#saw other posters with this quote but none of them felt good enough so i made my own

[satyrradio]

made a poster

[americangirlstar]

World By Us Quotes

I know when we make aesthetics/art pieces, we like to have little quotes from the books below it! Here’s some quotes for the WBU girls– if it’s not said by them specifically, I put who said it at the end in [brackets], and if it’s not from their main book, I made a note in italics at the beginning.

Makena Williams

As I sorted through the new items on the bed, I wondered what kind of statement I wanted to make. I was going to have fun figuring it out!

As I looked at the outfit now, I realized it still needed... something. I closed my eyes and focused on how I was feeling. I was nervous, but excited, too, like something I had been waiting for was finally about to begin.

I added three gold butterfly hair clips to my twists. Butterflies are a symbol of transformation, and I knew today would be full of big changes. When I tilted my head, the butterflies looked like they were taking off.

On my way to the gym, I passed the big mural again. We Walk Together. I smiled, knowing that I had just met two new friends to walk with.

I have four names: Makena means “happy one” in Swahili; Lilias was my dad’s mom, who died when he was a boy; Cook, for Mom’s family, and Williams. They all matter, and they make me who I am.

“Fashion can be a form of activism. And I wouldn’t be surprised if one day that was your purpose.” [said by her mother]

I want to live in a world where who you are inside matters more than what you look like outside.

I rolled over and pressed the pillow around my ears, but Mom’s question was like a song I couldn’t get out of my head. Couldn’t he see that they’re children? Couldn’t he see? No, Mom! I wanted to scream. That’s the problem. He couldn’t see that we’re real people, with real names and lives and feelings. All he could see was that we’re Black. I cried sad and mad tears, because none of it made any sense.

I’m so much more than what you see / Don’t guess- ASK about all the feels inside me / Get to know who I am for real / Then maybe this world can start to heal / See me, hear me, know me!

My name is Makena Williams. Something happened to me, and I am not okay.

I am a person. See me for who I am. Hear what I say. Get to know me before you make up something about me. Judge me by my words and actions, not my race. See me. Hear me. Know me.

Do you see us now? We’re girls. We’re your neighbors.

I ran my fingers across the letters. There was my idea, my first design, in real life. I was so proud.

My eyes went back to Auntie Bling’s word power. Maybe I could give other people the power to tell their own stories. What if kids could show and tell the world who they really are, how they really feel, in any style they chose?

I’m Makena. I’m proud that my family’s roots in Anacostia go back four generations. I came up with the words on my T-shirt because people weren’t seeing the real me. They were only seeing that I was Black– if they saw me at all. I love West African kente cloth because the colors and patterns tell stories. The green in this skirt signifies renewal. I like wearing butterflies because they remind me that though change can be difficult, it can lead to something beautiful. With my fashion, I am always making a statement.

When everyone had made their statements, we all gathered onstage for a bow. The audience was on its feet, clapping and cheering for us. All the other kids hopped off the stage and started mingling. I stood there, watching adults talking to kid and kids from different communities talking to each other. Seeing so many people come together was powerful.

I believe that when you take time to get to know people, you get to see who they truly are.

I was so proud of what we’d done that I couldn’t stop grinning. Just before I went to join my friends and family, I glimpsed my own reflection in the window. It looked as if the river was flowing right through me. Maybe it does, I thought, along with the strength of my ancestors, and the bravery of Black people before and the bravery of everyone in this room who works for change.

Evette Peeters

When we made the sign last year, I painted a monarch butterfly above the words. Monarchs fly thousands of miles. Their strength and endurance remind me of the people who were on the front lines during the pandemic.

The one good thing about not going anywhere was seeing the gardens change. I never knew it could be fun to watch plants grow, but it actually was.

The bridge was coming up. Pretty soon, we’d be crossing the Anacostia. I’d been crossing that river all my life on the way to Gran E’s house. Every time I saw it, the river looked different. Sometimes the waves were rough, but today they were calm. The sunlight made the pale green water sparkle.

Why did people think skin color defines who we are? It seemed so simple: humans come in different colors, just like flowers.

I put them on and hung my heart necklace on my jewelry tree. Next to it was a locket that had an umoja symbol on it. Umoja means “unity” in the Swahili language. Gran E had given me the locket for Kwanzaa last year, along with a card that said, “Promise always to see umoja: unity in the family, community, nation and race.”

Still, I couldn’t help wondering, Is this how a rift gets started? Something goes wrong between people, and before you know it, there’s a rift between them. Was that how it happened with my grandmothers? And the most important question of all: Could a rift between people be repaired?

The grass was trampled, but seeing the riverbank free of litter lifted my heart.

With a day of hard work, we had healed part of the river. If only it could be this easy for my grandmothers to heal the rift between them.

“A world– by us,” I announced, writing it on a piece of poster board. I looked up at my friends. Somehow when I was with them, anything seemed possible. “That’s what we’ll call it– and that’s what we’ll make it.”

What I’m trying to tell you is not to judge a whole person for one thing they said or did. People can change and learn from their mistakes.

Well, we are one family. So we should all act like it, right?

I know the world has many problems, just as there are many kinds of pollution in the river. But with the sunshine and the music and good friends beside me, I felt a wave of hope rise in my chest. As long as we can imagine a better world, we can make it happen. When people come together, we can do remarkable things. The river taught me that.

Maritza Ochoa

from Makena’s Story: Well, we don’t need to wait until we grow up to make a difference. We can start now, making the kind of world we want to live in. 

At school, the girls always play with the boys. The girls are tougher than you think.

Before she passed away, I received a beautiful journal from her in the mail. Inside, she had written inspirational quotes from famous women athletes and leaders. On a note enclosed with the journal, she had written that I should add more inspirational quotes to the journal, because keeping a positive attitude was important when life becomes hard. I had to admit, it was hard to be positive during that time.

I stared down at the salteñas, thinking of what my abuelo said. Prayers weren’t enough, but sometimes prayers are all you have. Was there something more I could do?

The title of the piece was Tu lucha es mi lucha, which means “your fight is my fight.”

Remember, we’re young. Nobody expects us to be leaders, so we must expect it from ourselves.

There was incredible history here, and yet... so much more history to be made.

“She needs me to be her friend,” I replied. And as soon as I said those words, I felt them in my heart.

In soccer, if we see something wrong, we call it out so it can be fixed. I see something wrong, and I want to help.

Tu luca es mi lucha. I will lead with my heart and find a way to help your family.

We don’t just want to talk about injustice. We want to do something about it.

It was as if Tia Mari knew that someday I’d need this quote. Maybe I’m more like her than I even imagined.

All of us are united in our love for soccer, but we are also united in another cause that we want to share with you. Soccer has taught me many things, but most important it has taught me to be a team player and to be vocal if I see something wrong. This past week, I saw something wrong and I want to bring it to everyone’s attention.

If you were here, I would tell you what an inspiration you are to me. I miss you, Tia. I know I’ll always miss you and that’s okay. It will be an extra part of me that will make me stronger and kinder.

[ikingsley]

Ina x MC: My Star

Ina x MC: My Star

Summary: Ina and Luna take their relationship to the next level.

Warnings: Fluff! So much fluff.

Tag: @samanthadalton @domakir @kulaykape @hellyeah90sbaby @dopeyouth @kwaj05 @thedaft1​ @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @kaitlynliaofanxx (Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)​

Author’s Notes: Events after the gala in QB Ch 16. Unfortunately, I have been busy with school and work, but I’ve still been writing. I’ve been working on a new series, one that tells about Ina and Luna’s future together. Here’s the start to their future relationship.

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

May 3 @5:42 PM

Ina: Hey. I have a little something for you. Do you want to swing by my place and pick it up? Maybe stay for dinner too?

Luna picked up her phone, reading the message. They had been together officially for a few months now, but the gala had in a way halted their progress. It’d been a few weeks since Ina and Luna had truly been together for a date. Conversations through texts and FaceTime calls that lasted well into the night did occur frequently, but nothing of the romance the two had grown used to. Neither one knew how to approach the delicate situation they found themselves in. 

Luna: I’ll be there.

Luna walked quickly to her dorm, grabbing a hoodie. She trudged over to Ina’s apartment and waited patiently on the other side of the door. Ina opened it and gave her that million-dollar smile. 

“Hey,” Luna breathed out, her breath hitching after seeing Ina physically after weeks.

“Luna. You’re looking as radiant as ever. Come inside.”

Ina’s glance to the outside world did not go unnoticed. It was if she was searching for someone watching her. Not finding anyone who caught her attention, Ina closed the door and bolted it as she welcomed Luna inside.

“You know, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“You finished your first year at Belvoire. I think that deserves some celebration.”

Luna looked around, taking in Ina’s apartment once more. Then she smelled it.  She looked around the kitchen and saw the oven light on.

“Is Ina ‘I-Burned-Pasta’ Kingsley cooking?”

“Well, attempting to. I have some chicken in there.”

“Color me impressed. Does that chicken happen to be for me?”

“No,” Ina chimed in, turning around to attend to her food. “It’s for a twin sister you never knew you had that I also happen to be going out with.”

Luna only rolled her eyes at Ina in reaction, but reached forwards to hug her from behind.

“I missed you,” Luna whispered into Ina’s ear.

Ina spun Luna around and stared intensely into her eyes. “And I, you. Our FaceTimes weren’t enough for me. I don’t know what happens next with my future at Belvoire, but I know I want my future with you.”

Ina pressed a kiss against Luna’s temple. The timer went off and Ina pulled the chicken out of the oven.

“Me too. I-” Luna stopped.

Ina stopped and swiveled around waiting to hear those three words. “I…what?” Ina questioned. And how she longed to hear those words uttered from Luna’s mouth. Ina heard them frequently from Lilian and Charlotte, but she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d heard it from a partner. Excluding Luna, it’d been so long since she’d felt that kind of intimacy.

“I…I wonder what we have to accompany this chicken!” Luna diverted.

“Oh. I forgot to tell you. I have some broccoli in there too. Maybe I have some…wait- this went bad.” Ina dumped the rotten spinach in the trash. “Yeah, only broccoli.”

“That’s perfect.”

Soon, Ina placed a full plate in front of Luna and settled beside her. They took their first bite and surprised was only one way to describe the taste.

“This is uh…interes-” Luna remarked as she politely forced herself to swallow a portion of the food.

“You don’t need to-”

“Thanks.” Luna ejected what was left of the chicken from her mouth like it were a toxin.

“So, pizza?” Ina said and sputtered out the chicken. It was bone dry and there was too much seasoning of all sorts. Too many things had been combined.

“Please. No offense.”

“None taken. It’s the thought that counts, no?”

“You’re improving every time I see you cook, so let’s call it progress,” Luna smiled as she patted Ina’s shoulder. She stood up to grab her phone and order pizza.

Ina sighed and flopped on the couch. She so desperately wanted this night to go well. She herself was nervous. Ina had spent the previous nights tossing and turning. It finally had dawned on her that she was in love with Luna. Ever since she met her she’d slowly been falling more and more under Luna’s spell. Now she was completely enraptured by her. The simple facial features that morphed into an infectious smile. The way her nose crinkled when she laughed at Ina’s horrible jokes and witty banter. The way Luna caressed her face as she swept her into a kiss. Everything had been coming together.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Luna asked while she sat down next to Ina indicating she had just gotten off the phone for pizza delivery.

“Just...contemplating everything surrounding us. I’ve come to understand what’s truly important to me, which ultimately boils down to Lil, Charlotte and you of course. I don’t dislike my job, but maybe this is an opportunity for me to try and search for a more research-based career rather than actively teaching.”

Ina stood up, grabbing a small, elegantly wrapped rectangular box.

“I care for you too, Ina,” Luna smiled. “You so did not wrap this by the way.”

“Hey! I’ve gotten better at gift wrapping.”

“Not this good-”

“Oh hush, you. Open it.”

Luna meticulously pulled off the wrapping. Inside was a small framed poster. The poster had a big circle right in its center with some stars in it.

“Ina, this is beautiful. Is this-?”

“The stars on the day we met.”

“I don’t know what to say, babe. It’s...it’s perfect. I love you. I mean, I love it! Yeah! I love it.”

The silence that followed was highly drawn out. Both - who could talk a mile a minute when they were excited or passionately ranting - were dead silent. Ina replayed the moment in her head over and over. Had she heard right?

Luna was more bewildered with herself. She’d been too used to toxic, quickly-ending high school relationships. But as more time passed since she’d let the cat out of the bag, the more she realized that this somewhat spur-of-the-moment confession had more truth in it than anything she’d ever said before. She did love Ina. She loved the way Ina would tell her about her day, getting particularly loud during both the best and worst parts of the day. She loved the way Ina made her laugh or actually kept up with her nerdy discussions. She loved the way Ina would leave anything she was doing if Luna needed something. She loved the way Ina cared for Luna during her stressful finals and tended to her every need. She loved the way Ina balanced her so well. 

But deep down, Luna was scared. Scared of being hurt again. Scared of loving someone who only loved her if she acted in a certain way. But that someone wasn’t Ina. She’d found more of herself through Ina. And she’d found something she deserved in a relationship - a mutual respect.

“Can I crash here? I’m pretty tired.”

“Yes, but Luna...”

“Good night!”

“Wait-”

Ina’s urgency made Luna swivel around and she finally met Ina’s eyes. They were full of admiration, love, happiness.

“Did you mean it, Luna?”

“Mean...what?”

“You know.”

“Well, words are a tricky thing. After all, there’s a whole branch of anthropology that focuses on linguistics. It’s very complex!”

Ina hummed softly. “Yes, well...good night.” Ina pressed a chaste kiss on Luna’s forehead and Luna began to turn around to the bedroom. “I love you, Lu.”

Again, Luna stopped in her tracks. “What?”

“I love you, Garcia,” she grinned. “Come here.”

Luna ran towards Ina as she swept her in her arms. Luna jumped into Ina pressing her lips against Ina’s. Ina carried Luna’s small frame and paraded her around the apartment, often breaking their kiss with more admissions of love.

“I love you, Ina. With all my heart. You know pieces of my past and so I was scared to say it. I know we haven’t officially been together for long, but what I feel for you, it’s beyond anything I’ve ever felt before. I am...deeply in love with you, however scary it may seem.”

“Read the caption under the stars, my love.”

Quietly, Luna descended from Ina’s arms and picked up the poster she’d just been gifted. Under the stars was a small quote. 

I love you, what star do you live on? - Conrad Aiken 

Ina Kingsley and Luna Garcia

The Day the Stars Aligned. September 6, 2020 | 4 AM | Dreams Diner, New York 

“I love you so much you big nerd,” Luna beamed and wiped away the tears that began forming at the corner of her eyes. “I love you, Ina Kingsley.”

“Sol.”

“Sun? My name, Luna, means moon in Spanish. But I guess I’m your sun too.”

“You are. By the way, I know that, Lu.” Luna gave her a ‘really? are you sure about that’ look. “I am fluent in Spanish thank you very much! I learned it before English!”

“As did I,” Luna retorted.

“Right, well. My middle name. It’s Sol.”

~

A few months later...

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Ina laughed.

“Honestly, same.”

“What? You basically coerced me into coming!” Ina exclaimed. “I thought we were going to the museum.”

“We will after if you’re up to it. And you would’ve come regardless. You love me too much.”

“Touché.”

“Such a little simp.”

“And?”

“No, nothing,” Luna said quickly. She proceeded to whisper simp once again under her breath.

A strong, tatted man opened the dark curtains, letting the establishment soak in the sunlight.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

“We’re here for tattoos!” Luna said happily.

“Yes, well, we are at a tattoo parlor,” Ina retorted.

“Sorry. Don’t mind her. She’s just grumpy all the time.”

Ina made a face at Luna, her brows furrowed in frustration. Just through that look, Luna knew not to pester Ina once more. She gave her a ‘you’re in trouble when we get home’ look.

“You both are willingly getting tattoos?” the man asked. It was definitely more directed towards Ina.

Bashfully, Ina nodded. Never in a million years did she think she’d do this. A tattoo. Jesus Christ. Luna was right. If she pulled out a Merriam-Webster dictionary, she knew she’d find a full page photo of herself next to the word simp - a word they’d specifically added just for her.

“What are you guys looking for? Something small, something big? Something plain, something colorful?”

Who was this man? Dr. Seuss’s son? Ina thought to herself.

“Just something small. Maybe on my hip or something,” Luna answered for the both of them as Ina nodded in agreement.

As fun as this little bonding activity was, both women were professionals. Nothing could be too blatantly obvious. Potentially hypothetically, Ina couldn’t have her students ask her about her new tattoo rather than anthropology.

“Do you guys have any designs you want me to copy?” the man asked as he put on gloves.

“Umm...I didn’t have anything in specific in mind. Maybe her name or something that reminds me of her? A rose maybe?” Luna began rambling as her thoughts took over.

The two women stood aside in silence, pondering what they would get. It was unlike them - they were always prepared for everything.

“Hey, Luna,” Ina turned to face her partner. “Why don’t we get a sun and moon?”

“Aww, Ina,” she smiled.

Goddamn those heart eyes, Ina thought.

“Okay, why don’t you get a moon and I’ll get a sun,” Luna said. “That way I’ll always be reminded of you, and you me.”

“I’d like nothing more, my love.”

And after being called a baby multiple times by Luna and a few blaring yelps - mostly on Ina’s part - they were permanently linked by ink. 

“I love you but I am never ever doing that again, Luna.”

[jungkookiebus]

Hellblazer Final | jjk

Genre: demon!au, smut, some angst, fluff (???) Rating: 18+ Pairing: demon!jungkook x FemConstantine!reader ft. Beezlebub!Hobi (briefly) Word Count: 5.9k Warnings: dom!jungkook, mentions of suicide (brought up previously), oral (f receiving), lots of bodily fluids, light breath play, unprotected sex, ass play, there is a blood ritual of sorts (use of a knife to cut hand for said ritual), more of Jungkook’s body parts warm up (yes, his cock does it again).

“You're quite alone. I'm... well, I'm just like everything else around here. Just like you, really. Just another dream becoming a nightmare.” -John Constantine, Prime Earth

You awoke again, not even realizing that you had fallen asleep. This time he was gone. The space beside you was cold and vacant. You sat up, groaning, because you felt like you had the shit beat out of you. But for some reason, you had never felt better. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed you softly slipped down off it. You kept a steadying hand on the bed because being in bed for months did you no favors but you had a nagging feeling that the short amount of time you seemed to be here, he was healing you a lot faster.

The room was warmed by the fire and you noticed the spear was gone. Looking around, this room wasn’t unlike others, minus the grey cast, and there was no clear indication you were even in Hell. Except for the feeling. Hell had a way of feeling different.

Trying the door handle, it gave way easily, swinging open with no sound at all. The hallway beyond was just as dark and lit with candles that were melting around the twisted metal. The soft, grey glow barely illuminated to the middle of the hallway. The floor was lined with expensive rugs that protected the black, shiny wood beneath. Hideous portraits and scenes lined the walls. Many seemed to be sneering at you from the darkness. There were no sounds, which made it all the eerier. There was no draft, no distant conversation, or the occasional scream. One end of the hall curved towards the right, so you decided to take that direction since the other way was lined with doors that seemed to stretch on for forever. There were many illusions in Hell because you had encountered them. You didn’t think the House of Satan would be any different. Moving slowly, you kept to the carpet and tried not to look at the pictures on the walls. As you made the curve in the hallway you saw it open wide on the left into what appeared to be a very large room. From where you were you saw bookshelves lining the walls and you heard what sounded like a very large fire burning. You approached even slower as you looked around the corner. The room seemed to be a large sitting room and library with a very large fireplace. The sculptures on it were ornate; large golden serpents twisted amongst the branches of an apple tree and above that in stone was a visage of purgatory. Someone was sitting on a long leather couch, back to you, and engrossed in a book. He appeared to be in a suit, hair meticulously done, and slicked back with an undercut. When his hand came up to turn the page you recognized a very familiar tattoo you had seen on numerous occasions. You stepped into the room with a little more confidence now.

“Hello, Bee.” You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out in a croak.

He turned around smoothly as if he expected you to be there and narrowed his eyes at you.

“He let you out?” he chuckled.

“I woke up alone, so I walked out.”

He clicked his tongue and whistled before turning back to his book.

“He won’t be too happy about that,” he said as he crossed his leg over the other and picked the book back up closer to his face.

“Bee, what’s going on?”

He sighed as he sat the book back down on the couch.

“Why do I engage you ever, Hellblazer?”

“Because you’re my favorite Prince,” you said jokingly.

He had up until you met him, been your favorite. He was the only one you could hold a civil conversation with when it came to your dealings in Hell. He didn’t seem to hold as much disdain for you as everyone else did.

“Sit down.”

“And where is everyone?”

“You say that as if you live here and this place is usually bustling with life. I can assure you that this place is just as hopeless as it looks. Abandon all hope and whatever else.” He said it flippantly and with a wave of a hand as if he were bored of the subject. “Hellblazer, there is a war happening. He’s taken the General for his own and is using his military power to control his armies.”

“Heaven won’t stand a chance against him.”

“That’s the point.”

“So, why am I here?”

He screwed his face up as he looked at you like you had grown an extra head.

“How should I know? I thought maybe he was just playing with his food.”

You hadn’t thought of that. But why keep you alive and heal you? There must be some reason he was doing all of this.

“Not all of Heaven can be taken out of a celestial being.”

“Excuse me?”

“If he does what I think he’s gonna do, then you’ll see.” He winked at you as he picked up his book once more. “You’ll probably want to get back to his room before he gets back.”

You tried to bore holes into the side of his head with your eyes, but you knew he wasn’t going to relent and give you any more information. Huffing, you stood from the couch, and left him to his reading. When you rounded the curve this time, the hallway didn’t stretch into infinity, but made a ninety degree turn to the left a few doors down from his room. Yet another illusion to throw off any would be intruders. You slipped back into the room to find it just as you had left it.

With nothing to do but wait, you fell back on the bed and resigned yourself to staring at the velvet drapes of the four poster bed. Just when you felt yourself slipping into sleep, the air pressure in the room changed as the door was opened. You sat up suddenly to see who was in the room with you when you saw him. He was adorned in golden armor, it looked so thin yet impenetrable, as it laid over itself almost like a dragon scale pattern. The breastplate was adorned in filigree and gems that caught the light of the fireplace and made him shine in the dull light. The golden spear was grasped firmly in his right hand and planted on the floor.

“I see you feel better,” he finally spoke. “Are you hungry?”

Your stomach growled at the suggestion of food. He laughed as he pointed behind you and beyond into the room. You turned to see a table laden with food that hadn’t been there before.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, turning back around.

“I told you you’d be better off in Hell,” he said as he moved to place the spear in its place by the fireplace. “You should eat.”

You got up from the bed and walked over to the table. There were several types of roasted meat, vegetables, pastries, breads, and some other things you didn’t recognize. Grabbing a piece of bread, you popped it into your mouth and turned back around to see him now in his standard black suit, sitting in a chair by the fire and a leg thrown over the arm of the chair. He looked casual, but you could also tell he was on edge. You gestured towards him and then to the spear.

“’War’ things?” you asked as you threw up one hand in air quotes.

He studied your face before speaking. “This is a lot more serious than you think, _____.”

“So, what happens then?” You grabbed a few more things off the table before walking over and taking the chair across from him.

You had woken up in a simple, long black shirt and you didn’t feel the need to change it in your wanderings. Not that you had any more clothes packed away for Hell. His eyes shifted to your thighs as you sat, the shirt moving ever so slightly up your legs. He licked his lips and you grabbed the hem, pulling it down and placed your food on your lap.

He looked at you now if you had just asked a ridiculous question.

“Heaven falls.”

You shuddered. There had always been a balance between good and evil and even though evil peeked through a little bit more, it was never enough to be of concern. You had never lived in such an imbalance and honestly it scared you.

“How can you be sure?”

“He lost his best asset.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Don’t I have to be?” He produced a glass of wine from somewhere and started to sip the red liquid slowly.

“Are you scared?”

The question caught him off guard as his eyes flashed to yours. The dull light of the fire burned in his eyes and at first you thought he was going to be angry with you. He took a few more sips, face turned back to the fire, but he hadn’t answered you yet, so you decided to wait. You took small bites of the food in your lap, but you were slowly losing interest.

“You humans are so sentimental when it comes to relationships,” he started.

Maybe angels didn’t have feelings quite like you did, but you guessed that he felt something.

“In the infancy of Heaven, none of us felt anything. We were meant to protect the human race and that was it. No feelings, no opinions. Just blind trust that He would tell us the right thing.” He swirled the wine in the glass absently, leg still casually thrown over the arm of the chair. “But we soon discovered that He didn’t have our best interest in heart and Lucifer was just the first to say something. I felt like a coward as I stood by, Lucifer defying Him in such a way. I agreed with him, but I was too afraid to say anything and then…” He trailed off looking solemn as his hand stilled, head hung low, and bottom lip jutted out in almost a pout.

You held on to the plate tightly, engrossed in a story that was known to millions, but you were here hearing it firsthand.

“He made me banish him,” he said softly. His voice was mournful, laced in regret. “I remember the look in his eyes when He told me to send him out of the gates.” He lifted the glass and emptied it. “I betrayed Lucifer because I was too afraid to say anything. He put up a fight too. It was a thunderous event. Days afterwards, the skies were black, and Heaven remained dark. He assured me I had done the right thing, but I knew I hadn’t. It just took me this long to defy him myself. The fact that Lucifer was willing to take me was just fortunate.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking. “What would you have done if he didn’t?”

He shrugged without looking at you.

“Why did you mark me?”

At that, he looked at you again. He swung his leg off the arm and sat forward, elbows on his knees as he still held the glass in his hands. He stared at you pensively, searching your face again.

“I’m protecting you.”

“From what? Why?” In your moments awake at the Vatican, the Pope had instructed you of your new mark on your skin.

“I’m protecting you from the aftermath this war might, and will likely, have. When Heaven falls, Earth will be swarmed with demons and they’re not going to be merciful. People will be taken as slaves, killed, and made to live in a waking nightmare. Hell will extend to Earth because Lucifer wants to expand his kingdom. It’s nothing personal against humans.”

“Then why?”

He pursed his lips together, eyes flitting to the fire, and they shined brightly. He switched the glass from hand to hand.

“That one is a little harder to explain.”

“Then try. I’m just a human after all.” You said it with some disdain. He acted so casually as if basically wiping out humans was just something he did every once in a while.

“I get your apprehension about me.”

“Yea,” you said, getting emboldened and a little angrier, “you’ve brought me here twice and just dumped me at home with no explanation, completely confused, and then dying in the middle of the fucking Vatican. I’d like some type of answer as to why I’m marked by two denizens of Hell now without so much as ask-“

You were cut off by the shattering of the wine glass as it hit the floor. He came forward, dropped to his knees in front of your chair, swiped the plate off your lap, grabbed your face, and pulled your lips to his.

He didn’t answer because the answer scared him.

Your body relaxed further as he kissed you, pain washing out of your muscles, and relaxation settling in its place. It was almost as if being with him was like morphine, dulling any anxieties you had, and it confused you so badly that you were pushing him away. His lips were flushed red and his eyes looked large and almost innocent.

“I don’t understand…,” you trailed off as his hands came to rest on the tops of your thighs.

“Fuck,” he said sitting back on his heels and running his hand through his hair.

Your breath caught as he did so, profile turned to you and face illuminated by the grey fire. His features were in sharp shadow and he was even more devastatingly beautiful.  A whisper of fine, shiny dust emanated from around him. It was iridescent and only eye catching if you looked hard enough, but now that you could see it you couldn’t take your eyes off it. It was heavier behind him where his wings once were, floating outwards and dissipating into the room.

“Not all of Heaven can be taken out of a celestial being.”

Heaven still fell from his shoulders in the form of the beautiful remains of who he once was.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again. “At first, it was mild curiosity. The Hellblazer,” he laughed. “A human who sold her soul to the Devil, banishing demons, and had even killed herself once.”

You hated when anyone brought it up. It was a blot to who you were as a person, but it always seemed to be the subject of conversation when you were around a demon. Why were you so special that Lucifer himself spared you? At times, even you couldn’t explain it.

“I wanted to experience you for myself. You were like a beacon in the night. You lit up the darkness and your whole entire being seemed to call to me.”

He seemed to struggle internally on what to say and what not to say. He still didn’t seem to want to look at you, but he sighed and dropped his hands to his knees, head hanging in defeat before he looked up at you.

“I’m not sure how to explain it, ­­­____. I want you. I want every part of you. I want to protect you. I want you to be mine. I want you stay here, but I can’t make you.” He looked up at you pleadingly, stooping to a level he never thought he’d be at. “I can remove the mark.”

