engaged, famous ex-boyfriend belong?

They stood there for a moment, in silence and contemplating what the best next move was. Across town, Grayson’s family and fiancé would tell him that the best place for him would be at his extravagant engagement party; Grayson’s heart knew that any place was better than that party. Kate’s senses told her to drop him off at home; but something about being with Grayson lit a fire deep in her. They stood there: shells of two people who were once in love but had been worn and changed by the courses of the individual lives.

Kate looked up at Grayson. He looked so much like what she remembered but decorated in the strokes of a forlorn man: messy hair frizzing at the edges, a heaving chest, wide eyes, swollen lips. Kate gulped hard, recognizing that the last time she had seen Grayson like this, was the last time she had seen Grayson at all.

Grayson sucked in a breath, wondering if he had brought Kate back to reality. He rocked on his heels subtly, wondering if he was testing her kindness by asking her to give comfort to his aching heart. At that moment, his brain realized that Kate might not have even known about his engagement. He closed his eyes quickly, becoming acutely aware of how much he was expecting out of her when, in the current moment, she was only a kind stranger.

Kate exhaled when Grayson closed his eyes. The tension of her heart strings wanted to tether him to her, until he looked like a capable man again. “My place” she announced, “We’ll go to my place.”

The car ride to Kate’s apartment was eerily silent. Kate’s mind was as full of questions for Grayson as Grayson’s was with questions for Kate. What had happened after they broke up? Had they both been okay? What did okay mean anymore? Did you think about me after we ended things? Do you still think about me now? The answer to that last one was obvious to Kate, Grayson had to still be grasping onto some piece of them to come to her on the night of his engagement party, professing his love for the woman he hadn’t seen in years.

The rain pounded on Kate’s windshield, filling the car with a consistent drumming noise. The sound of the rain highlighted the lack of sound coming from the pair.

Kate still lived in the same apartment she had when she first moved to LA. Grayson noticed how much homier it seemed then, two and a half years later. Kate’s space was still filled with IKEA furniture, but it had been decorated in throw blankets, house plants, and polaroids with her new friends. It was having been a cozy apartment, had it not been filled with the memories of the tainted spaces from that faithful summer.

When they approached her front door, Grayson was caught by the memory of standing on the other side of the door while Kate was stranded in her own bathroom. When Kate inserted her key and turned the deadbolt, Grayson was washed by the sensation of kissing Kate the first night he apologized to her, feeling her towel slip off and hit the ground as they moved toward her bed. When he stepped in the doorway, he was hit by the feelings crawling out of Kate’s apartment after ruining their morning by placing terms and conditions on their relationship.

Kate moved forward, unaware of the conglomeration of thoughts and emotions bombarding Grayson’s brain. She dropped her backpack under the table, laid a hand on its surface and leaned on it. Her mouth went dry when she tried to speak, “Do you want a change of clothes? Or something?” Grayson looked down at himself, now suddenly aware of the wet mess he looked like. His black velvet pants were soaked and ruined, and his shirt was so wet that it clung to his body like a wet shirt at the beach. Any other day, Grayson would have been slightly proud of the bulge of his muscles under the thin fabric. Today, it made him look like the kind of mess he felt. He opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the front door. Grayson looked confused. He turned to Kate, wondering if she had gotten a roommate in the time since he had last visited.

Kate’s head whipped around to face the front door; her eyes went wide. The person on the other side of the door fumbled with their key in the lock.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“What is—” Grayson didn’t finish his question because Kate grabbed his arm and quickly ushered him into the bathroom. She shoved him threw the bathroom door and sent him hurdling toward the back wall.

“Just—just wait here,” she took in harsh breaths and closed the door on him, trapping him in the bathroom.

Frantically, she tried to position herself in a way that looked as close to normal—as if that night was anything normal. She leaned against her dining room table, laying a gentle hand on the corner. She picked up a banana, in hopes trying to appear as if she belonged in the scene—of her own apartment.

As the lock on Kate’s front door opened, a tall young man with a bright smiled walked through the door. He kept his hair trimmed tight, even though it held a close curl to his head. He had a wide nose and kind eyes. Wesley was objectively good looking: not the Greek God that Grayson Dolan was, but still an attractive man.

Wesley slipped in the doorway with a smile, none the wiser to the soaking Dolan being hidden in Kate’s bathroom. “Hey Katie,” he smiled and walked over to kiss her cheek, “didn’t think you’d be here tonight.”

Wesley Brooks was a medical student, hoping to become a neurosurgeon. He met Kate at a party last summer, about six months ago. He had instantly fallen for her big brown eyes and joyful laughter.

Wesley had quickly become a staple in Kate’s life: he would run coffee to her when she was working late, cover for her when she slept in too late, and give her his containers of duck sauce when they ordered Chinese food because he knew how much she loved it.

As a couple, Wesley and Kate made sense. They were both beautiful, brilliant, driven, and young. Kate sometimes felt out of place at school, where most of her peers came from wealthy families and privileged backgrounds: Wesley was one of the few people who could relate to her. He had grown up in rural Georgia and went to college on a generous, philanthropic scholarship.

Kate gave Wesley the key to her apartment about four months ago, when classes had started up again. Wesley regularly stopped by to start making dinner while Kate cleaned up her lab, or to water her plants when he knew she was having a busy week. That night, Wesley stopped by to pick up his gym bag, that he left in her coat closet, before he headed off for a late-night cardio session.

He walked into the room with a graceful step. He kissed her cheek quickly. Kate threw her shoulders back and stiffened her jaw. “You doing alright Katie?” Wesley’s voice was warm and sweet, triggering Kate’s stomach to start lurching.

She nodded quickly as Wesley walked over to the coat closet to grab his bag, “Yeah, just stress. I’m still finishing that project,” her voice wavered no less than three times over the course of that sentence.

Wesley threw the duffel bag around his shoulder and looked back at her, “I’m surprised you’re home honestly, I thought you’d be pulling another all-nighter. Make sure you eat dinner and get some sleep tonight, okay?” He smiled at her from the corner of the room. Kate nodded erratically, “I will,” she threw him a half-hearted smile. “Love you Katie,” Wesley said with his hand on the doorknob. He walked out of the room as she muttered a meek, “Love you too”.

Grayson slowly crept out of his clandestine hiding place in the bathroom. He had heard every word while dripping water onto Kate’s bathmats.

“You have a boyfriend?” Grayson’s question was more of a statement.

Kate exhaled and closed her eyes, hoping that the tension of the moment would disappear if she pretended it wasn’t there.

“I’m sorry,” Grayson started, “I’m so so sorry.” His lips curled. “I should have never left the party, I should have---I could have---I—” “It’s alright Grayson,” Kate’s voice was sure and confident in her answer.

She took in a deep breath, “Let’s go, let’s not—be here anymore.” She hated herself for fearing another intrusion from Wesley.

That Malibu beach remained the same since the last time they visited: embracing on a towel after declaring their love for each other for the first time. Neither one of them was sure who suggested they take refuge on its shores, but it was the perfect place for Grayson and Kate to be alone on that January night.

The rain soaked into the sand, muffling out the drumming noise. The dark sky was not suitable for a midnight walk, so the pair found shelter under a large boulder. They sat down, each not wearing anything that was acceptable for a beach. Sand sneaked its way into Grayson’s dress shoes. Kate’s leggings were being soaked by the wet terrain.

She moved first, looking at him as the wind whipped her dark locks around her head. Her voice was earnest and sincere, “What happened Grayson?”  

“After we broke up, I—I didn’t exactly know what to do. I thought about you all the time, nearly every day. But I knew that wouldn’t do my any good.” Grayson thumb at a where the sand met his wet pants. He exhaled roughly.

He spoke the next part with a vigorous sureness in his voice for the first time that night “I didn’t know—At first, I threw myself into my work: I took up some directing projects, poured energy into Wake heart projects-- I worked with Ethan to design a clothing label. We wanted to remind people to stay positive and keep smiles on their faces.”  

He took a deep breath and nearly mumbled his next few words, “It’s ironic, smiles were so much emptier without you.”

“Eventually, I-I shook myself out of it and started seeing some ….people, started trying to work on all those things that I stupidly did to you back in the day.” He wiped sand from his hands and turned his eyes to the ground, not wanting to have Kate, even in his peripheral vision as he continued.

“I met Sherry about a year and a half ago; she went to an event as someone’s plus one. We started dating like right away. She understood. Not-Not understood me in the way that you do-- did of course, only Ethan comes close to that. But she really understood what kind of pressure was on me with all the businesses and the attention. She always wanted a family, she said that on our first date. I proposed at Thanksgiving, I figured there was no reason not to be with a woman who not only understood my lifestyle but wanted to start a family like me.”

He shook his upper body, as if trying to shake off the raindrops from his messy figure. He looked up from the ground to meet Kate’s gaze as the wind whipped her hair around her face. It was an enchanting image: the sight of her on a beach at midnight; the kind of image that would come to him in his most feverish, rare dreams. She was everything feminine and sweet, with eyes that could offer him comfort after any plight: so different from everything else in his world: his sweet enigma. He swallowed hard and licked his lips, his voice took on a breathy, desperate tone.

“But there is a reason. And that reason is you, Kate.”

[whootwhoot]

»»—— 𝘛𝘛𝘛𝘊 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1: "𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵" ——««

Akaashi Keiji x Fem! Reader 

author’s note: hey guys! this is the first chapter for my 50 followers fic “Third Times The Charm” (TTTC) hope yall like it^^ it’s looooong so ill put it below the cut 

(quick note, I took the privilege of putting myself in this HAHAHAHA)

☕ synopsis: Iwaizumi Y/n, a student who goes to Aoba Johsai as well as the second year manager for the school’s male volleyball team. What happens when she sets eyes on the cute setter from Fukurodani?

[ CHAPTER 1 - It might just work out ]

“Woah” 

You stare in awe as words can’t express the short rush of excitement every time you watch the volleyball players spike the ball. 

“Y/n~” your friend and third year manager for your school’s volleyball team, El hums as she gets your attention. 

“What are you looking at?” 

“The game obviously.” 

El bumps your shoulder with hers, sitting closer to you as she shows her sly smile

“Oh ho, you didn’t specify.” 

“Elaborate on that please.” you ask, eyeing your friend with a curious look 

“Are you watching the ball or the pretty guy setting the ball?” 

You notice how El emphasized on the word “setting”, looking back at the court as she motions with her fingers. 

“That one?” 

You proceed to playfully punch her shoulder 

El lets out a giggle as she leans closer towards you  “I can get his number for you.”

“That’s funny.”  “Besides, I can get it on my own.” El smirks when she sees you rolling your eyes 

“So you’re interested.” 

“NO- I mean, like, that was hypothetical.” 

“Your reaction reaaaaaally isn't helping here.”

The sound of a volleyball hitting the ground cuts El off as the both of you turn your heads over to see the team your cute setter is on, cheering. 

You groan while standing up, heading towards the exit of the hall, with El following closely behind. 

“Awww giving up already?” 

“What do you think?” you wink

“Woah~ were you always this bold or did this happen because you feel like getting back at your ex?”

“C’mon El, I was always this bold. That man just wasn’t worth it.” 

“Now that’s my girl!” El excitedly puts her arm over your shoulder as you slowly conjure up a plan in order to take your pretty setter on a date. 

“Anyways did you see the guy with spiky hair? He’s adorable! The way he cheers makes me want to smile…” your mouth curves into a small smile as your friend continues to gush about the team members from just now. 

----

“Iwa-chan!” 

“Yeah?” 

“Oh, fuck.” you grumble under your breath.

“Language.” your brother gives you a glare as you stick out your tongue at him.

It's always an awkward situation whenever someone says “Iwa-chan”, but hey it isn’t your fault for having the same family name as Hajime. 

Break time at the volleyball camp is chaotic, just a bunch of teenage guys fighting for meat while the team managers watch or help cook the meat. It’s hilarious to watch too.

“Hey El, can you help me with this, I need to uh, leave for a moment.” 

“Sure?” El raises her eyebrows as you pass her the tongs. 

“I’ll uh be riiiiiiight back.”  You swear you saw El wink and mouth “Good luck” at you when you left. 

----

“That’s him! Perfect, he’s not around him right now.” you take a deep breath while hoping your plan will work out like you planned. 

“Hi there! You’re uh, Bokuto right?” 

“Yup!” the boy enthusiastically replies, you look downwards to see his hands holding a plate filled with meat.

“Woah- uh Bokuto-san I have a small request if you don’t mind.” 

“Sure! I’ll gladly help a cute girl like you!!” being stunned by the sudden compliment, you fidget with your hands even more.

“Uh the setter on your team, the one with messy black hair?”

“You mean Akaashi?” 

“That’s his name?”  “Nevermind” you quickly continue to ask your questions.

“Does he have a… you know uh, a girlfriend?” the question came up in a whisper 

“AKAASHI HAS A GIRLFRIEND?” 

Your face flushes pink as you fumble with your hands

“Not so loud! It was just a question!” 

Before Bokuto answered he took a huge bite of his meat, chewing it as he reply 

“MhMm I don’t know, why don’t you ask him? He’s over there.” 

“nO-” you raise your voice at him

“AKAASHI!” 

Before the charming boy can see you, you take off running as fast as you can. Your heart beats fast with an equal amount of embarrassment and excitement. You’ve never felt this nervous before, not even when trying to get your ex out on a date for the first time. With that being said, that man was definitely not worth it. 

You can feel your face heating up as you slow down your steps, out of breath as you sit down on the stairs in front of the hall. 

Well that didn’t work out well, neither did your first attempt this morning. You had your lines ready to ask him, but before you could talk to him your brother yelled for you.  “Dammit Hajime, did you really have to ruin my chances of talking to such a gorgeous man.”

Here you are now sitting in front of the hall, you let out a soft sigh while hugging your legs. 

You didn’t just find Akaashi attractive, the way he has his focus completely in the court when he plays just draws you in more. You want to know more about him, he started out as a complete stranger, but the more you watch him play the more interesting he gets.

He doesn’t celebrate by cheering as loudly as possible, he stands there quietly, always observing and deciding which was the best move. 

He is like the sunset, you want to see more of it as the time goes on. As soon as the sun sets and the orange sky slowly fades to black, you wish to look at it over and over again. 

“Maybe love just isn’t for me yet…” “Dammit y/n don’t let him get to you! Your ex lover was just an asshole who thinks you are undeserving of love.” 

You lightly slap both sides of your cheeks before standing up, determined to find a way to talk to Akaashi. You take a look at your surroundings as you head inside the hall, it was empty at that time with only the belongings of the volleyball players placed on the benches. 

Your eyes sparkle as you come up with a plan.

“THAT'S IT!”

----

“Akaashi come get your stuff.” 

“Bokuto-san… have you been taking photos with my phone?” 

“Why? Is there something in your phone?” 

Bokuto walks over to Akaashi as he holds out his phone,

“Is that a picture of a phone?” 

“Who’s phone is this?” 

“How would I know?” 

“It also has a phone number typed on the screen.”

Akaashi narrows his eyes as he tries to make sense of the photo. He noticed that there was a figure of someone with slightly longer hair in the photo, presumably a girl who took it. There was also a keychain in the shape of an owl connected to the phone in the photo. 

“Maybe you should give them a call or text.” Bokuto suggests as he hands Akaashi his bag. 

“That would be weird… and I don’t even know who they are.” 

“I mean, that person took a photo of their number for a reason right? Akaashi just relax, it should be fine.” Bokuto reassures 

Akaashi stands up, the thought of texting the person who took that picture intrigues him, but should he? What if that person took the wrong phone? What if it was a prank? 

“C'mon Kaa’shi, you won’t know unless you try.”  “And hurry up, the bus is waiting!” 

Akaashi can’t help but softly smile at his friend, you ought to be careful when taking advice from Bokuto-san, but taking this one wouldn’t hurt right? 

----

“Gosh y/n stop it.” 

“Stop what?” 

“You can’t even sit still on the bus right now.” 

El leans closer before asking “What’s got you so excited.” she asks as she raises one eyebrow.

----

“YOU WHAT?” 

“Shhh keep it down El!” 

“You took a photo of your phone with your number on it with his phone?”

“Genius right?” 

El lightly slaps the side of her legs, laughing  “And now you’re waiting for him to call you?”.

“Hey in my defence that was the only thing I can come up with, don’t blame me for having such amazing ideas.” you mock the word “amazing” while waving your arms in the shape of a rainbow.

“Plus, third times the charm.” 

“Hmm y/n, it might just work out.” 

You blush slightly at the thought of that, looking over to the window “Maybe it might…”

“HEY- “STOP PLEASE- STOP THAT!”  El suddenly starts tickling you, making you laugh while yelling for her to stop

“This is payback for not getting the cute spiker’s phone number for me!”

“HeY- that isn’t my fault! You could’ve gotten it yourself A- STOP”

“You done?”  the both of you turn your heads to see Hajime standing beside your seats, glaring at the both of you.

“Some of us are trying to rest here.” 

“Sorry Haji…” you mumble at your brother. 

“Iwa-chan, don’t go too harsh on our managers!” Oikawa yelled from the back of the bus 

“Yeah, don’t go too harsh on us Iwaizumi-kun.” you can’t help but giggle as soon as El said that.

Hajime then looks you in the eye to tell you

“Oh y/n, you’re doing the dishes tonight.”

“Wait... it’s my turn already?” 

“No, but i thought it’d be fun to mess up our turns.” 

“You can’t do that!”

“I’m older than you.”

“BY NINE MINUTES! AND HOW IS THAT A VALID ARGUMENT??”

“Doesn’t change anything.” he smirks as you stare at him with your mouth wide open 

“Can you believe him?” you cross your arms as El pats your back, chuckling at your dismay.

----

“Haji, I’m heading to bed now.” 

“All right, good night Chicken.” 

“Stop calling me that or I’ll tell Tooru-san you think he looks better than you.”

“Using my pride against me huh, well played.” 

“Shut up.” 

Hajime smirks and shakes his head while you run up the staircase to your room.

----

“Finally.” 

You jump onto your bed, happily tossing and turning on it. Just as you reach for your phone, the notification buzzes and it falls from the table. 

“uUghH…” you try to reach it from your bed, stretching your arms as far as you can so you wouldn't need to get up. 

“Who’s this?” you mumble to yourself, staring at the unknown number who just texted you.

╔═════ ∘◦ ☆ ◦∘ ══════╗

Unknown: 

Hello?

Y/n:

Do I know you??

Unknown: 

Who are you?

Y/n: 

WhaT 😕 😕 ?? How did you get my number??

Unknown: 

You were the one who left it on my phone with a picture

╚═════ ∘◦ ❉ ◦∘ ══════╝

“What the hell? Who’s stupid enough to do that?” you read in disbelief

“Tap tap tap” the room was quiet, just the sound of you typing on your phone

╔═════ ∘◦ ☆ ◦∘ ══════╗

Y/n: 

😔 That’s some lame excuse you got there buddy.

