#so PLEASE stop automatically dismissing interruptions as 'rude'

[minniepetals]

Rose & Thorns: 10

— summary: a lone rose, a little broken, until Jungkook came along and the two of you saved each other. and in doing so, Jungkook showed you a world where he shared with his six other mates.

— pairing: dragon!bts x reader

— genre: angst / slight fluff / poly!au / fantasy!au / dragon!au

— word count: 8.0k

— warnings: none

╰ part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10

You stood in the hall of the castle on the left of Namjoon while Hoseok stood on his right, faces grim and serious as you could feel all eyes on you with the intriguing fact that a Keeper was in their clan, a Keeper the clans haven’t had since hundreds of years ago. None of them were alive to live through the years when the first Keeper had been chosen so to know that another Keeper was made was quite fascinating to them, you were sure.

But you could also tell that some dragons still doubted your loyalty, knowing fully well how many of them did not have good histories with your kind. But you weren’t going to let them faze you. Namjoon often reminded you to look confident no matter how much they may scare you. After all, looking small and vulnerable in front of the dragons would only give them more doubt and you knew you had to gain their trust and show them that you were capable of being a Keeper more than anything.

As the steps of the leader of the Southern Clan began to echo into the room and the whispering voices died down, Namjoon took his respective bow with you and Hoseok automatically following along, heads lowered in respect as you stared at the floor below you.

It was nerve wracking being in a room full of dragons you had never seen before but you knew you had to remain strong.

“Prince Namjoon.” Surprisingly the voice was light and friendly as the prince spoke your leader’s name. He rose upon the call of his name with you and Hoseok following and could see the kind smile prince Daesung was giving him. “Welcome to our Clan.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon gave him a short nod before his gaze fell to Hoseok.

“Prince Hoseok.”

“Your highness.”

“And,” he turned his head your way and the moment his eyes met yours, you could see the way his eyes widened a little, falling silent at the sight of you with a delicate hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Oh my,” he whispered in a small gasp, blinking one moment before breaking into a bright smile that practically lit up the entire room and the next thing you knew he had rushed in front of you with his hands grabbing ahold of yours, squeezing it tight. “You didn’t tell me she was so adorable!” The prince squealed with delight, surprising you with a sudden embrace that caught you off guard and your eyes were quick to dart to your dragons with a flustered expression plastered onto your face.

The way their eyes darkened slightly almost brought shivers down your spine.

“Human girls are the cutest thing ever! I can’t believe I’m finally meeting one in real life!! Tell me!” He backed away just enough to face you again as you could feel yourself blushing at how close he was. “Keeper of the Dragons, what is your name, dear one?”

“U-uh,” you stuttered, feeling slightly uncomfortable by the close proximity but knowing not to be rude in his presence, “Y..Y/N.”

You thought his eyes had lit up even more. “What a pretty name! You’re so—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Hoseok quickly stepped in to grab you by the shoulder and pulled you back to his arms with a displeased look on his face. “Prince Daesung. Whether she is a human or not, you must remember that our Keeper is still a lady.”

“Oh my.” Totally ignoring Hoseok’s warnings, prince Daesung could only wiggle more with excitement as his eyes returned to you again. “I know jealousy when I see it and I must say, to woo the seven princes of the East Clan is quite a bold move of yours, precious Y/N.”

“Huh?” You began to panic as your hands came up to wave with denial. “No, I-I didn’t—”

“Not that I’m saying it’s a bad thing. I would do the same if I had the pretty looks you do. How’d they find such an adorable face such as yourself? Or did you find them first? I’m sure these possessive dragons stole you away to make you fall in love with them, didn’t they?”

“W-wait! They didn’t—”

“Prince Daesung, stop teasing the little one already.” Namjoon let out a tired sigh.

“I can’t help it!” The prince chortled with a sly grin. “She’s even more pretty when she blushes so easily like that.”

You could see his followers looking away or hanging their heads in shame at their prince’s words and you realized that you were totally baited by the South Clan’s leader, making you even more embarrassed than before.

As if reading your thoughts, Hoseok gave you a squeeze. “Don’t worry. Prince Daesung likes to spew nonsense so don’t take him too seriously.”

Offended, prince Daesung gave out a dramatic gasp. “Rude!”

“Forgive me for the impolite behavior of my dear brother.” You turned at the sound of the voice that was laced with poised to find a young lady a few feet taller than you. She had her head bowed with a hand rested against her heart, showing both grace and a dignified manner and you could tell almost immediately who she was after learning a few things about the South Clan. “Are you alright, milady?” Princess Soyeon asked with a slight concern as she addressed you.

“Yes, your highness,” you told her with a small smile, a bit taken back by how different the two siblings were.

She returned the smile with her own before turning to her brother with a displeased glare. “Not only is Y/N a lady but she is also the sole Keeper of the Dragons. You cannot disrespect the lady like that.”

Her scolding made prince Daesung look away with a pout. “You cannot expect me to ignore the cute.”

“Would you like to feel the wrath of our neighboring princes as well?”

Though the prince did not respond to that as he refused to meet his sister’s glare, you cocked your head slightly to the side with confusion upon her words. “Wrath?”

Princess Soyeon looked back at you with softer eyes and a faint smile as she eyed your two princes. “Us dragons are very possessive creatures. If anyone tries to touch our treasures, it may turn into conflicts. They may not look like it but I am sure prince Namjoon and prince Hoseok weren’t exactly fond of my brother touching you.”

You looked over your shoulder at the two of them who stood tall behind you and found Namjoon meeting your eyes with a slight raise to his brow almost as if confirming the assumption of the princess, making your cheeks warm up again.

“Again, please forgive my brother. I will make sure he does not do anything to offend you again.”

“Ah, it…” you shook your head with a smile, “it’s alright.”

“Now then,” with a sudden clap echoing into the large room, prince Daesung began to dismiss the members of his clan. “You’ve gotten a good look at our dear Keeper and see that she is a beautiful lady and anyone beautiful is worth trusting so—”

“Our relationship with the Eastern Clan is clear enough to show that we have no reason to mistrust them,” princess Soyeon stated in a loud, clear voice as she totally ignored the voice of her brother who responded with a glare of his own. But even though she had interrupted him, he let her go on to address the crowd. “We all know that the only way a human can become a Keeper is through the will of our own ancestors and we know never to question their decisions. If they have chosen Y/N as the new Keeper of the Dragons then that is the decision that we must accept. If anyone has any problem with that, know that you will be going against our own ancestors.”

Her voice, so poised and filled with charisma, was enough to let her warriors know that she wasn’t going to tolerate anyone that would go against having you as their Keeper and for that, you felt so thankful to the princess.

Once the room finally cleared away and all that was left were the five of you along with a few trusted warriors of the Southern Clan, you knew it was all business now.

“Your highnesses,” Namjoon began and it was enough to let the princess understand what he wanted to discuss.

She turned to follow her brother as she spoke and the rest of you followed along to their steps. “I am sure you must be wanting to discuss the agreement between the three clans upon accepting the Keeper.”

“That’s correct,” he gave a firm nod.

You walked beside Hoseok, silently listening in as your nerves began to reappear once again. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy even if the South Clan seemed friendly but you hoped things would work out well in the end.

“The other clans may not be as lenient but we do not plan on using Y/N for all of the wars that will be fought in the future,” she was quick to assure. “Whether she is a Keeper or not, we will not lay so low as to use someone outside of our clan as a tool in order to fight our wars.”

“Besides,” chiming in, you met the eyes of the prince as he looked over his shoulder for a brief moment and sent you a smirk, “who would want to send a beautiful lady into the battlegrounds?” He turned back again, sounding a little more exasperated this time. “However, we all know prince Hyungwoo and prince Seojoon aren’t going to be as kind as us.”

As the door to a room opened up, you all walked into their meeting hall and immediately took your seats in order to continue discussing.

“The princes of the North and West know not to reject a Keeper but you must be prepared for what challenges they will have you facing.”

You tilted your head slightly to the side at princess Soyeon. “Challenges?”

“To see how powerful you can be.”

“They won’t do anything unethical now will they?” Hoseok frowned.

“If they realize the little one has joined your little circle of lovers then perhaps they will take not offending you more into account,” prince Daesung opined with a light shrug. “But the two of them are quite unpredictable, especially prince Hyungwoo of the North, so it’s best to keep your guard up. Prince Seojoon is rational but it’s hard to please that man.” He propped his elbow upon the grand table, resting his chin onto his hand as he looked at you with sympathetic eyes. “Be careful, dear Y/N, dragons can be quite prideful and if someone comes in to threaten their position in this little game of ours, it can get a little nasty.”

You could feel a shiver running down your spine but it fell away too soon as you felt Hoseok’s hand suddenly holding yours. When you turned your head towards him, he graced you with a kind smile. “There’s no need to be afraid, we’ll be right there with you,” he whispered softly, allowing your heart to relax again.

“Major wars do not occur very often,” princess Soyeon added truthfully, “and if they do, we often deal with it on our own with our own dragons. But if there is ever an emergency that forces us to seek help, I hope that you will allow us to call for you.”

“Of course,” you gave her a firm nod with a determined gaze. “I will be prepared for the day I am asked to help fight the wars.”

She returned the nod just as firmly before letting herself relax just for a moment to spare you a small smile. “Thank you, Keeper, and thank you princes of the East for finding her.”

It was their unquestioned trust in you that made you believe in yourself more.

.

.

“What are you thinking about?”

The prince had allowed your stay in the South as the sun was already beginning to set by the time the meeting was over and as you sat on the grand bed prepared for you and your princes, Namjoon took a seat beside you after changing into proper sleepwear, wondering why you looked so distant all on your own.

You didn’t want to bother them with your concerns so you shook your head lightly with a faint smile thrown his way to try and ease the tension that hadn’t faded from the moment the three of you left the Eastern mountains.

“Right now it feels just right to take up prince Daesung’s offer to stay here a while longer and postpone our travel plans for the West and North, doesn’t it? I know you’re anxious,” Hoseok said with a wry smile as he went on to sit beside you on your other side.

“But,” Namjoon took ahold of your hand and placed it on top of his palm where it rested upon his lap, and began to rub small circles on the back of your hand as a way of comfort, “I know you miss the others and cannot wait to go home.”

How was it that they knew you so well? You could still recall those moments when they couldn’t trust a word you said and had treated you poorly but looking at them at this moment, you could find nothing but love in their eyes and that alone warmed your cold, anxious heart.

“It hasn’t even been a day,” you lamented as your eyes cast down to the gentle hands that were still caressing yours. “I miss them so much.”

“You’re right,” Hoseok said in a soft manner as he thought back to that morning the three of you took your leave and placed an arm over your shoulders with a small squeeze. “It isn’t often we go our separate ways outside of our lands.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Namjoon said, nodding. “There are some of us who haven't even seen the world outside our own lands despite being princes.”

Your eyes widened a bit at the revelation. “No way. Who?”

“Jimin and Taehyung.”

“Why is that?”

“Jimin looks after our prisoners, as you know, so it really doesn’t matter much to him because he’s sadly almost always in the dungeons. As for Taehyung, the younger one has to look after the little ones so he doesn’t get out much either,” explained Hoseok. It made sense, you should have known of those facts before they even told you but it still made it sad to be able to hear of the two of them being stuck in the clan everyday.

“So what are the occasions when traveling outside our lands?” You asked them.

Namjoon gave you a small grin. “Well for one, meetings like these. But I have meetings with the clan leaders every full moon. Usually Yoongi will accompany me on those nights. That’s why some days we go missing and are nowhere to be found inside the clan. Seokjin travels if he needs to find special herbs or wishes to learn more about plants and remedies that don't exist on our lands.”

“Those are what he calls his errands,” Hoseok said almost in a whisper as he sent you a wink, causing your mouth to form into a little circle at the epiphany.

“That’s why he takes so long and sometimes comes back so late? I would have loved to accompany him on those journeys.”

They both shared a chuckle.

“You’ve had some bad encounters when leaving the clan, I’m sure hyung only left you out for your sake,” Hoseok explained gently as he stroked your hair before proceeding on. “Jungkook and I sometimes have to do secret patrols that take place outside our lands. Only a very few of us know of that though. They’re sort of like secret investigations to get information on whether a smaller clan will be wanting to rise against us or not in order to prepare for or avoid any future wars.”

“But as you can see, we’ve managed to avoid war for a long time now.”

“Though it doesn’t guarantee the fact that we won’t be going to war again at all.”

As you stared down at your lap, the distressed look on your face made the mood drop as your two princes shared a look of understanding, knowing exactly what you are worried about.

Namjoon lightly squeezed the hand that he held onto as he began to speak again. “I know I cannot promise you that there will be no wars in the future and that even if there is a war that does not concern our clan, you may be called in to be involved as Keeper, but I can promise you that you will never be alone.”

You looked up at him with sad eyes just thinking about the wars that you all would have to face in order to protect your own people.

But Namjoon did not back away from your fear and held onto a gentle smile. “Perhaps it may not be enough to just tell you that you will not be alone but I speak for all of the dragons in our clan when I say this, Y/N. Whether it is a war fought for our own lands or a war you will be called into as Keeper for the other clans, our dragons will be right behind you guarding you at all sides. As a follower, as a friend, as a lover, and as dragons of the Eastern Clan. We are here for you.”

Upon those words that were given unto you, you knew that you could trust them with your life just as you trusted the two of them. It had been a long journey from the moment you and Jungkook escaped your old village and flew into their clan. Many things happened but as time changed, so did their hearts. You were a trusted keeper now, a human your clan believed in without a doubt so it was your turn to put your faith in them.

The journey beyond was still long but you knew you’d be alright as long as they were by your side.

“I love you,” you confessed and their eyes softened.

You were held in between the two of them, huddled so close, making you feel safe and sound and that alone allowed you to believe that everything would be alright.

.

.

“Greetings to the prince of the Western Clan.”

The air felt thicker, more tense than it was during that moment where you stood tall in front of the Southern Clan. The Western Clan was not as friendly looking as the Southern Clan but you knew that they valued law and order so although a part of you was filled with anxiety standing before the prince, you also understood that prince Seojoon wasn’t going to be someone who would judge someone that easily just because of their descendants.

“Greetings to the princes of the Eastern Clan,” he returned the formal bow, face as expressionless and as stoic as you’d been warned about. When he turned to look your way, you couldn’t tell what was on his mind. All you knew was that what he saw before him was a simple human girl claiming to be the Keeper of the Dragons.

What did he think of you? Perhaps in his eyes you looked like a frail, weak, human girl who should have never associated herself with the dragons.

It was hard being tested back in the Eastern Clan itself when you first arrived. Many of the dragons hated you at the time but you never let it get to you and tried your best to do what your heart had told you to do. Whether the dragons would accept you or not, you just had to continue doing the job you were meant to do with a golden heart.

If you show weakness, if you let their words and judgement hurt you, you would only look like someone who was not worthy of the Keeper title and that was something you knew you absolutely could not do. You couldn’t taint the reputation of the Eastern Clan, you couldn’t let the other clans shame them. If Namjoon gave you that title because he believed in you and the dragon ancestors accepted you then you had to live up to all of their expectations no matter how unclear the journey before you may lie.

When you greeted the eyes of prince Seojoon whose face revealed no sign of anything, a part of you was still afraid. But you kept your head held up high and perhaps because of that strong facade, his expression did not harden when he met your eyes.

“Keeper.” His voice was rather normal. No tone of disgust, no amount of hatred bleeding through the tip of his tongue. He greeted you as if you were an equal with a short bow and a small nod of acknowledgement.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be seen as something special but you knew and many of the dragons knew that that itself meant that prince Seojoon wasn’t going to reject you as the Keeper.

“Seojoon.” At the call of his name falling out of Namjoon’s lips, the Western prince returned his focus back on the leader of the Eastern Clan.

For a moment all was quiet and tense as the two of them stared at one another as if sending telepathic messages to each other with looks alone. You stood there beside Hoseok, waiting for one of them to break the long silence but it seemed as if none of the two were willing to do so.

You didn’t know much about the history between the two princes nor understood much of what their relationship was but what you did know was that between the two leaders of the Eastern and Western Clan, though they may have once fought from time to time long before Jungkook was captured by your former village, the two of them had this silent mutual respect for one another.

And perhaps that was one of the reasons why prince Seojoon was willing to be the one to break first.

“I was surprised when I received your letter, Namjoon,” he began without so much of a blink in his eyes. “Out of all the crown princes who have taken their positions on the thrones, I never thought you out of the four of us would choose to trust a human and grant them the title of a Keeper. In fact, I always believed you to be the last one to ever be willing.”

Standing tall and proud with no sign of remorse, Namjoon spoke with the same resolve. “It is true that my actions were indeed unexpected but my decisions were not made solely on feelings alone.”

“You are not one to easily trust a human,” the Western prince acknowledged, “so I will trust in the decision you have made. The ancestors have, as it seems, deemed her worthy of the position. However, that does not mean I will blindly put my faith in someone I do not know. Until the Keeper can prove her worth, I will be on the neutral side on neither accepting nor refusing the new Eastern Clan member.”

Prove your worth.

He wanted you to prove your worth as a Keeper in order to accept you as someone needed in the dragan clans. You weren’t sure how to do that, you weren’t even sure how you were going to be someone of good help to the four major clans. Namjoon believed in you and so did the other six, but at the moment their support did not mean much until you could find the strength within yourself to accept the role.

Prince Seojoon was right, you had to prove your worth. But not just for the clans but for your own self as well.

The past years have always treated you horribly, a human woman who had no place anywhere with no purpose in life. Now that you were given such a high honor and set at the center of the dragons, the new profound responsibilities could only make you feel as if you were just another outcast again.

No.

Your princes believed in you and they’d go through any lengths to make sure you were safe and protected. They gave you a place in their clan, cared for you, and made sure everything was alright. It was time to stop hiding in their shadows and prove that you were indeed worthy of such an honorable title and be the one to protect instead.

You were a Keeper now. There was no time to dwindle and convince yourself otherwise.

Seeing the resolve in your eyes rather than shrinking in fear and hiding behind the princes of the Eastern Clan, prince Seojoon was a bit taken back by your strong gaze.

But...it wasn’t a look that he did not exactly hate.

Not bad, he thought, and hid the small look of approval behind his cold exterior.

.

.

“Your highness.”

Prince Seojoon stopped walking and turned slowly to find the Keeper who had not spoken even once during his audience with the Eastern Clan’s arrival. You bowed before him in a formal and elegant way, a voice too gentle and soft for a supposed warrior who would eventually have to be used in upcoming battles with the dragons, but he allowed himself not to judge someone based on the exteriors alone.

“What is it, Keeper?”

At least he was calling you by your title, you thought, and let out a hidden sigh before facing the prince with a dignified stance.

“I understand that the relationship between humans and dragons is not a strong one, but I also do not conceive of you as one who would wrongfully judge others based on the fact that I am human alone.”

“You do not, huh?” He replied with the same seriousness as you have written on your face.

“Forgive me if I am overstepping my boundaries but prince Namjoon himself has told me that you are one who sees the person before him as what they are as you see before your eyes. Neither past, race, gender, nor what they were born as will sway your mind into thinking otherwise.”

“And what are you to do with that information?”

You held your head high and met his eyes without falter, keeping in mind the words Namjoon had warned you about with how prince Seojoon did not like it when one spoke about proving oneself while cowering before his eyes. “If me proving my worth to the dragons is all that you want from me, then I will do all that I can to become a warrior that is worthy to everyone. I hope that someday you can faithfully put your trust in me as Keeper of the Dragons.”

Prince Seojoon took a moment to reply, the silence between the two of you lingering while you refused to back down upon his hard gaze otherwise he would never take your words seriously.

After a short while, he finally gave you a firm nod. “I trust that you will keep your words.”

“Yes, your highness.”

With that, the prince watched you walk away while he stood there, beginning to understand just a little bit of why the princes of the East have decided to keep you by their sides.

A brave soul, kind and gentle, but unaware of the power you held as a Keeper. One day you’d find your strength and courage walking into future wars that would call for you.

Like a rose who had yet to make use of her thorns.

.

.

“What are you worried about, hm? I’m pretty sure you just passed his test.”

“Test?” Your head was quick to perk up upon Namjoon’s words though those eyes of yours were still filled with an unspoken anxiety that kept weighing down your shoulders. “What are you talking about, Namjoon?”

“Seojoon isn’t as cruel as he portrays, he’s just a bit strict and serious when it comes to the future of the dragons.”

“You would know, you’re just like him,” Hoseok commented as a side remark, causing the leader to roll his eyes while you let out a small chuckle.

Hearing that, Namjoon’s brows furrowed as he sent you a pout. “You agree?”

There he was, a prince who was always seen as a strict leader to all, showing you a cute pout. “Well you were quite hard on me when I first walked into the clan,” you reminded the prince, causing him to let out a dry laugh.

“Right,” he cringed, not entirely liking the images of those memories walking into his head. Those days weren’t the greatest and they regretted it more than you could ever imagine but telling you those thoughts would only bring more weight on your shoulders and that was something they absolutely couldn’t do. So rather than dwelling on the negative thoughts, he approached the subject with a light tone. “If someone like me can be swayed into trusting a human once again, then Seojoon would have no problem following my footsteps.”

“Mhm,” agreed Hoseok, “Prince Seojoon is rational when it comes to judging people.”

“All you have to do is be yourself. He likes authenticity more than anything so you have no problem there.”

“I’m just,” you let out a soft sigh as you went on to hug yourself, head falling to the floor, eyes dropping with worry, “how do I prove my worth when I can’t even master my abilities as a Keeper yet?”

You felt arms wrapping themselves around you in a gentle manner, holding you close to his chest, and a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head. “Wielding ones’ power takes time and patience but I know this, and Hoseok and the other five back at home know this.” He looked down into your eyes with a strong gaze of confidence and encouragement, meeting those anxious ones headstrong. “You can do it, Y/N. If you can turn your back on the village that was supposed to be your past, present, and future but failed you, if you can turn a blind eye on myths and legends about hideous monsters like us, if you can lend your strength towards the one that was meant to be your prisoner, rescue him, and still stay in a clan full of dragons that openly showed their distaste in you. If you can be framed for someone else’s wrongdoing, get locked up in the dungeons for months, then survive a fall off a high cliff with someone who didn’t even appreciate you and injuries all over your body...My love, you can do absolutely anything.”

“I mean look at yourself, pretty girl.” Taking your hand to pull you away from Namjoon, Hoseok held your hand in the air to twirl you around right there in the middle of the guest room. “Beautiful hands,” he pressed a kiss to back of your hand, “beautiful hair,” taking a few strands of your hair, he pressed a kiss to them, “beautiful forehead,” kisses to your forehead, “beautiful brows,” to your brows, “beautiful eyes,” two upon each eye, “beautiful nose,” to the tip of your nose, “beautiful lips,” he grinned at the sight of your cheeks blushing red and delivered a chaste kiss to them. “And a beautiful heart.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in close and pressed a kiss to the right of your chest before simply resting his chin atop your shoulder.

“On top of that you’re so strong,” Namjoon stated and held you from behind, his chin resting on your opposite shoulder with you wrapped in between their arms. “If there is anyone I can trust with the title of a Keeper, it’s you. Because that is your worth. You’re beautiful and kind and so, so strong.”

“We believe in you more than anything, little one. If you can do all those things and still keep your head up and face everything with a strong mind, you are worth more than anyone as the Keeper of the Dragons.”

“You’re going to be alright. You’re going to fail from time to time but you’ll keep at it without giving up hope because that’s what you’re best at doing. When everyone else has given up hope, you’re right there to smile through the rocky road and continue on without complaint.”

“And through it all, you won’t be alone.” With a kiss on your right cheek and a kiss to your left cheek, they whispered a promise that they’d never break. “We’ll be right here next to you.”

“So rely on us too, okay?” Namjoon said as he pressed another kiss to your temple. “We’re right here for you.”

.

.

“Welcome, princes of the Eastern Clan, and,” you could feel the Northern Prince’s eyes on you though you didn’t dare to look up unless he had given you permission to do so. With a light tone that hid a certain secret you couldn’t quite put a finger on, the prince greeted you. “Keeper of the Dragons, it is an honor to finally meet you.”

“The honor is mine, your highness,” you returned the formal words with a head still lowered before him.

“Now, now, we don’t have to act too formal with one another,” prince Hyungwoo spoke in an easygoing tone as he gave a small clap. “We are comrades who are inevitably meant to fight alongside each other, aren’t we?” He held a hand before you and when you looked up to meet the gaze of the Northern Prince, you could see the lopsided grin he had greeted you with, a feeling not going too well with you but how could you show rudeness to a prince of the four?

From your peripheral vision, you could see Namjoon and Hoseok who watched with the same caution and wariness but even they couldn’t do much being as you were in the territory of the Northern Clan. A cold, hard place in the snowy mountains.

Possessive or not, it was common courtesy.

So you let your hand fall into the prince’s palm. “Yes, your highness,” you said and with a satisfied twinkle in his eyes, he gave you a kiss atop the back of your hand.

“Your beauty is one that can defeat the enemies itself, Keeper. Tell me, what is your name?”

“My name is Y/N, your highness.”

“Y/N,” he repeated the name slowly along his tongue, waiting for a moment before letting your hand go and looking up to you with a small smirk curled along the corner of his lips, “can you wield a blade?”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“The dragons of the Eastern Clan are one of the best warriors who control both the skies and the land, notorious for being an undefeated clan who refuses to lose to even the smallest wars. Now that they’ve gained a Keeper in their possession, they only grow stronger.” The prince gave one small look towards Namjoon and Hoseok before resting his gaze on you again. “But the Keeper does not only belong to the Eastern Clan, now does she? So tell me, dear Y/N, in a world where dragons are fighting for power just as any human kingdom would, what skills do you have to offer us protection and victory in a battlefield that may cost the lives of many?”

You knew what he was trying to say, that the position you were given and the wars that were to come was not a child’s play. It was all serious business where each one of you would walk into the battlegrounds not knowing who would live and who would survive. Being a Keeper did not guarantee safety nor victory of the wars. It meant protecting the dragons and bringing them back home alive.

“Prince Hyungwoo, the Keeper was only made recently,” Hoseok tried to save you but the Northern prince wasn’t having it.

“All the more reasons to get her ready for such dangerous events. You can’t tell me you aren’t worried just because you have a Keeper by your side now, can you?” He asked, raising a brow at the two Eastern princes. “No. It is because she is the Keeper that makes you worried more than anything. Am I wrong?” Upon the silent response that he received, the prince went on. “I won’t go against the words of our ancestors, they have accepted our dear Y/N after all, but she wouldn’t be useful if we don’t put her to good use.”

A tool.

You could tell that was all the prince of the Northern Clan thought of you as. And not just him but many other dragons who did not know of you as Y/N but as the Keeper of the dragons. You were going to be made a pawn in their wars.

“Since it seems as if the Keeper does not have any particular skills just yet, why don’t we test a theory out?” He snapped his finger, looking right back at you and bringing shivers down your spine as you knew something good wasn’t going to come out of his mouth. “They say the Keeper is at their strongest when placed in a very emotional state of mind.”

“What are you trying to say?” The anger rising in Namjoon flashed in his eyes as he watched prince Hyungwoo but the prince chose to simply ignore his concerns, eyes holding yours with a sly grin.

“What causes your ire, dear Y/N?” He asked you so casually as if speaking about the weather. “What makes you so livid and upset that you can’t seem to control your own emotions? Think of something very unpleasant.” He inched forward your way, dangerous eyes staring straight into your soul. “Is it when a man you barely know of touches you and makes you uncomfortable?” He grabbed ahold of your wrist, a touch different from when he held your hand for a greeting.

You winced slightly, biting back your tongue in order to hide how uncomfortable you were as the images of Jinyoung flashed before you.

“Prince Hyungwoo,” Hoseok growled a low warning as both of your princes stepped up behind you.

But he didn’t let go. “Hmm, you don’t look like someone who would get angry for the sake of yourself. You look like you would explode if something were to happen to the ones you cared most about.”

You couldn’t hear a single thing he was saying with the tight grip on your wrist. The only thing you could see was Jinyoung, the man who only looked at you when you were finally made useful because you managed to tame a dragon. The love he claimed he had for you wasn’t love. He just wanted to use you, having no other reason behind his infatuation for you.

Just like your former village.

You were just a tool for them as you would become one for the dragons.

“Let her go,” Namjoon demanded in a low snarl as he placed a tight grip on Prince Hyunwoo’s shoulder. Only then did the prince realize the state you were in and released his hold on you.

You couldn’t meet his gaze any longer but you held your head up, lips pressed into a thin line as the expression on your face refused to give into the fear your mind wanted you to walk into.

Hoseok wrapped a hand around your shoulder and took a step back so that he could create more distance between you and the prince.

Even then you didn’t feel good.

In a Clan where strangers stared at you as if you didn’t belong, in a Clan that only hoped to use you as a tool, you were reminded once again of your place in the world.

Jinyoung, your former village, and the dragons.

The whole world was really against you, weren’t they? Because when you think you’ve finally found happiness, it tries to take that away from you.

.

.

Hoseok stood there beside the open door that led into the guest room where the three of you would reside while Namjoon held a meeting with prince Hyungwoo, and watched with a silent gaze as you sat on a chair, eyes staring at your hands with thoughts running all over your mind.

Despite how brave you were in front of prince Hyungwoo, behind that font he knew how anxious and afraid you were. He could see it from where he stood now, watching you sit there all alone, finally letting your guard down but with a mind filled with anxious thoughts.

You were a brave soul, the sweetest kind he had ever met, and seeing such an expression on your face made him want to make it all alright again.

So he stepped into the room, closing the door slowly behind him to not make any abrupt noises which would startle you and walked towards your way.

Sliding a hand upon your shoulder, he felt you jumping slightly at the sudden touch.

“Sorry, I scared you, didn’t I?” Hoseok first apologized with a rueful smile. The last thing he wanted was to make you even more anxious.

But the way your expression softened at just the sight of him and how you breathed out the slightest relief of “Hoseok” made him at ease again. He made his way around to kneel before you and took your hands to caress them both with a gentle smile to help ease your own worries that kept circling your thoughts. Your eyes followed him silently, comforted at just his presence alone.

“Roses are really beautiful, you know that?”

The hairs of your brows creased in between as you met his gaze. “Hoseok?”

Yet he continued. “They bloom in the most magnificent ways, fluttering their petals open, blushing in the most prettiest shades of red. However, although they are known to be one of the most beautiful flowers, a rose doesn’t just offer itself as a pretty flower. It has its thorns to protect it from harm. Some thorns may be harmless, while some are really sharp and more dangerous than others. It’s like a pretty little thing such as yourself building bushes out of bushes made of thorns to keep yourself from harming others and others harming you. The rose likes to stand there, far from others, and smiling prettily as if everything is alright, while inside it’s slowly wilting away and just wants a hand that would willingly give it sunlight and water without fearing her thorns.”

Now I’m not saying that the thorns are always a bad thing. They can be good when facing harmful creatures that wish to simply pluck it and steal it for themselves, eventually hurting the little rose because they wouldn’t know how to care for it. But there are times when the wall of thorns can fall out of control. There are times when those thorns can harm the little rose. But do you know what’s so fascinating about these thorns? They only exist because the rose allows them to. Some thorns can get out of control, but once it’s tamed and nurtured and the rose can face it each day until it no longer fears those thorns, they can become one of the most powerful allies the rose can use.”

What I’m saying is,” Hoseok held your hands tighter against his own, giving it a gentle squeeze while never taking his eyes off you, “these little thoughts of yours can become your greatest ally or your worst enemy. It is all up to how you wish to face them. The world can be really scary, and I know that because I was one of those scary things that you had to face to get to where you are now. But just as your world can shift with just one sincere heart, you can do that all over again. Sincerity was what got us to see your blooming petals and soon all dragons that exist will see that too. Though,” he narrowed his eyes, “you have to be careful otherwise they’ll try to steal you away.”

“As if that would ever happen,” you told him with a shake of your head and a bitter smile.

“What do you mean?” He asked as he gave you a light squeeze. “You’re beautiful, Y/N, anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“I know what you mean, Hoseok, but I…” You looked away, eyes shaking as you could feel the tears coming. “I don’t want to be seen as just...that. I don’t want to be seen as just Y/N, Keeper of the Dragons, as a human, as a human girl who managed to become an important figure to the dragons and is now...and is now someone who can be used to win battles.” You took your hand from Hoseok to hold your face, hiding the tears that fell from your eyes the more your voice shook. “I know it’s selfish of me but I don’t want to be used as a tool. I don’t want to be seen as someone who’s far greater or far lesser than everyone else. I want to be seen as an equal, as an ally. I don’t want to be a weapon. I’m so scared, Hoseok.”

The sight of your tears, the soft cries and soft whimpers that left your lips made Hoseok’s heart ache when you finally decided to break down and tell him the things that had been going on inside your head.

Back then when you were in front of prince Hyungwoo, the way he held your wrist probably reminded you of how cruel and forceful Jinyoung had been towards you. Though he himself hadn’t ever witnessed the cruelty from both Jinyoung and the village you grew up in, he was sure the memories only served you as a horrible reminder of what you were to those people.

Hoseok wrapped his arms around you and in just a split second, your cries grew louder as you leaned against him, eventually getting too weak to hold yourself up on your own so you fell into his arms and the two of you sat there on the carpet floor.

“It isn’t selfish to want something for yourself, Y/N,” he said in such a soft tone as he held you close and tight. “Just because you are the Keeper does not mean you have to belong to everyone. You belong to your own self. Not me, not the Eastern Clan, not the dragons. You belong to you and no one should feel as if they can use you for their own benefits.”

“But…”

“You have a duty to hold as a Keeper, yes,” Hoseok nods, cutting you off gently, “but just because the Keeper’s job is to protect everyone, it does not mean that you are to be used as a tool. My love, I know the world hasn’t been fair to you but you have us now. You're not alone. Whatever you wish to do, we’re with you. Me, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. If it seems as if the world is not on your side, know that we are. I believe in you, Y/N. It’s okay to be afraid and it’s okay to lean on others when things aren’t going the way you hope for it to go. No matter what, you are you, and no one can take that away from you.”

“Hoseok..” You called his name.

“What is it?” Hoseok gently asked.

“I want to go home.”

The raw broken tone in your voice made his heart ache and although there were still a few days to go and the sun had yet to set, how could Hoseok ever say no when you’ve finally voiced out a selfish wish for the first time?

“Okay.” So he said, giving you a nod and a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “We’ll go home.”

#bts polyamory #bts poly #bts poly au #bts ot7 x reader #bts polyamorous #bts poly!au #bts x reader #poly!bts #poly!bts x reader #bts poly relationship #bts fantasy au #bts dragon au #bts dragon!au #dragon!bts #dragon!bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts series #bts scenario #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

[spooky-z]

SOULMATE AU:: First Swap

Look who's back... That's right! Soulmate AU.

I intend to make a shortfic with five chapters, after finishing posting Bombshell (which already has the first of three chapters posted HERE)

Here they are 7 and their behavior may seem strange, but... Damian. So, yeah.

Soulmate AU:: 1 and 2.

1.4K

Maribat by @ozmav

Marinette was... irritated, so to speak, with Mlle. Bustier.

The woman had once again invalidated her feelings for Chloe. Chloe, who was being particularly mean to her, because she was jealous that Marinette had a soulmate, but she didn't.

Chloe had - as always - thrown a tantrum because Marinette had achieved a better grade than she in the test and didn’t shut up for a second until that moment.

Marinette's head was throbbing with the start of a monstrous headache.

“But Mlle. Bustier!” The blonde whined. "I'm sure Dupain-Cheng cheated!" The high-pitched voice resonated through the windowpanes and hurt the students' eardrums.

"Chloe, please." Mlle. Bustier asked, frowning, probably as irritated as the rest of the students.

Chloe snorted indignantly. "Then I will tell my-"

That was when Marinette felt the comforting presence at her side. Catching the movement with a quick look before she turned around completely so she could look at him better.

The skin kissed by the sun, black hair and short. He dressed like the shinobis she saw in the action movies that papa let her watch when mama wasn't around. Sitting in the chair that was previously available, there was an air of danger around him.

But what caught her attention most were his eyes. His eyes that matched hers perfectly, and he was beautiful.

"Thank you." He replied, his cheeks turning a shy pink.

Marinette squeaked, her hands rising automatically to cover her mouth, drawing the attention of Nino and Kim sitting across from her.

"Are you okay, MDC?" Kim asked.

She shook her head frantically. "If you say..." Nino replied suspiciously.

Marinette took her hands from her mouth to smile at them and so the two turned their attention to the interrupted conversation.

She looked at him again, feeling overwhelmed by the flood of information that hit her.

