god i have too much time on my hands

anonymous asked:

How would Tokoyami, Hatsume Mei, Itsuka Kendo, and Momo react to having an s/o that's really affectionate and loves cuddling and stuff? Thank you so much!!!

Tokoyami is very caught off guard at first, and takes some time to get used to it. He’ll still hug and cuddle you and stuff, but he might hesitate at first because “where do I put my hands? what about my beak oh my god I’m gonna stab them with my beak.” Dark Shadow will play wingman and push him to reciprocate. Like, literally push. This is inevitable

Hatsume loves that shit!!! She’s pretty affectionate too, and it’s all the better if you’re down with that. She doesn’t care about PDA or anything just run up and kiss her it’s fine

Itsuka is more reserved about it. Behind closed doors she’s super affectionate, but she’s not always the best with PDA. Hand holding and a kiss on the cheek is about as far as she’ll go. She’s a cuddle monster though, and almost always the big spoon. You’ve never felt so safe

Momo just gets flustered about it. She’s hyped that you like her so much but her parents weren’t overly physically affectionate and she’s a reserved person. She warms up to it very quickly, but she’ll blush about affection for a long time into your relationship.

Skies of Water; Ocean of Air

Here’s a little (long) fanfic/wingfic I wrote. Today… I have way too much time on my hands honestly. I swear to god. Either way! Enjoy the minor Shklance! Enjoy the Langst! And mostly! Please enjoy my shitty writing abilities!

Lance knew from a young age that he was different. Even with no one to guide him or explain it to him he knew. Maybe it was extinct. Maybe it was in the way people skirted around him. Or in the way he saw things as a child. He had always been a little different in a way. And not just the physical signs, but in himself as a person as well. The way he saw the world was a lot bigger than how his siblings saw it. He saw more than just the skies and a land to look down upon. He saw the oceans they couldn’t swim in, full of gorgeous fish and beautiful vibrant colors no paint could ever match, the mountains they didn’t bother to climb, seeing the view from a bright side, with the rust colored dust of the earth staining his clawed hands, saw the skitter of wildlife in a forest too thick with trees to move around in, the sight they ignored because they couldn’t grasp a place where the sky was not seen and the wind was silent for the sounds of nature singing. Lance saw the world with a different view.

Not everyone liked that view.

The way their words would sting him, lash out at him like a poisoned whip reminded him of that without them having to out rightly state it. Leaving marks much farther than skin deep on his young mind. Their backs, always turned away from him, shunning him away from where he wanted to be in their family. The way their wings would always taunt him. Show him the life he couldn’t have. The beauty he’d never have. The love he’d never feel. Not even the woman who breathed life into him could love the way he saw the world. The only love he could feel was in the hidden alcoves of the ocean. Small shelters carved through the years by the sea itself.

In a way, Lance connected with the ocean. The ocean was so old, wise, and strong, different from the free, young sky. So liberal and wild in youth. Innocent in its fast winds. Lance was young, weak, but no long naive nor innocent like the sky. He was jaded like the ocean in his eyes and on the horizon. Balancing between two worlds. One which was his own by blood, and another which was his own by outcast and adopted love. The sky rejected him. But the ocean called to him. Blue waves with cutting forces were terrifying, like their voices, like their fists raised in disgusted fury. But the teal lapping waters were also a calm reassurance, isolated. And when Lance’s head would submerge. He would not be afraid. He didn’t have to be afraid of the water over his head. There were no feathers to get wet and weigh him down like dead weights He could open his eyes, and see the fish flying through the new world. The land was just an ocean of air after all. If Lance didn’t have wings to fly, then he could have a sky of water to swim.

The ocean was calling his name. A name they never gave him. A name that was his own.


Not a single person could take that away from him.

That made him strong. Many thought wingless would always be weak, they couldn’t fight, couldn’t gain strength with wings they were not gifted with. Couldn’t compete. Couldn’t survive in the world without feathers and blood on their back. But the ocean made him strong. The currents would spar against him, like head strong winds for his arms and legs. Flying underwater. The rocks in the ocean would test him. Sharping the claws of his hands. Teaching him to climb higher and reach for the sky in ways that those he knew would not think of. Would look at with disgust.

Just because he didn’t have wings didn’t mean he didn’t know the world. Lance probably knew more of it than anyone with wings. He felt the sting of wind in his face, the heights of a large mountain he’d conquered through reaching claws and hard effort. But he’d also felt the sting of ocean water on his face. Warm lapping salt water, reaching for him. Like it was calling him to come home to it. Once and for all.

The sky was their home. The shores and the ocean was his home.

Now, however, he was far away from his home.

He wanted to go home.

Lance sighed, looking at the soft pliant skin on his hands from the rafters of the castle. The way their shifted from soft skin, to hard claws without Lance even blinking. It had hurt the first time. But, now it was instinct. All good things had to hurt, right? Bad things hurt too he guessed however.

Long cold nights away from a happy nest. Watching them fly together with bright smiles, as if they were urging him to join them in the happy games. But he could not join them. He never told them. And they never asked anything different. It was assumed.

Lance was assumed to have wings like them.

Assumed to just be shy with his wings.

Assumed to be a loner.

Rather than asked.

It was alright thought, they weren’t far off from assuming that he preferred to be alone. Honestly, he did prefer the quiet nights. But these weren’t quiet nights. Nights in a place with no pool, no water, no sand. These were just lonely nights. Nights away from the one place he could forever call home.

He missed the rock walls, rough against his skin. The way it would vibrate on stormy nights when his family would and lock him out of the house. Protect him from the rampaging clouds and crashing thunder. The way the water would splash up against his ankles. Cold in the storms, but cold in the best ways. The sea foam tickling his tan skin. He missed the slight burn and tingle of salt water on his skin. The way the water would look when the storm would break, the silver moon light and peace the cold waves would bring to him. The ocean was old, yet full of vigor. It could’ve kill Lance without thought when he was smaller, yet it didn’t. The moons pull on the waves of the ocean, sparing his wide eyes full of wonder, and showing him a new world, a home. Letting Lance see the way the sun would rise over the ocean. Glimmering red, yellow, and orange on the waves of a warming blue sea. Glittering and beautiful in a way that no one ever stopped to appreciate. The sea let Lance appreciate its beauty, let him watch night after day and after another night. Let him live to breathe the salt in the sky of dark blue tides. The smell of salt on the breeze. No one liked the ocean. Like no one liked the real Lance.

He missed the ocean.

He still heard it’s call.

Beckoning him home.

A presence to his side jolted Lance out of his thoughts, turning his long and sharp salt stained claws back into smooth flawless skin and fingers as Lance twisted his body. Greeting the new person with a wide smile. The leader of their impromptu flock, Shiro.

Honestly speaking Shiro really was a sight to behold, and even with the hopelessness that accompanied seeing such majestic wings, Lance’s smile was real. Because with Lance’s view of the world. Even in pain and in hiding. He still saw the big world and everything in it as beautiful. Including Shiro with his broad body and even sturdier wings. Darker than the night sky with flecks of white. No midnight blues however. The ocean wasn’t in anyone’s wings. Just his own eyes. Shiro’s eyes were battle hardened, but still kind. And his smile was gentle. Like the nudging of the schools of fish that would nibble at his skin, brush their scales against his fingertips as they dared to get closer to the familiar being. Shiro smiled just like that this time.

“Hey Lance, we missed you preening yesterday, and flying today. Are you feeling alright?” Lance smiled. Assumptions. As-sump-tions. Such a simple word. With so much meaning. So much ability to alter and change a person’s view. Lance never assumed anything. Then again, he also assumed everything. He had a different view of the word.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just relaxing.” Shiro’s wings fluttered, an obvious show of unsettlement or awkwardness. As if Shiro was trying to build up courage to ask the withdrawn flock member something. Lance watched. Even without wings Lance could read the emotions displayed on others. He had to learn how to read people to avoid their worse moods normally. Wings were how people told emotions from other people, being the most obvious sign of body language. Lance could read moods well. Seeing his sister shift from calm, to annoy at just the mere sound of his breath. His father turn from pride to rage at a single speck of his existence. Being the outlet of anger was normal for him. Taught him many things in life, but sometimes even Lance knew that he had to escape and wait. Sometimes Lance would disappear to the ocean for weeks at a time. Only coming home so that he wouldn’t be deemed a ‘flight risk’. Heh. A flightless flight risk. Wasn’t there a joke in that somewhere?

           Maybe that’s why people were so wary and awkward with him before they knew. Most people kept their wings out to show emotion. Most people couldn’t tell emotion without seeing someone’s wings. Lance was probably a husk to them. Emotionless. Like the porcelain mask of a doll. Not showing off your wings meant discomfort, distrust in your surroundings. Lance was probably just one giant enigma to them. A hard shell that didn’t look one second closer to opening up then when they had begun to form a flock in space so long ago.

           At least Lance could make them assume he had wings. Using his claws and climbing skills to reach high places. Climbing wasn’t a well-known or practiced skill after all. Lance hadn’t even known it had a name until he found an old history book from before humans had formed wings. When Lance could’ve been considered normal. So even if they didn’t see his wings, they’d see him lazily resting in the rafters and assume he’d gone up there to stare at the stars and enjoy the silence as he often did. The clearing of Shiro’s thought gathered Lance’s wondering thoughts again. Making Lance look at him with those wide eyes that had Shiro lost.

           To Shiro they were like the deepest galaxy imaginable. Dark blues and light blues, white and black. Swirling. With ferocity and gentleness. Like the ocean Lance always described. Lance’s eyes were like both their homes. Shiro’s home in Lance was the night sky. Lance’s, the reflection of the only home he ever loved.

           “Lance, why don’t you come fly with me? We could go to my nest if you’d like? You probably could use a good preening, I could help if you’d like? Straighten out your feathers while we watch some old movies?” Lance gave Shiro another ambiguous smile. Confusing Shiro greatly as Lance declined gently.

           It was difficult. Leading a flock. But what was harder was knowing that one of the people in his flock that he cared about so much was still distrusting of him. Still hiding the wings Shiro knew would be gorgeous. Still hiding the thing that would tell Shiro exactly what those distant eyes and smiles that tugged at his chest meant.

           Shiro would often find himself wondering what Lance’s wings could be like. Would they be brown like Hunk’s? Dark and powerful? Or would they be so black they were almost blue? Like the starry sky that Shiro saw in his eyes with every passing glance. Were they built for power or speed? Or were they built for neither? Were they an ivory color to give a beautiful contrast to his caramel colored skin? How would they react? Would they express the emotions that Lance never spoke? Childishly expressive. Or were they like Lance’s body, slim, lean, and closed off. Revealing nothing more than what he was willingly to show.

           Shiro didn’t know. And it was killing him slowly.

           Shiro didn’t know how Lance felt and it hurt him. Him and Keith. Him and the flock.

           Lance would always smile, ruffle Pidge’s hair. Give Hunk big hugs and large grins to reassure him. But he’d never show them his wings. His most telling part of himself. Nor would he touch theirs. He would glance at them. Shiro and everyone else could see the glances, the lingering gazes on their wings. They knew that Lance was gifted with people, and very wary of them. He could read their every mood like a book. But no one could tell what was in his eyes. Not even the Alteans could. Not even Coran, who was very obvious in his favoritism towards the blue paladin, could tell what was hidden in those royal blues eyes.

           Hunk had never even noticed until they had pointed it out to him. Shiro asking what Lance’s wings were like. Hunk had been his roommate after all. Sharing a living space for so long and being such close friends. But Hunk hadn’t known a thing. Hunk said that the Garrison hadn’t been very active with their flight training besides piloting, as many were obsessed with flying in their free time. Hunk had just assumed Lance was just one of those people who liked to relax without his wings out. There were few people who didn’t like to stretch out their wings at every chance. Feeling shy of how their wings reacted or moved. And just kept them to themselves. And Shiro accepted that excuse for a while.

           But then the months had dragged on. Bonding sessions. And mind melding. The link between paladins were everything was supposed to be visible, the moment Shiro tried to pry into the Blue paladin’s mind, it changed from pure clarity, to a haze. Only now and again he’d see flashes of the water and sand. Wet skin. And it always scared and fascinated him when he saw the rare sight of the water below its surface. Bright almost teal colors water, beige sand like silk on ‘his’ feet. The schools of fish swimming in front of him. Around him. Sometimes tickling his skin. It scared him because as beautiful as the ocean and water was. It was so quick to kill those of the sky. Leaving that place in Lance’s mind always made him wander if want he was seeing was a memory or a fantasy. Whether the fantasy was the beauty of an ocean he couldn’t touch living apparently on a beach in Cuba with his family. Or if it was a fantasy of wanting to drown in those beautiful waves. The linger taste of salt and the feeling of being washed away onto the shore of reality after these mind drifts left the bad taste of doubt in his mouth. It scared the others too when Shiro convinced them to visit the strange world. The scariest of all their reactions being Allura’s, who was tuned to the emotions of mind melding and said with certainty, that what Lance felt in those moments was a longing. A call for home in the water.

           It terrified Shiro.

           But also confused him when he considered the other’s minds. The clarity of the skies in their minds. From city skylines and buildings, to the red of the desert sunsets, and the night sky of his own mind. Smiling faces of family. And Lance’s was a foggy foundation of cold grasping tides at his ankles. Seemingly lying in wait to grab and snuff out the gorgeous light that Shiro called Lance.

           Shiro just wanted to know Lance. Get to know his moods, the way his eyes would glide over everyone. As if gauging damage, how to help them, how to smile at them and make them feel better. How to fix the castle. How to make Hunk’s anxiety lessen or how to drag Pidge away from her computer gremlin ways. The way Lance almost glided through the air, on his feet not his wings. Shiro could only imagine how graceful Lance would be in his own sky. The sky that they could never find inside his mind.

           There was only one time, when Shiro had felt like they had maybe taken a step closer to Lance as a team. Pulled the Hispanic teenager a little closer to their hearts and to their home. It was when Allura had insisted they learned a thing called climbing. A way to scale into the air, without wings. Allura had said it was for an emergency if their wings were injured, but Shiro had always wondered if it was a way of training that they could finally include Lance in.

           Though, for Lance it was barely training as it was total slaughter. It turned out that Lance was extremely good at climbing. Almost vibrating in visible excitement at the task as soon as Allura described it to everyone’s surprise. Finding nicks and crannies to dig his fingers into to lift him higher. While Keith had climbed the valiant height of ten feet, the highest of all the first four paladins so far. Lance had taken one glance at the wall. And scaled it in mere seconds. A flash of brown hair and then he was there. Sitting at the top. Head tilted up and his body straight, looking completely at peace, unobtainable. A boy in the rafters. A boy too high to reach. Too far away to even touch.

           It was then that Shiro had learned about Lance, and both him and his mate Keith’s budding interest in the mysterious goofy brunette. As Lance sat there at the top. Beating Shiro and Keith in every race they challenged him to on the rock wall. The other flock members giving up after a while of reaching for the inaccessible boy’s hand. Failing to grab the lifeline that tried to grab onto them and teach them by even the full length of their wingspan. Not a feather could touch.

           Lance had been sitting there at the edge. His legs dangling down, the ships lights were soft in the evening glow. Reflecting off Lance’s skin and giving him an almost shuddering and unearthly radiance. Shiro saw the boy in a new light, not the distrustful boy that was closed off. But the strong boy beneath it all. With broad shoulders and strong arms that pulled him closer toward whatever height he reached for. The curve and curl of his muscles and spine. Flexible. Durable. Stunning. It was then that Lance had spoken to them for the first time about himself. Not a joke. Not playful flirting.