Unknown: 

Are you kidding me? Is this a prank? 

╚═════ ∘◦ ❉ ◦∘ ══════╝

“Psh someone probably pranked this poor person.” you were about to drag his contact into your blacklist until a sudden realization hit you like a bullet. 

Are you the idiot who was stupid enough to leave someone a picture of your phone number?

“Oh shit.” 

- end of chapter one - 

  « masterlist / next »

(author’s end notes: omg thanks for reading this far, im sure this was very very hard to read thru^^)

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas : Quirkless Erasure

Also on AO3!

TL;DR: 

In some worlds, Midoriya Izuku is the first quirkless hero. But not in this one, not by far.

Because his homeroom teacher is the hero he's always looked up to: UA's first quirkless Pro Hero.

----

Izuku isn't the only quirkless one, and Aizawa gets into the hero course via emotional devastation against his opponents.

anyway so: quirkless aizawa bc i need that

everyone thinks he has a quirk like emotional manipulation of something but no he's just fucking savage, he gets into the hero course bc he blasted the absolute shit out of mic

everything’s on youtube it’s one of the most viewed videos of all time

this aizawa's eyes are permanently gold bc i headcanon it's his quirk that makes his eyes black, not the colour they flash

"you yell because you have a constant fear no one is really listening to you. you play the class clown and don't try too hard so when you look back you think "i failed because i didn't try" not "i failed because i wasn't good enough""

"bro,,, bro what the fuck did i do to you"

aizawa isn’t even salty he’s quirkless tbh

"you're pushing this on me because it hurts, right? your loud, flashy but damaging quirk means the only thing people think you're useful for is heroics. did you want to do this, or is this the only way society will let you feel comfortable in the role it presses in on you"

"well being quirkless is rough but at least i cn be whatever i want to be"

mics just shell shocked mics not even using his quirk and everyone’s just uwu he’s erasing mics quirk

all aizawa does is walk is close and mutter "society thinks im worthless, which is rough. but you have to put your life on the line or you're nothing better than a villain to the people"

and just, lightly pushes him out of bounds

pls mics just in Love this guy tore him to fucking pieces but Damn

aizawa  helps him up off the floor

"so im probably not wrong but im a little sorry for saying it on live tv"

mic "youre amazing"

aizawa just goes bright red and starts sputtering

aizawa: the emotional devastation hero weakness: genuine compliments

consider 1A teacher aizawa just still made of emotional devastation, nezu made him promise not to use his powers of destruction on his children unless he was expelling them 

this is a quirkless izuku au too, mirio got ofa, allmight encouraged izuku to be a hero after the fight but had no quirk to give him and he manages to make his own way into the hero course

so izuku is a little analyst, gets mostly hero points but uses sharp rebar and poles to smash in the sensors of some robots, getting him a few non-rescue points either. Aizawa is watching like "oh interesting a non-combat quirk" and beside him allmight is vibrating with excitement

"he might actually do it!"

"who might do what"

allmight turns sheepishly to aizawa

"young midoriya on camera 6, he might just be the first quirkless student to pass the enterance exam to heroics straight up"

and aizawa can hardly watch anyone else for the rest of the exam, he adopts this kid on the fucking Spot

hes on the edge of his fucking seat, when nezu sends out the zero pointer. "this kid only needs 10 more points, just ten more" and izuku turns around to look at the 0 pointer and aizawa is like "fuck kid i hope you know what youre doing"

he manages to shove a piece of rebar into the treads, stoping it in its place. it tries to swat him like a bug but he just dives out of the way, picks up ochako and sprints and aizawa is like "holy shit holy shit these bastards better give this kid hero points for that"

like they are assigning final hero points and aizawa has to awkwardly put his hand up "i,,, should probably be excluded from giving midoriya hero points because i went from 0 to bias very very quickly"

allmight just nods sagely

"young midoriya be like that sometimes"

pls aizawa tries to act extra tough bc he can’t let anyone know he’s Adopted this child

for all izuku's brain hes useless w social stuff and thinks aizawa hates him but everyone else k n o w s

also izuku is the only person in 1A who knows ab aizawa's "quirk" and hes like, constantly vibrating w glee around the guy

aizawa walks in the first day, hears bakugo asking how this "quirkless bastard" got in, grabs bakugo w his scarf and yeets him into vlad’s room

"ok students, looks like we are a class of 19. any other comments before we start?"

and like everyone is so lost no one questions it

bakugo is screaming bloody murder until vlad "kindly" tells him ua has a strict no discrimination policy and aizawa would have been well within his rights to expel him

please nezu is like "uwu take one of 1B to make the classes even" and vlad is like "no ive already bonded tough cookies" vlad just adopts bakugo instantly

monoma and bakugou become bros, the baku-squad is 50% a thing, but its mostly 1B students but with pinning kiri. kendo and bakugo both keep monoma in line, monoma and kendo keep bakugo in line

during the sports festival shinsou is like "you must have a blessed quirk to get into the hero course"

and izuku just has this "really. this si what we're doing now" look on his face. hes just gesturing to shinso in exasperation, trying to make eye contact w aizawa hidden up in the commentary box

all you can hear from the box is aizawa quiet snickering as mic tries not to give the game away. he yeets shinso out of bonds and just hauls him back to his feet

"im quirkless you nonce"

"oh,,,"

"yeah, oh. what, gonna be embarrassed a quirkless kid kicked your ass?"

"nah i just feel bad for being a dick"

"ok you are the only valid person ive ever met, come meet my not-dad"

"wait what"

izuku fireman carries shinso into the announcers booth and just presents him to aizawa

you can just vaguely hear "no not kid" "but he'll be perfect" "kid this is live ask me after the festival" "but! hed be perfect! and you could train him to carry on your legacy of soul-crushing burns" "... hmmm"

"do i get a say in this?" "no" "nope"

mic just loudly saying "SO BEFORE WE WITNESS A CHILD CRY LIVE ON AIR AGAIN, AS ALWAYS HAPPENS IN THIS FESTIVAL, LETS START THE NEXT ROUND!"

there’s a counter “days since someone last cried: 0”

please its like "times cried durring all sports festivals" "average cry events" "number of times cried this festival"

aizawa being even more of a dad than canon, like hes a mess he sees on sad kid and he's like "wow that's my kid now"

he makes them soup when they get sick and leaves it outside their doors, refuses to admit its him doing it

soup cryptid

please mic is like 100% in love with him and had been for years but aizawa still has internal bias against the quirkless and thinks he's not good enough for mic so he cant make himself see the flirting for what it really is

“haha he’s just being friendlyL

“aizawa i literally want to marry u”

“awww ur so nice u mean as friends tho right?”

in this au ive decided that quirkless heroes are a thing, but pretty rare, in japan they are all underground bc villains go after them a l o t. there are some public ones in america but they tend to,,, die,,, pretty quickly

and bc there are some quirkless heroes everyone acts like discrimination isn't a thing anymore and quirkless people should shut up while quirkless people are still getting killed and committing suicide at like 500% the rate of people with quirks

also the suicide rate is,,,,, significantly higher in japan but no one ever talks abt it bc japan the “ideal place for people with quirks” so that surely means nothing could ever go wrong

izuku does the "its your power" speech in like 3 parts, before, during and after the sports festival bc he needs he bones w no quirk

stain asks izuku what his quirk is and izuku does the "wouldn't you like to know, weather boy"

",,, where are your parents"

"one abandoned me straight up and the other is giving it a red hot go right now, try me coward"

izuku but everytime he roasts a villain he does it in vine quotes

tl;dr in the au inko is like,, not ok w izuku being a hero and she's trying to do the "leave the school or you can't live here any more" ultimatum and it's not working for her

bc izuku said "ok bye then" and now lives out of his backpack. no one knows. he just like,, sleeps on the train

and iida is like "owo could i come over to your house" and izuku is like

"aaaaa its on fire. yep. made of arsenic and always in flames, why dont we go to the park"

everyone in 1a is like betting on what his house is like. they harass katsuki in 1b but he refuses to talk

hes like "hell no i got thrown into another class for talking ab that nerd eat my left tit"

they only fucking work it out when aizawa and allmight go to izukus house to talk ab dorms and there is literally no one there

aizawa asks izuku ab it like "kid you need to update your forms with your current address" and hes like "oh worm, she moved? wack."

“u,,,,didn’t know,,,,”

“nah lmao i sleep on the bench in a park near here”

“my boy,,,,,l

"what, ochako lives alone!"

"yeah, in a fucking house, kid"

aizawas just: this is literal child abuse i’m ur guardian now

allmight "hes my kid too dont be greedy"

"fuck off all might you already have mirio" "and you already have shinsou!" nighteye, from around the corner "ill take him!" aizawa and allmight "NO"                                  

mic adopts him nezu just sitting in the distance "well, its my school. i get the kid" one whole school full of adult heroes "NO ITS MY SON,,," izukus like crying "wait,,, you guys aren't sick of me? wild" while sobbing

afo out of nowhere: i’ll take the child :))) everyone collectively: N O

for self-indulgence, izuku is the youngest in the class for this au so they all call him their little brother

consider: quirkless aizawa is very similar to normal aizawa but he does practise self-care, he just tries to make it look like he doesnt because hes like that

if i dont take care of myself ill never be able to stand up to the heroes w quirks but also do i deserve normal good human things

tl:dr: he can cook well and is trying to teach izuku that 2-minute noodles and apples arent hero fuel

inko is like: "uwu i wont change what i cook for you so you'll just have to make do owo" in like, a pathetic attempt to get him to stop training so izuku runs off protein bars, electrolyte drinks and raw vegetables

just like, his bento at school. its only raw mushrooms, spinach, tomatoes and 2 full carrots

the only time he gets like a kinda valid balanced meal for a hero in training is when he pops by bakugous place and mitsuki forces him to stay for lunch

izuku is like "oh hi bakugo i have ur book-" "HI ITS LUNCH GET IN PIPSQUEAK"

hes just thrown into a chair, bakugo isnt even confused. izuku is like ",,,, so vlad gave me your book bc your house is near mums." "fair enough. hope you like miso salmon"

izuku just looks stary eyed

"f i s h ??? warm food bakugo id kill for you"

"deku wtf"

"i had nothing but 3 scoops of protein powder and 2 tomatoes today"

“dEKU WHAT THE FUCK”

"i had to eat the protein podwer with plain water kacchan. protein sludge followed by two raw tomatoes. i would commit real actual murder for you"

mitsuki always packs an extra bento after that

so like when it’s dorm time izuku gets rly stressed out bc he doesn’t know how to cook for himself??? bakugous in the 1b dorms and even if he wasn’t he definitely wouldn’t cook for him

1a goes on a fucking shopping trip, chaperoned, obviously

and they’re lining up and aizawa sees that izukus cart is only filled with like??? instant noodles and like two (2) fruits and he’s losing his mind bc yes okay he’s a child but he’s also a young hero and he’s going to get a heart attack by 20 if he doesn’t fix his diet

aizawa is like "izuku, you cant eat that" and izuku just goes "oh ok" puts the noodles back and comes back with a tub of protein powder and like 11 vegetables and a bag of kale

okay this is an improvement kinda, how do u cook it

,,,,,c

cook?

izuku just has a totally blank face

"i was just gonna like,,, eat it"

"raw."

"uh, yeah, is that not how u eat vegetables?”

"thats a potato. and some leeks. thats a fucking onion"

"it wont kill me though"

"thats,,, that not how you pick food kid."

“but vegetable??? good????”

"kid do you even fucking like any of this"

"wait, im supposed to like?? my food???"

yagi in the fucking health food isle hearing this is 50% laughing but 50% crying

aizawa: “izuku ur supposed to eat a well balanced and tasty meal”

izuku: *surprized pikachu face*

please even todoroki is like ",,, at least fuyumi could c o o k"

oh god imagine having a worse diet than shouto todoroki from 1a who eats nothing but cold soba and drinks juice

also please aizawa is like "kid i thought you just happened to be thin but now im seeing thats not the case"

bakugo in the distance "like inko ever fed him enough anyway lmao"

aizawa "WAIT WHAT"

whys bakugou shopping with 1a? its actually all 40 of the first years just descending on this poor little store. it’s this little mom and pop grocery store and a billion hungry hero hopefuls just burst through the door like 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒔

izuku is like "oh its too expensive" and aizawa is just holding a bag of rice, aizawa is like "its cheaper than the protein powder you have"

and izuku is like "yeah i mean its empty calories and im not paying that much for empty calories"

",,,"

"thats what you taught us sensei!"

"EMPTY CALORIES ARE ONLY A PROBLEM IF UR EATING TOO MUCH"

"and?"

"YOU HAVE 3 POTAOES FOR THE NEXT 2 WEEKS"

"i can put some back if you want?"

"THATS EXACTLY WHAT I DONT WANT"

[dhufflebee]

when I see you like that  (a Glee fanfiction)

One-shot Fandom: Glee Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jesse St. James & Andrea Cohen; Jesse St. James/Rachel Berry - mentioned (and at this point very much one-sided) Characters: Jesse St. James; Andrea Cohen  Additional Tags: rambling phone calls; basically just Jesse moping a lot; Friendship; Pining; Self-Worth Issues; rated T for some swearing

Read on:  AO3  |  ff.net Summary: After the loss at Nationals, Jesse can’t face his Vocal Adrenaline students, and calls his friend Andrea instead. Talking with her, though, painfully reveals his well-concealed sense of inadequacy—and his unquenchable feelings for one Rachel Berry

This fic is basically 3k words of Jesse moping, in a weird half-dialogue half-rant format. I’ve felt the need to write this since I’ve rewatched ‘Nationals’: that three-second shot of Jesse on the verge of tears has been haunting me, and I had to get the story out of my system. Most of all, I needed him to get some of the love and validation that the show deprived him of.

In my mind, it isn’t at all out of character for Jesse to be this miserable in private. He is crazy talented and he knows it, but he also has deep self-worth issues (due to his demanding and not very loving upbringing), for which he compensates with pride and overconfidence. He also has his (in)famous showface that rarely goes away, and he doesn’t feel comfortable being emotionally vulnerable. Except with Andrea—and, well, with Rachel.

By the way, I know Jesse and Andrea's friendship is mostly fanon, but I like it very much nonetheless.

Jesse had never felt so upset in his life. His heart, his mind, his guts were telling him conflicting things, and his knees were starting to give way under him as the adrenaline of the competition slowly went away. He barely managed to close the door to his room before he had to sit on the bed. He was feeling lightheaded, with black pushing at the edge of his vision—the way he would feel after a long training when he hadn’t eaten enough. But it wasn’t low blood pressure, Jesse knew that. It was the same dreadful mix of emotions and thoughts as that damn day two years before, but somehow a hundred times worse. Then it had been divided loyalties, two shattered hearts, and the gut punch of feeling like an utter bastard, but now… damn, he’d added so many failures in the past two years that he had no idea how his showface was still so good. He was starting to feel like a hollow husk at times. Something had definitely broken back then, and the constant, cyclical reminders of what he’d stupidly lost weren’t doing him any favors—that evening after Nationals, the castle of cards that had been Jesse St. James’s so-called adult life was a breath away from collapsing, once and for all.

Jesse kicked off his shoes, threw the suit jacket haphazardly on a chair, and lay down on the bed, trying to steady his breath against his inner turmoil. After a while, he felt blindly around his legs for his phone, until he found it lying precariously near the edge of the bed. He then flung the duvet up over his head and snuggled under it, shirt and nice slacks be damned. He unblocked his phone and opened his recent calls, dialing his best (only?) friend’s number.

“Victory boy! Hey!” a chipper voice answered.

“Andrea…”

“Ah. You didn’t win, then.”

Jesse sighed. Andrea’s reaction made him realize he sounded as dejected as he felt—something he’d long learned how to conceal, but the Chicago air must have jinxed him or something. Or maybe he was simply beginning to crumble under the pressure of his feelings. Whatever.

“I feel like crap, Andy. I should be with the guys, drowning our disappointment in ginger ale or what-have-you, but I don’t even have the energy for that. I barely managed to tell them I was proud of them—and I am—before I had to get out of there. They were crying, Andy, and the looks on the seniors’ faces… I just—I couldn’t stay.”

Jesse knew he was rambling, but a big part of his and Andrea’s friendship had always been taking turns in unloading while the other listened and then offered some honest advice. No one else in his life had ever made him feel safe enough to be so open and vulnerable—except for Rachel, but he’d thrown away his chance to have her at the other end of the line again, hadn’t he?

“I’m sure they understand, Jesse. You told them you were proud, and that’s what matters. Remember how nice it felt when they would tell us? Eased the disappointment of losing somewhat, no?” Andrea asked, a tinge of wistfulness in her voice.

“Yeah, well… god, they worked so hard for this. I really thought we’d win, you know? I honestly miss the high of victory—as I’m sure you do, too,” Jesse said with a smirk, getting a chuckle from Andrea in response. “Nevertheless, Carmel High is going to kick me out the minute I get back to Akron, as they so candidly told me they would when I got the job. And I guess they have all the rights to do it—what kind of failure am I, four-time champion and I can't even coach fucking Vocal Adrenaline to victory? I wouldn't want to keep me around either."

Jesse heard himself getting whinier by the minute, and he hated it, hated how earnest he ended up being while talking with Andrea (and with Rachel, too—he never quite managed to keep his walls up for long with her either… Stop! Stop thinking about that!). Andrea hesitated and exhaled, and Jesse could imagine her shaking her head as well.

"Why didn't you win, though?" she asked at last. "I've seen those videos you sent me: the choreo was incredible! What happened?"

"A ragtag bunch of misfits, that's what happened," Jesse answered, trying to sound mean but only managing desolate. Figures. "The New Directions really busted their asses this year, apparently. You should have seen them, everyone performed at a level they'd never reached before—and you know how they've always been so endearingly energetic. I loathe to admit it, but they were great, and I guess they did deserve to win. Probably. Couldn't tell that to my guys, though," he chuckled, gloomily.

"I'm glad to hear that," Andrea said, with a careful, knowing tone that Jesse instantly dreaded. "Is that it, though? This whole call just because the New Directions finally snatched first place after years of trying?"

Jesse didn't answer. He couldn't, he wouldn't tell Andrea the real reason of his moping—besides, he knew she could easily guess it.

"Unless..." (There it is.) "What about Rachel, Jesse? Did she sing?"

Jesse was thankful the conversation was happening on the phone, Andrea at one end of the nation and himself buried under a duvet in a hotel room in Chicago. He wouldn't have been able to sustain her gaze, otherwise. At least on the phone he didn't need his showface, and his instinct to flee from emotional vulnerability was somewhat tamed (but not much).

"Jesse?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the phone more tightly, hoping to keep at bay the flood of emotions that he could sense coming. At last, he whispered: "Yeah, she did. It's All Coming Back to Me Now".

"Oh."

And that was it. Andrea’s understanding tone was all it took for the floodgates to open and for Jesse’s rambling, vulnerable side to come out in full force. Tears threatened to escape his eyes, but he them firmly shut—he would not cry.