The world around them changing rapidly.

"Wow." Marinette sighs.

She looked at the breathtaking landscape.

The place they were in looked like a big Asian-style mansion on top of a mountain. She could see the clouds from the floor she was on and how the sun reflected against the rocks around the building.

It was breathtaking.

"I agree with you." He says, his eyes glued to her.

A commotion attracts Marinette's attention.

Underneath where they were, she could see other people - Ghuls - in the same type of black clothes as he was, training with katanas and their face covered.

The League of Assassins. Heir. Batman. Damian.

"Oh." She turns to look at him again. An unknown feeling burning in her chest and a lump stuck in her throat.

Her eyes start to burn, a sob escaping without her permission. "I-" Tears clouded her vision, wanting to-

He- Damian, spread his arms, an intelligible expression on his face and a guilty glint in his eyes.

She didn't hesitate for a second before jumping into his arms.

Finally. Finally, she was able to touch, see, smell him, melt against the heat of his body, unite with him.

"I'm so happy." She sniffs against his neck. “I've been so worried about you! Always hurting yourself and- the pains I felt coming from you...!”

Damian tightens his arms around her.

"I'm fine, ya rouhi (my soul)." He responds smoothly.

Marinette violently denies it. "No, you're not!"

“I am- now I am. You don't have to worry anymore.” Damian whispers against her shoulder.

She smiles at the choice of words, her heart warming more and more. It was like the sky, like she was floating with clouds. She never wanted it to end.

“Mlle. Bustier, Maritrash is being scary!” Chloe's voice frightens Marinette and she moves away from Damian back to the classroom, where everyone is looking at her strangely.

Chloe wags her finger at her, tapping her foot on the floor.

"She's talking strange and smiling like a lunatic!"

Beside Marinette, Damian snorts angrily. "She's just annoying."

"I know. Most of the time I just ignore her, you know? Like a persistent fly.” The girl responds, an acid touch in the words.

Chloe gasps, knowing that Marinette was talking about her.

“Mlle. Bustier!” She whimpers.

The teacher sighs tiredly with Chloe's tantrums and the way Marinette was dealing with it. She, better than anyone, knew that it was not right to disrupt others because she was frustrated.

"Marinette, apologize to Chloe." Bustier asks. "You were rude with your words."

The girl looks at the teacher in disbelief and Chloe smiles convinced.

"But I didn't do anything!" She complains. "Chloe who's being stupid again!"

Everyone in the classroom chokes on Marinette's words. Chloe starts to cry and Bustier gets up from her seat scandalized.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng!" She slaps her hand on the table. "Apologize right now or I will be forced to call your parents at school!" Threatened.

Most of Marinette's classmates were unable to notice the change in the girl's appearance or how her posture had hardened. Not even the change in the girl's eye color was noticed.

Only Kim, Nino - who were sitting closest to her -, Sabrina who knew Marinette and Mlle. Bustier, who, despite everything, was very observant.

'Marinette' leaned back against the back of the seat, her lips pressed in a thin line, her eyes - both green, but with different hues - cold as ice and her hair had darkened to a glossy black.

"I hope that this attitude will be taken not only towards me, but with the annoying girl as well." She says.

"Annoying girl?" Chloe mutters incredulously.

"Why would I do that?" Mlle. Bustier replies. "The only person I see being rude is you."

Marinette throws her head back and laughs sarcastically before looking back at the teacher. The face as hard as stone.

"That was a good joke, mademoiselle." She stands up, arms crossed behind her. "That-" She stops as if she's hearing something. “Chloe, right. She has been distracting everyone since you started class. Making meaningless complaints or just whining and so far, I haven't seen you scold her for it.”

Mlle. Bustier swallows.

"B-But-"

“No ‘buts’!” Marinette cuts the woman. "It gets special treatment just for being the daughter of politician, is it?"

Chloe tosses her hair over her shoulders, arms crossed. “My father is the new mayor of Paris. Mayor! He rules everything, so do I!”

Marinette makes an 'hm' sound without opening her mouth, looking critically from Chloe to Bustier - who had a greenish tinge to her face -.

"It will be something to tell the parents of Dupont students, then." There is a dangerous edge to the girl's tone. "Imagine the scandal that will be when the word comes out that the mayor of Paris and his daughter, has power over the way the school is run"

Marinette smiled and went down the stairs towards Chloe.

Mlle. Bustier sighs at the sweet girl's behavior. Understanding coming to her.

"You are not Marinette." She says.

The girl smiles, an evil look in her eyes.

"Bingo!" She claps excitedly. “I thought you were more stupid. I was sincerely concerned about the school education that habibit is receiving.”

The students made protest sounds with the girl's harsh words, but the look she sent them made everyone freeze in their seats quickly shutting up.

"Who are you-" Chloe fumbles, shocked by the color of Marinette's eyes.

"I think you'd better be quiet, Bourgeois." Non-Marinette says. "Otherwise, you will discover one of the many ways I know how to cut a person's tongue." She makes mimics a scissor with her fingers, without taking her eyes off Chloe.

The blonde's eyes widen in fright.

“Or who knows, one day you may wake up bald... There are many options on the table. I can even let you choose.” Non-Marinette taps her finger against her chin thoughtfully.

Chloe walks away. Hands quickly going to the head, trying to protect the hair away from Marinette.

"I-I don't feel well." Mumbles, picking up the yellow bag from the table. "I think I'm going to go home... Daddy will call dismissing me... Bye!" She doesn't wait for Mlle Bustier's response before running out of the classroom.

Non-Mari smiled beatifically, enjoying the whole scene of the girl's escape and staying until Chloe was out of sight. Then the expression darkened when her attention turned to Bustier.

"You and I are going to have a very serious conversation now."

And Mlle. Bustier swallows, feeling threatened by the girl's words.

[tag list closed]

@thetinymoonflower @nicknnie @a-star-with-a-human-name @naclychilli @gimme-more-caffeine @procrasinatingrightnow @tired-yeetling @amlesi @sassydepression @emjrabbitwolf @actual-disaster-human @mystery-5-5 @thequestionablyhuman @alexresides @officiallyathiana @interobanginyourmom @2sunchild2 @vixen-uchiha @timetomakeanewwish @ranger-gothamite @thanks-captain-obvious @wargraymon0709 @krispydefendorpolice @chocolatecatstheron @kazjaurelia @lysslovsanime @fandomkitty8 @g-arya @zerotosiki @bananaapplewaffle @graduatedmelon @schrodingers25 @queencommonsense @mindfulmagics @michellemagic @kceedraws @littleblue5mcdork @be-happy-every-day-please @razzledazzle247 @northernbluetongue @nerd-nowandforever @satans-favorite-homo @my-name-is-michell @beaversuenightly @roseunivers999  @unmaskedagain @7-sage-7 @wolf-for-life @magic-miraculous @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @moonlightstar64 @changelinggarden @undecisioned @xahriia @chocolateherringtacofan @k-poplunardreams @our-preciousss @miraculouslymiraculous @clumsy-owl-4178 @nach0ava

#soulmate au #daminette #maribat #ml salt #chloe bourgeois #caline bustier #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug

[definitelyseven]

begin again

summary: we must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us

“Reservations under Park for two,” you said to the hostess. She looked down at her list and began to search for your surname. 

“Ah, right this way Mrs. Park,” she said leading you inside the restaurant where Jinyoung was seated. He was on the phone. “Your waitress will be right with you,” she said with a smile before leaving the table. You sat down across from Jinyoung who was busy talking on the phone. 

“Good evening Mrs. Park, I’ll be your server today. Can I get you started with something to drink? Mr. Park opened a bottle of wine. Would you like some of that?”

“Sure. Can I also take a look at the menu?”

“No need, I already ordered our dinner. They have the special we like so much,” Jinyoung interrupts. “You can bring it out whenever it’s ready,” he tells the server. 

“Wait I’m actually not hungry.”

“Okay, we’ll hold off on the food for now. Thanks,” Jinyoung said to the server. “How about some music to celebrate our 3 year wedding anniversary?” he asked rhetorically while waving down the violinist.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” you asked him.

“What?” Jinyoung asked confused. 

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” you repeated, enunciating every word to him.

“No. Did something happen today? What’s the matter with you?” he said clearly annoyed at your attitude. As you were about to speak again, his phone rings which he automatically answers.  

You didn’t care if he was on the phone. You had finally mustered up enough courage to tell him everything tonight. 

“The last time we were here, we fought. We actually come here quite often; almost every anniversary,” you said raising your voice for him to hear you over the loud music. Jinyoung gives you a slight glare, covering one of his ear with his finger to block off the noise. You turn to the violinist, “I’m sorry, can you please give us a moment of peace?” You didn’t mean to be rude, but you had to get this out. “Jinyoung, I’m talking to you. Hang up the phone!” you snapped, raising your voice. 

“What if that was an important phone call?” Jinyoung said setting his phone face down on the table. 

“This is important.”

“Okay, you asked if I remember the last time we were here. I don’t. What’s the big deal?” 

“That’s my point, Jinyoung. You don’t remember anything that is important to me.”

“I do remember the important things. That fight was not important.”

“It was important! I told you I didn’t like this restaurant because it only serves seafood.”

“Are you kidding me? All this because you don’t like the cuisine I chose? It’s a Michelin star restaurant. We come here every year!” 

“Jinyoung, I’m allergic to seafood!” you shouted, making everyone turn to look at you. “We’ve been married for three years. Three years and you don’t even know me at all.” 

“Come on, Y/N. It’s just an allergy,” he responded, grabbing your hand. “Here, look at the present I got you.” Jinyoung pulled out a petite rectangular box in his suit pocket. He opens the box showing you a 24K rose gold bracelet. You rolled your eyes, annoyed before closing the box in front of you. 

“If you noticed me at all, you’d know I don’t wear jewelry.”

“Okay, fine. What do you want? I’ll buy it for you,” Jinyoung asked grabbing your hand again. You can tell he was genuinely sorry and being patient with you. 

You let out a sigh. Every time you fought, he rarely loses his temper with you. He was always very dismissive, but the more dismissive he was, the harder it was to communicate and the more difficult it was to let him know what was truly bothering you. Every time, you just brushed it under the rug, but you couldn’t anymore. 

“No it’s not fine, Jinyoung,” you expressed reaching for the folded manila envelope in your purse. You hesitated on whether you wanted to show Jinyoung, but it was now or never. 

You slowly slid the envelope to Jinyoung. He picks it up and opens it. 

“Divorce papers?” Jinyoung asked, confused. 

“I want a divorce,” you said with no expression. 

“What? Why? Why didn’t you discuss this with me?” Jinyoung said clearly upset. 

“There’s nothing to discuss. It’s not going to work out between us.”

“What do you mean? Talk to me, Y/N. Please,” he begged.

"Talk to you? I tried Jinyoung, but you never understand me,” you said trying to hide how devastated you actually were. You never wanted a divorce. In fact, you loved him very much. 

You never stopped loving him.

“We should have never started,” you confessed. “We got married because of the baby and it was wrong of us to do that.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” Jinyoung scoffed, holding your hand and giving it a slight rub. 

“I always thought using three years to get to know someone was enough, but it’s not,” you admitted. “The fact is even after three years together, we know nothing about each other.” 

“I admit there’s still a lot to learn about each other, but we’re doing our best,” Jinyoung pointed out. 

“Yes, I’m doing my best to adapt to your world and I realized no matter how hard I tried, I will never be good enough,” you explained. “No matter how much I hated it, I took etiquette classes, language classes, and even went to charity events with your parents, to prove that I’m of class, that I am good enough for you. But I’ll never be good enough,” you repeated, your brows furrowing together. 

“You don’t have to do any of those things if you don’t want too. I never forced you to do any of it.”

You shook your head, “I always thought we were destined to find each other in New Zealand, but I was wrong,” you expressed, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Destiny brought us together so I could help you forget her.”

“Please baby, I need you. I don’t want a divorce,” Jinyoung begged. “I love you.”

“But I don’t love you anymore.”

That was a lie. 

“I don’t know your past. I don’t know anything about her,” you whimpered.

“I didn’t think it was important,” he reasoned.

“When I love someone I want to know everything about them; no matter how insignificant they think it is.”

“Why are we so fixated on a dead person? She’s gone already,” he reiterated. 

“Because she’s important to you! You love her,” you reminded. 

“No, I love you.”

You sighed, “You know how stubborn I am. No one can change what I think, once I’ve made up my mind.” You stood up slowly, “Sign the divorce papers and give it to our lawyer. I don’t want anything from you.” You looked at him once more before biting your lip, “Take care, Jinyoung.”

The best way to forget Jinyoung was to leave this place - leave the place that you shared so many memories with him. 

You were broken. 

“I don’t understand why you want a divorce,” your sister, Nayeon said. “You still love him!”

“It’s complicated,” you dismissed, putting the last few pieces of clothing in your luggage. 

“Isn’t loving him enough to make you stay?”

“I thought so too but it’s not, Nayeon. I’m tired,” you whimpered with tears in your eyes. “I’m so tired,” you sobbed. She hugged you tightly while rubbing your back. “I’m so tired of feeling like I’m not good enough and having every move I make be judge by his parents and his relatives.”

“Surely he knows how hard you’re trying,” Nayeon comforted.

“He loves his family too much to do or say anything. It’s not wrong of him to side with them, I just can’t compare. I was naive to think that even after the miscarriage, we can work it out. But the only reason we got together was because of the baby. We were bound to fail. We’re from two different worlds,” you whimpered. “He loved her so much. I know she’s dead, but I just want to know who she is,” you bawled. “I can’t help but think that I’m only a substitute.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said sadly.

“That’s why I have to leave, I can’t be here,” you explained to her.

“When will you come back?” 

“If I like it there, I may never come back,” you tell her. 

The ride to the airport was long. You looked outside the window, taking in the scenery that you were passing by. This may be the very last time you see these buildings. 

Nayeon reaches for your hand, comforting you. She felt your pain. 

You offered her a smile, letting her know you will be okay. The pain will pass.

“It’s time,” you sighed, turning to your sister. “Take care.”

Nayeon pulled you in for another hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll call you when I land,” you smiled before going inside the gates. It was as if everything was moving in slow motion - the line to pass security and the wait to board the plane. 

You thought leaving him would give you a sense of relief, but your heart still felt heavy. It was hard to breathe. You didn’t think it was possible to be in this much pain. Your body felt numb, and your stomach churned at the thought of him. The noise surrounding you became a blur - nothing was coherent. You swallowed the lump in your throat and shut your eyes tight, breathing in and out, to calm yourself down. 

You missed him already. 

You sat down in your seat and waited for the plane to take off. The people around you were busy stowing their luggage into the cabin and finding their seats. You looked down at your own hands, and noticed you were still wearing your wedding ring. 

It was time to take it off. 

Your hands were shaking as if it was instinctively refusing to take it off. The ring was stuck to your finger. You tugged and twisted the ring a couple of times before your finger started turning red. With one hard pull, the ring finally came off your finger and landed somewhere on the floor of the plane. You quickly got up to look for it. 

“Excuse me, I’m sorry. I dropped my wedding ring,” you said pushing pass the people that were in your way. How could you be so careless with it? This was the last thing you have from him. It was difficult to navigate through the crowd that was waiting to stow their luggage in the cabin. People already complaining that you should take your seat.

“Miss, please take your seat. We will help you find it,” the flight attendant said.

“No, you don’t understand. The ring is really important to me,” you trembled, on the verge of tears. “I can’t lose it. I have to find it myself,” you whispered, getting on your knees to look under the seats. You crawled down the aircraft, begging people to move out of the way. After a few minutes on the floor, you finally see your ring and someone helping you pick it up. “Thank you, that’s mine!” you sighed in relief, before getting up off the floor. You looked up at the man who picked up your ring. He reached his arm out and handed it back to you. “Jinyoung, I...”

“What seat are you in?” Jinyoung asked.

“3A.”

“I’m 3B,” he responded. 

a little note from jennie: it’s been awhile since i posted a one-shot, so i hope you liked it. i’ll end the story here for your own imagination. :)

#got7 #got7 angst #got7 scenarios #got7 imagine #got7 smut #got7 fluff #got7 au #got7 fanfic #got7 jinyoung #park jinyoung #got7 jaebum #im jaebum #got7 mark #mark tuan #got7 jackson #jackson wang #got7 youngjae #choi youngjae #got7 bambam #bambam #got7 yugyeom #kim yugyeom #igot7withgot7 #igot7 #ahgase #got7 dye #kpop angst #kpop scnearios #kpop fluff #kpop imagine

[reddieorrnot]

10 + 21 please?? (I would die if you included pining best friends where everyone knows and it’s painfully obvious that they’re using bantering as flirting)

i keep telling myself i’m going to make the shorter, yet fail every time. i know this isn’t specifically what you asked for, but i hope it’s just as good! 

The Losers were absolutely tired of Richie and Eddie’s arguments, or at least that’s what the two called them. The rest of them always exchanged glances when they began to quarrel, yet quickly calming down. They all saw the way Richie would bluntly flirt with Eddie, more than anyone else. And they all saw how sometimes, when Eddie thought no one was looking, he looked at Richie like he put the moon and stars in the sky. Richie and Eddie had always masked their crushes on each other with fighting, that’s what Bill would tell the others. It wasn’t until around the age of thirteen where Richie would get pink looking at Eddie, or where Eddie would get defensive if anyone outside of their friend group made fun of Richie. It had been three years since then, and the two were still as clueless as ever. 

***

“Even the blindest could see they’re flirting,” Beverly said one day. 

She was the one person Richie had actually confided in that he liked Eddie. When it was just him and Beverly, he’d talk her ear off about the boy and how amazing he was. Beverly was convinced that if she had to go yet another year listening to Richie talk about how amazing Eddie was, she’d combust on the spot. 

The group had come together at Bill’s for their weekly movie night. It had been their tradition for a while, everyone always making sure at least two of them could go over to Bill’s. The group rotated turns for who could pick the movie. Beverly spoke only because the two of the given topic had not arrived yet, setting up the perfect time for an open discussion. She could easily assume that because Richie was in charge of picking tonight’s movies, they were running late because either Eddie didn’t like the movies he picked and they were trying to decide on better ones, or Richie forgot to pick the movies in general and now Eddie had to do damage control. 

Her comment brought forth a chuckle from Mike, who was stationed in the kitchen, preparing snacks with Ben. Or at least that was the given task, but currently, only Mike prepared any food because Ben had gone to the bathroom right before. Even though Ben had gone over to the Denbrough’s house countless times, he also found himself getting a little lost, this being the reason Mike had to find where Bill could have popcorn for the last five minutes by himself. 

Stan, as he claimed, was helping Bill get plates and napkins for the food they were going to have during the movie. It was clear, though, that Stan was actually just leaning against the counter next to Beverly reading a newspaper that Bill’s dad had left lying about earlier that day. 

Bill, on the other hand, was actually getting bowls and plates. It had been a funny occurrence many years ago when he had asked his parents if they could have at least seven of every plate. He had even offered to pay for some of the expenses. The losers were very grateful. 

“Their bickering makes me sick, I wish they’d just shut up and make a move,” Stan stated in an annoyed tone. Stan never got too much into conversations over Richie and Eddie like Beverly. He told his friends that he just wanted them to get together so they’d stop annoying everyone with their fighting. Stan would never admit though, that he found the idea of Richie and Eddie together quite cute. The other three laughed at Stan’s comment. 

“But God knows R-Richie won’t make the f-first move,” Bill said as he grabbed a bowl for the popcorn Mike was grabbing from the pantry. This caused Beverly to quirk an eyebrow, ready to defend her best friend. She knew that one of these days, Richie would gather up the courage to tell Eddie how he felt. No one got to dismiss the courage he was building up, not even Bill.

“I'm sorry, what? And you think Eddie will?” She retaliated, tone defensive. 

Bill turned around to face the redhead and scoffed, “Richie doesn’t have the balls to tell Eddie how he feels, obviously,”

Stan cut in before Bill could continue, “Perhaps he doesn’t have the balls, But Richie’s got the motormouth to let a confession slip out.”

“That isn’t the exact argument I’d make, Stan,” Beverly put her hand up in a high five, “But I’m glad you’re on my side.” Without looking up at her, Stan gave the girl a high five. She found humor in his deadpan expression and couldn’t help but giggle. 

“While I do agree that Richie’s got a mouth that runs for days,” Mike weighed in as he placed the popcorn bag into the microwave, “Eddie’s far more likely to just snap and talk about his feelings.”

“Mike! You traitor!” Beverly dramatically clutched her heart, a motion that reminded everyone of Richie. Stan rolled his eyes at the action but in no sense of rudeness. 

“Mike, my m-man! Knew you had a b-b-brain,” Bill nudged Mike with his elbow, the two cracking up.

The sound of footsteps came and Ben followed, eyes falling on him. He was going to tell him how silly it was that he always managed to turn down the wrong hallway when trying to find Bill’s bathroom, but he noticed everyone’s peculiar expression before even opening his mouth. All at once, all the friends began asking Ben questions, but Beverly’s was the one he automatically focused on.

“Ben! Who would make the first move? Richie or Eddie?” She asked him hurriedly. In all honesty, Ben didn’t know what his answer would have been, luckily Beverly quickly added on, “Richie, right?” 

He didn’t even think about it, because come on, it was Beverly. 

“Oh, yeah, duh.” 

Mike and Bill groaned and shook their heads. The group bickered again, each side laying out reasons why they were correct and everyone abandoning whatever task they had been attending to beforehand. The beeping of the microwave didn’t even bother Mike as he turned it off and quickly returned to explaining to Ben why Eddie would totally confess during the heat of an argument. Beverly wasn’t even letting Bill speak, channeling her inner Richie as she kept laying out points faster than the other boy could keep up. Stan would have joined in, and he would have made fair arguments, but an invisible light bulb went off on top of his head as he came up with an idea. 

Suddenly, Stan’s voice came out interested and intrigued. “How about we hold a bet?” 

All heads turned and looked at Stan. 

“W-What?” Bill was the only one who dared to speak with Stan as evil twinkled in his eyes. 

“If Eddie makes a move first, Bev, Ben, and I will be on movie night clean up for two months. If Richie makes the first move, then it’s you and Mike’s job.” 

The room went silent for a second, everyone considering the risks in their head. Movie night clean up the morning after was an absolute massacre. The teens made such a big mess that they usually had to work all together to clean up. Everyone would always be exhausted afterward, and getting to sit back during those cleanups would be like becoming royalty. And even if the prize hadn’t been so great, everyone was so set on being proven correct that it didn’t matter. 

“Deal,” Beverly said, glancing over at Ben. He looked incredibly nervous, but he calmed down when Beverly glanced his way. He then turned to Stan and gave him a nod. 

Mike and Bill whispered for a second, talking about how confident they were in Eddie. With Mike’s calmness and Bill’s reassurance, they both agreed they couldn’t go wrong. 

“Deal,” Bill told Stan, glaring at Beverly with competition building between them, considering they were the two who had started this talk in the beginning. 

Stan would say this was solely was to prove he was correct, but he also enjoyed the gleam of rivalry he saw in his friend’s eyes. Movie nights sometimes got boring, and this screamed enjoyment and fun for the friends. Stan briefly wondered what they would tell Richie and Eddie once the bet was completed, but he didn’t ponder on that for too long. The atmosphere was interrupted by a loud knocking on the front door. 

“Open up, fuckers! The party’s arrived!” 

“Richie, maybe you should try being a little louder? I don’t think goddamn Europe was able to hear you!” 

Everyone looked to the door, registering the familiar voices. Stan smirked as he put down the newspaper, and began walking to the door. Right before he got to it, he turned back around to face the rest of his friends. 

“Let it begin.” 

And then he opened the door. 

***

Beverly had been right about the movie set back. Richie had completely forgotten it was his week, and had frantically called Eddie asking for help. Eddie had gladly taken the opportunity to snag Richie’s picking week, and they spent about twenty minutes choosing something they could both agree on. The first movie that Eddie popped into the player, was The Karate Kid. Mike gave Eddie a big smile when he learned this, Eddie knowing it was one of Mike’s favorite movies. As everyone settled into the living room, Ben finally helped Mike out with the food aspect like he was supposed to do earlier. They brought out bowls of candy and popcorn, along with cups of soda for everyone. Stan had politely declined the soda, asking if Bill had any juice instead. Bill let Stan know that they had Stan’s favorite brand of apple juice in the fridge, just for him. Everyone let out an affectionate “Aww,” as Stan thanked Bill for thinking of him. 

Finally, everyone was ready for the movie to start. Beverly and Richie sat on one end of the couch, Beverly occasionally leaning her head on Richie’s shoulder when she got random spurts of feeling a tad tired, he didn’t mind. Next to Richie was Ben, who then was next to Bill. On another part connected to the couch sat Eddie and Mike, where they had offered to squeeze for Stan to sit beside them, but he had truthfully let them know liked having the side chair for himself. 

Richie hadn’t particularly opposed this choice for the film, just not understood what was so great about the movie, Especially what was so great about the main actor. He had to sit through two hours of Eddie’s eyes lighting up whenever Ralph Macchio came on screen, along with Beverly giggling at Richie. 

Sometimes Richie would mumble something about being able to do the same stunts that “that karate dumbass” could do. Stan watched Richie pout, knowing he had the bet in the bag. 

When the film finally came to an end, Eddie leaned back on the couch with a grin. 

“I never get tired of that movie,” he shared. 

“It’s not even that good…” Richie muttered. Eddie sat back up and looked at Richie, with daggers in his gaze. “What? Just being honest, Eds.” 

“Of all times, now is not the moment to call me ‘Eds’!” 

“I just don’t get why you like that movie so much!” Richie exclaimed, hand gestures wilding as he spoke. It was usually now where one of the other friends interfered and tried to break up the fight before it began. But now with the bet weighing in, they listened in intensely and dared not to speak. Eddie nor Richie noticed the silence surrounding them, continuing to go back and forth.

“Come on, Richie! Next, you wanna tell me Back to the Future is better!” 

Richie gasped, whether it was his intention to do it dramatically or not was a mystery. “Are you telling me you don’t think Back to the Future is better than this load of shit?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, getting up and walking over to where Richie was, on the other side of the couch. He stood in front of Richie and pointed a finger in his face, presumably enjoyed the change of height dynamic between the two at the given moment. 

“Back to the Future doesn’t have Ralph.”

Richie pushed the finger out of his face and let out a huff of anger, then put on a girly high pitched voice. “Because Ralph Macc-whatever-the-fuck is just so cute!” 

“He is! And he’s cuter than you! You... You asswipe!” Eddie raised his voice, but not to the extent to which Bill felt any need to calm them down. 

“Ouch, I’m wounded, Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie’s voice didn’t sound as playful as it tended to be when he used that nickname for Eddie, instead he sounded utterly annoyed. 

“It’s Eddie! And you know what? Ralph is cute, and he’s cool too!” 

Eddie had already been fairly close to Richie’s face, it was needed to make sure Richie heard every remark he made. But without any warning, Richie brought himself even closer to Eddie, grabbing his arm (not too hard but what the others could see) and pulling him down to eye level. It was a swift moment, done so specifically that Eddie nearly gasped. His eyes were locked on Richie’s, forgetting other people even existed, so much as that there were people existing in the same room. 

The tension in the environment thickened, and Beverly’s, Stan’s, and Ben’s pulse quickened. This was it, Richie was going to kiss Eddie or some shit. Bill and Mike grew anxious, hoping Eddie would lean forward onto Richie’s face and not the other way around. Everyone just wished one of the boys would do something. The room was so quiet, for the quick second Richie didn’t speak, everyone could hear Eddie’s light, quick breaths. But no faces were grabbed, and no lips were crashed into one another. 

“Yeah, okay, but I’m cooler,” Riche simply sneered, waited for a second as he stared at Eddie’s so close face, and pushed his friend back. 

No one said a word as Richie stood up, grabbed his cup, and made his way out of the living room and to the kitchen. The only thing that eventually accompanied the sound of Richie pouring himself some drink was Eddie’s quiet, “Holy fuck.”

After Richie returned and things fell back into a more normal state, the gang watched another movie. Heathers was Eddie’s next movie, which no one had any complaints towards. Maybe at one point, Eddie wanted to comment on how attractive JD’s actor was, but he was still unnerved from the earlier situation, so he kept quiet on that matter. Once the film had reached its ending, and Stan decided to tell everyone a deep analysis of JD’s character, the group had called it time for a break. At first, they just sat around chatting together, until Richie excitedly piped up.

“Can we play truth or dare?” 

He got shrugs for responses, as everyone accepted the request. 

Things started off light, truths consisted of embarrassing questions and dares were simple yet uneasy ones. 

“I c-can’t believe you’re the o-one who set off that fi-fi-fire alarm last year.” Bill gaped at Beverly. 

Ben had asked her a simple truth, to tell them a story about herself that the group didn’t already know. It was a troubling truth, but Beverly quickly remembered a story. She had told them about how last year, after being fed up with Greta’s bullshit, she had managed to push a lit cigarette into Greta’s locker. Beverly didn’t quite so regret it, but she understood now that t was in fact, very stupid. 

“You fucking smoked her locker, Bev! That’s awesome!” Richie gave Beverly a light punch in the arm, earning a laugh in return, 

“All her papers caught on fire, Rich. It was an awful thing of me to do!”

“Still,” Richie leaned back against the wall, as they were all seated on the floor now, “It’s still pretty badass.” 

“Okay Trashmouth, your turn. Truth or dare?” 

Richie stared at Beverly for a second, letting a grin dance upon his lips. “I want a smoothie dare.”

Everyone’s eyes widened, and Beverly let out a shocked, “No!”

The group of friends had come up with an addition to the game of truth or dare a while ago, but mainly Richie used it. It was his idea, to begin with, so it made sense. A smoothie dare, named by Bill for simplicity, was a dare that could be backed out of, but only if the person drank a smoothie made of whatever the friends wanted in it. It was a dangerous option and was usually not taken. But sometimes, only sometimes, would Richie randomly feel the need to remind everyone that he was the king of truth or dare. This was one of those times.

“Richie, why can’t you just do a normal dare?” Mike asked, putting his hand on Richie’s shoulder, maybe as an attempt to bring him down to Earth. The whole group nodded along, especially Eddie. He hated it when Richie did smoothie dares, just watching him drink whatever gross drink the rest of the group conjured up made Eddie’s stomach weak. He didn’t like to think about kissing Richie for over a week after whenever he did these things. 

Wouldn’t matter if you didn’t think about kissing him, Eddie thought to himself. He liked Richie so much it bothered him. 

“Guys, I need to prove my superiority amongst the losers club!” Richie explained gleefully.

“So you want to prove you’re the biggest loser?” Stan quirked an eyebrow.

“Richie you already do that! All the time!” Eddie cried, trying his best to convince Richie against his choice, but it was no use. 

“Beverly, give me a smoothie dare.” 

“We gotta make the smoothie first, Eddie, you can stay here with Richie.” No one thought too much of Beverly’s commanding until they were all in the kitchen ready to talk about the smoothie’s ingredients. Everyone but Beverly was going through the cabinets and fridge, laying out the grossest things they could find. Once they had all finished, the boys realized Beverly had just been staring at them.

“Richie’s dare is gonna be to kiss Eddie,” She proclaimed. Bill automatically refuted and stepped forward.

“Hell no! That’s ch-cheating, you’re forcing h-him to make the fir-first move!” Bill quickly turned to Stan to get his intake.

“Well, Bill, Richie has the choice to drink the smoothie, which we all know he isn’t afraid to do.” 

Memories flooded within the group, of all the times Richie didn’t even need to drink the smoothie, just do whatever stupid dare, but he was fixed on making everyone feel queasy. Richie could most definitely drink the disgusting drink, he wasn’t scared of it.

While Beverly wasn’t confident that Richie would take this chance to make a move on Eddie, she knew she had to try. 

“Exactly. And, if I remember correctly, you said that Richie was afraid of any sort of confession to Eddie-”

“I said he didn’t h-have the b-balls,” Bill interrupted.

“Same thing, either way, you shouldn’t be scared about this.” Beverly finished and shrugged, looking over to Mike, who gave her a half-smile.

“It’s fine Bill, Richie won’t do it,” Mike reassured Bill, who simply sighed and nodded. Beverly beamed at the confirmation and turned to glance at Ben. She knew Ben was mainly just on her side because she had that impact on him, but that didn’t bother her, especially not right now. Ben gave her a kind thumbs up, that being the last thing she needed. 

“Let's make this fucking smoothie!” The girl laughed. 

“So what’s for dinner?” Richie strolled into the kitchen with his arm around Eddie, who looked like he’d rather not be within Richie’s hold. But they all knew that deep down, Eddie liked it.

Mike cleared his throat, and ignored how nauseous he felt as he listed off the smoothie’s ingredients. “Two eggs, link sausage, lemon pepper, two anchovies, uncooked but warm brussels sprouts, cold mustard, and pre-cooked liver.” 

While everyone else cringed, Richie threw his head back in laughter. 

“Holy shit! You guys went crazy with this one!” 

“We had to make it equal to how crazy the dare is,” Beverly smirked, grabbed a glass cup from the cupboards and filling it with the smoothie. Bill jumped up and sat on the counter, Mike mirroring his actions. The kitchen had started to get a little crowded, they both had noticed. The absence of their bodies freed up some space as Ben and Stan leaned back against the wall, opening the whole floor to Richie, Eddie, and Beverly, who was going to move in a second. Ben noticed a playful gleam in her eyes, something that danced with excitement. Richie’s eyes were intrigued, ready to take on whatever came at him, and Eddie’s eyes? They just looked downright fearful. 

“Alright, toots, what’s the dare?” Richie picked up the cup of his fate, and brought it up to his nose to smell, gagging at the stench.

“You gotta kiss Eddie.” 

The kitchen fell into a quiet state, Eddie’s mouth falling into a gasp. Richie’s eyes narrowed, staring right into Beverly’s. Richie wondered what she was up to, wondering why she’d use the knowledge of his infatuation of Eddie this way. He then wondered what would happen if he took the dare, if he didn’t drink the smoothie. Would Eddie let him? Would Richie finally get to diminish his thoughts that questioned what kissing his best friend would feel like? But then they’d question why he took the dare, and didn’t drink the smoothie, because Richie always went the extra mile to let everyone know he was daring like that. So Richie tore his eyes off of Beverly and turned to face Eddie. Who apparently, had been staring right back at him. The silence was becoming too much for Richie.

“Any way I can double team, drink the smoothie and kiss my Eds?” He joked, trying his best to put up an image that contrasted what he really wanted to do.

Ben cut in, shaking his head. “No, Rich, you gotta pick one.” 

“Yeah like I’d ever even let you get anywhere near me after drinking that shit!” Eddie’s outburst wasn’t essentially out of anger, but anxiety. What was Richie going to do? Eddie knew what he was going to do. Richie was going to drink that goddamn smoothie because it was probably less disgusting to Richie than kissing Eddie. The concept bred sadness deep within Eddie, but he pushed it down. Richie surprisingly chuckled and moved closer to Eddie. 

“Oh please, you know you’d be all over me no matter what smoothie I just had,” He purred, making a red tint spread across Eddie’s cheeks. 

“Sure, fuckface, if you drink that shit and even come a foot near me I’ll beat your ass to the moon!” 

Everyone caught onto Eddie’s excessive swearing something that struck a chord within them all, except Richie, who only found it exciting. 

“My little cutie wants to beat my ass? Kinky!” He said, still moving in closer to Eddie, who looked frantic for a comeback. 

“Shut up, Richie!” 

Finally, Richie was right in front of Eddie, looking down at him. Eddie noticed how glossy and dark Richie’s eyes were, and he didn’t know if that made him more nervous or less. Every single feeling he had ever had for Richie came together within him, creating one huge adoration. So close Eddie swore he could see the ocean’s waves in Richie’s blue eyes, and Richie could see the specs of gold in Eddie’s big, brown eyes. 

“You keep saying how you’ll fuck me up and everything,” Richie began in a low voice, “But Eddie, you’re not very intimidating.” 

The world seemed to crumble around Eddie, and Richie was the only thing that remained. His brain repeated Richie’s name over and over again, to every detail on his face to every piece of banter they had ever shared. From every time Eddie wished he could just shut Richie up with his lips, to every time Richie had been there for Eddie when he needed him most. Of course, Eddie wasn't very intimidating. Intimidation was something used to make people cower before you, drive them away. That wasn’t what Eddie wanted Richie to do. He wanted Richie close, as close as he could get. He never wanted to drive Richie away, or make him cower away. That’s all he ever wanted. And by the way Richie was looking in Eddie’s eyes right now, how Eddie could hear Richie’s shallow breaths, he risked assuming that’s what Richie wanted too. That he wanted Eddie. 