Your hand immediately flew to your heart and he followed the action, face falling as yours brightened. But now, your mind was turning, flowing through thoughts and images of your life. You essentially had nothing. You were only trying to redeem yourself through failed exorcisms, wading through life having wished your suicide worked all those years ago. Here, around him, you felt a little less empty. Could you be happy in Hell? Sometimes where you were already felt like Hell, so what could it hurt to go a little deeper?

Your eyes found his and they shone brightly in the muted tones of the room. The soft halo of color around him accentuated his form and he seemed to glow a little brighter. You fell a little deeper the more you looked at him and soon you were slowly leaning towards him. Instinctively, he rose up on his knees just a little, not wanting to assume what you were doing. Your hair fell into your eyes as you leaned a little closer. His hand shot out to catch it and tuck it behind your ear, stunning you into stopping. His hand froze against your cheek as he stared into your wide eyes. Your heart thrummed painfully in your chest. You tried to breath calmly through your nose, but your tense body was giving you away. He stayed still, gauging your reaction, that much you could tell. Everything in your body was pointing you in the right direction, towards him. It was as if your skin was magnetized and it only knew him. You leaned your face into his palm, feeling the heat of his skin against yours and it almost seemed to burn coldly. He closed the space between you, lips connecting with yours gently. He sighed as you reciprocated, bringing his other hand up to your neck as he deepened the kiss. As much as you felt reborn and empowered around him, something was missing. Your whole body seemed to ache with a loss you couldn’t quite place and with a pleasure that only he could stir inside of you. He let go of your face in favor of shoving his hands under your thighs, lifting you as he stood. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he put your legs around his waist, hands sliding to your ass. All the while he was kissing the curve of your jaw and drawing your earlobe between his teeth. You moaned and leaned into him, nestling your face into his neck and kissing the skin there. He breathed heavily against you as he walked and sat you on the edge of the bed, leaning over you so your fell to your back as he continued to kiss you. His hands were all over you body as if he didn’t know what he wanted to touch first. His fingers grazed over your nipples beneath the shirt and he felt them harden under his touch. You moaned, arching your chest upwards towards his but he moved with you and kept his distance. You broke the kiss and grasped at his biceps.

“Please touch me,” you said breathily.

He moaned as he grasped your waist, sliding his hands upwards, pushing your shirt up passed your breasts. You held your arms up as he moved the shirt upwards, pausing to wrap his lips around your nipple and suck it into his mouth before pulling it off the rest of the way.

“Please stay with me,” he whispered back gently into your ear.

His hand was hot on your hip, just above the waistband of your underwear. The other skated up your side causing chills to spread across your skin.

“I will.”

His lips found yours as he ground himself against you.

“Take these off,” he said, snapping the band of your underwear. He stood up and began discarding his clothing to each side of him. He suit jacket hit the floor, followed by his white button down that was thrown somewhere to his left, and this time you let your eyes wander over his tattoos without fear. Many were old, from the time of his creation, to more recent ones after his fall into Hell. He wrapped his inked hands around your calves and pulled you to the edge of the bed, dropping until he was eye level with your dripping cunt.

“I’ll make you feel good,” he said before licking a stripe up your center, causing you to moan. He kept your thighs apart, arms wrapped around them, and his hands grasped firmly against your thighs. “Fuck, I’ll make you mine.” He flicked his tongue over your clit, and you shuddered, hips stuttering against the bed. “You’ll be even more beautiful, even more so than Lilith.” His mouth covered your clit as his eyes met yours in a heated stare. His eyes blackened until the whites were almost gone. Your body heated so hot from the inside out you thought you were about to combust. He leaned back a little, mouth wet and almost dripping. “All of Hell will know who you belong to.”

He dove back between your legs as if some life saving potion were there. You cried out as his tongue teased circles on your clit before dipping down to explore more of you. He was being selfish. He wanted all of you and he wouldn’t feel complete without it. He lapped at you sloppily, pulling you harder and harder into his face. You ground your hips against him, and he moaned. His fingers were digging into your skin until you were sure you’d see bruises tomorrow. Your fingers were in his hair as you began to fuck yourself against his face, feet digging into his shoulder blades. His lips heated up against you and they brushed wetly across every part of you. Even now, you could feel his pout. His left hand now firmly held your ribcage and then he was inched forward and grabbed your breast fully in his hand. His palm heated instantly, causing an entirely different sensation than what you expected. You rutted against his face even harder and soon his teeth were brushing over your sensitive clit, before moving downward to dip his tongue inside of you, his nose stimulating you now. His moans were low, deep, and came from the back of his throat and they seemed to pulse up through your body. His lips warmed even more as he lapped lewdly now. Your hips circled on his face and you dripped down onto the bed no matter how much of you he tried to swallow. Your orgasm struck forcefully, his tongue inside of you to catch every drop. With your body twitching on the bed, he leaned forward, placing kisses against your stomach and kissed the curve of your neck gently.

“I can make you feel whole again,” he said against your skin.

Your entire body was flushed with sweat, totally spent, and muscles now melting into the mattress. But his comment sparked something inside of you. Could he feel it too?

“How?” you asked. Your fingers skated across the scars on his back and then up to his neck where you held on tightly, looking him in the eyes.

“I can give it back to you.”

You didn’t think you’d ever see stars again, agreeing to come to Hell, but his eyes held thousands. They were no longer completely black, but a soft chocolate, reflecting a strange milky way.

“Give me…what?” you whispered, falling into the void that was his gaze.

“Your soul.”

The ache in your chest blossomed and overcame the pleasure you had felt. Now the ache you felt had a name, had a face, and you were looking straight at it. That explained how you felt around him. He heightened everything inside of you that you wanted to have, but he also emphasized the large hole inside of you too; the thing you didn’t really try to think about and what it cost you.

“But…if I get it back won’t I just di­-,” he cut you off with a kiss to the side of your mouth.

“I won’t let you die. I’ll bind your soul to mine.”

Nothing about what he said should have lit the type of fire inside of you like it did. You were hungry for more. For more of him. You turned your face to meet his lips fully, pulling him against you. He was rutting his hips against you, his cock nudging your entrance. You pushed your hips upwards and he moaned as he entered you the slightest bit.

“Make me yours,” you said hotly.

His eyelids fluttered as his eyes rolled back. He pushed against you a little more forcefully, fully pushing inside of you. He sat up, hand at your throat as he began to thrust a little harder. He didn’t press as hard as he had before, but just enough pressure to make it pleasurable. He watched the pleasure flit across your face as you grabbed his wrist. He brought his other hand to your neck, pressing his thumbs up into your jaw. You were practically drooling as he fucked you, building up that pleasure inside of you as his cock warmed.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he moaned as he pressed into your skin a little harder. You were wet around him, dripping even more onto the sheets below you. He released his grip on your neck, but you kept your eyes closed as he continued to fuck you. Producing a knife, he made a quick cut in his left palm, dropped the knife and dipped his pointer finger into the blood. He pressed it against your skin and your eyes flew open at the hot, wet feeling. Your eyes found his and you could tell he was concentrating, but it didn’t make you afraid. You found yourself falling into the feeling of him once more as he continued to draw across your skin, skillfully sliding into you all the while. It only took a few minutes before he was leaning over you, his hips slowing to a more languid pace, brushing against your clit softly as he pressed against you, careful not to smear the blood.

“Are you ready?” he asked as he kissed your temple.

You nodded, looking at him squarely as he came into you view over you. He looked at you hard for a moment before pressing his hand right over your heart. Pain shot into every nerve ending. It felt as if fire ants crawled across your skin and bit every inch. Flames licked at your toes and you wanted to scream but you couldn’t. He was holding you to the bed as your body begged to move, begged to die. You were hoping the death would be quick. Anything had to be better than this. Soon, your body would shut down as it went into shock and maybe the pain wouldn’t be so bad. The flames began to die out, ice taking its place as a dull chill crept across your skin. It pricked at your fingertips, becoming uncomfortably cold as if you had stuck your hand in ice for too long. You became sleepy, but this was a different kind of sleep. It was almost as if everything were quietly shutting down together. If this was how dying felt it wasn’t so bad. The last time you tried, you hadn’t been able to actually die. It was almost as if you and all the friends you loved laid down together in each other’s arms, sleeping into the beyond. Slowly, your heart began to skip a beat here or there. Your lungs tried just a little harder to draw in air. Your heart skipped every third beat. Your eyelids got heavier and your breathing got shorter. Your body felt heavy as if someone had laid a weighted blanket over you. Your heart beat one more time and then stopped.

Everything came back in a blinding white light. Warmth flushed over your body like a warm river and the feeling came back to your fingers and toes. Your skin no longer burned but felt soothed as if someone had rubbed a healing balm over your entire body. You breathed in deeply and exhaled even longer, life coming back into your lungs. Your heart beat softly in your chest.

What you couldn’t see nor feel, was currently happening before his eyes. He watched with rapt fascination and desire as the same tattoos he bore slowly etched themselves across your skin. Your name spelled out slowly in red lines, also in Hebrew, but it wasn’t your Christian name. Hellblazer. Lucifer’s mark disappeared from your skin as another of his own sigil appeared over your heart then another, upside down, etched itself over the other, signaling the binding of souls.

Your eyes flew open as you inhaled as if coming up for air after being held under the water. The room came into focus in blinding color. Now fully a citizen of Hell, you could see it for its true beauty. Emerald stone fireplace, golden fixtures, dark as midnight velvet curtains, and the fire that burned was the truest red you had ever seen.

He slammed his hips into yours and the pleasure shot back into your limbs causing you to fall instantly into an orgasm.

You finally felt whole. The pull to him even stronger now. It was so strong you were sure he could be millions of miles away and you’d still be able to find him. Fire and passion burned inside of you, in your soul, and you were finally able to feel. The bond even affected him as he shuddered against you, but he kept pounding into you with a force that only hinted at his need for you. He pushed his hands underneath your back and up to your shoulder blades, pulled you upwards, and had the both of you flipped in seconds. You were dazed as you planted your hands on his chest, still sitting on his cock as he adjusted himself beneath you. He slowly ran his hands up your sweaty thighs, fingers tracing over the new lines on your skin. You looked down at your arms, the dark markings too out of focus for you to see what they were right now. Any noticeable scar you had, of which you had many, was now gone. Where there wasn’t a tattoo, your skin was porcelain white and clear of any flaws. Your breathing felt clearer now and the pleasure you felt building up inside of you just by sitting here caused you to shudder. He hissed as you squeezed around him and his fingers dug into your hips.

“Fuck me, baby girl.” He sounded desperate as his head fell back and his eyes closed. His skin shone with sweat and you could see him for the full ethereal beauty he was. He did have a little of Heaven in him still. Dark with light. Good with evil. A demon and an angel. He would never be one without the other.

You rolled your hips against him and he tensed and relaxed all at once as he got what he wanted. He grew hotter inside of you again and your thighs slid easily alongside his as the heat between you built. He sat up, legs still off the side of the bed as he held you close to his chest. You draped your left arm across his shoulders as you braced yourself on his right knee, rolling your hips into his, his hot cock brushing against your g-spot with each circle of your hips. He kissed your throat, bit the skin on your collarbone, and then drew your nipple in his mouth once more. He had handfuls of your ass in both hands, assisting you as you fucked yourself on his cock. He dipped his fingers between your legs from behind, catching the juices that now coated him at each thrust and he traced his fingers around your asshole before pushing one wet finger inside. You hissed, inhaling deeply as he pushed in slowly.

“Keep fucking me, baby,” he said as he kissed the side of your neck.

Your grip on his shoulders tightened as your right arm now crossed his back. Your cheek rested on his shoulder as you moved your hips. He moved his finger in rhythm with the bounce of your hips and soon you were moaning harder as you bit into his skin. He pushed another wet finger inside, stretching you in the most pleasurable of ways, pressing against that thin layer of skin that separated him from your g-spot. You clenched hard around him, his hot body pressed against yours, as pleasure ran hot inside of you, coming hard around him as you gushed around his cock. It dripped against his fingers as you made a mess of his lap, fingers still moving slowly in your ass.

“All mine,” he said before licking at the salty sweetness of your skin.

The space between you was wet, but he paid no mind as he pulled his fingers from you, grabbed your ass again and started to use your swollen cunt. You could barely keep your eyes open as you focused all your strength to your thighs, helping him as you clutched at his shoulders, face still nestled in his neck. His breathing quickened and his thighs tensed beneath yours. The bond between you only amplified his pleasure as yours seemed to mix and meld with his. Your orgasm flowed into his nervous system and pleasure flowed outwards from him in waves. He came hard with the memory of your soul binding to his, the same fire burned under his skin. He filled you up and then some, his cum even warmer than his cock as you physically felt it spill out around him, mixing with your cum as well. His fingers on your ass loosened, not even realizing how hard he was holding on and you relaxed on his lap and fully into his chest. His chest rose and fell softly as he came down. He wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you in closer as he grew a little softer inside of you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded into his neck, holding on just a little bit tighter. He laid back again and this time you let your head fall against his chest to hear his heartbeat beneath you; the same heart now connected to yours. Your life was in his hands now, and his in yours.

“I’ll bring down Heaven for you.”

You melted into him, tired, but fulfilled. You finally felt redeemed. Your soul was still in Hell where it belonged, that much you weren’t going to argue, but you had come to terms that this would be permanent for you. You had gained back what you wanted and more which was hardly fair. But when it came to a side you felt as if you were on the right side of the line. A second heart beat in time with yours. A second soul twisted out and grasped onto yours like vines. You were two, but one. A Prince and a human, side by side in this new age.

Far away, on Earth, and nowhere near the clutches of a place that was slowly crawling to the surface, the Pope sat at his window looking out into the night. Over the horizon of the lights of Rome, thunder rumbled, and lightening began to streak across the sky as a storm approached. He felt the change on the air as it charged with electricity. Whatever was happening was going to be catastrophic to humankind.

“It’s in your best interest to do that now. There’s going to be a war soon and Earth will suffer just as many consequences. You’ll want to find yourself on the right side.”

The Prince’s words plagued his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night. Guilt rested deep into his heart; his faith tested. In his hand he held the brooch, the symbolism of his betrayal. Whether Heaven or Hell won, he had chosen his side.

[hungline]

blow the candle, make a wish

pairing: ot7 (hoseok x everyone)  genre: fluff, non au, rated g  warnings: none  words: 1600 

summary: Hoseok really, really loves his members. He may as well ask them out. 

When the clock struck midnight, Hoseok was still practicing in the company’s new dance room. The only tell-tale sign he got about it turning midnight was his phone beginning to chime with an influx of messages.

And then the dance studio’s door opened and in piled his members with a lit cake and recording phones in hand.

“Happy birthday to you…” Hoseok laughed as the unmistakable words met his ears.

He smiled as his six favorite people in the world crowded in around him so that by the time they were done singing to him (Namjoon and Yoongi considerably and notably off-key), Seokjin had the birthday cake under Hoseok’s nose so the sweaty dancer could make a wish and blow out the candle. He did, but Hoseok waited until all the cameras had stopped recording before he kissed Seokjin.

Hoseok wasn’t dating Seokjin. He wouldn’t mind dating Seokjin either (or any of his members really), but him kissing people was normal. Hoseok always did it when he was happy or overly excited and the person he wanted to kiss had given him permission to do so (Seokjin had given him permission plenty of times, and so had the others, but he always asked first before he dived into them) and Hoseok was both happy and overly excited and Seokjin had given him permission so Hoseok kissed him. He was still pretty sweaty from practicing their choreography for the past few hours or so, but the elder didn’t seem to mind as he kissed Hoseok in return. Seokjin only laughed and pulled away from Hoseok with his ears turning red when their kiss ended.

“I wasn’t even the one who bought the cake, Seok-ah. It was Jeonggukkie,” Seokjin said with a pleased, fond smile on his face as he notched his head in Jeongguk’s direction.

Jeongguk immediately ducked behind Yoongi, but Hoseok had simply barreled right past the older, paler man and quite literally attacked Jeongguk’s face with kisses, waiting for the youngest to nod his head and grant Hoseok permission to kiss his lips. Yoongi cleared his throat behind them and Hoseok pulled back from Jeongguk to stare at Yoongi and, by extension, Jimin who stood behind him with their phones in hand.

“Where’s my kiss? I thought I was your special one, SeokSeok,” Yoongi pouted, a twitch in his eyebrow the only thing telling Hoseok that Yoongi was just messing with him.

“Well, he lied. I’m Hobi-hyung’s favorite and everyone knows it.” Jimin pushed in between Yoongi and Hoseok to shove his phone into Hoseok’s face. “Look. There’s billboards and posters and buses plastered with your face all over Seoul, hyung.”

Hoseok took Jimin’s phone and scrolled through the photos, smiling at each one until Yoongi’s phone was being shoved into his face as well.

“Your face is all over Gwangju too, SeokSeok-ah. I bet your parents are proud,” Yoongi murmured, his ears a bright red.

Hoseok only took one glance at Yoongi’s phone, then looked at both Jimin and Yoongi. They gave him the tiniest of nods and Hoseok surged forward to push them both closer to his chest to share one very sloppy kiss. Jimin and Yoongi didn’t usually get along, but they made an effort for Hoseok, especially when their three-way kisses started reoccurring often. Hoseok gave them plenty of kisses alone, but they liked these three-way smooches more, especially Yoongi.

Taehyung pulled Hoseok back to wordlessly show him their twitter feed. It was filled with many ugly photos of Hoseok that Taehyung had accumulated over the years. There were tons and Hoseok knew that Taehyung had even more on his camera roll and computer, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips.

“You can kiss me, hyung,” Taehyung grinned at him, his rectangular smile incredibly wide.

Hoseok’s grin somehow grew and he pressed his lips to Taehyung’s softly. Taehyung even gave him some tongue before Namjoon was tapping on Hoseok’s shoulder with an awkward, faked cough. Hoseok had to pull Taehyung’s fingers out of his hair before he could pull far enough away to stare at their leader.

“Look at what the fans are posting. It’s only been a few minutes and my dashboard is filled with your face.” Namjoon was also holding his phone out to him, scrolling through the tumblr app, a smile that showed off his dimples spread across his face.

All the members knew that Namjoon had a secret tumblr account where he would occasionally post philosophical quotes, reblog photos of space, and post some pretty racy photos that were borderline nudes. Hoseok wouldn’t lie if the others asked him if he kept tabs on Namjoon’s blog, because he did and it was amazing. Still, all Hoseok saw was his face on his members’ phones and there was a fluttering feeling in his stomach that was making him giddy.

Namjoon’s face was bright red when he muttered under his breath, “You can kiss me too, if you want.”

So Hoseok did and he made sure to cradle Namjoon’s face in his hands because Namjoon liked the feeling of being held when he kissed someone. The others watched them, something soft in the glow of their eyes and the back of Hoseok’s neck suddenly felt very warm. But when Hoseok pulled back from his kiss with Namjoon, he only saw that Yoongi and Jimin were kissing, Jeongguk was trying to stop Taehyung from posting another ugly photo of Hoseok on their twitter, and Seokjin had set the cake down and was crouched beside a pot that smelled suspiciously like seaweed soup. Hoseok gave Namjoon another smile and kissed into the curve of his dimples before he sat himself down beside Seokjin.

“Hyung,” Hoseok whispered.

“Hmm?” Seokjin hummed as he brought out a disposable bowl and poured out a generous amount of the seaweed soup into it.

He handed the bowl to Hoseok and gave him a spoon soon after. Hoseok gave Seokjin a small grin and set the bowl down.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

Seokjin looked up startled, his eyes wide, and before he could say anything, Yoongi had stomped his way over to him with a pouting Jimin one step behind him. Taehyung, Jeongguk, and Namjoon flanked them.

“Nuh uh. No way,” Yoongi growled. “Did you seriously just ask hyung to be your boyfriend? What about the rest of us?”

“You’re so mean, Hobi-hyung. I thought you loved all of us,” Jimin murmured, his cheeks turning pink.

Hoseok only laughed, his arms reaching out for them and making grabby hands towards them all. “Of course I love all of you. So why don’t you all just be my boyfriends?”

He looked towards Namjoon first, as the leader, Hoseok valued Namjoon’s answer the most because this could easily make or break them. If Namjoon didn’t think it a good idea for them all to date, then no one else would accept Hoseok’s offer (Yoongi and Jimin would, but Hoseok wanted them all to accept). But Namjoon was all smiles, dimples, and crinkled eyes as he nodded at Hoseok, taking a few steps until he was kneeling beside Hoseok and gave him a kiss on the nose.

“I was wondering if I would have to ask it myself, but I’m kind of relieved you did instead,” Namjoon murmured, a ridiculously large grin on his face. “I would love to be your boyfriend. Happy birthday.”

Taehyung was next, he pushed his lips to Hoseok’s forcefully and nodded his head. “Happy birthday, hyung.”

Jimin pushed Taehyung off and nestled himself into Hoseok’s lap. “Yes, of course I will be your husband, hyung.”

Hoseok laughed and kissed Jimin’s forehead then looked up when Yoongi sat himself atop Jimin and gave Hoseok a chaste kiss.

“I guess I’ll be your husband too,” Yoongi huffed, his dark hair tickling Hoseok’s chin.

Jimin pouted at Yoongi. “He’s my husband, hyung. You can’t be married to him without being married to me too.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and stood up, pulling Jimin up with him as he did. “I guess you’re both my husbands then.”

Hoseok watched them kiss and laughed, but drew his attention to the youngest who was toeing the floor timidly.

Jeongguk threw himself at Hoseok unexpectedly, and let his lips graze against Hoseok’s jaw. “Happy birthday, hyungie. I don’t know about being your husband, but I can be your boyfriend, yeah.”

Hoseok kissed Jeongguk and watched the younger stand up and move to Taehyung who was helping Seokjin pour the seaweed soup out to everyone. Hoseok scooted closer to Seokjin and took the soup ladle into his hand to make the eldest stare at him.

“You never gave me an answer, hyung,” Hoseok said with a grin. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Seokjin blinked and Hoseok watched as his entire face began to flush a pretty dusky pink. “Well, I can’t tell you no if everyone else already said yes. So, yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend, Seok-ah.”

Hoseok didn’t get the chance to kiss Seokjin because Jeongguk beat him to it, but it was fine. Hoseok could always kiss Seokjin later.

Or he could kiss him after they finished the soup and cake and take out chicken that Namjoon had ordered. He could also kiss Seokjin when they pulled the air mattresses out and pushed them together in the center of the dance room to lay down on and huddle up on. So he did and Seokjin kissed him back as they lay in the middle of a mess of limbs and body heat shared between their seven bodies.

“Happy birthday, Seok-ah.”

[robronsecretvalentine]

In the Palm of Your Hand Flutters My Breath

Dear Vix, @nooneelsecomesclose17 happy Valentine’s! I was deliberating which story to write for you and eventually decided to go with one that will involve Aaron’s chest and Robert’s hands. I hope you enjoy it! 

Inspired by a real story. Summary: Aaron’s CF is getting worse and he urgently needs respiratory physiotherapy. But Robert’s fingers are scorching fire into Aaron’s chest, ironically making it harder and harder to breathe. Even through his shirt, it’s impossible not to feel the heat of those long, nimble digits, the confident press of the large, capable palms and God help him, but instinctively Aaron wants those hands on him in all the wrong ways.