“God, Andy, when she sung that song—it felt like she was saying all those things to me!” Jesse’s voice traitorously cracked at that last word.

“I don’t think that’s—”

“I know!” Good lord, he was whining again. “I know that it’s ridiculous! that I’m reading too much into it, that they chose the song way beforehand and Rachel has much better things to think about than me… But what if she was singing about us after all? The words are rather fitting, and she knows that—same as she knew we were bound to meet here tonight. It’s there, Andy, the whole story! Me being an idiot, all my mistakes and the hurt I inflicted her—she was reproaching me, and I cannot blame her because I deserve it. And I especially deserve to hear it from her magnificent voice, even if god knows I don’t need to be reminded of what I did to her.” Jesse was breathing heavily, almost unable to articulate his feelings, his words spilling out at an alarming speed.

Andrea remained silent for a few seconds, then answered with a deliberate yet soothing tone—the one she reserved for Jesse’s rare mopey moments. “I don’t think your history with Rachel had anything to do with the song, Jesse.” He scoffed lightly, but she ignored him. “Besides, you were a teenager back then, and you were forced between a rock and a hard place. Shelby was a bitch that manipulated you and treated both Rachel and the parents of that baby like dirt. Sure, you were a bit of a dick, but you’ve got to cut yourself some slack. You were not stupider than the average teen in love, all things considered.”

Jesse tried to scoff again, but what escaped his throat sounded more like a sob than anything else. “Andy, you don’t understand,” he pleaded, pressing the heel of his free hand on his eyes. “I threw away the one truly warm thing in my life because Shelby threatened to take away my scholarship to UCLA, and look how well that went,” Jesse laughed bitterly. Ah, the familiar taste of self-deprecation. Saying all that out loud felt better than just mulling over it constantly, though. “I’m such an imbecile—I got college handed to me on a silver platter, and I couldn’t even manage to float just above the pass grade? Or, I don’t know, use my fucking brain for a change? And to think I would be so conceited about it, as if I could ever hope to accomplish anything intelligence-related…”

“Jesse, stop!” Andrea interjected vehemently. “You’re spiraling and you’re starting to sound like your father. You’re not stupid, you’re not brainless—you’re smart, and the most brilliant guy I know as far as musical theater is concerned. And don’t start with how acting or singing or whatever is bullshit, because I’ll come down there, slap you, and then find your dad and punch him on his ugly mug.” At that, Jesse felt a sharp surge of affection for his friend, regardless of her proclivity for mild physical threats. “We all sweated blood in Vocal Adrenaline, but we were happy and good—you above all, because performing is your passion and your talent. Who cares if you didn’t pass gen eds? You’re wonderful, and you will take Broadway by storm soon.”

“Ms. Tibideaux didn’t seem to think so,” Jesse replied, dejectedly.

“Who?”

“Carmen Tibideaux. NYADA?”

“What does she have to do with anything now?” Andrea asked, confused. “That was years ago.”

“Yeah, right—the first of my many failures.” Jesse’s tone was more bitter than he expected. He intentionally hadn’t thought much about his audition since, but he guessed disappointments never actually stopped stinging, did they?

“Come on, Jesse…”

“I didn’t get in, okay? No point in sweetening the pill. I was good but apparently not enough—and I always knew that, but now I have confirmation from the woman’s own voice that I ‘showed promise’ but couldn’t overcome the obstacles to be the best. So really, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life.” Was he being overdramatic and overly self-critical? Absolutely. At that moment, though, Jesse had no idea how to stop.

“Enough!” Andrea exclaimed. Deep down, the rational part of Jesse’s brain had realized he was being maddening, but he also had to admit he didn’t mind Andy’s forceful tone. It felt strangely soothing, being told to get a grip from someone who cared about him.

“I can’t believe you are saying this,” she pressed on. “I’ve already told you: you are incredible, and I won’t let you wallow in this kind of negativity. The audition was years ago, and believe me, I’ve seen you get absurdly better in the meantime. Ms. Tibideaux said you showed promise, and that’s good! You did and you do, and you will reach even higher that she could ever imagine.”

Jesse hummed, not entirely convinced but certainly relieved that someone else was eager to vouch for his talent. He knew he was good (okay, very good), but that didn’t mean he wasn’t, from time to time, afraid he’d been deluding himself due to his own arrogance.

“When did you speak with the woman?” Andrea asked.

“She was here to see Rachel perform. And when I went and told her she shouldn’t let Rachel slip through her fingers, she remembered me and made a list of all the flaws in my audition. Lovely experience, really,” Jesse said, with a bitter chuckle.

“Aw, you put in a good word for Rachel—that’s so sweet! Did you tell her?”

“I can’t! Are you crazy? She cannot know ever. I don’t deserve her knowing, if anything I owe her.” Jesse replied, his voice half-strangled. (Pathetic.) “Rachel and I bantered for a couple of minutes before the competition, and it almost got me punched by Finn, in addition to giving me some serious doubts about my ability to function properly.” He smiled at the memory. Rachel’s red dress was still incredibly vivid in his mind. “God, Andrea, you should have seen her—she was radiant. I’d ever seen her inhabit the stage so perfectly. She is the one who deserves to take Broadway by storm and who will. She’s a powerhouse, and she’s absurdly talented, and tonight she looked so beautiful with that smile of hers, and then she sang Céline and I couldn’t—”

Jesse heard Andrea exhale, as if ready to answer, but he rambled on, unable—unwilling—to stop now that someone was there to listen to him for once.

“I just—I miss Rachel so much. She earnestly thought I was worth all the fuss. Even with Shelby, it’d always seem like my work was barely acceptable, and that all the trophies were just due to luck and the power of a good routine or something. Which yeah, I guess is true, but—honestly, Andy, except for you, Rachel’s the only person who’d always tell me how much she liked when I performed, and how good I was. I was starved—I am starved for that, Andy. D’you know my grades improved while I was in Lima with her? I actually had to study, and I wasn’t half bad at it. All thanks to her. God knows why she stayed with me after the initial razzle-dazzle, because she was way better that I could ever deserve. And she definitely deserved more than yours fucking truly,” Jesse spat out.

“And I guess she will have it,” he continued, barely taking time to breathe, “since she’s getting married soon to Finn. And sure, I hate him and he hates me, but I can see how Rachel looks at him, and he looks at her the same way. I mean, he’s a rhythmically-challenged dumbass, but I can’t deny he makes her happy—that’s the truly important thing. I ruined everything, and I know I’d never be able to make her feel that way. I think Rachel could really be the one, you know? I feel it in my bones, I’ll never be as happy with anyone else as I was with her… But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Rachel won’t have a fuckup like me beside her, who’d just end up wiping her wonderful smile away.”

Jesse had to stop—his throat was aching due to the strain of putting one coherent word after another, of trying to talk as fast as his inner turmoil demanded. Tears were escaping his eyes and running down his cheeks and in his hair. He didn’t care that he was crying, though: he already felt like an utter failure, another embarrassing thing wouldn’t change anything. Besides, it was nice, having a friend listen to him while he moped and pined. Crying is good, right? It helps get the toxins and the sadness out, doesn’t it? A good cry and I’ll stop feeling like shit—

“Oh, Jesse…” Andrea whispered after a beat, and that shattered Jesse’s attempts at regaining his composure—he started sobbing uncontrollably, burying himself more and more under the duvet.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” Andrea asked, softly. “God, Jesse, I wish I was there to hug you. Believe me, though, Rachel is right—everything she told you and everything she thinks about you is true. You’ve had a lot of shitty people in your life, but never for a second doubt that Rachel was sincere and saying things as they are. You’re brilliant and very talented, whether you believe it or not,” Andrea added, in a decisive tone that drew a wet smile from Jesse, “and no amount of Shelby or Ms. Tibideaux or your asshole of a father can claim otherwise. All that hard work and dedication… you do deserve the world, Jesse.”

Calming his breath enough to answer took Jesse a moment—his gratefulness to Andrea and his longing for Rachel were a killer combination, and he didn’t want to start bawling again.

“Thank you, Andy,” he finally managed to say. “I just wish I’d made fewer mistakes, you know? Maybe then I wouldn’t always feel like such a failure, maybe I wouldn’t be so lonely all the time and it wouldn’t hurt this much… I know things between me and Rachel probably won’t ever be mended, but gosh what I wouldn’t give to sing with her on a real stage, to have a partner that inspires me to be better and lets me share the spotlight with her.” Jesse exhaled shakily, willing himself to not cry until he had finished talking. “It’s too late now, though, and it’s all my fault, no point in denying that. I just wish for her to be as wonderful and captivating as she was tonight, forever—she lit up the whole place. I really hope I didn’t make an ass of myself with Ms. Tibideaux, and that Rachel’s dreams will come true. No, scratch that: I know they will. I just pray I’ll be able to get a glimpse of her happy as can be.”

Andrea’s silence at the other end of the line was almost deafening, but Jesse pressed on, feeling that he’d never have another chance (nor the nerve) to admit to it all out loud.

“Sorry for the rant, Andy. We lost Nationals and it hurts like hell, but it will pass—it’s going to be a nifty addition to the You’re A Failure pile, though,” Jesse mused, with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I have no idea what my plans for the future are going to be, after Carmel High parts ways with me. I guess I could finally try and go to New York for real. It’s just that, you know, seeing Rachel again really threw me for a loop, even after all this time, and I’m not sure why—”

“It’s love, Jesse,” Andrea interjected. “The way you talk about Rachel—you love her.”

Jesse inhaled sharply. Repeating that to himself was one thing, but hearing someone else say it so matter-of-factly felt real, definitive. (Scary.) “Hurray for me, then,” he muttered, at a loss for words to describe how his heart was ablaze, dismayed, and longing at the same time.

“I really hope you and Rachel will put your cracked pieces back together, Jesse,” Andrea said, sounding softer than she did at any other point in the phone call. “You both deserve a great life, and to have your talents shine—you and her alongside each other? Musical theater won’t ever be prepared, let me tell you.”

“Thank you, Andy.” Jesse’s eyes had filled with tears once again, and he’d once again buried himself under the duvet, in hopes of preventing the onslaught of painful memories he was sure would come. But it was no use—he thought back to Rachel singing, and a loud sob escaped his lips. Tears started falling freely down his cheeks and neck, reaching his hair and the collar of his shirt. “I wish. I’m not sure I believe that, but god, I wish.”

[spaceskam]

here's a little story about how my fwb universe started...

"Okay, that's easy."

"Yeah, it's a cash register, morons can do it."

Michael stuck his tongue out at Liz and she grinned right back. He hadn't actually expected to get on well with Max's girlfriend, but Liz was much more fun than Max was and she was kind enough to offer him a job. Well, sweet talk Papa Ortecho into offering him a job, but still.

"Thank you, Liz," Michael said as he leaned against the bar.

She flashed another award-winning smile. "Thank me when you to scrub chocolate shake and mustard out of your uniform."

"I will."

Michael fit into The Crashdown quite easily, learning all the ins and outs like he was made for it. And perhaps he was. He was really doing well until a guy walked in and almost made Michael drop the tray he was holding.

He was wearing all black, skin right jeans and a tattered t-shirt. For effect, there was also a chain hanging on his hip, bulky combat boots, spiked bracelets, a collar, and makeup. His hair was long enough to stretch past his ears and down his neck, but it was all wrecked like someone had spent an hour running their hands through it. Michael wanted to volunteer.

But, first and foremost, he wanted to talk to him. Michael had made approximately one friend since college began–and it was Max's girlfriend, which didn't feel like it counted. This guy was the only person who seemed like a good candidate in being the first real college friend Michael would have.

He was the most eye-catching thing he'd seen since he'd started college. It was funny, he always assumed he'd see every type of person under the sun, but in reality there were two types of people in college: people who got dressed for school and people who wore pajamas. This guy was a new level and Michael wanted to know everything about him.

How do you get in with a guy like that?

"A new victim."

Michael blinked his eyes hard to refocus only to discover the boy he'd been looking at had come right up to him. He had a smooth, cocky smirk on his face and that air of confidence he'd entered with became palpable. Michael couldn't help but stare and try to figure out what to say to make him want to hang out. He'd never wanted to befriend someone so badly, someone so cool.

"Huh?" Michael asked instead of sounding cool enough to hang with him. The guy just chuckle low in his throat in that way that could've easily made him see like a dork, but instead made him seem cool as fuck. Who is this guy?

"Alex, stop, you're scaring him," Liz laughed as she appeared beside him. Alex. His new best friend's name was Alex. Now, hopefully he went to the same University and Michael could not-so-accidentally stalk him into friendship.

"Aw, but I love playing with new toys," Alex teased, grinning something sinister as his tongue pressed to the back of his teeth.

"I'm Michael," Michael said, holding out his hand. Alex raised an eyebrow and blinked innocently a few times before pushing Michael's hand into the countertop.

"Alex," Liz scolded, still sighing as she put her elbow on his shoulder, "This is Max's roommate, so be nice."

"When was I mean? I just said I like new toys," Alex said, putting on an offended face that she was ever think otherwise. Michael couldn't stop smiling. So fucking cool.

"I have to agree with him, Liz," Michael said, leaning forward and doing his damnedest to seem on par with the coolness Alex was exuding. Alex grinned. "New toys are a man's best friend."

"It has suddenly dawned on me that the two of you knowing each other will be hell on Earth. Pray for me," she said. Both boys laughed and Michael couldn't help but feel triumphant. He'd made him laugh. Step one to making friends.

"Max's roommate, you said? How do you know a dork like that?" Alex asked. Michael shrugged.

"Fellow dork, I suppose," Michael said. Step one to NOT making friends was telling them your tragic backstory within the first five minutes of knowing them. "I'm an engineering student."

"That's not dorky, that's just smart," Alex decided, his tongue poking into his cheek, "The antennae, however..."

"Alright, back away, Alex, the man needs to get back to work," Liz decided, ushering him away.

"Fine," Alex agreed, moving to his feet, "We'll play later?"

Validation coursed through Michael's veins. He made a whole friend all by himself. He could've jumped up and down, but that would've made him seem stupid. Instead, he gave a curt nod.

"Sure."

Score.

-

"Alex, you need to watch it, he's straight."

Alex furrowed his eyebrows as Liz dragged him away from the cute new employee. Mainly because there was nothing straight about that guy. But clearly that wasn't common knowledge, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Watch what?"

"The flirting," she said kindly, "I know you want a boyfriend, but going after straight guys is a bad idea."

Alex scoffed, "First of all, I don't want a boyfriend. You and Maria want me to get a boyfriend. And second of all, I wasn't flirting."

Liz sighed in that motherly way and gave him a look. His eyebrows shot up in defense. He didn't consider what he did flirting. Even though he definitely would flirt with that guy.

"Okay, fine. Just be careful," Liz said before getting back to work.

Alex rolled his eyes and let them drift back to Michael. He was wiping the counter, but caught his eye long enough to give Alex a broad smile with red cheeks. Alex raised an eyebrow back which earned him even more blushing.

Yes, a new toy indeed.

[insanescriptist]

So ever going to do anything more with that YYH and BnHA crossover fic? I want the Todorokis to be happy! And what about Dabi? Is he a thing here? (Because Dabi is Touya)

I’ve been nailing down details and history for it when thinking about it. Like what year is it in BnHA; we know it’s at least a century ahead -there’s a technology stall mentioned due to increased social upheaval- so the technology is similar to modern day so in theory you could slide the BnHA timeline to 2120 with ease. In theory. Except...

There’s more evidence to support Quirks being a phenomena of about 100-150 years; Inko -Deku’s mother- mentions that there’s five generations of Quirks on her side of the family. That’s about 100-150 years of Quirks being a thing, with Quirks implied to have happened longer than that before her family started displaying Quirks.

So if the bio-luminescent baby is born in 2000 for ease of math, go for a more advanced maternal age (generation of 30 years) as befitting a first-world nation like Japan and at least six generations that’s roughly 180 years, so 2180. At minimum; add in Izuku’s age and it’s probably closer to 2194 if each of his parents and recent ancestors had children at an average age of 30. There’s wiggle room of about 40 years, depending on length of generations and how many generations other people had Quirks but Inko’s ancestors didn’t.

It’s probably not 2238 or later, as it’s mentioned that the laws that turned Heroes into a genuine profession were passed in ‘38 so it’s unlikely. It does imply that Quirks were around for at least enough time for the early vigilantes and quirk-using villains to grow up though and be old enough and numerous enough that legislation was passed by whenever this ‘38 was. As there are Heroes that have been Heroes for decades in BnHA and the early vigilantes turned professional heroes are mentioned in history... it’s not going to be 2238 or later. But you’re not really going to get earlier than 2180 and that’s compressing generations. Which yes, people do have sex and children at twenty or younger but that’s not the average for people in wealthy, highly educated countries, especially in higher socio-economic classes. Even if they clearly have arranged for families to be easier to have and pay for on a national level somehow as multiple families are shown to have more than one child in BnHA. Yay tax incentives?

Also food for thought: if Quirks have to be inherited, then the genes for Quirks have to have already been present in the human species for far longer than people would want to think about for Quirks to be a world-wide phenomena; otherwise it would be limited to the descendants of one individual (and seven generations of doubling, with gen 1 having 1 Quirk-person, gen 2 having 2 Quirk-people and gen 3 having 4 quirk people only gets you 120 individuals with Quirks when you add gen 4, 5, 6 and 7 together is far too small to cause a world-wide genetic phenomena) or a distinct ethnic group. For Quirks to be a population-majority within seven generations, they would have to follow some sort of ‘contagious model.’ Being around individuals with Quirks helps a Quirk to develop, or something. Doesn’t explain the toe-joint thing but the toe-joint thing never made much sense to Izzy anyway. It’s more ‘word of God’ than ‘I researched science’ so it being a strong correlation, Izzy can buy but not ‘having a Quirk means the majority of the world lost a toe joint.’ Genetics don’t work like that! Popular-science unfortunately does. And even doctors are not immune to pop-science like that even if they should know better.

Thankfully YYH does have a valid way of explaining the development of ‘humans with strange powers.’ Exposure to youki and youkai; not just the demons but demon energy. Genkai shows off three new students she uses to test Yusuke at the start of the Chapter Black saga, where exposure to Sensui’s ‘dimensional gate’ to Makai makes them gain differing ‘psychic’ abilities. And they’re not the only ones either; a number of Chapter Black’s antagonists are also human: Gourmet, Sniper, Seaman, Gamemaster and the Doctor. The strength of their ‘spiritual energy’ is noted as ‘poor’ and ‘D-class’ for the majority of the known but their individual abilities do make them ‘A-class’ as threats, by canny usage of it. Please note that those mentioned are those that were found and used by Sensui or went to Genkai for training. Genkai also said she had others come to her for training, the sum of which was about 30 people. Note that those were all those that were known to be effected by Sensui’s plot to open a wormhole to Makai, not all those that were effected. Yeah. So that’s about 40-people who were known to have gained powers that incident. Which as YYH takes place in the mid-90s... does make BnHA’s Quirk history timeline a lot more plausible. Especially in light of YYH’s ending where youkai could openly move into the Human World. Thus increasing the concentration of youkai and youki in the world; there were already plenty of illegal immigrants of the youkai sort... and as Kurama in the 2018 OVA/Two-shot proves, being around a youkai long enough can increase a person’s sensitivity to supernatural phenomena and thus more likely develop a supernatural ability.