“I’m not drinking the smoothie, Beverly,” Richie spoke up again, not leaving his gaze from Eddie. That had confirmed Eddie’s speculation, it had confirmed everything Eddie wanted to be true. 

Behind Richie and Eddie, the group of friends displayed different expressions and emotions. Bill and Mike, who interiorly were upset at losing the bet, had their mouths hung in shock. Stan's eyes were wide, watching the scene before him. Ben, had the biggest grin on his face, happy for his friends. And Beverly, well she had the most satisfied smirk, knowing she had done her job and wasn’t going to be cleaning up any movie night messes for a while. 

But before Richie could complete his dare, Eddie took control.

It as Eddie who brought his hands up, put them on Richie’s cheeks, and pulled him down.

It was Eddie who couldn’t take it any longer, the waiting. He had been waiting for years, wondering when Richie would realize he had been standing there the whole time. He couldn’t hold back anymore. 

It was Eddie who crashed his lips into Richie’s, closing the space between them and hopefully opening a new chapter. 

Kissing Richie was like finally getting to breathe, as if he had been suffocating for the last sixteen years of his life. And in a way, he had been suffocating. The way his mother had always smothered him, forever making him feel weak. And she had done it so much, it had convinced Eddie that he was gentle, delicate, never to be tested or given freedom of choice. When he met Richie as a kid, he never understood why someone so loud, noisy, and chatty could make him feel happier than his quiet and calm home. Then, one day, Eddie had realized why. The calm and quiet house made Eddie feel like he was being put away in a shelter, because he was too fragile to be outside in a louder environment. But when he was with Richie, whether it was at school or while they hung out, he had never felt so strong. The way Richie let him bicker, let him spit insults that made him feel witty and quick. And how Richie always built up a fire in Eddie, making him feel powerful. The day they were in Richie’s room, and Eddie had spoken about wanting to leave Derry and make a life for himself, and Richie told him he could do anything he wanted. That was the day Eddie knew that Richie made him better, made him feel alive. Richie made Eddie feel more mended than any medicine his mother shoved down his throat ever did. Richie made him feel like he could do anything, just like kissing the best friend he had liked for years in his other friend’s kitchen. 

Kissing Eddie was the opposite, it was like coming home. Like Richie had been lost for so long, trying to find the one place he felt okay, and he had finally come across it. And that was more or less how it actually was. Richie always felt let he didn’t belong where he was, quickly trying to make himself fit in by making jokes and making people laugh. He had this fear that the people he cared most about didn’t really care for him that he was simply there because they merely put up with him. He sometimes felt that way at home, even though he knew his parents loved him, he couldn’t help it. He wondered if they wished they had gotten a boy who didn’t run his mouth so much, or who got in trouble less at school. He wondered if his friends really did mean the comments they made about him sometimes, if he really did deserve the nickname Trasmouth. But from the day Richie met Eddie, he couldn’t ignore the way the small boy made Richie want to try harder. He wanted to try harder to make Eddie laugh, and not because he was worried Eddie didn’t like him, because God, he loved Eddie’s laugh. He wanted to try harder with his behavior in school, not because of his parents, but because Eddie was so well behaved, and Richie couldn’t be around him as often if he was always in for detention. Eddie made Richie better, whether he knew it or not, and his comments never really bothered Richie. Not since the day a few years ago, where they were in Eddie’s room, and Richie’s doubt engulfed him. He had asked Eddie if he ever really meant the mean things he said, to which Eddie quickly said no to. Ever since that day, Richie never saw any cruelty behind Eddie’s words, because he also saw the way Eddie’s cheeks got warm when Richie teased him. Richie felt safe with Eddie, no doubt or anxiety, it was home. 

Richie was the one to pull away, breathless and in need of knowing if that had actually happened, or if he was dreaming. The way he watched Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and stare right back at him, as enough of an answer. 

“Wait, so who made the first move?” Ben spoke, leaving Eddie and Richie confused. They turned around to face their friends, which they had forgotten about. 

Before either of them could ask what Ben meant, Mike replied. 

“It was Eddie, he pulled Richie in.” A small smile moved its way onto Eddie’s lips. 

Beverly shook her head, “No, Richie’s the one who said he wanted to kiss Eddie.” 

“But he didn’t actually d-d-do it!” Bill declared. 

“But Eddie wouldn’t have done anything if Richie hadn’t basically said he wanted to kiss Eddie,” Stan remarked, shrugging. 

“Exactly, Stan!” Beverly’s agreement simply sent the friends into a deeper argument over who had won the bet, in which Eddie stood there trying to figure out was going on. And he would’ve eventually pieced it together, had Richie not grabbed him by the hand to bring him back to the living room, making sure they got some privacy this time. 

***

When Eddie and Richie did learn about the bet, they decided it was only fair that they were the two they got to sit out during movie night morning clean-ups, it was what the two deserved after all.

#reddie #richie tozier #reddie fic #reddie hc #eddie kaspbrak #it #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #the losers club

[banashee]

I’m on a roll today, so there is another bingo square of the @badthingshappenbingo​

Prompt: buried alive.

Trigger warnings for the obvious: survival horror, panic, trauma and anxiety. Also blood and injury

*+~

 Trapped in the dark

 One moment, Tony is throwing back drinks amongst a group of strangers, fake-laughing at some shitty joke, then he’s starting to feel dizzy. What happens next, he’s got no idea, but the glass slips out of his hand, shattering on the floor and spilling champagne everywhere.

 Tony blacks out before he even hits the floor.

     When he wakes up in a small, dark room, he manages to remain completely calm.

 The sensation of coming back to consciousness in a strange place is something that Tony is getting depressingly used to, so he tries to stretch out his limbs in preparation to get the fuck out of - wherever he is. He doesn’t know. It’s hot and sticky in here, and there is already sweat pooling down his face and into the collar of his shirt.

 And now that he tried to move, he’s realizing just how tight this space must be. His feet and hands collide with walls before he can even stretch out completely - which is concerning, given that he’s not especially tall in the first place. But it tells him that he is trapped in a box - carefully, very carefully, he does not think the word “coffin” because then he’ll freak out right away.

 But it’s essentially what this is - him trapped in a fucking coffin. Maybe or maybe not buried somewhere. he doesn’t know - yet. He’ll have to find out, sooner rather than later.

 Panic rises up in his throat, heart beating fast but he forces himself to remain as calm as humanly possible.

 If he had any time or air to spare, he’d have laughed out loud in desperation.

 He’s read so many books, seen so many movies where people have been buried alive, and yet, despite the shit he’s lived through, Tony would never have thought he’d have to experience this first hand. And he really, really doesn’t want to.

     “Stay calm. Don’t waste any air. Get out. You can fall apart later.”     he thinks to himself, and it sounds easy enough in his head. He knows it’s not, but thinking about that right now will not be helpful in any way.

 Moving is hard, but Tony is flexible.

 He manages to get off the buckle of his belt - a big, heavy and pretentiously expensive thing. Solid. It’s the best tool he’s got on him right now. Whoever put him here didn’t think to remove it - thank fuck. He puts it down under himself to keep it safe and in reach, then he pushes off his suit jacket. Once he got that, he’s sweating even more but Tony still keeps his breathing slow and even. He can do this.

 Pulling up his shirt over his head is not easy in here, but it’s doable. Then he knots it together at the top  so the small space under the fabric protects him from inhaling any dirt.

 Once he’s got a plan and working on it, it is kind of remarkable how calm Tony is.

 He’s determined to get out, if only out of sheer spite, just so he can wave his middle fingers at the bastards who did this in a final giant “Fuck you!” before he makes his way back home.

 Home.

 The other Avengers are hopefully missing him by now - they must be, because otherwise it’ll be one hell of a lot longer until he gets away from here.

 One time, just one goddamn time he      doesn’t     pack his frickin’ suit and see where it lands him - buried alive fuck knows where.

 Tony swears he’ll implant the thing into himself once he’s out of here so this kind of shit will never happen again - and if it does, he’ll be able to blast himself out in a matter of seconds, instead of having to blindly hack his way out of a wooden box with his belt buckle, dirt crumbling through the openings he created.

 Wriggling like a worm, and pushing the soil down to his feet, he manages to stay on top of the whole thing. He kicks back the earth and digs his way up with bare hands. He can feel the pain, blood running down his hands and fingernails ripping away. He doesn’t care and keeps going.

 Every muscle in his body is straining, and when he looks back onto the situation later, he wouldn’t be able to tell where that strength and will to keep going even came from.

 But he makes it.

 After minutes of agony, finally, he can smell the fresh air from outside, and it’s the most precious thing he’s ever smelled in his entire life.

 Gasping for air, he pulls his shirt back down, and collapses on the ground, just breathing for a little while, keeping the rising panic in check. He’s in a forest, but he’s able to hear the traffic of a nearby street.

 Pulling himself together and up from the soft, earthen ground, he staggers towards the noise, straining his ears and looking around him to make sure no one is following or waiting for him.

 Tony doesn’t think about how terrifying he must look, covered in dirt, clothes ripped and with no shoes on, bleeding profusely from his hands and who knows where else. It doesn’t even register to him, too relieved he actually managed to get out, until he enters the nearest gas station. The cashier looks at him in horror, dropping canned drinks on the counter and almost shierking,

 “Oh my god, are you okay, Sir? Do you need me to call 911?”

 He’s sorry for scaring the poor girl - she looks barely older than 20 at the most, and having a dirty, bleeding dude stumble through the door in a night shift can’t be a pleasant experience.

 “No, no 911. But could I use a phone, please? And some water. Water would be great.” he rasps out, and she’s already handing him a bottle of water before he can finish.

 “Thanks, uh-” he squints at her name tag, “Joyce. Thank you.” His voice is raspy, and he’s coughing heavily from his dry throat.

 Joyce smiles hesitantly, offering the foot stool she just used to stand on while filling up the top shelves for him to sit on, and a few paper towels so he doesn’t bleed all over the place. Ah, shit.

 “Sorry for the mess.” Tony says quietly, and drains the rest of the water. He doesn’t ask for another bottle, but Joyce hands him one anyway, clearly worried he’ll die or pass out on her.

 “What happened to you?” she asks hesitantly, and he cringes, working hard to keep the rising panic at bay.

 “Life.” he says, and then, after a pause. “I don’t remember much but I got out. Kinda need a phone though - I must have lost mine. Didn't have it on me when I woke up. A shame really, it was a prototype… Gotta have to start all over again… Ah, thanks.” he adds, taking the phone from her with a small smile and dials the number.

 The sound of JARVIS voice is the best thing he’s heard all day. He interrupts his automatic greeting, simply calling his name and the AI sounds just as relieved to hear him like any human would.

 “Sir, I am currently tracking your location and sending the coordinates to the team - they’re already on their way and looking for you. We are all very worried.”

 “Thanks, J. You’re the best.”

 “May I please connect you to Captain Rogers, Sir? The team is very concerned about your well-being.”

 Tony slumps back on his seat, leaning against the counter.

 “Yeah, sure.” A second later, Steve's voice replaces JARVIS on the other end, and he sounds equal parts worried and relieved.

 “Tony, are you okay? Where are you?”

 “Hey, good to hear you, too. Okay-ish. Gas-station. No idea where, but you’ll get coordinates from JARVIS.”

 “Okay, okay. We’re on our way, we’ll be there soon. Sit tight, yeah?”

 “Not going anywhere. Thanks, Cap.” he’s tired, and only notices his slip up when Joyce looks at him, understanding dawning on her face.

 When Tony hangs up and gives the phone back to her, she looks shocked.

 “You are-”

 “Yeah. Hi.”

 Joyce blinks. Then, slowly, nods to herself and leaves it at that - Tony is eternally grateful for it. He doesn’t have it in him to deal with anything else right now.

 “You have someone come get you?” she finally asks, and he nods.

 “They’re on their way.”

 A surprisingly short while later, a car speeds up onto the property and stops right in front of the door - Tony feels relief when a familiar redhead stalks out of it, rushing in and quickly crossing the room as soon as she spots him.

 “Fancy seeing you here, Nat.”

 Tony is ashamed to say that his voice is holding a slight shake by now - he’s not sure if he’ll fall apart or fall asleep first - he kind of hopes for sleep, first. He’s really not up for dealing with panic attacks on top of everything else right now.

 “Likewise.” Natasha carefully pulls him up, concern clear on her face. “You look like shit.”

 “Well, yeah.” He slumps into her, and she puts an protective arm around his slightly larger form - it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to do much at this point. He’s really, really glad to see her, though.

 “Thank you for your help.” Natasha tells Joyce, acknowledging her with a small nod and the hint of a smile. It’s not that she means to be rude or dismissive - quite the contrary,  she is immensely thankful for the young woman's help, but she wants to get her friend home and to medical care as soon as possible.

 About a week later, Joyce will receive a check with more 0’s than she’s ever seen at once in the mail. With it, a handwritten note with only a few words on it:

     “Thank you for helping me. Let me know if I can ever help you.”    followed by an email address - she’ll stare at it in stunned surprise, not knowing what to even think about it all but keeping the letter in a safe place.

 When they sit in the car, Natasha helps Tony with the seat belt when his bloody fingers seem to give up - grabbing anything just hurts too much at this point and he’s sluggish and exhausted.

 Then they’re on the way to the jet where the team is already waiting, and when Natasha looks at him, something dark and predatory creeps into her eyes. She doesn’t need to be told what happened - the state of Tony, his clothes, and his hands tells her everything she needs to know.

 Unfortunately, she knows exactly what it looks like when a person needs to free themselves from a buried box in the ground - it had been part of her training when she was young. She still wakes up in cold sweat when she dreams about it, decades later.

 “Who did this to you?” Natasha asks, tone carefully even.

 Tony looks over at her, heavy lidded and too worn out even for panic - he’ll have to deal with that later, but that’s okay - at least, he’ll be home or at least surrounded by friends then.

 “I don’t know their names.” he tells her truthfully. If he did, he would have told her, knowing that it would be their death sentence as soon as Natasha, or Clint for that matter, would find out who and where they are.

     They still find out later, because they’re good at this kind of stuff, and the people who are responsible for hurting Tony end up in a cold grave in the ditch somewhere.

 Tony is not entirely sure what it says about him that he feels nothing but relief at the death of three men, and the fact that he can call two of the most dangerous people in the world part of his family.

 Then again, if this kind of thing ever happened to any of them and he’d manage to get his hands on whoever did it - he, too, would be capable of cold blooded murder.

 As it is, being home and knowing the team is close makes him sleep easier at night, even when he’s still plagued with insomnia and nightmares. Only now, the horrors in his mind wear the face of a dark, tight space and the smell of dirt added to it.

 It leaves him gasping for air, clawing at his throat and panicking for hours on end.

 But the comfort of a warm and clean bed, plenty of breathable air and the occasional company of a friend next to him help more than he could ever tell them.

 He tightly holds onto them, and breathing is a whole lot easier then.

 *+~

     Square 4: Buried alive  

#banashee writes #Bad things happen bingo #marvel fanfiction #whump #tony stark whump #tw blood and injury #tw panic #tw survival horror #angst

[barnesthesarge]

Forget You

Bucky X Reader

Mutual pining fic (-;

Summary: Being roommates with Bucky was amazing until you caught feelings, now it’s time to forget him. (Or not?)

Warnings: Naughty stuff, jealous Bucky

A/N: THANK YOU FOR READING! If you enjoyed, please consider supporting me and my writing. My ko-fi is in my bio! Thank you!

You stumbled into the apartment, kicking the door shut, latching on to some random guy you met at the bar. He tried to shove you against the wall but you felt him thrown off and you turned the lights on quickly.

“Dude what the hell is your problem!” The guy bellowed and Bucky stood above him nervously.

“Y/N I’m so sorry I thought he was hurting you.” Bucky looked mortified and took a couple steps away, you began to flush furiously at his manner.

“I thought you weren’t home until tomorrow?” You helped the random man up, his long brown hair was a mess, and his light eyes held anger. You realized it wasn’t healthy to keep going for guys who even vaguely looked like Bucky, but you couldn’t help it.

“I finished my job early, I should’ve texted. I’m sorry.” He cast his eyes to the other man and you could’ve sworn you saw jealously flicker for a moment.

“It’s alright, look dude, why don’t you get an Uber or something? Nothing is happening now.” The guy frowned and looked back at Bucky with a bitter expression.

He stomped out of the apartment and slammed the door, you flinched. “I’m sorry I ruined that.” Bucky crept into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, “I just saw him shove you against the wall and I thought you were in danger.”

You blushed, knowing he knew now what was going on, “Bucky it’s alright, really. How was your mission?” You sat beside him on the couch and started taking your heels off.

“Long and tiring. Alaska is really cold right now, I hope I never go back.” He grumbled, you started rubbing your heels slowly.

“I imagine, I’m surprised you don’t like the cold, you run so hot. I’m sorry you had to see that.” You motioned towards the door.

Bucky shook his head, dismissing the topic completely, “How’ve you been doll?”

“Bored, ‘missed you of course. I didn’t even watch anything on TV so you wouldn’t have to catch up.” You leaned your head against his shoulder, his hair was damp from a shower and he smelled fresh.

“You missing me? That’s quite sweet doll, I doubt you missed me as much as I missed you.” He kissed your hair and rubbed your back slowly.

You wished Bucky meant it as more, constantly. All the soft kisses everywhere but your lips, you wanted it to mean something more so badly.

“You wanna watch a movie or something? I feel bad for ruining your night.” Bucky reaches for the remote and turned the TV on.

“I think you made it better, I wouldn’t have been happy about doing that anyways.” You sat beside him on the couch and he automatically put his arm around you.

“When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound that bad. As Parker would say, I just yeeted him. It wasn’t cool.” You looked at Bucky, a childish grin on his face and rolled your eyes with a smile that matched his.

“It was kinda cool, he was probably like two-hundred pounds. I’m gonna grab something to drink. Do you want popcorn?” Bucky watched you stand up and go into the kitchen, something on his mind. He offered a soft ‘sure’ and started checking the movie channels.

“Y/N, can I ask something?” You stared up expectantly, you coaxed him to continue with a nod. “Why’s it that you never...don’t take this the wrong way, but why haven’t you gotten a boyfriend? Just now, maybe always I’m not sure, I guess I’m not always around, but perhaps you do have company over, although you’re clearly not happy about it. Why haven’t you settled down?” You flushed and pretended to read the popcorn directions.

“I intended on it at one point.” You paused trying to gather your thoughts, “I was pinning for someone but it would never work out..and he doesn’t like me like that.” You added carefully. “It’s easier to have company than be lonely every night, even if it doesn’t make me happy. I gotta forget him somehow, right?”

Bucky turned away from you, “Was he rude about it?” He was tense, from what you could see he was suddenly more awake.

“I never told him, Buck.” You took the popcorn out of the microwave and got onto your tippy-toes to get a big bowl.

“Why not?” You rolled your eyes and smiled at him.

“Bucky, you never tell me about your love life, why haven’t you settled down?” His cheeks turned red.

“I was pinning after someone and realized I didn’t deserve her...I’m also an ex-assassin and that tends to freak people out.” You say back down beside Bucky and frowned.

“I’ve never once been afraid of you. You’re too sweet to hurt people Buck. And you’re more than deserving you know. I hate when you say things like that,” Bucky made a face and you stopped him, “don’t interrupt me. Anyone would be lucky to have you. You literally yeeted a man off of me tonight Bucky. You’re the best.” He sighed.

“Doll, be honest with me. Would someone like you date someone like me?” You noticed his demeanor changing.

“Without hesitation, Buck.” He frowned again and took some popcorn.

“That sounds fake, but okay.” You groaned as he turned on a movie and ignored you as you tried to convince him otherwise.

—————————–—

You woke up the next morning and smelled breakfast, you rolled out of bed and trudged into the kitchen, sitting on one of the stools at the island. You watched Bucky intently as he flipped pancakes and bacon, his thin shirt provided quite the view of his back.

“Morning sleepy head.” He turned around and handed you a coffee mug, you grinned as he kissed your cheek.

“Good morning Buck. How’d you sleep?” Bucky handed you a plate of breakfast and stayed facing you to talk.

“Like a log, I was so tired after that mission.” You smiled at that, it was nice knowing he didn’t have any nightmares, “What about you dollface?”

“M’same here, sleeping is a lot better when you’re in the house, I feel safer.” He blushed at that and turned around to make his own breakfast. Eventually you were halfway done with your breakfast as Bucky sat beside you and ate quietly. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“No problem doll.” He ate silently, he seemed a bit lost in a haze.

“I was thinking about what you said last night.” You spoke up, Bucky raised his eyebrows at you unexpectedly. “About me not going out or..settling.”

“Sounds like you made up your mind about somethin’ doll.” He chuckled, he suddenly looked nervous but you had no idea why.

“Yeah I did, I talked to a friend this morning and she set me up on a blind date with one of her friends. His name is Jake, and apparently very charming.” You shrugged, “I don’t know really anything about him, but maybe it’ll work out.”

Bucky looked down at his empty plate in silence, “Are you sure it’s a good idea to go on a date with a man you’ve never even met? I mean, even if your friend set you up, you just never know.”

“Buck, we’re going to that Chinese restaurant just two blocks away, and it’ll be in public. Plus you taught me some self defense and I have my pepper spray. I think I can handle myself.” He sighed and took your plate to put in the sink.

“I just worry s’all. Men..maybe I should tail you guys to make sure he’s not a creep.” You giggled.

“Bucky stop, that’s a good one.” You grinned at him and he leaned against the counter in front of you, tapping his fingers in thought. “Wait you’re serious?”

Bucky nodded, “Buck, that’s weird. I don’t need protection. Can’t you just be happy for me? I’m not defenseless!”

Bucky opened his mouth and shut it, “I never said you were. It’s supposed to be ugly tonight, maybe you should reschedule.”

You frowned, “Why are you so against me going?”

“I’m not against you going, I just want you to be safe.” Bucky looked at the dishes in the sink, “Besides it’s your turn on dishes tonight.”

You slipped off the chair, “I’ll do them before I leave.”

—————————–—

Bucky felt stupid. He was laying on the couch all alone, he decided against watching TV so he wouldn’t get ahead of you when you waited for him all the time. It made him angry to know that some guy named Jake was currently living his dream, getting to take you on a date. He hoped Jake was wooing you, making you happy, he hoped he brought you flowers, and made sure the date was like a little adventure.

Bucky remembered last night, seeing some random guy kissing you, he had you shoved against the wall. It didn’t even matter that Bucky was tired, he knew exactly what was going on. He couldn’t stop his jealous self from throwing the guy off you, the lie was quicker.

He recalled the conversation clearly, he was trying to get anything out of you, Bucky wanted to make a move. But he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t deserve you. You said you’d date him without hesitation, so why were you at your favorite Chinese restaurant with a guy that wasn’t him?

Hours trickled by as rain continued outside, Bucky had hoped the weather would make you cancel, he’d do anything to have you snuggled up with him right now. As if on cue the door opened and you stepped in, kicking off your heeled-boots. You put your coat on the rack and went straight to your room.

Bucky wondered how the date went, it was nine PM, so maybe it went good. You came back out in pajamas and opened the freezer, grabbing ice cream, okay so maybe bad.

“Well, how was it?” Bucky finally piped up. You looked at him with a sigh. “That bad?”

“It wasn’t bad at all.” You stated, “Jake was charming and nice, handsome too.”

Bucky nodded, feeling his heart sink, “So you’re seeing him again?”

“No, he’s just not the one for me.” Bucky sat up, patting the spot on the couch next to him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He chuckled, tossing his arm around you in relief as you leaned into him, your hair was wet.

“He’s not gonna help me forget the other guy.” You offered Bucky a spoonful of your ice cream and he accepted.

“Are you not gonna tell me who the other guy is?” He looked at you smugly.

“Are you not gonna tell me who you were into? Do I know her?”

“Yeah you know her.” Bucky reached up and ran a hand through your hair.

“Can I guess?” Bucky nodded with an eyebrow raised, he heard your heart rate quicken.

“Nat?” Bucky gasped.

“No! We’re just friends.”

“Like us?”

“No.”

“Okay okay, Sharon?”

“No doll, she and Steve made out that would be awkward.”

“But otherwise?” You winked at him.

“No.”

“Okay..umm..Wanda?”

“Nooo, the girl I’m into isn’t an Avenger.”

“But I know her? Shit is it one of my friends? Because I can help you out they’re all single right now, and—“

“No she’s not one of your friends.” He paused, “Do I get to guess your man?”

“Sure. You know him as well. Good luck.”

“Steve.”

“No.”

“Sam.”

“No.”

“Long shot but Clint? He has a wife but I won’t judge if you think he’s h—“

“No!”

“Thor?”

“No.”

“Please tell me you’re not into the underage child Peter.”

“Bucky what the hell?! No.”

He chuckled at you, “Neither of us are getting anywhere.”

“No I don’t think so.” You gave Bucky another spoonful of ice cream.

“Why didn’t you ever tell him?” Bucky mumbled the question and you looked at him carefully.

You shrugged a bit, “I just never saw the reason to get myself hurt when he clearly didn’t like me back.”

“Yeah but how do you know he doesn’t? Maybe he’s just shy like me.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at you and you bit your cheek.

“Maybe. I just don’t see how he could I guess.” Bucky chuckled a bit.

“I don’t see how he couldn’t.” He looked at you and you saw a flicker of fondness in his eyes, “you just told me last night you didn’t watch any tv without me and it’s been three weeks.”

“Didn’t know that was my best trait, thanks Buck.”

“No no, it’s just an example of how great you are. You got yourself all cute and walked two blocks to see some guy you don’t know in the rain. You ask me how I am, and you make sure I’m taking care of myself. You actually talk to my friends, and there’s just so many little things about you..I just think whoever he is, he’s crazy for not liking you back.” Bucky took your spoon and ate another bite of ice cream.

“Geez Bucky, if I didn’t know any better I’d think the girl you like is me.” You barked a laugh and Bucky didn’t. You looked at him in shock, “Right?”

Bucky didn’t say anything, he stopped playing with your hair and sighed loudly, “You guessed it.”

“Bucky, look at me.” He turned his head, ready for the rejection he was about to face, “Are you serious?”

“Doll why would I lie about this?” He chuckled, “This could ruin everything.”

“I just want to make sure you weren’t making fun of me.” You grabbed his metal hand and held it between yours, “I’ve been trying to get over you for a while.”

Bucky knew you weren’t lying by the way you looked at him, so he closed the gap between you two and kissed you passionately.

He could taste the ice cream on your lips, and heard you whimper when he slid his tongue along your lower lip. Bucky had a hand in your hair and one on your hip.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours, “Thank fucking god because I don’t think I’ll be able to take another guy kissing you. That last guy got lucky all I did was throw him.”

“Wait wh—you were jealous? That’s why you..” You giggled, “Oh my god you’re a madman.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No mostly just crazy ‘bout you.” You pressed your lips to his again, and Bucky pulled you to straddle him.

“That makes two of us.” Bucky wasted no more time and kissed you good for the rest of the night.

—————————–—

#bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #fanfiction #catfa #catws #cacw #civil war #captain marvel #head canon #captain america #comics #sargent barnes #the winter soldier x reader #the winter solider x reader #the winter solider imagine #the white wolf

[hamelin-born]

Umbrella Academy/FFXV Ficbit

@charlottedabookworm

The Umbrella Academy/FFXV ficbit that I’ve been promising myself that I’d write for. A while. As originally brainstormed into existence on the FFXV Story Discourse. Set post-season one Umbrella Academy, and pre-canon FFXV, and featuring dfab trans!Ardyn who took advantage of Bethista’s forays into researching dimensional barriers to go strolling through alternate dimensions for a lark. 

Un-beta’d and, for the most part, un-edited. 

Coming Home

“I”, the individual who is somehow, incredibly, Klaus’s birth-parent says, “Am not a kind man.”

Sir Reginald Hargreeves makes a sound. Sir Reginald is also currently pinned against the far wall by an individual force, arms and legs glued to his sides by bonds of coruscating crimson light. The be-hatted man (and really, Klaus manages to spare a half-hysterical moment to think, it is an awesome hat) doesn’t bother to acknowledge dad’s indignant, muffled protest - his eye (golden, golden as coins on a dark night, yellow as venom, sharp as envy) are fixed on Klaus to the exclusion of all else. 

“But.” He says softly, and his voice - “I will never lie to you.” 

And the noise in Klaus’s head - stills, for the briefest of moments. 

“I have frightened you. I apologize.”

(The first Klaus had known of the disturbance was the noise - the house had shuddered on its moorings, and his head had jerked upright, exchanging bewildered glances with his siblings. He didn’t remember - nothing like this had happened the first time around, not that he could recall, and by the expressions on their faces, they’d come to the same conclusion.

And then the man had appeared in the door. 

A black overcoat patterned in silver over a black vest and white undershirt, lace at his cuffs, a scarf around his neck, and that hat - and the eyes. Bright, almost inhuman gold as they skimmed across the contents of the dining hall before fixing unerringly on Sir Reginald. 

Who obviously knew him if the expression on his face was any judge. “You - “ 

Dad was half-way out of his chair when the stranger had flicked two fingers at him as if knocking a particularly irritating pest to one side, and dad had. 

Dad had. 

Dad had gone flying across the room before slamming against the wall, and Luther had yelled and Five had blinked backwards and a noise had escaped Klaus’s own throat and the man had ignored them all as he stalked forward until he and Reginald were eye to eye and then he’d opened his mouth to speak and he said

He’d said. 

He. 

“You stole my son.” And the noise in the room had vanished in an instant and something inside of Klaus had gone still as dad hadn’t denied it.

Had, in fact, displayed an admirable lack of self-awareness as he struggled to look down his nose at the stranger and insist that ‘the boy’ had potential and that he wouldn’t have manifested any of it if the stranger had been allowed to keep him, that said stranger hadn’t accepted his perfectly generous offer to recompense him for ‘the boy’, that it was really for the best, that it was for the greater good - 

“You stole my SON!” The stranger had hissed, and there was something - there was something - 

“Number Four, despite his obvious defects has potential and I will not allow you to - “ And Klaus felt himself go numb as he stared, stared, stared - 

“You kidnapped my son, and you gave him a number instead of a name.” The man drawled, a smile - no that wasn’t a smile, it was something else, it was a promise - spread across his face. “Such irony. Now, be quiet, will you.” And the glowing energy had risen and spread across dad’s mouth, had bound him hand and foot and left him pinned to the wall - 

And then the stranger had turned, and looked directly at Klaus.) 

“I carried you and bore you - and it was something of a surprise a surprise to find myself pregnant and giving birth in the course of half an hour. Not the least because I had reasonable cause to believe myself sterile. You were - something I had long since given up hope of wanting.”

“And then they placed you in my arms.” The stranger says softly, and he is looking at Klaus. Looking at him like he matters. Like Klaus is - is the only person in the room, like he’s actually taking his wants and desires and him into account.

“They put you in my arms, and I looked into your eyes, and I loved you.” There is something wistful, something half-disbelieving in his tone, and Klaus. 

Klaus believes him. 

(He’s been loved and known himself to be loved exactly once in his life. His siblings care for him, but they’re family, they’re supposed to care - but love? Only Dave ever loved him. Until now.)

“He stole you from me.” The stranger states simply. “And I have spent years trying to find you. It was not until something disturbed the fabric of time and space that I was able to cross worlds once more - back to this world, to you.”

Well, Klaus thinks dizzily, that explains why this man hadn’t shown up the first time around. 

“Are you saying that you’re an alien?” It’s Five - the oldest and the quickest of them all who asks the question, voice sharp and probing - but not flagrantly disbelieving, so it. It. Might actually be real?

“Certainly not.” The man sniffs, not looking away from Klaus. “I’m simply from a different dimension, and happened to be taking a stroll on this planet when I found myself unexpectedly pregnant. I was summarily - and involuntarily - summoned back to my birth dimension shortly after this piece of filth stole my son from me, and I have spent - a considerable amount of time and resources finding my way here once more.”

“Would you like to come back with me?”

And Klaus. Klaus is.

“I see dead people.” Klaus blurts out. 

“So have several individuals in my extended family.” The stranger responds, not batting an eye. 

“I’m an addict.”

“As am I, although I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in quite some time. I find that my tastes have mellowed as I age - I much prefer verbal repartee these days to losing myself in the comforting embrace of mild-altering substances.” 

“I - “ Klaus stares. No one’s ever, ever - “What. What’s your name?”

The expression on the stranger’s face cracks ever so slightly. “Ardyn Lucis Caelum. And, may I ask - what is yours?”

“Klaus.” Klaus licks his lips. 

“And how old are you, Klaus?”

“Thirteen.” The response is automatic. The stranger sighs. 

“You are not.” Ardyn responds, voice brooking no opposition. “Please, don’t do me the discourtesy of lying to my face. I am - something of an expert in these things. Your age?”

“…thirty.” Klaus whispers.

The stranger - Ardyn - nods. 

Nothing in his body language or expression changes. 

He still looks at Klaus with tightly controlled longing. There is still an open softness in his gaze as he stares at him, as if attempting to memorize his face, his words, his bearing. 

He still. 

Wants Klaus.

“Would you like to come home with me?” Ardyn repeats himself softly, still holding himself rigidly in place. “I would care for you, to the extent that you allow me. I warn you, I am - not kind. I have done terrible, terrible things. But I love you, and I would try. I want very much to try. I will never lie to you. I will never hurt you. I will never cage you. I will never, and I swear this, I will never cast you aside.”

“I - “ Klaus licks his lips. He doesn’t. This is. He hasn’t - “I’m a fucking druggie in the body of a kid. I’m rude and disrespectful, and why would you want me?”

“Because I love you, and because I want to be family. If you would permit it.” And there Ardyn goes again, giving him the choice. 

“Why?” Klaus bursts out, glaring up at him. “It can’t be that fucking simple - people don’t have to love people just because they’re family - “

“I choose to love you.” Ardyn interrupts, eyes bright and head held high. “I choose to love you, and I choose to want you.”

“I.” The seance stares. “How do I. What guarantee do I have that.” That you won’t change your mind. That you’ll still want me, even after you know what I’m like. That this is real. 

A thin, almost bitter smile crosses Ardyn’s lips. “Some time ago,” the man says softly. “My brother attempted to kill me. My birth-and-blood brother killed my fiancee in front of me, and then ran be through with an exceptionally large sword. I hate him more than you are capable of imagining.” He sighs. “And yet I love him still.” Ardyn’s voice is tired. 

And Klaus. Klaus gets that. 

“I will not stop loving you, Klaus.” Ardyn tells him softly. 

And Klaus. 

He shouldn’t. This is too good to be true. What about the timeline? But. 

But. 

“My brothers and sisters?” Klaus manages. He wants. He wants to. 

“Do you care for them?” Ardyn asks him bluntly.

Klaus glances around. At Allison, staring at him. At Luthor’s dumbstruck expression. Five’s calculation, Diego’s fierce smirk, Ben’s mouthing ‘go for it’ at him, Vanya’s teary grin - “Y-ees.” He responds slowly. 

Because what can you depend on in this world, if not family?

“Then they are my sons and daughters as well, and I love them.” Ardyn responds simply, and just like that Klaus can tell that he means it. For the first time since this conversation begins, his gaze lifts from Klaus’s face and turns to the other members of the Umbrella Academy. “Would you like to come with me?” He asks them, plainly and bluntly. “I can promise to care for you until my dying day, and provide for your needs - physical and otherwise - as I am a man of some property in my own right.”

Klaus barely hears the conversation that follows. Five arguing that this is their best bet to change the timeline, an unexpected variable that they would be fools to dismiss, Ben’s simple declaring that if Klaus is going, he is going, Diego’s fierce seconding of Ben’s opinion, the hope in Vanya’s voice as she cautiously agrees, staring at Ardyn as if she has never expected anyone like him could exist, Allison exchanging a glance with Luthor before both of them nod slowly and. 

And. 

And Ardyn holds out his arms, and Klaus. 

Klaus steps forward, and lets himself fall into his father’s open embrace. 

“Yes.” He lets himself whimper, whisper, hope. “Yes.”

#ffxv #the umbrella academy #my fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #fusion

[endlesscloudsoftime]

What Brings Us Together

For @yoiroyaltyweek Day 3: Tokens of Favour. (Late to the day, yes I know, but life.) 

If you want to read it on AO3 then here is the link!

Hope you enjoy ^.^ 

-x-

Viktor blinked rapidly, hoping that the more his eyelashes fluttered shut and open the faster he would comprehend why his dog was holding a pair of blue rimmed glasses while being caked in mud.