           The faraway look in his eyes seemed softer, closer, almost vulnerable, it was the closest Shiro had felt to connecting with Lance’s emotions and knowing them without the crutch of wings. Lance’s full and pink lips recounting times of when he’d apparently climbed the rock structures around the beach of his home. Climbing them for fun and for a peaceful moment. Even Keith, the worst at reading people could hear the longing in Lance’s voice as he talked about the view. Seeing the sky and the ocean almost blending together on the horizon. With the wind in his hair and dust on his hands. He said the view was almost better when you had to work to get it. Keith, who’d be reluctant about the idea of climbing and weirded out by it, suddenly got exactly why Lance seemed to love it.

           Insecurities. Lance was the one with a home back on earth. Lance was the one that was in between, not new enough to shooting and training to make large progress, and not good enough to be seen at the highest levels like Shiro and Keith. He was the blurry and unrecognizable middle.


           Like fog rolling over the ocean in the early morning when the sky was warming and the water was still cold.

           Climbing was something Lance was secure in. Familiar with. It was something that Lance could connect to his home with. Watching Lance close his eyes, almost looking like he was relishing the texture of rough and cool rock beneath his hands. Lance had admitted the other thing missing was the dust and taste of salt in the air.


           Like the taste of his deadly fantasy.

           Lance watched as Shiro pulled away slowly and reluctantly from his own thoughts. Spreading those raven black wings and flying away from the tan boy. The boy with the stars in his eyes and Shiro’s heart in his mercy. They had to get going to the planet’s surface soon, and Shiro knew that Lance wasn’t going to fly down to go to the team in view of his eyes. So he glided away, only glancing back once he was on the ground at the end of the hall. Seeing Lance still sitting there. A far away look and one leg dangling teasingly from the edge. So close. Yet so far.


           After a half an hour of rounding up rowdy flock members Shiro was able to explain the details of the planet and the mission they had to carry out. Shiro was both excited for the mission and anxious. It was actually a secret vacation day for the flock, to fly and relax on a planet was oxygen. But, there was one thing.

           It was an ocean planet.

           Beaches as far as they eye could see.

           With rowdy kids that couldn’t swim, and one that seemed to dream of going under the waves.

           Yeah, Shiro was a nervous wreck to say the least. But after seeing Lance’s excitement at hearing the words beach and sand. Shiro relaxed. Watching closely as Lance used wild hand gestures to describe how many things they could do on the beach. He even promised to show Pidge how to skip a rock past two skips. Demonstrating flicking wrist motions with vigor and a large grin on his face. And after about three hours on the beach, Shiro was fully confident and relaxed that everything would be fine.

           Except, that was exactly when shit hit the fan.

           Lance was sitting high up on one of the rocky cliffs, admiring the view and keeping an eye on Pidge and Hunk, who were both splashing and carefully flying over the ebb and flows of the planet’s deep blue marine. Of course, that mean he was the first one to see and react to Pidge losing control and falling into the water. Unable to fly away in time to stop herself from being grabbed and dragged under.

           It was like he was on autopilot and Hunk screamed Pidge’s name and Lance dove into the water. Ignoring Hunk’s scream of protest. The fear of losing two teammates, two best friends at once. But Lance wasn’t going to listen this time. Not when he could help Pidge. The girl he’d come to see as a little sister. A younger sibling.

           Someone he had to protect.

           The water was different here, but in many ways. It was exactly the same. The push and pull of the tide. Tugging his body in every which way. Yet still guiding him. Towards the sinking girl just barely in his reach. Her eyes were closed and she was limb, but Lance wasn’t afraid yet. The waves were helping him, giving him that final pull down to grab her, before the push came, dragging Lance and his friend towards the shore and the surface. Lance mourned the sight. He wanted to relish in the sight, the sounds, the feeling of being weightless. But this ocean was not his home. This ocean was trying to push him away, telling him this wasn’t home. But an outreach of it.

           Voices. The voice calling him home was never so urgent and loud in his mind than in that moment. But it wasn’t calling him into the depths. It was calling him out of these depths. Urging him to go towards the ocean of air. To give his friend the oxygen she needed. Life Lance craved for her to keep. Lance’s muscles didn’t strain in the water. Even with the added weight of his sodden friend. He broke the surface easily. Relieved as he shoved Pidge’s head above the water and heard her gasp and cough. It was wet sounding and sent shivers down his spine when he heard how close he’d been to failing her. But it was also a freeing sound. A sound that she was alive, as he held her close with one arm and used the other claw his way up the shore where the flock was gathered. Wing fluttering worriedly with various degrees of fear and relief on their faces. Lance’s claws elongated to dig into the solid earth beneath the loose sand to hoist Pidge up and shove her onto the dry said into their waiting arms as Lance’s head dropped. His arms spread in front of him in almost a push up position as he greedily gulped in air to replenish the energy he lost in carrying Pidge to shore. He didn’t notice them staring at the long black marble looking claws until it was too late. He was already in a sunk ship as they stared. Watching in horrific awe as Lance detached from the earth. Claws slipping easily through the sand with the lost tension and fluidly retracting and forming back into long fingers with soft tan skin as Lance sat up. His long limbs folding into his lap with one movement. Hands tucked into his sides protectively.

           He’d gotten them broken for his adaptation before. Hard rubber work boots, stomping and cruelly twisting into the flesh of his hands. Breaking bones and skin. He couldn’t even hold a skipping stone right for months after that. The pain being renewed and rebroken every time anyone in his family saw an inkling of tiny black kitten claws piercing his skin.

           What would they think over him now? Long, sharp, dangerous and war tore claws?

           Did he look like a monster now?

           Lance looked up nervously to them, still sitting on his knees as they stared. Until Coran kneeled in front of him. Holding out his hand for Lance to presumably place his own hand within as Coran smiled reassuringly.

           “Thank you for helping Pidge, can I see that your hands aren’t torn up from the currents?” Lance frowned for a fraction of a second. Body curling instinctively to protect his hands. But Coran didn’t back down. He cared for Lance. Very much. Lance reminded him of his own son, but also not. Lance was witty and funny, but even Coran could see that something was not clicking with the paladin. There was always something just a little, off. The way Lance would move, the way he’d act. Keeping everything he didn’t initiate at arm’s length. Avoiding bonding sessions or showing everyone his mind and his body. Coran felt the need to shield Lance from the harsh reality of the world that Lance had already suffered. And with this new development surfacing, Coran was not going to back down on his small bit of progress. It wasn’t the lad’s wings, but it obviously was a sensitive piece of him. A private and more personal side of him. The instincts and tools of a predator. But also not dangerous at all, as Pidge had been held by these same weapons, and had not been scratched in the slightest. Eventually Lance caved in, hand shaking as he gave Coran one of his hands. His arm trembling fiercely as he did so, the stares of the others and Coran’s touch seeming to make his anxiety worse as his arm tried to tug itself away as Coran was able to get a small grip. But Coran didn’t let him. Studying the smooth skin, and watching as it formed into the claws they’d just seen. They were blackish grey, like the rocks on the sand. With white scratches on their hard surface. Probably from the rocks. Coran gently traced the scratches. Lance didn’t flinch, rather, he stared at Coran curiously, relaxing as no threatening move was made against his hands. Even handing Coran his other hand with no resistance. Letting it shift immediately as soon as Coran’s skin touched his hand.

           Lance had never looked so calm then in that moment. Even Pidge who’d begun to breathe properly ventured closer, not even the least bit afraid as she practically sat on Lance and grabbed his hands. Studying them for herself. Pressing her fingers against the sharp edges with the pads of her fingers. Marveling that even when they looked like they could slice her skin easily they didn’t even leave a mark. Lance answered the silent question.

           “They’re for digging into rock. They won’t hurt you unless you apply force to it.” Pidge slid her finger against the claw, her skin curved around the smooth yet hard nails. But didn’t get cut.

           “When did you get these?” Lance shrugged.

           “I’ve had them for as long as I can remember. They make climbing and swimming easier.” Shiro injected himself into the conversation.

           “You can swim? How do you not drown?” Images of the ocean bubble back to the front of Shiro’s mind. Not a fantasy. A memory. Lance can swim. That’s amazing. It’s practically unheard of. Lance looked down sheepishly.

           “I just do I guess. I lived on the beach my whole life. I knew how to swim before I knew how to climb or say my alphabet honestly.” Shiro’s eyes were locked on Lance’s wet form, his brown hair was curling with the water in it and sticking to his face. Lance looked up at him and their eyes met. Shiro hadn’t seen a look like that on Lance ever. He looked so at home, kneeling in the sand and the water. Pidge hanging onto him like a lifeline as he held her up on his lap, hesitantly letting Pidge wrap her wings around him. He looked a little uncomfortable, but not about to deny the girl who still probably shaken up for her near-death experience. They all filed back into the castle shortly after that. Allura smiling as she immediately demanded they learn to swim from Lance. Everyone smiling at the joy apparent on Lance’s face when he saw the salt water pool. It was no beach, but it was something at least. And Shiro was happy to say that he seemed to be getting better at reading Lance. Not quite good. But no longer completely clueless. Just. In the middle.

           Though Shiro had to admit, it was nice to see Lance so happy and in his element, the swim shirts and shorts they had to wear were suffocation. The males in the group even stripped off the swimming shirt, just deciding to preen out the water after every lesson. Though, Lance seemed happy enough to wear the suffocating material. Shiro guessed it was how he grew up. Parent’s doting over his wings, placing a shirt on him to make sure the currents and salt didn’t rip away or ruin his feathers.

           Shiro wondered why he’d never heard of people swimming if that’s what Lance had grown up with on the coast. He’d visited the east coast after all. The closet he’d seen to swimming was boating. And that was a completely waterless sport if you were talking about getting yourself soaked in water and not machinery meant to withstand it.

           Lance was proving himself to be a man of many very odd talents and surprises. And it wasn’t a surprise to Shiro that it only intrigued him and made both him and Keith want the Cuban boy more than before. Longing to hold onto that tan skin, feel it underneath their hands, their lips. Feel soft hair and soft feathers. Even Lance’s odd shifting claws were perfect. Scratched up with ‘scars’, but so beautiful in their own way. Having a destructive power, yet grace to not breach skin and blood unless intentioned that way.

           Either way, Lance was happy with the outcome of the days. Shiro and Keith were ecstatic too as Lance began to grow closer. Hiding away less. Letting himself occasionally be held by them, letting them wrap their wings around him like a tight cocoon. Lance finally joining the cuddle sessions. Even without showing his own wings. It was progress. Progress like reading Lance’s moods. It made the two so happy. Lance was happy too.

           His truth was safe. Hidden.

           Until later on, it wasn’t.

           Shiro also wondered why he didn’t see it coming when the truth did come out.

           Lance flopped to the ground, back smacking on the metal loudly. Making Keith wince and panic. Back shots were forbidden in training as they often caused wing injuries. Hell, no one could ever sleep or rest on their backs without being uncomfortable. Keith was immediately kneeling on the ground, pulling Lance up and reaching for his back to check before Lance jerked away from him. Keith immediately backing down even when Shiro’s and probably Keith’s instincts too, were screaming at him to put his hand on Lance’s back and check the health of his wings. But Shiro hesitated. Lance hadn’t even shown them a feather. Touching them was probably a very off limits thing to do. Lance proved that right as he ducked into his room, promising Coran to check his wings, before coming out ten minutes later, smiling and saying it was just a little sore. Though they wanted to look and check for themselves, Coran simply told Lance to take it easy for the rest of the day. Lance had smiled at them and nodded. Going with what they said easily.

           If only Shiro had insisted on seeing Lance’s wings that day. Maybe he wouldn’t have been this way. Maybe Shiro wouldn’t have sent him on this mission. Either way, even possible different solution or way didn’t end with Shiro pacing in front of a healing pod that contained Lance after a mission gone wrong. Lance needing it after trapped in a crevice deep in the planet’s earth. The crevice was large enough for Pidge to fly in, but not Hunk or Shiro. But Lance wasn’t flying out. Keith and Pidge had to go down to get him. Finding Lance bloody and unconscious on the ground, but thankfully still breathing.

           Though nothing was more shocking then when Keith finally said fuck it to Lance’s privacy after dragging the injured boy out of the earth and lifted his shirt to make sure there was no damage. And there were some bruises, some gashes, not surprising to see after such a fall. The real surprise, is what they didn’t see.


           Lance’s back was muscular, but smooth, there was no protruding muscles or slit where his wings could tuck themselves in for protection. There was nothing to indicate Lance was even supposed to have wings on his back. It was bare. But oh god were there scars.

           Lash marks lined Lance’s back like tally marks on an elementary school chalk bored. Long slashes of thick scar tissue on Lance’s back that went in every direction. Shiro knew exactly what caused marks like that. Belts. Whips. He’d felt their sting before. It was a normal sight on him. He’d grown used to the sight of scars on himself.

           But god if the sight of scars on Lance didn’t make him sick with anger. How dare anyone put someone like Lance. Someone so self-sacrificing and pure through pain like that? How dare anyone touch the one he and his mate were hoping to claim. How. Dare. They. Even Keith had bristled at the sight. Wings stiffening and puffing up in a threatening pose to make everyone aware of his anger. Shiro’s own wings had a similar response. While Pidge cowered. Pressing her wings against her back to make herself smaller as she pressed herself into Allura’s side. As if she were hoping to disappear into the princess. Hunk looked like he wanted to throw up.

           Lance was a wingless.

           An abused, and mistreated boy.

           He swam and climbed, and did all of these amazing things, because he had no escape besides hiding into the waves of the ocean or the rocks of the shore. Having claws and ways to survive in a world that rejected him. Treated him as if he were a plague.

           Lance had been afraid of them.

           Afraid to tell them.

           Because he was hurt so badly before that he didn’t see any mercy. Probably didn’t think he was worthy of mercy. Only knowing hands raised to hurt him. Voice raised to yell. Shunned from affection. Preening sessions. Home. The beach was his home. The fantasy of being called home.

           The ocean called for him like the sky called for them.

           Shiro could understand it now, why Lance didn’t trust them. Why he was in pain.

           But that was over now.

           Royal blue eyes, dark and light as the ocean. With kindess and gentle waves, as well as storm and raging waters opened to them as the tan boy felt out of the pod and into their arms. Hands pressing flat against his back in a silent telling that they knew. Yet still held him close. And Lance closed his eyes. Letting himself be held by the two males. Held in their wings. Lance opened in his eyes, and in his mind he say the ocean. The pull of the tides pulling at his mind. Calling him home. And he closed his eyes with a smile. Holding on tighter.

           One day, he’d be a part of the ocean. One day, he’d get to go home. But today wasn’t the day for Lance to go marching home. Not yet. His sky of water had to wait for him, there was still the ocean of air for him to learn.

           He didn’t think his home minded waiting just a little bit longer.

           He’d be welcomed when the tide came all the same.

           Just, not now.

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Seven)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

Many a red-headed man I’d passed on the long road from Lallybroch. Every single time, my stupid, desperate heart had leapt with joy; and every time, I cursed myself for the fool that I was. For Christ’s SAKE, why the bloody hell should he be on the road from Inverness, Beauchamp? Jamie Fraser is south, in Edinburgh, with his wife. With his daughters. Happy. So, pull yourself together. 

So deep had been my longing, though, that my traitorous eyes had tried over and over to convince me that it might be, it MIGHT be this time! (even when the actual travelers hadn’t looked remotely like Jamie). Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, one had been a very tall boy no more than twelve, and I still had had to see his face from ten feet before I would allow my heart to quiet. Not him. Not him. 

Blind hope, indeed. 