God help him. If only. If God would have been willing to help him, Aaron wouldn’t have had to figure out what to do about any of this shite in the first place. Being born with cystic fibrosis sucked and he wasn’t willing to be the poster boy who’d smile for the comfort of others and quote to people some optimistic slogan that would make them feel better about their own unjustified good fortune, nor marvel at how much better modern medicine is at dealing with CF nowadays compared with even just twenty years ago. He was even too angry to praise the god who had allowed him to live long enough to experience this progress in comparison with his childhood. It was true, there have been enormous strides that were made in the treatment of his condition as he could personally testify. But that had little to do with any deity, real or imaginary, and none of it was going to wipe away the terror this disease had inflicted on Aaron during his early and teenage years. It had forced him to grow up with the constant fear of dying, knowing every one of his days was a fateful toss of dice. It inflicted on him too many nights of waking up alone and in the dark, desperately gasping for air. He was asked more than once to play precisely that role. Several times, reporters have tried to stick him in front of a camera and get him to gush and be brave and grateful and inspiring, all the things that good poster boys were meant to be. Content, despite everything, for the feel good benefit of the viewers. Fat chance. Aaron knew he was a worthy news story, that he made a photogenic, intriguing headline even in a relatively small community of people suffering from a rare and potentially fatal from a young age disease. But he never learned how to smile for anyone like a trained monkey, regardless of the presence of cameras, and he had no desire to, either. He always refused to play along when a news team would contact him and the journalists always settled for interviewing a more cooperative CF patient. He also refused to get a respiratory physiotherapist. He could make due without the added annoyance of hippy, new age bollocks. He’d been doing just fine so far, thanks. Doctors kept suggesting it and he kept refusing, proving them wrong with each morning of being alive and still breathing, as strenuous as that sometimes proved to be. He saw no reason why he couldn’t go on doing exactly what he has been and if it worked so far, it would continue to. Or so he insisted again, when his doctor made it abundantly clear: he’s running out of time. “You really are, Aaron,” Doctor Jutla repeated herself for emphasys, her voice too calm to betray her concern, but her care coming through all the same. She’s known him for so long and he liked her for never acting like her word was divine law. Some doctors took his refusal to sometimes cooperate with their instructions as an offense against their person and the balance of the kosmos would surely strike him down for that. It was their way or he was lost. Dr. Jutla, Manpreet as she insisted he call her, was never like that. She would always speak to him and deliver her conclusions calmly, but never coldly, even when he was no doubt proving to be the most stubborn of her patients. She would hear him out, lay out her rationale and at the end of the day, do her best to assist him with whatever choice he was sticking with. If she had suddenly turned insistent, detailing the reasons that brought her to the conclusion he could no longer avoid daily sessions of respiratory physiotherapy, Aaron knew it must have been true. The coughing, she reminded him, was getting increasingly worse. The medications were not as effective in helping him as they used to be. The inhalation sessions were a bit more efficient, but they weren’t enough without physiotherapy exercises to accompany them and the ones he’d been doing independently were limited in how much they could help since he couldn’t perform them on himself while simultaneously using the inhaler. “Aaron,” she said with a determined tone, but not the berating one he used to get from the doctors he had before her, “you’re gonna have to accept this help”. More than anything else in that moment, what he wasn’t prepared for was how instantly he found himself believing her. A lot of people might think a chronic patient is supposed to be accustomed to any demand imposed on them by their illness, but the idea of agreeing to getting help from a stranger invading the privacy of his own home was a new and foreign concept to Aaron. He might have been born sick, he might never have known what it meant to lead a normal, healthy life, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also a damn proud man and as fiercely independent as anyone with his condition could hope to be. Then again, he had to become independent early on. After all, no one really helped him all that much when he was growing up. Forget the wretched disease, nobody prepared Aaron for life. It just happened to him, out of the blue and all too soon, as the adults in his life were too busy screwing up theirs. His dad was the first link in the chain to break, having walked out on Aaron and Chas as soon as the reality of cystic fibrosis and the condition’s incurability became clear. His mum wasn’t much better, pawning Aaron off on her uncle and his wife as soon as she could. Lisa and Zak were alright in their way, but they had their own problems, with quite a few challenging family members to take care of, an unexpected newborn of their own, a whole bunch of pigs to raise for their living and the occasional crazy plan from Zak meant to make things better and usually resulting in additional problems that had to be resolved. They simply didn’t have the time and energy required to look after Aaron or to note that he was struggling with more than oxygen intake. He held on, tooth and nail, powered through everything that troubled him, physically or otherwise, like a bull charging ahead because there was no other choice. He didn’t have much generosity left in him after that, though. By the time Chas returned a few years down the line, there was little for her to appeal to when she swore that she wanted to make amends and be present in his life again. It was a short while after the end of another one of her doomed romances and she was begging for a second chance to be a good mother. It was something he was secretly dreaming of the entire time, in a part of his heart that he had closed off and denied even to himself. That she would regret her horrible mistake, proving he wasn’t so easy to abandon, like she had made him feel. He wanted this so badly and there was some tinge of victory to it, but not as much as he thought there would be. That tiny bit of triumph didn’t fix years of hurt. It didn’t guarantee he could trust her now. It couldn’t change the hardened young man he had become. On a more basic level, the truth he discovered in this conversation with her was that nobody teaches an angry kid how to forgive and move on, not even when a part of him wanted to. He was still in his teens and madder at the whole world than he could express and at her most of all. He left Chas sitting alone in the cafe in which he had agreed to meet her, too upset at the knowledge he was once more going to be denied a mother’s love, because he just couldn’t accept her back as easily as she seemed to find walking in and out of his life to be. As it turned out, Lisa thankfully intervened after that. First she encouraged Chas not to give up and to put in the work of being there for Aaron even when he rejected her. Earn his trust back by proving the sincerity of her statements. Later, when he wasn’t giving way, Lisa also talked to him, pointing out that his mum was a teenager herself when she had him and was even younger than him, all alone without the man who was supposed to be there and help her with the challenges of raising a child, especially one with a serious ailment. Men were always her problem, Aaron angrily spat out having heard Zak talk of her exploits enough over the missing years, and for a second he resented Chas even more for how she had always looked to them as if they were her solution. But then that night he tried to imagine what would he have done if he were in his mum’s situation. He didn’t think he would have walked away like she did, he would have struggled through that as well, but for a brief instant he could imagine just how lost and overwhelmed she must have felt. It didn’t make any of it right, but it helped him understand a little more and he ended up agreeing to her coming round to Wishing Well. She did make an effort, like she had promised him and Lisa, though it was clear at first that she was struggling with how awkward things were between them. But she was consistent and even though he didn’t say it, he appreciated that. A few visits in and some things started creeping their way back to the surface, memories and sentiments that made way for banter and allowed them to be more at ease with each other. Weirdly enough, when Chas started dating another man, it actually helped instead of making matters worse. Probably because Aaron got to see she wasn’t relying on the poor sod to solve all her problems and she wasn’t looking to him for financial help. Paddy was a vet, so he wasn’t making that much to begin with. How anyone gave that stuttering blob of nerves permission to treat any living creature though, human or not, was a mystery to Aaron. But every so often, they found themselves discussing interesting things like dogs and medicine. Paddy never seemed to look down on him as feeble-minded or incapable because of the CF, like some have. When he wasn’t making terribly lame jokes, the bloke was sort of alright, especially since he treated Chas well and respectfully. After a few months of dating, he even suggested the two of them move in with him and for a second there, Aaron thought to himself, home. He knew it would never be quite that, Chas has left too much of a scar for him to be able to feel that with her and so he intended to move out into his own place as soon as he could, but it was a nice thought all the same. Not that any of the progress Aaron made with his mum helped when it came to his social life. He had become too rude and grumpy for most of his schoolmates’ liking pretty early on, not exactly what they expected from a poor, sickly kid. He knew he would have gotten more sympathy from them if he had played that part, but he wasn’t interested in their pity anyway. Instead, most just kept their distance and on occasion, he’d even get a remark about him milking his condition, since he got to miss more classes than the rest of them. It only served to prove him right in keeping his prickly attitude towards them up. One exception was Adam, who came by one day with his dad when John brought in a sick, newly birthed lamb he needed Paddy to urgently examine on a Sunday morning. Adam started asking questions and appeared undeterred by Aaron’s curt answers. Instead of being put off by either the rudeness or the disease, he came across as intrigued. He kept coming by daily, pestering Aaron, but once when he had a cold and stayed at the farm, he was also weirdly missed. Annoying as he was, Aaron had to resentfully admit to himself that somehow he got stuck with a farm boy for a friend. Coming out as gay when also living with CF was, in a sense, both harder and easier than Aaron imagined it would have been if he were healthy. At least, as much as he could judge based on some movies he happened to catch on TV. Those young gay people on his telly screen, with their lively social circles, they were always presented as figuring all of it out by means of drama. That wasn’t the case for him. Magazines, shows and films supplied him with enough images of good looking men and women for him to find it pretty easy to tell which ones he fancied. Adam also helped in a way when he started coming round with this Scarlet girl that he liked. Aaron quickly realised that if he would have wanted to date only one of them, then even though Scarlet was pretty enough and despite his friend’s many glaring flaws, it would have been Adam. Maybe it was the threat of death hanging over Aaron’s head, present in every breath. He didn’t have time to be dishonest with himself when it came to matters like figuring out what, or who, he liked. Another thing that was less challenging for him was the prospect of telling his mum and Paddy, at least in one sense. Most parents, even if they were sworn homophobes, wouldn’t openly reject their gay child if that son or daughter also happened to have a terminal disease. Gloomily, however, unlike most other young people coming to terms with a different sexual orientation, he already had the experience of having parents who had rejected him for the way he was born. If Chas and Paddy turned out to have some major issue with homosexuality, he could expect even less empathy from them and a harsher reaction than for unwittingly being born with an incurable disease. He’d particularly find himself unable to cope whenever he tried to map out what a response from Chas might be like. He would then struggle to breathe in a whole different way. Even if things didn’t turn out quite like the worst possible case, well… a lack of rejection was still not the same as being accepted and truth be told, he craved having the latter. In a way, he wanted that more than he might have precisely because his mum had walked out on him once before, when she had felt that he was too much for her to handle. For once, he needed her to be sincerely and completely alright with who he was, much as he knew the odds for that were flimsy at best. That was probably why despite not planning to, he ended up telling Paddy first. Or not quite telling, so much as Aaron nodded quietly in response to a question, blinking away his tears before they can become too noticeable. Spur of the moment courage drove him to inform Paddy one evening that they needed to talk, but as soon as Aaron did that, he already felt drained by the task at hand. When it was clear that he wasn’t able to follow up on his initial request to talk, it was Paddy who guessed correctly what was weighing down on him and asked if he felt that he liked boys. That was the point of no return and Aaron couldn’t bring himself to lie, so he simply nodded. “Well, tha-that’s alright then,” was the stuttered, but reassuring response. “Nothing’s changed. And I want you to know, I’m not worried about you. I mean, I’m, I’m sure my life would have actually been so much easier if I could have dated Marlon…“ Paddy’s attempt at hilarity trailed off with that silly giggle he always let out whenever he thought he was being genuinely funny and Aaron groaned at him in both annoyance and relief. Stupid, lame jokes. Stupid, wonderful Paddy. That exchange turned out to help Aaron with his coming out to Chas more than he initially thought it would. As he later discovered, his bumbling, loving fool of a dad had started dropping hints for her to understand that there was something very serious she needed to discuss with her son. His mum decided to take him to a fair. “No, no arguing, love, it’s for all those times I didn’t get to take you to one when you were younger,” she said while they were sat there on a bench, between one ride and the next, licking ice cream from a cone and after he had just thanked her for this day. The experience they were having wasn’t quite as nice as his fondest childhood memory of that time they had gone to the beach together, the last day that they had gotten to spend together before she walked away. Nothing would ever be that nice again, he has come to accept that since he would never again be as innocent as he was back then. Still, this visit together to the fair was perhaps the nicest thing they got to share since she had returned. After all, it was already more than what he could have dared imagine for quite a few years that he might one day get to have with her. Catching melted drops of ice cream before they had the chance to sully his clothes, he wanted to tell her right then and there what has been on his mind, but couldn’t help the fear that if she didn’t take to the news kindly, he would spoil the lovely memory they were forming. Just in case there wouldn’t be another one, he chose not to say anything just yet. It was when they got home that he blurted out without giving himself room to overthink it, “I’m gay”. The way he threw the words out at her both reluctantly and forcefully, it was like someone was blackmailing this confession out of him. She was too stunned to speak for a second and his mind was racing with all the possible retorts she could next offer, conjured up by fear and his past hurt, each one worse than the previous scenario. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said when she finally spoke, touching his cheek softly, “honestly? I wish you weren’t. I can’t help it, I’m your mum and I wish you didn’t have another burden to carry. But don’t you dare doubt for one second that you are still my beautiful boy,” she said that with more emotion and conviction than he allowed himself to hope for, “and I love you more than anything.” Aaron fell into her embrace, closing his eyes and simply treasuring the way that she pronounced ‘beautiful’, unintentionally elongated by emphasis and like she was somehow in awe and truly proud of him. Sometimes Aaron was tired of the constant battle that his life with CF had amounted into, but whenever he thought of that precious moment with Chas, he knew with certainty that he’d never let her down by giving up. He might have toyed for a second in Dr. Jutla’s office with the idea of letting his time peacefully run out, but he couldn’t do that to his mum. A respiratory physiotherapist it was, then. He looked around the flat he had moved into as soon as he could and waited for the bloke to show up. To himself, Aaron had admitted that he was struggling quite a bit with the idea of opening his home to a complete stranger. This was the little piece of independence which he had earned and having no choice but to admit in someone he was totally unfamiliar with felt like he was giving a part of that away. Worse yet was the idea of having to submit his body to the sweaty kneading of this person. Aaron wasn’t the most physically affectionate of people at the best of times, only rarely agreeing to a hug from his mum, Paddy or Adam. Anyone else wasn’t even an option and that included quite a few relatives, people he had known his entire life and actually liked. If he tried to, he couldn’t picture himself liking that sort of physical interaction too much had he been healthy either, but he was sure the CF made him more reserved still. There was something about other people’s touch that made him too aware of his own body, failing and treacherous. He preferred not to have this additional reminder. That was a part of why coming out didn’t change Aaron’s dating profile by much. Sure, the idea of a romance was appealing, but the reality of one made him grimace to himself. It didn’t take him too long to come to the conclusion that celibacy might not sound great, but he was used to it already and internet access coupled with a box of tissues were enough to sort him. It was certainly better than the anxiety that the mere thought of being touched caused him on the few occasions when he had looked at a dating app. Any minute, the physiotherapist was supposed to show up and considering these reservations, Aaron still had no idea how he was going to get through the first session. When it was becoming clear that the man was running late, Aaron couldn’t figure out how he felt. A part of him welcomed the possibility no one will show up at all and he’d be exempt of having to go through this ordeal. Another part kept coming back to the inevitability of these sessions and that having that day’s cancelled only meant Aaron would have to go through all of this anxiety again on another date, so it might be better to get it over with and not have to repeat this. The one thing he had no doubt about was his increasing irritation with the irresponsible twat who was assigned to him, who couldn’t just show up when he was supposed to. When the doorbell finally rang, Aaron was ready to explode. He went over and opened the door, about to bite the man’s head off. It took less of a second to register that the guy standing on his threshold was gorgeous, which only pissed him off more. Of course the therapist would be, the universe would have that sick sense of humour at Aaron’s expense, after all. “Cheers,” the man said with a smile so wide, he practically radiated with it. “You’re late,” Aaron replied, having no intention of indulging this awful cheerfulness and apparent lack of remorse. The man’s eyebrow rises, but his smile doesn’t falter. “I know, I’m sorry. There was an accident on the road from Hotten, so traffic was not…” the guy actually rolled his eyes, “inexistent, like I was told it usually is.” Aaron shrugged at this. He was not in a forgiving mood, despite recognising that an accident wouldn’t have been this man’s fault. “I’m Robert, by the way,” the man at least had the decency not to attempt a handshake. “Aaron.” It was stupid, Robert was sent to him as a carer and would know this already, but what else was there to say to that introduction? “You’re in a right mood, aren’t you?” Robert continued to grin at him. “First time doing this and not much into it, ey?” “What gave it away?” Aaron asked drily. “Your chart, actually,” the therapist winked. “Speaking of which, I had a look through it and I’m pretty caught up on your medical history as recorded. Is there anything you believe I should know that isn’t included?” Aaron pursed his lips together, turning down the corners of his mouth and shook his head to indicate there wasn’t anything like that. “Right, then I think we can get to it. We only have an hour and I don’t want us to waste a minute more,” Robert declared, before he leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “I’m only doing this until I make my first million, you know. And I’m sure you have better things to do with your time as well.” His breath was warm and his big, bright eyes didn’t flinch for a split second from Aaron’s, like he was honestly curious to hear what his client likes spending his time on. Why was that suddenly difficult in a way completely different to earlier fears? Instead of being overcome by a desire to avoid all touch, a pang of want jabbed Aaron in the stomach. He was not over being angry, but now he was also weirdly intrigued, as well as confused. “The sofa and PEP device are over there,” he said and started walking in its direction. It wasn’t a big sofa, but for their purposes, it would do. Aaron had prepared by covering it with a sheet and placing there several pillows they’d be able to move around for comfort. It was utterly wrong when he entertained the notion of what a completely different use he may end up needing one for. “Yeah, this should do,” Robert said and Aaron nodded, sitting down on the sofa. “Right, do you wanna use this opportunity to take some of your antibiotics as well?” He did and he couldn’t help but feel a little pleased that they were thinking similarly on this one. He next laid down on his back with his head on the biggest of the pillows. This was utterly ridiculous, he chided himself, having this kind of reaction to a good looking bloke when he was fairly uninterested in pursuing anything with anyone. This was nonsense and he was going to concentrate on making the most out of the physiotherapy. He looked up exactly when Robert was leaning down, all eye lashes and freckles and skin begging to be touched. Damn this. “We’re going to start with something simple, alright? You’re going to use your PEP and I’m going to apply pressure to your chest to coincide with your breathing cycle. Whenever you need to cough, tap my hand and we’ll stop for as long as you need. If at any moment you feel discomfort, same. We stop and you tell me what’s wrong, we’ll figure out together how to correct it and we won’t continue until you’re good with it. Agreed?” Aaron nodded. He couldn’t speak when those eyes were fixed on him. It wasn’t just how beautiful they were. It was the warmth in them, too. Even though the smile had already made way for professional earnestness, there was a sense of warmth in that gaze nonetheless. Foolish thought, this was how Robert must look at all of the client he was treating, but it tickled something inside Aaron’s chest all the same, a second before he felt the physiotherapist’s hands placed gently, carefully over the exact same spot. But Robert’s fingers are nothing less than fire where they touch. The tempo of Aaron inhaling and exhaling is a calm one, much like Robert’s tone when he talks them through the exercises. They have to pause here and there, interrupted by a cough, but Aaron is doing his best to hold those in for however long he can. His therapist notices and commends him for it, pointing out that the longer he can go between coughs, the more effective the exercise will prove to be. That’s not why Aaron does it, though. He’s stealing a few more seconds of looking up at Robert, of feeling the tender, yet firm pressure from the palms of his hands against him, strong and burning and comforting, he feels all of that at once and more than that and not enough. He wants. Aaron can’t help himself, he wants, the rational part of him gone, placed under a spell and rendered incapacitated. He wants more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life, which is saying something given his rich experience of wishing for seemingly impossible things. Robert fits into the category without a shred of a doubt. Despite how warm his eyes continue to be, in spite of how right his hands feel on Aaron, instigating a crave for that feeling on every patch of his body. Despite how there’s even a fleeting instant when Aaron wonders if his own flesh has a similar effect on his Robert. In a way, it was exactly the vulnerability caused by his disease that led him to spend hours at the gym, building up his chest muscles to an impressive girth. He even wants that, to believe his physiotherapist is unable himself to stay indifferent to the contact between them. But that’s madness, Aaron knows it is when that’s the only thing that this, whatever this is, could ever amount to: an impossibility. The thin band of gold on Robert’s left hand makes that perfectly clear. ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ Their first session is over, an hour that lasted forever, but was gone within a second. When Aaron reflects on it, he’s pretty sure he felt the little wedding ring through his shirt from the get go. Not enough to put out the fire that engulfed him, but it definitely was there, a small stripe of cold. He doesn’t want to delve into it, prefers to distract himself from shiny things that he can never have. That tactic has worked quite well in the past. It wasn’t instantly, but eventually it did and he stopped praying for a healthy body, a happy childhood or a fair world. He learned to settle for what he had. It’s worked before, it will again. Only he also hopes it won’t. As much as it would be easier to forget, it feels good to want. Why can’t he have at least that? Temporary permission to long for Robert, maybe for an afternoon or two before he has to bid this feeling goodbye. Maybe one quick and dirty hand job, before the smell of his hands fades away from Aaron’s shirt. Why can’t he permit his imagination to go a bit wild with what it would be like if he got to have Robert’s hands roaming all across his shirtless chest, all over his naked form, worshipping Aaron, forcing him to discover for once that despite all its shortcoming, there are very real pleasures that his body can provide him with? He wanks himself off to the thought of sucking Robert’s digits into his mouth, catching them both by surprise, but then refusing to let go. He’s masturbated countless times in the past, but when he comes now, it’s more intense than he can remember it’s ever been. He shakes so hard with it that he loses track of everything else, lying there and letting it all wash over him. A phone call snaps him out of it. He quickly zips up his pants, even though it’s clear he can’t really be seen by the caller, and answers. The routine nature of it brings him down and the familiar voice on the other side of the line helps clear the haze. He feels wretchedly stupid, a drug addict coming out of a narcotic-induced hallucination. Maybe he’s scared, too. They’ve met no more than once, the man’s annoying and married. Robert shouldn’t hold such power over him. “Yeah, I’ll be right over,” he promises before he hangs up. Looking for his flat key and jacket, he concludes he’s had his fill of fun. He’s gonna be better by their next appointment and his physiotherapy won’t suffer because of this. Several hours pass before Aaron registers that he went through the entire session without feeling the kind of discomfort he originally feared would keep him from being able to have more than a handful of meetings at most. ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ Robert is gorgeous. That’s a fact of life that Aaron has to contend with. As it turns out, he’s also not as annoying as he initially appeared to be. He’s pretty punctual when he shows up for their next sessions. His smile doesn’t come across quite as smug as during their first meeting. He asks questions like he really cares and they’re not just about the effectiveness of the exercises. Sometimes he sounds fully professional, on other occasions he’s practically flirtatious, but no matter what, that warmth Aaron feels radiating from him never goes away. When Aaron is lying on the sofa, looking up while Robert is leaning down, entrusting his body to his touch, his well being to his care, it’s all but smoldering. And throughout it all, despite his reservations and skepticism, Aaron has to admit that the daily physiotherapy sessions are improving his condition. Robert is helping him breathe. They got to talking about his personal life, too. Robert started it, really. He asked about who’s helping Aaron and that conversation was only meant to be a simple mention of Chas, but then it unexpectedly evolved. As it turned out, it wasn’t so easy to mention Paddy and not get into more details that helped explain who he is and why and how he means so much. At least, that’s the way it went when someone was sincerely interested in hearing more about it and presented an unassuming string of questions which helped talking about those sensitive issues. Two or three sessions later and Robert knew everything about the major hurts that Aaron had collected along his path. He has this mischievous glint in his eyes, Aaron’s noticed, whenever he’s about to ask something personal, as if hearing more about yet another client of his is nothing less than a prize which Robert is managing to win when he’s not supposed to. Then when he’s listening to the answers, it gradually slips away and his expression transforms into something softer. On occasion, he even offers a few bits of information about himself too, like stories about his siblings. When he opens up a little more about the circumstances of his mother’s death and his adopted brother’s complicity in that, how it led Robert away from Emmerdale and he ended up settling in Hotten, of all places, Aaron is oddly moved. It’s not just that he wishes he could have hugged young Robert, assure him that things would get better for him, even if it would take years for that to come about. It’s also that he’s allowed a peak beneath the cheery facade this man walked into his flat with. Aaron’s sure his physiotherapist has shared these stories with other clients before him, but it still gets under his skin. These interactions, it appears to be a reasonable assumption that they are what makes this guy a good therapist, his ability to convince his clients that he really cares and values gaining an insight into their lives even though it has less to do with the physical aspect of his work and Aaron does admire him for it. Robert’s got that rascal expression on once again, looking ready to pounce Aaron with another question while they stand in the kitchen, waiting for the brew to be ready. It’s just a part of his job, Aaron reminds himself, but he can’t avoid the sense of being pleased by Robert’s interest as he amusedly braces himself for the incoming inquiry. They’ve been discussing his social life, he recounted a few anecdotes from his friendship with Adam and he expects to be asked about that huge doofus a bit more. “So, is there a bird that’s caught your fancy?” Robert asks, closing the gap between them a little. For whatever reason, Aaron wasn’t ready for this question. It might be a natural progression when exchanging information, but he honestly didn’t expect to be asked something along these lines. Maybe because it was too close for comfort, or because it carried with it the potential of a threat, in more ways than one, he ended up choosing to ignore that this might come up. He certainly didn’t anticipate it at this point and that gives rise to a suspicion in his mind over why Robert was asking him about this just then. “It isn’t any of your business, mate,” he answers, trying to infuse his voice with bite, to cover up for everything else he’s feeling. “It’s alright,” Robert isn’t backing down, “you’re allowed to fancy whoever and I promise I won’t tell anyone.” “Yeah?” Aaron asks, his anger growing dangerously. “That’s quite big of you, only everyone that matters already knows I’m gay.” Those hands he’s come to know so intimately rise almost of their own accord in a defensive gesture to match Robert’s stunned expression. “Whoa there, no need to get mad, I were only teasing, I didn’t mean…” “What, you didn’t stop to consider that option? Or did you guess and wanted to humiliate me by dragging it outta me? Wanna tell me I’m a freak of nature or some such, ey? Or ya gonna calm me down, tell me that I can like whoever ‘cause no one’ll fancy me back anyhow and I’m too pathetic for an actual relationship, is that it?” “Hey, I didn’t say…“ “No, you didn’t need to say, pal. You better be off then, before I decide to call someone to make a complaint about homophobia displayed during treatment.” Robert’s face is overtaken by a horrible paleness the way it contorts enhances the nausea Aaron was already feeling. He wants nothing more than to have this over with. “Just do one. Now.” He walks over to the door and opens it wide to make his point. Robert starts to recover, his features smooth over as he takes a couple of steps in that direction. “D’ya even stop to take into account you might be making a massive mistake?” Aaron shrugs and figures there must be some choice words that the man’s holding back as Robert looks at him searchingly. Whichever conclusions he draws from that, he’s out the door the next moment and Aaron can close it behind him. ‘Good riddance’, he’s meant to say to himself, but it’s distinctly not how he feels. He wonders how long it will take him before he can forget what Robert’s eyes look like when they’re completely devoid of any warmth. ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ It’s the third morning since Aaron’s called the clinic to cancel all of his appointments with Robert and this one starts with a coughing fit as well. “I don’t like the sound of that,” Dr. Jutla says over the phone in response to hearing him struggle for air. His worried mum on her end and the clinic on theirs had both contacted her and as soon as she could, she called him up. That supplied her with further testament to the quick deterioration he’s been experiencing with his breathing. “It’s nothing, I’m fine,” he tries to tell her, but it isn’t lost on him that his laboured speech contradicts his expressed sentiment. “Of course you are,” she says, her professional tone not quite covering up her sarcasm. “Can you tell me what the issue was with the physiotherapist you were assigned? I was under the impression that things were working out well?” They were, he agrees inwardly with sorrow. Or so he believed. But if that would have been true, Robert wouldn’t have mocked him like he had the other day. With a bit more distance from what had happened, Aaron is not above admitting that he might have overreacted to a degree. At least in his own head he can own up to that, out loud is a different matter. The homophobia accusation was out of order, he supposes, since it was based on a hunch and an assumption more than on anything else and he can see that now. The mocking, however, wasn’t. There was no way Robert hadn’t made out that Aaron’s romantic status was a pitiful one and that to question him about it with that sort of gleeful attitude was mockery. The seething hurt at the pit of Aaron’s stomach conveyed that enough for him to know he couldn’t go on being treated by Robert, so he had to cancel all of their appointments. He swallows around the bitter taste that the necessary decision left in his mouth. To not see Robert again. If the physiotherapist was the one in the wrong, why is it that Aaron is the one left feeling like he’s being punished? Things between them were off to a good start and for once in his life, he was close to having something precious of his own. Even if he was just a client, his tentative relationship with Robert woke up a part of him he hadn’t realised was dormant. The man mattered to him and brought Aaron closer to feeling like a regular bloke than anything else he’s had until that point. It’s only been three days, but he already misses it, all of it. The way he felt that he was coming alive under Robert’s touch and gaze, how good talking to the man made Aaron feel about himself, even the fact that the treatment seemed to be more efficient than a skeptic like himself had expected. “Aaron?” Dr. Jutla needs an answer. If he tells her his suspicion, that Robert might have guessed his celibate status had something to do with a different sexual orientation, she’d be horrified on his behalf. She’d stop badgering him about this issue and let him move on. She’d call the clinic and have Robert punished, possibly even fired from his job. He won’t get to flirt with clients to buy their trust, nor lay a trap for them to mock them later on. “Yeah, it just wasn’t the right fit. It took me a minute to catch on.” Aaron’s lungs do their best, but he’s wheezing his way through the sentence and it’s the best he can do. “Not the right fit? Aaron, I can’t pretend to accept that vague explanation, but I understand you don’t want to tell me what happened. Well, I’m your doctor and it’s important that I be informed,” she says firmly, but the following sentence is slightly softer in tone, maybe without intending to be. “On the other hand, I can hear you’re having difficulties speaking and I don’t want you to make too much of an effort. I also imagine this feels like an interrogation when it isn’t and shouldn’t be. You’re supposed to be willingly filling me in. Aaron, anything can have an effect on your wellbeing, by which I don’t mean strictly your lungs. I can’t correctly assess if this is one of those things without you telling me the truth. So I’ll leave you be on this subject, at least until we see an improvement in your condition. But once we get there, I hope there are no doubts, I expect you to give me the real answer to my question which I need in order to do my job and help you. Is that understood?” “Yes,” he feels oddly defeated, but also grateful that he has her caring, plus a temporary reprieve. “Good, I’m glad. Until then, you can’t continue without respiratory physiotherapy. You need it and immediately. My suggestion is that I call the clinic and use my pull there to reinstate all of your cancelled appointments, but with another physiotherapist. Acceptable?” She’s right, he knows it, but he still finds that he’s reluctant to agree. The memory of Robert leaning over him floods his mind along with the sensations he had when they were physically connected where the man’s hands burnt through a thin layer of cloth into his flesh, excited it, soothed it, awakened Aaron, took his breath away while pressing down to help oxygen flow in. How does one let go of that? ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ Aaron gets off the bus in Hotten, too unfocused to take in his surroundings as he walks the well memorised route to his destination. His feet take him there of their own accord, through the automatic doors and the lobby entrance, where he nods at the guard. He’s arrived later than he intended to be there, but his mobile hasn’t rung and there was no other indication that anyone has tried to contact him. He goes right into the locker room and begins changing his attire. It’s a good thing he’s got a way of distracting himself. He hopes the day will turn out to be an eventful one, he’d welcome the respite from being trapped in his own head and the doubts gnawing at him over that one text message he’d sent out earlier. Adam is already there, prepared and grinning at him. “You alright, mate? Ready for this?” “Yeah,” Aaron replies absentmindedly as he takes his shirt off. He hesitates on whether to pose a question regarding what he wants to find out. It’s not something that he’d usually clue anyone in on, his best friend least of all, but this time he’s compelled to. “Has anyone come ‘round here to see me?” “To see ya?” Adam’s expression, a mix of surprise and nosy, delighted curiosity, is exactly why Aaron was loathe to say anything. “No one’s been here asking for you. Why, who’s supposed to come and see you?” Aaron shakes his head in exasperation and annoyance. “No one, forget it.” He shifts his attention back to the clothes he’s putting on and hopes that would put an end to it. “Nah, mate… there’s something you’re not telling me? Me, your best pal in the whole wide world? I’m hurt. Don’t you trust me?” Aaron carries on with his task, doing his best to ignore Adam, who is clearly more incessant than hurt. Why couldn’t he have had a less ridiculous bloke for a best friend? Or at least one with a basic understanding of boundaries and the tact to take the hint and respect it? “Did you hear that!?” Adam exclaims so suddenly that it forces Aaron to snap his head around in his direction, only to take in the sight of Barton melodramatically placing his hands over his own chest. “It’s the sound of my heart breaking over your lack of trust, is what it is. C’mon, you really gonna leave me hanging here without an answer?” Aaron turns his gaze back to his own locker, placing the last of the possessions he won’t need for the upcoming hours in it. “Life’s a bitch… and then you die.” He’s said this before, not too often, but when he’s felt particularly grumpy. He means it more than ever today and does his best to ignore the barrage of protests and attempts to sway his position which Adam fires his way in favour of mulling over what he had just learned. No one’s come looking for him. His text message went unanswered. He decides that’s fine. He knew that might be the result and if he doesn’t like it, he’s simply gonna have to take responsibility for his rash stupidity and tough this out. He puts the few things he does need - mobile phone, keys, including the one to his locker - in the pocket of his trousers and turns back to Adam without meeting his eyes. “Let’s go,” Aaron lets out as he leaves the locker room with Barton following closely in his wake, for once keeping quiet and settling for glancing sideways in his direction. They exit the building through the side doors and spot their assigned vehicle in the parking lot. Walking over to it, they maintain their tense silence. Aaron feels bad about it, but not enough to break it. He prefers it over having to explain himself. They’re almost there when they hear a shout coming from behind them. “Oy!” It’s Robert’s voice and it pierces Aaron right through the heart to hear him shout, recognising the sound so instinctively and feeling it like the ghost of a chest imprint left by Robert’s hands. He jogs up to the two of them as they turn to him and maybe it’s just a cruel trick of memory and desire, but he’s somehow even more gorgeous than before. “You’re alright?” he asks and it comes out urgent, but also surprised and confused. “You said to meet you at this hospital, I was sure something bad has happened to you…” “Is that why you didn’t call me? I thought you weren’t showing up.” “I came as fast as I could, went right over to A & E. No one had any information about a patient with your name. I was freaking out there, to be honest. I started yelling that I’d never seen such incompetence and I was about to promise I’d make sure they’d never work again when one of a few nurses who heard all the noise and came over pointed out that she knew a Red Cross volunteer medic by that name.” The front ambulance door swings open and Lydia, their driver for the shift, chastises them. “I don’t mean to rush ya, but you should be legging it here. We could get our first call in at any moment.” “Yeah,” Aaron replies, “we’re coming and I’m bringing a guest.” He motions with his head for Robert to follow while he drags Adam along into the vehicle. Thankfully Barton is too floored to do anything other than make puzzled faces meant to convey that he’s gonna want the entire story later on, with as many details as possible. Aaron ignores that and straightens his back a bit more than he usually does, hoping the RC medic uniform is doing his physique a bit of justice. He shoves Adam towards the seat by the driver and climbs into the back, together with Robert. “Is this not against protocol?” Lydia’s whisper to Adam is loud enough, despite her attempt at discretion, for Aaron to hear. “Normally, but I have special permission today. This is my respiratory physiotherapist,” he informs her, “he needs to see what I do here to better understand how he can help me.” ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ Two hours later, Lydia makes a stop by Aaron’s flat. He’ll go back to pick up his stuff from his locker another day, he reassured her when he requested this unconventional drop off. What he didn’t mention was that going back to the locker room inevitably meant dealing with Adam’s interrogation and that was not an option today. Not when there was something else coming up that would require all of his strength. He didn’t have much of that left as it was, not after this shift. As it turned out, his wish for an eventful day was fulfilled. It wasn’t anything major, nothing above his and Adam’s ability to help with, but a minor accident on the Hotten bypass, two home injuries and a medical emergency at a shopping centre where a cancer patient had fainted were more than they had to handle during most shifts. He unlocks the door to his flat and lets Robert in. The adrenaline that courses through Aaron during his volunteer work and helps him complete it has begun wearing off already and he heads for the sofa as soon as the door’s locked behind them. He lays down on it and almost instantly, Robert is by his side, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to the sofa. He looks like he desperately wants to speak, but can’t. A little boy, lost and in awe at the same time. It’s easy to let go of any lingering anger and want to hug him, way too damn easy. That impulse and the temptation to start the conversation must be resisted. Robert’s not getting off the hook that easily. “Well, that was a rush, weren’t it?” An obvious statement to break the silence with. It’ll do. Aaron does his best to shrug while lying down. “It was routine, nothing more.” Robert sits up slightly. “But it was still important enough for you that I witness it.” “It’s gonna be harder for you to see me as oh so pathetic and useless now, won’t it?” “Aaron, I never did.” Everything about Robert’s efforts at honest innocence is far too persuasive. “I’m still not sure how you got that idea stuck in your thick head.” “Is that why you dashed like crazy to the hospital today? Because you don’t see me as a weakling?” Aaron tended towards the cynical, but he never realised he had a good amount of harsh sarcasm in him, as well. “I was terrified for you, yeah. I’m not gonna apologise for that, you idiot. I’ve been checking up on your treatment at the clinic and I know you didn’t reschedule any of your appointments with another therapist. How am I supposed to not worry when I’m aware of that? I contacted Dr. Jutla and she told me it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to try and convince you to try again with someone else. She’s rightly reminded me that you’re as stubborn as a mule.” “You talked to her?” All of that effort that Robert didn’t have to make once their appointments were over… for Aaron? Why? “Of course I did. You can’t go on without daily sessions, you know that, right?” “She might have mentioned that.” “Aaron, please. I get that I let you down when I used your treatment to try and find out if you’re available, but you can’t harm yourself because I ruined your faith in physiotherapy. I promise, the clinic can find you someone else to continue your sessions with and practically any other therapist is going to restore your trust as a clent. They’ll be one hundred percent professional, whoever is assigned to you next.” He babbles on, but Aaron doesn’t really listen to most of that, having been caught off by what he guesses was an unintended confession. “Wait, you what? If I’m available?” Robert blushes and his voice, which was raw and earnest in his attempt to be convincing, grows smaller, more closed off. It’s as if he didn’t register while he was talking how vulnerable he was making himself by putting the truth out there and making admissions he wasn’t supposed to. His next words have notes of strain in them and the colour never leaves his cheeks. “You’re not some pathetic nobody. I’ve never seen you like that. I’ve met a lot of people who’ve had to deal with more shit than anyone should. And somehow, you’re still the strongest person I know. It’s something about your attitude, the way you never seek to make things easy for yourself, you just want things to be right and… you take my breath away.” It’s clear he doesn’t want to say these words, but in a way, that makes them come across as even more sincere. “I shouldn’t wanna ask you out, I shouldn’t have used our sessions to pry into your dating status, but I did and that hurt you. I’m sorry, I really am.” Aaron’s limbs, which felt heavy and sagging but a few minutes ago, are refilled with energy and they move him into a sitting position to confront Robert without him giving it a single thought. He searches the man’s face for any sign of hidden malice or covert mockery. He doesn’t find any, only that the colour of those bright eyes is deeper than ever and is pulling him in. “Ask me out? How can you do that if you’re married?” “I’m…” Robert looks stunned for a second, then he holds his hands up. They’re completely bare. “You mean my wedding ring?” The skin is a little paler where it used to be. Aaron frowns. “You took it off?” “Yeah. That was long overdue, you helped me realise that. My wife, Chrissie… my ex wife. She was gorgeous. And smart, rich and driven. Everything I always thought I’m meant to want. She wasn’t very forgiving, though. She ran into this bloke I used to fool around with and that’s how she found out I’m bisexual and hadn’t told her before our wedding. I think it wounded her pride to find out there was something other people were aware of about me that she wasn’t. Told me she could never have faith in me again if I was capable of hiding from her a part of who I am. She filed for divorce, but I didn’t want to accept that. It felt like too much of a failure, to have my marriage be over because of a small, insignificant issue.” “She didn’t get how difficult it is to own up to a part of yourself that you don’t like. And you didn’t want to admit that part of you is significant.” Robert’s eyes were cast downwards and he seemed caught up in reliving his tale, but at this, he looks up at Aaron. “That’s exactly right.” “But if that’s where you are, how could you think of asking me out? I’m connected to that part of who you are that you don’t like.” That was met with a head shake. “That’s what it would seem like, wouldn’t it? I’ve wanted to be with guys before and I always hated myself for that. And I never liked them. Their bodies maybe, but that was it. Not now, though, not with you, Aaron. I like you. I more than like you. Do you know how hard it’s been to touch you and hold back? To lean over you, look down at your lips and not kiss you? I probably should be more ashamed of myself than I was about any of those other blokes, but… I’m not. You’re the best person I know, so if there’s a part of me that wants ya… I think it might be the best part of me.” Aaron closes his eyes and reopens them. And this was the man he threatened with accusations of homophobia, he thinks to himself. He looks at the spot where Robert’s hands have been dropped back onto his knees, as motionless as he sounds hopeless with his confession. He isn’t trying to gain anything here. He’s perplexed and apologetic and trying to make sense of his world shifting on its axis. There are so many ways in which they both have been wrong, about and for each other. Aaron’s done with that now. He’s gonna be that brave man Robert believes him to be. He’ll go with his gut on what’s right and shut out everything else. He picks up one of those hands that has driven him near crazy, lightly squeezes it in his own, lets himself feel it as he brings it to his lips and kisses it with great care. He looks up to meet Robert’s gaze, full of wonder. He smiles at it and slowly, because admissions don’t come naturally to him either, he shares, “I couldn’t agree to anyone else being my therapist, no matter how much pressure they put on me to do that. I want you, and only you. You’re the only one who can help me breathe.” He leans forward and Robert, who looks like he’s moving without even fully processing what’s going on, meets him halfway for a scorching kiss.