So about a decade later, bling baby is born, flashing the world and ‘Quirks’ start appearing all around the world, with some people using their abilities to commit crimes and others to save people. Fast-forward a generation or two and ‘Heroes’ become a genuine profession and start an obsession of society for ‘Heroes.’ And that eventually becomes BnHA, except with youkai discreetly in the background. I really want to know about the paperwork/identity shenanigans to keep youkai who live for ages with proper papers.

Izzy isn’t quite fully caught up with the BnHA manga; she kind of stopped reading when Izuku started displaying One For All’s recessive Quirks as it seemed very very Gary-Stu to get new powers instead of refine his strength and skill more. So timeline is going to be ambiguous as fuck until I nail it down further but here, has more Yukina is Boss and the YYH anime did her a disservice; people forget she was B-class and crossed Makai a few times all by her lonesome. Just because she doesn’t want to, doesn’t mean she can’t.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Oh wow, her outfit is so pretty!” Urakaka said suddenly, leaning against Izuku’s back unintentionally. Focus more on where she’s looking instead of what you’re feeling against your back Deku!

Deku looked. “Isn’t that Todoroki-san?” His classmate’s hair was distinctive and it wasn’t hard to see, even from across the street and down a ways. He was with someone with white hair and red patches -the angle was wrong to see who that was beyond that- and the other person had to be the one Urakaka was talking about; the clothing stood out for being more traditional but it clearly had modern influences so he had very little idea of what it was beyond something possibly Chinese.

Urakaka said something about the outfit again but Izuku didn’t hear it with Urakaka slumping against and down. Stupid libido, he needs that blood!

Iida, their previously silent third explained, “Yaoyorozo-san said Todoroki-san did tell her that Todoroki would be meeting with some family today. It’s why he would be missing the Class 1-A study session we’re supposed to be getting snacks for.”

Izuku heard some of the disapproval in his voice but either Izuku admitted what took him so long that one time for the school festival or accept the minders for any simple errand. It helped that everyone wanted different things and was way too much for one person to feasibly carry. He did kind of want to know about Todoroki’s family’s Quirks -did they have something like his classmate’s Half-hot, half-cold or did they have ice or fire or some sort of water as a possible mutation?- but that would be prying and that was a guy with a knife that people were moving away from, oh shit-

“Guy with a knife, near Todoroki!”

Iida dropped the snacks, engines revving towards them. Izuku followed with a pounce only to stop short of the cafe’s boundaries; the guy with the knife had horns and multiple sets of them -a horn quirk?- and was shouting about Endeavor. And the knife was at the throat of the pretty woman with mint-green hair and the pretty clothing that Urakaka was just admiring.

Hostage situation! Wait, they had a class on this- no, something was wrong here.

Todoroki was glaring but the hostage taker, she-

She wasn’t afraid and somehow that made things better for Izuku; he could breathe easier now, he could think-!

“You’re holding the knife wrong, someone could break your wrist like this.”

Knife guy told her to shut up or he’ll slice her throat and then Izuku heard a crack! That sort of dull snap that sounded like broken bones-

And knife guy was tossed over her shoulder and landed hard on the ground and-

It was over. The knife in the hand of the one who was once hostage. “What cheap metal.”

[awkwardlittlepringle]

Queer ‘n Crazy

CHAPTER 8

Hello, fellow fanders! This is chapter eight of Queer 'n Crazy, I wrote it in one go, so sorry if it's a bit rushed. Be sure to check the tags, I don’t want anyone to get hurt!

Also, whenever you feel sad, imagine a LAMP cuddle pile with a touch-starved Patton in the center. Platonic or Romantic. It works, or at least it makes me feel like there's beauty in the world. :) The summary is at the bottom just in case you can’t read it!

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

WARNINGS: Contains mentions of a bad mental state, references to and mentions of an abusive mother/abusive parents, self deprecating thoughts, eating disorders, medication, anxiety, self conciousness, depression, lack of sleep, swearnig, repression and hiding emotions. Let me know if there are any others, please!

Thanks for reading this!

...................

"Are you sure this is the place?"

Logan glanced down at the flyer in his hand, before nodding. "Yes, I believe so. Meeting is held in the sports hall, starts at 3:15. We seem to be in the right place." The two looked up at the rusty metal sign that was set above the entrance, and sure enough, it was emblazoned with the words Sports Hall.

Logan glanced up and down the silent foyer. "We seem to be the only ones here." he turned to Virgil. "Do you think we're early?" Virgil bit his lip, his fingers starting to toy with his hoodie strings. "I dunno, are you sure we've got the date right?" "Yes, we have, Virgil." Logan sighed, exasperated. Virgil froze at his tone, instantly curling in on himself. He stayed silent instead of replying. Logan hadn't seemed to notice his reaction. Or maybe he did and doesn't care. At that moment, the foyer door opened.

"Seriously?! Cavetown is superior. You cannot change my mind." Virgil turned his eyes to the noise, grateful for a distraction.

The girl who'd spoken was short and round, with pale skin and yellowing teeth. Her hair hung limp in little clumps, and she was wearing a black oversized hoodie. Accompanying her was a taller, skinnier girl, with thinning brown hair. The taller girl scoffed.

"Nuh-uh. Twenty one Pilots is better." "You're just in denial." "I'm telling the truth, you heathen." "Your truth is a lie!" Something in Virgil's chest lightened at the mention of one of his favourite bands, but his jaw felt like it was wired shut. They were probably in Lyra, eating disorders. Virgil couldn't understand how. He was a stress-eater. He was probably staring at them - he should stop staring at them. God, I'm such a weirdo.

Virgil pulled his hood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, his stomach tightening. They probably thought he was some kind of recluse. He could feel Logan's gaze on him, but he didn't look at him. "Cavetown's lyrics have meaning! I can't say the same for ToP." "Cavetown's lyrics are bullshit compared to Twenty One Pilots'. Do you know how many lives they've saved!" "Lives saved doesn't equal quality." "One of their taglines is stay alive, for god's sake!" "I don't think God would like Twenty One Pilots." "Because they're calling him out for the disorders he's inflicted on us." The shorter girl scoffed. "Bullcrap. What do you guys think?"

Virgil didn't respond, and Logan looked down at him.

"Uh, Virgil?" Virgil jumped, turning to Logan. A concerned expression filled his field of vision. Oh god, he's worried. I can't give anyone a moment of peace, can I. I guess mum was right about that one.

"The girl's asked you a question?" "Are you assuming my gender?" said the shorter girl with a exaggerated expression. Virgil stifled a laugh, a little bit of panic fading from his eyes. Logan however, looked at the two, baffled.

"Sorry, are those not your preferred pronouns?" "No, no, they are. Sash's just joking." The taller girl looked over at Virgil, who was now surveying the two with interest.

"Do you listen to ToP or Cavetown?"

Virgil nodded. "Which one?" "Um, Twenty One Pilots." The shorter girl pouted. "I've listened to a bit of Cavetown too, though."

"Aha! So tell us, dear emo - wait are you emo?" Virgil glanced between to two, confused. "Uh, I guess?" "Alright. So tell us, dear emo, which one is better?" "Hey, you can't ask him! He listens to your stupid Pilots more!" "Well you can't expect to find someone who listens to then equally-" "I think I can, thank you very much!"

Logan shot a look at Virgil, who returned it, and the two redirected their attention to the bickering pair.

"Well anyway, which one's better?" Virgil started, his throat turning dry. Whatever he said, he'd probably offend one of them, so...

"Um, I like ToP better-" "Ha!" "-but Cavetown's valid too." The taller girl pouted, her eyebrows scrunching up. "Well shit. I thought I'd won that." "HAHA!!!!!!!!!!! ROBBIE AIN'T GOING DOWN THAT EASILY!!!!!!!!!!!" "Isn't his name Robin?"

A silence overtook the group, all of whom stared at the tie-clad boy. Logan looked at the three, confused. "Are you guys okay-" "I"VE FOUND ANOTHER ONE!!!!!!!!!" The shorter girl screeched, throwing her hand up in the air. Virgil flinched away from the noise, but he found himself smiling none-the-less.

"What in the name of Rose Quartz is going on out here?" Virgil's heart jumped into his throat and he froze like a deer in the headlights. "Oh, you must be here for gay club!" Gay club?  

Virgil turned around, confused. A flicker of recognition ran through him when he saw the grinning face peering around the door, before his stressed brain made the connection. Thomas.

"Hey, aren't you that kid from the orientation?" Virgil nodded stiffly, before attempting to crack a smile. Thomas smiled, walking toward them with a clear bounce in his step.

"I'm Thomas, president of Gay Club." "It's LGBT club, Thomathy." Virgil glanced at the door again to see a ...person, probably male, but they were dressed andro. They glanced at the four of them smiling. "You guys are at the wrong door, but we can make an exception."

Thomas started bouncing on his heels, and clapping. "Oh goodie! Right this way, my rainbow friends!"

Logan straightened his tie, before following Thomas, Virgil and the girls in tow. Thomas gave them a basic run-down of the club as they walked. "We're an LGBT club, obviously. We don't really do stuff, we just meet up and be gay." "Define what you mean by "be gay"."

"Well, we do have a little clique in here that like to call themselves the "matchmakers", but they'll lay off you if you tell them to. We also set people up in straight seeming relationships if they want us to, exclusionists are not allowed. Otherwise it's mainly just gay jokes and sitting on chairs wrong. C'mon." Thomas lead them through a set of heavy blue doors, and suddenly they were inside the hall.

It was basically a gym. A gym that was packed with people -god, there were a lot of people. Across the pulled-out bleachers there was a large rainbow banner decorated with the words LGBT YOUTH in a striking gold. Students of all ages, from 12 to 19 were scattered across the place, chatting. There were a few couples flirting, Virgil could even see a group of punks playing uno with a few other kids. Despite the clear differences in personality, everyone seemed to be getting along really well, and as far as Virgil could tell, there were no rivalries.

This did ease Virgil's tension a little, although he still stuck close to Logan. Maybe he should ask about increasing his dosage.

"Oi, Talyn! We've got some more newbies!" The group followed Thomas to a large table in the center of the room, behind which sat a person with flaming blue-dyed hair. She looked at Thomas grinning, before shifting her gaze to the four following him.

"Hiya! My name's Talyn. They/Them." Virgil smiled at them, nodding. "Just put your name down here, along with your contact details. If you don't want to add your number, that's fine. Email will do. And if you really don't want us to contact you, that's cool too."

Virgil and Logan signed their names, followed by the girls. Virgil was ready to book it to a corner, but Logan waited. Once the girls were done signing, he spoke up.

"May I know your names?" The girls looked up, pleasently surprised. "Oh! I'm Kate, and this is Sasha." "Generic names, we know." Logan smiled. "I'm Logan. I hope to see you around." "'m Virgil." said Virgil, putting down his hood and smiling. "Nice to meet you."

"So what are you guys." Logan's brow crinkled with confusion, something which looked adorable on him.

"I beg your pardon?" "She means what about you is not straight or cis?" "Oh. I'm asexual and homoromantic." "Bi." "Cool!"

"Specs!" Virgil snickered as Logan sighed. "Well, it was nice to meet you two." He turned around. "Hello, Roman. Fancy seeing you here." Roman scoffed, sauntering toward them with Patton in tow. "Geez, Logan. Is that your standerd greeting? Ya gotta mix it up a little!" "What do you mean by mixing-" Roman cut him off with a sigh. "You're hopeless."

"Ro, you might wanna turn down the sarcasm a little. Hey, Virgil." "Hey, Pat." Virgil frowned, taking in Patton's appearance. He was wearing a grey hoodie, and his skin was pale and ashen. Despite the fact Virgil had seen him a few days ago, his seemed considerably more tired, bags visible through his glasses. His hair was greasy, and he had his arms wrapped around his stomach, slouching. Even his smile seemed half-hearted.

"Are you alright, Patton?" said Virgil cocking his head. He felt an undescribable urge to hug the shorter male, but he resisted. Patton's expression changed quickly, his cheeks quivering as he tried to force a smile onto his face. "I'm all good, Virg! Just feeling a little down!" Yeah, he's not okay.

Instead of saying this out loud, Virgil cocked his head to the side. "Patton, you do realise you're talking to someone who's been in a bad mental state before, right?" Patton sighed, his shoulders sinking even lower. "Yeah, I know. It's not too bad, I promise." "It's all good. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Virgil glanced over at Roman and Logan, who were discussing Roman's latest hairstyle.

His bangs were swooped out of his face and the tips were dyed a dark red, something that constrasted against his dark hair dramatically. His expression, however, did not match his hairstyle at all.

"Whaddaya mean you don't like it." whined Roman, pouted. Logan sighed. Is that all he does around this guy? "You asked for my opinion, Roman. I personally, do not like it. That is not to say it looks bad." Roman's pout grew impossibly larger, and he turned to Virgil.

"What about you, Emo Nightmare?" Virgil surveyed Roman's hair with interest.

"You dyed it yourself, didn't you." Roman shot him a look, surprised. "How could you tell?" "A proper stylist would have done it from the roots," Virgil mused, a smile gracing his features. "But for a first timer, you've done pretty well. Nice colour choice, too. It suits you." Roman grinned ear-to-ear, before twirling around. "Yay!" he cheered. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

"Did you just twirl?" "Aha!" "You do realise we're not in a disney movie, right?" "Shut up!" he shrieked.

While the noise irritated Virgil at the time, he later decided Patton's small chuckle made it worth it.

....................

SUMMARY : Virgil and Logan go to LGBT club where they meet two girls from Lyra named Sasha and Kate. They end up meeting Roman and Patton inside, and Patton looks like he’s going through a rough time. ROMAN GOT A NEW HAIRSTYLE!!!!!!!!!! His tips are now dyed red. 

Tag List : 

@tired-babyboy 

@someone-idk-is-here

@true-chaotic-dumbass

@666frostwolf

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 2 ♫ “World Uncertain” [ 2.09 ]

CREATED BY Esther (rapunzles) & Maggie (quincywillows) || S2 Tag || Official Page

SPRING CLEANING – The juniors are forced to confront the ramifications of their actions while navigating shaky ground. Valerie comes to New York to spend the break with Isadora, although she may be carrying deeper intentions. Winter melting into spring allows for the chance to begin again.

64 Minutes (17K words) || CONTENT WARNING: mentions of suicide. Take care of yourselves and read with discretion.

[ ← Got A Lotta Livin’ To Do ] [ S2 Synopsis ] [ Rarely Pure and Never Simple → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

The bustle and commute of a brand new work day in Manhattan echoes lightly from all around as a MALE OFFICER emerges from his cruiser. He strides a few feet onto the sidewalk, joining another FEMALE OFFICER standing on the curb.

She’s looking towards the side of the building on the corner, the male officer matching her stance. They don’t look stressed but rather confused -- and in a glimmer here and there, perhaps a bit impressed. Either way, it’s evident they aren’t sure what to make of their latest call.

Upon the brick wall of the establishment across from them, Maya’s emotionally spurred graffiti finally sees the light of day. It’s beautiful and jarring, bright and colorful and eye-catching, yet obviously attempting to convey something heavy. Something larger than life, overwhelming, difficult to capture in words as it is on the canvas of a building.

The word ENOUGH. Embellished and bold and impossible to miss.

The officers stand in front of it, small against its looming presence. As the school bell rings...

INT. AAA - CORY’S CLASSROOM - DAY

Students are transitioning for their next period, CORY MATTHEWS shouting last minute reminders at them as they shuffle out. He specifically mentions the impending spring holiday and urges students not to forget about their reading assignments.

Once the chaos has died down before the next wave of students files in, ISADORA DE LA CRUZ approaches Cory’s desk. He questions what he can do for her.

Isadora: You said that you were hoping someone could… Farkle.

Cory: … yes?

Isadora: [ clearing her throat ] His homework. You said you were wondering if someone could drop his assignments by his place during break. Since he’s coming back next week. Don’t want him falling behind and all that. So I figured I might as well.

Cory: You? You want to --

It’s obvious Isadora is the last person Cory was expecting to volunteer for such a job. But Isadora merely raises an eyebrow at him, so he quickly covers his surprise.

Cory: I just didn’t think you would be the one to -- but, sure. That would be wonderful, thank you, Isadora.

He shifts into gathering the proper materials, offhandedly relaying how much of their new book she should instruct him to read by the time they return. Isadora isn’t listening much, caught up in her own head. Perhaps Cory was a bit right to question her… why is she so intent on volunteering to help Farkle…

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Who, speaking of, is making his grand return home. After about a month away at a rehabilitation facility, the doormen and wait staff warmly welcome him back as JENNIFER MINKUS leads the way back up to their penthouse accommodations. Handfuls of “welcome back, young Mister Minkus” are thrown in their direction, accompanied by relieved expressions or uncertain smiles as they get a good look at him.

And the reason is clear enough why. As they step back into the familiar entryway and Jennifer immediately starts fussing about getting him settled back in, FARKLE MINKUS takes his time. He drops his bag on the floor, taking a deep breath. And as we pan up from the floor to his face, one change is more prominent than any other.

His hair has been buzzed off. No more obsessive coiff. No more fastidious appearance. No more flyaway mess from pulling on it and running his hands through it too often to repair.

All that’s left is what’s underneath. Clean slate. Fresh start.

Tis the season of rebirth, after all.

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

LUCAS JAMES FRIAR opens his locker, explaining the consequences of his little joy ride last episode after he and Dylan went to court to be sentenced. Whereas Dylan got off on a warning and a minor blemish on his record since he is a minor and merely “an accessory,” Lucas was assigned 70 glorious hours of court-ordered community service to complete.

Still, he’s well aware it could’ve been far worse, especially since he’s already 18 and not as protected by juvenile limitations. It helped that the owner of the car didn’t press charges as nothing was damaged, but he also has the sense that Jack did a lot of negotiating on his behalf.

When she responds, it’s revealed that he is sharing these developments with RILEY MATTHEWS. She’s leaning against the row of lockers next to his, listening intently. She claims that he could easily knock out those service hours during spring break.

Riley: Seventy hours, ten days of break. That’s seven hours a day, which you can easily manage. [ a beat ] In fact, I’ll tag along with you.

Lucas: You do not need to waste your spring break on me.

Riley: It’s not waste, believe me. I could use the excuse to get out of the house, especially with my mom in and out helping move my brother’s things. It’s…

She doesn’t finish the sentence, shaking her head instead. Lucas doesn’t push her, getting the gist anyway. She directs her focus back to him.