But this time, as I whirled and fell on the hillside, heart exploding, in a single moment, I was certain. Even from a great distance, even two decades later, even not yet able to see his face through the snow-flecked gloom, even had he not been screaming my name, yes, I’d know the shape of that man anywhere. It was Jamie, tearing toward me on horseback, riding like the hounds of hell were at his heels. And the SIGHT of him? A relief and a love smashed through me, so deep and so visceral that I staggered downward; not running, not even making my way down the hill;  just slipping, pulled toward his orbit. 

Alive. I had known for months, believed, had confirmation from Jenny herself, and yet the proof was now there before my eyes. Not under a stone on Culloden Moor; that nightmare was now banished forever. Jamie Fraser was ALIVE.

I saw him kick hard, spurring the horse to an even more astonishing pace—how loudly must he have been screaming that I had been able to hear him from so far away?—and found myself bursting out with joyous laughter at the way his shirt flapped like a sail in the wind. Nothing changed, then, if the ridiculous man had ridden without a coat or a cloak against the wind and the sn—




Please….please, no.

This changes absolutely nothing, Beauchamp. This ends with you going through those stones, sooner or later. Make it sooner. 

But he came for me—Jamie came! He’s HERE.

He’s happy. He may have come, but he’s happy.  Don’t make him suffer by forcing this impossible choice. 

Just let me say goodbye.


Let me hold him, just for —


Can you honestly do what needs to be done if you have to look him in the eye and pull yourself out of his arms?

“CLAIRE!—What are ye—? S T O P !”

I was running up the hill, stumbling and tripping, going as fast as I could. I couldn’t stop. If I looked at him—If I touched him…

Everything seemed to slow to single frames, impressions:

The slow shrill cry of my breaths,

the grass suddenly inches from my nose as I staggered low over a boulder.

Hoofbeats, closer, louder.

I’m running for my life through quicksand,

every footfall sinking me deeper, and slower, as the monster gets closer and closer and—

A fierce whinny, a curse.

A voice— my voice—screaming. “STAY AWAY!”

Boots hitting the ground,


Running, both of us running,  

and I couldn’t stop.

I must not st—

Time smashed into its normal pace again as I fell, mere yards from the crest of the hill, and cried out in pain.

“CLAIRE!” God, he was so close, pounding up the hill behind me, no more than thirty—

Don’t!” I shouted as I scrambled to my feet. 


“DO—NOT—TOUCH—ME!”  I screamed it over my shoulder with all the violence I possessed, a feral beast, cornered and ready to go for the throat as it went down.

Silence fell on the faerie hill. Stillness, and absolute silence.

When human thought returned, I was on my feet at the very top of the hill, the stones screaming their evil song behind me. My body was slung sideways, both arms raised in defense; my head hung at an improbable angle so as to look nowhere, see nothing: not the stones, not him. It was elemental in my body, in that moment: the absolute imperative not to look at him. If I could keep from looking, keep from getting trapped in those eyes, everything would be alright.

It was a ridiculous logic, I knew; somewhere in the recesses of my consciousness, that was obvious. Jamie Fraser was HERE. He wouldn’t simply let me walk away unacknowledged; but such was the depth of my panic and hysteria that I couldn’t move. I was bare millimeters from completely falling apart, abandoning all my noble resolve, and flinging myself into his arms, begging him to choose me  take me and damn the fucking consequences.

But it still wouldn’t change a bloody thing, the rational half of my mind whimpered. He would still be married. He would still have his children. We still could not be together, or at least not under any circumstances that honor would permit. I still could not force him to make that choice. 

Hold yourself together, Beauchamp. No tears, remember? You said you could do the same for him; could be calm and sure for him. Now, do it. Stand strong.

“….Mo nighean donn?”

That flower-stem snap.

That voice—Jamie’s sweet, clear voice; my very heart speaking aloud, quietly, but with every ounce of pain and longing that I felt in my own breast. 

Look at me, mo nighean donn.”

Stand. strong.

My mouth was dry and my entire body was shaking, each word an effort. “— Can't—”

A sudden, vicious snarl. “LOOK at me!”

I half-growled, half screamed, “I—CANT!” 

Desperate. So desperate, that ‘can’t’. I was shaking. Going into shock, in fact. Could feel the darkness and the manic energy and the absolute inability to retrieve words or actions closing—

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.” 

He said it like he always said his own name: low and distinct, with honor in every syllable.  


“I have ridden,” he said, in a voice so quiet and deep and measured, “night and day for nigh on a week, terrified that—terrified th—*Please,*” His calm vanished and the words were tumbling out of him in a frantic rush. “Please, for the love ye bear me, for the love that brought ye to find meTURN.”


God, but I can’t stand.

“By everything that is holy…” A whispered moan. “Let me see your face, mo ghraidh.

….and damn my weak, foolish heart, I turned. I looked.

Day and night for a week, he’d said, and I believed it. Even at a distance of twenty feet down the hill, I could see just how bloodshot his eyes were, wide and wild. He was pale, underneath the red of wind and exertion, paler than I remembered. That glorious hair was now worn long. If it had been tied back, the ride and the wind had undone it. It was wild and tangled, whipping about his face, his chin covered in stubble that nearly amounted to a beard. His clothes—nothing but shirt, breeks and boots— were filthy and torn and splattered with mud. He looked, quite simply, dead on his feet.

He was the most beautiful sight I’d ever beheld.

God, you’re so like her, I wanted to moan. I’d known it, had had my heart broken every day to see the proof of him in our daughter, and yet seeing him now before me, I was absolutely run through to find her broad, good-humored face there, the same dark blue eyes aslant the high, flat cheekbones and wide mouth. 

He’d aged, of course, as had I. The lines around eyes and mouth were deeper, the skin more weathered and coarse, but it was still him. His nose had been broken, at some point. It made him look fiercer, though perhaps that was simply fatigue and the vast waves of emotion obviously rushing through him, through us both. 

Jamie had staggered back a pace or two back as he stared up at me, nearly toppling down the steep incline. “Jesus….Christ…” he whispered. The back of his hand was pressed to his mouth as though to stifle a cry, “You’re….You….” The hand became a fist and he shook his head as a gasping smile broke from him. “Claire—God, Claire, mo chridhe!” He moved, about to sprint up the hill. 

I jumped backward. Raised my arms against him. No.

Hurt. Betrayal. Pain. It was as though I had shot him at point-blank range…And something deeper shone beneath it all: some blazing intensity I couldn’t quite identify. He looked as though he would bleed out there on the spot, from this newest wound. 

So will I, my love. 

But he heeded me, standing completely still. His hands shook, half-raised before him. He simply didn’t know what to do with them—I knew because I didn’t know what to do with mine. His mouth worked as he tried to speak, to ask, to say something, but failing. Those eyes held everything, though. Pleading.

Silence on the hill. Silence and screaming. 

“You—survived,” I managed at last, weakly, with something like a laugh.

“Aye—” He exhaled in a huge rush, clearly grateful that I’d broken the stalemate. “It was a verra close thing.” He spoke fast and frantically, babbling, even, as though terrified to let silence fall again. “I should have died in the battle, or from the firing squads after, or of my wounds festering, but— Aye, I—I was—spared.”

“Thank God,” I whispered, and his eyes lit with such hope and relief that I could have cut my bloody tongue out at the root.

STOP this instant, Beauchamp. Nothing has changed.

Jamie was the one to break the silence, this time. “Your letter,” he gasped out.

“You read it, then?” A stupid thing to say. He’d obviously read it, but I clung to conversation just as he had. The stupid words were something, something to keep from falling off the edge of this insanity. “When?”

“By providence, I arrived at Lallybroch the same day you’d left, and….Oh, God, CLAIRE….”

Oh, God, Jamie. 

Each time my name left him, it seemed to tear a piece out of both of us. I could only look down at him, waiting.

“When I saw your hand on that letter,” he said, voice shaking uncontrollably, “the print of your ring in the wax, I …”

He shook his head, at a loss, mouthing it over and over. I…I….

Through the snow, though darkness was creeping steadily around us, I could see the first tear sliding down his cheek. “….I felt as though I were dying.”

So did I. So do I.

“To know you’d survived—that you’d come back, and—and,” his eyes lit up. “Brianna.”

From his lips, our daughter’s name sounded like strange music from another world, and I wanted to listen to it forever.

“It would have been enough—more than enough—only to ken our bairn had lived, that the both of ye had lived and been cared for, but to….Claire, I simply couldna believe my eyes.” He shook his head, violently. “To see…to SEE the lass…our daughter.” Jamie released his sobbing breath and closed his eyes, holding out his hands before him, tears streamed down his cheeks. “Her entire life, there before me… and she so happy and so braw and bonny and—God, it tore out my beating heart.” He heaved a breath and smiled up at me, beaming with love and joy, though it was difficult for him to get out the words. “She’s—more wonderful than I ever could have imagined, mo ghraidh….Our Brianna.”

I forced a smile and choked down a sob. “I’m so honored,” I whispered, so haltingly, so carefully, so, so carefully, “to have been able—to bring her to you, in some way.”

My love.

My own love.

Nothing has changed.

I know. 

I took a step, two steps, backward toward the stones. This was the part where I was to be strong. 

Jamie’s eyes snapped into laser-focus, a predator’s, and that unknown intensity I’d seen earlier flamed now into life. It was anger

“Why would ye just GO?” His voice was still wretched with pain but he was snarling, stammering, growling in mounting fury. “Ye—ye came for me and—Ye came all the way from your time through the stones and then meant to go back and leave forever wi’out even—Damn ye, woman, ye didna even—If I hadna come just in time—Foolish—wretched, FOOLISH—” He hurled the demand toward me with his entire body. “WHY?”

“You *know* why.” It was all but a moan. 

He growled again. “Ye dinna ken —” 

“I know that you’re married,” I got out, moving sideways around the rim of the hill, countering his advance. “I know you have children. Jenny told me everything—how hap—”

“No, Claire, ye dinna understand!” Something had shifted in his eyes — relief? — and he was once again still, though scarcely fifteen feet in front of me down the hill. “Jenny lied. She lied, Claire,” he insisted, the words falling out of him. “She lied and made ye think I was—”

You’re not  ??”

Jenny lied! Thank the bloody stars above, the horrible bitch LIED!!! Jesus H— 

My smile broke through like the dawn, a blaze of glorious, raging happiness as I gasped out, “Then, you’re not married?”

And I watched as that hope shriveled and vanished to dust. His eyes dropped to the ground. “I am marrit.”

I swayed, eyes closed. I couldn’t bear this any longer, couldn’t take this agony raging in my heart, both the emotional and the physical heart. I felt light-headed, felt pain in my limbs. I couldn’t be strong. I couldn’t.

Just a little while longer. Say your farewell, and be gone. It will be alright, Beauchamp. 

“Then she didn’t lie,” I said, simply, my throat burning with the effort not to wail. “You have a wife and two beautiful daughters.” I caught my breath and opened my eyes, managing to smile, though I was so very near the brink. “I meant what I wrote in the letter. Every single word. I want you to be happy—and I’m glad that you are. I’m glad that you have a family and that they have made you happy.”

His brows were drawn up, making him look absolutely crazed. He mouthed the word like he’d never heard it before. Happy?

“But I—” Somehow, I kept up the smile as I whispered through wooden lips and burning throat and the tears. “—but it means—that I have—to go, now— before—”

“NO,” he snarled, springing with sudden force. I staggered still further away around the hill as he bellowed, “You’ll NOT—”

“BE STILL!” I bellowed back.

And once again, he heeded me. 

“For God’s fucking SAKE, you bloody — Scot!” I shouted down at him, suddenly just as furious as he. “Have you NO notion of what — Don’t you understand? I’m giving you up! I’m letting you go!” I gestured wildly behind me to the stones, choking on my tears. “I’m leaving so you don’t have to choose! Do you think I’m so arrogant as to believe I’m worth upending your happy—”

“DAMN YOU, woman, I havena been HAPPY in TWENTY YEARS!”

Silence on the faerie hill. Silence and screaming. 

When he spoke again, it was once more in that quiet, aching whisper.

“Jenny led ye to believe otherwise and may she be damned for it.” He took a step forward, pointing.  “But in that letter, ye renewed a promise to me; and I’ll give ye the same, now.” Another step. 

I stepped back. 

He surrendered, went to his knees, hands clenched in the posture of oath-taking. “No lies, Claire.” His eyes blazed into mine. “Nor secrets. Not ever. Not now. I swear it on Brianna’s life.”

God, my heart…

“Will ye hear what I have to tell?” 

…it simply couldn’t take this.

But I nodded. 

“I left Laoghaire more than a year past.”


The outburst was so violent, so loud and so shrill in the wake of my long silence, that it startled us both. Jamie had to put a hand out to steady himself as he jumped, and the acute panic of a fresh hell showed across his face.  “She—Jenny didna—?”

“No, she BLOODY well DIDN’T!”

“Aye, well—ah …ehm…Claire?” 

He was peering leerily up at me, and little wonder, for I was laughing—actually, CACKLING with laughter, hands clutched to my belly as I doubled over with it. 

“No, Jenny didn’t tell me who,” I sighed, when I had calmed down (marginally). “The only detail your darling sister deigned to divulge about your wife—” 

Of all people. Of ALL the marriageable women in all the bleeding Highlands. He had married —had had children with—loved—

All levity, all scorn dropped out of me, and my voice cracked, a whispering shell. “—was that you were happier with her than she’d ever seen you….And that you had two little girls that call you Da.”

“But they’re not mine, Claire. They’re not mine,” Jamie said again more urgently as I stared. He gritted his teeth. “And I shall wring my sister’s neck for a wicked liar when next I see her, for she kens fine that I’ve not had ninety-nine happy minutes in that marriage since it began.”

I was so cold. Frozen, in every cell. 

“Two years ago, we wed,” he began carefully. “She was marrit before, twice, and found herself a widow wi’ two bairns to feed just as I was newly come back from England.” 

His words were running together, a bit. There was so much warring within him, so much he clearly wished to say, but cold and fatigue and emotion were taking their devastating toll.  

“I’m fond of her lassies—Marsali and Joan. They’re aged fifteen and twelve and have had a cruel, rough way of it, in lives so short. Wi’ all that they’ve endured, I was glad—honored, even— for them to take me into their hearts as a father, but hear me, Claire.” He held my eye. “I’ve shared scarce more wi’ them than what loving gentleness I could offer, and a scant few months of meals shared ‘round the same table. No more.” He shook his head with a sound of shame and regret. “Christ, I sound an unfeeling wretch. I do care for them, I do.

But they weren’t born of his love; nor had he had a hand in raising them.

“Their mother…She…”


“I did have hope, at the beginning; hope that perhaps there could be some — tenderness between us. Nothing like—” He make a vain gesture up at me and closed his eyes, as though he couldn’t bear it. “—like what I kent it could be between a husband and wife, but something good to keep me sane; keep me alive….Can ye see?…Have ye kent that same hope, Claire?…. Only she couldna; or I couldna. I’ll accept the blame in full, but in the end, the ‘why’ and ‘who’ dinna matter. It was a broken thing within months, and I knew that if I’d stayed….” 

He hung his head, and for the first time, I could truly see the twenty years that had gone from his life. 

“I left for Edinburgh; have been there ever since. I provide for them, but I havena called Balriggan home for over a year…nor shared her bed since long before that.”  

The wind whistled between us. What he was saying…

I was numb. I was…It was like I was underwater, with news being shouted to me from dry land as I slowly drowned. 