She’s such a smart girl though, is the thought that ran through his mind when he noticed Makkachin holding them gently by the wiring in between the two lenses. Her tail was limp, a telling sign that she was aware of her mischief, but Viktor did not have it in him to scold her in public. More importantly, he could not, for if he did it would draw attention. Attention is something he did not need at that moment, especially as he was trying to be one with the crowd.

He really did not want his guard escorting him back to the palace.

With a heavy sigh, Viktor plucked the glasses from Makka’s mouth and wiped them clean of any residual dirt. Glad for the oversized hoodie he had managed to grab before being thrust amongst a throng of strangers, Viktor pulled the hood tighter around his head to prevent exposure of his extremely distinctive head and weaved his way through the crowd forming around them. The soft, high lilt of the Japanese pleasantly rang in Viktor’s ears, reminding himself of why he had gone through the risk of being house arrested again. Wandering around the host city for this year’s Meeting of the Royals, it was easy to forget that his beloved companion had somehow drenched herself in mud, but the slight pressure of the glasses in his hand was a stark enough reminder.

A very puzzled Viktor made his way through the city’s populated areas and into side streets that led to pockets of silence and tranquility. His bewilderment did not stop him from marveling the wonder of the city, and he wished he were more familiar with the different kinds of human settlements.

[Practically of course. Not everything can be learned through a book.]

After finding a vending machine in the middle of the quiet street and spending his time ‘ooh’-ing and ‘ahh’-ing about it, Viktor purchased a cold green tea and a bottle of water. Making sure his hoodie covered his pants sufficiently enough, Viktor carefully seated himself in a discrete corner and proceeded to gently wash Makkachin off as much as he could with the water he had. Just as he was finishing his task, an abnormally loud sound had both him and Makka turn their heads around just in time to see a man in an oversized beige coat, scarf, face mask and is that a cat eared beanie?!?! stumbling from another side street onto theirs. The stranger managed to catch himself just short of planting his face into the wall and brushed his clothing in place. He froze on turning his head and spotting the pair staring at him, only letting his eyes turn to slits as he squinted at them.

The Russian Royal was fascinated by this man, and let his eyes roam up and down the bundled figure hoping that imprinting the scene in his mind now will let him remember this as one of the more exciting moments of his trip here. It was when he took in both the squinted eyes and the mud lined shoes the man was sporting did his mind clink. Wordlessly, he walked closer to the man, and before the stranger could flee Viktor offered the glasses to him, palm outstretched.

Cat-beanie man cautiously plucked the glasses from Viktor’s palm. As he rightfully placed them, his face lit up with relief and joy, and soon Viktor was attacked with various forms of ‘Thank you’ s and “I truly appreciate it’ s and “Your dog is adorable” s. The Japanese man punctuated every two words with a bow and Viktor could only grin as the stranger shook his hair out of his eyes each time, only to have them flop again at the next bow.

“You should really only be thanking Makkachin, she’s the real savior here!”

Cat-beanie man knelt down in front of his hero and patted her head. With the softest smile Viktor had ever seen on a person, the man whispered, “Thank you Makkachin, you really helped me out.”

His old girl barked in response and excitedly nuzzled her head into the petting, but Viktor was distracted by the image before him. Something in him trilled and put him on alert because he was sure that he had seen a watered down version of the smile before him recently. Not only that, but the way cat-beanie man moved, even when his hands were flailing about him as he apologized, made Viktor feel all the more certain that he had seen him somewhere.

Before he could voice the questions pooling at the tip of his tongue, however, the man straightened and looked at Viktor. “I’m sorry but I really need to get going. Thank you for all your help, I will forever remember this.” With a parting smile, he turned and left just as quickly as he had entered.

It took a while for Viktor to tear his eyes away from where the stranger had vanished to Makkachin’s curious ones. His body finally registered his exhaustion, and seeing that Makka felt the same, Viktor sighed, “Let’s go back Makka, we do have to get ready after all.” Shades that had been perched atop of his hoodie came back down again, and Viktor donned his urban battle costume before heading back to the stifling world he had no choice but to accept.

 -x- 

“Oh, the food is exquisite here! I need to have this in my life.”

Queen Hiroko, Empress of Japan clasped her hands together and giggled in glee. “Well, as it turns out, I actually helped make tonight’s dinner so if you ever want to learn I can always teach you!”

Viktor immediately lit up and beamed brighter than he ever thought he could, all the while completely failing to notice the gobsmacked expression on Crown Princess Mari’s face as she approached the pair. “Thank you so much, Your Majesty. It truly is an honour that you consider me worthy enough for your time and guidance. Especially as I have just gotten to know you properly.”

“Oh Your Royal Majesty-“

“Please do call me Viktor.”

“Viktor then. It really doesn’t feel like we have been recently acquainted. Why, my-“

“Mother!” A slight pressure by Viktor’s foot made him briefly glance down to the heel that Crown Princess Mari had just avoided stomping his shoe with in her haste to interrupt Her Majesty. “I think Father wants you by his side, it seems urgent.” As she straightened her figure, leaning away from her mother, the heir apparent for Japan tilted her head in the direction of the current ruler. His Majesty did seem to be glancing over at their group quite frequently, with each glance loaded with increasing desperation. Queen Hiroko sighed fondly, excused herself from their company, and made her way to her husband. King Toshiya visibly relaxed once she reached his side, and not for the first time did Viktor wish for a companion who could make him feel the same.

The sound of a throat clearing drew his attention away from his silent musings. The Tsar immediately plastered an apologetic smile for Mari who dismisses it with a wave of her hand and a nonchalant expression. “Honestly, they can be such a handful. The same can be said for us though.”

Viktor chuckled shortly before casting his gaze around the room. “I was told that you would be joined by His Royal Highness too for this event, was I mistaken? Or am I just not able to locate him here?”

Mari emitted her chortle behind a gloved hand as she said, “Oh Yuuri hasn’t made it to the floor yet I believe. It is his first time attending the event so I assume he’s nervous. The boy surprises me sometimes, so I wouldn’t put it past him to arrive exactly when he’s needed.”

“Hmm.” Viktor had been intrigued by what he had heard of the elusive second-in-line’s reputation and prowess. Loved by the majority of his kingdom, His Royal Highness Yuuri Katsuki rarely showed himself publicly and preferred to handle work in the shadows. Despite the obscurity, his reach and success in helping the rest of his family rule the country is apparent to his subjects and other nobility alike. The few times Viktor had seen the Prince were in broadcasts of the entire family, and even then he could not recall the Prince’s face for those public appearances were few and far between. By attending this year’s Meeting of the Royals in Japan, Viktor had hoped to finally be acquainted with the enigma. Seeing that he wasn’t even present at the event, though, made the Tsar slowly lose hope.

Well after his conversation with the Crown Princess of Japan, and his subsequent ones with the Crown Princes of France and Italy, Viktor found himself staring at an abandoned rose by a corner of the room, next to a high table littered with used glasses and plates. Drawn in by the striking hue of the flower, Viktor bent to pick up the midnight blue flower, marveling at the unusual shade. His fingers abruptly halted the turning of the flower when he heard a timid “Excuse me” and glancing over his shoulder he found a familiar face twisted in embarrassment.

Viktor could not move a muscle as he watched Cat-beanie man flap his mouth open and close for a few seconds before stuttering, “Um. I was searching for that but. Uh. It seems, you’ve,” Viktor’s eyes automatically flickered to the man’s lips as he licked them nervously, “found it. The rose. Ah, it’s for you. I mean, I got this for you so. Uh. It found it’s intended.” The sweet smile that punctuated his explanation twisted Viktor’s heart in a way he didn’t dislike, and he wanted to know more about the interesting man twisting his hands in front of him. Before he could ask though, the man suddenly jumped, and only when he straightened did Viktor’s mind finally put two and two together, the click echoing in his mind mockingly audible.

“Oh. I haven’t introduced myself yet! How rude of me. Your Imperial Majesty, my name is Prince Yuuri, second born of King Toshiya, Emperor of Japan. Pleased to meet you.”

#yoiroyaltyweek #ficlet #day 3 prompt #asteawrites #I couldn't resist writing something for royalty week #real life gets in the way all the time #whyyyy #but oh well #hope you enjoy this #yuri on ice #yoi #fanfiction #viktuuri #Katsuki Yuuri #Viktor Nikiforov #Makkachin

[words-are-like-colors]

Title: Love and Loss

Rating: General Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/F, M/M Fandom: Voltron Relationships: Keith/Lance, Pidge/Unnamed Character Characters: Keith, Lance, Pidge | Katie Holt, unnamed character Additional Tags: Keith and Lance are in major love, Pidge gets a bit mad at first...then blows up, Crying, internalized pain

Notes: This work was written for @galacticsuns3t and I hope you will be pleased. Thank you and please comment!!!!!!! This work was created for the @voltronsummergiftexchange

Word Count: 1325

Chemistry. Everything between them was a mixing and clashing of two opposing yet like substances. But instead of crashing and creating an explosion like some chemical reactions, theirs was a slow burn. Even when the burn was gradual, it flashed beautiful colors. They combined to become something greater than either of them imagined.

So here he sat, staring at the love of his life, having what Pidge was saying go in one ear and out the other. He slowly ran his fingers across Keith's knuckles, letting his touch marvel at his touch skin there while his eyes marveled at his immense beauty. Sometimes he forgets how he first got together with Keith, it seemed that the love was always there but drifted into his conscious like dandelions floating in the wind, wondrously warm and spring. They fight and argue sometimes, but they also laugh and talk, and its a treat when they end up rolling and kissing.

It is annoying whenever Hunk mentions that he and Keith are in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. It is a phase, that means it ends. That is something he did not want to happen. He wanted to continue to find new things about Keith, continue finding those moments that he wanted nothing to do but to be in his presence, continue to find those times where he needed Keith by his side. Just the other day, Keith had interrupted his game playing by grabbing his chin and with a smirk, pushed his lips against his and he did not mind one bit. Small random actions of affection such as this make his soul fill with something that he could only describe as something that makes him feel anew. Like for the first time in a long time, he could finally breath comforting and warm air. He did not want this to end. He wanted more of Keith. >>>>>> "Kiss me." Lance suddenly muttered out as he straightened up and scooted closer as if that was possible at their current position. He squeezed Keith's hand, giving him a soft look.

So he did... or went to at least. When Keith had turned his head to kiss him, Pidge, with surprising force compared to her skinny frame, chucked a pillow at their faces and yelled at them to listen to whatever she was saying.

"What? You want a pillow fight?" Keith automatically challenged, dropping Lance's hand to grab up the pillow.

Pidge let out an exasperated sigh. "No, I do not want that." She bumped up her glasses and began to type on her laptop again. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she jammed her fingers into the keys rhythmically. "I was just trying to explain to you two what dihydrogen monoxide is."

"Which is...?"

"It's fucking WATER." She hissed, clearly more than just annoyed at the pair's distractedness. "I have been trying to explain to you two how water and this planet's atmosphere react to each other for the past thirty minutes and what do I get? Just Lance giving you gooey eyed looks as you daydream about whatever land... which is probably about Lance as well."

"There's no need to be so harsh, Pidge. Just because you don't have a fabulous partner doesn't mean you need to get so mad." Lance waved his hand, dismissing his and Keith's rude manners.

He leaned back against the wall, weaving his fingers together putting them behind his head as he closed his eyes. There was a smirk playing on his lips, but as he opened his eyes again, the smirk slowly faded replaced with a look of shock. Pidge had stopped typing for that her hands folded themselves into fists. There was anger in her features but it was different from before, it was genuine, harsh anger that only comes when someone treads on dangerous territory.

Lance instantly knew he had said something that he could never take back.

"Shut up." A hand released a fist to which she shakily lifted it and ranked her fingers in her hair, an action only meant that she was trying to control herself. "It is not like I can have that 'fabulous partner' so you need to stop that."

"Stop what...?" He murmured, having absolutely no idea what was going on.

There was silence for a moment before she burst, her face red and speech breaking, "Stop being so love-y dove-y with Keith all of the time. Just because you have him doesn't mean we all have--" She choked, tears suddenly rolling down her cheeks like a rushing river.

The laptop clattered as it slipped off her lap and onto the floor, but for once Pidge did not seem to care that one of her precious tools could have gotten damaged. She curled into herself, knees bent and head between them, her hands balling into her hair furiously. Lance stared helplessly. The only time he had seen her so mad was about losing her family, but even then, she found courage and motivation from her feelings but this... this was a raw pain. She was powerless to this pain.

Taking a deep breath, he drew himself off the floor. He past Keith, who was still clutching the pillow in shock, and approached Pidge. She was shaking as he gently laid a hand on her back. "Pidge... who hurt you?" He whispered carefully.

There was nothing said but she steadily started to calm down as Lance rubbed her back, small circles as he tried his best to comfort her.

"Pidge?" Keith started to speak up, moving closer to her but never touching. Comforting was never in his general guidebook, but he was trying, and that was enough credit anyone could give him.

She slowly started to raise her head. Lance let his hand slip from her back as he watched her take her tear-stained glasses off with trembling fingers. "I am sorry about that I was... I was being selfish." Sniffling, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, her words coming out in weak, tired statements. "Just that, that the person I want to be like that with isn't here..."

With actual worry, Keith leaned forward, "Where are them?"

If this was a joking matter, Lance would ask if it was a robot she was in love with but this... this was something nothing anyone should laugh at.

"She--" Pidge's hand jumped to her mouth as she tried to stifle a broken sob. "She is..."

"Oh." It was clear. Pidge's pain, her anger towards love, her sudden delflation.. the girl she liked wasn't alive. There were more battles on the planet of Olkari the past year, ambushes from the Galra and neighboring powers. Every time they landed on the planet, Pidge had vanished for long periods of time but never spoke of where she went. She always brought back tools and supplies made with the planet technology so there was no question why she was so happy. There were vivid memories of how excited Pidge would get whenever they were going to go to the planet; there was enough excitement that she could have single-handedly defeated all of the evil in the universe. But after one battle, she came back devastated. She brought back no tools or supplies, just broken tears and hopes. There was never questions about why she was thrown back in this pain, it was always assumed that it was because of her destroyed technology mines.

>>>> Later, she explained everything, and Lance and Keith promised they would be less outlandish with their lovings.

Like in lovers, chemicals can also die out. Once their crashing or burning reaches their height, some may die, becoming ashy remnants of their past forms. Now, he fears that his or his boyfriend's time will come before it is supposed to, even before they become old, scarred men like they should be. Hopefully, Pidge can find another person to bond with, another person for her soul to burn with.

#klance #pidge/unnamed #voltron #voltronsummergiftexchange #fanfic: mine #love and loss

[adrianna-m-scovill]

New Beginnings (Jackson Neill and Sam Nightingale)

This is a Leap of Faith AU featuring Sam Nightingale and Jackson Neill. It runs parallel to the third chapter of another fic I’ve written about Jonas Nightingale and Sonny Carisi. You don’t have to read that one to read this. It would probably be helpful to know the Leap of Faith plot line, though, and to know that in my AU, Sonny Carisi is the sheriff instead of Marla. You can read more details on AO3.

Rated Explicit, 18,000 words. 

“I’ve got some information on your sheriff.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” her brother answered, turning toward her.

“You need to—”

“No, Sam. I told you, he’s off-limits.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but this is something you need to know. About his family.”

“Family? Do you hear yourself? The man is sheriff, if we mention his family he’ll throw us out of town—if we’re lucky. If not, you can say goodbye to your big brother for five to—”

“Would you listen to me? For once?” she asked.

“No, Sam—They’re not a part of the show.”

“Well she can’t be, because even you can’t fake a return from the grave.”

Jonas had begun to turn away, and he stopped, looking back at her. “What…”

“Oh, you’re interested?” She saw his jaw clench, saw his eyes flash. She wasn’t intimidated. “He had a wife, Jonas. She died two years ago, car crash. Now he lives with his—”

“Stop,” he said, and the harshness in his voice surprised her into silence. Glaring at her, he repeated, “He’s off-limits.”

“I told you we couldn’t make money off these people!” she suddenly exclaimed, unable to contain her frustration. “I don’t work miracles, Jonas, remember? You have to let me do my job.”

“You do your job, then,” he said. “There’s a whole town to pick apart.”

Her lips parted. She couldn’t have explained why, but those words hurt. Her stomach burned, but she wouldn’t acknowledge the sting behind her eyes. Jonas started to turn away, again, and hesitated, looking back at her. His eyes softened.

“I always listen to you, Sam,” he said. “But you have to trust me. We’ll make it work, we always do. There’s another way.”

“Whatever you say, Jonas,” she told him. He sighed. “No, really, I’m sure it’ll all just magically work out.”

She thought he was going to say something else, but he reconsidered. With a single, sad nod, he left her standing alone. She watched him walk away, and she hated the churning in her stomach. It was getting more and more difficult to keep the show running, to keep the ends tied, and she was no longer as sure as she’d once been that things would continue to work out.

“Your brother, yes?”

Sam turned toward the sound of the voice, startled, and glanced the man over, taking stock: khakis, white shirt, blue tie, gray cardigan. He had graying stubble across his chin, and his hair was a bit mussed from the wind. He was handsome, with watchful, attentive green eyes. Teacher, she guessed, or perhaps psychologist.

“Is he always so dismissive of your concerns?”

“Are you a shrink?” she asked.

He smiled. “No. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Reporter? She frowned. She wouldn’t have pegged him as a journalist, and she didn’t like being wrong. “What kind of questions?” she asked, even though she knew she was about to nip this conversation in the bud. There would be no interviews.

He tipped his head, regarding her, and she fought the urge to shift her feet. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her—like he could read her. Reading people was her job, and she had no desire to be on the receiving end.

“Do you believe what your brother preaches?” he asked.

“What paper do you work for?”

“I don’t. I’m writing a book, actually.”

“A book. On what?”

He waved a hand toward the empty stage, with a flick of his wrist, and said, “So-called miracles are a dime a dozen at these types of shows, and they can almost all be debunked in a matter of minutes. And yet, people show up, night after night, town after town, lining up to hand over their hard-earned money. I’ve gotta say, the concept fascinates me.”

“But you’re not a shrink.”

“No. I have a doctorate in new American religions.”

“This is not a new religion,” she said.

“No. Let’s just say I needed a break from studying…cults. I’ve been to a lot of these revivals. I will say your brother is one of the most…charismatic. I can see why women—and men—are drawn to him.”

“I’m afraid you missed the boat this time around—I’m pretty sure he’s filled his bed for the weekend, but you can always try your luck in the next town.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling in genuine amusement. “That’s a shame,” he said. “I bet he’s fun.”

She hesitated, caught off guard. She wouldn’t have guessed he was interested in her brother. Based on his body language, she’d thought he was sort of interested in her. “I was kidding,” she said.

“So was I,” he answered with a smile. “He’s not my type. Although I’ll bet he is fun. Let’s hope whomever he’s sleeping with can keep up.”

“I’m sorry, did you come to talk about my brother’s sex life, or…?”

He laughed again, and she tried to ignore how attractive his laugh was. She scowled and crossed her arms, and he made an attempt to appear serious. “Sorry,” he said. “No. Actually, I didn’t even know your show was going to be here. I was on my way to—”

“Our bus broke down,” she cut in, tapping her foot to show her impatience. “I’d hate to keep you, though—I’m sure we’d be quite boring to someone as…educated as you.”

A small frown wrinkled his brow, and he said, “I’m unsure how I’ve managed to insult you.”

She was again taken aback. “I’m not insulted,” she said, although she was feeling self-conscious. To someone like him, her lack of education must be glaringly obvious. She wasn’t used to feeling so insecure, but his eyes were too watchful. And why was he being so polite and pleasant? She was being intentionally rude, and he was worried about hurting her feelings?

“Do you mind if I talk to some of your…performers?”

“Angels.”

“Angels, then. May I?”

“Why are you asking me?” she said. “They can talk to whoever they want.”

“It seems pretty clear that you run things,” he answered, further surprising her. “Also, I wouldn’t want to give the impression I’m sneaking around behind your back. Or that I have any underhanded motives. I’m not interested in...insulting their faiths. I’m only interested in honest conversations, from those willing to engage.”

“Oh, please,” she said. “You already said the miracles can be debunked. A professor of religions—surely discrediting faiths is part of the job.”

“Faith cannot be discredited,” he answered. “Certain aspects of religions can be disproven, some cannot. Faith itself requires no proof. And I’ve never claimed to have all the answers. If I believed that, I wouldn’t continue…learning, trying to learn, researching.”

“Searching,” she suggested.

It was his turn to look surprised. He considered. “I suppose that’s fair, yes,” he said. “Would you answer some questions?”

“No,” she said. She needed to get away from him. For some reason, he’d scrambled her thoughts and frazzled her nerves. “Sorry, I just…don’t have time,” she added. She started to turn away, and his voice stopped her.

“It’s Sam, right?” When she hesitated and looked back, he said, “Is it Sam Nightingale?” She felt a flutter of unease, and it must’ve shown on her face. He held up a hand. “Just Sam, then,” he said, before she could figure out how to answer. Then he lowered his hand, extending it toward her. She shook it automatically, before she even realized what she was doing. His palm was warm, and she felt an unwelcome pull of desire at the touch. He held her hand for a moment. As he released her, a small smile curved his lips, and he said, “Jackson Neill.”

  “What did you tell them?”

“I told them that the Lord values patience.”

Sam smiled, but it felt tight. “You know we’ll settle up as soon as we can, Ida Mae,” she said.

The older woman put a hand on her shoulder. “I know, Sam. You and Jonas always come through. But lately…things are tighter and tighter. And the Angels are getting antsy.”

“They’ll be paid, I give you my word.”

Ida Mae sighed. “Sam, you and I are the only ones who know how bad the books are. With the bus breaking down, we’re gonna have a hard enough time just getting out of this town, let alone—”

“Sunday night, we’ll have a miracle. We’ll get the money.”

“These people don’t have much to give,” Ida Mae said.

“We’ll give them something so big they won’t be able to resist,” Sam said.

Ida Mae hesitated. “Well, sugar, I know you have a plan—you always do. But even Jonas can’t make it rain unless it’s God’s will. And with the sheriff already snooping into our finances—”

“Jonas has the sheriff occupied,” Sam cut in. “And don’t worry about Jonas, he can take care of himself. We’ll get the money for the bus, and the Angels will get their pay. Just tell them to have faith for a little longer.”

Ida Mae sighed. “It’s not faith they’re lacking, love,” she said. “And speaking of faith, what should we do about the professor snooping around?”

“Is he being…obnoxious?”

With her eyebrows raised, Ida Mae said, “Obnoxious? Lord, no, the boy’s charming as all get-out. I’m trying to keep Ornella away from him. But he’s asking all sorts of questions about Jonas, and you—”

“Me?”

“Wants to know if you and your brother are true believers,” Ida Mae said. She rolled her eyes. “He seems to think maybe Jonas is conning us all.”

“He’s not a cop. And his book isn’t about us, specifically. Just…let him poke and prod if that’s what he wants. We’ll be out of here Monday morning. He might be charming, but he doesn’t stand a chance if he decides to take on my brother.”

“Eavesdropping is a terrible habit,” a voice said, and Sam and Ida Mae turned toward the sound, startled. Jackson held up a hand. “One in which I never partake—intentionally. I apologize, I didn’t want to interrupt, but I can’t in good conscience—”

“How long have you been there?” Sam asked.

“Too long,” he admitted with a grimace. “Sorry.”

Sam looked at Ida Mae. “Thanks,” she said, touching a hand to the older woman’s arm. “I’ll see you at rehearsal.” Ida Mae nodded and, casting a look at Jackson, left them alone. Sam put her hands on her hips and faced the professor. “Do you just get your rocks off by going around listening to people talk about you?” He’d lost his sweater and tie, and she couldn’t blame him. It was still early, and the day had already grown hot.

He raised his eyebrows. “I rarely stumble upon people talking about me.”

“I doubt that,” she muttered.

He grinned, and she had to clench her jaw and narrow her eyes to keep from smiling in return. “You said something about letting me poke and prod? Does that extend to you?”

“I—What?” she asked, flustered. She felt her cheeks beginning to heat and cursed herself.

“Will you answer some questions?”

“Oh,” she answered, blushing more furiously than ever.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee, or…a slice of pie or something? Ask a few questions? It’ll be painless.”

“Poking and prodding is rarely painless,” she said.

“I promise to be gentle,” he answered, and her heart stuttered in her chest. She tried to tell herself that the nervous flutter in her stomach, the hollow ache in her lower belly, the hot flush in her cheeks—that these things had nothing to do with desire. She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t alarmingly attracted to him.

She was an accomplished liar, but even she couldn’t fool herself this time.

He tipped his head a bit, regarding her.

She cleared her throat. “Why are you so…”

“Persistent?” he suggested with a small smile.

“Interested,” she countered. “I guarantee, I have nothing to add to your book, Professor—Dr. Neill, or whatever I call you.”

“Jackson.”

“I can’t get you an interview with my brother, if that’s what you’re looking for. You’ll have to try to pin him down yourself.”

“I’m not interested in talking to your brother,” he said. “Well,” he added, bobbing his head, “I am, but that’s not—How about lunch?”

She blinked, surprised. “Does that mean the offer of pie is off the table?” she heard herself asking. “Because I was sort of…warming to the idea of pie.”

He chuckled. “Lunch and pie, of course,” he said. “And coffee.”

“Fine, but I promise you, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“I doubt that,” he said, smiling.

  There was something oddly sensual about the way he ate apple pie, and she had to keep reminding herself to pull her gaze away from his mouth. If he’d noticed, he hadn’t commented. He’d been asking her innocuous questions—What kind of music did she like? What was her favorite book?

They were personal questions, not related to Jonas or the revival, but they weren’t overly personal. He’d been making small talk all through lunch, and she’d even asked him a few questions of her own—how long had he been teaching? Did he have another career path in mind? How long was he planning on traveling the country, researching revivals?

By the time their pie arrived, however, she’d begun to feel guilty. She didn’t like the feeling, and she didn’t like feeling as though she owed him anything. Nevertheless, she’d agreed to answer questions for his book. He was buying her lunch and hadn’t yet asked one question pertaining to Jonas or their show.

She realized she was staring at his mouth, again, and forced her eyes up to his. “Look,” she said, setting her fork down and putting her elbows on the table. “I appreciate the whole nice guy routine you’ve got going on, alright? What’s your favorite color, what’re your hopes and dreams, did you turn out like this because your father was a piece of shit alcoholic—but you don’t have to pretend to be interested in my life.”

“Who’s pretending?” he asked quietly.

“You’re worried about offending me, don’t be, I’m not breakable. Ask me what you came to ask.”

“Was he abusive?”

“What?” she asked. Her heart was suddenly dancing nervously in her chest. She didn’t know why she’d mentioned her father—Jackson hadn’t asked her about her childhood.

Jackson leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, as well. She had to fight her urge to sit back. She had to struggle to hold his steady gaze. “Your father. Was he abusive?”

She didn’t mean to answer. She never discussed her childhood, not with anyone. Ida Mae knew a bit, because she’d been around a long time. But no one except Sam and Jonas knew what it had really been like.

Jackson’s expression was kind, his green gaze perceptive, and she heard herself saying, “Not to me. Not when Jonas was around.”

“Was it just the two of you?” he asked.

“It’s always been just the two of us.”

“Ah,” he said.

She frowned. “Don’t say ah like you understand something. I know you think my brother is a fraud—”

“I don’t know what your brother is or isn’t. I haven’t spoken to him. But I did speak to your…Angels. And they love him. Oh, they made jokes. Even hungover, Jonas can run circles around any evangelist, and just imagine if he ever tried it without a hangover. He’s slept with half of every town you’ve been to, and the other half is jealous. He’s the only gambler who always manages to break even without ever winning. But they love him. I don’t know if they all believe what he preaches, but they believe in him. He may be a con artist, but unless he’s really bad at it—which I doubt—he’s not in it to get rich. Most of these guys live in mansions and drive fancy cars and wear ten thousand dollar watches when they’re not out slumming it in these small towns—”

“Most of these guys?” she repeated, cutting him off. “Look, Professor, my brother might drink, and sleep around, and gamble, and…bend the truth. But life isn’t handed to everyone on a silver platter, and we do what we have to do to survive. Maybe you think that’s an excuse, a copout, a…justification for bad behavior, but my brother…All he ever wanted was to sing, to perform, to…to make people happy. My earliest memories are of watching him sing in church, or dancing in the backyard, he used to put on shows for me and my toys, and—” She broke off, giving her head a shake to clear it. She hadn’t meant to get nostalgic. “But as for conning people? Maybe you don’t think it’s…godly to convince someone to, say, buy a car they don’t need.”

“I would hesitate to use the word ‘godly’ applied to any man,” he said.

“Men feel godly all the time. I daresay even you,” she added. “Maybe you don’t like the word. Maybe you’d prefer…powerful. It’s the same thing in the end. But some men convince people to spend their money on cars or TVs or timeshares in the Caribbean.”

“Your brother convinces them to spend their money on miracles,” he said.

“If he can talk a person out of an addiction, is that a miracle? If he can convince a girl who hasn’t spoken in three years to talk to her parents, is that a miracle? If he can get a man who hasn’t walked without crutches—”

“People with blind faith are susceptible to manipulation,” Jackson interrupted. “And desperate people who want to believe in miracles can, in fact, create their own…unexplained—”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is, if you’re only in town for three days, it’s easy to convince a man he’s no longer addicted to nicotine or gambling or…sex, or whatever. But after you—after Jonas leaves town, how long do you think it takes for those cravings to return? What you’re talking about, it can work for trained hypnotherapists, or psychologists, but without the proper follow-up care—” He stopped and let out a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, surprising her. “I didn’t mean to…” He waved his hand, grimacing.

“Preach?” she suggested.

He smiled. “Right. Would you like more coffee?”

She glanced at her cup. “No. Thanks. I have to get back and set up for rehearsals.” She slid her plate aside and put her hand on the table, turning to get up.

He reached out and touched her wrist, lightly, stopping her. “I know it might feel like it’s too late to…change the course of your life,” he said. His expression was earnest, and his fingers were warm against her wrist. “It’s not. There are so many things—”

She pulled her arm away and pushed to her feet. He leaned back in his seat, looking up at her, and she could sense his disappointment. Or perhaps it was merely frustration.

“You think of yourself as open-minded, but you’re a lot more judgemental than you think you are. And it might be easy for you to point fingers at Jonas, but I’d say you’re the one with the savior complex. I doubt that worked well for you in those cults you mentioned.” She saw his wince and continued: “I don’t need you to save me, Dr. Neill. And trying would be a waste of your time.”

“Sam,” he said when she started away. She thought he might get up, follow her, but he didn’t. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved.

“Thanks for lunch,” she said, walking away from him.

  “You’ll have your money Monday morning.”

As the mechanic walked away, Sam lowered her head and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and finger. The bus was fixed; now they just needed to pay for it—or sneak out of town before Monday morning. Jonas had talked the motel owner into comping several rooms, one for Jonas and the rest for the Angels. Sam could’ve had one for herself, but she chose, as always, to stay on the bus. They might not have to worry about the vehicle being stripped, not in a place like Sweetwater, but old habits died hard. Without the bus, they would be screwed.

She didn’t know if they could get enough money from the residents of the town, even with a ‘miracle.’ Getting money from Sweetwater would be like getting blood from a stone, but she couldn’t convince Jonas of that.

He had no idea how dire their finances really were. Jackson had been right—Jonas wasn’t in the game to get rich. He didn’t care about money. He did care about keeping himself, his sister, and their choir fed and sheltered, he cared about keeping liquor in his flask and fuel in the bus, and he was willing to sweet-talk, schmooze, and seduce to keep their operation running. But, money? That was Sam’s department, Sam’s and Ida Mae’s. Jonas knew that they’d been creative with their books and lax on their taxes, but he didn’t ask for details.

And Sam didn’t volunteer them. Jonas had already done a few short stints in small jailhouses. She would do whatever she could to keep him from anything more serious. Plausible deniability might end up saving him in the end.

They were going to need a big miracle on Sunday, and her brother wasn’t going to like it. Not when he found out what she had in mind. She didn’t like it, herself, but the boy was their only hope. Their only other option was to load up and sneak out of town before the kind and generous, and desperate, residents realized they’d been swindled.

“Sam, we’re missing three speaker cables.”

She lifted her head. “Missing?”

Jed cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Uh. We had ‘em last night. But…”

She suppressed a sigh. Maybe Sweetwater wasn’t as sweet as it seemed, after all. Why someone would steal the cables, and not the speakers, was beyond her, though. “There’s one extra under the driver’s seat of the bus. Take that for now, stagger the speakers further apart for rehearsals. We can make do being down two speakers if we have to but I’ll see what I can do.”

“There’s a hardware store, they might have something?”

She shook her head. “Go on with the setup. And, Jed? Everything is going to be locked up tonight, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned and saw Jackson talking to Ornella. The young woman had her hand on his arm and her brightest smile plastered on her face. Jackson had his head tipped toward her, eyes focused on her face while she talked, but as Sam watched, his gaze flicked up to hers for a moment. She faltered, flustered.

She gave herself a mental shake, frowned, and took off, striding toward town.

As she neared Main Street, she caught sight of her brother, and she slowed to a stop. He was on the baseball field with a boy—the boy—in a wheelchair. She felt a nervous wiggle in her stomach. Jonas seemed to be showing the kid something on a keyboard the boy had across the armrests of his chair.

Don’t get attached, Jonas, she thought. We need him.

She stood there for a few moments, and it occurred to her that there must be something wrong with her. Attached? He’s not a stray dog, he’s a child, she thought, with the acid of self-loathing churning in her stomach.

“He’s good with kids.”

Sam jumped, whirling toward the sound of the voice, cursing herself for being caught off guard. She never let anyone sneak up on her, and Jackson had now managed to startle her three times in one day. She tried to glare at him, but his expression held wariness and contrition, and she couldn’t maintain her dirty look. He didn’t deserve it, anyway.

“He’s good with everyone,” she muttered, turning away from the professor and starting along the sidewalk.

“I owe you an apology,” Jackson said, trailing along behind her.

“No, you don’t,” she answered. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Sam, please,” he said. She stopped, turning to face him. “I had no right to…presume to tell you what you should do with your life. I just…I don’t want to judge, I just want to understand. If you’ll give me another chance to observe…”

“Observe?” she repeated. “Ornella would be happy to show you around. She knows all the backstage secrets, believe me, and she loves to gossip. You’ll have a good time with her.”

“I’m not interested in—” He stopped, a small frown creasing his brow, and regarded her for a few seconds. She resisted the urge to fidget. “I’d like to spend my time with you, if you’ll allow it.”

She was again caught off guard by his directness. He kept throwing her off. She couldn’t imagine why he would be interested in her company. “I can’t stop you,” she said.

His expression tightened. “Absolutely, you can,” he said, quietly. “If you tell me to leave you alone, you won’t see me again.”

She didn’t want that, and the realization alarmed her. She almost told him to go away simply because she wanted him to stay. She bit back the words and said, instead, “Do you have a bad back or anything?”

He hesitated, blinking. “Excuse me?” he finally asked.

“I might need you to carry something. I’m headed to the school to see if I can talk them out of some cables, but we also have a split hose, we need water jugs—”

“Say no more,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just load me up and tell me which way to go.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Fine, you can tag along,” she said. “Prepare to be bored.” She cast another glance toward her brother and the boy as she started up the sidewalk.

“May I ask something, and this is without judgement—” He hesitated, looking sideways at her as they walked, waiting for her permission. She nodded. “Does your brother—Jonas—believe that he can heal someone like that kid?”

“Are you just asking if he’s a conman?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” he answered. “I…” He looked over his shoulder. “Look, I have my opinions on the monetary aspect, and I have my opinions on the religious aspect. But I can see a real smile on his face right now, and I could see the…sort of…love he has for performing, when he was rehearsing. You said he can…talk people into or out of things, addictions, whatnot.”

“Which you pointed out was probably temporary and most likely dangerous,” she said.

He grimaced and waved a hand. “Forget anything I said that sounded…jackassy. I’m genuinely curious about his motivations.”

She sighed. “Does Jonas believe that he can heal people?” She hesitated.

He stopped walking and, after a couple of steps, so did she. She turned toward him, and he surprised her again. “Off the record,” he said. “While I can’t and won’t condone the…fleecing of desperate people, I also won’t go around trying to discredit what I don’t fully understand. You have my word, I won’t use anything you say about your brother against you, or him, or…the show.”

She had no real reason to trust him. She’d only just met him, and she’d learned early on that people were built to lie. Even so, she did trust him. She was fully aware that it might come back to bite her, but she found herself answering honestly. She could still see her brother, out in the field, and she felt a twinge of guilt for talking about him.