Riley: And you know, it’s the least I could do. That night with the --

Lucas, pointedly: Don’t let that be your reason. You don’t owe me anything.

It’s evident Riley disagrees. They hold each other’s gaze. Riley decides not to argue it, but is still determined to join him regardless. She says as such, Lucas shrugging and focusing back on gathering his things.

Lucas: Well, I can’t stop you from blowing your break if that’s what you’re intent on doing.

Riley: Sure can’t. [ with a grin ] Besides, it’ll be fun. I like charity work.

Lucas, deadpan: Oh, I know.

Har har. It takes Riley a moment to get his implications, scowling when she realizes. He can’t help but smile, melting away Riley’s frown in spite of herself. Their smiles linger as Lucas shuts his locker, coinciding with…

INT. AAA - LIBRARY - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER hitting the spacebar on one of the school computers, deeply concentrated as he scours through the webpages he has open. From an offhand glance, it seems to be a bunch of program websites, an application form or two sprinkled in. Although he’s working fast, he seems pretty intent.

And, well, a bit frantic. A glimmer of that frazzled nature is back in his eyes, making the web search seem far more important than a simple research project.

He jumps when someone calls his name, glancing up only for a moment before swiftly closing all the tabs. CLARISSA CRUZ and HALEY FISHER approach, Haley playfully nudging him and looking over his shoulder to see what he’s working on. He says he was just finishing up, not offering any further explanation.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

As they’re exiting the library, Clarissa asks Charlie if he wants to come to Chubbie’s. They’re doing a sort of kick off for spring break.

Haley: Drowning ourselves in high caloric content, that’s what we’re doing.

Clarissa: As is our right after the hell this semester has been so far.

Darn right, ladies! Charlie starts to respond, but his interest shifts to hesitation as he questions who else is going. They mention Yindra and Nigel, definitely Yogi, maybe Darbs? Although there are some unsure parties, Zay is not mentioned either way.

This seems to be what Charlie was looking for. With no mention of his boyfriend he happily agrees, telling them he’ll meet them there. Once they flutter off, however, his smile falters somewhat. He’s clearly not sure how he feels about anything at this point.

He starts down the hall alone, heading towards a week of freedom from it all.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

ZAY BABINEAUX, meanwhile, is meeting one-on-one with HARPER BURGESS. She’s got a stack of pamphlets and flyers to pass onto him, all opportunities for enrichment programs or auditions he can go out for. She also places a folded paper on top, explaining that its a list of contacts she has in the industry that he could consider reaching out to for guidance.

Harper: You know how it is -- it’s all about who you know.

Zay: Yeah. These are really great, thank you. [ a beat ] Are you sure it’s okay for you to do this? This does seem a little bit like what some might call favoritism.

Harper: Don’t see how it could be favoritism when you’re the only person who has even bothered to ask.

Fair point. Harper reminds Zay that he is more than capable of stepping into the spotlight and making real strides. Going out for these opportunities, as he’s expressed as his intent, is just the first step. He just needs to maintain his laser focus.

Zay: Trust me, I expect I will have far less distraction than usual this break.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Which is exactly what he reiterates to Riley, stuffing the pamphlets into his backpack as they make their way out for the break. He states that if he and Charlie aren’t going to be spending as much time together, then he might as well fill all that time with things that are actually important. Riley questions whether he and Charlie have even like… really discussed what happened -- because she is vague on the details and isn’t quite sure what is up between them -- but Zay waves her off.

Riley: So everything is okay.

Zay: Well… not exactly.

Riley: So you’re breaking up.

Zay: No. Not exactly.

Riley: And when was the last time you talked about this? [ nervously ] When was the last time you talked at all?

Zay, cutting her off: Riley, relax. You’ve already got one complicated relationship dominating your life, don’t let Charlie and me become the same.

Valid, but also a convenient excuse to avoid the topic. Riley relents, instead switching gears and suggesting that if Zay will have so much more time open on his social calendar this week, perhaps he would be able to squeeze in a visit to their absent classmate?

He doesn’t seem to enthused by the prospect, but it’s clear that this is a warpath Riley has been marching on for quite some time now. He reluctantly says he’ll consider it.

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

Isadora pokes her head in to chat with ERIC MATTHEWS, wishing him a restful break. He returns the sentiment, assuring her that he is heading out of the office shortly after them and will give himself a well-earned respite as well. She also questions how he’s doing this week emotionally, which seems to amuse him.

Eric: You realize this is the fourth time you’ve asked me that this week?

Isadora: [ unfazed, patiently waiting for a response ]

Eric, with a smile: … yes, I’m doing better. Thank you.

Placated for now, Isadora switches gears and asks if there’s anything Eric needs to give to Farkle this break. She’ll be dropping by to take him homework, so she can play messenger for him too if necessary. Eric remembers some flyers he meant to give for him in his preparation for returning to school. As he hands them over, he encourages Isadora to also take this holiday to take a breather. He thinks they all could use it.

Oh, and at the top of that list of people who really need to relax…

INT. AAA - PROP LOFT - DAY

ASHER GARCIA is meticulously arranging items on the shelves, doing his last touch-up organization of the loft before they leave for a week. He’s talking anxiously as he works, rambling about the state of things and how he’s supposed to get everything back in perfect shape. He’s speaking about the order of the prop loft, but that’s not really what he’s speaking about.

And that’s more than clear to DYLAN ORLANDO. He’s seated on the floor in front of the shelves, humoring Asher’s poorly veiled way of discussing how much of a mess everything is in socially removed terms and nodding along. He’s scribbling on a piece of notebook paper, delicately folding it and sliding it into the same cubby hole where Riley found his note in 206. Asher doesn’t notice a thing.

Dylan is smiling as he climbs back to his feet, tackling the discussion head on and explaining the situation from his perspective. He explains to Asher that Lucas was dead serious about their sentencing and took full responsibility for it. He even made a major point about taking all the blame off of Dylan, claiming that it was all him and his friend was only trying to make sure he didn’t get into anymore trouble.

That’s noble, yes, but Asher can’t believe Dylan is so calm about this. How can he not be at all upset? He got arrested.

Dylan: The cause of my impenetrable sense of peace is threefold. [ holding up three fingers ] One, I am a human being capable of making my own decisions. You said so yourself. I knew what I was doing when I agreed to go with Lucas, so it’s not like he’s some incorrigible demon corrupting me and my adorable veneer of innocence and naiveté.

Asher: You’ve been looking at the word of the day calendar, I see.

Dylan: Two. [ dropping a finger ] It really just doesn’t feel like that big a deal. I mean, yes, it’s a big deal that we got arrested and I would not like to repeat that ever again -- not to mention it would be a far bigger deal if I were any other race or gender, because of all the systemic imbalances in the justice system that make it way harder for small crimes to remain small and not totally derail your life when you’re not white and male, which now that I’m thinking about it is really kind of a huge problem that we’re not talking about enough and now I’m starting to get lightheaded -- is this what it feels like to be you all the time?

Asher: Dyl, lighthouse. And yes.

Dylan: Right. Larger sociocultural issues aside, I don’t think it’s worth getting hung up on. It happened, we dealt with it, and now we move on. Things are going to be different, yeah, but things change every day. I think it’s way more important to decide what happens next rather than get stuck on what already did. And, three --

Dylan is down to one finger, which he uses to tap at Asher’s cheek affectionately.

Dylan: All I know is that when all was said and done, Lucas stood up for me. I know he’s going through a lot right now and hasn’t been acting much like himself, but you and I both know that he always looks out for his friends. He never lets anyone else take the fall. That’s still true, and I still think that the person we’ve had as our best friend for three years, faults and all, is who he really is. I believe that, so I’m not going to drop him.

Asher absorbs this, obviously torn. He crosses his arms. Dylan continues, gently taking Asher’s shoulders and getting him to meet his eyes.

Dylan: However… if you decide that you don’t want to deal with it anymore, then that’s okay too. He messed up, and you have every right to decide that you’ve had enough and not forgive him. Or even if you do forgive him, you don’t have to let him back into your life. It’s all up to you, and it’s something that you have to come to on your own I think. Even though --

Asher, under his breath: I hate decisions.

Dylan, without missing a beat: You hate decisions. I know. But you’ll have plenty of time to think about it while you’re with your fam in Florida, and we know you’re an expert at thinking things to death. [ off Asher’s eye roll ] I’m just saying, whatever you choose to do will be the best one for you. I believe that, too. And I’ll support it no matter what… although, I’m pretty sure the best choice will be the right one. I’m not worried.

Asher: You never are. [ off Dylan’s beam ] So… what is the right choice?

As if he’ll give it up that easily. Dylan makes a face, shifting his gaze to the wall behind them as he pretends to be lost in thought. Then he locks eyes with him again, lightly tapping the side of his nose in a knowing gesture.

Dylan lightly taps Asher on the nose as well, grinning and spinning to depart without another word. Asher blinks, obviously still not thrilled with the things he has to contemplate but unable to hold back a smile in his boyfriend’s presence. He makes one last adjustment to the props before following him towards the stepladder.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Lucas arrives in the doorway, no longer sauntering around like he owns the place. Instead he lightly knocks, an awkward gesture considering how unnatural it is.

JACK HUNTER raises his gaze from his work, emotion flitting across his features at the sight of Lucas for a second before he resets to a pleasant, neutral state. Pleasant, but removed, so not really pleasant at all. Not at all like it’s supposed to be.

Jack: Something I can help you with, Mister Friar?

Lucas: [ thrown by the way he addressed him ] … um, yeah. I’m supposed to get the service paperwork from you.

Jack hums, nodding. He rises to his feet and digs through the papers on the cabinet behind his desk. Lucas remains uncertainly in the doorway, twisting his fingers subconsciously.

Jack finds the correct form, crossing the room to hand it to him. Lucas thanks him, Jack offering a polite nod as he heads back to his desk without further ado.

Lucas glances down at the paper, then at Jack settling into his desk again. It’s obvious he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know what. It’s like he’s lost the right to say anything ever again. He retreats sheepishly, disappearing back into the main office.

Jack glances up from his desk, expression betraying his own disappointment. He shakes it off, focusing back on his work.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Farkle is settling back into the apartment, a bit stiff in it after nearly a month away. He’s set up a home base of sorts in the living room, blankets folded on the opposite end of the couch and a formidable stack of books on the coffee table. He’s dressed more comfortably than he previously allowed, light wash jeans and a hand-me-down Princeton sweatshirt a far cry from blazer glory.

Jennifer is bustling around in the kitchen behind him, relaying all of the details for their upcoming break and his adjustment back home. She mentions the specifics of when Farkle should be taking his medications for stabilizing his body in the aftermath of the attempt, and who will be home when to keep him company (and watch over him).

Jennifer: Lila is on her way back from school now, and Uri will be here after school when I go to work. I’ll be staying mornings. Of course, Darla and Curtis will be checking in periodically throughout the day to see if you need anything --

Farkle: Hence my transition to the public display case of the living room, yes.

Jennifer: You know they appreciate that rather than having to intrude your privacy to enter your room.

Farkle makes a face. It’s a lot of attention, yes, but he also knows exactly why it’s necessary. Regardless of the state he’s in now, he certainly did his part to earn the surveillance.

Jennifer: And Ezekiel is coming back next weekend. He’s going to try and fly home when he can.

Farkle, sheepish: He doesn’t have to do that.

Jennifer: He wants to. He wouldn’t have it any other way, and we’re lucky that we can afford it.

Farkle: He doesn’t -- I mean, no one needs to go to all this trouble. It’s good, I mean, I’m good. I’ll be fine.

Jennifer gives him a smile, gently perching on the arm rest next to him. She takes his chin in her hand, only slightly belittling.

Jennifer: It’s cute that you think I’m going to take your word for it.

Farkle scowls, shrugging out of her grasp. Mostly because he knows she’s right. Jennifer laughs, leaning over to give him a kiss on the top of the head. When she pulls back, the expression on her face grows more serious.

Jennifer: I love you. [ a beat ] I’m very glad you’re home.

A loaded declaration. Farkle’s indignation fades, returning the sincerity despite how out of practice he is.

Farkle, quietly: Me too.

Jennifer smiles lovingly, stroking his cheek once more before jumping to her feet again. She shakes off the heaviness, brightly suggesting the ways that Farkle can enjoy the break home before he returns to school even while being under more careful watch. He’s got that hefty stack of books there, and perhaps there are more people he wants to see? He’s more than welcome to invite some friends over, provided he lets her know.

Farkle doesn’t seem convinced by this prospect.

Farkle, under his breath: Would need some friends first.

Oof. After a month away, Farkle is feeling the sting of his isolation more than ever.

INT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - DAY

Isadora is also set up on the couch, Blue’s living room acting as her makeshift bedroom while she’s in transition between foster homes. She’s far more settled into her space than Farkle, comfortably flipping through homework when there’s a bold knock on the door.

She doesn’t seem surprised -- and maybe even a bit excited -- as she rises to answer the door. On the other side is VALERIE DE LA CRUZ, looking glamorous as always as she cheerfully greets her daughter.

As she steps inside, BLUE NGUYEN emerges from the hall to the bedroom. She graciously greets him with her high-wattage Hollywood smile, thanking him profusely for allowing her into his house and taking such good care of Isadora. It’s obvious he has no idea how to react to her boisterous presence, accepting the praise with as much poise as he can muster.

Then Valerie is back on Isadora again, already questioning what they should do or how they should spend the week. A delicious dinner to start, perhaps? There’s this upscale place she’s been dying to try on the upper west side -- oh and Blue can come too, of course. Or perhaps a movie, if there’s one Isadora has been dying to see?

Valerie: Of course, you’ll need to clear your calendar for Friday. Very important evening plans.

[ She retrieves three tickets from her purse, handing them over with a mischievous grin and flourish. Isadora takes them, jaw dropping when she reads them. ]

Isadora: Hamilton? You got Hamilton tickets?

Valerie: It was hardly a tizzy. Just called in a favor with Lin -- you know how he was practically begging me to be in In the Heights. Well, he was more than happy to work these out for us. [ brightly ] There’s a third one in there too. I figured you might want to invite one of your friends -- Maya, I would guess? I’m sure she would love to go, even if just for the chance to boast a little bit with your classmates next week. All in good fun, of course.

Isadora, still dazed by the tickets in her hands, claims Maya won’t be able to come. Valerie asks why not, concerned, but Isadora simply states that she’s out of town for the break. Visiting Katy. This only confuses Valerie further, considering how much has happened since her last visit.

Valerie: Well, where on Earth is Katy?

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - NIGHT

KATY HART, dressed plainly and in the midst of helping cook dinner, jogs to answer the urgent knocking at the door. She pushes her hair out of her face, yanking open the door.

Katy: Just a second! Goodness, who the hell --

There on the other side of the door is MAYA HART, weary from a long day of traveling and clutching a suitcase in her hands. She brightens when she sees her mom, effortless smile blooming across her face.

Maya: Sorry. Just couldn’t wait much longer.

From the expression on her face, it’s clear that Katy was not expecting her. But it’s impossible to keep the happy grin off her face, even if mixed with incredulousness. Before she can get a word in edgewise, Maya barrels her with a hug.

Katy’s mother and father emerge from the kitchen, asking who it is and what all the fuss is about. VIVIAN “VIV” HART (60s) is demurely beautiful even with her age, although clearly the authoritative one of the pair of them. HENRY HART (60s), on the other hand, radiates that same bold and upbeat energy that his daughter and granddaughter are so proud of.

Both of them are gleeful to see Maya, rushing over to join in on the welcomes and hugs. She’s whisked into the house without another thought, not sparing a second towards how she got there or what she’s doing there in the first place…

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Alone” as performed by Young Frankenstein Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus (feat. AAA Juniors)

The dramatic orchestral burst sets the mood in an instant, a spotlight illuminating Farkle standing atop one of the grandiose staircases in the Minkus abode. From the moment he speaks, it’s clear we’re in for a truly theatrical return to form.

Farkle: Oh, Maya, darling Maya, I miss you so much. Life has been absolute -- [ offhand, to DAVE WILLIAMS standing just out of frame ] dry martini, Davis, and I mean dry -- HELL without you. I’m so, so, so --

And thus Farkle launches into the ridiculous soliloquy, sashaying around in a luxurious dress shirt ensemble and dancing with his AAA classmates (sans the other super seven), who have all taken the roles of his wait staff and are dressed in identical uniforms. Some of them really make this look work, like YINDRA AMINO, while others like NIGEL CHEY and NATE MARTINEZ seem unimpressed as to what they’re doing there or why they’re being cast as his butlers.

When he dances with each of them, Asher and Dylan maintain their characterization by looking pretty disturbed in having to interact with him. Still, they all play their parts well, creating an enjoyable and suave support for Farkle’s melodramatic lament. Dave tries his best to give him the perfect martini, but never quite hits the mark.

All that aside, the most important aspect of the number is how good it feels to see Farkle perform again. Not just perform, but be absolutely, wholly over-the-top and ridiculous with an endearing amount of fanfare. This is the Farkle we haven’t seen in quite some time, and it’s nice to see him again as he tilts his head back to the high ceilings and belts out the final notes.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Even if only in a dream. Farkle is startled awake by peppy knocking at the door, having dozed off amidst his nest of blankets. On the TV, the film version of Young Frankenstein is playing. He struggles to his feet, attempting to shake off the fatigue and put himself back in presentable order. He reaches up to fix his hair on instinct before remembering he barely has any now, huffing and sliding towards the door.

Riley and Lucas are waiting on the other side, Riley offering a warm smile and cheerful greeting. Lucas does neither, keeping his arms crossed and settling for a glare instead. But hey, better than a derisive comment. That's an improvement!

Farkle steps back to allow them in, eyeing Lucas cautiously as they make their way inside. He questions what they’re doing there, which Riley scoffs at as if it’s a silly question. She explains that they wanted to come by and see how he was doing, moving further into the space and immediately going to adjust the blinds and let in more natural light.

Farkle tosses a look to Lucas. That so? Lucas doesn’t comment either way, turning away from him and getting a better look around.

Riley continues to quickly discuss all that’s happened in Farkle’s absence as he wanders over to join her. She mentions that someone will probably bring homework by at some point, and of course everyone is talking here and there about prom. They’ve started decorating for the senior send-off -- crazy how they’ll be seniors in just a couple months, isn’t it?

Riley: I’m glad that all of us will be able to jump into the final year together. [ a beat ] We all miss you.

Farkle, with a snort: Forgive me for not believing you. I’m suicidal, not delusional.

Well… remains to be seen. Riley brushes past the moment, asking how he’s doing and how his time at the hospital was. In a softer voice, she admits that there was a period where her mother considered sending her to some place similar for her depression when she was being bullied in ninth grade, so she’s always wondered. Behind her, Lucas continues to poke around the entryway and dining area with mild interest.

Farkle gives her the basic run down, expressing that while the treatment was fine and the workers were all quite nice, it’s hard to sell it as a desirable place to be when everyone present wants to die.