“I’ve lain wi’ three women, since you’ve been gone,” he blurted suddenly, urgently against my silence, his voice so miserable, his eyes imploring. “Laoghaire, and two single-night encounters, and from one of those—From one of those nights…”

Oh, Jesus…

“William,” he whispered, nodding in confirmation, his eyes absolutely wretched but shining with the need to confess. “He’s a — a bastard, in England, and I shall never see him again. I’ve never told anyone of him, not even Jenny or Ian. His mother, his putative father—they’re both dead. He’s highborn, in the care of a man I trust. John will give him a good life; better than ever a convicted traitor could.” 

He closed his eyes and I could see his mouth working furiously as he tried both to form words and to hold back his weeping. “But he’s my son,” he whispered. “My only son, alive in the world because of me, and he’s bonny and canty and strong, just like Brianna, and there are days when I canna seem to live wi’out seeing him, holding him, or —” And he went silent, hiding his face in his hands until he could manage to speak. “Nor can I regret that he lives, for those years I had near Willie were the closest thing I’ve had to—to — And that only a shell of what….”

He raised a hand up as though he would cup my cheek across the chasm between us; then dropped it. Both hands lay on his thighs, aimless. 

“No. Happiness has not been granted me, Claire.” He stared at his palms, speaking in the barest, broken murmur. “My heart left wi’ you and the bairn; and while it is my duty to go on, to care for those under my protection, as I shall do, I’ve had little joy save the knowledge that at the end, I’d die and be able to find ye, just as I promised. Two hundred years, I said I’d wait. I’ve been counting.”

The snowflakes danced around us in the near-night, oblivious to desperation or to miraculous sparks catching in dark, deep places. 

“And to then learn in a moment that you’d come back…”

I tried to speak; but I was shaking so hard that I couldn’t open my mouth. I clenched it tight, feeling the tears slipping over my lips. 

“Claire?” he moaned, reaching out a hand. “…Lass?…Love?…I feel as if I shall die if I canna touch ye….Please.”

My knees had locked — everything within me had locked, between Jamie and the cold— and as I tried to adjust my footing, I accidentally stumbled backward a pace.

Despair escaped out of him and he jumped up as though to run to me, but he thought better of it, and came back down to his knees.

“Twice, I brought ye here to send ye away, mo nighean donn, because I knew a better life awaited ye on the other side of those accursed stones. Perhaps it does, this day, as well, but this time, I shall beg. Don’t go.” 

He raised both clawed hands to me. The tears were flowing so violently and his face was so deeply contorted so as to be barely recognizable. 

“Don’t go. Stay wi’ me. Stay. I canna…I canna do it…Please.*please*….”  

I was paralyzed, completely immobilized by — by —

“Is it too much to forgive, Claire?” came the cracked moan of my heart through the darkness that had suddenly hidden him from me entirely. “Laoghaire and—and William? Do… do ye not want me?”

God, Jamie…” I whispered, so softly that surely only the grass and the snow could hear. 

It was the first time I had said his name aloud to him.

“….you’re all I want.”

“Then  what   else   matters?”


Nothing else mattered.

And I was flying down to him, and he was flying off his knees to catch me, and the feeling of his arms around me, of Jamie’s arms around me at last was —

Like lightning, striking upon the sand. A flash of light, of power, instantly transforming the hundreds of tiny fragments— the millions of shards weathered to all but nothing by time—into a single, molten one. A whole. 


High time I posted a new story.

Sorry everyone for the long time between posts. I promise I got up to no good during that time I just haven’t got around to writing about it yet.

But this happened last night I I just had to tell you all.

A mutual friend of ours, Andrew came over last night to hangout and have some drinks. Andrew smokes weed and I do from time to time but my hubby does not. So a few hours after Andrew arrived he asked me if I wanted to smoke a joint with him. I agreed and after he rolled a pretty nice size doobie we went out to the garage to smoke it. Our garage is our smoking area set up with a couch and an old stereo. I’m not sure what prompted me to ask but while we were mid joint I asked Andrew if he had ever cheated on his gf. He was a bit shocked and I could tell he really didn’t want to answer but I assured him it was ok if he had. Reluctantly he said he wasn’t proud but yes earlier in their relationship he had cheated. Next I told him I heard he had a very large cock and would he show it to me. Again he was shocked and even blushed but agreed to show me. He stood up undid his pants and let me say the rumours were very much true. I reached out and put my hand around it gently as I said “God I’d love to feel this inside me.”
I stood up pushed my pants down bent over the couch and said “Fuck me but be quick so we aren’t gone too long.”
I didn’t have to say it a second time he quickly got behind me and pushed his amazing cock into my freshly shaved and more then excited pussy. He pounded me hard and fast for a few minutes before expressing he was close to cumming. I told him to finish inside me that I wanted to feel his cum deep inside my pussy. A few more thrusts and that’s exactly what I felt. His warm powerful load exploded deep inside my married cunt. I reached over for the still burning joint and took a hit as he pulled out and pulled his pants back up. I did the same then passed him the joint which he finished off. Then as if nothing had happened we both went back inside and continued the evening laughing and telling stories etc with the love of my life, my wonderful husband.


“Water. Earth. Fire. Air. Long ago, gods and mortals lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when Ares attacked.”


anaxiphilia: the act of falling in love with the wrong person.

Badboy!Yoongi AU based on this post ~
characters: Reader x Yoongi, appearances by all of Bangtan probably
A/N: My first attempt at a fan fiction, I usually just do one shots, please go easy on me ~

masterlist | next 

Hey [y/n]! I’m not coming to class today, take good notes for me ~

I glared long and hard at the text message from my best friend, Rose. Normally, I didn’t mind sitting in class alone; it was refreshing to pay attention and take proper notes. It would be fine for any other class, but not this one. Why? Because it was a class where participation was a huge component.  As in, the professor specifically wanted you to converse with the person beside you.

I just wish Rose had texted me sooner so I could’ve skipped class as well.  As I angrily texted a reply back to her, I felt the seat next to me shuffle. I looked up and my breath caught in my throat as my eyes met his.

 Min Yoongi.

Yes, I knew his name. Everyone knew his name. He was the notorious asshole that everyone had warned me to stay away from the moment I had moved to this town. I had followed that advice almost religiously. However, sometimes in the crowded cafeteria, my eyes would be drawn to him. There was something about the way he held himself, his aura, that mesmerized me.

And now, here he stood less than 2 feet away from me, his signature leather jacket shrugged over his form, paired with a plain white t-shirt and legs clad in tight skinny jeans. His blonde hair lazily covered his forehead, but even under the chaos, I could see his dark eyes glowering at me. He raised an eyebrow at me, almost daring me to say something to him.

I swiftly turned my head and averted my gaze to the front of the class, secretly thanking the way my hair covered my reddening cheeks. As the class silenced for the professor, I could’ve sworn I heard him chuckle.

The professor began his lecture and I busied myself on my laptop, typing away furiously, trying to avoid his presence next to me all together. However, it seemed that was impossible. The exact opposite was happening. Every time he moved, or even sighed, my entire body would shift into awareness. It was as if I was waiting for him to pounce on me.

I glanced at the clock and saw there were only 15 minutes left till class was finished, and we hadn’t had a single discussion. A small smile appeared on my face; someone up there was on my side today.

As we reached the last slide of today’s lecture, I shut my laptop in a hurry to get away from him.

“Not so fast everyone,” the professor said, stepping away from the podium. “As you all know, you have a video assignment due in two weeks’ time. I’ve received lots of emails saying that it’s too much work to do alone, so I want you to look at the person beside you and say hello to your partner for it.”

Oh. God. No.

I glanced in the opposite direction of where Yoongi sat, hoping that there was another person I could be paired with, and of course, I had chosen the seat next to the wall.

“Over here, sweetheart,” Yoongi chuckled. I slowly turned in my seat towards him. He had his arm on the desk in front of him, his hand holding the side of his head, which was slightly tilted. His eyes were watching me with curiosity and amusement.

“Hi,” I muttered averting my gaze to the floor. I played with the hem of my shirt, I couldn’t bring myself to look up at him.

“I know I’m attractive, but how are we supposed to work together if you can’t even meet my eyes?” Yoongi said. Even though his words were filled with arrogance, his voice showed no hint of it. I tilted my head up slightly, now staring at his t-shirt, but Yoongi wasn’t having any of that. His hand reached out and softly gripped my chin, tilting my head up completely so I was staring directly at his face.

“That’s better,” he said, a devious smile emerging on his face, making my heart thump violently in my chest. I jerked my head out of his grip in shock.

“Um, about this project, I have a friend in this class that isn’t here today. I wanted to ask the professor if I could work with her, if that’s okay with you.” My gaze drifted away from his to the floor again as I spoke.

“There you go again! I want your exquisite eyes on me as you speak to me. If you can say that again while looking me in the eyes, you can go ahead and ask the professor,” he taunted. I lifted my gaze to meet his and gulped. My throat was suddenly very dry.

 “C-can you find yourself another partner, because I want to ask the professor if I can work with my friend?” I said, my voice quivering. Why did he make me feel this way? Was I just having an off-day? Where is my confidence? He looked at me as if he was assessing the way I addressed him. He ran his hand along his sharp jawline, his fingertips hiding the small smirk on his lips.

“That was a good start,” he said, as he reached over me towards my pen and scribbled something on the sticky note that was attached to my laptop.

“My number,” he said, answering my unasked question. “Text me what she says.” He looked at me and smirked, “Actually no, call me and tell me what she says, because I would do anything to hear your voice say my name.”

It felt like my heart had lurched up to my throat. He chuckled, and gripped my chin as I began to avert my gaze from him again.

“I’ll see you around sweetheart,” he said, swiftly getting up to leave the class. Just before he exited the door, he turned back and met my gaze, which had followed his figure. His lips curved into a small smirk and he winked at me, causing the blood to rush to my cheeks.

I quickly looked away, and began packing my things. I rushed to the front of the class. I would do anything to get out of this group project with him. The professor smiled as I approached her.

“Hi Professor. Seo Yeon was actually absent from class today, and she usually sits next to me. I was wondering if I could work with her instead of my current partner?”  I spoke clearly; all the nervousness I had felt with Yoongi had disappeared.

“If this is because you feel that she won’t get a partner, you don’t have to worry. She will get someone else that was absent from today’s lecture. However, I want both of you to be paired with someone different, as you two always do every group activity together. So this time, it’s a no,” the professor said, giving me a small smile.

“Okay, thank you professor,” I said nonchalantly. You were my favourite, but not anymore.

As I exited the class, my shoulders felt heavy. God, what had I done to deserve this? And why him out of all people?

“I’m guessing she said no?” I jumped at the sound of Yoongi’s voice. He was leaning against the wall beside the entrance of the lecture hall. I placed a hand to my heart as if the gesture would calm it down. Yoongi noticed and chuckled wholeheartedly.

“Oh, man, I really should come to this class more often.” Yoongi said, shrugging off the wall and walking towards me. As he took steps towards me, I took steps back until I felt the wall press against my back. Yoongi put one of his hands on the wall next to my face and tilted his head.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you over the next two weeks.”

A/N: omg, pls tell me if you liked it and if i should continue?? ~

masterlist | next

Originally posted by fyeahbangtaned

Bozo - Alex Summers Imagine

Request: can you do an older brother Hank McCoy walking in on you making out with Alex Summers. (Gif Not Mine)

Warning: making out, name-calling

Word Count: 726

Pairing: Alex Summers x Reader 

A/N: I know that isn’t actually Alex, but I mean look at that little shit he is absolutely gorgeous. Hope you like it : )


You never imagined that you Y/N L/N would be given the opportunity to show what you can do. You see you and your older brother Hank were mutants. Being a mutant wasn’t easy, especially when you couldn’t tell anyone. Not even your parents knew. But everything changed after you met Charles Xavier (a.k.a Professor X). Charles and the rest of the first X-men came up with the brilliant idea to make the mansion into a school, a school for mutants.

None of you ever thought, “Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters,” would turn out to be a success. Let alone have so many kids attending. It was so incredible to see so many kids and their mutations, everyone could be themselves without anyone being judgmental or rude.

As for the rest of you guys, some of you became mentors or teachers or just left in general. You loved being around kids so you decided to be a teacher. All the kids gave you their undivided attention, they enjoyed learning new things from you. If there was anything you loved doing, it was helping them control their powers.

Today was like any other day, You woke up early, got ready for your class, taught lessons, then went back to your room for some needed sleep. You loved your job, but it was exhausting at times.

Your class ended early today because of it being Friday, which usually gave you time to rest. You opened the door to your room and took your heels off. You plopped down on your bed ready to have the nap of your life. Just as you were about to close your eyes there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” You looked up to see your boyfriend Alex.

“Hey Y/n.” He walked up to you and gave you a tender kiss.

“hmm…hi.” You gave him a soft smile.

“How was your day?” He placed a hand on your waist, slightly leaning over you.

“It was tiring, but overall my days been good…great now actually.” You ran a hand through his blonde locks.

“Oh yeah?” He smirked.

“Yea.” You nodded.

“How much more great can your day get if I did this?” Alex leaned down and started leaving wet kisses on your neck.

“A-Alex.” You felt absolute bliss. Alex always knew how to get your heart pumping even with the slightest touch.

“Want me to stop?”

“No, god no, I’ve missed you too much.”

“I’ve missed you too Y/N, we never have any time together.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I mean with all the classes, work, and all the students to mentor there just isn’t enough tim-” You placed your lips roughly against his.

“You talk to much.” You over rolled and straddled his lap. Alex responded immediately, running his hands up and down your sides.

You proceeded taking off your blazer and blouse, Alex’s eyes darkening by the second. He rolled you over to be on top.

“You’re wearing to much clothing.” You breath out as he attacks your neck again.

“Lets fix that shall we.” He pulls his shirt over his head, his abs now in your view. You raked your eyes up and down his body.

“Like what you see?”

“Mhmm.” You grab him by the neck and pull him down towards you.

You guys were in a full heated make-out session completely unaware of your surrounding and the door to your room opening. 

“Hey Y/N do you think you can look over these revie-” Hank stops mid sentence.

“Oh my gaw–Hank, don’t you knock!” You scurried to put on your blouse.

“Oh god my eyes…” Hank averted his eyes from you and glanced at Alex.

“Alex.” Hank salutes and gives an embarrassed smile.

“Bozo.” He smiles amused.

“And I’m Y/N, Hank get out!” You exclaimed while ushering him out the door.

“Right sorry, I’ll be going now”. He hurriedly walked out.

You shut the door and actually lock it this time. Your back facing Alex.

“Well…that was something.” Alex said. You turned around and faced him.

“Bozo, really? Your bringing that back?” You queried.

“He’s still a bozo.” He shrugged.

Permanent Tags:

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“I don’t want to ask for too much. I have already taken more than I can ever repay,” his voice was soft, his back turned to Harry as the last of the evening sun caught his hair.


“No, Potter.” Draco turned around, his hands clenched into white fists, his eyes, god, his eyes so grey and stormy Harry couldn’t look away. “No,” he whispered this time, “I don’t… I can’t ask for too much.” He let his hands uncurl, turning away from Harry again. “But, perhaps, just for tonight?”

Harry’s heart sped up. Yes, for tonight, and the night after that. Yes, for every night. If only Draco could see that this wasn’t taking too much. This wasn’t asking for too much. That this, this fragile thing whispered between them under the sheets, with the pale moonlight dancing on their skin, that this was giving, this was what they needed; that this was healing.

Harry walked over to the man he thought about in the quiet moments of the day; in the loud ones, too. Draco had – as he supposed he always had – consumed Harry’s every woken moment. He had also nestled himself into Harry’s dreams.