“No, he doesn’t think he can heal people, people who are…really sick, or…or hurt, but that doesn’t mean he can’t help people,” she said. “Look, my brother can be…abrasive, obnoxious…loud, brash, overbearing…egotistical…” She frowned. “Well, no, actually, if anything he thinks too little of himself, but…all the other things, he can be a lot to take, I get that. I can hardly stand him myself, half the time.” She paused, trying to gather her thoughts. She’d just spouted a bunch of negative-sounding adjectives, and she wanted to make it clear that they were just a small part of who Jonas was, just the armor he wore against the world.

“He doesn’t believe in himself, but you do,” Jackson said.

She opened her mouth, and closed it again, frowning. Finally, she said, “I’ve seen things I can’t explain. I’m not delusional, if that’s what you mean.”

“Of course, it’s not. You have faith in your brother.”

“Yes,” she answered, and he nodded, seeming to accept that.

“So,” he said, resuming their walk. She fell into step beside him. “What kind of cables are we looking for?”

  Jackson had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His hair was damp at his forehead and the nape of his neck. Sam kept sneaking glances at him as they walked; she couldn’t help herself.

He kept looking at her, too, and every time their eyes met she felt a pleasant flutter in her stomach. He had an endearing little half-smile, and he somehow—without even trying—made her feel attractive.

She was sweating, too, even though he was carrying the heavy stuff: the coil of green garden hose that she’d borrowed from the hardware store, the wound lengths of speaker cable she’d convinced the high school A/V club to offer on loan, and an armful of books salvaged from the discard bin at the library. She was carrying two empty water jugs. She felt a little guilty, and not just about the disparate weight distribution.

“Your shirt’s going to be filthy,” she said, glancing at the dirty hose wrapped around his arm.

He shrugged a shoulder, offering her that half-smile. “It’s just a shirt,” he said. “When my kids were little, I think I went through five a day.”

She tried not to think about the way her heart had just stumbled. “You have kids?” she asked, after taking a moment to gather her composure. She didn’t think he was married—he wasn’t wearing a ring—but she hadn’t asked.

“Mmhmm,” he said. She was looking straight ahead, now, but she could feel his eyes on her. “Two. They’re currently at Disneyland with my ex-wife and her…boyfriend.”

Sam noted the hesitation, of course, and glanced at him. “Is that weird for you?” she asked.

“Which part?”

“Your ex having her boyfriend on vacation with your kids.”

“He’s a nice enough guy. The kids like him. I guess I just feel weird about the word.”

“Boyfriend?”

He laughed. “Yeah. What about you? Do you ever look around these towns and think about starting a family?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he said, “Sorry, too personal?”

“I don’t think about it, much,” she said, which wasn’t exactly true. She’d been thinking about it more and more, lately. “But a town like this? No. I might’ve come from the sticks but I’m never going back. A place this quiet might be good for a while, but I like the city. The noise, the pace, everything. I’d go crazy in a place like this. Is this what you want?”

He sniffed, looking around. “It has its appeal,” he said. “There’ve been times when I wondered if I should’ve raised my kids in a place like this, where everyone knows everyone and you can hear yourself think. But, no. Maybe when I’m eighty and ready to retire.”

She smiled. “You’re not gonna retire off this book you’re writing?”

He chuckled. “Even if I can convince more than three people to read it, no. I’ll teach until they throw me out.”

“Teaching religious studies to a bunch of obnoxious twenty-year-olds?” she asked. “Is it really that great?”

Grinning, he said, “They can be obnoxious, yes, but I used to teach eighth graders. Trust me, they’re scarier.”

“I’ll bet you’re everyone’s favorite professor,” she said. “You probably grade on attendance and bake the class cookies.”

He laughed, turning his head to look at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Bake cookies?” he repeated.

His beauty in the bright sunlight stole her breath, and she had to struggle to keep her voice steady. “Tell the truth,” she said.

He was still laughing, and she wanted to kiss him. The impulse shocked her. “Once,” he said. “I baked cookies one time.”

She laughed, trying to ignore her flush of desire. Hopefully he would think she was just overheated. “I knew it,” she answered. “Was it a birthday? Or did you just feel guilty about giving them a test or something?”

He cleared his throat.

She stopped walking, looking at him. “Seriously?”

He turned to face her. His expression was sheepish. “Actually, I gave a test that everyone but one student failed.” He hesitated, and she knew that wasn’t the whole story.

“Because?” she prompted.

“Because my wife moved out and took the kids to her mother’s house and filed for divorce within the span of a week and I was…”

“Cranky?”

He smiled. “Something like that.”

“That’s rough,” she said. “Why’d she leave? Did you cheat on her?”

He seemed startled by the idea. “No,” he answered.

She read his expression. “She cheated on you,” she said. It wasn’t a question, and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed. “Sorry,” she said, and she meant it. “But hey, on the bright side, now you’re free to sleep with all the pretty young college girls that’re no doubt falling at your feet.”

He regarded her in silence for a few moments, chewing the inside of his lower lip. “I would never sleep with a student,” he finally said. “It would be unethical.”

“So if I enrolled in your class?” she asked, but she felt a surge of guilt for making a joke just to cover her own discomfort. “Sorry,” she repeated. “Look, I didn’t mean to…offend you, or whatever.”

“I’m not offended,” he said quietly. “And for the record, I’m not trying to sleep with you.”

She tried to think of something to say. “I…”

“Not because I don’t want to,” he added, shifting the stack of books he was holding. “Because, also for the record, I find you very attractive, and to answer your question, if you were enrolled in my class, I’d be distracted all the time and probably bake a lot more cookies.” He turned and started walking, but slowly, and she fell into step beside him. “Sex is all well and good, Sam—”

She snorted. “Well and good? I don’t want to speak ill of your ex, but she sounds like a bore.”

He smiled, and finished, “But romance is better.”

“Isn’t the point of romance to get to the sex?” she asked.

“The point of romance is romance,” he said. “Making breakfast in bed, or sending someone flowers on a random Wednesday just so they know you were thinking about them? Celebrating your six-month anniversaries and…waking up early each morning just so you have longer to spend curled up together? Nicknames, secret jokes, holding hands, showering together—crying together, all of it.” He turned toward her again. His shirt was stuck to his sweaty shoulders and back, and they were never going to make it to the bus if they kept stopping. “Forgive me, Sam, but it really pains me to think you haven’t had anyone love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“You don’t even know me,” she muttered. Her heart was racing. She was caught between her instincts for fight and flight. There were sarcastic, cruel words perched on her tongue; her feet were itching to run. “Maybe I’ve been loved exactly the way I deserve.” She didn’t know she was going to say it until the words were hanging in the hot air between them.

He studied her face, and she forced herself to keep her gaze from dropping. “I don’t think so,” he said, and his voice was soft. He let out a breath. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. And, at the risk of undermining my, uh…rugged masculinity, these books weigh about ten times what they did when we started out.”

“And it’s hotter than hell,” she said, as they started walking.

“It’s a shame your brother can’t give the county a little rain.” When she shot him a look, he said, “I’m serious. This place is about to blow away.”

She looked around at the town. She’d meant what she said: she wouldn’t want to settle into a small town, Sweetwater or any other. That didn’t mean she couldn’t see its appeal, though. “It’s a shame,” she said, quietly. She squinted up at the cloudless sky.

If he could make it rain, we wouldn’t need the kid, she thought, looking toward the deserted baseball field. Her brother was nowhere in sight, and neither was the boy. Jonas isn’t going to like it.

  “Who’s the guy who’s been snooping around?”

“What guy?” Sam asked without looking up.

“The old guy who looks…soft and professor-ish.”

She lifted her head. “He’s not old,” she said, without thinking. She saw Jonas’s smirk, and clenched her jaw.

“Just soft and professor-ish?” Jonas teased. “Maybe he should do something about the gray, then,” he said, pinching at his own hair near his temple.

“He is a professor, he’s got a doctorate in new American religions. He’s writing a book about revivals. And not everyone has a love affair with vanity,” she said, and her brother laughed. “Besides, he’s only six years older than you.”

Jonas tipped his head. “By my calculations, that makes him eight years older than you,” he told her. “I’m tempted to ask how you know, since it seems unlikely you’d come right out and ask…” He narrowed his eyes, regarding her, and she felt herself flushing. “You Googled him, didn’t you?”

She crossed her arms to keep from fidgeting. “It’s my job to dig up information on people,” she said, hating the defensiveness in her own voice.

“Oh, so you found something we can use? Great, we’ll make a believer out of him.”

“No,” she said, harsher than she’d intended, and she saw Jonas’s smile. She cursed herself for continuing to rise to his bait, but his smile was gentle, now. That was somehow worse. Jonas understood her as no one else ever had. “Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “He won’t cause problems. If I have to, I’ll keep him distracted until we leave town. He won’t follow us, he’s got a hundred other revivals to visit.”

“If you have to,” Jonas said, softly, and she could see the sadness in his smile. She didn’t want his pity. “Sam,” he said, with a sigh. “You’re allowed to—”

“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do,” she cut in, because she didn’t want to have this conversation. “I get along fine, thanks.”

“Right,” Jonas said. “God forbid you actually care about someone.”

“You’re one to talk!” she exclaimed, but they both knew that caring about people had never been his problem. Their father had always said he was too sensitive, but Sam knew the truth. Jonas had always felt things deeply, had always loved wholeheartedly, and he’d always been fiercely loyal to anyone who treated him with kindness.

Yes, he could convince a widow to hand over her wedding ring, but she would do so with a smile. Yes, he could take a different person to bed each night, but he never left them feeling disrespected or unappreciated. Yes, if he felt cornered or betrayed, he could cut a person in half with the sharpness of his tongue.

Jonas loved performing. He got his high not from the dollars landing in the baskets, but the smiles on people’s faces. Their money kept him fed, but their cheers were what nurtured him. Jonas was the most alive when he was on a stage, and he took no pleasure from fooling people. When he convinced a man to quit smoking, it didn’t matter if it was really God’s will or not. What mattered to Jonas was that he’d impacted someone’s life, that he’d left a mark. Jonas wanted desperately to be loved, to be appreciated. To be respected.

Sam knew the feeling. It was something they shared, a remnant of their childhood. They’d spent their formative years searching in vain for the love of a parent. They’d craved affection and acceptance, and they’d turned to each other. He’d been her best friend, her protector. And then she’d become his protector. It had been a gradual shift. Every punch from their father had left more than a physical mark. Every cruel word had added an invisible scar.

Jonas felt things deeply, and Sam trained herself to keep her own feelings buried. She’d made herself into an emotional shield for him, the way he’d once been a physical shield for her. It had been the two of them against the world for as long as she could remember, and she didn’t know any other way of life. Until recently, she’d never allowed herself to fantasize about anything else.

They often argued. In fact, there were few things on which they’d ever seen eye to eye. But Jonas was the one person who would never betray her. She loved him, even when she wanted to strangle him. If it weren’t for him, she might not believe herself capable of love.

But Jonas, he deserved the kind of all-in love—breakfast in bed, celebrating half-year anniversaries, flowers on Wednesdays, cuddling in the early morning light, affectionate nicknames, kisses both passionate and tender, holding hands on the sidewalk, shared showers, shoulders to cry on, private jokes, gazes filled with adoration—that he secretly craved. The years on the road were slowly eating away at him. Each performance gave him joy, but the rest of the life was wearing on him.

No matter whose bed he was in, he always fell asleep alone. He didn’t have to tell her that. They didn’t typically discuss their sex lives. Nor did she care about what he did with whom. What she cared about was the fact that, lately, even the performances couldn’t completely erase the sadness from around his eyes. The highs were no longer outweighing the lows.

She couldn’t stand to watch him destroying himself.

She wanted to set him free, and she didn’t know how. She wasn’t sure who she was without him and the show. She was terrified to examine herself in the mirror, afraid that she would see nothing but an outline, a shadow, in the reflection.

“Look, I’m not some helpless little girl anymore,” she said. She was horrified to feel tears burning her eyes, and she gritted her teeth, forcing them back.

“You were never helpless,” he answered quietly.

“So you don’t have to worry about me,” she said. “What you need to worry about is the show. We need to use the kid.” He knew that Jake was the sheriff’s son, now. She hadn’t been the one to tell him, and she hadn’t asked him what had happened.

“No.”

“No? No? I’m telling you, we don’t have a choice, not if you want to get out of this godforsaken town.” When he was silent, she narrowed her eyes. “You do want to get out of here, right?”

“Of course,” he answered, but she wasn’t sure he believed himself. “But he’s the sheriff’s kid, and…Jake’s been through enough.”

“Oh, really? The world is cruel, Jonas, you know that. The sooner the kid learns that—”

“He knows about the cruelty of the world, Sam,” Jonas interrupted. “The one thing he has left is hope—faith. I won’t take that from him.”

“Everyone in town says it’s psychosomatic,” she said. “There’s no reason for him not to walk, no medical reason. It’s in his head, Jonas. All you have to do is convince him that God wants him to walk, and—”

“No,” he repeated, his tone harsh.

“He believes in you. He will believe in you.”

“Yeah,” Jonas said, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Yeah, Sam.” She could hear the rawness in his voice, and it alarmed her. He was too emotionally invested, already. “And what if it’s not all in his head, huh? He doesn’t need someone like me coming in and—”

“Is this because you’re sleeping with his father? You’ve done miracles on kids before.”

“This is different and you know it.”

“Everyone in town loves the kid. You can’t give them rain, Jonas, but you can give them something they want just as much. They’d each give their last penny to get that kid on his feet, you can see it in their faces when they look at him, when they talk about him. If you’re looking for a change, we can change. We can figure something out, but we have to get—”

“Sam.” He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. When he looked at her again, she could see the weariness around his eyes, the unhappiness around his mouth, the defeat in his posture. “I love you, sis,” he said, quietly. “But I can’t discuss this right now.”

Before she could say anything, he turned on his heel and strode away. She stood, staring after him, stunned. She was feeling a little bit of everything at once, all the emotions swirled together to leave her with a general sense of unease.

Her gaze shifted, and she caught Jackson’s eyes. He always seemed to be around; her eyes always seemed to find his. He’d changed into jeans and a gray t-shirt that accentuated the muscles in his arms, and she thought, soft and professor-ish, my ass.

She didn’t think he was close enough to have heard the conversation. He certainly wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. She could feel his concern, though, could see it in his expression. He was worried about her, and she didn’t know how to deal with that. She didn’t know how to feel about it. She turned her back on him and walked in the opposite direction of her brother. And Jackson.

  “It’s Jackson, right?”

The professor turned. “Jonas Nightingale, at last,” he said, extending a hand. Jonas looked him over while shaking his hand. “Did Sam tell you I wanted to ask a few questions?”

“No,” Jonas answered. “Actually, I came to talk about her.”

“Your sister?” Jackson said, suddenly wary.

“You seem to have spent most of the day with her,” Jonas said. “Are you trying to screw her?”

Jackson blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“First of all, vulgarity aside, I—” He stopped, raising his hands when Jonas stepped closer.

Jonas poked him in the chest, and said, “She’s had enough assholes in her life. If you hurt her, I’ll bring hellfire raining down on your head, professor.”

“I appreciate your attempt to look out for your sister, here—Could you back up, please? Thanks,” Jackson said, smoothing the front of his shirt when Jonas took a step back. “I have no intention of hurting her, and I only met her this morning.”

“It only takes a few minutes,” Jonas said.

“Not for me, it doesn’t,” Jackson answered.

Jonas laughed, pointing at him. “Touché. So. Jackson. What’s everyone been saying about me behind my back? Come on, don’t make me buy the book.”

“So far as I can tell, everyone loves you,” Jackson said. He saw something like guilt flit across Jonas’s features. “They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”

“Hey,” Jonas said, spreading his arms. “What’s not to love?”

“I met you forty-five seconds ago.”

“Well, I like you, doc,” Jonas said. “You’re an honest guy, I can tell. I’ll bet you’ve never told a lie in your life. Don’t let Sam scare you off.”

“I’m not—there’s nothing going on between—”

“Careful, now, don’t make this your first lie,” Jonas said. He pulled his flask from his back pocket and unscrewed the lid. He held the flask toward Jackson, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” Jackson said. “Thank you.”

Jonas smiled as he took a drink. Replacing the lid, he shook his head. “So polite, too. Ask me some questions, professor. I love to talk about myself.”

“Alright. Why do you do what you do?”

“Do what I do?” Jonas asked. “You mean the Lord’s work?”

“If that’s what you believe, then yes,” Jackson answered.

Jonas narrowed his eyes. “I think we both know the answer,” he said, all traces of humor gone from his expression. “We rip people off. No—I rip people off. I use their secrets against them, I manipulate them, I give them false hope, and I take their money. And then I never see them again.” He shrugged, spreading his arms again, the flask glinting in one hand. “Do they go back to drinking? Cheating? Hitting their wives? Who knows. I get my money and I leave.”

“People ask for help…not hitting their wives?” Jackson asked, feeling ill.

Jonas’s expression contorted, and Jackson didn’t doubt the sincerity of his pain. “Oh, doc, you wouldn’t believe what sins people confess,” he said, softly. “They want God to cure them. So I put my hand on their forehead and I promise them absolution if they change their ways. And what promise does the bruised and battered young woman beside them get? What assurance does she have that the beatings will stop? Nothing but the word of a conman. We can phone in an anonymous tip—” He stopped, licking his lips as he gathered his thoughts. He shook his head and looked at Jackson. “What kind of man needs someone like me to tell him not to hit his wife? Not to fuck around on her? Not to hit his kids—” He pulled in a deep breath. “You’re an educated man, right, professor? Me, I never graduated high school, so maybe I just don’t get it.”

“There are a lot of terrible people in the world,” Jackson said. “But there’re good people, too. I have to believe that the good outnumber the bad.”

“And what absolution does a man deserve after hitting his wife and kids?”

Jackson swallowed. “I don’t know the answer to that,” he said.

“What kind of redemption is there for a man who offers false hope—” He stopped again. He opened his flask and drank the last of his liquor. He shook the empty bottle. “I need a refill,” he said.

“When you look into the face of a child with a black eye, and you see yourself,” Jackson said, “what do you do? You can tell me that you offer absolution to the father and take your money and leave, but I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you because of your sister, and Ida Mae, and Ornella, and every person I’ve talked to about you. I think what you do is tell the man that God will give him the strength to be better, you tell him that he has the power to change and be forgiven, and you take his money. And then? You get that money into his wife’s hand along with the phone number of someone who can help her. And then you whisper into that kid’s ear, and you tell him that God is on his side, not his father’s, and that he will survive the hell in which he’s currently trapped and he will thrive in the world, and there will come a day when his father can no longer touch him.”

Jonas opened his mouth but couldn’t find any words to speak.

“Is that false hope? Maybe. I don’t know,” Jackson said. “Maybe sometimes yes, sometimes no. Maybe they get away. Maybe they don’t. Nobody can save everyone, but false hope is still hope, and sometimes that’s all we have to get us through the day. Hope for tomorrow. You want to know what people say behind your back?” Jackson bobbed his head, raising his eyebrows, and said, “They say a lot, Mr. Nightingale.”

He turned and walked away, and Jonas stared after him, stunned into speechlessness.

  Sam didn’t have time to worry about Jackson or the sheriff once the show started. She had to make sure the microphones were working, that the Angels were on their marks, that Jonas’s earpiece was working. She had to make sure she knew which audience member was sitting in which seat—and she had to make sure that the sections were clearly marked, because otherwise Jonas wouldn’t know where to go.

She had to make sure Jonas was sober—she could smell the alcohol on his breath when he got to the stage, but she could also smell the coffee. He’d made an attempt to sober himself up, and she followed up on that by pumping him full of water. She made a mental note that they might need to add an extra two minutes to his wardrobe change for a bathroom break, but they would cross that bridge if it arose. Once Jonas was on stage, he was usually able to push everything else aside and focus on the show.

She had to make sure there was water readily available for him and for the rest of the performers and crew. She had to supervise the collection baskets: if they were circulated too soon, people would begin to feel antsy and might even decide to leave; if they were passed around too late, people might not want to pay for a show they’d already seen.

There were a lot of things to worry about, but she was relieved, once the show started, to see that Jonas seemed fully committed. He was in top form, and he barely looked at the kid—Jake—where he sat near the corner of the stage. And he didn’t, as far as Sam could tell, look at the sheriff a single time during the performance.

He sang. He danced. He smiled. He flirted.

He was kind, compassionate. He was witty, funny.

He went in every direction Sam pointed him, without hesitation, and even Sam, who’d seen his act more times than she could count, was impressed by the advice he was doling out. He was the best he’d been in years, and Sam—at first relieved by his performance—gradually became aware of an uneasiness growing within her.

As Jonas drove the revival toward its conclusion with the velocity of a barrel traveling Niagara Falls, she could see his increasing desperation. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was performing for the last time.

The thought filled her with dread.

  “You disappeared after the show.”

Jackson stood in the doorway, looking out at her. “You had a lot going on,” he answered. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You weren’t avoiding me?”

“No.”

“Do you like me, Jackson?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I mean, like me, like we’re in junior high and—”

“What’s wrong, Sam?” he asked quietly.

“Can I come in?”

He stepped aside and pushed the door open wider. When she’d walked into his room, he closed the door with a soft click and turned to face her.

“I looked for you,” she said. “I was afraid you might be gone, that I’d never see you again.”

“I’m sorry,” he answered. “I felt like I’d forced my company onto you enough for—”

She stepped forward and kissed him. He made a sound of surprise, but it quickly turned into one of desire when she pushed him against the door. His hands rose to her face. He was kissing her in return, but she could feel his hesitation, his wariness. She pressed closer against him, running her hands down his sides. She reached for the button of his jeans, and he pulled his mouth away from hers.

“Sam,” he said. His hands were still on her face, his palms warm against her cheeks, and she met his eyes. “You can talk to me,” he told her.

“I don’t want to talk,” she said. “Just for tonight, I want to feel something good.” She hesitated, holding his gaze. “That’s not true,” she admitted. “Not just anything, I want you. I want you, Jackson, if you…if you’ll have me.”

He searched her face for several seconds. He bent his head, watching her eyes, and kissed her. His lips were gentle, and she could feel the pads of his thumbs, soft against her cheeks.

He made her feel vulnerable and safe at the same time, a combination that she could scarcely comprehend. She would normally flee at the first feelings of vulnerability, but in spite of her apprehension, she didn’t want to run. Something about him called to her, and had since she’d first laid eyes on him. He looked at her as though he were seeing her, the real her, the woman she kept hidden away from the world.

He turned, and she felt the wall against her back. She ran her hands down his sides again, but this time she didn’t reach for his fly. She took hold of the bottom of his shirt and slid it upward, and he lifted his arms, pulling his mouth from hers long enough to let her tug the shirt over his head. Then he claimed her mouth again as she slid her hands over his stomach, his chest, his arms. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, all of it.

He turned his head and his lips were soft and damp against her jaw, the crook of her neck, her throat. She tipped her head back against the wall and held onto his shoulders, arching against him, needing to be closer.

“Jackson,” she said, and she could hear the plea in her own voice.

“Sam,” he answered against her throat. One of his hands slid under her shirt, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric of her bra as he cupped her breast. He sucked gently at the sensitive skin of her throat, and she made a sound, desperate to feel more of him. She lifted a leg, hooking it around his hips, and she could feel his growing arousal.

“I need you,” she breathed, something she’d never said before. “Please, Jackson.”

He grabbed the backs of her thighs and lifted her. She threw her other leg around him and held onto his neck. He covered her mouth with his again as he spun, carrying her toward the bed. In just a few seconds, he was lowering her onto the mattress, still kissing her. His arousal was nestled between her thighs, and she shifted, trying to pull him closer, her legs still around him.

His hands were hot against her stomach, and he pushed her shirt up, his fingers splayed over her ribcage. He pulled back, and she reluctantly dropped her legs away from his hips. A moment later, his lips were pressed against the bare skin of her stomach, and a shiver passed through her.

While he trailed kisses across her belly, one of his thumbs found her nipple—with uncanny ease—through the cup of her bra. She grabbed at his bare shoulders; she couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone as badly as she wanted him. She wanted him to hurry, but she also wanted the moment to last forever.

He seemed to have no intention of hurrying.

His mouth was slowly driving her insane with need—and that was only her stomach. The ache between her legs was building, and she wanted his tongue to move a few inches lower. His thumb was lazily teasing her nipple, and she wanted the barrier of her bra to disappear.

She wanted all the barriers between them to disappear.

He turned, reaching back to slip off her shoe. She made a sound of protest, when his mouth left her skin, that shocked her. He chuckled lightly, but instead of embarrassing her, his laugh only made her want him more.

He pulled off her shoe and sock, and then the other, dropping them to the floor. In just a few seconds, his fingers were at the button of her jeans, but his movements were still unhurried. He lowered her zipper and gently tugged the jeans over her hips; she shifted her legs, trying to make it easier, wanting the restricting garment gone. While he was pulling her jeans off and tossing them aside, she levered herself up and stripped her shirt over her head, throwing it past the edge of the bed. She unhooked her bra and pulled it off, too.

Jackson turned, his gaze sliding up the length of her body until their eyes met. He leaned forward and kissed her lips, but it was quick. She felt his hand on her inner thigh and she spread her legs further, wanting—needing—to give him better access. He shifted, and his middle finger found her clit through the thin cotton of her panties. His mouth closed around her breast at the same moment, his tongue flicking her nipple, and she gasped in surprise at the dual assault on her senses. She grabbed at his hair, tipping her head back as she arched, involuntarily, against his hand.

His fingers were gentle, massaging her through her dampening underwear, and he matched the rhythm with his tongue on her nipple. The pressure within her was building at an alarming rate; his ministrations were hurtling her toward climax more quickly than she’d imagined possible. She shifted against his hand, again.

“Jackson,” she said; his name was all she could manage.

He lifted his head and his mouth found hers. He kissed her while his fingers moved faster, rougher against her panties, and she arched her back, gasping into his mouth as her orgasm crashed over her. She shuddered against his hand, her muscles clenching as she tried to draw him closer.

He released her mouth and she pulled in a deep breath, blinking as she tried to make sense of how quickly he’d taken her over the edge—and the fact that he was still half-dressed. Before she could say anything, he took hold of her hips and shifted her further up the bed. He hooked his fingers into the elastic of her underwear and slid the panties past her thighs, down her legs, discarding them. In a heartbeat, she felt his breath between her legs, and she closed her eyes, once more saying his name.

His mouth closed around her, his tongue finding her sensitized clit, and she bucked against his face, gasping. Her hands were buried in his hair, and all she could do was hold on. Tremors rippled through her and then, almost without warning, she came again, crying out his name as she arched against his mouth.

He pushed to his feet and she watched, barely capable of rational thought, as he stripped out of his jeans and underwear. He was back in a moment, trailing kisses up her thigh, over her belly, across her breasts, her chest, up to her mouth. She shivered, running her hands over his shoulders, down his back, cupping her palms around his bare ass to pull him closer. She could feel his erection against her hip and she shifted, turning her mouth from his.

His hand was between her legs again, and she bit back a moan, closing her eyes for a moment. “Wait,” she managed, and his fingers stilled. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her. “I want you,” she said, reaching a hand between them to wrap her fingers around his erection. A shiver passed through his body, and she felt him twitch in her hand. He held her gaze, his eyelids heavy with desire. He lowered his head, pressing his lips against hers.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed so much, if ever.

He pushed himself backward, slipping his erection from her grasp, and she blinked in surprise as his warmth disappeared from her body. She levered herself up on her elbows, watching as he tore open a small foil package. She didn’t know where it had come from, or how he’d had the presence of mind; she’d certainly been thinking of nothing so responsible.

She watched him roll on the condom before dragging her gaze up to his. She saw his lips curve into a smile, and she held out a hand, motioning for him. His body once more covered hers, and his hands were all over her—gently kneading her breast, tracing the curve of her hip, trailing along the hollow of her shoulder, tickling her inner thigh. She couldn’t keep track. Her skin was tingling everywhere he’d touched, her whole body on fire with desire.

So far, he’d gotten almost nothing in return.

Sam pushed at his chest, and he didn’t resist as she rolled him onto his back. In a few moments, she was straddling his stomach, and his hands were resting lightly on her hips. She ran her hands over his chest. He shifted his shoulders and she felt his stomach tightening against her inner thighs. She could feel his erection behind her, and she kissed him while she shifted her hips backward. He groaned against her mouth, and she reached between their bodies, taking his arousal in her hand.

He flexed his hips beneath her, pushing himself into her palm, and part of her was sorry that he’d already applied the condom. She wanted to feel him, his silky length against her hand. There was no time to worry about it, though. She could see the tightness in his expression, could feel the quivering of his muscles beneath her, and she levered herself up.

Holding him loosely in her hand, she positioned herself over his erection. His lips were parted, his fingertips pressing into her hips.

As she lowered herself partway down, she withdrew her hand and paused, meeting his eyes.

He was breathing shallowly through his mouth, his bright gaze fixed on hers. He slid his hand from her waist, and his fingers once more found her clit. She gasped in surprise, sinking down his length. He smiled, stroking lazily with his thumb. He shifted his hips beneath her, the muscles in his abdomen tightening.

She didn’t immediately move, taking a few moments to savor the feeling of fullness. She spread her palms over his stomach, relishing the way he quivered at her touch.

He needed release, though, and she wanted to watch his face as she pushed him over the edge. Bracing her hands on his abdomen, she started moving her hips, watching his eyelids droop. His thumb was still massaging her, and she increased her rhythm, determined to bring him to climax before he could make her lose control again.

He wasn’t moving his hips beneath her, but she could feel the tension in his muscles, could sense the effort it was taking for him to hold back and let her set the pace. She worked her hips faster, harder, and both of his hands were back at her waist, holding onto her. He said her name on a breath as he thrust upward, once, involuntarily, filling her completely as he came inside the sheath of his condom.

His hand fumbled its way between them, again, even as the tremors were still wracking his body, but she was already coming apart before his fingers found her most sensitive spot. At the light pressure of his fingers, she cried out, tightening around him, closing her eyes as her third orgasm stole her breath. She jerked and shuddered against his hand, and then he’d curved an arm around her shoulders and was pulling her down for another kiss. She collapsed against his chest, feeling weak and shaky as their mouths met.

He wrapped both arms around her, holding her against himself. She had to pull away from his mouth to draw a ragged breath, and she laid her cheek against his shoulder, shivering from the aftershocks of her orgasm. He kissed the top of her head.

“Sam,” he breathed into her hair. She could feel the thud of his heart.

“Jackson,” she murmured in return, and his arms tightened around her.

  Sam eased out of bed and quietly began gathering up her clothes. She was holding her shirt clutched to her chest, bending down to peer beneath the bed for her bra, when she realized that Jackson was watching her.

“You don’t have to leave,” he said, quietly.

“Oh, no, it’s alright,” she answered, feeling self-conscious. “I should get back to the bus…” She snatched her bra off the floor and straightened.

He was lying on his side, with his hand beneath his cheek. “Would you think less of me if I asked you to stay?” he asked. His voice was soft, and so was his expression. She felt a flutter in her stomach, something close to nervousness.

“Less of you?” she asked, confused.

He smiled. “Sorry, is that not possible?” he said. His tone was light, joking, but she felt compelled to reassure him.

“That’s not what I—” She chewed her lip for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “I wouldn’t want you to think I don’t respect you,” she said.

“And I wouldn’t want you to think I’m needy,” he answered. “It’s late. Come back to bed.”

Normally, she would bristle at something so close to a command. Except…it didn’t sound that way, not when he said it. And as she regarded him, she found that she really didn’t want to leave. Lying there with his hair mussed, his jaw stubbled, his eyes bright and watchful, naked—though covered from the waist down by a tangle of blankets—he was both sexy and adorable. Appealing, in a way that frightened her.

She was afraid of how badly she wanted to crawl under the covers beside him, to curl into his warmth and drift to sleep with his scent in her nostrils.

What could it hurt, though? After Monday, she would never see him again. He would move on to another revival, and she and Jonas and their revival would move on to another town.

She walked to the edge of the bed, dropping her clothes to the floor. She wasn’t sure why she felt so shy as she crawled onto the bed, or why she felt just a bit emotional about the fact that he pulled the covers up over her. He leaned over and kissed her, and she expected him to want more. She wouldn’t have objected—her body responded quickly and naturally to his—even though she was tired and inexplicably emotional.

After a quick kiss on her lips, however, he kissed her shoulder and settled his head on the pillow beside hers, putting his arm over her. She turned her head a bit so she could see his face. His eyes were closed, and she felt herself relaxing into his heat.

“Goodnight, Sam,” he murmured. She didn’t answer, but she found herself turning toward him. He lifted his arm, and she curled against his chest, closing her eyes. His arm once more settled over her, and he kissed the top of her head. Within a minute, he was asleep. She could feel the steady drum of his heart, and his breaths were soft and even. The rhythms of his body quickly lulled her into an easy sleep.

  When she woke, she was alone in the bed. She was surprised. She was normally a light sleeper, and wouldn’t have believed that someone could get out of bed—especially when the last thing she remembered was being tucked up against his body—without waking her.

She stayed there for a couple of minutes, listening. She could hear Jackson moving around in the bathroom. She could also smell bacon and eggs, and coffee, and knew that he’d gotten breakfast. After a moment, she spotted the white takeout containers beside the television. Her stomach rumbled at the scent, and she frowned. She wasn’t about to invite herself to share his breakfast; she already couldn’t believe she’d crawled back into bed and spent the whole night with him—let alone being curled up in his arms like…like…

She sat up and shook her head to clear it. What the hell is wrong with you? she thought. She leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed her shirt off the floor, quickly pulling it over her head. She was debating whether or not to throw on her jeans and sneak out, but before she’d made a decision, Jackson stepped out of the bathroom.

He was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved, button-up shirt—white—that was open at the collar. He hadn’t shaved but appeared to have smoothed his hair.

Not only had he managed to leave the bed without waking her, he’d gotten dressed and, presumably, left to get breakfast. She couldn’t remember ever having slept so soundly.

He saw her sitting on the bed in her t-shirt, and he smiled at her. Her heart did a strange little skip in her chest. It was a real smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was genuinely happy to see her, and she wasn’t sure how to process that.

He walked over to the bed. “Good morning,” he said quietly, still smiling.

“Morning,” she muttered. She knew that her hair was a tangled mess. She was probably a scary sight, and she was naked from the waist down, covered only with the sheet. “You seem cheerful.”

Grinning, Jackson put a knee on the edge of the bed and leaned over, bracing his hands on either side of her hips. He kissed her; she could taste coffee, and she could smell his cologne, and desire bloomed in her belly. She sank back against the pillow, and he followed her down, smiling against her lips.

She found herself smiling in return; she couldn’t help it. He lifted his head a bit to look at her, and she suddenly forgot that she had messy hair and no makeup and morning breath. When he looked at her, she felt beautiful.

“I don’t usually stay until morning,” she admitted quietly.

He kissed her, again, and said, “I’m glad you stayed.”

“I just made myself sound like a whore,” she muttered.

He gave his head a little shake. “Lonely,” he countered, his voice and eyes soft. He rolled onto his side, propping his cheek on his fist as he looked at her. “Sam, I don’t…know you very well, and I…don’t want to ask for anything you’re not ready to give. But I’d like to get to know you, and I want you to know that I’m willing to try and make that work, whatever it means.”

After a moment, she turned onto her side, too, so they were facing each other. “My real name is Samantha Newton,” she said, quietly. “But that feels like a different person. Jonas chose the name Nightingale, and that feels…truer. I don’t even remember my mother, and my father was…the meanest sort of drunk. He wasn’t so nice when he was sober, either, but it was worse when he’d been drinking. And he hated Jonas, because Jonas was everything he wasn’t. Smart and funny, creative, kind. And happy. When we were little, he was so optimistic about life, it seemed impossible that even our father could beat it out of him.

“But he did, a little at a time. I could see it happening and I couldn’t do anything.”

“You were just a child, Sam.”

“We were both kids, Jackson. He sacrificed his…light, for me. And all I can think is that…I don’t deserve it. I haven’t done anything in my life to be worthy of what he’s given up for me.”

“Sam,” Jackson said on a sigh. “I’d argue that you’ve given up just as much for him, but that’s not really the point. I can’t tell you how to live your life, but I can tell you it isn’t over. There’s still time to have the life you want. You think you can’t leave him, that you owe him the rest of your life, but I promise you, he doesn’t want that. If you want my opinion, I think it’s likely that he’s carrying the same guilt you are. That he couldn’t protect you, that he’s not worthy of what you’ve given up.”