[seoulscenarios]

College AU! Han Jisung

i may have gotten a little carried away with the linguistics part,,, i studied a linguistics module and poured my own damn feelings into this lmao

-Major: Linguistics with TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages)

-Minor: Lyrical Composition,, though he kept pretty quiet about it

-Sports: none,,, he tried joining Hyunjin’s basketball team but he got cut from the team during tryouts for Naruto running across the court which was apparently against the rules

-Clubs: Jisung joined the dance club but gave up after two weeks bc Minho kept making him do all the difficult stuff lmao, is a part of the art club bc he likes to draw, esp characters, and design artwork for 3RACHAs posters/mixtape covers,,,, all the posters you see advertised around campus for the next 3RACHA gig, yeah those were designed by J.One lmao

-So,,, linguistics???

-Jisung honestly couldn’t tell you why he ended up majoring in linguistics when he first got to college bc it’s such a weird niche subject

-9 times out of 10 he ends up having to explain what the hell linguistics is to people bc they have no clue

-It’s the study of language

-So like you’re learning a language??

-No,,, I study how language is formed and used and structured

-……. So no actual language??

-NO

-Honestly Jisung is a bit sick of it tbh, like there’s only so many times he can explain what it is before he wants to explode with anger

-So whilst Jisung didn’t know why he chose linguistics at first, he soon realised that he loved learning about syntax, semantics and pragmatics behind language,,,, he just really loved it

-It also helped him when he was writing lyrics and more often than not, he ended up helping Chan and Changbin with their lyrics when they had an awkward phrase or there was no flow in the lyric

-It really did come in handy for the three of them when they were writing songs late at night and Jisung’s linguistic brain took over when he was checking lyrics

-However,,,, as much as he enjoyed linguistics he actually really despised it at the same time

-I mean,,, idk about you but linguistics is really really REALLY hard to learn and get your head around

-Like if you don’t get something, it makes learning and understanding literally everything else so difficult

-Jisung constantly had an IPA chart in his hand trying to learn the symbols for different consonants and vowels when he was trying to study

-Which,, was hardly ever bc linguistics revision made him want to CRY most of the time bc he couldn’t think of anything worse than writing out the correct pronunciation of sentences or annotate sentences with their different particle abbreviations or,,,, the actual worst which was learning the different phonological rules

-So yeah, Jisung was the literal definition of winging it when it came to his linguistic exams having crammed the night before and bouncing off the wall from 4 espresso shots he had just downed

-He wasn’t that stressed about the exam bc,,, well if everyone else finds it difficult they’ll just lower the grade boundary lmao

-Whilst Jisung seemed like a good kid during class,,,, most of the time was not

-Boy has a LOT of energy and spends most of class literally bouncing in his seat or constantly yelling to a friend across the room from him

-He was asked to leave a few times bc of class disruption and Jisung literally did the Naruto run out of class whilst everyone cheered him on bc of how distraught their teacher was at him

-They didn’t hate him, oh no, bc he was a kind hearted kid he just,,,, was a bit too much sometimes esp for a 9am linguistic class where everyone was literally dead on their feet and he was bouncing off the walls, yelling the answers out even if they were wrong

-He was a much appreciated addition to the class though bc otherwise,,, that class would be DEAD and no one would participate so they were just glad Jisung was there so they didn’t have to answer

-And you bet ur ass when he had to a presentation there were tons of anime references and bad slideshow transition bc that’s who Jisung is a person and he thought they were funny,,, tho the look on one of the examiners face made him slightly regret it but his other examiner was crying at the effects so u win some u lose some Jisung thought

-So alongside his linguistics major, he also took a TESOL path bc he learnt how to speak English so he wanted to help others learn how to

-He always tested out his methods on Jeongin bc,,, they lived together and Jisung literally locked him the living room so he could practice his teaching methods on him lmao

-Jeongin always protested and tried to run away to literally anyone’s house but Jisung just caught him in a hug,,,, and Jeongin could never refuse a hug even if it was from one of his most annoying hyungs

-Besides,,, it meant he got free English lessons without having to be taught by a stuffy professor

-Jisung was a very,, enigmatic teacher and the kind of teacher that would never make a class boring

-In fact, many of the students who signed up for English classes tried to request him despite the fact that u know,,, there were quite a few TESOL students who needed the students to teach as well

-But for the 1-1 sessions,,, Jisung was so oversubscribed that they literally had to redistribute the students so Jisung could get some damn rest,,,, I mean he tried to protest saying that it was fine but the professors were like JISUNG NO

-JISUNG YES he yelled, trying to redo his schedule so he could accommodate all the students before one of his classmates literally had to rip his planner out of his hands and another one grabbed his pen so he couldn’t write any of it down

-Poor baby,,, he just wanted to teach

-A lot of his students came out of their 1-1 classes extremely overwhelmed and had gone to his professor to ask if Jisung is always that enthusiastic and that maybe he should calm down on the coffee

-The gag? Jisung doesn’t even drink coffee unless he accidentally pulls an all nighter before an exam

-The professor just shook his head and was like,,, no that’s just Jisung

-O h

-Jisung wasn’t always the most well prepared for his classes though, preferring to have a very lax lesson plan and once he got called to the head of departments office bc apparently teaching the students English using Beyonce lyrics wasn’t appropriate no matter how much they seemed to enjoy it

-Jisung was offended bc,,, did she just insult Queen Bey just now?? He was going to argue but he didn’t want to get ANOTHER warning bc the last time he was called there was bc he showed his students The Bee Movie and one kid on the feedback form just quoted the opening monologue for his response to “what did you learn that helped improve your English skills?”

-Jisung just felt that learning English through academics wasn’t interesting and certainly wasn’t going to make anyone enjoy it or learn much from it so he liked to use a lot of songs and films and tv shows that had helped him learn English all those years ago

-He still went to Chan and Felix’s flat though just to make sure he could still understand English and that he was still able to English bc lbr here,,, English is extremely difficult

-Like even for Jisung, who lived in Malaysia in his childhood and could speak and understand English well, it’s still hard bc it’s not his native language

-Sometimes Chan had to look over his teaching notes and correct all the English on it bc Jisung had made them the night before and was clearly extremely tired bc it was a jumble of Korean and English that shouldn’t even be together and,,,, were those Zico lyrics in the corner???? JISUNG NO

-But yeah, Chan was very helpful towards Jisung bc of all the help Jisung gave to him when they wrote lyrics together so he was extremely willing to help Jisung with his English

-Heck, he even taught Jisung English once a week so Jisung would feel more comfortable speaking English with his students and his professors bc he wasn’t afraid of getting the answer wrong exactly,,, but still at the back of his mind was that lingering feeling of disappointment if he got it extremely wrong and everyone knew that it was wrong

-The English lessons chan gave to him was extremely useful and he felt even more confident when he went to teach bc he knew that Chan’s lessons would pay off

-You, however, were not a linguistics major

-You studied TESOL full time bc you really wanted to be an English teacher

-You used to volunteer at elementary schools whilst you were a high school student, giving out free English lessons to the kids

-Whilst you may not be as crazy as Jisung was when he taught English, you were still extremely charismatic and enthusiastic bc you had so much passion and love for it

-You met Jisung in a rather,,,, unusual fashion

-It was your first day of classes and you were running late bc you had a meeting with your academic advisor which should have only been a few minutes but ended up being way longer,,, you were polite enough to hear her out but honestly u just wanted to blast

-You didn’t want to miss your first TESOL class bc hello,, that was your damn major

-LUCKILY

-There was still a seat just by the door which you managed to grab before the professor could give you an evil glare for being late to class lmao

-You knew that this would be your spot for the duration of this module bc that’s just how seating arrangements worked,,, u choose one spot and suddenly it’s yours for the rest of the semester/year

-Unfortunately, you couldn’t make that class the next week bc you had doctors appointment during that particular class

-Which, fortunately, for Jisung meant there was one free space when he actually turned up to class that week

-He didn’t mean to not turn up the previous introduction class,, but honestly he kinda gathered he wouldn’t miss anything that he couldn’t find out from the information pack online or by talking to other students lmao

-So when he turned up the week and saw everyone else sat in their respective seats he sighed but spotted a spare one just by the door

-You weren’t there so, without thinking, he just went and sat in it pulling out his notes

-The third week of class comes round, and you arrive to class to see a boy sat in “your” seat and ur fuming bc hello,,,, did he not realise that the seat was already claimed by you

-You stalked up to it and placed your hands on the desk, tapping impatiently

-The boy looked up from his phone and pulled a headphone out, and you could hear a heavy beat with a melodic voice rapping over the top bleed out through the now free headphone

-“I believe you’re sat in my seat”

-The boy just looked at you confused from under his black bangs and beanie

-“But,,, I was sat here last week?”

-“And I was sat here in the first week which makes this MY seat so move it before I drop kick you outta this seat”

-The boy just laughed, before gathering his stuff and placing it on the empty seat next to you,,,, guess that person didn’t want to go to class this week

-(Plot twist: they did turn up albeit 10 minutes late and they realised,,, they lost their seat to Jisung forever and rumour has it the department had to steal a new table for the classroom)

-You just sighed, placing your bag heavily on the table whilst the other boy just sat there, tapping his fingers in time with the music

-Little did you know that this was going to be the beginning of your friendship with Jisung

-As the class started you couldn’t help but be drawn to the boy next to you as he bounced excitedly in his seat whilst your professor spouted some nonsense about how to teach the possessive case as easily as possible

-You couldn’t help but smile as Jisung yelled out nonsense answers to the questions asked by both professor and students, and you full on laughed as Jisung got into a friendly debate with the teacher and the teacher just gave up halfway through

-You caught Jisung’s eye as he sat back down in his seat once the teacher turned his attention elsewhere and he just grinned at you, seeing the smile that was playing around your mouth

-When the two of you were partnered up for a quiz that was going to happen next lesson and the class split off in order to delegate revision

-“I’m Jisung!” the boy, Jisung you now knew, burst out excitedly

-You laughed at his enthusiasm and he smiled at you, before introducing yourself

-“And I’m Y/N, pleasure to meet you Jisung”

-And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the beginning of a beautiful if slightly crazy friendship

-You see, Jisung brought out the loud, childish side in you especially during class whilst you had the ability to mellow him slightly when he got just a little too raucous when challenging a teacher or throwing out answers

-The two of you became extremely close friends, even hanging out with each other at the others flats

-You could be seen playing video games most days instead of studying or having Netflix binges when you should’ve been making lesson plans

-But it was all in good fun, considering you hadn’t failed any classes yet and you had a good social life as well

-Jisung introduced you to his friends and you were essentially one of them now

-Like, you frequently had the boys over in your flat even without Jisung being there

-You came back one day after class with Jisung in tow and found Seungmin and Hyunjin sat outside your door, pouting bc Changbin kicked them out of their apartment bc he “needed space to think for his new track and he couldn’t hear himself think over the sound of a law book being thrown at Hyunjin whilst he was playing overwatch so you NEED TO LEAVE BEFORE I DRAG YOU OUT” to which Hyunjin had replied with “can you even reach my neck?” and Changbin nearly tackled Hyunjin so Seungmin dragged him away before he would be looking for a new flatmate

-You just roll your eyes before unlocking your door and letting them in, knowing they feared the wrath of Changbin lmao

-I mean, they knew where everything was in the flat now so nothing was sacred

-But only Jisung knew where your secret stash of snacks were :’)

-True friendship

-Before you knew it, everyone but Changbin had turned up to your tiny flat for an impromptu movie night

-Chan and Woojin had brought along snacks and drinks, and a very disgruntled Jeongin who just wanted to sleep, whilst Felix and Minho brought more blankets and pillows and set up a pillow fort in front of your TV

-You watch in utter horror as popcorn ends up in every corner of the room before the film had even started bc Hyunjin was retelling his story of nearly being killed by Changbin that afternoon and they all retaliated by throwing popcorn at him

-The boys decided to watch a horror film, and you were less than thrilled

-You didn’t hate them,, you just hated the jump scares and sometimes you had to sleep with the light on just in case

-As you grabbed the drinks bottles from the kitchen, you navigated your way through the pile of boys that had accumulated on your sofa and floor placing the bottles on the floor next to the table

-Frowning, you couldn’t see any free spaces to sit on your sofa and you were slightly annoyed,,,, bc hello it’s your flat AND you sofa u didn’t care that you had guests they were your friends

-As you stood there trying to figure out where to sit, a hand wrapped itself around your wrist and you looked down to see Jisung staring up at you, gesturing to a space next to him

-Knowing there was nowhere else to sit, you begrudgingly sat next to him and Jisung smiled really widely as he felt the heat from your body next to his

-As the film progressed, you found yourself moving closer and closer to Jisung the more jump scares that occurred

-Safe to say, you whimpered quite a lot and at one point you buried you face into Jisung’s chest trying to calm down

-Jisung,,, was pretty concerned with you bc he didn’t know that you were scared of horror films so rather than laughing at you like he would do with the boys,,, he grabbed your hand and rubbed circles onto the back of it soothingly in an attempt to calm you down

-By the end of the film you were basically sat in Jisung’s lap and he had one arm wrapped around your shoulders and his other hand holding yours uwu

-You didn’t realise the film was over until you heard someone, who sounded suspiciously like Seungmin, cough and you practically leapt out of Jisung’s lap

-You didn’t see the smirks Hyunjin and Minho sent Jisung’s way bc you were too embarrassed to admit the fact you were scared and needed Jisung to protect you lmao

-Deciding the night was still young, the boys picked another film and at this point,, you were extremely tired

-The last film had worn you out emotionally and you found yourself drifting off during the second one

-As you did, you shuffled closer to Jisung bc he was warm and soft and you missed the warmth to be quite honest

-As you rested your head on his shoulder, your hand found his and entangled your fingers together before getting comfortable to watch the film

-Jisung was a blushing MESS at your actions tbh,,, like who allowed you to be so cute and play with his heart like this

-The smirks on Hyunjin and Minho’s faces only grew wider as Jisung sent them a panicked look

-You’ll thank us later was what Minho mouthed at him, before turning his attention back to the film that was playing

-Jisung could not find it in him to concentrate on the film, instead choosing to take in your features one by one

-The way your eyelashes rested perfectly on your cheekbones, how your eyebrows would furrow as you shuffled trying to get comfier and the feel on your fingers intertwined with his made his heart rate pick up and left him breathless

-I mean, Jisung had always acknowledged that you were attractive and when you ended up spending more time with him and you got closer,,,, he began to notice everything about you, and whilst sometimes he had trouble recalling what his friends told him sometimes,, he managed to always remember everything you said so clearly

-He gasped,, realising that he had maybe developed a tiny crush on you

-On the opposite side of the room you could see the victory gleaming in Minho and Hyunjin’s eyes

-U see,,, they already knew Jisung had a crush on you and they were just trying to get him to realise it so they could see the two of you happy together bc,,,, boy did they know how much you liked him as well

-Out of all Jisung’s friends, you had grown the closest to Minho and it was to him that you had vented everything about Jisung to,,,, he was just trying to figure out a way to make you realise you had a crush on him too

-Luckily,,, Minho needn’t interfere at all bc after the movie had finished both you and Jisung had fallen asleep and the rest of the boys had left to two you asleep on your apartment floor

-You woke up the next day feeling incredibly warm and extremely uncomfortable

-You rolled over only to encounter an obstacle,,,, cracking an eye open it looked familiar and you realised that your hand was entangled with someone else’s and all of a sudden the images of last night came flooding back into your head

-You clinging onto Jisung, him rubbing soothing circles onto your hand, holding his hand,,,, and then falling asleep

-What you didn’t realise through all this was that Jisung too was waking up

-It wasn’t until you were observing Jisung’s face that you realised his eyes were in fact open and he was staring at you with a soft smile on his face

-Groaning, you reached for a pillow behind you and threw it at him

-Jisung’s laugh echoed loudly in your ears before he launched a pillow at you

-Well,,, it was just a full on pillow fight after that for a good ten minutes until you had all the pillows and Jisung pleaded mercy

-“Fine, I win and you get to make breakfast instead” you conceded, hugging one of the pillows and Jisung begrudgingly agreed, trudging to the kitchen

-10 minutes later, he served you a plate of toast with different toppings and you couldn’t help but laugh bc you forgot how incompetent Jisung was in the kitchen

-As the two of you ate the toast, your eyes kept drifting to Jisung

-His messy hair was almost comical but you found it endearing somehow, and his face was kind of puffy from just having woken up but there was something so intimate about the scene that you kind of wanted to take a photo of how domestic you felt

-As you finished your slice, you took a sip of water admiring Jisung’s features when all of a sudden he made his way over to you

-He leant in and kissed the corner of your lips, before pulling away and smiling at you

-“You had something there”

-Um Y/N.exe has stopped working

-You were literally dying right now,, like wtf

-Why was he being so smooth all of a sudden

-Your brain just went into overdrive and the only logical solution you could think of was pretty damn crazy

-Your head and heart were both in agreement at the solution

-So you just stand up to meet him and grab the collar of his t-shirt and planted a kiss right on his lips

-He was,,, shocked to say the least but goddamn relieved that you reciprocated his feelings

-The two of you pulled apart and sat in silence for a few minutes,,, no one daring to break the silence

-“Soooo,,,, you wanna go on a date?”

-“Sure, let me get dressed and let’s go”

-DATING JISUNG:

-So your relationship,, is definitely not unexpected and was met with great enthusiasm from the boys bc finally,, you had stopped pining

-We didn’t pine!!!

-Look,,, listening to both of you gushing about the other to me was SICKENING and can therefore be seen as pining good day to you

-You and Jisung was very high energy and mainly bc of Jisung bc he would not ! stop! Talking! 99% of the time and u were like,,, babe I love you but pls shut up

-And he would get all pouty which could only be solved if you kissed him

-One day Minho asked you how put up with Jisung being loud for so long and you were like,,, easy! There’s a trick, an off switch of sorts. Care to find out?

-Minho,,, was intrigued but also wary bc hello,,, this is Jisung we’re talking about

-You walked over to Jisung and tapped his shoulder whilst he was talking to Hyunjin about the killing streak he got on overwatch last night you just planted a kiss on his cheek and Jisung stopped talking and giggled shyly before kissing ur cheek back

-You sauntered back to Minho with a smug look on your face whilst Minho,,,, just had a very disgusted look on his face he knew he shouldn’t have trusted you to have a simple answer to his question

-One thing you didn’t know about Jisung was the fact he was part of 3RACHA

-Like you had heard of them,,, you just weren’t big on the campus social life tbh so most things like this kinda went straight past you

-You noticed, however, now you were dating Jisung was that twice a week would disappear for a few hours then occasionally on weekends he would go missing for the entire night

-Not that you were worried that he was doing anything bad bc you trusted Jisung wasn’t THAT stupid to get arrested or something (you hadn’t ruled it out entirely as this is Jisung we’re talking about, he would get arrested for disturbing the peace or something at 3am)

-You just wondered what Jisung was doing bc you were curious

-You waited a few weeks to see if he would tell you and when he hadn’t you just straight up asked him where he went

-He was a little startled, but rather than giving you an answer he just grabbed your hand and tugged you out of the door and towards campus

-“Jisung, babe, please tell me where we’re going” you panted as he weaved through the unfamiliar corridors of a building you had never been in before

-Without warning, he opened a door and pulled you into a,,,,

-Recording studio???

-“Babe,,, what is all this?”

-“I probably told you that I did lyrical composition alongside linguistics right??”

-“Briefly, you were pretty quiet about it to be honest”

-“Well, with Chan-hyung and Changbin-hyung, we uh, write songs and perform them sometimes”

-“Really?! That’s so cool”

-“You think so?” he asked you shyly, ruffling his hair nervously

-“HELL YEAH that’s amazing, could I maybe hear some of the stuff you’ve done?”

-Jisung smiled, slipping into a chair in front of the chair looking extremely professional and began clicking on stuff and bringing up a track

-He plugged in a pair of headphones and slipped them onto your ears, pressing play

-You heard his voice intertwine with the smooth melody and you were in awe at his sheer talent, like you were so shocked that your boyfriend could sing AND rap extremely well

-Jisung sat watching the expressions on your face as the song played, smiling as he saw the different emotions flash upon yourself

-When the song ended you flung yourself at him and began kissing him all over his face whilst he laughed at the sudden affection

-You leant in to kiss him deeply and he just leaned back in the chair pulling you closer to him

-The kiss probably would’ve got more intense if Chan and Changbin hadn’t walked in just in the moment and literally screamed at the fact their friends were tainting their recording studio (it wasn’t actually theirs but the music department graciously let them use it out of hours)

-You threw yourself off Jisung and were extremely red in the face, and Jisung had the audacity to grin at his hyungs

-Changbin just threw a pillow from one of the chairs at him, glaring at him as he took a seat in the other chair whilst Chan just glanced between the two of you

-“I’ll just get going” you said awkwardly, backing towards the door when Jisung shot up and pulled you from the door so he could walk you home

-I can’t believe I have to sit in this seat,,, it’s TAINTED changbin

-It’s your own fault

-???? How ????

-Idk,,, just your bad luck

-…….