Harry put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Anything for you,” he whispered before turning and making his way back upstairs.

Open Wide

Pairing: Ben Platt x MedStudent!Reader

Warning: like 2-3 curse words 

Request: “Heyyy! Would you do a Ben platt x med student reader! Thanks!!!”

Word Count: 1423

Note: ((the title is so misleading but no this isnt smut i just couldn’t think of another title sorry)) this was shorter than i expected and THIS IS SO STUPID IM SO SORRY its not exactly med school material bc i know nothing but i just really had to do this lmao i hope y’all like this one !


Your hands were starting to get tired, fingertips slightly numb, and neck aching from looking down at your current subject right in front of you. 

“Just a few more stitches,” You consoled yourself, tongue sticking out a bit as you concentrated.

You were trying so hard to keep your hands steady and unfortunately, the stare that Ben’s been giving you for the last fifteen minutes from across the room did nothing but made you feel pressured to finish faster. 

“Ben,” You started, making one loop after another with the suture.”You’re staring, darling.”

Ben cleared his throat as he stood up from his chair. He made his way to the couch, gently sitting down beside you as to not move you. He leaned closer until you felt his warm breath hitting the back of your neck.

“What if it’s a tumor?” He whispered quietly. You rolled your eyes.

“Not this again.”

“This is no joking mater, Y/N! What if it’s a tumor in my throat?” He whined.

“It’s isn’t, I’m telling you.” You say slowly and quietly, focusing on your stitches.

He buried his face in his hands. “Oh God. It’s the nodes, isn’t it? I’m gonna have to undergo throat surgery.”

His leg started to bounce up and down, the motions making the couch move as well. You slapped his leg lightly. “Benjamin Platt, stop moving too much. You’re gonna mess up my sutures.”

“I don’t understand why we’re not talking about this!”

“Because we already had this conversation thirty minutes ago. Didn’t I tell you to take your medicine?”

“I did! But it didn’t do shit.”

“Obviously, it takes time for the medicine to metabolize into your body.”

“Just tell me, sweetheart. I won’t be mad. I just have to know.” He whispered, pressing a kiss on your cheek. He was making a big deal out of this thing. He was rubbing your back softly, urging you to tell him “the truth”. He refuses to believe what he had was something as simple as this.

Ben was a bit of a hypochondriac, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how much coincidental that the two of you ended up being together. Who knew? A hypochondriac and a third year medical student, dating for two years.

You sigh, looking up from the grapes you were practicing your stitches on before facing him. “Ben, you have a cold.”

He threw his arms up. “It doesn’t feel like a cold!”

You chuckled. “Sure, Ben. Whatever you say.”

“You’re no doctor yet! You can’t just dismiss me like that!” He pouts.

“Under this roof, I’m the closest person you have to a doctor,” You spoke before pointing to the man who was devouring a bag of Doritos from the other side of the room. “Unless you want Will to be the one to attend to your concerns.” You continued.

Will turned his head around as he stared at Ben dead in the eyes “Cut his throat out.”

Ben’s eyes widened at the violent remark. “Okay, definitely not consulting him. But can you please make sure one last time that it is just a cold?”

You sigh in defeat. You stood up, walking towards him until you were positioned in between his legs while he was sitting down. He placed his hands on your hips. You gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’m telling you, darling. You’re alright.”

Your fingers traced and palpitated the area below where his jaw met his ear. You moved your fingers in slow circle motions, trying to determine how enlarged his lymph nodes are. 

“Okay, your lymph nodes are a bit swollen but that’s expected because you do have colds.” You tell Ben. He nodded in response. “Is that it?”

You shook your head. “Not yet.” You reached for the penlight from the back pocket of your jeans.

You twisted your torso to look behind you. “Does anyone have a popsicle stick or something?” You yell out. 

Mike looked up from his phone, holding a popsicle stick to his mouth. He pulled it out of his mouth and you could see a bit of ice cream residue. “This good enough?” He yelled back. 

You nodded. “That will do!” 

“Alright. Just give me a second,” He started.

“You’re not putting that in my mouth.” Ben protested right away, facing you then slowly facing Mike.

When Mike heard Ben, a sinister grin started to form on his face. He slowly licked the popsicle stick clean, licking it more than necessary. All this was done with him staring Ben dead in the eyes.

Ben looked up to you. “Like I said, you will not put that it my mouth.”

“Babe, I’m going to have to if you want me to actually check what’s going on with your throat.” You giggled, running your hand through his hair.

But it has his saliva on it. That’s not hygienic.” He said, watching as Mike handed you the popsicle stick. 

Mike laughed doing so. “It was nice working with you, Y/N.” He said as he snickered. “I love you, man. I do this out of love.” He told Ben.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

You flicked him on the nose. “Don’t be mean! I didn’t say i was going to directly put it in your mouth. I’m going to put plastic on it.”

You tuned around again. “Okay, anybody have like a plastic glove or just plain old plastic? Anything as long as it’s clean!” You yelled, holding the popsicle stick in one of your hands.

Will slowly raised his hand. “Uhm, I got a condom in my wallet.”

“No.” Ben immediately said.

“Yes, Will. Hand it to me.” He simply laughed, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a foil-packaged condom, tossing it to you before grabbing his phone. “I’m documenting this.”

Ben’s eyes widened, facing Will. “No, you won’t.” He faced you. “And you are not putting a condom in my mouth.”

“Dude, c’mon. It prevents people from getting STDs so I’m pretty sure it’s going to prevent you from contracting anything that Mike has in the moment.” Will snorted, as Mike let out a laugh.

“But-” Ben started.

“This is for your career, Ben.” Mike teased as you opened up the packaging, rolling the condom on the popsicle stick.

Ben took in a deep breath. “Fine.” The two boys cheered while you hushed them, still chuckling at what’s about to happen.”

“Open wide.” You say. You pushed his tongue down with the stick as he did, using the light to inspect his throat.

“Isn’t that something that Ben would normally say?” Ben almost gagged on the stick, blushing hard on the comment.

“Shut up, Will. You’re not helping.” 

The three of you watched as Ben’s face contorted with shock. “Oh my God, it tastes so minty. It’s like toothpaste.”

Will laughed as he started to walk to where the light switches were. “That’s not even the best part yet.” He shut the lights.

“Ooooh, it glows in the dark.” You and Mike said at the same time, genuinely impressed.

Ben started swatting his hands around as he whined with the stick still holding his tongue down. You quickly removed the stick. You placed the penlight back to your pocket and he looked at you, waiting for you to talk. He let of his hands fall from your hip and held your free hand instead.

“Okay. Good news, Ben. Your tonsils look fine, your throat is clear. You just have to drink lots of fluids and wait ‘till the medicine kicks in.” You bring his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles. “It really is just the cold.” 

He lets out a sigh in relief. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He tilted his head upwards in attempt to give you a kiss on the lips. 

You pressed a finger against his mouth. “Nice try, Ben. That shit’s still contagious. I can’t afford to be sick. I have a practical exam tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t mean I still couldn’t do this.” He started peppering your face with kisses.

You were giggling in his arms when both of your phones vibrated at the same time. You pulled away to check while Ben continued to press kisses onto your face.

Your eyes widened when you saw what it was. “Oh, you will not be happy with this.” You mumbled, facing your phone towards Ben for him to see.

Will uploaded the video of the entire thing on Instagram for the whole world to see. Ben stared at the post in horror.

“Tonsillitis would have been better than this.”

anonymous asked:

Rebelcaptain + "my one night stand is actually my child's teacher and now back to school night is awkward"

Less of a one night stand and more of a “holy shit I’ve never connected with anyone this much and it was just a random convo in a bar that turned into a midnight walk now what” thing BUT STILL.

(Also, to anyone interested: I hardcore headcanon Rey as autie-spec so just. Deal, I suppose.)

“No,” says Jyn, without looking up from her phone.

Finn scoffs. “You don’t even know what I have.

“I know it’s a no.”

“You suck,” says Finn, but he puts it back, whatever it is. “It’s a party. Parties mean cake.”

“And you’ve had three pieces.” She peers at him through her bangs. “I’m not paying for fillings, Finn.”

“I don’t need fillings,” says Finn. “And I’ve had two pieces.”

“You’ve had three,” says Jyn, in the don’t push me voice, and Finn just scoffs. Finn’s never been scared of her the way other foster kids have been. She must not be all that intimidating, considering his situation. “I’ve been keeping track. So has Rey.”

Rey, sitting in the chair next to Jyn, offers a fist bump. Jyn knocks their knuckles together, and goes back to her emails.

“You’re killing my game,” says Finn.

“Since when do you have game?” says Rey, and there they go. It’s more soothing than anything, to be honest. Rey and Finn never actually fight—they bicker, but they’ve never been angry at each other that Jyn’s seen, not in the full year since she took them on, and so the pair of them playing snap and snarl just means occasionally reaching out and snagging Rey by the back of her uniform skirt to keep her from bouncing right off her feet.

Rey’s overstimulated, she thinks. Finn’s tired. Jyn’s done. Her patience with this event ran out about five minutes after it started, but parent participation is a big thing here, and if she leaves people will notice. Sitting in the corner going through her emails, at least, is more acceptable. And it keeps people from asking if she’s really the mother of the Juvenile Hall Hell Twins.

She turns her phone on sleep mode by accident, and swears.

“Can we go?” Rey flops into the seat next to her again, draws her knee up to her chest. Another mother hisses when Rey’s skirt slips up to her hips, and Jyn absently nudges at her leg, knocks her foot back to the floor. “My head hurts.”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Do you have the stuff?”

“Bag,” says Jyn, without looking up, and Rey drags Jyn’s messenger bag out from under the chair to find the fidget cube and her noise-canceling headphones. “If I meet one more idiot I’m going to stab them.”

Finn says, “Don’t do that.”

“Make me,” says Jyn, and taps him in the ankle with the toe of her shoe. “You finish the list?”

“Everybody but Mr. A,” says Finn, happily. Jyn taps Rey on the shoulder, flashes five fingers—five minutes—and then shoves her phone back into her pocket. “He said he couldn’t come, but I saw him over there, he’s the last.”

“Is this the sweaters one or the blind one?”

“Sweaters,” says Finn. “He always has great sweaters.”

“So you’ve said.” She’s not entirely sure if Finn has a crush on his—chemistry?—teacher, or if he’s just starry-eyed about the sweaters themselves, but she’s sure she’s heard the name Mr. A being tossed around the living room once or twice. Though it might have been in context of Finn getting detention. She can’t quite remember. “Go say hi, then.” 

“You coming?”

Jyn looks at him, and lifts one eyebrow.

“Jyn,” says Finn. “C’mon.”

“I said one more idiot.”

“Mr. A isn’t an idiot.” Finn, thirteen and suddenly remembering that, gropes for words. “He’s—weird. He’s kinda weird.”


“He’s your kinda weird.”

“Nobody’s my kind of weird,” says Jyn. “And I don’t need dating advice from a kid who eats three pieces of cake in fifteen minutes and then swears it has no effect on his game.”

“Oh my god,” says Finn, and when she nudges him with her elbow he rocks back and forth like she’s shoved him off a cliff. “C’mon. Please?”

Pros and cons don’t take long. Pro: get it done, get out faster. Con: make yet another enemy of your foster son’s fleet of teachers. Not that it’s hard. “Fine,” says Jyn. “Where?”

Finn’s smile could battery power the sun, she thinks. Add that to the list of pros.

There’s a knot of teachers over by the buffet table (picked clean by middle school-aged, humanoid crows), all gaggled together and laughing and whispering about private school education things that make Jyn’s teeth go on edge. Finn melts away from her about halfway between her wallflower position and the table, slips into the labyrinth to go root out his teacher—biology? Lit? I don’t remember—and Jyn drags the phone back out. Two emails from Bodhi, those she’s already read, a bunch of texts from Saw, one or two from Mara, and—

“This is my mom,” says Finn, in the stumbly way he has when he’s excited, and Jyn looks up from her phone to correct him when she stops.

Sweaters, yeah. Sweaters, and dark eyes, and a surprised little O to his mouth, and Jyn wants to die. He looks almost the same as he did four years—four? Four—ago, just slightly better put together. Not quite as disheveled as a last year uni student balancing on the edge of a sidewalk at two in the morning, laughing like he’s never met anybody as funny, pressing a scrap of paper into her hand.

Call me, please. Please.

She still has the number, somewhere. She’d never picked up the phone.

Cassian’s eyes flicker, and then his face closes down. A small thin smile settles like an angry cat on his mouth. “You’re Finn and Rey’s mother.”

“Foster-mother,” says Jyn, through tacky lips, and looks at the hand he offers, wondering if there’s a bomb in it. Finally, she takes it, shakes once. “Jyn. Erso.”

Finn, oblivious, rolls his eyes. “Mom.

“I don’t know who Mom is,” says Jyn. Her tongue is numb. “I’m Jyn.”

“Jyn, come on.” He fidgets with his blazer. “She doesn’t like to be called Mom, I told you. She said she’s too young to have two thirteen year olds.”

“And I am,” says Jyn.

Finn pokes his tongue out at her.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” says Cassian. There’s a hint of something in his face that she can’t make out without a shot of vodka and traipsing through Islington past midnight because last call sounded and they still had too much to say. “Finn and Rey both have a lot to say about you.”

“And they talk a lot about you, too,” says Jyn. She wants to die. “You’re—”

“My history teacher,” says Finn. His eyes have begun to narrow.

“Rey’s in my homeroom class,” says Cassian at the same time. Oh, God, fuck, God, fuck, fuck me, fuck— “We’ll probably be meeting up again in a few weeks. Parent-teacher events.”

Please, someone, vaporize me right now. “Right,” says Jyn, and looks down at her phone in her hand. She’s surprised she hasn’t dropped it. “Finn, I think Rey’s had enough. We should probably go.”

“Yeah,” says Finn. He gives her one last beady look. “Sure.”

“Good to meet you,” says Jyn. Again.

“Pleasure,” says Cassian, and shoves his hand back into the pocket of his wooly jumper. “I’m sure.”    

Since it’s Katsudeku Week, the End-Of-Term story arc is a good focus since it’s one of the many beginnings of Kacchan’s character development.

When the two of them are losing against All Might, Kacchan started to lose hope.

But then


HE CALLED FOR DEKU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




Kacchan is reflecting on Deku’s words as they ran away from All Might

EVEN ALL MIGHT BELIEVES IN THEM!!!! HE BELIEVES THAT THERE IS HOPE. It is absolutely impossible to have their relationship be resolved so soon, but someday, in the future, there is a chance that there is redemption and reconciliation.

It was Kacchan who thought of their backup plan TO WIN even if it meant putting himself at risk.

But the plan failed and All Might was able to catch up, and while Kacchan was able to fling Deku, All Might caught up to Deku too.


But All Might was stronger…

KACCHAN SAVED DEKU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I caannnoooot believe (actually I can)


And Deku’s like

Smile as you face your fears and rescue Kacchan, Deku!! \\\٩(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و////


A temporary happy ending.

Anyway, the point is their relationship is so unstable right now, that much is true. But with time, effort, maturity, atonement, and understanding, it’s still possible to have reconciliation, and even just their friendship back. And I think (and hope) more focus on it will be shown in future arcs, on how Kacchan will slowly make amends for all the things he did. I don’t know how he’ll do it, or if it’s even actually possible, but they’re only 15/16 right now and they still have lots of time to mature, change and grow better as a person.