“How do I set him free?” she asked. It was the question she’d never been able to ask Jonas, the one she’d never been able to answer for herself.

“By being happy,” he answered.

She considered that. It seemed so simple, and yet… “I’m not sure I know how,” she admitted.

He lifted a hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I wish I could answer that for you,” he murmured. “But I have absolute faith that you’ll figure it out, and when you do…I’d love to hear from you. Maybe look up one day to find you walking into my classroom…”

She smiled. “You don’t sleep with your students,” she reminded him.

He chuckled. “I meant for a visit,” he said. “But if you decided to enroll, well, we’d both just have to suffer through the semester.”

She laughed. “Maybe you could let me observe for free, and I wouldn’t technically be a student.”

He was still smiling, but his eyes were serious as he regarded her. “I look forward to it,” he said.

She shifted toward him, and he met her kiss halfway. She rolled onto her back, pulling him with her, and he covered her body with his as he kissed her. His hand slid beneath her shirt, and her nipple hardened against his palm.

He lifted his head to look at her. “Will you spend the day with me?” he asked.

She studied his face for a few moments, noting his sincerity, his hope, and a touch of nervousness. “Yes,” she said. Kiss me again, she thought, amazed that she wasn’t tired of his lips, yet. Smiling, as though reading her mind, he touched his mouth to hers.

  “Is it true that Ida Mae and the Angels haven’t been paid in months?”

“Jonas, I—”

“Is it true, Sam?”

“I told you I was worried,” she said, feeling defensive. “But you didn’t want to listen.”

Jonas nodded. She expected him to argue, to point out the fact that she’d never told him just how bad their financial situation had gotten, but he didn’t. “I know,” he said instead. “And I’m sorry. You’ve been carrying a weight that wasn’t yours. But that ends now.”

His words, and his obvious resolve, filled her with apprehension. “What are you saying?” she asked.

“You’ve been running the show for years, Sam. And all I’ve done is make your job harder. But—”

“No, Jonas,” she said, grabbing his arm. “You’re wrong. You are the show. You’re the one people come to see, you’re the one who’s kept everything together. Kept us together. You saved us, over and over again, and I started to take it for granted that you—that you always do whatever it takes. You always come through for us, for the Angels, for the show. I took it for granted and I’ve let you give up too—no, I’ve asked you for too much, and you never say no.”

He smiled. “I say no to you all the time, sis, you just don’t listen.”

“No,” she stressed, squeezing his arm. “You drag your feet and complain and put up token resistance and then you do it, you do everything, you chip off pieces of yourself and fling them to the crowd. And the rest of us? We just tag along, living off your sacrifice.”

“You’re giving me too much credit.”

“No, you’re not giving yourself enough,” she countered. “Jonas, you think you sold your soul. But you didn’t. I sold it, or at least brokered the deal. This isn’t the person I want to be,” she said, spreading her arms. “I tried to force you to convince a kid that you could heal him and I tried to convince myself that it was justifiable because it was for the greater good. That the possible trauma to an already traumatized kid was an…acceptable risk. And you balked. And I…I would’ve done it anyway. I would’ve forced you into it because that’s what I do, isn’t it? I let you do all the feeling, all the caring, and I just…take care of business.

“I don’t let myself get emotional, right? I met somebody I actually liked and I didn’t even know what to do because it’s been so long.” She saw Jonas’s gaze shift toward Jackson, who was at the other end of the tent talking into his phone. “And something happened between you and the sheriff, something more than just sex, you can’t tell me otherwise. We deserve to be happy, Jonas.”

Jonas caught Ida Mae’s eye and motioned her over. When the older woman had joined them, Jonas put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “I want you to know that you—both of you, and the Angels—have been my salvation, you two especially have kept me going through some dark times. Ida Mae, I will make it right, I give you my word.”

She patted his arm. “We never doubted you, my boy,” she said with a smile.

“I will take care of it,” he told Sam.

His sister shook her head. “Jonas, you’re not listening—”

“No, Sam, I am listening,” he said, quietly. “I’m hearing you, I promise. You two have stuck with me, and I love you for it. I just need you to trust me a little bit longer.”

“Son, you know I’m with you to the end,” Ida Mae said. Jonas bent forward and kissed her cheek, giving her a hug. Then he looked at Sam.

“Promise me you’ll be okay, Jonas,” his sister said.

He smiled. “I promise. We’ll be okay,” he answered.

“I’ll do whatever you think is best,” Sam said after a few moments of silence.

  When Jonas walked onto the stage with his guitar, a hush fell over the crowd. Sam could see a ripple of confusion pass through the audience, saw people exchanging glances. She saw her brother look at the sheriff for just a moment before quickly looking away. He looked at the kid in the wheelchair, up front near the stage. The boy offered Jonas a smile of encouragement, and in that moment, Sam knew that Jonas would give up everything—his very life—to be able to help Jake.

He believes in you, Jonas, she thought. There’s still a chance.

The Angels were on their marks, but they were silent. Jonas walked to the middle of the stage.

“Jonas?” Sam asked, softly, into her mic. He looked over at her and nodded.

Jonas faced the audience and started playing. Sam felt Jackson squeeze her hand, and she looked over at him, grateful for his presence.

Jonas started pacing as he played Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” on the guitar. The audience was silent, still not sure what to think. It wasn’t gospel music, and it wasn’t what they’d expected, but it was a song that Sam knew had always soothed him. It was difficult to play on guitar, and he’d never performed it on stage before. He seemed to play it effortlessly, though. He walked the stage, scanning the audience, meeting their eyes, reading their desperation.

He transitioned from Pachelbel into “Rise Up,” and the Angels, led by Ida Mae, started singing a subdued version of the song. He walked back to his spot on the center of the stage.

“My name is Jonas Nightingale,” he said, his gaze skimming the faces. Some were familiar, the citizens of Sweetwater; others were new. “But that wasn’t always the case,” he continued, and another murmur passed through the audience. “Who here has read Romeo and Juliet?” he asked. He nodded as half the audience members raised their hands. “The nightingale didn’t bring good fortune, did it?” He smiled as a nervous titter of laughter rippled through the tent. He ran his fingers over the strings of his guitar, gathering his thoughts. “I chose the name because all I ever wanted to do was sing. My father was less than encouraging of that dream. But my sister, Sam,” he said, turning to look at her with a gesture of his chin, “she always believed in me. She told me once, when I was nine and she was seven, that God was going to send a whale to rescue us. She’d learned about Jonah in Sunday school—though she’d mixed up bits of it with Pinocchio, I think,” he added, winking at Sam as the audience laughed again.

She could do nothing but watch him, mesmerized, as she held Jackson’s hand in a deathgrip.

Jonas looked at the crowd. “I was sitting in my closet with a broken arm and a bloody nose, gifts from our father, and I told my little sister that there was no such thing as God, and that no one was coming to rescue us. I looked her in the face, and I told her to grow up and to stop believing in fantasies. I was cruel, because I was hurt.” He paused, and the silence in the tent was tangible. “And my sister put her arms around me, and she said something that I will never forget.”

“Jonas,” Sam breathed, as tears burned her eyes at the memory of his pain.

“She said, ‘then you save me and I’ll save you.’ I dropped out of school to go to work after our parents died, determined to make sure she graduated even though she was a pain in the ass about it,” he said, and she laughed, glancing at Jackson with a shrug and a nod. “So I was working, scraping pennies together wherever I could, and our local preacher asked me to sing at the church picnic. I didn’t get why he’d ask, I was a sullen little heathen who hadn’t stepped inside the church in years, but I wanted to sing. I memorized some gospel, and I memorized some scripture, and I got up there in front of all those patrons in their Sunday best, me in a ratty old suit of my father’s that was too big, and I put on a show, by God. I was angry about it, at the start. And then something changed.

“People were smiling, and I started to suck up their energy like a sponge. Aside from Sam, I don’t think I’d ever made anyone happy in my life. Now, someone had put out a bucket for donations. The very idea of charity made my fists clench, but Sam told me it wasn’t charity. It was payment for my performance. She called me a prophet for profit.” He paused, cocking an eyebrow at the crowd. “Get it?” he asked, and he was answered with nods and some laughter. “Jonah, Jonas. Prophet,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “Nightingale. I think you can follow the logic of the boy I was.”

He paused again, running his fingers absentmindedly over the guitar strings.

He glanced over at Sam, and she knew what he wanted.

“D-three,” she said, quietly. “Dry well.”

Jonas looked at the third seat in the section marked D. He walked toward the edge of the stage and hopped down, swinging his guitar to his back. “When Sam was a senior in high school, our well went dry,” he told the young woman. “We didn’t have a drought to worry about like you folks, but we couldn’t afford even basic repairs on the house, let alone the thousands of dollars the well-driller quoted us. I was hauling water from the creek for bathwater, and we were boiling it to drink.

“And then one day Sam came running into the store where I was working to tell me that they were out at the house drilling. By the time I got there, it was too late to stop them, and I panicked, because I had no way to pay for the work. One of the workers tried to calm me down, and I punched him in the face. He was about twice my size and promptly knocked me on my ass—more out of surprise than anything else. He could’ve squashed me like a bug. Even so, I jumped up ready to fight.

“It was the preacher who grabbed me and pulled me back. He’d stopped by to tell me that the church had taken up a collection to pay for our well.” Sam could see the tears shimmering in the young woman’s eyes as Jonas put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you feel guilty about all the help that you’ve been getting from your friends and neighbors…”

“Florence,” Sam said.

“Florence, but ask yourself this: if your roles were reversed, would you hesitate to help?” She shook her head, and Jonas continued, “The rain will come, I promise you. You will get back on your feet. I know it feels hopeless. I used to lie on my bed, staring at my ceiling, my stomach full of knots and acid, unsure how I’d provide our next meal or pay the following month’s electric bill. But someone told me that when you feel like you’re drowning, there’s usually someone willing to throw you a lifeline if you look around. You just have to be willing to take it.” He straightened and looked at the sheriff again.

“A-fourteen,” Sam said. “Alcoholic.”

Jonas walked over to the man, who looked up at him apprehensively. “When I was nineteen, I stole a twelve-pack of Pabst from the gas station. It was easy. The attendant was in his seventies and more likely to fall asleep behind the counter than not. I used to steal cigarettes because there was no way I could afford to buy them.

“Anyway, I got hammered, and I was wandering around town, and someone offered me a ride. The preacher’s wife—the same preacher who’d let me perform at that picnic, who’d organized a fund for our well. His wife drove me onto a two-track a mile from my house, and we had sex in her car. I was so drunk that I barely remembered it in the morning, but I remembered enough.

“She was more than twice my age, but I knew that I was responsible. I’d made the choices that led to that road. And I couldn’t confess, because I wanted to protect her. I wanted to protect her husband. And I wanted to protect myself. So I just let it eat away at me, and I drank more and more until I got caught stealing a bottle of vodka from the station. I spent the night in jail, and it was the preacher who picked me up in the morning.

“He knew already. I don’t know if she’d told him or if he’d just guessed, but he knew. And do you know what he did? He forgave me. He told me that we don’t have to be defined by our poor choices, that there’s always time for redemption if we’re willing to work for it.

“I’ve found myself in ditches, in strangers’ beds, in jail, even passed out beneath a church pew. It always starts the same. I feel like I’m drowning, or suffocating, like there’s no way out of the hole I’m in and the sides are caving in on me, and all I want is to shut off my traitorous mind for a few minutes, just to get some relief. The bottle helps for a bit, doesn’t it? But it’s a false prophet, my brother, and you know as well as I do that it solves nothing.

“That preacher forgiving me didn’t solve anything, either. All that did was add to my guilt. Confessing our sins is the first step toward redemption—”

“Harold,” Sam said.

“Harold, but the final step is forgiveness. Not from others, but from ourselves. We have to accept that our transgressions are a part of us, but they are not all that we are. The world can seem hopeless, but I promise you that the alcohol makes it worse. Things aren’t as bleak as they seem from the bottom of the bottle. Ask for help and you shall receive it.”

Jonas turned, adjusting his guitar. Sam said, “C-seven. Cheating on his wife. His name’s Scott.”

Jonas took a breath as he approached the man. “I won’t lie, Scott,” he said. “I’ve slept with married women, and men. I told myself it wasn’t that big a deal because they were clearly unhappy in their marriages. I tried not to think about their spouses, and how they would feel. I tried not to think of each and every one of them as that preacher. But they deserved better, and your beautiful wife here deserves better. You can change, Scott, and maybe she’ll forgive you. But you,” he said, turning to the young woman.

“Janie.”

“You deserve better, Janie,” he said. “Don’t settle for someone who doesn’t treat you with respect. Don’t settle for someone like me.”

“At least you weren’t married!” someone called out, and Jonas lifted his head, holding up a hand.

“No, I wasn’t married,” he said, “but I was still hurting people. Qualifications are dangerous, my friend, because we start to give ourselves permission to put our own desires ahead of everyone else’s.”

Sam gave him another seat, and Jonas turned in that direction.

For the next hour, he traveled through the crowd, confessing his sins, admitting his moments of weakness and despair. There were more and more heckles from the crowd as many of the people grew restless and irritable. This wasn’t what they’d come to see.

Jonas turned and walked onto the stage. He faced the crowd and waited while they grumbled amongst themselves. Finally, they began to quiet, their curiosity getting the best of them.

“I can’t offer you a miracle,” Jonas said, and there were a few angry shouts. Jonas paused. “I’m not even sure I believe in miracles,” he continued.

“You’re a fraud!” someone shouted.

Sam’s stomach clenched. She was afraid for him. She wanted to protect him, because she knew that their words had the power to hurt him.

“Yes,” Jonas agreed.

“No!” Jake shouted, and Sam looked toward him, surprised. The boy wheeled his chair forward and faced the crowd. “You’re not listening!” he told them. “He’s talking about life! Don’t you get it? Life is a miracle!” Sam could tell by her brother’s expression that it was something he and the boy had discussed. “We’re all alive!” Jake said.

Sam saw Jonas glance upward at the sound of thunder outside. There’d been several short, dry thunderstorms since they’d been in Sweetwater, and no one seemed to pay any attention to this rumble. Except Jonas. Sam could see something else on his face, something like hope.

“Jake,” he said, and the boy turned to look at him.

“You came to save us, Jonas,” Jake said.

Jonas shook his head. “No, son,” he answered. “They’re right, I’m a fraud. But it ends tonight.” He looked out at the crowd. “These Angels behind me have stuck with me when I didn’t deserve it. My sister has given up her own dreams so that I could stand on a stage each weekend. I’ve lied, robbed, cheated—Everyone here has sinned in some way, small or large, but you’re not alone. I’ve committed more sins than all of you. Tonight is about atonement. It’ll take me longer than one night to pay them back, but for the rest of you, you’ll notice the baskets at the ends of these aisles? That’s all the money that’s been collected from the citizens of Sweetwater. I trust you’ll take what you gave.

“As for those of you we owe money,” he said, nodding toward the garage owner seated in the front row, “you will be paid. Over the next week, I’ll be liquidating my assets to pay my debts. If you don’t want to wait, I have a title I’ll sign over—”

“Jonas,” Sam said. He looked over at her and offered a small smile.

“I only ever wanted to make people happy,” he said. “I wanted to sing, I wanted to make people smile, and I wanted to make my sister proud.” He looked at the crowd. “You have no reason to believe me, but I want you all to be happy. If I could, I would—”

“No,” Jake repeated, and Jonas looked down as the boy rolled himself over the nearest basket. “You came to save us, Jonas!” he repeated. “I believe in you, you just have to believe in yourself.” The boy shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of dollar bills and change, dropping the whole mess into the collection.

There was a loud clap of thunder, and Sam saw more people looking up at the tent, now.

“You said, music is life and life is magic and we just have to listen and believe. Well, I do,” Jake said.

“Jake,” Jonas said, and Sam could hear the rawness in his voice. He stepped toward the edge of the stage but stopped when Florence, the young woman with the dry well, got to her feet and walked to Jake’s side.

“I believe that everyone deserves a lifeline,” she said, dropping money into the basket. She ruffled Jake’s hair, and the boy smiled up at her, his relief evident. She looked up at Jonas. “And new beginnings,” she added.

One by one, people started rising and making their way to the baskets, dropping money into the collections. Jonas took a step backward, and then another. He looked at the sheriff as the man walked over to stand beside his son.

Sam felt like her heart was going to explode in her chest.

She saw people looking around at each other, and looking up, and she suddenly realized that the pounding sound wasn’t just her heart. It was rain, beating against the tent. She called her brother’s name, but he didn’t seem to hear her. The crowd surged toward the exit, and Jonas watched as the sheriff took hold of Jake’s chair and wheeled him into the crowd, calling to his deputies to make sure people stayed calm as they tried to get outside.

The Angels filed off the stage, also headed outside. Jonas looked over at Sam as she and Jackson walked onto the stage.

“Rain, Jonas,” she said, unnecessarily. “Come on.” She reached for his hand, but he stepped back, pulling his guitar strap over his head.

“You go,” he told her. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Jonas—”

“I’ll be right out, I promise,” he said, turning to set his guitar on the stage.

She hesitated, but Jackson’s hand was light at the small of her back, and he offered her a smile when she glanced at him. She let him walk her toward the exit flap, following the crowd, and they stepped out into the pouring rain. She turned her face up into the wetness, laughing in disbelief. Jackson’s arm went around her shoulders, and he pulled her close to kiss her temple. She turned toward him, pressing her wet lips against his, clutching the front of his soaked shirt.

She knew by the reaction of the crowd that Jonas had stepped outside, and she turned toward him as people spread apart to let him pass.  

Jonas walked over to the boy’s chair. Jake looked at him, still smiling, and Jonas lowered himself into a crouch. Sam suddenly realized what he was doing, and her heart leapt into her throat. She held tightly to Jackson, thinking, Please, please. He needs this—they need this, please.

“Jake,” Jonas said. “It’s time.”

The boy’s smile faltered. His hair was plastered to his forehead; rain dripped from his face. He shook his head. His chin trembled. “I can’t,” he said.

“You’ve punished yourself long enough,” Jonas said. “Look at me, son. You were wrong, I wasn’t sent here for the rain, Jake. I was sent here for you. To tell you it’s time.”

Jake stared up at him, and Sam could see the kid’s fear. But she could see the faith. The belief and hope. She’d told Jonas that Jake believed in him, and it was true. She was still terrified as she walked over to her brother’s side.

“Jonas,” she said, and he looked up at her. She shook her head. “You don’t have to do this,” she told him. If it didn’t work, he would lose everything of himself. She didn’t think he would ever recover.

“Yes,” he answered. His gaze cut toward the sheriff. “I do.” The sheriff started forward, but he was too far away to make it through the crowd in time. Jonas looked at Jake and said the boy’s name.

Jake swallowed, and gave a little nod. “Get me up, Jonas,” he said, quietly. All around them, people had begun to quiet and were turning toward the boy. Under the drumbeat of the rain, a hush spread through the crowd.

Jonas reached an arm behind Jake’s back, grabbing him under his arms. Sam was holding the chair to keep it steady; Jackson was beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Through the rain, she heard the sheriff call Jonas’s name.

Jonas lifted Jake to his feet and held him up, seeming to support all of his weight. The sheriff stopped at the edge of the crowd, and Jonas closed his eyes against the reluctant hope shining in the other man’s gaze.

With his eyes closed, Jonas said, “You can do this, Jake. Have faith.”

Please, Sam thought again. If you’re up there, if you’re listening, please help him.

“Jonas,” Jake said. “Let me go.”

Jonas opened his eyes and slowly lowered his hands, holding his breath. Sam wasn’t breathing, either. Jake looked at his father and stepped toward him. His knees started to buckle, and the sheriff started forward, but Jonas and Jackson grabbed Jake’s arms before he could fall.

The boy straightened his legs and lifted his chin. “Let me go,” he repeated, and Jonas and Jackson exchanged a look through the wet darkness. They pulled their hands back, and Jake stepped forward, slowly. He paused, and then took another step. The grass was slick from the rain, but his footing held. He took another step, and then his father, unable to wait any longer, met him halfway and grabbed him in a hug, lifting his feet off the ground as he kissed his son’s neck.

Jonas sank to his knees on the ground, dropping his chin to his chest. Sam felt hot tears on her cheeks, mingling with the rain. She put her hand on her brother’s head. He drew a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes.

The sheriff was standing in front of him. Jonas’s eyes slid up to his, and he swallowed. The sheriff took his hand and hauled him to his feet, and Sam could see the emotions stamped on her brother’s face.

He pulled his hand from Sonny’s grasp and said, quietly, “I need to go.”

“Jonas,” the sheriff said as Jonas turned away. He grabbed Jonas’s arm, pulling him back around. “No more walking away,” he said. He slid his hand into Jonas’s dripping hair and bent forward, kissing him.

Sam turned toward Jackson, but Jackson was no longer beside her. She frowned, looking around, peering through the rain, but she couldn’t find him in the crowd. She glanced at her brother. He didn’t need her now.

She made her way through the throng of celebrating people, and still there was no sign of Jackson. He can’t be gone, she thought. Not without a goodbye. She didn’t like the painful tightness in her chest or the lump in her throat.

She clenched her jaw, forcing back her tears. If he was gone, she wasn’t about to chase after him and beg him to spend more time with her. Maybe he needed time to process whatever had happened at the tent. Maybe he’d just decided it was time to leave. Either way, she had no intention of forcing her company onto him.

She turned toward the bus but had only taken a few steps before she stopped, cursing herself. She thought of his face, already familiar. His eyes, always full of kindness and good humor. His courage to be unflinchingly honest, even when facing the possibility of rejection.

He wouldn’t just leave with no explanation, she thought. Not Jackson. Sam didn’t trust very many people, but she trusted him, already.

She turned the other way and started through the rain.

When she reached the motel, his car was not parked in the lot. She walked up to the door with her stomach full of butterflies. He’d left it ajar, and she pushed it open, walking inside. The lamp was on, and there was a note beside it. His suitcase was gone, and everything in the room was neat and tidy. He’d made the bed even though the housekeepers would have to strip the sheets, anyway.

Sam picked up the note by the corner, trying not to get it too wet as she stood, dripping on the carpet.

 Sam,

Given half a chance, I would beg you to come home with me. I know that’s not fair. You barely know me. What’s more, you deserve above all else to be happy, and you need to decide for yourself what will do that. I hope with all my heart to see you again, but if I don’t, please know that I will never forget you.

Everyone deserves a new beginning, Sam. Like the kid said, life is a miracle.

Meeting you was a miracle, too.

Please be well. Please be happy.

 Yours,

Jackson

 She stared at the signature for a long time as her clothes made a puddle on the thin carpet. Yours, Jackson.

There was a business card with the note. Jackson Neill, PhD was printed on the front, along with Professor of New American Religions.

His classroom and phone number were written on the back.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and nodded once. “Okay,” she said, and she felt the knots in her stomach loosening.

  Jackson Neill looked up from his desk, and his lips parted in surprise.

Sam stood in the doorway, watching as the corners of his eyes crinkled, as his mouth curved into a smile. His happiness to see her—unmistakable and unadulterated—soothed the butterflies in her stomach, and she found herself smiling in return.

He put his palms on the desk and started to rise, but she held up a hand, stopping him. He sank back into his chair, his eyes tracking her as she walked toward him.

She’d been nervous, after not seeing him for weeks, afraid that she’d somehow imagined the connection they’d shared. One look at his face, however, had dispelled those worries. She stopped at his desk, holding his gaze.

“Professor Neill,” she said.

“Ms…?”

“Nightingale,” she answered. She’d decided to leave her father’s name behind for good. “You can call me Sam.”

“What can I do for you, Sam?” he asked, and his soft voice was like a caress.

“I was told I might be able to observe your class,” she said. “Does that offer still hold?”

“For as long as you’re in town,” he answered, searching her face.

“That might be a while,” she said. “I enrolled this morning. Figured I’d ease into the whole higher education thing.”

“Not my class?” he asked.

She put her knuckles on the desk and leaned forward. “No. I was afraid there might be a conflict of interests.”

“How’s that?” he asked, and she could see the amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“I was hoping I could convince you to have dinner with me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Ms. Nightingale?”

“Yes.”

“Then I accept your invitation, with what I hope is not an indecent level of eagerness.”

She grinned at him. “I missed you,” she admitted.

He leaned forward, and she pressed her lips against his. When he pulled back to look at her, he said, “I’ve missed you, too, Sam.”

“Sorry it took me so long. I had things to take care of,” she answered.

He shook his head. “You’re right on time,” he said.

#leap of faith au #jackson neill #sam nightingale #smut #angst #samson #new beginnings #working something out

[hoodiehan]

You and Me - Bang Chan Imagine

Synopsis: As a trainee at JYP Entertainment, you are exposed to new things. Such as new music, new styles of dance, and new boys.

Genre: Fluff, Slight (not even angst more like cringe) Angst

Word Count: 3282

A/N: The amount of times I got writer's block while writing this is greater than the word count.

Request: me as a new trainee at jyp and also goes to same school with seungmin..and we are kinda bff ..while me and chan..we always produce music together and help each other with producing..also stray kids and i practice together and they are helping me with dancing singing and rapping

The bright, natural morning light shone through the curtains of your dorm room automatically waking you up. Groaning, you rolled over in bed stretching out your sore limbs. You had stayed up until late hours the night before, practicing a new dance routine with Hyunjin and getting advice from him on how to improve.

Your muscles ached as you sluggishly climbed out of bed to prepare for another dreadful day of school. You didn't mind school at all, but the stress that came with it and all the responsibilities really put a toll on you - especially with all the responsibilities of being a trainee. Some days, you were just too mentally exhausted from having to practice new lyrics, to learning new dance routines, produce more songs, and finish school work. There was never a moment for rest and relaxation between being a JYP trainee and being a student. Something was always due the next day, and it especially didn't help that you had a tendency to procrastinate until the very last second.

Yet, with all this frustration and work, there were some aspects to being a student and trainee that brightened up your dark days. Ever since you joined JYP Entertainment, you met a lot of new people, and became friends with a lot of other trainees. But in the past year, you've especially become close friends with the members of Stray Kids. Specifically, Chan and Seungmin.

You had met Chan one day after a frustrating day at school. That day, you went to the trainee center to let off some steam and ignore any other responsibilities that didn't involve dancing or singing. You simply wanted to focus practicing on a perfecting a new dance that had been assigned to your team. The end of the month evaluations were coming up as well; it was a lot of pressure. You wanted to do well, but you were worried for your team mates as well. Some were struggling, and others simply weren't putting in enough effort. Nonetheless, you came to the center that day to focus on your dancing.

Slipping inside an empty practice room, you set your dance bag down and slipped off your sweat shirt so you didn't dirty it.

After plugging your phone into the speaker and taking beginning positions, you went through the dance, stopping at parts where you struggled and practicing it over and over again. Yet, the more you practiced, the more frustrated you felt as you couldn't perfect one specific move. It was a minuscule move, but it bothered you that you weren't able to get the timing right. You stood against the back wall of the practice room and slid down, accepting defeat that the one dance move would never be perfected. The door of the room burst open and loud laughter filled the room as two boys entered the room, immediately halting their actions and laughter when they saw you sat at the back of the room.

Already having a bad day, you glared at the two boys who had entered the room. "Excuse me, but this room is taken."

Their cheery faces faltered before one of them said, "Oh, sorry. Someone told me that this room would open."

You hard stare on them never faded even when the one in the front smiled the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. "Well it's not, so if you could please kindly leave, then that would be great."

The boy in the front scoffed; his patience had obviously run out. "No need to be so rude. The end of the month evaluations are coming up and we still have a lot of work to do."

"Yeah, well so do I. Anyways, I was here first so you can leave. Thanks so much for interrupting me, goodbye." You retaliated back.

And so it on - you bickering with the two boys about who had the right to use the room. Eventually, you just gave up and let them use the room before stalking out. The next day at school, you saw one of the boys walking around. You hadn't seem him around before, but you would remember the face of someone that infuriated you. You had no intentions to approach him, but he did, as the moment he saw you, his face lit up and he sauntered over to where you sat.

"Hey, you're a trainee at JYP right? My name is Seungmin. I think you were fighting a lot with my friend Chan yesterday." The smile on his face was so friendly, you couldn't reject him. Just like that, that was how your friendship began. It began with a rocky start of course, but it was a start nonetheless. When school had ended, you and Seungmin headed over to the JYP building where you formally met Bang Chan. Embarrassed, you apologized for your actions the previous day, to which Chan simply laughed it off. Ever since that day, you and the members of Stray Kids had been friends, but you had been particularly close to Seungmin and Chan.

Chan especially helped with producing songs; you always ran out of ideas for choruses or riffs, but Chan was always there to help you work through your creative block. All of your best songs came with help from Chan. You tried to help him out with his songs as well, but your ideas were never as great as his.

Along with Chan, you worked with Seungmin together to improve on your vocals, rap (sometimes), and the two of you even got together to complete school work and study. The boys supported you as much as you supported them, which was as much as possible.

Sat in Chan's dorm one day, you both were struggling through one verse of a song. For some reason, none of you could figure out what to do for a guitar riff. Sighing dejectedly, you reclined back in your chair and turned your head to face Chan who was sitting back with his eyes closed trying to think of what to do. From this angle, you could see Chan's sharp features; his jawline was tensed and his eyebrows were scrunched in frustration which made him look somehow looked cute, but cute in a more than "puppy faced" type of cute.

You tensed at the thought, did you find Chan cute?  You shook your head and scolded yourself at the thought. You've always seen Chan as a brother figure but who assisted you whenever you needed help.

But the moment Chan tilted his head to the side, peeked an eye at you and smirked, once he caught you were staring at him, you couldn't help but melt. Standing up abruptly, you surprised Chan and yourself.

"Um, I totally forgot. I had to- I have a uh- I need to.. go do something," you blurted out.

Chan knitted his eyebrows together and he gazed up at you. "Do what? We've been working on this song for the past 3 hours."

"Yes, and I now realize that I had to.. do.. something 3 hours ago. Bye, I'll see you tomorrow!" You exclaimed. Grabbing your stuff hastily, you made your way out the door with Chan hollering a farewell to you. Once you were outside the dorms, you stood against the wall pressing a hand to your face. Why did you just run out on him like that? What happened? Do you actually like Chan? Shaking your head dismissively, you turned to walk towards the elevators when you ran into Seungmin. Gasping in surprise you pressed your hands into his chest while Seungmin grabbed onto you to help stabilize you.

"Hey! What are you doing here? Weren't you working with Chan on the new song?" Seungmin grinned looking down at you (curse the height difference).

"Yeah, we were working before I realized that I had to go do something," you replied looking up at Seungmin. Looking at Seungmin, the light above the two of you hit his face directly shining his face and brightening his eyes. You stared at him for a moment admiring his attributes. Suddenly, you remembered that you were still pressed against Seungmin and you swiftly detached yourself from him, clearing your throat. "I was just heading out now though, so I'll uh.. See you tomorrow." Turning around briskly, you left Seungmin behind you as you made your exit walking towards the elevator.

On the way out of the building, you reprimanded yourself. You were not going to start having a crush on your best friends. Both Chan and Seungmin were brother figures to you, it would feel gross to have a crush on them. But the way that Chan had looked at you earlier... and the way Seungmin had held you so close... It felt good.

But no, no. You were not going to start liking them now. They most likely only saw you as a little sister anyways. Besides, why would you start liking the Stray Kids members now? You minus well like Felix and Jisung if you're about to start having a crush on all the members (but you definitely were not going to start liking them because they are too pure for the world).

When you had finally arrived home, you collapsed on your bed, drowning in your thoughts about what to do. After an hour of laying in the same position, you came to the conclusion that you were going to push away your feelings and just focus on being a trainee, and a student. Just the two of those things took up the majority of your time anyway; a relationship on top of all that would be too much.

Next to you, your phone vibrated with a text message from Seungmin, you blindly grabbed for your phone before reading the text. Seungmin had asked for your help to practice a dance he was working on. You typed out a response, and as you were about to hit the send button, another text message had come in, this time from Chan. The message read that he had finally figured out the guitar riff, and was wondering if you would be interested to listen to the final product of the song before he submitted it to JYP. Sending out a confirmation text to both of them, you then threw your phone on a place next to you and rolled back over. You simply didn't have time for any of this.

As the days grew on, you couldn't help but act a little differently towards Seungmin and Chan. You couldn't help it as your feelings began to grow no matter how hard you tried to suppress them.

One night, you had meant to be watching Seungmin and seeing where his faults where in a dance and so on. Yet, you spaced out halfway through his dance and couldn't focus on what was happening. The music in the room stopping abruptly was what brought you back to reality, only to see Seungmin curiously gazing at you.

"Oh, I'm sorry. What did you say?" You inquired feeling guilty that you hadn't given him your full, undivided attention.

"I asked if you were okay." Seungmin responded, tilting his head to the side.

"Yea, yeah. I'm totally fine. Sorry I didn't meant to space out." "Are you sure you're okay?" Seungmin asked taking a step closer towards you. Unintentionally, you took a step backwards which resulted in Seungmin taking another step closer towards you.

"I'm okay, I swear everything is fine." "Really? Because for the past week, you've been acting differently. Did I do something wrong?" he questioned taking a few more steps closer towards you. Him being this close to you made you more nervous as your heart began to race, your legs turn weak, and your palms began to turn sweaty.

"No-no, you didn't do anything. I swear, it's just been a long week," you breathed out unsure of what to do.

As you took another step backwards, your backside hit the mirror that was behind you. Seungmin stepped closer and placed an arm next to your head against the mirror, leaning against it and enclosing you in.

"What are you doing?" you breathed out. Your heart was beating so fast and loud, it was most likely certain that Seungmin could hear it.

"Are you nervous?"

You frantically shook your head, but in reality, you were more nervous than when you were auditioning to become a trainee.

"So you're okay with this?" Seungmin questioned placing a finger under your chin and tilting it up. Unable to speak and afraid of your own voice, you stared back at him, motionless. After what felt like eternity, Seungmin steadily dipped his head down and fluttered his eyes shut.

All of a sudden, the door of the practice room swung open, Chan entering in with a smile, but the smile quickly disappeared as soon as he saw the position that the two of you were in.

"Hey, what are you guys doing?" Chan asked cautiously.

Realizing that you were still pressed against Seungmin, you quickly pushed away from him, to which Seungmin responded with a scoff and an irritated smirk.

"We were just practicing our dance," You responded, still flustered from what just happened.

"Really?" Chan questioned, quirking an eyebrow up at you.

"Yes, but now I have to.. go." Scrambling about the room, you quickly grabbed your belongings before running out of the room leaving the boys behind.

On your way out, you heard the two of them begin to argue about something. Chan sounded angry and Seungmin appeared angry, but you were too far away to hear anything they were speaking about. It seemed like you had been running away from them a lot these days.

A couple of hours later, you stood in your kitchen thinking about what to do. You didn't want to keep running away from them, Chan and Seungmin were your best friends but you didn't want to do anything that would hurt them. As you sat, your phone buzzed with a text from Chan reading that he needed your help with another song. He had asked if you could come over as soon as possible.

That night you sat in the practice room with Chan finishing his new song. When it was done an perfected, he looked at you joyously.

"Finally!" Chan threw his arms up in the air. "It's finished!" He exclaimed victoriously. You nodded smugly and leaned against the table from your seat letting out a sigh of relief.

"This song has to probably be the greatest once you have ever produced," You replied.

"The greatest one, we ever produced." Chan nudged you. You gave him a small smile as your mind wandered back to earlier when he had barged in on you and Seungmin.

"Hey y/n, is something going on with you and Seungmin?" Chan asked. Chan can always see right through you; it's as if he could practically read your mind.

You scrunched your eyebrows together and shook your head before replying. "I don't think anything is going on. It's just that, I feel as though we became closer recently. But not closer as friends. I don't know how to describe it. But I don't know if I want to be anything else other than friends with Seungmin..." You began to ramble off to Chan about your problems. All the while, Chan sat back and nodded his head while listening to you. At some points, Chan would give his input and advice about your situation.

At the end of your talk, Chan gave his final input. "So you say that you don't want to be anything else with Seungmin, and that you only want to be friends." You nodded your head as a sign of confirmation.

"But what about.. other people?" Chan asked quirking his head at you.

"What you do mean?" "Is it possible that you only want to be friends with Seungmin because you want to be something more with someone else?" Chan questioned.

You knitted your lips together and sat there as you pondered his question. "I don't know.. That does make a little sense but..." you trailed off. Turning around to look back at Chan, you hadn't realize how close he had gotten to you.

"Y/n," Chan whispered looking right at you. "I think I should tell you something."