Farkle: You know, it’s hard to give it its due credit when most of the residents would rather be dead than be there. Literally, in case that point wasn’t clear. Not to mention the feeling of near constant surveillance, which I get, I put it upon myself, but it gets to the point where I was starting to wonder if I would ever be able to even think without the feeling that one of those well-intended nurses would hear my thoughts. It’s been nice to have the freedom of loneliness again, which isn’t something you’d ever think to say.

Riley: Well, that’s good. I guess?

Farkle: As good as it can be. But seriously, you think they’d save the overbearing surveillance for those who truly need it -- speaking of, hey Jackass --

Farkle has shifted his gaze to over Riley’s shoulder, glaring at Lucas. He jumps, spinning from where he’s examining the mantle by the dining table.

Farkle: Don’t you think it’s a bit morally decrepit to steal from the mentally ill?

Lucas scoffs, feigning innocence. He shrugs, crossing his arms in defense.

Lucas: Ha, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Farkle stares, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. Riley glances over her shoulder to look at him as well, giving him a knowing but more sympathetic grimace / smile.

After a moment of their dual scrutiny, Lucas relents. He scoffs again, pulling a handful of genuine silverware as well as a couple of other trinkets from his pockets and dropping them onto the dining table.

Farkle rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he settles back onto the couch. Riley keeps her eyes on Lucas as he sheepishly comes over to join them, but her disapproval would be more convincing if it wasn’t colored with unintentional fondness. She apologizes on his behalf, expressing that he’s had some trouble with those sort of compulsions lately.

Farkle: Oh, yeah, so I’ve heard. [ to Lucas ] Heard you stole a car.

Lucas, flatly: Maybe.

Riley: Not stole. Borrowed for temporary reckless purposes.

Farkle and Lucas continue to have a back and forth, sharing the same blunt and offhand tone.

Farkle: No keys? Break-in and hotwire?

Lucas: What do you think?

Farkle: BMW? Lexus?

Lucas: Maserati.

Farkle: No kidding. But doesn’t that have that security feature they were hyping to all hell -- ?

Lucas: Doesn’t matter if you disable it first.

Farkle: You can do that?

Lucas: If you know how.

Farkle: … touché. [ looking him over, cracking a smirk ] Well done.

Not the expected response, and a little refreshing. Lucas kind of smiles, but Riley is not thrilled with the exchange.

Riley: Okay, no, do not encourage him. We are not doing this --

Riley takes Lucas by the arms, spinning him and nudging him back towards the door. She tells Farkle that she’ll be sure to call him later, and she tried to talk to their other classmates about swinging by so she’s sure he’ll have company this week. Farkle doesn’t look convinced, but the sentiment is nice enough.

As she disappears into the hall, Farkle calls after her.

Farkle: Riley?

She pokes her head back around the door frame, giving him a look and raising her eyebrows. After a moment, Farkle smiles lightly.

Farkle, softly: Thank you.

This melts whatever chill he put between them from his brazenness with Lucas right quick. She returns the smile, blowing him a light kiss and pulling the door closed behind her.

Farkle releases a sigh, settling back into the couch and the solitude.

INT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - DAY

Isadora and Valerie are hanging out in the living room, Valerie pacing with restless energy. They’re debating what to do that afternoon, Isadora already showing a sign or two of feeling overwhelmed. She’s happy to have her mother there, but constant interaction can be a lot.

Their conversation is interrupted by a playful knock on the door, Isadora frowning. Valerie asks if she’s expecting anyone else, and Isadora calls back the same question to Blue as she goes to open the door.

On the other side is a delightful surprise, Dylan distracted by taking in the scenery around the apartment until Isadora opens the door fully. He grins wide when they lock eyes, holding a stack of tupperware in his arms.

Isadora: Dylan. What are -- what are you doing here?

Dylan: I wanted to swing by. I hope that’s okay.

Isadora: Sure. Um… what’s with the stuff?

Dylan: Oh, yeah, well --

Dylan adjusts them in his arms, letting out a laugh. Blue joins them in the living area, curious.

Dylan: I know you’re in transition right now and stuff, and with everything going on I figured y’all probably weren’t cooking for yourselves. Ramen is sustenance, but it’ll only last you so long. And I had plenty of time cause of break, so I just threw together a meal or two.

Or ten. It’s a complicated transferral from Dylan’s arms to Isadora’s to make sure nothing gets dropped, Blue jogging over to help.

Dylan: I had Asher write the stickies with the reheat instructions -- his handwriting is way better than mine, so.

Valerie flutters up to the doorway to get a better look, having waited long enough in the shadows. She brightens when she recognizes him, knowing him as one of Isadora’s classmates and eager to engage with another one of her friends. Dylan may not be her biggest fan, but he’s far more adept at feigning friendliness and navigating social situations than say, Lucas.

Valerie: Yes, yes, you were amongst the techies. Am I right? A darling crop of little talents there, I remember.

Dylan: Sure was. It’s great to see you again.

Valerie: I remember, you had on that bright yellow crewneck. Impossible not to make an impression wearing that! And you were always with -- where’s your other friend? The well-dressed, dainty one --

Isadora, apprehensive: Mom --

Dylan, lighting up once he understands: Oh, Asher! My boyfriend. [ off Valerie’s delighted expression ] Yes, I do quite love his little bird bones. He’s on vacation with his family for the break.

Isadora attempts to end the conversation before it can take any negative turns, thanking Dylan for the food and thinking of her.

Valerie: Oh, you have to go so soon?

Isadora: I’m sure he has better things to do.

Dylan, softer: Actually, um, I was kind of hoping we could catch up. [ meeting Isadora’s eyes ] We haven’t had much of a chance to talk, lately.

There’s a pause between them. Isadora seems like that’s something she might like to do too, but with Valerie hanging around them they won’t get to really say much of importance.

Blue steps in, asking Valerie if she might be able to help him get all this food organized and in the fridge. A swoop in rescue if there ever was one.

Blue, pointedly: Might take some time. My fridge could use some reorganizing.

Valerie: Oh, it would be my privilege, Blue. Don’t you worry, I have just the solution. My good friend Marie Kondo is really into this sort of thing, and she gave me an exclusive method I could use --

Valerie trails off as they disappear towards the kitchen, giving Dylan and Isadora space. Isadora watches her go, then turns back to Dylan who offers her a smile. She manages to return it.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Farkle is in the midst of reading, interrupted by another knock at the door. He shouts for Uri, assuming it’s for him. When no one goes to answer and they knock again, Farkle lets out an annoyed growl and climbs to his feet, dropping his book on the couch.

Farkle: If you’re gonna have people over, the least you could do is not have your ailing brother open the damn --

He cuts himself off when he sees a familiar face on the other side. Clearly not there for Uri.

Farkle: … Zay? What are you doing here?

Zay Babineaux, indeed. He seems a bit uncomfortable as he stands in the fancy hallway, but he made it there regardless.

Zay: Riley is damn hard to disappoint. [ a beat ] You going to let me in?

Farkle steps back, allowing his rival diva into the apartment. Zay is struck by the opulence, jaw dropping open slightly as he takes a look around. He knew Farkle was loaded, but it’s a lot different to see it up close and personal.

Zay bothers to ask how Farkle is doing -- he claims as to be expected, but somewhat better. Dare he admit it, he honestly misses the high energy and constant action of AAA. There’s plenty he doesn’t miss, but the life that seems to pulsate through it every day is a big one.

Farkle: But I’m sure you know that better than I do. I’m sure you’ll probably want to be going soon. People to see, actually healthy relationships to foster.

Zay: To be honest, I don’t think I’m doing much better in that department either.

Farkle blinks, surprised. Zay isn’t looking at him, keeping his gaze trained out the huge wall of windows towards the city. There’s a solemnity to his expression that Farkle hasn’t ever really seen before. Whatever it is that’s weighing him down, it must be important.

The solution, it seems, is to go back to what the two of them do best. Farkle says so. Despite whatever is in flux otherwise, there is one thing that the two of them can control without fail -- their ability to put on a good performance.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “no tears left to cry” as performed by Ariana Grande || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Zay Babineaux

Farkle kicks off the diva number, but it’s not long before Zay joins in. It’s difficult for him to turn down Ariana, after all. It’s the first true Farkle & Zay duet, and their voices clash just enough to create an intriguing, compelling dynamic rather than irritating. Not to mention they both bring the energy, dancing around the spacious penthouse.

Given the space, it’s also the perfect opportunity to pay tribute to the original cinematography. Zay is allowed to temporarily slip into the melodramatic mindspace of Farkle Minkus, the two of them walking on the walls and balancing amongst a penthouse folding in on itself.

The sentiment of the tribute rings strong for both of them. The time for wallowing is over, and they’re both ready to jump back into the ring with stronger motivation than ever before, albeit for quite different reasons.

As the number concludes, Zay collapses into the armchair adjacent to the couch. He catches his breath and commends Farkle for a job well done, as it seems even near death can’t knock him out of performing shape. Farkle admits he has to work extra hard to keep up with him.

The conversation drifts to Zay’s plans for the rest of break, after Farkle flatly states that his spring break basically belongs to the confines of his living room. He explains all of the auditions he’s lined up for future opportunities, vaguely alluding to his change of priority. Farkle doesn’t question it, instead lighting up as he remembers something.

He jumps to his feet, returning from the kitchen a moment later with another pamphlet. He hands it to Zay, stating that he should add that program to his roster for the week. It’s some audition that only folks on a paying list can really get updates about, but he should go for it since Farkle certainly won’t be going up for anything any time soon.

Zay seems hesitant to accept charity from him, but also grateful. He takes it and looks through it, asking if Farkle thinks he should actually do it. Any of it. If it’s even going to be worth it.

Farkle: I don’t know, man. Who knows what’s worth it and what isn’t in this business. It’s all a shot in the dark.

Zay: Yeah, but you’ve always had more luck. You’ve been the golden child since we walked through the doors of Adams freshman year.

Farkle: Yep, totally. I was the million dollar baby -- and yet, I still wanted to kill myself. [ off Zay’s grimace ] I’m just saying, we all have to do everything we can, because talent sure as hell isn’t everything. If you think you need to stretch your network, then by all means, do it. Knowing you, it won’t take long for you to see results.

Zay contemplates this, such a supportive and well-meant notion coming from his formerly feral classmate. He nods a thanks.

Riley, pre-lap: So happy to help. You’re very welcome.

INT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

Riley smiles as a customer walks away with their food, working behind the counter at a soup kitchen. She’s got the apron and plastic gloves and all, hair pulled back out of her face in a tight bun. She reaches up to ding the small bell on the countertop in front of them, signaling they’re ready for a new patron.

Lucas is there next to her, also aproned and gloved. He looks less enthused, though he completes the work diligently. He states that if he has to do so much labor with no gain or end goal for himself, then he supposes the fact that it’s helping the less fortunate is something.

Lucas: I don’t even like working for myself. You can imagine my disdain.

Riley: [ rolling her eyes ] You know that whole act doesn’t work on me. The lazy, devil-may-care thing. I know it’s not true, I see right through it.

Lucas: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not see through.

Riley: You’re a window. An open window.

Lucas: Okay, sure.

Riley: Not even a screen in there. Just wide open, letting in the breeze and the sunshine.

Lucas: See, that’s a very sanguine perception of me. I don’t think you could get popular consensus on that.

Riley gives him a look, the two of them holding one another’s glares again before inevitably breaking into smiles. They get distracted from the moment anyway, duty calling and hungry people waiting to be served. Riley picks the conversation back up again, pointing out that Lucas does in fact gain something from all this work -- the privilege of not going to prison. He claims that would be a gross overreaction anyway.

Riley: Well, you did steal a car.

Lucas: Borrowed. For temporary reckless purposes. [ defensively ] And I was going to give it back.

Riley makes an incredulous face, but once again amusement is hindering its impact. And that makes a difference? Lucas brings it all back to the point, reiterating that while it feels nice to contribute something meaningful, it’s going to be hell getting through an entire week of something so monotonous.

Well, all you need to fix that is a little bit of initiative. Riley says as much, glancing around the shop where people are chowing down and calling to one of the elderly men seated over by the corner table. She requests that he bump the dated jukebox installed to get it going, breathe some life into this place.

Lucas, deadpan: Oh, yes. Music is the solution. How could I have forgotten?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Lady Madonna” as performed by The Beatles || Performed by Riley Matthews (feat. Lucas James Friar)

The popular Beatles tune floats in through the jukebox, the patrons immediately appreciating its upbeat bounce. Riley shakes her shoulders to the beat, grooving in place until the vocals start so she can sing along.

Lucas: And now you’re singing. Okay. Sure.

Despite his commentary, it’s impossible for Lucas not to be endeared by her when she’s being so darn charming. She continues to sing and dance around him regardless of his sarcasm, taking it out into the shop and pulling customers into the fun. They clearly appreciate it, singing along with Riles when she hops up to sit on one of the tables.

She makes her way back over to Lucas at the conclusion of the first verse, taking his hand and pulling him out from behind the counter. As they make their way out of frame…

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

We jump into a quick cut montage of Riley and Lucas making their way through the week doing all sorts of different community service projects. They shelve books at the library, they pick up trash alongside the road. They help fix up housing accommodations that are in disrepair, flicking paint at each other; they’re surrounded by puppies at the animal shelter, where Lucas seems to actually be enjoying what they’re doing.

At the end of the middle transition, the first “see how they run,” Lucas and Riley sing it together while taking a moment of reprieve from running all around town doing good. Lucas seems exhausted, yet Riley’s grin brightens the mood as she spins him around and nudges him back off-screen into the next thing.

INT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

Back in the soup kitchen, Riley has pulled Lucas out onto the floor amidst the tables. She pulls him into a simple dance move, a shot focusing on both of their shoes doing the moves across the linoleum floor. Scuffed up black boots and cute doodled-on Keds, moving somewhat in sync and in the same direction.

INT. PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY

Riley rides on the book cart as Lucas continues to push it through the aisles, picking up the verse again and handing books to Lucas to shelve as they go. The song takes us back through each of their projects one more time, in time with the beat…

INT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

Until we end up back behind the counter at the soup kitchen, back to the same old but in admittedly much better spirits than before.

Riley spins around Lucas and ends up back in her spot, exchanging a flirtatious beam with him before reaching up and hitting the bell to signal the end of the number. Ding!

EXT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - DAY

Isadora and Dylan are out on the tiny balcony that can hardly be called a balcony, cramped against the sliding door and sharing the tupperware bin of cookies. Isadora hasn’t indulged in her treat yet, too preoccupied with Dylan’s story as he catches her up on everything that happened, building up to the joy ride. When he finishes, she can only formulate one statement.

Isadora: Holy fucking shit.

Yeah, that about sums it up. Dylan nods in agreement, breaking a piece of his cookie and popping it into his mouth. She attempts to process it all, expressing the same thought that she can’t believe Dylan is being so cool about all of it. He shrugs, Isadora shaking her head and lamenting how shitty Lucas has been, that of course it would culminate in something like this.

Dylan gives the same shorthand defense that he gave to Asher, before pointing out that Isadora is probably speaking way more from her own anger towards Lucas that she’s chosen not to confront nor address for months. It’s a take that floors her to speechlessness, Dylan noticing her shock before shrugging again.

Dylan: Sorry. I’ve been to the clink, I’m a different man now.

At that, Isadora rolls her eyes. But she has to admit that he’s right -- she and Lucas haven’t spoken in months. And even when they were talking, they weren’t really talking. The last time she feels like they really understood another, were really listening, was almost a year ago. And she wouldn’t even know how to communicate with him now.

Dylan states she doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to, but to him it seems like she does. It’s impossible for either of them to move past the way they are right now because there’s no closure. If she gives it one more chance and actually talks about things, then at least she’ll get that.

Dylan: Even if it’s not good, even if it’s the last conversation you ever have, at least it’s something. You’ll be able to clear the air. A certain goodbye is better than endless uncertainty.

Although she seems reluctant, Isadora claims she’ll think about it. She asks how Asher is handling things and if Dylan has made his choices about the whole situation, to which Dylan affirms both. He knows that Asher will make the right choices, and as for himself, he’s never wavered on where he stands. He’s always been an advocate for forgiveness, so long as the action isn’t totally reprehensible. Especially when you love the person who is seeking it.

Isadora absorbs the sentiment, taking a good look at him. Although she doesn’t say it, the softness that shimmers in her features conveys how much she missed Dylan.

Isadora: Since when did you become all wise?

Dylan, earnest: The hour and 13 minutes that I was behind bars really changed me.

She can’t help but laugh, Dylan cracking his delivery to grin. Isadora takes a bite of the cookie, humming in appreciation and nodding.

Isadora, mouth full: This is fucking delicious.

Dylan: Why thank you. And you’re welcome.

EXT. HART FAMILY HOME - HILLSIDE - DAY

A fresh new day. The sun is rising over the hillside, a pleasant breeze blowing the long grass.

Maya stands amidst the fresh air, taking it all in. She’s almost unrecognizable, no longer in her diva best. Fresh-faced with no make-up, money-making hair pulled haphazardly out of her face in a ponytail. Dressed plainly like the rest of the Hart family.

She closes her eyes, inhaling a deep breath. Absorbing the sunshine, the oxygen, the chance to really breathe. You can take the girl out of the theatrical, but you can’t take the theatrical out of the girl.

Then she turns and heads back up the hill towards the house.

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - DAY

Maya steps back inside the house and immediately joins her grandparents at the kitchen table for brunch. Katy and Vivian are just finishing set up the food, all of them settling in to eat. The way Maya interacts with her family is quite different from the way she is at school, but there’s something refreshing about it. In some ways, it might be nice to see her bring some of this energy back to AAA with her.

Still, her grandparents are invested in her dreams and ambitions. They ask Maya how the fancy arts school is going, and she enthusiastically responds with all of the things she’s gotten to accomplish in the last couple years.

Katy attempts to dig for truth again, subtly shifting the conversation to give Maya an opening to speak truthfully. She loves AAA, of course, but Katy is well aware of how complicated everything is within its walls.

It’s obvious she wants to ask about Farkle, but Maya manages to evade the discussion effortlessly. She digs into her breakfast, changing the subject by asking what Vivian and Henry might want to do that afternoon. Katy accepts the shift, but it’s clear she’s not pleased with it.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

It’s Charlie’s turn to make an appearance at the Minkus home. Farkle pulls open the door that morning to find him standing there, a tupperware haul in his arms that could rival Dylan’s. Farkle is stunned to see him, obviously not expecting it.

Charlie greets him, and once Farkle awkwardly invites him in he launches into a swift explanation of each of the dishes his family put together for them. He wraps up by explaining the two large tupperwares on the bottom, where a couple of casseroles have been stored. He mentions one of them containing pork.

Farkle, flatly: We’re kosher.

Charlie, breathless: … oh. Oh. Well, um --

Farkle: It’s fine. Uri is a heathen, he’ll eat anything.

Farkle takes the tupperware from him, inviting Charlie further in as he goes to drop the stuff in the kitchen. He seems less energized today than earlier in the week, operating with a brusque, restless nature instead.