A piece of you

Pairing: demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings: A lot of angst

Word Count: about 2600

A/N: I write this for the #Bev’s Milestone Challenge, by this awesome girl >> @chaos-and-the-calm67. Writing this was fun, and I hope you will enjoy it!  Thank you for making me join!
My prompt is number 7: “I’m not making excuses. But I have my reasons, and there’s a difference. What else way I suppose to do when..”
I forgot to ask you a gif, so I chose two of them as I please (i hope you don’t mind).

“Dear Dean,

I know that what you read will make you feel bad, as if I betrayed you. And believe me, I also feel this while I’m writing this letter. You know, I’ve tried; I have been striving to be happy with you because I love you. But this life, hunting, risking death every day.. it’s not the life I want. I hate myself, I hate the fact that I can’t be strong enough, for you, for us, to be strong enough to live this strange and dangerous life with you. I hope you will understand me, and please, I know it’s difficult, but don’t look for me. It would be even harder than it’s now. You know that you will always be in my heart, and that with me, there will always be a piece of you.


Reader’s Pov:
The phone rings suddenly, making me wake up. The light from the cell blinds my eyes at first, but when I read the name of the person is calling me on the screen, I feel a strange bitten in the stomach.
Sam Winchester.
The last time I heard that last name was about ten years ago; after I decided to leave Sam.. and Dean, writing that letter..
I never turned back. I never regret what I did. I would have wanted personally to say to Dean that I had decided to leave, but I would never have done it, and he wouldn’t let me go so easily.
I’m not making excuses. But I have my reasons, and there’s a difference. What else way I suppose to do when I found out to be pregnant? How could I grow my son in that dangerous world, made of monsters, vampires, and other horrible creatures? I have always dreamed a normal life, even when a werewolf killed my brother; My parents had been dead for a long time, and we were just me and him. When my brother died, and I was alone, Dean and Sam welcomed me to their home. But I knew my life wasn’t as a hunter; but I accepted it. I was in love with Dean, and I was ready to sacrifice myself; but my son.. I couldn’t even sacrifice him.
My thoughts vanish when I hear the phone ring again; I hesitated, but then I decide to respond.
“Thanks to God, Y/n. Are you okay?”
“Sam? What happened?”
Not a ‘how are you’, or ‘how long we do not see’. There is no anger in his voice, as if I had never gone away, as if the last time he and I we met was yesterday. I get up from the bed, and wearing a nightgown, I leave my room, and I head to the kitchen, still the phone near my ear.
“Y/n, I don’t have much time, as soon as I can tell you everything if you want to know. But now you have to run away. Dean.. is a demon.”
I froze; the glass of water I have in my hands almost falls from my hands. Dean is a demon. I don’t know whether to be upset about hearing Dean’s name after all these years, or hearing from his brother that he has become a demon. I would like to ask Sam what happened, what such a serious event led Dean to become something he hunted.
“Y/n, do you hear me?”
Sam’s voice reminds me of reality; as he said, there is not much time; I pass my hand through my hair, imagining what Sam is going to tell me.
“Y/n, you have to get away. Now. Dean has managed to find you. And he’s coming to you.”

It spent half an hour since I received a call from Sam; the first thing I did was go to my son’s room. I shake him, and slowly he wakes up; my son turns to me, and wrinkling his eyes, he frowns, wondering why I woke him up.
“You have to do something very important to me. Now you get out of bed, and hide you in the wardrobe. When I tell you, you go out. I’ll explain it later. Did you understand?”
My son nods energetically, and coming down from the bed, he approaches to his wardrobe, and enters. I close the doors, and then I go to my room. In a hurry and fury, I lean down to the bed, and I take my suitcase, always hiding there; I open it, and approaching my wardrobe, I take some clothes, and put them in a suitcase.
As I go back and forth in the room, I remember the small strongbox hidden behind a picture beside my window; I approach, and insert the code to open it. An audible click! it makes me realize that the strongbox is open. But I didn’t have time to open it completely, that suddenly, I jump: someone has just knocked on the door.
I make my way slowly to the front door, and I froze: after ten long years, I listen again the Dean’s voice.
“Y/n! It’s me, Dean!”
I feel the legs that start to shake as I approach the knob of the front door. I think maybe it’s better not to open, hoping he goes away, thinking that there is nobody in the house, but the fact that there is only one door to divide me from the hunter..
With a trembling hand, I take a deep breath, and with a snap, I open the door. The first thing I notice is the light of the moon reflecting on Dean’s face; it highlights his carved face, his full lips, and especially his green eyes.
Even though at this moment I know he’s the enemy, it’s difficult to see him after so long, and don’t hold him to me, to embrace him.
“Y/n. How long.. You haven’t changed at all..” Dean says, while licking his lips, he goes on to look at my whole body, from the bottom up. I blush, and I remember wearing just one nightgown. I stuck in the garment, while Dean, without even asking permission, goes into the house. Hesitant, I close the door behind me, and put my arms on my chest, watching Dean’s slightest movement.
“Dean, what are you doing here?”
The hunter turns to me, and with a smirk, he approaches me threateningly; with a long step, Dean takes my wrist in his hand, and pushes me toward him, slamming against his chest; instinctively, I stand with my hands against him, and I look up, meeting his eyes.
“Don’t you miss me?”
His deep voice makes me shudder; and to think that many years ago, he turned my head, and I had butterflies in my stomach when he approached me. Right now I’m just scared, not for myself, but for my son.
I don’t answer Dean’s question; instead, I try to push him away with my hands, and move him away from me. He understands my intentions, and slowly I see the smile disappear on his face, which becomes ever more serious and angry. His free hand suddenly clutches my throat, and in a few seconds, my back touches the cold counter-marble at the center of the kitchen. Dean’s gaze doesn’t detach from mine, while I feel the fear of invading my body more and more. For the first time, after so long, I’m afraid. For the first time in my life, I’m afraid of Dean Winchester.
“Dean, leave me.”
Dean doesn’t answer me, and approaches his body more and more to mine. I try to look down, but his hand still tight around my wrist, moving close to my face, and Dean forces me to look at him.
“Let me guess. Sam called you.”
I try with all my strength to remove the hunter from me, but it’s useless; he’s too strong. Silently, I begin to pray; 'Please, Sam, come soon’; 'Please God, protect my son.’
“I missed you so much..”
If I didn’t know that Dean is a demon, I would almost believe in his words. The hunter caresses my cheek, and slowly approaches his lips to mine; he doesn’t pressure, and I remain motionless at his touch. After a few seconds, I think right now he’s more vulnerable; with my hands, I try to push him away again, and this time I can. Dean, taken aback, back off and staggers; finally, I have the opportunity to run away, and that’s what I do. I start running to my room, where the strongbox, with the gun inside, is still open; suddenly, I feel a hand on my neck, and I feel my hair pulled behind. I slap my back against Dean’s chest as I feel his hot breath on my naked skin.
“Leave me!” I scream toward him, while with my hands I try to scratch his hands to hurt him. I hear him smile, but then something happens: Dean loosens his grip on my hair. I look in front of me, and my eyes widened; in front of me and Dean, there’s my son. With my gun in my hand. My eyes meet that of the baby, and I beg him to run away, but he doesn’t have the slightest intention.
“Leave my mommy.”
My baby’s little hands tremble around the gun as he points to Dean. The hunter pushes my body against the wall, and I fall to the ground; slowly, Dean is approaching my son, and in the meantime I look around to look for anything to hit the hunter, and move him away from the baby.
“And you are..?”
As my beat of my heart accelerates more and more, my gaze falls into my son’s room, and the baseball bat he uses to play with his friends. In a moment, I launch on the baseball bat, Dean is too focused on the baby to see my move.
It all happens in a matter of seconds: the noise of the baseball bat that hits Dean’s back is rumbling between the walls of the corridor. The hunter falls unconscious on the ground, and without thinking twice, I run to my son.
“What are you doing here? I told you to stay hidden!” I say raising my voice as I take the gun out of his hands. My son and I come into my room, and I close the key door. I see my son looking down, but his eyes are full of tears. Immediately I feel guilty about screaming at him, and approaching his little body to me, I hold him tight against me.
“Sorry honey. Sorry if I yelled.”
He nods only; we remain in that position for a few seconds, then I’ll walk him away from me, and look at him in the eye.
“Now you go to hide. And this time, don’t go out. You understood me? Any noise you will hear, stay hidden. If you feel screaming, stay hidden. Are we clear?”
“Yes, mommy.”
“Now you go. Mom has a job to do.”

When Dean wakes up, I’m sitting on one of the armchairs that are in the living room. He’s sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, and at the center of a devil’s trap; all these years without hunting doesn’t mean that I have forgotten how to fight a demon. Around Dean’s body there are chains, and the wrists are tied with strings. Dean raises his head slowly, and his eyes roam the room, stunned. When the hunter sees me, his eyes are transformed: his beautiful green eyes disappear, completely black. To see Dean in this state.. I don’t feel anything.
“But look at her. The happy mommy. You know, I was wrong: you’ve changed.”
My eyes meet his, and I stay silent. Now what I can try for the man who is in front of me is just indifference.
“What a beautiful child you have. Do you know at least what the father is? Nah.. how many men you’ve been fucked after leaving me?”
His words trigger something in me: anger.
“You.” I say as I slowly rise from the chair. I approach him, but not too much to make him a few false steps. Dean frowned, as if he didn’t understand what I meant.
“You are the father. Do you remember Dean? So long ago, I fucked you.”
My words leave the hunter speechless; did he not think that my son was his son right away? He thinks I went with other men?
“I-I-” he tries to say something, but he can’t make a complete sentence. I still take a few steps toward him, and I support my hands on his arms, my face a few inches from his.
“Soon, your brother will be here. And he will take you away from me, and my son. And then I’ll leave, and you will not see us again. Remember this when Sam will bring you back. I hate you. The only good thing that happened to you is my son. But you.. you’ve always been a plug in your side.”
Dean swallows, and at first he’s shocked by my words; but that’s the truth. I don’t want him in my son’s life, everything would change. So he must think I hate him so much that he will never see him again, so he will not look for me.
Dean seems not to fall down listening to my words, but I understand him, in the end, he is a demon now. But my words are for human Dean. Because when Sam brings him back, and he will, the hunter will remember everything. And he will try to see me and my son, but remembering my words, he will not.

Dean’s Pov:
One week.

Two weeks.

Three weeks.

It’s been nearly a month since Sam managed with his blood transfusions to take me back. My days of demon.. I remember them very clearly. And I also remember her, Y/n. And my son. I’ve always wondered why she was gone without any real reason. And now, after nearly ten years, I finally know the truth. I have a child. We have a son. But she doesn’t want me to know him; and how can I blame her? I did see after so many years, and I was a demon, and I tried to hurt both her and our son. How can I pretend she wants to see me? I look at my phone’s screen with her phone number at the top of the contact list. Call her, or not call her? I close my eyes and think back to her words.

“Soon, your brother will be here. And he will take you away from me, and my son. And then I’ll leave, and you will not see us again. Remember this when Sam will bring you back. I hate you. The only good thing that happened to you is my son. But you.. you’ve always been a plug in your side.”

How do I call her, if she said she hate me? She doesn’t want to hear anymore about me. But how can I continue to live pretending not to know that I have a son? My life is difficult, and I would never allow my son to be in danger..
I look at my phone screen again, and then I press the button to start the call. If she still has my number, she will know that I am. And if she answers, it means I may still have a little hope. And if she doesn’t answer..





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Your Flowers Will be Waiting (Jared Kleinman x Reader)

Your Flowers Will be Waiting (Jared Kleinman x Reader)

Notes: I was listening to “I’m Me” by Us the Duo, and it reminded me of a headcanon I read somewhere saying Jared played clarinet in high school (which I LOVE). And then somehow I came up with an idea that involved a flower shop, and this happened! I also love headcanons about Jared not at all being an outdoors person, sooo idk I just feel like he probably has a pollen allergy (and also gets sunburned super easily and is very clumsy when he goes on hikes with Evan, but that’s for another fic, probably!!). Also, as you may remember from my other Jared fic, I am convinced he loves The Office and no one can tell me otherwise (I mean, come on, Michael Scott literally responds “Kinky!” to something Jim or Dwight says in the first episode).

Anyway. This is pure fluff.

Warnings: Tiny bit of swearing … also Jared makes a slightly crude comment about the romance novels his grandma reads.

Words: 4010

You’ve been watching customers meander in and out of the flower shop for the past three hours when the bell over the door announces the entrance of a boy with crooked glasses and a familiar smile.

An involuntary flutter goes through your stomach as you push your book aside and wave at him from your perch behind the counter. Ever since you graduated high school two months ago and started working here, it seems like he’s been in almost every time you’ve had a shift. At first you weren’t sure why—he never bought anything, just asked a bunch of questions about the various flowers. Once you asked if he was going to buy anything, and he said he was thinking about getting a bouquet for his nature-obsessed friend. You weren’t sure if he was kidding or not.

You’re still not exactly sure why he comes in, but it doesn’t matter so much anymore.

“Hey, Jared,” you call.

“Hey,” he replies. He slides his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “How’s it going?”

“Fine. We got some new flowers if you want to see them.” You motion toward the window display, which you spent a good chunk of your morning arranging. “They’re over there.”

“In a minute.” He comes to the counter and props his elbows on it, leaning toward you. It used to make you feel strange—you had gone through high school feeling pretty much invisible, and it was weird to have a boy talk to you so close, especially one you didn’t know. But now you don’t mind. If another guy did it, you might feel uncomfortable, but Jared does it in an oblivious kind of way like he just wants to hang out, not like he’s trying to hit on you.

Not that you would mind being hit on by Jared Kleinman.

The book you were reading before he came in rests amidst a scattering of stray leaves, its pages lying open to the middle. Jared taps a finger on it. “Whatcha reading today?”

The Prisoner of Azkaban.”

He huffs out a short laugh. “Harry Potter?”

You feel your cheeks flushing a little, but a smile you can’t control pops onto your face. “Hey, those books are classics. My grandma even read them.”

“Then your grandma is way cooler than mine.” He smirks. “I tried to make her read them in fifth grade, but she was too busy with semi-pornographic romances.”

“Oh god, I didn’t need to know that.” You cover your face with one hand and laugh. “Now I just have this horrible image of … that … in my head.”

“You’re welcome.” Jared pushes a finger under his glasses and rubs his eyes; they always get red and watery when he comes in, and he’s usually sneezing by the time he leaves. You used to think it would keep him from spending so much time here, but he told you his friend makes him go on hikes in the woods and those are way worse than this.

“So,” he says. “How late are you working?”

“I get off at four-thirty.” You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear; your hair isn’t really long enough to put in a ponytail, but you still try to tie it back every day anyway. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

You twist back and forth on your stool; it lets out a painful creak that makes a lady looking at flowers by the door glance over at you. You pick up one of the stray leaves from the counter and tuck it into the crease of The Prisoner of Azkaban to mark your spot, then close the book. “Aren’t you ever going to get a job?” you ask Jared.

“I’m trying to get an internship, actually. I want to get some experience under my belt so I’m not totally clueless when I start school.”

Jared is going to Rochester Institute of Technology this fall. He’s going to major in Computer Science, which, based on how much he’s rambled about gaming, the computer he’s been trying to build since ninth grade, and the miracles of the modern cell phone, doesn’t surprise you. He’s lucky, you think—from what he’s told you, it sounds like he’s always had some idea of what he wants to do. You, on the other hand, aren’t sure what you’re doing. You know you’ll be attending North Country Community College come August, but that’s about it.

“That’s a good idea,” you say. “Do you think you’ll get one?”

“Maybe. I probably won’t get paid, but I mean, I can always work on the weekends or at night, right?”