"Wait-" you cut Chan off feeling the need to get this confession off of your chest. "I think that what you said was right. It does make a lot of sense. I only want to be friends with Seungmin only because I do want to be something more with someone else. And I sincerely do not want to ruin this friendship because you mean the world to me, but I just think that you are the person I want to be something more with." You finished your declaration off with a soft whisper. Looking down, you saw Chan shift in his seat before he placed a hand on your knee. Your breath hitched in your throat as you awaited his next words. "Oh y/n, nothing could ever ruin our friendship, and nothing could ever ruin us." Chan pulled himself closer to you before continuing. "And you have no idea how long I've been waiting to be something more with you too."

Confused, you shot your head up to peer at him. "What- what do you mean?"

Chan smirked before closing off the remaining inches between the two of you, tenderly pressing his lips against yours. If you hadn't been sure of what Chan was trying to say before, you were definitely sure now. Eyelashes fluttering as the two of you pulled apart, you looked up at him, watching for what he was going to do next. Chan gently caressed your head as he peered down at you, his focus on you and solely on you. Reaching up, you softly placed a kiss on his lips again, giggling when the smile on his face widened. Chan pulled you onto his lap into a hug and rested his head on top of yours, lightly swaying the two of you back and forth.

For the next couple of weeks, the two of you had been producing love songs for each other as a way to express your feelings. Seungmin was a little disheartened to find that you and Chan had started to date, but he was still supportive of the two of you since all he wanted for his hyung and for you was to be happy. But Seungmin let it be known to Chan that if he ever hurt you, then Seungmin would hurt Chan even more than you were hurt.

A/N: So like... I had so much writer's block when I wrote this and I don't even know why. Also, I apologize profusely because I felt like this wasn't one of my greatest works. It definitely could have been a lot better, but I simply didn't what to write for it and it ended in the majority of this being pretty cringey (it was cringey to me at least). I'll definitely do better next time, I'm so very sorry.

#Stray Kids #Straykids #Imagine #Imagines #Lee Felix #Lee Minho #Han Jisung #Bang Chan #Seo Changbin #Kim Seungmin #Yang Jeongin #Kim Woojin #LeeFelix #LeeMinho #HanJisung #BangChan #SeoChangbin #KimSeungmin #YangJeongin #KimWoojin #3Racha #Fanfiction #JYP #Hwang Hyunjin #hwanghyunjin

[n3rdlif343va]

Phichit Zine Ficlet #1

This little ficlet is serving as a promo and prologue for my @phichitzine fic which is a collaboration with the fabulously talented @heilariart!! (Seriously, the art is unbelievable and I really, really cannot wait for everyone to see the story we have created!)

It is also a story near and dear to my heart, since this concept was developed with the help of my magical, beautiful fluff partner @magical-mistral!! Throughout our time as friends and partners, Mistral has always encouraged me to continue to fight for the multifaceted portrayal of Phichit in this fandom. She has encouraged me to write so many fics based on our joint love of our favorite character. I know that without Mistral, my inspiration would have dried up a long time ago, so the first ficlet that I am posting today is not only a zine prequel but most importantly a tribute to my Phichit, the absolutely incredible @magical-mistral. Thank you, for everything!

A sharp clap from the barrier wall had all of the skaters in the Detroit ice rink coming to an abrupt halt in the midst of their cool downs. Standing with his hands braced on the wall was their coach, his facial expression serious as he commanded their immediate attention. Raising an eyebrow at Yuuri, Phichit skated to the side of his best friend and reached up to pull Yuuri’s earbud from his ear. Nodding his head in Celestino’s direction, Phichit laughed at Yuuri’s panicked face. “He wants all of us, not just you, come on.” Playfully hooking an arm with Yuuri’s elbow, Phichit dragged him toward the group that gathered dutifully around their coach.

“This Saturday is Christmas,” Celestino was flailing his hands as he talked, and Phichit winked at Yuuri as he moved his own arms in subtle mocking. They loved their coach, but they also loved to tease the man at any chance they got. The sound of a clearing throat had Phichit dropping his hands, cheeks flushing as he stared at his feet. “As I was saying,” the statement was aimed in Phichit’s direction and he kept his eyes on the ground, even as his smile continued to quirk at the ends of his lips. “Saturday is Christmas, but members of our junior team are performing in a benefit and I cannot fulfill my duties as Santa Claus at the Children’s Hospital.”

The snicker escaped from Phichit before he could stop it. Elbowing Yuuri, he missed Celestino’s gaze falling on him. “Oh Santa, but what a pointy nose you have,” Phichit whispered, causing Yuuri to snort and slap a hand over his mouth. His second joke was interrupted when his name was firmly called.

“Phichit Chulanont,” Celestino’s pronunciation was flawless as he leveled a devious smile in the direction of his skater. “I was going to ask for a volunteer to take my place, but I will take your comments as enthusiasm. And Yuuri, I think you’ll make a good elf. Thank you for taking time out on a busy Saturday, gentleman, I’ll make sure the volunteer coordinator gets lots of pictures.” Raising his own eyebrow, Celestino smirked at his skaters as he waved his hands to dismiss his team.

“How is it that every time you get in trouble I get dragged into it?” Yuuri hissed, shoving Phichit’s shoulder as they made their way to the locker room.

“It’s what best friends are for,” Phichit threw an arm over Yuuri’s shoulders, tugging him into a head lock. “Besides you look great in tights. You’ll be a perfect elf!” Releasing Yuuri to dodge the punch being thrown at his side, Phichit cackled as he plopped on the bench to remove his skates. Playing Santa wasn’t his ideal way to spend a Saturday but it was definitely better than any of Celestino’s previous ideas of punishments.

“Sleep with one eye open, Chulanont,” Yuuri teased, pushing open the door to the locker room and looking back over his shoulder with a sarcastic glare.

“I always do, Mr. Nikiforov!” Falling backwards off the bench when Yuuri threw a dirty towel at him, Phichit continued to laugh as he watched his blushing best friend disappear through the swinging doors.

When Phichit moved to Detroit to train, he was convinced that finding friends would be easy. He had lots of friends growing up and his social circle at home still kept in constant contact through the wonders of social media. It had been a rude awakening to discover himself among the youngest of the skaters training with Celestino and the only skater looking to make lifelong friendships with his rink mates.

For the first week that he had roomed with Yuuri, Phichit was convinced Celestino was pranking him. Yuuri was quiet and serious, and in so many ways the exact opposite of Phichit. At least that’s what Phichit had thought, until the morning that he had discovered Yuuri standing in the kitchen at dawn drinking coffee out of a cereal bowl. Delirious with sleep deprivation, Phichit had stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed a matching bowl and filled it to the brim with steaming coffee. Yuuri had clinked his bowl against Phichit’s and whispered “cheers to bad decisions” making Phichit snicker into his caffeinated salvation.

The walls had toppled from there. Yuuri was funny and sarcastic, his humor flowing perfectly against Phichit’s quick quips of situational humor. They had found a trusted rhythm with each other and Phichit had found the best friend he had desperately wanted in Detroit.

Faith in that friendship had Phichit grinning up from their small kitchen table as Yuuri unlocked and threw open the door to their shared living space. He watched as Yuuri toed off his shoes, counting down the seconds in his head before Yuuri lifted his eyes and got a glimpse of Phichit’s newest stroke of genius. Phichit was not disappointed as Yuuri finally looked up, eyes going wide at the sight on the table.

“Please tell me you are not trying to build a plushie hamster army…” Yuuri blandly regarded the lines of stuffed hamsters standing at attention in front of Phichit. Leaning on the counter, Yuuri took a slow sip from his water bottle while waiting for an explanation.

“That’s sort of… exactly what I’m doing,” Phichit laughed, lifting a triangle shape of red fabric. “Celestino said that he gives the kids coloring books every year and that’s fine, but hamsters are so much better! Especially if they are superheroes!” Proud of his own handiwork, Phichit turned the closest hamster to face Yuuri. There was a blue mask velcroed over the hamster’s beady plastic eyes and a matching blue cape tied around his neck. “See, each kid will get a hamster to help them fight their cancer.” Fiddling with the cape in his hand, Phichit hesitantly glanced at Yuuri for an opinion. His idea had seemed brilliant right up until he said it out loud.

Pushing from the counter, Yuuri took two steps to yank his chair from the table. Settling next to Phichit, Yuuri shook his head. “You are the best kind of crazy.” His voice was hushed as Yuuri reached between fluffy hamsters to lift the stack of fabric in front of Phichit. “How can I help?”

The grin broke over Phichit’s face as he slid a second pattern over to Yuuri. Both of them knew how to sew, a product of starting in their figure skating careers with hand-me-down costumes and small budgets. Repositioning his sewing kit between them, Phichit began to excitedly explain his plan, grateful that Yuuri was always ready to jump into whatever craziness Phichit had up his sleeve.

“I hate the smell of hospitals,” Yuuri commented, leaning back against the elevator with his legs crossed at the ankles. His outfit was a bright green, trimmed in red with points on his hat, shoes and ears. The stockings were stripes of red and green exposed under the remarkably short shorts that made up the bottom of ensemble.

“Same,” Phichit commented, his mind filtering through the months of visiting his grandfather the year before he left for Detroit. He had hated Christmas that year, and the pit in his stomach had instantly returned when they had stepped through automatic doors. Shifting the heavy red bag on his shoulder, Phichit cracked his neck trying to suppress the sickness creeping up his throat. If Christmas in the hospital had been horrible for Phichit’s ninety-two-year-old grandfather, he couldn’t imagine how awful it would be for the children living on the oncology unit. Swallowing his nerves, he prepared to force his smile as the elevator doors slowly slid open.

It was the noise that hit them first. Christmas carols were filling the hallways as nurses in Santa hats sang along with the tunes, pushing and guiding patients toward the family room. Phichit knew there would be nine children in the shared room, with six other children remaining in their rooms for medical reasons. He had badgered Celestino with questions about each child, and then took the time to contact the hospital about the ones Celestino didn’t know. Even though Celestino told him that the hospital worked hard to make the holidays joyful, Phichit hadn’t believed him. He had been ready for the worst, and was pleasantly surprised to be wrong.

“Santa!!!”

A small body collided with Phichit’s waist, tiny arms squeezing around the large mass of Phichit’s pillowed stomach. The suit was made of a soft red fabric, and the tiny child buried his face into the front of Phichit’s fake belly. “I told everyone that you would come, but they didn’t believe me. Then you sent the mountain of presents and now you are here!” Peering up, the child continued to smile as Phichit processed the bald head and hollowed cheeks.

“Of course Santa came!” Yuuri knelt down, smiling at the little boy who continued to cling to Phichit. “And he dragged me along because we brought some extra special presents and he can’t handle life without me.” Smirking, Yuuri winked at Phichit who pretended to be offended by his words. “I’m Elf Yuuri, what’s your name?”

“Jeffrey,” Phichit and the small boy said at the same time. A thrilled gasp escaped the child as his wide eyes turned back to Phichit’s bearded face. “You know who I am?”

There was a sweet quiver to the question which caused the first threat of tears to sting Phichit’s eyes. “Of course I know who you are! You are a very brave little boy who definitely deserves a brand new Nintendo DS.” Phichit used a lower voice, attempting to imitate the Santa that was popular in American culture. He nudged Yuuri with a foot when Yuuri attempted to stifle a laugh. “And Elf Yuuri is right! We had presents delivered early, but I also have some extra special surprises in my sack!” He resisted the urge to kick Yuuri harder when Yuuri’s laughter became louder. Pushing Yuuri’s shoulder, Phichit laughed with Jeffrey as Yuuri sprawled onto the floor. “How about we head for the party, Mr. Jeffrey? We’ll let giggles here catch up when he can control himself.” Bending, Phichit hoisted Jeffrey onto his hip trying to ignore how light the boy was and the feeling of the boy’s delicate ribs under his fingertips.

Jeffrey pecked a kiss to Phichit’s cheek and yelled, “on to the fun!” Laughter peeling out of him as Phichit began to gallop in the direction of party. Looking back over his shoulder, Phichit grinned as Yuuri retrieved their bag of surprises with a bright smile of his own.

They had spent exactly ten minutes on the oncology floor of the Children’s Hospital of Michigan and Phichit already knew that his heart was stolen. His smile was no longer forced as he made his way into the party room, vowing to give these children the best Christmas party they had ever had.

#phichit chulanont #phichit zine #yoi #phichit x yuuri #yuuri katsuki #yuri on ice #detroit shennanigans #phichit as santa #zine preview

[calistapledger]

Goodbye Love

[A/N: I guess y'all deserve some closure (I love how I pretend y'all care about Cal’s story) also props to @ariciaeast for helping me cowrite this. Her version can be found on her blog eventually]

I was glad I wasn’t complacent enough to spend the week away being idle. I took advantage of my extra time to spend time with my friends. I baked cookies with Dev - well I found out she doesn’t actually makes her own cookies but rather had the chef make them for her. We bonded over leftover cookie dough while watching him bake them. I felt the chemistry between Dev and the chef. I was happy that if she didn’t win, she had options.

Aricia, Isabella, Debbie, and I were lounging in the library every morning since my date. After breakfast, if we didn’t have any pre-established plans, we would walk towards the libraries and seek solitude in each other and in the walls of literature that surrounded them. Unfortunately, as the week progressed, there was a notable increase in the tension between us. With my looming departure, we realized that we were losing good friends and sisters. They all tried their best to bring the vibe back to normal. Debbie joked about desserts, Aricia tried to lighten the mood with terrible puns, Izzy just had to be her usual bubbly self. I admired them greatly for their efforts but that didn’t change the fact that Dominic was going to boot me.

I accompanied Emma around the Palace as she snapped her pictures and I temporarily took over Maddie in teasing her about Alec. Theia and I had a lovely time discussing her family life and her various potato growing techniques.

And Aly, oh Alystair. I don’t know where I’d be without him. He made the last week worthwhile. My friends were amazing and having Aly come over at the end of the day to review our days was a real treat. He would give me all the juicy details on what was happening with everyone in the Palace, talk about new recruits and some of the intense training they’ve had. No one would ever suspect it with his career choice but Aly was a talented musician. He was a Five before he was drafted to the Palace and was the most talented violinist I’ve heard. His music was appreciated even more by me because of my sensitive hearing. I could hear every string being eloquently rubbed against the bow. I could spend years listening to him play.

The last night, he didn’t play and I frowned already missing the bow pressed against the strings. The air was tense and somber. “The Prince had his last date today, he’ll be announcing the official eliminations tomorrow.” His tone matched the atmosphere. I fell onto my bed, in disbelief. Had a week gone by so fast? Instinctively the walls went up. What’s the point of letting him in when I’m going home tomorrow? I shifted into a faux happy mood. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Like Vad said one bad date doesn’t necessarily mean a bad relationship.” He hummed in agreement but he seemed reluctant. I heard him take a breath and was going to say something before I interrupted him. “I’m exhausted, Theia showed me how to plant potatoes today. It’s harder than you think it is. I think I’ll sleep early today. Goodnight Aly.” I could tell he wanted to protest but I yawned loudly to avoid his protests. I practically pushed him out the door. I found my way back to my bed before I heard Isla’s clicking tongue.

“Oh don’t you start, Isla. I’m going to bed.” “Pushing him away isn’t helping anyone, Miss.” “What have I’ve said about calling me Miss, Isla?” I ignored her comment completely. By now, she should know that I was going to aggressively ignore the problem at hand. What does she think I’ve been doing the past week?

*** That thoughtless bastard! You’d think he himself would come to eliminate me officially but now as the butler stood before me uttering the news, I should have known better. In my fit of my rage, I dismissed the messenger rudely. He should be glad I didn’t shoot him. I felt bad when I heard him whimpering on the way out. I breathe and count to 10 to calm myself.

He had told me that I had to pack and leave by the afternoon. I brought the bare minimum of my aiding devices so I didn’t have much to pack. Father was going to be so disappointed. I’ve been so busy with the Palace life, I forgot to call my family. I can’t seem to do anything right. I’m a terrible date, daughter and friend to Alystair. I had Isla locate my aids and threw them into my backpack.

By the time Isla dressed me, I had hot angry tears running down my face. The door opened and I caught a whiff of Paris and Valencia’s perfume. They sat me down and worked silently. Paris wiped away the tears with a warm face towel and started applying the necessary makeup. “At least leave in style, Miss- I mean Cal.” Paris smiles at me and I can feel her positivity spreading to me. As Paris’ blush brush tickled me, Valencia started pulling at my hair. The heat of the curling iron prickled against my neck.

“Do you want me to get the Captain?” Isla asked just as Paris and Valencia laid the final touches on me. My head helper thought she was so cheeky wanting to bring Aly along to mend my heart. I couldn’t so I shook my head. “I’d like to see my friends first.” I stood up as my make up artist and hair stylist stepped back. I gripped my dress, feeling up the texture. It was silky and blue, it fell to my knees. It was perfect.

When I stepped out of my room, I heard echoes of footsteps. I caught whiffs of their various perfumes and I instantly knew it was my usual book gang - consisting of Cia, Izzy and Debs. The tense and sombre air hung awkwardly amongst us. We regrouped and made our way to the Dining Hall for Breakfast. My last meal, we’ll call it that. Normally during our walk to the hall, we talked about all the things that had happened, cracking jokes and laughing noisily, getting strange looks from the guards, but today was a different day, with none of us daring to break the silence, until I spoke.

“Hey, could one of you help me get downstairs? I wouldn’t want to go home with an injury.” I forced a laugh. Izzy moved to my right side while Cia walked to the other, grabbing my arms and leading me down the stairs, while Debs walked beside us, possibly watching the steps. Once we reached the end, the girls let go of my arms, and started walking towards the dining hall, the blanket of silence drifting on top of us once again. 

Once we arrived at the dining hall, we waved to all the other girls, who were also sitting silently, eating their food. We all walked over to join the rest of the Breakfast Club - Emma, Dev and Theia seemed to have gotten up earlier - and sat in our normal seats, helping ourselves to the food on the table. Izzy and Aricia both silently talked about small things, while we all occasionally snuck glances at the royal table. They all seemed happy, talking animatedly amongst each other, which clearly wasn’t the case amongst some of the Selected - particularly our group. 

Once breakfast was over, the four of us bid the other three goodbye while they went off to go on with their daily affairs. Emma and her impromptu photo shoots, Dev probably went off to her Chef friend and I’m fairly certain Theia was raising a Potato Army in the Royal Garden. We walked towards the library, not wanting to break our normal morning tradition. We walked in, sat down, and waited for someone to bring up a book first. 

“Well, I read this book last week-“, Izzy started, but Aricia interrupted her. “Please, Izzy, not now… “She started and must have shot her a pleading glance at Izzy, who automatically understood, and changed the topic. “So, Cal, what are you planning for after the selection?” She asked, voicing the question that I’m sure was on all of their minds. I shrugged, fiddling with a stray book I found, “I’m not sure. I just want to live out my life without any burdens or pressures.” Debbie nodded, “That makes sense. It’s a good time as any to discover yourself right now.” We all chorused in agreement, before sinking back into silence again.

“When are you leaving, Cal?” Aricia asked, I heard her running a hand haphazardly through her blonde locks. I smirked slightly, “Wow, Cia, you sound eager to be rid of me.” My defense mechanism, ladies and gentlemen. Aricia rolled her eyes, “That not what I meant, and you know it Cal.” She said, I heard the corners of her mouth tugging up ever so slightly. Debbie and Izzy laughed, shaking their heads at us.   

“You make us laugh even in the darkest times, Cal.” Izzy said, moving towards me to give me a hug, “I’ll miss you so much” she mumbled into my shoulder. I wanted to cry and not let go of her. I didn’t want to go. Debbie and Aricia both got up, wrapping their hands around us, enclosing us into their embrace. “I’ll miss you guys as well. You were the highlight of my stay here, and I will never forget any of you.” I said, pulling away, “You better write, or else” I threatened, which sent the four of us into a state of delirious laughter. We kept laughing, until they heard a throat clear from the doorway, which caused them to stop laughing. The girls turned around to see Aly standing by the door, waiting to be invited into the room. But I had smelled his aftershave before I even heard his throat clearing. 

“Come on in, Captain Costas, no need to be shy,” Aricia said slyly, which causing me to blush slightly and Debbie, Aricia and Izzy to laugh. “Haha, very funny Cia,” I said, rolling my eyes, but you could hear the laughter in my voice. Aly walked further into the room, coming to a stop in front of us. “Ladies, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Lady Calista for a minute,” he said, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. He was nervous which calmed my own nerves. “Oh, of course! We’ll give you both the alone time you need,” Izzy exclaimed, dragging a laughing Debbie and Aricia out of the room before I could murder them. I rolled my eyes at my friends, “I’ll get you back later!” I yelled after them, before turning to look at Aly once the door shut. “So, Alystair, what did you want to talk to me about?” I asked, knowing full well what he wanted to talk about. He ran a hand through his hair, before taking the seat opposite to Cal, “Were you honestly going to leave without saying goodbye?” he asked, his voice strained. So his nerves could be blamed on my friends’ presence. He was annoyed. 

Well, he doesn’t beat around the bush.

I sighed and gave it to him straight, “I thought it’d be easier that way.” “What would be easier?” His eyebrows shifted to a frown, brushing against his forehead. “Leaving without saying goodbye would make the goodbye easier, wouldn’t you think? No emotional sobbing, no empty promises, nothing.” I said bluntly. “Easier for you, but not for me,” He exhaled exasperated, but before I could answer, he stood up, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Calista. I must get going now, have a safe journey home.”

“Wait! Where are you going?” I asked, and silently reprimanded myself. What did I care that this man was walking away from me? “I do have a job here, you know,” Alystair said mockingly, “I hope we meet again Calista Ledger, I hope we meet again very soon” he added, slipping out of the room before I could get one word in against him. I caught brief muffled conversations between him and my friends before they came tumbling back in. 

“Cal?” Debbie asked, walking into the room first, “Are you ok?” I nodded, unsure as to how I was feeling at the moment, “I have to go to my room and grab my stuff. It’s almost time for me to go.” “Cal-“ Izzy started, but I held up a hand, definitively silencing her, “Not now, Izzy. I’ll talk to you all later when I’m doing packing up, okay? I’ve got some things I need to think about. Now if you’ll excuse me,” I said, storming out of the room and leaving my friends dumbfounded. 

In all honesty, I felt bad about what I did. All my friends wanted was to help me out and spend time with me, but I couldn’t even allow them that. I shook my head, shaking the thoughts out of my mind. If I started thinking like this, I knew I’d go back and spill everything to the girls, and I couldn’t handle that right now. I walked up the stairs slowly, getting assistance from a guard who was standing by the railing. I thanked him when I got to the landing, and walked towards my room. 

I thanked the Gods when my helpers were still there. I would get to say my goodbye. The three of them stood before me, not knowing what to say. I broke out into a smirk directed at Isla. “It is my last day, this warrants a hug don’t you think?” I heard her rolling her eyes. 

“You’re an odd one, Cal.” “I’ll take that as a compliment, Isla.” I teased, pulling the three of them into a bone crushing hug. I whispered my thank you softly into their ears. I hope my hug said it all. I would be nothing without these three. We soon had to break up the love fest because it was nearing noon and I had to leave. I slung my backpack over my shoulders and walked out the door with my head held high and the walking stick in my hand. Just because I decided to leave with grace doesn’t mean my blindness was magically cured.

I was just exiting the Hall when I felt the loud thud of his steps and smelled the scent of his aftershave. His steps were louder and rougher than usual. He was mad and I don’t blame him. The sound stops and I hear his deep breathing. He can’t even speak because he’s so mad.

“You’re actually going to leave without saying goodbye, aren’t you,” Aly said, with a structure in his tone that caught me off guard. I took a moment to reevaluate my situation, knowing that if I responded, I’d give into my vulnerability, which was the last thing I needed right now. But, the smarter part of me screamed to give him an answer and walk away, acting unaffected.

“I was going to send you a postcard.” I blurted, trying to ease the tension. He was not amused, evident from the exasperated sigh that escaped him. “I know you’re blind but surely you’re not an idiot! You know how I feel about you, Calista. I know you feel the same.”

What. The. Hell.

I stood there, rendered speechless. What could I say to that? That I loved him back? Truth. That I didn’t want anything to do with him? Lie. I knew that I couldn’t say either of those, because my truth would give Aly everything he needed to hold me back, but he would see through my lie instantly. Quickly making my decision, I donned a face of indifference, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, repeating the same lie I had told countless times before. 

“Ah, I know what you’re doing” he said, his voice as gentle as the morning wind. I placed my hands stubbornly on my waist, staring him down the same way I did when we first met. Its funny how our story both started and seemed to be ending the same way. “What exactly am I doing?” I’m not going to patronise you, Cal. You don’t have to push me away. I want you to stay.” 

“You’re crazy! Dominic would never allow it!” I scoffed. He laughed and suddenly all the tension between us dissolved. He ruffled my hair, and I shook my head trying to get rid of his touch. He was such a weirdo, why do I even like him? 

“AH HA! You do fancy me!” He exclaimed, sounding happier than a kid on Christmas morning. I ran over what I had said in my head and I groaned when I realised I had said it out loud. “It doesn’t matter, I’m leaving.” I hitch up my backpack and make a move to go around him when he pulls me towards him. I try to resist but end up melting into his arms. I could feel his soft breath on my forehead, and the thundering of his heart beneath his uniform. I start to blush, I had made that happen. 

“I want you to stay but not in the Palace, that isn’t my call but I do have an apartment outside the Palace. You could stay and study in Angeles University so we’d still be close. Please, Cal. We could be happy.” The last part of his sentence was what broke me out of my trance. I knew that with the way things were going now, I couldn’t be happy. Not until I could have some time to heal and sort out everything back home.

“Life isn’t a fairy tale, Aly. I have a family to get home to. I’ve disappointed them enough” I said, wrenching myself out of his hold and walking away. This time, Alystair didn’t stop me. I walked down the hallway, and in my haste, bumped into someone, sending us both sprawling out on the floor. “Oh my, I’m so sorry! Are you ok?” I asked, getting up and dusting herself off. “Cal?” A voice said, coming close to her, and I recognized it as the voice of Aricia. 

“Hey, Cia,” I started, and tried to walk around herl. Unfortunately for me, Aricia knew what I was planning on doing and grabbed my wrist with an iron grip. “Where are you going? You just ran away without any explanation, and we’ve been looking for you for the past half hour!” She exclaimed, incredulous. I sighed, and turned to look in Cia’s general direction, “I’m sorry, Cia, it just…” I trailed off, and Aricia started guiding her down the hallways. 

“Where are we going?” I asked, continuing to match Aricia’s brisk pace. “Well, you’re leaving soon, and Debbie, Izzy and I want answers, so you’re going to give them to us,” she said forcefully. I was shocked, I’d never seen Aricia behave this coldly before. Whatever was bothering her, I made it my mission to figure out. “Here we are,” Aricia said, leading me into a room. “Where are we?” I asked, trying to gauge my surroundings “The library,” Aricia stated, the edge coming back into her voice again. What was up with her?

“Izzy? Debbie?” Aricia called, looking around the library. “Back here!” Came a voice, and Aricia guided both of us to it. We walked silently, Aricia’s hand still clasping mine with a vice like grip. We kept walking until we reached a small nook in the corner of the library - Aricia was feeling generous enough to describe it to me. “Oh, you found her,” Debbie said with a breath of relief, as we approached them. 

Aricia nodded I heard her hair brush against her neck, and let go of my wrist, as if it were poison. She walked over and took a seat beside Izzy, who looked at her with concern. They whispered amongst themselves before turning to me. I turned my full attention to them when they started to question me. “So, Cal,” Izzy started, shifting her gaze from one friend to another, “Why did you storm out?” I shrugged, “I was going to leave without saying goodbye to Alystair, which made him upset.” Debbie gasped, “How could you? You know he cares about you, right?” I groaned, hating the way the conversation was going, “What do you mean, how could I? Just because he cares about me doesn’t mean that I’m going to drop everything that’s going on in my life and be with him!” I yelled, my voice getting louder with each word, and a deathly silence followed my outburst. I instantly felt guilty. 

“Debs, I’m sorry, I know you want what’s best, but I don’t know what to do,” I apologized. Debbie sighed, “It’s ok, Cal, but that didn’t give you the right to yell,” she said. Always the peacemaker, I thought, but the irony of her words didn’t get past me. So, it was alright for Aricia to be upset for no reason, but not for me to be upset with one? “Speaking about people not having the right to do things,” I started, looking around the room, “What’s wrong with you, Aricia?” Aricia tensed, her body going stiff as a rod, “I don’t want to talk about it,” she forced out, her gaze steely. “But-“ I interjected, trying to get an answer out of Aricia, but was interrupted by the latter. “I said, I don’t want to talk about it,” She stated, her words getting icier by the minute. Honestly, what was her damage? I felt my temper rising but quickly calmed myself, not wanting to ruin my last day with them. She will tell me in due time. 

“Come on, Cal,” Izzy said, checking her watch, “it’s almost time for you to leave, let’s walk you to the front doors.” We got up and walked towards the doors speechlessly, as if there was an invisible force that kept our mouths shut. When we arrived there, all the other ladies who were eliminated were standing there, with the girls still in the Selection saying goodbye to each of their friends. We walked up to my haversack where Emma, Dev and Theia were waiting and stood there speechlessly. I went around saying my individual goodbyes to each girl. I hugged them tightly, I was going to miss them terribly. After I was done, they circled around me in sombre silence. 

“Well, I guess this is goodbye then,” Debbie said, breaking the ominous silence. “No,” I stated, “not goodbye, just… the start of something new.” All of us stood together, looking at each other before coming together for a brief hug. When we pulled away, I could hear sniffles and tears rolling down cheeks from all around. “Here’s to forever,” Izzy whispered, looking around at all her friends “Here’s to forever.” We echoed.

#Elimination Fic #Goodbye Love #Calystair #Calista P Ledger #Alystair Costas #Aricia East #Isabella Faulkner #Debbie Varker #Cia #Izzy #Debs

[gay-4-nozoeli-jolks]

How to slap Nico and get away with it

Okay, so here's the trashy short fic that no one actually asked for (aside from myself). This isn’t drama. This is crack. ( ͡°╭͜ʖ╮͡° )

“The heck did you do that for?” Hand flying automatically to cover her stinging right cheek, Nico stared at Eli in shock and disbelief. They were in the middle of discussing the steps they have for their next performance when out of nowhere, Eli leaned closer to her over the table and just struck her face.

                                             Full version under cut

“The heck did you do that for?” Hand flying automatically to cover her stinging right cheek, Nico stared at Eli in shock and disbelief. They were in the middle of discussing the steps they have for their next performance when out of nowhere, Eli leaned closer to her over the table and just struck her face.

“Sorry.” Given the situation, Eli was surprisingly calm as she settled back into her seat. “It didn’t seem like you notice the mosquito that has landed on your cheek so I-“

“You’re just making that up!”

There was no way Nico was going to believe an excuse that was as clichéd as what Eli had given. Mosquito, my ass. But then, it wasn’t Eli’s nature to just slap someone on a whim, unless --

“This is one of Nozomi’s prank again, isn’t it?”

Nico didn’t miss the startled look on Eli’s face. Bingo.

“Look, Nico.” Eli tried to reason out. “I am not making that up. If you’re just going to çhe-‘

“Nico nico nii~ I’m not hearing you. “

Nico stubbornly covered her ears with her hands before she abruptly stood up from her seat. With vengeful steps, she stomped her way towards Nozomi who was taking a nap at the corner of the room.

Right now, there were only the three of them in the clubroom. Coincidentally, their classes were dismissed earlier than usual that they decided to hang out in the clubroom while waiting for the rest of u's to arrive for their afternoon practice.

Realizing what Nico was about to do, Eli scrambled out of her chair in panic. “Wait, Nico-‘

But her plea completely went to deaf ears.

“Nozomi!” Nico slammed her hand on the desk where Nozomi’s head was lying, jolting the older girl out of her sleep.

What happened next was so sudden that even before Nico realized what the blur of motion that flicked through her eyes was, a loud smack resounded across the room, followed by a stinging sensation on her left cheek.

“That fucking hurts, goddammit!”

Nozomi’s slap was even more forceful than Eli’s that Nico was sure she heard a few of her teeth cracked.  

“Huh? Nicocchi?” Nozomi, seemingly getting out of her daze, looked at her in confusion. “Wassup?”

“Don’t wassup me! You just violated my precious cheek and that’s all you’re going to say to me!”

“You can’t really blame Nozomi for that, Nico.” Eli piped in as she took her place beside Nozomi. “You woke her up so rudely that she thought it was her alarm clock which did that.“

At Nico's deadpanned expression, she explained. "Nozomi has the habit of slapping her alarm clock really hard to get it to stop when it goes off." Sighing, she added. "I tried to warn you but you wouldn’t listen.”

“I get it, I get.” Nico huffed. She couldn’t really argue with Eli on that, damn her and her righteous logic. But still, that's not enough to make her back down from this.

"It’s not the real issue here, anyway." That's right. She still had another ace up her sleeves. "How about tha-‘

“What’s that on your cheek, Nicocchi?” Nozomi interrupted before Nico could even deliver the first half of her piece. With a squint of her eyes, she continued. “Is that blood?”

“Whaa-”

“Here.” Conveniently, Eli handed Nico a compact mirror. To her mortification there was indeed a tiny splatter of semi dry blood on her face. Nico froze, but only for a moment. After hastily wiping off the aftermath of the mosquito’s death, she turned to Eli with an accusing glare.

“You should have told me.”

“Hey, I tried to tell you about that too but you wouldn’t listen.”

"Okay, what's going on here?" Nozomi asked, eyes flitting over from Eli to Nico."What’s the fuss all about? More importantly, what could be so important that I have to be woken up, and in quite such an endearing manner, if I must say? "

Even if Nozomi did say that, there wasn’t really a bite to her tone. In fact, she was smiling nonchalantly, eyes even forming crescent moon and all, making an impression that it wasn’t really a big deal for her nonetheless, but for Nico, Nozomi’s look just screams you better give me a good excuse or I’m smashing your face on this desk. Or at least, that’s how Nico interprets it. Afterall, Nozomi was a first-class embodiment of a wolf in a sheep’s clothing.

But of course, Eli didn’t know that.

"It’s kind of silly, actually. Nico was-"

“The great Nico was just thinking after Nozomi.” Nico butted in, and almost quite forcefully at that. With eyes focused on Eli, she continued.” Since we’re going to the convenience store, what’s wrong with asking her if there’s anything she wants us to buy for her? What’s so silly about that?”

Nico felt like gagging once she was finished with her speech. It was so disgustingly cringe-worthy that she had to wonder how she was able to keep a straight face going through the lines.

But then, she supposed she could live with it. Oddly enough, she didn’t get any funny reactions from either Nozomi or Eli, which was somewhat beyond belief especially when it comes to Nozomi. That and Eli seemed to have gotten a grasp of what was going on and played along with her.

"Err, sorry – I was just trying to tease you.”

“Nevermind.” Nico waved her hand in dismissal. Shifting her gaze to Nozomi, she asked. “So, anything you have in mind? Food? Drinks?”

Nozomi raised an eyebrow, causing Nico to gulp inwardly. She knew her acting was flawless but Nozomi was quite perceptive as well. She was almost sure that Nozomi wouldn’t let her off that easily that she almost did a victory dance when Nozomi didn’t push the subject.

"Nah, don’t worry about it. I’d rather go with you two than stay here by myself."

Fuck fuck fuck. I did it. I survived!

"Okay, let's go then."

As they walked out of the room, Nozomi put an arm around Nico's shoulder and asked. "So, is it going to be your treat, Nicocchi?"

"Huuh?” Nico drawled out. “What treat are you talking about? I didn't say anything about that."

“Now, come on Nico.” Eli cooed (Nico swore she heard a snicker somewhere there) as she threw an arm on top of Nozomi’s.” It’s been so long since you’ve treated us to something that it actually makes us quite happy you’re doing it again today.”

Fuck.

Nico had momentarily forgotten that Eli can also be devious when she wants to be. Right now, it would do her good if she just indulge them with their childish demands for a bit. Her wallet might hurt a lot, but it’s better than having to suffer from Nozomi’s hands once she learns of the blunder Nico had committed against her. She could just imagine Nozomi’s pure evil look and she shivered just from the mere thought of it.

"Fine! Just this one time! And can the both of you please get your arms off of me. I’m getting suffocated here."

Which was partially true, considering how she was practically sandwiched between the two that she had to wonder how they had not yet managed to tumble over each other.

Nico tried to shrug their arms off her shoulder but they wouldn’t budge. Realizing that whatever she says will just be ignored, she loudly groaned in resignation, prompting the two to burst in laughter.