His offhand bluntness doesn’t help Charlie’s nerves. It’s clear he’s glad to be there out of good will, but he moves about the spacious apartment with obvious uncertainty. So Farkle’s sarcasm only adds another unsettling factor.

Farkle: By all means, make yourself comfortable. We can only hope we don’t get smote by a vengeful God --

Charlie: Huh?

Farkle pauses. There’s a subtext to his statement that his knowledge allows him -- Charlie being gay, Farkle having attempted suicide -- but he opts for the more blatant explanation.

Farkle: You know, the subtle differences in our chosen beliefs. Let’s hope your Catholic deity doesn’t kill you for hanging out with a Jew.

Charlie is so scatter-brained he doesn’t even have the energy to care about that take on his religion. He awkwardly brushes it off, settling onto the couch and asking Farkle how he’s doing. They were all worried about him. Farkle obviously doesn’t believe him either, pacing along the carpet as he gives Charlie a similar spiel.

When he turns the tables back on Charlie and asks how things are, he carries the same uncertainty that Zay did a couple of days ago. Farkle picks up on this, smart enough to piece together that something must be going on between the two of them. Sure makes both of their free time to come see him more logical.

It feels like Charlie could use an escape, and honestly in that moment Farkle is feeling the same. He says as much, jumping back into his former frenzied energy and claiming that Charlie should just forget it for now. He claims they should direct their focus into something better, a little practice maybe -- Charlie seems skeptical, wondering if Farkle should maybe like… be resting, but he’s already off and running.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I’m Still Standing” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Charlie Gardner

The rendition is bouncy, fun, and definitely checks off the boxes Farkle was trying to achieve. He and Charlie both pour all of their nervous energy into it, making for a good performance. It’s especially interesting to see the two of them perform together, as it’s essentially a first in AMBITION history.

For as neat as the number is, it comes to a rather abrupt conclusion. Ironically, Farkle grows weary fast and nearly collapses. Charlie immediately drops down next to him and helps pull him back to his feet, moving them back towards the couch while Farkle catches his breath.

Despite how fine he’s attempting to appear, everything Farkle has endured isn’t just going to go away. His choices have consequences, and Charlie is witnessing the exhaustion that comes with it. He braces his shoulder and questions whether he’s okay, or if there’s something he can get him. Rather than answering, Farkle throws a curveball.

Farkle: I’m sorry, Charlie.

Charlie, confused: What? For what?

Farkle, out of breath: You’re a good guy. A little bland, yeah, but you’re good. You really care about people -- even people like me, despite all the shits I gave about that -- and I used to think that was dumb. I figured it made me better than you, but it doesn’t. I’m not. And you’re just as good as the rest of us -- you always have been.

Charlie: … I mean, I didn’t --

Farkle: I just want you to… you’re talented, Charlie. Okay? You’re just as good as anyone else, definitely as much as me. [ locking eyes with him ] I’m really sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t.

It seems out of left field, yes. But the origin of it is clear, all of these things that Farkle has been ruminating on but didn’t have the chance to say -- might have never had, if his attempt had succeeded. Now he’s making up for it. Now he’s saying it.

Charlie absorbs the sentiment. Somehow, it’s just what he needed, and means more to him than he could’ve anticipated. He manages a smile, nodding and patting Farkle’s shoulder.

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY

Katy finally gets a moment alone with Maya, settling down on the couch with her as she flips through an actual hard copy newspaper. She makes a joke about how those things have real actual stories in them -- who knew? Katy humors it before using it to transition to what she wants to talk about: why Maya came all the way out here to avoid spring break in New York.

Maya, timidly: Isn’t wanting to see you enough?

Katy: Of course, and you know I’m happy you’re here. But I wasn’t born yesterday.

Maya hesitates, perhaps about to really open up… when Henry and Vivian enter to join them. Maya sees their entrance as an opportunity for avoidance, picking the most effective conversation starter she knows -- Katy’s unappreciated talent.

After bringing up how Katy hasn’t performed in a hot minute, it doesn’t take long for the grandparents to jump on the bandwagon despite Katy waving them off. Henry, the artistic of the two, settles in at the piano and claims they can throw something together. Provided it’s something they all know.

Maya: Culturally timeless… you know a thing or two about Hamilton, pops?

Henry: Sweet pea, everyone knows a thing or two about Hamilton.

Maybe so. Maya grins, wiggling her eyebrows at Katy as her mother takes a spot by the piano with Henry. She gives Maya a look, but softens as the soft piano kicks up.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Dear Theodosia” as performed by Hamilton Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Katy Hart & Maya Hart (feat. Henry Hart)

Henry’s delicate piano lends a definitive charm to this understated duet, Katy taking the Burr verse. She sings uncertainly at first, but as she looks at Maya and emotes the chorus (“We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you...”), her lovely voice gains more confidence.

Maya jumps in on the Hamilton verse, her performance a bit more cheeky considering she roped her mother into it. But when they get to the bridge (“My father wasn’t around, I promise I’ll be around for you…”), that devotion and love they have for one another is crystal clear all over again. Maya takes Katy’s hand resting on the piano, linking their fingers.

Henry smiles as he plays along, pride twinkling in his eyes. Vivian watches from the couch, not a creative herself but happy to see her family all together again.

Even in the midst of chaos, there can be moments of beauty.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT

Valerie and Isadora are out on the town, having just seen a movie together. Despite it being one of Isadora’s interests, Valerie is keeping up a bulk of the discussion. It’s almost incessant, the way she’s all over the place to keep up conversation. She doesn’t notice, but Isadora is definitely starting to feel a bit of drain.

However, some of this exhaustion melts away when they bump into Eric emerging from a store. He greets them both cheerfully, Isadora engaging in conversation with him seemingly much more seamlessly than with Valerie. Eric assures Isadora that he’s quite enjoying his break, and he promises to continue not doing any work while he’s on vacation.

Valerie definitely clocks their playful back and forth, watching them with fascination and a bit of something like envy or disappointment.

INT. MINKUS HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

LILA MINKUS is present, helping Farkle with his recovery medications and ensuring he takes them properly. Their back and forth is dry and sarcastic as usual, but Lila is operating with slightly more tact than usual. The banter is more sibling-like rather than colored with genuine disdain.

Once he’s finished and subject switches to dinner plans, Lila pauses. Following the same pattern as Farkle earlier, she finds herself blurting out an emotional truth before she can think it through the way she’s used to.

Lila: You know I -- you know I care about you, right?

Farkle: … sure. Yeah.

Lila: I don’t just mean like -- I know we haven’t always been… I care about you. I can’t even imagine… [ voice cracking ] You can’t ever pull shit like this again. Okay, germ? You aren’t leaving us like that.

Farkle seems surprised by the genuine vulnerability. It’s uncommon in their household, but despite the stammering and tripping over words, he understands what she means. He nods.

Farkle: Got it.

Lila nods, managing a tight smile before escaping from the vulnerability. Farkle watches her go, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face as he puts his water glass in the sink.

EXT. HART FAMILY HOME - FRONT PORCH - NIGHT

Maya has retreated to the fresh air again, sitting on the hammock chair on the porch. Katy steps out to join her, quietly settling down next to her. She questions whether or not Maya has had enough dancing around the issues and is ready to talk about them. They exchange a look, Katy quirking an eyebrow knowingly.

It’s hard to hide from Katy. Maya sighs dramatically, Katy breaking into a smile and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Maya, melodramatically: It sure is nice out here in the middle of nowhere. Fresh air, quiet, a strange sort of whimsy that comes from having absolutely nothing to offer. [ sighing ] Perhaps it would be better to retire out here to live out the rest of my days, shelving the glitz and glamour of show business for the humble accommodations of the Vermont hillside.

Katy: You’re a good actress, but you aren’t that good, baby girl.

Point taken. It’s not a convincing option, coming from Maya. Katy redirects the conversation to what Maya might be running from instead, because she knows it has nothing to do with the dream.

Finally, Maya does her best to talk it out. She admits that Farkle will be returning to school next week, and she just needed the chance to get away from it all and really think. She’s not really upset with him anymore -- in some ways she is, but mostly she’s just tired. She wants the theatrics between them to stop, but she doesn’t think she wants to remove him from her life for that to happen. She liked having him as a friend; she misses him, and she doesn’t think she can continue to front that she doesn’t anymore. It’s too exhausting, living as a projection rather than authentically herself.

That being said, she doesn’t want things to follow the same pattern and self-destruct all over again. Something has to give, something has to change if they’re going to be friends again. She isn’t sure what, but she figures it won’t even matter if Farkle himself isn’t open to discussing it or willing to change.

As Katy wisely says, it seems like the next logical thing to do is to bring Farkle back into the conversation. Maybe he isn’t willing to change... or maybe he’s been thinking the exact same things. There’s only one way to find out, even if it’s daunting.

Maya sighs, accepting this as truth. She cuddles closer to her mom, reveling in how nice it feels to have her there with her again.

Maya: I love you, mom.

Katy: I love you, too. Every hour of every day.

She places a kiss on the top of her head, settling into the quiet of the Vermont evening.

EXT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

As they arrive to drop Isadora off, Valerie is already overcompensating for the earlier strain in trying to decide what they’ll do tomorrow. And has Isadora figured out who will be accompanying them on Friday? She doesn’t want to rush her, or anything, but it is coming around the bend.

Socially, Isadora has reached her limit. She sort of snaps at Valerie, stating no, she hasn’t figured it out yet. Things go quiet between them, Isadora sighing and facing towards the door. She opts not to just run from the negativity and tries to be honest with Valerie, expressing that she just needs some space. She’s glad she’s there, she is, but it’s… too much all at once. Maybe some time to herself would help.

Valerie does her best to be okay with it, but it’s evident she’s hurt. She relents, bidding Isadora goodnight and requesting that she reach out when she’s feeling more… interested in being with her again. But no rush.

As Valerie walks off, Isadora watches after her. She’s torn, not satisfied with how that conversation went but also too exhausted to deal with it further. She disappears into the apartment.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Run And Tell That” as performed by Hairspray Original Movie Cast || Performed by Zay Babineaux

The groovy intro floats over the city as a new day starts, zeroing on Zay emerging from the subway as he launches into the first verse. As he runs and dances his way around Manhattan, bystanders seem to join in on the performance and supplement the epic feeling of his progression through the city.

He darts in and out of buildings, sliding onto the stages and giving a flurry of different auditions. His outfit and style shift as he goes, representing the passage of time throughout the week as well as how he presents himself to each opportunity. Regardless, one trait remains the same -- his unmistakable talent.

INT. AUDITORIUM - DAY

When it gets to the Little Inez bridge, it’s not a different performer but rather stands in as Zay’s “audition” piece. And suffice to say, it’s impressive, showing off his energy and overlooked vocal power. About time we saw this spirit again!

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Audition portion completed, Zay bursts back out onto the streets of Manhattan. More and more of the crowd has gotten into the groove, creating a truly vibrant and energetic portrait of the city.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DANCE LOT - DAY

We make a return to a friendly setting to conclude the number, Zay rounding out the performance with his crew of talented and eclectic youth at the dance lot. No Charlie accompanying him this time around, but that doesn’t seem to make a difference. He’s alight with the passion he’s been putting on display all week.

Maybe this is what everything is all about. It’s like he’s gotten so distracted with everything else, he forgot why performing makes him so happy in the first place.

No ignoring it now, that’s for sure. The fellow dancers crowd around and give him welcoming pats on the back and high-fives as he slays the final run. Woo!

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

Meanwhile, Riley and Lucas are taking a well-needed reprieve from all their court-ordered do-gooding. They’re basically having a lowkey picnic, snacking on a late lunch after another long day of volunteering. Conversation seems to be easy between them, Lucas sprawled on his back and staring at the sky while Riley sits cross-legged an arm’s reach away.

After their chuckles die down from whatever they were talking about previously, Riley states that Lucas was really good at the animal shelter. He definitely has a knack for working with animals, at least far more so than anything else they’ve spent the last week doing.

Lucas: I don’t think it’s hard to show more enthusiasm towards animals than say, trash on the side of the interstate.

Riley: [ nudging him ] I’m serious. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve seen you be that interested in something… like, ever.

Lucas: It’s not my fault most things aren’t interesting. If they want my attention, then they should be better.

Riley shakes her head, biting back a laugh. She tilts her head at him.

Riley: I’m just saying. Maybe this could become something more permanent. You know, when it’s not a punishment for criminal activity. [ a beat, then playful ] Maybe you could get into the habit of actually doing good.

Lucas, thoughtfully: … maybe with you I could.

Oh. That’s not very playful or offhand at all. Lucas realizes his slip up a second too late, glancing nervously at Riley before directing his gaze anywhere but at her. Given that he’s facing the sky, it’s not hard to find other places to look.

But Riley doesn’t miss the moment. She absorbs it, smiling lightly to herself and pressing her lips together to hide it.

After a moment of quiet, Riley starts to broach the topic of how things have been the last few months. She figures it’ll be a touchy subject, but surprisingly, Lucas claims he has something he wants to say about that. She watches him curiously as he pushes himself upright, propping his elbows on his knees and taking a deep breath.

Then he meets her eyes, trying his best to be sincere.

Lucas: I’m sorry. About the way I’ve been acting.

Riley: I get it. There’s been a lot going on.

Lucas: Yeah. But that’s not an excuse. [ a beat ] I think… it just got too easy to deflect. Do you know what I mean? Like things were never good, but then with each thing that got stacked on top of each other in the last month it just felt like another good reason to fall apart. To let another screw go loose, and push away another person who was trying to fix it, until I was standing in the precinct parking lot with a whole bunch of… spare parts, junk, and no clue how they fit together anymore. And I’d done a good job of telling everybody to fuck off, so there’s no one left to help me put things back together. Now I’ve just got to… do it. It just sucks that it took hitting every rock on the way to the bottom for me to realize it.

Riley frowns, sympathetic. But she doesn’t interrupt, letting him work through the feelings on his own.

Lucas: I got there, and now I’ve got to try and fix it, but no amount of reason is a good enough excuse for the way I’ve been treating people. Especially you. [ looking at her ] So I’m genuinely sorry.

An apology was more than Riley was ever expecting, least of all one that feels so honest. There’s a moment of quiet, then she accepts it. They exchange tentative smiles.

Riley questions if he’s planning the same approach for his other friends, to which Lucas sort of laughs and weakly states he doesn’t know who would even count as a friend anymore. She says Asher and Dylan without hesitation, and it’s clear from the way he grows even more timid that they’re at the forefront of his mind.

With a little more nudging, Lucas admits that he doesn’t see what the point is. He was rude to Riley, but he was reprehensible with them. They were there for him and he took advantage of it at every turn, even if he didn’t consciously mean to. After the way they left things, with the things he said to Asher and everything with Dylan and the joy ride…

Lucas, defeated: He’s done. And he should be. [ shaking his head ] He’s never going to forgive me.

Riley understands the hesitation, but she delicately offers a counterpoint.

Riley: Not to sound like the dreamy optimist, but I really wouldn’t be so sure about that.

Lucas: You weren’t there, okay? You don’t know how -- I really fucked up.

Riley: No offense, but I don’t have to have been there to believe that. But I don’t think you’re giving Asher enough credit. I know I don’t know him the way you do, but he doesn’t seem like a particularly vengeful guy. Especially not with someone he loves so much. [ a beat ] You’d be surprised how hard it is to give up on someone you love.

Lucas seems bashful just at the insinuation, still far from comfortable with such open discussions of affection. But perhaps Riley has a point -- she speaks confidently enough, like she knows. He’s certainly listening.

Riley: I’m not giving any guarantees or anything. I just think that, yeah, if you never apologize because you think it’s not even worth it, then Asher definitely will never forgive you. If you never give things the chance to work out, then they won’t.

Something to think about. Lucas contemplates it, seriously considering her point.

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - DAY

Maya finds Vivian in the kitchen, prepping early for dinner. She asks if she wants any help, and Vivian cracks a joke about Maya volunteering to do any sort of housework. Is she sure she’s the same granddaughter she’s always known? Maya rolls her eyes, nudging her playfully before requesting instructions on where she can help.

While they work, Maya takes the opportunity to ask Vivian how she feels about Katy and her current straits. Considering Maya is, perhaps foolishly, trying to do the same thing, does Vivian regret letting Katy try to pursue her dreams rather than doing something more practical?

Vivian prefaces by telling Maya she knows she would never beat around the bush with her. Harts are hearty people, and damn honest at that.

Maya: Believe me, I know. Got a bit of a reputation for it myself.

That aside, Vivian admits that the whole notion of following the artistic dream does feel a bit reckless to her. She’s not a creative person either, so that doesn’t help the mystery of it in her eyes. But that being said… what’s life if not a little bit reckless?

Vivian: I may not get all of the hubbub around the dream, or the passion behind it. But what is the point of life other than to live it? Taking the guaranteed safe route when you believe you could do something more feels a little bit like cheating yourself… especially for someone as hearty as a Hart.

This placates Maya. It’s nice to remember that there are people in her corner all the time, even when they’re not in plain sight right there in front of her. She gives her grandmother a quick kiss on the cheek, then jumps back into dinner prep with the same intensity as a new performance.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

As the week has waned on, Farkle’s energy has come and gone in waves, and presently it’s at a low point. He’s crashed on the couch, eyes glazed over as he watches television. He’s startled by a knock on the door, but he doesn’t make a point of rushing up to get it. When they knock again, Lila emerges from the hall rather than waiting for Farkle to get up and do something about it.

She returns a couple moments later, poking her head in from the entryway.

Lila: Hey. Someone’s here for you.

Farkle, monotonous: Couldn’t be. I don’t have friends.

Lila: You’ve had like five people come by this week. Who were they?

Farkle: Okay. Those were my only friends.

Lila: Would you stop wallowing and just get up? I’m going to let her in either way.

Farkle: You’re the worst sister ever.

Lila: Socialization is good for you.

Isadora, from off-screen: This is ridiculous --

Farkle frowns as he places the familiar voice, turning to look over his shoulder just as Isadora marches into the room. Farkle’s eyes widen and he scrambles to his feet, obviously not expecting to see her at all.

Farkle: Isadora -- Smackle -- what [ adjusting his askew sweatshirt ] what are you doing here?

Isadora, unimpressed: What’s the matter? Did they take away your ability to walk and answer the door for yourself in treatment?

Farkle is speechless, embarrassed. This certainly isn’t the state you want one of your key intellectual rivals to see you in… well, ever. Lila looks back and forth between them, somewhat amused.

Lila: I’ll leave you to it, then. Nice to meet you, Isadora.

Isadora nods to her as Lila disappears back into the hall, snickering to herself.

Farkle and Isadora stand at an impasse for a moment, not sure what to say to one another. Farkle clears his throat, scratching at his neck.

Farkle: You didn’t have to come by. Just because you feel bad.

Isadora: That’s not -- [ scoffing ] that’s not why I came.

Farkle: No?