-ANYWAY

-You and Jisung were an extremely clingy couple,,, like skinship central

-Jisung absolutely loved loved LOVED it when you would wrap him in a back hug bc it made him very happy and he just loved the feeling of your arms wrapped so securely around him and your hot breath tickling the back of his neck

-Seungmin had to have his law books confiscated whenever you hung out together bc he would just keep throwing them at Jisung whenever he would kiss you or show any affection

-SEUNGMIN IT’S JUST A KISS

-IT’S AFFECTION KEEP IT AWAY FROM ME

-Cue Jisung chasing after Seungmin to try and tackle him and plant a kiss on his cheek,,,, he succeeded but at what cost

-Seungmin nearly throttling him, that was the cost

-Despite the excessive skinship, you and Jisung wouldn’t change your relationship for the world

-You were just the loud, clingy couple that hyped each other up even in the most mundane thing

-Like,, you did a presentation for one of your classes and Jisung waited outside for your class to finish and when you left the class he threw confetti at you before screaming about how much his baby did him proud

-If this was literally any other couple the whole of campus would’ve been like wtf are they crazy but when they heard Jisung scream they were just like,,, ofc

-Hey Y/N u wanna go

-Yeah

-On a date with me./ OH YOU DO./ OHH

-YOU’RE SAYING THAT LIKE I FELL FOR A CUNNING PRANK WE’RE LITERALLY DATING YOU EGG

dating college jisung is just a big meme filled mess tbh

[alwaysmarais98]

OCEAN EYES | Chapter 3 | Jonah Marais

A/N: So here we go with Chapter 3 already! Hope you have fun reading it and it turned out a little different than expected but I like it. I felt in an extra cuddly and fluffy mood today so I needed to write something like that.

Find the other parts in my MASTERLIST

Warnings: None, our Jonah just shows he has emotions as well

Summary: Highschool AU, You move to Minnesota and attend high school there. Jonah just happens to be the captain of the Baseball team who also enjoys playing with girls.

“I’m okay yeah. Sorry for running into you”, I ramble some and try to walk away from him but he holds onto hand, “What’s your name? Don’t want to keep calling you ‘new one’ for the rest of the year. I mean I could give you other nicknames though”, a smirk spreading along his face.

I sigh some knowing he won’t give up. “Y/N”

“Beautiful for name for a beautiful girl. I’m Jonah”, he introduces himself making me giggle. “What’s so funny now?”

“That line, beautiful name for a beautiful girl, it’s so old and basic. I really saw it coming from a guy like you?”, I exclaim shaking your head.

Jonah furrows his brows. “Well it worked, you should have seen how your eyes light up a little after I said it and what do you man a guy like me?”

“I just know what kind of boy you are. It’s exciting for you that there is a new girl around now, that you didn’t flirt with yet. Excuse me but I wanted to go to the bathroom now”, I say quickly before he could respond to that. I shake my head while entering the building. What did just go through me? I wanted to keep my distance and I don’t even know him but boys like Jonah just get the worst out of me. All I knew and heard about him was already enough for me.

Jonah’s POV

“Y/N?”, I call after her but she is already inside. I don’t run after her because first of all I don’t even know that girl and second it would be creepy to follow her to the bathroom.

I run onto the field when I hear the coach asking for me and grab the Baseball bat. I try to concentrate and listen to what we will do now but she is stuck in my head. What did I do that she thinks about me like that?

Okay I told her that morning to get away from my seat but she can’t blame me. It was 8 am and I’m never in my best mood at that time but that she already rejected my attempts to flirt with her twice today. She is different from any other girl I met around here. She has something so captivating on her and I felt the urge to spend some time alone with her.

My POV

Christina already smirks over at me as I approach them, “What did you talk with Jonah? I just saw you falling then his hands were suddenly at your waist”, she giggles then Gabbie joins in laughing as I sit down next to them.

“Well you already saw enough. He asked me for my name then quoted one of the cheesiest pick-up lines ever. I couldn’t hold back but make a comment about that and I assume he didn’t expect that.”

I shrug some then turn my head to the field gazing at all the players. Yes, some of them are really cute but my eyes always land on one of them, if I want it or not. Jonah.

At the end of my last class I hug Christina, “Thank you for today, that you showed me around and introduced me to some people”.

“You are welcome and we expect you now to spend time with us Y/N”, she laughs and I wink at her before I walk to my car.

I sigh relieved as I step in and start the engine. My first day is over and it went way better than expected. Maybe that last year in high school won’t be the worst one ever. Just maybe.

Back at home I walk inside, my mum already waiting for me at the door bombing me with thousands of questions all at once.

“Yes, everything was alright and I already met some new people. My teachers and classes are also fine”, I tell her while she pulls me in a tight embrace kissing my head, “I’m so proud of you honey, I knew you would get this. And good news, our neighbour invited us to have dinner with them tonight. She said her child also goes to ‘Minnesota High’ but I don’t know if he is your age or not.”

“Do I really have to come along?”, I question but I was aware that the answer would be a yes. I give in not wanting her to get upset. My mum went through a lot, and she just wants us to be happy now.

Walking into my bedroom I decide to keep unpacking some clothes and decorate the walls are little. I got the biggest room in our new house along with a small balcony. My mum even made sure to get me a queen-sized bed and a TV, which was absolutely not necessary but she insisted to do it. And who would say no to a flat screen to binge watch Netflix all day?

“Y/N! Are you ready to go?”, my mum’s voices echoes through the house. I walk downstairs just wearing my skinny jeans again and some cute shirt, “Why are you so dressed up, mum? It’s just our neighbours”, I chuckle while slipping on my black converse. She is wearing some nice pants and a blouse.

“Well, we want to make a good first impression honey”

“Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Y/N is your name, right?”, a middle-aged woman greets us introducing herself as Carrie. My mum and her really seemed to talk a lot that morning. “You are such a beautiful young lady, come in.”

I look around the big house, everything seems so cosy with lots of pictures at the wall, flowers and candles everywhere.

I let my eyes wander over some pictures then my heart suddenly skips a beat as a recognise a way too familiar face. That can’t be true now. What are the odds that HE is my new neighbour?

“My son is your age Y/N, maybe you already saw him at school today”, Carrie announced and as I turn around I stare directly into his deep blue eyes. He seems to be just as surprised as I am.

“Yes, we met each other already today. I didn’t expect you to be my new neighbour though”, Jonah shoots me crooked smile.

“Great, well you kids can go upstairs then while I finish the food”, Carrie states then disappears with my mum in the kitchen leaving me alone with him.

“Well looks like our paths cross earlier again than I expected”, he chuckles running his fingers through his dark brown hair. How can somebody be so attractive by doing such a simple gesture. I notice he is just wearing some sweatpants and a black t-shirt. I try my best not to take a look on his muscles as he lowers his arm again. Is he really flexing his muscles on purpose?

“Enjoying your view new one? Want to go to my room?”, he smirks making my cheeks flush. Why am I always blushing around him? I swear normally that doesn’t happen so frequently.

“Yeah, why not and can you please stop calling me new one”, I cross my arms like a little kid while following him upstairs to, I guess, his room.

Jonah laughs “Now that I noticed how cute you are when you get annoyed, I will definitely keep doing it”, he teases opening the door.

“Nice room”, I remark after I observed it a little. His bed is a bit bigger than mine, on the walls are lots of pictures and posters that have something to do with Baseball and I also spot some trophies.

“Thank you, just make yourself comfortable”, his hands are in his pockets while he watches me making my way to sit down on his bed. It is the only possibility to take a seat since his desk chair is covered in clothes.

“You already know where you belong to right?” he comments as I shoot him a glare.

“Well, the other option would be to sit on the floor so”, I shrug feeling how the mattress goes down as I lower myself on it. He has a really comfortable bed, perfect for cuddl… never mind.

Jonah sits down next to me leaning himself back on his hands. He glances over at me and I notice how his eyes land on my chest for a second. I shouldn’t have worn a shirt that is cut out so low.

“So please tell me about yourself? What made you move to Minnesota?” “Well actually I’m from California but my parents got divorced, so my mum and me came here”, I shrug.

I feel him scooting closer, his hand rubbing over my back. That guy really loves physical contact, I can already tell.

“I’m sorry that happened but you will have a great time here in Stillwater. So, you enjoyed watching the training today? I saw your stares after our incident”, he smirks turning from cute and comforting to a jock in not even a second but I could feel he is a little nervous too.

His arm rests now on the bed behind me and I inhale his perfume, damn I’m telling you he smells incredible. His scent combined with that arrogant attitude it makes me want to grab him at his shirt, push him back on his bed and…

I clear my throat, “Yeah it was fun to watch. Never expected myself to watch a Baseball training and the game looks interesting actually.” What am I even talking, all I did was checking him out but he couldn’t know that.

“Well, you should really come to one then. We have a game on Friday at 6. I’d love to spot you at the bleachers.”

I lift my head just noticing now how close he is next to me. I look into his eyes, my heart racing as I expect him to scoot back but he doesn’t

Jonah’s POV

I stare at Y/N noticing the cute blush on her cheeks and that one strand of hair that always falls into her face. Normally I’m not like that around girls. I really try to be flirty, it always seems to work with others but she gets me so nervous.

I swallow some not leaning in or anything. I really resist the urge to hover over her body, kissing her and pinning her down on my bed but I don’t want to freak her out.

She has something on her that attracts me. I want more than just sex with her, a fact that surprises myself. I want to get to know her and even would love to have her in my arms. And maybe I already caught some feelings after just looking into her eyes, what is way more than unusual for me. 

To be continued…

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I hope you enjoyed the third part!! PLEASE PLEASE leave me some FEEDBACK and comments. I really wanna know what you all thought of it!! Thanks for reading everyone!! Love all of you that read my stories. ❤

[centeris2]

Isn’t It Odd pt. 3

Carth is suspicious of Varana, the smuggler he must work with to save Bastila and escape Taris. As “coincidences” keep piling up he digs into her past, trying to find out who she is. 

Things were supposed to get better once Bastila was rescued, and in many ways it was, but everything about Varana grew more confusing. Bastila seemed transfixed with the smuggler, watching the woman constantly out of the corner of her eye. It didn’t match how the Jedi spoke to Varana with an air of annoyance and condescension, despite Varana remaining respectful and polite. He could only guess Varana had done something to deserve a grudge following the swoop race before they had made it back to the hideout. From what he had seen of Varana, that didn’t make sense, unless it was unintentional. Was the Jedi jealous, or even threatened, by how Varana had handled herself thus far?

Bastila’s beef with Varana was superseded by the fact that Bastila thought Varana had the Force.

She may have thought she was being sneaky, but it was a small apartment, and Carth had heard all of it. Bastila had asked Varana to talk in a quiet voice, how could that not get Carth’s attention? He didn’t know if Zaalbar or Mission had also paid attention to the conversation in the corner, but he was busy enough with his own thoughts, he didn’t need to discuss it with anyone.

He thought it might not matter, it might just be one of life’s mysteries, as they left Taris behind. They’d get to Dantooine, Bastila and Carth would return to their places, and… Well, Canderous would probably disappear. Good riddance. Varana might do the honorable thing and stay with the Republic until she fulfilled her “contract” (she always used air quotes when she referred to the conditions of her release as a contract). She might also run as soon as she got to Dantooine. But, strangely enough, he knew she would look after Zaalbar and Mission. He wasn’t sure what sort of life Mission would have if she stuck with Varana but she would be okay.

But (of course), it wasn’t so simple.

He expected to give a report to the Jedi Council, and it went without any surprises. It felt normal, as normal as a report covering something as extraordinary as the events of Taris could be, but he felt a warm pride in his chest when he finished. He had completed his mission. He had gotten Bastila safe. The praise of the Jedi Council felt good, until:

“Could you send in Varana?”

Of course they wanted a report from her as well, she was technically a Republic soldier (why did they want to see her?). She had taken an oath to serve the Republic (she was a smuggler!). She was the only other one with Bastila after the swoop race, having a second view might be helpful (why did he feel so cold?). Varana was just as vital to the success of their escape as he was, maybe even more so (he felt sick). If it hadn’t been for her, they never would have made it (something was wrong).

“They’re waiting for you inside,” Carth heard himself say. She was confused but did as requested. He turned to follow her back inside but Bastila shook her head, the door closing to keep him out. When the door opened, thankfully before Carth could pace a moat into the courtyard, Varana looked pale. He couldn’t ask what happened, his tongue getting caught and his gut twisting as Bastila followed close behind, herding Varana to the Ebon Hawk.

Varana had the Force (of course she did). Varana was going to be a Padawan (of course she was). A woman who was mysteriously assigned to the Endar Spire, whose mission was so classified Carth didn’t even know the details, who survived an ambush attack, who found Bastila and escaped in what could be considered a miraculous series of events, who conveniently couldn’t remember her past.

Everything in Carth told him this was wrong, and it was dangerous. He had to figure out what was going on, who she was. None of this could have been a coincidence.

And he had something very useful on his side: he was the Poster Boy for the Republic, the Jedi didn’t give him a second glance when he walked around the compound. They didn’t mind him going into their library or archives, using their terminals to check the news and current events of the war. It was only natural for a soldier cooped up in an enclave to be anxious for news.

Despite himself, he brought T3 with him. The droid was surprisingly calming, especially in Carth’s isolation, and could keep secrets better than Mission after breaking into databases he shouldn’t.

He started with the most obvious place: her file. It was sparse, as expected from someone who lived on the fringe of Republic space and did their best to avoid capture for most of their life. But it gave enough information to jump off from:

Birthplace: Deralia Age: 25 Parents: Mother - Sangre nee Termos. Father - Zanalf Warner Species: Human

Turned out, those last names were very common on Deralia, as were those first names. With some time, he found a marriage certificate for them. Soon after, he found Varana’s birth certificate. Carth was surprised by his relief when he saw the birth certificate and realized it matched her age.

Had he really expected for it all to be fake? (Yes.)

“Based on the Jedi files on Deralia, they don’t have much of a presence there, so they could have missed a Force sensitive child,” Carth said aloud, as though T3 might appreciate hearing his thoughts.

T3 did beep in response, giving Carth a sense that at least he wasn’t totally alone in this little alcove of the quiet library.

“We should find images of her parents, I think she’d like that,” Carth suggested, again as though T3 would appreciate his thoughts. T3 took it as an order and began searching through Deralia’s files.

“That has to be the wrong woman,” Carth muttered when images began appearing on the terminal screen. “Oh, right, she takes after her dad,” Carth reminded himself. A news article was one of the files T3 pulled up in the droid’s attempt at being helpful, and Carth opened it to read the small town newspaper. He swallowed hard, growing cold, as he scanned the page and found the small article that had gotten T3’s attention.

At the top was an image of a happy family of three, a dark skinned man, a light skinned woman with bright red hair, and a dark tan girl with big brown curls. The caption for the picture read “Zanalf Warner (left), Varana Warner (center), Sangre Warner (right), at Varana’s 6th birthday.” The article title was a cold “Family of three dies in drunk driving accident.”

Carth stared at the little girl, not recognizing her at all. The Varana he knew was light skinned with straight black hair.

“It’s… it’s the wrong one.”

He and T3 kept looking, but couldn’t find any other Varanas born to a Zanalf and Sangre on Deralia two and a half decades ago. He didn’t want to admit it, he didn’t want to accept it, but the Varana he knew was a lie. He had to find out who she was, he knew it was important, he knew it was dangerous. He was not going to let himself be blindsided again.

“T3, I need you to do something for me.”

Carth could only hope Varana was too tired from training to notice if he was acting differently around her. He desperately tried to act normal, if anything he had to act friendly. He needed things to identify her. Finger prints, scars, voice recordings, images, anything T3 could try to match to existing databases to try to find out who she really was.

Fingerprints were easy, she didn’t have a habit of wiping down every surface she touched and T3 was able to scan multiple items only she had touched.

But her fingerprints had been scrubbed. Not from records, she literally didn’t have fingerprints anymore. That concerned Carth more than anything, people don’t just have their fingerprints removed for no reason. She was trying to hide who she really was.

“You seem grumpy,” Carth mentioned as casually as he could one night as Varana sat at the table, reading her datapad. T3 sat in the corner, recording.

“Got into an argument with the masters,” she mumbled, “Vrook doesn’t like me. Actually I don’t think any of them like me, at best they tolerate me. Zhar might kind of like me. I’m not sure.”

She put down the datapad and groaned, moving her head up and around, popping her neck and sighing happily. Carth took it as an opportunity, moving behind her, his hands hesitating over her shoulders. She opened her eyes, looking up at him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“You seem tense,” he said with a shrug, dropping his hands on her shoulders and rubbing. She purred, relaxing under his touch and letting her head lull to the side.

“So have you. Understandable.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve been stuck here with no explanation. A soldier can only take so much leave before they get antsy,” she explained, grinning up at him before she closed her eyes and drooped again under his hands.

“True…” Carth muttered, biting back his frustration. He had a goal here. “Any of that meditation or visions helping with your memories?”

She tensed up at that, letting out a controlled breath.

“I don’t think about it.”

“Really? You don’t wonder about any scars you have? Tattoos? Birthmarks? Habits? Things you can’t explain?” he pushed, working his fingers into her hair and massaging her scalp.

“Nah…” she sighed, “I haven’t really noticed any.”

“Really? That’s weird.”

“Is it?”

“Most people have scars somewhere, unless they are rich or vain enough to have the scars removed,” he realized he shouldn’t have said that last part so he played it off as a joke, leaning down and whispering, “you’ve got a big pile of credits somewhere, don’t you? I bet you’re secretly rich.”

That made her laugh and she shook her head and let out a joking, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And then she turned her face, and Carth realized how very close he was to her, as she dreamily looked at him.

“Obviously I’m a lost princess,” she teased, “my memories were stolen by an evil wizard. Duh.”

“Right, of course!” Carth snorted, moving away and resuming his massaging. He desperately wanted to relax with her, she made it so easy to sink into a lull, but he knew it was a trick. Of course she didn’t have any identifying marks, if she got rid of her fingerprints she’d get rid of anything else that could identify her. She may have even altered her face and voice.

But maybe… maybe she hadn’t changed how she fought.

“So what did you argue with the masters about today?” Carth changed the subject. He’d get T3 to record her fighting tomorrow during her training session, maybe he could talk her into sparing with him tomorrow night.

“You say that like I argue with them every day!”

“Don’t you?” he teased, earning him a snorted chuckle and a nod in admission.

[ellnaturae]

Hey! We need to talk.|| Quinnell

Who: Quinn Fabray ( @wingedfabray )and Elliott Gilbert. Location: Sciron, room #504 Time: 24th October, night - 25th October, early morning. Summary: Quinn wants to talk with Elliott which is actually surprising for both of them. Triggers/Notes: none.

The flurry of the night caught up to Quinn, who watched the others file away as though in a dream. Another dream. There was no way she was standing at Sciron. There was no way she stayed at Sciron. Her shaking hands stilled in the fabric of her shirt, and her eyes screwed shut. Too much was happening all at once. But the memories of the night didn't disappear when she closed her eyes, they only painted themselves against the darkness. Her own figure, smiling maniacally over her father's desk, Santana motionless yet crying, Elliott. Elliott, unglamoured face colored with concern. Her eyes flew open, her breath caught. It was too much. She tuned in to the world around her just in time to watch now-familiar horns disappear around a corner, and she followed quietly behind, until the voices of others disappeared entirely, until it was just the two of them. "Hey. Hey! We need to talk."

Elliott is trying to process whatever just happened. He thinks to himself and rolls his eyes wondering when they would just enjoy a normal day, just one, it wasn't hard, was it? He sighs lost on his mind, though gladly not literally again, when he suddenly hears a voice calling him. He turns around to discover Quinn and he can't hide an expression of surprise "Do we?" he asks confused and about to say a sentence he never thought he would direct to Quinn Fabray "Do you want to go to my room?"

Quinn is taken aback by the question. She hadn't thought farther than 'I have to talk to him.' There had been enough leftover common sense to wait until they were alone, but not enough to think about whether or not anyone could intrude. Alone in a room with Elliott Gilbert. More than that, alone in Elliott's room. A sick feeling crawled up her throat, but something a little more desperate had her swallowing against it. She pressed her lips together, jaw clenched, and gave a small nod. "Yes." Came the impossible answer.

Elliott looked at Quinn in surprise for a few more seconds, did she just say yes? he asked himself "This must be important" he says with a small smirk "follow me" he walks before her, guiding her to the stairs where he usually when up and down if he wanted to visit Santana, though teleportation was easier and quicker these days, but he also liked to respect her privacy. In a matter of minutes he was opening his door, still not processing that Quinn was actually there behind him. He looks over his shoulder for a moment to answer his own question, and then finally opened the door "Come in" he says as he steps in, he sees Ziggy poking her head out of her tank and he pets her "so?" he asks turning around to Quinn again "What do you want from me?"

Quinn looks around, breath shallow against her tight chest. A moment of silence falls between them as she takes the room in without actually seeing anything. The art supplies, the Queen posters, Ziggy. It's there, and it sticks somewhere, but Quinn's mind is turning too quickly to hold onto any of it, to see past the fact that she's there in the first place, or why. "I don't..." She starts, and pauses, a far cry from the girl who'd first confronted Elliott years ago. She finally looks to him directly, squaring her shoulders. "You're not supposed to care about people. You're not. But tonight, with Santana, the way you looked at her. Like you honestly care for her, love her even, and that's not the first time I've seen it." There's a pause, and her next words sound smaller somehow. Somewhere, distantly, she knows this isn't a responsibility to put on Elliott's shoulders. "How? How do you care? Why do you care so much? I don't understand."

Elliott looks at her with a frown "I'm not suppose to care?" he chuckles partially annoyed "Who says so? Why are you so sure?" he asks though he can already think what the answer could be "It's not your imagination, I do love her, she is my friend, and I care" he says surprised that he has to explain that  "Why and how? I just... feel! I can hate and love people, I make bonds and connections, and I feel deeply for them just like anyone else... just like you" he makes a confused expression "Why do you care? How do you care?" he asks back at her "Would your answer be any different? Is that hard to understand?"

"Yes." The answer comes quickly, vehemently. Quinn feels like she can't quite catch her breath, this just didn't make sense. None of it made sense. How many nights had she spent sitting at a desk next to her father, reading the bible; next to her grandmother, listening to tales of her ancestors banishing demons in spirals of righteous, holy fire. If none of it was true, if none of it even mattered, then, then... "You can't! You..." But he could. That was the thing, he absolutely could. The evidence had been laying itself out before her for years, starting with an argument, and a crushed camera. "If you can, then it's all been a lie, hasn't it? It's all been for..." The word 'nothing' catches harshly in her throat. Something closer to 'I'm sorry' takes its place, but rather than let it escape, she turns away. Her eyes find the walls, the posters, the supplies, anything but Elliott. There'd always been a hard line drawn in the sand: what was holy (right), and what was unholy (wrong). The line, already blurry, washes away with the waves, and Quinn feels as though so much more is washed away with it. It doesn't feel better, just empty. The tense set of her shoulders shakes, and she pulls in a breath. "You were never supposed to care, but you do. I see that. I'm...sorry, nothing makes sense."

Elliott looks at Quinn, her nervousness so unlike what he normally saw of her, he wondered what was going on with her, on her mind. He couldn't read her, he never tried before either, his concept of Quinn was one of those churchy people who would quote the bible to him to excuse their shittiness, though it was true lately it has been easier to look at her in a different light, and the fact that she was close with Blaine always made him wonder if he was judging her wrong. "Why is so hard? Because it is easier to condemn me if you don't think of me as a person?" But even if he had a bad concept of her, sometimes she had even surprised him with a small gesture of decency, and that very moment could be classified as one of those. He doesn't know what to say, maybe because at this point he was ready for anything except someone like her apologizing to him. He keeps looking at her in silence for a while unsure "Breathe" it's the only thing that comes out of his lips when he sees her questioning herself, he would normally accompany his calm voice with a soft touch, but he avoided that wondering if it would make things worst "Nothing makes sense? What do you mean? That what you thought was not the absolute truth?" he can't stop himself from being a little sarcastic.

The moment feels surreal to Quinn. Elliott almost sounds gentle in his instruction, and it doesn't help the roiling confusion, or the way the ground seemed to fall away beneath her. Eventually, the process of questioning everything she'd ever been taught would be too much, and  every time she wondered is this it. It's not, she pulls in a breath like he'd instructed, slow and steady, and pivots to face him once more. "It's not easier to condemn you. You've always made that very hard." She releases the breath slowly. "It just doesn't make sense. My whole life I've been told what you should be, and how I should feel about that. It's...it's obviously not exactly true...so, what are you, exactly? How do you fit into religion, belief?"

Elliott chuckles bitterly looking at the ceiling for a moment to take a breath in himself and let out a sigh as he looks at her again "I am a demon" he says, what did she want for him to tell her that he was magically not a demon anymore? that she could just breathe and move on? He touches his hair moving it around a little "There are bad and good people everywhere, you know?" he says calmly "but the thing is no one cared to write about the good ones in your book, no one told the stories of my people helping yours, no one told you about kind demons who would give humans strength and power, it was always about the sinful ones, or Satan whose sin was to want free will...that bastard, but you all are so smart, always drawing the line in the perfect place so the image of demons would always be monstrous" he crosses his arms "some of us may be bad but that doesn't make us all that way" he looks at her very seriously "Do you want me to judge you for all the sins of the human race?" there is a long silence "I don't fit in your religion because those who are said to be talking in the name of god won't let me fit in" he pauses again "I always though his message was about love and acceptance, but I guess it depends on the person reading"

Quinn stood quietly, watching, listening. Her father's library was full of selected texts, NYADA's full of many of the same plus texts that would never be found in Russell's. She wasn't new to selective history, of guiding beliefs through omission. She'd been stupid enough to believe she was learned, looking beyond what was purposefully placed right in front of her. As seemed to be the case so often, she'd been wrong. And it wasn't Elliott's fault, it wasn't his responsibility to correct her. "Right. Right, you're...okay. It is about...many things. The messages aren't always clear, sometimes contradictory. I've never believed the bible is perfect, but this never just about the bible." Normally elegant and articulate to a fault, Quinn felt at a loss. The empty feeling didn't lessen as Elliott spoke, it only grew. "You were doing research, and I'm sure you're more...well-versed in your own people than I could ever hope to be. Is there any reading you would recommend?"

Elliott observes Quinn body language and realizes something, she is actually listening and thinking about it, isn't she? He feels a weird sensation on his chest. He walks by her to his desk and takes a piece of paper writing down some books titles. "I'm very aware just a book is not the only reason why my kind is seen one way or the other, but it does insist on certain ideas that only hurt us more" he gives her the paper "I don't want the bad things to be forgotten, but I wish the good things could be seen as well" he shrugs "again I don't blame everything on the bible, I blame God too, Satan even, I blame people who take things out of context or interpret things to divide instead of uniting" he sighs "but then again I'm not free of sin I guess" he touches his hair again nervously.

Quinn reaches out, taking the paper almost tenderly, unsure even while she'd asked for it. But she takes it, holding it gently between shaking fingers. "A whole and accurate history isn't a bad thing to aspire to. Nor is it unfair to ask." She offers quietly, accepting at least that much, taking a step that shocked even her. "We should..." She started, trailing off in a frustrated breath. "We should talk, after I've had time to research, when I'm not..." Falling apart? Questioning her existence, family, beliefs? "This." She gestures at herself uselessly, hoping he would understand, then wondering at the fact that she cared about his understanding at all. She steps away from the space he'd filled when he offered the paper, putting distance between the two of them once more. "It's been a long night."

Elliott nods looking down awkwardly for a moment "Yes, we should" he isn't sure what she is going through, though he can imagine is confusing as fuck, and he doesn't want to overwhelm her with his thought on religion right now, as much as he wishes to discuss more things with her, it can wait for now "Yes, it was, you must need to sleep" he says showing her a more friendly expression "Let me know when you are ready, and we can have that conversation" he nods again.

Quinn wonders if she has his number (she does), or if that's even a concern (somehow it is). Instead of voicing it, she nods, backing up until her back hits his door, and her hands fumble briefly with the doorknob. "I'll let you know, I'll text." Aether, she actually means it. It's too much, Elliott caring, Elliott treating her with something like kindness; although, it's not the first time. She's always been the one to lead with hate, hasn't she? "Good night, Elliott." She says in a rush, pivoting to leave the room in a rush.

Elliott nods, not sure if she actually has a number to text to, maybe she does, at this point he may as well have hers too. Technology would always be hard for him. He nods noticing her urge for leaving and not making any efforts to make her stay "Good night, Quinn" he replies as she leaves.

[jugsserpents]

Home|| Fangs Fogarty

Request: nope! just needed some fangs in my lyfeee (requests aren’t open right now, but i’m thinking of opening for a fangs day friday) warnings: none, wait maybe a curse word or two word count: 1,025 summary: (Y/N) had made herself right at home not bothering to ask how Fangs had felt about it. 