You finger the worn edge of your book; it’s soft from dozens of rereads. “I heard the 7 Eleven down the street is hiring.”

“Ha, ha.” He scratches his nose and shifts his weight so his side is leaning up against the counter. “What about you, loser? You decided what you’re going to school for yet?”

You smirk. It’s a question he asks almost every time he visits, and every time you make up a new answer. Yesterday it was Criminology with a minor in Icelandic Poetry, which both of you are pretty sure doesn’t actually exist. “Maybe Meteorology? And then maybe I’ll minor in Botany.”

Jared lets out a choked sound. “No. God, no, you can’t do botany.”

You laugh. “Why not?”

“Because I already have one friend who won’t freaking shut up about plants. I can’t deal with another one.”

“So we’re friends?”

He gives you a look. “I’m in here almost every day even though my eyes are burning out of their sockets, Y/N. Come on. Gimme some credit.”

A blush climbs up your neck and into your ears. You bite down on a smile and find another loose leaf on the counter to pick at. “You know, we don’t always have to hang out in here if it bothers you.”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it, I’m good. But I’d like to quit standing, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” The other customer is gone now, so you motion for Jared to come sit on the extra stool behind the counter. He scoots around the corner of the counter and climbs onto the stool; for an eighteen-year-old boy, he’s a little short, and his Vans hang a good way above the floor.

“So,” you say. “Am I ever going to meet your other friend?”

Jared takes his glasses off and cleans them on the corner of the button-down shirt he has layered over his green R2D2 shirt. “You’ve met him.”


“In school.”

You make a face at him. “I didn’t go to school with you.”

“Yeah, you did.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “No, I didn’t. I would remember that.”

Jared smirks. “Why, because I’m so charming?”

“Because you’re so obnoxious.”

“Wow, nice. Thanks.” Jared slips his glasses back on. “I was in band with you in eighth grade. Remember?”

You cringe a little at the memory of middle school band. Your parents thought you should try playing an instrument, so you tried the flute—and failed. “I spent most of band hiding in the bathroom because I sucked so bad. So no, I don’t remember.”

“Okay, well, I was there.”

“What did you play?”

“Clarinet.” He picks a leaf off the counter and rolls the stem back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. “I spent most of band seeing how loudly I could make it honk.”

“Oh my god. I remember that.” You can’t help but start laughing. When you weren’t hiding in the bathroom, you kept your head ducked so no one would notice you. But there’s still an image in your head—a memory of a short, pudgy kid blowing on his clarinet until his face went bright red and the teacher screamed herself hoarse. “Was that you that honked right in the middle of The Blue Danube?”

“Yep.” He tears the tip off the leaf. “That was the most epic moment of my middle school band career. Also my last.”

“Did they kick you out?”

“Yep. So instead I had to do some stupid wood workshop.” He rips another piece off the leaf. “Majorly boring.”

“I can imagine.” You watch him shred the last bit of the leaf. “God, I can’t believe I didn’t know that was you. We didn’t go to the same high school, though, right? I switched after freshman year.”

“Yeah, I know. I think we had, like, Spanish I or something together before you left.”

“Did I have any classes with your friend?”

“Probably, although if you didn’t remember me, then you probably won’t remember him.”

“Why not?”

He reaches onto the counter and begins to scoop all the stray leaves into a pile. “’Cause he’s quiet.”

“I thought you said he wouldn’t shut up about plants.”

“Well, that’s true. But that’s just with me. He’s quiet around big groups of people.” He lifts a rose leaf and inspects it. “He’s actually the reason I came in here in the first place.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“He had this first date with this girl he met at work—he works at a state park, can you believe that? Anyway, he thought it would be cute to give her flowers but didn’t want to actually go buy them. So, being the nice guy that I am, I offered to get some for him.”

You roll your eyes. “Humble much?”

“Hey, I think it was a pretty nice thing to do. He’s the one who came up with the idea in the first place anyway.”

“Well, you never bought the flowers, and you’ve been back, like, a hundred times since then, so explain that.”

Jared snorts and points to himself. “Do I look like the kind of guy to know how the hell you’re supposed to make a flower arrangement?”

“We have premade ones,” you say. “And I offered to help. Remember?”

“Yeah, but remember you were watching The Office on your phone and we started talking about that and got distracted?”

The memory makes something soft and warm light in your chest. You had only been working for a few days and had been out of school for just over two weeks. You didn’t really have any friends from school, more just a few acquaintances, but you still missed the company of other people. Getting to chat with a random kid about your favorite show had eased some of that loneliness—especially when he showed up again during your next shift. “That was nice,” you say.

“I know. Which is why I came back.”

“You told me you were looking for flowers again when you came back.”

“Well, that too.” He scratches his nose in a bashful kind of way, almost like he’s trying to hide his face for a second. “I thought the whole flower idea was kinda good. So, I was going to try it.”

You smirk; the tips of his ears have gone pink, and he’s twisting back and forth on his chair. This might be the first time you’ve ever seen him act shy. “But again,” you say, “you never bought any flowers.”

“Because I realized it was actually really stupid. I mean, asking a girl out with flowers? Who does that?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I think it sounds sweet.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s a little cheesy, but flowers are nice.” You pull one of the leaves from his pile and twirl it between your fingers. “No one’s ever given me flowers, except my parents, and that doesn’t really count.”

Jared raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? You work at a flower shop but have never gotten any?”

Your face heats as you drop your gaze to the leaf pile. “Don’t act like it’s so shocking. I’ve just … I’ve never had a boyfriend.” You watch the way your leaf’s deep green colors blurs when you twirl it. “Does that make me seem lame?”

“No. I’ve been told guys in high school are dicks anyway.”

You glance up at him. “Did someone say that about you?”

“Only a couple times, and I wasn’t actually dating her anyway.” He puts an elbow on the counter and props his head up on a fist. He’s bent over a little, leaning a little closer to you, and you can see the bright blue of his eyes. There’s a tiny spot of warm brown in his right eye you never noticed before, and for some reason it makes your heart trip through several beats.

“So back to the flower thing,” he says. “Do you really think it’s not stupid?”

You laugh again. “Jared, I already told you, I think it’s cute. Why? Are you seriously telling me you haven’t asked out whoever you were going to ask out, like, two months ago?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god! Okay, I’m helping you pick out flowers and you’re asking today.” You scoot off your stool and move to get around the counter. “Do you know what kind of flowers she likes?”

“Why the crap would I know that?” he asks, following behind you as you stride toward the front of the store. “Just pick your favorites and I’ll get those.”

You roll your eyes at him but then focus on the task. The two of you wander around the store, Jared watching while you sift through the containers of flowers. You search for some of your favorites but also keep in mind that Jared probably doesn’t have a lot of money to spend on flowers. You’re pretty sure you can make it work; sometimes when there’s no one in the shop, you like to brainstorm new combinations of flowers.

Within fifteen minutes, you’ve gathered a mix of baby’s breath, soft yellow daisies, and lavender. Jared watches from his stool behind the counter while you clip the stems and arrange them in a narrow vase.

“I think this will be good,” you say, nestling a sprig of baby’s breath next to a large, pale yellow daisy. “It’s pretty without being too much. Too much would be cheesy.”

Jared pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes; by now they’re bloodshot and watering enough that he’s wiping tears away before they can dribble onto his cheeks. “Are you sure about the lavender? It kinda smells.”

“It smells nice in small doses. I’m only putting a few sprigs in.” You glance up at him. “How soon are you giving this to her?”

“Soon.” He shifts so he’s leaning his elbow on the counter like he did earlier. “Today, maybe.”

“Are you giving them to her on the date, or asking her out with them?”

“Which do you think is less cheesy?”

You give him a look. “Are you really this insecure?”

He sputters a little. “No! Obviously not. I just want to do this right.”

You sigh a little, although you’re smiling. There’s something endearing about this nervous side of Jared. “I think you should wait until you’re on the date to give them to her. Unless you’re not going out for a couple of days. The baby’s breath will last for a while, but the daisies won’t do so well.”

Jared grunts and begins to pick at a sprig of baby’s breath lying on the counter. You swat his hand away. “Stop, you’ll ruin it.”

“This is just extra, you already have a bunch in there.” He leans forward to inspect the flowers you’ve already put in the vase. “So what did you say your plans were for when you get off work?”

“I don’t know. I’ll probably just read or watch TV or something.”

“Wow, that’s exciting.” He waves the sprig of baby’s breath at you. “You know, you should really get a life.”

You make a face at him, but the teasing smile on his mouth keeps you from snapping back at him.

“What are you doing when you quit stalking me?” you ask. “Calling this girl you’ve been pining over for two months?”

“Maybe so.” He ducks his head and sneezes into the crook of his arm, his shoulders shuddering. When he looks back up at you, the tip of his nose is pink, and he groans a little. “Ugh. How long until you’re done?”

“Just a second. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” He wipes his wrist across his nose and then props his head up on his fist. “You should give me your number, since you have no life and obviously need someone to get you out of the house.”

You scoff at him. “You don’t know if I have a life!”

“I’ve known you for two months and basically all you like involves TV, reading, and music.”

“And all you like involves video games and building computers.”

The corner of his mouth jerks up in a smile. “Touché. But I hang out with Evan, at least. Do you hang out with anyone?”

The question brings a familiar ache to your chest. These hours spent with him are like spots of sunlight in your week. The rest is almost all just gray loneliness. “No. I mean, I want to, I just … I don’t really know anyone.”

“Not even from high school?”

“Not really. I had acquaintances, not friends.”

“Okay, I definitely need your number,” Jared says. “You can’t just stay home anymore. Also, you and Evan would get along obnoxiously well.”

“Is Evan the kid who likes trees?”

“Who’s obsessed with trees, yes.” There’s a marker next to your register, and Jared moves off the stool to grab it. Once he’s back on his stool, he holds the marker above his forearm. “What’s your number?”

You want to insist you have a life, but both of you know you don’t. And it would be nice to make some friends.

You give him your number while you finish the flower arrangement. It’s a little sparse, but there’s something cute about it. It has a kind of rustic look, like it’s made from wildflowers. There’s something sweeter about it than the overly full bouquets you’re used to making.

For a moment, you let yourself be jealous of whatever girl will be getting the flowers, but then you brush the thought away.

Jared moves to the other side of the counter and digs through his pockets while you ring him up. You almost wish your boss was here to see the flowers; for the price Jared’s paying, it’s a pretty cute bouquet. It’s the first time you really feel like you knew what you were doing when you created it.

Once Jared has paid, you hand him the flowers. As he reaches for the vase, your number stands out on his forearm, the writing big and dark on his pale skin. You motion at it. “Don’t forget to text me sometime. You know, since my life is so boring.”

For some reason, the bashful smile he had earlier makes a reappearance, and you feel your heart flip inside you. “I will,” he promises.


You’re at home lying on your bed, an episode of The Office playing on your laptop. You smile a little—Jared would probably laugh if he saw you right now; he was right, you really do have no life. Not that getting to lay around watching TV isn’t nice. But it would also be nice to have people to go out and do things with.

You yawn and stretch your legs out on your bed. After Jared left the flower shop, work dragged by. Some lady came in and yelled at you for an order someone apparently messed up. You didn’t recognize her or the description of the flowers she wanted, so you’re pretty sure it was a coworker’s fault, but unfortunately they weren’t there to endure the yelling. You think you dealt with it well, but it left you a little frazzled and with a slight headache.

Beside you, your phone buzzes. A text from an unfamiliar number scrolls across your screen. Are you home yet?????

That stupid, uncontrollable smile from earlier yanks at your mouth again. It’s silly, considering you saw him just a few hours ago, but you don’t care.

Yes, you reply, then add, Stalker.

You expect a snarky response, but instead your phone rings.

You hold the phone to your ear with one hand and pause The Office with the other. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jared says. The sound of his voice makes you wish you were back at the flower shop with him. “Whatcha doing?”

“Being boring.” You sit up, your legs crisscrossing. “Did you call that girl yet?”

There’s a slight pause. “Yes.”

“And? What did she say?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

You make a face. “I don’t get it.”

He sucks in a deep breath that makes static fuzz in your ear. “This is lame, but so are the flowers, so I’m just going—”

“The flowers aren’t lame,” you say. “We’ve already been through this.”

“Okay, okay, sure, the flowers aren’t lame. But this is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, so unfortunately I can’t reassure you.”

He laughs, but it comes out a little wobbly. It reminds you of the sudden shyness that came over him in the shop today.

“Like I said, this is lame, but just listen,” he says. You wait for several seconds before he speaks again. “Do you want to go out?”

You blink at the paused image of Pam and Jim talking on your laptop. “Like … on a date?”

“Yes, like on a date.”

“I—yes, but I thought …” Your heart pauses for a second as it dawns on you. Your mouth falls open, and for a moment all you can do is breathe wordlessly. Then you start laughing. “Oh my gosh, you dork! You’re such a dork!”

“Rude!” Jared says, but you can hear laughter in his voice. “I just asked you out!”

“After waiting two months!” You fall back on your bed, laughing so hard your ribs ache. “You made me make my own flower arrangement,” you gasp out.

“Yeah, well, I would have done it, but you wouldn’t even let me touch the baby’s breath,” he says. “Also I had to take a bunch of Benadryl when I got home, so I think we’re even.”

You feel dizzy with excitement and laughter, and it takes a couple seconds for you to calm down enough to suck in a deep breath. Something happy is happening inside you, something fluttery and warm and ticklish in between your ribs. “Obviously I’ll go out with you,” you say. “When were you thinking?”

“I was gonna say tonight, but the Benadryl kind of knocked me out, so my parents won’t let me drive.”

“I can come over,” you say. “You know how much I love hanging around the house watching TV.”

“I definitely do.” He lets several seconds pass before adding, “That seems really lame for a first date.”

“Oh my god, Jared, get over yourself.” You cup a hand to your cheek; it’s flushed with excitement. “I’ll be over in an hour.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

The giddiness inside fades into something warmer … softer. Despite the way he spends most of the time teasing you, Jared Kleinman is not as cocky as he seems. There’s a gentler, less sure side of himself, too, a side that makes you like him even more. You’ve been a little in love with that louder, more confident side of him since the first time he came into the shop and started chatting with you, and you can feel yourself falling fast for this deeper, more serious part of him.

You like Jared for all of him, and it makes your voice go quieter as you tell him, “I’m sure.”

“I’ll text you my address.” The smile you’ve come to look forward to so much over the past two months fills his voice, and it makes your stomach ignite with butterflies. “Your flowers will be waiting.”

When We Were Young

2039. Justin and [Y/N] are 45, and 44.

The room was crowded, absolutely bustling with people to the point where I knocked elbows with every other person I passed, but when she walked through the double doors, it was as though we were the only ones. I vividly remember feeling the exact same way many moons ago.

I knew she wouldn’t be able to see me through the sea of people, so instead of attempting to be seen, I started to make my way towards her. The red dress she wore made it easy for me to spot her; it wasn’t long before I was stood in front of her.

“Justin,” she smiled a smile that I’d almost forgotten, yet it looked so familiar.

Her hair was a lot shorter than it once was and that alone made her look like a whole new person. She didn’t seem to be wearing as much makeup as I remember her wearing when she was younger.

“[Y/N],” I whispered, taking the time to notice the new marks that had appeared on her face. “It’s so great to see you again, it’s been too long.”

“Far too long. It’s great to see you too! Can I hug you? Would that be appropriate?” she asked hesitantly.

“You know what, I’d love nothing more,” I replied, opening my arms.

She fell into them, and all of a sudden, I felt at home. At peace. My mind flashed back to the first time I hugged her, on our very first date in 2012. I remembered thinking her hair smelled like strawberries.