Once their laughter subdued, Nozomi said. "I almost forgot to say this, but you look adorable with tomato cheeks, Nicocchi."

"Kinda reminds you of a baby's cheeks. They're so cute you'd want to pinch them." Eli seconded.

"S-shut it, you both!"

If there’s one thing that came out good from the couple slap she got from the garasu no hanazono duo, it was that her cheeks were already flushed enough for her burning embarrassment to be noticeable.

Seriously, these two would be the death of her, one way or another.

Thanks for reading. Please let me know if you have any violent reactions.

#love live! #love live! fanfiction #nozonicoeli #tojo nozomi #ayase eli #yazawa nico #i feel like all i've done is abuse nico #i'm sorry nicocchi

[darkcookiesnmilk]

Midnight Thoughts: Taehyung (BTS)

Um, hi 

you probably don't know me

oh sure you don't

I don't know you either, I just randomly dialed your number to be honest

wait don't block

I just wanted to, um, vent a bit, if that is possible 

Please don't reply till I'm done tho, it'd be more comfortable that way

it's okay if you aren't gonna read this, I just need to let this out, it's been heaving on my chest for enough time

uhh, so where to start

You'd probably find what's bothering me ridiculous, call me weird. I don't care. I just roll that way, maybe I'm depressed. Who knows?

I'm at a point where I don't even know what's bothering me anymore, you know, when a lot of things just pile up and you can't figure out what you're upset about

I broke up with my boyfriend a while ago, I mean he broke up with me, on my birthday. Funny, isn't he?

We were supposed to go to Japan, you know, spend a few days there including my birthday. It was his idea, he paid and everything and I found it so sweet.

the flight was at 2am, two hours through my birthday. We reached the airport an hour before and If I said I wasn't excited I would be lying.

it was time to transfer to the boarding room when he broke the news to me.

he said we had to break up. I still remember every little thing he said that day. the truth was that he had a scholarship to major in dancing in Japan, and while we were both studying veterinary together he was also studying dancing in parallel without me knowing. He said he didn't believe in long distance relationships and that it was better if we stopped dating. 

He didn't pay for my ticket or anything. He was going by himself and left me standing in the middle of the airport while he accessed the boarding room.

that night I got drunk. for the first time. I had a friend who worked at a coffee shop that turned into a bar by nighttime.

he tried comforting me and telling me to stop drinking. I couldn't.  I just couldn't. I wanted to forget about what had just happened.

of course, and you probably figured out that, I didn't. 

My family knew about what happened soon after. My parents scolded me a lot. Since I spent forever to convince them it was okay to date him and that we weren't going to end soon. I even thought we could get married. I tried to convince them that he was the one and that he wasn't going to distract me from my studies, which seemed like the only fucking thing occupying their mind. I almost thought they don't see me as a human anymore, but as exam marks.

They were really mad and I eventually got into a fight with them. They kept claiming they knew from the beginning that he wasn't good news and he was going to dump be anyways. Goodness how would they even fucking know.

I was practically alone. I had a close friend who was in Paris by the time, and I really didn't Want to bother her with my bullshit, the girl was living her dream of becoming a designer after all. 

I was lost. My marks started dropping and I didn't contact my parents or they'd be furious with me. I had no desire to eat and skipped meals often, eventually getting sick a lot. I am sick right now actually, I keep on sneezing 

and to top it the owner of the apartment I'm living in informed me by the beginning of the following month that he'd increase the renting fee. And of course I had nothing to say about it. I spent forever to find this studio so I had no choice but to accept.

I of course had no money, and also no plans of asking my family for money. I didn't have any one to borrow money from even if I wanted. How pathetic. life is funny 

I got a part time job. I started working at the coffee shop I had a friend in, Serving early in the morning and late in the evening before the place turned into a bar. Also known as the only free time I had from college. 

I didn't want to work the nighttime because I honestly didn't want to end up between someone's legs.

I automatically got close to that friend, since he was the only one I knew there. we had been meeting for over three years and I felt comfortable around him

Until I fell for him. I didn't know how it happened but I did. 

long story short, I confessed one day and he rejected me. Oh sure he would. He said he saw me as a younger sibling that he cared for. And here I had the tiniest hope he was doing so because he mirrored my feelings. I told you life is funny. Too funny that I just noticed that I'm crying now.

I told him to forget about it and that we should just stay friends like we were. I really didn't want to lose someone else.

one day I got dismissed of college early and had a meeting with a high school friend. Of course we met at that same coffee shop. 

She saw my friend and she immediately fell for him. I actually didn't blame her, he was too fine that girls would try to flirt with him everyday. 

Long story short she asked me to hook her up with him, since she knew I worked there and was close to him.

she started coming more often to the café and as much as it made me deranged I tried making the two close, and it worked. They started dating and I never felt lonlier.

I spent most of my time working, studying, working again, studying at home and chatting with a close online friend from Japan.

she had been my friend since forever and we never got the chance to meet. 

Then one day she told me she'd be coming to Korea for a few days, also informing me that her boyfriend was coming along which I didn't bother about at all. 

In fact, I did. I still remember that day clearly. The day I was waiting for her to come in this restaurant and she came in, hand in hand with her boyfriend, who was none other than my ex.

both of us were surprised to see each other again, I had a terrified face on while he just looked at me as if he was saying oh hey you actually managed to still be alive. My friend was so confused when I suddenly ran away. I was crying. And no where in hell was I going to let him see me cry because of him.

just when I thought he was long gone and I could forget about him he came again 

and that's how I started all the way from zero. Trying to erase him from my memory. I couldn't forget the look on his face that day. He was almost smirking impressedly. He knew I was too attached to him and that I turned into a mess after he left.

My friend understood the situation later and apologized to me. I told her there was nothing to apologize about and there really wasn't. Its not like she knew he was my ex and dated him on purpose.

So for now, I'm still working and studying. The others are still dating so I dont see any of them often. 

Exams are coming and I don't really think I'm ready, which is not of me at all 

I'm kind of a perfectionist you see, I like to have everything prepared and set for anything. good grades, good looks, good manners. I wanted them all. Call me selfish 

I never had good looks to begin with. I never went out without make up. I guess it just worked out like this. I'm insecure about how I look and I would never lie about it.

I keep strict track of my weight and starve myself if I gain any. 

Even though people tell me I'm fine. What are 52kilos for a 169cm tall girl? I was already underweight. But I didn't care. I would never be satisfied with how I look anyways 

I'm now just sitting here in my bed while hugging Baby Lion, my favorite lion plush. 

He's better than them all I think. If Baby Lion was a person I would've dated him. He seems like he'd never leave me.

sorry for spamming you, I hope you aren't bothered with all of my ranting -you probably are- 

you don't even know me and I rudely interrupted your peace with my problems, really sorry

if you ever read this, thanks. It actually helped me out a bit. They say letting out your heart to a stranger makes you feel better 

If it's possible can I vent to you whenever I'm feeling down? Id still do even if you say no tho just saying, you can not read them if you want

again sorry for disturbing you, take care 

good night.

-

Hello, you didn't send a message in a while now so I think you're, uhh, done now, or fallen asleep

Don't cry. Trust me just don't, it's not worth it, everything ain't worth it

I may not be in the right place to talk, I just got to hear your story, I don't even know your name or whatsoever

but I believe you should just brush it all off.

Your ex? Screw him

so what if he went to Japan? Good for him. Are you really going to let him have all the fun there while you sulk in your bed bawling your eyes out about him? Guess not, if he isn't bothered about leaving you, then why are you? Let him be, if he wants to be an asshole that's his problem. Also if you think he might do it again, inform your friend.

Your family? Its about time they realize you're not just about your grades. Have a serious talk with them. But before everything, I think you should apologize. You know for fighting with them. Then make things up.

Your job? I really hope you quit it. I don't know why, but I'm not the least comfortable when I see a girl having a parttime job. Try to make up with your parents and ask them for money instead.

your friends? Let those two date, even though you might be a bit hurt seeing them together. Just make them notice they've been leaving you behind, and not just because they were dating that they can stop talking to you or seeing you often.

I don't know about the Japanese one, I told you, if you think your ex might ditch her too, tell her to break up with him before it's too late.

You do what you think is best.

And uh considering that I don't know you and I never saw you I don't think you'd believe me but I really think you're beautiful. Everyone is. And there is no reason for you not to.

if you want to wear makeup, wear it. Just don't feel insecure about your natural face.

Also don't strave yourself. Like seriously, don't. Youre more than fine so go ahead and eat whatever you want.

I bet you're looking too unhealthy considering you're 169cm tall (oh hey tall girl right there, that's rare these days!)

You should really just feel good about yourself, because that's what makes you different. No, that's what makes you limited edition; if that feels better.

So for now please wipe away those tears and stop crying, that if you're still awake. go take a good warm shower and sleep while, uh, hugging Baby Lion.

nice to meet you, if you ever feel down don't hesitate to message me. Or we can do it face to face. Over two good warm mugs of coffee. You have my number.

I mean I'm not courting you or anything I uh

I would just also feel good about myself for helping someone, haha

Take care, good night

ps: I'm Taehyung

-

I'm Hajin.

#taehyung #kimtaehyung #bts taehyung #bts v #taehyung angst #taehyung texts #taehyung scenarios #kim taehyung scenarios #bts angst #kpop angst #kpop texts #taetae #taehyung oneshot #taehyung fanfic #taehyung drabble

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Trouble on the Way - Chapter 1/4 (Ao3 link) Fandom: The Flash, DC's Legends of Tomorrow (total AU) Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, very very mild hints of possible Barry Allen/Leonard Snart/Mick Rory if you want to read them in there Series: Sequel to Bad Moon Rising Warning: explicit adult content

Summary: It occurs to Len that maybe he's been willfully ignoring reality when it came to Mick's new condition. Oh, sure, he'd done the basic research, the public stuff, but he'd been so determined not to make Mick feel like any more of a freak than he already did that he'd perhaps skimped a little on some of the details that were turning out to be more relevant than he'd originally thought.

Time to fix that.

A/N: Will only make sense if you've read the first one in the series, as it follows straight on it, but I think the first one is one of my best standalones, so I'm making this a sequel instead

An executive decision was made that (in the spirit of the first one) this series is going to be like a minimum of 70% kinky smut, because we can always use more of that in this fandom, so, uh, mind the full set of warnings on Ao3.

Specially shout-out to @prouvairablehulk, who wanted very much to see this as a birthday gift - consider this a very belated one!

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Mick ends up making the chocolate chip pancakes, too, and insisting that Len eat some of those as well.

Len tries to sulk while he eats, because Mick is, as usual, cheerfully obstinate about explaining any details about, well, anything, but...it's very hard to convincingly sulk while eating chocolate chip pancakes piled high with whipped cream and maple syrup.

Not eating them when they're hot from the pan is, of course, unthinkable.

When Len is all full up on breakfast, to the point where he is seriously considering rolling himself back to bed for a nice follow-up nap, Mick finally stretches and pads out of the kitchen to start putting on his boots.

"Where are you going?" Len asks, twisting and frowning at him.

"Need to check out the various safehouses we’ve got," Mick says. "Full moon's coming up tomorrow."

"Is that going to be a problem?" Len asks. "You haven't needed the, uh..." He nods in the general direction of the old bank safe that they'd reserved for Mick's monthly complaint the first month or two. "...in a while, and you said you’d be better…?"

"Nah, nothing like that," Mick says. "Just some instinctual stuff. Don't worry about it. I'll be back in an hour or two."

"Okay," Len says, and waits for Mick to leave before going to get dressed himself. He gets the feeling that Mick intended for Len to stick around the house, lazing around the way he usually does after a night filled with adrenaline, but it occurs to him that he might have been willfully ignoring reality when it came to Mick's condition. Oh, sure, he'd done the basic research, the public stuff, but he'd been so determined not to make Mick feel like any more of a freak than he already did that he'd perhaps skimped a little on some of the details that were turning out to be more relevant than he'd originally thought.

Time to fix that.

He finds a WiFi hotspot with a public phone line he loop his burner phone into - three cheers for modern convenience - and dials the City Hall hotline.

"Welcome to Central City's supernatural service hotline," a perky recorded voice tells him. "We are happy to assist you with any supernatural issues you may be dealing with. If you're a homeowner concerned about the supernatural, press one." Len rolls his eyes. Of course they go first. "If you're a business owner looking for additional information about Central City's newly passed Supernatural Being Anti-Discrimination Act, or SBADA, please press two. If you've been recently transformed into -"

Len presses three. He didn't want the city's standard relax-its-fine patter; he wanted whatever the hell sort of intel it was that Mick got.

He ends up having to select werewolf out an increasingly bizarre list (vampire, sure, he gets, but he didn't even know you could be transformed into a dryad or a selkie - though maybe that's just more anti-discrimination measures?) and then waiting to be transferred to another line.

As he waits, he notices that some guy walking by is giving Len the eye. Like, he’s full on stopped walking and is staring, which, rude. Len knows he’s probably got a hell of a hickey (...hickies, plural, let's not lie to yourself, Leonard) from last night, which is probably what’s caught the guy’s attention, but still. Staring at Len like a yokel gawping at a tourist attraction is just not on. Len flips the guy off, making the man flush, cough a little, and skitter away.

"Thank you for calling the Central City Supernatural Hotline, werewolf division," a pleasant tenor chirps in Len's ear, drawing his attention back. "My name is Dan. How recently did you suffer the bite and are you in need of immediate medical assistance?"

"I feel like that question’d work better if I hadn't had to navigate a message tree to get here," Len says automatically, then shakes his head. He's here for answers, not for snark.

"We're aware of that difficulty," the man - Dan? Dan the werewolf? Really? Talk about family-friendly packaging - says apologetically. "While there is a supernatural division of 911 designated for immediate calls, sometimes people call this number instead. Is everything presently all right on your end?"

"Uh, yeah," Len says. "It's been - a few months already. Four or five or so." Very nearly seven, actually, if you counted by moons. "I just had a couple of questions about, uh, social aspects?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Dan trills, sounding legitimately delighted. They've got some heavy-duty telemarketer training over there, that's all Len's saying. "If you've been turned for a few months, then you should definitely be feeling the werewolf's innate need to join a pack. We have several excellent options right here in Central City -"

"Let's say I'd rather not," Len cuts in hastily before the guy can do his whole spiel.

“I would recommend against trying to stay on your own,” Dan says, in that irritating sympathetic voice people get when they think they know better than you but also that you’re only disagreeing with them because you’re poor, stupid and misguided. “As I’m sure you’ve realized, werewolves have extremely strong social instinct, much stronger even than regular humans. We’re not a species meant to live on our own. The pack instinct is one of the most dominating inclinations a werewolf can have outside of the moon, much stronger than either human or natural wolf instincts, and –”

"What if I wanted to start my own pack?" Len interrupts. “How’d I go about doing that?”

"Well, I wouldn't recommend that," Dan says, his voice notably less peppy. "It's a difficult and uncertain process, and -"

"Let's say I want to do it anyway. What happens?"

"Well, traditionally, self-started packs reflect natural wolf social standards, that of the family unit, which means you need to find a mate - and you must understand, it can't just be someone you're fond of, but someone strong and admirable that you can put first above all others -"

Well, so far, so good.

"- because the strength of a pack, you see, is judged a mix of two things: the power of the wolf and the strength of will of the mate, and that judgment can mean a lot of things for future social interactions with other packs, so it's really not a decision that ought to be entered into lightly. You have to think about the issues involved in taking a mate: commitment, for one thing; you don't want to commit to someone who isn't just as committed to you, especially in light of the changes that -"

"Yes, yes," Len says dismissively. He didn't really care what other changes Mick would undergo; Mick is his partner, damnit. Len is as committed as you get. Besides, Mick had said he would be calmer and more controlled now, which was all to the good. "What happens next, after you pick one?"

"Well," and now Dan sounded quite dubious, "the next step involves setting up a territory, usually a house or apartment, and engaging in acts of territorial display of both the location and the mate in question - especially in the beginning when the mate will be particularly appealing to other competitors in the period before the final claim, the degree of attractiveness depending on the desirable qualities of the mate you’ve chosen – demonstrations of willpower and independence in particular being the most attractive – but that's less important, really, I feel we should go back to discussing the issue of selecting a mate in the first place, which absolutely should not be done independently by a brand new wolf, without first bringing the intended mate in to talk with an established pack about the adjustments they will face -"

Len is not going to drag his relationship with his partner, now thirty years running, to goddamn City Hall for approval. Certainly not now that it’s apparently developed a sexual aspect, which they both seem to be pretty into and interested in continuing even now that the sorceress’ malediction has worn off.

Well, Len’s at least interested in continuing it, and judging from what Mick had promised over breakfast – plenty of pretty words about fucking Len till he couldn’t walk anymore, if Len recalls correctly – well, it sounded like he’s pretty interested in keeping it going, too.

"Got it," he says shortly. "Now, about mates, um - are there any sort of -" He hesitates a little, because he's not a shy man but he's in public and this is his and Mick's private business, but he's got to ask. "Are there any sort of unexpected sexual elements -"

"This hotline is not available to appease prurient interests," Dan cuts in, his voice suddenly steely. "If you want additional details, I suggest that you come down to City Hall and ask for them from a wolf in person - though you may not survive the encounter, so I'd recommend against it. It is absolutely none of your business; you're clearly not even a werewolf."

"But -"

"Thank you very much for calling, and have a nice day."

Then there's dial tone. Len stares at the phone. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he says, disbelievingly. Fucking Dan just hung up on him. He got hung up on by a hotline.

Well, that was a waste of time.

He didn’t even get to ask if lycanthropy could be sexually transmitted.

Len shakes his head and turns around and standing right behind Len, creepy as anything, is that fucking guy who was staring earlier, staring again. His nostrils flare like he's trying to smell Len or something, which is even creepier, and Len is taking a second to wonder how this guy snuck up on him, which is why the guy manages to stutter out, "Um, hi - I just -" and then he reaches out and cups Len's cheek with his hand.

What the fuck no.

Len snaps his hand up and catches a finger of the hand on his face, bending it backwards to the point of near snapping, sliding his leg forward and using his bulk and the man's own momentum to spin the guy around and slam him face-first against the nearest wall, arm jerked around behind his back until it's straining painfully out of its joint and Len still twisting the man's hand. He does it in one smooth move, so the guy barely has time to yelp before his face meets concrete wall.

"Now you listen here," Len says, very calmly. "I don't know what you think are proper manners when coming up to a stranger on the street, but I'm going to say that you're a very lucky man. You see, I gotta get back home, or else I'd show you, in detail, how inappropriate you were just being." He pulls the man's arm, forcing the man onto his tiptoes in an effort to reduce the strain, whimpering pitifully. "That being said, if I ever catch you just walking up to another person, any other person, that you don’t know and don’t know you and touching them like that again, you will lose the hand you did it with. We clear?"

"Clear!" the man squeaks.

"Good," Len says, voice still calm. Grabby assholes like this aren’t worth getting angry about, though he must admit that he hasn’t had to deal with them that much personally since his height first cracked six feet. "Then we're done here. No, wait -" He spins the man back around and slams his fist into the tender part of the man’s stomach, making the man retch and clutch at his midsection and fall back on his ass, back against the wall. Weakling. "- now we're done. Keep the bruises as a reminder."

With that, he turns on his heel and stalks off in the direction of home, uncomfortably aware that the guy behind him on the ground - and a small handful of other people in the milling crowd - are staring after him. Not creepy-staring, at least; more "put in their proper place" staring or "unaccustomed to public violence" staring, but whatever. Still staring. Fuck all of them.

Dan on the phone was basically useless, but he did say something about Mick being extra territorial for a bit, which means Len's got to get back to the safehouse before Mick realizes he's gone and starts burning things to relieve his anxiety.

Len was gone maybe thirty, forty minutes, tops, but Mick still beats him back home and is looking through the rooms of their safehouse with an anxious expression that eases when he sees Len. "Where'd you go?" his partner asks, stepping forward and pulling Len effortlessly into his arms, which is - unexpected, but rather nice, actually, the way Mick does it, all telegraphed motions and slow enough that Len can break away if he wants. Len can feel the tension from his earlier encounter seeping away into Mick's warmth. Mm, maybe he can ask for another massage. That is definitely a relationship perk that Len is going to insist on keeping.

"Nowhere important," Len says. "Wanted to jack the WiFi from somewhere that won't lead back to our safehouse, s’all."

Mick puts a hand on his cheek, right where the other guy had it, and pulls Len into a kiss. A hell of a kiss, too; it's messy and hard, just right, less a greeting than the promise of a real good fuck later, Mick's hands sliding down to cup Len's ass and bend him backward a bit as Len puts his hands on Mick's arm and back and kisses back as hard as he can.

Screw a good fuck later, that’s a promise of a good fuck now.

Yeah, Len's definitely okay with this whole mate thing. Pancakes, massages, and Mick's total devotion - what's not to like? He can handle Mick being territorial for a while; honestly, he can't see it being that different from usual. Even before the transformation, Mick was a possessive bastard, looming at Len's shoulder like a warning; back when they were in prison, especially in the beginning before Len had developed his reputation for viciousness and all people had to judge him on was his pretty face, Mick'd started fights over Len like that was his job.

Len chuckles a little at the memory and Mick breaks away.

"What's so funny?" Mick says gruffly, his voice deep like it had been yesterday, sexual and hungry, and it sent a shiver of lust through Len's spine like he’d already developed Pavlov's dog reaction to it. Fuck Mick's voice; how does he get it to just the right timbre to bypass Len’s conscious mind and go straight to his cock?

"Just thinking about being in the can, back in the early days," Len says. "You getting into that fight with the entire bleachers gang -"

"Yeah," Mick says, his voice getting deeper, somehow, his eyes glazing over with memory. He presses up against Len and Len can feel how hard he is; looks like bringing up that memory is like touching a live wire for Mick's libido right now. "Yeah, I remember that - they wanted your ass and I put them all down, every one of them, for even thinking of touching you -"

Territoriality, check. Len hides a smile; thank you, hotline Dan.

Mick's pressing his mouth against Len's jawline and kissing along his cheek, like he's determined to cover every square inch of where his hand had been earlier. "Yeah," he says again. "Len - Lenny -"

"Yeah?" Len says, rocking his hips back against Mick's, teasing them both with the glancing contact. It's been hours and hours since yesterday, and Len's sex drive has always been pretty high octane; he's ready to go again, definitely. All this talk of territory is revving him up as well - no one ever said Len wasn't a possessive bastard, too. No fucking City Hall pack taking away Mick, no sir, not while Len's around. He can handle this even without full information, so fuck you, hotline Dan.

"I want you," Mick says like it's not obvious.

"Sure," Len says agreeably, reaching down and cupping Mick's ass with both hands. "And how, exactly, do you want me?"

Okay, so the dirty talk yesterday really worked for Len. So sue him.

"I'm gonna fuck your face," Mick says, eyes gleaming. "I'm gonna take you up to bed, gonna push you down and climb on top of you; you'll be lying back, head on the pillows, no leverage at all, hands trapped under my legs - you won't be able to do anything but take it, how and when I feel like giving it to you -"

Len groans and kisses Mick, filthy and wet and open-mouthed. "What're you waiting for, then?" he says goadingly. "Let's do that."

Mick slides his hands down and Len knows he's going to try to lift Len before he does it, so Len helps, sliding both legs up around Mick's waist, trusting Mick's enhanced strength to carry him, and fuck, he loves it, he loves how easily Mick hoists him up; he liked being pinned, being manhandled, back when he was a teenager and waiting for that final growth spurt, and no one'd ever managed it properly since. No one until Mick, and that was even better - the hands that supported him on every mission, in every endeavor, pulling him up and moving him however Mick pleased; the guy that had his back, the guy who always listened and was the very first person to ever call Len 'boss', now taking charge and taking control, taking anything he wanted and Len letting him because he trusts him -

Len groans and starts working on a hickey on Mick's neck as well. Stupid werewolf healing probably meant it'd be gone within hours, but everyone on the street got to see that Mick had marked Len, so everyone should also see that Mick had been marked by Len as well. A sign to everyone: this one is taken, this one is mine. Yeah, Len likes the sound of that.

And if it fades, well, Len will just have to do it again. It's a sacrifice he's willing to make...

Mick carries Len to his bedroom - Mick's, not Len's, which Len doesn’t mind in the slightest - and they can't get their hands off of each other the entire time. Len's managed to get Mick's suspenders off, hanging down low by his hips, and his hands under Mick's shirt, and then Mick dumps him on the edge of the bed, pulling away to strip off. Len pulls the stuff out of his pockets and dumps it on the bedside table, peeling off his pants and stripping off his shirt and sweater - why did he bother putting on so many layers again? - and he's just gotten naked when Mick is on him again, pulling him in for a kiss before pushing him back on the bed.

Len wiggles back until he's comfortable, his shoulders and neck supported by pillows, Mick watching him hungrily the entire time and then throwing a leg over him, settling down on Len's chest. Len's arms are pinned down by Mick's legs, just as Mick had said; he can run his hands along Mick's calves or the back of his thighs, but he can't get the leverage to escape, and he can't get free enough to touch himself at all.

Pinned down at Mick's mercy.

"You want my mouth?" Len says, looking up at Mick, who was so goddamn beautiful naked; his arms and chest and legs well-defined, muscles straining - real muscle, the sort you get from hard work and exercise, from lifting safes during heists and picking fights, and the slight plush curve of his stomach that Len had the sudden urge to run his cheek against, feeling the softness in contrast to the rest of Mick, warm and giving. And Mick's cock was big and heavy and hard and right there, making Len's mouth water. "You gonna give it to me, Mick? Shut me up?"

"I like it when you talk," Mick says unexpectedly. "I like how fucking smart you are, even when sometimes you go on about it too long." He smirks. "It's great background filler."

"You dick," Len says fondly.

"Yeah," Mick says. "Glad you noticed it; otherwise I might have to question your eyesight."

Len snickers. "Well, when the evidence is right in front of me -"

"You know what, I think you’re right, it’s definitely time to shut up, Lenny," Mick says with a chuckle of his own. He reaches for Len's head, wrapping one hand around the side and using his other hand to thumb Len's mouth open. "Time to use that smartass mouth of yours for something more useful."

Len would retort, but Mick's fingers are sliding into his mouth, heavy on his tongue, and he opts to suck on them instead, laving them with his tongue as he does, his eyes looking up at Mick's face. Mick starts moving his fingers in and out a little, mimicking the act of fucking, and his face is rapt with attention. Like he can't get enough of watching Len.

Len tries all the tricks he knows, using his tongue to show off what he'd do to Mick's cock if only he got a chance, but Mick keeps his fingers there instead, moving gently and infuriatingly slowly, until Len pulls back his head just the littlest amount the pillows allow him and Mick immediately removes his fingers in response. "Well?" Len pants, looking up at Mick. "You want my mouth or not? You just gonna play all day, or you gonna fuck me?"

Mick smirks and Len abruptly realizes that this is what Mick's been waiting for, that they've been playing a game of chicken and he hadn't even noticed. "You want my cock, huh?" Mick asks. "Is that what you want? My fingers not enough for you, huh? You need more? Gotta have more?"

"Yeah," Len says, because shame is useless to him when Mick is there instead, because Mick of all people will never use anything Len says against him. "Yeah, I want your cock, Mick, I want it in my mouth. I wanna taste you, I wanna suck you - I want my jaw to hurt 'cause I've been sucking you so long, 'cause I can't get enough of you; want to be on my knees or back for you all day, please, Mick, give it to me - let me blow you, let me suck you off - please -"

"Fuck," Mick breathes, eyes wide and cock twitching. So beautiful, Mick is, at the mercy of Len's voice even in a position where he has all the power. "Fuck, Lenny, you're so goddamn pretty when you beg for my cock -"

Len runs his hands over Mick where he can reach, looking up at Mick through his eyelashes. "C'mon, Mick," he coaxes. "Don't keep me waiting, don't keep me hanging - I want you to give it to me, I want you, I want your cock in my mouth -"

Mick groans and finally, finally, slides forward, pushing Len's mouth open with his fingers - Len's happy to comply - and using his other hand to guide his cock in. Len hums happily and takes it, sucking as best as he can in this angle, but this position gives Mick all the power, all the control; he can move as slow or as fast as he likes. And he's chosen slow, torturously slow, fucking Len's face with gentle, rocking motions of his hips, giving Len just a taste of him.

Len whines a little, wanting more, and Mick snarls with pleasure, thrusts changing until he's deeper, still moving slow but letting himself pull almost all the way out and the sliding in, big and relentless until Len's almost choking on him, would be choking on him if he hadn't gotten rid of his gag reflex years ago, practicing on other, lesser people. There's nothing Len can do, his own cock twitching untouched, his hips jerking futilely; he just lies there and takes it, takes whatever Mick wants to give him, and what Mick wants to give him is slow and intense and fuck, Len's going to go crazy -

Len's phone rings.

What the fuck.

Both Mick and Len stop where they are; Len can't even turn and stare incredulously at the phone like he wants to, his mouth still wrapped around Mick, but - seriously? Who the fuck is even calling?

Mick reaches over - the temporary change in angle making him slide in just that little bit deeper - and picks up the cell phone to look at the caller ID.

Len would ask who it was, but, again, his mouth is stuffed full of cock. He expects Mick to hit ignore and get back to what they're doing, but unexpectedly Mick chuckles.

And then he answers the phone, what the hell.

"Hi, Flash," Mick says, and then Len does actually choke a bit, mostly in surprise; shit, the Flash must be calling to arrange their post-fight download - normally Len calls him, not vice versa, but Len had totally forgotten about it today in light of pancakes and werewolf issues -

Len tries to wiggle a little, trying to indicate to Mick with his eyebrows that Mick should pull out and give Len the phone, but Mick ignores him, reaching down with his free hand to wrap his fingers back around Len's head, and he starts moving his hips again, thrusting into Len's mouth in long, rolling thrusts just like Len likes.

"No, Len can't come to the phone right now," Mick says into the cell. "He's a bit pinned down at the moment - "

Len can't believe Mick sometimes. He isn't seriously -

Yes, yes he is.

The worst part of it, too, is that Len can feel his cock twitching at it, because he likes this, too; he likes the idea that Mick's talking to the Flash, casual as anything, while Len gags on his cock, sucking him off as best as he can. Fuck, and the Flash would have no idea, of course, just talking on the phone like normal, no idea that Len's pinned there and Mick's taking his mouth like it's his right, not unless he hears the slick sound of Mick's cock moving in and out of Len's mouth -

Len moans around Mick's cock, his voice muffled, and starts sucking again in earnest.

"Yeah, he's all filled up with other stuff today," Mick says into the phone, hips moving faster now. "Schedule's totally -" he thrusts in again "- full, I'm afraid. And tomorrow's the moon, so I wouldn't recommend it - maybe the day after?"

Len whines a little, knowing there's a risk the Flash could hear him - goddamn supernatural senses - and finding himself unable to care, the thought of it spurring him on, making him moan and whimper under Mick, suddenly vocal, and that just makes Mick go faster, too.

"Yeah, that'll work," Mick says, voice straining a little to keep his calm. "I'll tell him. He'll call you. Yeah, sounds good. Bye."

He pulls the phone away from his ear and clicks the end call button with a vicious jab of his finger, throwing Len's phone carelessly across the room a second later.

"You liked that, didn't you?" he growls, voice making Len's hips jerk up helplessly in automatic response. "You liked moaning and whimpering like that, liked the idea of him hearing you, hearing how much you want me, how much you're mine - you don't care, you're shameless, you'd be on your knees for me in a heartbeat, no matter who's around, you'd let me push you over the bar at Saints, let me have you right there where everyone can see, show them all that you belong to me, that you want me - me and nobody else -"

Len keens a little. Yes, yes, Len's Mick's, whatever Mick wants, yes -

" - yeah, you can't keep off of me, can you?" Mick says, and his voice is ragged, breath coming hard. "You can't stay away, you need me, my Len, my Lenny - you're all mine, body and soul, my mate, and no one else gets to touch you - just me, whenever I want, however I want, and you'll let me do anything I want because you want me that fucking much -"

He pulls out of Len's mouth abruptly, wrapping his hand around himself and starting to jerk himself off. "Gonna come on your face," he pants. "Gonna mark you up, gonna show everyone you're mine -"

"Yeah," Len says, voice raspy. "Yeah, Mick, all yours, always yours, anything you want, because you're mine, too -"

He closes his eyes and opens his mouth, and with a grunt Mick comes, spurting on Len's lips, Len's cheeks, and Len lets his tongue flick out to catch some because it makes Mick groan, makes him pump out a bit more until Len's dripping with it. Definitely more than a human would produce, Len thinks to himself, and then Mick's thumb is there, rubbing it into Len's cheek.

"Show them," Mick mutters to himself, sounding almost dazed. "I'm gonna show them you're mine - they shouldn't touch you, how dare they touch you -"

The man from earlier, Len suddenly realizes; Mick must've smelled his hand or something. He can't help but smirk - if this is what it gets him, then maybe Len shouldn't have been so mean to the man.

Nah. Creepster deserved it.

Mick leans down and kisses Len, hard, possessive. Len's breathing hard when Mick pulls back.

"You know," Len pants, "I think we're forgetting something important here."

Mick draws back a little, letting Len prop himself up on his elbows. "How's that?" he asks, starting to smirk a little.

"Yeah, me," Len says tartly. "Only one of us got off just now, if you remember."

"Oh, I remember," Mick says, his smirk growing wide and wolfish. He rolls off of Len onto his side on the bed, running a lazy hand down Len’s torso teasingly.

"Well?” Len prods, pointedly arching his hips up a little. “You going to do something about it?"

Mick’s hand goes lower and lower and right as he gets an inch away – "Nope."

"Nope?!” Len yelps. “What do you mean, nope?"

"I mean, nope," Mick says, and stretches lazily. Len's protest catches in his throat as he watches Mick, glorious in his nudity.

Well, if Mick won't offer a hand for some reason known only to him, at least he provides a hell of a visual. Len's been jerking it to Mick on the down low for years anyway; Mick sated and post-coital is even hotter than he imagined it being.

But as Len reaches for himself, Mick catches his wrist.

"Mick," Len says warningly.

"Nope," Mick says, smirking.

"I wanna get off, Mick," Len says, aware that he's perilously close to whining.

"But you're not going to," Mick says confidently. "My werewolf metabolism means I'm gonna be ready to go again in a couple of hours, but if you get off now, you'll be too tired for more than one other round today. So you're going to keep your hands to yourself like a good boy, and I'll let you ride my cock later on."

Len swallows. "You make it sound like something we wouldn't do anyway," he says haughtily, but unfortunately he's naked and Mick can see the way his cock jumped a little at his words, which Len is choosing to ascribe to his stupid Pavlov's dog reaction to Mick's voice.

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you later," Mick says agreeably. "That's not in question. Full moon's tomorrow, and I'm going to spend all night and day fucking you till you forget your own name. But I want it to be good for you, so if you just be good for a few more hours, till the sun sets, I'll let you set the speed for the first round, let you crawl up into my lap like the needy thing you are and make me give it to you as long and as hard as you like. Or you can jerk off now. The choice is all yours."

He leans in close, his eyes fixed on Len's, face close enough that Len can feel his breath. "How's it gonna be, Lenny? You gonna be a good boy for me?"

"Yeah," Len breathes, and Mick kisses him like a reward.

Then he pulls away and gets up out of bed. "I'm going to pack our stuff," he says. "I've decided - as much as I like this place, lots of nice memories already - that the house on Sullivan will be most appropriate for the full moon this month."

The house on Sullivan is in the rich man's district, empty for the summer as they flee to cooler climes. It's a long abandoned house, ugly as sin on the outside but sweet as hell on the inside. It's got a king sized bed, soft as a cloud.

"Okay," Len says. "Sullivan is fine."

Mick pads towards the door.

"Hey, Mick," Len says. Mick looks back, raising his eyebrows. "How will you know if I've listened to you or not?"

Mick smirks. "I'll smell it on you. Like I said, Lenny; choice is all yours."

Len watches him go, then looks down. He's hard enough for it to start to ache with the need for release, between the events of yesterday and today, and he's never gone without unless circumstances meant he had to. Besides, it's not like Mick won't fuck him either way, and it's not like he needs a particular position or -

Fuck.

Fucking Mick and his way of finding kinks Len didn't even know he had. Len wouldn't put up with this shit if it wasn't Mick, but Mick has a way of making it seem like it would be worth it and damnit, Len actually does trust him that it will be worth it.

Len rolls out of bed, and pulls on his pants grumpily.

Len’d never tell anyone, but the smile Mick gives him when he joins him in the packing is worth it already.

#my fic #dccoldwave #mick rory #leonard snart #bad moon rising