The whole thing had started by you simply leaving things at his place. First a change of clothes, and then a toothbrush, your girly shampoo, curling irons, make-up, pretty much almost everything you used for your daily routine had found its way on a shelf in his cupboards. Your clothes taking up more space in the closet than his own. But he never once complained to you about it. You and Fangs hadn’t been together long enough for you to just come out and ask if you could move in with him even though you spent more nights in his bed than your own. You didn’t have it in your heart to tell him what was going on, he assumed it wasn’t good since you’d shown up on his doorstep crying on nights you were meant to be spending at your own. He didn’t ask, didn’t even question when you started to freshen up the trailer. Replacing his nude biker girl posters with inspiring quotes you’d framed from Pinterest and pictures of the two of you. He just let you do what you wanted, he’d probably never admit it but you had made the trailer feel like a home. The bowls and plates were from a matching set and matched the new cups you purchased, it didn’t smell like a gym bag, and there was never dirty laundry spread on the floor like there used to be. He, unlike the other guys he was surrounded with, had craved something like this for the longest time. Every time he walked through the door he felt at ease (though that might just be the lavender wax melts) he hadn’t had a place this nice since his dad had thrown him out, he really appreciated it. He felt like he was home.

You stirred at the pot of spaghetti on the stove, you didn’t feel like going out tonight so Fangs had invited Sweet Pea over for dinner and video games at the trailer. The trailer door swung open hitting the wall as Fangs and Pea barged in making a ruckus. Pea paused and glanced at the recently revamped trailer. “Dude what the fuck happened in here?” Pea asked his eyes bouncing around the prints you’d framed where the nudies used to hang. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were switching teams on me” he cracked a smile and turned his head towards Fangs still awaiting an answer. “Nah, just trying to make it feel more homey” he scratched the back of his neck nervously with a little laugh. They both made their way to the living room where the Xbox was, you couldn’t help but turn down the kitchen radio to listen in on them talking. “So she lives here now?” Pea asked as he was sprawled on the couch dodging the virtual bullets of Call of Duty. “Uh, I guess so, yeah” Fangs replied propped up in the recliner helping Pea attack the other team. “What do you mean you guess? I know you didn’t hang up those little quote things yourself, the man cave looks like a better home magazine” Sweet Pea snickered and looked over to Fangs as he cracked a smile.
“Well I mean she stays here almost every night, we just never like officially talked about her living her.” “Be careful Bro” Pea warned “What do you mean?” Fangs cocked his head the side and raised an eyebrow “Once they move in that’s it, you can’t ever get rid of them” he replied with a laugh. You quickly turned the radio back up to drown out Fangs reply. Maybe he didn’t want all of this, after all you’d never asked his opinion. Dinner was over and Pea had left long ago, you were now sat at the kitchen table swirling a spoon in your tea while Fangs did the dishes. “You’re awful quiet over there, whatcha thinking about?” he turned around to look at you with a smile spread across his face. “Do you want me here?” you said quickly as you sipped on your tea. He scoffed at the question, “(Y/N) what do you mean?” “I don’t know” you shrugged “I don’t want to overstay my welcome” “What?” he shook his head laughed “you fucking live here” he looked at you arm stretched wide as he laughed. “I mean I guess so..” “What’s gotten into you?”


“I’m just worried” you sighed, your finger tapping nervously on the table top under them. “What if you wake up one morning and decide that you don’t want this anymore?” you looked at him with slightly teary eyes “what if all my pinterest poster get annoying and you miss your guy decorations? What if you wake up and decide that you don’t want me here?”  your voice broke as you twiddled with your thumbs. “(Y/N), I could never not want you whether it be here or in general. You mean the world to me you know that” he stepped close to the table, kneeling down so he was eye level with you. He rested his hands on your knees. “I love having you here, I love what you’re doing to my trailer” he smiled at you. “I didn’t even ask if I could do it” you looked around at the now homey trailer. “You didn’t have to,” he squeezed your hands “I saw how happy it made you to make this place your so I just let you go wild” You scoffed “I didn’t even properly ask if I could move in” He laughed “You’ve had a key for three months I thought that was a big enough hint that this place was yours” “I”m sorry that I stole the man cave from you and Pea” Fangs rolled his eyes “So that’s what stirred this up, listen I don’t care what Pea says about this.” he pushed your chin up with his pointer finger locking eyes with you. “You made my shitty smelly trailer into a home and I love you for that” You smiled “I love you too” you pecked his lips.

[dreamingofjoon]

No One’s Perfect Pt.2

Kim Mingyu x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Kidnapping Situation (That’s still it??)

A/N. YO THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO REQUESTED A PART 2 but the honorable mentions go out to @lynnalai @icvenct @1dthreerush @baby-baby-boo and anyone else who sent me nice and encouraging stuff ♥ Hope you guys enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 3

(This photo though) Credit to the owner of the photo here

You’d be damned if you were to turn into one of those people.

You knew what Stockholm syndrome was. You studied it. You had met people with it. He had taken care of most of them. You still felt that somewhere, somehow, Mingyu was sane. Sane enough to let you go at least. After this whole ordeal, you only wondered if something like this had happened previously. 

It had been a week since Mingyu abducted you and you were still on your toes. There was no way to relax when you felt as if you could be killed or tortured at any time. You were kept in the room that he initially left you in but on the sixth day, he took you out of the room and introduced another to you. 

You had spit on him as he tried to feed you for the fifth time and he had about enough of your behavior. He unlocked you from your restraints and just as quickly pulled you by the arm, off the chair you sat in.

He led you through a hallway in his large expanse of an apartment until he got to the end. Instead of opening the door at the very end, he opened the one to his left and threw you inside. You fell to the cold floor and scrambled to sit up. You hadn’t moved much in the three days you had been kept so your legs were hard to move.

“This,” he gestured towards the dark room you were in. “Is the punishment room. Act up again and this is where you’re going to stay.” 

As you listened, you tried to balance yourself yet you looked like a newborn fawn, stumbling with their first steps.

“Solitary confinement. We’ll start with tonight. I’ll let you out before I go to work. Good night.” he coldly said. You opted for crawling instead of walking, making it a bit easier to move around. Right as you reached Mingyu’s feet, a smirk graced his lips and he leaned down towards you.

“I love seeing you on all fours. If only you did it willingly.” he huffed before pecking your lips at which you winced from before he closed the door without another word.

You banged your fists on the door, trying your best to yell although your voice was long gone from all the previous yelling you had been doing. Mingyu had not covered your mouth probably because he knew no one would hear you. He loved hearing your screaming and begging, pleading with him to stop what he was doing and let you go. It was indeed a sadistic move yet he loved every moment.

As your energy wore out and your tears started to flow again, you turned around and hugged your knees to your chest. The room you were in was dark other than the small skylight on the ceiling. It was cold and with no furniture, you couldn’t help but notice the emptiness. The silence was deafening and after some feeling around, you found no light-switch. Great.

You sat in the darkness, staring at the clouds rather than the moon, awaiting morning.

By the time you woke up, you were already back in the bedroom, hands cuffed in front of you and Mingyu gone. You sat up groggily before looking around. You hadn’t thought about it until you were fully awake but this was the first time he hadn’t cuffed you to anything. Usually, you would have been tied to the headboard or a chair but today, you were free to roam. The first thing you tried was the door. Of course, it was locked. Next, you tried the window. It wouldn’t open so you tried to find something to break it with. You found the chair you had been seated in on the first day and proceeded to swing it as hard as you could. The chair broke. The window did not.

You cursed to yourself as you went about thinking how you would be punished for breaking a chair. As you looked around the room, peeking into the connected bathroom and box-filled closet, you found a granola bar with a note on the wide dresser that was in the front of the room. 

‘I haven’t opened or cooked it. Eat. Please.’

You hadn’t eaten in four days, not trusting the food that Mingyu made for you. Although violence was your first thought as to how to approach him, you also made time for questions (and insults).

Many questions had been left unanswered yet the words he uttered on the first day of your capture still resonated with you. I think we’ll both like it. Me especially when you come back for more.

So far, he had done nothing to ease you nor had he done anything you could possibly like. The only thing you would like would to be let go. As you opened the granola bar and carefully started eating, you went back to the window. It was foggy and unclear. Maybe due to the thickness of the glass, it was hard to see through it. You walked back into the bathroom, hoping you could find a small window or vent to crawl through to no avail.

For the rest of the day, you laid in bed and awaited Mingyu in silence. Some previous days, he had left a radio on for you, soft music spilling through as you kept to your thoughts. Today, only the quiet accompanied your thoughts. You rehearsed questions that you wanted to ask Mingyu until you fell asleep.

Mingyu stood over you, watching you as your eyes opened slowly. Your body jolted but relaxed a bit when you saw him laugh at your reaction. Just a bit. He sat next to you and quietly stared which made you speak first.

“Why did you abduct me?” you asked first of all.

“I wanted you so I took you.” he smirked which made you want to slap the stupid expression off of his handsome face. You held back however, out of fear that you would be punished again. Solitary confinement was a horrible experience. No sound, barely any light. You couldn’t imagine your state if he had kept you in there for any longer.

“Why me? There are people who blatantly flirt with you. I try to avoid you as much as possible. Now that doesn’t mean you should kidnap them but wouldn’t it be better to pay attention to one of them?” you mused.

He stayed quiet for a while before leaning back on the bed and smiling.

“I just know I’ll find him slipping up one day.” he quoted. “You were literally the only person to ever think there was something wrong with Mr.Perfect. It honestly made me laugh at first.” he chuckled.

“That made you want to kidnap me and keep me here against my will?” you questioned. 

“I guess that was the the trigger, yes. You caught me now, haven’t you?”

“It’s actually the other way around.” you hinted towards the handcuffs in front of you to which you both laughed a bit.

You continued with your questions, having him answer them. You even asked some questions about his life. Turns out, he didn’t know as much about you that you thought he did. You were still cautious around him but visibly eased compared to the beginning of this “relationship”. As time progressed, if you remained calm, he would give you the illusion of freedom which was a small step for you. He kept you company and gave you great conversations about different topics. Scintillating discussions were held between you every waking hour. This was the kind of interaction you craved and although you eased on the idea of escape, it never left your mind even for a second.

It had been over a month and you slowly relaxed around him, allowing him to cook for you and him allowing you to walk through the house. He lent you his clothes that were way too big but still clothed you and allowed you movement. You weren’t allowed in Mingyu’s personal quarters and so you avoided it. You had built a bond with him that even you couldn’t deny. Today, he decided it was time for the next big step. He let your wrists go free. You rubbed them, glad to be able to move your arms freely for the first time in forever.

He kissed the marks left on your wrists and you allowed him to yet still wondered why. His affections had slowly grown on you and you had just started to reciprocate in small ways. That day when he left for work, you took the chance to hatch a plan. You knew what Mingyu had done was wrong and you knew that he needed help. Hopefully, you’d be able to provide it when you were freed.

You tiptoed into his room as if he was still home and you would alert him of your whereabouts if you weren’t quiet. Inside, you took the time to observe his room. How cleanly he was, the music posters on his wall, even the way he decorated his dresser. Although the room had scarce in it, contrasting from the rest of the luxurious apartment, it definitely suit him. By his bed, you spotted a window at which you made a beeline for. You unlocked it and pushed it up. It opened! You would be free at last! You looked down at the distance you would have to jump for escape which was at least twenty feet.

The possibilities were that you jumped down and broke a leg or two, jump down and miraculously survive with limbs that hurt so bad you couldn’t run, or you would die. Wanting none of those scenarios, you found another solution. You had been looking at the boxes you found in the first week when you stumbled upon a box of rope. Black, red, and green. Long and short, all of these ropes brought a chill to your spine, wondering why he had all of it.

You pushed the thought aside for the moment as you started to tie them all together. You banded them around each other, making sure they were secure before pulling the large unified rope to Mingyu’s room. You tied the end to his bedpost, seeing as though it was melded with the floor. You threw the rope out before taking a deep breath and saying a silent prayer. You climbed through the window, looking down at your impending downfall if you messed up. You carefully placed your foot on each brick block until you were finally met with the ground.

You felt the cold breeze of autumn hit your face and felt crushing leaves under your feet as you started running. You didn’t any car but the adrenaline pumping in your veins and making your heart beat fast was the only gas you needed. You made it to a gas station nearby when your lungs were begging for air. The cashier looked at you with wide eyes as you caught you breath near the register.

“Please call the police.” you managed to say through gasps.

You did it. Mingyu had been arrested at work and held in custody before his apartment was searched. Your clothes, phone, bag, and many more incriminating evidence was found on your behalf. It felt so quick when you started hearing talk about a court hearing. Although you couldn’t face him, you were certainly keeping tabs on his condition. From what you heard, he was frightfully calm about his situation. You knew what was wrong with him and wanted to help lessen whatever sentence they would give him. He had to pay for his crime yes, but he needed to do it while getting better. You, as the psychologist you were, told the police and judge about his symptoms as a psychopath and how it affected him and his thought process.

He hadn’t hurt you so that was a plus on his side. He was escorted to take a professional test and was rated, proving his mental illness and letting him plead using it to his advantage.

As you walked through the visitors section of the psychiatric facility, you wondered how he would react towards you. You were the one who put him in here and the one who did not want to see his face for the few months he had been through this cycle. It was now mid-summer. You walked in your worn-out sneakers towards where the nurse had directed you to. You opened the door to find Mingyu sitting in a chair that faced the door. He looked tired but when he lifted his head, a wily smile graced his features.

“I knew you’d be back.”

[peter-parkers-backpack]

The Perfect Night Part 2

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader, Tony x daughter!reader

Fandom: Spider-Man: Homecoming

Warnings: Language, a very pissed Tony (yes this is absolutely a warning), insecurities

Genre: Lil bit of angst, then some fluff

A/N: Woah, tons of people requested a part two, and I somehow found a little bit of time to write, so of course I jumped at the chance to write this one. Many people requested many different things for the part two, so I tried to fit them all in the best I could. Love you all! Also, if you have a request, please send it to the blog I made for writing @nerdywrites from now on. Thank you!

Part 1

“Fuck you Parker” Peter yelled at himself as he punched one of the walls in his room, luckily May wasn’t home. “Fuck you for letting” punch “the most amazing” punch “girl, in the world” punch “get away” punch.

He had successfully made a decent sized hole, but lazily threw a poster over it. That wasn’t what he was worried about.

He wasn’t even worried about being Spider-Man anymore. He wasn’t worried about The Vulture. He wasn’t even worried about the Spanish test he had the next day that he forgot to study for. The only thing on his mind at the moment, was getting (Y/n) Stark back.

Peter Parker called her 17 times. He sent multiple text messages, all that were left on read. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get ahold of her. 

Then he decided to do the only thing he had left, he was going to see her in person. He guessed this wasn’t his best idea, considering he was about to walk into a building that housed the one and only Tony Stark. Who was undeniably planning his murder at this very moment.

But it was all he had.

She was all he had.

And he would go through Hulk to get her back.

Peter may have been a tad over-confident. When Tony answered the door, his expression hardened “Parker”

“Please Mr. Stark, I-I know you’re mad at me-“

“I wouldn’t sugar coat it”

“Okay, you’re ready to murder me.”

“That’s more like it”

“I-I get that, I deserve it. In fact I invite you to do so, but please I have to talk to her. Please.” He begged, not even caring that he was practically on his knees.

Tony sighed, still not dropping his glare “You can come in, but you can’t talk to my daughter. We are going to have a conversation.”

Peter gulped “O-Okay”

Once they were inside, he was led to the kitchen, where he sat on a barstool as Tony made coffee.

“When (Y/n) announced that she was going to go to Homecoming with you, I told her one thing. I told her that she was too young to go to a dance, that I knew what happened there. After, when I asked her how the night went, I was actually eager to hear the answer. She was so excited for that night, she spent five hours shopping with Nat and Wanda to find the perfect dress, she spent almost the same amount of time getting ready.

“When I saw the way you looked at her, I thought that she would definitely be okay, because she was with someone who loved her.

“But do you know how heartbreaking it was to hear her response? She said, and I quote, ‘You know how you said you know what happens at dances? Well how many times do people get stood up?’

“Do you know how hard it was to hear that?”

A tear slipped out of Peter’s eye “I know I’m an asshole, I know I don’t deserve her, but I also know that I love her and I have to make up for my mistakes.”

“How do I know you are going to do that Peter? How do I know you aren’t going to fuck with her feelings again? How do I know that even if she gives you another chance, you aren’t going to break her heart a second time?” his voice was getting louder with each word, until he closed his eyes and took a deep breath “How do I know that Peter?”

“Because I love her. I love her more than anything, and there is no way in hell I am going to let her get away again. And if I’m fortunate enough to get her back, which I will do everything in my power to do, I am not going to make another huge mistake. I swear on my life that I will make sure no one hurts her, and that includes me.” He was standing now, also raising his voice.

Tony sighed “I will give you one chance. If she forgives you, so will I. But know this Peter, if you ever hurt her again, we will not be having a conversation. It will be so much worse.”

“Thank you” was all he said before bolting as fast as he could to the elevator.

When he got to her door he paused a second before knocking gently three times.

“I told you dad, I don't need you to check up on me every half hour.”

“It’s not Tony” was all he said, and there was a few seconds of silence.

“What are you doing here?” was all she asked.

“Can I come in?”

A few more second of silence, then the door opened.

She looked like a mess, he hair wasn’t brushed, there were fresh dark circles around her eyes, making her red, tear stained cheeks pop out more.

He felt awful, he had done that. He had made the person he loves most cry, he had put her in that pain.

“I’m so sorry (Y/n)” 

“You have every reason to be.” she said, refusing to break eye-contact “What excuse did you come to make this time?”

“I have no excuse for treating you like that, I-I just came to say sorry. I really mean it (Y/n).”

“Do you? Do you really? Because it seems like all I've heard from you in the past month is ‘sorry’, yet you do nothing to make it up. Even our make-up dates had to be made up.”

Peter looked down, then back up at her beautiful (e/c) eyes, that glistened with tears.

“I know I was stupid, so stupid.” he saw as she turned around to wipe a fallen tear and as she turned toward him he hugged her as more tears fell, and more.

“W-why did you do it Peter? W-was I n-not g-good enough? I mean, I know I wasn’t, but you could have a-at least told me instead of leaving me hanging every n-night.” she sobbed.

Peter backed up shocked “W-what? What do you mean you weren’t good enough?”

“I mean it’s pretty obvious, I’m nothing like the other girls. I’m not as pretty or desirable. I don't know why you would want me instead of someone like Liz Allen.”

Peter hugged her again “I don’t want to ever hear you say those words again (Y/n) (M/n) Stark. You are absolutely gorgeous, and smart, and hilarious. You can cheer anyone up by just walking in the room. You aren’t afraid to geek out with me and Ned, and you do what you like even though you’re a Stark, which means that someone’s always following you. I don’t want Liz or anyone else (Y/n), I want you.”

She let out another sob and clutched him tighter. He was also crying at his point “A-any chance we could give it another go?”

She said nothing, just looked up and kissed him “Does that answer your question?

He laughed and kissed her again, the feeling of her lips giving I'm the best feeling he had felt in awhile “I don’t deserve you”

“Damn straight”

They both jumped as they heard a slow clap, coming from none other than Tony Stark, standing alongside most of the Avengers.

Natasha and Wanda looked like they were trying as hard as they could to keep large grins off their faces. Obviously failing. They were perhaps the biggest fans of (Y/n) and Peter, and even after what happened they knew them two couldn’t last 24 hours without each other. 

(Y/n) glared at them as if to say ‘shut up’, but she knew they were going to ask non-stop questions later, when they weren’t teasing her.

Peter however, focused on the others in front of him. Tony had his death glare of his face, and wore a shirt that made the arc reactor on his chest pop out. Bucky was positioned so he face a little to the side, showing his metal arm. Thor had his hammer in his hands while both him and Steve stood tall, flexing a bit to show their muscles. Then he caught the eye of Natasha Romanoff, who he knew was a badass assassin who wasn’t afraid to do anything, and Wanda Maximoff, the trained agent who could move things with her mind.

He was to scared to find words, luckily (Y/n) saw, she rolled her eyes and chuckled “Awww, look at them trying to be all intimidating.“

Peter didn’t dare agree with her, though normally he would have laughed. 

“You all can go polish your crocs now” she said jokingly before dragging Peter into her room, the last thing he heard was Tony’s yell of “DON’T YOU DARE CLOSE THAT DOOR“ before she pulled him into another kiss.

[rxbxlcaptain]

Luctor et Emergo – Chapter 3

In which Cassian learns about his family, Jyn finds a way to remember hers, and Bodhi discovers family might not always be blood.

[Hogwarts AU]

Read on AO3 / Below the Cut

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Special thanks to @valcain for the graphic and @wearesuchstuff1 for beta reading!)

“So you’re the bastard Andor, then.”

The harsh words startled Cassian’s attention away from his breakfast. “I’m sorry?” He asked the red headed boy who stood over the Hufflepuff table. After a moment of confusion, Cassian recalled the boy’s face from the day before, during the sorting. Hux. He’d been sorted into Slytherin.

“You heard me,” he sneered. “You’re the bastard half-blood born after your father got blasted off the tapestry. I’m surprised you had the nerve to come to Hogwarts.”

Before Cassian could reply, a professor – Cassian’s eyes went wide at the sheer size of the man – stepped behind the boy. “What seems to be the matter here?”

The Slytherin jumped and smoothed his face into a picture of innocence before turning to the professor (though even he started at the professor’s broad shoulders and tall stature).

“Nothing, sir,” Hux assured him. “Just introducing myself to an old family friend.”

The professor – Cassian still wasn’t sure of his name or his post – snorted. “Get to your table. Professor Krennic will be handing out time tables soon.”

Losing some of his confidence at the authoritative tone, Hux nodded and scurried off towards the Slytherin table.

“And you,” the professor turned to Cassian, who shrank back in his seat. “Don’t let the Slytherins push you around.” With that, he headed to the staff table, taking a seat beside the blind divination professor.

Cassian’s eyes dropped to his porridge, hearing Hux sneer “the bastard Andor” over and over inside his head. He must be the type of wizard Professor Kenobi had warned him about – the type that saw distinctions between wizards’ lineage, who thought less of muggles like his mother.

“Doesn’t sound like how you talk to an old family friend to me,” snorted a girl to Cassian’s left. The girl who spoke couldn’t be much older than Cassian, perhaps a second year. She stared over her shoulder at the Slytherin table. “Professor Malbus is right. Don’t listen to any of their pureblood garbage. Just outscore him in a few practical exams and he should shut up. Although,” her gaze turned back to Cassian and she studied him briefly. “I’ve never heard of an Andor half-blood.”

Cassian’s mind reeled. Since when was it significant that his last name was “Andor”?

“I don’t—I don’t understand what you mean,” Cassian admitted. “About being an Andor. Why is that special?”

“You dad must have really abandoned all his family’s ideals if he never explained what it means to be an Andor,” a long-haired boy sitting across the table said. He turned towards Cassian as he spoke, and Cassian stifled a gasp. Thin white scars ran along the boy’s face, from his temple down to his chin.

Cassian forced himself to stare at the boy’s eyes – not his scars – as he said, “My father died when I was little. My muggle aunt and uncle raised me.”

Awkward silence descended over the conversation for a few seconds as the boy and girl exchanged shocked glances.

“I’m sorry,” the girl muttered, “Didn’t mean to bring that up on your first day. Though that explains why you don’t know…”

“Sounds like you just volunteered to explain, Shara,” the boy said as he turned back to his breakfast, his hair falling into his eyes and effectively hiding the scars.

“Thanks, Chewie.” The girl – Shara – snorted before releasing a long sigh. “Don’t ask me to explain pureblood social hierarchies – I’m a muggleborn myself – but Andor is a name that pops up enough. One of the elite twenty-eight wizarding families.” Cassian continued to look at her blankly, comprehending none of her words. She sighed again. “Listen, I really am the wrong person to explain all this. Do you know about the debate over blood purity?” Sarcasm colored the phrase.

Cassian nodded.

“Purebloods have a list of ‘the best of the best.’” She made air quotes around the words.

“Wizarding nobility, if you will. Andor is one of those families. So is Hux.” She inclined her head in the direction the boy had gone. “There are books in the library of wizarding lineage if you’re really interested.”

“You got away from the point, Shara.” The boy called Chewie – surely that wasn’t his real name? – jumped back into the conversation. He pointed his spoon at Cassian as he spoke. “Listen to Professor Malbus. Blood purity means nothing, so don’t let the snakes get under your skin.”

Once again, Cassian nodded, attempting to absorb this much advice at once. He remembered

Kay saying both his parents were wizards; if Shara was the wrong person to explain what it meant to be an Andor, perhaps Kay would be the correct one.

“What’s your first name, by the way?” Shara asked.

“Cassian.”

“Well, Cassian,” Shara smiled at him. “I’m Shara Bey, and this is Chewie.”

“Rolf Chewbacca,” he corrected.

“Except no one calls him that, so don’t be the one who starts it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cassian answered automatically; Shara’s commanding tone reminded him of the stern headmaster at his previous school, even though her smile couldn’t have been more opposite.

Chewie groaned. “No, don’t do that either. She’ll be impossible.”

“Oh, I like you, Cassian Andor,” Shara chuckled.

“If I could have your attention, please!” Professor Mothma, Cassian’s head of house, called to the Hufflepuff table. “I have your time tables for the term, starting with the first years.”

“Hey,” Shara stopped him as he stood from the table. “Cassian. We won’t be in any of your classes, but we’ll be around, in the common room and at meals and such. Don’t hesitate to find us if you need us, okay?"

“Okay.” The corners of Cassian’s mouth lifted, and Shara laughed again – full and loud and shining.

“So you do smile. Good.” She waved him away. “Don’t leave Professor Mothma waiting. She seems soft, but you do not want to get on her bad side.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cassian said again. Shara and Chewie’s answering chuckles increased the smile on Cassian’s face. It felt nice to make others laugh again.

+

+

+

To Cassian’s excitement, his first class of the day was double Potions with the Ravenclaws. He wouldn’t have to wait to ask Kay to explain about his family; he could ask right now.

Kay stood a head taller than the rest of the first years heading to the dungeons, so Cassian picked him out of the crowd easily.

“Hey, Kay!” Cassian called down the corridor, securing his bag over his shoulder and rushing to catch up. “Wait up!”

“Good morning, Cassian,” Kay greeted. “I was worried we wouldn’t see each other once we were sorted into different Houses.”

Warmth spread through Cassian’s chest at the words. He’d worried, too, as he fell asleep in the four poster bed of his dormitory the previous night, but hadn’t been sure Kay would give it a second thought.

“Me too. But we can see each other outside class.”

“That’s true,” Kay agreed. “Though hopefully Jyn Erso won’t be joining us.”

Cassian snorted lightly. Though he insisted otherwise, Cassian guessed Kay had enjoyed the banter Jyn provided on the train. Besides, Cassian looked forward to seeing the Gryffindors -- Jyn as well as Bodhi -- again.

“I’ve got Transfiguration with the Gryffindors tomorrow,” Cassian remembered, “so I’ll see her and Bodhi then.”

“Any classes with the Slytherins?”

Cassian shook his head, but took the mention of Slytherin house to bring up his odd confrontation at breakfast. By the time he finished explaining, Kay’s gaze focused in on the floor and a light blush colored his cheeks. Taken aback by such an emotional response – or, at least, such an emotional response for Kay – Cassian hesitated before asking, “So what do you make of it?”

“I thought your name sounded familiar on the train,” Kay muttered. “But I didn’t think…”

Cassian bristled. “What? Didn’t think I was the bastard Andor?”

Kay’s blush deepened. “No, no. Just…” Kay paused before whispering, “I remember when your parents died.”

Two Ravenclaw girls ahead of them sent quizzical looks over their shoulders, and Cassian longed to have this conversation anywhere but here, in a hallway of full of students eager for gossip about their new classmates. Hux’s display in the Great Hall that morning already drew attention to Cassian; he didn’t need any more.

“And?” Cassian demanded. “What about my parents’ deaths?”

“My father… he said the less muggles and blood traitors in the world, the better.”

Cassian bristled at the description, and white hot anger rose in his chest. Before he could respond, however, a group of Slytherins – fifth or sixth years by the look of them – wandered down the hallway, laughing and joking together.

“Maybe we should do this later,” Kay mumbled, and Cassian nodded, thankful that even his socially awkward friend – could Kay become his friend, if he was raised thinking blood supremacy was correct? – recognized Cassian’s discomfort.

The pair joined the queue outside the Potions classroom, silence heavy between them. Students chattered away on either side of them, but Cassian couldn’t find the energy to introduce himself to anyone new. Rejection, both from Hux and Kay, stung, and Cassian wasn’t willing to risk more right now.