The hug lasted a little longer than it should have, but I didn’t complain. I let my hand settle on the small of her back.

“Would you like to get a drink?” I asked while thinking the place was far too crowded for my liking.

Her nose scrunched up and she smiled. “This place is a little busier than I thought it’d be, and besides, I want to catch up. Shall we find somewhere quieter?” I instantly smiled. We always did agree so easily.

“That’d be great,” I said, leading her towards the doors.

“I mean, we can stay if you want to-“

“No, no, it’s okay, we’ll find somewhere nicer.”

The air was cool against my face once we stepped onto the streets. It was almost silent apart from the soft rumble of cars passing every so often.

“So, tell me, what’s been going on?” she asked, breaking the silence between us.

“Not much,” I said.

“Not much? Not much has happened in twenty-four years?” she chuckled, looking up at me. Her eyes looked older, like the brightness that was once there had shifted.

“Ah, you had to be there,” I said and grinned, [Y/N] laughed. “What about you? How many of those goals did you achieve?” My thumb strokes the back of her dress.

“A few, actually. I travelled for a bit after quitting my first job, just because I felt I was at a dead end, you know?”

“What, the filing job you had? I remember you loving it!” I teased her, and she rolled her eyes with the smile still on her lips.

“My constant whining didn’t bother you then,” she giggles, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

“What whining? I don’t think you ever mentioned it!”

“Could you blame me? My heart wasn’t in it. I wanted something more.”

“You always did,” I said. “I was always certain you were made for more than this world could give you.”

[Y/N] looked over at me for a long time after that. “Really?”

I nodded. “Mhm. You had all these dreams and things you wanted to achieve, and you were always so positive. It was one reason I loved you so much.”

We turned the corner onto a smaller and quieter street. My words were hanging on the edge before she spoke.

“That’s so sweet, Justin,” she whispered. “..I missed you for a long while after things ended.”

“You stopped?”

She chuckled nervously. She looked so youthful when she did; a part of her was always so nervous around me when we were young. “Things change. Eventually, I just got caught up in whole new life,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

“I did, but I don’t think I ever stopped missing you,” I replied. “I don’t blame you,” I added, “for leaving, or for moving on. I was happy knowing you were happy and doing what you needed to.”

“I was hoping you weren’t hating me, it was probably my biggest fear for a long time,” she chuckled. “You know, I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Would you like to get coffee?” I asked, and she nodded instantly, muttering a gentle ‘sure’ in response. “In all honesty, I was always hoping I’d see you again at some point. I was always too scared to get in contact with you.” I smirked, and maybe it was just because of the darkening night, but I’m sure she blushed.

“Do you remember the time we got drunk and went skinny dipping in the sea?” [Y/N] asked, suppressing a grin.

“A little too much,” I said, smiling. “I also remember shielding you with my own naked body.” I laughed and [Y/N] did too. “It can’t have been any more embarrassing than the time your parents caught us walking out of that sex shop.”

“Oh my God! I’d completely forgot about that,” she gasped, her hands covering her cheeks. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t have bought something,” she said.

“I think it was worth the awkward dinner we had with them the week after.” I smirked and she rolled her eyes.

I knew where we were aiming for but [Y/N] having not been in the city for a while, didn’t. She followed alongside me without asking or questioning my directions.

“So, never had kids, huh?” I asked, looking down at her.

“A surprise, I know, I just didn’t manage to have that kind of relationship where kids were ever an option.” She shrugged as though it was now but I saw something change in her expression. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she fell into me.

“Eventually, you’ll find that person,” I reassured her while feeling the cold of her shoulder.

She laughed, I drew back. “Justin, I’m forty four. You really think I’m going to find the right one at this age?”

“Hey.” I frowned. “I do, and you will. You used to be so sure that you’d find the right one for you, what happened-“

“I grew up, I guess,” she said. “It’s hard to believe things like that when you get older. You have responsibilities that are constantly bringing you back to reality.”

My stomach twisted uncomfortably and words were threatening to make me sick if I didn’t say them. They fumbled around my mouth until they needed more space. I felt eighteen and foolish again.

“What about me?”

[Y/N] stopped in her tracks. “What about you?”

“Come on, [Y/N]. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it,” I spoke softly, afraid it was the last thing on her mind.

She took a sharp intake of breath. “I hate myself for thinking about it so much. Whenever I feel alone, I always think of you and about how I threw us away. I can’t help but wonder if it was you all along.”

“Well I’m here. For the first time in years I’m right in front of you. It’s your decision what happens next.”

Secretly, my heart began to pound in my chest and I felt young then; alive and filled with so much hope and possibilities. Stood there in front her made me feel invincible.

“I never wanted anyone like I wanted you,” she whispered, shaking her head gently. I smiled.

“Then what are you waiting for? We have something, let’s take the opportunity.”

She nodded and before I could say anything else, she was falling into me and I was holding her like we were only just falling in love. I looked at her and I could have sworn I was stood with her in 2012 instead of 2039. I felt the strongest beat of my heart since the last time her eyes caught mine. Oh, what I’d do to go back to when we were young.

Some Off-The-Cuff Writing Editing Tips bc I’m Writing and Editing Today

I’m editing my essay and splurge-writing my novel today: after doing the editing it’s become harder to free write without editing, as is my policy for this novel draft, because I’m hyper-aware of all the flaws haha

so, some tips, to get them out of my head:

If you have to read a sentence twice, that sentence needs clarifying or simplifying. All your sentences should make sense without interrupting the flow of reading. Maybe you need to switch some clauses around, break it into shorter sentences, or simplify the language. This can be really tricky, I know; sometimes it feels like, ‘this is the only way to say it!’ If that’s the case, leave it and come back to it later; it might make more sense then. 

Leave your writing for at least one day before you edit it. You can edit immediately after finishing writing something, but if you do, you should go through it again another day. If your writing is so fresh in your mind that you remember every word you wrote, your brain might be filling it what it remembers writing rather than letting you read what’s actually on the page, and you’ll end up skimming and missing some typos. You’ll read it too quickly, thinking I know what I wrote. I usually get my dad to read for typos, because he’s the slowest reader I know; slow reading = better typo-finding.

If you have used a colon and/or a semicolon more than once in a sentence that is not a list, it needs to be two sentences. The same could be said of dashes but - as exemplified here - a pair of dashes forming a sidenote is fine. Also, don’t try to use semicolons if you don’t know how; god knows I wish I could turn back time and erase them from my vocabulary because I do know how to use them and boy do I use them, waayyy too much. modern writing doesn’t really need them. 

As my professor once wrote on an essay I handed in, any sentence that goes on for six lines is too long. Yes, I actually Did That. 

Think about terms of address. This is big issue in my novel atm; the pov switches from chapter to chapter, and the characters are getting to know each other slowly so the terms of address will change not only from chapter to chapter, but also as the story goes on. You may call that character by their name in your head, but maybe your narrator would call them by a nickname, or by their surname/title. This is, believe it or not, actually somewhat applicable to essay-writing too: the amount of times I’ve almost referenced a familiar academic or character/figure by their first name…

Unless you’re writing sarcastically/ironically, in first person/inner monologue, or for children/childishly, exclamation marks in the narration usually read badly. I’m sure it can be done, but it’s usually best to avoid it. Unless you’re using the exclamation mark to indicate a tone of voice, consider if it’s deflating rather than adding to the tension of your sentence. It’s a voice-focused piece of punctuation and should really be reserved for speech or inner monologue. 

Adverbs are not evil (despite popular opinion), but double adverbs are usually a bad idea. The same goes for double adjectives. If they describe two different things or two different aspects of a thing - eg, pink and white stripes, walking slowly and carefully, or silent and deadly assassin - you can get away with it, but only sparingly. If you have two adverbs/adjectives that say basically the same thing - she was quiet and shy, this is correct and true, she writes plainly and clearly - scrap one, or find a new word that better encompasses the subtleties of both. If you’re using a lot of adverbs, maybe question whether the verbs need to be talking louder instead. But remember, no entire word group is inherently bad, c’mon writing tips people why do you want to destroy adverbs??

‘Purple Prose’ is not evil either, but consider where your metaphors/similes/description may have gotten too extensive and broken the flow of your writing. Too much of any one thing clumped together can ‘clog up’ your writing, so consider if maybe certain chunks of description - or monologue or speech - could be making this section monotonous, and maybe break it up with something else or shorten it. Variety is helpful for keeping people interested. 

Have you jumped? By this I mean, have you stopped talking about one thing and gone straight on to something totally different? Jumps can be okay, as long as they’re clearly signposted, and as long as the end of the last section and the beginning of the new one are well-closed and well introduced respectively. Any big gaps need to be at least slightly bridged. Alternatively, you could not jump at all and fill the gap in. 

Are you overusing or repeating one word or phrase? I once read a biography of JK Rowling that used the phrase ‘deliriously happy’ for every single good moment in her life. I hated that phrase by the end. Try not to use the same word or phrase to describe everything. It can be hard to spot this in your own writing so beta readers are helpful here. WARNING: this does not go for ‘said’! You are allowed to use ‘said’ and other simple words as much as you like! people will, however, pick up if you use a more specific word too frequently. A comment on my last graded piece was ‘stop saying understanding’ - I’d used it three times in two sentences… 

I’m sure there’s lots more, but that’s all that comes to mind right now. Please remember that these are TIPS and note RULES - there are no ‘rules’ to writing, you do you, this is just what helps me and some common things my teachers have advised me against

please add your own tips to this post and let’s make it into an editing masterpost!


This took me a little longer than I expected but @inkcollectorus @duchov @what-the-fuck-is-magnetite and @vickiweis44 this is for you.  I warn you though - It’s angsty fluff that’s heavy on the angst!  Even my Valentine stuff is angsty shit.  Sorry.

Set in season four Cancer arc and told from a third person POV




It’s hard not to notice him that first time.  It’s just after 6pm and he is shouting at the nursing staff, refusing to relinquish his hold on the tiny red-headed woman he is cradling in his arms, clutching her to him as the blood on her face transfers to the white cotton of his shirt, drenching them both in a sea of crimson that blooms and grows with every second that passes.   There is in fact, so much blood it’s difficult for me to figure out the source from my vantage point.

She is making an ugly, gurgling, choking sound even as her body jerks against his.  Her head is thrown back and he is desperately trying to still her movement lest she injures herself further, his frantic pleas to the nursing staff increasing in volume until he is practically screaming at them.  

He is in full panic mode; not thinking at this point, simply reacting to the situation he has found himself in and although I’m sure there is a small part of him that recognises that nothing can be done until he allows them to take her from him, sheer primal terror is preventing him from releasing her.

My throat tightens at the sight of him as he finally allows the attending ER staff to take over, the expression on his face one of such yearning as she is transferred to the waiting gurney and wheeled away from him that it literally takes my breath away. His final keening cry reverberating around the large area around us before he collapses to his knees on the linoleum floor that is now speckled with her blood, covering his face with hands that are equally as marked.  His shoulders are shaking and even though he makes no sound, I know from bitter experience that he is weeping.  Hopeless, uncontrollable distress that has no sound; the most painful kind I think.

No one moves.  No one reacts.  As though he is a wounded animal who might attack at any moment and for just a few heartbeats, it’s like time has simply stopped.

And then I force myself to move; to cross the space between us, my training coming to the fore as I pull a pair of surgical gloves from the pocket of my tunic and slip them on to protect myself from the blood that covers him.  Second nature in an environment such as this.


Tentatively I place my hand on his shoulder, carefully not exerting too much pressure through my touch, but just enough to get his attention because although I don’t consider myself a medical professional, I have lived though more moments like this than I can recall and I know that right now, gentleness is the key.

Keep reading


Imagine: Minho tries to flirt with you using cheesy pickup lines.

For: @zoerest97

Minho’s POV

“What do I do?” I ask Newt, he just chuckles in return, “Help me shuckface! You know I like Y/N, but she barely even gives me a second glance! I need to make her fall in love with me! Help me!”

Newt just sighs and responds with, “I don’t know mate, maybe she just fancies someone else.”

“Maybe you should try using some pickup lines on her, I heard girls love those!” Thomas pitches in. 

“Uh Tommy, I don’t think girls-” Newt begins, but Thomas cuts him off.

“Trust me Minho they love pickup lines!” 

I guess it’s worth a shot. 


You lean on your shovel, exhausted from the planting that you been doing all day, and fan yourself with your hand. 

“Hey Y/N,” You hear Minho’s familiar voice call from behind you. 

“What do you want Minho?” You groan. 

“Are you okay?” He looks at you up and down, and for a moment he looks genuinely concerned. 

“Um, yeah,” You shrug, “it’s just really hot out here.” 

“I think I know what the problem is,” He says leaning a bit closer, “I think you’re suffering from a lack of vitamin me.”

You laugh, “Seriously Minho? You’re an idiot.”

You roll your eyes at him before walking away.

You make your way towards Newt, Alby, and Thomas, with your lunch tray in your hands. You’re in the midst of a normal conversation when Minho slides into the seat next to you. For a moment he’s completely silent, which surprises you, but then he finally says, “You know Y/N, if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cutecumber.” 

“Really mate, is that the best you can do? Cutecumber?” Newt asks, clearly suffering from secondhand embarrassment. 

Once again you just chuckle and roll your eyes. 

Once you finish eating you make your way back to the gardens, to continue with work. Suddenly you see Minho running towards you, “WOAH WOAH WOAH! Y/N!”

He stops in front of you and looks down, “Can I tie your shoelaces for you?” You assume that is another one of stupid jokes, until you notice that your shoelace is actually untied.

“Um thanks, but I can tie it myself,” You say before crouching down to do so. 

“Good. I just wouldn’t want you falling for someone else,” He winks. 

“Come on Minho, again? Really?” You shake your head, finish tying your lace, and walk away. 

The rest of the day goes on without disturbance from Minho, that is until dinner time. 

He makes his way up the line and stands right behind you, cutting in front of Newt, “Come on mate, wait your bloody turn.”

Minho ignores him and instead taps you on the shoulder, “Y/N? Do you know what’s on the menu?”

“Um, I think Fry made his fa-” Minho cuts you off before you can finish. 

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s me-n-u!” 

“Oh my God, what’s wrong with you today Minho? Did you have too much of Gally’s special drink?,” you laugh.

The day is finally over, you’re just watching the stars by the fire with a drink in your hand, and once again, Minho slides next to you, “What now Minho?”

“Nothing…” It’s never nothing with you Minho, after a short pause he adds, “The stars just look gorgeous today.”

You wait, and to your surprise he doesn’t say anything, “Um, yeah. They are.”

“You know, if I had a star for every time you brightened my day, I’d be holding a whole galaxy,” You look at him ready to roll your eyes, but then you realize that this pickup line is actually pretty sweet, “Wow, you’ve been rolling your eyes all day at me, but look at you now, you’re actually blushing!”

“I’m not!” You argue.

“Thomas was right!” He says under his breath.

“Huh?” He just shakes his head, so you continue, “Seriously though, what’s gotten into you today? You’re acting so strange.”

“Thomas told me that girls like pickup line,” He shrugs.

You laugh out loud, “Oh God Minho, you’re such a dork, I thought you’d know better than to trust Thomas!”

“So…you didn’t like it?” You chuckle at his cuteness and shake your head.

“You’re adorable Min,” You say before leaning into give him a peck on the cheek. He looks at you in shock but you just get up, “I’m going to bed, you should get some sleep too.”

As you walk away, you just hear him call out, “Wait! You didn’t answer my question! Did you like it?”

“Go to sleep Minho!” You respond without turning back.


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