Isadora: No. I’m here to save your education.

Isadora marches over to him, shoving the homework from Cory into his arms. He manages to catch it, Isadora huffing and pushing past him further into the room. He sorts through the items, realizing that her intentions for visiting were at least partially utilitarian and genuine. He can appreciate that.

Farkle: Oh. Well. Thanks.

Isadora: Uh huh.

He puts down the homework amidst his spread of books on the coffee table, Isadora eyeing them and inching closer to get a better look. She curiously questions how his recovery is going, demonstrating her own knowledge of mental health exposure when she asks if they’re planning to put him on any permanent medication treatment plans.

Farkle flops back onto the couch, shrugging.

Farkle: They’re throwing all of it around. Lexapro. Zoloft. Prozac or Celexa. [ snorting ] You know what I realized? “Farkle” sounds like a drug. I’m a fucking antidepressant.

The problem, he concludes, is that they really don’t know what’s up him, so they’re hesitant to formulate a treatment plan. And makes sense, because he sure as hell doesn’t know what’s up with him either. Guess he’s destined to find out, sooner or later.

Isadora awkwardly wishes him luck with that, Farkle making an unimpressed face. Quiet settles between them -- she’s done her duty, and there’s nothing more to say -- but for some reason she doesn’t rush to leave.

Farkle hardly notices, sort of zoning out. Isadora recognizes the vibe, commenting that it’s okay. Farkle blinks, snapping out of it.

Farkle: Huh?

Isadora: That they’re still there. The… those kind of thoughts. They’re not just going to disappear because you went to one rehab treatment.

Farkle: Auspicious. Thank you.

Isadora: I’m only saying, you don’t have to be back in tip-top tyrant shape right away. You can… take a moment. Remember how to breathe again before you take off running.

Oddly apt to what he’s feeling, even if he’d never vocalize it. He doesn’t seem convinced, but Isadora isn’t going to just say her piece and go. If she’s going to make her point, then she wants to make sure Farkle really hears it.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Here Comes A Thought” as performed by Estelle & AJ Michalka|| Performed by Isadora De La Cruz & Farkle Minkus

With the opening synth, Isadora hesitantly takes a seat closer to Farkle. Her vocals, although strong as usual, also have a softer edge than we’re used to when she performs -- it’s an intimate conversation, still, even in song form.

The whole performance is very lowkey, the two of them simply sitting next to each other, watching each other carefully. Farkle joins in about halfway through, allowing himself to be more open about his mental state for the first time in the episode.

As the song comes to an end, there’s an unusually vulnerable moment shared between the two of them. They hold eye contact, recreating some of that feeling they felt in Eric’s office during group week although no closer to really understanding what it is.

Isadora clears her throat, searching for a change in subject. She nods towards the English homework.

Isadora: Sorry about the book, by the way. It’s a little banged up, but it’s the best I could do.

Farkle reaches for it, taking it in his hands. Pride & Prejudice. A well-worn copy of it, notes and annotations in the margins visible as he flips through it.

Farkle: Cory didn’t give you a school copy?

Isadora: He did… but I’m pretty sure my mom lost it. [ off Farkle’s snort ] She was all excited to enjoy some “truly classic literature” while endeavoring in her “cultured” stay with me, and I haven’t seen it since. So you get my personal copy instead.

Farkle: Oh, big honor.

Isadora: It is. There’s some genius analysis going on in those margins. Not many are so lucky as to get to experience it for themselves.

Farkle chuckles, taking a better look at some of the annotations. Then he manages a smile, holding up the book indicatively.

Farkle: I’m sure your additions will make for an interesting read, if nothing else.

Isadora tentatively returns the smile, edging her way towards the door to go. She hesitates, spinning back around and asking Farkle if he’s busy Friday evening.

Farkle: … I’m a freshly released mental patient who is basically on mother-ordered house arrest. So naturally, I’m booked solid.

Isadora: You’re not aware that I suck at sensing sarcasm, but I’m going to assume that was it. And if you’re not busy… what are your feelings on Hamilton?

INT. SVORSKI’S CAFE - DAY

Friday afternoon, end of break impending. Lucas is sitting alone at a table in the back corner, tapping his fingers nervously on the surface. There’s an iced drink in front of him, but he hasn’t touched it. Every time the cafe door bell jingles he jumps, looking towards the entrance and expecting to see someone important.

It’s always someone else. Lucas deflates after about the third repetition of this, slouching in his seat and dropping his gaze down to the drink in front of him.

The bell jingles again.

This time, it’s Asher pushing his way through the door. Lucas straightens up, swallowing and waiting for Asher to finish scanning the room and find him. He waves at him when they lock eyes, but it sort of looks like an anxious twitch.

Still, he gets the message. After a moment of hesitation, Asher cautiously makes his way through the cafe towards him. He keeps his hands in his coat pockets, on the defensive as he comes to stand at the table.

Lucas greets him, awkwardly standing as well. There’s an uncomfortable moment where they both look at one another, not sure what to do next, before Asher settles in the chair opposite him. Lucas takes that as his cue, dropping back down into his seat as well.

Lucas: I got you a drink. [ sliding the drink across the table ] Peach lemonade. ‘Cause I know you like it. I didn’t add like, sugars or anything, because I wasn’t… well, I figured you would know how you’d want that. If any.

Asher glances down at the drink. He lightly touches the lid, running his fingers along it. Not saying anything.

Lucas stares at him, obviously wishing he would. At a loss for how to proceed tactfully, everything he wants to say tumbles out of him unceremoniously.

Lucas: You were right to get upset. Okay? Believe me, I know that. And I promise, I’m going to pay you back for the bail money. And the hospital bill from my wrist, and… and like, all of it. I’m going to make the money and then I’m going to pay it back.

[ Asher lifts his eyes, watching him uncertainly. Lucas trips over what to say next. ]

Lucas: And I’m done with the stupid stunts. No more pulling Dylan into anything either. And I don’t know if I did any damage to your car -- I don’t think I did -- but like, tell me if I did and I’ll fix it. I’m going to -- I’ll fix it. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.

Still nothing. Asher is clearly listening, contemplative, but to Lucas it just feels like a wall. He grows more desperate, voice cracking and speech terse as he chokes on the emotion.

Lucas: You’re my best friend. [ a beat ] You’re my best friend, and I’m sorry that I fucked that up. And I know that… I know I can survive without you. Duh. I could do it, if I had to. But… I don’t want to. [ shaking his head ] I don’t want to think about my life without you in it.

The air is heavy with the truth of his words. Asher quietly absorbs them, dipping his head down to look at the drink. A second of silence. Then another. Then another.

Lucas: Okay, I know I just finished saying that you don’t owe me anything and I’m the one groveling but… could you please say something? Maybe?

A few more moments of silence that feel like an eternity. Then, Asher lifts his gaze to meet his. When his speaks, his voice is soft.

Asher, deadpan: You could start by getting me a straw.

Not the most forthright of acceptances, but not a cold dismissal by any means. And humorous, in Asher’s own special way. Lucas laughs, more out of relief that he’s speaking at all.

Asher: … I wasn’t kidding.

Lucas: Oh. Oh! Hold on --

Lucas gets up, grabbing a straw and sliding back into his seat. He waits as Asher unwraps the straw and sticks it into the lid, taking his time.

Before he takes a sip, he meets his eyes again. This time, some of the warm familiarity they share has reappeared.

Asher, quietly: Thanks, meatball.

The nickname is more of a signal than any verbal acceptance of his apology. Lucas cracks another relieved smile, Asher mirroring it lightly as he takes a long sip of the lemonade.

Perhaps all is not broken beyond repair.

EXT. MINKUS BUILDING - NIGHT

Valerie and Isadora are walking Farkle back to his building post-Hamilton, raving about the show and keeping up a relatively consistent chatter. Isadora is doing more observing of her mother and former rival interacting than contributing, but it isn’t an issue this time. And she seems to be enjoying herself nevertheless.

As they stop outside his building, Farkle states that they didn’t have to walk him all this way. Isadora claims actually, they did, as it was part of the requirements for his mother to let him come along with them.

Farkle: Yeah… thanks for inviting me. It was nice to get out of the apartment -- think I was going a little stir crazy.

Valerie: It was our pleasure, truly.

Isadora: Surprisingly.

[ Farkle narrows his eyes at Isadora. She matches the expression, causing him to crack and offer the ghost of a smirk. ]

Valerie: And you’ll be going back to Triple A after this weekend, no? Suppose this could be considered a trial run of some sort. A dress rehearsal!

Farkle: Yes, well, that will be a spectacle all its own, I’m sure. [ to Valerie ] Thank you, again. [ to Isadora, with a nod ] Isadora.

Isadora returns the nod, Farkle heading into the building through the revolving door. Valerie makes an expression at Isadora, raising her eyebrows.

Isadora, genuinely lost: What?

Valerie raises her hands in surrender, although the amusement doesn’t leave her features. Isadora obviously wants to question her, but the more they walk towards the subway the more emboldened Valerie becomes. Before they descend down into the station, she pulls Isadora aside and states there’s something she needs to tell her.

The reason that she came to stay with Isadora for the break wasn’t just because of everything going on here -- though that is part of it, and she’s happy to have been there for Isadora even if she can be a bit much.

Isadora: Well, I wouldn’t say --

Valerie: Oh, don’t try to sugarcoat it. I’m a big celebrity, I can take my share of critique. And I know we aren’t perfectly matched. I can be a lot, certainly more than you’re used to. But we’re improving, aren’t we? Every day.

Isadora can agree with that much. Valerie goes on to explain that she’s been doing a lot of thinking, much contemplation, and part of the reason she came to stay the week was to test the waters of their dynamic in long terms. Because... she hopes to try and get back custody of Isadora so that she never has to deal with this foster care business again. That, and of course, they can be a proper mother and daughter.

Isadora is shocked. At her stunned expression, Valerie quickly begins to articulate all the thought she has put into it. Naturally, she would only pursue it if it’s something Isadora would want… and does she think, maybe, it’s something she would want?

The moments that Isadora hesitates feel unbearable. Then, surprising even herself, she speaks.

Isadora: Yeah. [ a beat ] Yeah. It is. I would.

Valerie takes a moment to absorb it, realizing Isadora has said yes.

Valerie: Yes. Yes!

Valerie takes her hands excitedly, then remembers her discomfort with touch and pulls back. But Isadora mirrors her excitement, choosing to link their hands lightly again. Valerie brightens, launching into all of the wonderful things this could hold for them. Sure, it will require changes, and further understanding of one another as they go, but they have time for that. They have all the time in the world to figure it out.

Regardless, they will have one another. Decisively, like never before.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Stone” as performed by Alessia Cara || Performed by Isadora De La Cruz & Valerie De La Cruz

Valerie launches into the song first, Isadora easing her way into the harmony. Their voices combine in a delicately powerful duet, accented beautifully with the scenery of Manhattan glittering in the night.

They make their way through the streets, somewhat dancing around one another but actually in step for once. Both of them are smiling as well, the true cause of how bright the evening feels.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay is grooving in his room to his own music, laying out and taking stock of all the auditions he went out for over break. He seems proud of himself, as he should be.

DONNA BABINEAUX knocks on the door, Zay stretching to turn down the music. She skims through the papers on his desk, asking what he’s been up to all holiday running in and out. He eagerly tells her all about the stuff he went out for, Donna brightening the more he discusses it. Once he concludes she exchanges a double high-five with him before pulling him into a hug, planting a kiss on top of his head until he manages to shrug away.

Still, Donna is far from oblivious. She innocently questions what brought on this sudden surge of ambition. Zay falters, just for a moment, then maintains his positive demeanor as he shrugs. He claims senior year is right around the corner. May as well start doing all he can to leave an impression.

For now, Donna leaves it be. She reiterates how proud she is of him one more time before telling him goodnight. Alone again, Zay glances at his desk spread again and another smile drifts onto his face. Settling on his bed, he reclines comfortably and shifts to looking at his phone, on instinct going to send a message to Charlie.

Once the message thread is open, however, he freezes. The searing reminder of the state their relationship is in hits him all at once, temporarily forgotten in the hustle of utilizing his spring break. So in some ways, his initial reason for setting out to break ground succeeded -- only it hurts far more to return to reality than he anticipated.

His fingers hesitate over the keyboard, totally at a loss.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

As it turns out, Charlie is feeling the exact same way. He’s at his laptop, message thread open with Zay and trying to figure out what to say. Obviously desperate to say something, but not having any idea how he could.

The indecision will remain for a bit longer. He avoids it again, exiting out of the messages and returning back to his browser. A few of the tabs he had open at school are on screen again, giving us a better look at what he’s actually investigating.

Other arts schools. Transfer applications. The one on screen is for Haverford Prep, but it’s just one of many. It would require a whole other round of auditions all over again, but it’s clear for some reason, he’s putting the option on the table.

Charlie may not fix his problems at all.

He might run instead.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Farkle opens the door for one final visitor, expression going blank when he locks eyes with Maya. She returns his stare, more prideful in her stature, but clearly there by choice.

Farkle, stunned: Maya.

Maya: … that’s my name, yes. So flattered you remember. [ a beat ] Are you going to invite me in?

Farkle: Oh, uh… yeah. Yes.

Farkle steps back, but Maya hardly waits for him to move. She breezes past him, Farkle somewhat dazed and low energy and nowhere able to battle with her this afternoon.

She enters the living room with more familiarity than any of the other classmates, eyeing the cocoon that Farkle has built for himself on the couch. The reality of his situation dismantles her bold facade, and she only minimally manages to repair it.

Farkle asks Maya how her break was, and she claims refreshing. She fires back the same question to him, and he shrugs indicatively towards the dent on the couch.

Farkle: I’m sure you can imagine.

She can. Silence settles between them, uncertain. Farkle breaks it first, launching into an apology with the same uneasy tempo as when he spoke to Charlie.

Farkle: You have every right to be upset with me. For everything I did. You should hate me, and I would understand it. I should never have let my jealousy dominate my actions, and furthermore, expose a secret you meant to keep under wraps. That you shared with me in confidence --

Maya, resigned: I don’t care about any of that, Farkle.

Farkle: … you… you don’t. You don’t care. No?

Maya hesitates, inhaling a breath. She searches for what she wants to say, crossing her arms.

Maya: The attempt to keep my... financial circumstances a secret was kind of a fool’s bet anyway. It had to come out eventually. And the video was far more embarrassing for you than me -- I think we can agree you more than paid for that.

Farkle doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t interrupt. He’s more consumed by how great it is to talk to her again, how it feels to be back on the same page in some shape or form. No longer outcasted from her life, at least for a moment.

Maya: It was just… [ tentative ] I don’t have time to waste. I don’t have time to waste on people who aren’t worth the effort. And I thought -- I’ve had my experience with people who don’t keep their promises. I’ve had enough of it, forever, and so when you couldn’t be there for me and then twisted everything around, even when you said… even when we agreed to drop the antics…

Farkle, softly: I know.

Maya: So I thought the solution was the same. The last time someone hurt me this way, they left, and that solved the problem. I never had to deal with them again because they were out of my life. [ a beat ] Only I’m realizing that didn’t really solve anything. They’re gone, but the hurt is still there. Nothing about that situation is ever going to change, and it’s always going to hurt. Even with time.

Farkle: … but…

Maya: But… maybe, here, things could still change. If we make the right choices, better choices, then no one has to go. [ unusually fragile ] I don’t want you to go.

The additional meaning behind the sentiment goes without saying. Farkle swallows, realizing that the ball in his court now. Maya’s opening the door for him again, conditions attached, and he has to demonstrate that he’s capable of the privilege. That he’s capable of change.

So he tries to communicate it, in the best form of communication they know.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Thinking Of Him / I Miss the Music Reprise” as performed by Curtains Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Maya Hart

A direct parallel to Farkle’s former performance in 204, he kicks off the soft duet with sincerity.

Farkle: What was I thinking when I let you slip away? [ a beat ] Oh, yeah…

He admits all the ways in which he was selfish or misguided in the past year, culminating in that emotional and vulnerable declaration (“But why pretend? I missed the music, I missed my friend”). As Maya joins in, she eases her way back towards him. Both of them end up on the couch, singing in harmony for the first time in what feels like ages.

Maya wraps her arms around his, gently resting her head against his shoulder. A smile slowly blooms across his face, and he allows himself to tilt his head back against hers.

I choose the music I make with you, I love the music I make with you.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Upon return to school from break, Jack is back in his office and going through all of the new correspondence and paperwork that has piled up.

Lucas appears in his doorway, lightly knocking. Jack lifts his gaze, waiting for an explanation without a word. Lucas holds up the community service form, all filled out.

Lucas: Just needs your signature.

Jack nods, gesturing him in as he searches for a pen. Lucas waits patiently as he signs on the bottom to verify the hours, handing it back to him promptly. No praise, no congratulations. Just the expected transaction.

Lucas wasn’t expecting anything else. He folds the paper and starts to back out of the office, about to let that be that. But he hesitates, thinking about the past week and all of the other bold choices he’s had to make.

Lucas: I know I messed up.

Jack stiffens, not expecting there to be more either. He pauses to listen, leveling his gaze to watch Lucas. He keeps his expression politely neutral.

Lucas: Kind of seems like that’s all I do. And maybe it is. [ a beat ] But I’m going to try. I’m gonna make it right. I’m gonna make it up to you. I swear.

Lucas holds his gaze, not flinching away from the honesty. Meaning every word of it, and wanting it to be crystal clear.

Then he exits, not wasting another second. Jack stares at where he left, honestly not anticipating this earnest curveball. He has to blink to shake it off, the process of being emotionally removed no longer so plain and simple as it should be in theory.

He settles into his desk, aiming to distract himself via work instead. As he opens his desktop and goes to their email server, a message in his inbox seems to catch his attention. It’s from Evelyn Rand, school board member, and the subject line is a true attention-getter.

“Did you see this?”

Jack opens the email, skimming the message. From what he can tell, Evelyn has forwarded him a complaint that was filed with them over the course of spring break. It’s leveled against AAA, and the last line of her email stands out in particular.

“They intend to go public with this, from what I understand. What are you planning to do?”

Jack’s neutral demeanor is long gone. He frowns as he opens the attachment she’s sent, waiting impatiently as the compiled report on the complaint loads up. It’s a boisterous, flashy campaign against AAA for their “unfair enrollment procedures,” highlighting how personal favors and “special cases” gain coveted spots rather than hard-working, well-deserved, young talent willing to put in the effort and pay the price of admission.

It’s a smear tactic if there ever was one -- filed by a very indignant family -- but the tactic itself is hardly what causes the concern on Jack’s face. It’s the subject they’ve chosen to be their pièce de résistance, the perfect example of how “corrupt” and “unmerited” the current enrollment is.

Lucas James Friar. His school portrait staring back at Jack from the center of the complaint, promising to be the unwitting key talking point for what might very turn out to be an unpleasant and loudly public Bradford temper tantrum.

Break time is definitely over.

END OF EPISODE.