Professor Krennic banged open his door, his robes swishing behind him, and waved the first years inside. “No lollygagging, please. We haven’t the time. Choose a table and set up your cauldrons.”

Without speaking, Kay and Cassian headed to a table in the middle of the room. Two more Hufflepuffs, a boy named Eskro and a girl named Maia, joined them.

“Right then,” said Professor Krennic as he took his spot at the front of the room. “Let’s start with roll call.” The professor looked down at his list. Cassian’s heart sank as Professor Krennic smirked at the page. Apparently, his place in the spotlight wasn’t done for the day. “Cassian Andor?”

“Present, sir,” Cassian answered, fighting to keep his voice strong.

“Ah, the little Andor,” the potions professor smiled, though not at all like Professor Kenobi.

Where Professor Kenobi’s smile had brought an answering grin to Cassian’s face, Professor Krennic’s smile made Cassian want to run from the sheer spitefulness. “I knew your father. Hopefully you didn’t inherit his rebellious nature. Though we won’t have to worry about Gryffindor house corrupting you like it did him.”

The professor moved on down the list, calling for a Walex Blissex but Cassian felt his classmates’ eyes lingering on him. He didn’t dare look up, preferring to hide a scarlet blush by focusing on the scratches on the worn tabletop.

His father had been in Gryffindor? Cassian hadn’t stopped to consider which of the four houses he’d been placed into, though, now that Cassian considered the few facts he knew about his father – loving his mother though no one approved, fighting against a regime he disagreed with, dying for what he believed in – how could he have been sorted anywhere else? And now Cassian, who had longed for this castle that his father spoke of for so many years, wasn’t deemed to have the same bravery and courage as his father.

The blows from Hux and Kay paled in comparison the feeling of inadequacy that drowned Cassian as Professor Krennic completed his attendance list. He barely noticed the other students – Kay among them – that warranted Krennic’s extra commentary on their family lineage. His head was still clouded by the time Krennic instructed the class to pull out their books and begin brewing a simple cure for boils.

Kay set about confidently, arranging dried nettles, ginger root and other required ingredients out in a logical order surrounding his cauldron. The two other Hufflepuffs hurried to copy him. Cassian examined his pack of ingredients and looked back to his own potions textbook, trying his best to keep his eyes off Kay’s work. However, by the time Cassian removed his cauldron from the fire and began adding porcupine quills, his potion was still a seafoam green, where Kay’s was the desired cobalt color.

“Hmm,” Professor Krennic said from behind Cassian, causing him to jump and drop extra quills into the potion. An angry hiss and a puff of yellow steam rose from his cauldron. “Mr. Andor, how long did you leave your potion on the heat for? Seems like a bit too long.”

“Yes, sir,” Cassian muttered.

“Five points from Hufflepuff, Andor. Do try to do better next time.”

And try he did; every lesson in the dungeons he tuned out the friendly chatter – or derisive comments, in Kay’s case – of the students around him to focus all his energy on forgetfulness and herbicide potions, though his finished creations often ended up a few shades away from the desired color or consistency. His notes on different ingredients were diligent and his essays on the various types of cauldrons well researched.

None of his efforts changed Professor Krennic’s opinion on him at all. The potions master critiqued and raised his eyebrows at each of Cassian’s concoctions while having nothing but high praise for Kay’s.

With each lesson in the dungeons, Cassian came to understand why his father had been sorted into Gryffindor and why had been relegated to Hufflepuff. When Krennic would snap, or chastise his mistakes, Cassian wanted to melt into his cauldron, wanted to skip ever potions lesson. Often only Kay – who had forcefully ignored the topic of blood purity and family lineage since the first day of class – or Maia walking alongside him to the dungeons stopped Cassian from slipping behind one of the tapestries to a secret passageway and avoiding the dungeons altogether.

Outside potions lessons, Cassian enjoyed life at Hogwarts immensely. Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Malbus, the same professor who had pulled Hux away from him the first day at breakfast, and Charms with Professor Draven were his favorite classes, but, without a doubt, Cassian’s favorite activity was nothing academic, but instead searching for the castle’s hidden secrets.

The first passageway he’d found was completely accidental. Armitage Hux, surrounded by a band of other Slytherins, had been wandering down the charms corridor during the second week in October. Not wanting a fight or a confrontation of any kind, Cassian slipped behind a tapestry, hoping to stay hidden until the group of boys passed. Instead, he found a door that opened with a simple alohomora, revealing a dark passageway full of cobwebs and dust. The passageway wound left and right, sometimes changing levels with rickety staircases, so that by the time Cassian emerged from it, he was no longer near Professor Draven’s classroom, but instead on the seventh floor, not too far from Gryffindor tower.

“I don’t normally find Hufflepuffs wandering so far into the castle,” a voice behind Cassian said, causing the boy to jump. He turned around to see Professor Erso walking away from the entrance to Gryffindor tower. The professor eyed the painting Cassian had just stepped away from. “Doing a little exploring, Mr. Andor?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Cassian stammered. Professor Erso was a kind professor, nothing like Professor Krennic, but he did have a strict policy for following rules in his class (the irony of which being that his daughter was most likely to disobey those rules). The passageway had been interesting, certainly, and an excellent alternative to a confrontation with the Slytherins, but Cassian wasn’t sure it was worth an evening in detention. “I’ll return to my common room.”

Professor Erso smiled at him. “Nonsense. I always encourage curiosity in students, and the castle does have some charming secrets to discover.” He waved to the witch inside the painting, a thoughtful look on his face. “This comes out in the charms corridor, correct?”

Cassian nodded. “I discovered it by accident.”

“The best way to make discoveries, I always say,” the professor nodded, before sending an evaluating look towards Cassian. “A shame you weren’t sorted into my house, Mr. Andor. It would have done well for that curious mind of yours.” He straightened up. “It is getting close to curfew, however. Others may not be as forgiving as I am for finding a first-year wandering about.

Now,” Professor Erso leaned closer to Cassian and lowered his voice. The witch in the painting leaned forward to hear too. “If you were to go to the sixth floor, you’ll find a knight with black armor standing back in an alcove. Tap his arm with your wand and tell him aberto and I believe you’ll find a shortcut back to your common room.”

“Aberto,” Cassian repeated.

“That’s right,” Professor Erso nodded. “If you navigate that one successfully, Mr. Andor, perhaps I’ll show you another one.”

“Yes, sir,” Cassian said and hurried down the hallway. He glanced over his shoulder to see the Professor saying goodbye to the witch before continuing down the hallway, back towards his office.

During the next transfiguration lesson, Cassian reported successfully navigating the passageway back to his common room. Professor Erso gave him a warm smile and asked, “Now, if you were leaving Defense Against the Dark Arts but needed to borrow a book from the library before your next class, what would be the fastest route between the two, Mr. Andor?”

Cassian paused before suggesting which corridors and series of staircases would lead you between the two.

“That’s certainly a route,” Professor Erso agreed, “But I suggest you investigate the tapestry of the late queen of Naboo on the third floor before being certain of the fastest route.”

That night, as he and Kay left the library, Cassian wandered towards the tapestry, pulling a disgruntled Kay with him.

“I don’t see the purpose of this,” Kay grumbled as Cassian muttered, “Alohomora,” to the door behind the tapestry.

“You’re the Ravenclaw,” Cassian mumbled, frustrated that the door hadn’t opened, “Shouldn’t you be the curious one?”

Kay stayed quiet for a minute, watching Cassian struggle to remember other charms that might work to unlock the door before sighing. “Have you tried liberare?” he asked in a disinterested voice.

Cassian admitted that, no, he hadn’t, and grinned when it worked. “Thanks, Kay,” he said, “You’re the best.”

Kay blushed at that, as Cassian had learned was frequent whenever he brought up their friendship. Kay, it seemed, didn’t discuss emotions or other “illogical” topics; he’d simply assumed his spot by Cassian’s side and, from then on, became his friend, seeming quite bewildered when Cassian had felt the need to clarify such a thing.

“Of course we’re friends,” he had said, and Cassian had smiled. The issue of Cassian’s father being an infamous blood traitor was shoved aside. It didn’t seem to matter to Kay, Cassian had realized, so he wouldn’t let it stand in the way of their friendship.

Despite his initial misgivings, Kay continued to join Cassian in exploring the castle, since trading information on the different passages became a bit of a game between the Cassian and the Transfiguration professor. Cassian enjoyed reporting to Professor Erso at the end of lessons to discuss the secrets of the castle. (Jyn, who Cassian had barely seen Jyn outside of class since the Hogwarts Express, glowed green with envy every time her father granted him special attention.)

Mostly, Cassian followed the professor’s clues to discover entrances and exits and attempted to solve the riddles of which spells were required to slip inside, but he occasionally discovered passages of his own and eagerly reported them back to the transfiguration professor. Christmas break was fast approaching when Cassian discovered a new passage that Professor Erso had not heard of.

“Well, well,” he chuckled as Cassian’s face lit up. “It appears you hardly need my direction after all! Excellent work.”

That evening, as Cassian exited the Great Hall with Kay reciting the twelve uses of dragon’s blood at his side, he caught sight of Professor Erso scanning over his shoulder before walking into what Cassian thought was the solid wall of the corridor. Not for the first time, Cassian considered why exactly Professor Erso wanted to disappear into the castle. For Cassian, disappearing meant less eyes on him, an easier way to observe Hogwarts without being observed himself, but what did Professor Erso gain from taking the passageways? Every student saw him daily, read his work, had seen his extraordinary magic, perhaps even knew his daughter.

What, Cassian wondered, did Galen Erso want to hide?

Jyn’s first class after Christmas break – which had been spent lazily lounging around the Gryffindor common room with Bodhi, exchanging chocolate frog cards and playing games of wizard’s chess – was Transfiguration with her father. Unfortunately, since she’d spent too many years locked away in Papa’s library, reading transfiguration theory beyond even N.E.W.T. levels (or had she simply inherited Galen Erso’s knack for the subject?), transfiguration bored her. Jyn breezed through Transfiguration, spending her time assisting Bodhi rather than concentrating on her own spell work.

“Colovaria,” she said, lazily, enjoying the way the mouse in front of her changed from white to blue to red.

“How,” Bodhi hissed from his seat beside her, “are you doing that?” He repeated the spell, but his mouse’s fur only changed from a snow white to an ashy gray.

“You’re moving your wand wrong,” Jyn told him and demonstrated the correct movement. “And you’re hesitating as you say the spell. You’ve got to be confident.”

“She makes an excellent point, Mr. Rook,” Papa said as he came up behind the pair. “The magic listens to more than just your words. Picture the results inside your mind as you say the spell, know it will happen when you wave your wand and your magic will respond to that confidence.”

Bodhi nodded and turned back to his mouse. “Colovaria,” he repeated with much more force and the mouse’s fur morphed into yellow. Bodhi’s eyes widened but he smiled, happily surprised by the outcome.

“Very well done, Mr. Rook! Five points to Gryffindor,” Professor Erso said, patting Bodhi on the back.

“Papa,” Jyn whined, “I did the spell at the beginning of class and you didn’t give me any points.”

“That’s because you didn’t learn anything,” he explained, raising his eyebrows at her. “Mr. Rook overcoming his struggles is much more deserving of house points than you repeating what you’ve already learned, Jyn.”

Jyn’s shoulders slumped with her father’s words.

“However, speaking of learning things,” Papa crouched down so he was at Jyn’s level and lowered his voice. “Could you stay after class to speak to me, Stardust?”

She stiffened, knowing exactly what her father wanted to discuss. “I can’t be late for Herbology, Papa. Professor Mothma is very strict about tardiness,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on her mouse and away from her father.

“I’ll explain to Professor Mothma why you’re late,” he replied, standing. “And I’m sure Mr. Rook will help you to remember to stay at the end of class. Right?”

“Y-yes, sir!” Bodhi, who had been attempting to ignore their conversation, stuttered. Keeping his word, as the other Gryffindors rose from their seats to head to the greenhouses, Bodhi nudged Jyn in the direction of her father. She sent a scowl his direction, but after so many months of being friends, Bodhi had become unfortunately impervious to her glares. Jyn lingered in front of her father’s desk as the students disappeared from the classroom in groups of twos and threes.

“What did you want, Father?” Jyn asked as the last student left the room.

“Oh, no,” Galen warned, “Don’t resort to ‘Father’ with me now. And I think we both know what I want to talk about.”

Jyn pursed her lips and stayed silent. If they both knew what it was, then her father could say it first.

Galen sighed at his daughter’s stubbornness. “I spoke to Professor Yoda yesterday,” he began,

“And he’s most disappointed in your grades thus far in History of Magic.”

“It’s a dull subject,” Jyn said, doing her best to keep all emotion from her face.

Galen, however, allowed his eyes to soft, and he motioned his daughter towards his side of the desk, placing his hands on her shoulders when she did so.

“You’re forgetting I know you, Stardust,” Galen whispered. “Avoiding History of Magic essays has nothing to do with the dullness of goblin revolutions and the birthplace of Osric the Oddball, does it?”

Jyn shook her head, avoiding her father’s gaze. “No, Papa.”

Galen reached a hand to her face, stroking his thumb along her cheekbone and forcing her to look at him. “Does it remind you of your mother, Stardust?”

Jyn clenched her jaw at his words. Tears threatened to escape her eyes and her throat tightened with emotion. It didn’t matter that every lesson with Professor Yoda reminded her of the stories Lyra used to tell, that Professor Yoda’s lectures often morphed from his strangely structured English to her mama’s loving voice that had once tucked her into bed with the same stories. She was a Gryffindor, like her mother before her, and she was determined to be strong.

“It’s alright if you miss her, Jyn,” Papa assured her. “I miss her as well.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jyn steeled herself again, tried to keep her voice level, like her mother’s had been before she went to meet Krennic. “It doesn’t matter if it reminds me of Mama.”

Galen stroked a hand over her twin braids for a moment before asking, “If it doesn’t matter, Stardust, then why are you avoiding it?” When Jyn didn’t answer, he continued. “Your mother loved history, Jyn. It was never my favorite subject, and,” he chuckled wistfully, “perhaps it’s not action based enough to be yours, but it’s a lovely way to remember her.”

He stepped back from Jyn for a moment, reaching into one of his drawers. He pulled out a thick book that Jyn would recognize anywhere. England’s Magical History by Lyra Erso. Her mother had been writing it when she discovered she was pregnant with Jyn; its rough draft had been Jyn’s first bedtime stories when she was an infant. This was not any copy, either, but Lyra’s personal one that her father had protected when they moved to Eadu after Mama’s death. Jyn remembered the notes that littered the margins, the highlights and folded pages made by her father’s frequent rereading of Lyra’s work.

Where Jyn had her mother’s kyber crystal, her father had this book as a physical reminder of his wife.

“Here,” Papa offered it to her. “It’s not the required textbook, but perhaps it’ll make you more interested in learning the material.”

“I can’t take that, Papa. That’s—that’s your piece of Mama.”

Papa gave her a sad smile before kneeling to her height again. “No, Stardust, that would be you.” He pressed the book into her hand. “Besides,” he cracked a smile and pulled on one of her braids, “Your mother would never forgive me if I allowed you to fail her favorite subject.”

Jyn’s lips twitched into a small smile in response. “I’ll do my work for Professor Yoda, Papa.”

“Thank you, Jyn,” Galen stood and handed her a note to take to Professor Mothma. “Now, off to herbology, and tell Professor Mothma that I kept you.”

Jyn nodded and hurried outside to the greenhouses, carefully storing the book inside her bag. She found the other first years gathered inside Greenhouse One. Bodhi had saved a seat for her.

“You’re missing a great lesson,” Bodhi said as she dropped her bag beside him. Around her, the first years were having perhaps too much fun casting Incendio charms at the creeping tendrils of Devil’s Snare on the desks in front of them. “Though,” Bodhi cast a worried glance at her, “I haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you started practicing Incendio.”

Jyn rolled her eyes. “How many times do I need to apologize for setting your robes on fire, Bodhi? It was an accident.” And it had been, really. Armitage Hux, a member of Slytherin house Jyn would prefer never to have to interact with, had been needling her all morning, so when Professor Draven instructed the class to begin practicing the charm, she simply responded with too much enthusiasm. (Professor Draven had not been impressed.)

“What did your father want to talk to you about?”

“Nothing,” Jyn muttered and then grinned wickedly as she watched the Devil’s Snare shrivel away from her fire. Bodhi sent her a knowing look, so she sighed and muttered, “I’ll tell you later.”

Bodhi, true to form, remembered her words and asked about her father again when they had returned to Gryffindor Tower for the evening. Jyn hesitated for a moment. Part of her didn’t want to share the book with others, wanted to keep her memory of her mother as hers, but Bodhi was different. Jyn had never had any siblings, but Bodhi might be the closest thing she’d ever get to a brother, even if she had only known him for less than a year. He’d confided in her the difficulties he had with his family – how his stepfather didn’t like how different he looked, or how his mother never resisted the obvious favoritism given to his two airheaded half-sisters – and Jyn had told him that if his family didn’t appreciate him the way they should, then he was more than welcome to join hers. She’d even gone as far as to inform Papa of her decision and drag a blushing and stammering Bodhi to weekly teas in her father’s office.

He may never meet her mama, but if Bodhi was going to be part of her family, then Jyn decided he needed to learn about her.

“Papa gave me this,” she explained, pulling the book out of her bag and handing it to him. “My mother wrote it.”

Bodhi readjusted his glasses as he examined the book. “If your mother was a historian, why do you hate History of Magic so much?” Bodhi asked, but his eyes widened as he figured the answer for himself. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jyn said, plopping onto one of the couches facing the fire. “Oh.”

Jyn stared into the fire as Bodhi flipped through the pages. Bodhi had been so open his her despite his nerves, Jyn reminded herself; no matter how exposed someone else seeing the personal remarks of Lyra Erso made her feel, she owed Bodhi this much.

“Oi, Erso’s daughter!” One of the fifth years called from where a study group had commandeered a nearby table. “Come explain Vanishing Spells to us!”

“I have a name,” Jyn growled, though she got up from the couch anyway.

After teasing the fifth years about turning to a measly first year for assistance, she was more than happy to try her hand at the more difficult spells they were practicing for their O.W.L.s and stayed with them long after Bodhi returned her book and headed to the boy’s dormitories. She called it quits about eleven o’clock; her transfiguration skills may be above her grade level, but her sleeping habits weren’t.

The school year flew by. Jyn kept her word to Papa by forcing herself to complete her work for History of Magic, sailed through Transfiguration, continued to make Professor Draven roll his eyes at her overenthusiastic and unconventional approach to Charms, and endured Krennic’s doting remarks to her and negative remarks to an overanxious Bodhi. She moaned over Gryffindor’s loss to Slytherin in the Quidditch cup final and dove into discussion about how she and Bodhi would have played better, had they been on the team. As the weather grew warmer, she and Bodhi took to venturing out to the lake instead of the library to study. Bodhi reasoned it was because the sun helped them work better, but Jyn simply preferred not getting shushed for speaking louder than a whisper and being able to practice spells without punishment.

Time passed far too quickly and soon final exams were approaching. A wave of stress hit the first years as they struggled to cram knowledge of the planets and doxies and the Werewolf Code of Conduct into their brains. Jyn excelled in Professor Malbus’s practical Defense exam, producing the best smokescreen spell among all the first years (Profess Malbus had chuckled and reminded her not to go around the hallways using that knowledge), while Bodhi’s idea to use Lumos Solem rather than Incendio to ward off Devil’s Snare earned him extra points on the Herbology final.

Though Jyn had never quite discovered the reason why – she strongly suspected Krennic was to blame – her father had moved back to Hogsmeade when Jyn started school. It was not the same house Jyn had lived in with both her parents, but a house farther apart from the town. So, while Jyn begged for another excuse to ride the Hogwarts Express, both her father and Professor Krennic deemed such a journey unnecessary, since she’d be required to be apparated back to Hogsmeade immediately afterwards.

Jyn, therefore, was forced to say her goodbye to Bodhi on the Hogsmeade platform, rather than at King’s Cross. Bodhi had several more friends scattered among the four houses, so he would not be lonely on the ride back to London, but too many students took Bodhi’s blood status and shy tendencies as an excuse to use him as a verbal punching bag, and Jyn never quite trusted anyone else to watch over him the way she did.

Bodhi shrugged her concerns off. “If I’m going to be a Gryffindor, Jyn, I need to learn to fight my own battles at some point, right?” he said, offering her a shaky smile.

In a strange flare of emotion, Jyn flung her arms around Bodhi’s neck. He hesitated for a moment before hugging her back. Jyn was so sparse with her emotions and even more so with physical touch, it was no wonder Bodhi was confused.

“I’ll write,” Jyn promised, still holding Bodhi close. “Maybe you can come stay with me this summer.”

“Yeah,” Bodhi agreed, quiet. “Maybe.”

Jyn pulled back then to give Bodhi a smile. “Don’t let the muggles get you down, Rook.”

“Don’t get into too much trouble without me, Erso,” he smiled back.

“Me? Trouble? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bodhi laughed but glanced back as the train’s horn blared. “I better go.”

Jyn watched as he walked onto the train and was immediately greeted by Ruescott Melshi, a second-year Gryffindor. If only she was joining them...

With a sigh, Jyn turned and headed back towards Hogwarts, towards where where her father was clearing a last few things out of his office. Her thoughts wandered to ideas of what their new house might look like – Jyn had yet to see it – so she didn’t hear a student rushing down onto the platform until they had barreled into her.

“Oof!” the boy cried as both he and Jyn fell backwards. Jyn groaned, rubbing where her shoulder hit the harsh stone beneath her. She barely took notice of the boy until he said, “Oh, Jyn!”

It was Cassian Andor, whom Jyn had met on her way to Hogwarts. Once he’d been sorted into Hufflepuff, Jyn had barely seen him. They’d shared double Transfiguration twice a week and sometimes he and Kay would be in the library at the same time as she and Bodhi, but other than some quick waves over the first few weeks of school, their contact had dwindled down to nothing.

“Cassian,” she nodded.

“Sorry about that,” he said and offered her a hand up. He still wore his Hufflepuff robes – Jyn had changed back to muggle clothes, knowing the break in decorum would bother Krennic – which he hurried to wipe the dust from. “I was just running late to the train.” He gave her a puzzled look. “Shouldn’t you be heading there, too?”

“No, Papa bought a new house in Hogsmeade, so I can walk to and from school.”

Cassian looked truly interested (a very Hufflepuff trait, Jyn though) but the train’s horn sounded again. “I’ve got to go,” he said, picking back up his trunk. “Have a good summer, Jyn.”

“You too, Cassian,” Jyn said. How strange, she thought as she walked back to the castle, to begin and end my first year by meeting Cassian Andor.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Bodhi groaned at the sound, unable to tell if it was real or if part of his brain was still lost in a dream…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Definitely real, he decided, and shoved himself up. He reached for his glasses, being careful of the broken band being held together with tape. (His little sisters had accidentally knocked him over chasing each other around the house a few days after he’d returned from Hogwarts, and his parents hadn’t offered to get them fixed.)

Once he could see, Bodhi noticed a tawny owl – one he had become well acquainted with in the three weeks since school ended – sitting on his windowsill. The owl’s name was Beetle and he belonged to Professor Erso, though Bodhi couldn’t imagine he got to use the owl much, with how often Jyn was sending him letters. Like clockwork, every three days, Beetle would appear on Bodhi’s windowsill with Jyn’s letter tied to his leg. The owl would settle in on Bodhi’s desk (Bodhi had begun keeping a fresh bowl of water there for the bird to enjoy in his downtime) until he completed his reply to Jyn, which the owl would accept eagerly and swoop out the window, back towards Hogsmeade and Jyn.

“Morning, Beetle,” Bodhi yawned as he opened his window. The owl chirped happily in response and stuck out his leg. Bodhi unwrapped the letter and read:

Dear Bodhi,

I am bored.

Papa is always working (he’s working much harder than he has in other summers) and Krennic is always over. They spend hours in Papa’s office, pouring over old stuffy textbooks and plans. Krennic always yells if I spend too long watching them. However bad you think he is at school, make it ten times worse. That’s how bad he is here.

Bodhi, I’m even getting bored of my broomstick. Krennic – in the only smart move he’s made this summer – bought me the new Comet 290 as a present. Its acceleration is decent (Just you wait until you try it! You’re going to love it) but it doesn’t control vibration the way Cleansweeps do…

Do you see what’s happened to me? I’ve started memorizing Which Broomstick for fun. For fun, Bodhi. Please, please, please I need you to come visit. Besides, I know you don’t like staying with your family (don’t bother lying about it, either, because you’ve already told me the truth) and we’d have so much fun together.

I can already hear your excuses, though, so I’ve decided to take action of my own. Since Papa already loves you and hates to see me all by myself (or he think I’ll be less likely to break underage wizarding laws with you keeping an eye on me, one of the two), he thinks it’s a wonderful idea for you to come stay with us for the rest of the summer. In fact, I’ve had him write a letter to your parents asking for their permission.

Now, he says Mama taught him to use muggle post, but that was years ago and I didn’t see the letter before he sent it, so I’m slightly worried he may have messed it up somehow. I hurried to send Beetle and he’ll likely get there before the letter to your mum, so be on the lookout! I hope they say yes.

See you soon, Jyn

At first, Bodhi laughed and shook his head at the letter (Jyn had bemoaned her lonely situation to him all summer) but as he reached the end, he panicked slightly. Jyn’s father had written to his mother? Now that was a sure-fire way to get him in trouble.

Bodhi rushed out of his room – remembering to shut the door tight to prevent the owl resting on his desk from exploring the rest of the house – and down the stairs. To his dismay, Rick, his stepfather, sat at the kitchen table, a pile of mail in front of him. Perhaps Professor Erso’s letter hadn’t arrived today…

His stepfather looked up as Bodhi entered the kitchen, giving him half a nod before returning to the mail. “Your mother needs help with cooking,” he grunted.

“Yes, sir,” Bodhi answered, and joined his mother at the stove. “Morning, Mum.”

“Good morning. Could you get the eggs?” she asked as Bodhi’s little sisters ran into the room, giggling and whispering together. Alice, who was seven, idolized nine-year-old Rebecca and copied everything she did. Rebecca not-so-secretly reveled in the attention. Today, both girls had their hair styled in twin braids, and Bodhi felt a sudden pang of longing for Jyn. He thought of the letter her father had written, extending the invitation. He’d come downstairs to find the letter and keep it away from his parents – any mention of the magical world or Bodhi’s life at school sent his stepfather into a rage – but how Bodhi wished he could accept Jyn’s invitation and spend the rest of the summer with her.

He stirred the scrambled eggs, ignoring the way Rick doted over the two girls in favor of picturing life at Jyn’s home. Professor Erso preparing breakfast in the morning – with magic, of course, not by hand as Bodhi did now – and testing Jyn’s new Cleansweep and wandering the streets of Hogsmeade. He and Jyn would be the only second years to have visited the village if only…

“Bodhi? What is this?”

His mother’s words were gentle and unobtrusive, but Bodhi jumped at them anyway. She traditionally followed her husband’s lead and only spoke to Bodhi if there were chores to be done, but now, to Bodhi’s horror, he saw her holding up a letter. The matching envelope, once sealed with the red wax Bodhi associated with Hogwarts, lay torn open near his stepfather’s elbow.

“Are you giving out our address to those freaks at your school, boy?” he snapped.

“N-no, sir,” Bodhi stammered, pushing his glasses back up his face.

“Ooohh, Bodhi’s in trouble!” Rebecca sang under her breath and Alice snickered along.

“Then why does this,” he glanced back at the letter, “Erso know where we live?”

“Professor Erso—he, um, he works for Hogwarts—“

“Don’t say the name!”

Bodhi paled. “S-sorry, sir. He’s, well, he’s a professor at my school, so he must have access to student records.”

Rick snorted. “Surprised their lot know how to send letters via the post office. Don’t think I haven’t seen that owl coming and going from your room.”

Bodhi swallowed, thinking of Beetle, who would still be snuggled on his desk, waiting for Bodhi’s response to Jyn.

“He offered to let you spend the rest of the summer with them. He says you’re friends with his daughter, Bodhi?” His mother asked quietly, not looking up from the letter.

“Her name is Jyn,” he explained. “She’s in my grade at school.”

His stepfather shrugged. “That’s a few months less of having him here, and a trip we don’t have to make to London in September. I say we let him go, Lori.”

His mother glanced at Bodhi, just for a moment. Were those tears in his mother’s eyes? No, he decided, it couldn’t be. Ever since his little sisters had been born she’d never showed more than remedial affection for her first born, even when he’d left for Hogwarts the previous year.

She nodded then, as Bodhi guessed she would. She never disagreed with her husband.

“They say they’ll pick you up on Wednesday,” Rick told him. His next words were filled with disgust. “Asked that you reply the normal way.”

Bodhi fought back at smile as the conversation turned away from him. He was going to spend the summer with Jyn! Away from his stepfather’s glares and his mother’s avoidant eyes; no more giggling sisters or summer homework assignments kept hidden from the rest of the family. He forced himself to finish breakfast with his family, but he paid little attention to the conversation around him, mentally drafting his response to Jyn instead.

+

+

+

The hours on Wednesday passed too slowly for Bodhi’s liking. Six o’clock, Jyn had assured him in her last letter. She and her father would be there at six o’clock. And that he needed to make sure the fireplace was clear – whatever that meant.

Bodhi stood at his front windows, peering past the curtains and onto the street, desperately scanning the street in hopes of seeing Jyn and Professor Erso approaching. He’d never heard Jyn mention her family owning a car, so perhaps they would be arriving via broomsticks, which he would decidedly not be disappointed by. Flying lessons had been Bodhi’s favorite last school year, so the chance to spend hours traveling on a broomstick sounded ideal to him.

The Ersos, however, did not arrive via broomsticks, or even from the street at all.

Rebecca and Alice, who had been happily watching television in the living room, screamed, startling Bodhi away from the window and causing his parents to come running. When they reached the room, it was to find Rebecca and Alice hiding behind the couch while a nonchalant Jyn Erso brushed soot off her pants.

At the sight of Bodhi, Jyn sighed. “Oh, good, we did get the right house. I was beginning to worry this would be awfully difficult to explain.”

Before Bodhi could answer, green flames shot up from the fireplace – Bodhi and his family all took a step back – and Professor Erso stepped out.

“Good evening, Mr. Rook,” Professor Erso smiled at him, just as friendly as ever. He turned to the adults, extending his hand. “You must be Bodhi’s parents. I’m Galen Erso, Bodhi’s transfiguration professor.”

His stepfather’s face reddened at the word “transfiguration” but he stayed silent, stiffly shaking Professor Erso’s hand. Bodhi’s mother gave a small “Hello” to the professor before slinking back behind her husband.

“And these must be your sisters, Bodhi.” Professor Erso waved to the girls, who also slunk behind their father.

“Rebecca and Alice,” Bodhi said. None of the muggles in the room responded – Rick seemed too distracted by the strange clothes that Professor Erso wore, his mother’s eyes flickered between Jyn and Bodhi, and the girls hadn’t recovered from the shock of someone appearing in their fireplace.

“Are you ready to leave, Bodhi?” Jyn asked as the silence stretched on too long. When Bodhi nodded, she pulled on the sleeve of her father’s robes, insisting, “Come on, Papa, let’s go."

Professor Erso nodded, summoning Bodhi’s trunks to him. Rebecca and Alice squealed in fright, and Rick shoved them behind him, an outraged look on his face. “Let Bodhi say goodbye to his family, Jyn, and then we’ll go.”

Bodhi waved to his family, expecting little more than a terse nod from any of them. To his surprise, however, his mother stepped forward and wrapped him in a tight hug.

“Stay safe,” she whispered, and Bodhi wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry at this unexpected display of affection. “Have a good year at school, dear. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, mum,” he murmured back, worried his voice would crack if he spoke much louder.

She stepped back then, retreating behind her husband once again, and, like that, the moment was over. Bodhi swallowed the thick emotion in his throat and turned to the Ersos. Professor Erso explained how to use Floo powder and asked Jyn to go first to demonstrate. “Erso Cottage!” she shouted before disappearing in a cloud of green smoke.

“You next, Mr. Rook,” Professor Erso said, nudging him forward.

Bodhi copied Jyn’s actions and was suddenly sucked backwards. He struggled to remember Professor Erso’s tips – Keep your eyes shut and elbows tucked in – but kept getting lost in waves of nausea caused by the swirls of green light surrounding him. Cold air whipped past him and he once again longed for a broomstick to travel on.

Finally, the pressure on Bodhi’s chest lifted and he fell onto a stone floor.

“Better luck on your landing next time, Bodhi,” Jyn teased as she helped him up. “But welcome to my house!”

Bodhi was still dusting soot off his clothes when Professor Erso arrived – on his feet, much to Bodhi’s dismay.

“You survived your first trip with Floo powder, then! Good to see,” he said and clasped Bodhi on the shoulder.

“He fell when he came out of the fireplace,” Jyn giggled and Bodhi shot her a glare. Couldn’t he keep some of his dignity in place?

“Happens to the best of us. You’ll get used to the feeling,” Jyn’s father assured him. “Ah, did you damage your glasses when you fell, Mr. Rook?”

Bodhi shuffled his feet, unwilling to admit they had been broken for weeks (how had Professor Erso not noticed the tape on them?). Breaking them when he fell seemed like a much easier explanation, however. “I must have, sir.”

Professor Erso smiled at him gently. “I can fix them for you, Bodhi. And,” he continued as Bodhi handed him his glasses, “You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ outside school. It’s much too formal. Oculus repario,” he muttered, handing Bodhi back his now intact glasses.

“Thank you, sir—er, Professor Erso!”

The professor chuckled quietly. “That’ll work, I suppose.” He turned to his daughter, who had been anxiously bouncing on the balls of her feet during the whole exchange. “Now you two run along. I’ve got some work to finish, but I’ll call you in for dinner later.”

“Yes, Papa!” Jyn called as she grabbed Bodhi’s hand and yanked him out the door. “Wait until you see what we’ve got to explore!”

Jyn seemed to have a massive tour prepared for Bodhi. The house itself, while not small, was still cozy. The main floor had a warm kitchen, the living room which Bodhi had flooed into, Professor Erso’s study and a mudroom leading outside. All the rooms on the second floor – three bedrooms and a bathroom – extended off a short hallway, which ended with a window seat piled high with books and blankets.

The Erso’s house was settled between two hills on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Jyn and Bodhi took to exploring the sets of caves and steep pathways both on foot and on broomsticks. Some days they would wander the streets of Hogsmeade, poking their head into Zonko’s to get some laughs or spending the sickles Professor Erso gave them on mugs of butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, feeling very grown up. Jyn laughed at Bodhi’s wide eyed reaction to the post office and they both ogled the new line of Nimbuses at the Quidditch shop. Bodhi was surprised by how many shopkeepers knew Jyn by name and were eager to learn her friend’s. He felt, for the first time in his life, like he belonged somewhere – in the magical community around Hogsmeade, at the dinner table discussing class work with Professor Erso, or brushing his teeth alongside Jyn before heading to bed.

Bodhi had been at the Erso’s for a week when Jyn showed him her most prized possession.

“I’m not sure if Papa’s figured out I’ve taken it yet,” she whispered, pulling a suitcase out from underneath her bed. “So be quiet about it.”

Inside was a silky, silver cloak that shimmered in the light as Jyn picked it up, but Bodhi couldn’t figure out what was special about it until Jyn threw it over her head and disappeared before Bodhi’s eyes.

“What?” He exclaimed, reaching forward to grab the cloak. “How does that work?”

“It’s an invisibility cloak,” Jyn bragged. “Papa’s prized possession. I’ve never seen another one like it.”

“Won’t he mind that you’ve stolen it?” Bodhi asked, glancing nervously at the door.

“I don’t think he’s used it in years,” Jyn said. “Besides, it’s a tradition to pass it down in the family, so it was going to be mine someday.”

Jyn returned the cloak to the suitcase she kept it in, explaining she only pulled it out for “extreme circumstances.”

Apparently sneaking around her father’s office, attempting to find where he had hidden Jyn’s recently purchased supply of dung bombs counted as “extreme circumstances” in her mind, because that’s where Bodhi found himself when Professor Krennic stopped by the cottage.  

Both Jyn and Bodhi froze when they heard Professor Erso greet him at the door.

“They’re going to come in here!” Jyn hissed at Bodhi, but before they could scurry out of the room, the men walked in.

“And where’s Jyn today?” Krennic was asking.

“Likely exploring with Bodhi. They’re rarely in the house except for meals,” Galen said, pulling some papers from his desk.

“For the best,” Krennic nodded, examining the papers Professor Erso handed him. “Jyn’s rather … curious and I don’t want either of the children getting their hands on the plans.”

Bodhi and Jyn exchanged wide eyed glances and scooted closer together, making sure the cloak was covering all parts of their bodies.

“Krennic, I don’t have anything new to show you,” Galen sighed. “There’s only so much I can do without another shipment of Kyber crystals to continue the research.”

Jyn stiffened at this and pulled her necklace out from underneath her shirt, gripping it tight.

Bodhi always assumed the research Professor Erso did was for Hogwarts, but kyber crystals were nowhere on the Hogwarts curriculum. When Jyn had first showed Bodhi her mother’s necklace, they had pulled several books from the library to satisfy their curiosity about the stone. Before the time of the Empire, kyber crystals were used as a wand core by the Jedi, the followers of the Force. The crystals were regarded as the strongest of the wand cores, many times stronger than Bodhi’s unicorn hair core, or even Professor Erso’s core made of a Thunderbird’s tail feather. When the Empire came to power, all Jedi were faced with two options: surrender their kyber core wand and accept the new government or face death. Rumors said many Jedi had not been given the option to surrender their wand and had been killed on sight but the Empire simply pointed towards people like Professor Kenobi, a former Jedi himself who remained headmaster at Hogwarts, to dispel such rumors.

The question remained: what sort of research was Professor Erso doing with kyber crystals?

“If we had stayed in Eadu, instead of moving here as you insisted, my research would be continuing at a much better pace,” Professor Erso insisted.

“We both know Jyn is too curious for her own good, Galen. The farther we keep her from the details of this project, the safer she remains.” Krennic’s voice turned challenging with the next words. “You remember what happened to Lyra when she got in the way of the research.”

Both Jyn and Professor Erso straightened at Krennic’s words. For a moment, Bodhi worried Jyn would jump and attack Krennic; he gripped her arm, hard, to keep her under the cloak.

“Don’t think I’ll ever forget, Krennic,” Galen said, low, and the men stared at each other for a moment.

Krennic broke eye contact first, reaching into the pocket of his flowing white robes and pulling out a small box. “Your next shipment, Galen. Do try to hurry this research along. The Emperor is getting impatient, and results are the best way to keep little Jyn safe.”

[hell-on-training-wheels]

Quote meme – No. 15 + Erron Black and Soldier 76 (partially because of reading Kumulonimbus’s crossover fic ‘Business’)

Last but not least of my quote prompts. Sorry. This is the last one. I really need to work on my other crap. I also love @kumulonimbus fic as well because its the best two characters in the world teamed up with each other. What’s not to love? :)

Hope I did ok with the characters here. :/

“You really think you can beat me? That’scute.”

                                                          Thorn

Morrison sensed himself being watched for a while now, whichin all honesty didn’t really surprise noralarmed him considering his wanted posters were all over the walls of Dorado.That had been a week ago, and the feeling never abandoned him and onlyheightened. There was never fear or doubtabout his capability in neutralizing the threat when it eventually decided topresent itself. Rather, it was more of anxietythat they would pick the opportunity whenthey felt it was convenient—when he was at his most vulnerable.  Their mistake was that the old soldier neverlet his guard down, and he welcomed the challenge.

Whoever the man was, was certainly skilled and knew what hewas doing. A natural and patient hunter who Jack refused to overestimate.Still, he had confidence and held his posture to demonstrate that to whoeverwas watching him. Now he could feel his eyes on him, and even from his highvantage point on top of an apartment building, his visor could not locate them.Crouched with his back against the water tower, Morrison kept as much to theshadows as he possibly could. One of the Lumericopyramids illuminated most of the surrounding buildings with blinding amber and bluelight. Lumerico never slept and didn’tpay any sympathy for those in the apartment buildings that couldn’t because ofthe light streaming in. Besides the single annoyance, Dorado was silent for themost part. The vigilante had not even seen any Los Muertos stalking the street.That usually meant they were up to something and Jack had a feeling what itwas.

There had been wordthat a strange, unidentified shipment would be arrivingat the Mexican gang’s doorstep. Something potentially dangerous if Talonwas their buyer. Still, Los Muertos was only the middleman, and there wasanother party involved. Unfortunately, that had been all the intel he hadgotten being how short noticed it was. They were getting it soon—tonightpossibly—and he stayed sharp for any suspicious movements in the deceptivelyquiet night.

Still, he knew that things were getting out of hand fast andhe would have to start searching. The longer he waited for them to showthemselves, the easier the drop-off would go. None of the cameras he had aroundDorado and linked to his visor picked up on any nefarious dealings or his mysterystalker. That was the other problematic concern on the back of his mind. Jackknew that it wasn’t wise to overlook the suspicious timeline of things. It wasn’ta coincidence that whoever was after him now was a part of the deal. LosMuertos would have told them about any issues that would cause the transfer to hitspeedbumps, and Soldier: 76 was the biggest thorn in their side. Either hiredby Los Muertos, Talon or the other third party, someone had been contracted totake him out.

His suspicions at first were Widowmaker, the Talon sniper,but his cohort had dismissed the idea.

“If Widowmaker had ashot on you, she would not wait a week to do so, Jack.”

Nobody knew that better than she did and Morrison trustedher. It was the same with Reyes. If Reaper wasthe one after him, then he would have shown himself by now.

When Jack heard the jangle of spurs behind him, he ruled outthe elusive hacker that worked with the pair as well.

The ex-Strike Commander found himself frowning heavily as he felt the presence behind him andwatched a familiar silhouette encroach on his kneeled position. A large Stetsonsat upon his hat, one that he should have recognized instantly. Something was off, though, and this didn’t feel like betrayal as much as he thought it should. Hisgut told him, this was another gun for hire and certainly not Jesse McCree.

The figure didn’t make a move,though, even if both men knew that they were at an impasse, and instead placedhis hands on his hips and waited for Jack to make the first move.

“What’s wrong?” Soldier: 76 scoffed. “Won’t shoot an old manin the back?”

He heard a baritone ‘hmph’ as Jack stood up but still didn’tface him. “I don’t get paid enough to do that,”was his reply. There was an arrogance to his drawl, and even though his wordsseemed honorable, his tone disclosed that he was anything but.

Jack saw the shadow’s shouldershrug before he added: “But for a little extra…”

“Admirable,” 76 commentedsarcastically. The older man switched the safety off the pulse rifle that hungin his arms with a subtle flick of the thumb. “But we both know how this turnsout.”

The cowboy gave a dark chuckle behind him, and he heard the hammer of a revolverclick back. “You really think you can takeme?” he derided darkly. “That’s cute.”

“I’m more spry than Ilook,” Morrison shot back. Finally, he turned to face the hitman and met himfor the first-time eye to eye.

Definitely not McCree, was the first thingthat popped into his mind as he observed him. Where most would poke fun atJesse for playing dress-up, there was no way to do it to this man without promise of looking down the barrel end of oneof the ancient, golden-colored revolvers he kept in his holsters. Dressed head to toe in leather, metal, and ammunition,his cold cobalt eyes regarded 76 with a contempt boldness that let the formerStrike Commander know that he was about as afraid of him as Morrison was. Therewas no denying he was an oddity, not because it was evident in his clothing andthe mask he wore, but from the aged look of experience,he carried himself with. His tanned,muscled arms scarred with tally-marks,not only told Jack all he needed to knowbut so did his poise. Even though he was younger than him, the man was good athis job, and he knew it, but still didn’tlet his ego go too much to his head. A true professional.

Jack shook his head at him as his tactical visor began toglow brighter. “You don’t want to goto war with me.”

The caustic, dark warning wastaken into consideration, but still the corner of the man’s kohl eyescrinkled; he was smirking in amusement under his leather mask.

“Sure I do,” he taunted almost passively.

76 was the first to bring up his gun, but like a true gunslinger, the cowboy wasquicker on the draw. He batted it away with the front of his rifle, but Morrisongrunted out in pain when his bullet cut through the fabric of his leatherjacket and sliced him alongside his torso.

Blood already coated his dark undershirt as he released ahand off his pulse rifle and threw an elbow towards the man’s face. Thegunslinger blocked it with the outside of his forearm as his hand reached forhis other revolver. Jack kicked out, landing a foot in his chest thatcatapulted the man backward. His revolverfired and missed Jack as he rolled out of the way.

Kneeled, he brought his rifle up and fired on him. Thehitman’s tattered poncho nearly escaped 76’s volley of fire as he rolled out ofthe way and took shelter behind the water tower. Morrison picked himself up andmoved as the cowboy rounded the tower and fired on the spot where the older manonce was.

The old soldier’s back hit the wooden shell of the water tower, and he waited for any sounds of movementfrom the other side. The hitman mirrored his same idea, and Jack took the time to reload as they both waited for theeither to make the first move.

“You are spry,” came a contemptuous remark from the otherside. “But I wonder how much longer you can keep this up.”

Jack heard footsteps approachhis left and instead of running, he met the man halfway. Unfortunately, he didnot expect him to roll forward, dodge his incoming fire and place his revolver intohis stomach as he climbed back up to his feet.

White, blinding light exploded across his abdomen when thegun fired, and the next thing Jack knew was he was on his back and soaking wet.His eyes twisted tight behind his visor, andhe pressed a hand over his wounded stomach as blood flowed out. He didn’t know ifit was purposeful, but he missed his vital organs and only blew a hole in his side. There was heat under him, so hot hecould feel it through his damaged coat,and he figured it had to be an exit wound.

The cowboy only meant to cripple him, and it became obvious itwas his intent when he sauntered towards Morrison and cocked his revolver abovehis head. Morrison winced in pain as the dark tunnel peered down at him fromthe assassin’s hand.

He rose an eyebrow at him, regarding him with a somewhat disappointedexpression. “Is this how’d you think it turnout?”

As his finger wrapped around the trigger, the bounty huntergave a sharp cry and flung his free hand to his neck. Instantly, he fell backwards with a back-breaking thump as his gunhit the ground and clattered away from him. Now unconscious, Morrison climbedback to his feet and smiled at the dart embeddedin his neck and said: “Actually. It was.”

Jack turned towards the bank’s roof and gave a salute toAmari for her impeccable aim with her sleep dart, and over the earpiece, he heard her give a soft laugh as shesaluted back to him in acknowledgment.

[samandartieverse]

Midnight HSM Watch Party One-Shot Where HSM Is Barely Relevant

Summary: Artie likes strawberry ice cream and Sam. Sam likes talking and Artie. Both of them like the HSM trilogy. (Comes with a small dosage of Troy Bolton roasting and sympathizing. Enter at own risk.) Word Count: 2,306 Quote: *Don't ask me why Artie has a 7-foot pillow, I don't know.

Sam woke up in complete and utter darkness, save for a yellow light from Artie's kitchen. He, along with Mike, Finn, and Puck, spent the night at Artie's house to "Make sure he was alright" while his parents were at some work thing, which they took for "have a small party and seriously consider stealing some liquor."

He looked around the living room, first seeing Mike caressing (or being caressed by) a 7-foot pillow on the couch about a foot from him.* He continued looking around and he eventually saw Puck and Finn sprawled out on the floor. Puck's face was close enough to Finn's crotch that gay jokes were gonna be made in the morning, probably by Artie. Speaking of, the one guy he'd hoped to see wasn't anywhere. Last he remembered, Artie was talking about something Star Wars-related before the sound of his voice put Sam to sleep.

*Don't ask me why Artie has a 7-foot pillow, I don't know.

Sam did not have a crush on Artie, to be clear. He just thought he was a cool guy, andsometimeswantedtosofltykisshisforheadwhenhewassleeping, a completely platonic and heterosexual friendship.

Sam heard a thud from the kitchen, and Artie groaning in pain. Sam's fight or flight response kicked in, but he had also only been up for 43 seconds. Sam groggily got up and hurriedly stumbled to the kitchen. He saw Artie sprawled out on the floor and a tub of ice cream on its side next to him.

"Artie! Are you alright," Sam shouted, but it came out closer to a muttered, "Archty, are youlr ight. .?"

"I'm good," Artie assured, "I was just getting some midnight strawberry ice cream and... fell over."

"Youu knee helll p?"

"Sure, that's... that's why you guys are here, right?" Artie had a drop of bitterness in his voice.

Sam tried to lift Artie by his arms, and he normally could. However, Sam's tiredness made everything significantly slower and harder. After 2 awkward-ish minutes of trying to lift him, Sam decided to get him by his back and legs, which is how he did  not   fantasize about holding him sometimes. He set Artie in his chair, who sighed.

"Could you... could you also get the ice cream? And my glasses," Artie asked sheepishly. A silver lining to the whole situation was getting to see Sam bend over. Artie had admitted to himself that he liked Sam, but he'd decided Sam was straight and resolved to stolen glances and crying listening to Micheal Jackson songs over strawberry ice cream, like he was planning tonight.

Sam handed Artie his ice cream and Artie thanked him. He put his glasses on and they stood/sat in awkward silence for a moment before Artie thought to do something obvious. He handed back the ice cream.

"Could you put this in the freezer?" Artie asked, "And after we could go watch High School Musical in my room."

"Sure," Sam agreed, walking over to the fridge, "As long as you don't tease me when I cry."

Artie smiled, "Honestly, I can't watch that movie without crying."

Sam put the ice cream away, and Artie took the opportunity to again sexualize Sam mentally. Sam wheeled Artie to his room and went searching for the High School Musical DVD. He popped it into the player and let the movie roll, turning back to pick up Artie.

"So, like, Artie," Sam began awkwardly, "How do you, uh, lay down?"

"Flat on my back," Artie replied, then poked Sam in the chest, "Preferably next to a blonde guy with abs."

Sam's breath hitched. Was Artie flirting?

"Anyways, that's your cue to pick me up." Sam, turning bright red, realized he zoned out. He lifted Artie and set him gently, resting his cute little head on a fluffy pillow.* Sam patted Artie on his chest.

*This is not an opinion of Sam's, but an objective fact.

"All good?" Sam asked.

"All good," Artie replied, smiling.

God, his smile is so pretty. Sam thought, or more-so felt. He immediately hetero-corrected himself. Because he keeps his teeth clean, which is epic for someone who can't even see himself the bathroom mirror.

Sam went around the bed and laid flat on his back, keeping his distance from Artie. He didn't want to seem like he was anything other than a straight friend.

"Sam, get over here," Artie told Sam. For a moment, Sam thought about Artie saying that in a way different context.

"Hm?" Sam couldn't get any words out.

"The blanket can't cover us if you're all the way over there. Also, go get the blanket!"

Sam chuckled and got up. He didn't show it, but Artie telling him what to do was kind of a turn-on (but, then again, wasn't from Artie?) He reached Artie's closet and grabbed the wooly blue blanket (Artie told him it was his favorite 3 months ago and he hadn't forgotten) and wrapped it around himself. He returned to Artie's room and flopped onto his bed, still keeping the entire blanket to himself.

Artie cleared his throat.

"What?" Sam said, trying not to smile, "I got the blanket like you asked me to."

"My arms still work, Sam."

"So?"

"So I can still effectively strangle you!" Artie grabbed Sam's neck, getting a group strong enough to pull himself over Sam. Sam tried to get Artie off of him, but the blanket stopped him from using his arms, and Artie had an iron grip, so it was a struggle. Artie had his hands firmly around Sam's neck, sat on his chest, when Sam finally gave up.

"Fine, fine! Uncle!" Sam shouted, laughing uncontrollably, "We'll share!"

Artie let go of him, "Thanks. Glad we could work this out peacefully."

Artie rolled off of Sam, and laid right next to him, to the point their arms were touching. Sam was still hyperventilating, he couldn't get over how Artie sitting on his chest made him feel, and how much he might have wanted him to be a little farther back. None of these feelings were helped when Artie turned to lay on his side and Sam could hear Artie breathing.

"I thought you... you were a back-sleeper," Sam said.

"It depends on the day," Artie replied, "And who I'm with."

Sam was dead silent after that, so Artie was too. He got the message at returned to his back. They watched the harrowing tale of Troy balancing the worlds of theatre and basketball, laughing at all the funny moments, but nothing else.

Eventually, When There Was Me And You began, and Artie couldn't keep his opinions about it quiet.

"I really hate Troy here," Artie said.

"Really? I dunno," Sam replied, "It's not that what he did was good, or anything. I just... I understand why, y'know?"

Artie turned on his side to look at Sam. With genuine interest, he said, "Actually, I don't know. Tell me about it."

Sam hesitantly turned on his other side to look back at Artie, which caused him to be slightly nervous speaking. "Well, when you're- You're put on the spot like that, and all your friends.. expect something from you, you- you don't really have time to think. And, there's already a way out for him that- that everyone wants and expects him to choose, so he just does."

Artie nodded Sam along. Maybe it was just the crush filter, but Sam actually made some sense.

"And, when you get... feelings for someone it's really- really... I can't explain it, but Troy's also fighting his natural 'go for love' instincts with his logical ones, so that a factor too."

Artie smiled at Sam, "Interesting thought process. Did you just think that up?"

"Nah, I've been- I've had that opinion for a while."

The two laid together and finished up the movie. Troy apologized and got the girl... and the lead in the musical... and won the basketball game- maybe I should become Troy. My personal aspirations aside, Sam and Artie were again silent till after the credits rolled.

"...What now?" Sam asked, turning over to Artie, "HSM 2?"

Artie took a deep breath, and rolled over, looking Sam in the eye, "Sure, but..."

Sam was interested, "But, what?"

Artie looked past Sam, at his poster of Back to the Future handed down to him from his mom. Geekiness is hereditary, it seems*, "Maybe we could, like... cuddle, or something while we watch it."

*No shade to my geeks out there. You guys helped make fandom what it is today.

Sam felt his face grow hot. His two favorite things, movies and Artie. He kicked his ankle to make sure he was awake (he was,) "Uh... Sure?"

"You don't sound sure," Artie, who was still 78% sure Sam was straight, didn't want to force Sam into anything, "It's alright to say no."

Sam was silent for a second, "I think I want to, but I... don't really know how. Especially not with another guy."

"There's no right way to cuddle," Artie said, smiling at Sam. Sam wished Artie knew how much his smile made him feel, "It should just be... comfortable. And nice."

Sam smiled, "That should be easy with you."

Sam studied Artie's reaction. His face didn't change, but he rubbed Sam's arm a little bit. Sam's heart fluttered from the touch.

"Okay, so... we cuddling?" Artie asked.

Sam got up, "Yeah. I've gotta start the movie first, though."

Artie's movie shelf was pretty low to the ground, so Sam had to bend over to reach it. Artie, in a friendly fashion, hollered and said, "Take your shirt off!"

Sam, after picking up the case, played along and asked, "Really? That's what you want?"

"Hell yeah!"

Sam pulled off his shirt. He tossed his shirt Artie, who pretended to faint when it landed on him. The boys laughed, and Sam turned back around to put the disc in. After fiddling around and managing to start the move, he turned to find Artie staring at him.

"Artie..." Sam noticed how Artie was looking at him. It was like he was a little kid looking at a toy they couldn't buy.

Artie looked away, "Sorry, Sam."

"No, don't be. It's- Well, I kind of like you staring at me."

Artie smiled, but still kept his eyes off Sam, "Really?"

"Yeah, kinda," Sam scratched his neck,  "Let's... cuddle now, if that's cool."

Artie finally looked at Sam, nodding happily. Sam made his way back onto the bed, laying on his back. As the ever iconic opening number* of HSM2 played, Artie found a place in Sam's arms, their faces close enough to hear each other breathe.

* What time is it? Wildcats! ...Wait, that's not right.

At some point between Fabulous and Work This Out, Artie turned his head to look at Sam. Sam turned after to see what he was looking at.

"We should just..." Artie was terrified. If his legs worked, they'd be twitching like a streamer, "Kiss."

Sam turned a little red, "K-kiss? Like, me and you?"

"Yeah... I just thought you might want to, and... I know I want to-"

Sam, once he was sure Artie wanted him back, kissed him. It was a long kiss, but a soft and sweet one. A feeling like a warm, long overdue blanket washed over them both. It was indescribable.

When they pulled apart, with amazment in his eyes, Artie whispered, "Wow..."

Sam was about to respond, but a yawn caught his tongue. Sam was experiencing 'sleep kickback',* "I think it's happening again."

*Sleep Kickback: Noun; An experience of exhaustion after waking up, often causing a 'second sleep.' Commonly experienced between the hours of 1 AM to 6 AM.

Artie looked curiously at Sam,"What?"

"The sleep," Sam laid his head dramatically back and closed his eyes.

Artie leaned in and kissed Sam on the neck. Nuzzling there, Artie said, "Goodnight."

Sam grinned, wrapping his arms round Artie. He got close to his ear and whispered, "Goodnight, Artie. You have my heartie."

Artie kissed him again, gearing up for winding down. He rested his hand on Sam's bare chest, savoring the feel of Sam's abs. In spite of the dad joke, Artie had never felt closer to anyone.